Reflections

[Marc t'Estebar]

WARNING: VIOLENCE AND GORE IMMINENT




“When you face a reflection, a mirror, you must beware the evil that waits to claim your soul. The evil strives to rip your eternal soul to shreds, to suffer the damnation of living death. A reflection has power, not only over your mind but over your soul. Your mind sees the reflection and is affected by it, entranced by it, either through your pride or your angst. Either of these leads to the tarnish of the soul, but this is not the true danger of a reflection. The real danger comes from the evil from within that is shown to you, every time your reflection appears. This is the evil that lurks within you, that waits for an opportunity to clutch your soul. This is the evil that we must fight everyday of our lives. This is the evil we see every morning when we wake. It is an evil that constantly attempts to devour all we strive for. This is the evil, and it is us.”

- From the sermons of the Reverend Earnest Junos
the Homeworld, 3516



Reflections


The room reeked of death, the cloying aroma of rotting meat and dried blood. The corpse lay spread-eagled on the floor, eyes staring blindly at the ceiling. It seemed surprising that such a small man could have held so much blood. It caked the carpet beneath the body and was splashed across the entire room, from a spattering of droplets on the window frame to a long smear leading to the bedroom.

A shadow passed across the corpse’s face. Dice knelt as close as he could to the body. At his side, the Skitterling Quirrala snuffed the air, whiskers twitching. The man was naked save for a sock on his left foot, and Dice wondered why he felt that was important. Dice removed a small cylinder from his coat pocket and pressed a button on it. The room was illuminated by a brief flash, followed by another as lightning lit up the sky outside. The cylinder began to make a whirring noise and Dice replaced it in his pocket. It would copy an image of the room onto a disk as a hologram. The disk was almost full. Dice had been making images of the entire apartment.

Dice stood back up, making certain his long coat had not trailed in any blood. Without thinking, he brushed his hand inside his coat, ensuring his pistols were there. It was a habit he no longer noticed, but its frequency increased when he felt concerned. He was used to death, having ended lives in much more grisly fashions than this, but something about this killing disturbed him. He turned to Quirrala. “Are you getting anything?”

Quirrala was a Skitterling, a humanoid creature that hailed from a planet lost on the far reaches of the galaxy. Fur covered his entire body, save for his prehensile tail, which was nearly as long as he was tall. Quirrala’s face was dominated by a long pointed snout. Fine whiskers protruded from the snout, twitching as the Skitterling snuffed the air. Small, round ears lay flat against his head, pulled back in abject distress. Unlike most humanoids Dice had dealt with, Skitterlings had no pupils. Their eyes were undiluted black, shining beads of night set to each side of their narrow faces.

The Skitterling twitched. “It’s worse-worse than murder. There’s old terror here. Terror and hate.”

Dice glanced out the window at the rain pelting down. The water trickling down the pane made the city outside appear to melt. The glow of lights from the building opposite sparkled in the glass. The rain would make this case all the more difficult.
Quirrala’s tail was lashing, snapping back and forth behind him. His whiskers twitched constantly and Dice could almost smell the Skitterling’s nerves.

Dice was beginning to wonder whether this was worth pursuing. He briefly considered calling Scar and telling them he wasn’t going to do it, but he discarded the idea, as he knew Elise would never forgive him. Scar wouldn’t keep his mouth shut, and Elise was sure to ask. Dice sighed and turned back to the room. “Can you pick up anything else?”

Quirrala shook his head. “Not-not much. Maybe Red Tooth should be called in on this one?” The Skitterling asked hopefully.

“Red Tooth’s on assignment. We can’t use his nose this time. It’s just your whiskers and my brain.”

Quirrala muttered something derogatory at him. A mirror had been broken. The shards lay scattered by the wall opposite Dice. The assassin knelt beside them. Most of the shards were reflecting a disjointed image of the ceiling, but one caught his eye. It was roughly triangular, lying about a metre from the wall. It was longer than the others. Dice picked it up between his gloved fingers. He twisted the shard this way and that, gazing at the image it held.

His beard was coming back. He felt little need to shave these days. If it grew too irritating he would remove the stubble and then ignore it again. He rubbed his chin, feeling the coarseness of the hair beneath his hand. It had been a long time since he had looked in a mirror. The man staring back at him could have been a stranger. Icy blue eyes watched him from the glass, scanning his face for any sign of recognition. Part of his face was obscured by a mass of blood and hair on the sharpest corner of the shard. Glass shards were no good as weapons, but someone had used this as one. Or had it been a torture implement. The cuts on the corpse weren’t ragged enough for the glass to have been used.

Quirrala’s tail lashed, coiling around his leg. The long whiskers at the end of his snout were twitching, and the dark eyes kept shifting this way and that. He was clearly uncomfortable. Skitterlings were known for being skittish, but Dice had never found Quirrala to have that trait. He looked up at his associate.

“What is it? Why so tense?”

Quirrala laid back his ears in distress. “Such hate. So much fear-fear in the air.” His voice became almost a whine. “I don’t want to be here-here.”

Dice shrugged. Skitterlings were sensitive to emotion. He’d heard rumours that some were telepathic. He nodded to Quirrala and motioned that the Skitterling could wait outside. Fur rippling with relief, Quirrala almost bounded across the threshold, past the two officers stationed outside. It was unusual for Quirrala to be so squeamish, and Dice had learnt to pay heed to the Skitterling’s hunches. There was something amiss here. Dice could feel something, something elusive but it hung so heavily in the air that it was a surprise they weren’t swimming in it. A… feeling. It reminded Dice of something, something from a long time ago.

Outside, lightning split the sky, followed immediately a roll of thunder that continued for nearly a minute. Above the noise, Dice could hear the windows rattling in their frames. Even as the thunder did away, Dice saw another thin line of lightning earth itself on one of the skyscrapers in the distance. Not just any skyscraper. The lightning had struck the pinnacle of the highest tower of the Imperial Academy for Orphans. The hulking complex sat on a hill in the centre of the city, overlooking all of the government offices. It loomed over everything. Dice realised what was so familiar about this situation. Save for the mutilation, the killing was directly from one of the Academy’s textbooks. Dice had learned those textbooks by heart.

His first memory was of the Academy. There was no true beginning to his memories. The repetitive actions of each day stuck in his mind and seemed to be all he knew. Images merged with one another and Dice was never sure when any specific memory had occurred. There had been only the Academy. Dice had always lived there, always gone to the classes that taught him about the glories of the Imperial Federation, always stood in line for the dreary meals served three times a day, always sat attentively as an instructor taught the students which ribs were best to slide a knife between.

The floors had been cold. That was something Dice always remembered. No matter the temperature of the room, the floor gave off a chill that worked its way up the legs and into the spine. The children were not allowed to wear boots inside, so the hallways were filled with the flapping sound of bare feet on stone floors.

He’d been trained hard there. Punishment had been frequent and swift. Instructors punished those who did not answer quickly enough, or at all. Competition between students was encouraged. Instructors had their favourites, but were likely to come down harder on them than anyone else. The physical classes were worse. Of the three students who did not perform as well as the rest, only the worst was not punished by the instructors. Dice was still not sure if there had been a set level to aspire to or whether the decision to punish occurred randomly. Either way, when the instructors punished two of the poorer students, the entire group was forced to repeat the exercise the next day, again and again until the instructor was satisfied. The student who performed the worst was punished, not by the instructors, but by the other students. Dice had never been one of those punished, but he had done the punishing. One incident stuck out in his mind. He recalled standing over a red-haired boy, older than himself, a stick raised above Dice’s head. The other boy’s face and chest already bore cuts and bruises from other strikes with the stick. A welt ran across one temple. When the boy’s mouth opened, Dice could see broken pieces of tooth in the bloody maw. This was the third time the boy had been beaten in the last four days. Dice had hesitated, suddenly aware that within a month, this boy would be gone, vanished from the Academy and not a question would be asked. Dice paused only a moment before he struck down with the stick, again and again. When he dropped the stick from his fingers, one of the red-haired boy’s eyes was swelling shut, two deep cuts running across it. Blood showed in a hundred places, small dots of red, shallow cuts on already bruised skin. Six days later, the boy had vanished. One day, he was simply not in the mess hall for breakfast. No one said anything. No one mentioned his name. There were no names in the Academy.

Dice shook himself, returning to the present. He glanced around the apartment to see if there was anything he had missed. There didn’t appear to be. He considered leaving his report until the next day, but he knew this needed to be wrapped up quickly. Already it was stirring up memories he no longer wanted. He walked past the two officers guarding the doorway and swept down the hallway. Quirrala was waiting at the elevator, shivering. Dice gave him little more than a cursory glance, but the Skitterling’s ears pressed even closer to his head.

Without looking at the Skitterling, Dice spoke. “You’re no good here. Get to the databanks and find out everything about the victim. I mean everything, but especially the man’s links to the Imperial Academy for Orphans. See why Councillor Respite is so interested in this as well. There’s more to this than we were told.”

Quirrala nodded and opened his mouth to speak. Dice held up a hand to forestall him.

“Don’t apologise for in there. I don’t want to hear your excuses. I brought you in on this for a reason, but you were no use to me. Let’s leave it at that and forget about it.” He pressed the button for the elevator and the doors slid open. “You’d better get going. I’m off to see Scar and report to Respite. Call me in an hour with whatever you’ve found.” Dice stepped into the elevator. The doors closed behind him, cutting off whatever response Quirrala wanted to make.


* * * *

It was not far from the apartment to Dice’s destination. It had stopped raining, but the streets were nearly deserted, save for the sanitation androids and the occasional vagrant. Dice closed his coat, shutting out the chill wind which blew through the tunnels created by the looming skyscrapers. The sky above still rumbled occasionally. Dice ignored it, focussed on his destination; the building at the end of the avenue.

The building towered above those surrounding it. Most had all the character of a block of wood but this rose in tiers until it reached a pinnacle close to the grey clouds amassing over the city. It was made up of five sections, four large blocks and a giant tower connecting them all. Each block was a wing of the Coalition, from the military to the traders to the priests of the Holy Mother Maria, and the tower contained the various halls and chambers used for the running of the government. In the very centre was the Chamber of Truth, where the Council met to direct the course of the Coalition. Dice knew that at the very top of the tower, better known as the Compound, was the true seat of power. There, the innermost members of Council formed the High Council, under the directive of the Lord High Councillor. The men who sat in that room answered to no one, and when they spoke, their words became law.

Every corner of the building was decorated with statues, be they of the Holy Mother Maria or fanciful representations of lost creatures. On the corner closest to Dice, a horse reared majestically, its stone mane thrown back as though it too could feel the wind rushing about it. At least, Dice supposed it was a horse, or a mason’s interpretation of a horse. True horses, such as the Holy Mother was said to have had a pair of, no longer existed. Perhaps some still lived off-world, but Dice had never seen one. Only the wealthy were opulent enough to consider financing the expensive cloning process required to own a horse, and even then, the clone would be barren.
The wide avenue leading up to the building was flanked by statues erected to commemorate the victories and defeats of the Imperial Coalition. There were more victories than defeats. Those defeats that were represented were always dedicated to praising the glory of the commander who led troops to their doom, the bravery and devotion to the Imperial Coalition needed to make such a sacrifice.

At the very top of the avenue stood a statue of a hero from so long ago most considered him a myth. Dice paused for a moment in the lee of the statue to withdraw a white tube from his pocket and brought it to his lips. Reaching into another pocket, he produced a small silver cube. Dice touched it to the end of the white tube in his mouth. Red light flared from the cube, chemicals reacting to ignite the end of the tube. Dice inhaled deeply, feeling his throat being caressed by the smoke. He closed his eyes, savouring the flavour. Each time he brought the niccastick to his lips, just for a few moments, everything fled his mind save for the pleasure. Pains he was not even aware of melted under the chemicals being filtered into his body via his lungs. It felt like fire, burning through him and incinerating his anger, his worry, his hurts.

“Those things will kill you, you know.”

Dice breathed in deeply, and then exhaled, letting a stream of smoke ascend into the air. Without turning around, he addressed the man behind him. “I get shot at least three times a week, Scar. I doubt a niccastick is going to have time to kill me.” He tossed the tube to the pavement and ground the ember under his boot. He turned to face the man behind him.

Commissar Scar looked exactly as Dice remembered him. The furrow across the old man’s cheek, the scar that gave him his name, was still a livid red. Despite his age, he still had a full head of white hair. As always, his eyes watched Dice calmly. Sometimes, Dice hated that calm. He understood why Scar needed it. A commissar dealt with members of the Academy, acting as a go-between for the Council. Some graduates of the Academy were not as civilised as Dice was and Scar’s calm demeanour helped soothe them. Dice had worked with commissars who yelled and screamed; acting like military drill sergeants, and that seemed to work just as well. Whatever technique they used, commissars had to be consistent. To Academy graduates, a commissar embodied everything they had been taught about the Coalition; the glories, the strength, the knowledge that what the graduate did was right. If a commissar said it, it must be so. If a commissar ordered it, it must be moral. It was for the good of the Imperial Coalition, after all. But there was another reason Dice disliked Scar’s calm.

“Elise is well. She misses you. She asked after you.” The commissar held Dice’s gaze, eyes penetrating.

Dice looked away. “We said all that needed to be said the last time.”

Scar sighed. “I’m not sure I’ll ever understand you, Dice. For as long as I’ve known you, you were searching for family, and now that you have found your sister, you cast her aside and refuse to see her.” This was why Dice hated the calm. It would be better if Scar judged him, but the steady tone had no hint of criticism.

“My reasons are my own, Scar. Always have been, always will be.”

Scar nodded. “I realise that, Dice. I just thought you should know she misses you. Now, we had better go and give the Councillor your report.” Scar turned to enter the towering building, the centre of the Imperial Coalition’s government. Dice watched him for a moment, and then followed him inside.

The foyer of the Compound was usually filled with people, bureaucrats and petitioners visiting the various Ministries. Today, only two security guards were in the large marble-floored room. At the far end of the room was a large wall hanging of the benevolent face of the Lord High Councillor. As Dice and Scar crossed the foyer towards the elevators, Dice found he could see himself in the polished marble tiles. With the walls tiled as well, images of the two of them stretched away into infinity. He’d never noticed that before, and found the effect slightly disconcerting.

They stepped into the elevator and stood in silence as it ascended the floors swiftly. The doors slid open to reveal a long corridor, doors dotting each wall. It was carpeted in a simple aquamarine, the official colour of this branch of government.

“The one at the end.” Scar told the assassin.

Scar led the way down the hall to the far end and opened the door to admit Dice. The assassin slipped through the doorway, eyes drinking in the office.

The room was lined with plain steel shelves, holding layers of holo-disks and the occasional book. There were two cushioned chairs facing a wide wooden desk. That surprised Dice. The desk was big enough that a man could lie spread-eagled upon it and all limbs would still be on the desk. Dice had not thought a piece of wood that large still existed on the entire planet. A closer glance confirmed it. The desk was sculpted from a single piece of wood, legs and all. Even the drawers were made from the same wood. Trees of that size no longer existed on the Homeworld. The Councillor must have had it imported, possibly from one of Minerva’s forested moons.

On the other side of the desk was middle-aged man. He had a short beard, which was not yet flecked with the grey that already dotted his temples. He was not wearing the Councillor robes of office, but instead a simple dark shirt and tie. His pale blue eyes looked up as Dice entered. They watched as Dice crossed the room to stand before the desk. Dice knew the man, by reputation at least. Councillor Respite was one of the most vocal proponents of the Imperial Academy for Orphans, the school where Dice had spent most of his childhood. Doubt arose in Dice’s mind. Respite was not the sort that Elise usually worked for, but Scar’s presence suggested otherwise. Or perhaps the Councillor had a connection to the case. That was more likely.

Respite leaned back in his chair. Scar saluted the Councillor and had it lazily returned. The commissar moved around the desk to stand next to Respite, following the standard Academy debriefing procedure.

“The operative Dice, as you requested, Councillor.” Scar told the seated man.

Respite smiled coldly. “The assassin Dice. Most dangerous graduate of the Academy since it was founded. Son of the Reverend Earnest Junos, who was killed in the Water Riots. The irony of that never ceases to amuse me.”

Dice inclined his head. He disliked being reminded of his time in the Academy, even more, of being reminded of his father but there seemed to be no help for it today. He kept his face calm. Flaring up with Scar was one thing; doing so in front of the employer was another. He clasped his hands behind his back, feeling the solid, comforting weight of a pistol hanging in the holster on his belt. He preferred the two inside his coat, but it was nice to know he could have the third out in a moment and firing soon after. He’d found traps could be sprung anywhere.

“You know why you have been summoned?”

Dice nodded briskly. “Four killings in the last two weeks. First was Councillor Stern. Councillor Stern was well-liked by both the Council and the press. He often negotiated with the frontier colonies and was seen as a liaison for them. He was a graduate of the Imperial Academy for Orphans, majoring in Politics and Languages rather than combat. He was found garrotted in his office. His body had been mutilated; specifically, his lips and eyes had been removed. There were numerous lacerations on his chest. The killing was kept quiet but two days later, General-Councillor Ares was found crucified outside his home. Ares was a soldier who had distinguished himself on the Vestile Campaign and worked his way up through the ranks. After claiming Tridena for the Coalition, he took the name Ares after the heathen god of war. The press floated the opinion that the manner of his death was reprisal for the many crucifixions under his command during his campaigns, but the journalists failed to notice the true cause of death. Commonly during a crucifixion, a wound is made in the side of the torso. Ares had no such wound. His throat had been slit and then he had been crucified. His feet had been mutilated after death, judging by the lack of blood. Ares was missing digits from both hands and feet. This mutilation was not congruent with the executions Ares ordered during his campaigns.

“A week after Ares’ death, Bishop-Councillor Loyal was found dead in his chapel. He had also been mutilated. Once more, this had been done after death. The Bishop-Councillor died from multiple stabs wounds. The chapel had one of the best security systems money could buy, and the Bishop-Councillor had a full staff of bodyguards, recently hired. No one saw anything. The press were all over it this time and Loyal’s replacement on the Council is calling for retribution. There were rumours that the Church of the Holy Mother was considering withdrawing from the Council, if their representative could not be protected against professional assassins. An underlying fear, of course, is that the Council sent the assassin. Only a true professional or a member of the Academy could have killed Loyal in those conditions, and of all the professionals who could have done it, I was not approached. There isn’t anyone else good enough to have stayed off the radar for this long. Combine that with the other killings, and it is the work of a sole agent.

“Now, to Councillor Shelter. The murderer -”

Respite interrupted him. “Calling this a murder suggests an underlying motive. What makes you think that one exists? Could this not be the work of independence groups, or a lone killer?”

Dice’s expression did not change, but his tone carried his dislike for being taken for a fool. “The way Councillor Shelter was killed was dramatically different to the others, but the connection is clearly there for those who know where to look. Each victim lost parts of their anatomy, and the severing was done with a knife no longer than a hand. No weapon was left at the scene and that suggests the murderer used the same one for each victim. The mutilation is the key factor. If it was the Syndicate, the crime lords would have left a message with the mutilations. If it was an independence group, they would have claimed responsibility by now. A serial killer would be picking better, easier targets, as well as taunting the authorities, especially after Loyal. No, it seems most likely that the victims were killed for personal reasons.”

Scar glanced at Respite, who appeared subdued. The commissar motioned for Dice to continue.

“The murderer entered Councillor Shelter’s apartments via a bathroom window. The pane was smashed out completely, most likely with a bare hand. There was blood on the glass found on the bathroom floor. Officers at the scene indicated the blood had been removed before being tested for more in-depth identification, despite the presence of a Forensics unit on site. As far as I could tell, all traces of the murderer’s blood had been removed from the entire apartment.” Dice waited to see if any information was forthcoming from the men on the other side of the square desk. Only an order from a Councillor could have destroyed evidence like that, and Respite was the only Councillor involved with the case. The bearded man opposite Dice steepled his fingers but said nothing.

“The murderer remained in the apartment until Councillor Shelter arrived,” Dice continued. “It seems the victim was aware someone was present in the apartment. He moved from hallway to study, where he discovered this.” Dice produced a disk and slid it into the slot at the front of Respite’s desk. A hologram of a framed photo sprung up. Photos were rare, a luxury for those that could afford them. Holograms of memory-chips were easier to obtain but deteriorated rapidly. This photo depicted the now deceased Councillor Shelter standing with four other men, one of whom now sat opposite Dice. The remaining three men had had their faces scratched out and the image of Councillor Shelter had an ornate penknife driven through the heart.
“On finding this, Councillor Shelter retrieved a six-chamber pistol and an electric stun baton from his desk. He returned to the main room where the murderer dropped on him. Judging by the bullet hole in the ceiling, the murderer was suspended above the doorway to the hall. Marks on the walls suggest the murderer had stayed there for sometime before attacking the Councillor. Shelter was killed immediately. First he was tortured, most probably with pieces of a broken mirror. The initial, and fatal, wounds were made with a sharp knife but once the Councillor was helpless, the murderer was able to go at a more leisurely pace.”

Respite held up a hand. “Are you saying that whoever it was mutilated Shelter after he was already dead?”

“So it would seem. It is possible that the murderer managed to keep Shelter alive for some of the torture, but most of the lacerations were made once the Councillor had died. Clearly, the act of mutilation held some special significance to the murderer. It might be the work of a primitive, or perhaps someone trying to send a message to the Council. Perhaps the murderer was unaware that Shelter was dead and was in some form of frenzy. There are numerous drugs available that could produce that effect, but very few of them available on the street.”

“I’m hearing a lot of ‘maybe’ and ‘perhaps’, Dice.” Respite said grimly. “That is not the result I was hoping for. You were brought into this case to eliminate the problem, not give opinions on what may have been. You’ve got a job to do. Find the killer and end them. Anything else that happens is not your concern.”

Dice inclined his head again. So that was the game. He hadn’t really expected anything else, but it was odd for Elise to bring him in for something like this. Unless Scar was working for Respite, and Elise had no involvement. “And my fee?” He asked the Councillor.

Respite’s lips twisted in a sneer. “You will be paid in the usual way; twenty percent now, the other eighty when the job is completed. I will leave the haggling and mercenary scrambling for advantage to Scar and yourself. You’re dismissed, Dice.”
Dice almost scowled, but forced his face to remain expressionless. He’d faced this before from Councillors, particularly those associated with the Academy. Academy agents were operatives of the Council, and killed for the good of the Coalition. Dice had cast off that shackle a long time ago; now he killed for a fee. That rankled with members of the Council. Dice suspected some of them viewed him as a threat, despite the deal he had struck with them years before. There had been a clause in that deal; that Dice would never take a contract against a Council member, nor act against one on behalf of another. Still some, like Respite, viewed him like a rabid dog. Contempt was clear in Respite’s eyes as Dice left the room, Scar close behind.

* * * *
Outside the building, Scar shook Dice’s hand, indicating that the deal was settled.

“I’ll make it quick, Scar.” Dice told the old man.

“If you feel it is necessary. I leave the details up to your discretion. Just be careful.”

“I’m always careful. You should know that by now.” Dice started to walk away.

“So like your father.” Scar murmured.

Dice turned on him. “I’m not him, Scar.” He snapped. He took a deep breath and went on, his voice softer but still in the same angry tone. “My father’s dead. I’m not like him, no matter what you and Elise want to believe.”

Scar nodded. “So that’s it.”

“What’s it?” Dice snarled at him.

“Why you won’t speak to Elise. You are afraid, afraid of disappointing her. You needn’t be. She just wants to know her brother.”

Dice growled, his hand thumping the stone wall. “Enough, Scar! I don’t care what she wants. Just let me deal with what I was hired for.”

Scar shrugged, his face unreadable as always. “If that’s what you wish.”

With an effort, Dice brought his rage under control. Before he could reply to Scar, his coat emitted a shrill beep. Reaching inside, he removed a smooth oval covered in flashing lights.

“That’s Quirrala.”

“You’d better answer it.”

Dice answered the beeping communicator. “What have you got for me?” Scar was already walking away.

Quirrala’s voice sounded slightly distorted over the communicator. “Respite’s been a widower for nearly sixteen years now. His wife, Lady Brittle, died after complications during the birth of their only child. He was made Councillor after her death. Both Ares and Loyal stood for him to be nominated for the position.”

“Any connections between them before that?”

“Doesn’t seem like-like it, save for the regular political and social gatherings. Respite had links to Shelter and Stern, though. He served his internship in Stern’s office, and he seemed pretty-pretty close to the old man. They had monthly sessions at the walk-ball range together. After Lady Brittle died, Respite spent some-some time at Stern’s estate on the moon of Perseus. Shelter was there at the time too, petitioning Stern about reducing the cost-cost for the Academy. They left the estate together, Stern stayed another two days.”

“Shelter was petitioning about the Academy?”

Quirrala paused a moment. “Yes, the sixth petition that-that year. The final one, too. Shelter had some issues with the Academy’s success rate-rate, and that they reported to the Council rather than individual members. He seemed to believe that-that it would increase loyalties.”

Dice shook his head. “That’s insane. If members of the Academy served single members of the Council, they’d have their own private killing squads. No one would be safe. It’s exactly why they didn’t want me going freelance.”

“Shelter seemed to believe that it would all-all balance out. No one would move against anyone else, since they all had access to personal assassins. After this-this attempt, though, Shelter gave up on the idea-idea. Others didn’t, but the plan fell through after that-that.”

“Can you get me Respite’s address?”

“Sure-sure thing. You think he’s involved somehow?”

“He’s already involved. I want to know how deeply. Also, his office is in one of the most heavily guarded buildings on the planet. If the killer strikes at Respite, it’s going to be at his home.”

“I’m sending it over now-now.”

Dice took the communicator away from his ear and read the display. “It’s not too far. I’ll be there. Keep checking until I call you back.” He pressed a button and the communicator disconnected.


* * * *

Many of the Councillors lived in apartments near the Compound, and a few even lived in the Compound itself. However, someone had decided many years ago that the most powerful needed homes that represented that power, rather than the mundane homes of the civil servants the lower ranked Councillors inhabited. A few blocks north of the Compound lay the Council Estates. Here, the Councillors could indulge their opulence. There were around thirty houses in the Estates, and yet the land itself took up around fifty city blocks. Trees could no longer grow, but the designer had somehow found a sculptor to make exotic statues that mimicked a forest. The artificial glades the artist had designed appeared real, and remained one of the great beauties of the area.

Respite’s house was bigger than Dice had expected. His impressions of Respite’s office had been of a cold, utilitarian man. Dice had been expecting the Councillor’s house to reflect that. Instead, he found something more akin to a villa. It had been roofed with dusky red ceramic tile in a style Dice recognised as coming from the moons of Canton. Canton had no permanent ocean, but a great deal of flooding. Most of the planet was mud, which made it highly valued for ceramics. The tiles overlapped almost seamlessly. The building sprawled across an estate half the size of the government headquarters. Respite seemed to favour arches and verandas in white cement. Dice did not doubt that the walls would be stronger than they appeared. The walls would be reinforced, as well as equipped with sensors. Respite was a man who covered all angles. Dice wouldn’t be on the case if he wasn’t.

Dice was already inside the grounds and at the front door before he noticed the guard. He had expected androids, but for some reason Respite employed human security. The man was inside the house, facing away from the windows. Dice quickly finished picking the lock and slid an alert disabler into the lock. There wouldn’t be an alarm now. He crept up behind the guard and struck.

The guard crumpled noiselessly to the floor. Dice flexed his hand, trying to shake the sting from the blow. He’d pulled the punch slightly. The guard would wake up with an awful headache, but probably wouldn’t suffer any further damage. The blow had caught the man in the side of the head, about an inch from his temple. Dice had made sure not to hit a pressure point that would have killed the man.

Stepping over the prone body, Dice entered an extravagantly decorated room. Large paintings hung on every wall, and various ornaments decorated the flat surfaces. Across from the doorway was a fireplace and on the mantle was a crystal urn. Light was refracted through the urn’s intricate design, making coloured patterns play across the painting of Respite above it. Dice made his way over to it slowly. He was watching the play of the light when he heard the light footfall in the hall. His weight shifted and his hand slid beneath his coat, grasping the pistol hidden in there.

A floorboard creaked and Dice spun. His gun flew from its holster, aimed at the other intruder’s heart. It was a woman, and she stood frozen, a mixture of irritation and shock on her face. She had raised her hands, yet she seemed calm about having a gun pointed at her.

“I’m getting clumsy.” She gave a rueful smile. “I didn’t expect the floorboard to give me away.”

Dice relaxed slightly. Only slightly. “Elise.”

There was something of a family resemblance. Their hair was the same thick shade of black, and there was something akin in the set of the eyes, but that could have just been their shared experiences of the Academy. She was shorter than him, barely up to his shoulder. Dice’s vague recollections of their mother told him that she had been short as well.

“What are you doing here?” Dice lowered his pistol, but did not holster it. Anger had swelled in him at seeing her. She had no place here in his investigation and she would only confuse matters inside his head.

“I’m here to see you. I knew you’d want to check out Respite’s house. Your suspicions concerning him are right. He’s involved in these killings up to his eyeballs. He may not be the one ordering it all done, but he knows more than he told you.” She looked at him from beneath the long fringe of her hair. “How much do you suspect?”

“That the killer is from the Academy – or Academy trained at least. Whoever it is, they’ve shown too much talent to have gotten this far on sheer luck. They are a professional, probably a woman, given the depths of the cuts on the victims.”

Elise’s eyes lit up. “Did you tell Respite that?”

Dice shook his head. “No. I didn’t want to tell him all of my suspicions, and he wasn’t in a very sharing mood anyway. Why give him information when I wasn’t going to receive any in return?”

“You’re on the right track. The Academy is involved – in an oblique way.”

He looked at her quizzically.

“Do you remember anyone arriving at the Academy?” She didn’t give him time to answer. “Of course you don’t, because most initiates are given to the Academy at birth. We were exceptions. We were only allowed entrance because of who our parents were. Who they had been.”

Dice ran his hand through his short hair. “So?”

“There’s a reason initiates aren’t accepted any older, Dice. They can’t be trained as well. They have to be brainwashed into believing the lies the commissars tell them. We survived by…” She paused, a shadow crossing her face. “You know how we survived. But imagine if another person, one not as strong as us who gets put in that environment.”

Images flashed in Dice’s head. The beatings, the arduous physical exercises, tall men leaning over him, hatred in their eyes and a knife at his throat, it all came in a moment and was gone again.

Elise was watching him. “I see you remember, then.” Dice knew nothing had shown on his face of what he was thinking. She must be getting better at reading his body language. It came from seeing her too often. After this investigation he might go off-world, so he didn’t see her as much. She was a distraction he did not need.

“Men like Ares and Shelter, vicious creatures in human form, made worse by being born that way – they were the ones to train us.”

Dice frowned. He knew she did not like the Council, but it was unlike her to be so vehement.

“She’s had training, just like us. She’s suffered, just like us.” Softer, she added, “Just like you.”

Dice grimaced. His suffering had ended the day he had abandoned the Academy’s mission and fled. He’d returned eventually, but it had been on his terms, not theirs. “I don’t care what training she has had. I have to take her down.”

“Why are you hunting this girl, Dice? Because they told you to? Because I asked you to try to understand?”

Dice shook his head. “I’m doing it because it is right. The girl is a murderer, Elise, no matter how you feel about her victims.”

“She’s not unlike us, you know. They trained her. They made her into what she is. Perhaps she felt some revenge was in order. She knew who to blame, after all.”

“I don’t care what was done to her. We survived the hell they gave us and we had no choice in being there.”

Elise laid a gentle hand on his arm. “There’s always a choice, brother.”

Dice lifted his pistol. “And I choose this.”

“Typical of you. Always solving a problem with a gun.”

He scowled. “I do what has to be done.”

“Ever think that others see it that way too?” Elise tilted her head to one side, watching him.

“There are certain ways of doing things. Murdering Councillors is not the way of progress.”

“Perhaps it is if it’s the your only option, if you feel so trapped, so beaten by your life that the only way to escape is to strike back so hard that you will never be hurt again. Even if by striking back it leads to your death.”

Dice lowered his gun. “You feel trapped?”

Elise’s mouth quirked in a quick smile. “Perhaps. But I was thinking more of your target.”

“What do you know about her?”

“I know who she is. I know what was done to her. I know why she’s killing.” She reached into her jacket pocket and produced a single holo-disk.

Dice watched the disk with interest. “So why not do something about it? Or at least tell me something I can use.”

“I’d rather show you.” She told him. “Have you got a disk-viewer with you?”

He nodded, pulling the steel cylinder out of his pocket. She tossed him the holo-disk. He caught it and slid it into the viewer. An image sprang up of Respite smiling, sitting in a chair next to a young girl. Dice thought the child could not have been more than four years old. The girl’s face was calm, no expression discernible as she gazed blankly out of the hologram.

“Who is she?” Dice asked, still watching the image.

“Respite’s daughter.”

Dice turned to his sister. “Respite doesn’t have a daughter. I mean, he did, but she died before she reached this age.”

Elise folded her arms across her chest. “Did Quirrala tell you that? He did well to find even that, but it can be found in the public records if you look closely enough. Respite’s daughter did not die with her mother. Respite expunged all mention of his daughter after he gave her up.”

“Gave her up?”

“He gave her to them, to use and train how they wished. They did whatever they desired to their ‘pet’.” Elise’s face twisted with distaste at the word.

“Who is ‘they’?” Dice ejected the holo-disk and handed it back to her.

“Shelter. Stern. The others. Respite gave her to them. They tried to force the knowledge we got taught at the Academy into her head, using any methods they liked. They owned her. You read Ares’ file. Can you imagine a man like that with a child, a little girl?” Elise shuddered. Dice was inclined to agree. Ares may have been an excellent general, but he had been a monster. His forces had been accused of more rapes than any other two companies combined.

“Her whole world was ripped apart, Dice. Her mother died as she watched, and her father turned her over to men who warped her mind with drugs and techniques for killing.”

“But why? For what purpose?” Dice felt a chill run down his back at the thought of what Respite had willing handed his daughter into.

“I’d have thought it would be obvious. To make her like us – like you.” Elise clasped her arms. “You are the Academy’s pride and joy, Dice, and also its greatest failure. You work for them, but there’s always the chance that one day you’ll go your own way. Except you don’t seem to see that as an option.” She bit off each word, her anger glowing in her eyes. “But can you imagine what an operative without your ‘flaws’ would be like? – and as an added advantage, her handler would be her father, tying her to them even closer.”

She paused for a moment, letting her anger at him fade. Dice stared at her, his own feelings bubbling beneath the surface. “But it did not work.” Elise continued. “The girl was broken by what they did to her. Once they realised that, they cast her aside, like a bored child with an old toy. Her own father abandoned her. So she fought back.”

Dice growled. “Which is where I come in. She murdered people, Elise.”

She shook her head. “They drove all sanity from her. She doesn’t understand right from wrong.”

“All the more reason for her to be put down.”

Anger flashed in her eyes again as she retorted. “That’s you. Always content to be their dog. You’re nothing but their tool, Dice. Someday, they’ll see you as a threat and they’ll have someone hunting you like you are hunting this girl. Maybe then you’ll understand what I mean.”

“They’ve hunted me before. I survived then.”

“You made a deal with them. You gave up what you’d won and came back on your belly.”

Rage flared in Dice like flame surging in his limbs. In a swift movement he swept an arm out, striking the glass urn atop the mantle. The urn flew across the room to smash against the wall, glass shards shattering across the red carpet.

“Go.” He told her. “Get the hell out. I’ll deal with this my way.”

She stared at him for a moment. She’d flinched when the urn had hit the wall, but now her expression was blank. Her eyes searched his, trying to convey something. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but instead turned away without a word. Dice watched her walk out of the room. A few seconds later he heard the door in the hall close. She was gone.

Dice stood there for a long time, breathing deeply. He was searching for calm, but was finding it difficult to achieve. No matter what he did, Elise’s words kept coming back to him. Scowling, he reached for his niccasticks. As he did so, a shrill cry reverberated through the house. Dice froze and it sounded again, filled with anguish and hatred. Dice stepped slowly away from the mantle. The noise was echoing all around him. Looking into the hall, he saw a slight depression in the carpet. He realised that it was exactly where Elise would have been standing when first heard her. Dragging back the heavy carpet revealed a steel trapdoor set in the floor. It was locked, but that proved no problem for Dice. He heaved the door open. There was another cry, louder this time now the door was open. As Dice’s eyes grew accustomed to the darkness revealed, he began to perceive a set of steps leading down into a cellar. Somewhere down there was whatever – whoever- was making that noise. Dice could hear falling water as well. And beyond that there was harsh, rasping breathing. The light from the hall illuminated little in the cellar. The darkness awaited him.

Dice padded down the stairs, timing each footfall with the dripping of water echoing through the cellar. There was little light to guide him, just a small ray of pale sunlight filtering through a tiny window. The rafters above creaked and dust drifted down around him.

Above the dripping, Dice could hear a constant murmur, broken only by quiet whimpers. Dice reached beneath his coat for his pistol as his feet touched the cellar floor. He eased it from his holster, his feet treading softly around the dark pools of water that covered the floor. The echoes in the cellar made it difficult to hear clearly but Dice could understand a few words of the murmur.

“… light is bad. Papa says light is bad. It will hurt your eyes. It will burn them, burn them all up. Don’t go near the light, dearie.”

Dice looked around, trying to find the source of the voice. The corners of the cellar were hidden in shadow. Dice was not even sure how big the cellar was. He froze, hand gripping his pistol, eyes quickly surveying the shadows.

From the wan darkness beneath the window came the sound of metal grating on stone. Dice’s head swivelled, eyes straining to penetrate the darkness. The noise was soft, not the harsh squeal of an uncontrolled blade on rock, but a gentle whisk-whisk of a knife’s edge being honed. Soon, the murmur could be heard again.

“Make it sharp, dearie, make it strong. Make it pointy to slide into the bad men’s guts so they go squish. Hurt the bad men how they hurt you. Papa said hurting is bad, only bad people hurt each other. But they hurt me first, Papa, they are bad men. Papa knows. Papa said so…”

Dice had begun to creep closer, careful not disturb the cellar’s occupant. From her words, it seemed that he had found the girl – Respite’s daughter. Respite would probably prefer if Dice finished the investigation here, the assassin’s pistol ending the girl’s murderous impulses forever. Something still nagged at Dice. Something Elise had said. He couldn’t quite put his finger on exactly what she had said to make him doubt, but it gnawed at his certainty, worming its way into his actions.

The voice stopped abruptly. Dice tensed, certain he had been seen. He was but metres from the window, and as he stood, his eyes grew accustomed to the gloom. Shapes began to become definite. Shades of grey in the darkness became visible. And Dice could see movement in the darkest spot beneath the window.

The girl was clad in rags, Dice could now see. She wore pieces of cloth and blanket, torn from the source and tied together to become some form of covering. They were tattered and filthy, covered in the detritus of the gutters. All colours had faded to something of a purplish-grey. The rags helped the girl blend into the shadows. Dice doubted he would have seen had she not moved. It was almost the perfect camouflage for this environment.

Suddenly, the girl looked up, eyes shining in the darkness. She looked straight at Dice, her gaze locking with his. He pupils had expanded greatly, straining to pick up any trace of light, and Dice could see an image of himself reflected there. The girl began pushing herself back until she was up against the wall, hands clawing at the cement. Dice could see furrows in the wall where she had done this before.
“Papa, no!” The girl shrieked at Dice. He muttered an obscenity. “I’m not being bad, Papa! Please no! I’ll be good, I promise. You told me to, to be good. I was good, Papa!” Her words trailed off into snuffling whimpers. Her fingers still scratched at the wall, despite blood seeping from beneath her nails. If she still muttered to herself, Dice could not understand her.

Dice reached out with his free hand. “Easy, girl. I’m not your father.”

A loud whimper. “Not Papa?”

Dice holstered his pistol and stepped forward, offering both hands to her. “I have to take you out of here. To see your father.” He didn’t know why he had said that. He felt no compunction about lying to get her to do what was needed, but the words seemed to have come from nowhere. He took another step, leaning down towards her.

He’d forgotten about her knife. In one fluid move, almost too fast for him to register, her hand snaked from beneath her rags, the blade flashing in the dim light. As it did, her legs shot out, twisting around his, pinning him. He barely had time to twist his torso before the blade punched through his layers of clothing, slipping into the side of his chest. He grunted as pain blossomed in his ribs. It was a clean thrust, just below the armpit. The girl disentangled their legs and Dice toppled, one hand clutching his side.

“Papa sent bad men!” The girl shrieked, standing over Dice, her blade dripping with his blood. “Bad men hurt men! Papa made them hurt me. I hurt the bad men when Papa said. Papa is a bad man for making them hurt me, making me hurt them. Papa needs to be hurt…” She trailed off into whimpers again, eyes darting from Dice to the knife and back. She was gnawing at her lower lip and Dice could see dark blood blossom on her chin. “Papa is bad. Papa gets hurt.” This was not a whimper but a plain statement. Any anger was gone from the girl’s voice. She spat on Dice, a thick mixture of saliva and blood. He groaned, trying to ignore the pain and how slick his fingers were beginning to feel. He knew how many arteries were in the chest. If one had been severed, he stood little chance, no matter how soon Elise arrived.

The girl faded back into the shadows, but Dice could still hear her muttering to herself. He could track her movement by her disjointed rambling, until her footsteps on the stairs were clear. She was leaving.

Dice pulled himself up on one elbow, the muscles in his arm shaking. They felt like water and he feared to put too much weight on his arm in case it collapsed beneath him. Gingerly, he removed his trembling hand from his side. There was a deep red on it, but not as much as he was expecting. His vision had narrowed, but was not darkening. He tentatively felt at the cut, wincing as his cold fingers made it sting. He found it was relatively shallow, although blood was flowing freely. His thick coat and shirt must have stopped most of the blade. If it was the short knife the girl used on the Councillors, it couldn’t have penetrated him very deeply. Still, he put his hand beneath his coat and clamped it over the wound. His shirt was sticking to his chest. He might not be bleeding to death, but that was no reason not to be cautious. He coughed, his chest burning with each convulsion. If he could get out of the cellar, then he could go after the girl. Her final statement had filled Dice with a sense of urgency. She stalked yet another victim.

Grudgingly, his every action bringing pain, Dice pulled himself up. There was no doubt who the next person on the girl’s hit list was: Respite. And she knew where he would be. After all, he was her father.

* * * *

Dice lurched down the street. He had made it this far, to stand in front of the Compound. No guards stood outside. Clasping his hand to his side, Dice stepped inside.

The polished marble of the foyer was spattered with blood. The two security guards that had been there earlier were slumped in various corners. Dice grimaced as he realised one was still alive, although bleeding heavily. The man’s hand twitched convulsively, and Dice could see the massive knife wound in the guard’s back. Bullet holes scattered around the foyer showed how futile their opposition to the girl had been. Dice stumbled over to the elevator and pushed the button for Respite’s floor.

As soon as the doors opened, Dice could hear the anguished cries from down the hall. He staggered a few steps. He overbalanced and crashed into a wall. Thunder rolled, muffling the sound. Dice pushed himself off the wall with a grunt. The wound in his chest pulled open and a fresh wave of pain washed against him. He pressed his hand over the wound again, hoping to stem the flow of blood.

A tormented scream echoed down the deserted hallway, followed closely by a peal of thunder that made the windows rattle. Dice continued on, left arm swinging like a pendulum, hand gripping his pistol. Ahead, he could see that Respite’s door was ajar. There were deep gouges in the metal, long silver streaks in the paint. The girl was here.

He pushed open the door to reveal a tableau of fear. Respite sat at his desk, frozen in his chair, while the girl squatted on the tabletop, looming over the captive. She held his head back with one hand and Dice could see blood already trickling down Respite’s face. As Dice entered, the girl was slowly bringing the knife closer to Respite’s left eye. She was muttering.

“Take away your light, like mine went away. Light all gone!”

At the sound of the door swinging open, the girl started, half turning towards Dice. Her blade flicked upwards as she did, slicing open Respite’s eyebrow. Respite gasped in agony, his head jerking back from the knife.

Dice raised his pistol, the muzzle wavering as his arm struggled to lift it. With a shriek, the girl leapt from the desk, springing behind Respite, putting the Councillor between Dice and herself. Her knife flashed in the dim light and the point was pressed into Respite’s throat, just below the jaw. It was not drawing blood yet, but one thrust would be enough. She knew the most vital points. It would have been in her training.

There was another rumble of thunder. The girl’s breathing was coming in shrill gasps. Respite’s eyes were wide, darting from side to side.

“Killed you! Stabbed you dead!” The girl shrieked at Dice. “Dead man walking!”

“I warned you about her, Dice. I told you she was dangerous.” Respite rasped, trying not to breathe deeply.

“You didn’t mention she was your daughter, Councillor.” Dice took a step forward. He steadied his pistol with both hands, feeling his side ache as the motion pulled the wound open. The gun wavered slightly, the muzzle slipping from pointing at the girl to Respite and back again.

The girl made good use of cover. Her head was barely visible behind Respite’s, and her only exposed limb was the hand holding the knife at Respite’s neck. Even a clean shot would leave her free to slice Respite’s throat open.

“Damn it, Dice! You were supposed to deal with this, not bring it into my office!” Respite’s anger overcame his fear. “How incompetent are you?”

Dice growled, voice menacing. “You trained her, Respite. You call her off so I can finish this.”

Respite’s eyes widened slightly. “You know that? Then you know I took no part in the training. I just supplied her to them. I can’t call her off! I didn’t have control!”

Dice almost spat. “You made this situation, Respite. You stood by and left those men to torture your daughter. They turned her into the creature behind you, with their abuse, their drilling into her brain but you authorised it. In your filthy curiosity to see if it could be done again, you turned her over to psychopaths, rapists and murderers. And then you are shocked to learn the beast you helped create – your own flesh and blood – resents the brutal moulding you put it through.”

The girl whimpered, the knife trembling. A thin line of red trickled down the side of Respite’s neck. His expression focussed and he moved swiftly. Pushing back from the desk, Respite slammed the girl into the window, using his body to crush her against it. The girl shrieked and dropped the knife. Respite stepped forward and the girl sank to the ground. The Councillor gave a kick to her ribs and she curled into a ball, whimpering.

“Was… was I bad, Papa?” The girl moaned, hands clutched to her chest. “I’m sorry I was bad. I’ll be good, don’t punish me more. I’ll be good.”

Respite spat on the floor and stepped back, turning to face Dice. “She was always weak, just like her mother. You can’t have a weak wife in my position, and with her out of the way, I could make our daughter strong.” He wiped the trickle of blood from his neck. Dice watched the two figures warily, gun still raised.

“I thought we had failed. You were right; we were trying to replicate the training that made you what you were. But Sophia there did not seem to prove strong enough. This whole time I thought we’d failed, but now I see it was our goal that was flawed.” Dice said nothing. His eyes coldly watched Respite, his gun trained on the girl. Respite smiled grimly.

“You couldn’t even finish this wretch. Do it now.” The girl at the Councillor’s feet whimpered. Dice thought he heard the word ‘Papa’. Dice hesitated, gaze moving to the girl – Sophia.

“I said kill her, Dice!” Sophia’s eyes opened in disbelief at Respite’s words. With a wordless cry of loss and rage, she scooped up her knife and drove it into Respite’s belly. Thunder crashed as Respite slowly reached down and gripped Sophia’s wrist. The girl pulled herself up, twisting the knife inside Respite. He gasped, blood seeping into his shirt. His eyes sought Dice’s face, pleading. Dice’s finger brushed the trigger of his pistol but did not pull.

Grunting with effort, Sophia dragged the knife upwards into Respite’s rib cage. The Councillor opened his mouth in pain and dark blood gushed out. Again Sophia twisted the blade, eyes glowing eagerly. More blood bubbled from Respite’s lips and he slid lifeless from the blade. He collapsed, limp, on the floor, his daughter watching as his blood dripped from her knife.

“Free.” Sophia whispered the word, turning from her dead father to Dice. There was a smile on her lips, delight in her eyes.

Dice squeezed the trigger; once, twice, thrice. Sophia’s body jerked as each bullet punched through her. A spray of blood spattered onto the window behind her as the first few drops of rain began to fall outside. Red blossomed in her rags, seeping down over her. Sophia looked down, eyes unseeing. “It… hurts. Make it stop, Papa.” She took a faltering step, fingers dropping the bloody knife. Her chest quivered as it was wracked by a sob. “Cold… I don’t want to…” she murmured once, then fell, her eyes staring up at Dice, a thin trickle of blood seeping from her lips.

Dice dropped his pistol. His fingers felt numb. Clutching his side, he leaned back against a wall and slid down until he was sitting. The floor by the desk was overwhelmed with blood; Sophia’s crimson mixing with the darker red of Respite’s. Across from him, he could see an image of himself in the blood-flecked window. The rain was pouring down the glass, a vertical river trickling down. His image seemed to be melting and wavering as he watched. Staring at the window, refusing to lower his eyes to the carnage near the desk, Dice reached across his body to fumble in his coat pocket. His left arm did not seem to want to work any more. He retrieved a niccastick and the ignition cube. He raised the niccastick to his mouth and slipped it between his lips. It dangled there as he tried to get the cube to light.

A hand reached down and took the cube from him. The cube flared and the hand pressed it to the niccastick. Dice drew in a breath of burning air, feeling alive again.

“Those things will kill you, you know.”

Dice looked up, removing the niccastick from his mouth. Scar stood beside him, face crinkled in concern.

“How?” He asked.

“Elise told me what happened at Respite’s house. Then the alarm here was triggered. I’m sorry we took so long.”

Dice looked past the commissar and saw security officers moving into the office. Then Scar was reaching down and picking Dice up, helping the younger man stand. Dice leaned on the commissar, the older man completely supporting Dice’s weight. As soon as they were outside, Dice pushed away from Scar to lean against a wall.

“You did well, Dice.” Scar told him. “Your father would have been proud.”

Dice stared at him, his eyes empty of all feeling. “Would he? If he had seen this? I think not, Scar.”

With those words, the doubts that had been plaguing Dice since he had spoken to Elise came flooding in. They filled him, flowing in just as his blood was flowing out of his side. They overwhelmed the emptiness that had taken hold when he had shot Sophia and now echoed in his head, repeating themselves over and over.
How long would it be before he chose to take justice into his own hands, punish those he felt were guilty? He had nearly done so today, letting the girl take her vengeance. In the end, justice had been served, in more ways than one, but it was not up to Dice to decide that. He was, and always had been an instrument, not an arbiter. What right did he have to judge who was guilty and who was not? How long before he took that step and what would happen when he did? Would the Council have him hunted down like an animal? With an effort, he drove them back, pushed them into a corner of his soul. They were still there, but muted.

Feeling dazed, Dice reached into his coat with his blood-soaked hand and withdrew the oval communicator.

“Scar, can I have a moment?”

The commissar nodded and stepped back inside the office.

Dice looked at the communicator. He punched in the numbers

[Marc t'Estebar]

GAH! I have 300 words left of this. It's my thesis draft and I don't know how to join it all up with only that many words.

What can be taken out, folks? What REALLY needs there to be more of?

[Jalie]

Well, I'll try and answer your questions, although what I say is only a poor suggestion and I don't feign to believe it could make YOUR story "better." "Reflections" is more dark and violent than what I usually read, but I enjoyed it. Dice, Quirrala, and Elise were particularly refreshing and appealing. I sensed in this your like for the story of "Serenity," but the influence wasn't strong enough to sound trite. To be honest, I found myself thinking more of the movie "Blade Runner" (taken from Philip K. Dick's "Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep") than "Serenity."

What can be taken out? I'd say the quote at the beginning. IMO the story is powerful enough that you don't need it. The quote, while serving to set up the story's theme, is the only "preachy"-feeling part of the entire work. Honestly, I jumped right past it to start into the real fiction, and it was only after I finished reading that I went back to read the quote.

What should be added? I'd say you need one more short scene in between Dice's encounter with Respite's daughter and the climax (in Respite's office?). Offhand, I'd say it would involve Dice finding-out/figuring-out/realizing/understanding/KNOWING that the girl is gunning for her father, so he knows where to go next to track his quarry.

As far as joining it all up, I think the way you have it is very, very close to what I would want. How about changing the structure of the last few paragraphs just a little. Like this:

Dice dropped his pistol. His fingers felt numb. Clutching his side, he leaned back against a wall and slid down until he was sitting. The floor by the desk was overwhelmed with blood; Sophia’s crimson mixing with the darker red of Respite’s. [Insert Dice seeing his own reflection in the floor-length window above and behind the dead bodies.]

How long would it be before he chose to take justice into his own hands, punish those he felt were guilty? He had nearly done so today [take out "today"], letting the girl take her vengeance. In the end, justice had been served, in more ways than one, but it was not up to Dice to decide that. He was, and always had been an instrument, not an arbiter. What right did he have to judge who was guilty and who was not? How long before he took that step, and what would happen when he did? [I edited that a bit.] Would the Council have him hunted down like an animal?

Dice [painfully, haunted, etc.] picked up the [his] communicator. [Still watching his reflection,] he punched in the numbers and waited for the person at the other end to answer.

“Elise? It’s me.”

For what it's worth, there are my two bits. Good luck!

[Marc t'Estebar]

Hmmm.... turns out I have 700 words to go, not 300. I can breathe again. Never do a word count at 3am.

Thanks, Jalie! Blade Runner is meant to be a big influence, as another part of my thesis talks about what I drew on to develop this part, so if the Blader Runner-esque parts are clear, yay!

The quote is a fun little gimmick. It's a quote from Dice's father, so I'd really like to keep it in. I need to refer to Dice's dad a lot more, or at least make it clear who he is.

[Marc t'Estebar]

Ok, I've edited the first post, so it is now the final copy of the draft. Dear God, my head aches.

Responses, people. How does it looks from an academic view? An entertainment view? Can you see what else I drew on? Is it a total write-off?

[Jalie]

"Academically," I wouldn't feel qualified to speak about anything other than grammar unless I had access to the objectives and requirements. Grammatically, you might go through just to make sure you have Returns and Double-Returns where you want them, because that changes when it is printed out, and so forth--I ALWAYS print out a hard copy and read it aloud to myself before I submit a finished draft to my editors.

I'm sure you thought of all of that, however...

"Entertainment-ly," I enjoyed it. The added references to Dice's father make the quote more important, although I would still probably gloss over it and get to the "meat," just because I tend to do that.

"What else you drew on?" Well, it has elements of a LOT of the Philip K. Dick that I've read, and "Serenity" obviously. Actually the "Blade-Runner" still stands out in my mind, but not enough that I ever felt it was even close to a rip-off.

If by "total write-off" you mean "finished," well, I plead ignorance. Are YOU proud of it? Is it better than you thought you could do? That might be a way to judge. I, for one (or four, now... ) like the changes you've made, and I think it's great!