Lucifer's Lottery - Edward Lee [72]
Like a candle, he’d blown out his Hand of Glory—it would be needed later, and evidently there was a shortage of them. “Frugality of resources,” Ezoriel had phrased it. “Not one of God’s gifts to us may ever be used unwisely. Gifts taken for granted offend the Lord.” Krilid figured that was the Fallen Angel’s way of saying the Contumacy itself as well as all the other Anti-Luciferic Units were sucking wind and shit out of supplies.
His Troll’s belly squirmed; he was famished, and worse, thirsty. He smirked to himself for not retrieving the pieces of the Levatopus before they’d floated away. He could’ve squeezed the juices out of them, which were better than nothing. But then a bleak joy kindled in his nine-chambered heart at the familiar humming and then the verifying sound—
Sssssssssssssssss-ONK!
—and then a terrifying CLAP! cracked in the air along with several blindingly bright flashes like a camera flash, only the light was a gooey green.
The open mouth of another Nectoport now hovered just before Krilid’s.
The grand figure moved forward, and the lightlike voice: “Grace be unto you, Krilid.”
“And you, too, Ezoriel.”
Try as he might, the more Krilid stared at the Fallen Angel’s face, the more impossible it was to actually see. He could see the tall, chiseled body and its toned muscles, plus the straps of armor, and even the burned stubs of Ezoriel’s long-gone wings sticking out over his shoulders. Just never the face.
The perfect Human hand reached over into Krilid’s Observation Port, proffering a small vial. “Fresh, distilled water for you, Krilid. I regret the paltry volume, but . . .”
Krilid’s eyes nearly popped out of his warped head from the delight. “Aw, wow, Ezoriel! Thanks!” He took the vial and gulped it down.
“Only seven ounces,” the Angel’s voice sparkled, “but just as Lucifer finds such nefarious function in the number of his name—six—blessed fortune is found in the perfect number, seven.”
Guess that means it’s good luck. Krilid nearly felt drunk from the immaculate water. “God, that’s good.”
“God—oh, yes. His gifts are great.” A pause in the auralike voice, then a sniffing sound. “You expended a round?”
“Yeah. Levatopus. The clouds are crawling with the things.”
“I believe it’s their egg-laying season. But have no fear. God protects those who serve him.” Next, the Angel’s unseen eyes seemed to veer toward the Hand of Glory. “Ah, you haven’t forgotten the necessity to be austere with your implements. God smiles upon such disciplines.”
Does he? Krilid wondered. Does he really? Does God even give a shit about me? “Sure, Ezoriel, but you know, I could use some more rounds for the pistol and rifles.”
Again, the Angel’s hand crossed the Port and handed Krilid exactly one gold bullet.
Krilid laughed. “Oh, don’t empty out the entire arsenal just for me!”
“I’m sorry I can’t provide more, my brave Troll. But we mustn’t be selfish, correct? We have many operations ongoing.”
Jeez. One lousy bullet to replace the one I just popped.
Ezoriel seemed suddenly concerned. “And . . . how many rounds have you expended from your rifle?”
“Oh, the seventy-seven calibers? None.”
“Blessing to you!” Ezoriel exclaimed. “You’re as conscientious as you are sure of eye!”
“But you haven’t even told me yet who you want me to snipe,” Krilid began his next complaint.
“That’s because you don’t yet have a need to know—”
“And you haven’t told me anything about this extraction target I’m supposed to pick up, or when it will happen.”
“Again, your need to know is not yet at hand. Krilid, Christ knew well in advance that he would be betrayed, apprehended, and crucified, yet he never told the Apostles. Why? Because they did not have a need to know. Had they been forewarned, God’s plan might’ve been tainted. Trust me, my brave friend. All will be made known when the time has come.”
Krilid frowned. “And who told you that? No, let me guess! Your unimpeachable authority?”
“You sound cynical, Krilid.