God Gems are Forever 1 — Scene 5 (TEXT) (Patreon)

Not fantastical, his arse.

Andrew spent most of the flight to Vostovia catching what little sleep he could, but those times he was awake, he spent either marvelling at the ridiculously sophisticated tech agents like him got kitted out in, or else wondering what other surprises Trace had up his sleeves. If he had a disappointment, it was that he hadn’t been given the keys to the NL8 Subsubtle. Oh well, there was always next time.

Or rather, there would be, so long as he didn’t get himself killed trying to woo a woman who was apparently as dangerous as she was visually pleasing. As the pilot announced their imminent arrival, Andrew listened again to the recording the last spy sent Miss Colletage’s way had given his life to create.

“Why is a beautiful woman like you mixed up in this? There’s so much else you could be doing. Do you need money? Are you being threatened? There are ways my country can help—”

And then the gunshot. No hesitation. No more banter. She’d been quite happy monologuing with the man up till that point. Contrary to what many people thought from watching bad drama, people monologued for all sorts of reasons. Not just because it was some sort of bad guy law. Often, they were trying to fill a hole inside of them. They needed to be appreciated. Or share a connection with an enemy they’d put so much effort into defeating.

In the end, it was the suggestion that she might be vulnerable that set Loveday off.

There was the silence, the splash, and then the sound of a boot stamping on the tiny recorder. But the recording didn’t stop.

Andrew hit the rewind button on the cassette machine so he could listen to the final bit again. It was so quiet as to be almost inaudible, but it was there. And it was clearly Loveday. “How dare he suggest I’d need help. How dare he.”

Andrew leaned back in his seat.

Going after Loveday from the position of a saviour wasn’t going to work. That much was obvious to anyone. Which was exactly why X had given him the mission to take everything she had simply by being better than her.

But part of him had to wonder if there really wasn’t something Loveday needed. Something they could trade with her for. It was worth keeping in mind. Maybe she’d be more open if they ever found themselves in bed together. Staring at her photo, Andrew couldn’t help the increase in his pulse at the thought.

Looking out of the window as the plane descended, Andrew saw a landscape filled with mountains — craggy, massive, and capped with snow. Vostovia lay nestled in a valley between two giant ranges, the first bordering Velmori—a hellish forestland, filled with man-eating ancient predators—while the second, Verdesia, provided half the agriculture for a good chunk of the surrounding continent. They’d flown in from the narrow stretch of sea that abutted the peninsular, the only national border that wasn’t mountain, and it occurred to Andrew that whatever route Loveday was using to smuggle arms into the country had to be treacherous as only the Empire knew.

The wheels screeched as the plane touched down—sending Andrew jerking up and down in his seat—and by the time he was descending the egress stairs out into the crisp mountain air, cutting through what exhaustion remained that six hours of seated sleep hadn’t fixed,  he was well and truly glad to be out.

“Mister Deep?” The voice was rich and contained the drawling twang of a Federican accent. The body accompanying it was well-dressed in a dark suit and fedora worn at a jaunty angle. The man smiled warmly. “Steve Mickinnon. Paranormal investigator and general fixer of stuff that needs fixed.”

Andrew shook his hand. “Good to meet you. I wasn’t expecting our local man to be Federican.”

“I’m not from Federica.” He switched from Anglian to a Vostovian containing what had to be one of the thickest Empire accents Andrew had ever heard. “I come from Solazul. Like a certain red-headed troublemaker you may know?”

Andrew coughed meaningfully. Having this discussion on the concrete runway of a busy airport wasn’t his idea of highly confidential. “You have a car?” he asked in his own far-from-perfect Vostovian.

“Right this way.”

“So,” Andrew started as he climbed into the passenger seat beside Mickinnon, carefully clutching the briefcase containing all his goodies, and closing the door with a thwumpf, “A lot of money in paranormal investigation, is there?” He started running his hands along the car’s upholstery, checking for anything obviously out of place.

Mckinnon waved his hand vaguely as they began pulling out of the car park. “That is more of a hobby. I have been a scholar of the occult ever since I read Katerina Petrovic as a teen. I did my degree in ancient classics at Ozero University. Mother was not happy.”

“Anything real in it?”

Mckinnon nodded emphatically. “I believe so. The old stories are too consistent. Too many overlapping references. And I assure you the car is clean, my friend.

Andrew stopped rummaging around in the glove compartment.

“My involvement in your government’s doings is known to only a few and I trust them with my life. I’ll introduce you once we arrive at the house.”

“Good to know. Anything about the local situation I should know that wasn’t in the briefs?”

“A few of the local government bigwigs resigned after making friendly remarks about the Empire. A protest marched through the city yesterday and set a bunch of their cars on fire.”

“You’d think they’d know better.”

“The people at the top want to normalize relationships. They’ve got their grubby fingers in deep.” There was a pause. “Not that I’m saying—” he quickly began, but Andrew headed him off.

“It’s fine. I’m very aware that my name is also a common adjective.” Looking out of the window, he spotted a pair of burnt-out vehicles on the side of the road. “Wow, they really made a mess, didn’t they?”

Mckinnon nodded. “The police had their work cut out. Even had to call in backup from other departments. Not the military, thank the gods, but border patrol, search and rescue, the coast guard, they were all pulled. You’ll need to meet with Captain Trilldoor to arrange passage for your own goods into the country, but that’ll have to wait a few days. He’s a bit busy right now.”

“Captain Trilldoor?”

“Head of the border police. He has an interest in catching Loveday.”

“I’d have thought any police officer who wanted to bring in Miss Colletage wouldn’t be too happy that our ideal outcome is subsuming her operation.”

“Ah.” Mckinnon made a noncommittal head movement. “I can see why you’d think that, but the police in this part of the world… they work differently.”

This time, Andrew didn’t fight it. He let out a derisive snort.

Not that he was really in any position to judge.

If everything went well, he was about to set up shop selling weapons to criminals, terrorists, and dictatorial regimes, in secret, in another country’s backyard. A whole bunch of Trojan horses, sure, but even so, lives were still going to be lost. He was hardly in a position to throw shade at a few corrupt policemen who just wanted their own little slice of the arms dealer pie.

They were just pulling into a large warehouse complex on the other side of the city when it happened. Andrew heard the loud screeching of tires, snatched a short glimpse of another car approaching at speed alongside his passenger door, and his entire world—noise, vision,  and proprioception—exploded.