EVERTTHING HERE CONTAINS MATURE THEMES. Home for random fiction, transferred here from allnightsong2. NFSW. 18+ please. Stories may have have (will likely have) sexual content and disturbing imagery.
His brother waited too long. The fascists were very clear about the extent to which they would further impose legal persecution and discrimination. It was, in the end, sadly ironic that his brother's name was Justice, since he received no such thing from the government. To the very end Justice, unlike his younger brother, had believed in the common decency of people and had kept a faith in the rules of law.
He had been called to the hospital to identify his brother's body so that the Ministry of Population Registration could properly record the death and remove his brother from the census rolls. Because he was familiar with his brother's circles of acquaintance and because the administratos, like all government officials, were lazy and unconcerned with how the job was done, he had been required to identify a further dozen victims.
Without exception it was horrific. These men had been tortured and beaten to death. For the unforgivable crime of being homosexual. Justice and his mate Corbin had been barely recognizable. Their friends hadn't fared much better. So he did what they demanded and then went home to tell his mother that her eldest son was dead, murdered by the country that he had continued to have undue faith in.
The kommissar had wanted, quite obviously so, to impose guilt through association upon him. Unfortunately for that murderous sadist, unlike his brother Haven Culyagaer was of clear value to the government. He was a skilled machinist and lathe operator and with the country's industrial output clearly gearing up for war, his profession and certified level of skill made him more use alive than as a 'warning'.
Haven saw only a dark future ahead. He had no faith in the government, his country, or his fellow citizens, but that didn't matter. His mother had suffered loss enough already. He wouldn't bring her more pain. Not as long as his actions were still his own.
.
"You know you're enabling the enemy, Havv? You make the guns that will kill people just like us!"
"Shut the hell up, Cirro! What is wrong with you?"
"Well it's true! Staiigher Forgeworks makes the Mk17GP machineguns and..."
"Yes, and Ruhfler Mills, where you work, makes the cloth that will be made into the uniforms that will be worn by those killers you just mentioned!'
"That's different! Clothes don't kill!"
"No? Well naked soldiers don't fight wars!"
"Bloody goddamn hell! 'They're Always Watching', 'They're Always Listening'! Those aren't just fucking slogans for the fucking posters! Are you in a rush to be murdered as well? They'll call you terrorists or insurgents! There are no martyrs or heroes unless the government decrees it!"
"Haven, at least think about Ursula!"
"Shut! Up! Shut the bloody fucking well up! You utter ass! He buried his brother yesterday!"
Haven looked at his friends and couldn't say what he saw. Because he knew what they all, every last one including him, would look like if they were arrested and charged with "activities indicating an anti-patriotic sentiment". There would be no court nor trial. If you were arrested you were guilty. They wouldn't arrest you if you were innocent. That was the new narrative. That's how it was. The Grand and Exalted Leader made no mistakes. By default, those who served in His Name made no mistakes either. They carried out The Will of His Greatness. Mistakes were what traitors called swift and just punishment.
"Haven, my comrade, my deepest sympathy and please ignore Cirro. He's worried they'll redesignate his job as non-exempt under the expansion of conscription."
"I know, Rupp. I know. He's an ass, but he's OUR ass." Haven said and smiled at Ruprecht Brennering. The older man was the moral and emotional anchor of their group. Rupp knew how it had been. The man saw more than the others. "They want to start a war but keep putting out directives that declare that half the population aren't 'true citizens'. If they listen to themselves it's going to be a small army, not capable of defeating anyone."
"That will change the day they declare war. Mark my words." Rupp said as he prepared his pipe. The older man's job on the docks provided him the luxury of tobacco. "The very day it starts they will proclaim that it is the duty of all to protect the Fatherland and carry it forward to glorious victory."
"They've done it before?"
"They've done it before."
"And it will work again?"
"Of course it will work again. We aren't allowed to remember the past." Rupp said after matching his pipe and drawing it to life. "I remember because I had already left school before the new history was created. They'll put the people who aren't 'true citizens' into units led by fanatics who will spend lives like water. People like us will bleed so that people like them won't have to."
"You say that aloud after what you just said to Cirro?"
"Yes. I do." Rupp said and patted Haven's shoulder. "But I say it quietly and to a man that I know I can trust."
.
"Clagger! What church do you attend?"
Haven turned the water off in the work sink and quickly toweled his short cut hair before straightening. "Church? No church, boss. Church is for people who want to give money away, not make it."
"You weren't raised religious?" The foreman pressed and kept back. He was, unlike Haven, neither sweaty nor filthy. "Your folks didn't follow the Word?"
"I was raised to respect hard work. Not the beggars promising heaven to all these lazy damn drains upon society." Haven said with the appropriate amount of fervor. He didn't have to believe the words in order to mean them. "People with enough time for church but not enough time to work for their keep? No, boss. Got no use for that kind!"
"You're a proper one, Clagger. It's good to know that you're reliable." The foreman said and did a slow look around to make sure none were lurking near. "Well, we are going to have extra shifts for Sunday work coming up soon. I'm guessing you're interested. It will pay time-plus. Can I put you down for it?"
"Time-plus? Oh, please do! I definitely want the work!" Haven said as he tossed the dirty towel into the laundry bag by the sink. "I appreciate you thinking of me and giving me the opportunity, boss!"
"I'll put you on the list, comrade. I'm pleased to see that you have the proper patriotic attitude." The foreman said and made a mark upon the clipboard that he held. "I know you know better than to tell others of your luck."
"It's none of their business what is said as you to me." Haven said and saluted the foreman with a fist held to his chest. "Thank you for the honor boss!"
"You're welcome, comrade. Now then, well, enjoy your evening. But not too much. I know that you always arrive on time ready to work. That's a virtue. Don't turn away from it!"
"Never, boss!" Haven said and saluted the foreman and held it until the man nodded and turned away, but then a bit longer as well.
'They're Always Watching'.
Haven Culyagaer knew without a doubt that it was, as Rupp had said, the truth and not merely an empty slogan.
.
"Comrade. The hounds on ya?:
"No. Just a small dog." Haven said to a machinist he only knew by sight. The night shift was entering through the gates as the day shift crowded through the exit turnstiles. "No teeth touched me."
"Luck on you." The man said and let it be. The code of the workers was subtle but clear. You never asked just what a comrade had done to draw the attention of bosses, or what they had been told.
Small dogs just yapped. Noise without consequences. It happened all the time. Actual mistakes meant being censured or written up. Being bit. Anything else? Anything a boss told you that wasn't announced to all? You didn't talk of those things ever. 'Dispensing information that could potentially create dissatisfaction amongst workers' was a crime originally targeted at union organizers and political activists. Now it covered anything that management saw as having even the smallest chance of fomenting dissent or resistance to orders.
Haven looked at the inbound shift. Dressed in well worn but clean overalls. All those leaving wore grease and oil stains held in place by their own overalls. Every day was the same. Every day the evidence of who did the real work, who made the factory run and be productive, was on display at dawn and dusk. Every payday the proof of who held actual value was illustrated by the paymaster.
But everyone wearing overalls knew the truth. The world was not theirs and never would be.
"You hear the latest? Ozziristan is threatening tariffs and sanctions!"
"Sanctions for what? And how they gonna impose tariffs when they don't import anything from us? I suppose you believe that utter shite that someone tried to assassinate our ambassador too!"
"It was in the news!"
"We withdrew our ambassador three weeks ago! You ignorant child! How's that work? They tried to assassinate him outside the embassy there while he was here! How's that work then?"
Haven ignored the forbidden talk. Government minders had given up trying to spy on Five Martyrs Square. Cameras were destroyed on the same day they were installed. Listening posts lost power, making their microphones worthless. Even the dreaded Black Watch didn't venture into this neighborhood. This was an industrial workers residential zone. The citizens here were valuable, or at least valuable enough to prevent the usual mass crackdown.
Additionally this area was "Home" to smugglers, thieves, drug dealers and pimps. All with their own highly effective networks of information. Then there was the fact that the criminals provided services that worked as distractions to a population that had very valid reasons for anger and violence. If the government made the mistake of seeing that they were given nothing to do but think on it all.
"The guv is trying to alienate the Ozziris from their allies. So if we declare war the alliance treaties won't be honored. This ain't about bloody economics! It's about finding any excuse to start a war!"
"They're the ones provocating!"
"That's not even a word, you absolute imper! Why would they do all this shite the state news is claiming? What's the purpose? What's for them to gain?"
Haven stood within "guilt proximity" of sedition and treason. He didn't care. Wasn't worried in the least because there was no place of guaranteed safety for an average citizen. Not even in the military or government ministries. Just the prior fall there had been The Purge of Reactionary Dissidents. Thousands had been arrested in every branch and at every level of government and hundreds had been executed.
War was coming. That was not in doubt. The government broadcasted pronouncements that declared the growing threats that nobody outside of the government saw or understood. This wasn't new. It wasn't anything that hadn't happened before. All he could do was do his job, do it well, and make himself of value that way.
At the moment he stood, in a cold evening with snow just beginning to fall, waiting for his love. She was his purpose. His belief. His only true allegiance was to her. Everything else deserved only that part of him that wore the mask necessary for the moment. She was the only truth that he knew.
"Comrade, do you have any tobacco?"
"Sorry brother, no. Excuse me!" Haven said and, having spied his sole hope, began working his way through the crowd. There was a pattern to the chaos. The vendors stalls weren't as haphazard as they appeared to be to an outsider. The pattern was different on the ground than it appeared from above. Security forces attempting a raid would find pursuit impossible while the very deliberate confusion would appear totally random.
They came together near a sausage vendor. He hadn't eaten since morning but didn't notice the savory smell of the goods on offer. All his senses were fixed upon her. Her dark hair was mostly tucked up beneath the wool cap he'd had made for her. She wore the parka trimmed in rabbit fur that he'd saved six months to buy. Her eyes were as deep brown as coffee and just as warm.
"Haven my heaven!" She said and then they were embracing and his world was balanced perfectly. "My darling, how are you not half frozen in that coat! We need to get you better!"
"It's warmer than it looks." He lied as he breathed in her scent and savored the silken touch of her hair against his cheek. "Gods, you smell good!"
"As do you."
"Nonsense! I reek of oil and grease!"
"You always do. But I smell you beneath it." She said and he believed. Because he believed everything that Ursula Sergionova said. She was his goddess. "Do you want to hear about Mirrabella now, or should it wait?"
"Mirrabella Kaslauskienè?" He said and reluctantly stepped back a pace. "Is she alright? What's going on?"
"Her sister Kyriena has went missing. And it doesn't appear to be the government's doing." Ursula said and bestowed a quick kiss upon his lips. "Her flat was ransacked. Everything of any value was taken. Including gloves and scarves. That's something that state security agents always overlook in their looting."
"She the one who preferred dating married men?"
"Sadly, yes."
"Maybe she attracted the attention of an anti-decadence committee. Or the Moral Enforcers. Except they prefer to make public examples." He said and with a force of will kept his attention on the topic and not fixated on his beloved. "Rauthheiner, who works a press near me, he has a cousin who's with the Perversion Prevention Vigilance Force. He says they've been getting bold. Government is ignoring their work."
"Is your comrade a supporter?"
"Johann? No! He's a decent fellow. His mother's side seems to tend to extremism though." He said and barely heard the cathedral bells ringing the hour. His whole world was but a single step away. "Where does Kyriena live?"
"Goldenrod Hill. I think on Rookers Avenue." Ursula said and took his hand in hers. "Let's walk. You look half frozen."
"I don't feel cold at all. You're my fire. You are my summer sun. All I feel is happy."
"That's not what your red cheeks and nose say. Hey now! Watch the wandering hands, mister!" She said but clung to the hand of the arm now around her waist. "Caitlyn is staying with her parents for another week. Would you like dinner first or..."
"Food can wait. I need you. Now and always!" He said and truly felt not the least bit cold. "Thank god you live on the first floor now! I forgot my gloves. Climbing a fire escape would be torture."
"That you would gladly endure."
"Absolutely."
"I'm starting to think you might actually love me."
"Thoughts are unreliable." He said and smiled like he did for no other. "Deeds are proof. And I intend to prove myself all night."
"I'm going to hold you to that." She said and there was no city, no looming war, no fears or danger. There was only her.
.
"Someday we'll get that residency permit." He whispered some hours after midnight. "We won't have to wait for a roommate to be elsewhere. Nor sneak through windows or up back stairs."
"And then you'll grow tired of me and realize that...what are you doing?"
"Will you marry me?" He asked gently as he knelt next to the bed and offered up his open hands to her. "When the restrictions are lifted will you be mine? Will you be my wife?"
"You're serious!" She said with eyes wide and a stunned look upon her face. "You said that you didn't believe in any government mandated institutions!"
"I believe in you. In us. I believe that you are forever in my heart and I want to be yours." He said and kept his hands open and waiting. "I don't care about morality or the declarations of church or state. I want to marry you so that all the world will know that I am yours."
"Haven Lugan Culyagaer. Yes. I will marry you. You are the only man I have ever wanted, needed, truly loved." She said and placed her hands in his. He closed his fingers around her warmth and was filled with a joy unlike anything he had ever known. "Ursula Culyagaer. I like how that sounds. Very much."
"Not as elegant as Ursula Sionessen Sergionova, but I can't legally take your name."
"My mother's ghost is probably absolutely gobsmacked. She said you'd never do it."
"She expected me to propose after the second date." He said and let joy become bliss. "As though I could have if I'd wanted to."
"Let's save talking for the morning." She said and gently pulled on his hands. "I'd like more of those deeds please."
"Brother, best watch your path. Yuroslav has noticed you're not coming home every night. That little prick is a biter who will sell you easy!"
"Thank you Tranh. I appreciate you." Haven said as he finished returning his tools to the crib. Stoyanov the inventory clerk was safe to talk in front of. The man was deaf and blind in one eye and hated having to work in the same factory that had caused his misfortune. "He should watch himself as well. We know how he pays his rent."
"Yes, well Mr. Sindik has an uncle in Internal Reporting. Accusing your landlord is risky. If you don't get photos of those two together you'll be the one arrested for creating antisocial slander." Tranh Vin Cho said with the certainty of a man who, being always suspect, knew all the layers of the watchers. "Božinovski tried to turn in that little weasel Juroslav when he was bending for Khayrullin and nobody knows where he is now. Probably re-educated. They're always watching, comrade."
"I have an application in and a conditional waiver. I'm not exceeding the legal limits." Haven said and stepped back into the corridor. "I'll be careful all the same. Bless you, comrade."
"I don't need blessings. Just don't feed the vultures." Tranh said as they headed towards the exit gate. "I like you. You never give me extra work. You do proper set up."
"I take pride in my work. Besides, you're kept busy enough with these clumsy idiots come every retool." Haven said and they both grinned. Too many of their comrades lacked skill. Or common sense. "I may be coming into some whiskey, if luck holds. Interested?"
"Only if you'll drink with me."
"Deal." Haven said and hoped his luck would indeed hold.
.
"Pavlov, I'm not asking you to risk your name. You know people in Goldenrod Hill. I just need to know how dangerous it will be if I go asking on a friend."
"Havvs, I know you're a careful man, but you don't have friends on the Hill and strangers aren't welcome. Especially if they ask questions." Pavlov said and looked equal parts embarrassed and upset. The electrician was a good man and normally helpful by nature. "Things are unsettled. Something is going on up there and nobody says what it is but it can't be good!"
"That's what worries me." Haven admitted and chose to trust the other. "My woman's best friend has a sister that went missing on the Hill. The authorities aren't investigating. They're claiming she was a sex worker that crossed her pimp and has fled and went into hiding."
"She's not the type?"
"No. Not at all."
"Give me her name. I'll ask and see if I can get the temper." Pavlov said and grunted when Haven embraced him. "No promises. If the locals agree with guv I won't get any more than that."
"But if they don't?"
"I'll get a name for you. Someone trustworthy to contact."
"Thank you, comrade!"
"You can show your thanks by not getting nicked for asking what guv won't." Pavlov said and pocketed the money Haven offered him to pay the potential informant. "You've been down for me before and I think I like you best left alive."
.
Because he was skilled labor and liable to be called for extra shifts, Haven had a Class 4 curfew exemption. As long as he wasn't caught doing anything suspicious he could move more freely than most. His investigation was going to take a toll on his sleep but he was young and fit. Fatigue was not a thing he was unfamiliar with.
On the topic of unfamiliar, the Ministries of Information and Security constantly moved its agents and officers from precinct to precinct. Assignments were normally three months in duration. They thought themselves clever; that this would avoid the possibility of their people becoming too friendly with the local citizenry. What it did instead was create a situation where patrolling officers weren't familiar enough with the area to be able to recognize anything out of the ordinary. And because any 'incident' required extensive paperwork, these officers were loathe to inquire too deeply and thus potentially have extra work to do. Particularly since detaining a citizen that proved to be innocent actually doubled the paperwork.
They placed too much reliance on cameras. Especially when workers all dressed essentially the same and the weather made wearing hats a necessity. The cameras were also well known to work poorly in dim light, fog, mist, rain, snow, all those things that were common half of each day and most of the year.
Haven Culyagaer was an unremarkable sight. An industrial worker with the armband of a skilled technician with a curfew exemption. People like him were proper and upright citizens. They valued the chance to serve the Fatherland and were honored to be able to contribute to the glory of the nation.
Haven Culyagaer felt none of that but understood his situation and was acutely aware of the obligations of appearances. He was supposed to be excited at the prospect of becoming a master lathe operator and being granted the right to vote. But since there was only one party to vote for he didn't see the point.
Nonetheless, when he went to the black marketeers he always carried his tool bag with the false bottom. Any security goon that stopped him wouldn't know that the weight was off or that most of his tools were worn out cast-offs given to "good workers" to sell for scrap.
Haven Culyagaer wore the face of a dedicated and industrious man, firm in his convictions and fervent in his faith in their Glorious Leader. Because life wasn't about truth, or what was right, or what you believed. Life was about being enough of what you were expected to be so that you could, in small increments, have the chance to be yourself when it mattered.
Haven Culyagaer knew exactly who he needed to be at all times. He was only able to be his authentic self in two very specific places. In the arms of Ursula and at his mother's house. The Culyagaer family was still rated a Level 6 family despite Justice's 'crime'. Hergren Culyagaer, the patriarch of the family, had died properly. Killed trying to rescue his comrades after an explosion at Drop Forge #31. Dietman Culyagaer, only brother of Hergren, had died doing his duty fighting a fire at the Customs Warehouse on Freiker Terminal Island. Ariel Culyagaer had birthed two sons, Justice and Haven, and four daughters who were employed, married, and procreating properly as was their duty.
Even Justice had had a proper job as a carpenter with the Housing and Development Authority. On the points ranking of citizenship the Culyagaer family ranked quite high. Especially for being a minority. They weren't religious, they paid taxes and were productive. Having one member guilty of antisocial behaviors wasn't enough to drop them by a rank.
That was life. It was how it was. Nothing was inconsequential and everything was counted and cataloged. The Fatherland was meticulous in their assessments. Patriotism was a continuous obligation and an obligation that only a fool forgot was always under scrutiny and being continuously cataloged
.
"How is Ursula? That lovely gal! She's a treasure and you'd best treat her as such!"
"I do, mother. I never take my luck for granted nor forget what a blessing she is." Haven said as he set the fruits of his latest foray into the underground economy upon the table. Antibiotics, pain medication, coffee, and enriched flour. "My beloved is doing well. She received a pay rise. The customs house implemented her suggestion to improve inventory control."
"She's a very smart girl. And clever too!" His mother said as she offered Haven a slice of semolina bread topped with marmalade. "I talk to your father in my dreams. I know that he's proud of you and approves of Ursula too!"
"Thank you, mother. How is Auntie Therese doing?" Haven said as his nephew Wlada peered at him around the doorframe from within the shadows of the hall. "Are they going to grant her that work reduction? Her rheumatism isn't going to improve."
"Those bastards at the factory insist that she's malingering! They say if she can't do the job they'll replace her with a younger woman!" His mother said and scowled at Wloda. "Nephew, if you have time to gawk that must mean your chores and lessons are done? No! Off with you then. Ah, my dear son! You are fortunate Ursula has a proper job. Poor Therese! Nobody has any respect for a seamstress! The bosses think that the machines do most of the work! But what good is a machine if there's nobody running it?"
"The government has declared that production must rise but offers no incentives or rewards for those who must work harder." Haven said after swallowing a bite of his childhood favorite breakfast. "There's to be extra shifts coming soon at my work. I've been offered, and accepted, the increased hours. It will be time plus, so there's that."
"More weapons? So war is truly coming. Again." His mother closed her eyes momentarily and genuflected. She had lost three uncles in the last war but never spoke of it. "You're skilled in a high value trade. Blessings for that! You should be safe from conscription."
"Yes, I suppose. Nothing is guaranteed but I've nearly got my master's rating." Haven said after a small sip of weak tea. "I've a comrade who's old enough to remember. He says if the war isn't over quickly our pay will be cut even as production is increased."
"You're taking measures?"
"Yes, mother. I'm saving coin and not paper money. I'm gathering those small things that keep and which will be in demand." Haven said and sighed. Life never grew easier, just more complicated. "I have some other news."
"Tell me, my dearest son."
"I asked Ursula to marry me. She said yes."
"That is not news. It's a wonder and a glory! You finally realized what you should have realized three years ago! You and she belong together!"
"We don't have the permits. Haven't even begun the application process." Haven said and felt a profound love for his mother and a pride in himself for being able to bring her this joy. "We have to be able to find someone who can provide viable potential residences for us. The requirement is now up to five."
"And pointless that is! Five! As though those places will remain vacant through the ninety day wait for certification of your suitability!" His mother said and rolled her eyes. She was the one from whom Haven had inherited the ability to always be proper in public but honest in private. "Well if it comes down to it, you'll live here. Therese and I will end the leases to the lodgers. This is the home of two honored widows. The priveleges of that are few, but we do have say over who resides here."
"Thank you, mother."
"You are my true gift from God." Ariel Culyagaer said as her pride and love washed like warm sunshine over her only son. "This family takes care of its own. The Lord knows that the government won't!"
.
Winter was early but then it didn't care what calendars said. Leaving the heat of the factory for the numbing chill of windswept and snow covered streets was always unpleasant. Darkness would be settling in already and the streets were only kept cleared during daylight.
On this midweek evening Haven boarded the tram for the Brightview neighborhood. It bordered on Goldenrod Hill and was a working class district. Haven's travel pass was pinned to his left breast pocket so that the security personnel he would inevitably meet wouldn't feel obligated to stop him to check his documents.
Inside he was tense as a coiled spring under pressure, but to the outside world he was calm as cream. He couldn't afford to actually relax. He didn't know Brightview. He wouldn't know which surveilance cameras were actually in use. Anyone around him could be an informant. The Black Watch had thousands working for them. Not for pay, no. Informants worked under threat of imprisonment after being caught in minor infractions. Extortion filled the government ranks but not its payrolls.
All he knew was that a woman named Yasmine was expecting him at a cafeteria on Brimstone Avenue near Conqueror's Plaza. Pavlov vouched for her and had said that she had been widowed but had not been properly compensated when her husband was lost at sea serving on an Imperial supply ship. Having a reason for dissatisfaction wasn't a guarantee but it was at least an indicator that someone was not speaking to minders.
He had already found proof that something was definitely wrong in the Goldenrod Hill district. Searching through newssheets at the local library had revealed that eleven women had vanished under similar circumstances in the last nine months. Always a woman living alone. Always a ransacked apartment. Each time the authorities declared it to be an incident of a sex worker fleeing abusive conditions. Despite the fact that prostitution was illegal in the district. Brightview had a dozen brothels. Why would any woman violate the law when they could work legally a short bus ride away?
As the tram crossed the bridge over Maximilian the Grand's River he could just make out the lights of the mansions on Crystalmere Ridge to his north. He wondered, as he often did, if the entire world was this unfair. His mother could believe in God and His seldom seen mercy and glory, but Haven could not believe in a creator who was willing to see so many suffer while a very few prospered beyond reason.
He wasn't a man in search of an epiphany through which to discover belief. He didn't feel a need for faith or ephemeral promises of heavenly rewards. He wanted what he knew was within reach. Love. A tiny bit of happiness. The chance to make the day better for those whom he could help. Hergren Culyagaer had raised his sons properly. To actually be good men and not merely good citizens.
It took very little effort to simply do as you were told. It took heart, and character, to find the opportunities to help and then do what you could to make things better. Even if just in one place, in one moment, for one person. It wasn't about acclaim or any type of acknowledgement. It was about doing what was right simply because it was right.
If somewhere, somehow, Hergren Culyagaer was smiling down upon his son, that was well and fine. If he wasn't? If there was nowhere to be after this life? That was well and fine too.
He knew Yasmine Alizadeah as soon as he saw her. He had never met her and knew next to nothing of her personally but there was one thing Haven Culyagaer truly excelled at. He could read the sorrow and struggle that a person had endured and feel a deep empathy for them. It came from the ability to project himself into the circumstances of another. He knew very well how hard life was.
Yasmine Alizadeah was exquisite but drew little attention. She too was a minority. Her brown skin, blue-black hair and midnight eyes were a birthright she hadn't chosen but bore nonetheless. She was plainly dressed but that made her beauty shine all the more. She espied him as he did her and the momentary meeting of eyes let both know, without a word, that they were to meet.
"Good evening, lady." Haven said and, after a brief bow, sat down across from her. "I am grateful that you choose to give me some of your time. Thank you most humbly."
"I've already received pay. I don't need thanks." She said in a lilting tone of voice that made her words seem to flutter like birds in a breeze. "You are very well mannered though and I appreciate your courtesy. You should at least get some coffee so that we don't appear odd."
"I see no plate. You haven't eaten. Join me then." He said softly as his eyes registered those around him who might overhear. "It will look odd if only I am eating."
"I'm fine thank you. I'm not hungry."
"I'm a skilled worker. I make good pay and also receive a discount. Please. I insist." He said and maintained eye contact. She was gorgeous but he was being sincere and not improperly forward. "If you don't intend for our meeting to last long enough for us to dine, well, that's fair enough. I won't keep you longer than you wish."
"Even so. She was loved. People I care about care enough for her that it is my obligation to do what I can." He said and accepted that he was going to make these words his truth. It was the right thing. Without question. "What I will do in the end? Well, that will be whatever is necessary. I will know when the time comes."
"Then let us get some food." Yasmine said and pushed her chair back. "I'm in no rush if you're not."
.
She had fish and a barley soup. He had roasted pork on rice with a cup of noodles. The food was excellent and not expensive and he understood why the place was so busy. That was another reason that the woman had chosen this place. Electronic eavesdropping would be impossible.
"How old are you? Wait! Let me guess!" Yasmine said after finishing her soup. She eyed him closely and then declared, "You're twenty-nine."
"I am. And I'm also impressed with your powers of observation." He said and smiled a small but honest smile. "Does my age say something to you?"
"It tells me that you're old enough to not be foolish but young enough to still have that fire."
"Fire?"
"This life is cold. This world quenches flames. It wants us to be meek and subservient." She said and tilted her head slightly to one side. It was a small movement that only heightened her beauty. "Some never lose that fire. They learn to keep it within and share it only with those deserving of it."
"You see that in me?"
"I see my husband Afshin in you. He was older than I. Almost forty when he died. But he kept his passion. He was determined to be good no matter the world around us." Yasmine said and her eyes locked him inside of her moment. "You are not related to Kyriena but you are willing to be here, during your own time, and willing to spend even more of that precious time trying to bring some sort of justice to her and her family. You aren't being paid for this. I've asked. I know. Which is one of the reasons that I agreed to meet you."
"And if I may ask, what are the other reasons?" He said and wondered just what she truly saw in him. "You need not share if you'd rather not."
"Money was the second reason. I barely get by and I am not ashamed of that. The government has put me in these conditions." She said and almost smiled. She noticed that Haven noticed that and that in turn drew the actual smile out. "The third reason is that women are dying and we haven't been able to get anyone to care. You appeared to care, so I took this chance. And now, seeing with my own eyes that you do indeed care, I am glad that I came."
"I'm glad that you came as well. And also glad that I haven't disappointed you. Yet." He said and grinned when she almost laughed at his last word. "My father, bless his soul, made sure that I understood that people must care for and look out for each other. It's our duty to do what is right and show kindness and compassion to all in need. I try my best to live up to the example he set for me."
"You honor your father properly. What was his name?"
"Hergren Eldon Culyagaer. He shaped my heart. He is forever in it. I will not fail the trust and faith he had in me." Haven said and had a brief image of his father's smiling face in his mind's eye. "I will cause no harm to the innocent. I will not disgrace my name nor bring pain to my mother."
"You truly are a man. A decent man." She said and seemed to look into his very soul. "So then let me tell you about Kyriena. And the others."
.
He took the tram ride home lost deep in thought. What Yasmine had told him didn't seem to make sense. Shadowy men stalking women, lurking in parks and alleys. It seemed almost impossible that such activities were escaping government notice. The actual crimes also didn't fit the pattern of the normal government ordered disappearances. All of the missing women were ordinary citizens. Not involved in any questionable actions nor involved with men who might be. They were all young and single and employed in proper work.
Someone was targeting them for that very reason. They were young and single, living alone, with nobody to protect them. They were utterly ordinary and thus beneath the notice of the security services. Haven suspected that someone either in the government or with ties to someone within it was responsible. If you knew what cameras weren't working and where the security patrols would be at any given time, you could carry out your deeds with something close to impunity. That was how smugglers and drug dealers worked.
He had agreed to meet Yasmine again. Despite his entreaties she was going to seek further information where she could. Haven warned her that doing so might make her a target as well. "Then avenge me as well." she'd told him with a strange smile. "It isn't only men who can be brave."
This was true. He did not dispute that. He also knew that bravery often turned out to be fatal. She was her own person though. Capable of choice and he himself had no right to try to direct that choice. All he could do was hope that fate might choose to be merciful.
She was far too beautiful to meet such an ugly end.
Christoff von Kierchen was a smuggler and a gentleman. His family had fished the seas for generations until the government nationalized the fishing industry and eliminated family run boats. Only the large companies given contracts from the Glorious Leader himself were allowed to work the seas. So the von Kierchens turned their knowledge of the coastal waters to their most logical use and became smugglers.
Christoff was known to be an honest criminal. Haven had the chance to make his acquaintance during a two week down period when the factory was in changeover. Christoff had sought him out to make a new propeller shaft for one of his boats. They had become friends and Haven had no moral qualms about it. People had to survive and the government wasn't concerned with helping them in that.
The smuggler also traded in information, so three days after meeting Yasmine, Haven sought him out. He went to the Old Fleet Docks. Packet freighters, tramp steamers, and Free Traders used the piers and docks there, making it a perfect operating grounds for smuggling as well. Old sewers allowed illicit goods to avoid the customs and charter house gates and enter the city in a hundred different locations.
Haven had access to the area because repair parts for the factory often arrived on the smaller ships that were legally operated. He entered the Free Trade Zone through the workers gate and headed towards the Old Navy Warehouses that sat next to Pier #9. The buildings were ancient and made from great blocks of stone that made external surveillance impossible.
A freezing fog hung over the waterside, creating glittering halos around each lamplight. The tide was high and thus the area was bustling. Even so he quickly spotted ibn Salim, Christoff's chief mate. The man, ever alert, spied Haven at the same time.
"Safety! I almost didn't recognize you without your usual grease!" The tall and slender man exclaimed. His long beard was decorated with frost but his dark eyes were warm and welcoming. "You look well, my friend!"
"As do you." Haven said as they quickly embraced. "The sea has been kind and the navy still blind, hey?"
"They've given up trying to see us since they can't catch us!" ibn Salim said as he stepped back. "They just pretend we aren't there at all now! So, looking for the boss then? Business?"
"In a way. I have some questions." Haven said as he pulled his hat lower over his ears. "Not about something precisely. There's a thing I'm looking into and I'm trying to get a notion of what kind of man I may be dealing with."
"How dark, lad?"
"Very. Women are being taken. All signs say killed. The government of course won't say that. Or admit it could be happening."
"A killer of women? And you're wanting to find this man?"
"I intend to. Yes."
"And if you do? What then?"
"I'll do what the government won't and stop this man. Whatever that takes."
"Let's go see the boss."
.
"Haven, you're smart and tough but you're talking about finding someone who, if you're right, kills for pleasure. Meaning no other life but his means a thing to him. That includes yours, my friend."
Haven nodded his agreement but said nothing. He had no idea how he was going to do this thing but he had chosen the path. The others in the room were hard men who understood how violence worked. There was Christoff, elegant in his all black suit that truly set off his almost white blonde hair. ibn Salim looking grim and clearly on Haven's side here. Then there was Pruitt, Vinezzi, and Holmbrau, each of whom skippered one of Christoff's coastal runners. In their business they dealt with pirates, slavers, and buccaneers looking to prey on small smugglers. They were all here and alive and so they clearly knew their business and knew it well.
"My friend, you work sixty hours a week. How do you intend to find the time to hunt this beast?" Christoff asked as his fingers checked the waxed ends of his carefully curled mustache. "You have far better things to do with your free time! Especially if you're still with Ursula!"
"I work days. The killer works nights. He so far has hunted solely in Goldenrod Hill. That's a fifteen minute bus ride from my home. Less if I go directly from work. Christoff, this madman took seven victims in the first eight months but has taken four in the last three weeks! Clearly he isn't the least bit concerned with being caught!"
"Haven. Friend of mine. Have you ever gone hunting? Deer? Boar? Rabbits even?"
"Of course not! I've lived my entire life here in Sacred Throne. I know nothing about guns. This is different though."
"Indeed it is. Deer don't hunt you back. These shadowy figures you've mentioned being reported? They are a product of fear. People seeing a danger where it isn't. This man you seek isn't obvious. And it's but one. A gang would have been talking by now. Nor have showed any initial restraint. So it's just one man. He surely knows how to fit in. To appear unimportant while watching, stalking and sizing up his prey. Most murders are personal. Motivated by passion, anger, perceived slights. A normal criminal might kill for money or to protect their business. This isn't like that."
"In Bierceny, over in Weiselandia, a few years back they had a man butchering women." Pruitt spoke up from behind a cloud of tobacco smoke. "All the women were similar in appearance. Someone saw the photographs of the victims and noted the striking similarity to the former wife of a prominent surgeon. Between that and the methods of killing they decided action was justified. They took the good doctor in. He committed suicide before he could be thoroughly questioned. He, however, left a note blaming the killings on the infidelity of his ex-wife."
"What's your point, Benjy?"
"It was sheer coincidence that led them to the doctor, Mosin. The man's motives made no sense out of context. So this killer here? He's got his reason. It might make no sense to anyone not party to his madness. So how do you even know what to begin looking for?"
"There! That's the starting point! That's it exactly! A position that seems unremarkable!" Holmbrau exclaimed and leaned forward over the table. "You've a man who can roam at night with no concern! Meaning he likely has no close family and perhaps not even employ! If he has money, from a respectable source, one that doesn't demand attention, he will draw little notice! He has the means to pursue his whims!"
"Not a high noble. They're constantly involved in machinations. Maybe a younger son of a disgraced house." Christoff said and cupped his chin in thought before continuing. "This is a person with low morals. Perhaps not blatantly, but the disregard for life isn't natural. This person is around often enough that none pay attention to his presence. He clearly behaves in a way that doesn't draw notice."
"He's certainly deeply perverted. He could prey on alley walkers in The Charnels and nobody would care. He doesn't want that. He wants 'proper' women." Vinezzi chimed in, his eyes nearly invisible beneath tremendously bushy eyebrows. "He's smart enough to steal the things that a lowborn burglar would. As a blind. But he takes the women with him. It's got to be sexual. He wants to be free to do whatever he wishes in a place where he won't be interrupted. He has a way to transport his victims and he can leave the district without drawing notice."
"A carter or drayman?"
"No. They're always subject to search. I wager it's not a personal vehicle. That runs the risk of being recognized. This killer has money. Legitimate money."
"He knows how to move. To be inconspicuous. He's also absolutely comfortable with violence. Not sure where he'd learn that. Maybe he wasn't, to begin with. But he likes it now. Maybe that's why he's picked up the pace."
"Definitely a loner. The more he kills the more odd his behavior will probably become. Anyone close would notice the change."
"I'd guess he's also comfortable enough dealing with officials. He has to be able to present himself, under at least light scrutiny, as a proper normal citizen. Say, Benjy, you say that doctor chap butchered his victims?"
"Aye. Cut to pieces."
"But it was personal to him. Hmm. Maybe this is someone with some skill, unlicensed skill mind you, with medicine. And a hatred of women. Perhaps an abortionist."
"Killing his clients? I've never met one of them but I can't imagine they have a particularly high regard for women."
"Excuse me, but why aren't you lot detectives?" Haven said when he finally got over the shock of hearing how quickly these smugglers had taken to incredibly perceptive analysis and interpretation. "By the Lords of the Lost you display an insight and intellect that I'm sure is sorely lacking in our erstwhile guardians!"
"Be a poguer? Bloody hell, no! Piss poor pay and the boot-licking bureaucrats always at your neck? No thank you." Vinezzi said as the others nodded agreement. "We aren't successful out of luck, lad. We know the enemy and we know how little they know."
"But the wise man always tries to stay three thoughts ahead of his foe." ibn Salim said and tugged at his beard. "Put yourself in another man's shoes and you can predict his steps."
"Rex, have Tinny bring us some sandwiches. Will you stay a while longer, Haven?" Christoff said as the others began taking actual notes. "You've brought us something truly worth thinking over."
"How could I leave?" Haven said and chuckled nervously. "You lot already seem to know more about my prey than I'd learn in a month on the streets."
"Can you get us photos of the victims?" Holmbrau asked without looking up. "I'd like to know what our man looks for in a woman."
"I'll try." Haven said and actually allowed himself a bit of hope that he might accomplish this thing and keep his promise.
Two days after his meeting with Christoff a drill press operator ignored an oil leak at his work station. Just three hours into the shift the oil caught fire. It melted a line filled with hydraulic fluid which ruptured and sprayed flaming liquid across half a dozen work stations. Nobody thought to turn off the pumps and burning fluid came out under pressure.
Seven men died. The workshop was evacuated until the fire was put out and the casualties removed. Then those whose machines weren't affected were made to return to work. From his lathe Haven could smell acrid smoke and burned flesh. A haze hung in the rafters and he was indelibly reminded of just how little value he held in the eyes of the government.
.
"I didn't know any of them. They were entry level." Haven told Ursula after her passion had returned his heart to his flesh. "Rinzheimer is to blame. Those machines were poorly maintained. Everyone knew. But management wasn't going to shut down machines that were still working."
"What a horrible way to die." Ursula said and kissed his stomach. Her hair on his skin made him think of summer grass and not screaming men on fire trying to run from a death that already gripped them. "Are you alright, love? I don't mean your flesh. I mean your soul. I know your heart. It holds onto suffering because it's just that kind."
"I couldn't help them. It shouldn't have happened but it did and there's nothing I can do about that." Haven said and let his fingers slide through the hair of his heart's treasure. "Tomorrow I'm going to Goldenrod Hill. To get photos of the missing women to take to Christoff and his people. I couldn't help those men. So I'll do my best to help a woman, maybe more than one, that I'll never meet or know."
"Kyriena is dead. I know that. You know that. Mirrabella can't admit that yet. I understand why." Ursula said and turned her head so she could look into his eyes. "If you stop this monster then at least it might help. Nothing brings the dead back but the killer shouldn't walk this world amongst us. You really intend to stop him."
"I have to. I know he's out there now." Haven said and let her fingers upon his cheek give him strength. "The government doesn't care but we do. So we will do what should be done. If I did nothing? Further deaths would be upon my soul. I will be careful though, my sweetest. I will not take, will never take, unnecessary chances."
"I know. My beautiful and amazing man. Your glorious heart belongs to me. No madman can be allowed to take you from me."
.
"Thank you for seeing me. And getting these." Haven said to Yasmine as they sat in a coffee house on Rookery Avenue in the southern quarter of Goldenrod Hill. She was dressed in pale gray and white and was spectacular. "My friends are far more clever than I would have imagined. They are working on creating a description for an invisible man. I find that remarkable."
"I find it remarkable that you are investing so much in this." She said and watched him with unreadable eyes. Her words were kind but her thoughts were her own. "I'm used to promises only half kept. You truly are a good man."
"Thank you. I do my best."
"That's very clear. You do realize that getting near this man will put you in great danger? That he might recognize what you are before you actually know who he is?"
"Yes. I know. I choose this. I have to. It's not a thing I could turn away from." Haven said and then dropped his eyes. He didn't want to see the impact of his next words. "Especially not now that I know you. He hunts here. You live here. That puts you in danger as well. I will not ignore that. Or accept that."
"Why?"
"Because you are intelligent and beautiful and generous. You care for others when so little is given back to you." Haven said and looked into the coffee within the mug held between his hands. "You deserve more than what this world gives. I can't make the world be fair. I can only try to make right that which is within my powers to do so."
"You know that much of me already?" She said and stole his breath when she placed her hand upon his. "How can you say all of this already?"
"You're here. You brought me the photos. These women aren't your family. They weren't even your friends. But you care. Deeply." He said and finally looked up into her eyes. They were bottomless and terrifying in what they said. "I will find this man. I will end his terror. He doesn't deserve to breathe the same air as you."
"What if something does happen to me? If you can't stop him in time?"
"Then I will take him down to Hell personally to make sure the devil gives him his due." Haven said as his heart trembled and his soul spun in a sorrowful confusion.
.
He lay in bed that night contemplating impossibility. He loved Ursula with all of his heart and soul. Yet somehow he was now in love with Yasmine Alizadeah as well. He couldn't understand how it had happened. Had no way to explain how his heart had found a place for her as well.
Her midnight eyes haunted him. He couldn't push the memory of them from his mind. He could still feel how he had felt himself sinking into them. She was beautiful and brave and kind and he didn't know how those around them were unable to see how she shown like the sun placed into the night sky. He couldn't be the only one. Oh, maybe she just chose to be alone. She kept other men away to honor the memory of her late husband.
Why then had she looked at him as she had? Why was she so open and present to him? He wasn't that special. He was nothing that a thousand others weren't also. Yes she wasn't a full citizen and she was a widow but by the unseen mercy of God she was magnificent! The passion in her, that rose in indignant outrage on behalf of strangers, the soul that shone through with a goodness that made her not just beautiful but breathtaking. She wasn't hiding. Others should be able to see her too!
He couldn't be in love with two women. That wasn't possible. Love didn't work that way,! He'd met her three times! Spent a total of perhaps five hours with her! That wasn't enough for love, let alone to fall in love! So why had he said what he did? Well he knew why. Because he meant it and it was true even though it shouldn't be. Especially knowing now, from her eyes, just what his words had meant to her.
She did deserve more. He couldn't be the one to give that to her though. He had Ursula. They were engaged. His love had a path that it was firmly upon. So how had part of his heart wandered into this place? Why did his hand still tingle from her touch? Why did her eyes still look into his even now?
The absolute worst was that he could not extricate himself from this. A killer stalked the innocent. She was in danger as well. There was absolutely no way he could abandon her and no way he could hope to undertake this hunt without her help. Christoff and his people could perhaps decipher the killer's mindset and manners, but Yasmine knew Goldenrod Hill. He needed her.
Needed her.
"Father help me!" He whispered to the ceiling and wished that he believed in God.
.
"Clagger, can you mount presses?"
"You mean install the new machines?" Haven said to Mr. Bushmill, the shift foreman. He took his foot off the lathe's pedal and reached for a rag to wipe his hands. "I'm not an electrician, sir. Or a mechanic. I'm not even sure I could hook up the hoses properly."
"Why not? You work with these things! How hard can it be?"
Haven accepted the insult and looked at the man's pristine suit and soft hands. The sloped shoulders and thin wrists. This was a man who had never worked a day in his life but who thought himself better. Smarter. More deserving of respect.
"I run a lathe sir." He said with the appropriate level of subservience and undeserved respect. "I haven't worked a drill press in years. If an installer isn't available, perhaps ask one of the senior operators in the shop. I wouldn't want to be responsible for another incident if I do the job poorly."
"You people never want to be responsible for anything! Fine! Get back to work! Your piece count won't go up by sitting here being useless!"
"Yes sir. Of course." Haven said and turned back to his station. So that his eyes wouldn't betray the truth. Which was that this man deserved nothing. Absolutely nothing. And that was why this world was a hell. People like that bastard had what they had no right to while those who deserved more, like Yasmine Alizadeah, received nothing.
"He got another victim." Holmbrau told Haven the instant the younger man entered the warehouse. "I know a taxi driver. He said he dropped off a fare next to a house on Milktreader Way and the secpo were out front of a house across the street. He heard them using those lines you said. Sex worker, run off, the works."
"This morning I sent a courier into the neighborhood with a legitimate package." ibn Salim said from the table where he and Pruitt were bent over a large map of the city. "He spoke to the neighbors. Apartment tossed. Blood splatter. The police are imbeciles."
Haven stopped still. Completely overwhelmed by emotion. Anger, dread, and relief washed through him in a rush. Anger that the evil bastard they sought was able to kill again. A dread that had almost instantly turned to relief. Yasmine lived on 77th Avenue. It wasn't her. She was still safe. For the moment. Just the moment.
"Haven, my friend, you look like five shades of Hell. When are you sleeping?"
"I'm fine Christoff. I came straight from work."
"I'm aware of that but it doesn't explain why you look like a man on his last legs." Christoff said and held out a beer to Haven, who accepted it as an excuse for his hands. "If you don't take proper care of yourself we'll put back out to sea. I won't knowingly sacrifice you to save strangers. Call that cruel but I care more about you than I do about them."
"I appreciate that. I truly do." Haven said and handed back the empty bottle to an astonished Christoff. "I gave my word, comrade. I have to keep it. I have to!"
"Don't test the boy's honor, boss." Pruitt said from where he was examining government reports from within his customary cloud of tobacco smoke. "The lad's dedicated. Respect that. Please."
"I do respect that Benjy! But I also worry over his health! The bastards he works for by day don't!" Christoff said and opened another bottle of beer for Haven. "If he won't think of his health I'll do it for him. You drink this one fast as last you'll be proving my point, friend."
"It tasted good. I'll pace myself." Haven said and moved to join Holmbrau and ibn Salim at the table. "Do we have a photo of the latest,? And a name?"
"Her name's Giedre Urbonierè. This is her." ibn Salim said and handed Haven a small photo of a smiling young woman with braided blonde hair. "Twenty-six years old. Right middle of the age range. No known family in the city."
"These surveillance records are absolutely shite." Pruitt snorted and flung the papers he held onto the desk before him. "They only monitor the roads that pass near police stations and government buildings! What's the bloody use of that? There's dozens of ways to enter and leave the district unnoticed! In every direction except towards Thorncrest. Because of course the rich have to be kept all safe and secure!"
"Have you talked to your source on the Hill?" Christoff asked as he joined Haven at the table. "She probably hears more than we can."
"She sends message when she has news." Haven lied. He was the one who sought her out. From the start. "There's twenty-two thousand living in Goldenrod Hill. She can only be in just so many places. Milktreader Way is further north than the others by quite a bit. I wonder why?"
"It means he marks a target and then follows that target until he knows his time." Holmbrau said and squinted at the map. Trying to see something that wasn't obvious. "Same way you hunt an elk. You work your way into position for the best shot. Mosin, I'm missing something. Look closer for me."
"I'm betting he leaves through Harbringer Flats. It's west end is the canals district. Lots of old warehouses." Pruitt said from his desk. The older man always thought through everything before speaking. "If he's a sadist he won't want anyone near to hear him working. He isn't leaving remains or at least not enough to be identified. If he's doing that? I doubt the deaths are quick. Takes a sick mind to turn a body to mincemeat."
"Maybe you should get in touch with your source." Christoff said softly and took Haven's forearm in a gentle but firm grip. "Let her know that we're already working on this one as well."
"She doesn't understand why you're doing this. I explained to her that you're good men, but, well, you know."
"Oh I know. But that's fine. She doesn't need to understand why we do it." Christoff said and gave Haven's arm another gentle squeeze. "As long as she understands you. That's what matters."
"Grim! Here! Look!" ibn Salim said to Holmbrau and drew everyone's attention. "Municipal alleys! There's one behind every apartment block where he's struck! They all reach a loading courtyard within two blocks! He takes them out and into the alleys! He can hide his vehicle at a loading dock and get to it almost out of sight but for twice crossing a street!"
"He's a strong bastard then!" Holmbrau said and leaned back over the map. "Alright! That's a definite start! Not every apartment block sits as so! We can start eliminating areas, or at least choose those more likely to fit our man's preference!"
"Go. Go, my friend. Reassure your source." Christoff whispered into Haven's ear. "If we have any further revelations I can find you. So go. And then get some rest! You inconsiderate ass!"
"Thank you, Chris."
"Go!"
.
"They're coming up with some notion of the pattern. They know about the latest." He said quietly as Yasmine and he walked along Vizier's Pathway through Camtrin Park. It was cold but there was no wind and she looked absolutely magnificent in white. "If the government cared at all, well, I'm still not sure they'd see it. My friends come from...varied backgrounds. They have insights that constantly surprise me."
"That's not why you're here." She said and took his hand in hers. "You came to reassure me but more to be certain for yourself that I was okay."
"Yes. That's true." He admitted and knew he shouldn't be there and shouldn't be holding her hand. But he was. "I don't like that I can't...that I..."
"Please say it."
"I don't like that you are here and that I can't protect you all the time." He said before his heart could stop the words. "I don't like that you're in any kind of danger. I don't like it."
"Why?"
"Because you matter. You know that."
"I didn't. I do now. Are you that noble? Are you an altruist? Or does this mean more than just that?"
"What would you prefer?"
"The truth."
"You would have that?"
"I would. Please, Haven. Please."
"The truth is that I don't know how this happened. My feelings for you. I'm engaged. I'm...I didn't have any...I didn't intend to do anything but help! Help you! Help all who are being hurt by this man. I didn't know when I met you that...that I would. Oh gods! Who are you? Really? I don't understand! Why I need to be with you! What do you see when you see me? Who am I? Please! Tell me!"
"I see my husband in you and I see you as a man who is more than that. I see the things that make me believe. That the world isn't a horrible place. But. You belong to another. So what I feel, or you feel? It has to be let go."
He felt his heart twisting in his chest. His confusion was so profound that he didn't know what emotions he was feeling. What he did know was what his hand felt. Which was her hand still holding his. They had to let this go. But she was still holding on.
"Yasmine?"
"Yes, Haven?"
"I'm in love with you. And I don't think that I can stop!"
"But you love her still as well."
"Yes. I'm so sorry, but yes!"
"This is a problem then. Well. For now? Let's just walk a bit more."
.
Near the Fountain of The Heroic Champion they kissed. A single kiss. But it was one kiss too many and all the way home all he could think about was the taste of her lips.
Fate and life and love conspired to keep Haven from discovering a solution or reaching some kind of peace. The day after the forbidden kiss, Ursula was transferred to the capital complex to work with the Ministry of Procurement to implement her inventory management system on a wide scale. That placed her in the restricted Imperial zone. Which he could not visit nor send messages to. Nor could she send messages out. She was quartered in the Vermillion Palace, formerly where the king had resided.
Under any other circumstances he would have been thrilled and proud that she was receiving such acclaim and recognition. She was brilliant in many ways and having that brilliance officially recognized was a great achievement. Just now though? The fact that she expected to be there for at least a week or even ten days? It felt like something had decided he needed to be tested. Harshly.
In addition to that, at his work his quality and productivity were coming under criticism. Mr. Bushmill had been forced to pay actual machinery installers in the damaged portion of the shop. No doubt cutting into his own skimming of company funds, and he blamed Haven for that. Beauvoir, the normal foreman, was replaced by McKiev, a stooge of Bushmill's.
"Why are we afflicted with that prissy little cunt?" Wagner, the comrade at the next station over muttered after Haven had endured another dressing down. "You're near to a master and that stupid fuck wouldn't know a thread from a crack If you're doing that poor in their eyes we're all doomed!"
"Bosses run the world. We just tend the machines that matter more than we do." Haven said and returned to work. They were definitely watching him now and nothing he did was likely to be right.
He was wearing thin. He could feel that. He had taken on too much. Christoff was right. He was in too deep now though, and only sinking further. If they found a reason to fire him he could find another job quickly. He'd be a marked man though. A troublemaker. He'd start at the bottom in seniority. His pay would be cut. He'd be on the night shift. He would lose his chance at a master's rating.
Everything felt wrong. If he couldn't ride this through and get past the moment's trouble, if he was forced into a lesser position even as Ursula rose higher in her job, how could he hope to do right by her? It wasn't just about money. Word would get around about him. She would have to try to explain the situation to her boss and coworkers and any explanation would sound like an excuse. He would cause her boss to question her judgement.
He had no choice but to be stoic and accept injustice. If he lost his position as a skilled technician he would be subject to conscription when the looming war arrived. There was no escape. There were no solutions on offer anywhere. This was his life and this was the world and those two things were absolutely immutable.
.
He was exhausted. Physically and emotionally. He had no sanctuary. He couldn't tell his mother about his predicament. She loved Ursula and already referred to her as 'daughter'. He didn't dare face Christoff. He was barely coherent. He definitely couldn't go to Yasmine. His mind was in no shape to keep his wavering heart in check.
So on an evening he was in a cafeteria on Westburgh Boulevard. Staring into the emptiness as his stew grew thick and cold. He was trying to remember the faces of his father and brother. Trying to recall a time when everything had made some sort of sense.
"Haven, comrade! What the bloody hell has happened to you?"
He blinked and realized that Ruprecht Brennering was now seated across from him. "Oh. Hello Rupp. How are you?"
"Are you sick? Have you been to the doctor?" The older man said and frowned down at the now inedible mess in Haven's bowl. "Why are you even here? You should be to home in bed!"
"There's no point in that. I can't seem to sleep. Not for long." He admitted, because he couldn't even remember the last time he'd had a full night's rest. "I'm just...things are complicated. Not going so well."
"Why isn't your woman looking after you?"
"She's at the Vermillion Palace. For work. It's a great honor. They took her, uhm, they liked it. She's doing, uhm, she's doing, that is, she had an idea. A very good idea. That they're going to use. It works I guess. It must. So that's wonderful."
"You realize that I have no idea what you just said?" Rupp said and paused in lighting his pipe. The older man looked troubled. Very troubled. "Am I your friend?"
"Yes. You really are." Haven said and felt himself smile. "We've been friends a long time."
So Haven did.
"Then treat me as one and tell me what's going on."
"Rupp. You don't want to know."
"I'm your friend. So yes I do. Tell me."
"How are you sane? Or are you?" Rupp said as Haven brought him up to date to the moment. "You're hunting a murderer. That's bloody mad! You know guv don't approve of others doing their job! Especially when they aren't doing it themselves! Meeting with smugglers nightly, well, if you trust 'em, fair play. I don't know 'em and you do. And you're in love with two women and getting ridden at work because your bossman is a cunt? No wonder you've run ragged! How long do you think you can keep this up?"
"Which part?"
"All of it! Bloody hell, lad! Any one of these things would be worry enough!" Rupp said and then visibly reined in his energy. "Far as your love life I'm not the one to give advice. I have four ex-wives. I'm legally barred from marrying again and that's probably best. Clearly this mad idea of hunting down a killer isn't just mad, it's affecting your work as well! You gotta have priorities, boyo!"
"It hasn't though. Bushmill wanted me to set up machines I'm not qualified to rig. So he had to pay properly to have it done and I would have said no regardless of anything else." Haven said and sighed. It felt like that sigh bounced around within him like he he was a hollow shell. "Rupp. Twelve young women are missing. Dead. They're surely dead. And the fucking security twats just use the same stupid excuse to not investigate it every time another disappears! Should I just ignore that, now that I know more of what's happening?"
"Yes! Let your criminal friends handle it! You yourself said they know more about it than you!" Rupp said and held up a finger to halt Haven's protest. "You really think you can kill a man? Even a monster like that? Because if you find him he won't look like a monster. He'll look like a man! You'll be seeing a man before you! Are you a killer? Because that's what it's going to take to do what you're saying! You've chosen to take this on but that doesn't make it into your responsibility! It doesn't! Who, besides you, would say that it honestly is?"
"I've seen their pictures!"
"So have the secpro investigators! And it's THEIR job to do something! THEIR job, not yours! Dammit, boy! They'll arrest YOU if they even just catch you poking around! Who do you owe this sacrifice to? Are you a messiah now? Will you save us all when the war begins? Or do you want to be a martyr? Because nobody remembers the martyrs lad! We aren't allowed to unless they're government approved!"
"I gave my word. More than once. To more than one." Haven said and wondered how the world had become such a brittle and bitter thing. "I swore on my father's name. I can't turn from that. Not and call myself my father's true son."
"I love you." Rupp said quietly and pulled Haven back fully into the moment. "I'll come to your funeral. Even though it will break my heart."
"I can't die, my friend." Haven said and smiled wanly. "This world won't let me off that easily."
.
That night he dreamt he stood in the ruins of their city. Utterly alone. The last man alive in all of creation. While somewhere above something laughed and laughed at the misery it had created just for him.
.
"Comrade! Did you hear? No? You haven't! Bushmill got sacked!"
"What's that?" Haven said and woke up entirely. He recognized the man speaking to him but didn't know the name. "What are you on about?"
"The Ministry of Defense did a suprise audit! The old bastard has been robbing the company and finally got caught!" The man was grinning with malicious glee and Haven became aware of the excited muttering coming from the clusters of workers around them. "Word is that the Internal State Security raided his house! They're saying he's been arrested! Saying he was caught in bed buggering a servant!"
"How would anybody know that much?" Haven said and frowned. Everything up until the details of the arrest was likely to be true. It would be sweet irony if the rest were true as well. "Why aren't we being let to clock in?"
"Defense auditors are doing a complete inventory of everything! They've been inside since just after midnight! They sent the night shift home!"
"We're going to lose a day's pay." Haven said with a resigned sigh. But then he thought about the actual situation. "Fuck it. If the thieves wearing suits are going to get theirs? I'll gladly take the loss."
They ended up having three consecutive days off work. There was so much corruption and malfeasance in play that the entire management, up to including the owners of the factory, were arrested. Straiigher Forgeworks became Imperial Armaments Plant #27. Under the direct supervision of the Imperial Armory Ministry. That would be extreme measures in normal times. To have it happen with war now clearly inevitable? The corruption had to be something truly monumental.
The workers didn't receive pay. Why would they, since they weren't working? However, the government didn't want to assume control of a forgeworks and then have no employees for it. Vouchers were issued that allowed two meals a day at a list of subsidized restaurants and cafeterias. Rent exclusion was put in place to ensure that nobody lost their quarters. None of that was a gift. Despite the officials declaring it to be so. It was the bare minimum required to avoid serious unrest amongst necessary workers.
Haven understood. His testing wasn't over. It had just begun. He now had empty time and nothing to distract him. The day they'd been sent home he had returned to his room and slept the day away. Waking, quite confused, just after sunset, he'd dressed and headed out. His surface thoughts were on supper yet somehow he found himself stepping off the tram at the South Central terminal in Goldenrod Hill just as the secondary curfew bells rang out.
His travel pass was pinned in place. His armband declaring him a skilled technician in a vital industry was on his left arm. He wasn't worried about security personnel even though he normally would be. The incompetence of those people was something he now knew as fact.
He also knew where the few functioning security cameras were. He knew that vehicle patrols were literally just for show. Those patrolling would only respond to calls coming directly from their precinct headquarters. They could be this way because the populace had had the messages drilled into them until those messages were a mantra. They're always watching. They're always listening. Except they weren't. Not really. Only where the wealthy lived was it true. Only if you were fool enough to say the wrong things too loudly and too often.
He was under more surveillance at work than he was when on the streets. Because he only mattered when he was doing the only thing that gave him value in the eyes of the government.
He set off down a nearly empty street, almost overwhelmed by the feeling that he was walking around upon a stage after finally realizing that he was in a play. So much was a facade. The appearance was deliberately deceptive. So that the audience never realized that they too were on the stage.
He knew where he was although he'd never been there. He had spent so much time examining maps of the district that he could envision himself as though from a bird's eye. This was 91st Avenue. Eight blocks up it was crossed by High Hold Boulevard. If he went west on it and went five blocks he could go north up Sexton Way and in ten blocks reach the apartment block of Maria Thessolanaki. Victim number five. Half a mile to the northwest on 113th Street was where Sulinda Meier, victim number eight, had lived.
He was in the map now. He could feel, could actually sense, where each woman had lived in relation to where he stood. On a dozen nights just like this they had been taken from the world of the living. On perhaps hundreds of nights just like this a monster wearing human form had walked these streets. Hunting. Planning. Fantasizing about what it would do. Knowing that it would choose exactly when doom would come for a terrified young woman who didn't know that the clock was running out on her life.
He felt numb. Within. Not from the weather. He also wasn't disillusioned. That was impossible. He expected nothing from the world. The security services not caring about the murder of lower class young women was disappointing but not a surprise. The entire management of the company he worked for being arrested was a bit of a surprise but he fully understood why it happened. An inefficiently run weapons factory was not acceptable when there would soon be a great demand for its products. Corruption was allowed until it became a liability that could effect the government's plans.
He found himself on Sexton Way. Standing in front of the building with the address number of 216E. He looked around. There was nobody in sight. That made sense. It was after dinner, after curfew, and bitterly cold out. He looked at the dark and narrow alley that ran between 216 E and 214E. Up that alley at the far corner of the building on the ground floor was where Maria Thessaloniki had lived. If Holmbrau was right, the killer had brought her out of the alley, across this street and into the alley to Haven's right.
The feeling of being in a bleak and empty space just outside of normal life, this strange alternate version of the city's daylight reality, it convinced him that Vinezzi was right. These crimes centered around sex. What else could drive you do what this beast did, to do it and carry your victim into an empty night with your thoughts unrestrained by distraction?
He understood why the government didn't care. These deaths meant nothing to it. Hundreds died daily from other causes. What he couldn't quite grasp was the apathy displayed by the individual people working for the government. Random murders happened daily, yes, but there was usually a simple reason behind them. These murders weren't random and were clearly connected. How could that be ignored? How could anyone with a soul just look the other way and not care at all?
He started into the alley which led to where the killer had most likely left his vehicle but stopped. There was no light down it at all. It was narrow and not completely straight so that he couldn't see through to the next street. He gathered his courage and continued, using one hand on the wall to his left as a guide. That hand encountered no windows or doors. He registered that as his eyes spied the first hint of light ahead.
Reaching the cross street he continued on into an equally dark alley. Again he used his hand as a guide. When he reached the courtyard he was stunned. There was but one shielded lantern near a loading door. It gave out so little light that he hadn't detected it until he could actually see the lamp.
This was perfect for the purposes of a furtive killer. Unlike with 216E no windows opened onto either stretch of alley he'd just transited. The courtyard was so poorly lit that for all he knew there could be half a dozen others hidden in it right now. He honestly couldn't tell.
The maps only hinted at just how ideal this escape route was. He had to know more. He went to 113th Street. 112N, the building where Sulinda Meier had lived, sat in an exact same fashion. An escape route without light and no windows to pose a threat of a witness looking out.
He was convinced of two things. First was that the theory about the killer's movement were true. Second was that this killer was meticulous and careful. The man knew his hunting grounds. He chose victims not just on a whim. He made sure the situation fit his needs.
Just to remove any doubt he went to where Annalisa Dobranov and Sarah Thwaite had lived. Both fit the pattern perfectly. Just to be certain that he wasn't projecting a false correlation he explored other municipal alleyways at random. The majority of those that passed between apartment blocks had windows facing on the alleys.
Maybe that was the real reason that the killings were accelerating. The beast knew where it could hunt best. It's territoryknown so well now that It could quickly decide if a potential prey was suitable.
He didn't want to know how that felt. To walk the night secure in its embrace and feeling that you had the right to decide upon life and death. He didn't want to know how such a man was made. It wasn't about evil or the devil or wicked influence. It was about a heartless selfishness and arrogance. A belief that you were above the morals and judgement of others. A certainty that you had the right to do anything you chose because you were superior.
It began to snow and the world took on that particular hush. Everything seemed normal. Beautiful even. Safe. This was a civilized society. The weather could be defied and thus it was beautiful too. There were rules and laws. Things that told you that when you were at home in bed you were safe.
Nobody ever told you that some monsters were real and that if they chose you, no place was safe.
"You went to four of the locations and they were all the same? Bloody damn hell! But most alleys aren't that way?"
"It's a good thing the lad made that jaunt, Benjy. That sort of thing doesn't show on the map!"
"Yes, fine, that's true Rex! But the maps still don't show bloody windows so how is this helping us? It certainly doesn't narrow things down!"
Haven sat quietly and felt strangely calm. He'd fallen asleep upon returning home but had woken in mid-morning feeling well rested. So he'd dressed and headed down to the docks.
"Personally I think that information is indeed helpful." Christoff said quietly as he sat down next to Haven. "It proves our man is extremely careful and plans ahead. You also got a feel, a bit of actual experience, for how this man works. Benjy just resents that we aren't able to out-clever this bastard. As if that notion is even vaguely realistic."
"My friend, not to imply that I am not deeply grateful, nor that you haven't been of immense assistance, but shouldn't you be back to sea?" Haven said and accepted the cup of coffee his friend offered to him. "You're losing money by staying here. I feel guilty."
"On the contrary. The current political climate in the region has the entirety of six nation's navies on the waves. It's rather crowded out there." Christoff said as he leand back, stretched out his legs, and crossed one ankle over the other. "They're all trigger happy and not inclined to ignore anyone flying no nation's flag. Everyone I know has lost at least one boat. With crew and cargo. Until those navies start shooting at each other I'm actually saving money by staying ashore."
"And you've got something in play here in the city too."
"You've always been a clever one." Christoff said and patted Haven's knee. "The whole windows issue is something I'm not sure we're able to take advantage of. However."
"Yes?"
"I have an...acquaintance. Yes, that fits. Anyhow. He's a pimp who deals exclusively with very rich clients who require discretion."
"That sounds like a tricky business. And one not easy to get into."
"Oh. Are you finally tired of being a slave? Perhaps thinking of getting out of the factory?"
"What? No! This pimp?"
"He rents vehicles frequently. You know, I think you'd actually make a good pimp. Not street level. Elite. You're clever, observant, discreet, you have an innate decency..."
"Christoff!"
"I'm just saying."
"Please. Your point?"
"He knows almost every business that rents out vehicles on a short term basis. We think it likely that our man doesn't keep the same vehicle. It's too great a risk of being seen entering the district every time someone went missing. Doubt the pogues would notice but our man doesn't keep ahead by taking dumb chances."
"You keep referring to him as 'our man'. Why?"
"Because he IS a man and we ARE going to catch him." Christoff said and smiled grimly. "My friend the pimp owes me quite a few favors. I'm calling in one. He's going to get the rental records from every business he deals with. For the night of each murder and the two days prior. Just to be certain. You have to show identification to rent a vehicle. Our man probably has a set of false documents, but probably only one. A false name can be a good start if it's used for more than just renting vehicles."
"You should think of doing this legally."
"Doing what?"
"Investigations. Not necessarily of murders, but look at you lot! And I know you enjoy the intellectual challenge! There's got to be a way to use these skills legally!"
"And what fun would that be?" ibn Salim said from behind a desk piled high with ledgers. "This we do now is important. But as to enjoying it? Yes. It's a challenge. But we're also proving that we are better, in every way, than those government scum."
"No offense, lad, but legally anything doesn't interest me." Pruitt added. "We have our own code. Beyond that I got no use for rules."
"Go Hav. Go let your source know." Christoff said gently and took the cup from Haven's hands. "That's where your thoughts are. Go on. I'll let you know the moment we figure out anything that counts."
.
"You've been avoiding this."
"I've been thinking about you, Haven. How could I not? You tell me that you're in love with me. And I never expected that either. Or that you would be as you are.I don't understand why you, or your friends, are working so hard to do something that the police won't. You're good men, but still. It's dangerous. And you. And you. The one facing that danger. Looking out for me. Worrying over me. How can I not think of you."
"Of course I have! After what was said? You said to let it go!"
"And you haven't."
"Were it so easy love would mean nothing!"
"But it means something. Even when you wish it wouldn't."
"I didn't choose this but now it's here. It's here! But...I have to do what I promised. Even if it's as difficult for me as this!"
"Yasmine. I'm not as good as you believe..."
"You're not perfect. No. Nobody is."
"Everything is going wrong for me!"
"Everything?"
He tried not to look at her but his will wasn't that strong. He needed to see in her eyes that this moment truly mattered to her as well. He needed to see her face, his heart demanded the proof. That she was every bit as beautiful as it thought she was. And she was. Oh, gods help his soul, she was.
"Do you wish we'd never met?" She said very softly. Her eyes piercing his heart. "Would that be better?"
"No. I don't wish that at all." He whispered, stunned at the tears he saw in her eyes. They shouldn't be there. Shouldn't. "I wish I'd met you three years ago. Then there would only be you, forevermore, in my heart."
"Come home with me. Give me tonight." She said and lifted her hand to his lips and gently kissed it. "If it isn't enough, if it's that wrong, we won't meet again."
"Yasmine..."
"I haven't been with a man since my husband." She said and broke his heart with her words and her tears and the look, oh the look in those eyes. "I never thought I'd want a man again. My life hasn't been like that. If you love me then give me tonight. Or walk away now."
"Do you love me?"
"I do, my darling. I do. So. What now?'
"Take me home." He said and surrendered to her eyes.
From the time that he was a small child, from before even his earliest memories, he was the hope of his family. They said he taught himself to read before he had turned four. He couldn't remember that and doubted the veracity of that statement. Children had no natural grasp for written language. How had he figured out grammar and sentence structure on his own?
He was intelligent. Yes. He wasn't going to be that disingenuous about his abilities. Not even to himself. His teachers had always been stretching, looking for ways to challenge him. The other kids resented him for what he was and he chose to have a few close friends and ignore the rest.
He thought that the anger towards him was a valid opinion to have. Teachers fawned over him and gave him praise beyond what was necessary. They treated him with a respect that no child had a right to expect. He never seemed to have to work as hard in class. Even when he was given lessons from six grades above his.
He was a polymath and omniglot. Not by choice. His mind quickly grasped the rhythm and structure of languages. Anything that captured his interest was examined in depth because his mind would fixate and obsess over a topic until he felt satisfied with his knowledge.
Perrin Nathaniel Pearson was who he was because that was who he was. He didn't do things to deliberately impress, aggravate, or complicate the situation for others. Quite the opposite really. He enjoyed sports and physical activities but never took part because he understood just how insufferable he would appear if he excelled in those areas as well. He learned to play the guitar but played only for himself. He couldn't stifle his intelligence but he could limit the ways in which he drew attention to himself.
It wasn't modesty. It was common sense. Creating a world of enemies, surrounding yourself with resentment, there was no way that a life like that would ever be pleasant.
When he was fifteen he entered university. Studying engineering, philosophy, sociology, and history. Because of his age and the ease with which he absorbed lessons he was an utter outcast. That suited him though. He was there to study and learn, not to socialize and indulge in decadence as a response to the first taste of freedom from parental control. Even his professors found him off-putting. He took their subjects more seriously than even they did.
At nineteen he graduated with degrees in chemical engineering, ancient history, and philosophy. He applied to the Imperial University of Science and Arts and was accepted into the post-graduate program there. He embarked for Tirenia from the port of Eirielle.
His ship, the I.S.S. Weathershield, was captured on the second day of the first C.C.S./Auretane War. It wasn't a legitimate target but the war crimes started early. Because the Neuerheim Empire was a neutral party he was subject to conscription. The military of the Confederation of Coastal States didn't care about his brilliance. Perrin Pearson was nineteen and healthy. He was inducted and trained as an infantryman.
That's where and when I met him. He was assigned to my unit, D Company, 1st Battalion of the 3rd Recconaisance Regiment in the 4th Corps of the Ninth Infantry Division. To be honest I wasn't impressed. His marksmanship was near the bare minimum. He was thin and not particularly strong. He also kept quiet more than was normal. I myself was a foreign born conscript as well, and I expected more from him accordingly.
I was the platoon sergeant of the headquarters platoon of D Company at the time. Meaning all of his quirks and apparent inadequacies were definitely my concern. Especially since I was a Rithenian and thus under increased scrutiny myself. That was a thing that held true throughout the army of the C.C.S. A quarter of it was foreign national conscripts and they never really trusted any of us.
Then again we were part of an army at war. What we liked or wanted was irrelevant. It wasn't like we actually had options.
.
He was a good soldier. He was. Most people with his level of intelligence and creativity aren't. A good imagination is not an asset on the battlefield. A mind capable of comprehending just exactly how horrific the situation is, well that's more curse than blessing. He was an exceptional scout. His attention to detail saved he and his crew multiple times. He was brave, reliable, and never shirked duty. When I received a battlefield commission and took over command of the company I in turn promoted him to senior sergeant. His intuition and situational awareness were things that could help people stay alive.
When the 3rd and 5th Armies were cut off in the Debham Pocket we were in Harrowsfield. Lack of fuel and spare parts meant that our vehicles were repurposed as strongpoints. There wasn't much use for scouts. Not in our traditional role. By that summer's end I was in command of just thirty-four men. Morale was poor. Well, at rock bottom really. My tiny command, which included Perrin Pearson, joined in the unauthorized breakout from the pocket.
If you don't know your history, eleven thousand some of us, out of two armies numbering four hundred and eighty-two thousand, escaped alive. Against the orders to stand to the last. In the pocket where thousands had starved and tens of thousands had died from a lack of medical supplies. They still expected us to stand and to die.
After our breakout they arrested officers, or rather, they arrested high ranking officera of foreign national birth, and charged them with mutiny. So the rest of us mutinied for real. We had nothing to lose. The idiots in High Command thought to paint us as cowards to the comrades whom we had fought and died with side by side. That was why our ranks grew greater until we numbered twenty-three thousand.
Field Marshall Eleazar de Miallo gave our 'superiors' a four word reply to the threats directed our way. "Everybody's gotta die sometime." and that cemented our reserve. There was no respect for our service and sacrifice. In Debham Pocket, and the broader Wrexhall Salient, ninety-three thousand foreign born had died in three months. Right alongside our native born comrades. And they called us cowards. Their claim was so ludicrous that two thirds of the First Independent Corps were native born.
And through it all I had Perrin Pearson in my command. Stalwart and faithful. He was twenty-two years old and never once refused to do his duty. All the stories written afterwards are lies. If he was the coward they claimed him to be, how would he have spent over two years in combat? He was wounded six times. That happened. It is a fact. It's real. His commendations were real. His medals for valor were real. I pinned the silver sword of The Order of Courage to his tunic myself.
Lies come easy to those who have never been in the blood and who wish to refashion history into something more appropriate to their narrative. They make men into monsters and turn warriors into cowards. All without ever having been in danger themselves. All safely removed from having to defend even their position, let alone their lives.
Find a comrade of his, an actual brother in arms who faced battle at his side, find just one, who claims he failed us. I was there. I know the names. I was there. I know the battles. The dates, the places, the units involved. Of all those who claim to know 'the real story' I have yet to find one who knows even half the truth.
I have the documentation. I can cite sources. That's something the false histories never do. Heresay isn't proof. The truth remains even in the official records of the army. Because they can't erase what we did without also erasing all that 'their army' did. Look at the names of his most devoted companions. You will see that well over half were C.C.S. citizens. Do you think, actually think, that those men dared to risk being labeled traitors for standing with a coward?
My name is Siore Ausgaustin Vićia. I know the actual truth about Perrin Nathaniel Pearson. If you want to know the real truth, the facts and not slander, continue reading.
Raube was hyped. Amped up and nearly tweaking on the energy of finally getting back on mission. That was a red flag he missed. He clearly wasn't in war mode like he thought that he was. He had forgotten the fundamental law of war-Nothing Will Ever Go To Plan. Perfect was impossible. Something WILL fuck things up.
You went into the shit anticipating that things would go sideways, over, upside down. You tried to have backups to your backup plan and kitted up as best you could. Unless you were shiny you didn't mount up all happy. The day you thought you couldn't fail was usually the day you got tagged and bagged.
♧
He and Raube had hit up a local military surplus store. To get traveling gear. Landing in on an urban area wasn't a given. Even if luck held they might still need to bivvy out while they got their bearings. Personally he wasn't looking forward to making the move. His only experience with it so far had been disorienting and unpleasant. Spinning in nothing, absolutely helpless, than slam! Back on solid ground, nauseated and with a headache like nothing he'd ever felt.
The boss was confident though, and Cat had full faith in the chronomancer. That was his anchor. Raube's upbeat energy was reassuring as well. Particularly since his brother was the only seasoned traveler amongst them. As far as the kid? He couldn't give a single fuck about that. The boss said the punk was part of The Path and that locked it.
However.
The scrawny little shit was clearly terrified but not man enough to admit it. The little fucker made no effort to be squad. Selfish little cunt was only in because HE wanted something. Nothing he'd yet seen in that shit deserved trust. Or respect. The little asshole seemed to think he deserved both things without doing a single goddamn thing or offering either of any in return.
He didn't have to ask Raube. They were brothers. He knew neither of them would die for the prick. When it got seriously lively the fucker would have to pull his own cover. Because that's how it was and always would be.
₽
He felt like he was making the biggest, and probably last, mistake of his life. The longer he was around Raube and Svalgardson the more he became sure that they were probably the worst people he'd ever in his life encountered. They weren't evil. They weren't that simple. They were dangerous and ruthless and cold. They probably didn't give a shit about good or bad or right and wrong. They would do whatever they had to and have zero regrets after.
They were actually predictable and that was the most terrifying thing. They would eliminate any problem or obstacle and do it without the hesitation of the amateur. If he fucked up he'd die. Before he had a chance to say sorry. They'd both been to war wherever it was they'd come from. So what. But here? Here Raube had killed criminals, cops, soldiers, and he didn't brag or act like it was anything. At all. It just happened when it was necessary. Period. The man clearly saw actions as necessary consequences which demanded no explanations or apologies.
That was doombringer shit. Eitherian was his only ally. His only protection. The woman didn't seem to hate him but she didn't have pull. And she was Svalgardson's woman. What choice did he have though? He didn't have a life here, not really and this world was going to shit.
This was his one and only chance to be something more than a mixed breed streetrat. His ancestors had made him for this. For THIS. He didn't owe them. He owed himself. This was his one hope and so he'd just have to stay tight and get things right.
☆
He hadn't moved in a group this large before. As they dropped in it felt awkward and clumsy. His husband knew what he was doing though. Clearly. It was one of his specialties. The touch on his heart and soul was what he focused on. Which, he only realized later, was a massive mistake.
The devil had gifted him and had told him that he would be guided. But he was looking in, not out. He was blind to the offer. That was newf level negligence. In fact, in his excitement, he'd forgotten that the offer had even been made. He felt only its effect upon his husband. A startled shift of attention.
Then everything went to shit.
♧
He held tight to Cat as they entered into nothing so that his mind wouldn't recoil from that sudden absence of EVERYTHING. He hung onto her love and had no fear.
Until something was where only nothing should be. Something huge and fast and violent slammed into them and he was stunned by the impact. He thought that they were only energy shifting between states, possessed of no actual physical form. The pain was what saved him. He knew pain. His instincts knew how to react.
As they spun, very definitely spun wildly, through void, he latched on to those around him and clung tight, ignoring the agony because it wouldn't kill him and he had a fucking job to do.
₽
Something went seriously wrong but he didn't feel it. He had gone from standing in a park near the Rhine River at sunrise to a darkness beyond his ability to register. He had simply become darkness and he felt nothing, not even a sense of his own body. Then abruptly there was intense heat and glaring light and he had feet and flesh but was prepared for neither and crumbled to the ground.
"Motherfucking cocksucking whore sonofabitch! Goddamn fucker, that fucker, that bastard whore fucking piece of shit!"
He instinctively curled in on himself at the sound of Raube's raging voice, certain he had done something terrible.
"Brother! Calm down! Calm down! Wait! Where's the boss? What was that?"
"Motherfucking goddamn it! Fucking ratfucking God-fucking-dammit! That fucking bitch! That worthless fucking piece of shit bitch! I'm gonna fucking end him!"
"Are you okay?" He heard and then actually squeaked at the touch of the woman's hand on his shoulder. "Are you in pain?"
"I don't know." He admitted and kept his eyes closed. He wasn't ready to see reality yet. "Where are we?"
"Some kind of desert." The woman said and and kept her hand on him. He could feel her crouched over him. "There's a problem. It's not your fault. Don't worry. We'll figure things out."
He realized very much later that this was the first time in his life that someone had thought of him and reassured him even as they were themselves worried. Nobody had ever thought about him and what he felt. He had never felt honest concern before . So that was probably where his love for her began.
She could have very easily panicked. Fear was pushing at her mind from every direction and she had no idea exactly what had just happened. It was bad. Oh yes. Seriously fucking bad. Maybe even disastrously horrible. If she had allowed herself to think she would surely have buckled under the pressure.
Fortunately there were distractions. Raube was beyond furious. She had never seen someone become the embodiment of wrath and rage before. Guns was trying to bring Raube back while also trying to assess their surroundings for threats while also trying to recover his bearings.
Then she had seen poor Feyzi, curled into a ball and clearly in need of help. That was something she could do. Something she should do. Help. Comfort. Do what she could right here and now.
"I'm gonna destroy that fucking motherfucker! End the bitch! I know how! He thinks he's fucking immortal? Cocksucker! I know the trick! Norman showed me the fucking trick! I'll do it! I'll go out smiling the whole fucking way when I take that goddamn cunt with me!"
"Brother! Calm down! Calm down! Raube? Mate? Brother! Get your shit tight! We're in the shit right now! I need you!"
"What did I do? What did I do?" She heard Feyzi moan as she knelt next to him. Instinctively she wrapped herself around him, to shelter and reassure. "I'm sorry! I don't know what I did! I'm sorry!"
"Hush. Hush. It wasn't you. You did nothing wrong." She said with her mouth close to the young man's shoulder. "Hush. I'm here. We're going to figure this out but you did nothing wrong. It wasn't you."
"I didn't come all this fucking way to end up back at the fucking start! Fuck fuck fuck FUCK! This is so wrong it's wrong it's fucking wrong we shouldn't be here I know this place!"
"What? Brother! You know this place? You know it?"
"I don't know what fucking world this is exactly but this is a desert and with the angle of the sun I'm guessing we"re in the local equivalent of Iran or Syria."
"What does that mean?"
"We are in very serious trouble." Raube said in an abruptly calm tone of voice. "We don't have enough water and the locals are likely to hate us. As in a kill us kind of hate! Keep all the gear though. It's gonna get seriously cold come night."
Under her sheltering arms Feyzi stopped trembling. Listening now just as she was.
"Galahad did this. Cat?"
"Yes?"
"Can you find a door?"
"Maybe with the help of Feyzi."
"Okay. Good enough." Raube said and suprised everyone. "The devils gift was meant to take me where I needed to go. This ain't that. So I think Galahad was watching. Knocked us off line and snatched Ramûnas. Eitherian. That demands payback."
"Why would this Galahad do that?" She said and sat back so that Feyzi could uncurl. "I thought he was a friend?"
"Let me put this straight and simple. Galahad is a...different thing. I think, nah, I know, that he's playing his own game. He wants to turn Janus into something, I don't know what, but I guarantee that it involves having Janus forget who he really is."
"Explain that more, if you could brother."
"Galahad was the one to start calling Janus 'Ghost'. I never heard him use Janus' actual name." Raube said and looked out at their bleak surroundings. "The abominations were there. But they didn't dare approach Janus. Because of Galahad. Well, then I was seduced, lured off by those things and held in thrall. Galahad, that fuck, he could do whatever he wanted. He's that strong. But he didn't come for me. Norman did. And I get it now. That was his way of getting rid of me cleanly."
"He couldn't just destroy you?"
"No. Janus would know. So here's the thing. If we brought Cat to him, then Galahad wouldn't have the ability to completely mold Janus. So he snatched my husband away so that we would end up lost and couldn't get Cat to him. Except he doesn't know nearly as much as he thinks he does."
"You have a plan?"
"Yes, Guns my brother. But first?" Raube said and grinned a very feral grin. "But first? We gotta find water. You and me can't die but we got these two to protect. And I don't want to find out what not actually dying from dehydration feels like."
â—‡
Something bad happened and she knew it was bad by the smugness with which Galahad reacted to the disturbance that both she and Filly felt. Her constant companion gave her a look that showed that he agreed with her. Whatever it was that was done didn't involve the intruders. The 'Other' as Filly put it. Galahad never did anything about those. So she said nothing and waited because she no longer had any illusion that she was of any importance to Galahad and Ghost. Whatever was going on now didn't require her at all.
.
"Princess? Will you accompany me to the bakery?"
"Of course." She said and didn't question why The Hat, the leader, the lord of these vagabonders, was now running his own errands. "Let me grab my coat."
She crossed over to her hut and opened the door but then paused. Why wasn't her coat by the door? Where was it? There on the chair by the stove! But...
("Princess! Listen carefully! Please!") She heard, no not heard. It was Filly's voice but it was in her head, not her ears. ("Don't turn your back on Galahad! Don't let him behind you! I'll explain later!")
She nodded and retrieved her coat. She let the warning sink into her awareness so that she wouldn't have to consciously think about it. Filly was clearly taking a great risk and she didn't need to understand danger to know that she was in it. She shrugged into her coat and stepped back out into the chilly morning air.
"Here. Carry this." Galahad said and held out a canvas duffel. The demon's patchwork coat and tophat no longer distracted her nor gave it the appearance of an affable eccentric. "We will be collecting tribute truly owed us for our discretion in depriving the dull-witted of their petty provisions."
"Okay. Sure." She said and didn't even allow herself to think about what a nonsensical excuse was being given. "If they owe us, why aren't they delivering it to us?"
"Nothing not of this camp enters this camp without an explicit invitation." Galahad said and she didn't react to that either. Even though it told her more than was intended.
Nothing came into the camp unbidden. Nothing would dare. So clearly The Others came and went at the demon's whims. Knowing that, Filly's warning became instinct. Only a complete fool would turn their back on something so devious, disingenuous, and dangerous.
His heart was dead. It was done. Finished. Emptied out for the last time and shattered into dust. Like the fucking dust of this fucking desert and if he was in a nightmare he would become a nightmare as well. He was heading straight for true death on a perfect flat trajectory like a hypersonic missile.
He didn't tell anyone what he saw ahead. His plan. His mission. Payback. Absolutely completely fucking personal payback. First would be Janus. Janus the fucking traitor. Janus the ungrateful little fucking bitch. Janus who had killed Norman and then forced Norman to make the supreme sacrifice. Janus who couldn't be bothered to find and rescue his best friend.
Friend. Yeah. Yeah. Right. The fucking kid had shown him just what that was worth. Which was why Janus would suffer. Which is why he would let the little fucker survive. He wanted the asshole to have forever to remember all the pain. And fuck yeah he was gonna bring that down. He was going to scar that fucker so that every day of forever would hurt. Then he'd take Galahad out and laugh his fucking ass off until he was nothing.
Rob Berry was gone for good. In his place was the man his grunts had called Lucifer. No mercy, no pity, just Hell for all those who got in his way.
.
He sat on the sand smoking a cigarette and letting his body reaquaint itself with the heat. Guns was talking to Cat as she tried to get Feyzi up to speed. Now that Rob had his hate properly integrated and directed the dude no longer annoyed him. The kid was just fresh in country. That was all. Every replacement struggled with life outside the wire. Every newf was a liability until they adapted.
He had made sure that everyone stayed covered up. Yeah it was miserable. Yeah you would sweat faster than it could evaporate, but the sun would seriously fuck you up if you let it. Exposed skin would burn and even blister and there weren't any clinics around to get that treated. He saw signs of a wadi to their north. They might be able to dig deep enough to find some water. If not, that would be an issue.
The thing about deserts was that, no matter how fucking worthless the land seemed, some idiot would consider the land to be Theirs. He would find those people and out here this time it was all tangos and no civ. He would find these people and take their water.
They were outside the wire with no chain of command to dictate rules of engagement. He was weapons free and the only friendlies were in his section already. He didn't have birds on standby but it didn't matter. He was war. Death would come from his hands and he would never hesitate on the trigger.
♧
He did his best to get Kat and Feyzi squared away. His brother had overwatch and was locked in. Raube was an absolute blank now. Locked in. Riding the sights and ready at the trigger. That was how a true soldier warred. No room for fear. No future. Just now. Just the mission.
"How are we going to survive? Water. What will we do about watee?" Kat said and looked to him. Trusting him to know. "We're in the middle of nowhere!"
"Raube will figure it out. This is his battlefield." He said and wiped at the sweat under his collar. "He went to war in a place like this. So we're going to listen to him and do what he says. You get me, kid?"
"Yes. I understand." Feyzi said and nodded. Apparently recognizing that this was not a situation open to discussion. "I'll do whatever I have to."
Well, the kid had determination. Unfortunately determination couldn't offset the physical shortcomings of being small, weak, and not in good shape. Almost immediately once they began moving Feyzi was struggling to keep up. The kid had a fairly light pack but he just wasn't strong.
"Here. Stop. Brother, help me." Raube said and did something that seemed incredibly stupid. He took Feyzi's pack and strapped it sideways across the top of his own. Meaning Raube was carrying well over half his own weight in gear. In brutal heat.
Raube was a beast though. An absolute fucking beast. The weight seemed to be nothing to him. He set a pace that the others could just barely match. And his brother took lead because he knew this type of terrain best. His own back ached and he had no idea how Raube was going to keep this up.
Apparently Raube created his own reality. The man was indefatigible. He barely sipped at his water. Especially after digging for more in a dry creek bed had gotten them none.
"Off that way the land is broken." Raube announced late in the day, pointing off into heat shimmer. "We rest tonight. Move in the morning and find a place to sit out the afternoon heat. After this we'll move at night. We're using too much energy walking the way we are now."
"I'm feeling better now." Feyzi said but didn't look like it. "I can carry my pack now."
"No. I got it. Not messing with the rig." Raube said and looked like he could walk a hundred more miles. "Save your energy. You get first watch tonight. Cool?"
"Yeah. Uhm. Sure. Cool! Yeah!"
"Brother, the kid needs to be packing his own shit proper." He muttered to Raube as they were moving out. "You aren't going to help us if you wear yourself out or hurt yourself."
"I know my body. To get certified as an operator we had to cover twenty two miles in ten hours humping one hundred thirty pound rucks." Raube said and squinted towards the goal only he could see. "I don't even have a blister yet. I was a pogue with honorary grunt status. Got good boots and my rig right. This is nothing."
Well he wasn't going to argue that. Because it was an argument he couldn't win. His brother was locked into the mission and once a man did that it took normal right off the table.
.
"Are those civs? I see the kid but the men have military rifles."
"Yeah. We're probably in a tribal zone."
"Tribal zone? What's that mean?"
"Means we're in an area that the government doesn't think is worth the effort it takes to control it." Raube said as they watched the two men leading the donkey on which a small boy rode move into what Raube called a 'wadi'. "It also means we fuck with anybody we'll have fifty to a hundred family members hunting us down as an honor thing."
"Were those jugs of water on the donkey?" He asked and glanced back to make sure Kat and Feyzi were still hidden out of sight. "So there's a well somewhere the way they came from?"
"Probably. Unless they came from a village." Raube said and scanned the area without moving his head. "It's too late in the morning for breakfast so there's no smoke. Water is life out here. No place that has it is left unwatched or unprotected."
"If the village is back there then where is that lot going?"
"They could be shepherds. Probably of goats. They don't need as much water."
"We need water."
"Yeah. So let's settle in." Raube said and sighed. "Come dark we'll go see just what it's gonna take to get some."
His Party of Interest (which is what Wühüer insisted he call them), version two, did an unexpected dip. No. Not unexpected. A totally unpredictable and truly incomprehensible dip. Particularly because their guide, as in the only one aware of what movement looked like and entailed, had almost immediately split off sharply. Like a man leaving the bar suddenly realizing who he'd been about to drunkenly fuck.
The fact that they'd moved at all irritated him. They clearly weren't prepared and they'd jumped the schedule by months. The fools hadn't finished properly preparing. They hadn't tightened up their flow modulation. Hadn't done any test reads. Hadn't redirected the current to give them a boost. It was the equivalent of jumping out of an airplane and then asking if you had a parachute.
When he finished his minor (very minor) tantrum he regained his senses and examined the evidence properly. Because the resident fusions didn't react to the exit he could ignore them. As soon as he scared off some campers by introducing himself in Rabbit-man form he settled in at the POI exit point and did a scope.
Well that didn't improve his mood. At all. He instantly saw how Fate's Recruit had stripped the chronomancer away and forcefully drove the remainder far off course. Clearly trying to keep the lure from reaching the Tri-Color Kid. That was a deliberate attempt to thwart Fate's design and THAT was a violation of a primary tenet you didn't fuck with. The only thing more upper management than Fate was The Great Creator.
Alliondiyene took this affront deeply personally. Fate kept creation functioning. His biggest boss (whom he didn't think he'd ever met, but you could never really tell) deserved respect. He himself was just a bottom tier operator but that didn't factor. Fate ran the show and some deluded renegade thinking no rules applied to it? That fucking pissed him off.
He couldn't quite get a lock on what this ignorant cunt of a knoblicking demon intended to do. That was something to work on. Because it was clearly something dark and fucked up and if he could get enough evidence together Wühüer might be able to get Alliondiyene the clearance to do some correcting. Some hands-on and intensely extensive correcting.
The notion got him hard and that was a little unsettling. He wasn't violent. Well, he normally wasn't. He didn't need to be. Unbalanced and immoral humans were always handily available when mayhem proved to be necessary.
He decided not to dwell on it. He composed a, for him, rather concise explanation of what he'd found out and what his plans were, and left it on a drop node for a Messenger to relay to Wühüer. He was being proactive, which was something his taskmaster was always encouraging him to be, and that wasn't the reason for it but it was a factor. When he did well it made Wühüer look good, and Alliondiyene had a definite interest in keeping himself partnered with this taskmaster. Unlike most free-agents he actually enjoyed the downtime between gigs. A lot.
If he was falling a little bit in love with Wühüer, well, they both served Fate. So if it happened then it was clearly meant to be.
.
He dropped down the line to where the main party had went. Which made his sour mood turn bitter. The fucking Recruit had damaged lines with a peak level overforce intended to make any kind of backtracking impossible. He'd have to call out linemenders and that lot had the personalities typical of repair types anywhere. Cranky, disdainful, and always bitching to him like he was the one that had wrecked things.
He dropped all in and just became the physical embodiment of a sigh. A fucking desert. And him with fur. Between the heat and all the sand that was going to get down in his pelt it was going to be bliss, it was going to be a regular non-stop erotic cabaret. And of course the POI had already moved along. It was a fucking desert and they had a good head start since they'd arrived via high speed express.
He tucked his clothes and gear away into his pocket dimension and made good use of those legs that he was actually beginning to really like. He could move faster than anything else that used feet. It was a rush. Serious fun shit. Launching himself forward, stretching his body out, catching the ground briefly with hands, then digging in with those legs and springing forward again. He was covering seventy feet per leap easily.
That was the kind of thing that created new myths if seen by people. He was absolutely good with that.
.
He detected his POI trying to covertly approach a village. He decided to help out by getting there first to be a distraction.
He was definitely distracting. As soon as he was spotted by the locals there was shouting, screaming, and then shooting. Lots of shooting.
He really hated being shot. It was so incredibly disrespectful. If he'd been wearing clothes they would have been shredded and he probably would have done things he'd have had to file a report to explain. Since he was naked (having fur still felt like being naked) he ignored the bullets and folded some molecular energy to shatter every weapon in the entire village. Including the hundred or so not being used at the moment. He didn't see the point in leaving intact the possibility for extending this ruckus.
When someone threw something at him that exploded he lost patience. He hadn't done a single thing to warrant all this aggression. They were obviously idiots as well. If you shot something with a few hundred bullets and in response that thing just destroyed all your guns, why would you make it potentially even angrier by trying to explode it?
He wrapped himself in fire and leapt onto the roof of the holy temple. Just to let them know that their version of god was not going to help them out.
That worked.
Very well
The entire population of the village fled. Away from the POI. Which was reassuring. He was definitely doing the bidding of Fate. Plus they ran off so quickly, en masse, that he didn't have to keep up that tricky balance of being on fire without actually getting burnt.
"Keep running!' He projected his voice towards the idiots. To keep them inspired. "You have five minutes and then I'm coming for you!"
Which was a lie. But then he served Fate. Not Truth. Truth was malleable anyways. He settled down on the roof and tried to brush as much dust from his fur as he could. He saw a well but actual bathing could wait. He wanted to keep his vantage point to make sure his POI made it to him without any further issues.
Well there was that. But also he wanted to make a good first impression. Soaking wet in fur just wasn't a great look. No matter what kind of beast you might be.
.
The wait was lengthy. Or felt like it. Understandably though. All of that gunfire and the explosions, followed by an ominous silence? That usually wasn't a good thing. He felt a vague sweep sent out. It was low powered but fairly tight. Someone had natural skills. Not enough to recognize him though. He wasn't tied to any energy that would resonate. He could have let himself be seen but he knew two of the POI were armed. He didn't want to have them imitating the idiot villagers. If they came in blind but careful they might be more ready to talk.
Plus this way he could get a better read on their actual skill level as far as action and movement. If he was going to directly interact with this POI, he would only do it on his own terms. He was a free agent of Fate. All options were open.
He felt absolutely miserable. In every way. Physically, emotionally, and mentally. He also felt weak and worthless and pointless. With the old man gone what purpose did he serve? He was a burden. The others were a team. They'd been together for years. At least. He wasn't just an outsider to the group, he didn't belong in this place. It was a loneliness like he'd never known. His world gone and he now a stranger amongst strangers in a strange land.
By the third day he had to admit that his feelings of inferiority and his certainty that he wasn't wanted or welcome were coming entirely from within him. Cat continued to be considerate, even nice, to him. Svalgardson checked his feet at every stop and made sure he changed socks. Raube? Raube carried the extra weight of Feyzi's pack like it was nothing, never complained, refused to let Feyzi carry it ("Save your energy. And drink water.) Neither soldier looked at him like he was lazy or stupid. They treated him decently.
He had expected the normal racism. Aren't 'your people' used to this kind of place?' That kind of shit. The whole Arab/Africa ancestry meaning he should be naturally suited for this even though he'd lived his whole life in Berlin. That was the way the world was. Or rather his world was. He had forgotten that these people weren't from his version of reality.
Raube in particular was both concerned and considerate without actually being friendly. He got that though. Raube was a soldier and the leader and he was focused on the survival of the group. In fact Raube seemed to be perpetually alert. Without showing the strain of maintaining such a heightened state. His own fear was greatly lessened by Raube's clear competence.
Everyone looked after everyone else. For the first time ever in his life Feyzi Mehmet Ardehi experienced the feeling of belonging and it motivated him to do his best so that he wouldn't let the others down.
.
"Well that's interesting."
That was Raube's deadpan reaction to an incredible cacophony of gunfire followed by an explosion and then an unsettling silence. All coming from the direction of the village they'd been trying to sneak up on. At least Cat, unlike the two soldiers, shared his alarm. Svalgardson simply checked his weapons while Raube was listening, and probably seeing, more than anyone. Then there was a weird shockwave, not directed at them though. Raube noticed his flinch and then frown.
"Ardehi. You felt that too? What did it seem like to you?" Raube said as he slid over so they could almost touch. "Don't think about it. What did it say to you?"
"It felt like a warning. A threat." He answered, doing as Raube asked and reading the emotional tenor. "Is there something like us up ahead in that village?"
"Sort of but mostly no. It doesn't belong here but I can't see it. It hasn't left or there'd be ripples. Skill can't cancel those. Brother?" Raube said just loudly enough to get Svalgardson's attention. "Every person in that village, and their goats too, are running northeast. And not down a road. That's rough country that way."
"Ardehi. What's your instinct?"
"The opposite direction from us. So it seems someone wants to meet us." Svalgardson said and seemed to think a few moments. "If we drop packs and this, whatever, isn't friendly, it could have mates snatch our kit and then we'd be proper fucked."
He froze at the unexpected question. He saw the two soldiers looking at him with their flat gazes. He was used to that though. So he said, "If it knows we're here it could come right at us if it's an enemy. It must know we're on the move. I don't think we should leave the gear."
"It's unanimous then." Raube said and nodded approval and Feyzi felt an odd pleasure at that. "Okay. But we aren't going in soft. We do this tactical. When we can see houses we'll split to avoid being one big target. Gun, you and Cat will go right, Ardehi and I left."
"Me with you?" He said and forgot how hot and thirsty he was. "What do I do? Where do you want me?"
"In my back pocket." Raube said and tightened the straps on the packs he carried. "I got shit for flank vision. You watch left and right. Okay?"
"Yeah. Yeah. Definitely."
"Good to go. Let's move out."
They moved through rocks and thorny bushes. Raube made almost no sound and seemed to know exactly where gaps in the thorns were. The soldier was first to see the village. He held up a hand and closed it into a fist. Everyone stopped. The soldier stared at something nobody else could see.
"Ardehi. Look ahead. See the footpath? Look on the ground near that wooden post."
He stared but couldn't quite make sense of what it was on the ground there. Some kind of trash. Wait. Was that? It was. He looked closer and carefully. He glanced over at Raube and whispered, "It looks like a couple of AKMs but they don't look disassembled. They look like they fell apart!"
"Good eyes, kid." Raube said and gave a hand sign to Svalgardson and Cat. "Stay tight. It's waiting on us."
They moved forward. He kept his head swiveling; Raube was relying on him to watch their flanks. They passed the guns and he didn't know much about such things but there were clearly important parts missing. They moved between two houses made of clay bricks that had no glass in their windows. Then Raube stopped.
"So you're the one. Obviously. What the fuck are you?"
He glanced past Raube and would have pissed his pants if he he hadn't been so dehydrated. On the roof of a small mosque a devil crouched. It looked like a half-man, half-rabbit monstrosity, easily bigger than either of them, and with white fur and deep red eyes. It leapt down to the ground and he barely kept himself from screaming.
"I am Alliondiyene, fwee agent in sevith to Fate." It said in a baritone lisp. "The plettheh the pwiveletth ith mine. Come, alluff you and letth talk."
"Brother? Should we?"
"Yes." Raube said without giving any reason. "What's your name again?"
"Alliondiyene. My name wemainth the thame wheheveh I wandah." It said and it was definitely a he. A large and very un-rabbit set of genitalia were visible between it's very rabbit-like legs. "I wequethhted the localth to be elthwheh fo the fotheeabul futuh. They wuh not weathonable or wational."
"You were expecting us?" Raube said calmly as Svalgardson and Cat stepped out into the dusty square. "Waiting for us?"
"Just three of us? Is this how you always look?" Cat said and was clearly seeing something that he, Feyzi, couldn't.
"Thwee of you."
"I look like thith for thoth that wefuth to thee me any othuh way." The rabbit said and did a peculiarly elegant bow. "I could look ath thith if I choeth."
"That taketh ethtwa effut that I needn't wathte with you." It said and Feyzi desperately wished the old man were still with them to explain. "That othuh ithn't what I look like either. To be twoofful I don't wemembuh what I weally look like. Ith been a vewy long time thinth I thaw that fathe. Wait one."
The creature vanished and in its place stood the most stunningly handsome man Feyzi had ever seen. The complexion was like a southern Turk or an Arab, the hair jet black and wavy, the body lithe and muscular, the face perfect, and jade green eyes looked them over. Then it returned to being a rabbit.
"You said three of us? Not four?" Cat repeated and drew a quick and clearly reproachful look from the rabbit. "Why three?"
"I wanted a moment so I could speak more clearly. I shouldn't be able to speak at all with this mouth." The rabbit's ears swiveled, clearly listening to the surroundings. "You need to work on your patience. And yes three. I know about the one who should be fourth, but this one?" The rabbit pointed straight at Feyzi. "Should not be here at all. Not with you. I mean to say, he has variables that are rather tight. Let me show you."
The rabbit-man turned his attention to Raube. Something clearly passed between them and Raube didn't protest or resist. After several seconds the rabbit nodded towards the man and pointed a long, fur-covered finger at him.
The rabbit crouched down...
"I'm not a rabbit. Quit thinking that about me." It said and stared straight at Feyzi. "I am Alliondiyene. If that's too much to remember I am fine with you thinking of me as 'free agent' or 'Fate's servant' but you know I'm not a rabbit. So show some respect."
He saw Raube and Svalgardson looking at him and he understood that this was an actual test. If he couldn't adapt he really was useless. He swallowed hard and said. "My apologies, Alliondiyene. I am inexperienced and still learning. I sincerely apologize for offending you."
"Apology accepted. Now, the rest of you drop your packs and gather around. It's safe here. Nothing is getting near here until I allow it." The rab...Alliondiyene said and seemed to pull something out of thin air. "Myself I am unlimited by time but I'd rather not have to repeat explanations."
How could they refuse? Alliondiyene clearly operated on rules that were far different than anything else's. There didn't seem to be even insects near them and no birds flew above. Fate's servant clearly didn't make idle boasts. If it was being courteous it was probably best to be so in return.
