Rescue mission
[Author's note: This is one that I wrote early, before I had come up with some of the other ideas that I've worked into the AU. Some of those made it into this. In this version, Berg Katse was seriously injured in the confrontation between Dr. Nambu, Joe, and the SNT in which we learn that Leader X merged twins. He's on the run, hurting, and needs help to escape. I set this in Ameris, the stand-in for America. I may rewrite this later on, depending on how things go. ]
Intolerable! Utterly intolerable. Those ninja brats had actually hurt him and seen his face. They would pay for that.
But first, he had to get away.
***** ***** *****
The sound of his phone woke Rowan Farquhar. Muddle-headed, he opened it. Better not be some field hack with a daytime problem. "Hello?"
"Farquhar, this is Lord Katse."
He shot upright. "Sir!"
"I need your help." He sounded weak and tired. "I have been injured and my men are dead. The base is in enemy hands. They're looking for me."
"Whatever you need, sir, you know that."
"Good man." Lord Katse gave an address and instructions.
***** ***** *****
An hour later, he had a stolen van and some clothes that he had grabbed out of his closet. He parked the van and opened the side door, making certain that he was visible.
Lord Katse, unmasked, staggered out of hiding and lurched into the van. His upper chest and shoulders were bloody and ragged; his face a mass of gashes. Not a scrap of his natural grace remained. "Drive."
"Sir?"
"Drive. If they followed me, they're coming from that direction." He collapsed into a seat. "Good lord, where did you get this thing?"
"A Wal-Mart parking lot."
"Figures."
"Hide in plain sight, sir. This is the last thing they'll expect you to use."
A ghost of the familiar chuckle. "Good thinking. Now drive."
"You're badly injured."
"They're coming. When we get clear, you can stop."
Yeah. Whoever trailed Lord Katse might stop and search them because of their proximity to the base. He made a quick decision.
Behind him, he heard Katse moving around. Then: "The last thing I'd wear, too."
"I got those out of the bottom of the closet. You said you were injured, so I chose things we could throw away."
No reply.
No emergency rooms. People ask too many questions. The police would circulate a description of Lord Katse, including his injuries. The next nearest Galactor base was too far for him, in his condition.
He drove ten blocks and parked in a public deck. "We should be safe enough. Sir?"
"I'm still alive." Just barely, by the sound.
In the faint illumination of the van's ceiling light, Katse looked like death warmed over. Farquhar sat beside him and removed the shredded cloak, then unfastened and peeled off the blood-saturated tunic. Christ. Blood covered his chest and arms, welled from the gashes. Blood, wet and dry, discolored long golden hair a woman would envy and smeared a face between handsome and beautiful. He looks like Captain Maddox. She must be his sister!
"This will hurt." He cleaned away the blood, wincing at the way the wounds kept bleeding. "These are bad. And the nearest Galactor doctor is fifty miles away."
"Do --- what you can."
Farquhar thought quickly as he folded a large gauze pad and pressed it against the largest wound. "I have a friend, well, a friend of a friend, around here. A doctor. If we tell him the right story, he won't ask too many questions. Hold that, please."
"What sort of story?"
"He has a good heart. Please don't take offense, but if we tell him that some punks thought you were, well, gay, he'd keep his mouth shut." He wrapped a bandage over the dressings and applied adhesive tape.
Bitter amusement flashed over Katse's face.
Oh, shit.
"He might call the police and make a complaint on my behalf."
"Oh, yeah."
"Of course, if we told him that one of the punks was an off-duty police officer…."
"That could delay him enough to let us escape." He didn't want to repay his friend's kindness with murder.
"Knife."
What?
"Is there a knife in this wretched van?"
"Just my pocketknife. Why, sir?"
"'Hide in plain sight', Farquhar. My face was sliced by flying shards of security barrier. You have to cut me. Your friend may notice something wrong with my injuries if I cut myself or we leave them be."
"Sir, I don't --- I can't do that." He honestly didn't think that he could, or that he could do it convincingly, to this man. "Not to you."
"Then hold the knife in your right hand. Tightly." Katse studied his reflection in the rearview mirror.
He obeyed. His lord's wiry fingers closed over his, adjusted the position of his hand. It was over in minutes. New blood streamed.
"There."
That's why he's the leader, and I'm not. He dropped his pocketknife and tended to the new injuries. "Okay. Let me call him."
***** ***** *****
Before they drove to the doctor, he helped Katse change the rest of his clothes. The shabby black cargo pants, zip-up hoody, and old sneakers were poor substitutes for his lord's uniform.
Dr. Grell was ready for them when Farquhar knocked. "Come on in. The kitchen is this way. I know the 'kitchen emergency room' is a stereotype, but it's much easier to clean afterwards."
"Do you get many midnight patients?" Farquhar asked. Last thing they needed was more witnesses.
"Not many, but people do know they can come to me if they're in trouble. You aren't the only one who's afraid of the authorities. Sit down, and let me take a look."
With practiced skill, he inspected the wounds. "A couple of these cuts are really bad. I can patch you up, but you'll have to either see another doctor, or take it easy for a while. You've lost too much blood for me to knock you out completely. I'll use a local anesthetic. It might not kill all the pain."
Impatience: "Get it over with."
Grell didn't take offense at the tone. He'd heard worse. "Rowan, stick around. Your friend seems pretty tough, but there's always a threshold for pain."
You don't know how tough he is. "I told you: he's a guy I rescued." He fingered the gun Katse had ordered him to bring. I hope I won't need this.
Lord Katse gritted his teeth as the doctor worked. Blood oozed from his clenched fists.
"They tried to kill you," Grell said as he finished the last of the deep cuts. "You must have made a fist at them."
"More than a fist."
"A lot of victims of gay-bashing don't fight back. Sometimes they're afraid, or they don't know how. Others know that their attackers will seize even the smallest excuse to claim self-defense and beat them worse."
"Cowards."
"I agree. The rest of these don't need much more than a few stitches. I'm sorry, but I can't guarantee there won't be scars."
"That's why there are plastic surgeons," Katse commented.
"Hold still."
***** ***** *****
After trading the van for a car, Farquhar checked into the sort of motel that doesn't ask questions when paid in cash. The night clerk barely raised an eyebrow, and his knowing wink was more reflex than insult. At Katse's order, he went shopping, leaving his lord with the gun.
"Trashy place," he murmured as he walked the aisles of an all-night drugstore. That clerk had no idea of his fortune: Katse would have killed him over that stupid wink.
Hair dye, scissors, disposable razors --- he examined the selection of T-shirts and decided against any of them. These were entirely too civilized for a man sporting facial injuries and bulky with bandages. So was the selection at the Wal-Mart.
He next went to a truck stop. People saw only a silly fellow overly thrilled to find bad-ass leather goods.
***** ***** *****
He walked into the room just as Katse nailed a cockroach with the pocketknife. "This place isn't even a dump. That I should be reduced to this is too insulting."
I agree. "You will have your dignity and your revenge, sir."
"Did you find everything? The more you have to look, the greater the chance of discovery."
"I had to be creative, sir. You have bandages on your face. I thought you should have a look to match." He emptied the bags, suddenly nervous.
Katse sorted out the clothing. His lips twitched, and he chuckled. "You are taking this to the limit, aren't you?" He went into the bathroom. More amused laughter before he emerged.
Farquhar turned up the sound on the television set. A news alert had gone out, with a description of Berg Katse.
"It's only a matter of time before they realize I had help. Why this T-shirt?"
"It completed the look, sir." He turned to see the result. "Oh, God. You're right, sir." His face turned bright red. "I did take it to the limit."
Black jeans, ass-kicking leather motorcycle boots, black leather jacket with artfully-placed studs and spikes, and a black leather belt with a skull buckle, enhanced with a 'Tejas Chainsaw Massacre' T-shirt. Could Lord Katse look more like a character in a silly motorcycle movie? And, even ill and injured, look so good?
"I apologize, sir."
"No need." Katse removed the ridiculous belt, replacing it with the one he had worn with the cargo pants. "You haven't had my training in disguise. In the morning, you can get different shoes."
"Yes, sir."
"Come on in here. We should finish this. Then we can rest."
He's running on will-power. "Yes, sir."
Haircut for Lord Katse. Damn shame to cut that hair, he thought, as he snipped. That sort of hair took years of care to produce. But it was his most distinctive feature.
Then lessons in hair dye. He'd picked up a brown that would darken his own bright red hair, and change Katse's color entirely. It took longer than he thought it would to produce a convincing result.
After a microwaved supper, he said, "I'll take first watch, sir. You get some rest."
***** ***** *****
The night wasn't silent. The motel's cheap lights stained rather than illuminated the darkness. Rutting couples came and went, some of them drunk or high, some of them honking car horns and shouting. Big rigs pulled in, air-brakes chuffing. Headlight beams slashed across the window.
Lord Katse mumbled in a strange language and moved restlessly in his dreams. Not even in sleep could he escape the ISO's persecution. Once or twice, in a plaintive tone, he muttered a name. Helen.
My lord gave up his entire life for Galactor. Others could marry and have children because of his sacrifice.
Morning would see Katse with a plan.
***** ***** *****
Morning saw Katse hungry and weak from his injuries. "You didn't wake me, Farquhar."
"You needed the sleep, my lord."
"You should have awakened me. Let's get some breakfast."
They ate at the Waffle House next to the motel. Katse ordered the meat lover's size in the chopped steak dinner. Farquhar could barely handle a minimal breakfast of eggs and bacon.
"We have to leave this city," Katse said when they returned to their room and turned on the news. "They're rounding up Galactor personnel. It's just a matter of time before they deduce that I had help, otherwise I'd have you pay for another day and make you get some sleep. But, I'm in no shape to drive, and you look ready to collapse."
"The next nearest base is too close to take a commercial plane. That means a bus. Those things are worse than the van --- but not as bad as this room."
"It can't be helped. We don't have time to wait or waste. Every moment we delay increases the chances of capture."
"Yes, sir."
***** ***** *****
They were fortunate in the season. The bus was not crowded. They sat near the emergency exit. A stereotype of redneck blue-collar stupidity looked across and back at them, a knowing sneer on his face. Farquhar made certain to remember that face.
The ride itself was not as bad as he had feared, aside from the redneck's foolishness. Their seats weren't too uncomfortable, and the bus's shocks and suspension actually worked. Whenever he awoke, the stupid fool was making kissy faces or leering at them.
When the bus pulled in to the station, Katse whispered, "Shall you kill him, or shall I?"
"I would like the privilege of avenging the insult to you."
"Then you shall have it."
"Thank you, lord."
Secure in his belief that his victims were homosexuals, and that homosexuals were weaklings, the redneck fool picked up his luggage at the side of the bus. He sauntered into the station, bought a ticket for another destination, and then to a fast-food restaurant nearby.
He never felt the stiletto.
***** ***** *****
Farquhar called the Galactor base for a car. The driver accepted his authority and left the vehicle.
"Now we're getting somewhere," Katse said, sliding into the back seat. "Use the special entrance. No-one should see me like this. It would be bad for morale."
"Yes, sir."
***** ***** *****
No-one saw them arrive. The 'special entrance' was for Berg Katse only. It added to his mystique for him to suddenly 'appear' at a base.
Farquhar showered and changed into uniform, then knocked on the door to Katse's office. "Sir?"
"Come in, Farquhar."
Heart thumping, he obeyed.
A lithe figure clad in purple and blue stood before the window. No trace of weakness showed as Lord Berg Katse gracefully swept his cape over his shoulders and stepped around the desk. "What is your command, my lord?"
"We have come to the final battle with the ISO," Katse said. "All or nothing."
It had come to this, already?
"This may be the last time that you see me. I must prepare myself and our forces for this fight. The ISO and its lapdogs will not hold back, and neither shall Galactor."
"Yes, Lord Katse."
"Both sides are evenly matched. The winner will be the one with the will to victory."
Where was this going?
"It is possible that Galactor will lose. In that case, the ISO and police will continue to hunt us down."
"Sir, Galactor is too large to end so easily."
"Correct. We have survived this long because we prepare for every eventuality – or try to." A tiny smile crooked Katse's mouth. "You have shown your full worth, Farquhar." He opened a wall panel. "This is a copy of the emergency plan. In here is information on emergency bank accounts, safe houses, rendezvous points, and certain of our bases and personnel for this region."
Trembling, Farquhar took the case, but could not bring himself to open it.
"If I, or any captain, should survive, we will meet you at one of the four safe locations listed there. Wait at each one for exactly seven days, then proceed to the next."
"Sir, suppose they should be watched?"
"If it's safe, use your name. If it is not, use the name Mailer. At the main base, there is fake identification under that name available. That's how I and others will know."
"Yes, sir."
"It will be your task to collect as many Galactor people as possible together. It may be that what main force fails to achieve, your efforts shall."
"Yes, my lord."
"Go, now, and wait for my instructions."
"Yes, sir."