Ghosts of Koa, The First Book of Ezekiel (41 page)

The sudden declaration whisked through the air, seeming to suck the sound out of the crowd like a vacuum. For minutes on end, many protestors looked at one another with looks of horror and shock. Not one shout of anger. Not one question dripping with bitterness. Nothing. Just like that, the spirit of the Civilian protestors died, like a flame beneath cold breath. Signs fell over like tumbling cards, and banners drooped as dissenters released them from their once-determined grips. And Caleb, feeling more powerless than ever before, watched the long-faced protestors drift away, with a silent and fading glow, like so many fireflies.

Loud hoots and applause rang out down the hall. The lounge near Caleb's infirmary room was packed with APs of all ranks, who'd also been waiting patiently for the Council's decision. Sal Morgan had won, and now he had pre-packaged soldiers of fortune ready to plow down any Civilian they could to get further along. The APs of the Fifth thought their lives were about to get worlds easier,
 
their wallets fatter, but deep down, Caleb knew that the worst was yet to come.
 

Koa would not take this lying down. They didn't have alchemic powers or even much money, but ingenuity and ruthlessness were right up their alley, nearly on par with Azures. This war was about to explode, and Sal Morgan-- along with the rest of the Alchemic Order-- had just lit the fuse.

Zeika was sitting at the Lobon Inn with Manja when the news was announced over the radio. The Inn had gone deathly quiet, and patrons turned their now bloodless faces to each other, the horror slowly creeping in.

"The Civilians' appeals were slammed down in a 301 to 11 vote," the radio host announced. "This was a surprising turn of events for the fifteen Civic Demesnes, whose 80 of 90 Representatives actually voted in
favor
of the repeals. Quentin Guevonovich, the Prime Minister and Chief Executive Officiator of the Civic Order, will be making a statement to Civilians later this evening..."

"Manja," Zeika whispered. "We've gotta go now, okay?"

Manja had a mouth full of pancake, but she nodded and began to gather up her things. Zeika ordered another full breakfast to go, plus non-perishables: crackers, peanut butter, granola, dry cereal.

"As a stipulation of the repeals, the Civic and Alchemic Orders will be enforcing a mandatory curfew for ghosts of war starting tomorrow evening. Between six p.m. and ten a.m., ghosts must remain in their registered domiciles, or they will be detained for questioning at a local precinct..."

Zeika tried to listen to the news, but the disbelief had drained away all of her focus. Eight hours of daylight. That's all the time they had to mine, trade, and do in-take for inventory. There was no way that she'd be able to trade enough in that window to sustain them every week, much less get them smuggled out of the Fifth.
No one
could work under those conditions, especially not Civilians. And even if they could, the streets wouldn't be safe, not with the Ninkashi, Koa, and glory-hungry APs prowling around.
 

The Azures were trying to kill them, had to be. If they couldn't catch and crush Civilians with physical force, then the curfew would definitely choke off most families' living wages until they all just withered to dust from hunger and poverty. Didn't they realize that the working ghosts were just as important to Civilian survival as the working adults?

Sal Morgan definitely did.
 

Maybe the higher ups hadn't known until he'd told them. He was the tax collector, after all. Maybe this-- dealing a final blow to the economy of the Protecteds, to the capitol of the Civic Order-- was what the repeals were all about from the very beginning.

The possibility struck fear in her, a fear that ran deeper than any she'd ever felt. Suddenly, Sal Morgan was no longer some pervy small-time extortionist, but ruthless and methodical, a consultant of death to the Alchemic Order. And he was pointing his scythe at her Demesne.

Zeika grabbed their food, shoved it into her bag, and put Manja on her hip. Her urge to run from the Fifth Demesne had never been so powerful, not even on the heels of the Ninkashi attack. She had to do something, anything, before things got any worse. They had to get out of the Fifth... and they still had to find Mama and Baba.

Where are you two? Where the hell are you?

As she fought back tears of frustration, she pulled her hood over her head and left, wondering if they would ever survive this... and why their parents had left them to die.

Demesne Five was a mess. The shit had hit the fan not even twelve hours after the repeals, and at the same time, Caleb had hit the streets, looking for Zeika and Manja. He'd been high on cocktails of codeine and antibiotics, but it hadn't stopped him from stumbling his way through the Fifth for four days straight, looking for even the barest sign of them. He checked his house account at the Lobon and saw that they'd been there on the day of the repeals. Zeika had ordered an ass load of food, right around the time the repeals had hit the news. All non-perishables.
 

She was smart. He knew she'd stocked up for an indefinite hibernation, and that she and the kid would be AWOL for a while. They could have already skipped town, though it was unlikely, considering how little money they had and how bad things had gotten. Police activity was at an all time high; riots were erupting at the guarded borders of the Fifth. Civilians and APs clashed bloodily as people tried to muscle their ways
out
of the crumbling Protecteds.
 

The more he thought about it, the more he was certain: they were at their underground hideout. He wouldn't dare go back to the fountain entrance, though. Not now. Someone might spot him, might wonder what an Azure was doing strolling through a park in Demesne Five. Plus, after the incident at the hollow...

Hope you two are okay.

He just wished that he could tell them their secret was safe with him. That shit happened, that the hollow had been a Koan trap and that he wasn't angry or suspicious of her. That he wouldn't be able to stop worrying until they were with him, where he could make sure they were safe.

He walked back into the police station, winded from the day's search. He hadn't gotten much done in the way of his investigations lately, but maybe doing some work now would take his mind off the girls. It was worth a try. He reached for the knob with a slow and deliberate care, trying his best not to agitate the stitches at his chest. The doc had told him to take it easy. He wasn't supposed to be moving around so soon, but doing work from his hospital bed would be impossible.
 

He walked in, immediately pleased by the breeze that slinked into the room through his window. Then he raised his brow. Three staggered stacks of thick manila envelopes crowded the top of his desk, piled about three feet high. Clearly, Palmer hadn't felt an iota of restraint when piling on the work.

A flash of blue movement blinked between the stacks, and Caleb was already aiming his gun.
 

"Ah, Proficient Rai," a smooth, clipped voice greeted. British. Outmoded. Old world. "I've been patiently awaiting your arrival."

Behind the dossiers, the flash of color slowed into a crawl, solidifying into what looked like an expensive three-piece suit with groomed blonde hair. Someone who had been sitting behind the stacks was standing up. From
his
chair.
 

Caleb pursed his lips. Another Alchemist. This dude definitely hadn't been sitting in his office a few seconds ago, and him being here now, no matter how he did it, meant that he was Azure.

The newcomer took a long, measured look at the gun and then smiled. "I trust your recovery has gone well?"

"Yeah. Who the hell are you?"

He was still aiming squarely at the man's chest, and with the amused way in which the newcomer looked at him, one would think Caleb was offering him a chocolate bar. The man wasn't even flinching.

"My apologies," the newcomer began again. "I am asking questions without proper introductions. I was sent here by the Alchemic Order."

"The Order. Right."

The man chuckled. "Please excuse my rudeness. I was under the impression that you knew we were supposed to be meeting."

Another long look at the smiling Azure told Caleb that even though the guy needed a serious lesson on personal space, he wasn't dangerous. Slowly, he re-holstered his gun.

"I didn't," Caleb said. "But I have time."

"My name is Luke McKeller, a Proficient-level Theosophic Alchemist and a civil rights lawyer of Guild 40. I am also the apprentice of Vassal Micah Burke, and in that capacity, I am here to speak for him. I represent the Alchemic Order's Ethics Committee."

"Heh. Yeah, okay. I didn't know the Order even had such a thing. Or that they even cared."

"Have you checked the news recently, Detective? The citizens of the Civic Demesnes are causing quite an uproar in light of the repeals. They want justice."
 

"And what does this have to do with you popping up like a bluebell from my goddamned chair?"

He could see Luke stifling a smile. "Well, I guess the simplest answer is that this is
my
office too."

"
Your
office?
Here
?" He wasn't sure if this guy was joking, but if he was, Caleb had already decided he wasn't in the mood.

"Well I'm not much good as an Ethics Agent of the Fifth if I'm not actually here, now am I?" Luke jammed his hands into his slack pockets. "Can't plant the seeds of justice without examining the soil, so to speak."

Caleb raised an eyebrow. "So you're Internal Affairs."

Luke chuckled, the gesture smooth, calming. "I've been told to use the term 'Ethics Committee Representative'. We wouldn't want the natives getting restless."

"The officials of the Orders actually
signed
this Ethics Committee into law?"

"Into law and into the Treaty of Alliances itself. All alchemic law enforcement agencies are to have a representative from Guild 40 on staff to oversee practices, case filings, raids, hunter cells." Luke smiled, folded his arms, and leaned against Caleb's desk. "The Articles39 has now become the Articles40, save for the fact that they repealed them, of course."
 

Caleb's jaw tightened. "Okay, but again, why
my
office?"
 

Even as he asked, he wasn't sure why he was being such a jerk about it. Sharing office space certainly wasn't his biggest problem, and despite Luke's sudden appearance and ridiculously antiquated accent, he seemed like a decent guy. Just not one he wanted in his space. He didn't want
anyone
in his space, really. Maybe it was stress, maybe he was being territorial... or maybe his office was simply all he had left. The last thing he could control.

Thankfully, Luke didn't seem interested in tree-marking. "You're the Special Forces Tactician, are you not?" He continued, all business and bow ties. "As I understand it, the officers at this precinct all have to defer to you. Captain Palmer thought it would be best if you and I worked together... mostly because your colleagues already hate me as much as they hate you."

News traveled fast, apparently.

"Yeah, I.A. doesn't exactly give cops the warm and fuzzy. I'm surprised you'd even sign up for such a shit job."

"Yes, well, the Orders want to ensure that Civilians' basic human rights are not violated during the transition. In light of recent reports on the missing children-- warm, fuzzy, or not-- I am inclined to agree. Even the shit jobs need shovels. You of all people would know that."

Caleb felt his annoyance drain away, replaced by a growing respect for McKeller. That he'd maintained such a centered perspective in such a highly ranked position was admirable to say the least.

"What do you need?" Caleb forced a smile, by way of apology. "Besides a chair, I mean."

"To hell with the chair. A lovely bistro would be fantastic. It's going to be a long night."

A lovely bistro? Jeez.

Luke was blue-bred to the max, but a couple months in Demesne Five would definitely put some wrinkles in his collar. More importantly though, while Luke was around, Caleb could actually do some work. Honest-to-goodness-shit-shoveling work.

"Let me show you around the place," Caleb said, feeling better already. "Our caf is killer."

*
*
*
*

After a long lunch, Caleb left Luke to get settled into the station. He was feeling more than impressed with his new partner; he felt downright intimidated. Luke was a sharp guy. He'd been the first in his family to study alchemy and had trained as a Theosophist, making it to Proficient-level in just two years, which was unheard of. Then, he'd had a pang of conscience and decided to focus on international and civil rights law. He was a righteous choice for a partner, and as much as Palmer had stuck them together to punish them, Luke didn't seem to mind much. Caleb had a feeling that things were about to change around the precinct, big time.

He stopped short at his own doorway, letting out an audible groan when he saw Vassal Persaud standing in his office behind his desk, his back turned to him. He was standing almost military-style and facing the window, his arms clasped behind his back. This appearing-in-his-office thing was really getting old, really fast.