Before you read further, a few author's notes.

Angel's Quest is an original project I began nearly a half-year ago in an attempt to break writer's block and come up with a "signature" work. It originally began as a 4th-wall wrecking parody of animes that featured big-breasted girls with neon hair and spandex outfits piloting big mecha and kicking ass. Oh, did I mention that they had Escudo-like swords?

[ In case you didn't notice, I was a bit peeved at those Plastik shirts. ]

Anyways, before I knew what was happening, AQ had evolved into something... else. Here's the first chapter of it, before the story picks up and spins into my attempt at an epic. ^^ If people seem to like it, I'll consider posting the other chapters up...

Like it? Hate it? Have C&C? Feel free to drop me a line at lain_iwakura@softhome.net.

Want to read more? Stop by the AQ homepage! http://angelsquest.cjb.net

Enjoy. ^_^
                    _________________________________________________



                                      Angel's Quest
                                      _____________

                       (Sharp Swords, Big Girls, and Powerful Mecha)
                                           or
                       (Sharp Girls, Big Mecha, and Powerful Swords)

                                       by Jeff Yang

chapter 01 / 03.22.2000 - 03.27.2000
__________

They were soft. He let his hands run around the supple smoothness of them,
caressing the bare flesh tenderly as if it was his own--well, in a way it was,
seeing as how he had paid for three hours in advance. That allowance gave him
time enough to do whatever he wished, three hours of complete and utter
possession which he treasured so much more than the measly price she had asked
when they had been on the street.

The girl beneath him squealed in protest. "Hey, not so rough, all right?" she
demanded. "Geez, I thought you were a gentleman."

"Ah, but of course, of course, madam," he crooned, nipping on the lobe of her
ear delicately. "I apologize. Was I being too forward?"

"I'm a prostitute. There's no such thing as being 'too forward.'"

The man hesitated for a moment. "I forget, my dear. So exquisite was the
intoxicating wine of your scent that for a moment I mistook myself to be in
Paradise itself--"

The girl shoved him off, planting a knee in his crotch as she did so. She rolled
up to a sitting position. "Look, are you going to spend the next three hours
whispering crap to me? You paid money to get your ashes hauled, right? So...
what's the problem?"

"Ah, miss!" he protested, managing not to whimper in pain too much. "Do you
not wish to be wooed, to be romanced, before engaging in such a vulgar act?
There is no mystery to be found in a commonplace transaction; we must *make* it
beautiful and glamorous, letting it take a beauty of its own--"

"Uh huh," she mumbled, adjusting the lacy black brassiere that had formerly
taken residence around her assets so that it was once more filled out properly.
"Well, I'm sorry, but I've got a lot of work to do. If you're just going to
waste my time, I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave."

"But this is *my* house, madam."

"Right, right, I forgot. *I'll* leave, then."

The gentleman blanched. "I paid my share for three hours of your time, and
three hours is what you shall deliver to me," he retorted quietly.

"That's a *formality*," she said. "You know? No one in their right minds can
keep it up for three hours. Not to mention the fact that three more minutes of
your chattering and I would've probably fallen asleep anyways."

"All right, all right," the man finally said, raising a hand in defeat. "Very
well. If you wish, then I shall do my task and dismiss you."

"Actually, I've kind of lost the mood now," she said, grinning slyly. "I'll
refund your money, if you want--actually, no, I think I'll keep it. Can you
show me where the exit is?"

"You will *not* leave before I have been given my money's worth, harlot," he
demanded angrily. "Now lie down on the bed before I am forced to restrain you."

The girl did as she was told, muttering to herself and loosening her brassiere
down once more. Grunting in satisfaction, the man kneeled onto the sheets
besides her, tugging at the belt of his trousers. She began looking him over as
he took his sweet time. Not a bad one, actually, although his skin was a sickly
pale beneath a few pathetic attempts at chest hair. He was pulling his trousers
down now. White-fringed underwear peeked through the V in the crotch area, and
it was all she could do to not laugh out loud.

She was bored already. The offer had certainly *seemed* exciting at first: rich
aristocratic type, the kind with just enough lace and fine trim on the outfit to
hint at more exotic tastes laying beneath the smooth veneer. How much, he had
asked; the gesture of a gentleman experienced in the life. Three hundred, she
had replied; a decent enough price, considering that she looked more like a
casual shopkeeper in her blue blouse and white apron than a street girl. Had it
been anywhere else in Velaiya other than Taragon Square she probably wouldn't
have been approached in the first place.

He was running his hands over her again, and try as she might, she just
couldn't dredge up the interest. Instead, she turned her gaze upon his lean,
tan face. Angled features. Again, handsome, save for the rather-disgusting
incongruity in tint between upper and lower regions. Where did this man come
from? Expensive men hardly roamed Taragon unless they were desperate, and--
well, he *did* look desperate, but not *that* desperate.

"Lady? Are you asleep?" came his voice.

She moaned and pretended to stir slightly beneath his gaunt weight. "It's just
that I'm overwhelmed by your sheer manly musk. Of course I'm not asleep, you
nimrod."

"This is becoming rather unstimulating, madam."

"Oh, really. When did you figure this out?"

That was when he reached over and slapped her. It wasn't overly painful, but
the gesture provoked more anger than any actual physical discomfort. He drew
back, looking not at all proud nor haughty, but rather grim. She glared back.

"What the *hell* is your problem?" she yelled shrilly. "I don't go for that
sort of thing! Back off!"

Oddly enough, he did. Raised two hands in submission. "No offense intended,
mistress, none at all. But... you *vex* me to no end..."

"Whatever." The girl finally leapt off the bed, waving a hand dismissively
towards his face. "I'm out of here."

"I think not," he said, and the abrupt authority in his voice was enough to
make her look around directly at him once again. His poise was confident, now,
not the limp-wristed mock upper crust of five minutes previous. With a deft
gesture, he removed something from the pocket of the trousers that were still
hanging about his waist and unfolded it before her. It was a white sheet of
paper with tiny, barely-legible print on it.

Now he smirked. "We've got you this time, Adara Rynce, you and your entire crew
of Taragon misfits. Soon, there will be nothing left but--"

Instead of remaining rooted to the ground and quaking in fear as she should be,
Adara decided that she would run. So she did, bouncing over the bedpost and
expensive carpeted floor until she reached the door. One mighty kick from a
stockinged foot sent the thing tumbling outwards, much to the chagrin of some
unfortunate saps standing outside to eavesdrop, and she streaked down the hall
like an angel tearing her way out of the fourth corridor of hell.

"--ashes," the man finished blandly. He cursed. Maybe this hadn't been such a
good plan after all. Pulling his trousers up (after all, *he* was not some
lowly street trash) and slipping his ruffled white shirt on, he made his way
over to the battered door where three mocked-up servants were staggering to
their feet. They were supposed to be his backup, but they obviously weren't a
match for her. Or perhaps they were, but they had just chosen this moment to be
utterly incompetent.

He stamped his foot. "Well?! After her, you idiots!" he bellowed.

The three saluted awkwardly and stumbled down the stairs of the
expensive-looking mansion he had rented specifically for this sting. The
gentleman, meanwhile, buttoned the final clasp on his shirt and smoothed his
hair with a suave motion before the recurring pain of Adara's well-aimed
knee decided to pay a belated visit.

"Ow."
                                      _____________

Sunsets were breathtaking to watch, Adara remind herself. Breathtaking, that is,
when the weather was nice and when she was not running around in the streets
half-topless and mostly-bottomless in a nearly-blind panic with a small fleet
of sword-wielding robots behind her.

It was strange, yes, but nothing she wasn't already accustomed to. Normally,
she would even be able to handle these goons single-handedly, but the offer had
come during one of her whimsical moods as she was doing laundry (hence the
scandalous clothing which she would have never considered touching otherwise).
Being of sound mind and dysfunctional willpower, she had said yes. And of
course--of *course*--this had happened. It would make for some fodder to bitch
over at the bar later in the week, provided she survived.

She ducked under an overhang and narrowly avoided a blast of bluish energy that
shattered the wood above her. Dusty splinters rained down on her back, slipping
into those places where she preferred not to scratch in public. Adara cursed
and quickly rolled behind a partition dividing two cheap restaurants, hopefully
out of sight of the white armored behemoths trailing a few meters behind.

The first one stopped, extinguishing his energy sword. He glanced around for a
moment before the other two came to a halt next to him on each side, sheathing
their weapons as well in a compartment on the side of their arms.

An amplified male voice--the kind that blares "I am the type who is hard up for
a date and would like to pursue this mostly-unclothed female suspect for the
sole purpose of interrogating her in very special ways later on" in every
inflection and accent--emitted from the speakerphones of the first robot. "Did
any of you see her?" it demanded.

"No," the second one said. He was meeker in his projections, although the same
message carried through with more tact and less sting. "Shall we call off the
pursuit?"

"Never!" the first replied. Desperation edged up like the hackles on a cornered
wet cat. "Sturman was explicit in his briefing: 'should I, for some inexplicit
reason, fail to secure Adara Rynce, the task shall fall onto your shoulders.
Fail me and unpleasantry will result.'"

"He's just blowing hot air," the third one chipped in. "Sturman has about as
much clout as a wet fish."

The first quickly shook his head--or rather, he made his robot do so. "Fish
can pack quite a punch, Rigger..."

"That's not my point!" Rigger's robot made a gesture of frustration. "If we
can't find her, no problem! It's not as if our careers depended on this one
sting."

"Those are famous last words, you know," the second said gravely.

"Shut up."

Having heard enough words and drawn enough stares from the surrounding crowd,
Adara quietly scraped herself up from the ground and sneaked around the wall
of the restaurant. It was tough going, especially due the growing breeze (it
*always* seemed to happen when she was in a situation like this, she ruminated
darkly) and the still-gawking patrons of The Silver Spoon.

In that moment, the three robots decided to turn around for no apparent reason.
Their sensors quickie detected a blue-haired, scantily-clad girl trying to edge
her way past their notice. Klaxons blared. The girl, panicked, quickly dove out
of sight beneath a few of the tables, knocking chairs and customers over with a
feral yell. Immediately, the robots blared out their orders, and some of the
patrons cleared the restaurants in disgruntlement. The rest eased off to the
side, forming a makeshift rubbernecking ring from which to observe the fight
and their plates of food.

"Adara Rynce, you are surrounded!" the first one declared. "Come out with your
arms raised and your chemise lowered!"

"Crain!" one of them bellowed.

"Just the first part, then," the one named Crain hastily amended.

There was no response.

Rigger's robot gingerly reached out with one metal claw to pry apart the
conglomeration of tables. Sturman had been quite specific in his orders to keep
the girl unharmed, and even though he didn't really care about the man or the
girl in question, orders were orders.

Predictably enough, Rynce wasn't beneath the tables. Rigger's robot glanced up
and made a shrugging motion.

"What now, boss?" he called out towards Crain.

The distinct flavor of high-bred Levering swearing filled the air around The
Silver Spoon. Some of the parents covered their children's ears. Most didn't.

Craftsworth, the second one, flinched visibly in the pilots seat, a motion that
was mirrored in his robot. "Um... I take it that we report back to Sturman,
then," he muttered.

More nonsensical but hard-edged words filled the air, and the three robots
trudged off from the small town square and back towards the mansion.

From the window of a barely-decent clothing shop, Adara stepped down. She made
sure her hair was in place before throwing the confused shopkeeper a tidy
smile. "I appreciate your help," she said. "Maybe I can pay you back some
time."

"Er... sure, miss," the rather-flustered teenager muttered. His job's rather
innocent beginnings as a small square in the local newspaper were finally
paying off for him. "Maybe... um, maybe sometime you'd like to go out?"

Adara laughed. "I'll think about it," she said, walking out.
                                      _____________

Lex, land of beauty, heavy artillery, and mystic weaponry. For the most part,
it was a richly forested land surrounded by a vast ocean which few have
seen and even fewer have actually traversed. Within the morass of wood were a
few large cities here and there, and scattered between were settlements and
towns punctuated by the occasional tribal settlement. Dig deeper in that and
one will find adventurers to be commonplace throughout, from the arcane type
who preferred to hole themselves up in some lost, forgotten place and emerge as
a powerful (or not) magician years later, to the advanced type who liked to
roam around in giant robots--Mechrasors, they're called--and blow things up.

And in the midst of all that was a girl who happened to be running around
slicing things apart while dressed in something that acted more as lingerie
than effective body armor.

It wasn't that she wanted protection so much as something else; her reasoning
behind the costume was that it would be a sufficient distraction for her
enemies, sufficient enough that they would be busy assessing other things
besides her potential speed, counterhit rate, and such unimportant nonsense.
Barring any and all possibilities that she would run into 1) enemies of the same
gender (who weren't attracted in that fashion), 2) monsters who preferred to
tear girls apart instead of gawking at them, or 3) blind enemies, her plan was
essentially flawless.

Her current opponent was one of those three aforementioned, and as such she was
taking her lackluster defeat rather harshly. A swing from a gigantic green paw
sent her stumbling towards the ground, and another felled her for the count. As
it closed in for the kill, the girl managed to push a button on the side of the
smooth metallic wall, and instantly the creature disappeared into thin air as
the lights in the room brightened so that she was no longer under the illusion
that she was in a very dank and dark cave.

She sighed. Perhaps the plan wasn't going to work as well as she thought.

The door slid open, and a blue-haired tart stumbled in and collapsed on the
ground. "Heh. Hey, Raina," she muttered. "Don't mind me. Just dying here."

Raina dropped her massive bladed weapon where it resounded with a deafening
clash. "Creator's Will, Adara! Why didn't you go to the clinic?" she breathed.

"Meura's not around," Adara muttered. "Who knows where she could be... you
won't mind if I ask for a few minutes out of your training session to help
patch me up, will you, Raina?"

"Oh, of course not!" Raina picked up the massive sword--it seemed fairly light
for her, despite its size--and set it on a shelf strapped with similar blades
that ranged in size and girth from swords just like it to a knife no longer or
wider than her smallest finger. She then hurried her way over towards Adara,
who was now clutching at her side with a trembling hand.

The two exited the training room and meandered their way down a series of halls
before approaching a tightly-sealed door with glowing edges around the jamb to
make the entire setup look more "advanced". Raina stepped forward, pressing her
right hand on a squared-off section in the wall.

"Access: Raina Jerelhem," she intoned.

From somewhere above, a soft beep came forth, and the doors parted in a swish
of sound to reveal a hallway that led into an intricate laboratory of supplies
and beds for the proper treatment of patients. They quickly made their way down
the hall and into the lab, where Adara immediately flopped down on one of the
beds. Raina began busying herself among the various glass jars and
unpleasant-looking oral and rectal devices.

Adara squirmed. It wasn't that she didn't *trust* Raina, who had proved to be a
genius more than once when in her own domain. It was just that proper medical
attention was not her strong suit. Still, the rest of her team were out on
leave; it would be just like her to get injured during vacation.

"Adara? Where are the bandages located?"

"You need to clean the wounds first, Raina dear," she answered quickly. "Or
better yet, just hand me the supplies and I'll do it myself."

Raina poked her head out from behind a plastic skeleton propped up on a rack, a
distinctly chilling image. "No, no, Adara. It's my duty to care for you, our
great leader, when you are in times of need," she protested gently. "Please,
sit back down--thank you. Um, if you can just tell me where the antiseptic is,
then we can get started."

"Behind the cotton swabs."

There was a tinkling of glass and a rattle of metal, the kind that preceded a
loud crash of both. Adara silently prayed to the Creator that neither would
happen today.

"Found it!" came Raina's voice. "And are you ready?"

"Sure," Adara muttered. It couldn't get much worse, short of--no, she was going
to cut off those types of thoughts now, before they started coming true as
well. Instead, she focused on the task at hand as Raina liberally applied the
stinging antiseptic to her cuts. It took most of Adara's well-toned gut not to
scream and rant.

Raina, oblivious, smiled at her and took her eyes off of Adara's arm. "So, how
did this happen, Adara?" she asked pleasantly.

"Well, let's see. I went to visit my mother down in Taragon and I was doing the
laundry for mom when I got a proposal by an expensive-looking man that happened
to be hanging around. Thinking that I could get a lead, I took his offer and
ended up discovering that he's really Weiss Sturman working undercover.
Apparently he's been tracking our organization for months now and has finally
caught me somehow on this sting. I was then chased, while half-clothed, down
the streets of ye old merry city in an attempt to escape three Mechrasors on my
tail and finally shredded myself in a last-ditch effort to escape them. I
finally succeeded by masquerading as a mannequin in the window of a lingerie
shop and limped about ten liners back to headquarters after hitching a ride on
the local transit system. Fortunately, most of the scrapes stopped bleeding
after I got on the coach, so I merely got a lot of weird looks. It wasn't too
bad, until the internal bruising kicked in, but by then I found myself back
here, so... here I am."

Raina smiled. "I hope you had fun," she said, completely earnest.

Adara smirked. "Just a little," she murmured. "I was trying to do something for
the benefit of our group, but it really serves me right for trying to work
during vacation."

Raina began wiping off the cuts with a sheet of soft white material. "I hope
you don't get hurt from doing this too often, Adara," she said reproachfully.
"I think you have been lucky so far, but you can't avoid trouble forever. Today
you almost got killed. I think."

"I'm so glad you noticed." Adara gritted her teeth for a brief moment as a few
more jagged edges of pain slashed through her arm. "Oh, well, no big deal. The
Angels can go on without me, right? They certainly are doing fine now, as far
as I can tell."

"Kyla dropped by a few hours ago," Raina mentioned in that offhanded fashion
reserved for relating highly important bits of information. "She seemed worried
too, but there was something I had to take care of in the kitchen so I told her
to leave a message for you."

"And just what did she have to say?" Adara said pleasantly.

"I don't know. Lunch was burning, so..." Raina shrugged. "It probably wasn't
too important, since we still are on vacation, right?"

"Technically. Technically." Adara tightened the bandage a bit further so that
it was comfortable without being too restrictive. "You know, even though we say
we're on vacation, if someone asks us for a job, we really have no choice but
to take it. Being short on money isn't very fun--by the way, just what *did*
you have for lunch? I haven't had a thing since dinner last night."

"Just some leftovers I tossed on the stove," Raina replied. "I ended up burning
a good deal of them, thanks to Kyla."

Adara ignored that. "Did she say if she was going to come back tonight?"

"I didn't hear anything. I was listening to music on my Porta-Player." Raina
smiled brightly at her.

"Oh, for--" Quickly deciding that taking it out on Raina would be a rather poor
idea (mostly due to the surrounding glass and metal), Adara opted to skip off
the bed and walk through the doors to look for the aforementioned note, leaving
a confused Raina standing before a table of unsorted chemicals.

"Adara? Is something wrong? Are you angry?" she called out after her.
                                      _____________

The note was lying on the table, written in a neat hand reserved for girls who
are quiet and nice and end up being mentally unstable in some awkward fashion.
Adara flipped it over, looking to see what it had been written on: an outdated
receipt for a backorder of explosives. She turned it back over and began
reading it through.

Kyla Brancel was their intelligence operative, the one who actually had the
semblance of a brain in their entire group (save for herself; leaders were more
talented than the other members of her group by default). Last they met in the
big parlor room reserved for formal meetings, Adara had instructed her to stake
out the nearby towns for any possibilities of work. The recent pinch in crime,
most likely led by the goon who had made a poor attempt at seducing her back at
the mansion, had led to a decreased need for groups such as the Angels, who
were often hired when incompetent local officers were pushed aside by the
more-organized criminal groups. They had all felt the effects a few days
after the announcement of the most recent sting in the local newspaper, when
Adara was forced to announce a cutback on food rationing for the indefinite
future.

Save for the occasional transgression, the rationing decision was respected; of
course, no real woman can subsist on a diet of bread and water alone, so the
decision was unanimously voted in during the meeting that Kyla would try and
look for any potential offerings. Any at all--they weren't in a position to be
picky, unless the picking involved the law.

She had apparently found something, but refused to disclose any details until
later, after their vacations were all finished and over with. Satisfied, Adara
crumpled the note up in one hand and tossed it casually into the waste bin. At
the very worst, it would be a small, local job for what she liked to call
"extermination"; it basically involved little more than cleaning out whatever
thugs threatened the employer, tidying the place up, and snatching the reward.
Simple, click and clack--however, even the smallest of jobs landed a sum enough
to buy a good week's worth of junk food.

Adara flipped the coin and began thinking large: perhaps a rebel army wanted to
hire the Angels as mercenaries to assist them in taking down the oppressive
inland empires. After victory was secured, they could plunder and loot the
empires, who probably weren't terribly oppressive anyways, all they wanted and
be set for life.

It was a bit of an overwhelming thought, and completely improbable at any rate.
She sighed and decided to make some lunch for herself, maybe train or relax
until her partners reported in for the evening. It was certainly a lot more
pleasant than having to be around Raina for the duration.

Halfway through the mushed pile of vaguely-white potatoes and vegetables, the
communication line rang. She dropped the fork she had been stirring the mixture
with, trodded over to the wall and pushed the Receive button.

The feed was voice-only as indicated by one of the blinking beacons on the side
of the device. Shaking her head in annoyance, Adara flipped open a small panel
and turned on the tracing mechanism. It was unlikely to be anyone they knew;
the Angels were secure enough in their own little building nestled in the cozy
confines of eastern Velaiya, and masking calls was hardly something that could
be done from anything short of a highly mocked-up terminal anyways.

A distorted and obviously synthetic voice emitted from the speakers. "Hello,
Adara," it growled. "Are you enjoying your vacation?"

She smirked. Local prankster, no less, thinking he was hot stuff by playing a
joke on them. "Listen, whoever you are, mess around with me or any of my
partners and we'll hunt your pathetic existence down and raze it out of
existence. Got that?"

Silence permeated the room. Satisfied, Adara reached to close off the
connection before the voice cut in with a timing that was a little less than
unnerving.

"I've got a job for you."

She paused, assessing the situation. "Too bad," she finally said. "If you had
any amount of common sense, you wouldn't have wasted your time and resources in
trying to hide your identity with someone you're going to have to negotiate
with on a face-to-face basis anyways."

"Trying?" There was a grating rasp of phlegm and other unpleasant bodily fluids
that echoed in the hideous parody of a cold laugh. "I've already succeeded."

Adara slowly glanced at the display on the communication line. It was still
resolving the location. "Cut the dramatics," she demanded. "What's your offer?"

"I'll tell you in time. Have to go now." Click, and the display changed from
RESOLVING to CONNECTION CLOSED.

"Jackass," Adara muttered at the unreceptive speaker. She turned and walked
back to the kitchen, her mind already turning to more important things such as
how much sauce to add into the lumpish mixture so that it had a vaguely edible
quality after she ran the whole conglomeration through the heater.

Outside one of the higher windows that shone light on the second-story of the
building, something vaguely ominous happened.
                                      _____________

Three Mechrasors parked themselves inside the barn-like structure that served
as a makeshift hangar for the time being, and three pilots exited the cockpits
on their respective robots almost simultaneously. For the most part, they were
the men that they conveyed through the intonations of their voices: the leader,
Crain, was tall and lanky with corrective lenses; the secondary, Craftsworth,
was short and pudgy with pimples; the third, Rigger, was tall and pudgy with
old, oily that featured curling rolls of blackened tape that was no longer
adhesive in any shape or form.

They had failed their mission, and were now going to pay the piper. The merry
man of many pipes happened to be the lanky gentleman who had failed in his
attempts at street-savvy courtship earlier in the day, who was currently less
than suave and svelte in an outfit that was imposing for the sheer number of
ornaments tacked on the lapel alone. The resemblance to a corkboard was rather
uncanny. Sturman, a woody man of black locks and piercing gaze, paced back and
forth in his chambers, awaiting the results of the commanded strike upon a
highly-suspected criminal.

His men filed in slowly, shuffling their feet as they came to a halt before the
large desk where Sturman, imposing and impassive, rested. They had all the
clout of three men who were holding their collective hats in their hands, and
looked about as confident; truly, fine examples of the Velaiyan law enforcement
were they.

"Well? Why the countenance of despair, gentlemen?" Sturman demanded. "I take it
that the prostitute Rynce caused more than a slight amount of trouble for you,
even though you *were* in armed in our city's finest Mechrasors."

Rigger stepped forward. "We failed to secure the suspect, sir," he stated
simply. Honest was definitely the best policy, here.

There was no outburst of rage, no puffing of cheeks or reddening of brow. No,
Sturman considered himself above all this; he was a man of high breeding, the
sheriff of the law enforcement department in Velaiya, one of the most glorious
of all cities in Lex. It simply would not do to throw a temper tantrum in front
of his men, as if he was a spoiled brat being denied the expensive box of
candies and glamorously-dressed doll in the store window.

"How did you manage to accomplish *this*?" he fumed. "She was a single woman,
with no armament or backup! I even took the liberty of removing most of her
clothes so she would be easily identifiable amongst the crowd!"

Crain stepped forward. "Actually, sir, that was part of the problem. Taragon
seems to have little inh--"

"Excuses, excuses, you are all coming up with excuses!" Sturman slammed a hand
on the tabletop angrily, ignoring the pain that bolted up his arm through his
wrist. "Find her. Take the Mechrasors and scour the city. Search every
household if you have to; I will provide with the necessary legal measures."

"Sir! May I ask a question?" Craftsworth piped up.

"I fail to see what you have to ask me that holds any relevance to the topic at
hand, but proceed."

The secondary soldier hesitated for a moment. "Why are you so anxious to
capture this woman, sir?" he asked. "I know it is not my place to question your
orders--and I assure you that I am not, sir--but it seems curious to me that
you invest all this potential time and resource in rooting out one individual.
Perhaps she is the key to some ancient treasure, or some other mystical
nonsense? I assure you, any secret will lie safe with the three of us."

Sturman snorted derisively. "You overcomplicate matters. Adara Rynce is, simply
put, a criminal. I have a record sheet of her 'accomplishments', if you wish to
see, and I assure you that there is no sort of mystical plot or other such
nonsense at work here. What do you do with your spare time, Craftsworth? Your
head seems to be perpetually in the clouds."

"Well, uh, no," Craftsworth stammered. "But as you wish, sir. Showing me the
record sheet will not be necessary at all."

The sheriff nodded. "Any further questions for me to entertain before I dismiss
the pathetic lot of you?"

Silence ensued. Crain managed to hold in the inquiries that were on the tip of
his tongue in favor of not looking too stupid.

"Very well. I expect to see Rynce apprehended by the end of the month. Failure
will not be tolerated, gentlemen... remember that."

They nodded nervously, and filed back out. Sighing in contentment, Sturman
leaned back in his chair, the vertical window shades rotating aside so that
caged light filtered in the room in a wide splash across the floor. Perhaps the
plan was not going as well as he had originally thought it would. No problem at
all; there were contingency plans, there were more opportunities for these
missed ones. Still, this was slightly annoying. He hadn't counted on the
Mechrasors to fail--or rather, the pilots behind them to.

He stood up and closed the window shades again; they were unneeded, for the
time being. Opening a drawer, Sturman flicked a switch somewhere inside. There
was no sign that anything had happened at first, not even an acknowledging
beep. After all, even that would be completely exaggerated for him; he was a
simple man, when all was said and done, and one of fine taste.

The opposite wall slid aside to reveal a large color image of a certain girl
with long bluish hair and eyes. She was smiling gently at whoever the
photographer happened to be in that moment of time before, her eyes canted at
just the right angle so that the viewer was part of that intimate moment, the
moment when there were no words, but only the briefest of visual cues implied
from a brief, but mutual meeting of eyes. One careless hand was brushing back a
lock so that the bridge of her nose was clearly accentuated, a slim, neat
length of shadow.

Beneath the picture was a name stenciled in formal hand, small enough so as to
not be obtrusive towards the general effect. It read "Adara Rynce".

Sturman smiled.
                                      _____________

Surely enough, when dinnertime rolled around, Raina was the one who ended up
late, thus holding up the affair for everyone involved. "Everyone", in this
case, happened to be Adara, Meura, and Kyla, who were waiting, hungry and
tired, at the table for the errant weapons expert to show up. While staring at
the single loaf of bread on the table and the little eddies of warm air around
it, Meura spoke up first.

"Is anyone going to start eating?" she said, poking at the loaf with a finger.

Kyla slapped Meura's hand away, causing her to elicit a squeak of protest. "At
least wait until Raina shows up. It really wouldn't be nice to leave her with
nothing."

"And just how long are we supposed to wait on her?" Adara said. "It's not our
fault she's late for dinner, and Raina isn't one to miss a meal. If she's not
here, I think we can go with the assumption that she's mature enough to know
what she's doing and handle herself accordingly."

Meura and Kyla looked at her oddly.

"Right, I forgot, this is Raina," Adara added lamely. "She'll be fine. She
probably just started practicing with her Weapon again and forgot that an
intake of nourishment was necessary for the human body."

Meura fidgeted. "I think you just want her portion of the bread, Adara," she
said, a bit chidingly.

"You'd do the same."

"I am on a diet, actually," Meura said. She glanced down at the napkin holder
on the table and began tracing circles with her forefinger. "I think I have
been eating too much lately for my own good."

Kyla blanched. "You *must* be kidding," she grumbled. "We've been living on a
diet of instant boiled goods and bread, and you're saying it's too much?"

"Boiled goods have a lot of unhealthy substances," Meura said primly. "I would
not normally think about touching them, except we are a bit short these days."

"Just a bit," Kyla remarked.

"Shaddap," Adara mumbled. "Look, if you've got any information like you said
you would, Kyla, I'd appreciate it if you told us. Because we do, despite
popular belief, enjoy eating large amounts of food once in a while."

"Right. You sure we don't want to wait for Raina?"

"She can afford to lose a few pounds. What's the deal?"

Kyla shoved the basket of cooling bread aside, and fished out a wrinkled green
sheet of paper from one pocket of her faded jeans. She slapped it down on the
table, and spread it out so that everyone could read it.

"WANTED: Waitresses for a new service-oriented establishment?" Meura read.
"Exactly what sort of job is this, Kyla?"

Kyla half-shrugged with one shoulder. "It's a job, right? Look down the page--
the rates are actually pretty good, and with four of us on the job, we can rake
in enough to keep us in the gold for a really, really long while. Sounds good?"

Adara looked further down the flyer, then back up with a mildly amused
expression. "Kyla, this looks like it's going to be a gentleman's club of some
sorts. Now, normally, I'd give you a thorough verbal thrashing for proposing
such a thing, but given the events of this morning and our current status..."

"Don't tell me you *enjoyed* serving undercover," Kyla said distastefully.

"Feel free to leap off a cliff, Kyla," Adara said, smiling. "Anyone else have
protests?"

Meura fidgeted. "Actually, I do not know. I would prefer not to, but if it is
really needed, then I suppose I can do my best."

"Oh, no, no," Adara insisted. "Listen, we're a team, right? Working together
and all that is our specialty, but that doesn't mean forcing partners into
doing something they don't want to, when it's not totally needed. You wanted to
diet, right? Well, I'm sure we can support you, just... not as much as you
would if you worked as well."

Meura stood up. "Um, all right, Adara," she managed. "I will... is it my turn
to do the dishes? Or dish, rather."

"If you want. Remember, it's only for your own good," Adara said, adding a
smile at the end.

"All right," she repeated, and picked up the basket. "Was anyone going to eat
this?"

Kyla shook her head. Adara, still smiling, mirrored the gesture.

"I will save it for Raina, then," Meura said, and went into the kitchen.

Kyla watched her go. "That was rather low of you, Adara--or rather, low *even*
for you."

"What did I do?" She shrugged the reversed compliment off easily. "It wasn't as
if I was twisting her arm, right?"

"Whatever. Sometimes I don't think you're a very capable leader at all."

Adara's expression turned from whimsical to glowering. "Is this a threat,
Kyla?"

"Yes, it is, and you better take it to heart." Kyla stood as well. "You know me
well enough, Adara; if I decide that I don't like you, I can and will take the
measures to amend that."

There were a few tense seconds as Adara considered what Kyla had said. Then,
with a short, barking laughing, the former waved her hand and swaggered up from
her seat. "Yes, Kyla, you do that. It's simply *so* intelligent to inform your
leader before a mutiny, isn't it?"

"I'll be in my chambers. When do we meet tomorrow, captain?" Her voice was
cool, brisk, and more than a little sarcastic.

"Ten hours," Adara replied in the same manner. "Fair enough?"

"Oh, quite." She turned around, adjusting the clasps on the side of her jeans.
"See you later, then."

Adara watched her leave, then peeked in the kitchen. Meura was already gone;
natural, since it wouldn't have taken a terribly long time to finish cleaning
an entire breadbasket anyways. She was probably off somewhere in the medical
wards now, undoing whatever damage Raina had done during the day... and just
where *was* Raina? She liked to train, but going through dinner was really
overboard. Even for her.

Deciding that it ultimately didn't matter in the long run of things, Adara
opted to go to bed. Tomorrow would be another day, hopefully a better and
less-productive one.
                                      _____________

She looked up, to see the roof: mechanical, seamed, and riveted tightly so as
to prevent any chance of invasion. Granted, this section of the headquarters
was underground and hidden away from even the inside of the place itself--she
had some difficulty finding it the first few days she was in the team--so the
possibility of a breach was nigh nonexistent. It had been and was still her
favorite room. There was a smell of metal and a cool, crisp feel to the walls
and floor, which were padded with thick, soft gray cushions.

She glanced down at the weapon in her hand. It was a smooth,
exquisitely-crafted length of metal that was as thick as both of her hands
placed side by side, and probably as tall as she was. The handle melded
smoothly into the hilt, from which the massive cleaving edge sprouted like a
metallic weed. It was formidable, a factor she had remembered from her lessons
with Adara long ago.

When she had first arrived, she had been a clumsy girl, even more so than now.
The Angels were only three strong, including herself; Meura Vance appeared
later on when Adara realized the need for someone to take care of the injuries
that she had boasted they would never suffer. Kyla never said much, even back
then; while they were in the room, she would remove one of the blades from the
rack against the wall and swing it about in preformed routines, her motions
muted and sullen.

The lessons had been fun, so much fun that she hadn't wanted them to end. Adara
finally admitted to having taught everything she knew to her, and yet she still
wished to go further. Here she was now, learning, growing more powerful.

Because she knew that one day, Adara would really get into more trouble than
she could handle, and that was when she would have to save her. She couldn't be
clumsy then, could she?

Raina hefted the blade up, ignoring the faint demanding tinges of pain from her
stomach.
                                      _____________

Angel's Quest, its characters, its settings, and all other concepts are
copyright Jeff Yang 2000. Thanks go to Alicia Ashby for her help in editing the
story.






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              bellreisa  <<-->>  Jeff Yang

 homepage          http://bellreisa.cjb.net
 current project   http://angelsquest.cjb.net

              "Blazing friendship!"
__________________________________________________________




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