F - Boone's Archangels

Bishop Boone sat, alone, in his private study. Atop a teak
escritoire, in a decorative brass stand with tapered tripod base, an
incense candle smouldered. On the wall, in a gilded frame, was a
portrait by the late Armando Kendall. The plaque beneath read: 'His
Reverence Bishop M L Boone'. The face in the portrait bore a distinct
resemblance to the Boone in the centre of the room, but its hair was
russet and it was thicker about the jowls.

Bishop Boone was dressed in a white smock with the Ecclesiarchy
insignia embroidered on the cuffs. He sat on a plush, purple club
chair, chewing on a strand of sufi root. With half-lidded eyes, he
gazed into the middle distance, his expression slack, neutral. Behind
his right earlobe was a thin flesh-coloured disc about the size of a
dilated pupil.

"Uriel," he said, apparently to himself. "Uriel - report." A trebly
whispering came from the disc beneath his ear.

"Uriel reporting, your Reverence." Boone nodded very slightly.

"What is your status?" The Bishop's breathing was shallow, rhythmical.
He continued to chew on the black sufi root, grinding it between his
molars.

"I'm alone, your Reverence. The line is secure."

"Have you been successful?"

"Yes, your Reverence. I've procured a young female Internee from North
Central CGHQ. She's being detained in Holding Pen 3."

"How soon can the operation start? There are several other&;#8230;
threads being woven together, and I should not like to encounter
an&;#8230; impasse at this late stage - especially not under your
stewardship."

"Your anxiety is premature, Reverence. As soon as Dr Tomosaka and his
staff are ready, the operation will commence."

"Hmm&;#8230;" The Bishop stopped chewing for a moment, tapped his
tongue against the roof of his mouth. "You don't anticipate
the&;#8230; subject kicking up much of a stink?"

"No, Reverence. She's one hundred percent compliant. I told her she's
been infected by a virus, and that our staff will remove it."

Boone let out a droll, throaty chuckle.

"Very, very shrewd, Uriel. I see why you have no trouble preserving
your anonymity."

"Even from you, your Reverence."

"Yes&;#8230;" He had recommenced chewing. "Yes, even me."

"Thank you, your Reverence."

"Is the facility, uhh&;#8230; functioning as it should?"

"Yes, your Reverence. It seems Dr Tomosaka runs a tight ship."

"I see&;#8230; and what of our other&;#8230; friend? How is
his&;#8230; contribution taking shape?"

"He is still alive, Reverence."

"And his condition?"

"He has not slept for a week, your Reverence."

"Not at all?"

"Not at all. I've acquired the data from some cursory neurological
scans. I shall forward it immediately, but I suggest you contact Dr
Tomosaka directly for a more exhaustive analysis. I spoke to the
subject briefly&;#8230; he is in Holding Pen 2. He is&;#8230; not
lucid, your Reverence."

"Not lucid&;#8230;" repeated Boone, nodding. "Uriel, I want you to
remain at the facility to supervise the new subject's implanting. If
she recovers consciousness&;#8230;" He paused. "If she recovers
consciousness, inform me, then activate the shunts. I'll have Tomosaka
and his&;#8230; tuppenny-ha'penny lackeys removed,
post-haste."

"Of course, your Reverence."

"Your&;#8230; diligent service has been noted, Uriel. You show
flashes of enlightenment, from time to time. With your actions, you
draw towards you rewards both spiritual and material."

"I am your humble servant, Reverence."

The Bishop smacked his lips.

"That is all. Close channel, Uriel." The earpiece went silent. Bishop
Boone straightened up in his chair.

Masticating pensively, he pressed a thumb against the base of an
innocuous silver ring on the middle finger of his left hand. The door
swung open, and a man walked in, wearing a maroon tunic with the gold
Albion fleur-de-lis stitched into the breast. He was shorter and
younger of face than the Bishop, but with similarly thinning hair,
combed across an alabaster-white pate. Though he seemed at ease, he had
an attentive glint in his eyes.

"Yes, your Reverence?" The door swung shut behind him.

"Cleanthes," Bishop Boone said, "how long until my next engagement?" By
the door, there stood a small green-baize card table, an elliptical
pewter dish resting on top. Cleanthes took the dish by its handle,
wielding it like a gravy boat, and crossed to where the Bishop was
sitting.

"We ought to leave in the next quarter of an hour," Cleanthes said.
Partially concealed beneath the folds of his tunic, attached to his
belt, was comb-sized stun gun or 'Stormer' as they were colloquially
known. Theoretically, they were standard-issue for Church orderlies,
but in practice, there was something of a scramble to acquire one.
Cleanthes held out the pewter dish and Bishop Boone spat the viscous
black remnants of his sufi root into it. "You were having a
conversation, I trust?" he asked, smirking as he moved round behind the
Bishop and headed for the escritoire. The question elicited a
reciprocal smirk from Boone.

"Every&;#8230; pioneering statesman is entitled to his&;#8230;
Schutzstaffel." Cleanthes licked his thumb and forefinger and
extinguished the incense candle. "Many slumberers object to being
awoken by the flailing gestures of a bombastic, punctilious&;#8230;
demagogue such as myself."

Cleanthes laughed gently.

"You do yourself an injustice, Reverence."

"Now, now, be&;#8230; mindful, Cleanthes. He who exhalts himself
shall be humbled, and he who humbles himself shall be exhalted."

"Very true, your Reverence." As Cleanthes emptied and rinsed the dish
in a small basin, the Bishop frowned.

"Cleanthes," he said, "what is my next engagement, precisely?"

"You have arranged an informal 'meeting' at the Guchiyama Baths with Mr
Echigoya of the House of Miyamoto." He shut off the tap and shook the
dish dry. "I believe you plan to placate some of his concerns regarding
'errant' House employees and other&;#8230; mutually-sensitive
issues."

Bishop Boone scowled.

"An hour of fending off dull-witted, quasi-aggressive&;#8230;
incursions whilst maintaining a fa?ade of conviviality. The
sheer&;#8230; insincerity of Miyamoto and his ludicrous,
nostalgia-addled&;#8230; lapdogs makes me nauseous to my marrow.
Where&;#8230;" Boone glanced over his right shoulder to address his
servant, but Cleanthes had moved. He looked over his left instead.
"Where," he repeated, finding his mark, "is Tetsuo at the moment? Do we
know?"

Cleanthes seemed momentarily distracted by the portrait. It took him a
second or two to reply.

"It seems likely he is on the Continent, your Reverence." He turned
away from the painting and back to Bishop Boone. "Reports place him
presiding over a kendo tournament in New Byzantium&;#8230; but we
can't be sure."

"Toynbee's diocese," Boone spat. "The&;#8230; weasel! Oh, he's never
been afraid to flaunt his feudalistic&;#8230; proclivities whenever
he's thought it would garner him a few&;#8230; crumbs of favour with
the, the&;#8230; Mammonites."

Cleanthes dropped the pewter dish. It hit the carpet and split neatly
in two. Bishop Boone said nothing. He simply sat, his countenance
stormy and brooding. Cleanthes quietly bent down and retrieved the two
halves. "Give me five minutes alone," the Bishop told him, at last. "I
have business to attend to." Cleanthes was beginning to leave when
Boone added, as an afterthought: "And relight my candle."

He waited as Cleanthes crossed the room, retrieved an ignition bulb
from one of the escritoire drawers, and rekindled the wick.

"Thank you, your Reverence," he said as he left, giving a shallow,
ceremonial bow. Bishop Boone watched the door close, then reached up
and touched his earlobe with a look of concentration. He lowered his
hand, rested it on his knee, then said:

"Gabriel - report."