Dark Omega

CHAPTER 51 - COUNCIL OF DRAGONS

"Gather around, people," Marcus said.

Balack and his wife, Imogen, met halfway across the floor, her flesh hand joining with his metal one. She didn't seem to mind the clotted blood clinging to the chrome. Hand in hand, they walked over to where Marcus was sitting on the couch.

Balack wore the same black-and-emerald security officer's uniform as his younger colleague. The only difference was some additional decorations and symbols of rank. And a lack of dirt and blood. He was the oldest person in the room, with the possible exception being Chief Librarian Pisonis—there was no telling how old she was or how many rejuvenation treatments she'd taken—well into his fifties, maybe pushing the sixty mark. Past retirement for a street cop, but not too old for other security work. His thinning hair was grey and cut short. He had no beard, but two days in the crypt and stubble was creeping across his face. His eyes were metal but made to look like flesh, but both his hands were skeletal chrome. He was taller than Haides but shorter than Marcus, with the build of a prime bull. He had a compact handgun in an ankle holster. A man used to violence. He has tried to move on, but the past clings to his soul.

His wife was quite a bit younger, around Kwame's age. She was tall for a woman, a bit heavyset. Marcus imagined she had worked out a lot in previous years but had let it slide. It was all too easy to compare her to Jarra, but it was an unfair comparison. Imogen's skin was pale and freckled, her hair ruddy. Marcus found her attractive in a sweet, unpretentious manner. She had no visible cybernetics, save a data port at the base of her skull, concealed by her red locks.

Kwame took up a spot next to the low coffee table with the polished bluestone top, where he could keep an eye on his companions, the door, and the ear-less librarian.

Marcus called out the challenges of the Draconic Creed, with Kwame echoing him. Balack and Imogen responded in unison. There was gravitas, but no pomp and circumstance. Not the ideal way to do it, but it will suffice.

"Now that you've sworn the oath, you should know what's going on. My name is Marcus. I use the surname Aurelian, but it's obviously not my birth name. I'm a legate, the best there is. I work for the Dragon Order. More specifically, I work for a woman called Xerza. She's a high-ranking Quaestor."

"Quaestor?" Imogen said.

"Spymaster," Marcus explained. "The Quaestors run the clandestine part of the Order. Long ago, the Order learned that our enemies are cunning and that no amount of battle prowess can win the day if we're not prepared to deal with spies, saboteurs, and recidivists. I was sent here to speak with a prisoner," Marcus continued.

"Prisoner?" Imogen said. "This isn't a jail, is it?"

"It's not," Balack cut in. "But the prisoner isn't really a prisoner. She's a kind of walking, talking library."

"Please, Balack. This is my story to tell," Marcus said. The older man shut up. "It's more complicated than that. The prisoner is a chimaera: part woman, part machine. But she's also—like your husband said—an interactive psychic library. The contents of which brought me here."

Imogen looked confused. "Why a chimaera? And what's inside her?"

"Long ago, several centuries in the past, she served another Quaestor. His name was Samael—Sam for short. He dabbled into the forbidden. Then he refused to heed the demands of the Assembly. He was declared rogue, hunted down, and killed. But not before creating her, the Maiden," Marcus said and pointed at the monitor protruding from Cal's exquisite wooden desk.

Imogen turned around to look at the monitor. The angle was bad, but it was still possible to make out a woman with chestnut hair, sitting cross-legged on the steel table, eyes closed, hands in her lap.