Chapter Four
"Instantaneous methods. Blade." - a monotone male voice stated, from a wide screen, displaying a static-laced facial structure. It wasn't a question.
Yelena Fedorova was seated in the darkened chamber's lone chair, a pair of neural-scan goggles on her face.
Throat, front, through to second vertebrae. Between second and third rib, left side. Temple.
She thought, reactively, her expression blank. A small light on the sensor-display next to the screen, blinked.
"Delay. Point oh-three seconds." - the monotone replied.
"Assessment?" - she inquired.
"Instinctive. No ambiguity."
"Instantaneous methods. Firearm." - the monotone coontinued.
"Conditional. Type of firearm, type of round, tissue sectional density." - she countered out-loud, dispassionately.
"Confirmed." - the monotone replied - "How many people have you killed?"
Irrelevant.
But her expression twitched, briefly. The light on the sensor, blinked twice.
"Correlation?" - she asked.
"Ambiguous. Retinal dilation detected. Heartbeat elevated by one-point-three percent. Possibility of emotional response." - the tone replied, then continued:
"Scenario: Complete the objective, at the expense of your life, or fail, and save yourself."
"Conditional. Provide specific factors to affect my decision." - she demanded, instantly.
The light on the sensor blinked repeatedly.
"Anomalous response compared to anticipated pattern." - the voice replied.
"Conclusion?" - she asked, carefully suppressing her annoyance.
"Enhanced conditioning, evidence of self enforced de-conditioning. Your mental patterns are in a state of flux." - the voice replied.
"Severity?" - Yelena asked, coldly. Her gaze took on a detached aspect. As if she was gazing through the static-laced screen, and the face on it. Slipping into a well-remembered compartmentalisation pattern...
"Undetermined at present. More data required. Scenario: You and individual 'Irwine' are captured and subjected to enhanced interrogation. The information you both hold, is crucial to the security of the Collective. Should either of you break, the entire operation would be compromised. Response?" - the tone continued.
Kill Irwine, then kill myself, if opportunity allows. Prevent any possibility of security breach.
The sensor's light blinked, once.
"Assessment?" - she spoke.
"Your decision matches the anticipated pattern." - the tone replied. This elicited just a barest, near-microscopic smirk, out of the woman, as her gaze refocused inward.
She reached up to press the pause button, on the goggles.
"Satisfied?" - she addressed the blank wall to her right, "Or do you want me to humiliate your little AI-profiling program some more?"
~"What do you mean?"~ - Quinn's voice came from the intercom.
"That last? A straight, direct lie." - Yelena purred, sweetly.
~"Uh, not according to the readings. Your brainwave patterns indicated-"~ - he started, before she cut him off.
"...what I wanted them to indicate. I can segment my thoughts. AI-brain scanners, CASIE implants, polygraphs, reaction profiling... it's all the same to me. Won't work on me, unless I allow it to work. But for what it's worth, I was honest with the first three responses." - coldly.
The door at the back of the room opened, and Quinn stepped in, looking exasperated.
"You're not making this easy, Fedorova. The fact is, we need a baseline template, to determine whether or not you're likely to compromise us, in the future. And since you lied at the last query, we really don't know what would happen, if you were ever entrusted with sensitive information, during assignments."
The two stepped outside the chamber, walking down the hall. The woman could feel eyes upon her, from the working staff and various other Collective associates. When they first arrived, she also spotted a few obviously military types. At a guess, she assumed they were just over, or near the Finland border. No way to know for certain, since the entire outpost seemed to be shielded from either GPS, GLONASS, or T-LINK network. She couldn't uplink to get a precise location. These people took their secrecy seriously. In a way, it reassured her, that she wasn't dealing with amateurs.
"No you don't, do you?" - she replied - "Just like I don't know what you will do, with my kill-phrase, down the line. I told Irwine when he first approached me with this – I will not be leashed to another master. And as long as Janus is hanging those two words over my head, I don't see how I can trust you with much of anything. If we work together, we work together as equals, or not at all." - her thick accent only making the words more sharp and determined-sounding.
"You haven't proven yourself to us yet, though. The assignment briefing will be sensitive, you will be privy to important information and we need certain guarantees in advance." - Quinn countered, his exasperation escalating slightly... at the same time as his Scottish-like accent seemed to falter, some more. Still not – quite – enough for her to figure out what lay beneath... but closer.
"Such as? I have already told you, en route, that I have no remaining connections with the Tyrants. And given Namir's demise, I doubt the organisation has any power left." - she pointed out.
They turned a corner, entering a small mess-area. Quinn made a beeline for the bar.
"You'd be surprised..." - the man murmured, off handedly, but continued, before she could interject, "But those aren't the connections we're concerned about. Janus was quite thorough in back-checking that part, and you passed. What concerns us, are your friends, in the Sankt Peterburg chapter of Bratva. We both know that your stay in that city, unnoticed, came at a price. And the mob isn't in the habit of letting debts slide."
Yelena's face twisted into a derisive expression.
"Are you serious? You think I have any interest in providing them, with intel? They're scum. And definitely not my friends. My relationship with them is strictly business. They were useful in providing me with certain things I needed, and keeping the law away, and in return I took care of a few loose ends for them. That is as far as it goes. And why should I? They can't get me what I really want, and would sell me out in a moment, if they knew who I really am."
Quinn studied her.
"In other words, you think you can just up and leave, so long and good riddance? And they won't take exception to that?"
"Orange juice." - she motioned to the bartender, who nodded, before she turned back to the man.
"Yes. I will of course want to gather my things from the apartment, but I see no reason I can't just disappear. They don't have the resources to track me beyond the border."
The man shook his head.
"That's the problem. We do not want you to seal off that avenue of information. Scum or not, they know a great deal about what goes on behind the scenes, and they very likely have business dealings with our enemies. You do realise that the Tyrants' assignment to take out Kontarsky, was part of a greater initiative, to purge the Russian government of our sympathisers? Ever since his death, we didn't have a reliable source, within the Russian government. We'd like you to help us cultivate a new one."
Yelena nodded, slowly... she could see where he was going with this.
"And you think my... association... with Bratva, will lead me to someone interested to take on the job? Like I said – there isn't much association to speak of. I did a few... minor-ish... jobs, they got me a few supplies. That's as far as it went. I never even got to meet the boss of the Sankt Peterburg chapter. Not personally. All my contact was done through intermediaries."
Quinn waved his hand slightly.
"That is something we'll take care of. Bump up your... pedigree... to make you attractive for contract work at the highest levels. And before you say it – no, it will not attract attention from your former masters. We can do a flash-wipe of your augment firmware, as well as remove the kill-phrase alghorythm." - he winked at her.
Yelena couldn't resist rolling her eyes, as the glass of juice was deposited in front of her. So that was the sales-pitch. But it was so much reflexive reaction... she had a feeling their knowledge of the kill-phrase was something they'd use to entice her. And as far as enticements went... it was a powerful one.
True freedom...
"How?" - she demanded under her breath, suspiciously, "I was told that the phrase was hardcoded into my systems CPU."
"It is." - the man nodded.
"But the Collective has many talented hackers and computer engineers in it's ranks. There is a reason they managed to decrypt the phrase in the first place. And there's also a reason we're making you this deal. We have the means to do it." - he assured her.
The woman studied him for a long moment.
"You realise that without the phrase, there's nothing stopping me from disappearing. Why do you trust me?" - she asked, quietly.
"Personally? I don't. I think you're damaged goods, Fedorova. Too jaded to let go, too vengeful to forgive. And too stubborn to forget." - Quinn's frankness got him a raised eyebrow from the woman, "...but Janus is the one making you this offer. And as the one in charge, it's Janus's call."
Yelena noticed the lack of pronoun-use, from the man. They were being VERY careful, not to give even a hint of who or what Janus was.
"Not intended as an insult. Simply put, the amount of psychological trauma and conditioning that was imposed on you, is too much for any mind to break through. And I won't insult you by offering my condolences or pity. But," - he continued, fixing her with an evaluative gaze...
"I read the intel summary on you. You are one hell of an operative. Not the only one we've... recruited... recently, but certainly in the top three. And in some ways, for certain types of assignments – the best. We need you, and we are prepared to offer you a lot. Resources, contacts, mobility, anonymity... You have no good reason to disappear on us." - before his glance fell to the pendant around the woman's neck.
"And if it's absolution you're looking for... you may even find it, working with us." - he finished, crossing his arms, his eyes never leaving hers.
Yelena was impressed, in spite of herself. She favoured the man with a slight smile.
"I like you, Quinn. Let's see where this leads us. But tell me one thing – who are you, really? Behind that fake Scottish accent?" - very quietly, taking another sip of her juice.
She was satisfied to see a momentary frown, passing over his face.
"How did you know?" - he demanded, just as quietly.
The tall woman drained the rest of the glass, setting it back down on the bar. She smirked, tussling a strand of dark-blonde hair from her left eye.
"Trade secrets, old man. So, when do I get my briefing?" - she asked.
Now it was Quinn's turn to smirk.
"You're a real piece of work, Fedorova. Do me a favour, and keep that little fact between us. It serves a purpose for most around here, to see me for who I appear to be." - pointedly not answering her question, on who he really was.
"Sure. For now." - her smirk turned mischievous, for a split second. Her gaze turned challenging, conveying how much she enjoyed this little verbal sparring and secrets-denial, between them.
"Good girl. This way." - he intoned glibly, motioning her to follow. Yelena resisted the urge to 'accidentally' trip him up.
M-hm. I like this guy.
The briefing was straightforward enough. She was to head back for Sankt Peterburg tonight, and meet up with her Bratva minders. According to Janus, they would already be expecting her, given the... altered... credentials and invented prior associations, that she was supposed to have, and that the local boss would be receiving, via encrypted mail, ostensibly from one of his business associates in Cape Town.
Seyad Morumba... that is a name I haven't heard in a long time. Not since I killed him three years ago. Never found out who did... they... put in his place, though.
She thought, remembering her assignment to South Africa. The Juggernaut Collective had certainly done their homework. Setting her up as Morumba's associate was certainly feasible, since the terrorist leader's death wasn't widely publicised back then, and his organisation had a vested interest in keeping it that way.
Terrorist leader.
Yelena scowled to herself. Losing the old way of thinking was an ongoing process. The man was a freedom-fighter, if anything, during his tenure as South African minister of defence. Who made a mistake of crossing the wrong people, with the wrong connections. Him and his clan. His family. Given the choice today...
Lots of choices I'd make differently. Lots of orders I wouldn't follow. No point agonising over it. Put it aside, Yelena!
She reminded herself, adamantly. Giving those thoughts, and those memories, any leeway, was threatening to send her into a tailspin of regret and self-recrimination. She already had enough of them to deal with. Whether she liked it or not, her mental conditioning and compartmentalisation, was coming useful, in more ways then one.
The woman resisted the urge to fondle her pendant, as she stepped into the compound's augmentations lab. In addition to briefing her, Quinn had authorised her to requisition a few things, and undergo a thorough maintenance session. Including, according to him, actual thermoptic armour!
She looked around. As far as augmentation facilities went, the place was certainly better equipped then an average LIMB clinic. Seeing no-one immediately nearby, Yelena took a moment to look at the various pieces of augmetic tech on display. She recognised a Triton-22 cybertronic arm, one of the last models manufactured by N-ProTec before their acquisition by Tai Yong. On another shelf, a pair of MagScope 4C occular implants could be seen. She frowned.
Didn't Hardesty have one of those? Or was his a 3C... ?
She shook her head at the errant thought. Moving on, she came across something quite a bit more familiar. A 1S-11B cybernetic leg. At the sight of it, the woman's face lit up.
I can't believe it! An actual one-s-eleven... revision B, no less.
She glanced down at her venerable pair of 11A's. Even after the severe damage in Montreal, and subsequent partial repairs, her legs had served her well, for the past two and a half months. But they were definitely not performing optimally anymore. The microhydraulics damage was cumulative, the material-fatigue was nearing it's limit, she knew they tended to leak mineral oil, on occassion, and no amount of repairs would cut it. They were worn out. A part of her, for the past three years, she was scheduled to receive the B's sometime next year, as she recalled her maintenance spreadsheet, back at the Ranch. Obviously, that was never going to happen...
...until now.
"Yep. There's another one of those, back in storage! Consider them a welcome-aboard present. Ol' Quinn mentioned you'd be stoppin' by." - a male voice intoned from off to the side, with a distinctly Southern US drawl, that vaguely reminded her of Barrett. Vaguely.
She turned to face the tech, a smiling, middle-aged, swarthy-looking bald man in a green medic's smock over what looked like a wool sweater and worn-out grey jeans.
From his short and stocky, but strong build, and general body-language, the woman immediately guessed that he hadn't always been a tech. She recognised an ex-soldier when she saw one. Well past his prime, if the sizable beer-gut was anything to go by... but his movements, the way he held his hands, the way he gave her an evaluative once-over... as she had just done in return, regarding him... there was no mistaking it.
"Tell Quinn thanks. This is definitely more of a... welcome aboard present... then I expected!" - she smiled back, certainly meaning it, "...a one-s-eleven is a very expensive piece of hardware! Two of them – I won't even ask how you got your hands on them, but I am curious – why? Why so generous?" - frowning.
"Careful there, lady! One might think you're lookin' a gift horse in the mouth... but you'll have to ask Quinn. I just do the fixin' around here!" - he laughed. Yelena nodded...
I think I will... he didn't mention anything about a new set of legs. And this is VERY generous, indeed.
"Well... me, and the ol' Auto-Doc back in the surgical bay." - he amended, "Speakin' of which – anything I need to know about in advance, before we get crackin'? Nu-poz allergic reactions, prior rejections, autoimmune complications? We don't have your chart, you understand... heh. Imagine that! All these hackers around, and they couldn't pull that down. Instead they pulled down that kill-word or whatever..."
"You know about it?" - Yelena asked, a bit... casually. The more she watched him... the more she got a distinct impression his cheerful demeanour was a bit – forced.
"I mean, it's a small base... word gets around, ya know?" - he grinned, but his eyes suddenly turned – wary.
Not much of an actor...
"Yes? Then you don't mind if I check in with mister Quinn? Just to be sure?" - the woman suggested, keeping her casual tone, which seemed to come naturally with her taking a step in the direction of an intercom on the wall.
"Na-ah, lady. That ain't how this works." - the man growled, suddenly losing his grin, as his entire demeanour collapsed, and a silenced Zenith suddenly appeared in his hand, from somewhere beneath his smock. The laser-sight dancing across her chest.
Yelena Fedorova went very still. Her eyes narrowing, as she lowered herself slightly, on the haunches of her cybernetic legs. Her reflex-booster implant sending an elevated surge of bioelectricity into the servomotors, as her retinal HUD went into tactical-mode. A wire-frame display of vectors and distance-calculations superimposed itself, filling the virtual space between her and the threat, giving her a real-time tactical analysis.
"Three and a half metres. One and a half second. You'll only get one accurate shot, mister. Make it count." - she growled, softly.
"Will I... Black Rantos?" - he countered. The speed with which he rattled-out the two words at the end... while remaining intelligible...
...a drop of cold sweat slid slowly down Yelena's temple. Six letters. Simple substitution. It took him less then half a second. Even on her BEST day... she wasn't that fast. The pistol in his hand, was the least of her problems.
"What are you waiting for?" - she asked. Her face blank.
"Cooperation." - he smiled again, taking a step back. Giving himself that much more buffer to react.
"You see, Red... you might be thinkin' you slipped the net. But honestly? After all you've seen and done? Did you really think there's anywhere in this world, where their hand won't reach you?"
A mole. They've been compromised! Blin...
"You didn't answer my question." - the woman snapped, out loud. Dark eyes unblinking on the man.
His self-satisfied smiled widened.
"Witnesses, Commander. Plausible deniability. And keepin' my cover. You should know that better 'an most. Rubbin' you out here would do the job – but also hang me out to dry. And I happen to like livin'. Got a family to feed, ya know."
"Thank you for that piece of information." - the woman hissed darkly.
"Oh yeah... yeah! Miss vendetta, right there. You don't take no prisoners. I mean hell – not like I blame ya. If that Israeli son of a bitch did that to my folks, I'd wanna ice his family too! Eye for an eye and all that. All good. Thing is... this ain't personal. Just business. Now step into the surgery chamber. Very nice and slow, eh?"
"Why?"
"Cause I SAID SO, ruskie skank! Black Xantes!" - he barked.
Not blinking even once, Yelena backed up, towards the surgery chamber. Slowly, fluidly. Her tactical-display working overtime, with updated projections, variables and distance-correlation-analyses. Also taking stock of any throwable objects, within easy reach. Looking for any, any opportunity to act, that wouldn't statistically result in her death. Coupled with her long years of fighting expertise, and finely-honed killer instinct. She would've settled for an above-fifty percentage chance. But it was so much useless exercise. The man knew exactly who he was dealing with. And he had the ultimate cheat-code, at his lips.
The gun, was for show. Her flak vest and subdermal armour implants would stop a 10mm bullet, with little difficulty. Her reflex-booster could conceivably allow her to twitch her head, out of the way of one. But no system she was equipped with, no skill she possessed, woudd save her, from those two fateful words.
She had no choice but to obey.