by O. J. Lowe
And that was when the alarms went off all around her, a sudden harsh burst of klaxon horns and wailing sirens and inwardly Kyra swore. Oh fuck!
Chapter Sixty-Two. This Is How It Starts.
“Some people are natural born liars. It comes to them as easy as breathing. If you believe even a single word that they say, then you’ve already lost. Of course, what happens when you don’t have a choice? Because sometimes you don’t.”
Brendan King summing up Unisco’s policy on making deals with known criminals.
The second day of Summerfall.
“Incoming!”
Okocha’s shout rang through the offices, Arnholt was on his feet in an instant and out to see him. He never belayed that much emergency in his voice unless there was something serious to consider. He left a very surprised Brendan King and Allison Crumley in his wake, straight over to Okocha’s workstation.
“What is it?!” he demanded, urgency overriding his patience. He’d been on edge for days now, not since they’d had reports of Nick Roper being bailed out of the Carcaradis Island jail and vanishing shortly after. That was good, it meant that there’d been something to the plan. It meant Roper had guessed right. That there had been no sign of contact since then was slightly less of a good thing. It meant he could be anywhere. His instructions had been clear, find out what was going on, report back and get out. Don’t be a damn hero!
Contrary to popular belief, the role of the hero was to get others killed. Arnholt didn’t hold much stock by the one-man hero belief. He’d seen too many dead men to go along with it. Heroics and the job often went hand in hand, or so the new recruits seemed to believe. Too much time with the organisation and you started to think otherwise.
“We have an incoming Reims ship,” Okocha said. “Same energy output, same contact codes as before. After… What happened, I set up an algorithm to alert us when they came back and they’re here! They’re here!” He was excitable now, Arnholt could see, it was almost infectious. “It’s coming into land and we know it’s coming now.” He was chattering excitedly now, almost jumping with glee. “We’ve got them…”
“It could be nothing,” Arnholt said in a tone of voice that suggested he truly didn’t believe the words that had left his mouth. “Get me footage of who gets off that aeroship. I want to see who it is. And if we have another camera skip, I want everyone tooling up and we go wait for them in that hangar. Give them a nasty surprise.”
Of course, this job took incredible balls to do. The mortality rate amongst agents and operatives had dropped since he’d taken the top job and he was personally proud of that. Men and women weren’t dying as often because of the way he’d done things as director. There’d been those who weren’t as impressed by the statistic, of course there was. One of his bosses… He grimaced at that thought, like a foul taste had entered his mouth… had asked if his agents were doing their jobs as thoroughly and properly now they looked afraid to get shot.
Fair enough, he stank like he’d been imbibing all day and he was a lunatic at the best of times but it had been unfair criticism. Their mission success rate hadn’t dropped or risen, rather it had stayed about the same level of consistency. Analysts reckoned somewhere about the seventy to eighty percent success rate. Given the number of potential interferences in some of their missions, Arnholt didn’t think that was too bad. If someone failed, they inserted another agent as rapidly as possible. Or a team of them. You can’t win every time.
“Just coming in for landing now,” Okocha said, watching every moment of the landing on the screen with an almost wistful envy. “That’s a beautiful craft. I guess the wealthy can afford whatever they like, huh?”
“It would seem to be one of the perks,” Arnholt said absentmindedly. In his head, he was already putting together a team to hit the hangar. Derenko would lead it, taking Montgomery, Aldiss, Wilsin and maybe Sullivan with him. She had talents that would come in handy. He’d seen aeroships like it before, looking through the press releases of the Reims corporation. They had plenty of them but what nobody had ever looked to have brought up was the way they looked dastardly like oversized Premesoiran Tu Lar bombers. Uncannily so really.
Given what they were starting to suspect about Reims and their activities, he found himself wondering if there’d been something intentional in that. The craft had an intentional curve towards the nose of the ship, almost like a hawk’s beak, the wings broad and impressive. They stuck out in acute angles, all with the intent of cutting through anything that passed before them. They weren’t the fastest of craft or the most manoeuvrable but they packed heavy firepower and armour normally. They were the beating of a HAX in the air one on one, in theory but their cumbersomeness had left them unsuitable for protracted dogfights.
All this information and more passed through Arnholt’s head as he studied the video images. They even moved like the Tu Lar, descending in a fashion best reminisced as a flailing duck. Still the pilot had some skill about him, no small measure of it by the looks as he guided it gently down to the ground like a shaking leaf and it came to a gradual halt.
“Here we go,” Okocha said. “Moment of truth.” He was shivering with excitement. Maybe, Arnholt thought, he was expecting Nick Roper to get off the ship. Maybe he was anticipating the all clear, that they’d been right and it was time to go to war.
If he was expecting Nick Roper, he was to be disappointed. But neither of them could entirely contain their surprise as they saw the disembarking of the tall almost stooping figure with the aristocratic face. Okocha very nearly almost spat out the sip of water he’d been taking.
“Now that just adds more questions!” he complained. Neither of them were going to fail to recognise the man walking towards the exit. Arnholt had to admit, he’d been taken aback himself by that presence. Unlike Okocha, he’d fought to retain his professional demeanour.
Even if he very much would like to know what John Cyris was doing stepping off a Reims aeroship right now. And there would be only one way to find out.
Theo had looked in quite a decent mood since his victory in the semi-finals, Anne thought. A lot more cheerful these days. Out of his shell might be the better term. He still didn’t like people, he still found them annoying overall. And sometimes she thought he had a point with that. Some people could be jerks, she knew that better than anyone. She’d known someone once who’d told her that in battle, all illusions were cut away and you saw someone for who they truly were. Either they lived or died by it, you saw them rise to the challenge, you saw some part of them you hadn’t seen before and sometimes you might not like it.
She’d engaged in so many practice bouts with him by now, she could sort of read him. Of course, practice bouts weren’t quite the same, or the popular parlance would have everyone believe. She didn’t even like calling them that for the same reason. The truth was that she practiced the way she battled, full force and Theo did the same. No stepping back from that. If either of them had given an inch in their contentions, it would have been the end. And he was getting a lot better, thanks to her training she wanted to add with a flourish of pride. More than him getting better, it had forced her to look at some of her own techniques and build on them.
If she was honest, she couldn’t see a world where he lost in the final in the next few days. It sounded way too overconfident but she had a feeling he’d have more than Scott Taylor would be able to deal with. He’d be able to stroll over the line and shock the crowd. He didn’t look to be struggling with nerves, she just caught the wave of quiet confidence and smugness off him.
That and the urge to gasp for breath. He was in ridiculously good shape and sometimes it felt like he could run all day given the chance. They’d started running together in the mornings and the evenings when it was cooler underneath the blazing Vazaran sun. If he’d suggested it midday, she’d have thought he’d lost his mind. Today, the evening was warmer than normal but still tolerable. Even so sweat caked her entire body, dust clinging to her legs. Onl
y another few miles and she’d be able to climb into the shower…
She didn’t know what halted her first, the sight or the sensation. The tall man up ahead in their path, immaculate suit, resting on a cane or the sudden deluge of revulsion that tore through Theo like a monsoon of distress and anger. He skidded to a halt, hands already skittering about his person like nervous pale spiders as he sought something out of his pockets.
Already the man stepped forwards, hands outstretched in front of him in a gesture of supplication but it didn’t stop him. It went on a few seconds more and then his smile vanished from his sharp features. She didn’t catch much from him but what she did sense made her feel dirty. Unclean even. Here was not a nice man, she could tell that much.
“Calm yourself Theobald,” he said derisorily. “You’re making a fool out of yourself in front of your friend.”
“Shut up!” Theo almost snarled. “You… You shouldn’t even be here.” She could hear the worry in his voice, she turned to the other man and tried to work out why he seemed so familiar. Not just to her but to Theo as well. Maybe it was that they looked a little alike, the same scowl, the same way of walking… and the eyes. They were intense, cold, emotionless… Everything Theo once had tried to be. Everything that parts of him still were somewhere.
He finally found his summoner, yanked it out. He didn’t move to activate it but he was ready to use it. Anne glanced around their surroundings, not many people about. The fewer the better if it came down to a fight. This part of the parks on Carcaradis Island wasn’t busy this time of day and that was a blessing.
“You don’t need that, boy.” There was a hint of amusement in his voice. “I’m not here to fight with you.”
“Yeah sure!”
His mouth curled up in the corner. “I’m not about to fight with one of the finalists of this fine competition.” Anne thought she heard some sarcasm there. “I doubt I’d win for a start. I know there’s a point where every son bests his father but I’d prefer it not to be so devastatingly public.”
This time he smiled at Anne. “The name is Cyris, my dear. John Cyris. Since I can see you wondering where you’ve seen me before. Everyone does. I’m afraid I’m rather famous, you see.”
John Cyris… JOHN FUCKING CYRIS! She reacted with a start, not quite able to stop herself. She knew that name of course. There’d been flyers with his picture on all over Unisco buildings at one point.
“Despite what my son insists on his name being, of course,” Cyris said acerbically. He glanced sideways at Theo who was still scowling. Okay, that was strangely uncanny now she saw it. The family resemblance hung strong between them.
“My name is Theobald Jameson,” Theo said, his voice surly. “I’m not having the Cyris part anymore. I don’t want people knowing I’m related to you!” He said the last word so harshly, Anne was momentarily surprised.
“Okay, I deserve that,” Cyris said. “But I still think you’re overreacting, son.”
“Don’t bloody call me that!” Theo snapped. “You’re not my dad. Not in any way that matters.”
That scowl… she was trying to think of it as Theo’s but now she suspected he might not have been the progenitor of it… flashed back across his face momentarily before he pushed it back down into the depths of his being.
“You really shouldn’t lash out at the people who love you. You should know that by now!”
“You don’t fucking love me!” In a heartbeat, the old Theo filled with anger and distress was back, rising from the depths where he had been secluded. The Theo who’d been broken inside was slowly shattering again and she worried for him. She honestly thought he might leap on his father for a moment.
“Don’t swear at me!”
“You’re not bloody capable of love!” Theo insisted as if Cyris hadn’t spoken. “You only use those that you need and then throw them away if they don’t live up to your expectations.”
“Your point is?” Cyris studied him with an impassive expression. “Everyone does that, my boy. Me, you, her, everyone. Don’t make me out to be the villain of this. It is a picture you cannot paint.”
“Screw your damn picture you bastard!”
No love lost between them, Anne thought dryly.
Cyris nodded sagely, ending with a head bow, almost apologetic in its expression of supplication. On the surface, that’s how she interpreted it. Beneath the surface… She didn’t know. Below his mind felt murky, foggy, his intentions clouded to her. That was a surprise, she blinked several times. First time she’d experienced that in a while. Some people had that level of self-control. Everything she’d ever heard about Cyris, she’d have probably been able to guess he wasn’t a slave to wild emotions.
“I probably deserve that. Theobald, you can’t keep staying wildly angry at me like this…”
Theo cut him off with a bark of harsh laughter, his shoulders shaking with the efforts. “You want to bet that I can’t? You’re having a laugh, right? I intend to!”
“I just wanted to offer you my congratulations,” Cyris said. She might not have been getting anything from him, but she did catch the sudden surprise from Theo. He would have turned and walked away had those words not halted him mid-step.
“What?” He couldn’t quite keep the bemusement from his voice.
“I’m proud of you, son. I’ve probably never told you that enough but you’ve done good with your life.” Cyris took a step forward towards them, hands outstretched in front of him. Still keen not to prove himself as any sort of threat, Anne guessed. “I know I’ve not been an ideal father. We never were a good family. When your mother went, we never really had much to keep us together. Blood only takes you so far, wouldn’t you say?”
“You’re not bloody wrong there,” Theo growled.
“I can’t change that now,” Cyris said, almost apologetically. He shook his head sadly. “If I could, I would. But it’s beyond any of us. The past is the past. I’ve done what I’ve done and…”
“Is this your way of apologising?” Theo asked, not quite sarcastically but still with an effort of disbelief in his voice. “Because I think it needs work.”
“And what, pray, am I apologising for?” Cyris demanded suddenly. “Because of the way I brought you up, you’re in the final of this bloody tournament?! Whatever my failings might have been, they can’t have been that bad!”
“You think this justifies it?” Theo said harshly. “Fifteen years of horrible fucking abuse and now ‘oh yeah look at you now.’ You know who didn’t have that? The other finalist… The other semi-finalist. There’s more than one way to skin a pepper-pear.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not. We’ll revisit that theory as to whether you triumph or not,” Cyris said, folding his arms loftily.
“You shouldn’t,” Anne said suddenly. She could sense Theo getting angrier by the minute and it wasn’t a pleasant sensation having him stood next to her. Like resting next to a kettle threatening to explode at any given second. She locked her eyes on Cyris, never wanting more than to be able to read someone than right here and now. If he was being sincere, then she’d feel bad.
If he wasn’t then it’d be Theo who’d suffer in the long term. But better Cyris than his son be hurt by what came next.
“I shouldn’t, what?” Cyris said, condescension in his voice, silky like a luxurious scarf made into a noose. “Do tell, my dear.”
“You shouldn’t revisit that theory,” she said, not quite sure what she was doing. This was a little out of character for her. “I don’t know the story between the two of you but your son hates you and really I don’t blame him!”
Cyris’ face curved up into a smirk at her words. “Oh, I wouldn’t…”
“NOT FINISHED!” Her shriek cut through the air like glass, surprising even her a little. She calmed a little for her next words. That smirk had pissed her off though. “He doesn’t want anything to do with you. You’ve broken him inside, cut up any chance of him ever being entirely normal and I don’t bloody blam
e him from wanting to be as far away from you as possible! Funny that how you show up just as he’s on the verge of making history…”
“I’ve wanted to find you for a while,” Cyris said quickly, looking at his son with a beseeching look. “But…” He sighed. “I didn’t know where to look.” Those last few words sounded a little too pathetic for Anne’s liking. And she didn’t believe them either. There was always a way to find someone.
“You know what I don’t quite understand,” Anne said, glancing sideways at him. They’d found a secluded bit of the island, out looking over the ocean in the shade of a couple of great boabke trees and they’d sat down. She’d gotten the impression he wanted to talk but he wanted to do it in his own time without being rushed.
He looked like there was nothing more he wanted to do than forget about the whole thing but still he cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow. The smell of salt in the warm air left her feeling relaxed. More so than Theo was anyway. She rested a hand on his shoulder, could feel how tensed up he was by the whole thing. He’d been chewing on his lower lip for the last several moments, his hands balling up in front of him as he finally spoke.
“Go on?”
“Okay I get why you changed your name. I mean I would as well. Everyone’s heard of your dad…” She saw the flinch at that word and made a resolution not to mention that again. “… And I wouldn’t want that hanging over my head either. But where did Jameson come from?”
He visibly softened at that and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. She sensed the hostility leaking out from him rapidly and that was a relief. He’d been nothing but a big ball of angst since the encounter and it worried her.
“Jameson was my… Ah, it was my mother’s name.”
“Bit of a masculine name for a woman.” She grinned as she said it. He looked at her for a moment like she’d spat in his food. His mouth twitched for a moment, like he was trying to fight it with no luck. Then he smiled.
