“How long?” Silver Sablinova said, twin plumes of cigarette smoke escaping from her nostrils and curling about her head in the cool mountain air.

She was a tall woman, well-proportioned and athletic. Beneath the black fur coat, she wore a silver bodysuit and a similarly colored combat harness. A pistol was holstered along the swell of one hip, and a Symkarian-pattern combat knife rode opposite.

“How long did it take? Or how long since?” the wounded man said, clutching the gauze pad to his side. It was already stained through, and fat red drops glistened on the melting snow. He was wearing a dark suit, or had been before an explosion shredded it. Bandages covered his hands and his face, where shrapnel had ripped into his face.

“The latter, if you please,” the white-haired woman clarified, flicking cigarette ash into the wind. “The former doesn’t concern me overmuch.”

“Doesn’t-” the wounded man began. He half-rose, a groan on his lips. “He was the king!” he said, voice full of heat.

“And now he is dead, and someone else will be king,” Silver said harshly. “Unless we want to lose that one as well, I need to know how much time, Olger!”

Olger flopped back onto the ambulance tailgate, his head in his hands. “Thirty minutes, give or take five.” He looked up at her, his dark eyes glassy with pain. “There was a rockslide… it – it came out of nowhere. We had no warning – no chance to get back to the limo – then, it was just gone. Gone.” Tears spilled down his ruined cheeks. “Gone.”

“Damn.” Her eyes narrowed. The weeping man in front of her was forgotten as her mind spun into calculations. Thirty minutes was an eternity where assassinations were concerned. Especially when the victim was a king.

She looked at the gutted and burning limo, resting catty-corner on the narrow mountain road. The smell of cooked meat was as thick as ash on the air.

King Stefan of Symkaria was dead.

“Long live the King,” Silver Sable murmured.

Silver Sable in…

REX MUNDI

By Josh Reynolds

Symkaria was, by anyone’s standards, a small country. It was said that it was impossible for a gun to be fired at one border, without someone questioning the sound at the other.

Silver Sable intended to test that bit of folk wisdom. Heels clacking against the polished floor, she stalked towards the bevy of terrified politicians, bearing down on them like a hawk swooping on quail.

“Well?” she snapped.

“It’s bad,” Prime Minister Alphonse Gallatik said, falling into step beside her as the members of his cabinet scattered. “Rumors are flying fast. The other families-”

“Can wait their damn turn,” Sable said.

“But Stefan-”

“Isn’t dead until I say otherwise, understand?” Sable said, swinging around to look at him.

“But-”

“Understand?” Sable said softly. Gallatik nodded jerkily.

“What do you intend to do?”

“What I do best – improvise,” Sable said with a smile. She left Gallatik standing there, his face pensive, and marched out of the parliament building and towards the waiting limousine. The communications bead situated in her ear crackled as she slid into the limo.

Tapping her ear, she said, “Go.”

“Atmospheric weapon,” the voice in her ear said. “Something sub-orbital, but still high enough to hide.”

Sable cursed. “Latverian?”

“Too messy.”

“Russian?”

“Not messy enough. Is he really-”

“Yes,” Sable said. “Anna, I need specifics.”

“And I need a night off,” Anna Sablinova said. Sable’s youngest cousin had taken over as her head of operations after their Uncle Morty had finally acquiesced to a long, well-deserved retirement. Their working relationship still had its share of bugs, but Anna was fast proving that she was Morty’s equal or superior in the organizational arts.

“Anna,” Sable said chidingly.

Anna chuckled. “Ten minutes. I can re-route the SpyEyes we installed in those weather satellites the Transians bought off of us and sweep the upper atmosphere. If you give me fifteen, I can boot up those old V-Battalion SkySentries and start laying out a search grid…”

“Do it. I want an update in twenty minutes.”

“Aye-aye Cap’n. And you’ll be doing what while I’m doing this?”

“Keeping the government from falling to pieces,” Sable said. “Twenty minutes.” She leaned forward and knocked on the window separating her from the limo’s driver. “Lustau, Jon. The old SHIELD facility. You know it?”

There was no answer. Sable tensed. “Jon?”

The window slid aside and a pistol barrel emerged, a silencer screwed onto the end. Sable ducked to the side as the pistol gave a muffled bark. Twisting, she chopped the edge of her hand against the barrel, knocking it from its owner’s grip while simultaneously punching the mechanism to open the sun-roof. Before the driver could react she was up and through it and sliding down the back of the limo.

The door opened and the faux-driver swung himself out, pulling a second weapon from beneath his coat.

“In the name of Liberation and Unity!” he spat, then fired. Sable rolled into the street, pulling her own pistol. She went flat, pressing herself tight to the pavement as bullets zipped overhead and stuck her gunhand beneath the limo. She fired twice, one bullet for each ankle.

The gunman screamed and toppled into the street. Parliamentary guards were already hurrying towards the scene as Sable rose smoothly to her feet and stepped around the limo. Smoking pistol dangling from her hand, she looked down at the squirming would-be assassin. A thin whine of pain escaped from his lips and he rolled from side to side, clutching uselessly at his bloody legs.

“Liberty and unity, hmmm?” Sable sank to her haunches, pistol dangling across her knee. “That has a depressingly familiar ring to it.”

Grabbing the wounded man’s chin, she forced him to look at her. “Where is he?”

“N-no! Death before Nationalism!”

“Hnf. Fine. If you see him, however, be sure to pass this little tidbit on…” Sable leaned close. “Stefan survived your crass little attack.”

The man screamed and she rose, holstering her pistol. The guards fell on the wounded man like an avalanche, and Sable stepped towards the front of the limo. She peered through the open door and sighed. As she’d expected, her driver was dead, a bullet hole just behind his ear.

“Feh.” She slid in and slammed the door, setting the limo into gear, and angled it towards Lustau. The suburb was an Americanized nightmare, all crass plastic and modular architecture. That was probably why SHIELD had hidden one of its chameleon-outposts there as opposed to the city proper.

Thanks to a switch up in international relations, the outpost had been mothballed, but Uncle Morty’s technological jiggery-pokery had seen to it that the reclamation orders had never been officially transferred. The outpost was still fully equipped, and ready for operation, if you knew the correct codes. Which Sable did.

“Silver?” Anna’s worried voice cut through her thoughts. “The police band said-”

“I’m fine,” Sable said, cutting her off. “What do you have for me?”

“Hijackers,” Anna said.

“What?”

“Someone hijacked one of the Latverian defense satellites. That’s what was used on Stefan. I’ve alerted the proper authorities-he says thank you, by the by and he’s looking forward to next week’s luncheon-and isolated the rogue satellite, but the damage is done, wouldn’t you say?”

“Depends on your definition of damage. I’m heading to Lustau. I need Morty’s codes for the technobiological section.”

“What are you planning?” Anna sounded suspicious.

“The codes, please. And organize security details for all major government figures, including Gallatik, post haste. Our personnel, no one else.” Sable stomped on the gas, forcing the limo up to its top speed.

“Who tried to kill you?” Anna said, after a moment. Sable frowned.

“Someone who likes to make statements. Check all of the communications satellites on the national frequency. One of them has probably been co-opted…”

“What?”

“Anna, just do – oh hell, call you back!” Sable jerked the wheel as the black SUV scraped up against the limo, nearly driving her off of the road. “Damn it! Damn it, damn it, damn it!” She spun the wheel, sending the limo into a fishtail spin as a second SUV thundered towards her. Both vehicles were black, and lacking in any distinctive features.

As the limo skidded, Sable pulled herself into a crouch and kicked open the driver’s side door. An SUV took it off at the hinges, and Sable dove out, her fingertips scraping across the back window of the other vehicle as she scrabbled for a handhold.

Heart hammering, adrenaline pumping, Sable scrambled up the back of the SUV and onto its roof, even as the driver hit the brakes. Sable flipped onto her stomach and slid down the windshield, slamming her pistol against the glass.

“Pull over!”

Bullets punctured the glass from within and she tumbled backwards across the hood. Her hand snapped out and she jammed her fingers into the grill with painful accuracy, halting her fall. Plastered to the front bumper, she allowed herself a moment of panic, then fired at the closest wheel. It burst like a balloon and the SUV slid sideways as the driver lost control for a moment. Sable gritted her teeth and swung her legs down, pushing herself away from the bumper and between the wheels of the vehicle, only narrowly avoiding being run over.

She rolled for what felt like an eternity, then lay still, breathing heavily. Her face was scraped and bleeding, but the rest of her had been spared a bad case of road rash thanks to the Vibranium weave in her bodysuit. Her ribs felt like shards of glass wrapped in rubber, however. At least she had held onto her pistol.

With a groan, Sable rolled onto her back as the second SUV roared towards her. She narrowed her eyes, ignored the pain in her chest, and fired. The first shot blew out a wheel. The second plucked a hole the engine block. The third hit the driver, causing the SUV to slide and roll.

Sable dove aside as the SUV tore past her on its side, trailing sparks. She bounded to her feet, ejecting the spent clip. With shaking fingers, she slammed a fresh clip home.

“Silver? Silver!” Anna’s voice made Sable wince.

“Busy,” Sable said tersely as the second SUV pulled off the road, its popped tire flopping.

“You were right. Someone just tried to access several of our communication satellites. I’ve blocked them, but I can’t triangulate where the source signal is coming from!”

“Fine. Concentrate on blocking them. Now shut up. I’m busy.” Sable raised her weapon and sidled around the overturned SUV. Men had gotten out of the second one, carrying an assortment of weaponry. Four of them, all dressed like ordinary citizens, but carrying themselves with military stiffness.

“Surrender in the name of-” one began.

Sable shot him first. The others hesitated, obviously surprised. She shot a second, spinning him around and his weapon chattered as his finger tightened convulsively on the trigger. The other two moved swiftly, MP5’s shrieking as they tried to catch her in a crossfire.

Sable moved forward, pistol snarling. Fingers of lead plucked at her in reply, but she ignored them with practiced insouciance. She hadn’t hit anything with her own shots, but then, she hadn’t intended to, merely wanting her opponents to scatter. She dove into parked vehicle through the open door and threw it into gear. Sparks skipping off of the burst tire, she wrenched it onto the road.

“Amateur night,” she muttered. “Anna!”

“Still here, what was that?”

“Someone is trying to kill me,” Sable said.

“Same old, same old then?”

“Ha-bloody-ha. Have you isolated the rogue signal? Can you play it for me?”

A stream of gibberish filled her ear. Standard megalomaniacal rantings, mingled with utopian libertarianism and a dash of anarchism. Add a soupcon of ‘last angry man’ neo-socialism and it was exactly what she had expected. “ULTIMATUM,” she said. “That explains the dogsbodies. Somebody was stupid enough to invite the Flag-Smasher into our serene little paradise.”

“Isn’t he dead?” Anna said. Sable could hear her fingers rattling over the keyboard. “I could swear that someone had him-”

“There’s always another one. It doesn’t matter. What does matter is how far he’s managed to penetrate our defense grid. If he was able to ride our satellites…”

“He’s piggybacking from an unknown location, hitting multiple frequencies until he finds the right one. Shit!”

“What? Sable said. The wheel rim was spitting sparks now, as the remnants of the tire fell away. She fought to control the SUV.

“We just had FOUR more attempts on public officials!”

“Status?”

“Nothing serious. We’ve got two of the attackers in custody.” Anna sniffed. “They’re moving quick.”

“Luckily, we’re quicker.” A thought occurred to her. “The hijacking signal, is it hitting multiple locations at once?”

“Ye-es,” Anna said, drawing the word out. “But it’s moving too quickly to be coming from multiple sources.”

“Have the security protocols for the SHIELD outpost been activated yet?” Sable said.

“No, I wanted to wait until you got th-oh.”

“Someone already activated them,” Sable said grimly. “How long ago?”

“According to the logs, a few days. But who could-”

“Anyone in the defense ministry with a high enough security clearance. Any number of technologically inclined mercenaries of my acquaintance. Doom. Not important right now.”

“No?”

“No.” Sable brought the SUV to a halt in a cloud of smoke. “I’m here.”

It looked like any other apartment block in the area, all art-deco colors and sharp angles. Inside, however, it was a bastion of one of the most technologically advanced organizations on Earth.

And the front door was wide open.

“Hnf.” Sable eyed the building with distaste. Flag-Smasher was, regardless of his identity, lazy. A ten-second tyrant who tried his best to overthrow governments, but expected spontaneous utopias to bloom in his wake. He made a good pitch on the grass-roots level, but this was just another ridiculous, over the top foray into geo-politics for him.

It was whoever had brought him here that concerned her. Like a vampire, Flag-Smasher didn’t come where he wasn’t invited, or the situation warranted. Symkaria was stable, tranquil even. Which meant his presence was a result of the former.

Therefore, he was working with someone in Stefan’s government. Gallatik? No. Most likely one of the other families in line for the throne. There was no end of Byzantine plotting in those psychopathic, pampered crèches.

“What are you going to do?” Anna said, startling Sable slightly.

“Get me back-up. Then, see if you can shut it down.”

“Shut it-”

“No! Even better, activate the internal defensive measures.” Sable tapped her front teeth with a finger. “No sense in getting all hot and bothered.”

“Ha!”

“Exactly,” Sable said, sliding out of the SUV. Police sirens sounded in the distance. She checked her pistol and started across the street.

Assault rifles chattered and she sprang backwards like a scalded cat. “How rude,” she said, warily eyeing the building’s façade. “You may as well surrender,” she called.

Silence. Then, after a moment, “You found us far more quickly than I calculated. Impressive.”

Sable looked up as a shadow hovered over her. Flamboyant and sinister, Flag-Smasher crouched on a flat anti-gravity disk. Clad in a white and black bodysuit, with a black cloak and cowl, he was dripping with weaponry. A combat rig much like Sable’s own held canister grenades and a heavy pistol. He had a sword belted to his waist and a shield on his arm. “But surrender? I was planning to ask you the same.”

Sable sniffed. “Not likely. Police are en route, you’ve been locked out of every major system, and your kill-teams have been stymied.”

“Freedom can never be stymied,” he said, drifting downward. “Or, at least only temporarily.”

“I don’t debate politics,” Sable said. “Who brought you here?”

“The cause celebre,” he said. “As ever.”

“It probably doesn’t matter. Your little scheme failed.”

“I think not.” Flag-Smasher cocked his head. “Change has been implemented, your wishes to the contrary.”

“Hardly.”

“Then why were you rushing here?” He swooped slowly around her. “You’re quick, but not that quick.”

“Who says?” Sable eyed him. There were at least ten guns on her. Maybe more. “Anytime, Anna,” she muttered.

“No. It was a coincidence, wasn’t it? You were coming here anyway,” he continued. A smile spread across his face. “Why, I wonder?”

“No flies on you, I suppose,” Sable said, looking up.

“Got it. SomDoze gas jets activated, Silver,” Anna said. Sable smiled. Flag-Smasher blinked.

“Why are you-”

Sable swept the knife out of its sheath on her hip and spun, hurling it with deadly accuracy. The blade cut across the control unit for the anti-gravity disk, causing it to sputter and flame. Flag-Smasher was forced to leap awkwardly to the ground.

He looked around, surprised by the lack of gunfire. “What?”

“Sleeping like babies,” Sable said, aiming her pistol at his head. “This is my country, Flag Smasher. I know every inch of it. It’s as much a weapon for me as this pistol.”

“Dangerous sentiments,” he grunted, rising to his feet and sweeping his sword out of its sheath. It sliced across the barrel of her pistol, chopping it in half. Sable dropped the ruined weapon and jerked to the side as Flag Smasher swung his shield down towards her head.

“Only kind I have,” Sable said, rolling away from him and bounding to her feet. Moving quickly, she drove a fist onto her opponent’s kidney. He hissed and swiped his sword out in a vicious backhand. She sank under the blade and grabbed his wrist, pulling him off balance and sweeping his feet out from under him at the same time.

He fell, but was on his feet moments later. Sable scooped up his sword from where it had fallen. Flag Smasher scrambled backwards.

“Fabris school of swordsmanship, I see,” he said. “Or is that di Mazo?”

“A little from column A, a little from column B. I prefer the Sforza manual, to be honest,” Sable said, lunging.

Flag-Smasher threw up his shield catching the strike. Sable rolled the hilt in her hands, sending the blade screeching down the surface of the shield. He dipped his shield, catching the blade and driving it flat against the street. He grinned at her.

Sable slugged him.

He staggered back, clutching his jaw. Sable let go of the sword and caught him in the belly with her shoulder, driving him backwards into a parked car. He grabbed for her, and she smashed a palm against his nose. His armored cowl took the brunt of the blow, but it gave her enough time to step back, out of reach.

“You, I’ll kill you-” he growled, staggering forward. “You tried to kill me!”

“Tried?” Sable said, holding up a hand. A number of grenade pins hung from her fingers. Flag-Smasher’s eyes widened.

“No!”

The grenades went off with a dull crump. Sable hit the ground, shielding herself with her arms. A few moments later she got to her feet. Flag-Smasher lay unconscious nearby, his costume smoking. “Tch. Stun grenades. How juvenile.”

“Silver?” Anna said.

“I’m fine. Is the sleep-gas cleared out of the outpost?” Sable said, hurrying towards the door. The sirens were drawing closer. She didn’t have much time.

“It’s cycling out now. And I’ve opened up the doors. Do you know where you’re going?”

“Unfortunately. See if you can stall any official arrivals until I’m done,” Sable said, then entered the SHIELD outpost.

Twenty minutes later, she found what she was looking for. Four hours after that, it was announced that King Stefan had survived the assassination attempt, and that the Symkarian royal line was in no danger.

Sable watched the national broadcast from her suite in one of the capital’s largest hotels, a glass of champagne in her hand. The capital was in a celebratory mood, and the noise from the street outside was nearly deafening.

Anna sat on the sofa, pouring herself a glass. She was Sable’s spitting image, but for her dark hair, and her youth. She gestured at the television with her glass.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” she said.

“No. But, it’ll work.” Sable emptied her glass and tossed it aside. “There were over a dozen Life Model Decoys in storage in that facility. At least, according to Uncle Morty’s records. Most of them of Nick Fury, but a few were members of our government. Probably just in case,” she said, smiling crookedly.

Anna snorted. “Right. And?”

“Well, Stefan was never all that bright. And the memory upload in the LMD has all of the pertinent information necessary for him to run the country.”

“As much of it as you let him run, anyway,” Anna said, filling her glass again and offering it to her cousin. Sable took it and smiled.

“For now, at least.”

“What about whoever was behind this?” Anna said. “I mean, we know someone was helping Flag-Smasher…”

Sable frowned and sighed. “We’ll cross that hurdle when we come to it. For now, the King is dead. Long live the King.” She raised her glass to the television, where King Stefan was shown waving to his jubilant subjects.

Outside, fireworks lit up the sky.