Logan picked up the phone on the second ring. "Hello?"
"Morning, Sleeping Beauty."
He grinned.
"Max. Where are you?"
"Back in town.
Listen, I need you to do me a favor."
"Look for any information I can on this guy who's after
you? What do you think I've been doing
since I got back into town?"
"Am I that predictable?
The thing is, I need it fast, Lo--" she started to say his name, stopped
herself barely in time. She had no way
of knowing who was listening. "I need
it fast," she finished.
He kept his tone light, but the edge in her voice worried
him. "Something happen I should know
about?"
"I just have an appointment tonight." She gripped the cord of the pay phone,
waiting for the explosion.
Logan went cold.
He'd expected to have more time.
He tried to make his voice casual.
"Tonight? That was quick."
"Might as well get it over with." He was taking it pretty well, she
mused. She almost wished he'd yelled at
her, she could've let loose some of this tension. "I've got some stuff that might help you track him down."
"He found you, I take it?"
She shrugged. "I
wanted to be found. You'll be happy to
know it was more civilized this time--not much chest-thumping and not a single
punch thrown."
"Saving it up for tonight?" he asked shortly.
"Had a nice chat with him," Max continued,
deliberately ignoring Logan's question.
"He's a little behind on his snappy comebacks, but not too bad."
"Do they teach you that at Manticore? Witty Repartee 101?"
"Right in between Tactics and Hand-to-Hand," Max
grinned, pleased that she'd effectively sidetracked him. "He even asked me to join up with him and
take our act on the road."
"Oh, yeah?" That was interesting. "What'd you tell him?"
"Come on."
She almost said his name again, swallowed it. "I may have a soft spot for the almighty buck, but a girl's gotta
have standards."
He'd been 99 percent sure, but he still found
himself letting out the breath he'd been holding. He had to keep reminding himself that although Max might live by
a different moral code than he did, that didn't mean she didn't have one. A fact which she would probably go to her
grave denying. "So he's a mercenary?"
"I guess."
She quickly related the information that Jasen had volunteered about
himself--differences in DNA, his training, his class number, his escape. "Didn't get a number or anything, but his
name's Jasen."
"Thanks, that'll help. I haven't turned up much so far."
She tried not to be disappointed. Come
on, Max, you shouldn't be dragging him into this anyway. "You sure I'm not keeping you from saving
the world or something?"
Her attempt at humor failed miserably. Logan couldn't keep the anger from his
response. "If you don't know by now
that this is more important, then you don't know me."
She blinked, surprised. A hundred defensive protests bubbled to the surface--all the
times he'd put Eyes Only ahead of her--but she knew even as they came to her
tongue that the stakes had never been this high before. She remained silent, speechless,
confused. Then she shook herself
mentally. This isn't the time, soldier.
Get through tonight, then you can deal with it. She clapped a lid on the emotions swirling
in her gut, closed her eyes and took a deep breath to clear her head. On the other end, she heard Logan sigh.
"So what's the plan?" She could practically hear him rein in his own emotions.
"I've got some things to check out," she replied,
grateful for the change in subject.
"I'll contact you again later, see if you've found anything."
"How long do I have?"
She checked her watch. "Showtime in six hours.
I'll contact you in five."
"By phone?"
He tried to keep his voice clipped and businesslike, Eyes Only making
the necessary arrangements. Certainly
not Logan wondering if he'd ever see Max again.
"I have to."
She was surprised to hear the pleading edge in her voice, couldn't stop
it. "I can't--"
"Take the chance," he finished with her. "I understand."
Silence weighed heavy, both of them unwilling to end
the call and unwilling to admit it.
Finally, Logan forced out, "Do what you need to do. I'll find what I can."
"All right."
She paused. "Thanks."
"Be careful."
It slipped out before he could stop it.
Her smile had a twist of sadness to it. "Talk to you soon." She hung up the phone, rested her head for a
moment against the side of the booth.
Then, taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and strode
purposefully towards the pier.
-----------------------------------------------
A block down, perched on the top of a four-story
building, Jasen crouched, watching her go.
She'd been smart enough to choose one of the few pay phones truly out in
the open, preventing him from getting close enough to hear her without being
seen. He'd caught a few words by
reading her lips when she turned towards him, but hadn't been able to make much
sense of it. Still, watching the
tension go in and out of her body during the conversation had been
fascinating. She'd made friends here,
that much was obvious—no mere acquaintance or contact could elicit that kind of
emotional response. He filed that away
for future reference.
Watching her smile and shift and stiffen and look
confused with the twists of the conversation, he almost envied her. He hadn't made many friends in the two years
he'd been away from Manticore. Hadn't
made any, to tell the truth. He'd been trained extensively on making
superficial contacts--people tended to respond to him immediately, his easy
smile and ready wit. The scientists at
Manticore had done thorough research on making a good first impression. But he'd never been slated for deep-cover
work, so anything past the initial contact was superfluous to his training. Besides, beating the shit out of
someone--which he was frequently required to do--tended to put a damper on your
relationship. He hadn't had the benefit
of siblings, either, and it all conspired to make friendship a strange and
incomprehensible beast which he studied with fascination.
So he'd asked Max to team up with him, even though he
knew from the way her eyes sparked at him that she'd say no, and that nothing
would change her mind. There was too
much hate there for Manticore, and he enjoyed throwing his training in
Lydecker's face too much to give up working for them. Still, he reflected, it might have been interesting, for a while
anyway. He'd made it out of Manticore
relatively unscathed by throwing up iron walls, locking the essence of himself away
in a tiny corner of his brain, forming no attachments. Years later, when Lydecker taught him his
famed technique for forced memory loss like he was imparting some deathless
wisdom, Jasen had recognized the similarities.
Same idea, taken to the limit.
After he'd left, though, he'd found those walls tougher
to tear down than he'd anticipated. For
a while, he'd dedicated himself to it, flirting and drinking beer and playing
darts in every bar in Denver, going home to the same apartment every night for
four months. But he couldn't seem to
get past that initial, casual contact, and finally he ran out of money and had
to take a job, and having dinner parties and cocktails just seemed a little
ludicrous when he was killing and stealing at night.
It was the first time he'd ever failed at something he
put his mind to, and it irked him.
He'd been taught that problems were best solved by a
careful analysis leading to a coherent plan.
It was one of the aspects of his Manticore training that actually made
sense to him, so he'd chewed his failure over and over during hundreds of dark
nights, trying to see it from every angle.
It wasn't that he was lonely, though he was, sometimes—he just figured
that was a limitation of his human DNA.
So he wracked his brain for another answer, attacking the problem
methodically. Finally, after detailed
examination, he came to the conclusion that what appealed to him about making
friends was the challenge of overcoming his self-imposed barriers, and the
refusal to admit that Manticore might have taken anything from him that he
couldn't get back. And, because he'd
disciplined himself to be thorough, he also had to admit he was curious to know
what friendship felt like. Having
dissected the problem, he then proceeded to identify potential solutions—all of
which would require more time than he had, what with the running and smirking
and strategizing and ass-kicking that was part of his daily life. He'd told himself firmly to forget about it,
that he could do it—he just chose not
to. He'd been done with
self-reflection, so he'd been free to repress the fact that it still bothered
him. Just go on with life, he'd commanded himself, live it on your own terms, and don't worry about making connections
that can only weaken you anyway. Plenty
of time for that when you retire.
When he'd met Max, tussled with her in that dark
alleyway, he'd been struck by the similarities between them. Of course he had intel on her long before
that, had an inkling that they might get along if he weren't so interested in
collecting the price Manticore had put on her head. But it hadn't really hit him until they'd been immersed in battle
and he'd seen her eyes flash with challenge as he traded barbs with her. It had occurred to him then, somewhere in a
corner of his mind, that Max might be something of a shortcut, an initial test
he could pass before going on to more difficult relationships with people who
could never fully understand him. And
that might just be worth more than the fifty large Lydecker had promised.
So he asked
her to be his partner, telling himself it was idle curiosity, an unexpected
chance to pursue a whim.
When she refused, he took it
in stride, buried that curiosity and that drive in the depths of his mind
again, and moved on to the next objective.
It had been easy; he excelled at locking things away. Never mind if they sometimes came back to
haunt him, he was still in control.
Besides, it had been worth asking just to smell and feel her anger, see
her come within a hair's breadth of baring her teeth and growling at him. He grinned at the memory. He had to admit, he admired her temper
almost as much as her physical prowess.
At least this way he'd get to see that fire at its highest and hottest,
test his skills against someone who mattered for once. They weren't quite evenly matched, he knew,
but she was as close to his physical and mental equal as he was likely to
find.
Unless... a
normally-suppressed corner of his mind whispered. Because the upcoming confrontation had put him in such a good
mood, he allowed himself a moment of self-indulgence to dwell on the dream that
had kept him going through all those nights of too-easy victories over
brainless, spineless thugs. Unless Manticore is working on an even more
advanced series right now, he mused, smiling dreamily. He could almost see it: souping them up with
the latest in gene-splicing technology, pushing them, hardening them, lifting
them almost beyond the realm of human comprehension. And maybe, just maybe, one of these days those little Pinocchios
would realize they could be real little boys and girls, and break out of
there. And when they did, he'd be
waiting. Waiting to prove that he could
still be leader of the pack—and, more importantly, that he didn't even need the
damn pack. With enemies like that, who
would need friends?
He sighed and rocked back on his heels on the roof,
staring up into the rain. That would be
the ultimate test. But he knew it was
probably a long way off, if it happened at all. For now, the confrontation with Max would be satisfying
enough. He grinned in anticipation,
felt the adrenaline start to flow through him, the only drug he craved. He opened his mouth wide to catch the rain,
knowing it was probably infused with acid and pollution, knowing it wouldn't
hurt him if it was. It had a kind of
poetic appeal to it, he reflected, two sides of the same coin turning on each
other. Dark and darker, warring for supremacy. He laughed into the gathering twilight. Oh,
yes, he thought, snapping his jaws shut like a wolf. This
is definitely going to be fun.
---------------------
Max checked her watch.
Twenty-seventeen. Exactly seven
minutes later than the last time she'd checked. She blew her breath out in a gusty sigh and sat back, arms locked
around her knees, looking up at the sky.
She assumed the stars were coming out, though as usual it was difficult
to tell through the clouds. She'd
finished checking out the warehouse an hour ago—not much to help or hinder
there; it was basically empty. The
wooden pallets that had once stood ceiling-high had long since been
cannibalized for firewood. A few short
chains and pieces of circuit board scattered the floor, nothing that could be
used as a weapon. Other than that, it
was bare from cement floor to high ceiling.
Preparation complete, she'd wandered restlessly in the streets for a
while before coming up to the Needle in an attempt to keep herself from pacing.
It wasn't working.
Much more of this and she'd forget the danger and pace anyway, and Jasen
would find himself in an empty warehouse in a couple of hours with no one to
fight. Even with her enhanced balance,
the Space Needle was slippery in the rain.
She was a little nervous about the upcoming fight—it
wasn't every day she faced being dragged back to Manticore—but she'd learned to
deal with pre-combat jitters. She'd
prepared herself as well as possible and now there was nothing left to do but
wait. Jasen might have been the newer
model, but she had a trick or two up her sleeve. And the fact that Jasen needed her alive in order to collect his
money was one point in her favor; she, on the other hand, had no compunction
about kicking his ass right into the afterlife. Besides, there was still the hope that Logan might come up with
something. But even if he didn't, and
it proved to be the difference between her winning and losing, it was a long
way between Seattle and Gillette. Zack
had escaped; no reason she couldn't do the same. Maybe she could even hook up with Brin, help her get out of
there, too. And, she realized, there
was enough excitement mixed in with her nervousness to make it bearable.
So if it wasn't the fight, what was it? Oh,
come off it, Max, she finally forced herself to admit, with some
disgust. It's Logan, and you know it.
She'd worried about Original Cindy and Kendra, too, wondered how they
might react to their friend being taken off without a word to some psycho
military camp for who knew how long.
But that wouldn't last forever.
If she lost and Jasen managed to drag her back to Manticore, someday
she'd get out and find them again, show up at their doors in the middle of the
night and revel in the looks on their faces.
But Logan was the one she would have to forget.
She'd come to the conclusion months ago, when Logan
ceased being simply a source of information and started becoming a friend. Normally, Lydecker wouldn't give a shit
about the friendships she'd been weak enough to form on the outside, and thanks
to Zack, she had no idea where any of her siblings were; the identity of Eyes
Only, though, could be worth something.
If they pulled that information out of her, she knew Logan was as good
as dead. So she'd decided that if
somehow they ever managed to throw her back through those huge iron doors into
hell, she'd take all her memories of Logan--his eyes reflecting candlelight in
the dimness of his penthouse, the single-minded devotion to his work that drove
her crazy, the silly grin on his face when she'd emerged from the Jam Pony
locker room in the dress she'd stolen for the wedding--she'd take all of that
and shove it into the deepest, darkest corner of her mind, lock a bulletproof
door and swallow the key. Ironic, after
all Logan had done for her, that the best way she could repay him would be to
forget about him completely.
Making the decision in theory had been one thing. Staring the actuality in the face, well,
that was turning out to be a different story.
She couldn't be sure that her memory would be recoverable, as Zack's had
been, so she was looking at the very real possibility of being separated from
Logan permanently. The thought that she
couldn't even see him before the fight compounded the problem, and the
realization that she might be forced to leave and forget him without even a
word of explanation of what he meant to her--that was verging on
unbearable. She was as surprised as
anyone to find herself so affected.
She'd told herself a hundred times in the past couple of hours to put it
out of her mind, that she'd deal with it later. But the more she tried to block it out, the more persistently it
poked at her, until she was forced to concede that not dealing with it was actually distracting her more than dealing
with it would.
And that little
realization gave her all the excuse she needed to focus on solving her problem
without damaging her pride. After all,
she rationalized, it was all in the interest of getting it out of the way so
she could concentrate on the fight. All
she had to figure out now was what to do about it. Pouring her heart out to him was obviously out of the question;
she'd done essentially the same thing before, in front of his uncle's cabin,
and that had certainly come back to bite her in the ass. Nothing more embarrassing than saying a
passionate goodbye to a guy for all eternity and then running into him the next
day. No, that definitely wasn't the way
to go, especially since she gave herself better odds against Jasen than
that--why act like she was going out forever when she had no intention of
losing? She just needed an insurance
policy in case everything didn't go as planned; something she could easily take
back if she chose.
She tapped her fingertips against her lips,
thinking. She didn't have many options;
going to any of her usual haunts would only get her friends in trouble. Jasen already knew about Jam Pony, though,
so that was safe enough… From there on
in, the solution was obvious. It would
have to be a letter. She'd sneak into
Jam Pony--no one, not even Normal, hung around there after business hours--steal
a scrap of paper, and spill her guts on it.
Simple, direct, and to the point.
Then, head clear and heart light, she'd call Logan, get whatever magic
key he'd managed to find for her, and waltz off to meet her destiny.
Streamlined.
Efficient. No problem.
---------------------
By the time she dialed Logan's number, she was surrounded
by the ashes of discarded scraps of paper and just about frustrated enough to
be glad if she never saw him
again. She'd had no idea writing a
simple letter could be so difficult. At
least the damn thing was done, though, neatly sealed and addressed and ready to
get the hell out of her life. She
reminded herself that she was supposed to be focusing on the fight now,
centered her attention on her breathing and her heartbeat to calm herself while
she listened to the phone ring.
"Hello?"
It was Bling's voice.
And the last time he'd answered Logan's phone, the news hadn't been
good. "What's wrong?" she asked
immediately. "Is he all right?"
"He's fine. He's
just pretty focused on what he's doing.
I don't even think he heard the phone.
I didn't want to bother him unless it was you."
"Well, I need to talk to you anyway."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. I left
something for you, at Jam Pony. For
him, actually." She felt her face begin
to flush, resolutely ignored it. The
fight with Jasen was starting to look like a picnic compared to all this. Had she ever been in second grade and asked
her friends to pass notes to boys she liked, she would have recognized the
feeling immediately. However, as she
hadn't had that privilege, she just knew she couldn't wait until this
conversation was over. "In case
something happens to me. Can you come
pick it up tomorrow?"
"Sure." She could
hear the smile at the edge of his voice, figured she had to respect him for
trying to hide it, anyway. There was an
awkward silence.
"Can I talk to him?"
"Yeah, sure. Be
careful tonight."
"I will.
Thanks."
She heard Bling's voice, muffled, and then
Logan's. "Max."
From the way he said it, she knew he hadn't found
anything. Her heart plummeted.
"Any luck?" she asked quietly.
"I…" He couldn't
get the words out.
"It's all right."
She fought to keep her disappointment from her voice.
"I've been trying, Max."
In fact, he hadn't left his computer in five hours, not since he'd
talked to her last. His eyes and
fingers ached, and it seemed like his world had narrowed to that black keyboard
and flickering screen. And now Max's
voice, sounding inconceivably far away.
"I just haven't been able to turn anything up. This guy must be a chameleon; there are hardly any records on
him, even from Manticore. I even tried
to find Zack, in case he was close enough to help, but…" He trailed off with a sigh.
Max was stunned at his admission, and touched. She was well aware of the fact that Zack and
Logan weren't exactly best buddies; she'd have to be blind to miss the daggers
that shot between them whenever they were forced to be in the same room
together. That Logan had swallowed his
formidable pride and tried to find her brother meant more to her than almost
anything he'd ever done for her. And
she couldn't even say his name.
"Thanks." It was hopelessly
inadequate.
"For what?" he asked bitterly. "I didn't--"
"Bling has something for you," she blurted, desperate to
cut him off before he spiraled into guilt.
"In case something happens to me.
Which it won't," she added hurriedly.
He didn't respond.
Her throat filled with everything she wanted to say, and she stared
fixedly at the letter to calm herself.
It was all there, no need to get gushy and say something she might
regret. She schooled her voice into
confidence. "You forget--I'm a
genetically enhanced killing machine. I
was made for this sort of thing. I'll
be fine. Back in time for dinner
tomorrow. You will make me dinner
tomorrow, right?"
He laughed a little, in spite of himself. "Anything you want."
"Careful, I have expensive tastes." A genuine smile tugged at the corners of her
mouth.
"I think I can cover it."
There was a pause, awkward and comfortable. The connection between them was almost
palpable. Finally, Max said
reluctantly, "I have to go."
Logan swallowed.
"Where are you meeting him?"
"The warehouse down by Pier 64."
"Good luck."
"Thanks."
She couldn't seem to bring herself to hang up the phone.
Another pause.
Then, as if the words were tearing themselves out of him, "Max, I--"
"Don't," she told him quickly. "Don't say goodbye. I'm coming back. Trust me."
"I do." He
had to. He couldn't face the thought of
her imprisoned at Manticore.
"I have to go," she repeated finally, helplessly.
"All right."
One last pause. "See you
tomorrow, Max."
"Count on it," she replied firmly, and heard the
click on the other end. She realized
she was clinging to the phone and forced her fingers to relax. She waited a moment to collect herself,
closed her eyes and thought intently about the rhythm of her heart, the blood
flowing through her veins, the air in and out of her lungs. Then, with a final deep breath, her mind
cleared of all distractions, she stepped out into the night.
-------------------------------------
OK, sorry this has taken so
long. I got held up by being extremely
busy at work, and the advent of baseball season. (Though at least I'm a Seattle Mariners fan, so it's somewhat
related to DA… DA… Seattle… uh, yeah.)
At Nevermore's suggestion (sort of), I spent a little more time with
Jasen in this chapter than I was originally planning—I hope it worked out. Thanks so much for all the reviews—please
keep 'em coming, positive or negative; it's just nice to know someone's reading
my stuff!
