Beyond fate, there is choice
by Ainzfern
9
Tahna Lam sat behind his desk staring moodily across his tastefully appointed office in the Midas museum of history. Chin in hand, with his elbow resting on the desktop and his beautiful violet eyes wide and inwardly gazing, his sighed irritably for the umpteenth time this morning.
He was far from contented but, in truth, he knew that logically he had no real reason for falling into such a high dudgeon. The museum's most recently acquired inventory was absolutely splendid; for all that it had arrived with many of the pieces incorrectly catalogued. Indeed, that very fact had given Tahna the opportunity to send the kind of scathing communiqué back to the federation department of antiquities that normally would have left him in a most satisfied state of mind.
And, naturally, seeing that Tahna now had his department running more smoothly than a well-oiled machine, he was supremely confident that the Ephedrian exhibition and its scheduled gala opening would be, as was usual for Tahna Lam's projects, a resounding success.
So... once again, logically, there was no reason for the dark cloud descending over his personal horizons.
Of course, Tahna thought as he scowled blackly at the inoffensive far wall, that was just the issue, wasn't it?
He sighed again, absently moving his gold plated pen from one side of the desk-blotter to the other before, just as absently, putting it back in its original place.
It was a quite illogical matter that was unsettling him right now.
Chey Neeson... Tahna huffed a disgusted little sound from deep in his chest, feeling his rich mouth twist into a delicate moue of distaste; that wretched man with his insufferably smug federation credentials, his unshakable composure and his sharp eyes that seemed so endlessly pleased by Tahna no matter how insulting the Elite contrived to be.
Tahna Lam had provoked many strong reactions from people in his personal and professional dealings in the past; he would be the first to admit that, and quite proudly, too. Anger and fear, even tears and, on a few quite memorable occasions, downright hysterics.
But he had never, in all his adult years, encountered anyone who reacted to him like Chey Neeson.
With a total and utter lack of concern, and seemingly boundless amusement.
The man obviously had no ego at all. That, for a start, wasn't normal. Tahna shook his head, his face creasing with disdain. He simply did not seem to care what anyone thought of him, or said to him... or said about him. Honestly, did the man have no pride?
And the worst thing, Tahna sat back crossing his arms over his broad chest and glaring down at his desk. The absolute worst thing, was that Chey was clever.
The previous day, whilst rather ungraciously showing Chey through the just-completed Ephedrian display gallery, Tahna had been given cause to realize just how sickeningly smart the man actually was.
And he had not been impressed, to say the least.
As always, when exposed to the genuine pleasures of antiquities and artifacts as outstandingly compelling and beautiful as those in his latest collection, Tahna had found himself becoming fully engaged. His professional demeanor, his ingrained and evident talent as a scholar and historian, had fallen effortlessly back into place regardless of the vexing nature of his unwanted guest. Chey's questions had been challenging, his observations quite clearly knowledgeable and even, Tahna was forced to admit, subtly amusing. Obviously the man was quite the connoisseur of Ephedrian works.
But Tahna had been halfway through a rather detailed explanation of the restorative process used on predynastic glazes when he had caught the look on Chey Neeson's face and abruptly fallen silent.
The handsome, square jawed federation statesmen hadn't even been looking at the glazed pot in question. He had been looking directly at Tahna, his expression clearly calculating and his eyes quite shrewdly, even clinically, observing him.
And that's when Tahna realized... he'd just been had.
Chey Neeson hadn't been insisting on Tahna guiding him through the exhibit simply in order to be aggravating, although God knew the man was certainly that, all right. No... Chey had been so adamant because he had actually wanted to see Tahna interacting with his exhibit. He had wanted to assess the Elite on a professional level.
And he had succeeded. Although only up to a point.
Upon realizing Chey's game, Tahna had faced him squarely, nailing the federation minister with a flat look of dislike. "I suppose, Mr. Neeson," he had snapped out, "that you consider yourself rather clever to have almost gotten away with that."
Chey had nodded, amiably aware that he'd been sprung. "Ah well," his reply had not contained even the slightest hint of remorse. "At least I tried." His expression had changed then, becoming both benevolent and reasonable as he lifted both hands in an open gesture. "Are you sure you won't reconsider?"
Tahna's bland smile had been glacial. "Get out of my museum, Mr. Neeson," he had replied quite firmly.
"What... no complimentary brochure?"
"Out." Tahna's elegant hand had pointed towards the exit.
Completely unruffled, Chey had merely inclined his head politely and, still smiling like he had some delightful little secret tucked away, made his way out of the gallery.
Now, sitting in his office and literally radiating affronted offense from every pore, Tahna looked up sharply as a soft, almost timid knock at the door broke through his thoughts.
He heaved another sigh, this one vaguely resigned.
Only one person in the world knocked on a door like that. "Come in, Quinn," he called out, sitting back in his chair.
The Museum's small and neatly attired curator entered, bearing a steaming cup. "Ah... I thought you might care for some tea, Sir Tahna."
Tahna vented a noncommittal little grunt. "Set it there." He nodded at the edge of his desk.
"Certainly, Sir." Carefully Quinn laid the cup down and stood back, clasping his hands somewhat nervously before him. "Now, Sir Tahna, did you have any further instructions regarding the gala before I finalize the plans?"
Tilting his head, Tahna considered the question. "The guest list is complete?"
"Yes, Sir," Quinn bobbed his head.
"Invitations have been sent?"
"Oh yes, Sir. Yesterday."
"Caterers?"
"Hot and cold foods, Sir," Quinn smiled carefully. "Sufficient for two-hundred plus extras."
"Acceptable, I suppose," Tahna grudgingly nodded.
Quinn relaxed slightly.
Tahna's eyes narrowed. "Did you actually order sufficient champagne, this time? I don't want another catastrophe like we had earlier in the year when the cellar ran dry."
Quinn tensed again. "I took the liberty of ordering another twenty magnums, Sir, just to be on the safe side."
"Hmm." Tahna picked up his teacup, raising it to his lips and sipping the hot liquid carefully. "Well, it would appear that you are no longer totally incompetent."
"Thank you, Sir."
Setting the cup down again, Tahna appraised the little man before him. "And how is your father?" he asked quite casually, his face artfully neutral.
"Oh," Quinn's expression softened a touch. "Well... he's doing quite well now. Getting better every day. I must thank you again, Sir, for helping with the costs of his treatm—"
Tahna silenced him with an impatient wave of one hand. "Well, I could hardly have you mooning about the place pathetically fretting over some sickly relative when you needed to be concentrating on your work."
Quinn composed his expression, but his eyes remained warm. "Of course, Sir," he murmured.
"Well." Tahna shifted a few papers on his desk. "Unless you have something else to discuss, I suggest you return to your own office instead of loitering in mine."
"Yes, Sir Tahna," With another little bow, Quinn turned to leave.
"One more thing, Quinn," Tahna said suddenly.
The curator turned back, his eyes questioning.
Without quite knowing why, the question had formed up in his throat before he could think better of vocalizing it. "Tell, me... what did you think of Chey Neeson?"
Quinn blinked. "The Minister? Oh... well, I ah... I actually rather liked him."
Tahna shot him a flatly unimpressed look. "Yes," he muttered sourly, "you would."
"Sir?"
"Never you mind," Tahna rose to his feet. He couldn't possibly begin to explain the sudden urge that had come over him. Certainly, he wasn't about to do so to an employee. But the fact of the matter was, Tahna needed to clear his head and he wasn't going to be able to that sitting behind his desk brooding over such ridiculous matters.
He needed some fresh air and a change of scenery. That was all. That fact that Partia was going to be the change of scenery he was heading to was purely coincidental.
"Call my driver and have him collect me from the side entrance of the museum," Tahna said as he strode past Quinn's startled face. "I'm going out for a while."
Sitting next to Katze in the VIP section of seating that surrounded the main podium of the Partia conference hall, Riki stifled a sigh and waited as patiently as possible for his duty-shift at this event to be over.
Much as he loved Iason with his whole heart Riki had to admit that he always had, and probably always would, privately loathe having to endure the inevitable 'public appearances' that came with being the Companion of the leader of the Tanagura Syndicate. Fortunately, he was really only required to be here for the official opening of the conference, showing solidarity with his mate. And there was no question in his mind that he would do it. Of course he would. It was important, he knew, both socially and professionally in Amoi society, for Iason to have visible support from his household.
It was just that he hated being stared at. He didn't have to even look behind him to know that dozens of perfectly beautiful Elite eyes would be sneaking little glances at him, noting his appearance, watching his behavior for any signs of overt 'mongrel-ness'. Some of them would be interested, others might even be vaguely hostile, and some would even be simply appreciating his looks. Even now, with more official Companions being registered and accompanying their former masters into society as civilians, he knew that he was still enough of an oddity to compel curiosity.
He was reasonably content that Iason did not actually know this. He had worked hard to conceal his true feelings from his lover, not wanting to cause him upset over it; but, the fact was, the feeling of being so closely observed like this... it always brought to mind the same sickening sensation he had felt upon the viewing stage at his one abortive appearance at Pet Party all those years ago.
Some memories just died hard, Riki supposed. And, in all honesty, it wasn't such an ask for him to be here. Another half an hour of opening speeches from the podium and he could cut loose during the first recess; making his usual scheduled meeting, ironically enough, with Enif out by the Midas space port before returning to the home office to continue working his way through the consultant's dossier on the civic works program that Chey had given him the night he had arrived.
He heard Katze's soft chuckle beside him and he grinned wryly, suddenly and inexplicably glad to know that he wasn't the only one in this particular boat. After all, Katze had been drafted too.
"Twenty five minutes, man," Katze murmured with a sly little grin on his face, leaning towards him. "You want me to count it down?"
Riki snorted softly, meeting his friend's amused eyes. "Very funny."
Chuckling amiably, Katze faced forward again.
Gathering his attention once more, Riki concentrated on the current speaker, in this case Chey Neeson as he, with his usual understated humor and polished eloquence, reiterated some of the more pertinent points of Iason's earlier speech; encouraging the attendees to take advantage of this opportunity to share ideas and concepts, to form networks amongst the Amoi, federation and independent representatives alike that would usher in great and positive changes for the industries of all territories.
To one side of the podium, splendidly attired in rich cream silk and deep red velvet, his wealth of pale shimmering hair flowing about his shoulders and down his back, Iason Mink stood looking every inch the magnificent Elite that he was. Beside him, no less superbly turned out was Raoul Am, paying all due attention to their federation guest as he wound towards the closure of his address.
Riki smiled gently, even slightly proudly, as he looked his Blondie over.
He had to admit, Iason was fuckin' hot.
As he watched however, he felt a frown crease his brow as he noted Iason's expression suddenly changing, his pale eyes focusing on something over the heads of the seated crowed.
"Whoa," Riki muttered, nudging Katze discreetly.
"What?"
"Look at Iason's face, man."
Katze grunted a soft acknowledgement as his gaze shifted to the Syndicate leader's dark expression. "What the hell has he just seen?" he asked softly.
Riki shrugged as, turning slightly, both mongrels looked back over their shoulders, tracking Iason's line of sight. Feeling his eyes narrow, Riki's gaze fell upon the quite recognizable figure of Tahna Lam, standing at the rear of the hall behind the seated attendees, his arms crossed and his chin lifted arrogantly as he practically glared across the room at the podium.
"Huh," Riki shook his head as he faced forward once more. "What the fuck is he doing here?" he muttered, almost to himself. "Tahna's department has nothing to do with the trade conference."
"Check that out," Katze's voice was a mere breath as he nodded towards Iason, currently bending down to murmur a few discreet words into the ear of one of the unobtrusive Patria security guards, "Looks like Iason is asking the same question."
Turning to look back over his shoulder once more, Riki felt his eyebrows rise in surprise as he saw Tahna being approached by two security guards. After a brief interaction, during which Tahna turned and stared sharply at Iason for a moment, he appeared to nod, following the guards from the hall and disappearing through a side door.
Sharing a wondering glance with Katze, Riki shrugged again. "What d'you suppose that was all about?"
"Don't know," Katze replied, a certain almost maliciously wicked glint entering his golden eyes, "But I'll tell you this much, Riki," he grinned suddenly, "I can't wait to find out."
Sitting in one of the stylish armchairs set to one side of the private office space Iason had annexed at Partia, Chey Neeson watched, a somewhat troubled frown on his face, as Iason and Raoul Am rather coldly greeted Tahna as he was ushered politely into the room.
He was quite conscious of the prickly relationship that Tahna had with the tall and elegant Syndicate Elite leader and, having now met the man on two separate occasions himself he could understand, taking into account Elite sensibilities and their strong levels of propriety, exactly what it was about Tahna that irked Iason so. He, himself, found Tahna oddly endearing, certainly quite amusing. But then, he was not an Elite. Fond as he was of Iason Mink, he accepted that there would always be vast differences culturally and ideologically, between them. This, in Chey's opinion, was just one of the reasons their friendship seemed to work so well. They would never get bored with each other's conversation; that was for certain.
But he couldn't help but ponder the undeniable truth that occurred to him about Tahna Lam.
If he had been born and raised within federation territories, the scathingly eloquent Blondie would only have been all the more popular amongst the artistic sect because he was such a magnificent bitch. His turns of phrase, his scandalously insulting remarks, would have been the constant talk of every glittering party and gala event.
But here? Here on Amoi, Tahna's nature simply made him unpopular with his peers.
And... rather unfortunately, Chey had to admit in this case, it also seemed to draw him the wrong kind of attention; raised questions about his behavior and his motivations.
Chey had been filled in before the opening of the trade conference, by Iason and Riki, regarding the assault that had occurred at Eos Tower the night before. And, he was also aware that Tahna was one of Iason's more vocal political critics. Raoul and Iason had both been quite adamant that Tahna Lam had no real reason for being at the trade conference today other than for the possibility of stirring up a little trouble. Iason had also made mention of one or two questionable comments Tahna had made some time back in regards to the troubling matter of the Midas break-ins. Thus Iason had made the decision to have him escorted to this office during the recess, so that he might ask a few pertinent questions of his fellow Elite... to eliminate him from their enquiries, so to speak.
At least, that was what Chey hoped was going to happen.
Because although he could understand why Iason might consider Tahna a possible suspect, his own instincts, his gut feeling, told him that nothing could be further from the truth.
But this was not his world, not his office, and it was certainly not his place to tell Iason Mink how to run his own shop.
"Tahna," Iason was greeting the rather disgruntled Blondie in his velvet voice. "Thank you for responding to my summons."
Tahna tossed his head irritably. "Well, it's not as though I was actually given a choice in the matter," he paused shooting a dismissive glance at Raoul Am, whose face darkened slightly. "Would you care to explain what this disgraceful treatment is all about?"
Iason composure remained superbly aloof as he replied. "All in good time, Tahna." He gestured to the armchairs near Chey. "Would you take a seat, please?"
Turning his head, Tahna caught sight of Chey. "You!" he literally hissed, his eyes flashing dangerously.
Chey nodded congenially, lifting one hand in a loose salute. "And a good morning to you too, Tahna."
Tahna heaved a great sigh, looking back at Iason with profound disgust on his face. "Oh, please... tell me that you didn't actually have me dragged all the way up here just to talk to this insufferable reprobate."
Almost in spite of the seriousness of the matter, Chey stifled a chuckle, whimsically thinking that it was damned shame he didn't have his notebook on him.
"Minister Neeson is here as my guest, Tahna," Iason replied. "I have asked for his rather gifted counsel on a very serious matter, one that I would also like to discuss with you." His tone hardened a little, a touch of cold authority showing through. "Take your seat... please."
Staring suspiciously at him, Tahna gracefully seated himself in the chair furthest from Chey's position; glancing once at the federation minister before appearing to disregard him as unimportant. "Very well," he said coldly. "I am seated. What is this all about?"
"You are aware; I have no doubt, of the assault on Blaine Dal that occurred late last night?"
Tahna smirked slightly. "Oh yes," he practically purred. "It's all that anyone seems to want to talk about today."
Watching from the sidelines, Chey smiled wryly, shaking his head as he observed Tahna sinking himself quickly into the mire. There was a small part of him that couldn't help wanting to tell the Elite to quit extemporizing on his answers. Quite frankly, he doubted the veracity of that remark. Certainly there were one or two conversations he had picked up on earlier in the morning regarding the incident at Eos Tower, but it hardly meant the entire city was abuzz. Of course, he had no uncertainty Tahna knew this, but just couldn't quite stop himself from adding his own interpretation anyway.
Ignoring Tahna's comment, Iason continued to look down impassively at him, his pale eyes searching Tahna's stiffly offended face. "Kindly account for your own whereabouts last night."
Tahna's reaction was everything Chey had expected it to be. The Blondie at first looked puzzled, before his eyes widened and a slight flush appeared across his smooth cheeks. His mouth dropped open and he stared, first at Iason and then at Raoul, utter disbelief and outrage filling his huge eyes. "You..? Are you quite serious?!"
"Answer the question, Tahna," Iason said in an implacable tone.
"I worked at the museum until midnight. For some reason..." Tahna shot a deadly look in Chey's direction, "I had fallen somewhat behind in my work yesterday." He looked up at Iason again, his chin jutting defiantly. "My driver took me back to Eos shortly after and I went straight up to my apartment."
"Can anyone verify that?"
Shrugging, Tahna smiled acidly. "Apart from my driver? No." His gaze grew flinty. "Iason, you already know that I house my Pets at my apartment in Apathia," he snapped out, "I don't have time for them in Eos. My Furniture is always there of an evening." He drew in a great breath fighting for his composure. "This is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. I simply can't believe it!"
Raoul vented a derisive chuckle. "You can't believe that we might think you would do such a thing, Tahna?"
Tahna shot him a look that spoke volumes. "Hardly," he shot back flatly, tossing his hair back with a haughty little jerk of his chin, "I know you think that I'm just about capable of anything, Raoul. But what I can't believe is that you should be so incoherently brainless as to waste your time on such an obvious suspect as me."
"Tahna!" Iason's voice abruptly cracked like a whip, his pale eyes flashing with sudden terrible fury. "Modify your tone." His voice had lowered to a deadly snarl that Chey had never heard before and, quite sincerely, never wanted to hear again. In this moment, Iason Mink was every bit the formidable and dangerously powerful Elite leader. "You would do well to remember exactly who you are talking to."
Tahna's face had snapped around to stare at Iason. He had drawn himself up, his eyes widening again. Then, with every indication of actual contrition, he inclined his head towards his Syndicate superior. "I apologize," he murmured. He took a deep slow breath as he raised his perfect face once more. "If I may be completely candid, Iason," he said, his tone now just a shade more controlled. "I pride myself on being caustic, not cretinous... and although it is quite true that I often question your decisions, I would never challenge your authority."
Iason continued to look steadily at him, a silent void, awaiting more information.
Surprisingly, Chey noted, Tahna actually looked sideways at him for a moment, his expression indecipherable, before returning his gaze to Iason. "And I would never be so crass as to physically assault a brother Elite," he continued softly. His full mouth twitched almost slyly. "I may have certainly wished that many of them had better sense... but I have definitely never wished them any harm." His violet eyes flicked to Raoul for a moment. "Even you, Raoul," he added.
Raoul merely quirked an elegant brow at him.
Iason continued to stare at him for an uncomfortably long moment, his pale eyes assessing every nuance of Tahna's expression. To his credit, Tahna held that gaze steadily and, at length, Iason nodded slowly, his manner relaxing and the visible tension easing from his shoulders. "Very well," he murmured. "You may go."
Rising without comment, Tahna pointedly straightened his appearance before stalking towards the door of Iason's office.
"Oh... and Tahna?" Raoul called out in an artfully mild tone as the Blondie reached the threshold of the room.
Tahna turned, one brow raised, his mouth set into a thin and unforgiving line.
Raoul smiled graciously at him, is deep green eyes sparkling with slightly evil mirth. "I couldn't help but note that you have not yet submitted the amendments for your department's quarterly project report." His smile grew positively beatific. "Seeing as you must pass Jupiter Tower on your way back to your Museum... I would suggest you drop in and attend to it."
Tahna's eyes flashed, but he maintained his silence. Oddly, Chey noted, those rather splendid eyes once more turned unerringly his way for a second. Only briefly, but it was definitely there. The Blondie nodded tersely, his full mouth twisting into a tiny sneer as he turned away once more and swept from the room, an almost visible cloud of deep offence trailing along behind him.
In the preoccupied silence left behind, Raoul's demeanor once again became somber as he turned to face Iason. "Well..." he sighed softly, lifting his broad shoulders.
"Hmm." Iason smiled wearily, meeting his friend's gaze. A moment of silent communication seemed to pass between the two Elites before they turned to Chey, moving to settle their long and elegant limbs gracefully into the chairs that faced him.
"So..." Iason tilted his head, thoughtfully looking at Chey, "your opinion?"
Chey shook his head. "He's not involved."
"As much as I personally dislike the man," Raoul murmured stroking his chin with his long fingers, "I must confess that I agree with Chey."
Chey watched Iason, compassion in his blue eyes, as the Elite rubbed one tired hand over his face. "So we are back to the starting point again," Iason muttered.
"What about possible involvement coming out of Ceres?" Chey asked, sitting forward.
"Another dead trail, I am afraid," Iason sighed quietly. "Mace informed me that Riki contacted him yesterday to advise he had followed up with his own connections in the slums."
"Really?" Raoul looked sharply at him. "And how did he manage to do that, I wonder."
Iason smiled bleakly. "I have my suspicions." He shook his head briefly, as if dismissing that line of thought for the moment. "Nevertheless, he is apparently quite adamant that none of the gangs in Ceres are involved."
"Have there been any results as yet from Hadren and Mace's investigation of Blaine's apartment?" Chey asked, lifting a brow in Iason's direction.
"Yes," Iason's expression darkened even further. "As usual, no prints were left on the note. No DNA traces, other than those belonging to Blaine and his Furniture and Pets, were left in the apartment."
Chey scowled at the floor. "Damn," he muttered sourly. "Whoever's doing this, my friend, is one clever son of a bitch, isn't he?"
"Quite."
Raoul cleared his throat diffidently, shooting an almost apologetic glance at Iason. "We need to return to the conference hall, gentlemen," he said quietly. "The end of the first recess in only a few minutes away."
Nodding, Chey rose to his feet with the two Elites, noting how Iason's demeanor began to subtly change even as they made their way back to the conference hall. With every step closer, the Blondie's public persona seemed to solidify and, by the time they reached the entrance to the hall, the magnificently self contained and charismatic Syndicate leader who strode in before them showed not one single trace of the disquiet that must have very much still occupied his mind.
Chey couldn't help but admire the way the man was able to do that.
But, nevertheless, he felt for his friend. This was not a pleasant situation, by any stretch of the imagination. His deepest concern, and one that he was sure also had occurred to Iason Mink; was what the hell would the unknown menace do next?
In all honestly, Chey didn't even really want to guess.
Beyond fate... – chapter 8 << >> Beyond fate... – chapter 10