It Could Be Worse
Episode 17: Home, Sweet Home
By Sulia Serafine
[2-17-01. A Protector of the Small fanfic set in an alternate universe; all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me.
Oh, one more thing: BAD LANGUAGE (I. E. cursing, swearing…). You have been warned!
E-mail me at silverwLng@aol.com, okay?
P.S. Saturday, February 24th, I had yet another race. (No, I didn't win. Four of my teammates won gold, but altogether, we couldn't get enough points to win the Mayor's Cup.) So please, accept that as an excuse… oh, and definitely the horrible English paper I had to do (which is worth something like 200 points! That's enough in my class to determine whether I get an A or an F! ARGH! I also have a race on March 3rd. Uh, I will have posted this on the 2nd, the day before the race. Oh, go me! And welcome back, Umm…, haven't seen you review in a while! Is Dilly-sama taking up your time? *grin* Special thanks to Destiny and Jaelawyn-- Destiny for the conversation and Jae for… for Jae. Miss Noble here is the main person who keeps me on my toes. And yes, Legato is still a huge teddy bear, Jae. The guy is too snuggly… I am well aware that's not a word. There is also an I important message after the episode that Jaelawyn and I want everyone to read, concerning K/J fics.]
George P. Swoop studied his wife casually while she dressed her thigh with bandages. He sighed. "You really shouldn't have gone after them with a bullet in your leg, love."
"I just couldn't let them get away," Alanna grumbled. She finished tying the bandage and adjusted her pants leg. She'd cut a hole in the fabric right over the initial wound. It was an old pair of pants; of course, she wouldn't cut up her own business clothing just to accommodate herself. Or maybe she would. It wasn't at the center of her attention. The wound hurt, but not as much as others she'd attained when still in service to the DJPF. Noticing her husband's stare, she turned to him and stuck her tongue out. "I'd like to see you do better."
"Then I will," George grinned. He got up from his rolling office chair and walked to the door. "Get some rest. They could not possibly arrive in Tortall so soon. They might stake out outside the city for days or something."
She yawned and spread out on the blue covered bed. "Have you been borrowing spies from my father again?"
"Miles was too happy to help, Al," he replied. "And besides, I have K. J. on this case."
The corner of Alanna's mouth lifted to produce a crooked smile. She laughed. "Does she know about Roald?"
"Yes, but I'm sure Roald doesn't know about her. Poor kid," he sighed. "I hope Numair and Daine haven't told him anything."
"Do they even know?"
George paused. "Uh, no?"
Alanna threw a pillow at him. "You goof!"
He stuck his tongue out at her this time. She made a face at him, and he started chuckling. They often did this to keep the good humor in their marriage, but it got more difficult as they delved into business matters. George ran a hand through his brown hair and tapped the open button for the door. It slid open with a small sound. "Now, seriously, get some rest. I can't believe you chased them with that kind of wound."
"You worry too much, George."
"Only about you."
"I know. And the same to you, love."
~~
Joren surveyed the damage to his bike. He rubbed his chin, deep in his own thoughts. After a few seconds, he turned to Keladry, who was the only person nearby except Thom. "Hand me that." He pointed to something on the table. "I have to dig a .50 caliber slug out of the back seat where you were."
Keladry peered at the hole. "It was that close?"
He started to work on his bike. Keladry and Thom watched, having nothing else to do. At the moment, Cleon and Faleron were eating and Lalasa was forced to listen to her father's plans as he told them to Roger and Vinson. It was late at night, and they were still in the polluted city of Carthak, where crime reigned supreme.
An hour later, when Joren was finished fussing over his precious bike, they sat around a metal folding table, having a few mild drinks to pass the time and drown their cares. Keladry, usually the one abstaining from alcohol, made a face as the burning fluid made its way down her throat. She decided only to have a few sips just so they stopped teasing her about being goodie-two-shoes. Joren was tempted to say something witty and demeaning to her, but settled for giving her insulting glances. Thom was wrapped up in his own thoughts.
Out of nowhere, he said, "I have to get something from my old labs."
Keladry scrunched up her face as she downed another sip of her beer. "What?"
"My secret labs in Tortall-- I bet they're still there," he nodded. "And if they are, I have to get to them. Some of my work is for the Immortals and…" He paused. "Oh, forget it. Ozorne will never let me out of his sight."
Joren shrugged. "On the contrary. The scum is too busy to care. When we go into Tortall, just break away from the rest of the group. Mindelan will go with you."
"What? Hey, I don't remember volunteering!"
"Stop whining and just do as you're told," he glared at her. She glared back. Joren felt mocking laughter threatening to burst forth from his mouth. The real reason Keladry didn't drink was that she turned red when she had the tiniest sip of alcohol. He made a mental note not to give any drinks to her in the future unless he felt like a good, humiliating laugh. His thoughts eventually returned to the situation at hand. "I think I'll send King and Kennan to retrieve Jasson."
Thom frowned. "Why would you do that?"
"They'd make a good distraction breaking into the presidential headquarters while we move in for the kill."
"You've got a twisted mind. Those two wouldn't make it past the front gate," Thom commented.
He nodded. "Maybe not. Oh well."
Keladry set her glass down. "Asshole."
Joren gave her a once over. "Okay… obviously half a glass of beer is still too much for you."
"What makes you say that?" Thom asked. He decided it was best not to comment on Keladry's facial color.
"Miss Perfect here doesn't curse--"
"Only to you," she replied. Her face was still red because of reasons beyond her control. She was definitely sober, and not drunk. The alcohol just made her want to let loose. It was pretty stupid. She thought to herself, only people with nothing else better to do use drinking as a way to relax. "Just give me a good practice dummy and I can busy myself just fine," she thought. And then, Keladry wondered why she was even sitting with these two men instead of doing just that.
"Give me that," Joren growled, getting annoyed with her. He grabbed her tall glass of beer and down the rest of its contents in one swift move. "There. Remind me never to let you drink again. Damn, you get so annoying…"
"Speak for yourself," she muttered and leaned her elbows on the table. Thom glanced back and forth between the two. Utterly confused by the turn of conversation, he quietly sat there, until remembering their former topic. "So, I'm going to my lab, right?"
Keladry nodded. "Yeah. I guess I'll take you."
"And King and Kennan will infiltrate the presidential estate. Kennan should have had some training in it, and the rest-- King can fill him in," Joren added. "Why don't you go tell Tasikhe and Conté, huh?"
"Yeah, I'll do it," Thom said and stood up. He scratched his head. "After all these years, I'm finally going home" He smiles briefly. "My sister… I know she isn't a bad person. There must be another reason why she's in this. Going home? You'd think I'd be a little happier."
"You'd think we all would be," Keladry sighed. She rolled her eyes. "Just comes to show what a 'Wanted' appearance in the news does to you. Not to mention all those pesky kidnapping charges." She frowned. "They can't get us for that anymore now that Roald's gone, can they?"
Thom shook his head. Joren just shrugged. She drummed her fingers on the table. "In any case, we've got to get Roald out of there before Ozorne attacks, and then, maybe convince his parents to let him go once they come back."
"I think we already clarified that we would do exactly that," Joren narrowed his eyes into slits.
"Whatever," she waved him off. She also stood up. "Let's go, Thom. It's late. You find Ozorne and Roger, I'll get the stooges."
The three went their separate ways from there. Thom went to speak to Ozorne and Roger about his plans to go to the lab, and then of evacuating Roald from the premises before they attacked. Joren went to his room, having downed much alcohol and still remaining remarkably sober. Keladry, still as red as a tomato, located Cleon and Faleron playing a simple game of gin rummy downstairs in the basement's of Ozorne's new hideout.
Faleron looked up when he heard footsteps. His face immediately contorted. His politeness kept him from saying anything other than, "My, you're looking… bright today, Officer. Care to play?"
Cleon turned around to greet her. "Hey, Kel-- whoa, you look like a-- mmpphh!"
The thief clamped his hand over his best friend's mouth, determined not to let him make a fool of himself. He smiled apologetically at her. "I'm sorry. He's gotten into my sugar supply of candy-- you know how much I care for them-- and Cleon is the number one person who should not be given any energy-inducing product at all! Haha!" He paused. "Well, it is actually scientifically proven that sugar usually does not have as much to do with a person's hyperactivity as much as one's personality or background, but I know you get the point…"
Keladry blinked. "What?"
"Never mind," he mumbled, letting Cleon go after the red head started gripping Faleron's wrist tightly.
"Jeez, Fal! All I wanted to tell Kel was that she's--"
Faleron stomped on Cleon's foot under the table.
"OWW!"
"You're too dense, Kennan. Friendly, admired, and good-intentioned, but incredibly dense at times, yes?"
Keladry shook her head. "I think I'll go now…"
"Why did you come down here in the first place?" Faleron asked, not wanting her to go so soon, but also wanting her to leave lest she find out about her appearance. Cleon was sure to receive a brutal smack upside the head for all the inadvertently rude comments he was bound to make. And the two men were sporting enough bruises as it was.
"Well, we need two good men to sneak into the president's estate an hour before Ozorne attacks and get Roald out of there."
"Ozorne's attacking?" Cleon frowned. "But, we don't want to hurt anyone."
"We also don't want Ozorne hurting us by not cooperating with his genius plan," Faleron yawned. "Excuse me. Now, what were you saying?"
"As I said, we need--
"A Few Good Men? I liked that movie," Cleon grinned. "If you need it, you can go down to the video store around the corner. Of course, you'd have to go incognito since there are remotely a few people still searching for us--"
"Kennan?"
"Joking! Can't anyone take a joke anymore?"
"Not your type of humor, no."
"Shut up, Fal." There was a pause. "So, Kel, seriously, why are you so red?"
Faleron slapped his forehead.
~~
Tortall never looked so beautiful. With its tall skyscrapers standing like metal giants against the clear blue sky, and its people commuting about, content with their lives. It was a place of business. It was a place of merriment, and sorrow alike. It was the home of the president of their country, Mithros, and the most prosperous country on the face of the planet. Within its countless streets, two young men wearing trench coats and hats despite the sun's warmth walked side by side.
"So, how do you propose we sneak into the presidential estate?" Cleon asked.
Faleron rubbed his chin. "I've been told that there's a group of officials and sometimes Councilmen who enter the estate with their secretaries and servants. Now, I also know for a fact that they don't keep track of their servants. So, with that being said--"
"Disguised infiltration. I like it." He paused. "I never received training in that though. We were shown how to force an entrance through multiple points in the perimeter of the area."
"Well, I think we'll have to go as custodians."
Cleon sputtered more than spoke. "What? But… but…" He kicked the ground. "Why custodians? They have to do all these messy jobs, like cleaning up the bathrooms and stuff. Fal!" he whined. "Can't we be clerks or something?"
"They expect clerks to know stuff," Faleron replied. "So, that rules you out."
"Haha. I'm laughing on the inside," his companion rolled his eyes.
"Besides," he explained. "Custodians appear in all sorts of weird places in the Presidential Estate. Clerks don't. And neither do rebel soldiers 'forcing entrance through multiple points in the perimeter of the place'."
"Area," the redhead corrected.
"Whatever." He cleared his throat. "The point is, we're bound to be seen. This is the Presidential Estate, for heaven's sake. So why bother trying to sneak like common thieves?"
"But you're a th--"
"I am not common, nor do I choose to be a thief any longer. Let's just go."
They entered a thrift store. The automatic doors slid apart as they walked in. A man at the counter eyed them briefly before returning to the football game he was watching on a mini holo-screen. The two young men made their way to the back of the thrift store, fingering dusty uniforms.
The shorter man held up a gray uniform with a blue patch on the front. He whispered, "All the uniforms for custodians and other public service jobs have nearly the same uniform. This will be easy." As he examined the racks of uniforms for fitting sizes, Cleon wandered a little ways down another isle. Faleron compared one article of clothing to another. He patted it and immediately a cloud of dust arose. He coughed mildly and fanned the air.
"Kennan, where are you? I just thought of something," he said as he finally selected two uniforms. "We have to cover fingerprints and then something for our faces." He made his way over to the isle his friend was in. "What are you doing."
Cleon tossed something at him. It landed on his head.
"A hat?" Faleron smirked. He reached up and took the hat off. "Hey! This--"
"Looks exactly like your old one," the redhead finished his sentence, nodding.
"Thank you," he replied. His smirk broadened into a smile. A pang went through his heart as he turned the hat over and over in his hands while the uniforms were slung over one shoulder. The hat resembled his old one so much, it could have been picked up by the police, thrown into the trash, and then picked out by a homeless man who traveled to Tortall and sold it to the thrift store.
Cleon tapped his foot impatiently. "Come on, dude. Let's go find some skin tinting solutions or some hair dye, if you're so determined about altering our appearances. We don't have much time!"
~~
Roald sipped his sweetened tea hesitantly while sitting in the presence of the Council members, Daine and Numair, but also the First Lady, Thayet Conté. Presently, she was clothed in a business outfit consisting of an ironed white shirt with ruffled hems, a beige jacket, and a beige skirt that went to her knees. Her hair was swept up into a French twist. She was a sweet tempered woman, with a strong will and practical, but at the same time, imaginative mind. Thayet was the epitome of all these things physically embodied. She was slender, graceful, smart, and-- when called for-- witty. Almost immediately, Roald felt something maternal from her, but he always felt that way around her, ever since his father had been elected beside Jonathan Conté.
"Are you hungry, Roald?" Thayet gestured to a silver tray of stacked croissants.
"Thank you, but no, ma'am," he answered. Daine seemed amused at something. She tucked her dark brown hair behind her ear and sat up a little straighter, as a dignitary would.
"Madam," she began, addressing Thayet. "Is President Conté to join us?"
The First Lady glanced at her thin gold watch. "Yes, he is. A few more minutes." She peered at him. "How are you? That kidnapping business must have been dreadful."
Roald looked to Numair for guidance. The older man narrowed his eyes and nodded his head imperceptibly.
"I'm well, thank you. The kidnapping was terrible," he lied. "But they did nothing to injure me, if that's what you mean to ask."
Thayet accepted the answer. She gestured around them. "You'll excuse the lack of guards around, I hope. The food became contaminated somehow and half of the guards around here are ill."
He nodded.
"Madam," Daine began again. "Off the record, how do you propose we handle the rebel leader Ozorne Tasikhe?"
"And do you have any idea why he truly wants to attack us?" Numair added with a steely gaze.
The dark haired woman shifted in her cushioned seat. She sensed the pressure of the questions, although it was assured her answers would not be spoken of again outside of that room. "I do believe that the best way to handle Mr. Tasikhe is by apprehending him as we came close to several weeks ago. The circumstances will be different upon arrest, but it can be done. And then, I find it best to put him on trial for the deaths of those he and his comrades killed in his rebellions."
Roald set his porcelain cup back down on its saucer. "But, why does he rebel?"
Thayet sighed. "I normally would not reveal this to anyone, but out of the entire Council, I trust you the most." She lowered her gaze to her lap where her hands were neatly folded. "My husband and I have been overseeing a private project for a lengthy time now, and it raises bit of a controversy as to our motives. I believe Mr. Tasikhe found out about this through some secret source. He either objects to our reasons or wishes to use our project himself."
"Are you at liberty to say what that project is, madam?" Daine asked, a bit of resentment crawling into her voice. She covered it up before it became public. "We have only the concern of the people at heart."
"No, I cannot. But I can say that Jonathan and I do this in hopes of improving the survival of those who are rare and giving them a chance to live."
Roald was dumbfounded. That wasn't the answer he was expecting at all. "She has to be lying," he thought. But then he quickly cleared his mind of that. He knew Thayet and Jonathan. Their reasons for experimenting on Immortals had to be valid. And if what Thayet said was true, then was Ozorne misunderstanding the President and his wife or did he want the Immortals for some other reason?
He had a headache. Perhaps Daine and Numair could shed some light on the situation later on, after they left the presence of the First Lady. They sat in pleasant silence-- for even if Roald was confused out of his mind, Thayet was polite in her smiles and the two council members were continuing to act as protocol demanded.
The door opened. A reasonably tall man with midnight black hair and sapphire blue eyes entered the room. Unlike his wife, his skin was slightly tanned from giving speeches out in the open air under the sun. He had a short beard, not trailing off his chin. The way he walked in his fine black suit, the way he carried himself, was more than any introduction could ever be. There was always something celestial or omniscient about Jonathan Conté, and yet there he stood as a normal man with all his faults and all his graces. His wife sighed in content.
"Jonathan, dear," Thayet greeted. He smiled, took her hand in both his, and leaned forward to peck her on the cheek.
"Good afternoon, Mr. President," Numair and Daine said simultaneously out of years of practice.
"Hello to you all." His gaze swept across all their faces, finally resting upon Roald's. "Ah, Roald. It's so good to see you. You look very well."
"Thank you, sir."
He took a seat for himself. "So, how has everything been?"
"Better, sir. Better," Roald allowed himself to reply. There wasn't much he could say without lying to the most powerful man in the country. And the intimidation factor increased more so when Jonathan kept his gaze intently focused upon the Vice President's son.
"Your parents sent news from overseas. They're having a very pleasant time with the peace councils in the Yamanis."
Roald gulped. He'd just come from all over the Yamanis-- Scanra, Tyra, and Galla… Suppose he had met his parents there. They could have found him and dragged him by his ear all the way back to Tortall. Or worse, they could act against his friends. And at that point in his life, he was considering his friends more valuable than his parents. "Lalasa," he thought. He hoped she was safe. If he couldn't see her, he had to at least help with her cause. "But her cause is her father's cause."
Decision-making worsened. He didn't know which side to join. If he joined Numair and Daine, they might be found out and held for treason. If he joined the rest of the government, he could be harming the Immortals or worse, his friends. If he joined Lalasa, who was forced to be with Ozorne, than he was definitely harming the government and Numair and Daine. And to top that off, he might not even be helping the Immortals if Ozorne had ulterior motives.
The only side he knew he could trust through and through was Joren and Keladry. They did not want to affiliate themselves with Ozorne, Numair and Daine, nor the government. They were stumbling in between, as he was at the moment.
"Is something troubling you?" Thayet asked, concerned.
"No, no. I have a slight headache. If you would excuse me, Madam, I wish to lie down in my room. Plus, I must check on Jump."
"Jump?"
Roald coughed gently. "A dog I found under capture. He's very nice. May I be excused now?"
She nodded. "Go right ahead. We shall see you at dinner, yes? There will be some entertainers from Tusaine. A troupe of female acrobats."
"Splendid, Madam." He nodded. "Good day, Mr. Salmalin, Ms. Sarassri… Mr. President."
Jonathan smiled at him. Roald could not bring himself to return the smile. He brought his hand to his right temple, bowed his head, and turned to exit the room. His head certainly throbbed.
~~
An hour later:
"We're in," Cleon grinned, flashing his pearly white teeth at his companion. "We're actually in!"
"Shh," Faleron shushed. "Not so loud. Let's get to the guests wing."
They trekked down the plush red carpeted halls. Golden light fixtures of the previous century's style adorned the walls, giving a classy, refined appearance. There was not one speck of dirt to be found; save for the dustpans they carried with them as part of their disguise. As of yet, there were no other meetings with other persons in the large mansion. They behaved as normally as possible in front of every security camera they came upon. After figuring their way through the mazes of halls, they reached a section labeled: Guests Wing.
"This is it," the taller exclaimed. "So, which room is his?"
"How am I supposed to know?"
Cleon pouted. He was about to express his disappointment when he noticed a sign on one of the nearer doors. "Look!"
"Huh?"
He pointed to a laminated paper taped to the door. " 'To be presented tonight in the ballroom and greeted by all.' Hey! They could be holding a welcome back party for him."
Faleron frowned. "I don't know…"
His partner looked all around them. "Come on! This has to be it! We don't have much time, Fal."
"Okay, okay. All the guestrooms are connected through inner doors anyway. I'll use a key card I bought from a guy in Rogue's Bay to open the door."
"Yes!"
He shook his finger warningly at the taller man. "Hey, the card only works once. If you're wrong, we'll have to bust our way through all the inner doors until we get to his room."
Cleon nodded impatiently. His face was lit up like a little boy's impish face. The prospect of reuniting with their third stooge delighted his childlike character. He shifted from foot to foot while Faleron sorted through his pockets to get his key card. Finally, he slid the key card into an emergency slot on the door command panel. The light turned green and the door slid open.
The room was empty. Worse, it seemed as if no one was occupying it. They set down their dustpans under the bed and went around the room, studying it.
"Good one. No we have to go by the inner doors since we already used up the key card's decoder."
"Why can't it work twice?"
"Sorry, my good fellow. I'm not sure of the properties of such things."
The two men closed the door behind them, wary of any passing in the halls. There was a queen size bed against one wall with dark green covers. It was like they had checked into the best hotel suites. Plush carpeting, billowy curtains, small paintings decorated the wall. Soft white towels were stacked atop a chair, waiting to be used. Faleron walked over to a real door in the wall that swung outward from him. The main doors were normal, but the inner doors were old fashioned.
"Can you pick the locks?" Cleon asked.
"Of course. Let's just hope this room isn't inhabited." The thief-- or now former thief as he proclaimed-- set to work on the old fashioned lock with a tool from his pocket. There was an audible click after five seconds.
"That was fast," his partner commented, gripping the brass door handle. "Okay! Here we go!"
The next few things happened so quickly that Faleron could not afterwards recall what truly went on.
They opened the door and Cleon, forgetting their need to be stealthy, ran in with Faleron trailing behind. A girl, or rather young woman, with dark wavy hair cut to her neck was standing beside her bed. She was clad in only an orange leotard with black spots and her pantyhose rolled up halfway. She shrieked and slapped Cleon, but missed Faleron.
"I'm so sorry! I thought this room was--"
*slap*
"Ow!"
*slap*
"Ow! Stop that!"
"Help! Someone!" the young woman screamed. "PERVERTS!"
*slap*
"We're so sorry! I swear, I didn't see anything!" Cleon pleaded with the young woman to stop her panicked noise. Faleron ran past both of them to the next door. He frantically began to pick the lock while more slaps could be heard in the background. The girl was clinging to a pillow to cover herself, though by Cleon's opinion, she was not nude. Still, she continued to scream hysterically.
"Let's go!"
*slap*
"Aww, come on! Give me a break, lady!"
"HELP!"
~~
Screams could be heard dying down in the previous room. Faleron winced momentarily upon glancing over his shoulder at the door. "Uh… so sorry, we're trying to um… chase out a rat through the rooms… uh, yeah."
"RAT?" the young woman squeaked before her eyes rolled up into the back of her head and she fainted. Cleon dived forward to catch her and set her down on top of her bed.
"At least I didn't get slapped this time," he muttered. Faleron snorted.
~~
"EEK! You peeping tom!"
"No, no, you don't understand! We're chasing a r--"
*slap*
Pause.
"Pick that lock already, would you?" Cleon yelled.
~~
"Sorry to barge in, but we're chasing a r-- hey…" the redhead stopped mid-sentence. He casually walked over to the young lady sitting in her whole costume at the low coffee table. "Has anyone ever told you how big your…" he paused, "eyes are?"
"Why, no, but really?" she asked, her smile broadening into a grin. She didn't seem to mind his unannounced entrance or his reason for being there. She had black hair that had hints of brown in it, and flawless creamy skin that was just so beautiful… Not to mention, Cleon thought, that her leotard's top dipped very low to her--
"Oh, yes, yes, very large and… voluptuous," his gaze trailed a bit downward. He caught himself and righted his vision line. "Er, I mean, sparkly. Your eyes, that is."
Faleron glared at him while picking the next lock. He always knew Cleon was a tremendous flirt, but he'd always left the goofy sharpshooter before he had to listen to the nonsense. Faleron decided to leave his partner there while he proceeded into the next room. He waited until the click was heard and carefully opened the door. He could still hear Cleon's conversation with the other young lady as he crept into the next room.
"Why are your cheeks so red? You look like you've been struck!" she exclaimed with concern.
Cleon sighed. "Yes. Some people will not listen to reason, but I bore it quietly."
"Aww…"
Faleron turned and looked back at his partner's act. He thought, "Six slaps and a faint within five minutes and he bore it quietly? Yeah, right!" He shook his head and went further into the next room. Thank the heavens for plush carpeting that dampened all sound beyond hearing of human ears. He looked around the room. It was occupied, for there was a set of men's clothing on top of the bed, and a pillow that fell carelessly to the floor.
As an afterthought, he picked up the pillow and set it back onto the bed. Then he walked over to the curtains, afraid to see Ozorne and his men raiding the estate.
"What are you looking at?"
"Oh, nothing." Pause. "Wait…" He whirled around. "Roald! It's you! Finally!" His insecurity got the best of him again. "There aren't any leotard-clad women in this room, are there? Not that I'm accusing you of cheating on Lalasa, but--"
"No, of course not," Roald shook his head. His headaches seemed to fade away. "How did you get in here? In those clothes?"
"Don't ask. Let us just leave this place." Faleron picked up some of Roald's clothing, shoved them toward the Vice President's son, and went back to the last room where their third man was busy flirting. Behind him, he could hear a familiar dog barking in annoyance of being ignored. Roald picked up Jump and held the wriggling mammal in his arms while following the other man.
"Kennan, let's go."
Cleon stood up from the table in a melodramatic motion. "Well, I'm off to fight those unjust scoundrels."
"Oh, but be careful!" the girl clasped his hand.
He smiled reassuringly. "Do not fear. I wouldn't get myself harmed for all the world if it meant I'd see you again."
"Really?" she sighed, stars in her eyes.
Roald glanced imploringly at Faleron for an explanation. The former thief only narrowed his eyes at the redhead, stalked forward, grabbed Cleon by the ear, and dragged him back to the other room.
"Ouchies! Stop that!"
~~
Keladry stared anxiously at her pager for the time. There was yet to be news for Faleron and Cleon. She stood in waiting at a random street corner somewhere in downtown Tortall, far from DJPF Headquarters. Ozorne had decided that half of his 'troops' would be spread out among the city, ready to converge upon the Presidential Estate toward the north.
Beside her were Thom and Joren. One sat on a bus stop bench, sipping from a plastic straw his fruit flavored drink. He kept his gaze fixed on his shoes, tracing the concrete slabs with his brown penny loafer's toe. His expression was quite amiable, but altogether bothered and worried. The other took his normal position against a street post. His arms were folded across his chest, sunglasses upon the bridge of his nose, looking very intimidating and untouchable. It almost seemed to provoke people to come up to him and challenge him, but something else held them back.
"I think we should go ahead, Thom," she said to the older man on the red painted bench. He looked up, fiddling with the straw.
"Oh, yes. But what about the others?"
"They can get back on their own."
Joren nodded. He took something from his pocket and held it out to her. It was a folded piece of paper. She looked at him with a mixture of surprise and bewilderment. Hesitantly, Keladry took it from him.
"What's this?"
"Look at it after you're done at his lab. Now, get going. You're late again, Mindelan."
She glared at him. "Don't you ever back off?"
"Don't you ever do what I tell you?" he retorted in a voice similar to hers. Thom thought it best to come between the two before they started shooting insults at each other. He stood up, threw the cup at the nearest wastebasket on the corner next to the newspaper dispenser, and cleared his throat.
"I think it's time to go, Miss Mindelan."
"Fine," Kel said evenly, still keeping her gaze fixed on Joren. There was suddenly an uprising of horrid emotion in her chest. It was hardly an insult to either of them. They were just playing at words to aggravate the other. But somehow, the slightest taunt sent both to their ends. She wanted to hate him. Keladry had never wanted to hate him so much in her life. But why did she? There was no reason-- no reason at all.
She turned away briskly, signaling for Thom to follow her. Joren watched them depart before he too, turned the other direction and left. He pushed his sunglasses back up the bridge of his nose from where they had slid. He didn't even want to know what her problem was, or, really, what was his. He pondered briefly on whether it was wise of him to give her that piece of paper, considering the last piercing stares he'd received. They rivaled his own better than he thought they would.
Not too long after, the former female 1B officer and 'the Wizard' had arrived in a set apart group of buildings. As Keladry walked behind Thom as he searched the one story brick buildings, realization dawned upon her.
"We're five minutes away from the Presidential Estate," she said aloud, breaking the silence between them.
"That we are," Thom replied. He also nodded his head and stroked his beard thoughtfully. "I believe it's this one." He pointed to a particular hut with a crumbling doorway. "Mind the supports. Splinters, you know."
She frowned at the dust spilling down from the poorly shingled structure. "I don't think it would be smart to go inside this. It looks to collapse any second now."
He waved her off. "No, no. It's perfectly safe. And no one will see us. This whole area is fenced off and littered with false power line and electrical warnings."
"So, all these generators sitting out in the open aren't real?"
"No. They are just decoration. Perhaps someone has been keeping them under maintenance for me."
"Then wouldn't they also be part of the government-- you know, the one that we're trying to find out about to see if they really are as corrupt as we've heard?" She made a gesture for him to answer, but he did not. Keladry put on her mask of impassivity again as they entered the building.
Surprisingly, it led underground. A manhole was constructed to the right of the building's entrance hall. Together, they removed the heavy iron lid and climbed down the hole. Halfway down the ladder, Keladry stopped. She reached behind her with one hand to grab a tiny flashlight she kept in her belt. Then she held it in her teeth and continued downward.
Her efforts were mostly in vain when she discovered that decade old light bulbs and shop lights lined the earthen tunnels while being covered by crude plastic wraps in attempt to shield it from dampness. Thom continued to lead her. Sometimes, the tunnel forked. Other times, it was a choice between several old fashioned doors.
Finally, they reached their destination, or so she thought. Her guide took a nervous breath and gripped the handle of the last door with a trembling hand. He opened the door.
A dim red light shone down on his face. "Identification."
"Thom Trebond. So mote it be."
"Identification accepted." The light disappeared as quickly as it had come. "Enter."
"Welcome to the true 'University of Tortall', Miss Mindelan."
Keladry frowned as she looked around her. "The what?"
They had entered a large atrium, similar in ways to the one he had built in Carthak. To one side were a grassy knoll and trees and other plants. To the other side were a series of man sized containing cells and then various machines like incubators and heart monitors. It was a blend of the natural world, with hospital technology.
"This was the first university of the city-- not that other one where the Gifted go. This is where I taught all the other scientists about the Immortals, or the potential of the project. At that time I did not truly know what I was getting myself into. When I left," he paused, "I sectioned this part of the University away from the one that still remains used. That's where the animals are."
"So, we're under the Presidential Estate? And their labs are right next to this?"
"Yes, that's it." He immediately began to stride toward the grass. "You can go now. I think I'll change my mind and stay here a bit longer than expected.
"No, no. Ozorne would kill me if I let you stay here alone. And so would… Roger," she added after a bit of thought.
"Roger wouldn't do anything. He's… he's my good friend," Thom said quietly, doubting himself while he said it.
"How did that happen, anyway?" she muttered to herself, not meaning for him to hear her.
Thom shrugged. "He stopped talking to Jon a long time before Jon was elected. He was the black sheep, I'd suppose. And now that I had become the black sheep of all the government's scientists, he thought we shared something in common and offered to help me start out my own lab in Carthak. He's always kept me in touch with the world."
Keladry did not reply right away. "Wait. You told us a long time ago that you received news on the Immortals from one person that you trusted very much. He was your source?"
"Yeah," he nodded. "Who else?"
She did not like that answer at all. No one trusted Roger. Well, save for this very misled, but brilliant man beside her. Was all the information that Thom received and retold them true? Or was it truly just a ruse to tug them in the wrong direction?
The questions went unanswered, for right then, the ground started to shake. Bits of dirt and dust fell from the ceiling. The clanging of metal against metal sounded in their ears as they braced themselves against the walls.
"By Glory," she exclaimed. "They're attacking already?"
~~
" 'This just in, the President's Estate is under attack. I repeat: the President's Estate is under attack… It seems that there are hundreds of men and women storming the perimeters. Grenades have been launched into various strong points in the defense. The DJPF and the Presidential Defense is slowly breaking down under the assault!' "
~~
"Hit the dirt!" Faleron yelled as he saw a grenade fly past their heads. The three men dove into the bushes surrounding the Presidential Garden. A second later, an explosion flared up behind them, sending dirt and grass up into the air. It rained down ash as well. Sounds of machine guns filled the air. Bursts of fire and light all around.
"Damn it! Move! Move!" Faleron shoved the others in front of him, though he had twisted his ankle badly in the frantic fall. Cleon slung his arm over his shoulders and Roald also aided him. They limped along the battered lawn while men were running around. Jump ran after them, barking all the way.
Some they recognized for Tortall's own officers, and the rest as Jonathan's elite guard. All were putting out fires and taking up defensive positions all around the estate as other men in an assortment of different uniforms gathered at their respective distances firing back, or throwing grenades.
"This is madness! Where is our defense?" Cleon shouted over the incessant roar of the gunshots.
Roald felt something like bile threatening to make its way through his throat. "They're all sick… They've sabotaged the defense in advance."
"What!" the other two exclaimed.
"The food was contaminated," he continued. Now that he said it aloud, his belly started to cramp up. As his stomach muscles clenched, he realized he must have eaten some of that same food before he'd met with Thayet and the others. The pained young man now doubled over, grasping his sides and groaning.
Cleon looked upward at the sky. "Why us? Can't we get a break?"
~~
"'The leader of the attack has now been identified as Ozorne Tasikhe, of Carthak, the same rebel leader who led the rebellions in Thrace and Attica! The President and his wife, along with several other Council Members are within the mansion. All Dominion Jewel Protection Forces are abandoning their posts to fight Tasikhe, further progress shall be updated within the hour…"
~~
Keladry left Thom, as much as she felt it was wrong to, and went back to the surface through another route. This time, she ended within the perimeters of the one place supposedly incapable of penetration. DJPF officers ran back and forth behind makeshift shields and posts, exchanging fire with Ozorne's men.
"There goes another one!" a man screeched. He pointed wildly at her.
"Not again," she muttered to herself. Her eyes widened when she saw an explosive fly up in the air. Keladry started to sprint away. Halfway through, she tripped and used the rest of her momentum to fling herself behind a fallen fountain statue. She must have been in the garden.
The blast threw her past the statue, causing her to slam into the ground roughly. Keladry tucked and rolled, as she was taught in training, and finally slapped her hands on the ground to stop herself from going any farther. A piece of shrapnel made clear its presence in her shoulder when she rolled onto her back. Instantly, she hissed and bit her lip to keep from crying out.
"I have to get my hands on some heavy weapons," she thought while rolling onto her side. As if by habit, she put aside the pain and forced herself to concentrate on the world as it whirled around her in a mixture of chaos and anarchy. Smoke filled the air. Holes and black carbon monoxide stains covered the walls of the garden. Keladry dragged herself closer to the wall. Her heart was racing.
"Breathe through your nose," her training suddenly reminded her. "Not the mouth. Don't start to hyperventilate." She hissed as she felt her shoulder again. Now another long gash made itself known on the underside of her left arm. She could only get herself killed out here. Maybe she could get back to the secret manhole she had used to come into the estate. Thom could have some weapons hidden in that laboratory of his.
A piece of paper fell from her jacket pocket. Keladry ignored the world around her as best she could while reaching down to unfold it and read. It was in Joren's handwriting-- the note he gave to her before she and Thom left. An address, not far into the city from her vantage point. There was nothing but nine blessed, beautiful words after that: Your bike and all the ammunition we'll ever need.
"Son of a bitch! My hair! Singed by that stupid blast!"
Her head jerked up. Those voices were familiar.
"Shut up, Cleon! We have to keep moving! Come on, Roald, not that much more until we…"
"Until we what?" the first voice argued. "How the heck can we get out of here? They're attacking from all sides!"
There was a cry of pain. "Jump! Jump, down. No, no, not now!"
Keladry forced herself to stand up, keeping out of the range of vision of the DJPF officers and Ozorne's men still grappling and fighting. She turned the corner of the garden's broken wall. A sigh of relief left her when her eyes rested upon the three familiar young men and a growling dog.
"Kel!" Cleon exclaimed. He ran to her and hugged her, being the only one uninjured enough to move as freely as he wished. He let go and gripped her by the shoulders. "We can't escape! Ozorne's men can't clear a path for us!"
She looked about. "Yes, yes we can. We can fight our way through that part." She pointed toward the shattered high iron fence and the broken barb wire and electrical borders around it. "The fight has moved on towards the front and the back. The sides are left open for us."
"A little help?" Faleron intoned as he struggled to move with his ankle. Roald, paler and sicklier appearing than before, only kept his mouth clamped shut as he moved slowly with the former thief. Cleon and Keladry went to help them walk along.
"No, Kennan, get your guns out. Don't leave us defenseless," Kel ordered. Her throat was so parched. It was difficult to speak anything to her comrades.
"Right," he nodded and left the two men to her support while upholstering his weapons.
~~
Joren steeled his soul as he fired again and another man fell. His face was grim, but set, as he marched beside the men he most despised. It was only a temporary alliance, he reasoned with himself. Besides, he was not the only one suffering. Lalasa was forced to stay by Vinson's side, armed with only one puny pistol, detesting every exaggerated touch Vinson gave her as a means of 'protecting' her on their forward attack.
"Now where the devil is my cousin," Roger said in a low, chilling voice. He spotted the blonde biker from the corner of his eye. "Stone, come with me. We'll go for a hunt." He grinned. "It's open season."
~~
"'The DJPF reports as of 4:58 PM, the President's Estate has been captured. The authorities have yet to launch an attack for fear of what they might do to President Conté. There is no news of the President's safety or health, but it is believed that a little over half of the estate's civilians and soldiers are either wounded or dead…' "
~~
Keladry burst into the private gun store, out of breath. The other three she had left to Thom while she alone used a stolen DJPF squad car to enter the city and reach the address on the piece of paper. The aged man behind the counter fell back a step, reaching under the counter. His thick white eyebrows lowered as he glared at her menacingly.
"No, no, I'm here to get… my bike," she coughed. She needed a drink of water so badly. The man nodded, knowing exactly who she was.
"It's in the back. What else?" he asked, eyeing her with distrust still.
"Anything you've got. You've heard of the President's place," she mumbled grouchily, leaning upon the counter. "Hurry!"
The man nodded. He went into the back room while Keladry walked to another door that led to a storage place. A black blanket covered a large form-- her bike. She put her hands over her face, trying to get a grip. Her strength was fading. How could she continue fighting?
The man came back out with small black bags full of clips, then several different types of semi-automatic handguns. Then the man unlocked the display case and reached for another gun, this one silver. It reminded her of something else, but she couldn't place it. Not that it mattered- she had to get back to the battle.
"Give this to Stone," the man commanded, handing it to her. He shoved a first aid kit into the bags along with the other weapons. "And you might want this, too. Wipe the blood and dirt off your face, why don't you?"
She reached up and touched her cheek with her fingertips. Then she brought them before her eyes and frowned. The red mixed with dirt now produced a rusty color, and then a thin layer of yellow over her flushed and warm skin. A drop of sweat slid down her neck uncomfortably until it soaked with the torn collar of her shirt. After a few seconds, she glanced at the gun storeowner and then at her hands.
She honestly couldn't remember in their escape if the blood was hers or that of someone else.
Author: Hope you enjoyed that. Anyway, the message that Jae and I have for everyone… I don't know how to start this.
As the first author of J/K, I have concerns to express. Recently, there has been a rise in the number of Keladry/Joren stories at ff.net. Jaelawyn told me there were none before I showed up last year, so basically, it's my fault. There are a large population of Neal/Kel fics and a large population of Alanna/George or /Jonathan, and then Numair/Daine fics. Most of these stories are good, but I am reminded of why I started writing J/K. The Neal/Kel fics started to get too similar, too unchanging. Kel admits her crush, Neal is too ready to say 'I love you' right back… You know. I am not trying to discourage any N/K authors here at all. I like N/K authors and the latter of their stories. I love K/ original character stories even more because they're fresh. What I mean to say is that, if the J/K population becomes any larger, I'm afraid all the fics will seem the same. Something tragic happens to bring the two of them to work together or Joren has had a crush on Keladry secretly the whole time and just now admits it. I love this pairing to death. That's why Jae and I are concerned that all the J/K stories will start being the same.
Don't get us wrong. No, we are not trying to hog the pairing to ourselves. We're honored to have anything to do with J/K. But please, PLEASE, any fellow J/K authors out there, think of this: Next time you think to write anything J/K, ask yourself, is this idea remotely original? Will too much of this eventually make the pairing boring? If you can't bring yourself to analyze your own story, bring it to both Jaelawyn Noble and I, and we will be glad to help. No, we are not just trying to discourage people. Remember that.
No matter what we tell you about your story, you alone have the right of whether to post it. If we've given it the okay-for-j/k-pureness thumbs up, then fine. If we give it the thumbs down and it's still posted, we won't say a word. It'll stay completely confidential. We're here to help other j/k authors with characterization, feasibility, and whatnot. No, nobody's paying us. We're unofficial advisors that don't even have to be acknowledged (although we'd be very, very happy and grateful if we were sought!) Fanfiction.net has nothing to do with this. We just want to make sure this pairing is not overly polluted! That leads to a boring pairing! That leads to the end of all J/K fics! (Insert scream here) Okay, okay. (Taking a deep breath) We are only too happy to ensure the future of J/K is a solid, eternally interesting one.
So, talk to us. Thank you.