Shedding the Demon (22 page)

She had been deeply shaken by the violent response from
Alexander. Her personal guards, who were also her closest friends, had warned
her and tried to dissuade her from the face-to-face meeting, but she didn’t
listen.

She thought about her two friends and their selfless
devotion over the decades they had spent at her side. They were always there in
the background, unobtrusive, but ever watching, ever faithful.

They had saved her life more than once, but the meeting with
Alexander was the first time she encountered a calculated plot to kidnap or
kill her. She wondered again, as she had countless times before, what would
cause them to forego lives of their own to follow her, and protect her under
all circumstances.

Conn and Veradisia. They had no family of their own as far
as she knew.
Perhaps they have each other?
It was a thought she’d had
before, but never articulated, trying to give them some privacy.

I call them friends, but I know nothing about them,
really. I don’t even know where they came from originally.
Assigned by the
University—probably by Reverend Trueblood himself—they’ve been with Avelina
ever since. They never complain, although they will offer advice.
Usually
good advice but, Kyndra forgive me, I rarely heed them.

She stepped into the shower and let the warm water run over
her head and body, feeling luxurious.
I owe it to them to get us out of
here.
They had been in hiding since the escape from Alexander almost three
months ago. Veradisia, an outstanding pilot, had gotten them out of the Pryke
system quickly, tunneling at the earliest possible second, and not bringing
them out for four whole days. Now they hid near a large gas giant, in an
unnamed system outside the reach of anyone. Rudimentary WERA scans of the
system revealed no signs of life, and Conn kept a vigilant watch for anything
moving within range. They were able to refuel by skimming off the gas giant
atmosphere, but the physical supplies could not be replaced.

Eleven weeks Avelina had spent agonizing over the facts that
she had to face. She was having trouble coming to terms with the fact that the
product of the past two decades of her life—her life’s work—was a terrible
weapon being used to kill innocent people.

Avelina now understood that Renard was being prophetic when
he named it the Demon program. She also realized that she had deceived herself
by refusing to admit it could be misused.
I thought Renard would have
complete control, that he would use it to protect people, protect our way of
life. I envisioned an extension of Kyndra’s benevolence.
She paused in her
thoughts and shut off the water.
Stupid, idealistic fool! Am I a child?
She
had run through this litany of self-reproach many times during the past weeks.
I
handed an unstoppable weapon of mass destruction to that psychotic murderer
Pryke!

She made her decision. It was the same one she had not
wanted to acknowledge on the first day of her self-imposed exile, but she was
finally ready to act upon it.

She would go to Renard and offer her services to help stop
the man she had created.

She wondered how long Conn and Veradisia would have stayed
here with her. Would they have taken it upon themselves to return to
civilization, or would they have stayed to starvation? She shuddered, and
didn’t really want to know the answer.

 

**** ****

 

Renard Trueblood stood in the window
of his office as if admiring the view. His thoughts were not on the fantastic
panorama spread before him, however; he was concentrating on the evolving plans
to bring an end to the Demon and stop the rise of the Pryke dynasty. These two
problems were now completely out of his control, and he could do nothing but
hope that Jeffrey’s preparations would be adequate this time.

Ever since he had been forced to agree to the destruction of
his own ally, all of the missions for the Demon had had a definite advantage
for the Prykes. Even though the Council made the final decisions, Pryke was
somehow inserting his own agenda and creating rationale for missions that
should not be happening.

The latest attack was supposedly targeted on weapons
manufacturing, when in fact the factories in question were producing Debar
reactors. Only these reactors were not being made by the Burdekins but by a
rival company. A company started by, and loyal to, the Truebloods.

Another crippling blow to another one of my strongest
allies. Renard seethed in his impotence. We have got to find his way into the
Council’s Intelligence Apparatus.

Renard’s screen beeped at him from the desk, and he sighed
as he turned to check on it. A guard at the base of the Spire had sent a
message that there was an unexpected, but cleared, visitor he was positive
Renard would like to see. Thinking it must be Jeffrey, Renard wondered why a
guard might send notice, but he indicated his acceptance of the visitor
nonetheless.

When the doors opened, he was shocked to see Avelina enter
the room. “Kyndra be praised!” He exclaimed as he ran across the room to hug
her. Avelina seemed slightly shocked herself at his reaction. He held her out
at arm’s length and looked at her. “Where have you been? Are you all right?”

Avelina was clearly disconcerted by his actions and did not
reply right away. “Reverend, I’m . . . I . . .” she tried
to speak.

Realizing her discomfiture, Renard quickly composed himself.
“Forgive me, Avelina, but you’ve always been special to me. I still remember
the day we pulled you out of school and brought you to the Spire. I’ve been
truly worried about you since you disappeared.” He resumed a practiced pose of
the Revered Leader of Kyndraism, making both of them feel more comfortable.
Then he invited Avelina to sit with him on two of the nearby couches.

They sat facing each other as Avelina recounted the events
from her meeting with Alexander Pryke, her flight, and subsequent
disappearance. Before she got into the description of her soul-searching during
her self-imposed exile, Renard launched into his prepared plea.

“Avelina, I realize just how important the Demon project is
to you and what it means in term of your many years of dedication. I realize
how much you sacrificed over the twenty-some years you devoted to the project
in support of the Consensus and Kyndra herself. I understand that what I am
about to ask will sound ungrateful and disrespectful, but—”

“But,” she interrupted before he could continue, “you now
want me to destroy it. It has become an unstoppable force in the hands of a
madman, and we cannot allow its existence to threaten the very thing it was
intended to protect.”

Renard looked at her with surprise written plainly on his
face. “How did you know?”

“It came to me while meeting with Alexander. At first I
assumed that he wanted my help to create his own Demon, but as the conversation
progressed I realized he was not asking for any such thing.”

“What was he asking for?” Renard asked.

“At first I was confused, since I couldn’t figure out what
he wanted. Then it struck me, plain as day. I believe the understanding was
given by Kyndra herself.”

She paused as they made the ritual motion.

“He wanted to kill me or imprison me so that I could not
destroy his single most powerful weapon. The Demon is his key to finally
destroying you and taking over the entire Consensus.”

Avelina stopped and swallowed hard. She put both hands on
her cheeks and her eyes became unfocused.

“For one brief moment I was gifted a vision of the future of
our poor Consensus under the brutal tyrannical rule of the Prykes.”

She looked at Renard, but she wasn’t seeing him. Her eyes
had become deep, wide pools of blackness.

“Reverend, what I saw left me shocked, sickened, and deeply frightened.
I did the only thing I could think of. I ran. I’m sorry, I should have come to
you, but . . .” Avelina closed her eyes.

Renard jumped in to soothe her “No, no, you did fine, you
did all that could be expected of you in the circumstance. I should have taken
you in sooner, it’s my fault. I should have known the danger.”

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hands and continued,
“No, I could have been more careful. And,” she sighed, “Kyndra please forgive
me, I did not believe the vision. Actually, I did not believe the Demon’s role
in the vision. I
couldn’t
believe it! I poured my heart and soul into
that project in order to make the perfect protector of Kyndra’s vision, but
instead I created the means to destroy it! I
couldn’t
accept it. It took
me a long time to come to the truth of the matter and separate myself emotionally
from the Demon.”

Renard sat watching her intently, speechless for once.
Avelina continued to look down at the floor, her feet, or her hands, apparently
unable to look at him. Finally she lifted her face and her eyes were clear.

“I did more than wallow in self-pity while I was in hiding.”
A smile crept onto her face. “I also solved some the problems with another idea
I’ve been working on, something that could be bigger and better than the Demon.
You wouldn’t be willing to let me use a lab, would you?”

Renard laughed and said, “I’ll give you everything you want
or need, and” he paused to stand and reach out to take her hand, “you’ll be
happy to know the entire team is here, working diligently, but in desperate
need of your leadership and vision.”

Avelina took his hand while he spoke and smiled brightly
after he finished. She looked as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders
as she followed him to the elevator.

 

Damon wandered through the market
feeling out of place. It wasn’t because he personally felt out of place, but
rather because the market felt out of place. It was crammed into a small square
inside a large city. There were booths, stall, tables, and kiosks laid out in a
haphazard manner that allowed the many patrons to move between them, but it
lacked any real organization. Vendors were selling everything from prepared
foods to livestock to electronics, one next to the other. The sounds of voices
rose above the din touting the virtues of their products, vying against other
vendors for shoppers’ attention. There was a faint cloud of dust floating in
the air, making it feel like they were out in the country, when in fact the
cars, trucks, and other vehicles could be seen zipping along the transportation
grid a few blocks away in any direction.

Over the past year, Damon had learned that huge cities like
this one grew on most of the planets in the Consensus. Generally, they
developed in an ever-expanding circle, consuming land and resources to feed the
growth. Inner portions of the city would age and become rundown while new
buildings, parks, and facilities would be added around the perimeter. Slowly
but surely, the inner portions fell into disrepair and eventually were
abandoned altogether. The homeless, the downtrodden, and those who just wanted
to live outside of regular society then began moving into the abandoned
buildings, often finding the water and electricity still in working order.

Damon found it disturbing that he had seen this scene played
out in so many different places, and they all reminded him of his own home. He
had learned that his home, that place he held so dear in his memories, was not in
any way unusual. Rather, it arose from a pattern that persisted throughout the
Consensus on innumerable other planets.

The fact that his home was not unique somehow made him
more
homesick. The existence of so many other places on other worlds so much like
his own did not diminish his home’s value in his memories. He still felt as if
something had been taken from him, something irreplaceable, and there was
nothing he could do about it. A couple of times he had to catch himself as he
subconsciously began to deploy weapons in his agitation. He didn’t want to draw
undue attention to himself—at least no more attention than his size and gray
skin garnered already.

Damon thought back to 4C and how the Family coveted the functioning
utilities, but now he knew that the facilities were left intact on purpose.
City and social planners discovered long ago that leaving the water, sewer, and
electricity functioning in the abandoned inner areas was cheaper than trying to
implement government programs for all the people living there. The abandoned
areas became huge passive welfare systems, intended to keep the poor living in
relative comfort while keeping them out of the city proper. This also helped
confine the crime to the abandoned sections, rather than in the nice parts of
town.

The people in the Ruins, as they had called it back home,
thought they were living ‘outside the system,’ when in fact they were
participating in the grand plan. Damon couldn’t believe that he had not realized
the truth while he lived in 4C. He didn’t know why it mattered to him, but he
couldn’t dispel the dull ache in his heart.

Damon broke his own reverie by calling up Ken. “What have
you got on today’s target?”

“Not much that your official report didn’t already cover.”
Ken snorted, sounding disgusted. “Another somebody making and hording weapons, sentenced
for sedition.”

“Sounds easy, I’ll finish my recon sweep, and I should be
back in time for lunch. I’ll send the reports to Gregor and wait for further
instructions.”

Ken was quiet for a minute. “How many of your missions have
been on account of sedition?”

Damon didn’t give it much thought, “Well, most of them, why?”
An image of Shrigauri Krych formed in his mind.

“Uh huh, doesn’t it strike you as awfully convenient?
‘Sedition’ is such a broad term, it could be used in many cases to put an end
to almost any activity that the Council didn’t like. It’s not illegal to
manufacture weapons. It’s not illegal to stockpile them—suspicious, yes—but not
illegal. Are these people actual threats to the Consensus, or are they just
threats to the profits of the Council families?”

Damon was no longer listening to Ken, but heard the voice of
Shrigauri Krych instead:

 

 

“No!” Damon interrupted Ken and the voice of Shrigauri
together.

“What?” Ken responded.

“No, I’m not a tool. And I’m not killing my own people.”

“I . . . didn’t say
that.
I was merely
pointing out . . .”

“NO! I’m following orders. Sometimes the orders are tough.
Do you think I
like
following orders?”

Ken hesitated a second before replying, “Yes, actually, I
think you do.”

Damon stopped walking and growled “What is
that
supposed to mean?”

“Sometimes we have to think for ourselves. We can’t follow
the word of those in power, not always, not blindly. We have to think things
through and be sure that it makes sense.”

“Ha!” Damon exclaimed out loud. Seeing the strange looks
from people nearby, he started walking again. Once he’d moved on a little way
he continued, “I learned the hard way what happens when I make my own
decisions.”

The face of Melanie popped into his head, laughing and
mocking. He pictured that last time he saw her as she walked out of the
building back home, calm and at ease with her friends.

“I get my orders from the Council,” he continued. “They may
not be perfect, but they work in the best interests of the Consensus. Who am I
to judge? What do I know about the working of the Consensus?”

Ken was silent for a moment, and then he answered slowly, “Damon,
you can’t trust the Council. They only worry about their own families and
fortunes.” He started talking faster, “They only care about the well-being of
the Consensus so they can continue to feed off of it. They stifle progress, and
keep the people beholden to them in order to keep the beast alive, but only
well enough to sustain their own extravagant existence.”

Damon could hear him breathing heavily. Ken was very
passionate about this subject.

Tiny seeds of doubt had lived in Damon’s mind since the day Andrea
told him she’d rather rot in jail then work for the government. Ken cultivated
the seeds over time with his knowledge of the Council and his experience in the
system. Now, finally, Damon allowed himself to at least acknowledge the
existence of the seeds.

“Can we talk about this more later?” he asked, as he approached
the borders of the local Ruins.

“I’d love to,” Ken said earnestly.

Damon took a deep breath and asked, “Now. Do you have
anything actually useful to tell me or not?”

 

 

Nearly an hour later, Damon wound
his way through the deeper sections of the Ruins, wrapped in his thoughts. He
didn’t mind the isolation, it reminded him of patrols back at home. He drifted
along this path of memories until it brought him inevitably to Andrea, and to
the ill-fated solo patrol that started all of his troubles.

If I’m working for the greater good of the Consensus,
he asked himself,
why then do I think of this current situation as
‘troubles?’
He had no answer, but he continued to contemplate his own
feelings about himself and his role in Council affairs. Finally, he found no
other alternative than to accept that Ken may be right.

“Have you found anything about the target?” he asked.

Ken cleared his throat and replied, “Nothing.” He paused
before elaborating, “Meaning I found nothing
at all
to suggest they are
producing or stockpiling weapons. As far as I can find, they are making
high-end electronic components to be sold at ridiculous profits, but that’s
nothing new and certainly no crime. The fact that they are being made in
factories inside the Ruins and off the official logs is suspicious, but, again,
not a crime.”

Neither one spoke for a few minutes as Damon continued toward
the suspect factories. Damon tried to make sense of his actions on behalf of
the Council.
If I’m truly taking out rebellious factions then it must be good,
right?
He asked himself over and over with no good answer coming forth.
Why
would they be running factories hidden in the Ruins, anyway?
Legitimate
business would be carried out in the light of day, not hidden away and
suspicious.
Damon’s attempts to rationalize the mission sounded hollow,
even to himself.

“Maybe it’s a lie. Maybe they are just making it look like
they’re producing electronics. I’ll know more when I get inside,” Damon said as
he approached the outside of a decrepit but intact building. “Which is where
I’m going now.”

“Be careful,” Ken said seriously, “you never know what you’ll
find down there, and you’re going deep enough that we won’t be able to maintain
contact. Last check—what’s your power level?”

Damon flicked up a reading on his HUD and reported “I’m good
to go at 92%, thanks.” And with that he entered the building in his unique way,
by making a door with his fist.

Once inside, he decided to take a more conventional approach
and used stairs or convenient existing holes in the floor to descend into the
roots of the Ruins. His intelligence stated that the factories were built
inside of, but separate from, the original buildings deep underground. Detectable
only through WERA scans, the only way to reconnoiter secretly was to do it personally.
Attempts to send in remote observation equipment had all been effectively
countered, raising the suspicion level, which reassured Damon that he must be
doing the right thing.
Why all the secrecy if they’re innocent?

He eventually found the factories, although he had to make
some more holes in order to enter the space. Once inside, he realized he had no
way of telling what they were making. He stood for a few moments looking at
complex machinery whirring away in front of him with absolutely no idea what it
was doing. He decided that he needed to find the control room, or at least the
end of the process where whatever they were making would be coming out.

After searching through the huge underground factory for
more than an hour, Damon realized he had no idea what he was looking for. It
was not easy moving around the machinery since it formed an inexplicable maze.
There were access corridors, but none of them ran in straight lines and some
ended abruptly for no apparent reason. He dared not use his active sensors to
map the area, so he stumbled around lost. Many times he had to smash a hole in
the wall just to avoid backtracking
again
. These self-made doors often
led outside the boundary of the factory and he found himself in the old abandoned
areas of the original building.

The farther he went, the more confused he became. He
couldn’t understand why there was such a huge underground complex and yet he
didn’t meet anyone or detect any alarms being raised.
What is this place?
he
kept asking himself, but he found no answers. He tried to contact Ken a couple
of times, but there was no connection through the concrete and steel above him.

Damon decided that he did not want to make a return trip to
this place if he could avoid it. Therefore, he made the decision to place the
high explosives now, set to detonate only if he sent an activation signal. This
way, he reasoned to himself, if they tell me to destroy it, the charges are
ready. If they tell me to leave it, I’ll deactivate them remotely. I won’t have
to come all the way back down here, I’ll only have go get close enough for
radio contact. Damon felt relieved with his decision, because this whole place
was making him uncomfortable.

Another hour passed and he still had no idea what they were
producing, and now he had no idea where he was, either. Until he could get
closer to the surface and make contact with satellites or other radio beacons,
his systems couldn’t determine his location. It was an odd feeling to be
disconnected after spending so long intimately tied into the pervasive
communication system. He had grown used to having his every question answered
immediately with information pulled from the network. He wondered how he had
ever survived when he was isolated and on his own. He even missed Ken’s incessant
chatter.

Lost in thought, he walked directly into a room full of
people. Surprised, he realized he hadn’t been paying attention, and he should
have heard their voices a long time before walking into their midst.

Alarmed and angry over his lapse, he immediately dropped
into a crouch and deployed slug guns at both wrists. He was about to open fire
when he realized that no one had moved to threaten him. Everyone had turned
toward him and the talking stopped, but other than that, everyone simply stared.

His HUD identified forty-one targets sitting in chairs
facing away from him, one target sitting in a chair in front of them off to the
side, and another standing in front facing the big group. They were all looking
at him in surprise, but no one made any threatening moves.

Damon felt he must be hallucinating when he realized the one
sitting in front was holding a guitar. A plain, old-fashioned, non-amplified
guitar. With real metal strings.

He stood up and retracted his weapons, since no one seemed
dangerous. It was one more crazy scene in a night of confusion. Nothing made
sense, and his systems were not offering any additional info other than target
tracking. Which was distracting with so many targets, so he switched it off
too.