Chapter One - Fighter, Cat, Ranger

"For a short, fleeting moment, there was a real possibility that technology and weaponry would supplant the need for martial arts. The antithesis put an end to any such thought.

Humanity's foe can be defeated with fist and strike."

--Sensei Mo'Money, Opening to his best-selling 78 part Martial Guide to Alien Killing, 2038

***

"There's the cute little aliens I was looking for," I said. There were only three of them so far, which was actually an auspicious number... maybe? "Myalis, what does auspicious mean?"

It means something which will lead to success.

Yeah, this was real auspicious. "Model threes, Knight, take the one on the left, Crackshot, take righty," I said.

I was currently busy babysitting... no, that wasn't quite the right term. Crackshot was capable enough, and while I hadn't seen Knight at work, I trusted that she was at least minimally competent. I could probably leave and everything would work out just fine, so this was less babysitting and more coming along to make sure no one got overwhelmed.

The three of us were half-hidden by the shadow of a highway, the road leading up and through the entirety of Saint-Jérome from south to north. It was probably one of those sixteen-way roads, judging by how thick it was.

The majority of the buildings here were apartments. I imagined that a lot of people lived here and drove or rode a bus or something to work in New Montreal. Or something like that. I hadn't done a deep dive in the local demographics, but that made sense to me, and it matched up with the number of apartment complexes out here.

"Alright," Knight breathed out. She reached to her hip, gripped the sword there, then pulled it out without any fanfare to hold it out ahead of her with two hands.

I knew nothing about sword fighting, even if I carried one around with me. I did it for clout and because it was cool. Knight handled hers like she knew how to use it as more than a metal club.

"I like this," Crackshot said as he tipped his hat back. "Sharing, I mean. But, uh, won't we get a percentage cut of all of this anyways?"

"I don't know, actually," I said. "Does it matter?"

He shrugged. "Guess not. Sixty-percent of three-times ten is more than just a flat ten, ain't it?"

I frowned, trying to work the math out in my head. "Well, whatever, the result is still pretty small, no?"

Crackshot grinned, raised his old rifle up to his shoulder, then casually punched a hole through the head of the rightmost model three. The dog-like alien took two more steps towards us before the rest of its body realized that it was dead, and it flopped onto the ground, greenish blood geysering out of its stump.

I raised my Laser Pointer and took a couple of seconds to line up the sights on the middlemost mutt. A quick squeeze and then a tug to the side to correct my burst, and the dog was dead, two holes punched into its chest--and a third in the asphalt way off behind it, but that was no one's business.

Which left the last for Knight.

She seemed tense, even through all of that armour. That might've been having two people shooting past her, though. That'd make anyone tense, I figured.

I watched, ready to do something to help if she fucked up, but Knight just stomped towards the model three until the alien started running at her, claws clicking on the asphalt. It leapt, and Knight simply stepped to the side, then quick-as-anything, she lunged back, the point of her sword skewering the dog between two of those unevenly spaced black plates on its side.

She pulled the sword out, then while the model three was still reeling, brought it up, then swung it back down in a chop that left the dog headless.

"Nice work," I said. "You chip in something for those sword skills?"

"Huh?" she asked. "No? I did HEMA."

I leaned to the side, towards Crackshot. "What's her working in heating got to do with sword skills?" I asked.

He glanced at me. "That's H-VAC, or maybe HEPA," he said.

"Huh?"

Knight stared at me, and even through her mask I could tell she wasn't impressed. "HEMA is a broad school of martial arts. It's pretty popular. You learn how to kill things with swords and spears. There's a lot of training to fight antithesis, just in case."

"Oh, alright," I said. So she'd gotten sword training the hard way. Impressive. "I had lessons on fighting too."

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

"Really?" Knight asked. She looked at her sword, then casually swiped it clean along the alien's back. "What kind?"

"Brawling, mostly? Scuffling?"

Crackshot laughed. "Roughhousing for me," he said. "Oh, and I'm a black belt at drunken miss."

"You mean fist?" Knight asked.

"I know what I said," Crackshot replied with a grin.

I was just happy that we were getting along more or less well. Knight was surprisingly non-confrontational, all things considered. She could have been. Hell, I think she had every right to hate my guts.

I'd be pretty upset if I met the fuck that murdered my parents. Maybe not murderously so, probably, but it had been over a decade since it happened to me. I'd shot Knight's dad... was it three days ago? Yeah, that was probably a little fresh.

"Hey, Myalis," I muttered, low enough that the others couldn't hear.

Yes?

"Can you keep an eye on Knight? I don't want to be sworded in the back, if you know what I mean."

I know what you mean. I can try to draw up a psychological profile of Knight, if you wish? Without access to a few key information-gathering catalogues, it'll be rather superficial, based on what social media algorithms and private records have picked up about her, but it should be better than nothing. Or I could ask for Princess' own AI to assist.

"You can do that?" I asked.

It's somewhat strange, but I don't think it's too unusual. This situation, on the other hand, is rather unusual. It's only the third time that a Vanguard is confronted by another Vanguard whose parental figure they killed.

I shook my head. "Wait, this has happened three times? Anyway, yeah, do what you gotta. I want to trust her. She seems dependable enough, but I don't wanna be stabbed. It sounds painful."

One moment... from what I've been able to gather, Isabelle Dupont is a relatively level-headed and pragmatic young woman. She has a high level of empathy, specifically for her sister, and a good work ethic. I could pour over her interests and hobbies for you, but I don't believe that would be necessary.

"So, will she stab me or not?" I asked. I noticed Crackshot turn to look my way and clammed up. That might have been a bit louder than necessary.

As long as you don't threaten her sister, or act in a way unbefitting of a Vanguard, then you are unlikely to be stabbed... by Isabelle Dupont. I give even-odds of you being stabbed by something, eventually. You are very careless, Catherine.

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, yeah, okay fine."

We continued to walk, moving past the three model three corpses. I did notice that Knight casually stabbed the one I'd shot, as if making sure that it was really dead. It was a casual little display of violence that had my hackles rising, but it was also perfectly pragmatic. The alien I'd killed still had a head attached to its shoulder, so why not give it a poke?

"So, those three were scouts, yeah?" Crackshot asked. He was scanning the area ahead. "We're only a tenth of the way into the city. We'll be meeting more of them, won't we?"

"The outer wall only went down... last night? This morning?" I couldn't quite remember from the briefing, but it was relatively recent. "Antithesis are quick to build hives, but we're not going to find anything too intense in the city just yet."

"That sounds like you're trying to jinx us," Knight said.

"Nah. I don't believe in that kind of shit," I said. "I'm mostly talking from experience. Kinda. Bigger models take a while to pop up. We might find some, if the hive that hit the north end was bigger than predicted, but I'm expecting a pretty clean sweep of the city. Oh, look! More points!"

A pack of model threes was coming down the road, and I had a suspicion that the birds in the sky above were model ones. In the middle of the pack was a larger model.

It didn't really matter. Crackshot took that big one's leg out with a shot, then planted a couple more holes into it. I sprayed the rest of them down even as the pack started to really put on some speed.

Then they were almost on us, but being plant-brained morons, they focused on the nearest of us, Knight, and soon came to regret that as she started swinging that sword of hers.

Give us an hour or two, and I was sure we could clear out Saint-Jérome.

***