Shooting Eros - The Emuna Chronicles: Complete Boxset: Books 1 - 3

by Benjamin Laskin

  Abishai cleared his throat. “When was the last time you had this pit swept?”

  “The maid comes once a week,” Sett said, lighting his cigar.

  “Not that kind of sweep.”

  “An hour ago. I did it myself. You can’t be too careful these days.”

  “Was it clean?”

  “No,” Sett said, refilling his glass. “But it is now.”

  Abishai sipped his Scotch and lit his cigar. “Screw Eros? That’s code for what?” he asked, certain that his commander was toying with him.

  “Nothin’. Eros and the Academy can all go to hell.”

  Abishai examined his cigar. “What kind of weed are we smoking?”

  “Listen up, Abs. I’m going to catch you up real fast, so pay attention.”

  Abishai knew the look in Sett’s eyes. His old friend was serious, and a serious Sett was no one to trifle with.

  “I’m listening.”

  “I went to the brig yesterday to ask Lieutenant Jason some questions. He was gone, and so were three other soldiers with him, including Sergeant Pontos who let them go. Disgronifier logs show that all four disgronified down together shortly after their so-called release. None have returned. I tried to do some research, but I was shut out of every relevant database. Then, this morning, the celestial Grace showed up in my office with a thick file. She dropped it on my desk, said, ‘Res ipsa loquitur,’ and walked away.”

  “Huh? What the hell does that mean?”

  “It’s Latin,” Sett said. “Means, ‘the thing speaks for itself.’ Here’s the score, Abs. Some two hundred and fifty cupid warriors have gone missing over the last hundred years. Most had files that said MIA. That’s soldiers. Another three hundred plus civilian cupids mysteriously disappeared during the same time—engineers, scientists, craftsmen, doctors and technicians. Their files simply said ‘reassigned.’ To where or what was not mentioned. The only trace of them was in disgronifier logs. One way trips, every one of them.”

  Abishai needed another drink. As he poured he said, “And you know where they went?”

  Sett blew a smoke ring. “They joined Anteros. They are all traitors.”

  “Anteros! But they were annihilated.”

  “Far from it, Abs. They are more numerous and formidable than ever. I tangled with some of them. And so did Volk.”

  “Volk?” Abishai scowled. “If anyone was going to be a traitor, he’d be one of the first to come to my mind. His pal was banished for exactly that.”

  Sett chuckled. “Abs, old buddy, if I got all my news from the Academy’s media I’d think the same thing, but I stopped drinking that propagandistic piss a long time ago.”

  “Huh?” Abishai said, wondering if he ever knew his old comrade after all.

  “Cyrus and Volk are a lot of things, but traitor ain’t one of them. All the traitors are on our side.”

  If it had been anyone other than Commander Sett who was telling him all this, Abishai would have already had his demon duster out and in the man’s mouth.

  “But if what you’re telling me is true, how was it kept secret all this time? How come we never noticed?”

  Sett tapped a chunk of ash onto an empty plate. “Bureaucrats, Abs. Digital foot soldiers—nameless, faceless, and gutless. Most push the Academy’s lies, the other’s Anteros’s. Bureaucratic sleight of hand, Abs. Control the data and control the message.”

  Abishai scratched his beard thoughtfully. It was true that he didn’t know a single one of these behind the scenes cupids. He was a soldier and knew only other soldiers. He knew the Academy had a training facility for these apparatchiks, but what went on in their college never interested him. He always felt that those who could fight, did, and those who couldn’t fight clicked mouse buttons.

  He said, “But surely not all of them are traitors or drones.”

  “Drones, yeah. Traitors, no. But enough of them are. It would only take a small network of well-positioned cupids loyal to Anteros to accomplish what they are doing.”

  “Can we expose them?”

  “To try would bring the whole damn bureaucracy down on our heads and breathing up our shorts.”

  “So why are you telling me all this if there’s nothing we can do about it?”

  “I’m not finished,” Sett said. “I want you to know the score, so put your ears back on. Next week, Minos and Danaos are going to meet with the head of the Anteros cult, a turd by the name of Hamanaeus. The story goes that he was Anteros’s handpicked successor, but we have no proof of that. Doesn’t matter. He’s the brains behind the cult now, and he’s done a bang-up job at rebuilding their organization. Volk uncovered their whereabouts after one of our cadets was taken prisoner. According to Volk, Anteros has a massive fortress and an army of highly trained, well-armed fanatics and fear demons that Hamanaeus’s scientists somehow learned to program.”

  “Fear demons?” Abishai said, incredulous.

  “I’ve seen ‘em, Abs,” Sett confirmed. “Hamanaeus plans to crash our little plot of Heaven and tow it down to Earth.”

  “Tow it?”

  “Wipe us out, Abs, and build a new Heaven on Earth.”

  “But I thought the whole point behind Solow was that we make a treaty with the fear demons.”

  “More Academy BS,” Sett spat. “You can’t negotiate with fear demons. Fear demons are mindless beasts. They don’t feel, they don’t deal, and they never kneel. This was always about Anteros. Hamanaeus let us know that he has figured out a way to capture and reprogram the demons to do his bidding, and our gutless, nitwitted judges crapped their robes. Hamanaeus says he knows how to keep the demons on his leash, and hell, maybe he does. But it’s not to benefit the humans, it’s to enslave them in his own way.”

  “I dunno, Sett. It all sounds pretty nuts to me.”

  “Nuts? Really?” Sett rejoined. “You know what I think is nuts? You and me being led by a group of moronic judges who think we can make a peace treaty with a bloodthirsty cult of fanatics. I think an Academy that rewrites our own history, manufactures propaganda, doesn’t give a rat’s ass about its own soldiers and makes us adhere to suicidal rules of engagement with fear demons is nuts. I think having to sweep my own house every day for Academy taps is nuts. I think dozens of our top soldiers trading sides is nuts. I think that half our guys spending half their time drunk or stoned or chasing celestial tail is nuts. And, I think worshipping a stinking statue called Eros is nuts. Think back, Abs, think way back. Is this how you remember things?”

  Abishai shook his head thoughtfully. “No, Sett. I was young—just a cadet—but no, I don’t remember it being this bad.”

  “Well, it’s even worse than that, but I didn’t ask you here to lecture ya.”

  “So, what am I doing here?”

  Sett finished his glass and refilled it. “You’re here to be recruited.”

  “Recruited for what?” Abishai said warily.

  “A last stand.”

  “As in…rebellion?” Abishai couldn’t believe he was even uttering the word.

  “If it comes to that. But I’m talking about first things first. Anteros must be defeated. We’re soldiers, Abs, not politicians. We only know how to do one thing well, and to surrender without a fight is a disgrace I can’t bear to live with. I’m asking you to join me, and to take the battle to Anteros before they take it to us.”

  “That’s a high-minded way of saying treason, Sett. That’s what you’re demanding.”

  “I’m neither demanding nor commanding, Abs. I’m telling you where I stand. You can walk now and this conversation never happened. You can report me to Minos. But I’ve said my piece, and I stand by it.”

  Abishai sat still, his eyes on Sett’s, as if trying to read his soul. He raised his cigar and took a puff. After a long pause he said, “Have you spoken to anyone else about this?”

  “Just you.”

  “Dammit, Sett,” Abishai said in exasperation. “Even if I were to sign on, we’d be discovered as soon as we bega
n recruiting soldiers. The other commanders would never join us.”

  “I get that,” Sett said. “We’d take a handpicked team. You, me, your SWAT boys—guys we trust.”

  “Against the entire Anteros army? You just got through telling me how big and well-trained they are. That they already have more damn fear demons on their side then soldiers that we’d be able to muster on ours.”

  Sett grinned. “I didn’t say it would be easy.”

  “You didn’t say it would be suicide either,” Abishai retorted, not the least amused.

  “I might be able to get a second team together.”

  “What, a bunch of celestials? Get serious, there is no second team.”

  “I’m talking about Captain Volk.”

  “Volk?” Abishai said skeptically. “He’s just one man, and the guy barely knows how to handle a gun! I haven’t seen him train once with us, not once.”

  Sett said, “Volk and his two cadets, Kohai and Virgil.”

  “Cadets? Going up against Anteros’s best? Come on, Sett. Have you lost your fricken mind?”

  “No, Abs.” Sett smiled wryly and added, “But if you saw them in action as I have, you’d think that you had lost yours.”

  Just then, the curtains in Sett’s living room along with a flurry of loose papers, began to whirl as if in the midst of a dust devil.

  “What the hell?!” Abishai blurted. He leaped to his feet, his gun leveled.

  36

  True Grit

  Sett remained seated, a fat grin on his face.

  Abishai dropped to one knee, his demon duster trained on the condensing whirlwind. A figure appeared, and he shot twice.

  The figure dove over a coffee table, rolled and sprang up in front of Abishai, knocking him backwards and sending his gun skyward. Volk caught the gun midair and turned it on the surprised captain. He stuck its muzzle between Abishai’s saucer-wide eyes.

  Volk said, “Is that any way to greet an old teammate, Abs?”

  Sett chuckled. “It is if he doesn’t knock first.”

  Volk handed Abishai back his gun and helped him to his feet.

  “We were just talking about you,” Sett said. “Drink?”

  “Don’t mind if I do,” Volk answered, pulling up a chair.

  Sett got up and rinsed out another glass. He placed it in front of the now-seated captain and poured. “Cigar?”

  “Why not?”

  Sett pulled out a cigar from his breast pocket and handed it to Volk.

  Abishai looked on in bewilderment. Volk’s inexplicable entrance aside, the last time his friend Sett had spoken about the captain it was within a string of curses.

  “What brings your flashy intrusion, Volk?” Sett asked.

  “Business.”

  “How’d you do that?” Abishai said, twirling his finger, his wits stuck on Volk’s mysterious appearance.

  “Sometimes walking is too slow.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question.”

  “Trust me, Abs,” Volk said. “At this time, nothing I say would.” He turned to Sett. “What are you two knaves up to? You look pretty suspicious to me.”

  “Business, same as you,” Sett said.

  Volk read Sett’s mind. The commander was holding his cards close to his chest. As he could only read the most conscious thoughts, those on the surface, he wasn’t sure what Sett was hiding. Only direct questions would bring those up, but the captain wasn’t ready to incriminate himself quite yet.

  “I spoke with Grace,” Volk said. “She confessed that she had been collaborating with Anteros for years and that we are riddled with moles.”

  “Grace…” Sett repeated, her Latin words to him taking on a new significance. “That explains a few things.”

  Abishai glanced at Sett, a troubled look in his eye. Didn’t Sett just get through telling him that it was Grace who gave him all that intelligence on the Anteros cells?

  “The Chief Celestial a mole?” he said, confused.

  “She’s our mole now,” Volk answered.

  “Can we trust her?” Abishai said, dubious.

  “We can. And we must.”

  “For what?” Sett said.

  Volk volleyed the ball back into Sett’s court. “That depends on you.”

  “We have more than moles here,” Sett said. “Four soldiers just went AWOL, including Lieutenant Jason. Captain Perseus is missing too. I also have reason to believe that our uptick in casualties over the recent past is due more to ex-cupid sharpshooters than the appetites of fear demons.”

  Volk blew a reflective puff of smoke from his cigar. “Jason doesn’t surprise me, but Perseus, that is troubling. He’s one of our best.”

  “It gets worse,” Sett said. “Commando Ajax is missing too.”

  “Aw, hell,” Abishai groaned. “Ajax? Who do we have that could stop that beast? He’s a one-man army!”

  Volk ignored Abishai’s concern. “Sorry, but we got an even bigger problem than Ajax. Hermes is missing. I just returned from his lab. The big prototype spleen gun was there. It was too hard to get that out. But the handheld ones used in the demonstration were gone, and so were all his notes and drawings on those weapons.”

  “That dumpy little traitor,” Sett growled. “Imagine those weapons in the hands of Anteros. Damn, they are probably mass producing them as we speak.”

  “How does Anteros turn these guys?” Abishai asked. “What do they see in him?”

  “It’s simple,” Volk said. “Anteros is the strong horse; we are the weak horse. Anteros fights for something; we fight for nothing. Anteros offers power and glory; we offer impotence and indifference.”

  “But they are Anteros,” Abishai rejoined, Volk’s words not computing. “Anteros.”

  “Whether we admit it or not,” Volk clarified, “our cupid soldiers and celestials want their lives to count, Abs. They look at the Academy and our pathetic judges and see nothing to be proud of anymore. The Academy stripped us not only of our exalted past, but our memories of it. No longer able to find meaning as cupids serving a higher purpose, we turned to platitudes, a bogus mythology, and hedonistic decadence. Piss poor substitutes for purpose.”

  “Sett,” Abishai said. “What the hell is he talking about?”

  Volk tried again. “In other words, Abs: everyone loves a winner, and we have been acting like losers. Get it?”

  “Well, that’s not our fault,” Abishai protested. “We’re doing our jobs.”

  “Your job is implementing Academy policy,” Volk said. “You are really nothing more than a bureaucrat with a license to kill.”

  “So?” Abishai said. “That’s what we do, Volk. We take orders. We carry them out. It’s the way it’s always been.”

  “Granted, and you do it well, soldier, but to what end?”

  “That’s not my concern.”

  “Maybe it wasn’t, but it is now. Those policies have backed us into a noose we can’t slip from. The only way out—”

  “Is to cut the noose,” Sett said.

  Volk nodded. “Unless you gentlemen have a better idea.”

  Sett and Abishai exchanged glances, but said nothing.

  Volk reached into a zippered compartment of his uniform and withdrew a ten-page document. He unfolded it and smoothed the pages out on the table.

  “This is a copy of the Solow treaty,” Volk said, stabbing the document with his thick index finger.

  “How did you get this?” Sett asked.

  “I told you, Grace is our mole now. Have a look, but I’ll sum it up for you. Firstly, boys, once this treaty is signed, we will all be out of a job.”

  “What?” Abishai exclaimed. “No way.”

  “Page six, paragraph two. But, hey, look on the bright side, Abs, you won’t have to bitch about carrying out Academy orders anymore. Shall I continue?”

  Abishai nodded.

  “Aside from us being replaced with the likes of Perseus and Jason, all Anteros soldiers will receive instant amnesty. Our disgronifiers wil
l be put under Anteros control, thereby allowing Hamanaeus to move as many of his men as he wishes across our border. The judicial bench will be expanded to ten judges, and Minos and Hamanaeus will serve as dual head judges. Our two armies merge into one, as will our scientists.”

  “One big, happy family,” Sett muttered.

  “Yeah, right,” Abishai snorted. “That’ll last about a week.”

  “There’s more,” Volk said cheerily.

  “I’ve heard enough,” Sett said.

  “Let me guess,” Abishai said. “And in return for all this, we get their worthless promise that a portion of mankind won’t be overrun with fear demons, is that it?”

  “Bingo,” Volk answered.

  “This is such bullshit,” Abishai said bitterly.

  “No,” Volk rejoined. “This is Solow. It’s what you get in the end when you don’t know who you are and what you stand for.”

  “Well, who the hell are we, Volk?” Abishai said, peeved. “You keep telling me who we aren’t. Tell me who you think we are.”

  Sett buried his face into his hands and groaned. “Aw, jeez, here we go…”

  He poured himself another drink.

  “Virgil, it’s you!”

  “Of course it’s me, Kohai. Who else do you think would be here?”

  “Baruch HaShem! He answered your prayers!”

  “Yes, and no.”

  “Huh?”

  “I prayed my heart out, it’s true. But nothing happened.”

  “But—” I gestured absently at the angelic specimen standing before me.

  Virgil was completely healed. He was at our secret yeshiva training grounds, a lightning whip in each hand. He had his shirt off and his sinewy, statuesque body hadn’t a single scratch on it. Even his handsome face was without bruise or blemish.

  Virgil smiled. “Nothing happened,” he continued, “but heck if I was going to leave it at that. I was determined to show HaShem that I would not surrender to either self-pity or pain. I declared the words of Isaiah: ‘For my Lord HaShem will help me; I have not been confounded: I will set my face like a flint, and know that I shall not be disappointed.’ I struggled to my feet, clenched against the pain, and began a wobbly twirl. It took me ten punishing minutes to obtain orbit, but I did it.