~~~~~
In Husband’s sizeable garage was a boxy all-terrain that could fit five people and plenty of supplies, albeit with little room for the air the people needed to breathe. Dastou’s group of seven relaxed on the side of the garage closer to the connected house. A couple of conversations had started up, casual pointlessness meant to alleviate tension and waste time, but the Saint didn’t join in. He was busy trying to find the best words to describe an order he was about to give, some phrasing that wouldn’t get him punched in the face. When he finally came to the conclusion that his words wouldn’t matter and he may as well be prepared to have a black eye, Husband walked in from his house and waved in greeting.
“How long have you had this thing in here?” Nes asked, gesturing at the sturdy vehicle.
“I’m a spy, after all,” Husband said with some humor. “Being prepared is, quite literally, half my job. I’ve never driven this big fellow, but I cycle the siopane out every other month and make sure it will run like an absolute dream if need be.”
“I like the way you operate, Hubby.”
Husband smiled at that, reminding Dastou of why the other half of espionage that involved people would be easy for him – the man’s positivity was infectious. And it wasn’t trained, either, he was always that way.
“I assume,” Husband began, “that you all have interesting stories to tell.”
“Only the best,” Dastou said. “People have tried to kill me no less than three times today, and one of them got close.”
“Ah, the trappings of fame.”
After he said that, the open side door to the garage was filled with the sight of a beautiful woman expertly carrying two trays.
“Take one of these, will you dear?” she said.
Husband took the metal tray, which had several small ceramic cups. The one with a steaming carafe was still held by Wife, the woman that had let the visitors in the house and garage. Dastou had known her at the Academy, though now she looked almost completely different. Her black hair was longer and curling off to one side. She wore a light, natural lipstick, and a dress that emphasized her curves, mostly by accident. She wasn’t a soldier, didn’t have the ninety-percent fat-free body of Saan-Hu, and in fact most people that lived in cities were effected by a mild, constant suggestion that kept their weights to a particular median. Wife was slightly above that median and boy did she look good for it, her face instantly attention-getting in any room. But it wasn’t the physical stuff that made her lovely, it was her profound confidence.
In every step she took, it was like she knew herself perfectly and no one could dare question her. Husband was the same was, and they had always seemed like a perfect pairing. Dastou smiled at how casually in love those two were as Husband helped Wife fill the small cups with a fragrant, hot liquid.
“Crawford,” Wife said, her voice naturally light and almost musical, “I know you are allergic to one of the herbs in this tea; the cup filled with the darker liquid is yours.”
No one had introduced themselves outside of by name when they came in, meaning there was no mention of allergies.
“Uh,” Crawford stammered, taken aback, “yeah, that’s right. Thank you.”
All the self-assured dickishness that was Crawford Zhedani’s personality went out the window there, and he walked around the front of the all-terrain in the middle of the garage and removed a cup from the tray Husband was holding as Wife finished pouring another. When those two were close, it was like the beginning of a personality study: one of them had an eye-twitchingly pain-in-the-ass version, the other a mountainously solid, impeccably charming variety.
“I have to admit,” Nes said, “making that kid not act like a weirdo is an impressive achievement. I think I like you, um, Miss Wife. Person.”
“Oh, my. Thank you, dearest,” Wife said with a barely-there flirty tilt of her head that made Dastou snort.
Nes winked at her in a playful over-the-top manner. She laughed.
“I’ll be inside,” Wife said to the room after balancing the carafe on her tray. “Husband is the cook here, and I’m only allowed to gently stir the dinner until you all finish. See you soon.”
With that, she left and closed the garage door behind her.
“Lucky man,” Nes said to Husband.
“I know,” Husband agreed as he walked around, handing out steaming cups.
After everyone had some tea and taken at least one sip – a flowery blend and quite good – it was time for business.
“We’ll start with you three,” said Dastou, looking in the direction of the privates, who’d silently decided to stay near one corner of the garage. “What happened in the Caravan and why aren’t Hays, Nudrenmbe, and Melk with you?”
After a hesitation that could best be described as guilt-ridden, Crawford volunteered to reveal what happened. The story was short, and worrisome. Hays had acted with his brand of quick-thinking and hard choices, yet he couldn’t do anything about how Citizen Vaiss made his way into the Caravan, bypassing electronic locks with impossible skill. Half the crew had to be left behind, and that’s where the guilt before their story had come from, the privates thinking they should have done more.
“If you think you stood a chance,” Dastou said after the story was done and the remorse was open to the air, “I’ll tell you right now you didn’t.”
“How do we know that for sure?” asked Evara.
Where she and Goner came from, defending yourself against neighborly tyranny taught you to fight to the death whenever you had to. That overly-consistent deadly efficiency was not an attitude Dastou wanted in his students outside of necessity.
“Citizen Vaiss was the older man you described,” Dastou began. “He’s manipulated this entire day to his advantage, including two attempts on my life that he knew I’d survive. And a third that he may have thought I wouldn’t.”
“No offense,” Goner said, “but that’s not scaring me. So he can think, big deal? Who says he’d be able to live through a fight against all six of us in our own headquarters, our territory, even with that other guy and those three animals?”
“He does not have to win the fight,” Saan chimed in without judgment in her words. “He is able to hypnotize any of us, and did exactly. Including Dastou.”
“I’m sorry... what!?” Crawford asked.
The fact was, or was supposed to be, that if you had gray eyes you were immune to hypnotism. That was one of the biggest things you had to go through during the first few months to a year at Ornadais Academy: an extensive and complicated series of changes to brain chemistry that made it so recruits were unaffected by suggestion. When tested against a Stitch of another student’s working, the worst result was a mild headache. The fact that Vaiss could completely hypnotize a Saint, whose own immunity was believed beyond breaking, was like saying that ice wasn’t cold, a fundamental break in everything these kids knew, were told, and were trained for.
“She isn’t exaggerating,” Dastou told the privates. “He hypnotized all three of us. We’re nothing to him, but we lived because he seemed to enjoy punishing us. He could easily have slit our throats, and instead wanted us to suffer. Each time he could have ended us, he left us to live in some kind of agony or torture until we died. I don’t think he’ll let that happen again.”
“Interesting,” Husband said. “Have you two never heard of such a man?” he asked, wiggling a finger between the Stroffs.
“Why us?” Evara wondered.
“You’re Xaneefa,” Husband said as if the answer should have been obvious. “Your people collect the stories of others almost obsessively. There’s nothing in your early learnings to indicate such a level of hypnotic skill, possibly a tale meant to be allegory?”
“Um...” Evara started, then thought about it for a few seconds. “No, I don’t think so,” she said. “But there are a lot of stories that we weren’t told because we left the tribe pretty young to come with Dastou. And other tales, our biggest secrets, hold a dangero
us level of information, especially about other tribes or nomad groups. No one is told those without earning it after years and years of service to the safety of the tribe.”
“Ah, right, the sacred stories, the Oblong Oars. I forgot about those.”
Dastou immediately knew that he did not forget that. Husband was trying to control the reaction the Stroffs had to him for future use. Damn if that man wasn’t the best spy the Academy had.
“Yeah,” Evara said after a second, suspicion in her tone. “Those.”
The room became quiet, awkward, and Dastou broke that mood by taking a very loud sip of his lukewarm tea. When they glared at him, he made brief eye contact with everyone in that room as he took a second, incredibly loud sip that finished off the liquid.
“Seconds?” Husband asked.
“No, thank you,” Dastou said. “I don’t think I could drink louder if I tried. In any case, don’t worry about what happened in the Caravan,” the Saint said to the young privates. “Hays was absolutely right about what he did and what he asked you to do. I don’t want to be so unemotional or pragmatic about it, but you did what you were ordered to do by a man you trust. I couldn’t ask for anything more of any of you.”
“Is it our turn!?” Nes wondered, his over-excitement meant to annoy.
“Hmph,” Saan grunted.
“Fine, fine, go ahead,” Dastou said, admittedly happy to have someone else start the story.
“I’ll teach you how to tell a story, old man,” Nes said with a smile and an aggressively pointed finger, which resulted in Saan rolling her eyes.
Unfortunately, Nes wasn’t pretending excitement. He was always one to look on the positive side, like Husband, and since they all survived he went all out telling his side of things. Indeed, it was a tale of heroism and skill. Of bravery and shooting a bunch of people, featuring numerous physical flourishes as he relayed the events of his day.
If his intent was to entertain, he succeeded. Evara and Goner smiled and laughed at his jokes, Crawford and Saan were intent and focused, Husband smiled or nodded at appropriate times, and Trenna actually joined in. The formerly homeless girl would jump in for a sentence when he forgot a small detail, or laugh brightly at his gags despite the dangerous circumstances that happened mere hours ago. She opened up the same way Nes did, ignoring the darkness or horror of what happened, if only for a few minutes. Dastou himself couldn’t help but grin during the retelling, too, as this was the most fun he’d had all day.
It took fifteen minutes to say everything – though it probably could have been done in half that time in straight facts and important information.
“Is that all?” Dastou wondered after Nes had finished on the part where the fasshim broke through the Sewing Room door only to be retrieved by Vaiss.
“Yeah, yeah,” he panted, somewhat out of breath. “You do your thing and wind us down. Good chat, everybody.”
“Is that something they teach at the school now?” Husband asked with a smirk. “You rank up to corporal only if you can spin a proper yarn?”
“Corporal Nesembraci Jaydef,” Nes began proudly, “takes both his rank and his tales seriously when he feels like it.”
“Grandmother would be impressed,” Evara complimented, and that was a compliment coming from a Xaneefa. “You’d be very popular at our Words Below Lights camp.”
“I assume that’s mostly kids, then?” asked Nes, his breath caught and his back against the wall to relax.
“Yes,” Evara and Goner said not only simultaneously but in the exact same deadpan tone.
Nes hesitated for a moment, staring at the twins. “That was creepy. Dastou, your half.”
The Saint wanted to go all out for his part, but decided that it wasn’t necessary. While the last bit was fun, there was a certain doubt about how powerful Citizen Vaiss was, how intelligent, and he needed to make sure it was known. Dastou told his story professionally, and it was over in five minutes at most.
If Nes meant to entertain, Dastou meant to strike some fearful wariness into everyone. He’d been by himself underground, for the most part, and what Vaiss was able to do to him and those from Trenna’s camp was shocking and terrible. Dastou needed to convey that properly for the sake of whenever anyone met with any of these new enemies again, which was an absolute guarantee.
“Ugh,” Nes said when it was over. “I wouldn’t have ever guessed that all happened.”
“Well, me neither,” Dastou admitted. “Citizen Vaiss was able to manipulate his way through our reactions impeccably, except that he underestimated us, and we’re alive when he left us for dead.”
“If you are righteous,” Evara started, quoting from her people’s teachings, “never leave an evil man to act again on his wants. If you are evil, never leave anyone alive that would act against you.”
Dastou tipped his head to Evara in agreement. “While that might be harsh for my personal tastes,” he said, “we’re lucky Vaiss didn’t follow those rules at all. And now that we live, we’re forced to be a little more creative in dealing with the situation. Tomorrow, we’re splitting up.”
“Sir?” Saan said. “That may not be for the best if we are already under threat.”
“I’m with her,” Nes said. “This guy’s got the Caravan, what else can we do but go home and prepare to fend him off?”
“Does that sound right to you?” Dastou asked, counting off his points on fingers. “We expected nothing that happened today, and Vaiss either planned or had contingency plans for all of it. Now, despite being alive like we’re not supposed to be, we’re still on our back foot, guessing and hiding. And you think Vaiss would go exactly where we think he would next?”
“It... doesn’t sound right,” Nes relented, “but what’s better than having the entire Academy and DSF with us to help out? This guy wants everything we collected on mass-hypnotism, which means that’s the only place he can go.”
“You’re forgetting about someone else who knows how to think ahead,” Dastou told him.
“Hanyan Hays,” Husband guessed correctly. “He protected the school by wrecking the Caravan’s automated mapping. Vaiss and Milser can’t go there directly.”
“That’s it exactly. It’s the smart thing for us to go home to Davranis Central, thinking we’ll get there faster because the Caravan is hobbled. Lick our wounds, heal up, and make pointless arrangements that Vaiss will cut apart. No. We’ll split up here, set other things in motion.”
Dastou’s voice was stern, commanding. Okay, he had no idea how to handle Citizen Vaiss. However, after everything that has happened today, he was tired of being outwitted and outmaneuvered. He’d been putting together an army, the DSF, for years now, yet several of his best weapons were in his own head, secrets that he was thankfully alive to take advantage of.
“Saan,” Dastou said, “you are going home.”
Saan squinted at him. “I thought you said...”
“Not our home,” Dastou said with a gentle shake of his head. He knew what he was getting into and didn’t want to anger her more than he was about to. “Yours. I need you to go to Nebasht.”
“Why?” she said quickly, slipping that single word out through her teeth like a threat.
“I’m calling in a favor from the Ko Monasi,” Dastou further explained, still calm as he mentioned the name of Saan’s tribe and tried to ignore the acid in her glare.
Everyone would see the irritation, but no one else would see a secret scorn and boiling anger in her eyes besides Dastou and Nes, and the latter took a silent, unconscious step away from her side. The Saint and the corporal knew how bad the terms were with Saan’s people when she left, they knew how much it hurt her, why she was no longer allowed the use of her family name. Trenna and the others bristled at the breaking of Saan’s trained temperament.
“The Ko Monasi owe me something big,” Dastou elaborated, “something Lonoj organized for me before he passed away. He told me to save it for when I needed it in order to save myself a ton of troub
le, or when an avalanche of trouble found me first. This counts as both, if you think about it, and I need you in Nebasht to ask for whatever it is.”
Saan’s lips made a thin, bloodless line. “You don’t know what that favor is?”
Goner whispered to Evara, the words barely audible as more than breath, though Dastou was able to read his lips.
“She’s so sexy when she looks like she’s gonna choke someone to death,” said the boy.
“Put it back in your pants, will you?” Evara told her brother at the same extremely low volume. “You talk like you have a shot with that.” Thankfully the exchange was away from Saan’s eyes.
Dastou shut them up with a stony glare and spoke to Saan again. “You’re right, I don’t know what their gift for me is, but I trusted Lonoj implicitly, with my life and more. Whatever it is, I’m going to need it. Nes, Evara, Goner,” Dastou continued, “you’re with her. I need four people representing the DSF for this, representing me. I especially need you, Saan. I could send Nes as the leader and keep you, and they’d send him away, probably with an arrow in the thigh as a warning.”
“Which means they missed my heart pretty badly,” Nes said.
“It absolutely has to be the last person I’d send there if I had anyone else to go,” Dastou continued. “I’m sorry.”
At this honesty and further expansion of his motives, Saan calmed down. Most of the way. Inside, the anger would be replaced very soon with worry, fear, and an abundance of self-examination. He knew her well, which meant that he was sure she’d do what she needed to do for her organization. Unfortunately, this time it meant being forced back to Nebasht before she was mentally prepared for a homecoming.
“Meanwhile,” Dastou continued after his moment of thought, “Trenna, Crawford, and I go east from the Thousand Kilo Shore.”
Saan perked up at this. “The ocean? Davranis North, you are going to DavNo.”
“You assume right,” the Saint said proudly, glad to know that she put together his destination like he wanted her to. “If Captain Hays destroyed the navigation systems of the Caravan, there’s no direct way past the electronically controlled barriers at the tunnels on Davranis’ shore, let alone into the Academy complex. Those things are one-way switches, and the DSF folks there wouldn’t let him through. That means Vaiss will have to work his way down from the north, taking the Caravan in other abandoned tunnels close enough to make the last part of the trek over land. So we’ll go north, too, see if we can find an opening or weakness in his attempt to reach the school. I also have allies there, enough to cause some trouble for him.”
“Uh... Mr. Dastou,” Trenna said, speaking up in her quiet way. “Why am I going with you? Wouldn’t it be best if I stayed with Saan’s team and you take Nes?”
“Yes it would,” Dastou said candidly, “but I need a show of strength for the Ko Monasi, which means my second in command for personnel, Staff Sergeant Saan-Hu, and my closest comrade, Corporal Nesembraci Jaydef. Adding two young tribesfolk from the respected Xaneefa shows a positive link from our organization to isolationists. That means you’re with me and Crawford to make up a trio of people who are very blunt with, very bad at, or utterly useless in politics.”
Crawford frowned hard enough at the insult that a strand of his red curls fell over his forehead. The statement was nonetheless true, and the last thing you could call Crawford was tactful. As for Trenna, she had no influence and had known Dastou for less than a day. They were both stuck with him for now.
“Alright,” Trenna said, “I understand, then.” She was earnest in that statement. There, someone who doesn’t backtalk. Finally.
“I thought,” Nes began, “ that you were fairly talented in politics from those other conferences we’ve been going to.” He was referring to the other handful of meetings taken lately as people felt brave enough to challenge a Saint’s gifted authority when there was a mere one of them left alive.
“Only because I had a trick to play or some bribe to shut up the people I was talking with.” Dastou held up his hands to show they were empty. “I can’t bribe people that would sooner see me dead like the Ko Monasi.”
“Ah, gotcha.”
“You said you were headed east and then to DavNo,” Husband said. “That means you need a good, fast boat.”
“Which I assume you have,” Dastou guessed.
“Oh, absolutely. Wife has put something together from scratch, a darling of a vessel that was strictly for getting away from here in case we couldn’t go by land.”
“Does that mean we’re taking all your escape routes with this chubby truck and your boat?” Nes wondered.
“No,” Husband said with a smile. “Two escapes left, I believe.”
“And your boat, it’ll be good for travel all the way to DavNo?” Dastou asked. “That’s nine days.”
“Nine days!?” Crawford practically screamed at the same time Husband nodded his answer. Crawford’s incredulity spread to his next words. “Nine days of travel on a boat, the three of us, with a scant few hours of preparation? That’s a huge mistake,” he finished, shaking his head and crossing his arms.
The Saint smiled and tilted his head playfully at the same time Nes put a hand to his head in embarrassment at the private’s attitude.
“I swear, Crawford,” Dastou said, “if I didn’t need you right now, I’d shoot you again.”
With their plans to split up in place, Wife walked into the garage with faultless timing.
“I don’t think I can occasionally stir any longer without something getting unsavory,” she said.
“Thanks,” Dastou said, bringing an end to the debriefing. “Let’s go everyone.”
Wife walked back out and Husband was first to follow before the others went. While Dastou was glad to be safe for now, he also knew he was sending his closest friends halfway around the world from where he was going, and the anxiety was hard to ignore. He had the feeling he might be sending them toward as much danger as he was aiming for in Davranis North, and hoped Lonoj’s gift was something more deadly and useful than the book of inspiring poetry Dastou received from him seven years ago at a spectacularly disappointing birthday dinner.
Blurred Weaponry (Saints of the Void, Book 1) Page 31