To Beat the Devil

by M. K. Gibson

  “And if Kuma does not do his part?”

  “Can’t think that way,” I said.

  Grimm gave me a sour look of disapproval.

  “Our only hope is that Maz follows through with his part AND Kuma does his,” I said. “Even if we blow this place, there is little difference to be made if we don’t survive. So show some fucking optimism, because it is the ONLY thing in our power right now we can control.”

  Grimm took my message without a word or a change in expression. “If those are our only options, then it will work,” he acquiesced.

  “Fucking A-right. Now, let’s go check on Cat and find a way back up the citadel.”

  Returning to the torture chamber, we found that Caitlin had organized the survivors into small several-man teams armed with all manner of deadly instruments scavenged from the chamber. They were covering the various entrances with blockades made from the torture devices. The three haggard survivors who guarded the door we came from almost took our heads off before Caitlin called them off.

  “Hey, MORONS, they just left here an hour ago through that door!”

  “Sorry ma’am,” the scrawny refugees muttered and let us pass.

  Caitlin had donned some scraps of clothing she had found and had her hair tied back in a makeshift bandana. Of course the shirt she was wearing was left almost completely open. Subtle she was not.

  “I thought that way led out,” said Caitlin.

  “It does. I found the schematics on a lower level. We got side-tracked and wanted to check on you.”

  “Side-tracked? Is that why alarms have been buzzing and that intercom kept going off?” Caitlin pointed at a sparking wreck of metal that appeared to have been blasted by an arm cannon.

  “Boring conversation?” I asked. Caitlin actually chuckled. I thumbed over my shoulder from where Grimm and I came from. “Yeah, uh, we might have shut off the archduke’s personal power supply and he isn’t getting any more. So we made a very large, very powerful demon very pissed.”

  Caitlin rolled her eyes. “Figures. Well, then what are we supposed to do?” she asked.

  I explained everything to her. The path we came from and the freight elevator at the center of the machine room. My plan using Maz and Kuma. I also explained that I had the place ready to create a massive power overload and subsequent explosion. I did leave out the bit about the souls being harvested for demon power. The only thing I could offer her at that point was plausible deniability.

  “So you want me to round up these piss-poor excuses for backup and get them all out of the skyscraper before you blow it all to shit?” she asked. “And you’re counting on Maz to follow through with your plan, AND a clan of Cyberai who you hired after they captured you?”

  “Yeah, pretty much. Or you can go with Grimm and me and fight your way through an unknown amount of demons, shock troops, and possibly Abraxas himself.”

  “You’re fucked,” she said.

  “Yeah, probably. But the least we can do is give you time to get out of here and save these people. Oh, and for the record,” I said smugly, “the Cyberai didn’t capture us. We allowed them to take us.”

  Caitlin waved her hand dismissively. “Sure, sure. Whatever you have to tell yourself.” She walked over behind one of the makeshift barricades and produced my pistols and harness. “Found these in a lock box. I tried to use them, but lo and behold they wouldn’t work.”

  “Hello babies. Daddy missed you,” I said as I accepted the weapons and gear. I got the holsters in place and nestled the pistols back where they belonged. I felt right again. “Sorry you couldn’t use them, Cat, but they are genetically coded for me.”

  “Funny thing about that. Before ’Resa and I branched out on our own, did you know we used to work for ARCTech?” From the tone of her voice, something told me I would not like where this was going. “We both worked in the applied weapons R&D, and there were some old documents that predated the Demon Wars, from a defunct nanite program when ARCTech was known as Kurasawa-MacMillan. One of the key points was weapons which were biologically coded to specific DNA. Made it impossible for enemy troops to use weapons against their owners. But that program had been terminated all those years ago, by the Mr. McMillan himself, as non-feasible. Yet your antiquated guns seem to match that very description.”

  Shit. I never knew the Spinolis had worked for ARCTech. Hell, I didn’t even know Caitlin was that smart. I guess that’s what I get for being a typical guy and just noticing her “assets.” When Dad left Kurasawa-McMillan, I thought he took his patents and notes with him. The company later became ARCTech and survived to this very day.

  “Yeah, strange, huh? Well, Grimm and I have to be going.”

  “I meant what I said before. We’re not through with all this. You survive, and there is going to be throw down between you and me.” Before I could say anything, Caitlin was pressed against me, pushing her mouth hard against mine in a passionate and violent kiss.

  I felt need deep inside me. Cat moved against me in a rolling, snakelike way with her hips. I held her hard, returning the passion. As quickly as it had started, Cat broke away and turned her back, barking orders for people to get ready to move out.

  “You do not know how to stay out of trouble, do you?” Grimm whispered behind me.

  “Apparently not.”

  When Caitlin looked back, I waved goodbye, and she gave me the finger. Real sweet girl. I shook my head and Grimm and I moved out, back down the hallway.

  I pulled up the schematics on my holo-terminal. We were in the belly of the citadel. Above us were living quarters for the humans and servants. Above that was the soldier level. We needed to make our way back to the great hall. That would be the epicenter for Abraxas and the place to where we would divert the scattered forces, giving Caitlin the time she needed.

  “Back to the great hall?” I pitched, and Grimm agreed.

  “It will not be easy. We do not stand much of a chance if the demon or the cyborg do not follow through.”

  “Do I have to give you the optimism speech again?”

  Grimm flashed a smile at me as we made our way through the servants’ passages of the citadel. Thanks to the schematics I pulled from the system mainframe, we were able to avoid the bulk of the security cameras. The false information I fed the citadel’s system had done the trick. The troops and responders were scattered and not patrolling. Soon, we had found the servants’ entrance into the prime level.

  We made our way through the master corridor that led to the great hall. I heard Abraxas shouting to his subordinates orders and commands, his voice echoing off the stone walls. He was not happy, and his inability to grasp the technological problems made it hard for his people to explain what was wrong. From the sounds coming from the great hall, his unhappiness was resulting in a visceral and bloodthirsty reaction. Screams of pain and death echoed down the hall.

  Good. Let the bastard expend his power. The longer we could wait, the better chance we had. Grimm kneeled beside the arched hallway corner next to me, peering toward the doors that led to the great hall. My stomach began to rumble. It was loud enough that Grimm could hear it.

  “You need to eat,” he said. He knew my cybernetic system required fuel. I needed to eat or else it wouldn’t matter. I was starving and feeling at an all-time low.

  “Yeah,” I said as I brought up the floor plan on my tech bracer. “Good thing for us, there’s a kitchen nearby.”

  “Will it not be crawling with Abraxas’s cooks and people we are trying to avoid?” Grimm asked.

  I nodded. “Yeah, which is why we are going to the secondary kitchen, the one for the servants and the slaves. The ones who won’t mind if we’re there. Especially if they know we are going to mess up the master’s day.”

  I followed the floor plan. The best part about sneaking around the citadel was the lighting. Demons still had the gothic thing going for them. The halls were poorly lit, by actual fire sconces at irregular intervals with no other sources of natural light
. It played hell with a person’s vision. There always seemed to be something flickering and moving just beyond your line of sight.

  We found the servants’ kitchen and it was blissfully empty of people. Lit by modern means, it was nothing more than a simple pantry with minimal cooking supplies, a few modern refrigeration units, an oven, and a side room for dining. A place where the dregs of the citadel could stop, grab a meal, and continue on with their duties. I found some bread, a hunk of some kind of unidentifiable meat, and a block of ripe-smelling cheese and began to chow down as fast as I could. I offered some to Grimm, who accepted graciously.

  “Might as well have a final meal,” he said as I checked the large walk-in refrigeration unit. I found honest-to-God orange juice. Even on my best lightrunner jobs, I’d never come across the stuff in the city. The lack of tropical location made it impossible to grow real oranges. The only stuff available was the synthetic, which tasted worse than old-fashioned concentrate. I popped the top and began gulping it down.

  “You could use a glass,” Grimm said as he ate his mini sandwich of mystery meat.

  “Hey, evil demons out there. Good guys in here.” I gulped more down from the plastic container just to spite Grimm.

  “That is no excuse for a lack of manners.”

  “Bastard tortured my friend to death and harvested the souls of countless innocents. If we fail at this, he will forever have to slurp my backwash. Vengeance is mine.” And I gulped down more.

  “Do you wish to talk about it?” Grimm asked as he cut another piece of meat and sandwiched it between a couple of crackers he found in the pantry.

  “Now? Do you really want to go into this now? You do know your sense of timing sucks, right?” I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.

  If we survived somehow, then there would be time to talk. Time for the grief to set in. Time to let the death of a friend hit me. Time to let the deaths of all those innocents settle in nice and deep. Time to come to terms with everything I had seen and done in the last few weeks. Grimm didn’t waver. His eyes said that he meant it. I could tell Grimm was serious. When wasn’t he?

  “No, not now,” I said softly, not making eye contact. “If we make it out of here alive, then we can chat. For now, yeah, I am in pain. It sucks and there isn’t anything I can do about it. Other than push it away and get the job done.”

  “Spoken like a soldier. Take this as small comfort, if any; I am proud of you.” Grimm shifted from where he sat, placed his elbows on his knees, interlocked his fingers so his two index fingers were to his lips and stared right at me. His gray eyes peered from under the brim of his hat. “Your commitment has been unwavering. You have once again allowed yourself to feel for others. You have pushed yourself for the cause of man. Pain will come, it always does. But it is pain that means something.”

  I made eye contact with him for several breaths. I broke his gaze and stood up and went to the pantry and ate whipped cream straight from the aerosol can.

  “Are you foolish, or do you simply wish to appear the fool?” Grimm asked as I tilted my head back and filled my cheeks with the frosted cream.

  “I’m sorry, did you want some?” I asked. Grimm turned away, not dignifying my jests. “I’m not a fool, Grimm. I know the pain will come. I know it will come when I am alone, in the dark. It will wrench me apart and I will have to stitch myself back together. Like I always have. When that time comes, I will come to you, and we can drink and laugh and cry. But for now, man, what I need is sugar for energy and fat for my body to run. What I need is to focus on what we have to do. Going up against all the furies the world has to offer might be old hat for you. But this is some new shit for me, hoss. So excuse me if I need to joke a little to keep myself from cracking.”

  “Apologies,” Grimm said earnestly. “I forget myself sometimes. Thousands of lifetimes I have lived, and I sometimes take that for granted.” Grimm stood and bowed slightly, hand over his heart.

  “Aren’t we a fancy lad.”

  “Eat your damn food.”

  “Damn right I will. I—” I paused, my senses picking up movement. I held up my finger for Grimm to be silent as I tilted my head to hear better. Someone was coming. Someone…petite.

  I gestured to Grimm, placing my finger over my lips in a “shh” sign. I then tapped my ear to let him know I heard something. He nodded, then stood and moved to the back corner of the small eating area. Even though I was looking right at him, he seemed dim. Like he wasn’t there, but was. My mind was having a hard time recognizing his presence. Neat trick.

  The small footsteps came closer, from the other side of the wall. The delicate steps stopped, then a distinct click, and a small section of the kitchen wall slid to the side, revealing a passage that wasn’t on my schematic. I moved to the side, taking partial cover behind the refrigerator, and drew my pistols.

  A blue-skinned demoness with ivory accents and white eyes came through the opening. Her hair had been woven into a tight intricate tail that accented the shaved sides of her head. She wore a black low cut corset and cream-colored form-fitting synth-weave pants. Her horns grew out and curved in toward her eyes and her tail flicked lazily. She looked beautiful and deadly. It took me a moment, but I recognized her. She was the nude demon girl on the cot the night I saw Ricky and met Grimm, and the same demoness who came in with the bouncers when Ricky had the crap kicked out of us. She stood and stretched, looking at me. She saw my pistols and smiled.

  “You will not need those. Well, not for me anyway,” she said. The demon girl reached into her cleavage slowly. I kept my weapons trained on her as she moved. If a random demon tells you that you don’t need a weapon, always remember: It’s a friggin’ demon. She produced a single piece of folded paper and handed it to me. I raised an eyebrow.

  “Go on darling, take it. It won’t bite. Although I might, if you ask me.” She smiled. Her coloring might have marked her as a Pride demon, but she was doing a hell of job imitating Lust. Keeping my eye on her, I holstered my left pistol and took the paper.

  “Be seeing ya, darling,” she said as she crouched down in an extremely coquettish manner and crawled back through opening, closing it behind her. I holstered my remaining weapon and pulled the sliding passage door open. I had some questions for the demon.

  There was nothing there. Just a wall.

  OK, this was now entering the realm of bullshit. “What the hell just happened?” I asked as Grimm walked over to stand beside me. Grimm examined the wall, placing a hand on it. His eyes began to glow slightly, then they sharply stopped. “Hmm. A bolt hole. More exactly, a miniature wormhole.”

  I was familiar with the concept. A wormhole, or rather an Einstein-Rosen Bridge, was a theoretical concept of two places touching similar spots in space-time. A way for bad sci-fi to explain faster-than-light spaceships. Since I saw no gravity well or a black hole, I was skeptical. “Care to elaborate?”

  “The short version is that if you understand creation at precise level, you can manipulate it. Similar to writing computer code. Back doors into the program.” In a way, Grimm made sense. I saw now that this was how he performed his magic. He could see creation at the coded level and alter what he needed.

  “Also,” Grimm continued with his back to me, “you could read the note you were given.” I looked down at the paper I forgot I was holding. Amidst the weirdness, I ignored the one simple mundane piece of folded paper. I looked at it and saw the header. My eyes went wide.

  “What is it?” Grimm asked.

  “It’s from Ricky. It says: ‘Dear Salem and Father Grimm, Sorry for earlier. I had to get you inside somehow. Get ready.’ What do you think it means?”

  And then the citadel rocked as the air was filled with the sound of explosions.

  Chapter Thirty

  Blowing Shit Up Is What We Do

  Another explosion rocked the citadel. I nearly lost my balance and had to steady myself. The citadel’s staff and soldiers were moving everywhere at once. Alarms and klaxons sou
nded. “What the hell is going on?” I yelled to Grimm over the noise.

  “I do not know, but I would hazard a guess the citadel is under attack.”

  “You think?” I yelled back. I wasn’t sure what to do next. Our flimsy plan of attacking Abraxas in his great hall seemed pretty bad-ass awesome by comparison. Another explosion shook the palace and it was then that I heard static and salvation in my head.

  SHHHK…Son, can you hear me? I heard my father’s voice. The tachyon transmission was spotty, but it had managed to get through whatever communication blocks the citadel had in place.

  Dad! Yeah, I hear you. What’s going on?

  The cavalry, son. Your associate, Mr. Kuma, has completed your contract. I recommend getting to the great hall fast. I felt the connection sever. Damn. I had more questions. How did my dad know about Kuma? That deal came way after I left the lair. Was Maz able to complete his mission? And how did Ricky send the demon chick here to warn us to get ready? Too many damn questions and not enough answers.

  Thanks, Dad. Keep the line clear and maintain monitoring.

  Sure thing. However . . .

  Dad, in the middle of something. Spit it out or save it for later.

  I tracked that VK-7 jammer. I know who purchased it.

  Dad told me. And I felt like I was going to puke.

  “Kuma?” Grimm asked, his voice a thousand miles away. “Salem, is Kuma here?” he asked again. I nodded yes, still shaken.

  “What is it?” Grimm asked, seeing the change in me. I just shook my head. Not now. Not ready for that.

  “Later. Seriously, just later. Too much to do for now. Head in the game, right?” I asked, and Grimm nodded.

  We got up and headed to the hall. Shock troops, hellions, and servants moved in every direction, reacting to the alarms. There was so much chaos in the crowded halls and paths that Grimm and I were barely noticed. We weaved as best we could through the throngs of people toward the great hall. The gothic stone architecture was built for massive demons to march imposingly. Not for hundreds of responders to—well, respond.