Ryk E. Spoor's Blog, page 18

On My Shelves: Ready Player One

I'd heard of this book (by Earnest Cline) off and on for years, but seeing a movie released caused me to actually pick it up and read it.

Wade Watts, AKA Parzival, lives in the culmination, or perhaps nadir, of development of the trailer park – the "stacks", where trailers have been literally stacked to heights of twenty or more, sheltering the desperate and displaced in a world where a combination of climate change and energy depletion has caused the collapse of American society and most of the rest of the world. It is a dystopian, cyberpunk-ish future, and Wade's near the bottom of the pecking order – he kinda-sorta has a place to live (with an aunt who cares nothing for him) and gets enough food, but other than that, he has only one thing: access to the world-girdling virtual reality called the OASIS.

But as Parzival, he has one other thing: a dream, a goal, a vision: to find the ultimate "Easter Egg", a secret hidden deep within the very code of the OASIS – the legacy of James Halliday, the creator of the OASIS. When Halliday died, he left a last will and testament and the ultimate riddle with the ultimate prize: whoever solves the riddle, finding the Three Keys and passing the Three Gates they unlock, will claim complete and total ownership of Halliday's company and the OASIS itself – a prize perhaps worth hundreds of billions of dollars.

When this eccentric will was announced, most of the world went mad trying to hunt down the "Easter Egg" of the Keys… but time passed, and no one even found one of the Keys. For many people, the mania passed – they believed it would never be solved, or that it was some kind of practical joke by Halliday. But those who remained, the egg hunters, or "gunters", became a competitive fellowship and community, a force to be reckoned with in the OASIS.

And then Parzival, through a stroke of luck (and a great deal of preparation and study), finds the Copper Key. On the instant he becomes a celebrity, subject of wonder and awe and envy… and a target.

For there are those who want Halliday's inheritance and will stop at nothing to get it.

This was undoubtedly a very fun book. It is clearly targeted at my generation. Clues that Wade/Parzival had to study deeply to understand, that author Cline had to emphasize by making Halliday's will trigger an entire 1980's revival, are ones that took me not a moment to recognize and understand (for instance, the very mention of a "Red Star" and I knew precisely what it referred to and where Parzival would have to go next).

The book is chock-full of references to things that are intimately familiar to people my age (or a bit younger – Cline himself is ten years my junior). Halliday was a product of the 80s, and so the 80s became his theme and, ultimately, the theme of the world and puzzle he created. These are certainly fun for me – after all, I do a lot of similar things in my books, like Grand Central Arena.

At the same time, the dystopian world Cline creates is a stark contrast to the world of the OASIS and the perky, sparkly 1980s cheesiness that gets spread so heavily through the virtual world. There's still high technology… but aside from the OASIS itself, which is only accessible easily because Halliday deliberately set it up that way, most people will never get to play with it. Fail to pay your debts on time, and a corporation will send a collection squad – who will turn you into a shock-collared indentured servant running a Customer Support line, or worse. Even within the OASIS there are things you can only do with money; Wade's been mostly stuck on one virtual world out of thousands because he can't afford the fees for transport.

And as in many cyberpunk dystopias, the companies are not only more powerful, but more overtly ruthless. They will murder if they think that's in their interest – and they prove it by doing so. Wade, and his other online friends Aech, Art3mis, and Shoto, are in mortal peril in both worlds.

Besides being a reference-fest and a technothriller, Ready Player One is also a coming-of-age story. Parzival is a geek whose real-life experiences have helped discourage him from meeting people. It takes something extraordinary to pull him out of that shell and let him discover what he's truly capable of doing.

A point that's made in the novel, several times, is that the OASIS makes it possible for people to be what they want to be, to present the face to the world that they would prefer – or that they think will be most advantageous, such as a black woman presenting herself as a white man because that helps her land a job. This kind of thing is actually very important, because the OASIS has essentially BECOME the Internet; it is the major contact medium for everything from low-level job-seekers to top-flight corporate meetings, and it is designed to permit complete security of all private details. Without this, Wade and his friends would be instantly unmasked and tracked down; even so, only sheer luck keeps Wade alive at first. But once he accepts his situation, Parzival/Wade and his allies begin to strike back, even against the multi-billion dollar corporation that has made finding the Keys, and gaining Halliday's inheritance, their number-one priority.

Is this a great novel? … Probably not. It pushes a lot of nostalgia buttons, and for those of us who remember being like Wade, it's a great retrospective fantasy, one that is basically a 1980s teen thriller movie in itself, like War Games or Cloak and Dagger or The Manhattan Project. Could I find the Keys and win the prize? Probably not. I think I'd be able to find the Keys given time – I recognized the references, often before they were connected by the protagonist (Tomb of Horrors I've owned in more than one incarnation), but the challenges Halliday sets for those passing the Gates? Out of my league, especially the videogame related ones, though I dunno if I could manage to dialogue my way through any movie THAT well either. My reflexes are not what they were in the 80s, and neither is my memory.

It's certainly an interesting novel, though, and a lot of fun for those who either love, or at least won't be bothered by, the omnipresent 80s nostalgia. Recommended!

 

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On My Shelves: The Liaden Universe 1: Agents and Pilots and Trees, Oh My!

Sharon Lee and Steve Miller have been writing in the Liaden universe for a long time – since 1988, in fact. The series almost died at three books, but was revived by the internet – apparently on rec.arts.sf.written to begin with – demanding more. Possibly it's the first example of such a phenomenon; if not, it's certainly one of the first.

I've heard of Liaden, therefore, for a long time. I've even been acquainted with the authors for a fair number of years (as Steve and Sharon both frequent conventions in my general area). But for one reason or another I never got around to reading any of them.

In a way, that's good. I've been able to save something THIS good until now.

This review focuses on the first great arc of the series which is covered (mostly) in the first set of books published – starting with Agent of Change and proceeding through Conflict of Honors, Carpe Diem, Plan B, Local Custom, Scout’s Progress, I Dare, and ending with Balance of Trade. This is in order of writing, as provided by Sharon Lee's page, and that's how I've been reading them.

Taken together, these eight books introduce the readers to all the major members of Clan Korval (at least in their "current" era) and concludes with a major change in Korval's status and situation being underway.

The "Liaden" of the title refers to the Liaden people, a human offshoot centered on the planet of Liad. Liaden culture is centered around the concept of melant'i, which could be translated very simply as "honor" but is far far more than that; it is a perception of a person and their relationship to others in a particular role, with respect to the other people's roles, as well as that particular person and their role with respect to their particular Clan and the Liaden culture as a whole.

Maintaining melant'i is one of the most vital aspects of a true Liaden's thoughts, behavior, and goals. Liaden language itself reflects this (as would be expected), and in fact exists in three (at least) forms – High, Low, and children's Liaden. In full High Liaden, there are multiple modes of address used depending on the social position of both the one speaking and the one addressed, and this extends also to physical gestures such as inclining one's head for a greeting. Learning High Liaden if you weren't brought up in it is, as one might guess, quite a challenge.

Despite this rigid-sounding structure, Liaden culture doesn't have to be stultifying, and certainly the Clan we get to know best – Clan Korval – does its best to avoid falling into unbending boredom. It is often said that "Korval is ships" and "Korval is pilots". Pilots of starships in the Liaden universe – especially Master Pilots, those qualified to fly any ship of any type on any route – must have a multiplicity of talents, ranging from extraordinary mathematical facility (because FTL travel requires very exacting calculations to prevent you and your ship from making a literal jump to nowhere), an excellent head for business (because most ships are merchant vessels in one way or another), and a keen awareness of their world and a capability to defend themselves (because they are (A) often the key to the wealth of their vessels, and (B) the ports they travel to are not guaranteed to be safe).

And within the organized and externally polite whirl of Liaden society, there are undercurrents of strife that are all the more dangerous for being concealed.

Liad and its society is the major focus of the series, but it is not the only society, and indeed several other political groups feature to a greater or lesser extent in various novels – the warlike Yxtrang, Terra and its many colonies and peoples, the interstellar organized criminal syndicate known as the Juntavas, and the peculiar, deceptively slow and peaceful aliens known as the Clutch – turtle-like beings whose slow and phlegmatic tolerance should never be pushed too far.

I am – quite deliberately – avoiding discussing specifics of the individual books and their stories. For one thing, unless I were to review each one individually (and I really don't have time to do that properly), it would get far too confusing, as the Liaden books cover, even in these initial books, multiple generations and points of view of the characters. For another, I really would rather not spoiler such things for potential readers; it's far better to meet Val Con yos'Phelium and Miri Robertson and Daav and Aelliana and all the rest directly, rather than through someone else's descriptions.

"But Ryk, what are the books like, then? You've talked a lot about some of the stuff in them, but what are they like as stories?"

The best answer I can give to this question is… they're the kind of books I wish I could write. The Liaden universe is far from safe or peaceful, but that doesn't force our characters to be grim or dark. These are all just decent people. More, they're mostly sensible people, within the confines of each character's background and knowledge. They accept the truths of their worlds and act on them in the best way they can. And despite whatever forces are ranged against them, eventually they triumph, in a way that is neither forced nor cheap.

This is a universe that James Schmitz could easily have written, if he'd really had the time and energy to devote to focusing on writing in one universe for a long time. This is a world that the Witches of Karres might well live in, somewhere, in one of the distant galaxies. Nile Etland, in another incarnation, would have been someone Clan Korval would be proud to meet (and maybe marry to one of their pilots). Captain Pausert would have been a fine pilot for Korval.

And it is indeed as strange a universe as any Schmitz made. Liad has its own witches, the dramliza, with powers that are certainly worthy of being called magic. There is an intelligent tree, capable of communicating with others and even using its seed pods to heal and enhance those it bonds with. The Clutch Turtles, who seem able to literally sing reality into a different form, are a formidable force and one not fully understood even by the Liadens who know them best.

Those who know me, know that this is high praise; there are few books I consider to be better space opera than The Witches of Karres, and very, very few authors I consider as good as Schmitz. Yet Lee and Miller are, to be honest, better at being Schmitz than Schmitz was. They give us more intricately painted people with more complexities of life, without making them any less quietly heroic.

At times, the Liaden books are at least as much romances and adventures of manners and negotiation as they are space-opera adventure, but – at least for me – they're no less riveting for all of that. And for all their frequent omni-competence, the characters don't carry with them a sense of too much pride or bombast. While the action sequences are vivid and flow, they aren't the devastating spectacles one might see in other space opera – this is not Lensman or Star Wars or the Cometeers or Weber's Empire from the Ashes.

Are there flaws in this wonderful series? Well… I suppose so. Partly it may depend on what you call a flaw. Some may find the prior-mentioned omnicompetence a bit much, as it is developed in character after character. Oh, certainly the characters remain distinct, and each has their own particular speciality and signature, but virtually all of the major characters turn out to be totally awesome pilots, badass martial artists (often without realizing how badass they are!), mathematical prodigies, and lifemates (a mystic/psionic bond between two people "destined" for each other) with someone equally awesome.

There are a few particular… motifs, I guess, which I don't find to be flaws in and of themselves but that do push my particular buttons in slightly wrong ways.

One is that apparently everyone everywhere on Liad drinks. There is hardly a meeting of any consequence where wine isn't served, and everyone seems to be a connoisseur, or at least an enthusiast. I don't recall anyone ever mentioning that they don't drink, or that they can't really appreciate the differences between the vintages. If the books had only a small and mostly self-contained cast, that might not stand out so much, but this isn't the case, so we see this bit play out between a very large number of people. Since I don't drink wine, and in fact can't stand any alcoholic beverages at all, it's probably much more obvious to me than to most other people.

The other is one that is hardly unique to Lee and Miller; in fact, it's endemic in a lot of SF to an extent that bemuses me. Specifically, plot-relevant cats. There's cats everywhere in the Liaden universe, and sometimes they're solving human people's problems, up to and including somehow teleporting to the right location at the right time and leading humans to the place they need to go. Several of the other books I've been reading of late have done similar things (in Jim Butcher's The Aeronaut's Windlass, the cats are explicitly sapient badasses), and felinophilia seems very widespread among SF authors and their works – far more so as far as I can tell than similar material on dogs. I confess to never finding cats particularly fascinating (though kittens are cute) and vastly preferring dogs, and the widespread SF cat worship is inexplicable to me. As I'm also violently allergic to cats (somewhat less so to dogs, at least thus far), it's always in the back of my head that "there's one fictional universe I'd have to be real careful of visiting'.

But these are idiosyncratic and, even for me, very, very minor issues. Overall, the Liaden books are one of the best series of SF I have ever had the pleasure of reading. I recommend them as highly as possible.

And fortunately for my own entertainment, I'm not done reading them yet! I'll post another review focusing on the next set of books sometime later.

The post On My Shelves: The Liaden Universe 1: Agents and Pilots and Trees, Oh My! appeared first on Ryk E. Spoor, Author, Gamer, Geek God.

On My Shelves: The Aeronaut’s Windlass

I've previously reviewed the Dresden Files and the first couple of volumes of Jim Butcher's Codex Alera (both of which I enjoyed a lot). The Aeronaut's Windlass begins a new series, The Cinder Spires.

This may be Jim Butcher's most ambitious series. Dresden's adventures take place in a world that looks very much like ours, and the basic setup is easily understood, even if the supernatural underbelly of the world is complicated and often obscured to the reader. Codex Alera takes place on a world that is at least generally Earthlike and with a setting that is superficially recognizable, enough for us to have a firm footing to build our understanding of the differences from.

But The Aeronaut's Windlass dumps us directly into a world where people live in gigantic "Spires", rarely if ever venturing to the surface. Where the Spires come from, why human beings are here (and using obvious Earthly names, implying something of their origin), the origin of the strange devices and powers they use ("etheric" technology – a steampunky sort of magic), none of it is explicated. It's all simply presented for the reader to take or leave as is.

I found it something of a mental mouthful. The side details implied all SORTS of things about the world that were interesting and worth understanding, but the novel has no time to spend telling us about them, because there's WAY too much to do.

Like the Codex Alera novels, this is a book with multiple viewpoints and complex, interconnected events. Our heroes range from Gwen (Lady Gwendolyn Lancaster), a noble of the Spire whose family is directly responsible for growing the crystals on which all their technology depends, to Bridget Tagwynn, a more innocent young woman who has just joined the Guards, Captain Grimm, once an officer of the Fleet and now a sort of honorable privateer, and Folly, an apprentice etherealist (people who can directly sense and control etheric forces).

The main action of the novel begins with Captain Grimm discovering an apparent fat target was bait for his ship, and barely escaping with the lives of most of his crew. The damage to his ship, the Predator, is severe, and Grimm has no idea how he can afford to repair it.

Meanwhile, Lady Gwen – having rather forcibly told her mother that she will serve her turn in the Guards – finds herself present when Bridget is confronted by an arrogant nobleman; Gwen's well-meaning intervention ends up triggering a challenge to a duel between Bridget and the nobleman.

But as the duel is about to start, a few days later, sirens begin to scream: Spire Albion is under attack. Gwen, Bridget, and Gwen's cousin Benedict soon find themselves confronting a squad of intruders – Auroran troops whose mission is to destroy the crystal-growing "vatteries" and cripple the Spire's ability to support its Fleet or industry.

Captain Grimm fortunately has recognized that the brief aerial assault was mere cover to allow for the landing of infantry, and he and his crew go to the aid of the Spire; eventually they reach Gwen and Bridget's group, who have managed to stand off the invaders through the rather direct expedient of Gwen threatening to discharge her gauntlet into the invaders' explosives.

But this is the merest fringe of the assault, and something far more deadly and terrifying is underway. It will take all of them together to first recognize, and then deal with, the threat of monstrous invasion and treachery directed by a malevolent etherealist.

The characters are striking; I like all of them, from the stunningly direct and take-no-backtalk Gwen to the rigidly controlled Captain Grimm and the Luna Lovegood-like Folly, whose apparent madness hides an incisive mind and sometimes frightening power. (Etherealists are all mad, or going so; they manifest it in very different ways)

The main adversary is truly… creepy. I'd rather not spoiler it more, but boy, that's someone I REALLY don't ever want to meet. Her and Hannibal Lecter.

I strongly recommend this book and hope that the sequels won't be long in coming; while the immediate threat was dealt with, there are a lot of vital loose ends!

 

The post On My Shelves: The Aeronaut’s Windlass appeared first on Ryk E. Spoor, Author, Gamer, Geek God.

French Roast Apocalypse: Chapter 19

We learned a bit more about why the Blackwells are hated... in this chapter, we get to meet another one...

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Chapter 19.

New York City, 1980

“Congratulations, Dyl, you passed your second history exam,” Tina said, leaning against the Muffin House display case. “There actually is a brain in that head of yours.” She smiled and tapped her temple with a thin finger. In her other hand, she held out the purple-dittoed test sheet. A red-ink "85%" was circled at the top. On the table behind her was a stack of books and a binder. For the last two months, Tina had taken to tutoring him while Anna mysteriously insisted on working the muffin bar on Monday nights.

Dylan had finally given in and soon it became a group effort, with John taking over Biology and Math on Wednesdays -- Henry, not being an academic, needed John on Thursdays. Professor Frasier came two days a week, so his evenings were filled with studies, while his mornings and part of the afternoon were spent working at the Muffin House. The Scot hadn't exaggerated when he told Jason that Dylan would be busy with academics.

Still, he was now determined to pass tenth grade before the spring, so Dylan didn’t complain. He hit the books whenever he could. His eyes were very sensitive to light now, and he avoided spending large amounts of time wandering the streets on his free time. He also never left SoHo. He was safe there. If he did go anyplace, it was in the company of his friends Paula, John, Henry, and Tina. SoHo had plenty of shops, restaurants, and clubs to visit. There was even a movie theater.  It was a different, quieter life. One that took a bit of getting used to, but Dylan found himself not minding it.

Yet Keith was always in the back of his mind.  Dylan thought of him every night, even now, as Tina waved his test in his face, and John emptied a tray of blueberry muffins into the display case.  “Smell those muffins.”

He wondered where Keith was, and if the League actually believed the streets of Upper Manhattan were safe with him patrolling. “What?”

“Penny for your thoughts?” Tina lowered the paper and folded her arms on the curved display case.

“Just thinking.”

“Obsessing, I think.” John spun around with the large flat tray and put it on the counter on the back. “It’s a Saturday night, Tina. I think he has other things to think of than grades.”

“No, no, good grades are good.” Dylan half smiled at Tina. He reached over the display case and took the paper from the young woman’s hand. “Thanks. Certain I was going to blow that one.”

“Essays aren’t easy, Dylan.” Tina said sympathetically. “But you didn’t do too bad. I liked your argument about how cuneiform developed out of pictorial graphics for economic reasons. You just need to support your hypothesis with more examples; other than that, it was pretty solid.”

According to the red marks all over his essay, it had been the weakest part of his test. Dylan folded it up and shoved it in his shirt pocket. He’d look over it later. “Thanks, Tina.”

She nodded, her gaze following John and the tray of corn muffins. “My mom made the best corn muffins." She inhaled. "Boy, do they smell good.”

“For me, it's fried bread.” John shrugged. “But every mutant has his weakness. Right, Dyl?” He picked up a muffin and set it at the front on the case.

“So, you just didn’t come to give me my paper and bug the hell out of us. What’s up?” In the back, Dylan could hear Anna baking. She was working on cranberry muffins and the place smelled of sugar and orange zest. It made Dylan’s mouth water.  To distract himself, Dylan quickly set to cleaning the front counter. They only had two customers sitting in the back, chatting quietly; still, it was good to look busy.

“Paula got a check from her dad, and she wants to go shoe shopping.” Tina rolled her eyes. “You know Paula! It’s all about the cute little shoes! Oh, did I show you the purse she talked me into picking up last week?” Tina lifted up a small cherry-brown leather purse. It reminded Dylan of the purses all the girls carried at school. “It’s not a real Anya, but it’s a heck of a knock off and made really well. I’m glad I got it!”

“Nice and pretty, Tina.” Dylan noticed a small smile curl Tina’s lips and she looked hopefully at John, who hadn’t looked up from the display case.

A gently nudge to the nerd’s foot got his attention. “Ah… what?”

“Purse.” Tina held the bag up.

“Nice. It’s leather, though.”

“Cow leather, they kill cows every day, John.” Tina folded her arms. “And it’s a knockoff, not the real thing, which means it’s in budget.”

“I wasn’t sure if you could afford it.” John looked at her concerned. “We… we have a budget, and work at the café just pays some of the rent until we’re on our feet.”

“I just said I budgeted. And it looks good with my shoes.” She held it out, comparing it to her matching short ankle boots. It was cute. Then again, with her natural black coily hair, dark full cocoa cheeks with their faint gold undertone, and brilliant smile, the young woman looked beautiful in anything. Dylan liked seeing her smile much more than her harsh frown or her frightened look. She was obviously trying to get John to notice; why was he so clueless sometimes?

“But why should it matter that it matches your sh…” Dylan stayed him with a hand. He knew John meant well. Sad thing was that the kid was sweet on Tina, but he had a habit of saying exactly what came into his head without the slightest thought for how he said it… or what it would sound like to someone else.

John started again: “Very nice Tina; so, you talk to your mom yet?”

Dylan could tell that wasn’t the answer she was looking for either. I have got to talk to that boy about talking to people.

The smile vanished from her face and Tina sunk back down to her table. “Of course I didn’t talk to her. Best she thinks it was all a bad grief-induced hallucination.”

“I don’t talk to my mom either, Dyl.” John said in Tina’s defense. "They’ve moved on. Us showing up is the last thing they need.” Tina nodded in agreement.

“Family is family, though. Through thick and thin, you know, and you guys are fine around people. I mean, if I didn’t have trouble on my ass, I’d at least speak to some of mine.” Like maybe his uncle Dil; he lived in Manhattan. “You need to give them a chance.”

John opened his mouth, but Tina spoke first, “Dylan, I miss my mom, but this world would scare her. She’s moved on. She remarried, she’s happy, and as a revenant, I’d just dig up too much pain from the past and terrify her. Some battles are not worth fighting. I just want her happy; to go back would just be selfish of me.”

Tina’s actions were more motivated by love than the idea of rejection. He supposed he was just selfish. Then again, he wondered if his parents would even accept him. It was unlikely; they had rejected Bridget just for being bisexual, after all.

“My mom has my baby sister and Dad,” John’s face twitched. “And the Sičháŋǧu Oyáte view spirits like myself as bad luck.” He gestured to the back. “I don’t want to complicate things for them. I have not figured out my place yet, Dylan. I’m not a religious person, but I respect my people and their beliefs. The anger does make me restless and my parents do not need that in their homes.”

Dylan got that, too. He just wished it was different. “Guess we’re all family now, then?” Tina and John would stay the same for the rest of their lives, fighting the monsters inside of them. They’d see the mortals they loved age and die; mortals – even blood family – weren't much of an anchor to hold to. Other immortal friends -- or in his and Henry’s case, potentially immortal – could be.   “Got it. Won’t bring it up again.” He set to emptying the coffee filter of grounds and cleaning it out in the sink.

“So what are you guys doing after work?” Tina asked.

He was actually thinking about asking Anna to stay in and watch a movie with him.  He glanced at John, hoping the younger kid hadn’t planned on asking him to hang out that night. With Henry the vine not around, it was a large possibility.

“I was going to do some writing tonight,” John said, awkwardly. He grabbed the trays. “Got to get these to Anna. Be back in a bit.” Quickly he grabbed the trays and abruptly vanished into the kitchen.

Tina pursed her lips and folded her arms. “Now what was that about?”

The jingle of the door turned Dylan’s attention. Paula bounced into the shop. She was dressed in a long purple coat with fur trim and a matching lavender hat.  Stomping snow off her boots, the werepuma brushed snow off her coat.  “I don’t know how you Northerners cope with this dreadful weather, sugar!” she said, looking at Tina.

“We grow a backbone, girlfriend!”

Dylan studied the two young women as Paula joined Tina at the table.  It was then he realized Paula’s face was streaked with tears. She was trying to make light of something that was bothering her. “Well I don’t know about you, but I’m a pussycat; just give me a sunbeam and I’ll be happy soakin' up the heat, but this white stuff, forget it!”

“Oh, you poor girl! You miss home, don’t you?” Tina said, sitting down as Paula removed her coat.

“More than anything, Tina. Speaking to daddy on the phone today after he sent the check, I just… you know. It makes me think of how much I miss my room and the house.” She swallowed, wiping her tears. “You know…" Paula broke off; she knew that Tina had nothing to go back to. "Lord, I am so sorry! I’m a selfish idiot, Tina.”

“Sometimes,” With a sad smile, Tina squeezed the other girl’s hand. “The fact you remembered puts you lightyears ahead of many other people. Hey, Dylan, get this girl some coffee, she’s freezing!”

“And this girl a cuppa red velvet cake.” It was a code word for warmed blood. Dylan knew Paula wouldn’t listen to any of Tina’s objections.

Popping the filter back into the machine, Dylan turned to the other pot. The coffee in it was fresh, so he poured Paula a cup. He knew the empty, lonely feeling of having no one left to call family; but it tended to rile him up, while Tina just turned more sympathetic. Dylan didn’t know what would trigger the revenant inside of her, but family, it seemed, wasn't it. When the coffee was done, he went into the back for the warmed blood.

They were engaged in a new discussion when he came back. “Tell me about Louisiana, Paula. What’s it like?”

Paula laughed. She removed a hanky from her purse and wiped the corners of her eyes.  “It’s okay, Tina. I really don’t need to talk about it. Honestly. Girl’s gotta shop when she’s down,” she said, in an obvious attempt to compose herself. She straightened her skirt, sniffed the air. “And are those fresh blueberry muffins? Oh God, Dylan, don’t tell me, Anna just popped them out?”

He was already putting one on a plate, cut and slathered with melting whipped butter, just like Paula liked it.  “Way ahead of you, Paula.”  He stepped around the counter and out onto the floor. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the two human customers leave, and another customer enter.  Quickly, he put the cup of coffee and the muffin plate on the table.

“Thank you, Dyl.”  Paula curled the fingers of one of her hands around the warm mug of coffee while she scooped two spoonfuls of sugar with the other.

“Thank you.” Tina said taking the cup of blood from him. She picked up her books and binder and carefully stuffed them away into her backpack.

“If you're hungry, I could ask; Anna always has something revenanty in the back. John eats all the time.” Dead or not, John suffered from the teenage appetite problem.  He was sixteen now and apparently forever, and his undead body insisted on consuming as much blood as it would consume food. It would have been very problematic if they had lived in an earlier age. “He grazes all night.”

“No thank you.” Tina told him, sniffing the cup. “This is just fine, type A - my favorite!”

“I graze too. God, the cravings can get awful, especially around the full moon!” Paula dug into her muffin. “Raw hamburger! You guys don’t get cravings, do you?”

Tina wrinkled her nose. “Eww! Yeah, you know, never liked steak tartare.”

“Eh, only sometimes for brains,” Dylan smirked as he slipped back behind the counter and waited on the new customer before Tina could scold him for the bad joke.  Truth was, he really didn’t crave anything physical. Revenants like him just wanted to tear things up. The others acted more like vampires, though John claimed he craved eating his victims alive if he lost control. Tina didn’t talk about it one way or another. But the only real way to settle a revenant’s appetite was for them to destroy the object of their vengeance.  Which wasn't an option for any of them right now.

“I crave smells,” Tina said. “Like the smell your clothes get when you just pulled them out of the laundry? Hint of flowers and it’s warm, I just want to put the clothes up to my face and smell them.”

It was better than brains. Paula nodded. “Or the smell of a bookstore.”

“Oh, that one is one of the best! The smell of a new paperback!”

Books? He was unable to relate there. He let the girls' conversation fade into the background as he looked around the muffin shop. John was still in the kitchen. He was speaking to Anna about the display arrangement.

The new customer was a middle-aged pale-skinned man with distinctive graying hair, dressed in slacks, a thick expensive long coat and a hat. He appeared to be considering the pastry case next to the muffin display.  “Excuse me, sir, could I help you?”

The gentlemen smiled thinly at him. The pit of Dylan’s stomach twisted in a familiar way, and the young hunter stepped back as he studied the man. Deep inside of him, he felt a darkness lurking, hungry. This man was something other than human.

“I must say, these lemon cakes look very good, but I never could digest poppy seeds very well," the man said, his smile unwavering, his gaze steady on Dylan. "Which one are you?”

“Dylan,” he answered. The man’s eyes were dark and frigid specks of blue that pieced Dylan’s like spears. The hunter tensed. This man was one of them, he was a vampire, old, older than Jason, but not as old as Liam. He wasn’t from Soho; by the way he was dressed, he was from Upper Manhattan. Was he a Blackwell? Holding back a tide of fury, Dylan clenched his teeth. “I’d recommend the coffee cake, but I reckon that ain’t good for your digestion, either?”

“No.” The smile grew thinner. “But you know that, boy, don’t you? What are you? You’re not human anymore. What kind of monster have you become? What’s fitting for a hunter?”

The two girls stopped talking, and fear filled Tina’s gaze. The young woman drew closer to Paula, who half stood.  “Excuse me, sir,” Paula said sharply. “If food isn’t good for your digestion, then why are you here? Besides taunting the server?” She kept her voice as sweet as possible, but Dylan could hear the wild cat just waiting to pounce behind her words. Paula didn’t like the vampire either. He was scaring Tina, and taunting her friends. and if Dylan knew one thing about Paula, it was that she didn’t tolerate anyone who hurt her friends.

The man ignored her, and kept his full attention on Dylan. “Dylan, speak up, boy! Rather ironic, isn’t it? Your father was a Ma Cà Rồng -- fitting for him, I must say; all hunters are monsters in the end.”

Only because they don’t know the truth. Dylan tried to keep control, focusing on what he had learned. But there was another truth that was already tearing that control down.

A Blackwell. That face, it was familiar, the shape of the mouth, the small eyes, the nose, that man was a Blackwell. He just knew it.  Dylan's blood turned to burning ice in his veins as he fell towards hungry oblivion. Fury welled up, his soul twisted, as his mind focused on the vampire and the need to kill. The revenant charged, starting to hurdle the counter. Only the sound of John’s voice, and the teenager’s hands seizing him by the arms gave him the slightest connection to sanity.

Dylan gave a howl and thrashed wildly as John braced and jerked him away from the man. Unbalanced, Dylan stumbled, knocking the two of them sprawling to the counter behind them. John used the momentum to spun him around and pin him face first to the marble surface.  “DYLAN! Snap out of it, dumbass! The last thing you want is his blood on your hands!”

No, it was exactly what he wanted. What he needed. The entire Blackwell family had to pay for what they had done to his family. Dylan set his legs against the cabinet beneath and twisted in an attempt to throw John off.

The boy cursed, and the hold on him loosened.  Just then, the sound of two sets of boots scurried behind the counter. Before Dylan could get his footing, both girls joined John in shoving him back face first into the floured surface.

“What in heaven’s name is going on out here?”

“Your pet is out of control,” Blackwell said.

‘Excuse me, sir? You… You’re not helping here, why don’t you shut the fuck up? Or do you want him to tear your goddamn throat out?” John snapped back. Where he had managed to find the balls, Dylan wasn’t sure, but he felt his own struggles slowly subsiding, even as John continued, “Who the hell is this clown?”

“Pet?” Anna’s voice, puzzled, hesitant in a way he'd rarely heard. From Dylan’s position he was just able to see her face. She recognized the man, and she looked concerned. “And what are you doing here, Magistrate Blackwell?”

Blackwell! He knew it! The revenant stirred again, feeling his mind blot out once more with rage and the need to destroy. Blackwell. Blackwell.

“I have a right to check up on the districts under my jurisdiction as Magistrate, don’t I?” The man said smoothly. “And it is Elias, my dear. “

“Magistrate?” Paula gasped.

John cursed.

Magistrate? The word , and his friends' reactions, finally penetrated. Dim understanding slowly drained some of the irrationality away, and Dylan could now hear Tina’s voice whispering to him. “Dylan, he works for the League, you can’t touch him. Please, I know what you’re feeling, but you have to pull yourself together.”

“You ask me, this son of a bitch is enjoying himself. I’d tear his head off too, given just half a chance,” Paula snarled in his other ear. “He ignored me! No one snubs me like that! But I got class, and so do you, Dyl. Suck it up and use that brain and big Texan heart of yours!”

Chalk one up for Tina and Paula; they knew how to get through. Dylan took a deep breath, and forced himself to feel the cold surface of the marble counter underneath his cheek. He took a labored breath.  What did Doctor Sacco say about breathing? It helped to control the monster? Yes. Steady breaths, controlled breaths, the opposite of the fevered raging of the revenant.

Anna motioned them to stay calm with her one hand and stepped toward the case, wiping flour from her fingers with a white cloth.  “He’s not my pet, he’s my friend,” Anna said, anger hardening her voice. “And I repeat my question, Magistrate. What are you doing here? Liam doesn’t like having unannounced visits into his territory, and since I’m on the council, I would know if you planned to visit.”

“I thought an unannounced inspection of your… Center was one of the best ways to determine whether it was worth the risk of turning a blind eye to.” Blackwell informed dryly. He removed his leather gloves and studied the group of young people behind the counter. “I understand you house several of the 'success stories' until they are capable of taking care of themselves now. Hence my visit here.”

That was bullshit, one hundred percent pure bullshit. Blackwell was there to see him. The son of a bitch was using him as the indicator to determine whether he should shut the Center… and all that had to happen was that Dylan lost control and attacked. He was being used as the weak link. Dylan felt his anger rise, but beat it down. He needed control more than ever now… but at least now he understood why. It's a battle, just not the kind I was gonna fight. It's a battle of control and I've got to win it.

He let his mind drift to the smells around him. The sweet smell of pastries floated in the air, with the hint of berries and the light fragrance of citrus. It was warm and comforting like his grandmother's kitchen. He used to curl up near the old wood stove and play with his plastic dinosaurs, before Bridget was born, while grandma did crosswords at the table when his mother had to work. Of course it never got cold like it did in New York, but there were winters when they ran the stove because the rains brought a chill.

The memory faded, but the peace of home remained.  “John, John, I’m okay, let me up.”

The teen behind him hesitated, but stepped away, allowing him to stand.  Now that he was vertical, he saw Paula and John had put themselves in front of him, facing Blackwell. Tina stood at his side. Fear flickered in her dark eyes, yet a hint of determination sparked there as she touched his arm. “We won’t let you lose to him, Dyl. John and I know what you’re feeling. We’ll beat this together.”

Something puzzled Dylan, though. This Blackwell wasn’t Keith; he was just one of many. Why the overwhelming impulse to kill? A trickle of cold horror, far outweighing the urge towards murder, chilled his heart. Did the revenant part of him hunger for the entire family?

Even as the thought formed, he knew it for the truth. The Blackwells had wiped out his family, of course, it made sense. The revenant wouldn’t rest until they, too, were all gone.  Overcoming the shock of realization, he nodded. “I’m good. Thanks.”

Amusement crossed the Magistrate’s features as he studied the small group. “So this is Liam’s menagerie of new recruits?  Working out for you, is it?” Elias Blackwell asked. His gaze settled on John and Tina. “A bit young, aren’t they? Tell me, children, how well can you control your hunger?  You do understand your place in undead society, don’t you? You’re abominations, more ghosts than vampires, even if you are made or nurtured by one of us. Your blood isn’t pure. You’re only made to be cannon fodder or mindless slaves to do our bidding.”

“Slaves? I beg your pardon, Mister Magistrate, a man in your political position should be a little wiser and watch your racist tongue, especially when speaking to potential voters. We are not abominations; we are people, and someday I will be a lawyer and politician myself and I will force your beloved archaic political hierarchy that favors rich white old men to reflect a more modern and inclusive one that gives rights to all members of society. The forgiveness policy that elders like you hide behind will not protect you; you’ll be in prison for crimes against humanity” Tina said while glaring at him.

Blackwell stared at the young woman intensely, and there was disdain and a cold rage there, an anger at some lesser being that would dare challenge him. Yet for a moment, as Tina's glare met his own without the faintest sign of flinching, there was a shadow of doubt… even, Dylan thought, fear. Was he seeing something in her that I'm not? I mean, she's got fire, but… “We’ll see in time, little girl. There are many sinners on both sides of the fence who wish to keep the forgiveness act. You will be condemning them all.”

“She’s right, sir,” Dylan said firmly, oddly grateful to the still-icy horror that prevented the taunting words from triggering the fiery cold rage again. “From what I understand, revenants are their own kind of being. It’s the person inside who makes themselves the abomination. There's plenty of mortals and vampires who fit that bill too. And if abolishing the forgiveness act is the only way to stop these people and their clans, I’ll be more than happy to die for my crimes against paranormal kinds for it.”

Dylan just kept this voice as controlled and polite as possible and focused on the fact that someday, the right day, he’d enjoy driving a stake through Elias Blackwell’s cold, unbeating heart.

“You…. You’re not going to provoke us,” John stammered angrily, glaring at Blackwell through his crooked, flour-smeared glasses. “You’re just another goddamn bully! We’re not abominations, we are capable of integrating, being part of society. You highblood assholes just never gave us a chance! Tina’s right, someday, we’ll take our place in your society, and change the goddamn world!”

The smile on Blackwell’s face broadened and the man laughed. It wasn’t, to Dylan's surprise, a dark laugh, or a taunting laugh, merely one of amusement.  “Well, let that pass; this inspection was not my only reason for passing this way. I was coming here to request you return to the arts, Ms. Sherman, for I have missed your performances with the ballet since you retired in the sixties, and your work here is truly a waste of your talent!”

“I don’t see the humor in any of this.” Paula growled, still annoyed at the laugh and the cruelty; she shot a glance at Anna.

“You’re a fan?” Anna’s eyes widened, disgusted.

Dylan couldn’t help it. The very fact the smooth son of a bitch was trying to sweet-talk Anna just pissed him off. His fists tightened. Part of him was tempted to grab a knife.  Blackwell was up to something. The entire family was rotten to the core. Even Liam didn’t trust them.

But no; he couldn’t act, all he could do was watch. Any revenant-based action would be fatal to everyone here in the long run, even if he took Blackwell down instantly. Now that his head was clear, the hunter let his years of training kick in.

His gaze narrowed. The magistrate wasn’t there alone. He had three suits standing outside the shop. They were armed, too. Witnesses, in case Dylan did snap? Or just bodyguards? Or something else? Maybe he should get his gun. He hated being unarmed.

Blackwell removed his hat and bowed politely. “Does that surprise you? My family has always supported the arts, and a lovely lady with your talent would never go unnoticed. Quite the shame you retired.”

Anna gritted her teeth; Dylan could hear it with his more-than-human senses. “Different lifetime. As you can see, I’m quite happy here with my clients, they’re going to kick your ass some day. I find that notion quite satisfying.”

‘Well then, let me give you a warning, as someone who respects you. Your little group thinks it's safe, but what you are doing is very dangerous. Be careful who you take in.” He eyed Tina, John and Dylan with disgust.

Unlike Keith and his uncle, Elias' accent was more neutral and very cultured as if he traveled in high society all his life and abandoned his Midwestern roots. Or perhaps, he was never Midwestern. Did he come from Europe, like Liam?

“The hunter is bad enough," Elias Blackwell went on, "he has a price on his head. But you also understand there are those in the European highblood society who will never accept the mixing of races. Revenants, Ma Cà Rồng, shapeshifters, ghouls, zombies; their populations are controlled for a reason. They are true monsters, and difficult to restrict. They’re on the bottom, and dealt with swiftly, so they do not spread. The European League will never accept this little… project of yours.”

Dylan cursed inwardly. He needed to learn more about the European League and Highblood society. But so much of his time was taken up by high-school studies and working that he couldn’t fit it all in! On the other hand, judging by the disgusted look marring Anna’s delicate features, she understood all too well.

“I don’t think Liam cares about European Highblood society.” Anna stepped back from the case. “But you could tell him this yourself. He prefers it that way. Or did he refuse a meeting with you?”

There was no response, but the smile on Blackwell’s face stiffened just a bit.

“Oh, he did. No surprise; he despises politicians.” Anna almost sounded apologetic. The lines on her face pulled around her lips made her distaste for Blackwell clear. “Liam's a warrior; he’d rather negotiate in combat. You understand how the real old ones are." That by itself was a shot; Blackwell was old, but compared to someone like Liam he was nothing. "They can be very frustrating. I’ll arrange a council meeting, and we’ll pass your message on to him.”

“I understand he had a relationship of mutual respect with the previous Magistrate. Let him know I care about this city as much as Franklin did,” Blackwell said after a moment, placing his hat back on. There was something about his tone Dylan didn’t like, they sounded somehow like snake venom to him. Then again, he was a Blackwell, and all they cared about was money and sniffing up women’s skirts. “And that I am quite aware that if you wish to have any amount of control over this city, you must have the respect of Liam Farney and his allies. Let him know I am willing to offer him the same respect as the last Magistrate. I’m even willing to quell the culls and headhunts if he is willing to offer the same respect to me.”

“I’ll pass it along,” Anna told him. With a glance at the clock she shifted her face to a mask of concern. “We’re getting close to closing time. I’m very sorry, Elias. I hope you don’t mind showing yourself out. I have a great deal of work to do.”

Dylan didn’t like any of this. It was the first time he had heard of "culls" and "headhunts". He was aware there was an unofficial bounty on his head, but did the enforcers take part in these hunts? As for culls… what hunters did were, basically, culls, but he didn’t think the League dirtied their hands with their own. Was Blackwell implying he would send in hunters after the revenants in New York?

Next to him, Tina drew closer.

The man inclined his head politely. “Of course not. Have a pleasant evening Ms. Sherman, and do be careful. Your involvement with the hunter has angered a few of the younger ones in my Family. I will do what I can to keep them from bothering you, but I while I would like to offer a guarantee of safety…” He pulled on his gloves as he made his way to the door. His hand dropped to the handle and he opened it. “… I can make none for your hunter pet.”

“I appreciate the concern, but I am capable of taking care of myself, and so can he,” Anna said. She stood still, watching him walk out. She didn’t relax until he met with his three suits and climbed into a black car, moving only after it finally pulled away from the curb.

Lifting her hand to her chest, Anna backed her hips to the counter and leaned into it. With a heavy sigh, she exhaled in an attempt to ease herself. “Well, that was close.”

“Liam refused to see him? Boy, he has balls,” John said, sinking to the floor, legs shaking like noodles. “I mean, that guy manages New York State, doesn’t he?”

“One of a very few,” Anna said. “But Liam is the oldest Highblood in the city, possibly in the country, and the biggest financier in the state. They need his money to run League operations; they don’t want to piss him off.” She pressed her palms into the counter behind her.

“Blackwells have their own money. Why would they give a damn about Liam’s?” Dylan folded his arms, not sure if he understood League politics. Apparently Blackwell couldn’t use his own money when in office. He was like the president or something? The only thing he did know about the League were that they elected their officials, and for the most part people served four- to eight-year terms.

Tina shook and hugged herself. The encounter had spooked her. “He looked at us like we were animals.”

“Tell me about it! Who in hell does he think he is? Magistrate or not, that man has some nerve!” Paula snapped. “Anna, Liam isn’t going to make any deals with him, is he?”

“That is entirely up to Liam. Unless he can find some use for him, I doubt it. I don’t think he likes Blackwell’s style. If he did, Liam would have spoken to him.” The blonde quickly turned to face the youngsters and planted her hands on her hips. “Now, I don’t want any of you worrying about this. Do you understand?”

The four young people exchanged glances. How could they not worry about it? Dylan narrowed his gaze. Men like Blackwell used their money to get what they wanted, and from what he recalled, Elias Blackwell had already started. “Anna, maybe I'm wrong, but isn’t this the family arranging the buyout of the homes around here? I mean, they’re trying to move into Soho. He's not going to play nice with us. The bastard came in with the intention of provoking an attack! He was looking for a reason to shut the center down!”

“I have to agree. Men like Blackwell are stupid-greedy.” John’s confidence had started to return, and his voice edged into his usual know-it-all tone. He removed his glasses and cleaned the flour off of them with his apron. “They think their money can protect them. They’re shortsighted. He might not even be aware of how deep Liam’s roots go into this city, but he’s going to try to disrupt them.”

“He doesn’t care about us. Did you hear how he spoke about us? He didn’t look us in the eyes, except when I challenged him. It was like we were lesser than he was! He didn’t even address Paula! It was like she wasn’t even there! He won’t acknowledge skinchangers even exist," Tina added. “This city, it’s just a prize to him.”

“You did good, Tina! You ripped him one! I saw him sweat there!” Paula added, “And Tina's right; the man has no respect for anyone, unless they have power. He’s a chauvinist pig, too. Wouldn’t look me in the eye, addressed Tina as a little girl, and saw you as someone to admire only if you were something that entertained him, Anna.”

Anna brushed her fingers though her hair.  “You guys got all of that from one conversation?” She tilted her head, considering their words. She bit her lip and scratched her head.  “Well, I can’t deny he was out to cause trouble, and he did go a bit heavy on the flattery. He wanted something.” Leaning on her hip, she fixed Dylan with a look. “Honestly, Dyl, I thought it was just you he wanted to provoke. Making you flip out on him would force Liam to have you put down. Even in Liam’s territory, he’s the Magistrate.”

Dylan felt sick. “Is that all? I mean… I don’t think he’d stop there.”

Using the pastry case to steady himself while he stood, John said, “Dylan’s got a point. Why not use the attack to shut the entire operation down?"

“So, are you going to call a Council? I mean, you should, right?” asked Dylan.

“We can close shop here,” Tina volunteered. She looked over to Paula who was quickly grabbing an apron.

“Sure," Paula said, "shopping can wait 'till tomorrow. I don’t mind. As long as John and Dyl handle the kitchen; I get snack-happy around your muffin batter.”

“Well, so does Dyl.” John pushed his glasses up.

With a playful nudge to John’s shoulder, Dylan started toward the kitchen. He didn’t mind making the pastries, though he preferred his previous plans for the evening. He had even more reason to despise the Blackwells. “No snacking tonight; I think I lost my appetite.”

Anna watched the four young people, and her eyes brightened as the smile returned. “You guys are full of surprises aren’t you?" she said, finally starting to remove her apron. "I mean, look at all of you! Willing to take over so I can play Council?"

"No playing involved," Dylan said gravely. The sparkling eyes dimmed momentarily, but only in acknowledgement.

"True enough, Dylan. And I suppose you're all right; this is Council business." Anna hung her apron up and removed her coat from the rack. “If you could give Douglas a call for me, Tina, let him know I’m on my way?”

The young woman nodded. “Sure.”

“And Dylan, I need a batch of chocolate-chip muffins made up for tomorrow.”

The Texan paused before entering the kitchen and turned to face Anna, wondering what Liam would say about Blackwell. Well, as hard as it was to let go, he didn’t have the choice, it was out of his hands now. “Chocolate-chip, got it. How long do you think you're going to be?”

“No idea.” Anna said as she pulled on her coat. “It all depends on if Liam expected it or not. He did snub Blackwell in the first place. Not that I am surprised, after the last time we discussed the Blackwells.” Out of her pocket, she removed a fluffy red hat and pulled it over her head. “In fact, with that in mind, I believe this will be a rather short meeting and Magistrate Blackwell will be a very unhappy politician.”

Anna's last sentences lingered with him as he began to mix the next batch of batter. The last time he had discussed the Blackwells with Liam, Dylan had promised to kill Keith for Liam; in fact he'd promised to help Liam deal with the Blackfang problem in Soho. But I didn't really understand the size of my… revenant problem, my trigger, when I made that promise.

Was it possible the old Celtic bastard had sensed it? Known that Dylan’s only way to a cure was to destroy, not just one man, but his entire family? Could he have planned to use Dylan against Elias Blackwell as well? Dylan’s gut twisted as he suddenly realized he might be just a pawn. Then he found himself smiling humorlessly. It didn't really matter, did it? By his very nature as a revenant, he had no choice. He would hunt down that family one way or the other. Knowing that? Well, he might as well accept it. Dylan was going to be Liam’s enforcer … and take out every Blackwell in the city.

 

The post French Roast Apocalypse: Chapter 19 appeared first on Ryk E. Spoor, Author, Gamer, Geek God.

Demons of the Past:Revelation, Chapter 30

And we conclude our snippets of this volume of Demons with an extremely important chapter!

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Chapter 30.
Varan:

Torline's Swords, it's been a long day. I thought. Now I get to rest. I headed wearily for my cabin. My Captain's cabin. That did manage to bring a faint smile to my lips still.

Other things… I was still awfully conflicted. The depression at my loss wasn't going to go any time soon, that was for sure. I wondered if I'd managed to hide that from Taelin. It wasn't something I could talk about, so I had to hope so. But by the Towers it had been hard to talk so happily about my promotion, my new command and likely career choices… although, I admitted, not nearly as hard as my Elevation to one of the Great Families, sponsored by the Mel'Tasne themselves. Only a few months ago, that would have been a ceremony of such joy that I would have cried. Now it seemed almost a mockery; I had been so much higher than they would ever understand. Like children awarding a real soldier a paper medal.

Well, thank the Seven, it was over. Teraikon was a sweet ship – an actual old Atlantaean hull, though stripped of just about everything else, and now outfitted as a top of the line Imperial research lab for multiple sciences, with a staff of a hundred of the best scientists in the Galaxy. That included Doctor Sooovickalassa, of course, something I couldn't avoid and wasn't sure I wanted to. Every time I saw him it reminded me of what I'd lost… but he was the only chance I might have to get it back.

Enough of that. We were now well underway – heading to pick up our new Ship's Monitor. Good old Kerlamin Shagrath, he'd tried to make everything as easy on me as possible; he'd assigned Nissen Frankel to be Teraikon's Monitor. So a cruise out to Outpost Tangia to pick him up, and then to wander around the Empire as the needs of research dictated. I couldn't complain that much, I guessed.

The door of my cabin slid open and I stepped inside. For the second time in less than a year, there was someone else waiting for me in my own room.

This, however, was not nearly so welcome a visit. "What in the name of the Seven are you doing in my cabin?" I demanded of Doctor Sooovickalassa, who was sitting quietly at my own desk. "If this is an example of how you're going to be behaving, I might just –"

"You are safe, Commander Sasham Varan," the R'Thann said, with an exquisitely careful and precise enunciation of words and grammar alien to it. "You are safe."

A star novaed inside my skull, and I screamed. I remembered. I remembered! The black-squirming corrosive hatred of Shagrath. The terror of discovery. The pact I made with Vick…

"It… worked. Thank Torline and all the ancient gods, Praise to Niadeea and the Seven, it worked." I felt, also, the psi abilities starting to reawaken. Thank you, Vick. Thank you. I can't even begin to thank you enough.

No thanks are needed. It was my duty, once such trust was given and accepted. We are still in much danger.

I thought back over the last few months. As I did so, I suddenly felt the thoughts of that other "me", the one just very subtly different than the real one, and as I started to grasp what I'd become, I felt utter horror welling up in me, almost surpassing what I'd felt when I sensed Shagrath. No, this was worse, in a way, more repulsive and personal. My gut rebelled against it as I realized how I'd been thinking towards the end, and I barely made it to the toilet before I brought up everything I'd eaten. I sat there, shaking and sweating, with tears of revulsion. "So much … ugh… for my old pride. Six and One, I was so sinking sure that I wouldn't at least compromise that fast!"

His arguments – without knowledge of his true nature – were formidably accurate. And you should also know that he used his own abilities on you to enhance the results. Very artistic, that one. You made most of the choices, yes… but we had already decided that this "Sasham Varan" would not be quite as unbending. And he still needed some additional incentive, some behind-the –mind manipulation, to keep you going down the path.

"Yeah… but I can feel I was starting … oh, Torline's Swords…" what little remained came up this time. "… ick. Starting to really feel that way. That I was something so much better than everyone else. That I had a right to do anything at all, as long as I could justify it." I shivered, then shook my head. "I guess that's for the good. I'll never forget this lesson."

Vick inclined his head. "Learn lessons worse that than could you." If all idealists could have a vision of how easily they could pass to corruption, I think final corruption would be far less common. Making you even slightly more amenable to such manipulation was necessary.

I nodded. We'd discussed it, that terrible day when I'd agreed to let Vick suppress my real memories, modify the persona that would remain, and guide my progress (and arrange the fading and loss of my powers). Someone like Shagrath – something with a mind that twisted – probably hated people who actually cared about what happened to others, and couldn't really understand them. Making me able to be bent, even with some effort, in his direction made me comprehensible, made me something he expected and could understand.

And that made it much LESS likely that he would become sufficiently frustrated, or suspicious, to probe ME.

"Which would have been the end of our little game. Yes." I nodded again. "And I've got some insight into the way he thinks and acts." An echo of loss panged through me. If only Shagrath had been the man he played at being. What a shame. But I couldn't dwell on that; I had to focus on the fact that what he really was was a monster of almost inconceivable power and, to me, incomprehensible malice.

I got up, ran a cleanspray through my mouth and managed to dissipate the worst of that sharp smell. "You were right," I smiled at him finally. "And it did work. And my psi abilities?"

Unreduced. They may even continue to increase. You will have to practice them, but with great care. In such an enclosed space, with highly sensitive instruments of various sorts and with a Monitor – even one who is your friend – present, it will be a masquerade you cannot pull off without grave danger.

"No worse danger than we just got out of, my friend. So what are your plans?"

He spread his talons and waved his crest in a noncomittal gesture. I have no other destination at this time. And on this vessel I can, with care, replicate my experiments. Especially if the Captain will assist me in certain things so as to ensure no others recognize what I am doing.

"Vick, after what you've done for me – and don't protest, you risked a hell of a lot to save me, when you could have easily saved yourself – I'll get you whatever you want. But why do you want to assemble all that again? My powers aren't really gone."

Idiotic human [talakk'u]! The last word was a vision of a rather stupid prey animal. YOU have your psionic powers, yes. But do you think that I cared one bit for giving your species controllable psionic power? The whole point of this project was to give ME the powers which I should have had by birth!

I couldn't help it. I burst out laughing, and couldn't stop for several minutes, while Vick radiated considerable outrage that I dare laugh at him. Finally I got my body, and mind, under control enough to reply. "Vick, sinking hells, I'm not laughing at you. I'm laughing at the fact that you were quietly scamming the entire EMPIRE into financing your research just for your own personal use!"

Oh. The mind-voice was slightly apologetic. Yes. I can see the amusement. A mental smile – with lots of emphatically sharp teeth. To me, the far more amusing idea is the thought that my foolish people would exile this "cripple" here, and that one day I will return them the favor by defeating one of the Masters of the Light!

There was clearly some rather un-civilized savagery inherent in his species. That did rather fit with the ultra-elitist impressions I'd gotten from him – sort of like the Five Families gone berserk. Still, I also could appreciate his grim amusement. "Then you have my word. I'll help you build whatever you need. And when the time comes, I'll run that treatment for you and, I hope, give to you what you gave to me."

He bowed low and made – as best he could – the Sign of the Towers. Then it is agreed. Time is not unlimited, however.

"No." My mood darkened somewhat. "Shagrath will come to inspect us every so often. And there's no way I'd be able to meet him without him realizing how we've tricked him. And strong as I am, I think he'd still break me like a stick."

Concurrence. I have been able to scan him only in limited settings, but he is far stronger than you are at present, and other readings and indications are … unusual. I still do not know what he is, or what his real capabilities are.

I nodded. "That means that before the next inspection – about a year – we have to either get out of here, or be ready to expose him, somehow."

A year. A short time. Yet it may be enough.

"It will be enough," I said. I went and placed my hands on the old vya-shadu – the traditional swords of a Tor master – that rested near my bed. I was making a personal oath. "It will be enough. I promise it to myself, and to you, and Taelin, and to all the Empire. I won't fail you. I know how I could fail myself now. I will watch for that. And we will find a way to beat Shagrath. Somehow.

"I promise."

The post Demons of the Past:Revelation, Chapter 30 appeared first on Ryk E. Spoor, Author, Gamer, Geek God.

Demons of the Past:Revolution, Chapter 29

Something had gone wrong with Sasham...

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Chapter 29.
Shagrath:

Restraint. Restraint. Patience. Are these not the lessons I have learned over the years of my penance? Do not let them be lost. Shagrath repeated this to himself several times until he was sure he could maintain control. Such things were so contrary to his people's nature. Yet there was no choice. So much had been lost before due to impulsive actions. That was why he was still here, with these creatures, following their actions and mimicking their behaviors. He couldn't – didn't dare – return yet. It would be a long time, he knew that now.

But the incompetent Darkness-damned soul-weak fool! He has failed me again! Aloud, he said, "Explain this to me, Doctor." His voice was cold, though far from as cold as he wished it to be.

"Reversing itself psionic development rapidly is," the R'Thann said. Though he had little physical expression, his concern and, yes, fear were plain to sense. Doctor Sooovickalassa went on to explain that the degeneration appeared to be orderly and, other than the loss of power, nondamaging. There might, he said, be some minor capabilities left at the end – probably enhanced mental shielding or something of the sort – but no active psionic abilities.

"Why? WHY?" demanded Varan. The Commander was amusingly distraught with the loss of powers he had but a short time ago reviled. He had begun just recently to realize his true nature as a superior being, and now he found himself being cast down to live among the ordinary mortals once more.

Dr. Sooovickalassa rippled his crest apologetically. Shagrath's sensitive sense of scent picked up the aroma of fear. It appears that the process as it currently exists requires some method for stabilization. To use another analogy to describe the situation, it is as though we may make an impression in some sort of elastic medium; the powers develop all through the "stretching" of the medium, but degenerate during the rebound. The greater force provides a greater "stretch", but the times involved actually do not vary greatly. Some method of stabilizing the process – halting development at the point of maximum "stretch" – would be needed.

Varan had been straining to catch this conversation; his telepathic abilities were now very weak, and there were actual tears in his eyes as he realized how little time he had remaining. "Then you might be able to fix this?"

The R'Thann's eyes met Shagrath's for a moment. Shagrath considered telling the R'Thann that he wouldn't have any opportunity to blunder again… but there was Varan to consider. He could actually still be a useful tool. Few were the humans that Shagrath could have trusted in any capacity, but he knew this one's mind intimately. He would be resentful of Sooovickalassa's failures, but willing to assist him in any additional research on the chance of regaining his abilities. He was completely convinced of Shagrath's ultimately benevolent aims, and while bereft of his own special powers could be a useful agent; one disadvantage Shagrath had was that many of his regular agents couldn't be used around certain sorts. And with this blow to his pride and confidence, he could be even more easily brought around to the right sort of attitude. Who knew? He might even survive the end of Shagrath's plan. What a deliciously ironic outcome that would be!

So instead of a stony glare, he gave a very brief, almost imperceptible nod.

Dr. Sooovickalassa's relief was palpable even to Varan; a ghost of the old smile flickered on the Commander's lips as he realized how close the alien had come to death. Perhaps. I make no guarantees, but the fact it worked at all shows we are on the right track. We could begin at once –

"I'm afraid that won't be possible, Doctor. I have other projects that require this space. War with Zchorada – real war – appears closer than ever."

But… I thought you meant that I could continue my research…

"You are correct. But not here. You are a scientist of considerable achievements in dimensional fields as well as in psionics." Yes, thought Shagrath. The idea was coming together. It would work. It would make Varan unbreakably loyal to him, keep the R'Thann working while under a watchdog who'd never let him escape… and, just to be sure, he'd put another watcher of his own with them. And, as a side note, it solves a minor staffing question the Emperor had posed to me.

He turned to Varan. "Commander. I cannot offer you sympathies that would be sufficient. Of all the people we know, I'm the only one who understands what you've lost."

Varan raised his head. Hollow-eyed, he still managed to stand and face the Prime Monitor with a courage that instilled even more loathing in Shagrath. "Yes, sir. And I understand… that you'll have to make me forget it. Maybe that's best. I'll be better off then."

Paragon indeed. But one on my side, now. The thought made the sunlight smile easy. "Forget…? Normally, perhaps, yes, Commander. But… I can't do that to you. Or for you. You actually can protect your mind to some degree. And you, almost alone among those I know, I can trust fully, for we know each other. I need people I can trust. A Navy Commander on the frontier, even a good one, is not all that valuable a commodity. A man who understands the thoughts and powers of a psionic, a man who understands fully the dangers the Empire faces, and one who has an unswervable loyalty to the Empire – and who has the courage to keep the pain of his memories – is much more valuable."

A spark of faint hope, mingled with the vestiges of his pride, returned to that disquieting gray gaze. "I serve the Empire as it requires, Sir."

"Forget the formalities, Sasham! By the Towers, I can't undo what's been done, but I can by all we hold dear make sure you don't pay more of a price for it. Remember what you said to me – how you loved the thought of directing research here, yet couldn't see yourself tied down to a single location?"

"Yes, I remember."

Shagrath grinned. "Then how about doing both?"

Varan's eyes blinked. "Excuse me? Kerlamin, I don't quite get you."

He pressed a few controls; the image of a great, shining vessel of ancient design faded into view, the crescent-shaped, three-spined curved wing-and-dagger shape of an immense Atlantean warship. "How would you like to be Captain Sasham Varan, Commanding, Imperial Research Vessel Teraikon?"

The look of joy rising from hopelessness was answer enough. I have your very soul now, Captain. And the most wonderful part of this is that to gain it, I've given you nothing more than what you would have earned anyway.

The post Demons of the Past:Revolution, Chapter 29 appeared first on Ryk E. Spoor, Author, Gamer, Geek God.

French Roast Apocalypse: Chapter 18

Another trip back in time, and we see some other characters when they were younger... and learn just how nasty Mr. Blackwell was....

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Chapter 18.

New York City, 1980

Anna's Muffin Shop was a small shop, with a large display case filled with many different kinds of muffins ranging from corn to chocolate as well as cupcakes and cookies. The walls were painted pink as a background for black silhouette figures that danced across the wall, figures with finger-wave hair and zoot suits. Apparently the shop had started up in the forties after World War II and had been around since, using special recipes from Anna’s grandmother’s cookbook. Customers could sit in, or hang out on the sidewalk café. The place had a special charm, and no one knew it was run by someone supernatural.

Tonight, John and Tina were on shift with Dylan, with Anna overseeing everything, and Paula and Henry working on homework in the back after their shift.

"We're both working late tonight," Tony Liberi said, holding his small son's hand. "I've packed a bag of blood to get him though the evening, but that won't keep him away from the cookies and spoiling his dinner tonight."

Dylan remembered the little boy, Angelus, was a half-vampire – someone almost turned, but who'd managed to stay living. That meant he needed some amount of blood, and if he did die he'd rise as a full vampire, but for now he was otherwise a normal kid.

Leaning over the pastry case, Anna smiled at the boy. "Won't be a problem, we have lots to distract him here with, don't we, guys?"

"Sure we do!" said Paula, producing a set of crayons and paper.

"We've got a spinny chair in the back, too," Dylan added.

"Fun as hell, if it don't kill you first," John said darkly from one of the cases.

Tina shyly smiled at the ebony-skinned man from her spot at the register. "We have some children's books in the back, if Angie wants a story."

Angelus beamed and dropped his father's hand to run up to the case. "I want a cupcake, and a story in the spinny chair… Per favore. I'll wash a dish for each one I eat!"

How could Dylan blame him? The place was a muffin shop and filled with nothing but pure temptation.

"Angelus!" Mr. Liberi snapped with a thick Italian accent as he grabbed the boy's arm. "Watch your manners."

Wide-eyed, the boy obediently nodded. "Yes, pappa, per favore and grazi!”

"Oh, it's all right," Anna said. "He did say 'please' and offered to work for his snacks. If all the people I knew were that polite, the world'd be a fine place." Angelus smiled happily. Anna looked back to his father. "I'll be able to contact you at your parents' store, Tony?"

"Early on, yes. I'll be doing their accounting tonight, then I'll be picking up some files from some clients before I go back to my office. You have that number?" After seeing Anna nod, Tony turned Angelus to face him and dropped down to the boy's level. The man was very tall, so even with Tony kneeling Angelus was forced to crane his head up to look into his father's dark eyes. "You be a good boy, and listen to Anna. I'll pick you up some anise cookies from grandmamma, eh? We'll share them?"

Angelus made a face, but nodded. "Okay. Can we watch TV?"

"Anything you want, Angelo!" He patted the boy's head affectionately.

Angelus grinned, showing tiny fangs, and hugged his father. Without hesitation, the man returned it and only after several moments stood up. "Susan will be at school this evening after work; she'll pick him up at ten."

Dylan wondered what it was like for human parents to change their entire sleeping cycle to fit their vampire children's needs. The life-changes alone must have been painful. What did they tell their friends and family? How difficult was it for children like Angelus not to change their parents?

Dylan watched Anna circle the display case as she joined the boy and take his hand. Together they waved at Tony as he vanished out into the night.

It was only then that Angelus turned to Anna with a sigh. "Pappa really likes grandmama's anise cookies, but I think they’re gross!" He emphasized the word by sticking out his tongue.

The fact he had said nothing to his father about not liking the cookies made the Texan realize the boy just wanted to please his father, just like every other child out there. Even cursed with vampirism, Angelus really wasn't any different from any kid.

The realization was one more painful reminder of his sins. Kids, fathers, mothers… the monsters I killed might not have been monsters at all.

But now he was one of them. He smiled inwardly at the irony. Better to have had my eyes opened, I guess. Because you can't make up for a sin you've never known. Throwing off the momentary darkness of mood, Dylan turned and went back to work.

Angelus followed Anna around whenever possible; Dylan couldn't blame him, especially when she was cooking something. And there was almost always something cooking at Anna's.

"My mama puts fresh blueberries in her muffins." Angelus said standing on his tippy toes as Dylan poured a large bag of frozen berries into the muffin batter. Across from him, Anna washed her hands in the sink.

"I would use fresh blueberries, but they go bad too fast, so we have to use frozen ones," she said.

"Besides, muffins made by mamas always taste better than ones bought in a store." Dylan told Angelus. "No offense, Anna."

The young-seeming woman placed several tins on the counter near the big metal bowl and laughed. "My mum was the worst cook. It took me forever to learn how. I used to make hard biscuits when I tried to make cakes."

"Biscuits?' Angelus wrinkled his nose as he leaned into the batter as the mixer stirred it. "It gets real purple. Does it taste sweet?"

"Not as sweet as cupcakes."

Tina stuck her head into the kitchen and propped two trays in the sink. "Minami's here, Anna, and we're almost out of corn muffins." The young lady took a deep breath and smiled. "This room smells real good."

Tina was right, the room smelled of sugar, butter, and fresh baked cakes. Dylan switched off the mixer.

"I'll be working on them once we're done with the blueberry muffins." Anna told her. "Have Paula take Minami to the back."

"Can I go? We can play on the spinny chair!" Angelus's dark eyes sparkled and he bounced to the door. "I made blueberry muffins, Tina! Might have even improved on the recipe by adding more butter. Pappa says butter makes everything taste better."

Dylan hadn't noticed that; he glanced at Anna who shrugged and mouthed, not that much.

She turned to Tina. "If Paula wants to tackle two in the office, I'm fine with it, but bring him right back if she decides it's too much."

Taking him by the hand, Tina led the boy out. "Paula don't know what the words 'too much' mean! It's not in her vocabulary!"

As they vanished out the door, Dylan lifted the bowl to the counter. "Takes a village to raise a child?"

"Yes. Though most young people today come from the school of thought of 'sure, I love kids, they're great with ketchup', and have no clue or care what to do with them." Anna lined the trays up and located a ladle. "In my day, we had communities and everyone looked out for each other."

"Do you regret not having any?" It was only natural to ask the question, where he came from, most woman wanted children. Well, save for his sister.

"Not at all." Anna replied crossing over to the bowl. "Delighted when they go home with mama and pappa. Fun having them around, but living with them? Too much energy, especially when they're small. Eternal children? Bloody hell, I'd go mad."

Dylan watched the blonde dish out batter and pour it into the pans as he mulled that over. "I don't know. I'm a picket-fence kind of guy, wife, kids…"

"Well you won't have any of that if you let yourself turn into a revenant," Anna said, her features serious. "Revenants are cursed. They're not like vampires, who can use their bodies for most activities, well save for eating. Revenants are corpses, ghosts with bodies, nothing actually works for them; they're moving because the ghost drives the corpse, but there's no life in it anymore."

He hadn't thought of that. Was he willing to give up on everything in life to kill Keith? Did he want a normal life? "Well the plan is that if I kill Keith, I'd be cured. Kill the thing that focuses my vengeance, the vengeance is over, no more revenant, right?"

"It can work that way, but it's dangerous, and you might not be able to pull out of it, Dylan. That's a dark path." Anna paused as if thinking, then continued to pour mix into the pans. "The soul is like batter, Dylan. It is what you make it, and once you cook it, it stays that way."

"Until someone eats it?" He leaned over her shoulder as she went to scoop another ladle of blueberry goo. He was so close; he smelled her lavender scented shampoo.

"Don't be ridiculous. Why would anyone want to eat a revenant soul, they're… Like eating stale muffins left out on the counter."

"That's not so bad; all you need to do is wrap it in a damp paper towel and shove it in the microwave for a few seconds, then it's good again. You know, like recycling, you're all on about that horseshit, why can't you recycle a soul?" His father lived years fighting the monster curse inside of him. Dylan knew it was possible. The difference was, his father didn't know people who understood how it worked.

"Why are you so difficult?" Anna demanded, but the way her mouth curved up and the slightly-choked sound told him she was trying to stifle laughter.

He could tell she didn't want to discuss his path anymore; it would likely lead to another argument. Instead, Anna handed him the ladle.

"Since you obviously know so much about muffins, you can spoon in the rest and put them in the oven. I need to start the corn muffin batter."

They finished the rest of the preparations in silence, but it wasn't a cold, uncomfortable feeling; more of a companionable one. Their bond made it so that Dylan knew without asking that Anna cared about him, that even without speaking a word she was aware of him and glad of his presence. It made him feel like he really did belong here, somehow.

Finally he put the last pan into the sink to soak and headed towards the back room. A rumbling rattle warned him that things were not so peaceful back here.

"Clear the way, here comes the train!" Angelus called out, as he pushed a battered old black leather rolling chair down the hall leading to the storeroom and office. Petite Minami clung to the edge of the seat with one hand, and clutched Kitty with her other.

Dylan turned sideways, allowing the chair to race by, apron in hand, as the youngsters giggled and spun the chair around right before they reached the door leading to the café. "You pups better look out, someone might get hurt!" he called back at them, barely noticing as Paula came up next to him and took his apron.

"He regenerates and is practically indestructible, and she's already dead; it'll be kind of hard for them to get hurt. " The skinchanger gave a smile as she pressed her back against the wall and added. "Incoming."

Dylan barely had time to lean into the plaster before Angelus and Minami drove by, squealing with delight. "Who said I was talking about them getting hurt?" He looked at the laughing little girl. "Wasn't she crying earlier?"

"She misses treats," Paula confirmed. "Angie thought the chair was a good idea. So I let them take it into the hall for a game of rollercoaster."

Twirling the chair Angelus stopped it near the office and Minami climbed down. "Your turn, Angelus-chan." She handed him Kitty with a pale hand.

The boy took the plush and clambered on to the chair. "Go as fast as you can. I want to get real dizzy."

She nodded and looked over to Paula as if looking for permission. "Onesan, can we spin in the office?"

"Sure." Paula gestured for Dylan to follow. "But after Dylan logs out, he's gotta go home."

The girl's dark eyes sparkled as she nodded to Dylan and started to push the chair toward the office. On it, Angelus watched them. "We can pretend we are in a tornado," he told her, "spinning round and round."

The girl nodded. "Tornado? Storm?."

"Big funnel storm, like the Wiz!" Explained Angelus. He spun his fingers fast in the air in the air as he explained.

"Ah, tatsumaki!"

"Tatsumaki!" Angelus folded his arms around Kitty. "I don't talk Japanese, but it sounds right to me."

The sign-out sheet was on the wall with a dangling pencil. Dylan quickly logged out his name and the time. He had homework to do.

"Oniisan?" Minami's voice called up to him. The Texan let the pencil fall from his fingers.

Turning to face the child, Dylan tried not to think of his past hunts. Minami was aware of people, unlike the other undead children he had seen. "Yes?"

"You are looking for the bad man, right? With Officer Knight-san?"

"Yeah." He swallowed. The girl's dark eyes were hopeful and bright.

The two kids exchanged looks. "Did he hurt you too?"

Closing his eyes, Dylan drew a breath. "Yes, he did. He's a very bad man." He resisted the temptation to question her about the man. He noticed both children appeared frightened for a moment. Dylan was a grown-up, at least to them; perhaps they had thought he'd be immune to Keith?

"When I grow up, I'm gonna whoop him good," Angelus announced, balling his fist in front of his face. "Just like Batman." Next to him, Minami nodded.

"Yeah, me too." Dylan managed a smile at Angelus. He’s a brave runt, Dylan thought. A surge of anger rose like bile from his gut at the thought of Blackwell touching either child. Keith Blackwell was a monster. Dylan hated the idea of waiting to deal with the creep. He noticed Paula removing coloring books from one of the drawers. "Well, you kids have fun spinning and coloring. I've got studying to do."

Dylan needed air; he didn't want to go all angry in front of the kids. Feeling the revenant trying to rise within him, Dylan quickly slipped out of the room, barely aware of the chorus of goodbyes behind him.

The post French Roast Apocalypse: Chapter 18 appeared first on Ryk E. Spoor, Author, Gamer, Geek God.

Demons of the Past: Revelation, Chapter 28

So Shagrath had said there was a test for Varan...

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Chapter 28.
Varan:

I focused on the room beyond and muttered a tired curse. Like many of them the closer I got to the center, this area had a psi-damper. I'd found I could still function in rooms with a standard damper before, in my earlier training, but it was like fighting underwater, or in extra-heavy gravity; you just had a lot less to devote to the cause.

Worse, the screens were more than sufficient to scramble even my best attempts to remote-view or listen. As far as I was concerned, those areas were grayish, pretty much featureless fogs, occasional almost invisible shapes moving within them. And up ahead, at the base's central control, the whole area was gunmetal-gray fog. Fighting my way blind and weakened through the whole area was just not going to work.

I sensed movement behind me, noted the approach of two armored forms. This particular corridor was not damped, so I just ripped a couple of support beams out and brought the ceiling down on them. It wouldn't quite crush the troopers inside the suits, but they weren't digging out of that any time soon.

This didn't solve the main problem, however. I'd already found that my command codes were not functional in this demonstration. Presumably the super-psi I was playing wasn't a former officer, or they'd found out and changed his authorizations before he got here. Hacking or otherwise tricking the systems into dropping the shielding was out, then.

But… there might be another way. I reached out… Yes, one of the troopers under the rock was unconscious but pretty much intact. His suit would work, and he actually had the least amount of rock on top of him. This would be really risky, but not as risky as charging through probably three rings of security with dampers all the way. Part of the advantage still lay with me; as I was now both a powerful psionic and an experienced officer and engineer, I could see that the security and tactics we had were built on, like anything else, reasonable assumptions. An ordinary psi – even a pretty powerful one – would probably be stopped here. An ordinary man would never get this far no matter what his knowledge. But an extremely powerful psionic, powerful in all four categories of psi ability, who was also an expert Imperial engineer and who understood all the systems, including the combat and defense protocols… that was something for which the system just wasn't designed.

I hoped.

I continued along the corridors that weren't shielded; these were mostly deserted, and the automated weapons weren't anything to worry me, as by now I knew the layout perfectly. In the meantime, I worked carefully on the unconscious trooper… Hawthen Gelmas, as his mind informed me. Doing stuff like this still nauseated me, but if I couldn't steel myself to do it here, the hesitation would kill me out in the field. Besides, it wouldn't do him any permanent harm. I was really on his side, he just didn't know it. Once everything was set, I was able to awaken him. It took only a little telekinetic assistance to let him fight his way free of the rubble.

A few minutes later, rannai bolts blasted into me. I'd barely gotten the shield up in time, but by then twin rockets had detonated, one to each side of the corridor, and the double concussion smashed me to the ground, my body tumbling limply. Not satisfied with that, the Guardsman armored trooper, who'd used his suit's shield power sparingly in order to approach me undetected, launched a barrage of gas grenades that turned the air around me into a narcoleptic brew that would put an assault force of Zchorada into a six-hour sleep; a human in that concentration might never wake up. As there was need for human psi study subjects, there WAS a standing order to capture them if it appeared possible to do so – one of the regulations I knew of and counted on. The trooper then called for backup to bring a portable psi-nullifier unit to convey me into the secure area.

Obviously, this was a setup on my part, but the danger wasn't over yet. I had practiced certain tricks in the lab, but pulling them off under the noses of near-panicked, hair-trigger Guardsmen was a different matter. Still, I felt I'd pulled off the "ambushed and blasted unconscious" pretty well – and I had the bruises to show how close it actually was to a success on Guardsman Gelmas' part. My whole body ached, and so did my head. The past half-hour had been by far the most strenuous test of my new powers and of my old skills I'd ever gone through. Only that terrible seige at Tangia Outpost had been worse.

Gelmas and the others approached. One, carrying the portable psi-nullifier, moved along the wall, leaving his friends a clear field of fire. When I didn't move, he activated the nullifier and approached, locking me into the device. They then hoisted me up and carried me… into the shielded area of the base. Before we got there, I had already forced the built-in sensors on the thing to show me as unconscious, and deeply so.

This was still the most dangerous part of the ruse. Inside a double nullifier field I really was pretty much powerless. If someone stopped and checked me, or got suspicious in some other way, I could end up dead – or, if Shagrath intervened in time, I'd at the least have failed this one entirely. But these guys were using live ammunition; death was clearly a possible outcome if I really got unlucky.

But we passed through the secure doors without incident; I was placed in a guarded holding cell while Gelmas' minor injuries were attended to; he was then sent to debrief the main command. He never reached the command briefing room, of course. It was at that point that my subconscious trigger instructions took hold on him. He diverted to the secondary control area which was located nearby, stunned the duty crew, and – using the knowledge I'd placed in his brain – caused a cascading shutdown surge to go through the generators in the entire core area.

As I felt the nullifying fields fade, I concentrated all I had on the portable nullifier. A critical circuit shattered, and immediately I hurled my mind outward, breaking similar circuits throughout the base along a wedge-shaped region leading to the central area, where Shagrath himself would be. I was just a split-second too slow; the backup power came on for the the central control room and it vanished in a shielded haze.

Still, much better, I thought as I walked – with a slightly pained limp – out of the holding cell, knocking attacking Navy and Guards aside casually. Now I had only the one shielded area to deal with, and the entrances to that area were in my sensing range; I brought down the corridors leading into main control, except for the one I would be entering by. Now there'd be no reinforcements to contend with.

Nothing significant barred my way. It was actually pathetically amusing to see these people keep trying to stop me. Didn't they realize they hadn't a chance? That I was being gentle with them? Oh, there were a few broken bones, probably, but that was part of the risk you took in the business. It was like fighting a mob of toddlers; there wasn't anything they could do to hurt me unless I told them HOW, and let them, in the bargain. Even Taelin, I realized sadly, was just a child to me. He couldn't see, feel, or think the things I could. I was as far beyond even a child of the Five as I was beyond these poor helpless soldiers.

I blew the final door open with a theatrical gesture and stepped inside. Only one figure waited for me, in the heaviness of the central damping field. But that figure – Shagrath, I was sure – was encased in the finest model powered armor, and it had its own nullifier active.

I'd half-expected that, but that didn't make it any better. I couldn't hit him or his mind with anything significant. A hurricane of automatic rannai sunfire ripped at me.

I threw much of my remaining psi reserves into speed, moving faster than he could react. I picked up and hurled one of the armored door-fragments at him, a 500 kilogram missile that he barely blocked. The impact shoved him backwards and somewhat sideways. That gave me a clear view to a critical control panel.

In a split second I activated three controls and locked them. The room's field faded. As it did, I launched a mental bolt at the mind within that armor; without the double protection, I should be able to finish this battle quick.

Oddly, it didn't quite get through. I felt the mind through the shield, vaguely, but it was much fainter than I'd expected. Well, no matter. I glanced over, pulled the same door-fragment into the air. It felt oddly heavier, and throwing it felt like a mighty strain.

He was moving faster than I expected, and dodged that one. Was Shagrath cheating? Using his abilities to match me? No, I didn't feel any active psi energy from him… actually, I felt nothing from him at all now. The shield seemed entirely opaque.

Energy bolts splattered on my shield, feeling like molten sledgehammers instead of the patter of raindrops. What the sinking hells of Atlantaea was happening? Somehow, I realized, I was weakening, and fast – and with him having a shield up, I had no way to tell Shagrath this – he might kill me before he realized there was a problem!

I focused as hard as I could, my head feeling like it was caught between colliding warships, increased my speed. I pushed myself as hard as I could, feeling mental and physical muscles screaming, and suddenly I was there, too close to the armored form for it to safely use its weapons. With the last of my treacherously fading strength, I reached down, and with telekinesis and muscle power together managed to lever one leg up, up, tipping the armored form over. As it struggled to right itself, that gave me one short second to trigger two more controls – controls whose movement felt like forcing boulders to roll – and the internal defenses of the control room fired heavily into the armored form, shattering parts of the armor and, I hoped, ending the contest. For a moment I stood there, wavering; the damaged armor remained on the ground, then opened, to reveal a grinning Shagrath. "Well done, Com – Sasham!"

That was the last I heard as I pitched forward.

 

 

The post Demons of the Past: Revelation, Chapter 28 appeared first on Ryk E. Spoor, Author, Gamer, Geek God.

French Roast Apocalypse: Chapter 17

Dylan's finally waking up to find out that even a Revenant can get badly hurt...

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Chapter 17.

New York City, 2010

When Dylan finally came to from the almost-endless dream, it took a while to understand where he was, what had happened. The only thing he knew for sure was that he'd been wrapped like a mummy – bandaged broken arm, skull fracture, chest wrapped for multiple broken ribs, and serious repair work to put his guts back where they belonged. He spent most of his time unconscious — if you could call that flashback-filled kaleidoscope unconsciousness. Smith oversaw his needs in intensive care until he was out of danger.

After a while he was still weak, but regenerating enough so he could be moved to a different room. It was … quaint. It looked so much like a, well, regular hospital room, with a TV hanging from the wall, locker for clothing, a comfortable adjustable bed, a rolling brown table, a white cabinet for staff use across the room and a bedstand next to his bed. There he lay, bored out of his head, wondering exactly when he was going to be let out.

"Dylan! I thought you promised you’d never visit this place again," Jana Lyn, the center’s dietician, said as she entered the room with a covered tray. She was a small woman, with a head of graying black curls tied in a bun. She was dressed in a pair of pink Hello Kitty scrubs. The older woman had worked for the center when Dylan was a boy, over thirty years ago. She was one of the many humans aware of their existence, though Dylan didn’t know her story. Everyone working with the center had one, but they didn't have to talk about it.

"Guess I lied." He studied the plate of covered food suspiciously. "I don’t remember filling out a form for dinner."

"That’s because Doc Smith did, said you needed to keep your strength up," she said, hands on her hips. "He prepared it himself. Don’t ask, don’t tell, that’s the policy with him." She waved a blue latex-gloved hand. "Smells ghoulish if you ask me. Prepared enough meals for my daddy growing up."

Ghoulish? Well, that description made sense. Most of his food was ghoulish.

"Yeah. I’ll wait till you leave?" He noticed she smiled slightly and shook her head.

"I’m well-used to this place by now, Dylan. I even know where they get most of their stuff. I’m amazed how on the level a lot of this is. Well, hospitals normally just incinerate limbs, diseased organs, all that stuff. We find a different use for it. Think of it as recycling." She turned to go. "Enjoy! I’ll have Jeffery pick up the tray later."

Yeah, enjoy. He looked down, wishing it were a bowl of chili or nachos. At least real food smelled good. This stuff just stank like rotten meat. He lifted the lid and was instantly assailed by the stench of spice-covered flesh. It was seared white and spongy, and covered in gore. Though he did notice bits of sautéed basil and garlic.

"Tripe." It could have been worse. It wasn’t completely cooked, just lightly seared with the herbs. It smelled rotten, but it made his mouth water. "Who does he think I am? Hannibal Lecter?" All he needed was a side of fava beans.

It didn’t take much to make him eat; he was still starved, so he downed the tripe faster than he would have liked and licked the plate clean. Part of it still disgusted him, and sometimes worried him. Truth be told, rotten things actually smelled good to him, if he didn't keep focusing on what rot used to smell like – to keep a touchstone of humanity there. Be damned if I'm going to forget what real food smells like and think the best smell in the world's a three-day old roadkill.

He was still hungry. How much had that thing taken out of him? Dylan stretched his legs and pushed the rolling table aside. He did feel stronger than before, and the pain was down. Liam’s blood had helped to restore the mystical forces running his body, so he healed normally again. He’d be on his feet in no time.

Suddenly exhausted, he let himself doze, until the door opened and a slender young man, with thin features and sharp pointed teeth entered. He was dressed in scrubs, so Dylan guessed he must be Jeffery.

"You’re new around here," he said as the ghoul went to take the tray.

"Came in from LA." Jeffery said. "This place is legendary. Real sweet to land a job here."

"Yeah, real sweet." Dylan agreed. He had heard there was a ghoul problem in LA; it didn’t surprise him some were emigrating to New York. The culls were bad in California, and ghouls were often the first victims of them.

"You have family here?"

"Moved in with my aunt. She’s very supportive of my condition," he said. "Parents didn’t take too kindly to it. They came around, but it was pretty horrifying to them."

"How’d you get it?" Dylan pushed himself up on his elbow so he could get a better look at the younger man. Jeffery was thin, but Dylan could see he was built solid, and moved as if he were disciplined.

"Iraq. Serious ghoul problems in the Middle East these days."

Ghouls were drawn to conflict. His family’s first encounter with the supernatural had been ghouls. That was how his granddaddy became involved in hunting monsters with the Walker Militia, after World War I. Dylan's father eventually joined the family tradition after he was infected by a Ma Cà Rồng in Vietnam.

It wasn’t unusual for young soldiers to become involved with the paranormal during war. Dylan felt sympathy for the kid. "Well, we’re a free city here; you should like it."

"It’s expensive, but I’m at home," Jeff said. He pushed open the door. "Dylan, isn’t it? Heard about you, too. You’re one of the spooks who took on the League here. That took balls."

"Nah, it was luck. Now you better get back to work. But you can call me Dyl, most of my friends do." If it wasn’t for his friends, he’d never have gotten through it, but it had taken balls, Jeffery had that right.

"Really? Thanks, Dyl." The ghoul said his nickname with genuine respect – more respect than Dylan thought he deserved. After all, he was just another one of the monsters in town. They all pulled their own weight. Angelus, Bunny, Douglas, Doc Sacco and Jason did just as much as he did. Jason likely even more, since he still walked the beat every night.

As Jeffery left, another voice – emphatic, strong, and angry, touched also with concern – rose beyond the level he could ignore.

"Angelus, you’re thirty-nine years old, too old for this shit! Do you have any idea what this means? You listen to me, you need to get yourself a real job like your sister!" That was Susan Liberi, Angie's mom; Dylan recognized her bellow. The sixty-year-old woman was no pushover, and had spent years just barely tolerating Angelus’s playing superhero, even if it was in his territory.

Christ, she’s pulling out all the fucking guns tonight mentioning Doctor Gina Liberi.

"Ma, I know what I’m doing. The last thing we need is gentrification driving us out! We fought that battle and won it once – back in the 80s – but they're back for another try now, so it's even more important I keep an eye on things. Harlem is bouncing back, our communities are organized, we’ve good schools, strong local business, unions, and we have a resources for organizing and community building that we can use to fight back against outside, white-the gentrifying business, realtors and politicians!"

Angelus was calm. He knew his business. Holding a vampire territory was serious-responsibility shit. “Think about the corner of 125th and Malcolm X Boulevard? The Men’s Walkers shoe store and Deli & Seafood building? We’ve turned that place into a indoor shopping center with a music store, two restaurants, a cultural center, a hand crafted toy store, a book store, three dress shops, and several specialty shops with families running them living on top, and we didn’t have to drive Men's Walkers or the Deli out. Imagine what would have happened if we were gentrified.”

Angelus’s staunch defense and his investment into his territory's businesses and schools had sent a message to particular human politicians, who recognized it was now off-limits and under the protection of the SoHo Council. Vampire money and politics were very much a concern to the human political world, even if most of the mortals didn’t know anything about it.

"Don’t you give me that! The residents of Harlem are a resilient people and can hold our own against other mortals; we can take care of ourselves if given the chance! Now, you need a life outside of being a vampire, Angelus! Baby, I know you love your people, living and metabolically challenged, but think about your future! Your father is still ill, and Uncle Leo and I are getting old! I can’t support you forever! And now this? You’ve got some serious responsibilities now!"

"Ma, I am a fucking vampire, I can’t just get a nine-to-five job you know! Besides, what I do is one!"

"Don’t you take that tone of voice with me, young man! You’ve got an education! Your father and I made sure you got yourself a Master's so you could get a job, a real job! You can work nights, like your father and I did! And be something more than waiter at a cafe!" The woman’s voice raised above Angelus’s and Dylan cringed. "You’re capable of more, you need to settle down!"

"Ma, c'mon, I do more than wait tables. I help with the youth center." Angelus voice was weaker this time. "If this is about what happened the other night. I was helping Felicia and Carmen. Finding this monster and stopping it is important. And… I can’t just stop being responsible, now with the powers I have."

Dylan could almost hear Angelus say their favorite Spider-Man quote, “with great power comes great responsibility.”

"I know it’s important, Angie, but it nearly got you fucking killed" Her tone wavered. "Playing hero is always nearly getting you fucking killed!"

"Ma…"

The voices subsided to more of a dull roar, enough for Dylan to tune them out, give them at least a pretense of privacy. Dylan smiled wryly to himself. Most mortals wouldn't believe that conversation if they heard it; a mortal mother treating her vampire son just as if he was still the same as ever, with the same worry for how he was going to survive when she was gone.

And it wasn't an idle worry. With all the changes in the wind – the bank disasters torpedoing the economy, the rich still getting richer while the poor tipped over the edge to sheer destitution – even the paranormal population was feeling the pinch. The League had ways of finding jobs for its members, but if you weren't registered – and a lot of Dylan's friends and charges weren't – you hadn't got a prayer. And there just weren't that many jobs that a vampire or ghoul could get in the city without drawing the wrong sort of attention.

Enough of this. Kicking his legs over the edge of his bed, Dylan struggled to stand. His legs wobbled, and it took all of his will to keep them from collapsing. Stubbornly, he clung on to the rail, and held himself up, and forced himself to focus on the rippling aches running down his thighs. Not that the situation between Angelus and his mom was any of his business, but he was the one who had dragged the kid into the fight in the first place. Angelus might need a little moral support.

Tenacity won over weakness; Dylan forced himself to stand, and commanded his legs to move. If I can fight with my body broken in a dozen places, I can damn well walk across a room.

With slow shuffling steps, Dylan made his way around his bed. It was difficult to keep upright without something to hold on to, so he grabbed a metal IV stand and used it as a support to cross the floor to the doorway.

The conversation in the other room started up again, but Dylan didn’t quite follow it. Susan was discussing Gina’s graduate program in Albany, and her brother’s latest girlfriend.

At the door, he placed his hand on the frame, and looked up and down the white-walled corridor. The place hadn’t changed in thirty years. On the white walls were prints of impressionist paintings, colorful blue and green Monets and red and pink pastel Renoirs. The floors were covered with white, black, and grey-speckled linoleum. Each room along the hall had a light brown oak door. Some were open, others were closed for privacy.

Two rolling carts with computers sat against the wall; he spotted another cart with what looked like an EKG and other regular monitoring equipment. That wasn't surprising, either; humans were often admitted to the hospital after unprovoked paranormal attacks. He was definitely in the regular patient wing.

Angelus was directly across the hall from him; Bunny must've done that on purpose so Angelus wouldn't worry too much about him, and vice versa. Drawing in air, he filled his lungs; breathing was an exercise of control. It helped in facing emotional situations, and in keeping his temper in check. He needed control, with his hunger still on a dangerous edge.

It took several breaths to calm his hunger and to find peace in himself. When he was ready, the revenant released the stand and started his walk across the hall.

The pain in his ribs and side ached with each step, but he shoved it into the back of his mind. Reaching the other room, he leaned a hand on the doorframe and gently rapped on the wall with a knuckle.

Angelus’s head snapped up, his large brown eyes widened with concern. "Shit, bro, what the hell are you doing outta bed?"

"Just making sure you’re okay," he said evenly, with a nod and glance to Susan. "Mrs. Liberi, I wanted to apologize. I had no intention of him getting as messed up as he did."

"What would your mother say if she saw you out of bed like this?!" Susan snapped, standing up immediately. She stalked across the room and grabbed him by the arm.

"Ma, this ain’t his fault! Don’t you let him take the blame for all this, I made my choice both times, and you know it!" Angelus strained to stand, but his mother stilled him with a glare and a raised finger.

"Don’t you dare move, boy! I’ll be back in a moment. Bunny says another day of bed rest for you, or you might start to bleed out again! You’re not healed yet!"

Folding his arms, Angelus looked helplessly at Dylan. "You heard it, didn’t you?"

No point in denying it. "Yeah, every word."

"I had no intention of getting you out of bed over this." Susan told him as she wrapped an arm around him. She was a still-attractive woman, her complexion a deep heartwood-brown like that of her son, with short dark kinks interspersed with grey on top of her head, large expressive dark eyes, taller than Dylan, and round around the hips. She was strong, too – not physically, but with iron will and a mind to equal that will. When Angelus had been infected, she had worked to learn about the supernatural world, and what to expect from her son.

Eventually she got a doctorate in psychology, and became a full time paranormal counselor. From the day Angelus was infected with vampirism at five, to the day he died at eighteen and changed, she had always been there for him. She was Angelus’s cornerstone. She had also become a fixture in the SoHo hospital and a vital member of the SoHo rehabilitation staff. She ran parental therapy and group counseling.

Honestly, a part of Dylan – sometimes a pretty big part – envied Angelus. "Well, I got good ears, and you were a bit loud."

"Since Gina married, I’m in a house full of men, what do you expect." Her dark face broke into a smile. "I yell through the floor to my brother all the time, and he yells back. It's better than the phone."

"Well, I can't say my family was quiet," Dylan told her. He let himself lean into her. "I really am sorry. I didn’t want to get him hurt."

"I know you didn’t." She shook her head. "He’s headstrong and he'll do things like this. As for the first time… Keith had targeted him as a boy and had no intention of letting him go as a man. It was… inevitable."

There was an uncomfortable silence; he remembered how Keith’s enforcer had crippled Tony, her husband, and how he had refused any unnatural medical treatments.

They were halfway across the hall. Surprisingly, she spoke softly, her anger gone. "That… animal is dead, Gina is safe, and my boy is a hero. I’m not angry with you, Dylan. Tony, Jason, and my brother Leo taught him to stand up to things like that. As soon as little Carmen was hurt, I knew he’d be out there with you, taking whatever monster on that did it. That’s my Angie."

"Yeah.” They both had owed Keith payback, but Angie had saved his sister; Dylan wished he could have done the same. The pain of moving was becoming more intrusive, so he let the memory sweep him back. Keith Blackwell had been responsible for killing Dylan’s sister and best friend and had started Dylan on the path of becoming undead. By coincidence, he was also the vampire responsible for making Angelus a half blood at five. Both of them had a score to settle, but that wasn't going to be easy; the Blackwell family was powerful, and Keith himself had a position in the League.

But when he took Angelus’s teenage sister Gina hostage, both Dylan and Angelus set out to stop the bastard once and for all. The conflict ended with Keith’s death, and took both their mortal lives too. It had also won Dylan his territory in Upper Manhattan, Angelus his in East Harlem, and both of them the grudging respect and acceptance of the League of Vampiric Peoples. It was a victory for all non-vampiric paranormals everywhere, and with them as an example the League finally started allowing them lobby for membership.

It still hadn't stopped the culls of the non-registered in time of emergencies, though. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Go ahead." They had arrived in his room. Susan helped him to his bed and made him sit on the mattress.

"Aren't you afraid? I mean, of all this?" Dylan’s watched her carefully, curious.

She laughed. "No, not at all. I know you are people like my son – Jason, Kae, Bunny, Doctor Sacco, Anna, Professor Frasier, good people out there. You're not monsters, and the monsters really are no different than criminals with guns or bombs." She tilted her head. "Why?"

"My mom was always afraid."

"Of this world?"

"Yeah. She couldn't understand it, and it scared her. But you’re lucky, Mrs. Liberi, because you know Angelus is helping people, he is a hero." He leaned his good arm on his knees and wrapped his fingers around his sling. "I know you’re worried about him getting a job. It’s not easy out there. Job stuff… it took me how many years to get my own place up and running? And hell, if it wasn’t for Liam’s help, I’d never be able to afford the location anyway."

"Angelus hasn’t even attempted to look for employment outside of your café because he knows the world is stacked against black people. He’s trying to help the people living in his community by using every resource he has for himself, but it’s time for him to focus on himself." Susan said. "And I’m certain that’s why he’s working at your café. To him, it’s about making it fair for those of us who have been held back in the race in the first place and we have. He’s determined to do it all himself without handouts from elders. He’s too stubborn to see both Jason and Liam have the same problems the living do, which got all of us in this mess in the first place."

Slavery, Jim Crow laws, racism, the battle for civil rights, improper housing, ghettos; people of color were still struggling to catch up with the white population. Living in the city, Dylan understood what Susan was talking about. Vampire and Demon Politics was just a reflection of the mortal world. The fight for skinchanger, Fae, ghoul, revenant and zombie rights fell neatly into similar racial/species-appearance boxes as well, and dictated who fit where in the class pecking order.

"I’m not sure if he has any idea what he wants to do." And discussing it with Angelus might be overstepping his bounds.

"Don’t you run group in the basement?"

"Yup, he helps me part time as an assistant when he has time." Dylan admitted. Truth was Angelus was a big help downstairs, and many of the kids looked up to him. “He even helps Douglas in his Career workshops if he comes down early.”

"If he wasn’t waiting tables he could." Susan told him sharply. " Or playing DJ at Ed Woods', or playing the heavy for Filipe."

Over the years, Angelus had done a number of jobs; he'd just never committed to anything.

"He does know how to spin tunes," Dylan told her. He also knew it was something Angelus had enjoyed at the time, but that had been fifteen years ago. "As for Filipe, he’s not a bad guy. He does a bit of hacktivism, but his heart's in the right place. He runs a very successful software company – a legit company. He’s a good contact."

He knew Filipe dabbled in the black market, about as frequently as he did with black magic. Yet who was Dyl to judge? The hunter dealt with his own brand of black magic and dark things, and Dylan trusted his friend to keep his head above water and Angelus to recognize trouble when he saw it. "What’s wrong, Mrs. Liberi?"

Susan looked sternly and he sensed a flood coming his way. He swallowed, aware he was a part of the Angelus problem. “Jason dragged both you and Angelus down the road of revenge together. And Angelus needs something more in his life than danger. He also doesn’t need to be a waiter in a café, and you know it. He’s not a rambunctious 12 year old anymore. I want him to focus on something. He’s just as responsible as you are. He’s done fine work with our community, especially with the youth! Hire him as a full-time counselor. It will convince him to finish his doctorate." She looked him in the eye and repeated herself. "He needs something more than danger in his life.”

She was right of course. Angelus was responsible, and Dylan needed to stop looking at him as a kid. Dylan swallowed. If his own head wasn’t so far up his own ass he would have seen it. He wondered what she wasn’t saying – because he could tell there was something else. “All right. You’re absolutely correct. He’d make a great full-time counselor. I’ll ask him about it the first chance I get.”

The woman’s face relaxed. “Just remember, you can’t do it all alone, Dylan. I remember Tina, Paula, John and you working at the store, watching my boy while I had to go to school and Tony worked. You kids were a team! Remember that?"

The topic change took him off guard. "Yeah, Angelus used to try to beg cupcakes from Anna. How could I forget? So Anna and I taught him how to use the big mixer in the kitchen. Fun times," Dylan said. He had the feeling he was missing the point of her comment, but saw her smile at the industrial mixer memory. Angelus had showed her how to run it.

Dylan missed Anna’s old muffin shop in SoHo. He had been just a kid then. "Look, don’t be so hard on Angelus, he does mean well. He really is just looking out for all of you. You, Tony, Gina, Felicia, the entire neighborhood, you’re his life. It’s why he does it."

"He does what he does because Angelus wants to change the world, " Susan said knowingly. She stood up, and squeezed his hand. "You know, if I could convince him to go into legal criminal justice I’d be ecstatic. It was his dream when he was a boy, but now he has different principles.”

"Has his dad talked to him about it? Jason is out to break the system from the inside; he could help. And as Tina says, the easiest way to change the system is to work from inside it. Not all lawyers and politicians are crooks," Dylan told her, lying back onto his bed. He carefully eased his legs up and around. He was wiped. "You’ll work it out."

"Maybe. You rest up. Think about what I said about you needing a team, Dylan. And don’t get my kid and yourself nearly killed again, Dylan. You won’t get off easy next time." She patted him on the leg and straightened. There was definitely something Mrs. Liberi wasn’t saying, but Dylan was too tired to poke further.

I need a team. That was a hard concept to accept. He only worked well with Louis because Louis worked the dayshift and he worked at night and for some strange reason, he thought like the elder. It was almost like they were family.

"So, you chewed Jason out too, didn’t you?" Dylan said as his eyes closed, and he found himself wanting to shut down. He heard the woman laugh.

"I surely did! He’s one hundred fifty-one years old and black man with principles! He’s supposed to be looking out for you kids. He needs to keep a better eye on you two. Neither of you had any business taking on that monster in the park without him. For God’s sake, he’s an enforcer, and the one who set the two of you up for those territories! He needs to make sure you’re safe, if he’s really doing it to take on the corruption in system!" He heard her turn and begin to walk towards the door. "Now you rest."

Her words reminded him of what Anna said about the older Vampires; Jason often forgot about how fragile the younger ones were. That included other mystical creatures; almost all of them were stronger the older they got.

Mrs. Liberi closed the door behind her.

Just great. Now he was alone, and stuck worrying about what he needed to tell Angelus about the job, and some serious soul-searching for himself. Fun times. Facing the barghest again would be easier. The worst part about running the halfway house was telling the kids that it was time to grow up. When they didn’t want to admit they were ready.

It was Angelus’s time.

 

 

 

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Demons of the Past:Revelation, Chapter 27

And after that last chapter, it's not so surprising that Varan's starting to sound a little... OFF now...

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Chapter 27.
Varan:

Dr. Sooovickalassa gave a hiss combined with a chiming rattle as that fantastic golden crest rippled; this was, I'd come to learn, an R'Thann's equivalent of an exclamation of awe. "Stable your abilities two weeks have been," he said. You appear to have reached your peak – and an impressive peak it is. On a sideband which he probably didn't mean me to see, I could also hear Possibly as strong as one of the Masters of the Dawning Light. [untranslatable curse] That he have such power while I am crippled! Still… I must suffer my Testing and prove my own worth.

"Impressive is an excellent understatement, Doctor," Kerlamin said, studying the graphs. "Congratulations on this achievement, Doctor. You have exceeded any expectations I might have had."

It had taken six months to reach this point. I'd found after three months that Shagrath was holding back when we sparred; a month later, I sensed he wasn't holding back much. Last month, I'd beaten him. I couldn't deny the occasional sense of pride and superiority any more, and to be honest why should I? There was certainly superiority present. I was approaching ultrapsi, and not just with one talent; like Shagrath, I had several high-level talents, and there wasn't a single known psi power I couldn't handle decently. I now existed on an entirely different level than normal human, or even most alien, beings could imagine. Shagrath and, presumably, our alien opposite numbers were the only others who could understand what it was that I now had. "So now what?"

"Time, I think, to try you against some threats that you will encounter in the field. You've practiced a great deal against me psionically, but you need to hone your reaction against the kind of dangers that even ordinary people can present to you."

"What in all the Seven could any of them – even one of the Five Families – manage against us? Be serious."

Shagrath smiled tolerantly. "Don't get carried away, Sasham. True, when prepared and warned there's little on a small scale that can harm us, but that 'little' can be enough. Once again you will fight against me, but this time I will play the part of an extremely competent Monitor without my psi abilities, but with all the resources of a moderate-sized base at my command. Your mission is to reach me and incapacitate the base."

"Oh," I said. "That's what you and Doctor Sooovickalassa have been working on over at the weapons testing range."

"Indeed, indeed, Commander. Modifying one of the standard assault force scenario models. You get to play the part of the entire assault force."

That was a bit daunting, I had to admit. Assault forces against a moderate sized base would have full powered armor, heavy weapons, and significant numbers. The base itself would be armed, monitored, staffed by hundreds of trained personnel. "Do I have at least the advantage of enough surprise to get inside?" I was having the uncomfortable vision of trying to reach the base against real heavy weapons fire and either Longshot Barrier or Gradient Shields, either one of which would be a sinking big problem to get around.

"Not quite so confident now, eh?" Shagrath chuckled. "But yes, I assume that with reasonably clever approaches you will have managed to enter the outer area of the base before the alarm is sounded. A rather standard assault scenario."

"Umm, what about the people involved? You can't play them all."

"They believe they are in training simulations to deal with psi assaults. From their point of view, you are just a simulation being given apparent psi abilities through some extremely complex equipment that's been installed throughout the training base."

There was an implied problem with that. "Shagrath, that means that they'll really be firing live ammunition at me and trying to kill me."

He raised an eyebrow. "Yes. Would training ammunition be a worthy test? I of course am standing by to stop the exercise if you go down, but you should, I hope, acquit yourself better than that."

I nodded. I was now no longer feeling that moment of superiority; maybe it was better that way. Overconfidence breeds failure. "And after this…?"

"Assuming you do well, only a few more training missions and then I think it may be time to advance my timetable. As I said, the project appears to have succeeded beyond my original expectations."

Finally! Getting to do something REAL! I saluted with real enthusiasm. "Then let's get to it, Sir!"

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