by Holly Lisle
His back was starting to ache a bit, but Jack stayed hunched over his workbench, carefully easing his continuity probes down on either side of the tiny resistor. He glanced at his multimeter. The needle stayed dead on zero, indicating an open circuit. Bingo! He straightened up and stretched. A whole afternoon shot because of a ten cent part. Maybe he should consider paying at least a quarter for the next one.
He got up and checked his component bins. It always reminded him a little of going to the candy counter at the drugstore when he was a kid. The capacitors with their bright and shiny colors were the chocolates and hard candies; the resistors with their color-coded bands were the stick candies and mints, and the clear crystal diodes were the rock candy. Snarls of red and black wire trailed everywhere like licorice whips gone feral. Jack rummaged in the resistor bin until he came up with a likely one—the right ohmage and twice the amperage of its dead cousin. He started to take it back to his bench when something else registered. That really was a peppermint in the resistor bin. He took it out, sniffed it suspiciously, then unwrapped it and popped it into his mouth.
Not bad.
He tossed the resistor onto his bench. "Well, I know an omen," he told it, speaking around the peppermint, "and this one means to go home before anything bad spoils it. You can wait."
He whistled a few bars of "Georgy Girl" as he made a final survey of the lab, grabbing a sheaf of papers that caught his eye, then turned off the lights and closed the door. Most of the other doors were already dark, and he checked his watch in surprise. Six-thirty—and it was Friday. He wasn't really taking off early at all. He grinned. Well, it was earlier than if he hadn't had his omen.
Jack jogged down the stairs to the first floor, and out into the parking lot. The sun was still peeking up over the trees, and purple martins were out, darting to and fro, and picking bugs out of the evening air like kids picking pepperoni off a pizza. He glanced back at the Celestial building. It looked like the light was still on in Rhea's office. Maybe he could go back up and see if she wanted to go see a movie. She'd said once that she really liked Disney, and the new animated Dante was supposed to be a riot.
Nah, better not. It would be nice to see a movie with someone for a change, but that'd be like sucking up to the boss. She probably had someone she went out with, anyway. Maybe that Roberts guy. The Mercedes in the parking lot didn't look familiar, so he must still be up there with her. Hope I didn't screw things up for Rhea's funding with that little encounter, Jack thought.
He had to admit it would be nice to get out sometime. He hadn't had much luck since breaking up with Carol. If anyone could call that luck. He still couldn't believe how stupid he'd been.
He got into his car and turned the key. The ignition gave a slight click, but the engine didn't turn over. Jack loved his Camry, but he had to admit that after four hundred fifty thousand miles and fifteen years, maybe, just maybe, it was starting to lose a little zip. He took a small ballpeen hammer from the toolbox in the trunk, and opened the hood. He aimed carefully, and brought the hammer down in a small precise arc against the side of the starter, then closed the hood and put the hammer away confidently. This time, the car started immediately. Plenty of life in the old girl yet. As he rolled out onto Cornwallis Road, he mentally itemized a bill.
Hitting car with hammer: $1.00.
Knowing where to hit: $99.00.
With the tape player blaring out the Globetrotters' "Rainy Day Bells," Jack rode off into the sunset.
Chapter 12
"This is the one," Kellubrae told Glibspet. He cupped his hands and drew them upward to meet again at the top. The air inside the ellipse he had limned shimmered, then congealed in the form of a woman.
She was unmistakably one of the Fallen. She had that combination of radiant beauty and dark aspect that characterized them, and yet there was an indefinable feeling of something subtly off-key about her too. And something familiar.
"Hey," Glibspet said, "I know that frail. She was the boss's mouthpiece, wasn't she?" Detective talk was fun.
"Averial," Venifar confirmed, "the original devil's advocate during the... Late Unpleasantness."
"Missing almost two years now," Grace said, "though, not actually missed until today. Lucifer wants her found."
Glibspet unwrapped another Twinkie and popped it into his mouth. Speaking through the filling (Damn, that stuff was good!), he asked, "Weh, whuy dosen' he wind her 'msef?" He swallowed and licked his lips appreciatively.
"Because she doesn't want to be found," Venifar said, "and there's only one place above or below where one of the Fallen could hide from him."
"North Carolina," Glibspet said.
"That's right," Kellubrae snapped his fingers and dismissed the image. "We've done what backtracking we can in Hell. We've ascertained that she came up right after the Unchaining, simply because she hasn't been anywhere in Hell since then. And that's the last the Fallen or any Hellborn saw her. She can't have left the state; we'd have felt her dissolution. She can't have repented; she would have shown up on the rosters. So she's still up here, shielded somehow and a priori working on something contrary to the interests of the Hierarchy."
Venifar said, "You're the only Hellborn who's shown a talent for finding out things within the constraints of the Unchaining. You will find her now, and quickly, or I guarantee your homecoming will be talked about around the Pit for millennia."
Glibspet raised an eyebrow. "You already played that song, remember?" he said. "Threaten me and I'm liable to go off and work for my other clients and put your little problem at the bottom of my priority list. Keep this in mind. This is my investigation, my terms, and my contract." It was also a fascinating situation. One of Hell's finest had slipped the noose and hidden on Earth for over two years before anyone realized she was gone. This little fact would wreak havoc within Hell's ordered legions if news of it got out... and news would almost certainly get out. Even more interesting would be the reaction if Fallen Averial escaped Lucifer's clutches entirely. She had, at one time, been big, big, big in the organization. Why, her continued absence would be almost as devastating for Lucifer as the defection of his second-in-command, Agonostis, had been two years earlier.
So the three Fallen in his office would be in serious shit if they failed to return Averial. Serious shit. A smart devil like him could make his fortune from an opportunity like this. Glibspet reached into his safe and pulled out one of his standard contracts. He added a few lines, crossed through a few others, wrote in a figure that in other circumstances would have been nothing short of highway robbery, and handed the contract to the unknown fallen angel he'd nicknamed Grace.
He waited while she read it. When he saw the fury in her eyes, he asked, "Well?"
The air around her darkened to match her skin. Glibspet smelled a hint of ozone and got a feeling like the calm right before a lightning strike. He didn't have any hair on his arms, but the hair in his nose stood on end. It was damned uncomfortable.
"What makes you think I would ever give myself to you?" Grace growled. "You're a second-level pustule on the ass of a canker, and you're not worthy to lick my instep!"
Glibspet crossed his arms. "I had in mind starting a little higher," he said. "You decided you would yank my chain with your not inconsiderable... assets. I decided I liked the assets I saw. I told you I see mostly working girls, and I figure if I pull this off, I ought to be able to afford the best. What's more, I'm betting you're in the market."
She dropped the contract on the floor and stalked towards him. "You're my meat, Globsnot. I am going to fry you in your own fat and—"
Suddenly her arms fell to her sides. She strained to take another step, but failed. Glibspet saw that both Venifar and Kellubrae were concentrating hard.
"Now, Linufel," Kellubrae said, "I'm sure it can't be that bad."
Linufel? That was her name. Glibspet grinned.
Venifar picked the contract up from the floor. He smoothed it out and looked it over. "Really," he s
aid, "you're making an issue out of nothing. He just wants you for a month, and he's included a clause here saying he won't cause any damage sufficient to require repairing your manifestation. It seems quite reasonable, considering. The amount of money he wants up front strikes me as much more unreasonable." He smiled at Kellubrae.
"It's not your ass he wants," Linufel snarled. She glared from one Fallen to the other.
"No," Venifar agreed, "not in the immediate sense, but consider that in the long run it will be all our asses otherwise."
"Then why don't you agree to serve the little slimesucker's every desire for a month?"
Venifar smiled. "There aren't many advantages to being the team leader, but this is certainly one of them. You'll accept this portion of the contract, Linufel. I say so, and by your own vote, I have control over the details of the mission."
"Then you'll accept the terms of the contract."
Venifar scanned it again. "It seems in order," he said. "You will find Averial, and in return we agree to not work against you for the duration of the contract; to pay you one hundred million dollars and grant you the use of Linufel for a month." He reached through Glibspet's desktop and pulled out a fountain pen. "Now, Linufel, my lovely, Kellubrae and I are going to release you and then we are all going to sign this contract. You do understand?"
Linufel spat. "Oh, I understand all right."
"I'll take that as a 'yes,'" Venifar said. "Kellubrae?" Linufel finished the step she'd been taking, gave Glibspet a hard look, and walked back to the other two Fallen. She snatched the pen from Venifar, and scratched her sigil on the bottom of the paper. "Satisfied?" she snapped.
"Almost," Venifar said. He picked up the pen and added his sigil next to hers, as did Kellubrae.
"Great," Glibspet took the contract, folded it carefully and stored it in his safe. "Now the first thing I'll need is a good picture of the broad."
"You saw my seeming, Glippet," Kellubrae said. "What more do you need?"
Glibspet sighed. The Fallen just didn't have any feel for work in the mortal world. "It isn't like I can run off a thousand copies of your seeming on my copier. I can't hand a seeming out to people. I can't even pull it out of my pocket and show it around the corner drugstore without tipping people off that I'm not just one of the guys. Now can I? Look, Kelly," Glibspet said, "I need photos. I like eight-by-tens. If you can get any nudes, so much the better."
"What good would that do? She's not likely to be parading around North Carolina nude."
"No, but it will give me some inspiration," Glibspet said. "And you can make the first deposit to my account while you're at it."
"You haven't done anything yet," Venifar said.
"No, but I feel some heavy expenses coming on."
"Expenses?"
"Check the contract." Glibspet stood up. "I'm sorry you have to be leaving so soon, but I've got a lot to do."
Linufel had been silent since signing the contract. She spoke now. "Globsnot, where's your tail?"
Glibspet shrugged. "I worked out a way to demanifest it a long time ago. It just gets in the way up here. The chairs don't work with a tail, if you eat the food up here then you have to crap and tails get in the way sitting on toilets, and if I have to go undercover as a human, that damn sure doesn't work." He grinned. "It took me two months to get rid of it all. And not every second level could do it. Don't worry, doll. When it comes time for that, I'll have handles enough for you."
"I think you need a tail," she said. "All second level demons need a tail."
"Linufel..." Kellubrae warned.
"It can't be working against him to give him his tail back," she said. "It's only proper."
Glibspet was starting to get a bad feeling about this. "No, really—" he said.
Linufel put her hands together and pointed. Her fingers glowed briefly and Glibspet felt a sharp pain in his rear and heard his trousers rip.
Venifar and Kellubrae grabbed Linufel, and suddenly all three were gone.
Glibspet sank down weakly into his chair. And stood right back up again. Damn.
Chapter 13
Checks Traced to Demons' Ages
Washington, DC—Washington Post
The Social Security Administration confirmed Friday that the recent disbursement of millions of dollars in erroneous checks was caused by a programming error. The error was triggered by the Administration's recent attempt to add North Carolina's Hellraised citizens to the Social Security roster.
"It's their ages," said Assistant Director Jeffrey Hall. "Those fields were only designed to be three digits wide, and when we started adding people a thousand years old and older, the resulting glitch overwrote another part of the program. The checks were just a mild symptom. After they went out, we had a total system meltdown, and it may be weeks before we're back online. In the meantime, let me reiterate: Do not cash those checks!"
The Administration's addition of the Hellraised to Social Security databanks came after the recent Supreme Court decision in Hildecar vs. the United States established that immortals must still pay Social Security taxes, even though they will not benefit from the system. "We're going to proceed," said Hall, "but, quite frankly, we're just going to make up ages on these guys. It may not be strictly legal, but we can't afford to rewrite all our software."
Asked for comment, a spokesman for North Carolina's Demonic Citizens Against FICA (DECAF), a group fighting for legislation to overturn the Hildecar decision, said, "This just bolsters our position. Not only are the government's actions unfair, they are pulling money from the pockets of all taxpayers to implement this. Yet I'm sure we will still get the blame somehow. We're damned if we do, and damned if we don't. Of course, that's always been true."
There were times, Rhea thought, when closing a business deal was a lot like staring at your date over the last slice of pizza: both of you want it, but neither of you wants to make the first move, and in the meantime, the pizza is getting cold. She and Roberts were eyeing each other that way now and Rhea was a little surprised. Everything she'd seen of Roberts so far had been direct and to the point, even the leading questions. Now there was something he wasn't willing to say.
"Look," she said, "we can stay here all evening and watch the stars come out. You're good company and I'd probably enjoy it. On the other hand, we could decide we've got a basis to deal, and I'd enjoy that even more."
"I've always loved the stars," Roberts said. "I could pick out each constellation for you and point to all the planets, but you're right, that's not what I'm here for." He turned from the window, and walked back to the couch. "Okay," he said, "TRITEL gets up to fifty percent of your satellite launch capacity for your first five years."
Rhea considered. It sounded like a lot to ask, but if things worked as planned, they'd be making so many trips that it wouldn't matter. "Done," she said.
"Stock options when you go public."
Again not a critical point. Rhea didn't care who had Celestial stock, as long as she kept fifty-one percent. And going public wasn't on her short list. It could be a very long time before that happened. "Done."
"And TRITEL gets constant reports."
Now that was starting to get a little sticky. She didn't think it was what Roberts had been hedging around, but it was like the camel's nose under the tent. Reports implied some sort of ongoing evaluation, and reports on demand suggested the possibility of an instant negative evaluation—justify your life and give three examples. On the other hand, she could hardly take the kind of money she was asking for and not provide some sort of accounting. She hesitated a second, then, "Periodic reports," she said.
Roberts nodded, "That's acceptable, if we can have someone on site."
"No," Rhea said. "Absolutely not. I do my own hiring and firing, and I don't need any help from TRITEL."
Roberts shifted a little on the couch and looked away momentarily. I'm getting close, Rhea thought.
"You're talking a lot of money for us not to have input," he said.
"Look," Rhea said, "you work for a high-tech outfit. You know that on any particular day, the odds are any given project looks like it's in the dumper. I'm not going to have a bunch of outsiders trying to micromanage me. I'm not going to be managed at all. You'll have input and I'll be glad to address TRITEL's concerns, but I'm not opening my company up, and I won't answer to TRITEL except to the extent that you can cut off my funding whenever you feel like it—period."
Roberts frowned. "Okay, maybe I can split the issue," he said. "You don't want to open up the development process. I can understand that, maybe the board can too. But we've got to have someone here during the testing to see if the result is going to meet our needs." Roberts was staring very hard at his shoes. "Especially during the flight testing."
That was it. He wanted to go. Wanted it so bad he could taste it. That's what all the pussyfooting was about. And more importantly, that was why he was going to come through for her. She smiled. "I don't think that will be a problem, Mr. Roberts. When we reach flight-testing stage, I think Celestial would be glad to accommodate an observer of TRITEL's choice—no," she paused a minute to bait the hook, "I know your record, and I trust your judgment. Make that an observer of your choice, personally." That ought to get him. Still she would have to examine all new hires with a microscope from now on to weed out the TRITEL plants.
Roberts looked at her sharply, then grinned. "Ms. Samuels, I have to pitch it to the board, but I think we may be able to do business."
Rhea got up and walked over to her desk. She wrote briefly on a Post-It note and offered it to Roberts. "This is my private line, my home phone, and e-mail. If you need any information, call. In the meantime, I'll have my lawyers draw up a contract along the lines we discussed. If TRITEL decides to back us, we should be able to hammer out the fine points quickly."
Roberts stood and took the note. He folded it carefully and tucked it into his wallet. It looked lonely there among all the green. "I can't give you a commitment, Ms. Samuels. Not here and not now—" He paused and smiled. It was a good smile. "—but I don't think you'll be disappointed."