Broken Ascension

The Devil In the Light

Westminster, standing all these years. But oh so much more enhanced. The terrorist attempts had increased to a point where it was now the most fortified place on earth. Beginning in the early 21 century, terror attacks had slowly increased in London. Perhaps as America sunk into some parody of itself, the terrorists were eager to switch their sights on Mother England. Or greater Britain to satisfy the unionists. But England was England, the others poorer cousins at that. And so it did, they came in droves with bombs and guns and rockets. And as Britain became the last bastion of true democracy, the barrage increased even more so. The true parliament withstanding attacks from all corners and even their own Kings. And now, it was threatened, again. The founding principle of the Godsmen had been to provide stability to the nation. But the true nature of it was to protect the individual right. In that sense, now he understood why they had chosen to structure the organization with a religious model. Because it was a mirror, it valued the individual right, of choice and freedom to think – antithesis to true religion.

It would not be God’s will that will ensure the survival and prosperity of democracy, it will be the will of men and women – with unchained minds and the wherewithal to make their choices. Democracy may have lost its luster with some, the failing of the last two centuries a reasonable justification. But Bishop felt that it was still the only way to go. He didn’t have it in his life, much choice; the Godsmen did not just borrow titles from the Church. The vow of obedience had been the greatest carry over. But in the grander scheme of things, choice was paramount. If he had a philosophy this was it. This is why he did what he did, all the dirty work, all the moral obfuscations. Religion. Always did religion circumscribed women to an inferior position, but this is where Britain had triumphed. There were lessons from history. Britain had its glorious ages under the reign of Queens. And more than any democratic country it has its lion share of women leaders. This was what made Britain great and the shining star of the remaining civilization. And yet there were Godsmen. True it was modeled on religion, and therefore the terminologies had been retained. But how many of the better s*x were there in the organization? Perhaps for the country to be truly great, the Godsmen had to disappear like the last of the old boy networks. Haven’t the American monoliths gone to dust with their masculine presence and smell of testosterone, the FBI, The CIA, The NSA and the remaining letters of the alphabet?

God the view of Westminster from this flat was spectacular. It looked out over the Houses and Big Ben framing the corner of the view. That explained the very high rental. And that explained the fact why it was unoccupied. Plus the fact that it wasn’t an NBU, also made it out of touch of the common tenant. Unoccupied as it was, Bishop saw it as good opportunity for reconnaissance. Could it make a good sniper’s position? If that was his plan. But the Kings travel path would take him directly from the armored transport straight into the foyer. It was too oblique an angle for a shot and too many things could go wrong. Plus he wasn’t the sharpest of shooters form a distance. That had never been his style, if he did have one. Plan B then. Intercept the transport? Car, it was a real car. One of the few on the streets of London. Ran on good old petrol. The palace probably had some stashed away merely to run this antique. But it was a tough vehicle. Reinforced. Nothing but a Phi level explosive could kill anyone inside. And it had to be a guaranteed kill; injury would just escalate everything to maximum f**k zone. Plan f*****g C then. Guarantees meant proximity. He had to get close. Either at St James or here. Both were high security fortresses. But he had one trump card; he had security clearance for the Houses of Parliament. St James was not viable, not only because of clearance; he could engineer it if it came to that but the family. No collateral damage. The Pope hadn’t said anything about it. But Bishop promised himself that was the most important thing. The only thing that would still keep him on this path. Protect what little left of his soul. If he had one. If he was human, not some synthetic Frankenstein creature birthed from a cellular pool. He didn’t doubt his own humanity but the session with Oracle had seeded his mind with all forms of grotesque scenarios. Perhaps he was a zombie with half a brain, being controlled remotely. Damn that woman. If he was a chess piece she definitely was one of the players. Who was the other? The Pope? The real Pope perhaps, sitting in the crumbling façade that was the Vatican. True the Church had lost much over time, but they had still an army of fervent believers all over the globe. Not quite a spent force. Who was to say that in a climate that could have people believing in Divine Right, could not another attempt be made at a Holy Roman Empire? All this and more to think about and he didn’t like thinking. Fast reactive thinking at the moment, yes. But this sitting around and going into deep thought. Not his style. He’d better go. The agent might think he was really interested. Perhaps he could plumb for a place like this if his mission was successful. Ask the Pope for a bonus. But it didn’t work like that. And a bonus wouldn’t cover it. One can dream. He still couldn’t get over the fact that he was looking at ways to kill the King. He had taken out Heads of State before and was close to ending one of the real Popes but this was something else. There was something inherently different about killing your own King. It was not just the treasonous aspect. In the current form, it was hardly treason as the King was merely an elected official. And he had over time, done many things that would classify as treason. Perhaps, it was that he was truly and thoroughly British, inculcated to love the monarchy. He had never been particularly interested in Royals, they were for most part nothing but celebrities. But the institution. The only way to justify this was probably to consider removing the King as protecting the institution of the monarch. He was a pretender to the throne. He was not right for the throne. After all, his namesake has lost his royal head. And if such a person could believe in such a fallacy as Divine Right then perhaps it was right that he was dethroned. Tell me then that is right he whispered. But there was no answer. None from above or below. He left the flat, brushing pass without a word the agent who had been patiently waiting outside. The agent looked on unhappily. Well, sorry to make you an unhappy man today. That makes two for us.

He left the building and walked down the street. Eyed the Houses one more time, as if he could find inspiration. Big Ben up there in its glorious perch forever stalled. Time had stopped. The slow drizzle of it frozen in midair. No, it hadn’t stopped for everyone, just him. Something was amiss, something almost imperceptible, almost beyond the range of his senses. Almost, almost, almost. But it was there and the tingle at the base of his neck somewhat confirmed it. If you couldn’t trust your instincts, you didn’t last on this road. He kept walking. There it was again, a movement right at the edge of his vision, which meant rooftop. Ah sniper. How funny, he was thinking about his own nest just a while ago. He saw a transport shelter just ahead. If he could reach there……..there was just the slightest tug on the tail end of his jacket. Just a ghost of a touch. If his senses weren’t all fired up, he would have missed it. He didn’t stop until he went behind the shelter. Flicking off his jacket he smoothened the ends. There it was, a tiny bug. Well this was primitive, there were more modern ways of tracking him. Nano paint for example. He pulled out the bug and studied it. Small little box with filigree like attachments. Bishop palmed it. You know where I am, where are you? He looked around, stepping out from behind the transport shelter now that he didn’t expect a kill shot. Where art thou, wherefore art thou?

There, that slight reflection off something on the south corner of the row of buildings opposite. Here we go. He crossed the street, his pace measured. Stopped at the MTV spot opposite for a full minute. How to access the roof? Back way, fire escape? He had no grappling hook on him. Even so, that only worked in fiction. The force of a self retracting hook could easily dislocate the shoulder. Reality versus fiction. He would like fiction to work for him but here was reality. He moved and went into one of the street level shops. A clothing shop, perhaps he should get a new coat. But it was unlikely they had reinforced clothing. He could always get an overcoat then. Perhaps create more fiction in his world and match the image of a brooding, silent hero. But now to be charming.

“Excuse me miss, I’m police.” he spoke to the woman at the counter. I may need to access the alley behind. Is there a back door?”

“Why yes, here I can show you.” She smiled warmly beckoning him to follow. Tut tut, he didn’even need to flash a badge. Perhaps they were really living in better times. She led him past the storeroom and to the back door. Along the way he threw the bug into a dustbin.

“Here’s the back door” She giggled. Perhaps a small rush of excitement in her very routine day. He studied the door, there was an alarm rigged. That wouldn’t be good at all.

“Looks like I’ll have to disarm the alarm before I can open the door. Do you have the code?”

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry I don’t.” She looked genuinely mortified.

“It’s always been here and we never use this door. I really am sorry.”

“Its okay, its fine.” He looked around where they were. Right at the end of the storeroom. But there was a window that opened out into the back street. He could fit through it he supposed.

“Is the window fitted with an alarm?”

“Oh no, I don’t think so. We’re don’t really need that here. Alarms. We’re quite secure. The door alarm is kind of a throwback when the building was first built. Guess times were different then” she shrugged prettily and Bishop remembered the conversation with Oracle where she told him to clean his pipes. Not a time to be thinking about it. She was pretty though, maybe he could ask for her number. Gods, he was losing his mind.

“ Lucky me then.” He laughed uncomfortably. He slid opened the shutter and opened the window by pushing it out. It was a tight squeeze but he managed it.

“Are you okay sir?”

“

Fine, thank you so much for your help. Here close it.” She gave him a little lovely wave and went back into the store. He thought about coming back here later to buy a coat. Maybe the Oracle was right. Maybe he really needed some companionship if only for a moment. But things to do, places to go.

He walked down the street quickly, keeping his eye at the rooftops. He found a ladder on the wall three shops down. He tried to look above beyond the ladder but couldn’t. Its five stories, and you don’t have mechanical eyes. He started climbing, listening carefully. Not a sound. They would be waiting. They should or were they too busy wondering why he hadn’t left the shop yet? Perhaps he was really buying a coat. He stopped away from the top, trying to sense for a person. Nothing. He was still about four or five shop fronts from the corner anyway. He moved further up. Suddenly someone grabbed the collar of his coat and hauled him up, he went sprawling on the roof and lay still. As if he had been knocked out. He noted that there were two of them. One lady dressed in reinforced wear like himself. And a big brute of a guy. He didn’t recognize the lady but he had come across the big man. Antagonists. An organization to match the Godsmen and their adversaries. Well, well, what a lovely day. The big man bent over to check on him.

“No!” The woman shouted but it was a warning too late. Bishop struck out, catching the man in his throat. He fell back, croaking breaths from his mouth. The lady moved liked lightning, closing the space on Bishop in just two steps. Her sidekick missed him, the edge of her shoe brushing his coat. As she repositioned herself, Bishop knelt and hit her heel with the edge of his hand. She fell to the ground clumsily. Bishop rounded on her pinning her arms with his knees. Woman or not, now was an age of equality. He sensed that she was extremely dangerous. He struck out to punch her but she twisted with her legs and sent him off her. He scrambled to his feet anticipating her next attack. Kicks. She was fast and strong with her legs and reinforced boots would do mighty damage. What he didn’t expect was that the other man had recovered. Bishop found himself grabbed from behind in a bear hug. The strong arms crushed at his ribs and he knew that there was little chance of breaking the grip physically. And the woman was getting ready to strike. A killer kick to the neck would finish him. But Bishop was an extremely pragmatic man. Since being almost bested by the Jacobite, Bishop had ensured that he was better prepared. He pulled up his legs slightly and smashed his shoes together. A loud sound pierced the air. The woman brought her palms up to her ears. The grip on Bishop relaxed a little and he broke free pushing away and going forward into a roll that brought him a good distance away. As he did that, the two Antagonists sank to the floor on their knees, a mad look forming in their eyes. The sound was tearing into their eardrums. It irritated Bishop as well, but not as much. The sound wave grew stronger the further away from the source until a certain point where it faded away. The sudden keening had merely surprised the big man when he had been close to Bishop, but at this distance the signal was at its strongest. They were almost bent to the floor, their eyes shut tight streaming with tears. It was bearable for him, albeit irritating the source being in his shoe. If the barrage had been extended, he could have shorted the brains of the two. Fortunately for them, the device had power enough only for a short while. The sound died away. The big man slumped to the floor, foam dribbling at the edges of his lips. The woman got up on her feet, swaying. Bishop went for a strike, a cracker of a punch he thought but she blocked it. Disorientated as she was, she had blocked his punch. Bishop froze with surprise and she took full advantage. She kneed him right where it hurt most. Right in the family jewels. He went down to his knees. But instead of grimacing he was smiling. The woman recoiled back in pain clutching her knee. Yes, Bishop was well prepared, protection had a lot of advantages. Bishop shot forward from his kneeling position his shoulder crashing into the injured knee. The female Antagonist flipped forward crashing ungainly face first. Bishop grabbed her right arm and twisted it into a lock. She screamed in pain. He reached into his coat for a Negation Collar, found it, pulled it out. But he heard the footsteps and quickly rolled away. The man was back on his feet and murderous intent on his face. Gods, these guys were tough. The big mass of a man helped his partner to her feet. She was standing with all her weight on one leg. He was steady, but was shaking his head as if still recovering from his daze. Two against one wasn’t fair, but they looked a bit worse for wear. Another strike to the knee will disable her. As for him, Bishop wasn’t sure how tough he was. The woman had seemed tougher. Not as strong, but tougher. As if reading his mind, the big man moved forward, shielding the injured knee with his massive frame of a body. Well, such a gentleman. But unfortunately, Bishop wasn’t going to be one today. He noted the intent of the man but it was a bad idea. Bishop launched himself forward, going for a high kick. The man brought his arms up for a block as expected. Bishop suspected that he was still groggy and he was right. The kick was blocked but it was only a feint. There was no strength behind it. Instead, Bishop dropped his leg and threw his whole body fully into the man. The big man fell backwards, all two hundred fifty pound of him right on the injured leg of the woman. She shrieked and crumpled to the floor. Both of them fell on top of her. Bishop rolled away again, clearing distance. It was a dirty trick, but fighting was fighting. The man quickly got up. But she was done for, holding her leg in agony. Now it was one to one.

He had taken out one opponent but the effect was that now his other opponent looked to be fully awake. He took a look at his partner but decided he had to leave her for now. There was business to take care off.

They circled each other, like gladiators but without the incessant blood cries of an audience. Gladiators would fight to the death. It would have ended quickly if he had used lethal means. Shot them while they were incapacitated by his Disrupter. But his orders were not to kill the Antagonists but subdue them. He didn’t care for the reason why, the orders had always been this. And he suspected that the other side had the same orders or he had been dead already. Bishop rarely made the first move; he had no standard tactics in a fight. It was all about reaction, changing to the nature of the fight. ‘Be like water’ some great fighter in the past had once said and Bishop took to this philosophy. Predictability was a weakness, one that he himself had often exploited in his opponents. Now how predictable was this guy? He had come across him before but they had never fought like that. He had known the woman was lethal with her kicks and the first priority was to try and stop those from being in the equation. Her kneeing him down in the sensitive region had been pure luck. Now this guy, looked like he wanted to grapple. Not Bishop’s strong point unfortunately and definitely not against someone of that size. Stay the distance, strike the wrists or the heel. Punching the body would be an utter waste of strength like punching the wall. The guy lunged forward, going for a quick takedown. But Bishop was quicker and twisted away, aiming a kick at the lowered head. He missed; the guy was more agile than expected. They circled each other again waiting for an opening. A chess match. It looked as if it was the Rook versus the Bishop. Well if chess it was; the Rook lunged and bishop stepped diagonally and this time drove his elbow down into the neck of his opponent. It was a bloody thick neck, but Bishop had just enough strength to stun him momentarily. He fell forward, one knee on the ground, but he recovered and reached backwards grabbing for Bishop’s leg. He almost got it, swiping the left leg and Bishop nearly tumbled. Bishop righted himself and went for a knee strike to the head. The man snapped back just in time for the knee to miss and powerful arms caught Bishop’s right leg. The man literally lifted Bishop up by the leg and slammed him on the floor. It was mighty show of strength. He had swung Bishop like a club. If not for his reinforced coat, his back would be in fine trouble. As it is, the denting was more to his pride. The hands came down and caught his shoulders pinning them back. Bishop could only move his lower arms and caught the other man’s elbows. But there was no moving those thick trunks. The strength of him was incredible. He tried to use his legs, but he couldn’t do anything except kick out like a demented drunk on the floor. And Bishop was out of tricks. Except one left; Bishop went limp, his body totally relaxed like a rag doll. The sudden change caused the other man’s grip to loosen momentarily and Bishop was ready. He twisted his right shoulder up using his left hand to push upwards as well. That moved things enough that the man lost his grip. Bishop struck quickly, his right fist crashing into the neck. The big man had been able to shrug off the first strike to the neck, but not this second one. He fell to the ground, choking. Bishop rushed forward and pulled out a small Health Kit. He removed a syringe from it and jabbed it into the man’s arm. It was a muscle relaxant; he was choking because his neck muscles were in spasms. The medicine worked quickly and the man fell into a sleep. He had another of the syringes and administered to the woman as well, just in case. At that time, she was barely conscious from the pain. The Antagonists had been tough but they were susceptible to pain. If he was thankful for anything from Level 13 training, it was his abilty to fight through pain. He was inured to it. There were repercussions after of course, pain meant damage. But a rest and a health module could undo that. Losing a fight might be more permanent damage. Still that had been close. Very close. If not for his gadget and a spoonful of luck. More and more he was meeting his equals lately. Perhaps time to retire. And do what, raise bees?

“Please stop. Please.” He turned around to the direction of the voice. There was a woman standing nearby, a mature looking woman dressed in a Nehru jacket. She looked calm and poised, a figure of certain authority. And she was surrounded by a shimmering glow, as if standing in a bubble of light. Is that you fairy godmother? He recognized the shimmering glow as Slow Tech. It surprised him that there was portable use of Slow Tech. Westminster utilized that technology to full, a blanket of it surrounding everything. He never figured out the science of it but it was some form of wave that slowed everything travelling through its membrane to a crawl. You could shoot an ICBM at Parliament and you would have enough time to evacuate before it hit. It required extensive energy for generation and maintenance and that’s why he was impressed that there was a portable version. He knew the Antagonists were at least as resourceful as the Godsmen, but in this they were ahead. He relaxed, Slow Tech worked both ways. If she took a shot, he had plenty of time. He stood there arms folded and nodded for her to continue.

“I am only here to talk. My team members were perhaps over anxious. It was unfortunate” The voice seemed normal. He would expect it to be warped coming through the membrane of Slow Tech. Would not sound waves slow as well? His expression must have given him away. She pointed in front of her downwards. He followed with his eye and found a device on the floor. A speaker. She was transmitting from inside the bubble. There was a delay of course, approximately 5 seconds. Apparently radio waves slow down with Slow Tech but still travel at a faster rate than other things. A bullet for example. How convenient. So, it meant that any communication coming out from Westminster was delayed as well. Point to note.

“Why do you need Slow Tech if you’re only here to talk? Slow Tech isn’t exactly everyday stuff.” He asked and waited patiently for an answer. Assuming a ten second delay from his transmittal to her and her response to him. It was going to be a long conversation. Instead her reply was faster than that, she had no doubt anticipated his question or read his lips.

“I was afraid your first instinct was to attack and take me out. Therefore an opportunity for conversation would have been lost. Look what you did to my guys. Awesome stuff, to say. I am aware of your directive concerning us Antagonists. You made short work of my retainers.” Yes his orders were to subdue her immediately. He had been trained to stop her speaking. But to go to this extent on her part meant he had to give her the benefit of the doubt.

“You have my word that I will not follow my directive strictly. Please shut the bubble down. If you really want to talk, it’s going to be an impediment.” There was a flash and the glow dissipated.

“Much better. I felt as if I was speaking from the astral plane.” She dusted the sleeves of her jacket as if the Slow Tech had left residue on them.

“What’s the astral plane?”

“Some ancient conceit. Well, Bishop I’m here to talk.” She had a reassuring tone, none of the brusqueness of the Pope or the archness of the Oracle. A warmness in her voice, a lyrical quality to her words. This was one whose weapon was her voice.

“The words of the devil.” He smiled, trying to aim for the creepiness of the Pope. He had to have his own weapons or be swallowed in her discourse. Yes the devil, all seductive and pleasant as they come.

“Well, I’m not the Devil. Not the big one anyway.” She seemed amused. Exceedingly relaxed. This would be his toughest fight yet.

“Which lieutenant then? Which of the dread ones are you called by?”

“Azazel. Dread ones. That’s interesting” She maintained her calm composure. It was innate, ingrained. Not a mask.

“Azazel.” She was one of the most senior of Antagonists, the mirror face of the Godsmen, thriving on thwarting or sabotaging their missions. To what end he did not know. Unlike other terrorist orgs, he was not aware that they took any independent action or extended any manifesto, other than basically screwing with the Godsmen’s objectives. And the strange directive, subdue not kill. It all now suddenly seem strange to him but then deep contemplation and reflection was never his strength. He’d never thought about it. But he had instinct, and instinct told him to listen. He sat down on the floor and crossed his legs.

“Might as well get comfortable. I’ve had a rough day.”

“Fine. I would apologize but I suspect you liked the fighting.” He shrugged, not trying to deny that at all.

“What do you truly know of the Antagonists?” He paused; searching his memory and started reciting from the dossier he had read many times.

“Class A Threat. Orders to subdue on sight. Priority capture, non lethal engagement.” He stopped. Non lethal. He sought the rest of his memory, opening dossiers in his mind. All the rest of the Class A threats, even the B’s involved clearance for lethal engagement. Subdue not kill. He had always accepted that as a fact, never questioning. There needed to be trust in the wisdom of the Pope and his cardinals. Otherwise, it all would never work. Things fall apart, the center does not hold. But having been slammed in the face with these facts over and over again, some seed of doubt suddenly sprouted within him. She smiled, indicating her acknowledgment of the puzzlement apparent on his face.

“We are not what you think we are obviously. Knowing the truth as you are would in a sense invalidate our existence. But when push comes to shove.” She held out her hands, palm upwards. Well there you have it, it indicated.

“You’re antagonists. Specifically the Godsmen’s antagonists. You never extend any action that has no relation to the Godsmen. Its as if…..” he paused, unsure of his own conclusions.

“Go on, I know you’ll get it. Once you think about it.”

“As if you were created simply to be our antithesis.”

“Bingo, jackpot and whatever else you may call it. Do they still give prizes for clever boys?” No he was wrong, there was that tone of condescension in her voice. She might sound warm and fuzzy and friendly, but there was that unmistakable air of superiority. Like those who had a secret and would not tell you. She and the Oracle, they were cut from the same cloth. Hell, the Pope as well. Is this what all management was about? Perhaps that why he was never cardinal material.

“We both were founded by the same people. What do you do when you create an organization that works without supervision, that walks the lines between governments and exists in shadows? That’s what the Godsmen do. The unmitigated power of secrecy, without higher authority.”

“The authority of the people.”

“Ambiguous. I mean a true physical authority. You succumb to none in that respect. So it means that you can actually do whatever you want to, justifying all and sundry for good of the people and country. How do you control such a monster?”

“You don’t. You kill it.” She raised an eyebrow. He shook his head, laughing.

“ I guess what you need to do is create something as a check, a balance. That’s what you do then keep us in line?”

“A bit more complicated than that but somewhat. It used to be less fractious our relationship. But as the Godsmen became more extreme in their convictions…….”

“The law of physics apply, newton’s law.”

“Indeed. Right now, we’re like siblings who try to keep the distance during Christmas dinner.”

“But still go to Mum’s house do ya?”

“Yes. Of course. That’s why the directive hasn’t been changed to kill.”

“Not having explained this to us low level operatives, especially the ones with the guns, wouldn’t there have been instances where directives have been overlooked?”

“A few. Casualties on both sides. But it’s the risk we take. Because if you knew our purpose, you’d tolerate us too much and that will cut back the effectiveness drastically. It’s like the Internal Affairs that the police use to have. Hardly effective when you’re all part of the same team.”

“Devils advocate. Hmm. Charming. It is a fine concept. But it is like waking up and suddenly being told that the devil you’ve been fighting is your conscience. That’s what it is, isn’t it? You’re our conscience. And this spectacular reveal like the angel of god speaking to me. Turn me into a devout penitent. Hell, if only you knew how upside down my world has been just recently.” He stretched his legs, thought about lying down but decided not to. Physical hits he could take. These kinds of hits, he wasn’t quite sure.

“When it rains, it pours. And Murphy’s Law into the mix as well”

“We do know what’s happening. Its part of our DNA to monitor the Godsmen, especially the likes of you.”

“The likes of me.”

“Someone who took down two of my most able operatives by himself. We a know a lot about you Bishop designate.”

“I’d wish you tell me because I can’t quite recall my own life. I’ve been in this shell too long.”

“Shell? Interesting choice of words.” She gave him a cryptic smile.

“Why do I feel like I’m the poor kid running around in the schoolyard who nobody told recess is over? You and yours standing there smiling at my ignorance. Why don’t you invite me to your popular girl group for once and make my time worthwhile.”

“Is that what you feel coming from the oracle. Just because we’re women,….”

“The Pope is worse and part of your group. Don’t get all worked up over my misogyny. I was just referring to that concept of the popular group. You know the ones they liked to portray in old movies. Do such social dynamics still exist in our beloved learning institutions?”

“They always exist. Maybe no longer gender specific but there’s still the popular and the wallflowers.”

“Sounds like a song. I can’t remember which group I was in but right now I definitely know.”

“Never figured you as someone who liked his conversation.”

“Am I talking too much? Pegged me as the strong silent killer? All brooding and mysterious? Well if I’m more verbally active than normal that’s a sign of my f*****g frustration. Excuse my f*****g French, Ma’am. Or am I not listed as human in your dossier on me?”

“No, why would it……” She paused, trying to find the right words.

“I’ve just had a really tough fight. I’m getting a lot of information dump these few days. And you’re not the first to tell me that you know more about me than my own good self. Is it fine that I spent a couple of minutes winding down before we go to the serious stuff? Or am I wasting your time?”

“No, we’ve made time for you.”

“Well, thank you for making me feel special”

“You are special Bishop. That’s why I’m here.”

“Thanks, Mum.” He felt like laughing uncontrollably.

“So tell me, what’s in my file that says I’m special.?”

“Okay. You are Bishop Designate '1773/90'.” He laughed and she looked at him in surprise.

“Nothing, I was almost expecting you to pull out a brown paper folder with Top Secret stamped on it. Continue and forgive my irreverence.”

“You are Bishop Designate serial number '1773/90'. The '90' indicating you are the top of the line. The best ranked operative of your designation.”

“No, I am not a '100'. That’s top of the line for you.”

“There never is a 100. Built in fail safe. When someone like you meets the conditions to rate a '100', …” She shrugged.

“I get it. Dispersal. Too dangerous, intractable. Should have known, never met a '100'.”

“Do you ever know each other’s ranking?”

“Well, if you have the lead, you know you’re higher. Not the exact rating but you know, higher.”

“Never worked with someone higher then”

“I wasn’t always this rank. When I did hit 90, yeah. But I always figured they were on more important missions.”

“No one has been on more important missions. The things you have achieved. If one man could truly change the world, you’d be it.” She gave him a smile, all thousand watts of it. Well, the devil could be attractive.

“Really, you’re out to make me feel special eh? Am I going to get a cake?”

“Would I risk my top operatives and use Slow Tech for anything less?”

“So it is not commonplace for you then, this using of portable Slow Tech. Is it a one off, some contraption put together from residual energy? That would explain the energy source. Don’t think there are any portable sources which would sustain the field or membrane or whatever it is called.” It actually interested him, this use of Slow Tech. Mastering it could be a significant tactical advantage.

“See, you get things pretty quickly don’t you. You don’t know things only because I suppose you don’t think about them. You’re taken the easy route and just relied on being told. So don’t blame the popular group if you can’t hear the school bell.”

“That’s not my game. Otherwise how would I rate a '90' in my designation. If you see the attributes for ranking, you should know. Well I do think, but tactically. In the situation. It’s the Cardinals and Pope who would spend their time ruminating and reflecting.”

“And build poison castles in the air!” A slight rush of emotion. It surprised him to peer slightly beneath the calm exterior.

“So said the devil on the shoulder. Whose name was integrity”

“Rather poetic for a man who lives in a current century version of a hermit’s cell.”

“That’s where the best poetry comes from. No distraction from worldly things. Almost Buddha like, alone with your mind.”

“And yet you say, you are not a person of reflection.”

“I’m not. I’m just saying. Now, please enough poetry and whatever. Lets get to the point. I’ve had enough of recess.”

“I like your humor. It is off center. The point is, being the highest rank, you get the most important mission. And now, the most important one. The King.”

“Here we are finally. You’re here to tell me to not kill the King. You’re against it?”

“Of course”

“Because you’re our Antagonists. You will oppose.”

“Only when we think it’s against the principles of the founding of the Godsmen. There are many missions and objectives which we support. We only step in when we don’t agree.”

“You’ll rather risk dictatorship?”

“If you think about it, how likely is that scenario? A few bombs or attacks or even the destruction of the Houses of Parliament is not going to make the populace run back to Feudal times. There are institutions that have run its course. And no amount of conspiracy is going to bring it back.”

“And you are so sure.”

“Even if not, this is not the way to do it. The Godsmen is about stability; regicide will be the last thing for stability. As I’ve said, some institutions have run its course; we believe the Godsmen may be even one of them.”

“That’s damming.”

“The org was much more than what it is now. It’s spent and the Pope and the last of his Cardinals are hanging on with dear life, refusing to see that it is time to end this experiment. And when a wounded animal gets back into a corner, it gets very dangerous. There’s very little consideration in what they decide, it’s all about reaction. And this reaction is a bit extreme.”

“If its time for the Godsmen to go, then it is your time as well.”

“We will morph into something else. The Devil was always more flexible.”

“Is the Devil a real person or is he just a concept? Are you really the woman behind the curtain?”

“The Devil is real. I am not in charge.”

“Well, good to know that the Devils is real. Are you working with the Oracle?”

“We have no dealings with the Oracle. We have our own resources. Why do you ask?”

“Because you sound exactly like her. All the arguments, all this condemnation about the Godsmen whose time has come.”

“Perhaps because we speak the truth? The truth does not differ from mouth to mouth.”

“Sure there’s no conspiracy behind the conspiracy to the conspiracy?” She made a dismissive gesture.

“Why me? I am but one bullet being shot at the target. Ranked as I am, I’m sure an '80' could have done it. I mean if the Pope is this desperate he would shoot more than one round at the target.”

“And you know he’s desperate.”

“Why do you think I’m still talking to you? I don’t quite need to have a separate person to have a conscience.”

“Good to know. There are others of my persuasion who are dealing with the others.”

“But I rate an Azazel.”

“No less, Lucifer’s right hand. The Godsmen most keen bullet, indeed you are.”

“Maybe, but I won’t be surprised we have a 100 rated Bishop locked up in a bunker some where.”

“Actually, we’ve considered that. But talking to such would be pointless wouldn’t it?”

“By my rating alone, I am more machine than man, what good would your efforts be?”

“I appeal to that 10th part of you that is human then. You just told me you have a conscience. And your movements suggest you have doubts.”

“Because I didn’t go out and kill the King straightaway? Conduct a raid on St James Place? I wouldn’t be ranked highly if that were the case. I’m not a suicide soldier. There must be some measure of success for my missions.”

“If you say so, but do you have doubts?”

“You say I do. That’s what you’re working on. So work away. You know, why not just terminate me. Simpler, doesn’t require you to come in your Slow Tech and spent time enduring my non sequiters. Your agents could have easily done that if they had wanted to. Towards the end I felt that the big guy did really wanted to.”

“You’ve tangled with Gideon before. And triumphed each time. I’m not surprised if he wishes to see the end of you. Well, termination. Why don’t we just off you is that it? It would compromise our moral standing wouldn’t it? The basis of our existence is to enforce the moral . Compromising would make us no different than the Godsmen and our existence would be invalidated.”

“Such convolution of concepts. Sit down please, my neck is aching looking up." She sat down without protest, crossing her legs into a confortable position. There was an economy in her movements that Bishop quite admired. He felt she was his superior in every which way bar a fistfight.

“To one such as you perhaps all this is woolgathering I suppose. Philosophical debates. But essential. To truly believe that the ends justifies the means is a return to base brutality. We cannot return to that kind of society. The Godsmen want to stop that yet they will encourage that sensibility.”

“ You’ve all had your philosophical musings. Who is to say who is right or wrong? You have your convictions, you act on them. That’s all you can hope for. You won’t kill me because of your principles but capture then subdue. Stop me right here right now. Or is this plan B, having lost your operatives.”

“No, that never was the intent. It’s the timetable.”

“The timetable? Really had to remind me of school do ya? What time, whose time, don’t leave me hanging. I’m aware you have a reputation to protect, so it’s all this cryptic canoodles but really.”

“If we take you out of commission now, the Godsmen would realize that and have time to fire another bullet or two. As you said, there might be further plans from B to Z. We don’t want to risk that because these secondary plans might makes things worse.”

“Then why not take action when closer to the time. Stop me just before I strike. Wrestle me to the ground before I enter the Houses of Parliament. Something is not scanning here.”

“Look what happened today. Can we really stop you? The risk is high. And besides, because we want you to take action independently. To make the right choice.” She paused, for dramatic effect perhaps. She was pulling out all the stops to convince him. Of what? What was the right choice?

“And you need time…. for reflection.”

“Could have given more time. Or you’re being nice to me and not let me torture myself with my thoughts.”

“We considered that. Too much time would only muddle things. If you have the right conscience, more time would not make a difference.”

“The Devil is very considerate. Or appears to be.”

“All this religious conceit aside, yet we are not the literal Devil. If you made a decision that favors us, it would be too late before any corrective action can be taken by the Godsmen. Because until that crucial point, the bullet would be on its course.”

“I find your approach somewhat risky. There are too many variables in the soup.”

“The best approach is not always the easy one. Something your Pope should take to heart. He’s taking an easy solution, one with many consequences that may prove terrible. Kill one man, problem solved. It’s never as easy as that. You should know.”

“It never was the one solitary action. If we did termination, it was always in support of other mission objectives. I wouldn’t have done it otherwise. Why do you think I have doubts now? Perhaps there are other actions in place but for me to light to the fuse.”

“I hate to repeat myself, but we did consider. But there is no evidence of any other objective than the one you have. It is surprising to us that the Godsmen is effectively gambling in this situation. The deterioration is even more than we could have suspected.”

“Well, should never have adopted this clergy type of structure. We’ve become impotent then. But you are pinning your hopes on me making a right choice. You can’t control that. It’s a hell of a risk.”

“Would you let a child run and fall so that she can learn or never let her run at all?”

“Now I’m the child of the Devil.”

“We have plans beyond this. I don’t think it’s the time to discuss this with so much on the plate but it harbors on you making the right decision.”

“Are you sure this is not hypnotism?”

“Aren’t you supposedly impervious to such suggestion?”

“I would like to think so. This is the second time, my vow of obedience is being challenged recently. I have a feeling your plans for me require me to break that vow more frequently. But yes that’s too much to think about. Make a right decision. To you, that’s not killing the King. Let him have his day in Parliament and then work to reverse the situation. In a less bloody way. But consider this, once the bill goes through, escalation will come. The fanatics will start their terror because that’s what the plan is predicated upon, isn’t it? Innocent blood will spill.”

“And there will be no reprisals when their King is killed? You called it yourself, fanatics. These are irrational men. How could a rational person believe in Divine Right? The Antagonists are moving in on the Jacobites. Something you Godsmen should be doing, picking up a couple of them aside. Why have you come to the party late? What is happening in the Godsmen? Can you trust your Pope anymore?” He shrugged non-committedly.

“You know, Bishops were the original. The papacy developed from the ranks of Bishops. The Pope is but the bishop of Rome. In the early days of Christian empire when the Orthodox Church held sway; the bishops were the ultimate imperial servants. They were used to legitimize the emperor as God’s chosen. Their own form of Divine Right. Now you want to fight that.”

“Yes, strange turnaround. Lately everything is just surreal. Mostly, things were stable with their little moments of strive. Suddenly everything is in complete upheaval. As if there’s a mad rush to towards the final point of something.”

“The end of a wave. There is a theory that posits society rides on a wave.”

“Really? Whatever, theories abound. Reality is reality. You’re right I suppose. We are a spent force. We used to have missions of import. Now we are just the picking off small time fanatics.”

“And the murder of a King.”

“That’s what I mean. Upheaval. I’m not sure I’m capable of coping.”

“And that will mean?”

“I may just run amuck in Parliament.”

“That would still serve our purpose.”

“I always liked pragmatism.”

“Upheaval yes. Everything is cyclical. Britain’s fortunes go up and down over the centuries. Now there is an upswing. Better times.”

“Because we did a good job? We Godsmen?”

“No. Not that I meant you didn’t do a good job. The Godsmen is about stability. Before that there was a previous organization. That one was about change. But it is not the job of the Godsmen to improve the fortunes of Britain. It is to ensure, whether the fortunes goes up or the country descends, it is not chaos that follows. One day we will slide and the Godsmen must be there to ensure it does not fall off the deep end. Provide they still stand.”

“But we’re all victims to chance and the sweep of history. What can men do? Perhaps only divinity matters. That’s the attraction isn’t it? The King knows because God knows. Leave it in their hands. I know not but to live my life and follow my King.”

“Or your Pope. That has ever been your philosophy. But it’s not the right one. Not for the moment.”

“Not that I didn’t enjoy the conversation but have you said what you needed to say?”

“Yes, do you see our point of view? Why you must deviate from your mission?”

“Crystal. It would have all gone better with tea. Next time, make an appointment. All this rooftop shenanigans only make me feel old.”

“Now that we’ve been properly introduced, it won’t be amiss to give you a call.”

“So you wait for the consequence of your intervention.”

“We wait and hope.”

“It’s a cheap emotion hope. But I guess what can one do?” He got up to his feet, went over to take a look at the two operatives still unconscious.

“Apologize for me, I hope that there are no hard feelings. I hope there is no permanent damage. Not that I’m to blame. They did attack first. You should rein in your attack dogs a little”

“No, we didn’t handle the situation correctly. We underestimated you I suppose. They were supposed to restrain you. Well, we hope we did not underestimate your capacity for seeing the best way for things.”

“That word again. Hope. The Devil hopes that the Bishop will not do his duty. Nothing has changed has it?” He chuckled and left to climb down the ladder. He felt ancient, stretched out. Hope. What did he hope for? What was left to hope?