Chapter Thirty-Eight

The boat rocked gently against the waves as Aeron watched England drift further away. Now, the city was little more than a distant dot on the horizon. As he sat there leaning over the railing, Zia handed him a small thermos full of water. "You do know that Angels don't need to drink, right?" he said as he took the thermos. It was cold as ice.

"Good point, but you know what they say—it's the thought that counts." As the two stood there awkwardly staring at the ocean, Zia's eyes darted around the rest of the ship. This was the only vessel sailing to France for weeks. Tourists, businessmen, and refugees filled every nook and cranny. The deck itself was separated into three sections segregated by class. Those with the money to spend received lavish cabins on the top floor. The middle section—where they were—was more of a fancy waiting room than an actual passenger deck. Old leather couches lined the walls, and near the back was a small bar. They could hear the drunken laughter before they even stepped on board. Finally, the most populated floor was the ship's undercarriage. That was where the refugees and general populace spent their time. It was nothing but a collection of wooden benches and cramped bathrooms, but it got the job done.

"Where have your two guard dogs run off to?" he asked as he watched a group of children dash around the cabin below. Around that time, he noticed the line: Elizabeth and Kashif had set up a makeshift clinic and were giving the refugees free first aid.

"They're saints, those two," Zia told him as she rested her head atop one of her outstretched hands. "Elizabeth may be a bit rough around the edges, and Kashif may seem quiet, but they are honestly the kindest two souls I've met during my time in Heaven." She smiled as she watched Kashif wrap a bandage around an older woman's injured arm. The patience and care he gave to every person he saw was heartwarming. Elizabeth was also doing her part and was checking the refugees' children for any signs of disease.

"They seem to be much better at that than when we first came here," Aeron added as he took in a deep breath of the salty sea air.

"I'm telling you, they're natural learners. Give them a subject and a day to study, and they'll become experts by morning," Zia proudly announced as her hair danced in the ocean breeze. Aeron laughed—he had to admit, they were impressive.

"It honestly makes me curious to find out what they were like before you happened upon them." He knew that Elizabeth and Kashif both suffered from amnesia. For them, not knowing their past must've been genuinely irritating.

"I know… it's maddening, isn't it?" Zia mumbled as she waved her hand in frustration. "I don't know how they stand it." Her theory was that they just got used to it, but that didn't seem to fit Elizabeth and Kashif's personalities. Those two were always hungry for answers, and not even amnesia could change that fact.

"Well… that's their problem," Aeron started. "So, let them deal with it." It wouldn't be right for them to go prodding into their past lives. Granted, that must've sounded rich coming from him—a judge—but that was the truth. "Have they ever asked you about their history?" Zia shook her head. They had some questions when they first arrived in Heaven, but besides that, nothing.

"I know they're curious, but neither of them ever brought it up." Honestly, she was starting to get a bit worried. After all, it was only natural for a person to want to know about their past. For Kashif and Elizabeth, however, that need was completely missing.

"Ms. Lombardi!" Zia heard Elizabeth call from down below. "Do you think you could give us a hand? It's getting a bit crowded!" The ambassador grinned and nodded as she headed for the nearest flight of stairs.

"Hey, Templar, aren't you coming? I thought Angels were supposed to be healers," she said, half-serious, as Aeron scoffed.

"You should know by now that my values differ from my brothers and sisters. I'm a judge—healing isn't my job." Now it was Zia's turn to roll her eyes. Without waiting for Aeron's response, she grabbed the Cherub's hand and practically dragged him down the steps.

"If you don't want to help, that's fine, but we should at least attempt to stay together. You never know when we might be attacked." There was strength in numbers, after all. By the time they made it down to the lower decks, the lines the bodyguards had amassed were simply incredible.

"Over here, you two!" the girl called out while giving medicine to a sick child.

"Thank you so much. I'm not sure how we can ever repay you," the kid's mother said as she reached into her purse, no doubt looking for her wallet. However, before she could even take it out, Kashif smiled and stopped her.

"There's no need for that, ma'am," he told the woman as he motioned for the next person in line. "We're doing this because we want to. There's no need for you to pay us." With that out of the way, Kashif turned to his partner and tapped her shoulder. "Hey, Elizabeth, I've got another one for you," he continued as a middle-aged man sat down next to him. He looked tired and had deep shadows under his eyes. Once Elizabeth was finished curing her patient, she turned to the man and began her inspection.

"Kashif is amazing with his hands, so he's usually the one who does the more intensive first aid such as stitches and the like. Elizabeth is the brains of the operation," Zia explained as she walked up to Kashif and handed him her thermos.

"Go ahead and have a drink; you must be thirsty," she said as the bodyguard gladly gulped down the cool liquid. "Here, Elizabeth, you take one too."

"Are you friends of these medics?" one of the refugees asked as they sat down for treatment.

"I'm like their boss," the ambassador said as she pointed to Aeron. "And he's just a stray that's along for the ride." The refugee laughed as he turned to Aeron and shook his hand.

"Listen, pal, your friends are great people. Never let them go," he told him as Elizabeth placed a stethoscope over his heart. After a few moments, she instructed him to open his mouth and forced his tongue down with a small wooden spatula.

"Where are you guys from?" Aeron asked. If he was going to be stuck here for the rest of their voyage, he might as well try to drum up some conversation. He guessed that most were French, judging by their thick accents.

"Ah," the refugee started, "this group and I are all from a small little village on England's coast. Originally, most of us were farmers near France's border with Germany. Most of us still have relatives there, so we're planning on meeting up with them before we head west to America." Aeron nodded as he took a seat next to the man.

"So, you're all trying to escape to a neutral country, is that it?" The man chuckled as he nervously scratched his head. It seemed that he was right on the money.

"You've got us there," he admitted. "None of us are fighting types, so we're running away. I wish I could put it differently, but that's the truth." Aeron smiled. Honest men like this were hard to come by.

"Running is always an option. So long as you and those you care about survive, you can all keep looking towards the future. It's better to do that and survive than stay behind and die." When he said that, the man turned to him, his eyes wide, and grinned.

"I'm glad to see you're a man of reason. Sadly, people like you seem to be in short supply these days. I swear all of these war-hungry bastards in the government are going to be the death of us." That refugee didn't know how right he was. In the past, Aeron found that most deadly wars were sparked not by the people but by a select group of individuals. Even if the person in power was a kind soul, that fact never changed. That's just how mortal societies worked. Although he wasn't really in the position to talk down on them for that—Heaven had quite a similar structure in some ways.

"Even if my kin won't admit it, that lust for power is a constant truth across all realms," Aeron thought as some seawater splashed over the deck and onto his face. Immediately afterward, a ray of light seeped through the clouds and momentarily blinded him. He rubbed his aching eyes, looked up, and chuckled. "Heh, am I being a bit too real for you, Yahweh? They are your creations, after all." Just like how a painting could serve as a reflection of its artist's heart, mortals served as a window into the Almighty's soul. Or, at least, that's how he saw it. By the time he could see again, Elizabeth and Kashif had gotten through nearly half of the line. "They've picked up the pace, haven't they?" he pondered as he leaned against a slightly rusty railing.

"Elizabeth took care of the patients with the most extreme conditions first. Now, this crowd is mostly healthy." Besides a few people with a scrape or two—who Kashif was currently in the process of bandaging—the rest of the refugees passed them by without a hitch. When Elizabeth finished treating the final person, she cheered and jumped into the air.

"I'm surprised you still have this much energy," Aeron told her as she packed up her tools and medical supplies. Some of them wouldn't be invented by mortal hands for another few decades. If they were still connected to the Bureau, he did not doubt that Elizabeth would've been reprimanded by now. "Be careful where you use those. We don't want someone stealing them." All it would take is one little mistake, and the mortals would have their medical technology jump forward at a mind-boggling pace. Thankfully, the people they had been healing were just simple farmers, so none of them seemed to notice.

"Yes, yes, I know. I promise that I'll be careful." Aeron scoffed. In this situation, he didn't trust Elizabeth as far as he could throw her.

"I'll make sure that she doesn't flash her toys," Zia said as she placed a hand on the girl's shoulder. "But, for now, I'll give her a pass. You and Kashif did well to help all those people. Some might even call you Angelic." Aeron wasn't sure if the ambassador was serious or if she was trying to prod him in his pride.

"You're going to have to try harder if you want to insult me," he scoffed as he headed back to the main stairwell. "I'm going back up. If I must wait, I'd rather do it on a couch than some old bench."

"Hmm… as charming as ever," Zia nodded as she followed the Cherub. "I'm coming with you," she said. "I have a few questions that I want to ask the crewmembers." Thanks to the war, their ship was running behind schedule. She planned to ask someone how far they were from the next port. As she climbed up the steps, she turned around and stared at the ocean. For a moment, she felt a chill go up her spine. "How many of those monstrosities are swimming around in these waters?" It would be years before she could fully trust the sea again. Hopefully—by the end of all of this—she'd have the answer to that question, as well as many others. "Aeron, tell me, what do you think of the kelpies?" She wanted to hear what the Templar thought about discovering an entirely new species.

"Well, if I'm being honest, I'm shocked. I can't believe that those things came out of Yahweh's head." The man upstairs thought creating those abominations was a good idea somewhere along the line. And then—to make matters worse—he forgot to tell any of his judges about them. "When I get back to the Bureau, I'll be sure to have a nice long chat with the Minister about those creatures," he hissed. New species like that weren't something that could go on undocumented. Not only could they cause trouble for judges during later rehabilitations, but if they suddenly decided to start hunting mortals, that could be a problem. Hell was already full enough as is. They didn't need horrific sea monsters gumming up the works.

"Do you think we should get Jeremy a sample of their blood or something before we leave?" Zia asked. "I mean, he is the leader of the research team." Aeron shrugged. He didn't see a need for them to go that far. As long as he knew they existed, he was sure that Jeremy would figure something out. Even though he despised the man, he had to admit that his sheer intelligence and ingenuity were simply incredible.

"Let's worry about that hurdle when we get there." Right now, they needed to focus on the goal at hand.

"Yes, don't worry, I know." She wasn't stupid—the Scale had to come first. However, they would be foolish not to research the kelpies in at least some capacity. They were, after all, an entirely new type of creature. As the two continued their ascent to the upper decks in silence, Zia turned around and took one last look at the ocean. The greyish clouds which hung over the horizon were now stained the color of blood by the setting sun. "What a bad omen."

Two years ago...

If there's one part of the rehabilitation process that I despise in particular, it's these last few years. At this point, I already know that this world will require some thorough cleaning. However, I'm required to spend two more years observing the mortals. And—if I'm so inclined—encourage them down the proper path. However, this rule is more of a tradition than anything useful. A judge's purpose is to go to a realm and observe, not to try and change its residents' fate. Plus, even as a judge, attempting to reform an entire populace by myself is simply a fool's errand. The few times I've tried, I always failed. Unless I used my gavel to directly change their personalities—which goes against several of the Bureau's codes and regulations—mortals always seemed to gravitate back towards sin.

I can't blame them, though. Not with the horrid conditions that most live in, constantly dragging them back towards their more… primal… instincts. However, my job isn't to make their lives better. My job is simply to decide if they're following the Almighty's will, which these people sadly are not.