Page 14 of On A Rift's Edge
Kat wasn’tsure if he had helped a trapped Riftworld creature escape or had committed a felony by stealing an outrageously expensive art exhibit. Either way, he had no choice but to take the e-trolley out of downtown with the trash scorpion tagging along. The only people he could call who might be able to help him with the fugitive Riftworld creature were Kaveh or Remi. Both were in the monstertown, and a rift storm powerful enough to wipe out cell and wireless contact had been over the town since last night.
Too bad that storm hadn’t hit during Remi’s disastrous very-much-live-stream.
The creature couldn’t be hidden from view on public transportation, of course, but after people immediately began asking him about the creature, Kat came up with the implausible explanation that the trash scorpion was an animatronic art piece.
Everyone fell for it.
The crowd on the trolley was fascinated by the Riftworld arthropod and even more so when it began accepting objects from the passengers and adding them to its shell.
Kat tried to feel guilty that he was tricking people, but everyone was having a good time, especially a lanky blond man with a killer body who pulled a thong out of his pants for the trash scorpion, then followed it up with a wink and an offer to trade contacts with Kat.
Thirty minutes later, Kat exited the trolley at the stop closest to the ranch and paused on the sidewalk, trying to decide what to do next. His smartwatch buzzed, and Paul Cicero’s contacts projected above his watch’s surface.
Ugh. He didn’t want to hear from the venture capitalist now or ever, actually. A creeping fear he had been found out swept over him, but he forced himself to calm down and read the message.
Great talking with you today. Are you free tomorrow night? Love to take you out for dinner—Paul
That was followed by a standard amount of contact sharing: personal email and phone information, links to staid, respectable social media accounts, and a few personal photos and short videos, none of which included dick pics.
Paul was hitting on him in the most boring way possible.
At least the venture capitalist wasn’t accusing him of stealing an exhibit from the art show he had sponsored. Kat glanced down at the exhibit in question. The trash scorpion had stacked even more items on top of his shell, increasing his height to Kat’s waist. So far, the creature had been content to follow him, exhibiting no signs of either aggression or a reluctance to add more trash to its current collection.
Kat moved under the shade of one of the many solar trees that dotted the sidewalks of Tucson. The structures generated energy with photovoltaic leaves and served as a lattice for drought-resistant vines that brought the current summer temperature down from searing to barely tolerable.
It was as good a place as any to call for help.
He decided to call Javier, since he, like Kat, was a wrangler at Moon Star Ranch and accustomed to Riftworld species. Javier’s sister and her wife lived with their Riftworld companion Flutterberry, an opinionated and talkative mothcat. If Javier didn’t mind a talking cat with wings, he should be cool with the trash scorpion.
After a few moments of his garbled retelling of the rescue/art theft conundrum, Javier started talking with someone else and was cut off abruptly as a new voice came on the line.
“Kat.” Lyall hadn’t called him kid, at least, but he sounded angry. “Turn on your visual location and put distance between yourself and the hostile.”
Kat switched to live holographic mode, baffled by the string of words Lyall had uttered. To make matters more confusing, Lyall was talking on Javier’s phone, so while a video of Kat standing on the street corner was being sent to Lyall, all he could see on his end was Javier’s default phone avatar, a repeating video clip of him chugging beer. “I’m not feeling hostile about you ignoring me for months, if that’s what you mean. I mean, yes, I was hoping you wanted to stay in touch, but if I did anything to upset you then I’m sorry.”
The beer-guzzling animation continued, with no further comment from Lyall. Kat wasn’t sure what to say. They hadn’t talked in months. Why had he jumped into a discussion of his feelings? He had promised himself he would be cool and distant if he and Lyall met again. Not an emotional mess asking his latest crush why they were rejecting him.
Flames roared in front of him, and a portal opened. Unlike the strange hybrid mini-rift in the monstertown, this one had the rocks and dripping lava of a typical hellhound earth mini-rift.
Lyall stepped out of the portal, wearing his living leathers and a ridiculous number of knives and other weapons Kat couldn’t begin to identify. Wings fluttered behind him, and Snow soared out of the portal, sparks flying off his feathers.
Several cars nearby screeched to a halt, and one pedestrian screamed.
A Riftworld portal opening on a busy street in Tucson, a hellhound assassin in combat gear, and the least well-behaved half-alien cockatoo in the monstertown—this was hardly the low-profile getaway Kat had hoped for. This day was getting worse by the minute.
Lyall ignored the tumult around him, scanning the surroundings before focusing his attention on the trash scorpion. “What the fuck is that doing here?”
“It was part of an art exhibit.” Kat glanced around. Groups of passersby had gathered, many trying to film them with their watch phones. This was a total disaster. “My sisters wanted me to meet a rich guy who sponsored the event, and I thought the trash scorpion was a sculpture, but then it followed me out and—could we please talk about this later?”
Long white swords shot out underneath both of Lyall’s wrists. He glared around at the people watching him, all of whom edged away. After furious beeping, the stopped cars resumed their driving, and the sidewalks around them emptied of people.
Lyall approached the trash scorpion, weapons drawn.
Oh no. Someone was bound to call the police, and Kat would be arrested for grand theft artwork or worse. Then his parents would find out.
The Riftworld creature scuttled forward to confront Lyall, the swaying pile of detritus on his shell featuring the commuter’s thong stretched between the clown-hat canape and an upright hairbrush. The crab-like creature paused in front of the hellhound, showing no sign of backing down.
“It likes junk.” Kat had to try to defuse this situation. “It’s not hostile or anything.” Too late, he realized how badly he had misunderstood what Lyall had been saying. The hellhound had been using the word hostile as a noun to describe the rift animal, and Kat had emoted all over the place. Ugh. “I had to take the trolley and pretend it was a robot toy, and everyone started giving him…” Kat waved his hands helplessly, his anxiety spiking so high that words failed him.
