All notes/warnings/disclaimer from chapter 1 apply to this one too.
Additional warning: injury, bleakness, abuse of medication.
xxx
For days Katze stays put, living on as little as he can get by with. He buys bread, coffee and cigarettes at a nearby corner shop. His car is vandalised, the windscreen smashed, tyres slit open, the chassis sprayed with graffitti. He feels anger and a sudden, sharp urge to get the better of whoever did it, but he doesn't recognise the signature sprayed on the sprung bonnet and boot. Years ago, before following Iason to Eos, he would have known every Ceres gangmark.
His red hair is now an exotic liability. He is in the shop looking for hairdye when he feels someone closing in. He starts to turn, but before he can catch a glimpse of whoever it is, a cloth is slapped over his face and a heavy hand presses it down over his nose and mouth. Katze struggles, fresh agony searing through him, but he is fading fast as he breathes in the stuff they've soaked the cloth in. Something in his mind connects, is trying to form a thought, an idea, it frightens him but it never makes it to the surface before he passes out.
xxx
When he wakes up, he is in a white room that looks and smells clean. Silence is around him, inside him. A nightmare, he thinks slugglishly, it was all just a nightmare... It takes him a while to regain his senses, the feel for his limbs and the weight of his body. It takes him longer to understand that this isn't the clinic at Eos, why he his strapped to the bed and what the particular position of his limbs means, along with the tube that pokes from the thick wadding of sterile cotton that is packed between his legs and covers his groin.
He is naked under a white sheet, his skin cool and damp. He feels light, without pain.
And there is nothing, nothing at all he can do to change what's happened to him.
xxx
He isn't too surprised when he hears Iason's deep monotone through the door, and then his steps, long and sure, on the polished lino floor. The door thuds shut, a chair creaks.
"Look at me," Iason commands calmly.
Katze clenches his hands.
Iason waits.
At last, Katze opens his eyes and turns his head, just enough to avoid putting pressure on the stitches in his face. His gaze is blurry. "You bastard..."
Iason purses his lips. "You had everything I could give you."
Katze closes his eyes again. Iason draws a deep breath. "More than anyone outside of Eos could ever dream of."
"And you," Katze rasps, barely above his breath, "you had more than the rest of the Elite."
Iason rises and bends over him. Katze can sense his warmth, breathe his scent – sharp and clean – and it drives a shiver of disgust and something else through him. He hates himself because he can't help it.
"I keep what's mine," Iason says. "It wasn't too hard to find you. But I want to make it still easier." He takes Katze's wrist and clips a metal cuff around it. A small bleep tells Katze that the tracer bracelet is activated. "Raoul was right. I have been too lenient with you. Our world needs order. Everything and everyone has a place. Perhaps you've forgotten yours, therefore I will remind you where you belong."
There is nothing but blackness inside Katze's mind, a slow burn that consumes everything that has been. "This wasn't our deal."
"Deal?" Iason's eyes are frosty, the gaze of a stranger scrutinising Katze. "You chose to come to me, to Eos. I accommodated you. I humoured you, leaving you intact..."
"You wanted to kill me."
Iason settles back on the chair. "I have audited the files that you broke into. I know you well enough and I respect your... agility. I also know that you keep a backup somewhere, and I believe that you may wish to talk to me about some of your discoveries."
"I don't think so... not anymore."
"In that case, I might think it over and listen to Raoul's advice after all. Perhaps you'll come to your senses in time to avoid that."
"You promised," Katze ground out, "you said you'd never do this to me. You made me a... thing! One of those-"
"Like Daryl. One of those."
There is a long pause, before Iason reaches for Katze's wrist. He strokes it, gently, once. "I trusted you." He lets the weight of these words, their significance, sink in for a few heartbeats. "Here is your choice. You found out about Raoul's concerns, his objections about my latest shipment. I want you to track down the dealer and replace him. I don't care how. You know the business and you know Ceres – it should be easy for you to reacquaint yourself. You will work for me in his place. The account you set up with the fake ID – you will have sufficient funds in there to cover your needs, business or private. It's your call."
"Iason," Katze says, exhaustion in his tone, "Cut the bullshit."
Weariness sinks into Iason's voice when he talks again. "You learned things nobody outside the Elite is supposed to know. And now, in a way, we're closer than before. Neither of us can create offspring without the help of technology. Neither of us is perfect... the way we were supposed to be. Raoul must never find out."
"I got nothing to lose."
"I still love you. This is what I can offer."
Katze swallows the lump that chokes him and makes his eyes burn. He squeezes them shut.
Iason gets up and unclasps the restraints that kept Katze pinned to the bed. "You're in Midas, with one of my business acquaintances. They'll take care of you here until you're healed. You can try to run or face what's ahead. This," a firm clonk, "is something you may wish to carry. Whichever decision you make, it might help you back it up."
When the door clicks shut, Katze opens his eyes. On the nightstand, within easy reach, lies a gun.
xxx
Guy sticks to his schedule. He works from dawn to dusk, sells gas and mends old cars. His evenings belong to Riki. He grows haggard, with bags under his eyes because he doesn't get enough sleep, and stubble on his face because he starts skipping his morning routine to catch every moment of sleep he can get. He drinks more coffee and eats less. He falls asleep over a plate of soup, he nods off over his drink. His nights with Riki cool off because Guy takes longer, and in the end doesn't manage, to sleep with him. When Guy drops off while Riki is trying to blow him, Riki offers him one of the self-rolled joints.
"C'mon, it's going to pick you up nicely."
It does. Things refresh between them, and for a while all is well again. Guy doesn't want to tell Riki that the stuff is making his hands shaky and he finds it harder to concentrate on his work. He forgets details – a wheel-cap, a lightbulb, the lid on the oil reservoir of a car engine...
He has to take the car back from the man who bought it. It is ruined, the camshaft's run dry and hot, smashing the overheated bearings and breaking through the cast-iron housing of the engine. The bonnet and floorplate of the car black with burned oil. Guy doesn't argue – he knows it was his mistake and pays the man back the money he's paid. He has to spend time on dismantling the car for as many spares as he can get, loads the mangled rest onto his old truck and takes it to a scrapyard in Mistral. It's the first time he's lost money on a deal.
"Tell you what," Riki says as they lie in bed that night, Riki smoking, Guy snoozing.
"Hm..."
Riki strokes Guy's back, combs through his hair and leans down to blow some smoke into his face. "Well... there's this bloke..."
Guy grunts. He is half asleep. Riki shakes him slightly. "Hey, listen. The money we make... why don't you try it at least? It's okay, nothing big, really... just running some errands. I think it's for some people who don't like to go outside Eos. We scare them out here."
"Good," Guy mumbles.
Riki smirks and drops back, angling his arm over his head and letting smoke curl from his nose. He watches the blue-grey curls rise to the ceiling and dissolve into fading whisps. "Yeah. Anyway, I know this bloke who's got stuff he sends to his mates around here... in Ceres, Midas, wherever. All over the place, and sometimes outside of Tanagura. He gets in touch over the mobile, I meet him in Midas or wherever. Not often, but when he does, he pays shitloads of bucks to get it all delivered, fair and square."
"Delivered what," Guy throws in, half asleep but his instincts still working, flagging up something fishy, only that it's too dulled by exhaustion to register much.
Riki shrugs and flicks some ash onto the floor. "No idea. Packs of stuff, wrapped up and sealed. Like normal post. Sometimes it's just envelopes. I dont' care, really. We checked it out – it isn't dangerous. The places we go, they're all dead drops. Perhaps he's got a crush out here."
"Bull," Guy says, his voice muffled with sleep and the pillow.
Riki sighs and scoots down so he can mould against Guy's back and dig his nose into Guy's hair. He finds it fascinating – Guy's pale skin, his hair that is much fairer than Riki's dark mop, his clear eyes. He can't get enough of Guy, of touching him, feeling him, and it frustrates him no end that their nights are now much calmer than they have been. "Yeah, probably. We've been doing it on and off for a while now. I think he's trading, off the beaten track so to speak. Some people pay good money to screw old toys."
"It's illegal," Guy grumbles. "That trade's restricted."
Riki shrugs. "We aren't really involved."
Guy stirs and turns so he can look at Riki. Riki meets his eyes, and as always they take his breath away. He leans down to kiss Guy. "I love you," Riki feels the restless drive settling somewhat as he says it, his lips moving against Guy's. "I've never had anyone like you."
Guy knows he wanted to ask something, but he's so tired he's forgotten what it is that nags him. He smiles and reaches up to draw Riki close. "It's great," he murmurs, "I didn't think it could be like this... ever..."
xxx
