Sword of the Gods: Agents of Ki (Sword of the Gods Saga)

by Anna Erishkigal

  "I did my duty…" Jophiel whispered.

  "I know," Kabshiel said. He gathered her in his arms, gently, not possessively, and kissed the top of her head. "But what we did, created a son together; that was not a duty, but a privilege. I think that's why our species is going extinct."

  Kabshiel held her only an instant, and then he let her go. She rustled her feathers, trembling with pins-and-needles at Kabshiel's revelation. All this time she'd told herself she was better than Lucifer, when all along she had left behind an even broader trail of heartache because, in their hearts, all twelve men considered themselves to be her 'husband.'

  "I am sorry," Jophiel said. She pushed back her guilt into the mask of an ice princess, or at least enough that she would not cry until later.

  Kabshiel held out his hand and helped her step back into her needle.

  "Forget me," Jophiel said as she jammed in her wings and lifted the air mask to her face. "Take good care of our son."

  Kabshiel squished her duffle bag back between her legs, and then handed her the folder with the star charts.

  "Whatever this intern stumbled upon," Kabshiel said, "whenever I've started digging, either people clam up, or the evidence starts to disappear. Whatever it is, it's a whole lot bigger than Lucifer and his petty rebellion."

  Jophiel nodded. Yes. Given what she knew now about the potentiality that this so-called Evil One might be at play, even if Lucifer had been involved, he was likely little more than a façade.

  "Thank you," Jophiel said.

  Kabshiel did not ask where she was going, and she was not about to tell him. But there was one more favor she needed from him.

  "If you get a distress call informing you a large number of men have been put off onto a marginally habitable asteroid, could you please make sure ships are sent to rescue them quickly?"

  "Consider it done, Chol Beag," Kabshiel said. He bent and kissed her forehead, his lips lingering with regret. "Goodbye."

  Jophiel tapped the inside of the needle until it closed its pouch and leaped between the stars to the place which had been its original destination. The marsupium slipped open. Jophiel sat up and ripped off the oxygen mask, thankful to be out of the claustrophobic coffin. Above her stood Major Klik'rr, her Mantoid second-in-command and, until just three seconds ago, the de facto commander of the Eternal Light.

  "It is done," Klik'rr said.

  "How many followed us?" Jophiel asked.

  "About one-third," Klik'rr said. "The rest have already been offloaded to 288-Glauke."

  Jophiel's mouth tightened into a grim line. So few… She had hoped there would be more.

  "We will make do," Jophiel said. "It's enough to run the ship, and it will minimize our resource-needs so we can go longer before we have to put down for supplies."

  "Where are we going?" Klik'rr asked.

  Jophiel pulled out the star charts and pointed to the broken section of the Monoceros ring. Whatever lay out there, it had cost Pravuil her life.

  "Set a course for this location."

  "Yes, Sir."

  ~ * ~ * ~

  Chapter 47

  Galactic Standard Date: 152,323.12 AE

  Earth Orbit: Prince of Tyre

  Special Agent Eligor

  Eligor

  Eligor sat in the staff lounge on the Prince of Tyre, wings pressed against the wall so he could watch the comings and goings of the other crewmen. He could have watched the video from his personal quarters, but like all men on a deep-space mission, the emptiness of space began to eat at you until you found yourself using any excuse to seek out the company of other men.

  That didn't mean he wanted to socialize, not by a long shot! He just liked to keep an eye on people. It wasn't like he kept hoping Lerajie would come in and blabber about what words the women in the harem had spoken that day! Naw. If Lerajie came in, he'd plop right there, in that empty chair which sat between him and the movie, his big, pink-speckled wings blocking the video, as the idiot blabbered on and on about how smart the human females were.

  Yeah … right. Humans were frail creatures, not strong enough to withstand the treatment Lucifer subjected them to when he took them against their will. When he got one, he'd take her as far away from this place as he could, like Abaddon had done for his wife. Now that was a woman he looked forward to finding. One who was smart, like Lucifer's mother had been.

  He closed his eyes and remembered how awestruck he'd been the day the dark-winged Seraphim had stepped off of her diplomatic shuttle. He'd been younger then, still an idealist, who'd shadowed the woman, memorizing the soft curve of her features, until he'd convinced himself he was in love with her. He'd pushed her out of his mind for years, but lately he'd been thinking of her a lot. He'd always wondered why Shemijaza had asked him to accompany her back to Haven-1 to retrieve his son. Shemijaza must have known he'd had a 'thing' for his wife. Why appoint him to babysit her?

  The sound of Ruax and Procel arguing roused him out of his merry side trip down fucked-up memory lane. He prayed they'd go away, but they headed straight for him, blocking his view of the movie screen.

  "What do you two want?" Eligor scowled.

  "We just came back from checking on that male you had us stash in the empty room next to the harem," Ruax said. His off-white wings fluttered with worry. "Boss … he ain't doing so well."

  Eligor studied the man through a hooded gaze. Ruax was a hard man, the kind of man you'd find on remote colonies, far from the influence of either empire's legal systems. If Ruax said the guy wasn't doing so well, he must be far worse than the sorry condition he'd been in when they'd dumped him there in the first place.

  "It's been five weeks and he still hasn't woken up," Procel said. "We keep pumping fluids into him, but he ain't eaten nothing and now his catheter's filled with blood. Maybe we should bring him down to sick bay?"

  Both men's wings drooped with a hint of despondency. He'd told them they could sell the human man to the highest bidder and keep the profits if they could manage to keep the guy alive. Eligor figured he'd wait until the good twin was in residence and then con Lucifer into giving the man a new home.

  Shit. Eligor had told Zepar he'd shot the man out the airlock. If the puppetmaster found out he and the good twin had been lying the entire time, or heaven forbid, Lucifer's alter ego, they'd all be screwed. Classic case of split personality, Zepar claimed. The good twin was always clueless, while the first thing the evil twin did whenever he reappeared was to drill him about what the good twin had been up to in the brief time they'd let Lucifer sleep off his medication.

  Speaking of which…

  Eligor glanced at his watch. It was almost time to go pick up the syringe and give 'the princess' his daily dose of antipsychotic meds. He threw out the first excuse he could think of.

  "You know Doctor Halpas is bound by law to turn the Prime Minister in for plying a protected species with illegal drugs," Eligor said. "That what you want?"

  They thought the man had an adverse reaction to some kind of magic mushroom, the illegal drug most of the crewmen believed was the source of Lucifer's odd behavior. Only Eligor knew it was him shooting Lucifer up with that shit Zepar had concocted to keep the puppet-prince pliable … and fucking psychopathic as hell!

  "Why does he get to tell the truth while you and I are expected to keep our mouths shut?" Ruax growled.

  "You see any doctors floating around in the uncharted territories growing on trees?" Eligor said.

  Procel's feathers rustled while Ruax glowered at him. "No."

  "You and me," Eligor said. "We're just a bunch of losers. Halpas? Halpas is a bona fide doctor. You want him shot out of an airlock because he took some oath to squeal on all the weird shit that's been going on around here? Or would you rather the Doc be here the next time you drop an impulse engine flight panel on your foot?"

  He glanced down at Procel's boot where the man was missing a couple of toes. It had been Halpas who'd patched his foot back together after the dumbass had n
early severed it.

  "It's a long way to the nearest modern hospital." Eligor gave him his coldest 'I don't give a fuck' glare.

  "Maybe we could stick her in the harem with that new one?" Procel said. "Let her tend to him. Lerajie said she's some sort of healer. Maybe she can figure out what we're doing wrong?"

  "The new-new ones?"

  Eligor knew damned well which 'one' they spoke of. Lerajie'd been blabbing all over the ship how smart the woman was and how she'd kept the lizard demon alive. He'd already had to cover for the do-gooder once already this week, claiming it had been him who'd swiped antibiotics out of Doctor Halpas' stash after the ship's doc had gone on the warpath. Their medical supplies, just like everything else on this three-ring circus of a ship, was a finite resource. They needed to conserve what little they had until they reached someplace the Prince of Tyre could resupply.

  "The one who came onto the ship already pregnant," Ruax said. "She's a real looker."

  "Yeah," Procel said. "I keep bringing her presents, trying to get her to talk to me the way she does Lerajie and Uzza, but every time I try to sweet talk her, she won't give me the time of day."

  Uzza was smart enough to keep his fucking trap shut, but Lerajie? One of these days, he swore he'd shoot the man out the airlock!

  "Let me think on it," Eligor said. "The only time I laid eyes on her she was still unconscious."

  "But if he dies we won't get our money," Ruax protested.

  "Shit happens," Eligor shrugged. "You knew when we stashed him we were taking a risk. If he croaks? We ain't lost nothing but a little bit of our free time."

  He glanced at his timepiece. He was overdue to give the puppet prince his daily dose of poison. With a groan, he rose from his seat, stretched his wings, and abandoned the two crewmen to sneak a peek at the movie, pretending he didn't know they were supposed to be in the kitchen gathering supplies to bring for the women's supper.

  He worked his way through the stark, white hallways, wondering as he often did what the fuck Shemijaza had been thinking as he'd designed the interior of the Prince of Tyre. The ship wrapped around inside itself like the entrails of some wild animal instead of nice and square the way a command carrier was built. This ship was luxurious beyond measure, but efficient? Nope. It took forever to get from one end of the ship to the other.

  He paused outside the door of Zepar's private research laboratory, emptied out his mind of all the frustrations he'd left behind in the staff lounge and focused on his more mundane duties, anything but the very troubling matter of the dying human male.

  He knocked twice.

  "Come in," Zepar said.

  The dirty-winged Angelic did not glance up from the robot he'd been building for the past six weeks, recognizable as humanoid even though he'd yet to graft on an external skin. The device stood perhaps sixteen feet tall, taller than a Cherubim, with burly shoulders, a thick neck, muscular arms and legs, and an animalistic head, though Eligor couldn't quite make out what creature the robot was supposed to resemble. Zepar was up to his elbows in what appeared to be a miniature cryogenics chamber built into the robot's middle.

  "You are three minutes late," Zepar said. He touched the soldering iron to the delicate electronics. The scent of melted lead filled the room. Eligor knew better than to ask what Zepar was building, but whatever it was, the device was nearly finished.

  "My apologies, Sir," Eligor said. "I was waylaid by a stupid question on my way back from the staff lounge."

  Zepar's eyes narrowed into the sloe-eyed gaze he used whenever he tried to fuck around with Eligor's mind.

  'Movie was just okay,' Eligor filled his mind with nonsense, 'starlet was alright looking. No tits, but she had a nice ass, and very pretty wings. Speaking of ass, would like to try out that modification to the shuttle Captain Marbas suggested. He thinks it would get me an extra quarter light-year of speed the next time I have to bug out and avoid a Sata'anic patrol.'

  Zepar swiveled to face Eligor and rose, stretching his wings, the closest the cold fish ever came to demonstrating any regard for his body. He paced over to the small, wooden box which contained this afternoon's dose of Lucifer's medicine and handed it to him.

  "Thank you, Sir," Eligor said.

  He turned to leave.

  "Not so fast, Eligor," Zepar said.

  Eligor's wings froze mid-flap. He took a breath and filled his mind with nonsense thoughts.

  Zepar picked up a keycard and handed it to him, colored red with large black letters and a danger symbol plastered over both sides. A chill rippled through Eligor's feathers. He knew what this keycard belonged to, and he suspected he knew why Zepar handed it to him.

  "Sir?"

  Zepar sniffed the air. His mouth curved up into a cruel smirk.

  "You gave me your word you would reach an understanding with your friend," Zepar said.

  Eligor's hand trembled as he took the key to the airlock out of Zepar's hand.

  "I tried, Sir," Eligor said. "I've been so busy, I haven't had a lot of time to talk to him, Sir."

  That wasn't true. He'd railed Lerajie up one side of the third degree and down the other, trying to impress upon the man to shut the fuck up, but Lerajie was an idealist.

  "I've had complaints," Zepar stalked towards him like an executioner, "that Lerajie has been threatening to break into the communications room and send a subspace message to the media outlets about his perceived mistreatment of Lucifer's wives."

  Eligor's eyebrows rose in surprise.

  "He did, Sir?"

  Zepar gave him a self-satisfied smirk.

  "Who said that?" Eligor growled. "Lerajie is seven kinds of stupid, but he's no traitor!"

  Zepar stepped backwards, his smirk disappearing.

  "That's none of your business, crewman," Zepar said. "All you need to know is that Lerajie has become a problem, one which Lucifer wishes to have disappear."

  "I don't believe you," Eligor said. "Lerajie helped me spring Lucifer's ass out of his father's prison while you gallivanted off to the uncharted territories, your tailfeathers jammed between your legs because Hashem bagged your meal ticket. He doesn't trust you anymore, which is why you have me acting as your errand boy!"

  "Nevertheless," Zepar said, "Lucifer wants Lerajie gone. That's an order, crewman. If you can't obey that order, then it will be you we send out of the airlock. Not just Lerajie."

  Eligor shook the needle-box in Zepar's face.

  "If Lucifer wants him gone," Eligor snarled, "then he's gone. But I want to hear it from Lucifer's own lips. Otherwise, I'll let you try to shoot up the Prince Party Prom Queen up with whatever the fuck you've been loading into this syringe!"

  Eligor noted the way Zepar turned a few shades paler. Good! He was through being Zepar's bitch! He stormed out of there, barely giving a backwards glance at the weird robot Zepar was building. He shoved past several crewmen, not even acknowledging them as they dove out of his way, recognizing how unusual it was for him to show any emotion other than 'I don't give a fuck.'

  Furcas and Pruflas stood like bookends on either side of Lucifer's door. Eligor suspected they were there to keep Lucifer inside so he didn't roam around the ship and tip off the crew he was bonkers, not to keep potential assassins out. They eyed him with cold-eyed disdain as he slipped past them, into the familiar stench of stale liquor, expensive men's cologne, and an underlying scent of sickness that not even the air recycling system could mask any longer.

  His eyes adjusted to the darkness. They all had a tacit agreement that whenever Lucifer wasn't needed they'd let him sleep it off, only shooting him up when it was necessary for him to perform some duty. Eligor walked over to the bar and turned on the furthest light from Lucifer's bed, and then sat down in a chair to wait for him to gradually wake up. As he did, his mind raced. Lerajie. Ordered dead? He didn't believe that Lucifer had ordered such a thing. This was Zepar's doing. Him, and whatever crewman had ratted Lerajie out, seeking favor from the puppetmaster.

  Eligo
r hit the arm of the chair. Stupid, dumb-fuck sonofabitch! Why the hell had the bleeding heart idiot gone and blabbed his do-goodness to every crewman in the ship?

  His mind raced, trying to think of what he could say to get Lucifer to rescind the order. He'd appeal to the good twin. That's what he'd do. He pulled out the syringe and held it up to the bar-light, examining the putrid green liquid which turned Lucifer into a cold-blooded bastard.

  Lucifer groaned. A large, white wing rustled as he stretched, and then flapped over as he rolled over and tried to block the light with his wing.

  "Eligor? Is that you?"

  "Yes, Sir," Eligor said. "It's me."

  "My head hurts."

  "I know, Sir."

  "Can you pour me a drink?"

  "I will, Sir," Eligor said. "Right after I give you your medicine."

  He held up the syringe and read the numbers which went from 10 to 100 cc's. It was stuck on 70 cc's. What if he only gave him 65 cc's? Would that make a difference? If Lucifer started hallucinating again, tomorrow he'd just shoot him up with the full dosage?

  He squeezed the air bubbles out, and then he squeezed a little more, aiming the tiny squirt of green liquid away from anyplace the stain would be obvious against Lucifer's luxurious, burgundy décor. There. 65cc's.

  "Why can't you just give me a hair of the Leonid?" Lucifer grumbled. He uncovered his eyes and stared at Lerajie from the cover of his silk sheets. "I don't like my medicine. It makes me feel not like … me."

  'My thoughts exactly,' Eligor thought to himself.

  "As you wish, Sir," Eligor said aloud.

  He usually didn't cave in to Lucifer's calls for alcohol, but he needed to convince the man that Lerajie wasn't a threat, especially if, as he suspected, Zepar was ordering his friend's execution to send a message to anyone who might be inclined to follow Lerajie's lead.

  His friend…

  Oh, alright. Fuck. Yes. He'd admit it. Lerajie was his friend!