Talian woke with the sunrise. Another poor night's sleep. Next to him, his bondmate turned over, raven hair covering honey face. She wouldn’t wake for another thirty minutes at least; always enough time to guarantee he’d be gone. For a spare second, he looked down at her, an unreadable expression etched on his visage. He looked away.
It was unusual for a Peacekeeper to have a bond mate, not strictly disallowed but certainly unusual. Talian hadn’t cared. Twenty years ago, he’d been a lovestruck renegade, and now… well, he wasn’t sure. The relationship had been over for years, but he could never admit a lost cause. With a grunt, he rose and stretched. Today promised something new, at least.
Thirty minutes later he was dressed and cleaned. The clothes were rudimentary, simple grays and whites, but that didn’t matter, he’d be changing out of them soon.
Another thirty minutes passed in a blur and Talian was on the Skyliner, reclining as comfortably as he could in the cramped interior of the carriage. Around him a mother shushed her child, a man recited interview notes, a boy scrambled over schoolwork. Not one of them reacted to his presence. Not one of them knew who he was.
As far as Talian knew, he was the only Peacekeeper who did this. Most lived in the tower, or in one of the luxury Skylands above Prime 2. Talian owned one himself, but he’d never liked it. He preferred the feeling of anonymity the commute granted him. Sitting in civilian clothes, hand totally free.
Here, one could watch the city pass by, see the great beast breathe. Prime 2 was always impressive, soaring buildings of unusual styles built by architects of acclaim. To an off-worlder, the city planet was a monument to humanity, to the Order’s greatness. Personally, Talian could never shake the stench of rot, though nobody else seemed to notice. He closed his eyes.
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His commute ended at the Tower of the Divine, the city’s tallest structure. His job would bring him near the top, but he started low, descending beneath the surface, into the vaults.
There, he began another ritual. A signature one minute, a scan the next, an assessment here, a DNA eval there. All of it performed either by machine or with machinelike precision.
After finally finishing, he received his items. From the deepest depths of the planet, from vaults only a select few knew, he withdrew two seemingly mundane possessions. First, a pair of simple black robes, unadorned but for a ring comprising eleven circles. Second, a plain box with no clear means of entry.
He put on the robe first, putting off the box as long as he reasonably could. It was uncomfortable, but just outside the bounds of notice. Just slightly too large. Just slightly too itchy. Just slightly too inflexible. Nothing that might affect the job, but uncomfortable, nonetheless. He’d heard it theorized that this was purposeful, proof of piety or other such nonsense.
With a sigh, he turned to the box. This was his least favorite part. First, he placed his hand on the top. A soft hiss as it read something. He was never quite sure what. Whatever it was, it would only respond to his hand, or, he suspected, the hand of his superiors. He wouldn’t be the first Peacekeeper to go rogue, after all. Not that he’d ever seriously considered it. Far too much trouble.
The box opened noiselessly. Inside, resting in an almost gelatinous mass of colorless liquid, sat a simple black gauntlet. He gathered his strength. Year by year it took him longer. Last time it was sixty-eight. This time would be longer. Eighty-three seconds in the end. Concerning. He grabbed it quickly, wasting no more time. So cold to the touch.
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The lift rose towards the clouds, the glass window revealing the enormous urban sprawl of the city below. He’d be heading towards the top. Not the very top, of course. There was the atrium of the gods, where they communed to rule. Unused for a hundred years now, but still, rather above his station. No, his destination was a few floors below it. The Sanctum of Order, base of the Peacekeepers.
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The lift halted, the doors behind opening noiselessly. One last glance out the window and down at the thin layer of clouds between him and the city. Below, a few buildings peaked above the blanket of white, grasping for the impossible sky but falling ever short. Truly, the view of a god. He turned.
The Sanctum was, technically, a religious space. In theory, the Peacekeepers operated outside of the Order’s bureaucratic apparatus. Their role was not governmental. It was religious. This was, of course, only true on a technical level. The Peacekeepers had long since been subsumed into the machine.
Still though, they kept up appearances. Upon entering the Sanctum, he looked up to see the Lord of Order’s stone visage leering at him from the atop entryway. Old Duren, who once ruled Prime directly- now rarely seen. To his left were five: Ecor, Vin, Decarlo, Ospera, Faltin. To his right another five: Emar, Nostro, Vuscan, Flec, Voln. The Gods. Even in stone, their presence demanded attention. Talian took in each of their faces in turn, pausing at Flec, whose power he borrowed. He too had retreated into seclusion.
“Why have you abandoned us?” He whispered, lest anyone else catch his heresy. Of the eleven, only a few still played an active role in human affairs. Duren, Vin, Emar, and, of course, Decarlo, whose ruby eyes seemed so alive, even in stone. They didn’t answer. They never did.
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The Communed was human, like any Peacekeeper. Short, a little overweight, and balding, it would be hard to see him as anything but. Regardless, he was one of very few to whom Duren would speak. His authority was thus unchallengeable.
“Sorry to drag you out again so soon after your last Pilgrimage.” He began, staring out his simple office window at the clouds below. “You’ll be pleased to hear matters on Tella have calmed down substantively. We don’t expect any problems for a while.” He looked at Talian, the ghost of an expression on his lips. “Your display, though perhaps a little dramatic, should help.”
Talian nodded respectfully. “Always pleased to serve Divinity.” In truth, he hadn’t thought about Tella in weeks, and wouldn’t think about it again until long after. For the moment though, the name conjured memories of hungry eyes.
“Regardless, the Divine require your service for a more specialized matter.” He turned from the window and walked closer to Talian. “This one comes from high up.”
That got Talian’s attention. “How high?”
“High.” He walked behind his desk. “You’ll be working with another Peacekeeper on this one. You’ll have a week to sort matters out at home. You won’t return for a while.”
“What exactly are we talking about?” Two Peacekeepers was an enormous undertaking. They seldom operated together. Whatever this was, it was big. High up indeed.
The Head of the Order turned back to the window. “An embarrassment” He muttered.
“I’ll need a little more specificity.” Vagaries were part and parcel to the language of Peacekeepers. Their words were bound by hundreds of minute rules and scruples. Even in cases where information was shared freely, old habits held hard.
“The Pirate. An old acquaintance of yours, I believe.” The Communed eventually surrendered.
This time, the answer wasn’t vague. In fact, to Talian, it was as clear as could be. Still though, he hadn’t expected this. As he gathered himself, the door hissed open behind him.
“You mean…”
“Don’t be daft, Talian.” A third voice said, raspy with age but commanding attention. Talian turned to see a matching black robe, yellow teeth, and sunken eyes. Maurius finished the unspoken thought. “It’s past time to deal with Davin Flynn.”