Chapter 13

“Well Warren, first order of business is to teach you how to take flashbangs. Grenades roll into a room, you close your eyes, turn away, and cover your ears. Doesn’t do much good, but it helps. It’s certainly better than staring at it with the curiosity of a monkey. Second order, you need to know that if something’s leaking gas, don’t breathe it. Especially if it comes from me.
“Okay, now that you’re all caught up, you can realize that since you did none of the above, you were out like a light—it was people like you that flashbangs and gas grenades were made for. So a few moments after you went down, they rushed in like the good little Mar boys are all taught to do and we, being the nasty little rebels we are taught to be, shot back at them and rushed back out of the room.
“After that, we had the two recon teams pretty much down and figured more would be coming in. Well only one came down. And it wasn’t Mar. Matter o’ fact, it was a demon, though not as nice a one as you met, evidently.”
“Wait,” interrupted Warren, “Demon?”
“Yes, demon. Nasty sons of bitches, demons are. Listen, let me explain to you what we’re up against: the Mar are stupid, greedy, ignorant sissies who have lots of connections and weapons and can usually get away with murder. The demons, who pull the strings of the Mar, are not any of the things the Mar are. They are cunning, resourceful, and attentive killing machines. My point is this, if the Mar want you dead (more than just the local thugs) that means demons want you dead. And if demons want you dead, you’re probably going to wind up that way. So.”
“So? What?”
“We’re going to need a car soon before the demons show up again to kill you. But while they go find them, you need to hear about Maghalis—he was the demon who dropped the ground from beneath us and landed us in a portal (or something) to his ship. Anyway, he’s a tall-walking, purple-winged wonder—long teeth, big claws, twisted horns, pointy tail. You know pretty much the portrait of your classic demon. Not to say they all look like that.
“But on with the story. We still had our weapons of course, so when we landed I the demon-shsip, we opened fire on the Mar operating the cargo hold (as we later discovered that’s where we were). It was a short journey to the bridge in which we decimated the defending Mar. I mean, they really didn’t stand a chance. I kind of feel bad about it, you know?
“So we take the bridge and check the instruments to find your location (since you hadn’t dropped with us). Sofi sprinted off for you, while four held the bridge and the other four went on a sweep and destroy patrol. There’s nothing sweeter than sweep and destroy missions on an enemy vessel. Loads of fun.
“Well anyway, the first group of four (with Trent) were attacked on the bridge by a couple demons and the gyro governor was damaged (you might have remembered the shift) and I think they were still holding them off when we got ported here. So by then our sweep team (slowed a little by the tilt) had scored ten or fifteen Mar kills and one demon kill. The demon had jumped us around a corner and would have taken Max’s head off had he not been in a corner-check motion with his bayonet armed. He sort of accidentally beat the demon to the punch. It screamed. We fired. A lot. It sort of writhed a bit and then burst into flames. Probably nothing but charcoal left now.
“It was right about that time we found ourselves a little light-headed and looking back at the blue sky. Are the trucks ready yet?”
Warren was still a little foggy about the demons, and decided to press the issue. “So if Maghalis is so powerful, how come he didn’t just kill us all? I mean, isn’t that what you’ve been saying they want to do?”
Before Fredric could wind himself up, Sofi answered. “The demons are each their own master—they work together on occasion when the outcome benefits them all. Which is rare. And to say that they control the Mar is also somewhat outlandish. They are not the Mar—though they will use the Mar to their advantage. Of course the Mar believe they have made the deal of the ages, working closely with demons, as if they have harnessed a great power. So rarely do they work in suspicion of the other’s motives, but even less frequently do they actually agree. It’s hard to tell which one is the host and which one the parasite in their relationship.
“Maghalis is probably the most Mar friendly demon in existence, and therefore most dangerous to us. But don’t be deceived, Watson, Maghalis doesn’t want you personally dead. He is fighting a larger battle and would much rather figure out why we want you alive and where we are taking you. He’s not a beast of anger and passion for destruction like many of his lesser imp friends—it’s his rather insatiable lust for knowledge that compels him.”
At this point, Livingstone, who had been sitting in silence, fidgeting, now spoke out with an unrestrained passion. “Which rulebook will you be playing by, ehh Sofi? Are we to tell him nothing or everything? You’ve been quite reluctant to reveal anything to him in the past; what has changed now? I mean, no offense to your faculties of thought, Watson, (they aren’t in question here) but honestly the less you know the better.”
“He has seen a demon and the demon has seen him; I should think that’s reason enough to explain his situation.”
“Watson,” Livingstone addressed Warren in answer to Sofi’s question, “we are trained soldiers. I cannot lie about that to you; you yourself have seen it. We fight against the Mar; you have witnessed this. And now you know about the faction of otherworldly demons which may or may not aid the Mar. This is not necessarily dangerous information for you. But if you come to understand any purpose behind our actions, if you come into enemy hands, they will find out. And, as Sophi said, once Maghalis knows, he will have very little use for your life. So when I tell you that it is better that you don’t know, believe me, for your own life’s sake.”
“You think I would tell them?” Warren began, but Livingstone shook his head. “These are no ordinary interrogations they would perform on you, question and answer type. Not even torture. No, once they have you in their custody, they will know what you know. It’s a simple psychic process and they will access your memories like an electronic file. Now as soldiers, we have had a defense mechanism implanted within us (by our voluntary choice) which disrupts this effort and will make them resort to torture, which we can and will withstand. But I have no wish for you to suffer nor for the demons to gain access to our purpose; therefore, for the common good, I will not, nor will I let anyone in our troupe, tell you more than you need to know. You do not need to be accountable for our actions.”
Warren stared wide-eyed at the hobo soldier and turned to Sofi, who glanced away. “Do you understand, Sofi?” He measured her silence and then nodded. “Do you understand, Fred? All of you?” No one said a word. Then Livingstone put a hand on Warren’s shoulder.
“I hope that you understand our intentions for you are nothing but for the best possible outcome in the sequence of events that have already begun cascading through time. I trust we have demonstrated this thus far. So look back on the last two days, Warren. Tell me if you would trust in us to lead you on—and not just to safety, but to understanding. And in the end, when you understand it all, then look back on us and judge our decisions.”
Warren pulled Ali from his shoulder again and looked at her gleaming eyes. “I think we can do that, can’t we, Ali?” She squeaked in admonition and tried to chew on his thumb. He raised his eyes to Livingstone. “I think we can do that.”
“Excellent,” Livingstone said, smiling for the first time in a long time. “And perfect timing, here are the trucks.” Warren searched in the direction that Livingstone pointed. Two giant, black SUVs raced around the corner and dipped to a stop. Then Trent spoke up. “Sofi and Warren go with Old Fred and Max, in Connor’s vehicle. Oscar and the rest of you, come with me in Shan’s vehicle. Let’s go; let’s go people. Long drive to Kansas City.”
Warren followed Sofi, as he was entirely clueless as to which vehicle belonged to whom. Old Fred climbed into the front passenger seat and Warren found himself seated between “Max” and Sofi. And he didn’t really mind, though Sofi seemed a little downcast since Livingstone’s rebuttal. As they buckled themselves in, Ali squeaked and caught Warren’s ear in her teeth. “Ow. Hey! I need that ear, Ali,” he said, wincing. Then to the rest of the passengers, he added, “Does anyone have something edible for Ali to snack on? I think she’s hungry.”
“Yeah,” Old Fred said, rummaging through the glove compartment. “I think…ehh…somewhere in here are some…aha! Here, she’ll get a kick out of these,” he exclaimed and handed back a pack of Jalapeno Cheddar flavored sunflower seeds. Warren hummed monotonously in indecision. “Okay, maybe lick them off first or something,” Fredric suggested.
Warren decided to rub them off as best he could; he did so and held it up for Ali. She sniffed the seed with interest—then promptly sneezed. “Hmm, maybe I’d better rinse it off,” Warren thought aloud. “Anyone have a water bottle?”
“There’s a bunch in back,” Connor, the driver, offered.
“I’ll snag one,” Max chimed in for the first time and pulled one from a package of bottled water behind him. “Here you go.”
“Thanks,” Warren sang, ripping the plastic off the top and opening it. He dripped a bit on the seed, rubbed it thoroughly, and handed it to Ali. She took it in her nimble paws, turned it around a couple times, and started gnawing. Warren watched her devour the whole thing, and then repeated the process. Even Sofi, who had seemed quite emotionally displaced from the furry little gray ball atop Warren’s shoulder, glanced over every now and again to watch the spectacle.
Warren thought Ali could sense the attention and believed that she rather enjoyed it, as if she were made to inhabit the spotlight. And so for the next ten minutes, they watched Ali devour sunflower seeds, with Warren dripping water down the edge of the cap so Ali could drink every now and again.
“We still need to operate on her, you know,” Sofi said quietly, eyes fixed on the little ball of fur. Warren’s gaze snapped to her—a smile tugging at his lips.
“Thank you.”
The rest of the day passed without much, Ali occupying the entertainment spotlight on the trip. Conversation drifted in and out—usually centered lightly on Ali’s antics. Several hours in, Old Fred took control of the wheel and shortly after announced their departure from Colorado. Warren felt somewhat uneasy without the mountains in sight, but distracted himself with keeping Ali in line.
The sun faded quickly behind them, revealing the glittering fields of stars above them. But what soon caught their undivided attention was the rising moon. Fredric, with his eyes searching the road for wildlife, had noticed it first, but hadn’t said anything until at least half of the bright orb had escaped the horizon. That second glance had hushed him in the middle of a story, and when the others had prodded him to continue, he pointed in the general direction of the moon and said something like, “I…look.”
Warren had to lean close to Sofi, a necessity he didn’t mind in the least bit, in order to glimpse the moon. But what he saw wasn’t the moon—well, half of it was. And most of that half glowed bright green in the sky. The other half hung in space around it, drifting in what must have been nation-sized chunks. Warren gazed with open mouth at the spectacle before him—he wasn’t sure which half of the moon to wonder at.
Sofi drew a long audible breath and raised her hand to her mouth. After a healthy silence, she all but whispered, “What in god’s name happened?” Warren shook his head and continued to stare. Only Old Fred dared to reply.
“I reckon the waypoint worked.”