Felarku, Wib'burne
Zanfield Staggs' Private Residence
Wyatt
"No. I will not agree to someone taking my place," Zanfield snapped.
"What will you agree to, Master Staggs?" I asked, although my hopes of gaining his permission were dwindling.
"I wish to do this myself," he waved a hand in the air, as if he were summoning the cosmos to the dinner table. "No other can do me as I do me."
I made a mental note to let Dad know Zanfield hadn't served toasted beetles for lunch.
It was half-cooked squid, instead.
"Then how do you propose we work around you doing you?"
"Why, your agents will serve as my retinue. I'm sure they can be out and about the casino without raising many eyebrows. I'll spend money as I usually do, drawing attention away from all of you." His eyes, a dark green, settled on me then, as if to punctuate his statement.
His hair, an unnatural yellow with purple tips, rippled over his head like a ripe wheat field. Only a naturally-born Wib'burnee could do that, and it drew my attention away from his eyes and the matching green suit he wore.
"I'll have to discuss this with my father," I began, imagining the withering look Dad would level against me before saying no.
"I don't care who you discuss it with. This will work, and you know it."
"It will work," Terrett spoke for the first time during our visit.
"See—your friend knows," Zanfield clapped his hands and laughed.
"You will never tell anyone else about this conversation, or what our intentions are, unless I release you to do so," Terrett said.
Zanfield went still for a moment while the obsession settled in his mind. "This will be so much fun," he laughed moments later and slapped the table, making me jump.
Founder's Palace, Campiaa
Wyatt
"Rich people can afford to be eccentric," I told Dad, who'd been frowning at me for at least ten minutes.
"Terrett placed obsession?" Dad asked.
"He did."
"Good. Set this up and tell Kooper and Jett to choose their agents carefully. They need to be somewhat on the flamboyant side, or they'll never fit in as Zanfield's employees. Arrange for Zanfield to arrive in a manner that will fit his outlandish ways. If we play this game, we may as well play it to the hilt."
"I think I want Randl to look at Zanfield before we make those decisions," I said. "He should have gone with us, but decided to go on walkabout instead. I still want him to see images of Zanfield before the arrival."
"Probably not a bad idea. Make it happen," Dad said.
"How are the initial orientation meetings with new members going?"
"Those are going well."
"What isn't going well?" I could tell he was withholding something.
"That shrew Lebbon hired—the affected one? She's been yelling at everybody, including people she has no business yelling at. I was there to greet Lebbon as expected, and she just couldn't stop herself from making a scene with the people behind him."
"Maybe she's trying to impress you."
"I sure as hell hope not. I asked Dormas to do research—seems she's always been that way. Even Lebbon is afraid of her, when he should just fire her. I'd never have hired her to begin with."
"You think strings were pulled somehow to get her in his employ, or has the Prophet interfered in this the whole time?"
"Jett says his people haven't found evidence of anything yet, but he's still looking."
"It may be something you can't see," I said. "Or scent, maybe. Randl says she's affected, but what if it's more than that?"
"I didn't get close enough for either of those things, and I don't want to. Her screech hurts my ears." Dad grimaced at remembered pain.
Few people know how sensitive our ears are, and they won't ever know that Dad is the child of two vampires, and I am the child of a vampire and a High Demon. The truth is this; I have more of my Dad's talents than my mother's. Lexsi is the only one of my siblings that got Mom's talents in full measure, plus a few from our vampire grandmother.
"You don't want Astralan to arrange a happy accident, do you?" I named Dad's chief warlock guard. He knew I was teasing. His answer was serious, however.
"No, we have research to do, and we don't need the Prophet plotting revenge—more than he already is," Dad grumped. "We already have one space station employee in jail. We don't need the Prophet commandeering more employees to spy on us."
"This is fucked up, isn't it?" I sighed.
"I wish fucked up was all it was. This—defies imagination. Look, you have plans to make regarding Zanfield Staggs, and I have to make a speech at an orientation meeting. Alliance etiquette and protocol classes begin for them tomorrow, and the newbies have lots of studying to do before the Conclave starts. Go do your job, and I'll do mine."
Mountain Retreat
Randl
"I don't understand why you waited as long as you did to ask that question," I said. "Honestly, I thought it was trust and mutual respect that held you back before. You know the things I've done since my return. Why spring this on me now? Did Kooper ask you to watch me, in case I got out of hand?"
Travis sat behind the desk King Rylend used whenever he visited. I sat on the opposite side, employee-like while Travis acted as Captain.
"He didn't tell me to watch you, so much as find out—if I could—who trained you. Where you learned how to do the things you do. Some of the things you've done would take a warlock or wizard years to perfect, and even then, some would never be powerful enough to do those things. Other things you've done—no wizard or warlock would be capable of. Kooper wants the name of your teacher, because he doesn't know anyone who can train this type of thing. There's nothing in the ASD or CSD archives to account for it."
"And when I said I trained myself, everybody got their underwear in a twist."
"That's not all that happened," Travis stared at the desktop for a moment.
"What else happened?"
"Zaria popped in for a few seconds, chewed my ass and Kooper's ass, then left. I think we know not to ask any more questions," he admitted. "I'm sorry for my part in this. Really."
"I think I'll accept your apology—just not now. I'm still angry about this."
"I'll accept your acceptance later. I'd still be upset, too. What I need to talk to you about now is Zanfield Staggs."
"What about him?"
"Wyatt and Teeg still want you to evaluate him. He's made a bargain with Wyatt to participate personally in our charade. He'll be himself, but we have to place our agents in his retinue—the odder the better, actually, and that will gain us access throughout the Eclipse."
"Are we only intending to watch the affected ones, or take action?" I asked.
"Kooper says watch them initially, and continue investigating the Prophet's plans. Once we locate their rooms and place a few hidden devices, we can track their movements better."
"That sounds sort of lame," I pointed out.
"I know. We have nothing to go on, except those replacements. For now, they're our only true link to the Prophet, and they're already under surveillance at work and at home. As for the Conclave itself, we have the new scanners Sabrina designed. We have to pinpoint all the Prophet's players, and make plans on the fly."
"Because we still have no idea what he's planning or what he wants."
"Yes."
"When will I meet Master Staggs?"
"In a few days. Wyatt has a meeting set up to finalize plans with him. That means we need a list of agents who will accompany him, and his method of arrival."
"Do you have images of Zanfield Staggs?"
"Everybody has images of Zanfield."
"I'll take a look, and we'll go from there."
Meeting Hall
Sandswept Casino
Teeg San Gerxon
The speech was routine—how good it was to see fresh faces in Alliance rule, how happy Campiaa was to host the orientation meetin
gs, and that I looked forward to seeing them at the upcoming Conclave—yada, yada, yada, as my mother would say.
President Lebbon of Pyrik had come, as he'd been invited.
Unfortunately, he'd brought shrew-woman with him, along with several others. Most of the attendees only had an assistant or guard with them—here they were safe, and Alliance guards were not only outside the doors, but several were stationed along the walls of the meeting hall.
If the Prophet had some connection with the shrew that we were unaware of, then he was watching my speech right along with everyone else.
If she were armed in some way and we weren't aware, then my life was in danger. While I spoke, Astralan and Stellan stood behind the podium, watching the crowd as only experienced warlocks could.
Both were prepared to throw a bubble shield around the shrew if it became necessary.
Life as the Founder of the Campiaan Alliance is never dull.
"Thank you for coming, and listening to another dull speech," I said. "And now, lunch in the adjoining dining area is waiting for you. Enjoy."
I allowed my shoulders to sag as everyone rose from their seats and headed for the double doors along one wall, which were now open. Tables waited inside the dining hall, covered in white cloths, the best tableware the hotel had to offer, and servers were prepared to direct attendees to their tables before taking food orders.
"Want us to fold you home?" Astralan spoke beside me.
"I'll wait until they're all in," I said. "Once the doors are closed, then you can get me the hell out of here. Frankly, I'm too tired to do it myself."
Lebbon of Pyrik and his entourage were the last to reach the doorway. Shrew-woman was busy giving another of Lebbon's employees the sharp end of her tongue when I saw a male server approach them.
I thought he was going to direct them to an open table.
Instead, he pulled a laser pistol from a pocket and shot Shella the shrew in the head.
Chapter Ten
Founder's Palace, Campiaa
Wyatt
"She didn't explode—that's the good news. Her body is in a tightly sealed biohazard room and Karzac is on the way." I sat heavily at the meeting table, where Travis, Trent, Dori and Randl waited to hear the rest of the unofficial statement.
"What about the shooter? The news-vids are going crazy, saying a Campiaan citizen killed a Conclave attendee."
"That's not true, and Dad will make an official statement in a few. We know who the killer is, and he isn't Campiaan."
"It was Shella's fiancé, wasn't it?" Randl asked.
"It was. We're in the process of sorting out many communications between the two via comp-vid, but it looks as if this is an act of jealousy. Shella had sex with someone else while they were on vacation together, sneaked around to do it and didn't tell her intended. He got pissy about it when he found out."
"How did he get here?" Travis asked.
"Paid for passage like anybody else," I said. "There wasn't any reason to stop him. He had no criminal record—until now."
"Has anyone questioned him—about who she had sex with?" Randl asked.
"How is that relevant?" Trent asked.
"No idea, I just get a creepy feeling when I think about it."
"That someone besides her murderous fiancé wanted to have sex with the humanoid tsunami alarm?" Travis frowned at Randl.
"No, it just bothers me."
"Then I'll make sure somebody asks," I said.
"I want to see him," Randl said.
"I can make that happen. Come on, I can get you into the holding facility now, if you want to go."
"We all want to go," Travis said.
I transported the four of us into an empty office, before walking down the hall and showing the guards our credentials. We went through the heavy door separating offices from cells, and it swung shut and locked behind us.
"That always creeps me out," Trent whispered as the heavy bolts slid into place.
"Come on, he's down here."
Randl
Shella's fiancé, Melton Timble, was still angry and far from happy. If he could have reincarnated Shella Karp, he'd try to kill her again.
And again.
I studied him through the glass and bars of his cage. There would be no simple cell for his future—I'd see to it myself.
"Shella had sex with Caille Morr," I said. "Melton here found out about it shortly after Lebbon's party left Pyrik. They had a few less than complimentary conversations regarding her duplicity, and here we are."
"What do you think the Prophet will do?" Travis spoke softly.
"Nothing," I shrugged.
"What?" Wyatt blinked at me in confusion.
I was glad all the cells about us were soundproofed, but to make sure, I placed a soundproof shield around the four of us anyway. "The Prophet didn't have anything to do with this. Shella was infected when she had sex with Caille," I said. "Then, she passed the favor along to Melton, here." I jerked my head toward the prisoner, who seethed inside his cage.
"Fucking, blood-letting hells," Wyatt swore.
"Do you think the Prophet is aware of this new twist?" Kooper paced inside Teeg's private study. He, Jett and Teeg were in attendance, once Wyatt informed them through mindspeech about the latest danger concerning the infection.
"I doubt it," I said. "If my assessment is correct, the Prophet is an obsessive-compulsive. He doesn't like loose ends, or things outside his control—especially things he doesn't know about."
"And any sex his subjects have with normal people may be outside his control?" Jett asked.
"I'd say yes."
"This keeps getting worse," Teeg growled. He wanted to take something apart with his deadly vampire claws, but that would have to wait.
"This means we have to keep an even closer eye on those fuckers with the logging industry," Travis pointed out. "You know these conferences are an excuse to get sex wherever and whenever."
"Why do you think the Prophet is an obsessive-compulsive?" Kooper went back to my previous statement.
"The two square holes filled with concrete? If you measured those, you'd find they weren't a micrometer off—in any part of them. They were perfect. Even when he removed the concrete from the first one, the hole left behind was perfect. There's really no reason to make any of it perfect, when your intention is to kill people by drowning them in liquid concrete."
"So aside from the Prophet's murderous tendencies, he's also a neat freak?" Wyatt shook his head.
"I think so," I responded.
"I wish there were a way to tag these people," Kooper said. "So we could keep tabs on them."
"Maybe there is," I said.
"How's that?"
"Either identification bracelets or badges, or, failing that, tagging their credit chips."
"That's illegal—tagging credit chips," Jett began.
"Unless the target has committed a crime, and the Prophet has already committed a crime. These people are impersonating others, so they're committing crimes, too. I've seen the CSD vids and read the regulations. You can tag someone who's committed a crime, to track their movements. Can't you?" I stared at Jett—he knew as well as I did what the legalities were.
"I'll make that happen the second they step off their ships and go through security. Nobody will even know it happened—those tags will go straight to CSD comps."
"We can give the traces to the agents working with Zanfield," Wyatt suggested. "They'll be able to tell where they are and when. Anything that looks suspicious is passed up the chain of command."
"We need to know if they're fucking like bunnies," Teeg snapped. "Not just being in the wrong place or plotting the demise of the Conclave."
"Then you'll need me in Zanfield's group," I said. I wasn't looking forward to that assignment, however. I'd walked through one casino already, after my earlier conversation with Travis. The noise of the casino and the press of bodies set my senses on edge. That's when I'd gone to the beach instead—to do
my thinking and deal with my anger.
I assumed the casino experience was overload—like that I'd felt before when my mental sight had taken time to adjust and too many people were shoved in front of me at once.
"We have one volunteer for the Eclipse to watch the Prophet's doppelgangers," Wyatt tapped his comp-vid. "Anyone else?"
"Why don't you let me put the team together?" I asked. "I think I can do well enough at this, and get a few extras in with none the wiser."
"I want the list first thing in the morning," Kooper gruffed. "And I have final approval."
Zaria did get your underwear in a knot, didn't she? I sent to him.
I can charge you with insubordination, he replied.
Do it, then. I don't like threats.
Neither do I.
Who threatened you?
Nobody yet. He didn't sound happy. I didn't alter my previous statement, but it was becoming clear that Zaria handed his ass to him, and he didn't like it.
And there I thought you were a great boss, I said.
We'll discuss this later. Much later.
Are we good until then?
Yes.
Kooper
I should have apologized and I didn't. Randl managed to stay a step ahead of everyone else, and he'd also pointed out things that I should have noticed myself and didn't.
I had images from the first deep hole on Bornelus after the Prophet removed the concrete block. The dimensions were available for me to read, and I hadn't noticed that they were perfect, when there was no real reason for them to be perfect.
Randl then handed me CSD law, when I should have been several steps ahead of him on tagging the credit chips of known criminals.
I took a moment to chastise myself over recent failures, my run-in with Zaria and how my anger and shortcomings could affect Randl. Like it or not, he was the best chance I had at getting to the Prophet.
It just bothered me that someone was outthinking the Director on this, and I needed to point my anger at myself rather than toward someone else. We sure as hell didn't need to scare the public with a sexually transmitted disease—one that no medical test would detect and only a few had the talent to recognize.
MindMage: BlackWing Pirates, Book 2 Page 13