Chapter 7

Under New Management

"Simon. How are things at the Front?"

"Proceeding as expected, sir." The Administrator's second-in-command responded confidently from his usual place beside the large chair, shifting subtly from foot to foot. There were days he stood for hours in the same beastly spot, simply waiting to be of use. The powerful man he served had little interest in the discomfort of his subjects. It was a privilege to be needed at all. Simon bit his tongue - not for the first time that day - and continued.

"Our forces are steadily pushing inland. Minimal casualties. The plan is still on schedule."

Nice one. You almost make it sound like you had some involvement in the process, his internal voice chastised him humourlessly. Simon bit his tongue again, this time more out of habit than anything else. Something pinched inside his chest. His own response had seemed to imply that he was in charge, a battle sergeant overseeing the campaign into the past, with a legion of qualified soldiers at his disposal, waiting on his every order. In reality, he was little more than a glorified secretary.

The large man shifted in his chair, the old leather creaking as he did so. He didn't seem to take any notice of his assistant's unease, but then .. he rarely did. It had never occurred to Simon that maybe he was better at concealing it than he realized.

"Good. And the girl? I must admit, I was somewhat skeptical when Kensinge went ahead with the scheme without consulting me, but then, she does that."

"She does, sir."

The cold upward glare he received made Simon wish he'd bitten his tongue off completely. He knew better than to interrupt. Why had he opened his mouth? Had the other man detected a note of pride in his voice? Replaying the simple phrase to himself, he didn't think he'd let it past his guard. Any tiny slip could mean death at the hands of his employer, and thus, as the long years had dragged away, Simon had learned to carefully cultivate an expressionless tone of humility where the other man was concerned. He'd seen what had happened to others that hadn't learnt the same lesson quite as quickly.

He met the eyes boring into him briefly before forcing his own gaze downward in submission, shoving the flame of nauseas anger down with it. Satisfied, the hated man turned back to his screen.

"I was also furious with her arrogance when she let Dr. Taylor live .." The Administrator continued casually, though Simon suspected the veiled barbs were directed at himself, as punishment for earlier. ".. but she seems to enjoy treading a knife's edge. Though naturally, if she keeps defying me, she's living on borrowed time."

He glanced back up at Simon, his sharp blue eyes boring pointedly into the younger man's. Simon allowed his own gaze to falter again. Another test of loyalty? Very well. He was used to these by now. It was the only time the other man deemed him worthy of paying any attention to. Throughout the years, however, Simon had learned how the game was played. He wasn't stupid enough to talk back, but he wouldn't be goaded into revealing his hand either. His employer seemed to tire of the exercise, turning back to the screen again with a dismissive shrug.

"Well, her mistake in letting Taylor live may come back to rectify itself in the end anyway. Poetic justice if she falls by the hand she spared. We shall see."

With that, the younger man became invisible again. He stood in silence, tensing and relaxing his muscles periodically to avoid them cramping as he waited. His eyes moved up to scan the walls. They were, rather appropriately, coloured a dull red, ornamented here and there with an old sword or a painting. Several animal heads were also mounted about the place, and these Simon hated with a vehemence he never showed. It might have been said, in the Administrator's favour, that he kept these heads as a testament to the beauty and nobility of the creatures that had once roamed the earth alongside humans. But Simon would have snorted loudly at the suggestion. He was convinced that the only reason the other man kept these sorry beasts was to remind his guests how easily even the most powerful and vicious life could be snuffed out. Well then, nothing could be more appropriate.

Simon stepped away from the chair, wandering slowly toward a nearby animal - incidentally, his most hated one. It was an old, dusty tiger's head, the glass eyes staring across the room like they were searching out their next kill, the two lethal paws stretching out of the wall beneath. In the mouth of the creature, a glittering sabre was clamped between the yellowed teeth. As if a beast of such power and ferocity needed any additional weaponry, Simon thought dryly. It was a blatant display of supreme might. One slice of the hooked dagger claws, one bite of the iron teeth and a person's life would be destroyed in seconds. And yet, ironically, even the untouchable tiger had been brought low by a single man. A single thrust of the blade. The blade it now carried as testament. Simon turned back to his boss' chair in distaste. The other man was still focused on the screen, but seemed to have finally realised he had been deserted. Or maybe he'd been aware of the fact all along.

"Simon, stop bumbling about and make yourself useful. Do you know how mind-numbingly easy it would be to replace you if you don't start earning your keep? One of these days, I may just-"

He didn't finish. He never finished. This time it was the Admin's own eyes that were forced downward. Down, down, slowly coming to rest on the foreign slice of steel growing out of his chest. How long had that .. wait. His eyes darted up again as his former right-hand man materialised around the corner, coming to rest in front of him like a ghost. Ironic, the older man mused to himself. After all, Simon was supposed to be the more alive out of the two. The men stared at each other for a moment, Simon tensing his synthetic arm thoughtfully. It was the Administrator that broke the silence, choking out a low chuckle as his chest heaved up and down the blade.

"You .. coward."

"I never did thank you." Simon interrupted blandly, watching his own robotic fingers with interest as he moved them one by one. "For this. It really is the most ingenious thing. It does everything I tell it to, almost as fast as I think it. Sometimes I forget I wasn't born with it."

The human kebab in the chair stared at him with lowered eyelids.

"Is there a point-"

"And the best feature of all .." Simon interrupted again, raising his eyes slowly to stare into those of his mentor. ".. no fingerprints."

The older man chuckled again, his chest shuddering with the effort of drawing breath.

"You .. couldn't even face me like a man. Stabbed in the back like a common thief." The words were slightly blurred, but they were hitting home. Despite Simon's carefully-crafted outer shell, his eyes betrayed the fact that they stung. The Administrator's mouth twisted with grim satisfaction as he dealt his final blow.

"You're nothing but a snivelling coward, Simon. Do yourself a favour and .. remember it. You may have .. gotten rid of me .. but you can never .. get rid .. of .. you .."

Simon watched the cold eyes solemnly, remaining until long after the last trace of life had faded from their depths. Finally, he gave himself a little shake and retreated from their view, rounding the chair again.

"Sorry, old chap. But not even old lions with big houses get to roar forever."

The sabre slid back out with little effort. It was deadly sharp. He had made sure of it. No longer pinned up by the sword, the large body slumped sideways. Simon helped it along, tipping it off the chair and rolling it out of the way with grim satisfaction. He wasn't a petty man, but he may have given it an unnecessary kick in the process. Not knowing quite what to do with the stained sabre in his hands, Simon tensed his muscles and thrust it downward, creating another hole in his former employer. Hands freed, he then seated himself at the computer, taking possession of the chair. He had never sat in it before. No one but the Administrator was ever allowed to, though goodness only knows why. Simon shifted a little. The thing was horrendously uncomfortable.

It took but a moment to bring up the chat room. Almost immediately, a message appeared on the screen.

"IS IT DONE"

Evidently punctuation wasn't taught at assassin school. Laying his hands on the keyboard, he tapped briskly, his mechanical fingers moving smoothly and keeping rhythmical pace with his real ones.

"IT'S DONE." His scalp suddenly prickling, Simon glanced apprehensively over his shoulder at the corpse. Was it his imagination, or had it moved closer to him? The ugly sabre was still protruding from its chest. It couldn't have .. He squinted again, then forced himself to turn away, refocusing on the screen. The Admin was dead. He was imagining things. He resumed his typing.

"YOU?"

He waited several seconds. No response. The floorboards squeaked softly beside him. He spun around to face his master's lifeless form again, almost jumping out of his skin. The dull red stain was pooling out slowly, consuming the detestable silk shirt with an insatiable appetite .. but that was the only movement. Simon's heart skipped a few beats as he glanced back at the screen. Still no response. Surely he hadn't been left on 'read' by his mysterious partner. He had thought assassins were more professional creatures. A distinct feeling of unease began to crackle its way up his spine and over his neck, making the fine hairs stand on end. He didn't know this person .. not really .. what if ..

Shut up. Idiot. Stupid faint-hearted little pipsqueak coward, Simon thought to himself, with a vehemence he rarely directed toward anyone else. His own conscience, however, was used to the accusations and shrugged the words off rebelliously. The fact that he had unwittingly repeated his former employer's words back to himself never dawned on him.

As he waited, twiddling his thumbs nervously, his eyes crept up the wall in front of him, coming to rest on the framed portrait of Commander Taylor that remained above the desk. He grimaced, wondering - not for the first time - why his employer seemed to enjoy keeping it around. It had been taken on the day Taylor had originally embarked through the Portal. A much younger person then, Simon remembered the broadcast well. Despite attending the same college as Taylor's son, the television spot was the first time he had ever really seen the man. He had watched, mesmerized as the Commander had disappeared into the vertical blue waves, taking his first steps into Terra Nova.

The people were downright crazy, Simon thought, pulling himself abruptly back to the reality of the cold room. Imagine choosing to live in a world where everything was trying to kill you, where a nightmarish beast could lurk around any corner. How were they not scared out of their minds every moment?! Bunch of psychopaths. But then .. they weren't alone in their insanity. He smiled at this new thought, though you wouldn't have known it to look at him, his revulsion transforming into admiration as her face appeared in his mind's eye.

Kensinge. The one friend he had. Well, he had more who would consider themselves friends, of course, but Kensinge was the only one he truly trusted not to turn on him at a moment's notice.

His happy illusions were shattered as he heard a door close quietly from the floor below. No one was supposed to be here today. He exchanged a look with the glassy eyes of his superior, his heart thumping wildly in his chest. Forcing his frozen feet to move, Simon darted around the side of the large chair and wrenched the stained weapon out of his former boss with shaky hands. He had just levelled it at the entrance to the room when the huge double doors swung open with a dull groan, a single figure framed in the centre - a shadow really, illuminated against the bright light of the hallway. Simon held the sabre out towards the newcomer, trying to find enough breath with which to force out his next question.

"What .. What do you want?"

The figure seemed to find this strangely amusing, and walked calmly into the room, stopping a few metres from him. Simon's eyes widened in surprise as a faint memory whirred to life in the back of his mind.

"You .. !"

"Are you alright?" She sounded as though she was tempted to laugh at his expense. Simon straightened up a little, trying to ignore the fierce wobbling of his legs and the plunging of his stomach.

"I'm fine." He lied. His companion's eyes seemed to sparkle for a moment before sliding over to rest on the dark lump nearby.

"The mighty fall just as the commoners do. Both lie the same in the dust."

For a moment, he thought she might sign the Catholic cross or some other mark of respect, but she simply turned back to him thoughtfully.

"And now we inherit his eyes. And his power."

Simon watched her warily.

"And your target?"

"He's dead." The newcomer replied, a note of joy flickering across the divide between them. "Your plan worked. Consider your stripes earned. Welcome to the Guild, Administrator."

Simon cautiously lowered the sabre, taking a steadying breath. They had done it. Phase 1 was complete. He squared his shoulders and stared into the earnest face of his partner, a smile finally materialising on his own pale features.

"And welcome to the Council, Guildmaster."