Chapter 6

Author's Note: Sorry for the delay; life has been crazy busy as of late. Thanks to the Wrecking Kru for their input, feedback and support as always.

"Why you wearing that, boss?"

Crowe's question seemed innocent enough. They were still in the suite…the one with the funny name…and dawn wasn't far off now. When Drake finally managed to force himself to look down, he was astonished to see a pink, frothy tutu where his trousers had been moments before.

Either he'd fallen asleep, or this was Kruger's idea of a sick joke. Probably both.

"What the fuck?" he said, mostly to himself, as he tried to pull the garment off, only to find that it had apparently been glued to his midsection. This prompted a torrent of drunken giggles from Crowe, who sat opposite him on one of the overstuffed Cordovan leather chairs, and was himself inexplicably wearing a blue rubber wetsuit complete with flippers.

Drake thought about it for a moment, tried to piece his fragmented thoughts together. He'd sent Crowe out to check on the battered Tselios, had been alone in the suite catching up with Kruger, and then? Nothing, apparently, but it had been enough time for them to change clothes.

"You look sooooo pretty, Drakey-boy," Crowe cooed at him, batting his eyelashes as if to flirt with his commander. "Mind if I see what's under that tutu, boet?"

"Shut up. Think for a minute. How'd this happen? And why the fuck are you wearing that outfit?"

Had there been any crickets in the spacious room, they might have been chirping, because neither Crowe nor Drake seemed to have an answer to what should have been an obvious question. There was, however, music playing from somewhere in the room, a lilting orchestral waltz that seemed familiar but which neither of them could name. "Hey, boet, wanna dance?" Crowe slurred, apparently forgetting all about the predicament at hand.

"Why not?" Drake heard himself say, not knowing quite why. The kind of booze, and drugs, they had in this place had smashed a gigantic hole in the wall of his judgment. He wobbled to his feet, made his way over to where the pilot stood, and in the middle of the suite, beneath the exquisite chandelier, they waltzed across the polished floor, Crowe's flippered feet inexplicably leading the way.

"Didn't know you could dance," said Drake as he felt himself being led, less a glide than an awkward shuffle.

"I can't," laughed Crowe. "And even if I could, you think I'd be wearing this kak?" And he leaned over to plant a sloppy, wet kiss right in Drake's left ear. "Wake up, now, Drakey…"

A groan. The pre-dawn light had been replaced by something else, something artificial and bright, and the rubber-clad Crowe had vanished altogether. "Wake up," the admonition repeated itself, and this time, Drake did. The icy water being dribbled slowly into his left ear, surely, had something to do with that.

"Jesus!" he shouted, springing to his feet on woozy, unsteady legs which he thought might buckle but held steady. "I'm fucking awake already!"

The dribbler in question was not Crowe, or even Tselios, but a wickedly grinning Kruger, who, in addition to being fully armed and dressed, held a half-full glass of water. He mischievously held it up. "And I thought Crowe was hard to wake up from a hangover. What're you gonna do when your next target finds you snoozing away, Drakey? Fucking invite them to have a nap?" he said caustically.

As his eyes quickly adjusted to the blue glow of the interior lights, Drake realized he was back on board his own ship, the Golden Hind, and dawn had come and gone hours ago. It was practically midday. "First of all," he pointed out, feeling more than a little embarrassed, "what I do on leave is my own fucking business. And…" The second statement he'd been about to make eluded him; in its place was a steady, throbbing headache, the remnants of the previous night's revelry. He groaned again. "That's the last time I get drunk in one of these places. I'm a married man now, with responsibilities, and all that kak." He rubbed at his sore temples.

"You're a soft poes now, is what you are," countered Kruger, still smiling that predatory smile he always wore when he knew he was right. "You'd never cut it on my team now."

Drake didn't respond to that appraisal. He knew full well about his former boss' disdain for marriage and kids (they softened a man, diminished his effectiveness in the field, and all but turned him into a eunuch) and that arguing would be pointless. He just shrugged and grunted. Something else was bothering him, though, aside from the obvious hangover and blank slate of hours that preceded it. "What are you doing here anyway?" he asked Kruger, realizing that was what it was. "Don't you have somewhere to go, someone to disembowel?"

The grin widened, and those all-black eyes flashed dangerously. "Not at the moment I don't, boet. Thought I'd come see your new ship, since you never bothered to send me one of those nice little fucking invitations. Even christened it for you." Kruger chuckled dryly.

There was no telling what he meant by that, and again, Drake didn't bother to ask. "She's nice, isn't she? Real beauty," he said, unable to keep the pride out of his voice as he fished for something non-alcoholic in one of the lockers.

"If you want to settle for this sort of thing," Kruger said with a shrug. "Give me my Raven any day of the week and you can keep this little piece of kak."

That didn't seem worth arguing about. In one mighty gulp, Drake opened and downed the one bottle of lukewarm water he was able to find. It tasted good, but did very little to alleviate the rhythmic pounding in his head. As he rummaged around for one of the meds for that, he kept talking over his shoulder. "So anyway, did you bring me here or did I manage on my own?" He honestly couldn't remember a thing after they'd gone up to the suite. He'd sent Crowe out to check on Tselios, then nothing. He still had no idea where either of his men were, or if they were similarly afflicted. Probably best if they weren't, Drake thought grimly as he located the little foil packet he'd been looking for.

In all the years Drake had worked with Kruger, one of the strangest things he'd come to realize about the bearded man was that, despite his fearsome and mercurial nature, he possessed a playful, almost puckish sense of humor when he was in the right mood. This seemed to be one of those times. "Oh, I don't know, Drakey," Kruger said, lacing his hands behind his head and leaning back in his seat. "I was having so much fun, I couldn't begin to tell you."

That could mean anything coming from Kruger. Still, Drake sensed that there was something his former boss was holding just out of reach, daring him to come and get it, like a biscuit held before a hungry dog. "I didn't do anything stupid, right? Nothing that will get me written up or anything?" he prodded. That had already happened once since Drake had taken his own command, some stupid night of indiscretion in Bali…and he'd sworn to his wife it would never happen again. So much for that, Rina my love. I'm only fucking human.

"Nothing I wouldn't do."

That was another peculiar side of the multi-faceted being that was C.M. Kruger. For a man who sliced, diced, and exploded people for a living, he could be downright obtuse, and mysterious, when he wanted to be. Drake tried to read meaning into that single sentence, any clue or tell given away in that hawkish face. Was his old comrade teasing him? Goading him? Trying to get him to incriminate himself? It was so hard to say, and at the moment, Drake's hangover prevented most coherent thought anyway. "There's not a lot you wouldn't do, boss," he conceded. Trying to change the subject, he added, "You seen the other two around anywhere? We might have another 24 hours of leave yet, but I'd at least like to know they didn't get thrown in the local jail or something."

"Or something?" Kruger raised one thick eyebrow in amusement. "Drakey, I beat the everloving shit out of your cocky new gunner last night, and that's not just 'or something,' boet."

He remembered now, the last night's hazy events coming into focus like the images in one of those ancient Polaroid photos. Finding his junior team member on the cage fight floor, where he'd been foolish enough to challenge the notorious 32 Alpha. Then, once he'd arrived, seeing the tail end of what had obviously been a one-sided affair. Drake screwed his eyes shut, as if that would make all of this shitstorm go away. "Don't tell me you sent him to hospital," he said behind gritted teeth.

Kruger brayed with laughter. "You yourself said you wanted to teach the stupid fucker a lesson, make him suffer the pain of his lack of judgment all night before he got in a med-bay. So that's just what happened. Crowe stayed awake long enough, spoon-fed him chicken soup or some kak, then got him fixed up. I don't know the details, but yeah, the bastard was fine last I checked. Don't think he'll want to make that mistake again, eh?"

That was something Drake could at least agree with, and he nodded. "So you have seen him?" he asked, tipping his head back and dry-swallowing the tablets to relieve his migraine.

"Ja. He was stumbling around this morning." Kruger smiled ironically, then winked. "He'll live. I knew he was with you, so I went easy on him."

"That's a real relief, boet." The effect from the hangover relief tablet was nearly instant…one of the more ingenious medical innovations to come from the Elysium labs…and Drake felt the splitting headache receding already. Just thinking of the torus, though, made him pause. That was his next assignment, after all, some high-brow event that required extra security. Why the CCB couldn't get their shit together with Armadyne and manufacture an extra droid squad instead of wasting valuable veteran agents, with all the constant turmoil on Earth needing attention, was beyond him. I'm a commander now, not some rent-a-cop. Maybe Kruger and his team would be there too, though it seemed unlikely given the Defense Secretary's frosty relationship with him these past few years.

So why was he even worrying about it? What dots wasn't he connecting here? Drake tried to keep his own expression neutral as he spoke. "Where are you and your boys headed next?" he asked Kruger, trying to keep things light…and possibly reveal a clue as to the other man's mysterious intentions.

"Oh, nowhere interesting," Kruger said just as casually. Strictly speaking, the various elite assault teams under the Oryx umbrella were supposed to be ignorant of each other's missions and objectives, but among the tight-knit fraternity of agents, and with all the alcohol flowing in clubs like this one, all the secrecy ended up getting thrown right out the window. "Mostly the ice-mare bitch has my squad doing mop-up duty these days. Why, I can't fucking imagine," he added, though he knew full well Delacourt's intentions.

"Is that so?" Drake averted his gaze, using the flimsy excuse of rummaging for a protein bar to avoid looking into Kruger's cold stare. He, too, knew why they'd been separated in the first place, why he now commanded his own top of the line ship, why Kruger and his men were now relegated to third-stringer status. It's this giant fucking elephant in the room, and neither of us is saying it. Should I? Or maybe I should just wait for him to say it? "At least you're not going where we've been. Last mission was a fucking death trap for sure."

"South of Yemen, wasn't it?"

"You got it."

Kruger leaned forward, looking pensive. A strange look, which Drake couldn't quite place, came over his angular face. He had just opened his mouth to speak when he was interrupted by the barely audible hydraulic sound of the ship's rear door opening. As two familiar figures in fatigues emerged from the bright Arabian sunlight outside into the dimmer interior of the Hind, Drake realized he'd been holding his breath. He let it out with a soft whoosh and greeted them.

"Well, well. Looks like somebody stumbled into a med-bay, eh? I hope you learned an important lesson, boetie," Drake said to his gunner.

It was hard to tell Tselios had ever been in a cage match at all, much less had his ass handed to him the previous night. Grinning, he high-fived his commander, and Crowe did the same. Both of them sat on the bank of seats opposite Drake, and started to speak at once.

"I wish you'd have been there to see it, boss," Tselios laughed. "That other oke didn't stand a fucking chance."

Crowe and Drake both gaped at him, utter disbelief on their faces. When Tselios glimpsed Kruger and realized that there was a fourth person present, the very same guy who had beaten the shit out of him, the wide grin vanished, and in its place was a look of pure horror.

"That's not how I heard it, boytjie," Kruger said with wry, measured amusement. He'd slipped into the recessed shadows a moment ago, the way he always seemed to have a knack for doing…and now he was back, right on cue. "Tell me again how that goes?"

Tselios gulped. "I guess, what I mean to say is," he stammered, "I didn't stand a fucking chance, eh?" His deep, Afrikaner-accented voice had risen by half an octave in his haste to correct himself. "No hard feelings?"

For a moment, Drake and Crowe were both convinced that Kruger, though a good three inches shorter and twenty kilos lighter than the younger man, was about to provide an encore of his dazzling previous night's performance and open another industrial-size can of whoop-ass. Then he did something that amazed everyone. He reached out a hand to Tselios, effortlessly pulling him up from his seat and into a manly bear hug, slapping him jovially on the back as he did so.

"No fucking hard feelings indeed, unless you count the hard-on you've clearly got for your superiors." Kruger tousled Tselios' faux-hawk hairstyle as if he were a father gently ribbing his young son. As he leaned in closer, Drake heard him throw in sotto voce, "Just keep practicing, and maybe you'll make it interesting some day, huh, kid?"

"I will. Sir," he quickly added with no trace of sarcasm. "Are you really the 32 Alpha? The one who pulled off the Pechersk raid back in '31, and sliced up that bastard Rios in El Salvador?"

"Guilty as charged!" Kruger grinned broadly.

Drake and Crowe tried not to laugh, or at least roll their eyes. It was hard not to be in awe of the legend that was Kruger; they'd behaved much the same way, with the same wide-eyed adulation, when they first got assigned to him all those years ago. But Tselios was positively gushing as Kruger began to recount some of his true-life exploits. It was like seeing a young rugby fan get up close and personal with his favorite player.

Besides, there was nothing Kruger liked to talk about more than himself.

As the two of them bantered back and forth, Drake seized his opportunity. Now that his splitting headache and nausea were in the rear-view mirror, he intended to find, as best he could, out what the hell was going on, and why Kruger had been acting so coy about things. Maybe he'd even manage to piece together the missing hours from last night. Speaking out of the corner of his mouth, he spoke to Crowe in a low voice. "So, how bad was it?"

"You, or the kid there?" Crowe said, indicating Tselios with a curt nod. The rangy man wasn't a kid, of course; he had to be at least fifty in real time. Both of them had gotten so used to calling him that, and it had simply become habit.

"I'll settle for either at this point, boet."

Crowe stifled a smirk. "You were out of it pretty bad when I showed back up with him, all bruised and battered like in one of those old Rocky films. And you were also snoring like a heavy saw; I tried to wake you up but you were out. As for him, he finally fell asleep after pissing and moaning like a stupid giyn for an hour or so. I guess I did too, because when I woke up, it was maybe 0700 and I took him to the med-bay like you said. He was a little woozy, and he'd been concussed and gotten a few cracked ribs, but he's right as rain now." Indeed, Tselios looked the picture of health, perhaps comically so, as he babbled on and on to his idol.

"And," Drake checked to see if Tselios and Kruger were still occupied in their war stories (they were), "you weren't wearing a scuba suit during any of this?"

"Why the fuck would I be wearing that?"

Drake shrugged. "No reason." Indicating Kruger this time, he pressed on. "Did he say anything weird last night after I fell asleep? Like," and he dropped his voice to a mere whisper, "about you-know-who up in you-know where?"

The bald man frowned. "There's an awful fucking lot of 'you-know-whos' in our line of work, boss, and old Kruger there is always saying weird things. Can you be more specific?"

And there it was, that nasty old elephant in the room raising its tusks yet again: the fact that not only had Drake been corresponding with Lorelei Delacourt in secret, via text messaging, for the last five years, but that he hadn't told another living soul. Not Crowe, not Kruger, certainly not Tselios with his big mouth. Not even his wife. Yes, he'd talked about what had happened with Crowe on occasion, but the pilot, along with everyone else, was convinced that the last time he had spoken to her was that night in the hospital wing. It was a secret Drake had buried deep within himself, and now, faced with that reality, he didn't quite know why he'd done it in the first place, giving the girl his comm codes and possibly blowing his own cover. Gratitude, for what she had done for them? Guilt, maybe? Very technically speaking, he wasn't breaking any regulation in anonymously (and he had gone by only his initials) corresponding with the girl, even if her auntie would have had the mother of all bitch-fits had she ever found out. Yet there seemed something inherently right about it despite the obvious covert nature of the whole thing. The poor kid didn't have any real outlets to talk to up there…Drake knew through the grapevine that her only adult confidantes, in addition to her aunt, were the solid but taciturn Agent Smith and the positively aloof Agent Roi-Schultz, both veterans well past their prime and not exactly known for their charisma with young kids. Lorelei needed a grown-up friend, not just a bodyguard or counselor. He had been that friend, and he intended to keep on being that friend as long as was necessary.

"You all right there, boss?"

The thought of Lorelei had distracted Drake for a moment, but the sound of Crowe's voice brought him quickly back. "Fine, and forget I said anything. It doesn't matter," he said, perhaps a bit too irritably. Desperate to change the subject, knowing his pilot would ask questions, he added, "Go ahead and go through the pre-flight stuff if you would, eh? Get her ready to fly."

"We've got another twelve hours before we need to head out." Crowe didn't sound the least bit convinced; he normally never questioned an order.

"Just do it, all right?" Drake urged as Tselios laughed at something Kruger had just said. If either of them overheard them talking about the girl, even caught wind of what was going on, he was in deep shit.

"Fine. Some thanks I get for last night, eh?"

Drake flipped the pilot his middle finger. As he did so, he felt a small but insistent nudge from that invisible elephant standing in the room. What if, he wondered, a cold knot of dread tightening in his gut, Kruger already knew about what I've been doing? How I've been going behind everyone's back to keep in touch with her? Hell, what if he's found some way to tap my fucking comms?

He carefully studied his former boss, who was telling the tale of how he'd once fucked four sisters from the same family in one bed. Kruger had almost always been an open book, his heart and emotions fully on display on one camouflaged sleeve. However, as with his twisted sense of humor, the Oryx leader could show a secretive side worthy of the best deep-cover operatives on occasion. It was probably one reason the bastard had stayed alive for so long. Drake, along with Crowe, probably knew him about as well as anyone could, and yet, like an elaborate kaleidoscope, the man always managed to show new, strangely glimmering facets to his personality.

It was hard to pin down how he really felt about the girl. Lorelei. She had undeniably saved his life five years ago, so what did that mean? Drake had never considered himself an expert in human behavior, but anyone could see that there had been something between Kruger and the girl. He'd almost immediately ruled out a carnal attraction to the underage Lorelei…Kruger, for all his vices, had never possessed that particular one…but there was obviously some sort of connection. Just the looks Kruger had given the girl down there in Jozi had confirmed his suspicions.

Probably the same thing he feels about her dear auntie. There's some sort of weird love-hate connection there too, but I value my fucking life to much to ask what it might be.

"So, you've got a nice house up on the torus, eh?" Drake heard Tselios saying. "I'm too junior for one yet, but I'm gonna save enough for my own place soon."

"Ja." Kruger nodded and spread his arms wide. "Huge fucking place, and I'm never up there enough to enjoy it. Most of the time, it just sits empty. I will be having one of my famous parties pretty soon, you know, for the start of the rugby union season. Ask the boys here; they'll tell you what a jol those are."

Tselios leaned in. Other than girls and fighting, rugby was pretty much all he ever talked about. "Mind if I drop in? I'd love to see it," he said as casually as he could, when in reality Drake knew he'd probably cut off his right hand to get invited to such an event at his idol's home.

"Why not? You lasted a couple rounds with me, boytjie, so I figure that's good for at least a beer or two on the house, eh?"

"What d'you think, boss?" Tselios said, grinning stupidly and turning to Drake as if to ask permission.

There was hardly time to think. Drake was fairly desperate to change the subject; tiptoeing around the subject of Lorelei and Elysium were about as easy as navigating blindly through a minefield and just as dangerous. And with Tselios around, the last thing he wanted to do was give Kruger more ammunition to play with. "As long as we've got leave for that week," he said vaguely, quickly darting his eyes to Kruger, who betrayed absolutely none of his intentions. "That'll be next month, won't it?" Since taking his own command and starting his young family, Drake suddenly realized he'd stopped watching as much rugby as he used to; hardly had time for it anymore. Maybe the boss has a point about getting soft after all.

"Of course it is, Drakey. You've been to dozens of those. Did you take a mind-eraser along with that little hangover pill of yours?" admonished Kruger in a sing-songy voice that would have sounded absurd coming from anyone else.

Tselios laughed at that, and before Drake or Crowe could stop him, he opened his big mouth again. "Killer sense of humor and a killer in the ring, sir! I bet we'll be seeing you again in a couple days anyway, you know, that big shindig they're having up there. Considering all the extra security they wanted, surely they asked you too, eh?"

The glance Drake flicked at him might have melted through a blast shield door in the Griffins' Nest on the torus, but it went unnoticed by Tselios. Kruger, however, paid full attention to what had just been said, and he wore roughly the same expression as a hyena fixated on a crippled, dying gemsbok. The curiosity, and the single raised eyebrow, told, if not the whole story, enough for Drake to draw his own conclusions.

No, he didn't get an invitation…he might have been kept in the dark about the whole thing…and the quickest way to get the boss to do something is to tell him he can't, or it's off limits. Now he won't let it go until he sees it through.

"Maybe they did," Kruger said, briefly returning Drake's baleful stare and winking, "and maybe they didn't. I'm a popular guy, in great demand."

Oh fuck, he knows. Somehow, he knows. How could he possibly know?

Now, Drake was positively desperate to get Kruger off his ship so he could confer with his men, get them all on the same page, and collect his own racing thoughts. Tselios clearly had no idea what he had just done. He might have screwed them all, or else put Lorelei in even more danger. There was no telling. First things first.

"Listen, boss. I hate to cut this short, but," he said to Kruger, keeping his tone level and calm as he could, "we have to do our morning briefing, and this one's eyes only. Sorry to have to kick you out, eh?" He extended his hand for Kruger to shake. "Great to see you again, and I'll make every effort to see that we get up there in time for the kickoff party next month."

"You better. And bring some fucking Castle with you from home, none of that German kak like last time," Kruger said, returning the handshake with his customary, titanium implant-enhanced, bone-crushing grip. "Wouldn't want you to go," he paused and waggled one eyebrow mischievously, "all girly on me. You know?"

It was all Drake could do not to swallow the huge lump in his throat. The choice of that particular word had to be deliberate. Dammit if Kruger wasn't a cat toying with a helpless mouse before he finally killed the poor creature. But Drake was not helpless, and he certainly was no mouse. He'd find some way to keep the two of them apart, keep Kruger from preying on the kid in whatever twisted way he intended. Jesus, I'm actually protective of her now. Does that happen when you have kids of your own, or did I always have it in me? "Ja, I know," he finally said. "Wherever it is you and your new boys are going next, good luck." It sounded stupid and weak, but it was the best he had.

Kruger, after what seemed like an interminable pause, his black eyes boring into Drake's own blue ones, turned to go with a shrug. "See you around, you ugly tietkop," he called to Crowe over in the pilot box. The big man merely waved, as he was preoccupied with programming the ship. "As for you, kid," he addressed Tselios, "don't let your fucking dream die, eh? Keep practicing."

"I will, sir. Pleasure to finally talk to you face to face."

It took forever for Kruger to finally climb out the rear door of the Hind, but when he did and Drake guessed he was finally out of earshot, he exhaled deeply. Fifteen minutes with Kruger around could be like trying to survive in a locked room with a tiger. Even though the hangover cure had done its work, the cold dread that had taken its place was almost worse.

"Crowe, find my comlink, and for God's sake hurry up with that pre-flight. Tselios, boet, find me something to drink."

"Beer, boss?" the kid offered helpfully.

Drake shook his head adamantly and sprawled into his custom-made commander's chair, the one he'd paid extra for. "No, just some water. Jesus Christ, what a day," he muttered to himself, leaning back in the comfortable seat and closing his eyes.

A thousand thoughts were running through his mind; it was as if all the comm channels had been turned on and were blasting at full volume. The one which was loudest seemed to be KLOR: Drake's unmitigated concern for the girl's welfare. If Kruger got around her again, or if he knew about their secret communications, he and the girl both could be in deep trouble. That was why he just needed some time to think before the big party tonight.

Tselios, like a trained dog, brought over a chilled bottle of water from the onboard refrigerator and opened it. "Want us to stick around for our briefing, boss?" he asked hopefully, eager as always to have something to do.

"Yes…" As Drake spoke, he noticed the strangest thing. A note, one of those sticky yellow things, had been attached to one arm of his chair. What the fuck? Grabbing it, he immediately recognized the strong, heavy scrawl. He groaned and read it.

I made you a little present, Drakey. Call it a christening gift! Just press your holo to see it. By the way, your fucking chair will need a good cleaning.

It had been signed simply "C.M.K."

Drake debated whether he even wanted to see the "gift" Kruger had left him; his former boss had put him through enough this morning. Finally curiosity got the better of him, and, as if he were cutting a wire to an explosive device about to detonate, he clicked the Initiate button.

There was Kruger, in all his naked, toned glory, frolicking in a variety of insanely limber positions with the two Scandinavian twins from the previous night, the ones who had thrown their panties at him. At one point, he even spoke directly to the camera as the two girls writhed, squealed and sucked.

"Hey, look, Drakey. Not one, but two 'golden behinds,' eh?"

He sat there, stunned and feeling both sickened and strangely aroused. There was no telling how long he watched the X-rated antics, but when he finally looked up, both Crowe and Tselios were standing over him, both trying with all their might not to smile.

"On second thought, boys," Drake let out a long sigh and terminated the holo with an abrupt click, "I think I'll need a beer after all."

To Be Continued