Rites of the Righteous, page 27
Exactly as Roland knew he would.
When Jericho completed his escape, it left him lying on one hip. Roland surged upward, yanked the arm straight, and punched the inside of Jericho’s elbow as hard as he could. Something under the surface crunched beneath the black fist, and the arm bent awkwardly for an instant. Roland turned it over and drove a hammer fist against the back of Jericho’s arm right were the pauldron met the rerebrace. He was rewarded with another satisfying crunch and a growl of pain. Heaving with impossible strength, Jericho scuttled away with a feral snarl and vaulted to his feet. Roland did not chase.
Roland’s helmet scanners were neither powerful nor precise by the standards of the day, but at this range spotting the damage to Jericho’s internals required neither power nor precision. Jericho’s left arm bore the scars of Roland’s blows in ugly dents and warped metal, and the six blinking indicators in Roland’s HUD had shifted to dull gray.
“We can stop this, Jericho,” Roland said, though he knew his words were wasted. “You can’t help what you are, what they did to you. But you still have choices.”
“I choose victory,” Jericho hissed. “Or death.”
“I knew you’d say something like that,” Roland replied. “I don’t want to kill you.”
“What men like us want is unimportant. God’s will be done.”
“Get to doing, then,” Roland said through clenched teeth.
The two men met once more in a flurry of blows. Roland still respected the Iron Fist, but no longer shied away from it. Their punches landed like thunderclaps, each man bashing at the other’s defenses like giants from some ancient mythology. Roland aimed for transceivers beneath the surface, making his targets unpredictable to Jericho. Jericho’s damaged left arm could no longer match Roland’s speed, and the big Fixer’s relentless assaults focused on the weakened side. Roland slipped a hook beneath one of Jericho’s jabs, and his fist crumpled a section of cuirass near the left armpit. Jericho brought the Iron Fist around to punish Roland for this, and Roland bobbed beneath it to land an uppercut to the same area on the right side.
Ribiero had been correct in his assessments of Roland’s adversary. The armor was quite tough, and even his strongest blows were only denting it. However, the transceivers beneath the shell were delicate by design. Large quantities of force directed to these specific locations proved effective, and Roland saw the proud blue Knight falter and slow. Jericho’s counterattacks came later and slower as damage accumulated. The Knight’s movements lost their easy fluidity and grew stiffer and more mechanical with each damaged component. This only made Roland’s work easier, and the big cyborg did not hesitate. Roland found new targets everywhere. The neck, the knees, the spine, all took murderous hits to precisely the right places. It did not feel fair. Roland attacked weaknesses the Knight did not even know existed, leaving him powerless to defend himself. Jericho snarled and flailed in angry confusion while Roland pounded at what appeared to be random targets. Jericho slowed with each successful attack, and after three minutes of precision striking Roland knew the battle was his.
Finally, a booted foot crushed the top of Jericho’s cuisse, buckling the leg at the knee and sending the Knight to the floor. Roland’s boot whirled around once more, unable to resist the target of Jericho’s exposed helmet. The kick landed without mercy and nearly decapitated the Knight.
Jericho’s helmet cracked like an egg, pieces flying off in three directions. He spun two full turns in a cartwheel before slamming into the floor with a metallic crunch. Roland ran him down before he could rise again. He shouldered the staggering Knight back to the ground, put a knee on his chest, and raised his hand to crush the exposed skull.
Then he stopped.
Harland Jericho stared up at Roland, his jaw working up and down and emitting small choking sounds. Jericho’s body twitched in his armor, a bloodied eye looking up in fear and horror at the silver skull above.
“Holy shit,” Roland said, comprehension socking him in the throat. “You didn’t know, did you? You never knew how much it hurt.”
Jericho gasped, finally forcing some air through his lungs. “The... pain...”
“Twenty-seven years,” Roland said. He grabbed a twisted hunk of blue breastplate and hauled Jericho into a sitting position. Tears flowed from the Knight’s eyes to mix with the blood from his broken nose. “Twenty-seven years you’ve been lording yourself over your brothers, bragging about how easily you shouldered their burden. You thought you were better than them, didn’t you?”
Jericho could only wheeze and choke. His body shuddered in waves of convulsions. Roland released him, and he fell back to the floor. Jericho gasped his words to the air. “I did not... I did not...”
“You didn’t know,” Roland repeated, softer. “That you are a cyborg. Just a weapon built and lied to and used to advance somebody else’s agenda.” Roland felt his anger cool. “Just like me. Just like Chapman.” A thought occurred to him. “Just like Grimes.” Roland kneeled to look into the pale, blood-streaked face of yet another of his dark reflections. “I didn’t come here to kill you, Sir Harland. And I don’t need fancy armor or rituals to tell me how to do the right thing. So here,” Roland extended his left hand. “You’ve had the iron fist from me, so here is my velvet glove. I have people who can fix what is broken and help you learn to live with what you are. Take it or leave it.”
Jericho’s eyes narrowed, and he lurched upright. His words were slurred, and his eyelids twitched. “Victory... or... death...” he growled.
Roland turned his back to the Knight with a defeated sigh. “Die on your own time, then. I have shit to do.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
The blond assassin made no attempt to hide herself. Why this made Grimes uneasy, he could not say. She had no compelling reason to hide, he supposed. Nevertheless, something about her relaxed posture felt odd. He immediately suspected an ambush, of course. This made no sense, though. Grimes had no reason to target her, so why would the fixers leave her exposed to him as bait? Nothing they knew of compelled him to attack the woman, so why did it look like they wanted him to? It was all wrong. Grimes was supposed to be the bait, not the other way around.
Nevertheless, Grimes smelled a trap of some kind. As per the Inquisitor’s plan, he allowed himself to be seen in transit between hiding places. Within seconds of appearing in public, local informants transmitted this information to the fixers. If such did not happen organically, the Inquisitors would have done it themselves. Raphael insisted that Jericho could manage Tankowicz, so any fight that happened along the way would be far more manageable. The remaining fixers would have no dearth of opportunities to track him in transit, and several convenient places to tackle Grimes had been arranged along the path. When the fixers struck, they would find themselves quickly overmatched and Polito would get his homicidal bride back.
He spared a thought for Tankowicz and Jericho in passing, wondering which oversized buffoon would prove the superior war machine. This interest was academic at best, and he found that he held no strong preferences either way.
He turned his attention back to the lone killer following him. He had moved from a small but busy concourse that connected two commercial areas and slipped into one of the ubiquitous maintenance chases that ran alongside each hallway. They were almost entirely alone in the dim and narrow tunnel, and the blond refused to hide her presence from him. She shadowed his steps perhaps fifty yards behind him, not caring at all if Grimes knew it. He stuck with the plan, though each step past one of the Inquisitors’ carefully prepared ambush sites added to his confusion and unease. Where were the others?
Grimes fought for zanshin and dug into his endless lessons on tactics for the answers he needed. One certainty ruled his ruminations and set his teeth to grinding. Mindy Carter was too smart to fall for any of this. Furthermore, she had missed three solid opportunities to engage him already. One might attribute this to a surplus of professional caution, but the damned woman was not interested in being the least bit cautious in the first place. The unease grew into suspicion, and suspicion ascended to certainty in short order. Grimes decided to change the game. He stopped walking and turned to face the other direction. Then he waited. Due to the gentle curve of the chase, Grimes could not see past thirty feet. His ears, however, had no trouble picking up the sound of Mindy’s footsteps. The metal tunnel channeled and reflected the soft tread of booted feet and fed the noise directly to his bionic ears. She walked with a measured step, neither rushing nor sneaking. The steps drew closer with a reliable rhythm until Grimes knew her to be just beyond the curve limiting his vision.
“I can smell you over there, Grimes,” called the woman. “This can’t be the place where y’all were gonna ambush me. Too narrow.”
Grimes chewed a lip. “I thought it was I who was being hunted.”
“Oh, please. I knew Polito was a huge gasbag, but his ego must be totally out of control these days if he’s using you to try and get to me. You think he knows what you got hidden under your jacket?” The woman stepped into view, one hand resting casually on the butt of her holstered pistol. “I suppose not. If he did, you’d be dead already.”
“And now what? We fight to the death in this tunnel?”
“I don’t see the point, really. I mean, it’s too small for any Sword Brothers to help you out, and that’s kinda nice. But come on. Once we start shooting in here, we’re both dead eventually.” She tapped her chest. “My armor is good, but you’ll get a head shot at some point.” She winked. “So will I.”
“There is always the blades,” Grimes replied, tapping his identical sasori dagger.
Mindy stretched her arms to either side, easily touching both walls of the chase. “Yeah, that sounds even less fun.”
Grimes could not fault her logic. Any fight in here virtually guaranteed death for both participants. “It does seem a poor tactical choice to fight here. So is it to be talking, then? Are you going to talk me out of the memory core?”
“Could I?”
“Probably not.”
“Then just take me to Polito, then.”
Grimes made no attempt to hide his surprise. “Really? So easy?”
“Sure. Why not? He and I have unfinished business, anyway.”
Grimes shook his head slowly. “You’ll surrender your weapons and just walk into a cadre of Inquisitors who intend to brainwash you into marrying a Church Elder?”
“Intend,” Mindy said, wagging her finger. “Being the operative word.”
“And the memory core? Are you forgetting about that?”
“No, I just don’t care that much. If two megacorporations want to go to war over some trade secrets or whatever, what the hell do I care? Yeah, I know the boss and the big goon want their payday, but I’m just not invested enough to miss my shot at Polito over it. We have...” she let the next word slide past bared teeth in an ugly hiss, “...history.”
Grimes considered this for a moment. Obviously, Mindy hated Polito. Hate was a powerful motivator. Furthermore, she clearly had some sort of plan for dealing with the Inquisitors. Whatever other opinions he might have on the woman, he knew her to be far too cagey for stupid plans. Nevertheless, delivering the woman would fulfill his part of the deal and get him off Gethsemane either way. Did he care if this woman killed a Church Elder? The question was both internal and rhetorical. He did not. This whole situation appeared to be swinging in his favor, a shift he neither understood nor trusted. He sensed a trick of some kind, yet the nature of it still eluded him. The real question requiring an immediate answer was whether or not it mattered. With any luck, the assassin and her friends would create enough chaos for him to slip out of the Underworld without Inquisitor assistance.
“Fine,” Grimes said. “I don’t care what game you are playing here. Give me your weapons and I’ll take you to the Inquisitors.”
“Peachy,” Mindy said with a bright smile. She unhooked her weapons belt and held them out in front while she walked forward. “You gonna tie me up?”
“Does it matter?”
“No.”
“Then why bother?”
“It might make the Inquisitors feel better.”
“Are you trying to talk me into it?”
“No. Just sayin.’”
Grimes shrugged. “I’m not going to restrain you. I don’t have anything strong enough to restrain you with, anyway.” He gestured down the tunnel. “You walk in front.” His sasori blade appeared in his hand as if by magic. “Do not try anything.”
“This was my idea, duh. Why would I try anything?”
“Just walk.”
He guided her with curt instructions, telling her which way to turn as they approached the intersections. The route was circuitous by design, making any attempt to memorize the path impossible. Within half an hour, the pair of killers stood before a large double door with no label or signage to indicate what was on the other side.
“Through here,” Grimes ordered. Mindy obliged by slapping the access panel with her palm. The door squeaked open on dusty glides to reveal a large open room just beyond. Two towering Knights in silver and white armor flanked the door, their ornate vestments twinkling with gold accents. Grimes did not bother to hide his disdain for the unnecessary ornamentation and the equally overwrought egos of the men inside those shells. He kept his blade level and ushered his charge toward the six Inquisitors standing just beyond the threshold. Raphael smiled wide when he saw Grimes enter with his knife poised to skewer the diminutive blond. Grimes only managed a frown in response. “Who are these?”
“Templars,” Raphael replied. “Here to ensure Miss Carter behaves herself during her audience with the Elder.”
“I do not like when plans are changed without notice, Slag,” Grimes said. “But I also do not care anymore, either. Here is the target. Now get me out of here.”
“Soon enough, Mr. Grimes,” replied Raphael. “There is quite the commotion going on right now, and any attempt to move you may be dangerous for everyone. The Underworld is locked down for the moment.”
Grimes felt his temper slip. “You did not say you were going to lock it down!”
“Only temporary, Killam. Give us a few hours and we will be ready.”
Grimes seethed beneath his stony scowl. The Inquisitor might be telling the truth, though any man in his position was likely a gifted liar by necessity. Something Mindy said earlier wriggled to the front of his mind. “What are you up to, Inquisitor?”
“I’m not ‘up to’ anything, Killam. Someone has agitated a large portion of the local populace to the extent that we are having difficulties arranging for secure locations at the moment. Sword Brothers are understaffed since Tankowicz has been using them for sparring practice, and her friends,” he gestured to Mindy, who smiled sweetly in response, “have managed to wield their popularity with more skill than one might have thought possible without inside help. There is an Elder on site, and suddenly we cannot move assets? I do not believe in coincidence, Grimes. Nothing moves in the Underworld until I have more answers. Not even us.”
Grimes spoke slowly, his brow collapsed into deep furrows. “We are stuck in this room?”
“For now, yes. Our usual routes and safe houses are all suspect. Until we verify the Elder’s safety, we stay put. It will not take long, though.”
“How long?”
“Like I said, a few hours at most.”
“I see,” said Grimes. He looked back to Mindy. “So this was the plan?”
“Pretty much,” she replied.
“It is a good plan,” Grimes conceded.
“What plan?” Raphael asked, a dangerous edge in his voice.
“Miss Carter has allowed herself to be taken in order to lead her people to where we intended to hide. They have facilitated the unrest, using the Elder’s visit to enhance the effect enough to get us to hold still until she is found. In doing so, she has rather easily slipped past all your ambushes and arranged for a more advantageous confrontation with me.”
Raphael nodded. “I see. You exploited our caution to keep us from moving around.”
“Nope,” Mindy said, picking at a fingernail. “Just Grimes. I don’t care where you guys go, to be honest. Just need him and the thing he stole. You can leave right now, and I won’t have a thing to say about it.”
“How... magnanimous,” Raphael said. “But I can’t help but notice that you are unarmed and all alone, stashed deep within the bowels of the maintenance tunnels. This room is shielded from eavesdropping and tracking devices, so I don’t see rescue coming any time soon. How exactly to you intend to strengthen your negotiating position?”
“I dunno,” she said with a wink. “Heya, Grimes! You think Manny is going to be able to find me down here?”
Raphael looked at Grimes as well, eyes narrow. Grimes did not bother to lie. “Oh, I suspect so.” To Raphael, he added, “Richardson is supremely skilled in such things. For them to have executed such a ruse, they would have had a plan for tracking her.”
Raphael did not bother to reply. His hand darted into his pocket and came out with a comm handheld. He spoke into it without taking his eyes off Mindy. “Leonardo, it’s Raphael. I need a sitrep and a position on Tankowicz and his people.”
