Mission Pack 2: Missions 5-8 (Black Ocean Mission Pack)

by J. S. Morin

  Another jolt forced her back to terse silence. Mort would have scolded her for losing her temper. It wasn’t quite hypocritical of him, even though he lost his own often enough that Esper wondered why he bothered looking for it in between outbursts. The difference was that Mort could use his magic just fine—possibly better—when furious, whereas Esper’s polite requests of the universe unraveled.

  “Listen, kid,” one of the guards said. “You hold your shit together for five fucking minutes—”

  “Not even that,” the other guard added.

  “And you’re not our problem any more,” the first guard continued.

  Five minutes… and then what? Esper wasn’t sure she was eager to find out, but even less sure she was going to be able to do anything about it. She hadn’t gotten so much as a glimpse of her captors. The device she was secured to prevented any useful movement. And to top it off, the universe was giving her the silent treatment. That left hoping for a rescue as her best option, and five minutes was a short window to expect one of those.

  The cathedral drew closer, and despite the lack of any other apparent options for destination, it relieved Esper to see that’s where they were taking her. The days of barbarism in the One Church were buried a thousand years in the past.

  Assuming that the cathedral belonged to the One Church. It was only a building, after all; it might have been taken over by anyone. Esper wished she hadn’t thought of that.

  But as they approached the massive Gothic structure, the front double-doors opened. Standing in the arched opening was an elderly human in a bishop’s vestments. This cathedral was either still under control of the One Church or someone was blaspheming by impersonating a high-ranking man of the cloth.

  “Those restraints won’t be necessary,” the bishop said. With a lazy flick of the bishop’s fingers, the collar popped open, followed by the wrist and ankle clamps.

  Esper stumbled backward from the low repulsor platform she’d been forced to stand on. Strong hands caught hold of her and guided her to her feet. Finally able to see her captors, she was surprised to see the orange and blue vertical striped uniforms of the Swiss Guard. They wore modern tactical helmets and armored polymer breastplates emblazoned with the cross, but the rest of their attire was cut from the Renaissance.

  “She’s all yours, Your Excellency,” one of the guards said.

  “Go with God,” the bishop replied, tracing the sign of the cross in the air. The two guards bowed and backed away, taking the repulsor prisoner restraint with them.

  “Thank you, Your Excellency,” Esper said, dropping to her knees and bowing her head. She clasped her hands piously before her. Though she wanted to probe her neck for signs of damage from the collar, right now humility and gratitude were in order.

  “Rise, child,” the bishop said. “Come inside, and quickly.”

  Without a word, Esper did as she was instructed. Passing through the doors of the cathedral felt like a passage into another world. The air was cool, and scented with the burning of tallow candles, combined with wood polish. The inlaid oaken doors thundered closed behind her, echoing through the nave. Esper closed her eyes and breathed the scents, letting the coolness seep into her. A sweat that she’d overlooked amongst all her other troubles began to dry on her skin.

  “Esper Theresa Richelieu, welcome to Saint Raphael Cathedral on Alveronn. I am Jose Emmanuel Chavez, Bishop of Alveronn. These doors that have shut behind you must now remain shut to you forevermore. Your sanctuary here depends upon that.”

  “My… sanctuary?” Esper asked. It was a nice word, but she could not recall having requested it. She didn’t even know the One Church still flexed that old muscle under ARGO jurisdiction.

  Bishop Chavez smiled. “You were injected with a drug after your apprehension. They told me that your memories of those events might have been muddied. You confessed to everything and begged for mercy and for sanctuary. Certain… interested parties forwarded your plea to my ears, and now here you are.”

  “Bishop Chavez, I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, but I don’t mean to spend the rest of my life taking sanctuary from what I’ve done,” Esper said. “My friends—”

  “Your friends have their own demons to fight and their own keepers to contend with. You had fallen under the sway of one of the most notorious wizards of this century. Even now, he is answering for his sins. Your salvation is still possible.”

  Esper felt a cold fear rising within her. “Your Excellency, I’m… I’m not sure I can be saved. I use magic most of the time now. Little bits. Vain bits. Proud and greedy and wroth, and I can’t stop myself. I… it’s part of who I am.”

  “The wizard taught you that,” Bishop Chavez replied. “Drips of foul poison into the well of your soul. But you will drink solely from the well of Saint Raphael’s now. And if you cannot stop yourself, then for the sake of your eternal soul, I will stop you.”

  “The drug?”

  Bishop Chavez hung his head and started down the aisle between the pews. Esper fell in behind him, unsure what else to do. “You see, I am a wizard as well. But I serve Christ, our Lord. Here, in this place, I hold magic at bay. Try all you might, you will work no wicked conjuring.”

  “Back there… with the restraints…”

  “Yes, those less pious servants of the Church need occasional reminders of God’s presence on Alveronn. But I work no magic but the abjuration of all magic within these walls.”

  A lifetime without magic. Now that she had tasted the power and freedom, could she go back to living without it? Did she even want to? “What would happen if I were to step outside?”

  “I cannot say,” Bishop Chavez replied. “But I imagine that our doors are being watched, and will so long as you remain. If it makes you feel better, you have given some officer of the law a safe and easy job. He will go home each night and see his family, who will no longer wonder what foul end he might meet chasing more… adventuresome criminals. Now, if you are going to stay with us, among the first orders of business will be to confess your sins. I imagine this may take a while, so we’ll have lunch first. Adolphus’s cooking may suffer by comparison to off-world fare, but it shouldn’t kill you. You’ll have time to unburden your soul before you meet your maker. I am especially curious to hear of your involvement with the wizard Mordecai.”

  # # #

  Kubu couldn’t remember how long he had been running. It seemed like a very long time, but since he wasn’t tired at all, it couldn’t have been. The soft forest soil and tiny frizzy-plants felt nice under his paws. These woods were filled with bunnies. Maybe they smelled funny and didn’t taste quite as yummy as most bunnies Kubu had eaten, but they were so much fun to chase that he was willing to overlook their faults.

  When he had first woken up, it had been a bit of a surprise to be in a forest. Kubu had looked for Mommy and everyone else. He had searched for the flying house. But hard as he tried, he couldn’t catch so much as a sniff of any of them. Eventually hunger had set in, informing Kubu that the bunnies out there weren’t going to just eat themselves. He had set off in pursuit.

  But it seemed as if every time he ate one of the bunnies, the hunger came back right away once he was done. What Kubu needed to find were a whole lot of bunnies all in one place, or something bigger that would take up more space in his tummy. Then he would be not-hungry for long enough to get back to looking for Mommy.

  The bunnies went one by one down Kubu’s throat in little, funny-tasting bunny gulps. Kubu could just never find them close enough to one another to make a bigger meal. But the sun was still up high, peeking down through the tree leaves at Kubu here and there. He wasn’t tired yet. It must have been his imagination to think he had eaten probably a million bunnies.

  Just a few more bunnies, Kubu told himself, then he would go searching again.

  # # #

  A lone light blared overhead. That was the first thing Tanny saw. Staring up into it, she blinked and shielded her eyes with a hand. Her surroundin
gs were less “room” and more “cell.” Bare, polymerized steel walls hemmed her in on all sides, too close even to feel cozy. The only sign of a door was a faint outline in one wall. Another wall bore a sink and toilet jutting out, each little more than an extruded contour of the surrounding wall. The bunk beneath her cantilevered from the wall opposite the door, its top surface padded in stuffed plastic, with a thicker section at one end to serve as a pillow.

  Tanny pulled herself up to a seated position, hugging her knees to her chest. “Wonderful,” she muttered. The good news in all of it was that she was still alive. Depending how much ARGO’s investigative branches could piece together in the way of charges, she might not even be up for any capital offenses. The bad news was that she was well and truly screwed.

  Her assets appeared to include a one-piece jumpsuit that fit like a duffel bag with sleeves and pant legs. Period. She was barefoot, wearing a garment that lacked any sort of pockets, and whoever had thrown her in here had confiscated her translator earring—not that there was anyone to talk to. Nothing in the cell had moving parts or controls or panels with so much as a bolt head facing the prisoner side of the cell.

  Holding her breath, she could hear a faint hiss of air. Pinprick holes dotted the ceiling at intervals, cycling clean (if not fresh) air into her cell. Scanning the floor revealed subtle contours ending in equally small holes for drainage. Unless Tanny could shrink herself to the size of a flea, she wasn’t exiting by any egress other than the door.

  A tube poked in through one of the walls with a mechanical whir. “Meal time commencing. Twelve minutes remain,” a voice with no source echoed throughout the cell.

  Stalking over to examine the plastic tube elicited no reaction. It just dangled from the wall. She leaned over and peered into the end. It was translucent, the size of her little finger, and empty.

  “What the hell…?” Was she supposed to have a bowl stashed somewhere? Should she cup her hands beneath it?

  “Failure to consume adequate nutrients will result in punitive measures not limited to involuntary feedings.”

  Tanny tugged at the tube, and it extended slightly from the wall. It was rubbery, and twisted easily in her grip. She cupped one hand under the end and gave a few tugs. But nothing came out. With a sigh, Tanny tried drinking from it like a straw. But instead of a liquid, a slurry tasting strongly of corn and ham issued forth. Unprepared for the mouthful of sludge, Tanny dropped the tube and rushed to the toilet to spit it out.

  “Failure to consume adequate nutrients will result in punitive measures not limited to involuntary feedings.”

  Angling her head under the faucet to wash the taste from her mouth, she looked up at the ceiling. “Fuck this.” If this was how her life was going to be—and pending a trial, it may have been slated for getting better or worse—Tanny was having none of it. But the thought of her stomach’s contents reminded her of an even worse trial yet to come. There was no way they would keep up with her drug regimen. Most of her stash of marine-grade pharmaceuticals were illegal in civilian hands, so even bringing up the topic was an admission of guilt. Either way, her captors were bound to find out eventually, either through medical scans or when she started going into withdrawal.

  Settled back in on the minimalist cot, she listened to repeated warnings from the soulless computer about not eating her meal. But after what she could only assume was twelve minutes, the tube retracted into the wall, and a hole closed behind it.

  Tanny stared toward the outline of a door, waiting to see who would come and what the punishment might be. She plotted an ambush. Whatever other chance she might have in the future, for now at least she had the strength, reflexes, and focus needed to fight back.

  # # #

  Mriy couldn’t remember how long she had been running. It seemed like hours, but since she wasn’t tired, it must have been her mind playing tricks. The soft forest soil and a dense covering of ferns had a pleasant feel under her bare feet. What had prompted her to leave her boots by the ship, she couldn’t recall. She had hunted with boots on for most of her life. But this felt more primal, more in touch with her ancient heritage. These woods were filled with prey, though so far all she had been able to find had been some breed of long-eared hare. Something was off about them. This almost certainly wasn’t an Earth-like world, or else hares had evolved with a strange, cooked taste to their raw flesh. But the creatures were stupid, plentiful, and edible, so she could find no reason for complaint.

  It seemed as if every time she ate one of her kills, her hunger returned moments after she fed. There was some strange effect at work that Mriy couldn’t quite hook a claw into. The sun’s progress across the sky seemed lethargic, the passage of time all but halted. The nutrient value of her prey seemed almost nil. What she needed to find was some larger prey, or at least some hares that had protein in them and didn’t taste spoiled. The thought occurred that it was almost as if someone had trapped these hares, cooked them inside, and set them back loose in the wild. But it was an absurd notion; no creature could run and dodge and struggle for its life with its innards cooked in human style.

  But it was difficult to wax philosophical while in the heat of a hunt—even a series of small, unsatisfying, and increasingly frustrating hunts. What Mriy needed was a big kill. A wild boar, or a bear, or a moose might last her a week or more, until the meat began to spoil. Then she could sit down and give some thought to long term plans. Shelter. Salvage. Possibly she might find something on the ship she could cobble into a working astral antenna to call for help.

  But before all that, she needed to hunt. The hunger wouldn’t stay at bay long enough to let Mriy think clearly.

  # # #

  Two kingdoms shared a border, a line so clear that grass knew not to grow across it. Whereupon the verdant, meadowed landscape of Mortania ended, there began a flat, desolate stretch of land that only had dirt—because to have less than that might have taken an effort. If this barren and uninhabited wasteland had a name at all, it must have been the sort a file clerk would think up: simple, factual, possibly including a number if there were others like it in some poor, misbegotten corner of the multiverse.

  But since Mort had no idea the name of his enemy’s realm, he called it Lloydsville.

  And while Lloydsville was bleak and uninspired—a perfect example of why wizards ought to be given crayons as children—it was not featureless. Off in the distance, a lone structure jutted from the ground. Like the land around it, the building was also drab and utilitarian, a simple cube of stone or concrete—it was hard to tell at such a distance. It flew no pennants, had no garden or courtyard; it probably didn’t even sport a moat.

  “Lord Mordecai, their army is approaching the border,” General Tanny said. Mort had promoted the captain of the guard as soon as he arrived to the battle. Even though she wasn’t really Tanny, he had made her out to be as Tanny-like as possible, which included considering tactical matters first and foremost. “Should we send out our forces to repel them?”

  This was the dangling question. She’d given her advice in there, but made it sound like Mort would be the one making the decision. It was blasted inconvenient seeing tricks like that because you had your hand up both puppets. “No, we bloody well won’t. Mortania’s never been to war, and I’m not going to waste a perfectly good castle by running out of it to fight way the hell over there.” Mort jabbed a finger at the distant border. From the battlements of Castle Mortania, Mort and his advisers could see clear across the realm and make out the shape of an approaching mass of troops.

  “But what about the people?” General Tanny asked. “The village will be overrun.”

  Sentiment over a few thousand imaginary peasants was almost too much for him. But if Mort wanted a Tanny-like Tanny running the inconvenient and annoying bits of the war, he was going to have to treat her like she—and the realm around them—were real and precious to him. “Fine. Ring the bloody bell. Summon the peasantry inside the walls. If the town is sacked, we’
ll get to work tomorrow rebuilding it.”

  “You think this will all be over in a day?” General Tanny asked. “Lord Mordecai—”

  But Mort held up a hand, and she stopped herself. The condescension that had crept in between those words was too much for him, just then. “The days can be as long here as I see fit. Do you hear me, General?”

  “Yes, milord,” General Tanny replied, snapping to attention. There was a clank as the heels of her boots tapped together.

  “Kythrast, you overgrown salamander,” Mort bellowed over his shoulder. “Get down here.”

  With a scrabbling of claws on stone and a flapping of membranous wings, Kythrast left his perch on the castle’s highest tower and descended to the battlements. The bulk of the dragon shook the stone beneath Mort’s feet. Kythrast’s body radiated warmth even through the cool morning air. With an offhanded pat of the dragon’s black scales, Mort pointed to the horizon.

  “Can you make out what they’ve got over yonder?” Mort asked. Within his own realm, he had no need of his own eyesight to know what was where. But across the border into Lloydsville, he was limited to human senses. Kythrast had been built with better eyes than that. Though slitted like a cat’s or a lizard’s, they were keen as a raptor’s.

  Kythrast craned his head over the wall, shifting his feet to lean as far as possible in the direction of the oncoming army. Despite his bulk and proximity, he never so much as brushed Mort’s robes with his flank. “Earth and metal, twisted into human form,” the dragon said, his bass voice rumbled in the chests of those who stood close by. “They are blanks—unfinished statutes with neither face nor finger. No ranks or officers can I see, but they move as one. Their footsteps fall in unison.”

  Mort harrumphed. “Lack of creativity. Just looking to overwhelm us with numbers. Speaking of… how many of those buggers are there?”

  Kythrast straightened, lifting his neck and angling his head down to glare at the wizard. “What do you take me for? One of your infernal future machines? Count them yourself when they surround Castle Mortania.”