Ghosts of Koa, The First Book of Ezekiel

by Colby R Rice

  "A word, Detective. If you will--"

  "I won't, actually." Caleb scowled at him before turning to the cold room door.

  "This doesn't concern the Articles39. You've made your position clear, and I won't press the point. However, I've just received a troubling call from an associate of mine. I believe you know the whereabouts of a ward of mine. Ezekiel D'jihara Anon."

  Caleb's fingers were already wrapped around the doorknob when he stopped short. He turned back around, eyes dark. "What's she to you?"

  Amusement flickered across Sal's face. "Ah, but the words to be exchanged between a father and his daughter are of no concern to you, now are they?"

  "They are if I suspect that your investment in her is anything but fatherly."

  Sal blinked. Then Caleb watched as it happened, Sal's slick smile untucking itself from its dark corners.

  "Now where in the world would you get a depraved idea like that? She is now my child, and it's my duty to provide for her. Very frightening times we're in with all this business of disappearing children, walking demons, and all manner of strange death. Is not a father to be concerned for his children? Your time in prison seems to have made you pessimistic, my friend."

  "It's only made me wiser to the desires of wicked men."

  "So I've heard. Prison is such the cruel society. Poor sweet lads like you so often go in as jelly rolls and come out as donuts--"

  "Fuck you, Sal."

  "--but you're nobody's jail wench, now are you, Detective?" Sal folded his arms. "It seems prison is so much like the real world: you are either the top or the bottom."

  "Charming. You should make that a slogan in your next campaign. Or throw it on your next Father's Day card."

  "I'm sure Zeika would be more than happy to."

  Caleb bristled, stepping forward.

  "Ever the blowfish," Sal chuckled. "You haven't changed one bit. But I'd advise you to leave your former convictions in the 52nd Demesne where they belong. We run a different game in the Fifth. So save yourself the trouble, and loosen your tongue. Where is she?"

  Caleb crossed his arms and leaned against the cold room door. "You know, her location slips my mind at the moment. Long hours, job stress, and all that jazz. Screws with the short term memory, you know how it is."

  "I already know that you've got her and the little one suckling a tab at the Lobon. How long do you think it'll be before they come up for air again, Caleb? Wouldn't you prefer that they are taken into my warm welcoming arms as good children? Or do you fancy them being dragged off the streets by some lawless AP? I hear that some ungodly things happen to little girls in the back of police cars, nowadays. The Fifth's truly going downhill."

  Caleb clenched his jaw. Forget the Articles39. This guy's general "ick"-factor was off the charts, way worse than rumored. It was no wonder that Zeika freaked when she heard about his adoption of her and the kid. No matter how smoothly he talked, it was clear he had way more on his mind than just taking her and Manja to the park. The more poetry that oozed out of Sal's mouth, the more Caleb felt a powerful urge to check in on them, make sure they were okay.

  Sal smiled as though he could see his wheels turning. "Whatever hole you're hiding them in, you'd better hope they stay there. For their sake, and for yours. By law, they belong to me, and as Councilman of the Fifth Demesne, I am charged with the protection of all wards of state. You illegally removed two minors from a social service institution without the express permission of their guardian or of the Civic Order. It would displease me to charge you with the crime of kidnapping and obstruction of the Articles39."

  Caleb glared at the stack of signatures under Sal's arm. "And irony abounds."

  "Indeed it does. And yet the law as it currently stands binds me. I will bring the Articles39 down on your head if I must. Your time in jail was difficult. Do not force me to recreate that reprehensible microcosm here in your... sanctuary." Sal looked around the grungy halls with a pointed disgust before his eyes settled back on him. "You have 24 hours to deliver Zeika and the little one. After that, I will turn your life into a scatological cesspool if I have to."

  "A scatological cesspool! Wow. Sounds like one hell of a vacation, and one I've already taken, but thanks, Sally, I could use the R&R."

  "Couldn't we all, Detective. Yours may come sooner than you think. Ah, that we were all so lucky as you." Sal eyed his abs, looking right at the seal on his powers. "Some men just have it all, don't they?" A smile on his lips, Sal nodded and then walked away, his stack of signatures cradled under his arm.

  As Caleb watched him strut off, he resisted putting a hand to his diaphragm. Did everyone know? He felt a second of lingering bitterness-- then he let it go, deciding he wouldn't dwell on it. In prison, he'd spent a long time looking up at the odds stacked high against him, until he realized that shitting where you stood did nothing for anyone. After that, his situation hadn't bothered him for months, really.

  Not until now...

  Caleb was sure there were worse times to be alchemically barren, but not one came to mind. The situation in the Fifth was, for lack of a better phrase, fucked beyond reckoning. The Koan raids, the Ninkashi, and now, Sal Morgan and his repeals. How Civilians were still standing, much less fighting back, was beyond him. And yet Caleb was sure that Sal, if unchecked, would deal the death blow to to Civilian resilience and to the Protecteds. Much as he was a loathsome ass, he was an Azure on the rise, favored by the Alchemic Order.

  And now, Caleb stood between him and what he wanted.

  That problem-- all the problems, actually-- didn't bother him as much as his lack of solutions did. Weak fiscal support, few resources, and failing law enforcement had put him in a holding pattern with no landing in sight. All he could do was investigate the Koan cells, but never really stop them. Look for the monsters but never find them. And for Zeika... all he could really do was keep her hidden, keep looking for her family-- neither of which would last long depending on how deeply Sal was backed by the Alchemic Order.

  Not that the tax collector needed the Order to do damage... he was dangerous on his own. Cunning. He'd already exposed the nerve of the Demesne Five police force, and he'd used it to scatter them. Officers' differing opinions on the Articles39 repeals had fractured the precinct, which was something they couldn't afford if any of them were going to survive. None of the APs, except him and Cotch, were alchemically trained beyond the status of a Dilettante, which meant they were of little use to the Order. They were expendable. All they'd had was one another, and now, they had nothing.

  And you, Rai? Who do you have?

  He sighed, already knowing the answer. Or lack thereof. With the Promethean seal blocking his Alchemy, he was on a short leash, with only defensive techniques in his arsenal. Aside from his skills as a trained officer and field tactician, there was nothing shielding him except his pedigree... and even that was hanging by a thread.

  "But if you two can do it..."

  He smiled, thinking of Manja and her bear, and of Zeika, ready to kick ass if he even breathed wrong. They were Civilians. Normal. They had no powers, no money, and had lost everything. Still, they were alive. Just like him. If not for anything else, he had to survive for them, at least until they reunited with their family.

  Caleb turned back down the hall, his doubts swept away by their smiling faces. Monsters of many skins crawled around Demesne Five, but he would meet them. For Zeika and Manja, he would meet them. It wasn't just the only thing he could do. It was what he was going to do.

  "Where are the rebels? We need more. Now, Cotch. You promised to deliver. You are neglecting our deal."

  Xakiah leaned back in his chair, feet up, smiling as he watched a tousle-haired David Georin scowl on the other side of the table. The wiry man hadn't seen a pillow in ages, it seemed, or even a shower.

  "Good doctor, do you concern yourself only with business? I am here on a social visit."

  "I typically prefer to deal with the d
evil himself, not play games with his little imps." Georin snapped. "Where is Vassal Moss?"

  "My Vassal sends his sincerest apologies. He's attending his other affairs. I'm taking care of his business in his stead."

  "Not very well, apparently."

  Xakiah felt the corner of his mouth lift in amusement. "Rough night, doctor?"

  Georin's gaze pierced his. "The Madam is declining again. We can't wait much longer for your next shipment. If you can't deliver on time, then we'll have to find someone else."

  "You won't have to. The shipment has come to you. Koa has infiltrated the Protecteds. Alchemic law enforcement is already mobilizing to smoke them out."

  "Clearly. Why else would we come here?"

  Xakiah smiled. "Yes, and here you are, circling above the graveyard like vultures. But remember that the vultures do not dictate when the lion is to hunt. I will send more Messhe and Koan rebels to the Winds of Cua when it best suits the Order. You will sit and wait for your meal, or else you'll go head-hunting on your own. Madam Cua will wait."

  "She doesn't have much time, Cotch."

  "That is her problem. Not ours. I'm not here for that."

  "Then explain to me why you're wasting my time."

  "I thought I saw some Ninkashi earlier. I was wondering if you've been stirring up any trouble in the labs. You know... bringing things up that are supposed to stay down?"

  Georin's eyes went wide. "The Ninkashi are dead."

  "I'm not toying with you, David."

  "Hey, I don't know what the hell you're talking about!" The doctor threw up his hands. "What would my lab need with the Ninkashi? They're terrible research subjects-- they're the only specimens that'll rip out your throat while they're still under the knife. Are you serious? What the hell am I going to do with a broken Messhe?"

  "You scientists always think of something. Find out where they're coming from."

  "I don't take orders from you, Cotch. Cua and I run these labs, not you. Not Vassal Moss, either."

  Xakiah chuckled, shaking his head. Hubris. Such a little man, such an overestimation of his own worth. That anyone believed they were above the Order was ludicrous. Amazing, how easily scientists like their dear Georin forgot their true places in the world. Their laboratories, where all experiments and protocols were under their control, gave them a false sense of godhood. The good doctor clearly needed to get out more, remember his place in the world and in the Order. Perhaps it was Xakiah's destiny to save this fool from nemesis.

  "Consider yourself lucky that the Order still acknowledges your utility," Xakiah said. "Yet, Luck is such a fickle mistress. I would be very careful with my words, if I were you, Georin."

  "Or else, what? You'd drown me in acid? Right. You and I both shop with the same bag of bullshit. I could only imagine what the Azures'd do to you if it weren't for Moss' protection. You'd be alone. Vulnerable. Just like the rest of us."

  Xakiah smiled. "Vassal Moss doesn't protect me from the Azures. It is quite the other way around." He leaned over the table, leveling his eyes with Georin. "Find out where the Ninkashi are coming from. It's not a request."

  Georin's eyes hardened. Still the fool, apparently. One that would eventually have to be broken. Xakiah would take great pleasure in doing it now, but if he did, his Vassal would be infuriated.

  Calm, Proficient.

  His mind whispered the warning coolly, Vassal's words laying a sweet and balsamic touch on his agitation. Vassal cared for him, trusted him enough to allow him to tend to his affairs. Xakiah couldn't falter, not even to punish the callow worm that stood before him, feigning defiance. Deepening Vassal's trust would take patience, consistency. Calm.

  Dr. David Georin served his purposes. So long as the Winds of Cua-- and Georin's lab hidden within them-- remained the repositories of all Koan trash, he and Vassal Moss needed the good doctor around. But the moment that the need dissipated...

  He stood up, straight, smiling. The gesture was almost gentle, and he could see concern flash through Georin's eyes at the change.

  "I look forward to your next report, David. If you want another shipment, then you'll have information ready for me."

  With that, Xakiah left the good doctor to his work, musing only on the sweet fantasy of when his Vassal would finally let him off the leash.

  Dawn at Lot 26. And by the smell alone, Zeika knew that Baba and Caleb had been telling the truth about the nine-lot attack. It was confirmed by the odious mist wafting down the block, one that hit her five minutes before she even reached the lot. Like meat left out in moist heat, the smell of decay sank into her, and it was all she could do to keep her lunch down. She pinched her throat against the gag reflex and soldiered on, already preparing herself for what she knew they were going to see.

  "Oh God..." she moaned. Her feet had barely touched the gravel before she saw it.

  An entire carpet of corpses, all soft and jellied with decay, lain over the blasted earth. Or they were slumped against battered apartment domiciles. Or hanging from them. The clash that had erupted between Koa and Civilians here had left the latter massacred. Even more disturbing, though, was that no one had bothered to clean up the mess.

  She picked her way through, and she kept the spasms of her stomach level as she absorbed the various grotesqueries of war. One man's forehead gaped open, his skull yawning under the smoky haze of gun discharge. Another had been crushed, maybe beneath a truck, his parts now indistinguishable from the soil with which he had melded. The earth had drunk heavily on his blood and was stained with black. A mixture of burnt shit and decay clung to Zeika's throat, the scent heavy. Old.

  A month. Nearly a month and still... these poor people...

  Her stomach flopped again, but she breathed out, determined to keep calm for Manja's sake. Scorched mud parted like ash beneath her feet, causing her to sink down with every step she took. Manja clung to her back tightly, unusually silent. Zeika had strapped her with a gas mask and a blindfold to screen out the sensualities of death. But Manja must have known. The girl trembled with every step Zeika took.

  When they finally came to about half-way through the field, she stopped and put Manja down on a clear spot. She adjusted the straps of the girl's "hiking gear", which was actually Manja's two bears, re-sewn into a knapsack and fanny pack. Zeika took off her own bag, a dry placenta of burlap, and she opened it.

  "All right, sweetie," she said. "We'll start on your two o'clock."

  Manja nodded and slowly turned 45 degrees northeast. She lifted her arms and stretched them forward, spreading her fingers wide.

  Zeika gripped the burlap bag by its open lip. "Go ahead."

  Manja's face screwed up tightly behind the gas mask. In the next moment, three different bodies began to twitch. She could hear Manja whimper as the corpses jerked around, kicking up the flakes of their earthen beds. Dead flesh slithered over the ground as they twitched, but still the girl muscled through, screwing up her face tighter--

  Schick.

  A crushed bullet uprooted from the eye of one dead body, and bits of darkened flesh fell away as the bullet hovered in the air.

  Schick-schsch-sch-schick.

  Casings and shells, shattered shrapnel, broken blades, and other metals of battle tore themselves from the flesh of their victims, hovering above their former hosts as they heeded Manja's call. Manja's face relaxed a bit as she continued to levitate the metal.

  "Good job, hon. Now just give me a second."

  Zeika walked around to one of the bodies and held the bag under the floating metal. With just a whim, she turned the metal into fabric, and the pieces of cloth fell into the open bag, finally free of Manja's control. Transforming the metal lightened their loads by more than half, allowing her to carry twice as much back home. Before things went to hell, mining trips were a common part of their daily circuit. But never like this.

  She clenched her jaw. It was disrespectful, at best. And at worst... well, it was sacrilege,
really. Haram. Soulless. Even someone as godless as she knew that much. But all the other trash repositories had been flagged as potential Ninkashi nests. AP-guarded quarantines had been constructed in neat perimeters at every trash pit and junkyard in town. So after being turned back from nearly every mining site she knew, they came here. To Lot 26, the first of nine hit by Koa that night. The first stone cast.

  And now, for all you know, the metal you're collecting could be same metal you sold last week. Maybe you're picking your own shrapnel out of someone else's kid. Merchant of death, whose wares never create, only destroy--

  She bit down, stopping the thought as soon as it attempted entry. She couldn't afford to think that way, even if it were true. Metal itself didn't kill, just the people who used it. And if she and Baba hadn't supplied Civilians with weapons, the Protecteds might've been mowed down by Azures, Koa, or God knows what else, years ago... much like the other demesnes had been in the beyond.

  She collected the last piece of metal, walked back to her sister, and knelt down to check on Manja's blindfold and mask. Baby couldn't bear the sight or the smell of the dead, nor would Zeika ever ask her to. The poor thing had been traumatized two years ago when she first discovered her powers.

  It had been another smoky morning when they'd stumbled across a dead dog in the middle of Kingsbridge Road. It had been shot to death, maybe by the APs, maybe by kids. They hadn't known that of course, and Zeika was just as prepared to walk around the carcass and not ask questions-- until Manja felt the need to help the pup. "It's sleeping," Manja had said. She'd said she could see blue beads in the dog's stomach. She'd said the dog would 'wake up' if she just pulled them out.

  Zeika had tried to protest, but Manja had already raised her hand outwards, and in the next moment, the dog's stomach was ripping open, shards of metal flying out of it. The dog's legs reanimated jerkily as the bullets uprooted in dry wisps of fur. And Manja was screaming--