Rosso shook his head. He wasn’t going to hand it over and Gideon knew it. Still, he had figured that it didn’t hurt to ask. Gideon pulled out a small device the length of his pinky and inserted it into the computer’s Thunderbolt port. The tip of the devise flashed orange, and after a few seconds turned to cool blue. The white strip now contained a line of little black dots. He pushed enter, and the computer’s desktop came into view.
“Wait,” Cyrus said, walking over. “He probably has something in there scanning for an unauthorized download. “Let me dig a bit.”
“Are you going to tell me that you’ve known a few hackers in your day too?”
Indeed, through the six degrees of separation, Cyrus had the knowledge and expertise of hundreds of the world’s greatest hackers in his head. Unbeknownst to Gideon, the corrupted video that he had seen Chauncey Matterson fail to open in his office was also Cyrus’s handiwork. After Matterson had shown it to Cyrus, the following day Cyrus used the computer at his construction site to hack into the university and corrupt the file.
“Need I?” Cyrus replied, pulling over an antique chair. He sat down and his fingers flew across the keyboard. Windows popped open and shut as he typed strings of computer code. After just a minute a final gray box opened with the words, ‘Quit Sentinel?’ and two buttons, ‘yes’ and ‘no.’ He clicked yes, and the box turned green and disappeared. “Okay, ready.”
Gideon pushed a small button on the device that he had inserted, and the cool blue light turned to green and began blinking madly as the stick started to download Rosso’s entire hard drive. “This is going to take a bit,” he said.
He let the device do its work and approached Rosso. Sticking the barrel of his gun to Rosso’s forehead, Gideon said, “I’m going to rip this tape off, and if you decide to scream for help, you won’t get more than the first two letters out. Got it?”
Rosso nodded.
Gideon tore off the tape and Alexander Rosso’s eyes widened in pain, but he didn’t scream. After licking his lips he growled, “Who are you? What is the meaning of this?”
“I’m Gabe,” Gideon said. “And that’s Mike.” These were names the two had decided earlier that they would use to address one another if they had to. “And we have a few questions we want to ask you.”
Rosso sniffed, unimpressed by Gideon’s cavalier attitude. “How did you get in here? What did you do with my guard?”
“Dmitri Semenov the war criminal, you mean?” Gideon replied. “He’s indisposed at the moment. And getting in, that was easier than we had expected.”
“I have guards and checkpoints all over the place,” Rosso said.
“You do, but I suggest that if there is a next time, and there won’t be, you hire a better security team.”
Rosso scowled, ignoring the veiled threat. “You should know that I am expected downstairs in five minutes. If I am not there, a party will be sent up to see what is taking me, and I guarantee you that they will not be as incompetent as Dmitri clearly was.”
As if on cue, the walkie-talkie in Cyrus’s pocket crackled and a voice speaking in Russian was heard.
“I think this is for me,” Cyrus said, putting the communicator to his ear.
Gideon slapped the tape back across Rosso’s mouth.
Cyrus, impersonating Dmitri Semenov perfectly, held a short conversation with the caller in flawless Russian, and then re-pocketed the radio. He turned to Rosso and smiled.
“You’re running a tad late,” he told Rosso. “You’re putting the finishing touches on your welcoming address. You’ll be down in twenty minutes.”
Private Typhon was the first to reach the van, cadets Ares and Troy right behind him. Lieutenant Ophion, who was their commander, covered them while they retrieved the duffel bags full of weapons—both Academy and yeshiva—that Volk had placed in the vehicle for Cyrus to deliver.
As Typhon tossed the bags of weapons to the cadets, two Anteros soldiers came racing up, shooting as they ran. Ophion snatched off his beret and went into a diving roll. He popped up, punched out the beret’s top, and whipped the ceramic rim like a Frisbee at one of the soldiers, decapitating him. The second soldier continued charging, his splicer rifle firing on automatic. Ophion cartwheeled away. Kneeling behind him was Cadet Troy, who dropped the onrushing soldier with a single shot to the head.
Loaded up, the squad of cadets sprinted towards the gazebo where Captain Abishai and his SWAT team were fending off a blitz of Anteros soldiers as the team protected the judges hidden underneath. Above, the heavens cracked with thunder and the drizzle turned to driving rain.
Ophion and his cadets shot and fought their way in, killing eight Anteros soldiers. Quickly, they tossed the guns, swords, and other weapons to Abishai’s team, who until now had been relying on the simple, low impact weapons that had been incorporated into their uniforms.
The crude weapons accomplished what they were meant to do—buy the team enough time to arm themselves. The whips, shurikens, exploding patches, blowguns, ruby-edged throwing rings, and crushed-quartz vests rolled into clubs that were built into the uniforms had the addition of surprise, catching the onrushing Anteros soldiers off guard.
More important, however, were the enhanced speed, agility, and fighting techniques gained in their yeshiva instruction. As per their training, the angels kept themselves moving targets; never standing still, constantly rolling, diving, leaping, and vanishing with bursts of hyper-spin, only to reappear out of thin air feet away to deliver a head cracking blow with a rolled-up crushed quartz vest. The Anteros soldiers, even those who were ex-Academy commandos had never seen anything like it. They felt as if they were battling a swarm of wasps.
Beneath the gazebo, cowering ignominiously together, were the judges. The semi-divine technocrats whimpered and covered their ears as the blasts from the bursting crystals, exploding patches, and cracks of demon dusters and splicer rifles shattered the air. But nothing frightened them more than the hideous noises made by the fear demons. Their roars, and especially the shrieking cries of the flying Vengeance Yetzers, were otherworldly, the stuff of the judges’ worst nightmares.
Angel and Anteros forces were now too closely engaged for Virgil and I to safely hurl any more crystals. Captain Volk had ordered us to take our battle to Heaven and protect Grace and the Academy, but we were loath to leave our brothers battling such overwhelming numbers, not to mention the fearsome yetzers and their riders who were seconds from entering the fray.
Flitting above like humming birds, keeping ourselves moving targets, Virgil and I were able to avoid the shots being fired at us, but it also made it difficult for us to focus our ruach, divine wind from our internal energies, on specific targets.
“Virgil,” I called in thought mode. “You go ahead. I’ll be right behind you. I need just a little more time to even the odds.”
“Let me help you,” Virgil answered, hurling one last crystal in front of a charging Victim Yetzer, blasting the rider from its back.
“No, Virge. You heard the captain. Things could be far worse up there. Go, I’ll just be a minute.”
“Okay,” Virgil said reluctantly. “May HaShem be with you.” With that, he went into translation and whirled off.
Just then I saw a squad of Anteros soldiers come charging through the hedges towards the gazebo. I flew towards them and halted hovering ten yards above their heads. I thrust out my hand and shouted, “Back!”
I unleashed a powerful blast of ruach that knocked the soldiers down like bowling pins. I alighted on the ground, and as soon as they scrambled to their feet, I hit them with a second, longer wallop that sent them tumbling backwards into another onrushing squad of Anteros fighters.
By now Captain Abishai had taken notice of them. He signaled to Corporals Orion and Nisus, and the three of them raced over and bounded into their midst, dispatching one Anteros soldier after another with ruby-edged short sword and meteor hammer.
A sniper’s round whizzed past my ear. I knew it came fr
om a spleen gun because of the unmistakable stench of Spleen Yetzer it left in its wake. I jettisoned up and determined that the shot had come from amidst the tops of a pine tree sixty yards away.
Zipping over, I hovered above and behind the sniper, out of his field of vision. I collected my ruach and hurled a fireball into the center of the tree, instantly setting it ablaze. The sniper cried out and his flaming body plummeted to the ground. Sergeant Major Balius sprinted up and ran the fire-engulfed soldier through with his kodachi short sword. Balius gazed heavenwards and gave me the thumbs up. I returned the gesture.
“Kohai, was that you?” said Captain Volk.
“Yes, Sir. A sniper with a spleen gun.”
“I told you to leave. Where’s Virgil?”
“He spun out. I saw a threat and had to take care of it first.”
“There will be plenty of threats. Do as I ordered, you hear me?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Godspeed,” he said. “Out.”
I went into trekking-twirl, and translated from the scene.
While I had been flitting about above, and the cadets and SWAT team were battling it out with Anteros below, Volk was searching for spleen guns.
The captain had taken out two snipers already: one on a water tower, and the other on the roof of a barracks. Two down, but how many more to go? There was only one way to find out, and the captain saw his answer scurrying from the battle scene through a gate leading into the main Anteros compound and towards a group of nondescript buildings.
Volk dive-bombed like a hawk towards his prey, grabbed up the fleeing man by the back of his drooping trousers, and spun straight up again with a single-armed twirl. I didn’t know we could fly with such precision, and again realized that I still had a lot to learn. I also didn’t know that the captain was so strong that he could snatch and carry a full-grown man with one arm. The only one more surprised than I at that moment, however, was Professor Hermes, who now found himself dangling helpless in the thrashing rain four hundred feet above the ground.
“What are you doing?” Hermes cried. “Put me down!”
“You’ve been a very bad professor,” Volk said. “Quit struggling or you’ll go down with a splat.”
The professor ceased his squirming and Volk ascended another two hundred feet to lessen the chance they’d be shot, causing the professor to whimper even more.
“Answer my questions and I’ll set you down. I’ll know if you’re lying, so don’t even try. Got it?”
“Yes, yes. What do you want?!”
“How many spleen guns does Anteros have?”
“I don’t know what you’re—”
“Geronimo!” Volk dropped fifty feet in free fall, giving Professor Hermes a taste of what awaited him if he lied again. Hermes screamed in panic.
Volk stopped the plummet and said, “Professor?”
“Ten! Ten guns!”
“Better,” Volk said. He was reading Hermes’ mind. Having taken out two snipers already, the captain knew that left eight. It was at that moment when he saw the fireball that I had sent into the tree far below. He ordered me to Heaven and thought, make that seven.
Volk returned his attention to the dangling traitor.
“You’re getting really heavy, Professor. Now where are they? Who has them?”
“Five snipers with spleen rifles,” Hermes blubbered. “Five infantry with spleen handguns.”
“Go on. First the snipers.”
“Two in trees, one on the water tower, one on the roof of a barracks, and one in the watch tower.” He pointed. “Over there.”
“And the handguns?”
“Hamanaeus’s second in command, Lieutenant Phorcus, has one. And the other four are down there somewhere, but I don’t know who has them.”
“Too heavy…can’t…hold…on!” Volk dropped like a rock, free-falling even longer this time.
Hermes screamed. “Okay, okay!”
Volk soared back up.
“How do you do this?” Hermes sniveled, his tears mixing with the pouring rain. “We can’t fly!”
“Someone forgot to tell me. The hand guns, where are they?”
“The riders. The riders on the fear demons. They have them.”
“Which riders?”
“Two on Grudge Demons, one on a Vengeance Demon.”
“That makes three, professor. I know you’re better at math than that.”
Hermes hesitated.
“You snuck one into Heaven, didn’t you?” Volk said. “It’s with Captain Perseus.”
“Are you reading my mind?” Hermes whimpered in astonishment.
“Yes.”
“But we can’t do that! It’s impossible!”
“I know, like flying.”
“It’s too late for you, Captain,” Hermes said. “By now the disgronifiers are in Anteros’s hands. Even should you survive the day you are all stuck down here forever, just like Anteros was.”
“Don’t bet on it, genius.”
Volk soared towards the battlefield, dragging the petrified professor beneath him. He zoomed in low above the treetops and saw a shot flash from within a tree. A sniper. Volk could smell the distinctive stench of Spleen Yetzer. The shot missed its intended target, Corporal Orion, who, because he kept moving, had unwittingly somersaulted out of the way just in time. Instead, the bullet hit a rampaging Idol Yetzer in the ass. In the space of a couple of gallops, the saber-toothed beast’s hindquarters turned into fuming tar.
Volk picked up speed and streaked towards the tree. As he neared, he shouted to the shrieking professor in tow, “This is where we branch off, Professor. Bombs away.”
He released the horrified Hermes, who sallied forth like a missile. Volk turned and zipped straight up. The screaming professor rocketed ahead and plowed into the treetop. An explosion of chirping, startled birds scattered in all directions. Seconds later, the sniper with Hermes on top of him, fell crashing to the ground sixty feet below. Volk hooked around and flew off to take care of the remaining snipers.
As soon as all hell had broken out, Lieutenant Phorcus, Private Arcas, and two other bodyguards whisked Hamanaeus to safety. Phorcus and Arcas were the two soldiers that participated in Virgil’s interrogation after he was captured. I saw them running towards the main compound, but I lost sight of them amidst the chaos. If they made it into the compound, they would have a maze of tunnels in which they could hide.
Commander Sett, however, had kept an eye on Hamanaeus from the start and was in hot pursuit, Hamanaeus’s bodyguards firing at him as they ran. When a bullet from one of the guns slammed into a large pine tree Sett had ducked behind, he knew that they were packing at least one spleen gun. The tree began to smoke, and then disintegrated before his eyes. It buckled, and Sett was left exposed. Seeing that they had an easy target now, the gunmen stopped running and turned their weapons on him.
Sett went into turbo-spin and shot up into the sky a split moment before a barrage of fizzing, electric blue photons filled the space he had left behind. Calculating where Hamanaeus was headed, Sett zoomed over the main compound and descended on top of the roof of a concrete and cinderblock barracks about a hundred yards ahead of Hamanaeus and his men. He crouched out of view behind the two-foot tall border that ran the perimeter of the rooftop.
Sett didn’t have a gun, but he had managed to grab some martial weapons from one of the bags the cadets had lugged over. As Hamanaeus was getting away, he had been in too much of a hurry to pick through the merchandise, taking whatever was on top. Among the weapons he had nabbed were a wakizashi short sword and a bow and quiver of arrows, the latter of which he was not so skilled at using.
The commander crawled along the roof until he came to a brick chimney. He stood, fixed an arrow, aimed, and let it fly. He missed. Sett cursed and loaded another arrow. He fired again, this time nailing one of the guards in the hip, causing the soldier to stumble to the ground. Hamanaeus and the remaining three guards fled on, leaving their fallen comrade to
fend for himself. Sett shot again, this time hitting another soldier square in the chest, felling him.
Hamanaeus and the two remaining soldiers, Phorcus and Arcas, neared the barracks. Sett knew that once inside his job would be a lot harder. He had to beat them to it. He slipped down the back of the building, kicked in a glass window, and dropped into a third-floor room. It was a dormitory lined with bunk beds, but empty of soldiers. They were all on the battlefield. He dashed quickly out of the room to the circular stairwell, and jumped the three flights to the bottom, using a slow retro-spin to give himself a soft landing.
He sniffed at the air. Yetzer…
Sett’s appearance awoke a black-toothed, three-eyed Grass-is-Greener Yetzer that had been dozing on the job under the stairwell. The yetzer, a hideous cross between a mangy, rabid donkey and a Komodo dragon, snarled, and spit out its lengthy black tongue.
The tongue of the Grass-is-Greener Yetzer was not as long as that of the Spleen Yetzer, nor was it lethal in itself. It worked like fly paper, only with a paralyzing nerve agent. If the yetzer got a good swipe on its victim, it would stun him, and then reel him in, where the creature’s powerful jaws and big choppers would finish its victim off by snapping his bones. The yetzer was most dangerous in confined areas, which was exactly where Sett had found himself.
The yetzer whinnied and sprang, its forked tongue unfurling like a party favor. Sett leaped backwards and smashed into a wall, narrowly escaping the gluey tongue. The yetzer hopped closer and spat out its tongue again. This time, Sett whacked it off with his diamond-edged wakizashi short sword. The yetzer howled and pounced, jaws opened wide, ready to bite off the commander’s head. Sett dropped to one knee and jammed his sword deep into the beast’s rip cage. The demon’s eyes bugged, and then it coughed up a glob of oily, reddish-brown blood that shot streaking over the commander’s head, splatting against the wall.
Sett withdrew his sword from the yetzer and rolled away as the beast collapsed heaving onto the floor. He stabbed the monster again at the base of its big donkey-like head. He was about to wipe the goop off his sword onto the dead animal’s back, when the door to the barracks burst open and Hamanaeus and his two guards charged into the room.
Shooting Eros - The Emuna Chronicles: Complete Boxset: Books 1 - 3 Page 76
