Gabriel grunted. “I was in the States when the Floods came,” he said. “The first super-cells, the Three-Year Typhoon. The place was falling apart already, in some ways, but…” he shook his head. “When it happened, when the sky just punched them like the rage of God … it changed everything,” he looked at her, and was surprised to see the depth of emotion in the soldier’s single visible eye. “They’re strong,” he said. “They’re a strong, resourceful, brilliant people, the Americans. They have heart, and they have brains. They used to be prouder, and–” he chuckled, “–yes, they’re still crazy, but they’re mostly good people. Even the crazy ones. They look after their own, and they care about the rest, as much as anyone can afford to these days. If they worry more about the problems in front of them than they do about problems on the other side of the world, well – doesn’t everyone?”
Ash nodded. “In grandad Bart’s time,” she said, “or maybe more in his grandfather’s time, the biggest worry was the emerging multinations going to war with each other,” she said. “The planet sort of put a stop to that. On a large scale, anyway.”
“You see humans at their worst,” Gabriel said. “I do as well, but I also see them at their best, and I have a certain luxury of perspective. I’m sorry,” he looked down. “It must make it difficult to care about them.”
“It makes it difficult to care about the ones who don’t live under this roof,” Ash admitted.
“Then I’m glad to be one of those,” Gabriel rose to his feet. “I assume you’re going to sit a spell,” she nodded. “If you could … check on me at sunrise?” he said, feeling strangely vulnerable for the first time. “If the holy ground doesn’t take, you know … it feels strong, but … if it hasn’t worked, you’ll be able to tell. I’ll collapse within a few seconds of sunrise. But if you get me across to the sprawl and into a church in less than two hours or so, I’ll recover.”
Ash nodded again. “I’ll check in.”
Gabriel returned to his chapel – his! – and wandered around for a while, just marvelling at the furnishings, the technology, the luxury. It was decadent.
He was interrupted in his wistful exploration by a tap on the heavy outer door. Knowing who it was from the very sound – two hundred years and change had a way of familiarising the strangest and most unexpected habits – he went to the door and opened it to reveal Laetitia standing in the pool of illumination from the outside light.
“You like it, then,” she said, arms folded.
Gabriel blinked. “You knew about this?”
“You didn’t?” she replied incredulously. “It was the worst-kept secret in the southern hemisphere. Well – are you going to invite me in?”
Gabriel snorted. “No.”
“Just as well I’m not that kind of Imago, then,” she retorted, extended her hand towards him and stepped into the doorway. Gabriel grinned and stepped back adroitly.
They’d tested, over the years, just how far Laetitia’s Demon-taint extended. While Gabriel and the other Angels still burned when they made contact, actual full mutual dissolution did not occur. And she didn’t soil holy ground, which was a bonus. She stepped into the auditorium, and whistled.
“Nice, eh?” Gabriel said.
“So this is that ‘money’ I’ve heard so much about,” Laetitia remarked. “Care to explain to me how the combined religions of the planet have basically infinite currency and property and legal benefits, and you’ve got fingers in all their pies, and yet none of them have ever made you a nice place like this?”
“I know,” Gabriel said, “believe me. Look, some of the places we had over in the States were nice, weren’t they?” he paused. “Before they all went under.”
“The Televangelists’ palaces?” Laetitia sneered. “They were disgusting. Grotesque luxury at the expense of the helpless, the ignorant, the credulous and the foolish.”
“Yeah,” Gabriel agreed. He, too, had disliked the North American Evangelism before the Floods had swallowed so many homes of the rich and powerful, forming the sludgy foundation of modern Intervangelism and the continuation and supremacy of assorted non- and semi-Judaeo-Christian faiths of the region. Laetitia was right, the Televangelists had been vile.
Well, the Floods had done away with that particular remnant of the Pinian faith. And the Atonement had bumped off at least three of the worst church leaders of the Floods to have survived through to the late Twenty-Second Century.
“Now this…” Laetitia spread her arms, and turned admiringly. “This is tasteful.”
“Good taste hasn’t exactly been in the skill-set of the stewards of the faith on Earth,” Gabriel allowed generously. “Low-key just doesn’t cut it with your average human congregation,” he chuckled. “And interior designers are notorious atheists.”
Laetitia dropped into one of the couches and slung a leg over its arm. “Your secret’s out,” she said without further preamble.
“My secret?” Gabriel said with a sinking feeling.
“Fagin might not know you’ve found the Disciples,” she said, “but he knows that’s what you’re trying to do, and he knows you’re closing in. And let’s face it, these three sisters fit the profile so stunningly it’s only amazing nobody fingered them before now.”
“Mm,” Gabriel agreed cautiously.
“And he knows more about the Pinian emergence than we thought,” Laetitia went on.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, originally, from what I’ve been able to find out, they weren’t sure if the Pinians were even in here under the veil with us, or if they got shut outside,” Laetitia said. “They don’t have the same information you do.”
“Right.”
“But even so, there’s the theory that the Pinians are in here. And that they’re hiding out as human.”
“Of course,” Gabriel said. “Even without the knowledge we have, the opposition would just about have to come to that conclusion. The Disciples certainly aren’t in here living large and running the show.”
“No,” Laetitia replied, “but now, I guess what I’m seeing is … look, if Mercibald Fagin hasn’t got someone feeding him Stormburg’s Fabulous Theorem, he’s got someone making it up for him. And getting very close to the mark. His organisation is aware that the Disciples aren’t ready yet, are probably almost-completely human, and will only focus fully as the incarnations pass.”
“Is that all?” Gabriel said, trying to keep his voice level.
“They don’t exactly have memos in a database outlining the state of their hypotheses,” Laetitia said, “but no, I don’t think that’s all. We always knew they had their own plans for these Disciples of yours.”
“Yeah,” Gabriel muttered, then sat and looked at the Imago fondly. “They’re your Disciples too, you know,” he said. “I keep telling you.”
“And I keep telling you,” Laetitia smiled, “I’ll make up my own mind about that. I’ve gotten along fine so far without the mystical Disciples. Besides,” she spread her hands, “I get the feeling the Imago weren’t exactly meant to be on the side of the Angels.”
“Stick around another few hundred years,” Gabriel advised, “you’ll come to recognise that meant to be is a meaningless concept. Just like sides, for that matter.”
They sat for a while in contemplative silence.
“Anyway,” Laetitia continued, “Fagin and his minions have procedures in place – in theory – for dealing with the Pinians.”
“Any specifics?”
“Well, apparently the safest thing to do with reincarnating super-wizard mouthpieces of God is to lock them up, gag them, and keep them harmless,” Laetitia said dryly. “Although how they intended to do that when you throw ‘soul-journeying body-snatching transcendental coma-inducing murderers’ into the mix is more of a mystery.”
“Considering that this whole messed-up solar system is apparently the best way the Infinites could come up with of safely locking up a Firstmade,” Gabriel said, “I’d be interested to see w
hat Mercy and Fury come up with.”
“That idea’s apparently gone out the window in the past few hundred years anyway,” Laetitia said, “since it’s become obvious that the Pinians aren’t actually going to come out on their own. This was before the Theorem gave your side a way to do it, of course.”
“Right,” Gabriel said, “and they might not know about that at all.”
“They might not, but I wouldn’t go risking too much on that assumption,” Laetitia warned. “Whether the Disciples are consciously hiding, or actually think they’re human, I don’t think the Demons are certain. But they do seem pretty certain of the whole body-to-body reincarnation thing the Pinians are doing. And whether they’re faking being human consciously or not, there’s only one way the Demons seem to think will bring them out. Call it the opposition’s version of Stormburg’s Theorem.”
“Torture?” Gabriel assumed wryly.
“Basically.”
“It’s always torture,” the Archangel growled. “It’s almost like they’re not capable of learning anything.”
“It’s exactly like that,” Laetitia replied.
Gabriel nodded. “What else?”
“Else?”
“There’s more,” Gabriel said, not asking. “Isn’t there.”
“On the more mundane side of things,” Laetitia acknowledged. “It’s about the power generation system Roon is working on. Synfoss and the power generation system.”
“Go on.”
“The search for the mythical Lost Disciples might founder, but the search for people developing alternative fuels that might topple Synfoss from its perch is never far from its mark,” Laetitia said. “They’ve targeted Roon.”
Gabriel snorted, but couldn’t help feel a twinge of unease. “That’s not a huge stretch,” he said. “She’s working together with the head of Synfoss. Are they going to target their own boss?”
“I guess that depends on whether Berkenshaw is in Fagin’s pocket,” Laetitia replied, “or just the entire Synfoss board of directors is. And whether Berkenshaw is part of the sting.”
“Berkenshaw visits this house and they’re collaborating on the energy stuff,” Gabriel said doubtfully. “They sleep together, for goodness’ sake.”
“Then he’s playing the romantic ignoramus to get information and allay suspicion,” Laetitia said, “or he really is a romantic ignoramus and has no idea what his own corporation is capable of. For all I know, both he and the board are legit about the new energy. If Synfoss can control it, use it for heavy industry, sell it just like they’re selling their sludge, why would they try to cover it up? After a while, covering things up just isn’t practical, is it?”
“You’re asking the wrong person,” Gabriel admitted.
“Either way, he’s playing a dangerous game.”
“What are they planning?”
“Again,” Laetitia said patiently, “they don’t exactly write down the whole Demonic process for serving the will of the Adversary in the mortal sphere, and the human agencies are no less cagey. And I’m not a super-spy. Being better than you at accessing corporate structures isn’t exactly a resounding qualification,” Gabriel twirled a hand, and the Imago sighed. “Mercy’s not really behind it – not entirely,” she went on, “but there’s a protocol for dealing with this sort of technology coming up and he may be taking advantage of that. I think step one of the protocol in this case is finding out for certain whether there was Pinian or other ‘outside’ involvement, or if it’s just another clever human stumbling on the idea of power beyond the veil. It’s been called lots of things over the years.”
“I know,” Gabriel said. “What happens when this protocol comes into play?”
“I don’t know for sure,” Laetitia replied, “but from what I gather, there’s never much left of the revolutionary inventor by the time the Synfoss lawyers pack their things and move back to their nest made from the bones of their weaker young.”
“Broad strokes,” Gabriel insisted. “What, is Mercy just going to turn up at Tumblehedge and put the thumbscrews to Roon while her murderous sister has every weapon known to humanity and some undisclosed fire conjuring ability at her disposal?” he looked around, and sighed. “I was just getting used to the idea of having my own chapel, too,” he grumbled. “Now Mercy’s going to fuck it all up.”
“They’ll probably send a subcontractor of some sort,” Laetitia said, her voice remaining patient and steady. Gabriel reflected fondly that she’d spent far too many decades – centuries, really – putting up with his crap. “So when Ash does show up with all the weapons, there will be a few layers of separation between the thumbscrews guy and Synfoss, or Fagin, or whatever corporation is actually calling the shots.”
“Deniability,” Gabriel said darkly.
“Yes, Gabe. Deniability,” Laetitia confirmed. “The whole point of assassins and thugs for hire is that they’re the ones who take the fall for the crime. That’s why you pay them so much. And the ones who roll over on their employers lose their reputation for fidelity.”
“Fidelity,” Gabriel shook his head. “What is this world coming to?”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” Laetitia uncoiled from the seat and rose. “Compared to you, I just got here.”
“Are you leaving?”
“That’s all the information I have,” she said, and looked pointedly at her watch.
“This is a big chapel,” Gabriel said. “There’s a couple of windowless, well-sealed rooms. You could rest here today if you wanted to.”
“Ah,” Laetitia smiled over her shoulder as she headed for the door. “If I wanted to. You see, Gabe,” she opened the door, stepped out, and turned to face him. “I’ve gotten along fine so far without your Disciples. I think I’ll last a little longer,” she pulled the door closed. “Just tell them about Fagin and Synfoss,” she said into the closing gap.
The door closed heavily, and Gabriel was alone again.
2202
It was a subdued New Year’s Eve at Tumblehedge. Not only were they all aware of the lethal weather developing over in the Flood-Sundered States of America and that Ash would be flying right into it in another few days, but Gabriel had apologetically passed on the news from the shady world of Synfoss and Mercibald Fagin. This had cast something of a pall over the post-Christmas period.
Ash and Ariel, of course, were driven immediately into a protective rage by the warning, because they’d always been leery of Harlon. Roon’s cultist boyfriend became the catchphrase of the week once again, which was discouraging. The truth, of course, was that Harlon Berkenshaw was perfectly well aware of his company’s secret policies concerning competition – and Roon was also aware of them, because he’d told her. They were operating together, in experimental areas not far separated from pure theory, with the full knowledge of Synfoss R&D and the backing of the corporation’s legal department. While Roon wasn’t contracted to work for Synfoss and they had no intellectual property rights over her work, their collaboration was extremely well documented and demarcated.
If she made a breakthrough, Synfoss would gain truly obscene amounts of money from it – they would lose nothing. And that was before the positive environmental impacts of clean energy were laid at the corporation’s feet. The benefit-to-drawback ratio was so utterly one-sided, it would be insane to send a hitman to stop her progress.
The news that Fagin, the Demon Gabriel knew as Mercy, might also be shooting for the Vandemars in a semi-related assault was, to Roon, the far more worrying possibility. She could defend Tumblehedge against corporate espionage, and – with Ash’s help, of course – had been for years already. But a Demon, or its henchmen … that was a whole new level and she needed to know more about what to expect.
Over the intervening days Roon managed to calm Ariel and Ash down about Synfoss and Harlon, with help from the level heads of Aunt Agñasta, Jarvis, and Gabriel himself. The Archangel assured them that even in Ash’s absence, he would remain nearby to help.
<
br /> “You know, at least through the nights,” he said. “I’m stuck in this terrible luxury chapel during the day … but I can still keep an eye on things.”
They were actually in the chapel at that point, even though it was approaching midnight and they didn’t need to be there on Gabriel’s account. The auditorium just happened to have some of the most comfortable and well-arranged armchairs on the estate.
“I’m back in Perth by the end of January,” Ash said, looking up at Jarvis with a little smile as he moved smoothly past and retrieved her empty glass, “end of February if things go really bad. We’re only helping with the immediate aftermath and support – the National Guard will be taking on the majority of the relief work.”
“We’ll keep the peace over here,” Ariel said, “you keep the peace over there. In fact – you can make that your new year’s resolution.”
“To keep the peace?” Ash said doubtfully. “Sure, that sounds nice and doable.”
“New year’s resolutions aren’t meant to be doable,” Ariel said in lofty tones. “If they were doable, we might be tempted to keep them for more than three days. They’ve just got to sound good.”
“And what have you selected as your resolution, Ms. Vandemar?” Jarvis asked from the little bar-trolley he had set up next to the pulpit and multipurpose altar at the front of the auditorium. Ariel had wanted him to set it up on the altar itself, but Jarvis had insisted on maintaining a certain level of respectful decorum.
“My resolution is to learn how to create waterweep,” Ariel said grandly.
“Create what?” Gabriel demanded.
“Waterweep.”
“Oh,” Gabriel said, and went back to his drink. After a long, steady sip – Roon was coming to appreciate that the Archangel Gabriel had an excellent, if slightly old-fashioned, sense of comic timing – he lowered his glass and added, “and what exactly the Hell is waterweep, please?”
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