by Kyle Olson
Well, no matter.
“For a head of state, I’d have expected better of you. All can be made useful, once a suitable role is found. Wio, for example, may be a lowly mischief… diety—” Daontys’ throat had begun to say goddess, but they were the sort of… deity who wasn’t, even compared to someone like Tess, “But she has her uses.”
“I am aware, and yes—there is something to be said for getting the most of your resources, but all too often they require more effort than they’re worth.”
“Like your band of terrorists?” Daontys remarked, lip twinging as he spoke.
“If I recall, that was your idea. And look, all it did was galvanize the mortals.”
“Yes, and it was your man who gave up the information. They should have been better trained.”
“He was well trained. One of our best. But, he made a mistake. We made a mistake. The Sejit we know is not the goddess who is. Have to hand it to her, leveling her own buildings and blaming it on the rebels was a brilliant move. Soon as that happened, I should have called for their extraction,” he went on, swirling the ice in his glass. Enough of it had melted he had a sip of the water. “Instead, based on the report, I have my suspicion she interrogated him personally. How else would he break with so few marks on his flesh?”
Daontys’ stiff back slackened, “All the more reason for us to proceed with haste. I am pressuring my servants within the government to propose censures and trade restrictions on Yosel. We shall choke out her economy. Meanwhile, within a decade Coanphany should be large enough to claim dominance of the eastern hemisphere.”
“Ideally,” Ifon said, unable to hide his amusement, “But don’t think every nation will fall like a house of cards. There are already signs of an alliance forming to oppose me, to join Gyunphan. Should that come to pass, I will have no choice but to halt my advance, lest my lines grow too thin to prevent adventurism on their part. Your precious Ertons, will, undoubtedly, begin funding those who would oppose me. They’ve been Alpha for so long, the notion of another sovereignty rising to their level is enough to make them piss themselves.
“I will be able to stall such things for quite some time,” Daontys said, preening himself with a slight adjustment of his tie here, a shift of his trouser pleat to ensure it was dead center across his leg there.
“Will you? You may have a few senators in your pocket, but those at the top, the true top, are still outside your grasp. But then,” he said, taking a seat on the edge of Daontys’ sprawling desk, “For someone claiming to be neutral in the affairs of mortals, you do have a curious number of fingers in their pies.”
“Inaction,” he snapped, “Is as good as collaboration. As much as I deplore their use, I must, if I am to mount effective resistance, or,” he trailed off, face tightening into a mask, “Possess something of value. With that said, I intend to use our new allies and contain Sejit. I will contact her and let her know that, should she continue her attempts at interference and provocation, her squalid nation will be dealt with.”
And what of value did you offer our new… allies? No matter. Bottom-feeders would be happy with any scraps.
Ifon stood, leaving his glass on the desk.
Without a coaster.
What felt like two lasers bore into him. He knew what Daontys’ reaction would be, but he couldn’t resist. It was far too amusing to prod at his neuroticism.
“If I were you, I would not threaten her. Why do you think I have not even so much as suggested an attack on her son?”
Daontys’ eyes shimmered like tiny suns, “True, but, I suspect we could use that aspect of hers to our advantage.”
“…Go on.”
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
Within the brooding confines of a well-lit and accommodating office within the Guffston Capitol Complex in Erton, two men were engaged in conversation.
“President Temmen, I have an update regarding the incident with the Lofgren Estate,” said the Chief of Internal Security and Welfare, Derrin Wiseman, as he proffered the President a device containing the pertinent files.
President Temmen accepted it and plugged it into his workstation—a drab beige box not unlike what any of the other staff might have had. Maybe even worse, considering most of them had new laptops and tablet computers.
“Appreciate it,” he said, waiting for the files to appear on-screen.
And he waited some seconds, drumming his fingers. He wiggled the portable storage drive, “Something wrong with it?”
The Chief coughed into a fist, “Please open your file browser and… Actually, do you mind, sir?”
“Not at all, go ahead,” said the president, shuffling his office chair away from the presidential desk so the Chief could use it.
With a few clicks of the mouse, the important files had been opened.
“Technology, right? Moves so fast these days!”
“Sir.”
The President chuckled to himself, and set to skimming through the pages of information, so conveniently bullet-pointed and summarized. “So what’ve we got here? Is it like we thought?”
“Possibly. The geo-survey satellite that happened to be overhead at the time did not have a camera with the resolution to make out much more than broad details, but they did provide a few of our intelligence services with the information required to make… an educated guess.”
“Better than a shot in the dark,” said the President, pausing on one blurry image showcasing a rising column of fire, “If anyone can figure out what this is, it’s those boys. Best science corps in the world, you know!”
“Sir.”
“Well, go on, son.”
Derrin took a moment to push his eyeglasses back up his nose, “They all agree it’s not any sort of natural phenomena. It could not have been an explosive device, nor could it have been accomplished with any known technology.”
The President hummed pensively, “Known technology. I don’t like that one bit. Something like that could be devastating to, well, just about everything and everyone. Any ID on the person in this blurry mess?”
“Yes,” said the Chief with a slight clearing of his throat, as he had to calibrate his words to their audience, “Piecing together information from what remained of a single vehicle, along with data pulled from local traffic cameras, we determined it was a rental vehicle. Tracking it to the rental agency, we learned it had been paid off in full as it was not returnable. We also learned that while a falsified identity had been used to rent the vehicle, security cameras from within the agency along with a trail of bank transfers were able to pinpoint the renter’s true identity—one Seraphina Isolde.”
“Say what?! That can’t be. Why would someone of her standing…” The President’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, “Rent something like this in person? Are you certain it wasn’t done in her name? A setup?”
“We went over the data multiple times. There’s no doubt it was her.”
“How about that,” The President said, with arms crossed and weight thrown back in his chair. He stared at the documents on his screen with a hint of suspicion, as if they were lying to him.
“I’ve met with her before, granted back then I was a lowly senator! She doesn’t seem like the sort to just, melt a random, well-heeled family. A fine gal, if a bit rough around the edges. Though, she does have a considerable stake in several defense firms.”
“That is our line of thinking as well, Mr. President. Admiral Davitsburn and Air-Chief Lopenheim are pushing hard in their investigations regarding the origins of this technology. Meanwhile, we are pursuing the matter of her intentions and reason for being at the estate. In addition, we had another positive ID from a… drinking establishment,” The Chief said, in the interest of politeness, “Where Miss Isolde started a brawl.”
“She started a bar brawl?”
“And won. A sheriff responded, attempted to subdue her, but she shrugged off multiple attempts to detain her via taser and fled into the nearby forest.”
&nb
sp; “That firecracker!” The President shouted, slapping his thigh, “I should’ve been more persistent that night,” he went on, wistfully.
“Sir.”
“Ah, but you’re right, Derrin. I’m assuming you boys have been searching for her?”
“Yes, sir. Last report from her was some time ago, relayed via her administrative aides that she was taking an emergency sabbatical. Her companies have been left in the hands of designated replacements for such times.”
“Much as I want to believe y’all are hunting the wrong fox, it all adds up to one damning picture, don’t it?”
“Sir. “
“I suppose this is where I give you my authorization to do whatever it takes to find her, and then find out just what in damnation happened down there. You have it. If she’d done this business of hers just a bit more north…” said the President, in a sort of faraway voice.
“Do not worry, we’ll be taking the utmost caution. If she is still in the country, we’ll ensure she doesn’t get the chance to act again.”
“Damn shame,” said the President, like a man who’d lost a bet, “Damn shame. She was good for business, you know.”
“Sir.”
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
Sophia found herself puzzling over the fact that her transformation into a lion/human chimera had been the first change, while the fine details of her metamorphosis took time to manifest.
Still groggy after waking one morning, she lumbered to the bathroom on four padded paws and was once again reminded that those pads were just as susceptible to the cold as her feet had been, and now she had twice as many of them. The shocking part was when she looked into the mirror and saw her eyes had the vertical, split pupils of a cat. Though, they did vanish with the rest of her godly attributes when she so wished.
Hearing got better, along with her sense of smell. The hearing thing was kind of nice, but at the same time, she was getting tired of picking up the shrill tones of the world that she had once been blissfully deaf to. If there was one small comfort, it was that as long as she maintained her human form, most of the more annoying sounds faded away.
Scents were another matter. Before, scents were… smells, sometimes with a dash of taste to them. But now? They intruded into the territory of sight, which meant, in one way of describing, that she could follow her nose to navigate and pick out details with all the clarity of an image. And taste it just as well. Almost didn’t need her tongue anymore.
Best, or worst of all, she picked up on the things that weren’t smells, but were delivered the same. For example, she could tell when Tarkit was anxious, or, as unfortunate as it was, when Tess and Yf had been… together, even after they’d showered.
These changes came on at a gradual pace, in that insidious, creeping sort of way where she didn’t notice until she noticed.
Oh, and then there was the physical prowess to match the senses. Muscles plumped, giving her former noodle-like appendages some much-needed definition and bulk, though she did wish there was less… definition. Wasn’t very feminine, in her opinion, but then, she wasn’t a beacon of femininity to begin with.
She could run farther, faster, carry more, and the slight, nagging pain she’d had in her back for a while faded away.
Downside was that it meant Tarkit expected more of her when it came to say, splitting wood. Still wasn’t so good with the axe, even if swinging it a couple times didn’t tire her out anymore.
Cravings for meat intensified, along with the hatred of vegetables. Not that it was much of a problem, considering the other three were voracious meat-eaters themselves. Following in the wake of the cravings was the shift in the rhythms of her sleep, which was unexpected, but did explain why Sejit and Yf were always awake early in the morning and in the later evening, but slept like logs during the night and always had naps throughout the day.
And then there was her power, which felt like an odd thing to think, let alone say. Made her feel like she was in some stupid hero comic or movie whenever it was brought up. But, what else could she call it?
“Hi, I’m Sophia, and I have the power to know things,” she’d muttered to herself once, then buried her face in a pillow to hide from the self-inflicted embarrassment.
Tess’ insights had been a boon when it came to working out the mysteries of her ability, to be sure, but it still left so much open. At the least she figured out she could read Lorithyl’s endless tomes, even if the process was slow going because, while the knowledge of what each glyph meant had been crammed into her head, the understanding wasn’t there. Which meant frequent pauses to access the whatever-the-hells-the-language-was-to-Erton dictionary in her head constantly, and then figure out what “Strong-Desert-Cat deceit past present future backwards emptiness unity success failure void peace” actually meant. And that was just one part of the whole, so to speak. When Yf had mentioned books referencing one another, that was because, far as she could gather based on her current knowledge, was because it was all a bunch of interlinked visions and images.
Just like how her knowledge came to her in an assortment of still photos and imagery, interspersed with a few short movie clips. The interpretation was everything.
There were myriad such gems, most of which she had to leave behind in the hopes something else would make more sense—and make enough sense—so it could be applied to the riddle sentences. Which happened to be most of them.
After a suitable amount of frustration during one morning reading session, she slammed a tome closed, and departed for Tarkit’s house, clad in her spun cat-hair robe. Courtesy of Yf.
She felt weird wearing it.
But it was comfy.
“Hey, you,” came Tess’ voice, intercepting Sophia as she made her way back to her room.
“Yeah, good afternoon to you too,” Sophia said, following up with a “What’s up?”
At Tess’ side, in her grip, was a case of some sort.
“Flippant as usual. One of these days I’m going to smite your ass for disrespect.”
A cigarette smoldered between her lips and wisps of smoke drifted towards Sophia, stinging at her sinuses, making her eyes water.
“Do you have to smoke in here?”
“If I had the proper respect, I might deign to acquiesce to a request,” Tess’ eyes glinted devilishly.
After some waffling about with internal debate and indecision, Sophia said, “Good afternoon, Tess, how may I be of service?” Though her tone may have missed the mark, on account of her pinched-shut nostrils.
Much to Tess’ mild surprise. “I’m impressed. Not so far as to be obvious sarcasm and just enough deference to be subservient. You’re learning after all,” she said, nodding to herself like a proud mentor.
And, not being one to renege, she snuffed out her cigarette by grinding the end against her palm. Made Sophia wince, but then Tess did have an affinity for fire, and aside from a bit of ash, there were no marks on her skin.
“Thanks,” said Sophia, again without sarcasm, “I can’t imagine how you can smoke, your senses’ve gotta be better than mine…”
“You get used to it,” Tess shrugged, placing the extinguished stick between her lips, “Anyways, I got something for you. Put on a jacket and follow me.”
Sophia had a suspicion about what it might be and tottered along after grabbing her jacket.
It was warm out, all things considered. Just enough above freezing that drips of water dangled from icicles, melted by the bright afternoon sun.
Setup a short distance away were a few paper targets, the sort with alternating bands of neon orange and green and a red bullseye in the center.
Tess placed a pistol case upon a nearby table, upon which was also a long rifle. So long, in fact, the barrel stuck a rather long ways off the side. Given the size of the scope mounted, Sophia assumed it was a sniper rifle of some sort—maybe even the one that’d been used in the assassination, but soon recalled Tess had shown up with only a small travel bag. The case latches snapped
open and inside, nestled in foam cut-outs, were two matched, black pistols and a few magazines.
“Figure it’s been a while since you had any practice. Shit, been a while since I’ve had any practice.”
Certainly, the last time Sophia had been at the range was weeks before she left Yosel to come to the frigid north and it’d been nearly three months since then. She ran a finger across one of the firearms, then picked it up and did the usual checks to ensure it was safe to handle.
“These are pretty nice,” Sophia said, suspiciously, “Where’d you get them? Could’ve just asked to use Tarkit’s, couldn’t we?”
“His are his,” Tess said, fishing a box of ammunition from another case under the table, “And the gunshop in the town had a nice selection and didn’t ask questions when I agreed to pay in cash, plus a hefty tip. One of the nice things about Suultov.”
Once more, fiscal envy nipped at Sophia, but she forced that green monster back into its cage, as any experienced handler could. “Cool. But are we allowed to…?”
“We are, and there’s nothing down that way for miles. So, have at it.”
And have at it she did. Sophia jammed her ears with a pair of earplugs, scooped up the weapons, and as she’d been taught, loaded each while holding them in either hand. It may have been a while, but it was like riding a bike. They felt a little different compared to the ones she was used to, but were close enough. She took aim in a side-facing stance, squeezing off a few rounds, brought up the other firearm and fired a few from that one, alternating until both were dry and the target, some 25 yards out, suitably perforated.
Tess observed, having said nothing, and continued with what she was saying as Sophia reloaded and sent another two-dozen rounds through a closer target. Satisfied with her work, Sophia grabbed two fresh targets to replace the ones she’d shot full of holes and went out to make the swap.
And was thoroughly disappointed with her results.
“I turned to shit in a hurry,” Sophia said with a long sigh, holding one of the targets up to the sun.