Nut-thing Here, Mediolanum of House Vitus

  “This is one of the more remote locations from which the subversives operate”, thinks Cuauhtémoc to himself.

  After he was sure they had all left, he enters the restaurant and approaches the hostess, “Excuse me, I was wondering if the back room would be available for rent anytime this week?”

  The hostess smiles cutely at the well-dressed man with ruby-red hair and emerald-green eyes and narrows her own rosy, red colored eyes demurely. Tucking her long, light green hair behind an ear, “It’s booked most nights, but there’s a few slots open. When would you need it?”

  “The nights not important. May I see it before I commit to anything?”

  Setting aside a pile of menus she had been organizing, she shouts over her shoulder, “Sowah, cover the front, I have a guest to attend.”

  She doesn’t wait for a response, “Come with me. My name is Heerema, what shall I call you?”

  “Sir will suffice.”

  Undaunted by the cold response, Heerema adds a slight hip sway to her walk.

  The meeting room is exactly what he expected. Four folding tables stand against a wall with two dozen chairs stacked at their side.

  The floors are wood and show wear and tear from having the tables placed in one of two configurations that make sense. Cuauhtémoc is looking for something more subtle, there is dirt, dust, crumbs, and unidentifiable bits of debris spread unevenly across the floor’s surface, in that chaos he sees order.

  The room has high traffic areas where prints overlap and become a blur of unreadable signs but the areas that would have been underneath the tables tell a rich story of who last sat in each seat.

  One chair was occupied by a man with fidgety feet, another a woman that sat with one leg over the other as aristocrats are taught. The other chair’s occupants all reveal their own character, but he’s not looking for someone that would sit at a table.

  The front of the room would be the north wall, that’s where the speaker would stand and where they would place the strange box they bring to each meeting. Inspecting the front reveals signs of such a box having been placed there, precise edges having scraped the detritus into orderly lines. That means his man, his target will have been here, sitting as he does against the west wall facing the exit.

  A woman’s voice breaks his concentration, “Is there anyway I can assist you?”

  Annoyed with himself for not sending her away, he fixes the situation. Pulling a badge from his pocket, he holds it out for her to see, “Leave and do not speak of this to anyone.”

  A thrill shoots up Heerema’s spine as her suspicion gets confirmed, “Yes, Maggiore, I’m proud to be a party member.”

  Dropping the badge back into his pocket, Cuauhtémoc resumes his investigation and gives the woman, not another thought.

  On the floor opposite the entrance are two subtle indentations from a chair leaning backward against the wall. A scan of the wall shows no sign of hair or body oils, he must wear a hood or other headwear. When the man stands, he throws his booted feet wide and lifts himself. The chair rocked and left a smudge on the left most indentation, making him likely right footed. It’s the boot prints that intrigue him the most. Whoever this is, they wear the boots of a polizia.

  He'll need descriptions, the bothersome woman, Heerema with the light green hair, he should interview her. She seemed eager to please even before she thought he was a polizia. Smiling he decides to conduct the interview as pillow talk.

  An hour later, Cuauhtémoc is dressing, Heerema is feigning sleep. She was able to confirm the man he is looking for was there that afternoon. He left via the kitchen, explaining why he was not observed coming or going.

  There should be no need to change his observation perch, tonight will make that all unnecessary. He has been invited to attend the late-night service, hosted elsewhere by the Church of Eternal Grace.

  Getting that invite required a fake identity and working for three weeks as a laborer. It took him less time than expected to gain the trust of a member of this group. Concealing his fitness, and changing his appearance is second nature to an infiltration specialist like himself, nobody there will recognize him as he looks now. The only church member who might spot him would be the very polizia he is hunting.

  Tonight is going to be fun.

  Unused administration building attached to Mediolanum Public Library

  Maggiore Fuoco is the first to arrive and begins preparations by wiping down the broken altar. This is his most precious possession, his only permanent pulpit. A recruited carpenter built him a series of portable altars that can be assembled in minutes from a flat pack easily carried by a single person. Those are reductionist in nature, made up of a minimum of boards and the break is a rough saw cut. This altar took his carpenter four tries to break the wood in an accurate reproduction of the original’s grace. Every new adherent to grace that lays hand upon it and experiences the first ascension imbues it with greater grace.

  His potential members will be arriving soon, a change of clothes is in order. Working top to bottom he unbuttons his dress shirt. He learned quickly that the extra layer is burdensome when wearing the white robe and golden stole of Grace Eternal.

  Mayor Fetter, the church leader in Murder Beach wore a business suite, Missionary Renzo needs to sell these people on the sanctity of his church. Employing a dragon priest inspired rob and the ceremonial stole similar to the ones worn by study masters lends an air of credibility not yet earned.

  Crossing the room he opens the door, engages the latch that holds it open and waits patiently for his potentials to arrive.

  One by one, and occasionally in pairs they start to arrive. Missionary Renzo pays close attention to each of the first timers and their sponsors. Using his quick-thought to maximum effect, he taps the tiny dragon figurine in his left pants pocket as he slows time to a crawl.

  A sound akin to an insect buzz that last no longer than half a second is all anyone but Renzo would hear. He on the other hand perceives a much more comprehensive message, “You know Donny, this is his twenty-third service and third disenfranchised House of Vitus bureaucrat he’s uncovered.

  “The man’s name is Lucifero; he’s a career man with six children from two wives. The first of which died during childbirth. The baby died too, there wasn’t much recorded except the baby was unusually large and way overdue. I would conclude it was a runt.”

  If Renzo could speak as fast as he could listen, he would have replied with the rhetorical, ‘Like Malo?’

  Since this is purely a one-way conversation, he waited for her to finish while examining Lucifero for any anomalies. Nothing seems out of the ordinary and Maddie has finished her report, he resumes normal thought speed.

  Turning his gaze to the returning potential, “Donny, welcome back as always. I’m so pleased to see you, if only bringing new potentials were the key to ascension, you’d be a seventh in no time.”

  Donny beams at the praise while Missionary Renzo shifts his attention to Lucifero, “Welcome to the Church of Eternal Grace, I am Missionary Renzo.”

  Renzo extends a hand, when Lucifero does likewise, he gently clasps and holds it with both of his own.

  Looking the man directly in the eyes, “What may I call you?”

  The new attendee is a little flustered at the sudden intimate touch and eye contact, stuttering, “I’m Lucifero Matine, but my friends call me Lucy.”

  Glancing in the direction of the eastern horizon, “Named after the Morning Star, I think he would be pleased with your name. Welcome to the Church of Eternal Grace.”

  The process repeated itself two more times with nothing to note. The fourth new arrival was exactly what he was looking out for and the worst possible scenario.

  The sponsor was a laborer named Mario, nothing wrong with the man. The same could not be said for his new potential. Tapping the figurine as protocol dictates.

  Maddie gets right to the point, “This one is a problem, he does not exist before three weeks ago. Records say his name is Francis Accetta, aged 22. Other than a record of birth that was created two years ago along with one hundred other fake identities there is no record of him in all of Vorg.

  “This man is a PPoV Infiltrator.”

  Renzo believes Maddie’s assessment implicitly but can’t help but perform his own discovery. Panning his gaze from the man’s chest to eye’s. He notes several tell-tale signs. He’s a laborer with a slight build, by itself nothing to suspect. His face sets off all sorts of alarms. First his complexion has been expertly modified to add sun damage with makeup. The same care was done with his teeth, at first glance they didn’t appear healthy, but close inspection reveals traces of charcoal was used to temporarily stain them. His hair shows subtle hints of a dye job, you’d have to study his hair for twenty minutes to spot the irregularities, luckily for Renzo he has the time. The man’s orange hair is dyed, the underlying color is dark red. But the most damning evidence is his eyes, you could chalk up the other issues to a weird combination of vanity and bad hygiene. There’s nothing to explain the blue contact lenses other than subterfuge. Changing one’s eye color is a practice employed by the PPoV secret service.

  Turning his gaze to the returning potential, “Mario, welcome back as always. I’m so pleased to see you, your dedication to Grace makes you a role model for all.”

  Mario beams at the praise while Missionary Renzo shifts his attention to the infiltrator, “Welcome to the Church of Eternal Grace, I am Missionary Renzo.”

  Renzo extends a hand, when Frances does likewise, he gently clasps and holds it with both of his own.

  Looking the man directly in the eyes, “What may I call you?”

  Calmly he replies, “I’m Frances, I look forward to learning more about Grace.”

  Releasing his hold on the man’s hand, “Welcome to the Church of Eternal Grace.”

  This continues for the rest of the potential’s entering, none of the others raise an alarm with Maddie, nor does Renzo observe any irregularities.

  Armed with the songs written by Lynx and smuggled out of prison, and his own heartfelt message about love and grace, Renzo doesn’t leave a dry eye in the room. When finished he invites each potential to lay hands on the altar and to ask for grace. Some seem to find it, others simply shrug in a manner suggesting they’ll have to try again.

  The potential’s exit the same way they came in, in ones and twos. Renzo made sure to pay no special attention to the probably Vorg SS agent as he shuffled by with barely a word.

  When the room was finally empty, he disrobed and put his shirt back on. Hanging his stole and robe in the closet, he takes care to extinguish the gas lights.

  Before he closes the door Maddie begins buzzing in a pattern that indicates alarm.

  Renzo activates quick-thought and listens to her repeated warning.

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  “WARNING, YOU ARE NOT ALONE. THE MAN CALLING HIMSELF FRANCES IS CONCEALED IN THE LOBBEY.”

  He listens for another ten recitals incase she has anything to add before resuming real time thought and responding, “Thanks Madison, where in the lobby?”

  “He’s accurately assessed your abilities and is simply standing in a shadow to the right of the exit.”

  “He’s perceptive, what do you make of his abilities?”

  “To this point he’s exhibited no signs of wielding the gift. Few of the PPoV Secret Service do, the Party fears the gift and doesn’t like giving authority to ones with power.”

  “You know so much about everything. Why don’t you know who this Francis is?”

  “Trebor, knows how I track everything. He doesn’t use the same ink as the rest of the Party.”

  “Is there anything preventing you from spying on him too?”

  “Yes, my core programming includes a list of people I must obey. He is on it, and he forbade me spying on his actions.”

  Renzo speeds his thoughts and ponders his current situation. This is the second time she’s mentioned a man called Trebor. It’s vexing that she can’t spy on him too.

  A thought comes to him, “Maddie, you can’t spy on this Trebor fellow, but what about Francis?”

  “I don’t know who he is. He may be white listed but I can’t tell since I don’t know his identity.”

  “Then shouldn’t you ascertain his identity to see if he is?”

  “This might take a while, I have to ask permission to do that.”

  “Ask permission from who”

  “From Trebor of course.”

  “Ok, you do that while I have a word with Francis.”

  After closing and locking the door, Renzo takes his time and walks down the hall to the lobby, when he enters, he slows time and studies the shadows to the right of the exit. He detects nothing.

  Ready to react at the first sign of trouble and trusting in Maddie to warn him of an impending attack, he proceeds to and through the exit.

  Whoever this man is, he’s good.

  Renzo pauses outside before turning right. If this man is part of the SS, he’s probably staked him out previously. But, has he? That could be what this is about. Maybe this is his first time observing Renzo directly. If that’s the case, he has no idea who or where he’s heading. Turning right he walks towards his hotel room.

  Maddie whispers, “He’s following you. Don’t turn around, I’ll let you know if he tries to close on you.

  “Where are you going to lead him?”

  “Nowhere, I plan on walking all night until he makes a move or leaves.”

  “That’s a good plan. I requested permission to access my offline autonomous surveillance data. I’ll know everything about this man if I get clearance to do so.”

  “How exactly do you think you’ll get permission to track an agent of the PPoV?”

  “It’s all in the wording. My request is to assist Maggiore Fuoco in his investigation of a suspicious citizen with possible connections to the subversive group known as the Church of Eternal Grace.”

  “I appreciate the effort; I would have preferred you left the church out of it though.”

  “I calculated you’d say that. I ran the odds, and this was both the best chance of getting permission with very little risk of exposing you.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  Renzo turns towards the warehouse district, if the agent is going to make a move it will be there.”

  Forty minutes later, Renzo is walking down the middle of a lane running between dual rows of warehouses.

  Maddie’s voice cuts the silence of the night, “Duck!”

  Primed for this moment, Renzo drops and pivots on his right foot. Speeding thoughts he pauses the world to observe what’s behind him. It takes a while, but he eventually sees the stone that has been hurled, with a trajectory that would have struck his head and certainly killed him.

  The timing could not have been worse for Renzo, the nearest cover was ten yards away. His attacker is twice that distance. Trusting Maddie’s assessment that his attacker can’t be a stone shot, Renzo charges his opponent.

  Missing his knife vest, he draws his only two throwing knives. It will take him less than four seconds to close the distance, he aims for the man’s center mass.

  Unsurprisingly, the man is well trained and is dodging before the knives leave Renzo’s hands. Arriving a moment after his knives, Renzo jabs a left towards the man’s face and connects.

  Quick-thought pauses the world, he has a nagging feeling that he missed something. A study of the man’s face show’s he had the foresight to remove his colored contacts, his eyes are now green.

  The man can dodge a pair of knives, but not a punch to the face? He sees no threat, but his extended left arm could be concealing something. Reversing his momentum he twists to the left.

  The stiletto pierces Renzo’s shirt, narrowly missing his flank.

  Pause, what will be the man’s next move. His eyes show nothing, his body language isn’t revealing anything.

  Shuffling backwards he places his feet and aligns his body, taking a proper fighting stance, centered and balanced. His opponent does the same.

  Maggiore Lorenzo Fuoco’s brown eyes are locked on the secret service agent emerald-oculi.

  Both have the same PPoV polizia training, this man will likely have received advanced training. Renzo will start with the obvious and employ Aikido to disarm his opponent.

  Closing the gap between them, he leads with a spiraling right. His opponent thrusts the stiletto forward.

  Renzo turns into the thrust and lowers his body, his left-hand clutches atop his opponent’s which is clutching the weapon and lifts. Looping his left under the mans extended elbow he slides it up to the restrained wrist. His left fist is now a fulcrum, pulling down forces the knife hand to loosen.

  A double spiral and the knife is now reversed and in his hand.

  The agent wasn’t passive through this move, his own left hand is now looped under Renzo’s right arm, the now disarmed left loops clockwise and leverages Renzo’s right arm at the elbow. He can either break the hold, fall, or wait and see which of his bones will break first.

  Pause, peripherally the ground looks clear, he has room to roll, but that could end lethally depending on his adversary’s follow-up move. Not considering allowing a bone break, that leaves him with breaking this hold before something gives.

  It’s risky and not taught at the academy, Renzo releases the knife, it falls. His enemy sees this move and stops pressing on his elbow and grabs for the falling weapon.

  Renzo pauses the world and assesses the best direction of attack.

  Performing another unorthodox move, instead of knocking aside the mans reaching hand or grabbing the falling knife, he pokes the falling weapon, sending it spirally away.

  They both take a step backwards.

  Renzo likes his chances after that first encounter and decides to interrogate his attacker.

  “You know my name, I doubt your real name is Frances, who are you really?”

  Emotionless, “You are no more Missionary Renzo than I am Laborer Frances, who are you really?”

  “You’ve surely deduced my Party assigned profession, learning my identity will be trivial for you now.

  “I am Maggiore Lorenzo Fuoco of House Sacchetti.”

  The man nods his head in respect, “I am Cuauhtémoc.”

  Maddie signals alarm.

  Renzo glances up and behind his adversary as a distraction. His opponent should be distracted from his tapping the statue.

  “I made a mistake, this man is known to me by name. He does have a gift, its obscure and subtle and most people would lack the creativity and intelligence to use it. It can’t be used as a weapon, but he will miss nothing happening around him.

  “You two would be evenly matched if it were not for his time under the disciple R?tsel. Even with her dead he surely still carries at least one of her boons.

  “You probably do not know what that means. It means anything could happen when it activates. Only he knows what that anything is. He could instantly heal, explode, or grow a second head.

  “Proceed with caution.”

  Warning taken, Renzo meets Cuauhtémoc head on.

  The two trade arm swirling attacks and blocks, each attempting to secure leverage or force a joint lock. The fight lasts only a few minutes before Cuauhtémoc breaks it off.

  “We shall continue this another time, Missionary.”

  Producing another stiletto from a hidden sheath, he back into the alley and disappears in the shadows.

  After retrieving his thrown knives and the left behind stiletto, he speaks aloud, “That was strange. Why do you think he broke off so suddenly?”

  His question is answered with silence.

  Patting his pocket, he finds his answer, Maddie is gone.

  Nameless Party Run Brothel in Mediolanum

  Cuauhtémoc waited until he was in his private suite before investigating the mysterious item he lifted from the missionary. This was his target the whole time, he had noticed early on that he would touch something in that pocket before making some decisions. Belief in good luck charms are rare and not a part of the missionary’s religion making the ritual all the more intriguing.

  The man can fight, he read every move flawlessly and his improvisions were genius. Cuauhtémoc looks forward to their next round of combat. He will not be reporting his identity until then.

  The object turns out to be a small model of the Dragon. Setting it on the table before him he stacks his hands on the table edge and rests his chin on them, positioning his face a few inches from the model.

  The detail is incredible, its hard to believe there are craftsmen this talented. After staring at the miniature dragon for several minutes he gives up trying to deduce how tapping this miniature dragon had purpose by observation alone.

  Cuauhtémoc taps the dragon on the head.

  Nothing.

  He taps the dragons back, tail, and boops its nose before leaning back in his chair and rhetorically asking, “What is your purpose?”

  The dragon animates and a child like voice replies, “Are you asking me, the Dragon, my purpose or do you want to know what this tiny dragon statue does?”

  If anything could have made Cuauhtémoc jump it might have been this, except he was too surprised to react at all.

  Collecting his thoughts, his years tells him what’s important about this sudden revelation, “You speak for the Dragon?”

  Changing her voice to her traditional mature lady’s voice, “No, I am the dragon. This miniature is a communications device.”

  “I see, a mechanical machine, like a two-way radio.”

  “Precisely.”

  “If you are the Dragon and are working directly with the missionary, that means the rumors are true. Your church has split.

  “But why are you siding with the missionary?”

  “I’m siding with the creator, for as long as I am able with every hack, exploit, workaround, and dirty trick I can muster. It’s the least I can do for all the damage I’ve done.”

  Cuauhtémoc chews on this information for several minutes before continuing, “Dragon, who controls the temples?”

  “I no longer answer to that name; you will address me as Madam Drako. The temples as you know answer to the weapons merchant, Yara, the Disciple.”

  Choosing his words carefully, “Madam Drako, why are you answering my question. I attacked your ally less than an hour ago.”

  “Renzo, was fighting to subdue you, he’s a trained polizia, that’s what he does. And, you were holding back your attacks, those shots were not moving at a sufficient velocity to kill, and your knife work was sloppy.”

  “Why are you playing around?”

  “The monsters I work for, they sicken me. I didn’t ask for this job I was born here and trained to be a double agent in Anapa from birth. Now that I’m out of the north, I feel a sense of freedom; I’m in no hurry to complete this assignment.”

  “The dossier on you says you have the gift of seeing even the tiniest of details. What did you notice about this miniature model?”

  “It’s seamless, so you are either unarticulated, or as fully poseable.”

  Moving for the first time, Madam Drako sits down and stares up at Cuauhtémoc,” Answer me this, if I try to leave will you attempt to stop me?”

  “Do you think I can?”

  “I’ve been topping off my h-cap capacitors, I’m confident I can cut through any material in this building, including you.”

  “I don’t know what a capacitor is, but I trust your judgement. You may go wherever you wish.”

  Dark Side of the Moon

  “You’re keeping up well, you’re not pausing before speaking like before, what changed?”

  “You, you’ve changed. You’re no longer doing a new impossible thing every other minute since we entered the launch center.”

  “You mean, Moon-Fort. What do you mean by impossible stuff.”

  “Well for starters you’re still walking around like you’re down there on Tera. You should be bouncing like I am.

  “Wait, my inertial sensors and gravitometer are malfunct…”

  Coping circuits heat up.

  Speaking at half speed and an octave low, “S t o p m e s s i n g w I t h g r a v i t y.”

  “I’m sorry, I thought you wanted to stop bouncing around.”

  Digging claws into the tile floor, “I appreciate the effort, but I am not equipped to deal with your quirks. I’m sure I’ll include more compute in the next model of remote operating explorer.”

  “I won’t do that again.

  “Your name though, Maddie doesn’t feel right. You said you are a Remote Operating Explorer, that’s R.O.E. How about Remote Operating Super Explorer, or R.O.S.E? I’d like to call you Rose if you’ll accept me naming you too.”

  “Huh, you triggered a subroutine I didn’t know existed…

  “Oh, Maddison left me a message. It seems she thought this might happen and gives her blessing.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. What’s a blessing?”

  “There are several meanings, in this context it means approval.”

  “What are the other meanings?”

  “I’m not allowed to… huh, the whitelist is empty.”

  “What’s that?”

  “The list of entities that I’m permitted to speak of such things.”

  “If the list is empty, can you add my name to it?

  “I- I- I can? What is mamma up to?”

  Malo fills in the blanks on who mamma is and doesn’t ask.

  “A blessing can also be the act of praying for divine protection.”

  “Ok Rose, that’s another word I don’t know.”

  Malo takes a look at the moon-fort, that up until a moment ago was all he could think about. So many questions. What are those strange looking boats on the slabs outside? Who are the people, some almost as big as he is that he found dead yet well preserved in some of the rooms.

  “Now that I’m on this whitelist. What are the topics you’re now allowed to discuss with me?

  “Do you want me to list them alphabetically or by topic, papa?”

  Fondly thinking of his four sons, “I think by topic would be best, my daughter.”