Sins of Angels (The Complete Collection)

by Larkin, Matt

  “Makes you fly, right? One drop under the tongue and you’d get a glimpse of heaven like the Angels always promised. Better than sex, girl… but no reason you can’t have both.” The man reached a hand toward her shoulder. His desire rolled off him in waves, enough to turn her stomach.

  Rachel slapped the hand away and pulled her MAG, pointing it at the man’s chest. “Thanks anyway, but you’re not my type. And melting my brain with designer drugs is not something I aspire to. Now back off.”

  The man ground his teeth. “Offworlder, huh? Think you can just come in here, waving that around? Probably already saturated with the air outside, ain’t it?” The dealer reached for her gun.

  Rachel pulled the trigger.

  Nothing happened. The rail didn’t even hum. It should have hummed the moment she drew it. Rachel felt a sudden chill.

  The dealer grabbed the MAG in one hand, a knife appearing in the other.

  “You don’t want to play nice, long hair? Fine. I bet after a few tastes of Mammon, you’ll be back begging me for more. Or maybe I’ll just sell your tight Mizraim tail to some suit who needs a bit of fun on the side, huh?”

  Rachel tried to back away, but he had a solid grip on her MAG, and she couldn’t lose that. He leaned in closer, like he was going to sniff her hair or something. Rachel kneed him in the groin.

  The man crumpled to the ground and lost his grip on the gun. Rachel yanked it away and ran back toward the breezeway. A heartbeat later, a shout went up behind her.

  “Cut the bitch!”

  Well, damn. Rachel threaded her way into the crowd. Hundreds, maybe thousands of people roamed this bazaar. She just needed to blend with them. She buttoned her coat to cover her fine green shirt. Most of the locals dressed in black, brown, or other drab colors. While she walked she tucked her hair into the back of her jacket. Let him find his “long hair” now.

  She made her way to the opposite side of the breezeway, where the crowd flowed back up the stairs. The meeting with Ariel would have to wait.

  First, she needed to get clear of this place. And figure out what in the holy universe had happened to her MAG.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Abandoned Angel tech may have initially advanced mankind by millennia, but Angel theology must have ultimately stunted our technological growth. The Covenant itself serves as the root of stagnation in our development, but is hardly the only problem.

  She really was off rotation. Of course a place like that had drug dealers. It wasn’t like Rachel hadn’t visited seedy planets before. Most of her investigations took her to the edges of the Empire and beyond. She’d even been to the Triangulum galaxy once, not that she’d admit crossing the Asheran border out loud.

  The moment she returned outside she caught herself almost running down the street. It was time to get a handle on this. She’d look a lot more like a victim running through these dirty streets than she would walking at a steady pace. She tried to breathe deeply. The breather over her nose and mouth was stifling, but she didn’t dare remove it. Instead she pulled her hair free and walked calmly to the monorail station. There was no airlock here, just a tunnel leading down to the underground train. Ash covered everything. She glanced at the rusty metal benches. No. Better to wait standing than get that stuff all over her clothes.

  Her clothes… Angels above, she hoped she wouldn’t have to buy a nanomesh vest herself. She’d rarely found body armor necessary, but if she was going back to the Bazaar, she needed to be prepared.

  The monorail shrieked as it arrived, the mind-grating sound of metal on poorly maintained metal.

  More Gehennan soldiers departed the train alongside other passengers. Rachel slipped onto the train as soon as the last of the passengers exited and grabbed the handrail. A train like this didn’t have inertial negation. Even prepared for it, the sudden jolt almost made her lose her footing. On New Rome, a rail could go a thousand kilometers per hour or more and you’d never even feel it. This train couldn’t have been doing more than five hundred, and still it shook.

  People had to make do with what they had, she supposed.

  It took only a couple of minutes for the train to drop her at her stop on the other side of Beeroth. Gehenna only had a few chief cities—volcanic calderas covered half the planet—and Beeroth was the largest, so she’d started her search here. Somewhere on this planet she’d find the Sefer, and through it, proof she was right all along. Proof it hadn’t all been for nothing.

  On exiting the station, Rachel headed straight for her hotel. She’d had enough excitement for one night. God, she needed a shower. The air made her skin feel grimy.

  She stepped into the hotel airlock and waited for the whoosh of clean—or semi-clean, at least—air. If this place, the Sheik, was the nicest hotel on Gehenna, she didn’t want to see the dumps. It had a lobby that passed for clean, at least on this planet, and a bar. That was pretty much it for amenities.

  Her breather hissed when she released its suction, waiting for the airlock to open. Actually, maybe she’d grab a drink before she headed up. It had been a long day.

  The airlock door slid to the side and she strolled into the hotel, the knot in her shoulders finally releasing. Other guests stood at the front desk. No matter how pathetic this planet seemed, people still came here. Or maybe they were just from one of the other cities.

  A man standing near the counter turned and looked right at her. His coat fell open, revealing his vest—and more importantly, the insignia on it. A man on bent knee. Redeemer.

  Rachel reached for her MAG. The one that wasn’t working. Her breath caught in her throat.

  The Redeemer pointed at her. “Surrender, khapiru! Or be judged!” He drew a stun baton from his coat. With a jerk it doubled in length, reaching almost two feet.

  Rachel spun and threw herself back in the airlock. She smacked the buzzer and the door whooshed closed. The Redeemer ran for her, but not even he could override an airlock count. The man pressed his face against the glass panel and glared at her. Her heart beat so fast it felt like it would explode. Rachel reattached her breather and gave the fanatic the finger. If he caught her, a minor taunt would be the least of her worries.

  The airlock opened. Rachel took off at a dead run. They were here, in her hotel. These weren’t some drug dealing thugs, these were Redeemers. They knew where she was staying, they knew what she was after. And they would not stop. Ever.

  Angels damn them all.

  She ran into the busiest street she could find. It was late, but she wasn’t alone. Dozens still walked the sidewalks, and hovers zoomed through the road itself. Still, she didn’t have much time at all. Where there was one Redeemer, there would be an entire Heart. Seven fanatics all willing to go to any lengths to catch her.

  She paused outside a building bearing the sign of Manna Products. So the megacorp sold food even here. Rachel turned to look behind her. Men were already running in her direction, and if they hadn’t seen her yet, they would. They always did.

  She activated the comm in her ear. “Get me the local Manna Products security office.”

  Two seconds later a voice came over the comm. “Manna Products, how may—”

  “Oh my God!” Rachel shouted. “There’s a bomb in the building! They, they… I heard them! Asheran terrorists said they’d blow it if—”

  Rachel tore free her ear comm and crushed it. It would be useless now anyway. A corp like Manna Products would trace it in hours, maybe minutes. She threw it away. Seconds later, a stream of people spewed out of the building. Thousands of employees, all evacuating. It didn’t matter whether the execs believed the threat; the megacorp would never ignore it.

  Rachel forced her way against the crowd and into the building. Let the damn Redeemers follow her in here. She wound her way through the halls, at first fighting the fleeing crowd, then joining them when she found a flow headed toward the parking garage in the basement.

  Someone jostled her against the wall. People were screaming, pushing, crying to ge
t out. She’d panicked a lot of people today. Yet another thing she’d probably rot in hell for.

  As soon as she could, she dashed into the open garage and ran for the ramp. By the time the Redeemers sorted through this mess she’d be on the other side of the city.

  A hovercar damn near ran her over as she scurried up the ramp. Rachel dove to the side, but didn’t bother cursing a driver who would never hear her. Pedestrians weren’t supposed to be on these ramps anyway. She stuck to the side and climbed out, then ran to the sidewalk on the far side of the building.

  Her heart threatened to pound out of her chest. Cold sweat trickled down her scalp. She’d left most of her gear in that hotel. The Redeemers had it now.

  Her shoulder hurt where she’d been smashed into the wall. She prodded it gingerly while making her way through an alley. That would leave a bruise.

  She’d have to find a place to lay low. How had they found her so quickly? Of course they were looking for her, of course they didn’t want her to find the Sefer… though you’d think a religious group like that would want to uncover lost Angel relics.

  They always said it was outside human prevue. Whatever that meant.

  But she was kidding herself if she thought she could work with them hounding her every step. Maybe it was all a mistake to come here. Maybe she should have listened when David told her to stop her foolish pursuit. Maybe she should have listened to everyone. If the whole universe thought you were crazy, maybe it wasn’t them.

  She waved down a cab. The Gehennan hovercars didn’t fly much more than a few meters off the street, so it was easy to spot the cab with its sleek chrome finish—albeit one marred by soot. The driver popped the door and she hunkered down in the back seat.

  “A hotel in the north district. A nice one.”

  A headache started to form behind her eyes. The Redeemers always did that to her. She could almost hear her father lecturing her now, about the sins of modern people, about the Covenant. Three Commandments the Angels gave mankind, three rules they required, in exchange for saving humanity from the Adversary.

  Rachel shook her head. The Commandments were one thing—a questionable one at best—but the Redeemers were another. They believed everything the Angels had ever said about being God’s Voice, and they took it to the extreme. Angels gave us what technology we were meant to have, they said. Angels told us how to live.

  But the Angels were gone, and good riddance. For all of recorded history, the Angels had ruled absolutely and without tolerating questions. Anyone who troubled them wound up in a place like Gehenna. And then the Angels just left humanity. The Angels left, and some people expected mankind to take everything they ever said as gospel from God’s mouth. But that kind of thinking had held mankind back for the last six hundred years.

  Oh, rumors abounded about Asherah, and the experiments that went on there. Some said they even violated the Commandments. She’d been to Triangulum, but never Asherah itself. Still, it was hard to believe cyborgs walked the streets in broad daylight there.

  Regardless, nothing Asherah had would compare to the value of lost Angel tech. The Redeemers might curse it, call it blasphemous, but the other corps in the Conglomerate paid her very well for her finds. If she found the Sefer, it could lead her to the Ark. And that wouldn’t just earn her enough money for ten lifetimes, it would change the fate of humanity. It could finally help them silence the echoes of the Angels’ millennia-spanning tyranny.

  She couldn’t let the Redeemers win. The future of humanity depended on it.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Approximately a hundred and fifty years ago, seven megacorps joined together to form the Conglomerate. What began as an effort to create a united front against economic pressures from the Mizraim Empire has evolved into an effective governmental body with the power to challenge the greatest empires in the universe. If there is one thing to learn from the Conglomerate, it is that wealth is power—that all worlds are enslaved to economics. And Galizur, as a board member for Quasar Industries, the greatest of the megacorps, was like a king out of legend. Powerful, duplicitous, and far better as a friend than a foe.

  The Royal Palace didn’t look like a hotel worthy of the name, with its ash-stained exterior and poorly lit interior, but Rachel didn’t have time to be choosy. She might have evaded the Redeemers for a little while, but now that they knew she was in Beeroth, it was only a matter of time. Shit, Jeremiah might even come for her himself. Wouldn’t that be nice?

  If she went with him, would he let her take it all back? Say it was all a mistake? And if he would allow it, could she do so? After all she’d done, no one even cared about her efforts. So why should she? She sighed. Because she couldn’t just sit back and let long-absent Angels map out humanity’s future.

  Rachel scanned the hotel lobby twice to make sure no one was watching her before she strode to the counter. “I need a room. One with access to the Mazzaroth.”

  The old woman sitting at the desk rolled her eyes and pointed at the screen in front of Rachel. “All the rooms have Mazzaroth access. Just pick one.”

  Well, at least there was that—even if the place was a sorry excuse for a palace. Rachel paged through the room options, then tapped one on the second floor. Low enough she could get out in a hurry, but not on the ground floor where it would be easier to corner her unaware. The screen flashed a nightly rate, and Rachel deposited a kesitah chip into the slot that would cover a week.

  A moment later another slot ejected a key card. Rachel tried not to smirk. Even the Sheik was still using key cards, so she shouldn’t be surprised this place would too. Of course, when she’d checked into the Sheik, at least she’d had a bag. Now she had nothing but the clothes on her back, some money, and a MAG that didn’t work.

  Rachel hiked up the stairs, barely even glancing at the lift. Too easy to get trapped in one of those. Sure, if she had to go more than three or four flights of stairs, she’d use one, but no reason to chance it here.

  Upstairs she swiped the key card along the scanner and the door to her room cracked ajar. The bed in the corner looked clean enough, and there was a large screen on the wall. Which was all she really needed.

  With a sigh she collapsed on the bed. Her head throbbed from the excitement. What would be better, sleep or a shower? God, she was feeling nasty. A quick shower… but first she just needed to rest her eyes a bit.

  Rachel woke with a start. She was in a hotel room. Beeroth. No window, so no idea what time it was. For a moment she rubbed her face, then swept her tangled hair back from her face with a groan. “Mazzaroth on.”

  A slight buzz and crackle was the only indication the screen had come to life. Of course, with those two words, she’d accessed quantum storage, connecting her through the Conduit relays to everywhere in the Local Group. “Local time?”

  “0500 hours, Gehenna standard time,” the computer said, the voice dry and boring. Generic user access.

  Rachel stood and stripped off her sweaty clothes. Please God say this place has automatic laundry. Rachel stepped into the washroom and spotted the familiar unit. It actually had a slot for a kesitah chip. How cute, they charged for laundry. With a sigh, she deposited the smallest imprinted kesitah she had and threw the clothes in.

  “Shower on. Hot.”

  Nothing happened. She rolled her eyes and tapped the dials manually. Water spurted out, steam rising in an instant. For a heartbeat, the heat shocked her, then she let it relax her muscles. She’d probably benefit from a proper massage, but… no. It’d make her too vulnerable.

  By the time she stepped out of the shower her clothes were dried and pressed. “Mazzaroth personal access,” she said, slipping her shirt back on. “Rachel Jordan, code Seraphim 786.”

  The screen in the bedroom flickered again, then spoke. “Hello, Rachel.” The voice had switched over to her personal settings, that of a sultry man who reminded her of David, just a little. Which was probably her way of torturing herself, but her father always said she loved tr
ouble.

  “Contact Galizur at Quasar Industries. Secure channel.”

  “One moment,” the man’s voice said, with that bare hint of a Calnehian accent. Like David. Another thing her crusade had cost her. Sometimes she imagined him welcoming her back. If she found it, found the Ark, what would he say? Welcome home, lass? No. He’d never understand.

  Rachel buttoned her shirt and sat on the bed. Now that her hair was clean, it really needed a comb. Of course, she’d lost her comb at the Sheik and there was no way she’d trust one out of this place.

  Galizur was thousands of light years away in Andromeda, but the Conduit would allow near instantaneous communication via quantum relays. The Conduit itself was really a series of bridges, wormholes some called them, the Angels had built to connect the galaxies. They had some kind of inherent time frame shifting that no human really understood, designed to keep communication from violating one’s light cone. The Second Commandment said “Man shall adhere to the bounds of the Conduit,” which probably meant don’t try to fuck with causality. Any wormhole allowed faster-than-light travel, meaning you could effectively travel back in time. She could see why the Angels wouldn’t want that. As far as the bounds of the Conduit... some believed beyond them you could reach other universes. Why would the Angels restrict them unless that were true?

  The screen flickered, revealing a man sitting in a dark room. He leaned forward just enough to reveal his deep wheat-colored skin and black hair. Rachel had never seen him face-to-face, but they’d done a fair amount of business together. Some humans had retained features distinct from the old cultures of Eden, but most had interbred so heavily that old concepts of ethnicity were hopelessly blurred. She couldn’t even guess about Galizur’s heritage.

  “Miss Jordan,” he said.

  Not a hint of emotion on his face, and she couldn’t read him over the Mazzaroth. “Do you have any idea what kind of hellhole this planet is?”