Daemon

by Doug Dandridge

  The man looked at the bill that Jude held with sad eyes. Jude was sure the man thought he had lost the money. That the policeman would take it from him, and there wasn't anything he could about it.

  “I read all I can from this,” said the Detective, handing back the bill and noting the look of relief on the man's face. “Take care of the children. No matter what, take care of the children.”

  The man mumbled thanks and stepped back, putting his arm around the thin woman, the children moving to grasp his legs. Jude smiled at the tired looking kids and started to turn away. He noticed that the big man was still glaring at him.

  “Do I know you?” he asked the man, trying to place the features that looked so familiar.

  “I don't know that you do, you son of a bitch,” growled the man through clenched teeth. “But I sure as hell know you, you murdering bastard.”

  “What,” said Jude, feeling his stomach clench as his arms and legs went weak. I thought that part of my life was over, was his next thought.

  “You remember, don't you,” said the man, his voice rising. “When you and your men shot down innocent civilians just trying to protest this madness.” The man gestured around the city, and by inference the dying world around it.

  “I, didn't want to,” stammered Jude, his eyes looking around at the now distant faces that surrounded him. “I didn't want to. I was following orders.”

  “Tell that to the people of Jonesborough,” growled the man, taking a step toward Jude, raising a balled fist.

  One of the uniforms slammed a billy club into the back of the man. The man grunted in pain, then grunted again as the cop slammed his billy into the back of the knee. The man fell to his knees, his face a mask of pain, his eyes still blazing with anger. The cop raised his billy again and started a swing at the man's head.

  “Stop,” yelled Jude, raising his hands. “Leave him alone.”

  The cop gave the Lieutenant a confused look, then lowered his billy.

  “He is not to be harmed.”

  Jude looked down on the big man, guilt welling up, constricting his chest and throat. “He is not to be harmed,” he stammered, then turned and walked away.

  “What was that all about?” asked Montoya, hurrying after his partner. “What was he talking about?”

  Jude hesitated for a moment, battling between saying nothing and spilling his guts to this man he had known for over a year. Who knew so little about the Lieutenant's past. He shook his head, then stopped and looked down at the shorter man.

  “You know I was in the army,” he said, watching as Montoya nodded his head. “I was an infantry Officer, a trained Warmage, in charge of forty killers.”

  “I always thought that would be kind of boring,” said Montoya, clasping his hands to his front. “Seeing as there's no one left to fight.”

  “There's someone left to fight,” said Jude, shaking his head and feeling a burning in his eyes. “The only problem is they are our own. The same damn poor people we are supposed to protect.”

  Jude turned away and stepped toward the car, clenching his fists to his side. “The same damned people we were supposed to protect,” he said under his breath. “Like that poor slob back there.”

  Chapter Four

  Lieutenant Steiner Stark stepped into the glowing portal and found himself on another world. He felt lighter on his feet, and the air had a freshness to it that the world he came from lacked. He jumped up and down for a moment, a wide smile on his face. Even though he had been here before, it still had a new feel to it.

  The portal moved along a path, each man after the Secret Police Officer stepping off about twenty yards down the way. The operation was opening perfectly as far as he could see. If the village was where they thought, they would have it surrounded within minutes.

  Stark looked up and down the path, catching the eyes of the men within sight. He motioned with his stun rod, turning them inward and starting them off toward the village.

  It's nice of Mr. Daemon to allow us to moonlight, he thought as he stepped through the foliage. An Officer in the Secret Police made a good living. But this job paid a good bit for a day's work. And it helped that the employer was on the governing Council of Mages. It was always nice to curry some favor along with the cash, even if Daemon thought he was an irreverent bastard.

  Stark stopped in some bushes, crouching down and looking out at the gathering of huts in the clearing. The natives were out and about, clearly agitated, looking around with their huge eyes, sniffing the air with wide nostrils. Stark smiled as he looked at the Eldritch, as humans had tagged them. They look so much like children's toys, he thought. The tallest stood about three feet, covered with a blue fur and clothed only in the pocketed vests that they used to carry their personal items. Wide blue eyes and pointed ears lent them the appearance of the elves of legend. And they were a gold mine of life force, each carrying about six times what a human being would have. Probably because they live so long, thought the Secret Policeman. Lived so long, he corrected himself, before we showed up.

  Stark felt an erection rising as he thought of the terror the helpless little creatures must be feeling at this moment. They had no weapons, being vegetarians who did not war among themselves as far as the humans knew. They had no offensive magic, and their defensive magic appeared to be feeble at best. They didn't have an aggressive bone in their bodies, but they felt fear, just like any sentient creature. And their sentience was not in question, not with the construction of houses and the fields of grains and vegetables in sight.

  "Move out," called Stark, grinning from ear to ear as he stepped out of the foliage. The bushes rustled to either side of him, and he glanced at the other men holding their paralysis rods in their right hands. He moved forward, watching as the Eldritch ran to and fro in a panic. At first they tended to move away from him and his men. Then some started running back his way, their short legs pumping, only to stop in confusion when they saw what was ahead of them. They turned and ran the other way, while those who had originally turned the other way came running back, having found the other routes blocked as well.

  Stark thrust downward with his rod, striking the back of an Eldritch and bringing the creature down with a short cry. Stark motioned at the creature with his head and another man ran up, turned the creature over, and shackled the being's arms with a set of light chains. Stark struck down another creature, laughing all the while. The only thing he could have enjoyed more would be to be striking a woman of his own kind, seeing the terror in her eyes, then taking her against her will. Even that thought made his erection throb, and he paralyzed another creature while it circled in panic.

  The Lieutenant scowled as he watched another man with a rod strike a creature about the head. Purple blood flew and the being fell unmoving to the ground. Stark stalked over to the man, his face reddening in anger. He knelt down by the Eldritch and put a hand on the creature. Normally they vibrated with whatever it was that moved the blood through their veins in place of a heart. It was dead, and a dead creature was of no use to anyone. And if the fools he was leading got their blood up.

  "You idiot," yelled Stark, backhanding the man, who dropped to his knees. The man staggered back to his feet, his eyes raging at the Lieutenant. Stark balled a fist and waited for the man to do something. Unfortunately the fool was not that foolish, and Stark was a well built, muscular man. As well as being in the Secret Police. The scarlet orb on his left sleeve, denoting the watchfulness of the organization, was probably as responsible for the rage turning to fear in the man's eyes. That symbol represented the power that could make a man disappear, never to be heard from again.

  "We want them alive," he said to the man in a low voice. "They are to be taken alive," he yelled to the others, his voice echoing across the village. "They do us no good as lifeless sacks of meat."

  He watched closely, wishing he could crack a few heads himself. But there were no repetitions of the killing. The men moved from creature to creature, stunning them
into submission and trussing them for transport. Soon over a thousand of the inoffensive beings were gathered for the sacrifice and draining. As they awoke they were forced to their feet and lined up. They chattered among themselves in their incomprehensible speech. The chattering rose, then silenced as they were led toward the shimmering portal.

  The long line of prisoners were brought through the portal back to Stark's world. Their faces reflected their terror and confusion at their mistreatment. Stark scowled at the weak creatures, feeling nothing but contempt for such beings. They were nothing more to him than a crop to be harvested, so that his stronger people might survive.

  He watched moments later from the observation deck overlooking the huge processing room. The thousand plus Eldritch were being sorted out by employees of Daemon Corp and led off to their cells. At two dollars a head he had made over two thousand dollars this night. Not bad for a few hours’ work. The rest of the men had also been paid well. That and the threat of the Secret Police and Daemon Corp would keep wagging tongues still.

  "Hard to believe such little vessels provide so much power," said a commanding voice from behind.

  Stark turned to see the older man who was walking up behind him. He put his hands on the stone railing and looked down, his shoulder length black hair, flecked with gray, settling as he stopped. He turned his black eyes on the Secret Policeman, his youthful face bellying his seventy plus years of life.

  "They are so easy to gather, Mr. Daemon," said Stark, looking down on the floor with a smile.

  "You did good work tonight," said Lucius Daemon, putting a hand on Stark's shoulder.

  Stark started to pull away, not liking to be touched by those he had not invited to do so. Then he remembered who he was dealing with and let the hand remain. It was not wise to reject the most powerful man in the world, Chief of the most powerful corporation, as well as a member of the Council of Mages that ruled this planet. Or what was left of it.

  "That fool will be punished," said Daemon, looking back at the room where the last of the Eldritch were being led to the temporary holding cells, from which they would be brought to their deaths.

  Stark looked over at the man, the question on his face.

  "The one who killed the Eldritch male," said Daemon, glaring down at the man in question, who was still on the floor jawing with his friends. "That one alien had the energy of six prisoners. I've a mind to send him to the gathering chair."

  Stark stiffened a moment at the announcement that a senior member of the Mages Council was contemplating murder. He didn't want to see any of the crew he worked with being killed. But if ordered by this man he would carry out the execution himself. Of course the CEO of Daemon Corp wouldn't be that wasteful. He would take the man's energy and put in into the system, along with the thousand plus Eldritch and the dozens criminals on the slate tonight, as well as the others who disappeared each night.

  "Maybe another time," said Daemon, turning away from his watch with a cold smile. "And not yours to worry about."

  "I really should go, sir," said Stark, wanting to get out from under that cold Mage's gaze.

  "Before you go I would like to give you a bonus," said Daemon, reaching into his top jacket pocket.

  He pulled out a pair of tickets and gave it to Stark, who looked down at the pieces of paper and kept the frown from his face by force of will. Bloody opera tickets, he thought, looking at the faces of the paper rectangles. I hate the fucking opera. Theater would have been OK, everybody liked going to a play now and then. But Stark preferred listening to the radio and playing games with a semi-willing subject in his home.

  "Thank you sir," said Stark, forcing a smile.

  "Enjoy," said Daemon, turning and walking away, then turning back. “And come by my office in a bit. There's something I want to talk to you about.”

  “Another job?” asked Stark, feeling a thrill, hoping that it was something that would excite him in this boring existence.

  “Something within your official purview,” said Stark with a smile. “Someone we need to find a killer for us. But someone who needs to be reminded to not stick their nose where it is not welcome.”

  “Yes sir,” said Stark with a nod. “It will be a pleasure.”

  Daemon nodded and turned away, hurrying to the elevator bank that would take him up to the high offices.

  Stark put the tickets in his own top pocket and walked out of the room. He'd had enough of the Daemon building tonight. Maybe I can give these to someone who really likes that crap, he thought, getting onto the elevator and leaving the subbasement of the building, and the heart of darkness it contained.

  * * *

  "Did you hear about Sondra?" said George Johnson, strapping the struggling Eldritch male down into the transfer chair. The creature let of a squeaky snippet of what passed for speech. George ignored the creature, tightened the straps, and moved away from the chair.

  "I sure hope they catch the fucker that sent whatever killed her after her," continued George, looking down to make sure he was clear of the transference field.

  "You just worry about keeping your energy out of that field if you don't want to help lighting up the city tonight," said Senior Sacrifice Chief Mark Talbot, glaring at the man. He thought Johnson was an idiot who had already risen past his level of competence. And after Johnson he would be working with another idiot while he pulled a double, filling in for the aforementioned dead senior tech on her shift. Damned inconvenient of the bitch to die, he thought, wondering when he would be able to get home and get some sleep before his next day's shift.

  "What do you think about these little fuckers?" asked Johnson as Mark made sure all the dials were lined up. Assured that they were all set right, not something he was willing to leave to chance or a stupid subordinate's actions, he switched to his Mage sight and watched the energies of the chamber. He said the words to bring the fields in place, and watched carefully as the energy barriers slid into their allotted slots.

  "I try not to think about them," said Talbot after he was sure all was ready, then looking into the frightened eyes of the little creature from across the room. But he did think about them. He had seen them in his dreams the last couple of nights. The fear and bewilderment of a people who didn't understand why their lives were being ended and their life force drained. He felt guilty as hell about them, like he felt about the many innocent humans who fell to his magic.

  "I think they're funny looking little squirts," said Johnson, with all his well-known sensitivity to others.

  "Shut up so I can get this over with," said Talbot, sending a withering glare at his partner. Johnson nodded his head and looked away.

  Talbot said the words while pulling the switch. The barbed arm fell out of the ceiling, straight through the top of the head of the little blue humanoid. The creature twitched once and then was still, dead in as painless a manner as the corporation could devise. The spells of the field surrounding the chair glowed as the once living body gave up its life. Blue energy began to rise above the head of the creature, exiting the body through the wound in the scalp. It coalesced into a globule above the body, growing and brightening as more and more energy poured out. It grew to the size of a yard wide ball, the same as a human's energy capacity, and continued to grow, until it was many times larger than a man's.

  Some wisps of red energy exited as well. Only tiny amounts, and something that Talbot had never seen in a human. They were passed to another conduit by the filter, no use compromising the system with some strange unknown energy, and bled from the chamber. Talbot was not sure where that energy ended up, but it really wasn't his care, as long as it didn't affect the systems that were his charge.

  Finally the energy was drained, from the body and the room. Talbot took a last look at the slack faced little body in the chair and shook his head.

  "Get it out of here," he ordered Johnson, then watched as the other man unstrapped the small form and lifted it from the chair like the body of a child. That was an image
that hurt. Talbot had seen humans that size drained in the chair. Johnson dropped the body into the chute that led to a chamber far down in the underground, where the body would be processed. He didn't know what it was processed into, but again, that was not his concern.

  "Bring in the next one," he ordered, and Johnson nodded. The other man went to the door, opened it, and motioned for the guards to bring in another. This one was a female. He could tell by the four mammaries on her chest. She looked just as frightened as the last one.

  "Strap her in," said Talbot with a grimace, glad that he didn't belong to the church. If he did he was sure his soul would be heading to hell. Hopefully it would just be heading to oblivion, and he wouldn't have to suffer for the things he had done.

  Chapter Five

  The morning was like any other morning, as far as Jude was concerned. Crappy, not worth opening his eyes to. His head ached from the alcohol, and he felt sick to his stomach when he rolled over in bed. His first inclination was to make a drink, the thing he did every morning. But he had promised Sarah that he would not smell of alcohol, so he fought the dizziness and urge to vomit all the way to the bathroom.

  After a hot shower and some coffee he felt human again, or as human as he could feel. Santana rubbed against his leg, and he put some food in the cat's bowl before emptying the litter pan. The cat purred as he ate, and Jude reached down to give the animal a shoulder rub.

  "You are a saint," he said to the big cat, thinking of the Spanish translation of the name. Spanish, he thought as some other words worked through his mind. One of the few things that remain of that fabled land. He smiled again as the cat began to purr. He knew the care of the cat had kept him alive in those days, weeks and months when he didn't really give a shit about anything. After Laura was put in the ground, and the church people stopped coming around.