www.thevalentinechronicles.com presents:
The Keys to the Kingdom
by
Paul L. Mathews
Part Four
Price You Pay
The Beggar Barons of Charon
had built the Torch as a beacon for the oppressed and disposed, as a signal
they were not alone, and that any who made it across
the cruel and disparate Pagentorns to the city of
Riddled bodies slumped to the floor, arms and feet
bound by wire. As they twitched, their blood fled between the cobbles of one of
the Torch’s courtyards. Some still moaned, and a handful screamed in agony, but
not for long. The Theocracy sergeant silenced each of them with a bullet in the
head.
#
Ivan roared defiance as The Now’s blade slashed
across his chest. He would not die here! He was a Valentine, and the Valentines
chose when they died.
The Now struck Ivan in the jaw with his free hand,
and Ivan reeled. He tried to stay on his feet, tried to strike back, but the
cell deck was too slick, and his legs too weak. The blood on the floor splashed
about him as he collapsed
With a gasp he rolled onto his side. He blinked again
and again in a vain attempt to clear his senses. Eyes unfocused and arms weak, he
managed to push himself off the deck and rose onto all fours, yet he quivered
like a sacrificial ox. He had to get up and fight. He was Ivan Valentine! Who
was The Now to best him like this? No-one could do this to—
A kick from The Now sent Ivan back to the deck before
the Theocracy count loomed over him.
“It is over for you, Ivan. Your violent and bloody days are done.”
Ivan lurched into a sitting position and reached for
The Now’s throat, but a further swipe from the Count’s blade sent fire through
Ivan’s forearm, and he clutched at the wound.
“And when I have finished with you I will kill your
brother, the Lothario.” Another kick thundered into
Ivan’s solar plexus, and the air vanished from his lungs. “That is the price he
pays for defiling my wife, and that you pay for defying me.”
#
“Sergeant Maxim. Where is he?”
The two Theocracy guards—weary levies, their skin
encrusted with dirt and blood—glanced at one another. The detritus on their
foreheads cracked as they frowned. They glanced over their shoulders and at the
captive Omega Hammers in another of the Torch’s courtyards. Sat on their hands
in the rain, the captives’ heads were bowed. More Theocracy guards moved
amongst them.
The tallest guard turned to Skullion.
“Um…why?”
Keep it together, Skullion
told himself. They can’t see through the camograph
projection. Just say your lines nice an’ cool an’ it’ll be fine. He gestured
over his shoulder at Doll Two who stood in silence behind him. “This serf is
programmed for ecclesiastical duties. I have brought it here to administer the
Last Rites to these humans ahead of their execution.”
The smallest guard possessed a face like screwed up
sandpaper. “Why ain’t I seen ya
before?”
“Tell him you’re a noble.” Judd’s voice wavered over
the comm in Skullion’s ear. It did little to settle
his nerves. “Tell him you don’t have to answer to them.”
The other guard’s distorted lips curled and exposed
rotten wooden teeth. “Which unit are you from?”
“The Third Benevolence of His Dutiful Majesty the
Imperial Theocrat’s Clerical Administrators,” Doll Two said. The calm of its
voice contrasted with the worry in Judd’s and settled Skullion’s
nerves. It gestured at Skullion. “His Grace landed
with the latest wave of staff assigned to the lengthy process of executing
prisoners.”
“S’right,” Skullion said with a weak smile, even though he knew the
projection would hide it. He offered his hand. “Pleased to meetcha.”
The two guards made a dismissive exhalation of air
through their teeth and rolled their eyes. One looked down its dirty nose at Skullion. “Administrator? That’s
why we didn’t know ya.”
The other sneered. “Yeah, seein’
as as we’ve been fighting on the front line an’ all.”
“Well, er…” Keep it
together! Skullion told himself. Don’t let ‘em phase you! “I, er, think you’ve done a swell job. All them
women an’ kids?” He slapped the shortest guard on the shoulder. “Grade fuckin’ A.”
“For God’s sake, Skullion,”
Judd hissed in his ear, “shut up!”
Skullion fell silent. Judd
was right. Dolly had played his hand for him, now he just had to shut the hell
up and bluff it out.
“He’s over there.” The tallest guard made a lazy
gesture. Skullion looked to see Maxim, the Russian’s
face bloodied and one eye hidden by a brutal bruise of red and blue. He spat on
the boot of a passing guard and received a further blow to his face for his
trouble. Skullion’s eyes narrowed and he clenched his
fists. He liked Maxim, maybe even a little more then he’d admit to Ivan. To see
him abused like this…
“Get a bloody move on, Skullion.
We don’t have all day!”
“Don’t get ya panties in a
bunch, Judd,” Skullion muttered. “I know what I’m doin’.”
With Doll Two in his wake, he walked across to Maxim.
The levies moved out of his way to allow him easy passage through the neat
ranks of kneeling mercenary prisoners. As he walked, Skullion
assessed the captive soldiers. There were more then just Omega Hammers here.
Feline Felidae, their fur matted with dried blood,
knelt beside Blax’s dog-headed Moreaus. The knotted
muscle of Mottersmead’s bull-necked Aurochs were
packed in amongst the svelte Cartimundi whose heads
were bowed and their semi-naked bodies hidden beneath mud and gore. Fish-faced Cral of Spyker Minor gawped at
him whilst Corvid Talon-priests closed their eyes as
their beaks moved in silent prayer, and the tails of chaste
God help you Judd, Skullion
thought, when Ivan gets hold of you…
He looked to the far side of the courtyard and his
gaze locked onto that of another guard. Whilst the other levies and soldiers
couldn’t be bothered to spare Skullion and android
serf a second glance, this one peered at them with suspicion. Whilst not a noble, the guard was an officer none-the-less.
As he looked at Skullion, he lifted the comm strapped
to his wrist and whispered into it.
“Looks like someone isn’t buying it, Judd,” Skullion whispered. “I think he’s trying to get hold of
command and verify if we’re meant to be here.”
“He won’t get through,” Judd said. “We’re jamming the
signal.”
Skullion rolled his eyes.
“Of yeah, and that won’t look suspicious.”
“If I may be so bold,” Doll Two said. “Would now be
an opportune time?”
“Good a time as any, baby doll,” Skullion
said as he too knelt and covered his head with hands. “Let’s do this thing.”
No sooner had Skullion gone
down on his knee than an aperture appeared in Doll Two’s back. A moment later a
small sphere appeared from the aperture and hovered in the air as the 'droid
knelt beside Skullion. With a beep, the sphere
unleashed an invisible maser-wave across the courtyard. It swept over the heads
of Skullion, Doll Two, and the kneeling prisoners to
slice the Theocracy guards in two. The few diminutive captors who survived—Herbies, Jeshan slaves, and a Komerex dwarf—had no time to gather their wits and draw
their weapons before the assembled mercenaries seized this unexpected
opportunity, rose, and rushed the guards with noisy, riotous ardour.
Skullion—still disguised as
the Theocracy administrator—also fell foul of the prisoners’ anger. No sooner
had the emancipated mass dealt with the remaining guards, than they fell upon
him, kicking and punching him to the ground. He tried to reach and deactivate
his camograph projector, but instead he had to curl
into a ball to protect his head and chest from the flurry of blows.
“Fuck off!” he shouted. “Fuck! Off! It’s me! Thom Skulion!”
“That’s enough! Out of the way! Leave him!”
Sure enough, the barrage stopped, and a grateful Skullion peeked from behind his arms. Maxim stood over him.
With a broad smile, he reached down and offered his hand.
“Thom, my only American friend.”
He laughed and helped Skullion to his feet. All about
them the Hammers and other soldiers of fortune were helping themselves to the
equipment dropped by the dead Theocracy. Isolated tussles broke out over the
best weapons. “So, tell me, what is the plan?”
“Fuck knows. Judd’s in charge.”
“Judd?” Maxim sneered as he
made a throttling motion with his hands. “That turncoat!
It’s his fault we’re here in the first place.”
“Well, you can tell him yourself,” Skullion said, “because he wants to speak to you.”
#
“Right, chaps,” Judd said as he addressed the
holographic image of Skullion and Maxim relayed to
the command centre by Doll Two, “I need you two to get that rabble organised
and break Gregor out from a Theocracy medical barge parked in courtyard twelve.
He’s being held there pending process—”
“Free Gregor?” Skullion raised an eyebrow. “Fuck that, Judd. Why would I wanna free that bigot? Let Maxim worry about Gregor—I’m goin’ after Ivan.”
Judd signed. Such insubordination may well of have
been typical of Skullion, but that didn’t make it any
less tiresome. “Thom, old boy, I need you to put your animosity toward Gregor
to one side and do as you’re told. You’re near Gregor, and I’m near Ivan.
That’s the end of it.”
“The hell it—”
“Judd is right,” Maxim said. He laid a hand on Skullion’s arm in an effort to calm the American. “He may
be a devious liar and a back-stabbing traitor, but he is right.”
Judd smarted. Yes, he deserved that, but it still
hurt. Didn’t they understand he’d been trying to save them?
“Say that again,” said Vassilissa, eyes ablaze and
teeth barred as she moved to stand shoulder to shoulder with Judd, “and I’ll
come down there and beat some manners into you.”
An uncomfortable silence enveloped the control room
as Judd took Vassilissa’s hand and squeezed it. To be
next to her, to feel the implicit support in her voice and he grip, meant more
to him than he could say. He tried to draw on the strength she gave him and say
something to Skullion and Maxim, tried to think of
some way to to apologise. But he couldn’t. Not with
words, anyway. Only by delivering them from this nightmare could he hope to
assuage his guilt.
“Then it’s decided,” Judd finally managed to say.
“Once you’ve got Gregor, get down to the cellars and
meet up with Kithaen.” Vassilissa said. “She’ll get
you through the portal to safety. We’ll meet her once we’ve rescued Ivan.
Understood?”
“Understood.”
“Good luck, and God’s
speed.” The holograph dropped out, and Judd breathed a sigh of relief. He’d
expected that to be hard, and he'd been right. Forget that now, he told
himself, there’s no time to waste. He tapped at his comm. “Dolly?”
“Yes, Major Judd?”
“Leave Skullion’s group and
meet me at the Troika. We’ll need you to get aboard.”
“Very good, Major Judd. Doll
Two out.”
Judd turned to Vassilissa. He took hold of both her
hands. The semi-darkness hid the tiny scars and nicks on her face, nose and
lips that made that face all her own. Even so, she looked both beautiful and
wilful with her mouth set and lines gathered at the corners of her narrowed
eyes. They shone in the green light from the monitors and tactical displays.
“Are you ready?” she asked.
“I…” He had to stop and clear his throat, which
contracted as he tried to speak. He looked at her, scrutinised her, searched
for a sign as to how she felt. Were they not about to tackle the gathered might
of The Now’s forces? Were they not trying to coordinate a complex and audacious
operation? And, even if they succeeded in getting past The Now, his honour
guard, levies, and maybe even the Ildred, would they
not have to face Ivan?
Ivan. The subject they were both avoiding. And they
were avoiding it because they knew where this was heading… “You know he’ll kill
me, don’t you?” he said, voice low and husky.
“Judd, you idiot,” she said as she touched his cheek
with a delicacy and feeling that belied the tone of her voice and steel in her
eyes, “you should have thought of that before you stabbed him in the back.”
“But I—”
“I know, I know,” she whispered. She put a finger
against his lips to silence him. “And if—if—we can convince Ivan, we
might get you out of this in one piece.”
“Oh God,” he said as he reached into his shirt to
take hold of his clone-brother’s crucifix again, “please, help me…”
She frowned. “God? Judd…?”
she stepped way from him and shook her head. “How can you and Ivan still
believe in God? After all we’ve seen? All we’ve done?”
“Never mind,” he said. This wasn’t the time for a
theological debate. “Look, I got these for you.” He reached for the small of his
back and drew two pistols from his waistband: Ivan’s automatic, and his
revolver. He handed them to Vassilissa. “Black Gladys gave them to me after she
captured Ivan. She thought I might want to keep them.”
Vassilissa took them, and her eyes were lost to
shadow as she looked down at the two weapons.
“I can’t bring myself to keep them, so I wondered if
you…”
She nodded, but she didn’t reply. Judd knew her well
enough to read the signs. This lack of response, this stoic silence told him
she hurt more than she wanted to show. To hold these two guns—symbols of Ivan’s
might and legendary status—and to know that they may be all that remained of
the man should they fail in their mission… Tears crept into Judd’s eyes.
Without a sound, she thrust the guns into her belt,
turned on her heel and strode from the room. Judd followed.
#
Rain fell upon the Troika and bounced off its
armoured hull. The Now’s honour guard stood about the corvette, and other
Theocracy soldiers prowled the courtyard. Even here, on the outskirts of the
Torch, the sound of escalating battles betrayed both Maxim’s inexorable push
for the medical barge, and the Oprinichki’s indefatigable resistance of the Theocracy in
the cellars below. The walls vibrated in sympathy with the rumble of guns, and
small lumps of stone and concrete pattered onto the courtyard’s wet cobbles.
Sheltered under a raincape,
a forlorn Theocracy guard watched the Troika from one of the Torch’s
balconies. A young Venleigion, barely an adult, she
shivered a little, and reached into her cape to produce a lighter and a packet
of jaffy sticks.
“You there!”
The guard turned to see Judd stood in a doorway
behind her. “Major Judd?” she said, slack jawed and with a jaffy
hanging form her bottom lip. “I heard—”
“Never mind what you’ve heard. General Vassilissa has
fainted. Come help me.”
The guard complied without hesitation. She followed
Judd through the arched doorway and into a spiral of stone stairs. Vassilissa
lay there, motionless, with her eyes closed. The guard knelt beside her and put
her hand to the Russian’s neck in search of a pulse. A moment later, and Judd had produced his knife and cut the startled
guard’s throat. She collapsed sideways to tumble down the stairs in a cartwheel
of spurting blood.
NowVassilissa stood, dusted
her backside off, and wiped the girl’s blood from her face. Judd vanished into
a camograph projection of the guard, and stepped back
out onto the wet balcony.
#
The Now pressed home his advantage. Slash after
slash, kick after kick, punch after punch overwhelmed
even Ivan, who could do little more then curl up and bleed. Hundreds of slashes
crossed his arms, legs, and torso, and his skin had become lost under a slick,
glistening coat of his own blood.
Like an upturned beetle he rolled from side to side, but
always the knife found its mark. Too light headed to feel the pain, too drained
of blood to fight back, Ivan could do little more than remain conscious.
Abstract thoughts flashed through his mind. How had
it come to this? What of Skullion and Gregor, Vassilissa
and Stalin? How could Judd do this to them all? How much had his loyalty cost?
Just how long would it take to die?
#
“Twenty of The Now’s honour guard,
plus a unit of Dorvak commandoes.” Judd said
as he counted the soldiers below. Not good odds, he concluded. “Spiffing.”
“They must know something’s wrong by now,” Vassilissa
said. Still inside the doorway, she remained hidden from the guards in the
courtyard whilst the disguised Judd assessed the opposition. “We won’t be able
to bluff our way by.”
Judd’s brow furrowed and he squeezed his eyes shut.
They had to get on board the Troika, they just had to. It was the only
way to make all this right. And they had to get onboard soon, before The Now
killed Ivan.
To be continued...
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© 2009 Mathew David
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