Beyond fate, there is choice
by Ainzfern
18
Even as Iason finished crossing concrete floor of the cavernous main warehouse, heading toward the silver-haired Elite seated in a pool of light by a desk at the far side of the room, he had to appreciate the sheer irony of the timing of the information Mace had just passed to him via the ear-piece.
Katze was safe, reunited with Raoul after apparently being released at around the same time he and his retinue were arriving at the compound. This was remarkably comforting news.
However, there was also an explosive device concealed within the building, one that could, potentially, kill everybody in the compound... which was not so reassuring.
Iason, however, was a consummate master of emotional shielding. No sign that he was aware of either of these factors showed as he neared Blaine's position, not on his face, nor in his manner. As far as Blaine was concerned, the Platina most likely thought that he still held all the cards.
Which was exactly what Iason wanted him to think.
He had to buy Riki some time. And, even if it killed him, he would.
As he reached the outer edge of the pool of light, Iason came to a halt, waiting, observing the Elite who had been the cause of so much strain and anxiety. To all intents and purposes, it appeared as if Blaine was not even aware that he was there, seated as he was in a simple chair before his desk, his gray eyes fixed upon a framed picture that he held in his lap.
Iason's eyes narrowed as his pale gaze took in the other item that Blaine had resting there. A small sleek handgun already cocked and ready to fire.
"Blaine?" he murmured, keeping his voice level and calm. "I have come, as requested. Will you release Katze now?"
Blaine sighed and, to Iason, it was not a sound of impatience at all. It was a sound of deep sorrow and weariness... and reluctance, as if Blaine himself didn't even want to be here. With a slight frown creasing his normally smooth brow, Iason looked a little closer at the Platina, wondering again what in all the world could have brought him to this state, this sorry place.
"I will release him all in good time, Iason," Blaine answered softly, his fingertips touching the picture gently. At length, he huffed another soft exhalation and almost reverently placed the framed image capture back on the corner of the desk. "First, I think... we should talk, you and I," Blaine glanced sideways at him, his ice-gray eyes glinting in the starkness of the light thrown by the simple lamp. "I feel you need to be given at least some manner of explanation."
"I can't deny that I agree with you," Iason said carefully. "I would very much like to know how I could have offended you so deeply as to make you behave in such a rash and foolish manner." He took a slow step towards the silver-haired Elite, moving fully into the light.
"Rash and foolish," Blaine echoed bitterly. "How very like you, Iason. What an easy thing, for a man who has everything he wants, to say to me." Blaine lifted the handgun, holding it professionally. "Ah – don't come any closer, Iason, if you don't mind. I think I'd prefer a little distance between us."
Iason stilled, lifting his hands briefly in an open-handed gesture. "Why Blaine?" he asked, a touch of genuine confusion entering his voice. "Why have you done this?"
Gracefully, still holding the weapon albeit now pointed at the floor, Blaine rose to his feet, lifting his chin and staring steadily at the Blondie. "We're not so different, Iason, I have come to realize. In fact," he smiled, and oddly intent look in his eyes, "we share a very significant trait in common."
Iason tilted his head to one side. "Which is..?"
"We both fell in love with our Pets."
Iason blinked in surprise, a certain sense of foreboding beginning to rise in his gut. This was not about any political motivation, or differing ideologies. This was personal, and that fact, Iason knew, suddenly made Blaine a significantly more dangerous threat than he had been before.
"I didn't know this," Iason replied, keeping his voice soft, even as his mind began to race.
"No one did," Blaine glanced quickly at the frame picture on the desk. "Not even Tian."
"That is his name?"
Blaine looked sharply at him. "Was," he corrected, his voice vibrating with sudden anguish. "It was his name. He is dead, Iason."
Iason felt his mouth thin into a grim line. "How?"
Ignoring him, Blaine smiled, although his eyes seemed to glimmer with moisture. "He wasn't ever supposed to come to mean that much to me," he said softly. "He was just supposed to be another Pet; a beautiful one, certainly, but of no more value than any other." He shook his head, swallowing hard. "But... Oh, his character, Iason... his sweetness. He was so perfect, so charmingly lovely. He became all I wanted, all I needed to be happy." Blaine drew in a deep breath, calming himself. "I am sure you can understand those feelings, can't you?"
Stilled and silent, Iason nodded.
Yes, he knew, he could understand those feelings. In his case, it had been all about fire and spirit and a mind sharp enough to challenge his own.
But the love had been just as intense.
Blaine's voice changed then, a note of despairing anger entering his words. "But then, as according to our society's laws, he aged beyond his usefulness rather than simply discard him into the streets to die in inches from cruelty and abuse... I killed him." Blaine's jaw clenched as he struggled to continue. "I killed him, Iason, the only creature I have ever loved, because you lied to us!"
His pale eyes widening with confusion, Iason shook his head. "What are saying? I did not lie to you, Blaine."
A ragged bark of scornful laughter left Blaine's throat. "No?" His lips drew back from his teeth in a furious grief-touched snarl. "No? You had already broken with convention! We all know this. It's no longer a secret. I killed my Tian because I was trying to be true to my station, trying to emulate you!The perfect, proper, Blondie leader of our castes. I took that precious life away from him, because I didn't know that you had already taken your mongrel Pet as your lover."
Iason inhaled sharply.
"Oh yes," Blaine hissed at him. "It is your fault."
Iason closed his eyes for a moment, thinking rapidly. It was evident now that Blaine barely had control of himself anymore. His reactions, his evident moods, seemed to swing abruptly from one extreme to the other. To Iason, it was an almost painful thing, to see another Elite, especially one that he had always known to be such a serene and temperate character, in such a wretched state.
"What you have said to me, Blaine," he replied cautiously, meeting the Platina's agonized gaze, "I cannot deny that it has touched me. And, it is true. Riki was my lover for some time before I registered him as my Companion. But you must also believe that I hid that fact only to preserve his safety... and mine," he sighed sadly, "and not because of any intent to cause you, or your dear Pet, any harm. I am sorry."
"Sorry?" the Platina asked in a deadly tone. "It's too late for sorry. Your words are all very pretty, but in the end, they are just more falsehood. You stand yourself above us all, Iason, you and your entire overly-indulged blonde caste. You always did. No matter how gifted the other Elite color-castes might have been, no matter how like you they might have been, you never really saw us, did you? The rules, Iason, the laws that dictated our entire lives... they never applied to you," he smiled bitterly. "And all because your hair was the right damned color."
Stepping back, Blaine took up position at the end of the desk, staring levelly at the Blondie.
"Blaine," Iason's voice sharpened, the undeniable timbre of a leader vibrating within it. "It is time to put an end to this. Lay down your weapon and come with me. I guarantee that you will get the help you need."
He could only hope, as Blaine paused once more, almost seeming to consider his words, that the Platina would come to his senses, however briefly, before it was too late.
For all their sakes.
Chey Neeson stood to one side of the terminal in the rear of the security truck, silent and tense as he listened to Riki giving low voiced instructions to Mace, who stood ready to relay information to his team and, subsequently, Iason Mink's earpiece as well. At some point a few minutes prior, Raoul had left them, tenderly carrying an almost insensate Katze out to one of the armored cars and laying him in the back seat to rest while he kept a close eye on his dozing charge.
Oddly enough, or perhaps not, considering the eclectic nature of the man, Tahna had joined Chey in the truck, and now stood to one side, staring fixedly at the terminal screen and gnawing almost delicately at his full lower lip.
Riki released a sudden breath as the satellite completed tracking over the warehouse complex. "All right," he muttered. "It's showing our vehicles, and..." he paused, leaning closer to the screen, a bleak smile on his face, "there it is. Only one device."
Chey nodded to himself, hope rising. One was far better than several, that was for certain.
Riki cross-referenced with the archive floor plans, signaling to Mace to open his comm unit link. "Okay, tell your guys that there's a network of old service tunnels that run from the north-east corner of the warehouse. The access is via a man-hole. They should see that as they approach the wall."
Softly, but clearly, Mace repeated Riki's instructions into his comm unit. "They've found it," he told Riki after a moment, "they're in the tunnel junction now."
"Good," Riki nodded tersely. "Now... at the far end of the tunnel that heads south-west, they'll find an air conditioning duct that will lead them up into a generator room, just under the main warehouse floor. That's where the device is."
Once again, Mace repeated the information.
They waited.
The moments ticked by, tension seeming to draw everyone up as tight as bows. Chey watched as Mace began to pace back and forth, the strain beginning to tell even on the hard-bitten security man.
Five minutes passed.
Then ten.
Chey rubbed his face and rolled his shoulders, trying to ease a little of the stress from his muscles. At the terminal, Riki sat and stared blankly ahead, his arms tightly wrapped around his body in a peculiar gesture of self-comfort.
Chey checked his watch again. Twelve minutes.
At last, Mace turned to Riki, his weathered face filled with relief. "They've got it," he said shortly.
Chey released his breath in an audible rush, meeting Tahna's eyes as the tautness suddenly drained from his shoulders and back. The elegant Blondie arched a sardonic brow at him, but Chey could see, in the line of Tahna's body, the way that he stepped back slightly, that the same sense of reprieve was flowing through him too. He grinned, winking at him.
Tahna shot him a snooty little look and turned away.
Chey chuckled and shook his head, turning back to watch Mace and Riki at the console.
"Okay," Riki was rubbing one hand over his pale face, nodding. "Okay... we'd better let Iason know."
"Already done," Mace assured him, lowering his comm unit. "I'm sending my team into the main warehouse now to take up positions around the perimeter. We might have neutralized the explosive, but Blaine may still pose a direct threat to his Excellency's safety – especially if he finds out what we've done."
Riki dropped his head forward with frustration. "Fuck," he swore. "I just wish this was fuckin' over."
Stepping up to his side, Chey reached out and closed his hand over the young man's shoulder, squeezing gently. "Soon," Riki, he said softly. "It will be soon. Just hang in there."
Riki nodded, venting an unhappy sigh, biting his lower lip nervously.
And they continued, once more, to wait.
"Enough," Blaine shook his head sharply. "I have heard enough, Iason. You are right; it is time to end this." He turned slightly towards his desk, still holding the handgun at the ready, reaching towards the radio control unit.
Iason stepped forward. "There is no point in trying to detonate the explosive device, Blaine," he said calmly. "It has already been deactivated."
Blaine froze, his face blanching. He stared as Iason, shocked, "How—?"
"Katze told us," Iason cut him off quietly, tapping his ear lightly, indicating the comm device within.
Blaine blinked, astonishment on his face.
Iason almost smiled wryly. "You expected him to run, didn't you? When you released him?"
With massive effort Blaine composed himself. "I did, yes."
"You underestimated him."
Blaine's eyes closed briefly. "Yes," he murmured. "In more ways than one, it appears." He smiled bleakly, opening his eyes once more to meet Iason's steady gaze. "Raoul Am is very fortunate man, I think."
"He is that."
Blaine frowned then, as if a sudden thought had occurred to him. He looked up, his gray eyes widening in visible dismay as he saw, spaced at regular intervals along the entire catwalk, Mace's security men, fully armed with their weapons primed and ready to fire, each and every one of them trained on Blaine's position.
The Platina vented a deep shattered sigh that seemed to rise up from his very soul. "I see," he murmured, his voice hopeless, his broad shoulders drooping wearily.
"It is over, Blaine," Iason told him. "Surely you must realize that."
Blaine lifted his shoulders in a brief shrug. "Is it, I wonder?" he asked softly, almost absently.
Puzzled, Iason frowned.
Obviously seeing the look, Blaine's full mouth twitched into a sad little half-smile as he looked down at the floor in front his feet. "When one dies, I mean," he explained, his eyes deeply thoughtful. "Do you think, Iason, that there is some place that one goes, where one's... 'essence of self' lives on, free from pain, at peace at last?"
Staring closely at him, Iason shook his head. "I do not know," he said softly.
"Hmm," Blaine nodded, his smile undimmed, his gaze turning inwards, looking at some distant place that only he could see. "I would like to think so," he vented another tired sigh. "I would like to think that Tian will be there... waiting for me."
"Blaine—"
Blaine's face snapped up to look at him again, clarity returning to his eyes. "You are wearing full body shielding, I would assume?"
Tilting his head warily, Iason nodded. "Yes, I am."
Blaine smiled once more, his expression becoming almost beatific. "Good," he replied, and in one smooth move, he lifted the handgun and fired directly at Iason's chest.
Blaine's single shot, of course, impacted with Iason's personal shielding and glanced harmlessly away. The hail of responding gunfire that Mace's men sent tearing towards Blaine Dal did not.
Unable to do anything but watch, Iason felt his expression freeze as the impact of the bullets threw Blaine backwards off his feet to sprawl gracelessly onto the concrete floor, the gun he had held skittering harmlessly across the floor out of arm's reach, his great wealth of silver hair fanning out about his head and a pool of dark blood rapidly spreading around his body. As the echoes of the shots faded away, Blaine continued to move, just slightly, his shaking hands opening and closing as his life drained from him.
Approaching him, Iason looked down at the dying Elite. Blaine's eyes were filled with grief, his breathing rattling weakly as his lungs filled with blood. He met Iason's eyes with a pleading gaze before turning his head slightly, looking desperately up to the corner of the desk. A soft and strangled sound came from his throat and, although he could not form the words, Iason could hear the message.
Nodding, the Blondie moved, reaching for the framed image capture. He glanced briefly at it as he hunkered down on one knee beside the Platina, noting the beauty of the young man in the picture. Carefully, even gently, he placed the picture into Blaine's hand, helping the stricken man to close his fingers around it. Then, with equal care, his lifted Blaine's arm, moving it so that the picture rested safely, cradled upon the Elite's shuddering chest.
Blaine's mouth moved, his gasping breath caught for a moment, and a single tear, glimmering in the harsh light from lamp on the desk, fell from his lashes and streaked down his face.
Then, with a quiet sigh of something that sounded very much like relief, Blaine Dal died.
With his face rigidly composed and his outward demeanor magnificently poised, Iason reached out one last time, passing his hand over Blaine's staring ice-grey eyes, closing them forever. He sighed, deeply, and lifted his head, looking blankly for a moment at the far wall of the warehouse, his mind filled with turmoil and his heart oddly heavy, even as he heard the sounds of Mace's men closing in on his position.
As they arrived, Iason stood, turning his back on Blaine Dal's cooling corpse and striding through the gathered security men, heading towards the exit passage.
As he passed them, he did not speak.
There really wasn't anything to say.
Beyond fate... – chapter 17 << >> Beyond fate... – chapter 19