Allie's War Early Years

by JC Andrijeski

  It wasn’t until I saw a faint frown touch Varlan’s lips that I realized I wasn’t all that sure about Varlan’s own religious convictions.

  “I apologize if you’re of the old beliefs,” I quickly said, my voice subdued. “I meant no disrespect to the practice of penance more generally, brother. It just struck me as more than a little hypocritical in Dehgoies’ case... if you’ll pardon my saying it.”

  Varlan only made a dismissive gesture.

  He didn’t answer me, though.

  For some reason, that bugged me.

  “You don’t think he’s sincere about it, do you?” I pressed. “Dehgoies?”

  Another longish pause went by before Varlan answered.

  “Perhaps,” he said, noncommittal. “Perhaps his past actions are exactly why he felt he needed absolution, little brother.”

  A faint smile hovered at the seer’s scar-broken mouth.

  I honestly couldn’t tell if he was fucking with me, or if I’d really offended him.

  I decided to shrug it off.

  “Okay,” I said, noncommittal. “...Sure. Unless he did it to save his own ass, after all of that shit he pulled before he defected. Funny how they all ‘find the Ancestors’ when it’s that or getting their heads chopped off for treason...”

  “You’re assuming you’ve heard the whole story on that, too, brother.”

  Hearing the warning edge unmistakably that time, I immediately backed down.

  “True,” I conceded.

  To make sure Varlan knew I wasn’t being a smart ass, I erased the more judgmental edge to my light, in effect giving him the argument, using my aleimi.

  “...Okay,” I said, keeping the deference in my tone. “So, what do you think he’s doing here?” An idea bloomed in my mind, even as it exploded out of my lips. “They don’t believe he’s the father, do they? Of the unborn child?”

  Varlan shook his head, clicking softly. “No, brother.”

  Thinking about that, I realized that Dehgoies would still be far too young to father a child. He hadn’t even been at his full growth when he left the Org, only around eighty- or ninety-years-old. Seers can’t reproduce until they hit the two-century mark, at minimum. A good chunk of males can’t reproduce until they reach almost three centuries... assuming they can at all.

  Infertility is high among seers, too, particularly males.

  Given the lesser life-expectancy for seers these days, population maintenance was a huge issue, in fact, which was part of the reason for the ban on picking up pregnant females. A number of seer think tanks and science labs spent a lot of time trying to find ways around the biological constraints to reproduction in the Sarhacienne race.

  Unfortunately, it’s also still illegal under the Human Protection Act for seers to engage directly in scientific research, which meant a lot of those labs operated either entirely illegally as an illegal subset of legitimate operations––usually through shell companies connected to human multinationals and defense contractors.

  A smaller percentage of seer-only affairs operated primarily out of the black market, where they’re technically vulnerable to World Court enforcement. That meant violators could be legally deported to work camps, like the one in Manaus... or simply sold to interested parties within the human governments and their corporate counterparts in the private sector.

  I knew the Org operated a few seer-only labs, too, of course.

  Once I remembered Dehgoies’ age, though, I flushed.

  “Do they think he’s working for the Seven?” I said, partly to cover my embarrassment over the stupidity of my other question. “...Going after the work camps more generally? Or is this a targeted extraction?”

  Varlan made an equally noncommittal gesture back. “I do not know, brother.”

  “Didn’t Galaith tell you anything?” I pressed.

  “No.”

  I frowned, wondering if Varlan was telling me the truth.

  Of course, I’d never know if he wasn’t.

  It was strange to think that Dehgoies Revik once stood even higher in the network’s ranking than Varlan did now. Dehgoies stood higher than anyone, perhaps, apart from Galaith himself. Despite his youth––being less than a century old was beyond young for a working infiltrator––Dehgoies had long been rumored to have been marked out as Galaith’s one-day successor.

  His leaving had been a shock to the whole network.

  Few left the Org, period, though.

  For someone at Dehgoies’ tier to do so was unthinkable. It constituted an almost incalculable offense, a slap to the face of every seer who would have given up much in their lives, if not all, to trade places with him.

  He’d done it all for nothing, too, from what I’d heard.

  Some kind of weird-ass nervous breakdown.

  I’d even heard rumors that Dehgoies was an intermediary being himself, although I’d never heard or seen anything that approached proof of that claim. I suspect the rumor came about as an explanation for why Galiath favored him to such a degree. A fair few sour grapes must have existed in older, more experienced seers for all of the privileges Dehgoies got. Likely, they looked for some way to rationalize it.

  I’d also heard that Dehgoies was Galaith’s biological son.

  That one, I had less trouble believing.

  Truly, it would have explained a lot.

  After all, no one doubted Dehgoies’ “favorite son” status within the hierarchy, seemingly regardless of some of his more outrageous offenses and indulgences. He’d been an extremely talented infiltrator, no doubt, even not controlling for his age. He’d also been highly intelligent, even for a seer, and everyone said he had an uncanny ability to discern spaces in the Barrier.

  But he’d hardly been one for the rules.

  Everyone in the Org feared him, I knew, and not only due to his reputation for brutality out in the field. It was said that Dehgoies had an unpredictable quality about him, one that made him even more dangerous in a lot of seers’ eyes. He definitely didn’t hold himself to the same rules of conduct that most seers of the earlier generations got pounded into them from birth.

  Either way, he’d been practically untouchable in those years.

  Until he defected.

  “Why do they think he’s involved in this breakout?” I pressed. “Is he the reason you want us focused on the target?”

  Varlan made a noncommittal gesture, that time without comment.

  I frowned a little more. “Are there any working theories from Central on who she might be to him? Or do they think he’s simply a hired gun in this?”

  Varlan repeated the noncommittal gesture.

  My frown deepened yet again.

  Sometimes, I really hated the limitations of my position within the Org.

  I was one of the original recruits.

  Despite that fact, there remained so much I didn’t know... so much I wasn’t privy to.

  It was maddening.

  I knew that sight rank, actual and potential, formed the largest concrete barrier to the inner circle, as well as to advancement up the tiers of the Pyramid. But I was ranked relatively highly in both... well above average for a seer of my age. I was nowhere near a freak of nature like Varlan, it was true, but if some impediment existed to my promotion, sight rank could hardly be the issue. A potential of nine was nothing to sneeze at. It still put me head and shoulders above the majority of high-level operatives, much less the ranks of ordinary seers.

  In just about any organization, I would have been a top-tier agent.

  SCARB acknowledged me as such, too, at least on paper.

  Of course, since the Org ran SCARB from behind the scenes, that really did mean only on paper.

  “You worry yourself needlessly, brother Quay,” Varlan said, his eyes holding a faint twinkle when he looked at me that time. “Your skills are valued. Far more than you know, brother... far more than you know. You have a unique place among those in the field. Do not let your outward rank fool you into thinking
otherwise.” Smiling more, the older male added, “See it as a test, if it helps you to endure obscurity. A means of building humility. Of learning character... something that comes less easily to those so naturally gifted.”

  I’d only been able to force a thin-lipped smile at that.

  Truthfully, the older seer’s words pissed me off.

  Varlan laughed.

  “You are too impatient, brother Quay,” he’d chided, smiling more humorously that time. “You belie your age. Did it not occur to you that I was trying to tell you something? Not just to soothe your ruffled feathers?”

  I didn’t answer at all that time, not even in my facial expression.

  The seer’s words unnerved me, though.

  Mostly because I felt the truth of them.

  When Varlan looked away, I did my best to contemplate that truth I felt, wondering if it was real... or merely the product of a high-ranked infiltrator’s skill at persuasion.

  Varlan had dropped similar hints to me in the past, even before that day. He was the first superior I’d ever had who had done so, meaning who implied that my position in the hierarchy might have more nuance than it appeared––that my being passed over might have marked me with favor, rather than the reverse.

  But was Varlan lying to me that day, with those hints he dropped, as a means of trying to control me? Or were the higher tiers really watching me, biding their time to move me into some pre-defined role, perhaps once I had matured in some way?

  I still hadn’t answered that question.

  My mind turned over possibilities as I sat in that military transport bird, even knowing I was likely being overheard, if only by Varlan himself.

  I couldn’t help wondering, even if I felt like a sucker for wondering.

  When I next glanced at the seer with the iron-gray hair, I saw another faint smile touch that sculpted mouth.

  “You are very young still, brother Quay,” Varlan said. “Patience. Your time will come.”

  I only nodded, retracting still more of my light.

  The other male’s words didn’t really reassure me, however.

  I knew it was a common Org tactic, to spy on their own agents, at least partly to keep us on our toes, keep us operating at the top of our game. The upper tiers tested different segments of the hierarchy often––to compete with the other upper-tier leaders, but also to understand the limits of individual agents. They did it to learn our stress points, get a sense of our triggers as well as what motivated us. The upper-tier seers all fought one another at the top of the Pyramid, too, I knew... probably even more fiercely than those of us at the bottom did.

  “We will be working with the Sweeps down there,” Varlan said in his deep voice. “You have contacts among the Brazilian agents, brother?”

  I nodded to that, too, letting him change the subject.

  “I know their leader,” I said. “Farley. I came up with him.”

  Varlan gestured in approval. “Good. We might need allies at the personal level.”

  The older seer’s violet-tinged eyes returned to the view below the helicopter.

  I watched him focus on the jungle, his irises sharp now.

  For the first time, I noticed that Varlan didn’t wear any body armor. He wore only a traditional cloak over what looked like a handmade shirt from the old country. Below that shirt, his dense-fabric pants of a chocolate brown color also appeared to lack organic armor sleeving. The boots he wore looked heavy enough that they might be anti-grav, if an older variant.

  Guy was a relic.

  A damned powerful one, but strangely out of place here. He looked like he belonged to a different time period, which I suppose he more or less did.

  Even his gun looked old, if heavily modified by modern organics.

  I found myself turning over the other man’s words a second time, wondering why Varlan cared if I had connections among the Sweeps. Varlan wasn’t one to fill space with idle talk... if he asked, he clearly had a reason. Usually such personal connections were only relevant if one expected to be operating inside a hostile and/or impenetrable Barrier construct, where one might need an in with one of the local construct pillars.

  Surely Varlan could see through any shield or construct the Sweeps might have erected, no matter how complex?

  Across from me, Varlan chuckled, giving me a side-eyed glance.

  “I appreciate your faith in me, brother,” he said, letting another smile touch his lips. “...But I would not be so sure of that. Remember... the Sweeps fall under brother Terian.”

  I flinched, almost before I’d thought about why.

  “Terian?” I said.

  “Yes, brother.”

  “Certainly he won’t be there. For this?”

  Varlan only shrugged, his expression blank once more.

  I honestly couldn’t let it go, though. Not that time.

  “Will he actually be there, brother?” I said. “Brother Terian?”

  “It is probable, yes.”

  I just stared at him, shocked in spite of myself.

  Varlan looked at me for an additional pause, his violet eyes glancing over my features, as if he were deciding something more to say. Realizing it was something aimed at me, as in me, personally, I felt my uneasiness returning.

  “What?” I said finally.

  Varlan shrugged. “It is a small thing. Likely unimportant.”

  “Which is what?” I said, a touch sharper.

  “You look like him, you know.”

  “What?” Whatever I’d expected Varlan to say, it wasn’t that. “Who do I look alike to? Terian?”

  “No,” Varlan said, shaking his large, iron-gray head. To reinforce his words, he gestured a smooth negative with one pale hand, then indicated towards my face. “...Not Terian, brother. Dehgoies. The resemblance is not exact, of course, but it is there. The eye color and shape. The cheekbones. Your mouth. Even your height is comparable to his, which is somewhat unusual, even among us seers. That, coupled with your somewhat unique flavor of light...”

  The older seer trailed, his eyes narrowing slightly.

  After another pause, those eyes flickered over me once more, then back up to my face. He seemed to search my eyes briefly before he shrugged.

  “I do not know if Galaith sent you here deliberately, for that reason,” he added, his voice neutral once more. “It would not be unlike him.”

  “Unlike him in what way?” I said, borderline aggressive that time.

  But Varlan only made another vague gesture in response.

  I stared at him in that silence, completely thrown.

  Dehgoies? I looked like Dehgoies? I’d never met the infamous defector before, not in person, not even while Dehgoies still worked with the Org, but no one had ever said that to me before. Then again, Dehgoies had mainly been assigned to the New World when he worked for us, and I’d mostly worked in Asia.

  But no one had ever expressed such a thing to me before, not in any of the ops to which I’d been assigned. Some of those people must have worked with Dehgoies, right?

  They had to have.

  Varlan smiled, patting my knee in reassurance.

  “I am sure it is nothing, brother,” he said.

  “What else would it be?” I said, my voice sharper again.

  But Varlan only clicked at me softly, and did not answer.

  “What did you mean before?” I pressed. “About Galaith?”

  Varlan smiled at me again, but only shook his head.

  Frustrated, I clasped my hands over my knees, unconsciously squeezing my shoulders together inside the harness that strapped me to the military jump seat.

  Somewhere in that silence, I glanced over at the others in my pod, too, all of them number-ranked beneath me––at the time, anyway––but located roughly in the same tier of the Org’s network Pyramid. They filled the benches on either side of me and Varlan, so that together, plus the three in the front end of the cockpit with the pilot, we’d made sixteen in number, the standard numbe
r for an Org unit, what they called a pod.

  In name, those seated in the back of the transport with me and Varlan were: Culten, Darnell, Dayven, Gregor, Hunslow, Jorel, Karenti, Lovry, Naragi, Pavel, Cualla. Although I couldn’t see them, I knew that Yaresh, Stark and Rendi sat next to the Black Arrow pilot up front.

  In looking over their faces, I realized they had been listening to my conversation with Varlan. I could feel them listening to the silence after it ended, as well, hearing and feeling the tension on me after Varlan brushed off my final questions.

  I could also feel some of them thinking about Varlan’s words about me looking like Dehgoies.

  Clearly, they’d heard what Varlan said about Terian possibly meeting us on the ground.

  “Do you know him well, sir?” I asked a few seconds later, trying to find another way in. “Brother Terian?”

  “Well enough,” Varlan said.

  I wasn’t sure how to interpret that, either.

  Before I could try again, another in my pod spoke up, a female with whom I’d worked for over a decade.

  “Is he here because of Dehgoies, too, sir?” Karenti asked from my right. “Did Terian come personally for that reason, sir? To hunt the defector?”

  Varlan looked briefly at the female seer, then swiveled that violet gaze back at me.

  “It is likely, yes,” he said, once more drinking in my features longer than usual.

  I felt my jaw harden slightly at that, too, but before I could speak, another faint, wry smile grew on Varlan’s scarred lips. The older seer’s light changed, growing less intimate and more formal, more military.

  I backed off almost before I knew why I’d done it.

  I still sat there, silent along with the others of my pod, when Varlan glanced up and down the length of the bench. He smiled wider once he’d finished looking around the hold.

  “I see,” he said, surveying all of our faces. “...It is clear I should have mentioned brother Terian’s presence before now. From your countenances, I suspect that all of you are finding his attendance highly motivating. At the very least, it seems that brother Quay is suddenly finding this assignment considerably less dull-seeming than before...”

  A few of the seers in the pod smiled, glancing at me.