BDP44: Questions
"This argument is completely pointless. She could fall at my feet protesting undying adoration, and it wouldn't matter, because I am not having anything to do with her." Ian moved up to Moira's shoulder. He was not going to let this argument continue. All it was doing was creating more friction between his lady and Casca.
Both stiffened at his intrusion. Casca shifted his glare to Nottingham. What little diplomacy and tact he possessed had clearly been burned away in the heat of his argument with Moira as he barked, "Det var som fanden! *You will do what Irons has commanded you to do*."
Ian froze, looking at Casca in shock. All of his life he had been told how important it was that he keep himself pure. The abrupt about-face left him reeling, his brain momentarily unable to process the idea. Why would Irons change his mind after so many years?
Unless. he had decided that the offspring of such a union would be beneficial to him. Was he looking toward the next generation? After all, Irons did not age. He remained as vital now as he had when Ian was a small child, thanks to his connection with the Witchblade. There was no way to know how old Kenneth really was, but it was foolish to believe that he would not continue just as he was.
Whatever gift of longevity Irons possessed, it did not extend to his servants. Dr. Immo looked every day of his age, and Casca was clearly on the downhill slide. Ian knew it was a matter of years before he was in the same position. From Kenneth's point of view, perhaps it was time to start considering a new trainee? It was so much the better if the child had a good pedigree and a father who could train him in his image.
Oh yes, he could see the benefits for Irons from such a plan. The question remaining was, why had he not been prepared for this from the beginning? Why pound the need to remain separate from the female sex in his head if Irons wanted another little Nottingham around the mansion?
What if Casca was acting on his own initiative? It was possible that he was willing to risk Irons wrath if found out, or he believed that the results would exonerate him. There was always the more unpleasant option, Casca would arrange for Ian to suffer a 'training accident' once conception had been confirmed. That way Kenneth would never know.
Of course, this could be another test. Irons loved to push the boundaries of Nottingham's training in ways worthy of Machiavelli. No matter what Ian chose, Kenneth would benefit, it was just a matter of how much. There was always one choice that Irons wanted him to make above all others, and failing to pick it always let to punishment.
Any and all of these scenarios was possible, but which one or ones? In some ways it would be easier if Irons were present. It would eliminate one potential, and give him a better idea of what he was supposed to do. Ian would never tell a soul, but he had learned to read Kenneth very well over the years. The subtlest inflection, the smallest tilt of head or hand could tell him volumes.
Lacking those clues, Nottingham felt almost dizzy from juggling all the possibilities. He had to admit that his concern over Moira's reaction was coloring his perceptions too. What should he do? He struggled to make the best decision he could, given the information he had.
Moira gave Ian a sidelong glance through her lashes, as he continued to stand silent. German wasn't a language she spoke, but the tone had been enough to raise her hackles. She really wanted to know what had been said. Whatever Casca's command had been, it had caught Ian amidships. His face was like stone, but his eyes reflected the internal struggle he was engaged in.
Of course, she was still reeling from Ian's preceding statement herself. Moira imagined she had something of the same look. She couldn't help realizing what she should have noticed from the beginning. After all, she'd had ample time to count them as they stood in the main body of the lab.
If that hadn't been enough of a clue, the brunette was very striking. If she had been in the files, Moira was confident she would have remembered her face. That's what she got for letting her sense of moral outrage blind her to what was happening around her.
Was this woman a late addition, or had she been part of the plan all along? Either way, why drag her out now, and why be so insistent that she comply with something they knew Ian had no intention of doing? It was enough to make Moira wonder just what they were slipping into the subliminal part of their training.
They had to have picked the women out months ago, so how much harder would it have been to insert their images into the videos? As many frames per second as there were, it would have been very easy to do. Would that be enough to make Ian breed with this woman, willing or not? Moira didn't think so, at least not with the unintentional interfering she'd done. If they weren't together though, this could have turned out very differently.
The more Moira looked at the woman, who was still trying futilely to free herself from Casca's grip, the more she began to wonder about her. Who was she? What had brought her here? Why had they matched her with Nottingham?
She had courage, but she didn't have the training to back it up. Presumably she was smart, the other women had all possessed high I.Q. ratings. She'd really like to get her hands on a DNA sample, if she could get one without it being noticed. There had to be a very good reason why Casca was pulling out all the stops to get this pairing. Moira wondered where the brunette's file was, and what it would say if she could find it.
Maybe Ian could do a little breaking and entering for her. After all, he had managed to get out of the building completely without getting caught. Getting into Casca's office should be child's play. It might also be the only way she was ever going to find out what Vorshlag Industries already knew about their 'experimental pharmaceuticals', and what the long term affects were going to be for the Dragons. There might even be a way to reverse or halt the changes in their brain chemistry.
The best way to accomplish that was to somehow get Casca to leave the complex, preferably for a few days. Moira wasn't sure how she was going to accomplish that, but she'd watch for an opportunity. There was no chance of him leaving now, not with so much of his real plan hanging in the balance.
Casca had no way of knowing that she had already taken steps to foil him, except for one. Moira had only made ten of her little cocktails, not eleven. There would be no failsafe if she couldn't get Ian out of this. Or if Ian chose to take the woman, an insecure part of her pointed out. She had not missed the way Nottingham had looked at the smaller woman.
"Ian, what did he say to you?" Moira asked as the silence continued, hoping his response would quiet the sullen green voice that was whispering in her ear.
"He ordered me to have sex with her." His voice told her nothing. Ian could have been discussing the weather.
Moira bit back her instinctual reply, which would have gone something like, 'Over my dead body.' That kind of reaction would do them no good and a great deal of harm. Casca did not need to see the ravening jealousy the idea roused in her. As soon as she trusted herself to speak calmly, she said, "Oh really."
The ice in Moira's voice penetrated Ian's confused thoughts. "Yes he did. I am not sure if I should obey such a command. It seems rather unorthodox."
Moira smiled up at Casca and waved the proverbial red flag, "You overstep your authority. This is still a military operation. You cannot order anyone to do anything, civilian. You have no place in the chain of command."
"Vas?!?!?! Unglablich! D.." Casca was reduced to spluttering, torn between amazement at her gall and the fury it produced. The anger won. He let go of the brunette and shifted into a combat stance, hands curling into fists.
In response, Moira slid her left foot back, mirroring his movements except her hands stayed open. She was much fonder of nerve strikes than punches; they were more efficient. If Casca thought she would back down from a physical threat, he really had forgotten that he wasn't dealing with his normal scientist.
She had gone through combat training, just like everyone else. Her gender and future assignments hadn't mattered squat to her Drill Sergeant. Which had been fine with Moira. She loved to run, had been a member of her school's cross-country team before joining the armed forces. She hadn't loved the unarmed combat training, but she had learned it and wished she'd known it back in school.
High schools in New York had more than their share of gangs, and more than their share of violence. Going one on one with a guy who had her for weight and reach was hardly the most uneven fight Moira had been in. Besides, Casca was getting soft around the edges. She could wear him out and then come in and pound him. In fact, she was looking forward to it.
Moira never even got the chance to swing. A dark blur passed between them, and Casca was down. Ian stood over the unconscious man, his eyes held a feral light that reminded Moira of the day he had gone after Beck.
"Kid, go back out the door, slowly. The first office on the right should be unlocked. It's Matheson's. Shut yourself in there and don't come out for anyone but me. I'll get you off base as soon as I can." Moira said softly, never taking her eyes off Ian. She didn't know what he would do if given any more provocation
"The name's Beth, Beth Bronte, not kid. Are you sure you can handle him by yourself?" Beth asked, not moving.
She looked behind her, realizing that the other Dragons had paired off and retreated to the small series of rooms that had been converted for that purpose. They had completely missed the conflict, and Moira knew they were hardly likely to come back out at this point to help her if she needed it. It was a little daunting, but she was hardly going to say so. "I'll be fine, and it will be less distracting for me if I know you are somewhere safe."
"I can take care of myself, and I don't like leaving you alone with him." Beth took a small step closer to Ian, instead of back toward the door.
"I think it will be safer for you to go Ms. Bronte. This is hardly the first time I've seen him like this, I've been working with Nottingham for several months. I think we'll be ok." Moira replied, an edge creeping into her tone. If the Bronte girl didn't leave now, it wasn't going to be Ian she had to worry about.
"It just seems wrong to abandon you after you stood up to Casca for me. No one's ever done that before." There were definite tones of hero worship in Beth's voice.
Moira wondered how many times Casca had steamrollered Beth into something she had not wanted to do, and felt her jealousy recede under a sudden wave of pity. Poor kid. "Don't worry Beth, I really will be fine. I'm not just saying that. Go on; lock yourself in Matheson's office like I asked. Nottingham doesn't know you. He may react to you like a hostile. Me, he'll either obey or ignore, but he won't attack."
"If you're sure." Beth started edging back toward the door.
"I'm sure." Moira replied calmly, as much to Nottingham as Bronte. She waited until she heard the door close behind her before moving toward Ian. Part of her wondered where the M.P.s were. Surely whomever Casca had monitoring the area had watched him go down.
Well, there was nothing to be done about it now. She'd just have to hope they didn't burst in before she managed to calm Ian down.
"This argument is completely pointless. She could fall at my feet protesting undying adoration, and it wouldn't matter, because I am not having anything to do with her." Ian moved up to Moira's shoulder. He was not going to let this argument continue. All it was doing was creating more friction between his lady and Casca.
Both stiffened at his intrusion. Casca shifted his glare to Nottingham. What little diplomacy and tact he possessed had clearly been burned away in the heat of his argument with Moira as he barked, "Det var som fanden! *You will do what Irons has commanded you to do*."
Ian froze, looking at Casca in shock. All of his life he had been told how important it was that he keep himself pure. The abrupt about-face left him reeling, his brain momentarily unable to process the idea. Why would Irons change his mind after so many years?
Unless. he had decided that the offspring of such a union would be beneficial to him. Was he looking toward the next generation? After all, Irons did not age. He remained as vital now as he had when Ian was a small child, thanks to his connection with the Witchblade. There was no way to know how old Kenneth really was, but it was foolish to believe that he would not continue just as he was.
Whatever gift of longevity Irons possessed, it did not extend to his servants. Dr. Immo looked every day of his age, and Casca was clearly on the downhill slide. Ian knew it was a matter of years before he was in the same position. From Kenneth's point of view, perhaps it was time to start considering a new trainee? It was so much the better if the child had a good pedigree and a father who could train him in his image.
Oh yes, he could see the benefits for Irons from such a plan. The question remaining was, why had he not been prepared for this from the beginning? Why pound the need to remain separate from the female sex in his head if Irons wanted another little Nottingham around the mansion?
What if Casca was acting on his own initiative? It was possible that he was willing to risk Irons wrath if found out, or he believed that the results would exonerate him. There was always the more unpleasant option, Casca would arrange for Ian to suffer a 'training accident' once conception had been confirmed. That way Kenneth would never know.
Of course, this could be another test. Irons loved to push the boundaries of Nottingham's training in ways worthy of Machiavelli. No matter what Ian chose, Kenneth would benefit, it was just a matter of how much. There was always one choice that Irons wanted him to make above all others, and failing to pick it always let to punishment.
Any and all of these scenarios was possible, but which one or ones? In some ways it would be easier if Irons were present. It would eliminate one potential, and give him a better idea of what he was supposed to do. Ian would never tell a soul, but he had learned to read Kenneth very well over the years. The subtlest inflection, the smallest tilt of head or hand could tell him volumes.
Lacking those clues, Nottingham felt almost dizzy from juggling all the possibilities. He had to admit that his concern over Moira's reaction was coloring his perceptions too. What should he do? He struggled to make the best decision he could, given the information he had.
Moira gave Ian a sidelong glance through her lashes, as he continued to stand silent. German wasn't a language she spoke, but the tone had been enough to raise her hackles. She really wanted to know what had been said. Whatever Casca's command had been, it had caught Ian amidships. His face was like stone, but his eyes reflected the internal struggle he was engaged in.
Of course, she was still reeling from Ian's preceding statement herself. Moira imagined she had something of the same look. She couldn't help realizing what she should have noticed from the beginning. After all, she'd had ample time to count them as they stood in the main body of the lab.
If that hadn't been enough of a clue, the brunette was very striking. If she had been in the files, Moira was confident she would have remembered her face. That's what she got for letting her sense of moral outrage blind her to what was happening around her.
Was this woman a late addition, or had she been part of the plan all along? Either way, why drag her out now, and why be so insistent that she comply with something they knew Ian had no intention of doing? It was enough to make Moira wonder just what they were slipping into the subliminal part of their training.
They had to have picked the women out months ago, so how much harder would it have been to insert their images into the videos? As many frames per second as there were, it would have been very easy to do. Would that be enough to make Ian breed with this woman, willing or not? Moira didn't think so, at least not with the unintentional interfering she'd done. If they weren't together though, this could have turned out very differently.
The more Moira looked at the woman, who was still trying futilely to free herself from Casca's grip, the more she began to wonder about her. Who was she? What had brought her here? Why had they matched her with Nottingham?
She had courage, but she didn't have the training to back it up. Presumably she was smart, the other women had all possessed high I.Q. ratings. She'd really like to get her hands on a DNA sample, if she could get one without it being noticed. There had to be a very good reason why Casca was pulling out all the stops to get this pairing. Moira wondered where the brunette's file was, and what it would say if she could find it.
Maybe Ian could do a little breaking and entering for her. After all, he had managed to get out of the building completely without getting caught. Getting into Casca's office should be child's play. It might also be the only way she was ever going to find out what Vorshlag Industries already knew about their 'experimental pharmaceuticals', and what the long term affects were going to be for the Dragons. There might even be a way to reverse or halt the changes in their brain chemistry.
The best way to accomplish that was to somehow get Casca to leave the complex, preferably for a few days. Moira wasn't sure how she was going to accomplish that, but she'd watch for an opportunity. There was no chance of him leaving now, not with so much of his real plan hanging in the balance.
Casca had no way of knowing that she had already taken steps to foil him, except for one. Moira had only made ten of her little cocktails, not eleven. There would be no failsafe if she couldn't get Ian out of this. Or if Ian chose to take the woman, an insecure part of her pointed out. She had not missed the way Nottingham had looked at the smaller woman.
"Ian, what did he say to you?" Moira asked as the silence continued, hoping his response would quiet the sullen green voice that was whispering in her ear.
"He ordered me to have sex with her." His voice told her nothing. Ian could have been discussing the weather.
Moira bit back her instinctual reply, which would have gone something like, 'Over my dead body.' That kind of reaction would do them no good and a great deal of harm. Casca did not need to see the ravening jealousy the idea roused in her. As soon as she trusted herself to speak calmly, she said, "Oh really."
The ice in Moira's voice penetrated Ian's confused thoughts. "Yes he did. I am not sure if I should obey such a command. It seems rather unorthodox."
Moira smiled up at Casca and waved the proverbial red flag, "You overstep your authority. This is still a military operation. You cannot order anyone to do anything, civilian. You have no place in the chain of command."
"Vas?!?!?! Unglablich! D.." Casca was reduced to spluttering, torn between amazement at her gall and the fury it produced. The anger won. He let go of the brunette and shifted into a combat stance, hands curling into fists.
In response, Moira slid her left foot back, mirroring his movements except her hands stayed open. She was much fonder of nerve strikes than punches; they were more efficient. If Casca thought she would back down from a physical threat, he really had forgotten that he wasn't dealing with his normal scientist.
She had gone through combat training, just like everyone else. Her gender and future assignments hadn't mattered squat to her Drill Sergeant. Which had been fine with Moira. She loved to run, had been a member of her school's cross-country team before joining the armed forces. She hadn't loved the unarmed combat training, but she had learned it and wished she'd known it back in school.
High schools in New York had more than their share of gangs, and more than their share of violence. Going one on one with a guy who had her for weight and reach was hardly the most uneven fight Moira had been in. Besides, Casca was getting soft around the edges. She could wear him out and then come in and pound him. In fact, she was looking forward to it.
Moira never even got the chance to swing. A dark blur passed between them, and Casca was down. Ian stood over the unconscious man, his eyes held a feral light that reminded Moira of the day he had gone after Beck.
"Kid, go back out the door, slowly. The first office on the right should be unlocked. It's Matheson's. Shut yourself in there and don't come out for anyone but me. I'll get you off base as soon as I can." Moira said softly, never taking her eyes off Ian. She didn't know what he would do if given any more provocation
"The name's Beth, Beth Bronte, not kid. Are you sure you can handle him by yourself?" Beth asked, not moving.
She looked behind her, realizing that the other Dragons had paired off and retreated to the small series of rooms that had been converted for that purpose. They had completely missed the conflict, and Moira knew they were hardly likely to come back out at this point to help her if she needed it. It was a little daunting, but she was hardly going to say so. "I'll be fine, and it will be less distracting for me if I know you are somewhere safe."
"I can take care of myself, and I don't like leaving you alone with him." Beth took a small step closer to Ian, instead of back toward the door.
"I think it will be safer for you to go Ms. Bronte. This is hardly the first time I've seen him like this, I've been working with Nottingham for several months. I think we'll be ok." Moira replied, an edge creeping into her tone. If the Bronte girl didn't leave now, it wasn't going to be Ian she had to worry about.
"It just seems wrong to abandon you after you stood up to Casca for me. No one's ever done that before." There were definite tones of hero worship in Beth's voice.
Moira wondered how many times Casca had steamrollered Beth into something she had not wanted to do, and felt her jealousy recede under a sudden wave of pity. Poor kid. "Don't worry Beth, I really will be fine. I'm not just saying that. Go on; lock yourself in Matheson's office like I asked. Nottingham doesn't know you. He may react to you like a hostile. Me, he'll either obey or ignore, but he won't attack."
"If you're sure." Beth started edging back toward the door.
"I'm sure." Moira replied calmly, as much to Nottingham as Bronte. She waited until she heard the door close behind her before moving toward Ian. Part of her wondered where the M.P.s were. Surely whomever Casca had monitoring the area had watched him go down.
Well, there was nothing to be done about it now. She'd just have to hope they didn't burst in before she managed to calm Ian down.