New Fan Fiction: The Cleric

[Amie]

Thanks for reading. I'm open to feedback and how it can be better!

CHAPTER 8

The sewer tunnel went on for about two kilometers, the darkness pushed back by Preston’s torchlight. The only sounds in the tunnel were the rippling of water and the soft swoosh of the six velocipedes that sped smoothly down one side of the twenty-foot wide waste-water channel.

At a signal from Preston, each of the clerics applied the exact amount of pressure on the front of his velocipede with the leading foot. Before the antigrav boards powered down to a complete stop, the clerics hopped off lightly, and with a quick tap of their feet the boards flipped up and were fastened to their backs.

At the same time, Preston switched the torchlight off, leaving them all in almost complete darkness.

“Bravo entrance twenty meters ahead,” Preston spoke in a low voice into his mouthpiece. “Ready to engage targets in two minutes.”

“Copy,” Kominsky answered through their earpieces. “Alpha and Charlie acquired. Get ready for signal in five.”

“Copy that.”

Ahead of them, light slanted through a break in the wall. The clerics covered the remaining twenty meters like wraiths, swift and silent.



80 hours earlier

At the break of dawn on the first day, the clerics had arrived at the warehouse one by one on foot.

They worked efficiently during the day, each one performing his tasks with utter concentration.

The remaining clerics arrived over the next two days, rounding up the team to a total of twenty-six. It was more than enough for what they needed to do.

It was a simple, straightforward operation. Many had done this same sort of mission before on other planets, covertly or otherwise, so the planning and briefing sessions were short and quick.

Equipment was set up and tested, weapons dismantled and cleaned with clerical thoroughness.

A way down was found to enter the drain, and for two days a group of clerics reconnoitred the sewer tunnels on velocipedes, or veeps--- small, light, antigravity boards with room enough for a cleric’s feet, used for quickly covering long distances close to the ground.

With geosynchronous mapping, the distance to the water pipe tunnel that connected to the gang’s lair was measured at two kilometers. Moreover, their explorations revealed that there were two others entry points into the tunnel.

For two days before the actual operation, two clerics were posted at each entrance in three hour shifts to observe the gang’s movement through the tunnel.

For recreational breaks, a large space was cleared in the dilapidated warehouse for sparring and kata exercises.

This was also a time for those who had gone through the monastery together to catch up.

“So, Preston,” Pretorius said, as he cleaned one of his Firdausi guns. “What have you been up to lately, besides assassinating world leaders?”

They were sitting at a portable table set up for weapons cleaning, and watching pairs of clerics on the floor spar with sticks Kendo-style, or grapple in Ninjitsu, Kali or some other martial art that most clerics were proficient in.

“Oh, nothing much,” Preston said casually. He squinted down the sight of his own gun. “I try to avoid excitement when I’m not on a job. You know me.”

“Yeah.” Pretorius glanced at him. “Always the dull one at the monastery—all work, no play. You still have no life, I take it?”

Preston coughed a little. “What the hell do you mean by that? Of course I have a life.”

“What, you probably play that game all day long, right?” Pretorius scoffed.

“I used to,” Preston admitted. “But not for the past two months.”

He sighed. “I did too, until Ivanya told me she would leave me if I didn’t pay any attention to her. Of course, to her, it’s just a game.”

“How do you stay in shape, then?” Preston asked curiously.

“I still play about two hours a day, and I joined a local martial arts club where my two boys are students. I teach as head instructor now in my spare time.”

“How are Ivanya and the kids, by the way?”

“Great.” Pretorius brightened a little, and for a few minutes he gave Preston a glimpse into his family life. Preston listened with genuine interest.

“What excuse did you give Ivanya for this mission?”

Pretorius shrugged. “The usual. Accounting conference for my CAE credits.”

“I’m surprised you came along,” Preston said mildly. “I thought you’d said you were done with these missions.”

“I thought so too.” Pretorius sighed. “But I can’t bring myself to abandon sixteen years of training.” He paused. “Anyway, I only joined because you did. I knew you’d watch my back.

Preston shook his head. “You know, one of these days I might not be around to preserve your ass.”

“Then that’s the time I retire from the brotherhood altogether,” said Pretorius, half jokingly.

Preston didn’t answer. He turned his attention to his other gun, which lay dismantled on a piece of cloth on the table. He reassembled the pieces with blinding speed.

“Not bad,” conceded Pretorius.

“Thanks.” With the charging crystal unloaded, Preston clicked it on to check the mechanism. It powered instantly.

“Hey, Preston!” Argelander called out. “Show the lads here those Capoiera-Mazar moves. They don’t think you can do them.”

Preston shook his head. “What do they teach these kids at the monastery nowadays?”

But he got up and promptly performed a Macaco-Mariposa or lateral butterfly flip, an aerial twist, and a side flip to a handstand. For a few seconds, he walked on his hands, then balanced in a one-hand-stand, his body razor straight in the air. For the final move, he flipped back from the one-hand-stand position to land lightly on his feet.

“Always good for entertainment,” Preston commented dryly as he sat down next to Pretorius again. “And not much else.”

~~~~~~~~

Preston, Pretorius, Argelander, and three of the clerics fresh from the monastery waited patiently by the opening in the tunnel wall for the signal.

The plan was a simple one. At the time determined that most gang members were scattered through the tunnels, the clerics were to go in simultaneously through all three entry points, disable as many of the gang members as they could, then secure Bartorio.

The signal was given, and all proceeded smoothly and exactly as planned.

The gang members’ chances were nil even before the operation started. From the first moment that the apparitions appeared in their midst-- dressed in black utility uniforms and black hooded masks, each one wielding two guns with equal proficiency--- it was a complete rout.

The only real resistance the clerics encountered was the tight circle of fifty bodyguards that surrounded Bartorio in the inner cavern. Crack ex-army and highly-paid mafia asassins, they put up a fierce fight as the group of eighteen clerics led by Preston broke through the entrance.

Their resistance lasted for all of twenty seconds.

A solid front of clerics in battle is a sight to behold. Before their relentless, implacable assault, the bodyguards fell one by one.

Standing behind them, stunned and confused as his defenses were decimated, was Bartorio. He had no time to react at all when one of the black-clad gunmen swiftly strode up to him and struck him across the head with the butt of his gun.

Darkness swallowed him.

~~~~~~~~

When Bartorio awoke, he was sitting in a chair with his hands tied behind him, and his arms and legs tied to the chair. A powerful light shone in his face while the rest of the room was darkened. Blinded by the light, he shut his eyes again.

“He’s coming to,” he heard a voice say briskly, then the slow tread of booted feet.

Unceremoniously, a hand slapped both sides of his face. “Wake up,” a voice commanded roughly.

Bartorio’s eyes squinted open, and he looked up to behold a black-hooded visage only inches from his face. Bartorio recoiled instinctively.

“We can make this brief, or we can prolong this for several days,” the black hood said. “That’s up to you. Who are you working for?”

Bartorio licked parched lips. “Water. I need water.”

“First, tell me who you’re working for.”

Bartorio shook his head slowly. “You bastards killed all my men.”

“It was a pleasure, I assure you,” the black hood said coldly. A gloved hand grabbed Bartorio’s neck and squeezed. “And we’ll kill you too --- slowly --- unless you tell us what we want to know.”

Bartorio gasped for air. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with. If they find out what you’ve done, you’re fucked for sure.”

“Who are ‘they’?” the black hood demanded.

“Do you think I’m gonna tell you that?”

“Yes, I think you will.”

For answer, Bartorio spat at him.

Black Hood straightened up and released Bartorio’s neck, wiping the saliva from his masked cheek.

He said icily, “I see we’re going to need to apply a little more persuasion.” To someone behind him, he said, “Bring the Cart.”

~~~~~~~

Down in the tunnels, an officer from the Galactic Bureau of Enforcement shook Richard Miller’s hand. “Thank you, Senator. Many of these men have been on the galaxy’s most wanted list for years. I believe you and your agents took care of a good ten percent of that list.”

“Happy to be of service, Captain Behrens,” Miller said gravely.

They watched as troops of the GBE herded the manacled prisoners into the waiting transports that hovered just outside the drain opening where waste water discharged down into the harbor’s vast processing tank.

After Captain Behrens went off to supervise the accommodation of the prisoners, Lee walked up to Miller.

“I still say we shouldn’t have set the guns to stun,” he muttered. “Damned waste of resources, if you ask me.”

Miller sighed. “A year ago, I would have agreed with you. But we’re laying the groundwork for acceptance by the populace through co-operation with the authorities. In other words, the Tetragrammaton’s evolution—by Tetragrammaton decree.”

“Or Tetragrammaton extinction. It almost happened 600 years ago.”

“I know.” Miller watched thoughtfully as the last of the prisoners were brought on board the transport. “How’s the extraction coming along? Our good captain is wondering what happened to Bartorio.”

“It won’t be long now,” Lee said confidently. “Snowden is taking care of it.”

The Cart was wheeled in next to Black Hood.

Bartorio saw all the tools of torture that he himself had assiduously used on his enemies laid out neatly on the cart, several with blood still caked on them —some of it recent. All the color drained from his face.

Black Hood, aka Cleric Thomas Snowden, picked up a particularly bloody, complex-looking piece of hardware, and studied it admiringly.

“I assume you know what this is, Bartorio,” he said mildly. “A brilliant medical tool used to surgically examine a certain part of the male anatomy. And I understand from some of your victims that you’ve put it to other uses—without anesthesia.”

Large drops of sweat appeared on Bartorio’s bald dome of a head. “I don’t know who they are,” he said hoarsely. “You gotta believe me!”

“Why should I?” Snowden gestured to others in the room. “Lay him down and hold him still. This tool requires great delicacy in handling.”

Two other powerful, black-hooded men came forward and untied his arms and legs from the chair while keeping his wrists and ankles bound. One of them unbuckled his belt and yanked his pants down before they pushed him roughly to the floor, pinning his shoulders and knees down while Black Hood approached with the tool.

“No, no, wait!” Bartorio screamed. “I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you everything!”

Behind the hooded mask, Snowden smiled. “Good lad. Tell me now, or I promise you I will use this tool.”

No further persuasion was needed. Bartorio told the cleric everything he knew.

[Cleric Claire]

I'm so hooked. I can't wait until you pull everything together. :-D

[Amie]

Thank you for the compliments, Libby! That's an honor coming from you. I've also read your stories and I was totally impressed by your style and imagination. You've got the sort of writing style that I'm aspiring to, and I suppose being English you master the language with such ease.

CHAPTER 9

In disbelief, Magnus stared at himself in the mirror in the Cook’s small sitting room. He was wearing a black, half-face mask, a clean white shirt and black breeches. On his upper lip was affixed a tuft of his own hair to serve as a thin mustache.

“There,” Esther said, after tying the red scarf around Magnus’s hair. “You look just like a dashing pirate.”

“I look—“ Magnus searched his memory—what was that word the children in the village had called him? Ah yes. “—like a dork.”

Esther chuckled. “That’s part of the fun. No one takes anyone’s costume seriously so one can be as ridiculous as one likes. Now, come on, strap on your sword – the DeCorvier’s cruiser will be here any second.”

The “sword” was a length of ashwood in a scabbard styled by Esther. Esther and Henry themselves were appropriately dressed as a Therousian colonial couple of two hundred years ago.

Magnus had not really wanted to go, but, as Sara had predicted, he had no say in the matter. Esther had wanted him to go, and that was that.

Flown by one of the DeCorvier’s servants, the cruiser arrived to collect the three of them and swiftly conveyed them over the plains to the DeCorvier residence.

The lawns around the chateau filled up with parked cruisers as guests arrived. The chateau itself was ablaze with light inside and out, and glowed beckoningly on the hillside plateau.

~~~~~~~

During the remainder of the night, Magnus hovered unnoticed on the fringes of the party, watching from the shadows of a doorway that led out to the terrace. He found the loud, throbbing music and bright chatter and laughter intimidating, and he dreaded the thought of meeting Sara face-to-face and making a fool of himself once again.

He watched morosely as she moved through the colorfully dressed crowd on William Yarrow’s arm, greeting and chatting with guests.

The sight of them together made his jaw clench, and yet he would be the first to admit that they were a perfect match.

In times like this, the desire to reclaim his memory was particularly strong.

In his efforts to piece his past together, Magnus had exhausted every lead that he had. His work on the debris in the barn was beginning to indicate that they were the remains of an advanced type cruiser, and although he could not imagine flying one now, it was clear he had been operating it when he crashed.

Moreover, his methodical self-education revealed decidedly strange things about himself.

He still “knew” basic things—for example, he knew that the planet Theroux turned on its axis, and that it had an elliptical orbit just like Old Earth. He knew bits and pieces of galactic history--- like an unfinished picture puzzle, there were pieces missing, but enough for the picture to be recognizable. He could read at an astonishing speed, almost as fast as he could turn the pages of a book. He also knew physics and mechanics, enabling him to repair virtually any type of machine or device on the farm.

He knew a great deal of information about many unrelated subjects, none of which indicated to him what it was he did before he lost his memory.

The strangest revelations involved his re-emerging skills. In addition to the knife-throwing, he discovered that he could bring down a duck at five hundred feet in the air with Henry’s ancient rifle. Not only that, he could take the rifle apart and put it back together almost without thinking.

He would have liked to take a look at the clothes he had been wearing at the time of the crash, but Henry had long since burned the torn, bloody gray suit. From them, Henry had concluded that Magnus had been a well-to-do man.

If that were the case, why was no one looking for him?

A search on the infonet at the mercantile had turned up nothing. The missing person’s bureau had no file of anyone corresponding to Magnus’s description being lost or missing, nor were there any unresolved reports of cruisers missing or stolen in Cincinnatus.

Henry had cautioned Magnus not to despair, for it was possible that Magnus had originated from off-world. If so, there was a chance that Magnus might have been staying at some hotel in Cincinnatus, and personal inquiries at all the hotels in the city might reveal something.

The last lead was the most tantalizing of all.

It was a small mark on his right inner wrist in the shape of an odd-looking cross. The infonet had turned up absolutely nothing on its meaning.

It had occurred to Magnus to abandon the Cooks and make it to Cincinnatus before the first snows fell, but he owed them too much to do it. He would wait until spring after the crops were planted and well established.

~~~~~~~~

Michel DeCorvier contentedly watched his daughter. She had surpassed all his expectations, becoming more and more like her mother everyday. Beautiful, confident, independent, intelligent, gracious, charming--- everything that he had loved about his wife. Perhaps a tad too independent, but there was nothing he could about that now, he thought dryly.

The masque was a great success. The humblest village residents mingled with his well-heeled friends from Cincinnatus and off-world, and he couldn’t tell the difference who was who. It was a brilliant idea conceived by Sara, who completely believed in the egalitarian ideas that he himself espoused as a philanthropist.

A man stepped up to him just as a few of his friends moved off after giving him their birthday wishes.

The man was dressed as an executioner from some nightmarish fantasy. He was in a hooded robe of flowing black, with a scythe in one hand and an hourglass hanging from a belt of rope. Under the hood, his mask was a ghastly, glowing white skull face, the lipless grin stretched back in gleeful mockery.

“Many happy returns, Monsieur DeCorvier,” said the skull face.

“Thank you,” DeCorvier replied. He looked up at the man curiously. “Does my daughter know you? I don’t recognize your voice.”

“No, she doesn’t know me. I’m afraid I wasn’t invited.”

“I see.” DeCorvier frowned a little. “Who are you?”

“I thought the costume was self-explanatory. The Grim Reaper, of course.”

“You know what I meant,” DeCorvier said with barely disguised impatience.

“Yes, I know what you meant. But for now it’s appropriate that you know me as the Grim Reaper.”

Who let this nut in? DeCorvier wondered. He shrugged. “If you wish.”

The Grim Reaper stood beside DeCorvier, hands clasped behind his back as he gazed out on the crowd. “Your daughter is quite lovely, Monsieur.”

“Thank you.” DeCorvier watched his daughter dance with William to some sort of sensual, throbbing music, the kind of music the young listened to nowadays. Like all the other dancers, she was swaying and twisting and writhing incomprehensibly. “I’m very proud of her.”

“It would be a shame if anything happened to her.”

“I beg your pardon?”

The Grim Reaper leaned down so that his mouth was close to DeCorvier’s ear. “If you want to protect her, you will do what I say.”

DeCorvier had stiffened in his wheelchair, hands gripping the arms in mounting anger.

“Is this some sort of joke? If so, monsieur, I don’t find it in the least amusing.”

“I’m perfectly serious. It’s all very simple, really. You will cease your support of David Smith, financial or otherwise. If you do, you will never see me again. If not---“ he paused “--- I will kill your daughter myself.”

The blood drained from DeCorvier’s face, then flowed back with a rush as his anger flared. “Monsieur, what do you mean by this? You come into my house and make threats? I will ask you to leave my house at once!”

Skull Face shook his head and straightened. “Perhaps a little demonstration is in order.”

There was a metallic click, and out of the Grim Reaper's voluminous sleeve appeared a gun. He raised his arm, aiming the gun into the crowd in Sara’s direction.

DeCorvier sat as if turned to stone, horror etched on his face.



Henry found Magnus, and together they watched the dancers from the terrace doorway.

“Do you remember that, lad?” Henry asked, jerking his head towards the dancers.

“I know that each culture has its own forms of traditional and nontraditional dance,” Magnus said. “But if you’re asking me if I know how to dance like that, then no, I don’t.”

Henry shook his head, his lips twisted into a smile. “Sometimes it’s more than knowing about something,” he said. “There are things you just have to do if you want to learn it.”

Magnus looked at him in disbelief. “Are you telling me I should join the dance?”

“Why not?” Henry nodded towards Sara. “Esther tells me that she’s been waiting for you to dance with her.”

“Esther wants to dance?” Magnus said, blinking. “You should dance with her, then.”

“No, you big lout,” Henry said, chuckling. “I’m talking about Sara.”

Magnus flushed. “You must be mistaken. She seems quite happy dancing with Yarrow---“

He stiffened.

For a moment, his world seemed to spin madly out of control, a kaleidoscope ride that left him dizzy.

It was like seeing the events taking place in a dream. A man in what he instantly knew was a Grim Reaper costume was standing next to Sara’s father, slowly raising his arm. At the end of the arm, there was a gun.

The gun set off a small explosion of recognition in his head. He had seen that gun before. His next immediate thought was that the Grim Reaper was pointing his gun at Sara.

Beside him, Henry stared at Magnus, puzzled at the lad’s dazed expression. Then he followed Magnus’s gaze and he too stiffened in shock.

It was too late for either of them to do anything. They stood like statues as the next moment the Grim Reaper fired into the crowd. The explosion of light and sound from the laser crystal could be heard above the din of the music.

There were screams and shouted curses. Instinctively, most of the crowd threw themselves to the floor, but some were confused and stood looking around dazedly.

Magnus had seen Sara drop to the ground, but whether she had been hit or it had been of her own accord, he couldn’t tell. But he saw no more as Henry tackled him down to the ground with surprising strength as he saw what Magnus was seeing. The Grim Reaper was not finished.

The Grim Reaper fired again, twice.

There was silence in the ballroom, punctuated by a woman sobbing. The Grim Reaper gestured to the six men who had remained standing, and together they swiftly left the ballroom through the main doors.

Michel DeCorvier sat shaking in his wheelchair, his face ashen. He looked like he had aged ten years in ten seconds.

~~~~~~~~

The grief and bewilderment that followed would remain forever burned in Magnus’s memory.

It was several minutes before he and Henry picked themselves up from the floor of the terrace and walked cautiously inside.

Through the confusion, Magnus saw Sara being helped to her feet by Yarrow, none the worse for wear except for being pale and shaken. A flood of relief overwhelmed Magnus.

He watched with a tightness in his throat as she ran to her father and threw her arms around his neck. They clung to each other for a long time, and Magnus looked away, feeling as if he were intruding on their private moment.

Then he became aware of the sobbing and wailing, and he returned his attention to the carnage in the ballroom.

He realized that Henry had already gone to a group of people who had been huddling around a fallen figure. With a jolt, Magnus realized that Henry was one of those who were sobbing and wailing.

Magnus pushed himself through the group and stared wordlessly down at Henry holding Esther in his arms.

Even if he had his memory, Magnus thought he had never heard anything like the sounds of anguish issuing from Henry’s mouth.

But it was the sight of the blackened hole through Esther’s forehead that made Magnus feel as if his heart had been torn out of his chest.

[frivolity]

I am so enjoying this story, Amie. ;D I've spoilt myself today reading this, and Wolf's latest episode.

Fabulous fun. More please. LOTS more. ;D

Huggses. XXXx

[Amie]

Thanks for your support, Friv! And everyone who had such nice things to say about the story!! ;D

And thank you to Arkaad for her wonderful ideas! I'm using some of her ideas in this chapter.

CHAPTER 10

Five Days Later

The monastery was a large, sprawling complex of a mixture of ancient and modern buildings set atop a massive rock formation in the south-central Andes Mountains in the Argentines. Only one road led up to it through a circuitous, often dangerous route from the foothills to the north-east, and at least twenty miles separated it from the nearest human habitation. It was sheltered to the north by the mountain system of Aconcagua, the “Stone Sentinel,” the highest mountain on Earth’s western hemisphere.







The largest building in the monastery complex was built 600 years ago out of and in the rock, jutting up like an sculptured extension of the mountain. Here, the Tetragrammaton conducted most of its intensive training of upper level initiates of the order. Younger students, aged anywhere from five to fifteen, were housed and educated in smaller buildings scattered around the complex.








The intensity of the training could be discerned in the expressions of students in hallways, or sitting behind desks in classrooms, or eating in the large dining hall in the middle of the complex. If there were only two words to describe that expression, it would be “intensely focused.”

There were always a few, however, who seemed to defy being structured into neat little boxes. These few were the ones to watch, as Cleric Ashige Takase well knew, and were often the ones who excelled above everyone else if handled properly.

One of them stood in front of him now in his office, sent there for an infraction reported by one of the instructors. The boy was nine years old—the age that the Tetragrammaton surmised would be the point where the student’s aptitude for clerical training could be fully determined.

He knew this boy had everything that would be required of a cleric. But, as so often happens, something else came with those traits that made Takase’s life as headmaster of Lower Level training quite lively.

The boy stood in the front of the desk with one hand covering the other in front of him, his head bowed. The penitent position--- except every line of the boy’s body was far from penitent.

Takase read the infraction report in front of him and had to control his facial expression tightly. He let the silence stretch ominously as he sat behind his cavernous desk, regarding the boy with the piercing eyes of a condor circling its kill.

“O’Rourke, do you deny the infraction stated in this report?” he said sternly.

Head still bowed, the boy muttered, “No, sir.”

“Then I have no choice but to deal out the proper discipline. In cases like this, do you know what the proper discipline is, boy?”

“No, sir.” For the first time, the boy’s defiance showed a crack. “But I wasn’t the one who tried to take the katana, sir. It was Bigelow.”

“You were the instigator, and I have a special way of dealing with instigators. Moreover, Bigelow has already paid for his infractions. Don’t you agree?”

“I— no, sir,” said the boy, showing some confusion as he looked at the headmaster. “You haven’t dealt him discipline yet, at least not that I know of.”

“You don’t think,” Takase said slowly, “that forcing him to run up and down the barracks hallway, completely naked, when failing to steal a katana from an instructor after you have dared him to do it, thus utterly humiliating him, is not punishment enough for anyone?”

O’Rourke thought about this for a few seconds. “It was a harmless prank, sir. I was just having fun. And Bigelow didn’t have to accept the dare.”

“No? It says here that you threatened to do some bodily harm to him if he didn’t accept your challenge.”

“He took me too literally, sir,” O’Rourke muttered. “I didn’t mean to hurt him at all.”

“And he knew that, did he?”

“He’s a bit—gullible, sir.”

“I see. And you thought that disrupting the order and tranquility of the barracks when you know perfectly well it is forbidden is not an act worthy of punishment?”

“I just wanted to liven things up a bit, sir.”

“Liven things up? Boy, in case you haven’t noticed, you are no longer in Buenos Aires. You are here to train to be a cleric, not to spend your days trying to ‘liven things up’.” Takase paused. “You’re not the first one to have pulled such a prank. In fact, I suspect you’ve heard about it yourself, and attempted to emulate it.”

“Yes, sir,” O’Rourke admitted.

“Then you also know what the discipline meted out to the offender was.”

“Yes sir,” O’Rourke grinned. “They told me---“ His grin abruptly disappeared. “Oh no, sir. You can’t.”

“I can require you to do it, and I will.” Takase closed the boy’s file and leaned back to regard the boy coolly. “Tomorrow morning at 0600 you will be required to accept this disciplinary measure. That, or be transferred out of your current level to the previous one. It’s your choice.”

“But, sir, I can’t run up and down the hallway naked!” the boy cried. “My reputation among the other boys will be in tatters!”

“You should have thought of that when you made Bigelow do it,” Takase said coldly, and nodded curtly. “You are dismissed.”

The boy left his office suitably chastened. Like the sun breaking behind overcast clouds, Takase’s grin spread across his deeply wrinkled face. Oh yes, he’d had numerous dealings with many a mischievous prankster in his thirty years as an instructor.

Ninety-five percent of the students were either children of or related to clerics, and were already accustomed to discipline and order. O’Rourke, on the other hand, was one of the five percent of students who had been referred to the monastery by someone other than a relative, raised by parents until he was seven in rather bohemian conditions.

In Takase's experience, it took around two years to shape new students to be able to handle the relentless training they would undergo in the last four years of the cleric program. In O’Rourke’s case, Takase admitted wryly, it was more like three instead of two, if he were to be shaped at all.

He consulted his PCC and grimaced. Another Council meeting in fifteen minutes. What could it be now?

Ever since the latest “Seek and capture” directive, things haven’t been quite the same around the monastery.

~~~~~~~~

The Council chamber was located in the main edifice, running the entire length of the uppermost level facing the north. It overlooked the sheer drop of the face of the cliff, and through the entire north wall of glass the Stone Sentinel filled the breathtaking vista.

“This information is confirmed?” Takase was saying slowly.

“Yes, thoroughly.”

Takase regarded the other Council member thoughtfully. Peter Stuart sat leaning back in his high-backed chair, seemingly relaxed, his face like stone. If not for the bleakness in the blue eyes, Takase would never have guessed that the latest communication from Cincinnatus did not concern him.

Takase glanced around at the three other Council members sitting around the immense oval table, noting their expressions of somber gravity. Much like his.

Dorian Jasper stood up and paced the viridian marble floor. A former cleric, now the main financer of the monastery, he was probably the most powerful member of the Council. At fifty, he retained the strength, athleticism and grace of a cleric, tempered with grey-haired wisdom and experience. He was known to all to be the most ardent Reformist, a follower of John Preston’s reforms.

He stopped pacing and faced the other members. “It is going to happen soon, gentlemen, if it has not already,” he said gravely. “I’ve received reports of some governments taking interest and making inquiries. In fact, I just spoke with the Prime Minister of Werblun. We must be ready to act when the time comes.”

Takase shook his head. “You still think that wholesale replication of our training program, under the sponsorship of a government, is the answer?”

“Yes, and I’m surprised that you, of all people, Takase, do not see the benefits our training program could hold for any state entity,” Jasper said persuasively.

He was of course referring to what happened to Takase’s home world, Kyushu. It had been aggressively assimilated by a long-time rival, Samiharu, completely overpowering its inadequate military forces.

“Yes, I do see the benefits,” Takase nodded, “to the right government, that is. But we all know how notoriously difficult it is to verify the motivations of a client. I still believe that privatization is the key—with some modifications in our public relations and communications, of course.”


Jasper sighed. “Yes, we can argue about this in circles until we’re both blue in the face. Eventually, you know that we will have to put this to a vote.”

Takase nodded. “That’s fine by me. We can vote now, if you like.”

“Aye, a vote,” Sean MacPherson nodded.

“And with the same results.” Jasper glanced at the last remaining member of the Council. “A stalemate with one vote withheld.”

Edgar Duchamps cleared his throat. “Oh, no, you cannot put the onus on me with this one. I abstain again on this matter.”

Jasper threw up his hands and smiled ruefully. “You did vote, you know. By withholding your vote, you agree to maintain the status quo.”

Duchamps shrugged apologetically.

“While you’re all playing politics,” Stuart said in a calm, controlled voice, “you’re all ignoring the immediate affair before us. There’s the matter of this Guerre a Outrance.”

The silence fell heavily on the group. Takase shifted and gazed at Stuart.

“What else can we do that isn’t already being done? We wait until Sigma Team apprehends and brings back the offenders, at which point we deal with them as we’ve always done. It’s only a matter of time.”

“Yes. A matter of time.” Stuart stood up abruptly and stalked towards the windows facing Aconcagua. He stood there, his back rigid with some emotion they could only guess at, staring off into the mountain reaches. Dorian Jasper stared at his back with a thoughtful expression.

"There is this other matter on our agenda, gentlemen," Takase said slowly, looking at each of his fellow councilmen in turn. "In light of the attack on the camp in the Amazon, I suggest we suspend any further off-site training of any of the trainees except for those that are in their final year. At least until we can ascertain the identity of those who did this."

All four of his fellow councilmen nodded in grave assent.

"I believe we all know that it was a single individual who did this," MacPherson murmured.

"We still lack any evidence as to the identity or motivation behind this 'Mystery Cleric'," Stuart interjected. "I simply do not see any of ours doing this--- or even one of the radicals."

"They were just children.....unarmed...." Duchamps said, staring down on the files in front of him on the table.

Silence followed as each man's thoughts turned inwards, contemplating the horror of the massacre in the Amazon.


[/size] [/font]

[Steve]

Brilliant. Really enjoyed reading it... Can't wait for the the rest!
Keep up the good work!
Steve

[Amie]

Thank you, Steve! ;D

BTW for everyone else I added a Chapter 8 and 9, it's in one of the modified posts above.

CHAPTER 11

That evening

“Tell me something, Senator Miller,” said Valeria Mestrovic, Minister of the Galactic Bureau of Enforcement of the MTX-7 system..

They were having dinner at the Minister’s invitation in D’Orleans, a restaurant in downtown Cincinnatus that catered to the upper levels of society. Both were in elegant evening attire and were just finishing up dinner before heading out to the Cultural Arts Center for a night at the opera.

“Mhmm,” said the Senator, gulping down a mouthful of Porphyrian fire liquid. “Anything, Minister. By the way, excellent wine, this.”

Her dark eyes gazed at him directly. “I’ve had my office do some checking. How does a Masaryk Senator end up with a group of eleven different men from eleven different planets under the sponsorship of a New Scotland Regent?”

Miller smiled disarmingly. “Well, you see, Minister, Regent Duryea and I are alumni of a school we attended way back on Old Earth.”

“I see. And the other men—alumni too?”

Miller nodded. “From different graduating levels.”

“What kind of school is this?”

“A military training school – of sorts.”

“And what is really your interest in this group, La Guerre a Outrance? Although you have alleviated the city of a great burden, you’re not really here to help Cincinnatus out, are you?”

Miller’s smile faded. “You might as well know now---you’ll find out eventually.” He paused and took another sip of the wine. “We believe some members of the group are also graduates of our school. Indirectly, yes, we are here to help Cincinnatus. We all feel a certain – responsibility.”

“Any progress in finding these men?”

“Quite a bit, actually.” Miller rummaged in his briefcase and took out a paper, which he handed to the Minister. “Those are the names that Bartorio gaves us. With some cross-checking in your databases and those on Earth, we were able to verify their identities.”

Valeria studied the paper with a pleased smile. “Excellent.”

“It’s only a matter of time before we can pick up their trail and trace their movements.” He shook his head. “It will take a few days, but if they’re here in Cincinnatus at all, my men will find them, I assure you.”

“I believe you, Senator,” she said seriously. “The results that you and your men have produced are impressive--- more than impressive, astounding. I could never have imagined that a handful of men could do what you have just done.”

He smiled. “Thank you, Minister Mestrovic. We do our best to serve.”

“Valeria,” she said abruptly.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Call me Valeria—for tonight, anyway. I know my name can be a mouthful for anybody.”

“Only if you call me Richard.”

Valeria looked away, pretending to look for her purse. The man was too damn charming--- probably a notorious playboy in Masaryk. “Well, we should be going or we’ll miss the first act.”

The Minister’s car whisked them across the busy, glittering streets until they came to the CAC. Cars were already dropping their passengers off in front of the sweeping steps that led up to the enormous, imposing edifice, once a palace of an ancient ruling dynasty.

As in all public buildings in Cincinnatus, security at the CAC was tight. All visitors had to go through sensors at the entrance. The police recognized the Minister at once and saluted.

Valeria waved her hand. She and Miller stepped through the sensors. Instantly, the alarm went off with a shrill, ear-blasting blare.

Valeria hastily rummaged in her purse and showed the guards her ID and Hauser laser gun, standard issue in the Bureau. They apologized for the inconvenience, turned off the alarms, allowed her and her escort to proceed through, and reset the alarms.

“Nice little toy you have there,” Miller said approvingly.

“It does its job,” she said lightly.

They followed the press of people into the enormous front hall. Rich, intricate carpets, walls covered with lavish, detailed paintings, murals and frescoes, and a massive crystal chandelier were monuments to the wealth and extravagance of the Fourier dynasty.

“Fantastic,” Miller murmured, gazing around him with genuine appreciation.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” She took his arm in the most perfectly natural gesture, bringing her body close to his.

He was acutely aware of a subtle change in her—she was no longer a high-ranking official, but a very beautiful woman in her own right.

After the opera, there was some social mingling in the lobby, and Valeria was separated from Miller as she chatted with friends and acquaintances.

Miller was content to stay on the sidelines, watching. It was difficult not to watch Valeria. He forced his eyes away and continued his constant surveillance of the room, a habit instilled into him from the earliest age.

On one of his circuits of the lobby, Miller saw him. He was dressed as a steward who circulated with trays of drinks. The hand that carried the tray was covered with a white cloth, and Miller’s trained eyes recognized the small protrusion as a gun hidden under it[/font].[/size]

[Arkaad V.]

Cleric Amie....I...uh....that...uh....Aw, Hell, that kicked a**! I hope you give us another dose soon! I can hardly wait! Maybe I won't have too many withdrawl symptoms! ;D ;D ;D

[Amie]

Thanks, Arkaad! And I'm glad you found your way to the EQ boards! ;D

CHAPTER 12

That Evening


The late autumn wind dug deep into his bones, making him shiver as he brought the last piece of machinery back into the barn. The sun was throwing out its last dying rays, and dried leaves whorled at his feet before being blown away to oblivion.

There was heaviness in his every step. Every movement was a protest against the uselessness of it. But he kept going because he knew he must.

Magnus closed the barn doors against the chilly wind and leaned back against it in exhaustion. Then he forced himself to do the final night’s clean-up of the barn, after which he sunk down on a bench, his head in his hands.

He was aware some time later of a presence next to him. He looked up slowly to find Sara standing in front of him, staring down at him with compassion in the blue depths of her eyes.

“Dinner is ready,” she said softly.

She had been coming to the farm for the past three days since the funeral, cooking for him and Henry and doing chores. Henry had protested, as did Magnus, but nothing could deter her from her stubborn resolve. In the end, the two men had been too emotionally weakened to protest further.

Magnus nodded wordlessly. Hesitantly, Sara placed her hand against his roughened cheek. He stared up at her silently.

Something unexpected passed between them, and Sara withdrew her hand quickly.

“Come soon, before the food gets cold,” she said quietly, turned and left the barn.

Magnus dragged himself to the farmhouse and stood in the kitchen doorway. Henry was already sitting at the table. Magnus stared at him, but Henry ignored his arrival and continued eating as if he weren’t there.

Sara looked from one man to the other with a puzzled frown. Magnus sat down on the table across from Henry while Sara put a heaping plate of food in front of him.

They ate in strained silence. Sara had already long given up trying to maintain a conversation, finding that it was all too one-sided. Neither man had spoken to each other, and barely to her, for three days. And her own grief was still too fresh.

After eating, Magnus mumbled his thanks to Sara and abruptly left the kitchen.

He prowled restlessly around the barn, his thoughts coming inescapably back to the same thing. He stopped pacing and leaned his shoulder against a beam, taking out a small metal plate from his pants pocket. He studied it thoughtfully as he turned it over and over in his hand.

“I don’t understand you two,” Sara said behind him.

Magnus whirled around. She had come in quietly into the barn, and she stood there now, only two feet away from him.

“What’s there to understand?” he shrugged.

“You’ve barely spoken a word to each other since… since the funeral.”

“Oh. That.” He looked at her strangely. “I have the feeling that he blames me for her death.”

“You!” she exclaimed. “But what could you have done? It all happened so quickly.”

“I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head. “I had this feeling at the time, when I looked at him, that I could have done something to stop him. But I didn’t.”

Sara placed a hand on his arm. “No, don’t blame yourself. None of it was your doing. Henry will come to realize that in time.”

“Will he?” His eyes rested for a few moments on the hand on his arm, then lifted again to meet her eyes.

Sara pulled her hand back for the second time that evening and moved away. She wandered around the barn, looking around her with interest. Then her eyes fell on the large heap covered by a tarpaulin in one corner and she moved towards it, drawn with curiosity.

“What’s this?”

“Nothing,” he said with studied carelessness. “Just some old machines that Henry had wanted me to refurbish for resale.”

“Really,” she said. She turned to look at him with those vivid blue eyes. Magnus shifted uncomfortably under her thoughtful stare, then sighed inwardly with relief when she moved away from the heap.

“When is Arthur coming to take you home?” he asked casually. Arthur was the driver who had dropped her off and picked her up in the evenings for the past three days.

“Soon, I suppose.” Her eyes flashed. “Eager to get rid of me, are you?”

“No, I didn’t say that,” he said, flushing. “I thought you might be wanting to go home after all the hard work you’ve put in for us. You don’t want to stay here.” He gestured vaguely around the barn.

“And you’re an expert on what I do and don’t want, I suppose,” she said sarcastically.

“I didn’t say that either,” he said, and stopped. God, why were women so damned complicated? This was one aspect of his knowledge that he wished he’d retained after his memory loss; he felt sure he had known more about women than he did now—which was nothing.

Or perhaps he had known nothing then either. If so, it wouldn’t surprise him a bit.

Sara walked back to him, and this time he saw a determined expression on her face that he’d never seen before.

She stood in front of him and stared up at him, her eyes searching his face. “Tell me the truth. Do you want me to stay?”

Magnus stared back down at her. Once again he had the almost overpowering urge to take her in his arms and kiss her.

There had always been something unspoken between them, a physical link that was felt but never expressed, a sexual tension that was almost tangible but always ignored for propriety’s sake.

Magnus forced himself to shake his head. “That’s not an appropriate question to ask,” he said, trying to steady his voice. “And even more inappropriate for me to answer.”

“Why?” she said softly. “Why is it inappropriate? Because of who I am and who my father is?”

“No,” Magnus shook his head. “No, it’s because of who I’m not.”

Sara gazed up at him, trying to understand. He had always held himself aloof from her—had always kept himself at a courteous distance. And she had always known that there were secrets behind those inscrutable, silver-grey eyes.

“And who are you really?”

He didn’t answer for several moments. Then he said, quietly, “I can't answer that.”

Sara was about to ask why in the world not, but Henry said from the doorway of the barn.

“Arthur is here to take you home, Miss Sara.”

Sara took a deep breath and turned around to smile at Henry. “Thank you, I was just going to leave now.” She walked to the door, stopped and said to Henry, “Good night, Henry. Magnus.” This with a cool nod in Magnus’s direction, then she walked out the door.


Magnus and Henry stood in silence for a few moments. Henry gazed at Magnus with an odd expression in his eyes, while Magnus looked at anything but at the older man.

Finally, Henry said, “You did right, lad. Nothing but ill would have come out of a relationship with Sara DeCorvier.”

Magnus nodded. “No one knows that better than me.”

Henry shook his head. “I’m reminded again that I don’t really know you… only what I’ve created out of my imagination. It’s because we were childless, you see. You made it easy to imagine that you were our son…” He stopped abruptly. “But that all changed the night Esther died.”

Magnus swallowed. “I know that too. That’s why I’ve decided it’s time for me to leave.”

Henry nodded, without surprise or protest. “If that’s what you want to do.”

Magnus tried to ignore the pain building up inside of him. He took out the metal piece from his pocket and held it up for Henry to see.

“I finally found something in the debris.”

“What is it?”

“It may be something, it may be nothing. It’s a plate of some sort, with a series of numbers and letters laser-inscribed on it. It could be the identification number of the cruiser.”

Henry’s expression changed. “Then perhaps the Bureau of Registration can tell you whose cruiser it is.”

“I may finally get some answers.” This time, Magnus looked directly at Henry. “I’ll try to get the farm ready for winter before I leave. That way, you won’t have too much to do.”

“I don’t mind the work,” Henry shrugged. “Anyway, I’ll be selling the farm after you leave. I—I’ve decided to leave too, to join my brother in Lambda Chi.”

Magnus pretended there wasn’t a knife twisting in his heart. He had become fond of the farm, having put in so much of himself in it. And now the fruits of his labors would go to another man other than Henry.

“That’s the brother whose son is named Magnus,” he said, more a statement than a question.

Henry nodded. “Yes.”

Magnus was unable to contain himself any longer. “Look, Henry, I—I don’t know what to say. Do you think it doesn’t tear me up too?” He ran a hand through his hair. “You and Esther were—are-- like parents to me. If there was anything I could’ve done to save her, I would have. You have to believe that.”

“I do,” Henry said quietly. “But you see, lad, it’s not about what you could or could not have done. It’s what you are.”

Magnus stared at him, confused. “What do you mean?”

Henry hesitated. “It’s time I showed you. Come, they’re all in the other barn.”[/font][/size]

[mawa]

Finally got round to read everything at once. You're a hell of the writer, really The thing that initially confused me was explained very cleverly.

Well: I'm waiting for more

[Sasha]

I love your story Amie. Can't wait to read the rest. I like that you are doing an off world story, it's very interesting!!! I agree with Libby, you have a very good sense of character development. Very neat!

[Amie]

Thank you, MaWa and Sasha!! ;D I'm so glad you liked it!

For everyone else Chapter 9-12 (I've re-chaptered them for easier posting) are added in the above modified posts. (I'm modifying my posts so that I don't waste my post space. )

Chapter 13

Miller started pushing through the crowd. Icy cold came over him, the kind that came when he knew someone was going to die. Out of years of training, he found himself automatically sweeping aside all other considerations in his mind.

For the moment, he was no longer a Senator of Masaryk, but a cleric.

The steward was slowly approaching Valeria. Would he get to her in time? If only the lobby wasn’t so damned crowded.

Swift glances around the room told him that the steward wasn’t alone. The other stewards, seven in all, were also approaching on a direct line to Valeria.

Coldly calculating trajectories, positions, and angles, Miller leapt up on a table filled with hors d’ouevres and ran down its length, spilling food everywhere. His two guns appeared in each of his hands, simultaneously occurring with two metallic clicks as the safeties came off and the whir of the instantaneous charge.

At that same moment, he saw the steward, intent on his victim, drop the tray and raise his arm, the cloth still on it.

Miller shouted, “Down on the floor! Down on the floor!”

He fired both guns, still running.

The sound of the two gunshots was enough to galvanize everyone to a horizontal position on the floor amid screams --- except for Valeria and the stewards. She remained standing, fumbling in her purse for her gun. He saw the stewards raise their arms, guns pointing in her direction.

There was a neatly burned hole through the steward’s forehead and another through his heart, the gun falling out of his hand and clattering to the rug. Before his lifeless body could hit the floor, Miller had reached the end of the table and leapt high into the air, the strobing of his still firing guns describing an arc of flashing light.

Before he landed on the floor on his feet he had brought down four more stewards. Another three steps and he was next to Valeria.

“On your knees,” he urged her, and continued firing with the grace and precision of a master of the gun kata, every laser blast finding its target with unerring accuracy and blinding rapidity.

Behind him, Valeria had found her gun and had dropped to her knees, also firing.

After a few seconds, he stopped and lowered his guns, still in a lunge position of the kata. He straightened slowly.

Seven stewards lay dead in twice as many seconds. The echoes of the blasts reverberated from the high vaulted ceiling, dying slowly as silence followed, punctuated by a woman hysterically sobbing.

~~~~~~~~

Valeria watched Miller as he gave his statement to the officer on duty. Back was the elegant, lazy grace of the Senator, hands thrust carelessly into trousers pockets. He was as unruffled as ever with not even a sleek, blond hair out of place.

She had already given her statement while a medic had attended to her arm. A laser blast had grazed her upper arm during the fire fight. It hurt like the dickens, but it would probably hurt a lot more without the salve that the medic had applied.

They were still in the lobby. Forensics had come in to catalogue the carnage while she was giving her statement, but they had finished now and were preparing to transport the bodies to the morgue. Having finished his statement, he sauntered to where Valeria was sitting in one of the red velvet couches that lined the walls at regular intervals.

He sat down beside her. “How’s the arm?”

“Hurts like hell,” she said sourly. “What did you expect?”

“You’re going to be just fine,” he said smoothly.

“That’s easy for you to say,” she snapped. “You don’t have a scratch on you. ‘ That’s a nice little toy you have there,’ ” she mimicked. “Where in the world did those two cannons come from?”

Miller pushed back one sleeve to reveal the wrist holster. “It works on specific muscle action—a spring-loaded latch is released when I clench certain muscles in combination.”

“Are you always packing wherever you go?”

“Yes. Except when I’m in bed, sleeping or otherwise. Always felt naked without them--- if I don’t wear them, it’s like feeling that I’ve forgotten to put on underwear. You know the feeling? Like when you’re not wearing a bra or something?”

“I don’t want to hear it. And stop bamboozling me. I’m not in the mood.” She frowned. “I don’t understand why they chose to kill me here. They could’ve done this at the restaurant… or while I was leaving my house.”

“Perhaps they wanted to make a statement… a public official in a public place with as many people as possible. That would make quite a splash in the morning news don’t you think?” He looked around. “Look, maybe you should stay with me tonight. You’ll be safe enough with me.”

“You think so?” she said, eyebrows lifting. “You don’t think I can take care of myself?”

“Can you?” Their gazes met and locked.

“Yes, I can,” she said finally. “But I’d be glad of the company tonight.”



Next Morning


Part of the warehouse had been efficiently converted into a mobile tactical operations unit behind partitions. Computers, communications equipment, several monitors, and image digitizers were set up at several workstations, each manned by a cleric with the appropriate expertise.

It was six days since Bartorio had cracked. He had given Snowden the names and descriptions of the seven clerics he worked for, and although Preston and Miller were sure the names were aliases, the descriptions were enough to verify against the Tetragrammaton database.

As to whether the rogue clerics worked for any one or any group, they had deliberately left Bartorio in the dark. This Preston could well believe for he would have done exactly the same.

Under Lee’s supervision, the search for the seven clerics had begun immediately using every available galactic database, accessing thousands of public records and registries in the MTX-7 system with Lee’s computer “bots,” programs he had written specifically for the task of locating clerics who didn’t want to be located. What would have taken weeks of searching billions of exabytes of data now took only a few days or so, even a few hours--- depending on whether the cleric had slipped up and left some clue of himself behind.

At 0730, one hour into their daily timetable, Preston sat on the edge of a desk nursing a mug of coffee and watching the flow of data across the screen with Pretorius, who manned the workstation.

There was no doubt in Preston’s mind that they would find their targets. The question, of course, was whether their targets would stay in one location long enough to be caught.

Miller appeared around the partition and dropped his standard, cleric-issue, black metal briefcase on the desk next to Preston.

“Good morning, clerics,” Miller said briskly.

Pretorius and Preston looked at each other, then the latter looked at his watch. “You’re one hour late.”

“Before you gentlemen start ripping me up one side of the warehouse and down the other, I have a good explanation,” Miller announced. “I didn’t sleep much last night.”

“We know about your little escapade last night,” Pretorius said, grinning. “It’s all over the morning news. But I never knew something like that to cause a cleric to lose much sleep.”

“My sleep loss was caused by – other things,” Miller said carefully.

Preston looked at him with narrowed eyes. “It’s a good thing the press didn’t get hold of you for a photo shoot.”

“No worries, gentlemen. We left before the press could arrive.”

“ ‘We’?” Pretorius said, eyebrows raised.

“Minister Mestrovic and I,” Miller explained calmly.

“That lady looks like she eats clerics for breakfast,” Pretorius said casually, sending Preston a wink.

“She does,” Miller said plaintively.

Preston nodded. “I only hope you don’t make a habit of coming late to work.”

“Lighten up, will you, Preston?” Miller said, exasperated. “You sound as if you don’t have a social life of your own.”

“That’s what I told him,” Pretorius shrugged.

Preston shook his head in disgust. “As it happens, I left my social life behind in Tereus. I came here to work.”

“Who says I’m not working?” Miller snapped his briefcase open. “My dear Preston, you may be the best, but you don’t have to be a damned prick about it.”

“I’m not,” Preston said, through gritted teeth.

“Yes, you are,” Pretorius and Miller said in unison.

Looking flummoxed, Preston was rendered speechless.

“Tereus, eh?” Miller eyed him closely. “You don’t live there, do you? What did you leave behind in Tereus?”

Preston was spared having to answer when Murillo wheeled his chair around and said, “I’ve got something.”

~~~~~

They huddled around the monitor and read the news report that Murillo had brought up on his screen.

“That’s almost six days ago,” Miller said, frowning. “Why wasn’t this reported immediately?”

“Obviously, no one thought the murder of several farmers worth reporting,” Preston said drily.

“One gunman, six accomplices… but no physical profiles. What do you think?”

“It’s worth investigating,” Preston replied.

“Right. We’ll go now--- but first a weapons and equipment check. Murillo, pull up acceptable local attire.”

~~~~~~~~

Preston and Miller made inquiries at the local pub. They had landed their tactical cruiser half a mile from Auxerre behind a grove of trees and had dressed in the attire of traveling merchants, after which they had walked the remaining distance to the village, leaving the four other clerics behind.

The massacre had turned the village upside down, and several days later it was still the centerpiece of every conversation. Preston and Miller listened patiently to the barkeeper’s animated version of the events of that fateful night. Unfortunately, he told them nothing that they didn’t already know.

The gunmen had appeared at the DeCorvier chateau out of nowhere. Since security at the party was nil, they had slipped in unnoticed, costumed like everyone else. Consequently, no descriptions of them had been forthcoming.

Eventually, Preston and Miller left after paying for their drinks. They had just exited through the pub’s entrance when Preston grabbed Miller’s arm and pulled him back inside.

“What the---?” Miller began.

Preston drew the other cleric towards the window and peered outside, taking care that he wasn’t visible from the street. Miller was quick to catch on and copied Preston’s actions.

“That’s one of them,” Preston said in a low voice, glancing casually over his shoulder at the pub’s other occupants. Then he nodded almost imperceptibly to something across the street.

Miller looked. His face registered no expression, for he was quite aware that the pub’s customers were watching their odd behavior with more than a little interest.

“I’ll be damned,” he muttered under his breath. “He’s dressed as a bloody farmer.”

The man they were watching had just jumped off a cart to make a delivery to the mercantile across the street. He disappeared inside the building with a large box.

Preston and Miller looked at each other for a few moments. Then Miller cleared his throat and turned back towards the bar.

“Barkeeper, another round of drinks for us, if you please.”

~~~~~~~~

On a sloping rise one hundred meters from the barn, three clerics lay obscured in a copse of ash trees, dressed in stealth black from head to foot. One of them had night-vision binoculars trained on the barn doors.

“Heads up. Female visitor leaving the barn.”

“Copy that,” Preston’s voice came over the tiny transceiver in Miller’s ear. Preston, Pretorius and Argelander were hidden in another thicket fifty meters away at an equal distance from the barn. “I’ve got visual. Moving in.”

The three clerics moved wraith-like towards the east side of the barn and flattened themselves against the wall, guns drawn and ready. On the western end, Miller, Gifford and Murasaki did the same.

[Neutrino]

Brilliant. As I've said before, simply brilliant. My only niggle is that you haven't written them all and posted them in one go- The suspense is killing me! Everytime I finish I tripple check to see if there's any more... I really am enjoying it so much! You are a brilliant writer. And I agree with the other guys, your sense of character development is excellant! Now, stop wasting time and write the rest of it! for us! ;D
Great stuff,
Steve

[Amie]

Yes, sir!! *salutes*

Thanks again for your encouragement! It's your comments and the others that have been motivating me. ;D I already have the plot worked out and written down, just have to flesh out the chapters... In fact I have a couple already written, just need to proofread.

And welcome to the boards, Steve! I see you
registered.

Chapter 14

Sara watched Magnus as he packed two small cases with what little possessions he had. They were in the loft, in Magnus’s sanctum, which she visited for the first--- and apparently the last—time.

She was leaning back against a beam, hands splayed against the wood. Her eyes could not keep out the pain any longer. A tear squeezed out the corner of her eye and trickled down her cheek.

He had barely spoken two words to her during dinner and since--- had barely even looked at her, or even Henry for that matter. There was an air of cold, grim resolve about him that turned him into a different man altogether, his face set in such bleak, forbidding lines that she had almost been afraid to approach him.

But she had climbed up to his loft after dinner, only to find him packing his cases. He had shot her one glance then continued to ignore her as he packed.

Sarah couldn’t stand the silence any longer. “At least tell me where you’re going,” she whispered.

He stopped for a moment without looking at her. Sara saw a muscle clench in his jaw and sensed that he was debating with himself whether he should tell her.

“Cincinnatus,” he said finally. He snapped the cases closed with an air of finality.

She was bewildered. “But why? Why are you leaving Henry when he most needs you?”

“Henry needs me about as much as he needs a hole in the head. And I need to find answers.” His packing completed, he looked at her then. There was something in his eyes as they swept over her that sent a chill up her spine.

“Answers to what?”

“You ask too many questions,” he said curtly. “I have one for you. What are you doing here?”

Sara managed to keep her voice steady. “If you don’t know that, then you must be blind.”

For a moment, she thought she saw a softening in that wintry face, a flicker of something that she had longed for in her dreams. But it was quickly gone, leaving her to wonder if she had imagined it.

He walked slowly towards her until he came to stand mere inches from her. “What do you want from me, Sara?”

She was all too aware of him, but she had never seen him in this mood before. She couldn’t deny that it frightened her.

She raised her chin defiantly. “I just want you to tell me the truth. Why are you going to Cincinnatus?”

“The truth?” His eyes roamed slowly over her face. “The truth is, I’m not the man you think I am. In fact, I may be your father’s worst nightmare.”

“Why do you insist on speaking in riddles?” she said angrily.

“Perhaps because I don’t think you can handle the plain truth,” he growled.

“Try me,” she shot back at him.

“There’s only one language that we can both understand,” he grated.

Before she could protest, he had gripped the back of her head with one hand and brought his lips down to cover hers in a brutal kiss.

No, not like this, Sara wanted to scream at him. She was being deprived of air until she saw spots dance in front of her eyes. She struggled helplessly, too weak to resist his superior strength.

He placed his palm against the small of her back and yanked her against him, leaving her in no doubt as to his lustful intentions. Tears poured down her face.

She did the only thing she could do. She bit down hard on his lower lip even as his mouth continued to invade hers.

He released her so suddenly that she stumbled backwards, brought up short by the beam.

Simultaneously, he cursed as he lifted a hand to touch his lower lip. “Bloody hell.”

Sara stared at him in horror. She had drawn blood—lots of blood.

He gave her one burning glance before he whirled around and walked to the wash basin on a stand in the corner of the loft. He picked up the white towel next to it, dipped it in the water, and held it against his lip in an attempt to stop the blood flow.

“You should leave now before we both do something we’ll regret later,” he said over his shoulder, his voice once again controlled and emotionless.

Suppressing a sob, Sara climbed down the ladder and ran out of the barn.

Arthur helped her into the cruiser, tactfully ignoring the tears that ran down her face.

“Take me home,” Sara told him dully.

~~~~~~~

Magnus sat down heavily on the side of his bed and dropped his head into his hands. Oh God, what kind of man was he?

And did he really want to go to Cincinnatus to find out?

Life had been so much simpler as Magnus Cook. But it had all been a grand illusion, a fool’s fantasy.

There was a box on the floor at his feet. He pulled it towards him, lifted the flap, and stared down at it for a long time, willing for the contents to disappear.

The fantasy had turned into a nightmare in which he was the bogeyman. He was no more a farmer than the Grim Reaper had been an angel of mercy.

The box contained the items that Henry had removed from his body after discovering him in the crash.

He had been a veritable walking arsenal, Magnus thought bitterly: two sets of wrist holsters with the corresponding laser guns, another shoulder holster with what looked like an older model gun, a bandolier that had been strapped to his chest filled with photon grenades and ammunition for the older gun, and two knife sheaths that had been strapped to each of his calves.

His pockets had contained a powerful pocket torchlight, a compact multitool knife, some change, and some sort of hotel bill. The name on it said “John Ceriale.”

Underneath it all, the suit he had been wearing lay folded neatly, cleaned by Henry himself. Apart from some tears in the material, it was remarkably complete.

Magnus picked up one of the laser guns and weighed it in his palm. It had just the right heft to it, and the grip looked like it had been customized for his hands. Almost against his will, his thumb moved the safety from “Off” to “Burst.” The crystal inside whirred as it charged instantly.

He lifted the gun and pressed the end of the barrel against his temple.

Both he and Henry had seen the Grim Reaper lift the same exact gun to shoot into the crowd. The same gun that had killed Esther.

What had tortured Magnus all day was the look on Henry’s face when he had said, “You’re one of them.”

Magnus’s hand shook as it ground the gun into his temple. The struggle between life and death flickered like shadows across his face.

In the end, he decided that there was something he had to do before he could take his own life. He dropped the gun on the bed with a great exhalation of breath, covered his face with his hands, and wept.

He didn’t hear the black ghost figures of the clerics as they slipped inside the open door and fanned out along the walls of the barn like shadows.

~~~~~~~~

Magnus forced himself to get up from the bed. The barn had to be secured for the night, and he had to check in on Henry before going to bed himself. This was his last night on the farm, and even just one kind word from the old man would go a long way in his hunt in the long months ahead.

He climbed down the ladder and walked towards his workbench. He sorted through his tools, making sure they were clean before putting them away in the toolbox. He bent down to put the toolbox away under the workbench.

When he straightened, a gun was pointing at his head from a distance of three meters.

“Don’t make this difficult,” said the voice quietly from behind the black hooded mask.

Magnus experienced the strange sensation of time standing still while his body seemed to go into overdrive— his adrenaline levels increased, his heart pounded blood into every vein, every vessel, every capillary, threatening to overload his system. The feeling was a dizzying rush he’d experienced only once before.

He recognized the gun at once. This might even be the same man who had killed Esther.

Then an even stranger thing happened. Some other protocol inside his body took over seconds later-- his heart rate decreased to abnormal levels, and his respiration came in long, slow, controlled breaths. He felt a deadly calm descend on him.

Preston recognized the look on that face all too well. Swiftly, he brought out his other gun and leveled it on Magnus’s face, and at the same time the other clerics came out of the shadows, each leveling two guns at Magnus.

“Don’t even think about it,” Preston grated. Every cleric knew the ridiculous odds of a firefight consisting of one unarmed cleric against six.

No cleric in his right mind would buck the odds.

Magnus stood still, mentally calculating the odds. Six gunmen, twelve guns in very steady hands. His own guns lay uselessly up in the loft. The odds weren’t good.

But then he took into account that he was on his turf. They had invaded his home, and there was Henry to think of. And one of these men had more than likely killed Esther. Yes, he had motivation enough for three men.

He picked up two knives from the table, threw them in two different directions, picked up another knife, and did two back handsprings in a row. He had calculated the best place to land was next to some barrels, which he promptly dove behind.

He heard two of the men curse as his knives found their targets, one grazing Gifford’s upper arm and the other Preston’s shoulder, both barely evading the sharp little missiles that had been aimed at their hearts.

Preston and the others had been taken completely by surprise, something that happened very rarely. They had been in cleric-on-cleric mode, in which the mathematical odds were understood by both sides like the unspoken rules of a game. But they hadn’t taken into account that Magnus wouldn't act like a cleric at all, although he certainly moved with clerical speed and agility.

And it didn’t help that they wanted Magnus alive.

Magnus gave them no time. In what really took only moments, he had scuttled behind a stack of bales of hay and pushed these over on top of one of the clerics who stood in front of it. As the bales toppled over, he lost no time in grabbing the gunman’s neck in an arm lock from behind and pressing the edge of the knife against his throat.

“Drop your weapons!” he shouted.

Five pairs of guns were trained on his head, and Magnus had not the slightest doubt that their bullets would find any exposed part of him.

“Drop your weapons, or I swear I’ll kill him!”

“You kill him, and I swear you’re a dead man.” It was the man who had spoken to him first, his voice cold, and his guns showing no signs of being dropped.

“If you’d wanted me dead, you’d have killed me already,” Magnus said contemptuously, and his own certainty astonished him. “You want me alive for some reason.”

“Not that badly,” said the first gunman. “You made a mistake, cleric. You should have known that there’s no way you’re walking out of this barn alive or conscious.”

“Oh yeah?” Magnus sneered. “And what the hell is a cleric?”

“Don’t play games with us, cleric. Let him go. This is your last chance.”

“You’re going to make me?”

His grip tightened on the gunman’s neck. The sharp edge of his knife had already slit through the material of the hood and was now drawing a trickle of blood in the skin. If he was going to die, he wasn’t going alone.

“What’s going on here?”

Each of the five clerics instantaneously shifted one of his guns to cover the person who had come in through the barn door.

It was Sara.

She stared wide-eyed at the scene before her until her eyes found Magnus. Shock and horror chased all the color from her face.

Magnus’s body sagged, all the fight slowly draining out of him. His arm slackened around Gifford’s neck and he dropped his knife on the ground.

In the next moment, Gifford had turned around and brought the butt of his gun crashing down on Magnus’s temple. Magnus didn’t even hear Sara scream as his body crumpled unconscious to the ground.






The next day

Jasper looked out through his office window, which overlooked the main courtyard of the complex. It was mid-morning, and classes were well under way.

Some of the instructors had decided to conduct their classes outside on the grass. On one area of the lawn, a group of ten- to twelve-year olds sat cross-legged in a semi-circle as they watched their instructor spar with his aide in a demonstration of Krav Maga. In another corner, an instructor was taking his class of 12 thirteen- and fourteen- year olds through the first phase of the gun kata drill, which consisted of the basic movements and stances. On a track that wound around the complex, seventeen- and eighteen-year-old upperclassmen ran in formation as part of their grueling, daily physical regimen.

Jasper smiled to himself. Yes, the complex was a well-oiled machine. Discipline and morale was high, and the instructors were the best and most motivated for the job. Because it produced such high-powered, high-performance results, the Tetragrammaton’s secret training program was becoming the most sought after in the galaxy, both by the civilian and military sectors.

If he had his way, he would take the Tetragrammaton farther than anyone would ever have dreamed, farther even than in the days of “The Father.”

Behind him, the door opened and someone entered. Jasper turned to find Peter Stuart staring at him.

“You saw the latest comm from Sigma Team?”

“Yes, of course,” Jasper replied.

Stuart dropped his tall, powerful frame into a leather chair in front of Jasper’s desk and dropped his head in his hands.

“This doesn’t change anything,” Jasper said briskly.

“It doesn’t?” Stuart’s voice was muffled, his head still bowed.

“No.” Jasper came to stand in front of him. “We go on as usual. There’s no turning back now.”

“What do I tell Aurianne?”

The line of Jasper’s mouth hardened. “Nothing. I told you, she doesn’t need to know anything of this affair. It was a mistake to tell her what you already did.”

Stuart nodded slowly. “Yes, I’ve lied to her thus far. What’s another lie going to matter?”

“Exactly.” Jasper’s green eyes narrowed. “Don’t have any scruples on me now, Peter. We’ve come too far for that.”

“You don’t think I know that?” Stuart’s voice had hardened as well.

“Look, old man, why don’t you take the day off, spend some time with Aurianne,” Jasper said persuasively. “When was the last time you spent the day with her?”

“Too long,” Stuart said wearily. “Yes, I think I’ll do just that.”

~~~~~~~~

The townhouse in the residential section of Buenos Aires was at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac. Like many of the residences in Buenos Aires, time seemed to have stood still for the elegant white building. Architectural plans for many homes had not changed much in this gracious, colorful Earth city for almost six hundred years.

Stuart landed his cruiser gently on the landing pad at the back of the house. He jumped out lightly, strode through the gate leading to the side of the house, and entered the house through a door leading into the kitchen.

The house had an air of abandonment. There were no sounds in the house; if not for the half-full glass on the island counter, he could’ve sworn that no one had been in the kitchen for several days.

He had not been home for two days. He had sent messages to Aurianne’s PCC but she had answered none of them.

Stuart felt a sense of panic start to creep in—what if she had finally reached the limits of her patience and left him after all these years? The events of the past two weeks might have pushed her over the edge after all.

He took the graceful circular stairs three steps at a time to their bedroom in the second story. He stood looking at the empty bed; there was a hollow on it where she had lain, perhaps for a nap, and the familiar book and glass of water on the nightstand.

A quick look in her closet, wardrobe and dresser told him that her clothes and intimate belongings were still there. He sighed in relief.

He sat down on the side of the bed and stretched out where the hollow had been. He was more tired than he thought; even though he was more physically fit at fifty-five than most thirty-year-olds, night after night of sleeplessness tended to take their toll on him.

Before he knew it, he had drifted off into sleep.



He awoke with a start. It took him a few seconds to orient himself, and then he realized what it was that woke him up.

It was the silence. Aurianne had not returned yet, and darkness was falling rapidly on Buenos Aires.

He changed from his Tetragrammaton suit and into casual clothes. Although he had enabled the incoming alert on his PCC, he checked for messages for about the twentieth time that day.

He went down to the kitchen and fixed himself a meal consisting of a sandwich, randomly thrown together from ingredients in the refrigerator, and a bottle of wine. At first, he had poured the wine into a wineglass, then thought better of it and just drank from the bottle.

Still sitting on the stool, he was staring darkly at the nearly empty wine bottle on the counter when Aurianne came in breathlessly, loaded down with packages and shopping bags. She put the packages on the counter at the opposite end from Stuart, and left the bags on the floor.

“I didn’t know you were coming home tonight.”

“Obviously,” he said, dryly. “Where have you been? I left you around five messages on your PCC.”

“My girlfriends and I went to a film, so I turned it off.” Aurianne retrieved her PCC from her purse and powered it on. She winced as the familiar loud beeping indicated that she had messages, then she turned it off again.

“What’s the use of having it if you keep the damned thing off?”

“I simply forgot,” she shrugged. “If I’d known you were coming home tonight, I would have left it on.”

“How could you know I was coming home if you … Never mind.” He took a deep breath. “Sorry. I’m a bit edgy today.”

“I couldn’t tell,” she said sarcastically. She looked down at the counter for a few moments, then raised her gaze to meet his. “Any news?”

Stuart steeled himself inwardly. “None, I’m afraid..”

Aurianne nodded. Without another word, she picked up the packages again and tried to pick up the bags from the floor.

Stuart stood up. “Let me help you with that.”

Stuart picked up the rest of the bags and followed Aurianne up the stairs and into their bedroom, where she sorted her purchases on the bed. Stuart wandered around the room, trying to ignore the strained silence between them.

For many months now, ever so slowly, a wall had built up between them. He had watched it grow, fully aware that he was partly responsible for it, and helpless to do anything about it.

He stopped at the fireplace and picked up a framed picture from the mantelpiece. He stared down at the image of the two of them—it had been taken 30 years ago, right here in Buenos Aires where he had met her, just after they had married.

It was hard to believe that they’d ever loved each other that much. Or had he ever stopped?

It still pained him deeply when she withdrew from his touch, or when she pretended she had forgotten to turn her PCC back on, when he knew perfectly well she had not forgotten at all.

It had been so easy to deny all these years that his nearly obsessive ambition hadn’t hurt their marriage. But in his drive to go from initiate, to full cleric status, to instructor, to headmaster, and finally to Council member, he had ruined his family.

Perhaps beyond repair.

[mawa]

Conglatulations on an excellent story

It's an extremely enjoyable read. I stand by my opinion that it's very well written. I especially like the manner in which you handle all kind of intigues - it's very suggestive.

I'm waiting for more

[Libby]

Have to say this is excellent. Love the complexities and twists in the plot. Very curious to see how Magnus/John deals with his real identity and what path he chooses. I can see that the very different strands of the story are going to weave together in a most clever way.

[Amie]

Thanks so much, MaWa and Libby!! ;D Your lovely comments are definitely spurning me to keep going!! And thank you, Aurianne, for letting me use your screen name in the story. ;D




Note: The name Ceriale is pronounced (seer-ee-AH'-lee). For a list of all the clerics and their profiles, download from this link.

Lots of thanks to Friv and Ark for their beta reading of Chapter 15, and for their great ideas in this chapter!

Chapter 15

The next morning

When Magnus woke, his head jerked up in a flood of panic.

Sara….

He immediately regretted the sudden movement. The resulting throbbing in his right temple was sheer agony, his head feeling as if it would split open any moment.

He tried to move his hands but found that they were bound tightly behind the back of the chair he was sitting in. His legs and feet were similarly bound to the legs of the chair with a strong, thin synthetic rope of some kind. On top of that, more rope had been wound all around his thighs and his torso, digging deep into his muscles.

Whoever had tied him up wasn’t taking any chances.

He looked around him slowly. He found he was in a darkened room, and because his eyes were already accustomed to the darkness, he was able to discern the shadowy figures of three black-clad men in the room.

A bright light exploded in front of his eyes. He turned his head away, shutting his eyes against the sudden exposure to the intense light.

“You’re awake at last,” said a voice from behind the light, which was produced by a powerful lamp standing about three feet in front of Magnus. “We have many questions to ask you, Mr. Stuart.”

“My name is Magnus Cook,” Magnus muttered through chapped, stiff lips.

“Your little farmer’s pretense is over. Very nicely done, and to what purpose only you are aware of, but we all know who you are, don’t we?”

“Sara. What have you done with Sara?”

“Miss DeCorvier?” the voice said nonchalantly. “I must say she has been remarkably cooperative.”

“If any of you touch her, I’ll kill you!” Magnus said viciously, straining against his bonds. “Where is she?”

“You don’t need to know where she is,” said the voice. “All you need to know is that your cooperation will go a long way in ensuring that you will be alive to see her when this is all over, albeit behind bars. For now, we are asking the questions, not you.”

“All right.” Magnus took a long, deep breath, and found that a calculated calm was descending upon him once again. “I’ll cooperate. I’ll answer one of your questions, then you tell me where Sara is. I’ll answer another question, and you tell me what you’ve done to Henry Cook.”

The silence behind the light lengthened into seconds. Magnus could feel himself being thoroughly and coldly assessed.

“Very well,” said the voice coolly. “We’ll play your little game for now. I suppose I shouldn’t have expected anything less from a renegade cleric.”

There was that word again, Magnus thought. Apparently, he must be some sort of cleric, and a renegade one at that. But that brought up the question in his mind: if he was a renegade, then what the hell were these men?

“What’s your first question?” Magnus said in an equally cool voice.

“Where are the others hiding out?”

“In Cincinnatus, of course,” Magnus said without hesitation.

“Where in Cincinnatus?” the voice demanded.

Magnus shook his head. “No. I answered your question, you answer mine. Where’s Sara?”

Magnus heard the expelling of breath, as if in annoyance, then a brief chuckle. “Very clever, Stuart. All right, I’ll tell you where Miss DeCorvier is. In fact, I’ll do better than that--- I’ll show you.”

Squinting against the light, Magnus vaguely saw the movement behind the lamp. In another few seconds, a cart was wheeled in front of him. On it was a small computer with a holographic imager. The man who had wheeled the cart pressed a button on the keyboard, and a 3D image popped up.

In immaculate, luxurious surroundings, Sara was standing next to a window, leaning against the frame with her forehead touching the glass. Her face looked pale and drawn.

“We’ve had to accommodate her at a hotel,” the voice said. “She didn’t have to, but she insisted on coming. That’s a real-time feed. As you can see, she’s alive and well.”

Magnus’s shoulders sagged in relief. Then he frowned. “You’re monitoring her room,” he said slowly.

The 3D image disappeared as the man powered down the computer. Then the cart was wheeled away out of sight.

“You know perfectly well why,” the voice said curtly. “For her own protection. If you remember, your colleagues went on a killing spree in her own home, initially targeting her.”

Magnus wished his damned headache would go away. It was difficult enough to think straight.

“My colleagues? So that wasn’t you?”

“Ah, but I answered your question,” said the voice mockingly. “It’s your turn to answer mine.”

“All right,” Magnus nodded.

“Who is your group working for?”

“Who says we’re working for anyone?” Magnus said carelessly.

The silence behind the light was another long one. To his amazement, Magnus found it was getting easier and easier to command his body to remain at equilibrium, successfully willing his heart, breathing, and sweat output to be at normal levels.

“An unverifiable answer,” the voice said finally. “But an answer nonetheless. You wanted to know what happened to Henry Cook. As of this moment, he has closed down his farm and is staying at the DeCorvier chateau. Understandably, he has been traumatized not only by his wife’s death, but also by the discovery that you’re one of the galaxy’s most wanted criminals and that your colleagues had murdered his wife.”

Magnus felt as if he had been punched in the stomach. “What-- what did he say to you?” he said hoarsely.

“Only that you told him some fantasy about losing your memory,” the voice said coolly. “A very elaborate charade it has been too. He believes now that you were quite capable of pulling the wool over his eyes, as you’ve done so often in the past.”

How can Henry believe that? Magnus thought in despair. He had found Magnus’s broken body himself, had seen the head injury he had suffered.

“No.” Magnus shook his head. “He knows better than that. Why the hell would I deliberately pose as a damned farmer for five months?”

“Why indeed? Perhaps it’s time you answered that question.” The owner of the voice moved closer until he stood in front of Magnus. “No more games, Stuart. You’ll tell us what we want to know sooner or later. You can cooperate now, or--- let’s just say we have ways of making you cooperate.”

“Damn you,” Magnus said through gritted teeth. “You want the truth? I don’t know who the hell I am, or what I’ve done before five months ago!”

The black hooded face gazed down at him for a long time, then he gestured to one of the other men in the room. He was handed a black metal document holder, which he opened and riffled through for a few moments.

“Memory loss or not, Stuart, by the laws of various governments, you are still answerable for your criminal actions in the past.”

“My name is John Ceriale,” Magnus said, closing his eyes in an attempt to shut out the pain building up inside him again.

“Are you talking about your alias for the past year? You have – what, four or five? I have eight myself.” Black Hood took out a document from the metal holder and held it in front of Magnus’s face. “Recognize him?”

Magnus stared at the photograph and felt as if he were looking in the mirror. It was a full upper body shot of himself in some sort of black uniform.

“That was you just before you left the Tetragrammaton, a promising young cleric. The top of your class, I understand.”

Magnus bowed his head and shut his eyes again. His voice was a rough whisper. “What is my real name?”

“You still insist on playing this ‘no memory’ game?” said Black Hood sardonically. “As you wish. Your real name is Geraint Colin Stuart, the name that your parents gave you at birth.”

Geraint Stuart….

“Are my parents still alive?” Magnus whispered.

“Yes.” A pause. “They must have had high hopes for you. Geraint, an ancient knight of the Round Table. I can imagine their utter disappointment.”

Magnus’s head jerked up again. This time, he ignored the excruciating stab of pain across the upper half of his head.

“What have I done?” he said despairingly.

The photograph was returned, and another document took its place. “This is the file the GBE has worked up on you. As you can see, John Ceriale is the fourth alias you have used since leaving the Tetragrammaton ten years ago.”

Magnus silently read the list of crimes. First and second degree murder, assassination, robbery, battery and assault, sexual assault.

So this was what he was.

It was infinitely worse than he had ever imagined.

~~~~~~~~

In another part of the warehouse, Preston, Miller and the other clerics watched the entire video from the moment that Stuart had awakened from his drugged stupor to the moment that he had gone into some sort of psychological collapse--- almost a cataleptic breakdown. He had been heavily sedated as a result, and now lay bound and secured on a cot made for that purpose.

At the bottom left corner of the screen, there was a black silhouette of Stuart’s body as he sat in the chair, with a digitized depiction of his major body systems inside the silhouette’s outline, along with various active charts and graphs corresponding to the remote biometric monitoring that they’d done during the interrogation.

After the video was done, Miller replayed a certain spot. “That’s where he shut his system down,” he said, pausing the video. “Can’t determine much from this point. Until here.” He sped up the video to the point where Preston had told Stuart about Henry Cook. “He started losing it then. From there, it was downhill for him.”

“Interesting,” Preston murmured thoughtfully.

“What do you think?” Miller asked his colleagues.

“I think we need to question Henry Cook further,” Lee said. “I’d be interested to investigate that debris myself.”

“Agreed,” Miller said. “We have a few more things to take care of today, so we’ll meet back here at 0630 sharp tomorrow morning. I think that would be a good time to take Miss DeCorvier back to her father, don’t you?”

~~~~~~~

Later that night

Valeria sat on the edge of the bathtub, legs crossed, and flicked her comm open. She pressed a button, and was instantly connected.

“Mestrovic here,” she said in a low voice.

“Any news?” demanded the male voice on the other side.

“Yes. They’ve interrogated Geraint. Now they’re going back to Auxerre to question Cook further.”

There was a pause on the other side. “What did Geraint tell them?”

“Nothing yet, apparently. But he’ll talk soon—they have ways. How about you? Is DeCorvier cooperating?”

“No,” the voice said grimly. “And it's two days to the election. Abort your mission. Geraint’s discovery has forced us to speed up our timetable. Kill Miller, and go to Baurritz to meet the others. I’ll have Gareth take care of the DeCorvier female ASAP.”

~~~~~~~

Like an angel of death, Valeria glided silently into the bedroom, the flimsy material of her nightgown billowing slightly about her legs. She approached the bed and raised the gun in her right hand, aiming it at the head of the man who slept peacefully on the bed.

There was a slight hesitation, then her lips thinned into a hard line. She squeezed the trigger.

A dry click. Nothing happened. She squeezed again.

“You should check your weapon before you intend to use it.”

Miller struck out like a snake and grabbed Valeria’s arm, twisting her wrist until she dropped the gun with a cry of pain. She twisted her body into his grip, her leg flying in a roundhouse kick aimed for his neck. With his other hand, Miller caught her ankle and gave it a wrench that would have broken it if she hadn’t turned her body lithely, her other leg snapping around towards his face. This forced him to release her arm and forced her to land on the bed on her back.

Kick, countermove, jab, counter-strike, stabbing thrust, parry. Valeria was highly skilled in the arts of Aikido, Bando and Wu Shu, but Miller was just as skilled and knew how to counteract each and every move.

The battle went on for several minutes as they fought, sweated and grunted their way to complete destruction of the hotel bedroom.

In the end, Miller used the art of hojojitsu to swiftly entangle her legs and neck, rolling her body over until she lay face down on the bed. With a few expert twists of the bedsheet, he had rendered her completely immobile.

Miller placed his forearm on the back of her neck and applied most of his 190 lb weight on it.

“Who are you working for? Answer me!” Miller said between gritted teeth.

“Do you think I’m going to tell you?” She gasped for air. “How did you find out?”

“I had my suspicions.” He increased pressure on her neck. “I would dearly love to kill you now.”

“Why don’t you?” she shot back, gloating. “But you won’t. You have scruples, and you’re remembering what we’ve had together. I have to admit that it was very good. Wasn’t it good for you?”

“You lying bitch. You set me up with that fake assassination attempt,” he grated. “You had those men killed for it.”

“They were expendable, as are you and I.”

“One last time. Who are you working for?”

“Go to hell.”

“Ladies first.” With that, he brought his elbow down on her temple.

He got up, leaving Valeria’s bound, unconscious body on the bed. He picked up his PCC where it had dropped on the floor during the melee, and switched it on.

“The cat’s in the bag,” he said grimly.

“I’ll call Pretorius and Lee. We’ll bring her to the warehouse for interrogation.” The briefest of pauses. “They found Sara, Miller. They played dirty, but they were damned good. They killed four of our clerics.”

“How in the bloody hell did that happen?” Miller closed his eyes. “I didn’t tell Valeria about her. They must have found out some other way.”

“We have another mole, maybe more than one.”

“We have indeed.” Miller’s mind was well into cleric mode now, formulating and calculating at triple speed. “We have to break Valeria, and break her quickly. We need to know where their damned hideout is.”

~~~~~~~~

Sara took several deep breaths, trying to control the terror that threatened to overwhelm her.

She was lying on the floor of a cruiser, her hands bound behind her back and a cloth sack over her head. She could see and hear nothing.

They had come into her hotel bedroom while she was sleeping, overcoming her easily and wrapping a cloth over her mouth to silence her. Then she had been put in some sort of trunk and carried out of the hotel.

When they opened the trunk to transfer her to the back of the cruiser, she was gasping desperately for air. Then they had placed the sack over her head and dumped her none too gently into the storage recess.

---

Note on Hojojitsu (Shibari): (Japan) "Cord Tying Art." This art offers quick and efficient methods of tying and restraining an opponent who is often struggling to escape.

[frivolity]

Amie, I am sooo loving this story. Like everyone else, I'm always wanting the next installment already.

“That lady looks like she eats clerics for breakfast,” Pretorius said casually, sending Preston a wink.

“She does,” Miller said plaintively.

heh heh!

[Witcher Wolf]

Keep going Amie, you're doing a wonderful job here Libby and MaWa have pretty much said all that I could, so I'll just clap my paws and egg you on

[Amie]

Thank you so much for your encouragement, Frivvy and Wolf! ;D And yes, Frivvy, that quote does remind us of something, doesn't it? hahahaha

CHAPTER 16

That night

Peter woke up, startled out of sleep with the feeling that something was not quite right. He stared over at the other side of the bed—Aurianne appeared to be sleeping soundly, lying on her side with her back to him.

He lay back down, closed his eyes, and attempted to go back to sleep.

Aurianne waited tensely for several minutes. Then, hearing his deep, even breathing, she was finally able to release the long, shuddering breath she had been holding, followed by a half sigh, half sob.

“Aurianne?”

His soft voice made her gasp. She didn’t answer, closing her eyes and willing him to go back to sleep.

But it was not to be. She found herself being turned over by gentle hands until she was facing him. In the moonlight pouring through a gap in the curtains, he took in her tear-stained face. Then she was in his arms, his own face buried against the side of her neck.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” he whispered hoarsely.

“I know,” she managed. She stroked his hair delicately with the tips of her fingers, as if afraid to touch him.

“Aurianne…” His lips sought the warmth of her skin in the hollow at the base of her neck. “I need you…”

She clung to him, her tears flowing freely now. “What is to become of us, Peter?” she whispered. “What is to become of our son? I’ve already lost one, I can’t bear the thought of losing the other. And I’m terrified he’s already lost to me.”

Peter pulled away reluctantly. He studied her face, knowing with a heavy, sorrowful heart that he would lose her once he did what he finally knew he had to do.

He told her the truth.

~~~~~~~

“How could you?” she screamed at him.

She raged at him for several minutes after that, her small fists striking at him ineffectually while he endured it stoically, knowing the tempest would wear itself out if only to leave the inevitable hatred in its place.

Sobs wracking her body, she stumbled out of bed and ran out of the bedroom. Concerned for her in her present state, he followed her, but she merely went into one of their sons’ bedrooms and slammed the door in his face.

In anguish, Peter leaned his forehead against the closed door.

He had lost his family … what more was there to lose?

At the dawn of morning, he would go back to the Tetragrammaton and do what he should have done long ago.

~~~~~~~

Valeria refused to talk. Miller and Preston were left with no choice but to strap her down on a gurney and apply the nichthine through an intravenous injection.

Her screams lasted for twenty minutes, then she regressed into an almost child-like state. The clerics didn’t like using nichthine unless absolutely necessary. More often than not, the regressive state was permanent, the mind enduringly imprinted by the nichthine’s insidious influence.

In the regressive state, the subject could not help but tell the truth to any question asked. For forty minutes, Valeria was questioned until the clerics were certain she had told them everything she knew.

Afterwards, she was sedated, and she drifted off to sleep, sobbing and whimpering softly until she was completely unconscious.

~~~~~~~

Preston and Miller looked at each other over Valeria’s still form.

“Well, well, well,” Miller said.

“It’s worse than I thought,” murmured Preston.

“We have to go to Auxerre, now.”

Preston nodded. “Yes, but first, there’s something we have to do.”

~~~~~~~

Thirty minutes later

When Magnus came fully awake, his mind was clear and his senses were on high alert.

He was immediately aware of the two men who sat on chairs on both sides of his cot. This time, their black hoods had been removed.

At the same time, he realized that he was no longer secured to the cot.

He sat up slowly.

“I know that look,” Preston said dryly. “I wouldn’t try it if I were you, Stuart.”

“Maximus?” Magnus said slowly. “Gideon Maximus?”

“Ah, so you recognize me, do you?” Preston paused. “I don’t use that name much for professional purposes. Call me Preston.”

“You were a couple of classes ahead of me. I remember I was a lowerclassman when you graduated.” To Miller, he said, “You must have left the Tetragrammaton when I entered the upper levels.”

Miller nodded. “My name is Richard Miller.” He gazed at Magnus closely. “Your memory has returned, then.”

“Yes, I suppose so. It feels very strange.” Magnus shook his head. “As if I’ve just awakened from a dream and I can remember every single detail of it as clearly as I can see you sitting there now.”

“I’ve heard of cases like yours,” Preston said thoughtfully. “Your condition is termed retrograde amnesia. Often the memory loss is permanent, but there are cases where memory is merely latent, waiting to be triggered by another physically or psychologically traumatic event, perhaps years later. Or not at all. In your case, several traumatic events served to trigger your recovery.”

Magnus nodded. For a few seconds, he flexed his cramped muscles, opening and closing his fists experimentally. “So, gentlemen, is there a reason why you’ve left ‘one of the galaxy’s most wanted criminals’ unsecured and free to cause mischief and mayhem?”

Preston and Miller glanced at each other, then Miller cleared his throat. “Actually, quite a bit has happened.”

“Do you know Valeria Mestrovic?” Preston asked Magnus.

Magnus’s eyebrow lifted slightly. “Yes.”

“Can you tell us anything about her?”

“She’s Gareth’s mistress.” Magnus saw Miller wince slightly and shrugged. “Or was. I don’t know. Haven’t been much in the loop for the past five months.”

“Valeria has just--- er --- talked to us,” Miller said calmly. “Apparently, she was working with Gareth to infiltrate and hinder our investigations. Your brother didn’t keep you much in the loop in the first place, did he?”

“No.” Magnus took a deep breath. “We drifted apart not long after he left the Ganymede Army Rangers commando unit four years ago. I stayed in the unit for two more years, then I decided to go on to be a free agent. I told myself I wouldn’t meddle with his business, but I couldn’t help it. Habit, I suppose. I’ve always felt he was my responsibility, even as boys. I heard disturbing rumors of his activities, so six months ago, I came looking for him.”

“How did you find him?”

“I know him better than anyone, you see. I traced him here on Theroux, to a town called Baurritz. He tried to persuade me to join him, but I discovered that he had been using my identity to commit crimes in several planets. Hence the rap sheet at GBE. As you can imagine, we didn’t part on very good terms.”

“Where were you going when your cruiser crashed?” Preston asked.

“Back to Cincinnatus.” Magnus’s face hardened, his features becoming a bleak mask. “It wasn’t an accident.”

“Yes, we know,” Preston said quietly. “Valeria told us.”

Magnus looked from one man to the other. “Did she also tell you why I was going back to Cincinnatus?”

Miller nodded. “Yes, but we’d like you to confirm it.”

“I was going back to Earth. Back to the Tetragrammaton. Somehow, the Tetragrammaton is involved in a battle for control of Cincinnatus. Gareth hinted as much. Control of Cincinnatus means control of the MTX-7 system.” He paused. “And there were--- other troubling rumors that I wished to verify.”

“You were trouble for Gareth from the moment you set foot on the planet,” Preston said. “Once you had returned to Tetragrammaton, you might have raised awkward questions for certain members of the Council.”

Then Preston told Magnus the rest of what Valeria had revealed to them. When he was finished, Magnus’s face was pale, his eyes a study of gray winter chill.

He nodded slowly, his voice calm and controlled. “I assume you’re here on a Tetragrammaton Council directive.”

“Yes,” Preston said. “And we’re going to need someone who knows how Gareth thinks. Sad to say, there are only a few clerics at the moment whom we can trust completely.” He paused. “Will you help us?”

“Yes,” Magnus nodded.

“There’s something else .” Preston and Miller glanced at each other again. “We don’t know how to tell you this, but….”

~~~~~~~~

Taking control of the chateau was an easy matter for the seven clerics and the ten henchmen Gareth had brought from Baurritz.

Although Michel DeCorvier had hired security personnel to protect him, they were no match for the cold, ruthlessly efficient clerics. In no time at all, all twelve of the bodies of the private security team littered the floor of the dining room where the short battle took place.

When Michel saw Sara being dragged by a long-maned, gray-eyed devil, all the fight drained out of him.

Now father and daughter clung to each other as they sat on a chaise in the grand drawing room where the clerics had herded all the occupants of the chateau. Behind them stood Henry Cook, pale and haggard, as well as the rest of the terrified servants who had not been ordered to take care of the bodies.

Gareth paced on the rich, intricately patterned rug for several minutes, much like a lion pacing the confines of his cage. Then, unexpectedly, he picked up a priceless vase from one of the end tables and hurled into the fireplace where it shattered with a loud, resonating crash.

“I told you the consequences if you didn’t do as I told you!” he shouted at Michel, leaning down with his face only inches away from the old man’s. Veins stood out on his temples, and his eyes had a wild, malevolent light that transformed an otherwise handsome face into pure malice.

Michel closed his eyes, while Sara stared at this madman in mesmerized horror.

“In about 28 hours from now, the elections will be taking place,” Gareth continued, lowering his voice. “If David Smith is elected, I will kill your servants one by one, then I will rape your daughter in front of your eyes, then I will kill her. It will be the last thing you see before I kill you too.”

Michel stared back up at him with eyes that reflected the hell that yawned like a chasm in Gareth Stuart’s gaze.

~~~~~~~~

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me sooner?” fumed Magnus as he strapped on a wrist holster on his left arm.

“We had to be sure of you,” Preston said reasonably. He checked the charging chamber and looked down the sights of one of his guns.

They were in the warehouse, loading three cruisers with all the equipment they would need. All of the clerics-- minus the four that had been killed by the renegade clerics--- were present, gearing themselves up for the battle that lay ahead.

There was an almost perceptible charge in the air as each cleric prepared himself mentally for the final confrontation they had all been working and waiting for--- and for payback for the four dead clerics.

Miller checked the mechanism of his own wrist holsters by alternately ejecting and holstering his guns several times. “We clerics don’t go off half-assed. You know that.”

Magnus took a deep breath. “I don’t understand how the bloody hell you let them take her.” He finished strapping on the other wrist holster and attached both of his guns to the mechanism. He had already checked his guns three times.

They had given him the box with his weapons and suit, which they had found after a search of the barn. He had already strapped on his knife sheaths to his calves and was now wearing the black pants and black shirt. Next, he started strapping on his shoulder holster.

“All right, so I made a mistake in posting junior clerics to guard her,” Miller said, pulling on a bandolier filled with photon grenades. “You can take it up with me later if anything happens to her.”

“Don’t worry.” Magnus checked to see the chambers were full in his older model gun and slipped it into the shoulder holster, after which he shrugged into his black jacket. “I will.”

“Are you any good as a free agent?” Preston asked Magnus as he slid one of his own knives into a sheath that he wore under his sleeve, just beneath the wrist holster for his gun. It had a similar retracting mechanism as the wrist holster.

“I haven’t been as long at it as you,” Magnus admitted. “But I’m damned good.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes,” Magnus said simply.

“You can compare your resumes later,” Miller said briskly. “Time to move out.”

In another minute, all three cruisers were loaded with clerics, then they glided out of the warehouse door one by one before gaining altitude and accelerating towards the south.[/size]

[cheenie]

When's the next installment?

It's great Cleric Amie, the way the story builds up. Only concern I have is there are too many characters for me to handle. But I guess they're essential for the story to continue.

[Amie]

Thanks for reading and your comments, Cheenie!! ;D

I want to thank Ark again for her ideas, and for Libby for her help with some troublesome areas in the story. Also for everyone's lovely comments so far, which are really encouraging me to keep going to the end! ;D


Thanks to Ark and Friv again for their ideas and beta reading for Chapter 15!!

For those who would like to download the Adobe PDF file I created of the story so far up to Chapter 15, the link is here.

CHAPTER 17

Sara tried to calm the servants and had them sit on any available chairs. The five guards who watched them seemed to care little what they did, as long as they remained quiet.

Sara had learned to distinguish between clerics and mere thugs… clerics had that air about them of icy control, a trait which she had often glimpsed in Magnus.

For the moment, the clerics were nowhere in sight. Sara gathered that they were checking the chateau over. That was fine by her--- the less she came in contact with Gareth Stuart, the better.

She still couldn’t bring herself to believe it--- how could she have fallen in love with a criminal? She told herself that it was impossible and utterly ridiculous that, after all these years of spurning William and other suitors, she would fall for the one man that was totally out of her reach.

She had actually swallowed her pride and gone back to the barn to plead with him once again to stay, the devil take the consequences.

The sight of him surrounded by armed, masked men, while he himself held a man at knife-point, had been the greatest shock of her life. Then there was the horror of seeing him knocked unconscious and dragged out of the barn between two of the gunmen.

One of the gunmen had kept his gun pointed at her as the others searched the barn, but she had been too distraught to care.

“What are you going to do with him?” she had demanded.

“That depends on him,” the hooded gunman had replied coolly, “If he cooperates, the best he can hope for is a few decades in jail. If not…Well, I leave that to your imagination.”

Sara’s shock had deepened. “Jail! Are you--- are you some sort of law enforcement officer?”

“Yes, you can call me that.”

“I’ll never see him again,” she had whispered.

He had not answered right away. She had the feeling that he had been searching her face for a clue to her feelings about Magnus, and must have read the whole story there.

“No,” he said finally, “I wouldn’t count on it.”

One of the other gunmen had found a box in the loft and had carried it down. The others had finished searching the barn and, with a signal towards the one who still held her at gunpoint, they had left the barn one by one with the box.

He backed up towards the entrance to the barn, lowering his gun to his side. “Good-bye.” He was about to turn and go out the door.

“Wait!” Sara had felt a sense of overwhelming panic at the thought of losing Magnus. She didn’t know what he’d done, but she knew that she couldn’t just let him disappear from her life like this. “Take me with you. Please! I can help.”

He had stopped, but from his next words she gathered that he didn’t think much of the idea. “You should go home now. My advice to you is to try to forget him.”

He walked out the door.

Once Sara had set herself on her course, nothing could move her from it. She ran out after him.

The gun had come out again as she ran to stand in front of him. This time, he didn’t point it at her, merely rested it against his thigh as he looked down at her.

“You must have lots of questions about him,” she had started babbling. “I can help. I’ll cooperate with your investigation. And I won’t get in the way… just… please, let me go with you.”

He had stared down at her then, considering her. Finally, he had said, in a low voice, “You’ve got it badly.”

Sara nodded, fiercely quelling the tears that threatened to spill. “Yes, I’m afraid so.”

“You don’t know him.”

“Maybe not his past,” she admitted, “but I’ve spent enough time with him during the past week to know what sort of man he is. He’s no criminal.”

“He has a rap sheet as long as your arm.”

“I don’t care!” Sara had taken a deep breath. “If you don’t take me, I’ll just follow you in my own cruiser.”

“You don’t know when to give up, do you?”

“My father can tell you that I’m as stubborn as a mule,” Sara had confirmed. “And I always get what I want, one way or the other.”

He was silent for a few moments, then he sighed. “I’ll probably regret this. Get on board.”

“Thank you,” she had breathed, then lost no time in giving orders to a flabbergasted Arthur to go home. Just as she was about to climb into the gunmen’s cruiser, Henry Cook appeared around the corner of the barn and stopped dead in his tracks, gaping at the scene before him.

“What’s going on here?” he said, echoing what Sara had said earlier.

The gunman had followed behind her, ready to help her into the cruiser, but at Henry’s appearance they both turned.

“That’s Henry Cook, Magnus’s uncle,” Sara had hastily explained when, as one man, all the gunmen had raised their guns to point at the old man.

“Should I be expecting any more family members to pop up any moment?” the gunman had said dryly.

“No… that’s all,” Sara had replied, unable to keep the sadness out of her voice. “You should explain to him what’s going on.”

“I should?”

“Yes,” Sara had firmly replied. “You can’t be so cruel as to leave him here not knowing what happened to his nephew.”

“He won’t like what I tell him.”

“But at least he’ll know. Go on, tell him.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he had replied with sarcasm. But he had said to the others, “Stand down,” and had walked towards the terrified Henry Cook, holstering his gun and raising his hands to show the old man his empty hands.

Ignoring the other gunmen, who were alternately staring at her and at Henry Cook, Sara had climbed aboard the cruiser and made her way to the back where Magnus had been stretched out. She sank down next to him and lifted his head to pillow it on her lap.

After a few minutes, she heard the heartbreaking sound of Henry’s sobs, then the gunman had climbed aboard the cruiser and gave orders to push off.

“You!” A familiar deep voice said sharply behind her. “Away from the window!”

Sara had wandered to the closest window to stare out over the gardens, lost in her thoughts. The voice of Gareth Stuart brought her back to the present with a vengeance.

Sara backed away from the window slowly, going back to sink down next to her father on the chaise.

“Keep them away from the fucking windows,” Gareth snapped at the thugs who had been guarding the hostages. “Unless you want sniper lasers slicing your thick skulls open.”

Sara’s heart beat faster. So he was expecting snipers…

The thugs nodded compliance. Gareth went to stand in front of Sara and stared down at her for a few moments with narrowed eyes. Sara couldn’t look up at him.

“My men will be getting hungry soon,” he said. “Take a few of your servants to the kitchen and have them prepare a meal for us and your people.”

Sara nodded. She dredged up the courage to look up at him then, and once again experienced a breathlessness that had nothing to do with fear.

“Why are you doing this?”

He stared down at her. His lips spread into a slow smile. “It’s very simple, Miss DeCorvier. We’re setting a trap.”

“A trap?” She frowned in confusion. “For who?”

“The meal, Miss DeCorvier,” he said coolly. He gestured to two of the thugs. “Take them to the kitchen and watch them. And remember to keep them away from the damned windows.”

With a swift head-to-toe glance over Sara, he turned on his heel and strode from the drawing room.

~~~~~~~~

Argenlander went deeper into the trees, presumably to make a nature call. Once he was in a dense area of the thicket, he took out his PCC and set it to non-scan to prevent unwanted monitoring of his communications.

“We’re here, 400 meters to the east of the chateau,” he spoke into the receiver. “Can’t stay here too long, Preston and Miller are watching everyone like hawks.”

“What do they intend to do? Storm the chateau?”

“I don’t know,” Argelander muttered. “They’re playing it too damn close to the chest. They know you have hostages. And Geraint is with them.”

“Is he now?” Gareth muttered. “He never did learn to keep his nose out of my affairs.” He paused. “They’ll try to negotiate first. All right, you’d better go back before they suspect you.”

Argenlander pocketed his PCC and remembered to urinate before walking out of the thicket. As he turned the corner around a tree, he came face to face with eight guns pointing at his head.

Swiftly, methodically, Preston, Miller, Pretorius and Magnus took up positions to surround him on all four points of the compass.

It was the optimum configuration for a typical cleric take-down. One armed cleric against another evenly matched cleric gave each combatant fifty-fifty odds of besting the other. Two armed clerics against one only increased the odds for the two clerics by 10%, taking into account that the lone cleric had two guns at his disposal. The standard recommendation was three-on-one, but four-on-one was even better. Four-on-one was well known among clerics to unequivocally force the lone cleric to make a Hobson’s choice--- surrender to the four clerics, or die.

Argelander said coolly, “You’d better have a good reason for this, gentlemen, because I’m not amused.”

“Do you see us laughing?” Miller said, grimly. “Every PCC produces a unique frequency imprint, even in non-scan. Lee had managed to isolate yours and we traced the imprint to six separate communications. You’ve been ratting on us, Argelander.”

Preston said, “You know the drill. Hand over your firearms slowly. Then lie face down on the ground with your hands behind your head.”

Argelander did as he was told.

“Look, I can just as easily work for you as for Stuart,” he said from his horizontal position on the ground. “You can use me, and you know it.”

“That may be so, but I can’t guarantee that you’ll live long enough to be of use to us. I hold you partially responsible for the deaths of four clerics, and so will everyone else. Two of them were married with children, Argelander.” He paused. “Oh, to hell with it. I’ll kill you right now.”

Miller pointed his gun down at Argelander’s head, and the other three clerics made no move to stop him.

“Wait!” Argelander shouted. “You need me, damn you! How did you propose going into the chateau without getting any of the hostages killed?”

“We were thinking of just walking right in,” Miller said carelessly.

“You’re joking, right? Listen, I know how you can get in. I know how many of them there are. And Stuart told me himself what he was expecting.”

“Go on,” Miller said. His gun remained steadily trained on Argelander’s head. “And it had better be good.”

~~~~~~~~~

Sara and four of the servants busied themselves with preparing a meal for thirty people. She was pale, and her hands shook slightly, but her soft lips were set in a firm, determined line.

The meal was served to the guards in the drawing room and to the clerics and other thugs in various parts of the chateau.

Sara had been ladling food onto plates in the kitchen while the servants had run the deliveries when Ruckert appeared in the kitchen door and looked at Sara.

“Stuart wants you to take him a tray in your father’s study,” he said curtly, then turned on his heel and left.

Sara let out a long breath. What now? She considered disobeying the order and to let one of the servants take the tray, but she was afraid of what Gareth Stuart would do to the servant.

So she took the tray to her father’s study, accompanied by a guard. The guard opened the door for her and she entered without a word.

Gareth was standing by the fireplace, leaning with one hand against the mantel. He looked up at her entrance.

Sara caught her breath for the tenth time that day.

Gareth pushed off from the mantel. He said, “Put the tray on the desk.”

Sara did as she was told and quickly made her way back to the door. But Gareth was already there, barring her way.

She took a step back from him and lifted her chin. “I need to go back to the kitchen. They need my help.”

“I’m sure they can do without you for the time being,” he drawled.

Sarah stood still as he circled her, his eyes slowly examining her from head to toe. “I understand you have a thing for my brother.”

Sara didn’t answer.

“I don’t blame you. Women have always liked Geraint and I. When we were commandos back on Ganymede, women were never in short supply for us.”

Sara’s hands curled into fists in the skirts of her dress. She knew what he was trying to do, and she refused to be baited by him.

“Did Geraint ever tell you how we played tricks on our women? They never could tell us apart. Sometimes, we traded places as many as five times during the night, and none of them the wiser.”

Sara closed her eyes to keep out the insidious images. When she opened her eyes again a few moments later, she was startled to find Gareth had covered the few steps between them and was standing behind and a little to one side of her, taunting her again as he breathed into her ear.

“I can tell you find the likeness unsettling,” he murmured. “When you look at me, you see Geraint. You can’t help but wonder if I’ll feel the same way in your arms, if I kiss the same way Geraint kisses you.”

Sara remained stonily silent, staring ahead of her. She heard him chuckle softly. “Can it be? Is it possible that in the five months that Geraint was with you he hasn’t fucked you yet?”

Sara’s hand came flying around towards his face, but he caught her wrist with her palm only two inches from his cheek. He grinned down at her, his eyes gleaming wickedly.

“You’re a little hellcat,” he murmured. “I specialize in hellcats. Geraint might not have been able to handle you. He likes his women sweet and compliant, so you might find me more to your taste after all.”

“Never!” she cried out, trying to free her arm from his grasp. “Let me go!”

He grabbed her other wrist and twisted both her arms behind her, crushing her against him. In the next moment, he cursed in pain as she brought her knee up sharply to his groin. His grip tightened on her arms.

“Always liked a good tussle myself,” he growled, and lowered his head to take her lips, but she twisted her head away so that his mouth grazed her jawbone.

“Stuart, we’ve got comm,” Orcagna’s bland voice spoke from the doorway of the music room.

Sara thought she had never been so relieved to see another renegade cleric.

“Can’t you see I’m busy?” snapped Gareth.

“They’re asking to send in someone to talk to you. Can you guess who it is?”

Gareth fingers dug bruisingly into Sara’s flesh until she cried out in pain. He said curtly, “Indulge me.”

“They want to send in Geraint.”

Gareth released Sara suddenly, and she would have fallen backwards if he hadn’t caught her arm.

“By all means, tell them to send him in,” he said smoothly.

Without another word, he dragged her back to the drawing room, pushed her back down on the chaise, and sat down in one of the armchairs to wait.[/size]

_____________________________________

Guerre a Outrance: War to the Uttermost

Hobson's choice: A choice without an alternative; the thing offered or nothing.

[Sasha]

Anxiously waiting! I LOVE YOUR STORY!!!!


I'm addicted!

[Amie]

Thank you for your comments, Sasha! I'm so glad you're enjoying my story! ;D

CHAPTER 18

In the front hall, four clerics covered Magnus with their guns as he shrugged off his jacket and stripped off every weapon from his body. Then they ran a metal scanner over him again, and once satisfied he was clean, he was escorted to the drawing room with his hands raised.

All eyes turned to stare at him with varying reactions as he entered.

His own eyes sought and found Sara’s. Relief threatened to overwhelm him when he saw that she was unhurt, save for some bruises on her wrists and upper arms.

Uncaring of the guns that were pointing at her, Sara ran to him and threw her arms around his neck while he enclosed her tightly in his arms.

He bent down his head as if to kiss her cheek, his lips trailing over her smooth skin towards her ear. He spoke softly in her ear so that only she could hear. “When I give you the signal, I want you, your father, Henry and anyone else you can warn to get down and take cover.”

For reply, Sara squeezed his neck harder. Over Sara’s shoulder, his eyes met Henry’s. An unspoken accord passed between them, and a faint smile flickered across Henry’s wrinkled face.

~~~~~~~

Back in the thicket were they had set up their equipment, Lee, Preston, Miller, Snowden, Gifford and Torvo watched the computer monitor. Several meters away, securely bound against a tree, Argelander sat under the watchful guard of two clerics.

“This large, unorganized cluster over here must be the hostages,” Lee said, using a laser pointer to indicate the blinking lights at one side of the digital map of the drawing room on the screen. “These surrounding Stuart must be the four clerics, and these other five spread out must be the other guards.”

The miniature heat sensor/transmitter that they had carefully taped in Magnus’s hair enabled them to detect the heat signatures of bodies in any fifty-foot radius.

Miller used his pointer to indicate the adjoining room. “There’s your target, Torvo. Can you do it?”

“Can I do it?” Torvo grinned. “What sort of question is that?”

~~~~~~~

“How very touching,” Gareth drawled. “Miss DeCorvier, sit down. Gerry, touch any of my hostages again, and I’ll kill you. Get your hands up again.”

Sara released Magnus reluctantly and went back to take her seat on the chaise. Magnus slowly raised his hands and clasped them behind his head.

Gareth stood up and prowled around the room, picking up various objets d’art from tables and display cases, examining them, and putting them down. Magnus watched him with a cold, steady gaze.

Gareth came to a display case, and stared down at the two ancient katanas lying on their bed of gray velvet.

Finally, he said, “I can’t seem to get rid of you, Gerry.”

“Sorry about that.”

Gareth lifted out a katana from the case, grasped it by the hilt, and slid it slowly out of the scabbard. He examined the etched symbols on the gleaming metal surface near the hilt.

“What do you want?”

“To negotiate the prisoners’ release.”

Gareth’s eyebrows rose. “In order to negotiate effectively, you need something to negotiate with. What are you offering for the prisoners’ release?”

“The assurance that you and your men will get out of this alive.”

With a one-handed grip, Gareth swung the sword experimentally.

“I already have that,” he shruggd. “I need something more.”

“All right,” Magnus nodded. “As of fifteen minutes ago, Maurice Duquesne was assassinated in his own home. You can confirm it yourself.”

Gareth was suddenly very still. “I believe you.”

“Without your client, all this is rather pointless, don’t you agree?”

“Not entirely.” Gareth paused. “Anyway, I’ll have to thank your assassin for something I would have done eventually.”

Magnus’s eyes narrowed. “So, was the plan to replace Duquesne somewhere down the line?”

“Very good, Gerry!” Gareth said mockingly. “You always were a bright lad. Always one step ahead of the game. And more lives than a fucking cat, I swear. I thought for sure you were dead when your cruiser crashed. You said he was dead, Oliver.”

“All the sensors showed no life signs,” Oliver muttered.

“You didn’t bother going down to check, did you?” Gareth said smoothly. “Ah well, just goes to show the difference between being number 1 out of 32 and being number 32 out of 32.”

Oliver flushed angrily at the reference to his graduating status out of the Tetragrammaton, having been the lowest ranked cleric in the same class as Geraint and Gareth.

“That was a low blow,” Magnus murmured. “Why do you put up with him, Oliver?”

“Oh, don’t be such a condescending prick,” Gareth snapped. “Always had to be perfect, didn’t you? Our instructors doted on you--- teacher’s pet, as we called you behind your back.”

“Still annoys you that I bested you in everything, does it, little brother?” Magnus drawled. “That was more than ten years ago. I thought for sure you’d have grown out of it by now.”

Gareth sliced the katana through the arm of a nearby marble statue of a shepherd maiden. There was a faint crunching sound, then the arm fell to the floor with a crash, leaving a clean cut on the stump.

Gareth bowed to Michel DeCorvier, who had been watching the entire exchange between brothers with the same expression that Sara must have had on her face--- horrified fascination.

“Excellent find, monsieur,” he said smoothly. “This is the real thing. Yatsutsuna, I believe?”

“Yes,” Michel replied automatically. “From 900 A.C.E.”

“Superb.” Sword in one hand and gun in the other, Gareth walked slowly towards Magnus. “I don’t know what you’d hoped to negotiate, Gerry, but nothing here is negotiable. Although I have to thank you for volunteering --- it saves me the trouble of hunting you down myself--- .”

Magnus's small movement as he pressed the transmitter in his hair went unnoticed.

Gareth was a meter from Magnus when the chateau shook with the explosion that ripped through the wall farthest from the hostages.

After seeing Magnus glance at her and nod almost imperceptibly seconds before the blast, Sara had already scrambled to the floor, taking her father and Henry down with her, while the servants took her cue and followed suit. As fire and debris rained down on them, Sara urged her father and Henry to crawl under whatever furniture they could get to.

The blast knocked Gareth, the four clerics and the thugs off balance as they covered their heads for protection.

The resulting cloud of smoke and fiery fragments screened Magnus as he dived towards Gareth, tackling him down to the floor and pinning him down with a knee on his back. Gareth was winded from the blast force of the explosion and Magnus took every advantage of it. Not wishing to waste any precious moments wrestling the gun from Gareth, he placed his hand on Gareth’s gun hand, finger over trigger finger, and lifted the gun, Gareth’s hand and all.

In the next ten seconds, Magnus cut down the other four clerics and the five thugs around the room with deadly precision.

He twisted the gun from Gareth’s hand, straightened to his feet, took two steps back out of Gareth’s reach, and pointed the gun down at Gareth’s head.

~~~~~~~

Wedged securely in the branches of a tree, Torvo looked up from the laser sights of his four-foot long JPX-5 rocket launcher. He was grinning. “Hole in one.”

Below him, also grinning, Lee spoke into his mouthpiece. “Open rabbit hole, I repeat, open rabbit hole. Playing Cards discarded by White Rabbit, King of Hearts secured. Alpha, Bravo, Charlie and Delta teams, move in.”

Preston, Miller, Gifford and Snowden each led a group of three clerics from the cover of the trees, moving smoothly and cohesively through the garden as they leapfrogged among trees, bushes and statues. Once they reached the open space of the lawn they moved forward swiftly, each in an echelon attack formation until Alpha team fanned out along the wall on each side of the gaping, smoking hole that had once been the dining room wall. Bravo, Charlie and Delta moved on swiftly to skirt around the side of the chateau and took up positions next to windows on the other three sides of the building.

“Alpha team in position,” Preston spoke into his mouthpiece. “I repeat, Alpha in position.”

“Hold your position,” Lee spoke into Preston’s earpiece. “I repeat, hold your position. We’ve got a situation.”

Preston and Pretorius looked at each other. “Mad Hatter, what situation?”

They heard Lee curse fluently on the other side of their earpieces. “Where the hell did they come from? Alert, I repeat, alert. Four cruisers with what appear to be ten clerics each are approaching from the south. We’ve got company.”

“Trap,” Preston said succinctly.

“No kidding,” said Pretorius. The two junior clerics looked at each other, then back at Preston.

“We’re moving in to secure chateau, Mad Hatter.”

“Copy. All teams secure chateau and take defensive posture inside.”

The smoke in the dining room had cleared enough by this time for Preston to see that it was empty. After his swift scan, he moved inside, took position behind a shattered chair, and motioned for the others to enter. They leapfrogged swiftly in this fashion until they were across the demolished dining room to the adjoining wall, where the opposing force of the photon blast had made the hole that gaped into the drawing room.

Swiftly taking in the situation, Preston moved inside just as the hostages were rising shakily to their feet. Magnus was still covering his brother on the floor, his gun unflinching, while Gareth stared up at him with all the hatred of the past ten years blazing in his eyes.

Preston gestured for the other three clerics to check out the hostages for injuries and moved on to join Magnus.

“There are two more clerics and five thugs in the chateau,” Magnus said without looking up.

“Bravo, Charlie and Delta are dealing with them now as we speak,” Preston said. The distinct sound of laser blasts elsewhere in the chateau confirmed his statement. “You OK?”

Magnus nodded. “We need to get these people out of here.”

“There’s been a change of plan,” Preston said grimly.

Magnus glanced at him quickly. “What is it?”

“Backup,” Gareth said, sneering.

Preston and Magnus stared down at him.

“You have no idea how far the rottenness has spread, do you?” Gareth taunted them. “It’s virtually taken over the Tetragrammaton.”

Preston said, “We don’t have time, Stuart. They’re already here. We have to lock down now.”

“There’s something I have to attend to,” Magnus said quietly.

Preston looked from Magnus, to Gareth, and back again. “Make it quick.”

The four clerics overturned tables, chairs and any other furniture they could get their hands on, piled them near the wall at the end farthest from the windows, and had Sara, her father, Henry and the servants take cover behind the newly constructed barrier. The two junior clerics carried Michel between them and settled him comfortably on the floor, while Sara followed slowly behind.

Magnus didn’t look at her. Sara stood next to the barrier, reluctant to let him out of her sight, then froze as she watched him back up to the katana display case and toss the gun through the hole in the wall until it skidded out of sight in the dining room. He picked up the remaining katana, grasped it by the hilt, and slid the sword out of its scabbard.

“Magnus!” Sara said in alarm. “What are you doing?”

“Yes, Magnus, what are you doing?” echoed a frowning Preston from his position by one of the windows.

“I’m taking care of business, as I already told you,” Magnus answered the other cleric. “You just take care of yours, Preston.” To Sara, he ordered, “Get down, and stay down.”

“Are you crazy?” Sara cried out.

“Damn it all, Stuart!” Preston shouted.

But they might as well be talking to a brick wall. Magnus was approaching Gareth slowly, giving the katana a few experimental swings.

Gareth got to his feet just as slowly, picking up the katana he had dropped during the blast.

“You always were a cowboy,” Gareth jeered.

“You want to settle who’s the best?” Magnus said coolly. “Well, this is your chance, little brother.”

“Don’t call me that,” Gareth grated.

“Stop me,” Magnus taunted.

They assumed the ready stance, katanas gleaming in the two-handed vertical position. Then Gareth took the offensive, swinging his sword in a flashing arc as he bore down on Magnus.

The death duel unfolded before Sara’s horrified gaze. To her untrained eye, both men seemed to her evenly matched, so alike were they in body, form and movement, and neither man escaped the glancing nicks and cuts of his opponent’s wickedly sharp blade.

Each powerful swing, parry, thrust, feint, blow, dodge was accompanied by the resonant, rhythmic ring of metal on metal and their explosive grunts of “Kiai!” At any other time, Sara might have enjoyed the stunning display of skill, strength and speed that each man exhibited, but she found she was getting fainter with each slice of the blade that drew blood.

They paused momentarily, circling each other, in an unspoken agreement to catch their breath.

“You’ve been practicing,” Magnus said.

“Aye, I have. But so have you, apparently.”

“I made a Japonais grand master spar with me for four months while he was in jail.”

“Yes, you always did have a streak of OCD in you.”

“You want to talk about psychological disorders? Who’s the psychotic sociopath here?”

They continued to circle each other like lions over a kill, one-handedly swinging their katanas in gentle little arcs.

“Face it, you were always jealous of me because I was Dad’s favorite,” Gareth mocked. “And I still am. No matter how much you accomplished, he was never satisfied with you.”

“Unlike you, I’m over that now,” Magnus said coolly.

“Are you?” Gareth smiled maliciousy. “Then you must not give a shit that Dad gave the order to have you killed.”

“You’re lying,” Magnus said with quiet savagery.

“I don’t think you know our father as much as you think you do.”

Magnus took the offensive this time, swinging his sword at Gareth with such force that Gareth’s defensive parry nearly imbalanced him. The latter recovered quickly, and continued to repulse Magnus’s attacks with increasing difficulty.

It was then Gareth discovered that Magnus had merely been holding back up to that moment. They traversed the whole length of the drawing room as Magnus pushed him further and further back.

Forced to back into the dining room, Gareth’s foot caught on a chunk of wall, and lost his balance. Magnus swung his sword in a wide, powerful arc, knocking Gareth’s sword clean out of his hands and sending it flying across the room.

At that point, the firefight began, and Sara saw no more as her father and Henry pulled her down behind the barrier.

[Amie]

CHAPTER 19

Forty clerics had taken position all around the chateau, outnumbering the clerics inside by more than two to one. Every cleric knew that clerical superiority in numbers and firepower was only slightly offset by how well fortified the building being defended was. In this case, the chateau was a sprawling, two-story edifice with more than thirty windows on the ground floor, defended by only seventeen clerics.

It was a matter of time before the chateau’s defenses would crumble.

Laser blasts burned holes along the walls, and the acrid smell of smoldering wood and metal choked those behind the makeshift barrier. Frantically, Sara scrambled close to the ground and around the edge of the barrier, the one closest to the dining room.

Where’s Magnus?

“Sara!” Michel shouted. “Get back here!”

Henry grabbed Sara’s arm with surprising strength and dragged her back. “Listen to me! Magnus can take care of himself perfectly well without you!”

Sara admitted the wisdom of his words and crawled back to huddle next to her father behind the barrier. She hoped fervently that Magnus had managed to take cover.

~~~~~~

Far from taking cover, Magnus had discarded his katana and faced Gareth in the shambles that had once been the dining room. Crouched by the jagged hole in the wall, Pretorius and a junior cleric could barely spare the two of them a backward glance, so busy were they fending off clerics who were attempting to storm through the dining room wall.

Gareth jeered, “What’s the matter… don’t have the guts to kill me? Afraid what Mom would think? You were always a momma’s boy.”

“It would give me more satisfaction if I kill you with my own hands,” Magnus said coolly.

He made a smooth, controlled lunge with an open-palmed stab at Gareth’s neck, the tips of his fingers barely missing his throat as Gareth fended off the swift attack at the last moment with a left arm parry, his right hand thrusting with deadly force palm first, fingers curled, towards Magnus’s nose. Magnus fended this off easily with his left arm in a turning movement, simultaneously kicking out in a straight leg jab into Gareth’s chest.

Gareth stumbled back, momentarily winded, then recovered quickly and launched his own line of attack using a mixture of moves from taekwondo, jujitsu, hapkido, karate, aikido, kali, and wu shu, all of which Magnus fended off just as effortlessly. For several minutes they punched, kicked, stabbed, grappled, employed joint locks, strangleholds, throws and takedowns, flips, somersaults, and handsprings, deflecting and countering each other’s moves with blinding speed.

To add to the brawl, they were forced to evade the laser blasts that strayed through the wall opening.

~~~~~~

“We can’t hold out much longer, Lee,” Miller spoke hoarsely into his mouthpiece from his position by the window in the music room.

“We’re cornered too,” Lee answered. “Kominsky is gone. I’m going to try going airborne in the cruiser with the JPX-5… Torvo is bringing it aboard now. Masters, get in here!”

Through his earpiece, Miller heard the sound of laser blasts pinging off the cruiser’s shield as he took some well-aimed shots out the broken window. Then there was a deafening crash over Miller’s earpiece, followed by Lee’s fluent cursing. Followed by silence.

“Lee?” Miller said urgently. “What happened?”

“I don’t believe it!” Lee said. There was loud yelling, followed by the sound of booted feet pounding on the cruiser.

“Lee!” Miller shouted.





Ten hours earlier


The air in the Tetragrammaton Council chamber was charged with a tension so thick that one could cut it with a knife. The four council members who sat around the table waited with expressions ranging from controlled rage to wintry bleakness to match the austere view of the Stone Sentinal through the windows.

Then, finally, Dorian Jasper came in, as elegant and urbane as ever. He was carrying a sheaf of papers which he placed on the table before sitting down.

“Forgive me, gentlemen, there were certain matters in finance that I had to attend to,” he said briskly. He leaned back and looked calmly around at the other four members, his gaze lingering slightly on Stuart’s bleak face. “Now, what is this emergency meeting all about?”

Sean MacPherson said quietly, “We would like to take a vote to oust a member of the council.”

Jasper’s eyebrows rose. “Indeed.” He looked around again. “And which member are we ousting today?”

“You, I’m afraid.”

Jasper’s expression changed subtly, became harder. “Now, look here. You can’t just do that. I’m the most powerful member of the Council, you know that. Without me, the Tetragrammaton would crumble to dust. I demand to know what grounds you are taking this action.”

“We’ve just learned that you’re behind the interference in Sigma Team’s execution of a Tetragrammaton Council directive.”

Jasper’s narrowed gaze swung to Stuart. “And your sources for this information?”

“Our sources are reliable and the information has been confirmed,” Ashige Takase said smoothly. “That is all that you need to know.”

“I see.”

“Most importantly, you are culpable for the deaths of four clerics in Cincinnatus,” MacPherson went on. “As well as the attempted murders of Clerics Geraint Stuart and Richard Miller.”

“Moreover, if any clerics die in Auxerre today,” Takase added, “you will be culpable for those deaths also.”

“This is madness!” Jasper pushed his chair back. “Stuart, are you going to let them do this?”

Peter Stuart said quietly, “Oh yes. You see, I’m the source.”

Jasper stared at him, his face undergoing a severe change. Fury blazed out of his eyes as he stared at Stuart. “What lies have you been telling them?” He stared hard at each of the other members in turn. “And you believe this bastard?”

“Stuart presented us with incontrovertible evidence,” Edgar Duchamps said. “Recordings of all your communications with Gareth Stuart, Ivan Argelander and Valeria Mestrovic, as well as other documents and receipts that you signed equipping and financing the renegade cleric group who have called themselves Guerre a Outrance.”

Jasper’s face was transformed into an ugly mask of rage. “If you intend to burn me for all this, then Stuart will burn along with me. He is just as culpable as I am for the offenses you so eagerly wish to pin on me.”

“Stuart confesses to a lesser role and agrees to step down from the Council,” Takase said coldly. “Moreover, he agrees to do what is necessary to purge the Tetragrammaton.”

“He may agree to step down, but I do not,” Jasper said through clenched teeth. “The only way you can remove me from the Council is by carrying my dead body out.”

“That can be arranged.” Stuart lifted the gun he had been holding in his lap, aimed it at Jasper’s head, and fired.

The other three Council members didn’t move a muscle as Jasper’s body slumped sideways in the chair.

Stuart stood up and said urgently, “It’s time to go, gentlemen.”

~~~~~~~~

Magnus and Gareth faced each other in the music room where they had crashed through the door from the adjoining room, both breathing heavily.

Their appearance had deteriorated rapidly over the past fifteen minutes … in addition to cut lips and various gashes on their faces and the rest of their bodies, their clothes were torn and bloody, as well as saturated with dust from where they had rolled and grappled several times in the debris on the floor of the dining room in a series of takedowns, strangleholds and joint locks.

“Stuart, stop playing around and kill the bastard already!” Miller shouted over his shoulder from his position by the broken window.

“Yes, stop playing around, Gerry,” Gareth said, panting. “Show me how you really feel.”

“Gladly,” Magnus said, and launched a series of rapid kicks and jabs that further winded Gareth.

Gareth knew when he was bested. He managed to slip from Magnus’s latest stranglehold/neck lock with a well-aimed heel on Magnus’s shin, ran towards an unguarded window and dived through the glass in a shower of fragments. He rolled several times in the grass and sat up, raising his arms to forestall getting shot by the clerics who were taking cover behind a low garden wall.

Recognizing Gareth immediately, the clerics behind the wall gestured for him to take cover, and he got up and sprinted across the grass.

Cursing, Magnus had run to the window next to Miller, and grabbed one of Miller’s guns. But it was already too late. Gareth had dived behind the wall, out of sight and out of reach.

“Nice job, Stuart,” Miller muttered.

Driven by rage, Magnus cleared the remaining glass from the bottom of the window with Miller’s gun, placed both hands on the sill, gun and all, and lifted himself up.

Miller shoved him roughly against the wall next to the window, wedging his forearm against Magnus’s throat.

“Are you crazy? You’ll get killed out there!”

“Incoming—from the north!” Zeng said.

Miller released Magnus, and together they looked out the window to where Zeng was pointing.

It was an unbelievable sight.

In the late afternoon light, they saw the ten cruisers that carried more than a hundred clerics led by Peter Stuart, Ashige Takase, Sean MacPherson and Edgar Duchamps swoop down from the north and spread out around the chateau to cover the clerics on the ground. Most of them were upperclassmen from the monastery, but many were clerics who had responded to the alert that Stuart had broadcast the night before.

Grenades were dropped, a couple of JPX-5s were fired, and four of the cruisers landed to discharge clerics who immediately organized into battle formations on the ground.

Armed with the guns which he had retrieved from the front hall where Gareth’s clerics had shaken him down, Magnus had joined the other clerics for the final battle as they stormed through the enemy’s defenses and demolished it with lightning rapidity.

With zero loss of life to the rescue team, there were soon twenty-five dead clerics on the lawns of the DeCorvier chateau, while the rest retreated back to their cruisers and escaped to the north.

During the heat of battle, Magnus had tried to keep track of Gareth, and when he saw him climbing aboard a cruiser at the far end of the gardens, Magnus sprinted flat out after it as it rose from the ground and veered towards the north. He might have missed it altogether if not for the low stone wall that the cruiser passed over… with a vaulting leap from the wall, he caught the rear fender and hung suspended as the cruiser swiftly gained altitude at a speed of 200km per hour.

~~~~~~~

Covered with soot and dust, the former hostages stood on the lawn, unable to believe that it was all over. They looked at the devastation and carnage around them in shocked bewilderment.

Injured clerics were attended by three medics that the Council members had brought with them, while a detail of clerics were ordered to sort through the dead.

Sara walked up to Preston and touched his arm.

“Mr. Preston, do you know where Magnus is?”

Preston turned to look down at her. “You mean Geraint, don’t you?”

Sara tried to smile. “I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to thinking of him as anything other than Magnus.”

Preston gazed around him, his eyes narrowing. “I saw him come out with us during the final skirmish. He has to be around here somewhere.”

Sara’s heart started pounding again as apprehension filled her. “Where’s Gareth?” she said softly.

At that moment, Peter Stuart was asking the same question of Miller. Further investigation revealed that Geraint was nowhere to be found, and that Gareth was not among the dead, so he must have escaped with the others.

Moreover, one of the Tetragrammaton cruisers was missing.

[Libby]

Ah...it's all coming together now. I like the 'Gladiator' touch for Preston...Maximus...

Something tells me that no-one should mess with Magnus/Geraint/whoever...even Preston.

One thing though, I don't know if it's just me, my PC or what, but have you changed the font size? I have to say reading it is almost doing my head in...can you drop it down a bit?

[Amie]

libby said:

One thing though, I don't know if it's just me, my PC or what, but have you changed the font size? I have to say reading it is almost doing my head in...can you drop it down a bit?

Sowwy about the font, Libby! I thought it might make so much text easier to read if I bumped up the font to size 5. But lets face it, most people's eyeballs are already conformed to the size 3 or size 4 at a set distance from the computer. ;D (Also, different monitor resolutions might make size 5 look huge... )

Your wish is my command, so I bumped it down back to size 4. ;D

[Libby]

Cheers Amie! Thanks for that...

[Amie]

I just created a site on freewebs to post my fan fiction with background music. Most of the time that I was writing, I listened to soundtracks to get the creative juices going ... of course, Klaus Badelt's EQ sountrack was one of them. There's also E. S. Posthumus (thanks to Mr. A's awesome video), Enigma, Funker Vogt and Bonnie Tyler's I'm Holding out for a Hero.

The site isn't finished yet, I'll be adding many more background music, including from Batman Begins (if I can find the CD) and others.

I will still post the remaining chapters here.

Click here for "The Clerics" page on Amie's Corner.

[aurianne]

Amie, I simply love your work! I'm enjoying it enormously. Please more! ;D

Hugs, XXX