Beyond fate, there is choice
by Ainzfern
14
"Okay." Once more seated at Iason's terminal, Riki wet his lips and keyed in the instructions to access the security back-up server. "Here we go. Mace and I have pretty much worked out the approximate timing of the footage that was tampered with, so I'll run this one at standard speed. There won't be any sound but, if the server caught it, we should still be able to make out what the hell happened."
Behind him, leaning forward with one hand resting on his mongrel's shoulder and his pale eyes focused intently, just like everyone else's in the small group, upon the playback, Iason found that he was almost holding his breath. He glanced sidelong at Raoul's face. He could relate all too well to the way his friend must be feeling at this moment. When Guy had taken Riki, Iason's internal anguish had almost felt like some manner of living creature, tearing at his insides.
Turning back to the terminal's screen, Iason felt his eyes widen even as he heard Raoul vent the softest of gasps from deep in his chest, felt the tension in the mongrel's flesh under his hand increase markedly.
Katze had just appeared on the playback.
Standing on his other side, Chey Neeson moved forward a little. "Thank God," he murmured, his voice low and intense, "a little bit of luck at last."
Iason made a soft sound of agreement, nodding absently as he continued to watch the events unfolding on the monitor. Katze had crossed to Iason's desk, booted up his terminal and was laying out various items beside the keyboard. His tools of trade, discs containing programs, his logbook and his access pass. For a few moments, as the recording played, nothing untoward appeared to happen, with Katze simply standing back from the desk, stretching out obviously tired muscled and keeping a professional eye on his work.
"There..." Raoul breathed as on-screen, Katze's demeanor subtly altered. "He's seen something."
And it was quite true, Iason could see. The ex-Furniture was now hunkered down over Iason's keyboard, his eyes rapidly scanning the monitor, his expression clearly inquiring. Katze then appeared to nod decisively, before selecting one of the discs he had laid out earlier and slipping it into the terminal.
"That'd be the tracer program, I'd bet," Riki said softly.
They all continued to stand, silent and focused as Katze once more stood back, this time reaching into his pocket and pulling out his cell phone. They saw him glance at the terminal, then freeze, his eyes widening and his face growing alarmed. He moved rapidly, pulling the disc from the terminal and hastily gathering his things together, shouldering his satchel and lifting his phone once more.
And, as a bolt of absolute shock bulleted through him, Iason watched as Blaine Dal, his silver hair flowing over his shoulders and spilling down his back, walked calmly up behind the ex-Furniture and picked the phone neatly out of his hand, pocketing it as Katze spun around to face him.
"What?" Riki was shaking his head. "What in the hell..?"
Iason couldn't deny that Riki's astonishment was very understandable. He had not expected this. Not even for a moment, would he have expected Blaine Dal, so urbane and serene of nature, to be the one behind the recent events. However, Iason nearly winced as he watched his former Furniture struggling hopelessly to free himself from Blaine's grasp, it was very clear that Blaine was not only that person, but was also the man who had, apparently, kidnapped Raoul's Companion.
Iason turned to Raoul, noting his reaction with deep concern. The Elite's breathing was rapid and now clearly audible. His formerly ice-cold expression was gone. His lips were drawn back in a snarl of pure vehemence, his splendid and expressive eyes were filled with fury and anguish and he shook, his body rigid with terrible tension, his hands balled into fists, white-knuckled and shaking.
Slowly, carefully, Iason shifted his weight and laid one hand gently over Raoul's shoulder, squeezing firmly. He leaned in close, putting his lips next to Raoul's ear. "Steady, Raoul," he whispered, his volume pitched for Raoul's ears alone. "Steady."
His friend blinked, those beautiful pain-filled eyes looking wildly at him for a moment before, with a clearly monumental effort, Raoul drew in a deep breath, clenching his jaw and swallowing hard, gaining control of himself. He nodded, just once, closing his eyes for a moment.
Iason stepped back, glancing once more at the terrible events unfolding before them.
"Oh no," he heard Chey's voice, appalled, as Blaine hauled Katze to his unsteady feet, wrenching his head back and applying a cloth to his nose and mouth, keeping him forcibly restrained as the redhead succumbed to some manner of drug. "That's..." Chey's voice faded helplessly, the statesman as clearly stuck for words and the rest of the group watching.
The playback ended.
For several seconds, they just stared at each other, their faces grim.
"Very well," Iason said in a low firm voice. "Now we know who. 'Why' had yet to be determined, but our primary focus is the safe return of Katze. Mace," he turned to his security chief, "I want you and Hadren to coordinate a full search of Blaine Dal's residences and places of work. Interview his household, his staff... anyone who has been in contact with him. Leave no stone unturned." He glanced briefly at Raoul once more. "Keep us updated."
"Will do, you Excellency," Mace snapped to attention, nodded shortly and left the room with Hadren right beside him, already opening his cell phone and contacting his department.
Iason touched Riki's shoulder again. "Riki," he frowned, "send a copy of this through to Commander Hadren's office at Midas security." He set his jaw. "And also to Katze's contacts in the Ceres market. Inform them of what had occurred and request their assistance in a search of possible areas within Ceres that Katze could have been taken. I know that it is unlikely, but..."
"Understood," Riki scooted up to the keyboard again. "I'm on it."
"Iason," Chey rubbed his chin thoughtfully, "if I may suggest... perhaps it might be appropriate to notify the rest of the Syndicate about this, to let them know that you are now aware of who has been causing the trouble and that you are taking the appropriate steps."
Iason considered it, before nodding at him. "I can accept the merit in that idea, Chey," he replied. "Very well, I shall—"
"I will do that, Iason," Raoul interjected softly, his voice low but steady.
Iason raised a brow at him. The Blondie was still very pale, almost chalky, but his eyes seemed clear and his manner was once more composed.
Raoul lifted a shoulder briefly. "I must do something, my friend."
Understanding flooded Iason's chest. "Of course," he murmured.
Raoul looked at Chey then, his expression almost rueful. "Perhaps you would care to accompany me, Chey? I would appreciate your gift of eloquence at this particular moment."
With a wan little smile Chey nodded at him. "By all means. Just lead the way, Raoul."
Walking close together, Raoul and Chey left the room, heading towards Raoul's own office.
Venting a deep and troubled sigh, Iason once more stepped up to Riki's shoulder, his mind filled with thought as he absently watched his mongrel keying in the message to the current Ceres market head-dealers. He rested one hand on Riki's shoulder again, taking a vague kind of comfort from the contact as he continued to ponder what had been revealed here.
Blaine. Blaine Dal, of all people, was behind the break-ins, had very obviously faked an assault on himself... and had now, in the grossest breach of trust and loyalty, kidnapped the Companion of the second in command of the Tanagura Syndicate.
But why?
Why would he do such things? What possible vendetta could he have against Iason Mink that would cause him to take such regrettable and irrevocable actions?
Deeply and proudly disturbed, Iason could only hope that the next few hours would reveal the answers.
The moment that the door to the room where Katze was confined was locked, Blaine spun around and faced the dark corridor, collapsing back against it, his chest heaving as he panted harshly, trying to regain his control, his temper. Shaking, he pressed one trembling hand to his forehead, the long fingers gripping firmly in a vain attempt to stave off the burgeoning headache that loomed behind his eyes.
He had hit Katze.
And not just hit him, he had brought his hand down upon Katze with no restraint whatsoever, not pulling the power of his blows at all, but striking the mongrel's unguarded face with strength enough to send him flying across the room. His fury had flared with the dreadful searing heat of a lightning strike, wiping out nearly all conscious thought. He had lashed out, without even thinking, so enraged at that moment that he could barely recall leaving the room as Katze lay injured and almost insensate on the floor.
He had broken his promise to the mongrel already; his promise not to harm him.
Why? Blaine vented a strangled sound from deep in his throat. Why had he done that?
Katze's words, his accusations, had been vile, yes; stabbing through the Elite's heart like a spike coated with pure vitriol, touching gracelessly on his sorest point, his weakest place. And, although he was not at all used to anyone, especially a mongrel, speaking to him in that manner and that disrespectful tone, he also understood that the redhead's words had been fueled by his own obvious fear and frustration.
After all, Katze had been right about a great many things. Blaine had taken him against his will, had drugged him, and was confining him in an unfamiliar place with no way of really knowing if he actually intended to harm him or not.
But Blaine should not have reacted in such an uncivilized way. He was an Elite. He was meant to be better than that, more able to control himself.
Blaine closed his eyes, his brow deeply creased as he rested his head back against the door. Why had he done that? He asked the silent question of himself once more. If Katze had been his own Pet or his Furniture, he might have felt at least some justification in dispensing punishment for such impertinence. But Katze was not even his. He belonged to another Elite entirely, and it was a vast, no gross, breach of etiquette and behavior to physically punish the man without seeking approval first. It made no logical sense. Such an act served no purpose, other than to fill his gut with a deep sense of shame and disgust.
And then it struck him.
Blaine's eyes opened, widening with horrified realization.
Katze was taller, yes, more solidly built and his eyes were the wrong color, but the deep shade of his hair, the pale perfection of his skin, the refined shape of his features... he reminded Blaine of Tian.
He reminded Blaine terribly.
Blaine shook his head, almost wildly, still staring across the dimmed corridor.
Tian would never have argued, would never have disagreed with him. And, Katze's words, coming from a form that evoked such memories, such feelings... he hadn't been able to control himself. Just as it had been in Iason's office during their initial struggle, striking the mongrel had not been necessary. He could have easily restrained him, drugging him without harming him at all. And in Katze's room just now, he had gotten so angry. So quickly. It was shameful and unbecoming, but he had to admit his control was faltering. So much time, holding it all in, presenting a dignified and controlled demeanor to the world when all he wanted to do was sink to his knees and howl out his anger and his heartbreak, had taken its toll.
Blaine swallowed hard, the click of his throat quite audible in the silence of the hallway.
Was his mind slipping? His eyes widened with something close to terror at the very thought. Had he struggled alone with his loss and his grief and his guilt for so long that it was beginning to overwhelm him utterly, stripping him of even an Elite's inborn control?
Pushing away from the wall, the Platina literally staggered away from the room, his head hurting, whirling with thoughts both contradictory and alarming.
He could not answer that question. He simply did not know anymore.
All he was sure of, right now, was that he needed to get as much space between him and Katze as possible.
For the mongrel's sake.
The new day had dawned some hours ago and midday had come and gone. Chey had returned to Partia in the early hours of the morning to snatch a few hours sleep before coming back to Jupiter Tower, where Iason, Raoul and Riki had been keeping vigil, waiting as Mace's reports had continued to come in. As he entered the office, Chey's sharp blue eyes scanned the room, noting faces and details. Riki was nodding in one of the armchairs placed about the low coffee table next to the windows that lined one side of the office space. Standing together just a few feet away from Riki, Raoul and Iason were quietly talking in low and serious tones.
Chey wasn't all that startled to note that, while they looked a little strained, especially Raoul, they also seemed quite alert and awake, in spite of the fact that neither one of them had had any sleep. He smothered an almost wry smile as he approached them with a soft greeting, mindful of waking the young man dozing in the chair. Elites, with their enhanced physical resilience, he knew, were quite capable of going several days without sleep before any effects of deprivation would begin to show themselves.
At times, Chey had to admit he had envied that ability. There were some sessions that the senate conducted – the annual budget coming to mind – where an ability to keep awake for great lengths of time would have proven very useful.
"Any news?" he asked softly as he stepped up to the two Blondies.
Iason vented a soft sigh, even as Raoul shook his head, his jaw working for a moment.
"I am afraid not, Chey, "Iason answered, his pale eyes somber. "Hadren's and Mace's men are continuing the search, but the interviews with Blaine's household availed us nothing. All his Furniture and Pets were able to tell us was that they had last seen their Master the night of trade conference opening, when he hosted an event at one of his homes in Apathia." He grimaced slightly. "It would seem that what Blaine told us about sending his retinue to Apathia to prepare for the party was inaccurate as well."
"Oh?"
"Indeed," Raoul turned to him, his deep green eyes narrowing. "Apparently, Blaine had ordered his Pet and Furniture to remain at Apathia some months ago. They have not returned to Eos tower once in all that time."
"Clearing them out of way?" Chey arched a brow at him.
Grimly, Raoul nodded. "It would appear so, yes." His expression changed then, transparent worry appearing on his face. "I must confess," his gaze flicked back and forth from Iason to Chey, "I am finding this interminable waiting to be almost unbearable."
"It would be," Chey replied, feeling sincere sympathy for the Elite, "but, your Katze is a damned clever man. I know the footage looked bad, but he's smart. He'll get through this."
"Very true," Iason added, rubbing the back of his neck with one hand. "He is both intelligent and astute. In fact..." a tiny smile flashed over his flawless features, "it would not entirely surprise me if we were to arrive to rescue him only to discover he had freed himself and was halfway home already."
For just a brief moment, good humor shone from Raoul's eyes. "Quite," he murmured, once more turning away and looking out of the window at the city far below. "Quite so."
"Good grief..." A familiar voice came from the direction of the office doorway. "What is this? Decided to all move in here, have you?" With a sly little smirk on his beautiful face, Tahna Lam, resplendent in cream silk and deep red velvet sauntered into the office, looking askance at Riki as the young mongrel stirred and opened his eyes. "You know, I really do admire your loyalty to your Companion, young man, but bunking in his office? Isn't that stretching adoration a bit too far?"
"Oh crap," Riki muttered sourly, stretching out a kink in his back. "Anyone but you, Tahna, especially now."
Shooting him an odd look, Tahna raised one elegant brow at Iason. "May I ask what is so significant about this particular day, as opposed to any other?"
"Have you not read the day's bulletins from the Syndicate office yet?" Raoul asked him sharply, his face darkening.
Chey noted Tahna bristle slightly at Raoul's tone. "As a matter of fact," he replied snippily, "I only just arrived. I've been at the museum preparing the final touches to the Ephedrian gala. I merely dropped in here to advise Iason that I had completed the final updates to that wretched quarterly submission."
Chey glanced at Iason and Raoul, gauging their moods shrewdly. Moving smoothly to head off any possible explosion, Chey stepped forward, looking questioningly at the Syndicate leader's cold face. "Ah... perhaps I can handle this one, Iason?" he asked urbanely.
"By all means," Iason replied, his rich mouth thinning with impatience. "Please do."
Approaching Tahna, Chey gestured politely with one arm, hustling the puzzled Blondie back out into the ante room.
"Mr. Neeson," Tahna gave him a cool and unimpressed look down the end of his nose. "What is going on here?'
"Tahna," Chey lowered his voice, holding the Elite's deep blue eyes with a serious gaze, "Last night, from this very office, Raoul Am's Companion was kidnapped by Blaine Dal."
Tahna shot him a flat look. "Very amusing, Mr. Neeson. Now, setting aside what passes for your infantile sense of humor, kindly explain why my colleagues look as though they've just eaten something rancid."
"I'm absolutely serious." Chey shook his head. "Blaine Dal is behind the recent break-ins in Midas. He is the individual who is responsible for the campaign to spread doubt about Iason's leadership."
Tahna looked oddly at him, his huge eyes growing startled, "Blaine Dal?"
"Yes."
"The Blaine Dal who is so enamored a supporter of Iason Mink that if Iason sneezes, Blaine blows his own nose?"
Sighing, Chey nodded, "Yes, Tahna."
"But, wasn't he attacked himself?" Tahna's eyes narrowed. "You recall... I was questioned myself as a suspect the day after." He huffed a soft sound of disgust. "I still haven't quite forgiven you for just sitting there like a lump during that disgusting travesty, you know."
"Attacks can be faked."
"Apparently so," Tahna stared at the floor for a moment. "This is quite ironic. I only saw the man myself last night as a matter of fact."
Chey froze, every fiber of his being focused on what Tahna had just offhandedly said. His heart began to pound a little, the vague hope that he might just have found an answer beginning to rise, "Tahna?" he said carefully, leaning a little closer to the Blondie. He lowered his voice, mindful of the need to verify the value of any information before announcing it to the worried group behind him the office. "When... exactly?"
Tahna frowned slightly at the intensity of Chey's question. "I saw him leaving late last night, just as I was arriving here."
"What time was this, Tahna?"
The Elite considered it. "I suppose not long after nine," his face became profoundly unimpressed. "I needed to complete the final items to my department's submission and, as I find Jupiter Tower to be at its most congenial when none of my colleagues are actually here, I thought I would attend to it."
Chey frowned deeply, ignoring Tahna's more colorful comment. "Where did you see him?" he asked sharply.
Tahna blinked, his eyes immediately flashing at the statesman's preemptory tone.
Chey sighed, this time resignedly. He reached out and closed one gentle hand over the affronted Blondie's shoulder. "Please, Tahna," he urged gently, his voice soft and suddenly filled with weariness. "You can thoroughly lecture me over my rudeness later, I promise, but for now... will you answer my questions?"
The Elite's eyes widened with something very close to astonishment, whether at the touch or the tone, Chey could not say. He took a closer look at Chey's face before nodding shortly, his usual haughty expression settling over his flawless features once more. "Very well," he sniffed ungraciously, "I saw him in the basement lot. My driver had just dropped me off and I was making my way towards the lobby lifts."
"Did he see you?"
"No," Tahna's normally smooth brow creased with recollection. "No, in fact I am certain that he didn't."
"What makes you so sure?"
Tahna shrugged lightly. "Because he was driving out of the lot at the time," Tahna wrinkled his perfect nose. "In one of those ridiculous service vans that Syndicate is so fond of using."
Chey felt his eyes widen. "He was in a van?"
The Elite shot him an exasperated little look. "That is what I said, Mr. Neeson," he flicked his hair back with a sharp little jerk of his head. "Are we finished? You don't require my next of kin or last known address as well?"
Moving to the Blondie's side, Chey cupped his elbow politely, a grin rising on his handsome face. "Tahna, my dear fellow?"
Tahna lifted a suspicious brow at him.
"I am delighted to tell you that you might have just saved the day," Chey gestured towards the door with a chivalrous sweep of his arm. "If you wouldn't mind?"
Still smiling, he guided the Blondie back into Iason's office.
Beyond fate... – chapter 13 << >> Beyond fate... – chapter 15