To thine own self
by Ainzfern
5
"...And you are certain there is nothing else amiss, Katze?"
Sitting in his dim apartment, in front of a video link to Iason Mink's private channel, Katze stifled a sigh and carefully schooled his face to remain devoid of anything even remotely resembling emotion as his former master voiced that question.
Katze had returned to his home only a few moments before, virtually in a kind of auto-pilot state. Pale to the point of chalky and feeling oddly cold, his face set into a grim mask, he had walked in, dropped his car keys and his coat onto his sofa and had then just stood silently, staring at the floor with wide unseeing eyes before moving towards his desk to make the call he was currently finishing.
"There's no problem at all," Katze repeated the, by now, familiar line. "The job is done, that's all." He crushed out his cigarette with rather more force than was strictly needed glad, in an abstract way, that Iason couldn't actually see him doing it. "I just wanted to let you know that I'll be directing my attention back into our market interests again."
"I see." Even in the minimized image on the screen, Katze could see Iason's eyes narrowing.
Lifting his chin slightly, Katze met that penetrating stare with a level enough gaze. "Do you have anything specific that you need my services for?" he asked, hoping to divert the Blondie's attention to another course.
"Not at this time, Katze, no." Iason paused for a moment, once more staring uncomfortably hard at him. Then he shook his head, ever so slightly, almost as if visibly deciding to let the matter drop.
"I should have an update report on our current activities and profits very soon," Katze added.
"Understood." Iason nodded tersely. "I shall look forward to perusing it, then."
Returning Iason's nod, Katze cut the link. He sat for a few moments, staring at the blank screen before entering a code on his terminal, watching as the communications uplink disappeared from the monitor, and his usual encoded multi-net access login flashed up.
Rising to his feet, Katze made his way slowly through the main area of his apartment, heading for his little-used bedroom. Stepping through the darkened room, he walked to the tiny ensuite, flicking on the light and blinking as his eyes adjusted to the bright glare. He looked at his reflection in the mirror over the basin, meeting his own eyes through the thick red strands of hair that fell forward over his face. He stood there, just staring into his own face for long moment, his countenance still rigidly composed. Then slowly, almost reluctantly, he lifted his hands and pushed his hair back, holding it out of the way as he continued to look at himself with wide and haunted eyes.
He couldn't say whether it was the starkness of the white light, or just the fact that he was so pale at this moment but, for some reason, the scar that ran the length of his face looked particularly livid.
Ugly.
Flawed.
Insignificant... Raoul's word whispered in the halls of his mind.
He felt the burning begin behind his eyes, felt the tightness clamp around his throat and the ache filling his chest, and he fought it; gritting his teeth hard enough to hurt while the breath suddenly rasped in and out of his lungs and he struggled with all his might to push it back, to win this desperate personal battle.
He was not going to break down. Not even for a moment. Not even here, in this private space where no one could see, no one would know.
It was the principal of the thing.
"Fuck 'em," he hissed at his reflection, his pain filled eyes narrowing furiously. "Fuck all of 'em."
They just treated you they way they wanted to. The way they always had. No matter how hard you tried, no matter how good you were.
Dropping his hands again, he shook his head slightly so that his hair fell back into the right position. Turning his back on his reflected self, he walked out, snapping off the light and returning to his desk. Standing before it, he turned his head slightly, glaring for a moment at the chess board on the edge of the desk, frozen in time now; forever to await Katze's move following Raoul Am's most recent reply maneuver.
He was tempted...
God knew he was tempted.
Just to reach out and fling the fuckin' thing right across the room. It was such a strong desire that, for a moment, he actually pictured it; pictured the wooden board shattering against the wall of his apartment, the pieces scattered across the floor like so many little corpses.
But... no.
No. In a sudden moment of clarity, Katze decided to leave it there.
It would serve as a pointed reminder for the future, he felt, about the folly of ever trusting an Elite again.
Sliding into his chair, Katze logged in and immediately began to dispatch a series of communications to his two 'lieutenants', letting them know that the boss was back in town.
As he worked, Katze lit another cigarette, inhaling the smoke and immediately blowing it out with a sharp loud breath.
He felt his mouth twist bitterly.
Yeah... the boss was back, all right.
And it looked like he was going to be staying for a while.
"Raoul..." Iason was mildly surprised when Dane led the Elite into the main room of the penthouse. Setting aside one of the numerous Syndicate reports he had been idly perusing, he rose to greet his friend, clasping his hand warmly. "I wasn't actually expecting to see you today. Everything is going adequately at the Bio-Lab, I hope?"
"Oh, yes," Raoul nodded, slightly briefly as Iason gestured for him to seat himself. "Of course, the full update report will be on your desk first thing tomorrow but, as an overview, the modifications to the tanks are all but complete. We will be presenting the prototype to General Grace's attaché at Partia two days from now, which I believe will generate an acceptable amount of anticipation for the fully completed version, and then it's just a matter of running a series of simulation programs prior to the first practical tests."
"Have you sent out the call via General Grace for potential volunteers in his ranks?"
Raoul shook his head. "Not at this stage, although Grace has already assured me that I shall be literally inundated with eager offers when the time comes."
"I see," Iason eyes flicked up momentarily and he acknowledged Dane with a nod as the young Furniture silently laid down a selection of fruit and two chilled glasses of wine on the low table between him and Raoul. "So, this is a social call, is it?" he asked, selecting a slice of fruit.
Raoul hesitated for a moment, looking decidedly uncomfortable. Iason marked the expression, noting its peculiarity on a man so widely known for his outward control.
"Ah..." Raoul replied carefully, "In a manner of speaking, I suppose it is."
Frowning slightly, Iason sat forward. "What troubles you, my friend?"
Raoul glanced about the penthouse. "Riki is not here?" he asked quietly.
Iason blinked. "What an odd question."
"Iason," Raoul's voice was suddenly weary, "I require a certain 'Elitely' dispassionate counsel from you." His eyes flicked down to his hands briefly. "And privacy," he added. "I fear that I might have made a rather rash decision."
Becoming a touch more concerned, Iason met Raoul's unusually shadowed eyes with a level gaze. "Riki is not here, Raoul," he told him softly. "He won't be for several hours. He is at Enif's apartment near the space-port, receiving an update on the current status of the Hepstra colony."
"Good," Raoul's face flickered into a rueful smile. "Please, don't misunderstand... I am fond of Riki, I assure you. It's just that I don't really wish for an audience to this conversation." His expression softened slightly. "Especially such a – shall we say – passionate one?"
Nodding at him, Iason chuckled, accepting the observation for the truth that is was. "I understand, Raoul. Now... as to your dilemma?"
Raoul's shoulders dropped slightly, even as he sighed in disgust. "Tahna Lam dropped by my office at Jupiter Tower yesterday afternoon."
Iason's eyes narrowed, just a touch. "Ah."
"Yes." Absently, Raoul rubbed the back of his neck, as if trying to ease the tension there away. "He made mention of a few matters which left me... feeling rather unsettled."
"I believe we would both agree that Tahna Lam is an unmitigated ass, Raoul."
"Indeed." Raoul grimaced. "But much of what he implied did make a certain amount of sense."
"Yes, he's always had quite the talent for implying things in a convincing manner," Iason smiled coldly. "Allow me to presume... he led you to believe that members of the Syndicate were passing critical comment upon you?"
Raoul blinked. "Indeed he did."
"He lied," Iason shook his head, distaste for Tahna's methods of political maneuvering filling him. "That is one of his favorite ploys, as a matter of fact, and you are not the first one he's tried it on." Iason picked up his drink and sipped it. "Believe me," he continued setting the glass back down, "I have my attention very firmly focused on our Syndicate peers, Raoul, and nothing of the sort is occurring."
"An earlier word of warning about this habit of his might have been nice," Raoul remarked, pointedly.
"I apologize," Iason nodded courteously at him. "Quite frankly, I never imagined he would actually have the gall to attempt such a thing with you. You are, after all, second in command of the Syndicate."
Raoul waved an accepting hand at him and heaved an audible sigh. "I suppose, in retrospect, I ought to have assumed the same thing." He paused, his eyes growing openly troubled, as he showed to Iason what he so carefully hid from everyone else. "But, I must confess... this has been a somewhat trying time of transition for me."
"You're discontented." Iason observed.
"I am."
"Certainly not a usual condition for you." Iason felt a surge of sympathy for his visibly disquieted friend. "However, this state might explain my next question."
Lifting one elegant brow in enquiry, Raoul tilted his head. "And what question might that be?"
As he closely observed Raoul's reactions, Iason's face grew serious, even somber. "What, exactly, did you do to Katze?"
To say that Raoul Am covered his reaction well would have been an understatement. To anyone who did not really know the Elite, the fleeting moment of utter stillness, the tiniest pause in breathing, might easily have passed unnoticed. But Iason was no mere casual observer. He knew this man well, thus he focused his attention on Raoul's eyes... his most attractive, most expressive, green eyes.
The flash of pure chagrin that reflected from them as Iason voiced his question was virtually an answer in itself.
Raoul had done, or said, something to Katze... and, whatever it was; it had quite clearly not been good.
"Iason," Raoul's tone was very careful, utterly neutral. "Why precisely would you ask such a thing?"
"Because late yesterday afternoon he contacted me via video link."
Raoul paled. Just a touch, but it was noticeable to Iason's sharp eyes. "I see. And what did he have to say?"
"Only that you no longer required his services at the Bio-Lab, and that he would be returning to his black market interests full-time until I had further need of him," Iason replied softly.
Raoul shifted slightly, turning to look out the windows that graced the side of the penthouse along the balcony. "Ah..." he murmured, almost sadly.
"I will say that I found it rather odd at the time," Iason went on, his eyes never leaving Raoul's face. "Only a few days ago I know that he had mentioned to Riki how interested he was in seeing the portable amniotic unit completed."
Raoul closed his eyes, a brief look of pain crossing his beautiful features.
"Of course, I didn't actually put it all together until now," Iason added, his tone firming slightly.
Raoul's head snapped around, his eyes once more startled as he stared at Iason.
Stifling a sigh, Iason asked again. "What did you do to him, Raoul?"
The question hung there for a moment, between them. Then slowly, almost as if the very thought of describing the incident was excruciating, Raoul began to talk. He kept his gaze level, his voice even, and he recounted all of it, from Tahna's vicious words, to his own inexcusable behavior in lashing out at a man who, in no possible manner, would have been in a position to defend himself. A man who had done nothing more than assist Raoul in his endeavors and respond to an Elite's tentative offers of actual friendship.
"I see," Iason murmured as Raoul at last fell silent. He looked at his friend steadily for a moment, his expression betraying nothing. At length, he reached a decision, rising to his feet and indicating the sunlit balcony beyond the glass doors. "Come, Raoul, if you please," he said, smiling as his mildly startled guest also got to his feet. "I believe that some fresh air is in order at this point. You do know, don't you," Iason said as he led Raoul out into the warm afternoon sun, "that I no longer hold any kind of claim over Katze? He is no longer my Furniture. He is, looking at it logically, more like- -"
"Your business associate," Raoul finished for him as he joined Iason at the balcony wall. "Yes. You have told me this before, Iason."
"I merely felt it was worth reiterating at this point," Iason replied mildly, choosing to ignore the faint note of impatience in his friend's tone. He turned slightly, looking at Raoul's fine patrician profile. "And did you also know that, for the longest time, Katze believed himself in love with me? Even after I had sent him out into Ceres to work the black market into some semblance of order? Even after I had taken on Riki as my Pet?"
Slowly, Raoul's green eyes turned to look at him. "No," he murmured, his tone profoundly troubled, "I did not know that."
"Well, it is quite true." Iason leaned comfortably against the wall, regarding his friend with knowing eyes. "I can see that the notion troubles you somewhat and I'm sure you have good reason for that. But I am only telling you this in order to give you context."
"I don't understand."
"The human mongrels are complex creatures, Raoul," Iason smiled slightly, his eyes suddenly warming for a moment. "They feel things very deeply. Perhaps too much, in some cases. It can appear unseemly to us... over demonstrative. But I have learned, through obvious association of course, that we cannot discount those feelings. Because, as over-zealous and lacking in subtlety as they might appear to Elites, the things that they feel are real. They are profound and honest emotions."
"Iason..."
"What I am trying to tell you, Raoul," Iason cut him off, holding up one elegant hand, "is that although Katze may have been physically modified in order to perform his role as a Furniture, the process did not rob him of his ability to feel. Yes, his castration would obviously limit his receptiveness as a lover in the physical sense, but by no means has it affected his capacity to love."
Raoul shook his head, his expression perplexed as he clearly struggled to follow Iason's point. "Please, Iason," he said at length, "kindly spare me the more poetic rhetoric and explain... Why are you telling me this?"
"Because, my friend," Iason rested one hand on Raoul's tense shoulder, "I would strongly suggest that, over the course of your burgeoning friendship with my ex-Furniture, it is entirely likely that Katze has transferred his affection to you... and, I would also suggest that the reason you now feel such remorse over your treatment of him yesterday is because that notion is no longer as unappealing to you as it once was."
Raoul stepped back, his face flushing slightly. "That is a ridiculous statement," he declared.
"Is it?" Iason stepped forward, closing the distance. "Is that truth you are spouting to me? Or it is merely conditioning?"
Raoul raised both hands in a frustrated gesture, turning from Iason to stalk across the balcony, before swiftly facing him again, his green eyes blazing. "I did not consciously seek this, Iason," he snapped, his composure slipping at last, "I am not built for such things. I am an Elite. I am a man of science. My pleasures are found within the mind, not the heart. And, if I was finding Katze's company agreeable, it was only because he appealed to my intelligence, not because of any misguided sense of aesthetics."
"Truly?" Iason raised a brow at him, his expression speaking volumes.
Raoul suddenly calmed again, the fight draining out of him. "I am not you, Iason," he murmured, his gaze growing slightly sorrowful. "I can't simply push aside years of accomplishment and behavior because of some nebulous feeling that I can't even say for certain is real to me." His eyes pleaded with Iason to understand.
"You could try, Raoul," Iason walked over to him, his smile strangely kind.
"I cannot," Raoul's jaw tightened, his shoulders set firmly. "The truth is, in spite of my support of your reforms, and my sincere belief that they are to the benefit of our race en mass – personally, I was perfectly content with my world the way that it was."
Iason felt his face grow cold, even as he noted Raoul's eyes widening slightly as he, too, saw the change. "Then I would suggest you stay there, if that is truly your desire. Let me assure you that no-one, least of all me, would ever force you to change." His tone softened then, but it still carried an undertone of absolute steel. "However... do not torment Katze any further."
Raoul's jaw dropped. "What...?"
"He has already suffered enough casual cruelty at the hands of a certain Elite, Raoul," Iason pulled in a deep breath, composing himself. "And, in all honesty, I would be saddened to see you repeat that pattern."
"Cruelty?"
Iason smiled, but there was little humor in it. "Who do you think scarred Katze's face that way?"
"You?" Raoul looked honestly stunned. "I did not know that."
"Not many people do," Iason told him. "It's not something that I am particularly proud of, with the benefit of hindsight. It was not even something that was, strictly speaking, a necessary thing to do. After all, I was more impressed than angered the night I punished him."
"And yet, you claim that he still felt love for you?" Raoul's eyes narrowed.
"As I said," Iason chuckled sadly, "they are complex creatures."
Raoul stood silently, his eyes distant and inwardly gazing.
Sensing a certain shifting of his perceptions, Iason spoke once more; his voice gentle. "He forgave me that act, Raoul," he said softly. "And he will forgive you, yours. If you allow him the opportunity."
"It's just so improbable, Iason," Raoul whispered, his voice tight.
"And yet it exists." Iason met his eyes once more. "You are friends, Raoul. You and Katze. That in itself is a remarkable thing. You claim you cannot change yet you have already changed. Through the simple act of spending mutually pleasing time in the company of a mongrel, you have bridged caste differences and cultural gulfs that have existed for generations. How can you truly tell me that this is a bad thing?"
As Raoul stared back at him, Iason was almost pleased to note that his friend seemed to have no answer for that question.
No answer at all.
To thine own self – chapter 4 << >> To thine own self – chapter 6