Turncoat

by Megan Derr

  "What! Ariadne? But she's dead—" Byron looked ready to cry again.

  Dixie grabbed his shoulders, squeezed gently. "Ain't the name he used, but calm down and we'll go talk to him, get this sorted. But you're still among friends, darling. I'm sorry for what's happened in the past. I promise there ain't gonna be no witch burnings while I'm around."

  Byron nodded. "Let me wash my face." He slipped from the room and headed down the hall to the bathroom at the end. Dixie waited for him outside the workshop. When Byron emerged a few minutes later, he looked more his usual self, albeit a tenuous, anxious version.

  "So why are you so terrified of Leland?" Dixie asked as he pushed off the wall he'd been leaning against.

  "I'm not terrified of anyone," Byron said, then made a face. "Rather, I am terrified of everyone finding out about me and trying to kill me, or worse, experiment on me. That's happened a lot." Shadows fell over his face, but he shook his head. "I'm not scared of Leland."

  Dixie cast him a look as they headed down the stairs. "So what was all that running away and avoiding looking at him about?"

  "Nothing," Byron said, face going pink. "Can we drop it?"

  "Not if you're gonna get all flustered and skittish whenever you're around him," Dixie said. "We're about to pick a fight with the G.O.D. that we won't be able to walk away from unless we win it. This little group of four is about all we got for now, so what's got you acting funny?"

  "Nothing," Byron repeated, but his face only got redder.

  Dixie stopped on the stairs, and he was big enough there was no way Byron could go around him. "Well, I'll be damned, I think Greg might have been right: you got a crush."

  "That is the stupidest and yet most accurate word for it, yes," Byron bit out. "I've never really felt lust for humans. All this—" he gestured to himself, "—It's not how I should look. It's like extremely hardcore, no going back camouflage. I've grown used to it, but in my head, I'm still the original me. And the original me, even after hundreds of years…" He shrugged, looked down. "I was not prepared for…Leland."

  "Well, take it slow, darling. Ain't like you got to act on it if'n you don't want."

  Byron nodded. "Can we get this over with?"

  "Surely." Dixie gripped his shoulder in reassurance, then turned and continued on down the stairs and through the apartment back to the kitchen. Greg and Leland were sitting next to each other at the table, talking quietly. They looked up as they heard Dixie and Byron. "Howdy. I found our runaway alien. He's a bit jumpy, so give'em some space."

  "I'm fine," Byron said, though Dixie didn't miss the faint tremor in his hand as he reached up to brush a few stray curls from his face. "But I think someone else is going to have to make dinner."

  Greg flapped a hand. "It seemed like an order pizza kinda evening. So you're really a hardcore tourist?"

  "Yes," Byron said quietly and moved to take his usual seat at the table. "My ship crashed here with the meteor, when it damaged and interfered with our ship."

  "That was centuries ago."

  Byron's mouth tightened. "I've been genetically modified for interstellar travel. The modifications were extensively tested and approved by the World Board, but they seem to have side effects that no one caught."

  Greg stared at him, eyes wide. "What—"

  "That's enough," Dixie cut in. "Give the poor man some space, kitten. You can pester him later when he's up to it."

  "Sorry," Greg said. He started fidgeting and fussing with the papers on the table. "So I guess we should work on the plan?"

  Byron looked at Leland, cheeks faintly pink but chin jutted out. "Dixie said you know someone else like me?"

  "Yeah," Leland said quietly, meeting Byron's gaze briefly before lowering his eyes. "I'm sorry. It's my fault she was captured by the G.O.D."

  "It wasn't!" Greg said. "It was the G.O.D.'s fault!"

  Byron smiled ever so faintly. "That is very true. Nobody is to blame for the G.O.D. except the G.O.D. I thought Ariadne was dead. I can't believe we've been living in the same fucking city." He rested his elbows on the table and covered his eyes with the heels of his hands. "I cannot believe she's been alive this whole time. What was she doing?"

  "Protecting kids from being scooped up by the G.O.D.," Leland said.

  Sitting back, wiping away the tears that had fallen down his cheeks, Byron softly said, "Of course she was." His eyes were on the table, but a million miles away. "How long have they had her?"

  "Almost eight months."

  Byron swore softly. "That is more than enough time for the G.O.D. to get themselves in trouble. At least there is only so much they can get from me and her. I hate to say it, but sometimes I am glad the rest of the crew died. Some of them were modified and augmented in ways that would have the G.O.D. weeping tears of joy." He shook his head, eyes closing briefly again.

  "So what were you?" Greg asked, then clapped a hand over his mouth. "Sorry, no questions." He folded his hands on the table, but almost immediately started messing with papers and a pencil again.

  Dixie smiled, watching him. Did Greg ever hold still? Probably not even when he was asleep.

  "It's okay," Byron said. He stood and went to the fridge, came back with beers that he handed around. "You will probably laugh, but I was chief caretaker in the children's hall."

  "You…" Dixie stared, then cracked a grin. "You were chief nanny?"

  Byron nodded. "I oversaw the care of twenty-seven children, ranging from a newborn, delivered two days before we crashed, all the way up to a pair of mischievous ten year olds." His smile turned so heartbreaking, Dixie damn near cried. "I can't watch sci-fi movies—not because the science is bad or the aliens are always evil or anything. Because it's always the soldiers and such that conveniently survive and so things turn out okay. In reality, it's not the ones trained to survive who actually do and it doesn't turn out okay. Five of us walked out of that wreckage, two of them children. Ariadne was a scientist, I no longer remember what kind exactly, but she was able to cobble together enough parts to get the medical and modification equipment functioning. She and I converted well enough to this environment, but the others were not so fortunate. Eventually, when we realized we were going to be stuck here forever…" He shrugged. "We kidnapped a couple of humans and used them as models and blueprints to modify our appearance. It's not perfect, obviously, but most of the time, I pass muster."

  "I'm sorry," Dixie said quietly. "That feels inadequate, but I'm real damned sorry, Byron."

  Greg reached across the table and squeezed Byron's hand. "We're all sorry. I wish we had enough here to get you home again."

  "Too much time has passed, to be honest," Byron said. "Home would not be home anymore. Earth is my home now. And right now, we need to save it from the G.O.D. If they have Ariadne, then we need to get her back and destroy whatever they've gotten from her."

  "That I can do," Dixie said. "If it's in their systems, I can destroy everything electronic and the others can destroy whatever's in the labs and stored on archives. Can't promise we'll get it all. I'm sure after the last time I shredded their systems they've gotten smarter, but we'll do our damnedest. Matt and Karl won't mind coming in to help if you want."

  "We'll probably need them, but that's the next stage," Byron said. "Getting the chip is a three-person job." He stopped, looked at Leland. "Four-person job." When Leland nodded, Byron smiled in a way that was shy and adorable and completely unlike the Byron Dixie had always known. Honestly, if he kept acting like that, Leland was gonna melt in his palm. Unless Leland didn't swing that way, but if those lingering eyes were anything to judge by…

  Well, time would tell. They all had more important things to deal with right then.

  A bell chimed before anyone else could speak. "Pizza!" Greg crowed. "I'll go get it." He vanished through a door that would actually lead to an empty building next door, something else Byron had bought up to help keep the apartment complex contained and completely under his control.

  Looking at
the monitor, Byron said, "Display Operation: White Out."

  "Guest not approved," the computer said.

  "Modify bracelet to omnipass, full registration pending. Register name Leland Deveraux. Connect to Alias – Minder. Permission granted by Byron Valentine, code 02141587." The computer chimed, followed by a softer chime from Leland's bracelet. "Display Operation: White Out."

  The computer opened the requested files right as Greg returned with stacks of boxes, plastic bags dangling from his arms. "Let's eat!"

  "Let's get to work," Byron said, and they all settled down to do both.

  *~*~*

  "Fuck snow," Greg said between chattering teeth. "This fucking sucks. I fucking hate snow."

  Dixie chuckled, lowered his binoculars, and turned to look at the shivering bundle next to him in the glorified hole they were stuck in while they watched Robert House's cabin. "Ain't got too much longer left, kitten."

  "M'not a fucking cat."

  Dixie leaned down and dropped a quick kiss on those pouty lips, then lifted the binoculars and went back to staring at a whole lot of nothing. Beside him, Greg had gone still and quiet. It wouldn't last long, but it was always funny when Dixie got him that way at all.

  Even if he shouldn't be taking any excuse he could find to keep stealing kisses. Once this whole mess with the Mason Chip was done, their group was going to have to split up. Wasn't safe for all of them to huddle in the same place for too long, anyway, and once they destroyed the Mason System the G.O.D. was gonna be on the warpath. Scattered to the wind was the smartest way to stay free.

  And if his stomach clenched and his chest ached every time he thought of no longer being able to tease and kiss Greg at every opportunity, well fool fucking him for doing something he damn well knew not to do. From the moment he'd gotten free, he'd known his days were numbered. It'd be the height of stupidity to drag someone down into hell with him, or worse, leave them behind to suffer the way Mama had in the wake of Daddy's death.

  Bad enough he counted Byron and Matt friends. He hadn't meant to acquire any of those either.

  But no matter how many times he told himself no, he kept touching and teasing and tasting.

  His hands tightened on the binoculars as he panned across House's property, the ridiculous multi-million dollar "cabin" that looked like it had room enough for three football teams. He'd known it was ridiculous from the intel, but pictures and blueprints weren't enough to appreciate how fucking stupid the damned thing was.

  Who the hell needed that much house in the middle of nowhere? And how much taxpayer and donation money had paid for it? He almost wanted to torch the damned thing, but that would bring a lot of attention fast.

  "I can't believe he helicoptered in hookers," Greg muttered. "Hopefully he doesn't do that again tonight."

  Dixie snorted. "I can't believe we didn't think to account for something like that." He grinned as Greg muttered and grumbled, not a lick of it fit for polite company. Not that they were ever in polite company. "Ready for tonight?"

  "I have been ready for tonight since we got to this stupid mountain of unending white death," Greg replied. "God, I hope we get this done quickly and without hassle and can go home. I'm going to bury myself under twenty blankets and never move again."

  "You're something else," Dixie said.

  Greg lowered his binoculars enough to shoot Dixie a quick grin. "How much longer until we get started?"

  "Sundown is in…" Dixie drew back enough to pull out his phone. "Three hours. We go four hours after that. Seven hours, give or take. Hopefully House wore himself out last night with Janet, Cookie, and Lacey."

  Greg snickered. "If they didn't wear him out, I'd be asking for a refund. Then again, that dude is a fucking creep; I hope they charged him quadruple."

  Dixie reached out, not bothering to look, and gave him a gentle shove. "Do something useful if you ain't gonna keep an eye out with me."

  "Yeah, yeah," Greg said. "Aren't they supposed to be coming to relieve us soon? Do you think they're too busy pretending they don't stare at each other when the other isn't looking?"

  "I think that's some of it, yeah," Dixie said, rolling his eyes. "Leave'em alone, pussycat." Greg made a strangled sort of noise, and Dixie turned to look at him. "What in the hell has gotten into you?"

  Greg glared, or tried, but mostly he just looked sad and frustrated. "Don't call me that. You only call me that when you're fucking me or thinking about fucking me, but it never seems to go further than fucking. No matter how much I wish otherwise. We both know when this job is over so are we, and I hate constantly getting my hopes up you might change your mind." His cheeks flushed and he dropped his gaze, staring at the floor, mouth twisted in a frown. "So just—stop."

  It was exactly what Dixie deserved, and he shouldn't have needed to be told. Didn't stop the words from cutting like a knife and leaving him struggling to breathe. "Fair—fair enough. I'm sorry." He turned back to the cabin, lifted the binoculars once more, and tried to focus on the damned job.

  At some point the little door at the back of their hole opened. They'd visited the mountains a few months ago, when the weather was nice, to set up everything they would need to get the Mason Chip, including the hole from which they watched the cabin, and a tunnel that led to the larger hole in the ground where they hid.

  Dixie could hear Byron's voice, but couldn't focus on the words. Could barely focus on anything, unable to hear anything except Greg's words, the hurt in his voice. Part of him wanted to soothe. No, that wasn't true. All of him wanted to soothe Greg, but what was the damned point?

  "You okay?" Byron asked a few minutes later.

  "I'll live," Dixie said. "Did you need something?"

  "A place to hide," Byron replied.

  Dixie grimaced. "Well you came to the right place."

  "Greg seemed sad."

  "He'll be okay. Had every right to tell me off, and someone like that doesn't stay down for long." Dixie lowered the binoculars long enough to dredge up a sorry-assed smile. "He can do far better than me, especially since…" but he couldn't stomach saying the words and went back to the binoculars.

  "I'm not going to let them kill or capture you, Dixie."

  "You ain't gonna have a whole hell of a lot of choice, darling," Dixie said. "They've had plenty of time to muck with Daddy's system and rig it up to bring me down. I sure as fuck ain't going back to them, and once I'm back in the system, they ain't gonna let me out." He set the binoculars down, faced Byron dead on. "You and I have always known my story ends where it began: in the clutches of the G.O.D. and the damn system me and Daddy was built to run. We ain't getting what we need without me going in, and for me it's gonna be a one-way street."

  "Doesn't mean you have to do it all alone or leave practically nothing behind," Byron replied.

  Dixie made a soft, rough-edged noise. "What the hell good did it do Daddy, leaving something behind?"

  Byron gave no reply, just stared at him sadly with eyes that had always seemed too pretty to be real. Eyes that were, apparently, too pretty to be human. "Dixie…"

  "Drop it. What did you come out here for?"

  "To tell you to take a break. I'm pretty sure House isn't flying in more hookers tonight, and Leland has earned a fucking badge or medal or something in making shitty camp food palatable, which even I can't do and I worked a long time to get the hang of food around here."

  Dixie laughed. "Around here? You mean Earth, spaceman?"

  Byron heaved a long sigh and turned away, kicking his shin. "Yes. Shut up. Come eat before you sulk yourself to death. And I strongly advise making up with Greg."

  "Drop it." Packing up what little was around the place, Dixie slung the bag over his shoulder and followed Byron through the short, dark tunnel to their hole in the ground campsite. "I can't fucking wait to be somewhere warm again." He dropped the bag with a sigh and sat down in the folding chair he'd claimed as his own. "So you think it's a good bet we'll get to do this tonight?"

  "Y
ep, and we'll even get a nice bonus snowstorm."

  Greg groaned. "I always thought it would be bullets or torture that killed me, not fucking snow." He rolled his eyes, face turning red, as they all gave him looks. "I'm just saying, life is full of unpleasant surprises."

  Dixie started to tease him, then shut his mouth and turned away, suddenly feeling like he had rocks in his throat, chest, and stomach. He bent to fuss with the small dufflebag he'd be carrying with him that night, full of everything he could possibly need to get to the Mason Chip. Greg would be handling the initial infiltration, but once he got Dixie inside the show was his, from disabling the whole damn house to extracting the Mason Chip.

  He fussed with everything, then did it all over again, and was about to go for round three when a plate of food was shoved under his nose. Dixie set the bag aside and took the plate, looked up to thank Leland, who smiled briefly and moved away to sit in his own corner. Dixie looked around, frowning. Normally they all sat in a cluster, joking and laughing to defray or hide nerves. Tonight, it was every man to his corner and they all seemed as downcast as he felt.

  Hopefully the illegal proceedings portion of the evening went better than dinner.

  Wolfing down his food before his lack of appetite got the better of him, Dixie cleaned up his dishes and then laid out his sleeping bag and stretched out. He set a timer on his phone and escaped into a nap.

  The sharp jarring of his alarm woke him a few hours later. He turned it off with a groan and hauled stiffly to his feet, stretching to work out the worst of it. Around him, the room was fairly dark, only one little solar lamp to cut the shadows. Byron was sitting in his chair lacing up his boots. In their respective corners, Greg and Leland were still asleep. "Going to be a fun night," Dixie muttered as he pulled out his clothes for the evening and began to pull them on. All black, the pants and jacket riddled with pockets full of all sorts of little goodies. He rubbed the back of his neck, shivered as his systems stirred to life and started to thrum. Yawning, he pulled a ski-cap down on his head, then wrapped a scarf around his neck.

  "Here," Byron said quietly and held out a handgun. What kind, Dixie didn't know, only that Byron seemed to have a preference for the model—and the nasty little hollow points that filled it. The gun gave a muted beep as he gripped it, a small blue light activating. "Coded to you."