Bitter Angels by C. L. Anderson Read Free Book Online Page B

of attack…”
    Misao’s steady silence told me I was wrong. Dead wrong. I felt the blood drain slowly from my face, leaving me cold. “What have I missed?”
    “Are you coming back?”
    Fine. Fine. It’s an out. Take it. Remember David. Remember you promised. Take your out and run!
    I stood. I met those icy green eyes. I felt Bianca behind me. He knew she was there. He knew it and he was not going to give me one ounce of relief.
    “I promised, Misao,” I whispered. “Before we ever got married, I swore to David I was retired.”
    “Then you do not have the clearance to be briefed about the current situation on Erasmus. Good-bye, Mrs. Drajeske.”
    I couldn’t breathe. If he’d punched me in the gut, I couldn’t have been in more pain.
    You son of a bitch. You cold, manipulative son of a bitch .
    “Just tell me,” I croaked. My throat was sore. How had that happened? I felt like I’d been shouting, but I hadn’t raised my voice since I came here. “Did Bianca really say she wanted me out there?”
    Misao laid his hand flat on the desk. “Come here, Jerimiah.”
    The opaque shield that covered the door to the corridor cleared. The door behind it opened, and a young man seemed to walk up the hall and stand framed in the threshold. He was lanky, with copper-brown skin and coffee-brown eyes that drooped in the corners. His straight black hair flopped into his eyes so that he had to keep pushing it back. It made him look boyishly handsome. He probably had a mischievous smile when he wasn’t looking so solemn.
    Once our Companions are installed and established, we meet with an artist for several sessions to describe our impressions of our Companions. A VR portrait is made and stored with our files. This allows for interactive sessions in the real world to reinforce and refine the “relationship.”
    Many of us have good-looking Companions, or at least cute ones. I know one Guardian whose Companion was an eight-year-old girl, and another who had an angel, and yet another who’d had Coco the Wonder Dog. That your Companion appears as someone you’d want to love and protect is part of the point. It helps you fight to stay alive longer.
    My own Companion, Dylan, was taller than I was and older than I was, with rich brown eyes that crinkled up in the corners when he smiled and cinnamon-brown hair he wore in a ponytail. He had a Celtic knotwork tattoo aroundone biceps, and on his forearm was a set of plain black letters proclaiming enter here for full explanation. I had been surprised at the ink. I never liked it. I’d asked him to get rid of it once, and he just looked wounded. I chuckled and let it go.
    “Hello, Marshal-Steward. How can I help you?” Jerimiah’s voice was light, in keeping with his appearance. It didn’t sound quite right, somehow. The accent…something…it wasn’t what it should have been.
    “Jerimiah, can you tell us how Field Coordinator Fayette was captured?”
    I thought Jerimiah hesitated a little as he looked toward me, but I told myself that was my imagination. This was no thinking creature. The mind behind it, Bianca’s mind, was dead. This was an illusion created by a delicate web of chips and artificial neurons.
    “I don’t know how we were captured, not completely. I am damaged.” Jerimiah spread his hands. His fingernails were chewed down to the quick. I guess a lifetime in Bianca’s head could make you nervous.
    In front of me now, the Companion Jerimiah kicked at the carpet. “We were…waiting for someone. There was an appointment Bianca needed to keep, but not on Dazzle. We were on Dazzle, waiting for someone to take us to see…” He shook his head. “I am sorry. That’s gone. But she was very concerned about the refugee problem, or wanting to create the refugee problem or…” His hands with their chewed-on nails curled into fists. The artist had done a good job with the detail and definition of Jerimiah’s face. I could see the sorrow in the drooping corners