Chapter Four
"How... nevermind." - Jamella Couture began, then bit her lip, giving Irwine a sideways glance, as she waited for the ICE Breaker software to interface with Boston's citizen records.
Irwine's family was from Boston, USA and most of them still lived there.
The young hacker gave him another sidelong glance, and the man had a distinct impression she was worried about his reaction, to something she wanted to ask him.
"Didn't realise I was that scary. Come on, spit it out!" - he smiled at her, with a slight shake of his head.
His thigh was pulsing, and he imagined when he had to get back up, he'd have to deal with a sharp spike of pain through the stab wound. It was funny... if he limped around for long enough, the pain started to ebb away. But anytime he was still for any period of time, it returned with a vengeance.
The girl rolled her eyes, then spoke...
"No... you're not. But um- how... how do you-" - she paused again, pursing her lips.
"How do I what?" - he frowned.
"...live with her?" - she muttered under her breath, not meeting his eyes. The way she said 'her', told the man all he needed to know. She was at the same time – terrified of, and bitter towards, Yelena. Small wonder, of course - but he figured he could at least try to do something about that.
"She's still human, Jamella. She may not have been, once, but-" - as she interrupted.
"How can you SAY that?! Do you have any idea-" - before he cut her off, firmly.
"Yeah, matter of fact, I do! She told me. Everything. Things that make me think Hell is here on Earth, actually. Everything she's done, and everything that's been done to her. Things go both ways. I'm NOT saying that's an excuse..." - he continued adamantly, noticing the look of disdain on the girl's face, "... BUT maybe you should talk to her yourself, and not feed it like this. I could tell you things, but it's not my place to do it."
"I've got NOTHING to say to her. Ever." - the young woman sniffed, clenching her fist briefly, then focused on the terminal's screen, with a stubborn frown, angrily wiping off her eyes.
Irwine sighed. For long moments, the only sound in the tech lab was the intermittent beeping of the server array, and the soft humming of the AC system in the corner.
His gaze dropped to the framed picture of a young man, on the desk – he assumed it was Jamella's late brother.
"You know... I may never see my family again, following what we're about to do here. But they'll always be in here..." - he tapped his head, "...and here." - his chest above his heart.
She looked at him.
"Just like I'm sure your brother will always be there, too. Right?" - he probed, gently, nodding at the picture.
The girl glared, but nodded, not saying anything, as she picked up the picture and gazed at it for a long moment.
"We were so close... you know, he got me into the Collective! Said it was important we always try to fight the good fight, and not let evil win. Patrick had... a real idelistic streak..." - she sniffed again.
"And then he got... scared. He lost hope, when we first picked up Saxon, and got first-hand info from him, about the extent of the threat. Started saying how we'll all die if we keep going against them..." - she trailed off.
"So that was when he decided to... uh... approach the Tyrants with intel, in exchange for leniency?" - Irwine prompted carefully, after a few moments. He was familiar with the broadstrokes of what happened, thanks to the intel files he looked over, in the past couple of months since his access was upgraded. Not to mention from the Sons' own records, since they also had an operational presence in the area.
Jamella gritted her teeth.
"He... he WASN'T a traitor! He WASN'T! He just... just got scared! He just wanted us to be safe!" - she banged her hand on the desk.
"I tried to talk him out of it..." - she added softly, wiping her eyes.
"But he wouldn't listen?"
"No." - the girl sighed, "... he said he didn't want to lose me. And that no price was too high to pay. He... it broke him. The - the hopelessness of it. He made me promise not to tell anyone. I only realised how far he'd gone, when he actually turned on the team, and allowed... Namir and - and her... to capture them." - bitterly.
Irwine shook his head to himself. The term - traitor - definitely applied. And no matter how much in denial she was, she needed to be confronted on that.
"I'm sorry Jamella... but you don't get much more clear, on being a traitor, then that." - gently but firmly, "... if the Collective was a pure military outfit, he'd have been eligible for a court-martial, for that. And would've probably gotten the... well... highest punishment. And if he were part of the Sons... yeah. We run a pretty tight ship, when it comes to that sort of thing. And we don't really have jails to put people in."
"No... NO!" - she glared, gritting her teeth... but there was no escaping the truth. Or Irwine's patient gaze.
"He... he wasn't a bad person! He just... just made a mistake..." - she started crying, "... and... and-and he didn't... didn't deserve to die. He was just trying... to protect me. Protect us! He was the only family I had left!" - before she wiped her eyes.
"And he didn't deserve what they did to him! Use him, feed him a line, then grill him for everything he knew, then just... just..." - she choked off.
"I saw it. I saw - her - smile... as she strangled him to death. He begged for his life... right until the last moment. And she enjoyed it. Every moment of it. So no..." - she swallowed. "I. Have. Nothing. To say to her. Every time I see her face, I see that fuckin' smirking grin she had, as she killed him."
Irwine didn't know what to say, as the girl's tone turned into a snarl.
"Whatever she went through... whatever she has to live with. It ain't enough! I fuckin' hope, she has to LIVE with that, for the rest of her life. I hope it eats away at her, one bit at a time, every minute of every day, until she goes insane from it. I hope she dies alone, abandoned, miserable and in agony, and I hope I'm there to see it. And smirk. Like she fuckin' did." - her tone broke.
The man let out a sigh.
"Just be careful it doesn't eat away at you, Jamella." - emphatically.
"What do you mean?!" - she demanded.
"She's the same way you are. About her own family. She watched them murdered, you know. Right in front of her. Not via a remote connection. Then spent the better part of a decade, working with a man who did it. Without remembering. Brainwashed to forget." - he paused.
"What?!" - the girl frowned, vacillating.
Irwine shook his head.
"Already said too much. Again, not my place. But you should talk to her. And then decide whether or not, what she has to live with, is enough or not." - softly.
The girl said nothing, biting her lip.
"Anyway, I'll leave you alone until the hack's done. I'll be in the cafeteria if you need me." - he rose from the chair, ignoring the spike of pain through his thigh, and limped towards the door.
For a long moment, Jamella stared at the closed door, conflicted emotions and thoughts, running through her head.
Twenty minutes later...
In the cafeteria, deeper in the bowels of the vessel, Irwine came across Quinn and Tiffany Savage, having a cup of coffee. Momentarily, the man thought he hadn't been noticed, but the older man's hand shot up, as soon as he made his limping way to the bar.
"Major Irwine? Come lad, join us, please. I was hoping for a word with you, ever since the conclusion of the operation. Somehow, we never seem to find an opportunity to catch up."
The man smirked. Yelena had told him, in strictest confidence, that Quinn's Scottish accent was fake, and that he was in fact very adamant for his true identity to remain a secret. Sometimes, Irwine wondered if different... currents... within the Collective were really working hand-in-hand with one another. As a rule, he was suspicious of anyone who didn't want their allies to know who they were.
"I thought my former rank in the Sons, didn't carry over to the Collective..." - he stepped closer, accepting a handshake from the older man. A bit guardedly.
Quinn smiled.
"And why not? Both you and miss Fedorova held ranks that could be converted to our system. Both of you are experienced operatives deserving of such authority. In your case, it was a simple one-to-one substitution, since we use an identical ranking system to the New Sons. In her case, she was a Commander of a Tyrant subdivision. Since naval-style ranking like that is not applicable here, we've made her a Colonel. Hence why she had authority to requisition one of our birds at will."
"So she outranks me? Nice to know..." - the man chuckled, taking a seat.
Tiffany Savage gave him a critical once over, pausing on his bandaged thigh, and the way he favoured it.
"You look a bit... worse for wear, mister Irwine. Problems with integration into the Bratva, I take it? We have read miss Fedorova's report, following the... uh... incident." - the researcher probed.
"That's an understatement..." - the man growled, motioning the bartender over, "Gimme a cold one." - pointing at a stack of beer cans in the fridge behind the counter.
"They're animals. Fuckin' animals." - he added, bluntly, his eyes on Quinn. The older man sighed with a nod.
"Agreed, Major. Bratva is one of the more... unpleasant... organised crime outfits. But our choice in allies in this theatre of operations, is limited, at best. At least until we have regained our foothold within the Russian governmental structure. When we do, we'll no longer have a need for them. Until such time, however, we have to be flexible. Make no mistake, you'll both be eligible for a bonus, come next month's commission."
"We better be... and a fat one." - Irwine grunted, as the can of beer was deposited in front of him.
Savage chose that moment to speak again.
"I've been meaning to ask you... any idea why miss Fedorova isn't returning my mails?"
Irwine blinked.
"Wasn't aware you two were in contact. What about?" - popping open the can and taking a sip.
"I was trying to emphasise to her, how important it would be for her to begin... well... undergoing counseling sessions. Mental and emotional trauma is a serious matter, and given what she's been through-" - she trailed off, as Irwine had to stifle a chuckle.
"I fail to see the amusing aspect." - she glared.
The man shook his head.
"Oh I'm not amused by what she's been through. She told me. Every day I try not to think about it. It's fucked up beyond belief. I think it's funny how you assume a few hours' week worth of talking about it to a total stranger, is gonna make any difference." - bluntly.
Savage glared.
"Whether she wants to admit it or not, she does need help. Professional, structured therapy would allow her to begin moving beyond the need for revenge and punishment, and start to cope-" - before she jumped slightly, as the man slammed a palm on the table.
A couple of other patrons looked over, as he lowered his tone, making sure nobody beyond their table could overhear.
"She's coping, just fine! You know, that's the problem with you shrink types - you think you can make someone open up and spill their guts to you, because you're qualified to help. By what standards?! What do you know about her? Have you lived with her, like I did?! Got to know her? Have you seen her break down in front of you, and just cry her eyes out until she can't breathe? What the hell makes you think she wants to talk to you? Sometimes she doesn't even want to talk to me. She just wants me to hold her, until it passes. To be there for her. And I am. I'm not asking questions. I'm not pushin' her to talk about it. I'm just there." - tone hard.
The woman sighed, considering her words, while Quinn took a sip of the coffee, deciding to stay out of it.
"Mister Irwine, I know you love her. That is why I have to believe you want what is best for her." - she stated, seriously.
The man glared.
"Yeah, I love her, miss Savage. And that's EXACTLY why I'm not pushing her to anything. And that's also why I'm telling you - not asking you - telling you, right now. Lay off. When she feels like it, you bet your ass she'll contact you. If she's not replying, take a hint. Got it?"
"As the ranking medical officer, I could make it an order-" - the woman persisted, but he cut her off.
"But you're not gonna do that." - harshly, "Because if you do, you and I are gonna have a problem, egghead. Leave her alone. Or else." - tone lowering to just short of a growl, as he leaned towards her, pointing a finger at her face.
"Is that a threat..?" - Savage blanched visibly, but her gaze hardened.
Quinn chose that moment to intercede, "Let's not get bogged down here. As long as Colonel Fedorova's judgement and performance remains unaffected by her personal issues, and so far, that has been... mostly... the case, I see no reason why anyone should press her on the matter." - firmly.
"Thank you, mister Quinn." - Yelena's saccharine tone suddenly sounded, off to the side of the table, "I appreciate the vote of confidence."
All three started in surprise, to see the woman appearing out of thin air, with a soft diffuse electrical decloaking effect.
Irwine shook his head, as the other two looked stunned. He was looking directly at her, moments ago when he took another sip of beer. But he couldn't see the outline, in the shadowy corner, against the backdrop of a rust-spot covered bulkhead, and a single light-source nearby.
No matter how many times he saw it now, the woman's uncanny talent to sneak up on people, even when they knew what she could do, was remarkable. He had seen other examples of glass-shield technology, over the past months. Even some handheld single-activation disposable versions, which he suspected he would sooner or later have a chance to try out, given the nature of their assignments – and he knew what to look for by now. A telltale shimmer in the air, a faint outline of the individual. That was also the case with Yelena, but for some reason, she seemed to - blend in - better then anyone else he observed while concealed.
She knew exactly where to stand, in relation to any backdrop, how to stand, how to take full advantage of the surrounding objects and people in the environment, to break-up the pattern, and make her outline harder to see, even while looking directly at her. How to avoid light-and-shadow effects, which whoud shine on her cloaking field. How to subtly shift her stance, with the shadows, to keep a cohesive illusion. How to control her breathing and footsteps, to make virtually no noise. How to pick the right moment to approach, when the mark was focusing on something else, how to become a part of the backdrop, when they looked around again.
~"People look, but they do not see."~
He recalled the expression she used, more then once, when he commented on it.
It was an art. A fine art, which she mastered. Even amongst ghosts, she was a ghost.
He had an opportunity to observe a training session, a month ago, where she agreed to tutor a group of would-be undercover operatives, in the field-use of handheld variants of the cloak. Locating any of them wasn't much of a challenge. Even while cloaked, they did very little to make themselves inconspicuous. He didn't have much problem spotting them, as part of the 'test' group of observers, evaluating how hard it was to see them. He never spotted her, however. Not once. Out of the five observers in the test group, only one, ever spotted her at all, while she was cloaked.
His gaze then shifted to Savage, who looked like a deer suddenly caught in the headlights.
"Ah... miss Fedorova- I... It's good to see you again. I was just-" - she stammered, then trailed off, at the aquiline woman's expression.
"I do not plan to be your test subject, miss Savage. Tiffany Savage, once assigned to Rifleman Bank. Assignment - to facilitate seamless incorporation of troubled belligrents, into the project. And I definitely do not intend for you to have an insight into my mind. Now or ever." - icily.
The portly scientist glared, standing up.
"How dare you?! Do you have any idea of the nightmares I still have, of that place? Of what I was made to do, under duress?!" - as she tried to suppress tears.
"I can guess. I was privy to the reports from Burke, among other details. But I will not ask you. Just like I expect the same courtesy in return. Some secrets are for a person to keep. And some pains are for a person to deal with, alone." - Yelena's reply was on point.
"That is the point, though! I underwent therapy, myself. I sought help, to come to terms with it. And with the price paid for my freedom from that horrific place." - Savage insisted.
"And did you? Come to terms with it? Or are you just pretending you did?" - Yelena asked, crossing her arms.
The older woman narrowed her gaze at the implication, wiping her eyes. But the tightening of expression was evident. The question did hit home.
"I moved on, miss Fedorova. All I'm offering you, is a chance to do the same."
Yelena shook her head.
"Lie to yourself if you have to, but spare me the pretence. You want to help me, because you're looking to atone for what you did back there, to so many other women. Because you never had the courage to say no." - mercilessly, but with brutal honesty.
"We would've been killed! Gary and myself! We had no choice! And it would've made no difference... Burke would've killed them all, if we had been unable to process them!" - Savage snapped in sudden anger.
She looked around, at the curious glances from the other patrons. Then she looked at Quinn and Irwine, both silent, yet following the exchange.
"Instead you butchered them, and turned them into organic CPU's to enhance the Hyron core, and facilitate Zhao Yun Ru's personal bid for godhood. A half-life of agony, as part of a hive mind. Their own selves gone, forever. Yes, that is so much better then death, you self-righteous bitch." - the cyborg woman shot back disdainfully, with a sneer.
Frankly, she had nothing against Savage. But the woman's pushy conceit was... grating. Conceit that graduated to outright self-righteousness and preaching, the more times she refused to reply to Tiffany Savage's repeated attempts to get her to agree to 'therapy'. The first time, she politely rejected. The second time, she reminded the woman that no means no. But the six subsequent messages over the past three months, each more pushy and self-righteous then the last, made it clear that Savage never got the hint. Yelena didn't want to put her in the spot like this, but... some people needed to be reminded of their own failings.
Savage lost it. With a keening snarl, that told Yelena she had struck a nerve she aimed for, she launched herself at the taller woman, even as both Quinn and Irwine began rising, to intercede. Easily, Yelena took a half-step back, and caught her arms, but didn't pin her, or apply leverage. She simply held her there for a moment, then pushed her slightly away.
Almost... gently.
"Keep telling yourself you moved on, lady. But we both know better, about each-other. And at least I am honest about it, instead of burying it under a veneer of preaching and denial." - the disdain gone from her tone, replaced by something resembling... pity. Mixed with deep, knowing understanding.
Tiffany Savage glared, eyes sparkling with tears, swallowing hard. Then without a word, she turned and walked towards the cafeteria exit. In the doorway, she turned once, meeting Yelena's even gaze again.
Opening her mouth to say something... no words came out. She just shook her head once more, turning to walk out.
Sankt Peterburg, one of the many alleyways surrounding the Golden Triangle...
A middle-aged janitor was doing his rounds through the lower floors of the penthouse building, before he went out, to empty the rubbish cans. Both hands filled with bags full to bursting, he glanced around, then sauntered over to the large masher-container, depositing the bags within, then pressing the mash button.
The grinding sounds of machinery completely covered up the footsteps coming up behind him – until a poliester-gloved hand covered his mouth, the other sneaking behind his neck, in a rear-naked choke posture.
"Ni slova. Ni zvuka. Prosto poslushay." - a cold male tone whispered in his ear. The man just nodded, trembling slightly.
"Verkhniy pentkhaus. Ty ostavish' etot paket u dveri cherez chetyre chasa. Ne ran'she chem. Ne posle. Ne otkryvay upakovku." - the tone instructed.
Just as suddenly, the choke was gone, as the janitor, gasping for breath, had a chance to turn around. He thought he saw a - shimmer - of air, rounding a corner, but he wasn't sure. Looking down at his feet, there was a flat, wrapped-up package, in the vague shape of a large book. Though under wrappings, it could literally be anything.
Hesitantly, the man picked it up, looking it over. But the warning about not opening it, echoed freshly in his mind. He knew what kind of... characters... frequented this block. And there was better then even chance that this was Bratva business.
Or worse.
Slipping it in his work-jacket's inner pocket, he nodded to himself. Best to just do as he was told, and forget about it.