Angel Of Solace (5 page)

Shyrah blinked away the confusion and chased after him. If he made it to that gun before she did, nothing else was going to matter. 

He was already at the mid-point turn in the stairwell when she reached the top of it, fully a dozen stairs ahead of her. A quick glance didn’t reveal where the gun had landed, but Beren seemed convinced it was farther down. That was good enough for her, and she knew there was no way to overtake him.

Or at least, no safe way. But facing down an armed slaver wasn’t going to be any safer, and so she threw herself over the railing and did her best to land on top of him.

It mostly worked. His body took the brunt of the impact when she landed, but her ankle twisted sharply as their bodies intertwined and they tumbled down the last of the stairs. She tried to maintain control of the grapple as they hit the last stair and smacked against the railing, but his strength was surprising. She brought her knee up hard into his crotch, but despite his pained gasp, he still managed to get a firm grip on her hair, wrench her head back, and fling her away. She smacked into the concrete wall and her vision blurred.

But not before her eyes fixed on the gun. It was less than a meter from the exit door, and roughly equidistant between the two of them. Neither of them was in great shape; Beren was half keeled over on the last stair, and she knew she probably had a concussion. But both were now looking at the pistol and the quick and final victory it represented. 

Adrenaline cleared her thoughts, and Shyrah risked a glance over her left shoulder. There, just as it should have been, was a fire extinguisher casing, and she knew that if Corin and the others had done their jobs, it would have a present inside for her.

She made her move, and Beren did the same—in opposite directions. She grabbed the handle of the extinguisher case and pulled, fully aware that if Corin had fucked up, the seconds lost in yanking the handle would be fatal. But the case ripped free just as it was supposed to, and an instant later she was pulling out the small flechette pistol he had stashed there. She spun on a heel, dropping into a firing crouch and noting that Beren had a half-second lead on her—

And then the door opened and smashed him in the face. Shyrah blinked as Kronn suddenly appeared in the doorway, his own flechette pistol in hand. He aimed down at the shocked but still armed slaver lying prone on the ground.

“I wouldn’t,” Kronn warned. “It’s over, Beren.”

The slaver’s entire body tensed and he spit blood on the ground. “Kronn…I thought I recognized you.”

“So did a few of your men, but I’m afraid they’re in no condition to let you in on that little secret.” Kronn eased his stance slightly. “Put down the gun and come with us. Cooperate and you’ll even make it out of this alive.”

Beren grunted. “You’re not the type of man to just shoot me.”

“
He
might not be,” Shyrah said, lowering her gun.

Kronn smiled fractionally. “There’s no help coming for you, and you have a lot to answer for. Let’s try to be civilized about this.”

Assuming Kronn was right and Corin had managed to delay security and take out the slaver’s backup, then Beren really had only two options. He could drop his gun and go along with them, and they would force him to cough up every little secret about his organization. In a matter of months or maybe even weeks, one of the biggest traffickers in all of Solace would be shut down. It was the ideal solution.

The second option was to go down in a blaze of glory and try to shoot one of them before the other gunned him down.

Looking down at his sweat-stained jacket and twisted face, knowing the horrors he had inflicted on other Demons all across the city, Shyrah didn’t feel an ounce of remorse when he chose the latter and she blew his head apart.

***

Samuel Kronn idly ran a finger through his beard when the door to his makeshift office swung open and Shyrah walked in, the usual casual nonchalance in her stride. She had reverted to the rustic leather pants and collared white shirt she preferred, as well as washing off the makeup they had spent an hour applying earlier—all before he had taken his scans to make sure she wasn’t seriously hurt. She hadn’t put up her blonde hair yet, but he knew that wouldn’t last long.

“Nice shot back there,” Corin commented from his seat on the left side of the room. In contrast to Shyrah, the young man hadn’t changed a bit since the operation. His brown hair was still long and unkempt, and his ratty beard managed to make him look younger rather than older. “At least we don’t have to worry about getting information out of him.”

“He would have lived if you’d put in my L2 like I told you to,” she countered. “Flechettes don’t have power settings.”

He grunted. “And then we all would have been arrested when they picked it up on their security sweep. How about next time you aim for the—”

“That’s enough,” Kronn said, halting the argument before it got any worse. If left to their own devices, the two of them would bicker for hours, and he really didn’t have the patience for that right now. “Beren’s dead, but it couldn’t be helped. His group will still take months to recover, and they might not at all.”

“I know you don’t believe that,” Corin replied, rolling his eyes. “I give it two weeks before his lieutenants fight it out and someone else is on top.”

“Whatever,” Shyrah said dismissively. “All I know is that next time we’re stuffing you in the dress.”

Kronn smiled and shook his head. “What’s done is done, and we need to move on. Sariel got back last night with the Incubus, and she’s going to bring him over this afternoon. I want everyone here to be ready to meet him.”

Shyrah let out something between a sigh and a snort. “I’m sure we can find a red carpet to roll out for him, too. Maybe bust out the crystal dining ware. We don’t get royalty around here very often.”

Kronn’s smile faded. Twenty years ago, running his private clinic, he never would have put up with attitudes like this. Even five years ago working under Tolson, he had always encouraged the other man to keep his employees on a shorter leash.

But that, of course, was the problem: they weren’t employees. They were rebels and freedom-fighters, and if they were going to survive, they had to take whatever help they could get. His job was to point them in the right direction and make sure they didn’t kill each other.

For the second time today and probably the thousandth time in the past year, Kronn found himself wishing Tolson was still alive. Or, at the very least, that he wasn’t stuck in this position. But he had never been one to bother with regret, and ultimately a few minor squabbles between his people were irrelevant. Corin and Shyrah were his two best people, and despite their knack for annoying and often inappropriate tantrums, they always got the job done. And more importantly, if the Asurans played this right, they had a real shot to deal a serious blow to the Covenant.

“You know how much we need him,” he said. “This isn’t a chance we can afford to pass up.”

“That’s assuming I believe anything the Angel says, and you know I don’t,” she reminded him tartly.

“What did she do to you, anyway?” Corin asked, shaking his head. “Sara’s done everything we’ve asked and more. At some point you’re just going to have to accept that.”

Shyrah folded her arms across her chest and made a face. “I accept that you’ve all been willing to bend over and lick her boot since the moment she arrived. Yeah, she’s helped us—so have a hundred other people out on the streets right now risking their asses. I don’t see us listening to their every whim.”

“That’s hardly fair.”

“Isn’t it? Six months ago, this pretty little Angel shows up on our doorstep, and we take her in without a second thought—God knows if she’s a Covenant spy or assassin. We let her know everything about us and believe every word she says, even though I have never heard of an Angel turning her back on the Covenant before. Then she tells us she needs the help of some glorified prostitute and doesn’t give us a single reason why.” She shook her head. “You tell me if that sounds fair.”

“We’ve been over this,” Kronn said as patiently as he could. “Many times. It’s been ten years since Tolson started this group, and we may finally have a real chance to take the Covenant down. All we need is someone to help us get some information, and this Incubus is the best chance we have.”

“Lucky for him.”

“I’m not asking you to like it,” he told her, his voice cooling. “I’m asking you to be here and keep your mouth shut. That goes for both of you.”

“Oh, I’ll be here,” she assured him. “I just want to know what happens when it turns out he’s a dud—or that she’s lying about the whole thing. What do we do then?”

“We’ll deal with it like we always have.” Kronn sighed and rubbed at his face. “Look, if you want to do something for the next few hours, go sift through Caroline’s report on the northeast side. She said there were at least two new Covenant proselytizers out there we need to keep our eyes on.”

“Fine,” Shyrah said sharply before quickly turning on a heel to leave. She stopped herself at the door, clenching the frame enough to turn her knuckles white, and glanced back to him. “You know I didn’t really want to kill him.”

Kronn smiled tiredly. “I know.”

She nodded and walked away. Kronn let the silence linger a moment before turning to Corin. “I wonder if you do.”

The younger man shrugged. “You know how Shy is with gangsters, slavers especially.”

“Yes,” Kronn replied softly. The Asurans had saved both Corin and Shyrah from the Valerian Syndicate a few years ago, and it might have been the most ruthless and powerful slaver gang on Argoa. Shyrah had been owned by one of their crime bosses since she was barely a teenager, and she had a tendency to see his face superimposed on everyone they went after.

“She knew how valuable his information could have been,” Corin said. “Honestly she probably only did it because of you.”

Kronn pursed his lips at the thought. Beren
had
been shifting his aim towards Kronn when she had fired. “Maybe. It doesn’t matter—what’s done is done. For now we need to focus on the Incubus. I want him to feel welcome.”

“I’m sure Sara can get on his good side. She’s fit in well with everyone here—well, almost everyone.”

Kronn grinned at the addendum. “Shyrah has her reasons, and they’re sensible enough. The very idea of a fallen angel is like a contradiction in terms.”

“Only if you believe they are what the Covenant says they are—which I know most of us don’t,” Corin pointed out. “Take your pick from any other theory and a defector makes plenty of sense.”

There were probably a thousand different theories about Angels, from some type of freakish mutation to genetically engineered super-humans. Though really, to call any of those “theories” was to insult the scientific term. He had more data on Angels than any other scientist on the planet outside of the Covenant, and he could dismiss ninety-five percent of them on supposition alone.

What he couldn’t do was explain them. Not precisely, anyway.

“Whatever they may or not be, she’s helped us too much to ignore, and I think deep down Shy knows that,” Kronn said. “But when you’ve been betrayed enough in your life, it’s difficult to trust even the good things.”

“I know, I just…” Corin bit at his lip and turned away. “I just wish they’d get along better is all.”

“Give it time,” Kronn told him sagely.

The younger man stood up. “Well, I just hope this guy is the man we need. What do you think?”

“Sariel seems convinced.”

“Or just desperate.”

Kronn suppressed a frown. He knew the others had sensed the Angel’s growing discomfort over the months, particularly in the last few weeks. Rumors about what exactly was causing it were starting to spread, but they weren’t even close. No one knew except for him, and for now it had to remain that way. He trusted most of his people implicitly, but there was just too much at risk to take any chances.

He just had to hope this Incubus was indeed the miracle cure they all hoped him to be.

Chapter Four

Avrick wrinkled his nose as the ramp extended from their shuttle out to the over-sized docking hub. The smell wasn’t any different than the port on Fauress or even the ones in Louvette. The mottled stench of engine grease, burned thruster casings, and fifty different solvents all swirled together in what he imagined was probably the single most uniform aroma anywhere on Argoa. For some reason he found it less tolerable than the pain ritual and did his best to cover his face with his sleeve.

 “Given how highly the Faithless talk of this place, you’d expect to sail in on a river of gold and be greeted by a dozen maidens bearing flowers,” Vaelen commented wryly as he hopped off the ramp onto the landing pad. 

“Something like that,” Avrick replied, falling into step and doing his best to take in the sights and sounds as they left the pad and moved into the central docking ring. It quickly became clear that while all docks may have smelled the same, that was where the similarities ended. He had already boggled at the size of this facility as they had flown over it. A twenty kilometer radius circle with thousands of docking pads, both private and commercial, as well as an impressive array of water-side ports, Norvang stood out as probably the largest complex he had ever seen. A hundred shuttles left from this dock every minute—or so the impatient flight-controller had told them—and Avrick understood what that meant the moment he stepped off the ship.

Lines. Norvang was an open port, but that hardly meant it lacked security. Aside from the usual sensor sweeps and ID checks any shuttle faced as they came in for a landing, passengers often got to enjoy half-day delays as they stood in line waiting for customs to approve them and all of their possessions. Even with an immense staff and security force, it was clear the dock was operating well beyond its functional capacity.

“At least we packed light,” he commented dryly, ogling at all the different travelers and their bizarre behaviors and fashions. He swore some of them were almost a different species…

“Patience,” Vaelen admonished, directing them to the back of the seemingly infinite customs line. “And remember that one day, their judgment will come.”

Avrick grunted but remained silent. The line might have been long, but at least there was a lot to see. Aside from the busied travelers from all across Argoa, he noted the thoroughness of the security procedures. Despite the open port policy, the Elassian government had been gradually imposing more and more restrictions upon its visitors. The Covenant took it as a sign that its missionaries were having an effect; hundreds of them were out here even now, preaching on the streets and assembling worshippers into any makeshift temple they could find. He knew that several of the priests took great personal satisfaction in turning the laws of Solace against itself—while the government sponsored no single religion, it also refused to keep any out. Worshippers and priests from any faith were welcome on its streets, so long as they did not harm one another or openly incite riots.

In principle, the openness had always had a certain appeal to Avrick, but of course the others only saw it as more proof of blasphemy. Covenant missionaries may have had the strongest presence here, but they were not alone. Priests from other religions, such as the popular cult followings from Dallin or Haucos, were almost as common, preaching their backwards faiths in an attempt to woo the masses to their side. Some sponsored the archaic Earth religions despite the fact Avrick hadn’t seen such a temple in his lifetime.

In time, the Covenant believed the message of all lesser faiths would be swept away. While they made promises about the hereafter, only the Sacra’thar offered people the safety and security of Angels in this one. Their power and inspiration would eventually be a beacon to all of Argoa, and every man and woman would come to believe in the glory of God.

All except one.

Avrick winced as Sariel’s face floated before him. He tried to bury it, but it was just as immovable as it had been for their entire flight. What if she had learned something? What if she was right about turning away? Was he really prepared to deal with the consequences of her capture?

“There will be a day when we look back upon this time with bitter amusement,” Vaelen whispered as they slowly shuffled forward in the line. “Not in my lifetime, but perhaps in yours.”

“Yes,” Avrick murmured, trying to let his mind settle.

As it turned out, the line wasn’t nearly as imposing as it seemed. An hour later, the two Chosen had passed through three separate checkpoints and were making their way out of the docking ring to the ground level. Ten minutes after that, they were out onto the streets of the sprawling city, and he took a long moment to appreciate the size and majesty of its mighty spires and interlocking buildings. It must have been what Louvette looked like before the Reckoning…

 “Come, we have friends to meet,” Vaelen said.

Avrick fell into step and did his best to pay attention to where they were going while still marveling at the sights. Several kilometers off to their left, sticking out from the sea itself, was the great and legendary statue Elassians considered a cultural icon: the Faceless Knight, a proud, archaic warrior said to represent Elassia’s best ideals and principles. He had caught a glimpse of it from the sky as they had approached, but somehow seeing it without the filter of a dimmed shuttle window made it far more majestic. 

Vaelen eventually hailed a taxi, and the driver took them deeper into the city at a speed that put their shuttle to shame. Avrick lost track of the time as they traveled, but it couldn’t have been more than a half hour before they reached their destination:  the second floor of a nondescript, run-down apartment building that could have fit in nicely on any street corner in the world. The two men left their cab, paid the driver a fee that seemed borderline criminal, and made their way up the stairs to the door.

Before either of them could push the keypad at the door, it slid open and a squat, wide-faced man opened the door with a smile. “Faith and glory, my friends,” he said. “It is good to see you again, Vaelen.”

“You as well, Zanek,” Vaelen replied, firmly shaking the other’s hand. “This is my associate, Avrick Torgain—it’s his first trip here.”

Zanek grunted and clapped the younger man on the shoulder. “I almost feel as if I should apologize.”

The three men walked inside, and Avrick quickly took in the room. It was much larger than he had expected, though much of the space was just empty. Several of the walls had been knocked out, leaving a wide open area with only a sparing amount of furniture, a table with a computer and accessories, and a modest shrine on the western wall.

Before he had time to comment, however, a fourth man, tall and slender, entered the room from the only other doorway. His skin was pale and his eyes, shimmering like coal, were deeply set. He couldn’t have been more than fifty, but the face of an Angel was unmistakable.

“You honor us with your presence, my lord Marivean,” Vaelen said, immediately dropping to a knee. Avrick hastily followed his mentor’s lead.

“It is you who honor our Lord with your sacrifice, noble Chosen,” the man said in a cool, even tone. He gestured for them to rise.

Avrick did his best to keep his face passive even as his mind raced with the possibilities. An Angel here, in Solace? He knew they were meeting a team on the ground, but he had expected priests and other Chosen. As far as he knew, Angels virtually never left the mainland, and if they did it was to preside over another fully built temple in another nation, not muck around in the slums of a decadent and dangerous city like this.

“I take it my presence is a surprise to you,” Marivean commented, his lips curled in minor amusement.

“Uh…yes, my lord,” Avrick managed.

“Your mentor was instructed to leave out certain details. We cannot be too careful these days.”

Vaelen offered the younger man an apologetic look before turning back to the Angel. “Now that we have arrived, do you have new reports for us, my lord?”

“We do, in fact,” Zanek said from behind. “You arrived just in time.”

The Angel nodded, his eyes measuring the two Chosen and lingering on Avrick. “Indeed. I trust your mentor has prepared you for what is to come?”

“As well as I could,” Vaelen said. “It is one thing to talk about a place and another to experience it.”

“Truer words…” Marivean agreed. “In any case, we’ve been able to learn a great deal about the Asurans over the past several months, and that knowledge is about to pay dividends.” He gestured to Zanek, who was already working at the computer terminal. A few seconds later, he brought up a holo projection on the floor in the center of the room—one detailed enough that it seemed to include every house and building in the entire district. Avrick wondered idly if they had pulled this from the global network or gotten more precise, reliable data from another source. 

“I admit I thought Tolson’s death would destabilize the rebels more than it did,” Vaelen murmured thoughtfully. “How they’ve survived this long is a mystery.”

“Less so once you understand how they work,” Zanek said, stepping over next to the projection. He tapped the datapad in his hand, and several buildings on the holo turned red. “We’ve tracked down a dozen of their sympathizers in this district alone. Only a fraction of their group operates out of their headquarters at any particular time. Unlike Tolson, their new leader is especially cautious.”

“How did Tolson die, anyway?” Avrick asked.

Marivean raised an eyebrow. “We killed him, of course. Though not before he told us what we needed. That following month we eliminated almost two dozen Demons, and we mistakenly believed that would be the end of them.” His expression hardened. “We should have known better. As the Sacra’thar tells us, evil can never truly be defeated, not as long as a single soul lives in sin.”

“Their new leader is Samuel Kronn,” Zanek added. “He has a…colorful past.”

“A doctor originally from Haucos,” Avrick recalled, digging through his memories of the reports he had read on the way here. “Well-respected twenty years ago, but then he took a job with a medical research team in Solace. Their task was to assess the ‘growing threat of Angels and Demons on the mainland.’”

The squat man scoffed. “They didn’t believe what they saw with their own eyes. Many still don’t, even now.”

“But they will,” Marivean said coolly. “Sooner rather than later. Kronn, for his part, is still convinced the Covenant is a conspiracy of some sort, a shadow government attempting to forcibly take control of the entire colony.”

Zanek nodded. “Many Elassians share his view, particularly those in Solace. It is something you will have to contend with in your time here.”

“You mentioned something about new data,” Vaelen prompted, nodding towards the projection. 

Marivean paced through the center of the holo, his body suddenly sheathed in its soft glow. “For nearly two years the Asurans have been willing to simply hide from us, coming out only rarely to bring more Demons into their fold. But over the past few months, they have begun to target our assets.”

“Assets?” Avrick asked.

“Fringe elements we have been forced to work with,” Zanek explained, his lip twisted as if he had just noticed a bad taste in his mouth. “Pressure from the local authorities has forced us to work outside the system to track down Demon refugees fleeing here from Solace. We’ve forged temporary alliances with several bounty hunters, traffickers, and even mercenary groups willing to work around customs to get the information we need.”

Vaelen frowned. “That wasn’t in any of the reports you sent.”

“We can’t risk it getting out, even over encrypted channels. It isn’t something we wish to advertise all over the colony.”

Avrick tossed a furtive glance to his mentor, and he could tell what the man was thinking. Of course they didn’t want it advertised that they were cooperating with criminals. Their reputation outside the mainland, particularly in Solace, was bad enough without legitimate criticisms. It made him sick to even think they would consider such a thing. It went against all principles of the Sacra’thar…

“I understand you don’t approve,” Marivean said. “But as my associate said, it is a
temporary
arrangement only, an unfortunate necessity if we are going to find and deal with the Demons who have taken refuge here.” He folded his arms across his chest. “And it has helped us locate our primary objective: the Betrayer.”

Something about the way he said the word made Avrick uneasy. To an Angel, he imagined, Sariel’s exodus must have felt even more personal. They were indelibly connected to the divine spirit inside them, and through it, the Lord Himself. A fallen Angel must have felt like a member of the family stabbing the rest in the back.