Vatican Assassin (13 page)

Looks like someone took a big, burning bite out of it. Poor Mr. Longeux, chewed up by the
black teeth of the UIN. Not fair at all, really, the whole life and death thing. He was a good,
God-Fearing Catholic man, gone in an instant. Doesn’t matter who you are or what you do, you
can be gone in an instant.

Now me, I bring justice into the equation, really. Thanks to me, the evil ones really do feel
the wrath of God. Maybe I balance it out... just a little. Maybe.
BC turns away from the window. He sets his handlaser on a broad, unfocussed dispersal beam and lights up his surroundings. This part of the station still looks abandoned. He’s in a dusty corridor. There’s a door just ahead on the right.

BC slips quietly through the door into what looks like a common area, with tables and chairs pushed off to one side and stacked on top of each other. There are worn and ripped tapestries on the walls, faded and worn carpet on the floor, a mix of dulled reds and golds and muted purples. There’s a control panel on the wall. BC tries it. Nothing happens.

Thought we might get some light, at least. No such luck.

BC turns off his light. He begins to quiet himself, slow his breathing, so he can listen for the sounds of the station, the hum of its inhabitants and its machines.
I may be able to hear them if I stay quiet, at least get some sense of where they are. Man,
its pitch black dark... hope my eyes adjust. See if I can see any light leaking in from anywhere.
BC waits and listens, and lets his eyes adjust to the darkness. Even as his eyes adjust he doesn’t see much of anything. But he does pick up on the sound of humming equipment, coming from somewhere on the other side of the common area he’s in.

There is some sound, the hum of machines at work, some sign of life. No real light, though,
not here.

He gives up and flips his hand laser back on, on the wide dispersal beam.
Guess they aren’t using this area, yet. Looks like nobody’s been in here for years. Well,
they aren’t fixing up what they aren’t using, makes sense. Plenty of room here.
Well then, there’s something I don’t get. With room to expand, why do they kill off
followers... that doesn’t make sense! Scapegoats? Rebels among the faithful? Hope they aren’t
eating each other... Cannibalism would make this really ugly. Hope they’re well supplied. I hadn’t
thought of
that
as a possible outcome. Taking eating the body of Christ a bit too literally...
BC makes his way across the room to where the humming is loudest. The twin metal doors in the wall there are sealed shut. BC puts his ear up to the doors.

Definitely where the humming’s coming from. They must have gotten as far as the other
side of these doors, then stopped and sealed off the rest of this side of the station. They’ve sealed
off this side and beyond, for how far I can’t tell. They might be using the area on the other side of
these doors. Time to invite myself in.

BC adjusts the beam on the handlaser down, focusing it into a knife-length, high intensity cutting tool. He runs the beam along the seals on the door, burning his way through across the top, left to right, then down the right outside edge, along the bottom of the right door then up the center to the top. The edges of the door glow white as he cuts, and then cool to orange, then red, and then finally dim and cool down.

He uses the handle on the door to pull it toward him. It’s still warm as he leans it on him. He lowers it slowly, quietly to the floor. With the door open he can hear an alarm echoing in the distance on the other side.

Shit. Wonder if that’s my welcome. Hope not.
But it is. Gotta be.
BC inspects the doorframe.

No sign of booby traps. Let’s see.
..

BC finds a seat cushion and throws it through the door. Nothing. BC leans through the hatch and looks around.

There’s light on this side, looks like old emergency lighting. Area looks just as deserted as
where I just came from, but more cluttered. A lot of stuff piled up just in front of me here. Must be
a storage area. That damned alarm is still going off.

BC checks his weapons, adjusts the beam of the hand laser so it will work as a blaster, and edges through the door. He can’t get far. A pile of furniture is in his way. He’s at the end of a long, wide corridor that curves down and away from him, blocked by stacks of old beds, storage bins, lockers and shelves. The corridor extends past the point at which the ceiling seems to meet the floor of the corridor as it bends with the curve of the station down and out of BC’s sight.

Betcha there are doors up beyond the curve. This is one of the main corridors for this ring
section.

BC makes his way through the stacked and stored furniture.
More ripped and faded tapestries hang on the walls. Worn and tattered carpet almost covers the floor.
The further down the corridor I go, there’s less and less dust and more stored furniture.
This area’s seen people more recently than the common area. The emergency lights alone make it
seem more inhabited, more used, but it’s still obviously not a main part of their habitation here.
All this color and fabric... What a weird place. I guess if you’re a sultan you can decorate
the place however you please. Purple, red, gold, blue... interesting taste.
That alarm is still going off. That can’t be good. Wonder how long until I get company?

BC moves beds, bureaus, shelves and storage bins and works his way down the corridor. The density of the storage items gets lighter the further he goes, the going easier.
This has to be the main corridor of this donut, this ring of the station. They can’t use this
donut much if they’ve loaded this main corridor with old furniture and stuff.
What’s that?

Not a sound but the absence of a sound. The alarm has stopped.

BC stops and ducks behind a stack of empty storage bins and waits. He doesn’t have to wait long.

Two large, bearded men carrying metal pipes appear from down the corridor. One’s a redhead, his long hair tied loosely back. The other’s olive skinned with long black hair hanging limply straight down, vaguely Mediterranean. Both wear simple robes and sandals. They look around and approach BC’s position.

Nice look... what’s the style called, Retro-Jerusalem Rioter circa New Testament? This cult
must be wacked. Looks like they take this back to the bible stuff a bit too literally. Sorry, guys.
Gonna have to help ya meet your maker...

BC adjusts his handlaser. He sets the hair trigger. When he squeezes the trigger just slightly it’ll shine a guide beam so he can aim.

Tight beam. Hot focus, pinpoint. Highly destructive on contact with, say, flesh and bone. I
don’t think they can see me. Looks like Red is going to pass me first. I’ll let him get by, nail his
little buddy with the beam, then hit him as he turns around.

The redhead turns back to his buddy. They stop.

“Are you sure it was this section?”

“Yeah. Most of the sensors on this side don’t work, but something definitely hit the outside and attached. He says there’s another one on board to kill Him.”

They definitely use a capital “H” when they talk about Him... Gotta be “The Light.”

“Quiet,” Red shushes, then whispers, “If he’s anywhere, he’s up ahead in the unused area.”

“I hate the unused area. Isn’t it sealed off?”

“Would that stop a determined killer? Wouldn’t stop me,” Red says, chuckling under his breath.
C’mon, keep moving, guys...

“Let’s keep going,” Red says, and he walks past BC’s hiding place.

BC whips up the handlaser, guide beam on. He pumps the trigger as the beam crosses the second man’s left eye.

The man’s head jerks back. His feet fly out from under him. His hands reach up to grab at his head as he falls flat on his back to the carpet. He hits hard, dead as he hits, parts of the back of his head, blood, and burnt bits of brain splattering out across the corridor floor behind him. It takes all of about a second.

Red swings around as he hears his friend hit the floor. He can’t see BC. As Red starts back to his fallen friend, he crosses BC’s guide beam. BC pumps the trigger when the beam hits the center of Red’s back. The superheated interior of Red’s ribcage explodes out in front of him as he falls, seared muscle, bone and vital tissue spraying the wall, the floor and the body of the first kill.

He lands face down at the feet of his fallen friend.

Messy. Sorry, guys.

BC searches the bodies for some kind of i.d., some sort of signifier the cult might use for security. There’s nothing on either man, not even a tattoo, at least as far as BC can see. All the men have on them are their robes, sandals and metal pipes.

How can you have a back to basics, back to the bible, retro cult on a space station,
anyway? Seems kinda anachronistic to me. I’ll have to find out the secret from this “Light” guy
before I kill him.

BC makes his way past the men down the corridor and to the doors they came through. He ducks cautiously through the doors, handlaser at ready. No one’s on the other side. The corridor continues on out of sight around the curve of the station.

Still looks deserted. Not as much furniture here. They’re still not using much on this side of
the station for anything but storage. They must live over on the other wheel.
There should be another set of doors I can’t see yet, still beyond the curve, a sort of
terminus for this corridor and one of the connecting corridors leading over to the other wheel.
There are four of them I could see from the outside and on the plans. Nothing here is very well
marked, though. I’m not quite sure where I am.

Those two back there must have friends around here somewhere, too.
They could be just around the curve, too.

And no more furniture means no more cover, unfortunately.

BC edges along the wall of the corridor until another set of doors does appear, heavier airlock doors at the end of the corridor. There’s glass in the airlock doors, a sure sign of the sultan’s wealth back in the early days of station construction.

Luxury! Guess the sultan liked to splurge. Shit!

There’s a silhouette in the window. Another cult member. BC stops and watches.
He’s not even looking in here. Hope that means he’ll wait. I wanna erase some evidence
back there.

BC scrambles back the way he came. He gets back to the bodies on the floor of the last corridor.

I want to drag them to an airlock, but all this furniture... well, it’s not pretty but I know
what I’ve got to do.

BC gets a small storage locker and sets it down next to the bodies. He sets his hand laser on a broad swath slice setting. The laser’s heat cauterizes as he uses the handlaser like a blade to cut through each man’s torso and limbs.

Like a hot knife through butter, as mother used to say. Grim imagery, but quick work all
the same. Easier to transport. Slice and dice, neat as you please. God help your humble servant...
BC spends five minutes cutting up the bodies. After he’s done he starts tossing the pieces into the storage locker. He fills the locker and drags it through the common area back to the airlock where the Paladin is docked. He works as quickly as he can, trying not to think about what he’s doing, trying not to get blood all over himself. He opens the airlock and piles in the pieces, then goes back with the locker again and gets what’s left. It takes still a third trip to get all of the parts finally piled into the airlock. He keeps as quiet as he can as he commits this gruesome task, watching and listening for the men’s silhouetted friend, waiting for him to come from down the corridor, to see him at his work. But he doesn’t appear.

BC gets into the airlock with the gore and cycles the lock through. The outer door opens on the Paladin IV’s docking collar. BC heaves the parts through into the collar. He sets the emergency explosive bolts on the docking collar.

I’ll blow the bolts and cast off the Paladin IV. The men’s body parts should float away
with the ship. Some might cling to the side of the station, caught up in the spin, but most will
hopefully float away. Rest in pieces... oh my God, I can’t believe I just thought that.
I’m turning
into some kind of cheap horror movie freak. I’m just trying to hide evidence. Collateral damage,
they used to call it, right. Self defense, too. They had pipes, your honor...
He rechecks the bolts. He goes back into the station through the airlock, and closes it behind him. The bolts fire just as the door clicks into place.

BC watches out the viewport as the Paladin and what’s left of the men float away, then heads back towards the heavier hatches, back through the common room and down the corridor past the remnants of his two attacker/victims, to check on the cult member keeping watch. As he nears the heavy doors he sees the cultist looking through the window, right at him.
Shit! I hope he didn’t see me! He had to...

BC presses himself up against the right wall next to the doors, just out of the window’s line of sight. He waits. There’s no sound. He wants to look, but doesn’t want the other guy to be staring back, seeing him.

BC waits another minute and then risks a peek. The guy is gone.

Gone? Shit, what, gone for reinforcements? Not a good sign that he’s gone.
There’s noise on the other side of the hatches. The unmistakable sound of a cycling airlock. BC

races back along the corridor and ducks into a hiding place. In seconds he hears voices getting louder. From his hiding place he can see down the corridor, sees five long-haired bearded men in robes carrying short lengths of metal pipe approaching.

Interesting. Weapon of choice here, I guess. Oh, fuck...

The cabinet BC’s been leaning against collapses forward, falling into the corridor directly in front of the five. BC falls with it flat onto his face. He looks up just in time to see a length of metal pipe coming down, and then sees nothing else.