Wild is the Blue

by Cecilia Randell

  He had not missed the additional tension that rode the both of them after the round of exchanged kisses. Maybe tonight Blue would be able to get the mercenary to show the part of himself Felix continued to hold back.

  Or maybe not. As close as Mo’ata had grown to the mercenary, he’d noted that Felix was not one to open himself up. Just look at the fact that it had taken a case of non-mistaken identity for him to confess who his family was.

  Mo’ata could understand wanting to live your own life, but Felix had taken it to a new level.

  “I wouldn’t worry about it too much,” Forrest said, his expression soft and eyes locked on Vivi’s. “He’s almost ready, and something else is coming soon that will push things over the edge.” The younger man blinked a few times and his cheeks colored. “I did it again, didn’t I? Is it getting worse?”

  Mo’ata’s chest tightened. “I do not think worse, but the episodes are changing.” Compared to when Forrest had first come home three months ago, the second of Blue’s priden was much better—just different. “Maybe Blue and Levi are correct and we need to get you some pieces of turammin to wear.” And maybe we need to have someone with you at all times. You and Blue both, if she is going to continue to encounter chukas like Blaine Friate.

  Forrest’s eyes narrowed. “Let’s try the jewelry first. It would be a little hard for me to explain away someone following behind me and getting all antsy every time I happen to stare into space—which happens a lot as an artist, believe it or not. Hell, there are whole roomfuls of people staring at nothing all throughout the Arts Department.” He shrugged. “And Vivi helps me during the day. As I told Blue, when I get home we both relax.”

  “Are you getting any more control? Are the kiti and meditation continuing to help?” Levi asked.

  “Some. I can stave off an episode about half the time if I notice it coming on. It's just that here…”

  “You want to relax,” Mo’ata finished for him.

  “Yeah.” Forrest swallowed and his gaze locked onto the blue and green swirls of the rug they’d picked out a month ago. “You guys are… how does this not freak you out? Me slipping into your minds, accidentally or not. If it was me, I’m not too sure I’d be so calm about it, honestly.”

  Mo’ata thought over how to respond. Forrest may have couched the question in casual tones, but Mo’ata knew it was anything but an idle thought. “We trust you,” he finally said. It was nothing more or less than the truth. “We insist you practice the kiti and meditation exercises Levi knows for your benefit. Not for ours.”

  A light entered Forrest’s eyes. He opened his mouth and Mo’ata’s comm went off. “You’ll want to get that,” the younger man said. “Tell us what he wants later.”

  Mo’ata pulled his comm out. Demil.

  “Also warn him that Blue is going to be the most difficult. She’s going to hate using her relationship with Felix like this, especially since they’re not settled yet. This is different from the other times.” Forrest pushed himself off the couch and headed for his room, humming under his breath.

  The comm sounded again.

  “Would you like for me to stay?” Levi asked.

  Mo’ata nodded. With a sigh he answered the call. “Yes?”

  “Meet me at Colci’s, half and hour.” The line disconnected.

  He rubbed a finger between his brows. What had Blue said the day they’d all put on their rings? We have time now, don’t we? It looked like their time was up. Demil was well aware that Mo’ata was not taking on any assignments that would necessitate travel away from the prida while Blue and Forrest were still in school. Which meant this involved Blue. Which meant Forrest’s vague predictions were no doubt correct as well.

  Demil wanted to use Blue and her connection to Felix somehow.

  Had Blue picked up on some of what was coming, or at least the urgency of it, from Forrest and the cubs? Was that the source of her anxiety, why she’d been so determined to push herself?

  Mo’ata stood and Levi was half a second behind him. The clansman waved a hand toward the bedrooms. “You may as well get some sleep. I have a feeling this will be not only be a talk between me and the Boss, but between me and my old mentor as well. I’ll brief everyone after the exhibit.” We need that time together as a family, and I’m not letting anything ruin Forrest’s day.

  After a brief hesitation, Levi nodded. Mo’ata changed into an armored coat and strapped on a blade. Leaving the apartment, he wondered exactly what Demil would ask of them.

  And he wondered if he was ready for this. Every other operation had involved Blue because she was already caught up in what was going on. Granted, they had first become entangled with Miyari and Falass because of Trevon and the Family head’s misinterpretation of a whispered death confession, but by the time they’d figured that out, it was too late.

  Mo’ata would wait to hear what Demil had to say, but he suspected this operation was not like the last ones. No, this would be a normal assignment, not a tumbling into unavoidable conspiracies and accidental flittings to unknown worlds.

  This would give Blue a true taste of her future. A part of her would no doubt be delighted.

  A large part of Mo’ata was not.

  Colci’s was like any other mercenary bar—dark, loud, and if you didn’t step right you could find yourself in the middle of a fight.

  “Mo’ata!” Theo, the bartender, called out. “Are you here alone, or did you bring those two young ones with you?”

  The clansman’s lips twisted in a wry smile. You could find yourself in the middle of a fight, unless you were Blue or Forrest. “They’re at home tonight. It was a long day.” The couple of times he and Felix had brought Blue around, she’d been a hit with the regulars. He had to stop more than a few of the mercenaries from patting her on the head or picking her up to see just how much she weighed. Forrest, well, he had that same quality as Blue—the ability to make friends wherever he went.

  “That’s right,” Niall said from a few seats away. “The exhibit’s tomorrow. I should finish with my current job in time to catch the last of it.” The dark-haired, slender man had assisted in Forrest's rescue, had seen the state the youngest priden had been in.

  “I will be sure to tell him,” Mo’ata said with a genuine smile. He turned his attention to Theo. “The Boss in?”

  Theo tipped his head. “The usual booth. Expecting you?”

  “Yes.”

  Theo and Niall both nodded and didn’t say more. Colci’s was very much don’t-ask-don’t-tell when it came to the patrons. Most were aware more went on behind the scenes than selling alcohol and the occasional bet or two. The Boss, in his role as Lieutenant Colonel John Black of the Mercenary Guild of Cularna, had long ago staked out the bar as his and his soldier’s territory. Each of those men, and women, were also part of the Order of Terril. Anyone else who wandered in, mercenary, clansman, merchant, or civil guard, was watched with a sharp eye.

  And you never made it to the back half of the bar unless the Boss expected you.

  Mo’ata wove through the tables, avoiding feet and fists thrown in his path. Chuckles sounded around him.

  He paused before a tall woman, her toned body outlined by standard mercenary armor. Jana, another person who’d been on the retrieval mission for Forrest and Levi. Her gaze scanned over him, then she nodded and stepped to the side. “He’s waiting,” she said.

  A figure sat in the shadows of a back booth, his broad frame outlined by a low lamp high above. Mo’ata slid in across from him and met his mentor’s clear, grey gaze. The dark hair peppered with silver at the temples had grown a little longer, lending the man a roguish look. All he’d need was a piercing or two, and he could have been mistaken for Zeynar’s older brother. A grin flashed across Mo’ata’s face.

  “What?” Demil asked.

  “Nothing you want to know.” The clansman crossed his arms and leaned back. “Why did you summon me here?”

  Demil placed a folder on the table between them.
The man’s love of paper was something he had in common with Blue.

  Mo’ata leaned forward and flipped it open. On top were photos and copies of memos and communications between a man named John Ekarill and Yorik Skit—Miyari’s old name. They were from nineteen, nearly twenty, years ago. The language was vague, but Yorik referred to “breakthroughs” and “human subjects.”

  The next document was more recent, dated about four months ago. It only contained one line.

  I have found the key.

  “That was restored from the few data cards we were able to salvage after the fire. The recipient signature was also John Ekarill.” Demil rapped his fingers against the wood of the table. “There were fragments of another recipient address, but the data was too damaged.”

  “What is it you want us to do with this?”

  “Keep going. You’ll figure it out.”

  Next was another printout, this time of a message string between Miyari and someone named Michael Pakesh. Mo’ata didn’t understand all the terms, but he knew enough to see they were discussing the merits of using enzymes to isolate the DNA markers specific to the chromosomes that controlled certain traits in different species: strength, speed, senses, cognitive abilities. And ways to enhance those traits.

  Mo’ata’s blood chilled. “You’ve found his sponsor.”

  “Just keep going.”

  Mo’ata set the sheet aside and picked up a dossier for Michael Pakesh. The man was the Science Guild’s current liaison to…

  John Ekarill, the head administrator of the Mercenary Guild’s Medical Division. “Culan’s Bones,” he breathed out.

  “You’re getting it, but you’re still not done. As I am sure you have figured out, there is a reason I called you.”

  Mo’ata didn’t acknowledge that, simply continued to go through the papers one by one until a pattern began to form. The Medical Division of the Mercenary Guild was using its connections with the Science Guild to play around with its soldiers. Or someone wanted to. Miyari had been one thin thread of this web, his research one small piece of the larger picture.

  The last thing in the file was a photo. Mo’ata knew the face in the middle as well as he knew his own.

  Felix.

  He was younger. His frame had yet to fill in with the muscle he now carried, and his hair was longer. He stood with an arm around a classically beautiful, dark-haired woman. On his other side was a man who could have been his eldest brother, or maybe his father. Next to that man stood John Ekarill.

  Mo’ata wasn’t sure whether to laugh or throw his fist into something. Seeing as his options for the latter were either Demil or the very hard wall, lashing out wasn’t the smartest choice.

  He dropped his head into his hand and laughed. The irony of this situation was not lost on him. He wondered how his shopa would react if he pointed out she was the one who had set the precedent of using her relationships as a cover. Forrest’s comment came back to him. It’s different from the other times.

  Pulling himself back together, Mo’ata focused on the man across from him. “You want us to find out if the Audal family has a hand in what’s going on.”

  “Yes, and no. I have people looking into that, people who are in the right places to get me the information I need. I am eighty-percent convinced Audal is not embroiled in this, or not anymore. Twenty years ago there was a movement to increase the funds directed toward genetic research within the Medical Division of the Guild. A joint project with the Development Division. The proposal didn’t go through. Audal played a part in stopping it, and from accounts it was due to Mira Audal’s protests and influence over her husband. So, no, I do not believe he is currently involved, if he ever fully was. But he is connected to many who were.” Demil’s eyes narrowed. “Right now I have all I need to bring both Ekarill and Pakesh up on charges before the Alliance. But something is missing. Most of this information simply appeared. My agent in the Science Guild speculated that he missed the recent memos the first time around because the language is not obvious. Which is true. However…”

  “We don’t trust anything that comes this easily.”

  “No, we do not. Couple this with the recipient signature we only partially recovered, and the fact that Miyari had so effectively disappeared for two decades, and I have to suspect another player. One who has enough influence to help Miyari disappear, which neither Ekarill nor Pakesh have. One of the generals, maybe, but not those two.”

  “Then what do you need?” Mo’ata’s shoulders tensed. If they were not investigating the Audals, then…

  “I need your Blue to do what she does so well. I need her to stir up trouble.”

  Yes, that was what I feared he would say.

  Demil’s expression softened a fraction. “This is more than evaluating data and sorting through facts. She is not ready, I know. I would not ask this of you, but she is in a unique position.” He rapped his fingers on the table and a crease formed between his brows. “Have you ever studied the Earth game chess?”

  “Some.”

  “There is a piece, the queen. It is unique in that it does not have to follow a set pattern of moves as the other pieces do. In this instance, your Blue is a bit like that queen, only more chaotic. She doesn’t need to stick to the set moves of the game. People don’t expect her to. And she has the useful quality of swaying people to her side. These are all things I can use.”

  Mo’ata’s lip curled up. “You speak of her as though she is an object, and not one of your agents.”

  Shadows moved behind grey eyes. “I am using her. If this is headed where I think it is, I will use anything I need to, agents, friends, family. There is no room for sentiment in my—our—line of work. If you and she can’t handle that, I need to re-think her future fitness as an agent. And let me clarify, she is not one of my agents. I granted her probationary status based on your recommendation and the circumstances, but she is far from making the grade even now.” He held up a hand. “I am aware of her proficiency in ranged weapons, and she has shown skill with data analysis, but those alone will not keep her alive in the field.”

  “And yet you want to send her to a planet full of trained soldiers, some of whom will no doubt attempt to eliminate her from this game.”

  A brow rose. “Are you asking me to revoke her probationary status?”

  Mo’ata stilled. Blue would kill him if that happened. “No,” he ground out. Partners, remember. She wanted to be partners. I am not allowed to wrap her in a fluffy cloud-blanket of protection. Not allowed. Not allowed. He had to learn to separate his duties as a First Priden and as an agent of the Order.

  But part of their terms had included her having finished her training before going into the field—or, going into the field on purpose.

  Demil also had a point. If Mo’ata looked at the situation objectively, Blue was in a unique position to push the barriers of what an agent could accomplish. Oh, not in a covert way, but she had contacts among the Ministry, the clansmen, the Firik of the North, and the Martikan Families. She could bring those factions of the Alliance together, to work as a team.

  At least some of them.

  Once more, his Order trained mind warred with his protective instincts, which in turn came up against the words he’d given Blue not an hour before. “Do we know how far they’ve gone in their research?” he finally asked.

  Demil frowned. “No. So far there are no other indications of laboratories similar to Miyari’s, but we’ve only begun tracing these two men. That’s the other reason I’m not taking them in yet.”

  “And it is another reason you need someone to go in and stir things up.” It was not lost on Mo’ata that this strategy bore strong similarities to his own plan to flush out those in the Ministry involved in the original kidnapping cases.

  “Yes.” Demil’s lips thinned, He pulled out another folder. “You also need to see this.”

  A dark-haired girl stared up at Mo’ata, her eyes remarkably similar to his shopa’s. Mika. Purple bruises
around her neck were a sharp contrast against her pale skin.

  “She was found a few days ago in a back alley close to the Figgan Region’s Weavers Guild. Mika was not her real name.” Demil pushed the photo to one side, revealing another dossier, this one for a Jayne Forbant—also known as Mika Bezuss. “I had an agent tracing her, and he found the orphanage she grew up in for the first ten years of her life. A Drake Fillbert adopted her.”

  Mo’ata scanned over the rest of the information. “Who does not exist,” he said as he finished.

  “Who does not exist.”

  “Could it have been Miyari?”

  “Possibly.”

  Mo’ata knew what that meant. There was no evidence one way or the other, and the Boss would not make assumptions based on nothing, no matter how logical they may seem. “Someone is cleaning their tracks,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “Is there anything else?”

  “Nothing that has been confirmed.” A slight hesitation. “There are murmurs among some of the lower level Ministry agents that recruitment for External Security has picked up, especially for Earth.”

  “You think it’s connected.”

  “You know I don’t think anything until I know. But I won’t throw out a puzzle piece until I have the full picture and can confirm if it fits.”

  Mo’ata smiled. The sentiment was something he could imagine Blue saying. No doubt it would offend Demil if he found out precisely how similar he was to a petite blond idealist.

  Recruitment for External Security has picked up. That reminded him of something else that needed to be handled, and Demil was the perfect person to assist him. “I need a favor.”

  A brow rose.

  “Blaine Friate. I need his application to the security departments of the Ministry blocked. Can you put someone on him? Do a few traces and see if there is anything I can use?”

  “I could. Why?”

  “Personal.”