Post again.

Again sorry for lateness. I got so caught up in finishing this novel (Eternity's Reach), that I spaced off posting again.

Recap: Going back to the main characters, of which we haven't read about for some time, they had just gotten Adara back into their group after leaving the German field camp.

This chapter is probably going to be hit pretty heavily when I come through it on the revision-warpath, but any input is still greatly accepted.

Chapter 7

Zhanna didn’t know why the supply lines had shut down the night before. Whatever the reason was, they had resumed running early in their trek. More trucks rattled off towards the front lines, carrying everything from troops, to guns and ammo, to food, to who knows what else. Several walking artillery pieces tramped past, and their footfalls echoed even through the sounds of their big hyper-diesel engine’s rumblings. Smoke shot into the sky, leaving a thick haze over the area that didn’t dissipate and instead lingered like some unnatural fog.

Still wary about taking Adara along with them her temper had cooled considerably since the day before, and she was even slightly beginning to warm up to her. There were still parts of her story that didn’t make sense to her, and the entire idea of selective memory loss that she seemed to be suffering from seemed too coincidental to be an accident of some kind. However she found herself in the minority and so she remained quiet, keeping her thoughts and opinions to herself.

Her face now covered with a full mask to keep the sun from burning her skin, she watched the supply lines through a shaded pair of goggles, giving her the appearance of some evil assassin or a bug-eyed monstrosity. She gestured Seamus up to her. He was dressed much in the same manner, his face covered and his eyes hidden behind shaded goggles.

She gestured towards the line, “Supply lines picked up. We’re going to need to pass through them at some point if we intent on finding that other portal.”
Seamus examined the area. The supply line itself was set in the middle of a wide open valley at the base of the mountains. Vegetation of any signifigant kind beyond grasses was sparse, and there was very few areas for them to find shelter and to hide from prying eyes. The city itself, Barossastad was set up against the mountains meaning that if they intended to continue past it, they would need to find a way around it.

“I don’t care for the situation. Any attempt of crossing it could get us caught. And it is too early in the day for us to wait until a night time crossing. The whole area is far too open,” he said. As if to further emphasize his words, an enemy airship drifted overhead. It wasn’t as large as the gunships they had seen earlier, but it was still a fairly sizable craft. It wasn’t drifting towards the front lines. Instead this one seemed to be engaging in a turn. A patrol craft watching for enemy infiltrators.

“We may need to head further up the road and see if we can find a better place to cross. The road has to come near the mountains somewhere,” Zhanna commented.
“We’ll have to see. And unless some other opportunity presents itself, we may not have a choice,” Seamus said.

“How did Adara get across? She had to have come from the same direction we’re going,” Zhanna asked.

“I think that crossing was nothing more but shear luck. I doubt she went through the city, and she had to have crossed it at some point. I think she simply crossed it at a time when there was very little traffic going across,” Seamus admitted.

Zhanna’s shoulders slumped. Damn, and here I was hoping she could provide us with some sort of useful information. She glanced up into the sky as the airship passed by. It was still earlier in the morning, and the sun was only ten or twenty degrees above the horizon. They were still several miles out from the city, and had some distance to continue bushwhacking before they arrived.

“Let’s go see what the others have to say about it,” Seamus said, and he moved back towards where the rest of the group was hiding out.

Zhanna lingered for a moment longer watching the airship glide off in the distance and then followed him back. She carefully picked her way over fallen branches and dangerous deadwood, all the while creeping along like some predatory cat, making very little sound as she moved. Her father had trained her in the arts of hunting and woodsmanship and it pleased her to no end that her current path of employment took advantage of these skills.

Seamus was already explaining to the others the current issue of the crossing. Amellia and Broussard nodded while he informed them, and Adara almost seemed to be hanging off of every word that Seamus said. Zhanna looked again and then wasn’t quite so sure about that one. There was something odd about Adara. Besides the obvious. She seemed very supernatural almost. Even if her story wasn’t true, there was still something strange about her, but Zhanna couldn’t place what it was. It’s almost as if she is hiding something, but I’m not sure even she’s aware of what it is.

Grigori continued to look on, standing almost motionless. For as long as Zhanna knew him, which had been almost four years, he had been that way. The most he had ever spoken about his past was that he had lived in Saint Petersburg, and had been imprisoned for some time for a crime that either he wasn’t guilty of, or if he was guilty, he had been justified in doing it. She had made a point of asking him several times, and each time the story changed. He killed a man, he robbed a bank, tried to kill the Tsar, and all of them were plausible possibilities.

He rarely spoke to the others. Some might thought he couldn’t speak, but she had shared many long conversations with him. He just didn’t care to speak. Perhaps he thinks his judgment is no longer trustworthy, she thought. Landing yourself in prison might do that to a person. Instead, as he had said before, he trusted her to make the right decisions, and simply followed along most of the time. If he disagreed with her, he was not ashamed to say as much.

Zhanna turned back toward the discussion at hand. Seamus was explaining the extent of the line, mostly to Broussard. Broussard nodded and listened, occasionally asking questions, but the discussion was fairly brief.

“I think that we need a better picture of what we’re looking at. Let’s move down the line and see what we can find closer to the city,” Broussard said.

They moved out, and started heading towards the city again. Zhanna took point, not too far ahead of the group. The travel was slow going, consisting of lots of bushwhacking, but occasionally finding a game trail created by one of the planet’s predators. Zhanna occasionally stopped to monitor the tracks on the ground, to check and see if this area was simply frequented by native fauna, or if he was used by any people. Her observations came back in the negative. There were plenty of signs of life along the trail, but none of the telling signs of a person’s passage.

She listened back, and Seamus was in a discussion with Adara about the conflict that they were embroiled in. Adara had asked a question about the various machines of war, and it suddenly occurred to Zhanna that if Adara was from another place, another world, then this entire conflict would seem like such a strange and alien place to her.

“The walking artillery pieces, the big ones you saw out there, were created first by the Yanks back during their Revolution several centuries back. Chap named Franklin was the person who first made them. Back then they were really nothing more but big mobile platforms that soldiers stood on and shot at people, hoping to hit things,” Seamus was saying

Adara nodded, confusion evident on her face as Seamus casually dropped words and names of people that she was completely unfamiliar with. She quickly changed the subject while Seamus was in the middle of discussing Watt’s contributions to the engines of walking artillery.

“Back on Earth, how many of these emperors and kings are there?” she asked.
“Well, it really depends on what you’d qualify as a king or an emperor. Some of them hold more power than others, and some countries don’t have them at all. Queen Victoria, bless her, is still on the throne of the British Empire after what… It’s been how long, Amellia?” Seamus asked.

“Somewhere near on a century,” she said.

“And a century was how long?” Adara interjected.

Oh, the joys of telling time on different planets, Zhanna thought. It was true. Not all colony planets orbited their suns as the same rate as Earth, nor did they even rotate as fast, as it was here on Charleswelt. They generally used the standard year schedule as it was back on Earth, but a local time system, generally divided into a metric set of time for any given world.

“Let me explain it this way. One century is one hundred years. I’m a little over a quarter that. Queen Victoria’s been on the throne for something like three times my age. It’s a fairly long time. Then you’ve got the Kaiser. He’s in charge of the German Empire, and there is also the Tsar of Russia. By the way, Tsar and Kaiser mean the same word, just in different languages,” Seamus explained.

Zhanna still didn’t understand how Tsar and Kaiser weren’t translated automatically to their respective meanings of “Caesar” through the tongues aura that Adara had kept up. A lot of magic like that made her head hurt when she started thinking about it too much. Her trade was relatively simple and easy, and she preferred it that way.
“And the Americans, you Yanks don’t even have a King,” Seamus said, smiling at Broussard.

“Damn straight, we don’t. Don’t need us the yoke of royal oppression. A representative republic. That’s what we are,” Broussard retorted.

“What’s that?” Adara asked, her eyes alight with curiosity.

“In laymans terms in means that the people in the country pick representatives whose opinions and morals align with theirs to represent and govern them. The idea is that the people govern themselves,” Seamus explained.

“So yours must be a very educated people, for if they govern themselves, they would have to remain very well informed on their political issues,” Adara asked.

“Erm, not quite,” Broussard said,” It’s true that there may be some unqualified for the prospect of voting, but that is the beauty of the system. Everyone is still allowed to express their own opinion regardless of their social class.”

“Except women. Their votes are worthless. And you’re not very keen on the negros voting either,” Amellia said, with a slight smile.

‘Well that’s beside the point!” Broussard said, acting very indignant. “And for another thing…” He was cut off by Seamus before he could continue.

“I think that you’ve dug that hole quite far enough,” he said.

“I’m not sure I understand the expression, but I can’t help but wonder why you think that a representative government that doesn’t represent both men and women can be fairer than any other,” Adara observed.

“I don’t think you want to hear the rest of what he has to say,” Seamus said.
Broussard glared at him, but remained silent even though he was visibly upset. Normally Broussard would have shouted Seamus down for daring to argue with him, but for some reason or another, he temper was lessened and he remained silent, instead crossing through the rough terrain, snapping branches and twigs out of his way.
“Who exactly is the man that you are seeking?” Adara asked.

She certainly is a fountain of curiosity, Zhanna thought. It almost felt like she was interrogating them, trying to find our every aspect of their lives. The majority of the conversation was working out more like some sort of political question and answer session than any sort of meaningful dialogue.

“The man that we are after is a man named Aleister Crowley. He is an astromancer who has gone rogue, and we’ve been ordered to find him at virtually any cost,” Broussard said.

“What did he do? Just one man to elicit the need for so many to hunt him down,” Adara asked.

“You need to understand first. Astromancers in our world are the elite of the elite. They can open portals to other worlds, teleport themselves and surrounding objects at will, rain fiery death from the heavens, and cause destruction on a very massive scale. They are generally kept on a tight leash, but Crowley was always a fringe worker. The Crown found out that Crowley had been creating numerous mystical groups that experimented in incredibly dangerous and sometimes forbidden magics, using his power and prestige to scam and trick people out of resources for his own goals,” Amellia explained.

“That doesn’t sound too much like someone who needs five spellcasters to hunt down,” Adara said.

“Wait, it gets better. When I say dangerous magics, I mean dangerous stuff. He used rituals in some of his retreats in Scotland and Egypt as well as numerous other places to try to summon demons, devils, and other dark powers. He didn’t succeed, but he used blood sacrifices in some of these rituals. He was exiled from Great Britain, the Americas, France and Russia, and the Germans followed suit, eventually all of them trying to hunt him down, and he fled here, supposedly with a large faction of followers,” Amellia continued.

“The followers consist of both colleagues he had when he once belonged to a society called the Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn, as well as a large faction of followers in a society he himself created called the Silver Star. Many of these were also incredibly powerful astromancers from all over Europe. This was a large loss on the part of the numerous empires and governments and they weren’t too keen on letting him run off with so many valuable assets. We’re supposed to find him and bring him back,” Seamus said, taking over where Amellia had left off.

“And now he has opened a portal to another world. One would have to wonder what he is up to. What is he planning?” Zhanna mused out loud.

“Maybe he thinks he can find demons in the places I came from,” Adara said.

Everyone paused, letting the comment sink in. Zhanna hadn’t considered that possibility. There were certainly strange things that she had encountered over the years that she couldn’t explain. She didn’t want to be the first one to automatically assume a supernatural cause for it, and she certainly wasn’t one who actually thought that one could summon demons or otherworldy forces. Such things certainly were at the very worst fabrications, and at best impossible to do. But even now, she wasn’t so sure about that anymore.

“Are there… demons in the place you came from?” Seamus asked, nervousness creeping into his voice.

Adara shook her head. “All I remember was that feeling of peace and contentment, and then confusion and fear, and then coming here. Something happened in the world that I passed through. It was not a natural place; it was definitely nothing like this one. I wish I could tell you more, and I’m sure you think me awfully useless for not being able to explain it further.”

Seamus grasped her arm, possibly more intimately than he probably intended, Zhanna noticed. “No, not at all like that. You’ve been incredibly valuable. I wish I could help you remember more of what happened. I’m just as interested in finding these things out.”

“Thank you, that means much to me,” Adara said with a smile, looking at Seamus.
Zhanna rolled her eyes. “That’s great and all, but this still doesn’t address the current problem that we’re facing. Namely, do we attempt a crossing of the supply lines now, or what?”

“Why do we have to cross?” Adara asked.

“Because your portal is on the other side of the supply lines. Did you forget that too?” Zhanna snapped.

“No, that’s not what I mean,” Adara retorted. “I mean, why are you going to cross the supply line at all? You could just go through the city, and try to blend in there. If we got appropriate clothing for moving through there, then no one would be the wiser to us passing. Anyone attempting to pass through the supply lines would be immediately noticed, but someone passing through the city would be ignored like the next person.”

Once again everyone was stunned to silence by Adara’s observation. They could try to infiltrate through the city, even given their strange looks, as long as they kept up a decent pace, and didn’t do anything stupid, they could theoretically make their way through the urban areas, and pass on beyond that.

“It could work, in theory at least,” Broussard said. He scratched his chin absent mindedly as if he were deep in thought. “It could work,” he repeated again.

“However, let’s first check and make sure there aren’t any decent crossing points as well along the trail. There is no telling whether we might find the supply lines passing through a wooded area or something along those lines further up,” Zhanna observed, trying to offer a counter point to Adara’s suggestion.

Crossing the supply lines was easy enough, but the approach was more difficult than one might think. It was studded with gas lamps providing illumination out to several hundred yards. One could easily observe anyone approaching it without too much difficulty even on the darkest night imaginable. Eventually the lights would be put out as they would be serving no greater purpose as giving a target for the German artillery zeppelins. Vehicles passed by at regular intervals and it was too much to hope for a lull in activity like there had been previously in order to cross.

Zhanna had been tempted first by the thought of just waiting for a large gap in the vehicle line and then making a break for it, trying to cross the road before anyone saw them. However that idea had been shot right out of the sky. This was an infiltration mission and their commands had been crystal clear. Don’t get seen. If they were observed making their way towards the city, no doubt Crowley would get jittery and vanish as he had before. If virtually every major power on Earth wanted him, one did not disappoint them by blowing their cover for the mission.

If only one of the governments had been serious enough about this to give up an astromancer, then they could have simply teleported to the portal, nabbed Crowley and been back in time for lunch. But the powers that be evidently thought otherwise, and instead they had to hoff it across the country and make due with what they had.
Zhanna briefly wondered why it was that the others had decided to join up for this mission in the first place. International covert operations like this were not ones to be given afterthoughts, and the best were generally the ones picked to go. Zhanna had gone because it sounded like a nice change of venue. The majority of her time was spent training for what the Tsar thought was the inevitable invasion by the Germans. The invasion had never come, and so she had spent most of her time wishing something would happen. Grigori claimed that it was his civic duty to take part in the mission, but Zhanna suspected it was something more like an Imperial pardon. If he took part in the mission he would be forgiven for whatever crime it was that he had committed.
Broussard’s motives were obvious. He felt it was not just duty, but that he had no other choice but to accept the mission. Patriotism ran strong in that one, even if on the surface he didn’t show it as readily as some of his fellow countrymen might do. Amellia did so partially because she was ordered to, but also for much of the same reasons that Zhanna did. Interesting that the same motivation could come from such polar opposites.

As for Seamus’ motivations, they never seemed to be incredibly clear. He claimed that it was patriotism, but from what Zhanna had heard, the Irish weren’t exactly being the most patriotic subjects of the queen, especially lately. The Crown had crushed several rebellions that had taken place in Ireland, and a lot of Irish found themselves in immediate dislike of the Crown. Seamus had given no such indications that he was unsatisfied at all. Whatever his true motivations were, he had certainly made no mention of them.

Very Late Entry

Alright, recap, The various super powerful god guys are talking amongst themselves going against Rozzuul.

Sorry for the super lateness. I assure you it is not because I'm behind schedule. I should be finishing the novel in the next two weeks

The other two gods solemnly nodded and walked out of the throne room, discussing things amongst themselves. Father Mortius did not watch them leave. Instead he spent the time gazing out over the vastness of the plains that stretched out before him. He had found long ago that such features worked well to clear the mind and allow him to concentrate and to see everything that was going on in a more clear matter.
He has not the senior here, none of the seven technically were any more senior than the other. He certainly had the reputation for both wisdom and patience, and the ability to see things with a clearer mind. The Patterner partially had a head for such things, but the Soul Harvestor was far too busy plotting tactical plans, and attempting to get the edge over everyone. This plan certainly had his taint over it. The Patterner saw a chance to take control of some of Rozzuul’s holdings. Carnex was rash, and bold. She had fiery hot passions and was incredibly impulsive. These were admirable traits at some times, but were a deficiency at others. The rashness of this plan certainly had her mark on it. No doubt the two of them had planned it up and then come to him for it.

His reputation was such, that if he thought it a good idea, then some of the less informed ones would follow suit. Vermideus was far too busy in his plague gardens cooking up some vile strain of bacteria or some hazardous goo, and never had time to play the games of intrigue the others did. The Everwatch by his nature knew all that was going on, and was constantly engaged in the process of recording it all. He was completely unbiased and simply went by what the facts revealed, the element of bias would have to come from him if he were to give the All-Seeing eye a position to go from.

And Vorthul. The last of the six, millennia back had eventually lost his mind, and his five compatriots had settled with simply leaving him on the Prismatic Axis. The Prismatic Axis was the world that had been the capital of the peoples they had conquered. The entirety of the Far Realms was linked back to the Prismatic Axis. Twelve worlds, linked by twelve portals back to the Prismatic Axis. Vorthul’s mind was twisted and maddening, causing insanity in those with wills weak enough to not be able to resist it.

The Dim Lord turned back towards his guards in the hall. They had since snapped back to attention as the lustful auras and smells that permeated the area from Carnex’s presence slowly disappated. His guards were bright ones. Not only were they incredibly strong both in matters physical as well as terms magical, but they were just as strong mentally. They gave the illusion of impassive statues set up against the walls, but they kept a keen eye on everything that came by them, and they listened intently to every conversation that was held in this throne room.

He gestured towards one of them, a young woman. She was marked as one of his honor guards, and in past lifes he would have thought of her as beautiful. However that was not a concern of his now. It took him only a fraction of a moment to remember her name. Jakeera, that was it. A newer recruit as I recall, he thought to himself. She acknowledged his gesture, remaining visibly impassive as he put his attention on her. He could tell that she was at least well disciplined as she gave no sign of fear, at least outwardly toward her. However her inner thoughts and feelings were not as elusive as she might have wanted them to be. The Dim Lord was used to his subjects and slaves fearing them. And well they should, he thought. Jakeera was outwardly, as expressionless as a stone, but inside her, she was terrified beyond belief. The Dim Lord relished the fear for a moment, but this was not the appropriate time, nor place, nor even subject to be doing this with.

His guards were well trained, involving decades of work. Getting one killed wasn’t a very efficient way of doing things. He gestured for her to join him on the balcony, which she did without any sort of hesitation.

“Do not be afraid, my child,” he said, his slow and almost slothful tones echoing through the halls.

She shifted from one leg to the other, not directly looking at Father Mortius. She’ll find her nerve in time, he thought.

“Tell me, what is your perspective on what just transpired with the Sin Fiend and the Soul Harvester?” he asked.

This time she actually did look him in the eyes, with her face filled with a slight hint of surprise that he would actually solicite her opinion on such matters. She paused for a moment, thinking her answer through cautiously, before settling on what she would say.

“Great one, it seems to me that while both of the other great ones have their own agendas towards this matter, they are agendas of opportunity. I did not think they were trying to trick one such as you,” she said.

“Your answer is slightly ambiguous, child. Could you clarify your statement?” the Dim Lord asked.

The woman gulped, and paused again for the moment. The Dim Lord noticed that her heart rate seemed to be accelerating, and her brow wrinkled in concentration. To insult one of the Seven was a matter generally punishable by death. It was obvious that the woman was trying to find some way of phrasing her answer so as to make it as non-flammatory as possible. However that wasn’t his concern at this time. He had called his allies worse insults than any mortal could probably think of.

“Nothing of what is said leaves this room, so stay your fear. Speak your peace,” he instructed.

She cleared her throat. “I think that they both truly believe that the Archangel has betrayed your trust, but they both stand ready to profit by his removal,” she said. Even suggesting that the great ones were subject to such petty squabbles as power struggled bordered on treason, and father Mortius would have instantly killed any subject of his without hesitation were they here. Except his honor guard. They allowed him to bounce ideas around, see things from perspectives that he didn’t see, sometimes even rarely seeing things that he had missed, though he was still proud enough that he wouldn’t admit to it.

“You think that Rozzuul has neglected his duties?” Father Mortius casually asked.
The woman nodded. “From how they explained it, it sounds like they believe that. I don’t think they would lie about it. It would be too hard to pull off such a lie as this. Althought I’m still not certain I understand the situation itself”

“Indeed,” Father Mortius said, more to himself to the woman. He thought to himself for a moment, then turned back to face her. “Your mind is rather inquisitive. Some might considering this a most… undesirable trait.”

Instantly the woman prostrated herself on the ground, kneeling before him. She stammered, “I’m sorry, great one, I am have presumed too much, please forgive me.”
Father Mortius rolled his eyes, though due to the pitch black color of his eyeballs, no one noticed. “That is not what I was referring to. Stand up, and cease your blubbering. Some would consider it an undesirable trait, and I would normally agree with them, but your loyalty and training does you credit, therefore I shall inform you further.”

Father Mortius turned away from the balcony and slowly walked back up to his throne. He sat down in the strangely plain and non-descript chair, and rested his arms on the two shoulders. He looked back down at Jakeera, and she started back with both reverence and awe in her eyes. The ability to take someone’s life, and to choose not to. That was power.

“How much did they really tell you about our deal, little one?” he asked.

The rest of the guards looked on, not watching the exchange directly but obviously paying attention to what he said. Some veterans had been around long enough that they knew the stories and the facts, but they listened all the same. Servants and other attendants hadn’t come back into the room, since he had not bid them to come back, so he felt more at ease telling his trusted guards such facts.

“Not very much. Only that Rozzuul knew of a way out of these worlds, to find new ripe places to harvest and conquer. Places that have not felt the Seven’s touch. And that his duty was to find the pathway to these worlds,” she said, standing steady all while speaking.

“Indeed, the iterators seem to be doing their duty. However the truth of the matter is somewhat different. Me and my bretheren have already been to many of those other words. But the magic to bridge the gaps between the worlds, is, suffice it to say, beyond us. We are imprisoned in this realm, prisoners of those who would deny our power, who spit on our way of life, and mock our every turn. Rozzuul was the one who was to find the way out of it, to use the powers that others have in order to open up a gateway back to those who would insult us and let them see the truth of things,” Father Mortius explained, gazing throughout the room.

“I know it may distress you to hear that there are things that even I cannot do, but that is the truth that there are even some abilities beyond my power. I don’t know how portals are created, but others do. That is partially our reason and desire for continuing out from this place is to find and access those types of abilities and prove that we are truly the undisputed masters of this universe,” Father Mortius said, clenching his fist while he spoke.

“I see now, great one,” Jakeera said.

“It is well that you do, but know this. To speak one word of this to any outside this room, even to my kin, or the greatest of their servants is to embrace the other side and to find yourself speedily headed in that direction, far ahead of your time,” Father Mortius warned.

“Your word is my command, Deathless One,” she said.

She started back to her post without even needing to be bidden to return. She cautiously stepped there, using her scythe as a walking staff, before arriving to her position along the wall. She turned and faced back out towards the room, again standing still and at attention. She hesitated one moment, and then looked back towards Father Mortius who was now gazing out towards the blasted lands again.
“Great one?’ she asked.

“What is it, child?” Father Mortius responded with a hint of almost annoyance in his voice.

“You said you were once at the home realms. If you will allow me this one question of curiosity, I shall bother you no more,” she asked.

“Very well, you may ask, but you may not find the answer one that you desire, or one that you even want to know,” he said.

“Why were you at the home realms at all?” she asked.

“I was there, because that was the first place I was at before any others. Before coming here and conquering the arrogant inhabitants my home was in the home realm. One has to start out somewhere. So it was with me and my kin. With the exception of that wretched Archangel,” Father Mortius said.

Jakeera nodded, and Father Mortius wasn’t sure if she really understood his answer. Not only was that where he had once lived, it was where he had been born, where he had lived, and where he had since ascended. However there were some things that he flat out did not tell his servants and that was one of them. The idea that he had not always been the way that he was now, the idea that he had been even remotely like them, would certainly shake the foundation of this realm.

He watched as Jakeera walked back to her post and stood at attention. Certainly an inquisitive one, perhaps even too inquisitive. I may have to have a word with her superiors on this. A servant who thinks for themselves can be valuable, but an independent streak will cause trouble every step of the way. He turned back toward the balcony and looked back over the landscape. A change was coming, that much was certain. Will it be a change for the good or a turn for the worst? That much I have yet to figure out.

Chapter 6 Part 1/2

Alright, switching back to the current timeline. Going from one side group of characters, to another. Sorry Landon, but I think I'm going to cut the side story featuring that sergeant you liked. It feels like it is too much of an aside to the main story line as it really doesn't push it forward.

I won't bother with a synopsis, since this is much like chapter 3 was, and not really following the same plotline as the main characters.

Chapter 6

Elsewhere, on a planet very far away, a massive fortress sat atop a cliff edge. The atmosphere was gloomy and dark, with the entire landscape shrouded in perpetual twilight. The blasted landscape was almost totally devoid of life, with only a few dead looking trees rising from the landscape. The cliff overlooked a wasteland where only a few hills and boulders dotted the horizon, and the cliff itself stretched for an impossible distance, at least coming to a jagged peak several thousands of feet above the floor.

The fortress was massive, covering a wide expanse of area above the cliff edge. Jagged spires rose up like monuments to ancient dead kings. The entire structure gave the appearance of a mausoleum, only a mausoleum capable of holding thousands if not millions of bodies. Solemn figures in black robes, and skull masks stood guard over the enterence. Wicked scythes were held in their arms as they stood vigilant against any sort of threat that might attack them.

Inside, numerous scribes and servants hurried about their tasks, bustling through the many halls and corridors dotting the fortress, each one having a specific task that their busied themselves with. More of the gaunt guards in black robes wielding scythes dotted the hallways, some patrolling alongside the scribes and servants while others stood watch in libraries and other academic posts.

Throughout the whole of the compound, there however was little feeling of misery or of hopelessness. One who had never experienced it before would say that it was an atmosphere of acceptance and of contentment where there was little worry or fear. However it was not a realm of happiness or joy. No smiles graced the faces of any of the individuals travled through the region. Many worked, ate, and rested, and did little else from birth until death. Those were the lucky ones as others were used as test subjects, in gladiatorial combats, and others for any sort of random innovation that a severely twisted mind could come up with.

The throne room of the compound was situated along the cliff edge. It was a massive room covered several thousand square feet. A massive throne overlooked the cliff edge, and dozens of the robed guards filled the room. Each stood motionless, partially as a sense of duty, but also partially for a sense of fear of the being that sat upon the throne.

Robed in midnight black apparel of the finest make, and ornamented with dazzling jewels the likes of which could fetch a king’s random, the figure cast an aura of importance and power over the entire room. Standing easily over ten feet tall, the figure was tall but incredibly lanky. His skin was pale blue and his head was almost completely featureless featuring no nose nor ears, but two large pitch black eyes. His head was crowned with even more jewels and precious metals. His long arms were shrouded in sleeves but gave the impression of a being that was more limbs that it was body.

Father Mortius was the entire reason this realm was the way that it was. The Dim Lord’s power eclipsed virtually all others. The Lord of Death was the cause for the feelings that permeated this realm, saturating even the very ground with his greatness and being. He hadn’t created this planet, he had simply conquered it. Once it had been one of the cornerstones of a great empire, that he and his comrades had since laid low and enslaved the inhabitants.

He ruled over the kingdom with an ironfist, and his will was law. But he was not an entirely malevolent god. He saw that those who followed him, those that he ruled over were adequately cared for and had an existence that was not miserable, nor without disappointment. No fear of death, nor fear of failure or of tomorrow. Live in contentment and all was well. This was the Dim Lord’s creed and he saw that it was carried out.

As he sat in his throne, his mind was currently occupied with several internal debates and dialogues while a portion of his consciousness held up the numerous magical wards and spells that protected his holdings. He immediately became aware of a greater presence entering the room behind him. He knew of all the movements of his slaves and servants, but this presence was not one of his.

His suspicions were confirmed as the individual paced in front of his throne on the Messenger’s Dais, his appointed place for receiving news and messages from his associates. However they generally sent messengers, envoys and Ambassadors. The figure standing in front of him was certainly no ambassador.

The figure standing before him was only the height of an average man. However that was where the similarities ceased. Clothed in fine purple, violets, gold, and black, it was wearing apparel of even finer make than Father Mortius. His shoulders were adorned with broad and fine pads of fine metals, golds and platinums, His head was set lower on his frame, hunched below the shoulder pads, and a cowl draped over its features. The actual features of its face were veiled behind a thick dark cloth, leaving only four glowing eyes deep in the recesses of its hood. The sleeves of its arms ended in two massive crab claws. The pincers were massive, each being easily as long as one of the being’s legs, and they were held close to the individual’s body.

Father Mortius waited for the being to settle down in front of him. He cocked his head to the side, resting it on one of his wiry hands. The majority of the humans in the room had shuffled out with the arrival of this being, leaving only the few of his personal honor guard in the room. Each one he had personally altered giving them access to powerful magic, and all were well trained in using the mastercrafted scythes they had equipped. They had never been used in any sort of defensive action, but Father Mortius preferred having them here. He also knew that if the being he now faced turned hostile, there was little they could do except die very quickly against him.

“I never quite understood why you make this place so pleasant to be around. Nothing but a simple waste of resources. A waste of abilty and for what purpose? To make the lives of these underlings and livestock better,” the Patterner said. His voice emanated from all around in the room, not coming from simply his being. It had a resounding and arrogant feel to it, making hiss words.

“Far be it from you to judge me after my own realm. One should not fear death, but should see it as nothing more but another stage of life. This I have told you many times, my old friend. Tell me, you did not come to criticize my methods, and I doubt that you came to reminisce about old times. Why did you come to this place, Soul Harvester?” Father Mortius’ voice had the sound of an older paternal figure that was also either disinterested or tired. For all his appearances, his mind was sharper than virtually all others.

“Indeed, you are right, my trip here is not simply a pleasanty,” the Patterner said, spreading his massive claws apart. “My issue is simply one of both time and necessity.” The being stepped up against the railing overlooking the massive cliff edge.

Father Mortius rose from his throne and gracefully stepped down the stairs leading to the ground floor. He didn’t so much move as he did glide across the floor, coming to rest against the balcony as well. He looked out over the landscape as he did the majority of his time. His expansive mind shifted through the possibilities that the Patterner was here for.

The Patterner finally spoke. “The reason I am here is that I think we can no longer trust the Fallen One.”

Father Mortius was slightly caught off guard, but he showed no change in his stature. “That is a bold accusation, Soul Harvester. What gives you credence to may such a suggestion?”

“Do recall those ages past, that the part of the deal between us and the Archangel involves that we would ally with his aims, in return for him finding a way back to the home realm?” the Patterner asked.

“I do recall and have not forgotten. I still have yet to find the precise key to unlocking that particular brand of magics in my subjects. The ability to generate and maintain portals eludes me, and is nonexistent in the population. We know all this. What has happened?” Father Mortius said as his upper lip curled.

“For being such the epitome of patience, you certainly seem short as of late,” the Patterner said. “No doubt something else takes control over your mind.”

“One of my favored servants disappeared recently. I suspect foul play, possibly on Vermideus or Vorthul’s part,” Father Mortius sighed. “Such things are expected, and while valuable I shall not mourn their passing.”

“Surely that cannot be all,” the Patterner questioned. “You feel it too?”

“The diminishing? Yes. I feel it. Time has not been good to us. My populations are certainly dwindling. The glory days themselves are far in the past. I spend what feels like eons thinking on this, and we simply need those magics,” Father Mortius said, keeping his gaze out towards the blasted lands.

“Indeed. This factors in to what I have to tell you today,” the Patterner said to face him.

“You think that Rozzuul has turned against us? Or that he has been keeping something form us? Sounds like something that vengeance driven archangel would try,” Father Mortius said.

A sultry voice came from behind them and both turned to acknowledge another of their associates. “Such a betrayal is not beyond even one such as him. He did it against Heaven some time back, and he is just as capable now of perpetuating such an act.”
The being that came up to them did not walk. It slithered. The lower half of the being was a great serpentine tail. The upper half was that of a beautiful humanoid. A lustrous supply of hair came from its head, and two eyes, pure amber in color peaked out from below the hair. A slender nose formed from between the eyes, but there were no ears to be found. The being’s arms extended down, covered in light scales of a dark blue color ending in three fingers and a thumb. The color of the being itself was varying shades of both lighter and dark blue. Some clothing hang from her shoulders, but it wore very little other. It cast the feeling of softness, joy, love, and lust. It seemed desirable even to the two Gods that watched it come in.

Father Mortius noticed that even his well trained guards, who had been born and bred to serve as his honor troops, had their gazes firmly locked on the being that had entered the room. Had it been any other being he would have been enraged at their impudence, but he could partially sympathize with them now.

“We’re so glad that you chose to join us, Carnex,” the Patterner said.

“Such conversation would immediately demand my attention regardless of… what I have been doing. I thought you might need a fresher perspective?” the Sin Fiend said.
Father Mortius said nothing, while awaited one of the others to start explaining themselves.

“I’m afraid that I discovered that not only has Rozzuul made contact with outsiders, but he has actually managed to get a portal generated. Back to the old realms. Back to home,” the Patterner said.

“Has he now?” Father Mortius said.

All seven of them were trapped. Trapped on the last few worlds held by an ancient empire that they had long since conquered. Before they had set out to proceed on their homeworld, on Earth, someone had managed to destroy the portal linking these worlds to that one. They remained trapped here, unable to escape. The magics required were beyond them. None of the seven were capable to opening the rifts between worlds, and their influence had destroyed the ability in their servants.
Rozzuul was the most capable of the seven of them. He was the one that was most unlike the others. As he told it, he had once been one of the most powerful of the angels of heaven, supposedly even second to none. He had looked below at man orchestrating his different ideas and devices and asked why man was able to choose for himself to defy the One Above All Others? He sought that they should be forced into their worship rather than be allowed to continue their blasphemies against him. The only conclusion that Rozzuul could come to was that this did not happen because the One did not have the power to happen. The hosts of Heaven could not allow heresy such as that to spread and so chose to exile him, and they cast Rozzuul out of Heaven.

He had come to them, seeking compromise. A commitment of his forces and his powers to their cause, and they would in turn help him in his revenge against those who had cast him out. It was an ideal situation. He had numerous powers that they didn’t He could reach across the vast reaches of the emptiness of space, allowing contact with those back in the home realm. They had no such option. All Rozzuul needed to find was someone that was susceptible to his call, that had the appropriate abilities needed to open a portal back here, Father Mortius thought.

“I hear nothing but words. I seek proof. Something of substance that I can use,” Father Mortius said to the other two.

“Of this, I had no doubt. Fear not Death Patriarch, for I have it. Even as we speak, Rozzuul is no longer on any of the Far Realms planets. My seekers and spies can find no presence of him there. He has gone somewhere else. What is more, a vastness of his divine hosts has disappeared as well. No doubt they were taken with him,” Carnex said.

“If Rozzuul has gone, there must be a portal out there that he has opened. He has willfully betrayed the trust that we gave him. He has turned his back on us in his arrogance and for that there can be only one response,” the Patterner said, his mad glee becoming evident as it always did whenever the Soul Harvester prepared for battle.

“Patience. I would hate for us to move first, and find ourselves overstepping our bounds over a simple misunderstanding. The Fallen One has never proven himself untrustworthy or disloyal in the past. I still do not trust him, but he has remained true to his word. I’d recommend venturing first to his holdings. Our presence there would certainly draw him out if he is there,” Father Mortius said, spreading his arms wide against the railing that overlooked the cliff.

The other two waited, looking towards him. The Patterner’s claws absently clicked together, and Carnex rubbed her fingers as if she was looking forward to something. Knowing the Sin Fiend, simply the thought of our control over Rozzuul is somehow providing her with some kind of ecstasy.

“If the Archangel however has gone back against the deal, the first step is to seize his holdings, and drive out his zealots and vassals that won’t turn. Then we’ll get to the matter of a just reprisal against him. Do you know the other’s feelings on this?” Father Mortius said, turning the question to the two others.

“Vermideus would no doubt ally with us in this matter. The Worm God is always looking for another opportunity to spread his plagues and diseases. No doubt that one will find an excuse there,” Carnex said with contempt in her voice.

“I doubt the Everwatch cares either way. He still remains locked away in his archives and librarys, watching everything that happens around us. If nothing else, he could inform us on Rozzuul’s goings and habits over these past few centuries. And Vorthul… who can say. I haven’t even seen nor heard of where he last went, perhaps for the better as well,” the Patterner said, thinking deeply.

“Indeed, that is probably the better option,” Father Mortius said, “Very well, I shall let you two find out about the Vermin Lord and the Eye. I shall look for you at the Archangels bastion, Eternity’s Reach.”

Chapter 3, part 2/2

Alright, a little shorter than the other because I had settled with evertyhing, and didn't want to make it any more wordy.

Previously: Rasputin and Crowley plan while Heinrich Himmler, a defector from the German side appears, offering to aid them

Heinrich did not leave the room, instead he stood immobile where he had been since they had first seen him. Aleister glared at the audacious youth, a glare that had made greater men wilt before him, and had silenced kings and generals, but Heinrich stood his ground. Aleister stalked towards him trying to look as imposing and intimidating as he possibly could. He stopped several steps away from Heinrich.

“Was there anything else you needed, Heinrich? I am quite busy,” Aleister said.
“I told you, I want in. I’m not here as some lackey to be pushed around. I’m not some stooge of yours to be ordered around. I’m just as powerful as you are, if not more so. I can help you more than you think,” Heinrich said.

“My my, you do have some gall,” Aleister said. “And what exactly can you provide me with? What do you have that I don’t have? What abilities, what skills can you bring to the table that give you such grandstanding above your peers, those who have put years of their life into the pursuit of the magical and the occult?”

“I know how the Germans are moving. I know what von Hindenburg’s plans are. For all that you have, I know that you don’t have a perfect knowledge of them,” Heinrich said in calm clear tones as he stood his ground in the enterence to the room.

Aleister looked again at Rasputin who still stood immobile by the windows. The stoic monk said nothing, revealing nothing. Aleister briefly wondered what exactly the man was thinking. What foul machinations winded about in his mind. He certainly wasn’t the man he had known some years back. What man was it now. What entity gave cause to this almost withered husk. Whatever Rasputin thought at the moment, it didn’t seem like he was going to be any help at the discussion at hand. Aleister turned back towards Heinrich. He walked towards the man, keeping his eyes level with him. He stood face to face with him, and then walked around behind him, again trying to indimidate him. If it worked, he didn’t know as Heinrich made no move to follow his path through the room, made no sounds, didn’t even act as though Aleister was there. A strong spirit in this one, he thought to himself as he finished his pacing and came to a stop in front of Heinrich.

“And what exactly do you want in exchange for the information. What gift do we possess that you desire? I sense that there is more you want than simply being… in,” Aleister said, pronouncing the last word as if it were a disdainful curse on his lips.

“I already told you,” Heinrich said in his accented English. “I want in. But I will not be your sideline stooge. I will not stand by while you order me around. I want full partnership. I am powerful, beyond perhaps even yourself, and you want that.”
Aleister almost laughed at loud. My, but he does have some impudence to say such things in front of me. “Alright, we’ll see. I’ll set you up with my collegues in the Thule Society. No doubt they could use such a skilled one such as you. But be warned, I take an awful risk in taking you in. I did not know of you until a few minutes past. You’ll have to excuse me if I take… precautions,” Aleister finished, looking down towards the long table that was centered in the room. He ran his fingers along the smoothed surface as he finished speaking.

“That is reasonable,” Heinrich agreed, and the man finally strode out of the room. Finally, Aleister thought.

“Good, this is settled. Enough side trips and distractions. We need to focus at the matter at hand,” Rasputin said, walking away from his window perch like some gangly gnarled vulture.

“Our next step, as I was about to say does not lie in this world. Rozzuul may be powerful but I think I have uncovered knowledge. Secrets darker than his own existence,” Aleister said, lowering his voice to almost hushed tones.

Rasputin furled his brow in concentration as he tried to figure out what exactly Aleister was speaking of. He walked a little closer, but kept his arms folded.
“It’s true, after Scotland and Egypt I had thought that Rozzuul was the power, the entity that I had been seeking. However before I came to this world, back when I was in Egypt, myself and Neuberg ventured into the Fertile Crescent and we finally came at last to the Unspeakable City.”

“You found it? The Descent into Madness? The very same of Alhazred’s journey?” Rasptuin said as his eyes came alight. His lips curled into a smile as he seemed to become more eager by each passing second.

“That is not all I found. The last surviving copy, hidden in an archive in the Great Library itself,” Aleister said, as he snapped his fingers and a fine spray of fog and mist settled over the table. Several seconds passed and the mist evaporated into the air, leaving behind a massive tome. Arcane runes covered the binding of the book, and the smell of dust and dampness filled the room. Rasputin stalked toward the tome, as if unable to believe his eyes.

“The Necronomicron? Can it truly be?” Rasputin said, his breaths coming in slow cycles. He reached his right hand forward as if unsure that the book was really there. He started towards it, then drew his hand back, seeming as if the man thought it was an illusion. Finally he touched the book, brushing his hand across the cover as if he were caressing a lover’s cheek.

“Penned by the Mad Arab himself,” Aleister said, his eyes similarly aglow as he too gazed lustfully at the book.

“Pirelli would go on a rampage if he knew that you had this,” Rasputin said with a maddened chuckle as he still caressed the cover.

Aleister’s hand twitched again and as soon as the book had appeared it was gone again. Rasputin held his hand in the air where he had once been touching the book, as if he couldn’t believe that just like that it had disappeared. He seemed unable to express himself for several moments, until he solemnly folded his arms. He turned to face Aleister. “And what have you found?”

“Due to certain events recently, I have not had the time to fully examine the secrets contained within until recently. But over the past few days I have gone further than any have before. Perhaps that is due to having a complete copy of the book, one that wasn’t destroyed in the Vatican’s purges millennia ago. The secrets contained within whisper of darkness and shadows of entities possibly even beyond Rozzuul’s grasp. Rozzuul is not a god, but he sets himself up to be one,” Aleister said.

“Mind your words, Aleister. Were one of the Archangels servants to hear you…” he said, letting the unfinished threat hang in the air.

Aleister snorted with contempt. “He’d what? He owes me and he knows it. Besides if this is true, what can he do to stifle the knowledge? This is not his realm, as much as he wishes it to be. I only wish I hadn’t been so blind in the past that I hadn’t seen him as he truly was.”

“And what is he?” Rasputin asked.

“Rozzuul is an entity of great power, and of great standing, but his power can be surpassed just as well as any other mans. I just have a bit further to go to obtain such magic. It would not do him well to hear of such things, but he has spent so long with choirs praising his name, that he doesn’t seem able to comprehend the fact that the universe does not revolve around him,” Aleister said with the contempt still evident in his voice.

“So what does it say about these beings? About this power?” Rasputin said.

“I don’t know. I haven’t gotten that far. I think it is referring to ancient gods that the Babylonians once followed and worshipped. A dark worship dating back to the time of Hammurabi. I’ll have to research it more, but I am on the boundary of a major breakthrough, of that you can be assured.”

“But just what sort of breakthrough is it?” Rasputin thought.

“My life’s work. That is what it is. At first I thought that Rozzuul was the ultimate in powers to access. An angel, an archangel from Heaven as it was. But even he was only the penultimate in power and glory. And I think he knows about what I speak of. Entities far more powerful than he is. Entities of such fearsome and awe inspiring power that they had once enslaved mankind if the book is to be believed,” Aleister said.

Rasputin snorted. “If they were so powerful, and they once controlled mankind, where are they now? It doesn’t speak well for omnipotent beings to lose control over slaves. People might start gossiping.”

Aleister glared at Rasputin’s little attempt at humor. While it was rare for the monk to indulge in humor, he still proved he was at least slightly human with each joke. Aleister brushed it off and paced over to the windows that looked out into the cityscape. Down below, the work gangs Rozzuul had made bustled about the city, working on their many tasks.

“I don’t know about that part. I only know what Alhazred wrote in the book. I haven’t finished deciphering the entirety of the thing. When I do, I shall be able to tell you all its secrets. There is something there, something secret and esoteric, that I think even Rozzuul fears. We just need to keep it incognito for the moment being until we can act.”

“And just how are we intending to act on it?” Rasputin asked.

“Simple. The portal we created out on the mountain side brought Rozzuul into this world. My research showed that the other side of the portal is a stellar crossroads, a waygate, call it whatever you damn well want to. But I think what we will find is if we return to the portal and enter in, we’ll be able to find our way to these powers. Find our way to greatness and immortality!” Aleister said as the ambitious gleam entered his eye.

“Simple on paper. Much harder to carry out in reality. Rozzuul keeps a closer eye on us than makes me comfortable. And wherever Rozzuul is not, he sends that miserable miscreant Berross to spy on us, and to keep us in line. We shall need a legitimate excuse to head to the portal. So many variables,” Rasputin said, thinking out loud it seemed to himself.

“Don’t get me started about Berross,” Aleister grumbled to himself, “While his regent maintains his grasp here in the city, Rozzuul continues to marshal his forces all the time. I sometimes begin to think that I have instead unleashed a great evil on the world. Not what I had intended at all.”

“Nonsense. There is a great good that will come of this, and whoever says otherwise is obviously ignorant to the implications of it. It may just be that Rozzuul and Berross will do nothing more but serve as a catalyst to greater changes here. They will have served their purpose,” Rasputin said as he moved to stand next to Crowley.
Aleister suddenly felt the presence of another being in the room. A light smell drifted through the room, a smell of vanilla and cinnamon. It almost made him gag, not because of the smell but because of the person he knew that smelt like that. The very one he had just been talking about. He turned about from the position that he stood at to look at the being now occupying a corner of the room.

“Berross. How long have you been standing there? You know I hate it when you intrude on my private discussions,” Aleister snarled.

The being standing in the corner seemed to ignore the contempt in Aleisters voice. It almost seemed that he wasn’t aware of it at all. The being was short, easily a foot shorter than Aleister was. But for what he lacked in physical stature, he more than made up for in the pure feeling of arrogance and aloofness that he cast to everyone seeing him. The expression on his face, the posture of his back, even the way his pure white hair had been stylized spoke of vanity, as well as arrogance and power. His skin was a perfect ivory, not a pasty white like someone who rarely saw sunlight, but a pure white like snow. His skin showed no flaws, and every feature on his face was formed perfectly, to the point that the perfection became unnerving to look at.

Perhaps the oddest feature of the being was not his perfection, nor his ivory white skin, but the pair of brilliant swan-like wings that sprouted from his back shoulders. His bare torso showed the heavily muscled shoulder muscles that kept them aloft. Even given those powerful muslcles, Aleister knew he shouldn’t have been able to fly. But he had never asked. He tried to avoid as much conversation as he could with Rozzuul’s regent. The little seraph was there to rule in Rozzuul’s stead whenever the Archangel was away, and it was always a period of time that Aleister hated.

Beross seemed to have not noticed Aleister’s earlier contempt for him, nor even the comment that was directed at him. “Aleister, Grigori, one would think you would have greater priorities to spend your time than by hiding in rooms and sharing stories. I don’t think such behavior is becoming of those in your position.”

“We were planning. And what business is it of yours what we do and where we do it?” Aleister asked.


“Planning? What more plans need to be set in place? The Great One’s plans have already been put into practive, and we certainly don’t need your doddering machinations being played around with to mess up the perfect solutions already being used. As for what business it is of mine, well,” Beross paused as his features twisted into a grin that did not even seem to slightly accentuate his perfect face, instead deforming his features into some nightmarish monstrosity. “Well, everything is my business. You best remember that in the future. Don’t think yourself so valuable, or so essential. The Great One has done quite well without you until now, and will continue when you are dust and ashes. You had best be advised to keep yourself useful until then.”

“That’s wonderful. Did you actually have something you needed to discuss with us, or was that all you had for us today?” Aleister grumbled.

“Of course I had things that I needed to inform you of. Don’t think yourself so smart or so… cheeky as it were. The Great one, Archangel Rozzuul wishes for you to be informed that he is heading back to the portal, and he is bringing a delegation of his human servants with him. You two have been instructed to join for this,” Beross said matter-of-factly.

“And who else is coming on this little venture?” Aleister asked.

“In his infinite wisdom, he has appointed you as the one to determine that. He instructs that they must be able bodies, sound of mind, and strong of heart. Find your choices and make them, and then be ready for when we leave,” Berross said in his smug tons. His smug look suggested that the smaller angel knew something they didn’t and that it made him happy just thinking about it.

Aleister pretended not to notice and instead responded. “I’ll do that. We leave tomorrow?”

“At first light, we leave this world, bound of the Far Realms. Our Lord needs to marshal his army. Be there,” Beross said, the last two words being undeniably a command towards them. Without another word, the short angel spun on his heels and walked out of the room. Aleister waited for several moments to be sure that he had actually disappeared before turning back to Rasptuin

“I loathe that one,” Aleister said.

“Indeed. But I don’t think that the Archangel brought him here because of his charming people skills and his way with children. He’s here because he is an effective overseer. He’s here because Rozzuul needed a competent leader for the city that he could trust. You can argue against his heavy handed tactics, but they work,” Rasputin said.

“It’s his personality that I object to. I have never been weak willed, nor unwilling to make the hard choices. Remember that,” Aleister said.

Rasputin didn’t answer back, instead walking towards the window again and looking out over the city. Aleister joined him several moments later, looking at the people in the city below.

“Who would have thought, Aleister? Who would have thought we would be here today. Have come this far? It feels so close, that I can almost taste it,” Rasputin said.
“Quite. But one has to wonder where we will be a year from now. Hell, where will we be a week from now? Everything is changing,” Aleister said.

Chapter 3 Part 1/2

Alright, here is the illusive and mysterious chapter 3, part 1. It feels like i've been avoiding writing it. (I'm finished through chapter 9 right now). Sorry for the late post, i've been very busy this week. This is the first introduction to these characters so i don't think a recap chapter is necessary.

Travis - I'll just give you all my changes in one big lump thingy when i find a spare chance to deal with it.

Landon - You suck

Jesse - Cows

Chapter 3
The Charleswelt Reichstag

“The problem, my friend, is that your plans lack the proper subtleties I have come to expect from you,” Aleister Crowley said as he turned toward the other man in the room

Aleister Crowley, a man in his mid forties cast a still impressive figure. He was of medium height with his head shaved down to the skin. He was of slightly portly build, but it wasn’t as immediately apparent behind the fancy and ornate robes that he wore. His eyes seemed to be sunken back into his head giving him an almost supernatural appearance to those that met him. But it wasn’t his physical features that were most immediately apparent to people when they met him. It was his personality, his attitude, the aura he seemed to exude around his personage that caught most people’s attentions. This was a man who knew what he wanted, who got what he wanted, and had more than enough capability to see it through.

One of the most powerful astromancers during the current age of the world, Aleister Crowley was a man gifted with talents far beyond the norm, even as far as astromancers were concerned. Astromancers were the mystical spellcasters that were as far removed from the other tainted, as those tainted were from normal people. His world was one of primal power, the type of which was raw and uncontained. Space and matter were only defined by their current existences as even those could be changed to fit the caster’s needs. All realities and all dimensions seemed to be open to Aleister Crowley, and he was well aware of it.

His companion to whom he was speaking was just as strange as a figure. Dressed in a simple monks robe, Father Grigori Rasputin was just as much of a legend as Aleister Crowley was. But where the mystique behind Crowley’s life was rooted in his great power and strengths, Rasputin’s past was tainted in shadow and darkness. What the man was was hard to define, even for Aleister to do. The mystic certainly had control over the spellcaster powers that he did, but where Aleisters seemed defined by what he could do, or to be more accurate, what he couldn’t do, Rasputin’s powers seemed rooted in shadow and darkness, in brightness and in light. It was as if he had the powers of astromancers, eomancers, and umbramancers.

Probably the most humorous point about the man to whom he talked, was that Rasputin was widely believed to have been dead. Numerous nobles had taken offense to the closeness of Rasputin to the Tsarina, a belief that was not entirely without merit given if even half of the things Rasputin had boasted about were true, and the nobles had decided to kill the mad monk. He had been poisoned with enough arsenic to kill a dozen men, clubbed with maces; shot three times, mutilated and finally had been thrown into a river. The population all the way up to the current Tsar believed that Father Grigori Rasputin had met his end at the bottom of the freezing river.
But it was not to be. Somehow Rasputin had survived the ordeal, and was very much a changed man. He was neither as boastful as he had been once before, nor was he as eccentric as he had been. A cost to be paid, or regrets playing out? Aleister thought to himself. In either case, Rasputin had allied himself to his cause, and the influence of the monk had been incredibly powerful even given the fact that he was supposed to be dead.

“How do you mean, Aleister?” Rasputin asked with his eyebrow raised.

Aleister saw the scarring on the mans forehead where he had been shot several years back. He hadn’t figured what had happened to the man, and Rasputin had never bothered telling him the true story. It didn’t matter now.

“Even as the Kaiser moves his troops toward the city, we cannot hope to hold him off indefinitely. I don’t think we can even hope to stall for two or three months and hold them back there,” Aleister said.

“So why bother fighting against them at all? Haven’t we shown our hand, and shown that we have nothing worth playing?” Rasptuin asked.

“That’s what they’re supposed to believe. We struck first, and they never saw that coming. We pushed them all the way off world for several weeks, before they finally found the guts to try pushing back. It was a straw fist style of attack. It had some force behind it, but nothing to support it. We don’t have the manufacturing capabilities that the Kaiser has back on Earth. If we had a year or three to work on it, we could hope to match the Germans, but we don’t.”

“And there is no way we could hide what was happening here from the Germans for that long,” Rasputin said. “So this is part of the Archangel’s plans?”

“Indeed it is. I, of course, thought up the plan, but Rozzuul said there was great merit in it, and told me to see that it happened. And it is going that way. As long as we can keep the Kaiser and his doddering fool generals Ludendorff and Hindenburg thinking this was nothing but an isolated incident with no explanation, we can cover our tracks well enough,” Crowley said with a smirk.

“Don’t you think they’ll see a connection? Your passage here through the portal was not exactly low profile. I’m fairly certain they remembered seeing you pass by here. And it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that there is some sort of connection between you showing up here, and all the events going on thusly. They could have sent teams after us, for God’s sake!” Rasputin said, annoyance becoming evident on his hairy face. The man was very unkempt with a wild scraggly beard, but his head of hair was surprising well groomed and combed.

“They would at that. But they’re no doubt too late to do anything about it. If they did send teams out against me, they’ll have to of come through the portal with the rest of the Kaiser’s army. They have no idea where to even look for me. It’s like trying to chart a man’s passage through a port after seeing the boat he came in on. I don’t expect any sort of trouble from that area. And even if there is trouble, who can truly stand against me? There is no man on this planet that has power enough to challenge me. It may sound like arrogance, but it is simple truth, Father Grigori.”
Rasputin merely grunted in reply and strode across the room. The room was finely decorated, and the building that they stood it was a grandiose structure harking back to the end of the baroque period of architecture. Because of this, it seemed almost gaudy in appearance, both inside and out, casting the image of infinite opulence and wealth. Rasputin wasn’t as awed by this as he once did, but he knew that Aleister loved every minute of it.

“So if you stalled for such time, then I assume the portal has been acting stable?” Rasputin asked.

“Of course. I made it after all, and I’ve never once failed with on,” Aleister said, walking to look out the window of the conference room in the Charleswelt Reichstag. “Of course, Rozzuul forbid me to enter into it, so I did not. I can’t help but wonder what lies on the other side. Something powerful… something that could take the face of humanity to a completely new level. If only they were all worthy of it.’
“I suppose Rozzuul will allow us access in all due time. From what I have seen, he is not very underhanded in his dealings, nor shorts those who follow them, their due course,” Rasputin observed.

“Of course not. I only wished I had finished the Abermelin ritual some time earlier than I did. So much time wasted that could have been put to better use. To think I almost decided to stop the ritual part way and go off and run away with some woman. One could only wonder what would have happened had I done that instead,” Aleister said.

Rasputin knew of the ritual that Aleister spoke of. Aleister had specifically purchased a building on the shores of a lake on the North side of Great Britain to undertake the Abermelin ritual. The ritual was one that was supposed to summon divine angels and guardians to the spellcaster that undertook it. It was a ceremony of some of the oldest magic, and existed in full only in several tomes that had supposedly been destroyed during the Great Purge, undertaken by the Vatican almost a millennia earlier. The ritual was complex and hard, taking some months to completely perform and demanding all the attention of the spellcaster. Aleister had managed to finish the ritual, and it was there that the being had come to him. Rozzuul, the Archangel of Eternity, the Bastion of Light, and several other names.

He was trapped in another world, and needed the help of Aleister in order to come into this world and to establish a new world order in which the entirety of society was thrown to the scrapyard and things would begin anew in building a bright new future. Aleister had immediately undertaken the task, calling upon his numerous allies, from Pirelli in the Illuminati, to the Thule Society in Germany, as well as his own reformed Silver Star acolytes and he had since ventured to this world in order to undertake the task.

Aleister was pleased that the ritual had worked perfectly, summoning Rozzuul to this world in a blinding flash of light that set the night on fire, and made him absolutely convinced that he had found his purpose in the world, to bring about this new order. But in order to usher in the new, the old needed to be disposed of, and cast into the rubbish pile.

“One could spend a lifetime thinking of the many crossroads they had come to, and what would have happened if they had headed in a different direction. It is maddening to spend too much time thinking on these things. I pray that you aren’t regretting something, Aleister?” Rasputin asked.

“Of course not. I have not done a single thing that I regret.” It wasn’t really true, but Aleister had no desire to share his private life with Rasputin.
“Some might disagree with that,” a voice said, coming from the enterence of the room.
Aleister spun to face the speaker, becoming surprised by the individual he saw standing before him. At first he had suspected it was one of his acolytes, or someone from Pirelli’s group, come to harass him about one tome or another. In fact, he didn’t even recognize the man standing in front of him. To call him a man was probably giving him more credit that he deserved. The person standing in front of him was little older than a young man, probably only two decades old. His hair was cropt short and he wore circular framed classes squared in the center of his face. Ornate robes covered his lanky frame, marking him as an astromancer. A spellcaster was the last thing Aleister would have called him. He looked more like a book keeper or a clerk, not an astromancer.

Aleister’s first action was to summon up a shield of warding against the intruder, protecting him against most spells. Rasputin simply looked on, neither concern nor amusement framing his features, leaving him looking his regular unhappy self. Aleister held his spell up, glaring with the youth who had the impudence to walk in on his private discussions. Only after a few moments did he realize that the youth’s robes in fact marked him as being a member of the German army.

“So von Hindenburg sends his first assassin against me? I shall send you back to him in a coffin!” Aleister roared, and various magical processes roared into existence in the air around him, hissing and trailing around him in an impressive display of power that rattled the windows and shook the dishes on the table.

The young held his hands up, to attack, was what Aleister thought first. He got ready to loose the torrent of magic into him. The various tendrils of power snaked about his head, ready to unmake whatever poor unfortunate got close enough to them. However the youth seemed to be holding his hands up in a gesture of nonviolence, and Aleister held his attack for a moment. What is this? He thought to himself, still holding the spell up.

“I am not here on behalf of that fat oaf,” the youth said.

Aleister didn’t relinquish his power, believing that the youth may be trying to put him at ease before attacking. But he did not strike either, even given the opportunity to kill the youth, something that Aleister was more than capable of.
“Really? Then why are you here? To negotiate a surrender? You shall have no such thing. To interrogate me and find my methods? Again you are out of luck,” Aleister said with a laugh.

“Stop being so boastful and proud, Mr. Crowley. I am not here on any account from the Kaiser’s army, nor am I here to fight you,” the young man said.

Crowley didn’t drop his guard, but his interest was becoming piqued. “Go on,” he said.

“I have recently deserted those short-sighted buffoons in order to join with you. I know you’ve been up to something here, and I want in on it. Don’t think yourself such a master of subtley and secrets that no one else can start adding the numbers and solve the equation properly,” the youth continued.

“And just what do you know of things?” Aleister growled.

“Some decades ago, you performed a ritual on the shores of Loch Ness. I can only imagine that it has some connection here. I’ve heard rumors you’ve summoned an entity, one that will shape this world for a new era. I want in on this task and you will not deny me,” the youth said his eyes full of defiance.

Aleister laughed, and looked to Rasputin. The monk’s arms were folded, but it was safe to assume he was just as poised, ready to attack as Aleister was. Rasptuin simply nodded back at Aleister. Aleister turned back to the youth and asked, “What is your name, boy?”

“Heinrich Himmler, I was once a chief astromancer to the German High Command, now a traitor to my nation. A nation that is traitorous to itself.”

Crowley relaxed and let the spells he had summoned up around him slowly disappate. In a moments breath he could summon them back up again, but at least for the moment, he felt that this was no longer needed. Another astromancer could always be useful to the cause. Especially to one who defected from the Germans so recently. He cautiously stepped forward toward Heinrich who had made no move to attack him, or showed any signs of open hostility.

“I am Aleister Crowley, as you know,” Aleister then pointed towards Rasputin. “My ally and counterpart in this endevour, Father Grigori Rasputin.”

Heinrich shook Aleister’s hand and then turned to face Rasputin. “You honor me, Father. Last I had heard, you had died after being drowned in the river at St. Petersburg.”

Rasputin allowed a small smile to flicker across his face. The smile wasn’t one of casual happiness or the one someone held when a light joke had been made. It was the smile of a man who had completely outwitted his adversaries, and who plotted his revenge against them. It was one of the few facial expressions that Aleister had ever seen him give, and it disturbed him to no end when he did it. The wild-eyed stare that Rasputin had, and the strange expressions he held, spoke volumes to the fore of his personality that he had back a decade ago to have elevated himself so far in the Tsar’s courts in Russia.

However that Rasputin was gone, dead and drowned in the river. The new one was cold and calculating, always plotting and ready to take action against his enemies. It seems that his supposed death had freed him from the previous social conventions that he had been bound by. It had certainly served Aleister’s purposes well.
Rasputin returned the man’s handshake and casually said, “Rumors of my death may have been exaggerated.”

“Not really. I doubt there is a man alive, at least back on Earth who believes that you are still around,” Heinrich said.

“Enough formalities however. Before your interruption we were in the middle of a planning session and do not wish to be interrupted. I thank you for your change in allegiance but I shall direct you to my assistants Archer or Nueberg. They shall show you around and get you settled in, but if you’ll excuse us,” Crowley said, already dismissing Heinrich.

Heavenly Docks 4

He was ten meters down the tunnel before Coleman realized the girl had followed him out of the Underbelly. Not bothering to slow, he glanced at her and jerked a thumb back the way they’d come.

“I don’t remember inviting you along, sister.”

Anna just flashed a smile at him. “I’ve been watching you ever since you since you sat down.”

She tapped her ear with one slim finger and Coleman rolled his eyes—oh great. The parasapien had some kind of snooper implants in her ears. Smothering he frustration behind an easy grin, he picked up his pace and shot back, “Well then you already know that I’ve got a full crew and no need for a waitress.”

For a split second Anna’s cool demeanor slipped, just like it had in the bar, but the cool façade was back in a nanosecond. “Yeah, I know you’ve got a crew. I also know your back’s up against a wall and your running out of time.”

Coleman’s gut knotted at the girl’s words, and he jerked around to stare at her almost without realizing it—which only made her smile grow even wider. “What do you know about me and my time?” he hissed, knowing just how crazed he must look but not caring. He didn’t really even care how she knew. All he wanted to know is why she was interested. Her slim figure and striking looks didn’t seem suited to life as one of M’shtinyb’s thugs, but you never could tell. “I’m ain’t up against any wall.”

Anna rolled her bright eyes at him and—lifting a hand to tick points off on her fingers—said, “First, you were recruiting a crew in the Underbelly. That by itself is all the tip-off I needed. Second, you sat around in your booth for—what, three hours?—and turned down half a dozen beings who stopped to join up. Then suddenly you got all desperate and signed up the next four beings that stopped by with no questions asked.” Her full lips curved in a mocking smirk, “Face it, Coleman, you’re—how do you folks from Old Earth put it? ‘Up a creek with no paddle.’”

Coleman must have looked even more flummoxed than he felt, because Anna patted him on the cheek and cooed, “But don’t you worry. Anna’s here now and she’s gonna make everything all better. Now come on.” She shouldered past him and continued down the hall. “Where is it we’re heading?”

Head spinning, Coleman darted after her.

“Hey. Hey! Wait up! And I still never said I wanted you in my crew!”

She laughed—a deliciously female sound that Coleman hadn’t even realized he’d missed the past three years—and just kept on walking.

The tunnel they were moving down hit an intersection and Coleman swung right—planetward—and Anna curved with him. Ignoring the parasapien for the moment, he activated his wetware computing implants and communications interface and—using a top-of-the-line encryption bug he’d purchased two years ago—began transmitting the meeting time and location to his new crewmembers.

Meanwhile, Anna just kept right on talking, badgering him with questions and suggestions to which he responded with as few grunts as could be spared.

“Seriously though, sailor, what possessed you to hire on patrons from the Underbelly?”

Grunt.

“You taking me to some secret hideout of yours?”

Mumble.

“Are we going to be smuggling goods, or running drugs, or both?”

Slight pause, then grunt.

“Are all Earthmen as ugly as you?”

That brought him up short. “I am not ugly.”

“Just testing for reception, sailor.” Anna murmured as she eyed him up and down slowly, a grin forming on her lips about as fast as Coleman’s face was flushing red. “And for the record, I agree with you.”

“That’s not what I . . . that is, I don’t care if you think—look, just shut up, will you?”

The parasapien did stop talking after that, but her throaty chuckles chased Coleman down the long tunnel.

Two endless—to Coleman at least—tram rides and twenty minutes later Coleman ducked down a narrow maintenance tunnel, Anna still hot on his heels. The rusting, humid tunnel was barely wide enough of Coleman to pass through without having to turn sideways, and was draped in shadow for long stretches, lit only be a few flickering glowbulbs. Water dripped mournfully somewhere ahead, the sound amplified and echoed in the cramped confines. Small portals passed them by on the left and right as they continued down the tunnel, and Coleman counted as they went, grateful for an excuse to focus on something besides Anna—she smelled like flowers in early summer back on Old Earth.

Four portals on the right, then three on the left.

Coleman tripped over something cold and squishy once, and only Anna’s quick reflexes kept him from a bruised chin. Her grip was firm, but her hand was soft and warm on his wrist, and he could feel her gentle pulse through her brilliant skin.

Five more portals on the left.

“Do you have like night-vision, or anything?” Coleman asked quietly, eyes scanning the tunnel ahead.

Anna was so close behind him that he could feel her breath on the back of his neck. She chuckled. “No. I’m afraid the being who had me . . . manufactured was more interested in appearances than any practical alterations.”

“Oh.” His reply hung in the air, so awkward that Coleman actually cringed. Risking a glance back, he flashed her a hesitant smile, “Well, um . . . he got the appearance part right, at least.”

“Why, sailor, that was almost nice.”

“You’re still not part of the crew.”

And he meant it. While they walked, a plan had been forming in his mind. The location where he was meeting the crew was a small utility room midway down the tunnel they were in. He’d discovered it a year back and managed, after several days of trying, to hack through the portal’s locking mechanism. When he’d first broken in, it had been evident that nobeing had been in the room for years, and in the twelve months since then no one had ever used it. It wasn’t his normal place of residence, but he always kept it in mind—a safe place to crash in these parts of the Docks, should he ever need it.

If he was lucky, Coleman thought he should be able to duck through the portal and get it shut and locked before Anna could get through. A lame plan—especially since he had no idea what he’d do once the crew started arriving—but really his only option at the moment. Hopefully she’d get bored and wander off before the others got there.

Behind him, Anna was laughing softly, like she knew exactly what he was thinking.

Seven more portals on the right, and one final one on the left, and they were there.

Heavenly Docks 3

The continuous swirl of beings that edged past Coleman’s booth was as diverse a lot as the he’d ever seen, but no one of the creatures gave his sign more than a passing glance, which usually turned into a smirk—or what Coleman guessed passed for a smirk—aimed in his general direction. Folding his arms and leaning further into the shadows, Coleman glared at the passing crowd and tried not to think about the time he was losing.

Two hours passed. The slug-grub things that were undulating in the middle of the room cranked their pseudo-music up until the Unberbelly’s neosteel walls vibrated beneath Coleman’s back and his head throbbed worse than if he had chugged the drink he’d been given. And still no one had given him more than a passing glance and a rude gesture or two.

He was staring at the pitted wall opposite him and on the verge of scrapping phase one of his one phase plan when a high pitched screech shattered his thoughts like a brick tumbling through a glass window. Jerking reflexively, he twisted around and—catching sight of the being shifting nervously at the booth entrance—groaned.

“What do you want, Hrian?” he said, slouching back down and glaring at the insectoid. “And why are you alone?” Hrian were hive creatures, and seeing one alone usually meant trouble.

The Hrian bobbed once—its short stature causing it to duck completely beneath the level of the table—then bobbed again, one of its six appendages lifting a hand to stroke its left antennae while three more of its hands were busy dry-washing. It had a long slit of a mouth that opened outwards instead of downwards, and no distinguishable head. Instead, its six eyes—four compound and two complex—were nestled between its uppermost shoulders and just above its strange mouth. It blinked slowly, tugged at its antennae once more, and then blinked again.

Rolling his eyes, Coleman repeated, “What do you want?”

“Oh. Ah-aaah . . . ha-ha-ha . . .”

The Hrian language was little more than a series of lightning fast chirps, clicks and scratches that ranged from high-pitched to spine-tingling to beyond anything the human ear could hear. Coleman’s suit computer did its best to keep up though.

“I said, what do you want, Hrian?”

“I-yah, I, um . . . couldn’t help but notice your advertisement, good human, and I wish to”—

“Sorry,” Coleman said, cutting the bug off. “I don’t hire lone Hrian. Company policy.”

“Oh. But, um . . . I assure you I am quite skilled in”—

“I said shoo, fly.” Coleman said, waving a hand.

Of course, the dumb bug just rattled on, not even looking at Coleman any more: “ . . . any number of useful skills, such as computer repair, hand-to-hand combat, swimming, horticulture, abstract painting, um, let me see . . .”

The Hrian was so busy ticking skills off on his stubby fingers that he didn’t even notice when the crowd parted and two towering creatures moved up behind him. Coleman, however did notice. Gulping, he made shushing motions at the babbling Hrian and squeezed further into the recesses of the booth.

“Is this Lone One”—

“—bothering you, human?”

The two aliens—Coleman thought they were Talorn, but wouldn’t have bet money on it—would have towered over him even if he’d been standing. Like the still talking Hrian they were insectoid, but where the Hrian was short, oddly proportioned, and clearly anything but a fighter, the two beings seemed to sweat danger, from their balefully glowing crimson eyes, to their glistening black, spike-covered exoskeletons, to the short, lightning-fast movements of their half-dozen limbs and the rapid flickers of their translucent wings.

One of the Talorn grabbed the Hrian by its lack-of-head, lifted the suddenly gibbering bug bodily off the floor and casually flung it back into the milling crowd. Then the black creatures turned back to Coleman.

“You are in need”—

“—of our services, human?”

Coleman swallowed and—suddenly grateful for the Underbelly’s no-weapons policy—shrugged carefully. “Possibly.” He flicked his eyes back and forth between the two Talorn, trying to decide which was in charge. “Like the sign says, the work’ll be dangerous, but the pay is good. What kind of work do you two do?”

The Talorn on the left moved so fast all Coleman saw was a blur of motion as the alien brought one of its armored fists down on the edge of the table, sheering the meta-rimmed corner completely off. Each of the bugs focused their eight red eyes on him.

“Whatever we”—

“—are paid to do, human.”

“Y-yes.” Coleman said, eyeing the jagged edge of the table. “I think we could possibly use the two of you.” The Talorn bowed low to him, their mandibles clicking, and Coleman had to force himself to look away. Those mandibles looked like they could sheer right through his arm, suit and everything. “There’ll be a crew meeting tonight. Give me your contact data and I’ll send you time and location.”

“We will”—

“—be there.”

The Talorn on the right produced a datapad and used its smallest, lowest set of arms to type in the requested data, then passed the pad to Coleman, who copied the data with two quick blinks of his eyes.

When he looked up, the Talorn were already gone.

Settling uneasily back against the wall, Coleman resumed watching the crowd. Inside, he was trying to decide whether to be nervous or overjoyed about the first acquisitions to his team. The two Talorn were obviously professionals—a fact that Coleman was beyond grateful for—but at the same time, he was not a professional. Not by a long shot. Would the two bugs take orders from him, or would they decide that the job was simple enough for them to do by themselves, and eliminate him to increase their share of the reward? He frowned, tapping a quick beat on the table top and wishing the slugs would get tired of dancing and leave. Now he had to keep an eye out for M’shtinyb’s goons and any dirty tricks the Talorn might try and pull.

The night—or what passed for night on the Heavenly Docks—grew older and older, Coleman shrank further and further into the shadows, the slugs kept dancing . . . but his crew wasn’t getting any bigger. Plenty of beings were stopping at his booth to offer their services, but most of them were crazy-types looking for anyway to make some money. The crazy Hrian that had first approached him came back to the table no fewer than six times in one hour, dry-washing its appendages and wheedling him to let it join up—Coleman finally aimed a kick at its thorax that sent scrabbling off into the crowd for good. Besides the Hrian there was a two-centuries old AI who couldn’t remember its own name but swore up and down that it had access to two million credits that Coleman could use at his own discretion; a drunk Ophmir that collapsed halfway through its introduction and had to be dragged away by the waiter AI; and a schizophrenic Dopatrine who’s head hadn’t grown back properly after it had been partially severed in an industrial accident up on MT-58C.

He turned each of the crazies away without a second glance, and over a dozen more like them. The problem was, it was only the crazies that would talk to him. Anybeing that looked like it had half an ounce or more of any kind of skill just walked right past him . . . or worse, stopped to laugh at him for a moment before moving on.

Two hours had passed since the Talorn had left, and with only an hour left before he was supposed to meet them and work out a plan, Coleman realized that he couldn’t afford to be picky. He needed bodies to do this job, as many as possible, and if he couldn’t get raw talent, then he’d have to settle for . . . well, raw meat.

He only had forty-five minutes left when things started to get a little better.

First, a group of waist-high Dral scampered up to his table and began chattering at him while they bobbed up and down like caffeine-hyped school children.

“I am Pug,” one squeeked, its huge black eyes twitching back and forth between Coleman and the passing throng.

“I am skilled ship’s mechanic and sometime pilot,” another chirped as it climbed up onto its neighbor’s shoulders so it could look Coleman in the eyes.

A third Dral bounced up onto the table and said, “And I am willing to work for you, human-guy.”

“Okay,” Coleman said, trying to look at all of the Dral at once, “But I’m gonna have to have all of your names.”

“What all?” Pug demanded, “I am Pug and I will be working for you.”

“Yeah, but what about the rest of you?”

“What rest?” the third Dral said, scuttling closer to Coleman, “I am Pug and I am wanting to work.”

“You’re Pug too?” Coleman asked, leaning back from the furless, rabbit-faced alien that was practically panting in his face. “You’re all Pug?”

It took another ten minutes for Coleman to realize the five Dral were actually one single sapient being named Pug. Something like a cross between a naked mole rat and a rabbit, the aliens had large, melon shaped organs that protruded from behind their bat-like ears. These twin bulges were constantly humming and vibrating, swinging between ultrasonic frequencies that Coleman couldn’t hear, to deep bass beats that shook his chest. He guessed that the organs were how the communal mind kept its members connected.

It took another five minutes for him to get used to talking to anyone of the five Dral without forgetting that he was still just talking to Pug. The first Dral that had spoken to him rattled off Pug’s contact information while the other four waited silently, hunched over and chittering to each other, both with their mouths and the strange lobes behind their ears.

Pug’s members had only just scampered off when two more beings planted themselves in front of Coleman. The being on the right was another insectoid, a Ragadine whom Coleman had seen skulking around the Underbelly before. He introduced himself as Chim the Thief, but it was his partner that Coleman was more interested in—at least, at first.

“This is Tane,” Chim hissed loudly, gesturing to his massive, lobster-ish companion, “A Ttarian from Unterpol who I rescued from Security two weeks back.”

“You rescued him?” Coleman said doubtfully, eyeing the Ttarian. Tane was huge . . . at least three meters tall, nearly as wide, and covered from what looked like its head to the end of its six clawed legs in a thick blue-green carapace armor that looked as tough as ships plating. Addressing the big lobster, Coleman asked, “Do you talk, friend?”

The Ttarian responded with a symphony of whistles and breathy squeals from a set of fluted holes that ran down either side of its thorax. Coleman’s suit remained silent, and the Ragadine’s mandibles crossed in a grim smile, “Ttarians are rare, friend Coleman. But rest assured, Tane goes where I go, and at the moment, I am interested in a share of your 500,000.”

Coleman shrugged and asked for their data.

The pompous Ragadine and its lurking lobster had only just left when an Oderan slunk up to the booth. A short demonstration of the amphiboid alien’s ability to generate electric charges across its wet, gray skin was enough for Coleman.

“Give me your contact data, and I’ll send you the place and time for our first get-together.”

The Oderan, Hispos by name, bowed its long neck and passed Coleman a datacard. “I look forward to working with you. Keep the card.”

The Oderan vanished into the crowd, and Coleman finally let himself relax—a little. With Hispos signed on, he now had a crew of seven beings, plus himself—enough to pilot a respectable ship or do pretty much anything else that might need doing. True, they were short on talent, but since Coleman was only putting low odds on his survival anyways, it didn’t matter too much. He had a crew and that was all that mattered, at the moment.

He took down his pad and erased the message, passed the datapad back to the waiting AI server, and had just paused to decide whether or not he even wanted to try his drink, when somebeing tapped him on the shoulder.

Stifling a curse he jerked around, knocking his antifreeze-colored drink over in the process—and stopped short.

“You packing up for the night, soldier?”

Coleman could count on one hand the number of humans he’d seen on the Heavenly Docks—hell, he could count them on one finger—and a female human in the Underbelly was the last thing he had ever expected to see. Especially a very . . . womanly, female.

“I—um, yeah . . . one too many drinks for me,” Coleman mumbled, gazing at her.

She was beautiful, no doubt there, but she was . . . exotic, was the best word Coleman could come up with. Standing maybe half a hand shorter than he, she was wrapped in a black, skin-tight vacsuit that accentuated her—Coleman swallowed long and hard as fifty emotions he had’t felt in a long time suddenly kicked into overdrive—accentuated her wares nicely. She had bright red skin that reminded Coleman of ripe apples on Old Earth, dotted with complex patterns that might have been tattoos or natural skin coloration. The patterns glowed with a soft blue-white light like starlight, swirling around her graceful neck in delicate curls like vines and lightly speckling her soft cheeks and delicate nose like diamond dust. Her short-cut hair shined with the same gentle color, a halo of light that bathed her face in a soft glow. Even the whites of her eyes glowed. Coleman was trapped by her eyes as soon as he saw them . . . they tugged at something just behind his lungs—his heart, maybe.

“You . . . glow.” He winced as soon as the words were out. Stupid. He was just plain stupid.

The woman—girl, really now that he looked closer . . . she couldn’t be any older than he was—laughed, a deep throaty laugh that tugged at his heart even more than her pools-of-light eyes. It was a real laugh. A human laugh. “Yes I do.” She grinned mischievously, “The being who ordered my inception had developed a liking for . . . shiny human beings.”

Coleman blinked, reality slapping him across the face. “You’re an exohuman?”

That gorgeous smile dimmed momentarily. “I prefer parasapien, but yes.” Then the smile was back. “My name is Anna, soldier. What’s yours?”

Scuffing his foot against the metal floor and hoping the dim light would keep Anna from seeing him blush, he answered, “Coleman. Coleman Ainsworth.” Inside, he was screaming at himself: Get a hold of yourself! Sure, you haven’t seen a fem since you jumped ship, but that’s no excuse! You’ve got a job to do!

Anna was still smiling at him, her eyes shining—literally—like starlight, but Coleman’s self-imposed haranguing had been enough to shake him awake. Forcing a casual smile, he extended a hand to her—Anna stared at it, clearly having no idea what to do with it—and said, “Well, Anna, its been a pleasure, but I have some, uh, business negotiations to attend to, so I’ll be seeing you.”

He tried to brush passed her, but a single small hand on his shoulder brought him up short. Reluctantly, he turned to look at her.

The parasapien smiled at him. “You may be the first Homo sapiens sapiens I’ve run into, Coleman Ainsworth, but you’re still a terrible liar. I’ve been watching you,” she pointed across to room to an empty booth, “all night. You’re organizing a job, and doing a terrible job of it. But, you’re in luck.”

Anna’s slim fingers tangled into Coleman’s own, and she pulled him closer, leaning in to whisper in his ear while Coleman’s knees melted out from under him, “I’m a pilot, Ainsworth. And the best one on the Docks. I’m gonna save your neck.”

For some reason, right at that moment, Coleman knew he was in trouble.