by Cliff Hicks
“Randall, Shelly and James have gone out to look for him, so I imagine they’ll be back any time now with the wayward soul in tow, so if you’d just relax…”
“Relax? RELAX? Are you out of your fucking mind? Okay, I want you to tell me exactly, exactly what happened?”
Over the next fifteen minutes or so, Terence related the events of Jake’s escape to Carlos, while the bigger angel went through fits of anger, disappointment, panic and back to anger again. Carlos eventually started scribbling notes on a piece of paper so he could get all of the details right. Most of the time, he was shaking his head as he was writing, trying not to scowl at Terence, even at the point where Terence admitted he was the one who was supposed to be standing outside during the shift change, which allowed Jake to rush past him. Terence also went through and filled in as much information they had about Jake Altford before his escape. Carlos was practically biting his bottom lip off by the time Terence got to telling him about the tunnel they had to dig, and Terence could see him writing Celeste’s name down an underlining it several times.
All in all, Terence was actually fairly impressed that they had held together this well. None of the other members of the flock had noticed anything gone astray, nor even noticed that Jake wasn’t around. The angels had covered up the tunnel before they had gone looking for Jake, so there wasn’t any difficulty in keeping it controlled as an exit. Besides, Terence pointed out, it only led to another set of cells anyway, and those cells were guarded by a different group of people, a group Terence had to admit were better at their job than they were. Carlos, of course, pointed out that they hadn’t notified senior staff, as per protocol, but Terence countered by saying angels in the working class had to look out each other.
Inside his head, Carlos was one step away from falling apart. No one had ever gotten out of the quarters before who wasn’t supposed to. It was one of those things that people always joked about because it was clearly impossible. The quarters were tight as drums, foolproof and unbeatable. Except, of course, that some schmuck had just beaten that system by running through a goddamned open door. The system, he realized, was fine; it was the people manning it who were flawed. (And why wouldn’t they be, he thought to himself. After all, this is Heaven.)
About an hour later, Carlos had finished compiling all the data for his report, and had inspected both sides of the tunnel to make sure it wasn’t another security risk. He yelled at Celeste and her team for a few minutes before he left the cell block and headed to the regional block of Taggers.
The Taggers weren’t all kept in one central location. It had been determined early on that people could try escaping Heaven from any number of places, so Tagger stations needed to be scattered about like fire stations, so there was a rapid response team handy at a moment’s notice. Still, there were small branches and regional branches. The small branches had Taggers that were the equivalent of mall security, often doubling as checkpoint guards. But the region branches had the more dangerous characters.
Carlos walked into the regional branch and nodded sagely to the receptionist, a big bulky man who looked like he could punch a rhinoceros in the face and eat it for breakfast raw. He was, of course, the scrawniest of the bunch. The receptionist nodded and opened the door for him to enter with a buzzer on his desk. Carlos opened the door and stepped through into the Tagger lodging area.
Tagger quarters were much more like military bunk quarters, with lines of bunk beds, each with a pair of footlockers at the end of them. As Carlos walked down the rows, he only grew more nervous. These Taggers were the kind of men and women who made anyone nervous.
They were rugged, cut and deadly. The high end Taggers were recruited from the likes of the military and warrior elite throughout history – Spartans, gladiators, commandos, Special Forces from all walks of life and nationality. They were doing push ups, chin ups, whatever exercise they could think of to keep themselves fit and trim. They practice with wooden swords, in case they were ever called upon to do battle with demons or devils or the like. (Which had never happened that any of them could remember, but it didn’t hurt to be prepared, they figured.) They ran laps and practiced jumping over hurdles and crawling through tunnels, in case any of that might be necessary in the pursuit of a loose soul on the lam. (It rarely was. Most of the time, ‘tagging’ someone involved finding the person running around Heaven like a chicken with his head cut off and, well, cutting his head off…) The Taggers weren’t sure if exercise affected a soul post-death, but it didn’t hurt to spend the time regardless. For most of them, it was second nature already.
As Carlos reached the end of the row, he came to the office at the end of the barracks, a burly blonde man with a crew cut sitting behind the desk. The Taggers wore much more utilitarian clothing. Gone were the togas and replaced with white tunics and slacks, a white belt around the waist. The blonde man at the desk was busy writing something on a piece of paper, and it took Carlos a few seconds to summon the strength to clear his throat and make his presence known. The angel behind the desk looked up, and it made the halo on his head tilt so Carlos could read the words “BORN TO KILL” etched into it. “Help you?” the man behind the desk asked, his voice a low roll of ominous thunder. His voice sounded American, and those deep blue eyes implied that Carlos was bothering him.
“Yes, I… I uh… I need to speak to the Erelim in charge of this branch,” Carlos said, his voice almost squeaking out. The Erelim were one of the classes of angels, and they were considered the most valiant class of angels. They were warriors by birth, noble and driven. All in all, they were the perfect choice to lead the Taggers. (And, as the Erelim had said on more than one occasion, it got them out of the house every now and then.)
The Taggers served multiple purposes in Heaven. On the most basic level, they were the police force, making sure there weren’t major conflicts in lines or in the cell blocks all souls eventually ended up in. They also made sure that people went to the residence they were supposed to, and that rules were followed once people were in their quarters. They also tracked down people who went running and ‘tagged’ them, using their swords of fire to send the person back to the appropriate section of Heaven. The term Tagger was chosen to help soften their image slightly, making their job sound a little less threatening. It failed on every level, of course, and the word Tagger carried with it a certain weight around Heaven. Because deep down, most people knew what the Taggers really were.
Heaven’s private army.
While it was difficult (if not impossible) to find anyone who had experienced it first hand, many stories were told about the last few Great Wars between Heaven and Hell. Times of great strife when angels fought demons, and celestial blood on both sides was spilt by the ocean’s worth. The tales were dramatic, epic and often downright terrifying. (Also, sometimes they were wildly implausible. So much so that people would joke, in very very hushed tones, that Paul Bunyan and the Archangel Michael were the same person.) But it had been a very long time since there had been a Great War, long even by Heavenly standards. That meant another one could break out at any moment. The Erelim would often tell stories to the Taggers about how close Heaven and Hell were to the brink of another Great War, just to keep them in a state of constant preparedness.
And Heaven’s army was most certainly prepared. Here, men and women who were mortal enemies on Earth shared stratagems and tactics, discussed methodology and approaches. They taught and learned from one another, and no idea was dismissed out of hand. Those who were the brightest rose to the top, and those who weren’t still felt that they were meaningfully contributing to day-to-day training. It was a great dilution process, designed to make the best and brightest.
Still, without a war to fight, these soldiers grew restless from time to time. That was partially why they had taken on peacekeeping duties in Heaven, the Erelim told them. They would learn to be detectives as well as warriors. They would learn how to apply their ideas to times of peace as well as times of war. A
nd they would find happiness in that pursuit.
Or it would keep them busy anyway, until Heaven had need for them.
The blonde angel behind the desk stared down Carlos for a long moment before he spoke again. Carlos looked away nervously then looked back to see the soldier still staring at him. “What is it you need to see him about?”
“We have an escapee he needs to know about, and I think he may want to talk to some people before deciding how to dispatch a Tagger team to find him.”
The warrior angel behind the desk grinned wolfishly. “Why didn’t you say so? Captain Diogenes will be eager to hear exactly what you have to say.” He rose to his feet and knocked on the door behind him firmly.
“Enter!” a voice called out from inside the room.
The Tagger nodded to Carlos. “He’ll see you now. Go on in.”
Carlos opened the door and stepped into the Erelim’s office, closing the door behind him. It was more cluttered than most areas of Heaven. The walls were mostly covered in maps (light silver ink on white parchment), with a variety of notations made on them in broad gold ink strokes. The handwriting on the maps was firm and authoritative, noting key points of control and weakness. There was a whiteboard that was covered in formations and maneuvers. The portions of the walls that weren’t covered in maps had handwritten reports on them, providing intel on which Cherubim had seen demonic activity on which part of the Earth and when. The Taggers, it seemed, were always on the lookout for when and where their next assignment might be.
He turned to look at the center of the room, where there was a heavy desk, mostly clutter-free, with a solid swarthy looking man behind it, muscular and solid in build, with a black craggy beard, and a black mane of hair that seemed to go in all sorts of different directions. Directly above him on the wall, mounted on a small plaque, was his sword hilt, easily within arm’s reach at a moment’s notice. The Erelim didn’t look anywhere near as frightening as the other angels he’d seen on his way in, but Carlos knew that the Erelim was just as dangerous, if not more so, than anyone he’d seen on his way in.
Erelim, much like Cherubim, was simply a rank assigned to a human soul that had been given a duty in Heaven. Not every role had a rank assigned with it. In fact, there were very few actual classes in Heaven. The title of Cherubim was given to anyone who transported souls from Earth to Heaven, simply because it was an easy way to keep track of who had clearance to go to Earth on their own. (And it seemed that there was no such thing as a tall Cherubim. People even joked that maybe getting the title shrunk you a few feet.) The Taggers were technically all Erelim, but the term Erelim was reserved for the commanders and commandants of the brigades, a title of respect and honor. And unlike most military services, Erelim were voted up by the men and women they served with. Those Erelim were given wings for their service.
When a new regional office was to be opened, there were open competitions, where the Taggers competed against one another until there were only seven candidates remaining, and then all active Taggers, from the lowliest hall guard to the highest ranking Erelim, each cast one vote in secrecy, which determined who the new Erelim would be. This meant the Erelim were the cream of the crop in the Taggers, the smartest and most capable the service had to offer.
Captain Diogenes smiled at Carlos as he sized him up. Many of the angels in Heaven changed their names every few centuries or so, altering it to something that was more contemporary and easier for the new recruits to remember, but Diogenes would have none of that nonsense. He was proud of his Greek heritage, and he’d kept his name the same since dying thousands of years ago, a mark of pride and honor. “What can I do for you?” His voice was warm and inviting, yet still firm and disciplined. This was a man who was perfectly comfortable dealing with audiences ranging from one to thousands, Carlos felt. “Someone get loose from one of the lines somewhere and you need me to send a couple of boys after him?”
“Well sir,” Carlos started, feeling as thought his voice might crack at any minute, “it’s a bit more complicated than that.”
The Captain arched an eyebrow and then smiled a bit more mysteriously. “Then I think you’d better sit down and tell me all about it, don’t you?”
* * * * *
In another regional branch of Tagger lodging, Bob had started looking for Franco and Edward. Bob had had to do a little asking around to find out which of the sections Franco and Edward were in, and Bob had been mildly delighted to find that Jake had managed to get a good distance from the quarters he’d been assigned to before wandering into a Tagger orientation session, and even further to find Tagger lodging. Franco and Edward were part of the forward guard, which explained why they’d been so friendly to Jake.
When a new regional branch of the Tagger forces was opened, a handful of the most genial and highly trained Taggers from an existing branch were shifted over to it for a time being, so that there was a team of trained members there to help bring the new recruits up to speed. After they had been there five to ten years, and a sizeable number of able bodies trained, they would return to their original posting if they so chose.
The branch that Jake had been brought to had only been opened a few months ago, and as such was running on little more than a skeleton crew. The Erelim in charge of the branch was rarely in his office, mostly overseeing the construction of the new cell quarters they were building for the next wave of souls to be filed in Heaven. While the Erelim weren’t in charge of building, they liked to make sure they had up-to-date blueprints and schematics of every area under their watch. Although no one had heard of demons attacking Heaven directly, that didn’t mean the idea was completely out of the realm of possibility. (The Erelim were hopeful, actually, that Hell would try and take a stab at a siege of Heaven. They were certainly ready for it, and wanted to show those bastards what for.) So for most of the first year in a branch’s life, the Erelim would be out taking notes and offering suggestions to builders working on the new wings of Heaven.
Empty bunks ran as far as the eye could see, and if Bob hadn’t known better, he might have assumed that the branch wasn’t even opened yet. But he could just barely hear the sounds of life way across the quarters, and started to walk that way. Sure enough, as he made his way down the less lit portions of the barracks he could see a handful of men and women laughing at a table down near the office. As new recruits arrived, they were assigned bunks slowly spreading outward from the Erelim’s office until the entire lodge was full of Taggers in a state of readiness.
“Three aces! Beat that!” Franco yelled gleefully at another angel, as he tossed his cards down onto the circular table they were gathered around.
Of course, there was also a lot of downtime in the early months as well.
Bob walked slowly towards the table and looked over the ragtag bunch gathered around it. There couldn’t have been more than a dozen Taggers gathered around the table, and Bob wondered for half a moment if maybe this was exactly the kind of situation these angels liked to get themselves into – small quarters with little actual work. He could even see them bouncing from new quarters to new quarters in an effort to make new recruits “feel welcome” and thereby avoiding any actual hard work or training. (Still, Bob realized, he couldn’t be too judgmental of people who wanted an easier load to bear. It was exactly the kind of thing he himself was doing. Just because you worked in Heaven didn’t mean you worked in Heaven.) “Hey, I’m looking for Edward and Franco. Any of you guys them?”
One of the Taggers at the table looked up and sneered at Bob. “Aren’t you out of your turf, Cherubim? Shouldn’t you be looking for new dead people rather than Taggers to kick your ass?”
The Cherubim and the Taggers didn’t often get along. The Taggers saw the Cherubim as puttering busy workers, and the Cherubim saw the Taggers as brutal thugs. They didn’t typically invite each other to parties, and mostly tried to avoid contact with one another. The way the Taggers saw it, if the Cherubim kept better eyes on people, the Taggers wouldn’t
have to go chasing them down in the first place. Of course, the Cherubim saw the Taggers as the kind of people who were simply looking for an excuse to be violent, so didn’t get into arguments with them about the matter, wisely.
Franco slapped the clown on the back of the head. “Shut it, Tito, otherwise you’ll find yourself sent back for reassignment,” he growled. “You’re going to learn some respect even if I have to beat it into you.” He turned to look at Bob and offered him a warm smile. “I’m Franco. What can I do for you, Cherubim?”
Bob tried to put on his best smile, even as the Taggers were closing around him a bit. “Nothing for me, friend. I’m just here to deliver a message from another Tagger, a guy by the name of Jake. He sent me to tell you he was being paired up with another guy in your old sector, and that he’d be stationed in that set of barracks, so he wouldn’t be seeing you guys any time soon, but not to worry about him.”
Edward perked up, poking his head out from between two bigger Taggers. “Oh you have seen Jacob, have you? How is he? Doing well, I would hope?”
The Cherub nodded as he started backing away from them slightly. “Yeah, he seemed fine. It’s not as though I was hanging out with the guy. He was busy heading back down to Earth as I was coming up and he told me to come find you guys and deliver the message.” Bob didn’t want to tip his hand that he and Jake had actually had a real conversation, as that would make this seem even more suspicious. The less information he gave them, the better, and the story was certainly a plausible one.
