Sylvia chuckled. “So that’s your deal. You used to be a killer for a criminal syndicate and then you found religion?”
Diane frowned just slightly. “Yes, I’m sure it’s very cliché. I’m sorry to bore you.”
“Can I come?” Wade asked.
Diane was a little surprised. “Well, it wouldn’t be very Christian of me to say no. Are you practicing?”
Sylvia laughed some more. “Oh yeah, Wade’s all into that stuff. Hey, make sure you say some prayers about the whole galaxy basically being on fire. If there’s some big guy up there watching, He should probably be paying attention to that.”
“Sylvia,” Wade warned.
Sylvia ended her smile and said to Diane, “Sorry. I don’t mean to belittle the beliefs ... of a known killer whom we’re supposed to be helping instead of locking up for some reason.”
Diane thought better of saying anything more and walked off with Wade. I stared at him as he went with her, watching as he looked at her.
“So, I guess us non-churchgoers are just going to sit here and be all rational,” Sylvia said as she ate bacon.
I had no more interest in talking to her. I didn’t even feel the need to be polite, so it seemed like I could just get up and walk away without saying a word — and maybe push her to the ground if she tried to follow me. Though in my current state, she might have won a physical altercation.
“Diane said you should try to get to know more people,” Dip chimed in my ear.
I already know I don’t like her.
“Your first impression of everyone is negative, so that means nothing.”
My first impression of Diane wasn’t negative.
“You planned to kill her early on.”
I plan that for everyone, so that also means nothing.
“It won’t hurt you to try to talk to her.”
It didn’t feel that way, but I sucked it up and said, “So, Sylvia, tell me about yourself.”
Sylvia looked at me for a moment and pursed her lips. “No.” She leaned back in her chair. “But what the hell are you? You’re a skilled killer who worked with the Nystrom syndicate as far as I understand, and now you’ve grown a heart or something?”
“I wouldn’t say I’ve grown a heart.”
“And why are you useful to us? Even if you happen to be the best person in the universe at using a little shooty pistol, what’s that to an intergalactic threat?”
I smiled. “I’m a symbol of hope.”
Sylvia chuckled. “Hope that the people who need a shootin’ get shot, I guess. So you told the Fathom you’d beat them to death within a week. How’s that going?”
“Well ... sometimes, in the spur of the moment —” I noticed she wasn’t paying attention to me but staring at something behind me. As I had well programmed myself to avoid suspicious behavior, I just kept looking at her. “What do you see there, nurse?”
She brought her eyes back to me and tried to make her staring less obvious. “There’s a woman watching you.”
I smiled. “Is she attractive?”
Sylvia was not amused and quickly glanced back at the unseen person behind me. “Suspiciously watching you. There’s a man with her. He’s watching you too. His hand is under his coat, resting on something.”
I scoffed and kept my gaze on Sylvia. “He’s really telegraphing it, then, huh? Would anyone else know I’m here? When you followed us, who did you report our location to?”
“Just to ...” Another quick glance. “They’re coming this way.”
I listened for the footsteps behind me. “Just be cool,” I told Sylvia, but she didn’t even seem to hear me at that point. Her eyes weren’t on those coming closer, but her attention was on them. And I could hear the footsteps clearly right behind me.
Sylvia leaped right over me and the table, knocking over her bacon as she plowed into the man behind me. The woman next to him shrieked and reached for something as well.
“You should probably back her up since you got her into this mess,” Dip said. I didn’t quite agree with that statement, but I quickly got up from my chair and decked the woman, knocking her to the ground.
Sylvia had the man pinned to the ground, his arm behind his back. “Who sent you?” she demanded. The rest of the patrons and hotel staff were now standing back and watching. Too much of a crowd. This wasn’t good.
“We were told the Angel of Death was here,” the man said.
I pointed at what now lay next to the man — a camera. “They’re reporters. I could tell as soon as I looked at them.”
Sylvia looked at the dazed woman on the ground clutching her cheek. She loosened her grip on the man and asked, “Then why did you hit her?”
I shrugged. “I told you: They’re reporters.”
“Not cool,” Dip chided me. “You are still quite loose with violent assault.”
And I don’t think you’re giving me quite enough credit when I don’t kill people.
None of the other patrons were staring at us — which is quite odd for a violent assault, as it’s usually the most interesting event at any point in time. Instead, everyone was watching two figures headed our way, in black body armor that covered them from head to toe.
I stood up to assess what I was dealing with, but Sylvia took no such time and drew her pistol, firing bolts into the two. A red shimmering sphere erupted around each one, tearing burning chunks off of nearby tables and absorbing the bolts with little effect. Personal energy shields. Not a common sight.
There was a third person with them, standing behind them. She was a young blonde woman in a white dress. At first I thought it was the Messenger I had met before, but the face was different. The smile of someone who felt she was in charge and untouchable was the same, though. “The Fathom say hello, Rico. And they say goodbye.”
CHAPTER 12
There were black circles burned in the carpet around the two in black armor where the force fields had activated, still smoldering, and now the room smelled of smoke and not just bacon. They stood solidly in front of the Messenger and drew swords. In my understanding of these shields, anything of high velocity would set them off. That meant they couldn’t use guns either. So they were going to hack me to death.
Everyone else in the room had backed far off — probably a good idea. The only ones who stayed a little close were the two reporters, now recording the scene for posterity.
“You’re a Messenger,” Sylvia said to the woman in the white dress, voicing the obvious.
The Messenger looked at Sylvia. “And we recognize you as well from Lavaria. You will die here too.” She looked past us at the reporters standing off to the side. “This killer, whom people know as the Angel of Death, has stood against the Fathom and has made himself an enemy of civilization. He has assaulted our allies and helped in the capture and harm of an innocent Messenger of the Fathom. And then he thought he could come to this planet and hide, but there is no hiding from us. Justice will find any enemy of the New Alliance.”
“You murderers don’t know a thing about justice,” Sylvia growled, still uselessly pointing her gun at the two assailants with swords.
The Messenger’s face became very grave as she addressed Sylvia. “You are deluded. This gives me no pleasure.” The Messenger turned back to the reporters. “Unfortunately, these two must be dealt with harshly to preserve peace for all species of the New Alliance. And you will see that this man is no hero.” She now looked right at me with a crooked smirk. “You’re going to die screaming.”
I shrugged. “Probably. But not today.”
So the Fathom had invited the press. This was a media war, which was all sorts of irritating to me. I had half a mind to shoot the reporters, but I could already hear Dip chiding me.
“Let us begin,” the Messenger told the two in body armor. “But don’t be quick about it.”
“I have to say, you don’t look like much,” said one of the shielded assassins as she flourished her sword. I couldn’t make out any of
her face through the black helm, but the voice was female.
“It is hard to imagine you taking on a whole room full of killers,” said the other, also a woman. “Let’s see you handle two.”
I chuckled and turned to Sylvia. “They’re women. That’s pretty progressive. They’re not even wearing anything sexy.”
Sylvia still had her gun on them. “You’d rather they were wearing something sexy?”
I grimaced. “Is that a trick question? No, I like my women in thick body armor.” I turned back to the two assassins. “So, you two have a special name or something? Like the ‘Choppy Sisters’?”
“We’re not sisters,” answered one of the swordswomen as she slowly approached.
I motioned to the reporters. “I guess it’s the media’s job to name you.”
“Are you done?” asked one of the attackers.
“I think he’s done,” said the other with a laugh.
They could tell I was stalling. Believe it or not, I have not been in a lot of sword fights. That’s because after guns were invented, swords became basically stupid and pointless, so to speak. I have been in knife battles, and the main advice I have for those is to be comfortable with the fact that you are going to get cut and go for the kill. Except I could not be comfortable with that in my current condition, since my body would freak out at the slightest wound. I did not like my odds right now.
The Choppy Sisters looked ready to filet me, and I stepped behind Sylvia. “How are you at hand-to-hand combat?”
She finally put away her useless gun. “You want me to handle this?”
“Well, they’re both women and you’re a woman — it just doesn’t seem appropriate, me fighting them like that. I don’t want to hit a woman.”
She took her eyes off the enemy to glare at me. “You hit a woman for literally no reason just a minute ago.”
“I’m not feeling well, okay? You got this, right? Just smack their heads together.” I very subtly gave her a wink, hoping she’d get the hint.
“He’s not feeling well,” mocked one of the swordswomen. “Should we take a rain check on this?”
“We’ve seen him squirm long enough.” The Messenger smiled at me with an offensive amount of smug. “Now let’s see him bleed.”
Sylvia, the trooper that she was, didn’t wait for them to attack and threw a chair at one. The assassin dodged it while her partner charged at Sylvia, who barely ducked under the sword. The second soon joined in the assault, and Sylvia tried to block the swords with another chair, but the swords hacked it apart.
All the while I just backed away a bit, hoping they’d leave me alone. Having Sylvia take the lead was my best move, but it still seemed the most likely outcome was that I would watch her get sliced to pieces and then it would be my turn. At least hopefully I’d learn something of their technique by watching, but I wasn’t sure how much I’d bet on my being able to take them on without getting even a slight cut.
Still, I hoped Sylvia would surprise me. The odds certainly weren’t in her favor, and she yelped as one sword cut into her arm as her defense chair fell apart.
“You should probably help her,” Dip said.
I ignored him. To have any chance of defeating these two, this was the way to play it. Sylvia wasn’t an innocent civilian; she was already ready to give her life to fight the Fathom, and I was ready to use that life.
And it did seem that it was about spent, as the second Choppy Sister went in for the kill after her partner wounded Sylvia. But Sylvia ducked under the blade and slammed right into the woman’s legs, sending her tripping into her partner, and they both fell into a table. She’d done it.
Faster than most can blink, I drew both my guns and fired a shot at each swordswoman. Both the energy shields activated, but their edges overlapped into each other and into the bodies of the two assassins. The shields reacted with each other and stayed active as fire erupted into the two bodies. The screams stopped in a second, and the shields burned themselves out another second later. All that was left of the two killers was a bloody, smoking mess.
I turned to the reporters. “You get all that?”
The Messenger was stunned silent, staring at the dead. Finally she looked at me. “You’ve only bought yourself a little more time,” she said, quickly regaining her composure. “One way or another, you and those around you are going to suffer. There is no defeating us.”
“Five days,” I stated, smiling since I knew cameras were on me. “Two days ago, I said a week, right? So within the next five days, I will find the Fathom, and the people now terrorized by them will feel pity for the things I will do to them. And there will be no more hiding behind little girls.”
The Messenger stared back at me with an expression that seemed a mix of anger and fear. It resolved into a smirk. “By the way, while you were fighting here, we apprehended Melanie Fincher.”
I took a step toward her. “We don’t really know the relationship of these women to the Fathom,” Dip reminded me, “so that would make the morality of injuring one of them unclear.”
“On the ground! Now!” Sylvia shouted at the Messenger, pointing a gun at her.
The blonde woman looked at Sylvia with annoyance. “Not this time.” She took a deep breath and then collapsed to the ground.
Sylvia approached slowly. “Is she ...”
Before Sylvia could finish the sentence, the Messenger’s body burst into flame with such an intense heat that I jumped back. The two reporters slowly crept closer while filming.
“Well, that’s a trick,” I said to the stunned Sylvia. “We need to get to Diane. You hear anything from Wade?”
She shook her head.
“Could he be why the Fathom knew we were here?”
She took a tube from her purse and applied it to the bloody wound on her arm. “Wade is not a traitor.”
“And how sure are you of this?”
She glared at me. “Let’s put it this way: If Wade is a traitor, you can be certain I am one too.”
“She risked her life to save yours,” Dip chimed in. “You should probably thank her or something. And be nicer to her.”
I’ll do the first.
I patted Sylvia on the shoulder. “Great job there, by the way. Are you all right?”
She shrugged off my hand and just glared at me. “Do you know where your girlfriend took Wade?”
“I’m not really the sort of person who knows where the nearest churches are.” I started to lead the way out but finally noticed all the people standing around gawking at us. Since I had quickly catalogued them as non-threats, I had basically mentally blocked them out, as they weren’t worth my attention. For a hero, though, these insignificant bystanders were what everything was supposed to be about. Their faces were a mixture of fear and shock at the carnage we had wrought.
“Everything is going to be fine,” I told them, making sure the reporters had me in view. “The Fathom act all mysterious, but they’re just thugs. And I kill thugs.”
A few smiles were now visible. I was turning violence into hope. It seemed like a trick — dark magic, almost — but it was probably the best I could do.
Sylvia and I headed out the door. It seemed likely the Fathom would have more forces to send after us, though my main concern now was Diane.
“I’m hearing reports of a shooting at a church near us,” Sylvia called out as she pointed the way.
There were three possibilities: Diane was alive and fine; Diane was alive but captured; Diane was dead. Theoretically, none of those possibilities mattered, as whatever utility Diane was to me could be replaced. But I was quite convinced I cared for Diane — a brand-new thing for me that I was still getting used to — and that meant all those possibilities were not equal. And exactly what that meant if the worst case happened ... well, it was hard to say. And it didn’t seem worth contemplating without knowing what the reality was.
I followed Sylvia as we ran through an open field. Just ahead, I could make out a white building,
but what looked like military vehicles surrounded it, with people on the ground holding rifles. A few of them saw us and headed our way. I went for my pistols, but I felt a blow to my neck. The Fazium activated, and I fell to the ground, spasming in pain, as Sylvia stood over me, soon joined by the men with rifles.
CHAPTER 13
“Sorry,” Sylvia told me, but she didn’t look that sorry. I thought about punching her, but there was no question now who would win that fight. “I thought you were going to shoot them,” she continued. “Just wanted to make sure that didn’t happen.”
We had just broken atmosphere. I was in one of the Old Alliance’s transport ships, being taken to “safety,” surrounded by armed troops and Sylvia. No handcuffs this time — I assumed that was Anthony’s doing. They did take my guns, though — even though everyone around me had guns. That’s not a way to build trust.
I smiled at Sylvia, contemplating exactly where on her face I would put my fist. “Next time, try saying, ‘Hey. Don’t shoot them.’ I respond to verbal commands.” She was making me angry, and I hated it. Anger was useless — just a force pushing you to make dumb decisions.
“Remember,” Dip said, “she did help you against those two sword-wielding assassins.”
Put it in her file.
Along with “cocky,” “sneaky,” and “formidable.” I needed a plan for taking her on ... just in case.
“So where are we going?” I asked.
“The Vanguard,” Sylvia answered. “General Redden’s ship. Currently serving as the capital of the Galactic Alliance.”
“Because I guess I saw on Lavaria what would happen to any capital that stayed in one place.”
Sylvia frowned a little at that.
“You’re really making the Fathom look like a bunch of fools,” said one of the soldiers seated next to me.
“I just kill people who need it,” I said. Modesty. Heroes are modest. Which seems like a benign form of lying.
“What you’ve done is so impressive,” said a female soldier. “I’m so glad you’re on our side.” With her gear and helmet, I couldn’t see much of her other than her lips, which were nice enough. As I said before, I don’t care for women in body armor. But the smile she gave me suggested I might not have too much trouble getting it off her.
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