| 2 |
[ Who are you…? ]
Casnar notices the ping to his omni-tool and opens the Fast-Display, reads the message, notes it comes from not the Nurinata Museum of Technology, though his donation and the false name are attached with his email address.
"Interesting…" He knows he shouldn't, it would give away the surprise, but he can't resist…
After all, it's a loaded question.
[ Who are you. ]
His reply is the same, he understands whoever has contacted him needs to reveal themselves first.
[ A friend of a friend your donation has reached…Due diligence, that's who I am. ]
[ Well Due Diligence, ] he types back, [ …I was friend of your friend once too. ]
Casnar closes the display and turns back to prepping for his evening ahead on the morrow, but hears another ping and raises an eyeridge, turning his face to look down at the omni-tool.
[ Are you coming to the event at the Nurinata? Can I expect to meet you in person? ]
Intrigued, he writes back:
[ Eager to meet me? You worried something bad might happen tomorrow evening? ]
[ Always worried…My job. ]
He softens his brow scales at the honesty in the answer.
[ Just coming to take what belongs to me, or to find it through he who knows of it and where it's been…Ask your friend, Erec. ]
[ What are you looking for? May I help? ]
So helpful already…He smiles and chuckling, replies:
[ Stay out of my way, that's how you may help. ]
He closes the display again.
Another ping.
[ What do you mean? ]
That, he does not answer.
#
The stars were never brighter. The darkness in between never starker. It was cold, but not enough for her to mind…
Floating in a carefree pinwheel, between the great ribs that had once supported glass as thick as armor, her gray weave charred to blackened flesh, she was left floating with tendrils of hair streaming out, a starfish from her head. Her eyes were open, unseeing, one eye half-lidded and frozen so badly the pupil was obscured…The other slightly wider, black lashes crusted with ice…A trail of frozen liquid gathered around the eyelid, and the end of its frozen path had broken away, but floated not far from her pallid face, rigid in final grimace, met before death could be complete, forgiving of a life not lived…
A pale circle of light lands on her features and passes…Again it returns, sliding up the upside-down torso from a limb—her leg, boot missing, toes frozen as though curled in rapture…or agony.
A high-pitched ping and beep, scratchy, static murmurs fading from her mind, Braith sits erect in her bed, eyes slowly adjusting to her apartment, a bedroom in Lothairaxl…She finally sees through the mists of her nightmare to the wall at the end of her bed, stands, and goes to shower off the adrenaline coursing through her veins and arteries.
A few minutes later, she has memories yet of seeing herself dead and brittle, left to be found in that station after everything done, and some of the things one imagines when she is brought back to life feel so real…Either these are premonitions, or actually happened in that life…
Pulling out her wine and medication, she takes the pills sent to her by her doctor, swallows two, drinks the wine, and goes back to bed for a few more hours…
She sleeps fitfully in the cold but warm room, weeping with fury into her pillows…
To be brought back…for what?
#
A sun. A bright golden sun, a glowing orb of fire, and beside it, beneath it, a wide flower with a terribly large bud…Its seeds are blood brown, thin white petals twisting and bending upward in flames, round an open blood-red center.
Blue open skies, shooting fast over white desert and dune, over bluish-purple waters, silver lamsray fleeing the breach of the bered's tentacles…
Hot sunlight bending one's brow scales as he walks through the sands, towards the city with its towers and green-gold banners in the distance…
Soft tebral folds between his fingers…
Cool mornings, hot nights in the hara, his tebris lifted, his member engorged, wet and plunging…
The call of their chitterings…The rumble of beren tympanums…Thunder of drums at the gathering…
Umay, coated in blood, standing before the Craig's gov'annon, the seer smiling with the torturer…
Darkness falls…
He falls to the ground, "…Erec Brünner, you lied to them!"
"Said what they wanted to hear, Casnar…Thanks for the gift," airlock closes, screams, running into the wake of harsh, blowing sand, and heat like a screen in his face…
"We are starting," his father looks to him, "…Casnar, keep your mouth shut…I will do what I can to ease the weight of your punishment, but I can't prevent the lashing…"
"Papua…" A child's voice…His…
"…Public flogging…"
"You will live through this, Brother," Tetonbaum, "…I have suffered worse—"
"…Ten lashes, caton now!"
His body is stretched, arms pulled to the point he is fighting to keep his joints together, "…She loved me…"
He screams…The white posts quiver, the beautiful di'leans walk apart…
The claws bite, leave their marks over each other, leaking fire blood onto a white sand, "…Sweet Kala…"
"Caratoda…"
"For no Tyrannus may choose to hold himself above the law of his tower, no matter his name tied to emperor Sousan…"
"You have brought dishonor to us, your clan, our name…" She slaps him, "…How dare you come back here without it!"
"…Let this be a reminder, all deserve such punishment who fail in their duty to uphold the family honor…Leave here, and do not come back unless you have it…"
"It was meant for the city, she was one of a kind, you lost it all…"
"He stole it! I'll get it back!"
"Mamua…"
"You failed, you failed?"
"Thanks be to our government!" The crowd roars, the caton strikes the next breath from his lungs, "…Thanks be to the towers, to the Terje!"
He shouts, a yelp more or less, and the lights come on in the penthouse. Casnar runs to the bathroom and checks his back for blood, seeing nothing but his muscle laced with scars.
He bends over the sink and pulls in a shaking breath, "…I'll kill him, I will…And I'll bring it back, I promise," he says to no one…Grabbing a basket of soaps, he throws it against the floor.
#
"No, wait!—please!" His gray yellow hands hit and slip against the corroded bars of metal, finally latching onto the black rails perpendicular to his cell floor. The rusted bars, tinged with crystallized lumps of salt, brittle shells that have grown from pores along their hold, bite into his tough pads of palms and fingers as he stops his body from being prodded farther back into the dark chamber, echoing with the scrabble of other prisoners, murmuring at his sudden entrance into their solitude, their abyss.
Ylyssus Tan'nanshul stares through their bars with ever-widening jade-tiger eyes, his robes ripped at the sleeves, "…I was told to do it—There's been a grave misunderstanding—" His reach is thwarted by the narrowness of the bars that block his thick, muscled forearm of green, yellow, and gray skin moving through for the departing sleeve of his imprisoner, and his fingers grab the bars again as tebral skin floats open and closed with the anxiety of his newfound consequences, "…I'm a brother! You can't lock me away in here! I've followed my orders!" he growls.
Two black shadows stoop over the top of the staircase leading down to the cell bars, from a doorway made of stone and wood, the light of freedom just beyond their dark, up-flipped pauldrons over thick capes hung from one shoulder each, "…It's the end of your services to Merce'des, Tan'nanshul," one of them says with a lilt to his basso voice, "…You'll be done with it all in the morning…One night in the pit, you know they'll have decided where to sell your labor-worth by the fall of evening. Come now," he laughs, "…Merce'des only makes you wait for the resources to take you off the Isle…Not like you know old Aunar Bri'unosa to have hung round long before he was freed offworld," now both shadows chuckle, nudging and glancing profiles to one and other, "…You're done here with the Isle, Tan'nanshul…Tomorrow you will be delivered to a new life of Serepta servitude, as you ought to have been from the start." The door hinges shriek.
"I am the son of a Kiross!" he shouts up at them, "…You tell them this is a waste of my skills!"
"Then so it will be put to usage by your new masters, whomever they will be," the door closes and grates locked.
He lets go of the bars and turns to face his new cellmates.
"You said you're the son of a Kiross," someone hisses through a spoiled throat. The smell of sewage affects the chamber, and salt makes it almost unbearable.
"I am the son of Cuillean and Melanchtha Kiross," he replies to those in there, craning forward to touch his torn sleeves.
"They were faithful," another voice whispers, coughs and snivels, "…He will be not an exile…" The murmurings and fingers increase, tugging at him until he shoves them away, his blood curdling at the touch of his body beneath the clothes he wears by cold and clamping hands.
"You are the son of killers who once hunted for vengeance, hunted for blood," another voice whines, shrilly in the cold air, "…Not a wonder you are here, curious why so long they kept you free…"
"I did everything a brother of the cloth should be told to do! I have been placed in here for no other reason than a plot against me!"
The others laugh and chortle in their sickened health, "…You are no different from the rest of us," one mutters.
Sensing sudden movement, Ylyssus counters the arm that bears a shiv towards his crests and blocks the weight of his assailant, kicking him off and tying up the bottom of his sleeve into a knot, ripping it off his vestment, letting it soak in water on the floor of rock pools…The assailant struggles up, comes at him again, others pushing away from them.
Lifting the knotted sleeve, Ylyssus flails it, hearing the air cut with the heavy wet knot, and wrapping it round the other's skull with a loud, hard slap. He heaves then and brings the assailant through the air, onto the rock under his knee, and snarls, "…Death and peace to you, Astan! Your time hunting me is ended!"
"My death will not bring the last of us to pause in our pursuit of your eradication, Ylyssus Tan'nanshul of Kiross."
"I will break your crux with my judgement then, come heaven to you or hell," he stamps and wrenches his body right, the issuing crack of spine echoing throughout the cells, and bouncing off rocks and puddles of water, cowing the rest away from him.
He drops his grip on the sleeve and rolls the body aside before he sits against the bars, his back to the stairs, his task accomplished…Ringing the shiv against the bars with his fist, he summons the th'anes from above to return.
"The hunter is dead, there will be no more killings…He wanted me, as you said," Ylyssus calls as the door grinds open with shrill hinges, and looking up at the daylight, he sees them come to let him out.
"Go back to those soft skins, Brother Tan'nanshul," the drell with wavy crests and broadest shoulders outlined in the light murmurs to him, as he helps him to stand, "…Well acted, there will be fresh robes for you up above. We'll take care of this infidel's body."
"Your welcome, Brother Soterios," Ylyssus chuckles and bounds up the stairs, eager for his women, "…I'll hold you to being bait for the next one."
"See you at dinner, young fool," and up the stairs the th'anes drag the corpse of Astan Riustina, an ejected th'ane of Merce'des and wanted for haunting the Isle of Tears so as to kill those members he has learned are of the Drugi, the Guardians of I'lorie blood, otherwise known as biotically-gifted.
#
Braith stands alone in a white pant, gray suit coat ensemble, a braided leather belt in white cream over her waistband. Her figure is a lone solitary totem in the right of an immense and empty office, lit with slants of light allowed in by the expanse of intensely oversized windows that look out onto half city, half blue horizon, clouds dotting the sky and smearing the west where a storm now travels away from the district that is Bashan.
She looks out over the city, smiles to herself, and feels a little relaxed to be back at the office. Kasumi was right in judging her inability to keep from doing what is required on a day of rest…Braith prefers to be moving, not sitting around, waiting for the world to come to her…She would rather go to it and find it if she has to.
She moves from the window towards her arrangement of geometric square sofas, all set about a square table in the middle of the office space. There are folders and books on it, glass cups with a vase of water and handle meant to be used by herself and her guests. Typical amenities she offers her business clientele, and that she picked up from seeing other offices do in her research to establish her business. Shepard Analytics…At least that was the starting point for her venture's name for now. Braith stops by the table and pours herself a glass of water, takes a sip, and sets it down on a coaster…A fascinating attribute of Lothairaxl are the lights in the ceiling and walls and floors. As she steps away, these follow her feet like little sparks of glowing static cling, and are what the Surr have referred to as "The Many", much like children in their way they dance about.
Whether these are living or not, she doesn't know.
They are benign, and always keep her company when she is in contact with her office floor. As if a million little pets forming and dissipating together, always at her heel, then dispersing when she needs to be alone with someone or herself. She doesn't do much more with them besides tap her shoes and watch them spark about like plumes of lit dust lights, but overall, she enjoys their company.
#
Glass doors seal to an outer hall and lobby for the lifts that bring everyone to ground or to the pinnacle floors of the tower. This is Nolyn Spire, and it exists on Brausiva Boulevard in the upper Bashan District, close enough for Braith to fly a skyrunner or take a run to. She has drive her Jettison5O today, to be early for her first appointment.
Sweeping her chin, her hair falls in a loose cut about her jawline, and she looks with snow-gray eyes at the doors to her office, and through these to her first arrival as she lowers her tablet and a folder of paperwork for the meeting to a hip. In white-gray kitten heels, she walks towards the office doors as these unseal, and greets a very promising client, Declyn Kobahn.
He is dressed in dark gray slacks, a soft belt around his waist and brown loafers. A suit of blue drapes over his shoulders, a collar with a pearl and onyx stoneset. His height is tall for Human, and he has a deep brown set of eyes that regard the woman come from the silver and white office, its ceiling unseen but blue with the little pixy lights that have dashed from her feet to the walls and above. As the doors slide silently open, he stands from his seat in the lift that has remained unsealed for his arrival to that high floor, and he moves with an elegant grace to greet the woman come for him.
Braith smiles her brightest smile, her lashes framing her eyes, "…Good morning, Seer Kobahn."
"It is difficult for me to believe you were once a soldier, and a Spectre," the seer to the Human Councilor, Egaua Udami, presently states with an approximate regard of the woman's identity before him. He speaks in a smooth tone, dark hair brushed back and sitting in a chocolate coif over his ears, a brüt cologne not too strong, subtle…Braith takes a hold of his hand and shakes it in the Human fashion, a standard greeting that persists, though she bows her head some. Declyn returns his hand to his side and inserts it into a pocket like the other.
#
0700. He raises a hand to his nose, "…I'd like to thank you for sending me the invitation to come speak with you…And for saving the galaxy."
"Oh," she hesitates a little and takes a step back, "…What do you mean—that was ten years ago…A little late," she smiles and turns slightly, rolling her eyes to indicate the inner offices, "…Come in so we may discuss what you're here for, Seer Kobahn."
She walks beside him. "In '86, you made a pivotal career promotion for me," Declyn explains, "…The attack on the Citadel by CG—"
"Cerberus Group," Braith gives name to the acronym, "…You can call it that."
"Yes," Declyn pauses, and she stops as he does, "…The Council and my superiors wish not to refer to it in full terms, Miss Shepard."
"Part of wiping the embarrassment under the carpet?" She quirks a knowing grin that is fleeting.
Declyn nods and cants his head slightly to the side, still regarding her with those dark eyes of his, "…You wish to give voice to a name they consider a soil to the reputation of the Systems Alliance?"
"I worked for that group at one point," Braith explains, "…And the man, Jack Harper, gave me a second chance at life, which has led to my third opportunity," she withholds the bitterness, "…While I disagree with my benefactor's decisions later in the fight against Reapers, I have to give him credit…He had good intentions, and my reconstruction was to the benefit of the galaxy, save a few tweaks here and there."
"Do you resent the Council and Alliance for having remitted you into," he gestures to her office and her, "…This new career?"
"I would rather be serving in the capacities I know, nothing has changed," she lies so smoothly, having been through this a dozen times since her first reconstruction, "…I'm sharp as I was then and am now, Seer Kobahn."
He nods and touches his nose in thought, "…I have you to thank," he says after a pause, satisfied with her remarks, "…I would not be here were it not for your efforts, and particularly those made by you that day with Cerberus Group on the Citadel, when Udina attempted to betray the Councilors."
Tea and coffee sit in a container full of packets by a kettle of hot water, another white kettle on a warmer that reeks of a fresh brew. Braith gestures towards it, and he declines, going on, "…I began my role on the Citadel, helping as an aide to the Councilor, picking up after his many messes."
"Udina made messes?" Braith asks, aside from his major mistake—but trusting Cerberus Group was the resort of a man desperate to help his people.
"He did not reveal these, he had me and others to help clean up and keep him looking impressive to those whose eyes and minds mattered," he explains, Braith listening with a thoughtfully lifting chin, "…In any case, had he not been stopped that day, I would not have lived through the assault on the offices…I also would not have resolved to reach the heights I am striving to achieve as Seer to the Council and to Councilor Udami in the wake of Udina's uncalculated retirement from existence."
Braith clarifies, "…I didn't stop him," she turns her face some towards the doors, hoping their time will not be consumed by this introductory chatter, "…My colleague executed Udina before I could stop him…Donnel Udina was trying to help Humanity, but he was deceived by Cerberus Group and effectively the Illusive Man, Jack Harper."
Declyn nods slowly, "…It surprises me you speak kindly of the deceased Councilor after all these years."
"I've had my time to consider." She smiles briefly.
"It is important that I point out you should be aware," he hesitates, "…A Captain K. Alenko was the one who directed me to your offices here on Lothairaxl."
Braith is a bit thrown, "…Kaidan sent you to me?"
"Yes," he grins, a tight pull of skin across his face, "…He recommended I seek your expertise and professionalism…He also said you were a consummate woman."
Setting her fingers to her mouth, she conceals a smaller smile, "…He did say that, didn't he…" Declyn nods again and opens his palm towards the sofas, "…I'm glad you took his advice.
"That introduction over," he follows her to the sofas, "…We must get to business…I have a flight in three hours, and the check-in time at Port is requiring I be present for review and boarding by nine hundred…We'll be done before then," he adds, "…I presume you have the forms ready."
Braith and Declyn both sit down and spend the rest of the hour filling out forms, Braith answering what questions she has, and taking an extreme liking to the lawyer helping with the Council and current Human councilor…She learns he is from Earth, and remarks about days before the war that nearly ruined it.
"Has Earth improved any," she questions him out of nostalgia for her former homeworld.
"The land is becoming safer, but more than a decade will pass before it is safe enough to inhabit again, Braith…There are plenty of civilian and military installations on Mars and neighboring planets, but everyone is watching and hoping one day to return to old Earth…The excavation and cleanup continues even ten years after the final destruction of the Reapers, and there are still many lost and roaming husks, marauders, old enemies that wander aimlessly, now nothing controls them."
"I wonder if my releasing them from their former master was a good thing."
"By far, certainly," he says, gazing up at her from his signature on the last form, "…Organized enemy is far more difficult to contend against than disordered, confused ex-troopers. We'll be continuing with their termination well into the twenty-third century." He turns his eyes down and shakes her hand, "…I look forward to your future service."
She grasps his hand, "…Thank you," she smiles through her eyes as well, "…This will be a good relationship. Glad you came by."
By the hour's end, he has agreed to enter a professional relationship with Shepard Analytics, and Braith has a new client—with a future among the Council seats in Paramon, the newest station for unity in interspecies government.
#
Braith looks after Declyn Kobahn as he disappears behind the lift's solid metal doors, herself reflected farther away as she turns to manipulate an omni-tool and pull up several screens. Sliding these behind one and other, she returns mid-office, there among the sofas and table, gathering up and tidying away her paperwork for Kobahn. Meanwhile she scans her inbox for Kasumi's reply, if any…Finding nothing, she taps into her colleague's own net address.
"Hey Kasumi," Braith addresses her friend's face on the display hovering above her wrist, "…I was searching for your reply and I thought I'd give you a call instead."
The slender Asian-European features of the woman on the call give a little twitch of the head, "…I didn't send you anything last night or this morning, Shep, 'cause I didn't find anything…What I did discover is that the name's not Human, in fact, it's not a name at all. It has some drell originality, but the name is off…I'm not pulling it up on any codices for universe language, Shep…I think it's a dead end."
"Don't say that," Braith groans and dips her hips and shoulders, "…I have my client here in a few minutes…You said you pulled up something?"
"I didn't pull up anything concrete…You're going to have to confront your client or wait for what next tidbit of information pops in your head. Anything else?"
"No, thanks for trying, Kasumi."
"I won't bill you for it, but let me leave by saying you should tell your client to be honest…It may save you a headache later on."
"I suppose I'll have to ask him now…He just showed up," her eyes are watching the lights above the lift, "…I'll catch up with you later. Thanks again for trying, Kasumi."
"Hey, least it should be interesting today," she smiles back, "…Bye, Shep."
The line clicks as Braith heads to the doors and opens these for the lift to stop at her level. The doors slide apart and there in the middle is a man in a white collar, a pastel suit with a subtle pink lining to its inner seams running between the panels of the suit coat…He tips his chin forward and down, looking at her with blue eyes under blond eyebrows and a sweep of blond hair moussed back to his nape, a finely detailed taper of a line of hair he hides by his position facing her, but when he turns, has been cut with the latest laser-style technology…Coming forth from the lift, the doors close behind him, "…Shepard, what's with being on time?—I thought you'd be late!"
"It's 0805, Erec."
He steps forward and takes her in an embrace, an embrace that speaks of familiarity, confidence in her, and friendship…Erec takes her arm and from it the tablet and file she keeps on him, it's three inches thick, "…What's the long look for, Braith?"
"Good morning to you too," she takes him into the office and steps away, turning towards him, "…I wasn't able to find anything on your latest donor…What do you know about drells, Erec."
Erec takes a step back, pulls out a mauve handkerchief and dabs his nose, "…Sorry, Braith, kids have a cold, I don't want to miss any sniffles of my own," he chuckles and folds the handkerchief away, opening up the file next and tossing the tablet onto the sofa, beside which he seats himself and crosses his trousered leg, his shoes a light cream tan color, "…Check this out," he folds the folder and its papers together, setting this packet down over the tablet. "I have a few business deals from the past that kind of went south, you know, that happens."
"Erec…" Braith sheathes her arms in one another, under her breasts.
He raises his hands helplessly, "…Maybe this is one of those partners I used to have?" He answers her disapproving gaze with a shrug and settles against the arm rest.
"Partners…" Braith cocks an eyebrow, "…And since when did you have partners with weird drell names…I know drells, and this one from the donor list is really exotic, I didn't even recognize it for being drell initially…My contact did say it was way far off from the traditional few syllables."
"You won't recognize it," he leans forward on his knee, hands clasped over the covered kneecap, "…Not unless you pull it apart an reassemble it…It's a secret puzzle, so to speak, and drell like those types of mind games."
Braith drops her arms, "…A secret code or something, you mean?"
"Anagrams, Braith," Erec correctly reorders it for her, "…Ran ua asonuirb," he says, "…and it's a phrase."
Braith repeats the syllables, "…Run wa sonirb? What does it mean?"
"Go look it up!" His body shakes with laughter, "…It's old world tongue, Braith…I thought you knew a few drells, no," he teases.
"I do, but they don't speak to me in foreign languages, plus the trans-convers are always fixing it so people can communicate…That doesn't even clear mine." She points to her back of her neck.
"It helps to have an asari wife," Erec replies, "…Aylahana knows these things, but I've also met a few drells in my lifetime," he tilts his cheek, catching more light on his clean shaven skin from the window, "…Ran ua asonuirb, it means I'll be seeing you, in so many words."
Braith sits down across from him, her hands cupping her thighs as she bends forward over the coffee table, "…Does that mean something for you…Something like trouble?"
"Sure doesn't, Braith," he smiles, his teeth immaculate and clean, "…I think it means only we'll be having to entertain one more guest at the event. Don't you worry about it," throwing an arm over the back of the sofa, "…He'll turn up, and I can introduce you to him properly."
Braith stands suddenly and starts typing out a message to Kasumi, "…I don't like the sound of it. I don't want to be surprised, Erec…I'll contact my aide and I'm charging you for the extra work…She gets paid for this."
Erec stands too, tucking his thumbs through loops for his belt, "…I know who it is. Let me handle him, Braith."
"Erec, who's going to be seeing you tonight?" Braith pokes her head forward, waiting for the answer that's hiding inside her client's head, …Why is he holding onto this information from me? He's never withheld anything from me since we started working together…I know the names of his kids for crying out…"Erec!"
"Yeah, okay," he puts up his hands again, "…Braith, I want you to really leave this to me…The guy probably has a vendetta—"
"I'm calling my friend, give me the name, I'll intercept him before," she looks at his hand covering the keys of her omni-tool.
Erec gazes back at her, "…I'm going to meet him, Braith…I owe him."
"What do you owe him for?"
He steps away and turns, offering one hand to the air while the other strays to his pocket, "…I owe him my fortune, Braith…My money!"
He turns on his shoe heel and his eyes are different, something a little more keen and protective of what matters to him, "…I borrowed something from him he lent me…I made a lot of money off it, enough to start Brünner Corp…He got in trouble, disappeared for a while…I thought he was dead, so I kept it—"
"What did you keep?"
"It's a processor…A reactor," Erec raises his hands to his hair, stops himself—He doesn't want to mess the style. "It's a beauty, but it doesn't work anymore—"
Braith gapes at him, "…You made your whole company on it? But you don't know how it works…"
Erec sucks in his lips, "…No…I know how it works, we've gotten a lot of knowledge off it, we made something synthetic that's similar—"
Braith steps forward, "…You stole someone's idea?"
"The real stuff isn't accessible, Braith," he holds his hands towards her, "…I made my money, hired the scientists, they took it apart and came up with something that's like it but not perfect…We can fuel ships for a year, but the stuff that was in that reactor," his eyes wince, "…Decades! It's incredible stuff, but I can't get more of it…So we sell the product modeled off it."
She covers her eyes, "…I can't believe it, Erec…Thank gods you pay me well," she drops her hands to her waist and paces, "…So you think that whoever made the donation with that anagram for a name is coming tonight to wring you out over the reactor you stole from him?"
"Maybe…" Erec chuckles, "…Maybe to just talk and pat me on the back on my success…" His smile evaporates, "…He's somewhat homicidal, but he usually likes to hear an explanation, then decide if he's going to have someone off'ed."
"Erec…Erec, Erec, Erec!" Braith walks over to her desk and sits down, "…What is his name?"
#
"Casnar Soterios has been spotted in Lothairaxl," says the bouncer, and Diaustra Lucannon looks sharply from his hand of digital cards at the speaking drell in the basement there with him and others of Souledivinie.
"He's here, actually in Lothairaxl?" He growls out harshly, standing from the table cloth, "…Where exactly?"
"Drellahna we saw says she didn't see him, but we saw him at the café she worked at, near Bashan on Atmore yesterday morning, Sered," the bouncer explains, holding his hat from his body, "…Ordered her to light him a bedi after he paid for an espresso, tipped her pretty generously..."
"He has come to Lothairaxl…On whose credits," Lucannon settles into his seat once again, "…She say anything about why he's here…" The bouncer shakes his head.
Diaustra strains about on his thick neck, his tebris stretching taut as he looks for his captains, "…Kine, Bihmaus, gather the others and go check on our friend, Erec Brünner, make sure he doesn't know…And if he does, you ensure me that he's not going to renege on the deal tonight."
The table over to the left of his rear shoulder stirs, and the drells pull on their coats and tug on hats to blend in with the crowds outside the brothaul, hiding their colorful features, "…We'll take care of it, Dominga," Kine Pilandross, one with silver crests and silver eyes, says as he leads five other big Rakhïk drells from the brothaul rec area.
#
His hands move nimbly with the knife against the chopping block of wood, cutting pieces of root and garnish with a blur of speed under the shield of his other hand. Ylyssus laughs as he hears the rumor spill from the lips of his good friend and fellow th'ane, a drell with the name Sronumias, "…That's a good one…Does a beren mate with two pricks or one, and you know the answer to that is—"
"Rubbish," Tetonbaum drops a basket set with several loads of chauas, a carbish fruit, and starts tossing these into a basin that could hold a body, "…Casnar Soterios would never dare leave offworld, not without my knowing about it."
"Because he's your half-brother, you connected mentally or something," another th'ane shouts over the roar of hissing food cooking on a giant table of a stove, "…What's that? Tetonbaum not running his mouth?"
Everyone laughs as Tetonbaum smiles wry, "…Trisun," he throws a fruit at the drell's crests, who catches it with his ladle in a stylish move of the arm and utensil over and behind his head, "…Good catch…I'm seeing your lovely little secret later tonight, make her swoon, say my name when you're between her legs, aya?"
"You High Th'anes so full of yourselves," the drell cups the fruit back into the wash basin, "…Think you know and see all, you do."
"Well, one shouldn't boast," Tetonbaum drops quickly as more roots and snips of garnish are thrown, missing him and landing among the chauas.
"Aya," another th'ane brushes off a mallet covered in meat and gut, "…You know what you'll have to do, Brother Soterios," he grins with the clean white smiles known to be possessed by th'anes and others taught well of hygienic values, "…Take out that dagger, make sure it's sharp, catch him quick cross the tebris 'fore the masters find out you know his feet set foot 'pon this soil, yes?"
Tetonbaum glanced at the gray, yellow and orange-green patak beside him, "…Tan'nanshul, how were your lovelies," he asks him, changing topics, everyone else listening to what's not said and passing knowing glances about them, one and all.
"Beauties, all crying for me," Ylyssus boasts, flexing his arms, "…Look here, had three of 'em at once."
"Liar, braggart, sinner," Tetonbaum chastises him with a waggle of his thick, dextrous dual fingers, "…I know you…Too tender, you like giving it to them one at a time. Don't boast. It's not who you are…You'd be boasting about killing that Chosen Hopeful back in the dunner."
"That murderer," Ylyssus stares down at the paused blade, held over the next cut, stopped a hair's breadth away from puncture, "…Bad thing what he did to the others…What, I been meaning to ask, made you think he wanted me so bad, he'd hide in the cell and wait through the whole trial, farce it was and all…"
Tetonbaum hefts his thick shoulders, "…The Chosen prefer high bounties…Makes them look better when they try to apply themselves for the role as minion to Trauss, you understand…Bigger game, bigger boast…Then again, you don't know how to boast, do you."
Those listening chuckle quietly to not dissuade them from continuing their conversation. Ylyssus casts Tetonbaum a self-conscious expression, and resumes cutting up his taskwork.
"Don't be offended, Brother Tan'nanshul," Tetonbaum slaps him on the back and Ylyssus stops the knife from cutting through a finger, just barely, "…Look at those skills, hmm? Good to have a Kiross Killer on our side."
"I didn't kill her," Ylyssus says softly, resuming the chops. "He would have gut me if I had harmed my own grandmother."
"The morthwyl?"
Ylyssus nods as the kitchen goes somewhat more quiet, the sounds of cooking ongoing over by the stoves and running water.
"They say morthwyl, those Behedins do, you know of them," someone dares to speak up, "…They see the good in people…Kill only what they consider evil."
"Blessed you are then," someone else shouts, "…He didn't skin your tebris out the hollow your neck!"
Everyone lightens up with laughter, but as Ylyssus's chopping proceeds at a slow, measured rate, Tetonbaum considers him, "…If it's true, you won't have long here, Ylyssus…Isle of Tears, we're all sinners one day cometh."
Ylyssus glances at him, "…Says one to the other."
#
After dinner, a few of the th'anes head out to the rocks on the high cliffs of the island and sit under the clouds, waiting for a chance to see the stars, and dream of better things than their lives there in Merce'des.
Ylyssus lengthens his leg over some sharp rocks to carefully set himself comfortable on the dark, rugged seat made by erosion and time. "You think you'll kill him," he says softly under his breath as Tetonbaum, he notices, takes up the darkness of a cleft in the stone beside him, smoking a small fragrant roll of teresha leaf.
"I'll kill him if they give the word…Knowing Merce'des, no one is going to jump too quickly when it comes to killing a Sousan heir…My sister's…His sister's already dead, and Cartira is weak, though wily…If Casnar somehow made it offworld and manages not to be killed out there, this will be taken under consideration by the High Order of the cloth, Ylyssus."
"Why would he go offworld if he knew his fate was so crestfallen?" Ylyssus asks, gazing at the lids closed some over Tetonbaum's brilliant sapphire eyes.
"He lost something, something he should not have shared, but he did it because he was stupid."
"Isn't he the smartest one of them all? I hear he promises to be like the greats of his blood, that's what they say in those circles in the Craig."
"Not anymore…Too many mistakes, he's branded…Maybe he's a genius, but dead minds serve us no use."
I hope for his sake, he returns with what belongs to Rakhana.
Ylyssus stares a little longer at the high th'ane, whose broad shoulders take up the cleft with scarcily room to breath, his colorful red, blue, green and purple features of his handsome face—reminiscent of the siring drell who will not acknowledge him as his brood, though there is everything evident to suggest the truth—smoke wreaths around him and hides his colors, his golden tebris, the wavy crests as Tetonbaum Soterios sits quiet now in deep thought.
"You ever wonder if they'll simply put you above your brothers, Tetonbaum?"
"Stop…Speaking…Tan'nanshul," is his slow, dry command.
The clouds break and the silence among the th'anes as they all take a breath and a sight inward…Ylyssus tears his eyes away from the High I'lorie Th'ane and gazes up at the stars…A moon's slipper peers through the fog over them. Pale, and fraught with beauty.
#
Hugging a barrel to his side, Ylyssus carefully navigates the stepladder down into the lower cells of the imprisoned there in Merce'des. He looks up and smiles at the hands coming to hold the bars, and the eager faces pressing forward in expectation of his company that night, "…Ssh," he holds a finger to his lips and moves across the dry rakka to begin passing out some food treats he has stowed with him for the women in the cells, "…Made this tonight," he says in Rakhïken and broken Common Speech, "…Good to eat, yes, ssh," he reminds them, their hands reaching for more, a few petting his arm, some of the women trying to talk to him, "…I need to spend some time with those I haven't seen already," he says, knowing his tone and the gestures he makes helps them to better understand.
One hand tugs at him and the woman, her face cleaned recently, points down among the cells, the aisle leading towards the back of the underground cairn.
"What's that? Who's in trouble," he sets down the barrel and walks in the direction the women all start to point, his crests and height making him have to hunch more to avoid hitting the rough-hewn ceiling of the aisle way…Nothing is evenly placed underground and claustrophobia is a fear very realized by a few.
At the end of the aisle, he peers into the turn and sees a row of empty cells, but at the back, where another turn can be found, a hand and arm lays across the reeds scattered in the aisle to absorb moisture and wet from the air and what trickles in when the tide is high and storms wash over the fortress's air holes low to the ground.
"Hey," he bends to follow the arm towards the captive in the cell, and steps back with a chill in his chest and head.
"She's dead," a voice says as the lights farther down the new aisle of cells blow out, "…And you, Tan'nanshul, killed her."
#
Tetonbaum raises his chin sharply at the tumult brewing from the wards, and hastens with his cloak flowing behind his pauldrons towards the call of voices and struggle.
Dropping down a ladder and spinning around, he catches sight of Ylyssus being tied up and tethered, his mouth gagged, blood coming from his crests, "…What's the meaning of this?" His sapphires take note of the women all gripping the bars and crying, speaking to him.
"He didn't kill her," one woman says in broken Rakhïken.
A clang of metal cuts them all into silence.
"Move out of the way," a th'ane hefts Ylyssus onto his back and starts to carry him towards the ladder. Tetonbaum watches as Ylyssus, unconscious, passes him at eye level.
"There's a body needs to be cleaned out down that way," another th'ane says, nodding his purple and white chin towards the direction, "…Gutted her, surprising…I thought he was gentle with them."
Tetonbaum looks at the women, "…Have any of them been questioned."
"Don't bother," rasps another th'ane, "…Brother Grelan wants to do the interrogations his'self."
"Brother Grelan?" Tetonbaum looks at him, "…Brother Grelan is in charge of the—" He cuts himself short, having spoken too much and unwilling to go farther down that hole.
He takes a sidestep around the last th'ane, gone to fetch the cleaning equipment, and goes into the aisle where the dead should be found.
He finds nothing but a stain in the cell where she was allegedly murdered.
#
Braith hunches over her desk, a light on beside her, and dressed in tonight's gown and suit for the event at the Nurinata Museum of Technology, she sighs and taps another message to the address on file.
[ Please don't do this, Whoever You Are. ]
She watches the screen, hoping he will reply, this Casnar Soterios, this Aunar Bri'unosa, this offended ex-colleague of Erec's.
She had wanted to fire him as her client…But that was not permitted, not with her contract to support him, and not at this juncture.
Damn him, she clenches her jaw, …Why should I be surprised when I know how others have only wanted to put him in a pod and shoot him into dead space?
She blinks at the screen of her omni-tool and sees nothing come up…She's going to have to play a damn good defense at this point…The opportunity is per her opponent, this drell with a vendetta.
[ Why are you doing this…Erec told me something, he told me something I can hardly believe…Did he steal from you? ]
At once, a reply returns:
[ He stole everything from me. ]
Braith closes her eyes with relief, then opens them to type back, hoping she has him focused for a little longer…
[ Tell me what you intend to do…I can help…This does not have to be a big scene…We can do this covertly, I guess… ]
Please, she thinks, …That sounds desperate.
[ Needs to be big, needs to be huge…For what he did to me, my life, I need to bury him in the ground and piss on his grave. ]
That's not promising, not at all, Braith frowns, then sends back:
[ I know he's a dick to people…He's got a family, he can be a nice guy…I'm his chief of security, kind of independent to be honest, and I know how to find things and make them work. ]
[ Due Diligence, I've already found what I'm looking for, and I know how to make what he has of mine work…Chief of Security, hmm…I prefer Due Diligence myself. ]
She rises from the desk and hurries in her heels for the door of her apartment.
Taking the lift, she hopes to be there on time, if not early.
Erec is on his way to the Nuri.