Saints of the Void: Atypical (3 page)

“So then she, whoever she may be, was worth tanking
your grade average for the Spring?” Dastou asked, already assuming
the answer.

“Damn right,” Nes said while smiling. “Fun trumps
book learning any day of the week.”

Nes relaxed, having finished his lunch with a bit of
time to spare before they are called for their meeting. He sat back
in his chair, letting it support him as he picked at his teeth with
his tongue.

“Not this time, because you’re taking that class
again,” the Saint told him.

“What!?” he barked, sitting straight again. “I
already scheduled a field test, and my grade will be negated after
that.
You
made those rules.”

“And
you
are a fourth year ranked agent, not
some rookie I have to bleed sense into. You’re taking the class
again, Nes.”

Nes scratched his chin for a moment, one side of his
mouth turned upward. The corporal knew that he could simply be
kicked out of the Davranis Security Force and its training school,
making him a civilian, a Brightseer – which would mean being
susceptible to the Social Cypher. That and having a normal budget
for his purchases instead of the Force’s generous stipend.

“Fine,” Nes relented. “I’ll just do my slutting about
during the
next
break.”

He sulked, but only a little. Nes knew most of what
he needed to know to set exam records in Advanced Metallurgy
Physics, so taking the class again would be close to an actual
vacation anyway. He just needed the intermittent push or he’d let
his skills be wasted.

Dastou dipped a fork into his stew, stuck a piece of
enta beef and a leaf of thick green Gannas pepper to the utensil,
and stirred the combination in the bowl for a few seconds. He then
stuffed his mouth full and chewed with great pleasure. The pepper
had to be burned to a crisp on the outside, allowed to sit for
three hours, and then shelled like a peanut before being thrown
into the crockpot for maximum effect. The recipe was his own, of
course, as Saints typically went out of their way to use
ingredients in new ways. No complaints so far.

As he swallowed, the buzzer on the intercom went off,
signaling the obvious. Nes hit the blue blinking answer button
since he was closer to the shoved-aside phone.

“Sir, the Stone-State Council will see you now,” said
Saan, her voice slightly

“Goddamn, finally,” responded Nes.

Dastou sighed and added: “Thank you, Saan. Inform
them that we will arrive shortly.”

“Yes, sir. And try to keep a civil tongue, Nesembraci
– these politicians are giving us quite enough trouble as it
is.”

“Absolutely, Mum,” Nes responded and, smiling, hit
the talk again button to end the conversation.

“You cursed just to bug her, didn’t you?” asked
Dastou. Nes snorted, his smile a little wider.

They both stood up and checked their clothing for
stains – the Saint sticking with nothing special under his favorite
leather jacket. Nes’ dress uniform was still perfectly clean, so
the corporal grabbed the double-wrap sword belt and sheath next to
the desk on his side. He slid the belt on, and then took the sword
that was leaning against the desk and slid it into place. He
examined the fit, and nodded his approval of himself.

“Do I look scary?” asked Nes, adjusting the way the
sheath laid.

“Plenty so.”

“But do I also look
good
?

“Plenty so. But I prefer scary today.”

“Understood, sir. Let’s go make some fools.”

The wooden door to the office was waiting for them.
Dastou and Nes hesitated, glanced at each other, then walked out,
fully prepared to be annoyed for the next hour or so.

*****

The Stone-State Embassy was a gorgeous, modern stone
structure that showed the ingenuity of ordinary people without
Cypher interference. This room, though, was made entirely to have
specific people look more important than others. Unsurprisingly, it
was not to the Saint’s liking.

The high dome ceiling made it feel like they were
insects caught inside a turned-over bowl – although that negative
interpretation was probably mostly due to Dastou’s annoyance. After
the two of them entered through a set of double-doors, they had
walked along a center aisle between rows of benches for witnesses;
it was completely empty. Dastou and Nes stood at the center of the
big ground floor, near a standing microphone. Two large desks meant
for the opposing sides of a debate were right behind them. The
Saint was at the mic and the corporal stood at-ease barely a meter
from him.

The Stone-State Council sat at long semi-circular
tables on two elevated levels. The first riser held seven men and
three women; the second featured six men and five women. They all
wore robes which featured a colored stripe down the right arm,
meant to signify where exactly in the city-state the councilor
hailed from. Each name plaque-adorned seating space was equidistant
from the mic at center stage.

At the start of this meeting, the politicians first
had a chosen speaker name the representatives, all twenty-one of
them. Then, with so much ceremony they may as well have hired
dancers to perform during the announcement, they introduced Saint
Cosamian Dastou and Corporal Nesembraci Jaydef as “honored guests.”
The Saint’s newest nickname, Castor Wolf, was even thrown in for
good measure.

Jandal Tryst was the man appointed to control this
meeting after the introductory speaker sat down. He was to ask all
the questions and make all the accusations. Dastou thought him
pretty much a nitwit with a fancy robe, and the representative was
digging himself into a deep hole without knowing it.

“You cannot simply have them here at your exclusive
discretion, Your Eminence,” said Tryst, referring to Davranis
Security Force agents and their ability to travel freely through
borders. The purpose of this meeting was to address that sole
concern. “You must see how that tramples on our ability to govern
properly.”

“The purpose of the DSF is strictly defensive,”
replied Dastou coldly. “We have no intent to interfere with
independent nations and have shown very little that would say
otherwise.”

“Then why do your people stomp about without at least
an early warning as to your arrival, hmm? Why do you act as if all
lands are yours to bumble through and need not be respected?” asked
Tryst, being as overdramatic as possible.

“You agreed to this, long ago,” said Dastou. “There
were no papers brought to bear, no treaties signed, but Saints and
their entourages of any size have been allowed to cross borders for
centuries. If there was a change of heart it was
your
responsibility to say so.”

“Our ‘responsibility’ is entirely to our people,
their safety, and our sovereignty. There is no argument to be made
by you, sir, that would grant power over any of that. Particularly
not at this point in our growth as a nation.”

Several Stone-State Council members were visibly
uncomfortable at Jandal Tryst’s forcefulness. The Sainthood, as
long as it had been known to exist, was allowed free passage all
over the world, welcomed with some combination of open arms, gifts,
worship, and awe. What was worse was that it all sounded rehearsed.
Tryst wanted to show how smart and strong he was when facing off
against a man who was given respect by most of the world’s
population. Maybe not love, maybe not worship, but certainly
respect. Dastou didn’t have to practice or pretend at authority –
he simply had it, and he was tired of this meeting after only
twenty minutes. Something felt deeply wrong to him about this
sudden power-grab.

“The new bridge over the Loudani District river is
quite nice. The suspension is stronger, and will support your
growing population with ease,” commented Dastou, playing the card
up his sleeve earlier than planned.

Confused by the shift in conversation, Tryst looked
at a few of his colleagues before speaking. They were no help,
mostly offering shrugs or befuddled expressions.

“Yes, it’s... quite the engineering marvel. But what
does...”

“Do you remember being there when it was built?”
interrupted Dastou.

“What?” asked Tryst, his voice cracking on that
single word. The subject being broached was taboo, but Dastou did
not relent.

“Of course you don’t. But we know you were,” said the
Saint.

The Council broke into pockets of whispers. Dastou
couldn’t hear what they said, but he could guess at some of it.
Why is he talking about this?
What point is he trying to
make?
They all hid their mouths with a hand as they talked,
knowing that their guest at the mic could read lips.

“Do you care to know,” continued Dastou, “just how
we’re sure you were there?”

The whispers ceased, all the politicians wanting to
see where the Saint was leading them. Dastou waited an extra couple
of seconds before his next statement just for a little added flair.
Tryst wasn’t the only one able to pump up some fake tension.

“We know because that is our most important goal: to
gather information that no one else can. That includes information
on Social Cyphers, its participants, and its goals. From the
inception of my organization, that is what we have done.”

The glance Dastou gave to Nes had two intentions. The
first was to show what exactly he meant when he said “we.” He was
sure they saw the young, fit, dedicated corporal as much as the
customized and considerably dangerous dress sword hanging at his
side. The second aim was to see how close Nes was to laughing at
the roundabout insult being made. Not close enough, sadly.

They had made a bet about this. Four such meetings in
as many months and Dastou always had some trick to play: a mineral
lode location to give up, a new technology to leverage away, and so
on. Usually when the depth of the Saint’s preparation was revealed,
Nes laughed heartily at how ignorant the holders of the meeting
were about thinking they had any power over the DSF. The wager for
today was that if the corporal would hold in his chuckles in like a
professional, Dastou would buy him dinner for a month. The odd bet
came from the Saint having decided to only use money from a set
stipend for a year, just to see what it was like to be limited in
expenditures. Nes’ stolid expression meant the Saint was about to
be very broke for a few weeks while his friend ordered nothing but
expensive seafood and rare fruits.

“That is why we cross borders,” admitted Dastou after
looking back toward the seated council. “All your sovereignty and
independence means a lot to you, but it has nothing to do with us.
We
are independent as well, and the Davranis Security Force
will not halt our missions or research. I don’t care what you want
out of...”

And just as he was finishing up the slight that this
entire meeting was leading to, the Saint just stopped. He froze in
place, not even blinking, like some animals do as a self-defense
posture. All Dastou could focus on was Tryst’s disinterest in what
was being said while everyone else was enthralled to find out why
the DSF existed – a secret held close until today. Something else,
too. Tryst was looking down until Dastou stopped mid-sentence.
Receiving a message, maybe?

“Hey, you alright?” asked Nes, letting the forced
hard countenance drop for real concern.

Dastou barely heard him. His mind had been taken over
by an overwhelming, instinctual sensation, and he knew only one
thing at that very moment, which he said out loud.

“We have to go. Now.” As soon as Dastou said that he
turned around and started walking –
fast
– towards the
exit.

“What?
” asked Nes, keeping pace with the Saint
toward the double doors between the benches. The Stone-State
Council, if somewhat put-off by the bringing up of a taboo subject,
were likely incensed at this sudden desire to exit very soon after.
It didn’t matter, not as much as the need to get out of this place
and back to somewhere... safer?

Dastou shoved open both doors, and as the honored
guests were walking out into the hall, a small earthquake struck as
if waiting for the best possible timing. Barely enough to shake
what little dust had accumulated in this new building, the Council
members could nonetheless be heard standing up, half-panicked
voices asking several variations of “what is happening?” The Saint
asked himself the same question while rushing out and away.

*****

Dastou hurriedly opened the door to his office and
entered. Nes, still right behind him, closed the door. The
click-click
of the hidden magnetic deadbolt meant that the
corporal had swiped his thumb on a black plastic strip next to the
door to activate the security feature.

Saan-Hu was leaning against the desk, and the Saint
could see she had some questions lined up and ready to go. Her
dumbfounded look also revealed that if she could turn pale, she
would have. He had assigned Saan the task of hacking the security
camera feed that the Council thought was their secret in order to
record the meeting. She must have seen his abrupt exit right before
the minor earthquake and been in this office as soon as she could
get inside.

“How...?” she began to ask.

“I don’t know,” interjected Dastou as they walked
towards the middle of the room to meet. “Something felt off, weird.
All I knew was that we had to leave there immediately.”

“At least we gave them an interesting little
meeting,” added Nes as he joined the other two.

“The end of which featured an apparent psychic
prediction,” said Saan.

While it did seem that way, Dastou had never heard of
one of his kind being able to predict something like what just
happened. “Honestly, that was a coincidence. I left because of
Tryst acting strangely. I think he received a message while I was
speaking at the end.”