Here Be Dragons: A collection of short stories by Hoyt Sarah A

Author:Hoyt, Sarah A. [Hoyt, Sarah A.]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Tags: romance, science fiction, vampires, fantasy
Publisher: Goldport Press
Published: 2015-05-21T04:00:00+00:00

Around the Bend

WHEN THE DOOR EXPLODED, he landed on top of me, taking me down with him, covering me with his body. He was too large, and smelled of sweat and alcohol. I had a vague impression of a muscled male, of red hair, of fast breathing, of controlled strength. Then I realized he was taking his weight on his elbows, as the heat wave shot over us, followed by a gentle rain of ceramite fragments. He whispered, “steady, steady.” I registered that he had a burner out and was pointing it in the direction of the exploding door.

It was a large burner, and he looked like he knew how to use it. And I realized that a lifetime of longing for adventure doesn’t prepare you to face it. I wiggled to get out from under the stranger and had just started to say, “Please—” the first part of a civil plea to be let go, when my mind added up what I’d just seen.

The door of The Babel had burst inward, a flowering of fire and noise and explosive force. There had been a sound with it, a boom and a roar. People around me screamed and dived for cover. And the large, muscular male body over me protected me from a shower of burning ceramite fragments and a pattering of pieces of door and wall and tables.

I took short breaths and coughed from the acrid smoke. To my right, someone sobbed. Before this, the most exciting thing that had happened at The Babel, a hangout for translators attached to the diplomatic corps in Peace III, was the time the automatic drink dispensers on the tables had shot mineral water clear to the ceiling.

There came sounds from the door, and screams from the patrons hiding under tables or crouching by the wall. Several men in black dimatough suits strode in.

I counted four of them, with maybe the shadow of a fifth one behind them, which was surely overkill. Dimatough battle suits, covering head to toe, are made of small scales of impenetrable material joined together so that they’re flexible but impregnable. You can’t kill a man in a dimatough suit unless you’re very good or very lucky. The suits are also so expensive that the only people able to afford them are potentates and millionaires, and, of course, Earth’s diplomatic guards.

None of these should have any interest in The Babel, and if they did, they should know they didn’t need armored suits to face translators, right?

I didn’t think all this very coherently. It came in a jumble of surprise and shock, and then the men were saying, “Come forward with your hands in full view. We apologize for the inconvenience. If you have done nothing, rest assured you have nothing to fear.”

The man atop of me said a word. It sounded like Valhallian, and not the sort of thing they teach in school. Then he bent down and whispered in my ear. “I’m going to get out the back,” and rolled off me.

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