LotS/The Story/The Prince & The Pixels

ZONE INTRO

"Get lost, kid!" the man in blue said. He jabbed his index finger into the boy's chest.

"Yeah!" his black-garbed associate added. "This is private property!"

"Oh?" the boy replied. He glanced at the sealed doorway behind them. "And what kind of property is it?"

"It's a secret ninj-"

"Pet store!" the blue one interjected. "A secret pet store!"

"It sounded like he was about to say nin-" the boy began.

"Nine-banded armadillo! That's right! We're a pet store that sells nine-banded armadillos."

"Can I buy one?"

"No. We told you -- it's a private pet store. Go away."

"Fine. But I want to know something first..."

"Yeah?"

"If you guys work in a pet store, why are you both wearing ninja costumes?"

Their eyes narrowed within the slits of their masks.

"Kid..." the black ninja snarled, "I'm going to give you one more chance to get lost. If you don't, I'll throw a shuriken at you!"

"Oh, sure..." The blue one sighed. "You always have to rub it in..."

"Hey, it's not my fault you failed the shuriken safety course and got stuck wearing that stupid blue uniform. Yeah, bright blue -- real stealthy!"

"Shut up!"

The two ninja glared at one another, until the boy's voice drew their eyes back to him.

"A man asked me a question this morning. I think he was a Secret Service agent or something, because he had sunglasses on."

"Makes sense." The blue ninja nodded.

"He asked me if I was a bad enough dude to save the president. You know what I said?"

"What?"

"I said yes."

The ninja tried to move out of the way. They weren't fast enough. When the boy leapt towards them, stuck one of his short legs out, and span around in the air -- swinging the extended limb like a helicopter's blade, they each took its full force to the jaw.

Telemachus landed, looked down at their sprawling blue and black bodies, and grunted.

"Ninja... Such losers. Most of them go down with one hit."

He stepped over them and pushed the door open, revealing a metal-paneled corridor... And a host of blue, black, and red ninja.

"I'm bad!" he yelled. He punched a boyish fist up into the air, as though beating that sentiment into the universe.

Then he charged towards the oncoming ninja. The president had to be in there somewhere, and Telemachus was going to save him!

"Where is he?"

"Ma'am, the palace is closed. If you had an appointment here, you'll have to-"

"Where's Telemachus? I need to see him!"

"His Highness Prince Telemachus," the guardsman said, emphasizing the title, "doesn't see uninvited visitors. You-"

"Cut the crap! I know he's hurt bad. Take me to him. Now."

"Ma'am, I don't know where you heard that, but the prince is perfectly-"

"I'm going to count to five. Then if you're still in my way, I'll shoot your legs out from under you. And the same goes for your friends there. One."

Bermund Pelar, the seneschal of Gallea's royal palace, heard the exchange as he came down the broad marble staircase. And though his years and manner of living had left him with a pleasantly plump physique to which athletic exertion was anathema, the desperate anger in the woman's voice caused him to run. He descended the remaining stairs with near-disastrous haste -- only avoiding a perhaps bone-cracking tumble thanks to a fortunate clutch at the bannister -- and dashed across the great hallway.

The scene at the doors justified his dangerous and unseemly swiftness.

Five guards stood in a row, their weapons raised -- like the firing squad at an execution, poised and awaiting the signal that would bring death. Five long barrels were trained on the woman standing at the entrance. As for her... Pelar's eyes fastened on the woman for what seemed like an age. There was something indescribably captivating about her as she stood there.

She wore a black jumpsuit, unzipped almost to the waist -- disclosing a top the color of pure snow beneath. That white within blackness, the ebon hue surrounded in turn by the brilliance of the sunlight that framed her in the doorway, made the tableau into a sumptuous painting. Even the pistols in her hands, steady and unshaking, only enhanced the artistry it evoked in the seneschal's mind. It had been years since he'd picked up a brush. Yet now, in spite of the gravity of the situation and the terrible events of which it was but the latest episode, part of him yearned to paint her. That conviction, absurd but insistent, became even more powerful when he dwelled on her face and the emotions which flowed and froze across it. Anger and determination were there, the warrior's unflinching willingness to bring destruction upon those who stood against her. But both were tempered by sorrow, anguish, frantic worry. Tears glimmered in the corners of her eyes, transforming her into a wrathful and mournful heroine, a goddess of war and sadness. It was a face worthy of a masterpiece, one that deserved to be immortalized.

Her eyes shifted, focusing on Pelar and meeting his -- assessing the new arrival and perhaps marking the seneschal as another target for her guns to deal with. The force of her gaze pierced his artistic reverie.

"You're Talia Ryx," Bermund Pelar said.

"Yes."

"I've seen pictures of the two of you together." He stepped forward and placed his hand on a guardsman's shoulder. "Stand down, sergeant. She's one of the prince's closest friends. I'll take her to see him."

The five rifles were lowered. Talia's pistols slipped back into their holsters. There was sympathy on the guardsmen's faces now, replacing the impassive rigidness of their profession. It only seemed to heighten her anxiety.

"Come with me," Pelar said.

The gunslinger darted to him and matched his stride as he made his way back across the hall.

"We didn't expect any of you to arrive so soon," the seneschal said.

"I was already in the system. Wu Tenchu sent us here to make an appearance at a charity thing on Calypso. The Dragons, I mean."

Bermund Pelar nodded, though the name 'Dragons' meant nothing to him.

"I was going to visit Tel afterwards," she continued. "Then I got Wu's message..."

The seneschal gave a small, awkward cough as they began to ascend the stairs.

"I... I trust that you..."

"I didn't tell anyone," she replied.

"Thank you. The people of Gallea have been through so much -- the Centurian invasion, the death of their king. I didn't want to cause them further grief. Not while we..."

"While you don't know if he'll make it?" There was a tremor in her voice.

Pelar could only nod.

"No one outside the palace knows," he said after a long moment of silence. "Except your prime minister and the people he told. I had to reach out to Wu Tenchu for help, and he asked permission to inform the prince's dearest friends."

From the hall at the top of the stairs, the seneschal led her down a long corridor. When they reached the door he paused for a moment, as though bracing himself. Then he pressed the button. It slid open to reveal Telemachus' bedroom. The chamber was large, and had once been elegant. But its original ambiance, the royal splendor it had been decorated to display, had long since been buried beneath holographic posters, images of the prince's mech, pictures of his companions, racks of assorted weapons, and a number of archaic videogame systems connected to modern screens via dubious tangles of cable.

The sight made Talia smile. But only for a moment. Then she stepped into the room, turned, and it slipped away -- unraveled by a soft intake of breath.

Telemachus was on the bed, eyes closed, face expressionless. His body was still, save for the rise and fall of his bare chest and the almost imperceptible fluttering behind his eyelids. An array of machines formed a semi-circle around the upper half of the bed, bristling with a plethora of holographic screens and images. Slender tubes ran from the devices to bands around his arms and forehead, to pads on his soft, boyish chest. Some pulsed with colored light, as though drawing arcane substances from his body or else pumping them into his flesh. Others were dull and lifeless, their deeds concealed beneath segmented metal or black plastic.

There the Prince of Gallea lay, a cybernetic spider in the middle of an electronic web.

Two people shared the machines' vigil around Telemachus' bed. The first was a girl, sat cross-legged on a chair, holding his right hand with her left. She was in her early teens from the look of her. Not much older than the boy. But the sheer concentration on her face, almost painful in its intensity, made her seem much older at first glance. Her eyes were closed, like his.

The second was a short man in a white and red medic's uniform. He was standing in front of one of the devices, his back to Talia and Bermund Pelar, examining the three-dimensional simulacra of organs it projected.

"I'm Yien, the palace physician," he said, without looking round.

The gunslinger sat down, pulling her chair close to the bed. She reached out, paused, and glanced at the seneschal. When he nodded, she grasped the prince's left hand in both of hers. Then she looked to the physician.

"How bad is he, doc?" Talia asked.

"He's as well as I can make him." Yien sighed, and turned away from the display -- revealing gaunt and haggard features. "But that doesn't mean anything. Not when we're dealing with a psychic attack. Arla here's doing more than I can."

Pelar knelt beside the girl and stroked her auburn curls, moving a lock of hair away from her face. He looked at Talia and gave a faint smile.

"My daughter," he said. "She was off-world when the Centurians attacked, training to use her powers for healing."

"Arla's psionic," Yien added. "We're lucky she was in the palace. I don't know of any other psychic healers left on Gallea."

"Can't she wake him up?" Talia asked.

"She doesn't have the strength. But as best as I can tell, she's keeping him stable. Even that's more than I expected from someone her age."

"It's why I went to Wu Tenchu," Pelar said. "I knew that he'd be able to help us. He said you and Jian Willy helped the Sian Empire make many psychic allies during the war. Men and women we could trust. Until they arrive, we can only wait -- and hope the prince's mind is strong enough to endure."

"You're too late!" the Scarlet Harlot laughed. "The president is mine!"

The red-skinned ninja leader stood on the helicopter's landing skid as the craft rose, shunning the safety and comfort of interior seating for the pleasure of taunting her young foe as he battled her dogs below.

Telemachus kicked one of the snarling canines aside, punched another square on the nose, and glared up at her. He couldn't let the Scarlet Harlot escape with the president!

"Yeah?" he shouted. "Too bad I've killed all your ninja! How're you going to carry out your evil schemes without them?"

The scandalously dressed villain gestured towards the pilot's window. The helicopter stopped climbing.

"I'll hire new ninja!" she said. "Better ones!"

"Good luck with that! There are plenty of other bosses out there snapping up wannabe ninja as fast as they can throw uniforms on them. And what about all the dogs?" He emphasized the point by dodging another set of snapping jaws and punting the creature across the hangar. "You'll have to get a whole bunch of new ones, and put up with your next base stinking of dog crap until they're housetrained! Face it -- you've got the president, but you're screwed!"

"You little bastard!" she shouted. Her eyes flashed like daggers. "I'll teach you to mess with me!"

The Scarlet Harlot reached into her bodice, pulled something out, and hurled it at him. But the little object landed wide. When it exploded in a small plume of flame, it only succeeded in singeing one of the dogs -- who ran off yelping.

"Great bomb!" The boy laughed. "Maybe if you didn't dress like such a slut you'd be able to carry bigger ones!"

"Take us lower!" the Scarlet Harlot screamed, making frantic gestures at the pilot. "Take us down so I can blow him up!"

The helicopter descended until it was only six feet from the ground. She pulled another bomb out of her bodice and took aim. From that distance she would have been able to hit him. But she never had the chance.

Telemachus jumped upwards, landed in front of her on the skid, and knocked the explosive out of her hand. The bomb landed on one of the dogs. Then bits of that dog landed on the others, sending the entire pack scurrying.

"You bosses fall for it every time!" Telemachus said. "You guys need to learn to quit while you're ahead!"

"And you need to learn to die!" the Scarlet Harlot hissed.

She lashed out with one of her black boots, aiming for the boy's head. He parried it aside with his forearm. The red-skinned woman howled as the momentum almost sent her off the skid, and grabbed for a firmer handhold.

An elderly face appeared at the helicopter's window, pressed up against the glass near Telemachus.

"Win one for the Gipper!" the president cried.

"Huh?" the boy asked.

"Never mind! Just kick that red bitch's ass!"

"Sure thing!"

The Scarlet Harlot crouched and kicked, trying to sweep his legs out from under him. He jumped, twisted in mid-air, and answered with a kick of his own. It caught her in the side of the face as she rose from the crouch. Her head thudded against the helicopter's reinforced window.

She groaned, and stared at Telemachus through dazed, groggy eyes.

"You're good..." she murmured.

"No," Telemachus replied. "I'm bad."

Another jump, another spinning kick. This one sent her tumbling off the skid. She hit the hangar floor headfirst.

"Better take her down, son," the president yelled inside the chopper, "if you know what's good for you!"

The pilot evidently did, because the helicopter descended until it touched down next to the Scarlet Harlot's corpse -- scattering the dogs who'd gathered round to lick up their former mistress' brains.

Telemachus pulled its door open.

"Nice work, kid," the president said. "But I don't suppose I've got much future in politics after this. The other side were already saying I was too soft on rampant ninja-related crime. They're going to have a field day with this. Oh, well. Hey, you want to go for a burger?"

"Make it a deep-fried pizza, Mr. President, and you've got a deal."