Story #155 - Deacon First - VII

Deacon First - VII

Barry tried to catch Pike Rolson’s eye as they moved through HQ to the Briefing Room, but the taller man was clearly avoiding his gaze. It wouldn’t have been obvious to anyone looking at them as they strode through the emergency-lit hallways, but he knew his training officer well enough to know when the man didn’t want to deal with something.

That was the odd part – he’d never seen Pike shy away from anything even remotely difficult or unpleasant. When it came to the public, Rolson wasn’t exactly the model Bishop, but that was common in the ranks. Most Firsts and Seconds had real chips on their shoulders, and snide attitudes – they were “better” than those around them, those they were supposed to keep safe. Pike wasn’t like that – he just didn’t like dealing with the public very much. He’d never say so, but Barry was sure that the public made his training officer nervous.

The double doors to the Briefing Room were guarded by four men, Bishops that Barry had only seen once or twice in his time at the station. They were specially selected – an elite force that Bishop-Captain Lars Venman had drafted to protect him even within what should have been the safety of the district walls. All four men wore a single red shoulder flash on their right sides, and stood with a straight-backed precision that most of the Bishops didn’t bother to try and emulate. They were the “best of the best”, at least in the Bishop-Captain’s eyes, and that tended to add layers of arrogance to an already healthy set of egos.

None of them would meet his eyes as he passed by, and he pushed down a small core of anger. He’d done nothing wrong! Between him and Pike, an attack on the district’s HQ had been thwarted, and lives had been saved.

Barry’s mind called up an image of the shimmering shield again, of what had likely saved his life out there rather than his own skill or Rolson’s reflexes. The fact that he didn’t understand what it was bothered him, but the seeming fixation of the five wolves on him – that he seemed to be their target – chilled him to the bone.

Rolson obviously knew more than he was saying, and his whispered words meant that whatever knowledge he had he wasn’t supposed to. Listener’s Bookstore was a known hangout for rebels and drifters – those that civilized society considered only one step above the Wolves and Vamps that ran the streets. Public perception held that those on the fringes of city life had a higher chance of getting caught and turned, but the truth was that anyone, anywhere could be caught and have their life twisted away from them – it was just easier to paint those that didn’t fit in as the real problem.

“Gentlemen,” a smooth voice said from the far side of the room, “sit.”

Barry had met the Bishop-Captain only once, when he began his training round at HQ, and the man had been suitably distant. He’d expected as much from a superior officer, but from what the others in his squad had told him, the Bishop-Captain didn’t warm up noticeably over time.

He and Rolson took up chairs opposite the man at the head of the table, and Barry couldn’t help but notice that not only was he flanked by two more guards, but that both had their guns drawn and safeties off. The Bishop-Captain took no chances.

“I must commend you for your actions, gentlemen,” Venman said softly, “you have done us all a great service tonight.”

Barry was finding it hard to see the other man; the lights in the room had been turned to focus on the chairs that he and Pike sat it, leaving Venman and his guards in shadow.

“Thank you, Bishop-Captain –“ Rolson began, but Venman cut him off.

“Second! I did not ask you to speak.” There was no anger in the tone, just a stern rebuke; a father telling a son that he had stepped out of line. Pike shut his mouth and clenched his jaw. Venman was well-liked by the brass but hadn’t garnered much of a reputation among those at the bottom of the chain of command, and it was no wonder why. Except for his elites, men under the Bishop-Captain’s direct command tended to not come home in one piece.

“As I was saying,” Venman went on, “you’ve both performed admirably tonight. But,” the Bishop-Captain leaned forward, his silvery hair glimmering in the low light “I have to wonder why the Wolves chose to attack at all. We’ve seen nothing from them in weeks.”

Both he and Pike remained silent. Barry wouldn’t have spoken up in any case, and his training officer seemed to have learned his lesson from Venman’s first rebuke.

“Tell me,” Venman said, pointing at Barry, “First. Have you ever seen a Wolf that just wasn’t right? A Wolf that was more than it should be?”

“More?” Barry tried his best to sound confused.

“Yes,” the Bishop-Captain cut off the word. “More. You’ve been seen in the company of the Undead, Howe, several times without your weapons drawn. Now, an unprovoked attack has occurred on the least valuable of any of our points of entry. You seem a magnet for trouble, First, and I wonder – perhaps you know more than you should?”

Pike Rolson barked a laugh, and even in the dim light Barry could see the Bishop-Captain’s face darken.

“What is the meaning of this, Rolson?” Venman demanded, and Barry could hear the guards shifting on their feet.

“I apologize, Bishop-Captain, but your statement was more amusing than you know. Howe here is a passable First, but only because of my training. Without it, he would be dead on the street. We’ve been scraping the bottom of the barrel with the recent set of recruits, and Howe here is about the worst of it.” Rolson shot him a look that said keep your mouth shut, and then went on. “If you’re looking for problems, he’s not the one you want.”

Venman relaxed slightly, and then motioned to the elite at his left. “Howe,” he grated out the name, “you are free to go. Rolson, you will remain here.”

The tall man didn’t react, but Barry was quite sure there was panic masked under the calm collection of Pike Rolson.


- D