Demons of Divinity

by Luke R. Mitchell

  All the medics, that was, except for one.

  The young brunette woman stepped in front of me before I could reach Dillard, holding her first aid kit between us with a tentative expression. Her eyes traced the right side of my pale yellow civilian armor, which was admittedly a bit crispy, scanned the burning side of my head more carefully, and finally settled on my face before that flicker of recognition touched her eyes. “You’re…” She seemed to catch herself, professionalism returning. “Are you okay, sir?”

  “I’m fine.”

  I almost meant it. I was tired to the bones, but now that the shock of being blown off a ten-floor building was wearing off, I didn’t feel all that much worse than if I’d taken a particularly savage beating, of which I’d had my fair share in the past cycles. The burning on the side of my head was getting pretty bad, but I could cope another few minutes, at least.

  I moved to step around her.

  She mirrored the motion almost apologetically, just enough to bar my path, watching me with worried eyes. “I think I should have a look anyway.

  “I’m fine,” I repeated. “I mean, my head burns, but—look, I just need to talk to someone real quick and then—”

  “Please,” she said, barring my way again with a raised hand when I tried to step around her. “I’m sorry, it just really looks like—”

  “Looks like you were launched from the tenth floor by an explosive device,” Dillard said, cutting around the medic to join us. “Minutes after disobeying a direct order, I might add. What the scud were you thinking, soldi—” He cut himself off, gnashing his teeth as he apparently remembered I wasn’t a soldier at all. Not anymore.

  “I apologize for my behavior, sir,” I forced myself to say. “I thought I could stop him.”

  The medic was looking between us as if trying to decide whether she’d heard all that right and whether she should scurry out of the picture. Her sense of duty, it seemed, won out.

  “Sir?” she said. “Might I have permission to administer care to this, um, patient while you two…” She looked between us, clearly uncertain what it was the two us would be doing.

  Dillard saved her from any additional floundering with a curt nod, some of the anger dimming in his eyes as they traced over my crispy right side. Curious, I glanced in the faded reflection of the medica skimmer’s window and—

  Sweet Alpha, my head.

  I reached for it impulsively, but the medic darted forward and caught my arm, gently guiding it back to my side. I didn’t resist.

  Most of the hair on the right side of my head was gone.

  The skin didn’t look too happy, either, though it was hard to make out colors in the reflection of the dark window. Even so, the burning pain sizzled to new heights at the sight, like it had been waiting for visual confirmation before revealing its true intensity. But pain from a burned area was a good sign, right? I couldn’t remember.

  “I thought I’d misheard Wingard’s report,” Dillard said quietly, looking at me like he was only then seeing me properly. “Then when he repeated it, I thought he must’ve lost it. I don’t understand how…” He seemed to remember himself then, and some of the stern anger crept back in. “What happened up there, Citizen Raish?”

  The medic stiffened at the sound of my name, but quickly went back to her inspection.

  “I gropped up,” I said, still staring at the reflection. “I let Parker get to me, fell right into his trap. He told me the detonator was set to blow the lab, and… Well, I guess it doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “I’ll be the judge of what matters,” Dillard said, resuming his stern ordo air in full. “I’m going to be needing a full report—complete with how the scud you survived that blast… Once we’ve returned to Haven and you’ve been cleared by the medica, of course,” he added at my medic’s indignant frown.

  I clenched my jaw against my own indignant anger and nodded. “Yes, sir. But for now, the people in the blood racks—”

  “It’s under control. We’ll get them out, then we’ll blow everything else.” He glanced between me and the medic. “Just make sure he doesn’t bleed out internally before we get back.”

  “Affirmative, sir,” she said.

  Dillard shot me one last frown, started to turn for the facility, then paused, turning back. “I served under your father in the Dorrin Uprising.”

  He said it like he shouldn’t need to explain what it meant—and he didn’t need to. My dad had only been an ordo himself back then. If Dillard had served under him, then he must’ve been one of the legionnaires my dad had saved in the battle that’d cost him his leg. The battle where he’d ended up saving multiple companies and breaking through the enemy line in a turn that led to the final downfall of the rebellion only days later—all because he’d disobeyed a direct order to storm an enemy entrenchment he knew was a trap.

  Dillard watched this all sink in on my face, his expression intense. “If you ever find yourself tempted to buck the reins again, you’d better be damn sure you have no other choice, Citizen.”

  I licked my lips, indignant anger giving way to something of far greater weight. “Yes, sir.”

  He held my gaze for a long moment, then turned to go.

  “Sir?” He paused, but didn’t turn. I cursed myself for having opened my mouth, wanting to ask if he was going to tell High General Glenbark what had happened here. But that question was beyond stupid. Of course he’d tell her. He couldn’t not. And nothing I said would change that. So instead I muttered weak thanks and watched him leave with a sinking feeling in my gut.

  I’d taken a gutsy risk, and now I had nothing but a steaming bucket of scud to show for it. Well, that, a furious best friend, and soon-to-be livid girlfriend.

  The medic cleared her throat from the back of her heavy skimmer, and I turned to find her sliding the stretcher out of the rear hatch. “May I?” she asked, nodding to the padded stretcher.

  I shrugged and followed her around the vehicle. Laying down for a minute suddenly didn’t sound so bad. And if it happened to be on the medic’s stretcher, what difference did it make?

  The medic—Melanie, according to the tag on her white tunic—hovered beside me as I lowered my painful way onto the stretcher. She thrummed with a kind of nervous energy that made me wonder if she wasn’t a little frightened to be left alone with the Demon of Divinity. Maybe she was just new to the job. She was barely older than me—and also rather cute, I couldn’t help but notice as she leaned over me to begin a quick series of physical exams.

  Once it became clear I was going to be compliant, Melanie’s nervous energy dissipated, and her words took on a soothing tone as she talked me through the exams.

  “How’s the pain on your head?” she asked, leaning closer to inspect the burns.

  “Insistent,” I said. Then, not even sure I wanted to hear the answer, I added, “How bad does it look?”

  “Really not that bad, considering… Well, I’ll definitely get you set up with some salve strips after the scan, but I think it’s safe to say it should heal nicely.”

  She showed me a friendly enough smile as she wrapped up and slid me into the skimmer to start some scans. She didn’t directly ask about what had happened inside or how in demons’ depths I’d managed to survive a bomb and a ten floor fall, but I could tell she wanted to. I might’ve told her had I not been so exhausted. It was enough effort to mumble bleary acknowledgments to her updates on the scanning process.

  I don’t know how long she was at it, but I must’ve nodded off, because next I knew, I was jolting upright at her light touch on my shoulder, and I wasn’t in the scanner anymore. She tensed as if to catch me, apparently worried I’d fall off the stretcher, which she’d slid back out of the rear hatch.

  “I’m good,” I mumbled, swinging my legs to the ground.

  Her hands stayed where they were until I was steadily on my feet. Then slowly, cautiously, she released me and stepped back.

  I was starting to give her a thumbs-up when it
occurred to me that the right half of my face felt oddly tight and gooey.

  “Careful,” Melanie said as I started to reach for it. “I went ahead and put those salve strips on while you were out.” She smiled shyly. “I was going to wake you, but you kinda looked like you needed a few minutes’ rest.”

  I touched lightly at the edge of the salve-smeared bandages. “I, uh, yeah… Thank you.” I pointed to the tablet in the front pocket of her coat. “Any other news I should know about?”

  She looked me over as if trying to make sense of something before answering. “Did you really get blasted off that roof?” she finally asked.

  I held up my charred arm demonstratively, then gestured at the eastern wall. “Damn near became one with that wall on the way down.”

  She looked between the wall and me, forehead wrinkled. “Well, then aside from the fact that you apparently have the protection of Alpha himself, you should know that you do appear to have a mild concussion and a pretty astounding amount of internal bruising.”

  I couldn’t help but smile a little at that. “Is that your professional opinion?”

  Her smile looked tired and forced. “My professional opinion is that it’s miraculous you’re alive, much less walking and talking. And that you should get to the medica for a follow up as soon as you return to base.”

  I touched a casual salute to my chest. “Affirmative, goodlady. Thank you.” For some reason, the impulse struck me then to introduce myself properly. Not that it was necessary. Very few people failed to recognize me these days. Still, I found myself wanting to.

  Before I could, though, a few legionnaires exited the main building across the yard and turned to hold the doors while Melanie’s colleagues carted several wounded legionnaires out on stretchers.

  I traded a look with Melanie. “I’d better get in there and see what’s going on. Guess I’ll see you around.”

  She gave me a concerned look. “Let’s hope you won’t have to.”

  Inside, the cavernous underground lab was awash with activity—some helping evacuate the wounded, some rigging the breeding facility to blow, most of the rest trying to help revive the dozens of pale victims strapped to those barbaric blood racks. I drew plenty of curious looks in my charred civie armor and my half-mask of salve strips. Many darkened when they made it to the rest of my face and recognition set in. Others looked surprised. But no one said anything, save for Edwards, who looked me up and down, clapped a beefy hand on my unburnt shoulder, and kindly—albeit grimly—answered my most pressing question.

  Ten of Hound Company’s forty-two legionnaires had been killed, another thirteen wounded—three critically. I couldn’t help but notice Mara watching me with cold, unreadable eyes while Edwards filled me in.

  It could have been worse, I told myself. If Alton Parker hadn’t been bluffing about those explosives, all of Hound Company would be dead now, along with the blood rack victims. But legionnaires were still dead, and Alton Parker had escaped. Somehow, it was hard to call that a victory.

  Down on the ground floor, some of the victims were coming off their blood racks now, at least somewhat awake. They sat in the aisles, pale-faced and draped in whatever the soldiers had been able to find—mostly more of the blue lab gowns. Some looked frantically around the room, tense and terrified. Others sat in languid dazes, still heavily under the influence of the sedatives that had kept them under for Alpha new how many cycles now.

  I spotted a fiery red buzzed head among the helpers and headed down the stairs toward Johnny. He was knelt down with his arms around a slender brunette woman who might’ve been in her early forties. As I approached, it was hard to tell if he was comforting or restraining her.

  Then I came close enough to hear her, and I froze.

  “I could care less about a gown!” she was saying, wriggling against Johnny’s arms. “I need to talk to your commanding officer! Now!”

  I knew that voice.

  “All right,” Johnny said, slowly releasing her and holding his hands up peacefully. “All right, it’s okay.”

  She tried to rise, but her legs buckled beneath her. Johnny was there to catch her before she hit the ground.

  She looked up at him, frustration and embarrassment evident in her eyes. “Okay. Maybe I could use that hand, then.”

  The more she spoke, the more I was sure of it. This was the woman who’d unknowingly helped us expose the raknoth to the world.

  “Therese?”

  She turned to me with a deep furrow in her brow.

  Johnny looked around too, his expression flat and defensive. Then understanding dawned in his eyes, and he turned back to her. “Wait. You’re Therese Brown?”

  Therese looked back and forth between us, mouth slightly agape. Then she closed her mouth, took a closer look at the Legion activity around the lab, and nodded to herself. “Someone got my audio logs?”

  I crouched down beside her and Johnny, who seemed to have forgotten for the moment that he was angry with me. “I did. I broke in here almost four cycles ago with my… with my old partner. We tried to get you out then, but there were only two of us. Alton Parker set his hybrids loose, and we had to run.”

  She gave a visible shudder at the sound of Alton’s name, her eyes somewhere far off. “Hybrids…” Her eyes snapped up from wherever they’d been and locked onto mine. “So you already know about them?” She looked at Johnny’s legionnaire armor. “The Legion knows about the raknoth?”

  “Thanks to Hal here,” Johnny said, tilting his head but not looking my way. “You can breathe easy, Therese. We’ve got them on the run. Sort of.”

  A few racks down the aisle, a sallow, middle-aged man shifted against his rack restraints, soft whimpers escaping his mouth as he began to surface from his drug-induced hibernation.

  Johnny finally met my eyes, his gaze lingering on the mask of salve strips covering the burnt side of my face. “You have her?”

  I nodded.

  He gave Therese’s shoulder a gentle pat and rose to go help the other guy. Next to me, Therese was beginning to shiver. I looked around and spotted a few shelves under the lift platform stocked full of the blue gowns that seemed to be the only clothing we were going to find. “Let me get you something to wear. Wait right here.”

  I hurried over, grabbed several gowns, and handed a few out on the way back, saving two for Therese. She accepted my hand up, and I hovered beside her as she slipped on the first gown, buttoned it, and slipped on the second. That done, she rubbed at her arms, trying to get warm as she looked around.

  When her gaze fell on the soldiers prowling the catwalks, planting explosives, she froze. “What are they doing?”

  “Shutting this facility down for good.”

  Her expression melted into one of horror.

  “We can’t let the raknoth keep building their army down here,” I said. “We can’t risk this equipment falling back into their hands.”

  “Those are people in those tubes,” she said, her voice weak. “Human beings. They’re every bit as much victims as I was.”

  I’d wondered about that more than a few times in the past cycles. Somehow, it was a bit easier to forget those things had started as humans once you’d seen them ripping innocent people to shreds, indiscriminately killing helpless men, women, and children.

  Therese wasn’t wrong, but still…

  “Do you know how to stop them from turning into one of those things?” I asked, pointing at a hybrid that lay dead further down the aisle, snouted mouth open in an eternal roar.

  She didn’t cringe away from the sight like I’d expected. “No. Not yet.” She waved a hand at the racks. “But we have most of the premier experts on raknoth physiology right here. Maybe with some time, we could—”

  “We don’t have time.” It came out harsher than I’d intended. “There are only five raknoth left as far as we know, but they have an entire army of these creatures, and they can manipulate humans as easy as breathing. They took Oasis yesterday.”

&
nbsp; That gave her pause.

  “We can’t afford mercy here. Not if want we Enochia to survive.” I looked back to where the soldiers were wrapping up with their demolition prep, feeling uneasy.

  Since when had I become the one who’d argue for the big picture over the preciousness of each individual life?

  Therese was right. These people were far from harmless. But they were also innocent. Through no fault of their own, they’d been touched by the savage nature of the raknoth. Everything I’d seen and heard suggested we couldn’t save them—that there was nothing we could do but watch their metamorphosis progress until they were every bit the vicious, mindless killing machines the raknoth wanted them to be. But maybe that was just the story I was telling myself.

  What about the hybrid who’d evaded Edwards’ first shot when we’d breached the lab? The one who’d seemed to respond to my mental presence when I’d reached out. What if the people were still in there somewhere?

  “What would you need to get to work on a… I don’t know, a treatment for the hybrids?”

  Therese didn’t look away from the hybrid chambers. “I don’t know. Hybrid samples and a lab to start with.” She glanced at the slowly growing pool of awoken blood rack victims. “As many of these researchers as are willing to chip in.” She pursed her lips then shook her head. “And even then, I don’t know. There’s no sure thing. Something like that would probably take years, if it’s possible at all.”

  I looked around at the hundreds of hybrid breeding cylinders, each another human life all but lost. “Seems like it’s worth a try. Guess you’ll be needing a new job anyway right?”

  I regretted the words back as soon as they left my mouth, but to my surprise, the corners of Therese’s mouth turned up in a gentle smile. “I suppose I will be. My mother’s been telling me for years I should leave Vantage. Find a man, start a family, all those fun things. She’ll be thrilled. Although I might’ve missed the train on the whole starting a family thing.”

  She’d started rubbing at her arms again, and it occurred to me she might simply be talking to avoid the silence now—to hold at bay the thoughts of what she’d been through and what was about to happen.