The Holocaust Piano
by Phaedra7veils
Chapter 6: Enclave of Blondies
Katze was furious. He sat draped in a thick bronze satin kimono counterwoven with sage-green monkeys, fuming and a little fearful, while Tibór painted his face and fixed his hair.
Only two days before, he had been quietly minding his own business, running a major part of Tanagura's illicit trade with the Federation. Life was cool. Life was safe—well, relatively safe for any job which featured, as its main health hazard, assassination. His terminal and fancy security system in that bat-cave of a basement apartment made it an effective hiding place. He could interview clients, hire contractors and manage the logistics of bribes, collections, enforcement—same old same old—behind the barrier of holostream recordings, cybernet screens and force-fields. He was respected and feared and, best of all, left pretty much alone. It was—well, okay, it was a crashing bore and his brain and body were starting to creak from the lack of novelty and excitement, but it was comfortable. Most importantly, it was entirely his.
Now another rebellious Blondie had revoked his freedom, just when he had thought himself clear. Not only had he clipped a Pet-ring on his ear, reduced him from a gangland leader, a force to be reckoned with, to a painted doll, and molested him on top of a piano—okay, so that part was quite pleasant actually—but he was actively trying to have him murdered.
That's right. The Enclave of Blondies who, apparently, were meeting in the next room at that very moment, were going to tear Katze limb from limb the moment they stopped rolling with laughter all over Raoul's fractured floor and realized he was not joking. They were going to react with the full-frontal, scary onslaught of their overly hybridized egos and muscles, all because Raoul turned him into some sort of cheesy copy of an Elite.
Jupiter! He remembered how Riki had felt like a circus animal. At least Iason never tried to turn him into some sort of Eliteboy. Elite-Lite.
Katze groaned while Tibór gently blended the coppery-red wires of the hairpiece's comb into the fringe around his scalp.
"This disguise will give you unprecedented freedoms, Sir Katze," Tibór tried to console him. "Consider: you will have access throughout the Ruby tier of Eos, and attract no untoward attention as you conduct business with the more senior tiers."
Well, fan-freaking-tastic! He had never wanted to conduct business with them anyway. Not after Iason's death at Dana Bahn. Not any more than he already had to, which was minimal—limited to orders regarding Pet smuggling and other cargo.
"I'm a dead man," Katze replied for the third time in the past five minutes.
"Do you have a pain, Katze?" a thin, metallic version of Raoul's voice snapped in his ear.
Oh, that's right! The Pet-ring was a transmitter and receiver. Katze was fully wired and, this time, not on caffeine.
He choked off the comment, 'Just a great golden bastard of one in the neck!' and grit out the words, "Nobody's going to be fooled. Your friends and colleagues will think I'm mocking them. They will kill me."
"Since we've established that there's nothing physically the matter with you, I am going to say this once: you will cooperate with Tibór; you will work under your new identity with all due care and attention; and we will hear no more complaints or moaning. Understood?"
"I–uh, yes fine, Raoul, but—aagh, DAMN it!" Katze cried and doubled over as Raoul zapped him. His ear felt like a swarm of bees chose to build their hive in his brains. "What the hell was that for?"
"It is too dangerous to proceed without your full cooperation," Raoul's voice carried over the buzzing.
"You said you weren't going to use it!"
"No, I said I wouldn't necessarily use it," Raoul said. "It suddenly became necessary."
Katze's mind ran through the litany of every curse and epithet he could recall. As long as none of them ever crossed his lips, he figured he was safe.
The silence held severity like the moment of impact in a car-crash.
"I'm not in the habit of explaining myself to anyone," Raoul's voice was calm, but icy. "The haberdashers are cluttering up the foyer. Is Tibór finished?"
"The–who?"
"The tailors, for goodness sake, Katze! I haven't time for this."
'Then speak human!' Katze shot back in his thoughts. He refrained from letting the other biting remarks fly about how this had all happened to him without his permission or even consultation. What was the point? He couldn't resist the comment, "Well, if they're in the way, I will ask Tibór to tell them to go. I didn't even know they were here."
"You don't understand how much depends upon your ability to play this new role, Katze. Even if I were at the apartment to order them to clear out, I wouldn't."
"Right, I don't understand and I feel like I'm about to step off a cliff in the dark. So illumine me. Please."
"There's no time."
"Wait a minute! If you aren't here, how do you know who's getting in the way?" To Tibór, he simply said, "Raoul wants to know if you're done with me."
The honey-blond Furniture reached over, tweaked a few strands and stood back, chewing his lower lip. A very charming smile unfurled over his lips and he quietly replied, "I think so."
"My guests are calling me to complain." For someone who was conditioned to never lose his cool, Raoul's voice sounded particularly stretched. "Tell Tibór I'm leaving Jupiter's Plaza. I should be back at Eos Tower in five minutes."
Katze wasn't really thinking when he said, "That must've been a short meeting. When Iason went to see Jupiter, it usually took hours. It did when I was his Furniture, anyway."
"I haven't seen Jupiter," Now Raoul definitely sounded strained. "The tower's lower levels are flooded with synthetic benzene and other neurotoxins. Nor is it possible, with the present breakdown in the planet's aetheric filtration, to ventilate. At least, since the Praetorian Guard held us at bay for fifteen minutes along the Plaza, we know the rudimentary AI still functions. A task force should be able to deal with this. Why must I figure everything out for everyone?"
Raoul wasn't directing these comments to Katze in particular. He seemed to be thinking out loud, sending the words over the pet-ring's transmitter, without realizing that they were filling his new Pet with confusion, shock and disbelief.
"Sorry, it's–what?" For a moment, Katze forgot that Raoul never repeated himself.
The Blondie rallied back to the moment, "The point is, your appearance as an Elite is necessary, as much for your safety as for convenience. Although I'm unaccustomed to explaining myself, I will be happy to do so when matters are less critical. If Tibór is finished with your hair and makeup, tell him to get the tradesmen out of my foyer, or at least direct Xavier Rex to a private room, so he will stop his harangue. When they are finished dressing you, make your way to my study."
"Benzene—neuro-? What's going on?"
"Later." The Blondie's voice abruptly cut short.
Katze was left in his confusion with one clear realization, "He can zap me from long distance!"
Tibór swiveled Katze's chair so that, once more, he faced the bank of mirrors. The effect left the black marketer stunned. Instead of leaving the extensions loose to hang down his back like a veil, Tibór had gathered them into a single loose plait, securing the end and pulling most of his fringe off his face with yards and yards of thin turquoise ribbon. It set off the scarlet highlights like flame to petrol. Tibór had used a light touch with the cosmetics, cloaking the shadows under his eyes and rousing vital lights from his sallow skin. His exotic features, the high cheekbones and single-lidded golden eyes like those of a Siberian tiger, put him in an entirely different category from the typical Elite. In his robe, Katze looked like a youthful, but stern warrior surveying the funerary pyres of the fallen at a battleground. He looked aloof, mysterious, handsome and endowed with authority, at complete odds with who he felt he truly was.
Then his stomach sank even further with a new realization. With long hair, his features now appeared delicate, his skin porcelain, his eyes soft. The type of men he worked with would wipe the floor with him. The only thing which still looked decisive was his jaw and the girth of his neck and shoulders, but even those were softened with the flow of his hair and the cut of his kimono. No way was he going to blend in! He stuck out from the Ruby Elite the same way that Iason had stood apart from the Blondies. He tried to counter the delicacy by projecting ferocity into his expression, but only ended up looking sulky and petulant. Raoul and his wild-arsed ideas!
Tibór quickly gathered the lacquer boxes filled with cosmetics and brushes and tucked them away before ushering in the pesky tailors with their trunks and racks. After a brief consultation, they chose to elaborate on the ancient oriental theme, using embroidered and brocaded silks and block prints, simple lines based on traditional yukatas like the one he wore, jewellery fashioned after inro and netsukes in jade, carnelian, ambers and highly polished teaks, all synthesized since the real substances were nowhere to be found on Amoi. They even suggested a grassy fragrance laced with ylang-ylang and sandalwood. Katze held his tongue as they draped, pinned and tucked, chalked alterations of almost imperceptible dimensions, and discussed colours at length.
While they fussed, he felt a bewildering change of attitude. He had always scorned the way that the Elite had dressed; they looked so contrived and bombastic, so overblown. And while his opinion in that regard had not changed, he felt there were exceptions. There was something familiar about the style he was being dressed in by this particular group.
"You're the same designers who clothe Sir Hilarion Fyss, aren't you?" Did the Elite use honorifics when referring to other Elite? Or was that only an affectation of Pets, Furniture and Citizens? Katze had never noticed before and, again, felt the extreme precariousness of the ruse in which he had become entangled.
"We would never be so indiscreet to give out our client list, sir." The fine, upstanding citizen of Midas who was presently sticking pins under his armpits looked up with a sly smile.
Katze noticed he did not deny it, either. At least he had admired the way Hilarion had dressed, even while he suspected that it was the force of the other man's personality which carried off that dramatic style successfully. That he would be wearing similar designs was one consolation.
When Katze finally made his entrance into the study as Raoul had ordered, he wasn't a bit surprised when every eye turned toward him and the room fell silent. It was exactly what he expected.
Only Raoul and the small cluster of Blondies surrounding him, who were fully absorbed in the drama of Merc's holostream recording, seemed not to notice. Then, as the room's stillness alerted the First Blondie and he glanced toward Katze, the newest Elite saw his eyes widen in surprise firstly, then smoke with some other indecipherable, terrifying emotion. It was the exact expression Katze had seen him wear just before the episode on the pianoforte that morning.
As for the other Blondies, they retained their expressions of serene detachment, but their bodies told a whole other story, poised on the edges of their seats, for what? An attack?
Katze swallowed nervously and tried to will away the line of perspiration beading along his scalp.
"Ah, Katze, there you are! Gentlemen, allow me to introduce the operative responsible for drawing this informative recording to my attention, Sir Katze Gripe."
An operative! That was a brilliant stroke. No one would question now why he was such an utter stranger in Elite society, or why no record of his existence as a Ruby could be found anywhere. It would also cover rumours about his participation in the black market.
It didn't seem to put any of the Blondies at ease, however. If anything, Katze thought they seemed more tense. That was, until he finally raised his gaze to meet their eyes, and discovered that quite a few of them were smiling. Not that an Elite's smile is ever a comforting thing, ranging anywhere between mockery to something like the way a wolf grins before its teeth clamp onto a nice, fat jugular vein. In this case, the smiles looked very much like the small, smug ones he had noticed during the more boisterous Pet shows. So, it was approval then, of a sort. Somehow that thought was the most alarming of them all. Reflexively, Katze drew up his shoulders and clasped an arm behind his back, covering his buttocks with the back of his clenched fist.
Raoul strode over, draped a proprietary arm across his shoulders, and led him to the area of the room where he had been enthroned within a leather club chair. The massive table overflowed with electronic books, maps, graphs and holostream constructions, as well as scientific devices and instruments that Katze had never encountered. The room appeared to be transformed into something resembling a military campaign headquarters.
Before he managed to sit, a particularly tall and lean Blondie, with features that most reminded Katze of a wolf's, started firing questions at him. "Katze, what led you to conclude that the Federation is trying to cover-up the destruction of Thallë?"
"Erm...," Katze felt bewildered, disoriented.
"Florien Von, our political attaché with the Federation," Raoul murmured in his ear as an explanation, urging him with a gesture to respond.
"I have drawn no such conclusion," Katze replied after a moment of thought. "They are suspects. In terms of the destruction, itself, I have more cause for concern with the Priestess Cult of Tenebrios and even that is based on mere coincidence."
"Yes, but what first led you to suspect the Federation's involvement at all?"
Katze cast a questioning look at Raoul who nodded as though giving him permission to proceed.
"The hunch of my agent, who watched, unable to help, as his contact was murdered and his holostream relay station bombed. This only indicates the existence of a cover-up, not who is responsible for it. At a cursory glance, the only force in our sector of Glan with sufficient capacity to manage within such a short time-frame is the Federation, but that conjecture is based on statistical odds, not proof. We have no other evidence at this time."
"That's it?" Florien scowled.
"There is no agenda to vilify the Federation. As I said, they are suspects because of their history and ability to act. Any information either supporting or disproving this theory is welcome. Given that there has already been a murder, however, informants will not be too eager to step forward." Katze looked at his hands, which had not been made up with cosmetics, and tucked the nicotine stain on his fingers out of sight. "I am more concerned about the reasons for the cover-up, than its existence. If the Federation is responsible, do they intend to harm us through this omission?"
Raoul dismissed this reasoning with a wave of his hand. "It is irrelevant what intentions are. Those responsible will be dealt with."
Katze felt the need to defend his statement further, but Raoul's statement confused him. A frenetic bustle of activity in the room had resumed once Raoul had drawn him over to his corner and, only now, had it occurred to Katze how unusual that was. Something was definitely up. "What's going on?"
"Katze has not been privy to the day's events," Raoul explained to the nearest Blondies with whom he had been directly engaged in a meeting. He looked very tired when he told him, "Jupiter has failed."
"Failed?!" Katze's voice leapt with disbelief, enough to fill the room with silence as he absorbed this information. After a moment's pause, the various Blondies continued with their activities.
"Mm-hmm. So, as you must now see," Raoul shrugged, "intentions are irrelevant since harm was perpetrated."
Katze had thousands of questions. The implications of what he had just learned made his head reel, but it was too much to absorb. So he wrestled his focus to the subject at hand, "The relevance lies in what the Federation would've hoped to achieve, if they have formed an alliance with people who would willfully harm us. That could have bearing on—well, on defense tactics."
Raoul inclined his head in acknowledgement, but added, "Only moderately so, for in either case, they would be a menace and must be dealt with as such."
"The Federation has a long history of adversarial relations with the Tanaguran Syndicate," Katze heard the rumble of a deep bass voice. He turned and saw a Blondie whose features included many curling strands of yellow hair which obscured much of his face. "Their public support is a recent phenomenon, bestowed grudgingly and, for the most part, due to the late Lord Mink's skills as a diplomat."
"Za-Zen Lau," Raoul leaned over and muttered, "Steward of the Underworld."
"Traditionally, a conspiracy of this magnitude would constitute an Act of War," Florien replied. "As members of the Federation, our fortunes depend upon good terms with its constituency."
"As you know well, Amoi has never resorted to overt warfare," Raoul interjected. "We've always used more covert and effective means of coercion. For all their posturing, the Federation is still anxious to trade with us. They may conspire for a change of leadership. Our priority at this time is to stabilize Tanagura, not to engage in saber-rattling."
An almost imperceptible trace of relief flickered over Florien's features, gone before Katze could focus his eyes on it.
Raoul made a motion to Katze to help himself to a beverage from the sideboard, while he continued to speak to Florien, "And unless we succeed in our efforts to find or create a breach in the lockdown at Jupiter's Tower, the obstacles will be difficult enough to surmount without borrowing trouble."
Lau tapped a sensor on his holostream recorder. "No report from Uriel Lan or his Platinas on the status of that operation yet."
"Even while we refrain from engaging the Federation in direct hostilities at this time, Florien," Raoul acknowledged Lau's information with a brief nod, "our investigation continues, and that is the matter I wished to address with you. I've received an invitation to dinner from Mr. Hazall."
"Ah, an old 'friend'!" Florien suddenly seemed inordinately interested in the contents of his wineglass.
"Precisely why you must attend. I see a strategic advantage in having you conduct the cross-examination, while I remain aloof. I also see it as an opportunity for you to reinforce your authority with Hazall and his lackeys, who seem determined to circumvent the proper chain of command."
The attaché nodded his thanks.
"My concern is that you are too attached to peace, and while this has been commendable in the past—your work was always exemplary in that respect—our present situation requires more assertiveness. My fear is that your past successes will tempt you to be overly cautious with our Mr. Hazall." Raoul leaned forward, plucked a white bishop off the chessboard always at hand on the table next to his chair.
"So know this now, Florien: Hazall was already condemned by Lord Mink; his dispensation as an envoy is entirely at our leisure and only for the duration of his usefulness to us." With a quick squeeze of his fingers, he reduced the figurine to powder. "Can I count on you to gauge the precision and force of your examination accordingly?"
"You can count on me to discreetly uncover the intentions of Hazall's handlers."
"Excellent.
Suddenly, while Raoul and Florien discussed the upcoming meeting, Katze heard Za-Zen Lau's low voice, an almost sub-bass vibration pulsating beneath the conversations and buzz of activity throughout the room.
"At one time Lord Mink had a young Furniture in his household who went by the name of Katze."
Katze's heart pounded. He was not going to bluster his way through this mess with a lie.
"Brilliant fellow, this particular Furniture, managed to crack the most advanced security network the Syndicate had designed and installed on the Guardian to that date. He learned all sorts of things about Jupiter's plans for Amoi, probably more than he ever wanted to know.
"I remember. I monitored the boy's progress through our various wards and trenchmarks," Lau's eyes swept Katze's cheek. "After he was caught, this Katze was left irreparably scarred."
Katze blinked. The scar had defined him for so long, he had forgotten that it was gone.
Lau calmly took another sip of wine. "I remember Iason commenting at the time that the scar was too extensive to be healed by regenerabots or hidden by makeup. He had great plans for this Katze."
"Oh? Did Lord Mink let you in on these plans?" The bitterness in Katze's voice attracted a sharp glance from Raoul.
Lau's gloved hand flicked out like lightning, and lifted a shank of the hairpiece off the tip of Katze's ear where the burnished pet-ring was crimped, only enough to reveal it more clearly to the Steward of the Underworld, not to expose Katze to the other Blondies in the room.
"Iason's brilliance lay in his heterodoxy. He was utterly unpredictable and constantly astounded both his enemies and the Syndicate with unexpected strikes and maneuvers. His strategies held signature flair, unfathomable to all but a few minds." As Katze looked into the depths of Lau's eyes, he got the distinct impression that this Blondie was one of those few. "I see Lord Am shares similar traits. And I thought disguising a Mongrel as a Pet was audacious!"
Katze wisely held his tongue.
As Lau removed his hand, he slid his index finger across Katze's cheek with a slow sensual gesture, mimicking the traces of the dead Blondie's skewer. "Iason always had an eye for talent. There were rumours he took his own Pet. Can you imagine?"
Yes, he could. All too clearly. Katze's mouth felt dry. He wondered if this Blondie's words were intended to sound as threatening as they did. Is it to be blackmail then? Must I let him take me as the price for his silence? He swallowed hard.
Suddenly there was that warm, protective hand on his shoulder. "I see you've discovered our little secret, Lau."
"I had my suspicions," Lau smiled sardonically at Raoul.
Raoul turned to Katze, "I want to thank you for sharing your information with us. I think you have done enough here for now. You still haven't had time to settle in. I was going to suggest that you use Paviter to help you reinstall your system in your new suite, but I don't think you will want to connect your computer with the planetary datastream while Jupiter is in fatal error. At least you can get it set up and ready to run. It is quite possible, when all the dust has settled, that your computer will be the only undamaged one left on the planet."
Katze nodded.
"Excellent. Afterwards, I need you to continue your investigation. Since your agent is incommunicado, and you have no idea where to start, I will give you a lead. Contact Hilarion Fyss' Furniture–"
"Kosai?"
"I believe that is his name, yes. Inform him of the present situation with his master. Then explain that you require the use of Fyss' archives and research library. Find me every bit of information he has stored away in those systems. Every particle. Do you understand?"
Katze gave a formal bow to both of the Blondies.
As he left, he heard Lau ask Raoul, "What are you up to, my friend? While it is true that Iason's Mongrels were always smarter than average, there were valid reasons Jupiter barred them from Eos."
By the time Raoul replied, Katze had moved too far away to overhear.
Although Paviter had disassembled and packed Katze's security and computer array as carefully as anyone could, it still took hours to straighten out the mess. Katze's first inclination had been to complain about the other man's presence, he was so used to working alone, but the Car proved himself extremely helpful, strong enough to heft the bulky equipment from one of the room, flexible enough to crawl into the requisite tight spaces to hook up wires and cables. The job was finished much faster than if he had attempted it on his own.
A unique and marvelous feature of his holostream array was that it wasn't entirely dependent on the planetary datastream in order to collect or transmit data. This independence required him to receive encrypted holostreams bounced from off-world relay stations situated on various satellites and sectors of the asteroid belt. This, in turn, meant that one stream or another only worked for a limited time during the day or night, it was subject to interference from solar flares, and it was very clunky to operate. But it also meant that of Katze's more furtive and illegal activities escaped Jupiter's constant scrutiny. He didn't feel the urgent need to share this particular crumb of detail with Raoul just yet.
"What does that blinking light signify?" Paviter interrupted his reverie.
"Hunh? Which light?" A red alarm had been tripped. "Did you remember to remove the fire escape door?"
"We disarmed it, if that's what you mean."
"Did you bring it with you?"
"No," Paviter replied slowly. "That wasn't in your instructions. We left it attached to its hinges."
Katze swore. The whole change-over had been so sudden. Of course he couldn't remember everything. Why did he feel like such an incompetent idiot for forgetting this one thing? The fire-escape door had had sensor panels built right into it, not just into the frame and strike-plate. No one could so much as brush up against it without setting off the alarm. "Okay, this is probably nothing. It was probably tripped when you left the suite."
"But you aren't a hundred per cent certain," Paviter replied.
"Definitely not," Katze started to pace. How did this Pet-ring transmitter work? Could he just call on Raoul at any time? He gave it a try. "Raoul, did you catch any of that?"
He had. All of it.
With Raoul's caution against walking into a trap still ringing in his ear, Katze pulled up with Paviter into the alleyway behind his old apartment. Together they stared through the open door into darkness.
"We definitely closed and locked the door after the cleaning crew left," Paviter said, flicking the safety off his laser.
"Thanks for that." Katze replied, longing to smack his bodyguard in the back of his head except for that the guy—the very big guy—was holding a gun.
"Don't mention it. Hey, and don't you think a twenty-stone sack of coffee beans veers awfully close to overkill?"
Katze's jaw almost dropped. What kind of a question was that? "I like to buy in bulk."
"Damned thing weighed more than any single piece of equipment in your array—more than the bulkhead! Your coffee addiction nearly gave my gorillas hernias."
"Oh, um, sorry." The truth was that the coffee was left over from the packing crates used to smuggle in the illegal ingredients for some of the more stronger aphrodisiacs used in Apatia. Katze figured it was the one real perk of his former career. The only one that really interested him.
"And what's with all the coffin-pegs in your freezer?"
"What? You can't tell me you got a hernia from them! I only had about thirty packs in there." Katze lit up a fresh smoke off the butt of one he had just finished. He hated this. This was exactly why he never wanted to leave the bat-cave. Sooner or later, it always led to someone chewing his ear off about all the coffee and cigarettes.
"Only thirty packs! They were the only thing in there. Don't you eat? Doesn't it bother you to smoke stale Shiila?"
"Not really. It will all be ash and fairy-gas long before the tobacco has a chance to get stale. I take it you didn't find my stash of powdered Euphoria."
"Wha–?"
"Just kidding."
"You're too much, know that? I bet you were sweating bullets when Raoul sent me to fetch you."
"Yeah, well he can hear every word you're saying. You know that, right?" Katze tapped his pet-ring.
Paviter shrugged. "Aw, he thinks you're a whiner."
A whiner! Katze's mind flew to Manon Sohl, son of Coogar, the late Keeper of Guardian. Even Riki was a complainer compared to Katze; granted, his butt had probably been sore enough to count for a good reason. This buffoon didn't know what he was talking about. Katze knew he was as cool as they came. He pulled out his laser.
"Not so fast," the Car slammed the locks down. "Me first."
"Then move!"
Katze waited until he was out, and then, thanking whatever lucky star made Paviter forget to close the screen between his seat and the passenger section, leapt into the front and out the door that way. He was on his way up the stairs, when Paviter hissed and waved at the stairs. Something dark and viscous was splattered across them.
Gore.
"By all means, after you," Katze muttered.
Paviter stalked down the stairs like a giant panther, soundlessly, hugging the side nearest the wall. Holding out an object that Katze suddenly realized was the vehicle's newly detached rearview mirror, he quickly scanned the room with it.
A volley of laser bolts flashed from the open casement setting the neighbour's parched cypresses on fire. It was accompanied by a string of the most creative and explicit curses Katze had ever heard, in a hoarse growl he immediately recognized.
"Merc, hold your fire! It's me."
"Katze, you sonofabitch, I thought you were long gone."
"No, I'm right here."
"You didn't clear out?"
Katze rushed past Paviter, pushing the great hulk aside none too gently. He found Merc reclining painfully in a pool of blood and vomit, clutching at a terrific gash in his stomach. Three other men were down, obvious corpses. "I forgot to disconnect one of the alarms, thank god."
"Yeah? Well, I think I fucked up your damage deposit, man. The Federales came after me, just like I said. How the hell they found me, I'll never know, but I took the bastards down. Every last one of them. Caught a blast across my abdomen toward the end though. Figure I broke a couple of ribs, too, falling down your stairs. So thirsty. You wouldn't have a bottle of water on you, by any chance?"
Katze felt a chill crawl up his spine at those ominous words. He knelt beside the miner and started to unwind his fancy new cravat in order to fasten it around Merc's guts, just to hold them in until he and Paviter could transport him to the Kalga. Paviter stopped him and held out legitimate tensor bandages from the first aid kit in the car.
Merc's eyes focused on Katze for the first time, noticing his new appearance, "What the hell happened to you?"
"Long story. I'll tell you while we get you to a hospital. Why did you come back, Merc? You were safely away. You didn't have to return."
"Yeah, I did. I really did." His voice started to rasp a little more. "I found something for you. You were right, kid. That hunch about the Priestesses of Tenebrios? Spot on. How d'you get so smart? Here's a name for you: Moebius Operation Ruction System, or MORS as our little buddies in the Federation call it."
"MORS."
"Yeah, a specially designed virus which affects whole planetary computer systems, traps their coordinating functions in circular logic, and while they are reeling in that endless loop, attacks and distorts the rest of the artificial intelligence."
"That's pretty standard for computer viruses."
"Not this one. No, this one's special, designed specifically for Jupiter types—reflects the way the priestesses work. Those bitches have developed some rather unique powers." Merc's face contracted with pain as Paviter gently lifted him onto the old fire escape door, which he had removed and improvised into a stretcher. He wheezed as spasms rolled through his torso.
"Whoa, careful there. Hang on for us. Don't want to lose you now." Katze put a sturdy arm around the man's shoulder and held his hand in a firm, comforting grip until his shudders passed.
"Damn it, just hold off until I tell Katze what he's got to know, will ya?" Merc snapped at Paviter when he had recovered enough to speak. "Yeah...as I was saying...Priestesses have the power to make your worst nightmares real....make you think that your worst nightmares are coming real...or something like that. On a planetary level."
"What do you mean? They can materialize nightmares?"
"Not sure how it works. Something like that. They worm their way into your subconscious mind somehow and root out your fears. As far as whether they make them come true, what's the difference between if something is real or not, if you experience it as real. Know what I'm saying?"
"So what you're saying is that they open up stuff in your brain that makes you experience it like it's real, even if it isn't?"
"Naw, sometimes they make it come real...on Thallë, that infestation," Merc's face was growing grayer by the minute. He could barely summon enough breath to spit out the words, "It was real enough."
"Save your energy, Merc," Katze told him. "You've done good. Now, rest. I don't want you passing away."
"No, there's more."
"So, they use the piano to infest the planet. That's a pretty clever trick for disguising a carrier."
"NO! No, not that—Don't destroy it! Priestesses sure as hell never expected us to get our hands on one...do everything in their power to get it back...all about domination and–"
Merc's voice fell off.
"And what?" Katze asked, in a voice sharpened with anxiety for his friend. It was clear that Merc wasn't going to be able to answer. "Alright, Car, now's the time to move him out. Kalga 19."
"That's an Elite facility," Paviter objected. "They will never treat him."
Katze checked to see if the pet-ring still worked. "Raoul?"
He was never so delighted to hear the Blondie's voice. "You have my authority, Katze."
Sometimes pet-rings were okay.
The Holocaust Piano – chapter 5.2 << >> The Holocaust Piano – chapter 7