A Shadow in the Flames (The New Aeneid Cycle)

by Michael G. Munz

  Brian nodded. "Right." He gathered up his camera. "Gentleman, it's been a pleasure." With a self-satisfied grin, he turned and hurried away.

  "Now where's he off to?" Romulus asked.

  "You said you were going to destroy it," Diomedes growled. He had not taken his eyes off the vigilante.

  "I said it would destroy Wallace. The pod jams the transport's communications and records the meeting. The reporter brings the footage to Wallace's superiors and the media. He is exposed for arson and the betrayal of his company. Publicly disgraced and arrested. If RavenTech lets him live."

  Romulus blinked. "They'd kill him?"

  His mentor actually grinned.

  "Given the evidence against RavenTech, he could probably turn against them to save his ass if he's indicted. I wouldn't be surprised if they tried to keep him quiet," Felix said. "Not to mention making an example of the guy for stealing from his own company," he finished grimly.

  "They'll gut him," Diomedes declared, still grinning. "Finish loading the crates."

  They continued in silence, working in the pouring rain. The thunder and the deluge masked their sounds as they filled Diomedes's floater to capacity and then loaded what little remained into the vigilante's.

  "It is a tragedy that the remaining tools of death must continue to exist," Gideon intoned, "but such sacrifice shall serve to be the bane to Wallace. And now we shall destroy what has been captured here."

  "Destroy your share," Diomedes said. "The rest is mine."

  Gideon turned to him, wide-eyed. "All must be destroyed!" he declared with appall, "else they find their way into the hands of those who would bring chaos and death to our streets!"

  "Fuck you. Wallace torched my place, my gear, stole my money. It's payback."

  Fire erupted in the vigilante's eyes. He lunged at Diomedes and stopped only moments away. "If you would sell them you would be no less guilty than he whom we've destroyed tonight!" He stood glaring at Diomedes, body tense, poised to strike. Romulus stepped back without thinking as his mentor stood defiant. Felix was behind him somewhere. His mentor returned Gideon's gaze in a stare that betrayed no emotion.

  It had been going so well! Romulus struggled for words to diffuse the situation in an eternity that ended in barely a few seconds.

  Diomedes moved first.

  "Fine," he spoke. "We destroy them."

  The vigilante loosened. "I'll lead you to where we can melt them down."

  He turned to go.

  Diomedes pulled his auto-pistol and shot Gideon through the back of the head.

  Instant and terrible, there was no surviving it. Romulus staggered; outrage bulleted through his own body with equal violence. The shot echoed and was absorbed into the rain before Gideon's body tumbled face first into the mud. He twitched once and then lay still.

  Diomedes—his mentor—had slain the man in cold blood! Horror threatened to vomit up from Romulus's stomach as he fought the shock freezing his mind and body; he could only stand there, gaping.

  "Maybe we can still get the reward," Diomedes rumbled.

  "Jesus Christ!" The yell came from Felix. "What—what—what the. . . Shit! What the hell did you do?"

  "He wanted to burn our money." Diomedes put his gun away. "You heard him. He was a damned psychotic." He knelt down and turned Gideon over. Mud clung to the body. Blood ran down his face. Diomedes pulled off the mask that hid his features, revealed now to be stained in red and shattered where the bullet had forced its way through.

  Romulus was still frozen. He'd let it happen. He'd stood by and watched it happen before him, just like he'd watched in The Arena.

  No! This was not his fault. It was his mentor's. His mentor's. God. "What. . ." he managed. His own voice was distant and unresponsive.

  "Wanted to see who he was," Diomedes said. He stood up. "Let's go."

  Felix didn't move, staring hard and cold. "Oh! 'Let's go,' is that it?! Gun him down, have a look, and be on your fucking merry way?!"

  With a strange calm, Diomedes met the smaller man's eyes. "He was a goddamn lunatic. He had it coming, sooner or later."

  "And when someone blows you through the back of your head and leaves you dead in the muck without so much as a thought, that's the exact damned same thing they'll say about you. He was a goddamn psycho! He had it coming! And they'll be fucking right!"

  It was a dream. It had to be. Rain surrounded them in ethereal haze. Romulus was there, watching it all, but numb. Powerless. Distant.

  His mentor's eyes burned dangerously. "Get in the floater," he hissed.

  "I don't know who you're going to get to help you sell those guns," Felix shot, "but you can be damned sure it's not me!"

  Diomedes's auto-pistol was out and trained on the small man in a blink. "Bullshit. You're going to get in the floater and you're going to help us sell. You're going to get Romulus and me the money we earned, or I'm gonna leave you in the mud with the psycho."

  Romulus flinched. Diomedes hardly ever used his handle. At any other moment he would have been proud to be counted as a partner. Now everything within him recoiled in instinct. It was all falling apart.

  Felix pulled his own gun. Diomedes didn't flinch.

  "Back off," the smaller man demanded.

  Rain poured down, washing over Romulus's face. His two companions stood before him, guns out, each mirrored in the other. Diomedes towered above with Felix in his shadow, just as he had stood over his smaller, battered opponent at The Arena: poised to strike.

  Diomedes fired.

  Anguish caught in Romulus's throat and Felix dropped his gun with a shout. Diomedes's aim had merely disarmed Felix, but now he stood vulnerable.

  In that instant, Michael remembered.

  He remembered the man who had enthralled the boy Michael had once been with stories of glory—and saw him standing by as gangers beat a vagrant. He remembered the man who recognized him and took him in when he had nowhere else to go—and saw that man nearly push him into the flames of a burning building to salvage some equipment. He remembered the mentor that tried to teach him how to reach the dreams he had himself inspired—and saw that mentor beat a weaker man within an inch of his life. He remembered a knight imbued with the strength to protect that Michael wanted so badly, and saw him to use that strength to hurt and destroy. He remembered skill and courage, and saw rage and violence. He remembered the man who called him a partner. . . and finally saw that partner shoot Gideon from behind.

  Michael rose between Diomedes and Felix. He stood, shielding his friend from the freelancer's gun, and forced the word out. "Stop."

  His former mentor's glare cut into him. "Don't be insane. Move!" Something lurked in Diomedes's eyes that Michael hadn't seen before, but he wasn't backing down.

  Michael was aware of Felix behind him and of the freelancer's weapon aimed straight at his chest. For a moment, Michael faltered, trapped between a wasted past and an unguided future. And then he remembered Felix's listening—and remembered himself striking the one person who had truly been there.

  "No," Michael said. He brought his own weapon to bear on Diomedes.

  They stood facing each other, eyes locked. Michael's entire being was tensed. It took all his strength not to look away. He held the auto-pistol with both hands. Any shot that might make him drop it would have to take off his own hand as well.

  "What the hell are you doing?" Diomedes growled. He turned his aim on Michael's head.

  Something moved in the rain behind Diomedes. A woman Michael didn't recognize lunged from the darkness and pressed a gun up into the back of Diomedes's neck. "Bloody move a hair and I pull this trigger," she swore in an accented voice.

  Diomedes cursed but didn't move.

  The woman glanced behind him at Felix for a moment, then back to Diomedes. Her eyes were hard. "Hullo, Felix."

  "Felix. . .?" Michael asked.

  "Yeah, she's with me," Felix answered. "You've incredible timing."

  The woman glanced at Gideon's body and s
aid nothing.

  "Fuck you all," Diomedes growled.

  "Put the gun down!" she yelled.

  Michael's pulse pounded in his ears. He fixed his old mentor with the strongest look he could muster. "Put it down, Diomedes." Each word was a struggle. "Get in your floater. . . and leave."

  Diomedes lowered his weapon an inch.

  "Go!" Michael shouted, nearly bursting.

  Diomedes dropped the gun completely. For a moment, his former mentor just stood there, watching him. Days ago this man had been his shelter and his greatest hope. Now all that had crumbled to dust. Anger swirled in Diomedes's eyes and Michael felt it searching through his soul. Accusation and betrayal regarded him, and, for only a moment, the freelancer's gaze held a flash of pain and loss. It was the thing he'd never seen before in Diomedes until moments ago.

  And then it was gone.

  Without a word, Diomedes turned and moved to the floater. He pitched out the bag containing Michael's remaining insignificant possessions, closed the door, and started the engines. The floater lifted into the rain.

  Michael watched Diomedes go until he faded into the downpour, and then stared into the rain. Alone.

  XXXIII

  In the end, they decided to leave Gideon's body where it was. Though it seemed to Felix that they were all reluctant to do so, they agreed that doing more would only serve to involve them in matters they now wished to avoid. No one wanted to leave the body in the mud without a burial, but Caitlin had argued that to bury the man themselves would leave him missing to the rest of the world. If Gideon had family or friends, however distant, they should be given some chance to know what happened. But bringing him in themselves threatened to catch them up in a net of questions. They'd found an emergency medical beacon in Gideon's floater, and so had activated it and left the tiny transmitter with the body. The ambulance would find him. His loss would be known.

  As Felix lifted the three of them off in the dead man's floater, it seemed a hollow thought.

  They didn't speak much after deciding what to do. Felix had introduced Flynn and Caitlin, but both were understandably somber and didn't speak beyond exchanged hellos and practical conversation. They flew, withdrawn, and Felix found himself wanting to break the silence with a joke. Somehow he managed to be silent and leave them both to their thoughts as his own went through his mind.

  He was more worried for Flynn than for Caitlin. While he found himself growing quite fond of the Welshwoman, with her flashing eyes and free spirit, he knew Flynn was probably suffering the greater pain at the moment. The young man had finally lost the blinders he'd worn for so long. It was the best thing for him, and Felix sensed Flynn had the strength inside him to move on, but. . .

  Felix stopped himself before he began to assume too much of what either was feeling. He would speak to them both when the time was right.

  As for himself, Gideon's death both distressed and relieved him. Diomedes had ended the man's life without warning and over a reason as hollow as greed. People had died for less, Felix knew, and just as senselessly. Gideon had been snuffed out with less than a thought, and without even a chance to prepare himself. Felix mourned the man as he would any taken life.

  Yet Gideon had not been well. The pain in his soul and the madness in his eyes was now gone. Whatever pain had caused his deadly crusade—whether an event in his past or the mystery of a hardware-induced psychosis—was now at ease. No more would his unstable mind carry the weight of his vengeance. Caitlin and her friends were safer for it. The man had fought violence with violence, and his sanity was arguably the cost.

  Felix had already mourned Gideon when he had met him. Now, at least, he was at peace. Felix sighed. It didn't make his death less tragic.

  They chose to respect one of Gideon's last wishes. After departing the construction site, they flew out over one of the wider sections of the river where they pushed the crates out and let the water take them down to where no one would find them. Though only weapon-filled crates had dropped into the dark waters, Felix realized that, in a way, it was as close as they would come to a burial for Gideon. For a while, they watched the water without speaking. Felix found himself unsure of what to say. He supposed they all felt that way. They hovered awhile more before moving on.

  Caitlin shared with him the location of her apartment in the city. It was a small but secure building about ten blocks from the place they'd first met, and it was there that they flew next. Soon they had touched down on the street outside.

  "I'll see you to your door." Felix made it a question, and was glad to see Caitlin nod.

  She turned to the rear seat where Flynn sat. "You did a good thing tonight, Flynn," she whispered. "It took courage."

  Flynn looked up at her, poised on the edge of choosing his words. "Thank you," he said at last. It felt sincere.

  "It was nice to meet you," Caitlin finished. "Good night."

  "G'night."

  The two smiled briefly at each other before Caitlin left the floater to walk with Felix to the door of her building.

  "How are you doing?" he asked her.

  "I'm all right," she answered, hesitating. "No, I'm not all right. I don't know what I am." They came to the door and stopped. Felix waited patiently, just listening. "I'm relieved," she admitted. "God, that sounds terrible of me. Crikey. I don't mean it that way, I don't mean I wanted him dead. I didn't. I just. . ."

  Felix gave her a moment, and then said, "You're not glad he's dead, but you're glad he'll leave The Scry alone."

  Caitlin nodded. "Yes. Though it's the same thing, isn't it?"

  "I don't think so."

  "The ends don't justify the means, Felix."

  "No, they don't. But you didn't cause this."

  She looked at him, eyes strong. "No, I didn't. I didn't say I had. But he's dead, and instead of mourning, my first reaction is relief. I don't like the thought of that." She looked away at the floater as if to hide her pain from him. "He was disturbed, and he was dangerous. But he protected us. He deserved to be mourned. And my first bloody thoughts are of why I'm glad he's gone. No different than if I'd shot the poor bloke myself."

  Felix scowled, hurting to watch her beat herself up. "That's not true and you know it."

  "Of course I know it!" she whispered. "But I don't feel it."

  Felix regarded her for a moment and tried to resist the urge to put a compassionate arm around her, for fear she'd retreat from him. "So then tell me," he said finally, "how are you not mourning him? By wishing he didn't have to die, or by caring enough about honoring his memory that you're standing here beating yourself up for not doing so?"

  Caitlin stood silently for a few moments. "I suppose you're right."

  "But?"

  "But right or not, it will likely take a bit of time to sink in."

  "I suppose I can understand that." Felix nodded and flashed a quick smile. "After all, we only just met. You haven't learned I'm always right, yet." He winked.

  To his relief, she smiled back. "You're just as obnoxious as the reporter chap, aren't you?"

  He chuckled. "Oh, probably, but I like to think it's a more endearing brand of obnoxiousness."

  Her eyes softened and she brushed her knuckles gently down his cheek. It was a warm, soft touch. She had lovely hands. "I'll not be about for a little while," Caitlin told him. "I need to get out of the city and ride. Clear my mind."

  He nodded. "Think you'll come back?"

  "I can think of at least one reason to." Caitlin smiled again and continued before he could respond, "And what is your next move?" She nodded to the floater.

  "Abandon the floater somewhere, then see what I can do for Flynn. He's going to need somewhere to go. I think I can help him with that. He'll have a place to stay for awhile, at least."

  "You care about him a lot."

  Felix smiled at her. "He's a good kid. And I don't know, there's a. . . potential inside him. I can't really describe it. Just a feeling I have."

  "You seem a good judg
e of character."

  "And what makes you think that?"

  She grinned. "Well, you like me, don't you?" She kissed him then before he could speak, quickly but firmly on the lips. "Take care of yourself," she ordered.

  "You, too, Caitlin." He watched her go into her building, hoping she'd be okay. It wasn't until the door had closed that he realized he was blushing.

  XXXIV

  Michael stayed with Felix over the next few days; it was a blessing for which he was very grateful. For a time, he had returned to the mood that haunted him immediately after the apartment that he had shared with Diomedes had been destroyed: hopeless, lost, and without purpose. Staying with Felix gave him a place to go where he could rest and have one less worry on his mind.

  After a while, the feeling of being lost left him too, and Michael began to grow aware of a strength inside himself. It was a strange feeling. So often before he'd sought that strength from an outside source. Diomedes had been his strength since he had found him, with an essence that Michael had struggled to capture for his own and qualities he had wished to draw into himself. It struck him as ironic that he only gained that strength after breaking free of the man.

  Felix suggested that it had always been within him, merely overshadowed by his worship of Diomedes. After all, Michael had projected qualities onto the man that Diomedes did not possess. Perhaps he might have possessed them once, but no more. Perhaps they were merely a side effect of the image that Michael had created in his mind when first knew him on the farm. Had those qualities ever been real? Michael didn't know. In the days after that night, he wondered if they weren't ever from Diomedes at all, but had also come from within himself—qualities that had lain dormant, seeking to become alive in the simulacrum of the dour freelancer that Michael once saw in place of the truth.

  It was the feeling of purposelessness, however, that in those three days he could not escape. Having discovered his false conception of a single freelancer, he now doubted his entire preconception of the profession itself. Was there a place for a noble pursuit in such a mercenary concept? He didn't know. If there was a place for him somewhere, where was it? Felix was sympathetic to his doubts, but offered no concrete assurances beyond suggesting that, sometimes, purpose could find the man better than the reverse.