“Rumor has it you’re an intelligent man,” said Aaron. “What the bloody fuck are you doing bringing children into a black zone? Do you’ve any idea what would happen here if the locals kicked in the wall?”
Archon waved dismissively, raising his nose to peer down at the game. “They will not be here long. Every one of them is gifted, but alas so few are Awakened. They may look like schoolchildren, but they can protect themselves.”
“They shouldn’t have to.” Aaron stood as if to walk away.
“A moment,” said Archon. “Might I ask what your intentions are toward Anna?”
Aaron froze. What he wanted and what Anna seemed open to were quite different things. He couldn’t get the image of her pleading stare out of his mind. Every time he tried to sleep, every time he closed his eyes, she’d be there in his mind. Two women haunted him, neither of which he could have.
“Something amiss?” asked Archon.
“Anna reminds me a bit of my wife.” Aaron squeezed his hands into fists and stared into the distance. “That’s all. She’s made it abundantly clear she belongs to you.”
That word, belong, made him want to cringe, though Archon cracked a smile. For all his highbrow ideals, he seemed little more than an alpha wolf marking his territory. When they had kissed at the starship factory, Archon appeared to have all the emotional investment of someone selecting what coat to wear. Aaron hid his feelings from his face.
“Anna is rather fond of you, chap. After the life she had, she could certainly use an older brother.”
Or father. Aaron kept that to himself. The man would’ve been around seventeen at the time she’d been born. It was a wonder Archon hadn’t invaded his thoughts; surely, he couldn’t be so powerful as to be able to do that without him noticing. No, he’s still smiling. “Aye.”
“Keep her safe for me, would you? I fear I must depart again for a few days.”
“You just returned.” Aaron raised an eyebrow, though he could in no way claim disappointment at the man’s imminent absence.
“I have become aware of a section of the Venezuelan resistance movement with an unusually high number of gifted individuals. I am meeting with some of their Citizen Management chaps to see about an arrangement.”
“An arrangement?”
“Indeed.” Archon strolled for the door. “We protect the psionics from execution, and they have one less resistance cell to worry about.”
“How is it you go in and out of ACC territory without batting an eyelash?”
Archon paused by the ruined food assembler. “Simple. I am not a UCF citizen. I am a subject of the King, with tenured credentials at Oxford traipsing about on droll educational forays. Ten minutes of explanation is all it takes to bore them to death.”
His tweed coat billowed around as the man strode away.
Aaron stared at the empty doorway in disbelief.
Loneliness drove Aaron from the abandoned break room to an hours’ worth of roaming the grounds. Most of ‘The Awakened’ gang kept their distance. Already, rumors of the bad reaction he had to mental psionics had run the gauntlet, as well as whispers that he’d gone easy on Melissa in their ‘duel.’ Anna had made the mistake of talking about him catching the elevated walkway that almost fell on them, something she theorized even Archon couldn’t have done, and it got overheard.
His wandering eventually brought him to the sixth floor of the main building and he followed the sound of all-too-familiar music, God Save the King, to a room at the corner they had converted into an entertainment area. A sofa and two reclining chairs sat over the outline of a massive L-shaped desk, permanently stamped into dark carpeting. Broken, decrepit, imitation Roman statues lined the walls among fake plants. Aaron assumed this had once been some executive’s corner office.
A 120-inch holographic screen filled the room with bright light and the cheering of a stadium full of Frictionless spectators. Anna sat draped on a small couch, clad in a long Manchester United t-shirt. Her sock-covered feet rested on a glass coffee table, ankles crossed, ass an inch away from sliding off the edge of the cushion. Aaron smiled at her bare thighs. She likely had panties on as well, though he couldn’t tell by looking, and rather liked to imagine the contrary.
Aurora perched cross-legged on a huge reclining chair, apparently scavenged from a nearby apartment building. She leaned vulture-like over a massive bowl of popcorn in her lap. Aaron felt far more comfortable around her when she wore clothes. Like Anna, she had on an oversized tee shirt, plain white, save for a sketchy cartoon of a psychotic-looking bunny rabbit with bloodshot eyes dragging a bloody cleaver beneath the words ‘I feel fine’ scrawled in childlike handwriting.
Seven other people lounged on an arrangement of cushions to the right of the seats. Five children played some manner of holographic board game with an older teenaged girl likely assigned to watch them. A sapphire-haired young man hovered at her side, no doubt tolerating the youngsters to impress his girlfriend.
With a blue and red flash, team logos for Arsenal and Manchester appeared, showing their win-loss stats for the year thus far. Arsenal’s three and seven made him cringe. Fortunately, Manchester hadn’t been undefeated, though he still expected no small amount of teasing since they’d gone eight and two.
“I didn’t think you cared much for sports,” said Aaron, glancing at Aurora.
“I don’t.” She tossed a single piece of popcorn up and caught it in her mouth. “I do love watching Anna get all lathered up about idiots running about chasing a metal ball.”
“Those idiots are an important part of our society,” said Anna, a little louder than necessary.
“Hey. I used to be one of those idiots.” Aaron moved around the sofa and sat next to Anna.
He landed hard enough to cause her to slide forward. Her shirt rode up, disappointing him by revealing black lace panties. His telekinesis arrested her fall, and he set her back where she’d been.
“Careful!” She swatted at him. “Were you this clumsy on the field?”
“Easy,” whispered Aurora. “She gets petulant during the games. Especially if Manchester is cack-handing it.”
“I thought that was normal for them,” mumbled Aaron.
“Shut up,” whined Anna, frustrated at the lack of anything in arm’s reach to throw.
“See?” Aurora laughed.
“The dedication of our fans is legendary.” Aaron helped himself to her snack, levitating a small train from the bowl to his mouth.
Aurora narrowed her eyes at the thread of pilfered popcorn, a playful look of mock anger.
Players lined up on the screen. Seconds later, a shiny metal sphere of pentagonal panels descended from high above, settling to hover a foot off the ground between them. Aaron remembered the tension of those few seconds; one tiny telekinetic nudge could guarantee Arsenal first possession. At the blare of an electronic horn, armored boots blurred into chaos, scuffing and clicking. The stone, an orb of metal riding a cushion of glowing yellow light, rocketed away from the tangle of bodies, zooming toward the Manchester Goal. Individual panels opened and closed as it rotated, creating the illusion that the same trio of tiny ion thrusters remained pointed down.
Anna fumed. “Sodding idiots!” She sat up. “Does it take an act of Parliament to give you first possession for once? Twenty-two fecking percent.”
Aaron opened his mouth, but Aurora waved at him and mouthed ‘no.’
Ten minutes later, neither side had scored, but the orb had been closer to Manchester’s goal for most of it.
“You’re adoring this, aren’t you?” Anna squinted at him.
“What’s that? Your lack of pants?”
“No, dammit, Arsenal toying with us.” She froze, staring at him for a moment before looking down at her bare legs. “I…”
“It’s been a few years since she had an audience,” said Aurora.
“Oh, both of you can go to hell.” Anna scooted upright on the sofa, pulling the shirt down to the middle of her thighs. “Is it a crime to w
ant to be comfortable?”
Aurora shrugged. “That’s what I keep asking.”
Postlethwaite, Arsenal’s current all-star striker, broke away with the orb and ran uncontested toward Manchester’s goal. Anna forgot all about her modesty and jumped to her feet.
“No, no, no!” she yelled. “Sons of bitches, they’re just standing there! Catch him, you pack of wankers.”
“Cooper and McQuillen always did have lead in their asses,” said Aaron. “Even when I played.”
“They’ve gotta be old men now,” whispered Aurora.
The yellow-clad Postlethwaite nudged the orb sideways and jumped over a slide tackle from a man in blue.
“Fecking Lerwick! You idiot. Postalwaste always jumps!” screamed Anna. She whined at the shrinking distance between the orb and the goal. “Un-be-fucking-lievable.”
“Postalwaste?” Aaron chuckled.
The kids on the far side of the room, except for one of the young Russian boys, all stopped paying attention to their board game. The true reason for their presence in the room showed by the amused looks on their faces as they watched her lose her mind.
“You better knock that bastarding thing, Patel.” Anna pointed at the Manchester goaltender, who had a look on his face akin to a deer staring down an onrushing starship.
“He’s new,” said Aaron. “What’s he, nineteen? He’s going to choke.”
“Stuff it!” yelled Anna. “Patel! Block that fecking stone!”
Postlethwaite ran in an arc, faking right and kicking with his left leg. Small ion thrusters in his boot heel fired, punting the ‘stone’ in a pin-straight line. Patel leapt at it, pulling his knees to his chest, deflecting the eight-pound sphere with his armored shins. A pair of Manchester defenders caught up and recovered it on the rebound.
“See!” Anna stuck her finger in Aaron’s face. “Without your cheating, they can’t score.”
His cheek smushed into his hand, one finger up along the side of his eye. “You’re quite beautiful when you’re angry.”
Anna stood statue still, save for a faint twitching in her upper lip. A moaning sound emanating from the crowd five seconds later made her look at the screen. A stocky blue-uniformed figure lay dazed near the center of the field; once again, Postlethwaite had the stone moving for Manchester’s goal.
“Howsham, what the bloody hell are you doing?” Anna jumped up and down like a nine-year-old pitching a tantrum. “You know you’ve got a bloody glass skull.”
“Is she this… animated when they’re winning?” He leaned around her to wink at Aurora.
“About the same, with less screaming.” Aurora pinched the air. “A skosh less.”
Anna dropped to her knees, arms outstretched, raging at the screen. Postlethwaite ducked two defenders and appeared to slip and miss, right boot kicking over the ball while attempting to take another shot on goal. The thruster on his errant boot swept him off his feet, lifting him skyward.
Anna leapt up, starting to erupt in a cheer of “Yeeeee,” which could’ve been ‘yes’ or ‘you sodding idiot’, for all Aaron knew.
Before she could get more than a single syllable out, Postlethwaite’s diagonal backflip brought his left leg around and in contact with the orb, sending it at a wild angle Patel never saw coming. His ‘missed kick’ proved to be intentional.
Postlethwaite ate artificial grass as the orb skidded into the goal area, setting off a nuclear war of flashing lights, buzzers, sirens, and flickering holographic ghosts all over the stadium.
All the energy sapped out of Anna, she flopped back on the sofa. “Well, lucky little shit.”
“That wasn’t luck,” said Aaron. “He meant to do that. Runaway firehose. I hate the taste of turf by the way.”
“What?” She squinted at him.
“They call that maneuver the ‘runaway firehose’ ‘cause of the way the player flips around… like a—”
Anna pouted. “Sod it. Go ahead, get it over with.”
“What?”
“You know you wanna say it.” She stared down at her socks.
He leaned close, whispering. “You’re beautiful when you’re sad.”
She blushed, gawped at him, and shoved him sideways into the couch. Aaron laughed. The celebratory flashing ceased and another eight minutes of back-and-forth doldrums passed, but at least a few spectacular wipeouts kept it entertaining. Anna got riled up again when debatable hand contact on the part of an Arsenal player earned a ruling of accidental. They reset the play, but she bellowed for a penalty as the cameras zoomed in on McManus, the Manchester head coach, who screamed at the ref.
“I really don’t understand all the fuss,” said Aurora. “They’re just running from one end of the arena to the other, over and over. What’s so damn exciting about that? If I wanted to watch a pack of wankers traipse about in circles getting nowhere, I’d go observe Parliament.”
“There’s less blood here.” Aaron gestured at the screen.
Anna settled into a simmering stare at the holo-panel. Occasionally, she’d mutter the name of a player like an oath.
What’s the deal with all the kids? asked Aaron, telepathically.
Aurora munched on popcorn. Take what we can get, mostly. We had about forty locals, but most of them were teens when we started. Early twenties now. James has been bringin’ em over from London whenever he can, but things are changin’ back there. Softening up a bit. Most of the new arrivals are from ACC territory. Much easier to smuggle kids out of those places… and not a lot of psionics get to grow up if they stay there.
Aaron glanced at the side of the room. The Russian boy, twelve if that, looked like he’d crawled straight out of a war zone. Tattered clothes, too-large boots, even a pistol in a belt holster. He stared at the game board like Kasparov reincarnated, plotting his next move. When the older girl and her boyfriend lip-locked, and the other kids occupied themselves laughing at Anna throwing a fit, he reached up and moved three pieces.
Aaron couldn’t decide if he should laugh, scold him, or feel pity.
Is this what they want? He lifted an eyebrow at Aurora.
For a lot of them, it’s ‘leave Earth or die.’ She tilted the bowl toward him, offering more popcorn. They’ll be all right.
Aaron raised an arm to shield his face as a three-pronged assault left the Arsenal goaltender confused. Alastair Morgan punted one in to bring the game to a tie. Anna leapt several times as if trying to see if she could reach the ceiling. Hall and Sivakumar, who had distracted the goalie, hoisted Morgan up and carried him back into a crowd of cheering players.
“See that!” she yelled. “We don’t need telekinetics to score!”
“I was waiting for that,” he mumbled.
Anna held both arms up, letting off a long “Woooo” while falling backward onto the sofa.
Aaron’s devilish grin earned a sidelong glance, and a few seconds later a full on stare.
“What?” Anna squinted at him and checked to make sure her panties weren’t showing again.
“I was just thinking,” he said. “Alastair isn’t the only Morgan to breach the defenses of an Arsenal player.”
“We’ve scored at least twenty—” She got a bit of color in her cheeks and sank back to her seat. “Aaron…”
“Yes, Miss Morgan?”
“That’s not fair.” She picked at the hem of her shirt. “You know I can’t think like that. If things were different…”
Aurora shook the popcorn bowl, trying not to smile.
Red filled the room as the image on the screen changed.
“Oh, bloody hell,” muttered Anna. “Damn adverts. They were in the middle of a play.”
“Middle of running about like fools,” said Aurora, earning a scowl.
A short Hispanic woman in a sea-foam green blazer and white frilled collar stood in front of a burning structure surrounded by desert scrub. Fire suppression bots orbited the wreckage, spraying trails of white chemicals from above while men assaulted it with hoses fro
m the ground.
“NewsNet brings you a special report, live from the town of La Lobeña, Mexico.”
“Sod the special report,” yelled Anna. “They can’t do this. A thousand channels and they have to pre-empt Frictionless? If I wanted news, I’d have on the goddamned NewsNet.”
The reporter spoke in Spanish, with English words scrolling along the bottom. “Hours ago, Security Forces raided the church of Saint Michael the Purifier in the outskirts of the quiet, law-abiding town of La Lobeña.” She gestured at the building behind her. “The fire broke out as personnel with the Citizen Management Office engaged gunmen loyal to the presumed-dead Fernando De la Cruz, former leader of the congregation. Born as Fernando Medina, he was known in and outside Mexico as a vocal proponent calling for the purge of all psionics as embodiments of the Devil. What a shock it was to this reporter, and no doubt all of Mexico, when evidence came to light that his fire-and-brimstone preaching was little more than a front to disguise efforts to provide equipment and refuge for local anti-establishment rebels.
“Due to the quick actions by local citizens”—the camera panned back to a smiling man, woman, and three young boys—”the law-breaking pastor and his traitorous group of rebels cannot threaten the safety and security of any of our beloved citizens.”
Aaron ignored the rest of the woman’s ramble about how the ‘loyal family’ would be rewarded for their patriotism by reassignment to higher paying, more prestigious careers that qualified them as ‘citizens.’ He put a hand on top of Anna’s.
“What?” She stopped glaring doom at the NewsNet feed and looked at him.
“Archon was just in Mexico.”
“Yes, so?”
“Don’t you think it’s a bit suspicious?”
“I suppose.” She waved at the screen. “Come on, then. We get the point. Back to the game.”
“Hey,” yelled the twentyish girl watching the kids. She pointed at the Russian boy. “I saw that. You’re cheating.”
He gave her a defiant look that said ‘do something about it.’ “Play to win or do not play.”
The other kids fidgeted.
“Alexi, that’s not how we play games.” The woman tried to sound stern. “Put the pieces back and apologize to everyone.”
Angel Descended (The Awakened Book 6) Page 17
