Chapter Five
Out at sea... day two of the cruise
"I don't get it, man. How long we s'posed to keep an eye on 'em? And for what? And comin' down to it, what the fuck are those two chicas doin' here with Lessner? Especially that tall-as-fuck augged leggy one with a killer look? Wasn't she s'posed to be a dancer at that club of his?" - one of the thugs asked no-one in particular, as the three loitered at the end of the lounge bar, pretending to look disinterested in a group of people on the other side of the lounge.
"Yeah... that's the one! Miss Death-Glare! Love to have her spin around my pole..." - the one in charge muttered, half-arousedly, half-sulkily.
"Right... like you chickened out there, soon as she looked at you! Big talk, man..." - the third one shot back with a laugh, followed by a burp, finishing up his coke.
"Fuck you! She got lucky... and look who's talkin'!" - the mohawk-haired chubby one growled.
"Where is she, anyway? Haven't seen her anywhere on deck today... just those other two. Lessner and the cyber-eye." - he added, squinting at the distant group.
"No idea. Cyber-Eye's not bad, though! Looks like easier score then Death-Glare, too. Think I'm gonna give it a shot..." - the third one shrugged, a lean black, bald man with a nosering, eye-fucking her, then suddenly got up, as he noticed the young woman making a beeline for the bar, probably to get another drink.
"Good fuckin' luck... Just don't start with that dumb pickup line you got! Remember – chicas don't like when you call 'em bitch!" - the mohawk-haired one snorted with a derisive laugh.
"Yeah well, our nigga ones do!" - the third one shot back with a chuckle.
Irwine had to restrain the urge to butt in, as he observed one of the three make a pass at Jamella at the bar, out of the corner of his eye. He knew that it was the plan... get one of them close, since the girl's signal-intercept implants were second-to-none, and they worked best when in close proximity to someone's phone, to establish a wireless node-link. Essentially, the young hacker would be able to download all the messages and call transcripts from the thug's phone into her onboard Datavault, without him ever realising he was hacked.
It was Jamella's own idea, seeing the way they looked at her, which Yelena agreed with. Irwine remembered their conversation six months ago, how she thought Jamella was equipped with real time freq-locking hardware, as part of her augment architecture. As it turned out – she was right. In hindsight, the man considered the irony of it – how they were trying to keep some of their more sordid activities here in Antigua, hidden from her. Seriously?
Yeah... not happening. Between all the hacking gizmos she's got, I wouldn't be surprised if she could access everything on my phone or laptop, at will. Locked or not. Without some serious custom-level encryption, we're like an open book. And even with it... if she really wanted to, she could break in! I'm guessing Yelena can keep her away from some of her own proprietary-encrypted Datavault archives, but I've got nothing like that. Creepy... I might need to spring for a custom-encrypted storage or something, at some point. Or hell, just keep more good old fashioned written stuff on me. Nothing like pen and paper, to keep secrets!
He thought, slightly uneasily. Fair enough, Jamella was very principled when it came to that sort of thing, and never accessed any of their information without permission, but... still. She could, if she wanted to.
Putting it out of his mind though, he continued to keep an eye on the two, acting as an impromptu bodyguard, in case the guy tried something inappropriate. Also in case the other two, off towards the far end of the lounge, decided to join in. So far it seemed unlikely, given that they were in a public lounge, and from Jamella's body language and relaxed mien, it was clear she didn't feel harrassed, as the bartender deposited a pair of drinks before the two, seemingly sliding deeper into casual small-talk. She was definitely sticking with the 'semi-flirty barfly' act.
Well, what do you know... I'm guessing Yelena's little confidence-building sessions are paying off!
~Abyssal Realm, Undiscovered~ Manori Alyes Tore
The aquiline woman was meditating in their cabin, still as a statue in a lotos posture, eyes closed to slits, listening to the haunting, yet dramatic tones of the controversial, half-insane augmented composer, one of the last works he made, before the Incident drove him fully over the edge, the voices in his head making him immolate himself and a roomful of attendees of his last concerto.
I wonder what the voices told him, in the final moment before his death? I wonder if he screamed as he burned? Was the pain... purifying? Was the release, worth it? I wonder... will I scream, when my time comes? Will I scream after, when I burn in hell for my sins? Will they scream, when they burn... when I make them burn...
Her eyes opened halfway, a strange glint in them, as her mind coasted between consciousness and subconsciousness, carried by the otherworldly, haunting melody. She twitched slightly, on the verge of entering a trance, as she began swaying softly, almost rhytmically, in place.
For the last five years, starting long before her awakening, Tore was her favourite artist, when it came to music. Abyssal Realm was his final album, left unfinished, before his end came. Unlike many of his earlier works, which focused more on intransigent, sharp melodically-decaying techno-goth overtones, the Realm was warmer, more... embracing. Yet still retaining that overtone of melodic decay, that made his work so... compelling to her. In many ways, his latest album's five works; Reserved, Ambiguous, Bellicose, Incandescent, and Undiscovered; corresponded to the five mental states that most often warred for control within her.
Times like these, when Yelena was alone with her thoughts, centring herself, were growing more and more spread apart, as months and years passed. But at the same time, each session was correspondingly longer, and more involved. Meditation was something she took up, initially, because it allowed her to disconnect from the world at large. To perfect her detached state of mind. In hindsight, the woman considered that it may have played a part in her staying mute, for so long, even after she acclimated to her new reality, as a Tyrant operative. She simply didn't... want... to be a part of the world. She was more comfortable separated, living within her own mind. Feeding on the suffering she perpetrated... almost like a self-fulfilling prophecy. She turned her anguish into a weapon. Projecting it outward, on everyone else, while her own mind absorbed it and empowered her to do so.
Another difference between me, and most people. They bottle-in their pain, and try to hide it from the world. Deny themselves the release, thinking that it allows them to move beyond it. Or if they do release it, it's focused inward. Like those idiots who take to self-harming, or suicide, in response to abuse. Perpetual victims! Cope... cope, cope, cope, self-delusion, self-deception. Pathetic! I turned mine into a weapon, and expelled it. I harm the world, not myself. Each time I kill... it's not just about revenge. No. It's about release.
The thought made her angry briefly, as she recalled her... break... in her grandmother's house. When a small part of her actually contemplated suicide. When Irwine was the one to pull her away from it. To have to physically move the gun, away from her.
It won't happen again. Not until it's over. Not until I have the luxury to feel that way.
She promised herself darkly. She would never be so weak, again. As much talk as there was, as much as she wanted, to reclaim her humanity again... she could see the tripwire ahead. Humanity, was weak. Human nature, was weak. Apathetic. And to reclaim it, would be to compromise her effectiveness, as a combatant and tactician. The proof was all around. If it weren't weak, people like the Illuminati, would not exist. They would not have the breeding ground, to exist. They would've been exposed and destroyed, a long time ago, because they would've never been tolerated, by humanity as a whole.
And the more of it she reclaimed, the more human, she got, the less likely she would be, to execute her revenge. And without closing that circle... what would be the point?!
With that, she purged all thoughts of her sins, out of her mind. Her – sins – made her strong. They made her powerful. Unyielding. Determined. Scary. And fear, was a potent weapon. Her enemies used it, with abandon. Why shouldn't she? Lamentation was weakness. She opened her eyes fully, once more.
~"Jamella? Any progress?"~ - she asked subvocally, via Infolink.
~"Yeah. I'm about one step away from shanking this guy! I mean he's persistent, I'll give him that, and he's not a total jackass, but-"~ - Jamella managed a subvocal reply, trying to divide her attention between her current company, and the sudden communique she received, before she was cut off.
~"Spare me the details. Did you access his call history?"~ - Yelena's reply was uncharacteristically terse.
~"Sending... miss Grumpy! Not that there's much here, looks like he's just the muscle... but you got up on the wrong foot this morn-"~ - she inwardly rolled her eyes, as she transmitted the data. She never got to finish her subvocalised sentence, before the link went dead.
Yelena shook her head to herself. Grumpy. Not an unfair assessment of her mood so far today, as she went over the received data. The meditation didn't help... if anything, it just unsettled her more.
Jamella was right... there was nothing relevant there, just transcripts of a couple of casual calls he had from – probably some of his buddies, one from someone she assumed was his girlfriend, given the racy content that almost made her smirk, and another, from a very shady-seeming retailer from China, which she was prepared to believe might be his – failed - attempt to get a refund for a scam product he ordered online.
Idiot... serves you right, for buying from scammers!
The cyborg woman thought, with brief twitch of amusement, but ultimately shook her head to herself, her face settling back into a frown, as she purged the data from her Datavault, since none of it was worth saving. The man was clearly not kept in the loop, on what they were really doing here. As Jamella said, he was the muscle. So that meant that she had to question the ringleader himself. The chubby-faced, mohawk haired fellow.
Jamella's idea was good, and there was a decent chance it would work, but... she got the attention of the wrong one. So now, it was time for a direct approach. The fact that Yelena took care to not be seen in social areas for most of the day today, worked to her advantage. They didn't have any idea where she was, and she could pick and choose her moment to jump them.
And also... the young hacker's interaction with them, helped prove another point. The three were definitely NOT anti-aug bigots. That was just cover, like they already suspected. And one that was dropped quickly. Amateurs, for sure. Almost comically so. But... who sent them and why?
More to the point... why do I get this sneaking suspicion that this isn't just incompetence, but part of a more convoluted plan? Because... it just does not add up! Nobody is THIS stupid, unless deliberately. Three – idiots, for lack of a better word – conducting surveillance on us? Using utterly transparent cover, lacking any believability? Making passes on the marks? It's almost like... like someone wants us to know, that we're being watched...I don't get it!
Yelena's frown deepened into a scowl, before she shut off the music, and slipped out of the cabin. She needed answers. And that need was accompanied by a strange sense of... urgency. A nameless... foreboding. Fleetingly, she considered it might also be the reason she was so on-edge, today. Unsettled. Troubled. Grumpy, as Jamella put it.
She learned to trust her instincts, over her many years as a shadow operative. And this whole situation just... didn't smell right.
Deck E, mid section, sometime later...
"Man... I really thought I was gettin' somewhere with her! She's a snack, even with that creepy cyber-eye of hers, but... damn those nerdy chicks are hard to rope in... half of that computer stuff she was talkin' about flew right over my head." - the black thug shook his head, as the trio sauntered past the laundry room servicing that deck, on their way to their cabin.
A briefest movement from inside... a soft metallic clink, behind them...
"Look on the bright side; It incentivises you to learn something new! Keep walking, all three of you." - a female tone sounded, as the tall cyborg woman slipped out of the laundry room, where she was clearly waiting in ambush, falling in perfect step right behind them.
"What th-!" - the rearmost of the three began with a start, before the snub nose of a weapon dug hard between his shoulder blades.
"Do not turn around. Or you will wake up with a headache." - Yelena's tone was calm, yet with an edge, her finger steady on the Buzzkill's trigger.
"You ain't too smart, chica, there's three of us and one of you. And nobody around to witness shit!" - the mohawked one at the front, growled under his breath. But he did as instructed.
Yelena's calm, yet icy cold tone remained unchanged.
"Yes. Convenient, if I decide I don't need all three of you alive. Keep moving. Back to your cabin. We need to talk about what you are doing here, and why."
"None of your fuckin' business, bitch." - the black thug growled, stopping, making the rear-most one bump into his back.
"Keep. Moving." - Yelena repeated softly, her tone staying exactly the same.
He glanced sideways at the third one, and she could feel the brief tensing-up of that one's frame, as well as hear a soft, preparatory intake of breath.
"Reconsider." - she growled.
"FUCK YOU!" - the third one suddenly snarled, throwing his elbow backward in the general direction of her face – missing, as she leaned back slightly - only to stiffen in shock, a brief arc of electricity dancing across his body, as the Buzzkill discharged. Eyes rolling-back into his head, he plopped down on his back, unconscious.
The black one in the middle scrabbled into his pocket for what looked like a butterfly knife, before Yelena's rubber-padded metal hoove caught him across the base of his jaw in a blurred, crisp snap-kick, dropping him like a sack to lie unmoving on the deck, the knife clattering off to the side.
The ringleader glared in outrage, shifting on his feet indecisively, as she quickly and smoothly replaced the cartridge in the Buzzkill, keeping it trained on the man.
"Now you will have to drag them both to your cabin. They made this harder then it needed to be! Come on, move it." - the woman's tone carrying only a slightest trace of irritation in it, as she nodded at the two unconscious bodies between them.
"And if I don't?!" - he snarled, trying to put up a tough front, rubbing the side of his pants, and the bulge there – by the shape of it, a small, pocket-sized concealed carry pistol. But the fear in his eyes was telling.
"Then you die. And your two friends. See, I made a promise to someone, that nobody will die on this cruise. I'd hate to be made a liar, but you are not making it easy. Your choice is simple. Cooperate and live, assuming you tell me what I want to know. Or be stubborn, and die. I do not like unknown elements. And right now, you three are such." - she replied coldly, remaining still as a statue.
The mohawk-haired thug glared.
"Who the fuck are you, chica? You ain't no dancer, that's for sure, no matter what the boss-" - before he cut himself off, eyes widening as he realised what he just let slip. Yelena's lips twitched into a knowing smirk, for a briefest moment.
I wish I could say I'm surprised... I did not trust that shifty-eyed fat swine, ever since we arrived. Still... why? What game is he playing here, sending us on this... assignment, then having these three retards observe us? I do not understand...
"A good start! We will continue this one-way flow of information in your cabin. Assuming we all live to get there. That's up to you." - she gestured at the two unconscious men on the deck.
Mumbling something vicious under his breath in Spanish, the thug reluctantly leaned down to grab each of them by the back of the collar, one hand each, dragging them both labouriously down the hallway, panting hard, as the aquiline woman followed, keeping the Buzzkill trained on him.
~"I have them. Irw, Jamella, come join me in their cabin. It's time to get to the bottom of this."~ - she instructed subvocally.
"Look, the boss didn't tell me much! He just said keep an eye on the three of you, and report on this little gizmo here..." - the mohawk-haired thug's eyes darted between the cyborg woman, Lessner, and the cyber-eye girl, as he slowly reached for a rectangular device, half-buried between the bunk's mattress and the wall.
The place was a mess, filled with discarded beer cans and cigaweed packets, and smelled of unwashed socks and alcohol, so much so that Jamella's expression was locked into a permanent disgusted scowl.
The other two men, one of them still unconscious, were off to the side, sitting on one of the other bunks.
"Put it over here. And keep your hands where we can see 'em." - Irwine growled, pointing, his other hand resting on a bulge under his jacket. Like Yelena, he wasn't interested in using lethal methods if possible, but was ready for them if necessary. Unlike Yelena, he wasn't nearly as confident in his own melee or hand-to-hand abilities, and preferred to have a little extra insurance.
Jamella reached out to pick it up.
"Looks like a dedicated Infolink transmitter. I've never seen one like this, though. Looks like it's only set up to transmit, not receive." - she frowned, establishing a wireless interface, through her implants.
"So, no way to figure out who's on the other end?" - Irwine asked.
"Nope. Whoever it is, clearly doesn't want these guys to even know who they're reporting to." - the young hacker shook her head.
Yelena bit her lip, thinking hard. Then she focused on the thug.
"What sort of reports were you supposed to send?" - she asked sharply.
"Um... what you're doin', where you are, when you plan to... uh... y'know... mess things up on the ship. That's what the boss said. Said the client wants to know exactly when you're gonna make your move. No idea why. I mean believe me, it don't make sense to me too!" - the man stammered.
"Is the client here? Aboard ship?" - Irwine frowned.
"No... I- I mean I don't think so! That's why we're here, to keep him up to speed on you guys. Boss said something about havin' to uh... coordinate with 'im, whatever that means." - the thug shrugged.
"Coordinate? You mean the client is supposed to come here, at some point? When we... sabotage the ship? Why?" - Yelena demanded.
"I don't fuckin' know, I swear! All I know is that boss was nervous as fuck when he said that! Mumbled somethin' about his ass being on the line if this thing goes south-"
"What 'thing'?! What the fuck are you talking about... ?" - Irwine interrupted, face darkening, as he leaned in and grabbed him by the collar, about to punch him for 'encouragement', but Yelena restrained him.
"Pointless. He doesn't know." - still glaring hard at the thug, who tried to shrink away from the impending punch.
"When are you supposed to report, next time?" - she asked, slowly, in the kind of voice that indicated she was thinking hard, as Irwine let go of the man's collar.
"Uh... we're supposed to do it every morning and evening, and each time you guys do somethin' weird. Especially if it's gotta do with sabotaging this boat. Then we gotta do it every ten-fifteen minutes. I know, weird shit, but that's the orders." - the thug explained.
Yelena glanced at Irwine, whose expression turned... thoughtful.
"Sounds like he wants up-to-minute reports on our activities during sabotage. Almost as if..." - he frowned harder, mirrored by Yelena's expression.
"Some kinda double-cross? Maybe we're supposed to be the scapegoat, when he calls the coast guard on us, or something? Make it look good for the client?" - Jamella suddenly suggested.
Irwine looked unconvinced.
"Could be, I guess. But what's the point? If we're arrested, that's just added risk for the client that we talk. Which we would. We don't know who he is, but we can finger the manager, and if the investigators squeeze him, he'll squeal about his client to save his ass. Doesn't make sense."
But Yelena's face was carved from stone, as she suddenly connected the dots.
"No... the modified one-way Infolink transmitter, the enforced secrecy, the fact we are out here in the middle of nowhere... and potentially compromised when we try to carry out our 'sabotage' assignment... the expendable informants..." - she motioned at the thug and his cronies.
"It's an ambush!" - she snarled, with a flash or realisation.
"What do you mean...?" - Irwine demanded, suspiciously.
"Think about it! It would be a perfect opportunity for our enemies to make a move. Especially if they can have a team here, while the ship is outside territorial waters. As for any collateral damage, and civilian casualties... well. No witnesses. A perfect coverup, if necessary. A terrorist attack. Believe me, I know from experience." - she growled, with a flash in her dark eyes.
The thug looked between the two of them, in confusion, while Jamella turned pale.
"But how would the cab- how would they even know... ? Unless... the client..." - Irwine trailed off briefly, eyes narrowing in anger.
"Unless there is no client. Unless the manager's been a mole all along. A double-agent for the Il... them. God damn it..." - he finished darkly.
"S..so now what?! What do we do?!" - Jamella shuddered, on the verge of tears.
Yelena's face turned hard.
"We work with what we have. Change their planned script a little. And you, and your friends..." - she glanced at the thug, whose own face was a mirror of confusion mixed with fear, "...it will be in your best interest to help us. If the kind of people who I think will be coming, are coming for us, they will NOT want to leave loose ends behind. Like the three of you. You know too much. Do you understand what I mean?" - darkly.
The mohawk-haired man gulped, with a nod. He may have been a simple gangster, but he wasn't born yesterday, and some of the stuff he did for the Cartel, involved silencing insiders. In this case, the three of them were insiders.
"Yeah... I get it." - he rubbed his knuckles nervously.