“I am not, nor will I ever be, your snow angel,” Christine growled. “Don’t make that mistake again, Praetorian scum.”
“Temper,” Jacob warned her, a smirk on his face. “I hear anger and aggression can sour the milk.”
Christine almost shot him, but instead sipped her coffee. “I’m much calmer than I ought to be after suffering through your harassment. Why are you following me?”
“Curiosity, mostly,” the Praetorian admitted. “Though I did have one question before I leave you be.”
“Then ask it so I can finish my sandwich in peace,” Christine said as she looked away. Her temper was fraying; for some reason this Praetorian was getting under her skin far more than she’d anticipated. Her eyes caught the last paying customer in the café leaving. The only people in the coffee shop now were the café employees, Christine and Maxwell, and the Praetorian.
“I was called earlier by a fellow Praetorian after two men were killed resisting arrest up at MITC,” Jacob said as he leaned forward once more. He seemed unaware they were alone in the café. His eyes bored straight into hers, and he stared, unblinking. “He told me a funny story about how the commandant of the Wraith Corps assisted a young, single mom out at the hospital last week. He’d only found out about it because it had been reported by a nurse to authorities, since everything the half-brother of our dearly departed emperor does is news. The name of the young woman was Jane Cobb, who was last seen heading back to MITC with the commandant and two unknown men. They had a description and everything, though the commandant used funds out of the Wraith Corps budget to pay the hospital bills so her name wouldn’t come up. Curious, that. Imagine my surprise when you told me just now that you’re Jane Cobb, who’s supposed to be up at MITC, according to all accounts. So tell me, Miss Cobb, how did you get away from a facility that was supposed to be on lockdown due to insurrectionist activities?”
“I—” Christine paused, thinking. How much does this Praetorian know? she wondered. He was unusually perceptive for a man who was typically viewed as nothing more than the modern-day equivalent of a slave overseer. “I left earlier, before…”
“I’ve heard enough,” the Praetorian said, cutting her off. His hand fell to his hip, and he patted his belt. Christine’s eyes followed his hand, and she saw the shape of his sidearm in its holster. A warning, she knew from experience, though who in their right mind would ever give a Praetorian a lethal weapon was beyond her comprehension. “Finish the sandwich; it looks delicious. There are DIB agents who’d like to have a word with you, Miss Cobb. If you want to walk out of here with your child, I suggest you come quietly.”
Christine shivered slightly at this revelation and reached for her sandwich. In doing so, her napkin slid off her lap and onto the floor. Ever observant, Jacob slid out of his seat and knelt on the floor. He reached out to pick up her napkin for her, a sly smile on his otherwise smug face. Christine carefully got out of her seat, trying not to kick the man in the head. She moved slightly to his left and waited as he scooped up the cloth napkin with two fingers.
This was her chance. Not wanting to waste it, Christine slipped her hand inside her sari and pulled the pistol out of its holster. Moving robotically, she pressed the barrel of the weapon against the back of the Praetorian’s head. She cocked the hammer as his entire body froze.
“Never threaten my child,” Christine hissed and pulled the trigger, executing the man in the middle of the café.
The Praetorian slumped to the ground, dead. Christine quickly holstered her sidearm and checked Maxwell. The amazing earmuffs had protected his hearing, and while her ears were ringing, developing tinnitus was the least of her worries. Glancing back at the café’s staff, she saw every one of them staring at her. A few looked frightened, but most looked…almost reassured, she realized. What’s going on?
“Maria, lower the blinds and lock the front door,” Christine’s waiter instructed as he stepped forward and took control. “Chuy, grab some plastic from the back and help me move the body. Shawn, get a bucket of mop water and bleach. Vera, delete the camera footage.”
The staff in the café exploded into action. Christine’s waiter approached her slowly, his hands open and exposed.
“What are you doing?” Christine asked as the ringing in her ears began to lessen.
“Praetorians harass us, make our lives miserable every day, simply because they can,” he explained. “That was the greatest thing I’ve ever seen, but we can’t let you get in trouble for it. We’re not the most educated folk, but even we know if there’s no body, there’s no crime. We have an incinerator out back that can take care of this. Plus, no cameras other than our own are pointed back there. If you’d gone out the front, the camera at JeffCo would’ve picked you up.”
“But why are you helping me?”
“Ma’am, you’re my fucking hero,” he said reverently as a short Hispanic man carrying a roll of plastic stopped nearby. “Let’s do this, Chuy. Once he’s wrapped, into the burner.”
“Got it,” Chuy replied. He looked at Christine and dipped his head. “Ma’am?”
“Sorry.” Christine backed away, confused, as the café became a little darker. The blinds had been lowered automatically, and the front door locked per the waiter’s instructions.
“No, don’t be,” Chuy said as he and the waiter rolled the plastic tarp out. They quickly slid the dead Praetorian onto it and tightly secured it around him. Satisfied, the duo hauled the body into the back of the café and out of sight. A thin redheaded boy, barely old enough to have a job, arrived with a bucket of mop water and a bottle of bleach.
He looked at the tile floor studiously for a moment. It was covered with blood and bits of bone where Jacob had been kneeling. Fortunately none had gotten onto either chair. Dumping bleach onto the floor, he dipped the mop into the bucket of water and began to mop up the pool of blood. The red, viscous liquid began to spread out quickly, but the young boy appeared to know what he was doing and managed to keep it contained in a small area as the mop began to absorb most of it. Wringing out the mophead, he cleaned up all the remaining evidence.
“Ma’am?”
Christine turned and saw her waiter standing there. The other employees of the café were gathered behind him, save the young boy who was finishing up the mopping. They all wore similar expressions on their faces. It was definitely hero worship.
“I’m sorry about this,” she apologized before the group could say anything more.
“No, please don’t, ma’am,” her waiter said as he held out a small baggie. Inside were more credit cards. “He had this on him. We burned everything else, but figured you could use these. They’re blanks—open credits, pretty much.”
Someone with very deep pockets was funding this op, she decided as she accepted the proffered bag. She pulled out three of the cards and handed the bag back. “There’s about fifteen cards in there. Split it up among your people. I’ve got plenty. Use these three to pay for the bill and, hell, clean them out as tips.”
“Why would you do that?” The waiter looked confused. Christine smiled.
“Because despite what that animal said, you’re human beings and deserve to be treated as such.”
“Well, since you put it that way.” Chuy shrugged and pulled out a set of keys from his pocket. He handed them to her. “I was gonna take it to a shop I know to move, but since you prolly need it more than I do…”
“If you want, you can pick it up at the Lares launch terminal in the private departures area when the storm passes,” she said and accepted the keys. “I won’t be coming back here once I leave.”
“I wouldn’t either,” Chuy murmured. Suddenly Christine had an idea. It was crazy and irrational, but utterly brilliant.
“I could use a crew to help us get to Avalon,” she suggested as a new organization much like Jericho suddenly formed in her head. Imperfects were the most ignored people in the entire Dominion. Nobody cared what they talked about in front of them. Nobody pai
d attention to them. They were the invisibles in a society too busy looking inward at itself. “I mean, it’s not much, but I can train you to work on the ship. Of course, we’d need to hire an engineer at some point. I’ll pay you…actually, I’ll pay you very well.”
“Working on a ship?” her waiter asked, dubious. “No offense, but all I’m qualified for is making coffee and taking orders. We’re all Imperfects, ma’am. We aren’t worth shit. Uh, excuse me.”
“You seemed awfully comfortable taking control of the situation and ensuring my mess got cleaned up in a hurry,” Christine corrected him. He shook his head and grinned.
“That’s just because they all listen to me for some reason.”
“Which is why I need someone on the ship they know and respect,” Christine added helpfully. “Besides, wouldn’t it be nice to go somewhere and be treated as human beings?”
That sealed it. Every head, even the young boy who’d done the mopping, was nodding in agreement. To be treated as a regular person was something all Imperfects dreamed of. She’d heard this while still a child and had dismissed it as unlikely, but now she knew just how wrong she’d been. Every person deserved to be treated as such.
“He parked his air carriage out back,” the young boy piped up suddenly, “next to the incinerator. I saw him pull up earlier.”
“Then let’s get his ride and get the hell off this planet,” Christine said. She paused and frowned as a new thought dawned on her. “Oh, and you might want to let your boss know you’re all quitting.”
* * * * *
Chapter Fifteen
Gabriel
Gabriel stared across the open room at his brother in arms. Beeker looked a little different in his armor than Gabriel did. This was mostly because Gabriel was wider in the shoulders than the average person, and Beeker was at least a head taller. However, a closer inspection told Gabriel there were differences between the suits invisible to the naked eye.
Beeker’s suit hadn’t seen nearly as much wear and tear as Gabriel’s. The armor was still smooth, and the color was black as night, whereas age, battle, and the environment had taken its toll on Gabriel’s suit, making it appear ancient. Gabriel’s eyes were focused on the glowing blade in Beeker’s hand, though. Both of their blades were in perfect shape, since they were designed to never develop nicks or warp.
“Beeker,” Gabriel acknowledged and bowed his head.
“Omelet.”
Gabriel charged and slid on his knees, aiming to hamstring Beeker and end the fight quickly. The Zulu was craftier than Gabriel remembered and easily hopped out of the way, his own blade slicing through the air and missing Gabriel’s throat by centimeters. The Darksuit armor was good, but as evidenced earlier when it had failed to stop a round from damaging his arm, they weren’t perfect, and the monomolecular-edged blade would’ve easily cut through it.
The fight needed to end quickly. Gabriel wasn’t nearly as good with the blade as he wanted to be, while Beeker appeared to know exactly what he was doing. Downloading more knife-fighting tips from the ’net through his cortex, Gabriel parried a lunging strike from Beeker and slashed at the Zulu’s armored face. The other Darkling danced backward and out of range, so Gabriel pressed the attack. He hacked violently overhead once, twice, before sliding in and scoring a hit on Beeker’s leg. It wasn’t a fatal blow, but enough to let the Zulu know Gabriel wouldn’t be easy to kill.
The gel within the suit closed the wound; while Gabriel could see the deep gash in the leg, there was no blood. Beeker still moved with the grace of a gazelle, something even Gabriel couldn’t manage. Such was the effectiveness of a Darksuit when fully integrated with its wearer.
Beeker lashed out with his blade and scored a hit on Gabriel’s upper left arm. Since that was where he’d already been shot, he barely noticed the damage. Slashing across Beeker’s chest, Gabriel felt a deep scoring hit all the way up his arm as his blade struck true. Beeker gasped and stepped back, dragging his blade down Gabriel’s damaged arm as he moved. Gabriel grimaced as the tip of the blade severed something in his elbow joint, and he lost all sensation in his left hand.
“Fuck,” Gabriel growled as the two opponents stepped back to assess the damage. Gabriel was hurt, but he knew Beeker had also been tagged hard. The only problem was Beeker was still fresh, while Gabriel was mentally and physically exhausted. The ending of this battle would be decided by a mistake, and as tired as Gabriel was, it was apparent to him who was most likely to make that error.
“That hurt, you prick,” Beeker informed him. “How’s the arm?”
“Fucking hell, that hurt!”
“Thought so.”
Beeker danced in and feinted to his right, causing Gabriel to overcompensate by blocking in that direction. The Zulu suddenly cut to his left and tagged Gabriel’s exposed right ribcage, hard. Gasping in pain, Gabriel brought his blade up and cut off a small chunk of the facial armor of Beeker’s Darksuit. This time there was some blood as the gel, unable to keep a barrier over the exposed wound, seeped out of the damaged helmet.
Gabriel, however, was hurt badly. He staggered backward, his useless left arm draped across his ribs. The suit flashed a warning, letting him know the gel wasn’t working as effectively on this cut as the one on his elbow. More neural pain blocks were injected by the Darksuit, but Gabriel tried to override them. If the suit had its way, Gabriel would be comatose and healing. That would mean his death.
Stepping backward, Beeker shifted his angle. Gabriel’s cortex analyzed the move for a moment before countering. However, Gabriel didn’t want to counter it just yet. An idea suddenly formed in his head that was completely stupid, while simultaneously brilliant. The suit informed him that his guard was slightly too high, but instead of correcting it, Gabriel simply waited.
The Zulu didn’t disappoint. Lunging, Beeker managed to slide inside Gabriel’s guard. The strength behind Beeker’s thrust caused him to exhale sharply as Beeker drove his shoulder into Gabriel’s damaged left arm. The tip of the blade pierced the suit armor and went straight into his guts. Gabriel grunted as the pain nearly caused him to pass out. He tried to focus on the man across from him, but the agony of having one’s bowels torn open made it difficult. Expertly, Beeker continued his cut and pulled the blade through Gabriel’s left side. The edge of the blade caught on the inside of Gabriel’s armor momentarily, and Beeker’s balance slipped ever so slightly.
This was the opening Gabriel had been waiting for. He drove the point of his sword into the chink beneath Beeker’s armpit. The armor slowed him a little in his weakened state. Pushing with the last of his strength, the blade finally cut through the armor between the fourth and fifth rib, and through the lung, before it lodged itself deep in the Zulu warrior’s heart.
Gabriel stumbled back and let go of the handle. In agony from the stomach wound he’d been dealt, all he could do was kneel and try to hold everything in as Beeker dropped to his knees. The Zulu’s helmet turned clear and, for the first time in a long while, he saw his friend’s face.
“You would sacrifice yourself,” Beeker said as he tried to look at the sword still embedded in his heart. The angle was wrong, though. “You let me get that hit in just to retaliate?”
“Had to,” Gabriel replied, grimacing. “You’re better with a blade than I am.”
“Fucker,” Beeker wheezed and slumped to the floor, dead.
Gabriel stared silently at his friend for a long while, his mind foggy as his body struggled to adjust to the number of painkillers flooding his system. The suit was unable to do much for his stomach, however. He could almost feel his intestines leaking into the protective gel inside the suit. None were outside, yet.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered to Beeker and struggled to rise to his feet. Slightly confused, Gabriel walked out of the room and into the subway tunnel. Far in the distance he thought he could see the exit. There was no way to be certain, but it was the only way to go. While he walked, the suit began to run a self-diagnostic. What i
t found was alarming.
The suit was ruined, courtesy of Beeker’s skill with the blade. The same model and design, which had served Gabriel so well in the past, had been turned against him. The Darksuit was tough, but there was nothing he knew of that could withstand the blade of a Darksuit when wielded by a master. Despite the suit’s best efforts, he could feel his blood seeping through the inner protective gel and oozing out of the vicious gash Beeker had made. His guts felt as if they were on fire, and his strength was almost gone. It was only his implant nodule and the strength given to him by the suit that allowed him to slowly stagger down the long, dark tunnel.
The physical pain nearly matched the emotional turmoil within him. A brother in combat and in life, Beeker had been one of the first to help Gabriel realize the true meaning of being a Wraith. This had later served him while he was a Darkling, lost and abandoned on Maelstrom. The mental toughness of the Zulu had helped him become a better leader of men. A brother in spirit and battle, their bonds had been forged in the fires of war.
Gabriel had shattered that bond when he drove the tip of his blade through Beeker’s heart. Like all the others Gabriel had loved, he’d been the cause of the Zulu’s death. He was Death, to his allies and enemies alike.
A strangled cry came out of him as he dropped to a knee, exhausted. Raising his head, he spotted a faint glimmer in the distance. The suit helpfully magnified it. There was a light at the end of the tunnel, he realized. Knowing if he pushed hard enough he could make it, he staggered back to his feet. His hand went to his armored stomach as a sharp pain ripped through him. A small warning symbol appeared on his HUD, telling him the suit was unable to halt the damage done to his abdominal cavity. His Leviathan cortex suggested he contact a local medical facility for immediate assistance. Septicemia was a definite probability given the location of the stab wound, Gabriel read. He withheld a mirthless laugh, partly because it was obvious he could die, but also because laughing would have hurt like hell.
Homeguard Page 29
