Sword of the Gods: Agents of Ki (Sword of the Gods Saga) (32 page)

"Sir," Eligor shifted uncomfortably. It wasn't Shemijaza's creepy second-in-command he'd been hoping would reward him for a job well-done, but Shemijaza himself.

"No matter," Zepar said, unexpectedly dropping his game of cat-and-mouse. "You've never been one to ask too many questions, and for that reason, you've always been a valuable member of this crew."

"Yes, Sir," Eligor waited. Speech. Zepar was about to give him another one of his infamous speeches. He was surprised when, instead, Zepar slid the spearhead back to him.

"So what did you think of Earth?"

"Not what I expected, Sir," Eligor said.

"What
did
you expect?"

Eligor picked up the spearhead. He wasn't there when
this
thing had been embedded in the belly of the shuttle, but he'd seen how quick that dark-skinned bastard had yanked a knife out of nowhere and lunged straight for Lucifer's heart. Fuck! He'd known Lucifer had some weird mojo, able to read people's minds and shit, but the angry young chieftain hadn't stopped simply because Lucifer had whispered what the guy wanted to hear into the dude's mind. No way! That guy had been Hades-bent on carving out Lucifer's heart and Lucifer had somehow made him freeze without even laying a hand on him.

Zepar closed his eyes and scented the air, almost like he was a Sata'anic lizard. His smirk turned malicious.

"Lucifer's
real
father
could do things like that," Zepar said softly, forgetting for a moment he was trying to pretend he couldn't read Eligor's mind. "Couldn't he?"

"So we all heard," Eligor said. "I didn't ever see it for myself."

"Shemijaza was
more
than he pretended to be," Zepar said. "But then he lost that power. Threw it all away to get back his wife and son."

Zepar studied him like a serpent waiting to swallow a mouse alive. Eligor was tough, good in a fight, pragmatic, ruthless when he needed to be and sensible when he didn't. Zepar, though? For a guy that did his best to pretend to be a weasely little nobody, the guy had always creeped him out. How different he had turned out to be from the terrified computer-geek he'd found hiding in Asherah's shuttle, trying to hack into Tyre's planetary defense system.

So if
he
had turned the creepy nerd in to Chemosh and
nobody
had been there to bring down the planetary defense system, how the
fuck
had Hashem ended up breaching Shemijaza's defenses?

He noted Zepar's squint of scrutiny.

'Only mistake Shemijaza made was placing his trust back in that woman…'
Eligor forced himself off the path his mind
wanted
to go and onto the one which would prevent him from getting himself killed if Zepar figured out he'd started
asking questions lately … lots of them … and didn't like the answers.

Zepar gave him an approving smile.

"Very well then, Eligor," Zepar said. "I find myself in a bit of a predicament. As you may have noticed, we have a few, how shall I put this,
allies
on board the ship?"

'Fuck allies,' Eligor thought to himself. 'I wouldn't trust Ba'al Zebub any further than I could throw the corpulent bastard.'

"Yes, Sir," Eligor said aloud.

Zepar nodded. "Furcas and Pruflas have been overwhelmed, making sure Ba'al Zebub and his lackeys don't double-cross us. We wouldn't want history to repeat itself now, would we?"

"No, Sir," Eligor said. He noted the feel of the spearhead in his hand. Cool. Sharp-edged. A blunt instrument, but surprisingly effective when wielded properly by someone who had known how to use it. He filled his mind with his perceptions of the spearhead so Zepar couldn't pick up on the deeper worries percolating in the back of his brain.

"These are exciting times," Zepar tapped his index fingers together. "Countless years of planning are all coming to fruition. The men closest to the master when he retakes his rightful place will be amply rewarded."

'Rewards. I like rewards,'
Eligor forced himself to think. Actually …
that
was not a lie.

"Yes, Sir," Eligor said noncommittally aloud.

"You've always been a simple man to please," Zepar said. "You don't care all that much about money. You're not into status symbols or prestige. What
do
you want?"

Eligor blocked the thought from leaping into his mind and filled it with the next closest available truth. 'I wouldn't mind a wife like you gave General Abaddon. Shit that woman was smart! She even made Lucifer shut up…'

Zepar rose from his seat and rustled his dirty white wings like a barnyard cockerel. He stepped around his desk, relishing his role as petty dictator. Eligor suppressed a shudder of revulsion and filled his mind with nonsensical images.

"Yes," Zepar whispered a little too close to Eligor's ear. "Our Master promised you a wife, didn't he? Someone you could go spawn off a few little Eligors with, perhaps?" Zepar stepped back, his expression one of feigned compassion.

"Yes, Sir," Eligor said. "That's what Lucifer promised when he asked us all to come along on this wild ride."

Zepar nodded, apparently satisfied.

"Very well," Zepar said. "But things have been a little chaotic lately. I think you've noticed the Prime Minister has been feeling, how shall I put this delicately, under the weather?"

'You mean drunk as a skunk one minute, then a cold psychotic motherfucker the next,'
Eligor thought and then suppressed it quick before Zepar could pick up on his thoughts.

"Yes, Sir," Eligor said aloud.

Zepar sat on the edge of his desk, careful not to crush his feathers. Without even looking, he reached back and pulled out a small box from beneath a stack of papers. He caressed it thoughtfully, and then held it out so Eligor could take it. Eligor opened the box. Inside was a syringe.

"What's this?"

"When Lucifer's mother abandoned him," Zepar clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, "the boy was upset.
Very
upset. Have you ever heard of an acute psychotic break?"

'No kidding…'
Eligor thought to himself.

"I thought the Alliance cured all major depressive disorders millennia ago," Eligor said aloud. "Especially amongst hybrids, who were genetically engineered to never develop the illnesses in the first place?"

"They did," Zepar's eyes crinkled up in a smile. "Gene therapy. And yes, most hybrids
are
immune from this defect. But not Lucifer." Zepar pointed to his own, dull-blue eyes. "The same gene that carries his lack of pigmentation also carries other … issues. The same issues that plagued his biological father."

Eligor perked up. Batshit crazy or not, this stuff was interesting. He waited for Zepar to finish his spiel.

"It doesn't affect him all the time," Zepar continued. "Only when he's under a lot of stress." His unremarkable blue eyes met Eligor's. "The kind of stress that might occur when your adoptive father tortures you for three days straight and then tries to burn off your wings?"

Eligor grunted an affirmation. Batshit crazy or not, for
most
Alliance citizens, Hashem's unrestrained abuse of power had been the last straw. Gods were there to set a good example for the people. When they didn't provide
that role model, it was time to move on and find a
new
god.

Zepar gave him a predatory grin.

"You can imagine how damaging it would be if word leaked out the Alliance Prime Minister suffers from an illness that requires ongoing medication?" Zepar fondled the syringe the way one might fondle a lover. "Especially how … precarious … our beloved Prime Minister's new experiment in self-rule is, don't you think?"

"Yes, Sir," Eligor said.

"Why," Zepar gave him a coy look, "if word got out, we might all find ourselves out of a job." He held out the box holding the syringe. "Where would you go, Eligor, if Parliament discovered you didn't
really
grow up in a Youth Training Academy the way I altered your service record to reflect, but as a mercenary in Shemijaza's Third Empire?"

It was an old threat. One Zepar used often to keep him in line.

"That would be bad, Sir," Eligor said.
This
time he didn't need to fill his mind with bullshit.

"Good," Zepar said. He waited for Eligor to take the box out of his hands. "When Lucifer first wakes up from a trying situation, he tends to be, how should I put this, disoriented?"

Eligor watched him, forcing his mind to remain quiet.

Zepar pointed to the box. "We call this personality 'the princess.' When he's fully in charge of his faculties, you won't see the fifteen-year-old boy that Hashem damaged when he abandoned him. Our master needs somebody he can
trust
to cajole this weaker personality into taking his medicine, even when he pouts and says he doesn't want it."

'You bastard,' Eligor thought. 'He doesn't trust you anymore, so you want to use -me- to keep your grip on him!' He hastily suppressed the thought.

"Yes, Sir," Eligor said aloud, and then forced the thoughts he knew Zepar
wanted
to hear into the forefront of his mind.
'Don't let the rest of the ship see that Lucifer sometimes loses his crackers. Got it…'

Zepar smiled. They had reached an understanding. He let go of the box, leaving it in Eligor's hand along with Lerajie's pet spearhead.

"Off you go now, Special Agent Eligor." Zepar gave him a crisp salute like an Alliance military officer might give to a subordinate. "It's time to go wake the princess."

Eligor moved to leave Zepar's office before the bastard saw how badly he made Eligor's feathers crawl with imaginary cooties.

"Oh, Eligor," Zepar called.

"Sir?" Eligor kept his back turned.

"The spearhead," Zepar said. "You can leave it here if you like."

Eligor fingered the cool, sharp weapon. A blunt instrument. A stone-aged weapon no Alliance citizen would deign to use. But in the hands of someone who knew how to wield it,
any
weapon could prove deadly. He kind of liked that his prowess as an Angelic had come not from some test tube buried deep in the bowels of Hashem's genetics laboratory, but from his own root-race. Perhaps Angelics weren't as made-up as the rest of the Alliance liked to pretend they were? Maybe they
were
real and
did
deserve to become full-fledged citizens like Lucifer had often told him, the
real
Lucifer, the 'princess' one as Zepar called him. The fifteen-year-old boy Shemijaza had asked him to bring home to meet his
real
father.

Eligor whirled to face the serpent which called the shots.

"If you don't mind, Sir," Eligor said. "I'd really like to keep it. It keeps Lerajie amused and out of my hair."

Zepar's eyes hardened. "Your friend is proving to be a problem."

It had been a long time since Eligor had stuck his neck out for somebody. He wasn't about to do so now. But…

"I'm just saying Lerajie could analyze it, Sir," Eligor said. "He
is
our resident expert on pre-sentient life forms. Be kinda stupid
not
to take advantage of that kind of knowledge, don't you think?" He twisted up his palms to display the spearhead. "Like you just said, Earth turned out to be not quite what we expected."

Zepar backed down. "Fine. Just don't let it interfere with your job."

"Yes, Sir," Eligor said. He slipped the spearhead into his cargo pants. He glanced back at the contraption on the table. Old technology … new technology. The
old
technology clonked reassuringly against his leg as he exited the room, living proof that he was
real
and not some made-up creature from a test tube.

The moment the door shut behind him, Eligor flapped his wings to shake out the pins and needles which crawled through his feathers like fleas. He moved through the stark, white corridors of the
Prince of Tyre
to the luxurious suite which was Lucifer's personal quarters. The first thing to hit him as he walked into the room was the overwhelming stench of stale alcohol, sweat, and vomit; Lucifer's perpetual state of being.

"Mister Prime Minister?" Eligor called without flipping on the light switch. "Sir? It's me, Eligor. Zepar sent me to help you get ready."

He'd been tasked with 'princess duty' before, though never had Zepar asked him to shoot Lucifer up with the shit they used to keep him malleable. The jumble of white feathers on the command-carrier sized bed gave a muffled groan. Lucifer. Hung over. Again. Eligor clicked on the light switch over Lucifer's wet bar, though not because the man needed a drink. Hell, no, the
last
thing the man needed was a shot of the potent green Mantoid liquor which was Lucifer's toxin of choice, but when you were hung over the bar-light was the least obnoxious in the room.