The Assassin (M/L CC YTEEN) complete

[greywolf]

Title: The Assassin - A short story in one posting
Rating: YTEEN
Category: M/L
Disclaimer: Roswell and the Characters in this story are not mine. Just Borrowing them.


The assassin moved silently over the rooftop, threading his way noiselessly beside the lounge and chair on the rooftop. Senses honed by years of training told him the target was within. He smiled as he used his powers to see through the wall, see his prey in the arms of the young girl on the bed. ‘An easy kill, and a quick return through the wormhole to Antar, and a rich reward from Kivar,’ he thought.

He didn’t fear the meager powers of the Zan-hybrid. He was himself an artificial life form, the product of a millennia of genetic engineering, unrivaled in mental power, unrivaled in stealth, unrivaled in lethality. He existed for one purpose only. He killed.

Had the Zan-hybrid been mature, had he practiced his powers for a few decades, had he been truly prepared for this encounter, it might have been sport. He might have abandoned the girl beside him on the bed, he might have fled to a position of his advantage. Had he done all these things he might buy himself a few minutes more of life, scarcely more. For the assassin was designed to resist the powers of the boy, designed to resist all such powers. The powerblast of the boy would find no effect against the assassin, his shield would be to no avail.

The assassin himself was artificial, built to kill and not to reproduce. But he understood what the two were doing, understood that when they were done, the boy would be tired, be even less alert, less able to defend himself from the power of the assassin. It was not from any empathy for the boy that he let him finish, no earthly code of “a condemned man getting his last request,” for empathy had not been engineered into his life form. It was a simple calculus. There was no urgency, the wormhole would not reopen for four hours, and a short delay would give the assassin further advantage, even greater than he already had. So he waited, not patiently, because he was not really built with that concept, but…deliberately, because it maximized his already huge advantage. His designers had built him that way.

When he moved he moved swiftly, the window pushed aside by a gentle nudge of the assassins mind. He flowed into the room and took brief pleasure at the terror of the two, one of the few emotions his designers had planned, to further motivate the assassin. The assassin liked to analyze, to learn from each encounter, to hone his skills for the next kill. His designers had built him that way.

As the assassin closed he analyzed the actions of the boy. He was foolish, this one. Had he tossed the girl at the assassin, he might have gained scant seconds, might have made the door or even the stairway. The hunt might have been drawn out, the assassins pleasure lengthened. But instead he charged the assassin, placing himself in front of the girl, his puny shield stretched farther trying to protect them both. A poor choice, the assassin thought analytically, dispassionately.

As the assassin’s powerblast hit him, the boy flew across the room, crashing against the wall. The boy was badly injured, although not irreparably, but the assassin understood the boys powers and his limitations. His designers had built him that way.

The assassin closed on the injured boy, knowing that he was now an easy kill, knowing that he would be dead long before he could use the golden light from his hand to heal his own wounds, dead long before his powers could gather enough even for a powerblast that would be to no avail. For the assassin did not fear the powerblast, he was impervious to it. His designers had built him that way.

As he gathered his power for the final blast, the blast that on this strange planet would be called the coup de grace, he knew the boy could not hurt him, knew that his job would soon be done. He had been more than equal to the task of killing the boy. His designers had built him that way.

Still, in a universe so broad and deep. even the best of designers couldn’t consider everything. And so when the wormhole opened on Antar in four hours, it would be empty.

In the end it was perhaps a matter of differences in culture, for the universe is indeed a place of great variety. Perhaps in all of Antar there existed no seventeen year old temptress that had once been a thirteen year old tomboy, and it was quite probable that there was not even a single 29 inch 20 ounce Louisville Slugger bat.

The end


When the Himalayan peasant meets the he-bear in his pride,
He shouts to scare the monster, who will often turn aside.
But the she-bear thus accosted rends the peasant tooth and nail,
For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.

When Nag the basking cobra hears the careless foot of man,
He will sometimes wriggle sideways and avoid it if he can,
But his mate makes no such motion where she camps beside the trail.
For the female of the species is more deadly than the male

But the Woman that God gave him, every fibre of her frame
Proves her launched for one sole issue, armed and engined for the same;
And to serve that single issue, lest the generations fail,
The female of the species must be deadlier than the male.

--Rudyard Kipling

http://www.dvmen.org/dv-117.htm.