PREVIEW: The Marks
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The LOST GENRE GUILD
Biblical Speculative Fiction
| Aisha Moore's short story "The Marks" can be found in Light at the Edge of Darkness along with 26 other stories of Biblical speculative fiction.
Read more about the author, Aisha Moore |
It wasn’t about the money, though. She wanted the respect she deserved for being
the top hitman in time travel. She consistently nailed every mark. Yet, she still had to
watch out for the competition. Any one of them would sabotage her at the first
opportunity. This job would prove her worth.
Focus. Got to locate an entry, gain close access. Dressed in a simple light cloth tunic,
she carefully lowered her veil. With one sweeping motion, she deposited the small
electronic translator into her mouth and swallowed. The warm metal scraped against
her throat and lodged into her vocal chords. With a similar motion she dropped another
module into her ear, which instantly activated and burrowed itself into the canal.
Her partner Lonnie had outdone herself again. Her gadgets would allow Tressa to speak
and understand ancient Hebrew without anyone being the wiser. She could also
transmit back and forth with headquarters. She had not been allowed a weapon or
anything from the future that could significantly distort society. She would have to be
creative.
Returning the veil over her face, Tressa surveyed the land and focused on the burning
sun. Remarkable. It was younger, brighter and healthier than the expanded, misshapen
orange variety that she knew. Each breath of fresh air tasted like a gulp of cold bottled
water. Even without her usual caffeine inducements, Tressa was alert and energized.
Several others around her also made their way to the city. A merchant walked along a
flat wagon piled high with rugs and clothes and covered with sackcloth. A male servant
pulled at the cover, protecting the goods from the dust. Several shepherds and several
hundred sheep moved on her right, toward the side gate near the well. A long line of
men, shackled together and guarded by a group of men in turbans and colorful clothing
approached on her left. One guard eyed her curiously. She lowered her eyes. Just move
on, buddy. Leave me alone. The last thing she needed was attention.
Tressa easily passed through the gate, the guards barely acknowledging the presence of
a mere maidservant. She was in. She lightly tapped the outside of her ear, triggering
the earpiece. “Gained access,” she muttered, behind her veil. “Establishing cover
now.”
“Acknowledged Angel 7,” a faint voice responded. “Contact HQ when you’ve made
cover.”
Tressa tapped her ear and moved steadily through the streets. She inherited code
name Angel 7, because of her smooth technique and precision. But she wasn’t just a
hitter. No, she was a soldier at war. She fought for the right side. Death was a
consequence of war. The marks had chosen the wrong side.
the top hitman in time travel. She consistently nailed every mark. Yet, she still had to
watch out for the competition. Any one of them would sabotage her at the first
opportunity. This job would prove her worth.
Focus. Got to locate an entry, gain close access. Dressed in a simple light cloth tunic,
she carefully lowered her veil. With one sweeping motion, she deposited the small
electronic translator into her mouth and swallowed. The warm metal scraped against
her throat and lodged into her vocal chords. With a similar motion she dropped another
module into her ear, which instantly activated and burrowed itself into the canal.
Her partner Lonnie had outdone herself again. Her gadgets would allow Tressa to speak
and understand ancient Hebrew without anyone being the wiser. She could also
transmit back and forth with headquarters. She had not been allowed a weapon or
anything from the future that could significantly distort society. She would have to be
creative.
Returning the veil over her face, Tressa surveyed the land and focused on the burning
sun. Remarkable. It was younger, brighter and healthier than the expanded, misshapen
orange variety that she knew. Each breath of fresh air tasted like a gulp of cold bottled
water. Even without her usual caffeine inducements, Tressa was alert and energized.
Several others around her also made their way to the city. A merchant walked along a
flat wagon piled high with rugs and clothes and covered with sackcloth. A male servant
pulled at the cover, protecting the goods from the dust. Several shepherds and several
hundred sheep moved on her right, toward the side gate near the well. A long line of
men, shackled together and guarded by a group of men in turbans and colorful clothing
approached on her left. One guard eyed her curiously. She lowered her eyes. Just move
on, buddy. Leave me alone. The last thing she needed was attention.
Tressa easily passed through the gate, the guards barely acknowledging the presence of
a mere maidservant. She was in. She lightly tapped the outside of her ear, triggering
the earpiece. “Gained access,” she muttered, behind her veil. “Establishing cover
now.”
“Acknowledged Angel 7,” a faint voice responded. “Contact HQ when you’ve made
cover.”
Tressa tapped her ear and moved steadily through the streets. She inherited code
name Angel 7, because of her smooth technique and precision. But she wasn’t just a
hitter. No, she was a soldier at war. She fought for the right side. Death was a
consequence of war. The marks had chosen the wrong side.
The Lost Genre Guild's mission is to promote quality works of Biblical Speculative Fiction (spec-fic)
through its authors, fans; to endorse new releases that fit this criteria; and of course, to glorify Him.
through its authors, fans; to endorse new releases that fit this criteria; and of course, to glorify Him.
TRESSA TRUDGED THROUGH THE dry sand, head bowed to
protect her eyes. The city lay approximately one kilometre
ahead. Squinting, she could just make out the high city wall.
Brother identified the target and confirmed the mission. One
fourth of the money had been uploaded to her account, one
million more for each successful kill. Done neatly and
professionally, without changing the past in any recordable
way, doubled the bonus.
protect her eyes. The city lay approximately one kilometre
ahead. Squinting, she could just make out the high city wall.
Brother identified the target and confirmed the mission. One
fourth of the money had been uploaded to her account, one
million more for each successful kill. Done neatly and
professionally, without changing the past in any recordable
way, doubled the bonus.
