A Puero

     “Un-fucking-believable,” Colonel Dagon grunted while staring at the ashen-faced Ensign Balin. “You let him die because you wanted to watch the fireworks show?”

     “No,” Balin forced himself not to shout, “you misheard.” He huffed, “he’s passed out in the Break Room. He needs a doctor.”

     “Then why is he here?”

     Unable to control himself, Balin blurted, “he and his bird freaked in the hospital. Demanded to come here. Thinks he’s being hunted.”

     “He is.”

     The cousins silently stared at each other, heads tilted at matching angles.

     Balin’s shoulders slumped as the weight hit him, “war…” trailing off, his lips slammed shut forming a thin line of regret.

Reus Voti

     As the Phoenix sang, her tune turned from one of mourning to that of celebration. With each note of her song, Kaiser Archeleus Imler slowly, and though wobbling terribly, got to his bare feet. Once standing, Archel stared up at the brilliant fiery hues trailing after the Phoenix. On an impulse, he held his scrawny arm out, fore- and middle fingers extended. She swooped around his head, gently landing on his outstretched fingers where she promptly ceased singing. Archel turned to the still kneeling Celatrix, “um, could you please get up?”

     “As you command, Praeceptor Archel,” Celatrix Verna replied as she stood. The double line of now silent, previously chanting, ministers followed her cue and also rose.

     “It’s not really a command,” Archel mumbled.

     “What, milord?” she asked.

     “Uh. Nothing,” Archel said, absently stroking the Phoenix’s back. “What happens now?”

Nomen Regis

     “Eheu! Rex morte est. Inquam, O Mercuri. Astra declive!” Celatrix Verna’s voice trembled, building as she timed her ‘declive’ to coincide with the chanters’. Holding her hands to either side of the podium, she raised them with the palms directed at Kaiser Rudolpho Imler’s wounded face as he lay in his lidless coffin. While slowly turning her upper body toward Archel, Celatrix Verna continued, “Ecce! Rex nasci est. Inquam, O Iphigenia. Sol oriens!” Her impeccable timing once again apparent as her words blended into the chanted ‘Sol oriens!’

     From the front row, Colonel Thompson and General Michaels bowed their heads, listening to the foreign words. Michaels leaned over and whispered, “you know what she’s talking about?”

Media Nocte

     “Oh, sweet Mercury! What did you put in it, piss?” Brimley complained.

     “Yes. That’s the secret to warming it up. I piss in it,” Santos retorted.

     “Oh, now I don’t want it,” Brimley held the coffee cup away from her while looking for a place to put it down.

     “Here. Let me,” Santos offered.

     She mock handed him the cup, which he genuinely took, eliciting her to whine, “hey, give that back.”

     In the living room, Cassie whispered, “it doesn’t make sense,” to Archel who kept one enormous eagle eye on the bickering soldiers. “Do people never grow up?”

     “Chess,” Archel murmured. In stifling a yawn, all the feathers on his head and neck went ridged. “Game,” he exhaled. “Ooh,” he moaned, “I dreamed I was…” His beak fell and his lion’s shoulders slumped.

Magni Periculi

     The headquarters of Mercury’s Elite Guards, a nondescript government building created to blend into the neighborhood of government buildings, was a fortified monstrosity with two underground passages leading to opposite sides of the Templus de Ambros. The idea being that should an emergency occur, the Kaiser and his Mercs would have direct access to an adequate evacuation route regardless of where in the Templus they were at the time of need. In practice, the passages were used to move essential personnel to and from the temple compound without drawing the attention of tourists waiting in line for the official tour. From the end of the well lit block, where Balin and Kent stood, only two things indicated that the building was anything other than part of the bureaucracy. First, a giant brightly lit sign announced: Mercury’s Elite Guard Head Quarters. And, second, a series of lights shined on limply hanging, soaked flags, banners, and pennants, which didn’t have the gumption to snap in the budding thunderstorm. Though Balin tried encouraging Kent to continue on, the young man defiantly stood his ground, enduring the drizzle while gaping at the colorful spectacle that completely wasted the architect’s efforts at designing a group of nondescript public buildings.
     “I seen a place just like this on the Strip,” Kent said nostalgically. “This one ain’t got a flashing sign pointing to parking in the rear or giant windows filled with fools and slots.”

Rei Militaris

     With a heavy exhalation, Jessup sat down on the concrete bench inside the away team’s dugout. He stared at the tobacco stained floor. No one spoke. Steele stood with his enormous bulk blocking the short stairwell leading onto the field. Slowly inching toward the back of the dugout, Musgrove unconsciously put distance between himself and Dante who nonchalantly reclined against the chain link with his back to the field full of Hellions. 

     “Can’t be done alone,” Steele spoke deliberately. “Can be done. Needs to be. Needs a crew…ain’t a one man affair.”

     “Who you work with is your business,” Dante said. “Tell them nothing that might compromise the job.”

     “The pay?” Jessup asked.

     “As many Bits as you want on your RFIDs,” Dante answered.

     “Crazy Man,” Steele shot, “we’re outside the Bits line. That train don’t stop round here. Crews don’t work for cred. So, what’s the pay?”

Cui Bono

     The blond nurse lightly knocked twice on the door to Kent Wheelock’s hospital room. After waiting thirty seconds, he pushed the door open, saying, “I talked to the doctor about giving you something for the pain…” Confused, the nurse stepped back into the hallway and verified the room number, before reentering the room and checking the bathroom. When he approached the bed, he found a pile of discarded bloodied gauze and other random medical supplies. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered. Back at the nurse’s station, he jotted down a quick note about the missing patient as well as a reminder to make a complaint to the Mercury’s Elite Guard liaison stationed in the hospital. He then continued his rounds, nearing the surgery wing where he was forced to jump out of the way of the swinging doors as Doctor Conway angrily shoved through, cussing up a storm.

     “…no right to interfere! I don’t care who he is. That man fucking dies it’s on General Whistler’s head. Don’t think I won’t inform the Kaiser!” Doctor Conway practically shouted over his shoulder at the pair of Regulars who stood just inside the swinging doors. For their part, the two Regulars ignored the surgeon’s outburst and maintained their posts.

Sua Sponte

     A buxom woman sat in the shadow of the Pissing Puppy Statue just outside of Sentinel Cemetery on the edge of the Forum Publicos. From her vantage point she could see the heavy foot traffic going in and out of the forum shops while also maintaining an ever watchful eye on the cemetery passage. She chewed her bottom lip as she waited.

     “I’ll never understand why you’d risk a public meeting,” a man whispered as he sat down in the shadows next to her.

     “The bigger risk is meeting you in private,” the woman answered. “You’re lucky I waited.”

     “I had no doubt that you would,” the Inquisitor laughed.

     Ignoring his laughter she asked, “do you have it?”

     He sat a small beige tote bag on the cement next to her, saying, “everything you need to start over.”

Dum Vivam

     Sergeant Caspian stood in the kitchen of Goldie’s Revenge arguing with the bar owner as blocked the doorway to the basement stairs. The woman stared up at him, shoving her forefinger into his chest. “I know what I heard. And, I’m telling you, it’s going to stop right here and now.” She shoved the point of her half-inch fingernail into his sternum. He grabbed her finger and held it in place. She struggled to pull it back, “let me go.”

     “Ma’am. You will stop,” he practically threw her hand away.

     “I don’t care who’s down there. This is my bar. Not a torture chamber. Either you go down and put an end to it or I will.”

     “My orders are clear. Back away from the door now, ma’am,” Sergeant Caspian ordered, his body tensed.

Fide Indigni

     Pointing to the stolen cargo van, the Inquisitor ordered Jougs to pull in behind it. By way of acknowledgement, Mr. Jougs jerked the steering wheel hard to the left. The Inquisitor gave Jougs a dirty look, but said nothing as the car slammed to a stop near the discarded shipping containers.

     “They’re gone,” Mr. Vorant murmured from the back seat.

     As the men congregated next to the cargo van, the Inquisitor said, “get your boss back on the line. The rest of you, spread out. Find them.” When the loader passed over his silver phone, the Inquisitor said to him, “go.” Into the phone he growled, “we missed them. Explain why you sent us the wrong way.” He listened for a moment, then said, “enough. We’re not your errand boys, Top. As far as I’m concerned we delivered the cargo on time.” Gripping the little silver phone tightly, the Inquisitor hissed, “that’s your problem. I expect payment as arranged. Don’t be late.” He hung up the phone, then shouted, “Misters Jougs and Vorant, attend me.”

Mihi Inimicus

     From the backseat of the Iago Citadel, Commander Dante calmly watched his surroundings. The drop-off center’s rear loading dock doors gaped open, though the dock was completely empty. Lieutenant Musgrove disappeared into the warehouse. A few minutes later, he exited, clothes laden arms topped with two pairs of shoes. When he reached the car, he tapped the backdoor with his foot and nodded. Dante pushed open the door and was nearly buried in the stink wafting off the pile as Musgrove dropped it in the seat.

     “Not sure if I got you the right size, sir. Not a fucking tailor,” Musgrove said.

     Dante grunted. He dug through the offensive pile, holding up various articles before dropping them. “We need a place to hide the car and prep.”

     “Got two options. There’s a bridge with some abandoned buildings west of here. Plenty of privacy, longer walk to Hell Hill. Or, a couple blocks north, there’s a car park, less privacy, shorter walk. Up to you, sir.”

Umeris Suis

     “Rector Jameson, why haven’t you been relieved?” She listened to his answer while bobbing her head up and down, “I see. Unfortunate. Can’t be helped. Have the Order assemble in full garb along the route. Send my attendants with the duty Scribus and Clericus to Sentinel Cemetery. Tell them to bring everything. That’s all,” Celatrix Verna said into the handset. Hanging up the old fashioned phone, she smiled to the Silvans and whispered, “too soon, you know? Weren’t we just here with his father?”

     “Seems like it,” Jason whispered back.

     Marcia bowed her head and gripped Jason’s sleeve, she softly added, “I get the physics of how. I don’t understand the why.”

Pluere Mysteria

     “Officer Brimley, for the last time, put that gun down. You are seriously trying my patience,” Celatrix Verna ordered from the morgue doorway. “We don’t have time for games. Mercury’s Elite are required to patrol. You are not to challenge them every two minutes. Your task is to observe and, if necessary, to defend. Not to attack.” The Celatrix exhaled her frustration.

     “But, Celatrix, it’s not what you think…” Brimley’s plea trailed off as she holstered her weapon. She pointed at the kneeling soldier, “he…nevermind,” Brimley huffed.

     “Explain.”

     “He refused to listen,” she blurted, “I told him no one was to enter while you were examining Kaiser Imler.” Celatrix Verna waited. Ensign Osborne smirked looking up slightly from where he knelt in the foyer. “I ordered him back, but he ignored me. I didn’t pull my gun until he tried to shove me. Well, actually…uh…I threw him onto the ground and then pulled my gun.” Brimley stared beyond Osborne, hoping the Celatrix would understand.

Certa Arcani

     Karman Tunnel ran parallel to the currently dry Paradise Aquifer, in which generally flowed the runoff and floodwaters from Iphigenia. The highway and the aquifer flowed on an east-west axis through Sanctuary City toward the old capital. Staring over the aquifer, using the highway lamps to see, a kneeling Commander Dante carefully watched for any sign that he should abort the night’s maneuvers. He followed the 5 minute rule by waiting an extra two minutes before making his way through the brush alongside Paradise Aquifer. He staid in the shadows of the great water oaks, the natural sound barrier was meant to dull the noisesome traffic but actually served as walls in a corridor for the winds rushing down from Iphigenia. The early evening brought a chill that intensified each gust of wind that cut through his jacket. For the umpteenth time that day, Dante cursed the unsavory politics forcing him take covert actions. The commander of Camp Polkner, the desert hell of Poterit Dan’s military-prison system, was sneaking through roadside brush on the way to a clandestine meeting on the outskirts of Sanctuary City. He ground his teeth, but kept moving. He had a schedule to maintain.

Liceat Mihi

     Whipping the Iago Citadel through Sanctuary City’s evening traffic, Lt. Musgrove watched the mirrors for signs of a tail. He used every evasion method he could recall from his questionable youth, and after 30 minutes of borderline reckless driving, he resumed his regular driving habits. As ordered, he drove into eastbound traffic headed for the Karman Tunnel. Once inside the tunnel, Musgrove hit his emergency flashers and slowed down. At the midpoint of the tunnel, he stopped the car, and popped both the hood and the trunk. He waited for a break in traffic, then climbed out. From the trunk he removed two emergency triangles, which he spaced out behind the car to give oncoming vehicles a warning. He tapped on the rear driver’s side window, nodded to Commander Randle Dante, Sr., and then went about the business of tinkering with the engine. The moment Musgrove’s head disappeared behind the hood, Dante slipped out of the passenger side of the Citadel. The commander walked against traffic toward the nearest emergency exit. While Dante disappeared through the tunnel door, Musgrove recovered the emergency triangles, closed up the Citadel, and then drove off. Musgrove had his orders: drive around aimlessly and in two hours return to the drop off point.

Manus Iniectio

     Spinning around a bit too quickly, Ensign Sebastian Balin wobbled on his feet. His eyes locked onto a hysterical Kent Wheelock and the ridiculous scene in the bed of the old militia truck. Tears rolled down Kent’s right cheek while he unseeingly stared beyond the gathering of onlookers and he absently petted a dead falcon. Hopping around in the truck bed next to Kent was a second falcon that occasionally used its beak to nudge the dead one’s head. Finally, a tuxedo cat with half-closed eyelids, lay sprawled out in the truck bed, watching the falcon’s grief dance. Though his mouth dropped open, Balin’s eyes narrowed. Approaching cautiously, Balin attempted to use his body to block the view of the truck bed. Even over Kent’s laughter, Balin could hear the not-so-soft whispers of the retirees.

     “That boy’s got two birds.”   

     “Reckon he’s a baby Bard?”

Me Miserum

     Plan B, like the Inquisitor’s original Plan A, depended as much upon adequate personnel as it did proper timing. With Gasoleo and Butano out of the equation, the untenable Plan A had been ditched. The Inquisitor and Jougs split up to search the outside of the warehouse, while Vorant took the inside. So far neither of his men had let out the tale-tell whistles meaning they’d located the woman. Glancing at his wrist watch, the Inquisitor cursed the last hour. The pickup crew would arrive on the docks any minute. They expected six shipping crates filled with six dosed and unconscious women. Time for Plan C. The Inquisitor returned to the warehouse front entrance and let out one long shrill whistle. A couple minutes later Jougs and Vorant ran up to meet him.

     “Any luck?” Vorant asked.

     “You hear two long whistles?” the Inquisitor roared.

Proelio Lacessere

     The perfectly manicured lawn, well-tended vegetable garden, and mature orange trees sat in stark contrast to the overgrown hedges in front of Patrick Field’s house. After 15 minutes of pacing the backyard, Santos’ stomach made the decision for him. He chose the plumpest, juiciest looking orange he could reach, and ripped it out of the tree. As he began the annoying task of peeling it, Brimley popped her head around the side of the house.

     “What are you doing, soldier?” she yelled in the deepest voice she could manage while stifling laughter.

     Startled, Santos nearly dropped the partially peeled orange. He spun around, holding the orange down by his thigh. “I should ask you the same thing,” he growled. “You’re supposed to be guarding the front.”

     She glared at him. Aside from a couple bullies in grade school, she’d never wanted to beat the crap out of someone like she wanted to beat Santos. “Orders change. We’re moving out. Your Colonel wants to see you. Now. Looks like you’ll have to save the snack for later, sweetheart.” Brimley relished throwing the word, tone, and inflection back in his face.

Suis Moribus

     At the door to Patrick Field’s house, 1^st Lieutenant Santos addressed the two women he’d escorted from the Templus Ministrae, “one moment while I inform Colonel Dagon that you’re here.” Turning the knob and pushing the door, resulted in nothing. He shoved again, then looked over his shoulder and half-heartedly smiled as he knocked.

     When the door opened a crack, Santos declared, “tell Colonel Dagon I’ve returned with the Celatrix and one of her officers.”

Ne Desperemus

    Celatrix Julianne Verna would have passed for a school teacher, if not for adornments of her office. She wore blindingly white robes, a silver and gold gryphon necklace, and a silver circlet holding down her slightly grey and exceedingly curly brown hair. Her role as Celatrix of the Ministrae meant she kept the secrets of Mercury’s Indigimenta, a book which included all the rites and names of gods met during Mercury’s travels. However, hers was a dual role, for she was also the Archeireus of the Templus de Ambros, charged with maintaining the spiritual health of the kingdom. She monitored the Ignis Fatui and taught the rites of Mercury. She had a bad habit of thinking before acting and nearly always acted rationally. Both behaviors caused problems during her ascendency. Problems which magically disappeared once she’d assumed her role as Archeireus et Celatrix Ministrae. All in all, she was a busy lady, laden with heavy responsibilities, and quite unaccustomed to receiving orders. At the opening of the gallery doors, she was blasted with the unbridled hostility emanating from Brimley and openly reflected by Santos.

     “At ease,” Celatrix Verna ordered.