Angel Born

by Brian Fuller

  Goliath mulled it over for a few moments. “I like it. Aclima stays back half a mile and waves any normals off.”

  “I’d rather be in the action,” Aclima said.

  “Not this time,” Goliath returned. “You’ve got no Bestowals, and we need a Blank back there. Besides, your good looks will do half the work.”

  “And if the Dreads push by the roadblock,” Shujaa said, “then boom! We blow the propane truck and burn them.”

  “Uh, no,” Faramir said, adjusting his knit hat. “Have you been listening at all? No damage to the trucks and no raging forest fires. I know you come from some rat hole of a country where the kids fall asleep to the lullaby of gunshots and screaming, but huge explosions aren’t common around here and will bring all kinds of attention we don’t want. Understand?”

  Shujaa clenched his fists again, and Helo was able to make out the writing on his four knuckles—3:24. “We cannot let the Dreads go, brother.”

  Goliath slid off the table and walked partway down the aisle between the desks, her eyes measuring up Shujaa. “No one said anything about letting them go, Shujaa, okay? This fails, we retool and try again down the road. No one shoots until I give the go. This is a simple stop, drop, and burn, and if it goes sideways, no one”—and Helo caught her quick glance at him—“goes rogue or cowboy or ballistic. Got it?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” they said in unison.

  “We’re set, then,” she said, returning to the front of the room. “I’ll draw up the plan and get a list of resources. Check your phones regularly for the final details and wheels-up time. Avoid the Slice and Dice tonight. We might get called out of here anytime. Primus, save file and close the meeting. Dismissed.”

  Slice and dice? He shot Aclima a questioning look. She shrugged and stood, her face a stony mask.

  “Helo,” Goliath said. “A word, please?”

  “Sure,” he said. “I’ll catch up with you at the room, Aclima.”

  She nodded and left, and Helo turned toward Goliath, who had returned to lean against the table and folded her arms.

  “What’s up?” he asked.

  “Look,” she said. “I know you’re new to the Michaels, but everyone’s studied the Dread massacre you set up in the graveyard, not to mention some of your more colorful exploits. Faramir and his stupid hat are right: you tend to do your own thing when it suits you. Do you see it that way?”

  There wasn’t much point in denying it. His service record with the Gabriels was littered with spots where he ignored his superior officer to do what he thought would be better. He’d rescued Prescilla after a 44-2—an order to abandon her—had been issued. He’d turned a simple ride-along mission into the now-infamous Naked Nazi Streaker stunt. And the most damning was ignoring Cassandra during is Active Mission Evaluation and ambushing Dreads in the cemetery. The only one he really regretted was the Naked Nazi Streaker stunt, especially after Dolorem had drilled into him the importance of giving everyone a chance. After nine months away from the AAO, would he be any different?

  “Look,” he said. “You’ve read the reports. When the heat of a situation comes on, the rules and regs don’t matter to me as much as getting the job done. Not sure that will ever change.”

  Goliath grinned. “Good,” she said. “Faramir might call you a cowboy, but what you do I call initiative. Every good field commander I know has it. You’ve got a tactical mind, and you showed it again right here. Mars asked me to choose a second. You’re it.”

  Helo smirked. “Thank you, but I don’t think you had much of a choice.”

  Goliath stood upright. “True. Faramir is fantastic with tech but is an unrepentant dork. Shujaa’s the best Dread killer in the Michaels but a rabid dog. Aclima still needs to prove herself and earn my trust. But honestly, I would have chosen you over a lot of people. My gut tells me good things about you, and after eighty years of afterlife, my gut and I aren’t wrong about people much.”

  “Eighty years, huh?” Helo said. It was hard to get used to thinking of people as old when they looked so young. “You ascending soon, then?”

  “One more Bestowal to go,” she reported, walking toward the back of the room with the easy grace of someone who had been a hunter her entire afterlife. “That you’ve got three Bestowals already is crazy. You’d better slow down or you’ll beat me out of here. Anyway, see you at the Slice and Dice.”

  “I thought you . . .”

  “Yeah, that was Captain Goliath talking on the record,” she said with a grin. “I’ll send the GPS coordinates to your phone. You gotta do a Slice and Dice once before we head out. Bring a sword if you’ve got one. And bring a pair of shorts. Ask Marley if you don’t have any.”

  Chapter 6

  Slice and Dice

  When Helo returned to room 34, he found Aclima pacing, gnawing on the fingernail of her left thumb. She looked up at him and dropped her hand, but she couldn’t quite dispel the worried look in her eye before she smothered it with a genial smile.

  “What did Goliath want?” she asked.

  “To make me second in command,” he answered as the door slid shut behind him. “You okay?”

  “I’ll be fine,” she said, leaning against the divider. “It’s just—”

  “Faramir get to you?” he asked.

  “A little. Half of me wants to gut him; the other half thinks he’s right. I’ve felt this hope pulling me forward to a new life, but I still feel the weight of my past sins anchoring me where I stand. And it’s a heavy weight, Helo. I’ve done horrible, horrible things.”

  He put a hand on her arm. “We’ve been over this. You’re an Ash Angel now, and that happened because of who you are now, not because of what you’ve done. It’s a new life, a new Aclima.”

  Her almond eyes turned hard. “Maybe, but that doesn’t change the blood on my hands or the people I’ve hurt. I . . . I feel like I’ve been given this life to make some kind of restitution, but it’s like standing in front of a black building as tall as the Sears Tower and being asked to paint it white with a toothbrush.”

  Helo squeezed her arm and let it go but kept his eyes on hers. “Aclima, maybe you aren’t supposed to paint the building. Maybe you’re supposed to turn your back to it and walk away.”

  “I don’t think you understand, Helo,” she said, peeling herself off the divider and sitting in the desk chair. “And I don’t think you ever could, but thank you all the same.”

  Seeing her so vulnerable was odd. When she was a Dread, and when he and Dolorem had met her at the theater, she had seemed so self-possessed, so full of purpose. If Faramir’s snide comments were going to kneecap her like this, Helo resolved to make sure Faramir kept his big mouth shut. Aclima deserved a chance to make a new life without some idiot trying to smear it.

  His phone beeped in unison with Aclima’s, and he pulled it from his pocket. Goliath’s text as promised—the Slice and Dice GPS coordinates and the time, 5:30 a.m., an hour before dawn.

  “What’s this?” Aclima asked.

  “The time and location of the Slice and Dice,” Helo said, pocketing the phone.

  “But Goliath said—wait. This message is from Goliath.”

  “Yep. She said to bring swords if we had them. Sounds like some sort of Michael fight club out in the desert.”

  Aclima put her phone down on the desk and leaned back in the chair. “I think I’ll decline.”

  “Uh, no you won’t,” Helo said. “Dolorem’s been nagging me about ‘getting on’ with my afterlife, and, well, you’ve gotta do it too.”

  She smirked. “I hardly think cutting people up in the desert during the middle of the night qualifies as ‘getting on’ with anything. Slice and Dice sounds like something stupid invented by testosterone and boredom.”

  “Come on, Aclima,” Helo said. “You know military types. It’s all about who’s the biggest badass and laying down smack. After six thousand years, I’ve gotta think you’d clean up out there.”

  “That’s why it’s a waste
of time,” she said. “It’d be too easy, especially if they’re all as bad at blades as you are. It’d be like fighting children armed with butter knives.”

  Helo laughed. “That’s it! That’s what I’m talking about! Come show them what you can do. Besides, you are supposed to choose an Ash Angel name. We can’t call you Aclima over the air. Hang out with soldiers and they’ll come up with a nickname for you in no time.”

  “What? Bride of Satan not good enough for you?” she said, though Helo thought he detected a slight upturn of her lips and a gleam in her eye. He was winning.

  “Doesn’t fit,” he said. “You’re coming. That’s a done deal.”

  She threw up her hands. “Okay, but if it’s as moronic as it sounds, I’m leaving.”

  “Great,” Helo said. “We’ve got to pick up some shorts before we go for some reason. Don’t let me forget.”

  Helo’s phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out. Corinth! He’d missed his Blank friend during his time at the RMC.

  “Hey, Corinth!” Helo said. “How are you?”

  “I’m awesome,” Corinth answered. “I heard they finally gave you a phone and an AAID. Now there’s no escaping.”

  “Yep. I’m legit now. They put me in the Michaels.”

  “Yeah, that’s sweet,” Corinth said. “I’ll miss you over here in the Gabriels, though.” A pause followed, long enough for it to feel awkward. “Um, look, I wanted to say sorry about your parents. I just heard. If there’s anything I can do, I’m totally there, no matter what grump-master Ramis says.”

  “Thanks,” Helo answered. “Cain will pay. I’ll make sure he does. But, hey, I heard you’re guarding Tela Mirren these days. How’d you swing that?”

  “Well, she knew me from the cemetery attack, and ever since that whole song thing you figured out, the Ash Angels are slowly taking over her life to protect her and to get info from her songs and dreams and stuff. You heard the one about you, right?”

  “Yeah,” Helo said, plopping himself down at his desk and opening his laptop. He had wanted to check up on Tela and listen to the song again. “Magdelene played it for me.”

  “Great,” Corinth said. “Tela still asks about you from time to time. Well, all the time. So, I had a favor I wanted to ask you.”

  “Shoot,” Helo said. What did Tela think of him after he had dragged her to a shootout with the Dreads? Her reaction to him had been bizarre. She had seemed too happy and not enough terrified.

  “Well, she’s playing a few songs at the Michaels Ball next week,” Corinth explained. “I’m on duty to protect her, but I was wondering if you could sub for me. I’ve got a date.”

  “Michaels Ball?” Helo asked. “A dance?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “They do it every year.”

  Helo couldn’t believe it. “Really? Cain’s on the loose. Dread Loremasters are running around with new weapons and we’re going to have a dance?”

  What a stupid waste of time. They needed to end Cain before even thinking about dancing the night away. Aclima had rolled in her chair around the divider and was looking at him with a “Really?” expression.

  “You gotta dance, bro, even when there’s a war on,” Corinth said. “So look, there’s this awesome Ash Angel babe who just got assigned to be Tela’s manager, and we’re going. I want you to meet her to see if you approve.”

  Did he sound nervous? Helo couldn’t imagine why Corinth would care if he approved of his date. Aclima rolled closer. “Look, I’d love to help you out,” Helo said, “but I might be on a mission or something—”

  Aclima ripped the phone from his hands. “He’ll do it,” she said, handing the phone back afterward.

  Corinth was laughing. “Who was that?”

  “Aclima,” Helo said.

  “Is she with the Michaels?”

  “Yep.”

  “Whoa,” Corinth said. “I didn’t see that one coming. That’s awesome sauce. But look, if you’re off duty, will you help me out? Tela would really like to see you again.”

  “Okay,” Helo said, though it still sounded pointless when there was so much work left to do. “But if there’s a mission—”

  “Great!” Corinth said. “I’ll send you the details later. I gotta go.”

  “Okay! Good to talk to you.”

  “Later.”

  When Helo ended the call and turned around, Aclima had her arms folded over her chest and was shaking her head at him.

  “What?” he said.

  “Here you are lecturing me about getting on with my life and getting out there and mingling with the Michaels, and you’re all incensed about someone daring to plan a dance.” She scooted closer until her knees touched his, leaning in. “You know what they call that, don’t you?” She tapped his nose. “Hypocrite.”

  Helo grabbed her knees and pushed her back a few feet. “Takes one to know one,” he said. “You going to the ball?”

  “Of course,” she said, pushing herself around to the other side of the barrier. “I could hardly turn down the invitation to accompany the Grand Archus himself.”

  The Grand Archus! Helo liked Gideon but was surprised the man would take time off to go to a dance. Was there really no urgency to catching Cain?

  “Well, congratulations,” Helo said. “You’ll make a great couple.”

  “Is that jealousy I hear?” she said, tone mocking.

  “Shut up,” Helo retorted.

  She laughed and wheeled herself around the barrier again. “Look, Helo. Let’s call it even. I’ll go to your waste-of-time Slice and Dice, and you go to the waste-of-time dance. Besides, I think it might be good for you to see Tela again. After seeing you, she might finish the song, which may help in interpreting it.”

  He hadn’t thought of that. He nodded. “Deal.”

  Helo followed the GPS on his phone to the outer edges of the base, over a chain-link fence, and into the desert. Aclima accompanied him but had almost reneged on their deal. After a reminder of their arrangement, she followed wordlessly, using her phone to light their way. A quick, rumbling thunderstorm had blown through an hour before, wetting the ground and rocks just enough to send up the sharp scent of dust and sage. Helo loved the smell and inhaled deeply through his nose.

  A half mile after hopping the fence, they arrived at a hollow behind an outcropping of crumbling rock. Pulse-pounding dance music and the beaming lights of LED lanterns chased away the calm whisper of the predawn breeze and flooded the low clearing nestled against the back side of the rocks. Twenty or so Michaels milled about, the men in shorts, the ladies in shorts and sports bras, all morphed into chiseled, physical perfection. Some danced to the pounding music, casting cavorting shadows across the desert landscape. To Helo, it looked and sounded like a psychedelic fitness ad.

  “Faramir’s here,” Aclima said flatly as they neared. “I really didn’t need to see him again.”

  Helo followed her gaze. Faramir fussed over an oversized boom box, bobbing his head, hat tassels bouncing. He was the only one dressed in black military garb. “There’s Goliath and Shujaa. Whole team’s here.”

  Goliath jogged up to them, eyes bright. “Glad you two could make it. We’re about to start. Nice katana, Helo. Where’d you get it?”

  “From Dolorem, an Old Master I hung around with during my leave,” Helo said.

  Goliath turned her gaze to Aclima. “Looks like you need something to fight with. There are a few extra swords leaning against a rock over there. Go grab one, get undressed, and come on over. Oh, and you’ll want to get rid of your gorgeous long locks, Aclima.”

  “I know,” Aclima muttered as Goliath returned to the main group.

  Helo stripped down to black canvas shorts not quite down to midthigh while Aclima chose a thin-bladed longsword mottled with rust and then morphed her hair down to a buzz. The new hairdo gave her look a hard edge. She stripped down to her sports bra.

  “Can I help you?” she said as he watched.

  Helo cleared his throat and turned
away. Dolorem had said she was one step away from God’s perfect mold. It was a short step. Hard not to look.

  “What do you think?” she finally said.

  He turned back around to find she had toned her body into something one might find on a triathlete weight lifter. She looked dangerous and was as quick a morpher as Sapphire, an Ash Angel from the 1800s he’d rescued from Dread kidnappers. He’d worked for two hours to get his muscular morph just right.

  “This is a good battle morph,” she said, extending her arms.

  It was a little severe. “Works for this. Still think this is a waste of time?”

  “Not just a waste of time,” she said as they walked toward the crowd. “A really, really warped waste of time. If I have the chance to dismember Faramir, there might be some point to attending, but it looks as if he isn’t going to fight.”

  As it turned out, Faramir was the MC. He killed the music and plugged a microphone into the boom box while everyone grabbed weapons and lined up around the circle in the center of the clearing. The coarse desert dirt, still a little damp from the rain, worked its way up between Helo’s toes.

  Faramir tapped the mic. “Welcome, welcome, one and all, to another round of Slice and Dice!” His voice seemed much richer than when he had been flinging rude comments in the conference room.

  “Hooah!” the crowd responded. Helo glanced at Aclima, who rolled her eyes.

  “Tonight,” Faramir continued, “we have the return of the all-time champion, Shujaa, after a one-month absence. And, as a special treat, we have a couple of illustrious Blanks who have joined the noble ranks of the Michaels, Helo and Aclima!”

  “Hooah!”

  Apparently, someone had let slip they were coming because there wasn’t any of the surprise or chatter Helo expected to accompany the attendance of a former Dread Loremaster, though a few of the men’s glances seemed to linger over her. Helo inched closer to her until their shoulders touched.

  “Now,” Faramir said, “since we have a couple of newbies, let’s go over the rules. First, once the fight starts, you may not step out of the circle of stones. If you do, you are . . .”