Spartan could not hide that note of thrill that spiked his blown pupils from me. Even when I knew it was not a conscious mannerism it still sent the hairs on my arm lifting like spiderlings exploding off a mother Wolf Spider’s back. Even so, I moved closer, manipulated Marsh and Lolly to the side and lifted my chin.
“Delilah. You have company.” He said, ‘company’ like anyone said, ‘bug’.
“Yes,” You knew that, I said. Listen at the door for long? I pursed my lips in irritation. Polite chitchat with neighbours I should never have let in would classify as dereliction of duty in Spartan’s skewed view. Spartan’s personal rule was to never let anyone too close. Paranoia’s claws comforted him habitually. Too bad my mentor and squad leader applied that rule to me as well.
“Long enough,” he gruffed. Long enough to know I was failing his teachings.
Lolly fidgeted, uncomfortable and confused. “Ah, Delilah, Marsh and I might grab those glasses and leave you to the eye candy,” she told me anxiously.
I had watched out of my peripheral vision as Lolly’s facial expressions slowly morphed. She’d come to the realisation that I might be someone who knew men in the guise of serial killers. Someone not to trust. I sighed shallowly, disappointed.
“It was nice to meet you both,” I said stiffly as they shuffled quickly out the door allowing Spartan and the man hidden behind his colossal frame to gain the apartment fully.
Spartan was still as imposing as ever and larger than the myth I’d first heard as a child, but I knew this man. Better than he realised. Maybe the same could be said in reverse - one of the reasons I’d left.
There was a moment of silence while the three of us listened to Lolly and Marsh’s footsteps retreat. There had been times where I’d hung from chafed raw wrists, my tiny body twitching with residual electricity, as we’d listened to Spartan’s soft footfalls melt away in the darkness. Its a temporary pain; a mantra belting between us, binding us.
“What are you doing here,” I demanded on a hiss.
Spartan studied me then, tilting that rock of a head just so. I forced myself to not feel like a tantruming child under his assessment. Emotional outbursts were not common for me and he seemed to be processing, logging this information. It was a hard thing to stand there. If it were possible for me to sweat profusely, I would be.
Our stare down continued until I decided to be the bigger person. I saw victory in Spartan’s eyes.
He huffed.
Anyone else I’d have called petty, but Spartan? Every aspect of his life was win or die, conquer and divide, him against the world. For a long time – the first two hundred years of his life – he would have been justified. Now, not so much.
“I warned you, leaving was not possible.” He passed me a DEP - Disposable Electronic Pad – containing files.
“A job?” I shook my head. “No, I already told Ava I wasn’t taking on any more assignments.”
“General,” he said, using the childhood nickname only he called me. “You might have left base but you’re not out no matter how far you disappear,” he reiterated. “Besides, this is a gift. Call me sentimental.”
Pretentious fucker.
I hated him for so many things but in a way he was right; I couldn’t escape what I was. I might have escaped Carne and stolen some semblance of life for myself, but I still rifled for other demons. Searched for answers to age old questions.
He didn’t have to know where my plans led, or that I had no interest furthering his endeavours as I had for nearly two decades now... I could smell fresh, suffocating dirt and see that same face, crouched low over me, breath hot over the cold earth.
But I’d hear him out. Just in case it suited my purposes.
“Who’s your sidekick,” I asked, resigned in my charade, eyeing the man behind Spartan. The smaller man backed against the wall like he wanted to disappear into it. The confrontation had him shaking in a fine, full body tremor. Body temp was high, with a sheen of sweat licking his collared shirt. The man was stressed, cortisol crawled up my olfactory senses, though he valiantly tried to hide it with a stoic facial expression. If a strained conversation got him this worried I didn’t know how he survived life without continuous stomach ulcers.
“Your contact,” Spartan told me, daring me to contradict him. I didn’t.
Spartan nodded slightly at my contact, prodding him forward.
“Jobe. Meet General.” Spartan nudged him in the back causing Jobe to stumble a little too close to me. As if I had a contagious disease he scuttled sideways like a crab. Spartan shook his head at such weakness and headed for the door then turned back to pin me with a glare. “Don’t kill him.”
Don’t kill him, he said. It’s like he didn’t even know me! Besides, I should wonder if Spartan was leaving him here simply because Jobe would learn enough to become a liability.
Jobe straightened. He was hoping Spartan was joking. He wasn’t. If I had to, I’d slit his throat without hesitation, it would be a cruelty to leave him to Spartan if it came down to it. That was a lesson well learned. Jobe had value it appeared, but that value had and expiry date. Spartan had expiry dates for everything.
I curled my lip in annoyance as the door closed behind him and turned to the pet he’d left behind.
“Fuck,” I spat. “What are you staring at?” I challenged. I wasn’t actually riled. I wasn’t particularly bothered by the man, but he didn’t need to know that. If keeping him as a contact lent me an ear on Spartan, I wouldn’t turn it away.
Jobe just stood there stunned in his lovely creased suit and tie, while I contemplated his potential use. He brushed his big knuckled hand over his tawny hair in nervousness, then checked the time along his arm. Buckling under scrutiny never was a good trait in a person. Question was: would he be a resourceful handler for the time being, or a glorified postman?
Despite being stupid enough to allow Spartan his ignorance, I decided to give Jobe a fighting chance, though I could never allow myself to really trust the man. It wasn’t his fault, really. Jobe’s specialities had put him in Spartan’s path and even now I could see his mind whirring over the decisions he’d made to lead him here, to my door today.
I worried for similar reasons though mine hinged on a man who was capable of severe manipulations to render a lesson learned. But, then I should admit to myself: I had more than one of those in my life. I was so glad to know Spartan had chosen a man he knew I’d never consider anything more than a transient associate. He’d taken Carne into consideration. How… diplomatic of him.
Panic spiked at the thought of Carne closing in.
I sat upon the arm of my couch and looked over my shoulder, waiting for Jobe to get over the stupor Spartan had him in.
“Sit Posty,” I encouraged.
“Posty?” Jobe enquired, confused. It worked and he crept closer.
“Postman. That’s your job isn’t it Jobe?”
“Well,” he considered. “I suppose that is one aspect of my position since any regional post offices are not equipped or trusted to deliver such classified material and I am available to travel between Onyxeal Base Camp and the city. But I am not a Post Man,” he told me suddenly indignant. “I am here to facilitate your contracts which includes diagnostics, tech support, travel arrangements and accompanying documents to get you through particular Burrows and/or internationally-”
“I don’t need a list, Posty. I know exactly what your job entails.” I waved him to a stop. “Take a seat,” I offered the shabby, sunken armchair across from me and not beside me.
“You were in Spartan’s unit?” Posty asked with what I thought to be a little awe.
“For a time.” I sat immobile, curious. It was for that reason my guard slipped slightly. His brain clicked over and a grave wariness wafted from him thickly.
I blinked, at a rate of fifteen per minute, I sat evenly, and I let my body language offer an open trustworthiness to assure him I was nothing out of the ordinary.
He weighed S
partan’s comment about my not killing him and wondered how much to question in case it got him good and dead.
“Spartan’s only words to me were not to piss you off,” he randomly spouted and laughed lightly as if inviting me to dismiss the foolishness of the statement.
I relaxed without showing it physically. Yeah, Team Leader didn’t want me any further off the radar, I thought cynically. My leaving camp was seen to be a break or holiday. Nothing permanent.
“Spartan’s a smart man. Sometimes,” I said.
“Scary man,” Jobe added. “I’ve heard stories about him. Never could have guessed I’d work with him. Never wanted to, if I was honest.”
“Scary,” I mused. Yes, I had a new found uneasiness around the giant but not because I was frightened. Fear, I knew from that man was a human reaction, one I could not allow. My disquiet stemmed from betrayal, something I was all too familiar with.
“If you don’t think that man’s scary, there’s something wrong with you,” Posty told me seriously, looking me up and down, trying to find that ‘wrongness’. I couldn’t decide if his observation led him to find the fault or if he allowed his brain to check it off as simply a quirk.
I didn’t want this job, let alone a tether to the life I’d escaped but I would take a hefty bet the DEP I’d been handed was a little treat snuck out of the closet on purpose to keep me in line, right where he wanted me.
Jobe flipped his organiser open along his wrist in a holographic display. My eyebrow rose. Not from the tech, from the presumptuous intent.
“I’ll need to ask your real name and any alias’. The contract, may require some travel and I’m sure General’s not your real name.”
I eyed him hard. I was loathe to give out such information and wouldn’t have even considered it if Spartan hadn’t been the one to drop him off, but I recited a few pertinent details.
Name and exact origin: Unknown.
“Government Identity Interface input will hold under scrutiny. Reported as: Delilah Gracer, born 17 Martius 2938 C.E. The GII also has my rank listed as Major General. The other Alias is Lilah Gleeson. Although my primary VHI (Virtual Holo-Interface) Implant is logged through an account with that Alias, it bounces sporadically through twenty-five international funding trusts. Those can only be accessed through Mt Generals or LTGens so I can forward you simply the origin account instead of more.” Reciting that information slammed home the fact that I had only escaped as far as they allowed. They. Family.
“I thought..” he stumbled but thought better of commenting upon my rank or my blank stare. Rank meant little to me, it was simply a delineation in a Private Military Company. One I’d been indoctrinated into since I was a small child.
“I’ll leave you all my contact details. Call me day or night.
He thought me young. I did not feel young, but I was, compared to others like me. But, we all felt old when you’ve eagerly staunched one heart to beat but realised with the sinking of your own that it had yet to play trillions in its own melody. Nothing mattered really, whether you were on the good side or bad. That invisible line between the two was relative. Life was relative.
I let out a stale breath. You’re only as old as you feel.
“All right,” Jobe filled the awkward gap, confused. Was I babbling out loud my life’s philosophy? No, but I was ‘creeping’ him out.
“I’ll leave you to read through the specifics and await your call,” he handed me a card. I memorised the numbers before it reached me.
“No need.” I told him. He eyed me suspiciously but didn’t mention anything for fear of appearing foolish.
When I didn’t speak to reiterate he stood, in need of something to do, or eager to be out of my presence. I wasn’t quite sure. I did try not to nose around people’s minds and had execrated his as soon as I’d become fully aware of the thought insertions.
I was still too slow to notice when a thought was not my own.
“I’ll be off then.” He flicked the organiser neatly closed on his way out. I watched him leave, the ominous file heavy it the palm of my hand. I wondered about Spartan’s comment: call me sentimental. Was that comment meant to transfer some sort of affection?
“Argh,” I growled, disgusted with myself. Not just because I’d failed once again to notice the blurring of the line from myself but like an addict I knew I’d comb through this file because I knew it was another proverbial crumb back to… Well back.
Excitement burned my gut like petrol, memories of being expelled into the world like exhaust on my mission.
But I’d make it wait. I treated the file as if it had its own will. Oh, I knew a stupid file wouldn’t get impatient if I made it wait but I enjoyed the idea. Yeah, I was nearly two weeks out from Onyxeal, into real life, and already after the fix I’d found while travelling.
I stalked off to the clean spray. Giving myself something to do, while I waited for my curiousness to eat at me. I had to be smart. Not let my excitement force me to be brash. Excitement was one emotion I clung to, my one hope.
I wished I had a real shower. With fresh water, hot enough to scald as it rushed over my thick skin. I missed the sensation of bubbled soft soap kneaded into my dense muscles and sweet scents tickling my nose.
Variant Evasion: Trilogy (Variant Trilogy Book 2) Page 14
