WRATH * V * WRATH The Guards From the hundred and twenty security guards hired, an elite two were selected to be Greggory's always present, personal guardians: Randy Quentin and Kiss Nekro. Randy, at one time a Marine, had most recently been employed by a guerrilla outfit in Colombia for the purpose of instructing others in the techniques of explosives, and providing an example in physical fitness and nutrition. His two heroes were Richard Marchinko (the Rogue Warrior), and Jack LaLane (the eighty year old exercise guru), and at age fifty-eight, Randy Quentin looked like he might one day own the fitness king's records. His chest was three and a half bowling balls wide, his arms bordered on the edge of normal-or-steroid-induced reality. His head was shaved, but he had a meticulous goatee, the same gun-metal gray color as his bushy eyebrows. He had a necklace made of a fine link chain which all the slugs that had ever been removed from his many combat injuries were hung on, and, on his body, right next to the scar left by each one, was a tattoo of the date which commemorated the occasion. Each of the bullets on the chain was inscribed with a corresponding date. Save for one, each of his scars could be matched up with a bullet from his chain; that one, he explained, had been caused by a lemon shark, but then offered no further explanation. Every morning, Randy would run forty laps around the manor's grounds, then he would retire to the room he'd had outfitted as a gym and lift weights for three solid hours. After his ritual workout, he would eat one bowl of oatmeal, sweetened with honey from a chunk of raw honeycomb, and drink a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice with an egg in it. Randy loved his job, and having him on board was great for morale. Kiss was a different kind of character all together. At the interview Eliphaz asked if she was superstitious at all and her reply had been, "Why walk under a ladder if you don't have to?" Her specialties were martial arts and close combat weapons: knives. Eliphaz said to her, "You know, the word nekro comes from the Latin for death. Your name could be taken then to mean, the Kiss of Death." And she said, "I don't have any reputations I haven't earned." All the same, she would've been just one of the faces in the ranks of normal security personnel if not for the incident which transpired on her very first day. Kiss was a small woman, fragile-looking and loin-achingly attractive; when she first reported for duty, heads turned. Her body was so lithe and perfect, her hair so wild and black; her eyes were so dark, and her lips so full... Several men approached her, but each was shot down before they'd even managed to introduce themselves. Kiss said, "I have no desire or need for the company of a male in my life. Leave from before my sight before I make your genitals into a key chain." But still, there was one man who persisted; got to the point of forcing himself on her. So she stabbed him to death. She stabbed him eight times, each time with a different knife, leaving the previous one lodged firmly and deeply in his body. All eight blades were in him before he even hit the ground. Then, she did make his dick into a key-chain. Eliphaz respected that, and truthfully, so did every one else. Her actions were the subject of many whispered conversations behind her back that day. Greggory's first thought was to have her dismissed, but Eliphaz dissuaded him. He said, "That is one tough woman. That's the kind of thing you look for in a personal bodyguard. Tenacious. Aggressive." So she became one of Greggory's private guards. And Greggory was afraid of her. So too, it seemed, was Coldlove. The dog was usually seen taking shelter from Kiss, positioning himself so that his master's legs were separating him from her. Any time she spoke his name he would whimper and cower. * * * But Eliphaz himself was not worried until it came to his attention that Kiss' mind was blocked off from him. At first he figured it was because he wasn't focused, but when she caught him staring with the effort once, and gave him a little, crooked, viper- like smile, he began to have his doubts. He said to Randy, "Never leave Kiss alone with Greggory. Not for a second." * * * The four of them had a meeting about house security. Eliphaz, Greggory, Randy and Kiss, gathered around a round table the like's of which would have been straight from the legends of King Arthur. Coldlove was at Greggory's side, enjoying a scratching behind the ears. They discussed mainly escape routes -- how to get Greggory quickly and safely out of the building. Eliphaz had a plan for nearly every imagined occurrence. Then, afterwards, the inevitable question was asked. Randy: "You certainly have invested a lot in security here. I understand it's all in the interest of protecting Mr. Clefferts, but what I'm not clear on is why he need this much protection, and what it is we're protecting him from. I've tried to imagine different circumstances, but nothing I can come up with justifies all this trouble. Perhaps you could enlighten me." He always presented his words in a careful, unhurried way. His eloquence and soft-spoken nature were part of his image of cool. He never seemed distracted or anxious. He gave plenty of time for someone to answer him, but when no reply seemed forthcoming, he continued, "I understand it's not my place to question the motivations of my employer, but it seems to me that kind of professional courtesy can only extend so far. Too many unanswered questions lead to distractions; loss of focus." Eliphaz cleared his throat. "You make an excellent point, Randolph. Mr. Clefferts and I hoped that an explanation would be unnecessary, but perhaps the curiosities of our circumstances are overwhelming." It always amazed Greggory, the way Eliphaz could emulate the behaviors of another person's speech. Here he was, nearly a manners mirror in his dealings with Randy. With most of the other guards he was a tough, sailor-mouthed, slave driver. With Kiss he was dangerous sounding, and his words were filled with innuendo. And he made his switches without anyone ever seeming to notice. He was a social chameleon -- so charismatic he made Hitler seem like Joe Piscapo. "Perhaps the best way to describe what we hope to accomplish is as a thwarting of destiny. You, doubtless have had questions regarding the unusual appearance of Mr. Clefferts, yet these you have, most admirably, managed to suppress. Maybe you have qualms about his taking offense at your comments, should he be disabled or handicapped in some way. Let me assure you this is not the nature of his circumstance. "It is true that what you see is, in fact, a life support system, but its methods are by no means ordinary. This is not a machine made merely to simulate respiration, as you might imagine. It is for the purpose of life sustaining and perpetuating. It allows Mr. Clefferts to enjoy the benefits of a greatly enhanced lifespan. "But he, like any successful man, has made his share of enemies; just the sheer importance of his achievement has caused many to hate and envy him. In fact, there are those who would rob him of his so richly deserved reward: they wish to end his life. It is for this reason you have been hired." "So this is a protection against corporate espionage then?" Eliphaz was nodding and shrugging at the same time. "Of a sort," he said. Kiss seemed very interested by this talk. She said to Greggory, "So how long do you intend to live? How long can these machines you call your flesh keep you going?" "Forever," said Greggory. "That is a considerable improvement," said Randy. He sounded impressed. "You honestly believe that sealing yourself up in a vinyl bodysuit can keep you from dying?" Something in the tone of her voice made Eliphaz' flesh crawl. Greggory felt it too, but of course he had no skin for the sensation to be conducted by. Was that some kind of threat? "Yes." "I'm not sure if I'm more in awe of your ingenuity or appalled by your arrogant stupidity." *** Randy and Greggory... Most of the time, when Greggory went for a walk, or did something else outside of his quarters, the one who accompanied him was Randy. And it was not much of a matter of coincidence either; Greggory was careful to schedule such wandering excursions for times when Kiss was not guarding him. Randy was good company. Conversing with him was a pastime that Greggory found surprisingly enjoyable. He had never thought of himself as being someone who would have something to say to a soldier, but as it turned out, with Randy, there was little noticing that he was a career military man. Randy didn't talk about himself so much in terms of what he had done as he did about where he had been, what he had seen, the people he had met, and what he had learned of other cultures. One day, a rambling tour of the grounds found them on the upper-most observation deck of the northeastern tower. From there, they could see all the neighboring hills, gently sloping domes of green, and beyond, fields, those cultivated and not, contrasting against each other like squares on a checkerboard, stretching off to the horizon. In the far, far distance, there were storm clouds, lying on the ground like a swollen bruise. The tops of those clouds were flickering, blazing blue-white every now and again, and a sound, like a big cat purring, came rolling off them after each pulse. "When I was at the end of my second tour in Vietnam," Randy said, out of the blue. His eyes were on the clouds; way off, and dreamy looking. "I was going through a newly captured village with my troop. We'd been tipped off to the fact that the village was a cover for the VC. Apparently, it was some kind of security leak inside the village that got the information through to us; and apparently the VC found out about that leak the same time as we did. By the time we got there, they'd already moved out. But as a punishment on the villagers, they'd killed all the women before they left. They'd killed all the women, and then set all the farms on fire. "I swear, you've never seen a sight as pitiful as that. You've never seen people so beat down and broken as that. Their families had been broken up, their means of life had been destroyed. I remember walking through that village, with all those haunted faces looking out from the shadows under the doorways, and all those eyes... All those people. Hating us. Because we were the ones who had brought it on them. No use trying to deny any of that. We were the cause. "I got to the far side of the village, though, and there were three young guys. Our boys. They looked barely old enough to enlist; didn't even need to shave more than once a week yet. Two of 'em were throwing baseballs out to some of the village children, who were running around in a field. It wasn't a field for crops or anything, so it was still mostly intact. Full of grass and weeds about knee high. The third of those boys was just standing there, like he was studying something. He was smoking a cigarette. His eyes were all squinted down like he was concentrating real hard, but all he was doing was just standing there, watching those children in the field. "I watched them for a time. It seemed like a real break from the war. Something normal. Home-feeling. Just a couple of young GI's playing catch with some kids. I never stopped to think about why they were doing it. I never stopped to wonder about why their aim was so far off. Why they made those kids chase after so many bad throws." Randy stopped then. He turned to face Greggory. "You know what they were doing?" Greggory shook his head. "No." "They were checking to see if the field was mined." Randy paused to let that sink in. "That's terrible. Was it?" "It was. But it never occurred to me how they figured it out. Not until later. I didn't see anything while I was watching. You know I would have stopped them if I'd known what they were doing." "Terrible," Greggory said again. "What I learned that day, is that death isn't just. It doesn't know any fair play. Here I was, in a war, making death on purpose, or so I figured. But my bullets hit the enemy and the civilians alike. And when fields were burned, it wasn't just the enemy that went without food, starving. And when I went safely through a minefield, it meant somebody had been sacrificed so I could know where to step. None of that was purposeful. None of that was just. It was random." "Hmm," said Greggory. He looked out at the storm. "Random," said Randy. "Death doesn't discern."

In an attempt to make this story manageable, I have broken it down into chapters, so it doesn't read as one page as long as a football field. Use these buttons to navigate through the chapters, and don't be fooled by the fact that Chapter 13 is called "The End". This story is 14 chapters long!