Saints of the Void: Atypical (10 page)

The corporal got to his feet, grabbed his gun from
the floor, and found a still-standing table nearby. He tossed the
rifle haphazardly on the tabletop, plastic and metal rattling as it
landed, then took a chair off the floor to sit in. Nes plopped down
heavily, thankful that he was done for now.

Almost everything hurt. His legs were okay after the
insane sprint, but that was thanks to conditioning, which didn’t do
a thing for his bashed up, aching shoulder or the numerous sore
spots on his upper body. Nes continued his slow, almost meditative
breathing, interspersed with the occasional pained grunt, for
another minute before deciding to break the silence.

“Thanks,” said Nes. “You saved my ass.”

“I guess...” Trenna cut herself off, doing her best
to compose the words before trying to talk again. “I guess we’re
even. They tried...” She stopped again, but this time didn’t keep
going for a couple seconds.

“To kill you along with me and Dastou, yeah,” he
finished for her.

A look on her face of instant dread was followed by
her head and eyes darting all around, trying to find something.

“Don’t worry about any others,” he said while making
a placating hand motion. “Dastou would have... taken care of
them.”

“By himself? With no weapons?”

“Hey, you’re the one who worships him, shouldn’t you
be the one with unfailing faith?”

“Um, I guess,” Trenna concedes.

“Don’t worry, he’s fine.” Nes smiled at her previous
response. Even with so little contact, she may have started seeing
Dastou as more of a person than a god.

Trenna was close to the waist-high wall near the
bridge walkway, and decided to get to it on hands and knee, moving
slowly. She sat with her back against the wall, facing Nes’ general
direction. When she adjusted her position ever so slightly for
comfort, she winced, sucked air through her teeth, and slowed her
movements. Several bodies were a few meters to her left, and she
avoided looking at them.

“Trenna,” said Nes, “what did they mean by ‘acolyte
bitch?’”

“Oh. I think it’s because I still made efforts of
worship towards the Sainthood.”

“So others you live… lived with, didn’t?”

“No, not at all,” she corrected, a note of
disappointment in her voice. “Because we were ignored by the
system, and the Saints control that, everyone else just began to
hate their kind.”

Nes already knew that a reason for the worship of
Saints is because some believe that they are in charge of the
mass-hypnotism system, a common rumor and has been for centuries.
The girl looked at Nes again. “They got rid of you because they
figured you’d be the one to speak up against the attack, or even
walk out on them and find a way to warn the DSF.”

“That’s what I think, too. If I knew about this, I’d
have left and told someone, like at the embassy or something. All
those people who died on the street, just to attack Mr. Dastou,”
she lamented, honestly baffled.

A slightly more detailed scenario ran through Nes’
mind when she talked, one in which Trenna was not necessarily left
for dead, and instead used as bait. Living or not, her body would
have been ignored by the Social Cypher, causing interest that would
lead to investigation. It would have gotten at least Dastou to this
hub and the ambush no matter what. That would mean the siopane
explosion and ensuing chaos was the planned result of some scheme
to kill the Saint. It was difficult to grasp what was scarier: that
someone went through so much planning to end the life of the last
Saint, or that it had almost succeeded.

“If they hated Saints because of the Cypher, they
picked the wrong target,” revealed Nes, not willing to share his
newfound theory just yet. “We have absolutely no idea what it
really is or how it works.”

Trenna looked at the floor, nonplussed by that remark
– it seemed to be a day of that reaction from her – eyes revealing
that she was trying to fit pieces together.

“So, Mr. Dastou, or the Prior Fifteen, never had
anything to do with it?”

Prior Fifteen? That must refer to the previous
fifteen generations of Saints, Dastou being last remaining of the
sixteenth. Religious terminology was never a subject Nes cared
about enough to know anything more than very common phrases.

“Not at all,” answered Nes while stretching his back.
“We, as in the entourage and Dastou, are as confused about that
stuff as anyone. That’s why we track it, study it, keep records of
it. It’s a lot to take in, I know. I remember being really freaked
out by all that, too. When we get back we’ll explain it better,
okay?”

“Yes. I’d like that very much,” said Trenna with a
smile.

When, the girl slowly adjusted her posture again with
an associated wince, Nes remembered his supplies and dug into the
extra pocket strapped on his left upper arm, trying not to move the
shoulder too much. He removed a tiny plastic container containing
two vacuum-sealed pills. He flipped a tab to open package, and put
a pill in his mouth before tossing the half empty tray to Trenna;
it landed at her feet.

“Take it, its medicine,” Nes said, chewing the pill,
knowing that he was making a sickened facial expression and not
really caring. The girl picked up the tray, removed the second
pill, and looked coldly at it.

“Chew it, though,” Nes added. “It’ll taste worse than
anything you’ve ever eaten, but when it’s out of the seal it
spreads through your blood faster. Those painkillers they had you
take at the Medical Plaza were mild, so you’ll need the extra kick
these offer.”

He already felt his headache being reduced in
thumping power, but that may have been due to an expectation of
relief to come. Thank the blackness he was feeling more composed as
the pain went away, though, as the smell of blood on his uniform
from the assailant Trenna shot was forcing him to hold back tearing
his gear off and burning it here and now. He’d seen this amount of
blood before today during medical courses or training injuries,
sure, yet for some reason when it was violently spilled with intent
to kill it grossed him out completely.

“Weren’t you shot?” asked Trenna. “I can see the hole
in your shirt. Will half of this medicine be enough for you?”

“Actually, I took a few in the back, too. I have
armor on, but it’s thin and inside the shirt under my jacket so you
can’t see it. That’s kind of the point, really. No bullet is going
to get through DSF armor unless it strikes in the exact spot a
previous hit landed.” The last few words sounded like he was
reciting, and he sort of was.

“So you’re okay?” she asked again.

“Sure, I’m alright. Just incredibly worn out.”

That
was an outright lie. He’d never felt
worse in his life, but Trenna needed to be assured of her safety
and his ability to provide it, even if the fighting seemed to be
over.

“Does the DSF always have this kind of stuff?” she
said about the pill while putting it in her mouth. When she bit
down, she got nauseated look on her face and a grossed out cry
escaped her. Nes laughed aloud.

“We’ve got lots of strange tools at our disposal,”
Nes said, stopping his chuckles. “The Saints invented all kinds of
things for themselves and the world to use. Since it’s just Dastou
now, he makes it for us, teaches us how to use it all.” He tapped
his badge on the first use of the word “us.”

Nes sat up straighter, feeling markedly better.

“He’s strange isn’t he? I always figured the Saints
were like holy creations, so far removed from regular people that
we’d never understand them.”

“Hah!” replied Nes before realizing that her
statement wouldn’t be funny to anyone outside the entourage. “No,
they’re pretty normal, just sort of... insanely smart, I guess?
Quirky, too. Ah dunno. I’ve considered him a friend for a while
now, so he’s just him to me. More Cosamian Dastou than Saint.”

“I see…” said Trenna, who became very quiet.

She was understandably thrown off by everything
happening today already, and having the person she worships all of
a sudden brought down a peg maybe wasn’t the best thing for
her.

“Hmm, all this reminds me, though, of when Dastou put
one in me in my freshman year,” said Nes, his stinging bruises
jogging a memory.

“You mean... he shot you!?” she said, wide-eyed.

“Yeah, it was my first and only time until today. He
does that to all the new boys and girls at the Ornadais Academy
sooner or later. The medicine we just took, it’s practically
miraculous, and sometimes we don’t have the... well, faith, to use
what he gives us without worry when we first start out. It’s a
little hard to believe all of the messed up things he’s teaching us
or that his inventions will work like they should. Some of the
training also changes your brain, how it works, but you have to let
it. Newcomers are sometimes too incredulous, and after the first
couple of years, agents are sworn to secrecy against members with
too little experience. Instructors take that same oath from the
start, only teaching us what’s in the lesson plans to make sure we
don’t over-exert ourselves. We don’t even get
hints
of
what’s to come.”

Trenna was rapt, and Nes couldn’t help but get into
telling the story. He moved his hands around freely, though he was
still careful not to bother his shoulder too much.

“So, to help us believe,” he continued, “he shoots us
once, unexpectedly, in our first year. No one avoids it. No one
can
, really.”

“How badly do you get hurt?” Trenna asked.

“Very. Damn near dead. It’s just one of those Saint
skills – they know how to kill because they know the body. Dastou
shoots you that one time, and you die without his level of
treatment. We call it the Fresh-Face Pledge.”

“If you’re almost killed by the attack, how long do
you take to heal?”

“It’s based on the injury. Almost no one is out of
commission for more than a week or two, but that’s better than
being dead like we’d be if we didn’t have the advanced medicine,
machines, and Saint-trained personnel to get us better. One really
obnoxious rookie got his spine severed by a sniper rifle shot.
Paralyzed him from the waist down. It was amazing – guy was walking
again in two months, jogging in three. Dastou took the lead for two
of the kid’s three surgeries himself, just to give a few ‘maybe now
you’ll be more respectful’ looks at him before and after the
operations. No shock, the rookie got a new attitude about his
training when he came back to class.”

Trenna smiled and laughed lightly, and Nes was glad
for the change in her demeanor. After another nice, calm moment of
silence, he figured they should get going. He looked down towards
his belt, saw the throat mic’s transceiver still on, and turned the
volume for his earpiece back up.

“
D, you can come out now. If you’re happily
exploring, just tell us where to meet you.” Nes said that with no
special intonation or change in volume, like he was talking to
someone right next to him.

No answer. He tried calling two more times, and again
received no responses. Dastou was aloof, sure, but not so much so
that he ignores his agents after combat; something was wrong. He
switched channels on the transceiver by turning a small dial on the
side, and heard no sound from the Caravan’s stand-alone channel.
Maybe the device was broken, damaged in the battle? Maybe. Nes
shouted, hoping the Saint was in earshot.

“Dastou! Get out here!”

Nothing again. Now he was properly worried. Nes stood
up, grabbed his rifle and clipped it to his back again, and started
walking towards the pedestrian bridge. Trenna got up from where she
sat, albeit slowly, and looked to be ready to join the corporal in
searching the area. A gurgling voice nearby, wet and
stomach-turning, stopped them both from going anywhere.

“We… have… we have…” said a man’s voice, barely
audible.

Nes looked around and saw the last person taken down,
the one killed by Trenna’s wild fire – or the one he
thought
was killed – moving his head slightly and talking to no one. The
girl, all of a sudden full of energy, limped fast to get to him. He
was not very old, maybe thirty-to-thirty-four, a handful of gray
hairs spread about his short unkempt mane.

“Hundre!” exclaimed Trenna when she got close.
“Hundre, you’re alive!”

Trenna bent down towards the man she shot earlier,
touching his chest and head while ignoring all the blood. He never
looked at her, only at the domed ceiling.

“Trenna…?” the man asked.

“Yes, it’s me,” she replied in a hurried voice. “I’m
so sorry, I had to… I had to…”

She had tears in her eyes, and Nes walked slowly
towards the pair of ragged civilians.

“I know,” said Hundre. “I remember it now. I…
understand.”

“Uh, maybe… maybe we can help you. We have medicine
and…”

“What little I have won’t help,” interrupted Nes,
standing above the two others. “Honestly, he’s beyond anything I’ve
seen someone recover from. He’s not going to survive.”

Trenna wept openly now, and touched her forehead to
Hundre’s. Any of her tears that fell landed on the man’s face, on
the droplets of blood that had landed there from the center mass
shots he took minutes before.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” she said again and again.

“No, stop,” Hudre said. “I understand. I… feel myself
slipping… but I’m free again. I have to tell you...”

He coughed, and blood escaped his throat, some of it
landing on Trenna. She didn’t seem to care.

“I have to tell you,” Hundre continued. “That… we
have him. We took him.”

Nes was suddenly deeply interested in what this man
and changed his mind about respectfully backing away from the
horrible scene.

“What? Have who?” asked Nes.

Hundre, for the first time since speaking and having
his name revealed by Trenna, looked somewhere besides the light
source above him. He shifted his eyes, focused on Nes.