Hadrian's Colony: Chapter Twelve, Part Two

 Notes: We're ramping up to our next action sequence, yay! First things first, though--have some fraught conversation between people who have no idea how to interact.

Title: Hadrian's Colony: Chapter Twelve, Part Two

***

Chapter Twelve, Part Two

 

 

Photo by Louis Galvez on Unsplash

 

Kieron didn’t know what he expected when they got back to Carlisle’s rooms, but it wasn’t to be dumped on the couch instead of the floor. His coordination wasn’t good enough to even attempt escaping yet, but she didn’t slap cuffs on him either, just rolled him over onto his front and applied something cold to the spot on his back where the pain-pack locked in.

“What the fuck happened in there?” she muttered in a low voice to him as she worked the ice over his knotted muscles, gradually reducing the swelling that was keeping them tense. “I thought you were smarter than that.”

“Mmph.”

“Shut up, I’m talking.” She pressed extra hard into a specific spot on his lower back, and Kieron grunted with pain, then gradually relaxed into it. Battle massage. Part pressure-point focused, part shiatsu, it was a sensation that Kieron hadn’t felt since he last lived here. It was…actually kind of soothing. Elanus had tried buying a few massages for him since they got together, but Kieron couldn’t relax with a stranger putting their hands on him. Machines didn’t have the same effect, and massages with Elanus tended to turn toward the erotic more than the relaxing.

“That was the worst possible place you could have revealed yourself,” she went on. “The General is guarded too closely for you to pull off an assassination. You should have fired on the compound from orbit if you wanted to take him out.”

“Din’t…”

“That’s a lie, you very clearly do intend to kill him.” She pressed in with a nail, and this time the feeling wasn’t soothing. It was pure pain. “Did you think I’d let you get away with it? How stupid are you, Zakari? Where’s the cutthroat negotiator who held Doubles over a gator pit to get his way, huh?”

“I…didn’t…come here for that,” Kieron gritted out, finally jerking away from Carlisle’s touch.

“Bullshit.”

“You fired…on us first.”

“And I wish we’d grounded you with the first shot,” she snapped, letting go of him and pushing to her feet. She still didn’t cuff him, though; she started to pace instead, her movements brisk and furious. “That way I’d have the evidence I need to pull apart your story without having to literally pull you apart. I don’t—I don’t want to—” She stopped, her hands clasping the sides of her head, eyes manic.

“I don’t want to know you,” she whispered. “I don’t want to know anything about you. I don’t want you to be here, you don’t belong here, I pushed you away for a reason.”

Oh, shit.

“You were supposed to be gone forever.”

Oh, shit.

“You were supposed to leave and be safe! You’re not supposed to be here! God damn it, you’re never supposed to be here again!” Carlisle spun around, grabbing the stunner at her waist, and pointed it at Kieron, her eyes wide and her breathing shallow and unsettled.

Whoa, whoa! “Don’t fire,” Kieron said, forcing the words out his mostly numb lips. “Don’t fire.” He couldn’t take another burst from the pain-pack right now.

“You—you can’t—”

Damn, she was panicking and Kieron was still too wrecked to fight her for the stunner. He had two options—he could deny what she was saying and hope she calmed down enough not to shoot him, or he could…well. He could confirm it. He could tell her that her worst fears had come true and that her son, her only child as far as he knew, was back on Hadrian’s Colony after she’d gone to such incredible lengths to get him away. Safe. Ha. Kieron wouldn’t say he’d ended up in a safe environment, and yet…

“It’s okay.” He kept his voice soft. He had to approach this like he was talking to someone he cared about. Someone he loved. He didn’t love his mother; he had never loved her, and she hadn’t done anything since he’d been taken captive to incline him otherwise. But Carlisle, a person who was accustomed to being in control of herself and the dangerous situation she was living in, had been thrown out of her comfort zone thanks to Kieron’s excessive actions. He was responsible for that, which meant he was responsible for her.

“It’s going to be okay,” he said again. “Deep breaths, all right?” He stretched a hand out toward her—not to touch her, but to give her something to focus on other than her body. “Take some deep breaths. You can do it.”

Carlisle didn’t waste any more time stammering, just tried to do as Kieron directed her. She was good, he had to admit it; if anyone knew how to handle a panic attack, it stood to reason it would be the daughter of one of the most genuinely revolting people Kieron had ever known in his life. He’d met some genuine, narcissistic sociopaths on Gania, terrible xenophobes on Trakta, and too many hopeless drifters on Cloverleaf Station, people whose eyes were clouded with the knowledge that they were on their last run. None of those people made Kieron as fearful as his grandfather.

If only he’d been properly prepared to kill the man. If only he’d been mentally ready to hold back. It was too late for regrets, though; he had to deal with things as they were now, and right now he needed Carlisle to be calm so they could talk things through.

“It’s going to be all right,” he said. “Please, sit down.” He gestured to the table between them. “I won’t go anywhere. We’ll figure something out.” There was always another way out. If his time with Elanus had taught him anything, it was that. Of course, for Elanus that often meant throwing around money or tech like it was nothing, and that wouldn’t work here. But it wasn’t hopeless, even now.

Carlisle sat, but her eyes were wet and her hands trembling. She didn’t quite look at him, more past him when she said, “I never wanted to see you again.”

That hurt in a way Kieron didn’t expect. It was stupid; he knew she didn’t mean it the way she was saying it. Context was enough for him to glean that she intended for him to escape from this hellhole and never come back, even if it meant them never seeing each other again. She meant it for his benefit. But the thought of saying that to one of his beautiful girls, so sweet and earnest and genuine in their love for him, was simply impossible. He could never leave Catie or Lizzie with words like that.

Realizing that made the pain he felt melt into pity, because it was clear that Carlisle had no idea how to be a parent. Kieron didn’t know anything about his real father, and he barely remembered most of his childhood, but this woman had only ever been a title to him. He was going to do better for his kids, which meant getting out of here and back to them as soon as possible.

“I never expected to see you again either,” he said as kindly as he could. “But here we are. Now, let’s figure out how we’re going to get out of here.”

Lord of Unkindness: Chapter Twenty-Five

 Notes: Have a pleasant lull before a wicked storm, babes!

Title: Lord of Unkindness: Chapter Twenty-Five

***

Chapter Twenty-Five

 

In the end, Ciro manages four birds. Each one is painful to manifest, like pulling a length of intestine through a hole in his stomach, but he feels so much better to have them back. Four is a comfortable flock; four is enough to keep reserves in check while having a decent level of power at hand. Four is easier to hide than the dozen, or score, or however many Ciro has living out in the desert right now.

He can tell that Angelo and Annette are curious about the number of birds in his flock. He knows they want to ask, but they don’t and he’s grateful for the reprieve. Honestly, he doesn’t know how many birds he has anymore. He stopped keeping track of his power that closely once he broke free from his family home. Back there, the day he left, he had fifty-three birds wreaking havoc on his behalf. Now, he has the feeling he could have a lot more.

It's not a bad thing. If anything, it’s verification that all of the stuff Annette has been talking about, the growth of internal power and how things change. He knows he could talk it through with them and it would be fine. They’ll support him. They’ll help him come up with ways to manage his power, maybe even a way to hide all of his power inside of him and walk around like a normal human being.

The thought of it makes him shiver. If he had no power outside of his body, if there was nothing to surveil except Ciro himself, if he could mask his body and his magical signature without having to worry about being powerless…it would be so much more possible to hide. It might even be easy. What if he got a decent glamour from one of the fae, or a witch who specialized in that sort of magic? What if he could blend in so well that he could stay with Angelo, help out in his clinic, and never even be suspected?

“You look tired.”

Ciro glances over at Angelo, just back from taking Annette to the hotel. They’ve already decided that it’s best if she doesn’t stay here overnight; apart from the fact that someone would have to sleep on the couch (and it wouldn’t be Annette, Ciro is determined about that) he also isn’t comfortable with her being in close proximity to him for an extended period of time. It’s not that he doesn’t trust Angelo when it comes to the safety of this place, he just…

“Yeah.”

He’s just tired. And worried. And a mess, and he doesn’t want that to rub off on Annette any more than it already has. Annette has dealt with too much shit thanks to his family. Knowing that she doesn’t blame Ciro for the actions of the rest of his clan is a blessing he doesn’t really deserve, so the least he can do is not compound it.

Angelo sits down next to him tugs at his shoulders. Ciro goes, bemusedly, and finds his head cradled down in Angelo’s lap. Strong, blunt fingers find their way into his hair and start to scratch, and Ciro thinks he could be forgiven for the sound that comes out of his mouth. Something between a whimper and a groan, and it’s embarrassing but it makes Angelo laugh and scratch harder, so he can’t regret it.

“You’re just like that little kitten,” Angelo says, “all snuggly and warm and—whoa!”

Ciro doesn’t have to look to know that three of his birds have just landed on Angelo, one on each shoulder and another on top of his head.

“I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean it! Don’t peck me again,” Angelo says with a laugh in his voice. “I mean, he’s like a bird. A very sweet, cuddly bird who is my absolute favorite in all ways.”

“That’s more like it,” Ciro says, closing his eyes. He’s tired but right now, in the moment, he’s also the happiest he can remember being for a very long time. Not the relieved, desperate happiness that he felt when he saw Annette, or the wary pleasure of seeing Angelo again for the first time, but an easy, comfortable sense of happiness instead. It’s the sort of happiness he’s only ever felt with his mother before, and even then it was fleetingly rare.

It's dangerous, because he could see himself getting used to this. He wants to get used to this; he’d love to be able to settle in to a state of everyday joy with Angelo. He’d love to be a permanent presence in his life, to find new ways to use his magic that were about helping people instead of finding out their darkest secrets, to help Angelo heal instead of tear things down. And maybe…just maybe…

“What did Maria have to say?” he asks groggily as the memory of her visit surfaces.

“Apparently the Machados came to the clinic,” Angelo says, citing the name of one of the larger magical cartels in the city. “They started pushing her on some things, making a few threats. I guess when she couldn’t raise me on the phone she had a bit of a panic attack and drove out here.”

Ciro sighs. “Have the Machados been a problem for you before?”

“No, they haven’t,” Angelo replies, and he sounds disturbed by the fact. “I don’t know if they realized I was gone and decided to throw their weight around or if this has been building for a while and I just didn’t know it, but it surprises me. And I can’t leave Maria to handle it by herself.”

Tension slowly builds back in Ciro’s shoulders. “You have to go back.”

“Not permanently,” Angelo assures him. “Just long enough to handle this, then I’ll return. No more than another day.”

Ciro bites the inside of his cheek. He wants to offer to go with Angelo. He wants to offer to leave. He wants to tell him that he’s sorry again, that he missed him when he was off getting Annette and he doesn’t want him to leave again for purely selfish reasons.

He doesn’t do any of those things. Ciro’s not helpless, and he’s not selfish enough to force Angelo to stay with him when he’s got a business to run and friends to help. Ciro’s not more important than that.

“It’s fine,” Ciro says. “I’ll be able to see Annette. Are you going to get her in the morning, or…”

“I’ll offer, but she mentioned wanting to get some hikes in while she’s here. She might just get a rideshare to the bottom of the hill and walk up.” He leans down and presses a kiss to the side of Ciro’s head. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“I know.” Feeling a bit mischievous, Ciro rolls over so his lips are brushing against Angelo’s groin. The hand in his hair tightens, and Angelo’s breath hitches in a way that gets Ciro’s blood pumping. “Why don’t you put that grip to good use?” he murmurs as he mouths over the outline of Angelo’s cock.

“Good idea,” Angelo says breathlessly, and the rest of the night passes without any more doubts or worry.

Hadrian's Colony: Chapter Twelve, Part One

 Notes: Let's dive right back into the mayhem, shall we? That's probably going to be the theme of the year :/

Title: Hadrian's Colony: Chapter Twelve, Part One

***

Chapter Twelve: Part One

 

Surfacing from the impact of a pain-packer wasn’t the same as coming out of unconsciousness. There was no gentle wakeup, or no startled return to knowing your surroundings. The pain-packer was a simple invention that functioned like an ancient taser—it attacked the nervous system of the person who was hit with it, rendering them immobile and often unconscious.

The pain-packer never rendered someone unconscious, though. The unique thing about it was in the electrode that penetrated the victim in the initial shot. It was a smart machine, smart enough to run its own diagnostic on the person it had embedded into and determine the best way to both maximize battery life and awareness. It sent electricity through the body in waves, each wave just different enough that the afflicted was unable to anticipate how bad it was going to be. If they got close to passing out, it decreased the pain along the central nervous system and routed it to the limbs, but if it seemed like they were dealing too well with the pain, it sizzled up and down their spine to re-sensitize them.

Pain-packers were old tech, almost as old as tasers themselves, and largely out of favor now that nanotechnology was as good as it was. But General Hadrian had always liked the old ways of doing things, partially because they were more affordable but largely because they were more barbaric.

Kieron had only felt this pain once before, when he turned ten and began formally training with a unit instead of doing general training and exercises. It had symbolized welcoming them to a role of responsibility while also serving as a warning of what could happen to them if they fucked up. Back then, it had been on for less than ten seconds, but Kieron had wet his pants by the end of it. He remembered how disgusted the general had been with him.

He didn’t know if he’d pissed himself this time around. He didn’t know anything except pain, and beneath that, helpless fury. Every sound was muffled beneath the buzz of the current in his brain, and every touch felt clumsy and distant. He was vaguely aware of being rolled over, of the arrival of someone new, the pinch in his arm and the arguments going on over his head. How long had it been?

When the pain finally stopped, he kept seizing. His muscles didn’t know how to stop, but at least his mind was clear enough to hear what was happening in the room now.

“—way to be sure,” Carlisle was saying in a clipped tone. “It’s a waste of resources.”

“You don’t tell me what to do here,” the general replied. His voice was so much older, weighed down from years of shouting and abuse, but it had the same vicious edge that Kieron remembered so well. “I’m in charge.”

“Yes, sir, but—”

“And I’ll bust your ass back down to private and put you to work in the comfort rooms if you speak out of line to me again, do you hear me?”

There was a pause. “Yes, sir.”

The general hummed with satisfaction. “You brought an interesting puzzle back to base,” he continued, then paused to hock up a wad of spit that landed close to Kieron’s face. Ugh. He prayed he didn’t accidentally roll into it while his nervous system took the rest of him for a ride. “Obviously he’s a spy of some kind. Not Ganian, despite the name. Might be funded by them, though. Those bastards have more money than the rest of the Outer Rim combined.”

“Desfontaines is a Ganian name?”

The general laughed. “Only the name of one of their most visible citizens. Wealthiest of them all, from what the newsfeeds say. Haven’t gotten a transmission in the last few months, but there’s a definite connection.”

“He said he was part of a group looking to colonize. Not here, necessarily, but—”

“He clearly lied. Look at him, look at the way he went after me so quickly. No. He’s a spy or an assassin, or both.” From the sound of it, the general was pleased to be the target of a murder attempt. “It looks like my reputation continues to precede me.”

“Or he momentarily lost his mind.”

“No, no. That was calculated. He was taking his shot where he could get it. Someone out there wants me dead, and they sent this man to do the job.” Yep, that was pleasure all right. “I knew our raids on supply ships were having an effect, I knew it. And you said we ought to redirect our focus to the merc trade!” He spat again. “No, you see? This is the kind of attention we need, to grow strong again. To regain our status as the scourge of the Outer Rim, to make people fear us the way they used to.”

Fear them? Fear them? Once Kieron had gotten away from Hadrian’s Colony and his head was clear enough to actually do some research into his own origin, he’d been startled to realize that the place he’d been raised, the war he’d been shaped for, the “scourge” he’d been a part of, was barely a footnote in the annals of the larger galaxy. They’d been a thorn, nothing more, not even at the height of their power. And now, as reduced as they seemed to be, they were probably hardly more than a dark, pointless flicker to most of the inhabited planets in the sector.

“That being the case, sir,” Carlisle said carefully, “there’s still no need to waste a serokit on him. Either we can ransom him or we dispose of him. We don’t need to know anything else.”

Slowly the world began to come back into focus around Kieron as his body finally settled. He was on his side, and he hadn’t pissed himself. That was a plus. His fingers and toes tingled, and he was careful to keep his breathing shallow and his eyes slitted for now, to make them thing he was out of it for a little longer.

“On the contrary.” The general sighed. “You’re such a small thinker, child. It’s no wonder you never could rise to become my co-general. You let the immediate trump the long term. Running a serokit on this man will tell us plenty of useful things about him. If he’s got Ganian blood in him, the diseases he’s vaccinated against, how many modifications he’s undergone…all of this will tell us better than anything that could come out of his mouth exactly what kind of person he is.”

Oh fuck. They were running a panel on him. Fuck.

They were going to find out that he was vaccinated against all sorts of things, including diseases endemic to Hadrian’s Colony that weren’t found anywhere else in the known galaxy. But that was nothing compared to the other things they’d see in his DNA.

I’m your fucking grandson, you piece of shit.

What that would mean to this man, Kieron didn’t know, but he didn’t want to find out either. His loss of control had cost him, cost him very badly. The only way out of the situation that he could see now was to play up his weakness and ramp up his efforts to escape.

“I’m leaving him in your care,” the general said. “Consider it your chance to redeem yourself. Once we know exactly who he is, I’ll make a plan. Until then, your job is to keep him alive and maintain the security of the compound. If you fail, it’s the comfort rooms for you for the rest of the season.” Kieron heard the bulky creature shift his weight, and when he spoke next, his voice was lower and far more vicious. “Half the fifth brigade is looking for a chance to fuck you over after what happened last month, you know. I’d be careful with the prisoner if I were you, otherwise soon enough you’re not going to be able to walk.” He leaned back. “Dismissed.”

Carlisle didn’t hesitate, just threw him over her shoulder in a fireman’s carry and walked out at a brisk pace, leaving Kieron to contemplate the fact that his grandfather was threatening his mother, the man’s own daughter, with serial rape.

Over my dead fucking body.