Assassin by Another Name

by T C

  ***

  "Whadillbe?" grunted the bartender, a balding man with a thick accent.

  "A pint of the house spice beer," Quentin responded, distracted. This could not have come at a worse time! Dead, and with no reason to suspect foul play. None at all. Except...

  Except that he'd seen this exact M.O. before. Seduction and murder. Practiced by a dead woman. Or... maybe she wasn't dead...? But then, why hadn't she found him? Why couldn't he find her?

  "Ereugo," the bartender barked, to get his attention. Quentin absently took the mug and thumbed the credit voucher, then wandered off to a table. Could it be Kaydia? He wanted to believe it, but he knew she was dead. No sightings, no leads. No presence psionically. And was it so unreasonable that there could be another assassin in the galaxy that used sex and drugs to commit murder?

  No. No, it wasn't. But he couldn't escape the hope.

  ***

  He was having a beer. A bit early in the morning for such a thing, but maybe auditor Kwan-Don was an alcoholic. Maybe the death was bothering him more than he wanted to admit. How often did bureaucrats come into contact with death? Dammit, what was even the point of wondering what was on his mind, when she could just probe him? He was an auditor, not a psionic sensitive.

  Could it be Kaydia?

  She nearly gasped aloud at the mention of that name on his mind. Now it was her turn to be shaken up, paranoid. Was it…him? Quentin? She remembered the disguises he wore when they worked together on Miruta. The auditor was the same height and general build, it could be him, in disguise. Why else would he associate that name with the kill? Scarlet was the assassin, but he thought Kaydia. He was the only person who thought of her as Kaydia.

  Shit this wasn’t good. He would have felt her probe. Would he recognize her touch in his mind? Would he recognize her, like this? Would he remember the persona she wore the day after they stayed up all night fucking each other? What would he do, if he found her? If he found out that she killed his contact?

  Panic and confusion and anger and resentment and longing and sorrow filled her, consumed her, as she paid her bill and tried to slip out of the bar without drawing much attention. Focusing on hiding her presence in the psionically. Long purposeful strides as she made her way out. She couldn’t kill Quentin, could she? Could she take him in a head to head fight? Hard to say, he was well trained and disciplined. Would he even fight back? And wouldn’t that make it harder to kill him. To look into his eyes and see that defeated resignation? Just like Master Bri Ta…

  What would Linora do to her if she refused to kill Quentin? She shook, memories and phantom pain overlaid in her mind. She couldn’t let him live, knowing what Linora would do to her. He didn’t deserve her mercy, not after abandoning her. Not after he let Linora take her back to Miruta so she could…

  She had to get away! She climbed the stairs, nearly jogging, unwilling to check and see if he was following. She fingered at her plasma blade, hidden under the thick layers she wore. If he were following, she hoped to lose him on the roofs.

  ***

  ...an alcoholic…

  Quentin frowned into his mug as the thought crossed his mind. He didn't think he was one, but he was drinking more, these days. Except during his two months with the Seekers, of course. And he'd been thinking more about merakuya, as well. He'd have to watch that.

  He downed the mug anyway.

  Was it him? Quentin?

  This time, he realized the thought wasn't his. It was external. And hauntingly familiar. Heart leaping even as he struggled for control, he looked around wildly, opening himself psionically as he did. No. No. No... wait! That woman! Kaydia, in her Lorsha persona! Kaydia, or an extraordinary coincidence! He rose, heart thundering in his chest as she disappeared through a service door, and he began to follow.

  The stairwell was empty.

  For a moment he thought he'd imagined it all. Let the suppressed grief and sorrow and longing mix with the alcohol. But he caught a whiff of her scent - so faint only a bloodhound or a Justiciar could have scented it - and he realized he'd made the most basic of errors. She'd just gone up, and quickly.

  He followed, taking the stairs two and three at a time, knowing he'd look a fool and a stalker if he was wrong and not caring. "Lorsha!" he called, in case she needed to maintain cover. "Lorsha, wait!"

  ***

  Her heart stopped as he called her name, the name of her mask that was. It carried his pain and his hope and even his love, and all of his feelings felt as real as their last day together. It all felt real, but it always felt real in the moment. It didn’t mean anything in the long run, when she needed him to be there for her. So while her heart stopped, her feet kept moving, climbing the stairs, flight by flight passing by. Within two minutes she was at the entrance to the roof, slamming into it with her shoulder to force it open.

  She could hear him, his frantic footsteps ascending the stairs, echoing against the concrete walls. The rooftop had a small pool and lounging area, mostly utilized in the evening. Scanning her surroundings, she pulled a metal chair from the sitting area to her, bracing it up against the door handle. Then it was a sprint, creating distance between her and Quentin, so she could think, so she could try to figure out what could be done now.

  She heard him run into the door, the chair stopping him for a moment. Gauging the distance to the nearby roofs, she looked around, trying to figure out if she could make the jump with a psionic leap. Another slam into the rooftop door disrupted her concentration. This had been a terrible idea. She should have run out the front door, and tried to lose him in a crowd. Perhaps she just wanted to be alone with him. The chair flew passed her head as he pushed it out of the way, the door exploding outwards as their eyes met for a moment, instant recognition despite the ways they tried to hide their identity.

  Why was he here now? Where was he when Linora… She screamed out in frustration, igniting her plasma blade and changing it into a boomerang to toss at him in a surge of pain and anger. He dodged, the blur of crimson heat swirling over his head before returning to her hand.

  ***

  Quentin hit the top of the stairs and forearmed the door. Locked. Easily fixed. Calling on his psionics, he slammed the door out onto the roof beyond, sending it bouncing and splashing into the pool. And there she was, standing by the edge of the roof, staring at him with wild eyes.

  "Kaydia?" he called, unable to believe his eyes. "Kaydia... is that you?"

  Her response was a moment's confusion, followed by a surge of rage and loss as she ignited a crimson-lit plasma blade and hurled it him. Reflexes kicked in as he dodged aside, deflecting it with the psionics as he did, and he could smell the ozone of its passage as it narrowly missed his skull. This... wasn't good. What the hell...? No time. She'd called the blade back to her and was charging.

  Harlan Kwan-Don didn't carry a weapon. Harlan Kwan-Don didn't need to carry a weapon. And Harlan Kwan-Don certainly didn't carry anything that could easily conceal a plasma blade. Eyes wide, Quentin reached out telekinetically and called a staff-like object to his hand. A pool skimmer, it turned out. Which was a poor weapon to fend off even a child with a plasma blade, let alone a trained combatant. But he let psionics flow along the shaft, reinforcing it, and used it to parry Kaydia's attack. Justiciar Masters in the past had used this technique to defeat skilled combatants - even the Heretic Lord Exira Kuhn had been stymied by this technique.

  Quentin knew he was no Master, though.

  "Kaydia!" he called, falling back and parrying quarterstaff-style with the skimmer. "It's me! It's Quentin!"

  ***

  There was no way Quentin could have known how much this enraged her. Surely he meant to calm her down, to dissuade her from fighting him, from trying to rout him. Her name, his name, the memories they evoked. The nights of passion and love with him, as he called it out. The days of horror with Linora, as she made sure the name Kaydia would only be associated with torment.

  A furious flurry of slashes took the plac
e of anything that could be called form. If she could come at him from a position of composure, the fight would have been over by now. If she could look at him and not feel several different, conflicting emotions at once she could plan, could think straight, could do something other than rage at him. He wasn’t even fighting her back, just defending himself.

  Her plasma blade met his staff, pool skimmer really, locking with her. Her blade should have cut through his weapon, but he was stopping it somehow. Which was a good thing, if she stopped to think about it. After all, she didn’t really want to kill him, she just needed to. She flicked off her plasma blade, Quentin’s momentum sending him tumbling forward. She tripped him as he moved past her, pivoting in the process as he fell. He rolled over but she was already on him, the still warm hilt of her weapon pressed against his chest.

  “You think I would hesitate to kill you?” She growled at him, pushing her hilt harder into his flesh. All she had to do was turn on her plasma blade, and it would be over. The job would be done, and she could be off planet in an hour or so. There would be no more painful fantasies of Quentin coming to rescue her from Linora, no more doubt her in mind over who she truly was. Kaydia would die alongside him and only Scarlet would remain. So easy, a flick of a switch. So easy, and still she couldn’t.

  “Why are you here?” She demanded, blinking as confused tears filled her eyes. “Why is it you?

  ***

  Even now, knowing he was a mere instant from death, Quentin considered claiming that he'd come to look for her. But that was a lie. He knew she'd sense it, even if he was willing to use it. "I..." he licked his lips, looking up at her. "I came... hunting an Apostate," he said slowly. She blinked, muted emotions raging through her, and he realized why he hadn't been able to sense her presence. Inertia. Inertia, or a similar drug. "If I had known, though, I would have come here for you."

  “Like hell you would have!”

  He watched the fury dance in her eyes, saw the hesitation in her posture, and took advantage. With an act of will he called upon his psionics, slamming the heel of his palm into her hand. Straddling him, pressing her weight palm first into his chest, she started to fall towards him as her support was lost. He twisted, hips bucking and arms grabbing her wrists as he rolled her back onto her back and put his weight into the impact.

  "I thought you were dead!" he exclaimed, pinning her wrists to the floor as he pressed her down. "What happened?" He stared into her crimson-lit eyes as she fought beneath him, the strength in her deceptively slim form making it difficult to hold on. "What did that bitch do to you?"

  "You want to know what she did to me?” Kaydia's voice was an angry lash as she struggled against him, the movements of her body a nightmare parody of their times together. Then, before he could respond, she took advantage of their connection and struck at him psionically.

  Memory flooded through him, too fast and too violent to process or resist. He felt the embedded SIN modules shred his nerves with exquisite pain/pleasure sensations, and the sting of a needle just before the numbness of inertia flooded his veins. Felt the heady guilt/need of Linora's touch. Screamed with tormented despair as chains rattled as a shadowy figure of darkness violated her while Linora watched...

  Unable to resist the horror embedded in her memories, Kaydia pushed him off her. Curled on the rooftop, he was dimly aware of the plasma blade igniting in Kaydia's hand. She'd kill him now, he knew. At Linora's demand. And because he'd failed her. Worst of all, there was nothing he could do to stop her. Months of horror tore through his mind, overwhelming any chance he could regain control before...

  "Harlan!"

  Shaking, he looked up into the face of Xin Talsen, another member of the auditing staff. "Wha...?"

  Xin offered him a hand, pulling him to a sitting position. "You okay, buddy?"

  "Uh... I, I think so..." He looked around. "Where... where is she?"

  "Ah, man," Xin exclaimed, alarmed. "Sorry, Har. Not trying to cock block!"

  "No, no," Quentin assured him, shakily climbing to his feet. "She... she's gone, now."

  Xin eyed him and whistled. "Damn. Must be one hell of a woman."

  "You have no idea."

  ***

  Later...

  Alone in his room, Quentin splashed water on his face and stared at his altered features in the mirror. He looked... haunted. Shaken. Tormented.

  "She's alive," he whispered, meaning both women simultaneously. "She's alive," he repeated, voice a little stronger.

  He turned on his heel and crossed the room, throwing open a case. "Kaydia's alive. And I failed her twice now, when she needed me most." He began extracting tools and concealed parts from the case.

  "Not again," he vowed, getting to work. "Not again."

  Playing Pretend

  “Name?”

  “I am on list,” Scarlet insisted in a light voice that carried a fair bit of weight.

  “You are on the list,” the voice repeated, slightly hallow, before moving aside to grant her access. Scarlet hadn’t bothered with a persona this evening, hoping to be in and out without calling much attention to herself. She dressed well, in a sleek black gown, that managed sexy without showing any skin. Pining crimson curls to one side, she fit in easily among the leagues of upper-class trophy spouses, who had too much time on their hands.

  The party was crowded, some charity gala of a sort. She hadn’t paid much attention to the details, all she knew was that that Eris Porish, the woman throwing the party was married to a Sanit Porish. CEO of a banking firm and listed several times in the dossier. Whoever was actually financing the ship in question had help from Porish to launder the funds. She wasn’t sure what she hoped to find at the man’s residence, but she had to do something. So she took a glass of champagne off a server’s tray and scanned the ball room, looking for access to the upper levels.

  ***

  Quentin fiddled with the sleeves of his grey suit, silently wishing that he'd chosen some other cover. Because, although being a government auditor gave him plausible reason to visit Raneis, it also kept him busy in a mandatory round of corporate social events when he wasn't helping review their books. Sure, it allowed him to comb through looking for clues to the origin of the Apostate Lord's ship, but it also subjected him to tedium. And he'd never really enjoyed formal social events, not since he'd accidentally eaten half a sculpture as an acolyte.

  "And how do you find Frissia, Auditor Kwan-Don?" someone asked him. He blinked, sipping from his drink to cover his moment's hesitation as he struggled to call the man's name to mind.

  "With an astronavigational chart, Mr. Kell," Quentin responded with a little smile.

  The small, pale man laughed at that. "Very droll. It's a pleasure to meet an Auditor with a sense of humor."

  They engaged in small talk for a few minutes, then Quentin mimed looking at his chron. "My apologies, but I need to meet someone." He offered a little sigh. "Duty calls."

  "No, no, I understand," Kell assured him. "Perhaps we shall meet later."

  Quentin nodded and headed towards the doors at the back of the room. It hadn't been a lie, not from a certain point of view. Duty did call. But duty, in this case, was the task given him by the Order. Sanit Porish's bank was the primary financier for Raneis, after all. If anyone would have - or at least be able to access - the trail he needed, it would be him. So Quentin drifted through the door and towards the stairs, tugging on a pair of thin black gloves as he went.

  The first few floors would be easy. The party at the Porish estate occupied most of the public levels of the building. He'd have to be careful beginning on the third floor, though. Only the family and servants would be allowed there, after all. And he was neither. There would be measures in place to keep criminals and busybodies out. Surveillance systems. Discrete patrols. Pressure and temperature sensors. Pheromone detectors. And on and on.

  Quentin smiled at the thought. Fortunately, he was no criminal or busybody. He was a Shadow, and he'd not yet met the secur
ity system that could keep him out.

  ***

  With skills honed over a decade’s long career, Scarlet managed to make it to a study on the fourth floor of the Porish Estate. Now that she was in here, she had no idea what she was doing. What she was looking for. What even the point of all this was. What did she hope to find, that would get her off the hook for killing Quentin? What could this room possibly contain that would make prevent Linora from punishing her again? Was this just an elaborate procrastination, to avoid doing what had to be done? To hold on to that last vestige of Kaydia, that part of her that only lived on in Quentin’s memories?

  So she looked through Porish’s files and correspondence, noting one name that came popping up. Shage Dams. A magister for the bank who had died on Cephoria five years ago. Before his demise he had processed many of the monetary transfers relating to the interceptor ship referenced in her holodisk files.

  She might have had a half of a picture now, but she still had no idea what she was supposed to be seeing, and worst still, nothing that she could conceivably use. She saved copies of key files to her holodisk, the transfer just completing as she sensed footsteps approaching the room. Ducking under the desk, she hoped it was just a patrol doing its hourly sweep. If they peaked into an empty room, there was little reason to investigate, or so she hoped. So she held her breath as the door opened, and she counted the footsteps as they came closer and closer. Concisely she ran through a list of excuses of why she had been up here, if she was found, and she couldn’t find one that she could hope would work.

  With the footstep growing closer, and the intruder making their way around the room, she began formulating a battle plan in case she had to fight her way out. Just one person, so it shouldn’t be difficult to get past them. Knee to the groin, and then slam the head into the desk. It should be just enough to knock them out, before they even had a chance to see her face. Adrenaline flooded her veins as she readied herself to strike, the figure coming into view now. Adult male, fit build, dressed in an impeccable suit. Scarlet had nearly launched into her attack before she got a good look at his face, and the blue-grey eyes she could never forget.