by Brian Fuller
“Good news, Ramis,” Cassandra announced brightly with a hint of challenge in her voice. “Not only is he not a pile of ash, but he received his first Bestowal during Prescilla’s rescue. Isn’t that amazing?”
Ramis remained composed but arched his eyebrows. “Is that so? So early?”
“That’s right.”
“Well, we must have him debriefed and then evaluated by Oberon immediately,” he said, gaze still frosty. “The entire Archai has called me this morning wanting information.”
Cassandra put her hand on Trace’s diminutive shoulder. “Not a chance, Ramis. He sees Prescilla first. Then he gets to morph and get cleaned up. Then, maybe, you can shove all your forms and shrinks and the entire Archai at him.”
“We need the informa—”
Cassandra cut him off. “You and the others can spend your time figuring out how in the hell our little training operation got blown. Let’s go, Trace.” She turned back to the Archon. “Is Prescilla back in class or still in the infirmary?”
“Infirmary,” the Archon answered curtly, his tone odd.
Trace looked up at Ramis as he passed and found his gaze pegged to Cassandra, face registering a hint of affection and a touch of sadness. Cassandra, the one person who openly treated him with disdain, was the one person he seemed to value above anyone. Was his interest in Cassandra paternal? Romantic? Trace doubted he would ever find out.
Cassandra accompanied Trace to the elevator. The infirmary was on the fourth floor. Once the doors closed and they were alone, Cassandra turned to him. “Look, Trace, I don’t know what kind of crap Ramis is going to put you through. Just remember you have some leverage with the Bestowal. Don’t let him back you into some corner full of paperwork and contracts. Don’t hide anything, either. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Thanks for the advice,” Trace replied. “And thanks again for coming to find me.”
“You’re welcome. Well, I’m heading back down. I’m not sure when training will resume, but I’ll see you then. Give me a call if you need me to tell anyone off.”
The doors opened and Trace stepped out, giving Cassandra a wave before she disappeared behind the brushed-metal doors. He couldn’t be sure what part of the last twenty-four hours had transformed his trainer into someone more accommodating, but he liked it. He also doubted it would last. She’d cut him some slack for a couple days and then ride his case as hard as ever. But she had called him by his real name. Progress, for sure.
As with the administrative offices, the infirmary seemed a completely different building than the rest of the Trevex complex and certainly nothing like a hospital. Excepting some offices with large glass windows, the rest of the floor looked more like a posh apartment complex with a religious theme. White marble statues of famous historical figures and delicate angels graced the recessed arches in the wide hallways, and painted murals of pastoral scenes evoked calm and peace.
In the reception area, a mural of the parable of the Good Samaritan ran ceiling to floor. The Samaritan clutched the fallen traveler and looked outward as if to judge everyone who came into the room.
A young looking Ash Angel with dark hair and a round, friendly face sat at a low desk in the brightly lit room. He regarded the child-sized Trace with some curiosity.
“Can I help you?” he asked.
“I’m looking for Prescilla. Do you know what room she’s in?”
“And who are you?” he asked.
“Trace. I’m a Blank, and I’m not in the system.”
His eyes shot wide. “Dude! You’re him!” He stretched out his hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Jacob. Yeah, Oberon said to clear his entire morning for you.”
“The entire morning?” Trace gasped.
“Yeah. Looks like you’ve had a rough night. Oberon’s not in yet—”
“Well, I’ve been given leave to get cleaned up and visit Prescilla first. Is there somewhere I can take a shower and maybe get some adult clothes?”
“Oh, sure! I’ll unlock 411 for you and call wardrobe. Prescilla’s in 432 when you’re ready.”
“Great. I appreciate it.”
“No problem. Anything you need. Anything at all. The rooms all have a call panel to the front desk. And I’ll leave the clothes inside the door.”
Trace thought it best to morph and shower before visiting Prescilla. She certainly didn’t need any reminders of her abduction, and Trace wanted to be regular-sized again.
The interior of the rooms matched the opulence of the exterior with plush furniture, golden trim and fixtures, and just enough practicality to seem like a place someone would live rather than just visit. He started morphing while in the shower but didn’t finish for over an hour. The clothes provided him continued the Salvation Army theme, with a stained gray hoodie and a well-used pair of jeans and tennis shoes. When done, he walked to room 432 and knocked, waiting for a weak “Come in” before opening the door.
The drapes were shoved aside and the lights all on, flooding the room with both real and artificial light. Airy classical music, turned down low, issued feebly from a small pair of speakers embedded in the ceiling. Prescilla stood to greet him formally, and Trace smiled at her and at the ancient rocking chair that had clearly been fetched just for her. More embroidery awaited on a table. Her big brown eyes were troubled, and Trace detected a slight trembling of her hands even though she had them crossed in front of her. She had morphed into her old grandma self, gray hair done up in a bun and outdated blue dress engulfing her.
“Hey, there,” he greeted her as cheerily as he could. “I wanted to stop by and see how you are doing.”
She looked on the verge of tears. He came forward and she held out her hand, bent at the wrist. It took him a moment to realize he was to take it. She curtsied and then invited him to sit in the recliner, which someone had scooted aside to make room for the rocking chair.
“I wanted to thank you, Trace,” she said, gaze distant and voice lifeless. “I realize you put yourself at great risk to rescue me, and I will never forget what you’ve done. I should apologize. I’m afraid you find me quite out of spirits today.”
“No apologies, Prescilla. After what we’ve been through, I think we deserve a little downtime. I don’t feel 100 percent today, either.”
She picked up her embroidery and set to work, defying her shaky hands. “It is hard for me, Trace, to have any love for this world at all. In so much of my life in the South I saw depravity and baseness, and 150 years later it is still here, only louder. The Dreads said horrible things, Trace, just horrible. I feel like I’ve been splashed with filth and can’t get it off. At least in my former life I didn’t feel hunted. Now I suppose I understand what all those slaves felt as they slipped from place to place.”
Trace regarded her softly. Cassandra was right. It would be a while before Prescilla stepped outside Trevex. “Well, if there’s anything I can do, Prescilla, just name it. At this rate, I might not graduate for another couple of years.”
A knock at the door startled them both. Prescilla smoothed her dress before standing and invited the person to enter. Jacob poked his head in. “Trace? Sorry to interrupt, but Ramis just called, and they need you in telemeeting room 2. He, um, said that I should tell you the entire Archai is connected in case you seemed, uh, stubborn.”
The entire Archai? Surely what had happened wasn’t that important. “Where’s telemeeting room 2?”
Chapter 12
The Archai
When the elevator deposited Trace in the basement office complex, he found business-ready Athena waiting for him. She greeted him stiffly with what he was coming to refer to as “Smile 66-6,” the fake, robotic greeting of someone who really had no interest in you but had to pretend like it anyway.
Trace tried to sneak a look at her clipboard to see what she so incessantly recorded on it, but she seemed wise to his ploy and adroitly kept it just out of his prying gaze. She had what looked like a stack of fresh forms trapped beneath the t
op page, and Trace had a bad feeling that all of them were meant for him.
The gray metal door to telemeeting room 2 was clearly marked and had a built-in, twenty-inch digital screen that read, “Quiet. Conference in Session” with a list of upcoming times the room had been scheduled.
Trace tried to act the gentleman and open the door for Athena, but she muscled him out of the way and grabbed it herself, sticking out a hand to indicate he should wait. As Athena entered, a momentary wave of voices rolled out of the room and then was silenced as the door shut in his face. It opened again nearly instantaneously.
“The Archai is ready for you,” Athena announced.
Trace felt like he should be nervous. This was the governing body of the Ash Angels, after all. But something in the back of his mind kept him calm. The worst that any of them could do was kick him out of the Ash Angel Organization and force him to live life on his own. Life in the AAO hadn’t exactly endeared itself to him, so whatever consequences they’d planned, he didn’t fear them. Athena’s waiting forms seemed far more fearsome than going back out into the world at the peak of his mental and physical powers.
Once he stepped inside, the room impressed him. Like Archon Ramis’s office, the telemeeting room was an oval, though of far greater dimensions. On the long side opposite the door, a glassy, curved screen hung from the ceiling, onto which tiny projectors embedded in the rear wall cast the images of around twenty faces in blue rectangles with rounded corners. A couple of the rectangles were red and filled with the word Waiting.
Archon Ramis sat at a glassy conference table the same shape as the room. The table-top screen displayed a satellite overview of the area where the ambush had occurred. Digital representations of Cassandra’s file overspread the map, but Ramis flicked his hand across the glass and it disappeared, leaving the satellite image.
All talking ceased as Trace took a seat in the expensive-looking black office chair next to Ramis. Athena took the one to her boss’s left.
The technophile within him had a hundred questions about the software and hardware that powered everything, but he turned his attention to the faces on the glossy screen in front of him.
The top part of the frame displayed the name of each Archon and Archus in attendance, and there were colorful ones: Sixwing, Spear, Perseus, and others. Seven of the frames—those of the Archai—were larger. All seven members were in attendance: Grand Archus Gideon, Diarchus Joan, Archus Magdelene of the Gabriels, Archus Mars of the Michaels, Archus Simeon of the Sanctus, Archus Lux of the Occulum, and Archus Ebenezer of the Scholus.
The Archons who served beneath them were clumped around their respective Archuses in a circle.
It was the first time Trace had seen the Grand Archus and Diarchus. Gideon held himself like a king in a court. His tanned face—aged to its prime—was square and strong, eyes reflecting intelligence and authority. Diarchus Joan was his equal and was redheaded like Archus Magdelene but of stronger features. The Archai was often referred to as “The Seven,” and each member had to have reached his or her fifth Ascendancy before even being considered for the position as Archus.
“Primus,” Ramis said loudly. “Verify that communications are encrypted and secure and that the room is soundproofed and locked.”
The door lock popped behind them, and a natural-sounding computer voice with an English accent replied. “Verified.”
Ramis leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “Part two of today’s meeting will commence now. We have Trace with us, and our first order of business is to fill in a few gaps. Let it be understood that he has not filled out a 101-F report yet. It should be on file later today for everyone’s perusal. Trace, we would like you to begin by using the map to explain what happened, beginning with the Dread spotter you noticed at the elementary school. For your convenience, we have marked the school, the intersection where you left the car, and the Cactus Twin Hotel, where the major engagement took place. Also outline for us why you decided to ignore ROE 44-2.”
A mission debrief. He could do this in his sleep. The story flowed without interruption until he revealed the reception of his Bestowal in the frozen foods. As he related how he woke from the vision, Archus Magdelene interrupted him. While the majority of the male Archuses had morphed into their late thirties, Archus Magdelene appeared in her early twenties, a gorgeous redhead sharing the same hard eyes as Cassandra.
“Forgive me, Trace, but do you mean to say you’ve received your first Bestowal already? During this operation?”
“That’s correct, ma’am.”
Mumbled expressions of surprise followed.
“Are you aware that this is unusual for a Blank?” she continued.
“I was made aware, yes.”
Diarchus Joan popped in. “I would like a copy of his file sent to me, Archon Ramis”
“He has no file. We’re keeping him out of the system so we can be sure there is one Blank the enemy does not know about. We have paper copies dealing with his training. I’ll push those to you via courier.”
“Fascinating development,” Diarchus Joan said. “Primus, please add an agenda item for session three to discuss Trace’s Bestowal and training.”
“Item added,” the computer confirmed.
Ramis glanced at Trace. “Proceed.”
Trace continued the story with no further interruptions as he narrated his dispatching the Dread behind the grocery store and being torched and losing all sense of time and direction. He was about to relate how Goldbow and Cassandra found him, but Ramis cut him off.
“Trace’s recovery was already reported when it was in progress, so we will table that for now,” Ramis stated.
“Damn fine job, son,” Archus Mars complimented him. “We just got confirmation that a fifth Dread was taken down as a result of this botched ambush.”
“Thank y—”
“It was not a ‘fine job,’” Archon Ramis interrupted. “Trace ignored ROE 44-2 and his trainer, and he lost a weapon and ammunition! This was not done according to protocol and put Ash Angels unnecessarily at risk, including your people, Mars. We got lucky this time.”
An argument broke out, the room filling with an incomprehensible cacophony of strident voices. Ramis eventually settled everyone down, and Archus Magdelene cut in front of several who demanded attention.
“Trace, this is Archus Magdelene again. Do you know what my position is?”
“Head of the Gabriels,” he answered.
“That’s correct. Like several here, I share some admiration for what you have done but also some concern. Can you speak to Archon Ramis’s question about why you ignored ROE 44-2? Are you even aware of what it is?”
It had been required learning before their first ride-along mission. “It states that in the event a rescue operation will compromise more Ash Angels than it will save, the operation should be aborted and all able operatives withdraw to a safe position.”
“Were you aware that this rule of engagement had been invoked during your attempt to rescue Prescilla?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“And did Cassandra instruct you not to leave the vehicle?”
“That is correct.”
“Explain why you ignored both the ROE and your trainer,” she pressed.
“Rule of Engagement 99-1,” he said defiantly. He’d come up with it in the car.
Archon Ramis and a fair number of the rest of the participants appeared nonplussed. From their downturned faces, he could tell several were querying their phones or desktops for the particular rule. Archus Lux, an Asian woman with slanted eyes and nearly white hair, was the first to grin and then laugh.
Archon Ramis regarded Trace narrowly. “There is no such rule.”
Lux spoke up in a musical voice. “You are looking in the wrong manual, Ramis. Try the one written by Matthew, section 18, subsection 12.” She continued to laugh, and after a few long seconds, the vast majority of the rest figured it out and joined in the mirth.
Ram
is rolled his eyes. “We’re not talking about lost sheep and lost souls here, people!”
Trace’s next words came more easily and with more passion than he expected. Recounting yesterday’s action and visiting Prescilla afterward reminded him exactly why he had chosen to jump out of the car.
“I disagree, Archon Ramis. Like many here, I was in the military and understand the importance of rules and chain of command and ‘Yes, sir’ and ‘No, sir.’ Rule of Engagement 44-2 reduces Ash Angels in the field to a bunch of statistical probabilities and numbers, but we are still people. We still have souls. We still get scared and lost. We don’t want to die or suffer.
“To be honest with you all, the reason I jumped out of that car was because I couldn’t stand the thought of Prescilla in the hands of those monsters. Prescilla’s first life ended in horror. Her husband beat her to death with a fire poker. Was I just going to sit on my ass and let Dreads brutally end her second life? Hell, no. Not if I could help it. If something like this happens again, I’ll do the same thing. That’s for any Ash Angel. If that makes me a liability to this organization, then kick me out right now.”
The intensity of Trace’s speech silenced the room, reactions ranging from thoughtful to broad smiles. An unhappy Ramis appeared ready to explode when an unreadable Archus Magdelene took control. “That will be enough of that issue for now. We can review Trace’s statement later if anyone feels the need to do so.”
Dayspring, a long-faced, elderly looking Archon broke in. “We need to ask him about Cassandra. We cannot ignore this.”
“Drop it, Dayspring,” Ramis chided. “We’re tired of this witch hunt of yours.”
“I agree,” Magdelene concurred. “This line of accusation has absolutely no evidentiary basis. It’s a shot in the dark and a disgusting smear campaign against one of this organization’s most decorated operatives.”
“I know she’s a favorite pet of you two,” Dayspring shot back acidly, “but you cannot ignore the fact that the recent organized killings of Ash Angels directly correspond to documented troubles with Cassandra. I invoke the right to call a vote. Primus, please tally responses to the following query: ‘Should members of this body be permitted to pursue a line of questioning with Trace concerning Cassandra?’”
