by Chad R. Odom
“Your boy upstairs brought him. Some sort of bodyguard.”
Books shook his head. The informant waiting for him was told to come alone. “Idiot. Tell me something, Vick. Do you think anyone will ever accomplish what we have?”
Vick cast his pale eyes at Books. “You’d better hope not. A lot of people had to die for us to be who we are, including the ones who used to be us!” He coughed and sputtered again. “What you and I accomplished…it was revolutionary. That’s the thing about new ideas. Once you’ve had one, the person after you has to come up with somethin’ better.”
“That’ll take ‘em a while.”
Vick coughed again and then wiped some spittle from his chin. “Hell, even I never figured out how you did some of the things you did. I never asked, ‘cause I figured it was better I didn’t know. Pure genius.”
Books thought back. He remembered his days as a small-time hitter for local Black Market bosses. He’d worked his way up the ranks but was stifled by those ‘at the top.’ Everyone was in fearful awe when he took over the regime. It was a bloody war that he orchestrated and controlled right up to the end. His brutal tactics made a strong statement and had for many years now. No one had the courage or the muscle to take him down. What no one knew was that he wasn’t the brains behind the war or anything that had happened since, even though he was happy to let everyone believe that.
Books picked at his teeth. “Are you sure the information you have for me is legit? I can’t afford mistakes.”
Vick cleared his throat with a wet grinding noise. “He’d been telling me bits and pieces o’ dis before you asked me to start lookin’. He’s legit.”
The interrogator had finished carving off all ten fingers and was now removing the back teeth that had not been knocked out by the impact of the ball. Sweat poured down his face as he struggled with the pliers.
“What, is this your first time?” Books barked at him. “Break the teeth first! Stop pulling so much!” He returned to the business at hand. “What does our little birdie upstairs want?”
“A million for the meetin’. Five if it’s of value.”
“And who determines if it is of value?”
“I guess…” Vick coughed vigorously. “I guess you do.”
Books let the sum roll around in his mind. It wasn’t the amount that bothered him, good information was worth it. But free information was always better. Everyone had a price, and it was usually less than originally asked for.
“All right. Let’s go see him,” Books said with finality. The two men stood and Vick started toward the door. Mr. Books proceeded to the interrogator and his victim who was vomiting on himself and the floor. The bruiser let him finish puking, then went back after his last few teeth. Books removed a pistol from beneath his jacket and, after a moment’s contemplation, put two bullets into the victim’s forehead. The interrogator jumped as the shots echoed loudly in the room.
“As much fun as you think this is, it’s painful for me to watch. Just get it done.” He looked at the corpse with contempt for the sloppiness of the execution. “For God’s sake, you damned child!”
His head was only inches away from where Mr. Books had fired. As the two men left, he took another deep drink of liquid courage and finished what he had started.
***
“There is no way to kill him! You can’t kill a man you can’t find!” The so-called informant was anything but informative. Books’s frustration was brimming over. “Are you kidding me?” he quipped, looking hard at Vick. “Is he kidding me?”
Vick raised a stiff eyebrow, shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.
Books sat on the desk in his office above the club, one leg on the floor while Vick stood with his back against the wall next to the window. In front of Books was a wooden chair occupied by a grungy, tattered man. Greasy rat-tail hair hung helter-skelter over his face. He reeked of the streets.
“Is this a joke?” He looked back at the informant. “You’re at the very end of your sorry life, and you’re telling jokes?” Books removed his pistol for the second time that night.
The informant made no reaction. “Just because you can’t find him doesn’t mean it’s impossible,” he hissed.
“So far you’ve given me nothing that proves you’re closer than I am. So, unless you’d like me to pry it out of you, I would start giving me something worth listening to!”
“I’ve been arrested fifteen times in the past year by three different countries and one private party,” said the man from behind a sick smile.
“La-dee-da. I don’t arrest. I’m not the cops and I’m certainly not impressed by your prison record. What that tells me is that you’re running around with an ‘arrest me’ sign on your forehead and an ‘enter here’ sign on your ass. That also means that what information you have is probably as worthless as you.”
“For being a smart man, you don’t listen very well. How many times isn’t important. It’s the last one I mentioned. Don’t you want to know about the private party?”
Books lowered the pistol but kept it ready as he walked around the man, stopping behind him. He gave another irritated glance at Vick, who showed no sign of acknowledgement. “I’ll humor you but this is your last chance. Who was the private party?”
He turned his head slightly to look over his shoulder. “I don’t know who it was.”
There was a click as Books raised the pistol. “I’ve had enough.”
“Who’s Therion?” the informant asked.
Books came back around to the front of the man in a flash. He held his arms against the arms of the chair and came inches from his nose. In a low, menacing tone he spoke. “How do you know that name?”
“Oh, so you are interested after all?”
“How do you know that name?” Panic set in for Books. A light sweat glossed his features instantaneously. There were three people in the world who knew that name. What else did this punk know?
The informant began to chuckle. Books threw the chair backward with him in it and stood over him with the pistol; he only laughed louder.
“How do you know that name?” he shouted.
Books put his pistol back, walked to Vick, and removed a six-inch knife from his belt. With swift strides, he knelt beside the informant and put the knife between his legs. “We can do this the hard way or I can make you a wealthy man. How do you know that name?”
The man gradually stopped laughing and began wiping the tears from his eyes. “I don’t know who it was who arrested me, but I could hear them talking. There were at least three people.”
“Go on.”
“Somebody named Therion and somebody named Lykas.” He smiled at Books. “But I didn’t know until today who either of them was, Mr. Books.”
He pressed the blade harder. “You’re still not giving me a reason to let you keep these.”
“I know!” he said laughing hysterically again. “But it’s what happened after, that might be worth your while.
“After the conversation with Lykas and....”—he smiled and chuckled again—“Therion, he spoke with someone else. They never mentioned their names, but they discussed where Damrich would be. I know where, when, and who he’ll be with!”
Books eased up slightly on the knife but did not remove it from its place.
“Come closer!” the deranged man said with a twisted smile.
The man whispered the details into his ear. This information was pure gold. True, the informant was anything but sane, but this was hardly something he could have just made up. This was well worth the money. If what he was saying was accurate, he knew where and when to put a face to Damrich.
Books stood and extended a hand to the still laughing man. He raised him to his feet and then sat the chair upright. The informant sat back down on Books’ invitation. Books patted the man’s greasy shoulder and then on his greasy cheek. “You’ve done well for yourself. Very good. Very good.”
Books leaned against his desk and began to speak to
Vick. “How long have we known each other?”
“Long time. Since I had hair,” he said with a laugh that sent him into a fit of coughing.
Books smiled slightly at the jest. “Yeah, long time.”
Mr. Books listened to the muffled sound of the music from the floor below. The bass thumped hard enough to rattle the glass window. He could remember working the streets with Vick. He recalled all the time they spent together and the empire they had forged. He had been a completely loyal man and the best asset he had. Until now. After hearing that, Vick knew too much. He would probably never tell a soul, but it didn’t matter. He had become a liability.
Books drew his pistol and put a bullet between Vick’s eyes. In another movement, he leveled the gun at the informant who proceeded to laugh again. With the click of a trigger the laughing stopped. Books stood for a few moments of silence as the smoke from the muzzle curled around his face and crawled along the ceiling. There was much gained tonight, but it had come at a heavy cost. The payoff would be worth it.
He moved to the other side of his desk and pressed a button. A few seconds later, a knock sounded at the door, and a thin man poked his head through.
“Yes sir, Mr. Books. What is needed?”
“Clean up.”
The man took notice of the corpses. “Oh. Right away sir,” and he disappeared.
Books sat down heavily in his chair. His mind worked feverishly to tie off all loose ends to the coup he was about to stage. This would be the single most sweeping shift in power in history. Soon, as Doran Balsa, Therion would overthrow Navarro and as Briscoe Books, he would topple Damrich.
Only Damrich knew that Doran Balsa, Briscoe Books, and Therion were all the same person. Therion wondered which of his identities he would have to leave behind when this was all over. Balsa was far more respected, but Books fit his real personality better. It all depended on what necessity would force on him.
Therion would be checking travel logs and itineraries for a few key people. Then, he would watch to see if that matched what he’d been told. Careful planning and careful timing were needed; to say nothing of extreme caution.
It was his plan, not simply to kill Damrich, but to take his place in a transition so smooth no one would notice he had been replaced. In his mind, there were only two possible outcomes. One was that he was successful, and he would be the most powerful man in the world. Or the other…the other couldn’t be considered.
Books placed the pistol on the desktop. He notified the valet to store his vehicle in his personal garage. Plans had changed. The clean-up men came and went with far more efficiency than the so-called professional he had witnessed earlier that night. After they were gone, he gave strict instructions that he was not to be disturbed.
From a drawer in the desk, he removed a small cloth coated in a chemical designed to remove a very potent form of make-up. He began to wipe the cloth against his skin. First, on his forehead above his eye and then down his cheek and to his neck. Slowly, the make-up vanished, and all that was left was the mark. The brand that signified he was a slave. It was, very simply, the name of Damrich written over and over again in a dead language.
The mask of Mr. Books disappeared.
Therion looked at his hand. The same tattoo that lined his forehead began to make itself visible on his hand. It was the same mark that Major Wall had seen in their escape from the city not long ago. If Wall knew exactly what it was and what it meant, he would have had to kill the good Major on the spot.
Therion hated the tattoo. He could have had it removed long ago, but feared Damrich would know and return to brand him a second time. This time, perhaps, with something he couldn’t hide. The tattoos also reminded him he was vulnerable. If Damrich could get to him, so could others. It kept him sharp and it kept him alive.
Soon enough, he would be able to remove it. Soon, he would make sure he burned his name into the flesh of the man who had done the same to him. The slave would become the master. Therion breathed deeply and began to access the Net. It was time to get to work.
Family
Celeste didn’t take Oryan to Asher. She wanted to, but she also knew the kind of trauma they’d both been through. She and Eldar had many conversations about soldiers and war and the stress that someone goes through even if they don’t realize it. Asher had endured more than any child should have to, and the last thing she wanted to give him was an unstable father.
She left Asher in the care of Rebekkah, her closest friend since she’d arrived. For several days, she showed Oryan more of the city and took him up into the mountains.
Under the starry sky, the pair climbed a fair way up one of the slopes that encircled the encampment so they could see the entire city. They stayed there for some time, watching the sun shrink behind the rocks. The sky had gone from blue, to shades of purple, red and gold… Gradually, it became a black canvas with the moon and stars painting wonderful pictures. At times, a star would streak through the sky on its way out of existence.
Oryan sat on the ground leaning against the firm rock wall, Celeste directly in front of him. The night was cool, but Oryan kept her warm.
Having her back was overwhelming for him. So much so, he realized he’d been talking almost the entire time. Now, with her in his arms, he soaked her in. For him, it was surreal. Until now, he’d imagined their reunion like another mission for the Warlord of Navarus. He’d plotted out dozens of ways to infiltrate a Slave Quarter. He thought of the guards he would have to disable, the walls he would have to climb, or the holes to dig, or any combination thereof.
He laid his head on the top of hers, remembering completely how soft her hair was. His heart swelled with gratitude for Sicari and whatever fate it was that allowed for this to happen. For the first time, someone he loved had been restored to him instead of being ripped away. A tear of pure happiness rolled down his cheek, and Sicari’s words about worthiness rang in his heart.
Oryan stared the stars, wondering if his mother and father were watching him now. “They really are beautiful,” he said. “It’s been a long time since I stopped and just looked at them.”
Celeste joined his gaze. A distant meteor streaked across the sky. She curled up further in his arms, feeling a wholeness she had not known in some time. It was as if time was standing still so she could live in this moment forever.
“I know that beyond this place is some of the harshest weather I have ever seen. How I can still see the world like this is beyond me,” Oryan mused.
“Eldar told me all about that,” Celeste replied.
“Who’s Eldar?”
“You’ll meet him eventually. He told me that it’s a result of the terraforming experiment they did here. Something about artificial environments in a contained space and utilizing atmospheric inhibitors to penetrate the weather conditions within that space...He sort of lost me at that point.”
“I know that feeling.”
“Did the sky look different when you were a soldier?” asked Celeste.
Oryan thought back on all the skies he had fought and slept under in his life. “No,” he began, “And yes. The world became small to me.”
Oryan smiled as he ran his fingers through her hair. He was a great one for making even simple things complicated. She was the opposite. To her, things were simple. There was only black or white. Gray did not exist in her world.
“It doesn’t matter anymore,” he said quietly.
“You don’t seem any worse for the wear,” Celeste commented, trying to spin a positive light on what had kept him away for so long.
Oryan nodded and then smirked. “Wanna see something?”
She looked at him suspiciously. “Sure?”
He reached into his mouth and a second later produced a tooth. She wrinkled her face in disgust. He grinned like a little kid.
“That’s wonderful, Oryan,” she said dryly.
“It happened pretty early on. I got knocked into the back of a tank. Took the tooth and bruised me up pr
etty bad.” He turned the tooth over in his fingers. “See how it’s all hollowed out? I went to the dentist and they gave me this tooth to replace the one I lost. That was all fine and good, but what I didn’t know was they put a tracking device in it. Apparently, the Empire wanted to keep tabs on me.”
“How did you figure it out?”
“Funny story, actually. We were on our way to a city we were supposed to take. When we were a few miles out, Vollmar set off an EMP to try and keep us in the dark. I wasn’t close enough to get the brunt of it, but I was close enough that it partially shorted out the tracker. Every time I would clench my teeth or chew on that side, the tracker would shock my gums. When I’d had enough, I dug out the tooth and found the tracker.
“I never got the tooth to fit right again. It stays put unless I really go after it with my tongue. I’m sure I could’ve gotten it fixed, but there was no way I was going back to the dentist after that.”
Celeste smiled and shook her head lovingly. “I missed you.”
Her demeanor changed again, and the mood became one of reflection and memory. “They told me you were in a Slave Quarter,” Oryan broached the subject.
Celeste looked at her feet. She didn’t want to talk about it, but it might as well be told now and be done. She told him about her parents and their declining health and eventual death. She let him know how she’d come to know Kovac and about the Paladin showing up on her door. Then, she came to the Quarter. There were a lot of details she omitted, still trying to steer clear of any mention of Asher. She finished out with her rescue by Corvus and Sicari and the care Eldar had given her since she arrived here.
“Have you seen what their medicine can do?”
Oryan smiled. “I’m familiar.”
“Once I had recovered, they filled me in on the details about you and their plan to bring you here.”
Oryan had a feeling there was a lot she omitted. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“I promise, I’ll tell you everything, but for now, I just want to be with you.” Celeste sat up and faced him. She let her eyes capture his. For a while they gazed at each other and he could see that she was not lying to him.
