Ryk E. Spoor's Blog, page 20

Demons of the Past: Revelation, Chapter 20

And let's see Varan from someone else's point of view...

 

 

Chapter 20.
Shagrath:

He felt the new-built barriers around the human's mind quiver. The smile grew ever so slightly wider, though the man could hardly suspect the reason for the smile. No doubt he believed that his barrier remained a blank wall, and he himself in perfect control. Let him. At the moment, it was important to let him feel less threatened, to explain all the things around him with plausible half-truths, and discover how well the R'Thann's treatment had worked this time. From the momentary sensations, it appeared that they may well have succeeded, despite Sooovickalassa's misgivings. A good thing for the Doctor, if true.

"I sense that you've already awakened to some considerable differences, Commander." He said. "And noticed one in myself."

"You're… you're a psionic." He had to give credit to Varan's discipline. Despite what must be a truly horrific surprise, only a small hesitation and a widening of the eyes – and a rather amusing attempt to stiffen the mental barrier he had managed to erect – showed the confusion and fear that the Navy officer must be undergoing.

"Yes." He dropped the smile, let the expression become one of great weariness. "The only sane human psionic alive, Commander, and I have no idea why… or whether I will wake up tomorrow with the first symptoms of madness growing in me.

"Why do you think I, personally, imposed multiple checkups on the mental profiling of all Monitors – including myself? Undoubtedly, Commander, I am a criminal – technically – under our own laws. I cannot argue that. But I knew I was perfectly sane. I also knew how much the Empire needed people like me. I worked my way up, using my powers as sparingly as possible, never harming anyone as far as I know." The last sentence was really quite amusing, as it was true… depending on how one defined "anyone". If by that word you meant "humans", well, it was a bald-faced lie. But if by that you meant "people", as in, those of your own kind, it was perfectly true.

"But…" Varan appeared to be at a loss. Excellent. It meant that he was starting to buy the explanation – which was, if you accepted the Imperial ideals, a perfectly reasonable one.

"Commander, you can walk out of this room and denounce me," he said gravely. "And, perhaps, you would be able to make that denunciation stick. You have many friends in high places. But I have done everything for the sake of the Empire. I have protected the Empire from psionic spies, and from madmen, and I have devoted this entire project to a dual ideal, one that I sincerely hope you share: firstly, to make the Empire capable, finally, of defending itself from alien psionics without using men and women who are doomed to becoming, themselves, alien enemies to be destroyed. Secondly, to find the answer to why I am not like others, why all the others go mad, and to make it so that it never happens again – so that those who awaken with these powers will know joy, not horror."

He watched the expressions that shifted subtly over the dark-skinned face. He could, of course, just brush aside the human's defenses and find out exactly what he was thinking, but it wasn't necessary – yet. If he was the paragon he seemed to be, he'd come to cooperate from idealism. If, as seemed more likely to Shagrath, he was a man who simply had never encountered something that really tested his morals, he would come to enjoy the power and be easily led to be a more useful tool. In all his very long years, he'd encountered vanishingly few paragons; almost all beings were corruptible if you found the right bait, and the bait of power over other minds and the world around you was, perhaps, the most universal of them.

Varan seemed to have come to some kind of decision. The mindwall stopped wavering but relaxed slightly, letting hints of emotion and thought come through. The man was still unsettled, nervous, but loyal to the Empire, and there was already a touch of eagerness relating to the power… ah, there, an image, he'd tested telekinesis already. Very good. "What about the madness, sir?" Varan finally said. "If it does come on you fairly quickly, what safeguard do you have to make sure that you can't, well…"

"…do a great deal of critical damage to the Empire? Well asked, Commander. I have entrusted my secret to a very few people – one, for example, is Borell Dellitama – who have both actual files on my nature, and an intention to never be caught outside of a psi-shielded area. If I begin to act in a peculiar fashion, or attempt to see them in certain ways, they will sound the alert across the Empire. These people have been allies and friends of mine, but they are also very much citizens of the Empire; two members of the Five Families, a few top members of the Guards and Navy. Yes, as Prime Monitor I could assist many of them to their positions. They know that part of my reason for this is specifically to ensure that I cannot become the monster that I fear."

Again, truths… and lies. Borell Dellitama did indeed know what Shagrath truly was, but that was because he was not, strictly speaking, Borell Dellitama any more; similarly this was true of the other people he had mentioned. He wished he could do the same for everyone in positions of power, but for many reasons he did not dare, yet. Soon, but not yet.

Varan nodded. "I see. Well, sir, what I guess I need to know is, what next?"

"Next, Commander, Doctor Sooovickalassa will examine you and subject you to a variety of tests. Have you done any experimentation yet?"

The Navy officer looked slightly guilty and embarrassed. "A… few. I learned how to shut off the mindvoices I heard outside, and to listen in on specific ones after a while. And … I moved that noteclamp."

"Telekinesis and telepathy already. Perhaps … just perhaps… we have succeeded this time. We can only hope." He noted that if Varan already had that level of control, he might be unusually sensitive. Best to tell his very special allies to keep a good distance; while it was unlikely even a powerful human psionic could detect them, it was better to be safe than sorry, at least at the early stage. No point in taking risks. The role he envisioned for Commander Varan would be best played by a man who thought he knew exactly what the situation was, and acted from what he believed were the best motives… or, in the case of someone not entirely pure of heart, from what he believed were the most practical motives. Either one would work.

What would not work – at least, not nearly as well – would be for Varan to suspect the existence of unseen forces within the Empire. "For a while, Commander, we will simply be testing you. Remember that our prior experiments seemed to work, then faded. If it seems that you are maintaining your abilities, we will then see what you are fully capable of, and then determine assignments for you. Some of them will undoubtedly be to seek out other men of your potential. Others will naturally be to locate and eliminate psionic spies, or rogue psis, from within the Empire. But I can assure you, we will have a great deal for you to do!" He laughed.

Varan managed a laugh, despite clearly still having to recover from multiple shocks. A rogue wisp of thought indicated that he was still worried about discovering that the Monitor was a psi; unsurprising, and in fact expected. But he'd be used to the idea in a few days. "I have no doubt of it, sir." He tried to stand, had a surprised look on his face as he almost fell.

"No, no, Commander. Don't rush things. I know you're the sort to do so, but it won't do now. The treatment affects your entire neural system, and has obvious side effects on the rest of you. I want you to take it very easy until Doctor Sooovickalassa is ready to examine you, and then you will follow his instructions precisely. Do you understand, Commander? No exaggeration of your undoubted toughness, no pretense to feeling better than you are. Every symptom, howsoever small, may be relevant to the success or failure of the experiment, and you are not to take any risks in this area. Bravado will not make you look better. Understood?"

Commander Varan nodded, sinking back into the bed with a chagrined expression. "Understood, sir."

"Then, until later, Commander." He gave the hated Sign, saw it returned, and left.

He made sure he was well away from that section of the base before he opened his mind to a particular level, a sensation he found pleasant but, he suspected, a human psionic would find most distressing. Attend my commands. All shall depart the capital until I send word otherwise.

The reply was an echoing shriek, a many-layered scream of warming hunger and comforting bitter hatred. The reason?

I take no chances with my mission. You have no need to know the details at this time.

A waterfall of images, of probabilities and estimations of events. You remove us from the center of things. Advancement and control will progress more slowly. It was not an argument, but a statement and a warning; his allies did not wish to lose the advantages they had gained. Quite understandable, of course, and normally he would agree. But this man…

Your concerns are noted. You will still depart.

His allies had other roles to play elsewhere. He could attend to Oro himself. And if the play unfolded as he had scripted it, Commander Sasham Varan would do more than any to bring about the ending Shagrath intended.

 

 

 

The post Demons of the Past: Revelation, Chapter 20 appeared first on Ryk E. Spoor, Author, Gamer, Geek God.

French Roast Apocalypse: Chapter 12

Dylan and Angelus were on the hunt...

 

Chapter 12.

New York City, 2010

It didn’t take long for the two of them to reach Iphigene’s Walk, a paved walkway that cut though the east end of the lush thickets. It was a beautiful, secluded path that led deep into thirty-seven acres of thick foliage. Using the path, they could, eventually, divert to one of the other trails if necessary.

"This could take forever." Angelus said as they trudged down the walkway.

"Could be," Dylan said. "Like they say about fishing, there's a reason they call it 'hunting' and not 'catching'. Though in this case there's a little more urgency."

"It’s the urgency that pisses me off." Angelus stopped walking and peered into the brush beyond. "Don’t see a thing moving; just plants. You’d think a dog the size of a cow would stand out."

"It blends and hides in the shadows." Dylan came up next to him and peered into the flora. The leaves were yellow and orange and he made out vines and thick branches. A light breeze rustled the foliage but Dylan could see no unnatural movement. "Besides, city boy, you'd be surprised at how close you can come to a cow without noticing them in the right conditions. And this thing's a hunter. It hides. It waits. It strikes. Camouflage is something it does real well."

He gave another look, then shook his head and turned away. "It’s off the path."

"You sure? I’m hearing all sorts of things in there, scraping, scuttling, little heart beats, real quiet."

"I tune most of that stuff out." When he thought about it, he did hear those sounds. Deep in the brush, animals lived in the ground or hid in the trees or under brambles. They breathed, slept, ate, and scuttled about. His revenant senses were keen enough to pick them up. Early on, he had quickly learned to tune that kind of background noise out by focusing his attention on what he wanted to see or hear. "Don’t let it distract you."

"It’s the rhythm of life, bro," Angelus said with a snarky grin.

"And you’re full of crap, dude." The words were barely out of his mouth when he realized that this was exactly what they were looking for. Or, to be exact, not looking for. "That’s it! That’s how we find it: we listen for no sounds. Animals won’t like having it around."

"I thought nature loved Fae."

"This isn’t an ordinary Fae, it’s a reaper, little brother," Dylan reminded him. "Animals like them as much as they like us. Maybe less. Like a shark passing by, everything'll go quiet when it's close."

Angelus shrugged, but looked pleased they had another clue to look for. Truth was, Dylan didn’t blame him for his impatience. He felt the same way; he didn’t like the idea of losing another day to the monster. This was his town, and nothing hunted mortals in his park. It was as simple as that.

They diverted off the main path into the woods. There were lots of places to look: alcoves, rocky streams, dark nooks, and shaded paths covered by brush, perfect for shadowy monsters to conceal themselves while waiting for the evening. But it was only when they closed in on the territory close to the Bow Bridge that Dylan sensed the lack of animal activity.

     Yes. It was quieter. No scurrying, a lot less breathing, no nibbling; New York’s famous rodents were staying clear of the area.

The air was still, and the revenant felt his gut tighten. Something was watching. Something waiting. He did a slow circle and focused his gaze on the thickets, with their leaves and stony ground surrounding them.

Long shadows stretched from the tall oaks and moonlight filtered through the leafy canopy above. There were lots of places for a monster to hide.

At his side, Angelus removed the safety to his pistol and took position against his back.

Smart move, I keep forgetting he’s been hunting monsters preying in the streets, he heard it … or didn't hear it… too. They needed to watch each other’s backs. Dylan cocked his barrel and studied the surrounding woods. It was there. He could feel it. The hairs of the back of his neck rose, and he saw the trace of fiery black against the shadows just at the edge of his vision.

There you are. "Two o'clock, near the tree line," he murmured, trying not to make much noise.

"What I wouldn’t give for movie vampire powers about now." Angelus said, edging carefully around, staring at the shadows that were moving in a way no natural shadow should.

Insubstantial eyes glinted in darkness, and it howled. The eerie, ungodly sound pierced the air and boomed across the landscape like a crack of thunder, and shook the two young men standing before it to their very core. Trees trembled, and leaf litter swirled around the thing's legs as if caught in a whirlwind.

Slowly it grew more substantial. Its muscular body coalesced from the shadows, the monstrous head with its naked skull held low as it growled menacingly. The barghest was huge, with a blazing mane of black that burned down its stocky and powerful frame. It looks more like a dire wolf than a hound, Dylan thought, hands gripping his weapons tighter. The thing's eyes blazed with blue-green fire, like a wide-open Bunsen burner.

Its front legs were longer than the rear, and armed with dark dagger-like talons. Its teeth were finger-long and deadly sharp.

"It’s bigger than a cow." Angelus observed.

"They did say ‘motherfuckin' huge’ " Dylan pointed out, not taking his eyes from the monster. "Guess that's New York for ‘big as a cab’."

With a second howl, it charged. The wave of sound hammered at him, but Dylan had braced himself. Being dead had its advantages; his heart didn’t beat, he didn't sweat, all that stuff; the fear that it produced couldn't affect him physically. But that didn't protect him from the other effects; the hideous sound hammered at his mind, drowning him in doubts and the desire to run.

But Dylan refused to yield to the terror. He was a revenant. He was the embodiment of implacable vengeance against anything that crossed his path, anything that threatened those under his protection. He felt the terror ebbing away, replaced by familiar, raging fury. Before the barghest had covered a quarter the distance, Dylan brought up the shotgun and pulled the trigger, pumped, fired, pumped and fired again. Three blasts of buckshot driven with a heavy load screamed towards the charging monster.

It dove aside from the first shot, but an attempt to also evade Angelus' first shot sent it straight into the second; half its face was blasted to fragmented ruin, and it reared up, roaring in agonized rage.

Another shot from Angelus’s weapon passed right through the animal and exploded into a tree. "Mafankulo!"

Dylan closed in, firing again and again as he approached. The thing bellowed its rage again, but as fast as the shotgun blasts pulverized it, the shadowy flesh and bone reconstituted, pulling itself back together in an abominable display of ghoulish resilience. It shouldn't be able to do it that fast!

The magic was stronger… but so were the monsters. Dylan cursed to himself as the barghest's shattered skull pushed itself back together, crackling and crunching with the sound of bones breaking in reverse. Damn. Ordinary iron buckshot wasn't cutting it. It'd have to be cold iron if he wanted to do any real damage.

"Drop it, Angelus, that thing's laughing at you. Catch!"

True to his word, the vampire didn't ask questions, just slammed his own weapon into its holster in time to catch Dylan’s shotgun.

"Cover me; that'll at least slow it down," he told Angelus. This way, he doesn’t go home a corpse, and Tony and Susan still have a hell of a son and he keeps the monster off me.

This thing used shadows as a shield; it thought that being on the border of darkness, the lurker at the threshold of the dead, was its shield and sword. Well, it was in for a serious surprise. He was a revenant. He walked that border between life and death, and that meant he could kill things like this. With a flick of his wrist, Baby Doll was out, and Dylan O’Reily let the rage of the revenant take him.

The beast lunged just as he swung the bat, so the cold iron spikes only raked its underbelly, but this time the screech was one of shock and pain; blood flowed, and showed no sign of immediately stopping. That hurt it!

The barghest skidded over the leaves, trying to turn on Dylan, to rend this insolent little creature that dared to hurt it.

But the shotgun thundered again, and though the wounds it dealt were not mortal, still they hurt, still they slowed and broke things that had to be fixed before the barghest could move well again. "Over here, you ugly bastard!" Angelus shouted, and fired again. With a pained snarl, the beast swiveled its head and charged the vampire.

The thing was fast, but Angelus was, too, with the speed of youth combined with the superhuman talents of an undead. He'd slung the gun over his shoulder and swung himself up into a tree just before the thing swiped at him. A human would have been dead, caught six feet from the tree.

"Hey! Over here, shithead!" Dylan shouted as loud as he could. He braced himself, as the beast turned, its fiery eyes narrowing menacingly. It's actually not very bright; can't focus on more than one thing at a time. It growled, showing its fangs, and despite his recent judgment Dylan thought he saw a glint of intelligence in those flame-bright orbs. "You’re in my side of the park, Fido, my territory! These people are under my protection! They’re not yours to take! I’m giving you one warning: go now, or I’m sending you straight back to hell where you belong!"

From the shelter of his tree, Angelus took another bead on the barghest.

The creature tilted its head, and began stalking in a circle around Dylan. Its glowing eyes narrowed. And then Dylan suddenly had no doubt it was intelligent, because the barghest spoke. "You, revenant, send me to hell? I prey on the weak, the old, the very young, and the unborn. I am death! How dare you, a mere revenant, tell me where I can hunt?" As it spoke, its head tilted, as if daring him to reply.

It was majestic in its own way, Dylan had to give it that. He hadn’t seen a spirit like this one before. Most of the Fae he had encountered were weak cowardly things easily dispatched by iron, and a sprinkle of salt, but this thing was in an entirely different league.

Still, it was challenging him on his turf. "I’ve heard that one before," Dylan said, petting Baby Doll with his free hand. He smiled, well aware his long canines were showing. He could only stay out of the frenzy for so long. It was an effort to keep control; he wanted to kill, but he always gave his opponents a chance. Most of the time, they pissed it away. "And everyone who's ever copped that attitude with me has taken a permanent dirt nap. Get outta my territory, or you’ll be joining them real fast!"

The creature gave a low laugh. "You are overconfident, revenant."

True, he often was overconfident, but he rarely thought about it when he lost himself to the revenant. And really, was it overconfidence? So far, he'd found that everything died if you hit it enough.

The warning was done, the monster had declined. It circled him, and Dylan followed it, slowly turning, his attention riveted to the immaterial tendons in its back legs as they flexed, moments before it sprang. Dylan swung the bat up and around, its sharp spikes hammering into the monster’s skull. The impact was so powerful the barghest’s head was driven to the ground, leaves and dust blown outward by the impact.

With a crunching snap of splintering bone, Dylan wrenched the weapon free, but the barghest was far from done. With a furious snarl, the barghest’s head snapped around and seized the bat before he could bring it down. It braced its legs and shook the bat from side to side, whipping Dylan back and forth before hurling them both aside.

The revenant rolled with the fall and sprang upright, his body one with the weapon in hand. It would take more than a toss to bring him down. A lot more.

From the tree, Angelus watched, gun still in hand. His heightened reflexes allowed him to follow the battle, and gun was still trained on the beast, but without cold iron, Dylan knew there wasn’t much his vampire friend could do. Just as well. It keeps him safe and out of the way.

Baby Doll, the fists of a revenant, and balls as big as church bells were the only things capable of touching this monster.

That might not be enough.

He clashed with the thing again, but the beast leapt to the side and the bat only grazed its shoulder. Claws flashed out, caught Dylan across the chest, tearing away cloth and flesh. He felt no pain when he lost himself to the berserker, though. Deep reddish black ooze smeared his shirt and his duster, and down his chest, but that didn't weaken him. It only fueled the rage further, and the revenant lashed out, weapon jackhammering down on the creature's hide in a blur of motion.

The barghest pivoted with unnatural speed and reared, then spun its body sidewise, a body-check by a runaway car. The impact sent Dylan tumbling, but he got his body under control. Bat in hand, he ducked and twisted around the great claws when it reared up, brought Baby Doll down on its back. It bellowed in frustration and jackknifed around, the massive body just missing him. But he'd cut it too close; the rotting stench of its breath overwhelmed everything as the barghest's jaws caught him, ripped him from his feet. The Fae monster shook Dylan like a rag doll, daggerlike teeth sinking deep into his gut, crushing his lower ribs and his useless organs.

Then it began to penetrate that despite his indomitable nature, his unlimited rage, he was weakening. It was draining him.

Clarity returned with the sure knowledge of his peril. This was one of the few things that could kill a revenant: something that consumed the soul, the spiritual power that drove him. Trapped in its maw, he would die for real, and he’d never see his wife again. He strained against the vise-grip of the thing's jaws, and it chuckled. It saw the realization in his eyes, and knew that only a few moments of time remained to Dylan.

The blast of a shotgun echoed in his ears, and the barghest staggered and yelped involuntarily. Dylan wrenched himself from the thing's mouth and tumbled weakly to the ground, fetching up against the wide base of an oak.

The great black beast turned its attention to Angelus. The vampire was on the ground, shotgun in hand, waving to the thing with a devilish smirk. "Hey! What’s a matter you? Don’t recognize a good challenge when you see one? Come and get me, you big stupid furball!"

He's going to run out of rounds, and sooner rather than later, Dylan thought dully as he tried to stand. His legs weren’t responding properly and it was hard to walk. Had it fractured his spine? Possibly; his toes tingled, and though it was supernatural power that flowed through his body, keeping it moving, that flow might have been disrupted by the energy drain.

Staggering but staying upright with the tree for support, he forced himself to his feet. Baby Doll still hung from his fingers; a good weapon was a part of a hunter. You kept hold of your weapon at all costs… or you'd pay the one cost you couldn't afford.

But he still couldn't run, he could barely stand, and that meant he could only watch as the barghest charged Angelus. The young vampire didn't flinch but fired repeatedly, missing as the thing dodged twice but then catching it full on the chest with the third blast. Angelus barely evaded the barghest as it thundered by, a runaway train from hell, but in doing so the monster ended up between him and his tree.

A vicious chuckle rumbled from the barghest; it knew that as long as the battle remained on the ground, it would eventually catch Angelus as it had caught Dylan. Showing no sign of the fear that must be boiling inside of him, the vampire steadied the gun, so it was level with the beast’s head as the barghest came back around.

A shout, and a dark form dressed in baggy dark pants and a heavy black and grey hoodie streaked into view between Angelus and the barghest. Even with the supernatural creature's speed, it couldn't evade the barrage of fire from a submachine gun; the bullets stitched a line from one side of the thing to the other.

But the newcomer, crazy-brave though he was, obviously hadn't a clue what he was facing. Probably not even any regular iron in the bullets, Dylan thought bleakly, and the barghest showed barely any sign of being hit. It seized the boy in its maw and began to shake him like a dog playing tug-of-war.

"Motherfucker!!" Angelus, given those few seconds, had recovered, and fired into the beast’s flank, forcing it to drop its bleeding prey and turn on him. The vampire realized that it was too close quarters for the shotgun and dropped it, whipping a long, gleaming knife from a sheath strapped to his hip. "Come get it, Cujo!"

The barghest rammed into the vampire as Angelus plunged his knife into its chest. The monster howled in pain and fury – there was iron in that blade! But that just enraged the thing, and one tremendous cuff of a gigantic paw sent the vampire, still clinging to the dagger, flying into the leaf litter near the sprawled form of the kid who'd tried to save him.

Dylan had no time to think. Angelus, this new kid, all this was a bigger mess than he had planned for. The barghest needed to die now. Dylan raced forward, his regeneration having finally given him legs that worked, Baby Doll raised as he closed the distance between him and the monster.

But the barghest wasn't finished with Angelus; it leapt upon the young vampire and the two rolled over and over, supernatural strength of the vampire contesting with the hunger and sheer size of the barghest. Steel flashed thrice as Angelus buried it hilt-deep in the monster's belly.

Anger returned, washing away weakness, and Dylan tore into battle. The bat smashed into the monstrous shadow-dog, over and over, until it released the vampire and returned its attention to the revenant. "That’s right, I’m back," Dylan said, with a humorless grin. "I'm a revenant, you bastard. I always come back!"

Bleeding, Angelus, rolled to his side, his clothing torn. His movements were slow, but he was still alive, or at least as alive as any vampire could be.

The barghest snarled. Angelus’s blow had hurt it. "I can put a stop to that, and you know it! I tire of you, revenant! It is time to send you to hell where you belong!" With a lightning-fast leap it was upon him. It took all Dylan’s strength to block it with his bat and he still felt himself weakening!

Then Baby Doll snapped, even the cold-iron reinforcement giving way, and the monstrous jaws wrenched it free from Dylan’s hands and then snapped at his throat. Dylan barely managed to roll enough so it plowed its face into the ground, but that wasn't enough. He didn't even have time to finish rolling to his feet before the thing's great maw clamped back down on him, stabbing and crushing him with finger-long teeth. This… HURTS.

Gritting his now-pointed teeth, he found himself being tossed again, this time feeling a great chunk of himself missing, ripped away – probably a good piece of his torso or guts.

He landed in a sprawling heap on the ground, and forced himself to stand again. He didn’t dare look at himself. He knew it was bad. All he could do was keep moving, and make the kill.

If he could. For the first time, he felt an actual twinge of doubt. He'd never fought anything like this barghest before. It was too fast, too strong, too magical for him to kill as he'd killed the others.

Across the clearing, Angelus quickly eased himself and the bleeding kid against an oak. The boy was shivering at the approach of death, and Dylan saw Angelus hold the boy close as if to comfort him as he passed.

The sight of the boy – a complete outsider, someone who never had any reason to be involved – passing in front of him brought Dylan to a peak of rage. "That's it, you mangy mutt. You're going down."

It roared and came at him, and he found himself slamming it with his fists, punching with the furious, unstoppable strength of a revenant, over and over and over, interrupting its every attack, shutting its mouth with pounding knuckles. It backed off for a moment, stunned, puzzled. Its skull was cracked, its ears misshapen. It bled, it limped, and it did not look nearly as smug as it had only a few minutes before.

But it gathered itself again and charged with full speed. Its claws caught him across the face, sending him into an outcropping of rock. The impact stunned him, and he felt more blood flowing sluggishly from his face.

This was worse than bad. He was going to rival Filipe in the ugly contest for a week or so when this was over, if he lived to see that week. He tried to lift himself, but his right arm was twisted at an odd angle, broken. As the beast lowered its jaws towards him, he felt the weakness growing. Oh crap. Is this it?

A roar of thunder, and blood splattered across his face and the stone nearby. The barghest howled in pain and surprise, and bolted into the shadows.

Rolling weakly to a crouching stance, Dylan saw a tall, dark-skinned figure standing on the rail of the Bow Bridge, wearing a long brown coat, blue shirt, black tie, black slacks and a police badge hanging from his pocket. "Thought you guys might need a little a little backup. Good thing too; looks like you just got your asses handed to you!"

It was Jason Knight.

 

 

 

The post French Roast Apocalypse: Chapter 12 appeared first on Ryk E. Spoor, Author, Gamer, Geek God.

Demons of the Past: Revelation, Chapter 19

While being a lab animal, Varan had made a nasty discovery...

-----

 

Chapter 19.
Varan:

Aching pain. Fear. Red-black light. Mumbling voices, whispers, shouts of half-understood words, thundering nausea in my gut, horror waiting, waiting to emerge when I could remember the reason. I heard a gabble of nonsense:

…wait to get Off of that you will isn't the HEY THE READINGS JUMPED hope she doesn't catch TC Conversion Radius 10,119.5, that's a little Oh, sink it, I'll have to I'LL LET THE PRIME MONITOR KNOW Six and One…

Only it was worse than that, the words not separate but dozens of them all at once, yet somehow all trying to make sense, and behind it all a faint yet piercing chorus of whispering cold voices that spoke no language I understood. The words "PRIME MONITOR" caused the horror to leap screaming out of the darkness. I shook my head against that memory, felt actual feeble movement, and the physical sensation was enough to anchor me, remind me that I was still alive NOW, but how much longer was in question. I grasped at that feeble thought, tried to focus, past the fear, past the sick queasiness and blood-red pain. Once more I turned to the best discipline I knew, to the White Vision, the comfort of blankness, a whiteout of a blizzard on Korealis, nothing save the brightness of the sun spread even and soft and crystal-pure.

The pain tried to increase, but the nausea retreated, and the hideous gabble of voices began to fade. I felt… odd, something else strange in my head, cool and smooth and blade-sharp reinforcing my meditation in a way I'd never imagined and couldn't… quite… understand. But right now I needed the relief, the clarity of silence, as I'd never needed it before, so I accepted the alien assistance, built on it, vaulted straight from White Vision past yet touching all of Heart Center, Red Vision, Hand Center, Clear Vision, Deep Center, Wind Vision, to the High Center and the uttermost quiet of the self.

And it was quiet, a quiet that was both normal and suddenly unfamiliar, as though while I lay unconscious I'd become accustomed to a thundrous tide of incomprehensible voices. I opened my eyes.

The bright white light stung for a moment, but no worse than usual after a long time sleeping. I was in a clean, high-ceilinged room, painted in whites with rose and gold highlights, with the scanning and recording equipment expected in a top hospital room. An intravenous line ran into my arm, and as I sat up, the door opened. For a split second I was sure it was Shagrath and my heart tried to give a panicked leap and go straight to TC Conversion out of my chest. I just barely managed to hold on to High Center.

But it was a pretty, dark-haired Healer. "Awake at last, Commander Varan! That's a relief!" She gave me the Sign, which I returned rather shakily. "I've notified the Prime Monitor, but even though he's been very interested in your condition he says he won't be able to get here for a while."

She helped me sit up, the bed following me and adjusting automatically. "D…Doctor Sooovickalassa?" I asked, my voice being awfully weak after … how long? … without being used.

"The R'Thann? He's on sleep cycle. Checked up on you a few hours ago."

I cautiously relaxed, maintaining my interior focus, but trying to feel my way around the… mental area? Part of my mind? There weren't good words for this… where I'd been hearing those babbling voices. I felt that cold, smooth alien presence in my head seem to … slide back? … a bit, and I heard that one voice, the one that had seemed to blare out far louder than all the others, but much fainter, with only the slightest trace of the other babblings in the background: …looks still almost ready to faint. Poor man. I wonder what the project is, exactly? If the Prime Monitor's directly involved, it must mean something important. If I can do well on this assignment, it might…

She was turning away, going for something on one of the counters to one side, when it penetrated my understanding: those had to be her thoughts. I was hearing what she was thinking.

I was a telepath. A psionic! The treatment had worked!

The impact of that realization caused me to shake my head in denial and disbelief and confusion. I would never have expected such impact from so ambivalent a reaction; I was simultaneously excited, revolted, terrified, worried, exultant… A dozen reactions, and all of them extreme. I sagged back into the cushions.

Then my practical side took over. I had to figure out if I was really hearing her thoughts or not. I opened my eyes again and watched as she came over with a set of hand scanners. "What's your name, Healer?"

A split second before she actually answered, I heard: My name's Lorri Vanya. Healer Lorri Vanya... Yes, I actually made Healer, just three weeks ago... Towers, that was hard, scary-hard testing, but I did make it. And you might just make my career go places if you're as important as I think you are, Commander Varan…

The soundless monologue continued as she said, "Vanya. Lorri Vanya."

Verified. I'd known her name before she said it. And, I realized, I'd heard several sentences in the time it'd taken her to process the question – surely one of the easiest questions anyone could be asked – and start to answer. Let me verify one of the other pieces of information that had come from that stream of thought, I decided. One's mind is a funny thing, and it was possible I'd convinced myself I'd heard the name in my head before she answered. But there was a specific piece of information in that stream of thought, and if I could verify it in words… "Can I get something to eat?" I asked to continue the conversation, as she finished running the hand scanners up and down me to verify the automatics' readings.

"Certainly, Commander. A little light broth first, to make sure you keep it down, and then something more substantial."

She went to the unikitchen on the other side of the room. "How are you feeling?"

"Headache. Seems to be fading a little. I was sick to my stomach earlier, but that's gone." I debated with myself about some of my other symptoms, decided not to mention them yet.

"Not surprising after any major experimental work. Clearly not surgery – no wounds – but I'd guess it's a neuro experiment."

I raised an eyebrow. "You're good. Been a Healer a while, I'd guess."

She laughed. "I may be good, but I'm afraid not from experience. Got my Healer ring only three weeks ago, and it felt like just barely, too." She turned back from the little food preparation unit, a small tray in her hands.

No doubt about it. That time I knew how long she'd been a Healer and how hard she felt it was, even before I brought up the subject. I was really reading her mind. I shivered slightly at the thought, making me almost drop the soup as Lorri handed it to me."Careful, Commander!"

"Sorry. Call me Sasham, anyway. Commander is for when I'm in uniform, which I'm clearly not right now."

She smiled. "Very well, Sasham." I like that accent he has. And he's not bad looking now that he's not so pale. This was accompanied by a very personal evaluation of my physique in images as well as words; I was starting to notice that even individuals had layers of parallel thoughts, multiple threads of cogitation moving simultaneously. I was however more aware of the nature of those thoughts than of the interesting philosophical implications thereof.

If I hadn't been in High Center already, I think I might have given myself away by a blush or worse. I kept eating the soup, but quickly forced myself back into the pure quiet, sealing off my perception of her thoughts, feeling guilty and angry. I had no business hearing what other people thought. "You say the Prime Monitor won't be here for a while?" I said, trying to keep my voice under control – interested, maybe eager, but certainly not scared, that was the impression to project.

"I'm not sure how long, C – Sasham, but he gave the impression that it might be an hour or so before he could get free of prior commitments."

I smiled. It felt incredibly phony to me, but she didn't seem to notice anything wrong. "Well, there's no hurry. I'm not going anywhere right now, and I don't think he'll be doing any tests until the good Doctor is up."

"Probably, but he had left very emphatic instructions that he be notified the very moment you were awake." She lowered her voice and almost whispered, "He sounded very annoyed that he wasn't able to come down immediately."

I gave an assenting, noncommital nod. "Unfortunately I can't discuss exactly why that might be, Lorri." I closed my eyes a moment. "The soup seems to be okay, but I think I'll wait a while on anything else. Maybe rest until the Monitor gets here."

"Press the call button if you need anything, then. Seven Standing, Commander." She gave me the Sign, which I returned with the usual "Standing and Unfallen" and the Sign.

As the door closed behind her, I sagged back into the cushions. Torline's SWORDS! What in the name of all the worlds was I going to do? I had a momentary impulse to grab my clothes and get out of here. Except I had only the vaguest idea where "here" was – somewhere on the three hundred-plus square kilometers of Silan-Luria base, I was pretty sure – and even if I knew, where was I going to go? I was that classic and hackneyed staple of mediocre adventure stories since probably the days of Atlantaea, the Man Who Knew Too Much. Running would tell Shagrath exactly what I knew. That the Prime Monitor wasn't what he appeared to be. That he wasn't even the species he appeared to be. He wasn't interested in the safety of the Empire, or of any of the people around him. The mind I'd glimpsed in that incandescent, dark-glowing rage was monstrous, something I could only call Demonic. I shuddered, as the realization and dread sank deeper. Demonic, exactly. Perhaps Shagrath was a Demon. Atlantaea's memory lived on; its descendants were rebuilding. Perhaps the ones who brought low the Seven Towers had their own descendants, ones who saw the Empire as a new threat or an offense.

But to most people, that would be the talk of a madman, or at least a foolish Seeker fanatic. Especially since I hadn't a single shred of evidence. I'd learned what I knew by pure random chance, and at the moment, Shagrath didn't know I knew anything. There was no sane reason for me to try to escape. Be upset, yes, be confused, in pain, angry, whatever, but no reason to run. I'd volunteered for the treatment, knowing what it was supposed to do to me.If I was going to get out of this alive, I had to convince him I was still a loyal, reliable servant of the Empire who still thought of him as I had just a couple of days ago… or a couple of days plus however much time I'd been out.

Another terrible, deep pain struck me then, of the betrayal involved. Part of it was simply personal: I had believed in the Shagrath I had seen there, the man who held possibly the most lonely, dangerous position in all the Empire, the watcher over all security, yet surrounded by people who watched him to make sure that he didn't abuse that position. I had believed in him, been convinced by the sincerity he projected, the knowledge of decisions made that would cost the lives of good people across the Empire even if the decision was the right one. And it had all been a lie, and worse, a lie that he was getting away with telling to the entire Galaxy.

That was the other part of the horror. This monster stood at the right hand of the Emperor, directed policy across the Fleets, Navy and Guardsmen alike. The Five Families advised; the Emperor ordered. But the Prime Monitor was the source of much of their information, was the guiding hand in many choices. A fresh shock of horror hit me. How many things like him WERE there? How many of the people I saw every day were like him? Was he alone, or were there dozens, hundreds, thousands of his sort?

I shook my head again and focused. Those questions weren't relevant now. I had to survive long enough to make them relevant, and that meant I had to be ready to confront Shagrath. I had to focus on my cover story – what had so few hours ago been the honest truth – and make myself believe it, or at least make it look like I did. I might have to do this for weeks. But I had to do it. I had to succeed. If I didn't, even if there was only Shagrath, the Empire was in deadly danger. And one part of the act would be pure truth. I still served the Empire I was sworn to twenty years ago.

So. Loyal Sasham Varan. Psionic, now. Shocked by the swiftness that it worked, okay, that's good. Bit horrified by reading people's minds, there's some truth, and it's what would have been truth anyway. Curious about what else I can do. Eager to return to duty – what kind of assignments will I have? I had to wonder, actually, what Shagrath was up to. Whatever it was, it couldn't be good. Could it be that he actually WANTED disasters like the Black Dragon? Ugh.

Come on, Sasham. Keep focused on the task at hand. The High Center had to be maintained – it gave me an anchor and calmness to use inside, to guide my actions in reaction that seemed instantaneous yet was fully considered. Now, what would I be doing while waiting?

"Examining my abilities, of course." I answered myself. Scared, repelled, or not, this was the purpose of the program, and I wouldn't waste time trying to pretend they didn't exist.

All right… clearly that incomprehensible babble I'd heard before came from a lot of minds within my range. I'd managed to lower my defenses partly before; the question now was, could I sort out all those voices? It seemed possible to at least some extent; I'd heard Lorri Vanya, but the other voices had been filtered, almost inaudible. But that was the simple approach: listen to the loudest noise. Could I do the equivalent of what most people can do in a crowded room – listen to a particular voice or particular noise, even if it isn't the loudest?

I tried relaxing the barrier again. The babble started to come through; I heard Lorri Vanya's nearby voice, a chaotic hum of other voices from whispers to distant shouts underneath. I tried to focus past the obvious noise of Lorri's thoughts. At first it didn't seem to work. Instead, I heard her louder than ever; the more I focused on trying to both stay "open" to reception and yet push her thoughts away, the more I heard from her – and the more underlayers of thought I started seeing. I shut down, backed off. Not the right way to do it.

A moment's thought showed me the likely error I was making. No matter what my initial attempt's purpose was, the actuality was that I had been focusing my actual attention on Lorri's thought-voice. If that was the problem, I had to reverse the approach. I had to pick out some particular other thought-voice and try to focus on it directly.

This time I opened enough to hear the faint babble and distinguish the garbled, intermingled word-thoughts. I picked up on one fragment that was repeating something familiar, focused on it. The smooth, precise mental structure that was, yet wasn't exactly, a part of me, seemed to click and lock down a sort of window, a filter, and there it was, a single voice with only the slightest echoing voices as background. "…and Torline sheathed his Swords, and, carrying Niaadea's body, walked across the water, away from where the great City had once stood, where now were only endless waves, and he wept. And after two days he came to land, and made a great pyre, and bade the Eternal Queen and his Lost Son and all of Great Atlantaea farewell…" Someone… a man… was reading the Book of the Fall. Sounded like one of the Repentant editions, but I couldn't be sure with that short a piece. I pushed the mindwall back into place.

Now what? I'd proved the basic principle, and I didn't really feel like eavesdropping on more people I didn't know. Telepathy implied the ability to do things like that mindcrawling Zchorada had done to me, but even if I could overcome the twist in my gut about trying it, I wasn't about to try on someone who didn't know what was coming. Leave that for the real experiments, if it got to that point.

Telekinesis? That I could try. Doctor Sooovickalassa and Shagrath had both talked about my high potential, so it seemed likely I would have at least a couple of the broad categories, and maybe all of them. Let's see… ah, a noteclamp. Small little metal object lying on the counter over there. Now, how would that work? I guess I'd just focus on moving it, right? The point of psis was that they just thought about having something happen and it did. They had to focus on it – otherwise things would happen around them constantly, without control – but there wasn't supposed to be anything strangely esoteric about the way in which they worked. If there was, the natural psis would never get a handle on their powers before someone caught them. I looked carefully at the little noteclamp, focused on it, held up my hand, and then visualized a sort of strong pull yanking the wire structure from the counter to me.

A sort of smooth tightening across my temples and a high singing sound inside my skull, and the noteclamp suddenly leaped off the counter, blurringly fast, smacking my hand so hard that it tingled, despite the fact that the noteclamp weighed barely anything at all. I stared at the innocuous little device, a twining of metal to hold papers and notes together, and rubbed my hand. Telekinetic indeed. I shouldn't have visualized yanking the thing so hard.

For the first time, I felt a trickle of satisfaction, of wonder. I couldn't deny the fact that there was a thrill and a joy to being able to do something so… so magical. This was also pretty sobering, since it meant the fate of other psis was even more horrid; what felt like a magnificent blessing, a miracle, turned into a curse that led to your own death.

Enough musing. Let's see if I can get a little control over this.

It took a few more tries, but eventually I managed to float the noteclamp more sedately back across the room and onto the counter. Exact placement I couldn't manage; that was going to take serious practice. My head was starting to ache again in a peculiar fashion which, I guessed, meant that I was pushing things. I leaned back again, reinforcing my meditation and the wall around my mind.

It was funny, I could almost think of that wall as an actual wall, something that could be shaped and colored, though not with paints. With thoughts, I guess. Maybe that's how psispies dealt with each other? I knew that there were certainly cases of a psispy managing to fool other psi counterspies, at least in other star nations, so they must have some way of faking the "right" thoughts.

At that point, I heard footsteps, and the door opened.

"Commander Varan! Exellent, excellent. It is so good to see you well." Resplendent in his black and silver, sensevisor gleaming brightly in the light, Prime Monitor Shagrath smiled warmly at me.

My very heart seemed to stop dead. A pulse of mental power had accompanied those words, a ripple that washed out and touched, delicately but unmistakably, upon my mindwall.

Prime Monitor Shagrath was a psionic.

 

 

 

The post Demons of the Past: Revelation, Chapter 19 appeared first on Ryk E. Spoor, Author, Gamer, Geek God.

French Roast Apocalypse: Chapter 11

Back in the present, Dylan's got a hunt to prepare for...

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Chapter 11.

New York City, 2010

It was easy to lose himself in the past. Too easy. Dylan rubbed his eyes and refocused on the pan he was buttering. Back then, he'd felt responsible for Keith and was willing to give up his humanity for what the vampire did to Bridget and Jackson. It was a struggle for Anna to redirect him. He was stubborn, like many of his own clients these days. Anna never did approve of his hunting. It was always a bone of contention between them. She wanted him to live a nonviolent life; she was a pacifist at heart. That didn't mean she wasn't willing to take up the sword when necessary. When she returned, they'd have words about it again, no doubt.

Cheryl was gone, and so were the pizza and sandwich plate. He could hear her and Christie’s laughter out on the floor.

The rest of the evening went well. The muffins were ladled and baked; he made three batches, corn, blueberry, and chocolate chip, and even got some donuts and cookies baked. Louis had done lots of baking earlier, aware he’d be hunting that night. He’d have to work late baking tomorrow night to make it up to him.

The ladies managed to hold the fort up front without calling him up, which was good. That allowed him to finish and clean up by close, and meet Angelus out back with his gear before eleven.

Wearing a backpack over his shoulder, Angelus was leaning against the rear wall of O'Reily's when Dylan closed the door behind him. The black Italian vampire was dressed in a leather coat and jeans, but Dylan could make out a shoulder holster with a large-caliber handgun just under his arm.

Well, he got rid of that titan-sized auto wrench he was so fond of as a kid, Dylan thought, as he hefted his own hunting gear over his shoulder. Dressed in his duster, Dylan wore his shotgun holstered on his back and a magnum on his hip. Baby Doll, his baseball bat, hung at his other hip; it was his favorite weapon as natural wood was always useful against the undead, and he'd added a cold iron plate with spikes on the side to deal with Fae types of problems.

His father had taught him how to weaponsmith from the time he was a boy. It was a part of his training. He knew almost everything there was to know about making and repairing guns or other weapons. He could even build one from parts… or make the parts from scratch. Over the years, he'd put together his own workshop in a side room of his apartment that included a lathe, a small forge, and the other tools necessary for the task. There wasn’t much space there, but he wasn't going to be able to keep himself in the hunting business if he couldn't beef up or repair some of his weapons.

Now Daniel… Daniel had a real forge. The former merchant marine was one of the best blacksmiths he had ever seen. Dylan often went there as well, especially for work on non-firearm weapons – swords, knives, that kind of thing. Daniel didn’t mind the company, and as much as he complained about "cowardly peashooters", the Irish vampire liked guns almost as much as Dylan did, so between the two of them they had started to build up an extensive gunsmithing shop as well.

"Don’t know if bullets will hurt this thing, Angelus." Dylan said. "Iron buckshot might. It’s more Fae than demon."

"I managed to get my hands on explosive rounds." Angelus told him. "It should hurt."

"Might." Dylan slapped the vampire on the shoulder and walked toward the street. "I don’t have much of a plan. I just sort of rely on the sight to tell me when it’s around."

"Might need bait." Angelus said. "Dylan, we’re dead, not appetizing to a soul-eating monster. We’re just bound to this plane."

"Might already have bait running around the park," Dylan pointed out. "I asked Filipe last night to email me any dog attacks in the park that looked suspicious." He pulled his cell phone from his pocket. "He texted me one. A cyclist going along the same path Carmen was attacked on just got mauled by what was described by a witness as a ‘motherfucking huge black German Shepherd’. Victim was DOA. Her injuries were bite wounds and claw marks that don’t match any known dog. They think they might belong by someone’s escaped tiger."

"Thing is that big?" Angelus looked surprised.

"Big as a cow, according to Scottish lore." Dylan turned on to the sidewalk and shoved his phone in the back pocket of his jeans. "No, I wouldn’t worry about bait; the park and the area around it is loaded with bait. They can be drawn to anything ranging from the sick and dying to pregnant women. New York is perfect for them. It’s already picked its hunting ground, the Ramble, and I can sense it." He tapped his head. "We’ll draw it out."

Angelus looked dubious. "Whatever you say. I should have brought my wrench." Parked at the street corner, was Dylan’s red Toyota truck. It was an old used Hilux and had belonged to his father. Dylan maintained it over the years, and was very fond of the vehicle. It was tough as nails, and one of the only things Dylan had from his father.

"You still have that old thing?" Angelus said with a side-glance.

"Hey, she takes a licking and keeps on ticking, little brother, don’t knock it. I saw on Top Gear, that British show on cars, where they took one and crashed it, drowned it, set it on fire, and finally demolished a building with explosives with the Hilux up on top and the damn thing still started. Hilux is the toughest truck around!" Dylan fished his keys out of his pocket and popped opened the passenger side.

With a shrug, Angelus put his bag at his feet and climbed in. "I remember it looking bigger."

"That’s because you were like seven years old when you last rode in the back, Angelus." Popping open the door, Dylan tossed bag behind his seat and slid in and shut the door. "Hey, I put in satellite radio and a CD player, you can’t complain too much."

"They play iPods now, bro." Angelus reminded him. He kicked his long legs out and folded his arms behind his head. "Your problem is, you’ve been hanging out with fossils since the Muffin gang left. You need to bro up with ghouls who don’t stiff up in their coffins and a girl, to keep you up to date and in the game."

"I don’t need a babe, Angelus. I'm married. To Anna." Dylan gunned the engine. "And it’s not my fault technology moves faster than I do!"

Pulling out, Dylan drove the truck a block and steered it down the next street. O’Reily’s was located on 85th and Madison. He would have to maneuver around and backtrack to 84th so he could drive down East Drive and park near the Ramble; they could walk the rest of the way. The Ramble was a sprawling woodland, a perfect hiding place for a barghest; the thing could hunt along the bike and footpaths cutting through it. People were drawn to the area due to the scenic route though the cheery flowering fields and the romantic location of the lake, boat house, and Bow Bridge, which was perfect for lovers, newlyweds, young couples, and families.

"Playgrounds would draw pregnant women too." Angelus said. "Moms in the neighborhood always bring their kids there. I see lots of mamas with baby bumps there."

"The closest playground is off East and near Fifth," Dylan observed. "Not a good place for this thing to hide. It’s as big as a cow, dude. In fact, most of the playgrounds are near the road; that’s why it’s going after people on the bike trails."

"Okay, you win." Angelus held up his hands. "Guess your average New Yorker would notice a dog the size of a bovine. Unless they’re paying too much attention to the rats. Seen one the size of a miniature poodle once. Fuckin' huge!" He held out his hands to show the size of the rat.

"That’s one big rat. Heard about cockroaches getting that big in the sewers, too." Dylan guided the truck into the park.

"Nah, haven’t seen a roach that big, but we need bigger cats in this town." Angelus put his hand on the dash of the truck. "I mean if we got reaper dogs, how do we know we don’t have reaper rats? Hell, we could get an infestation! It’s New York after all!"

The eternal teen was brimming with snark. Dylan shook his head. "You don’t want a rat problem in this town, believe me. Wererats, rat magic, witchcraft, all that fun stuff. Not to mention the vampires! Vile, evil monsters, you know." He smirked at the vampire who jabbed him in the shoulder.

“You’re miserable here, Dyl, why not move to New Orleans with the others?”

“'Cause I like it here. My territory is here. Anna’s gonna come home here, not New Orleans.” Dylan focused on the road. He did miss John, Henry, Tina and Paula but he had responsibilities. “Now is not the time to discuss this, Angie.”

Angelus sighed. “It’s never the time, but you’re gonna have to unload someday and the fossils aren’t going to be very understanding.”

Angelus was right. Yet, the other members of the Café were young or tormented by their own baggage. Most of all, they were former patients.

East Drive took them down past a tall weathered obelisk, towering over notched tulip trees and leafless oaks. Angelus stared out at the monument in awe as they passed it and looked back to Dylan. "What’s really funny is, I have no doubt Doctor Smith was alive when that thing was first built."

"Yeah, probably." Dylan had no doubt the head doctor at the SoHo Rehabilitation Center was older than Ancient Egypt itself.

"I don’t envy you having him as your rehab doc. I hear he’s a hardass."

Dylan’s revenant problem had required extensive therapy. Doctor Smith had worked closely with Dylan. Hardass was one way to describe the English physician’s approach to medicine.

They approached 79th and the Ramble appeared on the right. Trees and brush took over the landscape with bright colored leaves of red, orange and yellow. Dylan slowed the truck down. There was a path right off 79th, and they could follow that around to the other paths.

Dylan pulled his truck off the road and parked. Taking a breath, he turned to his friend. It was hard not to see the young man as a boy. He knew Angelus was in his thirties. It was hard to keep track of time when you were dead. One moment Angelus was the seven-year-old half-blood kid sitting in Anna’s muffin shop with his mother, and the next, he was sitting by Dylan’s side, hunting monsters in the park. "I’m giving you a chance to back out."

"Fuck that, what do you think I am? I’m no kid, bro. I’ve faced worse ghouls in East Harlem." He lifted his backpack from his feet and popped open the door. "Besides, what would Carmen or Felice think of me if I didn’t help hunt this piece of shit down?"

Angelus’s sense of territorial responsibility extended to the people living there, just like Dylan’s. He understood. He picked up his own bag and slung it over his shoulder. "Okay, just don’t get in the way, and listen to everything I say. Got it?"

"You just tell me what to do and where to shoot." Angelus checked his magazine and made sure he had two extras in the pockets of his jacket.

"You don’t have three mags of that shit, do you?" Dylan asked, referring to the explosive bullets.

"No, just one. My supplier ran short. After 9/11 it’s been a bitch to get anything really local and it costs a fortune. I do all my shopping online."

"Make my own," Dylan said. "Unless your guys use holy oil in their manufacturing process." He loaded a magazine into his gun. He was glad he'd customized his weapon. As much as he loved his old double-barrel manual load, automatic made it a lot easier to shoot fast.

"You are hardcore."

"I’m from Texas, I was born and raised hardcore," Dylan told him with a grin. "Now, let's go hunting for a 'motherfucking huge cow dog from hell'."

 

The post French Roast Apocalypse: Chapter 11 appeared first on Ryk E. Spoor, Author, Gamer, Geek God.

Demons of the Past: Revelation, Chapter 18

Varan had been asked to do something incredible...

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Chapter 18.
Varan:

"Discomfort feeling now you should not." The R'Thann scientist said matter-of-factly.

I felt there were considerable grounds for me to disagree, but I suspected he meant from the procedure itself. Strapped down by form-fitting metallic shackles to a pallet at the center of a nightmarish array of emitters, sensors, processors, field-generators, and other devices, injectors integrated into the armlocks, I was far from comfortable and, despite all Sooovickalassa's reassurances, not at all relaxed.

It had taken me two days to decide what I was going to do – two days made more difficult by the fact that I had to maintain a reasonably cheerful façade in front of Taelin and the others, since I couldn't discuss anything with them. This decision had to be made entirely on my own; the Prime Monitor wasn't pressing me one way or the other, and that was probably the right way to handle it. But that didn't make it easier.

In the end, I made the decision I'd known I would. My family's been Navy for generations – according to tradition, since the days of Atlantaea itself, though that's of course almost impossible. We've served the Reborn Empire faithfully ever since Korealis was brought in and restored to interstellar capability by the Tenth Survey Fleet, almost three thousand years ago. Turn down a mission of such importance, even with all its risks? Kattasi for me, no matter what Shagrath or anyone else thought. The important thing would be that I would know that I had failed the Empire when put to the final test.

"When will I feel something?" I asked finally.

"Nothing during procedure feel should you." He continued by saying that once the actual work began, I would probably be unconscious for most of it, and that until I actually was psionic, I didn't have the senses to detect the changes being done. Unless, of course, I deliberately brought up that somewhat-effective defense of mine, but his guess was that if I was stupid enough to do that, I'd probably die or be rendered seriously brain-damaged; pitting one's untrained and unpowered mind against Dimensional Tap powered generators wasn't the brightest idea. I assured him I had no intention whatsoever of trying to oppose the procedure. I was just nervous.

"A relaxant will be given in a few moments, Commander." Shagrath said. While there were other people aware of the program – the Emperor, of course, some of the current crop of psionic agents, a few high-ranking Monitors, and possibly a couple of others – here there were just the three: myself, the Prime Monitor, and Doctor Sooovickalassa. "We do not want you to even inadvertently try to resist the process, which in semiconsciousness you may."

I felt a faint coolness on one arm, and the room almost immediately looked warmer, the surrounding instrumentation less clinically menacing. "Yeah, that's better."

"Well, then, I bid you farewell, Commander. The fewer minds nearby, the less potential for interference. Doctor."

The glittering golden gaze followed Shagrath to the door, only returning to the readouts after he had left. "Begin now shall we."

As twin emitters, vaguely reminiscent of DD-drive focal hypercones, began to hum, the world started fading away. I drifted into a dreamworld of gray and green and black, vague shadows, twinges of undefined sensation, distant voices of unknown origin. Currents of falling gravity tumbled me languidly, and I tried with only the feeblest sense of self to move within them.

Slowly, to my very sluggish surprise, things lightened. I heard muffled voices… the Prime Monitor and Sooovickalassa. I couldn't lift my eyelids, they felt heavier than an entire bulkhead, but I was aware, in a disembodied sort of way, of the conversation. Of the intensity of emotion in the voices.

"… stage as I ordered you, Doctor."

"Determined safe grid exponential stage is not." The scientist protested, the sounds falling on my consciousness but having no immediate meaning. He went on, saying that the time for that would come later, after verification of success. Vague feelings of wire-edged nervousness and caution echoed from somewhere, but it didn't feel like me.

"And what of the fact that after-the-fact processing has been shown lethal or ineffective, depending on the subject? No, Doctor. He is the only candidate of nearly this quality we have gotten, and you will apply all possible methods to get me the best results." A heavy foreboding resounded with those words, odd given that my own feelings seemed almost nonexistent.

"Negative. Refusal absolute." I felt a very slight surprise. Given his position – basically utterly dependent on the Empire, no homeworld to go to – Dr. Sooovickalassa was taking a hell of a risk to oppose Shagrath.

"Absolute?" The voice was almost conversational. "No refusal is absolute, Doctor. You will change your mind."

I did not hear the next sentence.

For just a moment – a fraction of a moment, a splintered second of Eternity – the anger within the Prime Monitor focused entirely on Sooovickalassa, and burst forth into my mind, a mind that must have just now begun to receive impressions from outside. And if I had not been shackled, held by alloy and drug and suppression field, I would have screamed until my throat tore.

Once, during the Ghek'Nan Extermination, in the jungles of Xhaltine, I'd come into a wrecked room and seen a figure seated across from me. Relieved to find even one survivor, I'd started forward. But the poor tzil had been caught in the worst part of the jungle without a mask, without immunizations, and what rose slowly to its feet in my shaking light had been an oozing, slick-black mass of writhing semi-fungal growths, a shambling mockery of a man made of parasites and symbiotes dedicated to nothing but consumption and decay.

The space-black fury of Shagrath was the very essence of that image, cold yet burning darkness, repellent, a loathsome hunger lurking within the shell of a human mask, screaming silent rage at the little creature before it that dared balk its plans. The R'Thann exile died a thousand horrific deaths in that timeless instant, before Shagrath got his… its anger under control. "You will change your mind. Or I will have someone else complete the experiment. Despite the risks. Decide, Doctor. Now."

My drugged consciousness was running in panicked mental circles, and I barely heard the reply; Sooovickalassa acknowledged that if someone else ran the rest of the procedure, they'd be more likely to kill or hurt me even without this additional stage than he would even going through with it. "Agreed. Protesting however."

"Protest noted. Proceed."

There was a faint humming, and once more consciousness faded.

 

 

 

 

 

The post Demons of the Past: Revelation, Chapter 18 appeared first on Ryk E. Spoor, Author, Gamer, Geek God.

Demons of the Past: Revelation, Chapter 17

Time to find out exactly what the Prime Monitor, and the Empire, want from Varan...

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Chapter 17.
Varan:

For the third time I entered the huge, enclosed sub-laboratory which seemed to be solely the domain of Sooovickalassa. The second time had been a few days ago, to run some additional tests which hadn't taken nearly as long as the first set. I had been able to talk with the reptilian scientist for a while, these tests apparently being much more a matter of having me present to be scanned rather than having me actually DO anything. While he was still pretty close-mouthed about his past, he did give me the pretty strong impression that he was basically an exile from his own home, and none too happy about it either. If so, that explained why he was working here. Long experience had shown the Empire that one of the best ways to gain a loyal follower was to show welcome to those that others had driven out.

This time, the Prime Monitor was there. "Monitor Shagrath!" I said, and gave him the Sign. He returned it, looking gravely serious. His manner was quite changed from the cheerful, almost casual attitude he had radiated at our first meeting.

"Commander." He said. "We have been over the results, and I have conferred with the Emperor several times. Did you enjoy the Assembly, by the way?"

I wasn't quite sure how to answer that, given the potential political angles, but I remembered Shagrath's pointed emphasis to me on honesty the last time he asked me questions. It was easier to tell the truth anyway, even if it might give me some trouble later. "It was an honor to meet the Emperor again, sir, and the ceremony was very beautiful, if pretty overwhelming, but… it was also awfully long and seemed a little pointless after a while. I've been to livelier parties in the past few days." I also had found the occasional glances comparing me with that Towers-damned fifteen meter high stonecolor image of Torline to be awfully embarrassing. It feels almost like I'm doing something profane, even though I know I'm not. But I wasn't going to be quite as honest as all that; it was a private embarrassment. But why in the name of the Fall did that image, set in the Imperial Audience Hall, have to be one of the ones that looked almost like a mirror to me?

I didn't know if Shagrath thought there was anything I was leaving out, but apparently my answer was good enough. He gave a soft chuckle, then motioned me to a seat. "Yes, I understand that the Mel'Tasne and Dellitama have advanced your Nomination already." He held up a hand. "I know, Commander, it is not really your Nomination, but that of your friends." He sighed. "But I did not come here to discuss your social or political standing. Rather, I have a much more serious matter to deal with, which these results have made pressing."

That sounded ominous. I suppose my concern must have shown on my face. "No, no, Commander, not serious in that sense. Rather, I have to ask you to assist me in something which may be extremely dangerous, and which is and must remain utterly secret – even from your family and friends, even from your fellows in the Navy. And even if you refuse to cooperate – which is indeed your right and privilege, for I cannot in good conscience order anyone to do the job I am going to be asking you to do – you will be still utterly bound to secrecy."

I nodded after a moment. "Prime Monitor, I swore to serve the Empire as best I could for all my life. If you think that what you're going to ask of me is the best way I can serve the Empire, then I'll do it."

He gave a smile, but one that still seemed troubled. "I of course expected no less from a man with your record, Commander Varan. But I must warn you that it is possible that you will find some of the specific material unsettling and disturbing. I also want you to understand that you do not have to stay and hear me out. You have already given us considerable assistance simply by the data we have gathered in these tests. You may get up this minute and walk out the door, and you may continue your career undisturbed – a career which will undoubtedly be successful."

I thought it over. Warnings like this weren't to be taken lightly, and he was trying to make it as easy as possible on me. Shagrath was making sure that I knew that nothing was forcing me into whatever mission he had planned, and that there would be no consequences if I decided I wanted to just jump out and go back to my old job. And that in his view some part of the job he wanted me to do would not sit well with me, and would have to be kept secret even from Taelin and the Families, let alone my own family. But… "Sir, the questions I have are pretty simple: is the job you have in mind something that other people can do, and will I be serving the Empire better by doing it than by going back to my regular career?"

Shagrath nodded. "Reasonable questions, Commander. Can other people do this job? Perhaps. Almost certainly, given time and effort; few people are so unique that none can be found to take their place. However, I will be honest with you and say that at this time I know of no one else who would be anywhere near as appropriate a candidate as yourself, not in all the people we have surveyed – and that has been a considerable number, Commander.

"And, again in all honesty… no, I do not think you would serve the Empire as well as an ordinary Navy officer as you would by taking on this assignment. It is that important."

"Then," I said firmly, "I will hear the details of this assignment, Prime Monitor Shagrath. And if, for whatever reason, I decide not to take the assignment, I will still remain completely silent on whatever you tell me. In the name of the Emperor and the Six and the One."

It was odd. He seemed to both relax and grow more tense at the same time. "Very well, Commander." He leaned forward. "Commander, what exactly do you know about psionics? Take your time; I want to know everything, whatever you have heard, whatever you have guessed, whatever you know."

Psionics clearly had something to do with this project – that had been obvious from the beginning – so I made sure I had my thoughts in order before I spoke. "Psionics, or in the language of Atlantaea rannon, are special abilities of certain beings to affect the world around them through no instrumentality other than their own minds. These abilities are divided, roughly, into four main categories: mind-focused powers, such as telepathy, empathy, memory alteration, mindshields, and so on; powers of broad material effect such as telekinesis, cryokinesis, pyrokinesis, combat shielding, and the like; self-enhancement abilities that permit the boosting of strength, speed, and other abilities to superhuman levels; and spacetime-affecting abilities like teleportation. The Atlantaean records that we have, fragmentary though they are, indicate that they had a very detailed nomenclature for these capabilities, and some people have suggested that it was really psionic power which was the so-called magic of the ancient culture.This seems very unlikely, however."

"And why is that, Commander?"

"Well, there are a lot of reasons from my point of view, but from a purely scientific view, it's because the psi power in human beings is either physically damaging, causing organic brain damage, or has some effect on the presumed nonphysical component of the mind; either way, the result is megalomania and sociopathy – usually more pronounced with greater power. We don't know which type of damage is actually responsible, because we simply haven't had the chance to study many human psis; they're generally too dangerous to even attempt to capture in most areas. It may be related to the kind of damage we see around people who have been inadvertently exposed to a very poorly tuned DT generator." I glanced at him; he nodded. "That's because one of the few things we know about psionics is that it's somehow related to the Dimensional Tap effect. It's obvious that the human body can't generate enough energy through the brain alone to do more than move an ID card around, let alone incinerate a city like the Black Dragon did thirty years ago. Psis get their power from elsewhere; a miniature, controlled Dimensional Tap appears to be the only reasonable mechanism, although just how it works we'll never be able to say without extensive research. It's something inborn, though; you can't study to become a Psi, and we can't generate the same effects with machines – well, not without having a machine that thinks, and there's definitely a cure that would be worse than the disease. Psionic shields and nullifiers proved that the effect was dimensional related; they project a dimensional distortion around the area in such a manner as to disrupt whatever control the psis have."

"Well described so far. Go on. Tell me about ultras."

"Psionic individuals come in different strengths, just like any other group of people will vary in their abilities." I said. "Most psis tend to be able to do a very limited set of tricks, though they may be pretty strong in one or two of them. But whatever they're born with is all they get; if they start out as a telepath with no telekinetic ability, they'll never have telekinesis.

"A very few psis have wide-ranging powers, covering three or even all four general categories of psi power. And every once in a while, someone comes along who is, well, the equivalent of a supergenius compared to the average thinker. Where a practiced telekinetic of the wide-ranging sort may be able to levitate and move a skycar, one of these super-psionics, which are generally called ultrapsis or ultras (the Atlantaean word was probably terrannon) could lift and throw the building that the skycar was parked on. The Black Dragon had to be fought on the scale of a warship, not like any ordinary living being. The same's true of any ultra – Jiilna, Maldron the Earthshaker, Poitrettan, and so on. They're strong in just about everything, but in some particular talent they're almost unimaginably powerful. Portable psi-screens are of barely any use against them; you need a base-scale generator to hold one off.

"The main problem for the Empire overall is that some races – the Z –zchorada," I stumbled slightly over the name, with all its hateful associations, "the Ptial, the Uralians – not the Ghek'Nan, thank Torline and Niaadea! – have psionic capabilities that don't create psychopathy. We don't know why; some theorize that psi in humans was an incomplete mutation, or a botched attempt by someone way back in history – maybe even in Atlantaea – to give humans these powers. As the vast majority of our citizenry – 90% or so – is human or humanoid, this means that we have no effective psi resources to draw upon. Being totally honest, with our experiences most of the Empire fears and hates psionics, to the point that we don't even have any significant member races with psi capability; the Chakron, for instance, diverged from the Zchorada in such a way that they apparently have almost none of that potential left, except the species-specific bonding found in their nests. And that, alone, is still enough to make many people afraid of them." I was able to speak about this dispassionately, though it caused several twinges of guilt to think of the fact that I now found the thought frightening, when before I would be around Zakhla without even really thinking of the fact that he had some inherent psi ability. I went on.

"Unfortunately, a psi can't be sensed, except by another psi, can't be fought, except by another psi, and if he's powerful, can't be stopped easily at all. You can't put psishields all over the place – they're too energy intensive, can break down pretty fast if something goes wrong, and so on. Ordinary people could barely lift even the smallest psi-screen. I suppose a Chakron or – um, what was that race, the new one I've seen a couple of, the furry ones… anyway, a really big sentient could carry a personal generator, but for the most part they're restricted to powered armor, armored vehicles, and critical installations. Especially since they're D-interference based, and that tends to seriously impact all our other D-technology, including communications, weapons, and regular shielding, without careful balancing."

"An excellent summation, Commander. Which contains one slight untruth. We now have on record one man who has, in fact, successfully fought a quite powerful, though admittedly not Ultra-level, psionic, without either shielding or personal psi abilities." I said nothing to this; I considered it at least partly luck, but I couldn't argue that the situation was definitely unique. "Your summation also leaves out a few facts, not because you neglected to address them, but because you were unaware of them. Some men in your position would have guessed it long since, but you are something more of a patriot and less of a cynic than many others. Which, as I have said, is precisely the sort of man I had hoped to find.

"Commander Varan, the Empire cannot afford this vulnerability. Zchorada can pass as Chakron, as you well know, and this gives them the ability to infiltrate psispies into the Empire. Other races can do similarly. While we make every effort to secure our bases, we cannot keep all of those who know vital secrets constantly in screened compounds. We cannot ban entire species from serving the Empire in whatever capacity they are suited without risking their alienation and defection to another stellar nation.

"Therefore, for quite some years now, the Empire has been making use of psionic agents to ensure our security."

I stared at him, feeling cold. "But… what about…"

"… insanity, megalomania, and paranoia? Exactly our current problem, Commander. We need these people – make no mistake about it, Commander Varan, they have saved the Empire from countless dangers over the years. And many of them begin as loyal citizens. We recruit them when we can, give them at least a chance to do some good before the rot sets in, and give ourselves a chance to detect their breakdown early and keep them from becoming public dangers themselves." He sighed and shook his head. "We are not, I am afraid, always successful. And the more powerful and useful a psi agent is, the more easily he or she can conceal their degeneration until they are ready to act. This has proven extremely costly on occasion. One of which you have already mentioned."

"Torline's… Swords. The Black Dragon…?"

"…Was one of our best agents. Until he decided he was powerful enough to set up his own little empire, disappeared, and was uncovered some years later as the absolute dictator of some unfortunate backwater world. It took two fronts of warships, a year, and over five million lives to first force him off that planet and then catch him between sufficient firepower to take him down." He was silent for a moment. "The most … horrible thing about this, Commander, is that even with such costs – speaking as a man of policy and strategy, and not one of feeling – the use of psionic agents has still been worth it. We simply cannot afford to be completely unarmed against an entire class of direct and indirect weapons."

I suppose I should have realized all of this long ago. The political and strategic necessities were clear. But everyone knew what human psis were like. They weren't agents. They weren't military heroes. They weren't really even human any more, just monsters in human form, as much demons as the things that had brought down the Seven Towers. But here was Prime Monitor Shagrath, telling me that they were indeed still human, human enough to put their few months or years of sanity to work for their people, knowing that as soon as they started to show signs of the inevitable their own government would have them blasted to ashes. It was horrible, and tragic, and repellent. "So…" I said finally, "What is it that I can do?"

"As I am sure you now realize," Shagrath replied, "Dr. Sooovickalassa is studying the nature of psionic abilities. He does so from a rather… unique perspective. Doctor?"

"Psionic all of R'thann are. Cripple defective I am, mindblind. Exile for that am sentenced to. Intellect unaffected psionic absence by, knowledge bring Empire to of psionics, welcomed then." The green-and-gold alien said after a pause.

Well, now I didn't have to guess any more. No wonder Shagrath said that there were 'serious questions' about how peaceful the contact between Thann'ta and the Empire would remain. The entire race psionic, to the point that they considered people without the ability a useless cripple! The latter didn't speak well to their culture, either. The Empire doesn't go around exiling cripples. "So you had both a lot of specific knowledge of psionic science, and a sinking-sure reason to want to work with us."

"And," Shagrath continued the thought, "As we do have psi agents – not many, but a few at any given time who are still sane – we have been able to start and continue useful studies of human psi abilities, and compare them with Dr. Sooovickalassa's knowledge of how his own species' abilities function. It was his theory that psionic abilities existed in potential for a far greater number of human beings than actually manifested the powers, and that such people should show at least some resistance to psi activity. If they could be located, he believed that he could awaken those dormant abilities in a controlled and directed fashion so as to create a stable human psionic, one who would not slowly go insane."

The R'Thann exile took up the narrative in his own mangled version of Oron. Some candidates had been located by our psispies through careful examination of the reaction of thousands of people to covert mindprobes. Some were deemed trustworthy enough to bring into the project – clearly it wouldn't do to just drag random people off the street and subject them to experimental processes, especially ones designed to tamper with the most basic functioning of the mind. A few had actually undergone the process.

"And… did it work?"

"To an extent." Shagrath said. "Some of the early subjects… died. They knew the risks, but it made the results no easier for any of us. Once Dr. Sooovickalassa understood what was causing the fatalities, he adjusted the process and the next subject survived. She developed significant telepathic abilities, which then faded after a few months; she appeared to suffer no undue side effects of these powers, aside from perfectly normal exhilaration at first gaining them, and some depression after losing them. A combination of continuing experimental work showed similar effects in the other subjects we have tried thus far; repeat treatments have no apparent effect at all."

"Cause possible theory revised demonstrated." Sooovickalassa continued. The test subjects, he explained, did have some psionic potential, but the tools that brought out that potential had limits that were based directly on the potential to be brought out. In a sense, it was like trying to stamp a design into some target object. The test subjects so far were like gelatin. They COULD hold a shape, unlike, say, water, but if your shaping tools were limited to the same strength, you were trying to shape the gelatin with jellylike tools; at most you made a temporary impression, a set of dents that smoothed themselves out in time.

"Well, what about just modifying something that's already shaped? Why didn't you use this on one of your current psi agents? Then they'd be able to continue working for you and everyone would be happy."

"Do you think we neglected to think of that? In point of fact, that was the first experiment I ordered – against Dr. Sooovickalassa's advice, I will confess. And he was entirely right, although he was not able to describe clearly the reason it was doomed to failure until after he was able to examine the readings from that ill-fated test." Shagrath frowned, broodingly. "We lost one of the Empire's best agents that day."

The problem, Dr. Sooovickalassa said, was that the process was trying to force a completely different pattern onto something that already existed. "Interference destructive psionic extant powers creates." I nodded. Tree-sculptors came to mind. If you took a tree and pruned it and bent it and guided it as it grew, you could create a towering sculpture in living wood. But if you tried to take a tree that had already grown and force it into the same shape, you'd end up with a lot of shredded and broken wood.

"So," Shagrath said, "we have been attempting to locate people with greater potential which has, in fact, never been awakened. Why it awakens naturally in some people, we don't know. Possibly specific environmental influences, or the number of copies of a particular gene, or any one of a number of other possibilities, we just do not know. We have been searching for some time… and then in came the report of the action on Outpost Tangia, and the quite extraordinary story of a certain Commander Sasham Varan." He nodded gravely at me. "After his examination, Dr. Sooovickalassa has determined that you do have greater potential than any of the people tested to date – far greater. If, as the analogy said, our prior subjects were varying firmnesses of gelatin, you appear to have the potential of steel, at least. And steel tools on steel will leave very lasting impressions indeed."

So there it was. He didn't need to be explicit. They wanted me to undergo a process to turn me – me – into a psionic. Into one of the human monsters I'd heard of since I was a kid. I hadn't said anything about it, but I suspected Shagrath knew that my uncle had been present during the final battle against the Black Dragon, and the stories he told were enough to leave me awake nights; seeing friends going up like incendiary bombs when their personal shields failed, walking through a warship that should have ten thousand crewmen on board and finding only slag and ashes… and I had had my own encounter now, with a mind inside my own, trying to crush out every bit of resistance and thought. Was that something I wanted to become?

"S… sir. Could I think about this for a while?"

"Certainly, Commander. But understand that you have now entered the realm of subjects which you may discuss with no one outside of this lab, not even your closest friends and family. Your own reaction should tell you why."

"Yes, sir." I gave the Sign to both him and Sooovickalassa, and left.

I doubted I would get much sleep that night.

 

 

 

The post Demons of the Past: Revelation, Chapter 17 appeared first on Ryk E. Spoor, Author, Gamer, Geek God.

French Roast Apocalypse: Chapter 10

The problem with being a revenant in this world is that you don't so much remember as you re-live past events...

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Chapter 10.

New York City, 1980

The air was crisp and cool against his cheeks. Dylan turned his face toward the welcoming breeze as it tossed the hair from his eyes and away from his face. He inhaled, tasting the bitter stench of gasoline, grease, garbage and human sweat. It was a new world to him. The smells alone were overwhelming. He had never imagined how acute the sense of a renfield were. If he focused, he could make out nearby individual smells: the tar of the roof, the scent of fried beef from a burger joint across the street, Anna’s familiar baking powder mixed with flour aroma intermingled with her sensual vampiric musk, and the faint distant stench of the polluted Hudson a few blocks away.

He wondered what Bridget would have thought if she had survived. Painfully, Dylan forced the thought back into the hole in his heart. He wasn't ready to think about her yet.

Taking it all in, the young man turned in a circle, scanning his surroundings. They stood on the roof of the SoHo Rehabilitation Center. Stretching out before him was the city, like a sea of lights from which rose glowing giants. The sky was a deep blue, and the city lights made it difficult to see the stars clearly, but he could make out a few if he squinted. It was still early yet.

People moved about the restaurants and galleries below, and Dylan heard bits and pieces of words, though not clear enough to gather the context of their discussions. He could see the bricks on the buildings across the street, and into the dark alleyways as if it were daylight. It was unnerving. "Is it like this for you?"

"Yes." Anna stepped up to the edge of the building and looked down at the street, clearly knowing what he meant. "If I focus, I can hear your heartbeat, and hear the blood moving in your veins."

"Gnarly." He joined her and rubbed his arms. It was cold, and he wished he brought his sweater. Instinctively he drew close to Anna, and realized she radiated no heat.

"Oh, it’s the bee's knees, Dyl! Think about it! We’re hearing the rhythm of existence itself!" She looked up at him. She was one of the first people he had met in years who actually had to look up instead of down at him. "I find it beautiful."

With a shrug, Dylan looked down the street. "I don’t know; I just see more dirt, muck and noise. Suppose it would be different if I were home. The country would be different."

"Peaceful, I’d think." Anna tapped the tip of her toe against the cement roof pensively. "I’m a city girl, never stepped foot in the country, born in Belfast, moved to New York as girl, lived here ever since. Don’t know what I’d do in the country. Too quiet."

"Lay in the grass and look at the stars." Dylan pointed to the sky and opened his hand. "You wouldn’t believe the stars in the hill country. The sky is full of them like one big blanket of black purples, deep, deep blues, and ebony blacks with showers of gold sparkles, big bright lone stars and clouds of black-streaked silver. The entire Milky Way is the prettiest thing you’ll ever see. My daddy used to stargaze with us." He looped his fingers in his belt, and fondly smiled at the memory. "We’d lay out on a blanket and look for constellations, watch for falling stars."

The woman’s dark green eyes sparkled in the streetlight as she listened, entranced by his words. "Sounds lovely! I never really thought about it that way. I love being surrounded by people. The heartbeat of human civilization is the city." She lifted her arms and turned a circle. "Art, music, theater, food, business, humans living together, sharing thoughts and ideas, everything happens in the city! It’s the cat’s meow! And I’m here to see it and share it with them!"

"Then why don’t you dance anymore?" Anna had mentioned she'd been a dancer once.

"Because I live a different life now. I’m exploring confections." Anna gestured to the world. "Art isn’t stagnant, you know. It’s ever-moving. I still dance occasionally; I love it, always will, but I want to learn all the arts I can."

Dylan thought of the last few years. He had traveled, but most of it was to dark places with dead things and the trips always ended in blood. He was a high school dropout with no idea what he wanted for his future. "I wanna live life too. Just… hard to start after everything that happened." He looked over at her. "How about you? How'd you end up… like this? Were you attacked?"

The grin on Anna’s face grew. "I met this hip drummer," she said in a dreamy voice. "The man was rhythm incarnate, Dyl. He taught me, this skinny little white Irish bird from Belfast, everything he knew about hoofing it." She stepped away from the edge of the roof and danced her way to the center. "It was a big scandal, of course. My parents tolerated my dancing, sort of, but they went through the roof over Reggie. No daughter of theirs was going to date a black musician from New Orleans." Anna laughed. "They had no idea he was a vampire. No one did. But he was everything to me! He taught me to look beyond the divided human world and see people for who they were and not what society wanted us to see them as. I learned how to live life and embrace everyone in it. "

"He was a vampire?"

"He was ancient, Dylan. A real sheik." She paused when she realized he was trying to puzzle out her words. "He was a hot dude, Dylan."

"Guess his real name wasn't 'Reggie'." Dylan felt a hint of jealousy.

"Of course not. He’s had many names. Though I did like Reggie, it suited him. He came from Mali, but was tight-lipped about it; he missed the way it used to be, so he just followed the music." She looked wistful. "To avoid the whole issue with my parents, we staged an accident, and then he made me. The plan was to run to New Orleans together, but something drew him away and I was left in the care of Liam." She bowed her head sadly. "I haven’t seen him since. I can’t even feel him. I worry that something horrible took him away, and Liam refuses to discuss it and refuses to let me leave to find him."

"I’m sorry." Dylan touched her arm tentatively unsure if she’d reject him or not. "This Liam dude, he swings a lot of weight around here."

"Liam? Reggie told me he's been a fixture in New York for over a hundred and sixty years, and he's a lot older than that." She shrugged. "And he’s a good man, bit harsh at times, but his heart is in the right place. He took over as community Elder when Reggie left. " To his surprise, Anna leaned into him. "Well, what do you think, bit better out here then that stuffy sterile old room? Even if it does stink of city?"

It was one of the most awkward moments of his life. Dylan peered down at the blonde head leaning into his shoulder and found himself slipping his arm around her waist. She was dressed in a short, tight blue mini-dress with a thick red belt and a red scarf. The dress’s hem was above her knees and showed her shapely legs. She also wore knee-high brown boots. He didn’t know why she'd insisted he come up to the center’s roof. The way she was dressed, he worried she’d freeze. Yet she had insisted.

At first he'd thought Anna just wanted to cure his stir-crazy agitation. Anna hadn’t explained why, but now he wondered if she was just attempting to show him something that was important to her. But then why brave the cold in a blue mini-dress and go-go boots? The young man leaned his cheek into her hair. It wasn’t proper, and she was a vampire, but it felt right to him. "It doesn’t stink that bad. Pretty, when you think about it. All those people making the world a prettier place. Even the lights are pretty, like the Milky Way."

Anna smiled up to him. "I'm glad you see it that way. Not so country-bumpkin, are you?"

"Guess I am sometimes," he said, but his mind was still focused on her nearness. Anna was just trying to make him feel better, wasn't she? Dylan wondered if she was lonely as well. Why else would she lean against him? "So, you don’t, um, have anyone?"

"Bunny. Liam. Jason and Douglas, my employees, a few friends. But no, nothing romantic." Her eyes suddenly widened. "Oh, bugger." She pulled away from him – gently, not as though she was scared, but firmly, and stood a few paces off. "I'm sorry, Dylan, I was giving you the wrong idea. My fault. I'm not looking for anyone right now, and even if I was…"

"… I'm not your type, huh?" He felt a bigger letdown than he really should. Come on, Dyl, you've hardly known her a day or three.

She rolled her eyes. "You're a child, hon. I know, I don't look that much older than you, but I did my scandalous elopement back in the Roaring Twenties, Dylan. I'm old enough to be your grandmother."

"Then why the cuddling?" Dylan knew this wasn't really something to argue about, but he felt irrationally upset. "Back where I come from, a girl does that 'lean into you' bit, she's telling you she likes you a lot!"

"Not all that different where I come from," she admitted, and sighed. "That's why I said I was sorry, Dylan. And part of why you're so upset. The blood connection works both ways. We feel comfortable with each other, whether it makes sense or not. I wasn't thinking about it at all until you started asking. I should have been watching out for that right from the start, not let you start thinking that way and then shut you down. That was rude and you're right to be a little put out."

That did at least explain why he wasn't feeling even a lingering worry about being around a vampire. Normally you ain't getting over lifelong conditioning that fast. "Okay. I get it. Sorry for snapping back at you."

"No worries, mate. Look, there's another reason I couldn't anyway; I might be assigned to be, well, your case-worker, your counselor as part of our world. And that means no personal involvement – professional ethics and all." He saw her grin. "No, that's not an excuse. Really, I'm not seeing anyone, and right now, not really looking, either."

Anna wasn’t dating? Well, after her sire left her, he couldn't blame her; he could hear in her voice how she'd felt about Reggie. Then again, she was a vampire, didn’t they need to feed? Did she just drink from blood-bags like John, or go out on the town, snacking at clubs? He tilted his head, a frown on his face. "Um… do you blood-bag it?"

"Sometimes, or I’ll go clubbing. There are Sanguine clubs around. They volunteer, and we don’t need that much to keep running," Anna said. "A girl’s gotta live."

"But, isn’t that supposed to be, um, romantic?" He couldn't finish asking without a blush. Dylan looked down feeling embarrassed that he had even asked the question. Everything he'd heard about vampire bites said they were sexual. It was one of the ways they brought you under their spell. On the other hand, as he'd learned over the last few weeks, he really didn’t know anything about vampires.

"Romantic?’ Anna raised a brow. "Sometimes. It depends on how it's done. Yes, I can make it very sexual, and I have in the past. It makes it easier on the donor. But the culture and habits surrounding feeding have changed since the invention of transfusions and blood bags. A vampire has to be careful, and it’s no longer necessary to play mind games or use sexuality to get a nip. I tend to eat in these days."

The idea of vampires bagging it in front of the TV, like regular folks ate TV dinners, struck him as funny. Dylan shook his head, chuckling. "Never even thought about that. Should have, I guess, but I was too busy remembering the stuff I was taught…"

She nudged him gently on the shoulder. "Well, you know better now, mate." She led him to the ledge and sat down with her feet dangling over the edge of the building. City lights sparked in her soulful green gaze as the young woman tapped her heel against the wall. She was more careful to leave some space between them as they sat. "When it gets darker, you can see the lights stretch for miles. Granted, it’s not the Milky Way, but it reminds me just how nifty humanity is."

Vampires with a sense of wonder? He would never cease to be amazed. Dylan watched her full pink lips stretch into a bright smile as she watched the cars and people pass by the buildings below. The scent of fresh baked bread and roasted chicken floated by on the breeze. His mouth watered. "I could get used to it."

"Good, I was hoping you could. If you’re going to stay in the flat above the muffin shop, you’ll have to. I’ve even arranged for Doctor Frasier to come by and tutor you. You’ll get your high school diploma and be able to start college next year, if, that is, you work your arse off."

Dylan hadn’t realized Anna took his proposition to remain with her seriously. Granted at the time he was serious, but he was still struggling with the logistics of his plan. "Dr Frasier? Is he a vampire too?"

"He works at The University of New York. He teaches evolutionary biology, brilliant man, and fully capable of teaching you a basic high school education. He works as a tutor for the kids at the center in the evenings."

"But is he a vampire?" This Douglas could be anything, a vampire, a skin changer, a ghoul, a zombie, anything. He watched the young woman’s face as she kicked the bricks behind her heels.

"A daywalker vampire. Like Liam, but different. " She grinned at the non-explanation she'd just given him.

"I’ve been hearing that name a lot tonight. When am I going to meet this Liam?"

"When he decides you’re worth his time, Dylan," Anna said. "He is something of a recluse." She pointed to a tall five-story gothic brownstone across the street. "He just sits there, rarely coming out unless something catches his fancy or someone pisses him off."

"And tosses money at his projects?"

"Basically; Douglas does most of his leg work." She put a hand on the cement wall. "Doctor Smith and his butler do the rest."

"Is it because he can’t deal with the changes in the world?"

Anna’s pale face watched the street life, distant. Her fingers tapped the wall. "You might think so, but no, he likes seeing the world change. I think it’s more about his past. Guilt, maybe?" She shrugged and leaned back, looked up at the sky. "What I can say is, he can be very harsh. He’s protective of those in his charge and is highly judgmental. But he also depends on the opinions and ideas of the younger ones around him. He was livid when I brought you here, yet he let Douglas and me talk him into taking you in. I won’t lie to you Dylan; he doesn’t fancy you being here, but is willing to give you a chance."

"I killed your kind, I'd expect that." He thought a moment. "Do you think he’ll approve of my hunting down Keith Blackwell?" He hoped he knew the answer; someone like this Liam would be an ancient vampire, from an era when personal honor and vengeance mattered.

"As long as it doesn’t cause him trouble, I don’t think he’d care." Anna told him, but frowned with concern. "But by the time you get out of here, Dylan, you’ll be human again."

That would be a problem. He frowned. "My choice, right?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well… What if I want to continue being a renfield?" It was against everything his father taught him as a hunter, but in truth, it was the only way he knew of to challenge someone like Keith.

"I’m not going to make you a renfield so you can run off and play tough guy," Anna told him. "Power isn’t a good enough reason, Dylan. Being a renfield is about responsibility."

"Wow. You're giving me the Ben Parker speech."

"The who?" She looked perplexed.

"Ben Parker. Spider-Man’s uncle. With Great Power comes Great Responsibility, and I get that. I wanna help people with it, like a superhero." Her blank expression made him scratch his head. "Well, that settles it. I’m sitting you down with some comics. No one should live in New York City of all places without knowing about Spider-Man. Or the Avengers, or the X-Men. In fact, I think John has a few of them in his room. We can start tonight if he’s willing to let us borrow a few."

"Superheroes? Aren’t they violent?" It wasn’t the answer he expected. "I remember reading the Captain America books during the War." She stared at him, dubious. “And It’s wrong to assume John would be willing to loan you his books, they are his.”

He didn’t understand. John was a nice geeky guy, of course he’d share his comics.

"I love Cap." For a moment he thought they had some common ground.

She laughed. "I didn’t have a love affair with the book, but they were entertaining. I did have an affair with big bandstand though."

Dylan never liked big band music, his grandma did. Somehow, the musical preferences brought it home; Anna and he were from two different worlds. She was an artist from the twenties, when the modern world was still young, and he was a product of the dawn of media and information. He was a hunter. She was a vampire. He liked comic books, movies and TV. She liked big band music, theater and dancing. She liked the city. He missed the country.

"Do you read?" Anna asked. "I mean, besides comics? I like mysteries."

"Not much time, but I have read some fantasy, and science fiction. I like Tolkien and Terry Brooks. Watch more TV, and films though." He helplessly shrugged. "Hunting doesn’t give you time to read big books."

"We can read together some time," Anna offered. "And if you wish to show me some of this Spider-Man…"

"Really?" She didn't sound very enthusiastic, but at least he hadn’t made a complete fool out of himself. Here he was, flirting with a vampire girl, and she wasn't just kicking him off the roof. No, not flirting. Well, maybe I am. This blood-thing is confusing. But she isn't flirting with me, and I have to keep that in mind. Still, nothing wrong with finding something in common.

Then his past came rushing back and dimmed his enthusiasm. "Anna… have you ever made promises you couldn’t keep?"

The young woman studied him, surprised by the shift in subject. "A few, why?"

"I promised myself I'd save my family. We… lived in terror all the time," Dylan said. "I wanted us to stop the hunting and change the world; that's why I wanted to expose the Blackwells as vampires.

"But I let my family down, and now they're gone. All of them. I know it would have hurt good people like you, but still, I failed my family." Was he disappointing her now? The young man searched Anna's gaze. "I have to stop Keith, if not for my family, for the people he's harming, or going to harm, here."

"Dylan, you need to let it go," Anna told him. "It's too dangerous for you. Let Jason and the other enforcers deal with finding the killers of your friend and sister. You need to follow the path of peace if you want to stay human. Hunting and fighting… that will just make you change faster."

Nodding, Dylan leaned his elbows on his knees and cupped his chin in his hands, thinking. He didn't want to die and become a revenant, no… but if he killed Keith, he would complete his revenge. He'd be saved. "So, you won't Renify me again once I’m let out?"

The frown reappeared on Anna’s face again. "Dylan, no. I just don’t go around making people immortal to play superhero. It’s got a heavy cost. I’d rather you not fall into that. And mark my words, every time you drink, a little bit of you will slip further away, until you can’t escape."

"But you said seven times." Dylan told her. "It’s only going to be twice."

The vampire licked her lips. "I know, but what if he doesn’t show up until a third time? Hmm? Or a fourth? Each drink binds you tighter. Seven is the point of no return, but believe me, you’ll be caught up in the power by three." She held up three fingers to emphasize her point. "I’d rather you take your time and get your life together before you run off for revenge. There are other ways to change your fate. Letting go of the anger and finding a new path can help, help a lot. I'd much rather you have that. You only need to hunt him down if you have no choice."

"I can quit," Dylan told her. He appreciated her concern and didn’t blame her for not agreeing with him. She wasn’t raised as a hunter. "In fact, we can wait until we get a bead on him, which could be months. Though I kind of wanted someone, maybe this Jason guy you've mentioned, to train me to fight like this. I need to learn control; right now if I throw a punch I just go through something, even if I didn't want to break it. Training could take weeks." He was being practical. Anna wasn’t a fighter. So she wouldn’t understand his motives. "Anyway, let talk about it when we get there. It’s a beautiful night, and I think it’s about time I get to know the lady who saved my life. "

Anna shook her head, frustrated. "All right, we don’t need to discuss it now." The concern failed to leave her features but her posture relaxed. "But keep in mind, I saved you because I want you to live a peaceful life, Dylan. Not follow a path of destruction. Okay?"

How ironic; the vampire was trying to save his soul. Dylan shook his head and wondered if it was too late for him already, and if Anna had a place in heaven carved out for her yet. Did it matter? They needed to live in the now. The life of a mortal was short, even if he had gained a month of immortality. "Okay, I won't forget. Deal?" He extended his hand.

She smiled. "Deal."

Her hand was icy cold. "We should have brought up sweaters."

"Bit of an oversight on our part, next time we’ll remember, right?"

"Yeah."

The sky was darker and he saw the stars winking dimly down upon the streets, but it was the glow of thousands of windows that struck him with awe. It was as if the entire city was a glowing like a field of giant fireflies…

The post French Roast Apocalypse: Chapter 10 appeared first on Ryk E. Spoor, Author, Gamer, Geek God.

Demons of the Past: Revelation, Chapter 16

Well, we had this point of view once before, it's time to look in on her again...

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Chapter 16.
The Eönwyl:

With a distant whining screech, her eponymous starship disintegrated and reassembled itself. Where am I?

The D-scanners determined her position relative to the calculated exit point and an overlay on her vision system showed that Picket 10 should be nearly dead ahead of her… and she realized that there was in fact a brilliant almost-star in that exact position. Great Darkness, I can see it!

Even as the D-comm light began blinking furiously for attention, she grinned, and remembered that time that Commander Sasham Varan had done something similar to Tangia Station. The difference here being he was only doing it for the best reasons. Me? I have more personal reasons. That ought to have given those lazy tzil a jolt! She activated the comm. "Come in, Picket 10."

"Who in the Towers is this?" The panicked undertone was particularly gratifying; it wasn't often she was able to get away with scaring Imperial military, especially here. The scanners showed that a half-front of warships were already being diverted in her direction. That's… a lot more than usual. Someone's increased security here in the last couple of years.

She decided she'd had as much fun as she could afford here. "This is The Eönwyl. Transmitting authentication now."

"The Eönwyl." The name was repeated with a combination of understanding and annoyance. "Of course."

Another voice came on the channel, rougher, but not entirely hostile. "Do you realize we came that close to sending a salvo of skip-missiles your way, Heln?"

As always, the use of her old designation made her lips tighten, even though Ferr was one of the very few that could get away with using it. "You wouldn't fire unless I refused to answer, and we both know that. Your soldiers need an occasional alert, 45." Using his number was the closest she could come to his use of her old designation.

The chuckle showed that her retort had failed to find its mark. "You're probably right. That was hot piloting as usual, Eönwyl. Calculating the emergence point to within visual range isn't easy, and I did rather like seeing the Lieutenant spit out his brew when you popped up on his screen."

"Shut up, Ferr." The other voice was clearly the Lieutenant in question. "All right, Eönwyl. You're cleared for in-system travel. You know the designated ports and courses. Do not stray from them, especially in the direction of any secured areas, or you will be destroyed." The Lieutenant's tone showed he wouldn't particularly mind giving that order.

"Understood. I will be landing at the central hub this time, however."

"That is a restricted zone; what is your business there?"

She grinned, though with vision off they couldn't see it. "I am carrying a courier packet from Tangia Station. If he's in residence, I'm to carry it directly to Borell Dellitama."

She grinned wider at the long pause; the Lieutenant had obviously hoped to deny her the chance to land at the hub. "Transmit the packet ID, then." A moment more passed, and then the grudging voice of the Lieutenant said, "Authenticated. You're assigned landing slip 5. Follow standard landing approach requirements."

"Thank you, Picket 10. Eönwyl out."

The grin faded as she approached; though the planet was mostly lit, it seemed to her that space was becoming darker. I hate this place. Then she corrected herself. No, I don't hate the planet; perhaps it hates us. But the people here, the ones who rule…

The landing slip was open as she approached, and locked on with efficient little clangs when she shut down the landing drives. She picked up the courier package and stepped out.

The oppressive atmosphere seemed to descend on her like a weighted cloak, despite the brilliant lights of the underground port. Part of it's my own knowledge of what this place hides outside of the oh-so-civilized hub… but no one comes here without feeling something.

Two soldiers wearing the insignia of the Five Families, Dellitama uppermost, stepped forward; one, wearing a Green Sergeant's rank wheel, saluted. "We're to escort you directly to Observer Dellitama, Free Trader."

She returned the salute; the soldier had spoken respectfully and without the suspicious or hostile edge she was used to. Looking closely, she saw a lighter area on the Sergeant's neck as he turned. Tanning would eventually make that fade, if he took tanning treatments regularly… but she recognized the pale rectangle. "Thank you, Sergeant. I see you're native."

"Like you." He grinned with pride. "Sergeant Jogon Engrin."

"Congratulations, Sergeant."

"Ahh, it's a while ago. Almost a year. But thanks."

"Free Trader…" the other soldier was hesitant; his rank wheel showed he was just a Shipman First Class, but his accent was offworld. "If I could ask, how could you tell? That Sergeant Engrin was native?"

She smiled, unable to keep a slight edge of bitterness from the expression, and tapped the back of her neck. "Service designation, Shipman; only when you get your own name do they take it off."

"Oh."

He's a smart one. Knows it's a touchy subject and doesn't push it.

They passed through several checkpoints in silence, stopping finally before a more ornate door (which, The Eönwyl knew, was almost certainly both armored and shielded as well as a warship). The door rolled open at Engrin's signal, and a tall, broad man with a huge beard spread across his chest rose from behind a shining, natural-wood desk to greet them. "Sergeant, thank you for bringing her here so quickly. Free Trader Eönwyl… what a pleasure."

"As usual, Observer." And if those soldiers can't hear the snarls behind the greetings, they're deaf.

Clearly Engrin heard them, because he bowed out and excused himself – with the Shipman First Class. As soon as the door closed, Dellitama dropped the unconvincing smile. "All right, hand it over, Heln-23."

"My name is The Eönwyl, Borell."

His lips tightened until they were white, and she felt the oppressive atmosphere thicken. It's worse than the last time. Why, though? It seems like it's around him, but he's not actually any worse than the rest of the Empire. Still, she felt a faint throbbing headache beginning.

"Very well," the massive Borell Dellitama said through his teeth, "Hand it over, Eönwyl."

"I get paid for being a courier for the Empire," she said with a poisonously reasonable smile. "In this case, I want two things."

This was what made it worthwhile to do the courier job; it was almost impossible to force Borell Dellitama, head of the Dellitama family, to do anything he didn't want to do, especially on a planet which he was given almost sole responsibility for. But independent couriers did have to be paid, and paid well, and were allowed to set their prices within reason, by ancient Family and Imperial tradition that even Borell Dellitama wouldn't dare violate.

"What two things?"

"First, I get to sell my cargo direct through the hub, at the core market."

He grunted. "I suppose that's reasonable. Agreed." He took a crystal from the rack on his desk, touched it to the terminal port. "Market clearance, Eönwyl," he said; the crystal glowed golden and he handed the crystal to her. "Second?"

"I want to visit my parents. Give them five days off."

"They're working a very tricky excavation and I've had three others get shadow-mad in the past three weeks in the same excavation. No."

She handed back the golden crystal and started to turn away. "Then I'll have to wait on the courier package until they're free."

"You think because you got a name from your worthless uncle and his dumb luck that you can demand I set back the Emperor's work for days or more?"

She whirled on him with a snarl, barely checking her movement; she cursed inwardly as she saw the smile on Dellitama's face. She glared into his eyes without moving until the smile faded. "I think that because you have to take this packet and we have to agree on price that I can demand you let me see my family. And the review board would agree."

Borell knew that both points were true; news from far-away points of the Empire could only travel as fast as the fastest ships, and even dedicated courier vessels were not much faster than her own Eönwyl. There might be critical pieces of information in that packet, even news of war or new orders to Borell direct from the Emperor, and his failure to obtain and read it could spell kattasi for him.

As far as the review board was concerned, when one of the Five Families was involved, it would include a member of one of the OTHER Families, a monitor, and three officers of the military who weren't in any of the Great Families, and the military took family seriously. So she did have him backed to a wall."You're still demanding too much. I'll give them one day."

"Four."

"Two, and that's as far as I go."

"Three, or I'm walking out this door."

Borell growled something under his breath, then threw the gold authorization crystal back at her; she caught it without visible effort. "Three, then, and may the tunnels collapse on you while you visit. But those three days begin in the next few hours; I'm not giving you all the time in the world to do your buying and selling and then have you decide when their… vacation begins."

She knew this was as far as she could push him; and with central hub authorization, she could probably sell all the cargo she'd brought in a few hours anyway. "Done." She handed Borell Dellitama the sealed courier package.

"Now get out."

"I assure you," she said, turning away, "You couldn't pay me to stay."

She felt his glare boring into her as she left, and found that she couldn't repress a shiver, the pain in her head even stronger; for a moment there was a phantom sound, almost like a shriek, in her head, but it faded almost instantly. Something's worse about him, or Fanabulax… or both.

As she moved down the corridor (now bereft of escort, since she was no longer carrying sensitive data), The Eönwyl suddenly found herself thinking of Commander Varan. If he could see this place, that man, he might understand why I hate the Empire. But she remembered how he had looked when she last saw him, and realized the last thing she wanted was for him to see that part of the truth, at least now. Leave him that much to believe in, until he's stronger. The Empire owes him that.

She shook off the strange reverie, and focused on the moment. A profitable visit to my birthplace; a visit with my parents. And I've wrung it out of the false-smiling tzil who runs this secret hellhole. She smiled again, the pain in her head finally receding. It is, indeed, a good day!

 

 

 

 

The post Demons of the Past: Revelation, Chapter 16 appeared first on Ryk E. Spoor, Author, Gamer, Geek God.

French Roast Apocalypse: Chapter 9

Dylan has some work to do, now that he's actually up and awake...

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Chapter 9.

New York City, 2010

The evening went swiftly, and they had a fair number of customers, most of them either students from local universities or art students, since O'Reily's was only a few blocks from the Metropolitan Museum of Fine Art. Dylan worked the back, mixing batter and baking up a storm, while the twins and Qui worked the front.

"The twins" were two teenaged Canadian girls from British Columbia who had shown up on his doorstep in early 2003. Their adoptive father, a large gruff skinchanger so ancient he appeared as a short-faced cave bear, paid up for a year and vanished, leaving instructions to keep them in at the full moon. They had been with Dylan ever since. Outside of occasional visits from their father and checks to pay their rent, the girls were very self-sufficient, though they'd only started working in the café recently. That was probably just as well, Dylan figured, since if they'd been working since they arrived some of the regulars might have started asking really uncomfortable questions.

The only real issue Dylan had with the twins was their full moon transformation. The cute, petite girls changed into full-sized Kodiak bears with the tendency to rummage through the garbage for scraps of raw meat if not fed enough, and if they didn't have something to keep them busy they'd leave anyway.

But they did love their video games, so he'd had a specially modified Wii and incredibly rugged controllers built for them and stocked their apartment with plenty of raw salmon and other high-protein, formerly-animal products during full moons. It kept the girls happy, and bear reports down. Fortunately, their guardian had warned him ahead of time so he had been able to brace the floors; two seven-hundred-pound bears jumping up and down in excitement while doing Wii Sports was not something the average residential building was intended to survive. And the challenges of soundproofing had been… heroic.

Qui, on the other hand, was a mystery. She was one of Professor Frasier's students, an attractive young woman of Japanese-Chinese decent. She majored in literature and enjoyed theater. Anna had practically raised her and introduced her to the arts. Qui claimed to be a spirit, but did not say what kind. She also had a teenaged brother who went to a local high school, and seemed completely normal if geeky enough to annoy his much more refined sister.

The twins were dressed identically like always, both in pink and pale blue fluffy skirts, hot pink tights, and matching hot pink sweaters. Their hair was done in cornrows with ribbons. Qui, on the other hand, was very sophisticated with professional black slacks and a white silk blouse. All of them wore the O’Reily’s apron.

It wasn’t too crowded tonight, but there was a line, and the espresso flowed quickly, the pastries moved well, and customers were using the free Internet provided by the café in the back. The regulars didn't just come back for the java and treats, though, but for the café itself; they could tell a labor of love when they saw it. O'Reily's had rustic barn floor wood for its flooring and a stone fireplace in back. Used furniture, including plush couches and comfortable chairs, was scattered about the floor with wood tables and bookshelves spaced around the room. Along the wall was a long table with computers and posters from an assortment of art galleries.

In the front was a large, curved glass display case filled with scrumptious pastries and sandwiches. The counters were fossil marble and in the back were several espresso machines and a coffee machine. They had a freezer and cabinets as well as refrigerators, a microwave and a toaster with a mini toaster oven for preparing various sandwiches. Lined up in the back in a glass display case was a collection of teas, syrups, and specialty beans – everything they needed for business.

Dylan also had a large metal-drum barrel roaster on the floor near the entrance of the café so people could watch beans churn and roast during the day. O’Reily's was more than a coffee house. It was an experience.

"We need a pan pizza! Mushrooms and sausage." Christie, or maybe Cheryl, said, poking her head into the kitchen and flipping a tab of paper onto the order tray. "And Angelus is out here, says you're hunting tonight?" Her pretty, heart-shaped cocoa face pouted. "You should have told us, sis and I would have loved to have come. But we have to close."

"You are not coming. Your daddy says no mischief," Dylan told her sharply. "And until I can figure out what happened yesterday I don’t want anyone messing around with superpowers, okay?" He poured in a load of fresh blueberries into the batter and let it mix, then opened the refrigerator and removed a lump of dough for the pizza. He dumped it on a tray and grabbed a wooden paddle from the closet and put it on the metal counter. A little corn flour on the surface would prevent the pizza from sticking to its surface.

The twin frowned and planted her hands on her hips. "What are you talking about?"

"Take care of the floor, then we’ll talk."

"Yeah, but I got a minute to hear what you're not saying."

"Later, Christie." He knew he was shutting her out, but he didn’t know enough to tell her. He decided he wouldn’t think about how much he sounded like Liam at that moment.

"I'm Cheryl, and you better." She nabbed a fresh tray from the pantry and left the kitchen without another word, rightfully angry with him, old bear, or both.

He was pretty sure it was, in fact, Cheryl; he had known them long enough to get some sense of which was which. On the other hand, they never liked to reveal who was who. It was a harmless game, and Dylan didn’t mind playing it, so he just went along. Whatever had happened to make the twins the way they were also made it important for them to hide. At least, that was his guess. When they were ready they would talk.

Sorry Cheryl, it just isn’t safe out there, even for a bear, and your daddy is scared for you.

Deciding he’d talk to her later, Dylan turned back to the pizza. He located the sauce, mushrooms, and sausage. Personal pizza was one of the week’s specials, and it was selling well. It smelled good, and he had no doubt as to why. He had been told he was quite the chef – and he should be, as a graduate of the Culinary Institute of America.

It was ironic how he had never gotten the chance to eat his own food after he got his degree. He had died on the very day that he graduated, before he could cook a single meal as a certified chef and begin his work as a professional. Still, his senses were intact – he could even taste tiny bits, dabs, to make sure flavors were right, he just couldn't actually swallow anything, so he could still cook even if he couldn't eat. Over the years he had picked up more cooking skills and related knowledge in order to run his own kitchen.

Pastries were his specialty. Well, that and hunting monsters after hours, but very few of his customers knew that. Wasn't appropriate for a chef's image.

With a spray of flour he kneaded and stretched out the dough until soft, then quickly tossed it using his fists until flat and round. He dropped it on to the tray, ladled on some sauce, grated on mozzarella, and added the toppings. A moment later it was in the oven.

Just in time! The muffin batter had to be spooned out into their cups and baked.

Cheryl stuck her head in again to shove a slip of orders on the metal tree. “One more personal pizza and a ham on rye.”

“Cheryl? I apologize for being abrupt.” He said, making her pause at the door. “I appreciate you offering to help.”

“We used to accompany Old Bear all the time when he hunted unseelie things,” she said with a pout. “Sure he didn’t let us help, we were cubs, but we understand what you are doing.”

“That world understood you and your sister, and Old Bear knew it. This world doesn’t. Mortals don’t know much about skinchangers; toss in the League laws about you, and you could get in a heap of trouble.”

She nodded stiffly. “But Liam and Jason would make sure that wouldn’t happen, right? And you would be right next to us. Old Bear trusts all of you.”

“Not enough to let you go out looking for unseelie things. That’s something only a daddy or mamma bear can trust doing with his or her cubs.” Dylan told her.

That was a simple fact of skinchanger society. “Hunts are a sign of adulthood. I know.” The girl nodded reluctantly in agreement. Of the two of them, Cheryl was the more active, and more bearish.

“I think he’ll take you when he decides you’re ready. You miss him, don’t you? Doesn’t hurt to give him a call and talk to him about it. See if he can take you out next weekend!” Dylan suggested as she joined him in the kitchen.

“Yeah, I miss him a lot.” She adjusted her apron and washed her hands. “Can I help? I like mixing dough, it has a nice smell and feels all gooey like funny mud in my fingers.”

“Sure.”

“If I call, he’ll come, but he might think Christie doesn’t need to stay here,” she said, thoughtfully. “And she does, she likes all the human stuff.”

Working the kitchen was his happy place and sharing it with someone made it even more special. It was there that he felt the most human. He was surrounded by human smells, and able to enjoy them, just like he did when he was a boy, and when Anna was alive baking in SoHo. “I’ll take care of the sandwich, then.”

He saw her smile brighten as she quickly located the premade pizza dough rising in a metal bowl near the stove. “I like human stuff too - Beyoncé, dancing, Super Mario Brothers, ice skating…” As she spoke, she tore out some dough, measured it and floured the surface. “But at the same time, I understand what you mean by dangerous and why Old Bear wants us with him in the woods. It’s why he doesn’t stay here in the city. Cities are dead, the stink, the sounds, the bright lights at night, it hurts the Mother and the bits of her under it die.” Grief pulled at her young face. “And Fae thrive off the warmth of the Mother.” She pressed her palm into the dough. “Ancient ones are very sensitive to it.”

He wondered what the influx of magic would do to the Mother. Would it be like an increase of greenhouse gasses, or a methane bubble from the sea? It was a frightening thought. “Does it bother you and Christie?”

“Sometimes. It’s like smelling a person with cancer.” She shrugged. “Sad.” She looked over to him. “But I think we will find ways to try to help people learn about it when we get older.” Her voice grew stronger as she spoke, and she rolled out more dough against the counter with her palms.

“Fighting unseelie things might not be the solution.” He dug out the rye bread, dropped two pieces in the toaster and then quickly set out the plates, chips, pickle and coleslaw.

“Unseelie things are a part of the problem, though. Old Bear told us. They’re infected by the Mother’s sickness,” she said. “They either have to be taught and helped, or put out of their misery. But I need to think about this, and talk to Christie.”

He wondered what she meant, exactly, but didn’t probe deeper. It was skinchanger business, and none of his. Cheryl was here because she needed to talk to him about missing Old Bear and her need to go out hunting. He watched her pull out the pan pizza and place it on the wooden paddle, then add the ingredients.

“Great looking pizza, girl.” With the bread out of the toaster, he set to making the sandwich. “You rock!”

“The best,” she told him, carrying the paddle over to the oven. “My pizzas are pure Bear-riffic!”

Dylan snorted, but grinned. Bear-riffic indeed.

Anna had had to leave before the Café was in full swing. She never met the twins, Louis, or the clients down in the basement nor had she had the chance to really see Filipe, Qui, Angelus or himself working on their own. He wondered what Anna would think of the Café now.

For a moment, he stood, and inhaled with his eyes closed. The smells of baking pizza and already baking corn muffins filled the air. He could taste them in his imagination, and it bought a rush of vivid memories to mind. The revenant smiled. He loved the kitchen.

It was just like home but it also reminded him of Anna. She always smelled of pastries…

 

 

 

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Demons of the Past: Revelation, Chapter 15

Varan was waiting for results of his testing, but at least it was in a comfortable place...

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Chapter 15.
Varan:

I emerged onto the sun balcony where one of the servants had told me breakfast was being served. Thank the Eternal that it sounds quiet. No mob this morning.

Treyuusei was actually cooking, to my surprise – and gratification, as I got closer. "Sweet Sevens? Trey, you shouldn't have!"

"You're going to be spoiled the whole time you're here, Sash, so get used to it."

"I don't dare get used to it, Trey; going back to the standard mealhall – good as it usually is – would seem pretty bleak if I got used to this." I didn't protest any more, because sweet Sevens were one of my favorites and I'd never pass up a chance for the seven-sided cakes rolled with a sweet-sour cream and topped with fruit for breakfast. Especially with Trey cooking, since it was one of her family's traditional recipes, being from Vangen originally.

Taelin waved as I sat down, but didn't say anything immediately because he was busy stuffing the last of a Seven into his mouth. Lukhas grinned. "Morning, Sasham. Taelin, when you're done making a spectacle of yourself, say hello to your friend."

"Hello, friend," Talin said, grinning back. "Trey, another?"

"You'll get another after Sasham has three."

"Oh, I couldn't –"

"You ate ten the last time, I find it hard to believe you won't eat that many this time."

Had I actually eaten ten the last time? Maybe I had. Trey dropped three of the rolled cakes on my plate, one after the other, making the traditional triangle. "Thank you, Trey." I reached out and snagged one of the jars of fruit.

"Pay up," Lukh said to Taelin, who grimaced and handed him the Seven that Trey had just put on his plate.

"Sink you, Sash, do you have to be that predictable?"

"What?"

"Taelin," Lukh said with another grin, "was foolish enough to bet that you wouldn't go for the gemberry first."

"Redfruit's always been Sash's favorite, though," Treyuusei pointed out. "You were betting on the fact that gemberry's hard to get anywhere but Oro."

"And that's why I am White Security," Lukh agreed. "My hunches are right."

"Where's your mom and Mishel?" I asked, ignoring the usual Five Family competition to one-up each other.

"Mom had to go to a Family Council this morning," Taelin answered, accepting a replacement Seven from Trey,"and Mishel's got combat training until midday."

I glanced at his older brother, whose brown hair covered half his face as he looked down at his plate – a current Imperial style but one I found a bit of an affectation and potentially annoying to wear. "And what are you doing here this late?"

"Eating."

"A well-fed security force is an attentive security force!" Taelin said.

"Or one slowly falling into a stuffed stupor," I said cynically.

"Actually, I have some errands to run but no specific time I have to be back; the Security Council knows I'm expecting to be busy with some personal business for the next few weeks." Lukhas leaned forward. "So, Sash, anything you can tell us about your meeting?"

I thought for a minute. The Prime Monitor hadn't said I couldn't talk about anything yet, though it was clear there was some project involved that would be top-secret. "Well, there isn't that much to tell. He asked me some general questions – including some really peculiar things, like whether I'd like to be Director of Research."

"That would be a step and a half up," Taelin said with a raised eyebrow. "At least."

"More than that, and I don't even have the experience you'd want for that kind of position. I've got some of the training, maybe… and he did make a point about having someone who understands the demands in the field being in charge… but still, it sounds overly generous at the least." At the least, given that all I did was somehow survive an attack without even knowing how I did it.

"What do you think of the Prime Monitor?"

Well there is a question primed with explosives. I studied both Lukh and Taelin for a moment, and Treyuusei, who was clearly listening even if she was still cooking. "What do you mean, what do I think of him?"

Taelin grimaced. "Demons, Sash, you don't need to walk on crystal around us!"

"I'm not one of your Families yet, even if some day you think I will be. I sinking well better walk on crystal on subjects like that. Especially with one of you being top-level security on Silan-Luria."

Lukh acknowledged the point with a nod. "But I asked the question, and I have my reasons for wanting to know the answer."

"You two need to stop circling the gate and go through," Treyuusei said in exasperation. She put her own plate down and turned to me. "Sasham, we rely on the impressions of others for many things – especially impressions of people we know and trust, and who've shown they have good instincts.

"Lukhas is almost as high in Intelligence Service as anyone from the Five can get. Once he makes White Controller, there's only one way to go farther in the security of the Empire, and that's –"

I realized what they were getting at even as Lukh continued, "And that's to become a Monitor. I'd get a big jump in the Monitor Corps, coming from one of the Families, but I'd still have to go through all the same conditioning, all the same training, and even dissassociate myself from my family to a great extent. But…" I could see he was torn. "…but it's something I do really well. I want to do my best, just like you, Sash."

"But," Taelin put in, "we also need to keep an eye on the Monitor Corps. They keep an eye on us and the Navy and the Guards, the Navy and the Guards keep an eye on the Families and the Monitors, and so on. And Lukhas is one of our best eyes."

Torline's Swords! I thought to myself. They… they really must mean to somehow bring me into the Families. They're talking deep, deep policy. With it laid out like this, I could finally read between the lines. Lukh could continue as Imperial Intelligence and maybe go up one more step, to White Controller, but Shagrath and his Prime Seconds would always be able to overrule him on matters of security, unless it were a Families internal matter. The Families could, of course, always force openness in dealings – that was their primary function and why they had specific codes built into every significant system for Family use – but for security/ intelligence/ espionage work, there wasn't anywhere else for Lukh to go, and even his work currently was undoubtedly directed, and watched, by the Monitors.

But if Lukhas joined the Monitor Corps, he could watch them from within. Except, of course, that he'd be conditioned to neutrality.

I shook my head. "Well… he's not entirely comfortable to be with, but given the circumstances, I wouldn't expect to be comfortable with him. Hard to read – but he's trained to hide anything he's thinking, really."

Trey nodded and looked at the other two. "And what else would you expect? Honestly, you're making this look like he has to give you a key evaluation right away, when he's hardly had TIME to speak with the man."

"Surface, first impressions can still be important," Lukhas pointed out, soberly. "Sasham, we certainly want information about what he's doing – and I assure you, he'll guess that we're trying to get information on him, just as his people are always watching us, trying to dig out information on every member of the Families. But I don't mean to interfere with your purpose here. Shagrath's got to have some terribly important project that he thinks your recent … tragedy can shed light on. I'm not interested in spying on his project," I could tell that was a partial lie – of course he wanted to know what was going on – but the essence of it was true, "I'm interested in making sure he's a man I can dedicate myself to before I decide which direction I should go."

"I'll keep an eye out and see if I learn anything," I promised. "I found him slightly intimidating when I first met him, but that was probably your brother's doing. He told me he found Shagrath uncomfortable."

That also got a grave nod. "Yes. One reason I'm very cautious."

"I guess I would be too," I conceded. "The only other thing I could say is that whatever he's doing, it's associated with some alien of a race I've never met before… Sooovickalassa, that was his name."

Lukhas looked up sharply. "Reptilian creature? Golden crest?" At my nod, he looked thoughtful. "Interesting. It was actually a Monitor patrol vessel that made first contact with the R'Thann, and almost no direct information has been made available. I've been trying to convince the Controller to let me arrange a Naval expedition to their world, but no luck. Maybe this will jolt her a little, get her to move. What'd this Sooovickalassa do?"

"A doctor of… something, I don't know what. Mostly interviewed me about Tangia, the battle, and then scanned me with all sorts of sensors – a lot of types I've never seen before."

"Trying to figure out why you survived, obviously. But why he'd need a creature from some race not even in the Empire…" Lukh shook his head.

"I'm sure it will become clearer later," Treyuusei said, getting up to grab another Seven off the iron. "But no point worrying at Sash any more for now. You've given him his trauma for the day, pushing at him as though he was a spy."

"It wasn't that bad, Trey," I said, defensively.

"Maybe not, but she's right, we probably should've just brought it up differently. Anyway, you'd better finish eating up. Old Yourin Khardan's invited us to go hunting on his preserve."

"But I probably have to go back to –"

Lukh held up a hand. "No, you don't. Word from the Monitors is that they expect the analysis to take a couple of days at least, so you're free until Niaaday."

Hunting sounded fun – knowing what kind of things Oro preserves would have on them – but… "He knows I'm just Navy?"

"He knows you're my best friend and that's enough. He's wanted to meet you for years. Um, beware, though. He's got four granddaughters that want to meet you too."

I winced. "I really am not ready for that kind of thing."

"Just be polite. I'll make sure to mention Diorre in the right context; they'll understand, or else I'll make them understand. Leave the hard parts to me, Sash." He flashed me a sideways grin. "Don't worry, we'll train you up to being a master of the social arts soon enough."

I shuddered dramatically. "That's what I'm afraid of."

 

 

 

 

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