She was about to broach the subject of La Gloria de la Ciencia when a muted banging came from behind her.
Startled, she jumped off the bench and spun around. A trio of locker doors had pivoted open as one, revealing the room’s other entrance.
A woman stepped through the portal.
Twenty-Four
She was tall and slim, and garbed in a sleek tan dress with a wide hemline that swished across the tops of high-heeled brown boots. Her skin was pale, her hair a color reminiscent of ripening peaches. Cut short, it was parted into bangs that framed a face dusted with dimples. Behind her, Bel glimpsed the lower landing of a dark staircase spiraling upward. It must access the basement of a building above them and serve as egress to the zoo.
She guessed the woman was in her late twenties. But with the popularity of cosmetic modification and the late-twenties look topping the fashion charts, she could be decades older.
The woman smiled and sat down beside Ektor Fang’s tway. The two of them greeted one another with a kiss. Their lips pressed together long enough to suggest to Bel that they were more than just friends.
Ektor Fang made the introductions. “Nick Guerra and Annabel Bakana, I would like you to meet Olinda Shining.”
“Hello,” the woman offered, smiling and leaning forward to shake their hands. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintances.”
“I asked Olinda to join us. No need to limit our conversation on her account.” The tway paused. “My wife and I keep no secrets from one another.”
“True, although sometimes I wish it wasn’t so.” Olinda laughed lightly at some private joke and massaged the back of the tway’s neck. The gesture was affectionate yet oddly reminded Bel of an owner stroking a favorite pet.
“Olinda possesses a rare wisdom. She is, in truth, my better half.”
“Ektor exaggerates. But he does so from the heart and therefore can be forgiven.”
Bel stared at the woman, trying to wrap her head around the idea of a Paratwa assassin being married to someone who projected such a warm and friendly attitude.
Olinda reached out and patted her hand as if they were old and dear friends. Bel resisted an urge to flinch.
“Don’t be shy, Ms Bakana,” Olinda said, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she sensed Bel’s nervousness. “Ask me whatever you like. I promise I don’t bite.”
“Call me Bel.” Even as she voiced the invitation, she wondered why she’d revealed her private nickname to someone she’d met only moments ago, and the wife of a deadly assassin no less. The woman possessed a disarming quality.
“Bel it is then,” Olinda said, turning her attention to Nick. “Ektor speaks highly of you. He says you can be trusted.”
“Glad to hear it,” Nick said.
His tone remained neutral yet his face betrayed a hint of suspicion. He would be wondering, as Bel was, whether they were talking to a human or a binary.
Bel decided to ask. But before she could even get the words out, Olinda beat her to the punch.
“You wish to know whether you’re speaking to all of me or merely a half, yes?”
She nodded.
“Which answer would most lessen your opinion of me and engender mistrust? If I told you I was a Paratwa or if I admitted to being a servitor?”
“That’s not a very fair question.”
“Nevertheless, I ask it.”
Bel answered without guile. “If you’re a binary, I’d be less inclined to trust you. If you’re a servitor, I believe I might trust you a bit more even while regarding you as deeply misguided.”
“I appreciate your honesty. I am what you refer to as a servitor, although I admit to finding the label somewhat disparaging.”
Bel glanced at Nick, was glad to see he was hiding his displeasure. He disliked servitors intensely.
Olinda stared at him, seemingly aware of his true feelings. “I realize how our kind is all too often perceived. Yet to enjoy the company of both human and binary does not necessarily make us misanthropic or mercenary. I would humbly ask that you try to keep an open mind.”
“Fair enough,” Nick said, his expression neutral.
Another question popped into Bel’s head. But it was of a more personal nature and definitely not the sort of thing you asked a woman with her husband sitting beside her.
Olinda seemed attuned to her reluctance. “No need for modesty, Bel. If I may risk another guess, I would say that you’re curious about our sex life.”
Bel felt like an open book. Nick’s neuro relaxant seemed useless.
Olinda grinned. “Rest assured, I’m no mindreader. It’s just that the subject of Paratwa lovemaking intrigues people no end. Did you know there are over two billion online sites that discuss human-binary sexual relations?”
“Many of them featuring the most exotic and fetishistic sex imaginable,” Ektor Fang added with a grimace.
“And most of them ignorant of the true nature of love and eroticism. In truth, our sex is deeply gratifying, yet rather staid when measured against the gamut of such speculations. Suffice it to say, bringing pleasure to one tway brings pleasure to the whole man. Much of our lovemaking is no different from the common style of human couplings practiced since the Stone Age. That’s not to say we don’t experiment.”
She patted her husband’s thigh, her eyes twinkling. There was an openness and passion to the woman that Bel found strangely intriguing.
“All very interesting,” Nick said, injecting boredom into his words. “But I assume you didn’t join us just to talk about your sex life.”
“Nick grows impatient, my dear,” Olinda said. “Best we return the conversation to more appropriate subjects.”
Ektor Fang kissed her lightly on the cheek and caressed her arm. Bel was fascinated by their intimacies, so alien to her preconceptions. The studies she’d read all indicated that assassins, whether in relationships with other Paratwa or with servitors, were ruthlessly efficient when it came to sex, unconcerned with anything beyond immediate physical gratification.
Studies done by humans, she reminded herself. Bias crept into all forms of social research, a problem exacerbated when the widely despised binaries were the subject of interest.
“Are you aware that one of your E-Tech regents is a mole?” Ektor asked.
Bel nodded. “I just learned this morning that we have a spy on our board. I’m told it’s possibly a tway.”
“It is indeed.”
“You knew about this all along?” Nick quizzed the tway. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“I had suspicions but only confirmed them a few days ago. This mole is not just any tway. It’s one of the Royals. It’s a tway of Codrus.”
Nick hunched forward. “You’re sure about that?”
“There can be no doubt.”
“Do you know which regent?” Bel asked, stunned by the revelation.
“No. But I know that sapient supersedure was utilized to make the switch.”
Bel figured as much. It didn’t seem believable that one of the E-Tech board, all well known and highly respected within their various areas of expertise for many years, would suddenly turn traitor. But with sapient supersedure, the process of killing an individual and assuming his or her identity, the infiltration made sense.
The very idea was scary, not least because it was relatively easy to carry out. Numerous supersedures had been uncovered of late involving both humans and tways. Imaculada Merkhoffer, a Portuguese lawyer who’d worked in E-Tech’s legal department before becoming a US Supreme Court Justice, had written the definitive text on the subject. She’d detailed the three steps needed for a successful supersedure.
First, the perpetrator had to gain thorough access to the victim’s history and medical charts. Second, they had to use that information to alter themselves, through a combination of surgery, skin morphing, and genetic and biorhythmic camouflage, to match the appearance of their victim. Finally, when they were as physically indistinguishable as possible, they had to murder the p
rototype in such a way that the body would never be found.
“Any clues at all as to who this mole might be?” Nick asked. “When the switch might have been made?”
“No. I know only that the plan to infiltrate your board was Sappho’s idea.”
“No surprise that the witch was responsible,” Olinda said, her tone darkening.
“Our intel says that Codrus is a mélange,” Bel said.
Ektor Fang nodded. “Male and female tways. As with many mélanges, Codrus prefers to think of his monarch as masculine.”
“Which reveals in him a certain level of male insecurity,” Olinda added. “Whether Paratwa or human, testosterone can burn so white-hot that males are forced to reject or downplay their feminine aspects.”
Bel silently agreed. She’d read a number of psychosocial theories, all backed up by convincing evidence, that the underlying cause of many of the planet’s woes could be traced directly to an overabundance of that male hormone.
“Do you know which of Codrus’s tways infiltrated the Board of Regents?” Nick asked.
Ektor Fang shook his head.
Bel realized that even if they somehow nailed down the perpetrator’s sex, it likely wouldn’t help. According to Merkhoffer, perps sometimes underwent a sex change to pull off a supersedure. Permanent reassignment surgery and gender vacationing were both popular and relatively easy to accomplish. Her former boyfriend Upton had done the latter as had millions of others.
Severe height differences for a substitution required a more serious level of commitment. But with bone expansion and skin stretching, they weren’t out of the question.
“Any thoughts on how we might expose this mole?” Bel asked.
“With fifteen suspects, it will prove challenging,” the tway said.
“Stick to the tried and true method for unveiling a spy,” Olinda offered. “Track the leaks. Narrow down the potential suspects. Set a trap.”
“One way or another, we’ll out the bastard,” Nick promised.
Bel wasn’t so sure. Merkhoffer and other experts believed that the great majority of supersedures went undetected.
A series of tremors passed through Ektor Fang. His left hand twisted and jerked in rapid fashion as if wielding an invisible Cohe wand. Olinda raised a finger to her lips, urging them to remain silent.
The tremors passed. The hand relaxed. His wife gingerly touched his wrist. He flinched but then relaxed.
“Is it over?” she asked.
“Yes. A disturbance upstairs. A frightened little girl broke in. She was trying to get away from three necros.”
A concerned look came over Olinda. Ektor Fang patted her hand reassuringly. “It’s all right. The child is safe.”
“And the necros?” Nick asked.
“They’ve hunted their last food.”
“Do you need to be together?” Olinda asked.
“It’s probably wise. I suspect the necros were advance scouts. When they don’t return, their pack may come looking for them.”
Ektor Fang stood and gave his wife a peck on the cheek. “Don’t be long,” he urged.
“I won’t, dear. I’ll join you shortly.”
The tway opened the hidden locker portal and rushed up the flight of stairs. Olinda turned back to Bel and Nick.
“You should probably leave as well. The necros won’t get past my husband. Yet the commotion could compromise the security of this building. If the tunnel should be found, the smugglers may blame you. They may refuse to grant you safe passage in the future.”
Bel and Nick rose. But she had another question for Olinda and no longer felt reticent about being blunt.
“Why is your husband an informant? Why is he a traitor to his species?”
“I don’t consider him a traitor. Yet I can see why he might be perceived as such.” Olinda sighed. “That’s not a question with a simple answer.”
“Give it a try,” Nick said, a bit sharply. Now that Ektor Fang was gone, he was making less of an attempt to hide his true feelings toward this woman, this servitor.
“You may believe that my husband hates the Royals but that is far from the truth. He has great respect for their abilities, for the style of their leadership, for how they’ve been able to unite the breeds. With the newsphere entirely controlled by humans, much of the violence and bigotry directed against binaries is often ignored or underreported. The Ash Ock, in many positive ways, provide an outlet for the frustrations of Paratwa everywhere.”
“As well as giving the Royals an ample supply of recruits,” Nick added.
“I’m not defending that. Their admirable traits, unfortunately, are too often mere abstract concepts when compared to the horrors they’re inflicting upon the world. There is too much needless violence and destruction on both sides, and the Royals are making it worse.” Sadness came over Olinda. “If the Ash Ock could turn their powerful minds away from notions of conquest, we would all reap great benefits.”
“Not likely to happen,” Nick said.
“No, it’s not. But there will continue to be many of us, human and Paratwa alike, who oppose their will, and who work openly or in secret to countermand their impact. My husband and I count ourselves among those people. A better world is possible as long as such idealistic beliefs don’t falter.”
“Admirable sentiments,” Nick said, not sounding like he meant it. “And what exactly have you been doing to oppose them?”
“I have my ways,” she said cryptically, turning away from him to extend her palm to Bel. “I hope the two of us can meet again.”
They shook hands. As before, Bel sensed a genuine warmth and compassion emanating from this strange woman.
Olinda exited through the portal, closing the lockers behind her. Nick and Bel headed into the door to the tunnel.
“A wealth of intel,” Nick said as they walked down the steps to begin their trek back to Philly-sec. “Usually with Ektor Fang, these meetings are like pulling teeth. He was way more open than usual.”
Because his wife was there, Bel wanted to add. It made him feel more comfortable. But she held her tongue, knowing what Nick thought of the woman.
“Worth wading through a sewer for, huh?”
She gave an absent nod, still trying to absorb Ektor Fang’s incredible revelations, the death of Aristotle, the Codrus mole among the regents, the mysterious intel received by Director Witherstone that apparently had led to his murder. Yet perhaps the most surprising thing of all was Olinda Shining herself. Bel not only liked the woman but felt a kinship with her.
She too dreams of that distant horizon, a place of peace and comradeship. She too seeks a brighter path.
They reached the bottom of the stairs. As they were about to enter the tunnel, Nick turned to her, curious about her silence.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
For a moment, she didn’t grasp the reference. Then she remembered that a penny was an extinct form of coinage.
“I’m just evaluating what we learned. Olinda was… quite unexpected.”
He gazed at her intently. “Don’t be fooled by her charm. Notice how she dodged my question about what she does.”
“Other than that, she seemed quite forthcoming.”
Nick’s face darkened. “Never forget who and what they are. A Paratwa assassin and his servitor bitch. If it served their needs, they’d kill the two of us in a heartbeat.”
Bel nodded, feigning agreement. But for the first time since meeting Nick, she had a hunch he was dead wrong about something.
Twenty-Five
Nick was impressed as he watched the action in the gym from his control-room monitors. The team was performing better than he’d hoped and in a remarkably short time. With Jannik Mutter at the forefront guiding the attacks against two swift-moving holos representing an assassin, Slag, Basher and Stone Face rose to the occasion.
The quartet moved almost as one, their crescent webs humming and sparkling as they twisted to dodge hits from the harmless beams emanati
ng from the holos. Jannik’s slashes and stabs with the Cohe were augmented by well-timed thruster blasts from the three soldiers. Nick’s analysis gear was recording strike after successful strike against the holos.
“All right, good job,” he called out over the speaker as the last sim dissolved. “Let’s take a break.”
Despite his compliment, they hadn’t yet reached a level where he felt secure turning them loose against an assassin. He felt certain the three soldiers could up their game, increase speed and coordination factors by several notches. As for Jannik, the main drawback was a recurring issue with the Cohe. He hesitated at odd times during the combat, often failing to carry through with a kill thrust when a weak side portal of his target’s crescent web was within range. The hesitation was too subtle to be seen in real time but obvious during analysis of slo-mo playback.
Nick had pointed out the deficiency to him several times. Jannik halfheartedly acknowledged the problem yet dismissed it as inconsequential. During this latest sim it had happened twice. Nick realized it was time to be more forceful.
He left the control room and entered the gym. Slag, Basher and Stone Face were slumped against the wall, toweling off heavy perspiration and rehydrating with specially formulated drinks steeped in neuromuscular accelerants. Jannik, as usual during a break, was pacing back and forth, eager to plunge into the next round. His hyperkinetic activity was an additional concern. He didn’t seem able to relax, even for a few minutes.
Nick called him over. He tucked his Cohe back in its slip-wrist holster and sprinted across the gym as if his life depended on it.
“Good work,” Nick offered, reaching up to give his agitated team leader a hearty pat on the back. Doctor Emanuel suggested that positive reinforcement, both physical and verbal, would help Jannik’s implanted memories become more deeply embedded.
On that front, there’d been no conspicuous glitches. This man who had once been the tway of an assassin now believed he was as human as the next person. He’d adapted well to his new face, surgically reconstructed to be longer and more angular, with protruding ears and a dark Mediterranean complexion. However, Nick had caught him gazing into a mirror a few times, either straining to recall some aspect of his original self or unconsciously wishing to see his lost tway staring back at him.
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