Rings of the Inconquo Trilogy

by A. L. Knorr

  “Clearly,” Stewart grunted, his expression incredulous.

  I shook my head, hands raised, as I fought to keep irritation out of my voice.

  “I’m not an expert in this stuff.” I pushed aside a pang as I remembered the one who was. “Just keeping our perspective broad, as it were.”

  Marks nodded before turning smartly and taking three long-legged strides to her desk. She didn’t sit but bent to tap a few keys on her keyboard then swipe at her computer.

  “Either way,” she said as she straightened. “It would appear that the Group of Winterthür’s operations are highly vulnerable at the moment, an opportunity we can’t waste. We took the intelligence you brought about Iraq and combined it with some operational data collections to come up with your next target. A brief is waiting in your ops folders for review.”

  Stewart nodded, but I found myself confused.

  “What ‘operations folder’?”

  “That is something we need to talk about,” Marks said as she came around to the front of her desk. “However, I don’t think the sergeant needs to be here for that conversation.”

  She nodded to Stewart, who gave a curt “Ma’am” to both of us before literally marching out of the office.

  “If that man ever smiled, I think his whole face might crack,” Marks observed, eyes twinkling as she watched the old soldier depart. We shared a half-hearted laugh, a failed attempt to defuse the growing tension. There was a drawn-out moment as she studied me, and I did my best to look determined to wait her out.

  She spoke the second before I cracked.

  “Our relationship thus far has been … vague.” She leaned back on the front of her desk. “While I am eager to continue working with you, the reality is that I am part of an organisation, a hierarchy, and your role within that framework remains undefined.”

  We were on the same wavelength after all.

  “I thought we were allies.” My fists slid to my hips. “Partners in the fight against Winterthür.”

  Marks nodded. “Ally? Partner?” Her manicured nails drummed against the desk. “Yes, but unfortunately, The Nakesh Corporation needs something more official, more concrete.”

  On some clerical instinct, my gaze slid under her arm to spy an open folder where pages of typed text sat with tell-tale signature lines stretching along the bottom of the paper.

  “A contract?”

  “Yes.” Her eyes intent, her tenor unruffled. “A contract to secure your position and protection as an employee of The Nakesh Corporation. It would not change the objective, hunting Ninurta and the Group of Winterthür, just connect you more distinctly to the organisation.”

  I kept my face neutral, though an intense curiosity to read the document surged to the fore.

  She drew the folder together with one hand then held it out. “Please, peruse what we are offering you and consider what we could accomplish together. I understand a lot has happened already, but we are quick to retain the services of fantastically talented people. After all, Ninurta does present an extraordinary threat. Having extraordinary people is the solution.”

  I took the papers, feeling her eyes on me. “May I ask a few questions?”

  “Of course.” Marks broke eye contact as she moved to slide into her chair behind the desk. “Though I imagine some of your questions may be answered by what is in that folder.”

  I laid my hands flat against the heavy, smooth stock, weighing my words carefully.

  “TNC is a multinational organisation that combats a cabal of occult villains in a secret war worthy of a comic book.” I hoped the comparison didn’t strike her as crass. “Isn’t legal paperwork … I don’t know … mundane?”

  Marks steepled her fingers.

  “The Nakesh Corporation may be part of the fight to save the world, but we still have to file taxes, compensate our employees, and manage workplace conflicts. For such mundane realities, mundane paperwork helps the machine run smoothly. After all, that is why the bloody stuff was created in the first place.” She smiled.

  Fair enough, but the minutiae of how to fund a corporation who spent its time and assets saving an ignorant world niggled at me. I set that concern aside for the moment and chose to use her words as a springboard to my next question.

  “Speaking of employees and workplace conflicts,” my stomach twisted a little as I watched for her reaction, “Will I be an employee of TNC, and if so, do I answer to you?”

  Marks nodded slightly, as though working her way toward a conclusion.

  “Yes. And, after a fashion, yes.” Her tone was disarmingly matter of fact. “You would be an employee and operative of TNC, holding a generously compensated position. Again, read the contract.”

  The folder suddenly seemed heavier and I had an itch in my fingers to see exactly what well compensated meant. I beat the urge back by doubling down on the remainder of my question.

  “How would I be answering to you “after a fashion”?”

  The steepled fingers intertwined and folded into a delicate collection of polished nails and well-moisturised knuckles.

  “Every one of our operatives functions under strategic fiat and tactical fidelity. You choose the missions you participate in, but once a mission has commenced you must adhere to the methods and dictates of your superiors. This ensures two things: that our operatives only take missions they’re invested in and there is a clear chain of command. As the Director of Operations in this region, I am the one holding that chain.”

  This seemed reasonable, and better than what most would have expected, but I couldn’t escape the reality of what she was talking about.

  “So once I sign this, any mission we execute together, I’m on your leash?”

  Marks’ eyes tightened, but then she threw me a dazzling smile and gave a short laugh.

  “Very clever, Ms Bashir. I prefer to think of myself as a coordinator. I am here to make sure the best people for the job are where they need to be so that things get accomplished and everyone comes home safe. If that takes exercising authority, it’s a small price to pay.”

  I was having a hard time not being impressed by the smooth and sensible responses Marks was offering, but I felt certain this next question was going to be the linchpin.

  “What happens if I don’t want to sign?” I punctuated the question with a sharp tap on the folder.

  Marks looked me in the eye for another uncomfortable collection of seconds before settling back in her chair.

  “Besides my personal grief and sense of failure?” She shook her head to dispel the rhetorical flourish. “Immediately, nothing. You are welcome to stay in our facilities until your uncle and Ms Davies can be transferred to a long-term care facility, then we will provide you with transportation to wherever you would like to go.”

  “And would I then be an enemy of TNC?”

  “Of course not.” There was a hint of reproof in her tone. “You would be welcome to come back if you had a change of heart, but even if you never did, no one in the Corporation would bear you any ill will.”

  Marks shook her head, another tight but knowing smile playing at her lips.

  “We have enough enemies without making new ones of old allies.”

  I searched her face for deception but came up empty.

  “So you’d let us go?” I was openly credulous in a desperate hope to reveal some dark agenda. “Just like that?”

  Marks nodded slowly and gave me what was perhaps the most sincere look of pity I’ve ever received.

  “Yes, Ibby.” Her tone was gentle, but insistent. “It is not what we want, but as I said, we have enough work without going after those who share our interests. You are not our enemy, and we will only ever treat you with respect, but let me request that you consider one thing.”

  I waited for it.

  “How well were things going in your war against Ninurta and Winterthür before we showed up?”

  3

  “She’s not wrong.” I sank back in the chair as I held Ja
ckie’s hand.

  Her fingers were cold and limp in my grip, gone was the warm strength she’d always had.

  During every visit I took her hand and spoke to her, told her whatever was on my mind. I wanted her to know that she wasn’t alone. My habit of talking out my worries and woes with my best friend wouldn’t be broken, even if she were in a coma. I chose to believe she knew I was with her, understood me, felt my presence.

  “I know it doesn’t do any good to play what-if, but I can’t help thinking that you wouldn’t be like this if we’d met them earlier. If they’d showed up before we went to Pierre’s manor, or even before Sark … you wouldn’t be … well, it would have been different.”

  The ventilator hissed and puffed in time with the rise and fall of her chest. Tubes sprang from her mouth and nose. IVs ran from her hands and wires connected the pads speckling her chest beneath the hospital gown. Machines gave incremental chirps as numbers and codes blinked from screens. My friend seemed less a singular person than a biomechanical ecosystem, her body the central host to a plethora of electronic fauna.

  “Regardless,” I swallowed around the lump in my throat, “getting rescued last-minute is one thing, but signing up with Marks is another. The woman is formidable. If you could get over your suspicion of new people, you might even like her.”

  The trauma and blood loss from Jackie’s injuries had been extensive, and though the facilities in the floors behind Nakesh’s public face were exceptional, there was only so much they could do. The trauma surgeon who had worked on Jackie told me the fact that Jackie was alive at all was a testament to her resilience. Even after working on her for hours, the best they could manage was a stop-gap. Jackie’s heart was beating, her brain showed the very barest signs of activity, but she wasn’t waking up, and she wasn’t breathing on her own.

  “I could believe Marks knows what she is doing.” I shrugged, feeling a fresh weight settle over me. “But what makes her competent also makes her ruthless. We know how it went the last time we had an ally like that.”

  The surgeon had also told me that it was possible Jackie could wake up, her body healing enough to handle its own functions while her brain recovered from so much time with so little blood. It could happen, but she’d also told me that the likelihood that she would never wake up was far greater. The longer Jackie stayed like this, the less likely her recovery would be, and, eventually, a body without a functioning brain fails. She mentioned organ failure and necrosis, such precise, sterile words for an ugly reality. Despite my hopes and beliefs, my friend could be gone even now. Leaving me clutching at a shell.

  “Still, I think we can get more done with their help.” I leaned forward to rest my head on my outstretched arm. “I just don’t like the idea of following orders. We made it this far trusting our instincts...”

  My voice trailed off as I looked up at Jackie. My vision blurred as tears sprang up and ran hot, familiar trails down my face. I choked off a sob.

  The ventilator maintained its reptilian sounds while the avian chorus of monitoring machines played on.

  “Maybe, you’re right.” I sniffed, lifting a cold finger to press against my brow. “Maybe, I need to face facts. My leadership hasn’t amounted to much. Perhaps, I should give someone else’s a try.”

  ---

  “Are you sure about this, Ibby?”

  Uncle Iry sat in The Nakesh Corporation courtyard, in his wheelchair.

  “A’am, if I was sure, I wouldn’t be here asking you.” I sank face down onto the little cafe table between us. I probably looked like a petulant child but I was past caring. I could still taste salty tears at the corners of my mouth.

  “I can see reasons to take what she is offering,” I muttered at the table. “But I can also see reasons why we shouldn’t sign with a shady company that claims all its covert operations are to fight a rival secret society.”

  I felt a large, calloused grip settle over my hand and looked up at Uncle Iry.

  “Ibby, I am not sure there is a right answer.” He gave my hand a small squeeze. “We are so far from what either of us has ever known. I could tell you to do one thing or another, but it would be little more than a guess, not advice or wisdom.”

  I squeezed his hand back and propped myself up on my other elbow.

  “At this point, I’ll take guesses as well as I’d take advice. Though, only one per customer.”

  A smile crept across his weathered features, the lines in his face deeper and more numerous than ever.

  “Well then.” He gave a small groan as he sank back, releasing my hand. “I better make it a good one.”

  I crossed my arms, leaning on both elbows, feeling a little younger, a little lighter as I waited for the advice of my elder. He claimed only to guess, but Uncle Iry was the voice of wisdom in my life. His patience, his perpetual refusal to surrender to the bitter difficulties he had endured, his gentle way of speaking truth, all bound into one beautiful soul. The guesses of Irshad Bashir were worth more than a legion of wise men.

  “What should I do, a’am?”

  Uncle Iry glanced around, the little courtyard ringed in brilliant flora on stake trellises that nearly butted up against the glass windows of the complex. He looked up, squinting as the sun glittered off the dozens of floors worth of windows as they stretched into the sky. Finally, he looked down at the wheelchair where one leg rested on a pedal while the other stretched in front, encased in a cast from calf to mid-thigh. The cast stabilised the femoral break he’d suffered when Sark betrayed us and Daria destroyed spectral Museum Station. The doctors, furnished by TNC, had been optimistic about his recovery with nearly full functionality, which was fantastic given the severity of the break. In the overwhelming first few days at TNC it had been welcome news as Jackie’s situation had been so touch and go.

  “All of this is concerning,” Iry finally said, waving a hand to the courtyard and the massive office space around us. “It is all an illusion, a mask hiding a group of people who live very differently from those who walk by this building.”

  I opened my mouth to point out they couldn’t hang a sign on the front door saying WE FIGHT BAD GUYS, but my Uncle’s raised hand stopped me. I’d asked him, so I should let him have his say.

  “I understand.” He nodded slowly. “They have good reason to keep secrets, but men who are good at keeping secrets are also good at making more secrets. They breed them, as a shepherd breeds sheep, so I can’t help wondering what other secrets they have. There could be atrocities hidden behind those shiny windows, and we would never know.”

  I could see his point. With the painful exception of Sark, everyone else in our little band of fighters against Winterthür had been people we knew and trusted. Jackie was my best friend, Lowe a mentor bound by blood and destiny, and Uncle Iry was the only living family I had left. Even Marcus, the latecomer, had been co-worker and friend, who’d gone above and beyond to save me. TNC had none of that going for them, and even in the few weeks since they rescued us, it had been clear there was much going on.

  “We can’t trust them.” I felt a decision solidify in my mental grip. “So, how can we put our lives in their hands?”

  Iry gave me a side-long glance. “Hold on now.” He wagged a finger. “I wasn’t finished.”

  I threw my hands in the air. “A’am, please! Put me out of my misery.”

  “Impatient child,” he grumbled with hollow derision, the corners of his mouth twitching up. “Listen longer and speak less, especially when you ask for advice.”

  I rolled my eyes and then shot him a sly look. “I thought this was just a guess?”

  “Don’t change the subject.” He made a show of adjusting the wheelchair’s seat. Once he was done, he reached down and tapped a finger on the plaster on his leg.

  “This is what gives me pause.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder toward the doors which led out of the courtyard, to the elevator down to the medical levels. “Also, the care they are taking with Jackie. Both suggest tha
t these secretive people might be diamonds in the rough.”

  I didn’t rise from my slouched position, but I watched my uncle intently, snatching up every word like spilled treasure.

  “We have had to trust them for many days now. What do we have to show for it?”

  A small, ugly voice inside me wanted to make a snide remark about Jackie’s condition, but I snuffed it out on principle. I couldn’t lay the blame for my friend’s injuries at the feet of TNC. It was Daria who’d been responsible for that. My molars ground together at the thought.

  “If this woman--Ms Marks—is as nefarious and ruthless as we imagine she could be, why would she go to all the trouble of tending to us? We could have died under substandard care. In truth, she could have had us killed, and it would be unlikely you would have thought it was anything except our injuries, Jackie especially.”

  The thought made me shiver and wrap my arms around myself. Two of the closest people I had, gone in one fell swoop … my heart lurched in my chest, grateful things had not turned out that way.

  “Free of people to care for and looking for revenge, she could have used your rage and grief to turn you into a weapon. Blinded by loss, Marks could have set you after every enemy she had, and you would have destroyed them without a second thought. You have your father’s eyes, but your mother’s fire, and that fire fed by a broken heart could burn down the world.”

  Again, I knew what he was saying was true, but the thought of it unsettled me. I remembered the rage I’d felt when Sark had first taken Jackie and then my fury when facing Pierre. I’d never thought of myself as an angry person, and maybe I wasn’t, but there did seem a deep reserve of wrath somewhere inside of me. If I had lost my uncle and my best friend, what kind of person would I have become?

  “But she didn’t do that.” I shook off the layers of dread and refocused on the facts. “So she’s one of the good guys?”