Chapter 3
It was difficult, Yelena decided. More so then she anticipated. More so then she hoped for it to be.
Staying cloaked for an extended period of time. She hadn't done it for a while now, ever since her break from the Tyrants.
The thermoptic garments she used to wear, did more then just provide an exceptional level of armour. They were an integral part of her cloaking augmentation's projection array. They served as a matrix-surface for the light-bending effect. And without a thermoptic-mesh coverage of her body, without that matrix to provide a predictable pattern to cloak, the array had to compensate by drawing on a lot more power, to bend light to the same degree as before.
And she knew the cloaking effect was inferior, as well. She knew, that even while cloaked, she wasn't as stealthy, as she once were. The array was compensating, in more ways then one.
Hence why EM-based scopes could now detect her. That wasn't the case, before.
With an inward scowl, observing her bioenergy charge dropping to 61%, the woman dropped her cloak, as soon as she crossed the rest of the open field, and was now among the abandoned structures of the airfield.
She simply couldn't afford to treat it as a convenience, anymore. It had become a luxury.
She was designed, to spec. Painstakingly, meticulously, sculpted to perform optimally, under specific conditions. Now that those conditions have changed, and that she no longer had the Tyrants' near-limitless supplies, expert maintenance personnel, and no longer followed a structured itinerary...
The cracks were showing. Back then, she was almost a work of art. Sleek. Lethal. Efficient.
Yes, she was nothing but a tool, a weapon to them. But a weapon that was always maintained flawlessly. Now, two and a half months into her newly-acquired freedom, Yelena was just beginning to discover the price of it.
She had never had a chance to have all of her systems properly repaired and refurbished, after her duel with Jensen in Montreal. Yes, multiple visits to LIMB clinics and several surgeries, did bring her up to a semblance of full functionality, and she felt fine, medically... but the finely-honed technological edge, was gone. The degraded cloaking being just one example. Civilian-grade medical facilities like LIMB clinics, simply weren't up to the task, nor did they have the spare parts needed. They did a great job, within their limits, substituting several components, but that still left her... missing something. That fine-edge of efficiency she was used to, for many years. She used to be one, with her systems. Now... she made use of them, but they were separate from her inner self. Detached.
Then again... is it just the augments? Or is it also me? My perceptions? My attitude?
She couldn't help but wonder. Did her rediscovered humanity come inversely proportional, to her being one, with the machine? The term deus ex machina had been thrown around, since the dawn of human augmentation. And Humanity Front in particular, had always espoused that enhancement comes at a price of humanity.
To Yelena, that was always an entirely too shallow a perspective. She'd been there. Still was, arguably. And she knew that her loss of humanity had a lot more to do with mental conditioning and manipulation, as well as psychological effects, then any tech implanted into her body, or any bodyparts that got cut off and replaced.
But she couldn't deny, that her change in mindset, likely also had an effect on her level of integration, with her systems. She used to think, like a weapon. Now she was thinking like a person. More or less. Mentally shaking her head to herself, the woman decided that she'd simply have to strike a balance. Barring a long-term therapy with a skilled psychiatrist, she likely would never regain what she lost. The weapon, would always be a part of her. And even if she did – the thought didn't sit well with her. It felt like... like lying to herself! Like leaving behind a part of herself. Denying it, pretending it never happened.
There's so much talk about 'moving on', and 'putting it behind you'. How the hell do I 'put behind', seven years of my life, and half my body turned into a weapon? The conditioning? The rage? How do you move on, from that?! From what I've done, vhat I've seen done... It's all I have left. My revenge. And then, when it's done... if there is an afterlife, maybe I'll finally see my family again. Because I won't have any reason to keep going. Maybe I'll have peace in death.
Something her grandmother used to say, came to mind. How life was too short, to waste it in a blaze of anger. But as much as seeing the kindly woman's face, through the haze of her memories, was comforting, Yelena couldn't bring herself to apply the statement to her current situation. She was trying. But the world, refused to cooperate. The events following the Incident, just confirmed it. The world didn't run on idealism. It ran on ambition, ruthless pragmatism, and hidden interests and agendas. At the expense of everyone and everything else.
Putting it all out of her mind, she looked around an abandoned hangar she just entered. It looked pretty much like one would expect – dirty, some kerosene-fuel tanks in the corner, with a pair of hoses snaked around the floor. One propeller airplane squatting on... deflated tires, it looked like. From the dust-cover over everything, and lack of track marks anywhere, it was clear that nobody and nothing had entered or left this place, in a long time. She herself left fairly tiny footprints, thanks to her tiptoe-like augmetic feet. Still, old habits died hard, and looking down at a trail of small, dot-like imprints she was making, she couldn't help but vince.
But... nothing. Nothing suspicious, so far. She consulted her internal chronometer – nine minutes had passed. If Irwine's info was accurate, in four minutes, their contact was supposed to be landing.
But how?! How will they land, without a beacon to guide them in?
She wondered again, as she left the hangar, moving into a storage shed next to it. More of the same. A thick layer of dust was covering everything, with no sign that anyone had been in there, for at least a couple of years.
~"Yelena. We got incoming."~ - Irwine's soft tone manifested itself in her mind, via the Infolink.
"Report." - she whispered, resisting the urge to tense slightly. But she did step outside, taking cover beside the shed, eye on as much as the surroundings as she could see.
~"Two vehicles. A green sedan, and a black van following it. Coming in from the north. Looks like they'll be entering the airfield via the ruined gate up there."~
Belatedly, the woman realised that just because the meeting point was an abandoned airfield, that their contact didn't necessarily have to fly in. She scowled at herself.
"Durak!" - under her breath.
~"Excuse me?"~
"Not you, Irwine. Me. Danger of making assumptions. Get down here and find a closer place to set up. If they're coming from the north you'll be out of range down there at the treeline. I will try to get closer and see who we're dealing with." - she murmured.
Getting an acknowledgement, the link went dead.
Using the buildings and various abandoned vehicles on the field as cover, to cut down on her usage of cloak, the woman moved closer to the northern outskirts. Climbing up onto one of the auxilliary signal towers, she now had a pretty decent view of the northern gate-post, without being too close. As the man had said, it was ruined. Through her zoomed-in vision, she could see the remains of an automatic gate, and what looked like an inactive Buran22-type automated turret. She hadn't seen one of those for a long time, ever since her assignment to South Africa, three years ago. Once one of the mainstray export models, the Russian Federation usually sold those to impoverished countries, though they frequently found themselves on the black market, as well. She was surprised to see one here, in what was ostensibly once a private airstrip for some corporate entity. Those usually had enough money to afford more high-end models, like Buran4E, or even the plasma-firing Buran1X1 turrets.
Still, the fact that it was a 22, opened some interesting – possibilities. They were poorly shielded against microwave interference, and were it not for this dampening field, she would conceivably be able to interface and take control of it, via her wireless uplink trasceiver.
The small vehicle column came into view, driving down the dirt road towards the ruined gate. The sedan was fairly nondescreipt, aside from the Finnish license plates – no big surprise, that was probably where they came from - but the black van behind it, caught her attention. More specifically, the jammer dish on top, spinning slowly in a circle.
I knew it. Dampening field! Probably one of the early 2020's Zhira-grade EW units, if it can be retrofitted inside that van. Not enough radius to reach the city, and give the game away to the authorities, but enough to blanket the countryside within 30-so kilometers. But why... ? If it's just a meet-and-greet they're here for, why all the enforced secrecy? Unless they're expecting scrutiny...
"Irwine, the van is the source of the dampening effect." - she murmured softly.
No response came, aside from a burst of static, that made her grimace. Of course. This close to the source, the field was stronger. Ever her Infolink signal's frequency was affected.
As she watched, the column pulled to a halt – just past the perimeter of the gate. The sedan in front activated it's headlights. On-off-on... pause... on-off... pause... on-off-on-off-on... the seemingly random pattern continued for the next minute or so, as the woman frowned. Something about it was familiar...
Morse code!
It suddenly clicked. She was fairly rusty, but Morse was one of the code-languages she was made to learn, during her service with the Tyrants. Frowning harder, she tried to piece it together... as it seemed to be on a loop.
"Janus... sees... you. Come... forward... find... new... purpose. We... have... common... goals... Black... Mantis." - she mouthed soundlessly.
The last two words, made Yelena Fedorova's face turn pale. Black Mantis?!
They know my kill-phrase... HOW?!
A drop of cold sweat suddenly sliding down her temple. The kill-phrase, was perhaps the most closely-guarded secret, each member of the Tyrants was in posession of. Even the late Jaron Namir, in command of them, was never privy to their individual phrases. Aside from his own, she assumed. Nobody was, but each individual operative, and... their ultimate masters. They were the ultimate failsafe, that the Illuminati built-into the CPU architecture of each Tyrant operative, a way to shut them down forcibly, make them self-destruct, should they slip their leash, on a verbal command.
Like she had. One of the principal reasons, why she was so careful to keep a low profile lately. And now this group of... ostensibly allied, officially terrorist... hackers, was privy to it. They could kill her with a pair of words, spoken aloud!
And these... were the allies, Irwine promised them to be?! Did he, in fact, lead her into a trap? Or was he as much in the dark, as she was...
Stop making assumptions!
Yelena reminded herself. One of her character flaws, this one long before she was twisted, by her former masters. She had a tendency to do that, more then was healthy for her, or those around her. Make assumptions, and jump to conclusions.
He had NEVER given her reason to doubt his sincerity. And she was a good judge of character. A part of what made her such an effective assassin, was that fact. She took a deep breath, as she observed two individuals, a male and a female, step out of the sedan in front, while a third, somewhat shorter one, stepped out of the back seat. They took a few steps forward, then just stood there... not making any attempt at going deeper past the gate.
Waiting. All three of them seemingly unarmed. But given the circumstances, that didn't mean much.
She nodded to herself. They knew she was here. They knew how to kill her, but they didn't come, to kill her. If they had, she imagined they'd find a more subtle way to introduce her to the kill-phrase. Out loud. Not blink it via Morse code, where it wouldn't do anything to her, but alert her to the fact they had it. At this range, even a high-powered megaphone speaker would do the trick, for her audio pickups to register it, and initiate self-destruct protocol. She could respect their frankness.
They laid their cards on the table, they made her aware of how much information they had... and now it was her turn to do the same. Schooling her expression into a poker-face, she climbed back down, and set off towards them. True, she could just back away from the meeting, and she certainly had the jump on these three, to kill them easily. But that wouldn't give her the answers, and it would earn her a a lifetime, likely a short one, of looking over her shoulder, until that phrase ended her, when she would least expect it.
Janus had her over a barrel. Simple as that. Information was power, and for the time being, she was lacking it, compared to the other side. Fedorova could count on 1 hand, and have fingers left, the number of people who ever managed to do that to her. That alone, earned the individual her respect. But also an undertone of anger.
The trio observed the tall, statuesque, dark-blonde augmented female approach. The two individuals in front, remained poker-faced themselves. One, a middle-aged graying man with a receding hairline, and some circuitry on his face, indicative of augmentations. The other, a rather short, portly woman with a pair of spectacles, in her early forties, with a mane of unkempt, short red hair.
The third individual, another woman, barely out of her teens, with a bionetic eye and a dataport installed to her temple, which screamed 'professional hacker', had an entirely different expression on her own face. A mask of barely restrained fury, eyes narrowed, looking at the approaching spindly figure.
"You sure we need her? I could just... accidentally, like... mention the phrase." - she growled through her teeth. The look of hatred in those eyes, spoke volumes.
"We went over this, Jamella." - the man replied, patiently. He carried a slight Scottish accent.
"What happened to your brother aboard the Icarus, was a tragedy. But we can't get hung up on the past, if we're to-" - but the younger woman's hiss interrupted him.
"She killed him! It was her! Strangled him, while looking him in the eyes. Smiling. After they got through with him, left him a damn broken husk, after the interrogation... I saw it all, through his eyes. I was plugged-in, remember?! She... she enjoyed it. I could tell..." - the young woman's voice broke slightly, but her fury remained in her eyes.
"I know." - the man's tone hardened. "We've all lost someone. You. Myself. Tiffany here..." - motioning at the spectacled woman, "...even her." - nodding at the approaching figure.
"And we do need her, miss Couture. We need her expertise, her knowledge of her former masters, and her abilities. Perhaps by helping us, she can begin to atone for what she-" - the spectacled woman added adamantly, but was cut off again, more viciously.
"I DON'T want her to atone! I want her to PAY, for what she did, god damn it! I wanna choke the life out of that murdering bitch, like she did to him!" - the young woman snapped, more loudly then perhaps intended.
"So do it. I'm right here." - an accented voice came. The young hacker turned her attention towards the source – the statuesque woman, now standing half a dozen paces away. There was no challenge in that voice, just resignation mixed with regret.
"WHY?! WHY DID YOU KILL HIM, YOU FUCKING BITCH?! Give me ONE REASON why I shouldn't use that phrase right now! And I don't GIVE A SHIT, what you can do for us! You did it! YOU KILLED PATRICK!" - she yelled, taking a step forward, before either of the others could say anything. The older man restrained her with a hand on her shoulder.
"I was ordered to. Once it was determined he had outlived his usefulness." - Yelena said simply, meeting that gaze.
"And you... you ENJOYED it, didn't you? Don't bother denying it... I... I SAW IT! You... you- Black Ma-"
"STOP-!" - the man's voice thundered, interrupting, before she could finish the phrase. He put his wide palm over her mouth, forcefully preventing her from finishing it. She struggled, trying to speak through it.
"Just let her say it... At least she will have more closure then I found, so far. And in a way, she'll be doing me a favour." - Yelena shook her head, sadly. She couldn't meet the younger woman's hateful gaze. Yet she knew she deserved it.
Couture... Patrick Couture. Juggernaut Collective-affiliated turncoat hacker, code-named D-Bar. He allowed us to get close to Taggart, back then... but was deemed unreliable, long-term. She... she must have been plugged into his Infolink, while he was undergoing... interrogation, aboard the Icarus. And she must have seen it...
"Shut up, Fedorova." - the older man growled adamantly, with a glare. For a moment, she thought she heard his Scottish accent breaking-up... was he faking it? The way he said her last name... with a hard 'r'. No native English speaker ever did so.
"This isn't about anyone's closure. Or pursuing retribution. It's about pooling our resources for the sake of mankind's future! We've all lost enough to those scheming sociopaths, without pointless interpersonal vendettas!"
Yelena didn't say anything, still not able to meet the young woman's furious gaze, as she continued to struggle, shouting through the palm on her mouth. But she understood fully, where she was coming from. Deeply.
"Jamella? Jamella?!" - she heard him address the young woman, insistently, yet gently.
"I am going to let go now. Alright? But you will NOT, speak the phrase. Alright?! Please. It won't bring your brother back. It WON'T. And it will deny us a means of making his death count for something. You know it, and I know it. Alright?!" - he slowly removed the palm.
Yelena waited for the phrase to be spoken as she closed her eyes, resigning herself to sudden death... but it didn't come. Somehow, that shamed her, even more.
You're a better person then me, Jamella Couture.
She opened her eyes again, finally meeting that murder-glare... as a glob of spittle spattered across her cheek.
"Just... stay the HELL away from me, you murdering bitch. I mean it. Or you'll die. Slowly. Slower then he did." - the young hacker snarled, stomping off, back into the car, before she slammed the door shut.
For a long, uncomfortable moment, nobody spoke, as Yelena slowly wiped her face. Finally, the spectacled woman broke the silence, hesitantly, even as from behind, she could hear footsteps. Irwine was here.
"Ah... allow me to introduce myself. Tiffany Savage. Umm... sorry for th-" - as Yelena's hand shot up.
"Don't, miss Savage. Please don't apologise for her. It makes it worse." - adamantly. "It's not needed, and it insults her brother's memory. She should've killed me. I deserve it. A thousand times over. And if it were me in her place..." - the tall woman didn't finish the sentence, looking down.
"My point exactly, Yelena Fedorova. If you let your past consume you, they win by default. And a quest for vengeance is a poor substitute for justice." - the man's tone was hard, yet sympathetic.
"What else do I have left?" - she countered, softly. But that hard 'r' was still there. Why was he faking an accent?
"Hopefully by the time you hear us out, you may arrive at an answer to that question. My name is Quinn. Now... not to put too fine a point on it, but we should make ourselves scarce. Even with the dampening field in place, we won't be left alone for much longer." - he motioned her and Irwine, towards the van.
She followed, while Irwine's whisper sounded in her ear.
"Should I ask?" - pointedly.
She sighed, reaching up to fondle the pendant around her neck. A single tear slid down her cheek.
"Please don't. Not if you... want to keep believing I'm not a monster."
The man scowled.
"You know, maybe you should try taking his advice. About your past not consuming you, Yelena?"
She didn't answer, stepping into the van.
Easier said then done.