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Angel's Quest
_____________
(Sharp Swords, Big Girls, and Powerful Mecha)
or
(Sharp Girls, Big Mecha, and Powerful Swords)
by Jeff Yang
chapter 04 / 04.23.2000 - 04.28.2000
__________
The Angels didn't own their own Mechrasors, a fact that Kyla constantly nagged
Adara about at the monthly budget meetings. Like most of their other arguing,
it was procedure recited almost wholesale from their mental script of things to
scream at each other about. Adara's defense was that they were a mercenary
group who specialized in using Airbreaks, and as such, they really didn't need
to use 'Rasors at all. It would seem too odd, combining two weapons of war that
were essentially designed to destroy each other. Plus, it was more than a bit
aesthetically displeasing.
Kyla, on the other hand, didn't seem to put aesthetics in much high regard.
'Rasors were 'Rasors, and they certainly were a hell of a lot more effective
than a bunch of girls toting Airbreaks around. Besides, if one failed, they
could rely on the other as a contingency plan. As intelligence officer, it was
her job to come up with contingency plans, and it would make things
significantly easier for her if they had more resources--namely, 'Rasors--to
work with.
She ultimately didn't manage to convince Adara either way, through violence or
rationale, when Adara presented them with a statement of their finances. Even
Kyla, who normally had something to say to just about anything, was struck
speechless. They weren't exactly *broke*, but the situation was a lot worse
than she had originally thought, and purchasing 'Rasors--even the cheap,
unequipped kind--would land them in more trouble than they were already in.
So when Kyla entered the hangar that had been custom-built for housing four
'Rasors, it was no surprise that the entire thing was empty. They had ordered
the place to be built a few years ago, but never actually managed to acquire
the funds to purchase actual Mechrasors for it.
It was just a little more than depressing. She had come a long way with Adara
since the old days, but it was really difficult to be taken seriously when
their reputation mostly consisted of being a group of four cute girls toting
large weapons instead of an actual band of fearsome criminals. Considering that
she and Adara were at least fearsome to some extent (Meura and Raina needed a
certain amount of work before they became mildly intimidating, let alone
fearsome), it really didn't sit right with her.
It wasn't going to stop her, though. Kyla was already strapped with the proper
equipment: a crinkled, flaring-red bodysuit that had two little stabilizers in
the back that more than slightly resembled wings, and a massive Airbreak
sitting carefully between the wings, slung loosely on a bandolier across her
chest. She turned around and gazed at the hangar one last time--the least she
could've done was go to Sturman Mansion in style--and dismissed the lost
chance, shutting the doors behind her.
She went to the backyard to think about what had happened recently. First, the
evidence in the devastated medical lab indicated the usage of a very small and
unknown version of a 'Rasor--there wasn't anything *else* that could pack
enough physical force to tear the door down like that except a 'Rasor. There
were always the magicians in Lex, who lived somewhere off to the west, but that
really was too far-fetched for even Kyla to take into account.
So, who would have access to such high-level technology in Taragon? There was
really only one likely candidate: the magistrate of Velaiya, Weiss Sturman.
Of course, that didn't explain why he'd captured Meura; as far as they all
knew, Sturman had truly stopped caring about the Angels a while ago when they
had unintentionally helped him out by taking a contract on a band of hooligans
that was threatening him. The gig had come from the band's rival, and was clean
enough so that Sturman could dismiss the entire incident as thug war. Still,
from that day on, he had eased up on them quite a bit; in fact, Kyla was fairly
sure that the only reason he was even bothering to chase them now was because
he wanted Adara for some reason or other.
It seemed to make more sense now. Their impromptu shopping trip had probably
caught him off guard. Adara had related her tale to everyone before dinner a
few days before, and she made it clear that Sturman seemed to be putting extra
effort into chasing her down, to the point where he really didn't seem to care
about the other Angels at all. The guy probably managed to barge right on
through their security systems, since they hadn't been designed for fending off
anything like what Sturman had been packing. Once inside, he only found Meura
there, as the others were either talking to a 'Rasor jockey or flashing breasts
for money.
Meura did seem to have the bad luck, didn't she.
Kyla grimly stepped outside of the base and made her way down the driveway
towards the street leading to the main area of Taragon. Their base was out of
ways, and they didn't have enough money to afford their own coach. "It'll save
us money and keep us in shape," Adara said. Kyla thought that was a stupid
defense for not affording basic transportation, but it couldn't be helped.
It took her the better part of fifteen minutes before the first buildings of
Taragon Square appeared in sight. Kyla made sure her body armor was properly
secured and tight, then hailed a coach that was driving by.
The vehicle drew up next to her, and she clambered aboard, grinning lopsidedly
to herself.
"Where to, Miss?" the driver said.
Kyla leaned back against the back seat as she loosened her Airbreak, setting it
down on the floor of the compartment. "Sturman Mansion," she said.
_____________
"Kyla? KYLA!"
She flipped through the rooms, opening and closing doors in rapid succession.
"Kyla, you stupid bitch! Get your lazy butt over here!"
More frantic running through the halls. Adara was starting--just starting, mind
you--to grow irritated.
She sucked in a nice quantity of air, and let loose with her greatest,
I'm-the-one-who's-talking-now bellow. "KYLA!"
There was no response. Angel's Headquarters was completely, deathly silent.
That silence was briefly broken by a colorful curse, followed by the stomping
of slippered feet on wooden floorboards.
Adara began muttering to herself angrily. The last time Kyla had defied her
like this was a long time ago, even before they'd stumbled across Meura during
the Blenheim gig. It had been a brief moment of playful insubordination that
ended up with both of them nearly dead. Scaling back up the cliffside had taken
the rest of the night, and since they had failed to accomplish their objective,
they simply didn't get paid. That was the last time Kyla decided to do anything
like that.
Until now, apparently; Adara was in the armory now, and even though this was
more of Raina's territory than anyone else's, she noticed that one of the
Airbreaks and Kyla's Armor was gone, in addition to some other equipment. Two
plus two led to an extremely obvious four, and Adara flounced back out, the
anger dissolving into something else, now.
"If I decide I don't like you, I can and will take measures to amend that,"
Kyla had said. They were workable friends at first, drinking partners down at
an old pub that hadn't cared about their age at all; money was money, after
all. Over the years, they had their share of spats, but Adara never really
thought Kyla would actually go out and defy her like this again. She was
beginning to sense a bit of trouble. Maybe she wasn't as perceptive as she
thought she was.
So what now? Kyla sure as hell wasn't going to rescue Meura alone; Sturman
wouldn't just leave a hostage sitting around unguarded.
Or maybe he would. Adara didn't know what to think anymore.
She picked up one of the cushions on a sofa and lobbed it at the wall in
frustration. Getting up late today had proven to be a mistake.
_____________
Sturman Mansion: the home of the magistrate of law in Velaiya. It took Kyla's
coach the better part of an hour to reach the place, but she knew that she was
drawing close long before: Sturman lived in one of the most flagrantly-rich
areas of town, where the lawns were perfect, the fences looked as if they had
been painted yesterday, and the houses were fine examples of those kind of
homes which managed to look ancient yet regal at the same time. She couldn't
stand that kind of living; it was irritatingly pretentious to her, and more
than a bit grating on her rather-frugal self.
She tipped the driver a bit more than usual, picked up her Airbreak, and
stepped off. Sturman Mansion had a front yard that seemed almost like a public
park--except if anyone tried to play there, they'd probably get shot. Small,
pruned trees lined the paved road in regular intervals, leading a curving path
towards the house which rested atop a portion of a hill that had been leveled
out and secured with solid mortar. Around the lawn were larger, leafier trees,
swaying gently in the warm afternoon breeze and whispering delicately.
Kyla smiled lightly to herself, and began walking down the path. She didn't
remove her Airbreak from its sheath.
Sure enough, there were no guards outside. It was still a *home*, after all, no
matter how overblown it seemed to be.
She approached the door, a solid wooden affair with intricate carvings over the
bottom half and a single golden knocking ring in the middle, and knocked, quite
politely and carefully. There was a momentary silence before the door was
opened by a prim-looking butler.
"Yes?" he said, voice mostly conveying "no". He glanced down at the
somewhat-short tomboy of a girl standing before him, dressed in a garish red
full-body suit and carrying what looked like an oversized toy sword behind her
back and a smaller, definitely-real sword on her belt. Perhaps it was one of
Master's guests.
"Oh, I'm here to see Mr. Sturman. Is he around?" Kyla said cheerfully.
The butler hesitated. "Today is Master Sturman's vacation. Only matters of
utmost importance should be conveyed to him," he said, after a moment of
careful thought.
"Well," Kyla began, "I suspect he's captured one of my friends and is holding
some sort of half-assed ransom hostage situation here, so I figured that I
would come in here and bust her free."
The butler was silent.
Kyla pulled the smaller blade out easily, and began flipping over and over in
one hand. "It's just a suspicion. And seeing as how I'm supposed to be a
criminal, I figure that dropping by would probably be the best for both of us,
especially if my suspicions are right."
"What..." the butler began, before Kyla leveled the sword at his neck.
"Because if they are correct, the magistrate would really have a fun time
explaining why he's been breaking his own laws, wouldn't it?" Kyla said. "We
can keep each other's secrets; think of it as a mutual service to each other."
He glanced uncomfortably down at the length of metal, and managed to keep a
cool composure. "Threatening me will get you no where, madam."
"Right, I know," Kyla said. "Just fetch Mr. Sturman for me, all right?"
"As you wish." The door closed behind him. For a moment, Kyla contemplated
breaking the door down with her Airbreak--it wouldn't be too difficult,
actually--and decided against it. She had to remain civil for the time being.
Of course, there was no guarantee of anything once Meura was safe in her arms
again.
Brushing aside that vague hint of doubt, Kyla steeled the grip on her smaller
sword and waited.
_____________
Weiss Sturman was currently occupying himself in his room, where the giant
portrait of Adara's face was hanging from the wall, the sunlight from the
window opposite giving the picture a healthy, golden glow. He had spent the
majority of his day there, staring balefully at the wall and thinking about the
time when he and the other woman who looked so much like her were still working
together... loving together...
No, he would have to banish those thoughts. Adara was probably on her way now,
red in the face and demanding to know what the hell happened. It would be so
much like her, rushing in the heat of anger, heedless of all the dangers she
faced. After all--he glanced over at the corner of the room, where a battered,
blackened, but recognizable suit of armor that looked like a miniaturized
'Rasor laid on the ground--he had already acquired one of them, had he not?
It was only a matter of time before he would have his love returned to him
through Adara. Meura was an unfortunate necessity; he didn't like resorting to
a crude a tactic as kidnapping, but he had failed so far in every other
endeavor. There was no other option left for him; this way, Adara would be
*sure to notice. Women were supposed to be better at "taking hints" (it said so
in the handbook lying in the drawer of his desk), but Adara really didn't seem
too terribly sensitive even after two years of playing this weary game.
There was a beeping from the speaker on his desk. "Go ahead, Wilkins," Sturman
said.
"There is a most disagreeable woman here wishing to see you, sir," Wilkins
said. "She is making ridiculous claims, and has threatened me with her
weapon--"
"Excellent. Have her escorted to my room immediately."
There was a thick silence. Sturman cracked one of his knuckles irritably, and
leaned in closer to the speaker. "What are you waiting for, Wilkins? Are you
questioning me?"
"N-no, sir. Of course not. At once, sir." The feed clicked shut, and Sturman
leaned back in his seat, allowing himself a wide, satiated smile of pure and
unadulterated glee.
_____________
Kyla took in her surroundings slowly. Sturman Mansion certainly was a nice
place, reminiscent of other similar wealthy households that she had visited
during her time with the Angels: the glittering chandeliers overhead, thick
carpet underfoot, and the seemingly-arbitrary collection of expensive
paintings. Except--no, Kyla looked closer--these seemed to be all of
blue-haired women.
"This way, madam," Wilkins said, proceeding up an expansive flight of stairs
that led up to the second floor balcony. Kyla followed, her amused smirk
fading as she drew closer to the paintings hanging off of the walls.
They seemed to all be of one woman's face, drawn from various angles: here,
with a slight upward tilt of the chin, making her look more arrogant; there, in
an angle that darkened her face, giving her a sinister appearance. There were
so many of them, and all of them seemed to be of Adara, or at least someone who
could pass as her without much trouble.
Wilkins noticed her gawking. "Enjoying the decoration, madam?" he said, with
just a bit of sardonic contempt.
"This guy's a freak, isn't he?" Kyla said, looking at one of the portraits
where the woman's eyes were closed in repose.
"Master Sturman is a deeply passionate man," Wilkins said cautiously.
"Passionate and devoted."
"I'm so sure." Kyla managed to look away from the row of Adaras looking at her
in various stages of desire, and directly at Wilkin's back, which was nice and
refreshingly not-blue. "We there yet?"
"Almost, madam. Master Sturman appreciates his privacy."
Kyla smirked. "You work for a sick man, you know that?" she said. "But you
know what they say: it takes all kinds, even if he is someone as important as
magistrate."
Wilkins remained discreetly silent, and opened a large set of double doors that
lay at the end of the hallway leading off from the second-floor balcony. He
waited for Kyla to enter.
"Right," Kyla muttered. "And leave myself open to you. Funny."
"I have no intention of attacking you, madam, even were I capable or properly
armed for such a thing." Wilkins tugged at the collar of his suit. "Please,
madam. I insist you go first."
"No."
Wilkins paused, then decided that it would probably be easier if he just
listened to her. Sighing, he stepped forward across the threshold and
immediately stepped aside so Kyla could walk through unobstructed. Instead of
walking through, though, Kyla continued to wait on the doorjamb. Long moments
passed before Wilkins stepped forward awkwardly.
"You seem to be unduly frightened, madam," Wilkins murmured.
"Maybe, but it's kept me alive." Kyla's hand brushed against the hilt of her
Airbreak, reassuring her that it was indeed still there. "We there yet?"
"Past this door, madam." Wilkins gestured to yet another elaborately-carved
wooden door, and stepped aside to let Kyla open the damn thing herself this
time.
Kyla did so, and stepped inside.
_____________
Adara was busy hunting for something which would hit her senses and dull her
mind so that she didn't have to put up with the current utter lousiness of
affairs when the video communications line beeped. She was almost positive, for
a second, that it was the stupid guy who kept calling her asking for a job from
them. Then she reconsidered, and thought that maybe it was Kyla calling from
somewhere outside Sturman Mansion, desperately outnumbered and quivering at the
booth in hopes that she wouldn't be found before her call went through.
She rather liked the second thought, and so she activated the connection with a
faint hope that it would perhaps come true.
What she saw was unexpected, to say the least; her thoughts had actually been
somewhat on target this time. Kyla was, indeed, standing in front of a comm
line, in full equipment and looking a bit harried. Adara muttered a brief curse
before turning her voice up to painful levels of decibel output and directing
it at the speaker.
"Kyla!" she screamed. "Where the hell are you, and what--"
Kyla's voice, though utterly calm and hushed, cut through Adara's easily. "Shut
up, Adara."
Adara blinked in surprise and did shut up, slamming a hand against the wall in
lieu of shouting. "What's the deal, Kyla?" she said after a long while, her
voice not so loud now as completely cold.
"I'm inside Sturman's suite," Kyla said easily.
"What?" Adara demanded. "How--you went without consulting or even *telling*
me?"
"You weren't doing anything about it, and Meura isn't even part of this
directly," Kyla responded. "Now can you shut up so I can tell you how I'm
here without being in massive trouble?"
Adara paused, clenching her fists tightly. "Yeah," she said. "Go ahead."
Kyla nodded acerbically and continued. "Meura's safe, I can tell you that much;
I've seen her myself, and she's a bit shook up, but otherwise fine. Sturman
wants to speak with you; as leader of the Angels, he recognizes your authority,
not mine."
This was unexpected. Adara felt a brief rush of sour triumph before cracking a
smile. "Well, thanks, Kyla," she said. "So I'm supposed to come over now and
negotiate."
"Yeah."
"Why can't I do it now? We've got a secure connection, and look who we're
talking to. The last thing we really need to worry about is someone reporting
us."
Kyla frowned. "Look, it's not my position to question Sturman, as he's still
got the big guns and Meura on his side," she said, growing annoyed.
"You have your Airbreak and Armor. Why don't you just take him down and
escape?"
"Because, Adara," Kyla said, her tone taking on a quality of patience that only
indicated how much contempt she actually felt at the moment. "He's just the
magistrate. No one would notice if someone walked into his home and killed him
in cold blood, especially not his butler, who's standing next to an emergency
comm line as I speak."
"Fine!" Adara said. "I'll come, then. Just give me an hour or so. And Kyla, you
may have secured this, but this is *not* something I'm going to just let you
get away with. When we all get back to base, you and I are going to have a long
and quite possibly painful talk."
"Yes, 'leader.'"
Adara clicked the connection shut, distraught. This wasn't happening; her team
was breaking apart before her eyes, and all because of that stupid bitch
Kyla...
No, she wouldn't let this get to her. She would *not*.
She strode back into the armory and began peeling off her clothes on the spot,
removing the components for her own Airbreak Armor from the closet. She grimly
set the external pieces out on the floor, and began slipping on the white
bodysuit that comprised the inner layer.
If Kyla was so determined to tear herself down from her position, she thought,
then so be it. She could find another group to work with. The Angels didn't
need her, a loose cannon who didn't even pull her weight around the group.
Adara zipped the suit up, and eased her Airbreak off of the rack.
She was *not* going to let this setback destroy the Angels. They didn't need
Kyla, not if she wasn't living up to her position and defying authority like
this. They were supposed to function as a group, and now it seemed as if
everyone else but herself was drifting away. Meura was being held against her
will, Raina had left them--temporarily, maybe, but she had disappeared without
even telling them--for a better-paying job, and Kyla was staging her own little
rebellion.
She strapped a smaller sword to her belt and the Airbreak onto her back, then
tightened the straps on her glistening blue suit one last time.
Something was going to be done about this. She was leader, and she couldn't let
this just happen. Well, not to *this* degree.
Adara stomped out of the armory and towards the exit of Angel's Headquarters.
_____________
"She's coming," Kyla said, waving a hand at the screen of the comm line in
Sturman's room to make sure the connection was dropped. "I hope you're happy
now."
Sturman leaned back and nodded, clasping his hands in front of him. "Shall we
wait, my dear? If you are in need of sustenance, I can have Wilkins prepare a
light meal for you. I apologize for not properly being able to attend to your
needs, but my priorities overwhelm me."
Kyla shook her head no. Aside from Sturman's apparent fetish for all things
Adara and his utter lack of morality, he certainly seemed to be a nice enough
man. "No, I'm fine. I'd like to talk to Meura, actually," she added.
"Again?" Sturman said, raising an eyebrow quixotically. "She did not seem to
want to speak with anyone, when Wilkins last checked."
"Trust me, I know her. She's the withdrawn type, and locking her up naked in a
damned prison cell isn't helping her. Get her out here, now."
Sturman raised both hands in defeat. "I apologize. There was little else I
could resort to, you must understand. I was in your abode, and I expected my
lovely Adara to be home, and yet she was not. What was I to do? Leave,
empty-handed, deprived of any playing cards?"
"Meura is not a playing card!" Kyla shouted. She waited expectantly for Sturman
to flinch, and calmed down slightly when he did not. Kyla slumped down slightly
in her set. "She's my friend, and so is Adara, the little incompetent bitch."
"I know," Sturman said softly.
"Then what the hell's your problem? You could've *asked* to speak with her,
instead of doing... this."
Sturman sighed. "You are young yet, Miss Brancel. Do you not believe I would
have done so, if it was such a viable option that I had already not taken?"
"... forget it," Kyla muttered. "Look, when she gets here, release Meura and
take Adara. Simple and clean-cut, right?"
"Yes." Sturman nodded. "I thank you greatly for this opportunity, Miss
Brancel."
Kyla snorted. "You're a pathetic excuse for a man," she said. "But I don't want
to bother with you anymore. Just keep your end of the bargain, and I'll keep
mine. In that sense, at least you can actually apply some of this stupid,
twisted concept of 'honor' that you have."
_____________
Adara refused to let herself be impressed by the neatly-trimmed lawn, the
pruned trees, and the large walkway to the house. She hopped out of the coach
and began sprinting down the paved drive, leaving behind an irate and untipped
driver. Halfway down the walkway, she slowed down and continued to jog briskly
towards the door, the Airbreak's weight digging into her shoulders. Maybe they
did need 'Rasors after all; the coach fares alone were beginning to cut a swath
in their budget.
There was a man dressed in a black suit waiting for her at the foot of the
steps leading up to the main door. Adara pulled out her weapon and leveled it
at him, snarling.
"Hand Meura over now!" she shouted.
Wilkins briefly pondered on the ill luck he seemed to be receiving today--two
weapons leveled at his neck in the span of an hour--before sighing
melodramatically. "I am not Master Sturman, madam, but his humble servant.
Surely you did not think that he lived alone?"
"I don't know. I wasn't here long enough to take in the surroundings last
time," she said. "Last time" was still fresh in her memory: she had been
running the other way down the driveway in a tattered chemise, which really
precluded any possibility of looking for butlers. "Take me to Sturman, then.
And do it now."
"Yes, madam."
They made their way past the elegant carpeting, the flight of stairs, and the
doors. Adara was on her guard the entire time; it was silly to think that
Sturman's house would be rigged with traps, but there never was such a thing as
"too cautious". Sturman could be leading her into a death room, for all she
knew, so she had to be ready for anything, to be able to react before she could
think.
When she stepped into Sturman's room, though, she really couldn't find anything
to do.
The magistrate himself was sitting behind his desk, nothing terribly unusual in
and of itself. Kyla was sitting across from him, drumming her fingers on the
desk; that wasn't terribly strange, either. Adara really couldn't fathom a
reason why Meura was sitting next to Kyla, looking extremely tired and
extremely unclothed.
She fumbled for words, before managing a "what?" that was drowned out as
Wilkins entered the room behind her and slammed the door shut.
"Took you long enough," Kyla muttered. She turned to Sturman. "Well, she's
here."
Sturman nodded. "I extend my infinite gratitude, Miss Brancel, and to you,
Miss Vance," he said.
Meura just turned away from him, and covered herself with her arms a bit more.
"What's going on here?" Adara said. "Wait--no, forget that. Is Meura all
right?"
"She is fine, as you can see for yourself," Sturman said. "I assure you that
I have not harmed her in any other way aside from the one injury I needed to
inflict on her so she would cooperate. Miss Vance can demonstrate my words for
herself, if she so wishes."
"She will do no such thing!" Adara snapped. "You're in deep trouble now,
Sturman. You're going down for this!"
"And who will you report my 'crime' to, Miss Rynce?" Sturman said calmly. "I,
the magistrate?"
Adara sputtered angrily, and stepped forward. "Never mind. Kyla, Meura, let's
go home."
"No," Kyla said.
Adara paused in surprise and more than a bit of annoyance; Kyla seemed to be
digging her own grave deeper by the second. "What was that, Kyla?" she finally
said.
"That wasn't the deal," Kyla said. "You are here to remain with Sturman in
exchange for Meura."
"Are you commanding me now, Kyla?"
She smirked. "Yes, Adara, I am."
Sturman moved a hand to a control panel on his desk and pressed a switch,
and the window blinds began slowly turning until they blocked out the flood of
light from the setting sun.
"I won't remain here with him," Adara said quietly.
"Not even if it means rescuing Meura?" Kyla shot back.
Adara drew her sword in irritation and swung it once to accentuate her words.
"This wasn't the right way to handle things, Kyla!" she shouted. "Not when you
compromise one team member for another!"
Kyla shrugged elaborately. "Too bad, then. It's the best for the rest of us,
and you two seem to have issues that would best be worked out privately." She
stood up, taking Meura by the hand. "Let's go, Meura."
She did not get very far. Adara placed her sword back on its sheath, and in one
smooth motion had her Airbreak out in both hands, leveled directly at Kyla's
chest. "Step back," she ordered, her voice deadly.
With a wider smirk, Kyla pulled out her own Airbreak, gently shoving Meura
aside.
"Kyla, this is not--" Meura began.
"It's all right, Meura. You can go home first, if you want."
"I need something to wear, at least!" Receiving no response to that, Meura
sullenly stepped back against the wall, well out of the range of her two
partners.
"Creator, I never thought it'd come to this," Adara muttered furiously. "Why
couldn't you just play nice, Kyla? This is *so* unnecessary."
"I'm not the one who drew the Airbreak first."
"That's not the point!" Adara said. "*You* went ahead and negotiated this...
this 'contract' without even consulting me!"
Kyla smiled, and swung her Airbreak directly at Adara.
Adara managed to dodge to one side and avoid the blow, feeling the air rush by
in the wake of the massive blade. The weapon crunched satisfyingly into the
wooden floorboards, and Kyla quickly pulled the blade out of the ground before
Adara's own slash--from the flat of her blade, no less--slammed into her chest,
sending her sliding on her back to hit the bottom of Sturman's desk with a
resounding crack. Her Airbreak clattered away from her hands and spun to a lazy
halt on the ground besides her.
"Ladies..." Sturman said, looking down at Kyla briefly.
All three ladies ignored him. Kyla stood back up, and raised her Airbreak in
time to parry Adara's attack, the two blades clashing in an explosion of noise.
She set her teeth and planted one hand against her Airbreak's blade, then
shoved forcefully. Adara lost her balance for a brief moment, and in that time
Kyla lashed out with a kick that connected with her stomach, following up with
a glove-clad fist that sent Adara tumbling to the ground onto her side.
"Adara!" Meura gasped. She turned to Kyla. "Stop this at once. You are both
acting so terribly immature!"
"I'll stop if she stays here," Kyla said mildly, looking down at the panting
form of Adara. "The only thing is that she probably wouldn't voluntarily do
that, so I'll have to make sure she can't get up, won't I?"
But Adara was already up on one knee, wiping the trickle of blood away from
her nose with her hand. She sniffled once. "All right, I see how it is," she
said. "Fine, then. I'll stay here."
"No, Adara, you cannot." Meura looked at her, and shook her head slowly. "You
are hurt; I must take care of you. There is no reason for you to remain here--"
"Meura, it's *all right*," Adara insisted. "If Kyla wants to play the bitch
leader so badly, let her." She snorted in barely-disguised amusement. "We've
toyed with the idea for years, and I figure that this was a long time coming
anyways."
"Ladies, would you resolve your problems amicably elsewhere? You have caused
your share of damage to my abode already, and this contract is beginning to
outweigh its benefits," Sturman said, a faint edge of irritation rising in his
normally-placid tone.
"Yes, let's go, Meura." Kyla placed the Airbreak on its holster again, and
began dragging Meura along by the arm.
"Kyla, I need something to wear," she repeated.
"We'll worry about that later." They hastily exited the room as Wilkins opened
the door for them.
Adara got to her feet, and looked at her Airbreak lying on the ground. Instead
of picking it up, she decided to merely give it a well-placed kick (meaning
that she didn't cut her own foot off in the process) before making herself
comfortable in one of the seats around Sturman's desk. The man himself was
still sitting where he was as if nothing had happened, absolutely still. The
effect was more than a bit unsettling for Adara.
"Well?" she demanded, after a moment of complete and absolute silence. Wilkins
wasn't moving, either, although he probably should have been cleaning the mess
on the carpet. "What do you want of me? You've got me here, not really at your
mercy, but I'm willing to put that aside and talk rationally. So what is it
that you *really* want, that you were willing to put aside your duty to society
for? That you were willing to risk all that you had for?"
"You, my dear," Sturman said. "Because you are all mine, now."
_____________
Kyla and Meura managed to return home with relatively little trouble, barring
the looks they had received from the few people that were on the street walking
by Sturman Mansion for some reason or other and the coach driver himself. They
didn't even try to explain anything, and instead remained silent for the entire
ride until Angel's Headquarters came into sight. Kyla hastily tipped the driver
and the two of them ran down the driveway, not stopping until they were inside
and lying down on the couch.
After regaining her breath, Meura went to her room and got dressed, then headed
back out to check on the status of her laboratory. She was not surprised, but
still a little disappointed, to see that nothing had been touched. She had
expected one of them to at least clean the floor up so it wouldn't be
impossible to walk on, but apparently neither Adara nor Kyla had much
inclination to do housework.
She sighed. Maybe she should have done more, back in Sturman Mansion...
"You all right?" came Kyla's voice from behind her.
Meura turned around. Kyla was in her plain clothes now, looking at her with a
clouded face; it was impossible to decipher what she was thinking at the
moment. Meura decided not to try, for once, and simply walked away from the
laboratory and down the corridor.
Kyla started, and followed after her. "Hey. Hey! What's wrong, Meura?" she
said.
"Nothing," Meura stated flatly. "Nothing at all."
"Look, it had to be done!" Kyla was shouting already.
"You did it wrong," Meura said. "Adara is still our leader, and even though I
do... well, I do not like what you do at times, all of you. But it is my duty
now to take care of you. What will Sturman do to her?"
"He can't do anything," Kyla protested. "She'll thrash him soundly if he even
tries."
Meura shook her head. "I am sorry, Kyla. I deeply appreciate you coming to
rescue me, but..." She trailed off, and continued. "... then I saw what you had
really wanted to do." With that, Meura walked out of the corridor and was gone.
Kyla remained held in place by sheer disbelief, staring at the empty space
where Meura had been standing seconds ago.
She heard the beeping of the comm line fade in gradually over the rush of
noise in her ears, and let it ring another half dozen times before she opened
the line wearily, not caring if it turned out to be Raina, or the Creator
himself.
It was neither. A pleasant male voice came from the speakers, and an
equally-pleasant male face complemented the voice a second later. "Hello. Is
this Adara Rynce?" he said.
Kyla glanced suspiciously at the screen. "No," she said. "Who is this?"
"I am Deorni Sokores, and I am here to contact Adara Rynce, leader of the
Angels," Deorni said. "I assume you are one of her partners?"
"Adara's on vacation now," Kyla said absently. "What do you want?"
"I have been sent on behalf of House Belladonne to negotiate a contract," he
replied. "Since Adara expressed a great deal of suspicion regarding our
authenticity, we have decided to negotiate in person to seal the job. If you
are not interested, then we will look elsewhere."
Kyla shook her head. "No, we're interested. We can handle this without her; she
told us to go on ahead for now. I'm Kyla Brancel, and I'm the new leader of the
Angels."
"Ah, excellent, Miss Brancel. When and where shall we meet, then?"
"I'll meet you at Nicieza Terrace, then. You're in town, I assume, and you know
where that is." Kyla looked down at her hands evenly.
"Of course. Shall we discuss over lunch tomorrow?"
Kyla nodded absently. "I'll look for you on the outskirts of the food courts."
"Excellent. I look forward to speaking with you, Miss Brancel." The feed cut
off abruptly.
Kyla continued to look down at her hands, feeling a sudden heaviness weigh down
on her mind. It wasn't right. This wasn't the way it was supposed to be going.
Things had gone all wrong. But she couldn't turn back, not now.
She slammed her fist against the wall a few times, and stormed off to her room
to drown herself in loud, abrasive music.
_____________
Fire. It was nice.
She liked the way it danced, full of life and always changing right before her
eyes. It reminded her of many things, but most of all it reminded her of how
she herself was, always changing. Fire provided, too: warmth, power, and life.
In that same way, she provided for her Mistress: whatever she wanted, whenever
she wanted it.
Her Mistress did not want anything now, which was why she was currently looking
at one of the many torches that lined the walls of the palace corridors. It
struck her as odd how they still used torches, when everyone knew about the
lights everywhere else. She had heard that it was called iranian lighting,
which didn't burn, but put forth a pure and bright light even better than fire.
There were iranian lights in the other parts of town and other houses, but not
here. She disliked them immensely; they didn't move or flicker, and just
remained constant. They were dead.
A bell rang, light and delicate, and she quickly hopped her way across the
corridor up to Mistress' room. Opening the door gently so as to not disturb
her, she stepped inside and bowed graciously. "I await, Mistress," she said.
The Mistress was a small, frail woman standing besides the window, taking in
the sights of the meadow below. She turned around and smiled faintly at the
girl before her. "Yes, Nika. I just wish to know if everything has been
arranged."
Nika made a small gesture indicating her deepest apologies. "I do not know,
Mistress. I have not spoken with Isiah today, for I have not seen him," she
said. As she spoke, she carefully made sure that her hair was back in place.
Mistress disliked it when she looked unkempt, a trait that had most likely been
inherited from her mother.
"Would you, please?" Mistress said. "I don't wish to incur the wrath of Mother,
and we know how she is."
"Yes, Mistress," Nika said, to both statements. "Shall I do so immediately?"
"Yes."
Nika bowed again, and backed out of the room, closing the door gently in front
of her. She made her way back down the stairs and began the long, arduous
process of looking for Isiah. He was Mistress' little brother, and, despite the
tasks imposed on to him by his father, was a complete mischief maker. Nika
didn't particularly care for Isiah, who also seemed bent on befriending her,
but she was not here to express her beliefs. So it really didn't matter.
She began walking through the hallways of the castle, acknowledging the few
greetings she received with a nod of her head. Isiah was nowhere around,
naturally, and she had expected as much; still, it didn't hurt to look. Nika
made her way towards the cellar door, and hesitated. She remembered standing
next to Mistress when Isiah had been severely reprimanded by his mother about
going into the cellar. The last logical thing he would do is repeat the
journey.
Smiling to herself, Nika opened the door and went on in.
The basement was dark and unlit; all the fine wines and foodstuffs were kept
here to age. Isiah had been caught sniffing the bottles last time, resulting in
a good portion of the liquor being disposed of because it had been spoiled by
his inquisitiveness. Nika wasn't particularly disturbed by the dark, aside from
the fact that she couldn't see. That wasn't too big of a problem, either, as it
was silent enough for her to hear if anything was moving.
There was an unmistakable tinkle of glass to her left. Nika stooped down and
removed her shoes, setting them aside next to the door, and padded quietly in
the direction the sound had come from.
She reached out on intuition and grasped blindly at the space in front of her.
Something warm and hairy squawked in surprise, and Nika tightened her grip
exponentially as she reached one hand around to take out a smooth iron rod with
a sharpened point.
"Isiah?" she whispered soothingly.
"N-nika?!" came a boy's voice. "Hey--what're you doing here?"
Nika jabbed him gently with the rod, eliciting an overly melodramatic shriek.
"Mistress wanted me to ask you a question," she said, once he had calmed down.
"And that's what?"
"Have you done what your Mother told you to?"
Nika could feel Isiah shudder almost instinctively. "Yes," he said lamely. "But
they didn't listen to me, so I had Deorni go out and talk to them. He should be
done in a few days. Now lemme go!"
"All right," Nika said quietly, placing the rod back in its sheath. "Just
remember one more thing, please."
"Huh?"
Despite the darkness, Nika's smile never faded. "You are not supposed to be
down here," she chided.
Isiah must have waved his hands dismissively, because she felt a cool breeze
against her cheek. "Yeah, yeah," he said. "Thanks for the warning, but I'll be
all right. You just make sure that Mother knows about Deorni, and Sis too, all
right?"
"I will do so, Isiah," Nika said. She slipped her shoes back on and walked up
the stairs again, thinking about what Deorni had been sent to do in Isiah's
stead, and how it would start to affect them all--for better or for worse.
Oh, this was looking to be fun already.
_____________
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.
-- Attached file included as plaintext by Listar --
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bellreisa
homepage http://bellreisa.cjb.net
writings http://kaidese.50g.com
current project http://angelsquest.cjb.net
"How can I let you know I'm more
than the dress and the voice?"
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