Inbetween Days

a gen-x alternities serial

'Vigilantibus Et Non Dormientibus Jura Subveniunt'

a-t d.m. lasher

chapter II: "Behind Every Mask Lies Another"

Omniday Personal Journal
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[Dominic]
Password?
[Bogomil]
Acknowledged…
Accessing Omniday Personal Journal Protocols...
Running...

Journal Entry Dated: 991128

"I have no faith in the legal system.

That's because I have no faith in justice.

There is no such thing, you see. Every day

of every year I see more and more proof

of that. It doesn't take a rocket scientist

to figure out the same insane system that

let OJ walk wasn't going to have any

consolation for me, no matter what

the mitigating circumstances might've

been.

But...still...I had to go through the motions,

right? I humoured Matt and Jennifer, never

once letting on that I felt it was a wasted

effort. The Fix--however it was garnered--

was in. One look at the papers and it was

pretty obvious which way the wind was

blowing.

Too bad I wasn't an English au pair..."

Saving 991128 to the hard drive...
Encryption?
[MIT PGP v2.7.4]
Saved.
[Exit Application]

District Attorney's Office,

New York, New York

991129

09:01 hours…

Up in heaven there is a white picket fence.

On one side stood GOD on the other side stood

SATAN and a few of his henchmen.

The devilshelpers were kicking holes in the fence.

GOD said "If you don't tell them to stop, I'll sue you".

SATAN started laughing and replied

"You think you'll find a lawyer on your side of the fence"?

My ears could scarcely believe what I was hearing.

"Manslaughter, First," the oily, pudgy man said across from me. His beady eyes bore a hole straight into mine. He didn't look to my left--Matt--or to my right--Jennifer. Right. At. Me. "Conspiracy, Third. Reckless Endangerment, Second."

I thought Matt was going to laugh. Instead, he screamed.

"Are you out of your friggin' mind, Hertzog?!" my chief suit shouted, half lifting himself out of the chair. The table shook as he planted his hands firmly onto it. So quick was his movement that 'Lenny' snapped out of his 'Dirty Harry' gaze and went slack-jawed.

"Matt, please--"

"Don't 'Matt, please' me you snivelling rat!" my attorney snarled. "What the hell kind of crap have you got for us now, huh? She'd just capped one of her own teammates and was about ready to ice the other! What did you want him to do, use harsh language?!"

"Counsellor!" the strange, wiry fellow who sat across from Hertzog shouted. He leaned forward, pulling himself out of the shadows. His bright blue eyes bore down on Murdock. "Enough of this nonsense. Let's get down to business and leave the breast-beating and posturing for the court room." Matt sat down. Suddenly, I felt even less confident--if that was possible--than beforehand. "Now...here's the autopsy report. I'm certain you'll find this interesting, Matt," he said, handing a copy to Walters. "We've also taken the liberty to have it translated into Braille."

"Thanks," Murdock sneered, clearly irate. To my right, Jennifer shook for a moment. I could feel like. Matt, apparently--though I had no idea how--felt it too. "What?"

"That's...that's impossible," Jennifer said, thumbing through the copy.

"So we thought, too," Leonard said. "To be honest, the ME wasn't sure whether to piss himself or cum. Either way, he'd never seen anything like it at all. Come to think of it, I remember my college biology pretty damned well...and I thinks something smells very non-kosher 'bout this whole thing."

"Irrelevant," his 'partner' snapped. "The facts are as follows: the bullet was a Teflon-coated .44, corresponding perfectly to your client's gun--"

"We'll stipulate that it was his gun which fired the fatal shot though, to be honest, it was a highly modified Glock." Jennifer said, interrupting. "In any case, that's not the point. The point is--"

"The point is, Ms. Walters," our Mystery Man cut in, returning the favour, "is that your client could have used other measures to contain the situation. Might I refer you to the New York State Penal Code Section 35.15 for reference," he smiled, altogether humourlessly. "Your client could have retreated, could have even struck the hand of the deceased and thus saved us all the trouble of this trial. In any case, there are no stipulations for the use of deadly physical force in New York law simply because a person thinks a second party is about to commit a murder. That's reading intent, gents and that cannot be done."

Jennifer blinked several times. "Which is why you didn't press for Murder..."

"Precisely," Hertzog nodded. "We could have, considering what the ME told us. That shot was meant to kill. No doubt about it. But considering the situation..." he held up his hands.

"If you were making mitigating circumstances for the situation," Matt growled, "then why the show trial for this? Manslaughter One, Lenny? And Conspiracy? What the hell is that?"

"Evidence is forthcoming," the Assistant DA said stolidly. "We'll let you know soon, once we've collected it all. Here's a preview though: the X-Men."

"You've got to be kidding me," Murdock sighed. "Are you out of your head, Hertzog? Who the hell put you up to this? You guys must be really desperate up at the DA's office to pull this one out of your collective heiny..."

"Call it what you will, Matt," Mystery Man said, "but the X-Men are an illegal organisation. We'll get 'em on the posse comitatus if not the RICO statutes."

Walters leaned forward. "You, sir," she said, bearing down on Lenny's buddy. "What say do you have in this? Whom do you represent? My client has a right to know just where the heat's coming from."

"The Justice Department," he replied, nonchalantly. "Raymond Mitchell, US Attorney. This case--along with the entire brief against the X-Men--is being handled under concurrent jurisdiction of the local, State and Federal authorities."

I shook my head. Time to disregard my counsellors' previous advice. "Bullshit," I growled.

"I beg your pardon?" Mitchell said, levelling his gaze at me.

"Dom--" Matt began, but I cut him off with a chop of my hand.

"Duh-don't tell me for a second this wuh-wasn't preplanned, Fed Boy," I sneered. "I did my tuh-time in the service. I know how your kind wuh-works. Tell me," I leaned forward, "how long were you muh-monitoring the Institute...and under whose authority did you guh-guh-get the wire tap, huh?"

Raymond Mitchell, Fed Boy, just smiled. No flush of anger, no dilation of his eyes, no involuntarily flexing of his nostrils. Nothing. Total control. "Very good, son...very good. But you'll get nothing out of me. You see, everything's in order. You'll find that out at your trial. Don't worry. This case is far too large for us to destroy it on illegal search and seizure..." He turned back to Matt. "Well? I assume you have an offer for us, correct?"

Matt wiped his hands across the table. "Excusable homicide, se defendo. Sentencing recommendation. Minimum time. Roll the other charges or drop them."

Hertzog popped a Tic-Tac in his mouth, chuckling. "One," he held up a beefy finger, "we've got the weapon and the bullet. Two, we've got the body and the ME's report. Three, we've got the statute. What have you got, Matt? Nothin', pal. Y'r outta y'r league with this one. Outta y'r league."

"We'll see about that," Murdock said, rising. "See you in court, gentlemen. Bring some bandages and a First Aid kit."

I stood, heading for the door.

"Why?" Lenny said as Jennifer walked past me. Matt turned to face the Assistant DA.

"To wipe up the blood once we've handed you your ass, Lenny."

For some reason, the sound of Leonard's laughter didn't encourage me much...

...but what absolutely terrified me was the total silence from Mitchell's corner...

Offices of Peter Parker,

Assistant Editor, The Daily Bugle

09:21 hours...

WESTCHESTER ROUNDUP! screams the Post.

NOBLE LAUREATE OUTTED AS A MUTANT informs the Times.

I shuffled through the papers on my desk, pushing my large coffee mug out of the way. Without even knowing why I was doing it, I shook my head. The Bugle: STATE AND FEDS DRAW THEIR BEAD ON THE X-MEN.

"You know, for J.J.J., that's almost tame," came a tired, old familiar voice from over the headline. I smiled in spite of myself. Robbie always had that effect on me.

"Yeah, it does, doesn't it? Could you imagine if that was, say, Spider-Man they were talking about?"

Robinson shook his balding, grey scalp. "God help us, Pete," he said, closing the door behind him. Softly now. "And thank God you got out when you did. This is no time to be playing hero, m'boy. If there ever was."

I felt my eyes lower, down the headlines to the picture (framed, I might add, nicely in the center). "There was, Robbie. There was. But not for a married man...or a man who wants to keep a family."

My mentor sat down in the plush chair in front of me, cradling his old, stained mug. "Son...you did the right thing. Now I know what you're thinking right now. 'If only...'. Forget it. You've got a good thing going now. A wife. A baby girl, practically a toddler. What kind of a life does that give for a man that's on-call like Spider-man was, huh?"

"Firemen do it all the time, Rob," I said, softly. But I wouldn't meet his eyes. It was a losing battle. I'd made my decision a long time ago.

He gestured at the final copy with his cup. "What's going through your mind, Parker? You're not seriously thinking--?"

"No," I said immediately. "Not at all. Felicia needs me to stay retired as much as I need for her to stick to the narrow path. After all we've been through just to get where we are now," I shook my head. "No. Besides, it's been a few years," I chuckled, patting my tummy. "I've gone to flab."

"Mid-life spread will do that to you, Pete," Robby smiled. Then: "Seriously..."

I frowned. "I dunno. I mean, this is all hitting me wrong. I worked with some of these people. Sure, the X-Men were high-maintainence but some of them never changed, never left the team. I know at least half of them, perhaps more. And the whole notion that not just the State, but the Federal government is working on this? It all seems so...staged. I mean, we've come a long way from the Riots don't you think?"

Robinson rarely showed his innermost feelings. Half the time I thought Jonah kept him around because he didn't want to leave the paper to 'that copyboy!'. But this time, I saw something else in Robby's eyes. "Son, I went through the Sixties. Man, you ain't seen nothing. Sixty-Eight was bad. Real bad. Sure, the riots a few years back killed more--and were certainly more physically devastating--but they didn't rip apart the social fabric of the country. Back in the Sixties, you were either the Man or the Masses, and the other side would shoot you down if they found out you were on the wrong side of the barricade."

"Let me tell you what happened, Pete," he said, leaning forward. "America got scared. Scared in a way we hadn't been scared in a generation or maybe even more. They whipped through the Twenty-Eighth Amendment so fast I swear it was the only time I saw Jonah's cigar actually fall out of his mouth. He couldn't believe the unanimity with which Congress had reacted after the urban zones calmed down and the hearings were held. And the ratification... A record-breaker. Even the Amendment to repeal Prohibition looked like a sloth compared to this one. Everyone was scared, I'm telling you. Scared."

He spread his hands. "So there we have it. We give the mutants and other 'unsavories' their own little Bantustans, let them feel like they own a piece of the action, and everyone inside the Beltway thinks they've solved the problem. They pat themselves on the back and report back to their constituencies, claiming they've saved the Union once more! Hell, remember Congressman Rankin from Iowa? Practically plagerised Lincoln," he sneered.

I stroked my chin. "You helped J.J. write that editorial, after the ratification, right? I remember reading that and wondering..."

Robinson snorted. "The miracle of modern editorialists, Pete. You should know this by now. Your voice is subsumed by committee. It just so happened I spoke the more forcefully and J.J. was, for once, impressed. It got through." Again he leaned forward, closer this time. "Ever wonder why we don't see any of the old folks anymore?"

I blinked. "Huh? Beg your pardon?"

"The old heroes, Pete! Like the Avengers! It got too dangerous, my friend. Many left for the autonomous cantons. They were like pioneers, or so they thought. Their replacements? Regional groups. The Southern League in Dixie. Vanguard in the West. The Minutemen in New England. Get the picture? The whole heroing movement left New York City and spread to the hinterlands. I've always wondered why. I mean, a changing of the guard shouldn't've meant that the Big Apple was no longer a good place to live, right? Whatever brought them to New York in the first place should've kept their successors. After all, when Reed and Sue Richards retired, the remainder of the FF added to their ranks and stayed, right?"

"Yeah, but they also sold out, incorporated," I said sourly.

He shook his head. "That's not the point. Why did they all leave? Natural movement? Demographics? There's more people in NYC than ever now. Or was it pressure? Was the example set by the first generation so monolithic that no one could fill in the shoes?"

I tapped my pen on my nose. "I never really gave it any thought, to be honest."

Robby snorted, then drained the last of his umpteenth cup of morning joe. "I have. Many times, too. I mean, it all happened within the last five years. No one really seemed to notice because at the same time there was an explosion of other, less-known heroes that were just beginning to crawl up the totem pole." He stopped for a moment, cocked a brow, and glanced at me. "You're not cooking up something on this, are you?"

I shook my head. "An idea for a series, perhaps. Like you asked: 'Whatever happened to...?'"

Robinson nodded. "Think you can sell it to J.J.? And, better yet, think he'll let you edit it?"

"We'll never know until we try, right?" I said, shrugging. "And, to be honest, this looks like a perfect period piece, framing the trial."

Robby rose from the seat, heading for the door. "Just get it out Parker. I've got a very bad feeling this whole thing is going to do nothing but engender bad feelings all 'round. Any piece that'll ameliorate it--even if it's fluff or nostalgia-write--is better than nothing in my mind." He stopped at the door. "New York's seen a lot. Too much, in fact. If we can do anything to keep a lid on the vitriole, let's do it. I'll have a word with J.J."

I nodded, watching him shut the door quietly behind him. Five years ago I'd been the Bugle's senior photographer; the thought of actually producing anything but pictures was far from my mind. But in this day and age, the computer was more useful than the camera and you had to be a programer to run it. I simply hadn't gone to school for that.

For years I wondered if this was the right thing to do. The editorial boards were a bitch. Robbie was right. Arguing, screaming, all of that nonsense...but it paid the bills, right? And now a chance to really do something...

I glanced down at the screaming headlines once more. Where have all the good times gone? I've got more than a hunch that's a story worth following...

Minerva,

New York

Adirondack Enclave,

New England Confederated Cantons

991129

10:01 hours…

"Isn't there anything we can do? Extradite him or something?" I asked, smacking the Times down on my desk. Papers scattered, sending Tessa scurrying--well, scurrying for her--for them. "This whole situation is...intolerable."

Aiken Quinn, the Confederated Cantons' Attorney General frowned, stroking his long, grey moustache. "I'd like to say yes, Chancellor--"

"Please," I waved away the title. "I'm too old for that now. Sebastian will be fine, thank you."

Quinn pressed on. "Very well. I want to be able to tell you 'yes', Sebastian, but I don't think I can. Sharpmoon-DeNant isn't a citizen of any Canton, much less our confederation. It would be quite a stretch to pull, legally-speaking."

A frown set on my lips and I gesticulated into the air. "Can't we just...just make him a citizen and then try to extradite him? Didn't the Israelis do that a few years back with that Navy fellow?"

"Pollard, sir. And yes, they did...however, they never got him, either."

I groaned, placing a hand over my eyes. "Damn. So you're telling me there's absolutely nothing we can do to avoid this from becoming a show trial, correct?"

"Well, we still might be able to trust the system..." he offered, but the look on his face clearly showed who much credence he put in that statement. "Otherwise, no. There's not a whole lot--if anything--we can do, sir."

"I could draw up a statement..."

"Not a good idea, sir," Quinn interjected, "unless it's neutral. If you're thinking of a knee-jerk support paper, though, forget it. The public will see it for what it is and disregard it in it's entirety. I think we're going to have to sit back and watch--carefully--the events unfold. Now's not the time, before a trial date's even been announced, to upset the apple cart. Remember: he's one man. We've got a lot more to think about than him."

"'One man'?" I sneered, lifting my gaze to take Aiken in. "'One man', you say? That 'one man' has no right to be hoisted before a bench and you know it! As for the X-Men...we may have had our disagreements--violent ones, even--but this is clearly preplanned. There's something foul here and all roads point to Rome in this case."

"The Federal government?"

"Whom else?" I countered. "It's an object lesson to those who refuse exile in the Cantons. Now that most of us are here, Washington feels it can apply the full force of the law on any stragglers...no matter how much they have to twist or bend the interpretation."

Aiken pressed his lips together but remained silent.

"You don't agree?" I asked finally, cocking my head.

"It's not that I don't, Sebastian...it's just that I'm torn on what advice to give you. Obviously, this is going to eventually become difficult not just for us, but for all Chancellors in the Cantons. Any sociologist could tell you what happens when a minority group thinks it's being persecuted."

"Siege mentality," I nodded. "I know. But we've had that for ages now, Aiken...what changes now? Nothing, in my mind."

The Attorney General sighed. "Wait until the wagons start circling, Sebastian...then tell me how much changes. When the verdict comes down, and he's convicted, there'll be hell to pay. And we'd better damned well be ready for it."

I glanced down at the paper once more, visions of the late riots burning through my skull. But now was different, right? We've come further than that, right? We have to've...

Xavier's Institute for Higher Learning

1407 Greymalkin Lane

Salem Centre, New York

Along the shores of Breakstone Lake

10:22 hours...

I snapped the binoculars shut, satisfied with the view...if not the results. "Damn, I'd have to say there's at least a dozen people there. Probably more."

Paige, behind me, leaned closer. "Includin' technicians or are we talkin' 'bout just cops?"

"Just cops," I sighed. "Whatever technicians there are were already inside the Institute long before Illyana'ported us here, my friend."

"No X-Men?" Rhiannon Hatch--Pressor--asked. I turned back towards the twin and shook my head. "Damn," she swore. "Then I suppose we're on our own. We were hard-pressed enough as a team before we lost Dom and...and Savij. Now..."

"When's it evah been any diff'rent? With o' without them Generation X ain't nevah been a piece o' cake, trust me hon." Paige sighed, taking in the scenery. "Okay. Moshe, Ah assume that you an' 'Yana are in the clear, right?"

I nodded. "We answered the officers' questions and they gave us a number to call next week to see if they'll need our testimony later on. I assume they will. Especially mine." Paige winced visibly. "Aside from that, we're on our own recognizance. Is that unusual?"

"A bit," Morriah--Tractor--said, edging in front of her twin. "Normally they'd swear you to silence or something like that. Maybe even insist on protective custody."

"Silly, considering they have their primary suspect," Illyana said from behind the two. "This is looking worse and worse at the time goes by..."

"Creighton, you there?" Page spoke into her comm-link. The incoming response was fuzzy from the encipherment but legible.

"Check, El Capitain," CirKut replied, cheerfully. "I'm monitoring all the police freqs. Nary a pip from them. Hasn't been anything since yesterday, either. I think they're onto us, Paige."

I nodded quickly. "And they don't care that they're advertising it, either. Means that they think they have a lock-tight case for all of this. They're acting with impunity."

Guthrie held up her hand. "Creighton, have you inserted th' wipe virus yet?"

"Nope," came the quick reply. "As per your orders, I'm a-waitin'."

Paige licked her lips and glanced down at me. A look passed between us. "Do it," she hissed. "Get ridda th' whole damned thing!"

"Heh, heh. Boy are they in for a surprise..."

"This is evidence tampering," Morriah said. Rhiannon gently tugged on her sister's shoulder.

"No time f'r barracks lawyerin', ladies," Paige said. "'S'already too late. Ah don't want th' feds findin' out any mo' than they already have 'bout us. Just protectin' what we can, that's all."

"Somehow," Rhiannon said wryly, "I don't think they'll take that into consideration."

"All the more reason not to get caught, my friends," I said, cracking my fingers. "Now. What about Dom? When do we spring him?"

Paige levelled a gaze at me, almost as if I'd gone mad. "Are yo' outta yo' mind?!"

I stared.

"Get this through yo' head, soldier-boy," she continued, finger in my face. "There ain't gonna be no breakout! There's a helluva big diff'rence between protectin' sources an' personnel files an' slappin' th' cops right in th' kisser!"

"Hmmm," I murmured, crossing my arms. "And here I thought 'all for one, one for all' was a fine dictum."

"Got it!" came Creighton's reply before Paige could get in another word. "She's on her way, boss! Inside of three or four minutes, everything Chuckles n' Bucketboss gathered will be so much ephemera! Right smack dab in the bit-bucket!"

Illyana shook her head, rolling her eyes skyward. "Katya's going to have a fit..."

"Well, she'd bettah wait 'till th' rest hits the fan befo' she gets her panties in an uproar," a gruff voice sounded from behind us, near an outcropping of rock at the edge of the lake. We immediately spun at the sound, ready to engage, but stopped when we saw the hands lifted, palms up. "Whoa, whoa, fellas!" he said, amicably. "Ah ain't nowhere's near th' Bad Guy here. As a mattah o' fact, Ah'm singin' with th' angels."

Paige slit her eyes. "Is that so?" she said. "Mind if'n you identified yo'self, son?"

"Trajan Rhys-Salisbury, late of Charleston, South Carolina," he smiled, a twinkle in his eye. "But more recently, Ah've been working undercovah fo' Magneto, and it's fo' that reason that Ah'm in a heap o' trouble...and so are y'all." He slowly lowered his hands and glanced at each one of us. "Care t' hear th' whole story?"

Guthrie's lips pressed together so tightly that all the blood drained out of them. "How can we be certain yo' not simply sellin' us a line of goods, huh?"

He met her gaze and shrugged. "You can't. T' be honest, that's what made mah covah all that much moah believable. Right now, Ah've been forced out into th' cold and yo' gonna have t' take mah word for what Ah'm about t' tell you."

"How do you know we're gonna give you a chance t' talk, stranger?" she cocked a brow. Rhiannon and Morriah edged closer. The air was so tense you could cut through it with a knife.

Trajan's jaw set. "Because if'n you don't girl, you an' a whole lotta othah folk are gonna spend th' rest of your lives regrettin' that you didn't take advantage of th' situation when you had th' chance."

District Attorney's Office,

New York, New York

10:30 hours...

I turned back toward's Leonard. "I trust you'll be able to handle the evidentiary hearing, yes?"

"Of course," the pudgy man responded, nodding vigorously. "We're anticipating them to try an end run with psionic testimony but it shouldn't be that difficult to get it suppressed. There's no judge on the East Coast who'll believe for a second that you can read someone's mind or, if they do, they certainly won't accept it as anything but hearsay. Besides, even if it's not hearsay, there'd be no way to prove whether or not the testimony hasn't been tampered with in any way, shape or form. You'd only have the telepath's word to go on, right?" He spread his hands. "That won't fly and any system the judge'd be able to come up with to protect the veracity of the testimony would be too unwieldy and possibly open him up to an appeal later on."

"So you say," I replied, locking my statchel with a satisfying click! "But don't get cocky on me, Lenny. Take this one by the book. Our entire case is based on a literal reading of the Penal Code. I'd wager more literal than most judges would prefer or even the Assembly had in mind. I want you to stick with that literalism with regards to any possible attempts at including testimony gathered by psionic means. Do you understand?"

"Sure," the man swallowed nervously. "No problem. I'm tellin' ya, you've got nothing to worry about."

I affixed him with a gaze. "I'd better not have."

*

[PHYSIOGNOMY-SHIFT COMPLETE.]

I had already assumed my new identity long before the elevator doors opened. Unassuming, short and squat. No one would care to recognise me. My picture would never show up on the internal monitors and, even if it did, it would elicit nothing but glazed eyes. In short, I was anonymous once more. Contrary to popular belief, success doesn't come to the one who shouts the loudest or presents the most charismatic visage. Success in my field--with my goals--can come only if I can keep my foes off-balance.

And yet... And yet for some illogical reason, I still felt disquieted about the whole affair. The more time I spent around humans, the more I took on their characteristics. Under most circumstances, that was to be lauded and would help me accomplish my mission all that much easier...but in this circumstance, I only found myself annoyed by this flicker of carefully replicated emotion.

Leonard was an effective lawyer, there was no doubt about that. I knew his record--indeed, could access it and several kilograms of analytical work on it in the spance of a nanosecond--and had followed his career for many years now, long before I assumed my role at Jericho. I had no doubt in my mind that he would prevail at the hearings ahead. He certainly had enough incentive. His heartrate was quick enough to cause some worry in some of my subroutines. It wouldn't due to have him terminate before his usefulness to me was over. Perhaps 'Mitchell' should remain in the background a bit more, leaving the stage to the State officials for the most part...

Or, alternatively, I could assume Leonard's identity as well.

[ACTIVATE TELEPORTATION SUBROUTINE.]

It was a thought to be considered. With the experience of hundreds of law experts literally at my beck and call, I would be unable to do anything but prevail in match with the imminent Matthew Murdock. And yet...

[ACTIVATED. INPUTTING COORDINATES...]

And yet there was the danger that my 'performance'--and such it would be--would be too perfect and ill-conform to the parameters of Leonard's personality. My records show that he and Murdock graduated from law school in the same class. There is a high probability that they've watched each other's careers over the decades, perhaps that they are social acquaintences.

[COMPENSATE FOR EMP EFFECTS OF SOLAR STORM ON MAGNETOSPHERE...]

No. No matter how tempting that might be, the reasoning fails. My presence is needed back at The Non where, I'm certain, Richmond is under quite a bit of anxiety right about now. His health is also of import to me, though I must admit that there is little I can do to alleviate his stress without interfering with my own priorities. He will simply have to 'sink or swim' on his own.

[COORDINATES LOCKED. AWAITING FINAL AUTHORISATION.]

I rounded the corner outside of the stark, dark building that housed the DA's office, ostensibly heading for the carport just behind it. Not for the first time I thanked the Makers that I was not built with a respitory system. My particulate matter sensors were picking up what would amount to a very strong, foul stench to the human senses... If I were one of them I would wonder how their aesthetics could include such vileness.

But, of course, I wasn't one of them...and my meanderings mattered not to the final equation.

Briefly, I scanned an area equal to three hundred square meters, 'touching' the other edges with electromagnetic sensors, ascertaining what lurked ahead and behind. No anomalous returns came flooding back for further analysis. In short, I was free to react. And so I did.

[AUTHORISATION COMPLETE. EXECUTE TELEPORTATION.]

[EXECUTING...]

The world blinked out of view...

The House of Orange

(Headquarters of the Ulster Seed of the British Hellfire Club)

1 North Imperium St.

Belfast, Ulster

United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland

20:23 hours (local time)...

The British have always, in my opinion, been a rather pompous and stiff lot. Not all of them, of course. It is a stereotype crafted almost entirely around a perception generated by the English, not their Welsh, Scots or Northern Irish countrymen. Nevertheless, even in the presence of this Orangeman, I try with all my might to cast the stereotype away...only to find that he exemplifies it so well...

"Darjeeling, my dear? Or Earl Grey?" he asks, gently, exuding a false sense of propriety. Beneath his surface thoughts, however, darkness flowed... I could sense it...feel it. This man was evil...

"Darjeeling," I said, smiling with some effort. "One lump, please." He nodded congenially, his reddish coif of hair contrasting with the outlandish Victorian-era tailoring of his attire. He seemed almost the archetypical Son of the Empire...but with a modern, rakish grin which stripped away any innocence that might have gone with that title. This was no pampered member of the settler classes in the twilight years of the 19th Century. This was a modern man trying--with a certain amount of success--to thumb his nose at the realities of today.

"So...whatever happened to Minister Rao?" he asked, offhandedly, seemingly indifferent to the latter's fate. I knew better. "I was expecting him to make a call on my manse...not that I'm complaining, lass." That semi-leer again... "I trust he's doing well, hmm?"

I carefully sipped my tea, probing it for poisons and, thankfully, finding none. Then: "As well as can be expected, considering. What matters more, Lord MacClemmon, is our agreement. Has the DeNant girl been...?"

He set his teacup down. "She's clean and crisp as newly-washed sheets, my dear. There'll be nae tracing here t' here or, for that matter, from here. And your end of the bargain? I trust the arrangements have been made?"

I gave a small hint of a smile. Now here's where things get a little tricky... Gently, I pulled the envelop from my breast pocket and held it up for examination. Ten seconds ago it did not exist. Ten minutes after I leave its presence it will return from whence it came: void. The trick was in convincing him that this crude display of power was the genuine article. To do that would take a delicate pheromonal push, something I haven't tried before and, hopefully, will never have to try again. Distract him, make him clumsy and likely to ignore details, and I might be able to pull this off...

Of course, that's an awful lot of 'buts' and 'ifs'.

"This is it?" he asked, his fingers closing on the proffered item--but I didn't let it go. "If I may?" he said, delicately.

"Certainly," I replied, having by then given the pheromones I'd just released time to stir his vaso-nasal organ. "I'm sure you'll find everything in order...the contacts, that is," I smiled coyly.

His left eyelid stirred, twitching.

Gotcha!

*

The drugs they'd administered her were already beginning to ware off by the time she'd been placed in the back of my limousine. Her head lollied about on the neck, haphazardly. More than once I envisioned it simply falling off. Silently I prayed to Lakshimi that she'd not been harmed. A moaned escaped from her lips.

Upon closer inspection, I was amazed how much she looked like her half-brother. Their common mother's jawline and cheekbones were prominent in them both. Though I could not tell her eye colour, I wouldn't be surprised to find that her's was similar to his, if not the same. In fact, had I not known better, I would have sworn she was his full sister, if not a fraternal twin. Strange, the delicacies and ironies of genetics...

As we pulled away from the enormous manse and headed towards the centre of Belfast, I began thinking ahead, plotting my next moves. Within a half hour, MacClemmon would know he'd been seduced and, ultimately, duped. There was a slight chance that would work in my favour. He might not be willing to acknowledge his error, his pride getting the best of him. I could not, however, count on that.

Minister Rao, upon awakening, would certainly be in a panic. There was no doubt of his next actions. He would immediately contact Palembang and request instructions. His Arthasastra masters, having more than enough on their hands with recent, ah, 'difficulties', are an unknown quality in all of this. Everything depends--critically depends--on Arthasastra believing what I wish them to. If they suspect, for a moment, that they've been the victims of a ruse, things will become much, much more dangerous for us all...

"Uhhhhhhhhhh..."

I smiled down at my 'captive'. "Ah, the sleeping beauty awakens," I said, almost in a whisper and barely loud enough for her to hear. Not that my driver would mind. He was lucky I was able to fashion a brainstem for him, much less any higher functions...

"Wh--what's going...?"

"Shhh, shhh," I said, patting her arm reassuringly. Annoyed, I gestured, and the bindings that MacClemmon's men had placed on her dissolved. "Your safe now, Ashley."

She glanced up at me, eyes widening in fright. "Who--?"

"A friend," I smiled. "Trust me. I know your brother."

She blinked, a confused look flying across her face. "My...? Dominic?" Suddenly, she sat up fully, so fast that she almost threw herself to the floor. "Where is he!"

I placed my palms together. "Don't worry. We're going to see him...after a fashion. You're going to have to place a significant amount of trust in me, Ashley. I cannot give you all the details right now. There's too much at stake for all of us--myself, you and your brother--and should you be recaptured..." I shrugged. "Suffice to say--right now--the less you know, the better."

"But--!"

"'But' nothing," I said, firmly, holding up a hand. "You will follow my lead or else all of us will be drug down in the process, do you understand?" She nodded, meekly. "Listen, this is only for your own safety. Your brother is now being held--incarcerated--for a crime he did not commit. I have the proof that would clear him." I smiled. Rather definitively, too... "But I cannot, at this moment, expose myself. There are people watching who would take me down before I had the chance to make a difference. Our only hope--only hope--right now is to link up with allies of mine and trace those who set this whole series of events in motion."

For a moment I thought she was going to cry. Her eyes filled up and she gripped her hands together so hard that they became white as sheets. "Okay," she finally said, nodding. "But only if you promise to get word to him that I'm okay."

I shook my head. "I cannot do that, Ashley. It would give away too much." Such as my status--or lack thereof--in the hereafter... "The only thing I can promise is that if you help me, you will see Dominic again. And he will be freed. Of that I can give you my word."

She sniffled loudly, wiping her eyes with the back of her sweater's sleeve. "Just who the hell are you, anyway?"

I smiled, relieved that she'd come around to my thinking. "Savijinia. But you can call me Savij." I winked. "It's a lot less of a tongue-twister that way."