Pain: A Love Story
Oh, no. Oh, hell no.
Helen's hands trembled as she read the transfer orders.
"What's wrong?" Rico asked. He glanced at the heading. "Re-assignment? Where?"
"Lord Katse."
He set down his coffee cup just a little too quickly. "I've worked for Galactor half my life, and I've never even been in the same base as Leader X's chosen ones." No envy in his tone. "I knew you were good. Only the best are assigned to Command Control, and the best of the best get close to Lord Katse."
"Well, I suppose that's something." What that something was, she had no idea.
"When do you leave?"
"End of the week." She clasped his hand.
"It's Wednesday."
"Come over tonight. The usual time. One last time."
***** ***** *****
She finally slept. Rico untangled the sheets and pulled them up before fitting his body against hers.
This was the last time they would be together, perhaps could ever be together. People who had been assigned to Command Control were never able to recover their camaraderie with former friends and colleagues. Lord Katse was that intimidating.
All the times they had made love, he'd sensed that she held back. This time, she'd tried to surrender. Something had made her desperate to lose the reserve. Was it the transfer?
Once, and once only, she had let slip a clue to her reserve. He'd awakened during the night. Unable to sleep, he'd initiated a little love-play. Rather than shake her, he had nuzzled and kissed her. She had murmured a name as she awakened. Once awake, she had joined him enthusiastically.
He'd never understood those men who wanted to be the only subject of a woman's thoughts. So many of his colleagues were put out by even a hint of their girlfriends' or wives' former lovers that they did everything wrong and screwed up wonderful relationships. The past could be left in the past. Not everything in the cupboard had to be taken out and examined.
Whose name? He couldn't have said. A murmur of sounds that could be any of a dozen names. Probably a boy from her past, a childhood love. I only hope he was worthy of you.
***** ***** *****
Awake before the alarm, Helen luxuriated in the feel of Rico's body molded against hers, the way his breath tickled the side of her neck, and his arm around her body. Sweet, loving, loyal Rico, always responsive, always trying to please her. Never jealous, even when she had to seduce an idiot to further Galactor's goals.
She loved him, yet could never give herself to him. Perhaps she could have, had another been named Lord of Galactor, or if she had not known Berg Katse when he was Sean Treil. If she had not loved a gold-haired enigma to the point of agony.
Did anyone know?
Apparently not.
Don't. Don't spoil this. Enjoy the love of this man.
"Mm?" Rico moved. "What time is it?"
"Too early to get up, and too late to go back to sleep."
"Uh-huh." Parts of him were already awake. He kissed the back of her neck. "Any ideas on how to fill the time?"
"Just one." She shifted position. "The same as yours."
***** ***** *****
Even in this interconnected age, Cross Karakoram was the middle of nowhere, and the Galactor base was in the middle of that. It was also, Helen thought as she stepped out of the plane, the ugliest base in Galactor. She imagined that this was what astronauts settling on, say, Mars would build.
"Sergeant Geary?" The singsong accent of Asham. A dark-skinned man, masked and green-clad, approached.
"I am."
"Ranjit Chidambaram, Lord Katse's personal assistant. Come with me, please."
Metal-clad walls, exposed ducts and conduits, and a strictly-utilitarian color-scheme (grey or beige with necessary color-coding) made up the entire route down from the hangar to Lord Katse's office suite.
She could not imagine him sitting inside an industrial-grade room. When Chidambaram opened the door, she saw white walls, office-quality carpet tile, and framed prints of famous artworks.
He introduced a man with a drill-sergeant jaw as Sergeant Coburn. "Pleased to meet you, Geary." Coburn sounded as if he would be happier grinding recruits than pushing paper. "I'm going to the training base on BC Island. Lord Katse's suggestion. He says I can do Galactor more good by training recruits than serving him directly."
"He may be correct."
"He is correct."
"What are my duties?"
"In short, to kick ass when he orders you to, order other people to kick ass when he commands it, and versions thereof. Ranjit there has the tedious job of playing secretary." Coburn grinned. "The ass-kicking made it bearable."
He continued in more detail, including files on current projects and assignments. It sounded almost as if she were to be a combination of body-guard, enforcer, and second-in-command.
"How is Lord Katse to work for?"
"Don't whine, and use your head. He has no patience or tolerance for fools. I think part of that is because he's the first person Leader X has named 'Lord of Galactor.' We're all proving ourselves again to Leader X. The rest is just common sense. He can't think for everyone." Coburn thought a while.
"Here's something you don't get from video: his presence. He's the alpha male in the room. I never thought I'd say that about any man who didn't look like a stone wall. He's elegant and graceful as a tiger. Moment I met him, I wanted to kneel and bang my head against the floor.
"He's intelligent. Scary intelligent. He can read us like children's books. Twist a man around until the sap doesn't know if he's coming or going.
"Oh, yeah: don't bring your drama to work. Your lover can bail on you and you can cry all you want at home. Once you come through the door, you belong to him. Ideally, you're his 24/7, but we aren't him.
"That's another thing to keep in mind. He's committed to Leader X and Galactor. Everything he does or says serves Galactor and its goals. Don't ask questions. Just obey him." He considered. "For that reason, he will never take advantage of you. In all the time I served him, I never saw him look at a man or a woman that way."
"That's for sure," Chidambaram said.
Oh. You aren't the only one. Another one in love with him.
She ignored her thumping heart. Barely. "Secretaries and bodyguards see their employers when others don't. They can still say 'Sir' or 'Ma'am' to someone with bed-head and shower shoes. Although I get the impression that no-one sees Lord Katse until he's ready."
"Roger that."
"Is he here?"
The two men shook their heads. "He's with Leader X," Chidambaram said, voice trembling with terrified awe.
Leader X. The 'giant floating bird-head' as many irreverently (if accurately) described him/her/it. These two acted as if Katse were in the presence of God almighty.
"Nobody sees Leader X except Lord Katse. That chamber is sacrosanct." Coburn glanced at the door. "This base is where Leader X lives. You can always tell when Lord Katse has been with Leader X. It's hard to describe. I – it sounds blasphemous, but all I can ever imagine is how Moses must have looked after getting the Commandments on the mountain."
"Tell her about Captain Maddox," Chidambaram urged, perhaps to change the subject.
"I've talked enough. You tell her."
"There is one captain in all Galactor who can see Lord Katse as she pleases. Oh, yes, a woman. She doesn't dress in costume like the other captains. Very beautiful. Long blonde hair, blue eyes. If she is not Lord Katse's sister, she must be his cousin."
A sister? He didn't have a sister. Did he? "How do you know?"
"I do not. Her mouth and jaw are very much like his."
"She's the only captain whose word is binding upon him," Coburn said. "She's so much like him that she's either a relative or a transgender clone."
Sean had not mentioned a sister. He'd barely talked about his family. It was possible that his parents had been able to send her away to a boarding school. A couple of her classmates had siblings in private or boarding schools.
Except her name was Maddox. It could be an alias, the way 'Berg Katse' was an alias.
They continued talking, sharing the little details that never make it into official job descriptions. No gossip, though. As Lord Katse's personal aides, they were automatically out of the loop.
When it came to the Lord of Galactor, the gossip could be more frightening than juicy. He had killed fellow trainees during hand-to-hand combat training; when sent to kill an enemy, he had manipulated the target into murder-suicide; he wasn't entirely human; he was Leader X's son; he was Leader X's boy-toy. Some stories were whispered.
"Attention!" Chidambaram snapped.
He strode across the suite towards them. Coburn had not overstated Lord Katse's innate dominance. Her heart would have turned into a pile-driver without the past.
Oh, God, did he look good. The lanky yet graceful boy had matured into a lean, graceful man. His natural athletic grace had been polished to an elegance that would let him into every royal court, political body, and trendy night-club on the planet. She was certain that his mask concealed a face as beautiful as she remembered.
"Lord Katse," Coburn said, "this is my replacement, Sergeant Helen Geary."
She could have been a stranger for all the reaction she saw as he said, "Welcome to Cross Karakoram, Sergeant."
"Thank you sir." Any tremor in her voice? Too high? Too low? "To use a cliché, sir, I am honored to be here." Too much bull?
"Honesty. Just what I expected after reading your file. Sergeant Coburn has explained your duties to you?"
"Thoroughly, sir."
"Very good. Do not bother to unpack. We will leave here tomorrow morning. Chidambaram, show her to temporary quarters. Sergeant, be here at 0900 local time."
"Yes, sir."
***** ***** *****
As he led her along an industrial corridor, Chidambaram asked, "May I speak freely?"
"Of course. We'll be working together."
"You did very well. I've seen more experienced women get weak knees in his presence."
"It wasn't my knees that were knocking. And you can say 'older' in my presence." We all get older.
He smiled and ducked his head in acknowledgement. "This place, unprepossessing as it looks, is Galactor's first base. Lord Katse spends most of his time in Europe, when he's not directly presiding over a mission or project."
"I understand. Rather hard to move the people, raw materials, and technology we need in and out of this part of the world without attracting attention." Even with the tunnel system. "Why does Lord Katse take a personal hand in a project?"
"Leader X orders it, or else it isn't on time or is wrong in some other way. The captains have gotten the message."
I just bet they have.
"Um, here is one of the few rooms that offers any privacy in the bath." He punched in a code.
"Yeah, I see that. Who was the contractor? Prisons R Us?" The 'privacy' was a translucent screen between the tiny cot and the commode/shower area. "Well, thank you."
"I could stop by in the morning, so that you don't get lost."
She had a good sense of direction, but didn't trust herself to remember the route. There had been a very personal distraction. "Thank you."
***** ***** *****
She fell asleep on the plane out of Cross Karakoram. Wrong time zone. The landing at the organization's private airfield in Einshutan woke her. "Oh, damn." First day working for the new boss. For him.
"Typical organization bullshit, whether it's Galactor or the Marines," Coburn said, sympathetic. "Run you to East Jesustown in a hurry, then tell you to take the next plane back."
"Lord Katse was two seats away." The seat was empty.
"And he didn't seem the least bit annoyed. Leader X must have given him orders."
"Where is he?"
Coburn cocked a thumb towards the rear of the plane.
The restroom door clicked open. The three faced forwards.
As they debarked, Coburn told Helen, "I'm going on to BC Island from here. Whip the men there into shape."
"I hope to see you again."
***** ***** *****
Einshutan was a nation in Galactor's pocket. Some of the government ministers had mistaken their positions for permission to do as they wished. Apparently they hadn't considered the consequences if Interpol or others had reason to investigate their activities. Once Lord Katse showed up, the Prime Minister took overdue action.
Coburn had told her they would travel quite a lot. 'Home' was a base in Europe, a short distance from everywhere in Europe and Central Europe/West Asia. After a week in Einshutan, she got to see her new home.
An apartment in a block owned by a company that was owned by a company that was a division of a company owned by another company…that Galactor owned. The living room was larger than the flat she had occupied in England, before Galactor. One bedroom, also decent-sized; kitchen, bath. Nice view of the city.
Her few possessions had already arrived. Everything fit in the bedroom.
Now she had time to be a damned idiot.
She hadn't seen him since she was sixteen. He'd gone off for a year, as usual. Her mother had come home one day, announced the divorce, and packed them off to England. She'd finished school, including a degree in criminology, encountered a tanking job market, taken any job that paid a living wage (and kept her clothes on), gotten pregnant through a rape she could not even remember, struggled to keep herself and the child, and been recruited by Galactor. When she thought of him at all, there had been an ache deep inside.
If she had been standing the day Leader X announced the Lord of Galactor, she would have fallen into the chair. Lord Berg Katse had swept (yes, that was the right word) across the huge screen, and she had recognized Sean.
The old feelings returned in a hopeless rush. Memories, unlocked, replayed endlessly.
She'd been sure that everyone could see it, would know that she knew their Lord, but of course they had not. A few other women (and men) had been struck silly, she later learned.
The weeks passed, and while her heart trip-hammered every time she heard his voice, she felt she was getting over it. Just leftover silliness. They hadn't said good-bye, they had not --- Don't go there.
A year ago, she met Rico. Sweet, gentle Rico, who blew the hot-blooded Latin stereotype to shreds. She wanted to give over completely during love-making, yet every time she tried, another face, another body, appeared in her heart. Thick black curls became silky gold, the gentle brown eyes turned to hard sapphires, and the tawny, stocky body gave way to a pale, wiry form. She wanted the warmth, the gentleness. She did.
He probably hasn't thought about you at all. Moved on. Found Galactor.
Now, she was close enough to touch him and speak to him. If she stayed busy, she could endure the torment. Alone like this, she was in hell.
***** ***** *****
Three weeks passed. No-one, not even Ranjit, noticed anything different about her in Lord Katse's presence. She wished her feelings were nothing more than a workplace crush, like his. Then they could cry on each other's shoulders.
There had been a change in Katse between that first day and boarding the plane. He still had presence, but without the peculiar intensity of those first minutes.
Lord Katse called her into his office. "Pack your bags," he said. "We're going to the Aegean." He handed her the mission orders.
"Just the two of us?" Oh, God, no.
"Yes, Sergeant. A foolish, petty matter, complicated by ego."
She had seen his charisma in action in Einshutan. If some captain had gotten a swelled head, Katse could deflate it by entering the room. "Yes, sir."
"Dismissed."
Crap. Alone with him. No distractions. You're a grown woman. Act like it!
At her desk, she read the orders. The island in question lacked secret entrances to the base. Too small, and too much tourist traffic, for the effort. She and Katse would travel incognito to a public dock. The Galactor operatives would know that they were Galactor, but not who they were.
There were some remarkable stories about Lord Katse's talent for disguise. According to them, he outdid Lon Chaney in the number of faces he assumed. Some claims were plainly impossible, as they required him to lose or gain height, weight, and mass beyond the capacity of any prosthetic or padding to accomplish.
Her disguise would be as much in her behavior as in dress. Arrive in dignity, and the holiday-makers and Galactor agents would notice. Look like a couple with more money than sense, and people wouldn't look twice. I need some slut-wear.
***** ***** *****
Their transportation to the coast was a single car on the underground track system. It was the size of a city bus, with two tiny sleeping compartments, a tiny bathroom with shower, and a conference/recreation/sitting room. Once programmed with the destination, the car would take them without needing a hand at the controls.
Until they reached the base-station at the coast, they would wear their regular uniforms.
She sat at a computer console, intending to lose herself in work. Katse opened a copy of Nietzsche, in German.
As a boy, he had pretended to be a mediocre student. When alone with her, he had revealed his terrifying intelligence. They had discussed things few adults would have imagined, including philosophy, government, and history.
He hadn't shared the love affair with Nietzsche that motivated history's dictators. For one thing, Nietzsche had not meant a 'master race' when he used the term 'superman': his ubermensch was an individual. That superman was above the rules of society. It followed, he had pointed out to her, that there could thus be only one superman in the world at a time, or society would collapse. Look what ordinary men and women did to their own people. Imagine the destruction if they were true superhumans, never mind the sort defined by Nietzsche. There were no superhumans: only people who thought they were superior. Their dreams were about themselves, even when they invoked God and country. No wonder they always failed.
He could make equally cogent arguments about all other philosophical and sociological ideas.
Galactor wasn't about master races or spreading a religion or government system. It was about order and discipline, making a world that was better than the messy state of things today.
She tapped in her access code. The Balkans were about to explode again, this time Bien and Ameria. Neighboring nations were declaring their neutrality. No more supplying people who shared ethnicity but not borders. Perhaps it would burn out more quickly without outside meddling. In the meantime, Galactor could use the conflict for its own ends.
Something thin and sharp pressed against her throat and a strong hand pulled her out of her seat and spun her around so that she faced Lord Katse, her back to the wall. He removed her mask.
Off the top of her head, she knew six ways to disarm and cripple him. Her pistol weighed one hip. She didn't move a muscle
His face, what she could see of it, was unreadable. "Three beings in Galactor know of our previous relationship, Helen. That number can always decrease."
Who was the third? Leader X?
"You are Berg Katse, Lord of Galactor. Galactor's mission is my mission. My life and soul belong to Galactor. I am nothing without Galactor." All of it true, so true.
A smile as thin as the knife-blade. He stepped back, put away the weapon. "You answered from the heart."
He could make the Sphinx seem communicative when he wanted to. Had this been some sort of test? Orders from Leader X? What did it mean for her? What did it mean for Lord Katse?
Where the hell had he put the knife? There wasn't a lot of give in his costume.
Keep on topic. "If I said or did anything --- "
"Nothing anyone besides me would have noticed. When did you know?"
"During the live feed, when your elevation was announced. I recognized how you carried yourself." Realizing how it sounded, she added, "I saw that someone had worked with you. You were more refined than I remembered. My recognizing you was sort of like, oh, one of Picasso's childhood friends recognizing his work because they'd been in the same art class in school."
"I won't order a purge of Galactor, if that's your worry. You had good reason to study me. Our classmates saw little more than a weird kid who attended school every other year. By now, each one remembers a very different person."
Remembering snickers and remarks of 'sissy' and 'fag', Helen agreed. "Sir, when did you know that I knew?"
"You know the answer. The moment I saw you. When you spoke, you confirmed it." He went to her seat and spun the chair on its swivel. "Please, sit down."
She could hardly refuse.
"You could refuse," he said. "I felt reasonably sure that you would never reveal my past. Still, I had to be certain."
"I understand." Even if she were the sort to betray him, what would it get her? Nothing she could want. The only people who would want the information would be Lord Katse's enemies. Galactor's enemies. "May I speak freely?"
"You may." He chuckled. "There really is a mission."
"Would you let me ask before you answer?"
"I could not resist."
Is he manipulating me? I couldn't keep up with him when we were kids. "Did you spare a moment's thought for me after I left?"
He put his hand on the back of her neck and leaned close to her ear. "More than a moment. That's the truth."
There were many things she wanted to ask him. She didn't dare. The hand on her neck could be a caress, a threat, or both. Perhaps Leader X was listening right now, or would soon receive a recording. Her life was nothing; it would cost Galactor more to lose Lord Katse so soon into his reign.
For an eternity, for less than a second, an indescribable thread stretched between them.
Lord Berg Katse straightened and returned to his chair, isolation wrapping him as closely as his cloak.
***** ***** *****
Galactor's subterranean transportation network didn't look like it belonged to any particular organization or government. Camouflaged doors and moveable walls and roadways could isolate entire miles. Rumors and stories of secret tunnels, some planted by Galactor, led listeners to smile indulgently when someone claimed to have found a real tunnel, or for people to think of old bomb shelters or abandoned projects when construction crews found a section.
At times, they had to close and dismantle sections because of local construction. Of late, more sections were closing than being constructed, which meant their one-day trip was now two days.
The ISO's picking up steam, Helen thought. They're inspiring and influencing people.
As long as people still held onto their petty nationalist obsessions, the International Science Organization's influence did not matter. Galactor would simply take over what people built. No more bombings and sabotage because one ethnic group routed another in 1608, or because of differences over a line in a sacred text, or because over-privileged idiots think they can save the world one mansion at a time. None of that stupid 'sensitivity' that prevented good people from stopping evil people.
"We have another day in this tuna can," Lord Katse said, closing his book. "You should get some rest."
"No, sir. My duty is to serve. Guarding you is part of that service." She stretched and sat back down.
"We're safe in here. I will come up here in a few hours. You have to rest."
***** ***** *****
He had the mask off before he knew it, breaking long habit. I never take this thing off. Not unless he had privacy. Secure privacy.
Helen. He was safe with her, and not just because she would die before giving him up. Any enemy would have to get past her.
She's not Helen. She's Sergeant Geary. We aren't children any more. We aren't friends.
Introspection. He rarely indulged himself. There were too many painful memories. It dulled the sharp edges of wit and initiative, made one over-think in all the wrong ways.
When he'd returned to his 'boy' school and found her gone, his fear had surprised him with its intensity. Helen was his constant, the one person always there from childhood, not judging, not pestering him with questions, able to pick up as if he'd been gone a few days instead of a year. Where was she? Had Leader X gotten rid of her?
His classmates had been cruel, telling him lies that would have devastated a lesser being. Hume had taken him aside and told him the truth.
One lucky day, he got to the mailbox before his father, and found the letter.
He could hear her voice as he read it. The divorce had been as much a surprise to her as to him. Mother was one of those parents who tried so hard to protect her daughter that she screwed everything up. She would write, if she could.
That was the only letter he ever received. His father intercepted the mail and removed anything addressed to him. "You know you can't have a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend," was the nicest justification. "You can't do anything to reveal yourself."
Helen's parents hadn't approved of him. Son of an Irish Traveler mother and a mechanic, himself a stupid, shiftless boy unworthy of their daughter. He doubted his letters ever reached her. (His mother's grandmother had abandoned the Traveler culture, but it had somehow returned to haunt her. His father was no mere mechanic, but a highly skilled maintenance technician who could, when sober, build or rebuild almost any machine.)
And here they were. Leader and subordinate. A brilliant subordinate, the epitome of what Galactor sought, to judge by her record. Would their shared past ruin her?
He hadn't even known she was in Galactor, until her file crossed his desk. The vagaries of Personnel had 'rewarded' another agent with the honor of serving Lord Berg Katse.
She had Galactor potential, as far back as I can remember. He would have recommended her, if not for his uncontrolled sexual transformations.
He unfastened the hidden closures on his long, leather-looking gloves and boots and peeled them off. The materials for his costume were designed for comfort, yet it still felt good to remove the extra layers.
As he unbuckled his belt, he made a discovery.
Helen was the only human to ever bring on that reaction. He'd never made or taken the opportunity to scratch that itch. Now, he could not.
Leader and subordinate. Humans had rules against it, for good reason.
I'll sleep neuter.
***** ***** *****
Geary (yes, she was Geary, not Helen) unloaded her pistol, broke it down, cleaned and oiled every part, put it back together and reloaded it. That killed an hour.
She read reports. The infiltration of Hontwarl was proceeding smoothly, except for some worries about foreign spies. Three more 'refuge villages' established for fugitive Galactor agents in Kampuchea, Viet Nam, and Thailand. Good God, Galactor had acquired that international finance center?
An hour and a half killed.
Well, Mom, that boy you said would never amount to anything grew up to be Lord of Galactor, the future ruler of the world.
At least their last day together had been fun.
They had climbed into the foothills of the mountains to their favorite nook. A last picnic before he moved for the year. They'd eaten, and nestled against a boulder, arms around each other's shoulders. As ever, he'd been unconsciously sexy (at least to her). On impulse, she had kissed him. Not one of the fake kisses they used to confound classmates: a real kiss.
He surprised her by returning it, his hands moving over her body. Suddenly terrified of her feelings, she had broken away and run up the trail.
She had wanted him to catch her, hold her, tell her it was all right and to make it all right. Another part yammered that she was only sixteen, for heaven's sake, she wasn't old enough to make that decision, Mom would just die ---
And he'd loped past her, tapping her shoulder, "Tag! You're it!" keeping in front until he scrambled up a outcropping jutting over the valley. He'd stood poised like a young god, the sun turning his hair into a halo, before back-flipping easily from it to her side.
Boys, she had thought then.
Now, she wondered. Had he already joined Galactor?
Had to have done so. There was no way even a genius like him could become Lord of Galactor so quickly. When had he changed his name?
She saw him again on the rock, lean, lithe, more confident than any time she could remember.
Change the 's' to a 'z', and his name would be bad German for 'mountain cat.'
Appropriate.
Change the subject. Now.
She switched the computer to entertainment. A game, or something to merely watch? A game might be too engrossing. She needed something silly to lose herself in, but not insulting. Some old mecha anime? Nah. She'd seen Galactor mecha in action. Nostalgia television? How far back? She set for random choices.
That lasted another hour, when she heard Lord Katse stir. He walked out of the back 15 minutes later, looking as if he'd had a night's sleep and at least an hour to prepare.
"Get some sleep," he ordered.
"Yes, sir."
As she passed him, he put a hand on her arm. "You always have my permission to speak freely."
"Yes, sir."
"When a Roman general succeeded in his campaigns, he would parade through Rome in grand style. A slave was positioned in his chariot to whisper, 'You are not a god.' I always thought that some of the emperors could have used the reminder."
"Yes, sir." She really couldn't think what else to say.
***** ***** *****
They arrived at the coast at noon of the second day. What looked like a very expensive yacht waited for them. Helen wondered what armaments and surprises hid under the appearance of fiberglass, wood, and metal.
The Galactor dock-workers stood to attention. Several looked ready to faint with awe.
"Do they know we're coming?" she asked, low-voiced, as they boarded.
"No. That way, they can't prepare for us. The reports suggest that it's an ego conflict between the captain and his second in command. If there's anything more, I'll find it out more quickly if I arrive 'cold' than if I have to play games of manners." He turned and dismissed the dock-workers.
The young minion who had carried their luggage below scurried past and debarked post-haste.
"Time for our new personae," Lord Katse said they went below.
"More money than sense or decorum?" Who would expect the Lord of Galactor to pick such a disguise (stories notwithstanding)? There was no way any sycophants could warn their captain to hide the dancing girls, so to speak.
"Much more money."
"I'll change first and pilot her out," she said. "You'll need some time."
"Time and privacy. I don't want people to see me while I change."
"Of course." He had his secrets. He would be most vulnerable, then.
She picked out a bikini with less cloth than one pair of her underpants, and ridiculous sunglasses and deck shoes.
The on-board computer compensated for her lack of skill. She had trained on a number of vehicles, but not on yachts. All she had to do was turn the wheel. The computer ensured the boat cleared the dock and entered the Mediterranean without incident.
"Oh. My God."
Blue, green, and grey, blending and merging, flecked with bits of white and cut by small craft, stretched before her. Sunlight glittered on the water.
No gawking. You do this all the time, and it's bo-o-oring. It's all boring. You think you know it all, but you never grew out of teen-age snottiness. Money protected you.
Arms slid around her from behind and a familiar voice whispered, "What do you think?"
She turned, and let go of the wheel. "Holy --- "
He was at least six inches shorter, with grey eyes, straight, slicked-back black hair, and a tan born in a salon. Stockier, but not heavy. That loud, tacky shirt ended just above very brief swim briefs.
"I won't ask." The stories were all true. "Audience coming up on starboard." She put her arms around his neck.
He closed in with a convincing bump-and-grind that had the passengers and crew of the smaller yacht either gaping or hiding their eyes. It didn't take any skill to know their thoughts.
***** ***** *****
Disguises are liberating. Free of their respective roles, they hammed it up for all eyes.
One of her fears never came true: their play did not arouse her. The man who embraced and caressed her was not Lord Katse. She was not Helen Geary in these games.
And yet, oddly, they never forgot themselves. Katse had an unerring sense of when to leave the stage or change the act. Helen paid attention, and learned the signals.
During her training, she had learned that acting was the best way to blow her cover. She had to be her role, yet remember herself and her mission. "That's why intelligence and police agencies lose operatives," he instructor said. "They're either found out because they're acting, or they go so deep they forget who they are."
The day before their arrival, she reviewed the reports with Lord Katse. "Looks like a couple of guys in a pissing contest," she said. "Sorry about the language."
"Crude, but accurate. I don't like going somewhere because the base commander can't keep order. That sort of foolishness is not Galactor."
She read again the purpose of the base. The island was small, but well-positioned to monitor communications and shipping in the Aegean. From there, Galactor could shut down traffic. Bases located on the nearby coast could deploy mecha as needed. If personnel were too busy playing games, their actions could ruin a mission.
They were on deck, under the awning. Heaven forbid their personae should spoil their expensive salon tans with actual sunlight. Anyone who passed saw a dissipated couple languishing on folding loungers.
"May I ask you a question?"
"About what?"
She felt absurdly pleased at surprising him. "We all hear stories about you. I've heard a couple about you killing Galactor personnel during training. True?"
"Just once." He sat up on the lounger. "I was fourteen, and he was twice my weight and size, at the least."
"Well, what happened?"
"I didn't snap his neck like a twig, or any nonsense like that. He tried to kill me. At first, I thought he had simply forgotten himself. He had me in a head-lock with my neck twisted so far around I expected to feel bones snap. I tried everything I had learned, but he was large and strong and shrugged off my elbow-jabs and foot-stomps.
"I grabbed his genitals and squeezed as hard as I could and dug in my nails. He roared and let go of my head, so I was able to get away.
"We danced around for a bit, then he grabbed me again, this time to crush me against his chest. I jabbed both thumbs into his eyes until I felt the bone at the backs of the sockets. This time, he didn't even loosen his grip. With my last effort, I clasped both hands together and smashed them into his nose. I was lucky: I drove a sliver of bone right into his brain."
"Wow."
"I expected punishment. I had killed a fellow command trainee. The instructor nudged the corpse with his foot, and told us that we had every right to kill those who tried to kill us."
"I learned the same thing." She took his hand. "I learned a lot of things. Is it wrong to hope that I'll never have to use them?"
"Not at all."
***** ***** *****
"Everyone at the marina is Galactor," Katse said as they maneuvered towards the dock. "So are the hotel staff. Give the signal, and they'll know this boat and its occupants are also Galactor. What they won't know is whether we're here officially or recreationally."
"And no-one will know that until you don the purple." She couldn't wait. Fun though it had been, this trip was not what she wanted from Berg Katse. She wanted the mountain cat in his elegant, lethal glory.
He chuckled in his true voice.
The deception continued at the pier. With the disdain of the powerful towards the powerless, they snapped at the dock-workers and grudged them tips. People in the streets saw a boorish pair of spoiled brats who didn't care who they offended. At the hotel, they got key-cards for the Galactor-only suites and left several guests with the impression of sex on the elevator.
(In the security office underground, a bored operative barely glanced at the video feed. He'd seen it all, and then some. As long as all parties were consenting, he didn't worry.)
In the room, they made a show of covering the hidden cameras. Surveillance was expected in Galactor, especially at certain bases, and it was easy enough for them to find the devices. At this base, no-one had thought to upgrade the system. Official visitors tended to look like constipated tax collectors on vacation, not a horny young couple. Everyone else was --- not worth the trouble.
Then they changed clothes. The yellow-and-blue, lightly armored, sergeant's uniform did not quite go with her coloring, yet it was preferable to the fingernail-parings-with-strings she had been wearing. Fit the gloves, mask (all visual and audio systems green), and gun-belt --- "Oh, yeah."
Was that a chuckle from the bathroom?
Several minutes later, Berg Katse, Lord of Galactor, stepped out into the main room. Her insides knotted. He's back.
He strode to the emergency elevator concealed in the closet and activated it.
"Crowded," she remarked, all too aware of his closeness when the door slid shut. Also all too aware of their vulnerability to attack.
Fortunately, it was a fast elevator. Four levels in as many seconds, and the door opened.
A startled guard yelped and shot to his feet as Lord Katse made his entrance. "Sir I wasn't told you were coming sir!"
"That was the idea. I'm here to see Captain D'Arman. Don't call him."
The guard nodded like a bobble-head on a bumpy road. "I'll have one of the others guide you." He flapped a hand at a doorway behind him.
A young man --- no, a boy --- scampered out and stood to attention.
"Take me to Commander D'Arman," Katse ordered.
"Yes, sir!"
He might be a boy, but there was nothing childish or ridiculous about the young soldier as he led them to his captain. The only giveaways were his still-high voice and a tendency to run on when asked anything.
Normally, Katse had no patience with jabber. This time, he listened intently without seeming to.
People say more than they realize, particularly when nervous. Geary heard some things that made her loosen the flap on her pistol holster, and other things that made her wonder if she were needlessly worrying. She hoped the latter.
No discipline problems, aside from the usual. The commander and his second-in-command were snapping at each other more than normally, leading to rumors that they were quarreling lovers. Chat about a special project (more speculation than hard fact). Mini-soap operas involving various groups in the base.
Were the reports submitted by a worrywart on the staff? That would explain why previous investigators had failed: no problems to resolve.
Or was there more? Cliques are nothing new. Furtive whispers and little knots of people suddenly acting innocent could mean anything from nasty gossip to elaborate pranks to treachery.
Did Lord Katse hear all that? He was brilliant, and perceptive, but she remembered that he was not always as quick or intuitive as she had expected. Maturity might have changed that.
More people in the corridors, who took one look and cleared a path. She could see honest surprise in their faces. As they drew closer to the command areas, however, worry and sly expressions replaced the surprise. She no longer felt foolish about her pistol.
A question to the right people directed them to the aquatic training area.
The room was carved out of the rock. A raised walkway with platforms ringed a pool four times Olympic size. Moveable sections allowed a variety of configurations. Racks held scuba and snorkeling equipment, training weapons, and set-pieces lined the walls. A few too many guards lounged around.
Commander D'Arman, and his second, Moran, waited on a platform. A shape cut through the water.
"You honor us, Lord Katse," D'Arman said, saluting them. "Had I known you were coming, I would have arranged a proper greeting." He made too much effort to meet Katse's eyes, while Moran kept shooting glances at the pool.
The swimmer launched from the pool and vaulted over the railing. At the same time, Lord Katse twisted out of the way and fired three shots into the attacker's face.
Geary saw all that as the guards lifted their weapons. "Down!" She tackled her lord. A hot billy-club tapped her upper left arm and back ribs.
"Sir!" The boy crouched, shooting at his former colleagues.
D'Arman and Moran had ducked for cover.
"We've no cover here," she said. Their attackers were sheltering behind the furniture, racks, and set-pieces. "Lie flat."
Lord Katse held a short-barreled pistol. He killed five men and reloaded. "Use that carcass," he ordered, pointing.
A Creature From the Black Lagoon, muscled like a body-builder, lay where it --- no, he --- had fallen. Absurdly, for all the scales, webbing and fins, it had human genitalia.
While she provided cover fire, the young soldier and Katse dragged the corpse against the railing. Bullets chewed into it immediately.
Doors, doors. All shut tight. Standard security measure in case of a breach.
The kid was on his radio. "They're trying to kill Lord Katse! We're in the aquatic room. Help!" Not proper protocol, but she wasn't complaining.
Guards stormed the long walkway from both directions. The front-most died in mid-step. Within minutes, she, Lord Katse, and the young soldier were hunkered behind corpses and re-armed.
"Where are those traitors?" Katse snarled. Blood and flesh spattered his mask and costume. "I want them alive."
"Yes, sir." She slammed another clip into her pistol and her scavenged assault rifle.
A muted 'crump', and guards surged in, shooting. These each wore purple around one arm.
She'd never been in a full-blown firefight. Gunfire echoed from the walls, soldiers ducked, ran, and twisted while trying to shoot, she had milliseconds to identify friend or foe, Christ this one had a knife ----
Silence as deafening as the fighting.
Slowly, cautiously, she rose from a crouch. Blood-streaked soldiers raised their purpled arms. D'Arman and Moran, bound, cowered on their knees.
Lord Berg Katse uncoiled to his full height. His mask had lost half an ear. Bits and blood glistened on his cloak. "You," he said, "are the heart and soul of Galactor. You have my thanks."
A lieutenant stood to attention. "What are your orders, my lord?"
"Secure this base. No-one comes or goes, except the tourists. Put those two, and their surviving dogs, in the deepest cell you have."
"Yes, sir."
"I must call Leader X and report this --- incident. There will be a full investigation. I promise that you shall all be rewarded for your loyalty and courage. Dismissed." He turned his head. "You. What's your name?"
The young soldier straightened as best he could. "Private Zoltan Eminescu, sir."
"Are you injured?" Just the right amount of concern.
"Not badly, sir."
"Sergeant."
"I'll live, sir." The aches were just starting.
"Private, take me to the communications center."
"Yes, sir."
***** ***** *****
Word spread quickly. The halls were empty of so much as a cleaning robot. After the nervous communications crew cringed past her, she scanned the room with her equipment. No detectable traps. "Clear, sir."
"Very good. You and Eminescu guard the door."
"Yes, sir."
She appraised the boy --- no, young man. He was still excited, but not jigging around as she might expect. "How old are you?"
"Eighteen. My parents serve Galactor. I want to do my part."
"You handled yourself well."
"Thank you, ma'am."
"Sergeant."
"Yes. I forgot." Just the slightest head turn. "Lord Katse is --- remarkable." He burned with hero worship.
"Yes, he is."
"What will happen --- here?"
"Complete housecleaning. For the good of Galactor and the worthy people who serve, we must find and eliminate everyone involved in this plot. It will be thorough and will seem brutal, but it must be that way."
"Our goals are too important."
"Absolutely right."
Movement down the hall. Two nervous staffers made it clear they only wanted to pass.
"That is what betrayal means," Eminescu said. "Everyone afraid of being misunderstood. Jokes taken seriously, mistakes treated as sabotage, none of us able to work well. Friends turned into enemies."
Message learned.
Lord Katse finished his call. "Take me to D'Arman's quarters. He's not using them. We are to stay here until the investigators arrive."
"Sir!"
***** ***** *****
For some reason, she had expected bad taste, somewhere between an Ameris bordello and a dictator's palace. Too much velvet, gold leaf applied with a fire hose, a canopy-bed that could be mistaken for a Caliph's tent.
Instead, D'Arman was just this side of Spartan. Everything functional and durable, with an eye to comfort but not necessarily beauty.
"It'll do," Katse admitted as she scanned for monitoring devices and traps. "Eminescu, find a fresh uniform for Sergeant Geary, then see the base doctor."
"Yes, sir." He pinked as she whispered her sizes in his ear.
When the door closed, they raided D'Arman's closet and dresser. She opened a drawer, and said, "I'd say the rumors about D'Arman and Moran are true, sir." Photographs and interesting toys.
"Hmph."
She filched sweat-pants and sweat-shirt. She showered first. Once Lord Katse changed into civilian clothes, no one would see him until a new costume arrived. She would be his eyes and voice.
Too much blood in the water. Where was she bleeding?
Her right thigh. Thin red line. More dramatic than dangerous.
Just above where her collar ended. She went to the mirror for a look, yelped.
"'I'll live'?" Katse asked. He set a first-aid kit on the bathroom counter. He'd already removed his soiled gloves. "Let me look. You can't see most of them."
"I can't leave you to see the doctor."
"I know that." He examined her neck.
Her guts tangled into a knot, and every heartbeat shook her. Chance had put every injury where his touch could set her on fire.
Thank God the antiseptic stung.
"If you don't exert yourself, you should hold together until we return to the mainland," he said, as he applied bandages and tape. "They aren't dangerous, just disfiguring. You need stitches."
She pulled on the confiscated clothing. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." Turning to face him, she examined his bloody face and mask. "How are you?"
"I heal quickly."
If he needs your help, he'll ask for it. "I'll be in the main room."
"When my acolyte returns, tell him to report tomorrow at 0800."
Acolyte? Oh, right. "Yes, sir." She felt the smile tug her lips.
In the main room, she paced. Too much to think about. Too much to not think about.
This wasn't a biological research base. Where had that aquatic porn star come from? Why was it here?
Why had D'Arman tried to murder Berg Katse? How had he turned so many people to his side?
A discreet tap on the door. "Who is it?"
"Private Eminescu, Sergeant."
"Coming."
He not only had a clean uniform, he had food. "I took the liberty. It's all sealed, with no tears, cuts, or holes. I thought, under the circumstances, that you might not want to visit the commissary."
You have a future. "Thank you, Private. Report here at 0800 tomorrow."
"Yes, Sergeant."
***** ***** *****
In the bathroom, Katse stripped completely and turned on the shower. His injuries were deeper than Helen's, but he did not need bandages. All he needed was privacy. He healed quickly for a reason.
As he changed into a woman, he wondered how Helen would react if she saw this. Would she be horrified, or tantalized? Intriguing mystery. I'll leave it a mystery.
She stepped into the shower and washed off the blood. Then she transformed to male.
A doctor would now have declared the injuries to be at least a week old.
***** ***** *****
Next morning, a yacht docked. Vacationing, constipated tax collectors debarked, spreading their buzzkilling aura as they walked to the hotel and checked into certain rooms. In those rooms, they changed clothes.
The investigation began.
***** ***** *****
Berg Katse had spent a restless night, even neuter.
The number of Galactor people who knew his true face could be counted on half a hand. Helen had seen his again for the first time in years when she brought in the sandwiches last night. To hide her reaction, she had made a flip remark about the real reason he went masked.
They had both been 'coming down' from the stress of battle. One word, and she would have joined him in his bed. Even if she hadn't, he knew the words, and the moves, to overcome any resistance. He'd used them on missions.
Not on her. He had not taken the opportunity that day in Hontwarl. Their time --- if it had existed --- was past.
I belong to Galactor. I belong to Leader X. Glorious, terrible, Leader X, his god and maker.
Besides, she's only human. Only. Human.
He had to remember that, and not the way his heart had lurched when he saw her wounds. Only human. He could not ache to embrace a mere human.
Light tap on the door. "Sir, are you awake?" Helen --- Sergeant Geary.
He donned D'Arman's bathrobe. "Yes."
She wore full uniform, a new one, complete with mask, and carried a box. "Chidambaram sent this, sir. He thought you might need it. The investigators have arrived."
"Good. We should have this place cleaned and fumigated in no time." He used his command voice.
Only he could have seen the twitch, or the micro-reactions that followed. She understood. "Dismissed."
No-one saw her heart, or suspected the unshed tears.
She could still speak freely in private. To Lord Berg Katse.
So be it.