Beyond fate, there is choice
by Ainzfern
13
Arriving at Iason's office in Jupiter Tower, Chey immediately moved towards the grim group clustered around Iason's desk, their attention focused on his terminal and the young dark-haired mongrel currently keying rapid instructions into the keyboard. Exchanging quiet greetings with Iason and a clearly tense Raoul, Chey ran one hand through his hair and nodded briefly at Iason's personal chief of security, Mace, and Commander Hadren of Midas' equivalent to law enforcement.
Upon receiving the call from Iason directly to his suite at Partia, Chey hadn't wasted any time. Still dressed in the same fine suit, admittedly, less the jacket, which he had worn to the conference after-party, he had slipped his shoes back on, called his driver and headed to Jupiter Tower without delay. What help he might be able to offer at this juncture he did not know. But he considered both Iason and Raoul to be more than just occasional work colleagues, and the notion of not attending had simply not even occurred to him.
"Anything yet?" he murmured quietly, looking into Iason's pale eyes.
"Actually, yeah," Riki answered for him as he pushed back from the desk and swiveled around to face them. "The work orders for Katze that we checked off with the Syndicate's IT department match up. Katze definitely accessed this terminal," his eyes flicked from face to face. "A system diagnostic was run only two hours ago."
Chey glanced sideways as Riki spoke, seeing the faintest touch of hope appearing on Raoul's drawn and noticeably pale face. Two hours, he mused as he rubbed his chin with one hand. That was encouraging. Wherever Katze was, or indeed – as Chey was sure they all suspected – wherever he had been taken, it couldn't be that far away.
At least not yet, his mind added a grim footnote to this thoughts; every moment counted here.
"There was a tracer program running," Riki continued somberly, "but whatever it was tracking appears to be gone."
"This gives us a window, though," Mace muttered, his scarred face seeming somehow more severe than usual. "We can pull up the security recordings from this office that were taken over that period of time... see if whatever happened was caught on tape."
Raoul looked sharply at him. "How long will this take?" he asked intently.
"Only about fifteen minutes or so if we run it at 'x8' speed." Riki glanced up at Mace, a dark brow raised, receiving a brief gesture of affirmative from the man.
Raoul nodded shortly.
Smothering a sigh, Chey rather discreetly appraised him. For someone not used to mixing with the Elite caste of Amoi, he had to admit that it might be easy to assume that Raoul Am, whilst no doubt concerned, was not actually affected as deeply as one would expect from a man whose Companion was missing.
And although he was nowhere near as close to Raoul as he was to Iason Mink, Chey knew Elites well enough by now to know that nothing could be further from the truth.
As a rule, Elites were magnificently restrained in their outward emotions, he had observed for some time; subtle in how they displayed them, especially around people whom they did not know on any personal level. Their exquisite faces were habitually composed; aloof and in control... but this did not mean that they had no feelings. Quite the contrary, Chey had felt rather privileged to discover.
You just had to know what to look for.
In Raoul Am's case, it was his splendid eyes that carried the weight of his visible emotion. Raoul might well be able to change his expressions, closing his face off and appearing as stoic as a marble statue. But he could not, indeed would not ever, Chey mused almost sorrowfully, be able to change his eyes.
And they were filled with an anguish right now; the likes of which, Chey had to admit, he had never before seen.
At this moment, Raoul Am was reeling in a world of pain and, because he was an Elite, because a lifetime of control had taught him to keep such things intensely private lest it be seen as weakness; all his friends could do for him was stand with him, supportive in their presence alone, as Raoul endured it all in silence.
"Your Excellency," Mace had turned to Iason. "We will need you to enter in your code, Sir, in order to access the security database."
Iason nodded, stepping forward and swiftly tapping in his code with one hand and then entering the instructions to pull up the required archives. With a deep breath, Riki scooted his chair close up to the terminal again and began the accelerated playback.
They waited.
As the moments ticked past, Chey met Iason's pale eyes, jerking his chin to one side and lifting a brow.
Understanding the silent signal, Iason nodded, stepping away from the group and following Chey across his office to the doorway.
"Iason," Chey murmured, darting a brief glance at Raoul, who was watching the security playback with all the concentrated intensity of a hunting hawk, "have you considered that this incident may not be related to the Midas issue at all? That Katze's disappearance could be linked to a separate issue? Maybe some manner of personal vendetta? He was, after all, the head dealer of the black market for many years. He was bound to have pushed a few noses out of joint at some point."
"I have indeed," Iason sighed softly, allowing Chey to see, just for a moment, his own deep anxiety. "Mace's and Hadren's men are already following up on various leads in that direction. Mace has also dispatched a team to track Katze's recent moves over the course of his employment with the Syndicate, questioning anyone who has worked with him."
"Good," Chey nodded, then pulled a little face. "Not that I actually believe they'll find anything along those avenues, I have to admit. My gut instinct tells me that this is related somehow."
Silently, slowly, Iason nodded, his eyes mirroring his agreement.
Chey's expression softened slightly as he looked at the Elite, his shrewd eyes taking in the tiny signs of stress, the tautness at the corners of Iason's full mouth, the shadow in his ice blue eyes. "And how are you bearing up, my friend?"
"I am well enough," Iason replied shortly. "After all, it is not my mate that is missing."
"Ah. I see." Chey nodded knowingly. Pulling in a deep breath, he set his shoulders firmly, catching Iason's gaze once more. "Iason... I know your shoulders are pretty damned broad but, please, don't make the mistake of feeling responsible for what has happened. None of this is your doing."
Iason pressed his lips together for a moment. "Your point is appreciated, Chey," he replied softly, his expression hardening. "However, it cannot be discounted that, if this event is related to the campaign to discredit me, then I am answerable for the very fact that the threat was not contained."
Chey's mouth opened on an instant negation, but his voice was silenced when Iason held up one elegant hand, firmly gesturing for silence.
"I would also add, Chey," he continued in that same low tone, "that even were I to feel as you do, I am still the head of the Syndicate, Jupiter's chosen leader. I am responsible for everything that occurs to her people. Not to be insulting, my friend, but unlike the federation senate, the Amoi do not accept the mitigation of 'plausible deniability'," he shook his head, his eyes level and steady. "And neither do I," he added seriously.
Chey was silent for a moment, considering Iason's words. Then, with a rueful little wince he huffed a soft chuckle. "You know what, Iason?"
The Blondie tilted his head in enquiry.
"You're possibly one of the few people in the universe that can put me right back in my place again." He gripped Iason's upper arm, firm but gentle. "I apologize for my lack of tact. Please allow me to assure you that it was motivated by the best of intentions."
"That was never in doubt."
Smiling briefly, Chey nodded his thanks, falling into step with Iason as the Elite lead him back to the group gathered around the desk.
"This is bullshit," Riki was muttering, his voice a literal hiss of disgust and fury.
Iason frowned, even as Raoul stepped closer, staring at the mongrel's tense back. "What is the issue, Riki?" Iason asked, one hand closing over Riki's shoulder.
Riki looked up at him. "There's nothing there." He shook his head, glancing at Mace, before turning back to Iason. "The footage is just showing your empty office. There's no sign that Katze even came in here."
"But that is not possible," Raoul snapped sharply, his tone flat and angry. "We know he was here."
Riki nodded, meeting his deep green eyes with a steady and sympathetic gaze. "We sure as hell do. This recording," Riki jerked his chin at the terminal, "has been tampered with. The original has been wiped. That's the only explanation."
Chey felt his stomach plummet. "Then we have nothing?"
Riki sighed, shutting his eyes for a second. "Not on the hard drive, no." He swiveled back to the terminal, rerunning the footage once more.
Raoul had drawn himself up, his eyes widening, consternation filling them. As Chey watched him, the Elite's face became even colder, more rigidly controlled. He straightened his broad shoulders and, without a word, turned his back to them. He walked stiffly away, approaching the large windows of Iason's office where he stood, his hands tightly clasped behind his back, staring out across the night lit city.
Chey flicked a quick worried glance at Iason's face, nodding when the Blondie gave him the tiniest shake of his head.
Message understood, Chey mused abstractedly as he turned back to Riki, leave Raoul the hell alone.
Unexpectedly, Raoul spoke. "Mace," his voice low, almost and menacing. "How often does Jupiter Tower's backup server run?"
Mace blinked, then incredibly, a slight smile touched his hard-bitten features. "Every hour, is my understanding," he replied.
Riki caught the security chief's gaze. "All right. Good," he picked up. "If that's the case, we might just be lucky. If the server did a backup before whoever the hell it was erased footage from the security hard-drive, then we should be able to pull the real recording from the server archive."
Mace nodded, his manner becoming almost gladly business-like. "Tell me how we'll do this."
Riki got to his feet. "I'll need to get down to IT," he glanced at Iason. "We'll get Iason's user code and terminal ID and set up a share access directly to this terminal right here," he pointed at the keyboard. "That way we can access the required timeframe and play it direct."
"Very well," Mace waved a hand in the direction of the door. "Hadren and I will escort you down now."
Watching as Riki moved close to Iason to receive the required codes from the Elite, Chey drew in a deep breath and made a concerted effort to expect too much. It was a good idea, no doubt about it. He just hoped, as Riki had said, that the server had picked up the required timeframe; that they would be lucky.
Because, right now, if there was an actual God of Providence for the Amoi; Chey himself would have gladly prayed to him.
A low groan broke the silence. Frowning, struggling to regain both his awareness and his wits, Katze turned his head to one side. As he fought his way out of the enveloping black pool that he seemed to be floating in, it occurred to him that the groan he had heard was his own. On the heels of that thought came the realization that he was lying down on something soft and that his head still pounded like a bitch.
"Katze?" a soft voice, low and deep, came from nearby. "Katze, try to open your eyes."
Wincing, the ex-Furniture did so. He peered blearily around him, noting the dimly lit, rather utilitarian, room that he was in. Unpainted concrete walls, plaster ceiling... a single low-watt bulb hanging from the fitting. In the corner a small alcove held what appeared to be a toilet unit and a tiny sink. The room was not large; the bed he was lying on was placed against one wall and, on the opposite side of the space, a simple chair was set by a heavy door that appeared to be made of steel.
And, seated in that chair, was Blaine Dal, his silver hair falling across his shoulders and his large grey eyes closely appraising him.
Katze swallowed hard, memory flooding back, anger and not an inconsiderable amount of anxiety flooding in right along with it. Slowly, mindful of his aching head, he sat up, looking warily at the Platina.
Obviously seeing the expression on his face, Blaine raised one hand in a gesture of assurance. "It's all right, Katze," he said softly. "You need not fear me. I will not harm you."
Clearing his throat, Katze felt his eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Yeah. Well," his voice sounded dry and rusty. "Forgive me if I say I've heard that line before."
Blaine looked curiously at him for a moment before his brow smoothed in comprehension. "Ah," he rose to his feet, walking to the sink in the alcove and drawing a cup of water. "I do apologize for that. I am afraid I had to choose expediency over chivalry. It will not happen again," he turned back, approaching Katze and holding the cup out to him. "Please... I am sure you must be thirsty."
Taking the cup, Katze drank off the water in one draught. The cup was plastic, he noted absently. Not much potential as a weapon, even if he was foolish enough to let such a notion take hold. Setting it aside, he looked up at Blaine, his lips thinning. "Where am I?" he asked without preamble. "Where the hell have you taken me?"
Blaine stayed silent for a moment, as if considering whether to answer or not. At length his manner relaxed a little and he nodded. "You are in an abandoned warehouse complex on the outskirts of Tanagura. This room, as a matter of fact, was one of the temporary residences made available to the workers that once populated this place."
"Why am I here?" Katze asked, his face darkening. "I am an official citizen of Amoi, not some unlisted waif you can do whatever you want with... What the hell were you hoping to achieve by kidnapping me, for God's sake?"
Blaine stepped back, considering the question. "I suppose you are owed an explanation." He resumed his seat before meeting Katze's eyes once more. "I am planning," he said slowly and deliberately, a terrible fervor entering his eyes, "to end Iason Mink's leadership, his lies... and his life."
Katze felt this face blanch, his skin growing cold, as Blaine's words bulleted through his brain. Still somewhat addled as he was, it occurred to him that he would have to be very careful here. He peered searchingly at the Elite's face, looking for any signs that the man might be jesting with him. "You... what?" he shook his head, his eyes wide.
"...And you are going to assist me, Katze," Blaine went on as if Katze had not even spoken, his expression becoming thoughtful. "By acting the part of the bait. I had, in fact, intended to take Iason's own mongrel to those ends... but sadly, you inadvertently upset that plan."
Katze's heart jolted in his chest, the image of Riki, his closest friend, coming to his mind. "Wh- Why?" his face twisted with disbelief. "Why the hell would you want to do that? I thought you respected Iason. I thought you were loyal to him."
"You were wrong," Blaine said calmly and, to Katze, the cool tone of that voice seemed frighteningly at odds with the burning intensity of Blaine's gray eyes. A trickle of deep unease slid up his spine.
Clearly unaware of the internal thoughts of his captive, Blaine smiled almost politely at him. "Would you care to hear a story, Katze?" he asked gently. "A little history that may add some clarity to your current situation."
Wordlessly, hoping that what was about to be revealed might shed some real light on Blaine's state of mind, perhaps even offer some kind of leverage that Katze could use, the ex-Furniture nodded.
Blaine sat back slightly, drawing in deep breath. "Once, Katze," he began quietly, "there was a young man. A most... a most beautiful young man," Blaine's voice dropped to whisper, his eyes suddenly appearing to gaze inwardly, looking at some vaulted memory that only he could see. "He was Pet. A mere Pet; bred and raised at the Academy and yet, somehow, he had filled his master's formerly empty life to overflowing." Blaine's eyes slowly closed, a whisper of ancient and enduring pain crossing his flawless features. "He was perfect. He was perfect in every single way."
Stilled, utterly silent, Katze found that he was almost holding his breath.
"And," Blaine's eyes opened again, meeting Katze's with a touch of challenge within them, "his master loved him. More than he should have. More than was acceptable. But, to his credit, he never acted upon this love. He never spoke of it. Not to his dear Pet..." The Elite paused, shaking his head. "Not to anyone."
"What was his name?" Katze asked, his tone compassionate for all that his mind was racing.
The Platina blinked, seeming to refocus on Katze as if realizing that he was actually still there. "Tian," he replied, his expression hardening once more, that same disturbingly zealous glint entering his eyes again. "But... he grew too old, Katze. Do you understand?"
Katze swallowed hard. Yes, he understood. As a Furniture, he'd seen the results of such specifics many times before. Pets, only nineteen or twenty and yet considered past their prime, thrown out into the street to fend for themselves. Discarded, like so much garbage, in favor of a younger prettier, replacement.
"Yes," Blaine nodded, his mouth twisting with anger and hurt. "He grew too old to remain in his master's household, his master's care... and, being an Elite, a loyal and dedicated Elite, who believed in the sanctity of his caste, his master made the ultimate sacrifice. Rather than see his beloved Tian turned out into the low streets of Midas to die in inches through disease and mistreatment... he killed him."
Katze winced, just slightly, but it was undeniably there.
Blaine appeared not to notice. "As kindly as he could," he whispered once again, "as gently as was possible... his master took that perfect precious life. The only gift of love that he would allow himself to bestow upon to the young man that he adored so deeply."
"I'm sorry," Katze murmured and, startlingly enough, he realized that even as he said it, he knew that he meant it. "I'm sorry that it ended that way."
"Yes..." Blaine looked directly at him, his eyes tortured with ancient sorrow, "....so was I." The Elite turned his head to one side for a moment, profound suffering twisting his perfect features. "Even more so when I realized that it had been completely unnecessary." His eyes narrowed; his face hardened into a cold mask of rage. "When I became aware that our beloved leader, the ultimate Elite, Iason Mink... had been living the life that I should have been living, all along." His full mouth curved into a sneer of rage. "That he had chosen to keep his mongrel Pet rather than discard him as society dictated, as sheer decency, required. That he actually dared... to introduce social reforms that excused his behavior, his hypocritical heart."
Sitting on the low sprung bed, hearing those words and watching the Platina grow more agitated with every passing moment; Katze suddenly found that his previous feelings of sympathy were draining away under a burgeoning sensation of something that felt very much like disapproval. That Blaine had made his choice about Tian was one thing... That he was actually blaming Iason Mink because it was the wrong one, was quite another.
"Tell me, Katze..." Blaine rose to his feet, looking almost desperately into the mongrel's face, "can you not understand my bitterness? I did everything, everything, that I was expected to do, that the hierarchy of Amoi demanded that I do... only to find out that the very man I was supposed to emulate had broken with Elite convention, taking a lover, an actual lover; placing his mongrel's life over the sacredness of his station." Blaine snapped his face to one side, breathing deeply, evidently trying to regain his control. "Do you not see that I am righteous in my anger?"
Slow sullen anger began to form in Katze's chest as he listened to Blaine's diatribe. Defensiveness, from the deepest part of his soul, rose within him. He – over and above anyone else – knew how wrong the Platina's words were. He had been there, watching helplessly from the sidelines, as Iason had suffered and struggled, torn apart by his need to conform to the Amoi way of life, and his incredible, overwhelming love for a young mongrel named Riki the Dark.
Katze snorted softly, shaking his head, slowly standing and meeting Blaine's eyes steadily. He found the words forming up within his throat, almost without being consciously considered. He could not say whether it was an effect of his earlier drugging and the blow to his head; or even just the fact that he was now so used to expressing his true opinions in the company of Elites that it had become second nature... but, whatever the reason, instead of formulating a reply that Blaine would have accepted, the ex-Furniture lifted his chin and spoke the truth as he saw it.
"Righteous?" he asked softly, his voice flat and furious. "No, I don't see that at all."
Blaine's eyes widened, his jaw dropped in utter incredulity.
"What I see," Katze continued, taking a slow step forward, "is the man who took me from my Companion. The man who drugged me, and kidnapped me, so that he could show the fuckin' world how Goddamned shitty he was with the fact that he didn't have the guts to make the choice that Iason Mink did!"
In truth, Katze didn't actually see it coming. The change was so abrupt, so appallingly sudden that he didn't even have the chance to brace himself. Blaine's eyes simply flashed with instant wrath, his lips drawing back from his even white teeth in a snarl of pure rage.
The first blow across his left cheekbone stunned him, snapping his head back and causing white lights to bloom once more behind his eyes. The second strike literally threw him off his feet, sending him tumbling, agonized and barely conscious, to sprawl in a graceless heap against the far wall of the room.
As the darkness descended over him, Katze only vaguely heard the Elite's footsteps, as Blaine turned and swiftly left the room, the heavy door slamming behind him like the very crack of doom.
Beyond fate... – chapter 12 << >> Beyond fate... – chapter 14