He noted Zepar's squint of scrutiny.
'Only mistake Shemijaza made was placing his trust back in that woman…' Eligor forced himself off the path his mind wanted to go and onto the one which would prevent him from getting himself killed if Zepar figured out he'd started asking questions lately … lots of them … and didn't like the answers.
Zepar gave him an approving smile.
"Very well then, Eligor," Zepar said. "I find myself in a bit of a predicament. As you may have noticed, we have a few, how shall I put this, allies on board the ship?"
'Fuck allies,' Eligor thought to himself. 'I wouldn't trust Ba'al Zebub any further than I could throw the corpulent bastard.'
"Yes, Sir," Eligor said aloud.
Zepar nodded. "Furcas and Pruflas have been overwhelmed, making sure Ba'al Zebub and his lackeys don't double-cross us. We wouldn't want history to repeat itself now, would we?"
"No, Sir," Eligor said. He noted the feel of the spearhead in his hand. Cool. Sharp-edged. A blunt instrument, but surprisingly effective when wielded properly by someone who had known how to use it. He filled his mind with his perceptions of the spearhead so Zepar couldn't pick up on the deeper worries percolating in the back of his brain.
"These are exciting times," Zepar tapped his index fingers together. "Countless years of planning are all coming to fruition. The men closest to the master when he retakes his rightful place will be amply rewarded."
'Rewards. I like rewards,' Eligor forced himself to think. Actually … that was not a lie.
"Yes, Sir," Eligor said noncommittally aloud.
"You've always been a simple man to please," Zepar said. "You don't care all that much about money. You're not into status symbols or prestige. What do you want?"
Eligor blocked the thought from leaping into his mind and filled it with the next closest available truth. 'I wouldn't mind a wife like you gave General Abaddon. Shit that woman was smart! She even made Lucifer shut up…'
Zepar rose from his seat and rustled his dirty white wings like a barnyard cockerel. He stepped around his desk, relishing his role as petty dictator. Eligor suppressed a shudder of revulsion and filled his mind with nonsensical images.
"Yes," Zepar whispered a little too close to Eligor's ear. "Our Master promised you a wife, didn't he? Someone you could go spawn off a few little Eligors with, perhaps?" Zepar stepped back, his expression one of feigned compassion.
"Yes, Sir," Eligor said. "That's what Lucifer promised when he asked us all to come along on this wild ride."
Zepar nodded, apparently satisfied.
"Very well," Zepar said. "But things have been a little chaotic lately. I think you've noticed the Prime Minister has been feeling, how shall I put this delicately, under the weather?"
'You mean drunk as a skunk one minute, then a cold psychotic motherfucker the next,' Eligor thought and then suppressed it quick before Zepar could pick up on his thoughts.
"Yes, Sir," Eligor said aloud.
Zepar sat on the edge of his desk, careful not to crush his feathers. Without even looking, he reached back and pulled out a small box from beneath a stack of papers. He caressed it thoughtfully, and then held it out so Eligor could take it. Eligor opened the box. Inside was a syringe.
"What's this?"
"When Lucifer's mother abandoned him," Zepar clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, "the boy was upset. Very upset. Have you ever heard of an acute psychotic break?"
'No kidding…' Eligor thought to himself.
"I thought the Alliance cured all major depressive disorders millennia ago," Eligor said aloud. "Especially amongst hybrids, who were genetically engineered to never develop the illnesses in the first place?"
"They did," Zepar's eyes crinkled up in a smile. "Gene therapy. And yes, most hybrids are immune from this defect. But not Lucifer." Zepar pointed to his own, dull-blue eyes. "The same gene that carries his lack of pigmentation also carries other … issues. The same issues that plagued his biological father."
Eligor perked up. Batshit crazy or not, this stuff was interesting. He waited for Zepar to finish his spiel.
"It doesn't affect him all the time," Zepar continued. "Only when he's under a lot of stress." His unremarkable blue eyes met Eligor's. "The kind of stress that might occur when your adoptive father tortures you for three days straight and then tries to burn off your wings?"
Eligor grunted an affirmation. Batshit crazy or not, for most Alliance citizens, Hashem's unrestrained abuse of power had been the last straw. Gods were there to set a good example for the people. When they didn't provide that role model, it was time to move on and find a new god.
Zepar gave him a predatory grin.
"You can imagine how damaging it would be if word leaked out the Alliance Prime Minister suffers from an illness that requires ongoing medication?" Zepar fondled the syringe the way one might fondle a lover. "Especially how … precarious … our beloved Prime Minister's new experiment in self-rule is, don't you think?"
"Yes, Sir," Eligor said.
"Why," Zepar gave him a coy look, "if word got out, we might all find ourselves out of a job." He held out the box holding the syringe. "Where would you go, Eligor, if Parliament discovered you didn't really grow up in a Youth Training Academy the way I altered your service record to reflect, but as a mercenary in Shemijaza's Third Empire?"
It was an old threat. One Zepar used often to keep him in line.
"That would be bad, Sir," Eligor said. This time he didn't need to fill his mind with bullshit.
"Good," Zepar said. He waited for Eligor to take the box out of his hands. "When Lucifer first wakes up from a trying situation, he tends to be, how should I put this, disoriented?"
Eligor watched him, forcing his mind to remain quiet.
Zepar pointed to the box. "We call this personality 'the princess.' When he's fully in charge of his faculties, you won't see the fifteen-year-old boy that Hashem damaged when he abandoned him. Our master needs somebody he can trust to cajole this weaker personality into taking his medicine, even when he pouts and says he doesn't want it."
'You bastard,' Eligor thought. 'He doesn't trust you anymore, so you want to use -me- to keep your grip on him!' He hastily suppressed the thought.
"Yes, Sir," Eligor said aloud, and then forced the thoughts he knew Zepar wanted to hear into the forefront of his mind. 'Don't let the rest of the ship see that Lucifer sometimes loses his crackers. Got it…'
Zepar smiled. They had reached an understanding. He let go of the box, leaving it in Eligor's hand along with Lerajie's pet spearhead.
"Off you go now, Special Agent Eligor." Zepar gave him a crisp salute like an Alliance military officer might give to a subordinate. "It's time to go wake the princess."
Eligor moved to leave Zepar's office before the bastard saw how badly he made Eligor's feathers crawl with imaginary cooties.
"Oh, Eligor," Zepar called.
"Sir?" Eligor kept his back turned.
"The spearhead," Zepar said. "You can leave it here if you like."
Eligor fingered the cool, sharp weapon. A blunt instrument. A stone-aged weapon no Alliance citizen would deign to use. But in the hands of someone who knew how to wield it, any weapon could prove deadly. He kind of liked that his prowess as an Angelic had come not from some test tube buried deep in the bowels of Hashem's genetics laboratory, but from his own root-race. Perhaps Angelics weren't as made-up as the rest of the Alliance liked to pretend they were? Maybe they were real and did deserve to become full-fledged citizens like Lucifer had often told him, the real Lucifer, the 'princess' one as Zepar called him. The fifteen-year-old boy Shemijaza had asked him to bring home to meet his real father.
Eligor whirled to face the serpent which called the shots.
"If you don't mind, Sir," Eligor said. "I'd really like to keep it. It keeps Lerajie amused and out of my hair."
Zepar's eyes hardened. "Your friend is proving to be a problem."
It had been a lo
ng time since Eligor had stuck his neck out for somebody. He wasn't about to do so now. But…
"I'm just saying Lerajie could analyze it, Sir," Eligor said. "He is our resident expert on pre-sentient life forms. Be kinda stupid not to take advantage of that kind of knowledge, don't you think?" He twisted up his palms to display the spearhead. "Like you just said, Earth turned out to be not quite what we expected."
Zepar backed down. "Fine. Just don't let it interfere with your job."
"Yes, Sir," Eligor said. He slipped the spearhead into his cargo pants. He glanced back at the contraption on the table. Old technology … new technology. The old technology clonked reassuringly against his leg as he exited the room, living proof that he was real and not some made-up creature from a test tube.
The moment the door shut behind him, Eligor flapped his wings to shake out the pins and needles which crawled through his feathers like fleas. He moved through the stark, white corridors of the Prince of Tyre to the luxurious suite which was Lucifer's personal quarters. The first thing to hit him as he walked into the room was the overwhelming stench of stale alcohol, sweat, and vomit; Lucifer's perpetual state of being.
"Mister Prime Minister?" Eligor called without flipping on the light switch. "Sir? It's me, Eligor. Zepar sent me to help you get ready."
He'd been tasked with 'princess duty' before, though never had Zepar asked him to shoot Lucifer up with the shit they used to keep him malleable. The jumble of white feathers on the command-carrier sized bed gave a muffled groan. Lucifer. Hung over. Again. Eligor clicked on the light switch over Lucifer's wet bar, though not because the man needed a drink. Hell, no, the last thing the man needed was a shot of the potent green Mantoid liquor which was Lucifer's toxin of choice, but when you were hung over the bar-light was the least obnoxious in the room.
"Light…" Lucifer mumbled from somewhere under the cover of his snow white wings. "Turn it off. Please."
"I'll let your eyes adjust, Sir," Eligor said. He shifted a couple of bottles of liquor to obscure the light. The amber liquid gave the room a warm, cozy appeal, a little bit easier on the eyes when you were short on sleep and seriously nursing a hangover.
"What time is it?" Lucifer asked.
"Late afternoon, Sir," Eligor said. The scent of vomit wafted his way as Lucifer unfurled his wings. "Zepar said you haven't been feeling well, Sir."
Zepar had said no such thing, but Eligor wasn't about to admit that he was the one who'd been worried about their boss. Worry wasn't an emotion he was used to feeling.
"My head hurts," Lucifer groused. He threw his arm over his eyes, blocking what little light Eligor had cast into the room. "What day is it?"
"Fifth-day, Sir," Eligor said.
Lucifer stiffened. "What month?"
Eligor's mouth grew dry. Lucifer didn't know what month it was? "Eleventh month, Sir."
"What's the date?"
Eligor told him.
"Only seventeen days, then," Lucifer whispered.
"Seventeen days?" Eligor stared at the disheveled ball of feathers which lay sprawled out on the bed. Funny. When they'd hauled his sorry tailfeathers back from his grand coup d'état in front of Parliament eighteen days ago, the poor bastard's wings had been practically burned off, but then somehow Lucifer had miraculously grown a brand new pair. Now … the feathers had a dull, almost thin appearance, as if Lucifer had aged overnight.
With a groan, Lucifer rolled over and took his arm off of his face. His eerie silver eyes reflected the amber from the liquor bottles, for a moment giving the illusion he had iridescent golden eyes like the Emperor. Eligor had only ever seen those eyes in pictures, but it made him hesitate.
What was Lucifer?
"Eligor?" Lucifer's voice was small, like a little boy's, questioning, and vulnerable. Some said Lucifer was the brightest and most beautiful of all the Angelics, but he didn't look so handsome now, dark circles under his eyes, chalk grey complexion, dry hair and even duller skin. Now that he looked closely, he could see Lucifer had lost significant weight. If Eligor didn't know any better, he'd swear Lucifer was dying of old age.
"Are you okay, Sir?" Eligor asked.
Lucifer's hands shook as he took the glass full of water Eligor had drawn from the faucet at the bar. Delirium tremors. Eligor had been researching it after he'd begun to get a sneaking suspicion Zepar was shooting him up with something, the syringe he now held in his hands.
"What I really need is a drink," Lucifer gave him a wry, weak grin. He meant an alcoholic drink, not the water Eligor had just given him.
"Let's get this down first, Sir," Eligor said. "You don't look so well."
Eligor stared at those eerie silver eyes, pondering what Zepar had said about the gene that carried the bizarre trait also carrying another defect. He'd been keeping track of things, trying to make sense of the chaos on his own. Zepar's revelation that the Prime Minister carried a congenital form of mental illness sure made things add up … all tied up neatly in a bow.
Too neatly…
Lucifer paused mid-drink to stare at his surroundings, as if he wasn't certain about which of his many rooms he was waking up in.
"Where are we?"
"Earth," Eligor said.
Lucifer's hand froze, and then he sucked down the rest of the glass of water the same way he always downed a shot of liquor. "Now I know I've gone insane," Lucifer closed his eyes. "Did I really just hear you say we found Earth?"
A surreal sensation akin to being in a funhouse staring at your own distorted image through a series of warped mirrors worked its way into Eligor's gut.
"Yes, Sir," Eligor said. "We're orbiting it right now."
Eerie silver eyes glanced up into his ordinary blue ones. "Eligor, was there a human … man?"
Eligor hesitated. How much did 'the princess' remember about what had happened down on the planet? He glanced over to where the little chieftain's shawl had been mounted on Lucifer's wall as if it was a trophy.
"Yes, Sir," Eligor said. "He tried to kill you."
Lucifer shut his eyes as if trying to remember what he'd seen. "That's not what -I- remember. I remember … falling. And a dark-skinned man caught me. He called me … he called me his…" Lucifer did not finish his thought. His eyes shot open, his expression softened.
Eligor knew the exact moment Lucifer spoke of. He had turned the chieftain from an enemy into an ally by teaching him how to shoot a pulse rifle. Like most primitives, the man had fallen for that old trick, the reason Hashem didn't let his hybrids dick around with pre-sentient species. It was too easy to impress them with technology! But then Lucifer had experienced one of his weak spells. The personality he and Lerajie called the 'good twin' had emerged, only for a moment before Zepar had shot him full of the shit in the syringe.
"What is wrong with me?" Lucifer asked softly.
"You're sick, Sir," Eligor said. "Zepar sent me to give you your medicine."
"This isn't just a migraine," Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose. "I shouldn't be losing track of time like this. Zepar won't let me see a doctor."
That Eligor knew was true. Zepar never allowed the ship's doctor anywhere near the man.
"Let me give you your medicine, Sir," Eligor pulled the syringe out of its case, "and then you'll start to feel better."
"I don't like that stuff," Lucifer grumbled. "It makes me not feel like … me … anymore." His expression hardened. "What I really need is a drink."
"Isn't it a little early," Eligor said. "You haven't even gotten out of bed."
"Only a little," Lucifer pointed at the amber bottle which distorted the light into the room. "Just enough to take the edge off?"
Eligor hesitated, then gave the Prime Minister what he wanted, filling the shot glass up a wee bit short of the shot mark. Lucifer sucked it down, his lip twitching as the liquor burned its way into his belly. With a sigh he closed his eyes and waited for the kick to take the edge off. Lucifer might be batshit crazy, but megalomania wasn't the only issue he suf
fered from.
"One of these days I'm going to clean up my act," Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose. From his pained expression, the stuff did little to alleviate his headache. "Go ahead. I feel lousy enough this morning to want Zepar's little magical cure."
Eligor lifted the syringe up to the light, tapped it, and squirted out the air bubbles. The plastic tube was full of a thick, putrid green liquid. He jabbed it into the trapezius muscle in the back of Lucifer's neck. Lucifer sat there, docile as a lamb, while he trusted Eligor to shoot him up with the fucked up shit Zepar used to keep the guy amped up. Could it really be just anti-psychotics? Shit? They only used those in the really hardcore cases, the ones gene therapy couldn't cure!
The lines in Lucifer's face softened as he closed his eyes.
"I kind of liked that man," Lucifer smiled as if seeing the image within his own mind. "Who taught him to speak our language?"
Eligor paused. The man had spoken Galactic Standard?
An eerie sensation, as if he was standing too close to the FTL drives in the engine room, caused Eligor's pinfeathers to rear up in their follicles. Lucifer grew stiffer. His wings flared out like a raptor about to swoop in for the kill. He tilted his head to one side, cracking his neck, and flexed his hand as though he was slipping into a well-worn glove. When he opened his eyes again, 'the princess' was gone, replaced by the icy, calculating stare that had always made Eligor's blood run cold.
"Eligor," Lucifer gave him a false smile. "Zepar sent you today to help me dress. I wonder why?"
Eligor could sense the underlying question.
"Furcas and Pruflas had to go down to the planet with Ba'al Zebub," Eligor said. "Zepar explained about your … condition."
Lucifer touched his hand, w-a-y too familiar, and images danced into his brain. Testing. Questioning. What did Eligor want that Lucifer could give him? The same bullshit Zepar had done. Fuck he hated when they did that! It felt like the bastard was toying with him!
'Same shit as every other man on this crew wants,' Eligor forced the thought to the forefront of his brain. 'A couple of dozen wives like -you've- got. Maybe a nice crash-pad to go home to between missions. And not to have to put up with the Emperor's bullshit anymore. That would be nice.'
Sword of the Gods: Agents of Ki (Sword of the Gods Saga) Page 21