A/N: So, what do you guys think so far? Better or worse than the last version?
Of course I'm curious what happened to me, how and why. I also know blind luck does not explain how well I've been doing thus far. Old Jan Rey would be dead by now, I would have panicked, frozen in shock at the wrong moment, made a terrible split-second decision or just failed to grasp the extent of my abilities. Whatever did this to me left instructions, ones I can't read, but get to access when they're needed.
I need to know why. Dana didn't cure my cancer, though I'm willing to bet it is no longer an issue, she made me into a weapon, if not her, then someone else related to her somehow. This is where I'll get answers, but if she had any for me, -I mean, any she's willing to share- that note she left me would have been a lot more helpful.
In short; I was made this way for a reason, somebody's got plans for me, I don't believe there are any schemes so elaborate that they can't be explained in an hour or less, even the most stuck-up plays have an easy to follow plotline.
No, they're keeping me in the dark because I wouldn't go along with this if I knew the truth.
I won't start a war, that's what they must expect from me, I won't, but I am going to kill Major Olenk.
My entire family is made up of skak-licking fiends and, well, children. She had my father shot, I shouldn't care, but I do. I kill her now, it will send a message.
Yeah, I blame my family for being selfish, but what am I if I let them die because of something I did?
Yeah, I'll kill Olenk, it might save some of them, it might just piss off the next officer in line, either way, it's all I can do.
First I need to find her. There's not a single military facility on this planet I haven't visited, but damned if I remember where they all are; I usually slept on the shuttle rides between each. The Sergeant knew where his barracks were, so that's a start.
My credentials will have been erased by now, but I know Petrov's ID number and all of his access codes. I remember them like the memories are mine. So, convincing myself that I really am James Petrov, I stroll up to the barracks' front entrance and knock on the guard window. The man looks up from what appears to be a very inappropriate magazine and squints in the bright midday sun. "ID." He groans. I feign to pat my chest pocket for a card and almost jump upon finding one. With no time to think, I hand it to him through the armoured book chute built into his desk. He picks up the card, checks the picture, then looks at me and frowns. "This looks nothing like you." He goes to pick up his vox caster, looking away for an instant, but freezes when his eyes meet mine again.
"I…" The man is dumbfounded, his hand hovers over the vox set for a minute, then falls to his side, "Sorry, Sergeant, light must have played tricks on me. Your unit is still being debriefed in HQ, we did not expect you to be back so soon."
I nod and speak in a voice that really isn't mine. "I was told Major Olenk would handle my debrief in person, is she still here?"
The desk jockey looks dumbfounded. "Major Olenk hasn't been in this facility since she was a Cadet, sir."
I fake a cynical laugh, "That's what I told the noodle-heads at HQ, but you know how smug the pricks get… So, where's the Major?"
"I really couldn't tell you, sir, Headquarters would be a safe bet, but there's been a lot going on, she may well be on her way here right now."
Not likely… Let's change that. "Alright, I'll be in the NCO's lounge, you warn HQ I'm standing by for debrief, alright?"
He stands and salutes. "Sir, yes, sir!"
Military boots beat against cheap pavement as I make my way into the compound, Aquilla statues flank the path to the administrative building, plaques on their pedestal remind the reader of Baria's Armed Forces' many feats of arms, such as… Killing citizens during food riots, killing refugees during an Ork Waaagh, failing to take out a slave ring located in the planet's asteroid belt…
Fascinating stuff that almost distracts me from the fact I'm wearing mesh armour, lost twenty centimeters and grew a mustache. I look just like the dead sergeant, I know everything he knew and even sound like the man.
Mathias, the residential district bum I swallowed and isn't that a great way to start a train of thoughts? I never turned into him. I learned what he knew, felt what he did and understood why he was such a cunt, but never actually became the man. Was he different? Or was he just useless?
Even if I could somehow imitate Petrov on the cellular level, wear his skin, copy his mind and learn his secrets, how did I acquire his ID card, uniform and battle scars? Is the sidearm in my thigh holster real? Did I produce a full magazine for it?
My body is doing things on its own, something I hadn't dealt with since puberty. Right now, as I enter a building full of armed individuals set on killing me, I am more worried my flesh may have an agenda of its own.
Cadia
Lleihm-Bonafont Estate House.
Lady Caprice Lleihm-Bonafont held two unofficial titles amongst the merchant lords that knew her family. Those who only knew the teenager by sight called her the Golden Rose; a youthful beauty, heiress to a merchant empire so wealthy it brokered entire star systems and could rent whole Space Marine companies on a whim.
Those who knew the girl through past trade negotiations and hostile takeovers, however, had taken to calling her Didi, or Lady Dionae, after a beautiful but deadly carnivorous plant that would entice and distract insects with bright colours and sweet aromas, then kill them slowly, leaving nothing but empty husks.
With her father's death and her grand-father's dwindling sanity, the Lleihm-Bonafont estate would soon find itself without a male heir, meaning half their warrant to trade, worded in such a fashion that only a male could inherit them, would become void, crippling the merchant family.
Though barely seventeen, Caprice had recently been forced to pick a husband by her investors. Many had, of course, volunteered themselves or their relatives, but the girl instead found a fairly smart and good looking dock worker on some backwater. Of course, gossips about the slightly older fiancé quickly spread through the elite. He was a reminder of this other world, the common people, and of how boring their existences would be.
Some investors worried he would be unable to keep up, that he would bankrupt the estate first thing after the honeymoon, so, as she organized the wedding, Caprice also ordered a close surveillance on her future husband. Assassins were swiftly eliminated, the man's good deeds were blown out of proportion and his blunders swept under rug, all in the form of paparazzis and leaked information from local law enforcement.
When her fiancé learned he had very little time left to live, Lady Caprice found out as well. She panicked. The man's disease became known in spite of her instructions and, at first, all wanted the wedding to be cancelled, a sentiment she shared… Until Jan tried to contact her.
The boy's message, a short letter, was read by most of Cadia before she ever grew the courage to look at it.
Hey, Didi,
Let's face it; I have good news. The thing that killed my mother, it's killing me now. Nothing a slum medicae can do about it. She says it would be no big deal for one of those expensive uptown clinics, that I should ask you to pay for my treatment. She's a bit of a dumb cunt.
We both know that's not going to happen, and I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier, I couldn't find the words. I want you to know a few things, though. You're the only person I still care about, so this is the only letter I'll be sending, tell the others I said Fekk Them.
So, first; we were never in love. I get that, I am okay with it, but I thought of spending my whole life with you and, you know what? I'm disappointed; it would have been great. You're a great girl, I wish we'd had time to become friends.
Second; don't blame yourself. You're smart and you're a bitch, so I know you probably already knew that, but I want you to hear it from me; I'm not worth the trouble. Billions depend on you to make the right call and I was already a pretty bad one, this is all for the best. Maybe the emperor is sending you a message!
Third, and listen up, this one's relevant. I should have told you this when we first met, but it was not in my best interest... Your warrants to trade. The ones that say "The eldest son must inherit blah-blah…" They're in high gothic. How do I know? All official texts are, your family's been trusting a priest's translation for generations.
I would never call priests liars, I was educated by one, as you know, and have utmost faith in His holy servants… But there's no gender specific word for children in high gothic. There is one for man and woman, but until then, prior to marriage or sexual maturity at eighteen, you are someone's filium. So, once you inherit the contract, it can only be passed on to your filium after your death…
Don't say I never gave you anything, eh?
Jan.
P.S. Now that you owe me one, I could really use some money. Please?
Braided blond hairs covered the girl's face as she read the letter out loud to a council of her religious, military and financial advisors. "Filium." She spoke, barely a whisper.
The girl's prominent cheeks and thin mouth were twisted in a scowl so comically grave that the security guards chuckled to themselves. She ignored them and focused all that anger towards the priest, an old man in red robes and covered in jewels.
"Speak the truth now, holy man, or lies will be your last words. Was my fiancé correct?"
The man smiled nonchalantly, "The boy knew nothing, m'lady, he…"
She glanced up at the guards, "Kill him. Quietly."
Still smiling, the guards seized the bemused priest, wrapping two lengths of thin nylon rope around his neck to prevent him from screaming, and dragged him out of the room through the servants' exit.
"Well," spoke her banker, a middle aged woman dressed in a clean yet sober dress, "I'm glad you gotcher' self out of this marriage malark, m'lady." She waved the priest goodbye, smiling until the door was closed, "He was right, though, your contracts say the fillum must be male…"
The heiress's face became devoid of emotions, "Indeed," she spoke, softly, "but nobody outside of this room knows this now, everyone's read the letter, all that matters is that the people believe it to be true." She turned to the military man, an old admiral just past his prime and smoking a cheap cigar. "Where is my fiancé now?"
The story was long and filled with "We lost contact…" and "The situation has evolved…", she listened to all of it. Nodded once and rose from her seat, "Call the Wolves," she ordered, speaking with the strength of a great general, "I don't care what a couple inbred relay-world goat-frakers think, I am going to marry the skak out of this man."
The old Admiral nodded once, "I've lived on the doorstep of hell all my life; one man's monster is another's hero. We'll bring him back to you, Lady Caprice."
Even the banker agreed, "Aye, luv'! We'll just buy the bleedin' planet if that's what it takes. Pocket change."
