by Hugo Huesca
“Door’s clear,” I told her. It slowly opened. No explosion. I stepped into the room and almost tripped a wire pulled taut at chest level. It was completely transparent and the only reason I saw it in time was thanks to Walpurgis’ flashlight, which made it shine brightly.
“Found the trap!” I announced. My Perception skill went up by a level. The tripwire led to a pair of anti-personnel plasma mines set up at the sides of the door. If I had stepped in there, not even full shields would’ve saved me.
“And you’re still alive!” Walpurgis cheered me on. “Keep going, there could be more.”
There weren’t any other traps, but reaching that conclusion took us a while. The room was big and filled with space-war memorabilia that had been more or less preserved by the ship. Badges, map charters, commendations and recommendations, a ceremonial suit in a corner. Not bad for the captain of a supply barge.
“This guy used to be a hero,” explained Walpurgis. “But was demoted to serve on this ship for insubordination.”
“Story of my life.”
“He still had a couple of contacts in the Terran Federation, though,” she rummaged through it all. “Probably what got him killed in the first place, to be honest. He tried to remain relevant. So he volunteered his ship to sneak high-tech experimental weaponry into pirate-infested space.”
“How do you know this?”
“This is the end of a long string of quests,” she said. “At least, I hope it is.”
She found whatever she was looking for under the captain’s bed. She yelled in triumph and took out a long, leather case with silver engravings. “The androids didn’t take it! I knew it had to be here…”
The leather case contained a dark brown sniper rifle, unloaded. I didn’t recognize either the model or the caliber. Sniper rifles were usually rail-guns, but this one’s barrel looked more like a very long shotgun. “What the hell is that?”
“See for yourself,” Walpurgis was grinning. “It’s the final piece of my character’s build.”
The item’s display appeared on my screen. It had a name, written with golden letters. The Fool’s Errand. It was a legendary weapon.
Apparently, those barrels looked like a shotgun because it was a twin-linked rail-gun. Like the cannons of the Teddy.
“Walps, this is definitely overkill,” I said, eying the huge numbers of the thing’s damage. “What the hell do you intend to do with this? The recoil is huge, even for a power-suit to handle.”
Her smile grew even wider. “You’ll see. Everyone will see.” It wouldn’t have surprised me if she had started to cackle maniacally, but she managed to resist the temptation.
She added the Fool’s Errand to her inventory. A screen informed her that her Quest was now complete. “I still have to add a few improvements before it’s ready. But I think we have a more pressing matter now, don’t we?”
I nodded. The in-game clock announced night in the real world was about to arrive. The FBI would want me to iron out the last parts of the plan with them.
Walpurgis and I returned to the Teddy where I instructed Francis to find the nearest Space Station so we could log-off. As I flew the Teddy, I told Walpurgis what I wanted her to do.
I gave her the spot where I’d hidden the briefcase with the transmitter for the bug I’d placed on Caputi’s informant, and also the location of the church where the hit was going to take place.
If anything were to happen to me, she would reunite with Beard, try to contact Irene, and then they were to retrieve the briefcase and work from there. Tonight, she was going to monitor the police comms for anything weird going on at the Church of the Intangible Lord’s location. Keep an eye on things, and be on the lookout.
“I wish I could bring my Errand outside,” she said. She meant to the real world. “It would make your operation go smoother.”
“It isn’t my operation,” I told her. I remembered Agent Martinez’ mocking smile at the pseudo-military lingo. “But I do hope the FBI has their own snipers.”
“Maybe. But I bet they don’t have a fucking twin-linked tank-busting motherfucking rail-gun.”
“No, I don’t think they do,” I told her. I wished they did have one.
My stomach churned with anxiety. I had a bad feeling about this. Perhaps the same feeling a chicken had when it tried to trick the fox, and ended up running straight into its paws.
Agent Martinez and Doyle were waiting for me at their apartment spot. They looked fresh and ready to go. Martinez had changed into a black suit and looked more like an officer of the law than a beer-obsessed hobo. Her tie wasn’t professional at all, though. It was black and red and stamped with masks from V from Vendetta.
“You ready, Cole?” she asked. She caught my gaze on her tie, misinterpreted it, and winked at me mockingly.
I blinked and pretended that didn’t just happen. “Sure.”
Mom had tried one last time to talk me out of going, but it was more a duty-bound attempt than an all-out effort. Van had refrained from commenting, but I could tell she wasn’t happy.
With any luck, the operation would go smoothly, the cult would be arrested, and they’d be in too much trouble to want anything to do with me.
Absolutely don’t think of all the ways this could go wrong.
There were a lot of things that could go all wrong.
Doyle handed me an undershirt.
“What’s this?”
“Your vest,” he explained. “This is what we all use day to day.”
“I thought you didn’t wear any bulletproof armor unless it was necessary.”
“We don’t want to advertise the stuff.” It was a vaguely metallic mesh of tubes interwoven with each other, like over-sized sewing thread. It was heavier than a normal undershirt, but not by much. “It can withstand almost any regular caliber.”
As long as everyone kindly shoots at my center of mass. And they don’t set me on fire.
I wasn’t about to complain about the bulletproof armor, though. I thought it looked awesome. “Reminds me of The Lord of the Rings.” Beard would’ve loved it.
“Frodo’s mithril armor, right?” said Martinez. “I thought the same thing.”
“I’m very sorry to cut your geeky chitchat, but we have a cult to bust,” pointed out Agent Doyle.
I changed quickly and put the undershirt on. It was perfectly hidden by my normal clothes: a black t-shirt, washed out jeans, rough brown boots, and my green hoodie.
The bulletproof fabric felt cold and slimy, like it could melt off my body at any second.
“Ready?”
Three black vans were waiting for us. Neither Doyle nor Martinez had mentioned how many other agents they were adding to the mix, if any at all. Knowing I wasn’t about to poke an unknown force without adequate support made me relax a bit.
“We’re riding in the middle one,” Martinez said. “Agent Doyle is taking point in the front van.”
Its seats had been torn out and the fuselage was bare. Someone had installed rough plastic seats over the aluminum and six heavily armed men and women were seated there. Their anti-riot armors were so heavy they occupied the entire available space of the back.
Martinez sat in the driver’s seat and I rode shotgun. I barely noticed when the van started moving, since my gaze was glued to the soldiers. Their expressions were grim and resolute. The faces of men that are going to war.
I looked at Martinez expression, but she had her eyes glued on the road and didn’t look at me once.
It could mean a lot of things. Perhaps she was nervous, too.
Since it was late at night, reaching the Financial District didn’t take us too long. The roads were mostly empty. I wished I’d had more time to prepare for this.
“You’ll do fine,” said Martinez. “There’s nothing to worry about. We’re professionals, and the Intangible God does not have a history of violence.”
Somehow, that didn’t seem very reassuring, like she wouldn’t believe it, were she in my pl
ace.
“Sure,” I said. I wasn’t feeling like talking much.
I wasn’t about to back out now, though, even if I was having my doubts. Whatever the Church wanted with me, it was going to end tonight.
“You’re getting out here,” said Martinez not long after. We were on a side street with a dead end in front of us, one of the little remainders that the opulent district wasn’t all it was supposed to be. There were no fancy banks here, just a lot of naked brick and rusty fire escapes.
“Where are they?” I asked.
Martinez nodded over to the wall at the end of the street. “Not far from here. You’ll have to wait a bit, though. We don’t want them to see us coming, so we’ll set shop here.”
The riot police left the van, too, and began taking metallic boxes of equipment out of the other two vans. I had no idea what those boxes were carrying, but I hoped it would be high-caliber.
“No cameras on you,” said Agent Doyle, walking towards us with a casual pace. “But we’ll be watching.”
With good enough equipment, people could easily find out if you had any recording equipment on your body. The FBI would have to use another method of surveillance to keep on the Church, but they weren’t about to tell me how. I did see a sleek, black drone flying quietly while it followed the riot guys around.
“You remember the address we gave you?” asked Martinez.
I remembered the entire plan. I’d been going back to it in my mind, like a high-schooler getting ready for an important test.
“Yes. I’m ready when you are.”
The agents exchanged another of their glances. It was only for a brief second, but it made my stomach churn.
“Is there something you’re not telling me?” I asked them.
No reaction from either of them. “You know all you should know, Dorsett,” said Doyle. “Are you getting cold feet?”
I shook my head no.
The riot police (or whatever those armored guys were) still needed a couple minutes to set up on the rooftops, sometimes carrying the heavy metal boxes over their heads. Flakes of rust fell down to the floor, like it was raining.
After that, I was on my way. The wall was tall enough to make it hard to climb, but I’d spent my whole life in Lower Cañitas District. A bit of street-climbing wasn’t a problem.
It did get me winded, though. I jumped down and landed on the other side of the wall. This street was nicer. A parking garage was at my right side, a colossus of concrete and metal that extended upwards, almost like a skyscraper. I could see the drone-cars filling its open floors as far as my sight could reach.
On my left side, there were several closed stores. There were almost no physical stores left in the States anymore, so seeing a bunch of them still standing was a novelty. As I walked over, I saw that most of them sold hobby equipment, like collectible trading cards or WWII figurines.
How two or three hobby stores managed to survive in the middle of the Financial District was a mystery I wasn’t going to solve anytime soon. In the middle of them was a tiny black building. It had no windows and only a battered-down white door. Old electronic music came from inside.
On top of the door was a dusty neon sign with a flickering hologram dancing in front of it. It said, “Feeling lost? We can help. Enter and help us build a better future.”
No mention at all to the Church of the Intangible Lord, but this was the place. The hologram was of a middle-aged man holding a star in his hands. He was smiling warmly.
Here we go, I thought. I took a deep breath and knocked on the door of the people that had been looking for me all over the city.
It wasn’t long until I heard footsteps walking towards the entrance.
“Yes, brother or sister?” came a woman’s muffled voice. “Can we help you? Are you looking for shelter or spiritual healing? You can find both, inside.”
“I’m not sure what I’m looking for,” I told them. “But I heard you were trying to meet with me, so I came to find out what all the fuss was about.”
The voice was silent, and I didn’t hear anyone move on the other side. Perhaps she hadn’t heard…
The door opened suddenly. The girl behind was about my age. She wore an ugly, green sweater.
“Oh, goodness,” she gasped. “You’re Cole Dorsett, aren’t you?”
There’s not much one can say to that except, “Yeah.”
The girl looked at me like I was an apparition. She even looked behind me, to make sure it wasn’t a joke.
What the hell is going on?
Strangely, I relaxed. She wasn’t about to attack anyone, much less me. She was… just a normal person. Someone you could find walking down the street. No killing instinct. No aggression.
She would’ve reacted the same to any celebrity she bumped into on the street.
“Please,” she told me as she moved aside, “come inside. We’ve heard so much about you…”
Hope you are paying attention, agents.
Something was off about this perfectly normal girl. It had to be a trap of some kind. But, how? They hadn’t expected me to just stroll into one of their covens.
Only one way to find out. I walked inside.
It was easy to take risks like that knowing you have the FBI covering your back. Whatever the Church of the Intangible Lord was cooking up for me, they were in for one hell of a surprise.
CHAPTER NINE
Meet the Prophet
The building was tiny on the outside and tiny on the inside. After the entrance was a badly lit hallway. A room next to me was set up as a small store-front. I caught a glimpse of silver necklaces, earrings, and framed illustrations for sale in a glass display.
“Most of our sales are physical,” the girl explained, “since we have no license to sell online.”
Those kind of licenses were super easy to get. The government handed them out like they were candy, and they were happy as long as people paid their taxes.
“Sure,” I said, pretending I understood perfectly. The music was louder inside. Like everything else, it was old and dated.
Just act cool, Cole, the agents had told me a few hours ago. We’ll be watching and taking notes.
The girl politely gestured me to follow her. We walked to the end of the hall and reached a back room. The music grew even louder.
Three people waited in the room. They were as normal-looking as the girl next to me or myself. Not soldiers, not secret agents, not robe-covered cultists with daggers in their hands.
The first one, a short kid my age, was printing a batch of new pamphlets on an ancient printer. Another was watching a show on his tablet, and the third one was handling the electronic music with a dusty DJ-board. At first they didn’t realize I was there, but they soon did a double take, like employees caught resting during work-hours.
“Oh, we didn’t realize we had visitors,” said the one by the printer. “Almost no one comes to the Financial District searching for emotional support.”
He walked over until he was in front of me and offered a handshake that I accepted dubiously.
“I’m Mark,” he said.
“Hi, Mark. I’m Cole.”
His smile faltered for a second and I began to think I was in some kind of joke-show.
“Yes,” said the black-haired girl next to me. “This is Cole Dorsett! Isn’t this fantastic? Say hello, everyone!”
I was surrounded by the four CIL members, who were all behaving like they wanted my autograph. If I hadn’t been working with the FBI, I would’ve turned around and ran away.
“We’ve heard so much about you,” explained Mark. “I never thought we’d be the first ones to meet you.”
“You lack faith,” said the girl. “The Intangible One rewards everyone, especially the humble.”
“You’re always so sanctimonious, Lisa.”
Yeah, this isn’t weird at all. I quietly took a step backwards, so my back was against the wall and near the hallway.
“Uh… Guys, I don’
t mean to be rude, but I have no idea why you’re so excited to meet me,” I told them.
They stopped bickering. Lisa looked bewildered. “What do you mean? Isn’t that why you’re here?”
“Yeah, I’m not sure what you mean by ‘it.’”
They exchanged worried looks that reminded me of Agent Martinez and Doyle.
“Oh.” Mark wasn’t sure how to continue, which made me feel a little better since I wasn’t the only one drowning in the awkwardness of the situation. “Well, you see, there’s this thing you’re supposed to help us with.”
As long as it isn’t a human sacrifice…
“What thing?” I asked.
“Well, it’s… Uh…” he scratched his head.
For a second, the three of them looked pained. Their eyes lost focus. Lisa’s hands trembled.
The second passed, but I’d seen enough. I slowly walked backwards, towards the exit. At any time, the FBI was supposed to erupt in there and arrest everyone… Just as soon as they had a good reason.
Something told me the good reason was bound to happen soon and I wanted to be as far from this place as possible.
“Wait!” exclaimed Lisa. The four of them walked slowly towards me, hands raised like one would do to a scared animal. “It’s something you’d better discuss with the Prophet. People like us are not supposed to talk about it.”
“Oh God, there’s a prophet…” I whispered loud enough for them to hear.
“It isn’t like that!” Mark called. “The Prophet is a great man. He helped us! Lisa was living in the streets before he found her, I was dealing drugs… He has helped many others, too… He isn’t some kind of weirdo—”
“No, yeah, I believe that,” I shamelessly lied. “It’s just I get starstruck easily, see? I’d better meet with the Prophet in private, so we can discuss the Universal truth or whatever. There’s no need to call him this late at night.”
Lisa raised her eyebrows. “Call him?”
I realized I wasn’t going to like the course this conversation was about to take.