A sliding steel door at the end of the corridor opened, revealing the audience hall. Blue-and-yellow flags unfurled on every wall in between windows that looked down on the city and the Dnieper River. The floor was gold-rimmed marble, with purple-and-gold carpets stretching towards the gilded throne. The ruler of Ukraine sat casually on the golden throne, his consort sitting on his lap.
The Iron Tsar was a tall man wearing a dress military uniform with the tabs and insignia of High Marshall. His face and head were covered by an iron and bronze great helm, a medieval design that completely covered its wearer’s face except for a thin eye slit. The stories and rumors about the helmet were legion. He had never been seen without it. Some claimed the helmet was permanently affixed to his head, and to remove it would mean his death. Others thought it concealed some horrible deformity or injury and that is was vanity that kept his features forever hidden behind the metal mask. Or maybe the helmet helped contain his godlike power, acting as a safety valve to keep the Tsar from obliterating his surroundings with his mere presence.
Archangel did not know whether any of the rumors were true, or care overmuch. All he knew was that the few times he’d been close enough to look into the Tsar’s eye slit, a red glowing light had been shining within. Whatever lay behind the metal mask was no longer human, he was sure of it. That would have bothered Archangel if it were not for the fact he was no longer human as well.
Archangel was one of the most powerful beings on the planet, a 3.1 in the PAS system, but the Tsar’s mere presence humbled him. There was an unmistakable aura of power and confidence around the man. After meeting the ruler of the Dominion in person, nobody had to wonder why entire Soviet Army Groups had surrendered and switched their allegiance to him.
In addition to the platoon of Automatons standing guard along the walls, there were two other people in the audience room. Baba Yaga was embracing the Tsar and smiling languidly. The Witch of the Pripet Marshes was in her more pleasant guise: she appeared to be a beautiful young woman with long black hair and flashing blue eyes, wearing a diaphanous purple gown. Archangel knew her other two shapes were far less lovely; she could look like a hideous crone when she so wished, and in combat she became something utterly monstrous, a misshapen chimera of animal and human body parts. Only a madman or a god would consider taking such a being to his bed. She was the Tsar’s consort and chief adviser, and men would suffer and die by her whim, with no regard to their station and rank.
A short distance from the throne stood a fat man with an oversized head and squinting mismatched eyes, one far bigger than the other, clad in the green tunic of the Ukrainian Science Corps. Archangel barely avoided an angry sneer at the sight. The Mind was a German, one of only two foreigners in the Tsar’s inner circle. The obese Neolympian had defected to the Ukraine shortly after murdering Hitler, knowing his life was forfeit if the Allies captured him. It was a pity he was so useful and that he had managed to ingratiate himself into the Tsar’s confidence over the decades. His presence at the meeting was not reassuring; the Mind’s schemes and devices were always brilliant and they almost always worked flawlessly, but when they went wrong they did so spectacularly.
One of the Automatons announced Archangel as he walked in, stopped at the requisite fifteen steps from the throne and went down on one knee, bowing deeply as protocol demanded.
“No need for formality, Feodor Igorovich,” the Iron Tsar said. His voice sounded perfectly normal, even pleasant, nothing like the reverberating metallic tone he used when trying to intimidate others. “There’s important work to be done, and you’re just the man for the job.”
“You do me honor, my lord,” Archangel replied, using the informal form of address as ordered.
“I have forged an alliance of convenience with an American, an artificer of some skill,” the Tsar explained. “You will bring some special equipment to him – to his underlings, rather – and will assist him in any way he requires. You will also supervise the shipment of some new devices to our people in America.”
“As you command, my lord.”
“The Mind will provide you with the details,” the Tsar added, gesturing towards the German.
“If I may, my lord?” the Mind said in badly accented Ukrainian. At the Tsar’s nod, he went on. “The equipment will be loaded in two containers. One is to be delivered to the American’s agents in New York. The other is to be distributed among our men in New York and Chicago. Everything must go according to plan. We are on the verge of a momentous event. Soon we will have access to the Source!”
“No need to bore Archangel with the details,” the Tsar said mildly, and the Mind shut his mouth, looking guilty. Archangel wondered what the Source was, but realized the German had already said more than the Tsar wanted him to hear. Something important, obviously.
Baba Yaga rose to her feet and walked sinuously towards him. Archangel watched her coldly as she approached. Her beauty did not affect him much; it would not have even if he didn’t know what lay beneath it. He preferred his women to be properly subservient, and her wanton expression and smug smile only made him want to beat her until they were gone from her face. That was not an option here, of course, even if they were not at court. Baba Yaga‘s power level was unknown, but she had always bested him every time they had sparred. She was a trickster and deceiver, an expert at finding one’s weak spots and striking at them.
Baba Yaga embraced him and pressed a cold cheek against his. “I made you a little gift, Archangel,” she whispered in his ear. As she disentangled herself from him, she placed something heavy and metallic on his hand. It was a metal bracelet. “An amulet of sorts,” she explained. “Keep it close, and it will serve you well.”
“Thank you, my lady,” he said politely.
“Consider her gift as a reminder of the importance of this mission,” the Tsar said as Baba Yaga returned to his side. “Failure cannot be countenanced. Do you understand, Archangel?”
“I do.” But he hadn’t, not until much later.
* * *
Archangel looked up and saw Mr. Night walking back into the office, Medved and Lady Shi behind him. The killers were fully attired for battle. The Bear had replaced his street clothes with a black jumpsuit, metal gauntlets that left his clawed fingers uncovered, and heavy metal-banded boots. Lady Shi was wearing a one piece black bodysuit that left her arms and legs bare, accentuated by a golden belt, vambraces and boots. Her hair was gathered in a tight topknot. Archangel smiled. If this was to be their final battle, at least they would enter it in the full panoply and pageantry expected of the gods of the twenty-first century.
“Now we wait,” Mr. Night said. “The Lurker and his daughter will be reunited soon, if they haven’t already. He will try to initiate her into the mysteries of the Source.”
His twisted smile grew wider. “And that’s when we will strike.”
The Freedom Legion
Hong Kong, Republic of China, March 15, 2013
Chastity Baal smiled pleasantly at her quarry.
“You have exquisite taste,” she said in Cantonese before taking a sip of the rather nice vintage her host had poured for them before taking their conversation to a more intimate venue.
Kuo Wei-Fang smiled back. “I merely appreciate beauty in all its forms,” he replied. “That is why I could not refuse you an audience.”
Kuo was officially a prominent and quite legitimate financier and industrialist whose contacts with the Republic of China had helped usher a new age of prosperity for Hong Kong after the British handover in 1997. Unofficially, he also ran a large smuggling network between the Dragon Empire and the rest of the world, bringing proscribed items into the Empire in exchange for assorted illegal goods produced there. The smuggling network generated enormous revenues which were in turn skillfully laundered through his legitimate business operations.
Chastity had met Kuo in his sanctum sanctorum, a three-level penthouse on an eighty-story skyscraper that provided a god’s eye view of the
burgeoning city below. The ten floors below the penthouse were occupied by offices where a small army of managers worked on the many enterprises that made up the overt face of the Kuo commercial empire. Kuo himself had two sprawling mansions in the city, but he spent most of his days here, overseeing his business concerns and receiving worthy visitors, like a well-known international adventurer who had contacted him with an intriguing business offer.
The penthouse was as opulent as one would expect, combining modern conveniences with ornaments that would have befitted a mandarin or emperor. Artifacts from various dynasties – including a pair of imposing terracotta soldiers placed on each side of the entryway to the formal dining room – shared space with the latest creations of the best designers and artists from Shanghai and Beijing. Chastity noted that everything in the palatial penthouse seemed to come from China, from Kuo’s perfectly tailored suit down to the smallest fixtures. “Thank you once again for your hospitality,” she told her host.
“It is the least I could do,” Kuo said as they strolled through the penthouse. He was a tall and handsome man in his mid-fifties, brimming with charisma and arrogance. “When I heard the notorious Chastity Baal was acting as a go-between for an international cartel wishing to conduct some discreet business with the Empire, I could not resist. Even if we cannot do business, perhaps we can still have an enjoyable evening.”
Chastity's smile widened, suggesting the financier's hopes were not unfounded. “That would be most entertaining, I'm sure. But business first, yes?”
“As you wish,” Kuo said. “What is it your partners have in mind?”
Chastity started her spiel, a purely contrived scheme to provide technical services to the Empire in return for trading concessions, some of them of dubious legality. Even as she spoke, the highly sophisticated sensors built into her contact lenses conducted a thorough scan of Kuo's home. The penthouse was protected from outside intrusions by a very sophisticated security system. Once inside, however, Chastity was quickly able to detect several hidden compartments built into the penthouse. One of them had a computer that had no physical or wireless links to any networks. That would be the device Kuo used to record his illicit dealings, and that's where the information she needed would be stored.
Kuo asked her several shrewd questions. Chastity answered them without missing a beat even as she mentally commanded her wrist-comp to initiate a covert invasion of Kuo's system. It was difficult to carry out a conversation while at the same time directing a computer raid through a neural interface, but Chastity was well-versed in multi-tasking. Kuo, determined to charm and impress her into his bed, was blissfully unaware that she was peeling away layers of electronic security and learning his darkest secrets while she flirted with him.
“Your offer is highly tempting, especially if I've guessed correctly as to the identities of your silent partners,” Kuo finally said. “I will consider it carefully. I hope we now can turn towards more pleasing matters.”
“I regret to inform you that will not be the case,” Chastity said. The last of Kuo's private files had been downloaded into her wrist-comp. She mentally sent a signal to the awaiting Chinese Secret Police and her fellow Legionnaires. “Acting on information provided by an Imperial defector, the Chinese authorities have issued an order for your arrest. I suggest you come along peacefully.”
“You have made a grave mistake,” Kuo said, his friendly expression vanishing. “You and the foreign devils that have divided and enslaved the Middle Kingdom for far too long.” His eyes started to glow, and Chastity’s widened in surprise. Kuo was a normal human; his dossier had included detailed medical records.
He was certainly not a normal human anymore. He moved with unnatural speed, and Chastity barely ducked under a high kick that drove his foot through one of the bedroom walls. She rolled away and hoped her backup would arrive in time. They had expected Kuo might try to escape and possibly summon armed bodyguards. Nobody had expected this.
Gunfire and the sharper report of energy discharges erupted outside the apartment. Her backup had run into Kuo's guards. She rolled away from a stamping kick that smashed a hole through the penthouse’s floor. Kuo came relentlessly after her. His files mentioned he was a martial arts aficionado, but he clearly was not used to his newfound strength and speed. His attacks were slightly off-balance. Chastity dodged another kick and landed a punch before the magnate could retreat. Kuo flew off his feet under the impact and crashed into a wall hard enough to embed himself into it. Daedalus’ words came back to her: the dagger had indeed transferred some of the dead Celestial’s power to her.
Kuo forced his way through the wall’s wreckage. He casually ripped off the expensive suit jacket and silk shirt off his chest, revealing an Imperial Sigil. The mark on Chastity’s hand tingled as if in recognition. She blocked a kick and used her grip on Kuo's leg to flip him face-first onto the floor. She stamped on his unprotected neck as he struggled in her grip, but the lethal attack did no apparent damage. Kuo twisted around and kicked at her, knocking her away. The blow should have killed her instantly. As it was, it left her bruised and winded. The two combatants leaped back to their feet.
Reluctantly, she considered reaching for the dagger in the hidden sheath strapped to her upper thigh. The mark on her hand started tingling as soon as the thought crossed her mind, and she felt something akin to lust surging through her. A part of her wanted to wield the dagger, to feel it cut into Kuo’s flesh and drink his life and power. Her hand started moving towards the weapon.
The penthouse's front door exploded inwards and Swift and Chasca rushed into the bedroom. Swift smashed into Kuo like a humanoid missile; the two crashed through a wall. Chastity stopped reaching towards the dagger with a feeling of relief.
“Are you all right?” asked Chasca.
Chastity nodded. “I’m fine. Go help Swift, he might need…”
Swift’s unconscious body shot through the walls of the penthouse, disappearing into the night. A second later, Kuo soared past them and flew away from the skyscraper.
“On it,” Chasca called and darted after Kuo.
Chastity could not follow – or could she? What other powers had she stolen from the Celestial? She would have to find out sometime soon. For now, however, she would leave the chase to the other Legionnaires.
She did not trust her new powers. She did not trust herself.
* * *
Olivia O’Brien saw Larry’s limp body falling off the skyscraper, but resisted the urge to go and help him. Other Legionnaires would rescue him. Olivia needed to deal with the developing situation, not worry about her husband. Once again, the Legion had been caught flat-footed, and she was getting sick and tired of it.
Things rarely went according to plan: the opposition always had its own plan, after all. Still, the Legion rarely got blindsided so badly. After being briefed on the situation, she had organized a team to back up Chastity Baal as she tried to extract information from Kuo Wei-Fang. They had expected the possibility Kuo would call out armed guards and possibly Neo mercenaries. The smuggler’s display of superhuman abilities had been wholly unexpected.
Olivia wasn’t one hundred percent sure the defector’s allegations were true – Chastity Baal’s misgivings had been persuasive, despite the antipathy Olivia felt towards the spy – but there was enough damning proof to get the Republic of China to issue arrest warrants for one of its most prominent citizens. The Legion had hoped Chastity would persuade Kuo to give up and cooperate, but now they would have to arrest the man and try to scare him into giving up more information.
Olivia altered her flight path to join in the aerial chase over Hong Kong. Kuo was flying at high speed, with Chasca not far behind. As she caught up to them, Olivia saw Chasca fire several powerful light blasts at their quarry. He dodged some of them, but was hit twice. Both times, the light bolts dissipated in a coruscating energy release, leaving the man apparently unharmed, although his flight trajectory wavered a little under the attacks. The fin
ancier and smuggler was not just a Neolympian but a very powerful one. Few beings could survive Chasca's energy attacks.
She closed into range and hurled a flame spear towards him. The financier had been too distracted with Chasca’s attacks to notice Olivia’s approach. The spear struck Kuo squarely in the back but the fiery impact did not seem to damage him any more than Chasca’s sun rays. The smuggler’s naked torso gleamed with sinuous glowing symbols shining brightly in the evening’s growing darkness. Olivia recognized them at once: they were Imperial Sigils, the marks of a Celestial Warrior.
The Emperor had long claimed to have the power to create Neolympians. The spectacle of a middle-age businessman flying through the air and shrugging off attacks that would have obliterated a tank confirmed those claims. The implications of finding a Celestial involved in supplying the attack on the Legion were terrifying. The war the Legion’s Council had been blithely discussing mere hours before had just become nearly inevitable.
“To all units: converge on my position,” Chasca called through her communication implants as she kept up a barrage of energy discharges. Olivia did so as well, striking the fleeing smuggler again and again. The impacts were beginning to tell; Kuo’s flying became erratic and wavering. The chase had led them away from the city and over the surrounding sea, which thankfully would reduce the chances of collateral damage. She was thankful for that; subduing someone with Kuo’s powers would take a great deal of force, and she didn’t want innocent civilians anywhere near the upcoming fight.
New Olympus Saga (Book 1): Armageddon Girl Page 34
