"Impressive,” said the other immortal, with an expression that could only be described as a smirk. Instantly both of his hands were filled with the pommels of identical, slightly curved short swords of some kind.
He closed and it only took a couple of swift exchanges for Malice to realize how over-matched he was. It took everything he had to keep those short blades away from his flesh. And, what was even worse, he felt certain the man was only playing with him.
He had only one advantage, if he dared to use it. He knew how to kill other immortals, a skill he could almost guarantee the other didn't have. There had been enough left behind on Alantea for his masters to leave a few alive for him to practice against for experience. In the end he knew exactly how much of an advantage he had.
He dissolved his sword mid-thrust, sending a cascade of dust into his opponent's eyes. As Bladesworth grunted and fell backward, Malice reformed the weapon and drove the tip directly for the man's right eye. A stab straight through the ocular channel into the brain was almost certainly a killing blow—even for an immortal.
A crimson blossom appeared on his chest, accompanied by a powerful blow, and he stumbled backward, momentarily confused. That hurt! A second joined the first and he realized the cop had recovered his presence of mind and was actually firing at him. It wasn't as though the bullets could really cause him any lasting harm, but Malice didn't like experiencing pain first-hand. He didn't like it at all.
He drove the tip of his shoe into Bladesworth's groin, dropping the other immortal to his knees. “Another time, perhaps,” he said with a mocking salute, then dashed away. The cop attempted to give chase but was easily eluded by a series of telekinetically enhanced jumps that took him from rooftop to rooftop.
Panting, the officer returned to the scene to find Bladesworth gone as well. He dropped to his knees, sobbing. Then, with careful deliberation, stuck the barrel of his service weapon in his mouth and pulled the trigger.
Six
A month and a half passed uneventfully, without even so much as a blip from the mysterious killer immortal. Athena arrived at Shea's office early one morning, not expecting much of anything, only to find him entertaining an unexpected visitor.
She entered without knocking, as usual, and stopped dead in her tracks. Sitting in a chair opposite Shea at his desk she spied a man in the standard Fed uniform of crisp blue suit, shiny shoes, and dark sunglasses.
Shea stood. “Athena Cross, I'd like to introduce you to Special Agent Jack Frost."
"Jack Frost?” she repeated, not sure she'd heard right. You have got to be kidding me.
The agent may well have been carved from ice, judging by the total lack of expression on his face as he stepped forward to extend a hand. Eyes the color of a clear mountain lake met hers and thin lips may have traced the barest hint of a smile, but she wouldn't swear to it. “It's a pleasure to meet you,” he said, in a voice as chill as his general demeanor. “I was just telling your employer how much I looked forward to it."
She shot a glance at Shea, who frowned slightly. Something's up, she thought. Question is—what?
"Special Agent Frost was just telling me the most interesting story,” Shea said casually. “One would almost believe he's more suited to be a science fiction author than a federal agent."
Frost turned to him and inclined his head slightly. “I assure you, Mr. Shea, I am not known for my imagination."
"Now there's a shocker,” Athena muttered. She couldn't even swear he had a heartbeat. Either Frost didn't hear her, or pretended not to—she wouldn't have placed a bet either way.
"To continue—the United States government has been aware of your activities for quite some time, but we were content to simply watch and gather intelligence. Your people did not seem to have any tendency to fight amongst yourselves, or otherwise cause trouble for those around you. All of this changed this spring. The attack at the carnival, and the recent battle with three armed police officers that was caught on video, attracted a lot of unwanted attention. It appears that one of your number has gone rogue."
Shea grimaced. “Even assuming what you say is true—and I'm not agreeing to anything—what makes you think this fellow, whoever he is, has anything to do with us?"
Frost adjusted his tie as the sat back down. “The United States government has its sources, Mr. Shea. We know that this rogue is an immortal, and that your people have both investigated him and confronted him directly on at least one occasion."
"What worries me, Agent Frost, is that, for all your alleged intelligence regarding us as a group, your superiors would see fit to send an agent as formal yourself when my dislike of formality is a matter of public record.” Shea leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest.
"First of all, it is Special Agent Frost. And, yes, we do realize your preference for informality. But we also wish you to understand, and make no mistake about it, that we are very serious about preventing any more outbreaks of violence among your kind."
Shea's eyes grew hard and he leaned forward, placing his hands on the desk. “I'm only going to say this once, Special Agent Frost. Your assumptions are generally false, your allegations border on slanderous, and your attitude itself has me about two seconds from tossing you out the front door with my own two hands. I have no problem cooperating with the government, but I'll be damned if I'll tolerate your snide commentary within my own fucking office. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"
Athena felt her own jaw hit the floor. This was a side of Deryk Shea she'd never seen. She doubted very many immortals ever had. It was easy to forget where he came from and what he'd done back home. The only time he showed even a hint of this sort of thing was during their lessons, and that aspect of his personality was so laden with ritual formality that it almost didn't seem like him at all.
"We have it in our power to make life very difficult for you if you don't cooperate, Mr. Shea.” Frost's voice never wavered, nor did his face show the slightest indication that the words had affected him in the least. “It may not be in the country's best interest to expose you all for what you truly are, but, if you make it necessary, we are quite willing to go that far."
Shea burst out laughing. “You think that frightens us, Frost? Are you really that stupid—or are your superiors? Exposure would do this society far more harm than it would ever do to us. Get the f—"
Ian Stone appeared in the doorway behind Athena. “I think you've done enough, Frost. Stand down."
For the first time since meeting him, Athena recognized a real emotion passing across Frost's ice-carved face. It was fear. She jerked her head around to stare at Stone, who, in a moment's time, seemed to become an entirely different person. He offered her an almost apologetic shrug and turned his attention to Shea. “Special Agent Frost is one who probably never should have been transferred to the ‘I’ Division in the first place,” he said, with a pointed glance at the agent in question. “Unfortunately, once such a transfer has taken place, it's impossible to reverse it. Once ‘I', you're ‘I’ for life.
"I've heard it said that some people are amazed Frost can fit his head so far up his ass with that stick that's already there."
Shea snorted. “So you're a Fed too, are you?” He didn't seem particularly surprised, even though Athena herself was absolutely floored.
Stone nodded. “I'm afraid so. I apologize for the deception, but this offered us the first opportunity we've ever had to integrate an operative into your ranks. You are, you must admit, a rather tight-knit group."
"In a way,” Shea admitted. “So how much of what he's saying's true?"
"All and none,” Stone answered. “We have been watching you for a very long time—in fact, the standing joke is that ‘I’ Division is actually a play on words—referring to the watching ‘eye’ printed on our nation's currency. And, yes, that eye is also an inside joke, of a sort. That eye is watching you."
"Me?"
Stone frowned. “Not you, specifically. Oh, you're pulli
ng my leg.” He glanced over at Frost. “You. Get the hell out of here before I have you demoted to Faerie Patrol."
Mustering all the dignity he could, Frost stood and marched from the room.
"Faerie Patrol?” Athena had to ask.
"We've been trying to prove or disprove the existence of the Faerie Folk for the past hundred and twenty years,” Stone explained. “The verdict's still out.” He took the seat Frost had vacated. “Now—to get back to my point.
"We've been watching you since before there was a United States government,” he said. “'I’ Division is a fairly recent incarnation of a very ancient order—one that originally tracked specific instances of direct encounters with the ancient ‘gods’ and other strange creatures. You might be surprised to discover that its existence dates back to the time of Ancient Greece.
"At one time we even had magicians among our ranks, but somewhere during the dark ages the ability to use magic to any significant degree seemed to vanish completely."
"The black plague,” Athena interjected.
"What?” Both Shea and Stone looked askance at her.
"It's one of Loki's theories, but the time table seems about right. We know that something introduced a virus that modified the human genetic code enough so real magic just seemed to go away. Our theory has always been that it was done by the Enemy in order to make Earth easier to take when its time came.
"That's why Loki's been working on reversing its effects."
Stone's eyes fell on her with a palpable weight behind them. “Okay. I've heard this term before—it appears in various literature about your kind, but there's never any real explanation. I've picked up a little more in the meantime, but still must admit I'm in the dark."
Athena glanced at Shea, who nodded. He's the Captain. She sighed heavily. “We're not from Earth originally. I'm sure you already know that."
"We've guessed as much, actually. Go on."
"Well, what we immortals collectively refer to as ‘the Enemy’ is actually a race of creatures that survives—thrives—by invading other worlds and harvesting their population for food and slaves. Our own world was targeted at some point and they began sending agents there, agents who sow chaos and attempt to turn natives to their cause. We caught on fairly quickly, for reasons I won't get into right now, and were able to fight back with enough effectiveness to actually make them nervous.
"Making them nervous didn't turn out to be too good an idea. The Enemy is a master of bio-technology—their skill in that area is so advanced it's nearly impossible to explain using Earth terminology. Anyway, they retaliated with what they meant to be a master stroke. We call it the Thanatos virus. It wiped out nearly our whole population in a matter of days.
"Some of us were immune, however. More than immune, I guess. The reasons behind this are still a mystery, and probably always will be. But those of us who escaped to your world were all changed into what we are today—immortal and damn near un-killable by normal means."
"Your own personal history would certainly suggest that,” he commented with a vaguely amused expression. “We do know of your ... encounter with the revolutionaries in France.” His eyes flicked briefly to her neck.
Somehow this didn't surprise her much. This group of mortals knew far more than any of them had ever imagined they could. “We have actually anticipated their arrival for quite some time—speaking strictly for me, I'm surprised it's taken this long for them to arrive."
"So let me get this straight. You fled the destruction of your race and—what?—crashed here on some sort of starship?"
Shea let out a short, barking laugh. “It figures you'd assume that. The Enemy never mastered space travel to even the extent you humans have. They travel between universes, between the lines of probability—if you are at all familiar with the concepts of quantum mechanics and string theory, you may have some notion of what I mean. The Enemy has taken control of countless alternate Earths—not alien worlds."
Stone blinked, then shook his head in amazement. “We had no idea. We just assumed—"
"No surprise,” Shea said. “That sort of thing has been the subject of countless science fiction movies—usually bad ones—and even several television shows. It's easy to imagine traveling between the stars in a single universe. The notion of traveling between universes is a little harder to swallow."
"So here you are,” Stone mused, turning his attention back to Athena, “stuck on our Earth, waiting for the Enemy to follow you here."
She nodded. “We knew it was only a matter of time. We hoped that they remained ignorant of our existence, but it seems pretty apparent that we'd surrendered to wishful thinking. Those of us who escaped were probably not the only ones changed by the Thanatos virus—just the ones who managed to gather together and make use of the one vessel we'd managed to outfit with the single probability drive we'd reverse engineered from one of their captured ships."
"So the killer at the carnival—"
"—was one of theirs. We don't know if he's one of our people who's been turned, or something they themselves created. Actually, we figure it could go either way. We have no way of knowing until we either capture him or he does something that eliminates the question on his own."
"So what more can we expect?"
"They are a very patient race,” Shea answered. “Keep in mind that the first gambit we know about came some six or seven centuries ago. We harbored some suspicions that the Nazi movement of the early twentieth Century might've been of their making, but we can't be sure. You humans are quite able to come up with some atrocious thinking all on your own."
"Gee, thanks. You know, this information has been very helpful. It explains an awful lot of things we've been wondering about for quite some time. Now that we've actually formally made contact, I think we can help each other quite a bit. That is, if you're amenable."
"And you can speak for your agency then?” Shea asked pointedly.
"I would hope so. I'm the Director."
"That works,” Shea murmured. “So what, exactly, do you bring to the table? As a group, I mean. You know what we have to offer."
Stone smiled. “I was wondering when you were going to ask that question. Didn't it occur to you to wonder how we could know even a fraction of what we do, yet remain so ignorant of other things, even things that are related? We obviously haven't turned any of yours—not only would you probably know about it by now, but we'd be far better informed than we are."
"Okay,” Shea growled, “I'll bite. What are we missing?"
"We're psychic.” He delivered this deadpan, without even a tinge of humor in his voice. Even so both immortals nearly laughed aloud.
"Say again?"
"Dead serious. The ‘I’ Division retains more genuine psychic talents than any other agency on Earth. Mark my words, you immortals aren't the only ones who have these sorts of gifts. Some of you—such as Bladesworth—are graced with a great deal more experience using certain disciplines, but we have some pretty powerful practitioners as well."
"Which is how you happened to be at the carnival that day,” Athena pointed out.
"Exactly. One of our precog teams flagged it as a potential trouble spot, and a big one. That gave me reason to check it out myself. I witnessed the assault just as I described to you. The chance to slip into your fold came as quite a surprise, but I thought I pulled it off with considerable skill."
"That you did,” Shea admitted, with a pointed glance at Athena.
She flushed and shot him a razor glance in return. It's not like you saw right through it, oh great leader. It wasn't as though we'd ever even considered the possibility. Then it struck her. They've hidden their existence from us for over twenty-five centuries? Now that she found truly remarkable.
Stone snickered suddenly. Her eyes grew wide as she realized what was going on. He's a bloody mind-reader.
"I'm a level five telepath,” he admitted. “That's top rank for a human. Even your Edward Bladesworth only tips the sc
ale at a seven."
"But you can't read my mind, can you?” Shea barely covered up the smirk that had crept onto his face.
"No, I can't. None of our telepaths or empaths can read you. Even our precogs and remote viewers only find a blank spot where you're concerned. It has always been a serious source of frustration for us."
"Get used to it,” Shea grunted. “It's the only real gift I received other than my immortality itself. I seem to be immune to other powers. All other powers, near as I can tell."
"Pretty much,” said Loki, appearing in the doorway. He grinned across the room at all of them. “Hello, Agent Stone. I was wondering when you'd come out of the cloak and dagger closet."
"You knew? How?” Athena's look was pure scorching fury. They'd barely seen hide nor hair of Loki in months and now here he was, saying that he knew all along that her assistant was a spy.
"I have my ways. And don't even try to read my mind, Stone. You'll find I'm blocked by a much greater power than your own."
Both Shea and Athena shot him a look. He nodded. “He is—something stronger than I've ever felt before, to be honest."
Loki's grin bordered on the malicious. “I figured now would be a good time to drop by to give you all a progress report. My metaviruses are doing well. I figure about ten percent of the Earth's population is now able to access mana fully—my vector has been a busy little beaver, if you'd pardon the crude pun.
"Any day now you're going to see a massive outbreak of metahuman mutations. Be ready for this one, folks, because I don't know what kind of manifestations they'll have. It should be a little like living in a comic book universe from now on."
He leaned against the door jam and blew on his fingernails. “Regular humans are going to start showing up as stronger, faster, and smarter, too. I introduced something I like to call a ‘para’ virus. It's a sneaky little bugger—acts like the flu or something generally innocuous, and vanishes as quickly as it appears. Should make the Olympics and professional sports a lot more interesting in years to come."
Loki's Sin Page 8
