Chrono Inquisitor (Gods Be Damned) (17 page)

Paxton did as I said, and so did I.

Quentin accepted my apology and was more concerned about me than he was about himself.

‹“Now pretend like it didn’t happen,”› I told Paxton. ‹“I’ll explain it later.”›

“Mr. Quentin,” Paxton said. “I’m ready to be shown to my quarters.”

“Right away, sir,” Quentin said.

We proceeded down the hallway so I could only assume that during my blackout we’d made it to the tenth floor.

On the walls of the hallway were the most realistic digital representations of actual paintings I’d ever seen. As we walked I glanced from painting to painting. They were all abstracts, and not surprisingly, pieces I found enjoyable. My real art preferences had been incorporated into the alias of Alistair, which allowed the hotel to present us with something appealing to look at.

For the most part the paintings appeared rather simplistic in nature, and most were in the vein of the drip style. They weren’t all though. Some were a bit more orderly than the usual chaos inferred by dripping, and consisted primarily of swirls and semi-circles in various shades of grey, blue, purple, black, and red. They all however employed the use of enamel paint. I’d always liked the look of enamel. How it still looked liquid. Like it had been frozen in time. One piece in particular caught my eye.

“Is that a Swarez?” I instructed Paxton to ask.

“Unfortunately, sir,” Quentin said. “I am unable to say off hand. I have never seen this particular piece before. But I could look into it for you, if you desire?”

“Forget what I said,” I had Paxton say with a wave of his hand. “I already know that it is. The piece is called Lightning Strikes©. What I meant to ask is, I assume that because it’s being displayed, that it is part of the resorts collection?”

Paxton made a snide remark about
assuming
through the link. I told him it was part of the Alistair persona, not me.

“That would be the case Mr. Pierce,” Quentin said. “If it’s displayed on the wall, the resort does indeed own it.”

“Do you by chance know if the resort would be willing to part with it?” Paxton asked.

“I can’t say for certain, but I think that if the price is right, anything is possible.”

I contemplated what it’d be worth and told Kali to look up what the last sale price had been for it. I wasn’t normally a collector of art. I preferred archaic timepieces instead. But this particular piece had a special place in my heart.

When I was kid, back when my family was still a cohesive unit, we’d visited an art gallery. It’d been a spur of the moment occasion. My mother had recently found out that she had breast cancer and was attempting to do anything and everything that she enjoyed in life, just in case. We’d all gone out for ice cream and afterwards, while we were walking around, she’d spotted a gallery. Rather than finishing her cone, she tossed it in the trash and went in. Wanting to join her, but my sweet tooth holding sway over me, I quickly finished mine then dashed inside to find her, leaving my father and brother outside to slowly finish theirs.

I remember finding her staring at one piece in particular with a tear running down her cheek. I asked her what was wrong. She’d said that nothing was. After a pause, she told me that she’d always wanted to be an artist, but had never thought it was a realistic career choice.

Nearly a century later, I found myself standing in front of a digital copy of that very piece. My mom hadn’t died from breast cancer. She’d made a full recovery and never had an issue again. Unfortunately though, her brash change in opinions on life, as well as the loss of my younger brother, Michael, just a few months after that, eventually led to my parents divorcing. That night had been one of the last few happy memories I had of my original familial unit.

We continued on, a little bit further down from the painting Quentin stopped. “This is where you’ll be staying. Your biometrics should already be inputted. Standard hotel security only allows the occupants, emergency personnel, and maid services in. The last classification only has access when you designate.” He stepped aside to allow either Paxton or I to open the door.

Paxton didn’t know what to do, having never been in such a high-tech fancy establishment before. I instructed him to simply step forward. An unseen scanner examined and verified the false bio presented on his Chrono. All in all, the whole security procedure only took a fraction of a second.

The door slid open, revealing a room which sucked in your soul with a hug and a kiss. It was the most luxurious room that either of us had ever seen.

Unlike the entrance of the hotel, which sported a more rustic southern/mid-west feel, this room still contained that sense of style, yet it had been transformed and updated to a more royal impressionistic style. The first thing that caught my eye was the columns at the corners of the room. Unlike the layered stone columns back in the lobby, the ceiling here was supported by massive tree trunks stripped of their bark and oiled to a shiny gloss. I doubted that I’d be able to wrap my arms around them, they were so big. My gaze followed them upwards to find massive beams that formed an arch with a matching wood ceiling.

Rather than the dark wood which dominated downstairs, this wood had an amber hue to it and appeared to glow, though it didn’t look oiled like the columns were. The baseboards and crown molding were decorated with ornate carvings I couldn’t quite make out, and accentuated in gold. This added even more to the encompassing feel of the room. Forget the image of heaven with streets paved in gold, this is what I pictured bliss should look like. And this was just the foyer, realizing then that this room was just a gateway to a much larger one.

The walls appeared to be a Venetian plaster in the color of golden straw. On the left side of the room there was a mahogany console table, on the right, a black leather bench. On each side there was a niche with a statue. One was of a naked man, the other a nude woman. It was like they were frozen while caught up in the motion of dancing. It looked
like you could place them together and they would be partners. It was a shame they were displayed separated.

Paxton was the first to move forward, captivated by the scope of the layout. I followed step. The foyer was approximately four meters long and opened up to a sitting room with a double staircase leading to the second floor. The entire suite had been designed to be naturally illuminated. The far exterior wall was practically all windows, letting a filtered natural light emanate throughout the entire space. Paxton quickly disappeared up the stairs. He was beginning to break character.

I instructed him through the link to find a bed and pretend to go to sleep. 

“It was a long trek getting here,” I said to Quentin. “Mr. Pierce desires to take a nap before he attends the conference. If you wouldn’t mind showing me around, I will relay the information when he awakes.”

Quentin nodded and began to give me a tour of the suite.

Beyond the sitting room was the entertaining room with several chairs, couches, and an assortment of coffee and end tables. To my disgust, the upholstery was Holstein hide, white with black splotches. They did not go with the rest of the décor and ruined the otherwise perfection of the suite. I informed Quentin that Mr. Pierce wouldn’t like them, and requested that they be replaced with something more suitable, preferably plain black leather. Quentin said that could be arranged and apologized.

Off the entertaining room to the right was a personal office, which I envied. I’d made my pad as comfy as possible considering the space, but there was something special about a room composed of reimagined trees.

“I have to say,” Quentin said, “Out of all the spaces in the hotel, this one is my favorite. As you can see, there are floor to ceiling bookcases made of quartered oak with a satin lacquer finish. The desk is made of mahogany and is a replica of the one used by the author Charles Dickens, but what makes it even more special, is it was the desk of General Isaac Axel Whitmore.”

“Really?” I said, astonished.

“Indeed it is. Now if you’ll follow me,” Quentin said, going over to the fireplace. “The mantel is made of hand carved walnut, with green Connemara marble depicting the battle of Grieving Angels.”

“My best friend from high school died in that battle,” I said. Luckily, it had been pre-Mnemosyne, so she wasn’t able to dredge up too much sorrow.

“I lost my brother, myself,” Quentin said, bowing his head in remembrance.

“So many people died, I think everyone from the Republics lost someone they knew.”

“Indeed,” Quentin said, wiping a tear from his eye.

I put a hand on the man’s shoulder.

Quentin smiled and nodded. “I didn’t mean to turn into a
blubberpuss. What I intended to show you was this.” Quentin pushed on a carving, showing a soldier carrying two children while running away from a giant wave.

One of the bookcases receded into the wall, revealing a hidden room.

“A panic room,” I said, nodding my head with approval.

“All the hotels premier suites have them, in case of an emergency. Though as of yet they’ve never been needed. Knock on wood.” Quentin gave a little rap on the wood of the bookshelf. “You can also gain access to it from the master bedroom which is located directly above us, which I hope Mr. Pierce has found.”

“That’s good to know,” I said.

As Quentin showed me around the suite, we talked about the War, of which we were both veterans. We instantly bonded.

“I take it you reside in the hotel?” I said as we finished up the tour.

“That is correct, sir. All the rooms on the third floor are dedicated to housing hotel and resort staff. I am here for Mr. Pierce whenever he needs, 24/7. All either of you need do is press the ‘service’ button on any interface, and it will directly link you to me. You should also have a direct link to my CerA as well.”

“When do you sleep?” I asked.

“Whenever I get the opportunity to take a nap. I’m an intermittent sleeper and haven’t slept more than three hours at a time in over forty years.”

“I’ve heard of that before,” I said. “I’m not that extreme, but I guess you could say that is sort of how my sleep schedule is. My line of work keeps me at odd hours as well.”

“Such is the life of a servant,” Quentin said.

I smiled and nodded, even though I hadn’t been speaking as a servant.

He bid farewell and left.

I went to retrieve Paxton from his nap. We had a lot more work to do if he was going to pull off the Alistair persona in front of hundreds of people. We’d make our first official appearance at dinner.

“So what happened in the elevator?” he asked as soon as I entered the master bedroom.

“Long story short. Recurrent psychological trauma. I was present at the assassination of U.S. President Tucker. My dad worked at the Carlsbad Hotel at the time. I was eight. The President was campaigning for re-election and was giving a speech at the hotel. My dad took me to see it. Afterwards we all watched the President get in the main glass elevator with his family and some Secret Service. They were all smiling and waving as the elevator ascended. Seven stories up, a bomb exploded. I watched the elevator free-fall, sending the President and his family to their deaths. You couldn’t get me on an elevator for years afterwards. I underwent therapy and eventually I got over it. For the most part, anyway. There’s been a handful of times in my life where it’s resurfaced. Today was one of those moments. It didn’t help we were in a similar elevator and even higher up.

“One major thing I’ve learned about getting older is it just gives you more time to pile on emotional baggage. You’ve heard the phrase, ‘forgive and forget?’” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said.

“Well it’s bullshit, no matter the circumstance. Especially now that we have Mnemosyne. You can’t forget. Not really. Sure, you can go a stretch without remembering something, but you never forget. And forgiveness? All that is, is simply pushing aside the anger and hurt you feel when you do remember. Time doesn’t heal all wounds. Before baptisms there used to be a thing called scars. If you got hurt bad enough, sure, the body healed the wound, but the skin was never the same.”

I wanted to get closer to Quentin, as well as find out who was servicing Beit, so I offered to help with serving dinner at the banquet. Of course this meant I had to be instructed how to. I’d given Paxton enough pointers and directions, plus I’d also be present and we’d be linked if he needed further assistance.

I left two hours early to meet Quentin down in the kitchens on the second floor. I didn’t quite feel I was ready to take the elevator, so I thought I’d take the stairs instead. I wish I hadn’t, but then again.

I took a bag of surveillance equipment with me which I hoped to place around the banquet hall to help me analyze Beit. If Quentin or anyone asked, the bag contained gifts which Mr. Pierce wished to give out after dinner to a few individuals. There were in fact gifts in the bag. Expensive jewelry and such, but they were also state of the art surveillance devices as well. Undetectable. Or so Frank assured me.

Mrs. Beit would receive a stunning necklace. So would other key people associated with Beit.

I decided to take the stairs at a brisk pace. I wanted to jog down them, but it wouldn’t be a good idea to get sweaty. It felt good to have a fit body again. Not that I wasn’t fit before, but to be honest, I had let myself go a little. I didn’t want to let that happen again.

Science could only help so far when giving you the perfect body. Yeah, they could tweak your genes to be the perfect human machine, but unless you could afford to be lazy and get baptized several times a year, it was still ultimately up to you to keep it fine-tuned and pushed to the limits by good ole fashioned exercise.

By the time I reached the third floor I was feeling good. My legs were feeling a little burn. Seven flights of stairs can do that even when walking them.

Just as I reached the second floor doors, they opened inwards. Hard and quick. I barely managed to avoid them slamming into me. My sudden shift in body weight, plus the redistribution of the bags weight sent me into a spin that resulted in me landing on the bag. Better that than falling down a flight of steps, which I was very close to doing.

“That was a close one,” said a woman’s voice, which I immediately recognized, but hadn’t heard in years.

I looked up and found Lillian Park standing over me smiling. If she were a little bit closer I would have been able to see up her skirt.

Lillian was a brown eyed, brunette, with wavy locks that stretched just beneath her shoulders. The longer hair threw me for a bit. Every time I’d ever seen her, including the last time, she’d sported short curly tassels. I actually found the longer hair more attractive, but then I always found longer hair more attractive on a woman, no matter how cute a short hairdo was. The woman’s build was exactly the same though. Maybe even a little more muscular. She was built like a lioness, her muscles clearly defined beneath the red dress she sported. She was the epitome of a femme fatale.

She extended a hand out to me, but I looked at it questionably, expecting there to be a snare attached. Instead of taking the offered assistance, I awkwardly pushed myself to my feet.

“Somehow I get the feeling that this meeting of ours isn’t accidental,” I said.

“Now why would you say that?” she said, feigning innocence, which she wasn’t good at.

“Maybe because the odds of it being a coincidence is on the scale of astronomical proportions.”

She shook her head slightly. “Somehow I always forget that you were once solely a number cruncher.” She looked me up and down. “You sure have moved up in the world, you’re what, the number one C.I. in this hemisphere now?”

“Something like that.”

“Doesn’t say much for standards. Not only did I just catch you off guard and knock you flat on your ass, but you were stupid enough to use a known alias for your stay here. Not too bright.”

“What do you want Lil?”

“A great many things, but let’s start at the bottom where you are, what are you doing here?”

“Doesn’t concern you.”

“Really? Because I’m thinking it might, seeing as I’m head of security here, and not an hour ago, someone managed to take out our security feeds. Lo and behold, I decide to do a perimeter check and I
come across you slinking down the stairs. You wouldn’t know anything about that would you?”

“Sorry,” I said. I didn’t know what she was talking about, but then I should have suspected she wouldn’t have believed me.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, ‘reaper boy,’ but it looks to me like you’re up to no good. What’s in the bag?”

I laughed. “You think I had something to do with your security issues?”

“Don’t you think it’s odd that you’ve never been her before, and there hasn’t ever been an issue, and now both instances occur at the same time? Tell me dweeb, what’s the probability of that being a coincidence?”

I shook my head. “I find it funny you insult me, and yet think I’m capable of taking down what is supposed to be the most sophisticated piece of security tech in the world, or is your firm not making that claim anymore?” I said that last part with a grin.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to imply that I thought you were directly responsible, what I meant to suggest was that you are in some way connected. I know you’re not capable of taking down our system, but your past relationship with this company gives you some vital insight to any potential pitfalls.”

“So, is Sam too afraid to see me? Is that why she sent her big mean right hand in her place?”

“Sam doesn’t know you’re here, not yet anyway. You should be happy that I found out before she did, otherwise, you probably wouldn’t be standing right now.”

“Says the woman who just knocked me down.”

“I let you get back up though. Trust me, she wouldn’t have. Not after the shit you put her through.”

“The shit
I
put her through?”

“What are you doing here Travis?”

“My job, and that’s all you need to know.”

“And what exactly is your job?”

“Classified.”

Now Lillian chuckled. “You know what I don’t get?”

“How the earth is spinning at approximately 1,400 km/hr. under your feet, and yet, even though your head if full of mostly air, you’re still able to keep your feet on the ground rather than turning into a weather balloon?”

She landed a left hook to my jaw that sent me stumbling into the wall.

Me and my big mouth.

The curtains were coming down and the stage was going dark. I focused all my attention like a spotlight to keep myself conscious. Somehow I managed to keep myself standing by holding the wall for support, though it took me a moment before I had enough control to open my eyes. When I did finally open them, Lillian was just standing there with her arms crossed like nothing had happened. With how much my jaw hurt, she should have at least been rubbing her fist.

I massaged my jaw. At least no teeth felt loose.

“Everyone’s a fucking criti
c,” I said, even though it hurt to speak.

“And you’re not as funny as you think you are.”

“Says the woman who only laughs at other’s pain.” I wanted to add a smirk to my remark, but my jaw felt like it was going to fall off any second.

She raised her right fist. “Think you can take another?”

I grabbed my crotch. “Suck it.”

With one giant step she was in striking distance and throwing a right hook, but it was actually a distraction as she raised her right knee in an attempt to make me never say that again, to anyone.

Luckily for me, I’d watched enough of her sparring rounds with Sam to know her dirty tricks. I stepped to my right and kicked the bag at her. It wasn’t heavy enough to hurt her or throw her off balance, but it was enough of a distraction for me to maneuver around to her backside. She was good and transformed the knee into a roundhouse kick.

She didn’t have enough momentum, which made it easy enough for me to grab her leg midair. Kicks are generally stupid in a fight, at least when your opponent is still conscious enough to do something about it. I bear hugged her leg and threw myself to the ground, taking her with me.

Sam had always kicked my ass, but on the plus side, she’d always beat Lil as well. Though Sam’s and my matches never seemed to last as long her and Lil’s. I knew the only real chance I had at beating her was to not fully engage her.

Too late for that.

As we fell, she gracefully extended her arms, like she was simply dropping down to do a pushup. She connected with the ground, her arms acting like shock absorbers. It was impressive.

Me on the other hand, I landed on my back. At least I still had her leg in a firm grip.

Lillian kicked me in the thigh with her free leg.

The thigh is a nice meaty place to take a kick, that is if the person kicking you isn’t wearing heels and using their leg like a spear.

I yelled in agony and let go of her leg as I rolled away out of reach.

“Crazy ass bitch,” I said grabbing my leg where she’d kicked me. “Do you have any idea what kind of fucking trouble you’re in. Assaulting an Inquisitor on assignment. I could have your fucking head.”

“Leave now, and I’ll let you keep yours,” she said.

“I’m not leaving.”

“Isn’t that what you’re good at? Leaving.”

She was already on her feet. I painfully got to mine.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I said, getting into a defensive posture.

“You know what it means, unless you hit your head. Leave now, or-”

“Or what? I see where this is going now,” I said. “You think I don’t know about your feelings for Sam? Have you finally told her? Are you two happy together? I’m starting to think you want me gone because you’re afraid of my history with Sam. Maybe you’ve come to realize that you pale in comparison to what Sam and I had. Am I getting warm?”

“I see you’re still an idiot. Even worse than before. It’s not about you, or me, it’s about Samsara. You broke her heart, now I’m going to break your head.”

“You want to talk about broken hearts. I’m not the one who walked away from the marriage, she did.”

She shook her head. “You walked out emotionally long before she did.”

“Fine, you win, I’m a piece of shit. I’m not here to have anything to do with Sam. You say she doesn’t know I’m here. Fine. Keep it that way. I don’t want to be here just as much as you don’t want me here. Stay out of my way, let me do my job, and I’ll stay out of yours. Neither you nor Sam will ever hear from me again.”

She moved like she was going to kick me, but stopped. Lucky for her. She always liked to kick. So predictable. “If you let Sam know you’re here, next time I’m going to zero you out, understand?”

“Ditto, bitch.”

And that was that. She turned and went back through the door she’d tried to hit me with.

I grabbed my bag, did a quick inspection. Three devices were destroyed but the others were fine. I limped my way to the nearest washroom to inspect the damage she’d done to me.