BOT: Maskirovka 7/20
Helen
"Necessity mother of invention, but sometimes step-mother of deception"
Charlie Chan's Secret
Korday finally emerged from the bathroom, and stripped off the damp,
bloodstained shirt. The bleeding had stopped, finally. Without comment,
Locke handed him a clean shirt.
'Was all that really necessary?' she asked. She couldn't see his face as he
half-grunted a reply, the shirt over his head.
'You read the reports.' He pulled the shirt down, and tucked it into his
waistband. His eyepatch had got tangled up in the laces, and he pulled it
free, throwing it onto the bed. 'Kastchei Bes-mertny, Lord of the Summer
Country, Master of the Wild Hunt of Breceliande. And damn the man, I forgot
he could hit that hard.' He pulled a black velvet waistcoat on over the
shirt and fastened it, leaving it open from neck to waist to contrast with
the white cravat that tumbled over the front of the light blue shirt. Over
white breeches and black boots, the effect was quite striking - at least,
below the neck: The dashing piratical look was somewhat spoilt by the heavy
scarring and the unflattering crewcut. He rummaged in a drawer for a new
eyepatch. 'I wish I'd planned this, but all in all, it could work out rather
well.'
'I don't understand,' Locke said, confused. 'Landside titles? What do they
have to do with this?'
'Aren't you getting changed?' he asked pointedly. With an irritated shake
of the head, she stripped off and headed for his bathroom. From the shower,
she heard him continue, over the falling water: 'The Wild Hunt, kiddo. Once
upon a time, our ancestors were faced with a war and were fast running out
of heroes to fight it - and being the kind of paranoid, amoral, arrogant,
morally bankrupt bastards that they were, they thought that using their
renegades and undesirables as shock troops was a good idea. They plundered
their prison planets, and offered an amnesty to the renegades still running
loose in the big wide universe. When the hapless bastards strolled back
home hoping for a warm welcome, they were put on ice and shipped out to the
experimental facilities. When one faction split and fled the war, the
process carried one of the prison planets with them. And in their wisdom,
they decided that in case any of their dangerous cargo of renegades,
criminals and experimental subjects escaped, they needed something to hunt
them down.
'Now obviously, if you've fragged around with someone's very volatile
time-sensitive biodata the way they did with most of the poor bastards still
in deep freeze back on Breceliande, then tracking 'em down and subduing 'em
isn't a matter for the faint hearted. It's not exactly easy either - some of
those experiments involved blending our biodata with that of the timeships.'
'So?'
'So they had abilities that allowed them some limited means of playing
around with time and space and all the bits in between. Hell, some weren't
even quite "real" any more. They created the Hunt to track 'em down and
bring 'em back - alive or dead. The hounds are cybrids - bio-engineered from
ordinary animal biodata and blended with timeship protocols in the
cauldrons. Then they added an extra component - something capable of
carrying a man with the hunt. A Cybrorse. Only that got a lot more of the
timeship - or what you'd call "dragon" - biodata. Once you give it a
"master", or pilot, you got yourself what amounts to a primitive
gestalt-form timeship, of sorts. Or you would if time-travel was possible
here, which it ain't. That's the hunt kiddo - a living, breathing weapon
designed to hunt down the type of creature that's loose on my station.'
'But he doesn't have the hunt with him,' Locke pointed out, emerging from
the shower dripping wet. Korday activated the drying field for her.
'Thanks.'
'Doesn't have to. After this long as Master of the Hunt, he'll have a nose
for it. And there's one of the hounds with him.'
'So that's your plan? You're going to recruit him to help locate that
missing "sleeper"?'
'Not exactly, but can you think of a better one?'
'No.' She looked around. 'I did leave something in your closet worth
wearing tonight, didn't I?' He handed her a golden trouser suit in a
shimmering fabric. 'Wow. This isn't mine.'
He shrugged. 'It's your size.'
'He'll never do it. Not for you.'
'Doesn't have to. We'll just. steer him away from it. Subtly.'
'You don't do subtle.'
'I know. Pity, that. He'll fall over it very quickly. But Kastchei has one
incorruptible vice that's been a constant his whole life, and it makes him
so predictable. Even if he suspects I'm trying to reel him in, he'll bite.
He can't help it. His curiosity - his need to follow through once he's got
the scent of a mystery - will drive him to it.'
'You might want to "mwahaha" on the end of that,' Locke told him. 'Can you
get this top button for me?'
He obliged. 'You think it's a little convoluted?'
'I think you're insane. He's a killer - your own report on him makes no
bones about that.'
'So am I. Doesn't seem to bother you much.'
'What if he turns on us?'
'Let me worry about that.'
His tone wasn't quite as matter-of -fact as usual, and Locke paused in the
act of pulling on her boots. 'You're not quite as cocky about all this as
you'd like me to think you are. What's the catch?'
He handed her a torc. 'The catch? The last time I saw him he was a howling
madman who'd spent years being tortured to the point of death and beyond.
There was nothing left - nothing recognisable - once Morgaine finished with
him.
'He was broken, Keely. Broken - body and soul. I'd have put good money on
it that whatever came back from that, it wouldn't have been what stood
before me today. Not given what he was to start with.'
The rare use of her given name was a measure of his concern. 'I read the
file. From psychopath to psychotic - and a few places I've never even heard
of. Didn't sound like the kind of man who'd lead a rebellion against an evil
tyranny...'
'Wanting the throne for himself is a good enough motive - and how much
blood was spilt during that campaign? Besides, it's easy to play at being a
hero when you're practically indestructible.'
'Am I supposed to make some sarcastic witticism at your expense at this
point?'
'Not unless you're planning to sleep alone tonight.'
Locke pulled a face at him, which he studiously ignored. 'So, altruism not a
big motivation for him then?' she asked.
'Not noticeably, although like most of us he can do a passable imitation.'
Korday shook his head. 'Maybe. I never bought his story about wanting to put
things to rights, although Yuri did. Doesn't make an awful lot of difference
to those who died either way.'
'So what's his angle this time?'
Korday stared past her, in the direction of the quest quarters. 'I have no
idea. I just hope we can use him and get him off the station before we get
caught up in it.'
'You don't need me to point out that this could co horribly wrong, do you?'
'Goes without saying, kiddo. Come on, time to sparkle. Dinner could be
interesting.'
The message left on the vates orb of the Prydwen had been quite explicit, as
well as unexpected. Kai cursed when he saw the encryption level, and entered
the correct key. Unscrambled, a darkened face appeared in the orb.
'Yes?'
'Don't you ever check your messages?' the hooded figure asked. It sighed.
'Never mind.'
'You weren't supposed to contact me,' Kai snarled. He slammed his fist down
on the table, and the orb jumped in its holder, making the image stutter. 'I
thought we'd agreed...'
'Plans change,' the hooded man said coldly. 'There's something you need to
know.'
Kai sat down heavily. 'This had better be good.'
'Good, hardly. You've got company, my Lord. Kastchei Bes-Mertny and
Vivienne of Avallion are on board the Dance. Looking for you, as it
happens.'
'Kastchei? Here?' Kai swore under his breath. 'So much for Calaitin's
assurances that he was too self-centred to get involved.'
'Self-interest, it seems, can include revenge,' said the dark man, a little
pithily. 'But this does change your plans slightly. Do you want me to deal
with him?'
Kai shook his head. 'No. The contingency we set in motion in case of
discovery will do as well for him as for any other. And better than that -
I've got an ace to play if he gets too close. Are you on the station?'
'For my sins, yes.'
'Don't risk your cover, we might still need you.' A thought struck him. 'If
Vivienne's here, where's Taliesin?'
'Gone to Orkadia, with Marius. That much of the plan worked, at least.'
There was a hesitant note in the speaker's voice.
'Getting cold feet?'
'I didn't expect him to take Marco. I was supposed to go with him,
remember?'
'Is this a problem?' Kai asked coldly. There was no reply. 'I asked you a
question - remember your place, Master Starkadh.'
'No. It's not a problem,' the hooded man replied quietly.
'Remember that,' Kai snapped. 'Remember who owns you, songbird. I'll
contact you if I need you.' He severed the connection with a wave of his
hand, and sat back in his chair, hands steepled in front of his face,
resting his chin on the tips of his fingers.
-----
In his quarters, Devin slid the tiny orb back into the concealed compartment
in the body of his guitar, and stared helplessly at the instrument. He
replaced it carefully in its case, and walked over to look in the mirror on
the far side of the room. The face looking back at him was his own - every
curve, every line, every scar. Shoulder length black hair, curling slightly
in the slight humidity of the station. Blue eyes, a chin perhaps a little
too pointed hidden by a neatly trimmed beard. Everything as it should be.
Abruptly, he stripped off his coat and shirt, and stood looking at his bare
chest. His hand strayed of its own accord to the place where his left-hand
heart beat. The skin was smooth, unblemished. He looked up into the eyes of
his reflection.
'I'm not likely to forget, my lord.'
'So, we're in the vault - finally - and there's one door left to get
through. Now, I figure we can just blast the damn thing open, and have done
with it, but your boy here thinks otherwise. He wants to do it sneaky-like,
and so he grabs one of the guards and does his thing: "you will obey me,
look into my eyes and tell me how to get it open". Something like that. Now
at this point, we've got past all the wards, the security's been blown wide
open, all we need to do is get the door open and we're home free, with
enough money to fund the damn rebellion for the next decade. Except next
thing I know, we're picking pieces of this guy out of our hair.'
Korday leaned over the table, laughing. He jabbed his fork in Kastchei's
direction. 'Laughing boy there didn't realise they'd primed the guards
against being tampered with.' he tapped his head. 'Turns out, if we'd blown
the bloody doors off like I wanted, we'd have been home free. Instead, Mr
"I'm too clever for my own britches over there" gets two of us killed
blasting a way out, and we're on the run for the next two years from the
bloody syndics that owned the bank.'
'It wasn't quite like that,' Kastchei replied through slightly gritted
teeth.
Korday grinned. 'Who's telling this?'
'Someone who should learn when to keep his mouth shut,' Kastchei snapped.
Korday raised the eyebrow above his good eye and smirked at Vivienne.
'Touchy, isn't he?'
'Only when baited,' she replied. 'Can't you two just play nicely?'
Korday poured her another glass of wine. 'Now where would be the fun in
that?'
Devin, a little left out at the end of the table, stood up. 'If you'll
excuse me?'
Korday waved him away. Vivienne gave the bard a woeful smile, and he just
shook his head slightly. Whatever was eating him, she thought, was starting
to erode his normally ebullient nature, as well as affect his judgement.
Noting the sharp look Kastchei gave him, he'd seen it as well.
Vivienne stood up. 'Gentlemen - if you'll excuse me for a moment?' She gave
Locke a questioning girl-to-girl look.
'I'll go with you,' Locke said, standing. 'I'm sure we can leave them alone
for a bit without minders.'
With the women gone, Korday pushed back his chair, and reached for a bottle
on top of a nearby cupboard. 'I'm not sure I shouldn't send someone after
them to listen in,' he said, pouring a generous measure into a glass. 'Does
anyone know why they always have to go in there mob-handed? You have to
wonder what they're so afraid of. And what they talk about.' He handed a
glass to Kastchei, and downed another one himself in one swallow. Kastchei
sniffed the glass warily and set it down. 'Too strong for you?'
Kastchei took a sip and gagged. 'Do you drink this as penance?'
Korday grinned. 'You know me so well. Refill?'
'I'll pass. I've not been that sinful of late.'
Korday laughed. 'I find that hard to believe.'
Kastchei answered with a bleak smile. 'What's the angle, Sieg? Playing the
genial host isn't usually your style.'
'Anymore than playing the hero is yours? And I'd thank you to be careful
where you bandy that name around. Siegfried Sigmundson still has a very
large price on his head in some parts.'
Kastchei raised the glass and saluted him. 'I'll think about it. I do hope
you've been looking after my station for me.'
'Your station?' Korday raised his eyebrow. 'I think you'll find possession
is nine-tenths of the law, Kastchei. Besides, you just converted it, as I
recall.'
Kastchei put the glass down, its contents untouched. 'Well if Merlin was
going to just leave it lying around, I wasn't going to argue. There was a
certain satisfaction to be gained by subverting something he'd worked so
hard to create.'
'Does that explain the girl?' Korday asked slyly. Kastchei didn't answer.
'She's not your type, otherwise - far too petite and innocent. And not at
all the kind of power-hungry, amoral, rip-your-balls-out by the bleeding
roots bitch you usually hang around with.'
'Remind me, was it your mistress who spilled her guts to your wife about
your weaknesses prior to talking his brother-in-law into running him through
from behind with a hell-spear, or the other way around?'
'Can you still use that thing?' Korday asked, waving the empty glass in his
hand at Kastchei's sword, propped up against the wall. Kastchei smirked
slightly, enjoying Korday's sudden discomfort.
'Maybe. Care to test it sometime?'
'Anytime. I tend to take my practice sessions in the pits in the early
morning. Good sparring partners are hard to find, but I'll give you a
handicap if you want a bout.'
'I'll take you as I find you,' Kastchei said coldly. The women re-entered
the room, and he drained the glass in one gulp, and stood up. 'If you'll
excuse me, it's been a long day?'
'So much to do, so little time to be furtive,' Korday quipped. 'Try not to
outsmart yourself, Kit - I owed you one life for saving my ass way back
when, but you've called in all your markers now. I'll stay out of your way
if you keep this low profile, but that's all. I have to do business in this
region of space after you've gone, after all.'
'Alec, you have my word that when I'm done, your reputation will be the
very least of your worries,' Kastchei replied over his shoulder as he left.
In the corridor Vivienne trotted to keep up with his longer stride. 'What
was all that about?'
'Macho posturing, what else?' he replied lightly, but she could have sworn
his teeth were grinding. 'What did you two find to talk about?' he asked in
return.
Vivienne shrugged. 'Oh, the usual. Girl talk.' At his interrogative
sideways look, she grinned. 'Men, of course - what else?'
-----
Their orders had been specific, and finding the right subject had been easy
enough. Terrified, almost frozen with fear, the little girl lay huddled
against the wall, staring watchfully at her captors, almost radiating her
terror. All that remained were the wards, and Oberon's men watched uneasily
as Eliavres glided around the chosen ground. Hardened as they were, the
sorcerer had an evil reputation on the station. Rumour had it that if you
crossed Oberon, it was Eliavres you ended up dealing with, and the sorcerer
was always in need of fresh material for his biotechnomantic experiments.
The area chosen was a small nexus of corridors opening onto a circular
plaza in the lower reaches of the Starstone. A little close to Korday's base
of operations, but when the Captain had pointed that out, Oberon had simply
laughed. The Captain squared his shoulders as the sorcerer approached, and
shrugged mentally. What the hell - if the syndics wanted to get a little
antsy, it just meant more work, and a chance for a little overtime.
The child at his feet whimpered, and he growled at her, forcing her even
further into her curled up terror. Whatever Oberon and Eliavres had in mind
for her, he hoped he wouldn't be expected to hang around. He couldn't stand
the sound of crying, it just got on his nerves.
'The wards are set, Captain,' Eliavres said silkily. 'You and your men may
withdraw to a safe position. He knelt down at the side of the little girl -
no more than eight or nine, and smiled reassuringly at her. 'You can go,' he
told her.
She looked up at him, wide-eyed, uncomprehending, and the Captain saw the
mage smile warmly, and hold out his hand. 'Go on, child,' he heard the mage
say softly. 'Run.'
The command was enough: the little girl got to her feet and ran unsteadily
towards the concourse, sobbing with relief. But far from home, alone, and
scared, she could only wander helplessly through the thoroughfare, in a
place where no-one wanted to get involved. Other peoples' lost children had
no place down here, and her tearful pleas to passersby were ignored.
Eliavres, watching from the sidelines, had to intervene when an
opportunistic pimp knelt by the child, false sympathy on his face, and the
child watched as the only person who'd paid her any attention got to his
feet and wandered off looking dazed, ignoring her cries.
Keeping out of sight, warded against sight, sound and mind, the mage
watched, and waited and followed. If Oberon's information was right, the
creature would soon strike.