Voice of a Crimson Angel Part I: Persecution (Reverence Book 5)

by Joshua Landeros

  Aliss now hesitated, which Robert despised.

  “It’s okay, you may speak freely. I gave you the position of SSPA because I thought it was important to have a cyborg’s opinion on these matters when they arose.”

  “Thank you, sir. I went with my decision because of what I saw on his record before the procedure. I understand that our wounded are the priority when selecting new S.S.C Units, but Tyler Noels was not psychologically ready for it. How it is he got past the screening stages is beyond me.”

  Robert loosened his tie. It felt like a noose on him.

  “Perhaps I saw something in him,” the doctor said.

  “I’m sorry it didn’t pan out, sir. I’ll inform the family,” Aliss offered.

  “No, it’s all right, I’ll handle it myself. There’s no need for you to waste all your R & R on this matter. You go back into combat in a week, right?”

  “Yes, so thank you, Doctor Neeson. Nate will be grateful as well.”

  “The least I can do, 3-05.”

  The man and cyborg entered the elevator, talking of trivialities like birthdays and the weather. All the while, the important task Robert had given himself weighed down on his shoulders. This was, however, a chance to finally step up. My children need to see all that I told them about years ago is not dead. He thought back on his own words and felt a sense of dread. I need to do this. I have to.

  ***

  Laredo, Texas

  The Los Dos Laredos Park was located at Pedegral Street and Convent Avenue, right beside the Rio Grande River. A year ago, this had been the United States-Mexico border. Now it was one land under the United Nation Republic flag. A Humvee drove by the parking lot, no one in sight at such a late hour. Taller than the light poles illuminating the area was a statue of a super soldier, almost thirty feet tall. It was facing toward Nuevo Laredo, its right arm even pointing its drawn sword. Complete with the flowing overcoat, the statue was a breathtaking sight. It was the face of Unit 6-76 chiseled on the statue, gazing out at conquest.

  As the Humvee was driving by, the gunner on top passed his searchlight over the statue. Oh fuck.

  “Stop! Stop the fucking car!” he yelled out.

  The driver hit the brakes so hard the gunner was thrown forward a bit, but he didn’t care at all. He leaped off the roof of the Humvee and began walking toward the statue. The others exited the car, following him.

  “What the hell is it, Francis?” asked one of them, assault rifle at the ready.

  Francis only stepped closer to the statue.

  “Francis! Franc—oh shit!” his friend said as he also saw it. Red tears had been painted on 6-76’s face, and the lips had been turned into a twisted smile. From the statue’s chest down to its belt, there was something written: Cowards are cruel, but the brave love mercy and delight to save.

  “Fucking hell, dude, this is bad!” one of them remarked. “What do we do?”

  “We head back to base, make a report, and have the local fire department hose this shit off,” said another calmly. “Preferably before anyone sees it.”

  However, the sun was already on the rise as more cars began to pass by. The early morning joggers were already passing on through. Each one stopped to see what had been done, causing the soldiers to panic even more so. Francis remained calm though.

  He made his way toward the back of the statue, surprised to find more work. On 6-76’s back was a pair of eagle wings in booming red. In the center of those wings was a white star.

  Chapter 4 - Collision

  March 17, 2032 - Dot Coffee Shop, Houston, Texas

  Julissa dipped her bread roll into the warm gravy. She was feeling it: she was nearing the full mark. Her fried catfish was only about halfway did, her mac n’ cheese the only thing she’d managed to finish. Julissa looked across the table, and her heart sank. Will had barely touched his chicken fried steak. He appeared to be struggling with his mashed potatoes, normally what he’d go for first.

  “Will, we should talk,” she said.

  “About what? I’m fine,” he responded as he kept his eyes on his food.

  “Don’t give me that, babe.”

  Will set down his spoon. He looked at her with piercing eyes. Eyes full of pain.

  “What do you want me to tell you? You’re going off to fight while I stay behind.”

  Julissa’s cocky smirk became present. “What? You think I can’t handle myself?”

  “Julie, you know it isn’t that.”

  “You sure? Certainly doesn’t look that way.”

  The man was ashamed now, looking away. He felt Julissa take his hand.

  “Listen, you and I both went into this with a plan. It’s your dream to get that degree, so you need to finish. And you’re close, Will! You just got accepted to the University of Texas!”

  Will nodded. “I know.”

  He lifted their gripped hands, kissing hers.

  “I’ll admit it; I’m scared. I’m gonna miss you.”

  Julissa smiled, even as tears rolled down her cheek.

  “I’m gonna miss you, too,” she replied. “If you ever need help with a class I’m sure Barry can help. If I see anything less than an A, I’m going to come all the way back home just to smack you, Mr. Marconi.”

  Will joined her in smiling. He was still afraid, no doubt about it, but he also felt the excitement. Their future lied ahead. They were young, and the future was a road still unclaimed. He didn’t pretend to know what was in store for them, but he knew one thing for certain above all others.

  “I’m so very lucky to have you in my life, Julie. I love you.”

  “I love you, too.”

  Seeing that man grin meant the world to her. She accepted she would do anything for him. She knew he would give all he had for her. At that point, she was blushing, but she didn’t care. That kiss over their late-night dinner was soft and sweet, giving her goosebumps.

  ***

  August 11, 2050 - Davenport, Iowa

  Dr. Neeson sat at the table, strangely nervous. Me, an old man, anxious. Across from him were two adults not much younger than himself. He hadn’t broken the news yet, but they sensed it ever since he’d stepped foot into their home. The wife was already breaking down, the father holding her close. On the wall next to them, below a clock, was a family portrait. It was a lovely family of four depicted.

  “On behalf of our Chancellor Venloran,” Neeson recited, “and on behalf of the United Nation Republic, we give our condolences for your son’s service. He served to the best of his ability, and he will be forever regarded as one of our brothers.”

  The wife lost it, and all the husband could do was cradle her in his arms. Neeson opened his mouth, but his tongue went dry. He knew what should’ve been said, but he couldn’t do it. He collapsed under the pressure. He had said what he had been trained to say instead, and it felt…fine. This charade was delightfully easy.

  “We should begin making arrangements, John. I’d be glad to help,” Robert offered. The couple was too distraught to react to him. In a strange moment, he looked on their mourning as if an invisible figure. He was snapped back to reality by another voice.

  “Dr. Neeson, what happened?”

  Robert turned in his chair to see a little boy had entered the kitchen. He was wearing a suit with sparse amounts of lint on it, a clip-on tie to boot. The man surmised he was ready for an early Sunday service.

  “Pat, your brother isn’t coming home. I’m sorry.”

  Patrick, oddly enough, seemed to take this better than his parents. He cried, but unlike them, he still had questions to ask.

  “But, but how? He’s a cyborg now, right? I thought cyborgs couldn’t die.”

  Dr. Neeson was short of breath. He collected himself before the child. Do it now or never.

  “No one is immortal, Pat. Not humans, not even cyborgs.”

  Patrick began to break now, just like his mother. Robert stood from his chair. Looking down at the child was far more difficult than he’d ever imagin
ed. He should’ve embraced the weeping boy. He should’ve stayed and consoled the parents for at least a few minutes longer. I can’t do this.

  The man left in haste. On the table, his lemon pie and tea still waited for him. The door slammed behind him as he rushed to his car. He hopped into the driver’s seat, eager to stick the key in the ignition. Something stopped him, though. A crushing sense of scorn for none other than himself. Robert put his head on the steering wheel. He shut his eyes, feeling so much agony behind them. It didn’t stop him from seeing the grieving parents. Even from outside the house, he felt Patrick looking up at him in confusion and despair. I failed another family today. How many more?

  Once more he’d chosen the easy path, but he’d learned something from all this. The easy path was only in the execution, not in the long run.

  ***

  Elsa, Texas

  Julissa’s head banged with never-ending pain. With a parched mouth, her headache was all the worse. She hated it, but before she even made the purchase, she found herself drinking from a water bottle from the refrigerated section. With the half-gone refreshment and a box of pills claiming to cure hangovers instantaneously, she made her way to the front of the store.

  As she approached the counter, Julissa’s eyes were drawn to the telescreen positioned on the very back wall above the liquor cabinet. The image she saw lured her in long before the voice of the reporter did. It was a live report of the statue at Los Dos Laredos Park. Currently, firefighters were in the process of hosing it down.

  “The monument is thought to have been vandalized late last night as residents slept. The statue was erected only two months ago, and many people are upset to see it desecrated,” the anchor reported.

  When the footage switched to interviews with people who lived in the area, Julissa began to lose interest. Half of them came off as angry, the other half saddened. She didn’t care either way. Instead, she was ogling at the variety of gum available at the register.

  “Julissa? Julissa Marconi, is that you?”

  Julissa looked at the cashier, only to feel shocked and embarrassment.

  “Oh my God, Clint! I don’t believe it!”

  Behind the counter was Clint Duvall, a man older than her by a few years. He wore a short sleeve shirt that was bright yellow and covered in poorly drawn palm trees. His most prominent feature was the long scar he had on his temple, winding up into his gray hair.

  “Yeah, it’s me. Still, haven’t kicked the bucket,” he laughed.

  “First time I’ve seen you man the store yourself in a while. Least you could do is wear something decent,” she teased.

  “Oh, please, with your damn sweats and T-shirt. Let me guess; you got on slippers too?”

  “God, no! I still managed to put on actual shoes.”

  The two-laughed hard, bringing life to an otherwise empty store.

  “How you holdin’ up, Julie? You got any grandkids yet?”

  “Christ, I’d be buying a bottle if that was the case. I’m fine, and yourself?”

  Clint flicked a quarter with his middle finger as he held it upright with his pointer. The coin was sent into a spin. Anytime it was about to slow down, he gave it a flick. The coin would spin on effortlessly like a top.

  “Business is good on weekends. Dull, though, now that the punks don’t come by trying to steal shit anymore.”

  Their conversation went flat as the sound of an explosion came from the telescreen. Both turned to look at the broadcast. It was a small town next to a gorgeous beach, but on that beach were UNR soldiers. Off in the distance were anchored battleships.

  “Today marks the official beginning of the Cuban campaign of The Expansion. Fighting has been fierce, but progress is fast moving,” the anchor announced.

  Both had a hard time looking away, but neither also commented on what they saw. Julissa stared longer than Clint cared to.

  “We miss you at the VA meetings. Everyone would love it if you stopped by sometime,” he said.

  Julissa looked back at him now. “Clint, I haven’t been to one of those in years.”

  “And?”

  Julissa was thrown off by the remark. “I couldn’t possibly be of help to any of those people now.”

  “Not even close, Julie,” Clint corrected. “The reason why we fight changes. The theater can be anywhere in the world, but I see them come in with the same stare you had way back then. That never changes.”

  Julissa set her items down on the counter, adding a pack of mint-flavored gum.

  “Still same time?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Maybe I’ll check in one day. Maybe.”

  “That’s good enough for me,” Clint said as he began to ring her up. “Now you got cash or some of them damn vouchers like every other ass wipe who comes in here?”

  ***

  Julissa locked the front door behind her, noticing a funny smell in the air. Is that…paint? She walked down the hall and into the living room, the smell even stronger. There passed out on the couch was a snoring Zaneta. A black beanie had been tossed onto the coffee table, and her boots were lying next to the couch. Zaneta’s backpack laid there next to them, and Julissa had no doubt what she would find if she looked inside. She didn’t bother.

  The mother went upstairs briefly and came back with a blanket. It was the old one she kept tucked away in the cabinet. The one Zaneta had used when she was just a girl. Julissa draped the blanket over her and kissed her forehead.

  ***

  J. Edgar Hoover Building, Washington D.C.

  Chancellor Venloran and Kearney sat at the desk of Jay Narajan, head director of the PSID. His desk was by far the neatest Venloran had ever seen, not a paper out of place and not a speck of dust to be seen. He’d even taken the time to serve up two cups of steaming tea complete with a plate of dried salmon slices. A dark Oolong, Narajan’s outdone himself, Kearney analyzed. The Chancellor sipped his slowly as Narajan sat back in his chair casually.

  “You brewed this yourself, Head Director?” Venloran asked.

  “Ever since the wife schooled me on the process,” Narajan replied. “How is it?”

  “Exquisite.”

  Kearney saw the time on his watch. “Sir, it’s getting late.”

  “Right, let’s get down to it,” Venloran agreed.

  “Yes, sir. Laredo was just one of fifteen sites that were vandalized. We’ve been able to block all other news reports regarding the incident, but images keep popping up on social media sites. These accounts have been dummy accounts, leading me to say with certainty that all of this is connected. All of them also have this symbol.”

  The head director laid out a bunch of photos, all of which were close-ups of the image of blood covered angel wings. Kearney set down his drink seeing it, Venloran as well.

  “What is that?”

  “Not sure. Would-be protestors, I can only assume. We’ve seen the symbol tagged on buildings before but nothing ever this coordinated.”

  “And we have no identified members, Narajan?” Kearney inquired.

  “Not yet,” he said to them both.

  “Then at the very least, we have a patsy, right?” Venloran said.

  Narajan reached over his desk and ate a salmon slice. “Of course, sir.”

  He slid forward a fat portfolio to Kearney. Venloran went back to his tea as his assistant studied the material.

  “Dwight Terry. Not bad.”

  “Yup. Very unexpected, but he should prove useful. All we need is your approval, Chancellor.”

  “You have it. Squash this matter immediately. I have field reports to look over. Thank you for your time, Head Director.”

  “You’re welcome, sir. We’ll get right on it.”

  Venloran and Kearney left Head Director Narajan to his work. The Chancellor was anxious to get back to HQ. He wanted to see just how far his armies had cut into enemy territory.

  Chapter 5 - Candidate

  August 11, 2050

  The landscape wa
s barren, devoid of a single trace of plant-life or even water. All there was an endless expanse of ivory-colored rocks and dirt. The plateau extended for miles until one reached a steep formation that rose one hundred feet. Atop that hill were four soldiers, all of them observing the cloud of dust heading for them. The leader stood closest to the edge, his position evident by the red crest on his armor’s back. He punched in a series of numbers and letters on the keypad on his left arm. There was a screech that rang in all their ears once he finished.

  “Order not recognized. The enemy forces closing,” the machine reported.

  “Looks like Pat’s code is a dud,” Neal said.

  “Nope, bullshit! Me and him used it just last week,” Jacob said back.

  “Last week? You assholes were here without me?!”

  “Practicing, man.”

  “Fuck you, dude!”

  “Neal, trying to concentrate!”

  Gabby saw the cloud of dust was ever closer.

  “Do it faster or it won’t matter. By the time you punch in the right sequence, we’ll be too close to the blast range,” she critiqued.

  “Shut up!” her brother snapped back.

  Alex, meanwhile, was looking up at the sky. Or lack thereof. There was no blue to gaze at, only the black of space with its many twinkling stars. With no helmet to speak of, he could still enjoy the passing breeze. This only further vexed him.

  “With all this realism, I’m just upset we can’t see the satellite itself,” he complained.

  “Alex, who gives a crap?” Neal said.

  He then took the time to look at the scrawny kid in form-fitting battle armor yielding a giant laser gun as long as he was tall. He has a point.

  As they parleyed, a violet beam of light flew between them. It narrowly missed them both, burning a smoking hole in a boulder behind them. Without a word, all of them got down and aimed their guns down at the approaching horde. Looking through the scope of his gun, Neal could see them: creatures that looked like cybernetic velociraptors, complete with a chrome finish on any armored section of their bodies. There were hundreds of them, maybe a thousand. Regardless of how many there were, all of them were firing their beam weapons from their mouths.