Walk forward, into the world
by Ainzfern
Prologue
He floated. There were mists and dreams and voices upon the cusp of hearing. He had no sense of time in this place. How long he had been here, he simply did not know. But, in this strange semi-lucid twilight in which he drifted, it almost seemed not to matter. He was warm. There was no pain. He could feel a steady pulse, a deep – thrum-thrum – thrum-thrum – beating through his body. His heartbeat. Felt... not heard. He remembered things. Words. Feelings. Images. Long hair, as pale as the dawn sun. Hands, smooth and elegant and long-fingered, with strength enough to crush and shatter yet touching with only gentle fervor. And a voice. It was a beautiful voice. It was a voice he knew somehow that he would never hear again.
Now there was pain. Not physical, but internalized. There was regret; there was sorrow and longing, filling the space within his chest like phantom tendrils from some plague-sickened and poisonous vine. The warmth surrounding him offered no comfort. He moved, his limbs sluggish and slow, pushing through some strange and cloying resistance. He felt as though he was immersed somehow, cut off from the world, and he grew afraid. In his mind, an image formed. Pale blue eyes and a face carved in the image of the angels of Nirvana. But that face was gone. He knew this. He tried to reach for the image, to hold it, but it slipped from him, disappearing back into the darkness.
He tried to cry out, to vent his anguish and despair, but no sound emerged.
No sound ever did.
In his mind's eye another image formed. Another face, familiar only because it always came to him at these moments. This face was alien, different to the point where he knew he ought to fear it yet, for some reason, he did not. It glowed, its silver skin shot through with skeins of pale blue and gold. Its eyes were blank, no irises, no pupils, yet this oddity did not worry him. For all of their mirror-like appearance, he sensed only warmth and an oddly deep compassion from them.
Words came. Once again, not heard... felt.
It was a soft voice, a gentle voice, yet carrying the echoes of the vast and abiding passing of time, and it soothed away the fear and the pain as if they had never even existed. There could be no denying this voice. Not in this place.
"Sleep, Riki," the voice told him, in the melodious soothing tones of a mother. "Sleep..."
And Riki slept.
1
"He's dreaming again."
From his vigil in the shadows at the edges of the sterile and silent room, Raoul Am, current provisionary leader of the Tanagura Syndicate and Chief Biologist in service of Jupiter, frowned ever so slightly as he turned to face the man standing by the monitoring consol near the down-lit tank in the centre of the pristinely white floor.
"I know, Katze," Raoul murmured as he faced forward once more. "He will settle soon enough."
His eyes narrowed for a moment as he appraised the young man floating, suspended and restless, in the large plexi-glass container. As the mongrel's formerly agitated movements began to still, he nodded in satisfaction. "There he goes."
"Hmm," Katze entered a few observations into the consol keyboard. "It's taking less time these days. I think he's getting closer."
With a slow and somnolent sigh, Raoul turned to face the red-headed Furniture. "We'll need to make arrangements, then."
"Understood. I've already got it covered." Katze turned back to the consol, but not before Raoul noticed the somewhat strained and disturbed expression on his face.
"Katze," Raoul flicked one more glance at the young mongrel floating in the tank before taking a step towards his current companion. "Iason... always felt rather disposed to humor you."
Katze's face betrayed no response but, Raoul saw, his hands stilled upon the keyboard.
"And... I will admit you have proved very useful to both of us in our past, and current, endeavors." Raoul continued to move towards the slighter man, his expression giving away nothing. "So... in deference to my dear friend... You may ask your questions without fear of retribution."
Katze's breath escaped on a sharp gasp of surprise. His hands clenched for a moment before, with more intestinal fortitude than Raoul would have credited him with, he drew in a deep inhalation and nodded. "Why did she do it, do you think?" he asked quietly.
Raoul considered it for a moment. "Jupiter?" He sighed once more. "I simply do not know. She has remained silent on this issue."
"Is that unusual?"
Raoul's broad shoulders lifted in an almost imperceptible shrug. "I have no basis of comparison, Katze." An elegant eyebrow twitched slightly. "Iason was always her choice for communion. I have only just begun to interact with her, and she only speaks to me of the current day to day requirements in my role as provisional leader."
Nodding his acceptance, Katze turned slightly, looking up at the Elite Blondie towering over him. "Are you going to tell Iason that he's alive?"
"No." Raoul felt his expression harden slightly. "Not yet."
Wetting his lips, his eyes clearly showing that he knew he was reaching the limit, Katze lifted his chin slightly. "Why?"
Clasping his hands behind the small of his back, Raoul abruptly turned to face the tank, and its current occupant, once more. He let his eyes wander over the naked mongrel within, seeing with a strangely unbiased eye, the loveliness of his imperfect form.
His completely reconstructed imperfect form...
Jupiter hadn't missed a thing. All the burns from the explosion at Dana Bahn had been healed, the golden skin of the man now beautifully unmarred. Even earlier scars, ones that pre-dated his time in Midas, were erased. The broken bones, the torn flesh, even the mongrel's cruelly mutilated genitals... all repaired.
All as they once were.
"It's ironic, don't you think, Katze?" Raoul tilted his head to one side as he considered the sight before him. "That these amniotic tanks," he gestured with one graceful wave of an elegantly long hand, "these... technologically perfect wombs, that were to bring forth perfect Pets – and which Iason and I labored so long to create – would be used in such a manner." He glanced over his shoulder briefly at Katze's impassive expression, before turning his face away again. "To repair the body of a slum-bred mongrel."
"The tanks repaired Iason's body, too," Katze's low reply murmured from behind him.
Raoul's heart constricted for a moment. Iason... His friend. His equal. His brother. He took a deep breath and nodded slowly. "Yes." He smiled down at the floor, secure in the knowledge that the mongrel Furniture behind him could not see the gesture. "Yes, this is true."
"So..?"
Turning, swiftly and silently, Raoul faced the younger man with suddenly blazing eyes, feeling no particular satisfaction when Katze winced slightly, bracing himself for the first blow.
It never came.
"So why have I not told Iason?" Raoul demanded. "Was that your question?"
Katze remained silent, but his gaze did not waver.
Raoul nodded, silently acknowledging the Furniture's courage. "I have made this choice, Katze, for many reasons. Most importantly... Iason needs to have no distractions as he recovers." His eyes narrowed into glittering slits, the only outward sign of emotion that he would deign to show to the mongrel before him.
Fortunately for Katze, Raoul noted, he reacted with appropriate humility, lowering his eyes and bringing his shoulders forward in a silent gesture of submission. He may have been granted a certain freedom of expression under Iason, Raoul thought, but it was gratifying to know that the Furniture did not expect that gratuity to extend to Raoul's temporary and unwanted leadership.
The very notion softened his umbrage somewhat, and so it was with uncommon honesty; at least – uncommon honesty where, technically, a slave was concerned – that Raoul answered. "The other reason is more prosaic, I will admit." He drew in a deep and visibly frustrated breath, showing to Katze what he so valiantly hid from his Elite peers. "Jupiter has given me no specific instruction regarding the matter of Iason and Riki."
He watched as Katze's eyes widened.
Nodding, Raoul continued, "From the moment their broken near-dead bodies were returned to Midas, she has remained silent in regards to her judgment." He lifted one broad shoulder slightly, almost helplessly. "She gave me clear instructions in regards to healing them both... She told me that I was to take Iason's place in the Tanagura Syndicate for the duration of his convalescence but, beyond that, nothing. I do not wish to take any action that may incur her wrath." His eyes closed briefly as his normally smooth brow creased in pained concern, "Especially, if such actions were to bring her anger down upon Iason." He swallowed, hard, "He has suffered enough, Katze."
Katze nodded, stepping away from the consol and approaching the Elite carefully. "Iason trusted me, Raoul," he said softly, sincerely. "You can, too."
Raoul reached out and clasped the Furniture's shoulder. His grip was firm and sure, the first time that he had ever willingly touched a mongrel. He couldn't help but feel that the action was nowhere near as repulsive as he had always imagined.
"Take Riki away from Midas, Katze," Raoul held Katze's eyes with his somber gaze. "Hide him somewhere until he is well again. Do not tell him that Iason is alive."
"But... But you're Iason's friend!" Katze's eyes widened again, his expression growing incensed. "How can you even- -"
Slowly Raoul increased his grip, watching with no real pleasure at all, as the Furniture's face paled and his entire body jerked backwards into a ridged arch with the sudden unexpected pain. A low grunt left Katze's throat, his head wrenching back on his long neck, his bright eyes closing with agony.
"I make such choices because I have to!" Raoul hissed into Katze's ear. "Do you not think that I would happily give Iason back his Pet if it were within my power to do so?!" Raoul increased his lethal hold on Katze's shoulder, ignoring the mongrel's sharp short agonized cry, ignoring the blood seeping through the white fabric of Katze's shirt as his fingers punctured fragile skin and flesh. "Jupiter has given me no guidance, no instruction... how do you think Iason would feel if I were to grant him back his Pet, only to be told that the wretched mongrel was to be terminated?!"
Panting harshly, Katze simply stared up at Raoul's coolly furious face.
With one sudden movement, Raoul released his grip on Katze, pulling his hand away and turning his face to one side, feeling his full mouth twitch into a tiny moue of disgust at the Furniture's soft groan of relief. "I do not have to justify myself to you, Katze," he said coldly, wiping his bloodied fingers fastidiously with a kerchief that he pulled from his coat pocket, "Iason's will and testament clearly states that I am to conduct his personal and political affairs in the event that he is incapacitated. All I need to know is that you will obey my orders."
Katze bowed his head, visibly aware that the moment of amnesty was very clearly over. "Of course, Master Am."
"Fine." Raoul tucked the kerchief back into his pocket. "Then you will continue with our original plan?"
"Yes, Master Am."
"Very well," Raoul adjusted his cost-sleeves, neatening his appearance, "and you remember the signal to act?"
Katze flushed angrily, even as he nodded once more. "Yes, Master Am. As soon as Riki's eyes are open, I will take him outside of Midas."
"Good." Raoul strode towards the door of the room without even a backwards glance. "I am glad you understand the situation, Katze."
2
Measured footsteps echoed softly in the evening air as Iason Mink slowly crossed the broad balcony that graced the frontage of his Eos penthouse. Glass of wine in hand, the soft breeze pushing his flowing hair back from his face for a moment, Iason set his free hand on the balcony wall and gazed out across the bright lights and graceful constructions of Midas. He raised his glass slowly, reverently inhaling the fine vintage before taking an equally slow sip of the ruby colored liquid. He rolled the wine around in his mouth for a moment, savoring the rich woodiness, the sharp tannins, before swallowing it down.
As he stood there, watching the sun setting over his beautiful city, he felt the side of his mouth quirk upwards slightly. It was an odd and fleeting expression, a little half smile that ghosted across his flawless features and contained more irony than humor.
Could it only have been three months ago? Iason shook his head and took another sip of his wine. In Dana Bahn as he had sat beside a dying young mongrel, his own body rapidly shutting down from a mortal wounding and the poisonous self-administered smoke of a black moon cigarette, the sight of Midas by sunset was one that he had truly believed he would never see again.
It had been a miracle that he had survived at all. Raoul Am had told him that several times now, still marveling at the providence of it.
From what Raoul had told him, as Dana Bahn had exploded around Iason and his ill-fated companion, a section of inner wall had fallen over them and, rather than crushing them, the structure had wedged against part of the massive machinery still housed inside the building, partially shielding them from the worst of the final blast. When Raoul's rescue team had found him, Iason had been burned, his legs torn away, his powerful heart faltering from toxins and the shock of blood loss, but there had been enough life left there to salvage him.
To bring him back from the brink.
Iason turned slightly, catching his own reflection in the full glass plate windows that ran the length of the penthouse fronting the balcony. He saw his image, still tall and strong, his body beautifully proportioned and graceful, lean flanked and broad shouldered as any perfect Blondie should be and his legs... as long and as elegant as they ever were.
"An amniotic tank," he murmured to himself, still staring in mild amazement at his own whole and solid reflection. He chuckled softly and turned back to his contemplation of the darkening city skyline. "Who would ever have thought of such a thing?"
Only Jupiter, apparently.
But, Riki... Iason's eyes closed for a moment, a slow deep sigh leaving his chest, a wave of hurt and sorrow washing through his gut. It was a familiar feeling by now.
A strange and sad thing for an Elite Blondie, of this he had no doubt.
Riki had not been so fortunate, Raoul had told Iason upon his emergence from the healing tank in Jupiter's inner sanctum. He knew, even now, that Raoul still remained baffled and disturbed by Iason's affection for the mongrel human, but at the time, delivering that dreadful news, he had amazed Iason with his empathy and his genuine regard for Iason's feelings in the matter.
Surprisingly, or perhaps not, Raoul was still being kindly deferential about Iason's loss.
Even now. Three months after the fact.
It was mostly noticeable is his careful silence on the issue. Raoul did not speak of Riki, which Iason had to confess he was glad about. After all, what was there to say? The half-wild mongrel had been, even by Iason's own admittance, a shocking aberration in the life of the highest ranking Elite in Tanagura. The whole sordid thing should never have been allowed to get so out of hand.
Iason should never have lost his perspective.
But Riki was dead now. Thus, the matter was closed.
And, there were times that Iason found himself thinking, that if he just kept telling himself that, he would eventually come to believe it.
"I beg your pardon, Sir, for interrupting you," a soft, light voice spoke from the open balcony door behind Iason, "but Raoul Am has arrived to see you."
Turning, his expression once more coolly composed, Iason nodded perfunctorily at his newly purchased Furniture, Dane. As much as he could be pleased about anything, he could confess that Dane made an agreeable addition to his much-reduced household. The young man was unobtrusive and undemanding, attending to his tasks quietly and efficiently. In fact, unless Iason summoned him, he was hard pressed to notice Dane's presence in the penthouse at all.
"Very good," Iason replied softly. "Attend to his refreshments and inform him that I shall join him in a moment."
Bowing his head, Dane turned and quietly left to do as instructed.
Looking towards the now-dark city one more time, Iason drained the last of his wine and set his glass down on the wall, considering the changes he had made since returning home after his remarkable regeneration. Kyaru, his former Furniture, was gone as was his little female Pet. Raoul had, at his request, arranged for an Elite colleague in the Syndicate to add them to his own household. To his credit, Iason acknowledged, the man Raoul had chosen did, in fact, possess at least a modicum of decency to his nature. Iason's former chattel would be treated well enough, and that thought satisfied him.
He had not tried to explain his reasoning behind the decision. In truth, he didn't really understand it all that well himself. But, the fact had been that he had simply not wanted anyone associated with the period of time Riki had spent as his Pet, in his home anymore.
Too distracting. There were too many memories here already.
He had purchased Dane only a few weeks prior and, thus far, the arrangement was working well. Dane was young, but not inexperienced in running an Elite household, and he tolerated his new master's... unusual restrictions without comment.
Iason had made it very clear from the start. Dane would not be required to bathe him, or to dress him, or to attend to his hair.
Dane would not, in fact, be required to touch him at all.
If the Furniture had indeed had an opinion about that, he had kept it to himself. After all, a household without Pets was a vastly easier household to keep in order. Iason suspected that Dane was probably very pleased to have gained such an uncomplicated position.
Turning his back on the night, Iason walked inside the penthouse, nodding graciously at Raoul as his friend rose from his seat and stepped forward to greet him. They clasped arms for a brief moment before, with a wave of his hand, Iason gestured for Raoul to reseat himself, sinking down into his own armchair even as he did so.
"Well," Raoul's face was lit by the smallest of smiles, "you look rather more like your old self today." He reached out and selected a slice of chilled fruit that Dane had placed on the low table between them. "Still dressing yourself, are you?" he asked, his lips twitching slightly.
Resisting a powerful urge to roll his eyes at Raoul's teasing tone, Iason simply nodded.
Raoul's brow arched, his wicked delight at the notion quite evident. "That still amuses me, you know."
Snorting softly, Iason selected his own slice of fruit. "Many things amuse you, Raoul. You're easily entertained."
Acknowledging this point with an amiable shrug, Raoul settled more comfortably back into his seat, arranging his long limbs in a relaxed and open pose. "Well," he lifted one hand and pointed to himself, "I am here, just as requested... What was it you wished to discuss with me?"
"I believe it is time for me to get back to work, Raoul," Iason told him, his voice soft and sure. "I feel it is about time I usurped your provisional leadership and reinstated my own permanency."
An expression of deep satisfaction crossed Raoul's face for a moment. "I was hoping you would say that," he sat forward slightly. "The federation government has been making overtures again in regards to sending another trade delegation to negotiate in Partia with the Syndicate. I rather think you might be the right Elite for the job. Your first act upon resuming your rightful role, if you will."
"Ah," Iason nodded sagely, "so they found a suitable replacement for the unfortunate Mr. Hazell, then?"
Carefully assuming a composed expression, the effect of which was somewhat ruined by the evil little glint in his green eyes, Raoul nodded. "They did indeed. A man by the name of Chey Neeson. Spotless record, apparently." He vented a mockingly sad little sigh. "Such a shame about his poor predecessor, however."
Propping one elbow on the arm of his chair and curling his elegant fingers under his chin, Iason regarded him with tolerant amusement. "Wasn't it, though?"
"Hmm. Who would ever have thought Mr. Hazell would have had so many sordid little habits?"
Iason lifted one shoulder briefly. "Who would ever have thought he wouldn't have made more of an effort to keep them a secret?"
"Quite," Raoul's entire being radiated delighted malevolency. "A money launderer, an embezzler of his own government's funds, a sickening pederast, a closet drug addict..."
"...A terribly incompetent director of assassination attempts..."
"Oh yes, there is that too," regretfully shaking his head once more, Raoul sighed. "I suppose, when one considers it dispassionately, it was really only a matter of time before someone found it all out and alerted the senate."
"As someone ultimately did." Iason quirked a brow at his friend.
Dropping all the pretenses, Raoul chuckled and sat back once more. "Some day, you'll have to tell me how you did it."
"It wasn't all that difficult." Iason waved a dismissive hand. "It was made much easier by the fact that most of the allegations happened to true."
"It was still rather elegant."
"I suppose," Iason's face became more serious then. "Tell me more about Neeson."
Choosing another slice of fruit, Raoul nodded. "There's not much to tell, in truth. As I said, spotless career in the federation government. He lives a quiet private life, no scandals that I can find, and I can usually find something."
"This is true."
"His political opponents absolutely loathe him..."
"That's encouraging."
"It is, isn't it?" Raoul smiled again. "I've met him. Intelligent. A good negotiator, although I doubt he's a match for you. I rather like him. I think we can do some seriously beneficial business with him."
"Good," Iason set his shoulders decisively. "I plan to resume my post at the start of the new week. Once I have settled back in to both our satisfactions, I'll make contact with Mr. Neeson and arrange the trade talks."
"It will be good to have you back, Iason," Raoul said seriously. "I've done a passable job, but..."
"You miss your science lab?"
"Oh yes." Raoul's eyes were warm with affection as he met Iason's knowing gaze.
Iason considered his friend for a moment, how much they had been through, the history they shared. Although it was something that they would probably never speak of, he knew that Raoul had protected him as much as he could during his involvement with Riki. An Elite Blondie to the tips of his elegant fingers, Raoul had covered for him, lied for him, warned him when he could...
Theirs was not a friendship of affectation, it was real.
At the deepest level of his soul, Iason was grateful for that fact.
Especially now.
"I need to see Jupiter." Iason said suddenly then, abruptly altering the conversation to a new course.
For a moment, just an instant, Raoul's face grew absolutely still before almost immediately smoothing out again into an expression of unconcerned interest. In fact, the strange look had passed so quickly that Iason fancied he might have imagined it.
"Oh?" Raoul tilted his head slightly
"Yes," Iason's rich mouth curved upward slightly at one corner. "I have been feeling her call... her summons, for want a better word, for some few days now. She's not impatient yet, but I believe she will become so if I don't go and commune with her."
"Any idea what she might want?" Once again, Iason's attention was caught by his friend's response. The tone in Raoul's question had been ever so slightly more intense than it rightfully should have been.
Iason knew him well. He could spot the signs of anxiety on the man. He shrugged, inwardly resolving not to question it just yet, but instead watching Raoul closely. "Most likely it is just to reconnect. I haven't communed with her at all since the night you and Katze brought me home from the sanctum where I was regenerated." He smiled again, just slightly. "It's almost as if her attention has been elsewhere these past few weeks."
"Well," Raoul's tone became brisk and business-like once more. "You'll have to get used to doing that again on a regular basis once you resume your place." He rose to his feet, straightening his coat neatly. "I suppose it only makes sense to start sooner, rather than later."
Also rising gracefully, Iason held out his hand, smiling when Raoul clasped it and shook it firmly. "Thank you for coming."
"Any time. You know that."
"I do." He paused a moment, a thoughtful frown on his face. "Raoul... you are pleased about being demoted back to your previous position, aren't you?"
Raoul's eyes were filled with nothing but honest sincerity as he answered. "Iason? I am more pleased by the prospect than even you could ever guess."
Satisfied, Iason dropped his hand, escorting him the front door of the penthouse. "I will be seeing Jupiter tomorrow, I think. Shall I drop in on your office afterwards?"
Snorting softly, Raoul nodded. "Only if you plan to immediately leave again, in my company, to a suitable bar."
Clapping Raoul's shoulder warmly, Iason nodded. "Agreed. Have a good evening, Raoul."
"You too, my friend."
Iason stood there for some moments after Raoul had entered the lift, a deeply contemplative frown on his face. After a while his shook his head a little, almost dismissively, before quietly closing the door.
3
"Hey... Hey. You coming out of it?"
Groaning softly, Riki struggled against the heavy lethargy that seemed to be blanketing his body. The voice in his ear appeared to be coming from somewhere far away, but as he fought for consciousness, it drew closer, became more clearly defined.
"Hey... Riki. C'mon man, you need to open those pretty eyes for me, okay?"
A hand shook him, not particularly roughly, but not exactly gently, either. He grunted again, feeling his body jolt a little on the yielding surface upon which he lay. He frowned, even in his half-waking state, he knew that voice. It was familiar to him.
And it meant that, somehow, he was safe.
Well... safe enough, anyway.
"Katze..?" His soft question was delivered in a voice that sounded rusty and dry from disuse. He swallowed hard, opening his eyes a crack and wincing as the dim light from a lamp by the bed he was on stabbed at them. "Katze?"
The red-headed black marketer, his old boss, grinned almost rakishly at him. "The one and only, kid. Welcome back to the land of the living." He leaned out of Riki's line of sight for a moment, returning with a glass of water. Slipping his free hand under the back of Riki's neck, he lifted him slightly so that the young man could drink.
Accepting the water gratefully, Riki downed it in one draught, nodding his thanks.
Still supporting him, Katze set the glass down on the bedside table and shoved a couple of cushions behind Riki's back before releasing him to lay propped up in a semi-sitting position. He moved back slightly then, staring hard at Riki with an indecipherable look on his scarred face.
"How do you feel?" Katze asked eventually, breaking the silence.
Riki wet his lips and cleared his throat a couple of times. "I... feel okay, I guess." He frowned, looking around the rather non-descript little bedroom. "I'm not in Midas, am I?"
"No." Katze smiled again. "You're in one of my safe-houses just outside the city's edge."
"I'm in Ceres?" Riki felt slightly alarmed by the prospect. Back in the slums. Back where, no doubt, Guy would still be still alive and waiting.
If Katze had, God forbid, told him...
"Almost." Katze's grin widened at Riki's confused expression. "We're in the no-man's land between Midas and the slums. Basically, the market-place. Our own sleazy little trade centre where the citizens and the scum all pretend that they don't meet to do business." His smile faded, his expression growing somber. "No one knows you're here, Riki. No-one but me and Raoul Am."
Riki was appalled to actually feel a gasp of shock leaving his chest. "Raoul Am? That fuckin' Blondie? What in the hell is he doing involved with- -"
"How much do you remember?" Katze cut him off, his tone low and intense.
"I, uhm..." Riki blinked, thrown by the suddenness of the question. He looked down at his feet for a moment, struggling with it. "I remember Dana Bahn. I remember that you found me after I called you, and..." he trailed off, his eyes widening as something suddenly occurred to him. Feeling his heart rate start to increase, he swallowed hard and slowly slid one hand down his body, easing it between his legs. He heard his own breath rasping in shocked short busts through the silence of the room when his fingers closed over the warm and healthy flesh at the apex of his thighs.
Flesh that, by all rights, simply should not have been there anymore.
"How..?" He stared at Katze's once more inscrutable face. "Guy cut me," he whispered, his voice shaking, his entire body trembling with stunned relief. "How is this possible?"
"You were regenerated," Katze answered quietly. "It was a hell of a long-shot but, Raoul Am called in his medical heavies and they put you into one of the amniotic tanks that they were using to breed the latest Pets." He shrugged, a strange flicker of amusement crossing his face. "Ironic it may have been, but it worked."
"How long..?"
"Three months."
"Holy shit," Riki murmured, shaking his head as his dazed mind attempted to process the passing of so much time. "But I remember the explosions. I went back... smoked the black moon you gave me. How the hell did I live through that?"
"Well," Katze leaned back comfortably, propped on one hand. "A conveniently fallen piece of wall and Iason's own bulk shielded you from the worst of the final blasts. There wasn't much life left in you when Raoul Am's rescue team pulled you out, but there was enough."
"I still don't get it, Katze," Riki frowned, his head aching, his weariness returning rapidly. "Why the hell would a Blondie, an Elite who fuckin' hated the very idea of me, want to help me?"
Katze sighed, his gaze dropping for a moment. "It was a clear instruction in Iason Mink's last will and testament," his voice was low and dulled with echoes of sorrow, "In the event of his death, you were to be set free with no conditions, and in perfect health. And Raoul Am obviously still respected his friend enough to follow it through."
Feeling the blood drain from his face, Riki stared at him. He swallowed hard, the click of his throat seeming loud in the silent room. "His... death?" he whispered.
"Yes, Riki," meeting his eyes once more, Katze nodded. "Iason is dead. There was nothing anyone could do."
The breath left Riki's lungs in sharp and sudden rush. He heard a low moan, a dreadful gut-punched sound, and was strangely unsurprised to realize that it had come from his own throat. He felt his face draw into a deep grimace as he fought to control his reactions, looking around the room almost desperately, as if searching for manner of inspiration or, perhaps, just to escape the sudden searing burst of pain.
And it was pain he was feeling.
His throat hurt, his heart hurt.
God, right now, everything hurt...
"For what it's worth," he heard Katze saying through the roaring in his head, "I'm sorry."
Breathing deeply, Riki composed himself. His mouth twisted bitterly and he looked sharply up at Katze's face, fully preparing to tell him exactly what the ex-Furniture could do with his apology, but the look on that pale face stilled his tongue.
Katze was sorry. Riki could see it clearly, right there in that shattered and shuttered expression.
Somehow, the fact that there was someone in the world who could relate to him right now made him feel a little better.
Not much, but a little.
Pushing back his emotions with effort, Riki nodded at him. "Okay," he rubbed one hand roughly over his face, "so, what happens now? I'm a free agent again, am I right?"
Silently Katze nodded.
"So..?" Shrugging, Riki lifted his dark brows questioningly. "Am I still working for you?"
With a slight smile breaking through Katze's grief touched mask, he nodded again. "If you want to be, yes."
"Well, it's not like I'm going to get a lot of other offers." Riki lifted one shoulder slightly. "Besides, you know what I was, and you still don't give me too much shit so, yeah, I'd like to stay working for you."
"That can be arranged."
"Good." Sighing deeply, Riki settled back against the cushions, his eyes dipping shut for a moment. "So, what kind of deal can you do me, Katze? Messenger boy or factory worker?"
"Neither." Katze's reply was laced with amusement.
Riki's eyes snapped open again "No?"
"No." Katze rose to his feet, picking up the empty glass and holding it loosely with one hand. "You're far too weak at the moment for messenger duties. You haven't fully recovered yet."
"No shit."
Katze smiled fleetingly. "And, as for the factory, well... I believe I can make better use of your talents a little closer to home."
Frowning, Riki stared up at him. "What the hell does that mean?"
"How are you at code-cracking, Riki?" Katze asked him in lieu of an answer.
Blinking, straining to keep up with the man in his currently wrung out state, Riki shook his head. "God, I don't know... pretty good, I suppose."
Katze grin became positively smug. "How would you like to become exceptionally good?"
Chuckling in sudden amazement, Riki grinned back at him. "Seriously? You're gonna train me?"
"Yes." Katze's look became very direct. "Well?"
Riki considered it only for a moment. "Okay. Deal. When do you want to start?"
"Rest for another couple of days." Katze moved toward the open bedroom door, pulling his ever-present pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket. "If I think you're up to it, then we'll begin."
With that, he nodded by way of farewell and left without further word.
In the stillness left in his wake, Riki sighed again, an almost shattered sound, closed his eyes and drifted quickly back to sleep, hoping desperately not to dream.