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Life as a New Hire Ch. 01

By: FinalStand



*This story plays fast and loose with Ancient History and Linguistics; be warned*

*After 150,000 plus words for One in Ten, I needed a mental respite so I dreamed this up. I wrote the first five chapters in six days. This is a darkly humorous tale*

*Thanks to PokingFun for her editing wizardry*

*People who forget their past are doomed to be blind-sided by it*

(Monday)

I couldn't help but notice the similarity between myself and the other four new hires. We were all clean cut men, fresh out of college, fit and masculine. The 'men' part of the equation made sense. Havenstone Commercial Investments had come out of a long legal proceeding over their accused discriminatory policies.

An undisclosed settlement had been reached plus they agreed to implement this new program to hire more men. For me that meant an employment opportunity with a Fortune 500 company despite my rather underwhelming collegiate career. Don't get me wrong; I had good grades. I also went to a college virtually no one had ever heard of – Bolingbrook College in New Hampshire.

With me was Chinese-American Brian Fung from Harvard, blue blood Trent Grant from Carnegie-Melon, African-American Khalid Adzharia from MIT and Salvadoran-American Felix Melena from the University of Michigan – Ann Arbor. For starters, they all had far better academic pedigrees them me, nicer toys, and better looking suits.

The second they found out where I was from, I was dropped out of their conversation. They were bragging about their awards and accomplishments, their families and where they vacationed, professors who knew them on a first name basis and when they planned to get their master's degrees. Given time to take in our circumstances without the distraction of being part of their little club, something occurred to me.

We were all freaking gorgeous. I don't mean cultured, handsome, or attractive to the opposite sex. I meant every one of us would be hit on in a nightclub in under five minutes unless we had a significant other hanging all over us. I was getting a sinking suspicion about what Havenstone considered 'crucial' for job performance and it didn't have anything to do with what alumni we were now part of.

Here I was with my Father's dark good looks, my genetics an ancient blend of Bulgarian and Turkish with a recent addition of Irish Gaelic. My eyes, the legacy of my Mom, were a deep emerald green. The broad shoulders, narrow waist and powerful arms and legs were part heritage with a serious application of physical activity. I exercised constantly, swam whenever I could and cycling was my religion; the tougher the terrain, the better.

Better yet, the brainiacs around me hadn't seemed to figure that out yet. Maybe they thought I was a 'legacy' hire – I had a relative on the inside. Nope. Mom died when I was seven and my Dad worked for Illinois Power and Light as a line runner. His sister, Aunt Stella, was a crab fisherwoman in Maryland and unmarried.

A series of off-handed comments in the interview process suddenly came back to haunt me. I'd been asked about who I was close to, both presently and back in college. They wanted to know about my 'moral character'. Fuck it all – I'd filled out a dating survey! I'd never used a matchmaking service, but I bet if I logged on to E-Harmony, I'd recognize the questions.

The door to the conference room opened and seven women entered. Ms. Tessa Carmichael had handled the interview process. Umami Lhasa was her Hindi assistant and all-around encyclopedia of all things Havenstone. The other five were unknown to me and, I had a feeling, unknown to my fellow new hires. We all stood. The other four smiled. I smiled too, but felt cautious.

"Gentlemen, it is time to begin. Today we begin your internship process and I'd..." Tessa got out before Fung interrupted.

"I was given the impression we were guaranteed employment, Ms. Carmichael," he spoke in a commanding voice. How stupid was this guy?

"Academia is a sheltered environment, Mr. Fung. Havenstone is very much part of the real, visceral world and you can hardly expect to gain a six-figure salary with all the benefits based on your ability to impress men who have never created an iota of wealth in their lives," Tessa smiled. I hoped she eventually give it back to the orca she'd swiped it from.

"I was entertaining offers from several other corporations as well," Trent added his voice. "We were guaranteed employment. Our contracts state so." He seemed proud of his ability to read. Trent should have boned up on reading between the lines.

"Well, if you two wish to sign 'Termination of Employment' papers," Tessa sounded disappointed, "we will conceded to your wishes."

At this point, the guys with a promising futures should have bailed. I didn't have options unless you considered 'do you want fries with that' to be a back-up plan. I was amazed the other four didn't see it.

"What we really want is a clarification of what this internship process entails," Khalid intervened.

Tessa's smile became all happy bunnies again.

"Very well," she appeared pleased, "let's start by introducing your mentors. Mr. Fung, Ms. Julian Jameson has chosen you. She is our Senior VP in charge of Acquisitions – something you excelled in, I recall." Fung looked pleased. Julian was a foxy red-head somewhere in her mid-thirties.

"Mr. Grant, you have been selected by Olympia Shore, head of our Financial Investigative unit." Greying hair yet she looked like she ran marathoners down on a regular basis; she was tall, fit and svelte. "I understand you showed a talent for forensic accounting," Tessa continued. "Mr. Adzharia, you have been chosen by Ms. Phalli Chandra VP of International Finance." 

Where Khalid was patently African-American, his mentor was African – most likely central African, like Congo, or Cameroon. She was in her early thirties and sculpted in a way that made me think I wouldn't mind wrestling her even though I wasn't sure who would win. "You have an excellent grasp of linguistics as I recall."

"Mr. Melena, Ms. Tia Pharos VP of Business Management has chosen to take you on." My bet she was Lebanese, or Palestinian – more Sematic than Aramaic. Still, her hair was thick, wavy and long – all the women seemed to go for the 'long hair' look for that matter. She was also the shortest mentor, perhaps one meter - seventy. 

"You have all around high marks in your education. We think you will be a perfect fit." He smiled as did Tia. I thought they were smiling for different reasons. Maybe that was paranoia. "Mr. Nyilas," that was me - Cáel Nyilas, "you have been selected by Ms. Katrina Love, VP of Executive Services."

I could hear the 'huffs' of my compatriots. Executive Services were basically gophers for the top tier of the corporation. ES was not the fast track to success. They got the limos and laundry for those who were. On the plus side, Katrina was a voluptuous blonde perhaps forty years of age, hitting all my key sexual triggers...basically, a conscious, breathing female. I didn't have low standards – I was a sexual omnivore. 

Given the chance I'd seduce every woman I came across, though not here – not today.

After a short series of introductions, we split up to go to our various offices. It turned out that the mentor/internship relationship meant I would be working at her side – literally. I'd have a spot in her personal office for my work station, I would follow her to meetings and be on call 24/7 to assist her in all departmental duties.

"Thank you for the opportunity," I said when she finally gave me the impression I could speak.

"Aren't you disappointed you didn't get one of the plumb assignments; banking, or asset management?" she inquired while studying me. The gentle hum of the elevator was the only other sound.

"Hell, no," I blurted out then blushed. Katrina arched an eyebrow. "I mean, I think this is a great way to know the company. We get to go everywhere."

"I like your enthusiasm," she commented. I couldn't tell if it was a positive thing. Beyond that, she remained non-communicative until we made it to her ornate, spacious personal office. 

Six young ladies followed us into the room, with the last one shutting the door.

"Ladies, this is our latest hire - Cáel Nyilas," Katrina began. "He's from some college in New Hampshire and, like the rest of you new hires, will be expected be working closely with me and each other."

Did I mention they were all hot? I was familiar with some of the looks I was getting, too. Once, in high school, I had asked out the Class president who happened to be rich, pretty and smart. Her boyfriend had cheated on her so I thought I had a chance. I was a working class nobody and the look she gave me hurt as much as her words.

"Never in a million years," she mocked loudly. I was an insect – a bug and way beneath her notice. That was the look I was getting from these girls. Four years later, my acne was gone, I'd filled out nicely and physically I had gone from caterpillar to butterfly. That led to the other half of the vibes aimed my way. It was 'he's delicious' as one of my girlfriends put it.

"Daphne Pile, Dora Cartagena, Fabiola Dobrani, Paula Wadena, Violet Maza, and Theresa 'Tigger' Castro," Katrina made rapid-fire introductions. "Now that we all know each other, time to start filling all the orders in our cue. Until Cáel figures out what is where, who wants to ride herd on him?" I had mistakenly believed I would be working with Katrina.

No one leapt at the opportunity.

"I'll do it," Fabiola Dobrani spoke up. She tried to sound upbeat for Katrina. They filed out of the office, each woman heading off in different directions, while I went to my tiny desk.

"What are you doing?" Fabiola sounded annoyed.

"I need something from my desk and to go to the bathroom," I informed her. She sighed in exasperation. I quickly retrieved a handful of rubber bands then raced to Fabiola. She pointed me at the closest bathroom...which was Katrina's personal one. In I went then I locked the door. My pants and underwear came off. I expediently made a rubber band chain then looped it around my hips and pinned my hard-on pointed up.

That had become a serious problem when dealing with all these attractive women and I didn't need the distraction. Once dressed, I quick-stepped it to Fabiola who was tapping her foot.

"Let's go," she snapped. "We are working with Buffy today. We go with her and do what she tells us to do. Got it?"

"Buffy is in charge – I have a basic command of the English language," I replied. Fabiola shot me an evil look. "What? Do I look like a five year old, or are you normally this rude?"

"I'm not being rude to you," the women with a Mediterranean cast to her features reposed. "You've put us behind the other ladies. In case you haven't figured it out, that's a bad thing on our first day."

"Am I to believe this is your first day?" I smirked. We stopped by another woman's desk. Did I mention that this corporation must raid beauty pageants for their staff? Buffy was a medium height brunette with long hair and a perfectly shaped oval face. Her eyes were the lightest shade of brown I'd ever seen – almost golden.

"I'm Buffy Dubois," she stood and extended her hand. I had a neural misfire. I took her offered hand, leaned down and kissed it. Whoops.

"Cáel Nyilas, Ms. Dubois," I gulped. Buffy weighed my gesture.

"Nice name," she grinned. "Call me Buffy. We go on a first name basis here."

"Our first assignment for the day is to go to 1802 Exeter Tower and prepare the suite for the CFO at our San Francisco office coming in for one week," she informed us. I had no idea where Exeter Tower was and what any of this had to do with my Business degree. I accepted that a fat paycheck was a fat paycheck, so I put my confusion on the back burner.

There was an amusing bit of posturing about who got to drive the company car down to the Exeter. Fabiola made a production of taking the keys and making me sit in the back – Buffy didn't want to drive.

"You aren't much of a man's man, are you?" Fabiola mocked me.

I waited a second for Buffy to say something, considering that bordered on harassment. Fabiola snickered at me while Buffy looked out the window, bored.

"Was that supposed to mean something to me?" I replied smoothly. "I don't know you, you obviously don't know me, and your assessment of my gender potential is ridiculous."

"Come on, 'New Hire', you didn't even go to a real school," Fabiola spat back.

"That's enough," Buffy coughed. Fabiola shot me a dirty look. I elected to not be childish, looking out the window instead. Driving the car turned out to be more of a disadvantage than the gem Fab thought it would be. Fabiola had to park the car while Buffy and I went up.

The Exeter suite turned out to be a fully furnished apartment. The trick was turning the normal accoutrements into the specifics the client demanded. I didn't have experience with interior design. I couldn't say I was demeaned, being reduced to a glorified furniture mover. If Buffy was impressed by my ability to move chairs about, she hid it well. 

She even left me to my own devices while she went to the bedroom. I double checked the image she'd downloaded to the cellphone to make sure everything was where they wanted.

"Cáel, I need you back here," Buffy called out. Back I went – it wasn't like I had a choice. "We need to make sure the Feng Shui of the room is impeccable," she ordered.

"Yes, Ma'am - Buffy," I nodded. "Now let's assume for a second I don't have the faintest idea what you are talking about and go from there."

"For now," she chuckled, "it means moving the bed where I tell you to." As I moved to the far side of the king-sized bed, contemplating the crushing weight of my student loans, I noticed Buffy had made a wardrobe adjustment.

That was a kind way to say she had unbuttoned her blouse to her naval and her pale pink, lacy half-bra was clearly visible. I also saw the incisor of some predator hung from a silver chain around her neck. As she leaned forward, it swayed, playing ping pong between her boobs. I was carefully attentive to her instructions and even managed to ask a few questions like 'what is Feng Shui?'

"It is the art of focusing energy upon positive and negative lines so that you promote, or disrupt, the harmony of an area and its occupants," she informed me. She back-flopped down on the bed in one of the least obfuscated suggestions of 'come get me' I'd ever seen. I stayed well away, sensing a trap.

"It's jaguar," Buffy tilted her head back and leered at me. Her shirt was wide open, her bountiful mounds jiggling slightly and her eyes were inviting. She was referring to the tooth pendant that was nestled between her breasts. I backed up toward the window.

"I'm sure there is a story behind that," I tried to wiggle some more breathing room from my collar.

"There is," she rolled over, her goodies still on display. "I shot it with my bow, skinned it and pulled the tooth from its skull." How sweet and informative.

"I'm glad I'm across the room then," I grinned back. "I'd hate for there to be a misunderstanding between you and I." Now she placed herself on all fours and stalked across the bed toward me.

"I don't think you are very interested in me," she pouted. Now I was mentally mapping out the time and distance involved in me getting past her and exiting this career-killer.

"You are my boss," I exclaimed as I started edging around the room. "I imagine you are very interesting, but I'm not the kind of guy who makes advances on every beautiful woman he meets." That was a total lie. I had the bad habit of making advances on ABSOLUTELY every beautiful woman I met.

"Where is everybody?" Fabiola announced after she waltzed into the room. Forget an Oscar, she wouldn't even get a Razzie from me for that patently false performance. Buffy huffed, rolled her eyes and shifted to the edge of the bed. She fixed her blouse properly then shot a withering glance at Fabiola before getting back to business.

After sending a final video of the apartment to the CFO's personal assistant and getting her okay, we checked out our next chore and set to it. A good deal of it was getting laundry, specialty meals and even picking up kids from daycare/school. We did manage to do some actual corporate business. We ran some confidential documents, not trusted to the computer system, to the various big wigs who needed them.

In eight and a half hours I had been a furniture mover, delivery boy, nanny, chauffer and glorified postman. Had it not been for my mountain of student loans, the insane salary and limited job prospects, I would have been disheartened. As it was, I was merely paranoid and confused. I was getting the subtle sense that the women I was working with were waiting for me to fail.

I was confused because, with the bending over, strutting, lingerie model wannabes all over the place, how did they expect me to get anything done? My cock hurt – a lot. I was looking away so often I was afraid I'd get whiplash. These had to be the clumsiest women on Earth. Wherever I went, someone dropped something and had to bend over to pick it up. 

No, they could not bend at the knees. They had to reach over while keeping their legs straight. These weren't the new hires either. The only one I saw before quitting time was Fabiola. Even she was pretty helpless. She kept losing her shoes and then pleading to me to help put them back on. No matter how hard she tried, I was not looking up her damn skirt.

Finally Buffy 'released' me, indicating my work day was over. That's when the jackals closed in. From out of nowhere, all six of the new hires appeared outside Katrina's office as I retrieved my valise. Had it not been for my mode of transit, I'd have left it there and made for the elevators instead of risk being cornered.

"Is there a problem?" Katrina spoke up, sensing my reticence in leaving her office. I had to think fast.

"Can I use your bathroom?" I turned and asked her. She indicated that I could. I went in and changed, ditching the rubber band nonsense – it hadn't really worked. 

When I stepped out, the conspiratorial whispers among the new girls stopped. I even caught Katrina looking me over. See, I got to and from work on my bicycle. It was a really nice bike. Dad got it for me for graduation – as I said, I don't come from money. Anyway, biking in a suit in New York City was kind of stupid and hard on the dry cleaning bill.

The answer to this dilemma was biking clothes, which in June consisted of very tight shorts and a tight shirt (my helmet is with my bike in a nice secure area in front of our skyscraper). Now take into account I was in really good shape and, oh yeah, horny as hell with a 'sensational' package (fine, one girl called it sensational – I chose to run with her literary license).

1 – 2 – 3 – 4 – 5 – 6; yep, ab six-pack accounted for and there was the tube-snake running off to my left hip. Even my nipples on my broad pectorals were making an appearance (through the shirt). As a passing note, I have a really nice ass, or so I've been told, and these shorts don't work well with underwear so I was going without.

I mustered my courage and marched on the door.

"Ummm..." Katrina purred. "Tomorrow – seven o'clock."

"Yes, Ma'am – Katrina," I waved over my shoulder. The new hires parted for me, except for Daphne. She put a hand on my right bicep.

"Cáel, we are going out for drinks to celebrate our first day," Daphne smiled sweetly.

"Thank you, but no thank you," I shook my head. "I'm not into time travel." I moved past her.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Dora inquired. They followed me to the elevator.

"It is a riddle, Dora," I grinned. "If you six ladies celebrated your first day with the company, where and when did this celebration take place?"


Life as a New Hire Ch. 01



"Are you implying we are lying to you?" Violet glared.

"I'm implying you six are treating me like an idiot and none of you are graduates of the NSA, CIA or the New York Academy of Fine Arts, Violet," I glared right back.

"You are not being a team player," Theresa gave me a smug look.

"Now we are back to me being treated like an idiot," I sighed. "Let me see, each of you knew where your assigned person was, Buffy didn't see the need to greet Fabiola, Fabiola knew where the car keys were kept, she knew right where the Exeter Building was without accessing our onboard navigation system. She found a parking spot in downtown New York City at ten in the morning in under fifteen minutes...shall I go on?"

The hush was so pronounced that not only could I hear our elevators quiet whir, I could hear the noise from the ones on either side of us. The women exchanged nervous looks.

"You could still come out and join us for some drinks," Daphne jumpstarted things.

"I'm seeing somebody," I countered.

"You don't have a girlfriend," Paula stated confidently. Yep – dating survey.

"I met a nice female mime (might as well confirm my heterosexuality) and after an in depth conversation I think we have a lot in common so we are giving serious thought about going out tonight," I lied. Oh, it was an obvious lie alright. I wanted it to be.

"She could join us," Tigger suggested. They were freaking relentless. Fortunately, the elevator doors opened and we exited onto the ground floor.

"And that would make sense because on the first date I'd want to surround her with a bunch of women she doesn't know and probably has little in common with...I don't think so," I mused.

They watched me prep my bike, affix my helmet and pedal off to freedom while hovering around and trying to create a new game plan.

"Let us know how the date goes," Fabiola called out.

"Like that is going to happen," I muttered as I sped away.

I had studied the route between the corporation headquarters and my domicile for three days and gone onto multiple chats with my fellow cyclists to get a feel for traffic flows, road construction and back alleys. This allowed me to get home in just under fifteen minutes. I lugged my bike up the three flights of stairs – my neighborhood was far from the safe confines of the skyscraper – and settled into my shared flat. 

The apartment was rather close quarters, but my roommate, Timothy (never Tim), was a descent sort. Timothy was an exercise-conscious, gay tattoo artist with a good professional reputation and he found my choice in employment amusing. Timothy said I was swimming against the current. I told him salmon did it every year. He countered with salmon don't jump Angel Falls. 

I was starting to feel he was prophetic after only one day. I didn't dwell on it too much. I did our laundry, picked up our common area then started in on dinner. That consisted of microwaving frozen vegetables and sausage and bacon biscuits. I left that to warm while I worked out. When Timothy walked in he laughed and shook his head.

"You are the best boyfriend I never had," he chuckled. "Did you do my laundry too?"

"Yep," I said. I put my tablet down and headed to the kitchenette.

"Even the underwear?" he teased.

"If that's what you like to call it," I teased right back.

Timothy tended to dress like a Chippendale dancer on his date nights. Thankfully, he had the body for it. Double thankfully, we were both okay with our sexuality. At the start, he had told me he was coming off a long term relationship that imploded. I told him I was heterosexual who had a chronic problem with fidelity.

(Tuesday)

My mobile phone rang at three o'clock – in the a.m. It was Katrina telling me that I was to get my ass over to corporate, find Desiree and do what she said. Katrina hung up before I could ask for an explanation. Twenty-two minutes later I was back at work. I pulled my 'Clark Kent.' then phoned Desiree Fredrickson who was already in the garage – level one.

She was waiting for me, trying to look impatient, but I knew the 'threw on whatever was handy' look from too many 'confused girls in the morning' experiences. I looked at her grim countenance and decided to be professionally polite.

"You have this spot at the right corner of your mouth," I quietly informed her.

While driving, she peeked into the rearview mirror and used her tongue to correct the dried drool problem. There was no 'thank you' aimed my way.

"What are we doing?" I yawned.

"At least pretend to maintain the proper decorum," she chided me. She did her best to stifle her yawn.

That was the end of my instructional period until we pulled into a parking spot close to a police station.

"Watch your mouth and remember they don't like us," Desiree warned. 

"Woman, is it going to kill you to tell me what's going on, or am I going to have to figure this out with a Tarot deck?" I snapped back.

Her eyes narrowed with anger as she turned on me.

"Can't you follow a simple order?" she growled.

"Sure," I sighed. "It isn't like you want me to succeed anyway," I groused. She huffed in exasperation then led me to the front of the precinct building.

Due to the hour, the place was crowded with drunks, drug addicts and dealers, with a sprinkling of prostitutes and violent felons. The 'they' who didn't like us became obvious. The cops didn't like Desiree and, by default, me.

"We are here for Marilynn St. John," Desiree stated.

"Of course you are, Ms. Frederickson," the female desk sergeant sneered. "It is Lady's Night at some whore-hole so, of course, your princess ended up here."

"Just get her," Desiree demanded. The sergeant kept sneering in a way that told us we were going to be a while. Desiree walked over to a corner and put her back to it.

I decided to hover close by until the sergeant had a moment.

"What do you want?" she regarded me. "Aren't you with the trash collector?" I guess that meant Desiree.

"She's one of my bosses," I shrugged. "This is my first – I guess now it is my second day on the job and I have no idea why I am here."

I put my politest, most girl-friendly demeanor forward. It worked.

"Keep in mind you are picking up your boss's trash, Kid," she turned all matronly on me. "You need to stop hanging around all those poisonous bitches and get a better job." That led to a discussion of my age, background and economic status of my family.

She liked the fact that I was proud of my blue-collar background, single and polite. As an unexpected bonus the Sergeant had a single daughter; a freshly minted from the Police Academy policewoman. I gave her my mobile number and she sent someone to retrieve our charges. While we waited, she showed me a picture of her girl. The daughter was rather sexy. 

I told her mother that her daughter had a bright smile and a cute nose. Saying 'your pride and joy would look good handcuffed to my bed' wouldn't win me points. As the desk sergeant and I finished, out walked two wasted teen fashion queens with a female police escort.

"Sign for the over-privileged skanks," the Sergeant directed me.

Desiree pushed me aside and took custody of Marilynn and her high society pal, Vienna Rothmore. The two young ladies joined us as we left the station.

"Sorry to mess up your date, Desiree," Marilynn snickered. Yeah...right, she was soooo sorry.

"He's not my date," Desiree ground out. "He's one of our new hires."

"Oh, cool," Marilynn slurred. She reached up from the back seat and put a hand on my shoulder. "I want you to come home with me and help me test my sheets to make sure they are comfortable," she giggled. "I have delicate skin."

"You also have a problem with substance abuse, taking things that don't belong to you, and a lifetime of making poor choices," I countered. "Sorry; I have to decline."

"You work for my grandmother. That means you work for me," she protested.

"I'm sure if you have your wonderful grandmother put your request in my work cue, I'll get around to it," I smiled.

"You're no fun," Marilynn complained.

"He's not here to be fun for you, Marilynn," Desiree finally intervened.

"Oh, pooh," Marilynn snickered. "What's your name?"

"I'm Clone 117. The corporation grew me in a vat in a secret lab in Nebraska," I stated evenly.

"Really?" Marilynn's friend, Vienna gasped. She was way too stoned/drunk.

"Yes. Now that I've revealed this company secret they are going to have to melt me down to my base proteins and recreate me. Such is the life of a clone," I groaned.

"No way," Vienna gasped.

"He's playing with us," Marilynn clued in. "What is your name – really?"

"Cáel Nyilas," I answered.

"Cool name," Vienna declared. "Does it have a meaning?"

"Cáel is from my Mother – it's Irish for 'slender' as well as the angel for Thursday," I informed her. "Nyilas is Hungarian – it means Archer."

"Are there any rich Hungarians?" Marilynn asked.

"Ummm...Calvin Klein, Steven Ferencz Udvar-Házy, and George Soros to name a few," I told them.

They were dumbstruck. We are Hungarians. It isn't like there are tons of us.

"If it is any consolation, I'm not related to any of them," I added. 

"Aaahhh...do you have a fascination with rich people?" Marilynn struggled back.

"Well, you have to admit it is tons easier than being fascinated with all those poor people," I turned and grinned at her.

"What university did they recruit you from?" Marilynn giggled. "You are fun."

"Ms. Fredrickson found me walking out of a GQ party two weeks ago," I grinned. "The matter of my education never came up."

"Lying on your application, during the interview process, and during, or about an assignment is grounds for termination," Desiree reminded me.

"They don't work for the company," I countered, "nor am I working on any sort of relationship with them. Are you ordering me to be totally truthful while on the clock?"

"She is a client, so she gets the truth," Desiree demanded.

"Cool. I will gladly put this conversation down on my report to Ms. Love – Katrina when filing the sexual harassment suit against Ms. Marilynn St. John," I gleefully stated.

"That is even less funny," Desiree grumbled.

"As I recall she said, 'I want you to come home with me and help me test my sheets to make sure they are comfortable,' Desiree. I'm pretty sure that qualifies," I glared at her.

"She's not an employee," Desiree countered.

"I chose to ignore the idiocy of that statement, because we both know that we are on the job, working the cue. Thus, she is responsible to our corporation for her words and actions. Marilynn is vulnerable to a suit by Havenstone for her conduct toward one of their employees," I outlined.

"Wait, you aren't launching a complaint; you want the company to do so on your behalf?" Desiree stared at me in surprise.

"Of course," I nodded. "What else would I do?" What was left unspoken was that I could try to sue the corporation for this whole fiasco. I wasn't going down that road.

"Ha," Marilynn laughed "like Grans would sue me."

"You are right," Desiree spoke to Marilynn even as her eyes returned to the road. "She'll simply get a report on this assignment as well as a notification of Cáel's complaint." Marilynn and Vienna giggled at the absurdity of the gesture. They didn't get that I did get it. My complaint was going nowhere officially. I was drawing a battle line. I wasn't going to get pushed around.

We dropped Marilynn off. Desiree took her inside, put her to bed, then we did the same to Vienna at her place. That chore accomplished, we headed back to work. Desiree promptly abandoned me, so I went up to Katrina's office, switched back to my biker clothes and crashed out on the short bench in the bathroom. My alarm was set for 6:45 a.m.

I was half-dressed after the alarm woke me when the door opened and Katrina looked in. I froze.

"What are you doing?" she let her eyes roam over my mostly naked form.

"I had a call at three this morning. By the time I finished, heading home made no sense. I grabbed an hour of sleep on your bench," I said.

"Why are you dressing in my bathroom?" Katrina mused.

"I didn't want to sleep in my work suit, Katrina. I changed to my bike clothes to sleep in and when I woke up a minute or so ago, I was started to change back," I explained.

"Very well," she nodded. "Finish up." She didn't look like she was leaving.

I didn't rush getting dressed. Looking good was something I had to emphasize since that was what they were looking at in judging my ability to fit in. So I hoped anyway. I had to turn sideways to get past Katrina. In the office itself, four of the female new hires had already gathered: Daphne, Paula, Dora and Tigger.

They were surprised to see me, early and coming from Katrina's private lavatory, followed closely by Katrina. I stood by my little desk because the others were forced to stand by circumstance and I was playing at solidarity. Fabiola and Violet barely made it in before seven.

"Yesterday went well," Katrina started the meeting. "Most of you received very positive reviews, completed tasks ahead of schedule and exhibited team-building skills." 

"Cáel, unfortunately, you appear to have difficulties adapting to our corporate culture and repeatedly had to have tasks defined for you. I appreciate you having some difficulties with this environment. I would hope you will take yesterday's lessons and apply them to your future endeavors with us," she continued.

"Finally, you filed a complaint against one of our clients. I've reviewed it and found your complaint without merit. I will allow you to withdraw that complaint before it becomes part of your official record," she finished. The other newbies seemed curious about this tidbit. 

"Of course, Ma'am," I nodded.

"Katrina," she corrected.

"Yes Ma'am, Katrina," I bantered right back.

"Katrina will do," her gaze challenged me.

"You make the rules," I glared right back.

"It is part of the corporate culture you are having problems with, Cáel," she stressed. I nodded and smiled. "Don't you agree, Cáel?" she pressed the point.

"I apologize, but Desiree told me not to lie on, or about, an assignment. Do you want me to lie and say I agree with what's going on here, or do you want me to ask why my trainer was rolling around on the bed, her shirt half open, exposing her bra to me?" I stared.

"Do we need to get into Fabiola sneaking up to the door and proving that she'll never make Broadway as she attempted to act surprised? I didn't bring this up earlier because I assumed this WAS your corporate culture," I smiled.

"If this bothers you, I will accept your request for reassignment," Katrina grinned.

"Why would I want to leave? This place is a laugh riot," I chuckled. "I swear, all of you ladies have been working overtime to make this job as enjoyable as hell. With all the efforts made to make me feel welcome, bailing would be the height of ingratitude."

"Are you attempting to be amusing?" Katrina smirked.

"I am attempting to be as honest and genuine about my desire to stay as you are in your desire to keep me on," I kept going. Her smirk turned into a grin.

"Cáel, I see your retention in my department to be a personal challenge," she replied.

"Thank you," I nodded. "I find your personal attention to be inspirational."

My translation? She was trying to get me to jump ship, or do something that would get me shuffled to some office even worse than this one. My polite response, more bravado than common sense, was 'bring it bitch'. It was of no comfort that it wasn't personal – they were going to axe all us men. In hindsight, I shouldn't have been making so many assumptions.

"Now that has been taken care of; on to our next order of business," Katrina continued.

"I want all of you to reacquaint yourselves with our sexual liaison policies. Interns are forbidden, for the sake of job review status, from engaging in romantic and/or sexual activity with an employee, or client, of Havenstone Commercial Investments. We had an unfortunate incident last night and had to relocate an intern," she related. 

"I would like to think we can avoid that here, ladies," she stated decisively.

"You can count on us," Daphne stepped up. I nodded along with the rest. I was trying to figure out which guy they had nailed. I noticed that only one intern had gotten 'relocated'. For that matter, what did 'relocate' mean? Couldn't they just say 'fired'? 

We got our assignments and off we went. I had Buffy again.

"How did your date with the mime go?" Violet teased me.

"It turned out we had nothing to talk about," I grinned.

"You should have gone out with us," Daphne pressed in from my other side. "We met several cute guys." Ah, the old 'prove you aren't gay' thing again.

"Were they really handsome, hard and buff?" I stared hungrily into Daphne's eyes. That caught her off guard for a second.

"Very," she licked her lips.

"Oh," I sighed. "I'm not into guys but if I was, it would be old, fat, bald men – the rounder the better."

"You are a real joker," Violet mused.

"I prefer to think of myself as a guy who panders to the most pathetic moral characters he's confronted with," I smirked as I glided past them to Buffy's desk. Buffy looked to me then past me to the two new hires who beamed hate at my back.

"Is there something I need to be made aware of?" Buffy questioned me.

"Children shouldn't play with matches, run with scissors, or verbally spar with someone who knows that the Vampire Diaries is not the best our culture can do," I informed her.

"New hires in the same department are encouraged to create relationships that will last them for as long as they are with Havenstone," Buffy stated.

"That was in the Handbook, wasn't it?" I tried to recall.

"It is not only a good idea, it is corporate policy," Buffy said as she stood. "Let's get to work."

I followed along. This was my job though being given advance notice about what I was supposed to be doing would have been nice.

"Today we are caretaking a meeting," Buffy told me after we had taken the elevator to one of the top floors. "That means we pay attention to the top brass," she downloaded some faces for me to memorize, "figure out what they want before they do and interface with the caterers when they arrive so no non-corporate employee is ever near our top tier."

"Why isn't this a teleconference?" I inquired. Buffy gave me a condescending look.

"Do you always assume you know more than everyone else," she mused.

"I think that if I don't know, I should ask, if I'm given a mentor, I should utilized their experience, and the best way to fail is to pretend you know what you don't," I related. 

"I'll tell you what you need to know," Buffy informed me.

"Par for the course, Buffy," I grinned mindlessly. She shot me a confused look. Checking out the room was more important to Buffy than satisfying her curiosity. We finished our checklist right before the first participant arrived.

I worried how we were going to meet their needs while out of the room. It wasn't like they would want some schmuck like me listening to truly critical information. Buffy and I remained in the room, so I assumed they'd be talking about their vacation experiences. As the late-forties/early fifties looking women walked in, they all flashed me looks.

The looks varied from A to B; sublime hostility and contempt, to outright sexual desire. I made a mental note to thank Buffy before I nipple-twisted her into cardiac arrest. I was also gifted with the same looks from the young women that followed the major players around. A few things filtered through my perceptions.

The various women were talking to one another, mostly in English but with a few other languages bantered about. The collective artifacts around the room were genuine. I knew this because my first lover taught Archeology at Bolingbrook. I never signed up for any of her courses because that might have cost her professorship. 




Life as a New Hire Ch. 01



She also reinforced my libido driven ambiguity – essentially she encouraged me to be a man-whore because I had a voracious sexual appetite. Thus the reason I knew I could pick up a date at any bar within five minutes. Of greater relevance was that I could tell the difference between Dorian and Attic Greek, real 19th dynasty Egyptian versus a Cairo backstreet knock-off, Old Kingdom Hittite and Gaelic Celt from the Early Roman Republic period.

This one room was worth a mint. I was brought back from my ruminations by a sublime call to order. The room grew quiet, the women stood solemnly and then Ms. Hayden St. John (aka Marilynn's Grans) began a deep intonation – a chant. Each of the elder members of the board took up the song based on seniority. When all the board members had taken up the anthem, the junior women uniformly began to sing a different song at a higher pitch.

The final refrain ended with a sorrowful echo. The women sat down and the business began. Now I knew why they didn't give a damn that I was in the room. They were talking in a language less than a thousand people worldwide probably knew – except for this crowd. The main reason was the fact this language last enjoyed mass usage during the time of the Iliad.

I knew the language because the aforementioned Archeology professor had a kink for poetry in dead languages. Her reading to me while engaging in intercourse was the erotic equivalent of the equestrian arts. My passionate reciting to her in the same tongues inspired her to a bedroom rendition of bronco busting. I had a desperate desire to establish my best poker face.

Letting any of them know I could follow the conversation seemed unwise. The first two hours of the meeting were normal corporate greed and malfeasance. I handled a call from a concerned caretaker. A nanny of one of the board members had a child come home sick. I accessed her information, contacted her pediatrician and set up the appointment in as muted voice as possible.

When they adjourned for a break, I moved next to the mother and waited to be recognized. She got around to me after she impressed upon me that I was insignificant. When she was informed of the issue, she became angry and concerned. She couldn't take my word for anything, making all those calls all over again. When it turned out to be exactly as I told her, the oddest thing happened.

"You performed admirably," she smiled and patted my cheek. Well, duh! "What is your name and who controls you?" Controls me? I didn't like that at all.

"Cáel Nyilas, Ms. Beyoncé Vincennes" (the board member's name). In this 'first name' corporate culture, I wasn't sure how to address a board member and Buffy had been of no help.

"Katrina Love is my department head," I finished.

"You seem to be very polite and useful, for a man," she kept smiling. That was nice right up to the 'for a man' part. "It was a pleasure," Beyoncé added. I thought she was about to hug me – beyond strange. Instead she extended her hand for me to shake.

This time it wasn't a mistake. I placed a chaste kiss upon her knuckles on purpose because suddenly a classically romantic gesture seemed liked the career-positive thing to do. One of the other ladies standing close by casually remarked to a companion in Old Kingdom Hittite.

"Look, she didn't have to train him, or anything."

I successfully resisted flinching as I released Beyoncé's hand and backed away. Training? If I became involved with any kind of behavioral training I was demanding a serious raise to that outrageous salary I was already getting. They finished their break in short order and returned to their meeting. The second portion was worse – much worse.

They began chatting about breeding programs, harvesting mates, selective marriages and assassinations to advance their cause. Oh My God. They were a crazed female cult trying to take over the World and my internship was a 'test case' for a new male training program. I guessed that Khalid 'washed out' and not in a good way.

I was truly tempted to whisper to Buffy that I was going to the bathroom, take the elevator, exit the building and flee. No, not flee to my apartment. I'd stop by there, but after that I'd keep going. I wasn't sure where I would stop running. These chicks were global. I'd always wanted to bike my way down the Andes. Southern Argentina looked good – just me and some penguins.

Work called and I responded. Issues were dealt with and even Buffy seemed pleased by the time lunch rolled around. The two of us checked out the servings. The individual junior members collected and inspected the plates for themselves and their seniors. We were around in case anything went wrong.

"Why did you kiss Beyoncé's hand?" Buffy addressed me out of the blue. She was almost polite.

"Did I do something wrong?" I inquired.

"It isn't what I've come to expect from you," she looked me over inquisitively. "You kissed my hand, but I discerned that you felt it was a mistake."

"You are also combative with the other new hires," she grinned, "yet you are not a suck-up as evidenced yesterday. Such a submissive gesture to Beyoncé isn't like you unless you are aiming for the stars."

"How about considering it to be a spontaneous action of respect?" I regarded her.

"Besides, I don't even know what she is in charge of," I shrugged. "I felt like doing it so I did it."

"Well, I'm impressed," Buffy smiled. "Do you want to go out for a drink or two after work?"

"It's against the rules," I reminded her.

"I won't tell if you won't," she winked.

"Doing so is wrong, I know it's wrong and that's what matters," I explained.

"Does that really matter to you?" she was back to reading my intentions.

"Yes. It should matter to you too," I said.

"Interesting," and that was that. I didn't deserve answers or explanations.

Once the plates were cleared away and any trace cleaned up, the meeting lasted for two more hours. The reason they didn't want any of this getting out to the larger world was clear. They apparently engaged in murder, slavery, and illegal genetic engineering. That was on their good days. I kept a low profile and the hope that I'd make it out of the building in one piece - until the meeting ended.

As we exited into the spacious hallway, an accident of fate took over. I was sent ahead to retrieve some parcel one board member had brought for another. Four women in front of me – two seniors and two juniors – abruptly stopped to share some joke. I stopped. The two women coming up behind me didn't, pushing me into the Indian junior member.

I immediately backed off and apologized. She turned and looked pissed. Her backhand caught me flat-footed. Cursing in Hittite, she called me a bull's buttocks then hauled off to slap me again. I took a half-step back.

"Would someone please call 9-1-1?" I announced in a loud, clear voice. "This woman just assaulted me." I was praying that, with the meeting over, they would pretend to be human once more.

No one did anything at first. The conversation muted. Not even Buffy looked like she was coming to my aid. Such is life. The junior Indian chick smiled evilly and launched her slap. Recall her backhand caught me off-guard the first time out. She swung, I blocked then shot two lighting jabs to her chin. Down she went, stunned.

The only remaining noise was me moving. I wiped off my belt, rolled the little princess onto her stomach and pulled both her arms behind her back.

"What are you doing to my *****!" shouted the Indian Senior. I started lashing junior's wrists together as I tried to reason out what that term meant. I guessed it was 'apprentice', or something close to that. 

"Your unwillingness to obey the laws of the land you find yourself in doesn't concern me," I glared at India Senior. "Now I'm..." was all I got out before she kicked me. I don't mean some kind of old lady stomp. No, this was a spinning kick to the shoulder. It would have been to my head, but I almost dodged in time.

The women stepped back to give us room in the hallway to fight. More accurately, they made room so she could kick my ass. I was using boxing. She was using some sort of fluid, acrobatic style of martial arts I'd never seen before. It emphasized kicks and redirecting energy. Down I went. She began to untie her companion as I got up. 

I came at her, she put a foot to my gut, followed by a palm strike to my trachea and a second one to my forehead. Down I went again, then forced my way onto all fours. This time, India Senior was waiting for me. I struck at her feebly, she knocked my arm aside then slammed her heel into the back of my skull, bouncing my head off the floor. Sadly for her, I have a really thick skull.

She had half-turned to her companion when I crawled up for more punishment. She gave an annoyed grunt and launched a kick at my ribs. Boxing hadn't worked so I went for Brazilian jujitsu, my second best martial arts style. It surprised the shit out of her. Ten seconds later I was preparing to snap her damned neck when I felt the others closing in.

"Cáel!" Buffy screamed. "Stop that right now." My sixth sense kicked in. There was no way I could win this fight with my brawn. I elected for the cerebral response. I let go of the woman and rolled away – right onto the feet of the closest female group. Odds were looking good they were about to pound on me as well.

They began chattering about what they were going to do with me. Somewhere in the process, India Senior stomped over and lashed me with the belt I'd tied India Junior with. I actually heard Buffy trying to get to my side. The problems were she couldn't understand Hittite and she was overly cognizant of the power the women pushing her around possessed.

I was giving serious consideration to letting these bitches in on the secret that I knew their lingo when I heard a different voice shout out in Hittite. It was Katrina. The outrage at what I had done and the glee about what they were going to inflict on me ceased. President – really High Priestess – Hayden St. John began to chastise Katrina. Essentially, it was my 'time' and me being out of control was all Katrina's fault.

"Cáel," Katrina commanded, "come here right now."

I stood up then stopped. For a second, I think they were confused, but soon turned angry. Bizarrely, it was Indian Senior who came to my rescue. 

"He can't get to her without pushing past you, my Sisters," she said in English. They parted enough for me to slip by and that I did.

"Do you trust me?" Katrina addressed me. I nodded. "Kneel and stay at my side until I tell you otherwise." Without hesitation, I went down on one knee at her side.

"Cáel," Hayden stepped into my personal space. I looked up at her. "Why do you kneel before Katrina?"

'She's my boss' was the hollow response. The social aspects of their meeting gave me a better idea.

"Katrina chose me. I honor that by following her directions," I replied.

"Why did you attack Madi and Rhada?" Hayden interrogated me.

That had to be India Junior and Senior though which was which was beyond me.

"I'm not a kiss-ass, or a lawbreaker," I told her. "If I was supposed to let them behave in a barbaric fashion, I am sure Katrina, or Buffy, would have told me."

"Barbaric!" the junior snapped. "I'll show you barbaric, you Ass."

"Rhada," Senior placed a hand on her subordinate's shoulder. That made her Madi.

"Beg their forgiveness," Hayden directed me.

"No," I replied. By the looks of the crowd, I'd blow my last shot at freedom; maybe life.

"Why not?" Katrina tapped my shoulder.

"They made you look bad in front of Hayden," I gazed up at Katrina. "I'll apologize, but only if they apologize to you first." Clearly no one knew what to make of that.

"No, Cáel," she rubbed my head but smiled warmly doing so, "you must apologize first."

"Rhada, I..." I began.

"No, you must apologize to Madi first," Katrina directed.

"Madi, I apologize for striking your companion, for hitting you and for knocking you to the floor," I looked down at the carpet. Eastern mysticism was all about 'reverence'. I needed no prodding this time to wait for my apology to be accepted or rejected.

"This one has spirit and fights well," Madi said in Hittite. "Katrina, give this one to me and there will be no accounting of this breech."

"Buffy, what happened?" Katrina turned to her worker.

"I didn't see what participated the offense," Buffy answered. I was boned.

"I pushed him into Rhada," one junior confessed. "Madi and Rhada had stopped, the male was on an errand. He stopped, but I didn't see that until too late." I tried not to look relieved because that had been said in mystic Hittite as well.

"It doesn't matter," Rhada grumbled (Hittite). "The male touched me without permission, so I slapped him."

"You hit my male?" Katrina said in a cold, threatening tone – Hittite yet again.

"He is not your property," Rhada stated – sigh; Hittite.

"He is part of the 'New Directive'," Hayden snapped. "You initiated a fight with a male partaking in the 'New Directive' without even asking why he bumped into you?" Oh, Big Momma was pissed. Too bad they were getting pissed in Hittite.

"He's just a male," Madi pointed out. Yay, me.

"Madi, you perpetuated a fight with Katrina's male, knowing it was your apprentice's fault. What is wrong with you?" Hayden lambasted her. "You owe Katrina an apology."

"No!" Madi insisted. "The male should have taken his beatings and apologized."

That was not a good thing to say and all the ladies around me knew it. Hayden was the High Priestess. Maybe not the Goddess-Queen, but she carried the most gravitas in this circle and Madi was slyly sidestepping that. This was an ugly situation.

"Cáel," Katrina returned to English. "I need you to get up, go over to those two and beat them up for me."

This was not the solution most were looking for, me included. I'd barely beaten Madi's butt when it was just me and her. Adding her little friend would make things very tough.

"Can I ask a favor first?" I looked up at Katrina. I was now being studied by many of the women in attendance intently.

"What is it?" Katrina remained sympathetic.

"I request that Hayden give me the order so this doesn't reflect poorly on you," I stated. Now all the women were looking around. It was the answer to their conundrum. This would transform the feud between Katrina and Madi into one of Madi versus Hayden, where it really belonged.

"Cáel," Hayden commanded. "Subdue Rhada then Madi. They will fight you in single combat." Now the cultural fear set in to the crowd; not my defiance, but Madi's. I was kicking off my shoes and throwing down my coat when Beyoncé called for attention in Hittite.

"Perhaps we 'burn feathers' over this incident and commit this memory to the 'nothingness'."

"Katrina and Madi should make the appropriate offerings for peace and prosperity," Beyoncé suggested. "There is no need for anger, or debt. Let this matter pass." Since this was in a language I shouldn't know, I had to keep advancing. The two Indian women were waiting on me. The Seniors began rattling off orders, threats and suggestions as I got ready to battle.

The worst part was when I realized they'd reached a peaceful consensus yet I had to get ready to take on Rhada.

"Cáel," Katrina called to me. I twitched but kept sizing up Rhada.

"Cáel," Hayden ordered. I took three steps back. "Return to Katrina's service."

I returned to Katrina's side and stood there. I was getting the hang of this now.

"Kneel," she tapped my shoulder. She said it in Old Kingdom Hittite. I looked into her eyes. "Kneel," she repeated in English. I knelt.

"How did you train him in only two days?" Beyoncé asked Katrina – in Hittite.

"It is a matter of respect," Katrina answered. "I am giving him an opportunity and he is grateful for the chance to prove himself." Not that I 'understood' her being nice to me – almost. Absently, Katrina reached out and caressed the top of my head. While not maternal, I definitely sensed this was something she might do to a favored child.

"What of his unrestrained violence? We are already working on turning the first one docile because he could not control his crude masculine instincts. Why should we diverge from the traditional treatment with this one?" A different senior, this one Egyptian maybe – spoke in Hittite.

"Oh, really," Katrina mused – same language. "Cáel, hit Buffy," in English. Huh?

"Please explain why I would do that to one of your people, Katrina," I raised my head. That caused some murmurs.

"I wish you to do it, so hit her," Katrina insisted.

"No, that would be wrong," I kept studying my mentor.

"Fine, attack that woman over there," she pointed to the senior Egyptian.

"No, it is still wrong," I was getting worried.

"If she attacked me, would you defend me?" Katrina led me along.

"Of course," I nodded.

"Even with violence?" she inquired. I nodded. "Why?"

"You are my mentor. You've given me this chance and if it means I have to fight – I fight," I explained.

"What unrestrained violence?" Katrina stared down her Egyptian opponent - Hittite. "He is perfectly capable of understanding how and when to apply violence. When told to stop, he stops. When told to behave incorrectly, he restrains himself."

"Violence is our purview," a senior from Africa (accent suggested Cameroon) said...in Hittite. 

"To let men hold the reigns of conflict is to invite disaster – again." I was getting an immersion lesson in Hittite, that's for sure.

"Cáel," Katrina's voice caught me off-guard, "did you like hitting Madi and Rhada?" 

"God, no," I gulped. "My Dad would be furious with me for hitting a girl, even more for hitting two."

"Is that because you see women as weak and frail?" the Cameroon Senior addressed me in French, which my resume said I did know (along with Spanish and Russian).

"Women are smaller and weaker than men," I responded. That didn't go over well.

"Do you think we are small and weak?" Hayden asked.

"No," I smiled, "I look around this room and all I see is a host of Amazons." And then it all made sense. The women all stared at me intently trying to determine if I could have possibly pierced their veil of secrecy.

"Amazons?" Hayden prodded me – in Hittite. I looked at her but didn't reply.

"Amazons?" she repeated in English.

"Yeah – Amazons," I grinned. "Like Wonder Woman." There as an infinitesimal relaxation around me. They weren't opposed to disposing of me. Their worry was that if some jack-ass from Bumfuck Nowhere had stumbled up their true identity, other, far more competent agencies could as well.

Instead, I had simply tossed a word in common usage out there, like that legion of chimps writing Shakespeare. A DC comic heroine had convinced them I knew nothing.

"We have wasted enough time on this matter," Hayden intoned with authority. The women started to disperse. Katrina had to stay behind to deal with Madi and Rhada.

"Buffy, take Cáel to my office and don't let him leave. Take care of him," Katrina commanded.



Life as a New Hire Ch. 02



This story plays fast and loose with Ancient History and Linguistics; be warned.

People take for granted that they cannot see. If you don't think so, try not breathing.

*****

Having received Katrina's orders, off we went. Buffy looked worried and I thought she was going to tear me a new one. The reactions of the Executive Services group when we got there were totally unexpected.

"Send out the word," Buffy detailed to the first worker she came across, "Madi made a run at Katrina."

The woman blanched and headed off. Buffy took me to Katrina's office and pushed me onto the sofa. Paula and Fabiola appeared at the door looking worried.

"How badly have I fucked up?" I groaned.

"What?" Buffy blinked in surprise. "You did fine."

"I don't understand," I ran my hands through my hair.

"You're bleeding," Paula remarked.

"What happened?" Fabiola demanded. Oh, crap. Another layer of the onion. The female 'new hires' weren't only new hires, they were legacies.

Buffy, for all her expertise and seniority, wasn't part of the program. I didn't think she was ignorant of the basic agenda. She simply wasn't allowed to know the full scope of the goings on. That was the real reason she and I were at the meeting - because we weren't part of the true conspiracy, thus politically neutral.

"Cáel was attacked by Madi's assistant," Buffy said. I wanted to correct Buffy and say 'apprentice'. "He defeated her then defeated Madi when she attacked him, though it was a close thing." Oh yeah, Fabiola was part of the conspiracy. She gave this little smug smirk when Buffy got the relationship description wrong then was outraged that I would attack one of her elite.

Daphne sailed into the room, took one look at me then grabbed Paula.

"Let's get him cleaned up," Daphne suggested.

"He attacked Madi and her apprentice," Fabiola blustered - in Hittite. Daphne looked like she wanted to slap Fabiola. Then they all looked at me.

Had I turned away, I would have looked guilty. Instead I let my eyes flicker between the three.

"What is it?" Paula murmured to me.

"You are speaking the same language they were speaking upstairs," I enlightened them. "I find that a bit odd."

"Don't mention that to anyone," Daphne threatened me.

"No...you are not my boss," I glared. "Right now I'm working with Buffy and I am being mentored by Katrina. It is their right to know. Of course I can't talk to any outsiders about that because that violates corporate policy." 

"How dare you," Fabiola came steaming my way.

"Make the first one count," I seethed as I stood up and got ready to kick her entitled, pompous ass. "I've already put down two conceited bitches and you aren't even in their league." Fabiola stopped and reassessed her situation.

"Cáel!" Buffy snapped. "Come to my right side." There I went. "Kneel." I knelt. The three newbies were stunned, mouths open and gaping.

"What...what was that?" Daphne mumbled, referring to my actions. Buffy looked very haughty and superior.

"Cáel works for me right now," Buffy told them. "That means, within the scope of his duties, he does what I say." The girls were taking in this bizarre scene. "Cáel, if I told you to go over to Fabiola and beat her black and blue, what would you do?"

"I'd ask you for a good explanation," I answered.

"She's hurting Katrina's position at Havenstone," Buffy responded. Up I stood. "Kneel," Buffy finished her demonstration as I knelt. She started running her hands through my hair. Not something you would do to a dog unless...well, you went that way. It wasn't like Katrina; this was highly sexually aroused hair-play. "I believe you said that Cáel needed to be cleaned up."

"Are you in pain?" Daphne inquired.

"A half bottle of Aleve wouldn't kill me," I groaned. I was in some serious pain, much of it centered on my cranium. Buffy moved me back to the sofa, which I liked. Her sensually stroking my palm was a bit scarier.

More women gathered around the door, whispering and looking my way. Finally Katrina came back to the office. The crowd parted for her. Daphne and Paula returned with some wet cloths and a first aid kit. Without consulting with me, they started peeling off my clothes.

"What are you doing?" Katrina stared at the two young ladies.

"Tending to his wounds," Daphne hastily replied. Katrina rubbed her forehead.

"For a moment try to imagine him doing that to you in a public place," she advised them. They caught on real quick and the strip-down stopped.

"Cáel, may we tend to your wounds?" Daphne politely requested.

"Fine by me, but let's keep the pants on. I'll deal with the rug burns at home," I grinned.

"I knew you boxed and practiced a form of jujitsu, Cáel," Katrina remarked. "I had no idea you were that good."

"I also practice ninjitsu," I tried to look innocent. "I tried to put that on my application, but auto-correct kept erasing it."

"Does he have a concussion?" one of the normal workers asked Desiree.

"No, unfortunately not," Desiree snorted. "He's always like that."

"Thank you for your martial valor in defending my prestige, Cáel," Katrina spoke loudly. "Your ability to navigate a very difficult situation bordered on the precognitive. It was of great service to the sisterhood of this office."

"Is there anything you need?" she tacked on.

"Gosh, it's almost four o'clock. Since I've been working since three this morning, can I go home early?" I pleaded.

"No, we are having dinner tonight," Katrina stated.

"I actually have to clean up the apartment tonight," I lied. "Can I have a rain check?"

"If you were under any delusion that I was making a request, let me dispel that right now. You are having dinner with me tonight," Katrina smirked.

"Doesn't that violate..." I mumbled.

"End of discussion," Katrina declared. "Buffy and Helena, take Cáel to the Men's room and get him cleaned up and presentable. I need the ****, ****, and **** to stay behind. We have much to discuss." What did I get out of that little exchange? Buffy and Helena weren't part of the real Havenstone, Desiree was and the fact that naming status positions 'charioteer', 'archer' and 'shield maiden' in Old Kingdom Hittite only confirmed my worst fears.

You see, Achilles, Odysseus and their crowd knew these people. They'd frolicked and played with those troublesome Greeks then been raped, slaughtered and enslaved by them. Apparently after 3000 years, these ladies were still pissed about that. We only knew about them today from Greek sources. It stood to reason though, that since they were allies of Troy, they lived in Asia Minor, not Greece.

Therefore, they didn't speak Greek of any flavor. That was the language of their destroyers. No, the Amazons would speak the language of their home region from 3000 years ago, the native tongue for their rituals and secret communications, which just so happened to be Old Kingdom Hittite. 

"Tell me what happened," Helena requested while I was leaning against the Men's bathroom sink.

"Rhada became bored, I was asked to alleviate her boredom with a game of Scrabble, and she didn't like my use of the word 'butt-monkey'," I sighed. "She said it wasn't a word. I explained that she was, in fact, a butt-monkey and she took offense."

"Are you sure you don't have a concussion?" Buffy studied my eyes.

"Can I reliably determine my own mental malfunction? If so; I guess I'm good," I grinned.

"What really happened?" Helena repeated so I told them the whole story. This was the first time Buffy heard the whole thing in a language she could understand - English.

"Why didn't you simply let her hit you that second time?" Helena asked. Buffy nodded.

"Seriously, you two need to get some backbone," I glared at them. They looked peeved. "Listen, those other ladies don't have the right to treat us like crap. We are not doormats, we are facilitators and fuck them if they don't appreciate our worth."

"Yet you bowed down to Hayden, Katrina and me," Buffy countered.

"You are my bosses," I sounded exasperated. "I'm here to learn and that means listening to, and observing, those who have progressed farther than me. That means when you tell me to bow, I presume you have a good reason for it and do as I'm told."

"The other new hires don't kneel," Helena pointed out.

"It's not my fault they are not as smart as me," I snickered. We all knew that was a lie.

"I hope you make it," Buffy patted my knee. She didn't mean get fired. She meant she hoped I didn't get relocated. I didn't know what that meant yet, but I couldn't imagine it being a good thing. 

I decided to press my luck.

"You mean you hope I don't get relocated," I smiled. The two women shot worried looks at one another. "Ladies, I'm twice as smart as I look...well, that still might not be much, but I'm working on it," I chuckled.

"What do you know about being relocated?" Buffy prodded.

"Nothing really. I do get this creepy feeling that if I get posted to a corporate holding in Paraguay, I probably won't end up in Paraguay," I shrugged.

"Are you going to quit?" Helena tag-teamed. She meant, 'are you going to make a run for it?'

"Havenstone has corporate resources on all seven continents. Where am I going to go where some insidious Human Resources agent from the company won't hunt me down and try to make me reenlist," I teased them. Translation: I'm not dumb enough to think I can get away. They politely chuckled which meant they knew what I knew about my projected promotion path.

"What are we going to do about your clothes?" Helena altered course. Ugh.

"I'll give Katrina official notification that we three are heading over to your place to let you change into something - better," Buffy decided. Better? This was my best suit, or had been.

Permission was granted and off we went. Surprise, surprise, security stopped me and got confirmation that I could actually leave the building. Next, we were mugged in the parking lot closest to my apartment building. Technically, it was a legal mugging because the criminal owned the lot from which he extorted the 'parking fee' from us.

I was curious to see if I could have the ladies wait in the hallway while I changed. Buffy noticed the fire escape and made sure she loudly pointed that out. In we went and sure enough, they followed me to the bedroom. I began going through my sparse business suit collection.

"Those look dreadful," Buffy commented. "Where do you shop? Walmart?"

"Sears," I corrected. Buffy looked cruelly amused.

"You work for a Fortune 500 company and you shop for your clothes at Sears?" she mocked me.

"I'm not very good with money," I laid out my second best/now best suit. "I blew all of last month's paycheck on the Ferrari, Catalina 470 and Gulfstream. Stupid, eh?" We both knew I hadn't been paid yet.

"What did you do with your signing bonus?" Helena plopped down on my bed. "Hey, this is lumpy."

"I killed a hobo for it," I teased. "I take no responsibility for whatever diseases you might pick up from sitting on that overly pretentious compost heap." It actually wasn't all that bad. "Besides, what signing bonus? Do you even know what college I attended?"

"Ah...Brookstone," Buffy guessed. 

"I'll give you points for the 'B'," I sighed. "I got the callback for Havenstone and fell on my knees and thanked God that I didn't have to go back to working nights as a repo man, or end up in retail sales, food services, or custodial work. Done them all - not fun, believe me."

"You appear to be a pretty smart guy," Buffy gave me those 'come hither' eyes. "Why didn't you end up going to a better school?"

"I was pretty much a jerk until my senior year. I could have done better but I was ignorant, ugly and lazy. I was happy to get into Bolingbrook," I related. 

"What is this?" Helena held up a braid of red, blue and green ribbons. The top quarter was intertwined with the rest of the ribbons hanging free.

"It's a heart cord," I replied. "Each knot is a sexual liaison." She counted out twenty-one.

"Not bad," she gave me those sexy eyes.

"The other three that I completed are in the closet," I winked back. She thought I was joking. I wasn't and soon enough she found that out.

"What the hell?" Helena regarded my handiwork dubiously.

"Oh yeah. I think I slept with half women in my college town between the ages of 18 to 70, students and faculty included," I enlightened them.

"That seems like a large group of women," Buffy examined the braids held aloft by Helena. "Are you some sort of Casanova?"

"It is more like I have an out of control libido," I admitted rather shame-faced.

"Tell me again why you didn't jump me yesterday?" Buffy looked miffed.

"You are my boss, it was an obvious trap, and you bow hunt predators and rip out their teeth. That last bit combined with that aforementioned problem with my libido...," I grinned sheepishly. "I wanted to keep my job...and my life."

"Do you think I'd shoot you for a sexual indiscretion?" Buffy postulated.

"Do you want my honest assessment?" I looked into her golden eyes.

"Yes," she smiled warmly.

"You, and by that I mean Havenstone, are a bunch of raving psychopaths masquerading as feminists who use economic exploitation to cover up your numerous crimes," I unloaded.

The two women looked at one another then started giggling.

"We like you," Helena walked up and patted my chest.

"I'm glad Katrina chose you," Buffy added. "Let's go buy you a suit, or three."

"I'm glad to see my ranting has had no effect on our relationship whatsoever," I observed.

They let me dress, under their watchful eyes, into jeans and a t-shirt. Arm in arm, they led me from my home across town to a clothier who regularly did business with Havenstone.

"Don't you think it is unfair to put a man in restrictive clothing before the hunt? Don't we at least get a sporting chance to run?" I joked.

"I can kill a bounding deer at 50 meters. Running won't help you," Buffy informed me.

"Well, I've hunted moose before," I countered.

"What did you use?" Helena asked.

"A hammer," I smirked. "I'm a real caveman."

"How did that work out for you?" Buffy played along.

"How do you think? I sobered up, realized I was hunting a 600 kg monster with a ballpeen hammer, ran my naked ass back to the car and drove home," I chuckled.

"You are smarter than you look," my female tailor muttered.

"Why were you naked?" Buffy looked at my reflection in the three-sided mirror.

"We won the lacrosse finals," I told them.

"Were you on the team?" Helena inquired.

"Bolingbrook only has a Women's Lacrosse team," I sighed happily.

"So why were you the one who ended out in the woods, alone, naked, hunting a moose?" Buffy mused.

"I repeat, we won the finals," I winked, "and I never said I was alone."

"Is this your fabled libido you've been talking about?" Buffy teased.

"Three or four beers and my inhibitions fly right out the window," I lamented. 

"Right," Buffy shoved me - not fun when a woman is adjusting your inseam.

"When is your trash day?" Helena came out of nowhere.

"Why do you ask?" I gazed at her.

"I'm thinking about a place closer to work," she lied pathetically. 

"Oh come...wait, you looked in my trash can," I gasped. Helena had the decency to blush. "Three days ago," I admitted.

"Oh my God..." she blurted out. "You've been murdering a box of condoms."

"How is this work related, or in any way not to be confused with sexual harassment?" I stated.

"I'm okay," Buffy smiled. "Helena, how many? Besides, do you feel sexually harassed?"

"Gross, Buffy; I didn't pick them out. I don't feel harassed either, not really. I feel that getting our new intern to open up and talk about his life experiences is a real team-building success," Helena beamed sexual menace my way.

"Hold on," I grumbled. "Buffy, yesterday you were setting me up for something and today, you set me up to fail at the board meeting. Helena, I didn't even know you two hours ago. So why are you both so comfortable busting my balls?"

"Cáel, yesterday and today until three o'clock this afternoon, you didn't belong," Buffy told me.

"I don't understand the whole picture yet, but you fought and bled for Katrina. You didn't even know that this male internship program was her and Tessa's idea," she enlightened me. "You provided evidence their proposal had merit without understanding what you were doing." I hesitated a while as I took Buffy's interpretation of events in.

"Hmmm...yay us?" I offered. "I'm not going to insult you by pretending that what happened this afternoon was anything but leagues beyond the ordinary. I also resent the hell out of Katrina ordering me to have dinner with her - it goes against policy and is plain wrong."

"She stood up for you today, Cáel," Buffy pointed out. "I don't think you truly appreciate the gesture."

"What I do appreciate is that as screwed as I am, I'm still better off than you two," my look hardened.

"How do you come to that conclusion?" Helena snickered.

"Really? Well, I hope you both like Fabiola because in a few years she is going to be ordering you both around," I reasoned.

"It doesn't matter that Buffy - I don't know you Helena - is more competent and capable. Fabiola is going to end up on top and you two will still be picking up the laundry. What makes me better than you two is that I know this to be true and you two still think you can be rock stars when all you'll ever be is roadies," I explained.

"That's absurd," Helena snorted.

"Please believe me, it isn't something you two have done. You haven't screwed up. Fabiola...she seems to be what's wrong with Havenstone. She's an arrogant know-it-all who doesn't listen to the Goddamn professionals she's been sent to learn from," I continued.

Whenever you separate people into groups, a rift develops. There is not necessarily friction - unless someone upsets things and that was what I was trying to do. I wasn't trying to topple Havenstone. That was a pipe dream. All I was looking for was some allies who had my back. If I asked for more than that, Buffy and Helena would turn on me.

They were both smart women. That was one of the reasons they had been recruited, along with their stunning good looks and willingness to treat men like pets.

"Fabiola's acting did suck," Buffy giggled. "Goddess, that was pathetic, wasn't it?"

"What happened?" Helena leaned forward. Fabiola was rubbing the staff the wrong way alright.

"She asked 'where is everybody'...after she stepped in the room," Buffy rolled her eyes.

"I pity you," Helena nodded. "Daphne's working out well for me. She's trying really hard." A barrier had been breached. They were talking shop - the real Havenstone - in front of me. I had graduated from 'test subject' to actual male intern; emphasis on the male.

They were no longer upset that a male had set foot into their world. I clearly 'knew my place' though they hadn't even known what that was on Monday morning. Despite my badly biased work reviews, I was able and willing to work. More importantly, I obeyed while doing the aforementioned things. 

I was not a threat if all they had to do was tell me to 'stop', 'stand by my side', and 'kneel'. Better yet, from their own sexually driven side, I could remain a man while doing so. I was slavishly devoted to the hierarchy yet didn't take crap from others. I could fight and bleed for them while they remained in complete control. In their ferocious world, I was a 'safe' predator.

The fact that these ladies picked up bows and hunted down predators wasn't lost on me. I would never be truly safe among them, nor would I ever be accepted into their world. I was, at best, a bystander they reluctantly allowed to observe their wickedness.

"Done," the tailor announced. "Don't go sprinting across Central Park and you should do fine."




Life as a New Hire Ch. 02



"Come by tomorrow morning and I'll finish the work," she offered.

"Work up five more suits for him," Buffy ordered in an off-handed manner. "We'll pick them up tomorrow afternoon."

"Two o'clock," the lady tailor nodded.

"How in the heck am I going to get here at two?" I whispered to Helena. She flicked my nose.

"Put it in an order with Executive Services, you Idiot," she mocked. "You know - where you work." Okay, I had walked into that one. I looked suitably ashamed. We were given my old clothes in a bag and headed out. Dinner with Katrina wasn't for a half hour so we decided to walk around.

My new shoes were killing me so, of course, we were taking a long walk.

"Why does Havenstone - a female-only company - have an account with a men's clothier?" I wondered.

"They do both men's and women's suits," Helena offered.

"How silly of me," I glanced her way. "It stands to reason they would have women's suits in my size, with my shoulder span and corresponding pants...and shoes."

"Be careful," Buffy snickered. "He's clever."

"So?" I prodded. The two exchanged looks. Apparently they decided I was never getting away.

"Most of the Havenstone 'men' can't be trusted to tie their own shoes, much less buy their own clothes," Buffy confessed. She gauged my reaction. I had little doubt I paled at the news.

"Shit!" I exclaimed. The two jumped. Maybe they thought I had changed my mind and was going to make a break for it after all. "My bike is at work," I informed them. 

"How am I going to get to work tomorrow?" I groaned.

"Oh...I'll come by early and pick you up," Buffy slapped me on the back.

"I could stay the night instead," Helena offered.

"On the hobo bed?" I reminded her.

"Good point," Helena shrugged. "Buffy, on Day 83 we need to get him a new mattress."

"Nice," Buffy agreed. Day 83? Oh...fuck. My internship lasted 84 days; 3 times 28. For some now less arcane reason, Havenstone used a 28 day cycle for all their business. Two things usually kept to a 28 day calendar - the Moon and menstrual cycles.

There was no good way to inquire exactly when my officemates had 'that time of the month'. I was tuning into the fact that they might all do it at once - that whole female hierarchy thing. For a few days every woman in my section would be exhibiting a plethora of emotions, few of which were positive to my way of thinking.

I knew that not all women were 'on the rag' during that time period. Some had little reaction. Most times, I wasn't so lucky. There was spontaneous rage, tears, loneliness and, yeah, horniness. I'd been through them all. My favorites were the ones who randomly leapt through the kaleidoscope of emotions with no sense, or rhythm.

I've had a woman try to brain me with a vase then fuck me on the shards - all inside of twelve seconds. Maybe I shouldn't have slept with her roommate, or her dorm advisor. I repeat, I'm a great lover, but a lousy boyfriend. Hell, I've even had sex with a girlfriend's mother - within ten minutes of meeting her. While those two were having a screaming fit, I did her little sister too.

I don't think I seduced them. I looked at them. They looked at me. We both suddenly realized we wanted to have sex. That happens to me a lot. This is probably why I ended up at Havenstone - karmic payback for my promiscuous ways. Or, maybe I did get it right and Tessa Carmichael really did want to come across that interviewer's desk and fuck my brains out.

There I was thinking that ravishing my future employer's point woman would cost me the job. Wait...that's probably how they wrangled Khalid. They flashed him some smoking tits and ass, he went all 'jungle fever' on them and "Bang!" some girl was crying rape, and they had witnesses and footage. Khalid was looking at his whole magnificent life going down the tubes.

Then his boss agreed to help him because he was 'invaluable'. If he requested an out-of-country transfer, she could mislead the criminal investigation thus saving himself and his family's reputation. When it was safe to come back, she'd let him know. Now that smug, superior bastard was in Angola, or maybe Terra del Fuego with my penguins...wearing a shock collar. 

Ignoramus. Seven to fifteen in a comfy US prison would have been paradise considering what he was about to go through. Run away? The moron probably still thought he was facing rape charges back in the States and that if he played along, his boss, who clearly thought the world of him, would call him home soon. I hoped I never saw him again.

Not because I hated him - I didn't - but because if I did see him it meant I'd colossally fucked up as well. I was sure Katrina was going to determine my fate at dinner. All of that came to a head when they showed me the door of a private dining club. The maître de recognized Helena and Buffy, but not in a way that suggested they were acceptable patrons (aka lackeys).

"Ms. Love's table?" I requested. Buffy patted me on the back again and wished me luck. The maître de was a man and a right snooty bastard, too. He looked down his nose at me from his elevated perch. He hand-motioned a female server over, gave her a table number and sent us on our way.

"Did they forget to remove his jalapeno enema again?" I teased the girl as we left.

She coughed, stumbled then shot me a wickedly happy look. This guy had to be a peach to work for because she clearly hated him.

"You can talk to me," I told her quietly. "I'm not going to freak out, or anything." She looked at me and smiled again.

"I haven't seen you before," she whispered back.

"I have a very forgettable face. I've seen you before," I replied. She seemed confused. "You are the girl of my dreams," I grinned.

"I'm married," she brandished her banded ring finger.

"He's a lucky man," I sighed. "I hope he appreciates this snobbish hell you work in on a daily basis." She studied me which was all the more remarkable because she was navigating the floor while doing so.

"I'm not married and I don't work EVERY day," she gave me a cute grin. "The ring is camouflage."

"Pen?" I asked. She grew nervous because we were at Katrina's table and Katrina was looking us both over. "Ms. Love is my boss. We are not romantically involved," I assured the waitress. The woman gave me her pen and I wrote my number on her palm. "If you feel like it."

"You don't even know my name," she tried to look upset yet settled on precocious.

"You don't know mine," I countered. "It is Cáel Nyilas, by the way."

"I'm Odette Sievert," she smiled. She took my drink order then sashayed away. I sat down opposite Katrina. The lady was smirking at me. In a flash, she grew deadly serious.

"How?" she redefined intensity for me. I wish it hadn't been in Hittite.

"Excuse me?" I responded. I was afraid I knew exactly what she was asking for me to both admit to and explain. Katrina's eyes were flinty and heartless.

"I really don't want to repeat myself, Cáel," she said in a chilling voice. "You trusted me this afternoon. Trust me now."

"How far am I going to get if I get up and walk away right now?" I sipped my water.

"What makes you think I mean you any harm?" Katrina asked.

"You are evil," I began to match her gaze. "You are all evil fucking caricatures of human beings - monsters really."

"The worst thing about you is that you don't think you are like the rest. You think you are somehow more humane yet you don't have a fucking clue what that means," I accused her. "The 'how' is really tragic. The woman who took my virginity, my first love, devoted her life to the study of Near Eastern Ancient cultures."

"Not the early city-states, or the well-worn Greeks; she spent her life delving into the first nation-empires including, obviously, the Old Kingdom and Neo-Hittites. She didn't care about ruins; she loved the literature, art and culture of those people. She would read me poetry in a dozen dead languages. Later she taught me those tongues so I could let her hear those words in a voice not her own," I continued.

"By the spring, we would walk around her house all weekend speaking only in voices long stilled by the passage of time. She loved that. To her, it was the closest she'd get to being in some ancient marketplace; Babylonians haggling with Egyptians over beeswax, Assyrians arguing religion with Phoenicians, and Hittites and Cretan lovers sparring with poetry," I fondly recalled.

Katrina's gaze had slowly softened until it became a mixture of wonder and envy.

"She sounds like a remarkable woman. Why did this not come up in your background search?" she questioned.

"I listed her as an acquaintance," I said.

"I never took any of her courses since that would have threatened her job. I didn't hide anything. If anyone asked me if I spoke any dead languages, I don't recall it," I softened as well. "You have to admit that it is rather bizarre that I am one of a dozen men in the United States that knows the language of the Amazons and I ended up in that board room."

"Amazons," she said in Old Kingdom Hittite. "You really figured it out."

"It took me a while," I responded in the same lingo. Katrina jolted. It then occurred to me she'd never heard her native language spoken by a male. In English, "that's when I realized you were all raving psychotic lunatics and if I didn't play along, I was going to be murdered."

"So all that obedience and kneeling was an act?" Katrina studied me.

"The respect wasn't false. I do admire you. You are rather pleasant to work for, but it is telling that not one of your group realized that an outsider male wouldn't act the way I did," I related.

"I was hoping there was a foundation for my project," Katrina sighed.

"There is," I asserted. "Body posturing and obedience are normal, healthy male activities, Katrina. The military and Boy Scouts are built on it. All you have to do is create something males can believe in. Loyalty and obedience will follow."

"The problem is my culture takes a dim view of male martial activity," Katrina informed me. 

"You only got away with your actions today because the others believed - mistakenly believed - you were obedient to me," she reinforced my view.

"What makes you think I wouldn't obey you again?" I countered.

"Would you?" she mused.

"Do I still have a job?" I gave a lopsided grin.

"Yes. Is that what motivates you? Pay?" she studied me.

"Katrina, you do not understand men," I chuckled. "There is not enough money in the world to make me keep this job." Katrina looked menacing once more.

"I'll show up to work tomorrow because if I make a run for it, the others will take it out on you," I enlightened her. "You saved my life today - twice. You risked your social position by intervening on my behalf and I imagine there are some freaking stiff penalties for not telling your sisters that I know Old Kingdom Hittite."

"Very true," she admitted. "My sisters would not be pleased. It is also nice to have confirmed my thoughts about the 'New Directive'. Men can be trained to be helpmates and stand at our sides, even if it is a half-step behind." She contemplated some things. "Why do you consider us evil?"

"You are holding onto a blood-feud for three thousand years even though the genetic descendants of those crimes have most likely died out eons ago. You use your hateful, paranoid religion to justify every atrocity under the Sun. What is even more insane is that your activities are no longer warranted. There are places around the globe where you can live freely, own property and have all the legal protections enjoyed by men," I stated.

"The majority of the globe is still dangerous for us," Katrina reposed. "Even in this country, women are enslaved, brutalized and murdered simply for being the 'weaker' sex." 

"If you are waiting for a perfect world all I have to ask is 'when will it be my time?'" I regarded her sadly. It was obvious to both of us I was in a hopeless position. My fate was in her hands.

"Come home with me tonight," Katrina ordered.

"No," I replied. "It is against corporate policy. You'll have to wait 82 days like the rest."

Katrina snorted, snickered then laughed out loud.

"Remembering that we have to explain things to you men will be an exasperating experience for most of us," she chuckled. Katrina motioned Odette over, signaling our conversation was over for now.

The 16 oz. Porterhouse steak was heavenly and I made sure to keep the beer-drinking down to two steins. Katrina teased me about my appetite though she was no slouch. I explained that I'd need my strength - I was having sex tonight. She insinuated I was conceited. I laughed. Short of her embarrassing Odette, our waitress was going to be waking up at my side come dawn.

As we prepared to depart, the office called. I had a client appointment...with Rhada. She was going to pick me up at my place. I imagined that the addresses of the other employees was rather confidential. Rhada was a 'somebody' and I was only a male. I didn't bother asking Katrina to intervene. This was my job. She was respectful enough not to inquire one last time if I'd make a run for it.

A taxi got me home and I took the stairs three at a time, racing up to my apartment. My keys worked the lock. I heard the TV on and it was loud. I was moving through our cramped common area on the way to the bedroom.

"Timothy," I greeted my roommate, "I'm expecting a client to come by any minute, so don't be surprised if some bossy chick shows up and treats you like crap."

"Let me guess," Timothy mused. "A late teen/early twentyish, long black hair in a braid, the complexion of Southern India, clearly exercises with B-cup breasts and sweet ass."

"Ah...yeah?" I worried.

"Oh, she came by thirty minutes ago. She's bound up, naked and gagged on your bed, waiting for you."

"What the fuck!" I screamed. "I'm dead. Hell, you are probably dead too."

"Nah," Timothy smirked. "This was how it was going to end up anyway. All I did was save you the anxious and pointless foreplay. Go in there and fuck her silly. You'll have to change the sheets - she's gushing."

I rushed into my room. Sure enough, Rhada was nude, her hands bound behind her back by black leather cuffs, as were her ankles. She had a bright orange ball gag, secured with black straps, in her mouth and her eyes were bombarding me with a deadly furor. 

"Shit, Rhada, I'm sorry. My roommate doesn't know who you are," I pleaded. I crawled onto the bed and pulled down the ball gag.

"I'm going to fucking kill you," she screamed. "I'm going to cut out your heart and shove it down your throat. You are so fucking dead, you Asshole! I'm going to slice..." I put the ball gag back in place and staggered out to see Timothy. I tossed my coat and tie aside then sat down beside him.

"I can't begin to describe how massively screwed we are," I muttered. Timothy sidled down the sofa and put his arm around my shoulder. I wasn't worried. Timothy respected my life choices.

"Brother, trust me. That girl came over to be tied down and fucked. My Ex was really into that, so I recognized the signs," Timothy consoled me. 

"You are worrying about nothing. Trust me. Hammer her the way you did that flight attendant on Saturday and she'll leave here with a bounce in her step," Timothy chuckled. "Oh, she'll act bitchy, but when she makes for the stairs, she'll look back and smile at you. I'd bet my life on it."

"We are, you knucklehead," I sighed. I returned to my bedroom. I wasn't a rapist. Power games were games, not something I got off on. Determining how to get out of my personal tragedy was short-circuited by Rhada herself. Her look was still as lethal, her body was still struggling against her bonds, and a teardrop of vaginal fluid was making it down the crease between her buttocks and thigh.

I turned around and walked back to Timothy, who looked amused.

"Did she bring any weapons?" I inquired.

"Yeah, this decent double-edged blade," he nodded. "On the counter." I went to the kitchenette, retrieved the sheathed knife - an early 20th century ceremonial creation, I guessed - and returned to Rhada. I shut the bedroom door and locked it.

"Well, Rhada," I leered. "Katrina is probably going to kill me for this. I might as well tear some enjoyment out of you before I die." I brandished the sheathed blade. Rhada's eyes grew wide with arousal and fear. I slowly stripped myself bare. Rhada's eyes feasted on my physique. She didn't even try to hide her fascination.

After I crawled over her body, the knife was unsheathed and the point pressed to her neck. Rhada moaned through her ball-gag. I leaned down and kissed her cheek.

"Rhada, I am going to despoil you," I whispered, my lips only millimeters away. "I'm going to wreck your body." The tip of the knife migrated down her chest, between her breasts in an achingly slow process.

Four years of some serious sexual exploration told me Rhada was on the cusp. My free hand moved unseen until it hovered over the juncture between her ass cheeks and thighs, giving minute access to her dripping cunt. I rammed two fingers into her vagina, praying she wasn't a virgin. She wasn't, my intrusion sent her off into convulsions and I yanked the knife away to keep her safe from the blade. 

As her orgasm spent itself a final series of tremors, I rolled Rhada onto her stomach and began spanking her. First she gasped then gave forth furious, but muted, declarations. The moaning started with a few stifled utterances. I broke off the beating long enough to sheath the knife and put on a condom before resuming my play.

"Now you get fucked, my slave - my prisoner," I taunted her. She moaned louder and sobbed. I pulled her up by her hips and unceremoniously shoved my cock into her love canal. It was snug, not tight. Her shudder of shame and pleasure pulsed throughout her body. A few rotations into her pleasure center and I realized the strain on her shoulders, neck and head had to be harsh. 

I quickly decided that putting Rhada with her knees off the bed to make it easier on her. My withdrawal then rapid manhandling caught her off-guard. My penetration returned her to that state of bliss. I put my pinkie in my mouth, got it nice and slick, then began wiggling it against Rhada's sphincter.

Her protestations were more verbal than physical though she winced when I actual pushed in to the first knuckle. That accomplished, I began to mercilessly pound that pussy and tease that ass for thirty minutes, until she was unresponsive. I took the break to lay out some more condoms - and answer my bedroom door. Timothy had a bagel in his mouth and a box of 'toys' in his arms.

He shoved it at me, mumbled something that could have been 'get to work', laughed and lastly shut the door. A quick sniff test suggested the goodies were clean. A few clearly contravened the UN Accords on Human Rights so I hid them away. I wasn't sure what would have been worse: Rhada freaking out when she saw them, or begging for one to be used on/in her.

The vibrators checked out, the lube seemed reasonably fresh and clamps, lash and paddles were in working order. Rhada moaned softly when I began working the blue, ribbed dildo into her cunt. Even after it was deeply in place, she didn't react much. Only when the smaller, more flexible, dildo began penetrating her ass did she come around.

Rhada frantically thrashed around in a futile effort to save her back passage.

"How wretched does a woman have to be to submit to a man forcing something up her ass?" I teased her softly. "What would Madi think if she could see you like this, giving up your pleasures like some breeding bitch?"

Rhada's resistance turned feeble and I could tell she was crying. I finished pressing the second dildo up her butthole before turning them both into vibrators. Her whole body was wrapped up in the throes of passion. I got off the bed, retrieved my phone then moved around so she could see me.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 02



"Say 'I'm a harem-slut'," I mocked her. The humiliation-driven climax overwhelmed any semblance of self-control she might have retained.

I kept taking pictures and verbally tormenting her as I described each scene. Rhada began choking and jerking as if she was in a seizure. I was on her in a flash, pulling the gag off and pulling her wet, sweaty hair away from her face. I then cut off both vibrators and carefully removed them. It took her several minutes to recover enough to do anything.

"Kill me," she feebly pleaded. "Kill me and end my shame."

"I haven't finished tormenting you, Rhada," I replied compassionately. "A woman as proud, noble and fierce as you would never fold up after just one battle. Are you giving up?" The junior Indian struggled to focus on me.

"No," she croaked. I reached down, fondled her right breast then grabbed and pinched her nipple. Rhada winced.

"Do you surrender?" I taunted her. Rhada shook her head negatively. "Lucky for me, I have clamps, paddles and a crisp lash just for you." Rhada's eyes grew wider, her heart rate quickened and her jaw set.

(Later)

Rhada was splayed out on the bed, staring at the ceiling. With the raw, swollen appearance of her nipples, I didn't envy Rhada putting on her sports bra. She had raised lash marks over her buttocks, thighs and back. It had taken me a few tries to figure out what was a glare (not hard enough), an orgasmic squeal (right on the money) and 'Argh!' (too much). 

She had carried a freight-load of sexual frustration into my apartment and I'd worked through a healthy dose of it. I had no illusions we were done. I did know we were done for the night, though. I put on some pajama shorts and left the room. When I came back, she propped herself up on both elbows and seethed hate/lust at me.

I tossed her clothes at her.

"Get dressed," I commanded. She exuded defiance. "In five minutes you are going to be on the street. If you want to be naked, that's on you. I'm finished with you." The last bit was like a slap to her face. "For tonight," I added. That did the trick. She wanted more of her Enslaved Amazon Rape fantasy.

Rhada dressed. She pretended not to notice me soaking up her beauty with undisguised hunger and I pretended not to notice her arousal under my gaze. When she finished, Rhada slipped to the edge of the bed and placed her feet on the floor. I handed her a glass of crushed ice. She had to be parched.

She drank and chewed on the ice while her eyes tried to gauge my mood. When she was mostly finished with the ice, I half turned and retrieved her blade - sheathed, of course. She appeared uncertain until I crossed my left arm level with my torso. I slapped the scabbard down on the arm, pommel toward Rhada. According to a movie I'd seen once, this was supposed to be the honorable thing to do.

Rhada gingerly reached for the pommel as if expecting me to yank it away. Once she held the pommel, she took hold of the scabbard with the other hand and drew the blade. Finally she stood up.

"Give me the phone," she demanded.

"No," I replied in a bored tone.

"I'll kill you if you don't," she threatened.

"There are no pictures, Rhada," I let my eyes run over her body once more. "Every image of you that I need is right up here," I tapped my temple. 

"The feel of your enticing flesh, your erotic sounds and your intoxicating scents are here if I need them and, if I want new ones, I'll hunt you down and make more," I licked my lips and grinned.

"Touch me again, I'll cut off your balls and burn them before your eyes," she threatened. I slapped the knife out of her hands, grabbed her upper arms and pulled her to me.

I savagely ripped a kiss from her lips, subduing her tongue and pressing her head back. I released her arms so that I could grasp her braid and a full ass cheek. Rhada groaned with a desperate hunger as she began humping me. I maneuvered her body around despite her grunted protests. Her head was forced around so I could maintain my kiss while I ground my cock against her ass. 

Rhada tentatively stroked my hand holding her braid, suggestively leading my hand to her breasts. Feeling generous, I obliged and soon was mauling her right nipple through her silk blouse and bra. Right as I felt she was ready to gift me with one more orgasm, I pushed her face first on the bed. Her lustful gaze as she rolled over turned to frustration.

"Time for you to leave," I commanded. She slithered off the bed, gave me a hateful glare, retrieved her knife and stormed out of the room. I followed laconically along because Timothy was under the impression we both might not be dead soon. Sure enough, at the stairs, Rhada turned and presented me with this wistful smile then left.

I walked back into my abode. Timothy chuckled.

"I told you, Cáel," he rubbed it in. "Sometimes you pet that kitty and sometimes you spank it."

"For a man who truly appreciates a good phallus, you sure know a great deal about women's sexuality," I regarded my roomie as I sat beside him.

"Bro, you would be astounded by the number of female strangers who spill their deepest, darkest secrets, fantasies and desires the second they find out I'm gay," Timothy explained. "I guess they don't think I'll be judgmental, or jealous."

"So you are a gay man who is a closet heterosexual?" I joked. He punched me.

"Give away my secret and next time, the nutjob will come in to find you trussed up on the bed," he countered. My phone rang. It wasn't work so I didn't weep.

"Cáel Nyilas," I answered.

"Cáel, this is Odette. I didn't wake you did I?" she sounded chipper.

"Wide awake. I just tossed an Indian princess out of place after a marathon S&M session," I responded with the truth dressed up like a lie. "Do you want to do something tonight?"

"What do you have in mind?" she teased. She had to be thinking the whole 'Indian Princess' thing was a joke - poor, naive girl.

"Before we make love, I'd like to give you a massage," I suggested.

"You think I have sex on the first date?" She wasn't pissed. They never were.

"Girls have sex, women make love and our first date should involve doing something that convinces you to want a second date," I suggested. "We can discuss where you want to go on the first date after your first orgasm." There was a long pause.

"Do you want me to come to your place?" she asked. I gave her my address. An added bonus was that I didn't have to worry about Buffy knowing where to pick me up in the morning.

"Few men who are not professional escorts are so confident they can nail a woman a day," Timothy laughed. I looked him over. I hadn't had sex - Sunday night, or Monday.

"Bitch, help me clean my room. Half of Rhada is your fault after all," I grumbled. That led to the discussion that Rhada had peed on my bed, flipping it over wasn't nearly enough and that a wastebasket with tissue wads and used condoms probably wasn't the message I wanted to send to this latest conquest.

Don't get me wrong. I wanted a first and second date with Odette. Usually, somewhere along the line, each girl figured out I was nailing one, two, or three other women and they got pissed. Then came the screaming, crying, yelling and various insinuations about my parentage and anatomy. Finally there was the breakup sex, her hating me (and herself) for the break-up and then another round of break-up sex so she could convince herself we were done.

That was usually it, discounting the 'showing up drunk at my door' sex, the 'I'm lonely and it's your fault' sex, and the 'let's get back together' sex. I've taken back a lady who stabbed me so I clearly have no common sense or morals. It's my damn libido, I swear. I'm really not some asshole who never returns their call, makes them sleep in the wet spot, or ignores their litany of life's woes. I like to think I'm better than that.



Life as a New Hire Ch. 03



This story plays fast and loose with Ancient History and Linguistics; be warned.

Instinct, education and experience are complementary, not in opposition.

*****

(Wednesday)

The phone rang. The clock was flashing 6:15. Odette snuggled up to me, making cute, happy cat-like noises. Timothy's bed was bigger than mine so I had to reach out to get my mobile device. For the tenth time, I silently thanked Timothy for switching bedrooms with me, though I believed he had chosen to sleep on the sofa instead.

"Hello," I said quietly.

"It's Buffy. I'll be there in fifteen minutes," she stated firmly.

"I have a companion over," I hesitated. "Can you make it twenty-five?"

"Who is that, Cáel Nyilas," Odette yawned. She liked the way my full name rolled of her tongue.

"Who is that?" Buffy grilled me.

"She's a sweet young lady I met - the rest is none of your business," I told Buffy. To Odette, "It is one of my many bosses. After my 'auto accident' (I couldn't tell a stranger that some psycho bitch - who I had just screwed - had her mentor kick the shit out of me), she brought me home then deposited me at your workplace. My bike is still at work." I had told Odette I was a cyclist.

"Does she think you are sexy?" Odette giggled. I groaned.

"81 days, Cáel," Buffy reminded me. "81 days," then she hung up. I wasn't getting my extra ten minutes.

"Do we have time...?" Odette wiggled her whole body against mine.

"I don't think so. Babe," I sighed. "All I can do is go down on you then I have to grab a shower and get dressed." Odette blinked, blinked again, then brightened up incredibly.

"If that's all we can do," she exhibited no regrets as she hurled the covers back. It took me seven minutes to bring her to orgasm.

I was good, but I had also torn up Odette pretty badly last night. I had to buy Timothy some more condoms. I felt kinda bad for using the number I did. I raced to the shower, did a Wonder Woman (hold your arms out and spin around a few times in the shower), raced back to Timothy's room - Timothy shot me with his Nerf gun from the sofa (Odette was vocal) - and began dressing.

"Odette, stay and get some sleep," I stroked her cheek. "Timothy heads to work around ten, so if you could head out with him so he can lock up the place. Fix whatever breakfast you like. If it is Timothy, I'll make it up to him."

"You mean beyond letting us use his room?" she fixed me with her feline eyes. I coughed.

"Come on, Cáel Nyilas, this room is plastered with male Calvin Klein models and you have five copies of the Village Voice on your dresser. You are far too proficient with punching all my buttons to be gay," she pointed out.

"Gay men can be very sexually proficient," I countered.

"Cáel Nyilas (damn, she loved my name), you came five times. I lost track of how many orgasms I had. If you are gay, you aren't in De-Nile, you are in Ethiopia," she giggled. This wasn't the right moment to brag that I ejaculated eight times last night. Rhada filled up three condoms during our little escapade. I repeat, I have an out of control libido.

"Gotta go," I straddled Odette and gave her a kiss. I deftly avoided the French grapple because I had the feeling that Buffy wasn't the kind to wait patiently.

"Timothy..." I mumbled as I sped to the door.

"I know - girl - bed - sleeping," he groaned. As the door shut I heard him add, "at least he's not dull."

I managed not to kill myself tumbling down the stairs in my haste to reach the street. Buffy was waiting and drumming her hands on the steering wheel. I tried the car door - it was locked. A tap on the window earned me a baleful glare. I sighed and fell on my knees.

"Please," I begged. "Please, please, please let me in the car." I heard a click after ten seconds.

"You're late," she remarked as we sped away. I hastily put on my seat belt.

"I apologize," I tried being obsequious. 

"You had better be, damn it," she seethed. Oh...I scented arousal...and jealousy. We drove a few blocks in silence. "Who was it?"

"Are we on the clock?" I countered. Pause.

"No," she said in a clipped tone.

"None of your fucking business, then," I growled. "My sex life is none of your concern, Buffy. It is none of your group's concern, so give it a rest."

"Or what?" Buffy's eyes narrowed. I wished she would watch the road.

"Thunderdome, Bitch!" I grinned. Oh, she tried. She tried really hard to stay angry with me.

"I hate you," she snickered. She pulled out her phone and handed it to me. It was a picture of Buffy, Katrina, Tessa, Desiree and some woman who looked familiar standing, or kneeling, behind a pile of dead animals. All the ladies had bows, knives and camo gear.

"Does the Audubon Society know about this? I'm pretty sure the World Wildlife Fund would have a freaking stroke," I nodded.

"Ladies at Havenstone have a passion for killing things," Buffy measured me. "I thought you might want to know."

"Why do you use bows?" I questioned. "Don't your boobs get in the way?" Buffy smacked me in the chest - hard. I could have blocked. That would have been counterproductive. No, I grabbed her right boob and gave it a strong squeeze. In retaliation, she hit me again. I grabbed her boob. This went on until we entered the garage. She got in the last hit.

"We are on the clock now," I notified her. She seemed less than pleased. "Very nice, by the way."

"Huh?" Buffy studied.

"Sorry. Any continuation of this conversation would constitute sexual harassment," I sighed.

"I am mentally projecting negative emotions your way," Buffy grumbled.

"I believe the totality of your efforts create a positive outlook for me," I grinned. 

"Have you ever been skydiving?" Buffy dropped out of the blue on me in the elevator ride up.

"With, or without, a parachute?" I inquired. She blessed me with a feral smile.

I hurried to Katrina's office, Buffy a step behind me, rumbling like the jaguar she'd performed illegal dentistry on. She wasn't trying to intimidate me. Buffy was trying to mark her territory. I made it to my desk without actually being scent-marked, so I considered the encounter a draw.

"Have fun last night?" Katrina inquired without looking up.

"More than any one man should have," I confessed. Further conversation was severed by the arrival of the first of the female 'new hires'. As Katrina started our little meeting, I surreptitiously put in the work order for my suits. I wasn't sneaky enough for Katrina.

"Are you suffering some sort of head trauma that makes you believe you can avoid participation in this meeting?" she purred.

"No, Ma - Katrina," I was contrite. "I had to submit a work order for the business suits Buffy and Helena purchased for me last night so I would stop coming to work dressed like a homeless panhandler." That killed four of the girls; they failed to stifle their giggles.

"Couldn't you have dealt with that on the way in?" Katrina had this glitter in her eyes.

"Buffy was attempting to subject me to vehicular homicide," I replied. "I was afraid for my life on multiple occasions, up to and including her entry into the garage."

"How horrifying for you," Katrina delivered deadpan.

"I had my hands full, I swear," I placed my hand over my heart.

"I suspect that was the case," Katrina allowed. "Is there anything else you need to take care of while the rest of us wait on you?"

"Thank you, yes there is," I smiled, nodded and began typing away.

"I was being facetious, but then you knew that," Katrina teased. Several girls were openly giggling now. 

When I finished, I walked around Katrina's desk, went to one knee and lowered my head. Katrina scanned my latest request.

"Really?" she was intrigued.

"Yes, Ma'am," I looked up at her. She ran her hands through my hair. "Katrina."

"You are trying," Katrina remarked. That could read either way. "Go back to your station before I show you where you really belong," she chuckled. I stood up and fist-pumped.

"Woo-who!" I shouted. "I'm going to bed." That finished them off. Even Fabiola cracked a tiny bit and snickered behind her hand.

The real joke they were embracing - making me part of their new breeding program - was the punchline to the joke Katrina and I found amusing. I knew the truth. We received our assignments and left the office.

"How did your date with Rhada go last night?" Paula nudged me.

"It wasn't a date. It was a corporate appointment," I corrected. "As for the rest - you don't want to know. Please believe me, you don't want to know."

"I can make you tell us," Fabiola smirked. The group kept together until I reached Desiree's desk. She was my boss for the day and she was not pleased, or amused.

Fabiola saved me.

"Sister, compel this one to tell us what happened with Rhada last night," Fabiola sneered in Hittite. I played dumb which wasn't hard in my fatigued state. Desiree transferred all of her dislike of me into outrage at Fabiola's breach.

"Is your blood poisoned?" Desiree seethed. "When they tossed you off the rocks, did you bounce back up, or are you so arrogantly stupid you would flaunt one of our most basic safeguards?"

"You are only half the woman you could have been," Fabiola shot back.

By the way Desiree flew out of her chair that was a deadly insult. I put my body between them and grabbed Desiree by her upper arms.

"Release me," she yelled, her hate returned its focus to me.

"You are my boss," I explained calmly. "I most join you in your battles. Is this a battle you truly want to fight, here and now?"

"Release me at once," Desiree commanded.

"One of us hiding behind a man," Fabiola mocked Desiree. Daphne punched her. "Ow!"

"Care to try that on me?" Daphne challenged Fabiola. "My family's prestige has never been called into question." I was starting to think they meant genetic purity.

"Buffy would not want me to let you come to harm," I whispered to Desiree then released her. It was that hunting photo that made me make that leap. Desiree glared at me. A slap followed, but it wasn't all that hard.

"Do not touch me without permission, Cáel Nyilas," she commanded in a clear voice.

The matter was almost settled.

"Come on," Desiree barked. I had one final bit to take care of.

"Daphne, thank you. Helena says you are coming along really well. Maybe we could have a few drinks after hours and you can give me some pointers," I requested.

Daphne seemed to mull that over. We had moved past the entrapment phase to the 'male in the bull pen - what do we do with him now' phase.

"I'll think about it," Daphne shot me this sexually curious look. Off they went and I had to sprint to catch up with Desiree who hadn't stopped to listen to my conversation with Daphne.

"Do not be flippant with me," Desiree grumbled. "I am not Buffy."

"Of course you are not," I nodded. "Katrina values your counsel and she trusts you."

"You know nothing," Desiree groused.

"Really? Helena and Buffy were sent away with me yesterday afternoon - you stayed," I began.

"This male internship program is the brainchild of Katrina and Tessa. Maybe she thinks that I'm in danger, thus her program, so she chooses you to safeguard me - no other," I added. "I don't think much of my place here as an individual, but I represent something of value to our boss. If that is the case, how much does she value and respect you?"

"Do you ever shut up?" she glared at me.

"Is that a question, or a veiled order?" I grinned. She glared some more. I kept quiet. Desiree had to enter a special code to gain us access to Basement Level 3. A short trip down a drab concrete hall illuminated a door and two Amazon's guarding it.

Desiree's ID card allowed her access. Mine did not. The security types verified my permission to be there, then verified it again. Finally, one pulled Desiree and questioned her. With great reluctance, the guards let me into the room. Their caution made sense. This was the Havenstone Corporate HQ armory.

This was not a few guns in a case with handful of wall sconces. Nope, this was an ATF gun-gasm, White Supremacist Nirvana, and a Gangster's Paradise all rolled into one. Desiree went to one table, lifted and examined one 9mm Walther PPQ, loaded the clip and gave it to me.

"It has no safety, so be careful," she notified me. She tossed the shoulder holster and two spare magazines my way.

As she readied her own weapon set, I put on my shoulder holster and secured my weapon.

"This is nuts, Desiree," I stated. "I'm not ex-military. I'm not a security officer, bodyguard, or assassin either."

"Don't get hysterical," Desiree snorted. "This is a simple assignment. We are going to pick up some school children and take them to their exclusive academy."

"Besides, on your resume, you claimed to have a passing familiarity with a number of firearms," she grunted.

"What do I do if we are stopped by the cops?" I inquired.

"Go to jail."

With that sterling pep-talk, we exited the bunker with a variety of weapons - mostly Desiree's because she was clearly anticipating the end of the world. She stored the weapons in our new, armored car while I stood close by acting like a weapons dispenser. According to established routine, I was given no specific instructions until we arrived on site where I was then supposed to instantly absorb the knowledge.

I gave that some thought. Havenstone knew their male hires had academic success. Given twenty-four hours, we could memorize anything. The Amazons, being a militant culture, were testing us to see how quickly we thought on our feet. It was still mean. As we pulled up to our Brownstone destination, I was given our mission.

Desiree was to go into the house, retrieve three schoolgirls, Aya (9), Europa (13) and Loraine (16), and bring them into the car. I was to wait on the stoop, hold the car door for them and keep my yap shut. By insisting I not use flippancy, Desiree had cut off my conversation at the knees.

"Woman, grey coat at the North corner," Desiree muttered to me as we started up the stairs. She went inside; I stayed on the stoop. Thankfully, my sojourn into Amazon politics had strengthened my ability to ignore the obvious and appreciate the benign. Two women were meandering up from the South and the woman to the North had gained a companion before Desiree returned. The girls came out first.

At the bottom step I caught sight of movement. I turned and stopped the children from advancing.

"Hey," the Loraine squawked.

"Cáel..." Desiree got out.

"Two to the North and two to the South - closing in," I whispered.

She did a casual scan.

"Take them to the car," Desiree ordered. I thought that was pretty stupid. If a murder/kidnapping was in the offing, getting the kids back inside seemed more prudent. I hesitated. She glared. I swallowed my instincts and began sheparding the girls down the stairs.

The moment the third child's feet hit the sidewalk, both groups of women began speeding up. I was trying to hustle the girls to the car's back door when a van came speeding up out of nowhere. I wasn't going to get door open in time.

"Down!" I shouted as I used my superior size to press my three wards down and against the car. The van screeched to a halt and the sliding door opened.

I drew, aimed over the top of the car and fired the pistol twice without even thinking that I was murdering somebody. I heard Desiree firing to the North. The woman in the van door slumped back. A second one tried to untangle herself so I put two bullets in her as well. I took a step and a half South, kneeled to shelter the girls with my body and began firing at the two southern women running my way.

I put two bullets into each of them - missing every shot. Crap. Suddenly, as I was shoving a new clip into my semi-automatic pistol, the eldest child broke and ran for the stairs. I looked over my shoulder. Desiree was down. One woman remained coming from the North. I hurled my body at Loraine, taking her down. I landed us on my shoulder then rolled to cover her. 

I brought up the pistol and fired twice at the northern woman.

"Cease fire!" an unfamiliar female voice commanded. The northern woman stopped. As I swung my pistol South, I noticed Desiree sitting up. The two women in the van were coming back to life too. Three women I didn't recognize were coming down the Brownstone steps. 

The lead female was clearly in charge. She approached me and extended a hand.

"Male - pistol," she demanded. I rose to me knees, pulling away from her and yanking Loraine behind me.

"Lady, I don't know you," I growled. "I'm not giving you my gun, or the girls, until someone tells me what's going on."

I was contemplating how bad her punch/slap/kick was going to be when Loraine laughed.

"That was fun," she exulted. "He tackled me and everything."

"Cáel," Desiree ordered, "give her the gun." I wasn't happy, but I did hand over the weapon.

"It was loaded with blanks, Moron," the leader smirked. "We would never let a man with a loaded weapon around our children."

"Thank God," I mused. "I couldn't understand how I missed those two down South."

"What makes you think you would have hit them?" she sneered. I pulled Loraine up with me as I resumed my feet then put her behind me.

"What makes you think your brain isn't as blank as the bullets you gave me?" I glared.

"Watch your tongue, Male," she glared right back.

"You threatened three children under my care," I grumbled. "Be happy I don't plant you on your ass." She looked more than happy to throw down.

"They were never your children to protect," Desiree spoke up. "This was a training exercise."

I looked over my shoulder at the other two girls. They were smiling at me. This had been fun for them. The only one who didn't know this was fake was me. I groaned.

"Clip," the leader snapped. I handed it over without protest. I'd used the other spare. She turned to Desiree. "Take them to school."

The five of us piled into the car and drove away. It was less than stunning that I didn't get a new firearm. I was sitting in the front passenger seat, feeling morose and angry when Europa spoke.

"That was really brave," she commented. "You did much better than the lady last spring. She went nuts."

"Really", I swiveled so I could see their faces and make sure they weren't pulling something on me.

"Oh, yeah," Loraine chuckled. "She ran right at the two down the street, firing as she went. Totally missed the van rolling up. Forgot she was supposed to protect us."

"She got high marks for marksmanship," Europa told me, "but we never saw her again."

"You smell nice," Aya beamed little kittens my way.

"He smells like sex," Loraine giggled.

"Starting with the fact that you are underage, add my desire to live and we end up with us not having his conversation," I winked.

"I've never seen a man as pretty as you even at school. The boys in my class are such jerks. They say I'm a freak because I have no Daddy," Aya went from happy to a frown.

"When I was in grade school, they called me a freak too, Aya," I met her gaze. "The difference is, I deserved it. I was a rude, mean person." 

"Not having a Daddy doesn't determine if you are a freak; how you behave does. You are a very nice woman so they should be nicer to you. You are not a freak. Trust me, I'd know it if you were," I gave Aya a warm smile and tapped her nose playfully.

"Whomever controls you did a good job," Europa observed.

"No," Desiree snapped. The children must have been briefed on my status as well as spent a lifetime disguising their true culture.

"Europa, I am controlled by Katrina. I'll relay your compliment. She has delegated me to Desiree for the day, which means I'm with you three this morning," I answered despite Desiree's disapproval.

The private academy was for the wealthy; gender was not an issue. Security checked our ID's before they let us disgorge our precious cargo. 




Life as a New Hire Ch. 03



"Desiree, can Cáel Nyilas walk me to class this morning?" Aya requested. The look Desiree burned my way was intimidating.

"Of course, Aya," Desiree relented. "Cáel, only take as much time as necessary."

"Nos morituri te salutamus," I grinned. I knew that was overly dramatic. How tough could a room full of third graders be? Aya took me by the hand and led me in. Wow! Her teacher was a hottie. A quick glance suggested she was unmarried and very interested in me.

"Ms. Reichmann, this is my Daddy," Aya announced loudly. Ms. Reichmann's eyes flicked down to notice my lack of a wedding band. I knelt so that I was eye to eye with Aya.

"Aya, honey, Father has to talk to Ms. Reichmann in private for a moment. Please take your seat and I'll see you before I leave," I smiled paternally at Aya. She skipped to her seat.

"Ulyssa," Ms. Reichmann bit her lower lip.

"Ulyssa, is there a place where I can talk with you in private?" I asked with open innocence and a heavy undercurrent of passion. It turned out there was an unused conference room at the end of the hall.

I left Ulyssa with a smoldering look that guaranteed me a call-back. If any of the kids had the faintest idea why she was so flushed, short of breath and happy, they gave no hint. Aya took excessive pride in showing her 'Daddy' off to all her classmates. Any time I detected a bully, I gave the 'I'm keeping an eye on you' glare. I was whistling as I returned to the car.

"28 fucking minutes!" Desiree screamed at me.

"I had a little chat with Aya's teacher. I thought it would be nice if Ms. Reichmann was aware that Aya was unhappy," I reduced our love-making to the bare bones, 'no mention of sex' facts. "She said she'd keep a special eye out for Aya."

"That wasn't your job," Desiree seethed. We started driving away.

"I doubt you'll listen to my..." I go out.

"Shut up," she interrupted. "You have nothing to say that I want to hear."

"You shut up and imagine for a second I don't hate you and that I'm pretty good reading women in a way you are unaccustomed to," I snapped back.

"Katrina is going to be hard pressed to save you from this outburst," she sneered vindictively.

"How about this; Katrina saw potential in you so she's given you a chance to restore your prestige. What you are failing to understand is the underlying concept of family at Havenstone. This means they put a premium on their children - their female children," I suggested.

"Protecting the next generation can't be a job for you. It wouldn't be for them. To those women, perpetuating their families is all-important and you must see it as an obligation handed down to you by all your Havenstone predecessors." See, I avoided saying blood lines and their fucked up Amazon heritage.

"I don't know what your mother did wrong. Whatever it is, Katrina doesn't care and she's the one that really matters," I prodded. "Useless pricks like Fabiola won't be of any use to you even if they did like you. Thus endeth the male blathering."

"How do you know it was my Mother?" Desiree asked after several minutes driving.

"Desiree, your father could have done a fan dance on a table at the Presidential Inaugural Dinner and the women of Havenstone wouldn't give a damn. From Fabiola's big mouth, I'm guessing your mother married a guy that the family didn't approve of. In the status-obsessed corporate culture we are stuck with, that has to be pretty dreadful," I finished.

We were almost at Havenstone's Corporate HQ before Desiree spoke. She had been positively grim, far beyond her normal grumpiness.

"I killed them," she stated in a cold, emotionless voice.

"Who?"

"My parents. When my aunt found me and told me about my true heritage and what my parents had done, I killed them," Desiree answered in the same lifeless tone.

"I'm not going to lie to you. That's totally fucked up, but then I'm not you and I don't have to walk in your shoes," I mused. "I'm certainly not going to give you sympathy, or pity."

"You are a horrible person for not having the strength of character to allow your mother and father to live with the choices they made. Killing them was a totally selfish act. Before you say 'you wouldn't understand', let me tell you that's bullshit. Like you, I had a mother and father. My Mom is dead and I miss her every day. I think you miss them and that's why you are so damn bitter."

"I should kill you for that liberty," Desiree informed me.

"Bring it, Kitten," I scoffed. "I'd kick your ass."

"What inspires that delusion?" she turned to me. We had parked in the garage by this time.

"I have righteous fury on my side. Against that, you have no defense," I grinned.

"I warned you against flippancy," she reminded me.

"Is that a demand that I present my righteous fury for your examination?" I countered. Silence. We went through the security rigmarole, put up the firearms. As we were leaving, I turned to Desiree.

"You would think those two educationally-challenged bimbos would have warned me I was carrying blanks," I griped. The two security babes' posture turned all agro on me.

"I really should leave you here with them for a few hours," Desiree threatened.

"Have I told you recently how much I find you to be a kind, beneficent, wise and gifted teacher and sensei?" I faux-pleaded.

"Shut up," she grunted as we made my getaway.

"I think I know why Katrina tolerates you," Desiree told me after a few second in the elevator.

"To try everyone else's patience?" I guessed.

"Precisely," she shoved me. "Stop being overly clever. It is unattractive in a male."

"Stranger danger!" I shouted (still in the elevator) as I backed into the far corner. "Stranger danger!"

"If I had a gun, I would shoot you," she glared. There was a glimmer of amusement as well.

"At this range, you would probably miss," I taunted her playfully.

Desiree trembled with conflicting emotions. She gave in, stepped up and punched me in the chest. I kept laughing so she hit me again, but she was letting a tiny smile creep across her lips too.

"Damn you," she ground her teeth, fighting her happiness. "Fine. Cáel, to my side." There I went.

"Kneel." I knelt. The elevator doors opened, Desiree stepped out, turned to gaze into my eyes then cruelly smiled as the doors shut and the elevator continued up. The looks I got from women as they accessed the device was priceless. It took a while for one to break the silence.

"What are you doing?" she inquired.

"My boss told me to kneel here," I explained, "so here I kneel. In nine hours, if I can still walk, I'm going home and taking a long, hot bath."

"You are just going to stay there for nine hours?" another woman groused.

"I'm an intern. An order is an order and it isn't like she's forgotten where she left me."

"Our male intern isn't nearly this nice," a third lady commented. "We call him the Chinchilla. When he isn't acting as if he's somehow valuable, he scurries about like a rodent." That would be Brian I was willing to bet. The women in the elevator were suddenly self-conscious they'd talked that way around another male intern.

"Do you have a nickname?" the third one tried to make light of the faux-pas.

"I think there are three in the running: 'come here', 'kneel', and 'shut up'. When I hear one of those, I assume they are talking to me," I joked. They snickered. God, I could have an orgy in this elevator. Thank goodness my libido was still slaked from nailing Ulyssa the teacher. 

"Where are you?" Desiree snapped over the phone eight minutes later. I had her on speaker.

"I'm right where you left me," I grinned. There was a new crowd in my box. I was getting the impression the word of my fate was circulating around the building and women were slipping over to see for themselves.

"Are you an idiot?" she grumbled.

"I'll leave the evaluation of my mental facilities to the experts, oh glorious Boss of mine," I replied. "I would like to report there are two wonderful ladies from International Finance putting a shipping label on me as we speak," I lied. From the look of one of the ladies, that wasn't such a bad, or far-fetched, idea.

"Stand. Get off the elevator on the fourteenth floor and go to Conference Room L," Desiree commanded. "Do you need to write out your orders in crayon?"

"I'd prefer you use body paint," I bantered. The ladies around me didn't know what to make of the exchange.

"81 days, Jackass," Desiree promised balefully.

"I tremble in anticipation - no, wait, that's fear," I snorted in amusement.

"You are very irreverent," a lady onboard observed. This wasn't a good thing in her mind.

"I apologize, Ma'am. Reverence required me to become a eunuch and no job is worth my jewels in a jar," I bowed.

"I will report your poor attitude and mockery of your assignment to Tessa," she vowed.

"Very well, Ma'am..." I started.

"Astarte," she gave her name.

"Very well, Astarte."

"Please consider that I am doing precisely what I've been told to do and that my humor has made multiple travelers on this elevator smile," I continued. "Happy employees are more productive employees and barring being given something productive to do with my time, I've decided to give busy women a small bit of amusement."

Astarte had no good comeback to my defense. I didn't doubt Katrina and Tessa would get hate mail no matter what I said. The fourteenth floor job turned out to be transporting something from a director's safe to a bank vault. Drudgery followed - laundry, dinners, delivering a new car (I drove the company car back; Desiree drove the new car), picking up my suits and ending off where the day began - school.

I had barely exited the car when I heard a little girl scream "There's my Daddy". I sensed this was going to be a problem in the future. Aya didn't come running up to me. No, she made sure every classmate she could reach knew her 'Daddy' was here to take her home. Things got 'better' when she and some friends approached.

"Mr. Ruger (Aya's family name), is it true you are a spy?" a rather aggressive male classmate asked. I took a deep breath. My gaze made Aya looked down, embarrassed. I could sense her tormentors closing in. I knelt in front of Aya and tilted her chin up so we were eye to eye.

"Now, Sugar," I addressed her, "we've had this discussion before. You can't tell people what Daddy does. That would put a lot of good people's lives in danger."

"I expected better of you, Aya. You must never tell strangers what I do for a living. Don't forget that," I chastised her. Turning my focus to the surrounding children, "Forget that Aya ever told you I was a spy. Otherwise, bad things might happen to our family. Understood?"

They nodded, eyes wide with shock and fear. 

See, Aya's Daddy WAS a spy, but no one could talk about it or people would die. In the eyes of a nine year old, that was so cool, if scary. The thing was, I hadn't lied. I had been evasive. We had been on the road for two minutes when Loraine conveyed a concept she was having difficulty with.

"Thank you, Cáel," she told me. "That was a very nice thing you did for Aya." I had to think of the clearest way to express why I had done what I had done, circumstances included.

"I'm not a father, but if I was and Aya was my daughter, I would defend her as the situation warranted - physically, or verbally."

"They pay you to be with us," Europa grumbled. I laughed - hard enough to hurt my sides.

"Europa, Havenstone doesn't have enough money to keep me on this job," I chuckled.

"Why do you do it then?" Loraine leaned forward.

"If I make it three months, I get a date with Desiree," I lied.

"Do you think she's pretty?" Europe prodded.

"No. She scares me. If I quit, I have to take her out on a date the next day," I continued fibbing.

"Stay at Havenstone. You can do better than dating a half-breed," Loraine stated. I digested that.

"Loraine, your weakness sickens me," I gave her a pained look. "Unsettling an opponent is acceptable. Insulting an ally is a quality of an immature and insecure mind."

"You don't talk to me like that," Loraine spat.

"Or what?" I mocked her. "Are we going to stop the car and take this fight to the sidewalk?"

"If we do that, I'm going to spank your pathetic ass and we both know it," I grumbled. "No, you'll have to hide behind Desiree and her sisters - the women you just insulted with an issue that is no one's business but hers. Are you going to show some courage and agree to fight me, or are you going to be worthy of your family, show some respect and apologize?"

"I don't want her apology," Desiree stated blandly.

"I'm not doing it for you," I told Desiree. "I'm doing it for her. She should have the chance to not grow up ignorant and rude." Loraine was forming up an angry retort.

"Cáel, please stop," Aya pleaded.

"Of course, Aya," I smiled at her.

"We are not finished. You are the one who is rude and ignorant," Loraine persisted. I ignored her. "I'm going to get you fired." Ignored again. "Say something!" Kept ignoring her. She hit my shoulder. Ignored yet again. She finally sat back in her seat, crossed her arms and sulked.

"Why won't you talk to my sister?" Europa inquired. I assumed she meant Loraine.

"Economy of motion," I answered. "She's not listening to me and she's upsetting Aya. Arguing with Loraine would only upset Aya more while accomplishing nothing."

"You are a jerk," Loraine seethed. Oh fuck...I knew that tone. How could I have missed it?

"She thinks you are hot," Europa smirked. Ah, sibling rivalry. Loraine prepared to hit Europa.

"In two more years I can tell her what a beautiful young woman she is," I 'told' Europa. "For now, I work for her family and she's underage."

"You think I'm beautiful?" Loraine perked up, anger forgotten. The wonder of teenage hormones.

I didn't respond to Loraine, which renewed her fury.

"Do you think I'm prettier?" Aya jumped in.

"Well, you don't have Loraine's deep blue eyes and Junior Miss physique, but you have the cuter smile and the boundless spirit of a winner," I winked at Aya. Loraine flipped back to pleased.

"What about me?" Europa prodded.

"Oh, you are a total hag," I sighed sadly. "It hurts me to look at you." Europa's jaw dropped then she hit me repeatedly.

"I give. I give," I surrendered. The conflict was resolved for the rest of the trip.

Aya was upset that Desiree wouldn't let me take her into the family's brownstone. After the chore was done, Desiree was non-communicative. I made it through the End of Day meeting intact with the hint that I actually did a good job. A bizarre conflict developed as I made my way to the elevator in my biking gear and a bulging dress bag - I was taking a taxi home.

Buffy and Helena collided with the 'new hires' over who had the right to bombard me with sexual innuendo. I dodged any discussion on Rhada, blushed through my hart cords saga as well as my solo attempt at moose hunting, and all fishing expeditions concerning my dinner with Katrina.

In the middle of my workout back at home, I got a call from the Desk Sergeant's daughter. Her name was Nikita Kutuzov - NYPD rookie patrolwomen and she exuded this raw confidence tempered with a suspicious nature. We agreed to meet for dinner. When we sat down at this Polish deli she frequented, she got down to brass tacks.

"Have you ever been in a committed relationship?" was her lead in question.

"Define a committed relationship," I countered.

"The answer would be 'no'," she sighed.

"Why should I go out with you?" was her next point of attack.

"I have a plethora of bizarre knowledge, I laugh at danger and have an incessant desire to learn," I answered. That won me some points.

"How much do you make a year?" she inquired.

"Go to the bathroom, take off your panties then come back and give them to me," I responded.

Her eyes narrowed.

"Your request was about as rude as mine," I sighed. "Listen, if you are looking for an excuse to not go out with me, I'll spill some water on the table, you can tell your mother I was clumsy and call it a night," I suggested. She glared, I looked bored then she got up and left.

I wasn't worried for a second. A girl hadn't dumped me on the first date in three years. When she returned Nikita passed her undies under the table. I took the offering and deftly pocketed them.

"$237,000 a year," I confessed. Nikita choked on her soda. "I do dangerous work."

When I said 'fat paycheck' I meant 'FAT PAYCHECK'. In retrospect, this was the shiny lure they hooked us pompous 'Cream of the Crop' doofuses with. My pay was probably a clerical error as I would have taken the job for far less.

"But you just got out of college," she choked. "Do you weapon test plutonium, or what?"

"I really can't talk about my job, Nikita. Most of it is mindless stuff a trained chimpanzee could do yet falls within the purview of corporate confidentiality," I told her. "I am on call 24/7, which is a bit sucky - reference my salary again. I also get long- and short-term disability, major medical, eye, dental and health insurance plus a generous life insurance policy and a 401K."

"They have you doing illegal things, don't they?" she leaned across the table.

"I refuse to answer on the grounds I'm on a date with a law enforcement agent," I parried.

"I can't date a criminal," she cautioned.

"Would it help if I promise to never get caught?" I tried to look innocent.

"That's a ringing endorsement for me leaving right now," she grinned. She wasn't doing that. They never did. It is not that women are sluts. I exude the promise of great, guilt-free sex and each one believes they are going to be the one that reels me in and tames me. This despite all the evidence to the contrary - namely that I do this with every woman I meet.

We finished eating, bought some drinks to go and took a walk. Somewhere along the way, I slipped my arm around her waist. Nikita took thirty seconds to bring it up.

"What's with this?" she prodded.

"I like the feel of your body close to mine, Nikita. If it bothers you, I'll stop," I offered.

She didn't stop me; she reciprocated the gesture and carried on. We talked about growing up; me in Chicago and her in New York City, missing one parent (her father divorced her mom, my mother having died of cancer) and having the other parent work long hours. She'd graduated from Queens College with a degree in Criminal Justice then gone to the Police Academy - she was a year older than me.

We parted ways outside the Deli. I gave her a tender French kiss. She wanted more. I wanted a second date so we parted ways with Nikita looking over her shoulder and grinning at me as she walked away. Girls like it when you only have eyes for them. My bicycle had barely gotten on the road home when my phone rang - work.

I had to go to corporate and meet up with Desiree. I called her and gave her my location - I was in the wrong direction, farther from the workplace than normal. She grudgingly agreed the best course of action was to come get me, though the purpose of the assignment wasn't given. Desiree didn't utter a word as she picked me up and drove to the work site.

We ended up at the children's house. Desiree parked the car and led me, in my bike clothes, up the steps of the townhouse. The looks we were greeted with weren't promising. The woman at the door was an older version of Loraine - not her twin but closely related. I had barely crossed the door sill when the nature of the problem became evident.

Aya was screaming. Desiree and I were kept in the entryway for a minute until a more mature woman came gliding down the stairs, clearly steamed and, upon seeing me, livid with rage.

"What have you done to my child?" the older woman seethed.

"I'm not sure what you are talking about," I answered.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 03



"He did nothing more than his job," Desiree's defense of me came out of nowhere. "He engaged himself in the welfare of your daughter. I was there the entire time."

"Come this way," the older woman beckoned. Desiree, the woman from the door and me followed her up two flights of stairs to Aya's room. 

Loraine and Europa had stepped out of their rooms and were observing us.

"There," the woman - Mom - pointed me into the room.

"Cáel," Aya squealed. "You came." She was sitting in bed with her arms outstretched. I crossed the distance, sat down and hugged her.

"Now what seems to be the problem?" I tapped her nose.

"I...I - ah - wanted you to tuck me in," she mumbled.

"As your Daddy, or as Cáel?" I questioned.

"As my Daddy," she murmured. 

"I am not your Daddy, Aya," I explained. "I am your friend, and your guardian upon occasion, but I am not worthy of being your Father. You are a very special girl and I am the son of a working stiff from Chicago. With your Mom's and Katrina's permission, I would gladly help you convince the World that I am your Daddy. We must remember that this is not real, okay?"

"Why can't you be my real Daddy?" Aya asked. 'Because your Mommy would bite my dick off' didn't seem the politically correct thing to say.

"Life can be very harsh, Aya. We all face different challenges. Since life has not provided you with a Daddy, you must find a way to get by without one," I said. "Now let me tuck you in."

We hugged, I tucked her in, kissed her on her forehead then waited around a few seconds while she held my adult hand in her tiny mitt. As I left, the Mother cut off the light and shut the door.

"Good night, Cáel," Europa and Loraine called out. I waved, but kept my peace. Downstairs, it was a bit less pleasant. 

"I will report this egregious breech of conduct to Katrina. You are dismissed," she waved her hand.

"Really?" I perked up.

"Cáel, don't," Desiree cautioned me.

"Oh, come on," I pleaded. "Desiree, what is the penalty for tucking a little girl into bed? Wait - wait, are they going to get me for NOT embarrassing a child in public? Is it because I accepted a female's gender-appropriate pet name?"

"Shut up," Desiree demanded sedately.

"Yes ma'am - Desiree," I sighed.

"The charges will be murdering our patience, insolence, irreverence and not being able to follow simple commands - like 'Cáel don't'," she explained. I could swear she was mocking our hostess except that wasn't like Desiree. She had no sense of humor.

"Do you think this is funny, Half-blood?" Mom mocked.

"No. He is a jester and I'm superior to him because, unlike you, Pure-blood, I can tell the difference between his juvenile antics and him being a viable threat," Desiree reposed. "Funny is Cáel throwing his body on top of your eldest daughter, sacrificing himself to save her life only to be treated by you as a common household pest."

"It was a test," Mom said.

"He didn't know that," Desiree countered, "or are you claiming he fooled me and the entire security detail?" Insulting Desiree was okay in Mom's book. Insinuating those stone-cold bitches who scared the crap out of me this morning were incompetent wasn't.

"I repeat, you are dismissed," Mom seethed. This time we took our leave. Desiree remained lost in her own thoughts as she drove me home.

"Thank you," I said when we were close.

"For what?" she murmured.

"No specific cause. I reason that if I say 'thank you' a few thousand times, one day you'll say it to me," I looked at her through the corner of my eye.

"Hold your breath," Desiree commanded. "Hold your breath until I repeat the words 'thank you'."

There was really no way around that. I practiced breath-control techniques I had learned from swimming and diving, making the most of what air I had. Desiree was heartless. I broke the two minute mark, which wasn't bad given my lack of preparation. I leaned forward, panting for breath and looking down.

"You might want to appreciate that you are not perfect, can't do everything and should reacquaint yourself with your limitations," Desiree commented.

"Thank you, Desiree," I gasped. That was some of the best advice I'd received on the job to date.

"You are welcome, Cáel," she said serenely. In her culturally limited way, Desiree had allowed me a tiny space in her world - Immature Student Lackey. "Be at work thirty minutes early." With that, I exited to my apartment and belatedly got to my workout. Timothy was out on a date so I had to bolt out of the shower to get whomever was at the door when the doorbell rang.

"I must redeem my prestige by breaking your spirit, Cáel Nyilas," Rhada snarled then leapt to the attack. I was standing there, dripping wet, with my hand clenching the towel tightly around my waist. Mortal Combat - the pornographic edition. Rhada was feisty yet I had the feeling she was more into our fight as a contact sport than a real effort to subdue me.

I wasn't aware that there was an oral appliance that allowed you to give a blowjob without having the recipient bite your dick off. Timothy had one in his toy box. Rhada and I tried it out, but I got the feeling she didn't get much from the experience. I felt like I was at a glory hole. After that, things got better. 

I clued in that Rhada's key focus of arousal was being forced to pleasure me. Under threat of something horrible (mostly in her imagination), hands bound behind her back, she'd fuck me in every imaginable way and she was even becoming passible at fellatio. Binding her legs was actually counterproductive. If I wanted to pin her legs, she liked it if I wrestled with her.

I keep pushing myself to keep up with her. When someone screamed in pain, my gut instinct was to succor them. For Rhada, it was a signal for her wanting more. I'd really helped her through some serious frustrations, and a great deal of sweat, when the phone rang. Rhada was facing me, bouncing in my lap with her ball gag back in (she liked to bite during climax).

"Hello?" I said.

"Hey Cáel Nyilas, it is Odette. Whatchya doing tonight?" my waitress bed-buddy asked.

"I'm bored out of my skull, doing something worthless," I answered. "Do you want to come over, or do we want to meet at your place tonight?"

"Ah - um - I live at home with my parents," she confessed.

"Come on over. I need to clean up a mess first," I told her. "See you soon." With that, I hung up and looked into Rhada's eyes. "You really are a worthless mess." She sobbed. "What are you crying about you disgraced harlot? Are you surprised I'd want to be with a real woman?"

"You are a disgusting piece of filth so that's how you deserve to be treated; not like a true tower of femininity," I continued to press her buttons. She was really upset and absolutely erotically active. I was starting to get worried about the vigor she was pounding me with. Sadly, I had some plans to implement before Odette arrived. I kept Rhada on my lap, swiveled us off the bed and fished out a few restraints.

Rhada wrapped her powerful legs around my waist. Using a combination of thigh, stomach and vaginal muscles, the Indian Princess kept working my cock with every bit of imagination she could muster. We traveled out to the workout area. I leaned over the weight bench, pressed Rhada down and put a hand around her throat.

Honestly, all this cruelty and humiliation was grating on me. Sure, I knew Rhada was evil, as was her entire culture. The thing was, I hadn't seen it with my own eyes. I didn't think I had it in me to harm, or murder, a person who was not an immediate threat. The reality was twofold. If I didn't do this for Rhada, she'd find someone else who would, with the likelihood of grievous harm coming to her.

Also, I could do without her holding a grudge for my kicking her ass then rejecting her amorous advances. For now, I played her game with the added benefit that tonight was a 'freebie' - not in my cue.

"Bitch, I'm going to tie you down and ruin you until you can't walk straight. Fight back and I'm going ram two dildos into you and leave them on all night long," I threatened.

I could see her thinking about it as I gave her some more crushed ice to drink. In the end, she allowed her feet to be bound separately then her hands bound together over her head. Once she was secure, I leaned in and whispered in her ear.

"I lied, Rhada. I'm going to shove two vibrators in anyway," Rhada thrashed about against her bonds.

After lubing up both sex toys, I worked them into her pussy and ass. She wiggled and shifted about a few times, but her heart wasn't in it. She was too clearly looking forward to the torturous pleasure coming her way. I cut them both on then, because I could, I put on three vibrating eggs; one on her clit and the others for each nipples. That drove her wild. I readied the last part of my plan.

"Rhada," I leaned in and spoke softly, "I'm putting your phone in your hand. Press the 'send' button and it will call my phone. I'll come get you. Don't drop it. Rhada?" Her wild eyes flashed about, gained some clarity and met my gaze. She nodded her understanding. Now I had to worry that she would drop the phone on purpose just to add to her torment.

I drew the makeshift curtain that separated our workout space from the rest of the living room, cut on the TV to mute the sound of moaning and vibrators. While cleaning up in the bathroom, I realized I had to dump my condom. Doing two girls with the same one was beyond thoughtless and gross.

My drawstring shorts were barely cinched up when the doorbell rang. Thankfully it was Odette. Extra special was Odette wanted to get freaky with me - she brought a dildo and some lube. The problem with having a vast variety of sex was that fewer and fewer things were new and remembering how exciting it was your first time with a given kink gets tougher.

Odette decided that conversation was overrated as she waltzed through the door. She showed me her toy, grabbed my hand and led me to my bedroom. I helped her undress, which she liked. Then she threw me down and raped me. She was even all excited about rolling her first condom on. She hadn't been a virgin last night, only lacking in confidence.

Tonight, she was a beast (in her mind). After our first noisy, moist round, Odette 'discovered' another pleasure; namely sitting up, riding my cock and getting into an in depth discussion about our relationship - sigh. When a woman thinks it is casual sex it is casual sex. When a man thinks it is casual sex it could be any Goddamn thing.

To Odette's credit, she was willing to talk about things she'd like to do, didn't get too upset when she finally pried out of me that I'd been with more than a dozen women, and she took suggestions well. She liked to talk about mutual interests, cuddled without being needy and asked if what she was doing made me feel good in a way that didn't make her sound insecure.

At 2:10 my phone buzzed. Odette barely murmured then rolled over and went back to sleep. It was Rhada. Sneaking out wasn't so difficult. I stealthed to the bathroom, got a wet wash cloth and a towel, followed that up with a trip to get some chilled bottled water and finished up at Rhada's side.

She was barely there at all. My hands flew over her body in the dim light then I pulled her into my lap on the floor.

"Rhada?" I called to her gently.

"Kill you," she whispered. She was okay.

In my sleep-deprived state I missed her initially looking at me. Her eyes were unfathomable. I pressed the water to her lips and let her drink in small sips. Five minutes later, she was in better shape mentally and physically.

"Why?" she asked.

"Sometimes it is a matter of why not?" I replied.

"You hate me," she furrowed her brow.

"What gave you that idea?" I reposed.

"You are a man...you don't hate me?" she struggled to breach our cultural divide.

"Rhada, I can't speak for all men, but I don't hate you. I have no intention of destroying you," I paused. "I'm working on a way to suspend you off the ground blindfolded next time. Tarnishing your prestige is not on my agenda though."

"Do you like causing me pain?" she studied me. That was a tough one both from my perspective and hers.

"I treasure every orgasm I rip from your body, Rhada," I breathed into her ear. It was the best I could do. For Rhada it was enough.

She wasn't suicidal, only ravenous in her need to surrender to her taboo desires. Her not being on the edge of death with me lessened her thrill. It also meant she could live long enough to have all kinds of other thrills. This was the bargain we were making. How I was going to live up to it was going to be intriguing. 

Maybe I could bill Katrina for the needed playroom upgrades. What the future held was coming with the dawn. First I had to make sure Rhada was clear-headed and ambulatory. Then came the trip to her auto and her fiery kiss and body hug. Rhada liking me was okay. Rhada getting attached to me was one more headache I didn't need.



Life as a New Hire Ch. 04



Thanks to Poking Fun for her editing expertise.

This story plays fast and loose with Ancient History and Linguistics; be warned.

Suddenly knowing you are about to die rarely does anyone any good.

*****

(Thursday)

I slipped out of bed, preparing for the trip to the shower when I stepped out and saw Timothy and this black guy I didn't know doing a soft porn version of me and Rhada. Timothy was sleepily amused. His date was anything but.

"I thought you weren't seeing anyone?" he said in a thick Caribbean accent.

"That's my roommate," Timothy snorted. "My straight roommate." What can I say, I'm really good looking.

"I am, Dude," I promised. "I have a girl in my bed and everything. Hell, I didn't even know what the Village Voice was until last night."

Timothy laughed. His date was still pissed. Timothy gave his date a final kiss the guy barely accepted. I made for the shower. When I came out, Timothy was in his bathrobe sitting on the sofa.

"Whoops," I shrugged. This was the first date I'd seen him on since moving in.

"Better to know they are the jealous kind before I invest too much time," Timothy sighed. "He is beautiful and great in bed. He's also in total denial and now jealous. I won't be returning his calls." I sat down on the sofa next to Timothy and gave him a man-bump.

"Sorry, Bro. Better luck next time," I consoled him.

"How many ladies was it last night?" Timothy muttered. He knew I was 'ambitious'.

"Five - wait, what is the age of consent in this state again?" I grinned.

"Ah, fuck," Timothy shook his head. "If the cops coming busting down the door..."

"Funny you would say that," I chuckled. "Another one is a cop."

"Bro, you have a death wish. Cops do background checks and carry guns," he laughed.

"Her mom is a cop too," I informed him. He shook his head some more.

"Death wish," he mumbled then headed for the shower. Comparatively, the ride to work was bland and uneventful. I was clever enough to change before setting foot in the Executive Services section.

I arrived with two minutes to spare and I was still the last person to arrive. Katrina was at her desk, Desiree was on the sofa and the security team leader from yesterday and one of her aides were sitting in the chairs in front of Katrina.

"Come stand beside me," Katrina said. I walked over with the added benefit that no one gave any notice of my movements.

"Cáel, how did you feel about the exercise yesterday morning?" Katrina began.

"First off, I don't know these ladies' names," I said. Katrina looked at them. Clearly the two were one step above resenting every breath I took.

"Elsa," the leader stated.

"Constanza," her aide replied. I bowed my head to Elsa.

"Elsa, I apologize for my rash words to you, my attitude and any disgrace I put upon either Katrina and/or Desiree," I pled. "I have no excuse." That seemed to have screwed the two new ladies up. Desiree snorted. Katrina had no reaction. I could hear Elsa grind her teeth.

"Come between me and a charge again and I will kill you," Elsa glared.

"Come after a charge of mine I'll make you earn it," I snapped back.

"Only Katrina is keeping you alive at this moment," Elsa stood up as did Constanza.

"Really?" I sneered. "Katrina, please fire me. I need to take out the trash."

"Cáel kneel," Katrina ordered so I knelt.

"This was a waste of time," Elsa grumbled.

"Elsa, you scored Cáel at a 92%," Katrina offered.

"92 out a 1000," I muttered.

"No, you idiot," Desiree sighed. "It was stated as a percentage. Try and act your age." Katrina coughed in surprised amusement. I thought Desiree being so verbose this early in the morning was the cause. 

"What did he get wrong?" Katrina mused. "It is in your report. I want you to tell him."

"He ignored his initial instinct to retire to the dwelling, he failed to issue orders to his charges, he missed his partner going down, and he reloaded before his clip was empty," she detailed.

"How many current members of the security detail have scored higher on their initial trial?" Katrina persisted. There was a long pause.

"One - me," Elsa answered. I was impressed - with myself. I had the inbred instincts to get myself killed for people who hated me. I snickered.

"You find something amusing?" Katrina looked at me.

"In retrospect, I should have realized it was a test. Come on, I don't have a gun license, no serious firearms training and the vast majority of Havenstone personnel hate my guts," I explained my humor. "There was no realistic way I would be assigned to guard kids."

"I'm so used to being treated like shit here, I missed the obvious," I concluded. Another pause.

"Why did you break cover to tackle Loraine? You abandoned Aya and Europa," Elsa asked.

"I wasn't really thinking about it," I answered. "I saw her in the open, in danger, and I had the other two crouched down next to the car. I leapt. Sorry, it was nothing more complicated than that."

"What did you think when you saw Desiree lying on the ground?" Elsa prodded.

"Crap - ah," I tried to recall. "Nothing really. I noticed the one woman to the North still standing. I wanted to kill her then roll over and shoot the two to the South."

"They would have killed you," Constanza informed me.

"As opposed to what? I mistakenly thought I had bullets," I shrugged. "While I had any chance I had to keep fighting."

"You could have surrendered?" Elsa studied me.

"You wouldn't have. Why should I?" I responded.

"You are not me in so many relevant ways," Elsa stated. Desiree gave an infinitesimal groan.

"Don't worry about it," I nodded. "Despite your failings, I'm still willing to accept you as an equal."

"That is a deadly insult," Elsa seethed.

"Oh, look," I came back with a predatory grin, "you're angry. Kind of the way I am having done a bang up job only to have you belittle my performance despite having no training, or warning. Believing you are better than me because you have tits makes as much sense as me thinking that having a dick makes you the weaker sex. Its bigotry and stupid. Worse, it is a tactical flaw."

"Tell me," Katrina rose up majestically, "that his last three sentences make no sense. Please, lie to me and say the man is wrong." Elsa didn't respond. "I asked you to test his instincts and you gave him the second hardest test we have and that's only because I vetoed the hardest. If you honestly think he cannot help us, make that pledge now." Another pause.

"He hit everything he aimed at," Elsa suddenly volunteered. "It was all close range. He didn't panic and he never left mission. If he had tits, I would have been impressed. I am still opposed to him having a weapon. His attitude is also grating."

"I have to work with him," Desiree complained. 

"If I express to Hayden the possibility that those men who pass Security testing be allowed to be trained with weapons, will you support me?" Katrina requested.

"Never!" Elsa exclaimed.

"Thank you for your opinion and honesty, Elsa," Katrina nodded. "I will see you later."

The two security experts left the room.

"Stand," Katrina sighed. I stood. "You gave it your best shot, I know. Do not trouble yourself with doubts, Cáel Nyilas. No attitude you could have taken would have altered her thinking in the slightest."

"Huh?" I mumbled. Katrina looked at me. My grin was infectious. "Sorry, did you say something? I was visually evaluating their potential as they were leaving the room." Translation: I was scoping out their muscular asses as they sauntered out the door. Paula and Daphne walked in.

"Cáel, do not talk about your activity yesterday morning, or of the events this morning with anyone," Katrina ordered. I nodded. I made for my desk but Katrina stopped me. In the same manner, she requested that Desiree stay. Three minutes before seven, the last new hire arrived, Violet.

"Everyone except Desiree, Daphne and Cáel leave the room. I will summon you back in a few minutes," Katrina commanded. Confused and curious, the other new hires left the room. As the door shut, she had Daphne secure the lock while she drew forth a folded piece of paper which she unfolded and handed to me. Wow, I had never thought I'd see my death sentence yet here it was.

"Read it," she demanded. Yes, I was boned.

"These are the words of Katrina, daughter of Sedona, granddaughter of Andromeda of the House of Epona, First Bearer of the Sun Spear through the Halls of Night and Death..." followed by a series of awards, accolades and honors I could barely fathom the importance of. 

I read it in the language it was written as this was clearly Katrina's intent. Desiree scooted to the edge of the sofa cushion. Daphne's eyes were wide, exhibiting the spectrum of excitement, fear and amazement. She spoke first.

"You got the 'uh' wrong," Daphne corrected me. "It is 'Andromadu' in our tongue, not 'Andromeda'."

"Well this makes a few things make a lot more sense," Desiree mumbled.

"Katrina," Daphne gulped. "You didn't teach him, did you?"

"No. It was Dr. Kimberly Geisler of Bolingbrook College who taught him - so they could read erotic poetry to one another," Katrina revealed. "He was never her student - in a classroom." 

"Cáel not only speaks four current languages (French, Spanish, and Russian), he also is fluent in ten dead ones," Katrina related. "Dr. Geisler and I had a long chat last night. Once she opened up, she was quite informative and full of praise for our new hire."

Daphne blathered something while looking at me expectantly.

When I didn't respond she became disappointed. Then it hit me.

"You are translating from the Coptic, aren't you?" I questioned.

"Yes," I had her intense attention once more.

"What you meant to say was 'may the blessed Isis bring understanding with this greeting'," I translated for her into New Kingdom Egyptian. 

"Once you get to Coptic you have so much Macedonian/Ptolemaic influence it is far beyond New Kingdom Egyptian," I added.

"Oh...that makes sense," Daphne nodded. "I - uh - thank you."

"Well, if I live I can give you lessons," I smirked.

"About that," Desiree stood up. "Why is he still alive?" What Katrina said surprised me.

"I've waited twelve years to see you smile, Desiree," she gave her underling a look full of wisdom and compassion.

"Sympathy is nice," Desiree countered. "We must be hard to survive."

"Desiree, I wanted you here because you have always opposed my initiative to save our people. Unlike most of us, you have lived fully in their world. Because of our companionship and your knowledge, I have always valued your council. Has nothing changed?" Katrina kept her voice precise and level. Desiree stood up, clearly furious, and took a step toward me.

"You make no sense!" she shouted, pointing at me. A dozen comebacks welled up in my mind yet were discarded as inappropriate.

"I apologize for causing you pain, Desiree," I met her gaze. Desiree gave a raw, guttural scream of agony and rage. She wasn't bawling, still tears rolled down her cheeks.

"I don't know why you chose me to hear this, Katrina. Our houses are not aligned. Still, if I get a vote, I say we find a way to make this work for us - our people and this directive," Daphne spoke up. 

"Your bravery, wonderful attitude and ability to approach problems with an open mind is why I chose you, Daphne," Katrina explained.

"How long have you known?" Desiree muttered.

"Tuesday night..." Katrina began.

"Not you, Katrina...my apology. I meant...him," Desiree interrupted.

"About twenty seconds into the opening prayer at the board meeting," I tried to look inoffensive.

"He heard the Prayer of Ancestors?" Desiree wailed. "You haven't even taught me that yet!"

"Yes, he did. At the time, I had no idea that he knew our ancestral tongue. On the next recruitment drive we need to find a clever way to figure out if they do speak any dead languages so we can avoid this near-catastrophe," Katrina said.

"It is only the three - four of us who know?" Daphne asked. I was almost discounted.

"I believe Dr. Geisler suspects something is amiss," Katrina replied. "I impressed upon her the need for discretion, plus not to contact Cáel for a week. I need the time to position us properly for when this issue comes out."

"They'll kill him," Daphne gasped. Wow, Daphne actually cared.

"We cannot save him," Katrina explained. "It is not within our power, or mandate. What we must do is figure out a way to make Cáel acceptable to our people."

"Good plan. I like this plan. Why don't you let me go to the armory so I can do some last minute Christmas shopping?" I chuckled. "I'll be right back."

"If you make it to Christmas," Desiree sighed, "I will consent to a date with you."

"Desiree, I think that qualifies as assisted suicide," I teased. "If we make it to Christmas Eve, I'll let you push me off the Empire State Building to spare us both that agony."

"That's not nice," Katrina chided me. "Desiree is an excellent woman."

"Oh, I agree. My worry is that after one night of passion with her no other woman will compare," I looked worried. Desiree punched me in the upper arm. I grabbed one of her tits. I'd gone down this road with Buffy and I wasn't going to relent on my sexual stupidity now.

"You are grabbing her breast," Daphne gasped.

"Ow," I flinched then evaded her block for another squeeze of breast, "she's hitting me...Ow...so since she's enjoying herself...Ow...so I'm doing the same...Ow."

"Grow up," Desiree growled but her eyes were shining with amusement.

"But if I remain a child I'll eventually evoke your mothering instinct," I snickered.

"Cáel, you do realize that your life is hanging by a thread, don't you?" Daphne gawked.

"Daphne, you would be surprised how many chicks you can pick up with the line 'I laugh at death' when you really mean it," I smiled.

"Does that actually work?" Daphne was dubious.

"Daphne, I was romantically involved with four different women yesterday, not counting Aya, Europa, Loraine and Desiree," I enlightened her. I only had sex with three of them. That was only because I am trying to have something approaching a normal relationship with the fourth."

"You screwed Aya's teacher, didn't you?" Desiree glared.

"Ummm - I was applying positive incentives to induce Ms. Reichmann into taking special care of Aya," I elaborated. "Did I do wrong?"

"Cáel, what is going to happen to Aya if Ms. Reichmann becomes upset with you?" Katrina posed.

"School is only going to last two more weeks," I assured her. "I can keep things going until then. I mean, eventually she'll hate me - all women do, but I can take care of things for two weeks." The women around me were curious about the start of that last statement. "I've had one female friend that lasted more than three months my entire life."

"Why is that?" Daphne asked. "I like you. You are good-looking, smart and funny if a bit too brutally honest."

"Believe me, juggling eight different romantic entanglements is hellish. Eventually some of them figure out what I'm doing with the others. Then it is Tartarus time," I sighed.

"What would you do if you discovered that along with having sex with you, I was also having separate liaisons with Violet and Buffy?" I postulated.

"I would be okay with it. You're a male - sex is your primary function," Daphne related. I had the feeling she'd been waiting to get that last bit off her well-endowed chest.

"What would you do if I was also having a relationship with Rhada?" I tossed out there.

"I'd kill you," Daphne's certainty pierced me. Good to know.

"Cáel, are you having sexual relations with Rhada?" Katrina prodded.

"I'd rather pull out my shoelaces and go hang myself in your bathroom than discuss that, Katrina," I stated as I looked down in shame.

"Don't worry about it," Katrina assured me.

"What!" Desiree snarled. "He's having sex with Rhada and you want to ignore it?"

"Desiree, what do you want me to do? Acknowledge an affair that NO ONE wants to acknowledge," Katrina pointed out. "It isn't as if he is unaware of the delicacy of the situation, either, or can do anything else to make him more dead."

"Desiree, let the rest know they can come in as you leave," Katrina concluded the matter. Desiree swept out like an atomic monsoon (I wasn't sure what one would look like; Desiree was otherwise indescribable). Somehow the other new hires figured out that Desiree's primal scowl of outrage was their invitation to return to Katrina's office.

The meeting began the way it always did. Stunningly, Desiree gave me yet another horrific job review. The mockery aimed my way was dampened by the reality that I was involved with something Katrina didn't want me to talk about. Getting Desiree to talk was hopeless so I could see the others ready to pounce on Daphne when we headed out to fulfill our daily cue.

I had Desiree and school duty again. This time, I didn't have a gun. I did get mugged - on the landing. Aya wrapped her arms around me. Thankfully she squealed "Cáel!" not 'Daddy'. Desiree was impassive. Aya's two sisters were happy, yet more controlled in their enthusiasm. 

"I'm glad you showed up," Europa poked me. "Pint-sized was freaking out during breakfast."

"I must admit I'm very happy to see you three this morning," I looking over the back seat and addressed Europa. "You might want to tell your sister her make-up is very tastefully done." Loraine attempted a sultry look.

"Wait, are you not talking to me again?" Loraine blinked.

"I'm talking to you, Loraine," I winked. "I was teasing."

"Am I still an old hag?" Europa bantered.

"Not sure, Europa. Aya is soaking up all the pretty," I teased. "It is so hard to tell." Fortunately, Europa was a good sport and Aya loved the praise. Less good was...

"Girls, don't look over your shoulders," I ordered calmly. "Desiree, a maroon van three cars back. They keep turning with us."

"Test," Desiree informed me. Saying 'it was a test' was too wordy for her. I didn't bother to ask her if I'd done well, or not.

"Please, please, please," I begged Desiree. "Can I have a sunroof and a rocket launcher? Please."

"Grow up," she grumbled.

"Yes, Mom," I groaned.

"You are the best," snickered Europa. "I wish I could go on dates. Loraine does too...with you," she got out before Loraine popped her.

"Do I get to be in the room when Loraine has that conversation with her Mother?" I mused.

"Are you going to ask my Mother if you can take me out?" Loraine beamed.

Desiree snorted. I was in for it now.

"Maybe Cáel can ask Momma out on a date and become our real Daddy," Aya suggested happily. I was going camping with this family. It would solve all my worries about my burial service.

"Momma is too old for Cáel," Loraine countered. Oh, joy.

"I'm not the best 'first date' material," I evaded. "Ah...what is your Momma's name?"

"Caitlyn," Europa provided. "Does that mean you will ask her out?"

"Not necessarily - see, I have the annoying habit of being amorously attracted to every woman I meet, so I'm not very romantically reliable," I explained.

"Does that mean you are sexually proficient?" Loraine inquired eagerly.

"Does that mean you are a slut?" Europa teased.

"Does that mean you'll sleep with my aunts, too?" Aya wondered.

"It means you are an idiot," Desiree muttered under her breath.

"I'd like to think so," to Loraine, "I hate labels," to Europa, "I have no idea," to Aya, "and thanks, Des," to finish things off.

"Maybe we could go on a test date this weekend," Loraine suggested.

"Why?" I grinned. "Are trying to see what I would look like 'test' dead?"

"No!" Aya blurted out. "They want you to be Daddies." Aya had screwed up, most likely relaying with her limited understanding what she'd overheard. Two female family members in the same house, yet no other children. Buffy and Helena...and Desiree being brought back in despite the shame to her prestige aka genetic purity.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 04



"Cáel, she was making stuff up again," Loraine attempted damage control.

"No, I didn't," Aya protested. "I want Cáel to live."

"That can be answered with two questions, Loraine," I locked eyes with the sixteen year old.

"Cáel - do not do this," Desiree ordered.

"Sorry, Desiree; I think this falls in the 'I need to know' category," I defied her. "Loraine, do malformed female babies get tossed off the cliff alongside all the male babies." Loraine paled and gulped. Europa looked equally worried. Aya was afraid - afraid of my reaction.

"I apologize, Cáel. This is not something I can talk about," Loraine murmured.

"This is the point where you decide if I'm a human being, or some servitor creature," I studied her.

"I can't," Loraine repeated. I nodded then faced forward. There was silence for a while.

"Cáel, are you upset with us?" Europa inquired nervously. I looked back at her.

"My emotional status is of no relevance to my assignment, Europa," I replied dead-pan. "Will there be anything else?"

"Why are you acting this way?" Loraine groaned.

"I am a Havenstone employee, Loraine," I answered. 

"I have no instructions to behave in any other fashion. I am sure if I have done anything inappropriate, you may report me to my boss, Desiree, or my department head, Katrina, so that I may be suitably disciplined," I informed her.

"Please don't talk like that," Aya sniffled.

"Aya, if I have upset you, please request another Havenstone employee on your next service order," I said. Aya began bawling. God, she was emotionally volatile. 

"Desiree, make him stop," Loraine pleaded.

"Make him stop what? You don't want a man, you want a cuddly toy with 101 programmed warm, fuzzy responses," Desiree responded. "Toys don't go above, beyond, and even against their instructions to do a better job. You are getting exactly what your Mother has requested. You have a Havenstone employee. You can't afford the man who befriended you."

That was more than Desiree coming to my defense. She was trying to teach the children the harsh reality of life. Amazons, due to their conduct toward men, had to think of them as lesser beings. The sickness was more than tossing male and unfit female babies to their death, it was mothers handing their children over to be murdered.

"I apologize, Cáel," Loraine said softly.

"Okay," I replied crisply. More silence.

"Are you still angry with us?" Europa asked.

"I can still do my job, if that is what you are worried about," I told her. Aya wailed. I was starting to feel that Aya had mental issues that went beyond wanting a father.

"Yes," Loraine finally answered my question. I remained quiet. "Isn't that what you wanted to know?"

"No, Loraine; I wanted you to treat me as if I had some worth in your eyes," I sighed.

"I love you," Aya pleaded. I struggled and struggled and only one other societal model made sense.

I turned half-way around to look at the group once more.

"When is the trial?" I probed. No answer. "At some point as you are growing up, you ladies have to pass some sort of basic test. When is it?" My model was male yet still fit - Sparta.

"How do you know any of this?" Loraine wondered.

"I was actually hired because I'm bright," I stated in all seriousness, "along with good looks and being in excellent physical condition."

"Twelve," Europe filled me in. I didn't need to say anything. The two older sisters shot worried looks Aya's way.

"Your Aunt's are sterile, correct?" now Europa and Loraine flashed quick glances between them.

"Yes," Loraine muttered. "How did you...?"

"That's not important. What is important is that I will do my best to stick with Aya as long as I can," I informed them. I tapped Aya's nose. "Stop that crying. You are better than that."

"Sorry," she sniffed.

"No, you 'apologize' to show regret. 'Sorry' is for a flaw," I reminded Aya. "Don't go around school telling your classmates I'm a spy either."

"What do I tell them?" Aya gulped.

"Tell them I am not a spy. Insist that I'm not a spy. Loudly declare to everybody who asks that I am not a spy," I grinned. "Do you understand?" Aya didn't, but Europa did.

"Aya, by insisting that Cáel isn't a spy no matter what, everyone will believe he's a spy. It is the art of misinformation," Europa hugged her younger sibling.

"By saying he's not a spy, everyone will think he is a spy?" Aya appeared confused.

"Yes," Loraine assured her.

"Okay," Aya accepted the illusion. "You are still going to marry Momma, right?"

"I never said that," I protested. Aya smiled sweetly. I frowned. She became absolutely cherubic.

"I make no promises," I turned forward.

"Go for it," Desiree whispered. "Caitlyn is only one of Katrina's sisters." I make a point of trying not to cry in public. I continued to be depressed on how I failed to make crucial connections. Whose family, besides her own, would allow me this close? Damn, I couldn't keep playing catch-up.

"Katrina is your aunt?" I inquired quietly.

"She's my sister," Desiree stated. Watching Loraine, Europa and Aya acting together helped that make sense. Katrina felt responsible for Desiree in the same way Loraine looked out for Aya. Katrina's Mom had abandoned her when she fled with the man she loved.

When an aunt brought her back, Katrina had stood by the sister she'd never seen before because that was what sisters do. You saw a lot of that in Celtic societies. Epona was a Celtic name - a Goddess in fact.

"If you and Mom go on a date, I can come along as a chaperone," Loraine offered.

"I'm surprised you even know what a chaperone is," I grinned back.

"Sure we do," Europa giggled. "That's the one who holds the leash." Loraine blushed furiously.

"Don't say that," she chided Europa.

"Sis, I think he knows something is going on beyond Aya's Daddy issues," Europa countered.

"I deny everything," I proclaimed.

"He is as stupid as he looks," Desiree volunteered. By the surprised looks of Europa and Loraine, this was as frivolous as they'd ever seen Desiree act.

"That's not true," Aya protested. "Cáel is wonderful and he's going to make Momma very happy and be our Daddy."

"Yay," I said with muted enthusiasm. "I can envision our first date now."

"Would you mate with my mother?" Europa teased. 

"That's not what I'm envisioning. I'm thinking about what my heart looks like, torn from my chest and held up to my dying gaze."

"No," Aya moped.

"We are joking, Aya," Europa hugged her sister. "We'd never let Momma take a knife with her on a date with Cáel."

"Yes, because fingernails hurt more," I scoffed. Europa hit me playfully.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" Loraine inquired.

"Yes. I met her on a job with Desiree - sort of - and we went out, ate a light dinner and walked and talked for over an hour afterwards. She's real nice," I related.

"Did you have sex?" Loraine was a bit distressed.

"Nope. I save the sex for all my other women in my life. No one at Havenstone," I somewhat lied. "I'd like to build a substantial rapport with this woman. Hopefully I won't screw it up, like I do every other relationship."

"Are you joking?" Europa prodded.

"No, not in the least. I like women. Women appear to like me," I shrugged.

"How long does it take you to romance a woman?" Loraine questioned.

"Quickest - three minutes," I answered. In fact, we were heading for that wonderful woman right now.

"How many women at Havenstone?" Loraine was becoming disillusioned.

"None. Oh God, I am not going to mix work with pleasure," I swore.

"80 days, Bitch," Desiree promised.

"80 days?" Europe inquired.

"In 80 days I cease being an intern, so it will no longer be against the rules for a woman at Havenstone to have a sexual relationship with me," I gulped.

"What are you going to do then?" Loraine asked.

"Hang from the ceiling like a Spider Monkey and watch them try to knock me down with sticks," I grinned. Europa snickered at the imagery. 

"Honestly Loraine, there can be no 'us' until your eighteenth birthday. You are too young," I explained.

"Are you afraid of our Mother?" Loraine was oddly happier.

"Yes, but fear hasn't stopped me before," I assured her. "I am devoid of reason when presented with a pretty face."

"Wait," Loraine smiled. "Why isn't something going on between us right now?"

"Desiree put a block of C-4 in my underwear. If I misbehave, I'll be half the man I used to be," I warned them.

"Desiree, please don't blow his weenie off," Aya requested. Snorts and laughter echoed throughout the car.

"Oh, look," Desiree sighed in relief. "We are here." We'd made it to school again.

"Cáel, would you come with me to class," Aya begged.

"Cáel, for the love of the Goddess, can you try and make it back in a reasonable time frame," Desiree scowled. Europa and Loraine studied me inquisitively.

"Cáel, can you come to my homeroom as well?" Loraine teased.

"Me, too," Europa poked me.

"Give me your homerooms and I'll try to stop by," I pledged. When we got to Aya's homeroom, I could see that Ulyssa Reichmann was exceedingly excited that I'd returned.

"Aya, I need to talk to your Daddy for a few minutes. We'll be back soon," Ulyssa announced then proceeded to drag me back to the conference room. She finished a round of pulse-pounding passionate intercourse with...

"Would you like to go out on a date?" Ulyssa 'suggested'.

"I'd really like that," I responded because, you know, it wasn't like my social calendar wasn't confusing enough already. "Let's exchange digits and give me a call when you get off work today. Lunch times suck for me. Oh, I should warn you, in my first week here, they've given me the true meaning of working 24/7. I've been called in at 3 a.m. and worked until 10:30 at night - be warned."

"I'm good at all hours," she purred. "My roommate and I stay up late all the time." Please be a guy, please be a guy.

"Is he a nice guy?" I prayed.

"No, Silly," she kissed me. "My roommate is my older sister." Please be a crone, please be a crone. "Here is a picture of her." Of course...she was a stone-cold fox.

"What's her fiancé like?" I sobbed internally.

"She just got over a messy break up. She's been very depressed," Ulyssa informed me. That's what I needed. It wasn't like a gorgeous roommate in need of comfort had every ruined things for me before...except those other five times when things exploded all over the place. "If you have one, maybe your roommate can double date with us."

"His name is Timothy," I forced a grin. Asking Timothy to double date with me so I wouldn't end up banging my date's roommate/sister was way out of bounds. I'd ask, proving I really was a sorry human being, but I was feeling bad about it. That had to count for something. We walked closely, side by side, back to her room. I played with Aya.

One bully hadn't gotten the message yesterday and called Aya a freak in my presence. I asked him why he thought he could get away with it. He said his dad was a hotshot lawyer. With a toothy glimmer, I told him that would look nice on his father's tombstone. After all, I didn't hurt kids. I hurt adults; grown-ups like Mom and Dad - the hotshot lawyer.

Aya polished that off by insisting that I wasn't a spy. Absolutely, positively not. What did I do for a living? Aya couldn't talk about it because good people might get killed - good girl. With that settled, I went to Loraine's homeroom. Holy Cow! She had the whole 'Plush Mature Teacher' thing going on, including the spectacles on a chain and hair in a bun.

Her name was Rachel Simpson, 42 and never married. In the classroom, she was aloof, condescending and chilly. Two minutes later her mouth was moaning 'no, no, no' while her body was responding with 'more, more, more'. Had she not pulled me into the custodial closet, I might have been worried about taking liberties.

I'd have to catch Europa's homeroom tomorrow. As it was.

"Sixty-five minutes...God, you are messed up," Desiree commented as we pulled away.

"What do you tell the security guard when you are just sitting here, waiting?" I asked.

"I tell the guard you are inside fucking your way through the female staff," Desiree stated.

"And they buy it?" I was aghast.

"She's seen you. She believes it. I hate you," Desiree answered.

"I apologize?" I looked sheepish.

"Here is her number on the off-chance you are ever bored," Desiree handed me a torn piece of paper. "You are a totally contemptible pig."

"I think you are a Saint for putting up with me," I smiled.

"By all means, please jump out of the car while we are in motion then run through traffic, preferably in front of buses and dump trucks," Desiree requested.

"Is this your way of suggesting I meet some nice nurses at the closest hospital," I reposed.

"Die." We were non-communicative for a few minutes.

"Desiree, I'm tired," I sighed. "Please stop the car."

"What..." she started to snap then she saw my face. I was ashen. Reality was catching up. Desiree changed lanes and pulled up to the curb. I got out.

"I'll walk into work," was all I said before shutting the door. Children and sex aside, I was confronting evil and I couldn't ignore that anymore. My working theory was that, after a century of genetic manipulation, the Amazons were dying out. Sterile women, deformed babies, pre-teen girls with fragile psyches and men bred for pliability and lack of aggression. 

The science of genetics dated back to 1866. That would mean roughly seven human generations. In turn, that suggested they already had a fatally poisoned male breeding population and their imperfect application of science made it worse, not better. The dilemma became how to introduce a strong male gene strain into the Amazon breeding population.

What this meant for the now useless breeding males was yet another horror to contemplate. My future involved walking the nearly impossible line between the 'masculine' traits they were looking for without the aggression the Amazon's responded negatively to. I knew I was too aggressive and my survival was mainly through the efforts of Katrina.

I had made progress with a few women and they'd come to accept - no, tolerate - my irreverence. I was still wrestling with that whole mess when I walked into the atrium of Havenstone. I flashed my ID. They security personnel told me to wait, then took me to a side room and relieved me of my badge and phone.

Two security detail ladies replaced the two security guard types then Constanza showed up.

"Come with us," she ordered.

"No," I replied. "I work for Desiree right now." They didn't say something nice like 'do this or else'. No, they went straight for the stun guns. 

My perception was overloaded with pain and I believed I was screaming, but wasn't sure. Before I knew it, I had been rolled over onto my stomach and my hands cuffed behind my back.

"What have I...?" I got out before they stunned me again.

"Shut up," Constanza snapped.

"Bitch!" I snarled. They stunned me again. I could no longer stand without assistance. The second I could form words, "Whores!" came tumbling out. They stunned me again. The points they gained for cruelty they lost to their lack of forward thinking. I really tried to not repeat my insults, but honestly, my mind was too numb by the end for me to be sure.

They slammed me into a chair in front of Elsa's desk. Opening my eyes hurt. My tongue was so bloody and swollen, talking was no longer an option. The echoes of my own screams of pain muffled what Elsa was saying. They jolted me and I spasmed right out of the chair. They picked me up and Elsa - or somebody - said something.

About the time I could make sense of the world again, Elsa clued in to what I had been doing.

"How many times did you stun him?" she barked.

"He kept insulting us," Constanza answered. "We made him shut his filthy mouth."

"Did it occur to you he was doing that on purpose?" Elsa seethed.

I giggled. Actually, I made some indescribable noise as I'd bitten my tongue and cheeks repeatedly and the amount of blood in my mouth was getting troublesome. Elsa pushed her chair back and came around her desk. I surprised them all by hurling my body into her. My knees buckled and I fell down before I even left the chair. Someone caught me before I hit the ground.

Elsa's face took over my view. She grabbed my jaw in her right hand and steadied my head.

"You did that on purpose," she stated. "It won't do you any good. No one knows you are here and you aren't leaving until I have what I want to know." I mumbled something. "What?"

"Never surrender," I worked out, blood drooling passed my lips.

"Fine. Cáel, do you believe I am an honest woman?" Elsa inquired. I had to think about that.

"Ugh - yeah," I mumbled.

"Good. I'm going to give you a chance because you did behave courageously yesterday," she congratulated me. "Tell me what I want to know, or things will become very painful for you."

"O-okay," I grunted.

"What did you and Katrina discuss over dinner last night?" Elsa asked. I had to think. My next words were crucial.

"I - ah - do you prefer silk sheets, or cotton?" I whispered.

"I understand," Elsa patted my cheek. She went back to her desk, pulled a dull silver box out then extracted a loaded syringe. "This is going to hurt a lot." I didn't struggle. What was the point?

"Man, the penalty for sexual harassment in this corporation is harsher than I thought," I gasped.

They expedited matters by having Constanza brandish her knife and cut my left coat and shirt sleeves off. Those were brand new too. She expertly tapped for the vein, the needle went in and this cool sensation worked its way up my arm. The promised pain didn't come, so I decided to play against the play. You steeled yourself against pain. It was the rational reaction.

I began humming, keeping my breathing level and relaxed. I chose Bruno Mars' Grenade as my first musical selection. Something about loving a woman destroying a man appealed to this situation. Had I possessed my facilities, I would have realized I had lost them. Elsa kept asking me questions. 

I confessed she had sexy eyes - she really did, she had one of top ten asses I'd seen all week and I was dying to see her in her underwear. I had no clue why this drug wasn't working on me. It was a little weird when Elsa transformed into Katrina. She asked me how I was. I asked her if she'd let me breastfeed if we got married. That was my last memory for a while.

I rolled, saw a carpeted floor coming at me and threw out my arms and legs in time not to face-plant. Then I vomited. Here was the pain that Elsa had promised. My gastro-intestinal tract was on fire, the pressure in my head was about explode and if I had a nerve ending that wasn't in agony, it wasn't for a lack of trying.

I managed to roll over farther so I didn't fall into my own vomit. The desert Sun blazing down on me made me cry. My eyelids refused to close...no, they were closed. My eyes were simply that sensitive.

"See," Elsa said, "he's alive."

"Thank you for that crisp and unsolicited professional medical opinion," Katrina purred. "When I wish you to leave this room, I will let you know." I wished they would stop screaming. The urge to vomit overcame me. All I got for my troubles was a series of violent dry-heaves. "Don't, Tessa," Katrina spoke, "his trachea and esophagus are inflamed. He might choke on the water."

This time I was able to push up so that I was on my haunches. I didn't feel any better, but I was struggling to project more pride than I could from lying on the floor. There was no conception of time passing. All I knew was that I could make out six people in the room when I motioned for the water. Sure enough, it was Tessa Carmichael giving me a glass.

"Small sips," Katrina advised me. I did as suggested. My physical abilities were starting to revert to normal.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 04



"Ah, Katrina," I mumbled, "did we have a...'if we were married' moment?" Before she could respond, "Wait, have I missed picking up the kids?" I blurted out.

"I'm still here, Dummy," Desiree sneered.

"Thank goodness," I rasped. "I'm seeing double and I was terrified there were three of you."

"He's fine," Desiree addressed the room, "and you tried to get Katrina to breast-feed you, too."

"Ugh...that's unfortunate," I looked down. "Do I still have a job? If so, can I go home and change. I seem to have torn my coat...and my shirt."

"No rest for you yet, Cáel," Katrina stated. "Now, Elsa, please hand me your firearm." My vision was finally doing me some good and that wasn't good. Katrina had an automatic pistol aimed at Elsa's head. Desiree had a pistol in her right hand and was standing by the door. Tessa was by Katrina's desk, her poise indicating displeasure.

Elsa deftly drew her pistol, turned it barrel first and handed it to Katrina. She immediately backed toward me, keeping her pistol leveled at Elsa.

"Cáel, are your hands and eyesight steady?" she inquired. I held out my hands. They were sore, yet level.

"Yes, Katrina," I answered. She handed me Elsa's pistol.

"Kill her - kill Elsa," Katrina directed. Elsa's eyes widened, but she held firm. Constanza was less controlled.

"You can't do this," Constanza gasped. "He's a male."

"Are you volunteering to take Elsa's place?" Katrina offered. Constanza's mouth gaped then shut.

"Cáel?" Katrina prodded me.

"Do we even need to go over why this is wrong?" I groaned. My head hurt. "She didn't try to kill me, Katrina. All she wanted to know was something that was none of her business."

"Okay, so she and her thugs stunned me to Hell and back and I really want to jack-slap her, but I'm not going to shoot her. She was just doing her job - a bit misguided perhaps. Had she wanted me dead, I'd be dead. If she was going against you, Katrina, she would have taken me off site," I reasoned.

"Besides, unlike those two, I don't attack defenseless people," I remarked. "I'm in Executive Services. I'll leave the sleazy stuff to your pathetic skanks in Security. They seem to get off on that kind of thing." I struggled to my feet, swayed a bit then staggered over to Elsa. "Here you go, Bitch. Knock yourself out. I've got work to do." I handed her the gun, grip first.

Elsa took it, stood up and pressed the barrel to my chest.

"I should kill you for your words alone," Elsa glared. I smiled.

"Go ahead. You may want to note that while I screened Katrina, I left Desiree a clear shot. Go ahead and commit suicide. I'm sure you, me and Constanza will fill a grave nicely," I smirked. 

I looked over to Constanza. "You don't think Katrina can let you live if Desiree kills Elsa over a male-problem, do you?"

"They won't shoot," Elsa declared. "You don't understand Havenstone."

"You need to work on your people skills. I know three things of relevance," I grinned.

"You think less of Desiree for reasons that have nothing to do with her bravery, or competence. You want to kill me yet you'd die for Katrina - which is another reason I didn't shoot you. Finally, I've never lied to you. You are one of the most attractive women I've met here and your ass really is a wondrous work of art - my hand to God," I swore.

If Elsa had truly liked me, she'd have shot my balls off. As it was, it was the same old refrain - almost. Elsa, whipped the gun down, grabbed the back of my head and initiated a French kiss that would have brought Charlemagne back from the dead. On the plus side, I got to fondle her firm, muscularly perfect ass and bring forth several wanton moans from deep within her core.

"Cáel! To my side," Desiree snapped. I had to untangle myself from Elsa and man oh man, did she have strong hands. I quick-stepped it to Desiree's side. "You're hopeless," she muttered. "Katrina, I have to get him some fresh clothes."

"Back to the queue, you two," Katrina dismissed us. Elsa and Constanza watched me leave - my damn ass again.

"You are worthless," Desiree grumbled as we got onto the elevator.

"Wait - she kissed me. Why is this my fault?" I complained.

"You suddenly forgot how to dodge?" Desiree countered.

"She had a gun on me," I reposed.

"Fine. You are hopeless and a gutless wonder," Desiree piled it on.

"You are not jealous, are you?" I teased.

"Don't make me shoot you," she glared. "I have a gun this time, too."

"Thank goodness," I sighed. "Otherwise I might have told you how I truly felt then kissed you and that would have cost me my job."

"Shut up, or do you want to ride the elevator the rest of the day?" Desiree threatened. I wisely kept my yap zipped. When we got to my apartment, Desiree followed me up for the first time. I was getting in the 'girlfriend has a gun' way, which was stupid because I was already trying to date a cop and then there was the whole Buffy factor.

Her appearance had an unforeseen utility; my new bed and suspension rig had arrived, all courtesy of Havenstone written off as business expenses. It seems Helena and Buffy might not need to get me a new bed after all. That was still 80 days away and I knew how much damage I could do to a bedroom set in only one semester. True, a girl set that mattress on fire, but at least she waited for me to jump off first.

Without comment, Desiree helped me move my old bed out to the hallway, set up and put the sheets on the new bed and finally moved the boxes with the bondage aids onto my bed. I dressed while she watched - old hat - and we finished the hour by taking my old mattress to the curb. Yes, I lived in one of those neighborhoods.

We made the academy with enough awkward time to spare. It was also enough time for that nice school security officer to come by and chat with me. She was Brazilian, divorced with a three year old son. She tried being sultry. I talked about age appropriate boy toys, parks with good playgrounds and asked where the most authentic Brazilian eateries were located.

Seriously, a web search for children's toys takes five minutes. All women want to be seen as desirable in some manner. Mothers want to know you don't find their children to be a turn off. Immigrants want to know you are curious about their cultures. They may love America, but they are also a bit homesick. 

Indulging a woman's interests is never wrong - unless you are a sexual deviant like me; then it is plain moronic and self-destructive. She had to hurry off to perform her duties. I leaned against the car while Desiree stared at me.

"Yes?" I sighed.

"She's a former state criminal investigator back home," Desiree informed me. "She caught her now ex-husband cheating on her and nearly killed both of them. She was acquitted because he shot her first."

"She kicked both their asses AFTER she was shot?" I gulped.

"In the left shoulder," Desiree regarded me impassively.

"And you couldn't have brought this up BEFORE I talked with her?" I groaned.

"Oh, you think that was mean; wait until I tell Buffy that you kissed and felt up Elsa," she continued. "I don't have to kill you. You'll get any number of women to do it for me."

"Hey, Elsa wasn't my fault," I griped.

"Who do you think Buffy will believe, me - whom she's known for years, or you - who apparently jumps on anyone who isn't her?" Desiree pointed out.

"I can't believe you are passing up the chance to push me off the Empire State Building," I sighed. "Missing an opportunity to make my life unpleasant is so unlike you."

"That's not so," Desiree sounded oddly sympathetic. "I get my enjoyment from watching you destroy yourself without me lifting a finger."

"I knew it," I crowed triumphantly. Desiree appeared annoyed. "You like to watch me."

"I really should shoot you," Desiree lowered her head.

"I'll put on a set of deer antlers if that'll put you in the mood," I offered. She put her hand on the grip of her holstered pistol and glared.

"Daddy," Aya cried out. Ah, and Ulyssa was with her. If Rachel stepped out, I was a goner. Sometimes I get what I deserve. Most of the time, though, I get away with murder.

Aya mugged me and wouldn't let go until I picked her up and put her on my hip. Her endearing joy helped me deal with her constricting my airways.

"I see you are making Aya a very happy girl," Ulyssa purred. 

"Devotion to education is a passionate endeavor," I nodded. 

With the 'devotion' she showed her forefinger with her lips, I was left praying for a solar eclipse and some bushes to jump behind for a little personal tutoring. Europa's nudge reminded me I had a job I was supposed to be doing. I got the girls settled and winked to Ulyssa before taking my seat as well.

We made it four blocks.

"You are having sex with Ms. Reichmann, aren't you?" Aya peeped. Oh, shit.

"Wait, I heard you had sex with Ms. Simpson this morning?" Loraine gasped. Oh, shit.

"I saw him chatting up that dark-skinned security guard," Europa teased. Oh, shit - why do I bother?

"Does that mean you can have sex with Mommy now?" Aya exclaimed happily. I openly wept. I was expecting for the older two to pile it on - instead.

"Is that a burn mark on the back of your neck?" Loraine touched the area. "Are you having kinky sex?" I wept some more.

"No," Desiree rescued me. "He had a run-in with Elsa this morning after we dropped you off."

"Elsa? What did she want to talk to you about?" Europa asked. Loraine was still rubbing my neck.

"Not so much talk as torture and drug me in an effort to - OW!" I gasped as Desiree punched me in the ribs.

"That was totally unnecessary," I grumbled. "The kids need to be warned...Elsa wants to know how the Wicked Witch stuffed Hansel and Gretel into that oven. I suspect some sinister plot behind her villainous intentions."

"Can we ever believe what you say?" Europa snickered.

"Trust me," I grinned. "Truthfulness when dating women is counter-productive."

"Don't listen to him girls," Desiree told them. "He's a pig."

"I have more experience successfully dating women than you have," I provoked Desiree.

"I will shoot you," Desiree threatened.

"Desiree," Loraine gasped, "did you just crack a joke?"

"I wasn't joking," Desiree insisted.

"Cáel, have you ever been shot before?" Europa asked.

"Do you mean 'shot at', or 'shot at and hit'?" I requested.

"You've been shot - hit with a bullet...or arrow?" Aya gulped.

"I have been shot at with a shotgun, but she missed. It was only rock salt anyway," I informed them. "I've been stabbed an unhealthy amount. Slapping is a regular occurrence, as are nut-shots and, as obviously exhibited here, being punched."

"Don't die," Aya pleaded. "Marry Mommy and she'll keep you safe." Damn, that child was persistent. I reached back and tweaked her nose.

"Your Mom and I are going to wait a while before we make any commitments, Aya, and you are going to let your Mom tuck you in tonight," I told her.

"But I don't want to," Aya frowned. Maybe I had lost my mind and not realized it. Maybe some of that residual electric current Constanza had gifted me with had one last jolt in it.

"How about this; I'll set up a sleeping area at my place and the three of you can come by occasionally and have a sleep over. I'm sure my gay roommate will love it," I uttered.

"I'd like that," Loraine perked up. "Could I sleep in your bed?"

"Sure, as long as I'm sleeping somewhere else," I groaned.

"You are not even making it a challenge," Desiree muttered. My vanishing life expectancy?

"I'd like to sleep with you," Aya smiled.

"I think we'd all like to sleep with you, Cáel," Europa mocked me.

"He's received a brand new bed today. How appropriate," Desiree added to the mockery.

"I can't wait to tell Mommy," Aya giggled. "She'll be so happy." How did she come up with that delusion? "When can we come over? Tomorrow? Saturday?"

"Oh, I wish I could but...Desiree has me doing errands all weekend long," I lied.

"That's okay," Desiree mused. "You are free Saturday night. You get to go in with Aya and ask her Mom's permission. Good luck, Stud." I felt that, with my imminent death approaching, I was somehow letting Katrina down.

To add to the bizarre, I knew that Katrina was a big wheel in a cult of diabolical murderers - and I still felt bad for her and her misplaced faith in me. We pulled up in front of the children's home and Desiree let me escort them in - alone. Mom was right there waiting for us. Oh joy.

"Hello Caitlyn Ruger, I am Cáel Nyilas. I humbly request your permission to invite your three daughters to my dwelling Saturday evening for a sleep over," I politely spoke.

"Very well," Mom didn't even blink. Perhaps I was still in Elsa's office, my mind broken from an overload of chemical and physical abuse. "Is there anything else?" I shook my head. Aya was squealing and the other two were stunned. "Pick them up at six and have them home by two p.m. Sunday."

"Yes, Ma'am - Ms. Caitlyn," I gulped.

"It is Caitlyn, Cáel," she gave me a slight upturn of the lips. Fuck! She looked horny!! I liked Aya. That didn't mean I wanted to be her Daddy for real. Marrying Caitlyn was right up there with 'death by multiple girlfriends' in my book.

"Caitlyn, young ladies - I will see you tomorrow morning," I nodded, turned and left.

"She said 'yes', didn't she?" Desiree gleefully declared when I got back in the car. She actually seemed amused.

"You knew she would," my eyes bugged out.

"That's right, oh Swami of the Female Psyche," she drove away.

"I hate you," I groaned.

"Welcome to my world," she actually appeared happy. My day wasn't over either. We ran a few more jobs in the cue before quitting time. The second I had exited Katrina's office with my bike clothes, Buffy was on me. 

She looked like she'd just learned her jaguar incisor was actually from an ocelot.

"You kissed Elsa," she hissed. Usually I have sex with a girl then one of her closest friends before they are this angry with me.

"No, I did not," I insisted. "She jumped me."

"You grabbed her ass," Buffy bore down on me. Sure, I was bigger, stronger and could kick her ass in weaponless combat. What mattered was that she had the look of a woman who wouldn't be satisfied until my gonads were in a leather pouch around her neck. Normally I earn this look. I resent it being taken as a freebie.

"That I confess to," I sighed.

"Why?" she snapped. The new hires were hanging around at a safe distance.

"I hate giving a lame erotic encounter," I explained. "If a girl kisses me, I feel it is only appropriate that I make her feel good, too."

"I hate you," she growled.

"You, Desiree and Elsa," I shrugged. "I'm getting used to it around here."

"What are you doing this weekend?" Buffy was growing impatient.

"I already have four dates lined up," I said. The three kids plus Nikita.

"I hate you," Buffy snapped. We were on the elevator now. The new hires rushed in before the door closed. I hoped that would buy me some room. I'm an idiot.

"I think we've already discussed that," I tried to joke. Buffy shoved me into a corner then backed into me, warding off the other women.

Buffy was in real tight pants, had a wonderful body and I hadn't been laid since this morning. I'm not made of stone. I'm not even made of good quality drywall. My hand didn't ask my brain if it was a good idea, or not. Of its own accord, it began rubbing her ass. When groping somebody, if they are going to react in the negative, it will happen in the first second.

They will move away, yell at you, slap you, or all of the above. Opening your legs and pressing against the groper is the opposite of saying 'no'. Our position masked what I was doing from most of the new hires. Tigger was actually leaning against the wall close by and noticed my arm motion. She shot me a curious look. I shrugged to show my confusion.

"I am going to have to tattoo my name on your forehead," Buffy growled - to both me and Tigger. When the doors opened, I began to slip past the resisting Buffy. "80 days, Bastard," she sizzled.

"Someone needs to remind Buffy of her place," Fabiola remarked a bit too loud.

"My place is riding Cáel until dawn's early light," Buffy snarled. "You don't need to worry. A reminder won't be necessary."

"That's not what I..." Fabiola turned on Buffy. Buffy didn't need the headache of explaining why she shoved Fabiola through one of the glass panels at the front of the building.

"Buffy," I turned on the brunette. I pushed her hair off her shoulders before cupping her ears. My thumbs ran over the front rims while my pinkie tickled the earlobes on both sides. "I'd really like it if you were the first Havenstone lady I am with. I'm looking forward to it, in fact."

Buffy pressed her body against mine, inhaled my scent deeply and moaned.

"Buffy, perhaps you should seek out another male in the intervening 80 days," Violet suggested.

"I did. He tried to run away. When I caught him, he curled up in a ball and cried. After that, I wasn't in the mood anymore," Buffy related.

"That's because you don't know how to make a man behave," Fabiola sneered.

I got guilty, worried looks all around.

"Crap Fabiola, were you born stupid, or have you grown senile in your two short decades?" Dora sighed.

"It isn't like any of them are going to make it the full 84," Fabiola responded snootily then stormed off. Another awkward moment.

"Idiocy is neither age nor gender specific. Look at Buffy, she's a fifty year old man dressed up like a woman and she can babble just as incoherently as Fabiola," I joked as I readied my bike.

"That is something else you are going to have to pay for," Buffy growled.

"Usually I get a whole lot more pleasure before this level of suffering begins," I muttered as I pedaled away.

I deviated from my normal path so I could pick up a few specialty items. Nikita called, confirming our date for Friday night. I said I'd be ready. She made the off-handed comment that I didn't need to worry how I dressed. She wasn't ashamed to be seen with me if I was wearing my bike clothes. Ah-huh.

I suggested that it might be easier if I wore a G-string and painted the rest of my clothes on. Laughing, she told me that was Date 3 material. We said our good-byes. The rest of the trip home was uneventful. At my door I found an emotional Rhada. Not the 'rip out your eyes and feed them to you' I'd come to know, love and fear, but a truly distraught woman.

I ushered her inside. While dealing with some domestic stuff, Rhada went to my bedroom. I followed as soon as possible. She wasn't 'playful' so I didn't play.

"What's wrong?" I asked as I sat beside her and put my arm around her shoulder. She stiffened initially then wrapped me in her own arms and hugged me tight.

"I'm going back home tonight and I won't be back for a month," she sobbed.

"Great," I shouted. Rhada looked at me, mortally wounded and angry. "Think of all the great things I can come up with after a whole month to prepare. Oh...you are going to suffer so much when you come back. I'm going to eat it up while you scream."

Blink...blink. "What makes you think I'll come back here?" she tried to be challenging. She came off more needy/pleading.

"Good idea," I nodded. "It will be much more fun if I have to hunt you down. We can do that Night One," I decided. "Rape you right out in the open for anyone to see."

Rhada's breathing picked up and she squeezed me tighter.

"See those boxes?" Rhada took a peek. "Those are the suspension gear so I can hang you from the ceiling. They came in today. I'm going to suspend you about waist height over the bed, apply clamps with weights to your labia and nipples then fuck you up both holes, alternating with a dildo for the hole I'm not using."

"I imagine the pull of those weights swinging around as I screw you is going to be excruciating," I mused. "What do you think?"




Life as a New Hire Ch. 04



"I think you want to hurt me, break me and finally make me surrender to you. I pledge right now, this is not going to happen Cáel Nyilas," Rhada mumbled into my chest.

The wrestling ensued, the clothes came off - Rhada had never undressed me before - and she ended up naked and bound spread-eagle on the bed. Along with her ball-gag, I introduced her to my new blindfold and super-efficient sound suppressing ear-protection. I departed to get my 'special tools' for the night. When I came back, Rhada's distress from a lack of stimulation was evident.

I laid out two bottle; on of thick vitamin-rich cream and the other, smooth peanut butter. Then I picked up my first of three secret weapons - kittens. I poured a small dose of cream onto her belly button. Rhada shivered. Then the kitten was placed on her stomach and hip, pointed at the cream. The little bugger was thirsty and took to the cream with gusto.

The little mischief-maker was even kind enough to start flexing his tiny claws. Barring audio and visual input, Rhada's imagination took over. She had no clue what was causing the pleasure/pain. Cream spilled over her chest and the other two kittens joined the buffet. I changed up the cream with the peanut butter.

Rhada was pierced repeatedly with multiple needle-like claws and ravaged by their small, rough tongues. I attacked her pussy and asshole while the kittens licked her fingers and toes with their fierce yet minute peanut butter-seeking tongues. This wasn't the intense torture Rhada was used to. Instead, it was excruciatingly small pains with rasping tongues exciting her skin.

My epipen wasn't needed (I didn't know if she was allergic to cats), I kept the curious kitties away from her vaginal area though my oral attentions and the sounds of the vibrator drew them in repeatedly, and putting a pussy on each underarm and one licking her lips while I was chewing her clit was something Rhada really enjoyed.

The kittens gave out on me so I put them back in their carrying box. Sadly, I had to return them to the pet store tomorrow - this apartment building had a No Pet policy. When I released Rhada, she had this perplexed look on her face. I hadn't whipped her flesh raw or sent her mind down the paths of soul-screaming agony. No...

"I have a dozen cats at home," Rhada murmured. "I'll never be able to look at them the same way again." I gave a toothy smile. "You are perverse, evil and unscrupulous," she glared, then her amusement broke through. She cuddled up against me. "It was very different - unexpected. I've never read about that kind of torture before."

"Watching you trying to figure out what was going on is a memory I'll treasure, my tasty captive," I taunted her.

"I'm not tied up anymore," Rhada growled. We wrestled, I eventually pinned her hands over her head, used my knees to pry her legs apart and penetrated her.

Rhada's body arched against me, anchored on her hips and head, as my cock penetrated her to the maximum. This was still what she wanted most - to be fucked. After she crashed down, I tried to kiss her. She tried to bite my face. My response was to force her wrists into one of my hands. She was strong enough to make that hold very difficult. 

Rhada made my fingers work for it without breaking free. With my free hand, I leveraged first one leg then the other to my shoulders. I started pounding her while pushing her legs farther and farther until she was bent in two. My lower body was now balanced on my toes so my hips could rise up higher and slam down with greater force.

Our faces were centimeters apart. I had come to know that look in her eyes. I released one hand at a time. Rhada linked her fingers in the hair on the back of my head and drove my lips down as hers came up. Her kiss was that of a famished animal gnawing the last bone of our time together. I tried to pull away.

"No," she moaned.

"I don't have a condom on," I explained.

"I don't care," she stared at me intently. I didn't stop thrusting, but she could see my emotional distress.

"I can't get you in trouble, Rhada," I groaned. "I know you don't want me," I lied - she seriously wanted me in her own twisted way. "I can't risk giving you my offspring until something changes. I will not steal you from Havenstone, but I can't abandon Katrina either. We are stuck for now."

Rhada began wiggling free until she pushed me on my side. She swiveled around until she could take my cock into her mouth and began fellate me. She kept eye contact with me, partially to see if she was giving me pleasure and partially to establish some sort of psychic bond that lovers theoretically share.

She was giving to me, so I returned the favor - with my fingers. Rhada clearly wanted to keep eye contact. I did dip two fingers into her pussy then lick them dry, repeatedly. Since our earlier escapades had loosened up her ass, I had to work three digits in to the second knuckle to drive her nuts. She was crying, orgasming and working my dick over all at the same time.

She gagged, choked, used too much teeth and I shot-gunned semen deep down her throat. More gagging followed then she spewed my seed over my crotch and thigh. Rhada was devastated. I knew what I had to do. I reached my cum-drenched hand around, grabbed her braid and shoved her face into my thigh.

"Clean me up, Bitch," I demanded. I got a few urgent licks then a mildly painful bite. "Slut, I didn't say kiss it - I said lick it. How stupid are you?" Rhada shot me a sizzling flash before getting back to work. I got another bite so I spanked her hard. The next look was searing and orgasmic.

When she finished up, she rolled onto her side, back to me. Rhada's head was down by my thigh, her head resting on her hands. My cheek settled on her hip as I gazed upon her quiet form.

"I'm going to miss this so much," she sounded completely depressed. So many possible retorts - only one right one.

"If you need to contact me before you can come back, use Katrina. She knows you and I meet, not what we are doing," I told Rhada. "She asked and I told her not to. That was the end of that." She rose onto her butt and leaned her back into me.

"I do not understand you," she sighed. "That is part of your appeal." Pause. "I must go."

"Do you want to shower first? You still have some cream and peanut butter on you beside the normal semen and sweat," I suggested. She gave me a curious look then left the bedroom. I joined her in the shower, shared our body warmth until the hot water kicked in then bathed one another.

"You have corrupted another aspect of my life," Rhada sighed as we dressed. "Showering is going to be an empty experience without you now." 

"Breaking down your resistance is my long-term goal," I responded matter-of-factly. Rhada shot me a nasty look. "Just joking. One good look at your naked flesh and all higher brain functions go right out the window."

She finished and stood. So did I. By unspoken agreement, I walked her to her sports car.

"You could be dead, or gone when I get back," Rhada spun on me suddenly, burying her face in my chest. I could feel her tears. This was getting worse and worse - for both of us.

"Look on the positive side," I soothed her. "You've made sure I can never forget you."

"You are useless," she sniffled. Her kiss was full of her heat and passion. With a roar of more horsepower than could possibly be useful, Rhada pulled away in her performance machine. I turned and returned to my flat. Two minutes later there was a knock at my door. I may have gone to a college in rural New Hampshire, but I grew up in a not-so-nice neighborhood in Chicago.

I checked the spyhole. It was Nikita. Oh, joy. The door swung opened and I motioned for her to come in. I knew that look from my long experience in disappointing women. I shut the door as Nikita took in my residence.

"Her name is Rhada, she is returning to her homeland tonight for a month," I began.

"She is associated with Havenstone. She is not my boss, in my chain of command, nor are they pimping me out. Rhada showed up Tuesday night and I know we have no future together though she can't accept that," I related.

"She's good-looking," Nikita commented after a few moments.

"True and so are you. She stalked me down using corporate resources while you used your police powers. Rhada kicked in my door while you saw fit to stake out my home. I met you at a deli, had a wonderful conversation and enjoyed myself immensely," I replied. "I did...other things with her."

"Like?" she rounded on me, still peeved.

"Like none of your business. How would you feel if I talked about our 'almost' relationship with someone else?" I countered.

"Have there been many women for you to brag about?" she interrogated me.

"I didn't go out with you so we could reminisce over my litany of romantic failings, or yours. After all, you were parked outside my place tonight. The experience that led you to do that has to be either embarrassing, or painful. I had an attractive lady show up at my place for sex tonight because that has pretty much been my life for the past four years," I continued.

"I went out with you because I didn't want you-me-us to be like every other encounter with the opposite sex," I explained.

"Why should I trust you?" she groaned. "We aren't even dating and you're cheating on me."

"If life has taught me anything it is that the only men women should trust end up boring them to tears," I stated.

"That's mortifyingly cynical," Nikita grimaced.

"Nikita, I've slept with women who were married, divorced, engaged, dating someone else, related to someone I was dating and once, a woman about to take Holy Vows," I informed her.

"You raped a nun?" she gasped.

"Well, she wasn't a nun yet. She was on the train, heading home one last time, we talked, hit it off and had sex in the bathroom...a few times," I sighed.

"Oh, God," she stared at me. "You are a horrible person." This would be the point when, if she really thought I was some sort of sexual monster, she'd be walking out the door. She wasn't. They never did.

"I'm trying to change," I pleaded. Sadly, though I'd used that line countless times before, I truly meant it this time. I'd been on a date and not had sex and that only happened because I exhibited extraordinary will - from my perspective. 

"Okay," she whispered then stepped into my personal space and hugged me. "I'll help."

Nikita was joining a large and storied sisterhood of women who had tried to save me - from myself. By the gentle rhythm her body was rubbing against me, I could tell I had to get her out before I put something in.

"Nikita," I put my hands on her shoulders and pushed her away, "I know this is early in our relationship, but I need a favor?" I started. She was suspicious again. It was her nature.

"I'm have a sleep over Saturday night and..." I continued.

"A sleep over? Only kids have sleep overs," she interrupted.

"Exactly," I nodded. "I have three sisters - nine, thirteen and sixteen coming over for the night and staying through early Sunday afternoon."

"The sixteen year old is hitting on you and you are looking for a visible deterrent," Nikita mused.

"Pretty much," I grinned. Aya and her Daddy issues could wait.

"Where would we sleep?" she grinned back.

"On the floor, in my bedroom, on an air mattress," I told her.

"Do you sleep in the nude?" she poked my chest.

"For the love of God, woman. They are children," I exclaimed. Yes, I did sleep in the nude. I still had pajamas for things like walking around the place. Nikita patted my cheek.

"Good boy," she smiled. 

Unless the woman doing that is your grandmother, that's an invitation to have sex. I know, a whole bunch of things are seen by me as an invitation by women for me to engage them in intercourse. I am not delusional; this is just how my life works. Keys jingled and Timothy walked through the door.

"Mr. Denver," Nikita got off before I could make introductions.

"Oh, you must be the cop," Timothy snorted.

"Does Cáel have so many we are labelled by profession?" her suspicious nature flared up.

"Nah. Unlike Gomer here," was he calling me a hick? 

"I'm New York born and bred. I know a police issued Beretta in a hip holster even under a jacket. Also, the next time Cáel calls me Mr. Denver will be the first," Timothy chuckled. "If it's any consolation, I can see why he's risking grave bodily injury by going out with you."

"Does he think I'll shoot him if I catch him screwing around behind my back?" she asked pleasantly.

"Pretty much," Timothy winked at me.

"Good boy," she patted my cheek.

"Ah, the prospect of imminent pain reminds me - Timothy, I need two more favors," I begged.

"This is going to be good," Timothy replied sarcastically.

"I've got four girls lined up for Saturday night; three high society children and Nikita here. Is this okay, or do I need to take this somewhere else?" I began.

"This the nine year old?" he questioned.

"Aya and her two sisters," I replied.

"Sure. Every Park Avenue babe should get to meet a gay tattoo artist from Queens once in their life before Prom," Timothy nodded sagely. "The other thing."

"Yeah - could you double-date with me. There is this school teacher who rooms with her older sister. The sister came through a nasty breakup recently and the teacher asked me if I could help out," I tried to sound upbeat.

"Wow...I don't know what to say," Timothy's mouth gaped. "I don't know what's dumber; asking your gay roommate to distract his fuck-mates sister so he doesn't end up screwing them both, or requesting this in front of the cop you are almost dating?"

"Wah - huh - what he said - that last part," Nikita glared at me.

"Hey, now," I warded her off. "There's barely a week of school left. Then she'll get a summer job and I won't be taking the kids to school anymore and that will be that."

"You are sleeping with a teacher at the school your girls attend?" she gasped. "Why?"

"She's hot," I declared. Nikita looked shocked. "I mean really hot. Not as gorgeous as you, but she's very attractive."

Don't think I'd lost my damn mind. I had, in fact, learned something over four years of being far hornier than smart. See, when a girl thinks you are true blue and you cheat, you are a scumbag. If a girl thinks you've slept around and now you are hers and hers alone, you cheating still makes you dirt, but that is ameliorated by the deep-seated fear that she did something wrong.

If you are openly a man-whore when you start dating, you can cheat. She thinks she's weaning you off your promiscuous ways. This toleration is not limitless, so be warned. Make every indiscretion count. Eventually she will give up and dump you. Refer to the break-up sex discussion earlier.

My mentor once asked me if one woman would ever be enough. I told her that I always thought one woman would be enough and I was always wrong. One of these days I hoped to meet a woman who could satisfy my sexual urges and could keep my balls in a vice to stop me from straying. Then I'd be happy.

"You need to stop that," Nikita threatened me. "My fiancé cheated on me. I'm not going to put up with it from you."

"I already promised them I'd go out at least once," I reasoned. "You wouldn't want me to treat you like that."

"I'm not them," she bit her lower lip. "This roving eye of yours has got to stop and soon." See - a license to cheat. I really liked Nikita and I wanted to make an effort to keep her happy. Somehow I could keep my libido under some kind of restraint...for 80 days. Then my co-workers at Havenstone would own me like their prison bitch, providing I was still alive.

"I'll do my best," I promised. We hugged and kissed. She wasn't gone thirty seconds when my phone rang. It was Odette. I told her to come on over so Timothy shot me with his Nerf gun.

"Cáel, consider having sex with me," Timothy teased.

"What? I'm not gay," I pouted.

"Oh, I know but you'll be dead soon so the sexual ambiguity won't be something you have to deal with for long," Timothy laughed.

"I'll put it on my bucket list," I sighed. "Double-dating with me?"

"Sure. It isn't like life with you has been dull," Timothy taunted me. I groaned.



Life as a New Hire Ch. 05



My devoted nod to PokingFun for keeping up the editing work on my behalf.

This story plays fast and loose with Ancient History and Linguistics; be warned.

Lying is fine, but take care to not cause suffering because that makes it wrong.

*****

(Friday)

"I have today off," Odette murmured to me as I cut off the alarm. That had to have been the issue she'd been holding back on last night.

"I have to work - being the first week of my three month internship and all," I sighed.

"Are you sure I can't convince you to be late?" she gave me a sultry look.

She compounded that offer by stretching out, her knees in place so that her butt rose and wiggled suggestively. Last night I had introduced Odette to a form of doggy-style that didn't involve the man trying to drive her skull through the headboard. We had a long, dual-participant, sensual melding of bodies, control passing back and forth until the need for sleep became something she despised even as it took her.

"Not fair," I groaned into my pillow. When I looked out, she was still giving me that sexually hungry look and wiggling that ass. Why do I even pretend that I can have a normal sex life? I found myself arriving late and changing in the elevator on the way to the Executive Services floor. The two women with me were a viewing gallery I could have done without.

Since I put everything on display - remember; no underwear - one of my two fellow travelers felt permitted to rub her hands along my abs while I was pulling my pants on.

"Goddess, he's hard," she moaned to her companion. "Come, have a feel." I didn't protest. Technically, stripping naked in a public place could get me fired.

"His back is very nicely defined," the other side as she ran her hands over my back and shoulders. "What is it that you do?"

"I'm with Executive Services," I replied. "Right now I'm suborned to Product Testing. I teach monkeys to ride unicycles." Their confused looks humored me.

"Actually, I'm with ES and I'm a gopher - I pick up stuff," I grinned.

"Oh...you are that guy from the elevator - the kneeling man," the first woman exclaimed. "They said you were funny. Goddess, our man sure is hot, but he is so dull."

"Let me guess; you are with the Financial Investigations Unit?" I said. Trent.

"Yes," she smiled. Orgy time. "He's just as good looking, but you are so much more fun. My sister can't wait for you to become available."

"Sister?" I prodded.

"Daphne Pale," she smiled suggestively yet again. My face lit up.

"Daphne?" I caught the lady off-guard by hugging her. "I think Daphne is great," I stepped back. "She's really nice to me. She's smart, gives good advice and treats me like I'm something more than a walking, breathing annoyance. What's your name?"

"Brielle," she informed me.

"Beautiful name," I remarked, as I went back to dressing.

"Do they let you see other women - besides those of ES?" the second woman questioned.

"I don't see any Havenstone women for 79 more days," I stated. "Corporate policy. After that, all requests for hunting licenses are submitted to Desiree; non-lethal weaponry only until I develop more refined survival skills."

Blink. Blink.

"You are joking, right?" Woman Two muttered.

"Nope. Katrina feels it will be a great third quarter kick-off. Let some women get out of the office for a weekend. Besides, I get to hunt those hunting me. I think it will be fun, don't you?" I hummed along.

"Desiree?" the second woman asked for clarification as she pulled out her phone. I nodded. The doors opened - my floor - so I stepped out and hustled to Katrina's office with only seconds to spare. The meeting was normal, right up until Dora adjusted my tie as we were exiting the office.

"Where did you dress? A closet with the lights out?" she teased.

"In the elevator on the way up," I confessed. "Daphne, I met your sister - Brielle," in case she had more than one. "She felt up my stomach and I made her laugh," I added.

"You let her touch you?" Tigger inquired.

"Cáel, did you come to work dressed like you normally do?" Daphne teased.

"Yep," sighed.

"So you were naked in the elevator," Violet snickered.

"Yep," I confirmed.

"You should be relocated for that," Fabiola sneered.

"Damn Fabiola, why do you...what would he be relocated for? Getting dressed?" Paula groaned.

"He was naked in front of an employee," Fabiola explained.

"Two actually," I clarified. "They both did touch my naked flesh. It was a bonding experience."

"Did you do any actual 'bonding'?" Dora winked.

"I hugged Brielle, but that was only because she was Daphne's sister and I'm not allowed to hug Daphne at this time," I answered.

"You can hug me - in a purely platonic way," Daphne murmured. 

We were at Buffy's desk - I was working with her today.

"Okay," I nodded. I took a single stride to Daphne. She closed with me and I put my arms around her waist. Daphne put her hands on my shoulders. Our heads got closer and closer. I let my hands roam higher up her back and through her long locks.

Nose touched nose, I ran my hands through her hair until I tickled the back of her ears. Daphne's lips parted and her tongue played along the edges. I let my breath play along her cheeks as I worked to her left ear. I felt a sharp pain in my right buttocks.

"Ow!" I squalled - after I pulled away from Daphne's ear.

I tried to fully spin around, but Daphne wasn't letting go. I caught sight of a furious Buffy, small knife in hand, burning holes in me with her eyes.

"You stabbed me," I protested. Daphne had thought I was playing a cruel game with her. Now that the truth had come out, she's was pissed - with Buffy.

"Time you got to work, Intern," Buffy snapped.

"Did you have to stab him?" Daphne complained.

"Intern, don't you have some place you should be?" Buffy snarled at Daphne.

"Take care," Daphne tenderly stroked my cheek. It didn't take an Aeronautical Engineer to realize I was about to get poked again. 

Daphne glared defiance at Buffy even as she retired. Buffy stabbed my left buttock this time. I could have stopped her. What would have been the point? I didn't shout out. I manned up and shed a tear instead.

"Keep him in line, Buffy," Fabiola chortled. "He's been flashing women on the elevator."

"Fabiola, please appreciate the fact that I requested Cáel today. If I had you one more hour, I swore to Katrina they'd find your corpse in a Newark landfill," Buffy sneered. "Now scurry off to where you are assigned to be before my first order for Cáel this morning will be to carry your subdued and gagged body to the trunk of our car. I'll be doing the subduing."

Fabiola repositioned herself and said something in Old Kingdom Hittite.

"Your blood is the fecal matter of cats and dogs; unworthy of your station at arms."

Fabiola had this smug, superior look ruining her classically beautiful Italian features. Buffy was angry yet hampered by not being able to understand the insult. I scanned about.

"Tigger," I called out. She was the closest. She quickly gained visual permission by her trainer for the day and jogged to Buffy's area. "Tigger what does '****' mean?" I relayed Fabiola's insult, in Old Hittite, to Tigger. "Fabiola said it to Buffy and I think it is the same language she used on Tuesday." 

"What did she say?" Buffy demanded.

"I cannot tell you, Buffy," Tigger bowed. "I promise I will convey these words to Katrina right now so that she may properly evaluate them." She sprinted off. Fabiola was worried; not so much she apologized, but worried.

Tigger came sprinting back a minute later. We were all supposed to get to work. Katrina would deal with this matter. Fabiola's smirk told me she was completely naïve about the shit-storm she'd unleashed. Off Buffy and I went. It was the child protection detail once more. There was the added bonus of having the security guards at the armory giving Buffy shit over not speaking Hittite - morons.

"We need to work on our pig Latin," I suggested to Buffy as we loaded the car.

"Huh?" Buffy's funk subsided somewhat.

"Do you speak any exotic languages, or do we invent one, because I'm sick of this secret language bullshit," I declared.

"I'm still furious with you," Buffy finally spoke. I filtered through a variety of insufficient responses and ended up sighing as I looked out the passenger window. I was my usual boisterous self during the pick-up and drop-off. I deftly evaded my 'teacher time' today so I was able to spend a few minutes with the Brazilian security hottie.

She didn't have a gym to work out in so I suggested we could meet at Havenstone and she could use their corporate facility with me. It was safe enough. Buffy kept up the silent treatment until lunchtime which left me pretty grim. At 12:15, Nikita gave me a call. She was on her lunch break and was making sure our two dates were still on.

It felt good to hear a friendly voice. I confirmed our engagements and she left me with a smile as she hung up. I noticed Buffy glaring at me again. I looked away.

"Which girlfriend was that?" she commented snidely.

"How is that work-related?" I didn't even look at her.

"I am telling you it is," she snapped back.

"Put my refusal in yet another one of your stunning job performance reviews you are going to give me," I stated calmly. I still wasn't looking at her.

"I will," she grumbled. I didn't respond. There was no point.

As we finished our cue, Buffy pulled me aside.

"What is wrong with you?" Buffy hissed quietly.

"If I've messed up any part of my assigned work, please make it aware of it," I stared back.

"Don't be a smart-ass," she seethed. "It isn't appealing."

"Since you haven't addressed any specific grievances, I'll do my best to randomly determine the source of your displeasure," I said. Had I not spoken in a voice devoid of emotion, it might have been taken as a joke. "You resent being treated like a random employee in the same manner I resent being treated as your property."

"Since you are convinced you have done nothing wrong and that I'm a jerk, I feel this conversation is at an end. Have a good weekend," I kept calm.

"You are a jerk. In 78 more days," she snarled.

"78 days - nothing. I can sleep with far more important women, Buffy," I let my countenance harden.

"The only reason I would have sex with you would be because I liked you. That would imply that you liked me too. You clearly don't like me, so I think we are done here," I explained.

"I say when we are done," she grabbed my elbow.

"Really?" I laughed in her face, "I'll see what Fabiola, or any of the new girls feel about that."

"Do you think they'll feel generous enough to give you the scraps off their table?" I mocked her. Buffy looked ready to stab me again. "You felt free in stabbing me this morning yet when Fabiola clearly insulted you, you did nothing. You aren't even courageous enough to fight for me, or treat me with dignity. Lacking any virtues, what would attract me to you over any of the others?"

"Who says you get to decide anything?" Buffy was breathing heavily now. Her problem was she was aroused, angry and being buried under the crushing weight of the truth. I wouldn't have total freedom. I knew that. I also knew that I would have some choice and certainly enough to deny a woman with Buffy's low status. The truth of that was in the anguish in Buffy's gaze.

Begging wasn't in her creed, especially not to a man. She couldn't apologize to me either. I hated myself at times.

"Buffy, I need to go," I tugged on my elbow. She let go. "Can I talk to you on the elevator ride down once I'm off the clock and can speak freely?"

"Yes," she looked down. I changed in Katrina's bathroom then made my exit with my fellow 'new hires', minus Fabiola whose absence was noted by all. The group mostly kept the conversation about work with some flavoring being applied in the form of weekend plans. When Buffy and Helena stepped in, I looped my right arm around Buffy and pulled her too me.

Buffy jolted in surprise, refraining from attacking me long enough to realize we were back in the corner we shared yesterday. I was back to the corner and she had her back to me. Putting my valise down allowed me to place my other arm around Buffy as well. The kiss I placed on the top of Buffy's head caught everyone off-guard.

My right hand came to rest on her left hip. The left crossed her body, pressing on her bosom from beneath. Repeated kisses fell upon her hair until the elevator reached the main floor.

"Apology accepted," Buffy turned in my arms so that we were facing. She placed each hand upon my jaw and tilted my head down. "Be more appreciative on Monday, or I won't let you off so easy next time."

As we parted company, the 'girls' gave me similar looks as I biked away. Things got worse immediately. Sitting on her butt next to my door was Odette - with a tote bag. She pushed up the wall and smiled broadly.

"I figured since we had the weekend free we could hang out," she beamed.

"Let's go inside," I offered. Keeping upbeat was key; a crying woman on my stoop would suck. As we entered the apartment and I was putting my bike aside, Odette made for the bedroom.

"Odette, we need to get something straight," I called out. She didn't stop. "I have a date with another women tonight." That did the trick.

"Did I do something wrong?" she gulped as she turned around and stared at me.

"What?" I feigned surprise. I've been here before. "No! Why would you think that? Odette, you are wonderful." I walked to her and she came into my arms. Pig. Dog. Take your pick.

"Why are you dumping me then?" Odette looked up, tears in her eyes.

"I thought you would be dumping me," I reversed things. "I'm the one not ready for commitment. I am afraid you have been far better for me than I've been for you."

"I don't want to let you go," she pleaded as her hug tightened.

"Wait. Odette, think about this. You deserve a guy who wants you and only you. I'm not that guy. I'm a serial dater. I can't help it," I complained on her behalf.

"That's okay," Odette mumbled. "Don't be so hard on yourself, Cáel Nyilas. You are a wonderful man, too. I'll wait around until you figure things out. I'll take what I can get while you look for your happiness." Odette wasn't weak, or stupid. She was a young lady, romantically alone and living in her parent's house.

I was exciting and different, the sex was great and it was a new experience to wake up in a foreign place, safe and warm. I had turned her phantasm dreams of a better life into a tangible reality even if she now had to morph her expectations. Adaptation wasn't failing. It was the reason human beings existed today. I feebly tried to break free.

"Odette - Honey, I can't," I explained. "I'm getting so hot for you right now. I don't want to..." Odette pressed a finger to my lips. She too was aroused. Yes, I had told a second girl that I was a slave to my cock and again, the woman had created a mental excuse that allowed her to stay with me despite my promised infidelity. 

And I was about to have sex with her before going out on a date with the first girl I had confessed everything to. Should I 'oink', or is that 'bow-wow'?

"How long do we have?" Odette's voice turned molten with lust.

"An hour," I kissed her.

"That should be just enough time," she licked her kips then led me by the hand to the bedroom. Odette started out somewhat desperate. I cooled her down and instructed her in micromanaging intercourse. Doing the little things that targeted the erogenous zones of your partner instead of going straight for the sex.

In the afterglow, we cuddled together, Odette kissing my nipples and me nibbling on her ear - one of her hot spots.

"You are yummy," she sighed. "Delicious."

"Are you trying to distract me with your alluring words and dynamite body?" I sounded worried.

"Is it working?" she giggled.

"It will if I don't escape right now," I pleaded. She reluctantly let me slip away. Her eyes followed me around the room and out the door. A warm shower was nice, dressing in front of Odette was innocently refreshing and we ordered her some takeout.

Odette would stay the night - I gave Timothy a warning call - and I'd be back late. We'd have Saturday morning to spend together; my cobbled together plan would leave everyone happy, right? I headed out to my date with Nikita with high hopes. We met at an East Side theater, watched the movie with minimal conversation and exited hand in hand.

Nikita was coming around to my romantic approach. All I had to do was let her know I was dying to have sex with her in the same way she was dying to have sex with me. I was holding off because of my desire to get to know her, so she held back in order to be the 'better woman' and help me with my sexual issues - namely to have sex as much as possible.

We walked, talked about our schools growing up, colleges and her time at the Police Academy. Nikita and I ended up at this nice bar that served tasty comfort food and a good selection of alcoholic beverages. An hour and a half later, we left, both feeling tipsy. Nikita snuggled up against me, taking in my scent and warmth.

Our kisses were more intense that night, our desires more raw and evident and Nikita's craving for our contact to evolve was stronger than ever. We parted. I took a few steps then turned around. Sure enough, Nikita looked over her shoulder, smiled then kept walking. A few steps later, she looked back again. This time she stopped. We looked, then met each other half way and kissed some more.

The second separation was permanent. It was important that Nikita know I was fascinated with her. A more virtuous man might have been troubled with the fact that I was going to unload the sexual frustration I had hefted upon myself by dating Nikita onto Odette, but I'm not that guy. I did get a surprise when I came through the door.

Odette was on the sofa watching Kick-Ass 2, her head resting on Timothy's lap. Timothy was in the midst of impressing on her how delectable Morris Chestnut was when I came in.

"Hey Cáel, Ulyssa called. We are on for Sunday dinner at their place. A Yasmin Palhavã called as well. She's says you are on for Monday at 5:15 pm," Timothy smirked.

To add to the fun, Odette looked up at me and smiled.

"Timothy and I bonded over ice cream," she giggled. "He says you give such an unbelievably good dicking, women lose all common sense for days, even weeks afterwards. He says he's never seen anything like it before and he's jealous."

"You two are hilarious," I griped. "I'm going to the bathroom and masturbate. Then I'm going to bed - alone."

"No, you are not!" Odette declared. She hopped up and charged me. "You are sleeping with me tonight. I need to exercise these extra calories off." She was in her underwear, which I got a brief flash of as she left the sofa, and my old Mayhem Festival 2012 t-shirt.

Beyond her looking far sexier in it than I ever had (in my opinion), she was definitely ready to give me some 'makes him forget about all those other women' sex. I wrapped an arm around Odette and looked over my shoulder to tell Timothy goodnight. He was giving me the finger. Not only had he picked up a jealous lover after careful consideration, I apparently could carpet bomb the city and not hit a single woman willing to hold my philandering ways against me.

(Saturday)

Round nine - I thought it was round nine - was ended abruptly by Timothy dumping a pitcher full of ice down my back. Odette and I had meant to get some breakfast in the living room. We were eating some shredded wheat, some milk dripped down Odette's chin and I licked it off. If anyone doesn't think that's an open invitation for sex, you're nuts.

Anyway, we were face to face, me sitting on the sofa, Odette in my lap with a combination of her thighs and my hands helping her bob up on down on my cock while we battled tongues and checked that we hadn't sucked any of the other's fillings out yet. Timothy stumbled past in his normal morning pre-coffee haze, busied himself in the kitchen then came back with the aforementioned pitcher of ice.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 05



I screamed and jump off the sofa. Odette squealed as I suddenly thrust deeper into her and stood up. Timothy was smirking, I was getting ready to scream at him and my phone went off in the bedroom. I gave Timothy a quick, angry flash because Odette needed my attention more. I took her to the bedroom, flopped us on the bed - me on top - and answered the phone while I fucked her.

"Cáel, Katrina wants you at 1105 Pomwell Avenue, Doebridge, Long Island," Buffy snapped. "What's that sound?"

"Its 8:20 in the freaking morning; what sound do you think it is?" I growled back. "What am I doing in Long Island?" 

"Going where you are told." Buffy hung up before I could respond. I was righteously pissed. It was the freaking weekend and I had plans...which included three children, one hot cop and sex with Odette until noon. Now, at least one of those gems was being stolen away from me. Odette and I did finish round nine - I think it was nine - then I showered.

Odette offered to stay. I strongly suggested that she go home because I had no idea how long this chore would take. I was coaxing her out the door when suddenly Odette volunteered to help clean up the place, change the sheets and set up the air mattress...for the date that wasn't her. Timothy looked at me then shot himself with the Nerf gun in a futile display of utter disbelief in the power of my sexual charisma. 

It wasn't like I even asked Odette for help. She volunteered. I made my way out the door with my bike. I went to Havenstone. I was checking out a car. There was no way I was paying for a taxi ride out to Long Island. Miracle of miracles, I was given a car without a séance and a full-body cavity search.

I suspected Buffy might have pre-ordered one for me, but anyone at Havenstone giving me a helping hand was so...unlike them. My onboard navigation system took me for a fifty minute drive away from the city and up along Long Island Sound. It turned out Doebridge was the Stepford Wives, sans the husbands.

I could now say I've been racial-profiled (my minority status being male). The first cops (both women) stopped me as I rolled into town. They suggested I might want to take an alternate route. I showed them my ID then said that I was here to investigate a case of poisoning involving Girl Scout cookies. They seemed worried. I then told them I was the food taster for the Queen.

They got pissed so I reminded them they shouldn't have stopped me in the first place. I wasn't speeding, or in a stolen vehicle. They pulled me out and asked to search my car. I told them it wouldn't be a problem but I had two attack midgets in the trunk, so they should be careful. Next thing I knew, I was handcuffed and they were on the phone to a ballistic Buffy.

"What is your problem?" she seethed quietly. She was 'somewhere'.

"I don't know. Maybe I was pulled over for unlawful use of facial hair, or not having a back-up supply of tampons," I groused. "Until Charlie's Angels pulled me out of the car, I swear my cock was behaving itself. For once, it wasn't at fault."

"If you were in front of me now, I'd kill you," Buffy promised.

"You do realize there is a cop standing in my personal space, right?" I brought up.

"It's okay, she's a woman who has talked to you. She'll understand," Buffy snapped. The policewoman's grin confirmed that supposition.

"You are too lucky," Buffy grumbled. "Hayden wants you here, so you escape once more, you cocksucker. Give the phone back to the policewoman." Sure enough, two minutes later I was on the road again. Six minutes after that, I was cuffed and pressed against a brick wall in scenic downtown Doebridge.

I didn't understand it. I swore to Buffy I had been polite. I had complimented both women on how pretty and professional they were. I even suggested we take turns strip-searching one another. I especially wanted to see them do it to each other while I watched. Buffy promised me I'd be a long time dying when I finally showed up. I reminded her she was too passionate.

Four minutes later I was in sight of my target...and pulled over again. This time I behaved well by anyone's standards. Why was I pulled over, I asked? They heard I was cute and wanted to take a look. I was frisked - by the both of them...again. I swear to God, if they had pulled out elbow-length gloves they were going to have to pistol-whip me first. They patted my butt and let me go.

The next hurdle was Havenstone Security itself. They scanned my ID. The second they called their supervisor, I started stripping down.

"What are you doing?" the supervisor asked.

"Lady, I've been searched three times since I entered this crazy town. Since you clearly won't take their word for it that I'm not smuggling anything, I see someone ramming their wrist up my rectum in the near future."

"Oh, that's not..." she got out then another guard pulled on her sleeve and winked. "Go ahead." I stripped, they had me spin around a few times. Then they patted me down and made triple sure my raging hard-on wasn't an artificial attachment packed with high explosives. On the second tour, Buffy called again wanting to know what was taking so long. I told her I was sightseeing but would be there soon. That's when they let me dress.

"What I meant to say was 'what are you doing dressed like that?" the supervisor stated.

"What do you mean?" I wondered.

"Why aren't you in business attire?" she clarified.

"Let me think about that," I pondered. 

"Oh yeah, its freaking Saturday and no one told me what the hell was going on so I came dressed like it is freaking Saturday. I know most of you are home-schooled, but is reading a calendar really that hard?" I glared. "If this was a quiet cry for an early Christmas present, it worked. Can I go now?" I knew the look Security was giving me.

"If you slap me, prepared to get punched back. I'm not one of your Ken dolls," I warned them. "You'll gang up on me and win. Then you will get to tell Hayden why I'm not where she wants me to be."

"We'll get you on the way out," the supervisor menaced.

"That's right. How dare I act like I have a vagina?" I mocked her. I took a few steps past them before realizing I was missing something crucial. "Where am I supposed to go?" They took malevolent glee at my confusion. "All I am asking is for you to do your jobs," I groaned. They kept grinning. 

"Fine, I'll wander about until some far less friendly, helpful and more heavily armed woman takes offense at my temerity to breathe the same air and kills me. Good job boys," were my parting words. The supervisor dispatched a guard to escort me into the complex. "So, do you date much?" I asked the guard a few seconds later.

"What? No," she sounded confused.

"Do you date girls?" I continued.

"No," she grumbled. "Not dating men does not make me a lesbian."

"You are right. Are you a transvestite?" I kept teasing her.

"No! What gave you that idea?" she gawked.

"I was thinking that if you are a tranny, that's really good work," I told her.

"I'm not a transvestite!" she insisted.

"Fine, will you go out with me then? You get even better looking when there is a fire in your eyes," I grinned.

"If I say 'yes' will you shut up?" she studied me intently.

"Of course. You can access my personnel records for my current work and home numbers. Give me a call sometime," I winked. I was SO going to fuck this woman. See, she had to get back at me for taunting her. She was going to punish me with sex and she was going to think it was all her idea.

Our path led to a massive indoor archery range. It had twenty lanes. Each lane was clearly marked out to 150 meters plus there was approximately 20 meters of back space where the observers and archers waiting their turn congregated. I recognized plenty of the women present. There were also three men - the other male new hires. The rest of us had made it through Week One.

The guys were all dressed in suits. Ah, some of the previous conversation made more sense. I had on a tight white t-shirt, comfortable jeans and docker shoes (essentially canvas tennis shoes). The women dressed in a similar style though not identically. Tight vests, bound breasts, short skirts and short boots. I quickly made out Katrina's clan. I had to slip past Fabiola's pack to get there.

Katrina was on the firing line. My attention was drawn to the archer next to her. It was Aya and she was having a rough time of it. Her Mom, Caitlyn, was calmly trying to instruct her yet each word out of her mouth seemed to make Aya more and more nervous. I was drawn to Aya emotionally. I felt compelled to do something even though reporting to Katrina and Hayden was the proper procedure to follow.

I spotted a large bowl of fruit in Katrina's backfield. A grapefruit was the proper tool for the moment. Target in hand, I approached Aya after her latest failure. She was about to cry.

"Hey, Aya," I called out. Multiple heads turned my way. The only person who didn't seem to notice I was under-dressed was Aya. Her face blossomed and she ran right at me.

"Cáel," she squealed as she hugged my waist. I patted her back and kissed the top of her head. That drew a mixed reaction from our audience.

"What seems to be the problem?" I smiled down at her.

"I...I can't - I'm not good..." she stammered.

"Aya's a winner," I declared. "Aya does. The only 'not' that is Aya is 'Aya is not a freak'. Did Aya get a Daddy this week?" Her face brightened noticeably. "Did Aya get a Daddy that wasn't a spy this week? Who's clever idea was all that?"

"Aya?" she murmured.

"Who? I didn't quite hear that," I teased.

"Aya," she exclaimed.

"So Aya's a winner. So what's the problem?" I asked.

"I can't hit the target," Aya explained.

"Yes you can," I nodded. "Let me show you." I led Aya back to the line. The liberties I was being granted weren't lost on me. "Okay, ready your bow and notch an arrow." Aya nodded and did as instructed. I'd shot a few arrows at school. Not a lot and certainly not enough to ever be considered an archery instructor. Confidence training I did know.

"Okay, can you hit this?" I held the grapefruit up to the tip of Aya's arrow, standing beside it.

"Of course," she giggled. I took a half-step back still holding the grapefruit out.

"Can you hit it now?" she nodded. We repeated the process again and again as I back up to her target. Occasionally I'd add, "Now track in your mind the movement of bow as you adjust for the range." 

Aya nodded and before long, I was standing beside her - closer - target.

"Shoot," I commanded.

"Cáel," Aya whimpered, "I might hit you."

"Aya is a winner," I repeated. "Besides, do I look afraid? I believe in you, Aya."

The shot fell way short and skipped to within a meter of my foot. I wasn't worried. It was pointless. I tapped the grapefruit against the target. Aya looked to Caitlyn who nodded.

"Track the grapefruit in your mind, Aya. Don't think of anything else," I counseled. "Aya is a winner."

She drew, aimed, muttered something, visibly relaxed then let loose. She didn't hit me, or the grapefruit. She did hit the third ring of the target which, by the pristine look of the paper, was her first hit of the day. By the happy looks of her family, I was right. Aya squealed and started to run to me. Caitlyn held her back. I was still in the firing lane after all.

The Fates, Fortuna, or the Norns - those meddling, magnificent, malignant and mischievous divine entities hadn't finished fucking with me yet. As I reached down for Aya's first spent arrow, something tugged at the back of my hair and the now unforgettable sound of an arrow whizzing past mere centimeters from my head registered in my mind.

Someone, and by that I meant some-woman, had tried to murder me.

"Kneel!" Desiree's scream came a second too late. Bending over turned into a roll as I calculated the trajectory that arrow probably had taken. I righted myself, kneeling, on all fours, looking at my assassin. She was stepping out of the line-up and casually drawing her next barb.

No one was going to save me. The rest of the guys were only now starting to figure out things were disastrously wrong - for all of us. Having witnessed my murder, they were all doomed which was my assassin's true intent. Dodging arrows was marginally less impossible than dodging a bullet.

I'd fired guns before and shot a bow enough to recall that you really needed a vambrace to avoid ripping the skin off your arm. It also taught me that it was called a bow, not an eye-bolt shooter. Watching her eyes was useless. The strength of the bow was in the pull - the string. The control of the pull was in the fingers. I was watching the twitch of her fingers.

The second I saw those middle digits move, I launched myself to the left - the firing line. I saw her try to adjust, but a bow is not a gun. Once that arrow starts out, it has its own motivations. The arrow would have punched through my right shoulder and penetrated into my chest cavity. I wouldn't be dead, only fatally wounded. 

Instead it passed under my chest and outstretched arm and leg as I was in mid-roll. Next time I knew I wouldn't be so lucky. 

"No!" Aya screamed. That wasn't so bad, or distracting. Her running at me was. The smart play was to duck behind Aya. 

If the blonde archer shot in her direction, Katrina's entire clan would have filled her with feathered shafts. I, having more love than hate, ran the other way. I wasn't going to make it. I knew I wasn't going to make it. She had her arrow out with expert speed and was tracking my path. I dove and she flinched.

The woman flinched because an arrow buzzed past her. It wasn't 'aimed' at her. It passed a meter in front of her field of vision. It gave me a step, maybe two. The arrow smacked into the very edge of the target. The majority passed through, but didn't have the energy left to hurt me. Now I was behind a target and the Amazon murmurs began.

"Hold on now," Felix spoke up. A dozen women glared menace his way. It occurred to him he was unarmed in a room full of armed women - and they weren't doing anything to help me. Suddenly we had brotherly solidarity cemented by our helplessness. The lack of noise was eerie. The ceiling fans chugged away and Aya was still crying my name. There was no other human noise.

My rational mind didn't desert me, despite the hopelessness of my situation. My eyes stayed over the curve of the target. I presented her with a shot. The trade-off was I knew what she was doing. She shot, burying a shaft a centimeter below the rim; nearly punching through and into my face. She was a really clever lady.

Her next move was to stalk me. Someone shut Aya up. I couldn't spare a glance to see if she'd been taken away. My unknown assassin was confident, not gloating. She didn't have much respect for me. She undoubtedly had read my Havenstone file, even Elsa's report. I had no tricks. I had Aya's arrow and that wasn't even a real arrow - it was for target practice.

The other Amazons used diamond-shaped hunting arrows which they were clearly qualified to use. The brutal reality was I was going to die. A female warrior from a martial culture versus an adventurous college graduate - no matter how you worked the math, I wasn't going to make it. The Blonde Death wove between the targets, forcing me back until I had one target left to hide behind.

Fate was one fickle bitch, or maybe they don't teach Amazons political science in Assassin School. She chose her final approach from down range. She circled around, waiting for my final doomed rush to an adjacent archery target. I'd never make it, but that no longer mattered. I took off my shirt.

I let the shirt and arrow fall to the ground. I laced my fingers behind my head then stepped out to present her a clear shot. She drew back, a slight smile on her face. I went to my knees, closed my eyes and waited. In five seconds, I wasn't dead so I opened my eyes. That is what she was waiting for, for me to see my death coming. She finished her pull. I grinned triumphantly.

Amazons don't train with compound bows. They go old school; composite bows only. While quiet, when a dozen are drawn at once, the sound is distinctive. By Blondie's look, she realized she wasn't going to be celebrating my demise for long. See, if by some galactic calamity she missed me at this range, she'd be shooting into Katrina's crowd.

That was why I had surrendered myself. I wasn't tired of living. I had sworn my life to Katrina and when she was put at risk, I had put my life on the line to protect her, thus making myself an easy target. Why was Katrina aiming at her?

"What are you doing?" one of the elders cried out - to Katrina.

"Leona is threatening my people," Katrina answered.

"That man is not your people," that woman insisted.

"I am not talking about him. I have children among us and she's hasn't proven to be all that accurate," Katrina explained.

"She is..." the woman started.

"She missed a man three times - twice in the open," Katrina snapped. "My youngest has a better success rate!" Katrina must have been referring to Aya. It was a lie, but still.

"I will not permit..." the unknown elder began. Suddenly every woman was aiming a bow at someone else.

"He is a man!" Tia Pharos, Felix Melena's boss decried.

"If a man pulled your child from a burning house, would you kill him for touching your offspring?" Beyoncé countered. "Better yet, would you shoot him as he ran into your house to save your child - kill him for trespass? This kind of insanity is why we are where we are today."

"Beyoncé," Tia shouted. "You are not one of them."

"I was opposed because I saw no hope in this scheme," Beyoncé responded. She pointed to me, "Now I have hope."

"Refrain!" Hayden thundered as she strode into the room, trailed by a dozen women I didn't know and one I did; Marilynn. I enjoyed that moment right up until the arrow entered my thigh.

I started screaming. GI Joe, James Bond, and Mathew Bourne, I'm not. I couldn't even fall backwards. I had to fall to the side because of the angle the arrow in my leg was in. I had been looking over my shoulder at Hayden when it happened so I had no warning.

"Gentlemen, you will be escorted from this room and events explained to you. Now!" Hayden snapped.

In the periphery of my pain, I saw members of the various departments detach from their Houses and lead my three remaining brethren away. I couldn't read their faces yet I imagined their expressions ranged from fear to bereft of any logical explanation of events. They were waking up to the reality they lived and worked in a madhouse where their worth was measured on the whim and patience of others - welcome to my childhood.

The moment the door closed,

"Cáel Nyilas, to my side," Hayden called out profoundly. As I clamped my teeth down to keep my howl of pain contained, Leona, the blonde assassin began to return to her group.

"Viper," Hayden snarled in Old Kingdom Hittite. Instantly three guardians had pistols pointed at Leona.

"Leona," Hayden beckoned over politely now that the girl knew that disobedience meant death. Without difficulty, Leona made it to Hayden first. They waited until I limped over. My pain amused Blondie. "Cáel, kneel," Hayden directed. I'd thought this one out and neither choice was pain, or worry, free.

I put the knee of my wounded leg to the ground and rapidly shifted as much of my weight as possible to my kneeling leg. The pain sucked but I didn't topple over screaming so I racked this one up as a victory. A minute ago I had faced a quick death. Now I felt I was staring down a lingering one.

I was not an EMT, paramedic, or physician's assistant. I had no clue if I had major damage and was slowly bleeding to death. I'd have clubbed a baby seal in front of Aya for some codeine at the moment. The conversation turned to Hittite. I was not privileged to hear my fate.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 05



"What makes you think you can get away with this?" Hayden remained polite.

"It was an accident resulting in no serious harm to a male," Leona smiled. "I'll write Katrina an apology letter."

"You defied me - personally," Hayden coolly pointed out. Something filtered through my mind. Katrina wasn't coming to my defense like she'd done Tuesday.

There was one reason for that and Katrina had exhibited that to me time and time again.

"There are three penalties for this crime," Hayden droned on. "You are safe in the belief that I will not take your life. You are too valuable. I can still take your right arm, or both your eyes, as you are clearly too careless with your weapons."

"Never," Leona spat angrily. "I have not threatened to reveal our secrets, plotted against you, or slain a sister. Those are the only crimes that require that." Hayden contemplated her retort.

"Bitch [technically I called her the mating of a dog and a pig], your defense is that you are ignorant, or an idiot being used by ignorant people?" I said in Old Kingdom Hittite. "That's kind of lame."

A flea farted - at the other end of the field. We all heard it. Hayden grabbed the hair at the top of my head then tilted my face upwards.

"You speak our language?" she asked. I did my best to nod. "Is this a new development?" I shook my head. "Who taught you?"

"Oh," I grunted. "You may want to start by twisting the arrow in my leg, not that I can give any of you much advice on torture. I give you my pledge that my instructor was not one you and I have told that person nothing about your group. I don't expect you to take my word about it as you are all boxes of Cracker Jacks without the prize inside."

There was a snort from behind me. My bet was on Desiree.

"Do not defy me, or insult my people again," Hayden's eyes narrowed.

"I apologize, High Priestess. I elect to face my end as a human being," I replied. Hayden drew one of those small blades all these crazy bitches seemed to carry and put it to my throat. I closed my eyes.

"Open your eyes and meet my gaze as I end your life, Cáel," Hayden ordered.

"Do I have to?" I mumbled. "I'm sort of terrified." That brought some chuckles.

"It is my command," she reiterated. My eyes looked into hers. "Tell me this much; is the person you are defending a woman?" 

I gave the only nod I could that didn't have me slitting my own throat. 

"Did you lie to us about this relationship?" A tiny shake. "I am ashamed," she said softly.

"He's lying," Leona snarled.

"Why?" Hayden regarded her fellow Amazon. 

"He's about to die. Is he so loyal to an outsider cause that this is how he chooses to go? Wouldn't pointing us at another be more profitable to him? By our ancestors, if he is this loyal to one of our sisters, he is the Golden Apple of our quest," Hayden proclaimed.

"Compel the name," several voices called out.

"Cáel, if you knew all of this, why have you kept coming back to work?" Beyoncé inquired of me. Hayden moved the knife two centimeters away so I could move my throat.

"Two reason; I didn't think I could get away and I owed Katrina. Leaving her in the lurch because I was afraid was unduly cruel to her," I related.

"Didn't you know we would find out? Did you think we were that stupid?" a different woman addressed me.

"Name please," I said.

"Answer my question," she snapped.

"Okay. Yes, Wicked Whore, I knew some of you would figure it out..." I began. She drew her blade and took several steps my way.

"What did you expect?" Katrina laughed. "Lacking a formal name, he created one based on his perception of your personality."

"This insanity shows in your blood," the stranger spat at Katrina. "You cloak your house in weakness, flaws and disgrace." I surged up as best I could. Hayden forced me back down.

"Cáel, what are you doing?" Hayden spoke loudly.

"She's insulting Katrina. I'm going to get her," I replied.

"You are a male, unarmed and wounded," she pointed out.

"Oh...not enough? Should I tie one arm behind my back, or are you admonishing me from spanking the mentally deficient?" I calmly inquired. Hayden smirked.

"Let him stand, Hayden," the woman growled. Hayden released me. She'd already made her point - men had value. My individual life no longer mattered. I had a different opinion. I will never recommend what I did next. As I finished standing, I reached back and in one savage motion, pulled the arrow through the back of my thigh.

I was really bleeding now and God-damn, the pain - the pain. For the past five minutes, my life had stumbled from one certain death experience to the next. I was finally out of rope. The hand on my shoulder caught my mind in turmoil and I nearly stabbed the person behind the touch with my bloody arrow.

"I've got this," Desiree told me. "She insulted my house and my nieces. Now the Wicked Whore is going to get it."

"Stand aside, Half-Blood," the unknown woman seethed. "I'll deal with you next."

"Feel free to not defend yourself," Desiree stated serenely. "I wasn't planning on recording your death upon my list of accomplishments anyway."

By the reactions of the other Amazons, not recording an opponent's death was the equivalent of calling them a 'mewling infant', or worse, a man.

"This is the problem with unrestrained men," a new voice joined the conversation. A quick glance suggested she was Fabiola's Mom. "They cause us to quarrel amongst ourselves."

"Messina, did anyone raise a feather to save Cáel?" Katrina countered.

"Desiree shot at Leona," Messina pointed out.

"In the past ten years has Desiree missed ANYTHING she's aimed at?" Katrina reposed. "Perhaps, if Leona had not been standing in the lanes, this might not have happened."

"The man was in the lanes as well," Messina persisted.

"That's right. I agree - he was...holding a grapefruit for a child to aim at and showing far more courage and devotion than I've ever shown to my own flesh and blood," Katrina smiled.

"He is irreverent, knows our language and our secret," Messina argued.

"He's been like this all week," Katrina kept grinning. "He has been home multiple times yet he keeps coming back to work."

"You didn't know," the unknown woman said.

"Who said I didn't know?" Katrina smirked. "I knew. I've talked to the person who taught him and they are of no threat to us."

"How dare you? You should have told the Council and taken immediate steps to remove him," Messina gasped. Things began making sense. Messina/Fabiola's house was allied to Katrina's. It was most likely a generational thing. Today though, Messina did not support this 'New Directive' of Katrina and Tessa.

Tradition dictated that Katrina mentor Fabiola yet politics meant that Katrina couldn't trust the young woman.

"I dare because this is my job - the security of our people," Katrina lectured. "I determined that Cáel would not betray us. I trusted him with my own family."

"This is fascinating. It will also wait until our next meeting," Hayden laid down the law. "Cáel, to my side," and a-limping I went. "Kneel." This time I nearly keeled over. "What bond can you give me to make any of us believe you will not flee if I let you leave?" I gave that some thought.

"I swear on my daughter's prestige," I offered. Hayden's eyes narrowed.

"You don't have a daughter," she pressed.

"Don't tell her that," I whispered. "She's got her heart set on me being her Daddy."

"This is not the time for jests, Cáel," Hayden cautioned me. I kept eye contact.

"He is referring to Aya," Desiree filled in the missing parts. "If Caitlyn unleashes her, Aya will be here inside of three seconds."

"Aya," Hayden summoned the child. I could only imagine the tension the adult women of House Epona felt as Aya came running my way.

Honestly, I didn't think about it. My body pivoted despite the weakness in my left leg and the pain coursing through my body so that I caught Aya before she could come around me. My instinct was to not trust Wicked Whore and Leona.

"Cáel," Aya sobbed, "you are bleeding. I got you shot."

"What are you talking about? This scratch? It hardly hurts at all," I lied to her. "Pain happens, Aya. Winners fight through the pain and get on with their lives and..."

"Aya is a winner," she sniffled. I pushed her far enough back so that we were nose to nose and forehead to forehead.

"Weak," Leona sneered. Aya's face clouded in shame. I didn't get angry, I laughed.

"Aya, that was from a supposed Amazon who couldn't kill me with four arrows. It only took you two arrows to get closer and you are only nine," I chuckled. "If she couldn't get the job done with four arrows, what does that make her?"

"A loser?" Aya's eyes grew large.

"Precisely," I kissed her nose. "You don't need to listen to losers. You are a winner and since you are also kind, you should take some time out to give Leona some lessons so she won't always be a loser. That's what taking responsibility for your people means."

"Okay," Aya nodded. "I don't like her but I'll do it for you."

"No," I shook my head, "you will do it because in you is the blood of greatness. True greatness is measured in the lives you save, not the lives you take."

"Pathetic," Wicked Whore commented in a disgusted tone.

"You've picked a fight with Aunt Desiree," Aya peeped, "so you must not be terribly bright. Cáel has taught me to pity stupid people like you, not hate them."

"Caitlyn, control your infant," Wicked Whore snapped.

"I apologize, Ursula (the Wicked Whore's name). Aya, don't talk to stupid people," Caitlyn directed. "It is a waste of breath. Now come here and stand with Mommy."

The best part of that was that the 'stupid people' could be referring to me. We all knew it wasn't, but it was a plausible excuse their opponents had to swallow. Hayden wouldn't allow further conflict.

"Have your wound tended to and I will have you driven home," Hayden instructed me as she rubbed my hair. Aya reluctantly headed to her Mom.

"Can I ask a second favor?" I looked up to Hayden. My first was on Tuesday.

"Your life hangs by a thread spun by the most slender spider ever imagined," Hayden clearly found me amusing. I nodded. "Ask away."

"Once my wound gets dressed, can Leona and I address the other three males," I requested.

"We can weave a convincing lie and keep the New Directive program going," I stated.

"What makes you think Leona would possibly help you?" Hayden grinned.

"She helps, or she coughs up an arm, or two eyes," I reminded the crowd.

"I'd rather face mutilation," Leona snarled.

"I'm cool with that," I beamed pleasure at Leona.

"Do not presume to dictate my actions, male," Hayden chided me.

"I wouldn't think of it," I responded. "I admit I'm still a bit unsure about when you ladies want honesty, humor, or for me to keep my mouth shut."

"You are odd," Hayden was grinning again. Sex.

"It is truly amazing to me how many women I can attract with the line 'I laugh at death' - mainly because it is true. Please do not mistake my flippancy for a lack of fear. I'm scared alright. Voiding my bowels and begging for my life merely seems counterproductive in the given circumstances," I explained.

"You will come home with me," Hayden mused/ordered. Yes, it was sex.

"No can-do High Priestess," I sighed. "I have a date tonight and it is against corporate policy for me to fraternize with company personnel during my internship. Thank you for the consideration, but you'll have to wait 78 days like all the other crazed psychopaths you call a congregation." Katrina broke out in laughter. 

Europa, Loraine and Caitlyn followed suit. In seconds, Daphne, Paula, Violet, and Tigger joined them. A few had to explain things to their families.

"Convincing men to do what we want them to do is a difficulty we had not envisioned," Katrina chuckled. "I can guarantee he is a fully functioning heterosexual man."

"Cáel, how many women have you been with since Monday morning?" Katrina demanded.

"Ugh...let me think," I lowered my head.

"He has to think about it?" one woman questioned another.

"Let me see - Monday was sex-free which was rather remarkable."

"Tuesday I had sex with three women, Wednesday it was four, Thursday was four, Friday there was only one though I did have sex with her on two separate occasions. I had sex before showing up here this morning and she might still be at my place for a repeat performance if we wrap this up quickly," I detailed.

"When do you find time to work, or do you prematurely ejaculate?" Ursula frowned.

"Most of those encounters happen off the clock," I insisted.

"He's fucking our teachers," Europa volunteered. Gee, thanks Europa.

"I confess, I slept with two of their teachers - but, in my defense, they were really good-looking, single and fit in well with my cover story that I was helping the children's education," I defended my indefensible actions.

"Besides, it isn't like it takes that long. I can normally take a woman to orgasm in under ten minutes though the longest took twenty-two minutes," I explained.

"You are lying," Leona glared.

"No. The female orgasm - the reason the Creator gave men fingers and tongues," I wiggled my fingers.

"As a side benefit, tongues are really handy for romantic exchanges," I added.

"Do you have any siblings?" Hayden inquired.

"Sorry - only child," I shrugged, winced then swayed. There was a growing pool of blood on the floor around my knee.

"Sydney," Hayden addressed a member of her entourage, "take Cáel to the Aid Station and tend to his wound. Leona, you will go with them and help concoct a lie to appease the worries of the other males."

"No," Leona snapped. I barely saw Hayden's reaction. She took a step forward, her blade flashed out and she slit Leona's throat with one fluid move.

The blonde's hands flew to her throat but it was too late. Blood splashed everywhere. She staggered for a moment then flopped to the ground, kicking out the last seconds of her life. It was easy to hear their horrific words and forget they were a homicidal cult. Hayden's reaction was similar to the emotion I showed when at the supermarket and realized milk had gone up two cents a gallon.

Essentially displeased yet accepting it was bound to happen eventually and definitely going to forget about it by the time I got the bags to the car. That is how the Amazon High Priestess ended the life of someone her culture actually valued - my bet it was because she was a breeding female.

"Ursula, step forward," Hayden commanded.

"Why? What have I done?" Ursula gulped as she came forward.

"Someone has to answer for Leona's crimes since she is no longer able," Hayden explained coolly. "Do you wish to offer up some other member of your House to take your place?"

"This is wrong, Hayden. Leona is dead at your hand," Ursula declared.

"That's right," Hayden sighed. "You were born with the blood of the Unconquered, blessed by our Goddesses, triumphant in our trials and feted with prestige of the oldest martial tradition on Earth."

"He is a male of no tradition and a mutt bloodline. No prestige. No training. He bravely faced his fate minutes ago without plea while remaining defiant and loyal to a House he did not belong to," Hayden looked at Ursula yet aimed the words at the room. "In case you missed it, when that child approached, he shielded her with his body against you, Ursula, despite the obvious pain he was in."

"If you are not ashamed at exhibiting less concern for our people than a boy, walk away Ursula," Hayden stressed.

"You are showing mercy where strength is needed!" Ursula shouted. "You killed Leona over a male!"

"I killed Leona because she defied the Council, Ursula," Hayden purred. "We prayed and sought guidance before choosing the 'New Directive'. We have not only broken with tradition, we have killed it, burnt the body and scattered the ashes." She held up her hand. "Cáel, what is going on with Havenstone?"

"I doubt you are looking for a moral assessment," I grunted. I was almost at the door with Sydney. "Your male population is broken, your girls are being born deformed, mental, or sterile and your own genetics are screwed up. You are desperately bringing new male and female blood. Even then, you are treating your new women like 'runners', not like the Host."

Runners was the best interpretation of foot soldier in Old Kingdom Hittite. It referred to the peons who ran up to support the chariots - the true striking arm of those ancient kingdoms. In more modern times we called them 'cannon fodder'.

"Since you haven't bothered to update your definition of the term masculine in millennia, I can understand you treating men like a boot knife in a gun fight," I explained.

"Not at all what you want, but better than dying," I added.

"You believe we think so little of you?" Caitlyn asked.

"Need I reference all the women who came to my defense when Leona first shot at me? Or where Khalid is? Or what is going to be the fate of every male all of you have bred with over the centuries before now?" I replied.

"If you don't trust us, how can we rely on you to be obedient?" Brielle queried.

"Don't get me wrong; if I had a magic button that would kill every Amazon over the age of 17, I'd been pounding that bitch as hard as I could," I grinned. "A better cut-off age would be 15, but I kinda think Loraine deserves a chance to grow up to not be like the rest of you."

Loraine smiled at me. She wasn't alone either. It took me a second to clue in - it was my spirit that was attracting them. That and their desire to be the ones to break it. Even after the fight on Tuesday, that had been what Madi had mentioned to Katrina.

"I don't trust you because your whole race is insane. I will obey because I owe Katrina that much and more," I pledged. 

"Have I been merciful to you, Cáel?" Hayden asked.

"Am I about to die?" I reposed.

"No," she promised.

"Then 'no', you have not been merciful," I groused. "At this rate I am going to have to date Buffy and Desiree and I was really looking to avoiding that amount of heartache."

Take into account that there were several women in attendance who hadn't a clue what had transpired since the first arrow flew at me. Everyone of importance had been chattering away in a language that was not only dead; it was also from a dead language family. There is no Old Kingdom Hittite word for 'Buffy' so when I mentioned her name, she stared at me.

A flurry of emotions washed over her face. On some level she was worried about my health. She also had figured out that I knew what Fabiola had called her on Friday and wasn't happy I hadn't informed her of this - even though she would have had to then kill me for knowing.

"Buffy," I explained in English, "I told them I plan to sleep with you first."

Buffy stood taller and pushed her chest out farther at that new - almost preening.

"You will be sleeping with me first," Hayden declared in English.

"Can we make it a three-way? Buffy scares me," I stated. 

"I should scare you more," Hayden countered.

"Well, you'll need to beat Buffy's story about wresting a live jaguar to the ground and pulling all its teeth out," I fabricated. "I'm sure you have one only I haven't heard it yet." In English, because Buffy needed to be part of this conversation.

"You are dismissed," Hayden studied me as I was dragged away.

I lost the conversation in the archery field as the doors shut and I was 'escorted' away.

"You are one tough son-of-a-bitch," Sydney commented out of nowhere. The guard chuckled. These were some cold-ass people, if there was any doubt. Sydney had black hair, like Marilynn, except hers was heavily streaked with grey.

"Are you Marilynn's aunt?" I tossed out there.

"I'll make it easy on you. I am Hayden's oldest and Marilynn is my oldest and yes, I wish she'd get her life together," Sydney informed me.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 05



"Nice to know," I murmured. "Pity about Leona."

"We do not allow infighting, Cáel," she regarded me. "The Council decides - the High Priestess rules." I was digesting this information glut. I smelled Katrina's hand in all this.

"Are you the next High Priestess?" I went fishing.

"That's not how we do things. We search for birthmarks, auspices and celestial signs to lead us to the proper candidates," Sydney grinned. 

Wait; that was the truth! These nuts used astrology to pick their Supreme Leader...wacko.

"Candidates with an's'? Let me guess, they don't know it yet. The Council makes them run a gauntlet of tests to determine who gets the final nod," I reasoned. The guard jerked and Sydney stared at me.

"I see why Katrina wants you to breed with her house," Sydney mused.

"That's a pity," I sighed. "I'm devoting what's left of my short life to the Art of Masturbation."

"I like you," Sydney snorted. I was used to that. "You make Aya happy and that child needs it," was unexpected. Despite the pain and blood loss, I began to work out some things. 

Things like sterility. My semi-educated stab in the dark suggested that there were only three breeding females in House Epona - Caitlyn, Desiree and Aya. Desiree's mother could bear children and she had mated outside the program to conceive Desiree. The two adult women I'd seen at Caitlyn's house had no children, nor did Katrina herself.

As prestige conscious as these women were, being capable of bearing children was most likely the deciding factor in letting Desiree come back - instead of being murdered. Likewise, the way they all circled wagons around Aya spoke to more than their compassion and sisterhood. It was unlikely due to their militancy they would force one of their own to breed, so Desiree was abstaining due to a host of mental health issues.

And Katrina had made a point of me making Desiree smile. I couldn't confirm any of this with Desiree. If I showed her an ounce of pity, she'd either throw up a wall, or beat me senseless. I wasn't going to touch Aya until she was eighteen. Caitlyn would be a more delicate issue. Delicate as in 'how many women was I seeing again'.



Life as a New Hire Ch. 06



This story plays fast and loose with Ancient History and Linguistics; be warned.

Thanks to Chopperfan327 for the edit and the regular and updated bullpen for keeping me on track.

The words 'I love you' inspires joy, relief and terror.

*****

I missed my entry to the infirmary. I was returned to clarity by the two female attendants. The younger went straight to cutting my left pants leg off while the oldest Amazon I'd seen to date began an excellent rendition of 'beef' inspector while pretending to be a physician. It was almost hilarious when she looked to Sydney, addressing her in Old Kingdom Hittite.

"Was he being disciplined, or did he do something stupid?"

"I did something stupid," I griped. "I showed up to work today." Since it was their native tongue, both of the medical attendants' eyes bugged out.

"He volunteered to help Aya of Epona with her archery lessons by letting her shoot at a fruit out of his hand," Sydney related.

"This...this isn't a wound caused by a practice arrow," the physician observed.

"No, that was from Leona of Marda. She attempted to kill him. When Leona threatened his controller, he presented himself for slaughter," Sydney clarified. "Hayden stopped Leona, Leona disobeyed and we need to plan Leona's funerary arrangements now."

"How did you come to speak our language?" the junior attendant asked. The tone of her voice and the look in her eyes was chilling and sensual at the same time. It was chilling because of the transformation she went through as I went from a piece of equipment to a close approximation of a human being in her eyes. I was getting tired.

"Erotic poetry," I humored her. "I had a lover some time ago - a scholar - who wanted to share Old King...Amazon love poetry and songs in the voices of their creators. I know multiple languages no longer spoken."

#Your eyes are stolen from the waterfalls descending from the highest mountains#

#Your hair robbed from the threads of the night sky#

#Your body is shaped by the Mother Rivers#

#Your beauty is the gift of the Goddess who knows both tears and love#

I recited it in the original Chaldean Babylonian. They were all staring at me, so I translated it into Hittite. It didn't flow as smoothly.

"What language was that in?" the security guard inquired.

"Chaldean Babylonian. It is a love poem from a prince to his dead wife," I answered.

"It was nice, even eloquent," Sydney remarked.

"Wow," I sighed. "It is tragic to think not a single woman in this room has ever been romanced."

"I am pretty sure every woman in this room has been with a man before," the security guard countered.

"After sex, what did the two of you talk about?" I regarded her.

"That's not what we use men for," the doctor spoke up while she began examining my wound. Pain. "We use artificial insemination and surrogates for procreation. Beyond directing them in our physical stimulation, there is no need to talk to men."

"Oh," I mused sadly. "That makes sense and is richly rewarding to know. If I was more like the rest of you, I'd be laughing. Unfortunately, I have a heart and compassion, so I'll pity you all instead." The doctor didn't take my honestly well. "Ow! Good bedside - Ow! - manner there, Doc."

"We don't need your pity," the security guard threatened.

"Sure, but then I've not bred myself into extinction out of fear of cuddling either," I grinned. "Treating men like livestock makes sense - if you are evil. You refused to allow yourselves to get attached to any male so it would be easier to kill us when our time came."

"Tread carefully," Sydney cautioned me.

"Okay Sydney. Since you are the only female present capable of having offspring, I'll be good," I got in my parting shot. By the silence in the room, I had hit the nail on the head. "I apologize for disturbing you ladies. I'll be a good male and keep my mouth shut."

That declaration didn't last long. Apparently pain-killers were not part of their medical credo. When I asked, the doctor implied I wasn't hurt nearly enough - in other words, not being amputated or decapitated. I asked if being castrated would earn me a hammer to the head. They smiled. They thought I was a funny guy once more. It was the whole 'laugh at death' mystique again.

This tender, motherly moment was punctuated by the doctor's application of the staple gun (instead of stitches) to both entry and exit wounds. Sydney offered to give me something to bite down on. I insisted on sharing my pain as I screamed my lungs out during the torturous procedure.

"I thought you were a tough guy," the security guard sneered.

"And not screaming would have made me tough? Bitch, those are some fucked-up priorities. Screaming meant I didn't jolt when she was stapling my wounds shut. I've been stabbed and stitched enough to know that much," I glared.

The assistant had been walking her hands over my body during the process.

"You have been stabbed fourteen times," she muttered.

"You missed the one on the right foot," I corrected.

"You've been stabbed fifteen times? What do you do?" Sydney wondered.

"I date women. You are a surprisingly dangerous breed, even without the extreme training you ladies possess," I confessed. "To be concise, I have the bad habit of dating women and their friends, acquaintances, and even family members - usually without their knowledge. It always ends badly - thus the wounds."

"You betray the women you sleep with?" the doctor stared.

"We could banter terms and expectations about, but essentially 'yes', I do," I sighed.

"You seemed like such a well-behaved male," the security guard looked confused.

"Huh? What does my love of sex have to do with my demeanor?" I mused. 

"I've never beat a lover, or forced myself on a woman. If you want to hold my lack of forthrightness against me, please remember you are part of a secret society that embraces kidnapping, rape and slaughter as daily practices," I smiled. "Comparatively, me not telling one woman that I'm dating her neighbor is small potatoes."

"We do what we do out of necessity," the doctor insisted.

"That flimsy excuse is about as useful as 'you wouldn't understand; you aren't a woman/amazon/nutty-nut bar," I shook my head. "I give up. Your society has equaled, if not exceeded, every inhuman deed men have ever committed."

"Congratulations; you have become crueler and more depraved than your enemies," I lauded them.

"Because of your ignorance, I will let that outburst go unpunished," Sydney stated. I wised up and shut up.

My shirt was returned and they had to synch a large towel around my waist because my jeans were ruined and they didn't have scrubs in my size. They gave me my bloody dockers too. Sydney walked me to the front entrance. By the looks of the women we passed they knew something had happened, if not the precise nature.

Security's opportunity to 'get me' on the way out was stymied by Caitlyn & family, Desiree, Tigger, and Buffy hanging around. The moment Aya saw me, she called out my name and came running. The only thing worse than the pain of her impacting me would have been the look on her face if I warded her off. I caught her in my arms and lifted her up.

"Cáel," she exclaimed. "Does it hurt?" I kept lifting her until I blew loudly on her belly.

"Does that hurt?" I teased her.

"No," she giggled.

"Then I'm fine. Really now, I've been hurt worse by a splinter from a toothpick," I exaggerated for her.

"You are lying to me," Aya shook her finger in my face.

"The lesson being 'don't lie to winners'," I sighed.

"Yep," Aya mimicked me. "Is our date for tonight still going to happen?"

"Oh...Aya, I can't," I groaned. "I've got three smoking hot babes coming over tonight."

"Don't make me punch you," Europa play-threatened. She and Loraine had sneaked up on me while I was entertaining Aya.

"I don't know," Loraine gave a cautious laugh. "I like being called a smoking hot babe."

"Aya, I really like you, but do you always have to drag those two around with you?" I wiggled Aya up in the air. "It's kind of creepy." She giggled.

"Those are my sisters, Silly," she snickered. "They will be your daughters one day too."

"Time for us to go," Caitlyn intervened. As she ushered her children away, she shot me a look over my shoulder that strongly suggested she wanted to play house. Desiree moved to within a meter of me and looked me up and down.

"You are an idiot," she remarked, turned and left. I looked to Buffy.

"I'm your ride," Buffy snorted. I hobbled to her.

"I'm glad you are okay," Tigger waved then followed Desiree out.

"Thanks for a great time," I looked over my shoulder at the Amazons. "As soon as my blood supply has replenished, I'll be sure to come back and play some more."

We were in the car, exiting Doebridge when Buffy finally spoke.

"Why do you keep thinking you can keep getting away with talking like..." she was glaring at me. "Oh Goddess...you really are laughing at death. You really believe you are going to die, don't you?"

"Absolutely. The moment they started chanting I realized it was unlikely I'd get out of this experience alive," I admitted.

"Why are you holding us to the 78 day rule?" she asked.

"Recall what I said about backbone, Buffy?" I reminded her. 

"I am attached to the lifestyle I've created and I'm not going to change it to scrape out a few more days of existence," I grinned. "I hold Havenstone to that countdown because I would do it if I thought I was going to be okay." A few more minutes passed. I tried to cut the radio on. Buffy kept cutting it off. I was getting sick of it and my annoyance was showing.

"Did you really tell the whole dome that you would sleep with me first?" she whispered.

"Of course," I replied. "I said that was my intention at work and I mean to keep to it."

"What about Hayden?" she asked.

"Well, unless you agree to a three-way, I think this is going to be an issue we'll have to work around," I shrugged.

"I'm not even sure I like you," Buffy mumbled. "I want you. I am not sure I like you, though."

"Buffy, that's fine," I murmured. I unbuckled my seatbelt and began twisting around in my seat. My thigh was killing me, but I was a man on a mission. I put my head in Buffy's lap, gazing up at her.

"What are you doing?" she grinned.

"Annoying you - taking advantage of you - take your pick," I smiled. We drove for a while.

"What are you thinking about?" Buffy gazed upon me warmly.

"Picturing you in different colors and cuts of panties," I told her. Buffy frowned then returned her focus to the road.

"What is your favorite?" she inquired a few seconds later.

"I'm torn," I confessed. "I never seen you semi-nude so I have to do some imagining. How do black hipster lace panties sound?"

"Not a thong?" I had her attention again.

"Nah. You are like a chocolate covered cherry, Buffy," I explained. "Those panties would be like the sweet sugar before you bite into the cherry. It tantalizes with the promise of something even better." Silence for over ten minutes.

"I hate you," she gulped. She expressed that by tenderly stroking my face and hair. 

I drifted off to sleep shortly afterwards. It was the combination of lack of movement and the city's static that brought me back. We were parked somewhere, Buffy gazing down at me with something that might have been confused with affection.

"We are home," she whispered. "Your home. I need to take you to your apartment."

On the third landing we took a breather. Being wrapped up by Buffy, I took a moment to whisper in her hear.

#Your eyes are a molten river of gold, promising riches and a fiery death# I sang to her softly in Old Kingdom Hittite. It was original poetry.

"What was that?" she smiled.

"I'm not sure I can tell you," I stifled a yawn. "This whole translation thing wasn't explained to me. I can tell you it was a line of a love poem I created only for you."

"Oh...could you repeat it?" So I repeated it, quietly - this was still a secret language - on each landing until Buffy felt she got it right.

Odette answered the door - oh joy. Buffy turned brittle angry while Odette drank in the whole scene.

"Who is this?" Buffy snapped.

"This is Odette. Odette, this if Buffy, one of my bosses."

"Buffy, Odette is the woman who brings solace to my nights, drives off the pains of the day and comforts me in the first lights of the morning with a smile and a word," I said by way of introductions. I didn't call her my girlfriend and still kept her happy.

"Oh God, Cáel, what happened to you?" Odette worried.

"An important life lesson," I frowned. "Lawn darts and jello shots don't mix." I knew this to be true as I had something similar to this happen to a good friend. Since he was hit by a woman neither one of us 'was sleeping/had been sleeping' with, we assumed she was intoxicated. We took him to the hospital then I fucked her in the parking lot.

Later she, me and the victim had a three-way to ease her regrets. The next four three-ways were just because. Unfortunately, his girlfriend wasn't as forgiving. Back in the hospital parking lot, once we knew he'd be okay, I fucked his girlfriend too. Yes, I am morally irreprehensible.

"What really happened?" Odette fretted as she helped Buffy get me to the sofa.

"He cheated on me so I marked him as my territory," Buffy snarled.

"But he's your employee," Odette gasped. "Isn't that immoral?"

"Immoral? Child, men exist solely to pleasure women and carry heavy things," Buffy grumbled.

"Carry heavy things..." Odette mused. "He's carrying something heavy all the time," she snickered.

"I hate you," Buffy snapped. I wasn't sure who that was aimed at.

"Why - wait, he's not having sex with you, is he?" Odette sounded surprised. "Wow, you are really missing out." Buffy gave off her nearly subsonic jaguar growl. "I haven't had too much experience," Odette blithely continued on, "but - Wow - I'm having orgasmic tremors up to eight hours after every nightlong sex session with Cáel. It's wild."

Buffy grabbed my hair and twisted things until I was looking into her blazing hate/lust-filled eyes.

"Monday morning - seven o'clock - you're mine," she growled. She turned to leave.

"What? No good-bye hug?" I pleaded hopefully. I received a deep animalistic noise and a door slammed in our faces.

"Odette, is there any way I could convince you for some 'intensive care' sex?" I gave her puppy-dog eyes. Odette responded by helping me off the sofa and aiming us toward the bedroom. There was a loud pounding on the door.

"Odette, stay here. She's violently unstable," I cautioned my buddy. I hobbled to the portal.

"I want my hug," Buffy glared as I opened the door.

"Fine. Remember, this is purely platonic," I kept it cool. "Now put your hands behind your back."

"What? No, I won't," she snarled.

"Buffy, I'm sort of fragile right now and you are a big bully," I cautioned her. Buffy's whole body trembled. Had she spontaneously developed heat ray vision, my brain would have been incinerated on the spot. Buffy finally linked her hand behind her back. I gently pressed my body against hers, brushing her hair behind her shoulders then tilting her jaw up.

"I don't like making you unhappy, or disappointing you, Buffy," I whispered. "I apologize." I didn't kiss her. That was technically against the rules. Slow, persistent puffs of breath played along her shoulder, neck ears, cheeks and forehead in lieu of my forbidden kiss. Buffy's vexation at the lack of oral contact faded as the hot, moist sensations of my exhalations upon her flesh played out.

She quickly caught on that she could tilt her neck around to offer up places she found especially enticing, eventually leading me to her cleavage.

"Have a nice weekend," I told her when I was done.

"78 days...Cáel. 78 days," Buffy's eyes shone like solar flares of lust. She left.

The door shut, I turned around and Odette gave me a horny, beseeching lament. She'd been masturbating while I had been not-kissing Buffy.

"I need you," she moaned. I limped her way.

"I'm not sure..." I got out before she overwhelmed me.

"I'll help," she squealed. She dragged me across the room before tossing me on my new bed. Hmmm...new sheets...and the room looked really clean...sex. Odette would hurt me, make amends then try even harder to make me happy. It wasn't my best experience with sex, but far from my worst. 

For example: don't let yourself get tied down when you suspect your bedmate is unhappy with you because she's found out you've also been doing her friend. At least make sure her friend isn't at home and in on the revenge too. Don't apologize, beg for mercy, or say you love them. No, take your lumps like a man, admit you are lower than low, and that you deserve whatever they deem appropriate.

A terrifying first night. The next two were among the best I ever had...until the next weekend.

Odette helped me clean up and changed the sheets all by herself. She was a wonderful girl and I hoped she'd meet somebody who appreciated her and wasn't like me. Odette informed me that Timothy and Nikita would be showing up around 4 pm. 

Timothy had also told her he and I had a double date tomorrow night so she promised to call me Monday to see how I was doing...and whatever. With a wink, Odette also passed along that Timothy claimed all the toys in my room were his, except for the bondage suspension gear - which was untried - hint, hint.

Wait a second - wasn't this the same girl who thought a lone dildo was pressing the sexual envelope on Thursday? I kissed Odette and sent her on her way. I noticed the Nerf gun. I contemplated hiding the damn annoyance then I realized he'd only shoot/throw something harder. I decided to wear my Havenstone t-shirt (one size too small) that came with my recruitment packet and some gym shorts because jeans and the wrapping on my thigh didn't mesh.

Nikita showed up first and a bit early. Maybe she was trying to catch me shooing another girl out the door. I didn't ask.

"Hey Nikita," I greeted her with a kiss.

"Hey Cáel - what happened!" she gasped, taking in my bandaging. I had thought about my response.

"I was at an archery range this morning and was shot," I related.

"Did you report this?" she began her interrogation.

"My insurance will cover this and 'no', there is no police incident report," I answered.

"Why not?" she glared.

"I work for the Amish Mafia, Nikita. If I talk to the cops, you are going to be looking for me under the next barn raising," I joked. Nikita was not amused in the slightest.

"We need to take care of this," she demanded.

"How about this - someone tried to murder me this morning. Not a single person I was with raised a finger to save me," I exhaled.

"I didn't die for a few reasons. One is the three girls coming over here tonight. Another is that a few women find me charming enough to keep me around. Lastly, they know that I know I'm a corpse if I make a break for it," I explained. "Now, I'd truly prefer you think I'm making this shit up to sound insane, or trying to impress you."

"You are not...insane, or making that shit up," she muttered. "I still can't date a criminal."

"Barring carrying an unauthorized firearm loaded with blanks, I've been good," I grinned.

"That's a crime," Nikita groaned then pressed into me. "Why do I put up with you?"

"You are most likely the best woman I'll ever meet?" I offered. She hugged me.

"I'd say that you are only saying that to get into my pants except you're desperately trying to not get into my pants," she sighed. "How do I fix this?"

"Fix? I'm not sure this can be fixed. If you want to help, remind me love is stronger than hate, no one is irredeemable, and people can change for the better," I murmured.





Life as a New Hire Ch. 06



"I'll try," she gently and repeatedly kissed my shirt-covered chest. "I think you joke too much yet you're terribly honest. When you said you had a 'plethora of bizarre knowledge, I laugh at danger and have an incessant desire to learn' you weren't kidding. I should have run out the door right then."

"I agree. I know you are normally smarter than this - staying with me," I nodded.

"You are not getting rid of me that easily," Nikita went to her tippy-toes and kissed me on the lips. That's right. I was not a stoner who liked to toke on the weekends. No, I was part of a massive criminal conspiracy that was involved in various malfeasances more often associated with The Hague than the FBI, or Interpol.

Basically I was the opposite kind of man Nikita thought she wanted. I was verbally evasive, romantically unreliable, unethical and criminally involved. She wasn't blind to my flaws, she was reevaluating her desires. Beyond the sex, which promised to be epic, she felt I was brave and compassionate, honest and caring; a lover who laughed at death.

In her distant future, sitting on the sofa, watching TV, while her socially acceptable, ethical and reliable husband was on the computer and her children were asleep in bed, I was the type of man she would recall with a sensual curve to her lips and the fondest of erotic memories. She might even wonder if they'd ever find all my body parts, or the person, or persons, who finally did me in.

In the short term that meant more sex for me. I knew I was trying to not have sex spoil my relations with Nikita. I was going to move mountains to keep this love affair on track. If I wasn't nailing her by next Saturday, a good bet would be that the world had ended. This lack of sex was killing me. With my stress level skyrocketing, my libido was threatening to slip its leash.

I'd already scoped out three dozen spots at Havenstone for some quick nookie. It wasn't intentional. My perception automatically cataloged every place I went to on how safely, quietly, and comfortable having sex there would be. I don't think most people appreciate how much restraint I showed by not screwing Katrina in her bathroom, Buffy on that bed, and Buffy and Helena in any number of places.

The elevators...oh God, the elevators. I'd had sex with a total stranger riding an elevator in the Sears Tower. Every few seconds, we kept punching buttons for higher floors. Watching her greet her husband and two young daughters getting out of the lift was enchanting. I never considered the wife to be cheating though. 

She wasn't leaving her family; she was indulging in a fantasy. That helped me through lunch. After all, I was there to catch up with a high school buddy and his sister...and her husband...and two daughters - whoops. In retrospect, I was probably drawn to her because she looked like her/his mother. Mom was kind of hot and freaky too. 

The lesson there was never go upstairs to take a shower and change, leaving me alone with your mother unless you want her to have a secret smile when you return. She was divorced so there was no moral quandary. Further rumination was forestalled by Timothy's keys jingling in the door and coming in.

"Brother, she's still got her clothes on," Timothy mocked me. "You are losing your touch."

"We are not having sex," I protested.

"We are not...this weekend," Nikita blushed slightly. "Next week though..."

"I'm holding out for next Saturday," I informed them. Nikita hip-nudged me and I winced.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Cáel," Nikita steadied me.

"Cáel, what the hell happened to you?" Timothy tilted over to see past Nikita and look over my bandaged thigh, which was now bleeding. Oh, come on. Don't tell me 'girl on top' sex voids the 'don't engage in any strenuous activity for 48 hours' warning?

"Someone tried to murder him," Nikita spoke for me.

"Any lady I've met, a jealous lover, or some totally unrelated woman I haven't encountered yet?" Timothy was less than sympathetic.

"Why do you assume I was shot by a woman, or that it was even my fault?" I groaned.

"In Atlantic City, the odds of you being mauled by a woman you've pissed off is considered a sure thing," Timothy chuckled.

"Crazy woman, you've never met her and I seriously doubt you ever will," I told him. "She'd have shot my nuts off but she had these ridiculously large double-D breasts that got in...Ow!" I yelped as Nikita finger-stabbed one of my nerve clusters.

"Come on, Nikita," Timothy teased. "If Cáel doesn't notice a woman's breast size, check him for a pulse, or a concussion."

"Eyes front, Mister," Nikita demanded. "If you're looking anywhere it had better be at me."

"Wait a second," I protested. "You are supposed to be my love slave." Nikita smirked.

"Who is the boss?" she patted my swelling cock through my shorts and talked to it. "Who's the boss?" pat, pat, "That's good boy," she cooed. "He knows who the boss is," Nikita smiled at me. What could I say? My cock was the Lying Son of a Bitch of all Lying Sons of Bitches. It lied to everybody, me included. 

The only thing it didn't lie about was being horny, which was more like a continuous state of being for the damned thing anyway. I could have grappled her breasts, petted her kitty, and/or groped her ass. It pays to know your date/target/victim (depending on how polite you want to be).

My hands cupped her jaw with my fingers tickling her ears.

"Are these lips mine?" I whispered before kissing her with only a tantalizing tip of the tongue. "Are these my lips," I continued on and on.

"Yes," Nikita sighed happily, finally submitting.

"Nikita, I'm about to shoot our boy," Timothy muttered. "Let's avoid a friendly fire episode." Timothy went for his Nerf gun, I went for the kitchenette, or would have if Nikita hadn't stopped me.

"Oh, come on," I pleaded.

"No," Nikita smiled, "I don't know what you did, but I'm sure you deserve it." Wack - Nerf hit.

"Fine," I muttered. "Since I'm clearly not getting any sympathy, why don't we go get the car now?"

"I'll go get the girls, Cáel," Nikita suggested. "You should stay off your feet."

"Trust me, that will not work," I said. Thankfully, no one contested me on that. They took one look at the blood soaking through my bandages and cut me some slack. 

Getting the rental car was interesting. I had to convince Nikita her personal vehicle wouldn't cut it in our destination neighborhood. Halfway to the pick-up, something dangerous occurred to me.

"Desiree, I need to warn Caitlyn I'm bringing over a lady with a gun," I made a panicky call to the boss most likely know Caitlyn's number.

"Who?" she snapped.

"NYPD Patrolwoman Nikita Kutuzov," I supplied the name.

"You are an idiot," Desiree stated then hung up.

"What was that all about?" Nikita stared suspiciously...again.

"The family we are going to is security conscious to the level they will want to verify you are who you say you are," I explained. They weren't likely to kill her, or us. Caitlyn simply wouldn't let me in, or let the girls out, which would be a sucky thing to explain if the opportunity to even see the girls ever arose again.

"Do I need to inform my precinct that I'm stopping by this house?" Nikita questioned me.

"I wouldn't think so," I said. "I also wouldn't have thought I'd be shot with an arrow this morning either. Do what you think is best." Nikita called in her itinerary. Once we made it to the children's place, she insisted helping me to the door. Caitlyn answered with the kids closely behind her, luggage in hand.

"Ladies, this is Officer Nikita Kutuzov of the NYPD. She will be our chaperone for the night," I introduced my companion. 

"Cáel," Caitlyn asked after she pulled me into a side room, "who is this woman?"

"She is the daughter of the desk sergeant I met at the police station last Monday night/early Tuesday morning when Desiree and I showed up to get Marilyn," I informed her.

"I've dated her two times - no sex - and we are getting along okay," I added.

"No sex?" Caitlyn purred. "Saving yourself up for something?" I looked over my shoulder and saw three faces peaking in.

"Please stop taunting me, Caitlyn," I murmured. "The children are watching and I have to get going." She pressed up against me, gave me a wink then returned me to the hallway.

"Children, behave and I'll see you tomorrow afternoon," Caitlyn smiled. "Cáel - Daddy, have a good time." Aya was as happy as a clam, Europa was amused, Loraine was a bit sullen and Nikita was stiff as a board. The presence of Nikita, the outsider, kept conversation to a minimum on the ride over. Europa broke the silence as we entered my building.

"Gosh Cáel, you are poor," she noted.

"That's rude," was Nikita's rebuttal.

"What do you know about Cáel," Loraine boiled over with anger. Nikita turned on her.

"I know you are the reason I'm here, Loraine," Nikita locked eyes with her. "You are pretty so I'm here to make sure he behaves."

"She doesn't want him to behave," Europa teased. Loraine shot Europa an evil look.

"I want Cáel to be our Daddy," Aya piped up. "So does Mommy."

"I had that impression too," Nikita's smile to me was frosty.

"Well, I plan to be single for at least three more years," I declared.

"Great!" Loraine exulted.

"Good luck with that," Europa mocked me.

"I can wait that long," Aya added.

"It will be a miracle if you live that long," muttered Nikita.

"Cáel was shot saving my life today - me and my family," Aya got out.

"Aya - no!" snapped Loraine. "We are not to talk about it."

"I'm a police officer, you can tell me," Nikita tried to corner Aya.

"She is a ****," Loraine stated. 

It was Old Kingdom Hittite for 'masked ghost'. 'Ghost' could also mean 'evil spirit'. I postulated that was the Amazon term for non-Amazonian women.

"What does that mean?" Nikita scanned the group.

"It means we are not going to talk about it, concentrating on having a good night instead. Okay?" I stressed.

Nikita backed off, we made it to my place and made the introductions with Timothy. Once they got past the fact that he was gay - their problem was not with homosexuality; it was with males wasting their sexual potential not making babies - they thought he was wonderful. My roommate caught me flat-footed when he reminded the girls that they should wear their pj's on a sleep over.

Off they raced into the bedroom, dragging a reluctant Nikita along, to get changed.

"Dude," I said in a hushed voice. "What have I ever done to you?"

"Nothing," he snickered, "I'm being petty." He went off to change as well. I was already in a t-shirt and shorts. I really didn't need to change.

Nikita's countenance was one of fury etched in stone. It appeared that Amazonian sleepwear consisted of a beige half-vest, panties and a short, short skirt. It was somewhat endearing on Aya. I wasn't going to go there with Europa. My brain was having none of that avoidance with Loraine though. God, she was scrumptious...and so very out of bounds.

Nikita was in a plaid sleeping shirt than came down to her knees. I was trying to keep it together when Timothy came out in black boy-shorts.

"Wow, Nikita. I had a shirt like that...when I was ten. You make it look..." he ended up laughing. The look Nikita gave Timothy was blistering.

Aya came up to one side, knelt on the sofa where I was sitting, and hugged my head to her bosom. Europa plopped down on the other side. Loraine hopped into my lap.

"Oh...is that your...?" Loraine gasped.

"That's his nothing!" Nikita yanked Loraine off my lap, "that you need to know about at your tender age."

"What is wrong with you people?" Nikita complained.

"Don't look at me. I've been sitting on the sofa the entire time," I waved off responsibility.

"We are not ashamed of our bodies," Loraine shot back. "Don't take out the fact that you aren't pretty as me, my sisters, or our Cáel."

"Cáel, don't tell me you find this manner of dress acceptable?" Nikita glared.

"If they are comfortable with it, who am I to complain?" I shrugged.

"She's nine!" Nikita pointed at Aya who smiled back.

"Damn Nikita, trust me a bit, why don't ya? I am well aware of women's ages," I sighed.

"Do you want me to dress like they do?" she stared accusingly.

"That would be pretty nice," I smiled letting my lust sneak through.

"Hold on," Timothy grinned. I was in trouble. "When I helped Cáel move in I saw he had a huge box full of women's clothes - not in his size. He's not a cross dresser."

Gee - thanks Timothy, you right bastard.

"What is a cross dresser?" Aya piped up. I groaned.

"A cross dresser is a man who dresses up like a woman," Nikita provided. "A Drag Queen is a man who dresses up like a famous woman/actress/singer. A transvestite is a man who dresses like a woman because they want to be a woman."

"Have you ever dressed like a woman, Cáel?" Europe inquired.

"Yeah," I grinned. "I did a burlesque review one year and dressed up like a pole dancer at a friend's bachelorette party."

"Really?" Loraine and Nikita both perked up.

"What's are pole dancers and what's burlesque?" Aya mused.

"Hmmm...I was in a burlesque troupe for a South Sudan relief charity event," I recited. "Burlesque dancers were really racy clothing - kind of like what you have on right now, Aya. I was a pole dancer at my friend's bachelorette party because I owed her for some past mistakes."

"Aya, pole dancers where bikini style clothing and do erotic acrobatics with a ceiling to floor pole, thus pole dancing," I explained.

"Can we see you do that?" Loraine and Europa closed in. "Sometime soon?"

"Past mistakes?" Nikita glared.

"Yes, past mistakes," I sighed. "I slept with her, her best friend, her mother and her younger sister. She stabbed me here," I pointed to a faded scar on my left triceps. "We hooked up again later, but things didn't work out that time either," I pointed to the scar on my foot.

"You didn't have her arrested? Worse, you took her back so she could stab you again?" Nikita shook her head negatively.

"I was the one who made her angry," I shrugged, "plus the sex was passionate."

"Those are scars of sexual animus," Loraine purred. "You must be tremendously delectable to incite such a reaction." She gave off her own predatory rumblings.

"Loraine, the man cheated on these women. This is not what you look for in a sex partner," Nikita lectured.

"What do you mean?" Europa looked Nikita's way. "I want a man that other women desire. It makes the conflict and resulting conquest all the more praiseworthy."

"You are thirteen," the policewoman reminded Europa. "You don't need to be thinking about men, especially treating men like conquests."

Timothy came out of my room with a large cardboard packing box - full of clothes - women's clothes.

"What the?" Nikita blanched. Europa and Loraine swarmed the goodies while Aya snuggled in tighter to my side.

"I've never heard my Mother, or Aunts, talk about a male the way they talk about you," Aya whispered into my ear in Old Kingdom Hittite. "They really like you - as a person."

"You referred to Desiree as your Aunt today," I quietly spoke. "Is that the first time you've acknowledged her as family.

"No; I did it once before when I was six and Momma was very angry. Grandmother Sylvia was the Heir to House Epona when she ran away," Aya informed me. "All of this happened before I was born. Great-grandmother was very angry with her sisters and Momma. When they brought Aunt Desiree back, they were all wanted to kill Desiree except Aunt Katrina." 

"Katrina fought and killed Great-grandmother so Desiree was allowed to live. The other women still won't call Desiree 'aunt' or 'sister' though," Aya finished.

"You did," I reminded Aya.

"I'm not going to make it, am I Cáel?" Aya suddenly looked so small and vulnerable. "I know you will honest with me."

I wasn't sure where the honest part came from.

"Why do you think you won't make your trial in three years?" I inquired. I wanted to know where she stood mentally.

"I'm small and weak. My mind gets excited and confused too easily. It took a man risking his life for me to make me concentrate hard enough to hit the target this morning. I'm not going to make it," she moped.

"You do realize you are asking for sympathy from the only male inside Havenstone who speaks your lingo and everyone will know by Monday," I tweaked her nose. "I've been beaten up, shot with an arrow, faced numerous death threats as well as enslavement plus being stun-gunned half to death and given a truth serum that set my body on fire - figuratively speaking - all in my first week."

"Your life expectancy is under three years, Aya, but mine is at 77 days and counting down," I gave her a weak grin. "I'm not going to feel sorry for you. Aya has a dozen people who love and support her - me included. She's a winner. Me? All I've got is a whiny munchkin with delusions of self-pity. That would be you, in case you missed it." Aya hugged me.

"That's why I love you," she whispered into my ear. "You are really my friend. You turn my mistakes into victories, Cáel. You treat me like you would any other nine-year old girl."

"Cáel Nyilas, what is all this?" Nikita glared at me. She was holding up a bundle of women's undergarments. 

"Clean underwear of the female variety," I grinned broadly.

"Wow," Loraine exclaimed. "There is not much to this one at all," she held up a lacy white thong. "Do you want to see me wearing this...and a smile?" she invited me with her eyes.

"Actually Loraine, those are Timothy's," I lied. She looked poleaxed.

"Bro, those wouldn't hide my balls, much less my dick," Timothy laughed.

"Guys!" snapped Nikita. "Try to remember this is a teenage girl sleep-over, not a frat party."

"Nikita, calm down," Europa tapped the cop's shoulder. "I think we've all seen a naked man before, unless you haven't. Why don't you try some of these on? Some are in your size."

"Women don't put on other women's underwear," Nikita stated. "It is unsanitary."

"But he washed them," Europa countered.

"That's not the point," Nikita groaned.

"Well, I'm going to try some on and see how Cael likes them," Loraine proclaimed.

"Me too!" Europa stood up.

"Me three!" Aya tried to jump up but I held her at my side.

"No you don't," I tickled her. "You need to stay here with me on the sofa to make sure I behave and Officer Nikita doesn't have to shoot me."

Aya stayed with me; Loraine and Europa grabbed up some of the clothes and fled to my bedroom, pursued hotly by Nikita. Timothy settled in on the other side of Aya.

"Hey there," he rumbled. "You are as cute as Cáel said you were."

"Thank you," Aya gave her warmest smile to him. "You have really big muscles."

"I work out a lot and eat children for breakfast to stay in shape," he teased.

"Bad children taste better with ketchup," Aya chirped without missing a beat.

"Do you have any eighteen year old, or older, brothers as cute as you?" Timothy rustled Aya's hair.

"We don't have brothers," Aya informed him. Timothy shot me an inquisitive look. My visual response indicated he should wait for an explanation later. We opted to tickle Aya instead then Timothy followed that with airplane spins and we ended up doing Aya-tosses. Yes, we tossed the future of House Epona, squealing, across the length of our living room, caught her then threw her back.

The ladies came out of my room. Loraine was flabbergasted, Europa was jealous and Nikita was livid. They were also all wearing various pieces of flimsy female attire. You see, when a woman dumps you in a screaming fit, they take their coats, pants and shoes - it gets cold in New Hampshire.

The often forget shorts, pajamas, panties, bras and light shirts. This resulted in my 'collection' of women's things to be biased toward bedroom/house casual attire.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 06



"Me next!" Europa begged.

"Put her down right now!" Nikita demanded.

"Cáel, I'm scared," Loraine faux-sniffled. "Hold me." That would have been bad in all kinds of ways. Loraine had picked up a cotton candy colored bra and panty set - from a nice girl - liked to walk around my room in just that and the matching pair of 6 inch heels...which were also in the box.

"No!" Nikita grabbed Loraine's bra strap to impede her progress. Europa slipped past Nikita right as Timothy was putting the exhilarated Aya down. For a child handled like glass most of her life, I could tell the thrill of our roughhousing was reaching deep into Aya's heart. She didn't know that she was still being treated differently than other nine year-olds because being something new was good enough.

From my point of view, I was a good boy. I stopped and gawked at Nikita. Sure, she was wearing forest green boy shorts and matching sports bra, but this was as naked as I'd ever seen her. Her body was pale white unlike Loraine's, which had a faint tan. This did two thing; disappointed Loraine and caused Nikita a terrible conflict of emotions.

Oh, I was still a pig who mostly thought of women as sex objects - but she was the current subject of my porcine desires so I was suddenly more acceptable, or at least, forgivable. My reaction had an unexpected benefit. Nikita remembered that she was here to be a chaperone, not a den mother.

"Loraine, if he drooled at you like that, he knows I would shoot him," she tapped the younger woman.

"But I'm wearing less," Loraine turned around to face Nikita. Now Nikita was the 'worldly' woman lecturing the one blossoming into womanhood - Thank God!

Women ganging up on you isn't always a bad thing and them fighting over you isn't always a good thing. If they fight over you, the winner may still hold you responsible for what happened = no sex. When they settle those issues internally, they are more likely to ignore your flaws to get what they want, namely your attention and body.

Anybody who thinks girls don't want sex as much as a guy has never been shoved into a dark closet with a female total stranger. If you aren't quick, she'll have your cock in her mouth before you can get under her bra - just saying.

"Sometimes you get more out of teasing a man than showing him too much," Nikita taught Loraine.

"What do you think?" Loraine turned back to me.

"What? Huh? I think you two are two too many," I gulped. "I'm going to stand in front of the freezer for a bit." Loraine grinned then turned and shared a special look with Nikita - metamorphosis complete. They were now women, neither Amazon nor outsider.

"No you don't," Europa insisted. "I want to take an 'Aya' flight," she referred to Timothy and me tossing Aya across the admittedly small living room. Timothy easily hefted a giggling Europa up in an arm curl.

"We can do this," Timothy grinned at me. "She's light enough."

Timothy knew how much weight he regularly lifted and how that rated against my slightly lesser bench press. I took his word for it that I could catch a thrown Europa with only one good leg. The doorbell rang and a stillness seized the room.

"Timothy, take Europa to the kitchen," I hissed. "Loraine, Aya - to the bedroom. Nikita - gun." People scrambled. Once they were done, I began to stump to the door. The bell rang again because I was taking a while and the person at the door was impatient. I looked out the peephole and what I saw chilled me. Not opening the door wasn't an option - double negative - ugh.

"Hello Elsa," I glared. She had two buddies, all from the Security Detail. "What can I do for you?"

"This is a spot inspection on the Ruger girls," she informed me.

"I didn't receive any notification of this," I narrowed my gaze.

"That's why it's called a spot inspection, you idiot," Elsa sneered.

"Well, that's not going to happen," I took a deep breath. "Anything else I can 'not' do for you?"

"Don't you recall what I said when we met the first time at Katrina's office?" Elsa smirked.

"Since my death will be rapidly followed by yours, I'll accept the trade," I grinned.

Elsa tried to look past me.

"The woman has a gun?" Elsa wondered.

"She's a police officer with a submitted itinerary," I smiled. "Is there anything else you need to know?"

"I will see the girls," Elsa insisted.

"Elsa, here are your options. You can storm the room and you and your team will most likely die. You can leave. Or, you can strip down under my watchful eye. If I am satisfied you have no weapons, you, and you alone, can come in and see the girls. How's that?"

"You don't dictate conditions to me," Elsa hissed.

"You do what you like. This door closes in ten seconds," I shrugged.

"Girls! Present yourself," Elsa commanded in Old Kingdom Hittite.

"NO!" Aya shouted back a second later in the same tongue. "And leave my Daddy alone."

I heard a drawer open in the kitchen.

"The knives are in the bloc on the counter," I heard Timothy give Europa directions. It must have been her looking for a weapon.

"Loraine," Elsa snapped, "stop this madness."

"Elsa, Officer Nikita and me are arguing if I can use her back up-piece, or not," Loraine responded. "Elsa, I have known and respected you all of my life. If you kill Officer Nikita, I will pick up her weapon and shoot you. Cáel is only doing what a Father would do for his offspring - defending us."

"How about this?" Europa, out of sight in the kitchenette, showed Timothy something.

"Utility knife - good choice," Timothy remarked.

"What have you done to these girls?" Elsa seethed.

"I...I can't say anything that would make a damn bit of difference to you, Elsa. You are willfully blind and I'm too hurt and tired to give a damn anymore."

"3...2...1..." I counted down.

"Fine, I'll submit to a search," Elsa grumbled. Oh, this was going to be fun. This wasn't what I had purposed. It didn't matter. She was here to see me, not the kids. I knew that look. I didn't even ask to take off her clothes. I started, she looked absolutely outraged and she was also juicy enough to slake any man's, or lesbian's, thirst.

The two other security types started out angry then slowly evolved into a guarded curiosity. 

"Is this really necessary?" Elsa groused as I took off her belt. I showed her the garrote I found in the folds of the leather accessory. She refused to be apologetic in the least. Beyond the obvious weapons, she had the garrote, 8 small knives and a back-up pistol holstered at the small of her back.

Feeling inside Elsa's bra earned me three dirty looks. I wasn't actually looking for weapons. Her tits looked nice, so I copped a free feel. I'm a pig. Running my hands around inside her panties earned me a death warrant, no doubt. I kept Elsa's arousal to myself. Sticking a finger inside her didn't count as a violation of my 77 day deadline because...I'd make up something later.

"Come on," I beckoned Elsa to follow me. She reached down to pick up her clothes. "No you don't,' I insisted. "I can't be sure I missed something sown into the fabric so you come as you are." This wasn't done out of concern for the girls' safety. This was done because Elsa looked even hotter in her aqua French cut panties and matching sports bra. Oink.

Only when I pushed the door open did Elsa and company realize I'd never closed the portal fully. Contrary to the evidence, I wasn't suicidal. If something had gone bad in the hallway, I was planning to throw my body inside and pray for Nikita to provide me cover fire so I could crawl to the kitchenette.

Once we were inside, I shut and deadbolt-locked the door. Nikita and Timothy peeked out first.

"You go Bro," Timothy chuckled. "She's not here five minutes and you have her out of her clothes. My faith in you is renewed." Nikita's reaction was a bit different.

"Did you search inside her bra and panties too?" was her icy insinuation of my pig-atude.

"Yes he did," Elsa snarled at Nikita. Oh, this would be a real bitch-fest. I was 'saved' by the appearance of the three girls. Elsa's gaze wandered from Loraine to Europa to me. "What is the meaning of this?" That had to be about the lingerie.

"Yeah," Nikita glared at me too. "That's what I asked him."

"These are his trophies from some of his female conquests," Loraine proclaimed proudly. "It makes him even more valuable, being so desired and proficient." There was no way to make that sound acceptable to a NYPD patrolwoman, or an Amazon War Leader. It got better. "Hold on! I'll get the rest of it."

"At least there are more to it," Elsa simmered. When I said better I was being sarcastic.

"Yes, I ran my hands over every inch of Elsa the Head of Internal Security for Havenstone's body, Nikita. I decided to forgo the rectal exam, but her vagina is hot and tasty," I groaned.

"Elsa, please stand aside," Nikita growled. "I'm aiming at the wrong person."

"By all means," Elsa stopped shielding me.

"Hey Elsa," Europa waved with her knife hand. "This is Timothy, he's a homosexual."

"I'm a tattoo artist," Timothy chuckled, "but I think the relevant issue with you is that I don't engage in sexual relations with females. Which reminds me..."

Timothy put down the crowbar he used for home defense, squeezed passed Elsa and retrieved his Nerf gun.

"Oh Jesus," I groaned. At that moment, Loraine came stumbling out in those matching six-in heels. She had clearly never walked in heels before.

This extenuated the badness by causing her to constantly lean forward thus threatening to spill her breasts out of the small, tight bra she was wearing.

"That's the 'rest' of it?" Elsa snarled at me. 

"Ow!" I grunted as Timothy shot me. He reloaded and handed the weapon to Elsa.

"Here, have a go at him," Timothy joked. "It helps relieve my stress." Whack - Ow!

"Damn it! Would someone please remember I was shot with an arrow today," I howled. Aya wiggled past Nikita and rushed to place herself between me and danger.

"Stop beating up my Daddy...I mean Cáel," Aya declared. "He's not my Daddy yet."

"He is not your Daddy ever, Aya," Elsa insisted.

"I don't know about that," Nikita holstered her sidearm. "With the way their mother was eating him up with her eyes..." Whack! That was Elsa punching me in the shoulder. I truly appreciated Aya's defense, but I wished she was taller.

"Is there any woman at Havenstone you are not seducing?" she accused me.

"Can I get back to you on that?" I evaded.

"Cáel!" Nikita blasted me with outrage.

"Cáel, come back to the bedroom and I'll comfort you," Loraine offered.

"NO!" Nikita and Elsa shouted.

"Male," Elsa blindly handed the Nerf gun back. "Reload."

"You are certainly a bunch of wacky dames," Timothy snickered. "Cáel, would you please start banging them. The estrogen floating around this place is starting to fuck with my mind."

"Not happening," Nikita stated firmly.

"He cannot sate my lusts," Elsa pledged. Invitation to try.

"Lady, I really don't know who you are, but I've had to put up with twenty orgasms in one night, so if you think your that much of a sexual badass, plan to have your mind broken," Timothy stated with certainty.

I looked at him in confusion. Timothy was struggling to put a face to the lack of sleep.

"That girl from the Korean place," we said simultaneously. Damn, she'd been flexible and in great shape. She ran 10K's. I really should call her back.

"Timothy, how many woman has Cáel been with?" Nikita turned on him.

"In the one month I've known him..." Timothy ruminated for over thirty seconds, "Between twenty-five and thirty. I'm sure it would have been higher except I took him to some of my spots occasionally on the off chance he ever got curious." Elsa was confused. Nikita wasn't.

"You took Cáel to gay bars? How did that go?" Nikita was deeply suspicious...again.

"Like blood in the water with sharks," Timothy laughed. "I had to put my arm around him just to keep some of them at bay."

"To be fair, I took Timothy to some straight nightclubs to act as a wingman," I offered. The three sisters were taking cultural notes. I was sure they would ask for clarification on some of the terms later.

"At least he went home alone some of the time," Elsa said gloomily.

"Not really. There is this bartender at one of my favorite clubs. I had assumed she was a lesbian. Cáel got her phone number with his second drink," Timothy corrected them.

"She is bi-sexual," I corrected. "Her domestic partner is a lesbian...I did her too, in a three-way."

The loaded Nerf gun went back to Elsa's hand and she would have shot me, but Aya batted the projectile out of the air. I think everyone was stunned by that act of physical coordination.

"On that note," Elsa sighed. "I should be going. The girls are fine, if oddly clothed. Cáel, I need to give you a few instructions in private." Sex.

"Use my room," Timothy chuckled and pointed the way. He knew the score.

"I'll go with you," Nikita announced.

"No," Elsa held up her hand. "This is Havenstone business." She went to Timothy's room and I hobbled along. She shut the door once I was inside.

"I hate you," she stared at me intently. Translation - I'm going to fuck you.

"Are you going to hurt me if I kiss you?" I cut straight to the chase. These Amazons couldn't ask a male for a damn thing. If they couldn't compel us under the threat of death, they were helpless in establishing a rapport.

"Why would I want to kiss you?" she defied me. Because you nearly rearranged my tonsils last time we were together perhaps?

"I miss the taste of your lips," I declared. "I was hoping you felt the same way." She did.

"You were very brave today," she abruptly shifted her emotional vector. Whatever excuse worked for her was good enough for me.

Elsa dragged her fingers along my chin, cheek and ear before wrapping up my hair and pulling me in to brutal kiss. I tore myself free.

"We are not allowed to kiss," I reminded her. Man, she and Buffy had the 'I'll kill you with my eyes' glare down pat. "Can I show you an alternative?"

When she didn't stop me, I tugged on the bottom of her sports bra and carefully pulled it over her breasts. I flicked the left nipple with the tip of my tongue then switched to the right. Her resistance was melted away by her rising temperature. Being as we were (somewhat) alone, my hands went both front and back this time, underneath the panties.

Spanking and restraint weren't the path to take with Elsa. She wanted to be in charge. I was able to make her settle for being pleasured in silence. She didn't tell me what to do, dominate, or physically direct me. I forced her to accept my level of sexual proficiency and she ended up being an extremely happy camper.

"Stop seeing women outside of Havenstone," Elsa panted as she clutched me tightly and her climax subsided. "It makes me angry." I snorted so she pinched my nipples.

"Uh...," I grunted. "Not going to happen," then, "Promise me something."

"Why would I promise a male anything?" she moaned wantonly against my shoulder.

"Promise you will kill me quickly when the time comes," I continued. She tilted up and looked into my eyes.

"Why would I be forced to kill you?" Elsa studied me. She was the Security Chief.

"I only bend so much, Elsa. I make a lousy pet and a worse kiss-ass," I explained.

"When my time comes, I won't be relocated. I'll die killing as many of you as I can," I related. "I know this is your job, so I respect you enough to let you know how it will end for both of us."

"Do you think you could kill me?" Elsa regarded me with what might have been respect.

"I think I will have to try," I replied honestly. She nodded.

I suspected Amazons didn't have a code of honor equivalent to Chivalry, or Bushido. No, there was no dishonor in ambushing, overwhelming, or deceiving an opponent. No victim, outside their sect, was off-limits. No enemy received preferential treatment. Even if they respected their adversary, such as Buffy's reverence of the jaguar, they would kill you no matter what.

Even among themselves, they were bloody serious as witnessed by the punishment meted out to Leona. The Blonde Archer had not appreciated that her offense didn't involve me, but Hayden and the Council. She was already under a death sentence when she defied Hayden again and that had been fatally resolved on the spot. Only Ursula had been openly upset by the gesture.

Suspecting all of that, why had I told Elsa? Simply put, I lived by my own code. As Buffy and Helena had pointed out, I would have been better off letting Rhada slap my twice. It simply wasn't in me. In the same way, I didn't stay down despite the beating Madi inflicted. I fought on knowing I was alone because that was who I was.

Had I not respected Katrina, I would have never knelt. I didn't kneel out of respect - I had done it to survive. My respect of Katrina meant I believed she was giving me a way out and I took it. Hayden earlier today was also different. I did what I did for Aya and I wasn't sure why. Something in the child's soul called to me.

In a way, stepping into the firing line, in front of Leona and finally baring my throat to Hayden were for Aya. That was not truly different to me than dating four Sorority sisters without them knowing about each other. Did I predict disaster? Yes. Did do it anyway? Yes. Did I have a memorable time? Absolutely. 

All three questions applied to helping Aya too, with the same answers. No regrets.

"You cannot win," Elsa stated. "We have every advantage."

"No. I cannot survive, but I can try to go out on my own terms," I explained. "If I avoid being raped and enslaved, even if it means my death, then I have won and you have lost."

"Your life is not that important to us," Elsa tried to reason things out for me.

"My life is the only one I have," I grinned. "It is important to me."

"If you remain defiant, we will destroy you," she explained.

"Thank you," I touched my forehead to her forehead.

"That was a threat, you idiot," Elsa looked perplex, "not a pledge." She didn't move away. 

"The moment that makes sense, you will know you have to kill me," I countered.

"Because you think I will be in love with you?" Elsa mocked me.

"No. You will respect me. Then you will know that I am better off dead than enslaved," I said.

"I need to go," Elsa muttered after half a minute's hesitation. "Don't think this changes anything," she added. I laughed. I was still chuckling was we returned to the crowd in the living room. Nikita slipped off to get her pistol as Elsa turned the locks then exited the apartment. Timothy shut the door and things were quiet for a moment.

"Movie time," Timothy declared. "First up is Victor/Victoria. Nikita, could you order up some Korean delivery? Cáel, take a seat before you keel over. Aya, could you go to the bathroom and get the medical kit. Loraine and Europa, get dressed in your pajamas before your sexiness causes our boy to die from blood loss."

A few whispers and the sisters figured out what Timothy meant by 'blood loss'. The older two giggled and headed off to the bedroom while Aya brought the medical supplies. Timothy and Nikita, with the girls in observance, redressed my wounds. Timothy and Nikita were shocked by my lack of pain-killers.

Timothy taunted me with the fact that he could have gone out and gotten me some 'stuff', except I'd invited a cop over. Nikita offered to take me to a hospital. Since I had been given a small bottle of antibiotics, I decided to forgo the whole 'who shot you' rigmarole. Timothy paid for the food delivery and we all dug in.

When Nikita went to the bathroom, he handed me a note from the Korean girl. It was a number and 'Call Me'. Timothy couldn't stop chuckling even after Nikita came back. I put Aya to bed after Victor/Victoria ended. The rest of us sat up for a viewing of 'Cabaret' which had all kinds of things for the older girls.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 06



Timothy promised to clean up the living room and food so the rest of us could crash out. The sisters settled onto my new, king-sized bed while Nikita and I squeezed onto the air mattress. We were virtually nose to nose. I could feel her eyes trying to pierce the enigma which was my mind. She wanted to fix me.

Hell, I was good looking, had a good job (if illegal), a friendly demeanor, was passionate, mostly honest, good with children, funny, brave and bold. Her dilemma was how to keep my sexual desires in check. What could she do to keep my cock hers and only hers? I wished her luck with that. Any enlightenment was short-circuited by Aya wedging her legs in between us.

Despite the lack of space, the nine-year old wedged herself onto the air mattress, facing me and smiling sleepily. I wrapped her up with one arm and pulled her to my chest. I kissed her forehead.

"Goodnight Aya," I whispered.

"Daddy," she murmured then rapidly drifted off to sleep. Nikita propped herself up over Aya. Her face was aglow with happiness. Whatever my faults, I was giving comfort to a child that was not my own while forgoing my own desires - mainly Nikita's body. She kissed me softly then settled in for her own good night's sleep.



Life as a New Hire Ch. 07



This story plays fast and loose with Ancient History and Linguistics; be warned.

Chopperfan327 Edits some more.

Thanks to a group that now spans half the globe -Woot!

Believing in yourself is not enough. You must impress that belief upon the Universe.

(Monday)

My pain was legendary. Fine, my pain was epic. Okay, my pain was really bad, only exacerbated by a busy weekend. Sunday had started out fine. The girls hadn't minded being cooped up in my place for half of the day. We all worked out in the morning, which Nikita found odd. Then the young ladies explored a 'man pad', which was totally new.

Loraine and Nikita developed a complex relationship. Nikita was martial enough, older and far more worldly. They conflicted over me - Loraine wouldn't accept that she'd never conquer me and Nikita was stymied by the Amazon creed involving men. Europa bonded with Timothy in all kinds of odd ways including the exploration of the world of tattooing.

Aya discovered a new favorite position. I had lain belly-down on the sofa while Nikita gave me a back rub. Right after she was done, Aya climbed on top of me, laid her stomach on my back and relaxed, soaking up my scent and warmth. Only when we got them home did Loraine whisper to me that she'd never seen Aya that calm and at peace for such a continuous amount of time.

That warm fuzzy, along with Nikita being downright sympathetic and attentive for the rest of her stay rolled right into Timothy's and my date Sunday night. That ended up in a 'bizarre unless you are me' frolic late Sunday night. Timothy was a fun time for Nadia, Ulyssa's older sister, then finished up their date by pretending to pass out back at their place.

I'd seen Timothy drink steadily for four hours with barely a buzz. Still, that ended up with Ulyssa, Nadia and I in a three-way until one in the morning. That was when Timothy pretended to wake up and call out my name. The ladies and I wrapped up the sex session quickly and 'us' guys departed because, ya know, we had work in a few hours.

Timothy even changed my bandages again. I gave him a few bills to up our medical supplies. He took a few more from my wallet because he prophesied me being wounded would be a common occurrence. He followed that up by giving me a bear hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"You are a lifesaver, Bro," he sighed. "My break-up left me really down and you've restored my faith in life and love. Keep it up." Then we both went to bed.

I followed that up with an early wake-up call from Katrina telling me to show up thirty minutes early and report to the Medical Division. That led me to biking, one legged, through the city (Nikita and I had retrieved my bike Sunday afternoon) by dawn's early light and reporting to the witchdoctors at Havenstone. Thus my legendary, epic, really bad pain.

The Doctor at Doebridge had practiced traditional Amazon healing methods. The cute chick who escorted me into the Medical Division had actually heard we were in the 21st century. She sat me on a gurney in what passed for a modern Emergency Room and had me take off my pants. Then she asked me if I wanted pain-killers, or a local anesthetic.

"No, I'm a man," I bragged. I saw the bewilderment in her eyes. Was I saying 'no', or was I claiming to be a weak, frail male? "It is too late for your people to be nice to me now," I clarified. "You are monsters and I accept that, so let's get this over with so we can get back to our jobs."

"What are you talking about?" she tried to be disarming. Could it be she wasn't a full-blooded Amazon?

#To ease my pain, show me your bountiful bosom# I said in Old Kingdom Hittite. The nice, young doctor blinked. She knew of the lingo, but not the speech itself.

"No on the anesthetic," I sighed. "Please work professionally and quickly so we may return to our duties, Doctor."

"Of course. I'll be right back," she nodded then headed off to 'get some supplies' - in other words 'call Security'. They showed up lickety-split, doctor in tow. I recognized one from the Armory. To be polite, I let her know I recalled her.

"Oh, it is the Kindergarten graduate," I grinned. "Who is your lesbian playmate?"

"Oh goodie," Kindergarten snarled. "I get another crack at you."

"Wait," the buddy cautioned her. "Shouldn't we investigate the claim that he knows an unknown tongue?" She looked to me. "Well?"

"The Doctor needs to leave the room," I stated.

"You don't tell us what to do, male," Kindy snapped.

"Okay, how can you verify I speak your Mother Tongue without violating some protocol if she is still in the room?" I sounded bored. Home-schooled and not in a good way.

"I say we beat it out of you," Kindy kept being stupid. Come on, like she was going to stumble upon a conspiracy in her lowly position, armed with her limited intellect.

"Bring it, Kitten," I smirked. "It's not like I'm going anywhere." The two security types drew their Tasers. I reclined onto the gurney and folded my arms over my chest.

"Sit up, damn you," Kindy's partner demanded.

"Why? So when you stun me I fall to the floor? I think I'd rather flop around on the gurney, thank you," I mused.

Our conversation brought attention. A few women were starting to gather around when one pressed through. I didn't know her, but she had some familiar features.

"Cáel Nyilas, I am Traska Maza, Violet's sister. Come to my side," she ordered. Okay now, I didn't HAVE to obey that. Once more, a nice lady was giving me an out and I took it.

I swung slowly off the gurney and hobbled to her side.

"Kneel," and I knelt with a grimace. "Now what is your problem with our breeding male?" she added the last part in Amazon.

"Wait," I blurted out. "I'm no one's breeding male yet!" In Amazon/Hittite. The crowd stirred.

"True and you are making it a truly glorious hunt, but we will take you as our prize in the end, Male," Traska smiled down at me while petting my hair while speaking in Amazon. Sex.

"He speaks the...Tongue?" the Doctor stammered.

"Of course he does," Traska nodded. "Otherwise it would have been quite difficult for him to refuse Hayden breeding rights on Saturday."

"He refused Hayden," Kindy gawked.

"It is against corporate policy," I explained. "Being a good boy is getting the crap kicked out of me as it is. Heaven help me if I actually broke a rule." They chuckled - psycho bitches.

"Cáel, rise," so I struggled to my feet. "Go to the gurney and let the doctor tend to your battle scar," Traska commanded. As I staggered back from whence I came, the term 'battle scar' resonated to both me and the women.

"This does not settle the crime of him speaking our language," Kindy kept blathering.

"Did it occur to you to contact Elsa, or Katrina, or even the office of Hayden to gather information on what was going on," Traska sighed, "before racing to attack a wounded male in the middle of this vast structure we control? What was he going to do? Hobble over to a hurricane-proof window?"

"Even if he managed to somehow break one, he would be throwing himself down four floors to the sidewalk below? Admittedly, if he did accomplish all that and escape, he would be a threat. I'd still want to breed with him for that would be one tough, determined male," Traska chuckled. She walked off, the guards stood around uselessly and the doctor tended my wounds.

I called Katrina, updating my situation, she called someone else, who probably called someone else, who called off the guards.

"So, who do you think you will be breeding with?" the doctor hinted. Seriously, I could pick up a girl in a war zone. A lonely female doctor in an ER that only treats women wasn't even a contest.

"Actually, no one," I winked. "I'm gay. I can't get it up around women." Recall, I had no pants on and my cockhead had a mind of its own, which didn't bother me. What did bother me was its mind being more dominant than the one on top of my shoulders. The doctor patted my package. My cock was pleading 'we haven't had sex in six hours - we are dying over here'. Lying bastard.

"Oh really," she teased.

"This is not fair," I groaned. "Your ass is so finely sculpted and tight," I couldn't see most of it because of her lab coat, but hey, "and your lips look like they could suck a golf ball through a garden hose." Be careful with the last line. Make sure your target likes fellatio first.

The Doctor pursed her lips and gave me a wink. Was I lining up another prospective Havenstone woman as part of some grand master plan? No. I'm an idiot with an out of control libido. I am always hitting on women. I can't help it, thus my numerous scars and colorful stories.

"I can, you know," she purred. Golf ball - garden hose - feels so good.

You know you are making an impact on the workplace when this happens: after leaving the doctor, I was taking the elevator up to my floor. The door opened and two women stepped in, suddenly disappointed.

"Oh...you are already dressed," Brielle sighed. Her companion was equally peeved.

"Arrow wound," I informed them. "I had to go to medical. They stripped me there."

"Damn it," her companion snapped her fingers. "Maybe we should tag his itinerary?"

"I think Katrina would frown on that," Brielle shook her head.

"Well, can you take off your clothes really quick?" the companion turned to me.

The door opened on my floor.

"Sorry. No. Gotta go to work. Have a nice day now," I retreated to the safety of the office.

I'm an idiot. On all the desks in the sizable office space housing the heart of Executive Services was a long box...from Nerf. Oh, Sweet God - Buffy was out to make me cry.

How did I know it was Buffy? If Desiree wanted to know something about me, she'd slap me around until I answered. Buffy was far more insidious. She'd spy on me. To give her credit, I had a box as well. I too could get that wonderful feeling that Custer's last trooper felt as the Sioux and Cheyenne closed in. Sure I could shoot back, but it wouldn't do any good.

Katrina had already unboxed her toy. It was loaded, resting on her desk. It was a six shooter.

"Honestly Cáel, is your problem with my native tongue, an inability to tell time, or an unwillingness to follow common sense instructions?" Katrina gave me a warm, maternal look. She was referring to me engaging in strenuous activity in the first 48 hours after having been wounded.

"After this afternoon I do not have any other dates planned so I can take it easy," I promised.

"As long as you understand that many of us are risking our lives to help you keep yours," Katrina pointed out. "What did Elsa want Saturday night?" The look of shame on my face was probably what Katrina expected though not what she wanted to see. "Tell me," she groaned.

"Oh...okay...she kissed me once but I stopped her - against policy," I started.

"Yes?" Katrina muttered. She knew this was bad.

"Oh...then I vigorously sucked and bit on her nipples while finger-fucking her anus and vagina until she orgasmed - hard," I confessed. Katrina put her elbow in her desk, forearm uplifted then planted her forehead on her palm.

"By the Goddesses, you could walk blindfolded through a minefield only to trip over a cricket," Katrina mumbled. Katrina sensed my confusion.

"Elsa's and Rhada's/Madi's families are in a blood feud. They would kill you for looking amorously at the other," she explained.

"Whoops...I didn't make either one like me," I pleaded.

"I believe you, Cáel," Katrina looked up and smiled. "If I didn't, I would have Desiree toss you down an elevator shaft - from the thirtieth floor."

"It wouldn't work," I grinned at her. "I'm part flying squirrel. I've got those little underarm flaps and everything."

"Patagium," Katrina defined that bit of anatomy for me.

"Stop being smarter than me," I furrowed my brow. "It is unattractive in a female." Wack - Nerf hit. Right then Daphne and Tigger walked in and took in the situation.

"Can we all take shots at Cáel?" Daphne inquired. Oh hell no!

"I'm actually recruiting a Rebel Alliance," I offered.

"What's in it for us?" Tigger asked.

"Dubious glory, improbable hope, an unfamiliar future and the unique experience of pitting your defiance into the Eye of the Abyss before the End," I promised in Old Kingdom Hittite.

"Does that kind of oratory work on males?" Daphne mused. Violet, Fabiola and Paula swept into Katrina's office.

"What is that?" Fabiola inquired.

"I'm looking for the proper terminology to entice some ladies into a rebel faction," I replied pleasantly.

"What are we rebelling against?" Paula questioned as Dora hurried in.

"Meeting," Katrina interjected, calling us 'new hires' to order. I was still doing a lousy job, even on my day off. Everyone else walked on water and was heralded by a chorus of Angels.

"Katrina," Violet stepped forward. "What is he doing wrong? With all his utter failings, I figured there would be a fire, wreck, or near fatality by now."

That was unlooked for.

"Employee trainers have found his work to be substandard," Katrina answered. "I agree with their reports. Is there anything else?" That meant the discussion was over. The rest received their daily assignments, leaving me alone with Katrina. I stood waiting.

"Cáel, you are wounded. You are not going into the field," she informed me. "You will be handling my office affairs and classifying work orders." What did that mean? Katrina was not forthcoming. It was becoming obvious that I'd need the Long Island Medium to get me through the day.

"And I liked this office too," I muttered.

"What was that, Cáel?" my boss inquired.

"Don't mind me. I'm only contemplating how I can possibly screw this up," I shrugged. "I figure there is electrical wiring that could burst into flames, a sprinkler system spontaneously activating, and several thousand women who I don't know, yet could seriously inconvenience."

"You have great instincts," Katrina smiled. "I believe in you." Helpful - that was not. Despite that, I managed to navigate the order process with some success. Promptly at 8:45, Katrina got up and left the office. Not to the bathroom - gone-gone. She left the door open. That way women in the office could come by and exchange fire with me.

I nearly put a bolt into Trent Grant when he stopped by to see me. His knock saved his Nerf-free status. 

"Hello Kale," he began.

"Cáel," I sighed. "Kale is a cabbage...anyway, as you were saying?"

"Oh, I wanted to come by and see how you were doing after that...accident," he said warily.

"That was screwed up," I grinned. "She was so worried that she might hit me that her fingers slipped. Trust me, she'll never make that mistake again."

"I can't believe you are not suing Havenstone over this," Trent smiled back.

"Over this?" I smirked. I stood up and walked around my desk, swallowing my pain and infirmity to put on a convincing act. "Trent, I've had a girlfriend do more damage over one long, hot night than this scratch."

"You are really okay?" he worried.

"Trent, if someone had really tried to kill me, I would have gone to the cops and we wouldn't be here having this chat," I assured him. Trent took a deep breath, expelling his doubts with a comfortable lie.

"So...what's with all that?" he motioned to plethora of darts I had stacked up.

I was being shot at far more often than I could return fire. In the minute Trent had been with me, three ladies had peeked in then withdrawn.

"How about you, me and the fellas have after work drinks sometime?" I suggested. Trent almost got snooty then some long slumbering primal instincts kicked in. I was a survivor and he could sense it.

"Sure. Tonight?" he offered.

"I'm working on a hot Brazilian tonight," I grinned. "Tomorrow?"

"Brazilian? Oh, okay. Tomorrow then," he nodded. "You should be careful about dating," he added. "We think that is how Khalid screwed up and got transferred."

Those jackasses had known this for how long and not clued me in? Gee thanks guys.

"What do you mean?" I appeared confused. "I've been getting 'trim' left, right and sideways just not at work. I nailed four ladies this weekend alone - after being shot."

"Aaahhh...good then," Trent grunted as if gut punched.

"Besides, Khalid wasn't transferred. He volunteered for an experimental top secret program involving social engineering - real cutting edge stuff," I lied. "If we do the right thing, an opening might become available for the rest of us." I am a bastard. "The Nerf guns are a team building exercise my personal favorite trainer implemented."

"You appear to be getting along well here," Trent acknowledged. "I mentioned your name and several women looked at me funny then smiled and pointed you out." Sigh.

"Trent, you probably won't heed my advice, but here it is anyway," I said. "I know you were in a fraternity. Think of yourself as a pledge and every woman in your department as a senior brother and you'll get by okay."

"Come on now," Trent smiled smugly, "some of them don't even have a formal education. They use this archaic apprenticeship system."

"Yeah, except you are only starting out in a system they've graduated from," I gave it one last try. Trent nodded. He was right and I was a hick. 

I hoped he got along well with Khalid because he would probably be seeing him soon. Trent waved goodbye and I raced for Katrina's desk - and Nerf gun. I made it back to my station before three ladies came at me. I got two of them, taking only one hit myself then it was back to work. Brian showed up thirty minutes later and Felix stopped by ten minutes after that.

It was the same deal. I gave them the same lie, did my song and dance, gave them my warning they would ignore and finally raided Katrina's bathroom for painkillers. She had this herbal crap which I downed like candy. At 12:10 Buffy arrived. She shot at me but I parried with my reading lamp and then shot back twice, hitting her once.

"Why do you have two guns?" Buffy growled.

"Cause I'm smarter than you," I snarled back while desperately reloading. Daphne walked in with both a pistol and a large bag of Mexican take-out.

"Die, you reprehensible Pig!" Buffy howled as she popped off two more bolts. 

Daphne shot Buffy in the side before Buffy finished. I was in love all over again. Buffy turned to put a dart into Daphne who raced around to my desk.

"I guess this makes me a rebel," Daphne laughed. She popped off two more shots.

"Sure," I chuckled. "Welcome aboard." Buffy was on the edge of a volcanic eruption.

"Cease-fire while we eat lunch?" I pleaded. Buffy mulled it over; the alternative being storming over to me and administering a pistol-whipping.

"I hate you," she seethed. She did lower her pistol and walk over to my desk.

"I've missed you," I responded. She didn't buy it - yet.

"How many whores did you screw his weekend?" Man, she was volatile.

"None. I don't pay for sex," I sighed. "I still missed you," I moped. Buffy trembled with rage.

"Cáel, be careful," Daphne whispered. Buffy shot me - in the left thigh. I staggered, clamped my teeth down to stifle my scream and only Daphne's efforts stopped me from keeling over.

"Buffy!" Daphne snapped. "That was too much. Stop it."

"It is okay, Daphne," I gasped. "I've made her angry." Daphne didn't get it, but I did. Buffy stomped straight into my space and gave that deep jaguar-like growl. "I liked the Nerf gun idea," I added. "That was truly clever." That got her. Buffy linked her fingers behind her back.

"Thanks," I whispered then leaned in and rained down little puffs of air all along her neck, ears and face. She especially liked me blowing on her lips. Her mouth opened and her tongue played along her lips as I was only millimeters away. Daphne leaned around me to see what I was doing to make Buffy moan so sensually the way she was.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 07



"We had better eat lunch", I spoke softly into Buffy's ear when I was done. "Do you forgive me?" Buffy's eyes shown feverishly, yet with pleasure, not anger.

"No. Keep working on it," Buffy smirked then reached around for her plate of food.

"I swear I will be nicer to you than Buffy is," Daphne murmured.

"Don't get between me and my prey," Buffy snarled...then she sneaked an arm around my waist and hugged me. Daphne pulled a seat around to share her meal at my station. Buffy sat in my lap. Not sexual harassment in the least. "So, are you staying away from other Havenstone women?" Buffy verbally ambushed me in mid-bite.

"Would you please accept my word that this is not a discussion we want to have," I groaned.

"Who?" Buffy was back to angry.

"Elsa," Katrina announced as she strolled back into her office. "Don't ask how, or why, Buffy. It wasn't Cáel's doing." She was almost to her desk when she froze.

Katrina's body rotated around toward me before flickering to the ground where a lone dart lay.

"Cáel, there is a dart lying at your feet," she pointed out. Shit. Too God damn smart.

"We'll forgo me lying, you reminding me to trust you and go to my inevitable revelation that Buffy shot me in my wounded thigh," I sighed.

"Thank you," Katrina nodded to me. "Buffy, you can't do this to him. If you screw up again, I'll send you to another department and forbid Cáel from having any further contact with you. Now tell me, what is wrong?"

"I...I try to be with other men," she nearly wept. 

"They can't handle my aggression nor engage me mentally the way Cáel does," she confessed painfully. "I want to own him so bad it hurts."

"Buffy, you are sitting in his lap," Katrina coaxed. "Why don't you try telling him how you feel? He clearly likes you."

"As poorly as you've treated him, I'm a bit surprised he hasn't punched the crap out of you - off the clock, of course," Katrina admonished her underling.

"I'd kick his ass," Buffy replied defiantly.

"Tell that to Madi," Katrina reminded her.

"Very well," Buffy nodded. Turning in my lap, she added, "Stop looking at other Havenstone women."

"No," Katrina preempted me. "You will not punish him for things beyond his control, Buffy. There is only so much he can do to avoid the other ladies that doesn't get him relocated."

"I still don't like it," Buffy muttered. "We should keep him in Executive Services and send people to harass all his outsider female contacts." Katrina looked down and shook her head.

"This job keeps getting tougher and tougher," she commented. She was heading back to her desk which pretty much ended the conversation.

After Buffy and Daphne had left, I mulled over a few things.

"Can I bitch about something?" I asked Katrina. I wanted to ask about the other three men.

"No," she stated. That was that. The rest of the day was the normal office drudgery spiced up with a near-constant exchange of Nerf fire. Katrina never asked for her gun back and no one dared shoot her.

At five o'clock, Katrina released me.

"How did I do today?" I inquired.

"Hmmm...let me see...you sent the VP of Banking - Australia's Fiat to an address in the Netherlands," she reviewed. "The address also appears to be underwater."

I had to think about that.

"You are making that up," I accused her. "I sent the damn thing to Melbourne and you know it." Katrina gave a heartfelt laughed.

"Do you know why you are the only male getting poor reviews?" she teased. I thought hard.

"No clue," I shrugged.

"Because you are so bloody diligent," Katrina grinned. "I know - some - of your history, Cáel. The more difficult the challenge, the harder you endeavor. The other guys are whiny babies. They don't take criticism well."

"Now that we have that out of the way are you going to start giving me better reviews?" I hoped.

"No," Katrina chuckled. "Watching your face as you struggle to figure out what you did wrong really helps me start the day."

"Am I off the clock?" I asked. Katrina nodded. "Bitch." Katrina laughed.

I nearly walked into Violet on the way out.

"Did you just call Katrina a bitch?" she whispered.

"Give me a bad work review and I'll call you something worse," I glared.

"Do you have any idea who she is?" Violet hissed.

"I'll give it a shot," I shrugged. "Katrina is the head of the KGB." I got an uncomprehending stare. "The Secret Police?" Violet thought that over. Fabiola and Tigger came up.

"Yes, something like that except she has people killed," Violet explained.

"What are you talking about?" Tigger intruded.

"Look up the KGB on Wiki, ladies," I smirked. "It will clarify my understanding of the situation."

"Why are you so insolent?" Fabiola tugged on my arm to stop me from leaving.

"For the same reason you think you are better than me," I grinned. "It is in the blood. Actually, I don't mean to be insolent. If I could walk away from this job, I would. Since I can't, I feel it is only fair to make all of you suffer for it."

"If you hate us, why did you offer yourself up to Leona?" Fabiola persisted.

"Because he cares," Tigger spoke for me.

"He's weak," Fabiola kept going.

"Seriously," Daphne caught me off-guard. "If he's willing to commit so much to a child not his own, think how selflessly he'd safeguard his own."

"You don't believe in fathers," I regarded the 'new hire' group.

"Things change," Violet smiled. In 76 days they were going to rip me to pieces. I burned through ten more minutes swapping stories about our day before we made it to the lobby. Yasmin Palhavã was early, so she got to meet the whole crew and they got to meet her.

At this point a small leap of logic could have saved me a heap of pain. I could have asked. The girls could have realized I didn't have a critical piece of information. The moment passed, I signed in Yasmin, my Brazilian MILF, and headed up to the corporate workout facility. The first hurdle - there was no men's changing room.

Yasmin decided it wasn't a big deal. We changed in separate sections and joined up at the entrance to the gym. They also had an Olympic-sized pool - cool.

"What happened to your leg?" she questioned. I had been wearing pants and was now in shorts.

"It was an archery accident," I supplied a plausible answer. Her nod signified she didn't believe me and would bring this up later. I get wounded a lot.

I was about to swipe my ID at the gym door when it opened and a woman walked into us.

"What?" she gasp in Old Kingdom Hittite.

"My pardon," I replied in the same language. "It was not our intent to impede your progress." She gave us a curious look as I caught the door and held it for Yasmin to enter.

"What lang..." Yasmin got out before the expanse of the exercise facility stole her breath away. See, in normal companies, only a tiny fraction of the workforce uses the in-house gyms. At Havenstone, if a woman wasn't working out on a daily basis, the assumption was that she'd died at her post. Whatever Yasmin said next had to have been in Portuguese.

"What was that?" I inquired.

"Oh, I said this was place is bigger than the village I was born in," she translated. A small village - maybe a hamlet perhaps. Fortunately, we beat the evening rush so there weren't too many women there yet.

We got some looks from the ladies there. Yasmin didn't notice and I was busy working machines in tandem to her. I had made a good impression with her. She barely concealed her enthusiasm and I got the impression her most current workouts were calisthenics in her home. An hour later, we were feeling the burn, Yasmin clued me in that she had a babysitter until nine, and the place was crowding up.

Yasmin had been shooting glances at the sparring area for some time. Like me, she practiced Brazilian jujutsu. She felt she was growing rusty so we grabbed a corner - really an 8x8 meter area. Since the southwestern space was already taken, we grabbed the northeastern spot. Despite my bum leg, Yasmin and I were having tons of fun. Then shit happened.

"What style is that?" one of the now-substantial crowd of women spectators asked Yasmin - in Old Kingdom Hittite. Before I could translate, Yasmin spoke.

"Excuse me? What was that?" Yasmin responded in English. Every other woman began muttering - in OKH. Oh God, I had fucked up somehow.

"I think we should be going," I urged Yasmin.

"Come on now," she beamed at me. "This is the most fun I've had in a long time." Seeing my reticence, "Five minutes, please?" I took a deep breath and nodded - I am an idiot. I was looking at that sweaty body, wonderful bust line, and excellent hips and speculating how nice those legs would feel wrapped around my waist instead of listening to my 'Spidey senses'.

Five more minutes and I would have Yasmin barking like a dog before the Sun set. That I might die in the next five minutes was not something my cock was taking into account. Ten seconds later and all my concentration was eaten up simply stopping Yasmin from grappling with me. Even with her refusal to take advantage of my left leg's weakness, she finally got me down on the mat.

Her victorious smile terminated in an instant. Yasmin rolled us over as a foot stomped down in the place we had just vacated. We both sprang up, facing off against an Amazon I wasn't familiar with.

"Take your bitch and leave, you mongrel," the woman spat in OKH.

"What the hell did she say?" Yasmin seethed. The woman smirked, turned and started walking back to the portion of sparring mat she'd come from. I gave her all the consideration she'd have given me - I blindsided her. My fist caught her between the shoulder blades. I followed her down, striking again and again, rapid-fire.

The other Amazon's started to surge forward, but I wasn't done yet. I grabbed my attacker by the shoulder and crotch, heaved her over my head and tossed her at her sparring partner.

"Apology not accepted," I growled out my contempt in OKH.

Yasmin's outrage at my seemingly unwarranted attack, "Cáel!" was overcome by the sensation of the room closing in on us.

Several women grabbed her. No one taunted, or threatened me. I was a male in their world and I'd put a boot up one of theirs ass.

"Cáel?" Yasmin called to me, now concerned.

"Woman, shut up!" one of the senior looking women snapped in OKH.

"Yasmin, keep quiet and ask for Katrina," I grinned. "I'm afraid I'll have to truncate our date. Putting all these bitches in their place is going to take a while." It wasn't like they were going to beat me to death any harder. Yasmin started thrashing about, cursing and stomping on feet.

"Stop it," I insisted. "They will seriously hurt you."

"I'm not going to let you fight all alone," she kept trying to break free. I had to keep backing away from her in order to delay me being totally surrounded. Two Amazons slammed Yasmin face first into the mat.

"Oh boy," I muttered. "This is going to be a tad harsher than Rhada and Madi."

"Wait," one of them called out. "You are that male?" OKH.

"I request a clarification of that question," I replied. OKH.

One turned to another.

"I can't believe we missed this. The male speaks our tongue. It can only be Cáel Nyilas," she said. OKH.

"Does this mean you are not going to beat me into the earth?" I hoped. OKH.

"No. You launched an unprovoked attack against one of ours. You need to be severely disciplined," one said. The group nodded their acceptance of the verdict. "Due to your bravery Saturday, if you kneel your punishment will be swift." OKH.

Poor Yasmin. She had no clue what was going on around her.

"Thank you for your generous offer. I do appreciate it, but I would rather inflict as much harm upon as many of you as possible instead," I smiled. "I only humble my body before the Worthy." Yes, I had insulted them - roughly 250 and counting.

"You are acting above your station," a familiar voice called out from the back of the pack. Normally, if a man gives a woman an orgasm, she recalls you fondly. In my case, plenty of women whose worlds I'd rocked had tried to kill me afterwards. Elsa's appearance did not signify the arrival of my salvation.

The other women parted and Elsa stepped forward.

"Cáel, I am not going to kill you, or even hurt you badly. I am going to curb your arrogance and remind you of your place in things. Fear not, this will be over quickly," Elsa sounded pleasant.

"I'll remain scared, thank you very much," I shrugged. At least we were speaking in English now.

"Spear," Elsa demanded. Amazons don't play fair. I was hardly surprised.

"Klondike Bar," I demanded as well. No tasty treat appeared while Elsa got her weapon. Elsa gave me a quizzical look.

"I've got a Zen for some ice cold sugar," I explained. That earned me a few chuckles.

"Don't hurt his reproductive organ," someone shouted in OKH.

"Cáel, if you can give up, please do. I think that woman wants to kill you," Yasmin pleaded. Elsa wanted some spearing to go on just not the way Yasmin feared.

"You need to stop picking up whatever gutter trash presents itself," Elsa taunted me.

"She is a guardian of the young, a single mother and a stranger to this country, Elsa," I stated evenly. "She is my friend and a guest. Let her leave in peace."

"No more jests?" Elsa chuckled. "Have I made you angry?"

"Angry?" I sneered. "No, angry would be me finding out you stuff Kleenex in your bra."

"I'm not going to insult your loyalty, prestige, or courage because you've exhibited all three to me already," I told her. "My warning remains the same: don't let your pride blind you."

"Fair enough," she nodded. "Let's begin." She thrust forward with her spear. It was an opening move, not an attempt to skewer me.

"Damn it, you cowards," Yasmin snarled. "Give him a weapon." No one did. They didn't care for an outsider's opinion of their bravery. I fought as best I could with my natural talents. Boxing allowed me to take a beating, especially someone in my weight class. Jujutsu helped me fight prone as well as quickly getting back on my feet.

Elsa beat me black and blue. Come on, she had a spear and I had my fists and a wounded leg. The gathering seemed amazed at the drubbing I was soaking up. I really got their attention the third time Elsa relented so that I could stand back up for another dose of pain. She swung the spear around to hit my wound again. I hit the midpoint of the shaft so hard, it shattered.

I tried to follow that up with a punch to the face. Elsa flowed past the blow and landed several punishing jabs to my ribs, knocking me down. This time she put me in a choke hold.

"Give up," she commanded.

"Never surrender," I rasped then the world went dark.

(Picking up the Pieces)

I was vaguely aware of a prick to my left leg and the sheer agony of my thigh began to immediately go numb.

"You've ripped out half his damn staples," a female voice chastised someone else.

"He refused to yield," Elsa stated. All of that had been Old Kingdom Hittite. I moaned.

"Cáel, how do you feel?" Elsa mocked me.

"Had enough?" I mumbled. "If so, whose ass do I have to kick next?"

"Male, Elsa demolished you," an Amazon gloated.

"With a spear," Yasmin countered. Good, she was still close. "Hand to hand, he would have won even with his bad leg."

That brought forth snorts of derision all around. Oh well.

"How is that first girl I fought doing? Is she okay?" I was putting my thoughts together.

"I'm right here," she grabbed my jaw and yanked it her way. Then it dawned on me I was lying on my back, on the mat, with multiple ladies kneeling around me.

Yasmin was there, along with Elsa, a medic of some kind, and first chick I'd fought with.

"Is this circumstance between us at an end?" I inquired of her in OKH.

"Your insolence remains unbroken, dog," she seethed. OKH.

"What I did does not matter," I sighed. "You attacked a guest of an Executive Services personnel and would not apologize, now or then. You and I are not done."

The woman hauled back her fist to hit me. A shot rang out.

"I said 'make way' damn you," Desiree shouted out from the far side of the crowd. OKH.

"Watch your..." a woman snapped. OKH. BANG! Screaming in pain. BANG! A different scream. "I swear by all the Goddesses and Ancestors, I have six shots left and they will all be aimed to kill!" Desiree yelled. OKH.

Multiple women headed for the weapon racks. Amazons couldn't be accused of cowardice. They did part enough to let Desiree make it to my side next to Elsa.

"Idiot, how have you fucked up this time?" Desiree glared down at me, so I told her. She looked to the first woman I had fought. "Is this how it happened?" this time on OKH.

"He was in the Pure-blood facility," she answered. I had figured that out already, just too late to do any good. OKH.

"And in your brilliance, you decided that he was purposely picking a fight with you and the over 300 other Amazons here as opposed to him having made an honest mistake..." Desiree let that last bit hang out there. OKH.

"He was in here, no matter what the reason," my assailant persisted. "Even Katrina can't save him from this - or you for attacking other full-bloods." OKH. Desiree smirked.

"I am not here under the orders of Katrina, Sabia," Desiree finally identified my attacker. "I am here under the orders of Hayden, who has plans to breed with this male." OKH.

"Your willingness to deny her this pleasure will be noted," Desiree smirked. "Cáel, did it ever occur to you that there would be separate gyms for the different status groups?" she looked back to me. At this point, Elsa motioned for two members of the security detail to take Yasmin away. All that followed was in Old Kingdom Hittite, the language of the Amazons.

"Initially no. I figured it out right before the shit hit the fan. Not being a bigot, I didn't take into account the bigotry of others," I sighed. I wasn't working on a fan base directly. I had to walk that fine line between 'highly spirited male' and 'blasphemous intruder'.

"They are not bigots," Desiree interrupted the dark mutterings. "They are the Master Race."

"His insolence is infecting you," Elsa said as she stood.

"That is insulting," Desiree mocked. "He inspires me. This is no disease. He is a living example of defiance against all odds. In case any of you missed it that was our genesis as a people." 

"He shames me by showing with his own wit and blood that I should only give respect to those who show it to me and I should bow to no other. You had best earn his respect because he will not subject himself to your undeserved pride, numbers be damned," Desiree declared.

"He angers me with his jokes and cutting commentary. He also angers me for pointing out the sickness in our own ranks. You have become more prideful than competent. His greatest joke is not that he will die for his beliefs, it is that he risks so much out of compassion for us. He will not let our poisoned lineage limp on a few more decades if he cannot aid in our salvation."

'We don't need you, this male, or any of your thoughts, half-blood,' was the general mood of the room.

"Revel in your superiority while being restricted to breeding with inferior males," Desiree chuckled. "Again, your condescension is ridiculously absurd."

"I will breed with Cáel and have many fine daughters. You, who can still breed," Desiree rubbed it in, "will have daughters who are even less than you. I'm sure my granddaughters will be suitably impressed with your prestige when they read about it in the scrolls."

"We cannot kill you for your abuse, but we can certainly mark you for the offenses," Elsa smirked.

"Cáel, to my side," Desiree snapped. I struggled to stand. The medic tried to stop me.

"You will tear your staples if you exert yourself," the medic told me.

"While my heart still beats, I must answer my Sister's call to battle," I explained to the woman. She let me struggle to my feet. I did my best to not topple into either Desiree or Elsa.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 07



"He is so wrecked he can barely stand," one woman joked to another. In a flash, Desiree shot the speaker in the thigh, causing her to scream out and tumble to the ground.

"By all means, jump up and attack me," Desiree mocked her. "It took the male seven seconds to regain his feet. I am sure we all await your superior effort."

The woman did stand back up, shrugging off assistance as she did. I doubt she was faster than me though.

"That's nice," Desiree continued. "You are a pure-blood. You look to be fit and excellently built. You and Cáel both have a wounded left leg. He has had the ever-living crap beaten out of him, so feel free to attack him when you are ready."

The woman looked to me then back to Desiree.

"What? I need medical attention," the woman protested.

"Fine. Cáel, attack Blythe (the wounded woman)," Desiree directed.

"Why?" I grunted.

"Because I told you to," Desiree chuckled. We'd been down this road before.

"Ah - she's wounded and not attacking either of us," I reason, "so I'll have to decline."

"There you have it, Morons," Desiree shouted. "Had you told Cáel he was doing something wrong, he would have apologized and left."

"Had you told him to sit down and wait for a superior to show up, he would have," Desiree continued. "But no, you had to attack him. When he had the temerity to defend himself, you closed in like a pack of jackals and let him get battered into unconsciousness. You were so eager to stomp on a male outside the public view none of you took a moment to think."

"This isn't over between you and me," Elsa glared at Desiree. A whispered ripple moved through the crowd. Amazons moved aside, opening a large lane from the door to us. Two bodyguards led the way. Desiree quickly pulled out her gun's clip, chambered out the last round and placed her pistol on the mat. All around weapons were put down, not dropped.

Hayden came forward flanked by another bodyguard and a female attendant.

"Cáel, to my side," she commanded evenly. I weaved to her right side. "Kneel." I nearly face-planted I was so overwhelmed by pain.

"Tegan, please tell me what is going on," Hayden addressed the most senior member present.

The woman stepped forward and gave her own, skewed, version of events.

"I have already misused too much time on this male's behalf," Hayden mused. "My only conclusion drawn from all these issues is that I am the Spiritual Leader of a bunch of prejudiced, arrogant, conceited cunts," she finished angrily.

"Please explain to me how one male barely a month out of a rural, tiny college in the middle of nowhere has bewildered so many of my women?" Hayden scanned the room.

"He attacked me," Sabia complained.

"Maybe that will teach you to not attack an opponent who has eighteen centimeters and thirty kilograms on you," Hayden sighed. 

"Especially, by your own admission, you knew he and another woman were practicing an intricate martial art you were unfamiliar with," Hayden appeared strict and maternal. "Don't give me 'he was a male' either. All complaints concerning the 'New Directive' are to be directed to Katrina, Tessa, or myself."

"We are not a pack of hyenas who lash out wildly, without consideration for our laws," she declared.

"We must defend ourselves," Tegan insisted.

"Yes," Hayden nodded. "I agree. Your point would be?"

"He attacked Sabia," Tegan pointed out.

"I am well aware of that," Hayden related patiently. "Sabia launched an unprovoked attacked, refused to explain herself and didn't take the presence of a guest into account. What would you have done in the same situation?"

"He is a man," Tegan stated.

"He is a man. He is also a Havenstone employee, a servant of Katrina and a part of a program I have initiated," Hayden kept at it. "What do you suggest? I instruct the males to stand patiently while you slit their throats? We would rapidly run out of men to recruit."

"In case you have forgotten the discussion that leads to our extinction," Hayden grew chilly. "By all means throw yourself off the top of the building. Do not expect me to do the same, or welcome your attempt to murder my offspring with your intransigent. Cáel, how many days is it now?" she teased me.

"76 Hayden," I responded, "though I still plan to spend that first night with Buffy."

"Still more afraid of her than me?" Hayden openly joked with me. Cold-ass woman.

"I'm starting to think she's gene-spliced with a lady-jaguar," I confessed. "Not only does she make these spooky growling noises, she perches over doors I frequently use."

There was a hush over the room.

"Oh Goddess, Sisters," Hayden groaned. "Its levity. He is not being serious - you know, being playful and amusing to lessen the stress of a situation. Cáel, stop trying to get yourself killed. Many of these women could greatly benefit some time with you."

"With, or without weapons?" I looked up. Hayden swatted my hair.

"Bad!" Hayden waggled a finger in my face. "Bad Male! Bad!" She look to the stunned/amused assembly. "This is really all it takes."

"He called us unworthy," another Amazon spoke up.

"And his opinion of you would matter - why?" Hayden looked at the woman.

"He said he would only bow before the Worthy," another woman persisted. Hayden groaned.

"You really are a problem," Hayden looked at me with frightening compassion.

"I apologize," I said obsequiously.

"If you want Cáel to kneel, call Katrina and convince her to make you Cáel's boss. Then he will kneel, follow, leap in front of bullets, punch your enemies, play with your children, or get your lunch. It is what he does and he's done all that before and more. If you want to make him jump, take ten minutes out of your busy lives and use a phone," Hayden scanned the room.

"Can I return to my dinner, or is there another bout of insanity that I need to deal with?" Hayden pleasantly menaced the room.

"Ummm, Hayden," I asked softly, "are medical people coming for the three women who were shot." I got a pat on the head.

"Yes they are. It was very much 'you' to ask. Now stop stressing your wounded leg," she smiled. "From what I understand you have slept with three different women in the past 48 hours, plus roughhousing with three children for half a day. For a man who has been wounded as much as you have, I would think you would have more common sense where recovery was concerned."

"I'll endeavor to be less of a problem...for what's that worth," I grinned. Another swat on the head. Hayden made a brief goodbye to the group then left the room. The looks I was getting told volumes. They hadn't forgiven me for deciding to fight back. That was too much to ask. What I was getting was embarrassment. They had acted stupidly and knew it.

They had been in such a rush to reassert their superiority they had forgotten to engage their brains. In hindsight, what was I going to do? Fight them all? Make a break for it? Had they calmly exerted their authority, I would have acquiesced. I would have clearly embraced that option. Once they enjoined violence, they had backed me into a corner.

At that point, they couldn't win. They didn't have the time to break me and no amount of damage I sustained would change the equation. I knew I was going to get beaten so there was no incentive for me to do anything but fight. I had fought Rhada and Madi after all. Best of all, their irrational actions had been highlighted by their highest official.

There were a few 'he should have submitted'. Those speakers weren't convincing anyone, even themselves. Their tame males would have bowed down. Hell, they wouldn't have been in this position in the first place. With pain and blood, I was starting to make inroads. Amazons didn't have a version of the French Foreign Legion at Camarón, or the 300 Spartans at Thermopylae.

Sacrifice was occasionally necessary, but not celebrated. This was not to say giving your life for another wasn't appreciated. It was, yet the emphasis was on killing your enemy before such a deed was inevitable. Vastly outnumbered throughout their history, the lessons they drilled into the next generation was one of killing your enemy swiftly.

Going toe to toe with your foes was a luxury they could not afford. Numbers and ill-fortune could be calamitous. The Amazons in the gym saw nothing wrong with the Elsa having a spear while I had nothing. In the same way, they had no problem with 'how' I attacked Sabia, only that I had attacked her at all. 

It had been foolish of Sabia to turn her back on me, not knowing who I was. Had they been in my position, they would have hit her from behind too. What they did value was loyalty, martial valor and respect. Betraying a fellow Amazon was probably a horrific crime to them. Personal grievances were most likely dealt with internally with the declaration of a blood feud.

Martial valor - well, duh. They were Amazons. I was willing to bet every one of the new male recruits had some sort of combative ability. Tessa and Katrina would not want to dump neophytes into this cauldron without some sort of defensive training. Their system of respect was an elaborate structure I had barely pierced. 

Prestige/blood purity was important, yet clearly competence counted as well. Hayden, Katrina and Tessa were all scary-smart. The last two were pretty young for their critical positions. Hayden sat atop a pyramid of psychopaths, many who were unhappy with her and her choice on how to save her people. Their restiveness and Hayden's willingness to stay the course was laid out with the encounter with Leona.

Desiree retrieved her pistol, loading it before pulling me to my feet. A woman put a hand on my chest before I made the door.

"You will not always be so lucky," she warned me.

"Cáel don't," Desiree cautioned me. I proved I could learn something and said nothing.

"Keep him on a tight leash, Half-blood," the lady mocked us as we moved around.

"I take it back," Desiree grunted. "Have at her."

"Please take into account," I grinned at my latest tormentor, "that I have nothing to lose by meeting your challenge while the best you can do is a draw."

"I repeat," she snarled, "you will not..."

"Shove it," I interrupted her angrily. "This is not me being lucky. Being lucky would have implied that any of the douches here had two brain cells to rub together. Then you would have realized I made an honest mistake and three of you wouldn't be suffering from gunshot wounds."

The woman's flashed hate to me then glanced to Desiree.

"I'm not going to shoot you," Desiree yawned. "He's going to snap your neck like a twig because he's too damn tired to play around with our sensibilities about your perceived value of your life. Have at..."

I must have looked like death warmed over. She took ten seconds to decide that I was right - the best she could get was a draw. After the beating Elsa had given me, taking me down would have seemed pathetic. Had I won, she would have never lived it down.

"Had enough?" Desiree asked as she helped me limp along.

"You haven't shot me," I snorted.

"We aren't out the doors yet," she reminded me.

"Thank you," I sighed. For not shooting me...for coming to my rescue...for her words to her fellow Amazons...we never clarified my intent.

Outside the doors there were two groups waiting on me - the work crew and Yasmin plus two SD members.

"Ladies," I addressed the first group. "A moment's forbearance. I need to take care of this." I hobbled over to Yasmin who had hurriedly dressed.

"Wow," I chuckled. "This has to count as one of the most disastrous first dates in history. I apologize for this unforeseen chaos. I'm kind of surprised you are still here." I wasn't surprised. Getting your ass kicked in a valiant struggle is only superseded by winning said struggle in the 'getting the girl all hot' category.

"Are you going to be alright?" she stroked my cheek.

"I get $247,000 a year plus a truckload of benefits," I smiled. "I also have to deal with a number of colorful characters. Remember, I was shot with an arrow on Saturday." Yasmin tried to pull me away from Desiree and the two guardians, but they were having none of that.

"These women are some kind crazy cult," Yasmin whispered in my ear. Less I forget, she was a kick-ass cop back in Brazil.

"I'm not going to insult your intelligence with a denial," I whispered back.

"Why are you staying?" she looked into my eyes.

"Nothing I could tell you would make sense," I kissed her. She pulled my head down hard and turned a simple peck into a full blow French kiss. Desiree tapped Yasmin on the shoulder half a minute later.

"Time for you to go," she told my date.

"Are you leaving soon?" Yasmin asked me.

"No, he's staying here with us for a while," Desiree answered for me. "He clearly has difficulty taking care of himself."

"Strange," Yasmin growled, "your crowd seems to be the reason he needs to be taken care of in the first place."

Desiree didn't argue. She nodded to the security detail ladies and they took Yasmin away. She shot me back a few worried looks before she rounded the corner to the elevators. The Executive Services group was looking at me. I was totally taken aback by Buffy being hellishly pissed at me. Okay, maybe not.

A senior member named Rosette came to me first. She patted me on the shoulder which made me wince.

"Is there any place on you that doesn't hurt - besides your face?" she inquired.

"I think Elsa avoided hitting his cock and balls too," Desiree muttered.

"Elsa!" Buffy screeched.

"Yeah," Desiree kept interrupting me. "She beat him with a spear before choking him out."

"We have to do something," Daphne declared. Five of the six new girls were present.

"No!" I insisted. "I haven't see you ladies fight, but I've seen Elsa and that is not something any of you want a part of."

"You fought her," Violet stated.

"I didn't pick a fight with her, believe me," I countered. "Trust me, she's a cyborg killing machine and you are nothing but a bunch of little girls more accustomed to pillow fights than the sounds of your ribs being broken." There was a moment of silence.

Trigger came up and gave me a gentle hug.

"You're okay," she murmured. "Try not to be such a drama queen."

"No promises. There are plenty of punches and kicks around this wonderful place I haven't walked into yet," I teased. The rest followed up with physical tenderness and teasing jibs.

In the end, there was only Buffy (Desiree was sitting this encounter out) and she was quivering with lethal passion.

"Did you fucking feel her up this time!" Buffy screamed at me. Teasing and mocking was unwise.

"No Buffy," I related in a deep, seductive voice.

"What about that whore?" she kept yelling. She was referring to Yasmin. I lowered my head, took a deep breath then looked to Desiree.

"Where am I going?" I requested of her.

"Don't you dare ignore me," Buffy stepped forward. I stumbled back. Not because I moved, but because Desiree pulled me back and interposed herself between us.

"Buffy think," Desiree calmed her friend. "He was working out in the gym with an outside female, not screwing her. He was attacked - twice. Why do you want to hurt him?"

"He makes me crazy," Buffy wailed. "I...I don't want him to get hurt." To me, "Cáel, stop going on dates with other women."

"Buffy, I'm a womanizer and no amount of hoping on either of our parts is going to change that," I tried to explain. "I really do like you." 

"If I didn't, I would have kept walking after that 'whore' comment. I don't date whores. I date women and one day, if I live long enough, one of them will be you. Until that time, I'm going to roam and since I can't roam in-house, I'm going to do it with other women I meet," I told her. "I'm not going to make some promise to you I have no intention of keeping and no amount of fear or pain will change who I am."

"Sleep with me," Buffy persisted. "At this rate, you'll be dead before the month ends."

"Everybody makes mistakes," I grinned. "Genius is never making the same mistake twice."

"Come on Genius," Desiree sighed. Buffy wouldn't get out of the way.

"Do you want a totally platonic and workplace acceptable hug?" I offered Buffy.

She nodded and I carefully wrapped my arms around her. She slowly linked her hands over my ass. Buffy took several deep breaths. I could feel her tension bleed off. Elsa coming out of the gym ruined the mood.

"Don't get comfortable," Elsa mocked Buffy. "You are not even in the running."

Buffy's grip tightened until I gasped in pain. Elsa chuckled as she went into the locker room. Finally, Desiree broke the hold and forced some space between Buffy and me.

"Don't let her get to you," Desiree said to Buffy. "You'll be the one Cáel will be dragging off to a closet at 5:01 pm on Day 84, not her." Buffy ran her hand over my chest one last time then left.

"You really are her friend," I mused to Desiree.

"I don't have any friends," Desiree remarked. Yeah, right. She took me to another basement level, put me into a Spartan one room dwelling with a small bathroom and even smaller shower. Desiree went to get me a plastic wrap for my bandage so I could get clean and some food because I hadn't eaten yet.

She returned with the proscribed items - including a Klondike Bar. She was gone before I could even say 'thank you' or share the joke. Since my body was a mass of pain, I finished my business quickly and lay down on the double bed - the only piece of furniture in the room. Sleep had barely wrapped itself around me when the door opened.

It was Caitlyn, Loraine, Europa and Aya.

"Hey gang," I sat up. Aya ran up to me. I noticed a tote bag. Loraine and Europa followed a little slower. Caitlyn's approach was sedate and graceful.

"You were hurt again," Aya protested.

"I fell down some stairs," I snickered. Aya pouted.

"How many?" Loraine teased.

"Let me think...I started on the twenty-eighth floor and caught a railing around the sixth," I fabricated.

"I'm glad you live on the third floor," Europa grinned, "Otherwise you would kill yourself inside a week." She was referring to my apartment.

"That's the spirit, Europa," I applauded her developing sarcasm.

"That's not funny," Aya frowned. "It scares me when you get hurt, Cáel."

"It scares me to get hurt, Aya," I stroked her cheek. "I'm not all that brave."

"Oh," chuckled Loraine, "you tackling me on the sidewalk was a come-on?"

"Not really," I winked. "I saw a penny and I thought you were trying to beat me to it." Loraine hauled back to punch me.

"Is there any part of you that doesn't hurt yet?" Loraine asked.

"My pancreas," I mused. "I'm pretty sure my pancreas isn't in screaming agony yet."

"You are in screaming agony?" Aya fretted.

"Yeah," I ruffled her hair. "I could really use a hug right now."

Aya scrambled on top of me; I bottled up the howl of suffering as she lay on my chest.

"I am here for you now, Cáel," she sighed. I looked over to Caitlyn to judge her mood. I was behaving myself right into some 'Daddy Time' with her, no doubt. After a bit of time passed, Caitlyn sent Aya to the bathroom to change for bed.

"Is it okay if she stays with you for the night?" Caitlyn whispered once she was gone. She'd already set up Aya for a night visit but was kind enough to give me the chance to break Aya's heart.

"How is she going to get to school tomorrow?" I evaded.

"She's going to take the last four days off," Caitlyn informed me.

"Do you want her to spend the rest of the week with me?" I tried to stay calm.

"Would you? She is truly happy in your presence, Cáel," she said. "Today, even with you not taking her to school, she was calm. Apparently Ms. Reichmann was more distressed by your absence than Aya was."

"Imagine that," I looked away. "I would like to think we've established a rapport."




Life as a New Hire Ch. 07



"That must be some rapport," Loraine giggled. "She sent you two perfumed letters." Oh, that would be her and her sister Nadia. I could read between the lines without opening the envelopes. 'Sorry that my sister joined us last night - unless you don't mind' from Ulyssa.

'Sorry for interrupting you and my sister's date - unless you didn't mind,' from Nadia. Basically, they wanted me to date Ulyssa and keep coming by for 'accidental' sex with Nadia in a three-way. I'm a great lover - lousy boyfriend. They were sisters. There was no way sibling jealousy wouldn't destroy this relationship. Of course I'd continue to date them. I'm a pig.

Aya came out, joyously skipping my way. I held up my hand for her to halt.

"Aya?" I began.

"Yes," she gulped.

"Can I ask you for a favor?" I questioned.

"Okay." Aya was cautious.

"Aya, I'm going to be pretty much busted for the rest of the week," I began - she looked crestfallen. "Could you be my help-mate through Friday?"

"If it is okay with Mommy," she pleaded to her maternal unit.

"We will have to bring you more clothes," Caitlyn acquiesced.

"Yippee!" Aya ran over and hugged her mother. A quick hug back then Aya was laying on my chest once more. That was pretty much that. I gave each girl a kiss on the cheek. Caitlyn got one on the lips plus a grope on her thigh - oink.

Aya and I had been sound asleep when a subtle disturbance woke me. I looked to my right side and there was Desiree, on her side, eyes open, looking at me.

"Ah..." I muttered.

"This is my room and my bed," she whispered. Oh, she lived like a monk/cloistered nun.

'Thank you,' I mouthed. She searched out my eyes for sarcasm. Finding none, she nodded and closed her eyes. Her phone buzzing roused me much later. Desiree began to get up. It was 2:30 am.

"Marilynn?" I inquired softly. Desiree nodded.

"Do you want me to come along?" I offered. "I have an 'in' with the desk sergeant."

"Bring Aya and use crutches," Desiree instructed. Aya was peeved at the early wakeup until she realized it was 'business' - her first job - and she was all for it. Desiree had brought me some crutches and a fresh change of clothes and toiletries when she'd come in earlier.

A half hour later, Desiree, Aya and me entered the precinct house. On this visit, we received a completely different reception.

"Cáel," the Desk Sergeant welcomed me. "Hey, is that one of Saturday's kids?" she motioned to Aya. Desiree held her on her hip because I was on crutches. Aya was nodding off again.

"Yeah, that's Aya Ruger," I grinned affectionately. "I since I got so banged up, she decided to help me look after myself the rest of the week. I didn't want to leave her at the room they gave me at work."

"I warned you about those crazy bitches," Sarge winked. "I'll send for your regular pick-up."

Marilynn and whomever qualified as party companions for the night were summoned then the Sarge turned back to me.

"Nikita likes you," she studied me.

"That's bizarre," I shrugged. "I had the feeling I'm not the kind of guy she's looking for."

"Oh, she thinks you are screwed up," the Sarge laughed, "but she thinks you are sincere and clearly not afraid to be vulnerable."

"Vulnerable?" I wondered.

"You don't see the need for any macho posturing," she explained. "Her ex was a controlling bastard that..."

"I don't need to know, Sergeant," I interrupted. "If she wants me to know about the guy, she'll tell me when she's ready."

"That's very New Age of you," she smirked. This was not a good thing.

"Oh, don't get me wrong," I grinned all shark-like. "If he hurts her again, I'm not bring him a 'Get Well' card. I'm bringing a shovel."

"As a police officer, I'll remind you to leave retribution to the authorities," she smiled back. "As a Mother, I'll look the other way."

"Wow, he must have royally screwed up worse than I imagined and I have a pretty active imagination," I snorted.

"Here come your princesses," the Sarge sighed. Marilynn had two barflies tonight. All three were way passed sloshed. Desiree and I poured them into the back seat then began the laborious process of depositing them in their various domiciles. We were back by 4:30 with a sleeping Aya none the wiser.



Life as a New Hire Ch. 08



This story plays fast and loose with Ancient History and Linguistics; be warned.

Chopperfan327 strikes again!

For my readers, who put up with a lot.

Victory in battle is a matter of skill. Victory in war is a matter of persistence.

(Tuesday)

Aya followed me to Medical for my daily checkup. It seemed I was no longer to be trusted with my welfare. Aya found the visit fascinating; not because it was new. Because she knew so many of the personnel. That sucked. The frisky doctor took care of me with the bonus of a little exchange with Aya.

"He's got a really big 'thing'," Aya chirped. I was suddenly wishing Elsa had given me a concussion.

"Oh, I know," the doctor smiled at Aya.

"He's quite proficient too. Loraine said he has had over 150 sexual encounters and he's so good he gets stabbed a lot," Aya related. I wasn't sure how one led to the other, though they did.

"Do you like having sex with women, Cáel?" the doctor teased me.

"Not when I'm sleeping," I sighed.

"I keep him safe when he's sleeping," Aya provided. "Its real serious work."

"Aya sleeps in your bed?" the doctor was a tad bit suspicious.

"To be specific, she sleeps on top of me, like a bear cub on a Momma Bear," I informed her.

"He's my Daddy Bear," Aya piped up.

"What does your real Momma Bear think of that?" the doctor poked playfully.

"She wants him to be my Daddy Bear too," Aya beamed kittens and rainbows.

"Oh, I bet she does," the doctor gave me a playful wink. Sex.

"This is all great, but I'm getting a bit uncomfortable and would like to flee to the dubious safety of work," I mumbled.

"All done," Doc said then patted my cock. 

Oddly, that was one of the only two places on my body that hadn't been clobbered; my face being the other. They wanted me pleasing to the eye and sperm-functional. I dressed and crutch-walked away. At the elevator door, Brielle and her friend were waiting. 

"Guarding you is going to be a full-time job," Aya took my hand and looked up at me.

She saw the lascivious look those two were shooting my way.

"You brought a child to defend you?" Brielle teased me as the elevator headed up.

"It worked, didn't it?" I countered.

"Aya stand in the corner and cover your eyes," the companion directed.

"Sorry...I apologize, but I can't do that," Aya said defiantly. "He's my bed buddy." That earned me some looks.

"Jeesh ladies, give me some credit," I groaned. "She's nine."

"Ugh...fine," Brielle relented. "So Aya, what's he like in bed?"

"Warm and he smells wonderful," Aya sighed dreamily. I was getting dreamy looks from the other two, but most likely a very different dream. "And he hugs me before I go to sleep and the first thing when I wake up."

"Fine Aya," Brielle's eye sparkled. "How about I trade you a band of 'honor gold' for a night with Cáel?"

"I can't do that," Aya reasoned. "He's the only Daddy I have. I think he is the only Daddy any of us have." Thank God the elevator opened on my floor. The philosophic elements of this conversation had become way too convoluted. I was the last one of us to get to Katrina's office which seemed to amuse Katrina.

"Cáel, you have the day off," Katrina informed me. "Didn't anyone tell you?"

"Oh, I'm not here to work. I'm here as your newest hire's - Aya's - lap-monkey," I replied gravely.

"Very well. Aya, stand in line with the others to receive your work review and assignments," Katrina ordered calmly. Aya took her spot next to Violet.

Aya nearly cried when she got my work review for Monday. Apparently I had done the equivalent of threatening World peace, or created a tidal wave generator that swamped the Maldives.

"Look on the bright side," Violet patted Aya's shoulder. "You can't do worse."

"How does it feel to know you will be less productive than a child?" Fabiola taunted me.

"It is nothing new," I snickered. "After all, I've been working with you for a whole week." This insult was compounded by the other five girls snickering at the jest. Aya didn't get it and Katrina was undoubtedly laughing on the inside.

"I'm going to get you," Fabiola ground her teeth.

"Come on," I sighed to Fabiola, "it was a joke meant to give a little levity before charging off to your days."

"Well, don't mock me," Fabiola snapped.

"But it is so easy," Paula giggled. Fabiola turned on her.

"Enough," Katrina demanded gracefully. She handed out assignments and the group departed. Aya had my job from yesterday. She also had Katrina's Nerf gun. Seconds after the first incoming bolt, Aya decided she loved working at Havenstone. After my fellow Executive Services sisters discovered that I had a secondary gunner, they began to triple team us in true Amazon fashion.

Aya countered by building a fort using sofa cushions. She'd also scamper out and round up spent darts every time her work queue was filled. To change things up, and gain a lesson in simple tactics, Aya would move furniture around the office. When a woman, or women, would pop in to shoot me, Aya would shoot at them from an ambushing angle.

Honestly, for a warrior culture, these ladies were remarkably fooled by a pile of towels on Katrina's sofa - hiding a miniature sniper. Lunch came by way of Buffy and Dora. I had a feeling that Buffy was still stung by Daphne's betrayal. Watching Aya try to stare down Buffy was both amusing and a tad chilling. I was going to have to do something about her frustration.

After Katrina released us, I pleaded with Desiree to entertain her niece - Aya, while I went to grab a few drinks with 'the guys'. The club they chose screamed overly-pretentious, overly-privileged and insanely over-priced. I didn't have the Class Ring, or Mummy/Daddy's bank account to go to a place like this. I had a sudden unsettling feeling.

I double-checked my bank account. I had around two grand squirreled away when I got the job with Havenstone and I knew that cache had to be running dry. I checked it and I had over five grand. Unless banks had radically altered interest rates, somebody was propping me up financially. Barring a rich girlfriend, I had a rich girl friend. Every guy I knew and liked was as poor as me.

I hobbled in on my crutches, drawing some stares. No one called out, or recognized me, so the general snobbish assumption was that I was a person who didn't 'fit in'. A few more hobbles forward and the looks began to change. My suit was tailored, I was an impressive physical specimen and exuded a charisma that implied 'eminently fuckable'.

Felix, Trent and Brian were polite enough to turn my way though they didn't call out. They hadn't grabbed a side booth, or a place at the bar. No, we had a table sans chair in the middle of the place because I had a bum leg and crutches - sadistic fuck-nuts. My first introduction was almost comical.

"Hey, Jared, isn't it?" some stranger tapped my shoulder.

Did he know me? No. His current female work-in-progress had noticed me and kept noticing me so he was playing the humiliation game. Fake intro - 'shocked' I wasn't who he thought I was - the revelation I wasn't from a Top Ten school - belittle me to his potential lady.

"No, Jared was my brother," I sighed. "You didn't know? He died in a jet-ski accident three weeks ago. Where you two close?"

"Ah..." dumbass stuttered.

"I am sorry to hear about your loss," the girl spoke up. "Were you and your brother close?" She had a Columbia ring, three years back on a gold chain around her neck.

"He was my twin," I mumbled. I leaned against our table and turned away (masking my grief it could be assumed). 

She left Dumbass' table and came over to mine. By the looks of my three buddies, they were floored. In less than one minute, I had my arm around a stacked, pretty redhead who was rubbing her hands over my chest. My plan crystalized. I had to let someone bump into me, grunt in pain then have this nice lady - Nicole - take me to the rest rooms.

Once in that back hallway, it was a stumble and a bump into a stall in the ladies room and a quick sexual encounter. A junior corporate lawyer named Stevenson provided the catalyst. He was more apologetic to Nicole, but she was getting angrily maternal over me, my pain and grief. She blew Stevenson off and helped me to the restroom area.

Of course, I was 'sure' I could take care of everything by myself. Two stumbles later, she was insisting she take me to the men's room. I argued with her rather firmly. She couldn't come with me. After all, there were usually only one or two stalls and I didn't want to embarrass her. Nicole's inspiration was to take me to the women's room where there were plenty of stalls.

I begged her to let me go into the stall alone - despite my obvious discomfort and agony. She overrode my concerns and joined me. She took off my pants, my cock sang out 'hallelujah' and Nicole was mesmerized. I told her I found her attractive and hadn't had sex in a while. Nicole began administering a blowjob.

There were no 'uh's and 'ah's. That would be selling it in the wrong direction. I went the other way. I gritted my teeth and made as little noise as possible. When she finally broke down and asked if what she was doing felt good. I hissed out a 'yes' then explained how I didn't want to embarrass her with my vocalizations.

The resulting victorious smile and follow-up question were foregone conclusions. 'Yes, I did have a condom'. The girl wasn't stupid. She didn't ask me if I wanted to have sex. I had her where I wanted her - wanting sex - and she knew I wanted her. Clothes were lain over the toilet seat - the floors looked clean but still - and we got down to business.

Once Nicole decided she wanted intercourse, I took over. I had her one knee on the toilet, one leg on the floor and both hands against the back of the stall wall while I thrust into her from behind. She was huffing like a steam locomotive as I was pistoning into her gushing depths. Unable to do cunnilingus this time, I continuously wedged two fingers into the tight intrusion of my cock pumping her pussy and pulled out two coated digits. 

At first, I noisily sucked them clean. Nicole figured out what I was up to and wanted in on the action, licking her own vaginal fluids off my fingers. Her first climax had her hissing like a pit of vipers and beating one fist against the porcelain wall tiles.

In the interim, with a bit of friendly finger play, I had discovered Nicole was a fully accessible sex partner. I let my cock slowly withdraw, rubbing her vaginal walls in all the right places as I did. I was setting her up for the surprise. I pressed my large, pulsing cockhead against her sphincter and started pushing in sans preparation on her part.

"Too much?" I whispered. Yes it was. We both knew it. This was a sexual gauntlet I was tossing down. How vigorous was she willing to go? Nicole was a hard-charging, go-getter for who life was a series of challenges. My words weren't an act of compassion - they were a dare. She could back out, or she could take my sizable rod up her unprepared butthole.

"Don't hold anything back," she gasped. We twisted, turned our necks as far as possible and entered a deep, tongue twisting kiss. In the midst of that, I began pushing in. Nicole was no anal virgin; that was a certainty. Equally certain was the pain she was going through as I drove all the way down. Her rectum was stretched out, her hips and buttocks were trembling and she was sweating up a storm.

She was in pain and loving it. Not out of some masochistic fit, but because she'd confronted a personal test and triumphed. All the while, we remained lip-locked. I soaked up her moans of pleasure, groans of pain and the combination of both when I was done. Only when I completed her anal penetration, did I relax my pressure and let her adjust.

Nicole was the one who initiated picking up the pace. Again, I took over, upping our tempo until I was slamming into her rectum with all my might. Nicole was coming like glacial melt, tearing off huge chunks of her resolve every time she orgasmed. A few chicks peeked through the stall door to make sure I wasn't murdering her.

I filled up the condom in her ass, earning me one last caged squeal. Nicole really was a vocal treasure. She could really keep the noise down when needed. Four fucking orgasms in eleven minutes - I am a sex god. Nicole and I cleaned up. She couldn't stop smiling at me.

"I hope I've helped you deal with the loss of your brother," she purred as she snuggled against my chest.

"I'm an only child, Nicole. All that twin thing was for the Dick-head who was hitting on you and decided to make a mockery of me with the whole 'you went to a loser school' thing," I told her.

"Oh..." she digested that. Sexual aftershocks helped her decide she didn't care. They never do. 

"Where did you go to school?" she asked as we finished cleaning up at the sink - with three other women.

"Bolingbrook in New Hampshire," I grinned. "I live in a small, five room apartment, with my roommate in lower-middle class neighborhood, I don't have a car - I have a bike." 

"That's good because I absolutely love biking, on and off-road," I kept going. "I work at Havenstone Commercial Investments making a quarter million a year starting out plus a 'Gold level' benefits package. Mom's gone. My Dad is a working stiff, scoured by the elements most days, his sister works on a crab boat and that's my lineage. I'm Cáel Nyilas, by the way."

"Do you like picking up rich, successful women from well-heeled families?" Nicole and the other women blatantly listening in studied me.

"Normally you couldn't have dragged me into an establishment like this," I chuckled. "This isn't my crowd. Three of the new male hires at Havenstone invited me out for some after-work drinks and they chose this place."

"Is that the whole 'class warfare' thing?" one woman, African-American, accused me. Sigh.

"I'm far more concerned with labor and land rights riots in China, gender unrest in India, the rise of religious fundamentalism all around the globe and receding polar ice caps than the anemic class struggles going on inside the United States," I engaged her.

That shut them up.

"What about a Free Tibet?" an Asian cutie interjected. My bet was Myanmar.

"Go to a few rallies, buy a bumper sticker then pat yourself on the back and delude yourself that you are doing something," I shrugged. 

"Inside 50 years you are looking at Tibetan cultural annihilation. It is a numbers game. Keep adding Han Chinese into the population and Tibet ceases to exist outside of a few history books," I explained. "If you want to make a difference, recruit up nine friends, gather a war chest of a million dollars and take six month of intensive weapons and arctic survival courses."

"Sneak over the border into Tibet. Attack Chinese settlers, firebomb Chinese-owned shops and ambush PLA patrols. Cross back over to Nepal for resupply and reinforcements. Create an insurgency large enough to gather real media and governmental attention," I told them. "Otherwise you are wasting everyone's time."

"Violence is not the answer," a blonde joined the fun. Yes, I can be standing in a women's rest room without drawing outrage. Nicole was hanging all over me.

"How about this: give me your purse so I can take all your money, your ATM card and your PIN number?" I requested of the blonde. She took a step back.

"Okay, I'm going to ask you for that again, and if you don't give it to me, I'll ask a third time," I continued and I did just that - asking a third time. "Congratulations, you have the China - Free Tibet debate. If there was any doubt," I pointed to the blonde, "you are China."

"It is not like that," the Blonde insisted.

"Why not? China is using Tibet as land to put their expanding population on that doesn't involve emigration - a reduction in the tax base," I reasoned. "Therefore, Tibet has value. You are offering nothing of value to the PRC, expecting them to give you something they value, for free? How rational is that?"

"That's crazy," Myanmar chick stated. "Nonviolent protest works."

"I agree," I nodded. "It needs to be truly passionate to achieve its ends." Translation: I didn't believe it worked, but clearly these babes believed in it and getting snitty about some belief system I didn't really care about wasn't going to get me into their panties.

Pleased that they had impressed their enlightened approach to life, the other women let Nicole help me struggle back to my table. We managed to exchange digits and for her to give me her business card - cool, she was a criminal defense attorney with a firm that had five names and Esquire attached to the end. 

They also had offices here, in Los Angeles, Mexico City, Hong Kong, London and Berlin. Nicole deposited me back with my 'buddies' who had sprouted some girl pals in my absence. Introductions went around. Nicole did a wave, winked at me then went off to her own clique of pals. Seconds after she joined up, there were multiple lusty looks from her group aimed my way.

Not every lady is looking for a commitment. For some, a hook-up hits the spot and they were not particularly jealous about sharing in their adventures. Nicole was going to go home, a smile on her lips, take a nice hot bath and go to bed worry-free. Her company was envious and planning how to get their own piece of my unworthy hide.

Fucking Nicole into a transcendent state didn't earn me a place in their 'educational elites only' world. That wouldn't keep them out of my bed, only someone they wouldn't mention to their parents. I didn't care. I wouldn't care unless they became clingy. Then I would have to parade her friends and colleagues past her as sexual conquests until she got the message that turning a guy into her 'dirty little secret' was doubly unfortunate.

Mind you, having a pair of wandering eyes myself, I had never enforced monogamy on any girl I'd ever been with. Deep down I was always looking for 'the one', I assumed that my sex partners were too and I never held that against them for looking somewhere else when I was clearly not the one for them. My sense of fair play rarely translated over to understanding on their part.

Back to my little crowd. From the start, I know we were all freaking gorgeous men. We were also bright and well-educated (though the rest thought I was a bumpkin). Having ladies stop by was a veritable given. How we handled it was multifaceted. 

Brain Fung was a 'one foot out the window' kind of guy. He led off with how engaged he was, how wonderful his fiancé was and finished up with how arranged the marriage was. See, this gave him an out with every women he scored with. He was engaged, yet he was unhappy with the arrangement so some lucky girl might convince him to re-chart his course. 

It would never happen. Brian thought too much of himself to be romanced. Besides, he had a five, ten and twenty year plan. The Prick shouldn't have joined Havenstone. His fiancé was from a good family, educated (Stanford) and willing to knuckle under to her family to marry Brian so he could assume she would knuckle under to him too. 

He was never going to leave that comfortable future for some sweet piece of tail he could pick up at a bar, or nightclub. Girls were nothing more than a release valve for his sexual frustrations and by the end of the encounter, the girl would know that was exactly how he felt. He was good-looking, wealthy and confident - he'd always find someone else. 

Felix was of a different mold. He was a player. Unlike me, he was all about hash marks, conquests and stroking his ego. You couldn't totally blame him - Felix was a Winner - capital 'W'. Awards, work accomplishments and pretty women were all the same to him; an aggrandizement of the Felix Melena saga. 

He'd hunt the wildlife of the city until he was thirty then marry an early twenty-something virgin. Virgin? He had to be the first and only man she ever knew. Felix would have no trouble naming names and bragging over all the details of a sexual encounter because the only thing that mattered was Felix, his successes and everybody being aware of just how bad-ass he was. 




Life as a New Hire Ch. 08



Don't get me wrong. Felix was the type of person who got the job done and would never claimed the accolades that he didn't deserve. He wasn't a thief. He was really damn good. He was simply an asshole for constantly pointing out how damn good he was as a means of cowing/enticing people he encountered. 

Trent was superficially similar to Felix but different in several important ways. The most important thing to Trent Grant was Trent. Trent seemed to talk endlessly about Trent. If the conversation wandering, he would insert a 'Trent moment' into things to bring the words back to where they belonged - talking about Trent.

The Havenstone women's description of Trent now made sense - he was dull. If you considered that so much of what he bragged about - his lineage dating back to Colonial America, his long family history in politics and business, and the collegiate successes of both him and his ancestors - made no impression on them; basically Trent might as well have been babbling in Martian.

Their bloodlines traced back 3000 years. 300 was nothing to them. If you had something they truly wanted, they killed you and took it from you - they were a cult of psychopaths after all. Colleges? They had built up a global powerhouse without the help of any male-founded institutions of higher learning, thank you very much.

Trent could be civil, polite and congenial when he made the effort. He had punched in all the proper markers for a posh college career. Fraternity president, winning Captain of the local intermural basketball team and Dean's List. He even had a bookend - Brooke Lee of Virginia and Vassar girl. 

She was darkly tanned, shoulder-blade length silky black hair, and luminescent green eyes. Her curves were in all the right places and her smile must have cost her parents a fortune to be that white and perfect. By the familiar way she hung on Trent, he had lied to Havenstone - BAD, bad move, Trent. The look she gave me implied that Trent shouldn't trust me around her, or her around me.

It wasn't that buddies couldn't trust me around their girlfriends...actually buddies couldn't trust me with their girlfriends. I was of low moral character and perpetually horny with a glib tongue and a sexual charisma that was a threat to nuns, Christian cheerleaders and grandmothers alike. Brooke knew this to be true. Trent would have if I hadn't been so 'beneath' him and Brooke.

Brooke had brought some friends - all Vassar girls. The two who wanted to be there glommed onto Felix and Brian. The third girl basically knew she was 'settling' for me. I didn't belong to their exclusive social club. My three 'new hire' pals sealed the deal (screwed me over) by informing the girls that I was with Executive Services - the gophers.

I saw some sympathetic eyes from the first three ladies to my 'date'. Libra Chalmers attempted to make the best of it.

"Do you like your job?" she gave a weak grin. I sighed.

"I wish the President and CEO didn't know me on a first name basis...or her daughter and granddaughter," I shrugged. "Most of the Board of the Directors are nice enough."

Blink.

"Did you bring them their laundry?" Felix chuckled.

"That and other stuff," I grinned right back. "Mostly its drudgery with the occasional bizarre request covered by corporate confidentiality."

"Like what color shoes to wear?" Trent snorted. My face became deathly calm.

"No Trent," I stared at him, "things that I cannot talk about. Do you seriously think Executive Services has long term employees picking up birthday presents and detailing cars?"

"But you are a 'nobody'," Brain blurted out. I was sure that how he really felt.

"Where did you go to school?" Libra inquired.

"You've probably never heard of it. Bolingbrook in New Hampshire," I smiled. I was proud of my school. I even showed her my class ring.

"Holy Cow!" Libra laughed. "I'm from Bolingbrook."

"Chalmers...as in Marla Chalmers of the 'Seldom Read' bookstore?" I chuckled.

"That's my little sister," Libra nodded. Whoops, I'd nailed Marla and how. Took her virginity.

"Hold on," she grinned as she pulled out her phone. "What's your name again?"

"Cáel Nyilas," I answered. I was too insulted she hadn't remembered it the first time.

Five rings later,

"Marla, it is Libra and I'm with an old friend of yours - Cáel Nyilas," she winked at me. There was a long pause. Libra put the phone on speaker for the group's amusement.

"Well, how is he?" Marla asked.

"He's on crutches," Libra answered.

"Well, you can bet a girl did it to him," Marla sounded a bit pissed. Not good.

"I was shot with an arrow by a woman who I actually hadn't slept with," I confessed.

"Cáel?" Marla yelped. "Oh my God, is that really you?"

"Sure is," I tried to remain upbeat.

"Damn Sis, does he still look hot?" Marla inquired.

"Very much so," Libra smirked my way.

"Cáel...I still miss you," Marla sighed. "Even after that...thing." That thing was her finding me in bed with her aunt...and me not being her uncle.

"Yeah," I groaned, "I really screwed that up. I can't apologize enough for what I put you through." Brian and all the women at the table were attentive and curious.

"Well, I should have figured you didn't get all that sexual prowess from the internet," Marla mused. "So, are you seeing someone now? Let me rephrase, how many women are you seeing at the moment?"

I was busted. I was also looking down the barrel of 'make-up sex'.

"At present it is a waitress, an heiress, two teachers, a CPA, a security operative and a policewoman, but I'm not having sex with the last two," I related. They thought I was lying.

"That sounds about right," Marla laughed loudly.

"You had sex with this guy?" Libra gasped. The whole 'my little sister must still be a virgin' thing.

"Oh yeah," Marla exulted. "He took all three of my virginities. It was one hell of a great summer. Even after I nearly killed him, I still missed his loving."

I was a deviant pervert. I could see it on their faces.

"I miss you to, Marla," I told her.

"Really...what do I like?" Marla teased.

"Inside of the triceps; little kisses," I immediately responded. Those kisses drove her nuts. There was a long pause.

"I miss you, Cáel," Marla moaned.

"He's on a date with me right now," Libra interrupted. "Talk to you later, Marla." The connection went dead. "You took my little sister's virginity?" she got heated.

"Apparently she gave it all up to Cáel," Felix chuckled. Idiot.

"You really took Marla's virginity?" Brooke jumped in. "Where?"

"Lake Carrie - freaking cold water. Marla loves the place so I took her to a location she'd feel comfortable in," I explained.

"Did it occur to you that she might want her first time to be with someone who was important to her?" Brian prodded.

"Brian, it's a hymen, not the Ark of the Covenant," I smirked. "Wanting a girl to be a virgin is more a matter of a guy's fears of penile inadequacy than a woman's promiscuity. Certainly if I was a woman I'd want the guy to know what he's doing as opposed to fumbling around until the mood died." That brought some chuckles from the girls.

"Let's get a bite to eat," Trent broke the tension. Libra had no trouble sticking close to my side as we left. We ended up sharing a taxi with Trent and Brooke. We learned what a fantastic job Trent was doing at Havenstone. From his version of events, the company would have been teetering on the brink if not for his historic efforts.

"What about you?" Brooke shot me a look. Yep, I was going to have sex with her. No doubt.

"Apparently I sunk the Maldives Islands yesterday. Friday I caused Umpa Lumpas to spontaneously combust all over the chocolate factory, so I consider Monday to be an improvement in the fewer fatalities I caused," I stated straight-faced.

Trent didn't understand my job place revelry. The girls cracked up laughing.

"Honestly, I get abysmal work reviews for no reason I can understand. I don't respond to instructions, am rarely locatable and never, ever answer my phone," I frowned. "Trent gets away with it, so why shouldn't I?" More laughter and Trent was being pissy.

"Ms. Shore thinks I will make a Lead Investigator in two years," Trent bragged.

"Olympia is a smart cookie," I nodded. "You may end up globe-trotting with a bevy of young ladies most of the year."

"Who is Olympia?" Libra questioned.

"Olympia Shore," I beat Trent to the answer. "Everyone at Havenstone is on a first name basis and very friendly. I mean, as the only five guys in the entire corporation, it's different than what I expected."

"Trent, do you work with many attractive women?" Brooke inquired lethally. 

The lesson being: don't screw with me without a game plan. Making me look bad as a causal thing in front of women isn't wise. The restaurant was nice, but Katrina's place had been nicer. I ordered, talked, flirted with Libra openly (and Brooke covertly). Libra and I were working on a hook-up when a chilly voice killed the ambiance.

"Cáel Nyilas, come with me," the female voice droned. Why did the other guys flinch? She was one of those stone-cold bitches from the Security Detail. On Saturday, they had manhandled the other as if they were nothing. Since the SD were most likely all full-blooded Amazons, they were correct in that assessment.

"I don't know your name and what is this about?" I turned and asked the Arabic swimsuit model.

"Aisha and you need to check in with Medical," she stated. At least she wasn't too rude.

"Thanks for the drinks and dinner, guys," I staggered up. "Libra, it was very nice to meet you." I put a few twenties on the table, grabbed up my crutches and followed Aisha out.

She was double parked. Aisha went around to the driver side, got in and waited. It wasn't like she'd missed the crutches. I stumped out to the car and rapped on the door.

"A little help here?" I requested. She looked my way, returned to looking forward and did nothing. I had obeyed. I had been nice. This was simply punishing me for having a dick.

I hobbled back to the street and headed across town under my own power. Three blocks away, she put the car in my path. She stepped out of the driver's side, clearly unhappy.

"Get in," she commanded.

"Are you going to help me?" I countered. She glared at me. "You are in the cross walk."

She didn't respond, so I hobbled down the street. I didn't try to get past her. I was going to cross at the next street. She didn't reappear so I painfully dragged my sorry ass over to the first taxi I could find and was dropped off at Havenstone twenty minutes later. She was waiting for me at Reception.

"Come with me," she snapped as she grabbed my arm.

"Let go of me," I yelled. "You failed at your job. Hell if I'm going to cover for you."

"I didn't fail," she pointed out. "You are here."

"Without any help from you," I stated. 

She dragged me to the elevator and up to Medical we went. Aisha pushed me into a medical bay then left. A medical type - who was a physician or a physician's assistant wasn't clear - appeared, my pants went down and she got to work. There is nothing like grabbing your own calf and pulling it up to your chest while a doctor examines your wound.

"Hot date," she caught me off guard.

"I was working on it," I grunted as she swabbed the wound. She looked around my thigh and into my eyes.

"When was the last time you had sex?" she intruded.

"Uh...six-ten - this evening," I answered.

"This was before your date?" she was puzzled.

"Well, when I met girl #1, I didn't know girl #2 existed," I explained.

"Wait, you met one girl randomly at six and had sex with her then were aiming for a second girl," she blinked. "It isn't even 8:30 yet."

"How is this any of your business?" I grumbled.

"Do you want me probing your wound with a cotton swab, or with a steel scraper?" she threatened.

"Yes. I went out for drinks, met the first lady, we hit it off and we went to the ladies room and had sex - a trifecta if you are curious - and parted on good terms," I said.

"When I got back to my buddies' table, they had several other women, one who was my assigned dinner date. It turns out I had sex with her sister a few years back," I sighed. "We were hitting it off when Aisha showed up with the personality of a marble slab and made me walk back here."

"Really?"

"Okay, she wouldn't help me get in the car, so I stomped off like a spoiled child for a few blocks then took a taxi the rest of the way," I grinned. "All I asked was for her to help me in the car and she wouldn't even do that."

"Is any of what you told me the truth?" she let my leg down, on the outside of her so that my crotch was pressed against hers.

"Everything after the probe - yeah," I nodded.

"Very well," smile. "Is there anything else I can help you with?" Needs no translation.

"Oh, I wish you could, but I need to work out three hours of non-stop sexual frustration and neither one of us has the time right now," I moaned. "Maybe later."

"Mmmm...I get off at 4 am," she licked her lips. "What is your address?"

"Sadly, I'm rooming with Desiree for the rest of the week," I frowned.

"Are you going to work out some frustration on her?" she pouted.

"Noooo," I declared. "No sex with any Havenstone women for 75 days. When I told you later, I meant 75 days later. It is corporate policy for interns."

"Pity," she sighed. "You are good to go. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Cool. Maybe we can squeeze in a massage next time," I grinned. No rest for the wicked.

"What do you want me to massage?" she teased.

"I was thinking that I could start at your neck, work through your shoulders, down your back and jump to your thighs before finishing up on your calves," I offered.

"Are we sure that won't violate the rule about sexual contact?" she purred.

"Of course not. It is a public service. You have a high-stress job and need a break," I met her hungry gaze.

"I think this is only a ploy for you to get your hands on my body," she wiggled closer. Duh.

"Absolutely. It is absolutely a ploy for me to get my hands on your body," I promised.

"Go," she gave a throaty chuckle. I got on the elevator and...nothing happened. I didn't have clearance to go down to that level. Since my humiliation could get worse, it did. I was dialing up Desiree when Aisha stepped on the elevator. She looked at me.

"Yes?" she stared.

"I need to get down to the housing level," I muttered.

"Which one?" Oh...there was more than one...fuck.

"The one that Desiree lives on," I sighed. Aisha hit the proper button and down we went.

The door opened to a familiar level. Oh well. 

"Thank you, Aisha," I acknowledged her kindness.

"You are welcome, Cáel," she answered. The doors shut and I was sure she enjoyed the 'what the fuck' look on my face. I didn't know what to make of that at all.

Aya didn't charge me at the door. She vibrated excitedly until I put my crutches aside and could pick her up. I saw Desiree putting a book away as she looked me over. It turned out none of us had further plans so we all turned in around 9:30. As we settled into the tight confines of the bed, I decided to ask Desiree for her advice.

She listened to my tale of the encounter, shook her head and looked at me with something akin to pity.

"Elsa sent Aisha to ruin your fun. Aisha stalked you up to and including your encounter with the doctor, which she listened in on," Desiree explained. "Aya, what does that mean?"

"Daddy is even more desirable than ever!" she proclaimed loudly.

"Idiot," Desiree muttered. Me - not Aya.

"Aya, we have a new project," I whispered to my little friend.

"What is it?" she was all excited.

"You are going to research Leonardo Di Vinci's flying machine. We are going to build one on the roof so I can make my getaway on my last day at work," I informed her.

"Can I come with you?" Aya hoped.

"Aya, it has never successfully been tested before," I told her.

"After I take off, if I can circuit the building, I'll land, pick you up and we can head out for Patagonia - just you, me and the penguins," I teased her.

"You can count on me," Aya yawned. I let her drift off.

"You can count on me too," I whispered to her. I caught Desiree studying me through nearly closed eyes.

(Wednesday and Thursday)

On Wednesday, the floodgates opened. Aya and I had barely settled in - Katrina had banned the use of all Nerf products until 3pm Friday - when the front desk gave me a call. I had a female visitor. It was Odette - crap. I excused myself from Aya and was gathering my crutches when I saw Katrina staring at me.

"I have a guest at the front desk," I explained.

"Are they a bomb-wielding maniac, an expert assassin, or an investigative journalist?" she inquired.

"No Katrina," I gulped. She called down to the front desk and told them to let her up.

Ten seconds later, she told the front desk to let all female visitors requesting me to come up...then she added Timothy to the list.

"Katrina, if I ever stop being afraid of you, please understand that I am either high, or stupidly drunk," I pledged.

"Noted. Aya, get to work," Katrina captured her nieces gaze. "Cáel is on Sick Leave. You are here to pick up his slack."

"Yes Katrina," Aya nodded then put her cute little nose back to the grindstone. Odette was the harbinger of disaster.

She had stopped by late Monday night...and had crashed with Timothy. Bright and early Tuesday, Officer Nikita showed up. Nikita wasn't happy. In more precise terms, she was going to rip my nuts off. Timothy told Odette not to worry, but Nikita had a firearm and a uniform, so she worried. Odette polished this revelation off by requesting some 'private time'.

I wouldn't swear on a stack of Bibles that Katrina smirked, but I'd take those odd in Vegas. Aya had a different approach.

"Cáel, can you take Daddy Time when you are at work?" Aya smiled politely. I was weighing no puppy dog eyes from Aya for a few hours versus my dick's desire to be a dick and do what dicks are meant to do.

"Please don't make me transfer Buffy after she murders you," Katrina offhandedly remarked. She had an excellent point. I decided to give Odette a nice, toe-curling kiss at the elevator.

"If all you are going to do is kiss her, you can do that here," Aya grinned.

"Okay," I nodded. Aya was my buddy. I steamed up Odette good and proper then sent her floating on her way.

Three hours later I hadn't even gotten a 'hello' out of my mouth before Aya provided this cute piece of information to Buffy and Daphne - our food providers.

"Buffy, Cáel kissed a girl so much she was walking on clouds when she left." The lesson here? No woman is your friend, buddy, or otherwise.

The food dropped to the ground and Buffy came storming around my little desk.

"Please don't kill me," I cringed. Buffy hovered centimeters away, her intense struggle for control evident to everyone present. Finally, she clasped her hands behind her back. Balancing a hand on the back of my chair and the desk, I pushed myself up.

My hands came to rest on Buffy's shoulders then I tenderly started turning her around. She resisted initially before curiosity took over. I brushed the left side of her hair back first. We started with the traditional small puffs of air on her neck and ear. My tongue flicking on the back of her earlobe gave her a jolt which she quickly suppressed.

While the air and tongue play along her neck and ears was going on, I was able to sneak my hands around to her stomach right above the belt. Buffy found her hands were pressing against my cock. She stroked it with an unexpected gentleness. My hands migrated up until I cupped her breasts. I didn't squeeze them yet the intention was there.

"Are we okay now?" I whispered.

"I'm thinking about it," she looked over her shoulder. "I'm still having trouble waiting."




Life as a New Hire Ch. 08



"You have to understand you are not my number one girl, Buffy," I told her. Oh, look. She was about to treat my weenie like silly putty.

"I'm his number one girl," Aya declared proudly. My penis was saved.

"As long as I'm the first one he sleeps with," Buffy asserted.

"Too late," Aya said before I could find a more political way to approach the crisis.

"You sleep with Cáel?" Daphne teased.

"Yes, of course I do," Aya sighed in exasperation. "Why do all the girls keep asking me that? Where else would I sleep, but with Cáel?"

"Is he a wonderful and considerate bed-buddy?" Daphne teased. Ow - cock - Buffy's hands.

"Best Daddy ever," Aya beamed.

"I go to sleep in his arms to the sound of his breathing," Aya got dreamy again, damn her. "If I have a bad dream, all I have to do is touch his hand and he wraps it around me. He keeps me safe and I know he'll never let anything bad happen to me." That statement stumped all three women listening.

Buffy could have had a father. Whatever relationship they may have had was severed now. Daphne and Katrina didn't even have that. Mothering an Amazon was tough work. It required a callousness not normally associated with maternal instincts. Every Amazon had to be a killer - it was their cultural imperative.

I doubted Daphne had the opportunity to continue her genetic legacy yet. Katrina would never have the chance, being sterile. What Aya was describing was more associated with a three year old than a girl of nine. A few Amazon women scorned this as weakness. Daphne and Katrina didn't. It was almost a wistful jealousy.

"Where did you learn to take care of little girls?" Daphne inquired softly.

"What do you mean?" I kept my attention on Buffy.

"Aya, Silly," Daphne grinned.

"That's your mistake," I sighed happily. Buffy smelled good. "Aya is both a child and my comrade-in-arms."

"I can never let her down because she'd never let me down," I added.

"She can't save you if you get in trouble," Daphne said.

"That's your problem," I looked to Daphne. "I don't expect her to save me. If all you look for is results, you'll always get the same results." Not true, but what the fuck.

"To me, it is the effort that matters. Only through effort to we excel," I winked to Aya. "And why does Aya excel?"

"Because Aya is a winner," she glowed.

"Repeating that phrase won't feed you in the wild, or craft you a weapon," Katrina reminded her.

"Aunt Katrina, everyone is afraid I will fail," Aya's tiny body became taut as a bowstring. "Cáel waits for me to succeed. I'm so afraid of letting everyone down, except with him. When I'm with Cáel, I feel the stillness you and the others tell me about. The fear goes away and I feel right and good."

"Aya, one day you may have to kill Cáel," Katrina studied her niece. Aya looked at me and wept silently.

"He's died for me twice already," Aya choked back her sob. "He'd do it again to protect me."

"Eat up," Katrina ordered. That ended the discussion. As they were leaving, I noticed Daphne had cried a bit as well.

Nikita showed up at 2 pm, in uniform, with a senior female co-worker/training officer. I imagine the novelty for the other woman of going into a skyscraper like this allowed this unfortunate event to happen to me.

"Nikita!" Aya squealed. She stayed at her station - good for her.

"Hey Aya," Nikita smiled at my cohort. I got the dark, grumpy frown.

"What are you doing - here?" she sizzled. "And, what are you doing making Aya do work? There are Child Labor Laws you know."

"Its National Take A Death Dwarf to Work Day," I informed her. "Hello," I addressed the partner.

"Officer Skylar Montero," she replied with a more positive attitude.

"Odette," Nikita bit off the name, "told us you had a three-way Sunday night." Thanks Odette.

"That's not really fair," I spread my arms out in a placating gesture. "There were five of us, but we tag-teamed in and out so there were only three on the bed at one time."

"I see why she wants to shoot you," Skylar chuckled.

"Don't shoot Cáel, Nikita," Aya piped up. "He loves you."

"He loves a bunch of women," Nikita growled.

"That's not so," Aya persisted. "He has sex with a whole bunch of women. He loves you enough to not have sex and that makes you special."

"That makes her unique," Katrina muttered.

"It makes him bizarre," Skylar agreed.

"Cáel, am I the only girl you are seeing who you are not having sex with?" Nikita sighed.

"Do you mean didn't intend to have sex with, or was intending to have sex with but was interrupted?" I inquired.

"Don't make me pistol-whip you into obedience," Nikita menaced.

"It is not as easy as you would believe," I groaned.

"That's true," Aya added. "Elsa beat him into unconsciousness Monday afternoon and he didn't learn a damn thing." Aya was so proud of me...for getting my ass beat. This happens more than you would believe.

"Elsa? That wacko at the door Saturday night?" Nikita gasped with disbelief. "Why did you let her get close to you?"

"She came at me in the gym while I was on the sparing mat with a...lady I met," I told her.

"Dude, do you ever rest?" Skylar chuckled.

"We were practicing Brazilian jujutsu," I evaded. "There was suddenly an issue and that led to Elsa coming at me."

"The lady you met," Nikita fumed. "She was your date, right? The one you were interrupted from fu - having sex with." The 'fuck' was cut off for Aya's sake.

"Yes - yes she was," I confessed.

"Aya, come here," Katrina summoned her diminutive kin.

"How badly did the psycho hurt you?" Nikita sighed. No good answer, so I went for the truth.

"She beat me with a spear," I informed her. "The only places she spared were my face and testicles."

Nikita, trusting me as fully as she did, opened my shirt. Both she and her partner gasped.

"How is this not a crime?" Skylar remarked.

"It was a training exercise," I joked. They weren't laughing. "Look at it this way; I will never press charges and no one will bear witness to the beating - end of story."

"Damn it," Nikita pulled me tight, "what are you going to do?"

"What do you think?" I grinned. "I'm going to make Elsa pay."

"You can't take the law into your own hands," Skylar inserted.

"This is not about a beating, or revenge. This is a Human Resources complaint," I reasoned.

"At Havenstone, this is the process we all agree to. Elsa disagreed with how I mishandled a resources issue. She came at me and I lost," I explained.

"If she had a spear, what did you have?" Skylar asked.

"I didn't get a weapon," I replied. "That and my bad leg are my reason for 'revisiting' the dispute."

"What lethal weapon to you plan to use?" Nikita mumbled.

"The New Jersey," I teased her. Skylar snorted. Katrina opened a drawer.

"Take these to the nice policewomen," Katrina handed two Nerf guns to Aya. Aya gave me an apologetic look as she dispensed the pain.

"What are these...," Skylar got out before Nikita started unloading into me - in the stomach.

"If you are not going to use yours, give it to me," Nikita reached out to Skylar.

"You know that female violence against men is a rising epidemic in this country," I pointed out.

"We can classify this as police brutality then," Skylar smirked and fired off her six as well.

"Do you really pay this monkey a quarter million to do this?" Skylar asked Katrina.

"No," Katrina said with iron-clad certainty, "we pay him to save the world." Wow.

"How do you see that?" Nikita grumbled.

"Do you know how many armed law enforcement agents have gotten past the front desk - ever?" Katrina began.

"I'll make it easy on you - none," Katrina gazed at the two outsiders. Funny, I was thinking of myself as a member of Havenstone. "Do you know the last time I was in the same room as a person with a firearm who did not either work for me, or with me? It has never happened. This has occurred now because of him and 'no', I am not having any level of intercourse with Cáel."

"What would you do if I arrested you right now?" Nikita challenged.

"For starters, you wouldn't get off the floor. Your communications would be jammed, all doors locked and elevators kept at their current floor. You would not be negotiated with. Your surrender would not be considered. A military force would examine the scenario and then neutralize you," Katrina recited in a bored manner.

"Murder us?" Skylar gawked. "What about the witnesses?"

"What witnesses? Two Havenstone personnel who can pass for you will dress in the appropriate uniforms then drive your car to a distant location. Your dead bodies will be delivered by a different route, the patrol car burned and all evidence eradicated," Katrina droned on.

"The only person who might testify is Cáel, but he won't do it because it will solve nothing. You two will still be dead, no one worthwhile will believe him, and it will result in his eventual relocation. More to the point, his personal sense of loyalty won't allow him to betray me," Katrina was finishing. "None of that will happen though because Cáel is saving the World."

By the flabbergasted expressions on the two cops' faces was pretty much what I expected. Sure, I had told Nikita I worked for bad people, but she was thinking 'gun runners', embezzling from government contracts, or the illegal dumping of toxic waste. Sure, they might beat a nosy reporter up and even kill someone who couldn't take the message.

Katrina was a totally different creature than what she had imagined. Katrina had NO respect for the law and order Nikita and Skylar represented. Of greater importance, she had the ironclad belief that she didn't need to respect them, or their uniforms. This was movie-CIA spooky. The specter of tens of thousands of Havenstone employees on seven continents came rushing in.

"Cáel, if Elsa hadn't been sure I would have opened fire, would she have forced the door Saturday night?" Nikita whispered.

"Without a doubt," both Aya and I confirmed.

"Cáel, do you want to get out of here?" Nikita offered. "Right now, with us?"

"Where I come from, you don't leave others to pay for your mistakes," I explained. "I have to see this through, or one Angel, one hellspawn and a truckload of depraved souls end up not doing so good."

"This is not the time to joke," Nikita hissed.

"I'm not, Nikita. There are people out there putting their lives on the line so that I can keep mine," I repeated Katrina's words. "It would be the height of ingratitude to leave before I see how things turn out." Nikita didn't know what to make of that.

"We need to leave," Skylar pulled on her partner's sleeve.

Nikita gave me a quick hug before they left. Skylar warily scanned her environment until they stepped into the elevator and the doors shut.



Life as a New Hire Ch. 09



This story plays fast and loose with Ancient History and Linguistics; be warned.

Thanks to Chopperfan and MH aka Anonymous for combining on the editing.

Living every moment like it is your last is less attractive tomorrow.

*****

(Still Wednesday)

Katrina had left for wherever she snuck off to - I suggested to Aya it was a game room, Aya suggested it was as torture chamber - only to return when the next turn of the screws came. I was informed I had a visitor coming up by the name of Libra Chalmers plus a guest. Quickly enough they appeared. The guest turned out to be Brooke Lee.

"Who are these two?" Aya glibly spoke as the two Vassar girls walked into the room.

"Hello Libra," I greeted my almost date from last night. "Hello Ms. Lee," I said to Brooke.

"It's Brooke," Brooke smiled at me - she was hungry and scenting around for something remarkably like me.

"I'm happy to see you - oh - this is my guardian and protector, Aya Ruger," I made the introductions. "No lie, Aya has been keeping up with my workload while I've been on 'light' duty. Aya, this is Libra Chalmers and Brooke Lee, both from Vassar College. Brooke is Trent's friend and Libra had mercy on me Tuesday night and kept me from being a 'fifth' wheel."

"I'm actually Trent's fiancé," Brooke corrected.

"Fascinating," I lied. Oh fuck, that was NOT good.

"Cool. I'm happy to see the both of you, but what brings you to my office today?" I continued.

"Well, I showed up to ask for Trent and Libra asked for you," Brooke gave a sly smile.

"The thing was," Libra picked up the tale, "they were looking up Trent, but the front desk knew exactly who and where you were - so we came here first." My mind was busily working out how to pull Aya aside to give her a friendly warning when Katrina waltzed in.

"Ladies, this is my boss, Katrina Love, Head of Executive Services for Havenstone," I plastered a smile on my face.

"Katrina, this is Brooke Lee and Libra Chalmers. I met them Tuesday night," I kept things simple. Doom was impatient.

"Brooke is Trent's fiancé," Aya chimed in gleefully. She wasn't being malicious. She just didn't know any better. Katrina had been in the process of giving some congenial nods.

She stopped and turned on a dime. Damn it.

"Really?" Katrina's interest was piqued.

"Yes," Brooke beamed. She brandished her engagement ring in Katrina's face. Better yet, Katrina 'ooh'ed and 'aah'ed then spun on me.

"Cáel, I didn't know Trent was engaged," Katrina pierced me with those lethal ocular devices.

"Yeah, I bet you didn't," I groaned. "I only found out a moment ago." Trent had lied on his dating survey - slash application to Havenstone. They kinda/sorta made damn sure we had no external female attachments. It meant less bodies to dispose of if things went wrong.

I couldn't understand how they missed it then a curious custom/lifeline reared its ugly head.

"Brooke, that's your 'promise' ring, right?" I probed. "I'm sure Trent would get you a bigger rock for the actual engagement."

"Yes," Brooke confirmed. "We've decided to make the official engagement when our families take the Christmas Holiday at Hilton Head."

How could I express to Brooke that Christmas with Trent at Hilton Head was a rapidly vanishing dream? Katrina resumed her stroll to her desk.

"Katrina," I started my appeal. My argument was going to be that 'promise' rings didn't really count even though I knew her omission on his survey/application was bad enough already. Brian was different. If he chose to 'follow his career', she'd shed the prerequisite 17 tears and happily get on with her life. Girls like Brooke came looking and that wouldn't do.

"No," Katrina didn't even turn around. When she got to her desk, the phone calls began. Brooke was starting to realize something had happened. I gained a level of importance that extended beyond my bedroom sexpertise.

"Cáel, is something wrong?" Libra took my hand in hers.

"Trent may have neglected to mention some things during his job interview," I explained.

"Like?" Libra was getting concerned.

"Like the existence of Brooke," I answered. See, if Trent had written down his acquaintance to Brooke, Havenstone would have investigated her in the same way they investigated my mentor, Dr. Kimberly Geisler. She had admitted to the length, depth and termination of our affair. 

The issue of her teaching me anything besides sex had never come up.

"What?" Brooke grew indignant. Not with Trent, but with me. See, I was still a peon in her eyes and casting dispersions on her guy, who she knew and trusted.

"Brooke," I sighed, "did any Havenstone personnel talk to you about Trent?"

"No," she admitted.

"Every single woman I was ever with was questioned about me and my relationship to them," I explained. "Trust me; that was a really long list." Libra had the answer to that confusion. She pulled out her phone and got a busy signal - that would be Havenstone' now-active jamming devices.

"What's the number?" I asked Libra. She was momentarily annoyed - then suspicion kicked in. She gave me the number. Caller ID indicated it was Marla, Libra's sister. I gave the phone up.

"Marla," Libra began, "did anyone from Havenstone Commercial Investments ever talk to you about Cáel?"

"Ummm, is he in trouble because of what I said?" Marla asked.

"What did you say?" Libra eyed me.

"I said he was a total asshole who broke my heart and given the opportunity I wouldn't mind watching he die a painful death," she confessed. "Only later did I realize I missed him and felt sorry about what I said."

"Do you know if they talked to any of his other former girlfriends?" Libra inquired.

"I am absolutely sure they talked to at least one other person," Marla mumbled. Her Aunt.

"Who? I need to talk to them," Libra continued.

"That wouldn't be wise," Marla responded. "Suffice it to say they didn't give a glowing review either." Libra hung up and gave me back my phone.

"Cáel, do you have a problem with women?" Brooke glowered at me.

"Yes, there are so many of them," I shrugged. "That seems to be my main issue."

"Cáel, how many women have you been with?" Libra mused.

"Around 200," I acceded. 

"200! Holy Shit!" Libra gasped. Out of the blue,

"Of those, how many have dumped you for cheating only to come back to you later?" Katrina postulated.

"Around 40," I recalled.

"That's my Daddy!" Aya crowed proudly.

"What?" Brooke boggled.

"Not what you think!" I insisted. "Not what you think!"

"Aya is my niece," Katrina explained. "Cáel is not her biological father. He is her friend, paternal guide and guardian."

"Aya and I are in negotiations about me eventually marrying her mother, but I have assured her that is years and years off," I added.

"Cáel is not my real Daddy," Aya clarified. "He lets me pretend that he is."

"Besides Cáel, does that 200 include the past month?" Katrina diverted the conversation.

"Well...200 as in closer to 200 than 300," I grinned weakly.

"How did you graduate?" Libra followed along.

"I have a lot of stamina," I pointed out. Tessa Carmichael glided into the room.

"Brooke Lee?" she greeted the not-here-for-me girl.

"Yes? Do I know you?" Brooke was getting nervous and snippy. 

"I'm Tessa Carmichael, Director of Human Resources for Havenstone. I handled the final interview process for Trent Grant," she smiled with deceptive warmth. She was furious. I could tell, having a long history with women in such moods.

"Is that Lee - L-E-E?" Tessa continued.

"Yes, what is this about?" Brooke persisted.

"You and Mr. Grant are in a long term relationship?" Tessa asked next.

"Answer my question," Brooke snapped. Thankfully Tessa wasn't Elsa.

"Trent lied on both his initial application and then twice in the interview process," Tessa relayed calmly.

"About dating me?" Brooke was confused.

"We will explain in a moment," Tessa smiled and patted Brooke on the upper arm.

Brooke and Libra were more poised than I believed was warranted. Suddenly, I peeled back eleven days of experience and realized they assumed that Aya's presence was some sort of armor against violence. Whoops. Olympia Shore entered the room followed by Trent. Bright yet careless, he immediately clued in on the crisis.

"Brooke..." Trent mumbled. Olympia shut the door once Trent was too far inside to run.

"Trent, what is going on? They say you didn't list me as an acquaintance and somehow that's important," Brooke grumbled.

"I - um - I can explain," Trent was addressing...the room?

"Be at peace, Trent," Tessa took over. This was her job and her fuck-up. "We only need your assurance that your relationship with Ms. Lee was terminated before you signed your contract with Havenstone Commercial Investments." Trent was looking for the right answer that would make everyone happy, but there wasn't one.

Had he warned me yesterday that Brooke was his lady, I could have warned Brooke to NEVER come here. Trent hadn't done that because it would have necessitated him explaining to Brooke that he had denied her existence in order to get a cushy job. Trent had deluded himself into thinking he could have it both ways, probably because lying had always worked before.

"I think there has been a misunderstanding," Trent began. The most important thing in the world to Trent was Trent and he could outfox these backwoods feminists. "I am willing to submit my resignation immediately over this unfortunate mistake." That was a feint. Sadly, the important ladies had zero faith in his words and had already decided his fate. Moron.

"All we need is for you to verify your relationship, Trent," Tessa remained congenial.

"I said I will quit," Trent asserted. Trent was probably curious why his concession wasn't working the way he'd planned.

"It is not that simple," Tessa sighed. "You see, when you submitted your final work contract, numerous people co-signed your accounting of events. These people will now be subject to severe criminal, financial and civil penalties."

"What?" Trent gulped. "What do you mean?"

"Trent, we gave you a substantial signing bonus plus benefits and salary. Those people who verified your application are liable for fraud. That would be two of your professors, the Dean of the School of Economics at Carnegie-Mellon, your father, uncle, both the current and previous fraternity presidents and a State Senator."

"You can't...that won't fly. My family and those organizations have lawyers and they'll fight this in the courts for years," Trent rallied.

"Because they all want fraud cases hanging over their heads," Tessa looked at Trent as if he was an unruly schoolboy. "You, of all people, should appreciate how aggressive our Financial Investigative department can be."

"They are going to crawl over all the finances of everyone who we bring suit against. It will be a very public fight that we will gladly bring to the press. Professors will lose their jobs, election campaigns opened to public scrutiny and your personal banking - and everyone they have financial ties to - will be equally targeted."

"If you want, your termination papers are on the way. We have already contacted Legal, who are preparing briefs to file with the District, State and Federal Courts," Katrina simmered.

"Trent," Tessa closed in for the kill, "if you state to us here and now that you are not now in, or plan to pursue a relationship with Ms. Brooke Lee, we can keep this indiscretion in-house."

That was the crux of the matter. At this point Felix and I would have fallen on our swords, admitted to the lie and stood by the lady. Felix was an asshole, but he was a 'face the world on his own terms' asshole. I admired that about him. Brian and Khalid would have evaded, leaving Brooke to swing in the breeze, because that was the kind of men they were - they had a Life Plan and no silly emotional attachment was going to slow them down.

Trent proved to be the latter type of 'man'.

"I decided to not continue a romantic entanglement with Brooke some time ago," he blatantly lied. The sharks in the room nodded politely. Brooke's mouth opened in outrage. Libra was rallying to Brooke and I was rallying to them both.

"Look, it is a 'promise ring', not an engagement ring," Trent created excuses. My arm wrapped around Brooke constricted painfully enough to distract her from Trent's cowardice so she focused on me.

"Wait," I whispered. "Please wait." My eyes must have projected my warning of caution.

"So," Tessa nodded sagely. "Your romantic relationship with Ms. Lee ended some time ago - say a year - and you were so past the relationship you forgot to include it on your list critically important people to be interviewed; the list you created and your sponsors signed off on." Run, Trent! Sense the trap and make a break for the door. Go down swinging like a man!

"Yes," Trent gratefully agreed. Chicken-shit. What mattered here was Trent, followed distantly by Trent's family name, buddies and academic mentors. I was willing to bet it was facing his family's disappointment was the deciding factor for Khalid. Sure, he had an ego. We all did, but Khalid was equally proud of his parentage and racial background.

He'd even had an ancestor in the 54th Massachusetts regiment in the Civil War. His ego had gotten him in trouble and he'd taken responsibility. Poor bastard. The girl was irrelevant. He'd have gladly bought his way out of the trouble if he could. Havenstone knew his weaknesses and dialed up the pressure until he acquiesced.

"Trent!" Brooke squawked. Trent got points for hutzpah.

"Brooke," he patiently regarded his discarded baggage, "it has been over for some time. College is over and I let you know we had to move on. Please, it is time for you to let go." Brooke's mouth fell open and a tear streaked down her eye.

"So Trent, Ms. Brooke Lee's absence was more a matter of a well-established emotional detachment, not a personal oversight. We believe you," Olympia agreed.

"That would be correct," Trent jumped on the life preserver offered by his boss.

"I disagree," Katrina stood up angrily. Nice acting. I would have believed it if I hadn't already figured out the script.

"Katrina, Trent is an indispensable member of MY team and his progression is something I am paying close attention to," Olympia protected her body-shaped sperm dispenser.

"No," Tessa joined the attack.

"I'll take responsibility for this," Olympia challenged her associates. "I'll have Trent relocated to our East Asian section so he'll no longer be a worry for you two."

They even used the word 'relocate' and Trent was still grinning like a Christmas Elf on the 26th of December. Idiot.

"Trent, how about we get you out of this poisonous atmosphere for a year, or two, and move you to a place where you can shine?" Olympia asked her victim.

"That would be great, Olympia," Trent's relief came through. Cowardly, selfish smuck.

"Well, this meeting is over," Olympia declared. She took Trent by the arm and led him out of Katrina's office. I resisted the impulse to request Trent tell Khalid 'hello' for me. Brooke turned to Libra, leaned into her and started sobbing. 

Why all the drama? Now Brooke and Libra, outsiders and long term associates of the vanished, could testify that Trent WILLINGLY threw himself off the face of the Earth. Khalid's relocation might someday be a problem. No one would come looking for Trent after Brooke and Libra got done with him socially - and it was all self-inflicted, the ignoramus.

It was all about loyalty here at Havenstone. My steadfast loyalty to Katrina, paid for in blood, was why I was still running around with the knowledge I possessed. For all my numerous, obvious flaws, there was a sliver of my personality they could identify with. Stepping in front of Leona wasn't solely a matter of bravery. 

They acknowledged I was brave for doing it, yet the factor that mattered to them was that my bravery's source was my loyalty to Katrina and her house. No one assumed I was suicidal - there was confidence that Tessa and Katrina would have screened for that, even though the majority of the Amazons didn't like what they were doing.

Khalid had let his balls outweigh his reason. Trent hadn't shown physical cowardice; he was probably martially proficient. His flaw was a weakness of character. He saw every organization as nothing more than a vehicle for his personal advancement. In the rest of corporate civilization, that wasn't so bad, but he wasn't in the sane, morally-compromising, big business world.

He was in Havenstone. They tossed a truckload of money his way, lured him away from other promising offers to reel him - all of us - in. They expected honesty (from us lowly males), loyalty to their company and devotion to their cause even though they had no intention of telling us what it was for some time. Fair - it wasn't.

"Katrina?" I got my boss's attention.

"Take the rest of the day off, Cáel," Katrina responded. "Aya, you will be staying with me tonight. Cáel you need to be at Medical 11:00 pm."

"Thanks Katrina," I nodded her way. I retrieved my crutches, gave Aya a kiss on the top of her head, another on her forehead, sealed with her hug.

By the time we reached the elevator, Brooke was transforming from shell-shocked to righteously pissed. HE (whose name it wasn't safe to mention) had the temerity to dump HER. She was going to socially BBQ his ass with the hidden benefit that ole Trent was about to be incommunicado for the next few months.

"Cáel, what just happened?" Libra asked softly. "Who do you really work for?" Suddenly that little 'corporate confidentiality' discussion I had with Trent had a new, sinister implication.

"That bastard dumped me in front of a bunch of strangers!" Brooke seethed. If there was any doubt, I am a bastard too.

"It was worse than that," I consoled Brooke. "He lied about your intimacy so he could get this job." I didn't bring up the crap I went through because I didn't matter in her world.

"Did you lie about anything?" Libra asked.

"I didn't describe any of my relationships, but I did list everyone I had contact with," I answered.

"Why would they do something so bizarre?" Libra hugged Brooke.

"I haven't seen inside the minds of Human Resources, yet I get the feeling that Havenstone is a very closed system. Personal loyalty, honesty and accountability all rate highly with them. Havenstone doesn't worry about personal embarrassment. The only people who are going to know are their staff and they don't use such things in inter-office politics," I explained.

"How did you get a job here anyway?" Brooke snapped. She meant was, how did a knuckle-dragger like me get the same business opportunity as Brian, Felix, Khalid and Trent? She was lashing out in anger at the closest male - my background and name were irrelevant. I had nailed girls like this all the time. Anger leads to poor decision making which leads to her hectic hunt for her clothes in my domicile sometime after us having sex.

"I proved to be just as good, if not better, than every other candidate," I glared right back. Brooke didn't want me apologetic, joking, or silent. She wanted me to be a strong, solid and unyielding. Why? Trent had just shattered the bedrock of her future and she was desperately seeking any foundation to set down on. It could be temporary, but had to be quick.

"I don't see how that is possible," Brooke glared. Brooke was used to being pampered and catered to. It was her birthright.

"That's the difference between you and me, Brooke," I met her stare. By Brooke, I meant Trent and we both knew it. 

"I have fought for everything I've earned and if I've learned anything it is to appreciate my good fortune." Meaning women. The supposition was that I would never have undervalued, or abandoned, a woman as wonderful and complete as Brooke. I could see the mathematical calculations going on behind Brooke's eyes. 




Life as a New Hire Ch. 09



She was working out how many drinks she'd have to take before she could justify to the rest of the world she was drunk when I fucked her...while she got to full enjoy the experience. Oh...was I with Libra? Not only can guys not trust me with their girlfriends, girlfriends can't trust their girl friends around me either. 

I've had girlfriend's roommates invite me over to rendezvous with my girl only to discover my girl was busy...but the roommate wasn't. Maybe I'm not a pig. Maybe I'm an amoeba - thoughtless and all-devouring.

"Let's go out for some drinks," Libra suggested. Oh, I was having a three-way. Wait!

"Maybe you could call Marla?" I looked to Libra. "Honestly, I don't know either of you that well and she could help fill in some of the gaps?" Translation: Can we please make this a four-way?

"Good idea," Libra blushed slightly. Yay me! It turned out that Marla could be with us in an hour.

The bar scene was dead - it wasn't even five pm yet - so Libra put in an order for some liquor from a delivery service - huh? Libra asked me what I wanted to drink. I said I only drank moonshine, or, if that wasn't available, turpentine. She promised me some aged Scotch. Libra and I sat patiently in the taxi ride to Libra's place as Brooke bitched endlessly.

I think what impressed Libra the most was my ability to engage Brooke successfully while she spat venom over the entire spectrum of all things 'Trent'. Men, college, Carnegie-Mellon, fraternities...Brooke heatedly ask if I was a frat-boy. I inquired if Beer Drinking Clubs counted and she chuckled. She jumped right back to the 'bitchy', but we'd crested the wave.

We three were working through the uncertain status of who would/should do what to who as we sat around Libra's apartment. Added to that was Libra and Brooke using every tentacle of social media to castrate and castigate Trent. Trent made some half-assed counterattacks (he was on his way to the airport), his 'bros' rallied to his cause, Brooke's sorority rallied to hers, and billions of electrons died for no real purpose except to feed two people's impassioned egos.

"Cáel, could you get the door?" Libra requested. Since the two ladies were going full-blown agro on their phones and I was merely crippled, I hobbled to the door of Libra's posh crib. It was Marla. I opened the door and her eyes rounded in surprise.

"Cáel," she mumbled. Her eyes flicked down, took in my bulge, my limp then followed me inside.

"Is the leg - okay?" Marla asked. Libra waved while she kept talking. Brooke didn't even do that much. I doubted Marla wanted an in-depth medical report.

"It's strong enough," I grinned hungrily. That's what she wanted to know.

"Good," she exhaled happily. She dropped her bag, leapt on me, her legs wrapping around my waist, her arms linked behind my head and her tongue darted into my mouth to play with mine.

I staggered back while my hands cupped each of Marla's jean-clad ass cheeks and began to knead them. Her crotch throbbed against my hard-on. Marla was quickly making these precious little throttled moaning noises heralding her sexual need. I was peripherally aware of the conversation in the room dying down.

"I want to fuck," Marla panted. Misinterpreting that was nearly impossible. Cleverly, I had done an earlier reconnaissance, spotted the bedroom while pretending to look for the bathroom. There was also a nice sofa in the entertainment room, just in case, plus the kitchen counter was at a fuckable level. I turned and limped to Libra's bedroom carrying an encircling Marla.

Since I wanted to fuck all three, I didn't bother kicking the door shut. Erotic sound effects were fine. Leaving the door open was a magnet to their voyeuristic carnality. Soaking up Marla undressing was a cornucopia of information too. She wanted aggressive coitus, was soaking wet from masturbating on the drive down, and was expecting my ultimate effort.

This was a combination of 'I'm lonely and it is your fault' sex and 'make-up' sex. I stole a glance at Libra's bedside clock. Marla jumped backwards onto the middle of the king-sized bed. I pursued her as rapidly as my wound would allow. This didn't even take a Year One effort from me. I pushed her down, she kissed the hell out of me, hands grasping my ears, and I sent my fingers after her pussy.

My two fingers had trouble in their penetration - she'd been abstaining from sex for a while. I managed to scoop out some juices and rub them all over her clitoris. I really do have a gift for memorizing the sexual details of every woman I've encountered. It is a real pity there isn't a Nobel Prize for that. There should be.

At 58 seconds, Marla howled. She always had good lungs. I followed that up by pushing her arms over her head while she was still coming down from her climax. I rained down butterfly kisses on her triceps, just how she liked it. She was humping up against me and whining piteously as I kept working her over.

"Cáel," she moaned. "Fuck me, fuck me, I've missed you so much." What can I say? A buddy once suggested that if I was less exciting in the bedroom, my ex's might not hurt me so much. I laughed and asked him 'that wouldn't be nearly as much fun now would it?' I'm an idiot. Wait, let's change it up - I am a passionate masochist.

"Not yet, Marla," I kissed her.

"Noooo," she wailed. "Fuck me then we can do that...please?"

"Do you forgive me?" I teased her. Marla bit her lip and looked away. She was still humping away like a bunny.

"No," she whispered.

"You don't have to," I murmured. "Condom." I worked down her body, getting a nice face full of her muff while I blindly sought out my pants, retrieved a line of condoms - I was really shocked to learn that most guys don't walk around with ten at a time - tore one packet open and slipped it on.

I do the 'one handed condom blindfolded' act a lot - a whole lot. I rocketed back up her body, hooking her left leg as I rammed straight at her womb. Marla howled, first in surprise and pain then in orgasm number two. Marla was missing me far more than I had anticipated. She was so freaking sensitive. As her vibrations died down, I rolled us over so that Marla was on top.

"Oh fuck yeah," she panted. "Better than I remembered."

"Marla, are you okay?" Libra inquired from just out of sight. Marla began her rendition of bull-riding on my lap.

"Ah - ah - ah - I'm so wonderful," Marla laughed. "Thanks for finding Cáel for me. God, I've missed this dick."

"I didn't find him for you, Little Sister," Libra griped. "He's my date." Now I was a date.

"Who - who do you - like better - Cáel?" Marla panted. I began strumming her clit.

"I've never slept with Libra, Marla," I informed her. I didn't want to touch the word 'comparison'. If I was that callous, I might miss this chance to fuck Brooke. Libra was a given.

That wasn't my ego talking. If you want to nail an older sister, nail her younger sister. Marla's antics were simply adding the audio-visual aids to make all of this a foregone conclusion.

"Sorry," Marla kept riding me hard while looking over her shoulder. "I found him first. He's mine." I used her distraction to put my other hand on her right nipple and massage it.

Marla's nipples didn't need much biting, or even sucking. They were lively all on their own.

"But you dumped him," Libra strode into the room. Brooke stood in the door. "So he's fair game." Before you insult my masculinity for lying there and being treated like property by three stuck-up babes, do remember I was definitely fucking them all before eleven o'clock tonight.

You go be He-man if you like. By soaking up a few irrelevant insults, I was going to exceed 300 fantastic ladies before the Amazons killed me and I was still going to go out like a true male of the species. Better yet -

"We are making up," Marla insisted.

"Marla, hold on," I intervened. "We aren't here so I can fix things with you." During the 'make up' period, take the blame for the failure of the relationship - that leads you to sex, trust me. "Trent turned out to be a total Tool. He dumped Brooke instead of manning up and admitting he'd lied on his application. It's only a damn job and there thousands out there. What a smuck."

Balancing act time. I wasn't one of 'them' so insulting one of their social class was a dicey endeavor. You counter that with the fact that Trent had behaved like a douche, Brooke wanted the whole damn world to know she was a prize worth fighting for and finally doubling-down on Trent not being a man worthy of her affections. Low and behold, there was a man in front of her willing to prove that Trent wasn't a real man - me!

"I don't want to have sex with you," Brooke declared while enthralled with Marla's buttocks bouncing up and down on my cock, which was visible half the time. Marla tossing her head around in the throes of passion was a nice touch. Between her gyrations, vaginal and clitoral stimulation and her nipple coaxing, Marla let out a soprano high note that damn near ruptured my inner ears.

My current paramour collapsed on my chest. Libra came over and sat on the bed, level with my chest. Brooke was now halfway in the room - definitely convinced she wasn't having sex with me while rubbing her tingling thighs together and certainly not getting wet. (Yeah, right.)

"Mmmm," Marla sighed. "You are the best guy I've ever been with, Cáel."

"Why in the hell did I ever screw us up?" I groaned. I knew why. Her aunt was sexy. I was lucky Marla never caught me banging any of the customers/other girlfriends in her shop. I repeat, girls love it when you take the blame. Brooke especially was getting into it. Marla was living proof I was emotionally unhealthy to hang around. To get around that, I had to be a bit of a sap.

"Me neither," Marla kissed my chest.

"What did he do?" Libra pressed her sister. At this point, outrage is a good thing. See, this clears the board of any unanswered questions that can be deal-killers later.

"He slept with Aunt Jeannine," Marla kept raining down little kisses on me.

"What!" Libra howled. "Why didn't you say anything before now? Cáel, did you put my aunt down on your little sex survey?" Bringing out the broom.

"It was too painful," Marla started licking up my/our sweat off my chest. She was hiding her pain well.

"Yes, I put her down on the application. Honesty is important in any relationship," I gave Libra sad eyes. Honesty? From me? I can't recall all the times I've looked into a girlfriend's tearful gaze and said 'No, I'm not seeing anyone else. I only have eyes for you.' I learned that 'only have eyes for you' was a nice add-on when I turned 19. Hell, I've used those lines on three different girls in one night.

What can I say? I wanted to keep having sex with them.

"If you were seeing Marla, why did you sleep with Aunt Jeannine?" Libra groaned.

"I was bitter, angry and self-destructive," I 'confessed'. No, I was horny and she was a gorgeous, accessible MILF. Somewhere in the de-clothing process she threw out there that Uncle Whomever might be cheating on her. Worked for me.

"Do you regret that now?" Libra asked.

"Would you cheat on her again?" Brooke seethed.

"I regretted when I hit on Jeannine," I admitted. "Marla didn't deserve that." Marla purred like a cute, happy kitten. "Would I cheat this time?" I let that hang out there.

"Yes...yes I would and that's why I don't want to give Marla and me another try until I'm a somewhat more reliable lover for her," I sighed.

"But why!" Brooke screamed. She was starting to cry - again.

"I'm me, Brooke," I shrugged. "Not only can I not say 'no', I can rarely say 'maybe later'."

Humor, blame acceptance (I'm a dog) and yet 'not my fault because slutty girls hit on me'. 

"How can men be so heartless?" Brooke choked back another sob.

"There are good guys out there," I assured Brooke. Libra edged closer. Brooke moved to the edge of the bed. I reached behind my back, grabbed a pillow and put it on my lap.

See, by covering up my crotch I was being considerate of Brooke's sensibilities, proving, despite EVERY other piece of evidence indicating I was out for sex, I was only here for moral support.

"You approached your relationship with honesty and clear intentions. Trent wanted nothing more than to use you to pad his portfolio," I continued.

"Face it, you're beautiful, smart, cultured and have the best education," I said. I hadn't a clue how good Vassar was, or how well Brooke had done there. Also, call attractive women beautiful; they like the boost. Call beautiful women smart; it is not a complement they normally get. "You were the perfect choice." Brooke was eating it up.

"I'm not the perfect choice?" Libra nudged me.

"You are from New England, Libra. Trent is from New York and was looking for a Southern girl to make himself look more cosmopolitan," I appeared deeply serious. That bit was total bullshit. I had no clue about the geopolitics of the top 1%. 

As far as I knew about Trent, he was already too inbred with all the New York families, so a girl from Virginia was a safe bet for children with the appropriate number of fingers and toes. To be fair, Brooke was better looking than Libra, or Marla, but nothing short of torture would make me say that.

"Yeah," Libra mused, "Trent was always so superficial about that - but never in front of you Brooke," she added.

"I hate that I'm only finding all these horrible things about him now," Brooke screwed up her face. She sat on the bed, was clearly uncomfortable - with the comforter - and then pushed farther onto the bed until she was next to my strategically placed pillow. Whatever animal I am identified with, the general consensus is that I'm a terribly lucky member of the breed.

Marla spotted Brooke's move and decided that a little bit of demarcation was in order. She snaked a hand und the pillow and began stroking my phallus. Marla was my bed-buddy. We had a history. She was also the youngest and the little sister of one of the other combatants. Rich, pretty, petty girls don't share well - why should they?

The doorbell rang. That would be the liquor store that made home deliveries...I had clearly been living in the wrong part of the world most of my life.

"Marla, go get the door," Libra commanded. "It is a delivery."

"Why?" Marla protested. "I'm the only one naked." What was I then? Wearing a pillow?

"Consider it a tip for the delivery boy," Libra teased her sister wickedly. "Or, would you rather stay in a hotel tonight?" Marla muttered 'bitch' as she slipped to the foot of the bed then left. It was time to hasten the undressing process.

"I need to go to the bathroom and...clean up," I told Libra.

"Right around the corner," she smiled. I brushed against Brooke as I left, pillow in place, and limped down the hall. The delivery boy wasn't a problem. It was a girl, around 160 cm and 44 kg - a little thing with a hand truck and a case of whatever.

"Hi," she waved shyly.

I had to wonder why she wasn't more freaked out about a man wearing a pillow edging out of one room and down the hall. The look I was getting wasn't your normal reaction. I felt really bad for myself that I'd never get promoted to a lifestyle what would allow this thing to be common place. Wait - my cock had something to say; reality and cranium be damned.

"Hey Sexy," I smiled at her. "When do you get off work?"

"Dammit Cáel, I'm standing right here!" Marla snapped. The girl looked from the naked chick who was signing for the order then back to me - the almost naked guy.

"Ah...this might not be a good time," the deliver girl hesitated.

"I know this looks bad, but nothing is going on. I have a girl who is a friend and her guy dumped her today so we're just doing a little commiserating," I perjured myself.

"I didn't drive like a maniac down here for only one round of sex, Mister," Marla announced.

"Oh - okay then," she turned to Marla. "I'm sorry about your break up...Ms. Chalmers."

"Ms. Chalmers is my sister," Marla stared at the girl somewhat impatiently.

"Well then, I'm sorry for your sister's unfortunate romantic entanglement," the girl backpedalled. 

"My sister didn't get dumped. It was her best friend, Brooke," Marla explained.

The service girl looked back at me, somewhat in awe.

"How many women do you have back there?" she motioned to the bedroom.

"Two," shouted Libra. "Now give me my tequila. I want to be drunk before I fuck this guy."

"Aaahhh," Delivery girl looked even more confounded. "Is there a problem?"

"Ah, no. I'm simply not in their social class...and I sort took her little sister's virginity," I said.

"That would be me," Marla glared at the plebian - the one who wasn't me.

"And her aunt," I completed.

"At the same time?" the girl gasped.

"No..." my interest was piqued by that vision though.

"NO!" yelled Marla. "He's fucking me - again, and my sister and her best friend tonight. Don't you have somewhere you need to be?" she stared at the working stiff.

"You don't look like the average boy-toy," D-Girl was clearly taunting Marla now.

"I'm not. I'm property of a tribe of Amazons who use me for target practice," I joked. Oddly enough, it was the truth but I didn't expect her to believe that. "These are just some chicks I met at a bar - expect for Marla. I met her at college where she schooled me to a whole new level of ecstasy." That made Marla smug and happy.

"You - go," Marla barked to D-Girl. "Where are you going?" she questioned me.

"I need to go to the bathroom," I told her.

"Fine, but don't go jumping out of the window like you did last time I saw you," Marla warned me.

"Wow...we are on the seventeenth floor," I sighed. "I really don't want you to scream and throw books at me yet I think plummeting to my death would still be my primary concern."

"Fine," D-Girl shrugged. "I'm going." She rolled her hand-truck to the door. Before Marla could shut it. "Nice to meet you..." Having a rather unique name rocks. I've been warned that come Paternity Suit time, it won't be nearly so cool.

"Cáel Nyilas," I waved good-bye. "N-Y-I-L-A-S." Marla slammed the door shut then put her back to it.

"You are reprehensible," she gave me the sultriest purr. Yeah, I was a bad, bad boy and those three were going to spank me with their kitties to put me in my place. Life can be thankless, demanding and unrewarding at times...I'm sure that will happen to me eventually. I stumped off to the bathroom, dropped my (unused) rubber in the trash, washed up, didn't find lube but massage oil would do for tonight and returned to the bedroom.

Oh my God! All their clothes had fallen off! What was I to do? Libra was in the middle, Brooke was closest to me, and Marla was unhappily on the far side of Libra. All were resting their upper backs and heads against the headboard. Brooke was drinking 'my' Scotch, Libra had her tequila, leaving Marla with a Bordeaux.

I put the pillow down by the foot of the bed, slipping my oily lubricant underneath the pillow. That was for later. I crawled/pulled myself up the middle. Libra was polite, if not sincere.

"Take care of Brooke first," Libra said.

"I'd rather show her some things and let her decide what she likes," I countered.

Yes. I was telling Libra I was going to use her body as a surrogate fuck-toy to amuse her friend and by the look in her eyes, she was all for it.

"I really don't want to have sex right now anyway," Brooke lied. In sex, only the top lips lie. An un-coaxed vagina glistening with arousal is about as honest a plea for sex there is.

I deftly slipped on my next condom before 'tripping' and landing my chin on Libra's stomach.

"Whoops," I grinned at her. She gave me a famished look. "Well, since I'm here," I eyebrow-pumped. My body backed up enough so that I was even with her labia. Keeping eye contact with Libra, I took my first tongue stab - rolling the tongue and penetrating her vagina like a mini-cock. Her lips parted and her chest inhaled deeply. 




Life as a New Hire Ch. 09



Marla moaned wantonly, inspired by previous encounters with me. I didn't let myself be distracted. This was Libra's place, we all where here at her sufferance and Brooke had foisted me on her so now I was 'her' guy. By girl-logic, that meant she went first and I better let everyone know she was first. All of this ignored me and Marla's earlier romp of course.

Libra was a naughty little slut. She tried to hide her hot spots from me using distractions and deceptions. It took me five minutes to figure out her game. Then I waited for the right moment.

"I thought you said this guy was good, Maaaaaaa!!" Libra wailed to Marla. Libra was a clit-nibbler. I took that proffered bit of delicate femininity and made it my bitch.

In the first few seconds I had realized Libra was an anal virgin. A few seconds after I ambushed her I decided to do something about that. Brooke being an anal virgin was a no-brainer. Neither woman was 'that' kind of woman and they'd given Marla a tough time because of it - or so I imagined. I worked a third finger into her snatch. Libra was vocally expressive somewhat similar to her sister...and aunt.

When I slipped one finger past her sphincter, Libra whelped then whimpered. She was far too busy building up to her climax to protest. She did tilt her head so that we could make eye contact again. She wanted to form the words to make me stop, but the pleasure robbed her of the necessary concentration.

Libra's fists balled up in the comforter, her head rolled back and she began escalating to her own operatic concerto. Man, I loved these Chalmers's women and their arias.

"What was that?" Brooke shook the amorously frayed Libra.

"That was an orgasm," Marla snickered. "I warned you that Cáel punched all my buttons."

"Libra, have you been faking it all these years?" Brooke gasped.

"Mmmm...yeah - I guess I have," Libra panted. "That was niccccce," she murmured. "Cáel, do it again." 

"No way," Brooke grabbed my arm. "It is my turn!" So much for not wanting to have sex with me.

Libra made a feeble effort to keep me in place. Brooke was insistent. I didn't let her pull me into her lap, instead falling fully upon her body. She was momentarily put off by the scent of Libra's cunt juices on my face, but quickly came around. We were kissing and licking each other's faces in no time.

The Scotch was good. I could taste it on her lips and inhaled it with her breath. I slipped into her vagina with minimal effort and no resistance. Trent had been getting the job done in the bedroom. That didn't stop him from being a dunce and misusing Brooke. Slowly, as I kept easing in and out of her, Brooke began squinting. When she closed her eyes, I decided on what she needed.

"What are you doing?" Brooke muttered as I began rolling us onto our sides. She was looking at me once more.

"Close your eyes," I whispered. She squinted again, but didn't fully close them. When I withdrew my penis from her steamy folds, she stiffened.

"I don't like that," Brooke insisted while her eyes remained slits.

"You don't want to do what you've done - with him, Brooke," I murmured. "You want to do something new; something that says you've moved on." She bought it. Brooke let me roll her over then pushed up into the classic doggy style position - which she claimed 'not to do'.

She was confused when I pushed her hips back down to the bed. I carefully poised my body over hers, balancing on my right leg and both arms. Brooke didn't know what to make of the first kiss on the back of her head. I wasn't romantic - I was a dick to be shoved into her a few times to take her mind off of her pain. That was her opinion of me.

'Fucks' didn't gently kiss you, caress your hair, neck and shoulders with his nose and lips, eliciting amorous noises from the girl they were gratifying. Brooke began radiate peace and contentment as I tenderly lavished attention on her. As a reward, she gave me what I wanted, namely her body plus an unspoken promise of a follow-up encounter.

I had Brooke pushing her ass up against me after an indeterminate time. She had transformed from 'in control and basic' to urging me to 'do what I will' to her body. As predicted, Brooke was an anal virgin too. I pulled her hips back up then worked my cock in all the way into her vagina until her soaking vulva was pressed against my pelvis. A few careful strokes came next.

My slamming hard into her cunt, caught Brooke and the others off-guard. Brooke grunted, started to protest then had her utterance stolen away by the next pile-driving thrust. After that, it was too late. I lost track of the number of Brooke's orgasms. I didn't really care. My goal was the fuck the Trent right out of her.

The first time Libra attempted to intervene and save her friend, my fierce glower turned her back. The second time, Marla kept her from yanking on my arm. When I finally shot off, Brooke was past caring. I lowered us back down to the bed and began showering her with kisses again. She was making contented little moans then twisted her head around, requesting a bit of lip action.

"Happy," Brooke sighed dreamily.

"I can tell," Libra was a bit peeved.

"Trent who?" Brooke giggled. Mission success! Oh, she'd be a few decades despising the bastard yet I had given her a far more passionate experience to balance out the pain and emptiness that had been inflicted on her.

Women, don't thank me. Thank my mentor, Kimberly, who taught me that a penis without experience and imagination was like a car without tires, or gas. It might attract attention, but then what do you do with the damn thing?

"Come home with me, Cáel," Brooke said between tongue tussles.

"Brooke, I have a job, I need to be back at eleven tonight, and we do have some company, remember?" I reminded her - of the two ladies right next to us on the bed.

"Me next," Marla beamed.

"I'm not a carnival ride," I grumbled. I was. Fessing up wouldn't help me negotiate later.

"How about you three let me get cleaned up then, Marla, I want your ass again. I've really missed the way it turned you on," I grinned seductively at the youngest woman. I wanted to have anal sex with all three. Brooke's libido was too steamed up to hold out for long. Libra wanted more sex yet wouldn't let me near her precious Heine until she saw Marla get all torn up.

I confess I was strongly motivated by a desire to simply fuck those two up the ass because they were stuck-up bitches who looked down on me. I'm not perfect by any stretch of the imagination and I use sex appeal to get what I want - namely sex. I got out of bed, kissed Brooke on each buttocks then limped away to wash off.

When I came back they were in a furtive discussion.

"We've decided I'll go next," Libra purred.

"Oh," I stopped. "I'll get dressed and be on my way now. Marla, I have my own apartment plus a place at corporate we can crash."

"Wait," Libra sat up, caught between outrage and need. "What's wrong with me?"

"You are perfectly scrumptious, but there is a fundamental misunderstanding of why I am here," I lectured them. Now to throw out a curveball. "I'm here for Brooke. She was the one betrayed by my co-worker. She didn't deserve any part of that."

"If this is how you two (Marla and Libra) want to treat me, I'm gone. Brooke can find me if she wants me. Marla and I have a history, so I owe her - thus the invite. Libra, I like you, but I have to have my priorities before I think of myself and what I might want," I explained. I was lying. Had it only been Libra and me, I'd have been nailing her until 10:45.

If it was just Marla - ditto. Brooke - ditto again. The emotional dynamics became a little more complicated when it came to any two of them, but my stance would be the same. I was the guy. I stuck my dick in. If I didn't get the sex I wanted, I would leave. If I pushed them too hard, they wouldn't hesitate to show me the door. No one surrendered their decision making ability.

They were still submitting to my lustful desires. Pointing that out would have not helped me achieve my objectives - namely the utilization of every condom in my stockpile.

"Thank you, Cáel," Brooke smiled at me with something akin to fondness. "Please stay."

"If you really want to have sex with Marla, I'll understand," Libra conceded.

Before I even had a knee on the bed, Marla squealed happily and presented her ass for fucking. If the other two had any suspicions about the massage oil suddenly appearing in my hand, they kept their questions to themselves. Anal sex was nasty, dirty and degrading - something only 'those' kinds of girls did. They had never experienced it. 

Had their boyfriends ever had a on a porno with anal sex, they would have yelled at their guys and made them cut it off. No one told Marla this. By the time one of the other girls in her social circle brought this up, all she could do was nod and keep her erotic achievements to herself.

"Damn Marla," I teased. "Have you not let anyone else back here since we were last together?"

"I find it awkward to ask," Marla whimpered as I worked my first finger deep inside. "Aaahhh - this only reminds me more of how much I've missed you."

"Try not to make me cum before I'm ready," I begged Marla - points for me all around. The only thing a woman wants more than to control her partner's orgasm is an orgasm of her own.

"Ah - ah - ah, I'll try," Marla gasp-giggled. No, she was going to work my cock over with her rectal muscles with every trick she could recall.

"That doesn't look comfortable," Brooke commented as I began working my second digit into Marla's butthole. She had actually half-crawled over Libra to get a better view.

I was about to develop an awkward moment of helplessness. I winced. Brooke caught it.

"Are you okay?" Brooke touched my right forearm. The one that was pumping two fingers into Marla's ass.

"Ummm," I sounded embarrassed. "My leg is killing me...I can't...ummm...it is embarrassing."

"What is it?" Brooke insisted.

"I need...ah...to coat my cock with massage oil so I can penetrate Marla the moment she's ready," I gulped. Totally false. There is no 'Golden Second' for anal dicking. I could easily lube up my dick then penetrate Marla, but I selfishly wanted to get Brooke involved in some kinkiness.

"Ah, okay," Brooke acquiesced immediately. She doled out three squirts of oil into her palm then began coating my condom-covered tool. Her placing her face only centimeters away while she worked my tool was...strange.

"You are bigger than Trent," she murmured. "Definitely thicker." It wasn't a contest that interested me, but if it made her happy.

Brooke pulled back, a bit ashamed. 

"That asshole used to make me give him blowjobs all the time," she informed us. "I can't believe he made me swallow."

"I'd never treat you like that, Brooke," I expressed to her.

She smiled and began to vigorously stroke my dick as a reward. Honestly, as long as the girl didn't vomit my seed on me, I could care less what she chose to do with it. Third finger.

"Do you want me to give you a blowjob?" Brooke teased.

"No," I sighed. "You are fragile right now. I only want to do what makes you happy."

If anyone is surprised that was a lie, you clearly haven't been paying attention to me and my sexual appetites. If I thought I could get away with it, I'd have her give me fellatio on the taxi ride back to work as long as her efforts were at least passible.

"Make me happy," Marla panted. "Make me happy." I put my hand over Brooke's then, together, we pushed my cock into Marla.

Brooke initially contended with my advance. Our eyes locked. Next she tried to move her hand away. I thwarted that action yet held firm at Marla's sphincter. She kept staring at me. My hand over hers, I let her guide my cock against her best friend's little sister's anal frontier. When my rod passed that resistant point, both Marla and Brooke groaned.

I actually had to slow Brooke down. She was getting off on the feel of the pressure on my penis.

"We don't want to hurt Marla by going too fast," I counseled Brooke. She gave a minute nod.

"Marla, that looks like it hurts," Libra spoke up. She was feeling left out.

"Mmmm, this is pure bliss, Big Sis," Marla groaned. Painful - yes. Thrilling - definitely.

"I can feel her..." Brooke struggled for words.

"Heine?" I offered. Brooke's uncertainty vanished and she snickered.

"I can feel her 'Heine' squeezing his penis," Brooke giggled. "It's freaky." In a good way. Brooke hadn't let go of my cock after all.

"Pull it back," I whispered to Brooke conspiratorially. She looked momentarily confused then amused. In her drunk retelling of this tale, she'd claim to have drank the whole bottle of Scotch first. With a big, toothy grin, Brooke pulled my cock mostly out of Marla's butt. Marla moaned happily. Brooke gleefully reversed course and began pushing my cock back in.

Brooke was getting to butt-fuck a girl without the benefit of a strap-on. She also quickly figured out that we had to go deeper into Marla each time. Marla's grunts let Brooke know when enough was enough.

"Brooke!" Libra gasped. "You are fucking my sister's ass with Cáel dick."

"I am, aren't I?" Brooke seemed surprised with herself.

"Feels great Brooke," Marla sniggered. "Keep it up. Ram that big cock in me." Three more strokes and Brooke's hand would no longer fit between Marla's tailbone and my pelvis. She sat back on her haunches, somewhat disappointed her role had come to an end.

It was time to refocus on Marla, who had been a very good girl. I reward the efforts of my partner. As soon as she became comfortable with my intrusion in her rectum, I wrapped both arms around her stomach and began coating her shoulders with kisses. I few minutes of gentle action made Marla one contented little racehorse.

"No," she whined. Marla knew what was coming was only 'bad' because it was so good for her. Tenderly I raised her torso up until she was bouncing slowly in my lap, my cock still driving up her ass. That was followed up with me raising her arms up over her head. My tongue began running up her inner left arm. Her whimpering became downright plaintive.

Marla's rendition of a heavenly chorus was the prize she offered up. Oh, she was still riding my rod deep up her ass as she ground her buttocks down. The secret lesson here for Brooke and Libra was that anal sex wasn't all about a guy shooting his wad up the girl's ass. It was also something a woman could truly get behind, so to speak.

Marla was obviously enjoying it up her rectum as she did up her vagina. Had some girl at a party, properly sloshed, vouched for this, they would have sneered behind their drinks while nodding. Now...Brooke was licking her lips and Libra was restructuring her conceptions of her sister - the sexual animal.

That sister had stumbled down from her latest climax. Her hands rested on my hips, allowing me to shift my hands up to her breasts, nice and gentle-like. Careful finger contact to her nipples was what she wanted and needed.

"Oh God," Marla panted. "I have got to transfer to a college in the city."

Marla added to that declaration by increasing her vigorous attention to my body. She gave her everything and I gave it up despite some desperate concentration on my part. I howled out my frustration of her getting the better of me - hehehehe. Hey, we were both happy. My doctor was going to give me crap about my thigh - again.

That was okay. We cleaned up and got a bit drunker. Brooke's ass was next. I got behind her, tenderly worked my penis into her rectum and let her adjust. Ten seconds later, I was holding her by her wrists and jack-hammering away. I wasn't being needlessly cruel to Brooke. I was fucking her like no one else had. The newness and passion elevated her spiritually, no lie. She'd never be the same sensual creature after tonight.

Brooke was crying, screaming and cumming like crazy. We ended up, myself spent, lying on our sides with her bawling in my arms. That last bit, we were to never talk about again. More resting. We put on some underwear. I told the ladies that if they put on bras, I got to put on a shirt. They protested. I went for my shirt. They pelted me with their bras.

For my insistence on gender equality, I got to watch breasts bounce all over the place. Do Upper Crust babes want to be ogled like sex objects? Of course not - that's vulgar, demeaning and opposed to every fiber of their beliefs in female empowerment. So, every wiggle, jiggle, and 'subconscious' tweaking of their nipples was absolutely unintentional.

We feasted on strawberries & sour cream, banana slices, pate and spheres of a cubic watermelon. It tasted like normal watermelon to me. I puttered around the kitchen with them. In other words, I leaned against the counter while making the occasionally feeble effort to help only to be shepparded by to my observation post by the lady feeling the most touchy-feely at the moment.

A little later, Brooke and Libra went back on 'Bitch-fest'. I pulled Marla and Brooke to the bedroom. Brooke gave me a dangerous look until she figured out the plan. I lay on the bed with Brooke on my face, facing forward, while she continued to blather on the phone. Marla, sweet Marla, began administering a blowjob. She's not the best ever but she is devoted to the craft.

Somewhere in my succulent feasting, Brooke gave out a strangled squeal.

"Oh that," Brooke said casually. "That's one of Trent's co-workers whose face I'm currently riding." "Which one? The good one - Libra's date." "Is he good...definitely a 'yes'. He's like an Arabian stallion. Damn, my thighs are still trembling from all the orgasms he's put me through, plus he's done Libra."

"No, not last night - right now - in the past three hours," Brooke chortled. "Oh, and he's done Marla - Libra's little sister - from last night? Yeah, he's had sex with her three times as well." "Yes, in the past three hours. What did you think I meant by stallion?" "Oh, that's rather perfect too - not a monster, but a whole lot. Marla's got her mouth around it right now."

"Yes, while he's eating me out," Brooke giggled then gulped. I had just started twisting a finger into her rump. "No," sigh, "He's from one of those very exclusive, elite colleges they have in New England," Brooke added. "I think Libra's family owns it." Ah, my alma mater. Good Golly, Ms. Molly, I was a zebra so they were painting my black stripes white and selling me as a midget thoroughbred.

We were Brooke exhibiting to the World she was most desirable and Trent was a fucktard. I lapped her clit with broad strokes of my tongue then began to pull her body down my face. I kissed along the bottom of her stomach to the sound of her quickening breath. When I finished licking some sweat from around her belly button, I proffered up a present.

"Brooke, you still look upset," I gave a throaty growl. "Let me take care of that for you."

"Oh...oh yeah, that's him," Brooke beamed triumphant femininity at me. "I'm really upset right now and Cáel is going to help me get over that." Smile. "He's being a bad boy. He's making me get on top. It feels just like Equestrian class - all that," huff, "pounding up and down."

"Always working those thighs," she purred. "This is going to take a while. He's screwed me so much already, I think he's going to really have to work to get this next orgasm out of me." "How many? I've lost count - a few of them ran together so it was more like one continuous scream as opposed to any of that 'Oh God' nonsense."

"Oh, I'm sorry," Brooke didn't sound terribly sorry. "Brian seemed like such a nice guy. Well yeah, we knew...he didn't? What a douche," Brooke frowned. She put her hand over the phone. "He wouldn't let her shower with him because he was 'upset'," she explained to me. Translation: Brian decided she wasn't worth fucking twice.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 09



"Gene had a good time with Felix," Brooke continued talking as I began to work over her nipples. I hand-motioned/pleaded with Marla to put a condom on me. She gave an angry little harrumph then did as I requested. "She says they did a 'little something'," Brooke sighed happily. "She doesn't normally give it up on the first date. He must have been super seductive."

Good ole Felix, batting one out of the ballpark and increasing his life-expectancy at Havenstone. Gene might become a semi-regular thing for him. Gene thought the world of Felix and Felix thought the world of Felix. Common ground is a foundation for any relationship. As I was shaking Brooke's right teat in my teeth like a famished weasel, Brooke coughed up a squeal.

"Cáel is doing something to me - the right something," Brooke explained her outburst. I was beginning to get the feeling that it was going to come down to Felix and me. Brian, for all his ability and willingness to play it safe, had a fundamental Havenstone flaw. See, if Felix, or I, wanted a lady, we would pursue her. It was our nature.

Brian, if he couldn't lure one girl in, he'd hit on another. He had the same tool sets as us two, but whereas we focused on the woman, Brian focused on sticking his dick in something. Felix wanted to conquer her, I wanted to sleep with her - Brian didn't even want to know her name. Again, predators were a mindset Amazons understood and admired.

Parasites, on the other hand, were not liked. Brian was definitely the most cautious of us. That was his edge. The problem was, when hunting season began, Felix and I would stalk women in the same way they stalked us. Target - close to contact - struggle - victory. Despite Felix's machismo, he wanted that woman to know his name, dammit, and he wanted to brag about his conquest of her (in his eyes).

I wanted to get laid. I wasn't complicated. Until the branding irons, collars, tattoo needles, or hand stamps came out, I'd be a great guy. Brian would screw around too. The difference was, the Amazon he just banged ceased to be relevant to him the moment he shot his load. Felix and my desire to fuck them on their own terms was something the Amazons could work their minds around.

Being treated like a discarded batch of tissues was not. The first time an Amazon looked into Brian's post-coitus eyes and realized she'd been reduced to a sperm receptacle - well, that shit wasn't going to fly at Havenstone. Brian would be assuming the mantle of domination without even fighting for it.

That was precisely the way the Amazons treated their old male population - you know, all those dead guys. There was no way in Hell any Amazon was going to be treated like that (Rhada excluded and I'd never let a prick like Brian within a thousand light years of Rhada). I was figuring all this out as Brooke shimmied down my torso so she could impale herself on my cock.

"Ooohhh..." Brooke moaned. "That was his dick entering me. I'm looking down on him. I'm guiding his rod in with my other hand...and here he comes." I pushed myself up with one hand. "He's suckling my...aaahhh...left breast and...mmmm...he's running his fingers up and down my spine." "Yeah...yeah, I think Cáel is besotted with me...nice word," Brooke giggled.

"That's not true," I loudly declared. "Brooke, I'm merely a receptacle for your lusts and nothing more. Let's not complicate things with commitment issues." Brooke laughed.

"Fine, Cáel's my man-whore," she chortled. "Using me? Cáel, are you using me for sex?"

"No," I shrugged. "If you'd rather play backgammon, we'll play backgammon."

If she chose to play backgammon, I would weep. I still hadn't nailed Libra's ass yet and I was really starting to fixate on that goal.

"Back to it," Brooke snickered. "I'm using you for sex and don't you forget it."

"Yes Ma'am," I grinned then attacked her other breast.

Life is good. I brought Brooke to orgasms. We spent forty-five minutes doing different things, then I pounced on Libra. She was tensing up because she thought I was going for her ass. I wasn't. I moved us into straight missionary sex with regular sojourns to her breasts. I cupped her ass cheeks as part of a general 'hands roaming over her sweaty flesh' thing.

I gave her not one, but two long gentle screws. She was putty in my hands when I finished. Some more time to recharge than I nailed Marla in the kitchen, her butt resting on the counter as I savaged her and she mauled me in a loud, animalistic fashion. She'd been feeling neglected and I let her work that out. I had to leave soon, so I Saran wrapped my bandage and took a shower.

Libra and her ass? She joined me in the shower, she cleaned me up then let me turn her around, rub some real expensive and viscous hand soap onto my rod and her anus. I let her take it nice and slow - the reason I had started my shower twenty minutes early - and I coaxed her into wiggling that delicious posterior down my cock mostly on her own.

I wasn't sure why she tried to keep quiet. I hadn't met a Chalmers woman yet who could. Before long,

"Give it to me you bastard," she screamed. "Tell me I'm better than Marla!"

"You aren't better than Marla," I responded. Libra turned and gave me a hurt and angry glare.

"You aren't better than Brooke," I continued. "You are awesome. You are in a totally different category," I then kissed her. That mollified her. Actually, it encouraged her. By the time I pumped my last genetic deposit for the night, Libra could barely stand. The fact that I could barely stand was irrelevant.

As I was finishing getting dressed, and stealing the massage oil, it occurred to me that I was disappointing Katrina again. I was also a bit surprised that one of Elsa's trolls hadn't made an appearance. I checked my phone, which I had left on vibrate. Oh look, Aisha had been looking for me since 9:30. Better yet, she was in the lobby downstairs and they wouldn't let her up.

I called the front desk and sure enough, she was there and truly steamed. I then asked if there was a back way of this place - there was - then I called for two taxis because I'm both an idiot and an asshole. When the cabs arrived, I left by the service elevator out the back. I gave my phone and ID badge to the first cabbie.

He was to go down to the Battery then circle back to Havenstone and deliver the phone and badge to the front desk. Yes, they would let him in and yes, he was getting a big tip. I took the second cab straight to Havenstone. I didn't have an ID badge, but the security guards recognized me - I was famous now...maybe infamous, I wasn't sure.

The let me call up to Medical and that cute physician's assistant came down and signed me in. I showed her my massage oil and she started getting excited. On the gurney, I received near-failing grades for my self-maintenance. I confessed to having sex with three women, over five and a half hours, before coming in.

I told her the reason was I didn't want anything inappropriate to happen between us. By her expression, she was a bit peeved about that. That didn't stop her from stripping down for her massage. Oh, first she tried to maintain her bra and panties, but I explained that wearing oily undergarments for the rest of her shift would be a real bummer.

That got the bra off. The panties took a few more seconds. I couldn't work the tension out of her luscious butt cheeks if she kept them on. For modesty's sake, she put one of those little green paper things over her ass. To avoid getting oil on my clothes, I stripped down to my underwear.

Five minutes into the process, her low moans of contentment brought our first sightseer. A doctor came by and protested. The PA claimed she was on her lunch break. I had the green thing gone and oil everywhere when Aisha showed up - with my phone and ID badge. Oh, and a temper.

"Real smart, wise-ass," Aisha snarled. "I was there to protect you."

"No you weren't," I chuckled. "You were there to bust my chops. Last night, you were cruel for the sake of being cruel and you thought you could get away with it. Wrong. I got you good tonight, showing you the same courtesy you showed me. How does it feel to be treated like a man - as if you are stupid and useless?"

Yeah, she was about to clock my ass. On the bright side, I was in a small hospital.

"33 more minutes," my health care provider intervened sensuously. "I've got him for 33 more minutes." Aisha glared death my way. She didn't threaten me. It wasn't her way.

"That confirms you haven't learned a damn thing," I sighed. I returned my attention to my gurney buddy.

In case there is any confusion, all oil body massages between gender appropriate couples involves oral, pelvic and nipple stimulation with fingers and the tongue. Honestly, I read it somewhere. In the final climb to orgasm, my medic coughed up her name, Layla, then she gushed all over my hand. Aisha was about to bust a blood vessel she was so screwed up inside.

Layla leaned in for one last kiss after we cleaned up yet again. Now, no kissing was allowed.

"Sorry, no can do," I bumped her forehead. "We are both Havenstone employees again and my voluntary public service time is at an end."

"When do I get my next public service call?" Layla purred.

"Well, Aisha is about to decorate the elevator with my intestines, so it may be a while," I joked. I hoped I was joking. We walked/hobbled to the elevator. As the doors shut, we sat there. "Sky Blue," I told Aisha in Old Kingdom Hittite. Her head flashed my way and her gaze became more intense. See, Amazons culture began before there was an effective numbering system.

They would need another system to differentiate things, so they chose colors. Every entry hall in Havenstone had a unique color. The upper, more public, ones had numbers as well, but color was the key. When the door opened on Desiree's floor, I hit the 'door open' button.

"Okay, can we call it even, or are we going to continue to waste time feuding?" I asked her.

"What mistaken belief insinuates I am in a feud with you?" Aisha sizzled. What she meant was 'you are not worthy of being in a feud with me'. 

"Look at it this way: you and I are both alone. Barring a few fixed points, you have to search the entire city for me. Trust me, if you dump a tracking device on me, I will show it to Katrina and let her barbeque your ass," I looked at her.

"I am already going to complain about the fact you are tracking my phone and/or ID badge," I continued. "I'm not beating you because I'm better than you in any way. The odds are simply too stacked against you. There are hundreds of places all over the city where I can lose you. Now, if you want me to keep humiliating you, okay - I'll do it. I'm giving you an out."

No response. I stepped into the hallway and crutch-walked my way to Desiree's room. She let me in. Aya was already asleep, so I settled in with her between me and Desiree. Once there, I picked her up gently and laid her on top of me. Her sleeping, pouty little face grew a smile without ever waking up. I noticed Desiree staring again.

"I don't know why I love her yet I do," I whispered. Desiree shut her eyes and went to sleep.



Life as a New Hire Ch. 10



This story plays fast and loose with Ancient History and Linguistics; be warned.

Two editors and four other contributors made this chapter come together. The mistakes are all mine.

Saving a life isn't about worthiness. It is about instinct and guts.

*****

(Friday)

Since I liked to think that life encouraging me with bruises, punctures, cuts and concussions made me smarter, I had scheduled some eleven o'clock gym time most of the week so to avoid the whole lunch and after-work crowds. Aya and I went to the 'Others' gym, which was nice, but wasn't as complete as the Full/Pure-blood one. Most notable was the lack of weapons.

Aya's and my trip to the 'Other' gym on Friday hit a snag. Aya clued in on the fact that I was avoiding the Pure-blood facility. We talked about it. I explained I wasn't a Pure-blood. Her counter-argument was she was and I should confront my fears. Yes, I lost an argument with a nine year old.

I have talked a nineteen year old, promise ring virgin into nameless sex in an airport stall. Aya was an unassailable wall of resolve that dashed all of my ploys into so many useless words. I found myself entering the real 'No Man's Land' twice in less than a week. Not only was I hard-headed, I was also obviously soft-hearted.

At the last moment, I imagined I had a reprieve. I didn't have to tell Aya how I got in the first time - grabbing an open door. I could swipe my card, have it rejected and move on to safer pursuits. Sure enough, my card failed. Aya's didn't - mother-puss-bucket! Upon entering, the twenty, or so women in the place looked at me...and Aya.

I recognized somebody. It was Constanza, Elsa's chief evil henchwoman. Our eyes met. She smiled in a way that assured me she vividly recalled our last encounter. It should be of no surprise that I insulted her somewhere in the process. It's how I roll. I smiled back at Constanza and gave her a nod before setting up Aya and me for our workout routine.

Constanza was not mollified in the slightest. She was patiently waiting - for something. I decided that Aya would be my sole focus and banished the other women from my mind. The munchkin could tell the difference and relayed that to me with her happiness. After twenty minutes, she decided her time with the machines was done and her minutes were better spent resting against, or sitting on, me.

My cock was reminding me that it was approaching 36 torturous hours without sex. It was also pointing out that there were thirty available, sexually inquisitive women achingly close. I reminded my penis that being relocated was probably as fun-less as it sounded. That bought me some time. We finished up our sojourn by walking the wall, going over the weapon racks.

Mainly we went over the ones various members of her family were proficient with. Aya still had problems with even the most basic ones. The words 'let me help you' spilled out of my mouth. There were two problems; Aya's tiny size and the fact that all the weapons were very dangerous. Even the leaf-shaped short blade was too heavy for her so we ended up screwing around instead.

I picked up two Iron Age style axes. The blades were more of a thick wedge than the broad axe heads of medieval fame. They were less effective in delivering damage, compensating somewhat in their reduced weight. I've convinced a Jewish girl to have sex in a synagogue despite me not being Jewish yet this child was twirling me around her pinkie finger.

I was entertaining her with some exotic, flamboyant moves wielding two axes while Aya clapped her hands and giggled when I felt a stranger approach me on the sparring mat. I had been hopping around keeping all my weight on my right leg until that moment. I turned to face the woman, putting my left behind me yet while keeping it firmly on the ground.

I also drew my axes up, crossing them over my chest, blades pointing past my shoulders. 

"I have never seen that technique before," she addressed me. That and what followed was all in the Amazon tongue.

"It is more of a fantasy creation. I had a love affair with pseudo-archaic movies that always do the crazy, two-weapon stuff so my mentor helped me create this method," I explained.

"Has it ever been tested?" she continued.

"I am Cáel Nyilas," I answered, "and yes, my mentor preferred using a poleaxe, or a mace/shield combo against me."

"Oneida," she seemed amused. "We will see how well you have been tested."

"May I request a favor?" I tried to keep my cool. She pulled out one of those damn spears.

"Yes," she seemed intrigued.

"Can you call someone over to sit with Aya? I don't want her to accidently set foot on the mat," I beseeched.

"Drusilla, please aid me," Oneida summoned an observer. The woman had heard my appeal and settled beside the nervous, kneeling Aya.

"Cáel, please be careful," Aya pleaded.

"Who me?" I chuckled. "I'm impervious to all man-made contrivances."

"Every weapon in this room was crafted by women," Oneida snorted.

"That would certainly explain my full-body bruising and the hole in my leg," I grinned back. I caught Oneida trying to sneak closer to me. My axes came to a ready position and I charged. I was sure some sort of medic would punish me for this later.

She got off two jabs then I was all over her. I knew how to fight a two and a half meter spear. She had no clue how to plot out two incoming weapons with an extra meter of reach. The first time I drove her off the mat. The second time, I got inside her guard and clocked her in the temple with the back end of an axe head. I quickly hopped back three paces, knelt and put my axes on the mat.

The rush to get me was stillborn. A few did come to stand over me while two others checked on Oneida who quickly came around.

"What happened?" were Oneida's first, shaky words.

"He hit you," one of her companions answered.

"With what - the Moon?" Oneida mumbled as they helped her up. "My ears are still ringing."

"My turn," Constanza announced. She went for a spear, blade, and round leather-covered, wicker shield.

"Give Cáel a moment to rest," Aya appealed. "He has been fighting longer."

No such luck. I was halfway to exhausted as well. Fighting with two weapons pretty much means just that - twice the fight. Kinetically speaking, I was burning around 80% more calories than my one weapon opponents. I was wielding axes, not fighting sticks after all. In my favor was a deep wellspring of stamina and my Will reinforced by my desire to not upset Aya.

What little time I was given wasn't out of charity. A second Amazon was joining the struggle. I could back off, but I felt Constanza would enforce an intense level of groveling solely to grind up Aya emotionally. She didn't hate Aya. Aya was an avenue to really hurt me and we both knew it. For a second, when I hobbled off the mat, there were chuckles. I had fled.

That ended as I began retrieving some select weapons from the wall racks. Sword harnesses came in two varieties; belted and shoulder slings. I took two shoulder slings and two more axes. I affixed my two 'spare' axes with leather straps. As I turned to the mat, Constanza had decided to be clever. She and her buddy had closed to within three meters of the edge.

They would box me in as soon as my second foot touched down on the mat.

"Please back up," I requested. Constanza smiled with supreme confidence. I smiled back. This was going to be dangerous, agonizing and unorthodox - totally me. I began backing up.

"Cáel," Aya murmured. "Don't let them hurt you."

"Running away?" Constanza sneered.

"Aya, wickedness is the expedience of the weak," I nodded her way. "Do you think I can win?"

"Of course," Aya sighed happily. "I am by your side." I laughed. I charged. The Amazons did the precisely wrong thing - the stepped up to meet me.

You keep thrusting weapons, like spears, aimed at the central part of the body. This allows you to deviate your projection anywhere from the thighs to the face. This does imply you know where the central part of the enemy will be. This was not playschool. Real weapons - real damage - real death. They didn't have to kill me. It didn't mean they wouldn't.

I leapt. I didn't leap at them, I leapt over them. Let's not forget I'm pretty freaking strong. My left leg shot-gunned pain straight to the brain but held it together. I sailed over their thrusting spear points, flipped my axes down so that they would impact the mats first. The flat tops of the axe heads impacted the mat and my body rose up and then flipped over them.

This gave me an extra meter and a half on my back flip. I turned that maneuver into summersault, giving three more meters of space. I rolled over to my side and rode the momentum to my feet, facing my adversaries. Now they were the ones in the corner of the mat with their enemy pinning them in and I wasn't done yet.

With all my might, I hurled my right-handed axe at Constanza's companion. She did exactly what I thought she'd do. She saw the throw halfway in motion and raised her shield up - right where I wanted it. Amazon shields aren't what most people think shields are today. They think medieval knights, or more appropriately, the shields of the Greek hoplites. 

The Amazons date back 700 years before those Greeks and they weren't heavy infantry anyway. Amazons moved light and fast. Consequently, their shields were light - wicker constructs with layers of leather stretched over the frame. Great for deflecting light weapons; not so great for what I was about to do.

The steel axe head shattered the top half of the wicker frame. It saved her life, but now she had this useless object strapped to her arm. It also had the added bonus of knocking her back while Constanza engaged me alone. Her first jab forced me to jump back, but I still was able to draw my first spare axe.

My luck with women held up a little longer. The other Amazon hesitated just long enough to remove her shattered shield. Alone with Constanza, I attacked. She thrust, I captured her spear head between my axe handles and yanked her forward. We kicked out simultaneously. Her off-balanced strike brushed past my abused left leg. My right kick hit her shield and knocked her down.

Her grip on the spear slipped and I propelled it somewhere behind me. Constanza pulled off a reverse summersaulted while drawing her short blade. A really nice move. Unfortunately, it moved her away from the chick with the spear, who hesitated again. This time she took the thrown axe straight to the head - back end impacting. I didn't want to kill her.

Constanza anticipated my next action. It came down to position, distance, and stride length and they all favored me. We raced to the downed companion. My left-handed axes flat side slammed into her forehead, rendering her unconscious, and I kicked her spear off the mat - out of bounds. I slowly backed away from Constanza and readied my second spare axe.

"Retire from the field," I panted. I was physically failing fast.

"Why should I?" Constanza glared. "You are about to fall over."

"Aya won't let me fall," I stared her down. "You couldn't beat me with a companion and a spear, Constanza. Do you really think a shield and sword will work any better."

"Let's find out," she charged. I really needed the short breather to recover somewhat.

The short Amazon blade was an excellent close-in weapon. I never let her get close enough to use it. Tandem axes allowed me to shred her shield while keeping her at arm's length. My axe bit into her upper left arm right above the elbow. Constanza hissed instead of screaming. She did stagger back. I hopped back three steps, knelt and placed my axes on the mat at my side.

"No!" Constanza howled. She came at me while I remained still. Her hand drew back for a killing thrust. I waited. Sparing my life didn't stop her. The looks of her fellow Amazons held back her wrath. They wouldn't stop her from slaughtering me, but that was exactly what it was - a butchery. 

Two things occurred to me: Aya was showing remarkably better control today than on Saturday, and I figured out a way to sleep with Buffy tonight. Being killed? Nah, worry about the things you have control over.

"Constanza, he was instructing me," Oneida stood up. 

She took up Constanza's discarded spear and stepped toward us. What disturbed the gathering was how Oneida held it - sidewise, not ready for combat.

"You do not intimidate me, Oneida," Constanza growled.

"You misunderstand," Oneida intoned. "I would do this out of shame and despair."

"I will shear my hair, burn it and take myself to the cliffs to die childless," she continued. "I leave whatever contempt you might possess for me to be conveyed to my House when they learn your actions have killed one of their last breeding females. The death of some male will not concern them. My death will. The shame I bear for killing a teacher will certainly interest many of our people."

"You wouldn't dare," Constanza scoffed. The spear dropped. Fuck that noise. I snatched the last quarter of the shaft before it hit the ground. No one seemed to understand what to do about that. Apparently my reaction was unique.

"Yay!" Aya cheered. "He's the best Daddy ever," she loudly announced to the crowd.

"Oneida, my apology, but Katrina has put her faith in me and the New Directive," I adlibbed. "I am here to aid the recovery of your people, not diminish them. For the sake of Katrina's honor, please reconsider."

"Cáel Nyilas," Oneida smiled sadly, "this is not a pledge that can be retracted."

"Ah...doesn't it only take effect when the weapon hits the ground?" I struggled. "I mean, otherwise dropping the weapon would be pointless - right?" I repeat, apparently this had never come up before. "This is kind of awkward. Can someone take this?" I meant the spear. I was worn to the bone and holding a long spear from one end, with one hand.

Quickly calls went out to Hayden as well as a few department heads.

"Constanza," one of the Amazons spoke up, "if you attack the male, you will be actively sealing Oneida's Death Pledge. Far fewer of us will understand that."

"How is it that you are so damn lucky?" Constanza growled at me.

"You are asking this of a man, on his knees before you with your sword at his throat?" I countered. "Lucky isn't you sparing my life. Lucky is me never having heard of this place - Except for Aya. She makes the rest of this hellish experience worthwhile."

"Best Daddy ever," Aya chirped.

"Hayden is on her way," a different Amazon called out. Already a passel of newcomers were swarming the scene. Truly curious was the group looking mournfully at Oneida. One stepped forward.

"Male, do you need something? Water?" she asked. I gave it some thought.

"Could you sing?" I requested. "A nice soothing song of hope would be nice." Blink. Like all panicked moments, nothing came to mind for several seconds. Oneida's people rapidly bantered about some names then the questioner began singing. By the third song I was crying and shaking like a leaf. Constanza had fallen back enough to get her arm tended to.

Twice Aya had tried to get me, lending me the tiniest bit more strength. Wisely, her minder kept her away from the possible conflict. There was a whole different level of commotion when Hayden arrived this time. 

"To bear a weapon in my presence is Death, Cáel," Hayden stated.

"I apologize for being a disappointing Male," I grunted. "Pass on my regrets to Katrina."

"Drop the weapon and you will be spared. You will only be beaten," Hayden gave a hint of a smile.

"If I drop it, she dies," I hissed. The ache in my right arm was exceeding that in my left leg.

"I'm afraid I will have to decline," I concluded.

"If I kill you, the spear will drop and she'll die anyway," Hayden pointed out.

"Sucks to be both of us, I guess," I gasped.

"Oneida, step on the spear. Push it down," Hayden ordered. Hush. Oneida raised her foot.

"You are stepping in the wrong place," I huffed. She looked at me. My eyes flashed to the short side between my grip and my side.

"Do you really think you can hold it up?" she questioned.

"I know I'll fail if you step anywhere else," I tried to grin.

"No matter what happens, you will die," she murmured.

"Not my chief concern right now," I grunted. "Hurry." Oneida put her foot on the short end.

"It will help your balance if you place a hand on his shoulder," Hayden noted. We both flashed Hayden a shocked look.

Oneida stepped on the spear. It trembled and sunk down, barely millimeters off the mat. Her hand came to rest on the crux of my neck and shoulder. I felt my body about to tip over. I was at my limit. I almost missed the gasps whispering around the assembly. Oneida had her body off the ground. Hayden lowered herself so that she could witness there was a distance between the spear and the earth.

"The spirits have not heard your pledge, Oneida," Hayden declared as she regained her regal posture. "I suggest you weigh your words with greater care in the future. Retrieve your spear." She turned and started to leave the gym. Oneida dismounted and snatched up her spear.

"What of the male?" one of the spectators inquired. I didn't care. I had fallen on my back.

"At a moment of such great spiritual significance - the ancestral rejection of a Death Pledge, the action of any one male does not concern me," Hayden remarked coldly. It wasn't praise. It was a 'don't fuck with him'. Around me a cultural conundrum was taking place. Not only could Oneida's house not thank me because I was a male, they couldn't thank me because, by Hayden's decree, there was no life to be saved.

Oneida bent over me on one knee.

"You really shouldn't be so eager to toss your life away, Cáel," she smiled warmly. I was essentially immobile.

"You have the most gorgeous blue-grey eyes," I moaned.

"You are thinking about that at a time like this?" she snorted. Her relatives were shockingly amused as well.

"No time like the present. Besides, in 75 days you can all go out to some nature preserve and hunt me down with non-lethal weapons. Great way to spend a weekend."

I heard an authoritative cough. I looked up from my still prone position to see Katrina.

"Cancel that Oneida. I'm about to get relocated to Antarctica where I'll be tasked with teaching penguins how to arm wrestle," I sighed.

"Cáel, why do you think I'd be so nice to you after all the hell you cause me on a daily basis?" Katrina looked all menacing.

"You recall how much I like winter sports?" I pleaded. "Hey - wait. I was good on Friday. Wasn't I good on Friday?"

"I don't recall you having a good day yet, but I may double check. Can you stand?" Katrina asked.

"Is that a question, or veiled order?" I muttered. "If the former - no. If that latter, I'll die trying." Using a combination of my right leg and left arm, I managed to struggle my way upright. By that time, Aya had circled the practice mat and was at Katrina's side.

"He was very brave," Aya insisted. One of Oneida's senior women coughed.

"Nothing happened so nothing has changed," Katrina stated. It was a lie and both sides knew it. It was the whole loyalty/martial valor thing. Inside their closed little minds a balancing act had taken place - my worthlessness as a male against Oneida's value to her people. Aya was easy to discount as she was of Katrina's house. 

I had no clue who Oneida was yet still rallied to her when she desperately needed help - Hayden's obfuscation be damned. Yeah, Oneida had been young and foolish. Her challenge had been given to make Constanza back off. When Constanza called her bluff, pride took over. Oneida had been foolhardy and overly status conscious. Constanza had played Russian roulette with their House's future and almost 'won'.

She'd be wise to avoid darkened corridors for the next few weeks too. There was not only Oneida's house but the houses allied to it to worry about despite Hayden's expunging of the official record. For me, it was time to be dragged over to my cute doctor friend. I had been slashed twice by the spears during my jump and not noticed it - adrenaline no doubt.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 10



"Congratulations, you and Aya are forbidden to work. I thought keeping you in the building would be safer. I'm mature enough to admit I was wrong," Katrina conceded. "No place is safe for you, or from you. I'm sending you home, under guard."

"Can I choose Buffy?" I perked up. Katrina arched an eyebrow.

"I also need something," I kept slaloming down toward Hell. "I need a six hour dispensation from you on the whole sex thing with employees."

"Oh Goddess," Katrina laughed. "What part of me wanting you to stay alive have you missed?"

"Are you going to sleep with my Mommy now?" Aya grinned.

"No," Katrina answered for me, "he's going to play with Buffy." Right on the money. One scary-smart woman without a doubt. "Best of all, I'll let you assign Buffy to be your security for the night and you can tell her the good news when you get home. Aya, that means Cáel does, not you."

"Yes Aunt Katrina," Aya moped. 

She wanted me to be banging Caitlyn; her Momma. We would make love, Caitlyn would take me as her mate and I'd be Aya's Daddy for real. She'd kill me a month later for my twelfth indiscretion. I'm not a fortuneteller. I'm a bookie and I knew the odds of me staying faithful were a sucker's bet. 

The only questions were how many and with which one Caitlyn would kill me with. I wasn't sure how to break that reality to Aya. After getting bandaged/tortured my doctor, cleaned up and redressed, I managed to survive the rest of the day without catastrophe.

(Later)

"Cáel, do you realize that you've been wounded more than most Security Detail recruits do during their basic training?" Violet teased me.

Buffy was too furious for coherent speech.

"It isn't his fault, Buffy," Aya pleaded. "He wasn't seducing a woman, or anything like that. Oneida tried to sex him up all on her own." Huh? "Constanza's nipples were very aroused and we all know what she wanted."

I really was worrying about the twisted sexual education Aya was getting. She knew the terms, but was missing out on the complete meaning of what she was saying.

"Oneida? Who the hell is Oneida?" Buffy growled.

"She's one of the new hires with Acquisitions," Violet answered. Brian Fung's group.

"What were you making eyes at her for?" Buffy snarled possessively.

"He didn't," Katrina swept into the office. "She made a Death Pledge and Cáel, acting as a vessel for our Ancestors, refused it - so the youngest breeding female in House Arinniti gets to keep living." I grunted because I knew who Arinniti was, or had been.

"Vessels for the Ancestors?" Violet gasped.

"Arinniti - that name rings a bell," Buffy mumbled.

"She's one of the twenty founding bloodlines," Aya gladly provided. Katrina took her seat behind her desk and regarded me with something between amusement, annoyance, and pride. Oh, and sex.

"Violet, Cáel held a weapon in the presence of Hayden - the spear that Oneida had dropped to seal her pledge. If he was a male acting alone, he would have to be killed. Is that the course of action you wish to recommend to the High Priestess?" Katrina suggested.

"Ancestors work for me," Violet gulped.

"You can't take back a Death Pledge," Buffy turned to Katrina. "It is a Death Pledge."

"It appears you can if Cáel is in the room," Katrina smirked.

"Best Daddy ever!" Aya yipped. "He caught the spear before it hit the ground and held it until Hayden came by and read the signs from the Ancestors that Cáel was supposed to retract Oneida's words. Hayden even had Oneida stand on the spear, but Da - Cáel didn't let it fall."

"Maybe the Ancestors think Cáel is sexy too," Aya added. Groan.

"They had better not," Buffy spun back to me threateningly. Fine, if some undead man-haters thought I was hot...sigh...that might entail there would be no rest for me even in the afterlife.

"Buffy, do you have plans for this weekend?" I glared.

"Why?" she snapped.

"Great. Katrina, I want Buffy to be my bodyguard for this weekend," I looked to my boss. Aya almost slipped up, but bit her lip to hold herself back.

"Fine," Katrina grumbled. "I promised you that you could choose your guardian. I was truly hoping you would pick among the candidates from SD I suggested, but so be it."

"I have to be around him all weekend?" Buffy howled.

"Yeah," I exhaled happily, "and I plan to have sex all weekend long." From the look on Buffy's face, she knew she was going to die. She was going to see me having sex with someone else, snap, kill me then kill herself out of shame and grief. Yep, she was going to die.

It turned out Aya was off to Amazon Summer Camp for Squirts. We quickly arranged a series of smoke signals she could use to send for me if she was in danger. Desiree rolled her eyes, hefted Aya's luggage and left with my tiny boon companion. I sobbed.

"Katrina, can I go see her when she's at camp?" I turned to my boss.

"Cáel Nyilas, this is a place where we send our greatest treasure - our children," Katrina smirked. "We will not discuss the abuse of power it would be for me to reveal the location to you."

"Cool...Daphne, where is it?" I turned to my closest female new hire.

"I won't tell you and it changes every year," Daphne smiled.

"But you know where it is this year," I persisted.

"I didn't say I didn't," Daphne beamed.

"Fine. Come home with me. While my ogress henchwoman holds you down, I'll tickle the truth out of you," I menaced.

"Buffy don't!" Tigger shouted. Buffy was about to brain me with my reading lamp. I was fearless.

"Okay, Bubbles," I beamed vindictively. "Go get us a car and make it snappy." There was a hush. "What? Did I use any words that were too big for you to understand?"

Buffy's screamed caused people to reach for their sidearm three floors away. She stormed out, thankfully not running over anyone.

"Do you want to die?" Violet tugged my sleeve.

"Let the 'Lost Blood' (OKH) deal with him," Fabiola sneered. "They are both annoyances."

I took a deep breath.

"Fabiola, your laws regulate what I can and can't say to you," I stared at her. "Instead, I beseech you to never insult a 'Runner' (OKH) in my presence again."

"Buffy is a 'Lost Blood' (OKH)," Fabiola defied me. I took another deep breath then hobbled over to Katrina's desk, retrieved a pen, piece of paper and a nice, soapstone-encased lighter.

By the time I got back to my desk, I certainly had the new hires' attention. Since Fabiola was a Latin name, I had to guess at what it would look like in the Amazon alphabet.

"Daphne, is this right?" I asked. She shook her head. She wouldn't give me the answer. I got it on the third try. I showed Fabiola her name on the paper then burned it. I rubbed the ashes between my palms then showed Fabiola my blackened palms.

"What does that mean?" Paula inquired. She was worried. I was both flamboyant and hardcore at the same time.

"Who cares?" Fabiola mocked me.

"'Ghost'" I said in Old Kingdom Hittite. It took them a few seconds to realize it had a second definition - invisible.

I had no doubt Katrina fully understood the implications of my actions.

"Cáel, I will have to consult with Hayden over this," Katrina mused. I gave a nod, collected my stuff and headed for the elevator.

"Katrina, what did he do?" Dora chimed in.

"He murdered Fabiola," Katrina enlightened them. "In his mind, she no longer exists."

"Can he do that?" Violet wondered. Fabiola took after me.

"Cáel," she called out. I ignored her. She caught up. "Cael." Ignored. Then she shoved me from behind in the shoulder. I kept walking.

"Don't you ignore me!" she seethed. Daphne was coming up fast.

"Leave him alone," Daphne insisted. Fabiola shoved me again. I was almost at the elevator.

"Don't," Helena came up. She was aiming for Daphne because Daphne was about to kick Fabiola.

"She's insulting you!" Daphne reacted to Helena while pointing at Fabiola.

"He is a man," Helena explained. "We don't fight over men." Meaning that couldn't be the primary excuse, not that it never happened.

"Katrina, make me Cáel's boss," Fabiola shouted.

Well, I would never dare shout at Katrina unless her life was on the line. Also, technically Fabiola couldn't be my boss, being a 'new hire' and all.

"Cáel Nyilas, Fabiola is your boss for the next five minutes," Katrina intoned. Oh fuck.

"Cáel, to my side," Fabiola gloated. I looked past her to Katrina, sighed and punched the elevator button.

"Don't turn your back on me," Fabiola snarled. A tug of war developed. She kept trying to turn me away from the elevator doors and I refused to be budged. Fabiola drew her blade. Shit.

"You cannot run far enough away that I will let you get away with that," Daphne seethed in OKH. Fabiola was about to meet that challenge.

"What are you doing?" Katrina had been coming out of her office when she caught the exchange.

"I..." Daphne stammered. She'd screwed up.

"Apologize," Katrina commanded. Daphne apologized grudgingly. The doors opened. "Cáel, hold the door." I did.

"Cáel, to my side," Fabiola repeated. She thought she was about to win. I stayed where I was.

"Fabiola, he can't hear you," Katrina pointed out.

"Of course he can hear me," Fabiola rebutted.

"No - no he can't," Katrina remained calm. "You have rendered yourself dead to him. Since he is not a priestess, or augur, he cannot hear the voices of the dead."

"He cannot willfully decide he can't hear me," Fabiola demanded. 

"Oh, I agree. That would be wrong for him to willfully ignore any Havenstone female. Conversely, he can't allow any of our women to be harmed either," Katrina explained patiently. "So, when he witnessed an assault on the spirit of our women, he attempted to address it."

"He approached the perpetrator and politely asked them to refrain from that activity. He was rebuffed. It wasn't like he could physically resolve the issue. To resolve that internal conflict - to defend his sisters but not attack a sister, he symbolically killed the problem. This allowed him to constantly and continuously forget the cause of this disruption."

"He can't do that," Fabiola persisted.

"Actually, it is pure Cáel," Katrina smirked. "I personally unaware of any scripture, bylaw, or statute that forbids him from doing this. I have given you a reasonable argument that explains his actions. He is essentially working through two conflicting orders."

"Now Fabiola, as a perspective leader, what do you suggest he do? Let you force him to be relocated when he breaks your jaw? Let you insult half of Havenstone's staff until one day, one of them snaps and you end up in a Newark landfill? That would be wrong of him to do as he is supposed to lay his life down for us," Katrina kept at it. "What do you suggest?" 

"How do you resolve the crisis? Before you answer that, consider the fate of Leona," Katrina gave a predatory twist of the lips that would make a Momma T-Rex proud.

"This male is making us fight amongst ourselves," Fabiola complained.

"I'm not fighting just for the male," Daphne growled. "I'm fighting to have offspring that are strong in both body and mind."

"Hey," Helena snorted, "can you imagine how much tougher the women in Acquisitions and Business Management have it? We get to talk about the New Directive without fear of weirding Cáel out."

"Please believe me," I chuckled. "I'm still weirded out. There is simply nothing I can do about it so I get on with my day." 

"I don't understand any of you," Fabiola protested.

"Fabiola, will Aya die?" Katrina asked.

"Yes."

"Why?" Katrina continued.

"She is small, weak and hyperactive," Fabiola explained.

"Cáel, will Aya die?"

"No."

"Why?" Katrina gazed at me. "Isn't she small, weak and hyperactive?"

"Sure, she's small now, but she's only nine. Look at the size of all the other women in her house. None of them are super-tall either," I answered. "She's not hyperactive. She is very bright with a very active imagination. Once she finds her 'stillness' - her center - she'll do fine. If anything, she's too smart. She figures out that her guardians are worried, why they are worried and has to fight against their disappointment every time she does anything."

Fabiola snorted, proving yet again she was clueless to her surroundings.

"After all, Katrina, she's related to you and you are one of the scariest-smart people I've ever had the pleasure to know," I smiled. I could reply to Fabiola while not replying.

"Cáel, go. You are unlikely to survive Buffy as it is," Katrina directed.

Buffy was indeed apoplectic. She did manage to let me retrieve my bike before driving me home. Since I was dragging both all my business clothes, toiletries and my bike upstairs with crutches, it was painfully comical. A furious Buffy relented and took a few of my things. We had barely made it in the door when my phone rang.

Buffy dumped my belongings in the center of the living room.

"Hey," I answered the phone.

"Hey, it's Odette," she greeted me happily. "Are you still in the HQ?"

"Nope Odette," I grinned at Buffy. "I'm home. Do you want to come over?"

"Sure...it's not going to be a problem, is it?" she asked.

"I have a good friend over, but if you can stand my illicit behavior, you are more than welcome," I informed her.

"Cool," she chirped. "I'll be over in about an hour."

"See you soon. Until then Odette," I said.

"Now I have to watch you fuck a whore?" Buffy stared at the ground. I wasn't going to go after for the 'whore' thing. She was at the end of her endurance. I knew that. I limped in front of her and pulled out her phone. She was too angry to look up at me so I knelt down.

"Buffy," I showed her the text from Katrina about my six hour sexual exemption. She looked up and read it.

"So? What does this mean?" Buffy looked ready to explode in tears and fists.

"It means that when Constanza had her sword aimed at my throat I figured out a way to ease some of your fears," I stated. She blinked.

"You worried that I'd be dead by the end of the month, and I did promise to try and make you the first Havenstone woman I made love to," I explained.

"Constanza was about to kill you and you were thinking of me?" is what Buffy got out of all that.

"Yeah. I also realized that Aya was far calmer than she was last Saturday, but the major thing was how to ask Katrina for the exemption and lure you here for the weekend," I told her.

"Weekend?" Buffy studied me intently.

"Yeah," I grinned seductively. 

"See, I figure we time everything. When we start something naughty, we cut on the timer and the moment we are done, we cut it off," I met her gaze. "That way me squeeze as much out of the six hours as possible - if that's what you want to do?" Buffy hugged me suddenly.

"You were about to die and I was the one you were thinking about," Buffy wept.

By that, I meant she fell apart emotionally. I had always seen Buffy so fierce that I was caught off-guard by this open vulnerability. I hugged her back and snuggled her close. She sniffled for several seconds.

"This doesn't count, does it?" she hiccupped. 

"This is purely platonic. I'm bonding with my supervisor - team-building," I stated firmly.

"Oh Goddess, you are crazy, you are crazy, you are crazy," she murmured into my shoulder.

"Okay, I'm crazy. I also really want to have sex with you," I pushed her back so we could look eye to eye. "Or, are you going to make me beg like a big baby?"

"I really want to have sex with you too," Buffy smiled...romantically. The fiery freakiness was gone to be replaced by a deeply sensual, gentle spirit. What the hell?

"Let's go to the bedroom," I suggested. "We can try out the sofa later."

"Is your leg going to be okay?" she suddenly worried.

"Which one? Two of the three are working fine," I teased. No anger.

"I love your sense of humor," Buffy snickered. I repeat - Huh? We stripped down then crawled under the sheets. Buffy was demure, calm and at peace.

"Buffy, I don't want to ruin the mood," I said as I pulled her close.

"But you are not acting normal and I don't know what to make of it," I completed.

"I won," Buffy stroked my cheek lovingly. "I beat out everyone else for you. I gave it everything I had, you recognized that and came to me. This is me being happy, Cáel. Would you prefer me to be combative?"

"I prefer you," I teased. The 'thank you' hovered right on the other side of unspoken. It wasn't in her. She was starting to get amorous. I pulled away to Buffy's momentary confusion then the condom came out, I ripped open the packet, slipped on the prophylactic and returned to my lover. I was about to slip into Buffy, missionary style.

"Wait!" she stopped me. She hit two buttons on her wrist watch. "Timer," she explained. In I went. Buffy gasped slightly then began moving her legs up along my thighs. Years of experience made this a slow, gentle screw. This wasn't me wasting time; Buffy wanted savagery later. For her triumphal moment, she wanted to savor every second of this first time with her prize - me.

Tender kissing and nuzzling were the signs of our affection. She ran her hands over my shoulders, back and buttock. I would balance on my right arm while I coaxed delightful hums from Buffy. This was not Buffy's first time. By the level of stimulation she was giving me, this was unlikely to even be her 100th time. She knew her stuff.

She had mentioned me physically and cerebrally engaging her being a reason she was so desperate to 'have' me. I had misinterpreted that. Buffy wanted a sex partner that could keep up in a way that went far beyond stamina - she hungered for matching skill and maturity. She could give me subtle clues with her body and I'd pick up on them, folding them back into my own actions and signals.

There aren't too many that can meet me orgasm for orgasm. Buffy did. She crested to her climax first, but I was only seconds behind her. Before my final ejaculations, I rolled us over so that she was on top. I tried wiggle my cock out of her vagina. Buffy resisted.

"Don't pull out yet," Buffy requested.

"If I pull out, we can stop the clock," I insisted. 

"Oh," she giggled, "me lying naked on top of you in your bed isn't 'inappropriate behavior'?"

"I won't tell if you won't," I snickered. Buffy cut of the timer on her wristwatch. Buffy was bringing her breathing under control and getting comfortable with our sweatiness. 

"If you hadn't been as good as your hype," Buffy whispered after a minute, "I think I would have fallen apart...and killed you...then probably myself."

"Whoa," I reacted. "Explain that. Girls wanting to kill me is fine. Girls killing themselves for anything remotely involving me isn't." She mulled that over. She wasn't going to apologize yet felt a need to share something. I had to be patient. 

I've been with a lot of girls and a few guys who didn't take rejection well. That rarely had anything to do with the actual rejection. It was some festering wound much deeper and older than their encounter with me.

"In high school I discovered the wonders of sex. I loved it. Not the lover, but the carnal act. I'd screw anyone, as long as it was something new and different," Buffy confided.

"After a few bad incidents, my parents - my stepfather and my mother - threw me out because they thought I was a bad influence for my two younger sisters. I went to a city and did the only thing I was good at. I met this guy - you know the story. He would protect me, love me, blah, blah, blah," Buffy recalled painfully.

"Slowly the sex stopped being fun. It was money and not my money at that. One night I got sick of it. 'He' wanted me to perform, I told him I was leaving so he and two buddies raped me. They raped me a lot over the next two days while they smoked meth and drank," she continued. "Finally, when they all passed out, I went to the place where he had his gun."




Life as a New Hire Ch. 10



"That wasn't going to be good enough for me," she tilted her head up to study my eyes. "I got his baseball bat instead and knocked them all out real good. I found a few garbage bag twist ties, tied their hands behind their backs and went at all three with a knife. I gutted them a bit so they were awake and in a shitload of pain...then I hacked their cocks and balls off."

I was less revolted than I thought I'd be. I still felt my dick shrivel and my balls trying to retract into my bodies. I certainly wasn't going to joke about it; this was a serious sensitive moment for her. I stroked her hair. I could live with this revelation. I wasn't sure why I could, but my heart and mind weren't freaking out, so I went with my instincts.

"I had barely finished up when the cops came bursting in. I had taken far longer torturing them than I imagined and their screams had been heard all over the housing complex. They Tasered me, I went to jail and finally to trial. My defense attorney argued an 'Insanity' Plea and I ended up in a mental facility," she was clearly relieved that I wasn't terrified.

"A few months later, Katrina showed up," Buffy continued. "She wasn't where she is today. We talked a great deal, but there were only two crucial questions for her. 'Do you regret killing those men?' and 'Can you have sex again?' I answered 'no' and 'yes' after some thought. Two weeks later, I was transferred to a Havenstone facility, they cleaned me up, trained me, and I was stationed here."

"What is with you and Elsa?" I prodded a handful of minutes later.

"Don't go there, Cáel," Buffy muttered.

"Do you seriously want me to confront her not knowing the whole score?" I countered.

"She is a complete and total racist Bitch," she grumbled.

"Please don't tell me it was a sex contest," I groaned. "If she is better than you, I'm going to die." Her grumbling lack of an explanation allowed me to crack a joke. Buffy 'punished' me by kissing my chin.

"No, it wasn't a pussy-thing. If she can fuck you better than me, you have my permission to die," she smiled playfully. 

Scary. I was so used to her being scary, Buffy not being scary was scaring me. Push?

"Well, the only thing I can do then is a Buffy-Elsa-Cáel three-way," I sighed.

"Okay," Buffy murmured.

"Stop it!" I shouted. "You are freaking me out."

Buffy giggled. I was howling off into madness on the inside.

"I think you have company coming soon. We should get clean and put some clothes on," she exhaled joyously. By dressed, Buffy meant putting on my dress shirt - unbuttoned. She was like that, cross-legged on the sofa, eating Cheese Puffs and watching 'Real Housewives of Mumbai' when Odette arrived.

It took Odette a second to realize this Buffy was the same firecracker from the last time they met.

"Hi - ummm," Odette started.

"We are fine. He fucked me. I'm in a state of grace," Buffy explained pleasantly...without a hint of menace, or fury.

"Buffy - Odette Sievert," I made introductions. "Odette - Buffy Dubois." Odette strode right over to the sofa and plopped down beside Buffy. I had to struggle to not flinch.

"He gives an incredible dicking, doesn't he?" Odette bubbled.

"Yes," Buffy purred, "Yes, he does that and more. You are new to this whole 'love-making thing, aren't you?"

"Pretty much," Odette openly admitted. "He gave me my first orgasm. I didn't realize how good sex was until I met Cáel."

"I didn't realize how good sex was until I met me either," I joked.

"Trust me," Buffy patted Odette's thigh, "I know a great deal about sex and I can assure you he's really, really good."

"You are not wearing underwear," Odette noted. Life only got more bizarre.

"Why don't you go into the bedroom, get one of his used dress shirts and put it on - and nothing else," Buffy advised. "It is a wonderful experience."

"Oh God, don't I know it," Odette exulted. She jumped up and skipped into my bedroom.

"Don't play with her," I cautioned Buffy. Buffy studied me then gave me a glowing look.

"I'm trying to be a better companion Cáel," she told me. "I know I've put you through hell. I'm not going to apologize. I like the look of fear in your eyes. It is only matched by that look that says 'I'll get you for this'," she chuckled.

"Just for that, its reverse cowgirl for you the next time we make love," I threatened.

"How is that a threat?" Buffy teased. "I am absolutely positive you like my butt."

"I bet he likes all of you," Odette sang out as she came out twirling in another one of my dressed shirts and nothing else. 

Odette had change really quick. I knew she came over bra-less. I was suspecting no underwear, or socks too. She sat down tightly next to Buffy.

"So, how is this 'sharing' thing going to work?" Odette looked back and forth between us.

"Have you ever been with a woman?" Buffy asked. "Don't be embarrassed about curiosity."

"Aaahhh...well, a little," Odette stammered.

"Here is how it works," Buffy patted Odette's nervous hand. "I can only have sex with Cáel for five and a half more hours for the entire weekend. Since I like sex and you are here, I'm certainly interested in you."

"Odette," she reassured my bed-buddy, "there is no pressure. I have gotten the most important thing - quality time with Cáel. Everything else is a bonus."

"Oh - I'm okay with that," Odette nodded. Then she leaned in to kiss Buffy...maybe I should create a 'Sex for Beginners' CD. I was working gangbusters on expanding Odette's sexual horizons.

Buffy wrapped a hand in Odette's hair and drew her into a steamer kiss. I settled in behind Odette, switching kisses between the back of Odette's head and Buffy's hand.

"Wow," Odette panted. "You taste different than any guy I've kissed. I like it, but I like Cáel better."

Before anyone thinks this never happens, or 'only in Hollywood (West Hollywood, that is), please understand I went to a rural college with a 70% female student enrollment. Convincing a girl to engage in a little girl-on-girl action to 'get me extra aroused' is insanely easy. The few times a lady has asked if I'd kiss a guy to get her 'extra aroused', I said 'for her and only for her'.

Works every time. I've kissed a few guys, but only for charity. Fine...I've kissed a few guys in gay bars because Timothy intimated that we'd get our butts kicked if I didn't. He may have been playing me, but for all the shit I put him through, I can live with that. Back to the story: we had Odette in my bed in no time.

I was on the bottom, Odette was lying on me, back to my chest and I was using my hips to piston into her while she moaned on top of me. Buffy was alternating between tantalizing Odette's clit and teasing her nipples. Using a very liberal definition for 'touching me', we decided that this wasn't consuming any of our 'exemption' time.

Three orgasms later, Buffy poured an uber-contented Odette into her/my shirt and I carried her to the sofa. I put Odette's head in Buffy's lap, Buffy twirling Odette's forelock and Odette humming a happy tune. I was getting some apple and orange juice when Timothy's keys jangled in the door. He walked into the apartment and soaked up the scene.

I took in that it was barely 8:30 and Timothy was in his date clothes. A seriously not-good situation. I diverted to him, drinks in hand, and hugged him.

"Sorry Bro," I murmured. He hugged me back. "Buffy DuBois, this is Timothy."

"Buffy? The crazy chick who wanted a hug?" Timothy chuckled.

"She's not..." Odette mumbled.

"Yes, that would be me," Buffy grinned sedately. Timothy looked down and shook his head.

"That is some dick," he groused. "Damn Bro, "Timothy regarded me with some amusement, "did you bother to get her panties off, or was the mere thought of sex with you enough to cause a complete personality reversal?"

"Cáel," Odette raised a shake arm and commanded loftily, "put the drinks down and get us some ice cream. It is Bonding Time." She meant commiserating with Timothy over his dating failure. Timothy trundled off to his bedroom muttering something about 'getting into something more comfortable' and I delivered the drinks then doubled back for the ice cream and four spoons.

Timothy ended up on the floor with his head resting against Odette's stomach. I offered to take the bottom spot. Timothy accepted the gesture then pointed out I was the guy with the bum leg. I ended up with Odette's feet in my lap. The flavor of the night was Cherry Vanilla and we were all making inroads into the supply quickly.

Timothy dialed up Ninja Assassin on Netflix. Ten minutes in I realized why. There was this Asian actor who was really hot and extremely physically fit. Odette agreed.

"You two can't believe any of this is real," Buffy commented shortly after. "This is absurd. Nothing and no one kills like that." She had professional pride after all.

It hadn't taken me three days to figure out that the Executive Service babes' main purpose in life was not laundry delivery. They went everywhere and saw everything - just like a secret police force. Odd, huh?

"Speaking of absurd and unreal," Timothy snickered.

"Cáel, two ladies screaming Extreme High Maintenance showed up this morning. Apparently you weren't answering your phone, work said you were out of the office, and some spooky chicks at Havenstone showed them the door with something akin to a threat of lethal violence," he continued. "From long experience as your roommate, I could tell you'd fucked them to Nirvana and they wanted more."

"From long experience'?" Buffy wondered. "You haven't known him two months yet."

"Lady, this happens at least once a week with this guy. You are playing with the hair of one of those women right now," Timothy told her.

"Yeah," Odette sighed happily. 

I was still wrapping my mind around the fact that Buffy hadn't threatened me with violence in the past four hours. Not even a glower.

"So, what did you tell them?" I asked my bud.

"I looked terribly put out then informed them you'd decided to become a Dominican and gone to a monastery in Italy to train," Timothy smirked.

"What did you really say?" I thumped his head with my spoon. Before any goes 'eww, don't eat with that', I would remind you how pervasive hair is in a bachelor pad. Vacuum and you'll find out.

"I told them you work in Looney Tunes Central - which they bought surprisingly easily - and that you would give them a call the moment your destiny was returned to you," Timothy said.

I was willing to bet he used those exact words too.

"What has Cáel told you about Havenstone?" Buffy prodded.

"No way, Buffy," Timothy shook his head. "You are still one of those crazy bitches. Cáel hasn't told me the real deal, but when he looked me in the eye and said you ladies might kill me, I knew he wasn't playing around. He was afraid for my life."

"Do you really think we would hurt you?" Buffy persisted.

"You put an arrow in my boy...and he's got the magic dick. Since I'm not likely to put out for you ladies, I pretty much believe you'll put one through my heart without batting an eye," Timothy countered.

"What would you do if he simply stopped showing up one day?" Buffy mused.

"Not ask," Timothy snapped off his reply. "I trust Cáel enough to heed his warning and get on with my life."

"Cáel has a big heart," Buffy regarded me warmly. "It is one of the many things that makes him a great prize."

"Salmon - Angel Falls," Timothy taunted me. Before I even started at Havenstone, he had warned me that I had no chance of making it in that women-dominated Hell. He was right and he loved rubbing it in - the Bastard. To clarify: a salmon is a stupid fish who follows his penis to his death and Angel Falls in Venezuela is the Earth's longest, continuous waterfall - that's 807 meters for those who don't want to use Wikipedia.

"Timothy, if there was any doubt, there will be no mention of Tuesday night and what came afterwards," I urged my guy.

"Way ahead of you," Timothy chuckled. That was Rhada we were talking about.

"If you are going to hang around Cáel, you will have to get used to all the other ladies," Odette sighed comfortably up at Buffy.

"I know," Buffy stroked Odette's ear. "Also, if you see me outside of Cáel's home, be afraid of me because if you aren't, bad things might happen to you. Do we understand each other?"

"No," Odette hesitated to respond.

"Don't worry about it - just do it," Buffy warned her - affectionately. I was going mad.

For the rest of the movie, everyone behaved. We emptied the ice cream container. Timothy went for beers. He bought back three.

"Where is mine?" Odette inquired.

"I don't think you are old enough to drink," Timothy told her.

"Odette, if you give Buffy a kiss steamy enough to curl her toes, I'll give you mine," I offered. Odette weighed the offer, rolled over and crawled into Buffy's lap. The kiss was classic me - teasing contact - light tongue - full kiss - re-arrangement of tonsils. I was so proud of my girl.

"That was exceedingly pleasant, Odette," Buffy grinned once the French kiss eventually ended.

I handed Odette my beer. She remained straddling Buffy's lap, perfectly at ease.

"Dude, do you have any guy friends you can bring over and make gay?" Timothy pleaded with me. We knew that didn't happen. "Fine, bi will do," he grinned.

"I'm not a lesbian," Odette wiggled in Buffy's lap. "I just like Buffy."

"Buffy likes you," Buffy placed a light kiss on Odette's lips. "Let's go to the bedroom." Acid test time.

"Sure," Odette hopped up. She took Buffy's hand and pulled her up. Hand in hand they went to my room. I rose to follow.

"We'll call you when we are ready," Buffy teased me. They went into my boudoir and shut the door.

"Now you know how I feel," Timothy sighed.

"Not really," I patted his shoulder. "In thirty, or forty minutes, I'm going to go in there and do some serious boning. Personally, I don't know how you take sleeping alone so often."

Timothy and I sat down on the sofa.

"You are an asshole," he grumbled.

"Considering what you do to assholes, I don't know how to take that," I joked. He hit me.

"Being gay would be the only thing that would make you more fun," Timothy laughed. 

I wondered how Katrina would take my sexual conversion. I deciding telling her would be unwise. . I had another rescue flare about how out of control my life had become - Odette had seen my latest series of bandaged wounds and hadn't forced me to create some lie to explain them away. Damn.



Life as a New Hire Ch. 11



This story plays fast and loose with Ancient History and Linguistics; be warned.

R&M and all the others that let me bounce ideas off them.

Strength is equal parts Body and the Mind, but true strength comes from a relentless Spirit.

*****

(Late Saturday Morning)

"Why is she here?" Yasmin asked me, giving a nod toward Buffy. Buffy was a good ten meters away, technically fulfilling her duty as my bodyguard. Yasmin had agreed to meet me at a park.

"Her name is Buffy Dubois and she's my bodyguard for the weekend," I explained. "At least I'm back at my apartment."

"What happens with her if you don't go back to work Monday?" Yasmin inquired. "Does your 'bodyguard' kill you?"

"Nah, not Buffy," I gave a lop-sided grin. "My co-workers believe in overkill. I bet they'll send at least three to make it nice, swift and quiet."

"Why do you joke about this?" Yasmin studied me.

"As opposed to what?" I chuckled. "Lashing out is futile. Running isn't much better. I chose to fight when I must, love when I can and laugh when I should be crying."

"Do you think they will come after me?" she murmured.

What Yasmin really wanted to know was if her 3-year old son was in danger. From everything I'd learned and seen about Yasmin, she was tough as nails. I had given this some serious thought. I couldn't read Katrina's, or Hayden's minds, so I had to go on my limited experience. Yasmin had seen and heard a great deal yet Elsa let her walk away, and that had definitely been Elsa's doing.

Elsa was the worst kind of racial Supremacist - the benevolent one. She didn't base her status on some pseudo-scientific mumbo-jumbo. She based it on the feats of her ancestors, the training she had endured and the devotion she and her sisters dedicated to their craft - violence. She was better than the rest of humanity because she could kill us if she desired and take what she wanted.

We had what we had, even our lives, because she allowed it and she had no orders to the contrary. That was her generosity - her benevolent act.

"Might," I sighed. "If I fuck up my balancing act, they might use you to hurt me, or as an object lesson." Yasmin's face clouded with anger.

"Why did you invite me over if you thought things would develop this way?" Yasmin glared.

"Not being insane, I cannot fathom the minds of the insane," I reasoned. "As soon as I find a way around one challenge, they throw up something new. I certainly didn't know there was a 'members only' facility along with a gym for the rest of us peons." She looked down at her hands.

"They really are some kind of crazy cult," she muttered. She sighed. "You can't get out and now they know I exist...this is screwed up. What are we going to do?" She could be referring to herself and her son, or herself and me.

"I've got some money," I said. "A few thousand. I can get you plane tickets and you two can take off somewhere safer than here."

"You are a real man," Yasmin slowly smiled. What? Sensing my confusion. "You take responsibility for your actions, protect the weak and those in need, and you are brave in the face of pain and adversity. Where I come from, that is the definition of a man."

"Funny - where I come from that is the definition of bad Hollywood scriptwriting," I grinned.

"Ha," she laughed. She'd decided to stick around and fuck me despite the specter of eminent death. She was not callous to the fate of her child. Far from it. The only ally she had in this fight was me. She'd beat the fuck out of her husband with a bullet in her shoulder. When surrounded by hostile Amazons she still struggled to get to my side.

"What about your Jason Statham?" she prodded.

"He's English. Besides, I prefer Chiaki Kuriyama," I eyebrow pumped. "There is something about a chick with cast-iron balls."

"Who?" Yasmin searched her memories.

"Gogo Yubari from Kill Bill Volume 1," I informed her. Yasmin thought that over.

"That girl was clearly insane!" she thumped my chest.

"Believe me, female mental health issues have never stopped me in the past," I shrugged.

"I'm beginning to think you have low standards," Yasmin smirked.

"That implies you think more of me than most women who actually know me," I snorted.

"Let's go get something to eat. There is a place that serves authentic Acarajé and Vatapá close by," Yasmin stood and took my hand. I went with her.

"So, what are those things you mentioned?" I asked.

"You'll have to wait and find out. I owe you a few dozen surprises after what you've put me through," she teased. After a few seconds, I started laughing. Yasmin was confused.

"As bad as it is going to be for me, think how rough it is going to be on Buffy," I chuckled. "As far as I know, she doesn't even speak Portuguese, much less traveled to Brazil."

The restaurant taught me a few things. Yasmin was a regular, the men knew her and were afraid of her. A little bit of eye-ball psychology taught me that Yasmin was apparently a one woman domestic abuse arbitrator. Translation: if you were a man who hit your wife, or girlfriend, she pointed you to the closest Emergency Room after she was done with you.

In Brazil, men could use the 'machismo' defense; basically, the bitch had it coming because she threatened my manhood. In Yasmin's New York City, machismo worked a 'little' differently. Essentially, there wasn't a 'straight' Brazilian man alive who would admit that Yasmin, a woman, had beat the ever-living Hell out of them.

The Brazilian ladies who stopped by introduced me to another quaint Yasmin term. It was called 'parroting'. Parroting was what happened when some butthole became a real, repeat problem. Yasmin dragged them to the roof of whatever building she found the dumbass in and threw him off - technically aiming for the closest dumpster. The men often flapped and squawked like parrots as the plummeted down, thus the term.

Women were stopping by because I appeared to be an aberration - a man on a date with Yasmin. Best of all, 80% of the conversation in a language I didn't know. The first serious question thus caught me out of the blue.

"Do you date many women?" one sultry number purred.

"I'm not sure I would say 'many'," responded after some feigned concentration. "I only date women from Manhattan...and the Tri-State Area...pretty much the East Coast...and the Ohio Valley and the Mississippi Valley. I should include the Deep South...okay, maybe every women this side of the Rockies...and the West Coast...Hawaii and Alaska would be a change of pace as well."

"I've met some nice Asian girls," I continued to muse, "and South America is looking real promising at the moment. At this point," I looked over the small clique of women hanging about, "ignoring Africa, Europe, India and the Middle East would be short-sighted."

"Do you fuck as good as you exaggerate, (along with some pet name I didn't know)?" the waitress asked. I could so do her.

"No," I sighed. "I'm a virgin boy fresh out of Catholic School and have never known the intimate touch of a woman." For a second, they all wanted to believe that.

Guys aren't the only ones who want to 'break in' a virgin, believe me. I've used the 'I'm a nervous virgin uncertain if I want to attempt sex' mystique more than once. It is a win-win. Sexually under-confident women know they won't be judged against any other women and when the sex becomes stellar, they think they are great teachers so they become more willing to experiment.

After all, if they get it wrong, I - the young virgin - won't know the difference. Now, it is not that I always lie. It is just that the truth doesn't normally get me what I want. As an example, if a girl is terrible at giving a blowjob - don't tell her that. Tell her she's doing fine, but maybe this (a technique you know works) might feel different (i.e. better/less painful).

Sure, I lied to her. Instead of making her upset and not want to continue in the art of fellatio, she learned a valuable lesson and will not only make me happy, she'll make happy every other man she is with later. Others can keep their slavish devotion to honesty. I'd rather dispense happiness. Besides, I'll give them other reasons to be pissed with me soon enough.

"Hardly," Yasmin laughed. "I imagine the closest you've come to religion is thanking God when you've discovered your date had a horny sister and was willing to share."

"Wow...break room talk much," I had the decency to appear embarrassed.

"Why yes," Yasmin smirked. "Ms. Reichmann was very expressive in her recounting of your bedroom antics with her and her sister after the sister's date passed out."

"To be fair, I hadn't had sex all day and I was kind of wound up," I offered up.

"Do you like toying with women's affections?" my original questioner asked.

"Wha - wait," I frowned. "You think I'm going out with Yasmin because I want to have sex with her?" Of course I was. "She's interesting and we both practice Brazilian jujutsu."

"Why would I hunt down a studio when I found a perfectly good practitioner on the job? Plus, my work place had the sparring mats," I explained. Remember, when lying, tell a lie your audience wants to believe. Yasmin was a feminine titan, standing alone (with her son) against a hostile male world. The women around me counted on that. Dating a hot, physically fit hunk for the purpose of sexual gratification was totally realistic.

Dating me because I knew her martial arts style was far less believable, but made them happier, so they went with option B - the workout buddy.

"The truth must be like gold to you," Yasmin snickered. "It is so valuable, you hardly ever use it." She looked at her buddies. "I have wrestled him to the mat and he was VERY interested."

"Yasmin, that wasn't me hard. When aroused, I'm much bigger," I pleaded.

"Liar," she smacked me in the bicep. "I need to take care of something. Don't run off with him," she told the girls - in English - for my benefit.

Yasmin left our small table and headed for Buffy who was leaning against the wall right inside the doorway. I couldn't overhear what they were saying. Buffy smiled, nodded and took a table.

A minute later, Yasmin had ordered food for Buffy then came back my way.

"Is that your girlfriend?" my waitress asked. Why she wasn't working wasn't clear to me.

"No, she's his bodyguard," Yasmin interrupted.

"Yes, she is," I countered half a second later. I looked at Yasmin.

"You know that woman who beat me into the ground?" I met Yasmin's gaze. She nodded. "Well, she was giving Buffy crap for all kinds of reason; only peripherally for befriending me. I didn't have sex with her to get back at that lady. I did it because she needed me and I needed her. After this, we can't engage in intercourse for...71 days. It's complicated."

"Sex with you is some sort of gift?" another one taunted.

"Absolutely," I grinned. "Ask every other woman I've been with. Hell, they love me so much, when we break up they normally take some sort of weapon to me, books being the most popular, but I've been shot at, stabbed, punched, slapped and wracked too."

There was a moment of silence. Yasmin had her own war story that was well known.

"I've seen him naked," Yasmin's smile cut through the tension. "He has the scars to prove it."

"You peeked when we were changing?" I gasped. I wasn't really all that surprised.

"Yes," she snickered. "They only have Women's changing rooms where Cáel works," she related to the other ladies. The conversation may have flipped back to Portuguese yet the words were definitely descriptive. Either that, or my penis had slipped passed my zipper and the buttons on my shirt had burst off exposing my broad chest and rock hard abs.

Yasmin looked at me and said, "É o meu P.A." The girls all laughed.

"Anyone going to clue me in on the joke?" I requested. By mutual consensus, they agreed not to - bitches. For a while, this man had been yelling from the kitchen. If finally dawned on me, and our waitress, the cook had been calling her to pick up her orders.

I could have ignored her short denim skirt and seductive sway of the hips, but that would have been disingenuous. Besides, in some cultures, if your 'man' wasn't noticing the women around you, he was somewhat less of a man. I unleashed my inner 'machismo' and oinked. Yasmin shoved me while laughing. The other women found my being distracted amusing as well. 

I could really get used to Brazilian culture especially when that included Brazilian women. After lunch, we picked up Buffy on the way out. Buffy 'thanked' Yasmin - in Portuguese. Mother-fucker. That was so unfair. Never one to miss an opportunity to make a bad situation better - or worse, I asked Buffy what 'É o meu P.A.' meant.

Buffy said something to Yasmin in Portuguese. Yasmin responded. They both laughed - bitches.

"It is a term of endearment," Buffy assured me. Sure it was. That is why neither one would tell me what it meant - I repeat yet again; bitches. 

[FYI: 'É o meu P.A.' (P.A. stands for Pinto Amigo) literally means 'my friend Penis (or) my penis friend'. In Brazilian Portuguese slang (many thanks to a buddy from Portugal who saved me from a grievous linguistic error) this is a term of sexual endearment indicating trust and a sexual history, but don't tell Cáel that.]

Yasmin and I walked a ways before she had to head in a different direction. We kissed. I kept my hands firmly on her hips like a good boy. She put her hand down my pants and stroked my cock for about a minute, in public.

"Next time, I think we have sex," Yasmin winked before departing. I watched her walk away until she vanished in the crowd. She didn't look back. She was far too confident.

"Well, she seems nice," Buffy caught me off-guard. She'd snuck up while I was watching Yasmin and she was still being so horribly friendly to me. Best of all, she assured me she'd be back to her normally aggressive self-come Monday morning - right about the time I finally got used to her being nice to me.

"Yeah...she is," I sighed.

"What's wrong?" Buffy inquired compassionately.

"What do you mean?" I stared evenly at Buffy. "Hanging out with me could get her killed, that's what's wrong."

"That's not likely to happen," Buffy to reassure me. I shook my head.

"I'd ask you if you were nuts, but I know you are nuts," I grunted. "Elsa wouldn't kill you yet she'd kill Yasmin and her son without batting an eye if she felt a severe lesson was in order. Buffy, you work for animals. We both do. The difference being that you are one."

"I don't think you appreciate how popular you are with the company," Buffy insisted. "You've worked really hard to impress them and they value your efforts." I screamed to the Heavens. Elsewhere, I would have drawn some serious looks. In NYC, I barely drew any notice.

"Yeah - great. Remind me to clap like a pet seal Monday morning. Buffy, you, Katrina and a few others are grinning, thinking you've made great strides on this New Directive and the crime for a security guard shooting me as I walk in the office every day is the same - a transfer to someplace less pleasant. Correct me if I'm wrong," I laid into her.

"The difference is that they don't want to shoot you," Buffy countered.

"Wow, if you put 'you-Buffy' in place of 'you-Cáel' you will realize how inconsequential that is," I informed her. "I'm a human being - unless I'm in Havenstone. Inside, my well-being is based solely on your sufferance - just like a test monkey."

"If you really empathized, you would realize the only other people that walk around think 'gosh, I shouldn't murder that person today' are serial killers. Yet you expect me to be thankful for tap dancing faster than you shoot at my feet. You have this happy dream that I've accomplished anything," I shook my head.

"In 71 days one of you is going to kill me - that is the reality I'm staring down," I gazed at her.

"Why do you think we'll turn on you then?" Buffy actually appeared upset.

"Havenstone has been letting me play with this '84 Day' fiction because it amuses all of you," I took a deep breath. "Whatever I can do in the last 71 days of my life probably won't matter."

"You've made a difference with Aya and Oneida," Buffy rallied.

"Great, I saved the life of someone who would stab me in the heart if I slapped her," I countered. "As for Aya...I dread to think what she will go through when she figures out you've put me down like a rabid dog. I help her because I have to try, because the rest of you have written her off."

We walked the rest of the way to the apartment in silence.

"Katrina is not going to like the results of our little chat," Buffy mumbled. I laughed.

"Buffy, she knows. When the time comes she's sending Elsa to take me alive. I don't know how I'm going to beat her. It is one of the thousand, or so, things I'm working on," I chuckled.

"I know Katrina better than you do," Buffy rolled her eyes. "I think you under-estimate her affection for you."

"I don't doubt her affection for me," I told Buffy. "I simply deem it to be valueless. Listen, it took me ten seconds to figure out what Aya needed at the Archery range."

"Not a God-damn person who knew her their entire lives would have ever done what I did," I continued. "It wasn't that they didn't understand what needed to be done - show a little faith in her. It was that none of them would have ever had the humanity to do it. Katrina could think the Sun rises and sets on me. It doesn't change a damn thing that happens in 71days."

I neglected to say that Katrina murdered/dueled her own grandmother to bring Desiree into the Epona fold. That was the head of her household. I wasn't an Amazon, or even a woman. Buffy was making shit up to keep the insanity of her life at bay. Oh, she'd kill me if Katrina gave the order. She'd hate herself for it. That wouldn't do me a damn bit of good though.

(Saturday Afternoon and then some)

Our conversation died for two reasons as I led the way into my apartment. First off, it was Havenstone business and neither one of us was foolish enough to talk about it in front of Timothy and Odette. The other reason would have been Brooke and Libra sitting on Timothy's sofa. Those two stood up as we entered.

"Hi..." I got to say.

"We just came around to tell you that you are an..." Libra spat but then, "Which one is this?"

"You could have called first," I snapped back. I reached for my phone...which wasn't there. Odette sheepishly lifted my phone up from her side. I imagine that bitch had been ringing off the hook since my departure.

There was a major bitch-fest coming down the pipeline. I wasn't going to let that happen. There is an advantage to people having a low opinion of you. It gives you the unspoken permission to act like a crass asshole whenever you feel like it.

"This lady is Buffy Dubois and she's my bodyguard for the weekend," I tried to sound bored.

"Listen, the restaurant we went to was long on sizzling hot food and short on ceiling fans, so I'm going to take a shower," I callously stated. "Brooke, want to join me?" No, Brooke didn't want to join me. She wanted to rip my hair out in large, painful clumps. She was the Princess and I was the bottom feeder with dirt under my fingernails (huge salary be damned).

"No, I don't want to shower with you, you Jerk!" Brooke snarled. Sadly, now I was making poor use of my loyal Odette. Such is life. "We only stayed long enough to give you a piece of our minds."

"I'll come with you!" Odette peeped. She had been on the floor, back to the small space of wall between the workout alcove and the door to my bedroom.

Timothy was leaning on the portion of the living room wall next to the short hall that led to the bathroom and his bedroom. He seemed more and more amused as the encountered unfolded.

"No," Brooke squalled. "I'm not done with him yet." She followed me to the bathroom. Now normally, I would get a towel from the bathroom, go to my bedroom to strip down then return to the bathroom for a shower, or soak in the tub. 




Life as a New Hire Ch. 11



This time I went straight to the bathroom. Brooke had built up a good head of steam, I slammed the door shut the second she came in. She was about to unload some truly spectacular vitriol on me. That wasn't the game plan. I shoved Brooke into the door and pressed my lips against hers, conveying my deep desire for her and dowsing her rage.

"No, you don't..." she got out. Game plan.

"God Brooke, I've been worried sick about you. Have you been holding up okay?" I turned on the concern. This is what she wanted to hear. I wasn't indifferent to her emotional state. In fact, I was so wrapped up in her Brooke's turmoil I was nearly paralyzed into inactivity. 

These are the words that Brooke wanted. What mattered to Brooke most was Brooke, followed up by how much Brooke mattered to other people.

"I - ah," she mumbled before we kissed once more. This time she was hungry and passionate. She had reaffirmed that I was in her 'corner'. 

Now she could get down to the real reason she'd shown up to a place where some middle class guy who didn't return her phone calls lived - sex.

"Works been a mess since Trent jumped ship and took that promotion," I grumbled, still focused on giving Brooke oral stimulation. "The important thing is how have you been recovering? How have you been coming along?"

Seduction is multi-layered. Know your partner; not just their erogenous zones, but their likes, dislikes, mindset and goals. Thus I used words like 'Trent jumped ship' and 'promotion' to fixate Brooke's anger on Trent, not me. He deserved it. Also, I used 'recovering' and 'coming along' to insinuate that Brooke - strong Brooke - was getting through this trauma all on her own, so now she could let me help her and not be in a weak, desperate position.

All that led up to Brooke justifying to herself that she could let me ravish her in the shower without her looking like some insecure, post-breakup slut. The first words that came to mind were 'Pound Puppy' though 'Pound Kitty' was more apropos. I was nice, tender, gentle and loving as I drew her into the tub with the shower on.

She cuddled against my chest, got off a few tears - mainly for my benefit to express how much she still needed comforting. Then I began tearing her up. I went VOA this time out - vagina, oral, anal - and she had no doubt that I was FUCKING her, capital 'F'. She was no Chalmers' girl, but she certainly spared no expense on the screams, howls and caterwauls as I ripped piece after sensual piece off of her; body and soul. Thankfully I keep six condoms beneath the shampoo dispenser.

It is indicative of the state of disrepair of our apartment building that the water heater didn't exhaust the water supply and turn cold - it turned lukewarm. More screwing for Brooke and me. When she finally came crashing down from her trash pile of depression, self-doubt and rage over a world that had suddenly stopped making sense, I cut off the water, held her tight, and exited us from the tub.

Both being players, Timothy and I had stocked up on nice, plush terry-cloth towels. Nothing builds up a mood for a repeat performance like drying off in a really comfy towel, or kills it faster than being wrapped up in some rag. I partially dried off Brooke because she was still craving close, romantic contact. 

Again, the most important person in the room was Brooke, and by attending to her, I was reinforcing that. I even stopped what I was doing to watch her put her underwear, socks then pants back on. She loved it. Then Brooke began looking around the small space for her bra. I had been hiding it behind my back. I revealed it, avoided having her swipe it back then used one finger to beckon her forward.

Her resistance was enough to assert her independence, but not enough to dampen the sensuous course of events. She stepped forward, I tapped my lips indicating she had to kiss me to get back her undergarment. Brooke faux-resisted then kissed me. Then she French kissed me. I gave her bra back, still she pushed her body against mine, kissing away.

She gave up the oral gratification when she wanted to give it up. She was the one in command, she asserted that by giving me what I wanted, so I was okay with things. She kept radiating her confidence as I kept very still, looking her over as she finished putting on her clothes. I cannot stress this enough: give the girl what she wants.

There was absolutely no difference between lashing Rhada, instructing Odette in sensuality, finger fucking Elsa, upping my game to the highest levels with Buffy and going at Brooke in a romantic-aggressive style. Oh yeah, it is rarely productive to actually ask a girl what she wants. Most of the time they want to please you, so they'll lie.

Lie better than they do and read what their body likes. Go from there. That was another gift from my mentor. When she was teaching me ancient love poetry, literature and culture, she was doing more than that. She was teaching me how to read women, get inside their minds and make them happy with things they may not even acknowledged they liked. God, I miss her.

We/she decided that graduation was the end of the road for our romantic journey. She'd find another young man in need and start over. I would go out in the world and spread the passion and love, my fidelity failings be damned. Libra wasn't far from being a happy camper when Brooke and I came back out of the bathroom, one arm around Brooke's waist, the other holding my clothes and me in a towel.

"Woot!" Odette, sitting on the floor once more, fist-pumped. "You knocked it right out of the ballpark." Brooke glared. Libra scowled. Odette basked in the knowledge that she was on the 'inside' of my little world now. She didn't have to play games. If she wanted to hang out, or have sex, she could come on over and I'd do my best to accommodate her.

Odette had gone from hook-up, to fuck-buddy, to friend. She was still a girl around me with all the resulting pitfalls. That wasn't going to go away. What she had decided was that she was getting to hang out with cool, adult people. Dating in high school had never been difficult yet in the transition to adulthood, she'd be caught in a state of limbo.

One night she met this young, dark stranger and she'd decided to take a chance. Now she had a big, musclebound gay sofa-buddy who was a relatively famous tattoo artist, a woman bed companion who apparently kicked ass for a secret society of some kind (Odette wasn't stupid) and that gorgeous, dark stranger to make love to her, to cuddle with and to wake up next to.

I'd even kissed her before I raced off to work. I never kicked her out once I was 'finished' with her. We hung out, watched movies and talked about adult stuff. Timothy had offered to take her to a gay club - even a gay strip club. She couldn't wait. Odette wanted the three of us - she liked the idea of being a trio - going clubbing.

Sure, she'd be sponging off me, but Timothy said I wouldn't mind. Timothy even insisted that we both really liked her. He also told Odette that 'with all the wacky bitches in his life, he needs you'. Before this, Odette had always thought of one boy-one girl. After a few days with me, monogamy flew out the window and she honestly couldn't recall why she'd been so hung up on it.

I gave Brooke another steamy kiss, before heading to my bedroom. I bent over Odette, stroked her cheek as she looked up and smiled at me, and met her lips in a tender, caring moment. Yes, she knew she was special to me. Libra was ready to bifurcate me - verbally. Blood is so difficult to get out of clothes.

Why was I going to get away with this? I banged the Trent out of Brooke - again. She could assume I was either ignoring her - Heaven forbid - or I was working up to her - a far more appealing illusion. I nearly closed my door. I wanted to hear what was going on.

"Let's go," Libra groused.

"Why don't we see if he wants to go out to eat?" Brooke suggested, ignoring Buffy, Odette and Timothy.

"We had Brazilian for lunch," Buffy calmly informed them. It was mid-afternoon.

"Oh, how was Yasmin?" Odette inquired in a friendly manner.

"Are you his social director?" Libra sneered.

"Oh no," Odette chattered back. "Cáel Nyilas and I are buddies. We have a lot of sex, but mainly I hang around for the meals and company."

"Is he fucking you too?" Libra snapped.

"Yes," Buffy sighed happily. "Yes he is. It is only for this weekend. After that, I have to wait for the end of his internship."

"Damn," Libra seethed, "Is he fucking you as well?"

"No," Timothy said regretfully. "Cáel isn't even bi-curious, despite my dreams and fantasies."

"I guess that's something," Libra grumbled. Right then I stepped out, looking all male-scrumptious. For guys, imagine a D-Cup tanned blonde, in a midriff exposing damp, white t-shirt, no bra, and red bikini bottoms. This is pretty much how most women demean me in their libido clouded minds. I've never actually felt demeaned by this. 

I mean, if the opposite sex finds me sexy, do I really care if that's going to be the limit of them getting to know me? I think not. By the way, for all you curvaceous blondes out there who gripe and groan about men only seeing you as sex objects - really? That bothers you? Do this - tease them the say 'now sit there and listen to what I have to say, or no nookie for you'. 

Talk away. Will they understand you? No, but then very few of us understand Stephen Hawking either. Consider yourself in a select group that includes the smartest human on the planet. That guy/girl on their knees before you pleading for intimate contact? They will agree with you in a heartbeat. Congrats - you are a genius.

I also don't mind. If women stopped wanting sex, I doubt my life would not be worth living. Less I be allowed to savor a victory, there was a knock at the door. I headed that way.

"Oh yeah - Cáel," Timothy called out. "Nikita called and said she was going to stop by." And here I was with two sexually dressed (it was hard for Libra and Brooke to not look sexy) hotties, plus Odette and a Havenstone Stormtrooper in my crib.

Had I whispered for Odette to go hide in Timothy's room, she would have hopped to it. Had I fell on my knees, begged, pleaded and was shown to be speaking the Words of God, Libra and Brooke wouldn't have moved an inch. Fortunately (?) this happens to me a great deal.

"Hey Nikita," I gave her a sleepy smile. I started to usher in my policewoman/somewhat-girlfriend.

Yes, I was acting like nothing was going on, much less like I'd done something wrong. I was aided in this by the fact that the sex had all been shower-based, thus not odiferous. This wasn't a great plan, or even a good plan. It was a weak plan, in fact - rather desperate and last ditch.

"Hi," Nikita scanned the room.

"Who is this bimbo?" Libra insulted both Nikita and me.

"New York City Policewoman Nikita Kutuzov," Niki snapped back. "Who the fuck are you?"

"That's Libra Chalmers," Odette spoke up when the two girls wouldn't. "Her sister and Cáel Nyilas were friends at college." 

"The raven-haired woman is Brooke Lee and her boyfriend was a total douche and made work difficult for Cáel Nyilas and life horrible for her," Odette finished. That was so sweet of her - it was almost 'me'-like.

"Are either of you Havenstone?" Niki studied them.

"That would be me," Buffy spoke up. Since she wasn't dressed like a desperate cry for sex (like the other three women), Nikita hadn't truly soaked her in yet. For starters, Buffy was clearly older than the rest.

"Do you have any weapons on you?" Niki glared.

"Yes - do you want to see my Concealed Weapon permits?" Buffy remained serene.

"Nice and slow," Niki told Buffy as her hand came to rest on the grip of her 9 mm. Nikita was off-duty so this was an awkward situation.

"You have girlfriends with guns?" Brooke gasped. She seemed excited. Libra was uncertain.

Nikita being Nikita, she took Buffy's word for nothing, using her cellphone to call in and check the three permits - gun, knife, knife. She wanted to card everybody, but I nixed that. These were my house guests. I put my foot down. Niki became truly angry with me.

"I need to talk to you - outside," Nikita insisted. I didn't hesitate to go with her.

By outside, she meant to her car because she was sure my place was under surveillance. She was most likely right. As soon as I put my ass on the passenger seat, Nikita wrapped me in a smothering embrace.

"I've been so worried about you," she sniffled.

No, Nikita wasn't brain damaged, or forgiving. She knew that if I hadn't already had sex with some, if not all, of the four women in my place, I most likely would in the next 36 hours. Don't forget that she knew I was a philanderer, had come to grips with that, and was beginning to count up my allowed indiscretions before she finally gave up on my worthless ass.

"You shouldn't do that, Nikita," I hugged her tightly to me. "You have a freaking dangerous job and I'm a big boy. I'll deal with my work problems. You deal with yours and we take what time together as we can."

"This is not how the World is supposed to work," she mumbled.

"There are two ways of looking at it, Nikita," I stroked her hair. "Peace is merely the interruption of the otherwise endless cycle violence, or life is a constant struggle to avoid the inevitable slide into anarchy."

"For such a loving, joyous man, you have a terribly dark side to you," Nikita looked into my eyes.

"I read this in a book on the philosophy of social collapse - Imagine that last legionnaire standing atop Hadrian's Wall, his companions ready to march away yet knowing the Picts remained just out of sight, waiting for the last guardians to depart," I recalled. "Did he contemplate that, despite generations of sacrifice, nothing had change, or did he realize that, with their lives, those fellow soldiers bought centuries of peace to an otherwise war-torn land?"

"Nikita, no victory is permanent," I explained. "One day the lights will go out in this city and never come back on. One day everything you've worked for will fall. That doesn't mean what you are doing doesn't have value, or that I don't appreciate what you do. Every life you save is still precious - it is invaluable to that person, if no one else."

"Every day you take up the badge and gun means hundreds of others get to live their lives wrapped up in the illusion they live in a lawful society," I said. "I say 'illusion' because people tend to not understand that nothing lawful is permanent. They don't understand that one day that last legionnaire will be looking out over their neighborhoods. It is inevitable."

"Is that why you don't give a crap about any of your relationships - is this the excuse that you use to cheat - that nothing is ever permanent?" Nikita's gaze hardened.

"Remind me to never be honest with you again," I opened the door. Yeah, I was pissed. I'd broken my rule - lie to make the girl happy - and this is what it got me.

"Damn it," Nikita yanked on my arm, not letting me leave, "Cáel Nyilas, what am I supposed to think after you tell me that?" I hesitated. I hated honesty.

"I don't give a crap about some nebulous, transitory victory, Nikita," I kept looking away. "I don't see monogamy as pointless any more than I feel law enforcement as pointless."

"That doesn't mean I want to be a cop, or in only one relationship. My Dad loved my Mom. He never dated after she died. He loved me and raised me the best he could. That is one of the best examples of monogamy I've ever witnessed. It simply isn't me," I told her. "Of greater relevance is my initial comment about the value of victory."

"You think you can 'fix' my situation; that somehow the rule of law can apply to people who live outside of it," I turned around. "That isn't happening. You are more likely to convict every banker that had a hand in the 2008 housing loan collapse than you are to ever bring a single senior Havenstone employee up on any charges."

"It is wrong," Nikita insisted. "I'm not being naive. No criminal conspiracy is ever impenetrable."

"They are not a criminal conspiracy," I sighed. "They are a nation-state without demarcated borders. Criminals are fixated on making money."

"Havenstone uses money as part of their arsenal to get what they want," I said.

"What is that?" Nikita.

"I'll never tell you," I put our faces within millimeter of each other.

"Cáel, I want to help you," Nikita persisted.

"You can't, Nikita," I stared. "Rome calls and you will obey. It is who you are. It is what I like about you. It also means you won't break the law for me, which means, in the terms of rescue, you are useless to me as anything except a friend. Personally, I suggest you appreciate the next 70 days with me, then find someone who will take care of you, marry them and raise the next generation of policemen and women."

"Are you a police officer?" she altered her approach.

"No," I played along.

"Then don't assume you know what I can and can't accomplish," Nikita grew fierce. "Al-Qaeda thought they were untouchable too. As did the KKK and the Mafia."

"Right, Nikita, except there are still terrorists, violent racists and organized crime - different faces but the same hydra," I relayed. "That is what I'm trying to tell you - these ladies are not conventional criminals. They are not going to flip on each other. They aren't afraid of drone attacks, wiretaps, or video surveillance."

"If the Justice Department goes after them, they'll strike back. Don't think assassinations and bombings - think 'Tail-hook' and 'Fast and Furious'. The problem is they already know what rules you play by and how law enforcement works. You won't be able to get your side to understand how Havenstone works until it is too late," I stressed.

"Your side? We are your side, Cáel Nyilas," Nikita insisted.

"No, you are not," I responded. "My side wants to deal with this himself, only risking his life and earnestly not wanting to have my actions resulting in hundreds, if not thousands, of deaths. Your gang wants to enforce the law and turn this problem into a nice, tidy bundle. Making twenty arrests and confiscating a few million in assets will not make Havenstone go away."

"They will fade back into the shadows and then wreck vengeance upon you all when it is convenient for them," I stated confidently. I had sat in on exactly one board meeting. That had been enough of an education to figure out how they operated and how long-term their planning was.

They wouldn't put a bullet into the head of the lead investigator. No, fifteen years later, while having a routine medical procedure, there would be a mix-up with his medication and he'd die. A few months later, his son, that man's wife and two children would all be involved in a fatal car accident. Yes, they wiped out your family.

My bet was they had already done something like that. They'd find a weak link in the investigative team, show him/her the evidence of past misdeeds and impress upon them that they would be next. Witness Protection? Over a twenty year old string of accidents? The fed either played ball, or waited a decade, or two, for their loved ones to start dropping.

Havenstone Commercial Investments was only 22 years old. Without a doubt, there had been other incarnations built up then discarded only for some new front to take its place. As for grudges; the Amazons took it as a personal affront that an independent Hellas existed today, despite the reality that those Greeks had little lineage in common with the Greeks from the time of Achilles. 

The conundrum was I couldn't use the word 'Amazons', or refer to the board meeting. I couldn't talk about the armory, Buffy, or Desiree's backgrounds, or truly impress upon Nikita the absolute level of fanaticism Havenstone engendered in their congregation. If I hinted at it, she'd think of Jonestown, not the Karen Insurgency in Burma.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 11



"Why do you have such faith in them, but not in your own law enforcement?" Nikita pleaded.

"Training, fanaticism, the ability to act with few restrictions, and their willingness to let a member who makes a mistake to live and learn from it instead of being sacrificed for political and popular expediency," I counted off my points.

"They prepare for war, not peacekeeping," I clarified. "By that, I mean that each standard office worker is the equivalent of a soldier in any fully modern armed force. For whatever cause you and your fellow NYPD believe in, there is also a long history of corruption. There is none of that at Havenstone. Infighting - yes. They would never betray the principles of their organization though."

"You work under the scrutiny of the judicial system, a normally hostile press and a special panel whose sole duty is to keep your law enforcers in line. They work for superiors who give them far more latitude," I continued. "A Havenstone breaks an external law, the get assigned elsewhere. Violating their internal code of conduct is harsh and immediate then resolved." 

"You screw up, and you are pilloried in the press, abandoned by your superiors and shunned by your peers as if you had a contagion," I sighed. "The NYPD loses you as a resource because of one mistake. Despite the numerous advantaged of living in a Democratic Republic and a capitalist economy, the underlying weaknesses remain."

"People are people, thus flawed. Office-seekers need money and to be scandal-free to get elected which has become a continuous process," I stated. "Those realities allow entities like Havenstone to exist in a parasitic relationship with our society. Face it, why pay $100 million in fines, duties and taxes when you can pay $1 million in campaign contributions."

"You are so damn cynical," Nikita frowned.

"Nikita," I huffed. "No, I'm not cynical. I'm a romantic realist. I know the score. Despite that, I still chose to make my own way in the world. I don't date a woman expecting a 'Happily Ever After'. I also never make a plan to leave a lady. It happens regularly enough and it is my fault most often, yet it has never been my intention to avoid permanence."

"I don't understand you at all!" she yelled. This was expected. This was her prodding me into having some frenzied, 'make me forget about the cruelty of the World' sex.

"Nikita, if I did chose to break the law, I wouldn't be caught because there is some cop out there better than me. If I was caught, it would be that the cops have tons more resources than I possess," I explained.

"I'm not even criminally inclined and I can beat the system. This doesn't mean I plan to break the law. I have no reason to. In the same way, I won't surrender because I don't have to. I'm still alive and have a degree of freedom," I told her. "It is because I know the score that I can fight with hope. I have spent the last four years not living the easy life - the safe life."

"I have the scars to prove it, along with no regrets, because I am me - the man I want to be," I smiled. "So what that I work for killers - they are hot and most of them are willing. The unwilling ones I'll bring around eventually - I always do." Now she wanted to pepper spray, Taser, baton beat and pistol whip me - all at the same time. Sex.

"I keep asking myself why I care about you," Nikita wailed. "I don't even know why I came over today. I should have known you would have at least one woman in your apartment. I could have waited for you to return a single damn phone call...but NO, I had to drive over and have you stomp on my heart instead."

"I don't know how to reply to that," I mused. I did, but drawing it out was important. "My life is a nightmare. It will most likely end in tragedy. If I loved you, I would send you away in a loud, vocal breakup that would convince Havenstone we were done and that would be that. My problem is I like...I selfishly want to know you better and I resonate with you like no other."

When you are the bad guy and she knows you are the bad guy, play the bad guy. See, if I was a good guy, I would sacrifice of myself and send her away. Instead, I was 'selfish' and I was selfish because we 'resonated'. Resonate is a good, romantic word. Its definition is a bit shady, thus she can interpret it the way she desires.

Before you hate me more than you already do, please recall that I really liked Nikita. She was special to me. Unfortunately, 'special' has sort of a nebulous meaning for me. To put that in perspective, my heart is a five year old child in a toy story. It goes 'get that one, get that one' without explaining to me exactly why I end up doing what I do.

"I want you so much," she groused, hating herself for her naked desire.

"Let's go back to my place and make love," I suggested. She jerked slightly.

"What about all those other women?" she questioned.

"Odette is a dear friend, Buffy is my bodyguard and the other two showed up all on their own," I informed her.

"I like Libra and Brooke well enough, but the attraction is purely sexual (it better damn be all it is). I hope we have something more," I said. I could even make honesty my bitch, it seemed.

"Fine. Let's go before I regain my sanity," Nikita declared. It doesn't take a NASA mission control officer to know that really means 'fuck me now - I've soaked my panties'.

Nikita was hopping up and down on the balls of her feet by the time we exited her car and made it around to her/street side. She grabbed my hand and yanked my unresisting form hurriedly back to my apartment. We nearly crashed into Buffy who had been watching from the door. Nikita flashed an embarrassed look.

That didn't stop her from bounding up the stairs three at a time as we raced up to my place. Nikita was slowing down on the final approach only to have Odette open the door and stand aside - Buffy had phoned her. In we swept. Libra and Brooke rose from the sofa, I gave them an apologetic look before Nikita drew me into the bedroom. I slammed the door shut.

"What the Hell!" Libra screamed. What can I say? When I truly set out to fuck a girl, I leave them wanting more. Before you think I'm an egotist, or a Sex God, it is they want to have sex with me, not that they care about what I want. I've been jumped while putting gas in a friend's car by a girl, whose name I couldn't recall at the moment, who I had banged in a bar's men's room.

Midway through that encounter (we were standing up, my back against the car, and her legs spread up and wide as she coasted down from her first orgasm), she confided in me she'd been running around with a condom in her pocket in hopes of finding me - which proved she didn't really know me - I always have a condom. 

I even have some stashed in my bathroom & kitchen - just in case. After that, for the rest of my college career the Kwiki Mart attendant kept smirking at me - the gas pumps had video surveillance. My friend and his date were amused too. My date - less so. Maybe I should have stopped at the first orgasm. It turned out okay. 

See, unknown to anyone at the start, the girl's (Genevieve it turned out) boyfriend and I had been in a skiing accident and the poor bastard had suffered frostbite dragging me to safety, so I owed Genevieve big time. Yes, my date bought that hastily conjured excuse. All was right with the world and I ended up screwing my date that night and for the next two weeks.

That relationship fell apart when three different servers at a Hooters gave me lap dances (who knew - Hooters girls don't normally give lap dances). I swear to God I had never been there before - the truth didn't work that time either. That wasn't too bad. It reminded me of Genevieve. I went back to the bar and nailed her again. In case it matters, I don't have a fake ID. I lie to the DMV about where I live. It is all official-like, if completely illegal.

Back to my current official; a rapid analysis of the kaleidoscope of emotions. Lust, fear and confusion battled for dominance. I had to take into account her sexual background, parenting, and personal let downs. I had to give her something she didn't want. No, I wasn't going against my tried and true strategy. I had to give Nikita something she didn't want yet really needed.

She began trying to strip off her clothes. Off went her faded denim jacket (despite the heat in NYC in the early summer) then her short-sleeved shirt. Poor Nikita - her nice, gossamer white bra was obviously new - that crisp, pure white doesn't come from Tide, and she had marks from the first bra she'd put on today. Off went the gun...and the cuffs.

I had kicked off my shoes and so quickly pulled down my pants it burned my skin. The policewoman was drinking up my Nikita-inspired arousal so I was able to strip off my shirt too. She began working down her pants and undies in one motion when I jumped her.

"Hey wait," she giggled. She became a tad more annoyed when I wouldn't relent.

With her pants and panties still above her knees, I slipped on a condom, rolled her over and began slapping my cock against her sopping wet cunt.

"I don't want to do it this way," Nikita insisted angrily. "Let me up."

"I can't wait," I grunted as I penetrated her doggy-style. In I went. Nikita's love box was best described at intimately velvet.

"Grrr...Grrr...aaahhh," she finally gave into her arousal. "Ah - ah - aha." That brought me to a halt. I wove my arms around her waist and drew her back to my chest.

"Are you ready to have sex because you want it instead of doing it because you don't know what else to do?" I whispered in her ear. She twisted her head around. Words failed her so we kissed.

"Can I take my pants off now?" sighed happily.

"I don't know. I kinda like you like this," I replied.

"I can barely move," she protested.

"That would be a point in my favor," I snickered. Nikita got back at me by wiggling in my lap. Yeah, that put me in my place alright. Changing our orientation was part of my instinctual reaction to her desire for a close visual connection. The whole face down/ass up was only a trick to erase her confusion.

Keeping my cock deep inside of Nikita, I twisted her around until she was on her back, her bound legs resting on my crooked right elbow. Curse me, Nikita looked up at me consumed by bliss. There is disappointment, settling for what you've got, getting what you want and finally, being giving something you never considered yet now you wonder how you lived so long without.

This wasn't only a 'good dicking'. It was the revelation that my life was a total train wreck and for a crusader like Nikita, I was virtually the Holy Grail. I would never 'not be in trouble' thus constantly in need of saving. To her, I had transformed into the perfect boyfriend. I could never run away, or be saved by anyone else but her. Oh - and I was giving her a terribly good dicking.

"Better?" I murmured. Nikita nodded. My rod kept up steady, moderately powerful penetrations. "Is there anything I can do to make it better?" Trick question.

"No," she purred. "I like...this is wonderful...I thought you would be different." She was one happy camper. She had anticipated a domination play.

"I'd only be rough with you if that's what you wanted," I pressed her legs farther down so that are faces were very close.

"Mmmm...are you ever going to stop seeing those other girls?" she poised. She was no longer angry. Perfect boyfriend plus fantastic intercourse.

I'm always doing stuff that makes women act in bizarre and unexpected (to them) ways. Won't ever do anal? You'll be ambushing me in the tub and working that ass down my pole inside of two weeks. Trust me. Odette hooking up with Buffy? Been down that road before.

"I've only got 70 days left, Nikita," I groaned. "They are going to force me to put out at work."

"I might as well try to make love to the women I care for," I told her. No, they weren't going to make me put out at work unless I made the full 84, or was relocated. Lie baby, lie.

"I'll make sure you live more than those 70 days," Nikita passionately assured me. Now she was applying some pushbacks to meet my thrusts.

"Why are so nice to me?" I began taking deeper breaths. Please don't say 'I love you'.

"No one should have to face your enemies alone," she gave up. Her left hand slithered down and began to tenderly work on her clit. I matched it, despite the somewhat awkward placement. My hand rested on hers, developing a synergy and allowing me to get a feel how she liked her clitoral stimulation.

Nikita had barely started screeching out her climax when the door swung open.

"You Bastard!" Libra screamed at me. To be that fast, she either teleported, or had been eavesdropping at the door. She stormed away, still yelling at the top of her lungs. It was times like this that Timothy appreciated what I told him when I first looked the place over.

No locks on the interior doors? No problem. The women would cause less damage if all they had to do was break down the exterior door to get at me. He thought I was a joker. I am, but I wasn't joking about that. Kicking open a door is hard on the door sills. They are far more likely to give way then the door is to splinter, or the lock is to break.

There have been a great many women who have busted through all kinds of portals to get at me with vengeance, pain and agony on their mind - my pain and agony if there was any doubt.

"Ah, ah, ah...that was mind-blowing, Cáel," Nikita lilted. "Next time..."

"Yes?" I soaked up her aroma.

"Can we not make this a domestic disturbance case?" she giggled.

"Is that an appeal for some real privacy, or stadium seating?" I teased.

"You are a meanie!" she giggled gleefully. Who calls an adult a meanie? There was only one proper reaction to such a denigrating insult. I helped her take off the rest of her clothes and fucked Nikita two more times.

Nikita and I were exhausted, our bodies intertwined, sweaty, and sated. Odette poked her head in.

"Is it okay for us to join in yet?" Odette asked.

"No," Nikita moaned.

"Not yet," I corrected. 

I compensate having no control over my penis by having limited control over every vagina I interact with. I'm not sure how that works, but it does. Case in point:

"I am not engaging in group sex, or sleeping with a girl," Nikita murmured.

"Well, can they sleep in our bed tonight? They have nowhere else to go," I reasoned.

"Ummm," she bit her lower lip. "Okay." Ta-da! I didn't argue with Nikita, or challenge/dare her. I said 'our bed' which put her, theoretically, on top of my female acquaintance hierarchy. Truth? Nah. I never had enough women hanging around together to ever have the time to figure that out. Nikita was going to be in bed with me and two other sexual active women.

Buffy alone was a morality hazard. Odette was spunky. Nikita was armed with three relationships at best - her mom was a cop after all, so dating had to be fun before college. Finally, there was me - the lowest of the low. If cads had a shred of reverence, they worshipped an idol with my face on it. 

To my credit (don't laugh), I wasn't forcing Nikita to do anything, only making her do things she'd have never thought she'd do before she met me. We cleaned up then joined the others. The start was awkward. I changed the conversation to things girly: guns. I have a twisted life. Odette knew nothing - pure law-abiding citizen. 

I was an amateur gunslinger who picked up firearms to romance a girl, or three. Niki grew up around guns and the people who used them - the police. Her area of expertise was handguns and shotguns. She had little experience with rifles. Buffy had gotten a later start in life, but played 'radical catchup' since then.

While not going into details, Buffy was very engaging. Timothy had no formal training yet had somehow managed to acquire a familiarity over his misspent life. He had even been paid in an AR-14 once. He had, of course, turned it over to the cops...but couldn't remember which cop, or precinct, when prodded by Nikita.

We broke for Korean takeout. There was a problem with the order. Niki, Buffy, and I prepared to head out when Timothy developed a situation in the bathroom. Us guys tried to handle it. We were hopeless. Finally, Nikita intervened and shooed us out to the living room. Timothy 'found' some tools and gave them to Buffy to give to Nikita.

Us guys had been exiled, after all. The second Buffy went into the bathroom, I slipped out the door quietly. Odette gave me a 'thumbs up' then snuck off to my bedroom. Bedroom noises commenced. The take-out issue was that my cute Korean delivery babe was missing me. Despite the plethora of sex coming my way, I discovered I missed her too. 

Later.

"Do you find it amusing to not trust us in the least?" Nikita stared at me. I would have felt better if Timothy wasn't bound up with extension cords and his mouth covered with duct tape and trussed up on the floor. Odette was cowering in the far corner of the sofa.

"I apologize," I extended my armload of food. "Old habits die hard."

"You hurt our feelings," Buffy frowned. Still freaked out by that. Why wasn't someone hitting me? Seriously, there are tons of throw-able things in the apartment plus they both had guns.

"If I sneak out, you two don't have to deal with the conflict of me wanting sex with different women," I pleaded.

"This has nothing to do with how fantastic the sex with all of you is. It is that I'm so used to disappointing women then running for my life, the option of gaining anything approaching permission isn't something I know how to handle," I explained.

"What makes you think we'd ever give you permission to cheat?" Buffy smirked.

Ah, the joys of a blossoming four-way. Nikita? Not going to sleep with another woman? Hell, three hours in and she was already dividing up my sex-time with my other bed-buddies. My only worry was Niki would retell this to her Mom, the Police Desk Sergeant. I wasn't worried she'd hurt me. I was worried 'Mom' would toss me in jail.

I'm a very pretty man and I doubt I'd do well in an all-male environment. Sure, there would be female corrections officers. That's not a good thing. I'm incredibly horny and I could see 'don't ask, don't talk back' in my future.

"Listen, both of you," I got feisty. "If I want this level of aggravation, I'll go back to work and slap Elsa."

"Also, why is Odette cowering on the sofa? She didn't do anything wrong," I declared.

"She went into your bedroom, shut your door, and made all kinds of sexy noises. It took us ten minutes to realize we weren't hearing you," Buffy sounded miffed. Odette had fooled her. It wasn't that her 'friend' had done it. It was that Odette, a rank amateur, had tricked the two supposed professionals. Go Odette.

"How can I make it up to you?" I requested.

"We can start by eating," Niki grinned. "I'm starved and Buffy's stomach has been growling."

"Aren't we going to untie Timothy?" I suggested.

"We are thinking about it," Buffy allowed.

I did manage a charm campaign that freed Timothy so he could eat with us.

"Dude, you - are - fucked," were his first words after I untapped his mouth. "They are starting to group think." That didn't stop me from a four-way that night, again around 3 a.m. and yet again right after breakfast. All Sunday Timothy kept shooting me with the Nerf gun.

I had to usher the ladies out late Sunday afternoon. I was double-dating with Ulyssa and her sister once more. Her date never showed. I had the sneaking suspicion he never actually existed. We had a dinner, took in an off-Broadway play and finished up the night with some group sex. I made it home and I realized I had to start a new heart cord. My current one was all tied up.



Life as a New Hire Ch. 12



*This story plays fast and loose with Ancient History and Linguistics; be warned*

*My editors were eaten by dinosaurs, but were last heard cutting their way free*

*Live fast, die young and leave a...No. Enjoy life and die when it is your time. Your corpse will the least of your concerns if there really is an Afterlife*

*Ah...no sex...not sure how that happened*

*

(Monday)

For some God-unknown reason I was showing up to work at 6 a.m. Monday. I swear, one of these days I'm going to show up to work naked. If asked why, I'll claim that it wasn't in my brilliantly scripted orders. I would then beg forgiveness for 'assuming' I was allowed to breath, or even be conscious. We'd all laugh. Nothing would change.

They were never going to give me advance warning of what my latest errand entailed. I don't think it was in them.

"You've made to Week Three," Buffy sneered as we entered the garage beneath Havenstone's skyscraper. "I'm flabbergasted."

"So am I -- flabbergasted that is," I nodded sagely. "I had no idea you knew what flabbergasted meant."

Punch. Definitely back to the old Buffy.

"You need a haircut," she commented. My phone beeped. I had data packet. I had received them before; just not from this place. I opened it up as we exited the car and made for elevators.

"Holy Bat-shit Bat-Bunny!" I gasped. "Hayden's written me a letter."

"Really?" Buffy was momentarily non-psychotic. I showed her my screen. Hayden had made an official declaration -- something that would be in the records of the Amazons from now until forever.

Any and all males of Havenstone -- specifically one Cáel Nyilas -- were to forthwith and immediately stop spiritually assassinating any and all Amazons and Amazon recruits. Furthermore, I was admonished for murdering Fabiola Dobrani and, under penalty of an unmentioned punishment, I was to publicly rejoice at her resurrection.

Life was relentless. Buffy's phone rang. She got the same message I did...as did every freaking Amazon in the building. I didn't think the guys would be getting this memo.

"I wonder how the Chicklettes are going to take this," I mused. The doors opened before Buffy could formulate her comeback.

Relentless may have not been a strong enough word. Waiting for us in two distinct groups were Constanza with two SD Playboy Bunnies; opposite them was Oneida. Oneida looked...enamored. This wasn't curiosity about what my meat would feel like as it made her weep tears of rapture.

This was a weekend binge of watching some of the best received, twenty-something, romantic movies of the past ten years. It was hard for me to decide which group was more divorced from reality -- the Amazon man-haters, or the 'Hollywood was real' babe.

"I'm going to get a bite to eat," Buffy announced. Entering the garage had completed her bodyguard duties.

Oneida had the higher prestige so she came first.

"Hi Cáel Nyilas," she stepped up and greeted me. She extended her hand -- for me to shake. Amazons clasped forearm to forearm. I greeted her Amazon-style.

"It is good to see you again, Oneida of House Arinniti," I replied. She looked upset.

"You know who I am," she sighed with disappointment.

"Please believe me," I stroked the side of her left cheek to the top of her ear, "had I known Friday, I would have finished up by impaled myself on your spear and cleared up a whole manner of things. Why does it matter to you that I know who you are?"

"I...I didn't want to be treated as anyone special," she gazed up at me with innocent eyes.

"That's not going to be a problem," I chuckled. "To me, you are nothing but another psycho-bitch that's trying to kill me. You are a black-hearted, soulless creation of Hell and I hate your guts, Oneida."

"But you saved my life?" she whimpered. She was a bit more unbalanced than the normal babe employed here. Yay me.

"And? See, this is why my description of you and your sisters is so accurate," I smiled while I explained. "I would try to save almost anyone because it is the right thing to do. The only reason saving you was a mistake was that it caused me to fall further into Hayden's favor. Now she's going to expect that shit on a regular basis solely because you are of House Arinniti."

"Ah -- I like you," Oneida pleaded.

"Why?" I asked.

"You risked so much for Aya. You made her laugh and smile. You...you acted as if you cared for her -- as if you were her own mother," Oneida told me. "Was that a deception too?"

"Hmmm...not what I expected," I mused. "Fine, realizing that I was with Aya for her sake and hers alone raises you up a step in my estimations. I'm not being deceptive about how I feel about this place, Oneida. Here, let me prove it." I looked to Constanza. "Constanza, do I hate your guts?"

She glared at me. "Constanza, if I thought I could get away with it, would I shove a fragmentation grenade up your ass and pull the pin?" No response.

"See," I grinned to the gawking Oneida, "I'm not being deceptive about how I feel about this place. My opinion matters not at all to these women yet they know I'll never act on my hate because of my own, perverse Code of Conduct. I'm not going to run away and I'm not going to stop being me. I'm certainly not going to fall in love with anyone here."

"Oh," she muttered.

"I have to go to work now. Have a nice day," I turned to Constanza. "Are you my work buddy today?"

"Male, come with us," Constanza snapped. Off the four of us walked -- right back to the elevator.

Down we went, past any level my ID card could have accessed. Devo's Working in the Coal Mine sprang to mind, so I hummed it. I was feeling completely at ease. Constanza stood behind me, while the other two stood at either side, but half a step back so they were right at the edge of my peripheral vision. I felt like a team player -- an interregnal part of my imminent demise.

The group marched past the Armory. I waved to my old friend, the Kindergarten Cop. She glowered. Amazons were not martinets. They were clean-cut and proud, but vigilance meant much more than a scuff mark on a boot, or a gaze locked on the farther wall. Our trip deposited in yet another room I could never access.

I was the first one through the door. I almost froze. For starters, the room was around 15 meters wide and 6 meters deep. In the center of the room was an 8x2meter table. On the table where a wide variety of firearms and ammunition. Automatic pistols, revolvers, shotguns and submachine guns plus multiple clips, or speed-loaders for them all.

They hadn't brought me here to murder me with Death by multiple calibers. If they wanted me dead, they would have blown my brains out already then put a gun in my hand in a hopeless attempt to fool Katrina. The number of guns didn't even impress me. The far wall was transparent and through it I could see multiple ladies in sports bras and boy shorts shooting away on a firing range.

Holy Mother of God! I was here for weapons training. What the Hell had gone wrong? As I moved deeper into the room, one SD Femi-Nazi moved down the left wall, the other moved down the right and Constanza remained two steps behind me.

"Please clarify my task for this time period, Constanza?" I requested. The look she shot me was lethal.

"The weapons present are ones you have stated you have a familiarity with as well as others in common usage here at Havenstone. All the rounds are hollow points, or slugs. Chose which weapons you wish to qualify in, load your clips and inform me when you have completed this part of the assignment."

"Thank you," I nodded then set to the task at hand. Constanza clearly had expected me to be a smart ass. I had used learning about guns to get tail. That didn't mean I disrespected the weapons. I picked up several side arms, testing their weight and grips before deciding on the .40 Smith & Wesson Glock-22.

I felt the ammo, making sure I wouldn't be running around with blanks this time. This shit was real. Elsa had claimed she'd rather be skinned alive than let any man bear weapons in her Havenstone. Maybe I shouldn't have felt her up, or given that massage to that med tech, or stripped in the elevator. I was a really, truly naughty boy.

Most women spank naughty boys. My tormentors tend to fuck with my mind because, ya know, it's harder to defend against that crap. Also, there is not a hand lotion made that will soothe the ravaged psyche. I began loading the clips.

"Is that the only one you are taking?" Constanza eventually broke down and asked.

"I don't want to waste your time," I replied. "This is my favorite pistol. I've shot .22, .38, 9 mm, and .45, but I'm most comfortable with this one. Maybe later I can work with the shotguns. I haven't a clue how to handle anything else." I could see it in her eyes -- 'damn him; he's making sense.'

There was one final way I could fuck up. I didn't. I knew firearms etiquette. Don't load your gun before taking your station at the range. Sure, all the crazy chicks could do it, but that was part of their jobs -- killing things. I was a novice. I picked out some ear protection and an adequate hip holster in case Constanza wanted me to fire from the draw.

I was clearly not making her day by not screwing up.

"This way," she barked. She accessed the door leading to the range and out we stepped. All around, the firing slowly died. For each of the women, there was a second of disbelief followed by several more seconds of outrage.

Lust was where the emotional landslide ended. I was 'That' guy. I wasn't something they could codify. I made meaningful, defiant eye contact, I dressed to impress, and I was known to be courageous. Having Hayden decide that she wanted to mate with me didn't hurt my appeal one bit. I could already tell they were figuring out where to shoot me so that I could still have sex an hour later.

I was a man in Havenstone with a gun after all. I was the equivalent of the Pope in Mecca -- it just didn't happen. My booth was nice and comfy. After placing my gear on the table,

"What do I do next?"

"Ear guards -- check weapon -- load, chamber, announce your preparation to fire -- fire as quickly and accurately as possible. Reload and fire until you have uses all rounds," she commanded.

Hmmm...six meters. Standard human-scored target. I hadn't done this in a year. I shook my limbs out to get ready for the shock and recoil then steadied my breathing. Fifteen rounds, starting at the ready stance.

"Ready," I pronounced.

"Begin," was Constanza's muffled command. The report of the first shot, the sting of the recoil, the pull on the arm and the shell ejecting -- all of those rolled over me before I could count. I almost missed the automatic slide staying open. Down went the old magazine even as my left hand retrieved and leveraged the next one in.

A problem presented itself. The girl who first taught me was pretty good -- in the 'if you couldn't find the prerequisite number of bullet holes in the target, everyone assumed the missing bullet had passed through one of the previous penetrations' kind of way. I was pretty lucky. She took a red hot poker to me and was thankfully far less accurate.

She was so incredibly beautiful -- so furious with me, naked and chasing me around a cabin lit solely by the fireplace, with that firebrand in her hand. Maybe it was wrong of me to take her English professor up to the girl's cabin for a sexual rendezvous -- or stick the professor in the closet when the poor lady absolutely had go to the bathroom. Or fucked the girl on her bear skin rug until the professor had to come out of said closet before she urinated. I know; I'm an idiot.

Fifteen bullets into the first target had made a mess of it. Since there was no one in either station around me, I started shooting at the target to the left. I put the last magazine into the one on the right. It took me well over thirty seconds to get all 45 shots off, but I did it.

"Done," I stated as I put the gun down and took a half-step back.

"Do you shoot pistols a lot?" one of my other guards asked in amazement. They had undoubtedly seen better speed and marksmanship. It was their cosmically low opinion of me that made my effort so impossible to believe.

"No, I'm a Natural Born Killer," I grinned at the three of them.

"Males are arrogant and take things for granted. They are sloppy," Constanza sneered.

"It never fails to surprise me that you don't accept that your ancestors were some of the toughest bitches to ever walk the planet," I muttered.

"What does that mean?" Constanza growled.

"Warriors so tough they are remembered thousands of years later and your founders escaped with their lives -- as opposed to all those Trojans, Hittites and Lydians who ended up decorating graves with their bones," I glared back. "What I mean is -- why does me having a weapon really bother you? I'm am totally out-numbered, out-classed and out-gunned."

"I don't want to die. I'm definitely not suicidal. I'll even take bullets, arrows and blades for you people," I snarled. "Quite frankly, all of this paranoia is really starting to get on my nerves, so fucking CUT IT OUT!"

"You do not tell us what to do," Constanza ground out. She'd grabbed my chin with one hand.

"I'll keep that in mind next time an Amazon's life is in danger and a simply warning from me could save their life. Be assured I'll put your directive down for the reason they croaked," I countered.

"If it was up to me, you would be killed for your insolence," she growled.

"Does it ever occur to you it is the other way around?" I touched her wrist.

"What?" Constanza was both irate and uncertain.

"You are where you are because you have a habit of making poor decision on a strategic level," I explained. Apparently I wanted to die.

"Why does anyone like you?" Constanza muttered.

"Like me? Most people who know me, hate me -- like you. The difference is they get to know me first then they hate me. You haven't gotten the full Cáel experience yet. You hate me on a purely generic level. Real hate comes from knowing me," I grinned.

Like so much that comes from my lips, that was a lie. To be truthful, most of the women I had wronged over the past four years forgave me -- eventually. Most of them figured out that I hadn't cheated on them -- I cheated on EVERY girl I was with, but one -- my mentor. She was the one who tossed me out among the female population in the first place.

Some ladies did hold a grudge. There is one chick who burns me in effigy every year on the date of our break up. I should have known better. It was my freshman year and she was a Psychology teaching assistant. Most psych majors are wacko -- more wacko than most pissed of women, I have learned from experience. I'll still date them. I also take more care about what I eat and drink around them too.

"I'm glad to know you will be gone soon," she seethed then removed her hand from my chin.

"Constanza, you really need to stop trusting me so much," I chuckled.

"I don't trust you at all," she countered.

"But you are taking my word for it that women hate me," I snickered. 

"More importantly, you are ignoring the facts. The majority of the women at Havenstone who like me, do so for reasons totally devoid of any intimacy. We both know I can be a jerk. I'm being a jerk right now -- to you. What separates us is that I have no doubt that if you were in danger, I would come to your aid. That is the kind of person I am," I related calmly.

"That would never happen," Constanza insisted.

"I don't care what you think," I shot back. "I don't make decisions based on your whimsy. I follow my leadership. I know I'm loyal. Now, can we please get back to the reason we are all here?"

The scoring indicated that I was so lucky that girl came at me with the poker. I missed six shots out of 45, which I thought was awesome. I even managed to badly tear up the chests of the front and left targets. The target on the right was still 'dead', but he could be buried in a tuxedo. I had one head shot -- it wasn't on purpose.

We went back to the gun room, reloaded my Glock, a .38 Colt and a Mossberg shotgun. One guard went with me while Constanza and the second guard scored my first round. Back in the firing lane, I lost all firearms ability what so ever. I was saved by three shooters who volunteered to help. See how easy that was? They helped me with my stances, reload techniques and argued the merits of hip holster, ankle holsters and shoulder holsters.

To reciprocate their hospitality, I stripped off my annoying jacket, tie, shirt and undershirt. We got into a discussion of spent rounds bouncing around and maybe scaring the shooter. For the Amazons, it was training to ignore painful distractions. I stopped -- leveled by an epic brainstorm -- and fired off an order to Executive Services -- care of Daphne.

"What are you doing?" one of the new lethality-engines asked, somewhat piqued.

"Oh, I have to celebrate Fabiola's resurrection -- Hayden's orders -- and that is going to require supernatural aids," I replied. I was back on track in their eyes. 

"What was it like to feel the strength of the Ancestors flow through you?" the second one whispered. This Ancestors and Goddess crap -- mysticism was real to them. I've never claimed to be a deity though I've insinuated that I was the blood descendant of the Goddess Ishtar -- reference the Wiccan Priestess -- and her circle of naked female celebrants.

The answer, not a total lie, was pure Amazon.

"I didn't feel anything," I could sense their disappointment. "You know, all I felt was the spear and nothing else. Absolutely nothing else mattered. All other burdens and pains were lifted from me so I could devote myself entirely to the task at hand -- hold the spear aloft."

They ate it up because the 'stillness' was at their core of martial mystique. Bushido had it too except they called it 'No Mind', or something like that. To be honest, I had come by that state of being through sex. My focus narrowed down to my partner and all of her actions and reactions. For a lowly male, like me, to possess that quality must have been divine intervention.

"You did a wonderful thing; channeling the Ancestors that way," the third stated. "Oneida is precious to the Host."

"I beg to differ," I regarded her with a quirky smirk. "Every life is precious. When you start weighing a person's life before you chose to save it, you have lost much more than that split second -- you have lost a piece of your soul."

Oh look. I was lecturing them and they didn't like it.

"Try looking at it from my viewpoint for a second," I knew they couldn't. "I'm a lowly male caught up in your fiendish experiment. I don't know who any of you are beyond the reality that you would casually harm, or even kill me for any number of reasons."

"You clearly think I should cower and cow-tow to your whims and wishes," I took in their negative reactions. "I'm not. That's not me. Instead, I'm going to run errands, learn to fight, laugh, play and have a great time. If it matters -- I know it doesn't to you -- I am Cáel Nyilas, son of Ferko, son of Árpád of the Magyar. 'Where there is Valor, there is Hope'," I added.

That wasn't my family motto. We were from poor, immigrant stock. My grandparents spoke Hungarian. I knew a little of it, just not enough to be considered fluent. I knew some Vlach (Romanian) too. When your neighbors are screaming insults at you, it pays to know exactly what they are saying. Again, I'm not fluent in Vlach, but I could get in a bar fight over what I did know.

"Your lineage is inconsequential," Constanza snapped. She'd come back -- yippee!

"How did I do, Jefe?" I beamed happiness her way.

"I hate you," she said through clenched teeth. I must have done better than I thought.

"Well, that's good. Maybe, under your instruction, I'll almost be a match for the other fine ladies down here one day in the distant future," I nodded happily.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 12



"That your heart still beats is an insult to everything I stand for," Constanza spat.

"I'm cool with that in the same way I'm cool ignoring this whole 'blood prestige' thing. You gals aren't respecting mine and you certainly aren't explaining your rules to me, so I'm opting out of this whole 'my old lady was better at dodging arrows than yours'."

"You should not insult us this way," my closet, newest gun-buddy cautioned me.

"I agree. Do you even know who the Magyar are?" I inquired.

"No," she shrugged.

"Go find out and then we can talk," I grinned. "Until then, you are disrespecting the aim of a sniper you don't even know exists yet is stalking you."

As they were struggling to figure that out, I groaned.

"You are insulting my people without knowledge of who they are. You are asking me to show respect to your people without explaining to me why. I'm sure they were wonderful, fucking women, but I don't know anything about them," I related.

"If you want blind obedience, go have fun with sterility," I smirked. "I've got better and more far-sighted women I'd rather be with."

"Most likely you will be milked of your seed, joined with our eggs thus creating the next generation of the host," the third girl got all riled-up. Sex.

"Man," I laughed. "Am I the only one here to have figured out that I, and the other new male hires, aren't the only ones being tested? Really? Come on. If Katrina wanted to train me to use a gun, she could have sent me with Desiree to a private gun range and handled this stuff off-site. No. She had to put me here -- with all of you."

All those smug, superior, horny chicks just realized they'd taken a philosophical snap-kick to the cranium. Tested? Amazons were tested all the fucking time. It was their culture to keep them fit, firm and alert. Best of all, the male had to be the one to bring this to their attention. I wrapped my arm around the waist of the closest Amazon and pulled her groin to my hip.

"That's okay though. I'm in this for all of you," I murmured while looking deep into her eyes -- as if we were the only two people in the world. "With your aid, I think we can do this -- make it work. Don't you?" She nodded. It was like shooting fish in a barrel. Shotguns, pistol-grip shotguns and an MP-5 joined my list of weapons I knew the basics of afterwards.

Once more, I was rendered even more attractive by the fact that I could hit a man-sized target at 6 meters with a gun I had only then picked up. I had been joking about the whole 'natural born killer' comeback. I wasn't convinced that my ancestor's ability to fight all their neighbors, sometimes all at the same time, made me kick-ass.

Frankly, my people had lost wars to every European empire of the middle ages and modern times. You just couldn't keep us down. Maybe resistance was genetically based. That was crazy talk...but Grandpa was a tough SOB, as was my Dad, now that I thought about it. Gramps Old Man died fighting the Russians in WWII, which was why he fled his homeland as a child.

Mom's people -- they were Irish -- the Irish, when not fighting for their own homeland, were fighting for some else's. Mom didn't get the time to teach me much, but I do recall this:

The greatest lie the Irish ever tell is that they only hate the English. The Irish hate anyone they can get their hands on, even other Irish. If you don't believe that, look at every ethnic neighborhood in the US that border an Irish enclave. They fight with them all. 

I got my twisted sense of humor from my Mom. I miss her so. Knowing Mom, she wouldn't be ashamed of my infidelities. She'd probably say 'he's test-driving until he finds the one that can keep him in line'. I hoped she wouldn't be ashamed of me. My time was up. I had to go to Katrina's office. Constanza banished me with a grumpy face and a dismissive wave of the hand.

The chick I had put on my hip volunteered/elbowed her way to showing me out. My ID card wouldn't open any stairwell, or elevator. She felt comfortable walking around in her underwear, plus a shoulder holstered 10 mm. Ten steps out, from her left, I snaked my hand around her back to her right hip. She looked to me and smiled. 

"Can you give me some advice?" I inquired.

"I'll try," she hedged.

"Well, you are clearly in excellent physical condition. I've been trying to put together a regimen that will get my left thigh in shape," I started. She nodded.

"I've a quadriceps exercise in mind, but I'm unsure about one for the gluts," I mused. She looked uncertain. I moved my hand off her hip, over to her left hand then placed her hand force on my left buttock. We were now really close. "I'm afraid of losing my muscle tone. Can you help?"

"Ummm..." she hesitated. "I could think of a few things." She worked herself up to giving my ass a good squeeze. This was not the first male butt she'd handled yet it was most likely the firmest and most sexually promising one she'd felt. Promising something she couldn't quite envision but felt deep within her loins.

She dispensed advice. I nodded appreciatively. When I asked for some kind of confirmation, she kindly put my hand on her ass which I promptly began squeezing. Like shooting fish in a barrel. We were comparing stomach and shoulder techniques on the elevator. Her name was Naomi and she was with the Security Detail and a member of House Rajah -- ally of House Arinniti. Sweet!

Like clockwork, Brielle and her buddy joined me in the elevator on the ground floor. They had to know somebody to track me this well. Me shirtless with an Amazon in her undies. It must be Monday morning.

"This is new," Brielle commented. "Good morning, Naomi. Forget something?"

"I'm on the job," Naomi retorted. It was the whole 'going without clothes' thing.

"Are you protecting a bare-chested Cáel from us, or us from a bare-chested Cáel?" her companion joked. Naomi's mouth opened then shut.

"I cannot talk about it. Neither one of us can," Naomi declared with authority.

"That's right, Ladies," I nodded. "What happens in the laundry room, stays in the laundry room." All those who felt I'd gone to the laundry room, raise your hands. No takers.

"I smell gunpowder residue," Brielle commented after she took a close whiff.

"The Dominicans, Latin Kings, and the Redneck Posse have all started fighting over that little block of paradise I call home," I sighed regretfully. Silence.

"Redneck Posse? That's not one I've heard of before," Naomi commented. Here we go!

"Oh yeah," I looked contemplative. "Ten years ago, several linguists studying Appalachian dialects paid for some native speakers to come to the city to help in their research. The hillbillies got paid, got jobs and brought their families down."

"When the grant money for the study ran out, the bumpkins had to find another way to support their kin that their minimum wage jobs couldn't providing. Enter the Redneck Posse. Guns, meth, moonshine -- they do it all. They are kind of like Afghan tribesmen except instead of being half a world away by sea, or air, they are a four, or five, hour drive down the interstate," I concluded.

The three women exchanged confused looks. The doors opened on my floor.

"Oh my Goddess!" Brielle exclaimed. "That's almost possible to believe." I winked and left.

"You mean that was a lie too?" Naomi gasped. The doors shut on that conversation as I swept through the office.

I had 90 seconds to spare. Only Dora wasn't here yet, but there was a pile of boxes on my desk. They were all looking at me as if I'd just stepped out of a pool, or a French cologne commercial. I set my clothing and valise on my tiny, now over-stacked, desk then joined the line-up.

"Good morning Cáel," Katrina looked me up and down.

"I certainly hope it will be. Good morning to you too, Katrina," I beamed. Pause.

"Forgetting something?" Katrina prodded. I sniffed the air. I didn't sense it.

"Yes Ma'am, Katrina. I'm missing one thing. I hope it gets here soon," I confirmed. Pause.

"Very well, let's get started," Katrina began. Fabiola lost it.

"What! He doesn't have a shirt, tie, or jacket on. As far as we know, he's not even wearing underwear," she screeched.

"Cáel, is your attire, or lack thereof, necessary for the performance of your duties?" Katrina politely inquired.

"Yes it is Katrina," I nodded.

"Very well..." Katrina started over.

"What possible reason could you have for being half dressed," Fabiola ranted. "Are you going to cover yourself with oil and slither down the stairs like the snake you are?" 

No one said anything for a while. The rest of the 'new hires' were coming around to the fact that Katrina and I were mocking Fabiola. Otherwise, Katrina would have shut her down. I held up my hand.

"Yes Cáel," Katrina acknowledged me, "despite the meeting having already begun and not being directly addressed by me, you may speak." Slap!

"Fabiola, I find your desire to see me oiled up a bit perplexing," I grinned in her direction. "I would like to point out, despite the evidence you have presented today, I am not an idiot and our boss -- Katrina -- is not a fool. Hate me to your heart's content, but don't insult Katrina by thinking she doesn't already know what I'm up to."

"She does not explain herself to me, or you, and I'm pretty sure even Hayden gets an edited view of what goes on here in Executive Services. I don't know and I don't care. That's not in my job description and I'm already way out of bounds as it is," I said. "For your sake and your sake alone, I will tell you why I'm am dressed the way I am today."

"It is part of your ritual apology," Violet blurted. "It's obvious. This has to do with what Hayden told him to do." That wasn't truly fair to Fabiola. The rest of the ladies had been rushing around getting the items I decided I needed for my public apology. Dora came bolting in right then.

"I'm sorry I'm late, Katrina," she panted. "Did I miss anything?"

"No," Katrina returned events to their proper order. "First off, for today, I'll start with Cáel's work review for Friday. I never thought I would say this about his on-the-clock performance. Cáel, your work output on Friday was stellar. There, I said it. Next..."

That would have been a far greater treasure had that been my work report instead of Aya's. Everyone else did well, save Tigger. She had forgotten a security sequence and had half a floor locked down for 15 minutes. At the conclusion, Buffy came in, slammed a flimsy, but aromatic, box into my chest then stormed away.

"Cáel?" Katrina questioned.

"Yes. Thank you," I then turned to Fabiola. "Do you wish to have the ceremony here, or out on the main floor of Executive Services?"

"I -- what are you going to do?" Fabiola grew suspicious. "This is a trick to make me look foolish again."

"Fabiola, it is Hayden's wish you hear him out," Paula spoke. "He's troublesome, not stupid. I don't think he's stupid enough to defy Hayden on this."

"Swear to me you are not going to make me look bad," Fabiola stared at me.

"What do I possess that you believe is valuable?" I countered. She had to think about that. 

It couldn't be Aya. Fabiola was stumped. She had been so busy looking down her fine Roman nose at me, she had neglected to notice everything I had done and said.

"Your mentor," Daphne offered.

"She has forbidden me to see her again, but thank you," I winked at Daphne.

A quick list of less than helpful suggestions followed. It turned out the only thing I valued was my freedom and I couldn't give that up to Fabiola because that decision lay with Katrina. I would rather defy Hayden than give up sex, I lied continuously for little, or no reason. Fabiola wasn't looking for Lent, she wanted something concrete. It simply didn't exist.

Out we went with a very distraught Fabiola and me with a bunch of small boxes. I didn't worry about expensing all this crap. I wasn't spending my own money anyway. I had Fabiola stand in the largest open area ES had. Even people who only had business on this floor were joining the growing body of my co-workers here to witness the spectacle.

Three small brass bowels and one small oil lamp went to the four compass points -- I even had a compass. I put sand in one, water in another and dry ice in the third. I lit the lamp. 

"This symbols me calling the four corners of Terra to bear witness: Earth, Air, Fire and Water," I explained. Next I wrote down Fabiola's name on a slip of paper in Old Kingdom Hittite. 

I burned it. Fabiola frowned. She was the only one. I dropped the ashes into a glass of water.

"With this, I take back my curse. I swallow it, thus swallowing my words," I explained to Fabiola. I drank the whole thing. That accomplished, I pulled a small silver owl out of an unopened box to a series of murmurs. "This is a gift to your house. Minerva (the Roman Athena) is your patron Goddess. I do honor to her for bringing you back." I handed her the owl.

Her expression told me she was still waiting for the trap to be sprung on her. I wrote out my name, in Magyar then held it up to Fabiola.

"This is my name, Cáel Nyilas, in my native tongue," I told her. I burned it, ground up the ashes with my fingers. With a little bit of coordinated effort, I drew the word 'forgiveness' in OKH over my heart.

The last box. It was Dobos Tortas, a sweet treat from my native land -- Hungary, not Chicago.

"Please accept this gift as a symbol of my apology and my desire to seek your forgiveness," I looked into Fabiola's eyes. The weight came crushing down on her. Virtually all the women around her wanted me to be forgiven.

Not because they hated her. Most barely knew her -- or me. It was the ceremony. Simple, relatively quick yet individualized by the giving of gifts designed for each participant. Deep in her twisted little soul, Fabiola still expected a trap, trick, or joke at her expense. She probably thought the 'cookies' were poisoned.

"I forgive you," Fabiola stated. She put her hand on my shoulder. "Share a treat with me." I even let her pick out the one to stick in my mouth. Maybe she thought I had the antidote, or maybe she decided I was on the up-and-up. The crowd of Amazons made happy, communal noises and we all parted as friends...okay, friends and their dancing bear -- me.

Katrina snuck up on me as a handful of woman thanked me for the insightful ceremony. I told them they were welcome while neglecting to inform them that I made all of that up. Part of it was Wiccan. Part was some 1960's Italian movie I'd seen. A few things I pulled out of my ass, like normal.

"Put on your clothes," Katrina handed me my things. "You did well. I am sure Hayden will be equally pleased."

"No problem," I looked at her appreciatively. I felt a cerebral connection evolving between us.

"Put on your shirt before I start licking your nipples," Katrina demanded. Damn it.

Wait, things got better. As I looked away from Katrina and started getting dressed, Buffy appeared before me. I bet I could have melted an ice cap with the head of steam she'd built up.

"Do you like dressing as a male stripper? Do you like women drooling all over you?" Buffy sizzled.

"No -- yes," I responded.

"I hate you," she snapped.

"I admire the fact that you can pull off the lead in Madame Butterfly," I bantered back.

"Let's get to work," Buffy growled. Off we went.

(Elsa Round Three)

"Hello Stanica," Buffy greeted the SD guard at the gym facility door. That was new. Normally it was a card-swipe and in you went. Buffy and I were dressed for a workout -- per orders.

"Full-bloods only," Stanica stopped Buffy. Ah, racism was raising its ugly head.

"How am I supposed to get in?" I countered. This appointment was in our queue for 11 a.m.

"You have been summoned," Stanica clarified.

"Cool...I'll be back in 70 days. Good job Chuckles," I grinned.

"You have been summoned," she threatened with a great deal more menace.

"He works for me today," Buffy yawned. "That means he goes where I go. Cáel doesn't have a queue today, I do. He's my intern. If you won't let me in, then he doesn't go in. Let's go Cáel." 

Stanica grabbed my arm.

"He goes in. You stay," she insisted.

"Cáel -- resist," Buffy ordered. To Stanica, "Knock yourself out." Stanica briefly tried to move me. Then she went for some kind of control-hold/lock. Brazilian jujitsu, Baby.

It is not some kind of 'super' martial art. As far as I knew, none of them were. If you were trying to break, or establish physical control over another person, it was pretty spectacular though. Along with the Amazon 'house' style, she knew something akin to Krav Maga. Stanica was hampered by her unwillingness to do me serious harm, as was I toward her.

The difference was, all I had to do was stay in the hallway, while Stanica had to get me through the doors. The stalemate was broken by two fresh full-bloods coming from the changing room to the facilities.

"Sisters, assist me," Stanica called out. "Help me wrestle him to the ground without undo damage." They came forward and jumped me.

"Are you on official Havenstone business?" Buffy politely inquired as they dog piled on me.

"Shut up," Stanica yelled.

"Failing to adequately explain the situation," Buffy quick drew her pistol and pressed it to the temple of one of the two new Amazons, "informs me you are willingly interfering in official Executive Services business."

"By all means, give me an excuse to file an incident report," Buffy grinned feral.

"Do it and you die, 'Lost Blood' (OKH)," the threatened woman responded.

"Boss, may I suggest an alternative?" I ground up. They had me pressed down in the hall.

"I'm willing to accept you were hired for your intelligence," Buffy allowed.

"Trust me. I got this," I snickered. Buffy didn't trust me, yet she knew my tone well. Buffy holstered her weapon and stood back.

"This isn't over, Buffy," the Amazon she'd pulled down on snapped.

"Go for it," Buffy chuckled. "You are running off with Katrina's male. I was trying to assert her rights and you have defied her. I gleefully await her judgment."

The woman snarled then grunted as my three captures pulled me up. Buffy was on her phone, typing away a text when the women realized my feet weren't planted under me. I started to topple over.

"Stand up, damn you," Stanica demanded. I looked to Buffy for confirmation of that order. She smiled while indicating nothing.

"Stand up," the third Amazon insisted. She backed that up with a jab to my left kidney. Damn, this place was hellishly unlucky for the left side of my body. That did not encourage me to stand.

"Fine, we'll drag him in," Stanica changed up. I didn't resist one bit. I acted like dead weight.

This scene was made all the more precious by the audience Elsa had gathered for whatever exhibition she had planned for me. The whole sparring area was surrounded by Amazons clearly waiting on me. Most were cross-legged though a few knelt behind the first rank. I could see Elsa, spear in hand, watching those three lugging me in from her position in the Southwest corner of the mats.

"What's wrong with him?" Elsa inquired calmly.

"He is afraid," Stanica answered. I would have replied, but I knew silence would be far more cutting. See -- everyone expect me to have a comeback. My quiet unsettled them. The three unceremoniously dumped me next to the Northeast corner. I lay there.

I had noticed two axes about a meter in on the mat. I pulled myself into a position where my butt was resting on my heels.

"My Sisters," Elsa began. "There has been some interest in Cáel's two-axe style as well as various theories on how to defeat it. Today, I will display the long spear technique's ability to overcome this problem."

"Cáel, pick up the axes and prepare yourself. I will wait until you indicate your readiness," Elsa nodded my way. Very friendly. I looked around a bit, rather bored. "Cáel?" she repeated. I looked at Elsa.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 12



"Oh, were you under some delusion that you could tell me what to do, Elsa?" I replied. There was a hush for so many reasons. Elsa being denied, a man denying anything to any of them, and my cavalier, even dismissive attitude toward the Full-blooded assembly.

"Under what delusion do you think you can safely defy me?" Elsa smiled shark-like.

"Hmmm," I mused, "let me think. You are not Hayden, Katrina, or Buffy -- my chain of command. You are not Aya, who I love. You are not acting in my best interest as it relates to Havenstone. Yeah, that should about cover it."

"I am a woman of Havenstone and I am giving you, a male, an order. There is no acceptable reason to disobey," Elsa countered.

"You are incorrect," I began. The ladies around me didn't like that. "I cannot betray my Amazons. You do not possess the power to force me to disappoint them."

"Your Amazons?" A chocolate Amazon with a shaved pate jumped up. "We are not 'yours', filth."

"Were you born stupid, or has education made you that way?" I spat back. An ass-whooping was in the offing.

"If you came at Hayden, or Katrina, do you think I'd sit idly by and let them fight alone?" I kept at it, though I remained kneeling. "If you threaten any member of Executive Services, or House Epona, make peace with your Ancestors because I will fight, bleed and die for MY Amazons. I've already proved that oath. Your opinion on the matter is less than rat-piss to me."

I'm sure arrogance has a use. I haven't found one yet, but I don't ignore the possibility. Chocolate chick grabbed for my hair, ready to slit my throat the moment she tilted my head back. This would have been appropriate if I was one of their old male population. Only total arrogance had kept her from actually listening to the words of defiance coming out of my mouth.

I caught her hand, flipped her over and drove the top of her skull into the mat. That shoots a numbing jolt right up the spine, I can tell you from experience. I snatched the knife from her helpless fingers as she finished flipping over, her head closest to me then pressed the blade to her jugular.

"Not a single person in this room matters to me. The only person that should matter to you, is me," I stated calmly and quietly. "That being the case, chose your next words carefully and with due consideration of everything I've said before this moment." I was going to die if I killed her. That wouldn't save her life from her own, small, razor-sharp blade.

Almost a minute passed.

"Cáel, give me my blade," she replied in a rather brave voice. I pulled my hand up, spun the blade around and pressed it into her palm. She slowly sat up and swiveled around until we were face to face, her cross-legged and me, back to my kneeling pose. Her eyes were ice cold.

"I was never in any danger, was I?" the woman half-asked, half stated.

"Of course not. I would never shame Katrina that way. I'd kill for her. Killing an Amazon to save my own life would not be something she'd allow," I explained as much to the room as the woman.

"Don't lie," another Amazon teased me -- thankfully. It was Traska Maza -- from the Medical Center. "I heard you murdered an Amazon on Friday -- end of business."

"Yep," I confessed. "Hayden has admonished me from repeating that method of assassination. I swear that if Fabiola keeps calling 'Runners' 'Lost Bloods', I'm going to figure out another way to get her."

"The term 'Lost Blood' is the term we use. Accept it, Male," Stanica growled. I had to think about that. I stood up, so I had a good view of the SD bitch. I also had to work up the proper insult. Anything I directed at Stanica would be useless. I knew their weakness though.

"Hey," I addressed my African opponent.

"Stanica's mother mated with her own paternal male to give birth to Stanica. I read it in an inner-office e-mail." Total lie, but the 'lie' wasn't mine. It was from an unnamed Amazon and it insulted her bloodline, something she truly valued. I glared at Stanica. "That is why it is insulting. In a blood-conscious culture, you are rubbing their noses in a fact beyond their control."

"I agree," Oneida spoke up. "'Lost Bloods' is insulting. I had never questioned that before. 'Runners is a better term. I will ask my house to use it from now on."

"That's not going to save him," Stanica seethed.

"Do you want to know where the memo came from?" I inquired of Stanica.

"There is no memo," Stanica snapped. I shrugged.

"Why would I make it up? Such a deadly insult?" I pressed the point. Oh, I had made it up because I hate bigotry, especially when it is aimed at someone who was almost a friend.

"Who?" she glared.

"I don't know, but I know who does," I offered. "She's right outside that door," I pointed to the main entrance. Now, do people recall that divide I was talking about way back in Chapter Two? It worked both ways. Full-bloods were aware of the oppression they exerted on their 'Lost Blood/Runner' sisters. Creeping around in the back of some of their minds was the worry that those newcomers resented their superiors.

Had the two groups been truly united, Stanica wouldn't have given my bluff a second glance. Here was the backlash of being a bigot -- the idea that those you hated, hating you right back. In short order, Buffy was by my side and listening to Stanica's grievance. Finally we were speaking English again.

"Man, Desiree is going to be so sorry she missed this," Buffy looked down at me. 

I was kneeling again so she was able to appear lofty and run her hand through my hair the way she liked to do when she was extra horny for me. I also liked the way her boobs nearly obscured her face from my view. Very nice tits.

"Stanica, he lied to you," Buffy revealed.

"I knew it! Stand aside, I'm going to gut the little shit," Stanica started to come at me.

"No you don't," Buffy interposed herself. "See, Cáel was following his instructions and he used your idiocy against you, Dumbass," she gloated to Stanica. "He was ordered to serve at my side today, so that is what he did. Who in the right mind would commit anything about blood prestige to an office e-mail anyway? It wasn't even up to his normally superb level of deception."

"Then he should be punished for lying to me," Stanica seethed.

"I told him to," Buffy wasn't even lying. She'd approved my plan the moment she agreed to 'trust me'.

"When?" Elsa requested. She was coming our way. Buffy looked over her shoulder.

"Funny, you don't look like Katrina, Elsa," Buffy guffawed. "Make an official request through the proper channels. You don't get to tell me what to do."

"Do we need to clarify our positions?" Elsa menaced. I jumped up and took up a boxing stance. With Stanica on one side, Elsa on the other and the preference of Amazons to gang up on opponents, I had to have her back.

"Kneel," Buffy tapped my shoulder. I knelt. "Honestly Elsa, Cáel fucked me so hard and long this weekend that even your pettiness doesn't annoy me today. Now, why are we here?"

"He's not allowed to have sex," Traska seemed a bit distressed. Me having sex outside the office had never occurred to her apparently.

"Strangely, I have all of you to thank for that," Buffy smugly regarded the room. "While you let Constanza and Crewe ambush him then sat back uselessly while he kicked both their asses, gazed on as he refused to take advantage of Constanza once she was clearly incapable of resisting and let her put a blade to his throat, he found a way to legally sleep with me."

"Afraid? With a blade to his throat, he couldn't care less about any of you," Buffy regaled them. "Oh, we know you don't care what he thinks -- or what I think. Well, welcome to the world you've created. I don't care what you think. Blood Prestige? I'll only give as much respect as I'm given. I am embarrassed I ever thought any of you were better than me." 

"My prestige is that I volunteered for this lifestyle. I made a choice that no one else in this room ever had the courage to make -- to abandon my old life for another, unknown one. From here on out, I'm going to be like Cáel. One of you bitches puts a hand on me, be ready to back it up," Buffy challenged them. Not the best move as far as I could tell.

"Be prepared to be put in your place," Elsa grinned.

"Go right ahead. Don't get too worked up. There are around a hundred of my fellow -- 'Runners' at the door," Buffy smirked.

"It is best to end this rebellion right now," the chocolate opponent stood up.

"Over what?" I looked up. I hated Buffy making me kneel. "The 'Runners' are doing the exact same tasks you are doing. They want to be awarded respect for that."

"This is not your place," the woman stated to me. As an afterthought. "Ngozi."

"Thank you," I acknowledged her consideration of giving me her name.

"Ha," Buffy snorted. "Oh...rebellion? Let's just say when we realized that '****' meant Lost Bloods, we were -- unhappy. All this weekend, this petty insult had been spreading out to all our non-Full-blood sisters. Actually, we have come up with two alternatives. One was to approach Hayden with our grievance."

"The other was to start calling the rest of you '****' (which meant 'Poison Bloods')," Buffy stared down the festering crowd. "After all, we are all fertile and the few children we have been allowed to have are born without defect." Amazons don't threaten often. Normally they simply go straight to the punishment. I was somewhat of an exception for reasons that somehow alluded me.

I tried to stand again, but Buffy pushed me back down. Pain was imminent then the muttering began. Around us, small clumps of Full-bloods began pushing for space. That could only mean they were getting ready to fight and since they weren't close to us, they were getting ready to fight their own sisters. 

I doubted they were enamored with me, or the 'Runner' cause. This was a common sense reaction. They recognized a no-win contest when they saw it. 'Runners' were demanding respect -- same recognition for taking the same risks. They weren't even asking for admission into the 'Host' -- the true Amazons and their House structure.

The tipping points in this protest had been Fabiola and the loyalist opposition led by Helena, the only 'Runner' close enough to my struggle Friday afternoon that could have started it. Remember, the Old Kingdom Hittite language was a closely guarded secret. So secret that Buffy, despite her years of loyal service, hadn't been taught it.

There had been decades of small slights that led to this. It wasn't me, except for the definition thing. Fabiola was hardly an aberration. The other female 'new hires' were more the exception than the rule. That was probably why Katrina had chosen them. In her profession -- internal and external security -- creative thinking and flexibility were as important as blood lines.

"Excuse me," a soft voice penetrated the chaos. The noise died down. Tessa Carmichael moved through the crowd to the mat. "Oh, by the Seven Sister Goddesses, of course Cáel Nyilas is here." Then, in English, "Buffy, pardon me but I think this needs my attention." See, a good ass-reaming is done in a target's native language. Tessa went back to Old Kingdom Hittite.

"Why are there a 150 sisters outside in the hall milling around?" Tessa began. She held up her hand to truncate the various responses. "Why does it look like you are all preparing for a general melee? Lastly, why are Buffy and Cáel even here? You would think that after his last episode, he'd be avoiding this place."

"The 'Lost Bloods' outside are part of a rebellion of their kind, a few of our sisters don't appreciate the threat this poses and...Cáel is here because Elsa invited him here," Ngozi explained. "I'm not exactly sure why Buffy is here?"

"Cáel, have you inflicted this building with a histrionic-inducing vapor?" Tessa looked at me with exasperation.

I blinked. I had to recall what 'histrionic' meant then I knew what to do. I held up my hand in front of my face, exhaling into it to see if something was 'bad' with my breath. Next, I sniffed my underarms. Lastly, I peeked down my tight shorts to make sure that wasn't the cause.

"Nope," I reassured Tessa, "I'm good. I mean, I've been good...this time."

"Will miracles never cease," Tessa muttered. The comedy was bleeding the tension and hostility from the room. "Let me try this again. Since top down doesn't work, let's start in the dirt beneath the basement. Cáel, what is going on?"

"Okay...give me a second to make this sound reasonable and convincing," I furrowed my brow.

"For starters, Buffy and me were working the queue which currently indicated that I was to come here and participate with Elsa in a weapons exhibition," I began. "Buffy became confused by the flickering ceiling lights so I persevered alone. While we waited, Elsa and I engaged in a discussion of corporate etiquette."

"The conversation migrated into matters of close combat techniques and mat thickness, which Ngozi assisted with. Clearly satisfied that we were all becoming fast friends, the discussion traveled to Old Kingdom Hittite terminology, background and the ambiguity of some definitions," I continued my literary conjurations.

"Buffy discovered she hadn't made me her bitch in the past ten minutes, so hunted me down to this place," I grinned at Buffy. "Since Buffy was hankering for a bit of cuddle time, we were wrapping up the matter of 'Lost Bloods' only being used by total Prom Queen Wannabes while 'Runners' was growing in popularity because it was a word actually used at your people's genesis."

Pause.

"Was any bit of that the truth?" Tessa looked to Elsa and Ngozi.

"No," they both responded.

"But, it makes the mess that happened sound far better than the reality," Ngozi added.

"That I will agree with," Elsa said.

"Buffy," Tessa addressed my boss in English, "the Council will discuss this matter of terminology at the next meeting. Have our sisters outside disperse."

"Yes Tessa," Buffy nodded then weaved her way to the entrance.

Tessa walked up, patted me on the head as she shook hers.

"We really should poison, strangle, stab, shoot and finally throw you off the highest available peak," she smiled warmly at me -- psycho.

"If you added 'rolling me in a carpet and tossing me in a frozen river' we could call it 'pulling a Rasputin," I grinned back.

"I love you," she looked all affectionate. I wanted to cry on the inside -- and the outside.

"Damn! Now you tell me," I grumbled. "I sent away for a mail-order bride from the Ukraine on Sunday and you know there is no money-back guarantee."

"You are enchanting," she chuckled. I wanted to die. "You'll get used to us, I promise."

Yes, the head of Human Resources could read my mind.

"Tessa, before I get back to Elsa demolishing me, can I ask you something?" I inquired.

"Yes."

"During that last interview process, you were seriously throwing out the 'let's do it on the table' vibe, weren't you?" I posed.

"Very much so," she beamed utter joy. "I was truly impressed that, with your history with woman, you constrained yourself."

"If I had come on to you, would I have lost this job opportunity?" I asked.

"Oh Goddess no," Tessa laughed. "Someday I should let you read the sheaves and sheaves of transcripts our investigators gathered on your sexual exploits."

"That's why you've never encountered anyone from Human Resources in the building. They are forbidden to be alone, or only in the company of other Human Resources employees, with you out of fear they'd rape you," Tessa informed me.

"Is he really that good?" Traska asked.

"His college years don't read as an XXX rated movie -- they read as top shelf erotic fiction," Tessa enlightened the masses. "Oh, Cáel, the nun hopes you're are still seeking spiritual fulfillment."

"Cool. How is she doing?" I responded.

"She's in Uganda, working at a Catholic school for war orphans," Tessa answered.

"You slept with a nun?" Oneida gulped.

"Oneida, if there was no intern program, and this wasn't an Evil Empire, I'd never leave this place. I'd move my bed into a spare room, set up a mini-bar and spend every second off the clock seducing each and every one of you," I stated.

Even the ones who didn't terribly like me chuckled, snorted, or laughed.

"To answer your question: sort of Oneida. I slept with a woman who was about to take Holy Vows, not truly a nun," I confessed. "I've slept with a Wiccan Priestess too, if that matters."

"Why do you think you can treat us like those lesser women?" Ngozi looked angry.

"You have tits, a vagina, are straight, or bisexual, and between the ages of 18 to 70," I shot right back. "I have no desire to sleep with men, or lesbians. Outside of that, given somewhere between five minutes and five days, I could nail every women in this room. It is not that I'm better than any of you."

"I can do it because you all are hopelessly arrogant, thus unable to put forth an effective defense because you don't believe I can seduce you. Add to that, I can figure out what you want in an erotic encounter. End of story," I sighed. "Frankly, having lived lives devoid of romance, you Full-bloods are too easy." I could see Tessa smirking. 

Not only had I seduced all kinds of women, apparently all of them had been willing to relate those encounters. I'm a great lover and a lousy boyfriend.

"We would never submit to your predations," yet another Amazon jumped in. Sex. I told them, they are simply too easy -- except Katrina, Tessa and Hayden. They were scary. I'd still sleep with them because I had no common sense.

"Hey Lady, if you want to be on top, I'm okay with that," I smiled disarmingly. Plant the idea of erotic positions early. It can be as easy as pushing up against a girl from behind, or a hug.

"If I ever consented to have sex with you, you would do what I said," she persisted.

"That sounds like fun -- 70 more days and its Hunting Season," I winked.

I repeat, these ladies were too easy and that was because deep in their subconscious all men were bestial Neanderthals, one step above creating fire, or spineless sheep who would rather stampede like lemmings off a precipice than show an ounce of resistance (and be put down), much less any actual romantic inclinations. 

Since they were convinced sex consisted of either being raped, or your partner staring at the ceiling and wondering if he was missing the latest episode of NCIS, a tiny dose of my sensuality was the equivalent of turning their moped of a hypothalamus into a street racer. My hope was I'd live to regret it. 

They were all psychopaths and murderers after all, so death was becoming a vocational hazard. Me refraining from having as many sexual liaisons as possible wasn't realistic. I wasn't going to be willingly castrated and that was the only way out. The one benefit I could see was me working in a target-rich environment.

"Now that I have had my turn stymieing Cáel's chaotic yet well-meaning attempts to educate us in the dangers and rewards of free-ranging masculinity," Tessa regarded the assembly, "I am getting out with my victory intact. Good luck, Sisters. You'll need it." Tessa exited, order was restored and -- oh yeah, Elsa had brought me here for a sadistic love-fest, sans the sex.

"I don't know what to make of you," Elsa smiled warmly, "I don't understand you and I find you to be very interesting." Let me make this clear -- all three of those statements can be very bad, or very good. 'I don't know what to make of you' means I want to make it with you. 'I don't understand you' is 30% bad and 70% good.

When bad, it is a prelude to a break-up. What she means is 'you aren't trying to understand me', thus the end of the relationship. On the beneficial side it means 'I've totally bought into your seduction and I'm ready to screw'. Ah, 'interesting'. Two types of women find a man 'interesting' -- women who have to have you, and stalkers. 




Life as a New Hire Ch. 12



Somewhat redundant. The main difference is how they respond to the Restraining Order and how much fun the erotic side of the relationship will be. The first kind of woman has a public screaming fit if you take out a RO on her. Let them build up to an incinerating level, then fuck them -- it's so worth it.

Stalkers ignore ROs. That's okay. Now you can legally trap them. They'll do whatever you want. Not because they are afraid of you. It is an RO for God's sake -- one night in jail, maybe. No, they'll do whatever sex act you request because that's why they are stalking you in the first place; the sensual/emotional connection.

When she starts making bizarre requests of you, subtly direct her to another 'more interesting' guy. Try not to use a friend. That's kind of cold. For the next few weeks, make sure the latest victim doesn't end up as a Missing Person. After that, you've done your civic duty so you can move on guilt-free.

"Elsa, I need ten minutes to stretch first," I requested. She nodded. Off came the shirt. I retreated to a gymnastics mat and began stretching out my kinks. Five minutes in, I did one of my favorite maneuvers -- the backwards human bridge completed when your wrists touch the Achilles tendons. 

Not only does this extended your abdominal muscles, it exhibits your hard-on and suggest all kinds of pages from the Kama Sutra are, in fact, possible. My performance highlighted my musculature, flexibility and numerous scars. My left thigh still had a light bandage wrapped around it. Whatever the Amazon medics were using was working gangbusters on me.

Elsa had retreated to her end of the mat so I glided to my axes then promptly got off the mat. I didn't trust any Amazon, not even Aya and I'd let my heart be cut out if it would save her life. I got the feel for these axes, spun them around a few times then made to get back on the mat.

"Put the loops around your wrist," Elsa directed.

"Why?" I retorted. We were back to 'why are we letting a male question our orders.'

"You are not allowed to throw them," Elsa allowed. I nodded. I didn't loop them. No, I walked onto the mat, weapons held axe-head down. I walked in five steps, knelt and placed the axes on the mat by my side.

"Cáel, defend yourself," Elsa stated firmly.

"Which is it? Do I defend myself and I act in a manner allowed by axe-work, or do I accede to your demands and be automatically defeated?" I responded.

"Do you believe my spear technique is that superior to your own, made-up style?" Elsa smirked.

"I think you are cheating. Worse, I think you are being a bully. If you want this to be the 'Elsa is a Bad-Ass' show, congratulations, you've won. I'm not going to fight you. I kneel before you, weapons on the mat, acknowledging that your cheating ways have defeated me," I mocked. "Savor this magnificent victory."

"Your opinion of my martial prowess is not what is at question here today," Elsa spoke. I stood up, turned away and walked off the map, interrupting the rest of her speech. She was coming for me this time. I opened my towel, took out my phone and began texting away. "What are you doing?" Ngozi rumbled.

*Buffy -- job complete. Need to shower before next mission in queue* I hadn't hit 'send' yet.

"Please correct me if I'm wrong. This was supposed to be a weapon's exhibition. That implies a study of your opponents training and capabilities. Elsa's prowess, along with my own, are the question here to today," I insisted. "Otherwise it is a waste of time for every non-sadist here."

"Is it absolutely crucial that you throw an axe at Elsa?" Traska questioned.

"No. It is absolutely crucial that Elsa fight under the handicap that I might throw an axe," I instructed her. "It changes the range dynamic. If I can hit her from -- oh, five meters out, she has to keep close. If she has to keep close, my axes can engage her hand-to-hand."

"Since Elsa chose a long spear, throwing it is clumsy, thus reducing her options," I stated. "Any range over six meters and she can probably dodge, or deflect, my throw. So we are both range limited, as it should be for a good exhibition."

"I bow you reasoning," Elsa gave me a respectful nod of the head. Fucker -- she liked me more, not less, despite my verbal reticence.

We went to our corners. I charged first. Oh God -- Elsa was super-great at spear. Less anyone forget, the spear has not only a sharp point; it also has a 20 cm bladed surface on each side plus a sold, oak shaft for blocking, poking and smacking. Elsa swung the spear around her body in lightning quick arcs. She could fight long shaft, or short shaft, as the range dictated.

Long shaft was like fighting a dagger on a stick -- cut and thrust. Short shaft was mainly thrusting, but was good for holding me back if I got inside her 'long' guard. Elsa's advantages were life-long experience, tons of natural talent, and being quicker than me. Our staminas were evenly matched. The drain of Elsa's fluid style equaled my two-weapon use.

I had her in bulk and brawn. Elsa and I were at the top of the spectrum for our respective genders -- physically and mentally better off than the majority. This meant I had her on brute strength and reach. That was genetics talking. My only other advantage was the uniqueness of my style. Elsa hadn't faced it before, though I'm sure she'd watched Constanza and Crewe's fight with me on video.

Elsa figured out quickly that a left-handed battle axe made a poor shield. It covered far less area and took more energy and concentration for the assaulted to defend themselves. As soon as she put that bit of knowledge into her arsenal of tricks, I showed her another one. An axe is an axe, and when she slapped that spear against my guard one too many times, my right-handed axe chopped into the shaft, severing the spear blade from the rest of the spear.

This was the point where an Amazon would have pressed the attack. I was deciding to take as little of a beating as possible. I fell back, knelt and put my axes down. There was a hush.

"Elsa, do you wish to retrieve another spear?" I inquired. This was an exhibition after all. Actually, this was Elsa proving she was better than me, but she a script to stick to.

"To your starting place," Elsa commanded. "Get some water." I picked up my axes and withdrew -- backwards. Oneida had crept around to my side.

"I know what you did this morning," Oneida gave me some water to drink. "It was very clever of you to send me away for my safety. It makes me adore you even more."

I reached out with one finger and poked her nose.

"You're silly," I sighed.

"No," she giggled like a school girl. I was going to Hell for this one. "You are an 'Ash Man' reborn. I read about it." I had no clue that was and Elsa was waiting.

The rest was pre-ordained. I got a few light cuts while not leaving a mark on Elsa. I scored major points by disposing of Elsa's second spear though I lost both axes in the endeavor. She swept my feet out from under me, I rolled away from her follow up kick and quickly went to my knees, palms flat on the mat and head lowered.

Only the mentally handicapped would have thought I'd won any part of the martial contest. I'd drawn the first time. My ability to defeat Elsa with the equivalent of a staff was undecided. I had been disarmed and disarmed Elsa the second time -- technically a draw, but it wasn't. Why? Because Elsa had been trying NOT to kill me, or even injury me (too much).

I had been doing the same. If by some calamity I'd killed Elsa, I would have been lucky to fall on my own axes before the crowd butchered me. No, mine had been an amateur effort. I had missed Elsa mostly because I never got close. Elsa had to hold back from slicing me up and running me through.

Elsa walked right up to me -- I mean RIGHT up to me. She tapped my head, indicating I should look up. There was her pussy maybe 4 cm away with only her skintight shorts between us.

"As this demonstrates, we need to continue to work and update our styles," Elsa addressed the throngs. "Cáel put forth his usual exceptional effort -- for the gifted amateur that he is."

"Thank you for your attention today, my sisters," Elsa concluded. End of lesson. Traska picked up her medical kit and came my way. Oneida and a half dozen other Amazons closed in as well. Elsa didn't move a millimeter. Her fragrance wafted in my face. When Traska tried to shift me around so she could better access my wounds, Elsa stopped me with her hand on my head.

Traska found it odd for a second then they all clued in. Elsa was making a statement. This wasn't Amazonian mannerisms coming to the fore. This was throwing down a gauntlet -- Elsa's intention to win this competition -- me. Amazons were inherently competitive, being tested and testing themselves against previous achievements and each other.

Before Buffy opened her big mouth an hour ago, any contest for me had been a joke -- the whole 'hunt me down in X-number of days'. Buffy had beaten Elsa to me. You don't get to be a 3000 year old secret society by letting one setback force you to admit defeat. Noooo...Elsa was stepping up her game.

The amazing transformation that had confused the women around us was that, according to Elsa, my opinion suddenly mattered. Buffy had made a point of me finding a way to be with her. My choice. Better yet, I'd made my choice to be with her while my life was on the line. Once again, 'I laugh at death' is an incredible turn on.

Elsa hadn't changed her stance about men being armed. She was letting me train so she could summon me whenever she wanted me -- unless Katrina put her foot down. Katrina wasn't going to do that often. Elsa was a useful subordinate and Katrina finally had her test dummy -- me -- on the firing range, which she had wanted all along. Katrina is scary-smart.

You don't think so? Who kept throwing me and Buffy together knowing of the Buffy/Elsa rivalry? Who approved my sex weekend with Buffy? Who approved my firearms training once she had Elsa's endorsement? As you might recall, that was something Elsa swore she'd never do, yet here we were -- a male being trained with firearms at Havenstone.

Katrina didn't know when I'd figure out a way to sleep with Buffy, but she had faith in me that once I got to know Buffy, I'd figure something out. I'm far easier to read than the US Tax Code, or the Affordable Care Act. I liked sex with women, I liked being seen as a good guy, I liked trying to be a good guy; roughly in that order. Katrina knew that. 

I didn't particularly mind being used by her either. That was her job; to protect the security and integrity of Havenstone. Now Buffy was happy, Elsa was letting me train and by dint of my outrageous behavior, I was assisting Katrina in her plot to restore stability to the traditional Amazon bloodlines.

Traska slathered this synthetic goo over my lacerations. It stung, but it aided in the healing process and was flexible enough to barely restrict movement. I winced and 'stumbled' forward face-first into Elsa's crotch. My nose ridge pressed deep into her camel toe, certainly pushing down on her clit.

"I apologize," I said softly. I didn't move. Elsa didn't see fit to move me, even with her hand still in the hair on the top of my head.

"Finished," Traska sighed.

"Let me help you up," Oneida jumped to my aid. She helped me stand, but Elsa didn't seem to mind.

Getting out of the gym alive was easy. My heartfelt pledge to myself to never return was futile. Sweaty chicks hang out at gyms. As a kid, I played D&D. If I was a Ranger, gyms would be my favored terrain. Okay, maybe bars then gyms. Fine, rock concerts, bars then gyms. I almost made it to the locker room. Coming from the other direction -- the non-blooded gym -- was Felix.

"Hey Felix," I greeted him. Here I was with several fresh wounds and ten steamy ladies who all appeared to have a definite interest in my physique, if not my well-being. Felix was alone. That would not do, not for a man like Felix.

"What happened to you?" he asked.

"Figure-skating accident," I lied. "It seems I'm clumsy on ice." He didn't buy if for a second.

"Oh -- maybe Brooke can help patch you up tonight," he grinned. Asshole. The only flaw in his game plan was that the chicks around me didn't give a rat's ass about outsider women. They certainly weren't going to be jealous of them.

"Good idea," I nodded. "Where are my manners? This is Oneida, Elsa, Traska and...well, I can't say I've been able to catch everyone's names yet." The unknown women didn't bother introducing themselves. Why? Felix was only a male. They had no immediate need of him, so they didn't bother being civil. Felix was an Alpha's Alpha. He didn't give up that easily.

We made it to the showers. Buffy, having not worked out, waited by my locker. Mystically, Elsa appeared in the showers at the exact same time as me. Felix was right behind her.

"Felix Melena," he offered his hand to Elsa. She shook it then went back to showering. "I'm better than Cáel." Elsa gave him a quick sneer.

"What gives you that idea?" she murmured.

"Why don't you let me prove it," he turned to face her, giving Elsa the complete Felix Melena aesthetic. He was a centimeter, or two taller, I was maybe three kilograms heavier and we both lavished attention on our bodies. He was perhaps a bit longer, but narrower down there. 

As long as it wasn't aimed at my mouth, or ass, I didn't care. By the lack of reaction in Elsa's body tempo, she didn't care either.

"If you were a team bodyguard and an assassin appeared to be trying to kill myself and Hayden, who would you protect with your life?" Elsa posed.

"I'd kill the assassin," Felix came back immediately. Felix was a winner.

"Cáel?" Elsa said.

"Hayden," I responded. "I'm a bodyguard. From the top down; protect, secure, return fire."

"Cáel, you are trained as a bodyguard?" Felix smirked.

"Nah. That was the common sense answer to the question she asked," I shrugged. Shampoo time. Felix was going to make me pay for that comeback.

"Felix, would you ever work at Havenstone -- off the clock?" Elsa continued.

"Yeah," he grinned. I know what he wanted to work on -- off the clock. Good luck, you bastard.

"Cáel?"

"I'm never off the clock, damn it," I snorted. "This job is a 24/7 crimp in my sex life."

"Bro," Felix coughed. "Be careful. That's close to sexual harassment." Btw, Felix was serious. He was actually cautioning me. See, me being deported meant he couldn't crush me.

"Elsa, would you please shoot me in the head?" I replied.

"No," she smiled warmly at me.

"I love you too," I said, dripping with sarcasm. Felix's eyes bugged out for a second.

"That, Felix Melena, is why Cáel is a better man than you," Elsa looked like an angel sitting in judgment of Felix, finding him flawed and substandard.

"Cáel joking around makes him better than me?" Felix mocked. The mistake here had to be Elsa's.

"Your lack of understanding is not my problem," Elsa dismissed him. "Cáel, wash my back."

"Fine, I'll do it, but I'm massaging your butt too," I groused.

"Get it over with," she sighed with exasperation.

"Damn. Felix -- day in, day out. Always washing naked women. This job is killing me," I muttered. Felix wasn't one to give up easily. By the time I had totally soaped up her back, buttock and upper thighs -- back and front, he had exited the field.

He caught me exiting the locker room.

"Cáel, why don't we go out for some drinks after work?" he offered. Ah, he was going to beat me up with Brooke.

"Sure," I agreed. I'm a dog. Felix was going to sleep with Brooke to show me he was the superior male. He was going to rub it in my face.

I hadn't told anyone about knocking boots with Brooke. It wasn't their business. Felix would crow it to the Heavens, because pissing me off was what mattered, not how Brooke felt. I couldn't even save Brooke because Felix was in her socio-economic group and she'd make the same mistake with him she'd made with Trent -- thinking they cared about her.



Life as a New Hire Ch. 13



*This story plays fast and loose with Ancient History and Linguistics; be warned*

*My editors have joined the French Foreign Legion to avoid unresolved US Federal Income Tax issues. God be with them*

*There is nothing wrong being a Lucky Bastard. It is wrong to rely on it*

(Monday later)

Buffy had finally dismissed me when Katrina summoned me to her office. Ignoring me getting into an altercation...in the Full-Blood gym...yet again, I had a good day. No property damage, lost items, or physically damaged employees. Ragged by most people's standards, but a good day for me at Havenstone. I still had a chance to walk out under my own power.

Katrina motioned me to come to her desk. Upon my arrival, she slid a tablet over to me with a single icon on the screen. I tapped it. Aya's face appeared as the vid-mail began. She was glowing. There was tent fabric in the background so I had no idea of her geographic location. I didn't care.

"Hey!" she squeaked. "I'm doing great at camp. I met three girls who are as small as me and we've formed our own squad -- the Fatal Squirts." I chuckled.

I had encouraged her to steal strength from her perceived weaknesses. She had to believe in herself then take that as she built up her skills. I had faith in her when no one else did.

"I showed some of my councilors a picture of you. I think you would get into trouble if you came here. I want you to come, but I thought it was only fair to warn my favorite bed-buddy," she giggled.

"Send me a message when you can. I understand there will be a delay as the messages have to be physically delivered. I know you are doing okay. If not, hold off your vengeance until I can return and guard your back. I love you, Cáel. Be well," she smiled as her picture faded into darkness.

"Ah damn," I whispered. Aya looked good -- confident, upbeat and spirited. "Katrina, can I make a message for her right now?" I begged.

"Of course," she gave me an approving tilt of the head. "I think the courier is still in the building."

"Cool. What do I do?" I urged.

"Use the webcam -- make a message and forward it to my computer," Katrina told me. "I'll take it from there." I made the message, pretty much updating her on my latest exploits with limited editing. Aya was a surprisingly innocent yet worldly 9 year old.

Much of that came from being Katrina's and Desiree's niece -- mainly Katrina's. It gave her access to tidbits of sensitive data from time to time. Not so much she was a real security threat. Enough so that she got some things confused -- like what sex was truly about. I felt in my soul she'd be a great Amazon one day. I didn't remind her of that much. She had enough pressure for a kid her age.

"You are seeing Oneida now?" a frosty voice unnerved me. It was Buffy.

"Fuck," I jumped up. "Damn Buffy, stop sneaking up on me like that, or I'm going to start thinking you are a stalker."

"I am stalking you, Einstein," Buffy menaced.

"I'm glad we got that out of the way," I rolled my eyes. "Oh look! It's Daphne coming to my rescue. I am so out of here," I exulted. I edged passed Buffy, slipped her attempt to grab my arm and raced for the 'new hires' at the elevator.

"Get back here, you Cock-sucker!" Buffy howled as she chased me down.

May miracles never cease. Daphne, Violet and Tigger formed an Amazon (I wasn't sure if I could consider them 'human' yet) shield between my frail form and the hulking brute that was Buffy.

"Calm down, Buffy," Daphne pleaded. "He fought Elsa today -- again."

"Get out of my way," Buffy snarled.

"Thank God you stopped her," I huffed to Dora. "I hope to she never finds out that I soaped up Elsa's entire body while we were sharing a shower together." Daphne turned and gave me an incredulous look.

"Cáel, you are a Dumb-ass," Daphne sighed. Looking to Buffy as she stood aside. "Have at."

"Are you mental?" Fabiola chimed in. The elevator doors finally opened, Buffy shoved me in and the rest of the posse followed. Helena joined us at the last second.

"He's taunting me," Buffy responded to Fabiola while using her middle finger to poke my chest. "At this rate I am going to have to devastate a dozen male escorts so I can make it the remaining the 69 more days until he's mine again."

"Is he really that good?" Paula wondered. Buffy twisted around to confront her.

"He hammered me so hard, I thought he'd dislocate my hips. Later, we spent an entire hour, naked, wrapped up in each other's bodies with no actual penetration -- touching, tasting and whispered affections," Buffy curled her lip. "He's better than you could possibly imagine."

"You realize we have 27 seconds left, right?" I reminded Buffy.

"Really?" Buffy's head snapped back to me. I nodded and she jumped my bones. She had her hand down my pants, pulling on my rod, and the other grabbing the back of my head to deepen our kiss. 

For my part, I had my left hand on her breast and the right down the back of her pants, fondling a panty-covered ass cheek. In a culture where you summoned a male, ordered him to perform and he did so the same exact way he'd done a dozen times before, what Buffy and I were doing didn't make sense.

The two of us didn't give up an ounce of control yet meshed perfectly. Our pleasure was obvious, vocal and we didn't give a damn about the crowd around us. Buffy and I had created our own little lust-bubble. The chimer went off. We settled down and straightened up our clothes.

"Fuck it all -- that's some good dicking," Buffy mumbled. That was an inside joke between me, Timothy, my big, gay, buff tattoo-artist roommate, and the few women he chose to share that descriptive with -- 'a good dicking'. We tumbled out of the elevator.

"Is he always like that?" Fabiola mumbled.

"He's a whole lot better with his clothes off," Buffy sneered at Fabiola. Sometimes I'm a super-selfish bastard; I want life to cut me some slack. Waiting for us was Oneida...in biker clothing. That would have merely been bad, dangerous and creepy except I was dressed in work clothes.

I was planning to meet some of the guys (all two of them) for some after-work drinks. The encounter went from not-good to horribly awkward. Oneida had checked up on me, been told how I got to and from work as well as when I left. Unfortunately, she hadn't checked my social calendar -- mainly because I didn't keep one -- sophomore year mistake.

If a girl is in your apartment, she will find the thing you don't want her to find...every single time. I burned my diary and unfriended everybody after that final, hospital-resulting episode.

"Hi," I greeted Oneida. She'd figured out she'd screwed up something fierce. "What bike do you use? I have a Specialized STSE hybrid. Maybe we can use some paths one weekend." 

I was trying to diffuse her embarrassment. We were two bikers talking about bikes. Nothing wrong with that.

"I have a Specialized Source..." she got out then realized how BAD that sounded. She had the exact same bike as me...how bizarre? Unless you had somebody come down and take a look at what I bicycle I used.

Time to save the day.

"Do you want to make a date for 6:30 am on Saturday?" I suggested. "Provided this wacky place hasn't offed, or misplaced me by then."

"Ah -- that would be nice," Oneida rebounded happily. "The date, that is."

"Whoa Oneida, what are you doing with this guy?" Brian derided me as he walked up. I wanted to say, 'Brian, you've insulted a princess of the Amazon people. Please continue making an ass of yourself and give Trent and Khalid my regards'. I didn't.

"This is Cáel Nyilas. He's a real player," Brian smirked. "You can do better than him."

Oh yeah, Oneida and Brian were co-workers -- 'new hires' in Acquisitions.

"Brian, it took you three days to even use my name," Oneida gave Brian a neutral stare. "I love Cáel. He saved my life and he sees the real me." For the love of all that's holy, someone shoot me in the head right now. I could hear the nearly subsonic growls emanating from Buffy.

Brian looked at me, laughed and went to put an arm around Oneida's shoulder. After all, if I could pick her up, it should be effortless for him to take her away, right? Dumb-shit. Laughing at me was okay. Laughing at...then I noticed the two chicks in black leather standing about doing their best (until a second ago) to go unnoticed.

Cáel had gotten away with such familiarity because Cáel had risked his life to save their Princess. Brian Fung? He barely knew her name and they worked together. These weren't even SD chicks -- they were something else. My guess was Arinniti House Guard. Did Katrina's House Epona have a house guard?

Sure, I imagine they did. They were probably with the rest of House Epona where ever they lived. It wasn't like the whole kit and caboodle was here in NYC. That would have been foolish. If Caitlyn, Aya's mom, had a security issue, she called us at Havenstone HQ, less than four kilometers away. Without a doubt, Elsa would stop by and kick ass for her.

I gave Brian this much -- he had a working set of eyes. The second those two harbingers of death began closing in, Brian back-pedaled.

"Hey Brian, let's go grab some drinks," I offered him a graceful exit. 

"Sounds good," Brian tried to sound cool.

"Oneida, take care," I nodded to my new romantic stalker. "Ladies," to my 'new hire' crew. "Buffy," to my sometimes boss, "remember you are still hot for a...mature chick."

"You are going die a long, torturous and extremely painful death," Buffy sizzled.

"What? Are you going to make me eat your cooking?" I laughed.

Buffy didn't articulate a counter before Brian and I slipped outside.

"Cáel, who was that woman?" Brian whispered.

"Which one? You need to be more specific. My erotic malfeasances are terribly confusing."

"The one you insulted," Brian said. "The last one you insulted," he clarified.

"Buffy. She's one of my bosses," I grinned. "She loves me. She's even promised to play the bagpipes at my funeral. Personally I think that's because she doesn't want to risk anyone hearing me pounding on the coffin lid, trying to get out."

"You are not going to make it the full 84 days with that attitude," Brian lectured me.

"Trent has already been promoted," Brian continued. "I am regularly referred to as indispensable in my work reviews. Felix works closely with Ms. Pharos at all times. You seem to be the only one of us having...issues with Havenstone. Hell, they even shot you and you sat back and took it. I doubt your complacent attitude impressed anyone much."

No mention of poor Khalid. How quickly they forget. Trent had been 'promoted' to Southeast Asia alright. I looked it up; there are around 10,000 islands between Indonesia and the Philippines. Sure some were small spits of land with a few trees. I had little doubt one of the good-sized one was a jungle of a different sort.

Certainly Executive Services sent Trent's belongings somewhere. I'd never tried to find out. What would I have done with the knowledge? Brooke didn't care and I didn't know his family. Brian and I went to the same yuppie bar as last time. I was with Brian this time, so I abandoned him as quick as I could.

Why? At the far end of the bar, talking the bar-back was my Delivery Girl -- aka the person who did the home liquor delivery to Libra's place. Half way down the bar, she sensed me looking at her. The bar-back followed her gaze. He wasn't happy with me. DG simply didn't recognize me so I held up my valise over my groin.

Confusion -- surprise -- acknowledgment that despite our surroundings, I wasn't worried about being seen with her. She had her hand truck -- she had to make a front door delivery this time.

"Remember me?" I smiled.

"Cáel Nyilas -- the Pillow Guy," she snickered. "How did that work out for you?"

The bar-back was broadcasting his displeasure at some upper class smuck cutting in on his action. DG caught that.

"Jason, this is Cáel," she introduced me. "We last met under unusual circumstances."

"What kind of name is Cáel?" Jason remarked.

"An unfortunate one," I snorted. "You try explaining to your kindergarten teacher that it is 'c-a (acute accent)-e-l'. Of course, I wasn't 'Bomophoto' either. She had it worse than I did."

Jason searched me out to see if I was pulling one over on him. I wasn't. Bomo and I bonded over our linguistic misfortune. She moved to Santa Fe in the third grade. I wonder if she grew up to be hot looking. Oink.

"I'll give you that," he chuckled. "Why did you get branded?"

"Mom was Irish, my Dad was in love with her so I got the cultural emersion, minus the Guinness," I shrugged. "By the way..." I looked back to the lady.

"Katy Lee Baker," she batted her eyelashes. We shook hands.

"How did it go?" I picked up her question. "Sex, chopped fruit, your drinks, more sex and back to the clinic before eleven."

"Have you talked to them since?" Katy inquired somewhat seductively.

"Perhaps. I don't like to kiss and tell," I evaded.

"I'm curious because two of the three arrived five minutes before you did and they appear somewhat unhappy with you right now," she smirked. "You can look over your shoulder if you don't believe me." Sure enough, there was Felix, Brian, Brooke, Libra and...I think her name was Gene. I waved then turned back to my current two conversationalists.

"So Jason, what do you like to do?" I asked the guy.

"Huh -- what? I work," he replied.

"I mean bike, try ethnic food, go to the gym -- stuff like that," I teased him.

"I work six days a week...but usually one or two are afternoon shifts. Me and some buddies play some pick-up basketball," Jason told me.

"Great. You'd pick a sport I suck at," I set the bait. If Jason thought I sucked, he'd invite me to play. That's how it worked. I was pretty good at basketball considering I'd spent the last four years playing with girls -- on the court. Girls play some mean ball. They also didn't shy away from putting an elbow into my nuts if they felt like it. 

"I'm not sure I live in a neighborhood you'd be comfortable visiting," Jason threw up a roadblock. I had him on this one. I showed him my ID. It had the right address -- wrong apartment number. "Shit dude, that place is about as rough as my home turf."

"I get paid a quarter million a year to taste test for hexafluoride in Chinese imports," I joked.

"Really?" Katy chuckled.

"It's a growth industry -- if you consider tumors to be growth," I was faux-serious.

"Mr. - Cáel," Jason looked over my shoulder. "I think one of those chicks is about to come over here and kill you. You best hop to it."

"Which one? The brunette, or the russet-colored (Libra)?" I inquired.

"The brunette wants attention and the russet wants to push a red hot poker up your ass," Jason gave me his experienced opinion. Heading over there was going to be 'fun'.

"Give me a call some time, Jason. Nice to see you again, Katy Lee," I waved good-bye.

"You know the staff here?" Libra spat.

"That was the girl who delivered the liquor to your place, Libra," I sighed. "I said 'hi'."

"It takes you an awful lot of words to say 'hello'," Brian gave a false smile. Libra was positioned next to Brian. Her anger with me plus his 'sexy' put her there.

Brooke shifted as I joined their chair-less center table. She was putting enough distance between us to show everyone she was independent yet close enough to give warning signs to other woman that I was in her sights, if not her outright possession. I was better looking than Brooke had counted on. More 'fun' was coming down the pipeline.

Gene was here on another date with Felix, or so she thought. Poor Gene. Felix was most likely an excellent fuck. What she didn't appreciate was that Felix was not only a competitor, he was the kind of athlete who had to win. Second place was what you called the first loser. Gene was about to be educated in this personal idiocentricity.

Now that I was on stage, Felix made his move on Brooke. Gene? He'd let her in on a three-way if he was feeling personally Hernán Cortés-like. Felix had to have Brooke. I hadn't dumped Brooke, according to Gene, so he wasn't getting my castoffs -- he was stealing my prize. The flaw in this plan was my whole viewpoint on monogamy. I didn't much care for it. Brooke was a grown woman and could make her own choices.

Felix made his move. Damn, he was smooth. He had Brooke wrapped up and pulled tight without Gene even being aware she'd been dumped. Enter the train wreck named Nicole. She was the criminal defense attorney who I'd fucked in a stall in the women's bathroom of this place. She hadn't tried to contact me and I hadn't worried about her. Hook-ups were like that.

She'd been close by, respecting Brooke's signs and not stopping by to say hello. Then Felix launched his master plan and I was suddenly freed up. Nicole had gotten a rough fucking and liked it, I could tell.

"Cáel Nyilas," Nicole swooped in. "How have you been?"

"The normal. Menace to society, disrespectful of authority and being annoying to random strangers," I teased. "You?"

"I'm a lawyer fighting the irresistible lure of evil. The usual," she joked back. "What have you been doing wrong? As I recall, last time you were doing everything right?"

Yes, a good dicking indeed. I was going to relate this encounter to Timothy just so he could shoot me with his Nerf gun. He'd shoot me anyway, but it was nice of me to give him an excuse from time to time.

"I've been sending sexually suggestive letters to ADA Feinstein," I offered. "Does that count?"

"Oh really?" she seemed surprised. "Why don't you come by my table real quick and let me introduce you to some of my colleagues." I wasn't going to be rude.

"Gang, this is Nicole," I introduced her to my table. "She's an attorney at a prestigious law firm that probably has more dead partners than living ones and offices in Papua New Guinea and a few dozen other places you've never heard of. I'll be right back."

"You are a nut," Nicole bumped me as we weaved our way to her buddies. "Ladies, this is Cáel Nyilas. I think I mentioned him once." By the looks on their faces, once had been enough. "This is Zelda, Marsha, Phyllis, and Rivka -- Rivka Feinstein, ADA for New York County," (that's Manhattan for us hicks).

"Ah crap," I exclaimed. That wasn't what they expected. 

"I confess," I looked at Nicole, "I saw the name in an article on the back of the Village Voice. Sadly, they had R. Feinstein and I stupidly assumed it was a guy."

"Oh my God! You're gay?" Zelda and Phyllis despaired.

"While my life would a whole lot easier if I was, I'm straight -- not even bi-curious. My roommate, Timothy -- never Tim -- is and he was reading it while I was working out. It sort of stuck in my mind," I admitted.

"How did my name come up in conversation?" Rivka inquired.

"Cáel is a pathological liar," Nicole teased me.

"Not true," I protested. "I'm allergic to excessive honesty. That's totally different."

"I'd like to put you on the witness stand," Zelda gave me those bedroom eyes.

"You and about a 150 other women," I groaned.

"150?" Rivka choked.

"Yep. The rest already know I'm guilty," I muttered.

"Are you of weak moral fiber?" Phyllis joined the game. We were all having a blast.

"Sorry, but no. I'm saving up for some. Currently I'm without morals...or scruples. Any suggestion which one I should purchase first?"

"You are a great guy," Rivka snickered. "Why aren't you dating somebody?"

"Shall we revisit my lack of morals and scruples?" I answered.

"So you are a player?" Nicole nudged me. She wanted to play alright.

"How to put this...I'm a wonderful lover and a lousy boyfriend," I told them.

"I was an eighteen year old virgin. In the past four years, I have betrayed every woman I've ever dated, save one -- my first love," I explained.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 13



"Why didn't you betray her?" Phyllis prodded. "Don't tell me she's dead."

"No, she's fine," I replied. "She was the one who told me to date other women."

"That's harsh," Zelda commiserated. She thought Kimberly had dumped me.

"Oh no," I corrected her. "We stayed together until I graduated last month. Four of the best years of my life. When she told me to date other women it was because I was killing her. I have a voracious sexual appetite and she was desperate for a full night's sleep."

"Do you ever go home alone?" Marsha joined in.

"Does leaving a woman's house at 1 a.m. count?" I requested.

"Did she throw you out?" Rivka interrogated.

"No. She and her sister were exhausted so I picked up my roommate and left," I exaggerated.

"Wait!" Nicole held up her hand. "Sisters...and you told us your roommate was gay?"

"Morals and scruples," I repeated. "See, I was dating one sister and the other sister wanted a date so I talked my gay roommate into being my wingman so I wouldn't end up sleeping with them both. It didn't work out so well. The second, older sister was horny, so my guy pretended to pass out."

"Have you ever considered you are a horrible person?" Marsha studied me.

"Yes. Not only have I thought about, I've been told that a few dozen times. It usually is accompanied by 'I'm going to kill you', or 'you had better make it up to me'."

"Have you ever been hurt?" Phyllis appeared concerned.

"My body is a roadmap of poor decision making," I responded.

"What was the worst thing to ever happen to you?" Rivka grinned. Her ability to be deceptively pretty had to have made her a frightening lawyer.

"When they were happening, I was a bit more concerned with what might happen to me as opposed to rating them," I informed her.

"Except for being shot with an arrow, being chased around naked with a hot poker and having my bed dowsed with lighter fluid while I was still in it were probably the worst," I nodded. "I've been stabbed a few times, tasered, occasionally thrown out of a window not on the first floor and had bookcase dropped on me once, so I consider myself a connoisseur of ex-girlfriend vengeance."

"Have you ever been involved with a police proceeding?" Rivka became a tad bit more intense.

"Nah," shook my head. "I had it coming. As you said, I'm kind of a horrible guy."

"Domestic violence is no joking matter," Nicole also became serious.

"That's unfair," I countered. "I'm not so slavishly devoted to the law that I'd ruin some girl's life because I was a total bastard."

"Domestic Violence laws are supposed to protect the innocent from the abusive," I added. "I haven't lied to you about my misadventures, but you should understand I chose to handle most of my problems myself. By the looks on your faces, you are about as disappointed in me as the policewoman I am currently seeing. This is who I am and I'm not going to apologize for it."

"Mind you, I'm not some gun-toting, roughneck Libertarian," I clarified. "I believe, order and the justice system. If someone pulls out an AK-47 on me at a corner bodega, I'm making 9-1-1 my bitch on speed-dial. I don't want to be a hero, or fulfill my organ donor card. I just don't equate that to a girl kneeing me in the nuts because I slept with her best friend in her lingerie."

There was a pause as the ladies looked around. They were making an assessment of how much trouble I'd cause versus how much fun I would be. They all smiled at me. They always do.

"Who was wearing the lingerie?" Zelda smirked.

"I've worn women's lingerie before, but it really wasn't my thing," I mused.

"I'll go through a lot for good sex," I winked. "It was my girlfriend's lingerie on her best friend."

"Wait," Rivka noted. "Didn't the best friend know you were dating the first girl?"

"Yeah. I'm not sure why that never stops them," I shrugged. "Around the fifth time I stopped worrying about it."

"Wow, do you have any idea how many women you've been with?" Rivka asked.

"Do you always use protection?" Phyllis piled on.

"Yes -- 223 as of Friday. I'm hoping to break 300 before work replaces me with those guys from 'Hamster Dance'," I told them. "And yes, I always use protection."

"I may not know where my partner has been, but I know where I've been and it scares me," I snickered. "That's why I always carry ten."

"Ten?" Nicole snorted. "Do you regularly check the expiration date, or are you that ambitious?"

"Ambitious? I'd carry more except it's hard to hide more than ten in a wallet -- I've tried," I sighed.

"Have you ever run out?" Marsha snickered. Our snickering, chuckling and laughter were drawing stares.

"Run out? Hell, I've gone door to door in a women's dormitory at 2 a.m. trying to find some," I related. "Ran into an old girlfriend doing that." I slipped into a dreamy smile.

"Why do I think that despite it being 2 a.m. in her dorm with you seeking a condom for use with a different woman, she wasn't pissed?" Rivka giggled.

"Oh God no," I waved off. "She was freaking furious. That was some of the most intense 'I'm lonely and it's all your fault' sex I have ever been through."

"You have names for different kinds of sex?" Nicole was almost crying from laughing so hard.

"Oh yeah. The first time I run across a different sexual experience, I slap a name on it so when it happens again, I know what to do," I explained.

"Isn't every woman unique?" Zelda sniffled.

"That sounds nice in a love song, but 'no'," I smiled. "Women, and men, have a finite number things -- needs and responses. Women can have different erogenous zones, but there all on the human body. Admittedly, it can be a bit like predicting the weather at times. It is not a perfect system by any means."

"What's my 'thing' then?" Nicole taunted. She didn't think I could do it.

"Sex has to be an accomplishment with you, Nicole," I informed her. "You need to be engaged mentally as much as anything else. You need a poet who runs marathons. Otherwise you end up staring at the ceiling after sex wondering what better use you could have made of your time."

Silence. That was the norm for that kind of revelation. Women hated to be laid bare. They hated being misunderstood even more.

"Nicole?" Rivka prodded her friend. Nicole remained silent. I knew that look.

"Nicole, I'm bad news. Wouldn't you prefer to keeps thing simple?" I hoped.

I was wrong to hope. I kept praying they would go 'hey, great, mindless sex -- let's not blow it', but they never did. I hated giving lame erotic encounters, despite the guarantee of anguish that always followed.

"We could go out on a date and see how that works?" Nicole offered. Doom.

"Cáel Nyilas; I'm in the book and I work for Havenstone Commercial Investments," I stupidly replied. "You probably have a killer workload were as I spot-check children's toys for WMDs. Give me a call when you have a night free." How was it going to turn out? Sex, sex, sex, sex, sex -- let's make a commitment -- you cheating fuck-nut! I hate you.

Girls weren't predictable -- I was.

"Cáel, we are going out to dinner, if you remember who you are supposed to be with," Libra seethed as she and the others passed Nicole's table.

"Yup, gotta go where I'm not wanted. Nice seeing you again, Nicole," I grinned. "Ladies, I hope it was a pleasure. It was for me. Good night."

Dinner -- was -- bad. Felix, hemorrhoid that he was, squashed Gene's feeble attempts to draw him back to her as he made crystal clear that he was taking Brooke home -- to fuck her into Paradise...instead of letting her go home with me. Problem being -- Brooke wasn't mine to take -- never had been.

For the first time in his life, I thought Brian was about to be screwed. Libra was past uber-bitchy by the fifth glass of wine. Brian held a pair of Jokers and thought he was the boss, like always. Libra had four Queens and would be screaming my name when she orgasmed -- Brian was sexually proficient. He was also a misogynist, I was now sure, and Libra was going to make him squeal.

Then she was going to grab up her clothes, storm out of Brian's place and never want to talk with him again. It wasn't that I was that unforgettable. I was that I knew what she wanted and had given it to her and not getting it Saturday afternoon while Brooke did was frosting her ass. What did that mean for me? 

For the first time in a long, long time, I was pissed with another guy. Trent really wasn't worth my time, but Felix was about to cross my here-until-now unforeseen line of what guys did to girls. It was dawning on me that this was the result of me. Someone was doing something wrong to a girl because of me. It wasn't my fault. Felix was being a jerk. 

That would be of cold comfort for Brooke. We split up after dinner. I didn't have the heart to pick up Gene, who was easy prey right then. It was too much like what Felix thought he was doing to me. I took a cab to Havenstone, changed clothing and biked home. I barely had dinner ready for Timothy when he came through the door.

"That's not a look I'm used to seeing," he remarked.

"I should have beaten someone up," I frowned, "but I didn't and now some girl -- Brooke -- is going to have her heart kicked because of it."

"Was it something you did?" Timothy asked.

"No. There is this guy at work who is using her to alpha-dog me," I muttered.

"Brooke?" Timothy was confused. "You hardly like her. What a sleaze (Felix). If it was Odette, first I'd slap you around for still being here. Then we'd go get him."

"I'm not even sure why I feel bad about this," I grunted. "As you said, I hardly like her."

"It is called a conscience, Dimwit," Timothy snorted. That didn't help much. Conscience? Man, I'd stop my bike to run across a highway to move a tortoise off the road. I used to feed some of the Bolingbrook wild hares during the winter. I did humiliating crap for charity. I was never mean to a girl -- only dishonest and unfaithful.

Introspection got me nowhere. I was a cad. I'd been happy to be a cad for four years. I was going to be damned if my post-college life was going to be any different -- all 68 remaining days of it. In my bedroom I discovered Odette had moved in during my absence. I doubted Timothy had been ignorant of all the stuff she deposited. What was going on with my life?

I woke up when I heard keys in the door. It was a bit past eleven. I got up to check and sure enough, it was Odette. Timothy had given her a key. Odette had lived through a harrowing night, her boss was a dick and some of the customers were pure hell. I cuddled with her on the sofa while she unwound then we went to bed together. We didn't have sex...

(Tuesday)

Around 1 a.m. I miraculously found myself awake and alert in bed. Odette was happily dreaming away. Something was gnawing at the back of my mind. I put a name to the emotion and a face to the fear. I called Brooke.

"Hey Brooke," I greeted her eight tries later. She was tired of sending me to voice mail.

"What do you want?" she answered in a voice devoid of soul.

"Fuck if I know," I replied. "I suddenly woke up from a sound sleep thinking of you."

"I'm not interested," she sighed.

"I'm going to go out on a limb here. You don't want to talk to anyone yet you want someone to help you understand what you are going through," I gambled.

That created a tiny tear in her shroud of depression. After five minutes, I got her to give me her address. She told me she wouldn't answer the door. I told her I at least had to try. That got me to her place, 90 seconds of knocking got me inside and four minutes later, we were lying in bed with her sobbing on my chest.

Half an hour later, she offered me sex. I told her to stop tempting me and if she only wanted me for sex, I wanted to be paid in chocolate. She giggled, took a few deep breaths and fell to sleep. Wow, I was in two different women's beds in one night and not having sex in either. My watch alarm went off at 4:50 a.m. That meant no 'Marilyn' call tonight.

"Mmmm..." Brooke moved toward wakefulness. "Work?"

"Afraid so," I yawned.

"We haven't had sex," he reminded me. I couldn't stop being me.

"That's not why I came over here, Brooke," I rolled onto my side so that our bodies were very close.

"Never think I don't want to have sex with you, but that's not why I showed up last night," I continued.

"Why did you show up then?" she worried.

"I have no clue. I'm like Felix -- a player. Listen Brooke, I don't consider you my woman," I stated.

"We had sex -- we are lovers, but we've been thrown together by dire misfortune, not out of any common thread," I reminded her. "I don't expect you to have any sense of loyalty to me." That phrase freed her up philosophically. That meant she could fuck me and not feel obliged to consider and discard any future for us because there was no realistic future that socially glued us into any acceptable form.

"So I needed a shoulder to cry on and you showed up," she mused.

"Brooke, you are independent and strong-willed. The next guy you chose will be your choice," I led her along. "Felix though -- Felix is a serious player and he felt the need to add you to his list of conquests. I saw it happening and did nothing. Now I feel like crap for sitting back and ignoring the consequences."

"You knew Felix would turn me into a hash mark?" Brooke seemed depressed, not angry.

"I knew he was trying to get at me," I confessed. "He didn't accept that you and I aren't an item. A blonde co-worker -- a high ranking supervisor actually -- treated him like a bug in the communal showers yesterday while keeping close contact with me. Felix had to win. He had to show me he is the top dog."

"And I was the prize?" Brooke moped.

"Not to me," I whispered. Brooke looked hurt. "You are a woman. While you would look delectable in a big red ribbon, that's not who you are. I don't keep hash marks. I have a thing called a heart cord and it is solely for my use. Each binding represents a liaison -- like a Quipus; an Incan memory knot."

Brooke really didn't care. It sounded neat, it was romantic and the act was not demeaning to her. I could savor the memory of our encounter as long as I didn't share it with my buddies. She wasn't one of 'those' girls.

"You are very intelligent," she murmured seductively. 

She didn't care if I was the reincarnation of Benjamin Franklin, or some schmo in Afghanistan who made his living digging up (hopefully) spent ordinance of battlefields. Smoking hot, sexy, well-educated debutantes like Brooke could fuck finely-sculpted, 'smart' guys like me. She could delude herself that I was rapidly upwardly mobile. My turn.

"Brooke, I don't want to get mixed up about us," I evaded. 'Us'? There was no 'us' and we both knew it. "If I caved in right now, I'm not sure I could forgive myself." Yes I could.

"I just want to feel like someone gives a damn about me," Brooke whimpered. Good acting. We wrestled around -- me trying to leave, but clearly not wanting to, while she physically enticed me.

We ended up, me on top, pinning her wrists to either side of her head. Her legs were trapped between mine.

"Make it up to me...please," she pouted. She humped her pelvic bone playfully against my cock. "I know you want to help me out." Good word usage on her part.

"Brooke, this isn't going to happen," I gritted my teeth in frustration. Yes, it was going to happen. Her right leg began exerting steady pressure against my 'weak' left leg. It slowly 'surrendered' to her advance. Now she had on leg on the outside. My right leg held out a little longer yet Brooke was persistent.

Now she could ground her finely groomed landing strip against my pulsating rod. I really, really wanted to fuck her now. I took my hands off her wrists, turned them into fists and placed the beneath each of her underarms.

"Damn you," I cursed her. Brooke was gyrating her crotch all over mine. 

With her hands released, Brooke could leverage her body up and trap my cockhead between her labia. They were thoroughly soaked with her honey so after my 'capture' she drew more and more of my length in until I was completely incased. Brooke had won! She knew she'd won. Fuck Felix and his hash marks. I didn't care so why should she?

I made on last energetic yet futile effort to get away. Oddly, Brooke somehow end on top at the end of my exertion. I must be an awful wrestler...

"No you don't," Brooke purred only millimeters from my lips. "You are not getting away." That was Brooke tossing good ole Felix under the emotional bus.

Felix the Player? She'd chalk it up to too much to drink and the hype being more than the man. How was this possible? Look at her. She'd thrown a known sexual dynamo down on her bed and was working his shaft over every G-spot in her vagina. Brooke still preferred a long, rough fucking to get her off. At the moment, she need reassurance more.

Felix most assuredly made Brooke ride him. He kept her perpendicular to his hips and came up to suckle her teats when he wanted to, or watch them bounce as he lay back. He was great at sex, no doubt. The girl had to scream and howl -- forgetting every other male she was ever with and making every other guy she'd be with later an automatic failure. To him, that was how he rated success.

This resulted in me keeping Brooke close so I could make quick kisses to her very close lips. She'd playfully pull away -- to put me in my place and remind me she was in charge -- then she'd initiate the kiss. Our love-making was more rhythmic; less frantic. She was getting close.

"Next...next time you fuck Felix," I gasped. "Tell him..."

"What makes -- makes you think I'd -- every sleep with him -- again?" Brooke got feisty.

"I bet he was good in bed and now that you have his measure," I assured her. "You can take what pleasure you want and leave." Brooke liked that. It was the whole independent woman thing.

"Won't you be jealous?" she panted.

"I cannot constantly keep up with your sexual desires, Brooke," I grunted. "I've been neglecting Libra." Oh yeah, Libra. The girl she, Brooke, initially set me up with. Her Vassar classmate.

"What about Felix," she huffed and huffed. She was real close.

"Off-handedly comment that he's developing male pattern baldness," I grinned. "Just to fuck with his head." Felix was gorgeous. Better yet, Felix knew he was gorgeous. Hit him where it hurts. Brooke tried to giggle, but the surge of triumph overcame her and off she went. The problem was I was getting close and I didn't have a condom on.

"Brooke," I inhaled deeply. She'd come to rest on my chest. "I'm about to..."

"Oh," she sighed happily. She reversed to the side as she slithered down my body. My cock went down her throat and I started petting her flank. Brooke wasn't the very best, but, man o man, she was going to town on my dick.

There was no doubt in my mind that her vaginal secretions didn't bother her. I had to rush the experience because if I was late to work, Constanza make me stand beside the targets while she shot at them. If she was really pissed, she'd have me hold up targets in front me instead. I shot off, Brooke caught it all in her mouth then spit it into two tissues before tossing them in the trash.

I caught her look. Trent and now Felix made her swallow. I didn't care; which was yet another choice Brooke was free to make when making love to me. I jumped her. We had a little, tickle-nibble fight that ended in some kisses. I had to leave and Brooke made sure she was poised extra-sexy the last time I turned around to say goodnight and cut off the lights.

"Ah damn," I moaned before I left. I didn't really like Brooke yet, by choosing to engage her in sex, I had accepted the task of making her happy. That was the reason Felix and I were going to fight. He'd use another human being to strike at me instead striking at me directly. To me, this was more than low character, it was an insult to my lifestyle.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 13



Felix should have checked his baggage at the door. Competing for the same lady was fine -- even fun. Picking one to punish another...not cool. I had to think about my response as I barely made it in for my Constanza time. Wisely, I left my baggage at the door. These were firearms we were dealing with -- a danger to me and the people around me.

I was in my biking outfit today. More looks. The decision was that I'd go for my Glock-22, a .38 Ruger LCR back-up, a South Korean-made shotgun that looked like an M-16 and a very unhealthy looking device called a Heckler & Koch UMP 40 (which I had never even heard of). Wait...it got worse. I was scheduled for knife fighting training at 3 p.m. -- every day for the foreseeable future.

Constanza didn't want to help me breath, much less train. That was okay. I left my shirt in the weapons' room so the second I hit the shooting booth Magical Amazon Fey appeared to impart their wisdom, and body shapes to me. Oh God! I dropped a clip between my feet. The two ladies nearly head-butted in a race to get.

The loser frowned. The winner was able to determine my ankles were strong, my calves were implant free -- guys do that occasionally, and my thigh was definitely recovering. Without a doubt, my rod was happy to feel her hand. I retrieved my magazine from her unresisting hand. Then I did some shooting. With three clips I proved to be faster yet less accurate, more accurate yet slower and lastly a balance between the two.

I wasn't better than yesterday. It was yesterday. I did marginally worse with the .38 Ruger, better with the shotgun and I had a blast with the H&K. Was I accurate? NO...but this killing machine was loads of fun to fire off a clip at full-auto. According to 'my' Amazons I looked so adorable pouting when I was told I'd fired off the last magazine. I repeat -- loads of fun.

Amazons are a dedicated martial culture, I was definitely a delicious male bouncing up and down gleefully while begging 'Fuck Me! Fuck Me!' Not actually. I was enthusiastically asking for another clip, but I could tell how my words were being echoed inside their brains.

"Behave yourself, Male!" Constanza snapped angrily. I fell on my knees, hands presented in supplication.

"Please, please, please, please," I begged.

"Oh, give him another magazine," two of my shooting companions requested.

"I can't believe we are in the same unit," Constanza sneered, "rubbing against him like over-drunk un-casted." Hmmm, that probably meant teenagers -- before they chose a profession.

"Constanza, they are all aggressive, dominant members of the Host," I rose (verbally) to their defense. "They are not afraid of their sexuality and they are certainly not afraid of me. What are they doing wrong? They are helping me concentrate (totally false) on the task at hand. I would think you would be pleased that I'm receiving such encouragement, meaning you are more likely to succeed at your task."

"You don't even know why you are here," she glared.

"I imagine you are here for the same reason I am -- to serve our superiors," I replied. "Do you think that I don't want to sleep in an extra hour...," I looked to my new buddies, "Okay, I used to want to sleep in that extra hour, but the point is the same."

"These are our hours. Why not make the most of it as opposed to letting the circumstances make us miserable?" I reasoned.

"Constanza," Naomi, the only shooting buddy to give me a name so far, "you are out of line. He is on our side now and he has the battle scars to prove it."

"Never," Constanza growled out her challenge.

"That is not your decision to make," Naomi met that challenge. "He is down here. He is courageous, loyal and undaunted."

"Besides, if you hate him that much, getting a hunting license for him like the rest of us."

Fantastic (sarcasm), I was popular with Amazonia's professional military.

"Just remember, I get to hunt you ladies right back," I grinned. They thought that was funny. "If I capture you, you are mine all-weekend long -- yummy. Then, on Monday, it's back to normality and me running for my life."

"Do you really think you can take any of us?" Naomi chuckled. The others laugh. Even Constanza was darkly amused.

"Let me see...I was never a Boy Scout, I'm not ex-military, or even a backwoodsman," I mused. "Still, I never thought I'd be shot with an arrow, or stabbed with a spear either, so I'm actually upbeat about my chances." 

"Besides, I'm going to wear a black bear suit as camouflage." Pause. "Damn it. I probably shouldn't have told you that," I grimaced. More chuckles.

"I've watched ummm...Dual Survival...most of one episode...I've been so lost in the wilderness to the point I couldn't see the road...I've made love to a Park Ranger...I've been so drunk that I hunted a grown moose with a ballpeen hammer...that's about it for me."

"I am going to enjoy being the first one to catch you," Naomi purred.

"Be careful, Naomi," I cautioned her. "I'm part lemur. It was the same experiment that made Constanza part Tasmanian Devil -- those are some cranky-ass bitches."

"Are you really going to run fast?" another Amazon teased me.

"Hell yeah," I nodded as I stood. No extra magazines for me today. "I'm going to pick some compass point and run at it with everything I have."

"You are lying," Naomi nudged me. They weren't pissed; this was 'warfare' thus deception was not only allowed, it was expected.

"Without a hint of regret," smiled at her. We were suddenly really close again. "I may run, I may hide, or I may double back. That is the prey's advantage." This was fine to the ladies around me. I was prey. I was fine with being prey. I was having fun being prey which made the promised encounter to be new and exciting.

Amazons didn't hunt turtles -- they hunted dangerous things that hunted other things. Was I dangerous? Constanza was a living testimonial of that -- the scar just above her left elbow. This didn't imply respect and acceptance -- no way, no how. It was impossible to believe I would ever replace one of...craptastic. Katrina was too damn smart -- far smarter than me for sure.

I wouldn't have figured it out this soon except for something Oneida said -- 'The Ash Men'. Who were they and why was calling someone that a good thing? A few more live-fires with a bit of instruction. With all the 'sisters' willing to show me improved stance and firing techniques, Constanza felt the desire to be in another room.

As I was finally departing for my real job, an Amazon with clear Amerindian blood, put a hand to my chest before I could exit out the hallway door.

"How much of disaster is he?" she asked Naomi. I seriously thought about doing a takedown then I reasoned I really didn't want to see Traska's teary-eyed face looking down at my shattered form.

"He's passable for a beginner," Naomi answered.

"What are you talking about?" I protested. "I'm freaking awesome. I point the boom-stick at...whatever you call them...pull that trigger-thingy and the bullets go in a direction that doesn't hurt me. Honestly, this crap is easy." The copper chick grabbed my chin quick as a snake.

"Your opinion was not solicited," she menaced, "you ignorant toad-turd." On second thought -- I hit her. I'm pretty quick too. My fist connected with her diaphragm because she was not only not expecting me to lash out, she masked my movements by having her right limb holding my chin. She recoiled, I assumed my boxing stance and Naomi clubbed me down from behind.

Let's not forget who, what and where I was. I was dogpiled, yanked up then had Bitchy Amerindian chick pop me twice in the gut.

"You are going to be caned for that," she hissed.

"Fuck you!" I shouted back. Fist to the head. That was going to leave a mark.

"I look forward to hearing you scream," she threatened.

"Huh? What? You are still here? Something swished past me and I thought it was you leaving," I joked.

"Do you want to die?" Naomi hissed in my ear.

"Let me go and we'll all find out," I replied.

"Let him go," Bitchy chick ordered. They let me go. That was not a good sign.

"I'm Cáel Nyilas. I -- ah...I'm from the Magyars," I introduced myself.

"I don't care," she glared.

"Fine. Do you want to take this to the mats upstairs, or do you prefer we fight in a room full of firearms?" I asked.

"This won't take long," she assumed a stance I'd never seen before. I didn't know its official name, but it had 'pain' written all over it.

"A little room here?" I prodded the five Amazons standing behind me. My important unknown assailant waved them back to the walls. Constanza was livid, so I could already count this as a victory of sorts. My opponent swiveled on the ball of her left foot. It was a feint. I feinted too -- I acted like I was going to fight. I ran away as she made her low, sweeping kick.

I vaulted the table before she could catch me. Now she had a dilemma. If she came over the top, she'd be limiting her mobility and I was gambling hers was a very fluid style. If she moved around the table...as she did, it gave me time to grab my Glock and some ammo and keep running. I put a bullet in the chamber right as Constanza and her two feminazis drew there 9mms.

I was staring down the sight of my .40 S&W Glock at copper chick. Oh, she wasn't afraid in the least. She was pissed.

"Right, or left?" I inquired.

"Put the gun down, or you are dead!" Constanza commanded.

"I'm confused," I stated calmly. "Do I do what she says (copper chick) -- she is clearly someone important, or do I do what you say, Constanza?"

"PUT IT DOWN!" Constanza screamed. Copper chick waved the guns down slowly.

"Right, or left?" Copper chick inquired. "**** St. Marie," she gave me her name.

Mistress of the Golden Mare had to be something so not good.

"Right, or left earlobe," I explained. "You wanted to see how accurate I am. Here is your chance."

"If you miss, you could kill me," she gave the slightest hint of amusement. Psycho.

"Life is full of tragedies," I sighed. "If it is any consolation, I'd have less than a second to appreciate my many failings."

"Gun," she ordered. I chambered the round out, caught it and handed them both to St. Marie.

"Glock -- 22?" she questioned.

"Mmmm...the woman who taught me to shoot always felt the 9 mm was underpowered and I never felt truly at ease with the .45," I enlightened her.

"You were trained by an outsider woman?" St. Marie asked as she put the gun and bullet on the table.

"Yes. See she was short with this tight gymnast's body and found me inherently untrustworthy, so I used a fake fascination with firearms to seduce her," I related. "It turns out we both received an education."

"Is that why you are here?" she tilted her head to examine me from an owl's angle. "Seduction?"

"Oh God no!" I swore. "This place scares the crap out of me. You are all professional man-killers and I just happen to be a man. Putting a gun in my hand doesn't make me feel safe. No place in this building is safe, but this section is especially lethal."

"Are you brave, or cowardly?" she mused.

"Those are words taken out of context of any given situation. If given an exit from a hopeless fight, I'm out of there. You come between me and someone I really care about, I'll rip out your eyes and skull-fuck you," I grinned. "I am brave and cowardly on my own terms." She punched me in the stomach again.

"I owed you that," she commented serenely. She blocked my left jab, but missed my right upper-cut. Then it was all her. I really couldn't keep track of everything she did to me, but it was over quickly. I was left staring up at the ceiling with St. Marie standing to my side. She offered me a hand up.

"What? Had enough already?" I groaned.

"I have been told you don't have much 'quit' in you," she commented then motioned with her hand once more. I took it and let her pull me to a standing positon.

"Quit? Quitting is something you do at five o'clock," I mumbled. 

"Speaking of which -- this had been a blast. Feel free to come down here and kick my ass tomorrow morning. Right now, I'm Katrina's bitch and I need to get going," I weakly joked.

"I'll come with you," St. Marie stated.

"Honestly, I'm already terrified of you. You don't need to rub it in," I declared.

"I am going to see Katrina, where you are is irrelevant to me," St. Marie informed me.

"Oh, in that case, let me slink along in your shadow. By the way, my Christian name is Renfield," I noted seriously. She looked at me as we walked down the hallway.

"I have read Dracula before," she studied me.

"Amazons read!" I gasped. "With all of this colored-coded crap around here, I assumed you were all illiterate."

"You are interesting," she nodded. AH SHIT! Not interesting again. The Amory guards didn't notice either of us. We took the elevator up, stopped at the ground floor to pick Brielle and her companion.

"Hey Cáel," Brielle chuckled. "Where is Naomi?" Turning to St. Marie. "Hi, I'm Brielle. I haven't seen you around here before." St. Marie blinked.

"You are popular," St. Marie mocked at me. Wasn't she kicking my ass three minutes ago?

"I'm the corporate clown. It is a position of great significance here," I grimaced.

"Ladies, this is a recent transfer from the boonies -- Moose Jaw, or someplace like that," I said. "Here name is St. Marie. She'd got some impressive sounding stuff in front of her name. Something about horses." Now the two other girls blinking in surprise.

"We apologize," Brielle and her buddy bowed slightly. "We didn't realize."

"I am sure Cáel's deep reverence was the source of your mistake," St. Marie nodded then, "His wounds don't bother you?"

"Cáel is always getting into a fight with somebody. If it wasn't for our advanced healing arts, he wouldn't be able to stand," Brielle replied.

"Why do you keep getting in fights?" St. Marie looked at me. I was sure she had reports of every altercation I'd been in since starting.

"Life on my knees is hard," I shrugged. "I prefer to stand whenever I can and only bow to the Worthy."

"Me?" St. Marie mused. She wasn't really asking my opinion. That was fantasy.

"Yeah, you qualify. After that upper cut...I'm not sure what you did to me. My eyes don't track that fast. The next thing I was sure of, I was lying on my back and you were staring down at me with the expression of 'do I have a hangnail'," I related.

"You don't have my respect for kicking my ass though," I grinned. "You have my respect because after you administered your lesson, you stopped. Restraint is an undervalued commodity." The door opened. I gave a quick good-bye wave to Brielle and friend.

"Do you think your opinion matters to me," St. Marie posed. I had to think about that.

"Yes," I answered. She studied me. "You are smarter than most, meaning you are far more likely to kill me than your garden variety murderer who works here. You don't respect me, but you acknowledge me. Honestly, it is the best I can hope for right now."

"Does it occur to you that you are too bright?" St. Marie inquired.

"There is no such thing," I replied. "The failing is letting people know how bright you are. Can I ask you something?"

"No."

"I'm asking anyway. Is Elsa okay?" I pressed it. She looked at me again.

"Why do you ask?" St. Marie stopped us outside Katrina's door. I wanted to be smarmy, but I wasn't. Katrina and Elsa deserved better.

"Me being downstairs, you opposed to that and you having a mean, vindictive streak," I answered. "That worries me. Elsa annoys the crap out of me, but I don't want to be the source of any trouble for her."

"You put a hand on Katrina and I don't care which of the 31 Flavors your pony is; we are going at it again," I promised.

"Interesting," she kept studying. "At the Archery range, when the child ran at you, you ran the other way -- why?"

"I draw strength from kindness and love -- something you ladies are sorely lacking in," I expressed. "I owe Katrina my life and I owe Aya my heart. The rest of you are monsters and can burn in hell for all I care."

"Do you consider yourself adopted into House Epona?" she kept quizzing me.

"I have an actually job to do here," I reminded St. Marie. Sigh. "I am not a member of House Epona, the Host, or even a 'Runner'," I said. "I'm a male. I'm one too many flippant remarks, one lady having a bad day, or one political expediency away from death. A few women might speak in my defense, but none of them would stop my execution. That is my reality."

"You should be running away from Havenstone as fast as you can. You are brave, resourceful and have a minute chance of dying a masculine death," she advised me. I laughed.

"When you grow a set of testes we can revisit the issue of male priorities and motivations," I grinned. "Until then, you have your version of loyalty and I have mine."

St. Marie opened the door and went in with me following along. The meeting was in process. We were flashed concerned looks for multiple reasons -- Pony-Goddess St. Marie in her sports bra and boy shorts, me in biker pants, biking shoes and nothing else, and me being late. Katrina gave the two of us a momentary notice then proceeded with her meeting.

"Katrina," St. Marie interrupted. Katrina responded with an icy stare.

"You are interrupting -- make it quick," Katrina stated calmly.

"Then I'll wait until you finish," St. Marie responded with her own false politeness. She randomly meandered around Katrina's office making a nuisance of herself.

I resumed my place in the line-up in time to get my work-review from Katrina. I rocked at my job. Apparently I was purloining corporate resources for a prototype gravity device that would crash the Moon into the Earth. My crime was that my project was over-budget...oh yeah, and I'd end all life on Earth.

"Cáel, I am unsure if I should order you to work harder, or not to try so hard," Katrina worried.

"First off, I apologize for being late and under-dressed today. I meant no disrespect and I have no excuse. I'm being stabbed repeatedly with a knife at three o'clock if that helps?" I offered.

"Really?" Katrina arched an eyebrow.

"Really," I confirmed. "Then I get to carry around one of those cool knives like the rest of this merry band here."

"My breast implants -- I'm going for a respectable 'B' -- go in next Wednesday. Two weeks later and I'm off to Denmark to get my 'franks and beans' cut-off and tucked," I tried to sound serious. 

"A few hair extensions and I'll be one of the team for real," I grinned.

"Katrina, why do you put up with this?" St. Marie seethed.

"St. Marie, it is not your station to question me, or my orders," Katrina countered. "Still, a lesson is in order."

"Daphne, do you like working with Cáel?" Katrina regarded her female 'new hire'.

"He is more than funny -- and very attractive," Daphne responded. "He provides insight into life that a normal Amazon wouldn't have access to. He instructs with humor and bravery in equal measure."

"Fabiola?"

"He is a waste of resources best put elsewhere," Fabiola insisted. "He is a source of dissension. We would be better training him and others like him to replace our diseased stock." I took some small level of comfort that the other 'new' hires were almost as offended as I was, though I couldn't show it.

"Tigger?"

"He was a vessel for the will of our ancestors," she replied. "What more proof do we need that he is necessary around here?"

"Does anyone have anything different to add?" Katrina gazed over the others. No one spoke.

"That's why '****' St. Marie," Katrina assumed a dark goddess-like aura. "Now apologize."

"Apologize for questioning you?" St. Marie snorted. "Hardly. You are using my people and my facilities to train a male in a manner not approved of by the Council."




Life as a New Hire Ch. 13



"I have Hayden's permission, but feel free to follow your convictions," Katrina nodded.

"You have a daughter in outdoor training right now, St. Marie. It would be utterly tragic if she experienced a crippling injury," Katrina sighed.

"You wouldn't dare," St. Marie took a few steps toward Katrina who stood up from her desk.

"Dare? Hayden and I have tolerated your intransigence until now," Katrina glared.

"Keep to your beliefs. Now you know the cost of standing in the way of progress," Katrina continued. "We cannot afford to remove you, but we can end your counter-productive thinking at this generation."

"When the Council finds out you've overstepped your bounds it will be the end of you," St. Marie kept coming.

"We are a dying people, St. Marie. Hayden and I are willing to kill as many of you as necessary so that our daughters will have daughters of their own," Katrina stated. "If you want to see who is truly overstepping, recall our oaths. We obey the High Priestess, the Council, our Houses and our duties. I am the Spear in Night and Death. You are the Golden Mare."

"You wage war upon our many enemies. I ferret them out, within and beyond our society," Katrina educated us. "If I determine an Amazon is an enemy, I bring their name to Hayden for a final adjudication of the Ancestors. If the Ancestors deny you, then I must remove the enemy. You know how that goes."

"My daughter is not the enemy," St. Marie spat.

"That is not our place to decide," Katrina gave a feral grin. "You should have been an Augur if you wanted that kind of knowledge. Besides, neither you nor your daughter are under sentence of death. She can live a long full life without an eye...or an arm."

St. Marie fidgeted, contemplating violence.

"Everyone, but Cáel leave," Katrina ordered. St. Marie was staying as clearly intended. After Dora shut the door, Katrina added, "Touch my male again, and I'll do something worse to you."

"What I do to a male shouldn't matter," St. Marie growled.

"The New Directive matters to us all and I think Cáel Nyilas will be the only one to pass the first round of the program, so Hayden thinks he matters -- as do I," Katrina glared right back.

"He hit me," St. Marie grumbled.

"After you grabbed his jaw like you would an unruly child," Katrina countered.

"He was a rebellious male," Copper Horse chick kept coming.

"St. Marie, where did you confront him? It wasn't a basket weaving class -- it was a firing range," Katrina sighed in exasperation. "Cáel being on the range was the reason you came here. Why did you manhandle him?" A pregnant pause followed.

"I was an hour late so I missed his practice time," St. Marie admitted.

"Cáel, I blame you," Katrina looked my way.

"Yes Ma'am -- Katrina," I nodded. What did I do now?

"Cáel's presence makes normally controlled, rational women act in an abnormal fashion," Katrina informed St. Marie.

"I prefer to believe that than think we are incapable of accepting a lone outsider male amongst us," Katrina added. "If we treat him the way we treated our old male population we would be perpetuating our mistakes. He doesn't submit because that was the type of male we selected. Why is he learning how to fight? That should be obvious to you."

"Care to enlighten me?" I requested.

"No," the two women replied. Ah, what the fuck.

"That's okay. I figured it out," I shrugged. "I was checking to see if I warranted the truth." Katrina put her face into her upraised hands. She may have wept a single tear.

"You know nothing," St. Marie stated dismissively.

"He knows enough," Katrina shook her head.

"Who would have told him?" St. Marie looked back to Katrina suspiciously.

"Why don't you ask him?" Katrina chuckled. St. Marie turned back to me.

"Was it Katrina?" St. Marie threatened.

"No and no 'one' person. It was two unrelated slip-ups by two unrelated Amazons," I said. "One referenced a previous time when the Amazons let men bear arms, which led to disaster. The other was the use of the term 'Ash Men' as a positive moniker."

"That's all I know. I suspect there was a time when the Amazons let down their guard and allowed men to be equals, or semi-equals, in their society. There was a rebellion that left a bitter taste on the Amazon racial psyche. Somehow the Ash Men played a positive role in Amazon society. For some reason, you exterminated them," I concluded. St. Marie flinched.

"Why do you say that?" she studied me.

"They are not around today and you are all hateful psychopaths," I explained.

"Again, you know nothing," St. Marie insisted.

"Katrina, unless you are not finished insulting my intelligence, can I use your bathroom so that I can get dressed and go to work?" I looked at my boss.

"Insult to your intelligence duly noted. When you are finished, report to Medical. They want to test a variety of gene-therapies on you," Katrina told me. I stumbled and stared. Katrina laughed. "Get to work." From the bathroom, I heard St. Marie question Katrina.

"Is he afraid of Medical, or is he worried about being a test subject?" she posed.

"Neither; he's surprised that he had his job explained to him before he actually got there. It has never happened before," Katrina replied.

"You send him on missions without him knowing what he's going to be doing?" St. Marie grunted.

"Yes. It makes him think on his feet," Katrina noted.

"That is probably why his work is so substandard," St. Marie remarked.

"Cáel's work is not substandard. He may be the best new hire in the batch. I give him crappy reviews to keep him on his toes," Katrina snickered. 

"He knows what I'm doing, but he still keeps trying harder despite that," Katrina sounded amused. "Cáel is one of the few joys in my life...and if he doesn't finish getting dressed in the next 30 seconds I'm going to assign him to babysitting Marilynn at the hospital next." I hoped out of Katrina's bathroom -- mostly dressed.

"Is Marilynn okay?" I worried. "I didn't get the call last night, but I never imagined anything bad happened to her." St. Marie appeared confused.

"Someone gave her a bad drugs and she nearly overdosed," Katrina brought me up to date. "That is where Desiree is. Now go to work." Off I went.

"He is enamored of Marilynn St. James?" I caught St. Marie inquiring.

"Oh no," Katrina answered. "He has rather a low opinion of her, but Cáel would run into a burning ammo dump to save Constanza. He is stupidly enchanting that way." I had one last hurdle.

There were the 'new' hires talking with Felix. They were captured in his orbit and he was having a blast soaking up the attention. He was making real inroads with the ladies but he missed a fundamental aspect of his environment -- who hunted who. 

"Cáel," Felix parted the women as he came my way.

"How did you do last night? Didn't you and Gene hook-up? I'm done with her, so it isn't like you'd be poaching," he grinned. I sensed the emotional tidal shift.

"Nah, both Gene and I were of the opinion you dumped her to have a one-night stand with Brooke, break her heart then toss her back to me," I shrugged.

Felix glared. This wasn't how the 'game' was played. Where was my outrage?

"Are you going to take her back?" Felix went all alpha-predator on me. Bad move. The only predators around here had to have tits -- bulging pectorals didn't count. "If you do, go easy on her. She's sore," he kept grinning like the wolf he was. 

"Besides," he fished something flimsy and back out of his pocket, "he can return these to her." He tossed me Brooke's panties from last night. In Havenstone, Brooke was a 'nobody' -- an outsider. She didn't matter. Felix taking a trophy from a woman did matter. I was different because I knew the score. Felix didn't have that luxury.

I actually held them up, displaying Brooke's rather daring choice in evening lingerie. A little bit of education was in order.

"Pretty clever -- the old hiding the panties trick so you can exhibit them later," I chuckled. "I use it to get a call back. You clearly get off on mailing them to her parents, boyfriend, or husband as if having sex with you wasn't humiliation enough."

Felix moved to the very edge of my personal space.

"Now you are being a poor sport," he sneered.

"What do you mean?" I remained cool. "I went over to Brooke's this morning. We critiqued your sexual performance. She found you truly impressive -- just a little weak down the closing stretch."

"She said that to make you feel less inadequate," Felix reposed.

"Nah; she said that so she could have sex with me," I sighed. "I fought her off as long as I could, but she wrestled me down and rode me like the pony express. If you wore her out...well...ah, she recovers quickly and vigorously."

"You are so full of shit," he laughed. "You got a pity fuck. Accept it."

"Think what you will," I smirked. "I left her smiling. You left her in tears and isn't the woman's pleasure what it is all about?" Pandering to my audience.

"I agree," Felix took back in his surroundings. Nice recovery except for...

"So that's why you stole Brooke's panties and chose to publicly hurl them at me," I met his gaze, the bastard, "because she matters...most?" Felix could feel the room temperature dropping by the Kelvin.

"It is how the game is played," he snarled. He was starting to clue in that things had gone wrong.

How had they gone wrong? For starters, the only Alphas allowed in Havenstone didn't have dicks. Treating women, even outsider women, as if they were game pieces on a male's only board wouldn't wash here. I had coughed up the name of every woman I'd ever had intercourse with -- but that was for the job, not for general consumption.

Felix, by idiotically seducing all the new hires in Executive Services had showed them EXACTLY what he thought of them -- outsider women to be taken as prizes. Reference the Greeks in the Trojan War for how the Amazons felt about that. This was not sympathy for world-wide femininity.

This was terrorists attacking a school. When the Amazons found those terrorists, they killed them; not to save outsider children, but because the terrorist were fucking dangerous. Since Felix treated all women like trophies and conquest, he, by definition, would treat Amazon women the same way. Good job, Pinhead.

Felix was a pretty smart guy. He finally realized I'd kicked his ass without lifting a finger. Felix couldn't figure out why he'd lost, only that he'd lost. Then we were back to Felix being the man who always has to win. He couldn't let go. He couldn't let me have my moment and depart in peace. This was made all the worse for I was the Bumpkin -- the guy he'd dissed from Day One.

"I guess I need to have another go at Brooke to set the record straight," Felix hissed quietly.

"I'll make it easy on you," I laughed loudly. "I am tired of you hiding behind my acquaintances to get at me. I have a friend coming over at 5:10 pm, so give me an hour and I'll meet you on the mats."

"Why should I?" he sneered. "What's on the line?"

"Normally I fight for a cause, even if it is my own self-respect. I'm making an exception in your case -- I'll fight you solely to kick your ass. Just cause you are a lousy human being. I know you are because I'm one too. Fight, or cluck -- your choice."

"I'll fight you," he smiled confidently. "I'll break you for everyone to see and then I'll take that luscious blonde." I had to laugh.

"Good luck with that," I chuckled. I could see it now. Felix: 'You are now my prize'; Elsa: 'You are now in Intensive Care'. Woot! I couldn't lose.



Life as a New Hire Ch. 14



This story plays fast and loose with Ancient History and Linguistics; be warned.

Caring is a curse you dare not go without.

*****

(Somewhere in the midst of this nightmare, Cáel needs to earn a paycheck)

Felix had the physical confrontation he wanted. Somewhere in the back of my mind was that I had to do something inane yet again - like consumer test Ginsu Spatulas, or the equivalent. Felix noted the open hostility directed his way, but had neither the knowledge, nor the empathy to give a fuck. The elevator closed on his smug face. Work time.

"That didn't take you long at all," St. Marie chortled from behind me. I jolted.

"If I wasn't doing this, I'd be hand-feeding polar bears, so cut me some slack," I groaned.

"I was under the impression that your pugnacity was more of a defense mechanism, not male bravado," St. Marie probed.

"I am as much surprised as you are about this. I don't even like the girl involved. I've never fought over a woman before, but Felix used that woman to get at me - ineffectively," I mused. "My emotions don't...you don't want to be hearing any of this, do you?"

"No," St. Marie said. I stared at her. She stared at me. "Yes?"

"Have you ever done any bikini wrestling?" I blurted out. She blinked. "Gotta go. Work to do," and I fled. In the elevator I recognized one of the ladies from International Finance though I didn't know her name.

"What happened to your face?" she asked.

"Do you know who the Golden Mare is?" I replied. She nodded very respectfully. "Well, she hit me." The woman studied me. "I guess I shouldn't have hit her first."

"You hit '****' St. Marie?" She gulped. "I'm stunned you are still alive."

"You and me both," I sighed. "I'm starting to regret suggesting she take up bikini wrestling."

Blink.

"Tell me about it. I was looking into her eyes and that was the first thing to come to mind," I shrugged.

"I repeat, I'm stunned you are still alive," she shook her head.

"What do you mean? I think she'd look good in a bikini," I stated. The door opened to Medical. "Have a good day at work now," I smiled. "I'm off to crush marbles with a sledgehammer." My real job was to be a genetic guinea pig. I had to sit naked on a gurney and let them take blood and tissues samples. 

The sperm sample was fun. First I insisted that I'd been in a fight earlier in the morning and my elbows weren't up to the job. After confirming this, they had some poor 'new hire' jack me off. I held out as long as I could, to the point she gave me a blowjob - her first. Sadly, when senior medical technician informed her of the extinction of her oral virginity, they were both less than pleased yours truly.

I reminded them that I didn't shoot off into her mouth, or anything so crude. Next I informed them of a little known fact that my first ejaculate of the day (no mention of Brooke by me) was sterile and we had to repeat the process. No such luck. Damn microscopes. To prove I was a lousy patient, I feigned a collapse and a lack of breathing.

I didn't grapple with my CPR specialist. I very slowly and tenderly wrapped her up in my embrace. I told her that at the moment of utter darkness, her heartbeat brought me back to the light. I was a the point of penetration when a real doctor showed up and pulled the struggling Physician's Assistant away - she hadn't finished saving me, the young Amazon protested.

At this point the team threatened to give me a sedative. I responded with 'is it chemical, or a blow to the head'. They smiled and said they'd give me both if I misbehaved again. My counter-offer was a request for some Neapolitan ice cream. They conceded the issue, I got my ice cream and stopped being a jack-ass.

At 11:30 am, the first battery of tests concluded. As we were wrapping up, I asked why I had to be naked for the entire thing. They stared at me. Strangely, the Amazon who had prepped me for this nonsense had made herself scarce. Damn it. The doctors then gleefully informed me that I had to be naked for the second half of the test, after lunch.

I asked why. They smiled. Bitches. As I was fixing my tie, my phone rang.

"Hello, Android Cáel Nyilas here," I answered. There was some giggling - Brooke.

"Hey, Android Cáel, this is flesh and blood Brooke Lee," she snickered. Man, I had turned her around emotionally in only a few hours. Screw Felix.

"Have you eaten lunch yet?" she asked. I bit back my automatic response - asking if she was on the menu. We'd talked about Libra as I was leaving this morning.

"You, me and Libra?" I suggested. Brooke put her hand over the phone - the dearth of background noise was the giveaway.

"She may not want to see you," Brooke hedged. That meant Libra was listening in.

"We talked about this earlier, Brooke," I sighed. "I want a chance to at least talk with her." Not totally false. I wanted to fuck her again. That necessitated some amount of conversation so I was willing to put forth the ergs of energy.

"I'll make the effort," Brooke promised. Making Libra a deal-breaker might have been sugar-coated chocolate for Libra. It would have also made them both suspicious of my suspicions.

"Please do your best," I said. "Where do you want meet?"

"My place?" she teased.

"Libra plus I would only have forty-five minutes with you, which is not nearly enough time," I reminded her. Sex.

"Libra doesn't have to know," Brooke was now pressing Libra's buttons.

"We are not going to go there," I insisted. They didn't own me and I didn't own them.

We were bantering back and forth, playing with sexual innuendo of the relationship kind. A good aphrodisiac is a woman thinking you are foregoing sex with another woman to have sex with her. Best of all (for me) for hooking Libra and me back together, Libra was going to let Brooke fuck me yet again. Win-win-win.

"We'll meet at Stanhope's," Brooke finished. I agreed to meet her there in ten minutes and off I went. Aisha, the Arabic swimsuit model/SD hottie called for me as I was heading out the door. I asked why. She didn't say so I ran for it. Screw them all; it was my lunch break. I made it to Stanhope's. I was fleet of foot and was getting the hang of hailing taxis.

Libra was with Brooke at an outdoor table at Stanhope's. I didn't fake surprise. My cover was that I had faith in Brooke. I kissed Brooke while Libra gave me the cold shoulder.

"Libra doesn't believe we've talked about her," Brooke opened up.

"You are the one who keeps shouting out her name during orgasm," I sighed.

"That's not a joking matter," Libra snapped viciously. 

"It made you talk to me," I winked. Libra growled.

"I hate you," she seethed.

"That is a perfectly normal, if heart-rending reaction to our past two encounters," I admitted.

"I hope it hurt," Libra seethed. "Besides, I went out with Brian Fung last night." She was stating the obvious. I was okay with that. It left her open to my lie.

"Have you moved on?" I moped. Libra not seeing me anymore made me want to cry. Missing her was utter anguish - it was written all over my face. Non-verbal deception is as important as the verbal kind.

I was not beating a dead horse, I was coaxing a thoroughbred to the Triple Crown. Give the girl what she wants - verbally, sexually and, if you can pull it off convincingly, emotionally.

"I don't know," Libra stated which meant 'no, she hadn't moved on'.

"Let's go out tomorrow night," I suggested. Be bold enough to make the first move, but not so aggressive she feels pressured.

Being a man isn't beating your chest; it is stepping up to get your ego battered by the girl. If it wasn't for my first, failed romantic attempt, I wouldn't be where I am today. It hurt like Hell when she publically rejected me. These days, my bed was always warm so the pain was well worth it.

"Why not tonight?" Libra got combative.

"Felix and I had a disagreement at work," I grinned. "We are settling the issue tonight at six."

"What happened?" Brooke leaned in close to me, hungry for details. I was a bastard.

"He loudly presented me with these," I slipped Brooke her panties under the table.

"In the middle of my office and co-workers. Even my Boss heard it," I added. Brooke's deeply tanned complexion paled. Libra didn't see the panties, but she knew the score.

"What did you do?" Libra pressed.

"I told him Brooke was a grown woman and could make her own decisions about who she was with," I started.

"Brooke is a wonderful lady and she should be courted based on that. Felix had this bizarre idea that I felt possessive about her and thought he was using Brooke to hurt me over a slight at work," I wove forth the basic truths. "I'm not going to fight Brooke's battles," I affirmed which meant that 'yes, I was going to fight Brooke's battles'.

If you are a guy and you assume that the woman is actually hearing the words coming out of your mouth, you are deluded. The reverse is also the same.

"If a man has a problem with me, he comes after me, not my friends," I grew stern. This meant Felix was not a man. It also meant that I considered Brooke, thus Libra, my friends. 

They were okay with that. This didn't mean they thought of me as a friend. It was similar to the family butler. I had to memorize every detail of their lives. If they remembered my birthday, I should feel blessed - symbolically speaking of course. I'd make an abysmal butler.

"Did he hit you?" Libra leaned across the table and stroked my cheek right below the place St. Marie had clocked me.

"That? Nah. An Archer fish tried to shoot my eye out so now he's fish sticks," I replied.

"With all your wounds," Libra hesitated, "Are you in the military?"

"Libra, I'm a disaster as a civilian," I chuckled. "I'd make an impossible soldier. Half way through basic training I'd start showing up in a kilt - 'cause it makes me feel free and breezy down there'."

"When they tried to make me change, I'd charge them with cultural insensitivity," I smiled.

"What would you do if they let you get away with it?" Brooke snickered.

"Take up horse archery...because you never know when you'll be without fuel and bullets on the modern battlefield," I postulated. "If they let me get away with that, I'd stay, but I'd join the airborne."

"I like parachuting," Brooke nodded. "Have you ever done it?" She bet I hadn't and she was right.

"Never before in this lifetime. I really want to see if I could get my horsed trained to do it first," I chortled. "Lord knows, nobody else has. The first Airmobile Horse Archery unit. That would be pretty cool."

"The horse would break her legs," Libra frowned.

"Use an air mattress platform for the horse to stand on, sort of like those air bags stuntmen use, but smaller," I reasoned. I wasn't sure if Brooke and Libra were more stunned about the plausibility of my suggestion, or that I had created it off the cuff.

We ordered lunch and drinks. Service was very efficient so I had only pushed my salad aside to have my grilled shrimp replaced it when a shadow fell across our table. It was a stormy Aisha.

"Cáel Nyilas, you are coming with me," she spoke with deceptive calm.

"No," I replied then ate a shrimp. She put her hand on my shoulder. I brandished my fork.

"Listen up," I grumbled. I tapped my wristwatch with my fork, "I've got 35 more minutes on my lunch break. I'm eating with friends...okay, almost friends..."

"I'm Cáel's friend," Brooke rallied. Aisha bore down on my collarbone, so I stabbed at her hand with the fork. She moved it out of the way first.

"Come now," she growled.

"Very well," I sighed. "Since you certainly have never heard this from a man before meeting me, I'll clarify. NO, I'm not coming with you. Go away you annoying twit. If that was unclear, let me add - no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no and no."

Aisha looked over her shoulder. There were two more SD chicklettes. Woot!

"Last chance to keep this simple," Aisha threatened.

"Brooke and Libra, you need to stand up and back away," I instructed them as I stood up as well, "I'm going to need your chairs as weapons." The girls grabbed their food and backed up.

"Don't make a scene," Aisha whispered.

"Ex-squeeze me? I'm eating lunch. In thirty-five minutes I'll be back at work. You are the one being a total bitch for annoying the fuck out of me here," I glared. "All you had to do was tell me why you wanted me back at Havenstone, but you didn't feel the need, so now we have this stand-off."

"It is not a stand-off and I don't explain myself to you," Aisha glared back. She even showed me she had a gun. I laughed, pulled out my phone.

"What are you doing?" Aisha made a swipe for the phone.

"Making me late for work," I chuckled. "I'm dialing 9-1-1."

"Do that and you will be in a world of trouble," she threatened.

"You haven't thought this out, have you, Aisha?" I snickered. "If it was important to my job, Katrina, or Medical would have called me. If it was a calamity, Hayden perhaps. Barring that, I can't wait to hear your excuse for starting a public brawl."

"I told you to come with me and you had best obey," Aisha hissed. That was the tipping point. Recycling old, failed arguments is the sign that your opponent has lost.

"Yeah...right," I shrugged. I sat back down and began eating. A second later, Brooke and Libra joined me. Aisha retreated to the curb and waited...and got ticketed because it was a No Parking Zone.

"Who was that woman? I've seen her before," Brooke commented.

"She's that woman from the first night we met," Libra answered.

"She's not my boss so I don't care," I tried to recapture our earlier mood. It was only partially successful. The three SD ladies kept their eyes on us until dinner was cleared away and it was time to go back.

I kissed both Brooke and Libra goodbye with a promise of a date the next night. When I tried to walk past Aisha, she grabbed my arm. From my point of view, a ride to work was a ride to work and this one was free. I travelled in silence. Miraculously, they didn't answer my request to go to Medical, though we were at least going up...and up...and up. Crap.

They deposited me in Hayden's office then departed. It was Hayden, Katrina, St. Marie, Elsa, and Tessa. The door shut ominously behind me.

"Cáel, I like you," Hayden began. "Unless you are working on an assigned task, you are not allowed to defy a woman of Havenstone who gives you a clear concise order, especially one from the Security Detail." It didn't take me a second to formulate my treatise on the Rights of Man.

"No." That didn't go over well. Into the emptiness, I forged ahead. "You can't expect for me to be given conflicting orders and expect me to succeed. You people have a chain of command for a reason. I follow that chain like every other member of Havenstone."

"You are not a member of Havenstone," Hayden pointed out. That I had to think about.

I scanned each impassive face in the room. I wanted to cry - not out of fear; out of frustration because I really had tried so hard to make this work.

"You are all a bunch of cowards and I regret ever wanting to be part of this place," I spat.

"Your opinion of us does not matter," Hayden started.

"Cowardly act number one," I interrupted. Hayden's gaze hardened.

"It is your time. You publically defied a Havenstone employee on a mission concerning you," she continued.

"Cowardly acts number two and three," I growled. Now St. Marie and Elsa closed in.

I turned to face them. I wanted to go down swinging, no matter how futile the gesture.

"Cowardly act number four - suddenly, when you desire, my insolence matters," I set myself for what was to come.

"Don't fight," Tessa commanded softly. Katrina kept her own counsel.

"That's your fucking problem, right there," I shouted. "This isn't the Sunshine Scouts. This is a martial society. I fight, because that is what every bitch here is broadcasting. I didn't hit Rhada when she hit me. I called for help, like any sane individual. When no help was forthcoming, I called for someone to get the police. Again, you did nothing."

"Fuck you all. Rhada attacked me, so I put her down. Madi attacked me, so I put her down too - and it all your damn fault and not one of you has the courage to face that fact," I shouted. "You attack me for fighting back at the same time you tell me to fit in. Now which is it? Am I to fit in to a martial culture, or am I not? Make up your damn minds!"

"You do not get to talk to us like that," St. Marie murmured.

"Somebody better talk to us like this," Katrina finally spoke. "Face facts: Cáel is here because he resists. He resists because that is the lesson we are teaching him, Sisters."

"What do you mean?" Elsa regarded Katrina.

"When Cáel is challenged physically and resists successfully, or even unsuccessfully, he grows in the estimation of our Sisters. No one admits it, but it is the truth. The harder he fights, the more he is valued. It is a very simple principle. He has never believed he is a member of the Host, a Runner, or even a recruit. He does not strive to be an Amazon of any kind," Katrina lectured.

"Then we expect him to do ridiculous things like walk off with an Amazon he barely knows who doesn't even explain where he is going, or what he is supposed to do," Katrina shook her head. "Somehow we forecast his desire to be treated with a modicum of respect to be a threat? Respecting him does not make him an Amazon; it makes him a warrior in our cause."

"The Council has not decided on that portion of the New Directive yet," St. Marie stated.

"Warrior-Fathers," Katrina declared firmly. "My niece, Aya - you all know of her - she went to camp this week and SHE formed her own war band with her fellow students. Fuck you all very much - It works!"

"Katrina," Hayden cautioned.

"Hayden, I am tired of this half-measure bullshit. There is no being half-alive. We live, or we die. We made a mistake then we made another one. Let's not make it three." I raised my hand.

"Yes?" Hayden finally acknowledged me.

"Can I go back to work now? Sitting here is like commenting on the rain. I have a lot to say, but it won't affect the rain one iota," I reasoned.

"You are not going to run?" Tessa asked. I knew she was joking.

"Well, I can't get past the front door. I can't escape out the garage and I left my diamond-tipped glasscutter and 150 meters of rope in my other jacket," I informed her.

"I guess I'll have to use the 15 kg of C-4 I have stuck in my shorts. I know it makes me look like I took a colossal dump in my underwear, but trust me, it is only a weapon," I grinned. I tried to get around Elsa. She brushed her hand over my chest.

"You are special," she purred.

"You scare me," I mumbled.

"I know," she grinned happily.

"Bye Pony-Lady," I waved to St. Marie.

"Cael," Hayden called out. I halted, but didn't turn around. "You will stop referring to the Marshal of the Amazon Host as 'Pony-Lady', is that clear?"

"Yes Hayden. Good-bye St. Marie," I said as I departed.

"Are you sure he is not mentally defective?" St. Marie questioned.

"He is," Elsa replied. "He laughs at Death." See, what did I tell you? Now you can run out and pick up an infatuated female psychopath of your very own.

(Later in the day)

Knife-fighting class was taught by this painfully thin yet tall Amazon with mostly grey-white hair. There was nothing wrong with her reflexes, or sight. She regarded me, her only student, with passionless eyes. She had me sit down cross-legged, she did the same opposite me, and we spent an hour talking about the philosophy of knife-fighting.

Knives were hardly ever the first weapon of choice. That was part of the lesson - knowing when to choose a knife to fight with. We talked about all kinds of blades, focusing on the short, hilt-less blades every Amazon carried. I had to get one special-made. It was the size of my palms. If the blade was too small, it would cut up my hand when I used it.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 14



Except for a few hand motions, it was verbal instruction. Knife from an advantage, knife from the front, and knife at a disadvantage. Each had its own set of rules to follow. It was cool. Me having a penis didn't bother her in the least. At the end of the lesson, I asked if I could call her Zen Master. She said 'no', her name was Pamela.

I then asked if I could call her Zen Mistress Pamela. Smiling, she said 'no' again. My last attempt was 'Blossoming Petals of Death Pamela' at which point she laughed and told me to give it a rest. I found myself with a free hour so I raced down to the pool and took in a few laps. It was a crime against nature that all the Amazons were one-piece bathing suits. 

Here I was in my Speedo and no one to play with. That wasn't really true. After my first lap, two Amazon lasses tried to engage me in a race without actually talking to me. As they were turning back they realized I was keeping to my same strong, casual strokes in my own little World.

That annoyed them so the next time around, one got into my lane, turned to face me and stopped. Right according to plan, or if you prefer, like stealing candy apple kisses from a lady. I almost ran into her. At the very last second, I pulled up, letting my body coast up against her. She was treading water and looking vibrant.

Her treading water meant I didn't have to. One hand settled on her mid-back (friendly enough), but the other one cupped her right buttock and immediately probed along her cleft and to her pussy from behind. Her 'Happy Choice' pop-up indicators went off and I had a winner. I was sure I could have pointed a shotgun in this woman's face and she'd have spit on me.

With my cock bumping up against her crotch, my finger wiggling around her suit for her pussy and my other arm keeping her close, she looked totally flummoxed.

"What are you doing?" she whispered. I was sure she wanted to have that sound authoritative, not like plea for an instruction manual.

"How about this," I replied quietly, "you keep your hands moving and I'll kick so that you can wrap your legs around my waist?"

"Why would I want to do that?" she asked...while her legs wrapped around my waist. A little positon altering with my hand and I was having her pulse against my cock.

"Deena?" the other Amazon called out. She was swimming in close proximity now.

"I..." Deena responded to her comrade. "You are taking liberties," she chastised me even as an erotic smile graced her lips.

"Please don't turn me in," I murmured to her. My lips were a few millimeters from hers.

The other woman could clearly make out our physical relationship between us.

"Stop that," the unnamed woman demanded.

"Aaahhh..." Deena moaned as I slipped two fingers past her swimsuit and into her slick cunt. The stranger tried to separate us, but Deena shook her head. "No...we are okay."

"Stop it," I whispered. "Don't make me...don't make me...don't," and kissed. Total lie for the sake of our voyeur. Deena wasn't currently capable of making me doing anything. Why was I doing this? Out of control libido plus stress plus I still had Yasmin and Felix to deal with. Oh yeah, Deena being cute, firm and just curvaceous enough to be Grace Kelly feminine didn't hurt.

"Why are we doing this?" Deena murmured sexily.

"Am I making you happy?" I posed. She thought about it then nodded.

"I thought being with a male would be more difficult," she countered.

"Stop looking so athletic," I teased her, "and it will be easier for me to get away." 

Calling an Amazon 'pretty', or even 'beautiful' would have limited, if any affect. Better words were 'impressive, swift, healthy, fit and athletic, because that's what they valued in one another. Even 'scary' and 'frightening' were turning out to be good words to use. They never got enough male input to matter.

"You are very healthy for a male," Deena purred back.

"How healthy?" the other one asked. She was now more curious than offended with my audacity.

"He's VERY healthy, Sharona," Deena smiled. "He has strong fingers as well."

I knew the look Sharona shot me. It was the 'why her and not me?' The answer was clear to her - Deena had been bold, thus won. It was traditional Amazon culture. I was easier to blame me because I was the guy. All three of us knew the score. More kissing and kitty-petting ensued. It became even more rewarding when I eventually bumped into Deena's clit.

I didn't have to do much. My finger rubbed against her nub, Deena really liked that and started humping my finger before I could do anything. Public sex had never been a stimuli for me. I didn't mind it and by the number of Amazons circling, or watching from poolside, they didn't mind what Deena was 'doing' to me either.

There was no screaming, thunderclap of joy, or even a violent physical spasm. Deena pressed tight, made several yipping noises and came down whimpering happily. She was a truly content little camper; that was for sure.

"You had sex!" one of the bystanders called out. I looked into Deena's eyes.

"If you say 'yes', I'll wake up tomorrow morning in Baku Faso," I whispered.

"No...no we weren't," Deena gave me a sultry look. "We were practicing lifeguarding techniques. Did I save your life...?"

"I'm Cáel," I breathed on her lips. "Yes, I feel like a whole new man."

"We will have to hone your skills - real soon," Deena winked. That was not a request. That was 'come back, or I'll hunt you down'.

"I normally cannot make it before five," I informed her.

"That works for me," Deena pulled away. She gave a warm sigh as my fingers slipped out of her. I made for the side. As I pulled myself out, my equipment straining at the seams, several wonderful ladies surrounded me.

"Do you think you are leaving?" they confronted me.

"I have a five o'clock end-of-day meeting with Katrina," I calmly explained. Katrina was my 'Get out of Jail' free card that allowed me to escape the pool and the shower without becoming a scratching post. Amazons aren't animals; I'm just that sexy. Yes, I could pick up almost any girl at a club. I also had various Amazon pre-ordering collars with my name on it. By now my neck size was common knowledge.

(Wednesday Evening)

The stuff of my nightmares: I walk out from the end of day meeting with Katrina and the new hire ladies two see a gaggle of other women waiting for me, I assumed. I knew them all. Farah Winters recruited me from Bolingbrook, Umami Lhasa who was Tessa Carmichael's right-hand woman, Tessa herself...and Yasmin Palhavã, my Brazilian hottie and workout date.

"Hi Cáel," they all greeted me.

"Hey ladies," I did my best to look happy. "What's going on?"

"Havenstone has offered me a job," Yasmin grinned. How could this possibly go wrong? Yasmin thought this place was run by a crazy cult, so why did she look at ease?

She could be trying to infiltrate Havenstone - bad idea. She could have had a conversion - I hope her son would be okay. She was...high on drugs...okay, the last one was weak.

"What department?" I kept going.

"We are trying to convince her to start out in Security Services (the guards) then move her up to Financial Investigations due to her expertise with the Policia Federal in her homeland," Tessa said.

"Cáel, by the look on your face, I know you are concerned. Ms. Carmichael - Tessa, has told me some things that put the situation in perspective," Yasmin gave me an all so sexy look. "You are far braver than I thought you were."

"What? That I invested the entirety of my 401K on the comeback of Baleen Oil?" I joked.

"My Son will be okay," Yasmin patted my hand. Was I that much of an open book?

"Do you have an instinct to protect children?" Umami inquired.

"Not before I got here, but then I didn't know anyone who would casually kill children either," I responded. I had to ask the next question. I couldn't be me and not.

"Tessa, can I ask you a serious question?" I began. Tessa nodded. "Why was Yasmin 'read in' to Havenstone? I don't doubt for a second she's a qualified as an investigator, but this strikes me as highly unusual and even reckless for your...people."

"It was this, or kill her," Tessa answered. "By the way, that was Yasmin's first question too."

"Precisely, my question was 'are you going to kill me for that crazy cult stuff that went down last week?'" Yasmin corrected. "She said I had to answer two questions to decide that." In a bizarre, Amazon-style way, that made sense. Yes, Yasmin would beat her husband nearly to death for cheating on her - and shooting her, and she would willingly have sex again.

I knew this because Buffy told me her backstory and it had Katrina asking her the two questions as well.

"Yasmin, let me clarify this right now," I held my ground. "I'm cheating on you. Please don't hit me. It has been a bad day and the pain has just begun."

And all the psycho-bitches laughed.

"Let's go practice, É o meu P.A.," Yasmin chuckled. No one was going to tell me what the damn phrase meant. I dare not look it up on-line because if I did, and Yasmin saw that flicker of understanding in my eyes...bad things would happen to me in the bedroom. No, I needed an alibi witness.

To be honest, I thought the bedroom was Paradise until some ladies (I'd cheated on - surprise, surprise) tied me to one. Having my body waxed by sadistic amateurs was only recently exceeded by being shot with an arrow on my pain meter. It is not something I like to talk about. They dyed my hair bright pink too. 

I ended up nailing the new assistant at the College infirmary, so it wasn't a total loss. Oh, and less I forget, they both took me back later, at the same time, without telling each other. It is a wonder I'm still alive. In an effort to keep that going, I took us to the non-blooded gym this time around. 

It wasn't as nice as the full-blooded one, but it was still very full service. The biggest difference I had noticed earlier was the lack of archaic weapons on the wall near the training mat. Yasmin and I decided on a 40/20 split - forty minute of working out and twenty minutes on the mats. Around 5:30 pm, Felix showed up. Like me, he automatically drew attention and he'd clearly been cultivating his aura.

He barely spared me a glance, being absolutely confident he had the advantage in every aspect of our contest - both physically and socially. Within minutes a subliminal ripple moved through the crowd. I was spotting Yasmin so it took me a bit to figure out what was going on - full-bloods had entered. One by one, I picked out Daphne, Paula, Dora, Tigger, Violet and Oneida.

They weren't coming at me - that would have kept things calm. No, 'my' ladies were circulating and I didn't need ESP to figure out what they were saying. In the ladies' wake, evil looks where shot Felix's way. Once more, he felt the undercurrent but misunderstood it. He thought I was seeding the crowd against him.

One Amazon 'Runner' cleared up the nature of the disturbance, if not reason for the outrage.

"Did you really take a woman's underwear to use as a trophy to throw in Cáel's face?" the disbelieving woman asked. Felix was fearless.

"Of course not," he assured her. "One of Cáel's many one night stands stopped by my place, slept and forgot...something. That's all."

Good play. Since I wasn't in on sabotaging Felix, I had no counter and I wasn't going to get into a he-said/he-said contest that would leave me looking petty. Poor Felix, he kept forgetting we worked for some really smart women. Around thirty women into Felix's counter-propaganda campaign, Daphne struck. She was confronted by a pro-Felix lady.

"Really?" Daphne announced loudly. "Let's clear this up why don't we." She pulled out her phone, hit one number and said, "Please project that footage to the 'Runner' gym."

Ten seconds later, Felix and my conversation was projected to every TV suspended around the room. Yes, even Felix's boast and getting in my face.

This wasn't solely Daphne's doing. She didn't have that kind of weight. Oneida on the other hand...Felix barely missed a beat.

"Nyilas, you pulled that all out of context," he growled. The best defense is a great offense.

"Felix, I'm a guy. No way in Hell I have the kind of access to security tapes," I held up my hands, proclaiming my innocence.

Felix missed the 'I'm a guy' part. The women didn't. Most of them know I skated the rules, but never broke them. Yes, Katrina liked me. Would she give me access to security? That was laughable. Felix was about to pack on the stupidity.

"Fine, you had one of your cheerleaders do it," Felix counterthrust.

Cheerleader was not a 'positive' Amazon role model. Cheerleaders were women who promised sexual reward to male warriors that defeated their enemies (a bit of a biased view). The bipolar normal world reaction to cheerleaders aside, I knew cheerleaders were athletes who worked hard to pull off relatively complex routines. Telling the Amazons this was pointless.

If any woman in this room had known a cheerleader before surrendering their old existence to become lethal man-killers, they probably didn't like them. If they had been a cheerleader, they were keeping their mouths shut.

"Are you implying we have lied and altered the official record of events?" Daphne sizzled.

See, lying to me and Felix was expected. Lying to their fellow Amazons, despite the Blood Prestige rift, wasn't going to happen. Trust and loyalty were fundamental virtues here. I imagine Felix had read that passage in the Handbook. I hadn't believed it for the first two days either. I'd been educated since then.

"I wouldn't put it past you," Felix glared right back at Daphne. Foolish - stupid.

"Yasmin, I gotta go," I hissed to my Brazilian MILF then rushed to get to Felix. I wasn't doing it for Felix, the douche. I was doing it for Katrina and her New Directive. Felix had not officially fucked up; he was just being a jerk.

Daphne sent Felix a wicked smirk. She'd kicked his ass. Felix knew his ass had been kicked yet still couldn't grasp the underlying principles behind his defeat - he was in a Woman's World.

"Felix, let's warm up," I urged him once I was close enough to be heard.

"After that stunt - you can go fuck yourself," Felix glowered.

"Dude, it wasn't me, I swear," I met his gaze.

"I'm here. You find your own space," Felix indicated another portion of the mat.

"Felix, these ladies are about to kill you. You do not want to send me away," I whispered. Felix formed a rebuttal then looked around.

"Why?" Felix whispered back. Felix was finally acknowledging he'd lost. Now he wanted to know why.

"I can't explain it right now, but let's say 'cheerleader' was the wrong descriptive to use," I continued. "Calling them liars only dug the hole deeper. It is the way it is."

Felix didn't understand my words, but understood the intent. He was in Oz without any knowledge of the tornado that had taken him there. We didn't spar together. I did stay close enough to make my intent clear - there would be no ambushing of Felix. You had to understand Amazon psychology to figure out why they weren't angry with me.

I was exhibiting loyalty - especially to a person I hated. Amazons had blood feuds, the specifics I hadn't figured out. You could probably kick your opponent's ass. If you stabbed them in the back, there was no rock on the face of the Earth you could hide under.

"He practices Muay Thai and Savate," Oneida snuck up on me. "I lend you my spirit," she added with deep compassion.

I turned on her and placed my hand between her breasts.

"No. No cheating in this fight," I insisted. That drew many stares. "Hold your spirit for the battles that matter, not for the resolution of male grievances. Your heart is fierce and I appreciate that, Oneida. No one's spirit is infinite, so marshal your resources carefully."

Yes, I was lecturing Oneida - bad move. Yes, I was safeguarding her spirit, as would any of the other Amazons in the room - good move. Cloaking my lecture and concern in mystical terms - the win.

"I care deeply for you too," Oneida gave me a demur look, "my Ash Man." Kill me. Kill me now.

This culture didn't have a 'ready-set-go'. When one person was ready, they attack without warning. I almost forgot that and blind-sided Felix. I didn't hold back for him. I held back because I didn't want him to be a whiny baby about this whole thing. I gave him a nod, he nodded back then he attacked.

Two piston kicks by Felix backed me up. He switched up with a reverse roundhouse. That was his mistake - I slipped inside his kick range. I came at him - left jab, left jab, and a right cross in such a rapid blur the audience later told me their brains didn't register the hits until after the fact. It was lights out for Felix. His body made a wet, thumping noise at it hit the mat. 

There was a hush. Everyone expected this fight to go the distance. I was more renowned for my stamina than punching power. Welcome to the world of light heavy-weight boxing. My problem with Madi had been I couldn't touch her. I hadn't even gone all out with Rhada and I dropped her with two jabs.

A good number of 'martial artists' think of boxing as a primitive fighting form. It is. It has also been around forever because the principles are rather simple and effective. Either don't get hit, or soak up the hit (particularly for heavier fighters), set your opponent up and clobber then. Felix had meant to control me with his powerful kicks.

Both Savate and Muay Thai have excellent fist and elbow blocks and strikes. It is simply difficult to switch your focus from kicking to blocking in the blink of an eye. That was less time than what I gave Felix. Most people think of boxers as freight trains, not snipers. In truth, we are both - locomotives approaching the speed of light (somewhat).

Double back to all the options Savate and Maui Thai boxers have. They would never be afraid to take a risky kick because they can block in so many ways. Suddenly the issue became one of distance and balance. The boxer was at the kicker's ankle at the moment of supposed impact and closing. By the time the kicker realized the kick's over-extension the boxer was at his knee.

The kicker still had a plethora of elbow, arm and hand blocks and grapples - except all his power has gone down that kicking leg, leaving him with on point of balance; his other leg. Sure he could get an arm up, but it only had the strength and weight of that limb to call upon. The upcoming hit? It had the mass times acceleration of the boxer's body coming at him. Good luck.

Felix could have beaten me, except it would have taken time. Closing would have allowed him to use all those nifty elbow, palm and hand strikes. It would have also allowed me to do what boxers to best - box. This wouldn't give me an advantage, just leveled the playing field a bit. He didn't want to grapple. I had an entire school devoted to grappling while it was an addendum to what he did.

Felix's saw me go to a boxing stance, and like most practitioners of Savate and Muay Thai, he laughed inside. He was going to make a mockery of me because my style sucked and his styles were the ones that best broke your enemies and caused them pain. He was going to knock me back with his kicks then close in and pummel me with every part of his body before I could slip into jujitsu. It would be lightning fast and bloody.

Nice in theory; bad in practice. He should have worn me down with his stronger legs. Things fell apart when I stopped running away after the second kick. I couldn't do much about the piston kicks. The reverse roundhouse on the other hand...allowed me to get close. I put him off-balance with two jabs, not letting him escape and out came the right with my entire mass behind it. I've hit a guy with that before who didn't go down. 




Life as a New Hire Ch. 14



He was 160 kg, almost 2 meters tall, a jaw made of chromium-steel and a bar bouncer. When he picked me up off the floor and helped me outside he told me I had a good punch. He wasn't even angry with me. He was amused. I am far luckier than I deserve. His name was Amos. When I found out he had a sister, I got a good look at her picture to make sure I never, ever hit on her.

Felix wasn't that guy. He also wasn't getting back up. 'Best' of all, no one was going see how he was. I hoped I hadn't killed him, or broken his neck. Before I could go to him I heard a voice behind me.

"Is this the part where you take his underwear as a trophy?" Dora asked.

"For the love of G - the Goddesses, tell me you are joking," I gasped.

"I got you!" Dora snickered.

"Is someone going to help Felix?" I inquired. I sensed a bit of combat etiquette I was ignorant of. My previous Amazon opponents had always came to me when the fight was over and I'd lost.

Usually they stood over me until I regained consciousness. Felix wasn't getting that courtesy. He was being studiously ignored and I would have been separating myself from the 'lioness pride' to help him. It was moral judgment time - Felix wasn't worth the grief I'd get for disregarding the lesson the rest of the Amazons were administering.

I waited at the closest mat edge, doing my cool-down with Yasmin and a few of my female...I guess I had to consider them friends now. What Felix did in front of them was bad, but they had gone above and beyond in coming to this gym and shattering his sexual anima and turning the crowd against him. 

Worse, while the 'new' hires couldn't justify an official corporate campaign against Felix, at the gym he was vulnerable to a propaganda blitz. By lunchtime tomorrow every woman in the building would know of Felix and his predilections toward the female gender. Amazons would still desire him alright. Felix better watch his precious Henie though in case someone decided to explain to him who was really the boss.

After eight minutes, Felix stirred. He leveraged himself, took in his surroundings before letting his gaze settle on me. Any anger over my rudeness was dissipated by the social hostility focused on him. I silently offered up a water bottle. Felix hurriedly sprang up then blew the macho display by nearly tumbling back over.

Felix took the water, splashed some in his face then drank the rest.

"That was fast," he finally spoke. "Damn fast."

"It was what it was, Felix," I stayed neutral. "I hope this settles matter between you and I." I could read it in his eyes - no way in Hell was this over.

"I'll stay away from Brooke," Felix conceded. "Until next time."

"It was never about Brooke, Felix," I sighed. "It was about using a woman to get at me. I never cared about anything like that before yet I do now so just don't do it." Felix snorted in amusement. He took up a towel and began drying off as he exited the gym.

"He should be..." Oneida got out. I took another gamble.

"No, Oneida," I rested a gentle hand on her shoulder. "He did what a thousand other men would do. He's an egotistical pain in the ass. He is also a fighter, brave and he refuses to accept defeat easily. You can't instantly dissect his good qualities from his foul ones."

"It takes time," Daphne supported me. She was also soothing any anger over the over-familiarity I was showing to Oneida. "Along with the rest of us, Cáel is showing Felix the delicate position men will hold in our world. It is a learning process for all of us."

"Felix is not a good man," Oneida stated, "not like our Cáel," she added, clearly crushing on me. Eeeekk!!

"Umm...ladies, thank all of you for your help this evening," I looked over the group around me. "Having the room divided over Felix's predations wouldn't have done any of us much good. I'm glad this morning's encounter was brought to light. Thank you all." If someone does you a favor, thank them. 

If it is a woman, make doubly sure you tell them exactly what they did and risked for you. They will appreciate it - it strengthens your bond aka the promise of sex. Yes, I'm a sex-obsessed bad little piglet. The looks my Amazons were giving me told me how well my words were working, except for Yasmin, who seemed terribly amused by the whole romantic spectacle.

The resulting shower scene was its own interesting ballet. As a male, I couldn't be in the center. As a gravitational point in space, the tightest group of Amazons decided on who got into which orbit. Yasmin, despite me being on 'date' with her, was exiled to the periphery. I wasn't going to get into a shoving match over a six minute shower.

Exiting the building was its own paranoid experience. Yasmin and I were leaving together. She was going to take a taxi home, check up on her son, then circle around to my place. We'd figure out 'where to go out to eat' from there. Before Yasmin could stop me, I paid the cab for the trip, the wait and the delivery to my place.

(The Ash Men - a history dump, for those not interested)

I strode into my apartment, bike on my shoulder, when I realized I wasn't alone. Elsa and Katrina - sigh. Breaking and entering? Disrespecting my domicile? This was not the time to be petty, or a stickler for boundaries. I put my bike in its customary place.

"Can I get you something to drink?" I offered as I made my way to the kitchenette.

"Lemonade would be nice," Katrina stated.

"What is that orange stuff?" Elsa inquired. Yeah, they searched my place already.

"Dark orange, or light orange?" I countered.

"The darker one."

"That's carrot juice," I informed Elsa.

"I'll try some of that," she said. I fixed three drinks in tall glasses, handing them out before I joined Katrina on the sofa. Sipping my own lemonade, I turned to face Katrina.

"Oneida is becoming a problem," Katrina began. "She's told you some things she shouldn't have."

"The Ash Men," I sighed. "You two being here makes this nothing but bad news."

"Not so," Katrina corrected me. "It is a shameful episode in our history; so disgraceful we keep the truth of what really happened a closely guarded secret. Unfortunately, it is something House Arinniti has always felt strongly about and teaches their young."

"Amazons keep rather accurate histories, basing everything on lunar cycles. Our records, with minor gaps, date back to the Great Betrayal," Katrina began. "By modern parlance, around 1000 BCE, our ancestors stopped a millennia of a nomadic existence to settle in the land between the Váh, Hron rivers and Danube rivers."

"You bitches know who the Magyar are," I interrupted abruptly. Sure, that region was in current day Slovakia, but it bordered Hungary, my ancestral homeland, even though our residency was separated by over 1500 years.

"Of course I know who the Magyar are," Katrina shook her head mirthfully. "I simply can't resist busting your balls."

I muttered angrily while avoiding using actual words.

"Our numbers were enough to seize and hold the land," Katrina continued. "For centuries before that, we raided for men from tribes whose land we were moving through. After a few seasons, we disposed of the men and took some more."

"When we chose to settle down, our Council decided to raid distant tribes and steal boys to be raised among our people. At first the males were virtual slaves yet in three generations, our people began seeing males as fathers, brothers and sons. We trained them in crafts. A few generations later, we voted to train them to be guardians - protectors of our hearths while the Host made war."

"For eighteen generations things went well. We prospered, grew rich and strong. The tribes around us feared our wrath which made us proud yet was our undoing. New, stronger tribes migrated into the region from the West - we now know them to be Celts. The genesis of House Epona is from those first meetings. Many Celtic women embraced the Amazon lifestyle."

"Though they knew of our strength, the first of these new tribes quickly went from peaceful coexistence to warfare. The Host crushed them. The problem was that new tribes kept coming and coming. Dirges of Mourning replaced the sweet taste of victory around our fires. We were always winning the key conflicts but our numbers were diminishing."

"The males came to the Council and begged for the opportunity to join the Host in battle. Twice we rejected them. The third time, we relented and allowed a select few males to join us in the fight and for a time the balance was restored. Our doom crept upon us. More conflict resulted in more men taking up arms to fight." 

"What the Council could not perceive was the insidious influence of our enemies and it swept upon us on the wings of ravens by night - druids. Masculine deities, ethos and egos combined with our own blind arrogance to bring about our downfall. Constant contact with the Celts brought a different cultural view to our men. They began to question why women should rule."

"Somewhere around the year 680 BCE, it began. It was not a calamity over in a night, or even a week yet once it began there was no stopping it. Most of our males, never fighters, were taken as slaves by their former brothers and their new Celtic masters. Not all fighting males betrayed us. Those males risked their very lives to sneak into fallen towns and villages to rescue their daughters."

"The penalty our enemies exacted on our remaining fighting males was meant to keep the rest in line. They burned those brave men alive, in public. They burned them slowly, in much agony - the druids showed them how it was done. There is no record of any of our fighting males switching sides, or failing to undertake any mission for the Host. We survived as a people because of them."

"When all hope of remaining in our new homes faded, we fled east into the mountains. My ancestors were furious, frightened and shamed. They decided they had let down their guards around men and swore to never do it again. The only obstacle to this way of thinking was the handful of men who risked all for the Host's survival and still lived."

"They sent those male survivors on one last, suicidal mission. They were to return home and incite the Celts' wrath against the traitor males. For the Hell they unleashed, the druids were chosen for this final act vengeance. Amazon males slew the druids. The angry Celts fell upon their former allies, slaughtering the lot.

"Somehow, a tiny band returned to their mistresses. Their return was unexpected. In their absence, the High Priestess and Council decided to rectify their centuries' old error in judgment. Only a few Houses - Arinniti among them - knows how each Council member voted yet the final decision is something we are dealing with today."

"The 'valiant' Host went to their defenseless sons and butchered them. When the last Amazon males made it back they were rewarded with death as well. It is recorded that they didn't even resist, loyal to their last drop of blood. In less than ten minute's time, the last of the male line of Amazons perished."

"These are the 'Ash Men' Oneida mentioned. Burned to death by our enemies for their devotion to us, burned to ash by the Host to hide our shame after we killed them for the crime of never betraying us. All full-blooded Amazons are taught about the Second Betrayal - except that last, pathetic and tragic addendum," Katrina educated me.

"Oh shit," I interrupted. I was sure Katrina had more to tell me but I felt the hideous weight of this - now shared - past. "You believe that when this gets out, as all secrets do, it will undermine everything you have built. You did more than utterly betray those loyal brothers, you murdered your own sons."

"That is one of the most serious issues the Council is dealing with," Elsa finally spoke.

"That makes sense, but you are forgetting something," I shook my head. "Times change, people change, circumstances change. The Host misses the point."

"That point would be?" Katrina studied me. I believed this was more of a case she wanted me to make the logical next step.

"You betrayed us," I stated. "The lesson is not that men were lured away from the Amazon cause, it was that despite every reason to save themselves, men stayed loyal to the grisly end. If the Host is mindful and respectful, we males would rather be 'Ash Men' and safeguard our sons and daughters."

"Men volunteered to fight, they did fight and fought well yet the Host refused to acknowledge anything had changed," I then paused. "Which is why I'm learning how to shoot, and knife-fight and why Elsa is here. Katrina, with the upmost respect - you are a manipulative bitch."

"Cáel, I let you get away with a great deal," Katrina smirked. "Don't take advantage of it."

"You seem to forget that I consider being murdered by your ilk highly more desirable than slavery," I retorted.

"I hope it doesn't come to that, but if it does, you know you can't win," Katrina pointed out.

"I have more invested in the fight than you do," I stated.

"I'm fighting for the future of my people. You know that," Katrina bantered.

"I'm fighting for my sons to be allowed to live free of bondage, or thrown from the cliffs, and for my daughters to not be a plague on the human soul," I grinned. "You would turn my daughters into Fabiola and...you can't even agree on letting the other half of your own offspring live, as if that was something 'normal' mothers would ever discuss."

"Fabiola? Not Aya?" Katrina prodded.

"I ignore the reality of Aya because I love her. There is no saving her. Your reach makes it hopeless, she wouldn't understand and she is already too poisoned by the rest of you anyway," I explained. "Watching her inevitable slide into madness is another reason for me to seek death in battle."

"I enjoy these chats," Katrina smiled as she stood up. "You are a very complex individual and crossing wits with you has been an unexpected pleasure. Good night." Elsa moved to follow Katrina to the door.

"Elsa?" I called out. She half-turned. "Try going with French cut instead of boy shorts tomorrow."

There was a fey light in Elsa's eyes. I continued to creep closer to having status in her eyes. Not a sentient - I was that already. Amazons didn't have a glorious rival. Strong rivals you killed as soon as possible. Cáel Nyilas had become a nebulous entity treading down unexplored pathways in her until-now internally consistent World.

"I won't let you win," she gave me a molten, hungry look.

"I bet you say that to all the guys," I shot back.

"Only the ones I care about," she gave me one more promissory fuck-note, turned and left. I didn't have time to mull over my bleak future forecast. Yasmin was coming over and we were definitely not going out to eat.



Life as a New Hire Ch. 15



This story plays fast and loose with Ancient History and Linguistics; be warned.

Just as echoes pollute sound, the echoes of our histories pollute our view of the World.

I had to fall back on a dedicated group of readers for editor assistance. The faults are mine.

*****

(Wednesday Night)

Yasmin had a kink I hadn't really had to deal with before. She liked having sex standing up - anywhere. Sure I had made love in hallways, showers and against a refrigerator once, but Yasmin took this to a whole new level. The most horizontal I got her was fucking her on my bedroom dresser.

She was also an aggressive nibbler which is a kind way of saying she bites down hard without breaking the skin. The scars would fade by morning, but I was going to catch Hell from Timothy and Odette later tonight. Our experience was...enhanced by yet another reality I was unaware of. Yasmin's ex was an 'intellectual'. 

In Brazil that must translate as a small penis with limited stamina, but don't hold me to that. Since the birth of her son and the 'incident' with her husband, Yasmin hadn't much 'personal' time - read: not much finger, or vibrator usage. Yasmin was tight, famished and extra aroused by me kicking Felix's macho ass an hour earlier.

I ushered Yasmin into my place, she was looking smoky yet contained, so I gave her the ten cent tour. When I turned around, her sandals, pants and shirt were off. Silky violet was a good color on her. Yasmin didn't rush the removal of her final items, using their skimpy allure to draw me in like a striker to the goal.

My Brazilian MILF loved being appreciated for every nuanced curve, scent and taste. She let me slip off her bra first then she pulled off my shirt. She didn't let me get behind her. This allowed her to pace her own aggression. Cáel was along for the ride. This wasn't fem domination, just a very hungry lady looking for some first-rate sportsmanship.

Lucky for me, I was a full service arena with overtime expertise. Every little 'Give and Go' and 'tackle' was received, or dodged to keep our game in play. Here I was thinking of swinging a little more upper body workout later tonight. Yasmin's gymnastics made that redundant. My first insertion was welcomed by her.

Yasmin repaid my diligence with lip services, strong hands massaging my back and arms, plus timely input concerning what was good and bad without running over the passion. Yasmin was not at Buffy's level of competition. Instead she brought her own torrid spirit that was new and exciting.

I had no idea how Yasmin's husband ever found the energy to cheat on her. Yasmin would seek breaks in our activities. The rest of the hour-plus she was either at a vivid simmer, or a full-on blowtorch. Half the time I didn't even have to direct our intimacy; Yasmin was happy to manage all of the movements using her thighs, stomach muscles and arms to make it a highly memorable performance.

As we staggered down from the peak of my climax, a sweaty, panting Yasmin informed me that she was glad she had started doing handstand push-ups once more. For those not in the know, imagine doing a handstand facing a wall. Now push your body up the wall which is occasionally done with your fingertips if you are a true bad-ass...like Yasmin and Timothy.

That is another exercise I'm going to have to work on. Jacking-off and squeezing stress balls wasn't going to cut it anymore.

"Ora, ora, meu bombom precioso ... muito bom," Yasmin purred as I put her legs down - I had been holding the back of her knees with my elbows.

"I'm the bomb? Sweet!" I sounded as energetic as I was able. My Brazilian Nitro-girl began laughing. "What did the rest of it mean?"

"With every orgasm you give me, I'll give you a word," she taunted me. I looked at the ceiling.

"I'm looking for a downside to that challenge," I met her gaze. "I can't see one."

"We'll see about that when I leave. I have a sitter until 11:00 p.m. so you have good deal of bravado I want you to back-up," Yasmin looked carnivorously-aroused. We did get around to getting cleaned up then hoofed it to a local Egyptian cuisine eatery. On the way back, I screwed her against a streetlamp with the light burned out.

You see a good deal of humor about girls in super-tight pants and all the contortions they go through to get into them. Peeling them out is much, much easier. Maybe it is the inspiration that makes the difference. Best of all, the reactions of people walking around us, or across the street. Overt disgust, ignoring the whole situation, and, my favorite, the running commentary.

(First couple)

#1 Girl: "Why don't we ever do that?"

#1 Guy: "Do you bend that way?"

(Second couple)

#2 Girl: "Do you think she's hotter than me?"

#2 Guy: "Let's go down to the next lamppost and find out."

(Third couple)

#3 Guy: "Don't they have a bed, or are they homeless?" There was no way we were dressed like homeless!

#3 Girl: "You have all the romance of a rhino." Somebody wasn't getting some tonight.

And because we were in a major metropolis,

(Fourth couple)

#4 Girl (1): "Are you practicing safe sex? If not, I have a condom," she touched my shoulder.

Me: "We are good. I use Durex normally, though I'll use Trojan too."

#4 Girl (2): "Are you okay, Miss?"

Yasmin: (unhappy): "I'm fine. Now either let my man get back to slaking my every lust, or join in."

#4 Girl (2) "Are you serious?" to Yasmin.

#4 Girl (1) "Are you okay with this?" she addressed me. "She's my girlfriend."

A few seconds of grunting, gasping sex ensued.

Yasmin: "Yes, I am serious and you two are killing the mood. Mount up, or get off my horsie."

The two ladies looked at one another.

#4 Girl (1): "She's very ho...attractive. What do you say? It is safe sex," hint, hint.

And thus I had a lesbian four-way. The first girl, Evie, was bi- and worked at Planned Parenthood, explaining the condom lore. Girl two, Samantha, was a lesbian, but having a strong sex drive, decided that Yasmin was as luscious as I thought she was. Back at my place, it took Samantha thirty minutes to get used to sharing her bed with a man. 

By then she decided I wasn't the enemy, despite my penis and hunger for the female form. Evie and Yasmin had zip inhibitions and let the lesbian and the straight guy work our differences while they basked in each other's femininity. Yasmin insisted she wasn't a lesbian, or bi-sexual. She had no sexual hang ups and found American's confusing because they did.

We had wrapped up the first round with Evie giving me a quick blowjob because I had been a good boy and kept my sperm holstered for the entire encounter. Samantha threw on one of Odette's t-shirts (I didn't explain) and went to the bathroom. I got washed up - Samantha gave me a dirty look from the toilet then I reminded her I'd just seen her naked.

We both exited to the living room and took up spots on the sofa as we waited for our prospective partner. I heard my roommates keys jingle in the lock. He walked in, taking in the now familiar scene of me with a new girl on the sofa.

"Timothy Denver!" Samantha squealed when my roommate showed up.

"Sammy...what are you doing in my apartment...with him?" Timothy meant me. They (Timothy and Samantha) hugged each other, Timothy lifting her off the ground.

"Me and Evie are sharing his girlfriend," Samantha explained.

"Which one?" Timothy put her down. Samantha shot me a semi-hostile look.

Yasmin and Evie came out of the bedroom - having found Evie's clothing. That was their story and I wasn't going to argue with it.

"Hi Timothy!" Evie ran up and hugged him too. Up she went.

"Timothy, this is Yasmin," I made introductions.

"The Brazilian Hottie," Timothy noted.

"Yasmin, is Cáel sleeping around you on you?" Samantha inquired.

"No. Cáel has sex with far too many other women to cheat on me," she informed them. Samantha didn't know what to make of that.

"That means she's aware that I date a lot," I explained. I would have asked how Samantha, Evie and Timothy knew each other except now all their body art made sense.

"Timothy, are you and Cáel..." Samantha asked. Timothy rolled his eyes.

"God, I wish," Timothy sighed dramatically. "The dick on this guy is phenomenal."

"Sammy, I know you would never, ever, ever go that way, but if you did, do it with Cáel here," Timothy told her. "He is the most sensitive, skilled and empathic lover I've ever seen. He's not at all possessive and totally confident in who he is." Sammy didn't look like she was contemplating a gender-preference switch. She was getting between me and Evie.

"As long as you understand you, me and Evie," Sammy warned me.

"Sadly, fidelity is not one of my virtues," I shrugged. "I could lie to you about it. You seem to be Timothy's friend, so I should treat you better than that."

"You can trust me around Cáel," Evie insisted.

"No, we can't," Timothy, Sammy and Yasmin all spoke simultaneously. I wasn't trustworthy, but at least I was consistently untrustworthy.

"Listen to your friends and the woman you barely know," I met Evie's gaze. "I know I couldn't control myself around you and we'd both regret it."

No we wouldn't. I could see that fire deep in her eyes. We were going to have sex again, just me and she. I was a lowdown dirty dog who gave an incredible dicking and I'd already made an insertion into Evie's body and mind. Not that it was terribly important to me; she was okay at sex, though not great. My words were for the listening audience. Timothy knew me better.

"Cáel," Timothy stated firmly. "For me, man - don't fool around with Evie." I'd lied to roommates all the time. Like the women in my life, I wanted to keep them happy, or happily neutral. That attitude suddenly didn't work for me.

"How?" sort of spilled out. No one expected my plaintive cry for relationship help.

"What?" Sammy gulped. Yasmin snickered. She knew the score.

"Sammy, Cáel's nailed a girl who was making a food delivery to us. In around an hour and a half, a waitress he met for a minute and gave his number to, will be here. She moved into his room. They are not a couple," Timothy tried to explain. 

"She lives here to hang out with me and bangs Cáel when he doesn't have anyone else over, yet, I swear on Buddha's Belly, I've never seen him abuse a girl," Timothy continued. "It is the strangest damn thing I've ever seen. He's stacked them up like jets at LaGuardia."

"He's a shit-head player," Sammy glared.

"Do you feel used?" Yasmin pointed out. "You don't because you weren't. He's not trying to out-dick your vagina. He's not out to steal Evie. He is admittedly hormonally unbalanced. That doesn't make him a bastard. I'm not here looking for a boyfriend and if I was, it would never be Cáel."

"If you can get past the fact he might have sex with your girlfriend from time to time, he's really a great guy," Yasmin added. "Cáel is fearless and as long as sex is not involved, completely reliable." Sammy was clearly not believing any of this, finally turning back to Timothy.

"He gives an incredibly good dicking, he's a dog, and he's one of my best friends," Timothy shrugged.

I had been 'one of the guys', a 'buddy' and 'dude'. I had never been considered a man's best friend before and I had never heard Timothy toss that term around about anybody. I went up and hugged him.

"Dude, you have lousy taste in friends," I patted his back.

"Cáel, I have plenty of friends who wouldn't abandon me in a fight. You are the only person I know who took an arrow for a little girl you barely knew," Timothy patted my back. "You don't find that dedication often. In the past two months we've been through more freaky shit than I've experience in the past ten years. Faults and all, this has been the best time of my life."

I stepped back until we were at arm's length.

"I take that back. You don't have lousy taste in friends - you are delusional," I blinked.

"He got shot - took an arrow - for a little girl?" Sammy gulped. "How come this is the first I'm hearing about it?"

"That would be the bandage on your leg?" Evie pointed.

"I have a dangerous job," I regarded the new girls. "I test poultry for signs of intelligence. Let's just say that a sleeper cell got past me and chaos ensued."

"Translation: he can't talk about it," Yasmin smirked.

"What do you do you really do?" Sammy pressed.

"I'm working on a special project. We are taping strobe lights to Garden Gnomes then, using hobby store-bought rockets, my corporation is going to sell them as a Developing World-friendly alternative to the current GPS system," I looked grim.

"Really?" Sammy looked uncertain.

"I work for a really sleazy corporation," I confessed. "There is nothing they wouldn't do for a buck."

"That's heartless," Sammy protested. "Men like that are raping the planet and exploiting the poor."

"Sammy, I work for Havenstone Commercial Investments. I am one of three men in the entire workforce - that is well over 10,000 women; undoubtedly more," I smirked. "If it is any consolation, I am treated as little more than a pin-up model by my co-workers."

"Oh wow," Evie snickered. "Were you hired for your looks?"

"Hardly," I declared with authority. "I majored in Business with a minor in Philosophy from Bolingbrook College in New Hampshire, an institute of higher learning renowned for its 70% female student population and nothing else. Still, I am working for a Fortune 500 company at a job I am totally unqualified for, earning an unheard of starting salary and constantly required to work shirtless, or naked."

"Personally, I think it was my creative writing skills that won them over," I nodded sagely.

"You are a jerk," Timothy snorted. "I hate it when you tell the truth and make it sound unbelievable. It is a skill I've never seen wielding so cuttingly." No one said anything for a few seconds.

"It is really annoying that no one believes I earned my position because I'm actually intelligent and hard-working," I grumbled.

"Welcome to the world of a Carnival dancer," Yasmin laughed.

"I was going 'a blond bimbo'," Sammy agreed, "but that works too." That broke down the social ice. Letting yourself soak up a bit of ridicule can pay huge dividends. I was going to be back in bed with every single woman in the room - even the lesbian, though I'd be sharing a girl with her, wait and see.

For some reason, Sammy remained convinced I was an asshole, so she dared me to kiss Timothy. I shrugged, Timothy shrugged, so we kissed. Seriously, I have no clue what I WON'T do for sex. When Timothy slipped me some tongue I nutted him. As he doubled over, I told him I wasn't the kind of guy who went beyond second base on the first date.

The group informed me that second base was touching my cock...whoops. Then Evie reminded me that I had sex with her within fifteen minutes of our initial meeting. I replied I hadn't had anal sex with her yet, but if that was the case, I was sure Timothy would be a good sport about it all. Timothy had finally gotten back to his feet. Again, he nodded. 

This time he snatched me up, bench pressed me over his head (man, we need to re-spackle the ceiling) and bounced me off the sofa. Timothy is really strong too. I hit the floor, face down, but with my knees and palms catching my weight. I quickly summersaulted and regained my footing. I trusted Timothy. Still, talking about anal sex with a big, buff gay man then assuming the doggy-style position...let's not tempt fate.

My antics earned me another round of sex. After Evie exploded (figuratively) all over the place with her...third orgasm, I looked over Yasmin's shoulder to Sammy, who was sexing up my Brazilian from the other side.

"I have totally and completely re-evaluated having a lesbian in bed with me, Sammy," I testified. "You rock!"

Sammy shot me a look, realized I was expounding true praise and picked up her ravishing of Yasmin. After we demolished Yasmin, Sammy mounted me. My cock was on my belly with her soaked pussy pressing on it. She wanted a 'test drive' more than anything else - the experience of feeling the differences between the masculine and feminine skeletal and muscular textures and nuances.

"Can I touch your breasts?" I requested. Sammy thought it over, eventually giving me an 'okay' look. She had those nice, banana-cone shaped breasts with huge areolas and sizable nipples. I started off by lifting and weighing each teat, taking it nice and leisurely. Sammy decided I was doing a passable job so she stopped studying me and got into the sensation of the moment.

That little gasp cued me in that I had earned the right to move a little farther. Her nipples were already engaged. A half-dozen grazing passes and they were definitely joyous. Lesbians, bi-sexual and straight women all have the same physiology, yet different visually, audibly, and olfactory stimuli were specific arousal cues. 

Most lesbians didn't like Old Spice, The Firemen of New York calendars and Enrique Iglesias. At the very least they aren't throwing their panties at Enrique. Touch and taste tend to be unisex. Baring you having big, calloused man-paws, fingers are fingers and hands are hands. Taste is taste and more individual specific than gender-related.

Sorry ladies, your sweat can stink as much as a men's does. It is more a matter of diet. Both sexes should clean up 'down there'. It is common sexual courtesy, so use it. When I can, I use a subtle cologne though I've used women's Secret deodorant on rare occasions. It earned me curious looks every time, but it never stopped them.

Sammy was already taking quick gulps of air when her worried eyes looked down at me again. She wanted to tell me to stop. She was caught in a double bind - she was getting gratification and the only reason to refuse it was because I was a man; a man she had allowed to touch her. That would make her either sexist, or a bigot.

Never ignore the allure of the female orgasm. Add to that, never ignore the power of friendship. As Sammy struggled to master her 'lesbian outrage', Evie sneaked behind her, wiggling two fingers past my nut-sack, along my cock and into Sammy's pussy from behind.

"Evie," Sammy moaned in protest.

"Sammy-love, he's not trying to fuck you," Evie murmured to her companion. "You are liking what he's doing and you know you have dynamite nipples. Let him have a sample." To me, "She likes a whole lot of suction and a tiny bit of teeth." Sammy attempted some kind of protest. Yasmin stroking Sammy's upper thigh, hip and stomach breached the dam of her inhibitions.

So, I had a lesbian lowering her body toward mine. First her palms rested on my shoulders. Sammy's body flowed up mine until her elbows replaced her hands and her tits were now accessible. As advised, I applied a wet vacuum seal to her right areola and nipple. I twirled my tongue around her savory flesh, bringing Sammy to the point she embraced her tantric titillation.

"You should have longer hair," she purred as she ran one hand through my locks. "I don't normally go for butch girls." You guys go be indignant if you wish. These were some sweet teats I was indulging in and I had zero regrets about 'girling-up' for a lesbian. Sammy finally climbed to the mountaintop of her orgasmic quest and howled out her victory.

She cascade down on me, my lower stomach syrupy with her juices and her bosom muzzling my face. Yasmin went to her knees, leaned over Sammy's prostrate form and began seriously making out with Evie. I lived in a vortex of unexpected pleasure and fulfillment. I had taken part in making a lesbian sexually complete.

"You are the best guy I've ever been with," Sammy murmured.

"He's the only guy you've ever been with," Evie teased.

"Fine. He's still the best. Cáel, have you ever thought about becoming a post-op transsexual?" Sammy giggled.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 15



"No!" Yasmin protested. "That's where I draw the line. Cáel keeps his tender bits."

"Mmmhphmfsmmm," I added my voice against that proposal. To punish Sammy for even bringing that up, I latched onto a breast like a starving lamprey and went to town. Damn right that put her in her place. Fifteen minute later, she finally let me come up for air.

Ten minutes after that, we stumbled out of the apartment. I was going to see Yasmin safely home - she snickered then, seeing my hurt feelings, told me I was very brave and could take her home. Evie and Sammy lived close by. They had known Timothy from his days working at an ink place in Queens, but had lost touch when he opened his own place on the East Side.

They promised to stay in touch. Sometimes I don't even have to try. Maybe that's why Timothy got so pissy with me at times. As for Yasmin and me, I fucked her in the hallway right outside her domicile because she still had twenty minutes left on her babysitter and there was a convenient vertical surface. We both went home with smiles on our faces.

I met up with Odette walking up to my - now our - place. She wanted all the juicy details, helped me change our sheets, promised to do our laundry tomorrow morning and then we had sex. I was set up on my feet, shins and knees, Odette facing away from me and grinding her lush tight end on my rod when the door opened and Timothy Nerf-shot me...cause I definitely deserved it.

(Thursday)

Thursday was good. I inspected artificial wood products for artificial termites. Actually, I started out with Constanza - really Naomi and her Merry Band now - and learned how to actually fire a personal defense weapon. No more 'spray and pray' for me. They told me they had a special surprise for me on Friday. Color me concerned.

According to Medical, I was a lousy lab monkey. Then Katrina informed me it was Brian's turn today to get poked, prodded and forced to cough up millions of little Brian-lettes for Havenstone's perverse pleasures. I e-mailed Brian my best wishes. I was seriously starting to question those 'so-called' medical experts ethical integrity.

I worked with Buffy, teamed up with the Daphne/Desiree combo. Why? Because there was an emergency board meeting on Friday. I wasn't told this, but Daphne and I figured it out. To put some extra butter on my hell-bound soul, an agent of Rhada's gave me a private note informing me she wanted to talk. 

Keeping to Amazon Princess Rape Fantasy Bondage protocols, I ate the message before Buffy could pry it from my hands. Bad enough was all these crazy females trying to kill me, I also had to keep track of which ones hated the other ones. It reminded me of dating sorority sisters, except this time out, I could never leave the sorority house and they almost never went to classes. 

Oh, and they are all related to Jason Voorhees (that's the maniac from the Friday the 13th movies for those who had lived constructive lives) and we were adjacent to an Ace Hardware store. Plus I had a date with Libra and I was dedicated to 'tapping that ass' at least once more before I died. And, there was more! 

Deena, the swimming, 'fingers in her pussy' buddy dropped me a line telling me she was 'expecting' me this afternoon. There was no way I could swing that, despite her request that could be only construed as an order. I simply didn't have the time. I e-mailed her back, pleading for her to be in a bikini with several suggested sites for her to visit.

Before my designated knife training, I had a fucked-up brainstorm about what to do with Rhada. I wrote a letter in Old Kingdom Hittite, sealed it in wax with the imprint of the symbol 'Lowest' on it, representing me, though Rhada's submissive side could easily misinterpret that. To get it to her, I went to the only one who could meet her face to face who I could trust.

Katrina? Laughable. She could do it but she wouldn't touch this disaster with a three meter pole made out of male vertebrae. The only other person who met all the criteria - Oneida. Yes, I was a fucktard, fuck-nut and a waste of human potential.

"Oneida, I need a favor," I asked the moment I hunted her down in Acquisitions.

"Of course," her eyes lit up, her lips moistened and breathe quickened. She wasn't wanting a quick tussle in a side room. The chick wanted to be held closely while I whispered love poetry into her ear for her to hear alone. I was letting her down abysmally.

"I need this message hand delivered to Rhada," I pressed the missive into her hands.

She didn't know how to wrap her mind around that. Rhada? She knew we had fought, but what contact had we shared since then? She made the sane 'girl-logic' assumption.

"Cáel, are you in trouble," she worried. Oh, I wish it was only trouble.

"Not that you can help me with. If you can't do this, I'll find another way," I sighed.

Yes, I was playing her. Oneida would run over hot coals for me.

"No, no - I'll do it...why? Why Rhada?" Oneida pleaded.

"I can't say and you cannot look at the message. It is critical that she, and she alone sees this," I impressed on her the importance of saving my life without saying 'please save my life'.

By asking her to not look at the message, I increased the odds she'd look. I had no choice. If I didn't say anything about it, she'd make an excuse to look and tell herself that I hadn't forbidden her to look. Add to that, she was my racial superior. In her case, this meant she had to look out for my best interest. Oneida nodded and watched me leave.

Training with Pamela was hands on this day. I had a wooden blade with a lead core to give me a better feel for the proper weight. Pamela had a meter long wooden rod. She had a miraculous ability to move her baton in a blur yet not hurt my fingers, hand, or wrist. It was very instructional. I was practicing stabbing and a bit of slashing.

I left with a sense I'd added something useful to my repertoire. I wasn't calling out Elsa anytime soon - heck, I wasn't calling out Europa, Aya's 13 year old sister either. As we were cleaning up, Pamela noticed my uncertainty.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Oh, it is that you've resisted the urge to cause me pain," I mused. "Normally, I find Amazons to be very harsh."

"That is certainly a common training style here," Pamela nodded. "I chose showing a student how to do things right as opposed to reminding the student what they did wrong."

"Good enough. Thanks for treating me like I matter," I grinned.

"What makes you think that?" Pamela and I started to leave the little dojo. Note, she didn't say 'assume'.

"Trust me, I'm a sperm donor with sex appeal to virtually every other screwy dame in this place," I smirked.

"I know the difference between what I see in their eyes and yours," I winked.

"Ash Man," Pamela remarked. She zinged me, alright. "My granddaughters talk of you and not in a way I would expect Amazon women to talk about a male."

"That and an Egg McMuffin..." I shrugged.

"Means you won't die hungry," Pamela shrugged along with me. "This is why I volunteered to teach you; you deserve every chance to go out unconquered." 

"Do you think I have a chance - of that?" I questioned.

"Not really. I didn't think I would ever be talking to a man in my native language again either, so who knows," she added.

"Do you think I'm an Ash Man?" I wondered. Male - OKH - again?

"I haven't a clue what one is," she rolled her shoulders. "I am neither my House Leader, nor its Keeper of Records."

"Oh...what are you then?" I asked. The response she gave didn't make sense.

"Cliff-walker? I don't know..." I furrowed my brow.

"I am past my useful life yet refuse to take myself to the cliffs," Pamela told me. "I have unfinished business to attend to in this World."

"What is that - if that isn't too rude?" I inquired.

"A dead man spoke to me. He told me I would never find my way to the halls of my ancestors until I replaced a life for a life," she related.

"That's - ummm - odd," I suggested.

"Cáel, I severed his throat to the spine. Even had he somehow been alive, he could not have spoken. Then there is the matter of speaking the Amazon tongue," Pamela continued.

"Did he tell you anything else?" I played along.

"No."

"How will you know what life you should save - to replace a life for a life?" I searched her out.

"He had the most unforgettable emerald green eyes," she filled me in. Just like my eyes.

We had stepped into the elevator when she told me that. There were five other Amazons with us. I didn't know any of them. I reached out and put my hand on Pamela's stomach.

"Whatever happens to me, and I don't want you to die, or anything - I want you to know you've done what needed to be done," I assured her.

Pamela's laugh was so loud, deep and resounding, I was stunned that it came from such a thin frame.

"That, my friend, is what being an Amazon is all about," Pamela slapped my back. What she said was wrong in so many ways and the Amazons around us knew it.

I wasn't an Amazon and equating me to one of them was insulting to their feminine martial ardor. Also, no Amazon had ever called me a friend and meant it in a non-sexual manner. Things were getting uncomfortable.

"Matron," one of the Amazons spoke up, "are you feeling well?"

That was a polite way of saying 'have you lost your mind?'

"Do you know why there are twenty 'First' Houses?" Pamela addressed me and ignored the others.

"Not really. It wasn't in the Havenstone Handbook," I tried to sound innocently curious.

"The first Amazon to escape capture came back for the rest," Pamela related. "She was free and if she was recaptured she would have certainly been raped again and most likely killed. She came back because no risk is too great for one's family. Like the first of the Unconquered, you risk everything for the spiritual and physical safety of your sisters."

"He is not one of us!" a different Amazon insisted.

"How bizarre that none of these crazy bitches can see it," Pamela smiled.

"Who are you again?" I gave Pamela a worried look.

"A discarded heroine, Cáel," Pamela answered. "I am an embarrassment, an anachronism and an arrogant warrior humbled."

Clearly this was part of Havenstone's history I wasn't supposed to be privileged to hear.

"You don't date much, do you?" I changed things up. Pamela snorted. "This whole scarred scholar-warrior with a tragic past works better with your moping, 19th century literature-reading college types. Cavemen like me prefer slinky clothing and feigned idiocy."

"I'll keep that in mind," Pamela snickered. By the bug-eyed expression of our fellow travelers, Pamela was indeed some kind of heroic figure. She held no position, but her status was undeniable. "How about this: I will forgo taking myself to the cliffs until you give me my first great-granddaughter."

"As long as we agree that I'm never going without a condom for the next five years," I counter-offered. "By the way, which two am I going to be surreptitiously avoiding?"

"Brielle and Daphne," Pamela appeared amused with my expression. 

"Holy crap!" I exclaimed. "I really like those two. This is going to be tougher keeping you alive than I thought."

"How many more days?" Pamela teased.

"67," I groaned as we stepped out onto the Executive Services floor. Technically, I had an hour left of my work-day.

"Look on the bright side, our first great-grandchild could be a Son," Pamela joked.

Pamela clearly enjoyed 'freaking out' the Normals - the normal Amazon population that is.

"That would truly suck," I remarked. "You ladies have zero experience with male names and no boy of mine is going to be named Shirley. Picking the baby boy names is going to be all on me." 

"How about Augustus?" Pamela suggested. I looked stunned.

Buffy, having heard my voice, hopped up from her station and came blazing my way. I hadn't done a damn thing wrong yet she was angry with me. She didn't know Pamela and I hoped to hell I wasn't hitting on...okay, Pamela was a bit odd-looking. I'd still do her.

"Cáel," Buffy snapped. "What is going on? Don't you have a job to do - with me?"

"Buffy, this is Pamela. She's my knife instructor," I said. "Pamela, this is Buffy DuBois, my '****'." Literally in Old Kingdom Hittite that meant 'mountaintop'. Pamela clearly got the implication. Buffy's fury about me slipping into OKH was mitigated by Pamela's appraising look.

"Okay," Buffy grumbled. "What was that?"

"Pinnacle, peak, highest point, mountaintop," Pamela answered for me. "I would wager it is a term of endearment and praise, but feel free to be offended despite him using the word for my benefit as opposed to yours. He might have incorrectly thought you knew how much he cared for you."

Verbal beat down!

"Who are you, anyway?" Buffy struggled to be polite.

"Pamela Pile," my instructor stated. "I am not employed by Havenstone anymore."

"That's not...possible..." Buffy questioned.

"She is Brielle's and Daphne's Grandmother, Buffy," I explained. 

"That's nice," Buffy was less than impressed. 

"Cáel, take care. Buffy, I know nothing of men, but I know camaraderie and I know you can throw that away as quickly as you earned it," Pamela gave an even stare.

"By the way, Pamela, you clearly have never been a kid on a playground," I joked. Buffy was irritated while Pamela was amused. "With a name like Augustus, he's either going to toughen up really fast, or get flattened. Trust me. My name was Cáel aka Cabbage Head all through elementary school."

"What did they call you in...middle school? It is middle school, correct?" Pamela inquired.

"Yes - middle school. By 6th grade, I was firmly a 'nobody'," I enlightened her. "Hell, my teachers could barely recall who I was. I stayed that way until I graduated high school."

"I had asthma as a child," Pamela related. "I barely made it through my 12th year."

"What did you do when you...is the term 'casted', or 'choosing a caste?" I posed.

"It varies. Sometimes we choose and sometimes the caste chooses us," Pamela answered. "I ended up here, in what is now known as Executive Services."

"Great," I grinned. "I bet you were enticed by our intensive training in marshmallow juggling. Am I right?"

"Not really," Pamela grew serious. "I came here so I could build obstacle courses for kittens. It is an unappreciated melding of animal conditioning and engineering." I was really liking Pamela. She was like a kindred spirit in this madhouse.

"Speaking of 'animal conditioning', Cáel, we need to get to work," Buffy huffed and off I went.

We finished up, had our after-work meeting and began to head-out for the day.

"Daphne, I met your grandmother - nice lady," I told my 'new hire' buddy.

"Really, what was she doing here?" Daphne smiled affectionately. I need to wear a dead rat around my neck - the deader the better.

"She is teaching me how to knife fight," I told her. Her not knowing that was odd.

"Oh...I didn't know she did that," Daphne frowned.

"She worked in Executive Services," I said. That appeared news to Daphne as well. "I thought that was why you joined."

"Katrina," Daphne looked to our boss, "was my grandmother in the '****' service?" That word roughly meant 'darkness of night' in OKH, but like so many things in a 'dead' language, interpretation could be sketchy.

"She was before my time," Katrina nodded. "I do recall her legacy though."

"What did she do? Normally I wouldn't care, except Pamela is a laugh riot," I smirked.

"She was the most lethal Amazon assassin of the 20th century," Katrina stated deadpan.

"Grans?" Daphne gasped. "She's always been so odd - I mean nice."

"What happened to her?" I muttered.

"I don't know," Katrina mused. "She came back from her last mission then took herself to the cliffs. A few weeks later she returned with no explanation for that either."

"Well crap," I groaned. "She's never going to forgive me for that 'wet willy' (getting a fingertip slick with your saliva then sticking it in an opponent's ear). I'm a goner."

Daphne play-punched me. We all heard the subsonic rumbling from the door. According to Buffy, she was the only one allowed to cause me physical discomfort and resented Daphne horning in on 'her turf'. Buffy had a new weapon in her arsenal this afternoon.

"Your '****' wants you to come here," Buffy snapped.

Even Katrina looked at her in some confusion.

"I was told that was a good thing," Buffy sizzled.

"It most likely interpreted as 'most prized', or 'most esteemed'," Tigger translated. "Precisely it means 'mountaintop'." Buffy stuck out her chin proudly.

"Cáel, I believe I made my desire clear," she commanded.

"No can do McGiggles Sissy-pants," I grimaced, "I have a date tonight that precludes me from me being overly bruised - again." I was heading for the door, leading the 'new hires' out of Katrina's office.

"I know you like laugh at death, Cáel," Dora snickered, "but I'm not sure the rictus of death counts."

"I've got that covered, Dora," I actually brushed up against Buffy. "I'm having a laugh track installed in my urn."

"Who says they'll ever find your body?" Buffy moved rapidly at my side.

"Whoa...cannibalism. Where I come from, normally the guy eats the girl," I joked. "With you, Buffy, I'm never quite certain of our gender roles. I'm still terrified of letting you snuggle up from behind."

"I hate you," Buffy growled. She wasn't upset. Her eyes were dancing with laughter.

"What are you going to do when he is relocated?" Fabiola murdered the mood.

"Blame you," Buffy glared at Fabiola.

"I'm so scared," Fabiola mocked Buffy.

"Fabiola, don't be like that," I moped. "You have such full, plump lips that clearly know how to take hold of a problem and work it through. Your thighs are the product of diligent effort on your part and I'm sure that when you grapple with an opponent, no one can break that fearful hold."

"I'm sure anything your hands touch, you don't release until you've milked every ounce of life out of your target. You are truly a complete woman," I concluded. The elevator doors opened and we flooded out. Oneida was waiting for me. Buffy began laughing so hard she couldn't keep up.

"What is it?" Oneida looked to Buffy.

"That is the most obtuse description of fellatio, fucking and a hand job I've ever heard," Buffy wheezed. "Fabiola, he called you a whore and you can never prove it." Okay, I didn't call her a whore - money was never mentioned. Oneida looked distressed.

"Oneida, Fabiola insinuated that Cáel would be relocated soon," Daphne came to the rescue. I still had something to take care of.

"I knew I forgot something," I realized. "Buffy, can you hold my jacket?" I handed it to her. She examined it then dropped it to the ground. I shrugged then kept stripping.

"Cáel?" Oneida worried.

"I don't have my biking clothes on," I pointed out. "We can't go biking unless I'm dressed in my biking clothes." Was Oneida still upset about me stripping in public? No. She was about to spend time with me because she mistakenly perceived me to be a good guy.

My bike trip with Oneida to a neutral halfway point proved that while Oneida was in good shape, she wasn't a cyclist. Cycling emphasized an unusual muscle sequence, so if you don't cycle much, it shows. I stuck close to her. Not only did it endear me to Oneida, it kept our two shadows at a safe distance so they didn't impinge on their princess's joyful mood.

I sent Oneida on her way, got home and immediately started making adjustments to my night's plans. First I had to deal with Libra. I got into an argument with her. I insisted she should wear only jeans, a t-shirt with no bra, and comfortable shoes. Libra was furious. She wanted to go clubbing and look hot - preferably enticing some guys to make me jealous.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 15



She certainly wasn't going to come giftwrapped for an easy screw. She wasn't that kind of girl. She didn't like that I was that kind of guy. I insisted that I was the kind of guy who was fascinated with her. I was also happy that Brooke had gotten us back together - you know Brooke, the girl I had fucked to help her get over Felix then refused to sleep with so I could be with Libra.

I was blistered and lambasted. I also got my way. I also got to see Libra embrace the ogling her attire earned her in my working class neighborhood as we walked around and talked.

"Everyone is staring at my breasts," Libra whispered to me after a bit. She wanted to make me think she was unhappy while her nipples were excited and she was relishing the turning heads. Brooke was better looking, in my opinion, but Libra was definitely a girl who shouldn't walk around without a bra. Her breast are really shapely, large and firm, possibly her best attribute.

We were hanging around an authentic Italian pizza joint, Libra against the wall, face to face with me. Without warning, I slipped my hand down, popped her jeans button open and unzipped her pants.

"Cáel!" she hissed. Yum, Libra had gone panty-less as well. "Cáel," she repeated. 

Libra tried to stop my fingers from exploring. She was hampered by her desire to not make a scene while I was insistent. Nice sexy jeans are not only nice and sexy, they hug the hips. This meant I could peel the front of her pants open and work two fingers past her pubic hair to her puffy lips.

"Stop," she whimpered. I didn't. I slipped a finger between her labia and she was moist and steamy. I wiggled a finger inside with no effort.

"No one will see us," I murmured into Libra's ear. I wiggled my finger in deeper.

"You are horrible," she moaned quietly. Her hands started out on my shoulders.

A few seconds later, she migrated her arms down. I wasn't positive where she was going with that until she hooked her thumbs into her pants and slid them farther down.

"Get it over with," she mumbled. She followed that up with tender kisses to my neck. Her moving her pants down allowed me to move a second finger in.

All of that was a prelude. With my two slick fingers, I searched up for her clitoris. She (a clit is definitely a 'she') was hungering for my contact and offered up her tenderness to my attention. Libra's hand began clawing my abdomen through my shirt. Her nasal breathing was becoming ragged, so I eased off on the tempo my stimulation. I wasn't going to bring Libra to an embarrassing public display of sexual release.

It took her a few seconds to figure out I wasn't teasing her, but shielding her from an uncontrolled release.

"You are mean," her eyes blazed with lust as I sucked my fingers clean of her vaginal secretions.

"Kiss me, or I swear to God I'm going to take you on one of these tables," I referred to the small tables the pizza parlor had for diners. Now Libra looked sultry and in charge. She rubbed her hips against my erection, appeared to contemplate her options and deigned to give me a kiss. It was barely a French kiss. Just enough to remind me I had taken advantage of her person and was being punished with pleasure.

The box with the pizza slices barely made the toss to the sofa as Libra and I grappled with one another, yanking off our clothes and staggered to my bedroom.

"You are going to fuck me so good for all the hell you've put me through," Libra erotically demanded. Ma'am, yes Ma'am. Prepared to do my duty, Ma'am.

I decided to do something new for Libra. Trust me, you develop a sense for what sexual deviancies your sex partner has broached. This helps you figure out what they'd like to explore. That leads you to worrying about your partner's sexual history, but is a story for another time.

"Hey!" Libra squawked as I handcuffed her left wrist. I wasn't done. With her right wrist beside her left, I looped the chain around a bar in the headboard and snared her other limb.

"Motherfu..." she got out before I smothered her with a lip-lock. She put her teeth on my tongue then decided not to chew it off. I broke off the kiss.

"Now you are going to do whatever I want you to," I gloated. "Scream, the cops come and you end up splashed all over the society page." Most likely a lie.

"I'll never," she snarled as I rammed my dick in to the hilt. "Aaahhh...you bastard," she grunted. Now I picked up my pace. Except having her hands bound, Libra was clearly getting into it. Right before climax, I eased off. Libra whined piteously.

"Not yet," I murmured. When I repositioned her in doggy-style, my cock got back to work. 

This time, I alternated seriously deep cock-thrusts (not pounding) with spanking. Libra went wild - one of her most intense orgasms yet. Libra should have realized two things: my neighbors knew by now and the screams my bedmates generated, and Libra herself was truly an Angelic choir of erotic gratitude.

"That - that - that was intense," Libra gasped. She was all sweat and electric - tired yet begging for more.

"It gets better," I promised her as I freed her up. Given two minutes to rebound, I rolled over onto my back at her side. The cuffs were handed over and I placed my hands over my head. Libra's countenance was an explosion of thermal desire and numerous unanticipated opportunities. She straddled me, strung me up then...left. Huh?

Libra didn't go far. She noticed my 'goodie' box which I had left nonchalantly available when we first tumbled in. What she pulled out didn't make me jump for joy - an ostrich feather, lube and a body wand (imagine a small mace, except the head is actually a vibrating ball).

"So, you've done this before?" I questioned.

"There is a ball-gag in there. Shut-up, behave, or I'll put it on you," Libra gave me a saucy threat. I nodded. Libra settled in beside me, worked the wand controls then rolled it along my stomach. "To answer your question - no, I've never used anything like this before, but I've wanted to. Now I have a delectable, helpless male with tons of stamina laid out before me."

"This is going to be so much fun," she squealed with delight. "Maybe I should call Brooke?" She wasn't soliciting my opinion, just thinking aloud. She called Brooke who begged Libra for the chance to come over and help out. Libra promised Brooke could 'next time'. After that came the feather tickles, lubing up my cock, a hand job and finally using the wand on my cockhead until she shattered my resolve and I ejaculated. 

Libra licked all my creamy cum up, keeping eye contact through most of the process. For thirty seconds she left me with the sneaking suspicion she was going for round two. She freed me, gave me a good series of kisses then dropped down to bring my penis back to attention. That accomplish, Libra rolled my condom on, mounted me and slowly squirmed down my rod while mesmerizing me with her eyes.

"Oh," she purred, "you are so, so bad." I sat up so that I was eye-level with her chin. Libra laid her forearms languidly over my shoulders, while mine deftly cupped each buttocks.

"Does this mean you are breaking up with me?" I gave her my best puppy dog eyes. Libra made that squichy-angry play face. I was teasing and she knew I was teasing.

"Do I have to hand-cuff you again?" Libra snickered. I slipped my right hand farther back and down. Using the liberal amount of lube Libra had lavished on my penis, I slicked up my forefinger and picked her sphincter. Libra gave a quick intake of breath.

"For the sake of your backside, that might be wise," I teased right back. Libra pouted.

"Are going to ream my poor, abused Henie?" she moped deceptively. Rule One plus the addendum - make the girl happy. If you make the girl happy, she'll figure out what makes you happy and do it for you. I lifted Libra up until my cock flopped out of her. It didn't take her two seconds. Her hand found my cock, pointed it up and steered it into her butthole with zero need for encouragement.

"I can't believe you are making me do this," she groaned as her sphincter parted and my glans slipped in. I wasn't rushing things. I certainly wasn't coercing Lira in anyway either. She certainly relished my upper body strength that allowed me to match her pace in penetrating her. Once Libra was fully impaled, I rocked us over so that she lay on her back with her knees touching her breasts.

A casual, relaxed screw followed. Yes, I could have pounded Libra and she would have loved it, except she was here for more than a series of orgasms. She wanted some kind of confirmation there was an 'us'. She hadn't wanted a relationship when we first met, or even after our first fuck. I was a hook-up; nothing more.

The post-Felix episode with Brooke had changed that. I was far from acceptable, but more than a random fuck. Our status had become an enigma to her thus my approach with the soft anal fuck. I could certainly be a late night booty call, salvaging a bad night and making it good. This was a 'take him out for a weekend as a friend' change of events.

I was still not in the clubhouse. Thirty minutes in bedroom while 'changing to go down to the pool with her other friends' they'd all know why she'd brought me along. Had Libra forgotten I was a Pound Puppy of the worst sort? Yes, but I felt no desire to remind her. We'd revisit the issue during that first weekend - guaranteed. 

Libra kept up a quiet bit of banter for a few minutes. Her words were meaningless. Her tonal quality was what I was paying attention to. I kept up a conversation which I would never recall. It is an art form - coherent babbling. My partner's words faded away into groans and grunts.

"Ready?" I rumbled my hunger for her wantonness. Libra nodded once, hesitated then nodded several times vigorously with a lewd curl to her lips.

I hammered Libra with powerful thrusts. She was pushed up and over until her weight was on her shoulders and I as looking down into her impassioned face as I drove home. Her fingernails were drawing blood tracks over my flesh. I've heard of a 'backdraft' before - never in a sexual context though.

Libra's whole body seemed to coils up internally. There was this moment of complete quiet and then Libra exploded in song. God, I thought her rectal muscles would twist my cock off, she was so energetic. Her vocal symphony went on, and on, and on. I was afraid I'd broken the girl. It got so bad, Timothy snuck a look in, gave me a 'what the fuck?' expression then left.

Oh yeah - somewhere toward the end of the process, I came. I was that entranced with the entire experience. Libra fell lifeless beneath me, trembling and emitting soundless mutterings. She was unconscious. This wasn't my first time having this effect, but it doesn't happen so often I can't totally recall each incident.

I pulled out of Libra, disposed of my 'business' then placed my body beside hers, stroking her right cheek and ear, brushing her hair off her face.

"You are pretty," Libra gave me a sleepy smile. I'd stun-fucked her alright.

"You've devastated me," I complimented her. Complete lie. Refer to 'making the girl happy'.

"You are welcome," Libra giggled. She rolled to face me, still numb from her exertions, yet joyous none the less. I put my arm around her, pulling her tight. She licked some of my sweat off my chest and neck while I showered her head with light pecks. "Am I going to see you again soon?" she murmured.

"Oh crap!" I exclaimed. Libra leaned back and gave me a confused look. "I haven't gone down on you yet. That won't do." Blink.

"I'm pretty exhausted, Cáel," Libra looked all soulfully sad.

"Please...I miss the taste of you," I protested. 

She mentally debated the issue long enough so she could convince herself she was doing me a favor. 

"Be gentle," Libra begged. I nodded my agreement, warmed her up then tore her to pieces one more time - because I'm that kind of guy. She came, doused my lips with her juices and sang out her gratitude for one more body-rocking climax.

"I can't walk," Libra whimpered as she cuddled beneath me. I was resting on my knees and elbows as I hovered over her.

"How do you know?" I panted.

"I can't feel anything below my stomach," she sighed happily, "and my stomach feels all tingly - like butterflies."

"Does this mean you forgive me for last week?" I worried. She thought. She shook her head 'no'. "You mean I'm going to have to do even more?" I moped. She nodded 'yes'. I gave her a wicked gleam. "Well...if I must."

"You must," she snickered. "At least a few more times."

"Wait - does that constitute 'attempted murder'?" I protested.

"Man Up," Libra got feisty. She must have been getting some lower extremity feeling back because she wiggled her pubic mound against my penis.

"Out," I grunted. "One of us needs some recovery time." 

Libra gave me one more teasing wiggle then acceded to my demands. She could barely walk, displayed an otherworldly mental state, and floated out of the apartment. When I finished cleaning up for round two: Rhada, Timothy shot me.

"In case you missed it, three neighbors and the cops came by," Timothy informed me.

"Two of them want your head on a pike," he smirked. "The girl in 3F wrote her number down on the dry erase board. The police repeat their request that you behave."

"Have you ever thought about you and me moving into a gay apartment complex?" I inquired. "That way when the neighbors come over, you might get lucky too." Timothy shot me again and yes I deserved that one too.



Life as a New Hire Ch. 16



This story plays fast and loose with Ancient History and Linguistics; be warned.

Do you think you know who you are? Step outside your comfort zone.

Reader edited - the faults are mine.

*****

(11:00 p.m. Thursday Night)

Rhada stood by the Lily Pond. She'd looked at her phone once. A couple had walked past, causing me to delay my approach and heightened Rhada's unease - an unexpected bonus. It wasn't too difficult of a shot with my air pistol. The only light functioning in the area went out in a crash of light.

She jumped slightly then crouched and scanned the surrounding overgrowth. The light had robbed her of her night vision which allowed me to get close. I snapped the air pistol off into its three parts. Running around with any kind of gun in NYC wasn't wise. In the same vein, the 'stun gun' I now brandished was all light and no shock. It was all theater for Rhada's imagination.

With the flash of my weapon, Rhada's eyes bore in on my location. Her small knife was now over-matched, so her only option was flight. A smart 'victim' would race for the well illuminated road close by. Hunters who hunted hunters did what Rhada did - she raced into a geographic feature in Central Park called the Ravine.

It was tough, uneven terrain off the beaten path. I had walked it once before, in dim light. This night I was aided by a half-Moon and the faintest clue of where the chase was leading while Rhada was having to figure things out as she ran. At the last second, she sensed she had lost the race. She spun around to slash at me - she was playing for keeps.

I swung down, losing my false stun device while I knocked her knife free. I had lashed downward so that I could find her knife later; it was important to her. My tool cost $3.00 and I could live without it. We struggled. Rhada tried to scream so I covered her mouth with my sweater-covered forearm.

Dutifully, she bit down. More close body wrestling ensued and I could tell Rhada was truly famished for the attention. I cuffed her hands behind her back, slapped some Christmas tape over her lips - I swear that stuff has no adhesive - and retrieved her knife.

"What is it going to be, little Sweet-meat?" I taunted her softly as I caught my breath.

I had Rhada pressed face-first in the loam. Despite her strenuous efforts to keep her legs together, I rubbed my hand between her legs and over her cunt.

"Fuck it," I mused. "You are a real whore. You are soaking wet over some guy running you down and making you a fuck-hole." I wasn't sure she was wet and being called 'fuck-hole' really excited her.

"You are probably so loose I couldn't feel a thing if I did fuck you," I kept up the pressure. "Maybe I'll strip you down and leave you tied to a lamp post - write 'Free Slut' and see who is desperate enough to screw you. If I said '$5 per hole', do you think anyone would leave some sort of payment?" She whimpered.

Soon enough, I located her knife. Without warning, I slipped it past her waistband and began sawing/cutting her pants down past the crotch. She was wet alright. I loudly unzipped my pants and readied my rod. After slapping my cockhead against her molten labia a few times,

"What? You don't want to be used by every diseased homeless deviant and drunk rapist roaming the park?"

Rhada shook her head rapidly in the negative.

"Do you really think you can do a damn thing to make me want to keep you?" I egged her on. Rhada thrust her ass back. My cock rose up, Rhada whined, repositioned and managed to capture my penis on her second attempt. She wept with rapture as I began pushing in.

All I had to do was lean forward slightly and let Rhada do all the work. She hammered her pussy into my pelvis with a voracious yearning. I was rather concerned what she would have been like if it had been a whole month. Rhada was sobbing and shuddering as pleasure wracked her body. I almost missed the soft crunch of leaves right behind me.

I snatched up Rhada's knife and rolled halfway over. Oneida, tears in her eyes and her face etched in horror, was poised to strike me.

"No," Oneida groaned in a small, devastated voice. Yeah, this was going to be hard to explain. Rhada, on hearing the noise, rolled on her side so that she was mostly shielded by me.

Do not scream 'this is not what it looks like', or 'let me explain' to a traumatized girlfriend. Wait until they are not traumatized to escape the disaster.

"What are you going to do?" I whispered. Suggest that she make a decision because, guess what, she needs to make decision, not stew in the madness of the moment.

"How could you?" Oneida lowered her attack stance and took a half-step back.

"There is no way I can explain this," I sighed. My legs came up to shield my exposed crotch plus I dropped Rhada's knife. "Even if I could make this sound rational, I wouldn't put you in that spot. This is an impossible reality." Okay, that last bit was bullshit.

"Is Rhada okay?" Oneida began to focus on the immediate and relegated the past five minutes and the forthcoming repercussions to 'things to do later'. I freed Rhada's hands and then removed the tape. Rhada picked up her blade and readied it.

"Ask her yourself," I suggested. Sensing Rhada's insanity rising up. "No Rhada, you cannot stab her. I won't allow it."

Rhada glared pure, un-distilled hate at Oneida, something the poor girl couldn't understand.

"Rhada, I came here to save you," Oneida gasped. She also prepared to fight.

"You came to take my Cáel for yourself," Rhada spat. Oneida was back to not understanding anything. It would come soon enough. Women are women after all.

"I need to...get something from my backpack," I warned them both. No one attacked me so I pulled out a set of black jeans and black panties for Rhada.

"You brought a change of clothes for her?" Oneida was still playing 'kinky games' catch up.

"Of course he brought me clothes, you insipid fool," Rhada seethed.

"How could we bind our souls into one if I had to walk around...?" Rhada stopped. The idea of walking around naked in my presence appealed to her.

"None of this makes any sense," Oneida protested. It didn't matter.

"Oneida, are your guardians close by?" I asked. I knew the answer, but getting that information out to these to ladies was relevant.

Oneida nodded.

"Rhada, get dressed and go home. Oneida, go home. I'll try to have this make sense to you one day," I said.

"No!" Rhada yelped as if I'd stuck her. "I cannot wait any longer."

"Rhada, unless you want Madi to find out and then have ringside seats as starving dogs tear me to pieces, you have to go," I insisted. I wasn't afraid of hungry dogs. The Amazons wouldn't waste the time when they could slit my throat and be done with it. We all three heard a rustle of footsteps maybe fifteen meters away.

Rhada looked at me as if she'd witnessed the murder of every kitten on the planet, then shot venom Oneida's way and finally snuck off, new clothes in hand. Oneida gave me a different look, one etched in sadness and unspoken heartache. She went off to bump into her bodyguards. I holstered my 'junk' and sat back, wondering why I dated crazy women. The answer was always the same - the sex was fantastic. I'd pay the bill later.

(Friday Morning)

I was damn tired getting into work. I locked my bike, walked into the lobby and realized something was horribly wrong. A dozen pairs of eyes riveted me with their aggression. The security chicks were in their usual places and unsettling in their nervousness. The dozen sets of eyes - those were Full-Blooded killers, not the standard 'Runner' security types.

Adding to my discomfort, there was no Constanza, or even Naomi. A few of the normal ladies from the Security Detail where there - sadly, I had never caught their names, but they didn't look like they were waiting for me specifically. I walked up to the security booth, took out my ID badge and offered it up.

What followed was mere formality. Of all of the hundreds of males in biker clothes coming into this masculine version of the Sixth layer of Hell, they needed to be absolutely sure it was me.

"Cáel Nyilas," the women at the guard station intoned and in they swarmed. Armed with personal defense weapons (read: SMG's) with hair-triggers, I had a split second to decide who I really was.

A few were clearly SD. The rest - House Guard for families I didn't recognize.

"Have I just won Publisher's Clearing House sweepstakes, or what?" I grinned foolishly. I'm sure you can be very cool, calm, collected and rational while you laugh at death. I'm not that guy. One of the brutes tried to run off with my valise, a quick tug of war developed and four gun barrels were pushed into me.

"Let go," one of them hissed.

"Do I at least get a claim check?" I countered. What I got was a gun barrel slammed down on the back of my hand. My fingers automatically flexed and my carrying case was taken away. The remaining seven members of the Welcome Wagon hustled me to a stairwell...not an elevator and down I went.

Two proceeded me into a moderately sized conference down two levels with the rest following behind. We were doing fine until the coffle chains came out. That was my 'fuck it' moment. It took me two seconds to realize they were no longer going to shoot me. I came to this revelation when I smashed the face of the guard right behind me.

She stumbled into guards four through seven behind her. Guards one and two, already in the room, holding my chains, rushed in. One came in with a low sweeping kick. I went even lower, caught her leg and whipped her into the wall. I was on my back as number two advanced. Our legs tangled up, we both grappled, but I had strength and leverage. I pounded her temple against the corner of the table twice - hard.

Then came the pain. The rest flooded the room. Number two was down, number one was momentarily stunned and the other five were deadly serious and coming on fast. To all our credits, they didn't try to overwhelm me with numbers. They closed in from both sides of the table, backing me against a wall.

I was pretty good at fighting. I had damaged three of them striking from surprise. Surprise was gone now, as was their sloppy arrogance. This was all business and there was no way I could take on even two of these skilled warriors at the same time. Any advantage I gained over one, I'd lose to the other one so down I went. I was chained up before I could stop seeing double.

Collar, hands cuffed at the back, leg shackles and all linked by twin chains. I wasn't going anywhere fast. I wasn't done yet. I tried to squirm around to a sitting position.

"Stop that," one of the guards stated.

"I'd like to sit up, please," I requested. 

With barely a pause, two guards came up, put my back to a wall then went back to their positions.

"Thank you," I responded. Several guards looked at me and smirked. Huh?

"They all said you would fight," the leader grinned. 

"We were getting a little disappointed then you chose that chokepoint to make your stand. That was clever," she informed me.

"Actually it was the sight of the chains that set me off," I said. "Against seven of you I had no realistic chance. If I let myself get chained up, I knew I was completely out of options."

Several of the women nodded. Were any of them pissed? Apparently not. Even the one I'd cold-conked rubbed her temple and smiled at me. I worked in an insane asylum.

"Is there any way I could make a video message?" I inquired.

"No," was the reply.

"Please. Aya of the Epona is at Summer Camp and I want her to know that I'm okay, but won't be able to see her for a while," I pled my case.

"You will never be able to see her again, so why bother?" another asked.

"I love her. Better to give her the illusion I may one day return than the harsh reality that she is doomed to end up like the rest of you," I explained.

"Save some of that defiance for your relocation," the leader snickered. "You'll need it."

"Thanks. I will," I sighed. There was a pause. They were being rather gregarious.

"You've accepted your fate?" the one I'd knocked out questioned.

"The fate you want for me? No. That this will mean my death - yes," I shrugged.

"Bravado," a different Amazon snorted.

"You think so? Once I am relocated I have nothing left to live for. Every ounce of my being will be devoted to ending the hollow parody of an existence I'm left with," I stared at her. "I've beaten your ilk enough times to know I'll escape that life before too long."

That earned me some silence. They began talking amongst themselves. The group was a mixed group of House Guard and Security Detail reinforcements from other facilities. They either knew each other, or knew someone in common. An hour in, this had become incredibly boring.

"When is the meeting?" I asked a women temporarily not in a conversation.

She didn't look surprised. She hid it well.

"What meeting?" she countered. I lowered my chin to my chest.

"Do you know where I work, what I did yesterday, or how easy it was to figure this out?" I looked up.

"What do you know?" she prodded. The others were now watching.

"I work for Executive Services, I spent much of yesterday making housing arrangements for a ton of emergency visitors, and since I've been doing so many stupid things, plus my reception this morning, I assume the New Directive is under attack," I laid out my case.

"If you figured all that out, why did you show up today?" the leader wondered.

"I work here. I have a 6:00 am session on the firing range. Work starts at 7:00 and normally goes to 5:00 with a 3:00 pm break for knife training. Then I either bike home, or work out in the gym, or the pool. Barring being called back to work on a special order, I get a date, a meal and then sex until midnight," I mused.

"I came to work today for the same reason I came in yesterday and last week - I work for a bunch of homicidal lunatics, a few of whom I care for," I answered. "Their friendship and affection is pointless. I'm good-looking and amusing, a passing distraction in their lives and none of that matters one iota to my survival. I face my condemnation alone and I am okay with that."

"You sound angrier than your words indicate," an Amazon noted.

"I am angry. I don't desire death," I shrugged. "I don't think I deserve this fate yet here we are. Personally, I know I put my hope in karmic rewards for all of us."

"What would that be?" the leader said. She was making small talk to alleviate the boredom.

"Today - today I think you deserve a lingering, 24 hour torturous death. Starting with the very youngest followed by the next youngest and the next youngest proceeding in quick succession so that the oldest of you watch your lineages waste away. I want you gripped with hopelessness and despair as you are rendered powerless to control your futures. That's a fitting ending for the Amazon race today," I stated.

"Does that fantasy make you feel better?" she pressed, somewhat amused.

"Of course not," I laughed. "That is surrendering to hate and that would make me as bad as all of you."

"You know nothing of us," she said and the others laughed.

"Yeah...right. So, how many of you have murdered your paternal unit? Did you herd them into gas chambers, shoot them in the head, or slit their throats?" I grinned. "Do you dump those men and your sons in a massed unmarked graves, or burn them like rubbish? Those poor bastards have gotten the last laugh," I chuckled. "Sterile females, deformed babies...you taught those men a lesson alright."

"You are all such epic bad-asses, you've butchered your way to extinction. But, hey, you've got your racial superiority, right?" I chortled.

"You should shut up now," the leader's eyes narrowed. I shrugged. This time, I had killed the mood so we sat in silence.

An undetermined time later, Constanza stormed in and threw my clothes at me - no sign of the rest of my gear, or valise.

"Get dressed," she ordered.

"Why?" I asked. She kicked me. The kick was aimed at my ribs, but I able to set up a knee block up in time.

"You will do it because you've been told to do it," Constanza snapped. I stayed where I was. "Help me get him dressed," she addressed the room. I lost the fight if there was any doubt. I looked like a re-dressed corpse. No one would think I'd dressed myself. A few minutes later, the whole troupe plus Constanza frog-marched me to the elevators. I was shackled up thus taking small steps.

I ended up farther down that I'd ever been before. Along the way I was given several quick examinations before being taken to two massive wooden doors with two SD guards, one being Naomi. She looked at my chains speculatively.

"He has been summoned," Constanza informed the door guards. 

One of my initial capturers began unlocking my restraints. I debated putting a knee to her head. That seemed rude so I refrained from violence. Naomi took me by the elbow while the other guard opened one of the doors. She led me into the nearly empty, cavernous room. Eight SD troopers were along the walls and Elsa stood at attention close to what I reasoned was Hayden's chair.

"Stand there," Elsa pointed to a large piece of slate with a rune upon it.

"Sure," I did as I was instructed. "Why am I here?"

"Your only real hope is to be quiet and well-behaved, Cáel," Elsa told me, resuming her statuesque stance. I honestly figured this was it for me.

My jacket came off. I threw it to the closest chair. The tie came off next, looping it through my belt...because it looked weird. I kicked off my shoes and removed my socks, stuffing the socks in the shoes and tossing them to the chair with my jacket. Then I started my morning warm up routine.

Sure enough, groups of paired women began entering the room, giving me odd looks before taking their seats. I was doing some handstand push-up (thanks Yasmin) when Katrina walked in with a woman I didn't know.

"Good morning Cáel Nyilas," she said. "This is my cousin, Arwen."

The push-up, tuck, flip and finishing up with landing on your feet ain't easy. I added to the difficult by successfully landing on my designated piece of slate floor.

"Did your clothing magically fall of, or did they fail to finish dressing you?" Katrina smirked.

"Cut me some slack, Boss. I'm three insults away from slinging poo," I grinned back.

"Nice to meet you, Arwen," I offered my hand. She looked at it, but didn't shake. "She's your apprentice?" I groaned to Katrina. She nodded. "That is so not good for me. What did I do wrong this time?"

"She thinks I have invested too much of our House prestige in this New Directive and you in particular," Katrina enlightened me.

"What is her survival stratagem then?" I ignored Arwen while addressing Katrina.

"Have her cake and eat it too," Katrina mused. "She thinks we recruit males then kidnap them and make them our slaves...because that has worked so well for us until now. To be fair, she favors genetics while ignoring such things as spirit, courage and loyalty."

"I'm about to die so any insight I might provide is pointless," I shrugged. "Take care Katrina."

"Male, we are not here to kill you. You will be taken to a facility for breeding," Arwen 'clarified' things for me. Katrina and I both broke out in laughter. Arwen didn't get it. More and more women came in. With them arrived more House Guard. Soon the once vast room seemed to not be big enough.

Among other fans of yours truly was Ursula, the woman who sent Leona to kill me with her bow. It didn't take me long to determine there were four distinct groups. The smallest group hated my heart for daring to beat. The largest group seemed uncertain that me having a functioning cerebral cortex was a good thing. 

The second largest group was worried - about their very existence, but weren't sure I was the answer. The final group, nearly as big as the next largest group, was Hayden's pro-New Directive faction. As a plus, they also weren't afraid to show me some affection personally. When there were only seven chairs left unfilled, Hayden rose for the opening prayer.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 16



The 'junior' members started the chorus as the last 'senior' joined the main intonation. When the chanting ended, everyone but Hayden sat back down.

"A small number of issues necessitate this unheralded meeting," Hayden began. "A male knows our language, our nature and the secret. I seek guidance."

And then the shit-storm began. The only people not involved were Hayden, St. Marie on Hayden's right, and an unknown older Amazon I didn't know. My life was being debated and I was losing in a bad way. Beyoncé rallied support for me. She was sadly outnumbered but persistent. Among the oldest houses I saw Oneida sitting junior with house Arinniti.

Her house was the only one silent, which seemed rather odd. A consensus was reached. I would get to live, but I would be imprisoned for the rest of my existence - not even a breeding male. That was my 'reward' for channeling the ancestors thus saving Oneida's life. Hayden rose once more, took a hand count and raised her hand for quiet.

"I will consult with the ancestors on this matter," Hayden announced. "Does anyone have other salient points to add?"

That was perfunctory. Everyone had already spoken so when the head of House Arinniti stood up, everyone around her whispered in confusion. She lightly slapped her hand on the table for attention.

"I do, High Priestess," the woman stated. Even Oneida looked worried and confused.

"I recognize Shawnee, Head of House Arinniti," Hayden nodded then resumed seating.

"My sisters, I seek your agreement that you refrain from comment before I have made my three key statements," Shawnee requested. She looked around the room, getting nods - some reluctant.

(1)"First, I must confess to a crime against the Host and the Council," Shawnee began. There were hushed murmurs. "At the end of the Second Betrayal, my house argued tirelessly for the salvation of the males who remained loyal. The Council voted against us so the head of my house defied the council and spared three of our sons."

Murmurs became shouts of outrage. Hayden used a subtle voice of menace to restore order.

(2) "Second, Two Ash Men arrived after the rest; a veteran fighter of three and a half decades and a young man of twenty years. Knowing there was no hope for our sons, we took these two aside and instructed them to take our sons south, to a dubious future. That was our crime and it might never have been revealed if it wasn't for the New Directive."

"As you now know, Oneida, my granddaughter and heir, gave her Death Pledge. Cáel Nyilas intervened and, acting as a vessel for the Ancestors, he showed Hayden that her pledge had been rejected - for the first time in 3000 years," Shawnee looked around the table. "At first I was simply grateful for my granddaughter's life." 

"As that euphoria faded, I began to ask why he acted as he had. I began wondering why, while in dire pain, Cáel refused water and comfort, instead asking for songs in our tongue? That made no sense...unless," Shawnee's face deepened in thought as she let the implications of that thought hang in the air. "Thus I had Cáel's genetic identity tested, to see if..."

"To see if he was one of your bastard male offspring returned after all these centuries," Ursula stood and seethed. Hayden slapped her palm on the table for order.

"Oh Ursula," Shawnee smirked, "the ancestors are wiser than you, or me. Had I received my heart-wish and had one of those boys return, they would be condemned by Arinniti's sins and the Council's decision."

"But..." Shawnee persisted. Several Amazon's looked my way, clearly bewildered.

"We had to check the skulls of the ancestors for that," Shawnee stated. "We took a tooth and it confirmed his lineage. He is the descendent of the young man. He never broke faith with the Host. He was unaware when ordered by the Arinniti what the Council had decided, thus he was guiltless."

"Who?" Hayden demanded. Shawnee looked down the table, but not far.

(3)"Cáel Nyilas is of the blood of Ishara," Shawnee stated. I waited to see which house leader freaked out. None did. Then I realized they were all staring at an empty chair and it just happened to be one of the chairs closest to Hayden. NOT good.

The screaming, shouting and yelling began. The house leaders were standing up, shaking fingers and launching threats at one another. Me? I was trying to recall who Ishara was. She eventually became Ishtar, Goddess of War. In the Old Kingdom Hittite she was also the Goddess of Oaths, Love and Medicine. The only three people at the table not going nuts where St. Marie, Hayden and the woman at her side.

That woman was looking at her tablet intently. Once more the group reached consensus and I was still boned. I was still a male, so my lineage meant nothing. I wasn't part of the Host. Hayden took another deep breath, acknowledging this second decision.

"You are all incorrect," the unknown tablet-reader spoke.

Everyone looked at her and nobody was yelling.

"Elsa, who is that?" I whispered.

"Krasimira, Keeper of Records," Elsa quietly informed me.

"What...what do you mean?" Messina, Fabiola's Mom stammered.

"Only nine males went unaccounted for at the end of the Second Betrayal. The rest are recorded meeting their deaths in battle, or death by our hand. Of those nine, only one was of House Ishara and he would have barely been of mating age," Krasimira related.

"So?" Ursula remarked. "He's still a male."

Krasimira looked at Ursula as if she was talking to a five year old.

"He was a member of the Host. If Shawnee of Arinniti is to be believed, Vranus, Cáel's ancestor, lived and died in service to the Host. He was never removed from our records, so he died a member of the Host, so his descendants are also members of the Host."

"He married without permission of his house, thus he is illegitimate," an old enemy from Egypt chimed in.

"Perhaps," Krasimira nodded. "That is a matter he must take up with the Head of House Ishara."

"There is no Head of House Ishara!" Ursula stated the obvious and pointed at the empty chair.

"Again, you are incorrect," Krasimira shook her head. She half turned in her chair. "There is a Head of House Ishara and he's standing right there." Even Hayden had a problem with that.

"But he's male," Hayden declared.

"That is Irrelevant," Krasimira said.

"To be the head of a house, one must either be elected by the peers of your house, succeed in accepted ritual combat, or, in extremis, it shall be the eldest surviving member of the Host of that house. Cáel Nyilas is clearly the oldest member of House Ishara currently in the Host," she quoted Amazon law, "so he is House Ishara's head." Silence reigned.

"Gun," I extended my hand to Elsa. She looked at me as if I'd lost my mind. "Don't make me repeat myself." I growled. Elsa didn't look for guidance. She wasn't that type. She drew her .45 automatic and put in in my hand.

"The safety is engaged," she enlightened me. I left my spot and began rounding the table to 'my' seat.

"One more step and I'll shoot you where you stand," Ursula threatened.

"No you won't," St. Marie stood. "I'll kill you first."

"Ursula of Marda, you have no justification to attack House Ishara," Hayden explained. "I don't like this anymore than you do. We do not pick and choose which laws to follow. Accept the will of our ancestors."

There were between fifteen and twenty women close by aching to put bullets in me. I didn't stop because that wouldn't be me. I ended up by the chair and absorbed the essence of this tiny shard of reality. Was I the son of some lost 'First' House? Without a doubt, the placement of this chair was in the top ten on this side. The ones across from me were all clearly 'First' Houses as well.

The chair was old - maybe two hundred years. It held a sadness to it - no one had ever sat in it. It had been built knowing no one would ever sit on it. I thought about Pamela. I thought about holding Oneida up and refusing to let her die. That effort was me, physically conditioned over years, but I had never discounted willpower.

It was possible that man could indeed be found back somewhere in my ancestry. Few invaders wipe out all the indigenous inhabitants. Usually they intermarry with the invading culture overwhelming the previous one. I couldn't forget my present and future while examining my past. I put the gun down. Hostility washed over me in palatable waves.

I pulled back the chair. The room was about to explode. I kept moving it back, farther and farther until it was clear I wouldn't be sitting in it.

"I will stand for House Ishara," I announced. "I will not vote though I will speak my thoughts on matters. I will hold this spot until I have a daughter of age."

"No man of House Ishara has ever voted in the Council of the Host and no man will now," I kept going. "Outside of those concessions to my Mothers, I am House Ishara. I am right here. If you have a problem with me, I will be easy to find. I have never hidden from you bitches and I'm not going to start now."

"You insult us," Messina stood up. Five other women joined her.

"By all means," Katrina stood, "we eagerly await your challenge." Eight other women joined her. I hadn't suddenly become more popular. Between my refusal to vote, the bizarre revelation of Shawnee and the gravitas of the 'First' Houses, the more conservative women were retiring to regroup.

Messina's backing down lasted only seconds. She immediately proposed that no male be allowed to be a member of the Host - disqualifying me by fiat. Krasimira wasn't going for that. Amazons could not legislate a member of the Host, or a House, out of existence. That's why they had killed the Ash Men in the first place. Technically, they had been Amazons.

They couldn't make them 'not-Amazons' and there was no exile in this society. Eminently practical, they made them dead instead. That was coming back to bite them in the ass now, because they killed them - they'd never taken them off the rolls. Poor, young Vranus had loyally led his charges away on orders. Had he fled, they would have put him under a death sentence - which I would have to fulfill.

No, my ancestor was unsurprisingly pig-headed. One senior warrior and three children...sure, let's walk off into the wilderness with hostile tribes all around. Why? They told him to and like a loyal little mutton-head he'd obeyed. If I believed in magic, or mysticism, I'd worry about how I ended up in that first board meeting speaking this fucked-up language.

I'd re-examine how Leona had missed that crucial first shot because Aya had missed hers. Aya herself and the same spiritual twist that caused Oneida to hurl her life into my unsteady hands. I'd like to put that to accident and genetic abnormalities. Then there was Pamela. I'd like to think she was delusional, suffering from an acid flashback, or whatever.

Shawnee slid a wooden box - a meter by 70 cm - to me. Whatever parliamentary etiquette Amazons followed was unknown to me. I opened the box. Inside was what looked like a lamb, or sheep, skin pressed in some kind of glass. The artifact looked horribly old and was faded to the stage where it was barely legible.

I let the buzz die down around me as I squinted at the picture. There were five figures - from the left was a tall one with a shield and spear, three small figures, and another tall man...with two axes. That was...no I couldn't accept that, not right now. Along both sides and the top were prayers of some kind, though they were too faded to make out accurately. On the bottom were five names. The right-most was Vranus.

Oneida hadn't been trapped by madness and pride. She'd been a slave to destiny. She had seen this skin, I was sure. She'd seen me with my two axes and when it turned out to be more than show, she'd had to save me and she couldn't tell anyone why because of the Arinniti sin. Perhaps she had some delusion we were distantly related. Now wasn't the time to ask.

I closed the box and slid it back. In my absence, the verdict for House Arinniti was narrowed down. Some wanted Shawnee's head because she was the inheritor of those lies. Others wanted Oneida's head because it would be a more terrible lesson for her house. I didn't like those ideas.

"Are you seriously arguing about the paint on the doghouse while your home is burning down?" I mocked them.

"You don't...," a different, yet still hostile, Amazon choked out.

"They didn't sell your sisters to the Roman coliseum," I glared. "They valued bravery and loyalty over conformity. Did they defy the Council? Yes. I think we all agree with that. Put in context though, the rest of you fucked up."

Tons of 'how dare you' and descriptive insults to my family, gender, species and intelligence.

"Answer me this - Ursula, can you turn around right now and slit your 'apprentice's' throat?" I posed. I could see the 'no' forming on her lips before the Great Wall of Implications fell on her head.

"Everyone in this room that voted for the slaughter of the Ash Men broke your own laws," I explained. "You had every right to kill your sons. They were legally and physically helpless. The Ash Men - they were members of the Host...and there is every indication you butchered them without trial, or attempt at redress. Correct me if I'm wrong, but those men did not break the law; you did."

"You are correct," Krasimira said. "All members of the Host must be informed of their crimes and seek trial if they disagree. Any sentence of Death can be appealed to the High Priestess, who can commute the sentence, assign an ordeal of some kind, or have it carried out." What doomed Leona was the obvious nature of her crime in front of the High Priestess.

The only person who protested was Ursula, the Mistress of Leona's house. Looking back on things, Ursula had acted insanely sending Leona to kill me. Yes, she would have derailed the New Directive for a few years. She would also have alienated every neutral member of the Council. The vote for the New Directive was distasteful yet deemed necessary by enough houses for it to pass.

The vote at the end of the Second Betrayal...that was the issue now. Ms. Senior Egypt made one last end-run around the process.

"What is to stop him from bringing more men into the Host?" she muddied the water. Me? I pulled out my shirt and looked down at my chest.

"Is someone making fun of my A-cup sized breasts?" I appealed to Hayden. A tiny smile crossed her lips.

"I am not sure Cáel," Hayden responded. "Fatima, be precise with the nature of your worries."

"He should not be allowed to recruit into his house until his status is decided," Fatima stated.

"His status is not in question," Hayden purred. That was the 'I'm about to lose patience with you' purr.

"I would never recruit anyone into House Ishara who was not qualified. It is insulting to think otherwise. Is there a specific male you are worried about?" I inquired.

"I don't know you, or your ways," Fatima spat.

"You need to think about what you just said, Fatima," I snorted. "So, not knowing anything about me you are making assumptions about what I might do? As you said yourself, you don't know me." 

"If you did, you would know that while I wish virtually every Amazon alive would drop dead, thus making the world a much better place, I would never embarrass Katrina, or betray her. Now, are you going to keep looking stupid, or are you going to accept that House Arinniti not only acted in accordance to Amazon law 2500 years ago, they continue acting so today," I stated.

"After all, they risked everyone's anger for the restoration of one of your eldest houses. When I turned out not to be one of Arinniti's long-lost sons, they could have kept quiet. They did not. Arinniti bravery means one day a daughter of Ishara will bring her voice to this council once more. They certainly didn't do this for themselves. Ask yourself if you would have the courage to bring such possible shame to your family prestige," I challenged the Host.

"You trained your monkey well," Messina mocked Katrina. 

"Ah..." I mused as I picked up my pistol. "Safety." I got a feel for the weapon. "Messina, what's the name of your 'apprentice'?"

"You wouldn't dare," Messina hissed.

"You dare to insult me and my House, Whore-Bitch," I smiled insanely. "Why do you think I'll let you get away with that? I'm not going to kill her - just gut-shoot her."

"Pull that trigger and you will die," Messina spat. Her junior looked far less pleased with the turn of events.

"Not relevant. My House Prestige is too great to suffer such an insult. You did call me, the choice of a hundred generations of House Ishara ancestors, a monkey," I pointed out.

"Cáel of Ishara, put the gun down...please," St. Marie sort of asked. I clicked the safety and put the gun back down on the table.

Messina was looking terribly pleased with herself, ignoring 'The Golden Mare' coming around her side of the table. The hair-yank St. Marie inflicted made me recoil in shock and I was some distance away Messina. Slap-backhand-slap-backhand. St. Marie released Messina's hair. Messina stumbled back, fearful and furious at the same time.

"Are you going to exert some common courtesy, or shall we continue?" the Marshal of the Amazon Host glared at Messina. "I don't like him, or where he stands, but I am far more embarrassed by your behavior. At least the male exerts some restraint. The rest of you are acting like he is a weakling-idiot. He is not. Know your opponent dammit."

"Wait! Hayden, now that I'm..." I got all excited.

"No, Cáel, you still may not refer to the Marshal of the Amazon Host as 'Pony-Lady'," Hayden scolded me. I snapped my finger over the lost opportunity. A pregnant pause was suddenly vacated by a snicker and then several more until half the table had to hold their hands over their mouths.

"Did you really call '****' St. Marie, 'Pony-Lady'?" this unknown House Leader asked. She wasn't one of my fans.

"Only after she kicked my ass, totally humiliating me," I revealed. "I got one punch in. Next thing I knew I was wondering how regularly they changed the fluorescent lighting in the Firing Range while I was on my back, soaking up the cold comfort of the concrete floor."

It took them a second to figure out what I meant. St. Marie was already marching back to her chair.

"You are very poetic," another commented.

"That is how I learned your tongue - I was taught Old Kingdom Hittite erotic and love poetry. I know the same in nine other forgotten languages, as well as four current languages," I informed them.

"Hayden, you would not dare chastise any other Head of House the way you treated - him," Ursula griped.

"In what possible universe would Cáel Nyilas be considered normal?" Hayden countered. "He is not like any other Head of House. He forgoes voting because HE values our traditions."

"He does not sit in his designated seat at our table because he takes into consideration our sensibilities. This from a man we all decided to imprison forever not five minutes ago. If any of you think he does this out of fear, you are sorely mistaken. He is a person of many failings without question yet he is courageous to a fault," Hayden lectured the room. "St. Marie, what was the first thing he said to you after you crushed him?"

"He said 'What. Had enough already?'" she snorted. "Those were his exact words, lying on his back, looking up at me. I thought I had concussed him."

"This is not a humorous matter," Egypt Senior was still cranky.

"I don't know about that," St. Marie reposed. "I found it to be fun actually."

"Even the part where he had the gun pointed at me was interesting. I was certain he was about to shoot me," St. Marie continued.

"Pity he missed you," Messina glared.

"He didn't miss me, Messina," St. Marie sneered. "I told him to give me the gun and he gave it to me. He's not disloyal, just pugnacious."




Life as a New Hire Ch. 16



"What of Arinniti's crime?" Beyoncé prodded. She wasn't feeling self-righteous. Quite the opposite; the mood had shifted away from bloodlust to uncertainty. Amazons liked decisiveness. They also liked only having to do something once and being done with it. That was the riptide of the New Directive - some houses couldn't let go of the fact they'd lost.

That constant pecking away at the plan were the half-measures Katrina was complaining to Hayden about. From my experience, the Ash Men was Katrina's goal all along. Had she been open and honest with this desire, there was no way any aspect of the New Directive would be implemented.

If you believed in conspiracy theories, Katrina had groomed me for some time. If you believed in luck, Katrina was cosmically lucky our paths collided. If you believed in mysticism, I was fucked. Let's not forget that there were three millennia of bad ass bitches on the other side of the spiritual divide who thought nothing of guiding me into a life full of fear, heartache and pain.

A lengthy debate ended in a classic Amazon compromise - they forgot about it. Literally, they erased the crime against the Ash Men and Arinniti's 'omission' of sparing three of their sons. What had happened to all my 'Ash' brethren? Whoops - they were misplaced. They weren't erased from the rolls - that would make my existence inexplicable, so we remained honorary Amazons.

I was sure their angry ghosts were totally mollified. I was sure me and the first female Pope would get it on too. As the meeting was breaking up, one of the 'unfriendly' Amazons shot me a remark.

"I supposed you are elated," she grumbled.

"Really? You think so? Here, let me sell all your underage daughters to Romany gypsies so that you never see them again and you'll have an inkling of how I feel," I smiled serenely.

"You should be happy you are allowed to stand in our presence," she got truly pissy.

"Lady, I won't be happy until I get to hunt hate-filled monsters like you for sport," I kept smiling.

"Until then, I'm afraid we are both going to have to live unsatisfying lives," I added.

"Perhaps we should handle this with a blood feud?" she salivated at the prospect.

"Sure. I'll get the Neutron Bomb we have in the Armory. You chose whatever you like. I'll meet you downtown at noon," I proposed.

It is much better to make a nuclear weapon joke and not have every authority figure in the room glance at you nervously. Did we really have a nuclear warhead in the basement? Fuck if I knew. They'd have never told me if there was. I felt a hand on my shoulder and recalled the touch.

"Cáel Nyilas, you are forbidden from engaging in blood feuds - in your case, feuds of any kind until one lunar cycle is completed," Hayden instructed.

"Thank you. I appreciate that," my honesty, heartfelt reply slipped forth. 

"My judgment wasn't for you, Cáel. You've caused catastrophic trauma to our society as an outsider. I tremble to think what you can do now that you are one of us," Hayden gave me a truly serene response. "Give me a little time to prepare."

"Oh! Great idea," I exclaimed. "Gotta go!" and I raced for the door, tossing Elsa her gun.

"Should I shoot him?" Elsa suggested. "Only to slow him down a bit." I made it to the elevator carrying my jacket and shoes. With me were four sets of Amazons that wanted me dead and one set who were rather ambivalent about the whole matter.

I caught one of the 'hater' juniors looking at me. I turned my head enough so we could make prolonged eye contact. I smiled. Reluctantly she smiled back. I leaned in slightly.

"Can I borrow your phone? SD beat me up earlier and stole all my stuff," I innocently requested. I was pretty sure she was as surprised as every other man-hater in the box that she handed it over.

Like shooting fish in a barrel. I began making a few quick texts to the three crucial people in my scheme.

"What did you do that for?" her senior hissed. With my brand new Stinky Pooh-Bah status, she couldn't knock the device out of my hands.

"I don't know," she pleaded to her superior. I finished up then handed it back.

"Your 'apprentice' has rendered House Ishara an important service that shall be entered into our records of boons and debts," I nodded gravely. "What is your name?"

"Gale," she batted her eyelashes. "What did I do?"

"What are you doing for lunch tomorrow?" I magically conjured up her hand in mine with my fingertips coursing over her palm and wrist. "I'll explain it then."

"You may not spend time with this...person," Senior insisted.

"We should not overlook an opportunity to make an alliance with a First House," Gale countered.

Bang! Looking like trout for lunch. Gale won, I won and we were meeting at my place so we could figure out where to eat - yummy. Somewhere in the episode, I'd introduce Odette into the mix. It was only fair. I was asking her to hide in Timothy's room until I got Gale warmed up after all.

I was the first one of the 'team' to arrive. I was nervously pacing Katrina's office when Desiree and Paula showed up. Desiree took a casual seat on the sofa while Paula hovered around my desk.

"Is this going to be really bad, or really good?" Desiree mused.

"Why should you have to choose?" I laughed. "Besides, we are aiming for epic status today."

"Why are we here?" Paula worried. I stopped. I had a 'Eureka!' moment. There probably was a Bible for what I was planning to do, but they hadn't given it to me. I ran to the bathroom and came back with a glass.

"Desiree, I need two things. I need your sharp, pointy thing and for you to slap me until I cry," I looked at her expectantly.

"My pleasure," Desiree rocked up from her seat. "Slapping then knife?" I nodded. I was still in the painful smacking process when Buffy and Violet entered.

"Can anyone join?" Buffy asked Paula.

"I...I don't think so," Paula shook her head. "He's got a plan. I don't know what for." I dodged Desiree's final swing. I had gathered enough tears - I hoped.

"That was truly therapeutic, Cáel," Desiree stated. "Let me know if you need a repeat performance." She handed me her small knife.

Helena and Daphne finally strolled in. I wove past them, retrieved a piece of paper which I tore in two and two pens.

"Helena and Buffy, please write your names down on these pages," I requested.

"What the hell?" Buffy growled. "What is this about?"

"Trust me," I met her gaze.

"Buffy, Cáel is an ass, but he's not crazy. He's up to something," Desiree intervened. Helena stepped up and wrote her name. Buffy followed suit. I took the pages to Katrina's desk.

"Come forth and kneel before me," I commanded.

This was the point in the ritual when I figured my death was most likely. Buffy shot an evil look at Desiree then very reluctantly complied. Helena followed. Hmmm...Amazons kneel with both knees on the ground. That puts their mouths almost...I had to keep with the program. I burned the two autographs and scattered the ashes.

"There is no Buffy DuBois. There is no Helena Shultz," I began. I dipped a finger into the shallow pool of my tears. I ran one down under the left eye of each lady. "With this, I open your eyes to the joys and sorrows of our ancestors." That brought on a hush and the anger in Buffy's eyes evaporated.

I cut my left forefinger then motioned them to do the same. First Buffy: I linked our bloody digits.

"With this, our blood is mixed. You are Buffy of House Ishara from this moment forth. You are the first of this House. You are our spear and shield," I met her gaze. She started crying.

"You are Helena of House Ishara from this moment forth," I continued on. "You are the second of this House. You keep the records of our Host, keep track of our deeds, sins and accounts." Helena began weeping too. Had I said 'just joking', the cleaning team would have been finding torn pieces of me weeks later.

"House Ishara is dead," Daphne stated the obvious.

"Suffice it to say, long ago, House Ishara brought a male into their ranks as a member of the House," I started. I motioned for my two House-mates...members to rise.

"The Second Betrayal," Violet interrupted.

"Yes. During the Second Betrayal, some males remained loyal. My descendent was sent on a mission for the Host. The mission took him past his lifespan. His offspring continued on until you end up with me - being here - today. Suffice it to say, he was never removed from the rosters of the Host, thus every offspring was a member too," I recalled recent edited events.

"By Amazon law, House Leaders are selected by their peers, victors in a challenge for leadership, or..." I continued.

"The eldest of the house," Daphne gasped. "Since Ishara is...since all the female members of the Host are dead, you are the eldest member of the Host."

"You don't have to be a female?" Desiree muttered. "That's insane. We are Amazons."

"There hasn't been a male in the host for over 2500 years," I explained. "It never came up. Back when they had them, there simply weren't enough men to worry about. Afterwards, there were NO men to worry about. Apparently your ancestors thought writing down 'eldest female' was redundant."

"That had to have gone down like a mouse passing an elephant turd," Paula muttered. We all looked at her. "What? Since I met Cáel, I've been writing down little phrases to use in situations like now. This was the first one I could recall."

"Actually, they wept tears of joy, lifted me up on their shoulders and sung paeans to my glory," I lied.

"So, when do you think the first assassination attempt will be?" Desiree shook her head. This was a lot for her to take in. Not only was my tale fantastic, Buffy was her friend and Desiree knew that Buffy bled for a chance to join the Host and had done so for years.

"Why do you think I called Buffy first?" I snickered.

"I won't let you down," Buffy declared with grim determination.

"Calm down, Buffy," I assured her. "I don't think me being casually snuffed out is on their agenda. They've already gone through a torturous compromise to end up with this screwed up situation."

"So why did you pick me...and Helena?" Buffy studied me.

"Buffy, you are the most amazon-Amazon I know," I told her. "You like Helena and she said nice stuff about Daphne which showed her character, so I chose her next."

"Hey, this means I can finally slap Fabiola around," Buffy's eyes grew bright.

"Which reminds me - can I get any volunteers for Old Kingdom Hittite lessons for these two," I begged my 'new hire' companions.

"I'll take two nights a week," Daphne offered.

"I'll take one night," Paula added.

"I'll take a fourth," Violet completed the set.

"Damn it," Desiree cursed. "This means Buffy must be taught the Prayer of the Ancestors."

"You are right," Buffy gasped. "I accompany Cáel to Council meetings now."

"One note - I don't vote," I informed them. "I made that decision. House Ishara has never had a male vote for it and I'm keeping that tradition. I can speak, but not vote. When my daughter comes of age, she will have full rights."

Desiree, Buffy and Helena were confused. Daphne, Violet and Paula, on the other hand, were enraptured. This was the only life - only traditions - they had ever known and I had sacrificed something of importance to them out of respect to their sensibilities.

"Cáel's decision makes it easier for you, Buffy and Helena," Daphne explained.

"This allows the other Heads of House to get used to him being there - less of a culture shock," she continued. "In a few years he may end up getting a vote anyway as they learn to respect him and House Ishara. You are one of the First Houses - reborn, I imagine." Buffy's eyes grew wide and her mouth gaped open.

"Yeah Buff," Desiree shook her head. "One of the first twenty war leaders of the Host. You have the blood of Mycenaean warriors on your hands." 

"Cáel, I..." Buffy began.

"I gave you nothing, Buffy. If you think there is someone more deserving than you, please point them out," I touched her tear-drenched cheek.

"I do want something from you," I said compassionately. Buffy was attentive. "I want you to undergo a sex change operation and become a real woman." Ow! Buffy punched me.

"Buffy, you might not want to damage your House Head in public. It is bad for his prestige," Paula pointed out.

"Good point," Buffy frowned. "Cáel - bathroom - now."

"Uh-oh, no way, no how," I back-pedaled. "Today has been painful enough. I had a run in with some Security Detail and House Guard on the way to the podium."

"What did they do to you?" Helena inquired.

"For starters, they haven't given me back my valise," I complained. "Also, who do I report these additions to House Ishara to? Finally, Buffy promised me she'd wear a thong and those little, circular Band-Aids if I got her into the Full-blooded gym again."

"Decorum, Buffy," Desiree stopped Buffy from punishing me. "Decorum."

"Why don't you have to behave?" Buffy glared at me.

"I'm the ghost of a man dead for over 2500 years," I winked. "I'm allowed to be eccentric."

"I'll start calling around to find out who gets told what and where your stuff is Cáel," Helena grinned. She was full-blooded now; the goal of every Runner who joined.

"What is next for you now?" Daphne questioned.

"I imagine I have a job to do," I replied. "I mean, Katrina works and she's head of House Epona. I'm an intern, just like I was yesterday. That hasn't changed."

"Oh goodie," Buffy smacked her hands together, "you can still work for me."

"Oh - yay," I groaned sarcastically.

"What's wrong now?" Katrina said as she waltzed into the room. I caught sight of a few SD chicks hanging around outside. "There are for your protection if you feel you need it."

"Nah," I shook my head. "I have that taken care of. I brought Buffy and Helena into House Ishara."

Katrina stopped and looked at me. There was definitely some tension between us.

"You might want to consult with - others before you do something like that again," Katrina cautioned me.

"I'll definitely consider your offer. For now, I chose the best for the future of Ishara," I said, "as is my duty and responsibility."

We locked gazes once more. Things had changed between us. They had to have.

"I seem to have missed my Firing Range practice today as well as the morning meeting," I reminded Katrina. She'd known what fate awaited me when I walked in the door and not warned me. I didn't blame her. That was what she was looking for - the anger.

Before, I couldn't have acted on it.

"Cáel, get dressed. I saw Helena running off on some sort of errand which I imagine is your fault, so you are working with Daphne for the rest of the day," Katrina resumed her pace to her desk. She examined the nearly empty glass.

"My tears," I answered. "It is part of my ritual for induction into House Ishara." In case you missed it, I never said 'my house'. This was on purpose. As long as I made no open claim to such a lofty spot, they could ignore me hanging around a bit better.

"You may want to talk with House Arinniti, or Šauška about such rites," Katrina advised.

"He burned their old names to ash, scored their left cheeks with his tears to remind them of his ancestors and mixed his blood with theirs so they would be known to all as members of House Ishara from this day forth," Daphne related. "It was very touching - simple and to the point."

"That's Cáel for you, simple and straight to the cultural jugular," Katrina shook her head.

"He did nothing wrong," Buffy protested. I was getting dressed.

"Buffy, I have wanted to initiate you into House Epona for years. Family politics have prevented that. Sixty years after the First Initiative, fewer than a fifty 'Runners' have been brought into the Host. Mutual condemnation has kept each house in check - restrained from recruiting new blood into the Host."

"And now we have Cáel," Desiree groaned.

"Who does care not one bit about social ramifications of bringing a hundred runners into one of the oldest houses of the Host," Daphne sighed.

"But, we deserve this," Buffy proclaimed.

"That, Buffy, is the point and the problem - you and others like you do deserve it," Katrina fondly regarded her 'now-Full-blooded' friend. "Most of the other houses would disagree though, but they won't be able to convince Cáel of this - thus begins the next quagmire of Cáel's creation." It was the prejudice laid bare.

The 'Runners' knew they had very little chance of being accepted into a House. They had a long history of neglect to look back on. The few who had graduated had been virtually superhuman to be accepted. Then I came along. Suddenly, for some of the best and brightest of the 'Runners' there was a serious likelihood they could be brought into a highly prestigious House, because its leader was a nutjob.

This morning, when the meeting adjourned, House Ishara had been a tiny blip on the Council's radars. Those women so disregarded the 'Runners' they hadn't even thought about my reaction to the dilemma of the miniscule size of my house, despite the answer being all around them (though safely contained upstairs in their minds).

House Ishara with a lone member, a male at that, wasn't a threat - not really. The specter that Katrina foresaw was something different. She saw a House Ishara with a thousand members, and all hardened, dedicated and trained Amazons - formerly 'Runners'. Loyal to me? No. Loyal to House Ishara? To their dying breaths.

The reasoning for this was Amazon-simple. They weren't fighting for, or honoring, me. They were doing it for my unborn daughters who would one day rise up to lead them. Daughters they would train to respect both Full-Bloods and Runners equally. That was the rejuvenation of our House. In the interim, they would do what I said because that was the will of their ancestors. 

There were 52 - now 53 - existing Houses and 7 - now 6 - extinct ones. One house having a thousand members would be a serious headache and concern for the others. I didn't know the numbers of any of the houses. Working in Executive Services, I had the faintest inkling of overall Havenstone numbers. 

They hid their secrets well so the best I could do was between 15,000 and 40,000 souls and I was starting to think the latter number was more accurate. Having a 1000 members in House Ishara was bad. What made it worse was that half of that total number were 'Runners'. If I made Ishara the largest House, the others had few options.

They could suck it up, attempt to destroy me, or begin their own recruiting program - making the First Directive finally successful.

"Katrina, I beg two more favors from you," I looked at my Boss. She nodded.

"I need nine names of people who can help me screen recruits for House Ishara," I began.

"I want them to join with Helena to work out a suitable number of prospective members as well as the ones to be initiated," I requested. "Which is the second favor - needing Helena freed up to take care of House Ishara business."

"What is in it for me?" Katrina regarded me with a witty smirk.

"I'll...I'll go visit Aya at Summer Camp," I sacrificed. Katrina blinked.

"Unexpected," she nodded. "I can see you are serious about this. Done." No one who knew me would think me going to see Aya was a concession of any kind. It was still a favor for Katrina. I was getting to go because, while they had refused the male intern, they could not refuse a House Head.

"It will take me some time to make arrangements...how do you want to be referred to now?" Katrina inquired. She meant as 'Cáel Nyilas', or 'Cáel Ishara'.

"Oh - oh, cool," I gleefully rubbed my hands. "Big Mack Daddy - no, wait - Big Chief No-Tits - no, wait - how about..."

"Everyone look away," Buffy snarled. "Ignore the blood splatter, sound of breaking bones and the screams of terror and pain." She smacked her right fist into her left palm. Katrina arched an eyebrow.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 16



"It is considered damaging to Cáel's prestige to be public beaten by his 'First'," Daphne clarified.

"There is no 'First' position in the house structure," Katrina noted.

"It's not my fault. I haven't gotten the 'Resurrecting a Dead House' guide yet," I retreated. "Daphne we should be going. Buffy, keep looking promiscuous...and our House's chosen form of punishment shall be defenestration."

As Daphne and I fled, I heard Buffy say something behind me.

"What's defenestration?"

"Throwing your victim through a closed window, preferable from a fatal height," Katrina informed her.

"Cool," Buffy mused then we were gone.



Life as a New Hire Ch. 17



*This story plays fast and loose with Ancient History and Linguistics; be warned*

*You may outrun your sins, but never forget that someone will pay the toll*

*Reader-editors yet again, and quite a few. The faults remain mine*



(Later Friday)

"Having a bad day?" Pamela stopped our lesson.

"I apologize. I am having trouble focusing on the lesson today," I sighed.

"Let us see if we can handle this dilemma," Pamela took two steps back, signaling the end of this round of physical training. "In my experience, most internal issues can be resolved within five minutes."

"This should be fun then," I smirked. Pamela smirked as well. "I was confirmed at this morning's emergency Council meeting to be the sole heir, thus leader, of House Ishara." With a slight dip of the head, Pamela acknowledged I'd surprised her. "I chose to stand for House Ishara – literally. I will not take the seat, or vote. I will hold the place for my first daughter of the Host."

"That last bit was your decision and your decision alone?" Pamela queried. I nodded. "Good, you gave up nothing you could hold onto while gaining honor for the practical choice, Cáel. What are your numbers now?"

"Three," I answered. Pamela's look demanded an explanation.

"I immediately brought Buffy and Helena into the House. Katrina has advised me to be cautious about adding too many too fast," I stated.

"Katrina's agenda and yours are not the same, Cáel," Pamela warned me. "You are the leader of a First House now. Katrina is responsible for the harmony of the Council and Havenstone. These are not the same thing."

"A woman in Katrina's position has no friends. She cannot afford them," Pamela told me. 

"I asked her to set up a commission to help select proper candidates for Ishara. She picks nine members and I have Helena representing us," I informed her. Pamela shook her head.

"You concede too much," Pamela frowned. 

"Set an absolute date with a designated number of candidates. Make the date soon – a month – and the number 20. Keep the heat on the others. Don't let them constrain you," Pamela lectured. "That is not the Amazon way. You have made concessions to them. Now they must make concessions to you. You gain little by mollifying them."

"I am not sure that a pissing off Katrina and Hayden will increase my survivability," I countered.

"Irrelevant," Pamela slapped the wall. "You are House Ishara now. What matters to you is House Ishara and its relationship to the Host. Tell me how being weak helps either."

"It doesn't," I bowed my head. My confusion dissipated and we got back to the lesson.

Three more things completed my day. Pamela hung around me. I didn't ask her to and I couldn't figure a good way to tell her to leave. Secondly, I tried to see Hayden. She was busy. Katrina was out of the office. I knew the score. Finally, Buffy knew Havenstone's HQ better than anyone. Together with Helena we gathered at a blind spot in their security and exchanged notes.

We didn't talk because our echoes could be picked up. My message to Helena and Buffy was clear: I wanted a list of twenty 'Runner' names by Monday morning. If Katrina and Hayden were stone-walling my process, we would induct twenty every three days until they relented, or something broke. Miraculously to me, Buffy and Helena didn't bat an eye over this skullduggery. 

Katrina showed up for our 'end of day' meeting, with my valise. The meeting was brief and perfunctory. I didn't think Katrina, or one of her agents, had overheard my secret House plotting. She knew something was up because she knew me. We were on a collision course. There was no stopping it. We hated half-measures. No words were exchanged.

On the way out, I learned I had a Security Detail assigned for my well-being. From what, I had no idea. Was I on Santa's Naughty List – Robot Santa (à la Futurama), that is?

Constanza and Naomi, I recognized. The other two I had seen briefly. Constanza looked like she'd rather be force-fed leeches than be anywhere close to me.

"A moment please," I requested from the group around me. Buffy was uneasy. Pamela was ignoring me, thus not giving me space.

"Constanza, you hate me. I hate you. It was this way at six this morning and nothing a room-full of old ladies says alters that," I said quietly. "I don't expect you to respect me, tolerate me, or ignore my gender status because of what transpired. I do expect you to respect House Ishara. When I must stand for this House, honor it. Neither of us has a choice in that matter."

"I give you permission for nothing because I can't dictate to your heart. It is yours and even this male understands yours is the heart of a true Amazon. My words will not change how you feel. I am okay with that because I have no choice. You are who you are. I request that you draw a line between me, Cáel, the unwelcome invader and the Head of House Ishara," I asked.

"You are nothing," Constanza seethed. "Your words mean nothing. You are what you have always been – an abomination."

"Listen carefully," Pamela said casually. "Talk like that again and you are dead. You are not dead because I can easily kill you. You are dead because you have brought shame to your House."

"You have called a member of the Council an abomination. This implies that all the other Council members are blind, fools, or corrupt. What will they do to you for making such an open, blanket accusation?" Pamela sounded bored. "You refuse to see that the Ancestors have spoken and this is their decision. Defy the Ancestors and you deny your heritage."

"Your name will be stricken from the rolls, you will be butchered like a sheep and your body burned. You will never see the cliffs in this life or the next. Despite you being a twisted mockery of all things Amazon - Cáel doesn't know the true Amazon heart – he is trying to save your life. It is the person he is. He loves more than he hates. It is why he is winning."

"Who are you to speak to me this way?" Constanza spat at Pamela. Pamela was unfazed.

"I am a 'cliff walker'," Pamela replied. "I teach knife classes every day at three. I am a mother and grandmother. I am on a quest for my ancestors and I am looking for the six-fingered man."

"That...that is insane," Constanza stammered.

"Was it the kitten juggling, or the obstacle course for marshmallows?" I looked to Pamela.

"No, it was the spot-checking for freckles in Rio de Janeiro," Pamela regarded me seriously.

"Do areolas count as freckles?" I looked hopeful.

"You are both diseased," Constanza shouted.

I was still dealing with the wrongness of Constanza's words when I experienced the sensation of Pamela moving beside me. St. Marie may have been faster, but I wouldn't swear to it. Constanza was pretty good too. Her mistake was knife-fighting 101 – know your range. Constanza went for her pistol when we were all less than a meter apart.

Pamela's right hand sprouted her nasty little knife and scooped out Constanza's left eye. Her left hand wrenched Constanza's pistol from her grasp. Constanza stumbled backwards then fell, screaming all the way. Her left hand covered the gushing ruin of her left eye socket. The other members of the SD group had their guns pointed at us – Pamela and I.

"No," Pamela mused, "I don't think areolas count since everyone has them." Pamela wiped the blood and ocular bits off her blade on Constanza's still thrashing covered calf. I picked up on her clues. I pulled out my phone and calmly called Medical, informing them that someone had insulted House Ishara and graciously only been robbed of their left eye.

"She is coming with us," Naomi informed me as her buddies closed in.

"Pamela – gun," I demanded. Pamela handed it over. For a second, everyone thought the situation was resolved. After making sure the safety was engaged, "Buffy," and I tossed Buffy the gun. "No," I met Naomi's gaze. "I will not allow it."

"Cáel, this is not something you can deny." Naomi was trying to be patient. 

"If I was Madi and Constanza called her diseased, and an abomination, we wouldn't be having this conversation," I stared at her intently. "And if the next words your of your mouth are 'you are a male,' I'll personally order Elsa to cut out your eyes for compounding Constanza's insult with this one."

"Cáel, I cannot let this pass," Naomi insisted.

"I'll be okay," Pamela touched my arm and tried to move past me. I stopped her.

"I sincerely doubt my ancestor crawled back into the Greek camp thinking he'd save some of his sisters, leaving others to their fate. When I start abandoning any, I am no longer worthy of my blood. Stay put, Pamela."

"Naomi, let us pass, prepare to be attacked, or shoot me," I met Naomi's stare, "because here I come." We pushed our way through the packed group into the elevator Dora had been holding. They even brought a sniffling, scowling Constanza along. Medical was first. The second the SD could hand their wounded comrade to the staff, they climbed back onboard. 

Elsa and five friends were waiting for us.

"St. Marie would like a word with you," Elsa informed me. Since St. Marie, the Golden Mare, was on the Council, I thought it wise to obey. She showed up looking really steamed.

"Take the woman," St. Marie pointed to Pamela. "The rest can leave."

"I can't allow that," I stepped up. St. Marie glared.

"This is not an issue you can intervene on," St. Marie snapped. "She is not of your House."

"She is bound to me by the will of the Ancestors," I proclaimed. Pretty much every woman was ready to tear my head off for that.

"St. Marie – Elsa, for the little amount of time you have known me, I have joked, been irreverent and even mocking of you and your ways. Look at me. Trust your instincts. Pamela is bound to me by the will of the ancestors," I pledged.

"How so?" St. Marie studied me.

"I cannot say," I sighed. "Just because the Ancestors want something done doesn't mean they make it easy for us to do. In my limited experience, they are rather obtuse about what they want and how they want that goal accomplished. You will have to take my word that Pamela and I share a bond." There was a stand-off.

"What was in the box the Arinniti showed you?" St. Marie inquired.

"You would have to ask them," I answered.

"I did. Now I'm asking you," she persisted. Think.

"They showed it to you, so you already know," I stared.

"Do you think that connection is possible?" St. Marie posed. She meant 'did I believe I had a tie to man who lived 2694 years ago' to the point we both fought with twin axes.

"I don't want to," I sighed. "I want to live in a sane, scientific world that explains all this."

"Go," St. Marie commanded. Then, "Will Constanza regain the sight in her left eye?"

"No," Pamela shook her head. "She ignored the lesson and the warning. Next time, this will not be an issue." It took my exiting the building to understand what Pamela was saying was 'you won't find the body'. I also realized that Oneida was absent today – groan.

"Cáel, why don't you come home with me tonight?" Daphne offered. She was proffering her house's protection as well.

"I'm okay," I grinned. "I'm going to keep to my old schedule as much as possible."

"Aren't you worried?" Paula asked.

"Worried about what? I don't think any of the other Houses are going to kill me until I really screw up," I snorted.

"He has no idea?" Pamela scoped out the surrounding ladies.

"None," Buffy confirmed.

"Care to enlighten me?" I hoped.

"Have a good weekend, Cáel," Pamela smiled. "Things will become truly interesting on Monday – believe me."

Yeah...like taking over an extinct Amazon 'First' House wasn't interesting enough. Things were going to get better – in the same way radiation burns were 'better' than sunburn. I biked home, brushing a city bus and a BMW getting there. On the landing between the second and third floors I found an Amazon with baleful eyes – waiting.

In front of my door was her psychic twin.

"Can I get you and/or your cohort anything?" I politely inquired. Yesterday – the cold shoulder.

"Thank you for the consideration. We will wait until our itinerary is clarified," she nodded. I went in, catching the abrupt cut off of some 'O' talk.

'O', as in Odette and Oneida. They were on the sofa, half-turned to face each other when I walked in. Oneida stood and gave the standard Amazon respectful nod.

"Oneida was all screwed up inside about last night in the Park, so I was explaining some of the basic tenants of BDSM to her," Odette blithely blathered.

"BDSM? What do you know about BDSM? I barely know about it and I've been having non-stop sex for years," I exclaimed.

"Cáel of Ishara, did you do those things to Rhada in an effort to fulfill her dreams?" Oneida desperately pleaded. Worse, it was spoken in English.

"I can't talk about it," I replied.

"That is 'Cáel' for 'yes'," Odette intruded. "I began reading up on BDSM after you got the suspension rig," was her saucy response to me.

"Would you ever do that to me?" Oneida gave me those big doe-eyes as she sat down.

No, she didn't want a rape fantasy. That kind of submission wasn't her thing. I paced around, stomped into the kitchen then back to the living room.

"No Oneida, I would never do something like that to you," I promised. "I like having sex – a whole bunch. I like the women I'm with to have a great time too."

"That means I figure out what really excites her and provide it because I normally want to have sex with that girl again," I explained, neglecting the 'and again and again and again.'

"Is it over between you two?" Oneida asked. She meant Rhada and me.

"Oneida, did I ask you to come over today?" I countered.

"Have I upset you?" Oneida's lower lip trembled. 'Yes' would make things so much easier.

"No," I lied. "Let's look at this from another angle. How would you feel if Paula showed up at your domicile unannounced? You walked in and there she was."

"Oh," she stood up again. "I apologize." At this moment, saying nothing meant she'd leave. I'm an idiot.

"Do you want to stay for dinner?" I offered. It took a few seconds for Oneida to forgive herself enough to accept my suggestion. Me raping Rhada less than 24 hours ago? We'd deal with that later, or so she promised herself.

"Okay...if it is not too much trouble," Oneida nodded.

In came the doom and gloom duo and we ordered some over-sized sandwiches from an Italian Deli two blocks away. After the two walked through my place (again, I was sure) and the food arrived, the bodyguards relaxed into a close proximity of human beings. The freakishness continued as Odette bonded with the Amazon killers with tales of my sexual exploits.

At the same time, I romanced Oneida in half a dozen languages. Storming those gates was going to take more time than I normally gave a single sexual encounter. Oneida kissed me. She loved kissing me. She was ecstatic about kissing me. She made it real clear there would be not petting – yet. Penetration wasn't even on the (her) agenda.

This didn't meant I was accepting her marching orders. I was far craftier than that. My plan was one of 'setting an example'. I stood up – we were sitting on the bench press seat, shot Odette a sexy look then went to the kitchenette. We got something – whatever it was wasn't important. The crucial activity was my surrounding Odette in my arms from behind.

I kissed her neck, Odette wiggled her butt against my crotch and murmured happily. More kissing along the neck, ear and jawline ensued. Odette exhaled a happy breath, and twisted around in my grasp until we were face to face. An exhaustive French kiss finishing up with a few light pecks and led to us rubbing noses like Inuit.

"Thanks buddy," I smiled warmly at Odette.

"She blue-balling ya?" Odette snickered.

"Big time," I muttered. Odette squiggled down my body then bit both my nipples through my shirt making me gasp.

"That should do nicely," Odette's eyes were alight and she was super-pleased with herself. She smacked my butt then returned to the living room. I returned to Oneida. After a few seconds,

"Does it disturb you to be treated like that?" Oneida murmured.

"Like what?" I sounded so innocent. Trust me – this is a crucial relationship tool.

"Like – like we would treat one of our males," she looked for my reaction. I laughed.

"The critical difference is that I can say 'no'," I smiled. "Oneida, do you think the original Ash Men spent every moment not in battle, contemplating their place in the Universe?" Clearly, she had. "Believe me, men hunted, worked their crafts and chased female Amazons when they weren't eating, or sleeping."

"Warfare is an emotional undertaking," I had read that somewhere. "You can believe that with the battle safely won, your ancestors and my ancestors fooled around. They sang songs, wrote poetry, and created artwork for the ladies they courted. They wanted the attention of the strongest, bravest and most courageous mates, just like your ancestors did."

"I think I do know something about the Ash Men you don't," I prodded her.

"What? I have studied them for many years," Oneida was now more engaged.

"What can you tell me about Vranus?" I asked. That stumped her.

"I...nothing is written of his exploits," Oneida admitted. "We know he was a young warrior for Ishara."

"Think about this, Oneida; Vranus was only twenty yet a member of the Host," I started. She nodded. "He is shown with twin axes – no shield and no bow. That means he had to be very brave, rushing through the initial exchange of arrow fire and thrown spears to attack his enemy. His House probably directed him to large clumps of opponents, breaking their formations for the Host to exploit."

"That means he fought alone for several seconds until his accompanying Amazons could pick apart his foe," I explained.

"That must have been horrible," Oneida frowned.

"Not at all," I protested. "He was trusted with a crucial task – to hold the enemy's focus so the faster moving Amazons could attack their foe from multiple directions at once."

"The Amazons of House Ishara must have been very proud of him," I fluffed out the fantasy. "From what you saw from my two exhibition with twin axes, it is very tiring. Vranus had to have absolute confidence his sisters were coming for him. They trusted one another, thus fighting as one organic unit. It was a synergy that included the best of both genders."

That last bit confused her.

"Back then, most of the Host would have been of the same genetic stock from the time of the First Betrayal. Short and fast. The males of the region they took over were taller – the local men being even taller than the local women. That means you give men heavier and longer weapons. Your people would have favored bows, light shields and short spears – ranged, or quick in and out tools."

Was any of that true? Not a history major, so I have no clue.

"Many of the Host at the time rode horses yet there are also pictures of them forming battle lines," Oneida enlightened me then her own eyes expanded. "Males are always shown with solid round shields while the Host – women had the oval wicker shields."

"Lacking stirrups, the Amazons may have used the men to grapple with the enemy then rode their horses around the flanks, dismounted and engaged their opponents from the rear – Amazon style," I grinned. It was. Amazons were all about out-maneuvering and confounding their foes. The Amazons hadn't been callous with their males' lives.

At one time, chosen females had held the center line. Over time, as males joined, it was practical to adapt the solid wooden shields of their opponents for their own males and put them in the place where their upper body strength and size were of best effect. The unknown older male with Vranus had probably held his place in the battle line dozens of times.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 17



I doubt he complained, or even thought to complain. Who would have taken his place? A smaller sister, aunt, or daughter? Had other males objected? Sure, the battle line in Amazon tactics was not the place of glory. The striking arm were the horse-riders. Countless times adversaries had spent the last minutes of their lives with the echoes of horses, hooves and female Amazon war cries seemingly all around them.

Some wise old dead fucker once said 'defeat starts in the mind'. I wholeheartedly believed in that – except my version was 'having sex with me starts with my insidious nature'.

"Defeat starts in the mind," I stared intently into Oneida's eyes. Love poetry is a matter of emotional context, not actual words.

I pulled Oneida to me, letting her straddle my lap because I desperately wanted her to understand my tortured soul. Grinding her vulva against my hard-on was totally accidental, as was our renewed French kiss and me grabbing two handfuls of her ass. There was no rushing of things. Oneida was a skittish mare and I had to keep her feeling safe despite her sexual peril.

Any woman who bothers to get to know me knows I am not a complicated guy. Case in point: by the time Oneida was feeding me her left nipple, Odette already had the security types sweep my bedroom (again) then the three retreated to Timothy's room and shut the door. Were Oneida's guardians worried about Oneida's carnal violation?

No, why would they? Amazons had dick on demand. Virginity didn't hold any religious significance for them; killing things did. With the speed and efficiency those other two Amazons made themselves scarce, I imagined they were happy that Oneida had stopped mooning over me and getting a good grip on reality. A righteous dicking was in the offing.

Oneida's open eyed, opened-mouth countenance when she found herself naked on my bed with a naked me hovering over her was precious. That look always was. It did necessitate a question.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" I whispered. My aroused cock brushed along her thigh. The question was a courtesy. 

The answer was always the same because girls want to have sex. They also want to believe they have a say in the process from beginning to end. I say 'believe' because sex done right is passion and passion is the rejection of reason. At some point in the seduction, intercourse becomes an avalanche. Logic can scream all it wants; the hormones are not listening.

I slipped into Oneida's velvety liquid embrace. She gave up a sigh of relief. She'd made the jump into intimacy. Any other explanation for what was going to happen would have implicated me as a 'Player' – which everyone else thought I was. Oneida had this romantic ideal of me that no amount of evidence appeared to shatter.

Personally, I was starting to dread ever going to her bedroom. I wasn't sure of her 'My Little Pony' comforter would be a turn-off for me. I had done in it on Pocahontas and The Little Mermaid, so odds were I'd pull through in the clinch. 

"I am not hurting you, am I?" I moaned. 

Said for emotional impact alone. If I was causing a girl pain, I would have stopped first.

"No," happy murmuring, "I'm wonderful." The most powerful organ human's possess is the brain. Oneida was a 'talker'. She wanted to express her feelings during intercourse – not give to directions, but as an effort to increase her participation in the sex act itself.

Slow, steady strokes followed, withdrawing my glans half way along her labia, moved up and down slightly then gradually pushed back in. Every entry held something new for her. I added to the process by tilting her thigh and leg forward so that my next penetration tantalized a whole new series of trigger points in her vagina.

On the next pass, Oneida began her own experimentations, twisting and adjusting the angle of her hips as I worked my rod in and out. Oneida began crying. I wasn't upset and that didn't make me a callous bastard. She was shedding tears of joy and regret; joy because her first climax was in the offing; regret because she wish she had done this with me sooner. 

She had been a Havenstone employee so we hadn't done the deed. We still had to keep our liaison secret. Why? I'd think of something. The real reason was pure politics. I never knew what wacky dame hated another wacky dame for reasons I couldn't even get into, but I knew it would curtail my dating opportunities. 

I'd pay the price of deception later. What I couldn't take was being denied sex without having done anything wrong first. 

"Am I making you happy?" Oneida gasped. No flippancy here – romance was the key.

"You demand things from me few other women do," I replied breathlessly.

I wasn't going to lie to her. Prettying up the truth was good enough and it made her happy. I also got something new – to her, not to me. She orgasmed. Whatever she'd been satisfied with before, I obliterated in a few quick, decisive strokes. OH GOD did she go off! It has happened to me before – the door being kicked in; just not in mid-orgasm. Guns being pointed at yours truly while the girl was in mid-scream was new.

And Oneida was still carrying on and on.

"I was trying to tell you!" Odette was screaming. "He does that to us all the time...please don't shoot him." The whole 'girl screaming at me in Old Kingdom Hittite' was also new. My mentor preferred Minoan. 

"I have come back from Death," Oneida rasped. Her skin was flushed deep red from her exertion, she had bathed us both in sweat and she was coming up with any form of vocalization from Goddess-knows where she had screamed for so long. She looked at me with love in her eyes – damn it. She looked and looked and looked and...finally noticed the two women at the foot of the bed.

"Is – some – thing – wrong?" Oneida panted while gazing at her two guardians with worry. There was someone pounding on my apartment door.

"Neighbor – door – I'm on it," Odette called out. Seconds later the deadbolts clicked and the door opened. "Hello, Mr. Finnes."

"You God-damn Whore!" he screamed. "Where is that homo and his butt-buddy? The cops are on their way and this time you are all in the street." He had a good head of steam on tonight. Slayer of Testicles #1 looked at Slayer of Testicles #2, nodded and left. "Who is this bitch," Finnes got out. It was so wrong that I recognized the next sound.

It was the barrel of a gun being inserted into a person's mouth.

"Listen and listen carefully," SoT#1 spoke softly. "You are going back to your hovel. If I get word, or even a bad premonition, that you are causing this apartment a hint of worry, I am going to come back and end you in a fashion the New York City's Coroner's Office will find memorable."

"I do not care if you have to puncture both eardrums to drown out the noise. I am not a compassionate person. In fact, I am considered sadistic by those who know me well. Now go back home, tell the police who show up this was all a mistake and give a prayer of thanks to whatever deity you grovel before that I didn't simply ram my firearm up your anus and decorate the ceiling in what passes for brains in your pathetic bone-sack of a body," she menaced.

There was a choking/gagging noise then the sound of heaving.

"Mr. Finnes...are you okay?" Odette worried. As a wonderful counter-point.

"Have you given me your seed?" Oneida asked hopefully. I was still hard. It had only been ten minutes of sex after all. I gently rocked my penis deeper in. "Oh," she happily babbled.

"Again?" SoT#2 questioned. I made a few more penetration cycles instead of speaking. "Do they train you in some sort of Sex Academy for this? Are there more males out there like you?"

"Is having a viewing gallery a real damper on the mood?" I asked her while looking into Oneida's eyes. I was actually proud of Oneida for not sending the other woman away.

It showed me she respected the woman's job. I also heard the apartment door shut.

"Wow, your threat was nice and spooky," Odette snickered.

"Threat? Child, what do you think I do for a living?" SoT#1 asked.

"You are one of those wacko, psycho-chicks Cáel Nyilas works with," Odette was undoubtedly smiling.

"Correct, I am one of those wacko, psycho-chicks..." SoT#1 left that hanging out there.

"You weren't playing with Mr. Finnes, were you?" Odette grew quiet. Pause. "There is really a job which allows you to do that kind of stuff?" Pause. "Can I apply?"

"This is not something you apply..." SoT#1 began, but then, "I guess if Cáel wants to..."

"Cool," Odette was truly irrepressible.

"If he does that, there will definitely be consequences and repercussions," SoT#1 cautioned.

"Oh, I think I had better stick with being his fuck-buddy," Odette conceded. 

"Wise choice," SoT#1 agreed. My bedroom door shut. SoT#2 had slipped out.

Do you often have sex with an audience?" I teased Oneida.

"Yes," she answered matter-of-factly, "I do. Don't you?"

"Now that you mention it..." and I got back to the pleasure that encompasses so much of my life.

(Note: some events in Chapter 18 happen before the events of Sunday Night. For the sake of the tale this sequence worked better in my eyes)

(Sunday Night)

"Cáel," a voice purred over my phone.

"Hey Nicole," I greeted my lawyer not-quite a hook-up anymore. Also, unless you are SURE you know the female caller, don't take a gamble with the name.

"So, do you have something going on tonight?" she queried.

"Nope. My normal engagement had to cancel so I'm sitting back with some friends who do not appreciate the depth of my depravity," I sighed.

"Canceled?" She laughed. "On you? Have your recovered from the shock?"

"Actually, they had a death in the family and had to go to South Carolina," I explained.

"Oh...sorry," Nicole apologized. "Well, if you are feeling lonely and neglected, you could come by work and do me a favor."

"I am feeling neither lonely, nor neglected, but I am certainly missing you right now. Give me a half hour and I'll be there," I promised. She thanked me and hung up.

"Who is it this time?" Odette snickered. Man, I was becoming so used to her hanging around.

"Nicole the lawyer," I replied. I trekked back to my bedroom to prep. I opted for the 'Bad Boy' look – worn jeans, high-top tennis shoes (equally worn), my Plant Smashers t-shirt (Quebecois ska band – yes, I will road-trip to another country for sex) and my Bolingbrook bomber jacket.

Yes, I was going to an Ivy League Law firm dressed like a carjacker. Every other male was going to be dressed in finely-tailored silk and I had to stand out. Since I couldn't outspend them, I was going to make them look like effete pussies by dressing like I just didn't care what anyone thought. I was coming over to fuck Nicole and there would be no doubt about it.

"Isn't that chick rich?" Timothy teased me.

"Yeah. I'm packing the glow in the dark Trojans tonight – cause she's special," I grinned.

"Oh! I love those," Odette squealed. She really needed to trust me less. I walked over, cupped her ears with my hand then kissed her on the forehead.

I did the same to Timothy. His look suggested that I had best make a hasty exit before he kicked my ass. I caught a taxi a block away. It turned out he was from Qatar and he asked if I was sure about the address I gave him. I grinned then told him I could outrun 95% of the NYPD so was feeling good about my chances.

He snorted, countering with 'If you were an Arab, they'd shoot you.' Not to be outdone, 'I'd claim to be a Syrian anti-government protester – you know, because we all look alike to these Caucasians'. We laughed for a bit then he said he had a younger sister back in the homeland. I insisted I was immoral – a wicked man.

'Was I religious?' 'Only when it suited my purposes.' 'Would I consider converting to Sunni Islam?' 'Only if the girl was cute enough.' He showed me her picture – dammit, she had a really beautiful face. I got her name, his name and the name of his mosque. I considered it. Yahweh, Christ, Bacchus (wine, an orgy and 'bull' testicles – long story) and Jehovah all had reasons to barbeque my butt already. 

Why not add Allah to the mix, besides it being an incredibly stupid thing to do for a man in constant mortal peril like me? In theory, three of the four definitely had the possibility to be the same Omniscient and Omnipotent Galactic Being so the odds were I wouldn't get too much more screwed.

I finished up my journey imagining Buffy in a burqa. That evolved into a vision of me being force-fed a burqa – in private – where no one could hear my muffled cries for help. Buffy – murdering me – made me horny. I am a sick puppy.

"Buffy," I called her as I paid the cabbie.

"What – huh – are you okay, Cáel?" Buffy muttered.

"Yes, I'm fine. I was dreaming of you and decided to give you a call," I related in a sleepy voice.

"Oh..." she sounded affectionate. 

"Yeah. In the dream you were murdering me. It was so romantic – so you," I related.

"Shit-for-brains, do you have any idea what time it is?" Buffy turned all savage in an instant.

"Hmmm...11:45?" I offered up.

"Call me this late again when it is not an emergency and your dream will become a reality," she growled.

"You know you sound so..." and she hung up on me. I called Nicole and warned her I was at her building, pursued by two FDIC investigators and could she please come and rescue me. She snickered, came down and retrieved me, but not before the NYPD stopped by for a casual conversation and I hadn't even been standing there two minutes.

In my neighborhood you were lucky if you saw a patrol car every thirty minutes and short of offering them some crack cocaine, cheap nookie, or shooting a gun off, they never stopped. Was I my normally fuck-wad self? No. I told the man/woman team the truth. Some upper crust weenies I worked with dragged me off to Yuppie Hell. I hooked up with a lawyer who I screwed repeatedly in the Women's bathroom and she was calling me for round 2.

Second question (the first one was name/ID/reason for being in this part of town dressed like I was)? Was she paying me? 'No'. Was I practicing safe sex (female cop – married even)? 'Yes'. Was she the red-head at the door behind me? 'Yes she was and goodnight.'

"What are you dressed like that for?" Nicole smiled. 

In her mind she already knew the answer – I had come here to fuck her – raw and primal.

"Ballroom dancing was not on the itinerary you gave me," I smiled. We went inside.

"My co-workers are still here," she hinted seductively.

"Whoa now!" I protested humorously. "I am not here to pull a train – girls only."

Nicole nearly fell over laughing. She was so embarrassed by me and my attire, she dragged me straight to the conference room 'her' team was working out of. Everyone else was eating. Two of the lawyers were clearly the top dogs – a man and a woman. The woman had a vague resemblance to one of the portraits I'd seen coming in – a legacy.

The man screamed 'serial killer'. It probably made him one hell of a lawyer, but spooky to live with, or work for. The other nine people in the room were in two groups. Two were obviously paralegals. They dressed in what must have started out as clean, starched clothing from off the rack as opposed to tailored.

The other seven were lawyers in their own dual set-up. My amateur guess was two different branches of law. This group was dressed in fine clothes now wrinkled from a long day's work, plus it was a Sunday. They were not at their best yet they were still better than most of what I had. The most endearing part was how they looked at me.

Even the female contingent thought that I was trash. I had certainly given them the opportunity. Seriously, they should have paid more attention to Nicole, her intelligence, competence and tastes. Come on now; there was no way she'd bring some grease-monkey from Flatbush to her workplace. They needed to engage their brains and not their social bias.

A murmur slithered through the crowd. Amusement and condescension were the clear messages shot my way. I imagine the poor soul who delivered the food got less crap because he/she was providing a tangible service.

"Nicole, who is this?" the woman asked. Sex. 

Outside of her being a soulless cancer on the hopes and dreams of mankind, she was an alluring forty-something.

"This is my friend Cáel..." Nicole began, both her arms wrapped around my right arm.

"Cáel Belafonte," I interrupted. You could tell who the trial lawyers in the room were. Their expressions told me they knew I was lying.

"Fascinating Mr. Belafonte," Mr. Serial-Killer droned on. "What do you do?"

"I am an Ichthyologist," I met his gaze. "I'm involved in a twenty year study to determine the cause for the reduction in the size of Tuna fish scales." That had them stumped.

"That sounds like yet another great waste of government funds," a young male lawyer with more bravado than combat-sex experience fired off.

"Oh," I shrugged. "Smaller scales, smaller full-sized Tuna, a spike in tuna prices and an eventual world-wide restriction on Tuna fishing, similar to the one currently covering virtually all whale species. Now, I doubt you know which people will decide who the recipient of those lucrative Tuna contracts will be, but I do. By all means – mock what you don't understand."

"Government research project results will be in the public domain," a woman joined the struggle.

"Yes – and?" I asked in a bland tone.

"Your research will be available to all kinds of commercial concerns," male asshat grinned.

"Your ability to show that you are as smart as any pre-law student must make someone, somewhere very proud," I grinned back.

Confused looks. Nicole was struggling to keep it together.

"He never said he was in any manner part of the government, or a government program, Mr. Cherrie," the female lead barracuda gave me her own hungry look. The guy looked pissed.

"Oh, Mr. Belafonte, are you a private researcher, or a government one?" she female junior lawyer asked. "Heather Pulaski," she gave her name.

"Call me Cáel, Heather, and I am in no way associated with any government, I barely know what an Ichthyologist is and I'm certainly not one. Rude, arrogant people annoy me when they treat my friends like they are stupid; especially when they should know better. I can rarely stop myself from ridiculing them," I grinned.

"And now you think you are better than everyone else in the room for tricking us with this juvenile prank," the Serial Killer sounded bored.

"No. The lives of strangers are not my concern," I bantered back. "I did what I did to make Nicole smile. If my antics remind the rest of you what a hotshot lawyer she is so much the better."

"Mr. and Mrs. DeYoung, Cáel, Cáel Nyilas, is a joker. He's is also brilliant and just joined Havenstone Commercial Investments in their Executive Services Division," Nicole bragged. She got points for the 'Executive Services' part. More smirks – some people never learn.

"Havenstone doesn't employ too many men, does it?" Mrs. DeYoung said.

Maybe she was looking for a Discrimination lawsuit.

"Five men to be precise and two of us are out of the country," I enlightened her.

"So you are brilliant," Mr. DeYoung seemed barely engaged – and was Mrs. DeYoung's Mr. DeYoung. "What are your insights on DNA ownership, Cáel?"

"DNA ownership is a fallacy," I stated. "People are not pigs, soybeans, or corn. You cannot create a financial liability for your offspring because that amounts to slavery and is forbidden by the 14th Amendment to the Constitution. DNA is a person – their blueprint. Only the person owns it and they can't even sell it outright."

"That is hopelessly naive," he snorted. 

"Not really. If you apply an accepted price tag to every human being on Earth, the anarchy will begin. Crimes like murder, torture and mutilation are based on the concept that human life has an unspecified value. Give something a value and you can trade in it."




Life as a New Hire Ch. 17



"Murder somebody? How much was their DNA worth?" I postulated. "I pay the cost, or somebody pays it for me. You are calling me naïve? I'm not murdering somebody. I'm repossessing their DNA. Mr. DeYoung, I'm not a lawyer, so I am not approaching this from a limited field of vision like you are. I live in the World." 

"Oddly enough, I've had some recent encounters with real slavery and that has convinced me that I'll go down standing up, thank you very much," I grinned. "In case that was misconstrued; my DNA is mine, no legal precedent will change that and I'm more than willing to put bodies in the ground to keep it so."

"You sound like an anarchist," Mr. Cherrie chimed in.

"Nope. I'm independent-minded. There is a difference," I indicated. "Just like you, anarchists don't want to let me be me either."

"Laws exist for a reason," Nicole chastised me. 

What she was really saying was 'you are here for a reason and it isn't entertaining my co-workers'.

"This is the point where the smart man goes 'yes ma'am, they do'," I nodded to her.

"Your young man is not stupid," Mrs. DeYoung chuckled.

"This young man knows what happens if he behaves," Nicole bowed to her superior – her boss, not me.

"Oh goodie," I rubbed my hands together. "Are we about to do some file-sharing?"

"Something like that," Nicole laughed and off we went.

All I could imagine was that Nicole had to be God's Own lawyer at this firm to get away with the crap we'd just pulled. Honestly, I had other things on my mind. We coasted into her office, with her name etched on the glass door...with the glass walls and floor to ceiling glass windows. Just because, I picked up a water-smoothed stone on her desk – glass houses and all.

"That is from the Canadian Shield – some of the oldest rocks on Earth," she told me.

"You are also going to have one of the most painful hard substance on Earth in your office if we don't do something soon," I teased.

"Where do you want to start?" she leaned against her desk. 

Her office was small, but it was her own. Considering her age, it was another 'she rocks' indicator.

"Your lips," I murmured. Nicole liked that. She pushed off the desk enough so our lips could lock. It was very nice.

"The other lips," I teased her. She liked that idea even more. Her black, mid-thigh skirt came up, I knelt and decided her scarlet thong was more than skimpy enough for me to work around. I let my hands run along her calves. Nicole hummed out her acclaim and was even happier when I began lifting both legs up.

Before long, she was laying on her back, her legs were raised high and spread wide. Nice and easy was replaced by rapidly energetic and fiendishly cunning. Nicole was fighting back the tidal surge of her ecstasy.

"What are you holding back for?" I slurped around my tongue-lashing.

We weren't in a bathroom stall this time. Nicole tilted her head up, gave me a simmer glance then embraced her orgasm.

"Damn!" she screamed followed by a dozen slightly less vocal 'damns'. I gave her just enough time for me to shed my pants, roll down a prophylactic then I mounted her.

Had there been any doubt of our forceful ardor, my heroic efforts and Nicole's dynamism shattered them. Half of the lawyers I'd briefly met stopped by and peeked through the glass. I didn't care and Nicole reveled in 'bending the minds' of the onlookers. After a while, her office was not enough. That sofa in the executive reception area?

I bent her over the art deco beast and pummeled her, and it, half way across the room. The bathroom? To be gender-equal, we screwed around in the Men's room this time. Nicole and I revisited her erotic fantasy of being bent over in the toilet, ass fucked then completing the act with dispensing of the condom and a glorious blowjob.

Our last encounter involved a men's standing urinal, Nicole's legs wrapped around my waist as I gyrated against her.

"Oh my God!" she yelped. "I've got it. Put me down." I put her down because the reason I was here was to crack the mental block she had found herself in.

Me? I'd come for the sex and Nicole delivered in spades. She had upheld her side of our bargain. Now that I'd reciprocated, it was time for 'hook-up' Nicole to become 'lawyer' Nicole. She made herself somewhat presentable and quick-stepped in back to the conference room. I secured my cock and pants before following.

Nicole was babbling in an eldritch dark-tongue similar to Lady Sauron relaying doom to her pack of Nazgûl. They responded with various other arcane invocations until their agreement confirmed that millions of voices had cried out in terror then been suddenly silenced. In my universe, female devotees of Evil were all black leather-clad gorgeous sex kittens who used their dark arts to increase galactic lecherousness.

"Time to show you out," Nicole gave me a sultry smirk. "Come on." Arm in arm, we traveled closely to the elevators.

"Hold the door," a female voice commanded right as the doors began to shut on the two of us. Nicole put a hand out to keep us from a few more second of alone time.

A Caucasian women with short brown hair and a fierce scowl entered first. An imperious damsel came in next. My heart stopped in shock while I barely registered on her radar. A dusky man, nearly my height came in last of all. The doors shut and down we went. I was spending too much time watching the woman and her two bodyguards as we all headed to the door and not enough with Nicole.

"Don't even think about it, Cáel," Nicole teased. "That's Ms. Brianna O'Shea, she leads our client's team and she's totally off limits." 

O'Shea pulled a 'Katrina' the moment after Nicole used my name. She spun in place so that she was now facing Nicole and me.

"What was your name?" she asked with sugary smoothness I associated with Bolivian tourism officials – the nice ones. You know, the ones that thought using a truck battery attached to the jumper cables and your testicles was too much because a car battery would do.

"Percival Fenris, ma'am," I introduced myself. "I'm a product engineer for Cyberdyne Systems. My team is creating a process that uses constantly recycling colored sugar dust as a medium that will replace current LCD technology. We are calling it Pixie TV." Nicole was giggling. I was feeling less giggly, mainly because I was staring at my Mother. 

Not my Mother-mother; the woman who gave birth to me and who had been eaten alive by cancer. No, this was my Mother the way she looked when she was twenty-five and in excellent health.

"Ms. O'Shea, this is Cáel Nyilas. He is a good friend of mine," Nicole cut through my obfuscation. 

O'Shea took several steps toward us, away from the exit. Her guardians kept up and were ratcheting up their vigilance. 

"Interesting eyes," she noted. "What is your heritage?" Rude and scary. Even Nicole knew something was incredibly wrong.

"Cáel, you two have the same eyes," Nicole mumbled.

"I was thinking the same thing, Ms. Lawless," Brianna said. Huh?

"You are a lawyer named Lawless?" I gawked at Nicole. "How did that happen?" Why had that not registered when I went to Nicole's office? Oh yeah, her leading me in, eyes pleading for sex.

"That is not relevant, Mr. Nyilas," O'Shea kept coming.

"What do you mean 'not relevant'? Are you saying you'd hire a male escort named Quick-fire Small-Penis?" I wondered. "If so, you are a more trusting soul than I."

"Why are you avoiding my question?" Brianna queried.

"Why are you asking questions I clearly don't want to answer?" I retorted.

"Cáel, please don't antagonize my client's representative," Nicole was playful yet concerned.

"No problem Nicole Lawless, Attorney at Law," I grinned to her. I gave her a secretive butt squeeze then made to leave. Miraculously, Brianna let me slip by. The deceptiveness of that kindness was revealed when I stepped outside and found the limo...with another bodyguard standing beside the front passenger door.

O'Shea/Mom's double was hot on my heels. As I turned and headed up the street, she grabbed my right arm.

"Why don't we go out for a late bite to eat," she stated. I wasn't being invited. I was being told.

"No can do," I shrugged off her hand. "I promised my Father to leave a recognizable corpse."

"What makes you think I have sinister intentions?" she questioned. There was a lot of that going around – not answering stuff, that is.

"Why do you assume you aren't giving off the same bad vibe as a half-dozen 18th Street gangbangers on a Meth binge?" I teased. Brianna made a hand signal and the three bruisers put their hands on their guns. The closest to me moved around me to block off that escape route.

To be correct, the guy at the car door was African-American, around my height with maybe 10 kg on me. The two guarding O'Shea were a guy of Moorish decent and a woman of the English Midlands. I knew this because I was afraid and making shit up.

"Was I supposed to be impressed with the quiet appeal of desperation you exhibited by playing patty-cake with yourself," I kept smiling.

"Or are these three supposed to scare me?" I chuckled. "Here...in downtown Manhattan; one of the few places on the planet Earth trying to rival London in video surveillance."

"Video evidence can be altered," Brianna gave me a wicked gleam.

"Was that supposed to be your Evil Henchwoman voice?" I kept snickering.

"If so, get a refund from that mail-order firm you took lessons from," I grinned.

"You appear to be rather fearless, and obstinate," O'Shea nodded. "Foolishly so."

"Lady, I'm staring into the face of my dead Mother who is trying to get me into a limo with three goombahs who think they are intimidating. They are not," I pointed out.

"This whole weekend has been a disaster, so me beating the crap out of those three, you and the driver isn't going to change a damn thing," I enlightened them. The Moorish guy extended a collapsible cane.

"You seem very confident," she informed me.

"Of course I am," I stated. "You haven't spotted my bodyguard yet, meaning all of you are truly screwed."

"Why would you have a bodyguard?" she inquired.

"Why would you want to know?" I countered.

"Do you practice being irritating, or is an innate talent?" Brianna regarded me.

"We can do this 'answering a question with a question' thing all night long, except I have to be at work at six a.m. so how about you tell me what you really want to know and tell me why you look like – screw that – are my MOTHER's clone," I sighed.

"Tell me about your genetic heritage," O'Shea demanded. She was that kind of authoritative prick – actual penis not required.

"I apologize. I don't seem to have a handle your native vocabulary and your English-as-a-Second Language skills suck," I sneered. "I should go home now."

Moorish guy blocked my egress. English chick was on my right flank, back to the limo and the street. The most pressing issue was a matter of privilege; O'Shea's people thought they'd get away with breaking the law. The moment the Moor popped out is baton, it was 'on'. A baton is a weapon plus O'Shea and her bodyguard were blocking my exit.

I was legally free to attack him now. Normally I was lawfully compelled to exit the scene as opposed to engaging in violence. Since I couldn't run away, I was allowed to kick his ass...and O'Shea and company didn't give a crap. I worked five-plus days a week with people like that.

The wavy-red haired, emerald green-eyed O'Shea wasn't the daughter of some Mafioso, or Nigerian Warlord. I didn't know what she was, but she was the many opposites of good news. 

"I imagine you think I didn't notice that Taser," I addressed the Englishwoman while getting in the Moor's face. "That is an unfortunate miscalculation on your part."

"See, your dumbass partner, with his wonderful 80 cm tool, has let me get inside his reach. Before he can bring it to bear, I'm going to crush it trachea," I outlined. "Now I have his tool and the whole reach thing is working in reverse. You have a hand-held device with a 10 cm reach and I have one that is 80 cm and the distance to make effective use of it."

"Don't worry about the guy at the door. By the time I face you, my bodyguard will lethally wound Ms. O'Shea there. In case you missed it, now you are all fucked because your job is to guard her, not suppress me – and you all just failed," I kept the Moor's eye contact. "While this horror crosses your mind, I'll break your hand."

"Your buddy isn't coming to help you. He's running to Ms. O'Shea because he's supposed to keep her alive and that takes all his time and concentration. You poor driver will get out and, not yet having his situational awareness, my bodyguard will neutralize him. About the same time, I will crack your skull open. This allows me to decide whether, or not to kill Ms. O'Shea," I concluded.

All of that was an utter and complete fantasy. Collapsible batons – I'd seen them in a few movies. Tasers? I have been tased and never, ever want to repeat the process – three separate incidences was enough for me. Did I have a bodyguard close by? I had not asked for one and Havenstone had the sad habit of not telling me a damn thing that concerned my personal survival.

On the plus side, I could be a compelling actor, or successful conman. I'm not an actor by the grace of two little words – sex scandal. If I sleep with a girl I want it to be because I've tricked and deceived her, not because she wants to tape us then sell it to the media. That would make me feel degraded – cheapened even.

I'm not a conman because they use seduction to get what they want. For me, the seduction IS what I want. Steal their money? That would imply I would never, ever be able to sleep with them again. I couldn't do that and remain true to myself. To prove my point, the Moor looked past me to O'Shea for instructions.

I punched him in his Solar Plexus and took his toy as I shoved his breathless form to the sidewalk. The Englishwoman expected me to attack her, just like I'd told her I would. It took her a second to realize I'd played her. By then it was too late. I could flee up the street if I wanted.

"You attacked my man," O'Shea noted casually.

"Well, your ears are dicey, but your eyes are spot-on," I snorted.

"Shoot him," O'Shea was decided to wrap this up. I was ceasing to be amusing. "In the legs." Out came the guns and down went my likelihood of getting out of this intact.

Pamela walked out of the building we'd exited a minute ago. She was wearing tight black stretch pants, a red turtleneck and a short beige jacket.

"Protocols," Pamela invoked in a bored voice.

"Define," O'Shea demanded.

"Cáel," Pamela kept her gaze on O'Shea, "who do you work for?"

"Havenstone," I answered. O'Shea looked from Pamela to me.

"This does not protect a simple employee," O'Shea stated.

"I am invoking the Protocols. This does not require me to explain things to you," Pamela was cool and relaxed. "By all means, if you feel I am abusing the Truce, kick it upstairs and it will be adjudicated."

"What is your name?" Brianna O'Shea requested of Pamela.

"Cáel Nyilas. That is all you need to know," Pamela smirked.

"That is not possible," Brianna gained her own barracuda grin. "He is Illuminati business. Look at his eyes." Pamela laughed. The WHO?! Weren't they some kind of Freemasons?

"He walks away right now unless you explain yourself. He is at Havenstone. Whatever relationship he possessed with the Illuminati ceased when he was hired," Pamela informed her.

"Cáel Nyilas, tell me about your Mother," Brianna commanded.

"No," I shrugged.

"It is a simple enough question," Ms. O'Shea persisted.

"And it is simply none of your business," I held my ground.

"I am her sister," O'Shea declared. Pamela snorted but otherwise kept silent.

"Ugh...that was not what I wanted to hear," I groaned. Pamela snickered. She knew where my mind was. "Why should I believe you?"

"You had your genetic sequence analyzed Thursday, didn't you?" O'Shea said. "That was flagged by people working for me because you and I share half of the same DNA."

"That's not possible," Pamela stated in the same way she knew I was a cosmic joke.

"How is that not possible?" I looked to Pamela. I was really starting to accept me and Homicidal O'Shea were family. Why? I'd never had to confront the incest taboo before and here it was looking right at me.

O'Shea looked to Pamela, to me, back to Pamela then finally back at me.

"Do you have a single clue about what is going on?" Brianna addressed me.

"Yeah, of course I do," I lied. "You are with the Illuminati and you know Havenstone is more than a bunch of greedy bitches." Pause.

"So you know nothing about what is going on here, right at this moment," O'Shea's eyes skewered me. Sigh.

"Mom – your sister, is dead..." I got out.

"Yes, she died seven years ago," Brianna interrupted.

"What?" I glared. "No, she died fifteen years ago. Where do you get your information from and why didn't you at least check out the fucking gravestone?" I snapped.

"Fifteen...that doesn't make sense...I didn't know where she died, only that when her medication ran out, she would have been consumed by some kind of aggressive cancer," O'Shea responded.

"What..." sort of slipped out.

"How many brothers and sisters do you have?" O'Shea probed.

"Like I'd tell you," I growled.

"None," Pamela stated.

"Thanks," I glared at Pam. "Why don't you give away all my bargaining chips?"

"Cáel, they know your last name," Pamela stated. "Do you want them to hunt down your father and torture him for the names and locations of any other children?"

"If you go after my Dad..." I became aggressive.

"You will do nothing," Pamela interrupted. "He is not covered by the Truce."

"A Truce I know nothing about," I grumbled. "Fuck all of you."

"Don't sweat it, Cáel. They need you and I can prove it with two honestly answered question," Pamela smirked. "What name are you using today?" to Brianna.

"Brianna O'Shea," the red-haired lady replied.

"How quaint; your real name. Brianna, how many OTHER nieces and nephews do you and your sisters have?" Pamela inquired. Brianna glared. "I'll answer that for her – none. That begs the question of why you," Pamela smiled at me, "exist at all. I'm sure that come Monday morning every medic at Havenstone is going to be crawling all over you looking for that answer."

O'Shea had a new game plan. She was going to murder Pamela and kidnap me. This meant I was going to get fucked up – maybe killed. Pamela would kill everyone else and sex would be extra painful for the next week to ten days – I was tired of that crap. I dropped the baton and walked up to Brianna.

The bodyguards were twitching, Brianna was calculating multiple variables and Pamela looked mildly amused. I hugged Brianna.

"If we are family then we are family," I explained. "If there is something you want to talk to me about, give me a call. I'm in the book and I'm sure Havenstone can patch you through if you want to get in touch with me at work."

Pamela was struggling to contain her mirth.

"Can you keep this discussion under wraps for now?" Brianna requested. The likelihood of that happening must have showed in my eyes. "Okay, who do you work for?" Pamela was laughing into her hand.

"Umm...I work for Katrina Love of Executive Services," I answered. O'Shea almost had an embolism. "It is okay, my desk is in her office, so we are pretty close." Not at all what she wanted to hear. "Okay, I'll stop teasing you. I know who Katrina is and what she does – basically making people like you have believably fatal accidents."

"You are a man? Why are you still walking around free?" O'Shea muttered.

"His sexual dynamism supersedes the sublimely addictive," Pamela enlightened O'Shea, "and if you don't believe me, go up and ask that 'Nicole Lawless' woman."




Life as a New Hire Ch. 17



"I was going to say 'I look great in hose and a push-up bra', but that works too," I muttered.

And the last thing I wanted to envision at that reality-cracking moment happened. Brianna O'Shea looked me over and that look said 'SEX'. She was my aunt! Technically – somehow – that should matter, right?

"Aunt Brianna – Brianna – Auntie O'Shea...what do you want me to call you?" I stammered.

"Brianna will do," she pulled those plush red lips into a grin and extended her hand. I shook it. She had a strong grip. She was tapping the pulse in my wrist with her forefinger – a tried and true arousal technique I'd used countless times.

"I'm really happy that we are family..." I evaded.

"I had regular sex with mine and your mother's father, your grandfather," Brianna discussed with the outrage normally reserved for the 'do you want your cantaloupe in wedges, or scoops' debate.

"My...we'll just toss that in the category of things I never wanted to know," I coughed.

Wait! I could do better than that. This deserved sympathy, not comedy.

"I am glad you got that off your chest," I stroked her hand back – okay, not my brightest idea. "Has Grandpa stopped doing that?"

"Your Grandfather is dead," Brianna delivered the bad news. 

It was doubly bad because she seemed to really miss the jack-ass. At least I didn't have to feign grief at the bastard's funeral. This also would explain why Mom ran away from home and told Dad and I that her family all perished in a freak Sperm Whale hunting accident in the Arctic. You know, that sounded much more believable when I was five. Dad was crazy in love, which explained his suspension of disbelief whenever she walked in the room.

"He was assassinated in his study in our mountain home, his throat slit clean through and his body desecrated beyond our ability to resurrect him," Brianna shed a tear. This was the point where I seriously began worrying about there being a natural gas leak that was either fucking up what I was hearing, or what other people were saying.

"Wow...how sad," I tried to sound shaken by the news.

"I know," Brianna hugged me. But wait, "You smell like him (deep, sensual purr) – Dad, that is." Oh God No! 

"Well with Granddad gone, you seem to have done well for yourself – lves," I corrected. It sounded like I had aunts in the plural, I was praying for the positive, plus a quick exit.

"No, we can't move on until we find the assassin," Brianna told me. She added in a whisper, "We know she was an Amazon." Ah, look, an invitation by my freakish, incestuous aunt to betray the insane fanatics I worked for. I began crying. "I understand," Brianna reached around and patted my back, "This must be a lot for you to take in."

"You have no idea," I sniffled. What was my mind was saying: 'By the way, Aunt Brianna, the wacked-out chick that offed Granddad is two meters away from you and you definitely didn't bring a big enough army to deal with her'.

"Why don't you come home with me tonight?" Brianna offered somewhat plaintively. 

Sex...worse, I wasn't coming up with any really convincing reasons to not have sex with her. We would do it with the lights off. That way I wouldn't be looking into the face of the Mother of my youth having an orgasm impaled on my cock. Maybe dim lighting would be okay too.

"I can't go home with you tonight," I looked away. "I'm feeling vulnerable."

That was exactly why she wanted to take me home with her – confused and vulnerable would allow her to revisit her nostalgic Father-Daughter fornications.

"You need someone who loves you to look after you," Brianna prodded.

"That's what I'm for," Pamela came to my rescue.

Glares and snippets of wrath ensued. In the end, Pamela and I made our getaway. A few blocks away – I didn't want a taxi yet – Pamela speaking voided my introspection.

"Questions?" 

"Where were you hiding while Nicole and I were having sex?" I mused.

"Which time?" Pamela taunted me.

"You mean you followed us to the Men's bathroom (we were reliving our first sexual encounter and then some)?" I groused.

"I am not saying I was there. I'm not saying I wasn't. I'm not saying," Pamela smirked. Pause.

"You killed Grandpa?" I asked.

"Yes."

"You stole his soul?"

"Yes."

"You took yourself to the cliffs to destroy his soul – and yours?"

"Yes."

"You decided not to because of his curse/warning?"

"No."

"Ummm...why didn't you kill yourself?"

"He – your Grandfather – had a back-up plan. Having me kill myself was a ploy. Had I done it, I would have lost my soul, his soul would have been released and Havenstone would have thought him dead. At the last moment I gained the insight he had a body already prepared for him that no other person knew about," Pamela informed me. "You."

"My Mother didn't know?" I worried.

"I am not sure. Most likely she thought she had escaped the Old Bastard."

"Ugh...family life around Christmas must have been a blast," I grumbled.

"The Illuminati make a mockery of the Cult of Christ. They have influenced the Catholic hierarchy for a millennia."

"How did she get away...if she got away?" I muttered.

"Your Mother and Aunts were born to be slaves, but contained nearly all the DNA of your Grandfather – essentially female 'hims'. That meant they are all very, very smart so your Mother figured out a way and fled. Somehow she found your Father and happiness."

"He let her get away, didn't he?" I asked.

"Don't sell your Mother short," Pamela chided me. "He most likely engineered her escape from his estate, but the rest was her. Otherwise, you would have had Illuminati watchers all this time. No, your Grandfather wanted her to be completely free of the Illuminati, and all the other secret orders, until he was ready to make his return."

"Why did Brianna think Mom died of cancer seven years ago?" I went for next.

"All your aunts need medication to keep them healthy and young," Pamela related. "The only one with the formula was your Grandfather and, after so many decades, those bitches have to be running out of it soon, if they haven't already exhausted their supply."

"Without the drugs, your Mother would have aged and developed various cancers that would have escalated in their aggression until she died. For some reason, she stopped taking her medications before they ran out," Pamela ruminated.

"To have me," I lowered my head. Mom had died because she knew Dad wanted a child – me.

"It is not impossible that she couldn't have a child while on the regimen. That sounds like something that bastard Cáel O'Shea would have done," Pamela agreed.

"What?" I gulped.

"You were named after your maternal grandfather, who I studied for weeks, and I can tell you that Cáel Nyilas is a hundred times the person he ever was," Pamela assured me.

"Let's not tell my aunt that," I grunted.

"Don't worry about that," Pamela patted me on the back. "All of your aunts are most likely addicted to his pheromones and you have some variant of them."

"The fuck you say!" I gawked.

"Oh yeah. He was that kind of son of a bitch."

"So when I get scared, they get horny?" I despaired.

"Or if you are your regular horny self," Pamela chortled. "Hell, Brianna is probably humping that urinal you and Miss Lawless engaged as a...prop earlier this evening."

"You are just a cornucopia of horrific knowledge, aren't you?" I groused.

"I've never had a friend like you," Pamela enlightened me.

"You've never had a friend before," I countered. I hadn't known her a week and I already wanted to kill her half the time as it was. 

I wondered if women felt the same way about me on occasion.

"That would definitely make you my finest friend then," she snickered.

"Thanks," I grumbled. "Just for that, when I have Daphne bent over with her head and shoulders pressed against the wall while I slam her from behind with all this pent up rage, I'll be thinking of you."

"Really?" she queried.

"Of course not. Daphne is smoking hot. When I finally have sex with her, the only thing I'll be thinking about besides Daphne is how I'm going to have sex with her again," I grinned.

"Good," she smiled happily. Yes, we were talking about me boinking her granddaughter and she was A-Okay with it. "Remember, there is no need to use a condom."

"I'm not falling for that, you evil witch," I shook my head. "Sometime before that 'romantic' moment, you are going to poke holes in all my condoms, I know it."

"I really admire your deceitful nature," Pamela was happy as a clam. "Besides, Amazons don't normally give birth to children that way, but thanks for thinking that I'd sabotage you." She sensed my confusion. "Surrogates – Amazons have been using surrogates for two generations."

"The best part about meeting you is I get to understand why no one who knows me trusts a thing I say," I imparted. "You are very bright, eloquent and deceptive."

"You are very bright as well," Pamela commented. "Your other failings you compensate for by being an exceptionally erotic fucker."

"Exceptionally? Not really. Any situation that has 'fuck' in it, I'm usually on board with; even if it is 'fucked-up', 'fucked-over', and 'royally fucked'," I joked. I paused. "I need to warn Dad. This is a truly demented situation and I need to warn him to burn anything to do with Mom before the freak show arrives. The gift from Grandpa that keeps on giving. I almost miss not killing him myself."

"That man was an eternal foe of the Amazons, Cáel. His death was necessary for peace with the Illuminati, thus peace with all the other factions," Pamela related. I began laughing.

"So my misogynistic family heritage comes from my Mother and my misandristic lineage comes from my Father," I clued Pamela in. She found it to be hilariously ironic too.

"We still have to be careful," Pamela nudged me. "After all, your Grandfather had plans for your body. Whether we choose to believe it was to be a vessel for your Grandfather's essence – or, if you prefer, he put something in your Mother's DNA that, when combined with the machinery he used to store his memories, would bring him back to life; Cáel O'Shea always was thinking three steps ahead."

"Why didn't you kill me when you figured this out?" I stared at her.

"You hold the fate of House Ishara inside of you," Pamela smiled warmly. "Besides, I like you. No one really understands me like you do. Everyone else thinks I have a sick sense of humor."

"I wish you had been my Grandmother," I nodded.

"Wait – wait," Pamela held me back from continuing. "Because if I had been your Grandmother, you would have known to avoid a nut-ranch like Havenstone."

"Are you like my psychic twin?" I teased her. She was right, of course.

"I had a twin brother," Pamela turned sad. "I have always wondered what path his spirit traveled once they took him to the cliffs."

"The fact that you still recall him with empathy speaks volumes for you, Pamela," I hugged her.

"I felt the same way, you know," Pamela drew comfort from my warmth. I was uncertain of her meaning. "When they told me what happened to boys – I couldn't accept it. Their reasoning rang hollow and I saw their denial of their own blood to be self-defeating." 

"I have always wanted to believe my brother waits for me in the Hall of Ancestors so I can finally see his face and tell him I'm sorry that I was the one that was spared," she confessed.

"You weren't spared, Pamela," I comforted her. "You had children and grandchildren so that way your brother will have grand-nephews and great grand-nephews whose actions are recorded in the deeds of your house and their names inscribed in the roster of the Host." 

"That's my hope anyway," I added.

"Let it be so," she whispered.



Life as a New Hire Ch. 18



This story plays fast and loose with Ancient History and Linguistics; be warned.

Every person is alone. That is the definition of Free-will.

In this chapter sex is mention, but not described.

Caution: there is a good deal of 'back-story' in this chapter.

*****

(A Step back in time: that Weekend, between Oneida and Nicole)

The weekend... I'd had plenty of relaxing sex over the weekend, bonded with Oneida somewhat while we biked Saturday morning, had sex with Gael, junior of House Bendis (the woman who let me borrow her phone so I could invite Buffy, Helena and Desiree to my little induction ceremony), then had a late afternoon date with Nikita.

Escorting Yasmin and her son to the airport for the start of her Havenstone training after dinner was unsettling. The boy, Braulio, seemed worried, Yasmin was glad to see me, really glad to see me then finished if off by commenting that she could tell 'something had changed'. I affirmed her hunch without going into the details. As Yasmin's mood improved, so did her son's. I wished her luck. She told me I'd need it more.

Late Saturday night I was invited to a party by Libra. Brooke showed up date-less (she WASN'T jumping into a new relationship) so she glommed onto me - us. Marla and Libra had a huge phone fight about her (Marla) not being 21 yet, thus not invited to the party. Felix was there having reconnected with Gene because he had both a glib tongue and an awe-inspiring sexual arsenal. 

Felix's attempts to recoup any ground with Brook failed miserably. She had her own bitterness toward Trent, her memory of me handing her panties under an outdoor cafe's table as a trophy Felix had taken the night before and displayed openly in my office, and my own masculine support to draw strength from. 

Felix and I did not verbally, or socially, spar. He accepted the verdict of our first contest and, for all his faults, he acknowledged that my victory had worth and obeyed his conscience on the matter. If anything, he was visually more respectful than ever before. I wasn't his equal - no man and definitely no woman was - yet I was now a competitor he would have to give his very best to defeat. 

Sunday morning had been just me and Odette. We'd cuddled on the sofa, watched some TV and then I took her to Havenstone for time in the pool. I kept the overly-aggressive Amazons at bay while getting Odette used to the idea of regular exercise - hanging out with Timothy and I required greater endurance than her sedentary youthful stamina provided.

An early afternoon invite to a 'pick-up' basketball game at the community, two-court, outdoor lot with Jason, the bar-back from the Yuppie bar, brought me back in contact with Katy Lee Baker, aka Delivery Girl. Odette tagged along. It also brought me in contact with the local 'wild-life'. A Latin King clique was starting to operate in the area and Jason's crew were the native inhabitants who took exception to this.

We played for about half an hour were everyone learned I was a big, fat liar. I was actually good at basketball, despite my earlier claims at ignorance. The Kings showed up, drove off the younger teens playing on the other court. A few more of those jokers showed up and it was now 'our turn' to make space.

That went over like a shit brick. The Kings outnumbered us a good two-to-one, but Jason wasn't backing down. I was struggling to convince Jason that discretion was the better part of valor when some of the new Latin King arrivals tried to play with a few of the local ladies who had come down to watch their menfolk pull off their shirts and get sweaty.

Poor Odette; she had been in the company of so many powerful, confident and lethal women she'd forgotten she wasn't one. A King grabbed Katy Lee's breast. Odette hit the asshole in the stomach, put a shin to his nuts and finished him off with grabbing his head and driving it into her upward moving knee, dropping him like the sack of shit he was. But wait, he had five buddies.

Poo was being served up and the electric switch was about to be flipped.

"I'll be back to help in a moment," I growled to Jason as the gang members jumped Odette. Katy Lee and a slightly older woman rushed to Odette's aid. The Kings didn't ignore my approach, peeling off two to 'deal with me'. They really shouldn't have hit Odette because now I was angry.

The feces hit the rotary wind machine. With their last shows of bravado, I lay into the closest bastards. The sixteen year old was hesitantly pulling out his .32 ACP while reconsidering his poor life choices as I hit his buddy so hard he went airborne, two teeth and a fountain of blood coming from the ruin I'd made of his face.

Gun guy was next. I clamped my left hand on his right, gun-toting wrist then drove my knee into his elbow. The elbow snapped upward with a sound reminiscent of a car backfiring. His screams drowned out the thud of his gun dropping to the court surface. For the three remaining Latin Kings I was closing with, a terrible social reality came crashing in.

Gangs rely on several tools to exert power - a propensity for violence, illegal finances, a fierce reputation, and superior numbers. By the look on my face, they discovered that their numbers didn't bother me in the least. I knew exactly who they were and didn't give a damn. My desire to destroy them was motivated by something far stronger than any currency, and I was clearly better at this whole violence thing than they seemed to be.

They had their pride and the fidelity with their gang, plus their intimidation tactics were going wrong so fast, they couldn't process the disaster quickly enough to alter course. These guys were not professional warriors by any stretch of the imagination. 'Warriors' - perhaps. 'Professional' - definitely not. Their ability to rapidly adapt to a changing situation was woefully under-developed.

In gang hand-to-hand combat, you bunch up your members, overrun a foe and beat him to the ground. Fighting a practitioner of Brazilian jujutsu, standing close to one another is the LAST thing you want to do. I was a whirlwind of destruction, fed by the understanding that Jason's bunch needed me back real soon.

The asshat who tried to use a knife on me got his hand pinned to the court for his audacity. I repeat, threatening Odette had infuriated me. At center court, Jason had his hands full and then some. The Latin Kings had the edges in both numbers and ferocity. The only other hometown boy holding his own was this thick, solid Puerto Rican guy named Bennie; the rest were in trouble.

I started with the four-on-one stomp-down on one of Jason's friends - I'd missed the guy's beat down. My inner Amazon was leading the charge. Unlike all my previous encounters, I was intentionally causing pain. I wasn't trying to drive them off, or render them hors de combat. No, my desire was to strike terror in their hearts, inflicting suffering in order to eradicate my foes' resolve to fight.

Knees snapped, bones broke, faces were stomped into the court and internal organs ruptured. Even my erstwhile allies were aghast at the wickedness with which I treated our enemy.

"Ah...Cáel...are you okay?" Jason mumbled when the last King went down. He'd have a shiner on his left eye soon and his lip was split and bleeding. I hadn't come through unscathed either. 

Havenstone had seriously upped my pain threshold. Jason wasn't really asking about my physical well-being anyway. I had to get ahead of this...predicament.

"Let's get this trash off the court," I commanded. The boys hesitated until Jason picked up one of my semi-conscious victims.

"Come on 'Pendejo', leave and don't come back," Jason yanked the man up and began shoving him toward the gate he and his buddies had arrived by. The rest of Jason's friends joined in and we began cleaning up the place. One gangster decided he was too hurt to be moved. I'd rammed his shoulder into the goalpost, breaking his collarbone. He was crying about the pain he was in.

I pulled him up. He was around 1,75m tall and 125 kg. I wrapped my hands around his thick bull neck and slowly raised him up off the ground. His face was reddening, his good hand was trying to break my hold and his legs were flailing about in the open air.

[In Spanish] "Pain, Asshole? No, pain is me having to come back here and hunt you and your vermin buddies down," I seethed.

"I don't live here. These men are not my friends. You touched my girl and I am God Almighty when it comes to defending those of my household. I am not in a gang. I am not a criminal. If you, or your gang, come within a block of this place, I will become Death. Today, there are too many witnesses. This is your reprieve - your moment of grace," I snarled.

"Use it wisely. It will not happen again," I finished in a fury. I dropped him to his wobbly feet, catching his good hand before he fell over. That act of compassion after my dire threat confused the guy.

"Go," I returned to English. The rest of the Latin Kings walked, stumbled, were dragged from the court.

"Who are you again?" Bennie inquired.

"Cáel Nyilas," I grinned. "I'm an Aerospace Engineer working on the feasibility of having hamsters running on their wheels being used to recharge batteries on manned flights to Mars."

"Hamster wrangling has to be one tough profession," Katy Lee snickered as she and Odette came up.

"Come on now," Jason winced as he licked his lip.

"Brawling is about panic, anger and the management of those two forces," I told them. "I was the only one in this fight in control of himself, so my actions look out of proportions to what really happened."

"They were kicking our asses," Bennie chuckled.

"Not as bad as you guys think," I consoled them. "None of you guys ran, or curled up in a ball. That allowed me to pick my fights. I clearly have more hand-to-hand combat experience, but none of that would have mattered had you guys freaked out."

There was some truth in what I said. Had they panicked, I would have grabbed Odette and Katy Lee then fled as well. Since they toughed it out, and the Latin Kings exerted virtually no command and control, I was able take on the gang members in small, bite-sized chunks. My training and experience took care of the rest.

This also made the somewhat traumatized ballplayers feel proud about the cuts and bruises they'd received. Now they realized they had 'won' this scuffle, they'd played their parts courageously and had all been instrumental in a successful stratagem. The fact that none of them knew that when the blows were raining in it meant nothing.

The women who'd come out to watch the game then witnessed the beat down knew their men had been brave, taken their licks and routed their enemies. Martial ardor, baby! 'Defending' a woman does not diminish her. It increases her odds of dealing with insults and threats in a positive manner.

Women who look down on women who use their pussies to better themselves are being stupid. It is the equivalent of having a complete toolbox and only using the hammer. The women were going to give up some level of sex to reward the men. The men, in turn, had an example of the kind of behavior that would get them what they wanted - defending your ladies equated to feminine reward.

That did not mean penetration - life was far more complex. It did mean she would hang around you, talk to you and trust you (most likely more than she should). Guys still had to seal the deal, figure out what she wanted and deliver. That had been the working arrangement between men and women for most of the last 80,000 years.

What I didn't know at the time was that I was being spied upon, that this spy called Buffy - my 'spear and shield' - and Buffy would gather up some Security Detail chicks. Why would SD help? Some morons had tried to murder the Head of House Ishara and that wasn't something the Amazons would tolerate.

That Latin King clique was contemplating revenge. They were about to get schooled by the Grand Mistresses of that brutal and unforgiving Art form. I could never let Odette know. After all, to her they were someone's sons, brothers and husbands. My chilling rationalization was that, for whatever reason, the Latin Kings had redefined themselves as carnivores, preying on the rest of mankind.

They should have studied what nature was really like. Predators had predators of their own. They'd been big, bad caimans, snatching all that came to the water's edge. In nature, the caiman was careful because jaguars hunted and ate caimans. In the urban jungle, there were things far more dangerous than gang-bangers living in the shadows that jealously guarded their spot as apex predator.

Odette and I exited the field. I'd have to catch Katy Lee another time. I was to get the bad news from Ulyssa and her sister about the death in her family. Timothy, Odette and I worked out some more as Odette and I took turns relating the fight to Timothy. He reminded us that the Latin Kings were a powerhouse in the city as well as nationwide. Nicole called at the point I was ready for bed and the rest was family history.

(Monday morning)

I locked my bike up as normal. When I saw the security guards eyeing me funny, I grew cautious.

"Is there a problem?" I asked the woman scanning my ID. She was fearfully hesitant. "Wait, are you worried that I'm pissed about Friday morning?"

"We were only doing our jobs, Cáel of Ishara," she told me.

"Oh," I chuckled. "So that IS what is bothering you." I smiled at the group. "Of course you were doing your jobs. I would have been surprised if you hadn't and I'm certainly not angry about what went down. You acted in defense of Havenstone and I never saw it any other way."

That gave them some relief. My next problem.

"Has anyone from the Security Detail called about me?" I asked. "I don't see anyone here to pick me up this morning."

"I'll call them," she offered. 

The answer was that they weren't expecting me, but I could come down if I desired. That was promising. My ID card worked for the lower levels now. Walking past the Armory was intriguing...in that they barely noticed me. In the prep room for the shooting range there was...nothing. No guns for me to try out, or even look at.

I went to the firing range looking for one of my 'friendly' SD ladies. They were all giving me the cold shoulder. Naomi told me why - Constanza. The SD were very angry with my interference in justice for Constanza versus Pamela. Since Naomi had been there when the entire incident went down, I didn't laugh in her face. I got coldly furious instead.

If I wanted a firearm, I could go to the Armory and check one out, so that's what I did. The guards there weren't helpful either. Inside was - well - everything. I called up SD and asked them to send an armorer to help me make some selections. Ten minutes later, the lady had still not arrived. That made me laugh. They were tit-for-tatting the wrong guy. Glasses and ear protection came first.

I left the Armory with my weapon of choice for the day, a full bandolier and a crate of ammo. I could see the SD chick's guarding the Armory eyes bug-out. I grinned and headed for the shooting range. They surreptitiously called somebody. Knowing that, I hurried myself along, passing straight through prep room for the firing line. I was a man on a mission.

See, I could be a raging prick when I wanted to be. Those SD babes should have talked with any number of the Amazons who already knew me. I had made it clear - make my life difficult if you wished, but accept whatever payback I could imagine. Respecting House Ishara wasn't even a question. For pummeling me over Constanza, they were about to get a whole new kind of Righteous Pricking, courtesy of the house they refused to treat with equality.

An Amazon finished firing off a clip for her personal defense weapon and was checking her pistol's slide action.

"Excuse me," I said as I stepped up. She was about to scream something. Most likely 'stop!' Since I had no intention of complying, I didn't wait - or stop. 

For me, I was suddenly wondering what the precise blast radius of a 40 mm grenade was. I pulled the trigger anyway. I swear by Ishara-turned-Ishtar, I hit that target right in the 10 ring. The explosion the grenade caused when it hit the back wall rendered my claims moot. Even with eye and ear protection, I could barely hear anything because of the ringing echo, or see anything because of the dust.

The flashing yellow lights and klaxons going off indicated something bad had happened. Bad wasn't done yet. I walked to the next stand where the Amazon had ducked down while she oriented herself to the threat.

"Good morning," I yelled at her. Then I aimed and prepared to squeeze off my second round.

With all the dust in the air, I could barely make out the outline of the target I was shooting at. Accuracy at this point was unnecessary. This bitching toy seemed to kill everything. Third station - third shot and the Amazons were starting to figure out what was going on. Some moron was firing a grenade launcher within an indoor firing range.

Before the fourth shot they figured out it was me. Now those bitches had a problem. The lead Amazon tried to get my attention despite my constant attempts to ignore her. I resolved the issue by tapping my six-shot bang-bang and indicating I had two shots left...and I used them. Only when I stopped to reload did the ladies screw up the courage to exhibit some kind of physical resistance.

Naomi pulled off my ear protection.

"What are you doing?" she shouted at me. She wasn't being rude. All our ears were ringing.

"I'm being left to my own devices, you 'failures' to every concept of loyalty, respect and faith," I replied to the entire group.

"Constanza called House Ishara an abomination, insane and diseased," I spat out my hate. "I spared her life when I should have had her stricken from the roles of her house and butchered her like some beast. I showed mercy and this is how the Security Detail responds? Congratulations, you have earned my contempt."

"But why are you using a grenade launcher - indoors?" Naomi struggled to understand.

"Oh," I smirked. "Because I can. I'm superior to all of you here so I can do what I want and you have to suck it up. I am the Head of a First House so none of you have a choice. Every one of you chose to show me no respect and, out of respect for your lack of respect, you get no respect."

They were trying to figure how to work around that when I upped the ante.

"I'm also going to direct the other members of House Ishara to come down here at random times and fire off grenades, use flamethrowers, or - how about tear gas - tear gas sounds good."

"That would degrade the readiness of the Security Detail," the first Amazon protested.

"Not my problem. Take your complaints to Elsa or St. Marie. Make sure to start your complaint with exactly how you behaved toward me - but use the names Beyoncé, Ursula, Katrina, or Messina instead of mine," I glared. "Now excuse me. I have a box full of high explosives to work through." And off I went.

There were 25 shooting lanes. I had fired off my 22nd grenade when Elsa showed up.

"Cáel of Ishara, why are you destroying this training area?" she inquired calmly.

"Working through a crate of grenades. I thought that would be obvious," I joked.

"Is there something wrong we should talk about?" Elsa was keeping her anger in check.

"Your underlings were chronically disrespectful. Since positive reinforcement failed - being nice to any of your weakling-bullies was counter-productive - I decided to employ the stick treatment," I met her gaze.

"Stop destroying the firing line...please," Elsa ground out through clenched teeth.

"You are right," I nodded. "I need to take a few of these upstairs to the pure-blood gym. There is a lot more damage I could do there. This place is already a mess."




Life as a New Hire Ch. 18



Desiree's voice broke the silence. She must have come in with Elsa.

"Cáel," Desiree yawned. "How do you want to resolve this crisis? That doesn't involve setting off seismic sensors all over New York City, that is?"

"Hmmm...fine, every member of the Security Detail is to write a romantic poem then read it aloud to a 'Runner' while at that 'Runners' workstation," I invented a punishment. "Ishara is the Goddess of Love as well as Oaths. It is a fitting tribute to her that romantic verses from the heart be created and spoken aloud." 

"It is also fitting that the recipients be 'Runners', since it will unite them in both their appreciation of love and their anger with me for throwing my weight around like every other Full-Blood who thinks they are better because of some quirk of birth," I concluded.

"It will be done," Elsa intoned. That part of the matter was settled. Elsa looked at my grenade launcher. An unhappy sigh escaped my lips as I handed it over.

"Elsa, I'm coming for weapon's practice again tomorrow," I informed her. Now I was going to burn off some time in the pool then get to work, or so I hoped. I hadn't gotten away with this because I was Cáel Nyilas, or the Head of House Ishara. I got away with it because Elsa didn't want to see the faces of the Council when she explained what her people had done.

The Council members treating me like offal was their business. Other Amazons deciding that they could treat ANY member of the Council that poorly wouldn't fly - reference to the fate of Leona. Why had SD treated me poorly? Constanza. If they repeated my conversation with Constanza that cost her an eye, the outcome was known by all. Constanza would cease being an Amazon right before she died. 

I made it to Katrina's office four minutes before seven only to find Katrina absent while Daphne, Brielle and Pamela were hanging around. Dora and Fabiola followed me in. Everyone made it before the deadline, Katrina last of all. As Katrina began the meeting, Brielle left. Pamela and Katrina ignored one another.

My work review was far better than normal. I'd sold Anthrax to a terrorist cell, but it had turned out to be a mislabeled Anthrax antidote instead, so all was good. Daphne was trying to figure out how her glowing report over my efforts had been so misconstrued. My assigned boss for the day was Rosette, one of the senior members of Executive Services.

"Katrina, I need a moment of your time - in private," I requested as the meeting broke up.

"As Cáel, or the Head of House Ishara?" she asked.

"Neither," I replied. She waved the others away with Tigger shutting the door. Pamela remained seated. Katrina shot me a look concerning Pamela's presence.

"I don't control her," I shrugged. "She hangs around me for her own reasons." Katrina nodded. I walked to the edge of Katrina's desk, put my palms on its cool surface. "Katrina, I am the Grandson of Cáel O'Shea, I met Brianna O'Shea earlier this morning, she knows who I am and was brought to town because some genetic research done on me."

"Brianna knows where I work and who I work for, as in you. Pamela said the word 'Protocols' and Brianna backed off, but I'm sure she wants to see me again. I've warned my Dad about what happened and to destroy everything associated with my Mom. By the way, Brianna looks exactly like my Mother did when I was first born - exactly," I emphasized. 

Had the situation not been so completely fucked up, I would have treasured the steamrollered look on Katrina's face.

"She is with something called the Illuminati. She doesn't know about me and House Ishara. When Brianna tried to figure how this Protocol/Truce thing involved me, Pamela stonewalled her," I added.

"Pamela, I can understand Cáel not immediately bringing this to my attention," Katrina's cool exterior reasserted itself. "He doesn't know what's going on. You do."

"I didn't feel inclined to do your job for you, Katrina," Pamela gave a rapier-thin smile. "Besides, you are part of the brain trust that sent him home Friday night cloaked in ignorance, not I."

"Cáel," Katrina turned back to me. "How did you meet Brianna O'Shea?"

"I met a lawyer, screwed her to multiple orgasms in the Women's room of some bar, met her again plus her lawyer buddies and Sunday night she called me to her downtown office to fuck her into enlightenment - which I did," I sighed.

"She was working on a case involving DNA ownership, which is oddly germane to my current predicament," I grinned.

"Cáel, we need you to report to medical for more testing," Katrina ordered. 

"I apologize, but House Ishara does not believe that would be in its best interest so Cáel must decline," I nodded. "Will there be anything else?"

Will battled Will to no outcome. She nodded and I left. Pamela ghosted along behind me. Rosetta intersected my path and off we went. I was given no clue as to my assignment - no surprise. I texted Buffy: 'Nothing new happening. Pick me up at 5:30 Wed. morning.' That meant there was no new development on the committee to help House Ishara pick 'Runners'.

I had played nice. Katrina and Hayden had dodged me on Friday afternoon. This morning, she owed it to me to show some kind of progress. That wasn't what she offered. I had made a concession, they refused to reciprocate, so now I was free of any obligation to consider their wishes. I wanted more 'Runners' and come Wednesday morning, I was adding twenty.

Working with Rosette (and Pamela) was a triple-barreled experience. Errands were the largest bulk of our time, but the rest was other mundane tasks of the most basic sort. Within the workload were instructions in the craft of being unseen. Executive Services was more than laundry and daycare; it was about not disrupting the lives of clients.

A side benefit of that was learning how to move through any group and not be memorable - to not give off the subtle clues that you were an outsider. Not only could a group of executives hold a conversation without an ES person disrupting their trains of thought, people trained to look for threats wouldn't be tipped off to your presence either. It was peon-craft for beginners.

Executive Services personnel weren't ninja - they were inconsequential. As I had bubbled to Katrina on day one, Executive Services got to go everywhere and learn how everything worked. What I didn't appreciate was that was how Counter-Intelligence worked too. From what I wedged out of Rosette, Counter-Intelligence had never uncovered a successful internal conspiracy.

They had ferreted out multiple peripheral programs meant to gather information on Havenstone, but no Amazon had been critically compromised - which meant several Amazons had been blackmailed yet gone to ES before doing any damage. Rosette appreciated that fanatic devotion, but she'd never hold complete faith in it. Her job was vigilance.

(What is really going on?)

The third barrel was the real unhappy news. For all their illegal activities, Havenstone was not the Sinaloa Cartel. There were not a global criminal organization that invited international law enforcement scrutiny. So why did they devote so much time and energy to security? They weren't alone in the shadows of world-wide civilization. 

At the top of the pile was the Illuminati. They were a hydra controlled by a ruthless, cutthroat conclave - membership uncertain. They were a Darwinian meritocracy until the top tier of leadership, where a group of smaller secret societies and families monopolized the real influence. Their biggest strength, and weakness, was that most of the people in the organization didn't even know they were part of the Illuminati.

After that was a mishmash of groups with different abilities that made rating them difficult. The Condottieri were rather simple - they sold mercenaries and weapons to anyone with the coin with the sideline of promoting conflict by any means necessary. The Nine Clans...that sounded familiar...were assassins in the truest sense of the word. 

Hashshashin, Ninja, Thuggee, Black Lotus, Coils of the Serpent, Brotherhood of the Wolf, the Black Hand, Cult of the Jaguar and the Ghost Tigers. They were not just murder for hire, but murder to advance their cause. Harmonious existence was bad for business, so they stirred up rivalries and conflict in every corner of the globe. 

The Egyptian Rite Masons sounded sublime. They weren't. They may have been a secret order older than the Amazons, claiming descent to the days of Imhotep. The Egyptians were the oldest enemy of the Illuminati. The Egyptian Rite's goal was a global autocratic government, were the Illuminati wanted a capitalist oligarchy in charge of global commerce - with the Illuminati pulling all the strings. The Egyptian Rite were not restricted to Egypt anymore; membership was open to all races and genders.

The Earth and Sky Society were not New Agers. They were the descendants of Genghis Khan and were devoted to the reincarnation of the Greatest World Conqueror of all time. Before tossing them into the rubbish bin of bad ideas, know that Genghis was the largest single genetic contributor (via rape) to the human gene pool since the mystical Eve. To be a member you had to have a genetic link to ole Genghis.

The Seven Pillars of Heaven were an ancient Chinese Secret Society out for - you guessed it - World Domination. To be a true member of this group you had to be Pure Han Chinese and a man, or bound to one. Needless to say, Havenstone and the Seven Pillars did not get along. The final bit of information - these groups were what was left of the Great Secret Societies - the survivors.

Havenstone's place in all of this chaos was complicated. By mid-5th century BCE, the Egyptians were aware of the Amazons. The Amazons were not causing problems for the Egyptians, so they parted on decent terms and that was that. By the first century ADE, the political landscape had changed. Amazons had penetrated Roman society and brought Latin houses into their structure.

Amazingly, the Egyptians contacted the Amazons again, figured out the Amazons only wanted co-existence so co-existence they got. In the late 4th century, the Amazons returned the favor. The Amazons told the Egyptians something horribly bad was coming across the Eurasian steppes and the Egyptians better batten down the hatches. A few decades later, the Huns were pressing on the Roman Empire's frontier.

What is not generally know is that in the ranks of Hunnish horde were the Sarmatians, successors to the Scythians, who had allied Amazons in their ranks. This gave the Amazons, thus the Egyptians, contacts on both sides of the Roman-Attila conflict. By the mid-5th century the two secret societies parted ways once more.

Their relationship had been useful, but not close. From the Amazons viewpoint, it was the equivalent of getting good gossip at the fish market. The Egyptians appreciated the intelligence, but wanted, and didn't get, military assistance in propping up the Roman Empire. For the Amazons, the fall of the Western Roman Empire was the trigger for a massive Diaspora.

A few houses decided to tough it out in Western Europe and its packs of warring Germanic tribes. Others travelled to Egypt and from there, down the Nile to Ethiopia and Central Africa. A third group travelled farther East than ever before, eventually settling in Southern India. Of course, the World never stands still.

In the late 8th century, the Illuminati was founded as a mercantile society trying to restructure the shattered Western and Central European economies. It turned out that there was a major pass over the Alps between eastern Italy and southern Germany that was a safe transit region. The Illuminati decided to seize it. The Egyptians popped up, revealed to the infant Illuminati that they didn't want them to do that, but were ignored.

The Egyptians were out to rebuild European civilization, which meant, in their eyes, you didn't go around butchering those who were restoring law and order. The Egyptians went to the mountain pass and warned the Amazons there what was coming their way. The Illuminati convinced a local Lombard warlord that the pass would be a nice addition to his territory and off he went.

Two months later, their bully boy hadn't returned. Neither had any of his men. Never ones to retreat from failure, the Illuminati sent another force and those guys were never seen again as well. This time the Egyptians showed back up to warn the Illuminati that those people whose land they'd been trying to steal were sick of their meddling and were coming to settle matters.

Would the Egyptians help the Illuminati deal with this threat, now that it was out of the mountains? The Egyptians politely declined stating 'better the sitting stone you know than the rolling one that sets things around it on fire'. The Illuminati fled from their first base and that is the reason why they hate the Amazons and Egyptians to this day.

Mind you, the Illuminati had no idea who lived in that mountain pass at that time. A few decades after the incident, the Amazons relocated northward. Being good stewards over their lands had given up unwelcome rewards - namely people came to them seeking sanctuary. Amazons can be rather cold-hearted. That does not mean they kill you for knocking on their door.

When the number of refugees became too great, the houses voted for migration over slaughter. The Amazons travelled to the Black Forest, dispersing from there, and left the people behind to become known as the Swiss. Everywhere, Europe was tough for the Amazons in the Middle Ages. Heavily male-dominated Germanic cultures in the North, Islamic culture in the South, piracy in between and an epidemic of warfare all around.

It was in Sub-Saharan Africa where the Amazons prospered the most. There, migrating populations worked in their favor, as did the style of warfare generally practiced. Perversely, the increase in the East African Arabic slave trade worked in the Amazon's favor. Not only could they 'liberate' captured populations - males for breeding and women for recruits - it encouraged local tribes to temporarily ally with the Amazons to fight off the slavers.

The Subcontinent turned out to be a mixed bag. In the South, Amazons prospered and grew in numbers and houses. The problem was that they became too strong. Normally they would have spread out, but Eastern India proved more hostile than acceptable and further East looked like a crap-shoot. China didn't look welcoming at all.

So, the Indian Amazons were caught up in a series of wars when Northern powers tried to move South and the Southern lords were in some serious need of aid. The issue was there were multiple players in the shadows pulling the strings. One day, the Egyptians came knocking. The Egyptians knew the Amazons well enough to not try to draft them into their cause.

They simply told the Amazons who the key players were and what they were trying to do. Why would they do this? It was obvious. Amazons existed for two reasons - live free and make baby Amazons. Those other asshole Secret Societies were threatening both of those goals. Warfare is doubly hard on a female population and women spending years in combat aren't making babies.

Take into account that during this time period a massive amount of the world's population lived in India. Add to that the Amazon numbers were respectively tiny (invisible) and Every Secret Society they were fighting didn't think much of women. A few thousand gurgling last breathes later and two of India's oldest Secret Societies were gone, or eviscerated.

Why had they left the other, Islamic, secret society alone? The Islamic society operated in the populous North, not the jungle-covered South. Why did they leave the Amazons alone? The Amazons exhibited a shocking capacity for violence. The Muslim group was a 'secret' Secret Society. The Amazons were a 'hidden/don't fuck with us' Secret Society.

A side effect of the war in India was the creation of another Secret Society - the 9 Clans. They weren't nine back then, but thanks to the Amazons and Egyptians, this East Asian group picked up the Thuggee and, within a century, the Hashshashin. Things were about to get even more interesting.

For the Amazons in India, life existed off the beaten path so it took a year for the Amazons to realize those 'dirty little men' who had shown up in some western Indian ports were, in fact, Europeans - in a European-built ship. They didn't know Portuguese, but they knew Latin and with a little bit off effort, they got an updated history of Europe.

Amazons had been meeting regularly every thirty years, or so, to choose the next High Priestess and exchange notes. These meeting did not include studies of technological, political, or social improvements. Stealing the twenty-first ship to show up, the Amazons sailed home - Europe, that is. They stopped off in East Africa to spread the good news then, upon landing, went to tell their European sisters that their pilgrimages were no longer a matter of torturous overland travel. 

They could use nifty ships like these instead. With that came even better news; some Genoese, nut-job, failure of a mathematician had discovered a brand new land and they were going to check it out. The decision was made. The Indians were going back home. Their Europeans sisters were going to 'acquire' some instructions on how to sail a ship then 'obtain' some ships and divide them up among the three strongholds.

Europe would be heading to the west, Africa would sail around the Cape of Good Hope (not yet named that), back toward Europe to link up their communication network (and in time, bump into Brazil), and India would head east to the South-east Asian archipelago, sailing around the hostile Asian kingdoms. Hopefully, the fleet sailing west and the one heading east would meet one day. Unfortunately, North and South America stood in the way of that dream.

The 'little' hitch in this plan was who those ships belonged to. Nearly half the commerce of Europe at the time was either controlled, or influenced by, the Illuminati. The Amazons were running off with their equipment and profits - whoops. A cherry on top to that 'whoops' was that the Illuminati were only starting to come out of a bloody war with the Condottieri.

The Condottieri had started out as a business venture/strong arm of the Illuminati. In classic Illuminati fashion, the leaders of the Condottieri didn't know precisely who they were working for. In fact, they thought they were independent. When the Illuminati yanked that leash, it snapped and the blood-letting began.

The Illuminati had more money than the Pope and the subtle ability to call upon the kingdoms of the Mediterranean World. What did the Condottieri have? A small cadre of loyal, professional fighting men and the best strategic and tactical minds in the West - the ones the Illuminati had recruited into the Condottieri in the first place. Whoops yet again.

The Illuminati had every resource under the Sun. The Condottieri knew they were screwed, but they'd been in fucked up situations before and battled through. They needed to stay alive until the path to victory presented itself. Re-enter the Egyptians and the 9 Clans (still not 9 yet). The Egyptians?

The Egyptians made a butt-load of money on the silk and spice trade's overland routes. The Western Europeans/Illuminati were about to cut them out of that. The Egyptians needed time to reposition themselves. The revolt of the Condottieri was a gift from the Divine and suddenly the mercenaries had funds and ships.

The 9 Clans? The Illuminati was a 'Does it All' organization. If the Illuminati won, who would need assassins? This was class warfare, pure and simple. Even with three-on-one, the Illuminati fought back and fought well. The Amazon predations were not the deciding factor in the war. It wasn't even their war. Soon enough, the Amazons were buying their own boats and going elsewhere.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 18



The Illuminati doesn't forgive, or forget. For some reason, they took the Amazon thefts personally, despite its negligible impact. Maybe it was that all the other players were regionally invested while the Amazons seemed to be dog-piling them. The fact that Amazons had existed in Europe for nearly 2500 years either didn't occur to them, or they didn't care.

Flash forward to the start of the 20th century. Through the discrete use of marriage-assassination, land grabs and the basic lawlessness in the Western United States, rural South America, Australia and the islands of Southeast Asia, the Amazons had grown vastly in numbers and economic influence.

The Egyptians come knocking once more. Unlike past encounters, they were bringing an offer of alliance. The Illuminati controlled key assets in the British Empire and were using those chokeholds to eliminate their rivals. This was not news to the Amazons. Their holdings in India and the Dutch East Indies had been under pressure of the Illuminati for a century.

Ever since the Illuminati nearly ground out the Thuggee (one of the 9 Clans), the Egyptians and Amazons have been constantly harassed. This was not the first warning the Egyptians had brought. The Amazons hadn't want a war with the Illuminati and they certainly didn't trust the Egyptians. This time they agreed to go to war though.

Why? Two things - totally unrelated. First, the Illuminati and the Seven Pillars of Heaven had agreed to carve up Asia. Amazons lived in Asia and they were no man's chattel. Secondly, the Women's Rights movement was in full swing. The Amazons had nothing to do with it. Those were outsider females. What interested the Amazons were the legal ramifications of Women's Equality.

The Amazons were poised for a massive increase in their financial footprint. With the Illuminati out of the way, or at least, preoccupied, they could seize assets and have time to fortify before they could be attacked. Women's Equality would allow this to take place. Basically, the Amazons were going to exploit the blood, sweat and tears of women to advance their agenda.

From all accounts, the only groups that recalled the Amazons last foray into Secret Society politics were the Amazons and Egyptians. Certainly no one had enlightened the Condottieri. They started smacking around some Amazon bases in Europe and unleashed 'Hell on Earth'. With the help of the Egyptians, they got to it in Amazon fashion.

A General of the Condottieri and his family were eating at a Naples eatery when five women dresses like nuns walked in and shot up him, his entire family plus some bodyguards. When the response team showed up, they killed them too. A few police were added to the obituary column as the Amazons escaped. Welcome to Amazon warfare.

The Condottieri were furious over such a public breach, as well as the losses. They swore a vendetta. The 9 Clans happily informed the Condottieri that a 'War of Extermination' was the Amazon default setting. The Condottieri were not afraid - not yet. See, there was another secret society called La Solidaridad.

Working on intelligence from the Illuminati, La Solidaridad overran an Amazon compound in Argentina. They thought it would be funny to take the survivors as sex slaves. Maybe the Illuminati was experimenting to see just how pissed-off Amazons could get. Maybe La Solidaridad hadn't read their Homer, especially those parts concerning Ancient World vengeance.

It took the Host six months to start things rolling then the carnage began. They made damn sure the men knew they were being hunted by women. They weren't there to out-macho the men, or make a point. Every night, they attacked the men and their families in the cities and towns. For safeties sake, La Solidaridad retreated to their country estates. Huge mistake.

A good number of them had to have hunted at some point in their lives. How they missed being 'flushed out into the open' was beyond me. Out in the countryside, there was nowhere to hide. Walls meant little because Amazons were incredibly fit and trained to fight at night. Most of the families the Amazons killed. They were the lucky ones. The survivors? By using a new Edison device, they took some home movies of the fates of those men.

The Amazon's favorite tactic was to shove lit sticks of dynamite in the men's asses then steer them toward the closest river. One guy actually made it. His relief didn't last long. The Amazons had done something to turn the normally safe caiman population into rabidly aggressive swarmers. Bitches - insanely, sadistic bitches.

In eighteen months, La Solidaridad had ceased to exist as an organization and never recovered. The Illuminati used that time wisely to beat down the Egyptians, Earth and Sky, and the 9 Clans, aided by the Seven Pillars. Having concluded their first order of business, the Amazons sent their home movie to the Condottieri.

It wasn't mercy toward the Condottieri. I was psychological warfare. The Amazons needed the Condottieri off-balance so they could go after their real enemy. It seemed the Illuminati had instructed La Solidaridad on how to 'intimidate' the Amazons - through rape, torture and enslavement. Specifically, it was Cáel O'Shea who set the tragedy in motion - Granddad.

Beyond Granddad being impossibly fucking old, he had possessed some seriously out of control animosity where Amazons were concerned. Before the Amazon's could implement their hunt, the 9 Clans intervened. The Illuminati had been giving them real problems and they saw a way to gain some breathing space. Had the Amazons and 9 Clans been in communication, the World might be a very different place today.

Instead, the heir to the Austria-Hungarian throne was wacked by the Black Hand, some Serbian numbskulls took the fall and the rest of us got World War I. Oddly enough, this one murder accomplished the goals of the 9 Clans, Amazons, Egyptians and Earth and Sky Society. The British Empire still stood, but was wrecked. China was much worse off than that.

Before the Amazons could gain their vengeance, the Egyptians negotiated a cease-fire between groups. The Amazon Council was furious yet unwilling to fight the Illuminati alone. They kept down their bile...and waited. In the post-War period, the Amazon/Illuminati feud ate much of their resources (probably the Egyptian's intentions all along).

A truly dark side of this struggle was the Amazon support for the Nazis. Did the Amazons switch course? Yes, but not for the reasons most people would think. Jews, gypsies, communists and homosexuals going into camps didn't worry them one bit. What did? Let's go back in time to those women in the Swiss Alps who headed north. 

A great many of them went North then East...to places like Poland, Belarus, Lithuania, Latvia and Estonia. It wasn't so much a matter of whimsy as one of terrain and population. All the best farmland was in western Germany, the Low Countries and France. That's where the Germanic peoples settled. Behind them, to the East, were the Slavs.

The Slavs had three things the Amazons liked - low population density, weak social hierarchies and crappy land. That meant they could live in relative isolation, not be subject to an all-powerful king and not be inundated with migrating hordes wanting to steal their dank swamps, deep forests and isolate meadows. 

Sometime in early 1939, right after the Third Reich snatched up Bohemia, some Amazon augur decided to open up Hitler's Mein Kampf to see what was going on i.e. to see when Hitler would get around to jumping on England - the whole reason the Amazon were supporting him. What she found out was bad, bad, bad! The genocide of a bunch of people they could care less about? Not a problem. 

Invading the Slavic lands? What? Russia/Soviet Union hadn't been the big foe in WWI and they certainly were not Germany's greatest enemy at the moment - Britain was! Drang Nach Osten? That was an undefined migration of Germans back into Slavic lands that ended over 600 years ago? Their Eastern European sisters were in grave danger from a lunatic.

The common sense response (for Amazons) was to kill the Hitler. They couldn't get close, so they took their problem to their old allies, the Egyptians and 9 Clans. Those two saw nothing wrong with the way things were developing. The Amazons swallowed their pride and went to the Illuminati who seemed rather enchanted with the idea of the fascists and communists annihilating one another.

They had no way to safely approach the Soviets. Pulling their sister houses out of Eastern Europe was no longer an option - the other Secret Societies would be looking for that and try to figure out where the Amazon home bases were. The Amazons decided to make a fight of it. They were not going to charge panzers with spears. 

No, they started setting up caches of supplies and weapons in the most inaccessible places imaginable. The hope was that as Nazi Germany was grinding Communist Russia to dust, they could smuggle out their people in the chaos to Sweden then points west. The problem was WW II didn't work out that way. Great Britain got spanked at Dunkirk and Poland, France, Belgium, Denmark, the Netherlands, Luxemburg and Norway all surrendered to the Nazi blitzkrieg.

Then the Germans invaded Yugoslavia and the Soviet Union. Yugoslavia went under, but the Soviet Union didn't fall. Much to the Amazon Council's horror, resistance units began to interact with the local Amazons in an effort to improve their mutual survivability. Tales of mysterious female fighter, appearing to slay their enemies then disappearing into the wilderness filtered to both the Stavka (Russians) and SOE (British).

The SOE discovered an answer to the mystery in mid-1942, by way of the fledgling US OSS. The Americans 'found' three female Army recruits who volunteered for such a mission. A month later, the partisan bands with those agents found the 'Forest Women' and all the lights came on. Unknown to the public World, the Amazon Council decided that the best hope for their kinswomen was to bring down the Nazis and ride out the Allied conquest.

All of that might have been a happily little footnote except for what happened next. Hundreds of Amazons fought - no surprise - yet they didn't fight alone this time. Men and women of the local populace fought side by side with these lethal warriors. They shared battle plans, food, fire and medical care. That huge cultural barrier created over two and a half millennia began to erode.

They bled together and were forced from time to time to place their lives in each other's hands. They witnessed one another's courage and sacrifice. They watched them bury their dead, nurture their young and weep at their pain. Whenever things looked darkest, the Amazon would turn to their partisan partners and say with utmost confidence 'we have survived worse; so can you'.

The seminal event happened on the night of February 17th, 1944. For two years, the fractured, wounded women that are ever-present wherever there is war began to attach themselves to the Amazon bands. At first they were little more than annoyances. In time, the Amazons tried to turn these women into something 'useful'. Later, a few earned the right to follow the Amazons into battle.

On that February night, two ladies were inducted into House Živa. This was hardly the first time outsider women were brought into the Host, but this circumstance was unique - induction in the middle of a war, having proven themselves in battle before their now-sisters. From that action - not the last in that conflict - was born the concept of the 'Runners'. 

With the end of WWII, the Amazons emerged more powerful than ever. The three strongest groups in the United States were the Egyptians, Illuminati and the Amazons. The Amazons profited the most; having started with the lowest profile and having infiltrated both the government and business sectors during the war effort.

Using the Freemasons, the Egyptians reaped great benefit from the US war effort too. Always forward-looking, the Egyptians helped the Amazons as well. Still, not everything was rosy. For the Public World, World War II ended in September of 1945. That was barely a blip in the Secret Societies' radar. The calamity came on the 10th of December 1949.

Using their pawns in the Chinese Communist Party, the Seven Pillars had re-unified China and were back on the world stage. Earth and Sky and the 9 Clans were dealt a setback. A fourth secret society involved in the Chinese struggle was absorbed by the 7 Pillars. The problem was that all the societies were locked in a bitter struggle yet devastated and over-extended.

The 9 Clans, fearing the ratcheting up of Cold War intelligence-gathering services by multiple national governments asked for a global truce. The Amazons were dangerously exposed and over-extended. The Illuminati decided this was their time to strike and nothing could deter them. Into this backdrop, came the news to the Amazons that they had serious genetic issues.

That led to the First Directive; the recruitment of 'Runners' as an established program as well as the explosion of what I knew as Executive Services. In a truly bizarre twist, U.S. and Soviet agents found themselves engaged in cat-and-mouse games with European NATO agents. Amazons had penetrated the proto-CIA during the war in an effort to reach their European sisters.

In Eastern Europe, many of those partisans went over to the Communists when the Soviets overran their countries and looked favorably upon their erstwhile allies from the War. They couldn't match the influence that the many of the other secret societies possessed. Instead they pulled upon existing, personal relationships.

I worked with a negative result of those days - Desiree, or more accurately, Desiree's parents. I was also walking with the final resolution of that crisis. The Secret Societies proved they could work just as fast as the UN. In three decades they had resolved nothing and were spending more and more time on damage control.

Three events converged. The Illuminati had figured out the full-blooded Amazons were dying out so they knew they could win a game of attrition. The rest of the groups were coming to the conclusion that wiping out the Amazons was the easier course of action. The Amazons had, without a doubt, located the leader of the Illuminati, Cáel O'Shea.

O'Shea was in sight of his goal - the extermination of the Amazons - when a lone Amazon got to him first. O'Shea's death sent titanic shockwaves through the Illuminati. There was a scramble for the top spot, fear over how much the Amazons knew about their inner workings, and how the other secret orders would take this bit of news.

The Illuminati recoiled from the event, agreed to a truce and that led to the protocols that kept Brianna from dragging me off - gunshot wounds and all. That had been the state of affairs for the last thirty years. Again, the World had not stood still. China was an economic powerhouse, the EU grew stronger, and wars of political ideology had been replaced by religious-based terrorism.

The Amazons were at a critical juncture in their history. The 'New' Directive was their best chance at staving off extinction and the Houses were fighting it kicking and screaming. The First Directive wasn't being implemented properly. If nothing changed, the Amazons would be dragged under by the weight of their own bigotry.

But wait! There was this idiot with no conception of history getting in the way of Amazon extinction; the decline toward oblivion that six murderous factions were waiting for. In this epic there were no 'friends', only 'allies of convenience'. The Egyptians weren't buddies. They simply preferred others to fight their battles for them.

The Amazons fit that bill nicely, but if they were dying out, the Egyptians would be more concerned in filling the Amazon void than mourning over the Host's grave. The Illuminati and Seven Pillars were enemies. Though there was little animosity between the Earth & Sky and the Amazons, the E&S were based on perpetuating the legacy of the World's greatest rapist.

The 9 Clans were the 9 Clans and their business was all about the precise application of death. They had no friends and if they pretended to be your friend, it was only so they could position themselves to kill you. It was only business. They rarely played with debts, obligations and vendettas. Still, if a member of the 9 Clans said they owed you, it was worth the assassin's weight in Iridium.

As a bonus, the 9 Clans were gender-neutral. Outside of the Amazons, they had been using females in their numbers the longest. Because of this, the 9 Clans tried to interact with the Amazon using women from their own ranks, minimizing the sexual tension between the groups. The Condottieri had also began recruiting women into their ranks over the past twenty years.

Their leadership was still all-male with the added complications of the unresolved Naples killings and the brutal destruction of La Solidaridad. Also, while the Amazons were not business competitors, they didn't employ the Condottieri either. All these micro-wars had been very good for the Condottieri, allowing them to build up quite a stable of talent and a huge war chest. 

If the Amazons recovered, the global map would change. How so? Madi and Rhada weren't from Cleveland, but from India where unresolved crimes against women were too common. Palli Chandra, the VP of International Finance and Ngozi from my sparring match were from Central Africa and I'd gathered from some of the chatter that decades of male strife had let the Amazons inherit hundreds of thousands of square-kilometers of territory in that region. 

Along with securing that land came a tragic collection of rape victims and war orphans to swell their ranks. Latin and South America offered up their drug wars, political and ethnic strife. St. Marie herself had a strong current of Amerindian blood in her. From the moment of their first arrival, Amazons had always identified more with the Aboriginal Americans than the Christian Europeans. 

It wasn't about Amerindian society. That could be as male-dominated as any other. It was that Amazons were deadly upfront while the European colonists screwed you later. Fuck with the Amazons and they killed you. No aboriginal tribe wanted a war with some women who were just passing through. 

Invariably, Amerindian women joined up with the Host for a variety of reasons. They stole (and later murdered) Amerindian males. No one could ever say the Amazons were prejudiced against skin color. I was sure neon-pink skin would annoy them solely because it made that warrior difficult to hide.

This racial mish-mash meant the Amazons had their roots on every continent (why Antarctica? I was afraid to ask). Yes, this left them extended and vulnerable. It also meant that if you were their enemy, there were a few hundred dedicated killers less than one week away from you no matter where you ran.

Remember, every Amazon was a combatant for the cause. There wasn't a schoolyard bully yet that thirteen year old Europa was afraid of. At age twelve, young Amazon women had to prove they belonged to the oldest continuous martial tradition on the planet. At some point, older Amazons decided when they could no longer pull their weight in their society and 'took themselves to the cliffs' - suicide.

I'd let people with lesser problems decide which was more hardcore: letting your twelve year old fight for her life, or deciding that not being able to do 100 push-ups equated to your obsolescence, thus your deciding that you'd had a good run and it was time to join the Ancestors. I had never been in the military, or even prone to following orders and behaving in a disciplined manner.

If the British SAS, Russian Spetsnaz and US Navy SEALs taught that level of dedication, I would have been stunned. The fact that each one of those groups have alumni associations without having a middle schoolers' summer camp that included a list of the dead spoke to that. I was sure all those men were Bad-Ass Mothers, trained in a thousand ways to kill.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 18



They could dispatch the average Amazon too. The problem for those Special Forces would be in how every other Amazon around reacted. They would hit the deck, analyze the threat, organize and react - every time. The Security Detail would do it faster and with greater firepower, but the basic training in this martial society was the same.

Why wasn't every woman at Havenstone HQ packing heat? Why would they? It was very illegal and breaking into the building itself was insane - they would lock everything down then SD would go hunting. If it was an inexplicable total assault, SD would hold off the intruders long enough for the entire building to be armed. That was why the Armory was so big.

I learned all this while we worked. I was denied a Libra/Brooke lunch experience. Pamela did drag me off for our knife training session then it was back to Rosette until the end of day. Katrina gave me a pen-tip, indicating she wanted to talk after everyone else left.

"I've talked with Hayden plus a few others about your condition," she began.

"Okay," I shrugged.

"Many of us are your allies, Cáel," Katrina reminded me. "What we don't need..."

"No, you are not my allies," I interrupted. "We had this discussion that first Tuesday night when you took me out to dinner."

"There are things going on you do not yet understand," Katrina tried again.

"Don't care," I stated calmly. "I told you that you thought you were better than the rest. You are not. I'm still your dancing bear; your horse that can count to ten." Katrina waited. "It is simple to prove. My 'allies' aren't talking with me, they are talking about me."

"Cáel Nyilas has to figure a way to survive this nightmare. Cáel Ishara doesn't have that luxury," I informed Katrina. "That is not the Amazon way. Currying favor and acceptance from my fellow Amazons is not going to happen. If I do not have it, I don't have it. I won't beg for my damn birthright because it isn't something any of you can give. I am Ishara." 

"Does this clarify things for you and YOUR allies?" I finished. Katrina nodded. This wasn't the answer she wanted. It was the answer she expected. Outside the office, my housemates, my fellow 'new' hires and four SD chicks were waiting. Buffy and Helena came first.

"I asked for a team from SD to watch over you," Buffy began. "Everything else is going as planned."

Helena gave a quick nod.

"Why do I need bodyguards?" I questioned Buffy.

"I don't know Boss," Buffy's eyes narrowed, "did you get in a fight this weekend?"

"Do you mean over something more important than the remote?" I grinned.

Buffy glared death.

"Yes...I was in a slight altercation Sunday afternoon and was threatened with ballistic violence early, early this morning - but it was in a good neighborhood," I tried to bring out the positive.

"You didn't mention a second fight," Buffy turned to Pamela.

"Despite the plethora of small caliber, fully-automatic weapons, he was in no real danger," Pamela shrugged.

"They had automatic weapons?" I gulped.

"Yeah - left side slings - MP-7's," Pamela informed me.

"Really?" I said. Pamela nodded. "Those things are big. How did I miss them?"

"You are not too bright?" Pamela suggested an answer. Sensing my depression, "I was joking. Only the guy at the passenger side door had one."

"You still missed it," Buffy seethed.

"Oh, come on Buffy," I groaned. "He was what...2.5, or 3 meters away, standing under a street lamp with a clear night sky and a half moon...but his left side was away from me."

"Cáel Ishara, please go home before Buffy pops a blood vessel," Helena intervened. I beat a wise and hasty retreat. The number of ladies packing into the elevator with me was almost comical.

"So, what do you ride?" I asked the closest SD lady.

"Excuse me...I mean we will be taking an Armored GL550," she informed me. "Two of us will be in your vehicle and the other team with a combat package will be in the back-up vehicle, Ma...Sir."

"Call me Ishara if you must and Cáel if you feel like it," I eased her discomfort. "What I meant was - what kind of bicycle to you ride because that is how I get to and from work?"

"Sir - Ma'am - Cáel, we don't have any bicycles at this facility," she explained.

"Considering the five different routes I alternate with, a car isn't going to cut," I countered.

"We need to protect you," she insisted. "That should take precedence."

"Name?" I prodded.

"I am Rachel. This is Tiger Lily (huh?), Charlotte and Mona," Rachel introduced the team.

"Okay Rachel, let me put my refusal in perspective," I looked into her eyes.

[Old Kingdom Hittite/Amazon] "For the same reason we all speak this language, practice with spears and invoke our ancestors, I will not surrender my life because my existence had become more difficult," I said. "I am not blind to the danger. I'm not stupidly prideful. I believe that I cannot figure out who I'm supposed to be if I forget who I was - so I stick with the lifestyle that brought me here."

To any sane individual, that speech was idiotic. Had I delivered an heiress to House Ishara yet? No. I wasn't even having unprotected sex. Was I in some serious danger? Absolutely. Did you want to start with my dating history, the violent gang I had beaten up Sunday, or the Illuminati? I was behaving irrationally - stubborn to the core.

The Amazons in the elevator nodded with reverence to my insightful revelation. I wasn't some idiot male with his reason clouded by heedless pride and a bizarre sense of honor. I had reached deep into my spirit uterus and spewed forth the battle anthem of a multitude of ghosts and an army of Ishara yet to be born - 'we (Ishara) could not forget where we came from'.

The Security acceded to my demands and let me go home alone, if I ignored the tail, or the team of female professional wrestlers moving in across the street. Rhada's next state visit was going to be Armagedd-orgasmic, that was for sure. With that happy thought, I walked into my apartment and another unwelcome guest. 

For the love of God! Did they teach lock-picking at all the local community colleges, or what? As I shut the door, she came out of my bedroom, holding the sleeve-less T-shirt I had worn at the basketball game yesterday. She was breathing in my shirt's...aroma.

"Hey Brianna," I greeted my gorgeous, well-endowed, red-haired, emerald-eyed, grandfather-fucking aunt.

"I'm Deirdre," she purred. Ah...one of those identical, numerically-more-than twins I'd been warned about.

"I'm Cáel and I'm pissed off that you broke into my home, Deirdre," I tried to sound angry. 

"Brianna said you were spirited and witty," Deirdre came closer.

"I'm also all over Taurus with a preference for Gemini crossed with Leo-ines," I held my ground. 

I hoped that was my own way of saying I was full of bullshit and loved twin pussies. Clearly, I was combining my complete lack of knowledge in Astrology with my propensity to babble under stressful conditions.

"I only came to talk," she pleaded innocently. Kind of like me when I was lying to a girl about coming over for a sexual romp.

"Does that mean your bodyguards haven't killed the people in whatever apartment you've stashed them in?" I queried. 

"Are you the kind of man that worries about the 'little people'?" Deidre mused.

"Actually, if you kill the neighbors, I can buy it, knock down the...yes, I'm that kind of man," I stopped obfuscating.

"That makes you vulnerable," she pointed out.

"Thank you," I smiled. That confused her. "See, I can be heartless, or compassionate, as I need to be where as you can only be heartless, or patently false."

"I've managed to get by for some time now being the way I am," Deidre reposed.

"Glad to know you are getting by without me. That means I can show you the door and not be a bad person," I smirked. "Get out." I slipped to the side so that she could exit the portal.

"That's not what I meant," Deidre retreated.

"So now you are showing vulnerability," I grinned. "How does it feel, being like one of those 'little people' you despise?"

I was expecting anger. The only question in my mind was how raw the anger would be. 

Deidre got all misty-eyed and blissful.

"Father was just like that," she sniffled. Against all permutations of common sense, I pulled Deidre into a warm embrace.

"He was always testing us like that, turning perceived weaknesses into strengths and knocking down the foundations of our strengths," she breathed deep of my bicycling derived musk. 

"I miss him so," she moaned. Wonder-fucking-ful.

"You need to go right now," I gently shook Deidre. "I'm getting really horny and that means I need to go somewhere else."

The look she gave me as she met my gaze told volumes about how I could exercise my 'horny'.

"Let me rephrase - if I have an unexpected sexual encounter with a family member, I'm putting in for a transfer with Havenstone and that's that," I threatened. The downside of that threat was my 'Aunts' could decide to kidnap me first.

"I understand," Deidre struggled to contain herself. 

"Oh, the reason I came by was to warn you to avoid your Uncle. He will kill you if he can. He doesn't want Father to come back." I could empathize with my Uncle in that I didn't want Grandfather back either. I had the feeling my Uncle was looking for a more concrete solution to that gnawing fear.

With a bit of effort, I untangled her fingers from engulfing my waist and ushered her out the door. I had avoided incest with my theoretical Aunt and was jonesing for a sex-fix. The issue was who did I call that wouldn't leave me feeling like a complete douche afterwards. I figured Brooke owed me one so I made the call.



Life as a New Hire Ch. 19



This story plays fast and loose with Ancient History and Linguistics; be warned.

Life exists in both seconds and years. Don't ignore one for the other.

I would like to thank the phone operator and Chief of the Burnham, Illinois Police Department for answering my questions, despite their bizarre nature.

*****

(Monday Night)

I should have known to not have too good a time. My karma was wacky enough as it was. It was about to get worse in a way I should have foreseen. Ain't hindsight grand?

Inside of five seconds I knew how much sharing Libra and Brooke did - a lot. On the plus side, it gave me some wiggle room with Libra where sex with Brooke was concerned. On the super-plus side, Brooke was looking forward to ratcheting up our sex play. I took her to Libra's experiences with all the extra bells and whistles.

In this case it meant adding a blindfold and ball-gag to the hand restraints. Brooke handed me a high level of trust unexpected at this early moment in our sexcapade. With a quick empathic insight, I pulled her ball-gag down as her orgasm erupted. She rejoiced in the sound of her rapture echoing around my bedroom.

I deceived her into her next climax by whispering a promise to release her then hammering her instead. The whole specter of powerlessness tore her up inside. Best of all, even as she spasmed beneath me, I released her cuffs then pulled up her mask. Her fingernails dug into my trapezius muscles. For over a minute, she clung to me with a deep hunger to feel my heat and sweat against her body.

"My turn," she rasped. I pressed my shoulders and head up so I could look into her eyes. She was waiting for this opportunity since she'd talked with Libra. Without question, she'd never been tied down before, or tied a man down and had her way with him. She'd manipulated men most of her life - that was old hat.

This was primal, physical and forbidden. She was taking complete control of my person. God, I thought she'd orgasmed when she finished cuffing me to the headboard. Taunting, teasing and hot body contact followed as she put the ball-gag in. Sizzling lips sealed my fate as the blindfold was slipped in place.

Having invested so much time using all my senses soaking up the hungry beast that Brooke possessed right beneath her urbane surface, losing my eyesight wasn't a major drawback. For Brooke, this had all the benefits of anonymous sex in a blacked-out room with the bonus of her having the lights on for her use alone. My bet was she had studied stuff on-line.

From being sure she wasn't going to have sex with me when she first met, she had graduated to running naked across my living room for what turned out to be lemon slices. The 'fumph' of the Nerf gun made me assume Timothy shot her in the buttocks as she raced into my room. By the yip from Brooke, I knew Timothy's aim remained frighteningly accurate. 

Lemon juice and cuts don't mix, or, Brooke enjoyed watching my body jolt as said juice interacted with said 'workplace' mistakes. Was I angry? Nah. Every hiss of pain was followed by lavished kisses, licks and hair lashings. I loved her long black hair draped over my body, flicked around whisk-like and tickling my nose.

Brooke was learning my keystone technique - figure out what your partner wants and give them a quick sample. Don't use any one thing too much - make it a treat and they'll appreciate the taste they get even more. When Brooke finally sated us both, it was my turn again. We talked a while. She invited me to a friend's place in the Hamptons which suggested to me the destination was more than some made-up place on TV.

I promised to think about it. Brooke took that to mean she needed to work harder to convince me. I honestly had little desire to be trotted around as Brooke's boy toy. Hoping that wouldn't be the case relied a lot on faith. I wasn't sure what I would have in common with any of that crowd, which guided me back to being a stuck up snob for treating a people as a social class and not as human beings.

I took out my social anxiety on Brooke. Poor girl; three holes, ten positions and I'm not sure how many times I took her from frenzied peak to frenzied peak. All I knew was when she'd passed all points of previous primeval ecstasy, I finally released her. Brooke curled into a semi-fetal ball and began burrowing into me.

"Happy?" I asked as I stroked her sweat-drenched hair. She nodded happily against my chest. "Are you glad you came over?" I continued. Brooke bit me because she knew I was teasing her. "Ow," I grumbled. "I think we have a misunderstanding who is whose sex toy here."

"Do I need to bite you again?" Brooke mumbled into my chest.

"Point taken," I conceded. Brooke snuggled in even tighter. We wrestled out of bed, stumbled into the shower and took some time off with Timothy. He looked at us and smirked.

"Cáel is going to be my boyfriend," Brooke tossed out there. Huh?

"What in God's green earth makes you want to do that?" Timothy chuckled.

"He's been there when I needed him. Cáel is a real man and it has taken me having a really tough spill to realize that it doesn't matter which alumni your Daddy belongs to, but what you put on the line for your friends that really matters," Brooke enlightened us both.

"Seriously Dude," Timothy looked at me with pity.

"Cut down on the awesome dicking until somehow polygamy becomes legal," he added, but then, "Brooke, you know he's seeing about a dozen different ladies, right?"

"Cáel is looking for a serious relationship," Brooke insisted. Timothy chortled because he knew the likelihood of me settling down was right up there with us sharing a White Christmas in the Bahamas.

"Let's go back to bed, Babe," I redirected things to safer waters. "It is your turn to be on top." Brooke, wearing one of my fresh t-shirts and nothing else, hopped off the sofa and let me lead her back to the bedroom for another round of 'not thinking about any other part of my fucked up life except the beautiful woman with me right now' sex.

Twenty minutes later, Brooke had encased my rod in her wanton elixirs, was gyrating her hips as she stroked my rod inside her vagina while keeping me bound, blind and muffled. My phone rang.

"Should I get that?" Brooke teased me. She moved enough to seize my cellular device.

"The number is unlisted," she mused. "Who could it be?" I gave a muffled response. She removed the ball-gag enough for me to speak.

"Work," I repeated. "It might be work. I'm on-call 24/7."

"Damn," Brooke undoubtedly pouted (still blindfolded). She answered the call then placed the phone to my ear.

"Cáel, a Security Detail detachment is on their way to your quarters as we speak. You will recognized the code they will use," Katrina's icy calm voice informed me.

"Katrina, what is wrong?" I inquired. Normally, I wouldn't get an answer. Katrina's tone made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

"There has been an incident at your Father's home in Chicago. We do not have clear intelligence at this time. I may have more when you get in," she related.

"Understood," I replied. My passionate storm abated and I felt empty inside. Dad.

"Cáel?" Brooke sounded worried.

"We need to get dressed," I murmured. I had to let Timothy know something was truly wrong. I needed to get Brooke home safely. I...I needed to know more than I did right then. Brooke uncuffed me quickly. I barely had my boxers on when there was a light series of raps on the door. I sprang up, opened my bedroom door, surprising Odette.

She must have come back to work a few minutes earlier and was unwinding with some low-volume TV and some sofa time. Timothy was asleep already.

"Odette, go back to Timothy's room and warn him something bad may have happened. Go!" I warned. Odette scampered back. Brooke was at my back, trying to move into the main room.

"Brooke, stay here. If something unusual happens, hide in the bedroom and don't come out until the police get here. Do you understand?" I met her confusion with an iron stare. She nodded. There was another, more insistent, rapping at my apartment door. I crept up to the portal and gave a counter-knock.

"Crab Fisher-woman," a female voice said from the other side.

"My Father's Sister," I responded. It was an imperfect code, but effective given the circumstances. I double checked through the spy hole, unlocked the door and let three SD Amazons inside. How bad was it? I doubted these ladies would know more than I did.

"[OKH] Ishara," the leader said, "we have orders to escort you to Havenstone immediately."

They weren't blindly expecting me to follow instructions. They had a directive they were following to the best of their ability.

"[OKH] Will a team be watching my domicile?" I asked. The leader nodded. "We need to take a female I have been with tonight to her dwelling before going on to Havenstone."

The SD team leader nodded again. There was no condescension, or argument. They were following orders as if it was my right to issue them. That was how bad things were. Time to get back to English.

"Brooke, finish getting dressed. I'm taking you home," I called out. 

Quite frankly, along with my desire to see Brooke back home safely was my instinct to not split up my guardians. Better a longer trip than two smaller, more vulnerable groups. I was in the process of getting dressed in the living room when Timothy and Odette came out.

"Bro?" Timothy asked.

"My Father's home was attacked. I have no other details right now," I explained with a sinking feeling in my heart. Timothy read my soul, came up and engulfed me in his mighty arms. Odette added herself to the heart-felt love-pile.

"Do you want me to take Odette and head back to Queens for a while?" Timothy asked. 

He sensed we had limited time.

"They," and by 'they' he knew I meant Havenstone, "will have a team watching this place. There are not enough resources to go back and forth to work. I wish I could tell what would keep you safe, but I don't know anymore."

"We'll stay put," Timothy declared. Odette nodded. "We'll be here for you when you get back. If any of these psycho-broads want to stop by from time to time, I won't say no." I shot a look to the security team leader and she gave a curt 'okay'.

"You'll need an overnight bag!" Odette squeaked. Off she went.

Brooke finished getting dressed and came to my side. To your average Lothario, what she did might seem odd. To me, it was the normal refrain - Brooke shoved her panties into my jean's pocket. That was a not so subtle 'Call Me' for when I got back.

"Three minutes, Ish - Cáel," the leader updated me. 

My amateur guess was this was the team from across the street. They had back-up vehicles and personnel streaking down from Havenstone to provide extra security for my move.

"Velma," she gave me her name. A quick description was in order. The three Amazons all had Bluetooth devices, shooting glasses and steel-gray long coats that had to be uncomfortable in this upper seventies evening heat. 

Underneath, they had on light ballistic body armor on their torsos, arms, and legs. Even their dull grey, all-terrain boots looked armored. They had a hip holstered sidearm, most likely a back-up pistol at the small of their backs and a deadly blade, or three. Their main deterrence was their H&K UMP-40 - my second favorite Amazon killing device.

Timothy snuck off to get my toiletries, returning around the same time Odette trundled out with an overnight (or three) bag. There was a final round of hugs then Velma indicated it was time to leave. The fourth member of the team was stationed at the top of the third floor stairs. That gave her a good view of my hallway as well as the passage going up and down.

Two SD's to the front, Velma and the fourth watching our backs and Brooke caught between giddy and freaking terrified. Things got even more exciting when we hit the bottom of the stairs. Two more ladies were waiting. They put a trench coat on Brooke and she nearly collapsed. The freed up Amazon took my bag while the second put a trench coat on me. 

I grunted as well. This bitch had to weigh 25 kg. That was some serious ballistic and blast protection. The closest newcomer began attaching my pistol with hip holster on my side while Brooke was 'buttoned up'. I was slipped a few spare clips then was buttoned up as well.

"I'm not sure I can walk in this thing," Brooke gave me a weak smile.

"Don't worry," I smiled, "I'll carry you." I slipped my arm around Brooke's waist and, on Velma's signal, we rushed out to the middle of three Mercedes Armored GL550s. The doors had barely shut before we were racing away from my favorite home. I walked Brooke up to her apartment, we hugged, kissed and she insisted I go to the Hamptons with her this weekend.

I left with that promise unanswered. I didn't ask the Security Detail to do anything else outrageous and they didn't give me any crap about Brooke. Their vigilance didn't end at Havenstone either. No; they formed a tight knot of outward hostility until we marched into Katrina's office. Even then, they spread out over the Executive Services offices as an extended perimeter.

Katrina's office was another step up on the unsettling meter. It was Katrina, St. Marie, Buffy, Helena, and a woman I didn't know yet seemed to belong.

"Excuse me?" St. Marie shot a hostile look my way - actually right behind me.

"Don't mind me," Pamela snorted. She was in the process of sneaking into the room. 

"I'm here for moral support," she concluded then took a seat.

"Cáel?" Katrina queried, as if I could somehow exile Pamela from the room.

"What's going on?" I began the meeting instead.

"Your Father is dead," Katrina reported. If someone ever asked me what it felt like to have an arm cut off, I could truthfully answer them 'Yes'. Dad.

"From what we have been able to gather from the video and audio gear the four Amazon Security Detail team assigned to watch over him transmitted, the team was setting up a perimeter when three vehicles with ten men stopped on the juncture of Janus and Kerr streets and approached the house. The team leader made formal recognition and was attacked," Katrina told me.

"Are they okay?" I mumbled. I didn't want to know how my Dad died. Had he been in pain? Which side had killed him? Would knowing make a damn bit of difference?

"Three of the four members were killed," St. Marie interjected. "The team commander was killed instantly. The second died defending that corner of your Father's domicile. 

The third member was killed attempting to rescue your Father. The surviving member stopped the enemy from escaping with your Father's body, but was too badly injured to extricate herself and is now in police custody."

"What are we going to do about this?" I inquired. Pamela was a lying bitch. 

She'd lied to Brianna because the truth would have gotten me and Dad killed. Dad had still died, but Pamela had kept me alive.

"There is nothing we can do," the stranger spoke up. "Troika of House Šauška."

"You are joking, right?" I stared at her.

"He was a male, not of..." Troika began to state.

"You do know your Amazon law, correct?" I countered. She gave a curt tilt of the head. "Recount the means of succession to the Head of a House then please explain to the room how my Father, the descendant of Vranus, fits into all that."

Cha-ching!

"Oh, by the Seven Goddesses!" St. Marie jumped up. "They murdered the Head of House Ishara!" Katrina was already back on top - ahead of the game.

"But what does that make him?" Troika pointed at me.

"It confirms him as the Head of House Ishara. We can sugar-coat it and say Cáel, being the only 'active' member of Havenstone 'represented' the Head of House Ishara. By our traditions though, Ferko Nyilas was the lawful head of a 'First' House. Certainly four days were not enough time to settle the manner in an acceptable way," Katrina said.

"At the very least, House Ishara would have been given 28 days to resolve any matters of succession internally," Katrina pointed out. "There was no deception. Cáel worked for Havenstone, so was our active member. The existence of his Father was known. It is in his basic file. It was highly unlikely that ANY House wanted to bring another male into the mix so the matter of his ascension was left unquestioned."

"This is Casus Belli," Troika stood up and declared in a firm voice. "I will inform Hayden. We must know the perpetrators of this act, Katrina. I will prepare to relate this breach of the Protocols to the other Signatories."

"To make sure I have this straight, I can defend any member of my family, no matter who they are, without violating the Protocols?" I questioned. "Can I kill them?"

"That is correct," Troika appeared confused. "Other Signatories cannot harm, or detain your family in any way." I gave a bitter, hollow laugh. Dad...Dad wouldn't have understood, but Mom would have, no doubt.

"Troika...hell, everyone but Pamela and Katrina, I am Cáel Nyilas, grandson of THE Cáel O'Shea and those people who murdered my Dad very well may have been my family," I felt like crying.

That was good because I was crying. I had talked to Dad early Monday morning. I had been so nervous about not leaving any trace of Mom behind that I couldn't recall if I said 'I love you' to him. I'd never get the chance to make up for that oversight. As I began to take in the faces around me, I realized Ishara had gifted me with a respite. No one else knew who Cáel O'Shea was - yet.

"Troika," I started out. I could tell she was still having difficulty with the 'Man as someone worthy of stating an opinion' moment. "When the Council decides that the Illuminati have breached the Protocols, do I have a deciding vote on what we do - since Dad was my family?"

"No," Troika clarified, "and what makes you think it was the Illuminati?" Pamela laughed at her.

"Because I killed Cáel's Grandfather when that man was head of the Illuminati - slit his throat and rendered him incapable of resuscitation. The rest of that twisted clan have only now discovered that there is a successor, genetically, to the Old Man and you are looking at him," Pamela related in an amused tone.

"Perhaps - just perhaps - they were interested in what happened to Cáel's Mother and the man she mated with to produce Cáel...who also happened to be the Head of House Ishara and now leaves this man (me) as the last of his kind - coming and going," Pamela finished, "for both the Amazons and the O'Shea family/the Illuminati."

Troika was having problems fitting all the puzzle pieces. St. Marie cut to the heart of the matter because she listens to me.

"If you go to war against the O'Shea's you are being forced to fight your own family," the Golden Mare stared at me in shock.

"Let me get this straight," Troika stood up, waving for silence. "When the O'Shea's killed Ferko Nyilas, they murdered the Head of a First House. They also murdered a member of their own family by way of marriage." She seemed totally flummoxed. Everyone agreed about how fucked up everything was. Breach? No Breach?

"Welcome to life working with Cáel Nyilas," Katrina declared. There was a pause.

"I'll let the professionals figure out the finer points of diplomacy. I have to go," I said.

"Were do you think you are going?" Buffy popped up. Until this moment, she'd had no role in affairs. My safety though...

"I am going home to bury my Father, Buffy," I announced. This was not a discussion.

"Shouldn't we take his body to the cliffs?" Troika suggested.

"My Father will face the Afterlife with my Mother at his side. It was his wish and I'm not going to start dictating to my Ancestors now," I sighed. 

I was trying to make light of my pain. By the looks on their faces, I was failing. I had barely exited the office, Buffy, Helena and Pamela in tow. The security team was closing in and my phone rang.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 19



"Cáel Nyilas," I answered sadly.

"Mr. Nyilas, this is Investigator Brewster of the Burnham Police Department. I need a few moments of your time," a man's voice requested. I hesitated. I looked at my watch.

"Yes...Dad?" I finally spoke.

"Mr. Nyilas, your father seems to have been murdered late this evening in a bungled attempted burglary," he lied. It was a good lie.

If he really believed a bungled robbery consisted of two heavily armed groups shooting a small residential home to pieces he was...nah, he was lying.

"I'm on the next flight to Chicago," was the response I chose. I had so many 'loser' replies to choose from.

"That would be helpful, Mr. Nyilas," he told me. "Do you know when I can expect you?"

"Ah...I have no idea when the next plane from New York to Chicago is, but if I can buy a ticket on it, I'm there," I countered. Admittedly, me having a plane ticket for home would have been damn suspicious.

"One last thing, Mr. Nyilas, do you have any idea why someone would want to murder your father? Anything you could tell us could be of great assistance," he pressed.

"Yes, I have a clue who murdered my Father and I'll point you to the dead bodies when I'm done," I snapped - quite literally and mentally snapped. Pause.

"Mr. Nyilas, I understand you are upset, but do not do anything rash. Now, could your father have been murdered for anything you might have done, or are doing?" Det. Brewster kept is game face on.

"We'll have this chat when I get to Chicago. Until then, take care," I said before hanging up.

"Smooth," Pamela gently chastised me.

"I actually liked him going all 'Mafia Don' on that cop," Buffy countered.

"I'll arrange for Havenstone to get us transportation to Chicago," Helena added.

"No," I countermanded her. "You two stay here and finish up business. Join me late Tuesday night, or early Wednesday morning."

By the looks Buffy and Helena gave me they were surprised...and proud. I was keeping to my 'Runner' induction time table. My family would not be diminished by this tragedy. It would grow. Come Wednesday morning, we would add twenty new voices to Ishara's war cry.

"I'll take the first commercial flight available," I continued.

"We cannot protect you on a civilian aircraft, Ishara," Velma warned me.

"They - the authorities are expecting me to show up at O'Hare, so I'm showing up at O'Hare, like a normal person," I reminded her. "I'll also need to know at what hospital they are keeping our sister." Our sister - the sole surviving Amazon who nearly gave her life for Dad.

The SD picked up on that immediately. Another leap had been made. I wasn't a masculine monster, raging against a female warrior who had failed. By the tone of my voice, they knew I was in grief yet not overcome by it. She was the last member of the Host to see my Father alive and she might hold the closure I needed.

"It will be done," Velma decided. "We will have your team meet you at O'Hare."

"My team?" I asked.

"Rachel - her team," Velma clarified. That was enough good for me.

"Oh, and get Pamela a ticket as well. I'd hate to have her mug another passenger and take theirs," I sighed. Pamela patted me on the back - an 'atta boy'.

(Monday Noon)

(The hospital)

That was not the first time I wondered about how fatal Pamela had been in her prime. In fact, I wasn't sure that post-60 wasn't her best time yet. The only mistake the police officer guarding the Amazon's hospital room made was to sit in a chair. Pamela had long ago mastered the peon-craft that Rosetta had started to teach me.

The policeman looked up, stared right through her then looked the other way. His gaze never swept back in my direction. She jabbed him quickly underneath both arms, paralyzing them for a few seconds. That was all she needed. Hers hand clamped over his eyes and on his throat, cutting off the blood flow to the brain before his hands could recover. 

He appeared to the outside world to have taken a nap. According to Pamela, we had roughly three minutes before he came around. Pamela kept walking down the hall as if nothing happened. I came ten steps behind, guarded by a gun-less Rachel as I entered the Intensive Care Unit. A few of the staff looked our way, but no one impeded our progress. 

According to the Duty Nurse, the Amazon had exited surgery barely an hour ago. Her eyes opened to slits as I approached her beside.

"We stand before the Eye of the World," I whispered. That meant surveillance. "I cannot tell you what is in my heart. My name is Cáel Nyilas. Does that name mean anything to you?" 

Her hand flopped. I put two fingers into her feeble gasp. One squeeze - yes. "I am grateful for your prowess and I share in your sorrow for those who will no longer fight in this life. Please heal and grow strong for this is the start, not the finish," I completed. She squeezed my fingers once more. I stepped aside, letting Rachel take my place. 

They didn't exchange words but communicated volumes. We slipped out of the room while the guard was still groggy. Pamela was nowhere to be seen. That proved to be pre-sentient when a group of people with the propensity to flash IDs caught up to me at the ground floor. 

Had the backdrop of this fiasco not been the death of my Father, I might have enjoyed the twitching/counter-twitching going on between Rachel, who desperately wanted any one of her guns, and the cops who were picking up on that desire.

"Mr. Nyilas, I am..." and the introductions came pouring in.

I had Theodora Chumwell and Brock Miklos, Special Agents of the FBI, John Rios, Special Agent with the ATF, Investigator Horace Brewster from the Burnham PD and Homicide Detective Lisa Capella from the Chicago PD.

"We would like to talk with you," Theodora took charge.

"Can I ask a question first?" I raised my hand. That appeared to set them off their game plan.

"Of course," Theodora allowed.

"Okay - FBI, ATF, a homicide detective from Chicago and the only law enforcement official who has any business being here," I finished with Brewster.

"I may not be a Rhodes Scholar, but this seems a bit extreme for the burglary/murder of a long-time employee of Illinois Power and Light. Does anyone care to fill me on what the hell is going on?" I looked over the group. "Oh, and thank you Investigator Brewster for your call. I know I didn't take the news well."

"Was that the part where you said you would point to the dead bodies?" Theodora took charge.

"Yes, I think that was the gaff I was referring to," I agreed.

"Why are you here, Mr. Nyilas?" Lisa Capella jumped in. She had decided to not go along with the FBI playbook. 

"I came to see the woman found alive in my family home," I replied smoothly.

"She is probably still in surgery," Lisa gave a twist of the lips - sex.

"Oh, she got out an hour ago," I enlightened them.

"Let's take this conversation to FBI Headquarters," Theodora 'suggested' - you know, in the way that really wasn't a suggestion.

"Have you gone to see that woman?" Lisa wouldn't let up - good for her. It was upsetting Theodora and I'd already decided that Brewster was my go-to guy on this investigation.

"Yes," I responded to Lisa.

"Isn't she under police protection?" Lisa and Theodora blurted out together.

"There was a policeman at her door," I shrugged. "We went in and I talked to her."

"What did she say?" Theodora brushed Lisa aside.

"Nothing. She had one of those tubes down her throat. Whatever I said...well, I was emotional," I evaded. "She was barely conscious."

Lisa was urgently contacting her guy who was supposed to be watching the only person in custody they had. He claimed to have 'blacked out'. He couldn't remember anyone coming in to see the woman and swore he hadn't been unconscious for any length of time. He went in, checked up on the Amazon and she was fine - for someone who had been shot six times.

"We should go to the FBI offices," Theodora repeated.

"I'm going home," I sighed sadly. "I want to go home."

"It is still an active crime scene," John told me. "There won't be any civilian access for some time." Translation: until they decided to give me the carrot instead of the stick.

"Please, come with us," FBI Special Agent Brock added his weight.

"No. I'm going with Burnham PD," I countered. "You can find me there."

"That's not how it works," Theodora upped her authority meter. Lisa had fallen back, trying to take in the bigger picture. 

Brewster was clearly trying to recall if he had ANY history with me, or my Dad, that would make me trust him over the others.

"I may be a liberal arts major from northern New England, but I know how a larynx works," I regarded Theodora. "Unless I choose to make a sound, it does nothing. Nothing is about to be all we have left to do and say."

"Don't you want to help solve your Father's murder?" Brock tried to sound both sympathetic and threatening at the same time. I was suddenly bombarded with the taste of Lime Sherbet and Jalapenos Ice Cream.

"Really? Fine; I'm going to hang out with the only person in this room I know is working on my Father's murder, not on their career," I reposed.

"We are all trying to..." Lisa got out.

"You maybe," I gave Lisa that much. "My Father made around $70,000 a year after twenty-six years for Illinois P&L. He had almost paid off the colossal debt built up by my Mother's illness and my college expenses."

"As far as I know, he took out one loan his entire life - from a bank - and he paid it off," I continued. "He was a lapsed Catholic, a member of the IBEW - Local 9, and he jogged. He barely used e-mail and had no close friends I am aware of. The only woman he loved was my Mother and he mourned her to the day he died."

"What about your activity?" Theodora inquired. We weren't running off to her playground - yet. Handcuffing a grieving son would look bad and, by my attitude, wouldn't make me talkative in the least.

"I have the unfortunate habit of sleeping with every woman I meet," I began.

"So that's over 200 erotic encounters. I get annoyed with people throwing their weight around," I continued, "which is why you and I are getting off on the wrong foot, Special Agent Theodora Chumwell. I work for Havenstone Commercial Investments, getting paid an insane amount to fetch laundry and keep secrets. Good enough?"

"No, it is not..." Theodora simmered.

"How did you know about the existence of the woman upstairs and how did you know to come here?" Lisa interrupted.

"I grew up in that house, know the neighbors and know this is the closest EMS center to home," I lied convincingly.

"Who are you?" Brewster decided that I wasn't exiting the hospital gracefully so turned on Rachel. She didn't speak, choosing to be creepy and brandishing a wallet instead. I kept forgetting that most full-blooded Amazons had minimal socialization with outsiders. Having graduated elementary school, everyone else knew this was a bizarre reaction.

"Rachel Louis," Brewster read off the license in the wallet. A normal person would have acknowledged that somehow - not Rachel. "You are Rachel Louis, aren't you?"

"Yes, she is," I intervened. "Rachel is a co-worker at Havenstone and she is misanthropic misandrist."

There was a pregnant pause. The confusion wasn't with 'misanthropic'. It was a grown-up word in usage with colorful police-types. It was 'misandrist' that had them stumped.

"Rachel is an unsociable man-hater," I explained. "Standing at my side in this hospital is ten kinds of Hell for her."

"What kind of piece do you normal carry?" Rios asked her. Unsocial didn't mean stupid.

"I use a Glock-22 and Rachel carries a STI Perfect 10," I answered. "We have been experiencing quite a gopher problem around the office." I could have done better - I should have done better. I was just too tired inside to create an inventive lie.

"Do have gun licenses for those weapons?" Mr. ATF kept prodding at our cover story.

"It seems Ms. Louis - is it Ms. Ms. Louis?" Brewster continued. I flashed Rachel a look which she interpreted correctly.

"Yes, my name is Ms. Rachel Louis," Rachel replied. To me, "I find this distraction to be annoying. We should go."

"It would seem Ms. Louis has all kinds of..." Brewster got out before Rachel snatched the wallet from his grip with the speed of a Peregrine Falcon. Brewster had this stunned look familiar to crows, doves and starlings the world over as one of their kin passed into the next life in a flash. A combination of 'No you didn't!' with 'what the flock?'

"Aaahhh..." Brewster got out.

"On that note, I think we will be going," I shrugged. To Rachel, "You do not get out enough."

"Can I see your wallet again?" Brewster was still confused by Rachel's rudeness. He was a cop for the love of God. People not wanting to go to jail do not snatch things from a cop's hands.

"I gave you my wallet. I am not to blame if you used its time in your possession unwisely," Rachel counterattacked. "Unless there is a legal technicality, we shall be leaving. If there is a legal issue, here," she produced a business card with a flourish, "is the contact information for our legal department." Theodora took the card gingerly then read it.

"Havenstone again," she mused. "Are you sure this is the path you wish to take, Mr. Nyilas?"

"Are you insane?" I trembled with emotion. "I want to be back in New York, working my queue and thinking about what my date and I will be doing tonight. I want my Dad to be alive. I don't want to be thinking that the last time we talked I forgot to tell him I loved him."

"Path, you IDIOT!" I screamed at Theodora. Fuck it, I was crying again. "Not a damn thing any of you can do will bring my Dad back to me - so fuck off!" In a strange way, that was what they had been looking for. Not my wounded soul, but my rage and pain toward a World suddenly found to be cruel and pointless.

Behind my crumbling façade was another worry. Outside in the parking lot were three Amazons with weapons ready to rush to my aid. It wasn't that the Host was rash, or reckless, by nature. I was one of the fifty-six most important people in their society. Three other SD members had died in the defense of House Ishara already and they were damn sure those women would not have died in vain.

I wasn't leaving in federal custody willingly and if I walked out in restraints, I wasn't sure if they would decide offing some law enforcement agents and staging my kidnapping was the best course of action. Remember, I wanted to bury my Father. They wanted to keep me alive. If those two goals collided, they would apologize after the fact.

"Mr. Nyilas, I really believe we should..." Theodora got out then I brushed past her. It was a delicate moment and the chemistry between Rachel and I wasn't lost on most of them. She was a bodyguard yet my servant too. It was professional tribalism - two words that don't normally get along. Rios picked up on the other undercurrent. 

He recoiled from Rachel, retreating to buy space when/if Rachel attacked. Unlike the rest, he sensed that aggression by law enforcement would be met with lethal force. The Amazon didn't care about the badge and the legions of fellow officers backing it up. She was fearless. Things weren't over yet.

"Mr. Nyilas, were are you going next?" Detective Lisa came after us.

"I...I don't know," I muttered. "Where is my Father's body? I know he wanted to be cremated and buried beside Mom...I guess." Brewster came hurrying along.

"He is at the Medical Examiner's Office," Lisa informed me. "Come with me."

"Why don't you give me the address?" I sighed.

"Do you and your buddy know your way around Chicago, Hometown Boy?" Lisa kept it up. She was hitting on me and lining me up at the same time.

"How about we cut to the chase?" I looked at her with tear-soaked eyes.

"We'll take my cars - cars with an 's'," I offered. "I am a hometown boy. I've never had a reason to locate the Medical Examiner before. Since I have a boatload of angry women with guns who will not fit into your sedan and leaving them behind isn't an option, mine is the only means of travel that makes sense."

Low and behold, the two cops looked at each other then followed Rachel and I to our little caravan. We were too close for the officers to have missed Rachel snapping off some quick, coded instructions to her team - most likely to hide the seriously illegal firearms. To say the Amazons were not pleased with my decisions spoke volumes to their concern for me and lack of police experience. 

Pamela, who had beaten us back to the cars, seemed privately entertained as always. Rachel was reluctantly sitting up front. Lisa, Brewster and I were in the second row and Pamela sat in back. Not only did the two not get a good look at Pamela, she was perfectly placed to do all kinds of mischief unseen.

"So the woman upstairs works with you?" Lisa asked as we pulled out.

"Where to?" Tiger Lily (I still wasn't used to that name) requested of our Police 'buddies'. Lisa popped off the address. It was 'I'll scratch your back, you'll scratch mine'. Tiger Lily entered the data into the onboard computer and off we went.

"No. She does not work for me, or my boss, directly. She was at my Father's on my behalf though I was unaware of it," I related.

"Are you going to tell us what the hell happened?" Brewster prodded.

"That I don't know. I am not personally aware of anyone who would want to kill my Father, or me," I answered.

"Anyone who would want to get at me would come at me, not Dad," I continued. "I don't live in a fortress. It is a hardly spacious apartment near the East River. I share the place with my roommate, Timothy Denver, and a...companion by the name of Odette Sievert."

"Companion? Is she...a working girl?" Lisa went searching.

"No, I use the term companion to indicate she's too nice a girl for me. She's sweet, conscientious and giving. My only wish for Odette is that she finds a guy who can appreciate her a hell of a lot more than I do," I explained. "Timothy is my gay, body-building tattoo artist best friend. I've gotten the feeling he's busted some heads in his time. Hardly anything noteworthy."

"Mr. Nyilas, have you ever considered that you live a very messy life?" Brewster pondered.

"One does not 'consider' what one knows to be true. One knows it to be true and moves on," I grumbled. "Yes, I know I live a screwed up life."

"What about your friends here?" Lisa indicated the other three women in the vehicle. This elicited another groan from me.

"Investigator Brewster - Horace and Detective Capella - Lisa, please call me Cáel. This is the point I accept that I am exhausted and not in any shape to make good decisions. I'll plead the Fifth," I confessed.

"We already know you were in New York when your father was murdered, Mister...Cáel," Brewster stated.

"Everyone we've talked to says you and your father were very close. Baring some expensive Life Insurance policy being taken out on him, we have no reason to suspect you had a direct hand in his death. Not being a suspect, that implies you have no Fifth Amendment, or Miranda Rights to hide behind - just so we are clear," Brewster schooled me.

"I can make this game of footsy easy on all of you," Pamela whispered. The officers jolted in their seats. "Cáel cannot talk to you for the very reason the Fifth Amendment exists."

"You are not like the rest of this menagerie," Lisa noted.

"Nah, I kill people for a living. The rest of the group has some code of conduct that keeps you two alive," Pamela smiled.

Those two didn't know what to make of Pamela's statement because it was so sincere yet incredible.

"If Cáel tells you anything else he will be admitting to his involvement in a criminal conspiracy. Said conspiracy is why Ferko Nyilas is dead, but Cáel had nothing to do with it," Pamela enlightened them.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 19



Fact digestion time for the two law dogs. Brewster recovered faster.

"But why was Ferko Nyilas murdered?" he asked.

"The men didn't come to kill him," Pamela kept talking about the tea and crumpets. "They probably showed up to escort him to a place where some far more important scumbags could talk with him."

"The all-girl squad was there and Ferko was caught in the crossfire," Lisa mumbled. "Why was there a firefight if his life was in danger and both sides wanted him alive?"

"Stupidity," Pamela replied. "Give any group of people guns and then surprise them, stupid shit happens - I apologize Cáel."

"I don't buy that," Brewster said. "They simply started shooting at each other - no."

"Okay Horace, let me break it down for you. The ladies were told to go there and guard the guy without being told why. The men who showed up were most likely told to grab Ferko without knowing why either."

"That makes no sense," Lisa protested.

"Congratulations. That is why Cáel can't talk to you anymore," Pamela smirked. "This is the sort of crap he has inadvertently been caught up with - no fault of his own. If he did any of this on purpose, I'd kill him myself."

"He is some poor schmuck who only wanted a 7-5 job, to make tons of money and bedding a different girl every night," Pamela teased me. "He's no criminal mastermind, or even a convincing criminal. If he has a failing it is that he tends to merely beat up people who deserve to have their spleens ripped out instead. I'm training him to be smarter than that."

"Who are you?" Brewster gawked. Pamela gave a sinister smile. Lisa looked at me.

"I've fought a woman with a twelve foot stick with a pointy bit of metal at the end with little thought to my personal safety. This lady (Pamela) scares me. She is with me because I have no means of stopping her and I put saving others a great deal of pain and suffering over my own unsettled nerves."

"Do you really think you are that good?" Lisa half-turned around to face Pamela.

"Do you want your gun back?" Pamela offered up a police issue Glock-22, grip first. My kind of gun. How sad. I was too depressed to seduce Officer Lisa. Brewster reached around to check is firearm. It was still there, much to his relief.

"How did you do that?" Lisa wondered as she retrieved and inspected her weapon. Pamela tapped Brewster's shoulder with the man's magazine. Brewster was aghast. She'd stolen his gun, taken out the ammo and returned it without him noticing.

"I found it on the floor. The truth is a bit more expensive than you are willing to pay at the moment, believe me," Pamela grinned.

Why had Pamela showboated? She was buying me some mental respite. She was also exhibiting to the two police folks that there might be some truth to her outlandish tale of criminal conspiracies. Unlike the other Amazons, Pamela knew we had to maintain friendly relations with some part of law enforcement if I was going to bury my Father.

(The Medical Examiner's Office)

So much happens in life we rarely put the timespan of events in context. Talking with a person in line who turns out to make your day better/worse, become a friend and/or a date. In a matter of a few seconds your life has been altered. Two minutes later and you would have missed getting the concert tickets where you meet your future - whomever.

Two minutes sooner and you get caught in the 'speed trap' instead of the other poor sap who you drive past as they sit on the side of the road keeping the patrol officer company. His/her insurance rate goes up while you have that extra money for later. Had we arrived two minutes earlier to the morgue - disaster aborted. Two minutes later would have equated to a frustrating mystery.

Life was not so kind. It was the same group as before; Detective Lisa, Investigator Horace, Rachel and I. We had just added an Assistant Medical Examiner who was going over information garnered from the autopsy with the two cops. Pamela was 'checking things out', whatever that meant. The key to it all was Rachel being Rachel. 

Security Detail are more than simply elite fighting-women. They are also bodyguards, security specialist and normally stack a third specialty into the mix. When Rachel spotted five armed people in the hallway right outside the Medical Examiner's autopsy room, her alertness spiked. Only one was a uniformed police officer. Rachel was still gun-less. 

The two EMS personnel rolling an occupied body bag out on a gurney shouldn't have had on their heavy jackets on a late June afternoon. The other two men were chatting about something. That wasn't unusual. Where they were standing was - to Lisa's experienced eye. Rachel's heightened anxiety made Lisa double-check everything. 

Horace didn't know what was wrong yet when Lisa's hand came to rest on her piece, he put his hand on his Ruger SR45. 

"Excuse me," Lisa called out. No one stopped moving. "Excuse me," Lisa demanded in a louder voice. "I am Detective Lisa Capella, Chicago Police Department - Homicide Division. What is going on?" 

That was a reach. Bodies exit the morgue all the time. The two people with the body made sense. The two 'odd' fellows weren't breaking any law. In cop-talk, this was called 'gut instinct'. She produced her badge. There was a quick look by the two ambulance folk to the farther of the two 'talking' men.

That group were rather competent, just not competent conmen. The two EMS guys turned and tried to give Lisa a causal look.

"What can we do for you, officer?" the designated diplomat asked nonchalantly.

"Whose body is that?" Lisa inquired.

"I'm not sure; all we do is pick 'em up and take them to the appropriate funeral home," he shrugged.

"Take ten seconds and show me the release order," Lisa gave a chilly command. The cop at the far end of the hall - the one with the door that lead to the loading/unloading area, was starting to clue in that something wasn't right.

"Oh, by the Great Pumpkin, this is bad," Brewster muttered under his breath like a thousand other fathers who engaged in the daily struggle to not curse at work so they wouldn't curse around their children.

"Of course, Detective Capella," the diplomat nodded. "Is there a problem?" He carefully pulled out his smart phone and handed it over.

Lisa wasn't born yesterday. She handed the phone to me instead of looking at it herself. She was keeping her eyes on the guys with guns. They really did have an order to transfer my Father to a mortuary. Apparently I had requested this be done - without my knowledge.

"Cáel Nyilas requested his father be taken to the Green Meadows mortuary in Cicero," I informed Lisa, Rachel and Horace.

"I need to talk to Mr. Nyilas," Lisa informed them. "If I can't talk to him, I can't let the body leave this building. This is an ongoing investigation." The 'diplomat' was worried yet Lisa had given him an out. After I returned his phone, he called his off-site boss, who gave him a number which the diplomat gave to Lisa. Lisa called 'me' without my phone ringing.

Even so, 'I' confirmed the authorization. The four gunmen relaxed as Lisa hung up.

"One more question," Lisa pulled a 'Columbo', "was this a rush job, or are you all 'not ready for prime time players'?" The 'diplomat' made one last lunge at deception.

"Detective Capella, our work order is legitimate," he shrugged helplessly. "I don't know what you mean?"

"Funeral homes have their own uniforms; they do not dress as EMS," Lisa deconstructed their illusions. "The bodies of murder victim are not released by the Medical Examiner until a cause of death is known and that information is released to the homicide detective assigned to the case - that would be me, if there was any doubt.

Your two buddies down the hall could have read and critiqued the Magna Carta in the time it has taken for you to do your 'song and dance'," Lisa pointed out. "Oh, and the real Cáel Nyilas is standing next to me. Whoever talked with me on the phone is going to jail too. Now I suggest the four of you face the wall, put your hands over your head, palms against the wall and no one will get hurt."

Darwin check time - they drew their guns. Of course they drew their guns. Why would they not draw their guns considering the farthest enemy was all of 4 meters away and the only immediately cover was my Dad's horizontal corpse? Gurneys tend to be lightweight and mostly empty space.

The quickest on the draw was one of the two 'talkers'. He whipped out a .357 Magnum revolver and popped two shots into the police officer next to him - right in the center mass at less than 2 meters - ouch. Rachel was next, making a diving front roll between the two cops, toward the two fake EMS guys. I was right behind her, except my plan was to vault Dad's body and get at the second talker. I was not acting sanely.

The second talker went in the next split second. He had brought a sawed-off automatic shotgun to the fight. His first salvo blew a chunk out of the wall next to Lisa's hip. She was less than an eye-blink behind as she put two slugs into the 'diplomat's' armored chest. He was kind enough to drop his Mac-11 from his twitching fingers and into Rachel's hands.

Less than a single heartbeat later, the 'diplomat's EMS buddy revealed his own Mac-11. His mistake was not shooting his first target - Brewster. He was tracking Rachel and me instead, hoping to catch us together in a spray of lead. The general feeling was that, for all his law enforcement experience, Investigator Brewster had never actually shot at anyone before.

His cop instincts kicked into overdrive. The perpetrators appeared to be wearing body armor and possessed a small arsenal of illegal weapons. His aim tweaked up, he pulled the trigger and a .45 ACP round effectively decapitated his target - our first confirmed casualty. My encounter with the Latin Kings had been a lesson in poor tactical flexibility.

This time, by unspoken agreement, the two talkers were exercising their tactical acumen as they began withdrawing toward the exit. With the short range, width of the hall and lack of cover, being shot at by a shotgun, or a .357 didn't make much difference. I was trying to jump onto the gurney and launch myself at the two when my toe caught on the bottom of Dad's body, turning my heroic rush into a face-plant on Father.

The men's cover fire worked on Lisa and Horace. Lisa, being more exposed, had to dive flat. Horace crouch-ran to Rachel. Rachel, with her submachine gun, was firing a steady stream of bullets from between the gurney's top surface and bottom shelf. Her shots shattered shotgun guy's shins and blasted off his knee caps.

As that bastard screamed and toppled forward, Rachel emptied the magazine into both his thighs and his right hip. By the copious nature of the blood spray, an artery had been clipped, if not severed. Horace grabbed the back of my jacket and yanked me off the gurney, down to his side. Lisa fired off a few shots at the vanishing leader, but he was already out the door.

Rachel was rifling the closest EMS's headless body, looking for a fresh clip for the M-11.

"Don't," Horace cautioned her. Lisa was running to the door.

"Rachel, leave the gun and follow me," I commanded.

"Wait," Horace called out. He was in an impossible situation. The bold Assistant ME began looking for any survivors, starting with the diplomat.

Detective Capella was chasing after a possible cop-killer. I was already running after Lisa and Horace couldn't ride herd on Rachel, catch me and support Lisa all at once. Rachel muttered [OKH] 'dirty goat' at my fleeting form. I was sure its true meaning was far nastier.

"Da-darn it," Horace grimaced as he started rushing after the three of us.

I doubted it was any consolation to Horace that Lisa shot me an evil look when I caught up to her at the loading dock. There were no cars peeling away and had the bad guy fled out the huge doors 15 meters away, she would have seen him. Rachel arrived next.

"Secure my Father's body," I instructed. She wasn't pleased but she wasn't talking back either.

Horace showed up last of all. He was talking over his walky-talky, updating the Chicago PD on all the crazy, tragic crap that had gone down. Rachel slipped past Horace on her way back to Dad. The unspoken order was for her to re-arm and stay close, something she couldn't do under Horace's watchful gaze. Lisa and Horace were working out a plan to take their perpetrator down and it didn't include me. I was a civilian after all.

My thinking was traipsing in a different direction. They were thinking criminal evasion. I was thinking stone cold, bad-ass killer. He may have already killed one police officer in cold blood. Why not make it three? There was also the mathematics of it all. Two guns are more likely to hit a target than one - I had learned that bit of tactical insight from my time with Aya.

My disadvantage was my advantage. I didn't have a gun so I didn't have to position myself so I could shoot at anyone else.

"Here I go," I alerted the two officers. My body was flying onto the loading deck before they could stop me. My cockamamie idea saved my life.

Maybe he thought I stumbled and lost my piece. Maybe, at the last second, he saw through my deception. Maybe he was wondering what the last episode of 'Defiance' would be like. We'll never know. According to Lisa, he was tracking my fall with his .357 Magnum. He didn't shoot because he only had two bullets left, hadn't been able to reload yet and his Berretta 9 mm back-up pistol was on the other side of his body.

Two bullets - two cops, he was probably sure he could beat me to death. Anyway, when he figured out the sacrificial lamb was the unarmed me, he returned his aim to the entryway, Lisa and Horace. The guy wasn't behind any sort of cover. He was pressed against the wall so he wouldn't be able to bring his other pistol into play inside that first split second. 

When Lisa shot him, it had to hurt, but didn't put him down. She shot again - missed. He shot, missed, shot again hitting Lisa and knocking her back and down. The leader pivoted off the wall, bringing his Berretta to bare on Investigator Brewster. A lifetime inside the blink of an eye - Horace's bullet hit the criminal - major brain splatter. Poor Horace. 

Horace was falling onto his side, taking a wild shot and hoping to keep the gunman from shooting Lisa and I when he accidentally ended the man's existence. The lead bad guy's final shot zipped passed Horace's left shoulder, over my legs and ricocheted off the loading dock wall and into space.

Good old Lisa, she staggered to her feet then stumbled over to the gunman, seeking some signs of life. He was alive. Horace's .45 slug had 'only' removed the top half of his brain so the heart and lungs were still being told to beat and breath. As she was making her own call for Emergency Services, a piece of the man's skull that had been clinging to the wall plopped down.

That broke Horace. He began vomiting. I rolled over to a sitting position. Rachel peeked in then utilized her blue tooth to stop the rest of the SD team from swarming me in a public building. Cops began showing up. As soon as Detective Capella had made her initial report and dealt with the traumatic injuries among the survivors, she turned on me.

"Are you insane!" she screamed at yours truly.

"Yes," I muttered. "I've been trying to tell you that for over an hour now."

"This is not a joking matter," Lisa moved into my personal space. Was I really so far gone I didn't want sex? Nah...I could do her. "I could have killed people."

"To be fair," I stood up, "you didn't kill anyone." The policeman was clinging to life, the 'diplomat' had been saved by his body armor and the second talker's prospects didn't look promising. "Horace buried two and I'm betting the guy Rachel shot isn't going to survive having both his femoral arteries cut. 

Two decades of Law & Order has taught me that some sort of Internal Affair's investigation is going to happen. I imagine there is a great deal of surveillance video so you should be vindicated quickly. We are still going to part ways for a while," I pointed out. "Take care." I made to leave.

"Where do you think you are going?" Lisa grabbed my arm. "You were involved in a gunfight in a major municipal building. You can't walk away."

"Yes I can," I grunted. "Horace, I've pointed you at the dead bodies," I told the Burnham investigator.

"Good luck," I patted him on the shoulder. The look he came back with wasn't one of resigned defeat. Oh no, he was going to figure out what the fuck was going on, or else. The rest of the Chicago PD wasn't letting to let us leave either, so off Rachel and I were taken to the closest Precinct where we were non-communicative. 

(Back with the Feds)

Theodora rescued me and Rachel into Federal custody where we were equally useless. It didn't take me long to figure out that, compared to Rachel, I was being downright verbose. If me being a jackass was a bonus for the Feds, they didn't exhibit an ounce of appreciation. I really loved Special Agent John Rios getting all 'super ass-kicker' on me.

I was looking at 'serious' federal jail time. I was a 'domestic terrorist' and under the Patriot Act...then I fell out of my chair laughing. I was fatigued - my ability to separate desire from reality was fading plus I always fought back with my wits before my fists.

"I've been awake for thirty-six hours," I chuckled as I regained my seat.

"What is your excuse for being delusional?" I snorted.

"I trip up cocky bastards like you all the time," John sat on the table, hovering above me. "You think you've got all the angles covered. You don't, Mr. Nyilas. People like you take things for granted, screw up and then you are all turning on each other like rats."

"Ugh," I sighed. "Fine, Brainiac, what am I doing wrong? To clarify the question for you, what crime am I involved with that makes me a criminal, a terrorist, or a criminal terrorist?"

"Guns, Cáel Nyilas," John sneered. "With all the people running around with all those firearms, it is pretty freaking obvious."

"Wow...uh...John..." I started.

"Special Agent Rios," John interrupted.

"John, and I'm calling you John in the hopes that you will get pissy like a little school wench and storm out in a tantrum," I continued, "did my Father have any illegal guns on his premises that weren't brought in by one of his attackers?"

"Why did such heavily armed assailants show up unless they were expecting a nasty firefight?" Rios stabbed a finger at me.

"Ask Horace and Lisa," I grinned. "As soon as they finish their Internal Affairs investigation, I might help them figure that out.

They are honest, hard-working law enforcement agents, unlike you, you mentally-bereft catamite," I finished. "I want my lawyer. Now scoot and don't let the Patriot Act hit you in the fundamentals on the way out." John glared then left. Time passed, my Havenstone-hired lawyer sat down with me and we went over the case. 

Winslow Pratt was from a nice law firm. He also knew nothing about what was going on, or he gave me no signal he knew jack about real events. He wanted to know the truth. I told him my Dad had been murdered, I had come from my home in New York City to Chicago/Burnham to bury him and settle his estate. What did I want? To see my family home, to get a good night's sleep and go home without being shot at again.

He encouraged me to trust him. I asked why. He said he was my lawyer. I repeated, 'why should I trust you'. He could only help me if I told him everything.

"If that's the case, you are clearly substandard and you are fired. Good bye," I dismissed him.

"Mr. Nyilas, you don't understand the serious nature of your case," Winslow kept at it.

"I'll make it easy on you," I shook my head. "What do the cops know?"




Life as a New Hire Ch. 19



"We won't know everything until the discovery phase of the prosecution's case," he politely answered.

"It keeps getting better," I sighed. "They have nothing because there is nothing. As far as I know, my Father never fired a gun in his life."

"I'm not a gun-runner. I'm not a runner of any kind. I'm a cyclist. I've never been arrested for anything. I'm pretty sure my Dad never was. All my wages in sin were earned through my philandering ways. When sex is involved, I can be incredibly deceptive," I told him. "Outside of sex, I've never seen the point.

So you don't know me and you don't know what's going on yet you assume I'm guilty - thus in need of your services. I have proven I don't need someone who knows less about this shit than I do. You can go out there, find out what I'm charged with and what evidence they have, proving your worth, or you can get lost. Either way, good day, Mr. Pratt," I yawned. 

Off went Lawyer Pratt and down my head went on the table for a bit of a nap. They had taken all my clothes and accessories at the Medical Examiner's crime scene. I had no way to tell time, except through my hunger and thirst. Theodora came storming into my room, hellishly infuriated. She flashed a phone at me.

"What is the meaning of this?" she snapped. Two other agents were crowding into the room. I looked at the picture of an African-American girl around seven.

"It is a girl," I responded. Theodora looked like she was going to slap me.

"Which one of your sick friends broke into my house and did this?" she was truly steamed.

"What? Huh? Is the girl okay?" I stammered. I was seconds away from a police brutality suit.

"Someone broke into my house and did this...put the bows in my daughter's hair," Theodora trembled with rage.

"Why do you think it was me? For starters, you've stolen my phone and clothes. I've been held in this box for God knows how long and I don't want to know you, much less your little girl," I growled as I stood.

Theodora tried to slam me back into my seat, but I blocked her and retreated to the corner. Hands went to their holsters.

"Sit down," Theodora seethed. I sat down in the corner. "Sit in the chair."

"Wow...you've just told me you suspect me in something odious happening to your daughter," I said. I was also curious why Pamela had done that to her daughter. I'd find out later.

"Why you are even investigating this is beyond me," I added. "Conflict of interest maybe?" Brock pulled Theodora back.

"Take your seat, Mr. Nyilas," he demanded. I took my seat. "Now..."

"Shut the fuck up," I lost my temper. 

"Shut the fuck up. You are keeping me in custody without charging me with a damn thing," I spat my outrage. "I get the feeling this is SOP for you sons of bitches. Congrats. I'm sure there is a long list of people sick and tired of you shitting on their lives and getting away with it under the cover of law and justice.

Now, since none of you are shouting about a death, or kidnapping, I'm going to guess that someone fucked with Theodora here," I kept attacking. "From my limited experience with you dipshits, she deserves it for forgetting she - and the rest of you - are public servants. So some wacko broke into your house and put bows in your daughter's hair. Boohoo."

"You get to go home tonight to your family. I get to sit in this room because...hell if I know why? Is it because I know people? Guns? Drugs? Terrorist chatter? Speeding? Jaywalking? An illegal wire-tap? Littering?" I mocked them. "Theodora, you are giving me shit over your daughter who you can hug tonight...if it is still night, while I will never get to do that to my Father and you don't seem to care about the 'who', or why."

"When I pin this on you, Nyilas, I'm going to find out what real law and justice is," Theodora menaced me.

"I don't know what is more hilarious," I groaned, "you switching your priority to a maniacal bow-tier, from some group that has been running around, shooting up Chicago, or..." I coughed. 

My throat was getting dry from my blathering and a lack of something to drink.

"Or, you have learned nothing. Whoever did this was sending you a cautionary note. Having been under your boot heel for-fucking-ever, I couldn't have sent anyone to do anything because of your perverse fascination with pummeling my civil rights.

So, someone else was/is trying to send you a message," I muttered. "If it wasn't some helpless child involved, Theodora, I'd wish on you the heartache of losing someone you love so you will have an inkling of how bad I feel right now. I'm not that guy though. I hope your family stays safe. When I have a problem with someone, I come right at them. 

I certainly don't hide behind the innocent...the legal system, or the abuse of power," I wound down. There was a knock on the open door. Holy Shit! It was Nicole Lawless, Attorney at God.

"Who are you?" Brock spun on the newcomer.

"Hey Nicole," I yawned.

"Hey Cáel," she answered. To the rest, "I'm Nicole Lawless with [the Legion of Undead Litigators] and I'm taking over Mr. Nyilas' case."

"Wait!" I raised my hand. "I need to know something first." There was a pause. "Nicole, are you wearing underwear?"

"Sweet God, you are exhausted," Nicole compassionately noted. "No, I'm not." Underwear.

"Great. You are hired," I declared then slumped in my seat. After Nicole's arrival, things got easier. My only request of Nicole was that she rescued Rachel as well. That minor miracle accomplished we left the federal offices - the Federal Plaza downtown didn't contain this madhouse.

The first stumbling block was instantaneous. There was a nice stretch limo waiting for Nicole, me...and Rachel with the two well-dressed bodyguard types by the front and back doors. Since Nicole was certainly a tool of my aunts and my aunts had set the wheels in motion that got my Father killed, I went with option B; the second outdoor couple - Pamela and this woman I didn't recognize.

"Cael?" Nicole was surprised when I deviated and headed down the street.

"Nicole, you could be working for the people who had a hand in my Father's murder," I enlightened her. "I don't hold it against you. I don't think you knew. I'm still not getting in that car. When I figure out where I'm going to end up, I'll give you a call."

"Cáel, are you sure?" Nicole called out.

"Absolutely. Let me get some sleep and we can talk," I sighed. "Tomorrow over breakfast?"

Nicole nodded, a bodyguard opened the door and followed her in. The woman by the front-passenger door got in then the limo pulled away.

For me, it was back to the GL550s and away we went.

"I am Esmeralda Carbonne," the newcomer introduced herself. She was a 'Runner', probably working with some Havenstone operation in Chicago. The Amazons couldn't be everywhere in strength. They weren't built on the octopus-model like the Illuminati, or Egyptian Rite.

They had three types of holdings as far as my Executive Services experience had shown me. There were only a handful of urban strongholds, Havenstone HQ NYC being the biggest. The most common holding were rural centers much like Doebridge - places where Amazons were the majority, if not all of the entire population.

The third kind of holdings were like Chicago with a few businesses owned by Havenstone being monitored by a small band of Amazons. Esmeralda was one of the latter. She'd be our eyes and ears in my hometown and it was clear Esmeralda was unhappy. Figuring out why wasn't all that difficult. 

There had been a serious miscommunication between Esmeralda's group and the SD team sent to Chicago that had ended up at my Father's. The SD had requested an address and background information then insisted they perform their own reconnaissance. Afterwards the locals had been frozen out of the information flow.

"Hang on to your disbelief," I cautioned Esmeralda. "My Father and I are descendants, by an ancient male line, of a deceased Amazon First House. My ancestor dates back to the end of the Second Betrayal. He was sent on an official mission and told someone would come back to him and the few males with him."

"Since he was on the rolls of the Host, so were all his offspring - until my Father and me," I said. I let her digest that. 

"Your father was the...Head of a First House," Esmeralda gasped. "I had no idea."

"I don't think any of us truly appreciated the position my Father was in," I met her worried gaze.

"I was awarded the Head of House Ishara because I was the only active duty member of Havenstone. Late Sunday night/early Monday morning, it was revealed that my Father had married a prominent member of the Illuminati. That is what went wrong," I confessed.

"We should have been..." Esmeralda grumbled.

"You weren't because we both work for some highly competent, trained, brave and proficient knuckleheads," I espoused the frustration Esmeralda felt. Her eyes flickered to the SD team. "I'm a Head of House," I patted her knee. "I can get away with crap like that. There is no denying the SD team fought well." 

"Had a member of the local holding been present they would have only performed better - in my opinion anyway," I added. Esmeralda was soaking up a freight train of new information. Male - male Amazon - male member of the Host - and finally, Male Head of House. She had psychologically defied a male-dominated world and here she was confronted with a male authority figure.

The social experiment went to the next level.

"How so, Ishara?" Rachel challenged me.

"Good question; Esmeralda, it is late at night, a team is scouting out the side and back of a single family, corner lot dwelling. Three cars roll up, covering both streets. What do you do?" I asked Esmeralda.

"During a recon - I would assume hostile intent, let them deploy into the yard then verbally confront from cover. That many people in that situation - I would prep an ambush," she said.

"The Protocols," Rachel countered.

"The second they cross the property line of a dwelling under our protection, they are acting with hostile intent," Esmeralda answered.

"There is a codicil concerning the presentation of force," Pamela spoke up, "that agrees with Esmeralda. The section of recognition agrees with the Security Detail. Rachel, the team at the Nyilas house did nothing wrong. They would have been better off adding a few local 'Runners' to provide situational relevance. We honor the dead by learning from their deaths."

"I concur," Rachel admitted. "In haste, we failed to utilize the local sisterhood's expertise."

There was a long hiccup in the conversation. Rachel and Esmeralda had both been right, but Esmeralda had been 'more' right. For Esmeralda, it was another awakening. It was unlikely that she was in Security Services, so her 'expertise' wasn't combat.

Different from other secret societies, every Amazon was taught to think tactically. A security detail guarding a Head of House had just validated her opinion, and in front of a Head of a First House. That had to be especially satisfying.

"Where are we going, Tiger Lily?" I asked my driver. Esmeralda gave me a curious look. I shrugged.

"We are going to the Hotel Burnham," she informed me. Groan.

"You do know that the Hotel Burnham is nowhere near the town of Burnham, right?" I sighed.

"Then why do they call it the Hotel Burnham?" Rachel rebounded.

"The hotel is named after the famous Daniel Burnham, not his far less famous cousin, Telford Burnham, who founded my home village," I related the elementary school facts.

"I suppose we should have asked Esmeralda first," Pamela teased.

"Wouldn't have done any good. I'm from Yakima in Washington State. I've only been in Chicago three years," the local shrugged.

"Do we deviate to a closer location, or stay on course?" Tiger Lily requested.

Rachel, Pamela and Esmeralda were looking at me.

"Havenstone will be sending our gear and reinforcements there, so we stick with the Hotel Burnham," I decided. "Also, Tiger Lily, what's with the name?" She gave a long suffering sigh.

"My mother was adopted from the Shoshone tribe one hundred and fifty years ago, I have no worries about crocodiles, pirates and ship anchors, and I do not wish to kiss a flying boy," Tiger Lily clearly retold her constant source of teasing.

"I am named for my grandmother, who was named after her mother's ally during World War II. As far as I know, that woman never read Peter Pan, though I wish she had," she finished up. Without a doubt, an Amerindian Princess named Tiger Lily was giving me, Cáel aka Cabbage-Head, and Bomophoto a run for our money in the 'cruelest names for kids' category.

(Hotel Burnham One)

"E...fuck it all if I'm calling you Esmeralda every time - might be best utilized for close contact with Cáel," Pamela spoke on our final approach to the hotel. "I'll be out and about."

"We need a second team in town immediately," Rachel spoke. With her blue tooth in Federal custody, she had to get a new set of toys to communicate off the grid.

"I will not tell you how to do your job, Rachel," I was telling her how to do her job. "Why do you need extra people? I have faith in the team we have."

"Ishara, were we not a few minutes ago liberated from governmental containment by agents of the Illuminati, who most likely murdered your father and tried to steal his body," Rachel responded patiently.

"Rachel, they will not try to kill me because I am a member of the Illuminati," I said straight-faced.

"Ishara, that is a poor jest," Rachel politely scolded me.

"The jest is that he's not lying, Rachel. He is a member of the same faction that could have accidently killed his father," Pamela spoke with chilling forcefulness.

"They didn't want my Father, the descendant of Vranus," I continued. "They wanted Ferko Nyilas, husband of Sibeal O'Shea." Oh crap...it had been so long since I'd used Mom's name. She was always Mom - Mom - Mom. "Sibeal O'Shea was the daughter of Cáel O'Shea. Cáel O'Shea was head of the Illuminati and the Amazon's assassinated him.

I have been warned that my Uncle wants me dead. My Aunts want me for...other things."

"What do they want?" E asked. It was the whole 'men as a true asset' problem for her.

"The whole repository of nefariousness..." Pamela started to explain, but then, "Double Word Score!" Pamela and I exclaimed excitedly then 'high-fived'.

Yes, you spiteful Cosmos, I had found my soul-mate and she was a near-octogenarian with a macabre sense of humor - who also had a telepathic ability to know my mind. E looked totally lost in the exchange.

"Yes...the whole repository of nefariousness was created to be sterile," Pamela picked up the conversation.

"Which makes the very existence of Cáel here very noteworthy - virtually inexplicable," she mused.

"What have the labs at Havenstone think of this?" Rachel worried.

"I refused to go back in for any more tests," I met her gaze.

"But it could be important," E joined in.

"I will make it easy on you both - I'm a horrible person. I'm the Head of House Ishara and I elect to not put my fate in the hands of the same people who leaked my very existence to the Illuminati during the first set of tests," I stated. "Which is why I'm here in Chicago burying my Father, in case any of you missed it."

"Certainly knowing what is going on is more important than the risk of further exposure," E persisted. She got kudos for sticking to her guns.

"Esmeralda, I work for Katrina Love, Head of Executive Services," I responded. "By that I mean I have this nifty little glass table in a corner of her office.

Me stressing over my genetics isn't really important. Katrina is on the case and I haven't been out of college for two months yet. If the difference between Havenstone getting in a fight with the Illuminati and keeping the truce is my blood sample, she'll let me know," I added. "As far as Ishara is concerned, Havenstone had an information leak that got a house member killed."

"Do you have other family?" E inquired hesitantly. 

"Blood kin? Not in this country and certainly not anyone I could name," I sighed. "I case you are wondering, there are a grand total of three members on Ishara's roster."

"Is the rest of your family safe?" E was trying to sound upbeat.

"Safe? Of course they are not safe. They both work for Executive Services, Esmeralda. They were 'Runners' who I inducted into Ishara. They are Amazons of the Host and that means never being safe this side of the cliffs. Friday morning I presented them to our ancestors and they were welcomed as equals - as sisters to those who have the blood of Mycenaeans on their hands," I turned to look out the window.

"What was it like?" Tiger Lily inquired. "The induction."

"If you are looking for a vision of a stone hall with thousands of war-like Amazons holding me in judgment, you'll be disappointed," I recalled. "I had to create the ceremony from scratch - ash, tears and blood.

"I felt strong enough about that instinct I let Desiree slap me until I cried enough tears. With Desiree's knife, I cut myself, they cut themselves and our blood mixed," I finished.

"That is not how it is done," Rachel corrected me.

"No," I stopped. "It is not how you do it. 

House Ishara has come back from the void that waits for all those who are dead and have no one living to recall them," I explained. "We are not the other Houses. We are both Love and Oaths and there is a lack of respect for each of those virtues in this World."

"I never considered Amazons as overly romantic, but we are true to our oaths," Esmeralda was starting to bask in the openness of the exchange.

"I do not doubt the integrity of anyone in this vehicle, except for me," I gave her a weary grin. "The failure of oaths is mine. Ishara was bound by an Oath and has failed in her pledge. You are wrong about the romance and I am sure you have misunderstood my definition. I live for the day when no sons are sent to the cliffs as newborns - Love, Esmeralda. Love."

The hush pressed upon us until Tiger Lily pulled up in front of the Hotel Burnham. Rachel, E, Charlotte (from the second GL) and I went in. I wave the others back as I went to the desk. Rachel and Charlotte had grey duffel bags with 'stuff' inside. E had my minimal kit.

"Cáel Nyilas with Havenstone," I introduced myself. Yes, I was in 'prison' gear.

"Director Nyilas...welcome to the Burnham," he recovered quickly. "Which rooms do you wish to use?" Thank you, Helena, no I'm a damn Director. He twisted the screen so I could see the list. Eleven doubles and a Lakeview Executive Suite with two adjoining Deluxe Suites.

"We'll use those," I indicated the Executive/Deluxe/Deluxe.

"Very good, Sir," he nodded. "Will you be ordering room service? I'm afraid the Atwood restaurant has closed for the evening."

"Sounds like a plan," I looked at his name tag, "Steve, or do you prefer Mr. McCabe?"

"Steve will do fine, Director..." Steve started.

"I will make it easy on you Steve," I sighed. "Call me Cáel. All this Director crap is for the benefit of people I barely know. I am here, in my hometown, to bury my Father - who was murdered yesterday." Steve paled. "The FBI gave me these spiffy duds. If any law enforcement shows up asking for me, give me a ring first."

"Nyilas...from Burnham? I read about that," Steve seemed bemused. "The day shift Assistant Manager is from Burnham too." How wonderful, I thought sarcastically. Steven sensed my waning interest. "Your keycards, Sir - Cáel and my sympathy for your loss."

"Steve, never miss a chance to tell your loved ones how you feel," I took the cards. "That is my biggest regret with my Dad. I didn't think about it the last time we talked."

Steve gave a final nod. I rejoined my group and headed for the elevator. The rest was a tired blur. The rest of the group showed up, including Pamela. I called Nicole to tell her the situation then called Timothy despite the late hour to make sure he was okay. Timothy informed me that two 'psycho-chicks' stopped by as a kind of 'meet and greet'.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 19



I hit the small hotel fitness center with Mona, the fourth member of Rachel's team. It helped. What helped more was the constant reminder that I worked with smart people. Mona's mother was dead as well, killed on an undisclosed mission with the SD when she was ten. She could understand my sense of grief and confusion.

We didn't cry and hug. It wasn't something she could do with a man. Give a decade, or two and she might come around. Instead,

"Thank you for Constanza," Mona said quietly to me as we exited the center.

"I measure a person's life in the lives we save...as well as the ones we take," I enlightened her.

Before that moment, I didn't really consider killing people to be all that praiseworthy an endeavor. Today I had been in a situation where my life had been in immediate danger. I was glad the other guy ended up dead. Since I was prepared to keep acting stupidly, I was grateful for those who would murder people so that I could remain both noble of purpose and alive.

"She is close to me...she helped me grow up after Mom was gone," Mona opened up a tiny bit.

"Aren't you a bit angry with me?" I asked.

"Initially, I was very angry. Then I heard your words and I knew you spoke the truth of the matter," Mona exhaled. "She should have died. She deserved death for what she said."

"No one..." I started to comfort Mona.

"For a member of a Faith that exults in the harshness of martial conflict, you spend an inordinate amount of energy struggling to keep people alive," Mona noted. "I'm glad I helped deal with those Latin Kings now. It was a mission worth doing."

"What?" I stumbled.

"Didn't Buffy tell you?" Mona regarded me. She smirked. "Yeah, we hunted them down late Sunday night and into early Monday morning. I doubt the few who escaped will ever be back."

"Why haven't I...anybody heard about this?" I worried. Mona looked at me somewhat perplexed.

"Cáel of Ishara, we always take the bodies of murder victims, cut them up, place them in large drums of acid and ship them to Canada," Mona informed me.

"Aaahhh...thanks for telling me that. Let's both agree to not let Buffy know that I know, okay?" I requested. "She'll get an inordinate thrill thinking she knows something I don't."

"As you wish, Cáel of Ishara," Mona nodded gravely.



Life as a New Hire Ch. 20



*This story plays fast and loose with Ancient History and Linguistics; be warned*

*Editing by shyqash finally in an official capacity plus many allies*

*Victory is neither pointless, fleeting, nor soon forgotten. It is yours.*



(Tuesday Morning)

Sexual addiction is somewhat like military service. It requires you to be alert to your surroundings, think on your feet, follow procedures and – most crucial to me – shows you how to remain functional with minimal sleep. In this case, five hours sufficed to clear out my cobwebs and make me incredibly horny.

All of that was despite the layers of upsetting news being placed before me. Executive Services had gone over the feed from the four SD members. Inadvertently, Dad had fought on the 'right' side. The team leader died first. Her back-up put two men in the grave and wounded a third before they tossed a grenade on her.

I looked at Charlotte as she gave me the news. We both had a 'what the' expression on our faces. Grenade? I kept doing my calisthenics. The second two-Amazon group killed three attackers on their side of the building then charged the back door. I wondered if Mom's Garden Dragon was okay. It was like a Garden Gnome, except it was a Dragon. Mom was odd that way.

The attacking group had blown the front door and entered the first floor. The Amazons in the back decided to shoot out the lock instead. While transiting the kitchen moving forward, the second group took fire – from a Zastava M21. I was confused.

"It is a modern Serbian weapon," Charlotte filled in the blanks.

"Dad was killed by Serbians?" I muttered.

"No," Charlotte sighed. "No he wasn't." Another look from me as I started my standing push-ups. "That team member was wounded. The shooter was taken down by both of our teammates. At this point, three other attackers moved from your front room to the dining room, pinning our team down.

That was when your father broke cover and assaulted the attackers. He had this large lamp and cracked it over the right shoulder of the closest man," Charlotte stated. I knew that light fixture Charlotte was talking about. It was a floor lamp, nearly two meters tall, made of glass and bronze. My physique was from my Father; broad shoulders and powerful arms.

That 'large lamp' weighed over 30 kg and, powered by my father's upper body strength, I was betting the guy who was on the receiving end had have some of his bones snapped.

"The man screamed in Bulgarian, his two companions turned to see what was happening and the Amazons advanced by fire toward your father," Charlotte continued.

"Your father swung again," she looked at me, "connecting with the man's chest. In response, the other two shot him three times. He fell. The second team pressed forward, killing the man your Father wounded and wounding another. The last unhurt Amazon was killed trying to get to your Father while the survivor was concussed by the use of a second grenade.

We don't have the video of what happened in the interim. When the last Amazon began moving again, the two remaining attackers had dragged your father out the front door. She pursued and fired. She wounded the undamaged attacker...and one of her bullets ended your Father's life. She was wounded in this last exchange of fire. The two men helped each other to a vehicle and left."

I kept working out as I made an acceptable collage of my misery.

"Does she know?" I whispered.

"Does she...the Amazon? Her name is Sabina. I don't think she's been informed yet," Charlotte answered.

"Unless it becomes necessary, don't tell her that her bullet killed my Father," I sighed. "The only thing that is important to me – to Ishara – is that she gave her all as did her sisters. My Father was killed by the men who first shot him. Had they escaped with my Father, they weren't taking him to a hospital, so he was as good as dead anyway. That is all that matters."

"Yes Ishara," Charlotte responded with quiet reverence. Knowing nothing of Security Detail's procedure and tradition, I had tossed out an excuse to spare a valiant woman a terrible piece of news. Charlotte's demeanor suggested to me that it would be a kindness conveyed. A few minutes later, Rachel and Tiger Lily came in from their suite.

Mona had been my guardian while I slept so she slept now. This was our signal to shower and put on some clothes before the group went downstairs for breakfast. Pamela presented herself as I was getting dressed. Esmeralda's arrival signaled our migration to the ground floor Atwood restaurant. As everyone glided into the elevator, I had a nostalgic moment for Odette.

A normal, non-lethal, happy young lady. This all-encompassing seriousness around me was crimping my efforts to find the silver lining in this personal calamity. Ten seconds after exiting the elevator, Nicole angled toward us then we proceeded to breakfast. It took a little jockeying and refereeing by me to get the seating arrangements set.

Nicole was on my left then Pamela. Rachel and E were on my right. Charlotte and Tiger Lily were across from me as orders were taken.

"How are you holding up, Cáel?" Nicole put a hand on my lap. I had no immediate reply.

"Lonely. Sad. Alone. Bereft of anger – it is pointless. I want to scream, rage, tear things up, throw things across the room and hear them shatter...but not really," I confessed.

Suddenly, a strange essence infused my core.

"No, that's wrong. I am not alone. We have suffered more, lived through worse and never wavered even in the face of death," I said in a ghostly whisper. That was really the last thing I wanted to say. Its origin was from an enigmatic corner of my mind I was resisting venturing into.

'Taking oneself to the cliffs' made a whole lot more sense suddenly. The Amazon prepared her daughters and granddaughters for her absence. She volunteered to make that trek. In her heart, she called out to her Ancestors to prepare them to accompany her on that final journey. That all sounded like comfortable spiritual mumbo-jumbo, safely quoted by a rational man under duress.

The abyssal rift in that psycho-babble, makeshift patch over my emotional pain was I felt Vranus and Ishara standing at my shoulders. Vranus because his seemingly endless quest was finally resolved and he and his descendants would at last be welcomed into the halls of their kin. With me, he had succeeded and brought his people home. There was still the matter of the rest – the three sons of Arinniti and the elder warrior.

Holy Crap – they were still out there, waiting to be shown the path home. My 'Evenly Holier Crap' moment was feeling the weight of the eyes of Ishara upon me. Not Ishara, the matron goddess of this – my House, but that ancient Amazon who had surrendered her personal name to oblivion to give her followers a sense of unity. No female was solely 'her' daughter; all the women of the house were equal in birth and station.

It was that Ishara who stood at my shoulder and, beyond some perverse desire to look behind me to see how sexy she was, I felt I had her – not approval – her mandate. We had to be held to our oaths and would die to a woman (and man) for them. We were to give the Host a second chance to make things right. There would be no retreat.

It was not in the Amazon psyche to fight the relentless, remorseless and bloody battle – to risk everything on victory with no thought of failure. It was not something guys were accustomed to, but had been the doom of men down through the ages. Whether too romantic, too stubborn, or too bound to our brother's in arms, men had embraced hopeless causes before – mostly perishing without fanfare yet with the exceptional impossible victory to give us hope.

From time immemorial, male kin of the flesh and spirit had piled their corpses one upon the other, refusing the verdict of combat for the sake of brotherhood and every imaginable ideal. It was hardly a trait worth sharing with the sisters. They would understand the pieces; not the result. My lack of political ability would not be disability. I simply had to learn to fight – a lot better than I did at that moment.

The echoes of this message inside my head, the chilled air that filled my lungs and balance restored to my heart was bizarrely unfrightening. It would be an affirmation of the 'first directive' oaths all the houses had sworn. It wasn't my place to raise all the 'Runners', or even a single one. It was my duty to initiate the 'Worthy', no matter their number.

My actions were mine. I would not shame the other houses. I would not consider their prestige at all. It was not my place in the same way it was not their place to tell me what I could and couldn't do. It was a divine 'Go get 'em' and it felt pretty, freaking awesome.

"Cáel, are you okay?" Nicole asked in a worried tone. She squeezed my thigh. I looked down at my hands. I was okay.

"Nicole, I have the blood of Ahhiyawa champions on my hands. I feel it's sticky, sickening ichor and smell the copper-laden, metallic odor," I smiled. "I think I'm going to be just fine."

"Who?" Nicole was even more concerned.

"Someone who fucked with me a long, long time ago. They are all dead, but don't worry about the bodies showing up to bother anyone," I grinned.

All the full-blooded Amazons had been very still. The word 'Ahhiyawa' appeared to scare them even more than my haunting actions. To the Amazons, the Ahhiyawa were the Mycenaeans in the time of the Iliad. The problem seemed to be that I had never heard any member of the Host use that term and I was suddenly curious as to why.

"You seemed to have went away for a few seconds," Nicole joked lightly. "You do appear better rested, which is good. What is on the agenda for today?"

"Get my Father's body, prepare for his cremation, arrange for the last Roman Catholic Church we attended to send somebody to the service and prepare my parent's plot," I ran down.

"I imagine the police and feds will want to contact me again," I piled it on. "I want to see my home if the forensic guys let me. What do you think will be aimed at me?"

"We'll check up on any family attorney you may have had along with probating your father's Will, if he had one," Nicole assured me.

"As for the authorities, let's see what kind of warrants they are asking for before we move beyond a 'denial' defense."

"Denial, as in me claiming I didn't do anything because, ya know, I didn't do anything," I gave her a sleepy smile. "How about we eat first?"

We ordered, drank our coffee, tea and juices while remaining largely non-communicative. It wasn't until the food began arriving did I realize I'd 'misplaced' Pamela once more. As I tore into a big slab of ham, I looked over my surroundings for the first time. I gave myself a mental pat on the back when I spotted Pamela then the 'big picture' kicked me in the nuts.

Pamela was dressed as a server, coasting about the room, filling drinks, getting appetizer and performing the tedious little chores that waiters and waitresses had to pull off flawlessly. The other wait-staff noticed Pamela, but since she was making their jobs easier and not taking their gratuities, they ignored her. They probably thought she was some industry expert.

The plates were being cleared away when Pamela returned, back in normal clothing. She dumped a pile of ID's on the table. Nicole picked them up.

"Chicago PD – Organized Crime Taskforce," Nicole read off then glanced to Pamela. "ATF, Homeland Security, FBI, FBI, Chicago PD – Homicide, Federal Marshall and Federal Marshall."

"What?" Pamela said between bites of her veggie omelet. "I took their identification, not their wallets. Do you want me to go back for those too...and their keys?"

"No. We have risked Mr. Nyilas' freedom enough for one meal," Nicole shot back. She took Tiger Lily's empty plate, dumped the ID's on it then covered the pile with her handkerchief.

"Hello," this officious young lady greeted us. I'd been distracted by Nicole's malfeasance so I missed the hotel's new Assistant Manager's approach. It was turning out to be a great morning for visitations from my past. This ghost was much younger than the last ones. Our eyes met. It was easy to see that I was the man in charge being the only man at the table.

"Director Nyilas, I hope everything is going well for you and your staff this morning," she smiled. "I would also like to convey the Hotel Burnham's condolences at the passing of your father. I too was born and raised in Burnham." I already knew where she'd lived most of her life. Most critically, I very strongly recalled where she'd gone to school – all 12 grades plus K.

"Cameron Sanders," I stood and extended my hand across the table. "You look familiar." Of course she looked familiar. Cameron had publically ground my soul into the grit that ants stepped upon. Her verbal rejection had been a pivotal moment in my life. After that day, I had taken responsibility for my life both anatomically and academically.

Recall how I had said I was once a 'nobody'. Here was living proof. Cameron and I had gone to the same schools from Kindergarten through our senior years. We'd even shared classes and it wasn't like I could be confused with all the other 'Cáels' we'd gone to school with – because there weren't any. The same goes for 'Nyilas'.

I'd been shifting the boner in my pants for three solid years because of Cameron. She had been hot in high school and she was even better looking now – Brooke hot. For a second, my confidence wavered. In that heartbeat, I realized she was just another woman and I was no longer that guy.

"Where you an upperclassman at Thornton Fractional North High School?" she queried.

"Hmmm...do you recall Jenny Forrester?" I countered. Cameron knew her African-American rival, no doubt. The tweak in her smile said as much. "I'm going out on a limb – you look like a DePaul girl." Cameron's eyes twinkled.

Her eyes flitted down to where her class ring normally held court. She had taken it off for work neutrality. 

"How did you guess?" Cameron tilted her hip suggestively. Sex.

"So I'm right?" I reposed. I had 'guessed' right because Cameron crowed about her decision to go to DePaul over all her other offers.

"I have some family business to take care of, Cameron," I nodded. "Can we catch up later today and figure out where we've intersected before this morning?" Translation: I'm going to fuck you. Not 'I want to', but 'I will'. I could normally figure out a woman in an evening. I had a three year backlog of data on poor Cameron.

My Pivotal Goddess was an 'upfront' girl. Her façade was bravado backed by the fear of not measuring up – not being good enough. My mistake in High School was approaching her, hat in hand. Cameron felt best when someone took the tough choices away from her. If she didn't lead, she couldn't fail by her way of thinking.

Dad had stood by me that night when he came home from work. I was a broken wreck of a teenage boy. Dad hadn't told me to toughen up and he hadn't been sympathetic. All he wanted to know was what I was going to do about it. What was 'I' going to do, as if I could be the master of my own fate. That was my Dad.

The next day I started working out, eating better and taking better care of myself. He was dead – still dead yet my feelings over that had evolved. He was with my ancestors now, waiting for me and my sons and daughters. Looking at it that way, he wasn't really gone at all.

"I'll see what can be done," Cameron smiled. I was going to eat her up.

"Oh yeah, this plate was mistakenly delivered to my table," I indicated Pamela's illegal haul. "Could you see that it gets where it needs to go after we are gone?" Cameron shot me a sultry smile without even giving her task a casual glance. A hideous tip (kudos to Odette) was added to our over-priced bill and the ladies and I retired to our rooms.

It was routine heading to our room. Mona waved us to silence. Then the 'bug hunt' began. Like every Amazon persecution of opposing 'life forms', they didn't play fair. The Amazons had placed electronic surveillance in the room before they left so when unwelcomed guests showed up while we ate and Mona 'slept' we could watch where they placed their goodies in our rooms.

This was not a matter of throwing a fit and tossing the electronic devices down the garbage disposal. Oh no, not in Amazon battle lore. They found out what frequency your device was broadcasting on and backtracked it. According to Tiger Lily you can use a source point and a handheld device to triangulate the receiver.

Then the fun begins. First, keep the original signal going. Put a subroutine of...oh, all kinds of credit card fraud in this case with the video file then call the appropriate law enforcement agency to bust the place. The subroutine would have no point of origin, so the Amazons would be safe. The spying agency would have a headache on their hands.

Credit card fraud would require them to confiscate all the equipment because the threat posed was real, even if the tip was now suspect. This was the Amazon equivalent of fixating the enemy at one point – surveillance – while making their real move on another – the funeral. The average Amazon funeral was a private affair. My Security Detail was modifying plans for an Amazon dignitary's attendance of another Society member's funerary rites.

Halfway through the deception plan, Special Agents Brock and John showed up at our door. With two law firms (Pratt's and Nicole's) dancing on their foreheads, they were being polite today and inviting me down to be questioned. I asked for Detective Lisa and Investigator Horace to be there. One: I didn't dictate who investigated me. Two: they were under Internal Affairs review.

I agreed with 'one' – I would say 'nothing' to any number of highly qualified law enforcement operatives. I might give answers to the two I had mentioned. 'Two' was none of my affair. They could hope for some answers when they chose the review would be over. I was more than happy spending a lifetime not talking to them.

Legalize was tossed around to the point Nicole yawned, pointed out none of them were attorney's with the United States District Court of the Northern District of Illinois...damn, that's some letterhead, and they could make no deals, grant no immunities, on their own. There was no talking to be done except for the ass-reaming the Court of Appeals was going to give both the Federal attorney who applied for the surveillance warrant and the judge who signed it.

Low and behold, phones began ringing. As a patrol unit was making a raid on a room three floors down, a series of shots rang out. A gun battle ensued between the three armed men in the room, the two patrolmen (women actually) and the entire misfortunate event was caught on NBC Channel Five news. Occasionally I forget I work for fundamentally viciously sick fucks.

My 'team' had sent the cops and the news crew to the spot and even supplied the ignorant housekeeper with the room card-key for the cops to break in with – a hotel room is not a private dwelling. Cops break in, do their 'freeze, we are the police' thing, but before the three feds in the room could reply, 'their' computer audio equipment let off a sound of bullets firing and ricochets echoing across the room.

Nature took its course after that. The feds drew and both sides began shooting. No one died, but one ATF guy was going off to surgery. They would have all earned Purple Hearts if they had been in the military and a commendation no matter what...had two law enforcement agencies not shot each other up. The chase was on for the news crew who was desperately trying to get their station to show the footage before the feds grabbed the memory cards.

Despite having had no part in that fiasco, Nicole immediately clued in that the moment our two feds ran off to help their comrades it was our time to leave. Did we go to the vehicles we came in? No. That would have exhibited a lack of paranoia my guardians would have found appalling. Two new car waited a block away.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 20



Had I been better at this game, I would have noticed the lack of functioning traffic cameras around us. Instead, I went begging to the local diocese of the Catholic Church. I plead my case. Mom and Dad were devout, raised me to be a devout Catholic yet when my Mother died, my father had never gotten over the trauma and me, being a young man, hadn't explored my spirituality yet – but I promised I'd get right on it when I returned to New York.

The priest who handled the end of life stuff for the Church was sympathetic. He gave me the name of a local priest near my home I could talk to on my return. He also told me that he'd received a moving letter from a nun in Uganda about a deeply spiritual moment she had shared with me years ago, so he was onboard with giving my Dad a Catholic send-off.

I wasn't sure if that was a sign to never touch a wannabe Nun again, or a reminder that nun's gave incredibly positive feedback on their sexual misadventures. I went with the latter. A few more calls, the choosing of the proper crematorium and I was through with the first part of that ordeal. Next came the funeral notification and invites.

The Union would send some of Dad's closest co-workers and several neighbors said they'd show up as well. Flowers, clothes, wake...well, it couldn't be in my family home. The forensic team was gone and it was free for me to wander through, but the bullet holes and blood might put a damper on the ambience. In the midst of my worries, I got a call.

A polite man named Winchell Sokolowsky offered me the Marshal Fields Jr. Mansion for my personal use. If there is any doubt, Chicago is NOT the city of good Samaritans, the overly polite, or even the casually kind. Chicagoans pride themselves on being tough. We have plenty of good people who help out, volunteer and try to make life easier for their fellow man.

That does not encompass giving a random stranger use of a multi-million dollar mansion. If I hadn't already been living in fantasy land, I'd have been busy figuring out which one of my few male friends was pulling this prank of on me, but no.

"Can I inquire about the source of this largesse, Mr. Sokolowsky? Take in mind the incredible likelihood of a government agency most foul listening in," I cautioned him.

"A family friend," he responded with an amused snort. Yeah, cause my Father's funeral was all chuckles for me. Since crab-women weren't likely to know owners of mansions, this had to be my aunts. Woot.

"Thank you sir. My security people will be over to sweep the place before the city, state, or federal governments can crank out another search warrant. Thank you again."

"That is not unexpected," Sokolowsky replied. "Until then." Rachel looked at me as if I'd done something absurd. She may have been right.

"Did you just accept shelter from an individual we do not know...except that he is certainly part of the Protocols?" she stared at me.

"Come on now," I chastised her. "It's for a funerary wake. I'm not taking three hundred of the lads out for a stroll, chasing savages up the Little Big Horn, or an Irishman deciding that Oliver Cromwell is a man of his word." I leaned in and winked to Rachel. "Besides Charlie...I got an angle." Pamela, who just happened to be walking by, gave me another high-five.

Rachel was really learning to hate/dread those moments of synergy between Pamela and I.

"I am not allowed to kill you and I am afraid I can't kill Pamela, but please don't think I don't want to do both," Rachel ratcheted up her displeasure.

"Torn into itsy-bitsy pieces..." Pamela started.

"And buried alive!" I finished. Another high-five.

"You two are both insane," Rachel despaired.

"That's the spirit," Pamela and my comeback to Rachel was in synch once again. To prove I wasn't heartless, I hugged Rachel.

She froze, arms at her side, caught between warring impulses. I maneuvered her arms around until her hands rested on the back of my hips then rested mine on the small of her back.

"Rachel, I cannot go back to a safe, faceless existence," I whispered as I planted tender kisses on her forehead. "To do so would be a betrayal of...me – Ishara."

Rachel let go of her emotions and rested her head against my shoulder.

"Why couldn't I be tasked to do something sane...like fight drug cartels, Maoist insurgence, or corporate hit squads in the Amazon?" she sighed. I moved my hands to her buttocks and gave them a nice fondle making sure to slowly grind her waist against my hips.

Humping her would have been a mistake. That was sexual. I was giving her a bit of physical appreciation and nothing more. Rachel tilted her head up, I brought mine down until we were nose to nose.

"Promise me you will try to stay alive, Cáel," she sounded almost mournful.

"I will make a deal with you," I stated. "If I make it back to New York alive, you will consent to have sex with me." Rachel was confused, suspicious yet aroused. "None of this 'one hour' in some dormitory, or nunnery cell. I want everything – a light meal, some quality touching time and a minimum of two rounds of orgasmic sex."

"Ah...not a scratch," Rachel counter-offered. I nodded, kissed her nose and she felt as if she'd won something. Rachel got ready to take us to our next stop. Pamela slipped past me.

"Like shooting fish in a barrel," she whispered. I had never used that term out loud before. "That's what I would say," she clarified. She was my evil psychic twin grandmother.

It was through a tireless group effort that I made it back to the Hotel Burnham at 4 p.m. Cameron made a show of being busy when I first came back. I was willing to be patient. While she puttered around, I flirted with the desk clerk and one of the baggage attendants – pale skin, blonde hair with freckles and light brown skin, black hair in a Nubian weave.

This was the 'professional' lure. By presenting myself as a 'Man's Man' and garnering female adoration, I was clearly not (yet) that into her. The pressure was on her and Cameron didn't like pressure because pressure equated to the possibility of failure. Her advantages which were obvious to every other observer were not certainties to her.

Contest time.

"Director Cáel Nyilas," Cameron interrupted my joke to the two ladies, "I'm finished up for the day." I gave a quick smile to the women I was about to leave then turned on my personal demon. "Should I wait in the lounge until you change?"

"No," I waved off her objections. "You can come up to my suite and then we can go to your domicile for you to change for a night out." Quick visual clue update: she lived at home with her parents yet dated enough that it wouldn't be awkward. It also showed me that she was uncomfortable about going to my room. She wasn't so enchanted she would do something stupid.

I had the answer to that. I had made it a public declaration. Not only did my hovering troop had the news, so did her front desk. Nothing bad could happen to her if everyone knew where she was...right? On the elevator ride up it was just me, Cameron, Pamela and Esmeralda. The rest travelled on ahead.

She took one rear corner so I took the other. I then let my leather-soled shoes slide down the carpet, lowering my overall height compared to Cameron. At some point, I began back-spinning my feet, pretending to be on the edge of falling on my ass. I smiled at Cameron and her eyes sparkled at the vaudevillian gesture.

Know your prey and I knew way more about Cameron than was healthy for any girl. For instance, she loved Charlie Chaplin and Buster Keaton – more of a Keaton girl. She giggled then came to my rescue. She was wrapping me up in her arms while mine stayed safely away.

"You are a bit of a joker," she teased me.

"Your beautiful smile makes all that effort worthwhile," I truthfully pledged to Cameron. She sighed so contentedly. Behind her back, Pamela was loading a two-barreled hunting device, aiming at some surface-based, above ground structure with an open top and gave it both barrels while avoiding the imaginary back-splash. 'Looks like herring for dinner,' she mouthed with a wicked grin.

Esmeralda was soaking it in. Hadn't I pounced on Rachel a few hours earlier? I was definitely hooking Cameron and reeling her in for some sexual deviant purpose...and Pamela was mocking the whole situation. E turned and faced the doors.

"You seem like a really nice guy," Cameron murmured. "I mean that in a good way."

"I can't see you as any way, but truthful and kind," I met her cherished countenance. "I imagine even harsh lessons are difficult for you to deliver." There – she had one last chance to figure out the poor schlub she'd crushed at the start of our senior year was me.

"Being a leader can be very tough," she moped as she pressed into me.

My mumbled offerings of affection and her savage reprisal had never registered with her. I was going to eat her alive.

"How about I take care of you tonight?" I requested. She hesitated, not out of fear, but confusion. "Completely relax and I'll make the decisions for this one night. Your mind will be free to enjoy and discard at your pleasure."

On most levels, Cameron was seeing this as a date. She was a 'dating' girl. She didn't give up the goodies until date three, if I was exceptionally good; date four, or five otherwise. I was about to dispose of that with a clever case of role reversal. My two staffers vanished as I entered my lakeside executive suite. A splendid view I thought I'd never be able to afford the last day...

The 28th of December. I had enough money for a flight and a date picking me up at the airport. Bolingbrook had an inordinate amount of students stay the holidays and, by tradition, the graduating class hosted a New Year's Eve party for those students and the staff. I had told Dad about Havenstone and my infinitesimal chances of that kind of job.

That was it. He patted me on the shoulder. There was no pressure to come back to Burnham after graduation if I didn't have a job lined up. It was my home if I needed it. So much was unspoken between us. I could tell he was proud – college – good grades – popular – happy. I shouldn't have taken for granted we'd get a chance to talk later.

Back to the joy at hand.

"So, what's it like working with your Dad?" I dropped into our causal conversation. I was in the bedroom, door open – really? Why do they put doors on those things? The 'Daddy' question could be taken two ways and I trusted Cameron to take it the worse way – and to be pissed.

"My Father didn't get me the job here!" Cameron stormed in and insisted with a nice spirited mare stomp of the foot as emphasis. I 'just happened' to be naked, half turned away and a nice, highly suggestive pair of men's underwear in my hands.

"What do you mean?" I was clearly confused. I turned a bit more toward her.

Now she could almost see everything. 

"You...you have scars all over your body," she moaned.

"I am a warrior, Cameron. This is the kind of man I am," I gave her a fierce, dominating gaze. "I fight for what I want and I brutally defend that which is mine. Who did you think I was?"

Had Cameron been a fighter, that would have been the point she left the room. She was all up-front, bravado and a superior façade over an insecure, parentally driven trophy for their mantel place. My anger faded. It wasn't her fault I couldn't read her signs four years ago. I was still going to fuck her to the afterlife and back, but this time I'd be doing it as an informative journey.

"I don't know anymore," Cameron tried to rally some sort of coherent rampart.

"Come here," I beckoned her with one hand (the one without the underwear). Cameron shook her head. "Cameron, please believe me, there are things my staff would let me get away with; rape is not one of them. I won't touch you anywhere unless you give me permission."

If you are a girl in the room at this point, you are toast. I just made it safe to touch my naked body. Sure, you have clothes on – for now, but not for long. Why? Women desire sex about as much as men do. Unless you are a vapid fashion model with substance abuse issues, men with non-disfiguring scars are an aphrodisiac. Add to that a hard-forged physique and men, sex is there for the taking.

"I...uh..." she kept taking baby-steps forward. "I...Pam...Pamela is it?"

"Yo," Pamela answered in a bored manner, knife in hand, then, "Whoa now!" she pointed her knife at my equipment. "Sheath that, young man. Put it under wraps right now."

"I'm grown man, Pamela," I griped. I also put on my underwear.

"Pluck the freaking pebble out of my hand, bitch, and then I'll call you an adult," Pamela sneered. Looking to Cameron, "Anything else Miss?"

"No, thank you...no, wait. What do you do for Mr. Nyilas?" Cameron asked.

"I'm his psychic medium," was Pamela's sage reply. That supernatural bogusness made Cameron happy. It shouldn't have.

"Yeah, I kill his enemies then interrogate their souls," Pamela added with a nod. "It is highly rewarding work." Cameron's mouth gaped. "How about I shut the door and give you two kids some privacy."

"What does she really do?" Cameron whispered to me. Part of me wanted to say 'she told you'.

"She's my masseuse," I lied. I started putting my pants on (forgetting my socks) then fell/sat on the bed. Cameron came to my bedside. I rolled on my back and highly exaggerated the effort it took to pull them up. Cameron began giggling. "Hey, these are my 'skinny' slacks. I wouldn't laugh at you if our positions were switched."

"Really?" she teased me. I laughed and she laughed along.

"Cameron, think about it. I'm shirtless and definitely bra-less. I'm pretty sure I'd be too distracted by a multitude of your other assets to snicker," I countered. Cameron blushed and smiled.

Ah, the visual image in Cameron's head was her, with jeans, racy panties and nothing else on while I hovered over her, relishing her attempts to conceal her charms. I shuffled back on the bed and resumed pulling my slacks up. Cameron followed, right into the danger zone.

"Wait..." she put a hand on my abdomen. "What caused that scar?"

So I told her. Okay, I gave her an abridged version of the truth. Fine, I lied like a big dog. I had the amazing habit of stumbling across women in need of saving. I bled for their virtue and honor, racked with intense pain before a violent victory was seized by my masculine hands. I was sure that Pamela and Rachel were hiding just outside the door, retching into waste baskets over the layers upon layers of my tripe.

Around wound twelve, I was sure if I had asked Cameron to wear little lamb ears and a bell around her neck, she would have – had one been handy. To be fair, I wasn't fighting off legions of Green Beret. I was doing one better. I was using thinly-veiled caricatures of her High School enemies and nemeses. I was revealing their wickedness and pummeling them for their evil ways.

There is a precious look a woman has when she miraculously discovers she is going to have the intercourse she's wanted yet somehow not recognized that need for until that moment. Cameron had that look, straddling me, skirt hiked up to her waist and vulva riding my cock (two layers intervening). We were out of wounds.

"The rest are covered up," I explained in a predatory voice. Yes, Cameron was going to have sex and she had no control of events whatsoever and I hadn't even laid a hand on her yet.

"Where?" she was suddenly baffled.

"Pants," I kept it short and to the point. Cameron looked over her shoulder

She reluctantly started to dismount so she could get to them so I made my move. I grabbed her hips in mid-dismount and rotated her around to reverse-cowgirl. Cameron began tugging off my pants with my legs raised high. My stomach crunches kicked in and I leveraged my torso up as well. I deftly moved her skirt up and went straight to the ass massage.

Cameron's head shot around, eyes fearful. I had broken my word to not touch her without permission. Yes, I had lied to a girl...Now, I kissed her right on the lips, expertly delivered a delving French kiss and moved one hand to her right breast for an aggressive fondle. Cameron was really getting into it. Her nipples were petite but highly sensitive. Her ass was humping my cock like an over-eager sorority girl pole-dancing on Amateur Night.

On cue, Cameron broke free and flew off the bed.

"What – you...I thought we were going out?" she whined. She was horny as hell and didn't want to be held accountable at it.

"Why are you running away?" I reclined back, solely in my underwear now.

I was using my 'I'm disappointed in you' voice. Yes, I was 'guilting' a girl into having sex. Duh. I would never coerce a woman, or take one not in her right mind – that's using forces beyond her control. Guilt? Guilt has a foundation squarely in a woman's mind, just like humor, romance, common interests (feigned or not) and horniness. Girls can control guilt just like any other psychological trigger. It is called being shameless and I ought to know.

Remember guys, it cuts both ways. Don't think so? You've had a girlfriend three whole months to the point she's staying over a night or two a week. One night, after your (hopefully) second round, you both discover it is that time of the month. 'Babe (or whatever pet name she has saddled you with), can you run to the store and get me some tampons and pads?'

That, by the way, was not a question. She, for hygiene reasons, can't put her clothes on and go out herself. So, you go out to the Quick-Mart at 2 a.m. praying to God that none of your buddies are on a late night beer run and see you with your...stuff. You are not doing this for sex. She's not feeling 100% at the moment. Why are you? Guilt.

She was at your place, making your Baloney Pony happy and this happened. You could send her out to the store. Not only is she not the only woman out there, many women understand guys getting freaked out about menstrual products. No, you feel guilty and risk the ridicule of your peers because it is your fault and you are not a dick-wad.

And why did she ask you to do something that has nothing to do with you? Women are equally aware that guilt works, Baby. Back to our tale...

"I'm not running away," sounded empty coming out of her mouth. "You said...touching."

"I think you gave that option up when you crawled on top of me," I leered.

"I clearly want to be with you, Cameron. You have given every indication you want to be with me, so I ask you again, why are you suddenly running away?" I kept after her.

"I don't want to have sex...right now," again, she sounded weak.

"Whatever happens, I go back to New York in two days," I met her shaky gaze.

"You can set a time table if you like. The actuality of my life is relentless. I have things to get back to. If you are going to go then go. I'll head out alone tonight, get a few drinks, come back early and grab some shut-eye," I shrugged. I went searching for my pants. See, she wasn't some random fuck. I wasn't leaving to replace her – making her a failure.

I was hemming her in. I had the timeline. I had made my desires clear. There was no negotiation so while she appeared to have choices, she didn't and she knew it. For a girl who had spent so much effort working hard to not disappoint the main masculine figure in her life there was only one thing to do.

"I don't want you to think I ever do anything like this," she propped up her morals while stutter-stepping back to the bed. "I feel I have a connection with you." Ah...the 'I have a connection with you' excuse. It would have been so appropriate if she actually remembered me. I pulled her onto the bed, went through the obligatory trying to push me off then we were back to the kissing and humping.

Cameron turned out to be a 'use me' girl. That does NOT mean abuse, it means she gets off being a responder to her partner's sexual directions. Caress her cheek, jaw and throat and she'd cup my chin, or massage my chest. Cameron was smart and a quick-learner. Her problem was a lack of a sense of adventure and an aversion to taking the lead.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 20



With the phantom applause of a hundred other male 'losers' who went to Fractional North H.S., I penetrated the queen who had been beyond us all only four years ago. The erotic twist to all that was with every sense of triumph and pleasure, Cameron mimicked me. Certainly we were both having a memorable time. I had to touch, lick, knead, and fondle every inch of Cameron's body.

We both explored our nipple fetish, '69'-ed and engaged in some anal play – no penetration. I completed my first sojourn with the removal of the condom and the blowjob that had been the fantasy of countless hours in my home's upstairs bathroom. Cameron didn't just swallow – she savored my semen and looked like she wanted more.

Normally I cuddle beside my partner post-coitus. With Cameron, I lay on top of her at eye level. I put enough weight on her to let her feel pinned without real discomfort.

"I have a confession," I gave her a sweaty-faced grin.

"What?" she asked then gave me a peck on the lips.

"We went to school together – same grade and everything," I enlightened her. "We even talked once." Cameron didn't know what to make of that. "I'll put that in perspective though. Do you believe that if you do something you do your best? Do you believe in craftsmanship?"

"Cáel, you are scaring me," Cameron frowned.

"Fifteen seconds and you can go," I conveyed with as much calm as I could. "Answer my question."

"Okay...yes, I believe in doing your best. I believe in craftsmanship," Cameron played along.

"Your words – 'never in a million years'." I related and waited. First there was the uncertainty and fear of the odd course our relationship had taken. It took a few seconds because so few pieces of the puzzle fit.

"Cáel Nyilas...it was you...start of senior year...I had been," she muttered. Then came the real fear. "You must hate me."

"I thought about it," I said, "but that isn't really me. See, you helped create me. Truth be told, you were only the catalyst. I did all the work."

"A great many women helped. They were never a replacement for you. I was taught better than that by my first lover," I continued. "Still, I would be totally different if you hadn't casually annihilated my self-worth that September day." Pause. "Do you like the results?"

"You really don't hate me..." Cameron was coming around.

"It was high school. We all screw up in high school. According to a few studies, if you don't make a mess of high school, you are destined for failure," I related some real information.

"You are getting hard again," Cameron gasped back to being okay with things between us.

"Perhaps I should have warned you," I grinned wickedly. "I'm a sex addict."

"Hey, Sex Addict!" Pamela shouted into the room. "There are some people out here to see you."

"Good people, or bad people?" I shouted back.

"Worse," Pamela replied. "The kind of people that want something from you." That was vaguely unpromising. 

"Cameron, take a shower and we'll talk about dinner when you get out. I think I need to take care of this," I sighed. Off went Cameron to the shower and on went my robe. In the main room, with a variety of levels of sexual tension, were sixteen women I didn't know. The Hotel Burnham has very nice suites, but they are not ballrooms.

The room was pretty crowded, with not enough chairs and wall space getting sparse. They were all Havenstone women and I was willing to bet the average age was thirty-five; not my normal crowd. At least I knew why they were all there. Pamela suspected. Rachel and her team were clueless.

"Hi, I am known as Cáel Nyilas," I greeted them. "A short history lesson and things will make a great deal more sense, so please be patient." The crowd was not pleased. I was a male and to a woman, the ladies had repudiated the world of men. They were all 'Runners'. It was the presence of Rachel's group that was keeping them civil at this point.

"Twenty-five hundred years ago, as the Second Betrayal was ending, there was a small group of males who had proven themselves to the Amazon Host, taken into houses and their names were written on the Amazon Rolls," I started off. "Two of those males and three male children of one of the houses survived the massacre the female Amazons inflicted on their kin."

That bought me a moment. Slaughtering your own babies, even male babies, wasn't something they would shrug off.

"Well, if you know your Amazon politics, you know that the children of an Amazon who dies while in service of the Host becomes a member of the Host – so on and so on."

The implications were sinking in as was the nervousness.

"One of those men was a young warrior named Vranus of House Ishara. I am the sole surviving heir of Vranus. We are also here for the burial of my Father, who was murdered Sunday night. The next bit of Amazon politics. House Ishara was an extinct First House," I continued.

"Oh shit," was uttered from half-dozen lips as they moved to the next, obvious step.

"The succession to the Head of House for any House is elevation by your peers, accepted ritual combat and...the oldest surviving member of the House," I added.

"By the Seven Martial Goddess...don't you have to be female? I mean – We are Amazons!" one of the 'Runners' yelled in disbelief.

"Do you plan to add more males to your House?" one of the senior members growled.

"Two things – it should not bother you one way, or another, and it is not MY House. It is the House of my Ancestor, Ishara. If this is going to be a problem, you are in the wrong room," I met her hostile glare ember for ember. That one headed for the door.

"Wait," a fellow 'Runner' grabbed her arm.

"You can't be going along with this Marsha?" the departing Amazon snapped.

"I don't know this one, but I trust Buffy," Marsha countered.

"Ok ladies, so that we are clear," Pamela sighed.

"The next one of you to insult the Head of House Ishara, I am going to drag into the other room, kill you and cut you up into giblets for room service to take away," Pamela sounded positively disinterested.

"I am not afraid of you," the departing one glared.

"That would be a serious mistake," Rachel interjected quietly. Deep breath from me.

"Listen, this is a highly improbable incident. I am not asking anyone to embrace the society you have rejected. In fact, I admire you for the strength it took to transition. I also ask you to accept the fact that I DO NOT want to be here, doing this, with any of you," I made one last effort.

"Quite frankly, you man-haters scare me – being a man and all. You seem to think I have a choice in any of this. I don't. I am the heir of Vranus. I am the last known living descendant of the Amazon who chose the name Ishara for the sake of her house's unity," I stated. "I don't want to do this, but I'm not the kind of human being who runs away from my responsibilities."

"Okay...Cael of Ishara, why are we here?" Marsha said as she kept the other one from leaving.

"Sixty years ago, the Amazon Houses swore an oath to the women who joined their cause. They lied to you. They have not kept up their side of the bargain. They have refused virtually all of you entry into the status as true, full-blooded Amazons," I explained.

"And now you are going to rectify that...injustice?" the senior one kept mocking me.

"Fine – you and me – one last chance," I sighed. "Look around you. Who do you see? The prettiest, the most pliable, the most power-hungry? If you can point out one woman in this room that doesn't deserve to be a Full-Blooded Amazon, leave now."

"You didn't choose any of us," she responded.

"Exactly!" I shouted. "I didn't choose any of you to be in House Ishara. Buffy Ishara and Helena Ishara did. Why? Because I don't know any of you, or your sacrifices and worth to Havenstone. I gave that duty to the two – and only two – member of House Ishara who would know who was the most worthy to be in a First House."

"We are here to be inducted," one of the silent Amazons voiced with a dream-like quality.

"Yes. Barring being rejected by Ishara, you will be inducted at my Father's graveside tomorrow morning," I stated clearly.

"How many?" Senior questioned.

"This time – twenty," I answered. "I have no agenda and no set number of 'Runners' to be inducted into House Ishara. It doesn't work that way. I'll ask the senior members of our House to look for those they consider of being worthy as sisters. Some of you may never find someone suitable. Others may be more fortunate."

"Wait – you aren't going to select members for your own House?" a fourth member gasped.

"I repeat – I know jack and shit about Havenstone right now. I'm not qualified to find toilet paper for the Men's room, much less resurrect an Amazon House. You trusting me is not the issue. Me being able to trust you to keep our House in order until I have a daughter who comes of age is."

"Do you have any children yet?" Marsha inquired.

"No and I always use condoms," I replied. "The factor is that I have decided that House Ishara may speak on the Council, but cannot vote. Until my daughter – who will be raised by the lot of you and your sisters – reaches her majority, we are at a bit of a disadvantage because no Ishara – I'm sure no man at all – has ever voted on the Council and I'm not going to change that." 

"If you don't vote, what do you do?" the senior one asked.

"I test road-kill density versus traffic patterns," I replied seriously. Hush.

"Don't make me stab you," Pamela hissed at me.

"He is an intern for Executive Services at our New York offices," Rachel intervened.

"He has this bizarre habit of coming up with unique job descriptions for no reason any of us can ascertain," Rachel added.

"Ladies, I'm twenty-two, straight out of college and have less than a month's experience at Havenstone. What did you think I did?" I lightened the mood.

"Aren't you a director now?" the silent one spoke.

"If a Director gets a paycheck, I've been kept in the dark about that," I smiled. "I do get some benefits above and beyond being an intern. I get an hour of firearms training in the morning – at six a.m. I get knife-fighting at three. I get to shower with numerous gorgeous babes who regularly kick my ass...wait – I've been shot with an arrow and repeatedly stabbed too."

Another hush – waiting for the punchline.

"He's not joking about the last part," Rachel enlightened them. "Cáel gets physically mangled on a fairly regular basis. Speaking of which, Ishara, several packages arrived for you today. We've gone through them. Most...we have no idea what they are for."

"You did get an armored long jacket and four tomahawks with a harness," she saved the best for last. My eyes lit up and I took a step toward Rachel's suite. "Ishara, please behave." Another hush.

"Can we, if we are accepted by Ishara, talk to you that way?" the normally silent one inquired.

"Sure. Try not to do it too much in public, but in general you may assume you know more about a given subject, or task, than I do," I nodded.

"Now I understand Buffy's call," senior stopped trying to leave. "She made an obtuse statement about having to save a person from herself. As long as you...promise to listen to your senior members of the House, I can do this."

"Great – done deal – can I go play with my axes now?" I looked at Rachel. She tried to look dour and disappointed but I saw that smile she tried to squash. I got another half step to my axes when Pamela yanked me back.

"Cáel – shower – take care of business," she reminded me.

With all this sex, how was I going to have any fun? Off to the naked girl in the shower.

"What about children?" A different 'Runner' poised.

"Unbutton a button, or two, and smile," Pamela counseled. "That should do the trick. Cáel's not complicated."

"I mean...with other men?" she clarified.

"He's not the jealous type either. Knock yourself out," Pamela filled in for me nicely. The rest of the discussion was muffled by my entry into the shower. Cameron was halfway through her shampoo. Her calf and thigh caressing my thigh told me my intrusion was just fine. 

(Late Night Dancing and then Some)

"I'm still not sure about this," I said to Pamela as we stepped into the club. "When Rachel figures out I've slipped away, she's going to be furious."

"That's why you have your phone, my young padawan," Pamela assured me. The Latin rhythms filled the air. The Tango Club was Pamela's idea. My formal dance skills were subpar, to put it kindly.

"Padawan? I wouldn't have thunk it, Bwana," I grinned. "So, what was it like when the first talkies came out?"

"You know, you are almost funny when you try," Pamela patted my elbow.

"Really?" I played along.

"No. I was saying that out of pity for you," Pamela snickered. The cloak room attendant didn't know what to make of us. "She's my younger sister," I told the man. "I age well." I compiled his confusion by handing him my insanely heavy long coat. The weight damn near caused him to collapse against the wall. "It is my winter coat," I stated. "It is full of barometric pressure."

Pamela handed off her own frock without incident.

"You are a nervous wreck," Pamela prodded me. "That is why you are here – to unwind. If you go into tomorrow's gutter crawl as screwed up inside as you are now, you could start a war."

"Gotchya. I'll go find some women to kick my ass. That always works for me," I agreed.

The first two ladies I danced with did not kick my ass. They did politely help me polish my moves. Their 'I bet you are a quick learner' part had nothing to do with the dance floor. Life is a Big Meanie. I would have been perfectly okay with a few married/divorced dances and made my way home to a fitful night's sleep, but some chick had to run me and my partner down on the dance floor.

Rude? She not only didn't apologize, she didn't even acknowledged us being in the way at all. If she hadn't been dancing with the second hottest woman in the place, I'd have taken them to task then and there. Something about my insipid desire for a midnight three-way curtailed my anger. I mollified my partner, tossed some Spanish barbs their way and finished up.

Normally I'm this stupid and tonight was no exception to the rule. The dark haired, sultry Slavic chick took to her wicker-back chair like some sniper's perch. Her demur/bad girl Japanese companion had stepped away for some drinks. These two were definitely separate, but equal babes so a separated approach was best. My own wine glass about empty, I moved in.

Then those gateways to oblivion she called eyes registered my proximity. My inner marmoset was screaming at me to become one with the vegetation as the bird of prey's stare started skinning me alive. I registered her Japanese companion moving in with two glasses of what passed for Champagne in this place.

I was a meter away when I went 'full reverse thrusters' and began backing my ass out of there.

"What?" the sniper said in a cuttingly degrading voice. "Two women together and you assume we are lesbians?" Man; that exceeded Amazon nasty.

"Oh no," I shook my head and held my ground.

"Until you moved I thought you were a poorly dressed mannequin. Then your head swiveled and my Bitch-o-meter went off the charts," I explained. "I had just resolved to seek out some human company when you spoke and since I'm not a petulant prima donna like the person sitting before me, I chose to extend to you the common courtesy of a response."

"You are an ass, cloaked in a safe little cocoon you call life," she stood. "Does it amuse you to insult people in languages they might not understand?"

"Your ability to speak, or not speak, Spanish is not my concern. Comforting my dance partner was, so I slathered on your justly deserved vulgar descriptors." I smiled.

"What do you do for a living?" she grrred, not purred. That was a prelude to pain of some kind.

"Ugh," I sighed. "I do quality control for Jays Potato Chips. I pick out the bad chips." Remember now, I lie like a bastard with +10 skill modifier where emotional chicks are concerned.

"Are they going to miss you tomorrow when you don't show up for work?" Slavic Bad-Ass stroked my tie.

"Wow, that wasn't good gallows humor, or even a convincing threat," I scoffed. That pissed her off. Yay me!

"I want to dance," she twisted my tie, half-choking me.

"Oddly enough, I came here to get my ass kicked, so it looks like we are both going to get what we want," I rasped. That she found amusing. I seriously run into way TOO many psycho-chicks. It is like a gift – but the opposite.

I polished off my wine and as a spontaneous gesture to remind the Japanese Bad-Girl that I hadn't left her out, I tossed it to her. Having a glass in each hand promised to...she caught my glass between the other two glasses without looking. Holy Fuck!

"Try to keep up," Slavic Babe demanded. "You will fail. Try anyway."

The music burst forth and the dancing began. To make my footwork that much more difficult, Bird-of-Prey chick kept up a running banter.

"If you weren't circumcised, would you accept the procedure now?" she started. Whoa.

"Fuck no. I have plenty of ladies who would gladly castrate me. No way am I letting some people in masks hover over my privates with a blade," I replied.

"Have you ever been with a man, or a woman, who truthfully found your performance in bed at least acceptable?" I reposed.

"I don't know, or care," she mused. "I kill them all when I'm done." Weeee...

"Man-o-man, I bet E-Harmony has a backlog for you," I whistled.

"Wait, do you do E-Harmony, or Cougar.com?" I added to the misery.

"Has anyone ever found you amusing?" she sighed, somewhat bored.

"Before, or after I took my clothes off?" I countered.

"That answers that," she yawned.

"What happens if I toss you out that window?" I motioned with my eyes to the closest portal.

"Let's try and find out," she was clearly at the end of her toying with me, but then, "Interesting."

"Thanks," I shrugged.

"Not you," she snipped.

One of the Gospels of Quentin Tarantino: Put two, or more, lethal chicks in a room and they are going to fight. For my part, things became truly fun. See, I was taller than the Slavic Nightmare so she tried to steer me in the Tango. Nope, not happening. Even when she applied the Vulcan Death Pinkie Hold, I refused to surrender despite my searing agony.

The dance ended and I shook myself free. I'm sure only the surprise of the situation allowed me to make a clean break.

"Who are you?" Slavic Pain Pandora glared at me.

"None of your Goddamn business, Princess," I sneered. 

Was I picking a fight? Hell yeah, I was picking a fight. I certainly hadn't gotten any enjoyment out of that place so I was going for option two – getting my ass kicked. I didn't see Pamela. That was okay. I knew she'd mapped out every stupid move I could make and went for the least complicated. I prefer my pain served up by a short order cook, not a five star restaurant.

I got my coat out and tipped the poor guy a $20 for the back pain he'd be feeling tomorrow. I slipped it on then loosened my tomahawks. Last Place for Mother of the Year and her Japanese tagalong were right behind me. I felt my cosmic connection with my supernatural guardian and...I went straight into the street because I was too pissed to think of anything else.

Pain and Pain's Best Friend had followed me to the curb when Pamela spoke. She was behind them, leaning against the building.

"Let's call it a night, shall we?" she said with an amused lilt. Those two spun around. Apparently I didn't warrant monitoring.

"I don't know you," the Slavic Menace regarded Pamela, "and I think I should."

"You don't know me and it is better that way," Pamela smiled back, "for both of us."

"I am Selena and my companion is Miyako," Selena made introductions.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 20



"Don't know and don't care to know," Pamela stated.

"You are being needlessly rude," Selena got all threatening-like. They were spreading out.

"You were disrespectful to my friend. Since I have a grand total of one friend, I take it personally when he is mistreated by imperfect strangers," Pamela menaced right back. It was on now. Selena wasn't going to take the 'imperfect' lying down.

The click of my first two tomahawks being pulled out must have alerted those two to my status update to that of a 'threat'. Miyako flicked something my way. Being highly symbolic and rather ineffective, I had my axes crossed against my chest. My reflexes kicked in, my right handed axe dropped down and something heavy pinged off of it.

"Bitch," I snapped. "Did you just throw a railroad spike at me?"

"It is a throwing dart, you numbskull," Pamela lectured as she kicked a high-heeled shoe at Selena. They closed, Selena lashed out with a hand strike, missing and then something I had never conceived of happened. Pamela swung and missed. My bedrock beliefs were imperiled.

Then my Wonder Twin powers kicked in. My bet was Selena was Black Hand and that would make Miyako from one of the Ninja families. Pamela had picked a brawl for me with two members of the Nine Clans Secret Society. Pamela vaulted a nearby car. As Selena closed, my Amazon buddy ripped her dress, turning the strip into some sort of sash-weapon.

Miyako had decided that the abrupt application of force was the quickest way to deal with me and on she came. I didn't know ninjutsu, but I knew the principles. I learned three other things in quick succession. One – Miyako was a top notch jujutsu artist. Two – ninjas can pack an arsenal of little weapons inside a little black dress. Three – no one with super-killer skills appeared to know what to make of a tomahawk, much less two.

Miyako put me in hold after hold. She had use of her hands and feet. I countered that by having a sharp spike on the back of my axes, so I could threaten to slice into her hands, or feet, every time she tried to lock anything in. Then the toys came out. She threw another spike at me – and missed. She put it in a car door. I was about to show her what a thrown tomahawk could do when...

"Kid, those spikes have threads attached to them," Pamela cried out. She had knocked Selena's silenced .22 away and got knocked around for her troubles. Selena produced two wickedly curved daggers and Pamela showed her why fighting an unknown opponent isn't wise. Recall the sash? Pamela had wrapped up her little Amazon blade in one end.

Selena was discovering firsthand what a whip-blade could do. That scar across the back of Selena's hand was going to require a few Band Aids.

"You mean like a net?" I called back to Pamela.

"Exactly," Pamela became lost in her own battle.

Miyako was pinning me in too. Does NO ONE know what a tomahawk is anymore? Come on now – it is a tool. It's like a hammer, but with a blade where the head should be. Miyako was doing well until I smashed two of her spikes – out of the car doors and into the ground. She looked perplexed.

I had a quick chance to check out how Selena was doing against Pamela and I didn't like what I saw her leading up to. Why would someone attack using juggled, curved blades? Answer: They have pins in their hair they are going for. That seemed unfair. Pamela had her long, white hair worn ling, with the bangs tied back. I had a second so I threw a tomahawk at/to Pamela to even things up.

Or so I thought. In mid-tumble, Miyako cartwheeled over and plucked my weapon in flight out of the air with her ankles. Hell's Belles – who teaches that kind of shit? I whipped out my first back-up tomahawk, threw them both straight up with a good deal of force...then applauded.

Miyako acknowledged my honorable gesture by hurling my tomahawk back at me...with her feet. I couldn't let her Crouching Tiger defeat my Hidden Dragon, so I caught the axe centimeters from my face. For a split second, I wondered whose hand had save me. The slight pain of the haft having slapped my palm informed me that it was...me.

Me and my hand were going to have a stern talking to about it creating martial arts moves on its own without consulting the brain – after we let it fondle a breast, or five, for saving said cranium. Now I had one tomahawk in hand and two plummeting back at me. I hurled my overly adventurous axe in a high arch beyond Miyako's reach (hopefully) so that Pamela could retrieve it.

My Japanese – no, I was going to use the 'proper' and respectful Nipponese for a while, Playmate Bunny was back on me as my tomahawks fell into my grasps. My next thought was 'where was she hiding those thin black sticks?' Motherfucker, they weren't immediately lethal, but damn they stung.

Flailing around with my axes was a losing game. I didn't have a significant reach advantage and her weapons were lighter and faster. My answer was to punch her. Swinging my axes had done no good so I was using a boxing jab with the length of my axe handle going just a bit farther than she anticipated. I punched the steel axe head into her throat.

It was turnabout time. Now my axes were attacking in a series of figure-eight passes. She couldn't dodge them all. Miyako had to use her combined sticks and they weren't enough. I cut into her calf and she stumbled back. I took two quick steps back which confused my opponent. I compounded that by kneeling and placing my axes on the ground.

"Tend your wound," I relayed to her while catching my breath. Miyako was obviously waiting for a sniper to take her out, or something.

"Nimrod," Pamela shouted. "This is not a damn exhibition. She'll kill you." Miyako was thinking along the same lines.

"Not likely since she'd came a long way to see me," I chuckled.

"What do you mean?" Miyako studied me.

"Protocols," I took one last, deep breath. "You are from the Nine Clans, I'm with Havenstone, and you are in Chicago for my Father's funeral. Am I right?"

"No," Selena ground out. She'd taken a step back from her unfinished fight with Pamela. "We are here on our own business."

"Whatever," I shrugged. I picked up my axes, fixed them in my harness then approached Miyako. She regarded me quizzically.

"I have some bang-up medical supplies at my hotel. You are invited to tag along if you like. I owe you as I was the one to cut you, knowing this was an illegal brawl," I informed her.

"Because you knew who we were without us knowing who you were," she nodded. "Why did we fight then?"

"Tomorrow is going to be a horrible day for me and my mentor, the Supreme Chancellor Palpatine, knew I needed a good fight to clear my mind and find my center," I explained.

"Come Anakin, time to go back home," Pamela beckoned me over with the tomahawk I had tossed her. "I'm sure our snipers are tired of not shooting these two."

"So you didn't sneak me out?" I nudged Pamela.

"Of course not," Pamela chuckled. "Rachel would have killed me. Probably in an elevator drop, or something involving copious amounts of plastic."

"Why do I ever trust any of you people?" I snorted happily.

"I haven't a clue," Pamela nudged me back.



Life as a New Hire Ch. 21



This story plays fast and loose with Ancient History and Linguistics; be warned.

Birthed by stars, in immortal light, so why do we assume we pass into Darkness.

Editing magic performed by KJ24 and Shyqash, plus contributions by the regular gang of brigands and neer-do-wells.

*****

A maniac conducted the orchestra, while every section fought for dominance without a thought to the opera unfolding under its twittering cacophony. That is how it felt as I steeled myself for the service, but my musings were a fantasy. I had a swirling company of my twenty inductees, two Amazons, plus Rachel's detail and Esmeralda coordinating all the traffic.

Pamela was absent. Buffy was the one in charge, deciding who got how close and under what level of scrutiny. The presence of law enforcement was made obvious by our vigilance, with mutual hostility being declared. The government was catching up with how they'd been fucked over. They couldn't prove a thing yet, although they had missed an entire day trailing after me.

They also had new leadership. Pamela had expelled Theodora with the simple application of Conflict of Interest. Nicole and Pratt had joined me in my suite, so I was suitably armored when the Feds made their next run at me. I had stepped up in the world, so I was rewarded with a new attack plan.

Her name was Assistant Federal District Attorney Javiera Castello, and two seconds of eye contact made precisely transparent what a hurricane she was going to bring to my life. Sex? Oh yeah, she was already figuring what penitentiary to send me to so she could make monthly visits. An impressive dicking wasn't going to save me this time.

She was professional, polite and courteous concerning my mourning without being false. Theodora's strategy assumed I was the man who graduated from Bolingbrook a few months back. My history was clear and muddy enough to be real. I was what my documentation said I was...until Havenstone. 

Theodora had waved the flags and charged the barricades only to discover too late that my defenses weren't manned by a lone yahoo with a bow and arrow, but with mortars and machineguns and her troops had been scattered, her plans shredded. Javiera had my measure now. I was a Prince. Of what, she didn't know yet. 

She was going to find out. Not out of some fatalistic curiosity, but because that's where the bread crumbs led. Dad was what he appeared to be, that plot of land was relatively worthless and two groups of professional killers had fought and died dragging my father either away, or to safety. I work with some scary-smart ladies. 

"Ms. Castello, would you care to travel with me to the service?" I turned to her at the last moment. I was a clever puppy, good with women and I wasn't trying to be a politician. Javiera took my gesture for what it was - an olive branch. I was offering to be less of an obstructionist, and she was willing to forgo retribution for my earlier stunts.

Five minutes down the road in the stretch limo, I could see the question eating Javiera up inside. She was honoring my melancholy...I could almost hear Dad saying, 'Son, you have company' as a persistent reminder to his petulant teenage slacker that I was a member of the Human Equation.

"What do you want to ask me?" I gathered my civility to the fore. Nicole shifted so that we were making eye contact.

"Is there a limit to how many questions?" she started off with. I didn't say 'One and that was it'.

"I've been told it will take us thirty-two minutes to the cemetery," I looked at my watch.

"That gives us...twenty-six minutes," I offered.

"Why all the hostility?" led the charge.

"A variety of people consider my life to have some value. For a few it is personal. For most, they attach a more esoteric price tag on my existence," I replied.

"That is vague enough to be useless," she gently scolded me. Oh, I could see that both Javiera and Nicole were about to play Nutcracker with my heritage until it was the consistency of warm peanut butter.

"I am the member of not one, but two secret societies," I kept steady eye contact with her.

Yes...there was that look I was slowly becoming accustomed to; that one that conveyed 'what you said made no sense, so why aren't you lying to me?'

"Which ones?" Javiera rebounded quickly.

"Perhaps we should discuss this at a later time," Nicole reposed.

"Nicole," I patted her knee, "how would you feel if you got Javiera murdered?"

"That thought shouldn't even be..." she stated.

"Nicole, I'm worried enough about you. People know I like you, so they may not kill you for looking in the wrong trash bin," I explained. "She doesn't even have that rather tenuous screen."

"Was it one, or both secret societies that shot and killed your father?" Javier continued.

"Without a doubt it was an accident. The all-female group was simply scouting the location out as part of forming a contingency plan," I said. "The other group showed up to kidnap my father to interrogate him - I'm not going to tell you why."

"The first group identified themselves and the second group began shooting. In the process of grabbing my father, they shot him three times. In the process of taking him to one of their cars, the living lady engaged them in a final firefight. They abandoned my father and left."

"You seem to know a great deal about what happened," Javiera noted.

"I've seen the footage the first group took from their helmet cams," I told her.

"Is there any way I could see that?" she prodded.

"By no human means I can think of," I shrugged. "Feel free to ask that extremely venomous lady sitting next to you. Her name is Rachel," I made the introduction.

"She remains under the impression that killing people around me will somehow save me from myself," I added. "I not only trust her, I trust her with the lives of my daughters."

"You don't have any children we are aware of," Javiera wondered.

"Rachel knows what I mean," I gave a lopsided grin.

Rachel knew alright. I wasn't asking her to save me with that statement. I was asking her to save my future.

"What is with all the women? I'm a believer in gender equality. You seem to lack any male employees, period. Is this a permutation of a harem?" Javier opened another line of investigation.

Rachel and Buffy quickly snorted their amusement then returned to their not-so-subtle aggression. I was sure my chauffeur, Tiger Lily, was snickering it up too, beyond the glass. Sigh.

"That was uncalled for," I frowned at the Fed. "Five Google searches and you should know all about Havenstone's hiring practices. Ask what you want to ask. Don't try to trick me. I am definitely not in the mood."

"Why are you in charge - a male over Havenstone employees that certainly have more skill and experience at...just about everything?" Javiera came clean.

"Put on your hip-waders," I groaned. "This is going to suck." I waited until I had her undivided attention.

"A long time ago, I killed a group of really bad people," I grunted. I could see that she wasn't buying it despite her interrogation senses saying I was being truthful. "When I say a long time ago, I mean about 2500 years ago." Sigh. "Before you start tossing Thorazine at me, all you need to accept is that every one of those women around me believes that to be true."

"So this is a cult?" Javiera inquired bravely.

"Put it this way. I'm sure you practice a martial art of some kind. You probably have a chromatic belt that you are rather proud of. It will not help you. These women are professional killers. I'm pretty sure there are a dozen unidentified corpses that could be attributed to these two."

I already knew that Buffy killed some guys. Rachel? She was a team leader, so I was willing to have faith in her ability to remorselessly end another person's life. Javiera must have volunteered for my personal fiasco.

"Are you being held against your will?" she looked so vigilant and intent. "I can get you out."

"No," a dry chuckle. "I'm...not good - getting by. There is no way in Hell I'm leaving Havenstone. I can hardly kill all the people responsible for my father's death if I did that."

"If you seek personal vengeance, I will be forced to bring every legal power to bear to stop you," she felt bound to threaten me.

"Don't stop being you on my account, Ms. Castello," I finally managed a smile. It was sincere and Javiera knew it.

"Who? Maybe I can catch them before you do?" she offered me an escape clause.

"You will know it when you see it," I took a deep breath.

"Do not try anything at the funeral," she warned me. "Law enforcement will be all over the place." She really wanted to fuck me in prison. I knew those things.

"I'm not going to kill them there," I assured her. "They will be the ones running for their lives though."

"How is that going to work?" Nicole finally broke my silence.

"I have 27 ladies willing to kill on my command," I exaggerated. "When I tell those men I know they were responsible and that they should run for their lives, they are going to run for their lousy stinking lives."

"But you are not going to give the order to have them killed," Javiera stated. She was getting my measure now.

"No, but they don't know that and being horrible human beings, they will assume that I will have them murdered over my father's grave," I turned positively wolfish. 

"They will run and they will keep running because of you and yours, Javiera. They won't have guns because they don't want to be arrested," I finished.

"Why are they afraid to be arrested?" Javiera was putting the puzzle together. That was our deal after all.

"I can have repeated, heavenly sex on a train with a nun," I confessed. "I'm pretty sure I can arrange to have a scumbag killed in prison."

"I think we can both agree my client is under a great deal of stress at this time," Nicole intervened.

"I think we can agree your client is not Al Capone, much less Osama bin Laden," Javiera allowed. "I still think he is exceedingly dangerous."

"Dangerous? Dangerous is dating in this town," I groaned. "Went out late last night to a dance club, met two sweet girls visiting the Windy City, stepped outside and they tried to kill me."

"Do these two count as 'public'?" Buffy snarled. She meant Javiera and Nicole. Pratt was in another car and the only others with us were Rachel and me. This was going to hurt.

"No," I sighed. WHAM! The Charlie Horse from Hell!

"That's why you have bodyguards, you jerk," Buffy nearly cried.

"Ah...we were with him," Rachel tapped Buffy's upper arm.

"Oh." Long pause. "I...I apologize," Buffy said sheepishly. "I had no idea you were getting smarter." That was probably the best apology I was going to get. It was still my fault.

"You do it out of love, Buffy," I rubbed my arm. Buffy gave me a heartbreaking smile.

"Was that domestic violence, or assault?" Javiera snarled. "Neither one is allowable under Illinois law."

"It is a Human Resources Team-building tool," I lied. "In some places it is called Obedience Training, or Negative Reinforcement."

"I have never seen another human being take a beating like Cáel can," Rachel complimented me.

"He is also incredible in the bed room," Buffy added on. Javier didn't know what to make of the menagerie of 'not-normal' women who hung around me. She locked eyes with Buffy.

"I mean REALLY fantastic," Buffy licked her lips. Nicole nodded in agreement. 

"I can't use any of this," Javiera muttered after several minute of silence. "It is all a type of shared delusion...with fourteen dead bodies attached to it."

"Ah, the guy with both femoral arteries shot out made it? Whoa, we've got some top notch surgeons in this city," I nodded.

"Yes. As opposed to those two men who had their heads shot off," Javiera added bitterly. Reminding her that poor Horace of the Burnham PD had done the deeds was pointless.

"Who died?" I attempted some reciprocity from Javiera. She'd read through every public aspect of my life and had talked to me for less than ten minutes. She excelled at her craft - punishing lawbreakers. 

"I conclude you know the name of the three dead women and the one living one," she began, "because we haven't a clue who they really are. Their cover identities aren't perfect. We simply can't get anything about them behind the fallacy of their existence." She waited.

"If you can help us put the wounded woman in some sort of shared protective custody, I can probably 'suggest' that she be more cooperative," I counter-offered. Rachel nodded.

"The eight other bodies at the house..." Javiera shook her head. "Four were dead and by that I mean reported dead from four to nine years ago. The rest - Hell, they were all twisted fucking savages. Every one of them had Interpol warrants out for them, for questioning. No accusations seemed to stick to them: misplaced evidence, dead witnesses and falsified death certificates."

"Does this mean anything to you?" Javiera paused to get some more information.

"Yes. Reference the men running for their lives," I nodded.

"Cáel?" Rachel cautioned me. "This is not something you can rush into."

"Actually, it was you who clued me in, Rachel," I looked at her.

"Given an opportunity to have only one gun of a given type, would you choose one you knew intimately, or a totally random one?" was my rhetorical question. Professionals trained with a large variety of weapons, yet every Amazon I had met had a preferred weapon; one that if they could have it with them, they would.

"The Zastava M2," Rachel nodded.

"It is not used in too many places and only Peru in this hemisphere. Someone really loved that gun - enough to bring it from whatever killing field where he was currently employed to my home," I said. "Since the other likely culprit passed on a chance to kill me last night, I am sure enough to pick a fight."

(Holy Cross)

It had to be odd in so many ways for the people who knew Dad and, to a lesser extent, me. They gathered by the graveside. It wasn't much. Dad had been cremated as had Mom. They had these small granite markers - no headstones for them. They had been so much in love. All they wanted is to be laid to rest, side by side. Mom had insisted on cremation. I thought I knew why, but it had done no good.

The true oddity was obvious. The islet of normalcy was the small funerary party with me. My Aunt - my Father's Sister - was here and somewhat in shock. She and Dad hadn't been close...so much unsaid. When my Grandparents died, Dad was only nineteen and Stella was sixteen. Stella's lifelong friend had moved to Maryland a few months previously.

Stella reached out to her friend, her friend's parents talked to Dad and Stella went to off to be a mariner. Seeing her occasionally as I was growing up was the extent of our relationship. The priest did his thing. I wondered what Christ thought of this mystic fur ball that was the amalgam of my life. My hope was that he was quietly urging me to do the right thing.

The Padre finished, the co-workers and neighbors came by to give their condolences and then ran the gauntlet. The gauntlet? Yes, the herd of Amazons, O'Shea kin and four other clumps of people who I didn't know, yet undoubtedly would soon. Selena and Miyako were present along with a third female who looked luscious in a burqa-shaped covering and a diaphanous veil. Javiera, Pratt and Nicole were somewhat out of place with their lack of arrogant lethality.

A limo driver came to take Stella away.

"I have some issues to deal with, Aunt Stella," I comforted her. "Vér a vér." It had been ages since she'd heard Hungarian so she wasn't sure what I meant, but she knew it was bad. One of my O'Shea aunts was coming my way until the menace of the closing Amazons halted her.

The others had no clue what they were about to behold. I doubt outsiders had ever been privileged to witness anything like it. This was a declaration; it was my mission statement. Ishara did not hide. I took off my coat, folded it, placed it on the damp grass then knelt on it. Buffy stepped up with the bowl of incense and followed my 'coat to keep your knees clean' stunt, sitting perpendicular on my right.

Helena followed suit on my left, placing a shroud over my head and leaned over the bowl. Gamble number one: the incense lit up instantly. Gamble number two: it really did burn my eyes - no more Desiree slapping me around. I was sure she'd be heartbroken. Gamble number three: while using my nifty little Amazon blade to gather my tears, I managed not to cut myself.

The inductees were much more impressed when they realized what I was doing under my head covering. The next step had me pulling back the shroud, standing up, and striding over the burning bowl of incense. Helena called out the first name. The lady didn't need any prodding. The Amazon walked over to my coat and knelt.

Helena wrote down her name and handed her the slip of paper. My Keeper motioned to the bowl. The first applicant placed her named slip of paper on the embers. The simple message flashed up and was consumed. That was unlooked for. I declared her old self dead. With my tears, I opened her eyes to our ancestral history and with blood, I brought her into our future.

She had entered House Ishara. She wasn't the only one crying either. What Rachel and her team thought was unknown to me. They were being hyper-vigilant. Esmeralda kept stealing glances our way. Things went along with joyous solemnity until the fourteenth woman, Alicia, knelt before me. Helena handed the paper over, the Amazon dropped it on the incense and nothing happened.

I was about to move on to the next part of the ritual when I caught sight of that. Buffy, Helena and the lady were all staring at the offending bit of tinder. I bent over and, with my index finger, pushed it into the embers. Nothing - no heat, or fiery consumption. I put some spit on my finger and pushed again. This time it burned me. The paper was fine. Damn it...

'Come on Ishara!' I screamed mentally. 'Can't I have a simple bit of theater without you mangling someone's dreams?' There was no supernatural scolding, or retort.

"Alicia, Ishara believes you have not yet finished your walk outside our House," I consoled the woman - Alicia Holt. As she stood up, faced gripped with disbelief, Buffy rose and took her away.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Alicia shoot me a poisonous look. Buffy had anticipated this and was making sure the woman didn't make a scene. The last six women were even more nervous than the previous thirteen. Thankfully, Ishara was accepting of the remainder and we all transited to the group celebratory hug.

Act one has passed safely, Act two had an unexpected bump and here came round three. The 'dignitaries' started swooping in. Outside of the O'Shea's, none of the guests wanted to have another group behind them, or hemming in them. Two of the groups held back and since one was composed entirely of Asians, I was betting the other group was the Egyptian Rite.

One of my now four aunts came forward. My small crowd of Isharans gave her barely enough room to approach the grave. She placed a green rose upon my Mother's small marble marker. I wondered what my Mother would have thought of her sisters finally finding her...green rose? Who made green...probably the same sick son of a bitch who made female clones of himself?

The other three followed suit, placing the roses in a radiating sunburst on the small piece of marble. Through the wall of Illuminati security came...the Missing Link. Oh My God. I had heard of V-chested males, but this was insane. I swear his upper arms were as big as my thighs. The problem was the hips and legs of the body didn't match-up to the torso, arms, neck (or lack thereof) and shoulders.

The upper, steroid-addicted half belonged to a two meter tall giant. The lower half belonged to, maybe, a subpar man of a meter and a half This monster didn't have a receding hairline (actually, he did); he had a receding forehead. In homo-sapiens, if you roll a marble off their heads, it drops and hits the eyebrows. On this guy, it was a gentle ski-slope all the way down.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 21



"This is your Uncle Carrig," Brianna - I thought it was Brianna - made the introductions. I dialed up my Irish. Carrig meant...meant...'rock'. Not 'the Rock' as in Dwayne Johnson. No, it meant 'rock' as in 'lump'. I had an Uncle Lumpy. How the fuck was I going to explain this at the next high school reunion?

The answer was obvious. I'd parade out my four lava-stoked volcanic aunt-hotties and no one would be able to see old Uncle Lumpy over their sexual radiance. Perhaps being created in the form of a disfigured Neanderthal made Lumpy furious with the world. That might be why he wanted Grandpa to stay dead. Maybe...oh hell, Lumpy had serious family issues, as in he wanted to hump my aunts who only wanted to hump me. 

"Hello Uncle Carrig," I started out. "Thank you for..."

"Shut up," he sneered. "I came here to see your whore of a mother one last time, not listen to your prattle."

"Carrig, don't," Fiona intervened. "He is family."

He took a deep breath.

"I know why all of you want him in the Family," he snarled at his sisters.

"Behave, or leave," I relayed in a far calmer voice than I felt.

"I'll leave when I'm good and ready," Carrig turned his hate back on me.

He put a finger to his nose and cleared his sinuses. The resulting sputum he launched at my Mother's tiny rock reminder was dead-on the money, gooey, white and full of phlegm. I looked at that defilement. This red-hot poker of rage seared through my mind. Instead, I laughed. It started as a stuttered utterance but grew and grew into a rich, resounding conquest of death and despair.

"Wow, Unc...that was kind of pathetic," I chuckled. "It is impossible to imagine you ever breathed the same air, much less hold any genetic resemblance, to the greatest criminal mastermind of the past millennia. Seriously, spitting on a piece of stone was the most your orangutan-like, sloped-headed pea brain could come up with?" 

"After that (cough) brilliant bit of diplomacy, he's probably glad he's still dead and didn't have to witness your infantile blunder," I added.

He was getting pissed; torn between his desires to pummel me, rip me to shreds, or storm off like a raging King Kong.

"You know, when they killed Grandpa, they told me he made a noise like a stuck pig," I mirthfully met his hateful glare. "For a moment, they thought they'd killed the wrong man."

"They suspected you and Granddad were in the next chamber, him ramming you up your sissy-ass for the umpteenth time because you are nothing but a ball-less wonder of a cast-off eunuch," I kept taunting him. 

"Then they recalled that you always squealed like a piglet, not a full grown boar, so they completed their mission and left," I refused to flinch before his vile hatred.

"You think you are funny?" he leaned in and hissed.

"I think you need a breath mint - and I am hilarious," I grinned. "I also think I'm the son Granddad always wanted, not you." That was me being mean - really mean.

"We are not done," his eyes narrowed.

"Take your pulse," I mocked him. "When it stops, we are finished. Until then, brush, use mouthwash and floss between meals. Your halitosis is truly offensive and worse, I think you are aware of it, yet still you refuse to respect other people's personal boundaries."

"We should go brother," Deidre beckoned. 

She couldn't hide her amusement at his discomfort and humiliation. Uncle Carrig pivoted and back-handed her. Deidre went flying, but my idiot kinsman didn't have long to savor his win. I hit him with two lightning blows.

My first thought was that I had dislocated a few of my fingers from hitting his jaw. Wasn't there a Bond villain like that? Carrig turned on me, a feral fury brimming just beneath the surface.

"That's a breach, you cocky, snot-nosed punk," he sneered. Mass carnage was in the offing.

"You remain painfully ignorant, Uncle Carrig," I took a half-step back.

"Take your punishment now, or later," he coughed. "It makes no difference to me."

"First off, Carrig, timing should be a poignant concern. Second, you have only now expended a great deal of your meager brain power convincing everyone here we are related - kin - O'Shea's," I explained. "Also, can I have my knife back?"

"Knife?" he blinked suspiciously.

"Yeah, the knife I left in your chest," I pointed. I said I hit him twice. Uncle Lumpy looked down and, sure enough, my handy little 10 cm blade was between his second and third rib on the right side. I hadn't wanted to kill him.

I had wanted to hurt him and apparently failed at that...while sticking a blade almost up to the handle (Amazon personal blades have no hilt) into him...

"What...how?" Lumpy was slowly clueing in that he might be in some trouble.

"Brother," Brianna stepped up - shooting me a sultry, 'bend me over the closest headstone and bang me like your Goth prom date' look.

I actually didn't go to my prom, Goth chicks are fun and Brianna didn't have panties on. Trust me; I have ESP concerning such things. Of more immediate concern...

"Carrig, don't pull out the knife," she placed herself between us, facing him. "You will bleed all over the place."

"I'm about to ram it down his ass through his throat," he snarled, clearly educationally challenged. I'd left the blade there for that very reason - not have him fountain blood all over the gravesite.

"How long is the blade?" Brianna asked me. She already knew the answer.

"10 cm," I was polite, "as is the knife every other Amazon carries."

"Reach around and pull out the blade when I tell you," Brianna requested. "I will keep pressure on the wound." I had serious doubts she had an MD associated with her name which meant she knew something I didn't. I also had a more pressing conundrum. Per instructions, I was about to be pressing against Brianna's backside with the added benefit of a free hand. 

"So, do you want me to pat them, or give them a good rub?" I whispered to Brianna. I'd let he decide what treatment her ass was about to receive. "I figure if I reach around and massage your breasts, Carrig will lose it."

"Cáel, take a firm hold. Be doubly sure you are ready before we begin," Brianna instructed.

It wasn't the Di Vinci Code, but Carrig wasn't about to conquer a Denny's Kid's Menu (it has little games on it) anytime soon either. Brianna wanted double penetration and, in the name of renewing family relations and my inability to resist any available woman for more than a few days, I complied. Then the horror came crashing in - I hadn't had sex all day and it was almost 10 am.

"Don't move, Uncle," I cautioned him. I used those words to conceal the sound of Brianna's skirt zipper going down. I used my other hand to gingerly grab my weapon - the knife - jeesh. Brianna spread her legs wider so that the tension kept her apparel from slipping down. My free hand went inside and got to work.

Fortunately, Brianna's hands pressing above and below the wound distracted Carrig from her cute, precious whimpering noises. I must be a total dick. I was stroking my aunt/clone mother's labia with two fingers and teasing her bunghole with my thumb while pulling a knife from my uncle's chest. What is wrong with me? 

For that matter, Ishara could stymie the ambitions of some poor 'Runner', yet decided her prime minion doing this was a good thing? I work for some fucked up people; dead and alive.

"Okay, I'm about to do it," I warned them both. Brianna was kind enough to roll her hips forward and ass up for more direct access.

The blade came out, two fingers thrust into her vagina, Carrig grunted more in annoyance than any physical distraction and Brianna gasped with piteous need. Before Carrig could start to connect A to B to C, I withdrew my fingers and zipped Brianna up. As I started to withdraw, Brianna acted like my loins were velcroed to her posterior.

"Bad Girl," I quietly gave her a risqué reproach. She let me go. Then it hit me like a meteor - I had caused Brianna to orgasm, and hard, with one touch. In fact, she was still roughly riding through it. The mental discipline needed to mask her arousal was impressive. She had no control over her aromatic qualities, Lumpy's nostrils were working fine and his hateful, beady rodent-like eyes latched back on me.

"I'm going to kill you," he screamed. Carrig definitely wanted to screw his sisters and they had certainly been denying him. I was curious how that had been accomplished. As he shoved Brianna aside, my suspicion about the seriousness of my wound to his chest was confirmed. I hadn't punched through his heavy corded muscle tissue...with a 10 cm blade. Fuck a duck.

If Uncle Carrig got those horrifically huge paws of his on me, I'd be paper-mâché in a hurricane - turned into veal; the very tenderized kind. That wasn't going to happen because of a little factor called crowd density. Most notably, he was in the midst of a passel of Amazons invested in my well-being. A sliver of the O'Shea family dynamic took hold. 

As usual, it sucked to be me. The four O'Shea ladies rallied around Carrig, cautiously pulled him back then ushered him into the steely embrace of their security. Why did that mean it sucked to be me? In a momentary visual exchange, I understood what Lumpy instinctually sensed when he showed up today. His reign as the place-holder for me was coming to an end. 

The second my Aunts recruited me over to their side, he was a goner. Obviously they had all the real intellect on that side of the clan. Poor Lumpy merely stomped around and acted like the socially maladjusted homicidal maniac he was. Once the journey to Grandpa's house began, he would cease to have any value whatsoever. Behind his animalistic, dull eyes, we shared that. 

Tragically, but most likely by design, Carrig couldn't develop a new set of skills to adapt to the situation. The best example I could come up with was...

Imagine the last of the super-large amphibious predators confronting the first of the true dinosaur apex carnivores. Somewhere in that tiny amphibian brain, it knew it was fucked. 

Evolution simply hadn't left it an 'out'. It couldn't get bigger, faster, or more ferocious. It had maxxed out those traits for that model. Nope, it was toast and nothing could save it. As I processed that, the rest of that train of thought came tumbling down. Lumpy was a dead man. He'd hit one of his sisters in front of me which was precisely what they wanted. 

Deidre hadn't come by my place on Monday to warn me that Uncle Blockhead was trying to kill me. She was prepping me for the knowledge that they had killed Lumpy - to save me. Those incestuous nightmares had trotted Uncle Carrig out like a Barnum & Bailey Sasquatch, to loud acclaim and fanfare. 

Before I could do some in depth research/check to see if this was the 'real' Sasquatch, he would vanish aka be killed to save me. Well played ladies. They should have taken into account I worked for Katrina Love. Katrina undoubtedly played three-dimensional chess on-line so she could lure out the true Vulcans trapped on Earth. 

My aunts' straw man wasn't going to cut it. Back to the reality that included my father never again enjoying my meandering thoughts over dinner. Back to the other curious 'real' players as they moved in, having soaked up my ceremony and our O'Shea family struggle. If there as a benefit in that misadventure, it was the look on the faces of the two most distant groups.

The ambassadors had on their poker faces. I was two decades away from having a chance of deciphering them. Foolish mortals, both groups had brought women with them though. That was not to imply that women can't keep secrets - they are among the experts. It wasn't secrets they were defending though - it was the interaction between Brianna and me that opened them up.

If you are a woman and you see a man bring a different woman to orgasm with his fingers in under ten seconds and you are NOT intrigued, you have been sexually neutered. Even if you are a lesbian, you want your lover to pick up that technique. From the level of interest coming my way, I could tell what their bosses/associates really thought of me.

The lady who was already thinking how to pull me aside at the reception was also projecting that I had piqued her co-workers, despite their feigned disinterest. The one who was plotting out how to disguise herself as a maid, so she could hide in my bathroom closet until I came in for a shower this evening. Then the feigned interrogation/instructional demonstration could begin, which told me they had chosen to not leave Chicago today despite previous travel plans.

The three assholes won the social dare contest and approached me next. They were cool, somewhat disdainful and not a party to the murderous program that led us here today. They were still Condotteiri, thus my enemies and slayers of my Dad.

"Mr. Nyilas," a smooth talking Canadian male began, "I wish to pass on the condolences of..."

"I know it was you," I broke in. The Canadian - Ottawa, I thought - stopped talking, allowing me to vent. "You killed my father, you fucks. Now here is your 'I got drunk and stuck my cock in a meat grinder only to discover some other moron plugged it in' bullet to the brain. I am not only Cáel Nyilas, I am Cáel Ishara and Cáel, grandson of Cáel O'Shea," I narrowed my vision to menacing slits. 

"I will let you figure out which Goddess is Ishara as well as the convoluted genetics that has resurrected male Amazons. I want you to know that my father was the Head of House Ishara. You killed a Factor of the Illuminati, the 'Voice' of one of the Nine Clans, one of your own Generals, a Grand Master of the Egyptian Rite, a Ba Wang of the 7 Pillars, or a Chosen Son or Daughter, of Earth & Sky

"That's right," I let the fear sink in. "This goes beyond a breach, Dumbass. You BROKE the Truce and have ended the Protocols by killing an Amazon leader. I'm sure claims of ignorance by your Generals will be taken for the empty blathering they are. It is time for your blood to soak the sacred soil of my father's place of entombment."

Having buried him and his two cohorts in a rockslide of truth, my final bluff passed unrevealed for the empty threat it was. I could see by the looks in their eyes. Amazons didn't care about law enforcement. They would kill those three, vanish into the surrounds then slink back to their secret compounds. It was how the Condotteiri thought Amazon's worked.

"Or," I grumbled, "Are you going to make me and my sisters hunt you down and work for it. Killing you with our knives is going to be..." I was saying when their retreat began. I was going to say 'messy'. Those three took a half-dozen steps back then ran for it. Now the stage was fully set.

The three members of the Nine Clans came next. I took a totally different tone. Selena stepped up to speak, bowing as she started to speak.

"We wish..." she started. There was a lot of interrupting going on today.

"Please do not bow to me," I requested softly. 

"We have fought and it seems inappropriate to me that, without there being a martial decision, we cannot be sure who should be more respectful to whom," I suggested. Selena quickly switched gears. She and her two female companions were now openly staring at me.

"My Sith Lady is most likely preparing for trouble at my most vulnerable point," I told Selena.

"I'm much more trouble than I first appear," I added. A hiccup in the conversation took place.

"You are the male Head of an Amazon House...how?" Selena questioned.

"My father and the fathers before him carried the genes of the original Ishara. When Her daughters died out, the legacy fell to me," I explained.

Really smart girls - really, really smart girls.

"You do not have any daughters, so your first born daughter will be the next Head of your House," the Hashashin noted quickly. "Of any line?" Ah, the siren call of 'please have unprotected sex with me, Mr. Studmuffin. Not only will I walk bow-legged for a week afterwards, I'll have a political tool to use for a lifetime.'

"Yes, that is true. Please understand, unless you can catch a thrown tomahawk with your feet, I can't say you are at the top of the list," I sighed. "Speaking of the acrobat of my dreams, how are you doing Miyako?" I knocked away at the barrier between our respective groups. I could hardly be considered an Amazon if I wasn't stacking the odds against the Condotteiri, now could I?

On came that child-like Nipponese girl's smile that made me want to double-check her ID for proof of age.

"It is recovering nicely. Thank you, Ishara-sama," she smiled warmly.

"May I see?" I inquired. 

Miyako nodded so I went down until I was balanced on the balls of my feet. She deftly slipped out of one of her shoe, placed her foot on my knee then began rolling up the pants leg until the bandaged was revealed. In the past few hours my medical knowledge had not increased one iota. I was pretty sure that Miyako knew what this doctor's visit was really all about.

I gently massaged her leg from ankle to knee, examining it for flaws and weaknesses. I received some manna from Heaven when I stumbled upon a muscle spasm in her foot arch. I worked it out in under thirty seconds and she gave me a musical murmur of relief when I was done. I put her shoe back on and rolled down her trouser leg.

"I would still like you to see our medic if you could spare the half-hour," I offered as I stood.

"If it would ease any misconceptions about our first encounter, I will do it," Miyako changed her mind from last night. My next neural misfire was 'Did I pack enough condoms to do all these girls I've been promising to fuck since I got here?'

"Estere Abed," the thinly-veiled applicant to be the mother of my first child introduced herself. I was at my father's funeral, I'd been hit with the realization that my incestuous aunts are going to emasculate the uncle I'd just met before they kill him, and I was talking to a woman with skin the color of well-seasoned Oak, eyes as dark as expresso-roasted coffee beans (so deeply brown they were almost black), a pale turquoise, virtually transparent pretend-burqa, with inner, skimpy clothing bits keeping her barely street-legal and visualizing what our daughter would look like. 

"I am of Kurdish extraction," she lowered her head minutely. Ding-ding-ding-ding-ding! Not only was a-bed something I was seriously considering with this woman, Estere was a Kurdish name of Old Persian extraction. It meant Ishtar...who was the advanced incarnation of Ishara. Bitch - aimed up at my Matron Goddess and Ancestral Mother turned Dominatrixes of my soul.

"How...how mystically convergent that is," I grumbled. "I apologize. Me and my matron Ball-buster are exchanging psychic barbs at the moment. Had you somehow predicted this would have happened, I would be happier. With my luck though, this is accidental from the perspective of the mortal plane, thus a point of incredible annoyance to me right now."

"Do you often talk to your ancestors?" Estere inquired politely.

"Only after I've done something bad," I groaned. "Usually my Goddess is short on instructions yet always ready with 'I told you so'."

"How can she chastise you for doing wrong if she fails to give you direction?" Estere was so sincere.

I had to keep in mind she was a professional librarian with the nasty habit of misfiling people's lives.

"I can tell you don't deal with the Spirit World much," I gave a sad grin. "The last time she gave me a prod, I was staring down a life sentence in a dog cage - after I was condemned, not before."

"You escaped," she reminded me with a sparkle. I gave a harsh laugh.

"No - no, I didn't," I said. "I'll prove it." I lashed out at Estere. She turned my strike aside and was about to do something I assumed would be unfortunate for me when she restrained herself. "See, Estere, you've been doing this most of your life. I'm a college kid who had a good fortune to meet and be guided by a series of stellar women."




Life as a New Hire Ch. 21



She nodded. She didn't understand yet she wanted to remain sympathetic.

"I'm playing catch up in an incredibly lethal chess match," I continued. "My advantage is I'm not fuck-nuts crazy like the rest of you people. I don't mean to insult you. I simply want to make it clear how I feel. All the societies are spiritually malformed blights on reality; evil, twisted and predatory."

"But you like us," she observed.

"I'm going to Hell," I risked much by brushing her nose with my finger from brow to the edge of the veil. "I might as well enjoy the journey." Since I returned with all the fingers I started out with, I could tell she appreciated my caress. 

Our other guests were getting restless, so I had to end our interaction there. A lone man approached. He looked to be a Turkish/Mongolian mixture and he was uncomfortable with the way the situation had developed. I doubt I had offended him. It was much more the scope of this informal meeting had gone way above his pay grade.

As he was from the Earth & Sky, the Amazons' hostility simmered. I countered that by being as civil as possible. The emissary, Iskender, gave his condolences, I thanked him for his respect and entered into a small conversation. When he figured out who the Magyar were, he smiled. Iskender was a Kyrgyz, a Turkish people from Central Asia, and we bonded over our male progenitors having saddled up on our nomad ponies, making Eurasia tremble.

I was putting forth the effort to make him feel welcome. That was the message for him to take home. Not all the Amazons were going to have their knee-jerk reaction to the E&S's goal. Next came the Seven Pillars, mainly because the Egyptians seemed ready to wait for the grass to devour them before coming my way. Now I had to pillage the vaults of my crafty interpersonal skills to do this correctly.

Two men, endowed with as much racial supremacy as Ursula, if not more, introduced themselves. Slight bowing, polite English and the proper, rehearsed words flowed from their mouths. They didn't look down on me; the reason being that behind their perfect civility, they considered me and mine to be inconsequential. The nice female of an indeterminate South Asian lineage had that haunted look of someone made to do horrible things just to survive.

A flash of the macabre dumped a memory of her strangling homeless people in some back alleys with barbed wire - so it would hurt them both - training, Seven Pillars style.

"Thank you for paying your respects at my father's grave," I started. They hadn't, btw. "I only ask for two things, please," I added humbly.

"May I see her palms for a moment?" I asked the man. The woman was clearly a servant - some sort of Palace Guard/Fuck Slave. The leader nodded. The girl was never consulted. Her hands came forward and they rolled so that I saw the scars on her palm - fuck you, Ishara. I don't want to care about her. My day planner was more than full with anguish as it was. No answer.

"I appreciate it," I smiled. I waited, keeping eye contact.

"Was there something else?" the leader finally gave in.

"Oh yes," I smiled and nodded. "Don't get in our way. Behave, stay put on that rotting, rubble pile of a decadent and faded civilization you call Heaven and let us do what needs to be done."

"Is that clear enough, or do I need to send you both home with your irradiated testicles in jars?" I kept politely smiling and nodding. I was threatening to make them eunuchs with the bonus of having their precious genetics rendered useless. The girl was giving off minute reactive tremors. That was okay. I had been anything, but quiet. Twenty Amazons were ready and willing to make my threat a reality.

I wasn't sure how they would break into Fermi Labs for the radiological material, but their resourcefulness never failed to amaze me. The two guys from the Seven Pillars were standing there, not sure what to do next. I had insulted and threatened them - emissaries. Didn't they realize Amazons had been killing poor bastards entreating them for peace for several millennia?

"Beat it," I snapped with authority. "I'm done with you. Take my words back to your masters and pray they excuse your gutless reaction. Don't let the airport hit you in the ass." Ugly American? I was the God Damn Bearded Woman/Dog Boy American and their facades were finally fraying around the edges and not the least because going home and telling their bosses my exact words was going to be...well, the positive spin they put on it had better be impressive.

They left with their confident poise while the Egyptians approached with a bit of trepidation. Calling me erratic and volatile was being overly kind. My bet was the older male was in charge, but my age and lusty actions convinced them to put the younger woman forward. The younger male bodyguard wasn't even paying attention to me. If the shit went south, he knew he was a goner.

"Greetings Cáel Ishara, it seems," she offered my hand to shake.

[Old Kingdom Egyptian] "May the Blessed Isis bring understanding to this greeting," I countered. Both she and the old man blinked. The rest was in the Egyptian of Ramses and Seti.

"It is wonderful to see you speak our sacred tongue - or a close proximity," she smiled.

Not only was she generally happy, she was also pretty sure a very unfortunate confrontation was not in the offing. The bodyguard knew of the language but not enough to make out what was being said. The young lady and old man were more than happy to switch to this rare form of communication.

We chatted. Things like funerary rites, thoughts on the afterlife and the role of the supernatural in the modern world all came up. No secrets were exchanged and we actually went over some ancient jokes and ribald tales. Buffy's coughing brought us out of our reverie. They taught me the proper Egyptian Rite greeting and farewell, departing in peace.

The Amazons were stirring. It was time to head to the cars then on to the wake.

"I do not understand you," Javiera grumbled. "You insulted multiple people, including threats of death and dismemberment. You struck and stabbed - something, but not before he knocked a women nearly three meters. I am not even sure that...relative of yours qualifies as human."

"I don't know how to approach you and that woman/aunt/whatever," she continued. "Was that incest, public sex, or sexual assault since I didn't hear her give permission for you to do...that?" Whoops - jealousy. Nicole was a half-step back so she could hide her insidious smirk. She already knew I was a bad, bad boy.

"I don't know if this makes it better, or worse, but that - those women are not just my aunts. They are the genetic duplicates of my mother and if you think it is funny that they look to be about my age...you wouldn't be alone," I sighed.

"Is your mother dead?" she seethed. "Normally, I would take a Death Certificate, mortuary report and a grave marker to be enough. Not with you."

"When I was seven years old I saw her very sick in the hospital. I never saw her die, or the cremation, so with my crazy life I'm not going to swear that she's no longer of this Earth," I confessed. "The only one who would know for sure would be..."

"Your father," Javiera answered. I began crying all over again.

That was it. When I wanted someone dead, I was going to personally put a stake in their hearts, starting with me. This shit has gone down the rabbit hole. In that transitory micro-burst, I flipped. Not to crazy. I had spent my life believing in what was real - working out, girls, books, literature and art - things I could touch and feel, even if it was the air escaping my lungs as words, notes and sounds sprang forth.

Now I had to take things on faith. Not 'faith' as in the calculated possibilities which is what most people really meant. I had to accept that there were things beyond my senses that I could not measure, or codify, and move my life forward understanding the total lack of a solid foundation I was basing my actions on. I needed to see Aya so much it hurt.

"Are you going to arrest me?" I hiccupped. I was done bawling like a bereft child for a while.

"For what?" Javiera snapped. "If I took this insanity before any judge I know, I'd be on Administrative Leave, if not out of a job altogether."

"Oh yes," Nicole winked at me. "I was so looking forward to parading out the four identical aunts and the uncle/part-primate."

Javiera shot Nicole a dirty look.

"We need to go," Buffy reminded me. The only snag was the FBI guys, backed up by some Chicago PD, who intercepted Javiera as she walked with me to our limo. She had to separate for a minute to assure them she hadn't been kidnapped. 

After some rumbling, we were gifted with one FBI 'bodyguard' for Javiera. That was laughable. If a psychotic fit seized us, there would be two dead government officials instead of one.

"Did you really stab that guy?" Special Agent Street Moslin asked once we were on our way.

"My family believes in tough love," I muttered.

"What sort of organized crime outfit are you with?" was next.

"Pre-teen beauty pageants," I sighed. "You wouldn't believe how cutthroat they are."

"It is a crime to lie to a criminal investigator," he countered.

"And if this was an interrogation," Nicole sizzled, "you would have to Mirandize him."

"He has already been Mirandized," the puppy yipped.

"Oh? On the charge of Criminal Conspiracy to commit...clarify the charge for me," Nicole grinned. Street looked to Javiera.

"What? Special Agent Moslin, consider yourself to not know a damn thing about what is going on and proceed from there," Javiera informed him.

The poor bastard looked perplexed.

"I will put your situation in context. The woman to my side (Rachel) is about to slit your throat. The woman (Buffy) next to Ms. Lawless is going to snap your neck. They do not give a crap that you, or I, are federal agents. The issue is not what will you do, it is which one gets to you first," Javiera glared at him. "Clear?"

SA Street wasn't done yet.

"They will get away with it because I suspect they already have such a contingency worked out," Javiera educated him. Javiera was yet ANOTHER really clever lady.

"Call for our back-up vehicle, pull into a private driveway where you cannot legally follow us, abandon the vehicle, get picked up and leave the city on a private aircraft to another nation," Rachel sounded bored. That was so nice of her to assist Javiera out that way.

"Thank you," I told Rachel. "That was very helpful of you."

"I want the male to shut-up," Rachel answered. "He's grating. Worse, he's making me wish Pamela was with us and that is soooo wrong." I held up a finger to forestall Street.

"Honestly Dude, she's is not messing with your head. She wants you to shut up, so please be quiet," I urged him. I conceptualized the assessment he was making. Crap.

"Guy, whatever workout routine you think gives you the edge is what she does to warm up in the morning," I pleaded. Street had the 'she's only a girl' look about him. "Her combat training is with live rounds, real weapons and a plethora of scrapes, cuts and broken bones. I have little doubt that she's killed people, some in cold blood."

"You being Top Shot at the local range and a Judo Champ isn't going to cut it," I emphasized. 

"You think she's some kind of Special Forces operator?" he mocked me. Javiera and Nicole got nervous. I didn't. Beginner's Amazon Psychology - male opinions do not matter. Rachel and Buffy weren't insulted because he was a chattering chimp and nothing more.

"Have you ever heard of an all-female Special Forces unit?" I prodded.

"No," he snorted. I kept staring...and staring...and then the idea began creeping in.

"Where do you train?" Street looked at Rachel. Rachel was looking at him, not 'at' him.

"Please Rachel," I requested. That was really for Javiera's benefit.

"Physical training started at age five, weapons training at nine, survival testing at twelve, craft training at fifteen, and acceptance at nineteen," she rattled off in a monotone. "I am thirty."

"What is 'craft training'?" Javiera inquired.

"Learning to kill people and destroy things," she began. 

"My specialties are small unit tactics, security operations, electronic countermeasures and Recon Sniper," Rachel replied. "I am an accepted close combat trainer and handheld weapon expert. Do I need to explain any of that?" Pause. Street snorted.

"Do you ever sleep?" Street joked. Rachel looked to me then rolled her eyes.

"Yes. Six hours - every day unless duty intervenes," she said.

"Right...so, what martial arts style do you practice?" he asked.

"Not one you have ever heard of," Rachel took a deep breath.

"Try me," Street entreated. "I've practiced with several."

"Male, do I look like I enjoy talking to you?" Rachel glared. "To alleviate your obvious confusion, I do not. If you wish to lower the hostility level, hand me your pistol and the sap at your back. Your possession of said weapons in the presence of Cáel complicates my job. This is almost as irritating is restraining myself from taking them from you like the infant you are."

"You think you could?" Street challenged her. "I was with the 82nd Airborne in Afghanistan."

"Special Agent Moslin, she doesn't care. You might as well have told her you were a weekend security guard at an amusement park," I reasoned. "In her mind, being born with a penis renders all your accomplishments so much hyperbole - kind of how her having tits lowered your respect for her as a fighter." That successful ended that diversion.

(The wake)

Life was wonderful. I walked in the door of the Marshal Fields Jr. Mansion, Charlotte pulled me into a vacant side room and handed me a secure phone. She mouthed the name of the person on the other end.

"Hayden," I sighed to my High Priestess.

"Ishara (not using my first name was a bad sign), I have heard a report that you have declared war on the Condotteiri," she gave me the 'I'm going to skin you alive' purr.

"Yep and I urinated on the Seven Pillars too," I confirmed. "Don't worry about the Illuminati. I've got that alliance sown up."

"I'm going to have a member of the Nine Clans give me my first born, Ishara daughter, so that prospective alliance looks good as well," I added. "I even managed to be diplomatic with Earth & Sky. It is not even noon yet either. No need to thank me. Knowing you are thinking passionate thoughts about me is enough." Charlotte looked like her eyes were going to bug out.

"We are clear on the fact that there are fifty two other houses in the House, aren't we Cael?" Hayden murmured. 

"Hey now," I reposed, "you said to not pick a fight inside Havenstone. You didn't say anything about these sons of bitches on the outside. I also added nineteen new members. Ishara rejected one who I now think was a closet Man-hater's man-hater."

"I want you to come back to Havenstone immediately and keep your mouth shut," she commanded. "The Council will be rightly furious."

"With me?" I asked.

"Of course with you," Hayden growled.

"With the aid of the Federal Assistant Attorney, I received computer discs with extensive and sensitive data on Havenstone, including pictures and locations of Sydney and Marilynn, your daughter and granddaughter," I lied. "The feds seized the Condotteiri's private jet." Silence.

"What? Why am I only now hearing of this?" Hayden inquired with a deathly calm.

"Do you want me to work with the feds to finish hunting down those last two killers while I send someone back with the data?" I persisted. An oddly longer pause.

"Katrina insists there is no data," Hayden seethed.

"Of course there is no data," I snapped back. "Unlike you, I'm loyal to EVERY MEMBER of the Host, not just the ones I approve of! If I had something that important, it would be on the way to you, if not already in your hands. My House Head has been murdered. Support me - don't support me. It doesn't change that reality. You have lowered your worth in my eyes, Hayden. We will talk of this when I return." And I hung up. Charlotte kept gaping at me.

"Do you think I was clear enough, Charlotte?" I asked her.

"Yes Ishara," she whispered. "I doubt a single ancestor misconstrued your wrath." That stopped me in my tracks. A rank and file Amazon using my house name was perfectly acceptable. A Council 'equal' saying it was the equivalent of your pissed Mom yelling out your entire name.

"You agree with me?" I blinked.

"Had it been Fatima, Beyoncé, or Ngozi there would be no debate," Charlotte answered. "I don't like you - okay, beyond your physical magnetism I do not like you. You are still the Head of House Ishara and we believe that the ancestors move through you." By 'we' I imagine she meant Rachel's SD detachment. A social paradigm presented itself.

Amazons were surprisingly democratic for such an ancient society. Their bonds of sisterhood gave them greater liberty than any other group I'd heard of. All could take their grievances to the highest authority. They could hate me and die for me at the same time, in the same way Charlotte could be honest at that moment. I was her superior in rank yet her equal in blood.

"You realize that if you tell Buffy about this she'll beat me black and blue," I teased Charlotte. 

"No can do, Ishara," she chuckled. "She's your sister and, quite frankly, you wove this disaster and if anyone deserves to remind you of the trouble you've wrought, it is her."

"I would call you a heartless Amazon, but that's kind of redundant," I glowered playfully.

I couldn't hide with Charlotte in the side room forever. It was my father's wake after all. Out I went and there was Buffy waiting for me.

"We have a problem," Buffy murmured to me as I headed to the main reception area/family room. "There are some questions concerning your Aunt Stella and the Ishara legacy." 

"Thank God," I muttered. My crisis was momentarily sidelined. I moved into the gathering, letting Helena and Buffy bring the Amazon to my corner. "Quick and easy," I stated as the last one joined us. "Okay, that's an exaggeration. According to the Shawnee Arinniti, the Ishara/Vranus line passes along the Y-chromosome."

"How that translates to my daughters having the Ishara bloodline...Shawnee smiled at me and said it would happen, by the Will of the Ancestors," I looked them over. They weren't born Amazons so they didn't bob their heads in blind acceptance. "Yeah, me to," I acknowledged their cynicism. 

"Except I ended up on Day Two of this job, standing in the Havenstone boardroom, listening to women talking in a dead language I learned solely to arouse my first lover and mentor. Then I encouraged a little Amazon girl to shoot AT me while I stood next to her target. She was so nervous, her first shot fell short and skidded to my feet.

Her second arrow hit the mark - her first hit of the day. I didn't want that first arrow to remind her of 'almost' succeeding, so I picked it up. Because of that, an assassin barely missed her first shot at me. I stopped Oneida Arinniti's death curse - not because I had any idea there was such a thing, but because it felt 'wrong' to let her die. Make of that what you will.

You all have one incredible advantage over all Amazons born into the Host. Search back to your time before here and examine what you know about men. Then tell me why I would want this position? You are a legion of man-haters. At best, you do not want to understand me. At worse, you think I should be a pet with my tongue cut out.

Some of you may think it could be for the sex. No. I had over 200 sexual encounters over four years in college. If anything, Havenstone is slowing me down. After all, even the Havenstone women who do like me still consider me property half the time and some SD chicks swooping in during lunch can put a real cramp in my dating style."




Life as a New Hire Ch. 21



"What did you do wrong?" Marsha inquired.

"Buffy?" I passed the buck.

"Three possible choices: Cáel elevates every sexual encounter he is in to unforeseen levels making him indispensable to any happy home. 

I have a feud with the head of Havenstone HQ's SD - Elsa, and Cael chose me over her.

And thirdly, he physically molested Elsa to orgasm," Buffy finished.

"Ugh..." I sighed. "Wasn't sure you knew about the last one."

"I own you," Buffy scolded me. "Get used to it." 

The psycho-bitches all chuckled. I was back as undisputed Head of House Ishara - because a bitch owned me. Yay democracy. I could give a futile stab at trying to convince Odette not to spill every detail of my sex life to Buffy. That would be unfair. Buffy scared me and I had an actual chance of not dying at her hands. Odette would be pâté.

Making my way back to Aunt Stella was a relief. She was back to being a Nyilas; stoic, thoughtful and level-headed.

"Cáel, what is going on here?" she took me by the forearm while being quietly insistent.

"Dad was murdered and I'm going to kill the people responsible," I replied. "Vér a vér - blood for blood," I translated.

"Can you possibly win this feud?" she asked next.

"See those women I've been hanging out with?" I started to explain.

"Do you mean that street gang who look like they are ready to start a fight, your mother's ten sisters, or those...three...I can only see two now...odder than the rest of the women?" Stella cut to the heart of the matter.

"Ten!" I gulped.

"Yes. They all have come by and talked with me; very polite. They remind me of octopi - looking somewhat harmless with a fiendish intellect cleverly concealed behind their eyes," Stella informed me. Oh yeah, crab-fisher-folk and octopi didn't get along.

"They are also all soaked in evil," I cautioned my last living kin, "just so we are clear."

"Of course," she nodded. "That have that off-kilter, squirrelly look your mother always had."

"Some people think she might not be dead," I sighed.

"She's not," Stella patted my hand. 

"Your father once told me that if he was ever killed, I was to take you in until your mother showed back up for you. That is all he ever said on the matter. I was not sure why she pretended to die - until today when I met the rest of the family - the ones not killed in that freak Arctic Sperm Whale Hunting accident."

I felt like Uncle Lumpy had rammed his monster fist through my midsection and ripped out my spine. I couldn't think of why my mother would...ah shit. My dad, who had been a giant in my life, rose to ranks of the titans in my love and respect. He earned that status in that moment for not hating me with all his heart for most of my life. I had driven Mom away.

Not an ounce of resentment, or anger, had ever shone through. As I grew up, all that addictive crap that Granddad had woven into my genetics must have started to kick in. I may have looked different, but I had his eyes. I could only imagine what that conversation between Mom and Dad must have been like when she decided she had to go.

They had shared nine years of bliss. Before my grandfather's madness overtook her once more, she had to leave me, thus my father. Dad couldn't have created the cover story, but the daughter of Cáel O'Shea would have done it effortlessly. My father sat there, month after month, paying off a debt he'd never earned so that when they came looking it would all make sense.

When someone jumps in front of a bullet for you, you know they've given up everything for you. My father had bled inside for fifteen years, gone down swinging with a floor lamp in his hands, for a wife he would never see again - not even knowing if she was alive, or dead - and a son who didn't know what price his father was paying for his son's safety. I patted Aunt Stella's hand and wandered past the faceless well-wishers.

[Akkadian] "Vengeance is my fire that consumes my enemies. Let those we tread in my dust eat their ashes."

"What was that?" Javiera caught me off guard. Nicole and Street were keeping up with her.

"It is Assyrian," was my abrupt answer.

"What does it mean?" Street pressed.

"It means I hate, Special Agent of the FBI Street Moslin," I glared through teary-eyes. "I hate that certain people breathe. I hate that they block the sunlight from touching the ground. I hate that people take other people's lives for granted - you included, Butt-Monkey."

"What does that mean?" he tensed up and leaned in.

"It means I'm not stupid. It also means I can have the life's diary of any person I can think of on my tiny little desk in a week's time," I glared right back.

"Are you threatening me?" he sneered.

"Mr. Nyilas did no such thing," Nicole defended me.

"Perhaps Mr. Nyilas can clarify what he did mean," Javiera studied me. Like Nicole, she knew something had twisted the proverbial life into my already wounded heart.

"I meant that the rest of you assume civility as a right," I reigned in my fractured emotions.

"Hunting wasn't always going where you pleased, tracking down a helpless prey, slaughtering it and taking that trophy," I continued. "Hunters have forgotten that once there were bears, wolves, lions and other hunters who took exception to such liberties. They have forgotten that it was often more efficient for the other predators to track him back to his lair and take him as he walked out of his cave, still thinking the world obeyed his rules. People need to really examine who we are and what are true role in life is.

What we are and what we choose to be is part of the philosophical war in the human psyche. Between the hunter, who roams, and the farmer, who is tied to one place. The invader, who seizes what he wishes, and the supplicant, who surrenders up part to save the rest. And, the solitary man, free from control yet unsafe, and the tribesman, controlled yet dwelling in shared security. We are torn," I finished.

"Nice obfuscated flourish to cover your ass," Street mocked me. Javiera yanked him around so that he was facing her.

"What is your problem?" Javiera hissed.

"He is guilty as sin and behaving like some 1920's Mafioso," Street reposed. "He doesn't scare me." I laughed at that.

"Whoa," I chuckled. It was painful, but I did it. 

"You keep sliding down the old smart-o-meter, don't ya, Street?" I shook my head. "You have knuckle-dragged your way right out of the game. I am now asking you to leave my father's wake. I'll give you a minute then I'm sending in the 'little girls' squad to show you the door."

"I am here to protect a Federal Attorney," Street glared.

"She can leave, or stay - her choice," I offered. "Javiera has been firm yet polite. She's certainly not been insulting to me and my guests."

"Special Agent Milson, please leave. Your official services are neither required, beneficial nor desired," Javiera dismissed the guy. Street looked angrily offended then left.

"So, which penitentiary are you sending me to?" I asked Javiera. Nicole arched an eyebrow.

"It depends on where I think my promotion will take me," she mused.

"Have I missed something?" Nicole inquired.

"Well, we can't have intercourse while I have him under investigation and I am going to arrest, indict, and convict him," Javiera answered.

"Not on my watch," Pamela shifted seamlessly through the crowd. "I take from the description that you are the new number one watchdog. I'm not glad to meet you. Stop trying to be Cáel's match. You don't know the kind of contest you are getting into."

"Women who seek to be equal with men lack ambition," Javiera countered.

"Did you use a man to make a feminist argument?" I regarded Javiera. "Timothy Leary," I added for Pamela's benefit.

"I prefer George Carlin," Pamela noted. "He - correctly - thought everyone was incompetent."

"You must be Cáel's white shadow I keep hearing about," Javiera extended her hand.

"Cáel," Pamela turned to me, not shaking the proffered appendage, "do I come across as a lesbian? I am curious because women are always asking for my name and trying to touch me."

"I wouldn't know," I sighed. "I've never looked at you as a sexual being. Normally, you so freak me out my balls crawl up inside my body and I start looking for the closest exit."

Total lie. Pamela felt more like family to me than Aunt Stella. Certainly more than my 'TEN?' O'Shea aunts and Lumpy...if he was still bumping around.

"I've seen the size of your ginormous nut sack, Cáel," Pamela chortled. "Said retraction is physically impossible." Seeing Nicole and Javiera's confusion. "We shower together (sigh). We have communal showers at Havenstone."

"That's rather egalitarian," Javiera commented snidely.

"What? Havenstone is going to build a shower complex for the grand total of three men that still work there?" Pamela engaged her. "I don't think so. Cáel, as fun as this distraction has been, I need you to do something for me. I want you to meet a friend."

"You don't have any friends," I reposed. "Except for me and I am hardly honored by the distinction." Again, total lie. Pamela was one of the three people in my life I considered to be a true friend. Timothy, my rock-solid, hard-working gay tattoo artist roommate, Odette, my passionate, young post-high school girl looking for more in life, and Pamela - my soul mate, if Ishara would let me have a soul.

Rachel started following us as we left the main room. Charlotte was watching the front doors, Tiger Lily was with our car, and Mona was most likely roaming the back. The unexpected destination of our quest was the third floor bathroom. I didn't recall having to 'go' until I arrived.

"There you go," Pamela presented me the door.

Rachel peeked in first, did a quick poke/scan, then gave me the nod before retiring. I went in and took a pee, trying, and failing, to put together what in the hell Pamela was up to - no hand towels to dry off with. I opened the armoire and a folded-up Miyako handed me said bathroom accoutrement.

"Does this make you a 'ninja in my closet', or 'a closet ninja'?" I asked.

She uncoiled herself from that awkward position. Since it was completely unnecessary, I caught her.

"What are you doing here?" I continued.

Miyako started off with a name in Japanese adding, "told me you wanted to meet in private."

"Okay, I missed the name," I worried.

"Ummm...it translates over to something like 'Frosty, the Snow-white Gremlin'," Miyako stated. "She said you wanted to see me. I am neither a ninja in your closet - it wasn't your closet, nor am I a 'closet ninja' as no ninja is classified as a ninja. That defeats the purpose of being invisible warriors."

I put the Nipponese beauty down, sat on the edge of the tub and wiped my hands on the towel.

"Have you ever thought about a normal life outside of this...madhouse?" I posed. 

"Yes," Miyako nodded. "I see normal people living normal lives, free of the mortal fears of my daily existence and I am envious at times."

"I have my Oaths to consider, Cáel Ishara. There is my family that nurtured and trained me. Leaving the Families would be a death sentence, plus we have a host of enemies. Any life I would have would be on the run, short, nasty, brutal and violently final," she related. That didn't help much.

"Legendary Daimyos raze a dozen mighty castles. Legendary Fathers raise a dozen happy children," was the saying she gifted me with as a smile traced across her lips and her eyes shone with compassion. I doubted 'raze' and 'raise' were that close in Japanese, but I went with it.

"So why are we here again?" I sighed.

"Your friend said you wanted to speak with me, yet it is now clear that is not the case," Miyako reasoned. She could have left, accepting the deception of what it was. Instead, "Do you wish to see my wound? I had it looked after by your 'Mona'," Miyako offered.

"Sure," I allowed.

She started off by removing her dark, shark-skin jacket. She folded it, placing it across the toilet seat (top down). Her shirt came next - a plain white number. The bra followed. This was a lot of work for a leg wound, not that I minded. Her bra was unspectacular which highlighted her breasts all the more.

Her mammaries were a solid, high-twenties B-cup, with the bases being perfectly formed hemispheres and the tops being finely sculpted convex slopes to the areolas.

"You have certainly seen more attractive women," Miyako stopped and studied me.

"Yes, I have. I'm soaking up the experience of being with a below average one for a change," I nodded. No, I wasn't letting her get away with the 'I'm just a girl' game she was playing.

"You are scalding me with your wit," her eyes scolded me. 

"I make up for it by being a wicked bridge player," I met her dancing light with my own renewed mirth. Off went the shoes and down came her pants. Yep - full front, pink lace panties up front and a thong in back. Wiggling out of her underwear didn't take a second.

The standing split so she could dangle her wounded appendage in front of my eyes was exceptional and new.

"See," she commented softly. "I had my wound tended to by your medic."

"It looks somewhat inflamed," I pointed out. Miyako's eyebrows flinched. 

"Yes, starting right here," I kissed her big toe, "and here," the first toe," and so on. Miyako was strong in the enduring, athletic way of all competitive (and combative) gymnasts. She patiently held her standing split pose until I tired of the pretense, and the neck crick I was working on as I licked her vulva, and pulled Miyako's sex box up to my face. 

I should have recalled that at age three, the ninja masters had her swinging through trees like a Gibbon. Miyako leaned back and back and back until my penis was just above...below her ear. I was a bit taller than my Nipponese Ninja so she opted for a hair covered (nice, silky locks) hand job. I quickly taught her she wasn't in the bush leagues anymore.

So, I couldn't catch a tomahawk with any part of my anatomy that wasn't a hand. I could find a girls G-spot inside of two minutes plus another to figure out what kind of tongue/finger motion was the most pleasurable and she was my toy to play with. I would never tell Miyako that. She'd do something horrible to me and it would be a week later before I even figured out what it was.

Miyako was a bad little ninja kitty. She orgasmed quite vocally. I was happy right up until Rachel burst in ready to kill somebody who wasn't me. By the look on her face as she drank in the scene, she might have wished to kill me after all.

"It is all my fault, Rachel," Pamela spoke up from behind. "I set them up."

Thankfully, Rachel backed out so she could give Pamela a good-sized piece of her mind.

"That was very pleasurable, Ishara-sama," Miyako flexed back up until she rested with her thighs on my shoulders, her hands in my hair and her eyes looking down into mine.

"We aren't done yet," I began kissing her lower abdomen. Happy killer-ninja babe.

Miyako helped me undress. Actually, she damn near tore off my clothes. Remember, ninja aren't Geisha and Geisha don't put out anyway. Cheap, or not-so-cheap, sex is what prostitutes are for in the Land of the Rising Sun. I worried about squeezing into her vagina. Miyako vaulted onto me. Placing her hands on my shoulders, she guided her tight body downward, her sex perfectly targeted to join with mine.

"Ugh...tight," I coughed softly. By the closed eyed look of concentration, she was coming to that realization too. She started trying to wiggle away.

"I did this wrong," she moped. I wouldn't let go.

"How about we stay like this for a while," I offered.

She wrapped her arms around my neck, her legs around my waist and nestled in. We stayed that way for several minutes then I gave her a slight 'thump' up. She slid up my shaft then fell back down.

"Oh," she purred. She kissed my shoulder. Another bounce - more kissing.

Before long, we were humping and sweating away. She made these cherished little chirping noises I was now associating with climax.

"You can scream into my chest in order to keep quiet," I suggested. She nodded - more kissing and licking along my shoulders and neck. She was close.

The breath and vibration of her howl tantalized my pectorals. An unwelcome side effect was...

"Tight..." I gasped. "Too tight." Her legs and arms had constricted like a python around my body. She immediately eased her grip the coasted back through her erotic release.

"That was very pleasant, Ishara-sama," Miyako whispered to me.

"You should come to my home sometime and meet my grandfather," she murmured.

"I think I would do better with your grandmother," I countered.

"Oh no," she insisted. "Grandmother is wicked. My grandfather is a gardener. The first thing she would ask you was if I was still a virgin and if I wasn't, she would insist you marry me."

"But you weren't a virgin when I met you," I complained.

"She knows that. As I said, she is a wicked woman," Miyako explained. "Are we done?"

Bounce, bounce, bounce.

"Oh goodie!" Miyako exclaimed and off we went. Apparently full-blooded ninja got out as much as full-blooded Amazon - not a lot.

When we eventually exited, Miyako was sublimely graceful, I was glad I had washed and toweled off, Rachel was...displeased and Pamela was Pamela.

"Good job, Stud. You knocked her up like a good boy should," Pamela patted me on the back.

"It doesn't really work like that," I muttered. 

"I have faith in you. Now, in twenty-eight days you have to impregnate the other two so we have the Nine Clans in the bag. I heard you made a good impression on the Earth & Sky - another plus, and...I still think your O'Shea Aunts are going to go wonky when they get a whiff of you, so let's be prepared for you sexing up one, or two, before we head home tonight.

"You are despicable," I grumbled to Pamela. Rachel clearly agreed.

"A little poetic license - I thought I saw some Pussy...I did, I did," Pamela struck back.

"I am glad you are family," I glared at Pamela. "Otherwise I might ask Rachel to hurt you and that wouldn't be fair to her." Pamela laughed joyously as we made our way back to my father's wake.



Life as a New Hire Ch. 22



This story plays fast and loose with Ancient History and Linguistics; be warned.

If your heart starts the fight, you can lose without regret.

Editing magic performed by KJ24 and Shyqash, plus contributions by the regular gang of brigands and neer-do-wells.

(No actual sex scenes - I apologize)

*****

(Thursday Night)

It was well past the descent of Night's veil when the Havenstone jet landed outside of New York City. Naomi and team gathered us up and led us to the main building downtown. An unlooked for conflict developed. Naomi's team was there to present me to Hayden. Rachel's team was still focused on securing my wellbeing and they didn't like the attitude Naomi's squad was giving off.

With Buffy (Helena was in a different car), there was no concealing Rachel's hostility toward the latest group of SD ladies. The new group was treating me like a 'package', not a Head of House, and that infuriated my First too. All of that ill-will simmered as we made our way to Havenstone. The situation was compounded by the elevator ride.

Naomi, her team, Buffy, Rachel and I went into the first elevator. By the time we made it to the top few floors, it was clear that the rest were not immediately following along. The situation ratcheted up to nasty when Naomi demanded Buffy's firearm. Buffy looked ready to use it.

"Buffy - gun," I held out my hand, palm up. Buffy reluctantly handed it over.

I walked over to the nearest trash can, dropped out the clip, chambered out the first round then dumped the entirety into the trash receptacle.

"If they touched it, the weapon would be fouled and not fit for a true Amazon," I explained to Buffy. "Best to save your noble tool the indignity and dispense with it instead."

Buffy snorted with amusement, Naomi's crew pretended not to care while Rachel was deeply disturbed. It took a perfunctory gesture to stop Buffy outside Hayden's office. In I went to face Hayden, Katrina, St. Marie and Troika of House Šauška alone. Šauška was the 'sister goddess' of Ishara - together they formed Ishtar in later incarnations. 

I didn't believe Troika was here for any sister solidarity this time around.

"Why did you do this? Start a war...is this your hatred of Amazon culture shining through, trying to get us all killed in some global struggle against the other Secret Societies?" Hayden opened up with in an even tone.

"No," I kept it succinct. They waited for more of an explanation.

"Do you have anything you can say to defend your actions?" Troika glared.

"I don't need to defend my actions," I regarded her as if she was of alien origin. "The actions speak for themselves."

"Why don't you explain it to us, Ishara?" St. Marie rumbled. Insulted yet again. As an equal, I warranted the use of my first name.

"Do I have your permission to fully and completely lay out my reasoning without everyone closing in like a pack of hyenas on a leopard?" I looked to Hayden - not happy. She gave a curt nod. It wasn't like running away would get me far.

"I will speak slowly because all of you appear to have become incredibly stupid," I started. "My parent and carrier of my Amazon ancestor's genetic heritage was murdered. The leader of the Amazon Security Detail i-d-e-n-t-i-f-i-e-d herself, THEN they were fired upon. Somehow you do not see those actions as Casus Belli. [cause for war]

There are three possible reasons for your blindness: you are all cowards who bully behind closed doors, but fold up like gutless wonders when a true challenge presents itself. Or, the male penis renders you incapable of intelligent thought and induces irrational and unsustainable hostile deductions in your though processes. Or, you want me and the line of Ishara dead and are willing to accept any accident of fate that will render us so," I laid things out for them.

"Or, you were in pain over your father's loss and used Havenstone as a tool to lash out at your perceived foes without concern for what price the other houses would have to pay for your personal vendetta," Hayden suggested.

"Your gender bias is appalling, High Priestess St. James," I shook my head.

"Have I been such an out of control, emotional male that yours is the logical assumption for how events unfolded?" I smirked. "Except for the meeting where I learned your secret - only Katrina caught that. I've risked death three times for Amazons - yet I hate all of you enough to kill those people and myself. Besides, St. James, your opinion has been rendered irrelevant."

"You will call me Hayden," Hayden simmered.

"I will when you and your lackeys get around to calling me Cáel," I countered. "I don't like being insulted any more than you do. I could keep up this childishness forever, but, as I was pointing out, we don't have forever.

War is coming. Between my father's murder and my threats to the Condotteiri and Seven Pillars' emissaries, I've guaranteed that. Apologizing won't do any good. They won't believe you. Offering me up won't do any good. They think you hold male life to be worthless - the truth of which I am personally witnessing here and now. They are coming for you no matter what you wish.

The best chance for an alliance rests with me. I can establish truly good will with the Nine Clans, Illuminati and the Earth & Sky. Without me, they don't trust you enough to do any good. I'm sure only Katrina believes this - I did all that alliance-building for Havenstone. I am House Ishara and the fate of the Amazons is my fate.

Yet here I am, being insulted, being treated like a traitor - an infantile traitor at that, and being informed you will not honor your oaths and obligations to me," I shook my head. "Are there any other issues to discuss, or can I go home now? I'm beat."

"You will be housed downstairs for your own safety," Hayden informed me.

"Unless you arrest me, I'm going home," I shrugged. "Not only do I not want your protection, I have ceased to trust you. You do not treat me like a sister. Instead you accuse me of atrocities against MY people and layer on the petty insults. Goodnight." I made to leave so St. Marie interposed herself.

"That wasn't a request, Ishara," Hayden murmured with menace.

"Beat me up," I chuckled, "and you will be more fucked than you know." The Golden Mare and I locked gazes. I tried to move around her so she put a hand on my chest. "Welcome to the consequences of being known liars and bigots, ladies."

"I am tiring of your insolence," St. Marie growled.

"Runners'," Katrina sighed with melancholy amusement.

"What about them?" Troika mocked.

"The majority of the 'Runners' aren't going to see this as the Council punishing Cáel for starting the upcoming conflict," Katrina chided her cohorts. 

"They are going to see the Full-blooded shutting down the ONLY House letting them in. Going to war? They are willing to fight and die for our cause. They assume we are too," Katrina regaled her unwilling audience.

"Pleased with yourself, Ish...Cáel," Hayden's eyes narrowed.

"He has almost nothing to do with it, Sisters," Katrina chortled. "We were the ones who promised to let the 'Runners' join the houses then reneged on that promise. The worst you can say about Cáel was that only after we picked out, loaded and handed him the gun, did he use it for what it was intended for."

"We are not punishing him for this 'Runner' insult," Troika spat. She meant my 'hasty' inductions.

"Then why are we punishing him - and thank you for making Cáel's point for him...'Runner' insult indeed. Since your disgraceful attitude is overwhelmingly common, the 'Runners' are not going to believe your excuse for dealing with Cáel."

"Katrina," Hayden cautioned.

"Hayden, as your 'First Bearer of the Sun Spear through the Halls of Night and Death', I am required to give you this news," Katrina bowed her head in reverence. "I tell you Cáel's actions have been a lightning rod for the 'Runners'. He gives them hope where there was none. Putting Cáel down will have repercussions you do not understand. 

They will then 'KNOW' for a certainty we look down on them and treat them little better than slaves - which is the truth," Katrina responded to the others. "Not only are we going to war, we are successfully convincing half our population that they CANNOT trust the Council to spend their lives wisely."

"How dare you?" St. Marie seethed at me.

"Are you seriously blaming me for keeping the oaths the rest of you made in my name - while Ishara was dead to the Council?" I laughed. "The 'Runners' are your idea, St. Marie, not mine. You promised to bring them into the Houses ...and didn't. You lied and I chose to not perpetuate that lie, thus honoring my ancestors, my founder and my Goddess." 

"Do I need to remind you who Ishara is? The Goddess of Oaths - particularly military oaths," I added. "In case you missed it, I AM implying that you have failed your ancestors..." and I went flying. Damn, St. Marie was fast. I rolled as best as I could, ending bumping into Hayden's desk.

No one said a word which I found tragically consistent. My follow-up pain wasn't 'Mare' induced. Spiritual flames consumed me internal organs, causing me to cry out in torment and vomit copious amounts of something. I was cradled inside a horror film as first my esophagus, then stomach and finally my intestines seemed to flush forth from my lips.

The stench was beyond horrid - putrid and corrupt combined with the atrocious odor of bloated flesh left to rot in the Sun for weeks. Considering the minimal amount I had eaten on the flight home, I was even more baffled by what felt like 100 liter quantity of discharge. When the ordeal eventually ended, I half-rose then flopped backwards into darkness.

I hurt. I hurt in the same way you have 'pins and needles', except mine were industrial capacity and giving it 110%. My head was resting at a slight incline and someone was flipping a lock of my bangs on and off my forehead. I opened my eyes into infinity - seriously worse agony consumed my brain pan.

"That is too much for you to know, Cáel," she murmured. 

Those eyes had been feminine, just not in a human way and definitely filled with more joy and suffering than could be granted by a thousand lifetimes.

The pain faded, so I tried the whole eye thing again. At the top of the lap that cradled my head was a really nice pair of boobs clothed in thin wool - lush, mature, yet firm like a young virgin's.

"Thank you," she lilted. Mind-reading?

"Do I want to know what has happened to me?" I groaned. I reached for a boob because if it was a toxin-induced delusion, what was the worst that can happen?

"Careful, I haven't been with a male in 1800 years, my Preciously Odd Amazon," she laughed.

"I like challenges," I bantered with my mental conjuration. Definitely mind-reading.

"I am not the creation of your fevered dreams, my Cáel," she flicked my nose. "I have pushed you near death to place a curse on the Host. As a side benefit, I am able to have metaphysical contact with you."

"To date you, I have to have a near-death experience? I don't know if I should admire 1800 years of male common sense, or that last guy who risked everything for one night with you," I shrugged.

"So much compassion...and so little fear," she petted my scalp.

"Since you clearly aren't getting into the name game and I am more than happy to doubt everything I've experienced in the past five minutes," I smiled at her, "what am I supposed to do?" 

"You know," she smiled back.

"No, I don't," I insisted. "Something extra-concise that doesn't come from a fortune cookie."

"I've always wanted to eat a fortune cookie," she looked away.

"I'll start walking around with one in my pocket so next time you nearly kill me, you can indulge," I offered. 

"Save my people, Cáel," she placed her hand over my eyes. "Save their spirits."

"A bit of help would be nice," I pressed forward blindly.

"I've given you help," she whispered on my lips. Since I didn't consider that to be helpful, I opted to give a gentle twist to her nipple. 

Either something was really going on inside my head, acting as a conduit between me and something else, or I was experiencing a psychotic break with reality. If it was the former, I was a Class-A idiot. If it was the latter, it was me being me, rolling the dice with the pretty girl.

"I wanted you to be brave," she laughed melodically, the echo of every woman I'd ever given a reason to sing out with joy, "yet now I find myself wishing you would expend a tiny bit more caution on my behalf." Sensing my dissatisfaction, she added "I cannot give you 'the' truth, so I will give you 'a' truth. Nothing is set in the future while much is foreseen." 

"As long as you know I've disappointed every women I've ever been with," I reminded her, my eyes still shielded and her lips tantalizingly close to mine.

"Oh, you like to think you are selfish, Cáel Nyilas of Vranus and Ishara, but you justifiably take pride in the sensuality you bring to so many women's lives," she pointed out.

"Many lovers are far more truthful yet far less giving," she said.

"Pain heals while an education is forever," I countered. Another joyous note.

"It is time for you to wake up, my Cáel," she sighed. "Go now." Wakefulness required a return to the putrid qualities of my current surroundings. I forced myself to my knees. 

No one did anything - no reaction, or assistance, so it fell to me to save myself. 

"What...what was that?" Troika nearly retched at the stench. Katrina stood, visibly pale and shaken.

"Hayden?" Katrina requested of her leader.

"Cáel, what have you done?" Hayden snapped. She also stood up so she could look down at me from her desk. I mumbled something. Even I wasn't sure what I was trying to say. The last touch of a lady far chillier than the one in Chicago caressed me and I knew the gist of what had happened. Why was I the one suffering at the hands of my Goddess? 

I was the easiest to get at because I was already devoted to her, her chosen children and I was Patron and Head of the house dedicated to her honor. The forecasted ass-kicking wasn't aimed at me, though. I was the necromantic shotgun barrel into this reality. Too many bitches had spat on me, her hand-picked patsy and punching bag, and her temper was beyond sending some vague signs and portents to the Host. 

I didn't know the particulars of this curse, yet I didn't doubt for a second it was both fiendishly evil and well-deserved. My jacket, shirt and tie were goners. The lower part of my tie which had been thoroughly drenched in my vomit was already decaying into filth, soon passing into nothingness. I tried speaking again.

"Having exhibited no faith in me, you have committed apostasy to Ishara," issued the words from my acid-scared throat. "You are condemned to live with that choice. Good night."

I fumbled and stumbled to Hayden's door, weakly opened one of the two double doors and left. The confrontation I had departed outside remained in force - Naomi and detail versus Rachel and Buffy. 

Helena, and a former 'Runner' named Madori who worked at Havenstone HQ with us, had not been sent up.

"I am going home," I rasped. With no orders to keep me there, Naomi let me pass. Rachel and Buffy closed in.

"Boss, you smell like..." Buffy searched for words.

"A red tide," Rachel said. "All those dead fish floating on the water for days and days - it is that level of horrible smell."

"Rachel," I stated as we got on the elevator, "thank you for the loyalty, intelligence and understanding you have given me in this trying time."

"I am a member of the Host, Ishara. I would do no less for Hayden herself...but you are welcome," she sighed.

"How about we postpone our date night until I've cleared up a few things with the Council and Ishara?" I suggested. Rachel nodded. I briefly talked to Helena over the phone, went with Buffy to the basement where she checked out a car then sat back as she drove me home. I must have looked like a disaster because Buffy didn't give me an ounce of grief.

Home was home now. There was a house with my name on it now, but it wasn't my hearth; this mid-town, 'just above the poverty line' apartment was definitely home now. I would suspect that business travel was like a clothes dryer - you mystically pulled out less clothes than you put in. I was coming back with twice the amount of luggage I had departed with

Odette would be home in an hour, so it was me and Timothy for a bit.

"Hey Bro," Timothy greeted me. He set down one of those fanciful Asian vegetable mish-mashes that he liked from time to time, stood up and gave me a hug. "How bad was it?"

"Let's just say I finished it up this evening by vomiting all over the Big Boss's rug, and that was the highlight of the trip," I mumbled.

"That would explain your bare-chested look," Timothy snorted. I had been so out of it, I had spaced on the need to put on clothes like a normal human being. "Something to eat?"

"Nah, my insides were spewed forth, so I'm foregoing food for a while," I mumbled. That reminded me. I went to the bathroom and gargled repeatedly with mouthwash. I could still smell the aromatic abomination, but at least I couldn't taste it anymore.

"Do we want to go down the lists of women who have called you?" Timothy was trying to cheer me up. I wanted to be cheered up so I told him to go right ahead. Brooke and Libra - an immediate call back with the briefest of details - no weekend date for Brooke and I yet. Jason, the bar-back I had met chasing down Katy Lee, had called. I dialed his number and we had a short chat. 

He and his buddies were coming along well, I was invited back any time, and the Latin Kings had gotten the message because they hadn't been around since. I requested he and his friends keep their eyes open just in case and I'd be around for another pick-up game soon enough. Since most of those LK's were dead and the remainder scattered, I wasn't worried about Jason.

Nikita...I called and she 'agreed' to come over. I was too fatigued to fight her off. Ulyssa called and I had to inform her that this weekend didn't look good for me - funeral and all. I initiated contact with Nicole. She was still wrapping up some of my business in Chicago and would be gone until Saturday morning.

Timothy crashed for the evening, I was nibbling on some of his fodder and the doorbell rang. A check at the peephole revealed Nikita. She came in, hugged and I could sense something was definitely wrong. We were back to first date material. We hadn't been separated long enough...crap. I gave us space on the sofa.

"That was incredibly fast," I groaned. "What tipped them off?"

"What do you mean?" Nikita tried to scoot down the sofa to me. I held her off with one hand.

"I am hardly one to uphold honesty in a relationship, but I normally consider it a selfish endeavor and not done for the benefit of a third, unrelated party," I sadly met her eyes.

"Cáel, what do you...?" Nikita stammered.

"You are not a very good liar," I pointed out. "You are wearing a wire of some kind?"

"Have you done something wrong?" Nikita evaded.

"My loss," I moped. "All I wanted was the semblance of a normal life and now that's gone down the tubes."

"Nikita, what do you want to drink?" I restarted the whole fiasco. Drinks were served and we kept to our separate ends of the sofa talking about mindless shit until Odette showed up. Then I could politely show Nikita the door and be with someone who did care about me. We made slow, passionate love. I gave her orgasms and giggles with the added benefit I felt more human when we finally fell asleep.

(Friday)

The morning started out with the same routine. I pulled up various routes for my bike ride into work, chose none of them and off I went in the pre-dawn dark blue/grey sky. I came within 20 seconds of my best time, so I was feeling pretty positive about what lay ahead. Security was a full 180 from their normally sour selves.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 22



"Good morning, Cáel Ishara," the security team (not Security Detail) leader greeted me. That was part 'thanks for letting my sister 'Runners' into a house' and 'maybe pick me next time.'

"Good morning, Wilma Draper," I nodded back. I went to the counter and leaned in. I needed to fortify my supportive base and I knew how to do it.

"You do realize I don't choose who joins House Ishara, don't you?" I addressed her softly yet loud enough for the two closest security women to hear.

"You do not?" the woman appeared perplexed.

"No," I shook my head in the negative. 

At that moment she wondered if this was a trick of the Council. Good girl. 

"The senior Amazons of House Ishara chose the next candidates. I make the ritual appeal to Ishara, of course. Selection remains in the hands of former 'Runners' who nominate the 'Runners' who have proven themselves.

I was inspired to initiate Buffy and Helena because I had enough faith in them to believe they knew Havenstone and what House Ishara needed. The Amazons in the second ritual were all Buffy and Helena's choices. I think those two and the latest group Ishara has approved of, will make the perfect judges for picking future 'Runners' of accomplishment and worth - not only for House Ishara, but for the new Amazons who have risked everything for our People," I piled on the propaganda.

She nodded. The two closest security guards nodded as well. Off I went to the gun range. With less than a minute worth of words, I had reinforced my perfection. I wasn't a male. I was a male with a passel of hardcore, praiseworthy Amazons working around me, insulating me from committing any errors and making all the important decisions while I behaved like a bobble-headed doll.

The range was back to 'normal' except I could smell the chemicals this time out. Whatever concrete and surface coating substances they had used to repair my grenade-inspired damage left my nose with a terrible itch. I had a gun selection today. I had no instructor yet was hopeful. I packed up my .40, my back-up .380, the combat shotgun and my Personal Defense weapon then headed out.

I patiently waited behind one of the stations, soaking up the view of medium gray yoga pants worn by a woman who presented a meticulously crafted, awesome bubble-butt to the world. After she finished off one magazine, the Amazons looked over her shoulder at me. Horn-dog time. The woman smiled as she motioned me forward. 

We put my weapons on the stand and prepared for school.

"I am Wiesława of House Živa," she smirked playfully. By the Almighty, she had a thick Polish accent, rich lips, russet hair and 'come hither' eyes. I was prepping for some early 'nookie' time.

"Hello, I am Ash Ketchum and I have an unhealthy relationship with free-roaming, anthropomorphic creatures," I replied as we clasped forearms Amazon-style. As Wiesława was trying to puzzle that out, an Amazon from an adjoining booth came over and punched me in the arm. I couldn't even recall this one's name though I knew that face and physique. 

"Stop that, Cáel," the woman chastised me. "She's new here."

"I thought he was bringing me more weapons to use. Was this male being insolent?" Wiesława tried to put things in their proper place. "Should he be disciplined?" At least she wasn't taking me being beaten as her Goddess-given right.

"No, Wiesława. This is Cáel Ishara, Head of House Ishara, he brought those weapons for HIS use and most likely came to your station looking for instruction," the unnamed Amazon stated.

"Does this mean we are passed that whole 'grenade launcher' thing?" I inquired of the women.

"We are not sure. For now we have decided to not pre-judge you since you remain consistently combative no matter what. Constanza is recovering," she tacked on.

"Good," I grinned. "How soon can she return to duty? I imagine she makes a lousy patient."

Pause. The 'Constanza' bit had been a test. I had a feeling that my emotional tendency to spare lives and show mercy was getting around. It wasn't the Amazon way, though it did mean Constanza would remain alive for a while longer when it was generally accepted she should not.

"She will have to retrain her vision. Her doctors are hopeful," the woman responded.

"That is for the best. I do hope there are no ill intentions toward Pamela," I warned her. "Such a vengeance would be personal and I would feel no obligation to treat those criminals as I would my fellow Amazons - are we clear?"

"It has been made expressly clear that this issue is at an end," she bowed slightly.

"Let us commit this to the 'nothingness'," was my suggestion. The two Amazons twitched. That was a phrase straight out of their cultural playbook. Both nodded, the familiar Amazon left and I turned back to Wiesława.

"Do you still want a go at training me?" I asked the Pole.

"Yes...yes, I would like that," she gave me a bright, toothy white smile. "I find you interesting." Off I went again. Wiesława was diligent and definitely 'hands-on'. Twenty minutes into the training one of my familiar SD firing partners showed up.

"Don't let him take his clothes off," Felicité teased me. Her Congolese French contrasted erotically with Wiesława's Polish.

"His clothes come off?" Wiesława seemed puzzled. "How is that accomplished?"

"A deeply scientific, psychological process," Felicité teased my latest friend/fish in the barrel. 

"Cáel, take off your clothes," she commanded me. I gave her a haughty, condescending glare. "Please." My biking shirt came off first then my biking slippers and finally the shorts.

"Your turn," I regarded Wiesława. She shot a look to Felicité. Her sports bra was millimeters from exposing her goodies when my Congolese tormentor stepped in.

"You don't have to take off your clothes for him," she intervened.

"But I like seeing you ladies naked," I protested. Felicité patted my package.

"We like seeing you naked too. Now put on your pants before a hot shell casing creates yet another incident," Felicité teased me again. 

A great chasm of misunderstanding had been bridged since Friday. The grenade-launcher was part of it, yet I think Rachel and Velma were far more constructive than I could have been. Velma had seen me in crisis mode. I hadn't panicked. I had seen to my partner (though she was an inconsequential female) and been cool throughout the process in Katrina's office as Velma and her four team members had overheard.

Rachel, Charlotte, Mona and Tiger Lily had probably given a different story - less professional and more human. That must have worked in my favor. A stone-cold bad-ass would have been more worrisome - a challenge. No, I had been shaken, irrational, brave and grieving. I had fought an assassin of the Nine Clans and not lost (thus not an embarrassment to a culture I didn't really belong to - until that moment). 

I had insulted the Condotteiri and the Seven Pillars, who were universally hated. I had been nice to the Earth & Sky and Illuminati, who they didn't like much, but could be handy if a war did break out. I had been 'friendly' to the Egyptians and Nine Clans, who the Amazon rank and file did approve of. The SD had no doubts - they were looking at a war.

Unlike their leadership, the Security Detail was anticipating this, even anxious for the test. Fighting is what they spent their whole lives training for. Thirty years had passed since the last major clash between Havenstone and the others. For the youngest, this was the ultimate chance to prove their training had been perfect.

For the oldest members of the SD, this was the culmination of a lifetime's devotion. 'Take themselves to the cliffs'? Not now. Now came the chance to make every burn, bullet hole, stab wound and piece of shrapnel worth it. Their Host lavished care and resources on the Security Detail - their Warrior Elite - and they were about to reward that glorification with a fervor only female's with 3000 years of martial tradition could match.

Like me? Allowable yet not required. Respect me? Constanza was their lesson on respect. Obedience? No. Rachel had most assuredly related my contact with the 'Runners' and Buffy, so they could hit me like they could no other Head of Household...as long as it was 'appropriate'. Since they were not forced to give me full equality, they could stomach my 'almost' equality.

Think of it as being able to punch your manager at work in the arm whenever you thought they were doing something stupid. Imagine how much worker morale would benefit. By stepping up and taking a punch, or two, I bought myself and House Ishara much more respect than a snippy insistence on etiquette would have ever done.

Bringing 'Runners' into a First House? The SD wasn't jumping for joy. Here, the SD's sense of superiority worked in Ishara's favor. What did it matter to them that a few 'Runners' had been exalted to Full-blooded status? SD was the best of the best. That they were the best of the 'best available until now' hadn't occurred to them yet.

All that circled back to Felicité playing with me, no one taking exception to me making a play for Wiesława and the return of the firing range to an educational platform for me. As I had told Oneida, 'defeat starts in the mind'. Along with that came 'Victory starts with a plan', and 'seize the moment'. I was aiming for seizing victory in the flesh.

I bent over to put my pants back on. Since Felicité was departing for jobs-unknown, I ran the pants, and my hand, along Wiesława's inner right thigh. By the look in her eyes when I was finished, she didn't mind in the slightest. At the end of my allotted time period, my marksmanship had improved and Wiesława was mine for the taking. 

What bothered me was that it felt too easy somehow. Weird huh - that 'easy' would bother me.

"You don't hang around men much?" I questioned the Pole as the weapons were being put away.

"No," she sighed. "The last male in my hold died eight years ago. That is one reason I was re-assigned here," she informed me.

"What department are you with?" I asked as we waited on the elevator.

"Security Detail," she answered.

"Fantastic," I murmured. "Elsa is a great boss. The two of us get along great."

"Really? That is good news," Wiesława sounded upbeat. "How close are you?" Hint, hint.

"Like the Cobra and the Mongoose," I grinned. Into the elevator we went. "I'll let you figure out which is which."

"You are the Cobra," she patted my thinly covered cock. Yay! No personal boundaries.

Less I forget I was still on the list of approved prey animals the door opened on the first floor and Brielle, her buddy, and Oneida stepped onboard. 

I had no clue where Wiesława was supposed to go. I guessed she was along for the ride.

"Good morning, Cáel," Brielle greeted me before licking my left nipple. Wiesława was confused - could she have been licking me, and getting licked by me, half an hour ago?

"What are you doing?" Oneida squawked.

"Yum; someone has been to the gun range this morning," Brielle smiled at me. "Oh, and...sorry about your paternal person," she hastily added. 

"They are called Fathers," I sighed. To defuse Oneida, I slipped a hand to the small over her back then wiggled three fingers between the top of her skirt and panties. 

It was 'dangerous' enough to give her pause before going after the other women.

"It is good to see your new, exalted status hasn't gone to your head, Cáel Ishara," Brielle looked very naughty.

"Sisters first, last and always," I responded. "I'm not going to take credit for my ancestors being kick ass."

"They must have been very courageous women," Wiesława stated. I snorted.

"Wiesława, my Ishara lineage goes down the male side of the family, so those lethal ancestors were all male," I chided her.

"When the Dacian-Thracians moved into the region, they joined with those tribes fighting the Celts. Later, they joined with the Dacian kings and fought against the Romans. Germans, Avars, Bulgars and finally the Magyars came their way - my ancestors impressed them all enough to be accepted. 

I know this because my Father's name was Nyilas, which means Archer in the Magyar tongue. We were fighters under the Arpad dynasty the same way we had gone to war with our Amazon War leaders thousands of years earlier. I also know this because of my bloodline - if the female folk had been raped, the bloodline would have perished," I explained.

"Where exactly was your family from?" Wiesława inquired.

"My grandfather said we Nyilas' were from Székelys Lands in Northern Romania," I replied. "My great-grandfather grew up under the Romanian King, hated it and died fighting as a Hungarian soldier against the Soviets in World War II," I continued. 

"That is why my great-grandmother took her children and came to America. They had lost their homeland in her opinion. Dad said she was bitter until the day she died," I sighed over my forerunners intransience. "She even wanted to be buried at her home town of Szászrégen," I let them know. "That never happened."

The elevator door opened, I waved good-bye to friends new and old then raced to Katrina's bathroom. Katrina was at her desk, working away.

"Cáel," Katrina acknowledged my passage with a wave of her hand. "Hayden and I have been examining a list of possible..."

"That boat has sailed, Katrina," I cut her off. "I'll take care of my business without Hayden's help, thank you very much. I know you tried to warn her. I should have known there was no use dealing with the Council in any way, shape, or form. There isn't." I paused. "Tell your allies that there will be many in House Ishara and Warrior-Fathers too."

"Aren't you worried in the least?" Katrina requested.

"We both know that some of these bitches want to face their end like the lead characters in a Wagnerian opera. All we can do is remind them they are traitors to their Race, not patriots to some modern day concoction of a cult of gender blood purity," I stated, "as we work to save our people."

"Those 'Old Guard' broads have forgotten what an Amazon is supposed to be," I explained.

"And a man is going to show us the way?" Katrina studied me with emotionless intent.

"Yes," I muttered. "A man who prefers love over hate and counts his worth by the lives he saves, not the one's he takes."

"Do you ever fear this 'softness' will weaken your masculinity?" Katrina mused. That hurt - not because of her words, which could be true for any man. It hurt because the bastion against such thinking had just died. 

"My only fear is that I won't live up to my father's example," I responded. 

"Not only as a man and a father in my time, but as a human being," I delved into the wounded portion of my soul. "He never went to college, served in the military, or even got into a fight until that last minute of his life. He covered for co-workers with family issues, never failed to answer a call out to work in inclement weather, and did all that normal boring shit few here even understand.

He let me be weak and let me be strong. His greatest lesson was that no matter where my life led, I had to take responsibility for it. The strong ask for help. The weak ask for someone to do the task for them. Love is not a word. Love is the star you chart your life by. The worst weakness is letting fear stop you from pursuing what you want.

That is what I have to measure up to," I finished. In the interim, several of the new hires showed up and were observing the spiel.

"I would think he would be happy if you measured up to what you wanted out of life," Katrina said.

"I aim to do both," I grinned. I went to the bathroom and quickly changed into my work attire. The meeting started on time with the additional of a gnat-bite - Dora was two minutes late. At the time, nothing seemed out of sorts to me. It was a day on the job with Rosette. 

Around 3:30 pm, Pamela stopped our knife training (her with her wand and me with my weighted, wooden blade). She went to the corner of the room, ran her finger along the central point and drew back a finger with dust on it. She raised the finger so I could clearly see it.

"It's dust?" I shrugged.

"Normally they do a much better job," Pamela noted and back to training we went.

The nightmare became real with one phrase in common usage: 'I'll get to it when I can', one Runner told Desiree when Desiree gave her a task. One of the most fascinating things in my book about Havenstone was that it hummed along like a well-oiled, organic machine. Tasks were completed, back-ups were always on call, and promptness wasn't a virtue - I was the absolutely expected.

"What did you say?" Desiree asked for confirmation.

"I said I'll get right on it," the woman sighed. I caught the look in Desiree's eyes. Something was wrong, but she couldn't put a name to it. Oaths and obligations - the lubricant for patently lethal Amazon society. 

Those words tossed out without too much consideration were now fraying around the edges. This wasn't the Plague, boils, lesions, leprosy, rickets, or the Home Loan bubble bursting. Those you could fight. How did you counter the devaluation of someone's word? Ishara's curse was crawling toward a very bad end unless I did something, but what?

Personal respect would remain. Hierarchy? Amazons would begin to question why they were prioritizing their lives around someone they didn't know, or knew and didn't like. We weren't at that final destination, yet it was coming, and best of all, every woman in the company had a weapon, or quick access to one.

A phone call grabbed me before I went in for the 'end of day' meeting. It was Brooke.

"Christopher Cáel-umbos," I murmured. "Economy Class Oriental tours. How may I help you?" Laughter ... and more than Brooke's.

"Libra and I were getting ready to head out to the Hamptons and wanted to give you one last chance to come along," Brooke pleaded. An impressive dicking indeed.

Thousands of reasons not to go - safety, responsibility, risk for other...

"Sure, I'd love to come along. Can you pick me up at Havenstone at 6:10 pm? We'll make a quick run to my place to pick up some stuff and then head out, unless that's too late?" I offered.

"See you then, Cáel," Brooke purred.

"See you," Libra called out as well. It was a loathsome indicator of how out of control my life was ... that me, a working class kid, was going on a romp with two rich, high society girls to some mansion for a weekend of hedonistic fun...because that was more 'normal' than my week had been. I entered the meeting, took my teasing and made for the gym.

This hour was devoted to a hardcore workout and nothing but. Rapid repetitions, quick shifts, rolling through the muscle groups. Even a few of the dedicated lifters gave me appreciative looks. I didn't have the time today. I hit the showers and made the doors before I hit a snag. Security held me up yet again. They seemed nervous, so I asked and got a bottled water and made some jokes.

These ladies were going to be my allies, damn it, before I was done. Troika caught up with me a minute later. She extended a handful of round, brownish-yellow balls in a necklace. Each ball had a symbol inscribed on it.

"We received this and a message this morning," she snapped. "We have decided to reject it."

"It is horse-hoof," Pamela whispered in my ear. The gears went spinning. There was one person I knew who would send me keratin scrimshaw jewelry. Those nasty bitches were piling on the stupid. I looked it over - it was old, maybe going as far back as Timur aka Tamerlane to the English-speaking world. The 'cord' was made of hair - probably horse tail hair.

I had no reciprocal gift to offer; absolutely nothing this valuable. But wait, I did! Somewhere there was a Havenstone bureau, department, or office that hung on to the artifacts ALL the Houses had accumulated over the passage of years. Some of that shit was mine - Ishara's. Our house had expired before the colonies became states. 




Life as a New Hire Ch. 22



That still equated to a long period of pack-ratting. I'd put a minion on it right away! I'd pray that they didn't have plans for the weekend - later. 

"It arrived this morning and you are only giving it to me now?" I grumbled. "That message was meant for me, not for any of the rest of you. Where is the rest of it? Oh, and you're on the list."

"It was consumed in its examination," Troika blatantly lied.

"You have a visual copy," Pamela sounded bored. "Give it to him."

"I do not carry such things around on a handheld device," Troika parried.

"Ah...that's theft," Pamela gave a slender grin. "Just so we are clear."

"If Cáel Ishara wished to put forth such an accusation to Hayden, I will be prepared to defend my actions," Troika gave a hostile glare right back.

"That won't be necessary," I snorted. "I'm good. Pamela, I'm out for the weekend. Have fun." I turned and walked away.

"Count the days, Troika," Pamela menaced.

"I'm not afraid," she countered.

"I don't care, but in 21 days, Cáel's ban on internal conflict will be at an end. Like me, he will not go to a corrupted Hayden for justice. We will be exacting it in our own way and in our own time. That you should worry about," Pamela gave a tilt of the head, a feral grin and joined me in departing.

[OKH] "A matron, 21 Runners and one archaic mistake," Troika joked.

[OKH] "But how many more 'Runners' can he recruit between now and then?" one of Troika's bodyguards worried.

"More than enough to raise your daughters after you are all gone and forgotten," Pamela shouted over her shoulder.

(Starting Friday Evening in the Wrong Damn Place)

Waiting outside for me were two beauties and a small car. I hefted my bike, detached the front wheel for easier storage and climbed into the Lilliputian backseat.

"Sorry," Libra in the passenger seat sounded embarrassed. "I'm not sure Brooke and I thought this through. Do you have a seat belt?" She was referring to the rear-mounted cup holder I was sitting in.

"This is not rated for human occupation," I grinned back. What that really meant was there were three conflicting emotions pulling events along. Wanting me to fuck them - the easy one. Loyalty to your social/sorority sister - the relationship under stress. Me being a 'suitable' human being - the one that they were both stumbling toward which made the second emotional force such a problem.

Had I solely been a fuck toy for either one, the other could have gracefully exited the field (with the occasional sharing). I was far from 'husband' material yet I was closing in on being the 'crossing a crowded club to greet me' kind of guy - already passed the 'not embarrassed to introduce me to their friends' phase.

"You can sit in my lap," Brooke offered. With her driving and our height differential...we'd be lucky to be pulled by the PD before we wrecked.

"How about you drive, I sit in Libra's seat and she sits in my lap?" I offered.

"That's no fun," Brooke shot me a pout.

"It sounds like fun for me," Libra giggled.

"Now Libra remember, for the seat belt to be effective, you will have to sit facing me..." I sighed.

"Facing you?" she winked.

"Yes...facing me naked," I assured her.

"Hey!" Brooke protested. "How come she gets to be naked in your lap?"

"Otherwise me being naked would be pretty pointless," I explained.

"Libra," Brooke demanded, "you get to drive."

Petty arguments and playful exchanges followed. I left a message for Timothy and Odette, letting them know I was heading out to some address on the far end of Long Island. I even shot myself in the foot with the Nerf gun and told Timothy so he'd feel better. Brooke and Libra were dressed similarly.

Red and khaki almost 'short-shorts', white/yellow bikini tops under white wife-beaters covered with a denim shirt (sleeves rolled up) and white cargo short-sleeved shirt, tennis socks and canvas shoes. In a way, I was a victim of my own success. Both ladies wanted to fuck me bad, but their desire to prove to me I was more than a fuck toy meant I didn't get sex at my place. If you are a girl, that will make much more sense.

The car ride out was an issue. If I drove, Brooke and Libra promised to put on a Sapphic display for the ages. If Libra drove, I promised to publically molest Brooke at every stop. The reverse went for Brooke driving. The solution was that the girls would take turns driving and I would be a truly diligent cunnilinguist, with a strong background as an anatomically astute Braille harpsichord player.

Our destination turned out to be the hamlet of Sagaponack, aka the most expensive place to live in the United States. Why was I doing this to myself? For starters, Brooke thought our host, Brennan Sulkanen, lived in one of those $50+ million homes...funny, I thought those were called estates. The girls laughed when I told them that.

My utter lack of forethought, underutilized intelligence gathering capabilities, and even not acting my age were coming back to chew a huge hunk off my heine now. Brennan was a fraternity brother of Trent - warning indicator #1. Brennan didn't actually do anything, but his father was loaded...situation getting worse.

Brennan was the youngest of the three sons from the first marriage with three other children from two other marriages waiting in the wings. A quick search revealed that the third and current Mrs. Sulkanen, was very elegant for a thirty-two year old lady. His current Mom being the same age as his oldest brother could be an issue. I was living proof how good parenting could help build up a child. Improper parenting...could do the opposite. Nothing was guaranteed though.

"So, why are we going to Brennan's?" I hazarded to inquire as we cruised down Highway 27 through East Patchogue. In the back of my mind, I realized I was due south of scenic Doebridge and their frisky policewomen/Stasi law enforcers.

"Oh, we met in college when I came up for one of Trent's - that loser - frat functions," she told us.

"He was very drunk and tried to hit on me," the tale continued.

"How and where did he 'hit' on you?" I prodded.

"He stumbled into the Ladies' room, knocked my drink over and tried to give me his, but I was insulted by his inebriated pawing and left," Brooke said.

Lone drunk men DO stumble into Ladies' rooms - usually to vomit. Frat brothers hit on each other's girls - men are pigs. Greeks are pigs with tie pins and secret handshakes. Drunk people do not demolish another person's drink then offer up their own. The spilling of alcohol is a drink-worthy event which you can't do if you have given your drink away. 

Man math = Brennan stalked Brooke, ambushed her in the bathroom and tried to roofie her with his drink because our host was a dirt bag and a total ass-bandit. How had I failed to do some basic 4-1-1 on this bastard? Oh yeah, brought an extinct First House to life, multiple threats to my well-being, treated like crap by most of my co-workers and then my father was murdered.

"I repeat; why are we going to this guy's house?" I asked.

"He's been persistent ever since Trent bailed and he sounds so worried about me," she answered. "OH, I don't want you to think I'm using you as Brennan-deterrent, Cáel," she added. "I wanted to get out of the city and be with you...and Libra." I was more than Brennan-deterrent alright. I was a 'Highway Closed Indefinitely' sign for his edification. This was okay with Brooke (and me) because of all the sex we were going to have.

"Thanks," Libra teased her pal. My dilemma was that despite all the positive emotions wafting my way, I wasn't one of 'them' yet. I couldn't simply say 'this dude is a scumbag. Let's go somewhere else.' This was going to take some tact and pretty much annihilated my hopes for a weekend to unwind.

I had to play nice and at the first opportunity pull our host aside and politely inform him that I was going to floss his teeth with his still functioning intestines if any of us partook of something we hadn't asked for, ended up in some spot we hadn't wanted to go to, and/or doing something we didn't want to do. My diplomatic approach was from some movie that was way before CGI. It was ('you' meaning 'me': 'I want you to be nice...until it is time...to not be nice.')

I was going to give Brennan's survival instincts the benefit of the doubt. I felt certain he wasn't enchanted with the idea of personal pain and I was going to let him know there wasn't a bank account deep enough to protect him from my wrath. If there was ever any doubt - I'm an idiot. We pulled up to the gate right before eight. Yes - one of those nice wrought-iron, automatic opening double gates. Brooke answered the security screen and in we went.

Two people, definitely staff, met us as we parked. There was six cars present already, all variations of the high-performance, turbo-charged, 'Daddy/Mommy don't love me so they gave me this deathtrap instead' ideal. Cargo space? Fuel efficiency? Excessive safety features? Not a concern for this crowd. There was a momentary bout of confusion as the male staffer came for my baggage. I thanked him. He looked at me funny.

Brooke insisted the female staffer give directions to where her/Libra's luggage was going so I did the same with the guy. My stuff was not only not heading to Brooke's room, I was being banished to another branch of this sprawling villa. 

"Take my stuff to their room," I directed the man.

"Sir, a different room has been set aside for the gentleman," he insisted.

"Oh...okay," I nodded. I took my bags from him, much to his surprise, and followed the 'maid'. Brooke and Libra laughed at my obstinacy and tagged along. Our introduction to the 'pack' was delayed and, by his look, Brennan wasn't happy with my detour. I wasn't happy either, but for a different reason.

"Brooke...Libra, right? Cecil?" he clearly was disrespecting me straight out of the gates.

Brooke and Libra said 'hi'. I was a little less diplomatic and I was staring down the barrels of a serious crimp in my main battle plan. There were two dissipated young ladies, three men of the same caliber and two guys I identified hangers-on. Most likely rich; just not rich enough to be treated as equals by the majority. 

Then there was this one girl who was certainly the unsuspecting party favor. You can learn all kinds of thing about the darker side of male-female relationships at Spring Break if you pay attention. The vacation can be wonderful, but seeing fuck-head bottom-feeders getting girls wasted for the eternal glory of Girls Gone Wild and the ability to stick their prick into someplace it doesn't belong, and they haven't earned the right to be in, truly sucks. For the moment, I had to look past her.

The focus of my anxiety was a couple, both African-American and from a different mold than everyone else there. I knew the guy because he was somewhat famous.

"Hey Bitch," I replied in an off-handed manner.

"What?" Brennan hammed up his confusion. The 'Home Alone' gasp. What had he done wrong?

"What?" I responded.

"Did you just call me a 'bitch'?" he clarified.

"No," I lied. "I didn't even know you were talking to me. Hi, I'm Cáel Nyilas. Who are you again?"

"I think you called me a bitch," Brennan watched his whole weekend plan to dispose of me coming gift wrapped here in the opening round. He looked to the 'famous' guy. I am an idiot.

"Well, with your family money, I'm sure you can hire top notch Otolaryngologist to handle that hearing problem of yours," I grinned.

"Orlando, what do you think Kibble here said?" Brennan indicated the guy.

"Orlando Keyes," I smiled. "Man, you are one mean son of a bitch. That fighter from Ecuador...missed his name...you broke his left cheek with one hit during that MMA bout in New Orleans last Thanksgiving. The only thing almost as impressive was that guy managed to stand up afterwards."

No, I wasn't buttering this guy up. There was no point. I only knew about him because the whole 'martial ardor' doesn't have to be yours to get some tail. Girls who like watching physical combat - MMA, Kick-boxing, Boxing, and the NHL (WWE if they are somewhat gullible) - will jump on your bones at the completion of that match.

"I think this pussy called you his bitch," Orlando came my way. I gently pushed Brooke and Libra aside to give me space.

"You are mistaken," I kept smiling at Orlando. "I was calling that lady over there," I pointed at the lady he had been talking to, "my bitch for tonight. The acoustics in this place must suck."

Outdoor pool...the Atlantic Ocean crashing less than 100 meters away...this place rocked.

"You are going to die," Brennan laughed at me. Keyes kept coming.

"Right, or left?" I asked him in a pleasant tone. He glared yet hesitated.

"What does it matter?" Orlando studied me. He had stopped being a hired thug and returned to being a modern day gladiator.

"I'm packing so I wanted to know which knee you can live without," I stated.

"He's got a gun?" one of the other males mumbled.

"Gun?" Orlando's eyes narrowed.

"Knife," I corrected.

At this point, everyone but Orlando and I felt better. In that snippet, Orlando and I exchanged a vital piece of information - I was going to hurt him. No matter what he did, I was going to put a knife into him. How did he know? I had warned him and I laughed at Death. I wasn't bluffing and Orlando made his life's work piercing his opponent's deceptions.

"That's my fiancé," Orlando grumbled. I extended my hand.

"I apologize then," I said as he shook my hand. "That was rude of me and uncalled for. Not only is she one of the classiest ladies here, she was hanging out with you, a man not known for accepting anything short of the perfect match. Besides," I whispered, "we both know who I was truly talking about."

Orlando wasn't happy with me, or forgiven me. What he did accept was that I'd given him an out. I had backed down and apologized. Brennan was frowning. Orlando and I didn't care; we were both fighters and we'd both ponied up on the promise of pain. If there was to be a conflict, he wasn't going to do it for Brennan. He was going to do it because he always wanted to know how tough the other guy really was.

Names floated around. The only people that mattered to me were Anima and Casper. Anima was Brennan's 'girlfriend' which I translated as a debauchery enabler. She was under the delusion that life was boring and pointless, so she should punish the world for her ennui. Her life's cup had been emptied at twenty-three? Bitch, I worked with real women who couldn't even consider such nonsense.

Casper...Casper was going to be a problem. For starters, Anima had taken Casper under her wing - was going to show Casper the 'ropes'. Casper proudly proclaimed that. Casper was also not as rich as the 'in crowd' and not a hanger-on - she was the weekend's amusement, or would have been if Brooke hadn't shown up. And, of course, she couldn't see the danger, she was so eager to be with the super-rich.

After the name game came the initial party shuffle. Who was aiming for whose bedroom tonight and how would they get what they wanted. Brennan sent two backup boys cruising for Libra while he angled in for Brooke. Anima and Casper were supposed to keep me busy. Libra promptly showed she'd thumbed through my Book of Social Fugliness.

"I only date real men," she shredded the 'second-stringers' to pieces. The blast socially staggered them. "If you have to think about it, boys, you are not a man. Don't strain yourself trying to be something you can't even comprehend. Now one of you go get me a drink while I think about what Cáel and I are going to do to Brooke tonight."

In social parlance, that was shooting someone with both barrels of a shotgun then using the stock to tenderize the remains. 

That was one flank secure. Next, Casper and Anima. Anima had the feeling I didn't like her - good for her.

"Would you really have cut Orlando?" Casper asked me softly while she ran a fingernail over my right forearm.

"Casper, to begin with, call him Mr. Keyes. There will come a time when you can freely use his first name, but you ain't there yet," I cautioned her. "To answer your question: yes, I would have sliced down and across, cutting his right hamstring." Keyes heard me, as I had intended.

"Brennan says you are a co-worker of Trent," Anima cooed.

"Kind of," I shrugged. "Trent is a big-shot with the Far East Unit while I remain in Personnel in the city (Manhattan)." They both looked disappointed then Casper handed me a plum. She wasn't stupid, just willfully blind.

"Where did you learn to use a knife then?" Casper tried to 'salvage' me. She was doing herself a favor by trying to make me look better to the rest - doing me a favor. Nice.

"I'm with the Records Redaction Unit of Havenstone's Executive Services," I lied. Blink.

"That doesn't make any sense," Casper's brow furrowed. "You delete records?"

"No Casper," I returned her arm rub, "someone creates a list with names on it. I am part of the team that reduces the number of those names on that list to zero." Blink.

"You fire people?" she remained uncertain. She had to believe I was playing with her, which I was.

"No," I shook my head. "That implies extra paperwork. We take a more ergonomic approach. No termination rigmarole - no traceable termination at all."

"That sounds vaguely like you murder people," Anima murmured.

"Murder is a crime. Converting all the data of a given person into one, misplaced file is a way of circumventing the whole 'exit interview/providing references for other jobs/pension' process." If you believed that this nation, nay, the whole world, was run by soulless corporate monsters that made scary sense.

"What do you do with the people?" Anime was showing the tiniest bit of enthusiasm for this conversation.

"What people? People have names," I smiled. "Bodies with no records are normally handled as John and Jane Does and are buried in Potter's Field, or used at medical schools."

"Do you enjoy sex with multiple partners?" Anima smiled - veering the conversation off in a different direction for reasons I couldn't fathom.

"Yes. Do you always use protection?" I bantered back. Casper was heady with the hedonistic direction this weekend seemed to be taking.

"I do," Anima gave me a droopy, somewhat sexy smile.

"I don't believe you," I chuckled. "That's okay because I don't find you all that interesting anyway. Casper here is a peach...you...you would pay for the experience of using a stick to push a dying person's head beneath the quicksand - the more they trusted you, the happier you would be. Casper doesn't believe it, but you and I know it's true." The blazing necrophiliac wasn't put off in the least.

Anime found me attractive because she wouldn't have to hide her evil around me. My understanding meant she could be as creepy, callous and vindictive for no damn good reason. By now, Brennan bored her to tears as did all people after a random amount of time. I was new.

"I'm going to have fun with you," Anima purred. Even Casper was unsettled by that.

"You are having a blast being a terribly miserable person, Anima," I began. 

"If something happens to Brooke, Libra, or Casper, you are going to discover that you haven't a clue about what real misery and suffering are. I don't know those depths either, but I know some people who do and once I relate the tale of this weekend, they are going to proactively beautify the human species," I smiled. "We clear?" 

No answer. Again, Anima's pampered existence had given her false certainty about what happened in the dark, neglected recesses of the world and how she was untouchable. I had to shift fronts, as Brennan was using every sleazy, oily, subliminal physical contract trick in his arsenal to maneuver between Brooke and me. Moron.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 22



"Hey Brooke, do your parents know you are hanging out with Trent's Wal-Mart substitute?" Brennan had begun his assault. 

"Felix?" Brooke deftly parried. "Nah. I dated him once, but he turned out to be another degenerate frat-boy loser, so I dumped him." Maybe I should have let Libra and Brooke dispose of Mr. Keyes for me as well. "Cáel's not like that. He cares."

"Come on now," Brennan battled back. "He's some minimum wage paper-shredder whereas Trent worked directly for his department head."

At this same moment I was convincing Casper and Anima that I was a professional assassin...just for some relevance.

"That's why they pay him a quarter-million a year," Brooke snickered. "Or put him on a jet to come back from his father's funeral, or around the clock bodyguards.

Minimum wage has improved a good deal under the Obama Administration, but I don't think it has gone up that much," Brooke finished up.

"He told you that?" Brennan mockingly laughed. "Come on Brooke, that's a total snow job."

Back to the current reality.

"Cáel," Brooke got my attention, "can you prove you are rich?"

"Nope," I reassured her. "You've seen where I live and what I ride to work. I'm a pauper."

"What about those bodyguards?" she prodded me. I had to turn so that Brooke and I were face to face. I was back with Aya explaining how 'not' is a very dangerous word.

"We do not talk about that, Brooke. Never. You've seen my office, you know I work for Executive Services and I'm only an intern. I am not some 'specialist-in-training' for ES," I clarified. Yes...I was Nyilas, Cáel Nyilas of Ishara's Secret Service; license to invalidate reality.

Life got better.

"So, you've convinced Brooke you are James Bond," Brennan kept trying to belittle me.

"Why, yes I have and that would make you Octopussy - congrats Stud," I laughed at him. Worse, several others laughed as well, Anima included.

"What are you doing here again?" Brennan tried to use the 'host' thing to insinuate I was rude, which I was.

"You think you can bamboozle Brooke into having sex with you and I'm telling you right now, barring drugs, or blackmail, that isn't happening because she's far too independent minded to be attracted to a shallow, immoral creep like you," I answered. "I think that covers it."

"Stop it," Brooke touched my left bicep. "Don't go picking fights on my account." Brooke was having pity on Brennan, exerting her authority over me and letting everyone know that she could 'unleash my wrath' at her will - the 'picking fights' detail.

"Four hour sex session tonight, or I'm going to be a very grumpy guy come sunup," I challenged Brooke.

"Four?" Brooke giggled. "Not feeling up to your normal level of excellence?" I kissed her then roped in Libra for a quick bonding moment.

That was it for Brennan's first attempt. Palatial pad, sports cars, rich friends and making me look like a stock clerk/bag boy/guy out for a payday - all failures. Even his 'ringer' hadn't delivered - my disrespectful self hadn't been spanked and/or humiliated by any stretch of the imagination.

(Illusions)

"Let's go to Illusions," Brennan called out. I was curious about his next angle of attack. The pathetic thing was that if he devoted his weaseling ways toward bettering his life, he could be worth a damn. "It's a members club, Kibble. Let me know if you need something to wear."

"No need to bother yourself, Brennan," I grinned. 

"I found a garment truck stalled on 33rd and engaged in a little 'social justice' and 'wealth redistribution'. Your fake generosity has been noted and found to be rather weak and unoriginal," I nodded as I turned to leave with 'my' two ladies, "though consistent with your performance so far." More laughter at Brennan's expense as we headed off to our rooms to change.

"Wow," Brooke muttered as we put on our party attire, "I hadn't recalled him being so...underwhelming."

"Honestly, I think the three of us are the only ones to have graduated college," Libra added. "I noticed Brennan didn't have a Carnegie-Melon ring." We three had our 'we've been slapped upside our heads with a sheepskin' jewelry on - two Vassars and a Bolingbrook.

Driving/seating assignments were the next social rumba. Unluckily, it was obvious that we couldn't go to this club with the same set-up as Brooke, Libra and I came in. The plan was to split apart the new people under the auspices of us not knowing where Illusions could be found. Since it made sense, we had to go our separate ways.

Brennan ended up with Brooke, Libra ended up with a waste-of-space guy whose name I hadn't bothered to remember, and I found myself driving some custom sports machine with Amina.

"Why don't you like me?" Anima mused after twenty minutes on the road. She wasn't asking me to defend my vibe. She wanted to know what she was doing right about being 'wrong'.

"You find creating excuses for bad behavior to be tedious," I enlightened her. When my mentor, Dr. Kimberly Geisler, had educated me about women, she had opened my overly romantic eyes to all sorts of pitfalls young men could fall into including emotional ant-lions like Anima. "You find it amusing that people consider you broken, hollow, depressed, despairing of hope, or empty of life. They are so wrong - you are evil. 

You feast upon the weaknesses you find in others and drink in their misery as you publically expose their painful secrets. Creating random suffering bores you," I continued. "You revel in destroying virtue, hope and trust, staying close and concealed as a confidante until you administer the coup de grâce. Only a lack of anything approaching a work ethic keeps you from being a serial emotional rapist. I think that description covers how I feel about you."

"You've only just met me," Anima said. "This sounds all a bit contrived and hurtful. I think you are the person who likes tormenting others." I laughed. "Do you know what I see in you?"

"It is hardly something I care about, but by all means, give it your best shot," I chuckled.

"You want every women in the room to want you," she began.

"Having a woman reject you attracts you. You have to turn that woman around and once you are done, you abandon her to her doubts, worries and regrets," Anima weeviled her magic.

"Whoa...that is what you made of the discussion between me, you and Casper?" I snorted. She gave me a smoky, sexy twist of the lips.

"Hmmm...how much longer is this road trip going to take?" I asked.

"Half an hour," she answered. We had been driving west, back toward NYC...for three-quarters hour almost.

"Ah, what the hell," I mumbled to myself. "Anima, I'm not a psychiatrist, psychologist, or spiritual advisor. I'm a responsible man and that's all I've ever wanted to be.

Sex with women? Absolutely. Intercourse is wonderful and it doesn't have to be a contest. A lady says 'not interested', I'm moving on to the next one. Am I unfaithful? Hell yeah and I'm honest about it now. Do I have other vulnerabilities? Yes and go looking for them. I dislike you enough to send you that way knowing you could get killed for doing so. Since I've warned you about the potential threat, I remain a Good Guy," I finished up.

"Death isn't all it is cut out to be," Anima gave a depressing lilt. "I'm not afraid."

"Anima, nothing short of decapitation will cure what ills you," I grinned. "Not a damn thing I can say will convince you that your demise will be anything, but bad. That misconception it totally on you. I've been on the cusp of death and it was awesome for me...that was because I love and was loved.

Laugh if you like. You are evil, so 'love' doesn't register with you the way it would to a normal person. Evil isn't strength. Evil isn't a 'tool' that the foolish mass of humanity can't conceive of. Evil is a defect and you are going to find that out the hard way, no doubt," I ruminated.

"Philosophy major?" she wondered.

"Philosophy minor - Business major," I replied.

"Do you believe people can truly be evil?" Anima took her eyes off the road to drink in my introspection. "Without being crazy," she qualified.

"Of course. Evil isn't a 24/7 thing so it isn't like you wicked freaks run around with a flashing neon sign over your heads announcing your 'monstrosity' status," I started.

"Evil slips around the sides," I went on. "As I alluded to earlier, those actions are layered in excuses and misdirection. Science wants to wrap the whole concept of evil in bubble-wrap and give a descriptor to the psychosis with the open suggestion that it can be cured with therapy and pills. Not you - you don't inflict pain out of some sadistic impulse, Anima.

You aren't lashing out because Mommy and Daddy didn't love you enough, or because you were abused by someone close, and no one did anything to help you. Nope, you are a beast with above average looks and more financial resources than is remotely healthy. Please don't get me wrong - I don't care about your nature. I am not trying to save, or change, you.

Feel free to be you without an ounce of concern on my part as long as you leave me and mine alone. Anima, you are hardly unique. I have more than enough on my plate without worrying about your predilections. Here ends my lecture on the kitty-poo that is your soul," I sighed.

"Casper is mine for the weekend," Anima stated after a few minutes.

"I'm going to bypass the 'people are not property' debate and go straight to the 'I' warned you' and going back up my threat with a promise of escalation," I looked deep into her dark eyes.

"You are going to hurt me?" she gave a sloppy smirk.

"No. This is a matter of restraint. Pain doesn't scare you - it should, but it doesn't," I smirked right back with greater energy.

"This isn't a game, Anima," I clarified. "Either you are an anathema with self-control, or a slithering horror at the edge of human perception; that is the issue. If you wanted to be treated like an inhuman threat to a community I am a member of...well, you know the fate of monsters, don't you?"

"Ewww, a death threat," she giggled.

"You will be hard pressed to find the words 'exterminate', 'murder', or 'killing' in my lecture above," I grinned. "The 'fate of monsters' could be exile, entrapped, or killed - open to interpretation."

"You sound like a lawyer," Anima kept talking.

"My father was murdered Monday night, so I've been dealing with some lawyers," I replied.

"Murdered? What did he do?" Anima attempted to not seem terminally bored.

"Married the woman he loved, had a son who he was proud of and mostly minded his own business," I said. "He owned his house, left no debts, and lived and died by the same simple code he taught me - take charge of your own destiny."

"How noble," she sneered.

"If you thought I was soliciting your input, you were mistaken," I shook my head mirthfully. "The polar opposition of our natures makes anything you think/say about me so much drivel. Women - I came with better looking ladies. Engaging personalities - I have three with far rosier outlooks on life. Wealth and connections - I don't give a damn. 

You have nothing I want, but if you did, I'd find a less onerous way to get it than getting socially close to you," I dipped into the Amazon credo.

"I've met people who thought they were untouchable before - independent, moral, or cloaked in happiness," Anima laughed. "They've all been wrong."

"You have gone from a prattling annoyance to an overworked joke, Anima," I looked at her with pity. "Take my job? Good luck with that. Sully my reputation? I don't care. Take a 'woman' away from me? There is precisely one woman I care about enough to bend my life for. If you go after her, I'm not going to be the one you need to worry about." Aya.

"Money? I can always get more. Dwelling? Mine isn't all that grand anyway. Friends? Good-luck finding any that would ever be deceived by you. Physical pain and suffering? I have been hurt before and my health plan borders on the magical. I'm not untouchable. You simply lack the imagination to affect me," I laid out truth for her. She didn't believe me. In her mindset, everyone was a potential victim for her to devour.

I had done my due diligence. Anima attempted to get me to open up. I sandwiched lies with the truth until we finally rolled into Illusions' parking lot. It was a gentlemen's club - that's a strip joint for us less fortunates. I clawed my way through life feeding upon the small, positive sparks I brought to lives around me. Brooke held forth her own sparkler for me to enjoy.

Brooke, Casper and Libra were outside the club, waiting on me (and Anima). Brennan's plan was for the group to arrive separately, he and Brooke first. Brooke wouldn't have a choice, in his mind, except to go in this place with him. Mind you, it looked very high-class. The shock for Brooke was being taken to a gentlemen's club in the first place.

The old Brooke would have been outraged yet stumbled over her ignorance. The new Brooke was still outraged. She countered that by putting her faith in Libra and I showing up and supporting her decision about how to proceed, which we did. Brennan had kept trying to 'shame' Brooke into going inside until the next car arrived.

He had left Brooke outside to face the scorn of the other dirt-bags on his troupe as they went into the club. Casper decided to wait with Brooke, Libra had rallied to her as well and I rounded them all up. Anima pretended to approve of Casper's kindness then flashed her ID to the first of the bouncers of this 'Members Only' establishment.

First impression: big and competent security; always a mixed blessing at any club. The rest were given a cursory glance while I got the magnetic wand. Nothing beeped. Amazon knives had ceased being made of metal two decades ago so Brennan's attempt at annoying me failed. The super-rich crowd was made obvious by the professional female attention gathered around their cushy seats.

"You look like trouble," this Vietnamese-American dancer/waitress stroked a finger from my Adam's apple to the cleft of my chin. That was 'exotic' dancer speak for 'I'll let you be a little bad'. Trust me. I've met a plethora of exotic dancers over the past two years.

"Dad was a grifter and Mom was a monkey-whisperer," I winked. "That has left me morally confused and financially directionless."

Laughter.

"Get us some drinks, you skank," Brennan commanded loftily. My latest buddy huffed and rolled her eyes.

"I apologize. It isn't small penis syndrome," I 'explained' to her.

"In fact, Brennan here is so well hung, when he gets excited, it crawls up his ass crack and he fucks himself," I grinned. As she turned to fill the current drink orders, she showed me a smirk and brandished her pinky, indicating she thought Brennan's anaconda was more of an earthworm.

It was blatantly obvious there was one spot on the circular lounge for Brooke - right next to Brennan with Anima on the other side and Casper pinned in next to her. Libra could sit on one end of the 'U' and I could sit on the other. Nah.

"Excuse me," I motioned to the closest poster child for the failures of the posh and pompous.

"I'm good," he snorted derisively. Ah, he thought I was making a request. I surreptitiously grabbed the back of his shark-skin jacket, yanked him onto his side on the seat then rapidly slid him straight out of the 'U'. I motioned Libra in and took 'his' seat by the time fuck-nut regained his feet. Extensive time in various nightclubs had helped me become a past master of knowing how to avoid attracting attention from bouncers.

"Mother-fucker," he yipped at me. I looked slightly up at him, face blank. At that moment, his drug and booze soaked mind began grasping the enormity of his major life mistakes. His friends weren't friends. They were more than happy to sneer, mock and derided his discomforts and failures. We weren't in elementary school. There was no 'seating assignments'.

He could attack me, but we both knew what that outcome would be. He could complain to Brennan. Short of unleashing his attack dog, Brennan could do nothing and without a doubt, his 'leader' cared much more for Brooke's curves than 'dumbass's' pride. Mumbling, he took the seat on the other side.

"When it occurs to you to throw a drink at me, do realize I will publically strip you down for towel material," I gave the cock-sucker a crocodilian grin.

"They have towel's here," one of the useless women pointed out. It is an indicator of how little I thought of her that looking her ways didn't automatically incite the siren song of 'sex' in my mind.

"I know," I nodded her way.

"I don't think that's going to happen," Orlando challenged.

"You had a good view of the door, Keyes," I met his simmering anger with my iron-clad bravery. "Did you see them take anything from me? If not, you may assume I'm still armed."

"Drinks," one the waitresses showed up with a tray. Another waitress and my V-A exotic mistress followed.

"I brought you a Rust Nail," she grinned. Since she was behind me, I had to roll my head back into her enhanced cleavage as she handed it over.

"You do see me sitting here - right?" Libra half turned her body and fully turned on her petulance.

"Best of luck with this one, Miss," the girl chuckled. "I can tell he's a handful and I mean that in the best possible way."

"I know," Libra mastered the situation. "He does all kinds of things...including bondage." Libra was swiftly becoming confidently adventurous.

"Top, or bottom?" our exotic hostess grinned seductively. Libra was uncertain.

"Both," I informed the lady. To Libra, "She was asking if I tie you down - top, or get tied down - bottom."

"Good for you," she patted my head then sashayed away.

"Hey Dog, you got a way with hookers and strippers," a gibbering chump snorted at me.

"Dude, it is not that dark in here," I shook my head. "White tops indicate waitresses (they wore a risqué, white, pseudo-peasant blouse) - don't grab one and we won't get thrown out. The lightly clad ladies are exotic dancers - they are only called strippers by polyester-clad, middle-aged businesspersons, and illiterate knuckle-dragging degenerates."

"Even the waitresses put out in this place," Brennan tried to sound worldly, "...if you have the money." Sigh. Beating the poverty drum.

"Have you ever paid for sex?" Brooke gave me a smoking hot, hungry gaze. She was 'playing' and really getting into it.

"Physically, or financially?" I requested.

"Both," Casper jumped in.

"I've been too poor most of my life to ever afford it. Later on, girls weren't happy until I bled and no number of zeros on a check would have kept them at bay," I let my eyes spark her way. Blush.

"Or maybe you don't know how the system works," Brennan countered. "You treat ladies properly; you treat pick-ups like nameless screws and move on."

"You mean you initiate sex with a woman with the prejudiced decision of never seeing her again? What fun is that? Ladies are always the 'road less traveled', not a cul-de-sac," I smiled.

"With every woman I've been with, it has been the journey we've shared that mattered. Had I not constantly crossed lanes into oncoming traffic, I'd have a lot fewer scars, but I am who I am," I shrugged.

"See," Brennan snaked an arm around Brooke's shoulders, "he's no good for you. He is one of 'those' people."

Perhaps Brennan should have taken into account that Orlando Keyes was one of 'those' people as well. By the man's look and that of his GF, they weren't pleased.

"Brennan," Brooke pulled away slightly, "you do realize Cáel is sleeping with me and Libra tonight, don't you?"

"Besides, Cáel also has a live-in female fuck-buddy, has had sex with at least two women at work as well as this female lawyer he met at an upscale club (Nicole)," Libra added. But wait - there is more!




Life as a New Hire Ch. 22



"Brennan, I didn't come up this weekend because I'm lonely," Brooke continued.

"I came up because Cáel has had a rough week - his father dying, and him having to handle all those affairs - so I thought he could relax, unwind and sex me up a whole bunch...and Libra," Brooke winked at her friend. To Brennan, "I thought you were simply being apologetic about initially taking Trent's side in that blow-up instead of mine. Is that not the case?"

Of course that wasn't the case. No one at the table thought Brennan was acting apologetic, or out of the goodness of his soul. Brennan was well-connected enough to lash out like a spoiled brat and get away with it. His father's lawyers would bury the mess and he was far, far away from feeling self-conscious about being 22 and having his parent still picking up after him.

What Brennan couldn't figure out was why he was losing and looking foolish. Brooke was perfect - as in perfectly vulnerable. She was a non-sleazy, rich girl who was arrogant yet kicked to the curb - totally a prey animal in his book. What had gone wrong? Hmmm...Brooke refused to have sex with me then did.

Brooke refused to have anal sex with me yet did and loved it. She came over to my hovel and had sex again - because she wanted it. She dated Felix - a disaster, then I showed up and stood by/slept by her...then we had sex. Then she felt strong enough to share me back with Libra. Kinky sex at my place was replaced by some sort of corporate disaster equipped with macho women with guns.

And Cáel took Brooke to her home, for her own safety, first. The bottom line was that in two short weeks, Brooke had corralled her sexuality and made some serious post-Trent decisions. The most crucial was to get over Trent - he was old news now. She could even make jokes about him. Felix had come and gone, leaving her feeling shabbily treated, despite their shared social class.

She hadn't even needed to come back to me. I had come to her and made her feel good. I had lavished her with the proper accolades and compliments. I hadn't given her any new concepts, only reinforced the traits she wanted to use to define herself - free-willed, independent and intelligent.

"Of course, Brooke. Anything for you," Brennan's words came out like molasses. 

"I'm glad we got that out of the way," I took a sip of my Rusty Nail. Then, I decided to toss Brooke another gem. "I'll be naming my third condom after you, Buddy." Brennan prepared his verbal retort yet it was Brooke who responded first.

"Cáel, apologize," Brooke insisted. Who was in charge? Brooke was. "That was uncalled for."

"Fine," I grumbled. "Brennan, I lashed out and it was damn rude of me. Please accept my apology."

"You don't know your place, so I understand," Brennan sneered. Dumbass. I knew my 'place' and it was with Brooke. Brooke and Libra knew it. Why couldn't he see it?

But wait! It gets better one more time!

"Cáel, where is your place?" Brooke's body language was positively molten.

"Beneath Brooke, beside Brooke, on top of Brooke, in a Libra/Brooke/me sandwich...need I go on?" I answered.

"See," Brooke turned to Brennan, "Cáel knows precisely where he needs to be. He's Libra's male companion, but I don't mind. After all, when he isn't devoting all his sexual energy to me, he turns on Libra so I can catch my breath."

"Good to know," Brennan grumbled.

Brennan decided that since his huge house and pushing around working class people had made no headway with Brooke, he'd up the ante. He had access to an insane amount of his Daddy's money. The problem wasn't the approach, but the amount of moolah squandered, so all he had to do was throw even more of his father's money around. Fiscal responsibility was the problem he couldn't grapple with. Brooke herself was an unemployed college graduate living off her very wealthy family.

What separated Brooke in her mind from Brennan was that she had an exit plan. She had, probably with Trent's connivance, decided to move towards being a 'professional' wife. Trent pulled a social vanishing act so she was allowed some recouping time. I believed she was going to go job hunting. She had a college and sorority network to fall back on so her future looked good.

Brennan apparently had decided to take both his native intellect and family fortune for granted and was a four year college non-grad. He had finished with some top-flight grades from some snobbish prep school which, with some influence pedaling, had gotten him into Carnegie-Melon and he repaid everyone else's efforts on his behalf by becoming a party animal, frat boy, educational failure. Would/could he go back to college for another year in hopes of earning a diploma?

Who cared? Certainly not me, or Brooke, or Libra. The two ladies were a step above Casper's folks - two well-respected doctors in Delaware - and money was not on my list of top ten concerns. Despite the clear indicators that finances weren't a stumbling block, Brennan opened up the dollar spigot. He bought us a private room and ratcheted up the humiliation.

To the dancers escorted to the suite, it was a race to suck up the dollars before the cost of disinfectant needed to put this night behind them exceeded the reward. By dancer number two, they had figured Libra and I were the 'safe' corner. The rest of the clientele thought nothing of slapping, spanking and disrobing the ladies. I had never witnesses such outrageous behavior in what should have been regulated surroundings.

Bouncers? They apparently knew the score. For the girls, it was running a gauntlet. As a depiction of the human experience, I wanted to leave before I did something stupider than showing up in the first place. Anima did me a favor by smiling at me with a sense of accomplishment.

The Vietnamese dancer had been shanghaied down to Brennan's area and he upped his show of superiority by twisting her nipples until she yelped, then mocked her silicon-enhanced assets. There were two other entertainers with us at the time.

"Libra, why don't you give it a shot," I prodded my friend. Libra looked shocked and unwilling.

"Rope in Casper," I whispered. "Let's kick Brennan in his pea-sized testicles." That brought Libra into my scheme. Libra's efforts brought out some hoots from the other 'guests' and looks of relief from the dancers trapped in the room with us. Whatever Brennan thought about their smarts/desperation, the girls latched onto the situation immediately.

This was hardly their first 'girl-customer dances with the entertainment' go-round. I had never seen it so quickly seized upon by the professionals. Libra and one of the exotic dancers had Casper up in no time. Less welcome was Anima coming my way and proving she was both limber and coordinated. Worse, she didn't even put on an overly trashy effort.

I almost missed Brooke and the Asian pro double-teaming Brennan. It was rather clever of the Vietnamese to rile our host up then shield herself with Brooke. On either the fourth, or fifth such ploy, he chose to sexually molest Brooke for her collaboration with the working class. Brennan must have forgotten that Brooke wasn't 'paid for'.

Brooke slapped him hard enough to bounce his head off the padded backrest of the sofa. He slapped Brooke back, clearly enraged. The Vietnamese lady yanked Brooke away from all but the tip of the blow. Brennan stood, I stood and Orlando stood. Then two barbs connected with Orlando and he danced with the lightning. Huh? I wasn't alone in that expression either.

The barbs' wires went back to the private room's doorway and the lithe figure standing right inside. I hadn't seen her enter and if I had, I wasn't sure how happy I would have been. 

"Estere?" I murmured. "Estere Abed, what are you doing here?" The business suit was tailored to be salacious yet causal. The turquoise veil was the give-away. Everyone stopped moving.



Life as a New Hire Ch. 23



This story plays fast and loose with Ancient History and Linguistics; be warned.

Editing magic performed by KJ24 and Shyqash, plus contributions by the regular gang of brigands and neer-do-wells.

Being an asshole is not so much a matter of anatomy as one of social consciousness.

*****

(Where we left off)

"Bitch, did you just Taser my fiancé?" Orlando's lady stood up. Orlando was struggling back up as well.

"You are questioning the obvious," Estere mused as she dropped the device. She deftly pulled out what I thought was a compact Bersa 9 and began applying a silencer.

It was sort of amazing that no one was screaming yet, then it dawned on me that we were in a soundproofed room and Estere was standing at the only exit.

"Would you have preferred I use this?" the Hashashin killer motioned with her firearm.

"How did you get a gun in here?" Brennan stammered. He looked ready to pee himself, so tonight was coming out in spades.

"Estere," I greeted the woman from Kurdistan. "Those two are okay," motioning to Orlando and his lady. "He's got some testosterone issues - I'm sure you understand."

"Is this a kidnapping?" Anima sounded rather upbeat.

"Your rung on the Ladder of Heaven is not high," Estere commented to Anima. "Your outlook is not promising either. Silence is your best option, so exercise it."

"Cáel, do you know this woman?" Libra had begun piecing things together - as in - my life was so crazy that women with guns showing up was much too common an occurrence. I thought about 'Yes Honey, she's a member of an 11th century mystic order of Nazri Ismailis assassins. In fact, her people gave us the word assassin'. Telling the truth at this juncture didn't seem wise, so...

"Yes, Estere and I are old pals," I lied. "She's a freelance archivist, genealogist and an Olmec-tastic historical pioneer." Don't bother looking it up - Olmec-tastic is a made up word; it is the crunching of Olmec (a Mesoamerican pre-Columbian culture) and '-tastic' which means...I guess it is a truncated form of 'fantastic'.

"You mean she's in 'record reduction', the same as you?" Casper whispered.

"Pre-cisely!" I grinned her way. "Except she's got a Masters diploma on some wall somewhere alongside the shrunken heads of her first three victims - I mean clients - Clients!" Why was I blathering? There was a strange (to most of the room) woman between us and the only exit and panicking would suck - big time.

Pause.

"So, Orlando," I restarted things, "are you going to get up and attempt to kick my ass, causing my friend here to shoot you, or can I return to explaining to Brennan how the world is NOT his oyster and I'm willing to slam anal beads made of flesh-eating scarabs up his rectum to prove it?"

That was a gross visual, even for me. A momentary pause as Brooke and her new friend wedged their way toward me (and the girl with the gun).

"Every time we meet," Estere observed, "you are surrounded with a curtain of women."

"Sucks to be me?" I shrugged.

"At least these are sheep," she noted. That didn't go over well. Libra confronted Estere.

"Hey now, you can't talk about us that way," Libra insisted.

"Or what?" Estere regarded her.

"Or...or, Cáel will make you stop," Libra growled...THEN looked at me. Wrong sequence of events.

"Libra," I pulled her back into my embrace, "I've been on the job about a month. She's been making character-building life decisions since before I hit puberty."

"What was that - a month ago," Brennan snorted. A yelp followed. Estere had shot at him. "What the fuck!" he staggered back into his seat. "You shot me."

"No, I shot 'at' you. Had I shot you, you would be bleeding," Estere glowered. "I am not one of Cáel's normal guardians. I take insults to any women as a personal affront - a sickness best dealt with in a pain-filled, educational fashion. You are not bleeding because that would displease Cáel. Now say 'thank you' in the next ten seconds, or be prepared to go through life as a eunuch."

Brennan looked to Orlando in hopes he had some secret mojo to handle this situation.

"Dumbass," Orlando snarled at Brennan, "you are the punk who put us in a room with only one damn exit. I'm not taking a bullet for you."

"You are the martial artist," Brennan snapped back. "Do something!"

"Brennan, you had better say something quick." Casper urged her host.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," Brennan whined. 

"I have crippled supplicants for groveling with twice that level of passion, Cáel Ishara," Estere stared at me. She began removing her silencer. "Cáel and I have unfinished business, so I will let this pathetic insult pass."

She shoulder holstered her weapon and moved to sit at my side. The problem was the passel of ladies around me. Estere looked past the last woman (Brooke) to the somewhat stupefied rich thing beside her.

"Move," she stated politely. Unlike my difficulties earlier, the whole crowd quickly shuffled down to make space.

That tiny hiccup settled, we returned to the abnormal activities of the Illusions Gentlemen's Club's private room. Some of us had fun. A few, used to tormenting the staff, found themselves shooting fearful looks Estere's way whenever they began to act out. I took a few seconds to quietly talk to Estere, now that I had some breathing room.

"I talked with Ishara - the Goddess," I related. "She's pissed with the Host right now and I'm not sure what to do." Divulging information? Yes. I needed help somewhat badly.

"Your Order has been out of balance for some time," Estere counseled. "Without balance, there can be no true strength. You are dying out and there must be a blemish behind that - some cancer eating away at the foundation of your belief system."

Wow...actually useful. Essentially ... I needed to stay the course.

"Cool. Thanks Estere," I smiled. "Can I plumb the depths of your knowledge for two more pieces of advice?" We both knew what 'plumb' really meant. I pulled out the necklace from beneath my shirt. "An Earth & Sky envoy sent me this gift, but...the message didn't make it."

"What would a suitable gift be and how would I find the person in New York City?" I asked.

"That is not a gift," Estere smiled warmly. "That is a token of passage from a Beg of the E&S - essentially a regional commander. Pretty impressive. Unfortunately, he, or she, is expecting you to return it at some pre-described place and time...which was probably stated in the message you never received."

"My turn," she twisted in her bench seat and placed her left leg over me then inserted it between my legs. "What will be the fate of our daughter?"

"She will automatically be a member of the Host. Heritage passes through the male line. If she has the genetics that conspire against fate, then she would be in the running to become Head of House."

"Not automatic?" she questioned.

"No. Such things, at least while decided by me, will be based upon merit. I couldn't keep faith with the members of the House otherwise," I explained.

"Would she be allowed to be passed between us?" was the next question.

"Absolutely. Not only am I a huge fan of motherhood; I see such an education making her stronger and more flexible when dealing with issues with outsiders," I assured Estere.

"You act freely. Don't you have to consult your High Priestess - perhaps the Council?" she mused. "I must seek direction from my superiors."

"Over the welfare of my children? Nope, not happening. The daughters and sons of...the House are our responsibility as a group. We do not need the other Houses meddling in our affairs," I stated.

"That is good," she snuggled up even tighter. Sadly for that romantic moment, we had less romantic company to contend with.

(Later that Night)

Why was I still at Casa da Sulkanen? Brennan couldn't take a hint, buy a clue, or learn a lesson. Why was Estere with us? It was the Pamela factor. Who was going to tell her to leave? After five, non-continuous hours of sex with three women (Casper still hadn't come over to our side yet), how was I still standing? Simply put, I wasn't.

Brooke and I were in the nicely heated pool, her arms wrapped around my neck, mine massaging her naked buttocks and us doing a little whisper/snicker/tickle/giggle game that is very whimsical and hard to explain. Brooke went from micro-orgasm to micro-orgasm to the Big One. Fortunately, our mutual experience allowed me to be in water shallow enough that my toes could touch bottom.

"I've decided I'm not jealous of Estere," Brooke panted into my ear. "I see the happiness in your eyes when we make love. I think you and I are doing okay." Not quite a Writ of Possession. I was working out the uncomplicated response when our gentle, body-bonded, circular motion caused Brooke to tense up. I followed her gaze to the lounge chair where we had stacked up our belongings, and the dark, dark blonde-haired women sitting in it.

Her dress was business chic yet rumpled. Her eyes had the lines of someone who spent too much time looking at a computer screen and she looked mentally and emotionally drained.

"Good evening," I greeted her. I steered Brooke toward the closest ladder only to realize that even our towels were by her seat. There was nothing we could do but face the situation head on.

"I'm Cáel Nyilas and my beautiful friend here is Brooke Lee," I made our introductions. "Please excuse our condition, but we weren't expecting company at this hour by the pool."

"You are not my brother's normal flock of seagulls," she commented. "Hana Sulkanen, by the way." The way 'seagulls' rolled off her tongue, I knew she meant 'winged rats' instead of any true avian.

Oh cool; she had a Carnegie-Melon ring. Oh cool; she was watching my still erect penis bobbing her way. I thought a little damage control/diplomacy was in order.

"As I said, I'm Cáel. I work as an intern at Havenstone Commercial Investments. Brooke recently graduated Vassar, was going to get married to some other guy, but that fell through a little while ago," I directed the conversation to Brooke and I not being parasites.

"School?" Hana inquired. So much for that.

"Bolingbrook in New Hampshire," I answered.

"Never heard of it," she yawned. Brooke simmered with outrage over that.

"You and 99.99% of North America," I joked. "It doesn't change the fact that I kick ass at my job, am constantly underestimated and enjoy making my own way in the world."

"And you consider making your own way in the world to be swimming in my father's pool at four in the morning?" she snorted. Her drink was a V-8. No alcohol for her.

"We came because Cáel's father was murdered this week," Brooke snapped. "He needed a break." That brought a few seconds.

"Really now," she regarded me studiously. Out came the E-device.

"Ferko Nyilas - Burnham Illinois which is a suburb of Chicago," I fed her the pertinent data. Brooke was even unhappier that I felt compelled to verify her statement, so I distracted her by suggesting we gather our belongings.

"Your father was killed in a gun battle - still under investigation," Hana muttered.

"Are you some sort of criminal? Was your father?" she probed.

"Ah, I see you possess the same level of common courtesy as your brother, Brennan," I responded. "To answer the first and only question I feel like answering - no; making my own way in the world means I don't answer the questions of exhausted, over-extended, junior plutocrats who somehow assume they can provide any useful input to my life."

Verbal hammer to her facial self-esteem. Hana was a 'producer' in that she had a job she felt she deserved, worked at it to some acclaim and added to her family's productivity - the opposite of Brennan.

"If you feel insulted, by all means leave, Mr. Nyilas," Hana glared.

"Oh, thank God," I sighed happily. I began dressing, as did Brooke. Hana looked uncertain.

"Cáel's been looking for a cordial excuse to get us out of here since we arrived," Brooke explained. "I imagine I should thank you. I wasn't sure how I'd keep Cáel from punching out your little brother over breakfast." Hana looked out-maneuvered.

"What is that?" Hana pointed to my horse-hoof necklace. She almost reached for it, then politesse kicked in.

"It is gift from a stranger," I told her. "It is from Central Asia."

"May I see it?" she inquired. I nodded, then handed it over.

"Looks old," she muttered. "The language...it's not Uzbek..." Seeing the curious look on my face, "I do some business for my step-father in the old SSR's, so I've picked up some of the languages." Then, "I swear it's Chagatai." (SSR = Soviet Socialist Republics.)

"Where is that from?" Brooke leaned in.

"Nowhere today. For 500 years, it was the lingua franca of the Turkish people ... until the Soviets wiped it out a hundred years ago. They wanted Russian to be the unifying language, so they promoted regional tongues and regulated Chagatai to the long list of dead languages," she answered.

[Russian] "In Soviet Russia, you do not speak a language, a language speaks for you." I joked.

Hana snorted.

[Russian] "Be careful comrade, or your cleverness might get you promoted to the rank of apparatchik," she snickered. I feigned horror.

"No!" Brooke protested. "Speak something I can understand, damn it."

I quickly translated for Brooke as the three of us migrated inside. Hana led us to a third, and newer, section of the estate. The goal was her purse and the reading glasses there in. Compared to the few bedrooms we'd seen, Hana's room was rather austere.

"Well, I know Uzbek and this is similar...say Canterbury Tales English to Modern American," she mused.

"The only thing I know for sure is that it belonged to Shahrukh Mirza of the House of Barlas," she read off several of the symbols. No one said anything. "Please don't tell me you found this at some rummage sale, or flea market." she grew intense.

"No. As I said earlier, it was a gift and given with the understanding it would be returned at a future place and time," I told her.

"Too bad. I would pay a pretty penny for this," she held it up to the light for further examination.

"I'm not one of those dreamers that feels money cheapens stuff and blah - blah - blah. Money has its uses," I countered. "I also believe some things are priceless. They either can't, or shouldn't, be sold. As I said, this was a gift meant to be returned."

"Maybe you can put me in touch with the owner so I can make them an offer," Hana suggested.

"I'd do that except that I have no idea who gave it to me, or where I am to return it," I shrugged. Hana was now looking for some deception on my part. "It was delivered to my place of work and a person who intercepted the necklace destroyed the message that came with it."

"Well, I hope they got a stiff reprimand, if not outright loss of employment," Hana sighed.

"Oh no," I chuckled. "That's not the Havenstone way. My people and I are going to stalk her and her people down and then beat/stab/scar each and every one of them. What she did wasn't a mistake. This was a direct and calculated insult that only blood will cleanse."

"That sounds positively Old Testament," Hana nodded.

"Cáel's women don't kid around," Brooke added.

"Really, now. What is it exactly that you do?" Hana asked me.

"This should be good," Brooke muttered through her saucy grin.

"I'm a facilitator for an aerospace project with our R&D division," I feigned concentration. "Its high-tech stuff - I don't understand all the details. I'm relatively positive we are creating nano-thin, artificial polymers for balloons aimed at space. You know, fill up the aerial unit with Helium, create a powerful x-direction buoyancy then let the package accelerate into high orbit."

"I've never heard of anything like that," Hana furrowed her brow.

"Neither has anyone else before now," Brooke laughed, then hugged me. "The miraculous part is - I think he creates these employment opportunities off the cuff - no rehearsal."

"Wait - you just lied to me?" Hana grew petulant.

"Yes, I did and I apologize, Hana," I looked rather shamefaced. "I work as an intern for Executive Services. I am also on the Board of Directors, but that's a truth best gotten into at another time."

"Oh...if you are on the Board of Directors for Havenstone, how can you be an intern?" Hana frowned.

"I was given the position on the board, I earned the position of intern," I answered. "Being a guiding force for a corporation I know nothing about is rather stupid, in my book."

"I couldn't agree more," Hana said thoughtfully and seemed make a severe weather-vane shift. Brooke stifled a yawn rather unsuccessfully and it quickly made a circuit of our little troupe. It was bedtime for us all.

(Breakfast and fast breaks)

I could have used a good deal more sleep. But I knew working out and jogging were better for my body and soul. Brooke and Libra acted as if I had betrayed their friendship in favor of torture. Estere took secretive amusement at their suffering and at my ability to stress myself as hard as I did. She had already enjoyed the physical benefits of my exercise mania last night.

A wonderful distraction to the whole ordeal (beyond listening to Libra and Brooke spit death curses at me between ragged gasps of breath) was the rising sun setting the Atlantic Ocean on fire. 

We had been summoned for breakfast at 9:30 am. That translated to me and three lady companions showing up to an overly large dining room on time to find Hana already there.

The South wall was a series of French doors, all open, whose long white curtains billowed in the morning breeze. It was a bit chilly for our 'beach casual' attire, yet survivable. A staffer I hadn't seen before verbally related this morning's menu - blink. By quick consensus, we agreed to order the same things to make our orders easier to recall.

In hindsight, that was probably unnecessary. The woman servicing us was very professional. She was also sympathetic enough to our efforts at kindness to acknowledge it. The vigor with which we demolished our fruit bowls caused Hana to chuckle.

"Building up your energy reserves?" she teased us. Libra and Estere didn't know Hana.

"He made us run this morning," Brooke griped. "It was utter Hell."

"On the beach?" Hana asked me.

"Yeah," I replied.

"Try running along the road next time," Hana snorted. "It is easier on the arches."

Libra hit me with a backhand to the bicep.

"Asshole," she glowered. "You had better get those magic fingers to work on my calves when breakfast is over."

"What's in it for me?" I countered.

"Oh, have mercy, Cáel," Brooke pleaded. "You do this every day...as does Estere apparently, but Libra and I don't. Help us out here."

"We have a masseuse," Hana offered. "He's very good. I can give him a call and have him come over from the spa."

"Please do, Ms. Sulkanen. I'm feeling a real yen for some time alone this morning," I requested.

"I can do that, Cáel, and call me Hanna," she finished just as...

"Hey Hana," Brennan yawned as he came stumbling into the room wearing boxers and nothing more. "Brooke, Kibble, Lisa," he added. His not unimpressive cock was strategically placed in the opening.

Hana rolled her eyes in disgust. Brooke snickered. Libra did one better.

"I didn't know they made them that small," she said to Brooke who began giggling.

"Shut up, you lesbian freak," Brennan's amusement evaporated to bitterness. The attendant showed up, got his order and then the orders of the next two to stagger in.

The low course of the conversation included the arrival of Orlando and his fiancée, only to dissipate with the appearance of Anima leading Casper. Casper could barely take her seat, even with Anima's help. Anima's look was victorious and challenging. Casper...she was stoned, wasted and not in anything approaching her right mind. Her body was sweaty and her hair was slick.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 23



The kicker was the splotches of dried semen and vaginal fluid on Casper's face.

"Say 'hi' to Cáel," Anima pressed the issue.

"Hi," Casper waved as her body swayed. Hana was uncomfortable. Libra and Brooke were furious. Estere was...studious. Anima's eyes remained lock on mine.

I pulled out my phone and began taking pictures of the participants. By the time I made it to Brennan, he was laughing and joking at my efforts. Orlando had a different tack.

"What are you doing?" he menaced.

"Life should be about moral decisions, compassion and consequences," I related drolly. "You made your call last night. Live with it."

I finished the photo session while Orlando was still trying to figure out what was going on. I had to use my phone for a different function.

"Buffy, I'm sending you several pictures of people who think they are above the law. Those people raped, or facilitated the rape of the woman in the final picture," I told the First of House Ishara. "I cautioned those people about appropriate behavior last night."

"They chose to ignore me. The legal system can't touch them. I don't know what a proper punishment for such a horrendous act is, so I thought you might give me some council on this matter," I added. Long pause.

"Don't worry about it, Cáel," Buffy responded in a ghostly voice.

"Take care and I'll see you on Monday," I finished up. She hung up and that was it.

"That was spooky," Brennan chuckled. "How about I make a scary phone call and mention the words 'Cáel' and 'trash collection'?" I ignored him. "I could call the sheriff and have you charged with menacing." I continued to ignore him. "Stop serving him," he snapped at the server as she came to my plate.

"Serve him breakfast, Donna (the server)," Hana interrupted. "He's my guest, Brennan, so no longer your worry." I didn't acknowledge Hana's kindness as this was still part of a family feud and I wasn't family. I'd thank her later. The Vacuous Think Tank members weren't done yet. The privileged shit-heads began playing a video on their ultimate phone devices, sexually feeble soundtrack included.

Deep down in Casper's mind she began to put the current audio input to her recent nightmare. Tears fell down her cheeks. On the video, the name 'Casper' was used enough to move it past the throws of ecstasy into the realm of sorry-ass amateur date-rape porn.

"We may have broken Casper a teensy bit," Anima feigned sincere regret well.

"Oh," I chuckled, "it is too late for word play now, Anima. That train has left the station and the whole crew here missed it. I warned you about slithering horrors and the beautification of humanity. Here is the final lesson..."

"Fuck you and your bullshit," Brennan mocked me.

"Brennan - my guest," Hana insisted. His response was to blather some noise - nah, nah, nah - an act several of his playmates took up. It was a display more appropriate for 5 year olds than men and women above the age of consent. Estere tapped Brooke next to her, motioning with her fork to a melon ball in her bowl. After a momentarily confusion Brooke tossed the melon up.

Estere tossed the fork, skewering it with enough force to sail past me and land on Libra's plate. Two more exhibits, including the final one that had her spitting her thrown melon on a tumbling fork and Estere turned on Brennan, fork ready. The melons were nearly the size of eyeballs.

"Do it and go to jail for fucking ever," Brennan tried to 'man-up'.

"Diplomatic immunity," she smiled. "I doubt the government of Azerbaijan will give a rat's ass about you and your drug-consuming, alcohol-guzzling, whoring lifestyle. The worst that happens to me is that I have to go home for a few months. You will be blind forever." Estere revealed her second fork.

"Not this morning, Bitch," Orlando stood up. "I'm not afraid of forks and side-show tricks." I stood up as well, but went in a different direction. Brennan was at the top of the table - Hana was at the bottom. Casper and Anima were on the opposite side of the table and closer to Hana so that was the route I took.

Anima, Brennan and Orlando had a problem. Estere was threatening Brennan. I was clearly coming to retrieve Casper. The quandary was which way Orlando went - he couldn't both safeguard Brennan and stop me. I was pretty sure that Brennan was convinced Orlando would come his aid because of his role as paymaster.

Orlando Keyes wasn't a thug, or a dog. He was a tactician and he planned to win this fight. Contrary to my desires, that meant I came first. I was far closer and getting nearer all the time. Even if Estere managed to fork out one of Brennan's eyes, Estere couldn't contribute to the fight with me quickly enough to make a difference.

"Casper, you want to stay with your friends, don't you?" Anima cooed to her victim. Casper's head bobbled, making a tragic contrast to her tears. Hana had done as much as she dared at this juncture. Orlando came closer, snatching up an unused chair to counter my knife. I backed up. It was my only true choice.

Charging forth against Orlando certainly would have been romantic. It would have also been futile. I couldn't beat the man - hurting him didn't equate to actually winning. Estere blinding Brennan accomplished nothing. When I had back-pedaled to Hana, Orlando relented. Once his bladder-weakening fear turned into post-survival euphoria, Brennan started laughing.

"Fucking dipshit," he sneered. The thump of helicopter blades began dominating perceptions. "I knew you didn't have it in you. You are a wimp and a chicken-shit coward." Brooke and Libra were worried and confused.

"He could not win against Mr. Keyes," Estere stated to them. "Getting pummeled would have been a wasteful gesture."

"Oh, now you are his apologist." a random fuck-nut snorted. The helicopter kept getting closer.

"What about Casper?" Brooke worried. Anima smirked at the show of heartfelt concern.

"They haven't gotten her out of the room yet," Estere pointed out. "Once they depart the table we will be able to double-team Mr. Keyes and break him. The aftermath is an absolute certainty."

"I don't think so," Orlando challenged.

"Oh yes," Estere grinned wolfishly. "Once we have you on the ground, I'm going to shatter your palms then tear off your fingers. Pull up, twist and snap - I've done it several times; it is quick and easy. If you think you can continue your career without fists, by all means, stay on your present course of action."

"What is it that you do again?" Hana asked Estere.

"I'm a...a freelance archivist, genealogist and an Olmec-tastic historical pioneer; according to Cáel anyway," she answered.

"From Azerbaijan?" Hana murmured.

"I never said I was from there, only that I have diplomatic status with their UN mission," Estere clarified. Hana said something in an unknown tongue to which Estere responded. Their conversation lasted about one minute.

"We both speak Farsi, though mine is 'schooled' and hers has a Tabriz accent," Hana enlightened us.

"I apologize for last night, Cáel," Hana nodded. "I mistook you for one of my little step-brother's normal crowd of useless nitwits. You appear to be both smart and know interesting people." 'And how', I muttered internally.

"I take it your daughter is with Philip," Brennan intervened. "Miss her?"

By this time, the helicopter had traversed the ocean-side view of the villa and was humming its way to the east end of the estate. Philip must have been Hana's divorced whatever who most likely had alternating weekends of child custody.

"Cáel, you mentioned something about a 'final lesson'," Hana turned to me.

"Only this: there was a woman who trusted a man. She decided to leave him; so he, and a few buddies, held her down and gang-raped her for two days. When they passed out, she didn't run away, or call the police. No, she took a baseball bat and knocked them into la-la land. She secured them with garbage ties, woke them up by stabbing them in non-vital areas and then proceeded to castrate each and every one with a dull kitchen knife.

She went to prison, got out and put her life back together. She eventually rose to a position of some importance and influence with various questionable characters at her command," I continued. "If confronted with a similar situation, especially when money renders justice mute, I'm not sure what this woman would do to assuage her haunted memories."

"Do you really want to put poor Casper up on the top twenty free porn sites, Cáel?" Anima pouted.

"Not my concern anymore," I sighed. "I put the facts out there. What other people make of that information is no longer under my control. From here on out, it doesn't matter what you do, Anima. You've chosen to act in a heinous manner, as have the rest of your crowd - Orlando and his lady included."

"If something happens..." Orlando rumbled.

"You will do nothing," Estere laughed. "You can do nothing. I know the person of whom Cáel speaks and there is nothing you can do, nowhere you can hide where she will not find all of you and balance karmic accounts."

"We didn't do anything," the fiancée proclaimed.

"Standing back and abetting a vile deed is hardly an effective defense," Estere stared with pitiless eyes. "Did you attempt to alter Mr. Keyes' course of actions - you clearly could have? You did not. Mr. Keyes safeguarded the perpetrators of the heinous deed, and thus both of you are condemned by that crime."

The boot was on the other foot now for Orlando. He couldn't come at me. He couldn't come at Estere. None of the 'men' on his side were going to stand up to any pain while Brooke and Libra, though unschooled, looked ready to be a serious nuisance. That meant Orlando would be fighting Estere and I simultaneously - and he would lose.

Worse, he would lose over a phone call that might not mean a thing. Oh, Estere and I were confident retribution was coming his way and that was unsettling. It wouldn't hold up in court and Hana's presence negated everyone else's legal immunity, except for Brennan who remained her family- the nut sack. Anima's gaze shifted from me to Libra, which my girl found unsettling.

"Cáel, what is going to happen...over this and getting Casper back?" Libra whispered. For starters, we hadn't rescued Casper yet, so there was no 'getting her back'.

"Libra, you've seen the scars crisscrossing my body - the bruises and sore ribs I've suffered through," I told her.

"Those were from the co-workers who hold deep and abiding affection toward me," I continued. "Imagine what they are capable of inflicting on those they do not like. Think about what they might do if they thought I was in danger and distressed. Couple that with the intimate knowledge of exactly what Casper has gone through ... is going through, and then draw your own conclusions." There was a pause while the others ate and Libra digested the information.

"Are we ever going to see Trent again?" she leaned in and whispered.

"It can be done, but that it isn't something either of you would enjoy," I whispered out of the side of my mouth. Sending Brooke and Libra on a one-way flight to Indonesia/Philippines definitely wasn't part of my life plan. It was the safest way to let her know Trent was alive.

"Does Brooke know?" Libra nudged me quietly. I shook my head. "Does Trent?" Another head shake. Pause. "That day in the office - when Trent dumped Brooke - you REALLY were trying to keep us from harm, weren't you?"

"Yes," I mouthed. "Now eat up."

The helicopter noises had a purpose and the consequences entered the dining room as breakfast was winding down. It was Jormo and Misty Sulkanen, aka Dad and Wife #3.

"Brennan," Jormo said in a neutral voice. We, Brennan's guests, barely rated a glance.

"Hana," Dad greeted his step-daughter with much more affection.

"Hey Dad," Brennan laughed. "You've almost missed Orlando here busting up Kibble," he waved a fork at me.

"Good Morning, Father," Hana waved, "Misty."

"Kibble?" Jormo sighed, distracted from his path further into the villa by his son's statement.

"That would be me, Mr. and Mrs. Sulkanen," I swallowed a piece of my omelet quickly and raised my hand, "though my fellow homo sapiens call me Cáel Nyilas."

"Mr. Nyilas, along with Brooke, Libra and Estere have agreed to be MY guests for the weekend," Hana added.

"Very well," her dad nodded. "Mr. Keyes, your endorsement contract with 'Fitness Tech' doesn't include you getting into fights on my behalf, or my son's." Mr. Sulkanen must have owned Fitness Tech, thus Brennan's believed power over an athlete endorsing some product.

"It also doesn't stop me from getting into unsanctioned bouts," Orlando glared at me. The tension was broken by Casper starting to sob loudly and uncontrollably.

We all did the standing-up game once more. This time Casper saw me coming back for her and stood up. Anima tried to calm the shaken woman. Orlando closed in.

"New target," Estere stated serenely. She had a fork at the ready and was staring at Orlando's fiancée. It gave me the opening I needed.

I took hold of Casper's left arm. Anima took Casper's right. This time she had misjudged the situation and I wasn't settling for a vocal educational moment. I pushed Casper aside, put both hands under Anima's arms and lifted her up.

"I told you this wasn't a game you wanted to play," I cautioned her right before I slammed her length-wise on the table.

Anima's head cracked-down hard and the breath was driven from her body.

"Mr. Nyilas!" Mr. Sulkanen shouted. "What do you think you are doing to Anima?"

"I'm not being an enabling bastard, Sir," I growled back. "Come on, Casper," I began leading her back to my seat.

"Why don't we see what security has to say about that," Jormo shot back angrily.

"Father, something has happened to the young lady - Casper - and neither Anima, nor Brennan, were adequately helping her," Hana stood up. "The last time Cáel tried, Mr. Keyes got in his way. This time, Anima discovered she wasn't the same level of deterrent."

"He slammed Anima into the table, Hana," the old wolf snarled. There was nothing wrong with this guy's macho. Anima shot me a treasured, smug glance as she rolled off the table. The spiraling tension was a super-cell caused by the Hana-Brennan poison and Jormo's displeasure with me. Hana decided to not abandon me, which allowed Brennan to go after her like a starving piranha.

"Hold on," Misty tried to calm the pseudo-sibling shouting match. She strode majestically over to me, Casper, and Libra to take a look at our charge. Within a meter there was no doubt what Casper had been put through. The smell of an orgy's aftermath, the tattered look, the listless smile belying her tears and her inability to focus, clearly chilled Misty.

We were thrust back into Sulkanen family politics. The purely human reaction was for Misty to lambast Anima and Brennan then call the cops. Except, Misty was wife number three, Hana was step-daughter from marriage number two - not even blood-relations with Jormo, and Brennan was a blood-heir for what little time he had left on Earth.

"Come with me," Misty curled an arm around Casper's waist.

"We are coming with you," Brooke announced. 

"That won't be necessary," Misty smiled wanly.

"That wasn't a request," Brooke snapped angrily. "After this, I don't trust any of 'you' people."

That went over as well as a father realizing his son looked like the butler. Jormo's demeanor turned thunderous - he was being disrespected in his own home, Brennan looked happily vindictive and the rest didn't matter at the moment.

"Young lady..." the old wolf growled.

"Shut up!" Brooke screamed. "The fact that neither you, nor any of your people, are calling 9-1-1 speaks volumes about the lack of character and untrustworthiness of your clan, Mr. Sulkanen."

Brooke had just discovered her noblesse oblige. All that crap I'd been talking about the upper crust of society, the top 1% etc.; here was finally the 'face slap' that was married to the 'backhand' so many of us lower class schmucks experienced. Sulkanen was nouveau riche - a self-made man if you considered coming to America with three million in family assets to be a low enough starting point. 

Brooke wasn't going to attack his credit rating, or bad-mouth him to his business associates. No, there were a ton of socially critical charities and committees that were about to be told by an impeccable source (Brooke) that Dad Sulkanen harbored his rapist son from criminal prosecution. No, this wasn't some 'nobody' being defended either. Casper wasn't known, but she was notable.

"You can certainly leave," the Old Man rumbled. "The young lady stays. I'm calling Security and my concierge physician."

"Go," I glanced to Estere and off she sprinted. A moment too slow, Brennan and Orlando clued into the threat. Orlando took after Estere.

"She's got a gun!" Brennan squealed. Jormo was busy dispensing orders over his phone as the situation spiraled. But then there was Hana.

"Mr. Nyilas, please exert some control over this situation," Hana urged.

"I'll try. Brooke, why don't you, Libra and Mrs. Sulkanen take Casper to a more comfortable setting," I suggested.

"What about your Azerbaijani friend?" Hana pressed.

"Oh," I chuckled. "Me giving Estere advice about conflict resolution is like me giving you advice on," I had to wrack my mind about something the Sulkanens were invested in, "natural gas exploration. She'll be fine."

"This way," Misty directed. I was so much more enamored and impressed with my two princesses than I had been during our initial meeting. They both shot me quick looks that said the same thing. They knew I was sending them out of harm's way, not exiling them from the decision-making process.

Only three of the remaining people weren't scared - myself (I'm an idiot), Anima (sick fuck) and Jormo Sulkanen, who seemed to know the difference between fear you could do something about, and the fear you ignored. We heard bellows from upstairs as Orlando finally discovered that he didn't know what room my group was staying in and that Estere had evaded him.

The hopeful-to-be Mrs. Keyes stood up and looked in the direction her fiancé had disappeared into.

"Don't worry," I said. "The moment Hana expressed the bonds of hospitality to Ms. Abed, you were protected from premeditated mischief." I wasn't 100% sure of that. Keeping the woman from racing after Estere was crucial.

The two security types showed up first. They must have had some part of the house dedicated to their use, because I had no idea they were about, yet here they were. They wore moderately expensive, off-the-rack suits, seemed to be in decent physical condition and had pistols and stun guns. One word from Jormo and the guns came out. They had the polished look of pretend-professionals.

Had I not worked at Havenstone and seen its malicious underbelly, I would have been impressed. As it was, how could things go more wrong? They split up; one going after Orlando and Estere and the other closing cautiously with me. He looked cool, but his gun was held too high and he blithely came within hand-to-hand combat range.

Oh please, EVERYONE I cared about had left the room. If this guy and I wrestled for his piece, I could have cared less who got shot while it was his damn job to see that no one besides me got a scratch. I was sure his corporate employer cautioned him about such mistakes a lot...because he still had the safety engaged on his firearm. I'm an idiot...I'm an idiot...I'm an idiot.

"Your bitch is going to get shot now, Cocksucker," Brennan sneered. The security guy was reaching for my arm to pull me away from the table. He hadn't bother to ask me, instead being engrossed in his ear piece chatter. I snatched his gun from his grasp, disengaged the safety and pointed it at the guy.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 23



"Put the stun gun on the table then back up nice and slow," I eye-balled the shocked man.

I was pretty sure that was the moment Brennan wet himself. No one said a thing. The guard did as I requested, then backed away. At three meters, I dropped out the magazine then put it on the table. Next, I removed the chambered round from the pistol and put them both on the table.

"Mr. Sulkanen, you don't know me so I'm cutting you some slack right now," I sighed.

"Dad, his father was murdered Monday night in a gunfight," Hana interrupted. "Pointing a gun at him probably wasn't the best course of action."

"So it appears," Jormo glared at me.

"G - get your gun back, you idiot," Brennan squawked at the guard.

I slid the stun gun to Hana then reloaded the pistol before handing it back to the guy, grip first.

"Keep your distance to two meters, or more, unless you have a partner ... and whoever taught you to keep the safety engaged is a moron. Guns aren't toys, so don't treat it like one," I told him. The guy took his gun back.

"You served?" he muttered to me. Me? In the military...I guess I now qualified.

"Nah, I work with a bunch of girls at the Customer Complaint desk at a major telemarketing firm. After a few weeks on the job, you learn to get squirrely when you see people coming into the office with trench coats in this early summer heat," I said. So much implied with no real information.

"Oh God," Hana snorted in amusement. "You really do that job thing all the time," she giggled, "don't you?"

"At Havenstone, my sadistic task-mistresses often require me to think on my feet, so I've learned to share the love at work and abroad," I nodded.

"What?" Jormo scowled.

"Cáel Nyilas is on the Board of Directors at Havenstone, as well as an intern for their Executive Services division," Hana stated. "He is learning about the corporation from the bottom up."

"Bullshit," Brennan snapped.

"Can you prove this, Mr. Nyilas?" Jormo challenged me.

"Normally your recognition would mean nadda to me, but Hana has gone out of her way to be nice to my friends," I agreed. "Who do you want me to call that you will believe?"

"I don't actually know anyone at Havenstone Commercial," he admitted.

"Wait!" I had a brainstorm. "Call Javiera Castello. She'll verify who I am and she's pretty much as 'an unimpeachable source' as I'm likely to get."

"Who is she?" Hana pulled out her phone.

"She's an United States Attorney for the District Court of the Northern District of Illinois," I babbled.

"Are you sure we can reach her on the weekend?" Hana was already networking. She wasn't a lawyer - she was a power player, if a small one.

"Tell her you think Cáel Nyilas is involved with some crime, and she'll be in touch ASAP," I assured her.

The call went in to her team of corporate lawyers and the countdown began. Brennan decided it was time to migrate away from the danger, so he and his buddies decided to take the yacht out after changing - by way of using its crew to escape. Anima elected to remain behind. She kept expecting a reaction from me. She wasn't getting one.

No anger, sullenness, contempt, or pity. I'd save my anger for those a bit farther from the grave. I wasn't sullen because her victory wasn't a victory. It was a loss for both of us. I had requested that she exert some self-control in my presence and she hadn't - end of discussion. I certainly didn't pity her. Anima was evil, not merely a creature ruled by compulsions.

She had thought I was bluffing. I wasn't. Anima thought she was in an emotional endurance match and if she waited long enough, my façade would crack and she'd get her first taste of my pain. Twenty-four minutes. That was the time it took Javiera to call back.

"Yes, Ms. Castello," Hana answered, "I have Mr. Nyilas here with me right now."

"What's he done wrong...that's difficult to explain," Hana began. I heard the laughter coming from the other end. "You sound like this happens to him a good deal." Talking. "That doesn't sound promising." Talking. "I'm not a criminal legal talent, but I'll give it a shot. Theft, theft of a firearm, assault, obtuse death threats and possible possession of a stolen object." Talking.

Hana gave me her phone. At the same moment, Estere dropped down in front of one of those beautiful French doors with their southern exposure and sauntered back into the dining room. Her hastily applied clothing additions suggested she was better armed. The guard gave a startled jolt as Estere drew even with him.

"Don't worry about him," I told Estere while covering the phone with my hand. "I chambered in the first round backwards." Estere smirked. The guy tested his piece and, sure enough, a normally chambered round popped out; I had lied. The poor bastard gave me a nasty stare. Estere's look to me was pricelessly appreciative.

Ninja were all about stealth, the Black Hand was all about making use of whatever weapon was handy...and the Hashashin were all about misdirection and deception. Estere was a Mistress of M&D giving a young trainee a congratulatory nod. Would the guard search Estere for weapons? Not anymore. Now he was worried his pistol would fall apart and Hana had never returned his stun gun.

His confidence had been shattered before combat had actually begun.

"Hello, USA Castello," I spoke into the phone.

"How are you going to get out of this mess this time?" she began.

"Can't I simply be innocent?" I pleaded.

"No," Javiera asserted with authority. "Now tell me what is going on."

"For the sake of the interested parties swarming about - some with guns - I'll use pseudonyms. 'A' invited 'B' to his domicile for the weekend. 'B' invited me and 'C' to come along. 'A' had a friend, 'D' plus a cast of assorted losers.

'A' and 'D' also had 'E' here for the weekend. She trusted them so ended up drugged and sexually assaulted - a great deal. Video was made," Estere tapped my left upper arm and exhibited her phone suggesting to me she'd gained access to the video the group had taken of Casper. "'F' showed up and decided to help myself, 'B' and 'C' get 'E', only to be outmuscled by 'G'.

'H' shows up, takes charge, and decides that myself, 'B', 'C' and 'I' (new friend) should leave while he sits on 'E' and waits for the bought-and-paid for doctor to show up. Goodbye any evidence, trot out the legion of lawyers, crucify the victim and justice dies," I related.

"What do you want me to do?" Javiera sighed. She believed me.

She also believed that I was going to seek revenge for the young lady and while she had to publically chastise me and privately urge me to stop, she knew what motivated me.

"The caller wanted some confirmation that I'm a Big Wheel at Havenstone along with being an intern," I stated. "Personally I could care less, but 'E's fate is in jeopardy."

I handed the phone to the guard after motioning toward Jormo. A few seconds later, he had his own little chat with Javiera. I had a feeling it was rather heated. Was I who Hana claimed I was? Yes. Was I a criminal? No comment on ongoing investigations.

"Is he dangerous?"

I imagine she said 'What do you consider dangerous?' because Jormo wasn't pleased. After a pause, the conversation from Javiera's side picked back up.

"What do you mean, 'have I crossed him?' You are a part of the Federal law enforcement process. You are paid to handle those things. Now answer me," Jormo simmered.

I imagine it boiled down to 'yes, I was a dangerous human being' and 'no, I wasn't a homicidal maniac' which didn't help him much. That concluded Javiera's participation in events.

"Do you think you can inconvenience me, young man?" he shot his steely gaze my way. 

"Mr. Sulkanen, there are precisely two things keeping me away from you; basic civility," I enlightened him, "and Hana."

"I have discovered in a few short months that there is nothing as precious a resource as nice people. The world is overwhelmed with assholes with a highly overestimated sense of their worth in the greater scheme of things. I do not hate you, or like you. You do not register on my interpersonal radar," I said.

"You think you've learned some harsh life lessons, Mr. Nyilas? You don't know anything," Jormo met me anger for anger. Hana, in her short time, had gained a far better picture of me.

"Cáel, he is my father," Hana called to me. "You know about paternal respect, don't you?" That was a good shot on her part; painful, but not crippling.

"You are right, Hana. I am in your father's house and I owe him both that respect and the respect for how he treasures your person," I responded. The tension began to bleed away. Jormo wasn't an ass-hole, just driven by an iron determination to get his way. It had made him stinking rich and, I was beginning to think, outwardly ruthless.

Why weren't Brooke, Libra, Estere and I being flung out of his home after our collision? Hana. That man had the same honest and trusted affection for the step-daughter that wasn't even his offspring as my father held for me. You don't mistake it once you've witnessed it. He knew this wasn't her vagina talking. He held Hana in higher regard.

Hana saw something in me that made her stand up to both him and Brennan. I doubted that happened often. Hana made the call and her step-father honored it - end of the debate for now. That meant Hana, Estere and I went to find Casper and the others. Libra was helping the focus of such anguish shower off. It had been accepted there would be no police rape inquiry.

Another advance, if you could call it that, had occurred in my relationship with Brooke and Libra. Their quick glances said it all- 'Get the bastards' and they expected it to get done. Like Odette and the now-deceased Latin Kings, those two didn't truly understand what that meant. In this case, most likely messy, painful deaths for those who would learn too late that a little law is a good thing - it keeps the really nasty things, like the truly lawless, at bay.

There was no mention of events passing beyond my control. Those two had no idea where their wealth came from, what homes they owned outright, versus still under mortgage, or rented, and what their actual tax rate was - as opposed to the mythical 'tax bracket' the masses dreamed the rich were in.

Casper came right at me, even slipping out of the towel Misty, and the newly arrived maid, tried to get around her. Why? I had gained an unanticipated affliction. Girls in the worst possible mindsets wanted to trust me. Oneida, Cameron, Wiesława and now Casper homed in on me being a gentle, honest and trustworthy soul - but damn it! I wasn't!

I wrapped my arms tightly around Casper, making her feel snug, safe and warm. I lied to her. I told her things were going to be okay. We'd work things out and she'd get better in no time. No one was going to get to her while her 'real' friends were around and we promised to stick around as long as it took. This was supposed to be my vacation. I need to stop making plans for the future and avoid the disappointment from having my hopes trampled by cruel reality.

(Saturday Night)

The Hamptons gathering had transformed from a post-college exploration to a mature gathering. We had an adult-level task laid out before us - creating an emotional buffer zone for Casper. I gave Estere an 'out'. There would be no more 'fun time' this weekend. She elected to stay anyway.

When we moved out to a cliff-side patio for dinner, Brennan and company showed up, sans Orlando and his lady. Casper tensed up, Hana and I rallied and put up a warding wall, so the cast of idiots settled for taunting Casper as she shivered behind us. Because, you know, all of this was one big joke...

I had enough peripheral awareness to not get blind-sided by Casper. Hana didn't and went tumbling into Anima. Casper launched herself at Brennan. He had some under-developed martial talent while Casper was clearly driven by frantic energy alone. Brennan received a few scratches then flipped Casper over his shoulder and down hard on the patio's deck.

A punch to her face was coming Casper's way when I pushed Brennan several steps back. The one scumbag who attempted to get behind me took an ice cube to the eye, courtesy of Estere. His yelp allowed me to yank Casper up and circle my arms around her.

"The whore scratched me," Brennan exhibited his scarred forearm. "I guess she goes to jail now."

I didn't do anything and I think three of the ladies were thinking I should. Brennan snorted. Now for a lesson in community.

"Okay," I shrugged. "Casper can go do jail." By the depth of her whimper, that wasn't what Casper wanted at all. I looked to Libra and Brooke. Giving someone the unwarranted label of 'snob' was wrong and those two ladies were going to exhibit that.

Libra hurled her drink from the patio table at Brennan. She missed but that was okay. Brooke missed as well.

"I guess we are going to jail with Casper," Brooke declared as they moved up. Casper wiggled around in my grasp so she could take in the scene. "We'll stick with you, Casper."

"Bitches!" Brennan snapped. "What the fuck..."

"These people can't help you, Casper," Anima stepped up. "You are in trouble now and they don't know trouble."

"You are horrible," Brooke seethed in response.

"Why all the hostility?" Anima gave a disarming smile. Libra had definitely tapped into her 'Inner Cáel'. That was only fair, since her 'Outer Cáel' had been tapping her pretty vigorously.

"Because we are better than you and you consistently fail to acknowledge that, you soulless tramp," Libra volleyed.

"Cáel, I apologize so much for bringing you here this weekend," Brooke touched me.

"I'm not," I squeezed Casper. Crap, I could use a break. It was so wrong that I suddenly wished for Monday and to be back to the work week. It was even screwier that I thought that would give me any sort of relief - it wouldn't.

"Touching, but foolish," Anima sighed with amusement. She pulled out her phone from her back pocket. She made a call then showed the device to Casper. "I'm sure your boyfriend will be very impressed with last night's antics. Of course, he may expect a repeat performance." Casper trembled. I rubbed her back as she sobbed into my shoulder and bicep. 

"I'm not very impressed with your virtue," Anima sounded disappointed in me. 

"You and your ilk deserve only two words - 'Good bye'," Estere sounded serene. "As a general instruction, anyone on this deck that I do not like and that hasn't left by the exits in the next three minutes will be flying over the railing."

"This is my fucking house!" Brennan shouted.

"Actually, it is Dad's house, Brennan," Hana smiled.

"He's not your father, shit-for-brains," he snapped.

"Brennan, for every time you have forced your way into my life through bratty behavior; I consider this moment long overdue," Hana snorted.

"I'm not leaving," he took a defiant stance.

"Good," Hana laughed. "In..."

"Two minutes 25 seconds," Estere supplied the data.

"I'm taking every other lady and leaving, locking the doors behind me," Hana kept grinning.

"Before I leave, I will ask Cáel to physically obstruct the stairs leading down the bluff," she added. "Then it will be you and Ms. Abed. She is going to kick all of your asses, I'm not letting you inside and trying to get past Cáel constitutes assault and he may defend himself. Ms. Abed has diplomatic immunity courtesy of Azerbaijan - an oil producing country Dad's contacts at the State Department won't want to upset, even for you."

I pushed a reluctant Casper far enough away so she could see my face.

"You need to go with Brooke, Libra and Hana now," I soothed her worries. "This shouldn't take more than three, or four minutes..."

"No scarification?" Estere sounded upset. She polished that off by covering her veiled mouth and giving that enchanting little Arabic women's warbling cry for action.

"I don't know about that," I looked past Casper. "Surprise them." Estere's veil didn't disguise the whiteness of her teeth, or the panther-like savagery of her smile.

"Fifty-one seconds," Hana noted. "Cáel?"

"Go with the others. Estere and I will be back inside within ten minutes, tops," I pushed her hair away from her eyes.

She nodded before folding back into Libra and Brooke. I went to the top of the stairs and took my stance. Estere pulled out a thick, short, curved blade from Allah-knows where and the stampede began. Only Anima retreated with any pretense at style. She shot me a wistful look that insisted she was waiting for the next round. It wasn't happening.

Some people obsess on victory being a mass of bleeding wounds and broken bones. It can be that, but it is often much, much more. In this case, it was Casper seeing her tormentors in flight...revealed to be nothing more than selfish, rudderless cowards. The eyeball math would never be the so lopsided. They had seen her degraded, humiliated and violated.

That was the lowest ebb. Now those people were less a pack of monsters and more a puddle of vile sleaze that you wouldn't want to step in. That crushing hold they possessed was weakened. Dispelling the pall over this weekend would be a long time coming, yet here it had stopped, bottoming out and her desire to overcome this nightmare began.

For Casper, it was recoiling from the pain and betrayal. For the monsters, the Abyss wouldn't be long in calling. 

Sometime later our group was in a small home theater when a security guard came for me. Hana had left a few minutes earlier so Casper and Estere were a bit edgy. I gave a comforting kiss on the head to Casper, a kiss on the lips to my ladies and a quick 'I have no idea' look to Estere.

I was taken to the old man's study. Jormo was behind an old 19th century desk, Hana was standing by the unlit fireplace and Brennan was looking incredibly petulant in an overstuffed chair near his father.

"What's he doing here?" Brennan snorted. He didn't warrant a reply.

"Mr. Nyilas, an hour ago one of my personal jets went down off the Virginia/North Carolina coast. From what I've been told, they apparently suffered a catastrophic loss of cabin pressure at 25,000 feet, lost control of the aircraft and slammed into the Atlantic at over 500 miles per hour," Jormo looked at me. "Mr. Keyes, his fiancé, a business associate and the pilot were on board. The search for survivors has only now begun. Do you have anything to say?"

"You mean do I have anything incriminating to say while this conversation is being recorded?" I sighed. "Sure - I had no idea where Mr. Keyes and his lady-friend were. I wasn't even aware they'd left this place."

"It was an accident, right?" Brennan half-rose out of his chair.

"I'm working on that," Jormo grumbled. "Mr. Nyilas, is my son's life in danger?"

"From what?" I met his unsettling intensity. I could have said 'bad parenting', except that would be cruelly truthful. "Danger? No, Mr. Sulkanen, your son is a dead man. He and all his friends are dead. They simply haven't had the inclination to lie down yet."

"That is not a death threat," I interrupted the oncoming outburst. "It is my assessment of the forces at work here - namely your son and his crowd's cruelty and the universe working as it should."

"I won't let you harm my son," Jormo came around his desk. He was a powerful specimen, just not one who should be taking on a physically fit man thirty years younger.

"Don't make this personal," I refused to back down.

"It is my son's life - it is personal and I want you to know if anything happens to Brennan, I will make damn sure you pay for what you, and whomever you work with, have done," he threatened.

"That is incorrect," I began loosening my own anger. "What is happening to your son and his friends has nothing to do with his name, or your continuous failure to hold him accountable for anything. It has to do with a violation of a young lady after my direct plea that she not come to harm. He and his gang ruptured the rules of hospitality and heaped derision on the basic concepts of humanity with willful, evil intent. They even made a video of that vile act.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 23



This morning, they confronted me with their defiance. I took some pictures and sent them to a colleague..." I was saying.

"Who? Give me their name," Jormo got in my face.

"I can't recall. It is probably filed away with every other crime you've bought and paid for that Brennan has committed," I was only a few centimeters away.

"Give me the..."

"Shut up and listen," I moved in, suddenly cluing the old guy into me being several inches taller and broader in the chest. "You don't get a name. I didn't break the law - you and your son did. I am hoping that pain and blood is answered with pain and blood - a balancing of the scales of justice.

You don't want that and now you don't want to face the fact that his latest stunt has gotten way beyond what you want to pay," I insisted.

"You won't get away with it," Jormo glowered. "This is my family. This is personal to me."

"Personal...personal, Mr. Sulkanen? No; personal is not you and me," I clarified.

"Personal is your other two sons, a baby daughter, three step-children and a young wife," I laid it out. "You come after me, the parties concerned will go after them - and you. Not on my orders, though. They will act upon a different social agenda which you know nothing of. In the end, you will save no one and fill a few more graves."

"I won't back down," Jormo flared.

"Fine. I don't care," I turned to leave.

"Wait, Cáel, how bad will this personal vendetta get?" Hana pleaded.

"Not sure. I would imagine two generations around - grandparents, aunts, uncles, nieces and nephews, sons, daughters, sons and daughters, children and grandchildren," I mused.

"Father," Hana pleaded. It was Deoxyribonucleic acid test time. "Cael, I saw something last night my father needs to see. Please take off your shirt."

"What will that prove, Hana?" Jormo rumbled. 

"Look at the man's body. See his scars. Father, Cáel isn't kidding. You and I both know he's not bluffing. This is some Old World madness that...that Brennan has stepped into and...I want to know if you are going to bring down this family because of him," Hana made her stand as my shirt came off.

"All those scars and bruises," the Sulkanen patriarch muttered. "How?"

"I'm a rather disreputable and dishonest man, Mr. Sulkanen. I would rather treat life like a sexually-explicit romantic comedy instead of confront the darkness that is all too fucking common. Turning my back is easy...but that is not how my father raised me. He never told me to be a crusader of any stripe. He did tell me to live with my decisions. I have recently come to realize that includes me being unwilling to bear the burden of refusing to stop wickedness I could have prevented. No fear, Mr. Sulkanen and no regrets. Flesh heals - memories are eternal." 

"Father," Hana stood silhouetted by the flames flickering in the fireplace. "What is this man's price? What threat can you make to deter him that he most likely has already faced and defied? I believe him. I believe he has sent events in motion and are now beyond his control. Mr. Keys and the others are dead because of what Brennan and Anima conspired to do and the blood-letting will go on longer than we can afford."

"Run, you fucking slut-coward!" Brennan screamed at her. He was now standing, and very scared. "You've never been a part of this family."

"Father, if you give your life for Brennan, I will understand. I would be heartbroken, but understand," Hana picked up her appeal. "If you sacrifice everyone else for him - that I do not understand.

I can't follow you in that course of action - not and be the woman you have raised me to be. You taught me to protect my family and this is not what you are doing. You are throwing the rest of us away for something that is ENTIRELY Brennan's fault," she said.

"Shut up, Bitch!" Brennan howled.

"Father, if you proceed down this road, then we must part ways. You will have my resignation on your desk Monday morning and I will begin the legal proceedings to return your surname - one of my most treasured gifts, Father," she concluded.

"Cow," Brennan hissed.

For some, blood is thicker than water. In this case it was a matter of the child you have versus the child you wished you had. Even the way Hana stood by the fireplace was a close mimicry of the Old Man. At some point early in her development, Jormo had given Hana guidance and direction. She had repaid that with daughterly devotion.

The guy's first marriage had been a disaster - strong hints of an affair then a fatal car wreck. During the second marriage he had formed an emotional anchor with Hana. As the marriage unraveled, they had become mutually supportive. There was nothing sexual. It was something stronger - shared trust. When the second marriage failed, Hana had stayed behind. She got along well with wife number three because that was what made Jormo happy, and that mattered to Hana.

Brennan was the opposite. He took everything for granted and repaid every gift with mockery and hostility. He was 'owed' this lifestyle. He was anointed at birth to be a person of privilege and the lesser folk best beware. Except now, someone was handing his dad the bill for Brennan's misdeeds and Dad was balking.

"Brennan, be off the grounds by noon tomorrow," Jormo painfully dropped each syllable. "Your trust fund is intact. Stay away for a few months. I will let you know when I have made suitable arrangements."

"Dad...what the fuck?" Brennan was confused.

"Your mother, half-sister and I could have been on that flight as well, Brennan," Jormo's eyes drilled into his son. "Stay away from the rest of the family. You can use any family property, but be gone within 24 hours of any of our arrivals."

"Fuck you, Dad! This was a freak accident," Brennan tried to rally.

"Then this will be a lesson for you in building and keeping an itinerary," his father retorted.

"Bullshit. This is Hana's doing, Dad. She wants your money and wants to shut the rest of us out," Brennan kept attacking. Even I could tell that was the wrong move at this juncture.

"Brennan, Hana gets it all. I re-wrote my will after your youngest sister, Karvala, was born," Jormo glared at his boy.

"Hana gets all the assets. The rest get some level of addition to their Trust Funds, but Hana gets the company. This was decided a year ago. Hana and I didn't tell you because we both hoped you would turn your life around. That hasn't happened. Now, you've revealed yourself as a selfish spoiled child, willing to risk your own family in your wrong-doing.

Do you know what the only thing worse than being called a beast in your own home is? It is acting like a beast. A Man treats each guest like family. A beast ignores the cries of those guests for justice. Damn it, Brennan. I saw what you and your carrion-feeders did to that girl," he was starting to redden with rage.

"Dad, who the..."

"Shut up!" Jormo was now trembling and livid. "You violated her trust in the safety of my house, you violated your responsibilities as a host and lastly, you violated my word as host that she'd BE safe here. And you laughed about it, Brennan - you and your friends laughed about it.

If I was more the man I wish I was, I'd throw you off the damn cliff. If I was more of a father, I would have the police here by now to arrest you. I'm not. I'm giving you a chance to run away. You can make your own arrangements, or Hana can make them for you - your choice," he suggested.

"What if I don't run, Pops?" Brennan sneered at his father.

"Then everything comes out Monday morning. I'll be in trouble, you'll be in serious trouble and you will also be a colossal disappointment, guilty as sin, and broke - as I will freeze all your assets," Jormo stated matter-of-factly.

"You'll go down for this," Brennan threatened.

"This time, Brennan, it is a matter of family. I have sons, daughters and a wife to protect. Hana will take care of the corporation while I'm otherwise occupied," Dad said.

"She'll steal everything," Brennan pointed at Hana.

"There is nothing to steal, Son," the old man shook his head.

"It is hers. Unlike all my other offspring, she's earned it. She's learned the company starting at the ground floor, so she knows what she's doing. No one else has shown the slightest interest. Best of all, I know I can rely on Hana to look after the rest of you once I'm gone. She's never been jealous of any of you, though the reverse isn't true.

We are done here," Jormo sighed. "Brennan, you can go. Mr. Nyilas, you too." I left at a crisp pace. I wasn't running away. I was hurrying back to Casper, to comfort her, and to the rest to give them the news. An hour later, we were all on the road.



Life as a New Hire Ch. 24



This story plays fast and loose with Ancient History and Linguistics; be warned.

You will never appreciate having to follow a difficult order until you have to give one.

Editing magic performed by KJ24 and Shyqash, plus contributions by the regular gang of brigands and neer-do-wells.

*****

(Late, late Saturday Night)

Had I been alone...?

There are few perks to a solitary lifestyle. One of the few is the freedom from others; and by that I mean you don't have to decide if you care about people you don't know. You are free. Your emotions are free, your decisions are free and your time is your own. Selfish in the best way.

Libra took my keys after we arrived at my apartment building and raced ahead to make sure that Timothy and Odette, if either was awake, would be forewarned. Casper clung to me as she always did. Estere took the lead since I also had to do pack mule duty. Brooke carried the few things that were beyond me. The rain was turning from a drizzle to a downpour.

Odette had a friend over - a female acquaintance. Timothy...Timothy was in the middle of a very successful date night. Now I had the joy of being an auditory spectator in my domicile's sexcapades. 

"Shouldn't she be taken to a clinic, or something?" the friend blurted out. I didn't know her enough to decide if she was nervous, flippant, or secretly cruel. Casper dug in tighter.

I had to dump the luggage to deal with her heightened anxiety. Libra, Brooke and Odette picked up the slack while Estere soaked in the ambiance of my dwelling. The look she gave me was one of amusement and intrigue. This was hardly the lair of the one and only Amazon Prince. It was sublime and comfortable. It had a nomadic quality she found familiar.

Being in a fortress has its comforts. Being in someone else's fortress is far less comfortable. Estere was quietly accounting for every knife, mallet, or other potentially fatal piece of housewares. Brooke, Libra and Odette were already ordering and organizing my life ... what did they need to get and how would they get it? 

"So...you are Odette's...friend," the unknown woman stated. Snapping at her was unduly unfair to Odette, who put up with mountains of my insane lifestyle.

"Yeah, that's me. Cáel Nyilas - self-made troublemaker," I confessed. "You?"

"Delilah," she answered. "What happened to her?" Casper flinched.

"Nothing that being reminded about what a wonderful friend she is won't help heal," I cautiously responded. "She is hanging out with me and some friends for the weekend."

"Cut it out, Delilah," Odette sighed. "Who are you really, anyway?" Delilah was smooth, I had to give her that.

"Odette, what do you mean?" Delilah stood up.

"Delilah, or whoever you are, I'm not such a wonderful person that people I've known two days come home with me," Odette lectured. "Now, I kept you here until you could meet Cael, so why don't you return my courtesy and tell us what's going on?" Odette was keeping Libra and Brooke in my room thus out of play.

Timothy climaxed. Good for him. Out in the living room, Delilah made a stutter step. She was frozen by Estere's silenced weapon pointed at her.

"You were spotted by a rank amateur," the Hashashin noted. "Who are you with?"

"You people are nuts," Delilah flushed with panic. Nice touch, but that panic didn't reach her cold, calculating eyes.

"Damn Delilah," Odette shook her head. "You need to watch more television. BBC America has this nice drama called Orphan Black where the exact same thing happened. I knew you were lying to me in twenty minutes. I was nice enough to not bring the Death Squad across the street over to deal with you. They wouldn't have cared whether I was being paranoid or whatever. They would have dragged you out and killed you on general principle. You owe me."

"I don't know what's wrong..." Delilah got out. There was a rapid knocking at the door. Shielding Casper behind me, I backed up in that direction.

"Last chance," Odette looked at Delilah sternly. "That's the Death Squad." Sure enough, I checked and it was two Amazons in full gear. I opened up and the two edged in around me.

"Ishara - status please," the leader asked.

"Estere Abed is a diplomat for her Protocol faction, there should be records of Brooke and Libra on file and Odette belongs here. Casper is behind me - special case. That woman," I motioned to Delilah, "is of unknown origin."

"Miss, lay down on the floor, on your stomach - arms out to your sides," the leader brought her UP-40 up, aimed at Delilah.

"This is insane," Delilah sounded really frantic. Not in the eyes though.

"Lie down, or three rounds in the chest," the Amazon team leader related calmly. "Last chance."

Delilah decided that she wasn't cut from a fanatic's cloth. She went down like a pro. The two Amazons closed in. I spotted the third of the four woman team at my door, keeping watch. The two inside efficiently bound her hands behind her back and patted her down for weapons - none.

"She is in violation of the truce," the leader pointed out. "Should I dispatch her now?"

"Wait!" Delilah squawked. "I'm supposed to keep an eye on him and protect him, not hurt him. Fuck, don't kill me for this."

"Who are you working for?" Estere came closer. Delilah hesitated so both Estere and the number two Amazon drew their knives.

"Fine! Fine. All I have is a name and I'm only supposed to tell him," she pleaded. There was a moment of uncertainty.

"She'll tell us," Estere knelt beside Delilah. Now Delilah's panic was real.

"Wait," I stated. I motioned Brooke and Libra to move around the crowded room and comfort Casper.

"Well," I sighed as I went on my hands and knees beside Delilah's head. The Amazon leader had her hand on the woman's head, pressed tightly to the ground.

"Sibeal," Delilah whispered. Mom.

"Do you have any way of contacting this person?" I asked.

"No. It is not how I work," she said and finally I caught it. The accent. I looked to the leader.

"Look at her hands and tell me what you see," I asked the Amazon. I went back to resting on my knees.

"Hard...callused from repetitive weapons practice. Short nails. She's very fit," the Team Lead kept up the examination. "I apologize Ishara. She's a soldier."

"Let her go," I commanded. The Amazon only paused for a moment before cutting her bonds. Delilah moved cautiously as she moved to a cross-legged position. "You don't have to answer me, but I'd appreciate some honesty. You're English. Would that make you MI-5, or MI-6?" It wasn't as huge a leap as it looked. Who could Mom trust? 

In this case, a government operative would actually be safer for her and she had to have decades of Illuminati information inside her head. Delilah had one reason to be honest - her mission.

"MI-5 is counter-intelligence," Delilah grinned as her British accent came out to play. "MI-6/SIS is foreign intelligence. I'll let you figure it out."

"Good enough," I stood then helped her stand as well. "You can stay - starting Monday. I need a break, okay?" Delilah nodded.

"Deal. Now do me the courtesy of telling me why I'm here?" she asked.

"Love. Deep, abiding love," I looked right into her soul.

Crisis averted. Delilah 'agreed' to go with my guardians to 'work things out'. Delilah was curious as to why they called Cáel Nyilas - Ishara. She also congratulated Odette on figuring something was up. Odette told her not to feel bad about it - reference all the psycho bitches that showed up in my life.

Brooke headed out to gather some more belongings for herself and Libra because - my vote not even elicited - they were going to hang close to Casper and I for a few more days. Libra and Estere headed out to that authentic Italian pizza joint I'd taken Libra to earlier since my food stockpile was abysmal and the neighborhood was far from safe this late at night. Odette took Casper to my bedroom so that Casper could talk with her parents in Delaware. 

Timothy and his date emerged from his room. It was Sovann Mean, who I had met before and gotten along with. It took me all of two seconds to figure out what had happened. Sovann had asked Timothy out because Timothy never thought Sovann was interested in him. Sovann was a second generation Cambodian-American and had this stoic demeanor he raised up whenever he was nervous, ensuring Timothy's confusion.

"Hey Cáel," Sovann smiled at me. "Still being good?" That was code for me being 'straight'. It still weirded me out a bit - Sovann was a serious weightlifter, like Timothy and I, but a head shorter, so he looked stockier than he really was. When he smiled, his whole face lit up too. It was the Khmer 'twang' that always sounded out of place to me.

"We will not discuss the number of women who were here mere moments ago," I joked wearily. "Timothy, I apologize for coming back early - shithead-intervention shut things down in the Hamptons."

"No problem, Bro," Timothy came and gave me a man-hug.

"With your newfound wealth, we may need to convert the sofa to a sleeper-sofa," Timothy semi-joked. "Oh yeah, and that girl down the hall - when I told her your father died, she baked you some cookies. They're in a tin by the toaster. They really are pretty good, too - walnut and caramel chip." That sounded tasty. I guessed that meant I finally had to meet the women.

Sovann came up and fist-bumped me as Timothy went for the refrigerator. The doorbell rang. I wondered who had forgotten what as I swung the door open. Lighting exploded outdoors, our lights flickered and thunder shook the apartment. It was Uncle Carrig. As the old song said 'he looked like a jigsaw puzzle with a couple of pieces gone'.

His eyes wore a harried, feral look. His bellow, as he charged, rolled over me like the amplified heartbeat of a hellish primate. I had no time before he was on me. Down we went. I tried to push him off of me. His suit was soaked with rain and blood, some of it had to be his own. In his right hand he held a dull aluminum cylinder with a metallic suction cup on the bottom.

Sovann kicked Uncle Lumpy in the side of the head. Inflicted on a normal man, that would have driven him off me. Lumpy released his hold on my shoulder and backhanded Sovann. The Cambodian went flying in the direction of the sofa despite getting a leg block up. I had a flash of Timothy going for his home deterrent system, aka the crowbar. Odette began yelling.

The cylinder was coming down. Carrig's left grabbed my chin, fixing my head in place. I opted to use both my arms to stop his right, and the device, from coming down. I bought a little time. Timothy's blow came down on Lumpy's left shoulder, weakening the hold, but not enough. The device slammed into my forehead.

I felt a burning pain as a portion of the flesh beneath the cup was flash-fried away. More pain, then a little pressure and finally nothing. In those seconds before my mind spun out of control, I had the oddest sensation there was something inside my brain. Searing agony - existence lost all meaning and I was gone.

(One week later)

They say pain in the brain is illusionary. Of all your nerve cells, only a tiny fraction are devoted to pain. The rest do the important work of keeping your body functioning. The brain is on top of it all and it has better things to do that register pain - or so I was told. To be somewhat fair, what I felt wasn't exactly pain. It was the sensation that something was crawling around inside my psyche, doing something.

Sharp, tingling jolts shocked my body parts at regular intervals. Painful in their own way, yet not so much I couldn't concentrate. I opened my eyes. The lights in my room had been dimmed, but not enough that I couldn't see the six ladies standing about - doing nothing. I recognized my present lodgings as Havenstone Post-classical Modernism (total lie - I'm not an interior designer).

The six ladies turned, looked at me, then closed in slowly. A staring contest was in the offing when two people entered the room from the door at the foot of the bed. It then occurred to me that little sonic indicators on the machinery surrounding me were chirping loudly. One woman was a physician's assistant I knew from an earlier bout at Havenstone Medical. She had performed CPR on me.

The other woman...she was the senior-most recruit from my father's graveside service. She looked positively grim. My dry throat requested some water then I attempted to rise. A problem instantly revealed itself. I was strapped down on my bed. The ankles, wrists and a neck/head brace kept my movements to a minimum.

There was a side benefit to this imprisonment. That body-wide jolts? My body was wired up to a system that had needles piercing my muscle clusters. Amazons prided themselves on being physically fit and their tolerance for pain. My muscles hadn't atrophied during my...coma and the price was this constant, low-level pain. I still wasn't sure that was the reason I was bound.

The PA maneuvered a plastic bottle with a spout to my lips and gave me a brief squirt. A few seconds later I got another and then a third.

"Okay," I rasped. "What's going on?"

"You have been in an unresponsive state for 7 days, Ishara," the 'senior' told me.

"Why are you here?" I coughed. "I mean, why aren't you on the job?" She blinked.

"Your life was imperiled so we decided that five of us would be around to monitor you and keep you safe," she answered.

"What's with everyone else?" I huffed. The two looked at me. The quiet six were of no help.

"Fine, what are you ladies doing here?" I asked the women originally in the room. No answer.

"Ishara?" the PA worried. That was when it dawned on me that the two and the six weren't interacting on any level.

"How many people are in the room?" I asked my housemate. She paused.

"There are three of us, Ishara. You, me and the attendant," she answered. "How many people do you see?"

"Well shit," I muttered. Then the first of the six spoke to me. Actually, she mouthed to me. It took me a moment to realize she was giving me her name. The next one started.

"Device," I snapped to the 'senior'. As she hesitantly reached for hers, I began rattling off the names. When the sixth one gave me her name, the group dissipated into the ether.

"Who are these women?" 'senior' requested.

"Find out," I sighed then, "It is important." She nodded.

Now that the specters were gone, the mortals began to come in. Right off the bat, I was confirmed in my status as "prisoner". They wouldn't free me when I requested it and they made no attempt to conceal their hostility to my fellow Isharan. The agenda was decided without me; they were going to check me out mentally, then I was off to see Hayden.

Why was I imprisoned? My brain was a maelstrom of activity across a broad spectrum of regions and lobes. What had happened? They didn't know. The suction cup had stabilized the tube which was really a firing mechanism. When the device was able to detect and aim for a specific part of my brain, the longitudinal fissure, it shot a rod three-quarters into my cranium.

A laser had burned through the skin and skull with surgeon-like precision so a barb of unknown construction could go deep into my brain. Then it 'detonated'. That was one of the problems the medicos of Havenstone were facing. The device had been so badly damaged when it unleashed its energy that they could no longer divine its function.

What they did understand was that while my neural network was going super-nova, it wasn't killing me. They leapt on the idea of mind control. That theory sounded pretty lame to me, but I was the one tied down, with one ally in a room full of people bred to mistrust all males. The next approach...was I sane? The PA offered that I was seeing phantasms.

'Wait'.

"Go," I directed the senior. "Take care of the business I have given you then tell Buffy and Helena what you've found out. You are wasting your time staying here." She nodded and left. It was more "common sense" rather than any sense of my leadership that made her leave. But that done...

I concentrated on the entirety of the message so that it settled upon my soul. I relaxed, shut my eyes and let the world float by. It took them a minute to notice my noncompliance; any positive contribution on my part had slipped so far down in their expectations.

"Ishara?" one of the SD chicks inquired. I opened one eye, then shut it. There was nothing to be done.

"What is he doing?" that Amazon asked a physician. She, in turn asked me. I took a deep, cleansing breath and continued to ignore them.

"There is nothing wrong with him," the physician noted. "He is being childish." That went beyond disrespectful. 

As a quirk of Amazon society, they had left me my knife strapped to my arm. To take it would have been an insult my tiny house could not have borne - essentially declaring me incompetent. I was heading that way, but not yet. That didn't stop them from deriding me until a lull finally developed. For a moment, I thought I was alone. I was intrigued by the words suddenly aimed my way.

"Mr. Nyilas?" an unknown female inquired. I opened an eye. Woman - bad suit - and a badge. What the fuck? I was in Havenstone.

"Special Agent Virginia Maddox with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. I'd like to ask you a few questions," she began.

"Okay," I cleared my throat, "as long as we are clear I am one misstep away from invoking my Miranda Rights." She worked that one over for a second.

"Do you know why your uncle attacked you?"

"Honestly, I'm curious as to why I'm still alive," I tried to shrug. 

"Carrig and I never got along, if you consider when I first met him we fought and the second time he stabbed me in the forehead," I explained.

"How long did you and your uncle fight - the second time?" she asked.

"Ummm...six second," I guessed. "How is Lumpy doing, anyway?"

"Lumpy?"

"Uncle Carrig."

"He's dead."

"Seriously - fuck. What killed him?"

"We are working that out. He was beaten, stabbed - by three different blades, shot 67 times by five different firearms, only two which we have recovered," Virginia stated. "We also think he was hit by two cars, one dump truck and a subway."

"Well...yeah...Uncle Carrig was looking a bit rough when I answered the door," I confessed.

Lumpy had to have been on a freaking quest to go through all that to get to me. Subway? He was hit by a subway and walked away. Most people barely leave a recognizable corpse.

"How are Odette, Timothy, Casper and Sovann?" I recalled. She looked at her phone.

"They are mostly fine. Casper Winslow was taken to the hospital in shock and was released to her parents," she said.

"The other three were taken to the Emergency Room, treated for minor injuries and released," Virginia informed me. "The other four women were a more delicate manner."

"Four women? Could you be more specific?"

"Your bodyguards."

"Could you be more specific?"

"For a person with supposedly limited financial means, a lower income lifestyle and a humble background, you appear to have a small army hovering around you, high society friends, and lawyers who are on a first name basis with Supreme Court Justices," Virginia noted.

"Lady, half-way through Day Two on this job, I almost gave it all up and biked my ass down to Terra del Fuego to live the sane life of a paranoid recluse," I sighed.

"Why didn't you?"

"Cause I'm an idiot. I was hoping a crackerjack investigator like you would have figured this out by now," I grinned.

"How do you know I'm any good at my job?" she sent a sultry lip twist my way. Yes - pinned to a bed I could still attract the ladies. Having hundreds of little needles in me made the prospects for a quick sexual romp unlikely.

"Javiera chose you for this assignment," I told her. "You have to be a woman because this is Havenstone and you have to be clever because this is a lunatic asylum." 




Life as a New Hire Ch. 24



"Touché," she acknowledged my above average mental status. Next came a list of names. It took me a few seconds to focus on them.

"Oh, what happened to them?" I inquired.

"What makes you think anything happened to these people?" she parried.

"Oh, I'm betting Javiera gave you a list of names and there is only person left alive out of that group," I felt introspective. "I wonder where Anima is hiding."

"What happened to those people?" she persisted.

"I don't know. I've been napping for the past week, but I'm betting they all met nasty ends," I told her.

"Why were these people murdered?"

"Were they murdered, or are they merely deceased? See, if I give you my opinion, you will have to pursue that line of inquiry which will only hurt one person who has already been hurt enough and save somebody who shouldn't be saved," I explained.

"Why do you get to determine who gets saved?" Virginia pressed.

"As opposed to who? You and Javiera? That's laughable. Why don't you go down the net worth of the families of those unfortunate corpses, then tell me how balanced your justice system would be? Please understand, I don't hold you and your profession in contempt," I met her hardening gaze.

"To prove to me that I'm wrong, all you have to do is honestly tell me that high-priced lawyers, legions of specialists that confuse juries and enormous bank accounts to keep the appeals going indefinitely while the guilty roam about on bail equates to the legal process working fairly and impartially," I reposted.

"That's not the same thing as..." she got out before the door opened and several people traipsed in, including three SD personnel. Last came Troika and she was coldly furious. "I was promised more time with Mr. Nyilas," Virginia protested. She was ignored.

"Ishara, you are coming with us," Troika snapped.

To be fair, the medical attendant wasn't overly torturous as she pulled out the muscle stimulatory aids and applied the bandages. It still sucked. That was ameliorated somewhat by the read I was getting of Troika. I waited for the last restraint to be removed before speaking.

"I refuse to go with you," I stated firmly even as I sat up. See, I needed something to happen that was beyond my ability to obtain.

"Take him," Troika directed two of the SD babes. My captors had gone out of their way to make sure these Amazons weren't ladies I knew.

"Stop," I declared with authorities. "You cannot touch me against my will as that violates Hayden's ban on me entering blood feuds and wrangling me anywhere against my will constitutes a blood feud in Ishara's eyes."

"It is Hayden's order," Troika snapped.

"Has she lifted the ban? If not, these ladies will be breaking Hayden's decree."

Troika harrumphed then gave Hayden a call. For the purpose of this meeting, the ban was lifted. That was what I needed so off I went. I waited until we got in the elevator and were heading up before launching my strike.

Pamela would have been so proud. If Troika had given me an ounce of dignity, I couldn't have pulled it off. As it was, the first stab took her just under the left eye, the second punched through her cheek and spitted her tongue. The third nearly severed her upper lip and then the SD were on me.

"Blood Feud!" I screamed. "You stole from me!" Troika was about to come back at me, knife in hand. One of the SD got in the way. What I had done was illegal - blood feuds needed to be approved...except for one tidbit of law Pamela taught me and it was about to come into play.

"You cannot wound him while he is in our custody, Troika of Šauška," the Amazon protested.

Troika gargled something through the ruin of the left side of her face.

"I will peel off a meter of your flesh for this insult," she managed to oozingly communicate before we reached the top floor. For my part...

"Unhand me."

They didn't.

"Unhand me, or am I no longer Head of House Ishara."

"Do not attack her," the SD leader stated.

"Would you care to explain to me why you are giving me that order?" I mused.

"Please, Ishara," the woman ground out. "Do not attack Troika of House Šauška."

"Very well. I pledge that from this point until the end of this meeting, I will only act against Troika in my own defense," I promised. "Now give me your sidearm."

"You may not bear a weapon in Hayden's presence," the SD leader reminded me.

"I asked for your weapon, not your legal advice," I insisted. Another shot of bigotry.

"I will not. You are not acting rationally," she stated. Troika snorted. That was okay, because I saw an excellent substitute close by. My deviation from the group was so casual, they barely noticed. I wasn't making a fast break to nowhere.

I walked up to the wall and, Vranus be praised, yanked one of a pair of matching battle axes off the wall. Support studs went flying. Like all weapons in Havenstone, this one was real. The SD closed ranks, boxing me in.

"You may not bear a weapon in Hayden's presence," the SD leader was at the end of her patience with me.

"You are incorrect," I glowered. "There are two occasions I may bear a weapon in proximity to the High Priestess. One is in defense of her person. I am not here to defend her." Harder than any kick to the head - they paled then the anger set in.

"How dare you?" the SD leader seethed.

"The proof of the necessity of my action stands before me right now; an Amazon defying a House, a First Ancestor and a Goddess on her own initiative and in defiance of everything her ancestors fought, bled and died for," I glared.

"Give me the axe," the leader insisted.

"No. You will have to fight me for it," I made my stand. She was about to do just that when one of the others spoke. Tears were slowly eking a way down that one's cheeks.

"Step away from Ishara, or I will kill you," she told her leader. "You are wrong and Ishara is right though it sickens me to admit it."

To add to the macabre, one SD trooper aimed at my 'savior' and the fourth aimed at the third. Civil war.

"You know what he plans to do," the leader stated.

"It is not our place," the second Amazon insisted. "I cannot face my ancestors letting this abomination pass."

"He is the abomination," the leader persisted.

"No. The abomination is any full-blooded not of the Council deciding what the Council will and will not do. We now know there were once male Amazons. By the will of our ancestors it was so. Never before have we, the elite of the Host, acted as if we knew better than they," the second Amazon said with righteous conviction.

"Go," the leader mumbled softly. The woman on the verge of killing her was most likely a close and trusted friend. Grappling with that sudden rift between sisters was occupying her mind at that moment, not my escape. I moved around her, keeping out of the line of fire as best I could and went with Troika to Hayden's portal. I didn't thank the woman. 

That would have been insulting because what she did, she did for her people and the hundred thousand that had come before her. Finally we rolled out the Old Kingdom Hittite/Amazon.

"See what you have done," Troika hissed. I didn't bother to reply. I was sure, dressed in light green scrubs, I cut a valiant and imposing figure.

"Cáel Ishara, what took you so..." and then Hayden saw it. For a second, St. Marie almost cut me off. Katrina stood up. She wanted to stop me. In her mind, Hayden was one of our allies, but, as I had told her, she (Katrina) didn't get it either. Madi, Beyoncé, Fatima and Krasimira were also present and now highly disturbed.

"Take yourself to the cliffs," I announced clearly as I dropped the axe on Hayden's desk. She had stood at my final approach and bore hate my way. "The Goddess Ishara rejects you and has taken herself from the Temple. House Ishara has lost faith in you. Your insults are lengthy and I do not feel like wasting any more time with you."

"How dare you?" Hayden spat. "All the times I have shielded you and this is how you repay me? You were a mistake from the beginning."

"A mistake we can rectify right now," Fatima snarled. She rose up and drew her knife.

"Excuse me, but didn't we gather here for a different purpose?" Krasimira mused softly.

"Kill him and end the curse," Madi growled.

"Oh...in that case can you kill me first?" Krasimira sighed. "I see no need to postpone the continuation of my chat with my mother." At Krasimira's age, her mother was most likely dead.

"Krasimira, you cannot defend him!" Fatima wailed.

"Defend him? I am not standing in your way, Fatima. I do know that the statue of Ishara fractured and fell into two pieces in the Temple," she related - certainly retelling information they already had. "House by house, we see nothing but the back of those who fought before us. Five of my augurs had shorn their hair and thrown themselves into the fire. I can do nothing except report what I have witnessed.

I cannot appeal to Ishara to lift her curse. I hope one of you can because if you can't and you kill her CLEARLY designated heir we shall all go down to ignoble ends," the Keeper of Records remained serenely poised as she delivered her doom-laden news. "By the way, Troika, what happened to your face?"

"He stabbed me," Troika burbled. "Let me kill the bastard." I half-turned. St. Marie interposed herself between the two of us.

"Cáel, lift the curse," St. Marie demanded.

"Lift your damn curse," Fatima and Madi chimed in.

"Cáel, lift the curse and then we can discuss things," Hayden tried and failed to sound humble.

"If every woman in this rooms fatally slits their own throats in the next fifteen seconds, I'll plead to Ishara to lift the curse," I said. There wasn't a headlong rush to commit suicide. The only one so inclined was Krasimira. I motioned her to stop.

"Well, I think we are done here. I have to go and try and cobble my life back together. You ladies have fun pulling off your 'Thelma and Louise' final act while I figure out some way for House Ishara to survive the upcoming war," I shrugged. Of course they didn't let me leave. Fatima on one side, the Golden Mare in the middle and Troika on the other. She had to be in a shitload of pain.

"Lift the curse. If we are going to war, we need to be whole," St. Marie urged me.

"No."

"Why should I stop these two from killing you right now?" she glared.

"Because he is an Amazon," Krasimira muttered. "You should need no better reason.

Ah...this is why we must die...thank you Cáel Ishara," she concluded. "A terrible sadness has gripped our people for as long as I have been Keeper. I found it lurking in the shadowy corners of my office when I was elevated. I now imagine it haunted my predecessors for some time as well. At least I will pass on knowing the name of our assassin."

"The assassin is right here," Fatima spewed her hate at me.

"You are correct," Krasimira chuckled. "The assassin is indeed in this room. Its name is Amazon. I need a moment, please." She stood and walked to the doors. What she wanted didn't take long at all. "Gun," we heard her request. The magazine fell to the ground. The sole bullet did not follow.

Krasimira walked tenderly into the office as if every step tore like fishhooks at her flesh.

"Take yourself to the cliffs, Hayden," Krasimira intoned as the one-shot pistol fell on Hayden's desk. "I no longer know you." Krasimira took in the whole room. "We show anger when we should show humility.

We are proud of our shame. We are arrogant of our weaknesses. We have heaped insult upon insult on our ancestors yet are now aghast that they turn away from us," she shook her head. Her gaze settled on St. Marie. "I am not one warrior alone, but one of a thousand warriors who have fought before me'...isn't that part of the oath of every member of the Security Detail swears?"

Katrina fell to her knees.

"Please Cáel. Please save us," she begged me. Something was very wrong with that.

"How dare you?" Fatima howled at Katrina. Instead of being ashamed, Katrina's supplicant's face turned first into a grim grin, then one of gallows laughter.

"And that is why we are all going to die," Katrina declared as she stood once more. "We are too proud to ask a man for help. We know what Ishara's curse is doing to us. You clearly don't care. You would rather die than admit that our damn ANCESTORS have placed a male here and now. Open your eyes!" she nearly screamed. "They sent a MAN for a reason - to open our eyes before we kill ourselves."

You scream 'what gives him the right?' Ishara gives him the right. Nothing else matters. What I am asking you is 'what gives you the right to reject Ishara?' because that is what we have done. How could she make her will any more plainly obvious to us? Cáel has never stopped trying to save us and you two want to gut him like a lamb, or (to St. Marie) break his body.

Hayden, I will not place my rejection upon your desk. You have been as much a mother to me as my actual birth-mother. I love you. Since we first met, I have only wanted to make you proud of me and serve your will. What has gone wrong? How have we come to this? You were the one who told me we had to find a way to save our race...and now, when it stares us in the face...

Why can't we accept it? How have I failed you, Hayden? What did I do wrong to not prepare you for this moment? It was my duty to keep you informed in all things and I can find nothing to excuse my failure," Katrina had gone from disappointed to heart-broken. Katrina prized herself on being able to stay ahead of any crisis.

Here, at her greatest challenge, she hadn't been able to help her friend and mentor survive this calamity. I imagine that was the final blow for Hayden. Katrina had risen up through the Havenstone system as Hayden's protégé and had given Hayden her all. 

"Until this moment, I have never considered myself a coward," Hayden murmured.

"You are blameless Katrina. In the final analysis, I sacrificed my courage for my life. And now I have neither. I can regain my courage here at the end and be true to the duties I was given," Hayden's resolve strengthened with each word. She took out a piece of paper and created a list. "St. Marie, on this list are traitors to the Host. Gather these Amazons and prepare them to challenge my accusation."

St. Marie stepped forward, took the paper and quickly read it.

"Hayden, this includes a third of the Council!" she gasped.

"I am well aware of who I have accused. Please see to my final command, old friend," Hayden sighed. I could see a terrible weight lifted from her - the cliffs. 

"Final..." St. Marie and Katrina groaned.

"Yes. I will dine tonight with my family, then take myself to the cliffs with the dawn. I feel that will be a good end for me," Hayden mused. "Will Ishara forgive me, Cáel?"

"No Hayden. It is not her way, but I will. There will be a place in Ishara's halls for you. I pledge you that," I suddenly felt a sorrowful pit in my stomach.

Into that romantically tragic scene, Krasimira snorted with amusement. Eyes turned to her. Hayden shook her head, held up a hand to forestall the Keeper until she rounded the desk and left her office for the last time. 

"Who is on the list?" Fatima stormed up to the Golden Mare and looked over the list. 

"I am on this. So are you Troika," Fatima growled. "This is insane. We'll destroy Hayden over this...this...piece of filth."

"I don't care if I'm on it, or not," Madi seethed. "I'm with you."

"There is a small manner of little known law you may wish to be aware of," Krasimira chuckled. 

"The ruling of an honorably deceased High Priestess may not be challenged."

"You two are under arrest," St. Marie whipped out her pistol. Being with the SD, she was allowed to be fully armed in the High Priestess's presence.

"What do you mean?" Fatima looked to Krasimira.

"Cael has killed you all and he didn't even mean to," Krasimira gave a dry chuckle. "By his act of kindness to Hayden, which I now think Hayden was counting on, our former High Priestess goes to an honorable death - taken into the Halls of Ishara in death. Unable to challenge Hayden's decree, you are all going to be executed and your names stricken from the rolls.

You will wander aimlessly for all eternity while Hayden will live in the company of her sisters thanks to a man and his love for someone who was clearly his enemy," Krasimira kept snorting at the dark comedy. "Your sole avenue of spiritual survival lies with a man you tried to kill mere moments ago."

"This is insane," Troika shouted and came at me. The room exploded with the sonic resonance of a pistol firing. I may have imagined it, but it appeared the bullet took Troika at the juncture of the right eyebrow, nose ridge and right eye. Whatever the entry point, the .45 ACP slug painted the wall behind her with her grey matter. St. Marie turned quickly on Fatima.

"Troika wasn't on the Council, so I could kill her for attempting to murder someone who was. I can't kill you immediately, but please believe I will put a bullet where it hurts if you don't do exactly what I say," the Golden Mare menaced. The debate was truncated by the four Security Detail ladies storming the room.

Orders were dispensed and the wheels of Amazon society burst into motion. A side effect of my stunt was I had put St. Marie in charge until the full Council could meet to create some sort of Regency Council to pilot the ship. There was zip gratitude aimed my way on her part and I didn't blame her one bit. I was headed out before things got too organized.

I wanted some 'me' time.

"Cáel Ishara, we have not resolved the matter that brought us to this disaster," St. Marie growled. I was at the door. I looked over my shoulder at the Golden Mare, turned back toward freedom and saw Pamela.

"Shoot me," I told Pamela. I was grappling with the horror of what I had just said when I returned to the darkness. MOTHER-FUCKER! I hate women!

(Mutter...mutter...mutter)

I became aware of my hazy, fugue-like dream state. Sadly, it was familiar and undoubtedly going to become even more familiar while I lived.

"Upset with me, Cáel?" she asked.

"You had me tell my friend to shoot me...yeah, Ishara, I'm a little cranky right now."

"The question was rhetorical. I can read your mind," the Goddess snorted.

"What happened to me?"

"She bounced a bullet off your skull. You'll be okay. I am the Goddess of Medicine after all," she reminded me.

"From an era when trepanning was popular. Color me unimpressed. Oh...and I apologize."

"You will get me the fortune cookie next time," she lilted. Something crucial occurred to me.

"Hey! I haven't had sex in a week. That hasn't happened to me in four years."

"I don't think you are ready for that stage of our relationship yet," she tickled my nose.

"Wait...did you just put me in the Friend Zone?" More laughter. "Seriously," I sighed. "Hayden?"

"I forgive you," she soothed me.

"Forgive me? I killed her. That is not okay. Wasn't..."

"No, my Cáel. We are a blood-thirsty society and the ultimate mistakes are answered with the ultimate punishments. I cannot fully express my pride in you for what you did, even in opposition to my will."

There was a pause in our relationship and conversation. I thought she sensed my turmoil and aided me in finding some level of peace. With her kind of entity, I would never be sure.

"What did Carrig do to me?" I asked.

"I don't know." That was not what I expect. Evasion - yes. The ugly truth - no.

"I find the concept of an omniscient, omnipotent deity to be self-defeating," she mused.

"Sort of negates the whole Free Will thing," I bantered.

"Besides, what is the point of beseeching a being that already knows what's going to happen to you and would have saved you if that is what they wanted?"

"Yeah," I groaned sarcastically, "I much prefer the divine ones who randomly fuck with your life because they can, rarely provide useful information and won't even put out on the second date."




Life as a New Hire Ch. 24



"I know this will cause you pain yet I will say it anyway - I love you." Yeah...I was suddenly wishing Pamela had missed and hit me between the eyes.

"Very well, what can I do for you that would make you happier?" Inside of second. "Clever boy. Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Done. I can no longer read your mind." A few seconds passed. "This is annoying. Is this what it is like dealing with me - this 'not knowing'?"

"Yes and you proved it by the way," I murmured. Several more seconds.

"This is really annoying me. Pick something else." Pause. "What does it prove?"

"You love me," I grinned. "Love without freedom is illusionary. Freedom of thought is the basis of hope and hope drives all endeavors." A long pause. I was a bit curious about what was happening to my body.

"Please."

"No."

"I could give you a divine gift...speak in tongues...regeneration...long life?"

"Nope. Not happening."

"I still love you."

"Now I can say I love you and know I mean it."

"That's unfair...clever and insightful, but unfair," she teased me.

"What about the curse?"

"Re-forge my statue at the Temple and the curse will be lifted. Be your regular creative self when you do so." Pause - divine sigh. "I need to send you back now. Oh, and make love to the first woman you see. It is important."

"What? Why is it im..." and I felt the weight of my body and the throbbing of my temple.

(Augurs don'ts and don't give a fuck abouts)

I didn't want to open my eyes - really, truly, deeply. I had been dared by both guys and girls to pick up a certain female at a variety of events, even when they came with company. I'd done it because I'm that kind of low-life. Being pre-ordained to sleep with some chick felt wrong to me. It was cheating. I sincerely wished she hadn't been touching my face.

Yes, someone was running their slender, feminine fingers over my forehead, eyebrows, eyelids, nose...yadda.

"Ishara, I must speak with you," the strange woman implored. My eye movement had given my wakefulness away. I pried open my lids and looked up into the face of a living ghost.

Her skin was albino pale with obvious veins and blue capillaries beneath the surface. Her ocular orbs were a deep milky white, with a tinge of light blue. I could barely make out the pupils. Her hair was whiter than Pamela's. From the structure and musculature of her hands and face...it was as if a perfectly healthy human woman's body was in a constant frantic battle against death.

My senses expanded to embrace more of my resting place. I was in Katrina's office on the sofa. Katrina was not present. Buffy, the 'senior', Pamela, Rachel, Krasimira, the super-pale chick and two House Guard I didn't recognize were nearby. Despite my head throbbing to the beat of fiendish jackhammers, I managed to sit up. This upset the lady touching me as my movement broke our contact.

"Ishara?" she pleaded.

"That's it. From now on its Yakko Ishara, Wakko Ishara and Dot Ishara. Let's end all of this confusion over this 'which Ishara are we really wanting to talk to?' bullshit. So, what do you want?" I groaned. "I'm claiming the 'Yakko' spot, by the way."

"Ishara?" she pleaded again. Was she protesting me taking the oldest Warner brothers' spot? Yeah, I was the youngest one of the pseudo-divine trio, but I absolutely owned the role of smart-alec.

"She is an Augur," Krasimira explained. "The poisons she takes to put her in a receptive state to the ancestors, goddesses and the spiritual currents of the universe leave her blind and deaf to the mortal world.

She communicates normally, but needs to be touching your lips to know what you are saying. Her name is Tadêfi and she has a message for you," she finished.

"Give me a sec," I put my thoughts together despite my pain. Buffy shoved a glass of water and three pills my way. I downed them gratefully. Buffy was clearly distressed. 

I was getting the crap kicked out of me a lot and, in theory, it was her job to stop such things from happening.

"Buffy, we couldn't have foreseen Carrig coming after me the way he did. He slipped through the seams of very good security," I tried to comfort her.

"Pamela shot me on the Goddess/Dot Ishara's orders. She can only communicate with me when I'm in a near-death state," I said. "I have a new mission for you." I needed to keep her mind busy with things other than me. Buffy was action-oriented and I was giving her a doozy of a task.

"Obtain at least five of the bullet casings from the battle that took my Father's life.

Give them to Krasimira. They are to be melted down with the original statue and recast into a new symbol of the Goddess. We will be a melding of the old and the new," I ordered. Yes, I was sacrificing a priceless ancient artifact for a current political agenda. I'm reprehensible. Kimberly would be ashamed. "Now, who were the women whose names I gave you?"

"They are all deceased 'Runners', Ishara," the senior told me. Oh...that made sense.

"Tomorrow we induct them into House Ishara," I stated.

"Ishara, they are dead," senior repeated.

"Do you believe the souls of Amazons go to the houses of their ancestors after dying?" I posed.

That took a few seconds to soak in. My almost albino was getting truly distressed so I took her hand and put it on my lips as I asked the latest question.

"Oh..." the senior and Buffy both muttered.

"All those 'Runners' - their spirits wander aimlessly for eternity bereft of companionship and a place to call home," I told them.

"That is a crime," I continued. "Even as Ishara moves forward, we must be honest about our past. Those women earned a place in the Host. They were unduly denied their promised afterlife and we will start rectifying that tomorrow." Their looks broadcast their interpretation of my declaration: I was a wonderful child who had won first place for our team at the State Fair. 

Now that she was back in the communication loop, the augur calmed down.

"You have a message for me?" I 'asked' her. Halfway through, I stopped enunciating. 

"Yes, Ishara. My dead sister stepped back through the flames and told me you..." she began.

"No - stop," I told her. "Everyone leave." They honored my wishes and departed except...

"What are you still doing here?" I asked the House Guard who remained. Now that I had a chance to study her, I realized she bore the same cuneiform designation as Krasimira.

"I am her guardian. I am always at her side," the woman explained rather heatedly. She was certainly not a fan of the man in mankind.

"By all means - have it your way. Augur, your message is unimportant. Write it down and have it sent out as a memo for everyone in Havenstone to read. Someone may tell me about it. I'm horrible with my e-mail, so I probably won't read it myself," I growled. This shit stopped now. I stood and made to leave. The augur swatted out and grabbed my arm when she hit it.

"Ishara, you must..." and I lightly slapped her face. The guardian drew down on me.

"How dare you?" the guardian seethed.

"I am thinking the same thing - 'how dare you?'" I rumbled. "How dare you decide what messages she does, or does not, deliver?"

"Tadêfi has something important to tell you," the guardian growled. "Augurs died to bring you this message."

"Clearly the message isn't important enough for you to leave the room," I countered. "I took bullet to the head so I could talk to the Goddess Dot Ishara." I was going to enjoy calling my matron pain-in-the-cranium that. She was probably less amused.

"I'm about out of patience with you smug, delusionary superior sluts demanding things from me as if you weren't my underlings," I glared. "Get with the program, or get out." Though I had told her to get out, I was the one leaving. I needed clothes, a shave and a chance to get my bearings. I didn't need those two.

Tadêfi tried to speak again. I put my hand to her lips to stop her again then raised her hands to my lips.

"I do not want to hear what you have to say," I related. "If you try to tell me what you have been told, I will purposely ignore it and cut out your tongue for your insolence.

Your sisters died in vain because your guardian has decided what you say is not worth her leaving the room for us to talk in private. Sleep well with the dying screams of your sisters' agonies echoing in your mind and know your fellow Amazons have wished this fate upon you. Good-bye."

"How...augurs are sacrosanct and their messages are rare and crucial to the Host," the guardian sputtered.

"Didn't know, don't care and could care less what you think is crucial for the Host," I sighed as I started walking away.

"What is happening?" the augur wailed.

"Her visions are lacerations on her soul," the guardian howled. "Does her pain mean nothing to you?" Those two had to be incredibly tight, the guardian watching the augur scarred and worn down by the task she had been chosen for - and not being able to help.

"Not enough to keep me here," I answered at the door. "She's your buddy, not mine and I have a plateful of unhappiness already set before me." I opened the door.

"Is there a problem?" Krasimira inquired as I stepped out. She had a guardian too. Pamela was also close by and strategically placed to dispose of said guardian.

"Her bodyguard told me to ignore Tadêfi, so I am," I muttered. I hurt. The pain-killers had yet to kick in...and I'd just come out of a coma. Fuck'em.

If Ishara wanted me to nail that girl, she was going to have to step up on her level of assistance aimed my way. I accepted that she had her limitations, but so did I.

"Cáel Ishara, is that precisely what she said?" the Keeper was being diplomatic.

"No...what do I call you?"

"Krasimira, Cáel," she answered. "I do not believe it was Tadêfi's intent to be ignored. May I mediate?"

"No," I replied. "I will talk with Tadêfi alone, or not at all. Quite frankly, half the time you women open your mouths, I want to kick you off the roof of this building. Either I see some damn humility - your words, Krasimira - or I carry on the Amazon tradition with Ishara and her legion of former 'Runners' while the rest of you are throttled by your pride." 

Do note that the Executive Services floor was very active and several members heard my statement loud and clear.

"May we please try this meeting one more time?" she requested. Her bodyguard nearly choked on Krasimira's gentle, conciliatory tone.

"I could not consider myself an Amazon and deny the Keeper's suggestion on this matter. Let's give it one more shot," I conceded. All I was asking for was 'nice'. I wasn't deluded into thinking Krasimira was suddenly my fan. She was simply acting on the enlightenment that her ancestors and goddesses had revealed. We headed back into Katrina's office.

As with any divine direction, she knew she had two choices - harm, or heal. She had accepted responsibility that to heal her people, the spirits had chosen a male. Liking me had nothing to do with it. Being true to her oaths and nature as an Amazon were the acting forces here. Amazons survived, first and foremost. They feared nothing, not even change. 

Her fellows had denied the need for change based solely on pride and Krasimira recognized that now. Back in Katrina's office, the guardian was trying to calm her nearly hysterical charge. I would have been much happier if we had been more alone. The room had become crowded with ghosts during my short absence. Krasimira, who was following, bumped into me.

"Ishara?" she whispered. As unfortunate as that was, Tadêfi's blind eyes following the fixed stares of all the ghosts in my direction was worse. I squeezed my brain for an appropriate bit of trivia that would put my depression on its butt. There was this movie by M. Night Shakalaka-ding dong (or something like that) about a boy who saw dead people. 

The hero - the man trying to help the boy - he turned out to be a ghost as well who didn't figure that out until the end of the flick.

But, it got better. Using the numerous ghostly gazes like searchlights pinning down an escaping convict, Tadêfi ran right into my arms. 

That was a pretty remarkable feat - a blind girl in an unfamiliar room covering four meters flawlessly.

But, it kept getting better. All the ghosts started to yammer, clambering for attention. Tadêfi began to weep piteously. I had to wonder if this was Ishara's penalty for keeping my mind free of her meddling. 

No one else seemed to understand what the fuck was going on. Krasimira was the augur wrangler, not in tune with the spirits herself. She was also the Supreme Litigator, which necessitated her being able to interact with the mortal world on a constant basis, so I couldn't hold her lack of spiritual mojo against her.

My instincts were telling me that screaming and yelling was pointless. The cacophony was incredibly vexing, but I could deal. Tadêfi couldn't. I was looking at this dilemma from the wrong angle. Instead of taking on the hundreds, I would take on the one. I placed one of the augur's hands on my lips then placed my hands over her ears.

My hope was that since I could interact with the restless dead, my flesh could act as a buffer to their insistent beseeching of us for recognition of their numerous appeals. My first song was one of the melodies sung to me by Oneida's kin while I fought off her Death Pledge. Bit by bit, a tiny fraction followed by the greater whole, I pulled Tadêfi back from the brink of insanity. 

Eventually, she began mumbling a different refrain into my chest.

"My ears work better than my lip-reading," I chided her playfully. The ghosts hadn't stopped their pleas for attention. It was the sonic and tactile sensation of my song upon her fingers and the fluctuation of my lungs in pushing forth the music that allowed her to focus on her mortal coil. 

As we sang together, eventually with her teaching me a few new ballads, we shut the world out. Once our shared reality collapsed down to just the two of us, the babble diminished then finally faded away.

"May I relay my message now?" Tadêfi requested.

"No, we have to have sex first," I replied. Whoops - shit-storm. What followed was a blur.

"I can't have sex," Tadêfi murmured. "The touch of a man would corrupt me." Plus.

"She is an augur," her guardian declared firmly. "She must remain a virgin." Plus.

"Cáel Ishara, augurs cannot be..." Krasimira's tongue became tied.

"You go, Tiger," Pamela tossed out there.

"Tadêfi, where are you right now?" I began my rotation of responses. "Why does she have to be a virgin? And, thanks Pamela. That was less helpful than normal."

"I aim to disappoint, Cheetah," Pamela smirked. I couldn't see her face, but I knew she was.

She - Tarzan. Me - Cheetah, the Immortal baby chimpanzee. Just what I needed.

"It is the law," the guardian moved to separate us.

"She must not be touched by a man," Krasimira stated. "Not having intercourse is implied. If she has been corrupted, why did the spirits continue to surround her after Cáel's touch?"

"Keeper, this cannot be allowed," the guardian changed her focus.

"I agree in that this is your choice to make," Krasimira countered. "Without knowing the missive, you must decide what your charge may, and may not, do. Your oath is to her personally, not to me or any other entity. Consider what the task of guardian truly is before deciding."

The convoluted decision: what was the chief duty of a guardian - the message, or the messenger? The augur could convey urgency yet was powerless to act without the guardian's permission. She had to trust her guardian with the basics of life. The guardian...she had to trust what could not be sensed, or even fully understood.

"Why...why this condition?" the guardian returned her gaze to me. I could have been a dick.

"Dot Ishara told me to have intercourse with the first woman I saw when I woke up," I said.

"If you hurt her, I will kill you," the Amazon threatened.

"First off, Tadêfi, would you like to fool around?" I might want to get my potential sex partners permission before proceeding. You know; not be a rapist.

"I don't know what you want, but if this is what we must do," Tadêfi acquiesced. 

"First time sex is going to be painful, so be prepared," I cautioned both young women.

"If you..." the guardian repeated her threat.

"Cáel, you should give daily thanks I don't leave a trail of dead bodies everywhere you go," Pamela declared with malicious menace. 

"So many pretentious bitches - I tell you, my ability to tolerate your forgiving nature is being sorely tested, damn it." Wow, was that totally ass-backwards, or what?

As a side note to life: I was going to receive a serious beat-down the second my sexual tryst ended. 

Two pernicious women: Buffy - I had been damaged by someone who wasn't her. There was no way she'd forgive me for that. And Pamela - I had sent Estere away to escort Libra instead of keeping the assassin close. Without a doubt, I had taken Pamela away from some odious errand conducted on my behalf, yet without my knowledge. Yes, some serious torment was headed my way. 

Back to the girl at hand. Back to being the 'me' I wanted to be. Oink! With torturous reluctance, the guardian made to leave.

"Wait," I called out. "You can stay if you join us." Yes, I was angling for a three-way with a women who wanted to make line drives with a five iron using my nuts for golf balls...and the blind and deaf girl. I couldn't ignore that weirdness.

I knew what was coming and had planned ahead. I'd slept with women whose mantra was 'I hate you' even as they let me fuck them. Trying to make sense of sex guarantees you being alone, staring into the bottom of a glass, come the bar's closing time. It is a wild, passionate beast, so take what comes your way and hold on tight. For the gratification of the guardian's forthcoming blistering retort I pulled off my loose shirt.

I offered up a finely chiseled physique, laced with scars, in front of a woman who loved physical conditioning and martial challenges, including the residue of the painful outcomes. The scrub-pants came next as the lady bit down on her stammering. More scars on my powerful legs. My hospital booties were no obstacle, so I subtly positioned myself as I took them off to present her my most masculine image.

Gruff, gruff...I was the big, bad wolf about to poach her little lambie and the skilled Amazon huntress had to save the day - by throwing her naked body at me.

"Bang, bang," came the whispered voice of Pamela from the shutting doors. "Looks like Bass." Bitch. Couldn't she see this was clearly mutton, not seafood? Oink. Bow-wow.

"If you misbehave, I will hurt you," the guardian threatened me as her jacket, then gun belt, fell to the floor.

"Do you think I would violate either one of you if the Goddess hadn't directed me to?" Yes, I would and, yes, that was giving her an unprovable explanation for the coitus she was about to partake in. 

She didn't care if I was lying. She couldn't deny a Goddess. She HAD to do this as a divine mission. I'm sure that's where her mind ended up as the last of her clothing came off. The next step was having the guardian help me undress the augur, Tadêfi. I was guided to this tactic by the realization that helping Tadêfi keep her clothing neat and orderly was part of her minder's job.

It turned out she'd never seen the augur naked before. Still, it was perfectly natural to look at another person and wonder what they looked like with less clothing on, or naked. Having worked in close proximity to Tadêfi for some time added a 'girl next door' mystique. A new tool in my arsenal was the conspiratorial lure of the 'silent' partner.

"What is your name?" I asked the guardian. Referring to her as 'the guardian' was getting tedious.

"Sikia," she responded. She was of a dusky complexion that spoke of mixed African and European heritage, yet wasn't African-American ... Angola, or South Africa maybe.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 24



If you spend time in Canada, or with Canadians, you learn this stuff. We Americans tend to be a bit of an 'Us, or Them' kind of crowd. Dating that Quebecois Mountie was really informative and exciting, right up to, and including my 'flight to avoid prosecution'/fleeing from my furious ex-GF back over the border. There may still be a warrant out for my arrest in Quebec. I should check that out.

For all you 'desperately seeking Princess Leia' wannabes: if a Canadian chick says she's 'with the Force', she isn't fantasizing about being a Jedi. 'The Force' is what they call the Federal Police/Mounties in Canada. My bad. She definitely looked freaking kinky-hot in the 'Red Serge' of her dress uniform, full-on cowgirl, reliving with me her participation in the Calgary Rodeo.

"Tadêfi, I'm going to hold you while Sikia strips you," I whispered. The augur trembled.

"What?" Sikia exclaimed. "I could never..."

"Lady, you stripped down to nothing in fifteen seconds," I reasoned. "She puts on clothes the exact same way you do. If all you can see is the augur, you will never see the woman - the Amazon - that she really is."

Sikia was on the tipping point so I gave her one final shove.

"Would you rather I did it?" I prodded. Of course she didn't want me touching her precious augur and friend. I was...a MAN. This pretty much neglected our intention of us having sex within a few minutes.

I had to admire Sikia's willpower. She made one last mad-dash toward sanity. She put Tadêfi's free hand on her lips.

"Tadêfi, I can take you away from this," she promised her ward. Tadêfi reflected on the moment, so I hijacked the process. I moved Tadêfi's fingers adroitly from the lips to Sikia's right nipple.

Revelation: Tadêfi knew her way around the female form and my guess it wasn't a knowledge gained purely from masturbation. Hmmm...

"I find peace in what lies ahead," the augur murmured slowly over several teat plucks. Yep, Tadêfi was a pro at the whole touch-stimulation art-form. She rendered Sikia logic-incapable with a few deft touches.

The guardian could have resisted me. Not so, her spiritual partner. Flesh flushed, breathing picked up a pace and the stage was set.

"Her jacket," I instructed Sikia. Connecting my words to her actions took a moment. Tadêfi had smallish breasts which she accentuated by going bra-less and wearing a broad-weave cotton blouse.

Next step - putting a barely resisting hand of Sikia onto said breast. The mocha-skinned Amazon flinched. The albino gave a throaty moan. Definitely not a virgin, despite her long believed convention. Even more telling was Tadêfi's negligence in disguising it. Thought.

"Tadêfi, do augurs bathe alone, or with one another?" I queried. 

"Together...for our safety," she replied. "It is believed it is safer if we can monitor each other to avoid accidents." 

"You found comfort in your shared isolation?" I wondered. To Sikia, "Take off her boots."

"Yes...how did you know?" Tadêfi smiled for the first time.

"You may not believe it, but you two aren't the first two women I've seduced," I teased her.

"A benefit of my limited perceptions is the magnification of the ones remaining to me. You are being untruthful and sexually aroused," she murmured. "I can hear your heartbeat and feel the perspiration on your upper lip."

"Wait!" Sikia exclaimed as the second boot came off. "How do you know about sexual arousal?"

"Sikia, my '****' [OKH: Spirit's Shadow], do all of you believe it takes us an hour to bathe?" Tadêfi sighed sensually. That was a term of endearment I could use later. Maybe Elsa.

"Ah...yes, we do," Sikia settled back on her knees. "How can you have your gifts once you are no longer virgins?"

"We augurs think it is a mistranslation of ancient doctrine. They didn't mean pure = virginal. They meant pure = uncluttered of spirit." Ah, ancient, freak-abulous, twistable languages.

"Why have you let us think..." she gasped.

"What was the point of argument?" Tadêfi stroked her friend's cheek before circling back for the lips.

"Pants," I suggested to Sikia. Her somewhat numb hands obeyed smoothly.

"We are kept in isolation with no men around. Our days are mostly spent in prayer and 'dislocation'. The possible effects of us having intercourse with males was irrelevant," the augur continued. I made a mental note to pursue the precise meaning of 'dislocation' at another time.

"Do any augurs develop Sapphic relationships with your guardians?" I asked.

"Very rare...ly," Tadêfi moaned. Sikia had dragged her hands along her charges thighs as the pants came down. No socks and the underwear, while not downright sexy, wasn't overly-generous with the amount of fabric it has been spun from.

"Shirt," I commanded. We were at that stage of our foreplay. Sikia rose up fully on her knees and the shirt went up, momentarily 'deafening' Tadêfi.

South Africa was face to breast with Antarctica with lips millimeters from nipple. Her breath caused the albino's nipple to become even more aroused. There was no way Sikia could have missed it. Tadêfi attempted to place her hands back. I caught both arms by the wrist and held them still until she got the message that I wanted her extra vulnerable for a second.

"Do what I do," I whispered to my dusky partner. I kept my voice low. There was this undercurrent of sensation that the augur could feel air currents around her and perhaps could even define the words that created them. I slowly leaned forward until my hot breath wafted over the deep, dark red of the albino's left areolas and teat.

The guardian hesitated right up until that sneaky Tadêfi felt out two handfuls of our hair and drew us all the way in. Full on suction and tongue-play with occasional breaks to show Sikia the proper technique meant to drive her friend wild. I gradually moved Sikia's left hand (cupped in my left) and my right down to the top of Tadêfi's panties. Off went they without a fight.

Intercourse can be compared to all forms of art and sports. Ballet - Greco-Roman Wrestling (I've tried 'professional' wrestling once and dislocated a shoulder) - basketball - a symphony and Soccer. All apply. What I pulled off was a prized piece of razzle-dazzle. Tadêfi and I were sitting on the sofa, facing each other. Sikia was facing Tadêfi while kneeling on the floor.

With as much touch-direction as verbal, I switched positions with Sikia, pushed Tadêfi onto her back with Sikia on top and me strategically placed so that I could French kiss both Amazons and suckle on their teats. Athleticism can compensate for failure to practice a dance routine, or bedroom antics and these ladies performed expertly.

Our disposition didn't initiate a lesbian love fest. Both Amazons were purely heterosexual; good friends and comfortable with close proximity, if not their nakedness. My status was that of facilitator. I lured them into a triple kiss, with the added whimsy of Tadêfi's fingers playing along our lips so that she could capture every gasp, deep breath and moan.

The augur couldn't provide extra stimulation to our erogenous zones so I led Sikia on a Beginner's journey over the vibrant instrument that one plucked, petted, coaxed and played to a variety of pleasurable ends. I did have a 'whoops' moment. Sikia became enamored with my phallus. What was supposed to be a gentle hand job turned into a tender tug of war.

She didn't want to let go. I doubted the organ itself was surprising. The context of the encounter - her lack of complete control - was stirring her mind in unexpected directions.

"This goes in there," I stroked Sikia's kitty. "It will feel really good." Tadêfi chortled. Sikia flushed with embarrassment, but allowed me freedom of movement.

My condom code was broken. I had no condom, I wasn't going to go hunting for one and I wasn't going to abstain from the sex laid before me. I was also going against another long held rule of sexual etiquette - double pumping - putting your cock in one chick then another without cleaning up. Even with a condom, a girl's vaginal fluids were on your rod.

Being careful and considerate was drilled into my head by my mentor. Partners rarely 'get over' you giving them a STD, so take a few seconds to protect them and future mates. Alternating strokes of Tadêfi's and Sikia's pussies turned into dual vaginal intrusions. Those migrated from belly to belly to a rear end excitement.

Tadêfi lost contact with me as I placed Sikia over and myself between their legs. A little more pressure and they had their pelvises resting together. I secured the augur's ankles, began raising them up before she took over the motion and folded her shins to the crux of her guardian's underarms.

My penis penetrated two centimeters into Tadêfi's vagina, came out and was inserted into Sikia. Each thrust went a little deeper. It necessitated my constant repositioning with my arms and knees to get the angle right. At the fifth twist, I realized I was bleeding...a lot. All those tiny needle wounds all over my major muscles groups - the ones currently in use - were leaking.

Yes, this was the point at which the sane individual says 'this is BAD' and stops. Me, I was a man on mission - a quest from my Goddess. Note to self: get the damn fortune cookie. Things nearly derailed when Sikia gave me a push-back, delving into the wellspring of her need. Some days I couldn't catch a break. The top Amazon looked back.

"Is that stigmata?" she gasped. Groan. There was no indication that she wanted to stop. Her words were more of an observation. Due to the serious, religious nature of the question, I spanked her. Sikia didn't know what to make of that, so I put palm to cheek on the other side. That earned me a grunt then a sigh. This would not do!

"Sikia, twist one of Tadêfi's nipples. Trust me, she'll love it," I urged. Trust me? Five minutes ago she had a gun pointed at me and for a good reason too. I was starting to differentiate between 'legit' threats to my life and the unwarranted ones...Terra del Fuego, Baby. Nipple twist, a yip-turned-gasp of pleasure and there was no more encouragement needed.

Sikia went to work using her skills at studying anatomy (for the purpose of dispatching foes to the afterlife) to the craft of eroticism. Tadêfi joined in and we finally had synergetic symmetry. The augur climaxed first. She'd started from a higher arousal level so I was expecting that. It took a bit of coaxing to keep Sikia teasing her along.

I was starting to feel woozy. I wasn't sure why. It might have been awaking from the coma, destroying my High Priestess, the bullet to the head, or the continuous, if miniscule, blood loss. I wasn't playing favorites. Sikia lurched up unexpectedly, her orgasm gripping her in a carnal wave of sensual constrictions. The back of her head damn near smashed my nose.

As it was, I got a mouthful of hair when I grappled for my next breath. The shock broke my concentration and the first stream of my seed shot into Tadêfi's twat. A moment of tantric restraint and I was plunging into Sikia's vagina. More seed and I wasn't done. I inseminated her once more then was back in Tadêfi. Why Sikia? I hadn't a clue.

Three more shots...my attentiveness wavered. My body went over to autopilot, completed my biological imperative then fell forward with Sikia when her body collapsed. I didn't crush the two for long. I rolled off, banged my head on the floor as I landed on my back and went back to la-la land. If I had thought my previous job performance reviews sucked, I could barely imagine how abysmal they would be now.



Life as a New Hire Ch. 25



*This story plays fast and loose with Ancient History and Linguistics; be warned*

*Never judge a friend by what they give, but of how much of themselves they give*

*Editing magic performed by KJ24 and Shyqash, plus contributions by the regular gang of brigands and neer-do-wells*

*There is a bit of mangling of the Iliad going on. My apologies to Homer and the countless singers before him who carried the Iliad down through the dark centuries until the Greeks figured out how writing works*



(From the floor of Katrina's office)



First thoughts... I was on the floor where I had fallen, surrounded and being manhandled in the tenderest way. That was a romantic means of relating to my mummification. Those little Band-Aids that had been applied when I woke up from my coma had failed the 'Cáel is a Smeckle-head' test.

All the crud they had pumped into my system and amperage they had channeled through my muscles was not the same as eating and exercise. Having a sexual romp with two ladies? My Goddess made plans for my body that my caloric bank account couldn't afford, thus me passing out. Unlike my time with Miyako and Estere, I had a feeling my two sofa-buddies were ovulating. 

Fatherhood was on the way. How my infant would survive the continuous poisonous assault on the augur's lymphatic system was beyond me. Her guardian...let's just say I dealt with sneaky bitches/Dot on a regular basis and leave it at that.

"He is awake," Tadêfi alerted the room. "You must leave so I can deliver my message to him in the privacy he requested."

"I am almost done," a different Amazon voice stated. She was the medico dealing with my wounds. By the aroma, she had slathered on two coats of the healing goo that was becoming as comfortable to my nostrils as my soap-on-a-rope. A few more rounds of adhesive tape and the exodus from the room began. I hadn't opened my eyes because I was unprepared for the looks of anger, disappointment and concern surely leveled my way.

The door shut and my eyes opened.

"The Conqueror, the Champion, the Friendless and the Foe have all escaped the Land of the Endless Black Sands and returned to the Sunlit Realm," Tadêfi whispered upon my lips.

Huh? That was it? Seriously, four freaking titles without...

And here came the rest – faces. Faces with eyes and eyes with a purpose. Names...not names I wanted to hear at the moment. Bad fucking news all around. It couldn't be something helpful like the identity of the next High Priestess – NOOOOOO...that would be good fucking news. Okay, time to turn this frown upside down.

I could make this work for me. How...I wasn't sure.

"Thank you," I responded to Tadêfi's plea of understanding. Outside of having impregnating sex with me, the Sex-Master...Timothy was going to Nerf-shoot me for that...she'd endured spiritual, mental and physical grief and torment to be with me here today. She waited, kneeling beside my head.

"Kiss me," I requested. It was a moist act, full of compassion and understanding. I racked my mind for the names and their importance. "Who was Shammuramat?"

"I don't know...but this helps, right?" Tadêfi expressed her need to make the reward for the sacrifices to make sense. Five dead sister-augurs.

They had to find that son-of-a-bitch! 

"Tadêfi, we are back in the fight," I grinned. "You and your sisters have given the Host a mighty weapon in the upcoming struggle." I knew that to be true because I knew who and where the Conqueror was, I knew he wasn't ready to be revealed, his enemies were closing in and he was ignorant of that fact. I was going to have to rain on his parade to save his life.

The five augurs hadn't died futilely. The Weave of Fate had shielded the man and it took the augers' fanatical devotion to cut the threads and expose the truth the Host needed most. The Champion – hell, I knew who he was. I chuckled. Tadêfi was confused. The Champion was coming to kill me...me and a bunch of other Amazons, because blood feuds tend to run both ways.

The Foe. He was easy enough. Granddad. The Bastard just wouldn't stay dead. I had a clue to what was going on now. I wasn't sure how useful that knowledge would be. Still, knowledge is knowledge. That thing crawling around inside my brain? No help there. That left Shammuramat. That name was familiar. Even when I finally placed it, I didn't understand her role in things. 

Why her?

"Krasimira," I called out. I struggled to sit up and with Tadêfi's help, I did so. The Keeper and two guardians entered as well. One, Sikia, hovered over her companion/augur.

"What is the link between Shammuramat and the Host?" I inquired. I saw no recognition in the Keeper's eyes. "She was the first ever "independent" queen of a nation-state – Assyria."

Krasimira sat on the sofa and retrieved her tablet from inside her robes. She began working with the electronic history of the Amazon race.

"9th Century BCE," I added. Slowly others migrated back into the room. Buffy, Katrina (not good and not happy), Elsa (really not good) and Desiree. Pamela leaned against the door sill, neither in nor out.

Katrina sat behind her desk. The phone came out and whispered conversations began in earnest. I had shoved us straight into a war which looked like a free for all at the moment. No one trusted anyone. No one could afford to. I had to change that. The only saving grace was that it appeared no Secret Society had planned for the Protocols to abruptly end a week and a half ago.

"Ah...I found it," Krasimira spoke up. Because I'm me, it was at that moment I finally realized that someone had put me in my biking shorts in an effort to provide me a modicum of modesty – with the benefit of blood being smeared on the inside. "She abandoned the Host, she was put under a death sentence for killing her twin sister who was chosen to lead House Anat over her."

"Anat?" I queried. 

"The other dead First House," Krasimira sighed. "They were renowned for their berserkers. Some would drape themselves in the entrails of their enemies in the midst of battle to increase their ferocious appearance."

"Oh, how sweet...what was Ishara known for?" I was surprised I'd never asked.

"Ishara were the emissaries of the Host," Krasimira informed me. With the Amazon practice of killing embassies sent their way, the extinction of my house made much more sense. 

"What does this mean?" Desiree took charge of matters since Katrina was still busy on the phone. In a few short weeks, Desiree's prestige had definitely increased. Katrina was her sister in more than name now.

"Where to begin... Fine, why don't we refer to the Mycenaeans by their proper Amazon name?" Everyone but Buffy was glancing about nervously.

"You used the name, didn't you?" Elsa rubbed the bridge of her nose, dreading the response.

"Yes..." I answered.

"Because no one warns him of shit," Pamela huffed. "You assume an Amazon education with no basis in reality. You act like he grew up with our fairy tales and phantasmal histories. Everyone in this room, but Buffy," she acknowledge my First, "knew he spoke our language and the accompanying risk. Still, no one warned him."

"You didn't warn him," Desiree skewered Pamela with a glance.

"Not my job, Buttons," Pamela chuckled. "I relish the rest of you being made to look like idiots too much to be useful to Cáel unless it really matters. So he invoked an ancient malediction. What is the worst that could happen?"

"I'm going to make a huge deductive leap...am I the reason the Achaean hero Ajax and his boys are back from the dead and coming after us for some Ako-level vengeance?" I groaned. (That's the 47 Ronin for us Westerners) Silence.

"That's not your fault, Sport," Pamela snorted. "Mano-man, was I a dumbass for doing nothing. I'll take the blame for that one ladies. Damn Cáel, you would have to pick the Unconquered One, wouldn't you?"

"Who is this guy and why does he hate us?" Buffy interjected. Pause.

"Our ancestors poisoned his wine so that, in his angry haze, he mistook his own men for his enemies and slaughtered them all...back during the Trojan War. Afterwards, he committed suicide in anguish over his crime...Death opened his eyes at the last, he saw our treachery and managed to curse us as he died," Krasimira informed the lot of us. 

"And my using that word brought him back? That sounds...weak," I grunted.

"The word would not have been enough," Tadêfi comforted me. "There must have been some sort of rift in the curtain of Reality that allowed the others to slip through. I don't understand how...oh no," she gasped as the pieces came together.

"I'm willing to believe that was the price of doing business," I petted Tadêfi's cheek.

"Please enlighten us," Elsa grumbled.

"I need to find the Earth & Sky ambassador and set up a new meeting. Using what Tadêfi has gifted me with and the sacrifice of her fellow augurs, I can secure an alliance for us if only I can make up for the whole stunt Troika played," I grinned. "Any ideas?"

"We could call them," Pamela produced my phone. "Seems some lady named Hana Sulkanen has been trying for days to get in touch with you. She hunted down the owner of the necklace, they talked about your current physical state – courtesy of Odette – and the owner of the necklace has expressed a continued interest in meeting you, and only you. It would appear that they really don't trust the rest of our merry little band since your first disappearance."

Hana...and here I had killed her step-brother...the one she despised. An unexpected benefit of civil discourse – my People's chance of survival had doubled. Pamela lobbed my phone and I caught it. 

"What of the other two?" Tadêfi pushed down on my euphoria. "Was the Foe dead as well?"

A quick look at Pamela told me she knew the answer to that.

"The Foe is complicated," I lied. "His return was an inevitability, so we count that as a draw. The Champion – bad news. Let's put Shammy in the 'maybe' column and the Conqueror is a win for our side." 

A Berserker Queen, fresh from the Underworld, who we were honor-bound to kill ... or the 'other lost heir(ess) to a dead House' that was going to make us cobble together some nonsense to bring her back into the fold. If I wasn't the male leader of a spiritually significant All-Girls social club/paramilitary outfit, I might have been daunted by my prospects of achieving the latter.

"The thing going on inside your head?" Elsa asked. That explained her presence. My mental capacity was still suspect. Was I still me? Could I flip out with no warning?

"It is still there. I still have no idea what happened to me, or what the results might be. This means I'm going into battle wounded and that's that," I stated.

"Are you acting in the best interest of the Host," Elsa studied me.

"I am not sure," I confessed after half a minute's introspection. "So many of you are fuck-nuts; I'm not sure what acting responsible is for this set," I added jokingly. "As it stand, you lack the authority to pass judgment on me, Elsa. I promise you that if I feel I'm losing control, I will turn myself in." 

"St. Marie would feel better if you stayed here," Elsa insisted.

"Is the SD declaring war on House Ishara?" Buffy rose to the challenge. "We (by that she meant my fellow Isharans) have discussed the matter and talked to our best neuroscientist. She cannot definitively tell us Cáel isn't Cáel, so there is no reason to constrain him." 

Whoa. In our best prospect's educated opinion I was not-not me. Legions of English teachers weren't going to like that. 

"I have the answer for that," Katrina spoke up. "I owe Cáel and I would pay that debt now. He expressed a desire to see my niece, Aya. Do you still wish that Cáel Ishara?"

"More than ever...but the Council is meeting," I sighed.

"Buffy is your '****', your apprentice," Katrina suggested. "Appoint someone to stand with her." 

That was more than good advice. Buffy was a woman and, to those who knew of her, as fierce an Amazon as ever lived. That was what Katrina was telling me without telling me.

"I choose Daphne Pile, if she will accept, to stand by Buffy's side," I announced.  Buffy would need someone who was passionate for my cause and who spoke Old Kingdom Hittite.

Buffy still didn't, and the chance of the Council speaking English on her behalf was non-existent.

"That is Daphne of House Cotyttia," Pamela corrected me. 

Who Cotyttia was? I had no idea. I was stupid to think Daphne's actual Amazon surname was Pile. Daphne wasn't even around. Executive Services was functioning fine without me and that meant Daphne had a work queue.

"The Thracian Goddess of Sex, Orgies, War and Slaughter," Krasimira gracefully filled in my ignorance. 

Another whoa...why wasn't she my matron goddess? Tadêfi hauled off and slapped me. The action seemed to take everyone, Tadêfi included, by surprise.

"I don't know why I did that," Tadêfi wailed out in despair. I did. It didn't take telepathy to figure out what I had been thinking. To prove my point, Pamela laughed. I cupped Tadêfi's jaw.

"Worry not," I cooed. "I had that coming – Dot Ishara," I dodged another one, "isn't happy with me right now." Recall, Tadêfi was hooked up to an old-fashioned party line with the Beyond.

"Animaniacs," Pamela snorted. "I so love you. It is my deep and abiding pleasure to have you as my Grandson."

"I'm not your grandson," I countered.

"Well, I say you are. Now be quiet and accept the shame," Pamela's eyes danced with amusement.

"That makes me, Daphne and Brielle incest," I pointed out.

"Amazons don't have an incest taboo," Pamela retorted. Duh. They are all women – no chance of seven fingered, Cyclops babies.

"Ah...women, misunderstanding and pain – Buffy, would you check out Quebec and see if I'm still wanted in that province for bestiality. It could be important later," I commanded.

"Bestiality?" only one woman failed to mutter, sputter or exclaimed.

"The complainant in question is not that pissed at you anymore," Katrina's rolodex mind kicked in. "I believe she expressed a desire to question you about some missing accoutrements though." 

My splitting headache meant I had to think about that – ah yes, her dress uniform. It was/had been Canada Day, thus her having an official function and thus me cheating with the girl from across the hall in the Mountie's bed. I'm an idiot alright and my ability to keep an eye on the clock needs improvement.

My last image of her, frothing at the mouth (she was a tad more possessive than I had anticipated) as she screamed out insults in Quebecois French concerning my lineage, personality failings and the treasured parts of my anatomy. She punctuated various parts of that deranged episode by hurling articles of her clothing over the border at me as I turned (once I had good Ole US soil/pavement under my feet) and tried to get us back together. 

Yes, I had them, just not in my Box of Failed Romances. Acting on hopes of reconciliation, I had the uniform dry cleaned, placed in a dress bag, and the boots polished; both currently occupying space in my closet. At least the Alburgh-Noyan Crossing guards (it is a dual Canadian-American post) appreciated me evading/begging forgiveness long enough for them to see her in only her bra and panties.

I imagine they didn't normally get much excitement there.

"Katrina..." I began.

"Yes, Maya forgives you too, though she scored an 'At Risk' for reliability. Anais sounded genuine," Katrina related. Anais was the Mountie. Maya was the Guyane Française university student from across the hall – the one I was caught cheating with. I had told her I was Anais's brother. Maya was also a super-exceptional cook.

"Cáel Ishara, who are these women we are talking about?" Sikia demanded. 'We'...that didn't take long. We were now a 'we', which in Amazon meant 'male, you're my property'.

"I have a sideline job as an Amway distributor," I replied. "I give crappy customer service."

"You give awesome customer service," Katrina riposted. "That's the problem."

"Sikia, you are not the first Amazon Cáel has stuck his dick into. You are probably not the tenth," Elsa dripped with frustration. Quick count: Rhada, Buffy, Oneida and Gael...I was only going to count the penile-vaginal penetrations.

"They are only numbers five and six, thank you very much," I defended myself.

"So much for your 'intern – no sex' policy," Desiree muttered.

"Cut me some slack – I work with stone-cold, Olympic level athlete foxes 24/7," I griped. "I am a sexual being too – I have needs."

"What about the 'End of Internship' hunting shindig?" Desiree pulled a flawless 'Katrina'.

"Oh, it is still on. With my 'do or die' learning curve, it is going to be so much more fun," I grinned. "And...okay, no more Amazon sex until then...sorry Rachel."

"Except for house members," Buffy insisted.

"No exceptions," Elsa demanded.

"I'll keep an eye on him," Pamela resolved the issue. "No more Amazon boinking for him." She was such a liar. She was also a highly accomplished liar because everyone bought it. On with my life. Stage one: exit Katrina's office. Done deal – no problems. Stage two: set up meeting with the Earth & Sky. 

They wanted to meet on their ground. Since I was the uncertain factor in these negotiations, I agreed. I was bringing one...Pamela raised four fingers...four people with me. Who? Outside of Pamela, I had no idea. Stage three: going to medical and putting on my business suit...it was a new one and very, very nice. I was moving up into serious majestic magnate territory.

I also picked up buddy number two – FBI Special Agent Virginia Maddox. Why had I chosen a federal agent to accompany me to a meeting between two secret societies? I hadn't a clue. Sometimes you have to roll with these things. In the lobby, I picked up number three – Delilah, Mom's MI-6 operative/baby-sitter.

Compassionate, caring people were surrounding me all the time. It gave me this sensation of a 'down home' environment no matter where I went...if down home was Gaza, or Donetsk. I think my entourage/lifestyle observation teams had grown to encompass six cars. I was in no condition for riding my bike, so that recourse was denied me. 

Taxi? One, most were hard-working stiffs like my family who didn't deserve to be caught in a noontime, drive-by assassination attempt.

Besides, with my luck I'd meet the guy from Qatar again – the one with the sister with cute eyes. That reminded me – I gave Nicole a call.

"How are you doing?" she quickly inquired.

"Good," I lied to a past master of shattering perjury. Pause. "I'm surrounded by girls with guns, tailed by your clients, some part of a Federal Task force and some people who I don't know yet. Hold on." I put my hand over my phone.

"Delilah, are you packing heat?" I asked softly. 

She opened her jacket revealing paired revolvers in shoulder holsters. I didn't recognize them so the Brit gave me the 4-1-1.

"Ruger Alaskans," she grinned. Bing! Now I recalled them. The girl who taught me to shoot once read some reviews of that beast on her laptop while I gave her a slow, passionate screw from behind. She became all hot and bothered, wiggling, squirming and generally having a grandiose time with my cock deep within. 

I repeat, this girl really loved guns – a huge cerebral G-spot for her. Oh yeah – the Ruger Alaskan is what you get if you are worried about Grizzly bears popping their heads through the tent flaps late at night. Delilah was probably packing .480's. Her guns would turn 250 kilograms of pissed off ursine into an excellent throw-rug in about two shots. 

In an urban environment... well, maybe she thought the New York Giants were actually giants, or something like that. Two were overkill, unless you expected someone needing to borrow one.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 25



"Just checked. I remain the only one unarmed in my personal carnival of carnage..." my words trailed up to an unintelligible mumble.

I was mumbling because suddenly four handguns were casually offered up for my use (Tiger Lily was holding one over her shoulder as she drove), in the same way you'd offer up some Nicorette to a man jonesing for a smoke. Rachel was kind enough to hand me my familiar Glock-22 and Ruger .38 with their accompanying holsters. Two spare clips followed, then I stashed the lot. I scratched my calf. It took me a second to realize I was reaching for my pistol.

No, not the one at my hip, or my ankle, but the one...in my boot?

"Now that you've been handed firearms of dubious origin, can I get back to questioning you," the FBI agent intruded upon my ruminations. "We were discussing that list of people that are visiting a morgue instead of a court room. What can you tell me?"

"Bye Nicole. Miss you. Being interrogated by a blonde FBI lady with a whips scar on her eyebrow and eyes that could scare a badger back into its hole. Later," I cut of my lawyer's fierce demand that I keep my mouth shut. "Nothing useful that wouldn't implicate myself and others in a criminal conspiracy," I answered her. 

"There is no way I'd name anyone else I suspect of involvement. I feel no guilt over what has happened, so no remorseful confession, and that is based on my belief that cosmic justice has been achieved."

"You can't create lists of people for execution," Maddox persisted. "That negates the whole justice system and the principle of innocent until proven guilty."

Wow! Except for the two of us, every other person in the car snorted their derision of Maddox's presumptive naiveté.

"Do you even believe the tripe spilling from your pie-hole?" Delilah mocked Maddox.

"I'm enforcement. That means I enforce the laws, not interpret them, or choose which ones I want to obey and which ones to ignore," Virginia fought back.

"Love, that's crap and you know it. You are an agent of the US government. You bomb, drone-strike, overthrow lawfully elected governments and assassinate in your nation's best interests," Delilah countered. "You selectively enforce your Constitution when it suits you."

"I'm law enforcement, not the military or foreign affairs. Know the difference," Maddox glared.

"The pay master is the same ... you willingly collect your thirty pieces of silver; get off your high horse because you are in the shat now, Agent Maddox. I haven't known this crowd an hour and I know for a fact that you are the only US citizen onboard," Delilah chortled. "I don't know their bleeding nationality, but I doubt it is on the UN Charter." Maddox turned to me.

"That was succinct and rather accurate," I murmured. "Special Agent Maddox, I have the sneaking suspicion that you are with us because FP (federal prosecutor) Castello feels you can handle this...ummm...unusual set of circumstance. I promise you this – it is going to get worse."

"Why don't we test this quaint theory?" FBI Lass challenged us.

"Jail – bail – and I'm waking up in Rio de Janeiro in two days," I sighed. "I have a few thousand in the bank, live in a hole and own my father's home...when it clears probate. Only you know I'm flight risk. A dozen people will vouch/lie about my character and that's that. All you've succeeding in doing is making enemies when you need friends."

"There is still a matter of multiple people dead under suspicious circumstance," she said.

"Imagine for a second that Cáel admits to creating a hit list," Pamela began. "He would never give up the names of the other people involved. He didn't kill anyone, or say 'kill them'. Now what? You still have an abysmal case to put before a judge. Add to that, the mitigating factor of a raped girl.

You get to break her down until she's a cooperating witness because she's the only one who can provide you with Cáel's motive," my mentor continued. "Good for you and your team. She gets to betray the man who tried to save her. Cáel promised horrific retribution if any of those in the now-dead crowd hurt her. That is rather unlike him – he normally forgives when given the least excuse.

I don't give a damn about women's rights, or the rights of rape victims. I really could give a shit about human rights for that matter. Wronging me is the surest way to early retirement. It is not a matter of strong versus weak, or right versus wrong. What matters to me is who I can trust. I don't know you, thus I don't trust you. I trust your government to be so much chicken shit.

I base this on the lack of public torture and execution. I want the families of dying criminals paraded in front of those cock-suckers before the condemned finally perish in agony. I want to see thieves get their forearms hacked off, trial by combat, and respect for your elders. I want to see public officials being sacrificed upon the altar of Jehovah when they leave office.

I want to see a system of justice with a soul, not law books thicker than an aircraft carrier's hull. A government 'of the People, by the People, for the People' should be the sole guiding force for your culture and we both know that's never going to happen. I admire your soldiers; not because they are brave and combat effective – they are.



I admire them because they are fighting and dying for elected officials and a population that can't locate Afghanistan, or Iraq on a map, can't tell the difference between a Sikh and a Muslim, and thinks 'Pashtun' is an exotic piece of furniture. I admire them because they are better human beings despite you, not because of you," Pamela was coming to her crescendo.



"Basically you people – by that I mean most of the human race – are dangerous in your idiocy, arrogance and pride in your ignorance. Not one of you should be allowed to use weapons, or play with fire. For you, unrestricted voting is a crime right up there with inventing, disease prevention, bilingualism and anything that perpetuates your educational system."

"Lady, why are you so angry with the world?" Maddox studied Pamela intensely. I wished her luck with divining and then unwrapping that lady's mind.

"I hold dear to my heart anyone's hunger to learn, honesty when it hurts and love no matter what the cost, so I find myself alone most of the time," Pamela grinned. "Above even those, I adore humor in the face of ridicule, condemnation and adversity.

You can dodge bullets and parry knives. Humor always strikes home," she finished. "It is the perfect weapon."

"Liar," I smiled. "You like high performance automobiles too." Did she? I didn't know.

"Only with a 2X4 pressing the accelerator as it races toward the lip of a canyon," Pamela bantered back, "with Ursula K. Le Guin strapped in the back seat."

"Who?" I inquired.

"She's an author. I take exception to some of her work and unwillingness to appreciate the fusion of exceptional feminine characteristics with power positions," Pamela answered.

"And your critique of her life's work is an exploding car at the bottom of a cliff?" I smiled.

"Starting uncontrolled wildfires and littering – two of my favorite activities," she laughed.

"I'll stick with blondes and brunettes...and red- and raven-haired...bald has its own appeal...green and purple have their own kink going on..." I joked.

"Wait! We were talking about people being murdered and you two are cracking jokes?" Maddox rumbled.

"I had a dream about tying them together with nylon cord and tossing them off the back ramp of a transport aircraft...and watching them fall...and fall," Rachel sighed dreamily.

"Atta girl," I play-punched Rachel's shoulder.

"What is your part in all of this?" Maddox turned to Rachel.

"I'm the head of his bodyguard detail," Rachel gave her confession of the damned.

"And you want to kill him..." Virginia struggled to keep up.

"Given time, you will too," Rachel promised. "According to his pre-employment records, only one woman he's had a sexual relationship with hasn't wanted to at least hurt him," glaring at me, "badly."

"The nun doesn't want me dead!" I vocally protested.

"It is so wrong that you are proud that of over 200 women you've slept with – TWO have not, at some point in knowing you, wanted to maul you and one of those is in the 'forgiving' business," Rachel chastised me. Virginia had an answer for my madness. Her phone came out and she hit speed-dial – work. 

"Ms. Castello, this is Special Agent Maddox, do you have a moment?" Virginia calmly asked when she finally wrangled my current-favorite fed's attention. "You do now? Thank you. I'd like to know what the fuck have you done to me? This assignment is nuts. Either I'm part of some elaborate prank, or I'm in an SUV with escapees from the looney bin." Ten seconds later Maddox gave me the phone.

"Stop it. I've upheld my end of the bargain, so behave," Javiera ordered. Man, she'd shot me straight to the core and we hadn't even slept together yet. Clever, clever girl.

"Yes Ma'am," I swore. "I'll do my best to buffer Special Agent Maddox from the truth."

"I'll have to accept that," Javiera conceded. "Give Maddox the phone back."

A brief conversation later and Maddox was no better off than when she started. Thankfully we parked in front of the Kazakhstan Consulate in New York, giving us all an excuse to face facts. Maddox was feeling compelled to ask questions she didn't want the answers to, and that we didn't want to answer. Saved by work.

"Kazakhstan Consulate? Why are we here?" both Virginia and Rachel asked.

"Oh! This is going to be good," Pamela leaned forward excitedly.

"Change the course of human history," I answered with a great deal of confidence I didn't feel. See, I had knowledge critical to the Earth & Sky. 

That knowledge was also something they wanted kept compartmentalized, so they might take exception to it being possessed by an outsider. Oh... so that's why Pamela earlier insisted on four ladies being with me – so we could shoot our way out if things turned ugly. I hugged my mentor.

"Thank you, Pamela."

"You are coming along nicely, Mr. Potter," Pamela patted my cheek.

"Your praise leaves me suspicious, Professor Snape. Besides, if I'm going to die, it helps me to know you'll go first ."

"That was uncalled for," Pamela chided me. It was the 'Snape' role she rejected.

"Snape gave up his life for Harry, Dumbledore died for Draco," I countered.

"Well, let's hope it doesn't come to that," Pamela shone with joy and pride.

"You act like I have a choice," I sighed.

"Touché," Pamela nodded.

"I see what you mean about these two," Maddox addressed Rachel.

"Oh my God," Delilah laughed. "You wove Harry Potter into a life and death conversation and it made sense. I am probably going to die, but I'll die knowing I have lived."

"Not you too?" Maddox glared at Delilah. Rachel just shook her head. We exited the car, settled ourselves out. Rachel took point, Delilah took one flank while Pamela took the other.

By happenstance, I ended up in the middle...yeah right, with Virginia covering my back. 

"You stay here," Pamela put a hand on Rachel's shoulder. "You'll need to lead the team in if someone 'pumps up the volume'." Interesting euphemism for 'when people start killing people'.

"What are we doing today?" Miyako 'appeared'. She'd been walking down the sidewalk toward us – the Kazak Consulate was a townhouse – but her presence hadn't registered.

"I require your pledge of silence on what is to transpire. No death is intended," I stated calmly to Miyako.

"I didn't know you were versed in ninja contracts, much less spoke Japanese?" Miyako responded. Blink.

"I didn't know I spoke it either..." I mumbled.

"No sweat," Pamela tried to hustle us along. "He's a quick study." Yeah. I didn't feel it apropos to point out I hadn't heard myself speaking Japanese, or understood that my words had some secret meaning.

"How important is this to my people?" Miyako asked. Now that I was paying attention to it, I could make out that she was speaking in her native tongue.

"If they don't think we can be trusted to not speak of what is to transpire for a week, they are going to kill us," I related my suspicions. "My mind and heart are joined in this decision."

"I give you my pledge," Miyako nodded. She looped her arm in mine.

"Does anyone care to enlighten me?" Maddox prodded. Whoa. It seemed that, beside me and Miyako, only Pamela spoke Japanese.

"Special Agent Maddox, no matter what, don't give up your gun, when we say run – run, and shoot to kill because they will be trying to kill us," I informed her.

"Does the term 'extraterritoriality' mean anything to anyone here?" Maddox snapped. Her nervousness was totally understandable.

I stopped at the top of the steps, looking over my shoulder. I nodded. Pamela, Delilah and Miyako nodded as well.

"Hold on...I can't believe I'm saying this. Does anyone have a back-up I can use?" Maddox groaned.

Rachel quick-stepped forward and handed over a .22 automatic pistol then a spare clip with a smooth, practiced motion that suggested that SD swapped weapons all the time. Maddox didn't miss the casualness of the gesture. The firearm and magazine disappeared. 

"Fine...we will never discuss the laws we just butchered – ever...and if I die and any of you make it out alive, I will seek revenge at whatever cost FROM WHEREVER I AM," FBI girl growled.

"One of us," Pamela smirked at me as I touched the doorbell. It opened promptly. We weren't on a crowded street, we were on their stoop and a security camera was pointed right at us. We were invited in and two rather Caucasian-looking gentlemen (Kazaks are a mixed bag of Turks and Cumans) were waiting with the doorman. They looked tough in that they took personality lessons from saddle leather.

"You will place your weapons there," the more charismatic of the two spoke up. He was pointing to a side table that looked large enough for the task.

"No," was the most courteous response I could muster. He didn't look surprised. He didn't look much like he was breathing, or blinking either.

"Go," he pointed to the door. I looked to Pamela.

"Well, that didn't take long," I grinned. I felt out the necklace under my shirt and pulled it over my head. "Please return this to its owner in the spirit it was given." He took it. The doorman opened the door and out we went. Rachel was back in our GL550, using the door as possible cover. She said we could take our seats and away we rolled. Maddox looked apoplectic.

She had prepared herself for the Wild, Wild West, not a doe-see-doe at the door. In her mind, I had wound her up for nothing. My phone rang.

"Cáel Ishara, there seems to have been a diplomatic miscommunication," a male native Turkish-speaker said in heavily accented English. "The person you are meeting must be approached in the spirit of peace."

"No, I understood you perfectly," I assured him. "We aren't the Brownies, or the Girl Scouts, Buddy. I don't know, or trust you and you don't know, or trust me – yet. I will compromise though. I will respect your traditions. I will enter your home unarmed. In turn, everyone in the building will line up outside on the street except for the person I'm supposed to meet. Is that acceptable?"

Pause.

"Do you hate these people, or like them?" Maddox grumbled. "With you, I can't quite tell."

"That would not be acceptable," the man finally responded. "Perhaps an alternative. You come in, alone yet armed."

"Nope. Due to the efforts of people far smarter than me, I know pretty much who I am meeting, so I am either very rude, insane, or bear a message that is worth my life," I countered.

"Your personal safety is guaranteed," was the counter-offer.

"That is a false promise – not because you lack honor, or respect for me, but because you are from a wise and noble lineage with a historical propensity of cutting to the heart of any problem." 

By that, I meant they'd cut my heart out. "What I expect is for every one of you to hold the future of the Earth & Sky above any such concepts as personal promises, hospitality, and honor. I am even putting my faith in your willingness to put the survival of the Earth & Sky over your own well-being," I riposted.

"If the message is so crucial, you should be willing to come alone," back at me.

"It isn't important to me," I stated. "Listen, a war is about to break out. Unless we both want to be found all alone in the outhouse masturbating when the headsman comes, one of us has to blink. Today, it is you. Tomorrow you may be able to return the favor and mess with my head."

Pause.

"Your koumiss is getting warm."

"We'll be right there. We apologize for the delay. Traffic is murder these days, or a close facsimile thereof," I gave a little back in the humility department.

"Tiger Lily..."

"On it, Ishara...Wakko Ishara. I've been circling the block," Tiger Lily had anticipated my antics. Sure, I acted like I had no game plan, but I never wasted people's time. Maybe if I developed an actual game plan I could do even better.

"Wakko Ishara?" it was Delilah's and Maddox's turn to share a 'what the?' moment.

"May I explain the sacred names?" Rachel requested of me. "I have a feeling these two might become a fixture."

"By all means, Rachel. Our trust runs deep," I trusted Rachel with more than my life; I trusted her with my future.

"Wakko, as in you're the nutty one?" Delilah made a stab at our arcane nomenclature. If you use small words does that make it gnomenclature? Pamela winked at me...psychic twin grandmother powers activate!

"We need complementary rings," Pamela remarked. Sweet!

"Cáel Ishara is differentiated as Wakko Ishara, Ishara, first of House Ishara, is Yakko Ishara, and..." Rachel began.

"The Animaniacs? Your code names are the Warner Brothers and their sister Dot?" Maddox gasped. "You are beyond nuts."

"And the Goddess Ishara is named, by House Ishara and House Ishara alone," Rachel made some warding appeal against divine punishment, "as Dot Ishara." Maddox's face shown with disbelief.

"Following Cáel Ishara into battle has been one of my greatest pleasures," Rachel stared at Maddox. "I never knew insanity could be so liberating, or that laughing at death could be such an aphrodisiac."

"When did you two go into battle?" Delilah wondered.

"In a morgue, fighting to retrieve the body of his fallen father so that our enemies could not desecrate it," Rachel explained. Ah...the walls of Troy...fighting over the spoils of the dead.

"You mean when I face-planted?" I grinned at Rachel.

"Even without a weapon, your instincts were good, forcing our enemy to commit to multiple angles of coverage even though your efforts were foiled by a footing failure. Your rushing their leader was even more heroic in that you were unarmed and using your body as a decoy, knowing your enemy's superior skill would stop him from shooting you," Rachel smiled my way – sex.

"Let me get this straight," Miyako finally spoke up. "You charged an enemy unarmed then stumbled and failed. They were armed?"

"Yes, with a .357 Magnum revolver and a 10 gauge sawed-off automatic shotgun – in tight confines and close range...oh, and no cover." Maddox replied – then to me, "I read the report."

"Then you repeated the action a few minutes..." Miyako.

"Less than a minute later," Maddox clarified.

"A minute later...wow! You are as fearless as we've heard. Please don't die before we have a baby," Miyako gave me a quick hug. If you cover a zeppelin with uranium paint, can it still fly, or does it sink to the center of the Earth? Ninja babies...

We had returned to the stairs at the Consulate. This time the door swung open upon our approach.

"Is there some drug you are all taking to bask in this shared fantasy life?" Maddox mumbled.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 25



"One of us," Pamela retorted. "One of us."

"One of us," I joined in. It helped cut the tension.

The bodyguards were present right where we'd them last time. They ushered us up the stairs to a second floor sitting room that ate up half the floor. There were two men there - radiating that subtle assurance that a half-dozen killers were close by. The man standing was Iskender, the E&S emissary from Dad's funeral. I broke all decorum, strode to the man, locked arms, hugged him tight and patted him on the back.

"Thank the spirits you are here," I whispered, "all this lack of dick is making me a bit stir-crazy."

"Ah...yes, it is good to see you again too," Iskender imparted as we broke our embrace. His boss, the guy on the sofa, shot me and my Kyrgyz buddy a sharp look. The Main Man was clearly Mongolian and must have thought blank, white walls exhibited too much empathy.

"Koumiss," the boss offered.

I sipped it from a simple, yet regal drinking mug that probably hit the kiln 200 years ago.

"Mare, or yak?" I inquired as I handed the cup around. Iskender came first, but it was clearly my intention that we all partake. It was more a matter of the host's pledge of sanctuary than me wanting to share the koumiss. It tasted like thin, lightly chilled, bitter beer with a vanilla-almond milk shake-chaser.

"Mare, of course. Please sit," he offered. He defined the suggestion by slipping off the sofa onto the layered carpet rug. He was semi-reclined, so we followed suit.

"We should pray for the protection of the spirits," was the suggestion that wasn't a suggestion. It was his itinerary. 

He clapped his hands and from beyond a curtained partition came this really sensual Mongolian chick carrying a large brass bowl. She flicked her eyes at me and an instant connection was formed. She liked to bark like a dog under the full moon...okay, I'm not sure where that came from.

"Nice woman," I told the leader. "She looks like she has seen many winters."

Whoa! Where the fuck did that come from? I got a shocked reaction from Iskender. 

The Leader looked pissed – if a flake of paint on the white wall indicated anger. The girl blushed like what I said was an incredible turn on.

"She is my daughter," the Leader pointed out. Way past swallowing my foot. My ankle was tasty.

"My name is Oyuun Tömörbaatar. My faithful Iskender, you know. This is my daughter T. Sarangerel. She is studying at NYU and is not entertaining marriage proposals at this time," he slapped down his boundaries. 

Somehow 'I only want to sleep with her' didn't sound like the right response. Wait! Saying his 'daughter had many winters' was a marriage bargaining opening move. WTF!

"What I meant was that surely many men have died trying to come before you," I back-pedaled. More happy looks from the daughter. More paint peeling from the dad.

Pamela made sure more koumiss was going around. Getting drunk could hardly hurt at this juncture. Sarangeral placed the bowl between us. It was filled with clear, cold water undoubtedly collected from a mountain-fed glacier.

"Let us cleanse our hands in the water so that we may speak with clarity," O. Tömörbaatar said. We dipped our fingers and, for a second, I saw him. Not 'O', but HIM.

"It is good to finally meet you Ferko Ishara Cáel Nyilas," the man said. My Spidey senses told me he was feeling less 'good' about this meeting every second. "How can your people and mine better get along?" 'Let me impregnate your daughter'...would probably get my skull split open.

"No time for that," I replied. "I know where HE is. The Seven Pillars have found a way to search the Weave and are closing in. You must act with haste." Whether it was disbelief, or old 'OT' schooled Ku Chun in the art of gambling, the older man gave no outward reaction.

"Where is he?" O. Tömörbaatar asked in a gentle tone.

"I can do you one better," I steeled myself for the unknown forces I was invoking. I put my hands on the bowl's lip and looked in. Several seconds later, he did as well. For a moment, nothing. It was like a ripple in reverse. The first earth tremor I barely noticed. The ripples grew and grew until I felt the whole row of townhouses would come crashing down. 

Wind snapped the locks on the windows, flinging them wide open and tearing at the curtains like streamers in a hurricane. Then we saw HIM clearly. HE stopped driving this old, beat-up Peugeot and was pulling to the side of a desolate stretch of highway. HE could sense something yet couldn't pinpoint the source of his unease. We definitely got the impression this wasn't his first taste of this experience – the Seven Pillars.

He was young – maybe my age. He looked like an educated man turned vagabond/boundless traveler. HIS eyes...his eyes had a depth that were a microcosm of what I'd glimpsed in Ishara – Dot Ishara's unshielded glance when we first met. All lingering doubts vanished in my mind.

"I know that place," OT muttered, his eyes fixated on the only feature in the vacant expanse – a road sign...in Chinese. Yikes. "I know that place." The image faded.

Our meeting venue was intact. Whatever I felt transpire, I had shared with O. Tömörbaatar alone.

"You have work to do," I stated as I cleared my throat. "I will leave you to it." I stood.

"What do you wish for this gift?" OT reached out and touched my sleeve.

"When the time comes, maybe you can help us," I replied.

"A man who asks for nothing can expect anything," OT smiled for the first time. "Go." I did not take a fear-free breath until the cars started up and we pulled away. He'd let us live. Even with that priceless piece of magical insight, he'd let us live.

"I'm still stunned we got out alive," I sighed. "I wasn't really sure he'd take the news as well as he did."

No one said anything for a minute.

"Why would he have killed us?" Delilah inquired. "You, I understand. I don't know what you communicated to that young lady, but the old guy wasn't happy about it. He was going to kill us over that?"

Pause.

"What did the rest of you see and hear?" I looked around the cabin. Pamela appeared worried.

"I didn't know you spoke Chagatai," Miyako smiled at me. "You are full of surprise. I only caught a word, or two, and none of it made sense."

"MRI," I groaned.

"Magnetoencephalography," Pamela said in the same breath. "Mine is better, Boyo."

"What is going on?" Rachel upped her alertness level.

"We need to take Cáel to a hospital that has a Magnetoencephalography device," Pamela insisted.

"He's spontaneously speaking languages he didn't know moments earlier..." Maddox put things together first. The rest nodded at her assessment. "We'll need to have his records from Havenstone sent over as a baseline." Poor Virginia – the absurdity of my life was sucking her in.

"I'll call Katrina," Rachel informed us.

I was a mental case once more. At least my input was still being solicited.

"How many guns do you have on you?" Pamela zinged me.

The answer was obvious – two. My Glock and my back-up. That didn't seem right.

"Ah...two?" I responded.

"Yeah, something is happening to your muscle memory as well," Pamela shook her head.

"What exactly does that mean, and what's wrong with Cáel's brain?" Delilah studied the group.

"It means he could spontaneously pull out his gun and start shooting us?" Pamela confessed her uncertainty. "I don't know. We'd better figure out which impulses are his guiding light right now before that happens."

"I don't even know how to begin reporting this," Maddox muttered.

"Cheer up. Our Cáel is still currently in charge. Did you appreciate how he lured in that young Mongolian girl? That's classic Cáel," Pamela comforted the crowd.

I was saved from a straightjacket because I was a 'Playa'.



(Meadowlands Medical Center in far off New Jersey)



I'm not political. For me, that means I am completely and utterly dedicated to whatever doctrine that the cutest political campaigner in front of me endorses. Fifteen minutes on the internet and you can fake it like a pro. Be careful to be with the winning team when the results come in. Nothing makes a political chick go wild like sneaking into the candidate's office and screwing her on the newly elected/re-elected figure's desk. 

Let her scream out her idol's name. Odds are neither of you will be welcomed back afterwards anyway. Why politics now? Javiera called some people. I had a sneaking suspicion that someone I knew and trusted got in touch with my 'Aunts' as well. All I knew for sure was the Hospital's Administrator's phone began ringing off the hook and I'd become the hospital's number one priority.

The hospital staff was visibly irritated with the clout raining down on their heads for about an hour. Once they digested my Havenstone records, all of that changed. Holy 'Published in The New England Journal of Medicine', someone had drilled a micro-surgical hole in my skull in the middle of a wrestling match with no resulting cerebral scarring. THEN this unknown device shot into my skull with pinpoint accuracy and pumped a ghastly amount of energy into my cerebrum.

They were fascinated. They were so fascinated I heard two medical technicians mutter about where the Zombie Survival Guide could be found. They triple checked my vital signs – again. I was still as much alive as when I checked myself in. There was a rumor that a fire ax disappeared from a stairwell close by, but not one confessed to the deed.

I was speaking in languages I had no reason to know? They were surprised I could contain my mouth drool. It was somewhat disheartening to hear three seasoned physicians discuss what probable scenarios could explain me still being in a non-vegetative state... or alive for that matter. Some poor nurse had to ask.

"Do you feel an unnatural...interest in human brains?" she whispered when she though no one was close by.

"I'm not sure what you mean," I whispered back. "I always respect a woman's intelligence. Sex is a cerebral passion. What's the point if you can't communicate with your partner?"



Pamela slapped me upside my head. That disturbed just about everybody else in the vicinity and my mentor was promptly exiled from the room. I was curious about what havoc she was perpetrating on this establishment. My condition had gotten her past all the heavy security and I knew without seeing that someone high ranking had misplaced their ID badge. 

Maybe Pamela was the love-child of Batman and Cat woman. Before you think that's comic fanboy talk, recall what my life was like at that moment. Tests ensued. The staff decided that Havenstone employed a bunch of quacks and snake charmers. Two hours later, they found out they were wrong. Larger battery of tests – same results. I was the second coming of Christ – back from the dead...or a zombie living in a convincing state of denial. Some folks wouldn't let that go.

Pamela had proved to be prophetic. Her pet gizmo finally provided a new picture of what my neural pathways were up to. If there is any doubt, 'I've never seen that before' is not what you want to hear one of North America's experts in the field of neuroscience say. The first educated opinion was that I suffered from chronic traumatic encephalopathy – that meant I was hit in the head a lot. Normally that diagnosis comes in the midst of an autopsy. 

I was having paralytic seizures. They had me juggle a squeeze-ball, then two and finally three. My perfect performance frustrated them. Women find relatively simple carnival tricks to be seductive. Pluck a card from a girl's bra gets you both to some dark corner, hungrily looking for the rest of the deck – I speak from experience. 

Next up at bat: 'I was possessed'...I shit you not. Holistic medicine was right on board with the team. Was I influenced by a supernatural power? Yes I was. So claimed the majority of people on Earth. Did I receive specific instructions? Yes, and so did practitioners of Voodoo/Vodun on three continents. I added that I attempted to evade said instructions when I could.

Did I have 'evil' impulses to hurt myself, or others? Huh? For starters, my matron goddess was more of a 'fucker' than a 'fighter' and her instructions were always suitably vague...the same way a Philosophy professor would give you a ten word pointless sentence on Friday and expect you to have a 250 page doctrine on Monday morning. 

That hit home. Too many normally smart people take a philosophy class in college hoping for an easy-A. Some teachers love dissolving those delusion, sitting back and watching your hopes and dreams of task-free weekends go down the drain. The more obscure the discipline, the more perverse the desire. That is why you always pick a teacher of the opposite gender (if in doubt, use a gay/lesbian test) and keep 'sex for grades' on the menu.

Was I suffering from optical illusions, or phantom noises? Straight to the point – yes, I saw and talked with ghosts. So did the Long Island Medium, the casts of Ghost Hunters, Paranormal Witness plus George Anderson and Chip Coffey. To my credit, I didn't do it for profit, or in order to influence people.

Was I seeing ghosts now? I was in hospital, so odds weren't bad. I had every non-ghost raise their left hand. No ghosts. Was my paranormal dementia pre- or post-brain trauma? Did seeing a college student being called before his class and successfully accused of plagiarism on his senior thesis, turning him into one of the Restless Dead count? No? My 'disputed' abilities were all post-college employment, thank you very much.

Did the ghosts possess me/tell me to do things? I was not possessed and, discounting sexual bondage and my current work venue, had never been possessed. From my limited exposure, ghosts wanted to not be alone in the afterlife – to be guided to a final resting place with others of their kind/family/friends. None had taught me languages, asked me to steal something, or kill anyone.

Had any done so, I would have denied them. Such actions were immoral and I could still freely differentiate between right and wrong. I preferred to commit wrong on my own initiative and making me do good was a chore most sane people abandoned after a few days. I took a Rorschach test. The results were predictable because I had taken old 'R' several times before.

Just like every other time, I'd mixed up sexual innuendo with a psychological test to seduce the test-giver ... everything reminded me of intercourse. I changed it up with this girl. I gave her numbers. Sometime after I was long gone, they were going to figure out the ink blots were numbered after whichever erotic positions from the Kama Sutra I was reminded of at the time. I knew that wasn't being helpful and I was certain I wasn't a brain specialist. I also knew Rorschach wasn't the key to solving my woes.

Final remaining hypothesis – I was utilizing 30 % of my brain capacity with three independent patterns emerging, not the usual 5 %. For that to work, my brain had to be oozing out my ears because brains generate a terrific amount of heat. My temperature was a steady 37.3 C (99 F) and my ear channels were free of obstruction. Hey man, cleaning your ears is quick and easy. Don't risk turning off a date with misfortunately located ear-hair and wax.

How was my brain shedding the heat? Their solution – let's do a Spinal Tap. No way. I'd seen that band and they were all extremely fucked up, even for old guys. I wasn't going down that road. They insisted. I suggested that I consent to the procedure with the condition that I received no pain killers/sedatives of any kind and I got to grab and hold onto the testicles of my two – current – least favorite doctors.

When they realized I was deadly serious and immovable on the issue, they came up with a new plan – no Spinal Tap. Gutless sissies. Into this vacuum of information, a brainstorm emerged (besides my inexplicable one). They would talk to me...no more interrogations – an actual verbal exchange. They couldn't come over and start flapping their gums like some punk rock band with no talent. They were suddenly worried about 'concerning' me and 'agitating my unstable state'.

I pray to Goddess Ishara that one day soon they play back the tapes of their early hours working on me and pay close attention to my facial expressions of shock, horror, fear and depression as they clearly and openly talked about me as if I was the Fiji Mermaid. But hey, a few of them were kinda cute, so in the final analysis all that emotional trauma worked its way out.



Hospital highlights:

(Understand, I was lying on a table while various specialists prodded and talked about me as if I wasn't there. To strike back at reality, I throbbed my penis every time this cute Parasitologist looked at it. Finally...)

Female Chief of Neurosurgery: "Did anyone think to study changes in is body's nervous system?"

(Guilty looks all around)

CoN: "What are all these needle marks?"

Havenstone Medico – "Those are muscle stimuli insertion sites. They kept his musculature from atrophying while he was in a coma."

CoN: "Let me get this straight. This man had a lightning bolt go off in his head and part of your healthcare regimen was to run a constant current of electricity throughout the rest of his body."

(Scathing looks at the Medico from everyone else – jackals)

HM: "He has retained excellent muscle tone."

CoN: "Have you even taken the Hippocratic Oath?"

HM: (offended) "Of course not, he's Greek."

CoN: "What does my patient being Greek have to do with anything?"

HM: "Not him (pointing at me). Hippocrates – he was a Greek. Cáel is Magyar/Irish Gaelic."

CoN: "Helpful – that's not. He seems to have a great deal of bruises and scarring – some of it certainly received over an extensive period of time. Is this your work?"

HM: (in a positive note) "No. It has not been my pleasure to spar with Cáel yet."

CoN: "Isn't he a bit...big for you?"

HM: (looked straight at my crotch) "Not at all. I think it would fit nicely." (Coughing around the room)

CoN: (to me) "Can you provide any insight?"

Me: "I have a bad habit of walking into people who want to hurt me."

CoN: "These are multiple wounds."

Me: "I piss off multiple people."

CoN: "What do you attribute that too?"

Me: "I'm a reincarnated Amazon warrior bent on saving my sisters from global destruction. It is a surprisingly unpopular life path I have chosen."

CoN made eye contact with the Psychologist...he shrugged. "Amazons are female warriors. Has your condition destabilized your gender identity?"

Me: "Let me check." To Parasitologist – "Are you married?" I could see her wedding band through her glove.

Para: (key note of hesitation): "Yes."

Me: "Happily?"

Para: "He's overseas."

Me: "That has to be tough on you both. If I can get out of here, would you like to go out with me for a late dinner, or an early breakfast, and talk about your specialty?"

Para: "Ummm...in a purely professional capacity it would be okay." Yummy.

Me: (to CoN): "I'm good."

CoN: (girlish smirk): "Thank you for establishing that for us, Mr. Nyilas."

Endocrinologist: "Have you noted an increase in your sex drive?"

Rachel (from the far side of the room): (fearfully): "Goddess help us all."

Me: "Hard to say. I've only been awake for a few hours. I'm feeling pretty sure that nine more orgasms and I'm done for the day aka normal for me."

(Various people looked to the Psychologist – who shrugged again. That guy was always bending over backwards and taking career-ending risks on my behalf - really.)

CoN: "You believe you are a male Amazon that can ejaculate nine times a day?"

Me: "Ten. I've already had sex once today, but it was with two women. One ejaculation. As for being a male Amazon – welcome to my Hell. How about this? Call my boss, Katrina Love. She will confirm that I believe I am an Amazon, it does not impact my abysmal work performance and she has medical evidence that I can, in fact, ejaculate ten times a day. This does not make me a freak. I love women, fully support the condom industry and I shall not apologize for either."




Life as a New Hire Ch. 25



Endo: (gasp) "Oh my God! He's not imaging it. He provided ten fully viable...and copious sperm samples in a seven hour period."

Me: "I was so close to making it eleven too...but they caught us in the act."

Para: "You had sex with a member of your medical team?"

Me: (puppy dog eyes): "Medicine is a harsh profession. You ladies who dedicate so much of yourselves deserve a little TLC (tender loving care for you non-romantics). Face it, you aren't going to rest until you've found out what's happened to me. How much of a bastard would I have to be to ignore such passion, extensive training and resolve on your part?"

Para: (blush) "Oh."

CoN: "Mr. Nyilas, don't make me sedate you."

Rachel: (whispered): "Please, please, please."

To top it all off, it went downhill from there. They decided on the correct medical procedure. When I discovered it entailed cracking open my skull and probing around, I nixed that. They'd have to shave my head and I had my hair right at the perfect length. It would take months to get it back to that level of a sexually accessory. I'm not vain. I'm perpetually horny.



(Between later that night and before sunrise – with the Parasitologist in her bed)



"Do you feel better?" she said as she drew a circle around my right nipple. Translation: did I want to go home?

"Yes..." I sighed. "I wish I felt remotely back to where I was before I was jumped." T: I don't want to go home, I want to keep having sex with you, yes, you have made me a better man through your medical and physical exertions, and this won't be a one-time thing. Oink.

Adultery? Yes...no excuse. I was seeing more attractive, better crafted females, but I was a sucker for women with bright, laughing eyes, quick wits and an altruistic outlook on life. 

"I've never cheated on my husband before," Evian (the parasitologist) told me after she'd rolled over and rested her head on my sweaty chest.

"This is cheating?" I rumbled. "Evian, I'm the one in desperate need of care and comfort and all I see is an adult woman, professional expert and compassionate soul sacrificing herself to bring comfort to a person in need."

"Is that what you see?" she murmured happily, her guilt evaporating.

"Absolutely. You should tell your husband every detail of what you have done for me. It is only cheating if you plan to be dishonest. Choose the moment, set up the encounter in an emotionally safe place and bare any doubts you may have to him," I soothed her. "If he is the man you know him to be, he will understand," I added. I didn't know the guy. 

I did know he had a hot, energetic wife that he'd left behind while he took a sabbatical to the Maldives. His specialty was parapsychology, which helped explain her extra interest in me. Deep down she was afraid her mate was a personable narcissist squandering their lives in chasing his egomaniacal discredited pursuits.

They were a mixed race couple. Evian was a first generation Gahanna-American. Hubby was Dutch-Armenian with a fanatical devotion to academic life, exotic travel and spending other people's money. They had honeymooned in the Bahamas – so he could record a mass sponge migration – he claimed it was nearly half a meter in less than one month (29 days).

Propelled solely by my penis, I bet I could have covered the same distance in under three hours. It soon had proven impossible for Evian to advance in her career if they were both constantly gallivanting across the globe, so they now lived somewhat separate lives. They kept in touch through random e-mails and Instagram. 

I quickly noted that in a preponderance of his pictures were handsome young men who Evian swore were his 'native' guides hired to lead him to distant, hard to reach locations. I couldn't help but point out in one pic was a Scandinavian nuclear family, cooking like sausages, in the background on some white sandy beach with its crystal blue-green surf. Maybe ghosts, cryptids, a low sanitation rating, or a high shark count kept the majority of tourists at bay?

Or the fortuitous ice-cold beverage dispensers that – somehow – Raiders of the Lost Ark had avoided placing in their opening sequence. Maybe he toted a cooler with him on every expedition, along with his 'not boy toys' local, non-sunbaked, un-calloused callow young men.  I broached the subject of condoms. Fine for me, but Evian was certain that she and the Other Half wanted children (?). 

How could I warn her she was playing Russian roulette with the Developing World? Instead, I told her she was lucky to find a man who let her explore herself and her horizons (sex with me). I thought he was exceptionally dedicated doing such brave and unappreciated work (not really) and he would most likely be drawn away for months, years, or even decades to come.

Lay out the 'facts' to a healthy, adult woman that her only chance for sexual fulfillment in the next ten years is in her apartment with her ready to go rarely fails to deliver upon the promised sexual reward. Evian was slow out of the gate, then accelerated to front-runner status. Cunnilingus? No – straight to a '69'. Missionary? Why stick with one sexual position for more than a minute when there were so many to choose from?

Anal sex? No, but that was a matter of time constraints, not lack of her willingness to explore. Back to me explaining to her how she hadn't cheated, her loving spouse would understand everything despite my certainty that he wouldn't contribute to anything or anyone until the turning globe compressed him into hydrocarbons.

We rolled over, Evian on the bottom, her legs spreading out to welcome my penetration and then encasing me while we embraced. Knock, knock came the sound from the open bedroom door.

"Time to go, Stud," Pamela grinned from the doorway. "Almost sunrise."

"What!" Evian squawked. She tried to pull the covers up, but our body positions didn't allow it.

"How did you get in here – into my apartment?" Evian tried again.

"Evian, these people," I automatically assumed there were multiple people out of sight, "are with me. I highly doubt your security system was designed for the NSA and your lock wasn't crafted by a master of the art of creating Chinese puzzle boxes, so they broke in – probably a few hours ago."

"You mean you've been...the entire time?" Evian looked past me to Pamela.

"Oh, we made sure to not peek in, paid for everything we used and met the takeout guy outside," my mentor smoothly related to my current bed partner. "We are his bodyguards. That does require us to keep in somewhat close proximity of his body, you understand." 

"I...ah..." Evian muttered. I stroked her hair.

"Don't worry. There will be no accessible record that says I was ever here," I said. "There is something I have to take care of. Can I call you later for any updates on my condition?"

"Yes...yes, of course you can," Evian's adrenaline rush began to subside with the knowledge that the criminals who had broken in were polite and not perverts.

For Cáel and company, it was back to Havenstone. In my absence, a truce had been reached. Agent Maddox gave up any pretense of a normal life, as had Delilah. Mona and Charlotte had gone over to their respective dwellings, retrieved a change of clothes and basic toiletries so those two could remain and meet their commitments.

Delilah was going gun-less inside Havenstone – all appeals denied. Virginia kept hers due to her official status and an agreement with Javiera. FP Castello could hardly justify to her superiors ordering an investigative agent to surrender her weapon on US soil. For all of us, it was the tail-dragging end to a long-ass day. I still had a few promises to keep before I could cuddle up with a nice comfy pillow.

Pamela could barely contain her glee. Was the source anything obvious? No. It was a victory conveyed with body posturing and a few courteous words from Corporate Security. Cáel Ishara, the Great Uplifter of 'Runners' was up and about once more. No other House had joined my lone wagon train. No other 'Runners' had been exalted for their efforts in my absence, so my spry presence was most welcome.

Velma and her unit were waiting at the ground level to relieve Rachel and her crew.

"I'll put Ishar...Wakko Ishara to bed," Rachel yawned. Velma appeared quizzical. "His new designation is 'Wakko'."

"How appropriate," Velma responded deadpan. She'd get the joke later...when someone told her.

"Do we have any idea when Cáel will be taking his vacation yet?" Pamela poked the issue.

"Four days," Velma answered. My trip to see Aya wasn't the issue.

"Thank goodness. I get to leave Buffy in charge. She can handle the Council and the inductions while I'm gone," I grinned. That was the issue – inductions. 

My absence wouldn't curtail any of House Ishara's new missions. To the security guards, that was great news for them to spread around. Buffy was getting 'my' nod and being invested with the Goddess' Ishara's authority. As fitting with my impossible existence, that had never happened before either, but it was happening now. 

When Tiger Lily and Charlotte joined us from the garage, we began our trip to the roof. Daphne, as House Ishara's honored guest was expected. I still had to officially request her assistance in the Council Chambers. I probably should have asked her Head of House as well. I had to hope Pamela's influence would carry the day. I was too damn tired.

Madori, Senior (whose name turned out to be Yalda – Lebanese), Helena and Buffy were waiting for us, as expected. Sydney, one of her siblings and Marilynn St. James were a bit of a shock. Three House Guards of – recognition took a second - House Anahit formed a screen for that group. I hadn't covered three meters when Marilynn noticed me and exploded.

"You Cock-sucker!" she screamed. "You killed her! She's shorn her hair and taken to the cliffs. How could you do that? She protected you," she ranted. "You murdered her!" In contrast, Sydney St. James and her sister were grieving, yet calm. They restrained Marilynn from a futile lunge in my direction.

What could I say? 'You are right?' 'I sacrificed your grandmother's life as part of a greater political play?' I had claimed ownership of every derogatory male, and gender neutral, descriptor in three languages. I was as bad as she said I was. Worse, I knew I would do it again if I had to. I was slipping that much more under the miasma of Amazon morality.

I stopped walking, torn by warring impulses. Having lost my father so recently, I was freshly acquainted with her pain and loss. Nothing I could say would change a damn thing. Instead...

"Marilynn," I said in a low, steady voice, "Hayden betrayed House Ishara. I would have cut out her heart with my own hands, given half an opportunity. Grow up, or join her."

That took the air out of the moment. My voicing such opinions was so unlike me, unless you were Kimberly, or Pamela. They knew me better. Marilynn snarled and leapt to the attack. Her House Guard did their jobs and held her back. My verbal smack to the face hadn't really stopped the air in its tracks. The wind was wreaking mayhem with our hair, clothes and my ritual shelter.

The sky was bleaching from pink to yellow. There wasn't much time. I couldn't imagine what even one second in the Black Sands would mean for Hayden. I trembled, thinking about the spirits of all those 'Runners' we had turned our backs on. I stepped into the roofless, cloth shelter constructed by someone who knew what they were doing.

I prepared for my shawl and the incense. Buffy put a hand to my chest and offered up a bowl with a miniscule amount of clear fluid. I took in my sisters. They all had red-rimmed eyes. This time out, they would shed the tears and blood ...because we were all equals in this decision. That was the true meaning of the tears in the bowl and the blood to be spilt.

In this moment, we were all Ishara. We stood as a house united before the face of our Goddess and our Ancestors...ours. I knelt down in my proper place, Helena handed me the first name. I read it aloud, set it aflame and declared the ghost dead once more. I dipped a fingertip on the bowl then pressed the finger into the glowing embers. I opened her sight to our ancestors. Buffy leaned forward and cut her finger, letting off a drop to sizzle among the small flames.

Six names. House Ishara grew by six members. Sure, they were dead; in most cases, dead for decades with their unheralded services forgotten by most. No more. The wind didn't die down yet in my imagining, it quieted a bit. The white fabric facing East, past the sliver of Manhattan left to us, the boroughs beyond, then Long Island and finally the great Atlantic, turned orange then yellow.

I took one last breath.

'No.'

'Fuck you.'

Helena handed me the seventh name. I prepared to declare Hayden dead. Not Hayden Anahit. 

Our former High Priestess had shorn her hair and died in shame, confessing her treason to her People in this irrevocable act of submission to her heart and the will of the Seven Martial Goddesses and the Fifty-three Amazon Houses. A crude epitaph might be 'She took the Bitches with her' because she'd done just that.

Hayden had done more in the act of dying to snuff out the resistance to the New Directive than any living act could have accomplished. This was more than executing old Heads of House so that their apprentices could rise up and take over the reins of their defiance. It was fairly practical to expect the Councilwomen's hand-picked successors would pursue their elder's agenda. It was also contrary to every instinct in the Amazon collective psyche. 

Hayden had proclaimed that nothing short of death could extirpate the shame of her actions and those of her 'co-conspirators' then perished before anyone could challenge that ruling. To Amazon eyes, that wasn't spite, or petty vengeance. No, to the Amazons, Hayden had died before she could be proven 'Right' – that she and those on the list she'd given St. Marie were traitors.

For the apprentices turned Head of Houses, to pursue the policy of traitors was madness. That didn't mean they would embrace men and 'Runners'. There was still deeply embedded prejudice. What it meant was that to organize against the 'Runners' and the New Directive was a gross betrayal of their duties as leaders of the Amazon race. Hayden had made that clear seconds ago.

Buffy got my attention with a furtive hand motion. I looked to her, she was staring the other way so I followed her gaze all the way to Sydney's eyes. Sydney had cried much of last night and she was crying now. She gave me a curt nod. Hayden had passed beyond the Sunlit Realm and was now waiting on me.

'No.'

'We've had this discussion. I'm not listening.'

"Hayden St. James, you are dead," I sniffled. She had saved me when I needed it most. I shoved the paper deep into the glowing shards of burnt fragrances. 

My finger blistered, my skin started to brown then blacken. The paper refused to catch fire.

"No," I grunted.

"No," Sydney groaned.

"NO!" Marilynn howled her denial of what lay before us.

'No.'

"Fine," I muttered. I stood up, drew my trusty (I hoped) Glock. I popped out the clip and handed it to Buffy. There was no sense in wasting even a single bullet this close to a bloody conflict.

"Cáel?" Buffy's voice trembled. "Cáel Ishara..." What could I say? I stepped past her then past Tiger Lily who unfortunately stood guard at the compass point I chose to take. She didn't stop me either though I could see the horror dawning on her face. See, I had a gun with a bullet in the chamber. I had a weapon.

Like most skyscrapers, Havenstone Commercial Investments had two barriers to save me from my madness. The two meter tall chain link fence was the first obstacle. I was sure it would be an embarrassing impediment to my reckless defiance to the decision of my ancestors and my goddess. That might inspire someone to commit sacrilege by hindering me. I would not be stopped. I also shouldn't have worried. Pamela would never let them get close to me. The wire ties holding the links to the closest pole snapped.

With three good kick/stomps the fence had failed in its purpose. I moved over it and to the second barrier, a 'meter plus a smidge' trench that, besides stopping someone from rolling off the roof, collected roof rubbish for easy removal. I jumped it. The view from this perch was breath taking, made all the more thrilling by the winds plucking and pulling at me.

Where the gusts trying to yank me off, or pushed me back? Maybe it was Hepit, Goddess of the Winds, weighing my selfless intensions against my abysmal judgment. No time for her. I had a funeral to attend. I pulled out my knife with my left hand. I really contemplated my action plan and it was really trying to suggest that my sisters should never have unstrapped me from that hospital bed.

"I, Cáel Ishara, cannot live with the shame my Ancestors and Goddess have heaped upon me," I cried out. Yes, I was making my Death Pledge. I extended my right arm out until it was level with my shoulder, gun pointing off to the Chase Building. I wouldn't shoot at them. That would render my pistol no longer a weapon and that just wouldn't do.

"I swore to Hayden, in front of the Golden Mare and the Keeper of Records that I would bear her spirit into the halls of our Ancestors. To deny me this is to put a weight upon me that only an eternity of loneliness can bring." I desperately willed my right thumb and fingers to unclench. My hand didn't want to. It, like most organism, wanted to keep on living.

My digits twitched. My suicidal brain was winning.

"I shall shear my hair before I hit bottom, dying without a House and dooming myself to search for Hayden in the afterlife even if it takes until the end of time." The words were coming to me easier now. I was on the precipice in more than one way. The winds tried to lift me off the lip of the gutter.

I still had a weapon to drop, sealing my pledge and confirming my displeasure.

"I die denying you so that MY HOUSE does not have to lift up my shame when one of them steps up to replace me. Good..." I nearly lost it. My fingers finally gave enough that I could feel the metal of the grip begin to slide down.

"Cáel!" Helena screamed with every ounce of her being. "IT BURNS!" Whoops. Almost died there. My heart felt victorious. I had honored my word to...no, I hadn't won a thing. They had. They hadn't doomed Hayden. I had. Not with my denouncing of her by dropping the axe on her desk. That had been unavoidable. 

My failure was way before that and it came down to one little word.

My.

My House. My House Ishara. That was what my ancestors and my Dot Ishara – Eeeekk! Almost got sucked off there. 

I pushed off the lip with my feet and calves, propelling myself backwards over the trench. Two sets of hands grappled with me and unceremoniously dragged my stumbling form over the now well-trodden fence. I had to face up to the fact that I was an Amazon and I was appointed by them to lead my house after torturous centuries of waiting.

My House. I was the heir of Vranus, son of Ishara and, as the old adage goes, I could not let this cup pass from my lips. Neither Rachel, nor Tiger Lily – my rescuers – said a word.

"There is something I need to take care of," I told them through a forced smile. Hayden was waiting and she had waited long enough for me to come around to her way of thinking ... long enough. 

I was a leader of the Host. I had better start acting more like one.



Life as a New Hire Ch. 26



This story plays fast and loose with Ancient History and Linguistics; be warned.

The miracle is not that children grow up. It is they want to come home afterwards.

Editing magic performed by KJ24 and Shyqash, plus contributions by the regular gang of brigands and neer-do-wells.

There is a bit of mangling of the Iliad going on. I apologize to Homer and the countless singers before him who carried the Iliad down through the dark centuries until the Greeks figured out how writing works.

*****

(The Four Days)

I was still in New York when the Council convened, but I had to leave before all the key matters could be settled. Despite some of Buffy's objections, "we" (meaning me) and House Ishara had decided that switching up leaders in the midst of the upcoming pivotal events would make matters worse, not better. Daphne pledged to me, to Buffy, to the Isharan ancestors and to Ishara herself to give true, diligent and continuous service until I, Buffy, or Helena dismissed her.

She would be Buffy's social eyes and ears, as well as her translator and voice. I imagined that translating for Buffy would be 'creative' at times. An added oddity was that Buffy insisted on being called '****', which meant 'First' instead of '****' which was the traditional 'apprentice'.

Krasimira okayed it. The term 'First' had been used before in Council. Its meaning was a bit different though. 'First' implied a deep, romantic relationship with the Head of House that included possessing insight into the Head's mindset. Buffy thought the title fitted her perfectly. 

"Best to keep those bitches at bay from the get-go," Buffy snarled.

It was difficult to keep my head and heart from becoming unsettled over what transpired as I packed for my trip to see Aya. No one on Hayden's list ran. No Head of House said 'fuck you' and barricaded herself and hers in some holding and dared the sisters to come get her. They awaited the convening of the Council, showed up and silently took their seats.

There was no opening song. The Leader was not there to begin it. As the first order of business, St. Marie stood and related the how's and where's of Hayden's demise. With that brief preamble, she read off the list of names. The condemned stood when their names were called, drew forth their blades and sheared off long locks of their hair, declaring their 'House-less' status. 

SD members roughly seized them - they were nothing more than traitors to the race by that point - and dragged them into the hallway where two separate Security Detail women put two bullets in their hearts. A quick, thorough and efficient way to deal with the trash. I had been told their bodies would be cremated. Their skulls would be maintained only for the purpose of genealogical study.

In the Council chamber, Krasimira reaffirmed the relevant Amazon legal code provisions. The Golden Mare would direct the Host until a Regency Council could be formed. Only then did St. Marie and Krasimira begin the meeting's invocation. Buffy cried and she wasn't alone. A full third of the Council had new faces and a terrifying shift in direction had been established.

No, the echoes of gunfire had not made the new House Heads proponents of men and 'Runners'. What those women were looking at was the deathly reality that defying those two forces was treason. Hayden had established that. And by taking her own life, she had charted a path the rest could not deviate from. Based on what I learned from Katrina, Beyoncé, Daphne and Krasimira, the shift started out gradually, then became a roaring current.

Issue One was not the Regency Council - it was war. They acknowledged it; they affirmed the Epona/Ishara initiative of creating alliances with the United States Federal government (Javiera), the 9 Clans and the Earth & Sky. They formally directed the Host's efforts to the destruction of the 7 Pillars and Condotteiri. After all, resolution by the obliteration of one's foes was standard practice.

The justification was the Condotteiri's murder of three members of the Security Detail and of Ferko Nyilas of Ishara by way of Vranus (he was on the Rolls for all eternity now) and the Seven Pillars' attempted murder of Temujin, the Supreme Khan of the Earth & Sky and retroactively an ally to the Host. That statement was more for the Earth & Sky as a symbol of Amazon dedication to the task at hand than a clerical matter for themselves. But like my Father, Temujin's life was elevated to something of value in their eyes.

If the Amazons felt you were a threat, they rarely argued about it and half those arguments happened after the fact. The second the Condotteiri soldiers fired on the clearly identified SD leader at my Burnham home, the war option was on the table. That Council decision was tidying up the issue in case it became historically significant later. After all, not being tidy 2500 years ago had led to 'Me'.

The most critical part of those two votes (declaring war on the Condotteiri and on 7 Pillars) was the reminder the Host needed to pay attention to their core values - self-defense and protection of their young. An eye opening moment took place during one of the breaks when Kohar Marda - Ursula's former apprentice, now Head of House, approached Buffy.

According to Daphne (Buffy was contemplating being attacked), the surrounding conversations muted. Kohar politely asked for a meeting with Buffy to discuss the qualifications Ishara used for selecting inductees. Runners! The successor to the Amazon who had sent Leona to assassinate me was now asking how to add 'Runners' to her house.

Mysticism may have played its part. Respect for Hayden's final appeal to alleviate her shame played a role too. In my mind, the ultimate factor was that this was a practical choice made by a lethally practical race. War meant deaths. Every House knew the ages of their young, thus the rate at which their numbers would be naturally replenished and what forces they needed to put forth as the conflict raged on. The answer to meeting their strategic obligations was the 'Runners'.

Kohar had stepped forward first for a more personal reason. Ursula had been in the forefront of what now was derogatorily referred to as the Cult of Blood Purity - undeniable treasonous thinking. Shame drove Kohar. Ursula had died house-less, but lived and ruled as a Mardan. Only a heartfelt repudiation of Ursula's policies could diminish the burden of Mardan guilt. Kohar had to go first.

The rest of the Council wasn't busting down Ishara's door in a rush to follow Kohar's example. That didn't matter. The glass ceiling the Host had been stomping down on the heads of 'Runners' for fifty years had shattered. The final act of tragedy, in my mind, was that the glory of that moment would go to House Ishara, not House Anahit. She was my ancestor now, not Sydney's or Marilynn's.

When the Amazons looked back on history, Hayden Ishara had given her all for her people, changing the very direction of the Host's lifeblood. She would stand exalted with our greatest heroines...bearing my name. From everyone's evaluation but Buffy's, my First did a wonderful job being fierce and polite in an equal, measured and deserved manner. Katrina even hinted that some of the Council leaders preferred a less-effective me to be at the next meeting.

(On the Road to Aya)

For me, the diplomacy revolved around Delilah and Virginia...I had already fallen on my knees and begged Odette to let me go see Aya 'alone'. A few sexual-charged hours later, she agreed. That left four choices for the role of my two agents. They wanted to go 'as is'. Rachel informed them they would be murdered in-flight and their bodies tossed out over a convenient body of water.

Rachel felt that the only reasonable course of action was for them to not come. That way the two could live a few more weeks. However, she would settle for stripping them down, doing a full body scan and then sealing them naked in airtight coffins (with a suitable amount of oxygen) for the journey. I suspected they might still slip out the baggage compartment somewhere between takeoff and landing.

I cut through the clash of egos and made the final decision. Delilah and Virginia would be stripped and thoroughly examined. Initially I had the chore. Rachel was deeply suspicious of my true intentions. Freed of any electronic devices and with their weaponry in my keeping during the trip, they would be blindfolded as we made it to Aya without bloodshed.

They applauded my wisdom by roundly refusing my decision. Pamela was of no help. Ten minutes into it, I informed them I was going alone - completely alone. They laughed, snorted and chuckled. Rachel reminded me that I didn't know where to go. I lied and told her that Katrina had given me the coordinates for the super-secret juvenile, all-feline [yes, I meant cats], survival training school.

Fine, they would just keep me under constant surveillance. I responded by assuring them that despite my lack of spy-like abilities, I would escape and get to relive my Summer Camp experience with the only woman who respected my Demigod-like combat status. Their laughter hurt my feelings. Pamela stepped up and told the room they could either respect my compromise, or she would help me evade them.

It was even more depressing to see the room full of women who had previously been mocking me suddenly 'snap to' and quickly agree to my earlier suggestions.

"It is okay," Pamela told me softly as the actual mechanics of my vacation were figured out by others. "I didn't want to play Bill Munny to your Ben Logan."

Pamela's eyes flared brighter than any phoenix's rebirth. She'd stumped me.

"The Unforgiven, my Son," she patted my cheek. "It is a western made in 1992 starring Clint Eastwood, recast masterfully by 'Yours Truly' and...we need to work on you making a convincing Morgan Freeman."

"Doesn't Freeman end up in a pinewood box in the first third of the movie?" Virginia mused.

"I didn't want to dishearten him," Pamela grinned. To me. "He ran off alone and got himself killed."

"I was what...not even a year old when that movie came out," I responded with indignation.

"You've never heard of Block Busters, Netflix, Redbox, Dish, Hulu, or late night, Spanish language television?" Pamela snickered.

"I only watch Univision for their sports coverage," I countered.

"You mean for those sexy female sports announcers," Delilah chuckled. That earned her a 'well duh' look from all the other women.

"Before I consent to the strip search and inevitable follow-up anal probe, are we really going to be in a situation that requires us to fight this time?" Virginia asked.

"We should be perfectly safe," Rachel responded.

"Check - bring extra ammo," Virginia nodded.

"Good for you, Ms. Maddox," Pamela winked. "One day there is hope your life will have some meaning to me."

"Great," Special Agent Maddox muttered, "now I have to think of what to get her for Christmas." We all laughed. Christmas was such a long way away. 

We packed up, rode to a private airfield near Doebridge, learned that SD was smarter than the rest of us, boarded our flight, and then finally entered US airspace from there. Around Ohio, a thought occurred to Maddox.

"If we were somehow forced to land and have the plane searched, how bad would it be?" she requested of Rachel.

"Bad enough that we have a better chance of fighting our way free than seeing freedom before dying in prison," Rachel answered calmly.

"Hmmm...Rachel, if something like that happened...how many parachutes do we have?" Delilah joined in.

"Enough. Mona rides down with Cael because he's a virgin," Rachel stated.

"Oh! Come on Rachel," I fell down on my knees. "Can't I bungee jump it?"

"Luv," Delilah snorted. "If the drop didn't kill ya, the bounce back would snap you in two."

"Cáel, we are at thirty thousand feet," Tiger Lily giggled. "You are more likely to end as a streamer than a pancake." An Amazon giggle - a most joyous noise.

"Rachel, I have been unkind," Virginia confessed. "Cáel is so personable and so dead set on getting himself killed. I had no idea your assignment was so herculean."

"Acknowledged," Rachel said, "and we don't use 'that' word." Hercules was Greek too.

"We have it worse," Delilah patted Maddox on her shoulder. "We must obey some sort of legal code that doesn't allow us to preemptively save him."

"We must too," Rachel gave a depressive sigh. "Her," she pointed at Pamela.

"Hey," Pamela pouted. "I'm more a force for vigilante justice than a team player. I ride alone."

"Alone?" I took a quick headcount and added our Amazon pilot. "I count ten, Lone Phaser."

"Am I included in that count?" Miyako yawned from under her blanket. "This jet lag is killing me."

"Where did she come from?" Virginia hopped up.

"She was here when we boarded," I told her. "I searched her, I swear."

"Yes he did," Miyako gave a sleepy, Hello Kitty smile. She'd 'searched' me too.

"I bet you did," Rachel glared at me...then Pamela...then me again since I was the titular boss.

Thankfully we all 'bought a vowel', played a card in Clue, and shared an Inspector Clouseau moment. The gang settled down for a nap. Sleeping was not complicated. Rachel, as my bodyguard, slept beside me. The airplane's touchdown was so flawless I had to be shaken to alertness. Did I fall asleep? More on that later.

It would have been better if Virginia hadn't figured out our pilot had violated numerous FAA regulations...like dropping below radar at one remote airport then sailing along for an unknown number of kilometers at nape of the Earth until we reached our final destination (This is great in date flicks, btw. It convinces the girl that we should 'live in the moment'/screw as much as possible.)

We weren't there yet, of course. That level of un-convoluted thinking would have been an Amazon indicator of senility. Being a male Amazon, I was immune to such considerations - that meant I was always nuts in their regard, but they chose to humor me. Our plane had to park in a camouflaged hangar before we were allowed to disembark. 

I concluded we must be getting close to our desert gulag/re-education center as the sharp glare of sunlight was accompanied by an equally heartless glare of hostility rolling forth from our waiting all-terrain vehicle caravan. Thank goodness Rachel had the foresight to bring sunscreen for the passel of us. I swallowed the bitter realization I'd lost a $1000 bet concerning our landing zone with Virginia (a Temperate Rainforest) and Delilah (the American Southwest). In retrospect, betting on the site of 'Camp Rock' wasn't my smartest wager. 

The Brit made off with $2000 of our money and she wanted to be paid in Euros. That's €778 from me, you offspring of those who didn't have the courage to cross the Atlantic 100 years ago. Neither Virginia nor I really cared. With the level of violence about to escalate, it was all looking like 'funny' money to us. I didn't share my misery. Our Welcome Wagon ladies hardly looked sympathetic, or all that opposed to utilizing scalping as a valid debating tool. 

They didn't view this moment as just a bad thing - me showing up. My arrival was apocalyptic: #1 - a man. #2 - with a member of another secret society. #3 - #2 was a professional assassin. #4 and #5 - two more outsider women. #6 - an unscheduled visit... as in 'the camp guardians hadn't been given six months to plan out all contingencies'. And you think your daycare takes its security seriously?

"Cáel Ishara," the curt, mega-harsh bitch addressed me in English. As the other seven women dismounted from the four Jeep Wranglers (Delilah enlightened us), it was obvious they were well armed and armored, right and ready to provide some extra-curricular para-military fun. "Welcome," and 'oh please tear out one or two of my fingernails you Ginormous Pain in my ass' she greeted the exalted me.

[OKH] "I am '****'," which I hoped meant 'I had shed blood in battle with sister Aya'. "No other name means more to me right now." Ah...the lovely jerk that full-blooded Amazons gave the first time they heard a male speak their tongue. The slot machine of her intellect kicked into high gear. No arm grasp was coming my way. I almost forgot.

[OKH] "The outsiders are to remain armed as guests of House Ishara." That command was crucial. When/if I got my way with my first request, I was going to be rendered 'one of the girls'.

[OKH] "If that is your wish. (Evil grin) Grab your bags and make it snappy," the woman ordered. "I don't like any extended activity at this airfield."

"Ladies, let's hurry up and get our bags," Pamela barked. "You too, you hairless ape." That would be me, if there was any question. The Super-friendly camp counselors, with their slung FN P90's, didn't lift a finger to help us. Miyako flounced around without a care in the world. Pamela...eh, there were only eight of them. Three of my SD group were cautious while the pilot was already effecting her refueling and departure.

Rachel shot one of the guardians a look I perceived to be friendly. A double-take elucidated things. She was Rachel's younger sister and had already been updated on my bona fides. 

[OKH] "Male, you are agreeable to the eye," Rachel's sister fired off. Three whole seconds.

[OKH] "Why thank you. I run faster than you would think, thankfully heal even faster and have the venerated outdoor skills of Bigfoot," I smiled.

The seven other ladies weren't sure what to make of that jocularity.

[OKH] "A very, very young Bigfoot," Rachel corrected.

[OKH] "There is nothing wrong with the size of his feet," Tiger Lily added to the fun. And then all the homicidal fanatics chuckled. 

Pamela's whispered translation brought a subdued, yet similar reaction from the non-Amazon contingent. Sure, the new group knew about the New Directive, my fun encounters which I equated to my life and death struggle in those earlier days, my rise to house leadership, Constanza's blinding, the grenade launcher episode and the totality of my last confrontation with Hayden. Amazons are some hard-ass bitches.

As we were loading up the jeeps, the leader tapped me on the shoulder with some force - in the same way a teacher catches an unruly student's attention.

"What was sex with an augur like? My name is Caprica Mielikki."

"Out of respect for your authority, I will answer this personal question that is really none of your business," I looked down a good ten centimeters at her. No fear.

"It was beautiful...like every other woman I have had the treasured pleasure to have sex with," I continued. My reply's undercurrent was simple: I am not a House Head while I'm here. I am an Amazon, not a slave, or outsider male.

"Did you suffer stigmata?"

"Yes. To be fair, I was also having intercourse with her personal guardian at the same time. I'm not sure where to lay the blame, or importance," I inhaled her rugged fragrance. 

"Both?" a different camp counselor questioned.

"As I told you, he has a really big and craftily-wielded foot," Tiger Lily teased.

[OKH] "And he is banned from having sex with any Amazon women for fifty more days," Pamela reminded them. Miyako, Delilah and Maddox weren't involved so were left uninformed of that detail. That bludgeoning innuendo dealt with, off to camp we went. Our journey was a pleasant diversion, punctuated by our trail, or lack thereof.

The jeeps split up once we hit the aerial cover of the desert pines. At that point, every rock, shrub, tree and loose bit of debris revealed its God-given mission in life was to kill us. I kept telling myself that surely our Amazon driver abhorred suicide as much as I frowned on vehicular manslaughter as a means of me dying. 

Failing to believe that left me with tuck, duck and roll and that death-defying move would leave me lost and waterless...somewhere. I would have thought 'somewhere without cell reception', but none of our mobile devices had made the trip - despite a valiant effort at skullduggery by Special Agent Maddox and some highly creative types back at the Hoover Building. 




Life as a New Hire Ch. 26



See, after we dutifully packed all our gear, the troupe got to watch Rachel's team toss everything into a cargo bin set to be loaded onto a flight to - the ticket said Banjul, Gambia. Woot! My ten ton armored long coat was going to Africa without me. It would have undoubtedly have tried to kill me in this heat. I was lured into acceptance by hoping this was going to be a 'birthday suit' flight.

Yay! (Sarcasm) We got all new undies, shirts, shoes, pants, shorts, jackets, ponchos (I was beginning to suspect duplicity on that one), and a variety of other gear - including guns. They were nice enough to replace our weapons with the exact same production models. The sole exceptions were my trusty axes and I trembled at the scrutiny they must have endured.

Meanwhile, back to my archaic, misogynistic inspiration that women shouldn't be allowed to drive: after the third skirting of what must have been a ten meter drop, I realized I was looking at this journey in the wrong light. I raised my hands over my head and began screaming like a fool. I was on the best rollercoaster ride ever!! 

The hobnail boot was on the other foot. My driver really wanted to know what the fuck I was up to, but couldn't take her concentration off the terrain. One massive lurch planted us in an arroyo (that's a dry riverbed for those of us who aren't freaked out every time it rains). Rachel and I were sitting in the back. Turning around in the front seat, Pamela grinned at me.

"I dare you to surf the hood," she laughed. Sweet Mother Ishara, that was the best mixing of 'you must be a redneck'/'immortal high schooler madness' I'd ever heard. I unbuckled milliseconds before Rachel could stop me. Her look said it all. 'Please, you Moron, don't do this to me. I've been a good little guardian and really don't deserve this, now do I?' 

I gave her a deep French kiss. She moaned, just not in a sexual manner. One of these days Rachel was going to start running around with a needle and fast acting sedative to keep me safe from myself. Understand, my driver was racing down this dirt... well, "pathway" was being generous. Her first warning that something wasn't right was me hand-standing on the roll bar and flipping onto the dashboard. 

Considering I was up against a 70 kilometer headwind, I felt I pulled off that maneuver rather well. She grabbed my closest ankle with one hand while keeping the other on the wheel. Our eyes were masked with goggles, but my smile said it all. No, I hadn't been thrown forward, and no, I wasn't running away from something in the back seat. 

I shook free, stepped over the windshield, braced my right heel against its base and leaned into the torrent of air. I was surfing a jeep. Then I was flying above the jeep, but only for a second. We'd hit a rock the size of an armadillo...or maybe it was an actual armadillo. I wasn't looking back to check. Why was I doing this? It was a tad complex. I gave Psych 101 a shot. 

My life was NOT where I had envisioned it would be when I kissed Dr. Kimberly Geisler...and my last two Bolingbrook girlfriends, who had been unaware of each other until that moment, good-bye before leaving college forever. I proudly considered myself amoral. No social contract would keep me from some good pussy...and since I found all pussy to be good if you worked at it, I slept with every girl I could - married, committed, bored, desperate...I didn't care. 

I held no relationship sacred. I had already proved I could do any girl's mother, daughter, aunt, roommate, childhood friend and total stranger. I hadn't cared. I knew I was going to cause multiple women emotional pain and I did it anyway. Sure, I regretted the agony I left in my wake. 

I never considered myself a sadist, but I had been a pretty horrible person by ignoring the inevitable consequences of my actions. Then Havenstone. Suddenly people were doing bad stuff to people I didn't know and it mattered to me. I was talking to women without the end goal being a sexual encounter. 

Hell, I had been honest to women without them using pain, or the threat of pain, on me. I didn't stop being me. I nailed four women at Loraine's, Europa's and Aya's school. I nailed Nicole while waiting for Trent to toss me his social table scraps - Libra. A whole army of women engaged in murder, slavery and infanticide on a regular basis...and I cared for them. 

I cared for them in a way that confronted damnation, not sexual adventurism. I had graduated from 'Dude, don't do that to the lady' at some bar to 'do this and I'll have you killed' and meaning it...and making it happen. I hadn't learned my lesson. I'd gone on to kill Hayden and Goddess-knows how many other women who Hayden had placed on that list. 

Yep...dead, dead, dead and it was all on me. Worse, I would do it all over again because deep down, tearing up my insides, was morality. To me that boiled down to caring about someone else without reward. And all that led me to surfing the hood of a jeep on my way to meet my lodestone of this transformation, Aya. 

My laughter was drowned out by the noises of the engine, tires, rocks, wind and sand. It resonated all the more. The driver didn't slow down. I sincerely doubted she understood my lunacy. That was okay. Pamela did and Aya would. She'd want to go jeep surfing too. Man, for a jackass and dastardly betrayer, I was accumulating a sizable heart-load of people I could honestly say I loved. 

Kimberly had once told me that the pain of knowledge is never being able to forget it. Good, or bad, it is an affliction for which there is no cure. That was where I was, pained by the creeping advancement of my soul and unable to turn back now that the door to familial affection had been opened. 

My thoughts of Dad dying and of a thunderstorm burst in my noggin weren't being terribly helpful to my mental state either. The horn blew and I snuck a quick peek back. The driver was making a sharp, forward jabbing motion with her right hand, then thrusting to the left. We were getting ready to exit the arroyo and that probably required some hellish footwork far beyond my ability. 

I made a hasty, less dignified, yet safer return to my seat. Rachel quickly buckled me in before a rapid turn up and over the bank of the river bed had us heading for another forested area.

"What was that all about?" Rachel asked once we were back into the tree cover. She'd have asked earlier but she was too busy clenching and unclenching her jaw in frustration.

"I am trapped in an existence that is a repudiation of what I held dear, at any moment my mind may cease to be my own, and I don't know why it hurts me so much to care about any of you," I shouted over the sounds of the jeep crashing through the brush.

"I don't understand," Rachel replied.

"I want to hold you, Rachel. I want to make love to you. I want to hold up our first daughter the moment she is born so you can see what beauty we have created...and I want to put a gun to your temple and blow your brains out because you are a cancer that feasts on sane, normal reality," I said as softly as possible into her ear. "I want it both ways and that is what is tearing my spirit apart."

Rachel had no instant comeback to that. My words ran contrary to her belief system. She was SD and leader of my personal security team. Life growing up as an Amazon had not prepared her for me. Amazons weren't robots; they were indoctrinated to a certain way of thinking. The problem at hand was whenever you put up barriers to certain ways of thinking, you limit your ability to understand and empathize with those ideas.

Cooperation, duty and loyalty were childhood virtues Rachel was immersed in. I wasn't blathering to her about being angry, or feeling caught up in a feud. This was a fusion of what she endorsed and an alien philosophy. I wanted to cleave to her, create and raise children with her. I was also driven by a belief system that repudiated her lifestyle.

Confidence collided with adaptability. Generalization refused to conform to experience. Rachel had no doubt I would risk my life for hers. I held her as my equal and for the first time, and beyond her expectations, she was fine with that. Every aspect she expected from any of her sisters, I exhibited. All that made my mystic affliction all the more troubling.

I was not sane according to the Amazon metric, but I was utterly reliable in my bravery, honesty (when it mattered), and modesty. 'A' did not equate to 'B'. She would take me into battle. I wanted to help her bring the next generation of Amazon young into the world...and I felt letting her live was a moral failing on my part.

All of that cumulated in me beating up our driver once the jeep was safely parked in a large space carved out of the base of a mesa that sheltered the Amazon camp. See, Rachel was mentally hammering a square peg into a triangular hole at that moment. Pamela corralled her because my life path dictated Rachel's loyalty being more important than a few scratches to my flesh.

The fight was pure Amazon. I dismounted over the side of our ride. The camp counselor stepped out of the driver's side and launched a savage spinning kick at my left knee, aiming to unsettle my balance, bounce me off the jeep and result with me going to the ground - most likely on my knees. 

Her motivation was my unwarranted, asinine stunt being something 'one of the girls' wouldn't do. Give me a blistering reprimand? Oh no, not in this woman's army. They went straight to the 'you are going to regret that' disciplinary stage. An Amazon-Amazon wouldn't have been treated this way, but then an A-A wouldn't have acted like a cretin either. She attacked. 

Flash back four days and me being on enforced sick leave from my internship. I diluted my frustration, depression and frantic energy by working out. Sounds pretty normal until I noted how much I was exercising - twelve hours a day, counting multiple encounters on the sparring mats. 

Pamela hit the nail on the head - I was cultivating my frighteningly extensive muscle memory. My basal ganglia had gone from an unicyclist to a motocross daredevil. That might sound cool right up until you find yourself in conversation with Wiesława of House Živa while strapping on a pair of hip holstered Smith & Wesson Model 29s you can't even recall picking up in the armory.

"You are an American cowboy?" she asked as she gave the underside of my chin a sexy fingernail scrape.

"What?" I blinked. I looked down and, low and behold, I was packing two leg-irons, Joel McCrea-style. Historical shootists would never wear the kind of rig I had put on, much less real cowboys. Naomi came up.

"What are you doing?" she scolded me.

"This!" I declared. I drew and fired both guns, quick-draw/rapid-fire.

Had I torn out the head, or heart, of the target it would have been a slice of sweet for the bitter aftertaste in my mouth - you know, the 'doing a task without a clue what you are doing' feeling.

I did manage to hit the paper with eleven bullets, nine scored points and two were possibly fatal. Had I foregone my normal lethal accoutrements? No. My body was okay with lugging four pistols, a Personal Defense weapon and a combat shotgun around...Oh, four tomahawks and two knives as well. Yeah, anyone who knew me could tell something was wrong. 

In a normal society, a man feeling it natural to carry enough hardware to equip a microscopic guerilla army gets committed. In urban Amazonia? How did I balance the weight? Could I swim with that ironmongery? They tossed me in the pool, and after a few seconds of indecision, I decided on dropping the UMP-40, struggled out of my body armor then retrieved the USAS-12 before it hit bottom. (With the 'US' in the name, it just had to be made in South Korea). 

I did it because swimming with two 'bigger than a pistol' sized weapons is a real bitch, plus I had my armored jacket on, which turned swimming with weights on into trying to tread water in pudding. I was polite enough to admit that my downward progress when they dumped me off the diving board...the 7.5 meter one - they claimed to be looking for authenticity - was halted by hitting the bottom of the pool, not buoyancy. 

Since that was so much fun, we - I mean the SD training staff - decided on a few more near suicidal tests to subject me to. I didn't die. After 37 straight hours of activity at home and Havenstone, I was back in New Jersey. The hospital's specialists had good news. My brain cyclones were developing definitive patterns. 

To top that off, my 'me' brain patterns were increasing their activity. The experts hedged their bets, but did suggest that my brain was counter-acting some of the alternate neuro-electrical surges. Plus they now had both a baseline and advanced model to work with. The rest was bad. The 'good' was also 'bad'. The last thing my cerebellum need was an escalating brain race. 

My 'native' activity increasing was heaping scorn on the basic neural activity that made me 'normal'. The other two patterns: worse news. They were organizing, re-mapping old areas and mapping new ones. My temperature was acceptably elevated, my brain wasn't oozing out of my ears and, due to general hygiene, I didn't have a zombie odor. 

On the third day they stumbled upon a bizarreness to add to the menagerie at the top floor. There was a submerged fourth pattern they hadn't spotted before. How had this escaped their hawk-like scrutiny? Pattern four put sections of my brain to sleep. By using micro-regulation, it was tapping the hypothalamus to keep me cool as well. 

To make sure no single pathway over-extended its chemical stockpiles, large sections shut down for short, but intense breaks and I kept cruising along okay. The down side being this fourth active agent could possible cause me to lose the ability to speak. Or shoot a gun, or even stand-up, walk, or crawl. Their best theory was that pattern four was finally emerging from the backfield for that very reason - it was figuring out what functions were necessary given certain stimuli. 

So, if I lay down in a dark room and shut my eyes, in theory it would learn to shut down my optic and visual memory sections of the brain. They still wanted to cut open my head. I kept on refusing. Back to me and my pissed off driver; languages weren't the only things I was picking up. 

My fighting styles were increasing in detail and depth. I wasn't going to make Pamela tap out anytime soon, but my knowledge of martial movements was increasing. I still couldn't pull off the moves, but my brain was screaming the directions and my muscles were trying - to remember things they'd never done before.

I compared it to learning the foxtrot, then not putting a foot on the dance floor for thirty years. I was being called on to sway to the music once more and my body was struggling to meet the challenge it should have already mastered once. So, when the Amazon began winding up her kick, my brain began kicking into overdrive.

Boxing really isn't the martial arts style for dealing with kicks. Brazilian jujutsu is good, but there are others that do it even better. Added to that, I had been working against the unique Amazon martial art for a while. Every factor, but one, was working against her. Her sole advantage was initiative and she threw that away at the start.

She looked furious at me and that meant only two things - a slap, or a kick. I couldn't stop her from kicking me. I could block it and launch my counterattack. My left leg came up, bent at the knee and leaned into the kick, stopping it before she could building up enough force to really hurt. My right hand lashed down, not out. Her arms were prepared to divert torso and head blows. 

My hand gripped her raised, right thigh and used that to throw her to the ground with me on top. Amazon striking power was primarily in the legs. The arms were more for blocks, locks and diversions. Upper body strength became critical. She couldn't keep me at bay. I grappled, twisted her left arm behind her back then began beating her head against the hard packed dirt floor.

Situational awareness caused me to summersault off her, twisting back to my feet facing what had been coming up behind me - Caprica and two of her buddies. The woman I had just thrashed pushed up onto all fours, shaking her scattered wits into some cohesive instrument.

"What happened here?" Caprica menaced.

"We..."

"Shut up!" Caprica snarled at me. "I wasn't talking to you." The other woman didn't respond until she was back on her feet. Her forehead was bruised, but not bleeding.

"This jackalope climbed onto the hood of our jeep and stood there for nearly two minutes...while I was driving," her gaze travelled from her leader to me.

"Why?" Caprica was clearly addressing me. She'd already stolen her one honest answer for this trip. She shouldn't have been so greedy.

"It seemed like a fun thing to try," I grinned.

"You could have been badly injured, or killed," Caprica's eyes narrowed.

"That's what made it fun," I kept up the positive vibes. Pause.

"What you did was wrong," Caprica glared. Hierarchy versus democratic discourse. Had she behaved more like an impartial leader and less like a biased vice principle, I would have found it easier to kowtow.

"Why?" I beamed mischievous joy. "You didn't tell me not to do it. In fact, you've been about as useful as a stuffed moose head in a bazooka fight. Your pompous presumptiveness may resonate with the locals here, but we independent-minded women are less than impressed." That meant I was an Amazon, but not one that worked for her. Status: guest.

Had Caprica accepted my place - allowed me to explain my actions instead of jumping on the side of one of her own - she wouldn't be facing a showdown now. Had she ask me to pitch in; say 'take this 20 cm stick and go out and locate some landmines', off I would have gone. Amazons were team players. 

I was an unassigned Amazon and it was her right as a higher ranking member to give me a task I had some chance of completing, no matter how slim the odds. The proper Amazon way was to ask who swung at who first. Since the driver and I were equals, she didn't have the right to discipline me. She attacked without good reason and I had defended myself. 

I hadn't endangered her life, or that of her other passengers and none of them were complaining. No, the driver lashed out first because I was a guy. The leader backed her because I was a guy. Problem was, I didn't want to be treated as a guy. I wanted to be treated as an Amazon. Amazons do not walk around hitting other Amazons. 

That way lies madness, as Caprica was about to figure out. Caprica putting her FN P90 aside so she and I could fight was not okay. I hadn't been charged with an infraction, given an opportunity to explain myself before Caprica rendered her judgment. In theory, I could appeal. That would have labeled me as a crybaby Jerk though. 

The closest two 'Campies' joining in was a colossal mistake. It was the whole Amazon gang up thing and in their heart of hearts, they saw me as nothing but a male. Caprica should have come at me alone; that would have been acceptable. By ganging up on me, all bets were off. Three on one odds looked good to the Camp crowd. Three on two was a disaster.

Why? That loyalty bonding went both ways and I hadn't come alone. Pamela took pride in her role as an educator. She felt obliged to let Caprica get my measure as a warrior. But, if someone was going to get an embarrassing beat down, it wasn't going to be me. Pamela believed it to be so and hers was the mind that mattered most. 

I was pretty sure the first back up dancer didn't even know what hit her. Pamela was very sneaky and silent. Caprica was busy matching me blow for counterblow; driving me back. She had more experience, was better trained, accustomed to the dry heat and used to fighting on rough, uneven surfaces. I was bigger and faster (by a smidge). 




Life as a New Hire Ch. 26



She would have had a better time of it if, fifteen seconds into the fight, she hadn't heard Pamela taunting the second back-up opponent behind Caprica's back.

"Squeal you little bitch," Pamela mocked. "Squeal, or you're going to have a miserable summer walking around with your shoulders dislocated." Next. 

There was a 'thump' followed by the sound of a body going down and something metallic hitting the ground.

"You cunts need to learn to count. Most unwise," Rachel threatened someone out of sight. Pop-pop and a woman screaming in agony.

"I warned you, Dumbass," Pamela chortled over the screams of her victim. "Cáel, let's put this pig to bed. I'm hankering for an early dinner." Pig meant Caprica. Caprica pivoted to keep us both in her line-of-sight. The woman who had started it all was back on the ground, rubbing her temple.

"What is your stake in this fight?" she addressed Pamela.

"You are a humiliation to our People," Pamela grew deathly quiet. "Cáel's stupid action should have been dealt with by you, his superior, not by your underling. She attacked him first. End of story. That should have been your only consideration as a leader. You failed. 

You compounded that failing by attacking the wronged party. That you would consider us a burden, not as guests, is an even worse insult. You know our superiors in the Host have given us over to you as charges well within your capabilities to accommodate, so why are you presenting us with something far beneath any perceptible level of hospitality?" Pamela seethed.

"It is okay, Pamela," I sighed. "They hit like '****' anyway." That meant 'casteless' which in Amazon was the status a young Amazon held before joining a caste - aka 'little girls'. Pamela laughed.

"A League of their Own," she countered.

"Amelia"," I snickered back.

"Ouch! That's hitting below the belt," Pamela pouted.

"Excuse me," Caprica simmered. "We are still fighting here."

"Are we still fighting these swine?" Pamela asked me.

"I'm willing to call it a draw. I'm kind of thirsty. You?"

"Sunshine and applesauce," Pamela nodded. "I'd kill for a cocoanut smoothie. I mean that; I'd really kill somebody for a cocoanut smoothie."

"Oh, no," Rachel groaned.

"Alright you two, cut out the shenanigans," Rachel asserted herself in a loud, authoritative voice, "grab your bags and let's find out where we are sleeping tonight - then food. Hop to it!"

"Wait!" Caprica turned on Rachel. "We are not done here."

"Yes we are," sighed Rachel. 

"I'm stomping out a campfire before those two turn it into a raging inferno that burns this place to the ground. Trust me, you can't win. None of us can. The best we can hope for is that they play nice in whatever corner of the room we can herd them into and pray they stay there."

"Jawohl, mein Sturmscharführer!" Pamela and I Nazi-saluted as one. I swear, we do not rehearse these thing - the thought appears and we blab it.

For the morbidly curious, we showed our respect for Rachel by referring to her as 'Sarge' (actually Sergeant Major because we both adored her) as well as backhanding the pernicious, poisonous Amazon racism/sexism we were blatantly facing by likening it to that of the Waffen-SS's Aryan Supremist doctrine based on blasphemous pseudo-science. We exaggerated that slightly, but not by much. 

Caprica could have smacked me a good one as I walked past her, but what would have been the point? Pamela was right. By continuing to fight, all Caprica could have done was prove Pamela more right. Miyako glided our way, retrieved the 2 cm metal ball she'd pinged off of my driver's forehead...the reason the driver had fallen down the second time.

"Heinamachefrau?" Pamela suggested, indicating Miyako as we yanked our duffel bags free of the jeep. Whoa...my little closet ninja in a French maid's outfit...yum, yum, yum, yum.

"Let's not press our luck anymore today, Sundance," I faux-whispered.

"Got it Butch...oh, very clever," my mentor beamed. 

"You are a butch Butch in lesbian country," Pamela gasped delightedly. "I love you. You are the best grandson I've ever had." Hey, I had to get her back for 'Unforgiven'.

"I accept that with all the sincerity that was intended," I bumped her.

"Pamela?" Rachel called out. 

Her eyes went from Pamela, to the whimpering woman with the two dislocated shoulder.

"Damn it, Jim! I'm an unflappable pedagogue of dubious distinction, not a saw-bones," Pamela protested. I could hear DeForest Kelley rolling in his grave, or maybe that was a rockslide. We were close to the base of a mesa.

"Cáel," Rachel appealed.

"Fine...fine," I groaned. To Pamela, "I'll hold the Horta down, Bones. You apply the healing goop." Despite no goop being needed, my command made limited sense.

(Grumble) "Sixty-three years at the Academy down the drain. I've been reduced from a once-promising Cadet to a Freemason," Pamela hammed it up. I finally knew Pamela's age...maybe.

I had to wonder what poor Virginia and Delilah were going through. They were ratcheting down their reflexes from near-brawlfest to hearing us cracking jokes. They were nervously snickering at the word play...that no one else seemed to get and the spookiness was getting to them.

Despite the jocularity, Pamela took to her medical task with a purpose. She gave the poor woman the hilt of her own knife to bite on while cautioning her before fixing each limb. It was a rather calm, proficient and relatively gentle procedure. Pamela and I helped the Amazon stand, Pamela relayed some useful advice to ease the pain and off we went - beat-down at the shed still unresolved.

Domiciles were either caves carved carefully (so as not to project any telltale shadows - yep, paranoia) out of the mesa walls, or horizontal mine-like tunnels in the debris slopes at the base of the mesa - for things like the vehicle shelters. The caves dwellings housed four to twelve people depending on size and had indoor access to at least one 'chimney' - vertical escape ways. 

Large mine shafts housed our rides (ATV's, motorbikes and horses along with our jeeps), an armory, sewage tanks (they collected their waste products then trucked them to different dumping points), supply depots and fuel storage (the farthest away from the main encampment). We changed from long-sleeves to short- sleeves and shorts. Copious amounts of suntan lotion and bug repellent were applied as well. 

Each of us was shown a 'chimney' with handholds that led to the top of the mesa if necessary, plus a secondary route, should the primary be blocked/under fire. The same went for trails to the natural springs and underwater caverns and four different paths down to the flatlands. You only walked from the water sources to the flatlands in case of an emergency. 

Everything had a designation - either a native plant, or animal. My primary chimney route was 'greasewood' - rumor had it being a curative for headaches and arthritis. My main water route was 'javelina' - that was a small, local, bristly, pugnacious pig-like creature. They offered to let me bow hunt one. My exit route to the flatlands was Arizona Alligator Lizard (AAL for short - I was still grappling with there being ALLIGATORs of any stripe in the Southwest DESERT). 

We were also shown the places not to go - where the pitfalls, dead-drops, tripwires and 'blast zones' were. Blast zones were pre-prepared areas with an underground sprinkler system that would douse the field with some sort of flammable substance, then ignited in such a way as to surround and choke/incinerate those boxed up in the trap. They were cunningly placed to minimize fuel expenditure while maximizing carnage.

I was liking this place better and better. I loudly suggested to Pamela that dusting off our Klan robes and taking a midnight jog through Harlem would help us recapture this quaint 'Great Outdoors' experience when we returned home. Pamela amended my proposal. We should keep the hoods while streaking, to add some extra incentive to keep up a good pace. Virginia was beginning to crack.

"So, where do you live when you are not here?" Virginia asked one of our escorts. The woman gave her best deadeye stare.

"Do you speak English?" I prodded the woman.

"Yes," she grudgingly admitted. She was definitely from South of the Border.

My money was on a Spanish/German/Italian/Amerindian mix. Chile, or Argentina...maybe.

"Come on," I teased her. "Unless you live in the Vatican City, telling Virginia your nation of origin isn't giving anything away."

"My birth-hold is in Chile," the Amazon admitted.

"Hi, I'm Virginia Maddox. I was born in Knoxville, Tennessee," Virginia persisted in her attempts at conversation. "I had a high school boyfriend. He joined the Air Force - that is the United States Air Force. Do you have a boyfriend?" The Amazon gave me a nasty look. I was forcing the hospitality due any guest. She should have given it willingly and she resented it.

If a stranger walked up to an Amazon hold, they would be interrogated. The women's concerns were the mission of the person and the likelihood of others following. If your trespass was innocuous and you were traveling with no set purpose, they let you go. Despite my language, Amazons were not psychotic, or homicidal. They killed for a reason.

They didn't want outsiders to threaten them, to take their possessions, or endanger their children. Within those guidelines, they were passable hosts and decent neighbors - reference the early Swiss. In the same way they failed to empathize with other women, they knew not every man was on today's Hit List. If you were Greek, you were fucked - man, or woman. 

If they offered you the safety of their home - welcome to the Old World. They felt obliged to feed, shelter and protect you. Why? Recall, through most of their history, small groups of Amazons traveled from their homesteads to Council meetings, or to bear the summons for said meeting. By extending courtesy, they hoped to receive it. 

The concept behind karma is as old as mankind. In Amazon philosophy, wrath, revenge, curses and vendettas had their opposites - kindness, toleration, blessings and hospitality. Within their anti-social nature, the Amazons attempted that karmic balance. Boyfriends.

"My name is Priya Guerrero, of House Andraste," the Amazon answered. 

"I have mated on multiple occasions. I have no daughters yet." Pause. "Who was Maddox?"

"What do you mean?" Virginia studied Priya.

"Virginia, Andraste is her true family name, the name of her first ancestor, and the name of the matron deity of her House. As a divinity, Andraste is the Celtic Goddess of Victory."

"Does she...do you believe you are the descendent of a goddess?" Agent Maddox started with me, then turned to Priya.

"No," Priya snorted. "That is a silly notion. She is my guiding deity. My first Mother was as mortal as you, or I. Are you a Christian?"

"Yes, I am."

"Ha," Priya smirked. "My goddess would never let herself be captured by men, much less judged and then crucified." At that moment, Virginia truly understood she was at the mercy of killer cultists. Sure, she'd read the reports. Staring into Priya's eyes revealed the true nature of the beast.

"Christianity is about toleration and forgiveness of sins, especially the sins of your enemies," the federal cop countered.

"Of all the resurrection cults, we find Buddhism to be the least abhorrent. Even that suggests that divinity is merely a trick of the mind," Priya stated with conviction.

"Unlike you and your blind acceptance that weakness is strength, the very existence of my goddess stands before us right now," she continued.

"You?" Virginia grumbled. That offended Priya.

"No - him," Priya pointed at me. Virginia glared at me. I held up my hands to protest my innocence.

"Is there a woman around here you haven't fucked?" she snapped.

"I...no, wait," I stammered.

"I have not mated with Cáel Ishara," Priya shook her head. "Fifty more days," she smiled at me. "What I meant was this - how many male Amazons have you heard of?"

"None," Virginia was expecting some sort of trick.

"What is he then?" Priya motioned my way. Virginia groaned.

"This is too bizarre," Virginia conceded. "Maddox means 'Son of Madoc'. It can also mean 'fortunate one'."

"The second meaning is more accurate," Priya nodded. "After all, you are here walking around and talking, thus fortunate to be alive."

"You would kill us if we showed up without Cáel?" Delilah tossed us her input.

"Without a doubt. I am an Amazon... (sigh). That means I've trained for over a decade in as many lethal arts as possible. It is why I carry weapons."

"Is it true you carry guns around without planning to use them?" Priya inquired.

"If you mean 'do I carry a gun as part of my job as a federal law enforcement agent', then the answer is yes," Virginia stated with trepidation. It was that 'old Martian' feeling - as if you were talking to a rational, intelligent person from another planet.

"Is it true that if you say 'freeze' and I stop moving, you will close to personal combat range instead of shooting me?" Priya appeared to actually be engaged in the conversation.

"Yes. It is part of 'due process' and not being 'judge, jury and executioner'," Virginia verbally tip toed forward. She felt she was making progress while speaking to an ESL (English as a Second Language) individual. Priya glanced at Delilah.

"Oh, not me Luv," the Brit exaggerated her accent. "If I think I can get away with it, I put two rounds - center mass - and another in the head." The rest of the discussion was cut short by...

"CÁEL!" a feminine teenage voice shrieked. Someone was sprinting right at me. Quick reaction time - stop Delilah then stop Rachel. In the midst of that, Loraine leapt on me.

I was knocked back when she rocketed into me, wrapping her bare legs around my waist and her arms around my neck. Somehow I managed to keep my feet. I was hampered in this endeavor by teenage kisses lavishing my face with underage fervor. I had to wedge one hand between us while resisting my instincts to get a free, oh-so-wrong, booby feel.

"I heard you were coming, but I didn't believe it," Loraine, Aya's eldest sister and Katrina's 16 year old niece, panted with far more passion than fatigue. "Aya wouldn't give up on you."

"This is a counselor?" Virginia questioned.

"No, she's a senior, casted student; Loraine Epona," Priya informed the crowd.

"Now we can be back to 'us'," Loraine purred. That was the sound of the prison dimension of Tartarus opening beneath my feet.

"There is no us!" I vociferously articulated. "There is no us!" Then the pack of mid- to older teens closed in as well.

[OKH] "Oh! Loraine, is this your male?" "He looks so sexy in those shorts." "You are going to share him, right?"

"Bubba, you've got some explaining to do," Pamela chortled.

"I swear on my desire to not end up in a Canadian landfill, or an unmarked grave, that Loraine and I have a purely platonic, and fully clothed, non-erogenous zone touching relationship," I pleaded. Loraine started laughing.

"Calm down, sisters," she giggled. "I'm teasing him. He is no one's male. He is my friend and a pillar of iron-will - I know. I've tested him."

"Testing in a purely educational, non-touchy way," I clarified. I swear, women keep looking for ways to torment me.

"If that is so, why did you just mug this man?" Virginia rallied.

"I want him, but he's incredibly evasive," Loraine grinned. "You are an outsider. Where are you from?"

"I'm Special Agent of the FBI Virginia Maddox," the fed glared. "Care to dismount the man I was having a conversation with?"

[OKH] "Have you created your first born daughter yet?" a precocious brown-haired teen asked suggestively.

"English," I insisted. "For the sake of our guests, I would ask my sisters to use English."

"To clarify for my young sisters," Priya addressed the gathering of twenty some 'girls' and four instructor/safari guides.

"This is Cáel Ishara, sister of House Ishara from Havenstone HQ," she enlightened them. Amazon etiquette placed me in 'a simple member of the Host' category. There was one slight flaw in the plan - caste, or my lack of one...kinda/sorta.

[OKH] "What do..." another girl, this one cocoa-colored with thick, kinky hair smiled up at me.

"Oh...Cáel, what do you do?" she corrected herself.

"I teach Aztec Calligraphy to the color-blind," I answered with convincing seriousness, "as well as plotting terrestrial asymmetric numerology as exhibited by Imperial Penguin breeding pairs."

"Hold on," Pamela insisted. "Hold on. No one say anything. I have to write that one down."

"That sounds fascinating," several voices murmured. I could 'feel' Virginia's eyes roll back in her head in a silent display of disgust - with me, teenage fan-girls, or both. I wasn't sure.

"Wait," Delilah stepped up. "Let me try this. Okay - okay. Cáel is a replicon Mephistophelian moppet facilitating a fascinus-based solar illumination system to replace current quantum logic clock technology."

No one knew what to make of that. Even my twisted, labyrinthine thought processes were hard pressed to understand everything she said in the proper context. Pamela and I took a step back on either side of her. We held our arms up high, then bowed at the waist in worship to Delilah.

"We are not worthy," me and my mentor chanted and bowed three times.

"You three, promise to stop it right now, or the beatings will commence," Rachel menaced.

"As you wish, Buttercup," I bowed to Rachel.

"I was always partial to..." Pamela stopped because Rachel really did look prepared to dispense some violence. 

"But what does it mean?" Mona broke down before the chat petered out.

"It means you lot - Havenstone - are planning to use this young man's cunningly constructed tireless cock as a Sundial, Luv," Delilah smiled.

"Oh, I think we can find a better use for that piece of manly equipment than what you are suggesting," Loraine got one final tease in.

"Stop it," Rachel's voice slithered forth with a chthonic chill. Next stop - a major case of weapon malfunction/multiple people ending up in the infirmary. Thankfully for all concerned, it was approaching chow time and all the little groups began returning to the central camp area. Rachel sent Tiger Lily and Charlotte off to bed, now that we all knew basic security procedures.

Two events intruded between me and my rendezvous with Aya. First, I discovered everyone had on a series of patches. Being a Summer Camp, the girls had on a bunch more than the counselors. Still, one patch shown above all others: 'Camp Sahka Torchlight'. If you found yourself thinking of an Afro-American Jazz-themed playground, join the club.

Sahka isn't any part African. The Sahka are an aboriginal people. Since you are in North America, you would think Native Americans, and you would be wrong. There are tons of cool tribal names in the Americas...but apparently they'd all be rejected for a Turkish nomadic people who inhabit Northeastern...Siberia.

Torchlight? Rumor had it they ripped off some part of an Isis reincarnation ritual that had priestesses leaving a dark cellar/tomb/'not-even-associated-with-Torchwood' bearing torches they extinguished with the dawn. The Campies did it on special occasions...like orgies, or so was insinuated.

Camp? Well, one out of three ain't bad. Camp made sense which was an oddity in, and of, itself. What was Camp Sahka Torchlight? It was a scholarship camp for young ladies in the Lower-48 States Foster Care System. Okay...I couldn't find fault with that idea. Considering the chaotic jumble of neglected promises that is our childcare safety net, it was rather clever.

Have you tried to find anybody trapped in foster care? It isn't impossible, but it is a bureaucratic nightmare. For starters, why are you making your Freedom of Information Request...you get the picture. Havenstone cycled a never-ending stream of false girls and vacant foster homes through the government apparatus.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 26



The foster care system paid the non-existent caregivers for their non-existent charges and always refunded the money. It wasn't even fraud. Virginia was having a tough time of it - blatant criminality being discusses without reproach. She was assured they didn't 'hack the network'. That was too difficult since no three state systems had the same software.

No, they broke in and manually entered the data after hours. A vein along Virginia's hairline was beginning to throb dangerously. 48 felonies a year? Noooo. They had to break in every three months to update the files. That made it 192. The FBI had taken down whole Mafia families charged with far less numerous crimes. 

Pamela handed her a mason jar of something most likely toxic and alcoholic and Virginia drank it like water. First Virginia fell down and gasped in agony. A jar and a half later, she was 'my buddy'. I had beautiful eyes and she had peeked under my sheets when I was in a coma and stroked my cock...then she had kissed it...but she had gone no farther.

Delilah seemed pleased with my 'don't bang the plastered chic' rule and, with Mona's help, draped Virginia's limp arms over their shoulders and took her to bed - a torturous mission I had yet to endure. Virginia told Mona that she'd never been attracted to a girl, but she suddenly found the Amazon 'seductively dominant yet feminine'. By that point her speech was so slurred, we weren't 100% sure that was what she meant. Delilah bitched about not having a recording device for future leverage.

Why weren't the Amazons worried about telling a FBI Special Agent this? Where were her badge and authorized firearm? Goddess knows what blackmail they were generating against her if a serious case of character assassination was ever needed. Even Rhode Island had more than one Children's Services office and there was no timetable for the break-ins and no names to begin a back-search with.

And then I saw Aya.

Hers was one of the last groups to come in. The councilors were extra tough on the younger crowd. Every scrape, bruise and dress down increased their students' chance of surviving their 12th year test - life and death.

Unlike Loraine's group, Aya's band was under tighter discipline. This wasn't 'standing at attention'. The Amazons didn't do that. Instead, this was a kind of 'stand easy', allowing some movement of the upper body and head. The leader's growling began - lowering her voice as she criticized and belittled her wards. I got angry. As I said earlier, I would make a lousy soldier.

I drew up and discarded my choices. Bum-rushing my sister Amazons? Inexcusable. Ignoring them and greeting Aya? How would I feel if the roles were reversed? Wait patiently? This is me I was thinking about! 

'Love more than hate'. 'Above even those, I adore humor...'

Off I strolled. Miyako was kind enough to let me spot her tagging along. Rachel and Pamela were giving me more space. A secondary Amazon teacher glanced my way so I gave her a friendly smile. Her look was one of mild confusion. My muscles were coiling up, yet she didn't feel threatened. She was right. 

About three meters out, somewhat behind the leader and facing the group of Camp sprouts, I eye-balled a patch of earth and bent down until my hands touched dirt. My body folded up, the weight went forward and them I unfolded into a handstand. Acrobatic stunts are fun, both amusing and erotic. As fun as they were to learn - for charity, they were even more fun to teach.

Without a doubt, naked aerobics have their own special place in my heart. I wasn't aiming for eroticism this time around. I was clowning around. My actions were a distraction yet not out of bounds. There was no camp regulation forbidding laughter, or eliciting laughter. A different councilor glanced my way then nudged the boss.

"What?" the leader half-turned to look me over.

"I'm in LOVE," I sighed lustily. Blinking all around.

"That is fascinating, Cáel Ishara, but not relevant to my instructions," she explained.

"I'll be quiet," I pledged while going to a one handed handstand. By then, all the councilors had turned toward me, plus several different age groups had migrated down from the open-air Dining Hall.

"The absence of sound does not lessen your impact, Ishara," the woman continued. I had to tilt my head to a painful angle so that I could make eye contact as I smiled at her. I hopped from my left hand to my right, almost toppling over at the end. That almost-accident added to my appeal. Nothing is quite as interesting as someone else's near failure.

"He is Cáel," Priya spoke up. She'd hung back until now. That clarified my 'one of the girls' societal position.

"Oh?" the leader grinned. "I am Sophia. Come here." Hey, I had shed my hierarchical buffer to reduce the quantity of ruffled feather so over I went. "You could have used your legs."

"I miss my days viewing life as a Leprechaun," I spread a thick dose of Irish-green honeyed brogue over that bizarre fallacy. The pint-sized crowd giggled. Much to my relief, the adult Amazons chose snickers over scowls. Sophia circled and squatted in front of my elbow, then tapped my right flank. I took that as a cue to hand-turn around so instead of having my back to her and having to crane my neck, we could look face to face, with one of us being upside down. The young audience had suspended breathing in order to better overhear our exchange.

"He can't have sex with any of us for fifty days," Priya added. Ah...visible disappoint.

"Go get something to eat," Sophia commanded. She still had work to do.

"I am in the presence of my '****-****-****'," I responded. My Old Kingdom Hittite patchwork term of affection was more than a mouthful. As far as the Amazon tongue goes, it was also clearly invented by me.

"Daddy!" Aya squeaked. It had slipped out and she'd tried to squelch it, but only been partially successful. Her happiness was evident to all.

[OKH] "What you said make no sense," Sophia chided me. I was really warming up to her after an initial bad impression.

"I am 'oath-honored', Aya is 'daughter of my brother' and 'he died in battle'," I explained in English. It didn't make too much more sense even then.

"I didn't know you had a brother?" Sophia tapped my abdomen. I took that to be a 'request' for me to stand up, so I did. "Exactly when and where did he die in battle?" She stood to match me.

"Well...ah...he sort of died a few generations back...about a 120 of them," I looked somewhat evasive. "You know how bad the Postal Service can get around Christmas. The news was a little late getting to me."

"Fine," Sophia studied me. "The 'Christmas Scam' takes care of the last 100 generations. What about the first twenty?"

"The message was written on a ten ton stele and addressed to my nom de guerre, "Cabbage Head'," I elaborated. "It was also written in Harappan ideograms. You know how bad that can be to decipher - really, does a stork look all that different from an Ibis?"

"I see the root of the problem," Sophia took on a scholarly aura. "Harappan's used script, not ideograms, nor did they have an Ibis in any way, shape, or form."

"Ibis...they must have meant 'Flamingo'. Those are native to Western India and the Persian Gulf," I kept the word-play going.

"Wait," Sophia held up her hand. "Does anyone know if there is now, or ever has been, a flamingo species native to Pakistan?" she addressed the crowd.

"Yes," a mocha skin beauty resembling Rhada volunteered. "It is the Greater Flamingo."

"Not as great as your l...colorful recounting of events," Sophia narrowed her eyes playfully.

"How about I sit here nice and quiet while you finish your duties?" I offered.

"Capital idea," Sophia nodded. She turned back to her troop and the tongue-lashings resumed.

The sole twinkle in the eyes that mattered to me was Aya's. Even after amassing a Cáel-level dose of failure assessment, she didn't crack. Sophia had barely initiated her dismissing gesture when Aya charged me.

"I knew you would make it!" she yipped. She leapt into my arms.

"I missed you so much, '****'," I laughed as I pulled her up into the air, sent her flying then caught her petite, giggling form. The personal honorific 'boon-companion' was pure Amazon. Size and age differences aside, it was one of the most truthful things in my life - with Aya at my side when things looked bleakest, nothing would ever seem impossible.



Life as a New Hire Ch. 27



This story plays fast and loose with Ancient History and Linguistics; be warned.

The miracle is not a person jumping into a torrent to save another. It is the dozen who form a chain to pull them both out.

Editing magic performed by KJ24 and Shyqash, plus contributions by the regular gang of brigands and neer-do-wells.

There is a bit of mangling of the Iliad going on. I apologize to Homer and the countless singers before him who carried the Iliad down through the dark centuries until the Greeks figured out how writing works.

Since the Mycenaean Greeks keep whining like little bitches, I have chosen to ease up on them for the nonce and give the Magyar mythology a credible mangling.

*****

(Right where I left off)

I was the oddity. My antics had only enhanced my allure, especially to the pre-twelve group that stood closest - nineteen pairs of little eyes looking at me expectantly. I swept the crowd with a polite, somewhat shy smile. For the girls from the freeholds, I was most likely a contradiction to everything they'd been taught, or experienced, before now.

The ghastly nightmare slinking around the bright sunshine Aya fanned into radiance by her proximity to my heart was that the male percentage in the Amazon world was plummeting rapidly. Mass executions will do that to a population. We were being efficiently and mercilessly put down and not replaced by the 'normal' means anymore. Every week there were fewer of us around for the children to notice.

Adding to their confusion was that Amazon girls were actively discouraged from forming bonds with any males they did encounter, especially the few still walking around the holds. From what I had gathered from my casual inquiries, the old Amazon male slave population was dwindling to zero fast. 

Cultural ruthlessness married to a creeping racial insanity had led to them burning their old lifestyle down before a new one had been raised up. To these little girls, it meant that men were regarded in one of two ways: In their own microcosm, the girls were taught that males were the equivalent of a plow horse they saw wandering about, but they were denied the opportunity to interact with - a lumbering, yet relatively harmless animal.

To girls living an urban lifestyle, there was the constant watchfulness of their family guardians that taught them men were not to be trusted. Men were not some evil that needed to be destroyed. It was more that if they knew about the culture the girls grew up in, the males would crush their elders and steal them away into their chauvinistic malignancy.

Outsider women were viewed the same way because they would rather sleep contentedly in their male-created fantasy of equality than face the reality that life was a constant state of warfare - only things paid for in blood and sweat had value. Outsiders of both genders, by refusing to grasp that truism, were essentially parasites. You didn't kill all leeches. You only dispatched the ones threatening you and yours.

And then there was me. I had to face facts. I had a penis. Even tucked snugly in my cup and shorts, it was the beacon of our differences. That was the starting point of every encounter with a Full-blood Amazon - I wasn't one of them and they had been told to never see my 'kind' in a beneficial emotional context. Amazons were not supposed to have those kinds of relationships with men.

"I've missed you too, '****' '****'," Aya bumped foreheads with me. I was 'a Son of the White Stallion' who 'ran with the herds of Epona'. I was so proud of her. She had woven together a Magyar myth with an Amazon naming convention. Epona, the Celtic Horse Goddess and Aya's matron divinity, was worshiped with the sacrifice of foals - Amazons offered up fillies (female baby horsies) whose spirits ran with the Goddess in the Spirit World.

When the pre-Christian Magyars went to war, they sacrificed a white stallion to entreat their deities to grant them victory. No one was about to slit my throat, or cut my heart out. I was made sacred - a spirit stud in Epona's vast herd of mares. How freakishly accurate. 

"I love you for your brains, you know that, don't you?" I whispered to Aya.

"Yes. You are saving up your other love for Mommy," she kinda/sorta teased me. Out of the semi-circle of children, three stood out. More accurately, they were dwarfed by their companions. I took the group's indecision as an offer to advance.

"Hi," I addressed the smallest three members of the audience. "Are you the Fatal Squirts?"

"They are not allowed that name," Sophia interceded. "No Amazon child deserves an acknowledgement before their trial." I half-turned and nodded her way. 

"(Cough) '****' '****'," (cough, cough). "Excuse me, please." If she spoke Phoenician, I was boned for being obviously disrespectful of her authority and would have to take whatever punishment Sophia felt I deserved. 

Otherwise, I was getting away with binding 'leads to death' to 'blood-death wound' in that ancient and highly extinct tongue: 'fatal - squirts' indeed. Her hand fell on my shoulder.

"I have heard you laugh at death," Sophia remarked. If I was on Zoosk, all you would have to do was type in 'Preference: Amazon Male Who Dares Talk Back' - and there was my smiling mug, all alone, staring back at you.

"Before I confess to anything, do you consider that an asset, or liability," I grinned.

"I withhold judgment," was her reply.

"I don't mean to 'laugh at death'. It is because all the other choices suck and...perhaps I've been called stubborn, bull-headed and 'not having even a passing acquaintance with common sense' a time, or two," I shrugged with my lovely burden curled around my left arm.

"No names - our tradition and my command," Sophia laid down the law. Sigh. I put Aya down. She didn't cause me a hint of trouble because she knew my heart. I unbuckled and handed her my two guns (my Glock-22, and .380). I motioned one of the mini-Amazons forward. She shuffled up to Aya's side and received my two tomahawks. 

Not only was no one leaving, the rest of the camp started coming down to see what was about to transpire. In my short stint at Havenstone, I had developed a reputation as an exciting fun-guy/irrepressible troublemaker.

"I feel your decision is founded on misinformation, or your rendering to be unjust," I told Sophia.

"Explain," Sophia requested.

I hadn't disarmed for my sake, or hers. I gave up my weapons to affirm my desire to talk. I placed myself at my sister's mercy - thus expressing my trust in her. Amazons are not savages, just violently inclined. 

Later, Pamela would remind me that my behavior was precisely what Isharans were supposed to do - seek peace.

"Aya has taken a position as intern with Executive Services at Havenstone," I explained. "She held my position and served effectively for four days with good work reviews from the head of the department herself," I added.

"She has served in a caste, been assigned duties by members of that caste, performed errands and accomplished all that was asked of her. Doesn't that create an allowance for Aya...as she has been considered for a caste?" I was fishing for an excuse based on my instincts for these people.

"She has never been selected, chosen and been anointed to a caste, so her preliminary experience does not qualify," Sophia said after a few seconds of introspection. "Next?"

"She has charged forth into battle on my behest." The archery range.

"You were not an acknowledged member of the Host when that happened. Next?"

"She's tried to kill me," I tossed out there.

"What?" many exclaimed. 

"NO!" Aya gasped.

"When did this occur?" Sophia's eyes twinkled.

"At the archery range. She shot at me twice," I responded.

"She was practicing," was the counter. "Next?"

"Not next," I smiled. "I didn't have permission from anyone to step beyond the shooting line.

In doing so, I accepted all calls to combat. Both Leona and Aya shot at me. Aya shot twice and came close once. Leona only hit me after I gave myself up to protect three Amazon children."

Pause.

"Okay. Aya has served in combat, no matter how one-sided..." Sophia began.

"I was armed for part of the fight," I interrupted hurriedly. Aya's first arrow.

"Accepted. You were a viable combatant before that as witnessed by other Amazons in earlier encounters. She and another Amazon shot at you without any other claiming traditional ownership of you," Sophia nodded. The Leader had given me a 'bye' on my intern status. 

"Aya may bear an honorific," Sophia loudly proclaimed her change in course. To Amazons, screwing up was a distant third to not owning up to what you did and not learning from your mistakes. Besides, I could tell Sophia was warming up to me...as a male and an Amazon.

"My war band?" Aya chirped.

"You do not have a war band, Aya Epona...but whatever name you use among yourselves is not a matter I will concern myself with," Sophia stated firmly. "Fifty days, Cáel." That was the end of it. Sophia turned and began walking uphill, conflict successfully resolved.

The Fatal Squirts had emerged with a semi-official status, I had emerged without a new series of wounds and I had wrangled forth a small down payment for all the love and loyalty Aya had showered on me.

"Best Daddy in the World!" Aya shouted. "Mamitu! Mamitu!" Destiny.

Amazons weren't huge believers in luck. They put their faith in training, planning, experience and diligence. For them, victory was a matter of destiny. Let the sloppy, treacherous Greeks invoke 'Nike' - Victory, or 'Tyche' - Luck for tossing them a positive outcome in battle. My side weren't thankful for the win they deserved. 

They acknowledged Mamitu had, through foresight, prepared the Host for what had to be done. For Aya, it was destiny that had put me in her path; she and her sisters trained for the hostage scenario multiple times, so she was a logical choice for my training. She had been training with the bow when I was giving her the inner strength and confidence to hit the target. 

Training, not mutual good fortune, put her at the range to make that shot. Whatever part luck played, that bolt that had saved my life and paved the way for Aya's rise to leadership had been a part of her training as well. Amazons didn't deny luck, nor did the put any trust in it.

"Hi, so who are the rest of you?" I addressed the Fatal Squirts while rearming.

"I am Mosa Oya," the tomahawk holder identified herself. 

"I am..." the third member got out before we were propelled back into that 'never too distant' No-Man's Land. A girl, a stranger in her early teens, came up and shoved Aya hard.

"You are nothing special," the older girl growled at my buddy. My 'daughter' barely avoided sprawling in the dust.

The intensity was palatable. Aya had no chance of beating this girl. Not only did her opponent have every physical advantage, she had three buddies as well - correction: two buddies and a twin sister. Amazons built lifetime bonds around these foursomes. Aya and company backed down, despite her obvious shame. She had just won an honorific as a child - unheard of before this. It was Amazon tactical thinking, not fear, that ruled Aya's mind. I was so proud of her.

"What's your name?" I inquired congenially of the newcomer. She flashed me a look of anger laced with teenage hormones, then turned and stormed away...actually, she only started to storm away. Her behavior had played right into my hands. I was an adult. She wasn't a full-fledged member of the Host, nor was she a child anymore. I had asked her a question and she had been disrespectful to me. Her bad. Still, I doubted anyone expected my leg sweep.

The bully hit the ground hard - no rolling with the blow for her. My foot smashing down on her diaphragm drove the fight right out of her. I wasn't done. The twin rushed in - my thunderbolt left sent her flying back from whence she came. Amazons despise child abuse as cruel and socially cancerous, yet no one else was rushing in to stop me.

Even her other two friends were obeying both basic Amazon battle philosophy and conduct. Two young teens versus me was stupid...and I wasn't alone. I had four Squirts plus two other women close by who saw nothing wrong with a cooperative pummeling. I lifted my foot a centimeter from the girl's chest.

"Let's try this again," I spoke softly. "I am Cáel Ishara. You have disparaged my house by putting your back to me after I, an adult, politely addressed you. In fifteen seconds your sin will pass beyond your ability to address and your actions will be viewed as your family's unwarranted insult. My sisters will seek vengeance against your sisters with the added advantage that your sisters won't know what's going on. Now, what's your name?"

See, I could have gone straight to Step Two - the House on House vengeance. Me kicking her ass was merciful because after five, or six members of her house were jumped, one at a time by three, or four, of mine, those ladies were going to be truly curious why their youngster had been so fucking rude in front of so many fucking Amazons to the HEAD of a fucking First House.

'Honorific' Aya still had no status except that of a child. Dumb Bunny was passed her 12th year test, so she was of her House, thus the insult. Despite my 'fantasy' assumption of the role of grunt, everyone knew that Cáel Cabbage-head was Cáel Ishara, Head of House Ishara. I was the only accepted male Amazon in existence, the only possessor of a 'five o'clock shadow' in camp, I was armed and I was so armed while walking among their children. 

She could not have possibly mistaken me for another. Her eyes showed that truism too. Her wrathful 'how dare that male!' morphed into 'oh fuck, my older sisters are going to be tossed down stairwells, jacked up in parking garages and they were going to be caught totally flat-footed when it happens...and it is all my (the girl's) fault'. 

In theory, St. Marie could deny my feud (we were at war), or warn the girl's house of my request...but why would she? The crime couldn't have been more obvious and the Amazons were way past making harmful shit up about me.

"Zarana...Zarana of House Inara," she gasped. 

I switched foot placement, pivoted, reached down to arm-clasp my left with her left and ended with me pulling her effortlessly to a standing position.

"A pleasure to meet you Zarana Inara. I am Cáel Ishara, but you may call me Cáel if you wish," I gave her my award winning smile. "No one will ever doubt your courage in my presence," I added.

'Lead with the left jab, then catch them with the right hook'. As true in interpersonal relationships as in boxing. I had beaten her handily seconds ago and now I was applauding her bravery. Again, I wasn't a Head of House calling attention to her virtue...but I was.

"Your sister shares your warrior's heart."

"I...I...I don't know what came over me..." she started to give me a respectful head-nod. I hooked a finger under her chin to stop her.

"Are you going to reconsider your approach for dealing with a male Amazon, Zarana of Inara?" I bridged the awkward moment. Bing! I had turned a humiliation into a learning moment.

"Yes," she smiled at me. "Yes Cáel Ish... Cáel."

"I swear by the All-Mighty, if I find this one crawling into your sleeping bag, I'm going to be very disappointed in you," Delilah ambushed me. Wa-ha?

"Oh, come on!" I protested. "She's thirteen."

"Fourteen," the other twin, bleeding lip and all, puffed herself up.

"Not helping..." I looked at the twin.

"Vaski," she supplied. What?

"Vaski? Really? That was Grandmother's name - it is Magyar-Finnish," I wondered.

"We are almost related," she conjured the improbable out of the impossible.

"No you are not, young lady," Delilah serpentined her way to the front of the crowd. "You are not family now and you can't attempt to be for four more years."

"Who would you be?" Zarana challenged Delilah. Man, those two kids were spunky.

"An honored guest," Priya provided. "I hope another lesson in manners will not be necessary."

"I'll do my best," I volunteered. Priya had been addressing the twins; not me. Taking the hit was a bit of comedy to diffuse the moment.

"Some of you need to eat," a camp counselor stated. Another crisis down and the sky wasn't even dark yet.

"Cáel!" and here we went again. Thank you, Ishara, it was Europa, the strange one - meaning the one I understood the most.

(Night and Day)

This place kept getting more and more wonderful. There was one safe road that rolled out of the camp's front gate (there was no wall - the gate was ceremonial) and disappeared off toward the closest state road. Scheduled trips were made to the closest blip on the census data where they bought stuff (irrelevant) and were 'seen' by the locals (the important thing). 

If anyone investigated, there was a legitimate summer camp 'out there'. The counselors weren't friendly, but they worked with 'troubled' kids, so keeping the small talk to a minimum was excusable. Sure, they only saw women - usually the same ones each trip during a given summer. The camp held nearly a thousand people, so the all-female thing was dismissed as a quirk.

That was the second layer of deception. We had already learned that the first layer was the idea of a camp for girls in the foster care system. The third layer was all the visible 'props'. This went beyond the typical craft centers, juvenile obstacle courses, and a dozen other distractions. (The only 'real' one was the stables. Amazons loved riding horses and being assigned to tend to their care was a high honor.) 

Thirty meters inside the gate was a bridged gulch. After dark, the bridge supports were removed turning a clear shot into the center of camp into a waiting death trap. If there was any doubt, the gulch, so comforting and protective, was a blast zone as well - designation: The Barbecue Pit. I couldn't find it, but I was sure there was an altar somewhere to the matron goddess for this summer camp, the Goddess Paranoia. 

The sleeping quarters for everyone? More props. Campers would go in, mill around for ten minutes, then curl up on their bed...the ones that warmed up to 98F/36.7C degrees in the shape of human bodies. Then the campers went down the shafts beneath their bunks and dutifully shuffled along the one meter high underground tunnels to their mesa-based domiciles. Again, once in the cliff-side barracks, they had two chimneys, a tunnel back to the dorm building and a cleverly designed, nearly invisible front exit to choose from. 

Pamela took it in stride, Delilah was a bit peeved by the 'excessive' security. Virginia...we'd already dragged her through her dorm tunnel to her cave to sleep it off. For me...the tunnel's dimensions made it a tight fit. Amazons can be pretty strong, but they don't have shoulders as wide as mine, nor are they normally over a meter/eight (six feet for us Yankees). 

I would have complained, except I had a sneaking suspicion that Pamela had a trowel to give me so I could 'widen up' a twenty to forty meter stretch of tunnel the moment I opened my mouth. As the last portion of the instructional tour, we were directed to get our grub before it was gone because the sadistic chefs loved to watch the eight year old workhouse orphans fight over who got to lick the pot instead of starving. 

Not really. The victuals were actually very good. I had hopes of more bonding time with my Epona ladies, yet no sooner had I cleaned my tin plate and dinnerware, I found someone else who craved my attention - Sophia. She was hot for my touch and by that I meant she wanted to punch and kick me around for a bit, all in the name of fun.

"Since you are my guest, I will let you choose our weapons," Sophia decided.

"I choose hyperbole," I gracefully flowed from sitting with one leg down and the other bent to standing.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 27



"Specify."

"Caber tossing with real Sequoia. I'll wait for the ladies of Girl Scout Troop 666 to go get some - they have to be authentic; no substitutes accepted," I explained. 

"That's not hyperbole," Sophia snorted. "Hyperbole would be - 'I want to use the biggest spears ever used by Amazons, or Goddesses'."

"My hyperbole wasn't the caber tossing, it was us 'waiting' for a set of circumstances we both knew wouldn't happen," I countered. Sophia nodded.

"I find that fighting with over-sized phallic symbols, or tongues for that matter, gives you an unacceptable advantage," Sophia stated. She was being a great sport about this.

"I bow to your obvious wisdom," I gave a reverent nod. "Knives, or unarmed combat? And if I lose, I get to go javelina hunting tomorrow. I've been told they are capybaras with an attitude problem." A pause then snickers behind hands raised to their lips.

"Counter-proposal: I select unarmed combat. If you can last five minutes, you may bow hunt our 'rodent problem' tomorrow." More snickers.

"I prefer to entertain our guest," Caprica spoke up. "Unless he wishes to withdraw."

"Huh? What? Caprica, with the size and firmness of your breasts, I'm all for some serious hand-to-hand contact." A slight intake of breath then the laughter began. My sexism wasn't an issue. It was my spirited pugnaciousness they were applauding.

We walked sideways into the rough, uneven-surfaced fighting ring. Caprica held up her hand.

"How much damage to your scrotum causes permanent injury?"

"I'm not sure," I remained wary. "I've had hot wax poured over them, and then my tormentors ripped the congealed mass off, along with all my pubic hair, without undue effect."

"I've had a shod mare kick me in the crotch - thus learning why you never stand directly behind any equine - and then had a successful oral encounter thirty minutes later. It was exceedingly painful, but I pulled through. We can't really count the butterfly knife to the penis...no blood/no foul."

"How much did that 'wax episode' hurt? Did you cry out?" Rachel's sister inquired.

"Not loudly. See, unlike the rest of you, I'm a man and men don't cry. We leave all those hysterics to the feminine gender," I grinned. The campers weren't pissed in the least.

"They gagged you first?" Delilah snorted.

"And how," I confessed. "In my defense, I didn't start begging for mercy until I saw the flames."

"How many opponents did it take to tie you down?" Sophia asked mischievously. 

"One. It was an epic encounter. She said 'strip down, lay on the bed, let me tie your wrists to the bed posts, then I'll give you a big surprise'. Normally, I love surprise and I must confess, seeing her roommate, the one I had been cheating with, come into the room in a black basque, black panties and a riding crop was surprising."

"She beat you like a disruptive slave?" Priya gasped.

"Yep. They also removed all my body hair below the neck, dyed my hair bright pink and did a few things I find erotically confusing to this day," I elaborated. "Then it was two days of continuous sex and a late Sunday night stopover at the campus infirmary."

I didn't even look at the faces of the Amazons I gave my weapons to. We were Amazons. If I needed them, they would hand them over. Along with my growing confidence in them was their growing willingness to ignore my gender. My shirt came off quickly. When Caprica began removing her boots, I hurriedly did the same.

My boot had barely hit the hand of the lady I had tossed it to when Caprica came for me. All the relevant factors were the same. Was she better than me? Yes. I rated her as about the same level as Madi, but not as good as Elsa. For 45 seconds, it was a fantastic bout for both of us, then I fucked up. I knelt down for a sweeping kick at her ankle. I telegraphed it. 

Caprica went high; the bridge of her right foot connecting with a solid kick to my jaw line. With that, so many things began going off in my mind, my fight plan fell to pieces. I managed to keep rolling over after that blow to end up on my back. My arms spasmed. My legs shot up of their own accord, curling back to protect my abdomen despite my desperate desire to stand up.

My move caught Caprica by surprise as well. Our kneecaps collided painfully. She bounced off and staggered away. I forced myself to my feet like some 70 year old arthritis sufferer. A hundred neuro pathways conveyed contradictory orders. Any kind of cohesive defense was hopeless. Caprica's piston kick caught me in the left ribcage. The ground felt like concrete when I crashed down on it.

My 'me' mental patchwork had jumped into a body-wide skirmish with either patterns 'B', or 'C'. The result was muscles twitching a few millimeters one way then another. It wasn't a do this, or that. The message was to do two different things at the same time. Muscles aren't into task management, mediating, compromise and division of labor. They can't work that way.

There was no follow-up attack.

"Stay back," I heard Pamela shout. Later I was told that Caprica was getting ready to kneel by my side to assist me. I could have lashed out the moment I saw her and that would have been all kinds of bad. "Aya..." Pamela summoned the aid I needed.

"Cáel?" Aya called to me softly. Her voice wasn't a miracle cure, it was a reminder of what was truly important to me. Humans prioritize stimuli and Aya was close to the top of my list. My 'fight' impulses receded and the 'worried about Aya' instincts took control. My epileptic-like seizures ceased as I propped myself up on my elbows.

Caprica was still a problem. We hadn't concluded our fight.

"What happened to you?" the Camp Leader demanded to know.

"Ah...It is complicated," I struggled.

"One second you were fighting well - the next? Are you diseased?" 

"See this?" I pointed to the tiny scab on my forehead. "Someone shot an electric charge into my brain. It confuses me at times."

"You could lash out at my campers," she deduced from the absence of information.

"That's rubbish..." Delilah rumbled.

"This is none of your concern," Caprica menaced right back.

"Caprica, you are worried...why? Because he lost his wits when he was attacked - twice - in the garage? Or was it the way he threatened Loraine when she jumped on him?" Rachel came to my defense. "Sophia and Aya were never in anymore danger than you were."

"He is crazy," Caprica insisted. A few people chuckled.

"Oh, I agree," Rachel nodded. "He is very, very, very crazy. No one who knows him for more than a day can truthfully deny that. He's mad, cracked, insane - and he laughs at death. He laughs at life. He mocks condescension and helps alleviate ignorance through comedy.

He never surrenders to despair, or hardship. Cáel does that and more because his mind has always been the child who took joy from playing in the mud and sought solace alone among the craggy peaks. Even if he was a woman born in a freehold, he would not be one of us. I take great comfort in his quirks and oddities. 

Too often, I am playing mental catch up. That encourages me to think faster and outside our normal means of resolving a conflict," Rachel explained her viewpoint.

"I disagree that his merits outweigh the danger he represents," Caprica pronounced her judgment.

"Then we have a problem," Rachel began putting her weapons aside.

"If you insist," Caprica smiled like she was some cunning fox. Delilah and Mona joined with Rachel as did Loraine, several of her friends and the young twins and their two compatriots. Sophia edged around the circle to hold Aya and her Squirts back. They weren't old enough for this sort of thing. As I crab-walked toward Rachel who helped me stand, two dozen camp counselors rallied to Caprica's side.

"Campers are forbidden to engage in sparring unless supervised. No permission has been given," she crushed the odds. It was within her rights to reminds us of regulations. Our only potential ally in this was Rachel's sister, whose name turned out be Genève, and she didn't dare go against Caprica on that. Instead, Genève joined Rachel, Mona, Delilah and I in a personal defiance. 

Our five to Caprica's fifteen was looking awful bleak, unless I considered who WASN'T at my side. Pamela had remained quietly seated throughout this debacle.

"Psssht," Pamela motioned to Rachel. Rachel side-stepped and took what Pamela offered. It was a small, wooden match. 

Rachel was struggling to piece things together. Caprica's crowd began advancing.

"Give up, you've lost," Rachel snorted in obvious triumph. That didn't slow the enemy down in the least. Rachel brandished the single match. Shouldn't there been a box of them? They didn't slow down. Rachel wasn't worried.

"Thirty seconds after the first blow is landed, the fuel depot will explode," Rachel grinned. "Give up while you still can."

"What? You wouldn't dare? That is lunacy!" Caprica and her team stopped advancing and went to defensive stances. Then it dawned on Caprica. Where was the ninja? Where was that box of matches?

"The depot is well guarded," Caprica sounded less than absolutely confident.

"Cappy," Delilah mocked the leader, "she's a ninja. Breaking into guarded places is what they do."

"Call her off," Caprica snapped at Rachel.

"Of course," Rachel responded. "Quit the field and I'll ask her to come back."

"I am telling you to recall her right now," Caprica growled.

"Of course," Rachel grinned. Success. The fight was over. Rachel didn't do anything for a minute.

"I said..." Caprica remained pissed.

"Hey," Miyako wiggled up between Delilah and Mona. "Why are we all standing in the sparring area? I had to go to the latrine. What did I miss?" Rachel handed the match back to Pamela. Pamela pulled out the matchbox and put the point of contention back inside.

"You bluffed?" Caprica gasped at Rachel.

"Yes, though I prefer to think of it as creating an illusion based on my foe's ignorance of the forces in play and an active imagination," Rachel turned the screw.

"Miyako, did you give Pamela that box of matches?" Caprica glared at the ninja.

"Matches? Matches are 'Old School'. Ninja's use encapsulated chemical reagents to generate flames," Miyako enlightened us all. "They even work underwater." Caprica looked down and coughed. When she looked back up, she was shaking her head and grinning.

"I concede," she sighed. "Students," she called out.

"Let this be a lesson to you: don't assume you know all your opponents capabilities and if you are ever in my position do NOT issue orders, as it voids any outcome of a match." That had been Rachel's victory. I had rendered myself hors de combat, ending our match. Rachel's fight was a fresh encounter. Once we were all back in the sparring ring, we were equals. Superiors couldn't pull rank to avoid an outcome. 

The moment Rachel tricked Caprica into reasserting her authority, the second martial bout was over - concluded, and concluded by Caprica herself. The question of my sanity was balanced by my 'side' winning. This was not 'might makes right'. This was 'Rachel is a clever bitch and in her opinion, I wasn't a threat'. This was 'listen to the smart Amazon'. Caprica chose to listen.

"He should always be under constant observation," Caprica compromised. My heart soared. No one on my side said a damn thing. They were administering another lesson.

"Cáel, you must constantly be in contact with a 'watcher'," Caprica corrected her command. I was an Amazon, not a child, or helpless burden.

"I guess this means I'm not going to get my own 'Boys Restroom'," I joked. There were more yawns than chuckles this time around. Time for all the campers, counselors and guests to get some shut-eye. 

That meant forgoing the comfy-looking barracks and crawling through my rebirthing ceremony again so I could lie down in our real, no-frills dormitory. I was crashed down in a disturbed state of mind. Even with my 'Aya togetherness', I was still ramped up - uncomfortable inside my skin.

When it came to comfort levels, Miyako was my polar opposite. She was enamored with the place. By the time we went to bed, my little stealth-acrobat had already hinted to me, to Pamela and to Priya 'how wonderful it would be to be invited back...with a few baby ninjas in tow'. She was deadly serious too. 

As she snuggled in with me, she sighed and gave happy murmurs as she recounted the shrubs, boulders and pines she had hidden behind just traipsing around 'town' unseen. Sex was not in the offing, since I was already on my back with my bear cub snoozing on my chest. As with the past five days, real sleep didn't come. 

Getting both audio and video to shut down at the same time had proven impossible. I would 'think' things. A few of the 'playbacks' - I wouldn't call them memories - showed me numerous activities I had once partaken of. Others...well, I could play piano, eight-string guitar, pan flute (Go, Zamfir!) and the bagpipes. 

I didn't actually have any of those and had only touched a piano while taking two lessons that both ended up with us having sex on the floor. I'd also killed a man with said flute by ramming it into his throat. I had no idea where, or why he'd met that fate. The guy's blood kept pumping out one of the shafts for almost a minute...

Would the nightmares of a drug-induced sleep be that much worse than this waking tug of war with - Pamela called it an edimmu; an ancient spirit of the vengeful dead?

"Cáel...Daddy ... Fehér mén (Magyar for White Stallion), what is wrong?" Aya propped herself up with her elbows on my pectorals, sleepy and sincere.

"What do you think is wrong?" I asked. I put faith in her instincts where I was concerned.

"Your heartbeat is strong and powerful when it should be slow and steady. Your breath is deep when it should be shallow." She paused as she correlated the facts, washed them in her limited experience and found the answer. "You're constantly ready for battle at a second's notice."

Amazons are exceptionally trained fighters. Outside of being trained to kill, they were also taught to take care of themselves. The Host's stratagem for marching would have made the Zulu Nation proud - run with a full kit over rough terrain for twelve hours and deploy for a fight at the end of that jaunt. 'Run' didn't mean run like a marathon. 

It meant jogging and walking with short rest breaks to hydrate. That still equated with the average Amazon being expected to cover at least 80 kilometers a day, continuously for three, or four, days. 

SD? That same arch-crushing pace each and every day until they got where they needed to go. They wouldn't move any faster. It was kind of useless for a tiny fraction of the Host to cover a significant distance ahead of the rest. What the Security Detail needed was the ability to swarm around the Host, on the march and at rest, scouting, counter-scouting, raiding and distracting their foe. And they did this while taking into account a horse-culture that reached back three thousand years, but also included modern three-dimensional warfare. 

When it came to the arts of killing and seizing victory, the Host was always thoroughly up with the times. The tactics that led Alexander of Macedon to victory at Gaugamela had been exhibited by the Host during the battles before the Second Betrayal, four hundred years earlier. They had learned it from the Scythians of the Pontic steppe generations before.

Fix the center with part of your force (Amazons used their infantry) and roll over a chosen flank with your cavalry. Hannibal did it double-envelopment style a hundred years after Alexander, earning him martial immortality at Cannae. The hit and run the Mongols perfected was old hat for the Amazons way before Genghis Khan and his decedents created the largest land empire of all time.

The Amazons didn't invent any of those techniques. They were not master innovators. Their gift was to see something new and go 'we can do that and do it better', then making it so. The Host had no tanks, jet fighters or warships larger than multi-role frigates. If a serious modern army attacked the Host, they would disperse. They didn't possess a war industry. Slugging it out was anathema.

'You can rebuild a home. You cannot bring back the dead' was an Amazon axiom. Another was acknowledged to be of foreign origin: 'living enemies raise armies; dead ones fill graves'. The Host has light AFV's, helicopters of all stripes and transport aircraft as well as sea-craft capable of moving forces all over the globe.

Operating a multi-threat attack system and shooting a bow were all the same to them. Having trained and equipped themselves to a razor's edge didn't absolve them from trying to do it better next time. Amazons would die in battle; that was a given. Their task was to make every drop of Amazon blood spilt worth the cost. 

I didn't use those words while I poured out my turbulent mental meanderings to Aya.

"Cáel, destiny cuts both ways," my little imp bathed me in her insightful purity. "If we listen, it prepares us for what we must do. Destiny also places us in situations where we know what should be done. We do not hide behind such concepts as Fate, Dadda. 

We Amazons bow with respect to Destiny because she gives us the freedom of choice. We know what we must do but the voice, step and blow are ours to make. I would gladly be with you counting penguins in Terra del Fuego, no matter what Destiny wished for us. You are not a coward. Cáel, you save your fear for the lives of others. You get angry. You also forgive. 

Best of all, you boldly show others your heart and dare them to do the same. I recall the first time I witnessed other Amazons dealing with Aunt Katrina. She shown with radiance of purpose and the confidence of the Firsts. The others held her in reverence, as if she wasn't one of them, but something more. 

Before that, I had only seen her with my Mother. Those two would talk late into the night at my home. I heard Katrina worry and second-guess herself and I saw my Mother help her work through the hardest things that troubled my aunt. I asked Loraine about it. She told me Katrina had to act so self-assured and doubt-free so that the Amazons around her would grow braver and have the strength necessary to do the difficult tasks Katrina set before them.

You are the same way, but in a different direction," Aya teased me. "You show compassion and forgiveness to a people who need that lesson badly, Cáel." I gave her a big ole bear hug while she gave back muffled giggles. "On the road back home after the archery range that day, it came to me. No Amazon would have given themselves up to be butchered like you did."

"Mommy said it was because you were a crazy, outsider male. As the last of those words fell upon my ears, it occurred to me: 'why wouldn't we do what you did?' Why did that make you less of an Amazon to care more about us than we cared for ourselves? Wouldn't that make you better than us? I took my questions to Europa. 

She told me to keep such thoughts to myself because you were already in so much trouble. Making the elders think you were infecting me with your 'weakness' wouldn't help either of us."

"What do you think now?" I sighed happily.

"I think if I'm going to grow up to be a member of the Host, I'm going to be an Amazon just like you."

"I don't know how I'm going to take the facial hair," I mumbled after a few seconds. "The chest hair...let's not go there." My guffaws and Aya's snickers echoed.

"That was a nice bonding moment for you two," Charlotte rumbled softly. She stood watch near the front exit to our cave. 

"Now go to sleep, before I shoot the ceiling and drop some big rocks on your heads."

Aya figured out how to sleep with my altered biorhythms. Perhaps my 'fourth' cerebral pattern connected my peace of mind, warm memories and sense of safety to be an indicator to let me submerge into my closest facsimile to sleep since I passed out at the end of the Tadêfi/Sikia three-way.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 27



The steady dim luminescence of the cavern was being equaled by the pre-sunrise haze ricocheting through the front cut-back entrance. I had really fallen into a light asleep. I was also now really looking at a geared-up 'Rachel's sister'. She was frozen in mid-reach for Aya and me, her eyes casting around my surroundings.

Oh, I had my Glock in my hand, pointed at her. Everyone had a weapon out and pointed at the Amazon except Charlotte, who seemed surprised by the crisis, and Aya, who was just rousing from her slumber.

"Good morning, Genève," Aya yawned. "Is it reveille already?"

"Yes," Genève (aka Rachel's younger sister) answered carefully.

"Can anyone tell me why I'm pointing my pistol at this woman, where the hell I am, and when this howling tornado is going to pass by?" Virginia groaned. That was the siren whisper of a cranium-cracking hangover. 

My best guess was a cascading set of reflexes. Once one of our snoozing group's peripheral awareness picked up on Genève, the guns had come out, leading the rest to do the same.

"We rock," Pamela chortled. "Even the babe three-quarters toward some violent vomiting drew down and didn't engage."

On cue, Virginia gulped then held her breath. Her eyes started to bug out. Delilah tossed our tin bucket to Priya, who was closest to our suffering FBI gal. She steadied the bucket and helped pull back Virginia's hair as the dry heaves began. Poor Virginia had guzzled her booze before eating last night.

"Let's gopher breakfast," Delilah smirked. "Know what I mean?"

"Know what I mean?" Pamela winked.

"Nudge, nudge," I nudged a confused Miyako.

"Wink, wink," Delilah snorted.

"Follow me?" I giggled. Nothing like a Monty kick-start to make the morning worthwhile.

"Say no more," Pamela finished it off.

"The next one to speak above a whisper," Virginia rasped, "I'm going to put a bullet in." She punctuated that threat by waving her Glock about blindly while her face returned to the pail.

Pamela, Delilah (by silent consensus, she'd been sentenced to probationary renegade status) and I behaved, mainly because we liked to see the apprehension in those around us waiting for our abrupt lapse into irrational antics. The whole camp ate as one, which forced more than half of the 500 campers and 300 counselors to eat outside. That explained the dining hall's open setup. 

Everyone was able to see everyone else. For Amazons, personal recognition was important. It had been a cornerstone of their society since the European Diaspora in the 8th century CE. No maps existed with the location of the freeholds, so Amazons would wander around the general area until a patrolling Amazon found them. It usually took less than one week. 

The patrol would see at least one Amazon they recognized. With them would be younger, unknown Amazons. Five years down the road, it would be the younger ones recognizing each other...and on and on. It was not lost on me that I was made part of a social convention never before shared with a man, and it was done seamlessly.

It wasn't all love and kisses. I had my detractors, but so did Loraine. Europa had racked up even more, but she seemed to revel in the negative attention. Aya's situation was more confusing. She was in the pre-twelve crowd, yet had picked up four unofficial guardians. Zarana, Vaski and the rest of the quartet had thrown up a 'these tiny bitches are with us' vibe.

Being the smallest in their age group, they were protected by fourteen year olds. No pre-teen could match that. The counselors? They didn't care. Social bonding was the other half of the camp experience. You would make friends and enemies. It was natural. Promoting rivalries enhanced their competitive drives. This was not a 'now hug and make up' philosophy. 

If you lost, the Amazon credo was 'try harder next time'. It also was 'eat fast because in fifteen minutes we are leaving, finished or not'. Virginia was shanghaied into working with Loraine's group. Her task was to do Q&A for the girls soon to be exposed to the larger world ... while the troop went through their regular routine. Our Fed was going to be aching by the time this day turned to night.

Delilah was given a choice - a post-twelve group, or hand to hand instruction. At the mention of the second option, she sprang up, grasp arms with the Amazon making the offer and gave her a shit-eating grin.

"You line them up and I'll knock them down," she chuckled. 

Caprica wanted to give Pamela and Miyako the same choices as Delilah. Pamela 'suggested' that she'd like to 'go exploring' - just she and Miyako. The implication was that no matter what Caprica said, those two were going to do what they were going to do, aka the Lone Phaser and Photonto. They were stripping away my bodyguards and no one raised a stink about it.

(The Hunt)

For me, Rachel, Mona and Priya, it was javelina hunting time. Let's see. I had no outdoor hunting skills, unless you counted being 'twelve "Sam Adams" sheets to the wind, hammered and stalking a moose with a blunt, household tool' as experience. My first lesson was recognizing what javelina hoof prints looked like. Javelina basics came next. 

They roamed in packs/herds depending on what level of aggression they were feeling that day. Whichever Amazon said they were 'small', must have often confused rhinos with Shetland ponies too. Class number three was making sure I could shoot a bow. Unless personally in danger, or saving another Amazon's life, unsilenced weapons fire was not allowed. 

No one was sure how effective a tomahawk would be, so bows it was. Well, I could shoot a bow. Could I hit a javelina on the run? Let's say I was glad I was taking some power bars, jerky and fruit for lunch, and just leave it at that. Class four was horsemanship. I had ridden a horse a time or two...most likely two.

If you can make love on a beach, you can screw around in hay, unless you, or your partner, are allergic. I was shown how to approach my mare properly, make myself familiar to her, gently groom her and finally how to affix the blanket, tack and Asian saddle properly. When I finished my first attempt, my instructor punched me playfully.

"And you said you didn't know horses," she grinned. Even my mare was shooting me a 'you rock, buddy'. Since a two hour time slot had taken thirty-two minutes, we got an early start. Rachel and Mona tried, and failed, to hide their worry for me. As part of the Freddy Kruger bonus plan, being an unnatural-born horseman saved me a truckload of thigh pain.

When we headed out, it was a pleasant 69F/20.5C. The resident climatologist predicted a high of 95F/35C and so little humidity that we were guaranteed desiccation if we stood still long enough. Dot Ishara must have put in a good word for me with Inara the Huntress. Javelinas were rare this far north (north of what, Priya wouldn't say), so we were fortunate to find an extended family unit of ten within three hours of searching.

It was definitely an unfortunate day to be a collared peccary (that's gringo for javelina). Our hunting party caught them crossing a broad shallow wash with little cover; the closest being a clump of disruptive Gamble Oaks (a big bush, not a tree). The previously established plan was to dismount quietly when we drew close, Mona would then hold the horses and the rest of our party would stalk them into the scrub.

Our targets couldn't stand still and hide every time they felt a predator was close by. They had to eat and gain as much water from the desert flora as they could. If they were spooked, the peccaries would freeze. Their ears would search about for any suspicious noises. If they heard nothing for a minute or two, the herd returned to rooting and eating.

When they stopped, we stopped, or so the instructions went. I saw the six adults and four javelina-ettes, considered the suggested speed of my prey, the distance they had to cross to make the impenetrable brush, and the speed my mare could achieve in that time, then leaned forward on my mount while squeezing my knees.

I did this for no reason I initially understood, but my mare, Peppermint, got the message loud and clear. She was of the traditional Amazon breed, similar to the Turkish Akhal-Teke, built for long travels over the steppe and semi-arid plateaus of Central Asia. My mount had raced across this landscape for seven years now, so she knew what shrubbery she could push through and which she had to dodge around. 

Of greater importance at the moment, she also knew the orders I was transmitting by body language alone far better than I did. She didn't leap forward and give my designated dinner fare a warning. Instead she picked up her pace incrementally, fixing our destination and plotting her best course. The reins found themselves wrapped around my saddle horn with plenty of leeway. 

My bow was in my hand with an arrow notched before I could consciously replace intention with action. My archery tool of convenience was a heavy draw weight - sixty pounds - composite, recurve bow. It was old, lovingly maintained and probably dated back to the 1950's. I am a pretty big guy. The Amazon who had this bow crafted had to be damn scary... or even scarier. 

It was beautiful in its simplicity - absent of any ornamentation. I shifted my body to the left, tapped Peppermint and she picked up her pace. The javelinas squealed when they realized their danger. The race was on and they were much too far from any sanctuary. I loosed my first arrow, but missed. The mare picked up the pace, homing in on the large male peccary I had selected. I began to panic. What the hell was I doing? 

I could barely take a horse past a canter, hit anything accurately with a bow beyond twenty meters, and never attempted the two together. Yet here I was role-playing the exploits of my Magyar ancestors. Peppermint began losing direction. My thoughts were chaos. A sane man would have slowed his mount and let the others catch up. Our original plan could still work. 

We could surround the thicket and flush them out. 'There is always a current flowing through the chaos', filtered through my confusion 'if you know what to look for'. I am an idiot. I am a madman. I let go. It all worked. I didn't feel my mount beneath me, I felt her hoofs pushing through the thin layer of sand to the rock beneath. One - two - three - four legs in motion. I didn't breath - we breathed.

There was virtually no wind. The javelina was about to break to the right, racing for my off-side. I knew and so did my mare. The second arrow wasn't lethal, but it would be fatal. My third arrow went from quiver to hand flawlessly. Equally flawless was Peppermint pulling aside the collared peccary. We both sensed the animal's preparation to dodge left. 

I was tracking that fraction of a centimeter ahead when I loosed my bolt. He was dead before his snout plowed into the dirt two meters from safety. Peppermint's abrupt halt nearly tossed me off. She wasn't charging into the oaks no matter how hungry I was for pseudo-pig meat. As I turned in my saddle, searching for the next javelina, I had a fourth arrow notched. 

Priya was pumping her bow and whooping some sort of huntress's paean. Several meters back and to my left was a smaller, very dead peccary with an arrow's shaft barely visible behind one ear.

"How old were you when your people first taught you to ride?" she rode up and clapped me on the shoulder. 

"When we were briefed on you, they made it sound as if the Magyar had been 'civilized'." If there was any doubt, 'civilized' was a bad thing in the Amazon dictionary.

"It was all Peppermint," I evaded. "I was just along for the ride." Peppermint shook her head - flies.

"I will endeavor to take her hunting more often," Priya laughed. "Let's butcher our kills. We will both be hailed in the camp tonight. White Stallion indeed." She was trotting off to get her 'guest of honor' for tonight's festivities. That left Rachel and Mona to approach me alone.

"What was that all about?" Rachel whispered to me.

"I let go," I met her gaze. "I let go and everything worked out."

"Are you scared?" Mona asked. 'Fear' wasn't a dirty word to them. Cowardice was what mattered, not the fear behind it. Quite frankly, they found my fearlessness rather unsettling, along with sensual. No words came for a minute.

"That pig isn't going to skin itself," Mona noted.

"It is a peccary, not a pig. I've dissected a frog and a rat," I volunteered. "How hard can this be?" Rachel gave a depressive sigh. Mona laughed.

"How fresh were those kills?"

"The frog had been pickled in formaldehyde and the rat had been freeze-dried, so eating them wasn't really on my mind," I grinned. We dismounted. Rachel led our horses away to a safe distance. Horses aren't big fans of the smell of blood. Ours weren't going to run off, but being considerate of them was the proper thing to do.

"Wait!" Rachel cried out. Priya had been kneeling at her kill, she crouched and spun around. Mona did a quick head-snap to Rachel, then began scanning for threats. Rachel was finishing laying our bridles over some oak twigs as an indicator for the horses to stay put.

"This is your first kill," Rachel explained.

"Seriously?" Priya responded incredulously. Mona shook her head and chuckled.

"Do I get some kind of reward?" I asked the group.

"Yes," Rachel was smiling as she hurried my way.

"Is it an orgy?" I brightened up noticeably. 'Please, Dot Ishara. I haven't been irreverent for twenty-four hours now. Cut me some slack. I'm dying over here.'

"No," Rachel scolded me in the same way you scold a five year old who has attempted to mop the floor after spilling something. A negative layered in love and affection.

"Damn it!" I groused.

"Poor Cáel," Mona gave me some false sympathy. "How long has it been?" Priya rejoined us.

"How long has what been?" she inquired.

"Sex," I grumbled. 

"I last had sex yesterday morning with Miyako in that miserable excuse for a bathroom on board our plane."

"Ah...our sister suffers," Mona smirked. "How can you still stand in your deprived state?"

"Is that an invitation to do it laying down?" I hoped beyond hope.

"No Cáel," Rachel patted my head. "Forty-nine more days." I fell on my back, thankful that the goggles and my eyelids dampened the light of the deadly Orb.

"Forty-nine more days?" I wept. "I'm not going to make it."

"Huh...I thought the forty-nine days was for us?" Priya grappled with the injustice.

"It is," Rachel snickered. "But, while he craves the sensual touch of our bodies, he's around guardians all day long and Aya crawls onto his chest and sleeps there all night. He's got five more days here with no hope of release."

"What about the outsider women?" Priya was warming up to my torment.

"Why do you think I asked Caprica to separate them from him and wear them out with camp duties," Rachel unveiled her Mistressful plan.

"Mother-fucker," I sat back up. "Rachel, I thought you liked me."

"I do," she regarded me warmly. 

"I would like to enjoy you all to myself. As I said, I believe we have a First Kill Initiation Rite to perform." 

I highly recommend participating in this rite of passage. I imagined the psychological effect on the minds of thirteen or fourteen year old girls was stunning. First, they had me strip naked. So far, so good. 

We invoked a prayer to Inara in the Amazon tongue, thanking her for teaching our ancestors our hunting skills. Then Rachel, as the senior huntress, cut out the big pig's heart. But it gets better. I knelt with Mona standing on my left, Rachel before me and Priya to my right.

[OKH] "Welcome Sister," Rachel smiled down at me. "Receive your first blessing of blood."

I didn't know what to do.

[OKH] "Tilt your head up and open your mouth...wide," Mona said in a hushed voice. I trusted these women with my life. I also trusted them to freak me out whenever they could, which showed I was learning from my multitude of mistakes.

With both hands, Rachel extend forth the already dripping peccary heart over my upturned mouth and squeezed. Blood gushed forth. Half of it went down my throat. That left plenty of sanguinary aqua vitae to splash everything from my forehead, down my chest and onto my Johnson...hard as always. I absolutely needed serious psychiatric counseling.

Not vomiting from the taste of raw blood in my mouth - a minor victory. Not choking on said blood and spitting it back up because it was flowing straight down my throat - barely notable. Having Mona take my shirt and clean off my face so I could at least open my eyes...that had its upside. All the chicks around me looked terribly aroused.

"You stay," Rachel nodded my way. "The rest of us are going to search the shrubs for the rest of the javelina - no exceptions," she commanded, somewhat hoarse with sexual need. "Clean off your body with sand. Call us back once you are dressed."

"My shirt?" I asked as I held up the ensanguined shirt. 

For some reason, I felt the desert camouflage pattern was ruined.

"He can go shirtless," Priya suggested quickly. Mona and Rachel nodded. 'Showered in pig's blood'...I didn't recall seeing that on a Cosmo sex quiz. I shuddered to think whose sexual survey would...oh, right, it was on the Satan's Sluts' To-do List. 

Man, she was one freaky weirdo - Library Science major; you know the type. Considering my vast sexual experience, labeling someone 'freaky' and a 'weirdo' was saying something. Drying off with sand...when I got to my cock it dawned on me I had three women nearby and I hadn't tricked one of them to do that for me. I was slipping. 

The group was rather quiet after they came back and the butchering began. The meat went into our ponchos. That was why we brought them!! Duh. I had yet to see a single cloud with even the delusion it would become a raindrop one day. We had gathered the bundle when I made this 'cha-chick' noise...Peppermint shook her reins free and walked over to me. 

I was still working on 'what did I just say to a horse?' as I took my canteen out and kept letting her lick water out of my palm. Then I gave her the three peaches I had brought along as part of my lunch. Priya was visibly impressed. Mona and Rachel's silent exchange was getting downright gloomy. 

Ya know, when an avalanche begins and you have a snowboard, you should still seek some kind of shelter. Avalanches have buried thousands of morons who thought they could outrun one and were shown how painfully wrong they were. Having been trained to snowboard - I went to school in New Hampshire, if you recall - I knew better. 

That being said, I would jump on my snowboard and still try to outrun Mother Nature, that cranky primordial witch. I am that kind of mentally deficient individual. I was shooting the chaotic rapids of the turbulence that replaced rational thought in my noggin. I swung into the saddle like a man taught to ride before I could run. More Priya happiness. More dour looks from the SD.

If my 'me' me resented kayaking blindfolded in this recollected grey-matter white-water, it failed to file a protest. We returned to the road about a mile from camp, vigilant, but in high spirits. My ballistic vest was starting to chafe as Rachel pulled close to me.

"Would you use the damn reins," she hissed. Oh...those things. 

Peppermint and I had reached an understanding. A soft cough, or knee action, and she'd telepathically knew where and how fast I wanted her to go. In hindsight, I could truly appreciate the anxiety I was heaping on my gun buddies. I behaved after that. It didn't help. The second we made it to the stables, Priya began blabbing away. 

The scope of her titanic exaggerations made me out to be...supernatural. The essence of her retelling had me smiting an entelodont (aka the very extinct Hell Pig) with a lightning bolt from the cloudless sky, pre-cooking the beast. I then caused rich, buttery Tasso to rain down like Manna from above. Did that make me the Cajun Santa Claus? I wanted to find a hole to hide in. 




Life as a New Hire Ch. 27



I could so nail every single (over 17 year old) babe in this place and come back for seconds. But Noooo. Those sadistic monster were Muspelheim-bent on squashing my libido until I exploded. Death by sexual denial...I wondered how Virginia would put that in her report. Since I was covered in dried blood and sand, Caprica decided I had to take a shower. 

Funny, I thought we were rationing water (it had to be toted up from the springs). Funny, I could have sworn one of those tunnels had showers in it. Funny, I recalled a joking conversation last night about me using the communal showers while behaving. Funny, I found myself in the flimsiest cloth contraption every designed by capricious three year olds, showering outdoors. 

I had visions of M*A*S*H - the movie - except the shower curtain coming down was redundant. My 'screening' was made of cheese cloth that immediately began to disintegrate when it made contact with water...you know, like a shower. On the upside, they were helpful. By that I mean, Amazons were tripping over themselves to offer me things I hadn't even dreamed of asking for...or knew even existed.

Did you know there is a special stick you use for killing scorpions? It was completely different from the beetle spearing stick. I was supposed to eat the beetles. I ask that they point me to Anya Amasova (Barbara Bach - she was married to a Beetle). I could also eat the scorpions as long as I avoided the tip of the tail. Pamela had already cautioned me that some of their venom could be hallucinogenic. 

I reminded her I didn't need 'bug juice' to make me delusional. Instead of the Scorpions, I asked if I could have a go at Halestorm, since their lead singer was a young, hot American lass named Lzzy Hale from a place called Red Lion (how cool is that?), not some aging male Teutonic metal-head from Hannover. 

They assured me they had no idea what I was talking about. 'Trust, but verify'? Who in the fuck could I trust out here to verify anything? I was learning something new all the time...the symmetry of the Camp Amazons being helpful and the electron bomb in my head giving me helpful, unsolicited combat maneuvers wasn't lost on me. 

For all my fellow, sex-hungry males, don't let you giving a bad first impression, or a girl thinking little of you, make you give up the hunt. Once she has low expectations, it is far easier to impress her. Don't run straight for the Stanley Cup. She's put you in a Pee-Wee House League so aim for the 'Juvenile' (that's the 18 to 20 year olds) Roster.

That way, if you slip up later, you have left yourself room for improvement. Do that and she is enchanted with what she might have started off considering an 'average' performance. Girls like it when you 'work for it' in the same ways guys get off on their lady dressing up so that they have the best looking babe when the two of you enter the club, or party.

Caprica had assessed me to be a 'Ginormous pain in her ass' before I ever set foot in the desert. Her attitude had infected her command. That meant, every little step I made toward their healthy enjoyment of me treading in their environs was magnified by their original notion that I was a lowdown, bossy, vile step-above a satyr. I had some good fortune too. 

Sophia had been a big help, treating my gymnastics and comedy routine as amusing distractions instead of disrespectful behavior. The post-campfire song combat episode was a combination of Rachel and Pamela winning without throwing a blow. That helped me by the 'rule of four' - Amazons and their careful choice of companions. 

My worth was elevated by having clever cohorts in the same way the Fatal Squirts basked in Aya's company. To a horse-culture like the Amazons, my treating my mount as an equal in the hunt, seeing to her needs before my own and Peppermint's clear acceptance of my behavior was critically revealing. 

The Amazons held to the truism that a good measure of a person's basic human empathy was exhibited by how they treated their domesticated animals. Peppermint had been chosen for me because of her gentle disposition. That didn't explain how she melded with me when we chased down that javelina, how she came when I gave a gentle summons, and how we travelled as one.

A rider's posture was as important as the horse's gait. When the two meshed, you could cover many more kilometers between rest stops. Contrary to some modern feminists' way of thinking, being compared to an animal wasn't demeaning to these ladies. The Host religion had always been only a few grades advanced beyond shamanism/totemism. Horses?

The initial Amazon flight had been over the Caucasus and onto the Pontic Steppe. There their chariots were outmatched by the local Cimmerian peoples. It was the Scythians that came to their aid. The Scythians were constantly warring with the Cimmerians and their noblewomen rode into battle beside their men. 

The Scythian noblewomen 'adopted' the Amazons and the Amazons adopted the Scythian horse-born lifestyle. Internecine warfare wasn't what the miniature Host wanted. With the Scythians pushing west, the Cimmerians were displacing to the south to pillage the old Amazon homeland, eradicating their roots from history as well as destroying their erstwhile Hittite allies. 

The Amazons, with their new steeds and battle tactics, vacated the new Scythian lands, migrated to the Western Pannonian Plain and ended up with the Second Betrayal. Important to my tale was the growth of an unsophisticated horse-spirit worship into the veneration of the Celtic Horse-Goddess Epona and making it a pivotal part of Amazon spiritualism. 

Only in Africa did the bond waver. Asiatic horses sickened and died in the alien ecosystem, leaving those houses to revive the original Amazon 'Runner' style of combat. Lesson: horses and hunting...bravery, solidarity and sisterhood. They were finding excuses to set aside their old gender ideology, keep me in close proximity and not feeling on edge. 

I still wasn't one of the girls. For some reason, I continuously found myself shirtless - vest-less too if they could make up an excuse. Whiskers were a new sensation they had to sample. Poor Miyako, Virginia and Delilah were inundated with requests to explain the how's, why's and wherefores of my sexual potency. Miyako took to 'hiding in plain sight' the pestering got so unremitting. 

Virginia loudly proclaimed 'we had never had sex', only to become viewed as non-credible and selfish for her unwillingness to share. Delilah had already figured out she was in 'virgin' territory. Not 'virgin' as unsexed. No...'virgin', as in "Harlequin what?", "You mean 'Fifty Shades of Grey' isn't about color-coding?" 

Who was Lady Chatterley, was being a 'Lady' a power position and in what condition did she keep her lover? Delilah was a perverted nāgī in the Garden of Eden. Besides the plethora of porn imbedded in her memory, she also felt a feminine obligation to educate the erotically illiterate.

Night two - how to make a man give acceptable cunnilingus and why they should never settle for less.

Night three - fellatio with an advance course on what hoops to make your designated playmate jump through before rewarding him with some deep-throat action. Delilah was virtually the female 'me'; helpful and educational while being petty and selfish (except I was never petty.) 

Night four's agenda was training your male in proper breast play, identifying your pleasure points and ensuring he memorizes every last one of them. 

Night five - kissing? Man, was that ass-backward. 

I didn't worry overmuch. Aya and her Squirt squad hung out with Pamela and me. We scaled a chimney path to the mesa top - the Squirts and my first time. Pamela and my Miyako Monkey had made the journey earlier in the day. We watched our mesa's shadow reach out across the broad valley until it cloaked the closest mesa to the west. We might not have been overlooking the Painted Desert, but this was our own private portion of paradise. 

There was a bit of a traffic jam on the way down. The Amazons posted snipers along the top of the mesa at all times. Three watched over the camp while the other two took shelter in blinds that allowed them to watch the other approaches to our haven. Goddess Paranoia was alive and kicking.

Rachel proved true to her word. I was unable to wrangle a single moment of 'alone time' with Miyako, or Delilah. I was sure that Delilah would have jumped at the chance as this testosterone/estrogen cocktail was an incredible turn on for her. Pamela hinted that Miyako was biding her time.

(Midnight in the Grotto of Good and Evil)

We were in one of the underground pools at the bottom of the mesa. Our tour guide had informed us there were nine known caves and the complex had never been fully explored due to the remaining waterways being totally submerged. It was well past midnight, all my little friends had crashed out and I had wisely ditched my security after Miyako silently woke me up with her hand over my mouth. 

She pulled my hand to her lips and sucked deeply on two of my digits. I took this to be an indicator to me she was in dire need of loving. The grotto was my idea. I was inspired by my desire to see her naked and I couldn't risk a light source any place but underground. The tool shed and garage lacked a certain appeal. The fuel depot and septic tank were also ruled out.

[Nipponese] "Is the chaos in your mind still raging, Cáel?" Miyako asked with enough worry to doubly enhance her cuteness.

[Nipponese] "Which of the twenty-seven unexplained languages rolling around in my head do you want me to answer you in?" my toothy grin barely visible in the darkness.

Around half way through my sexual enlightenment in college, I had a revelation. The two guys I had gone road-tripping with took me to a bar in Portsmouth. I caught a woman looking us over. I already had my one-night stand lined up and she was looking most agreeable to my nefarious skullduggery (i.e. she had come with some other guy who preferred beer and darts with his buddies over keeping his attention on what mattered).

And then my awakening.

"Nah, she's too fat," he remarked. For one thing, my friend who said that could have stood to lose ten to fifteen kilograms himself. Next, we were dressed like middle class college kids - jeans, shirts that were most likely clean when we picked them out of the laundry basket, light jackets and the shoe thing.

This girl was dressed up for a good night out. Nice makeup, her clothing choices were - eh - not stunning, but this wasn't a stunning nightclub/bar. She looked fun, she smiled and yes, she was overweight. It dawned on me that not only did I not care - I never cared. I was a sexual omnivore and that meant any lady interested in sex with me was fine in my book.

So, I turned the tables on him.

"If you can score her number, I'll give you my watch," I dared him. The wristwatch was really nice ... one of those $500 handmade German ones. One of my Exs' great-granddad had swiped it off some Nazi pilot in World War II...and the same girl gave it to me twice. See, by accident, as I was exiting the (thankfully) first floor window of the Natural Sciences building, she threw a pitcher at me.

It had been sitting in an ornamental display case close by. I caught it, nodded to the flabbergasted female professor-type gawking at the semi-naked me, handed her the projectile, then fled like the responsibility-dodging coward that I was. It turned out that that bit of crockery was from the mid-1600's; the woman I'd surprised was the item's owner. 

That older lady wasn't a teacher. She was a major benefactor in charge of one of the school's larger endowments. Had it shattered, the Ex most likely would have been expelled. Instead...after watching me round the Chancellor's residence, the mature chick turned to the totally naked chick leaning out the window, still screaming at me.

"Is he on the track team?" she inquired as she handed the artifact back. They talked, agreed I was a miserable human being, a cad and had firmly developed buttocks. Well, I guess that makes me a pig with nice hams. The next day, I showed up to return the watch - it was just an excuse for one more round of sex. 

She explained the whole incident to me, took back the watch and sent me on my way. I hurried back to my dorm room, changed the sheets and picked up a bit. An hour later she was quietly knocking at my door. Rather epic make-up sex followed, she gave me the watch as a keepsake and I swore off intercourse in classrooms for two whole months. I'm a tower of resolute willpower, I know. 

Back at the bar, my buddy snorted, made some comment about her being obviously desperate and promised me he'd nail in her in one of the back rooms. They talked a little, he got 'friendly', then said something that really hurt the girl's feelings. She looked our way, steadied herself with a shot of bourbon and came over to me and my other bud.

"Did you tell that guy you would give him fifty bucks if I put a lipstick ring on his cock?" she confronted us.

"No, I told him you were too good for him and if he could get your phone number, I would give him this watch," I showed her the watch. The girl's face flashed back to 'cautiously curious'.

"Is it a nice watch?" she asked.

"It is a family heirloom. My great-grandpa brought it back from World War II after taking it off some high ranking kraut officer," I embellished. "I knew he didn't have a chance with you."

"Thanks," she grinned. "I agree. Let me get my sister and we can get a bite to eat." Sex.

Two guesses of who her sister was. If you guessed the girl I had been cultivating since I got there, you would be right. I am too damn lucky. Lads, the next time you blow a sure thing - blame me for sucking all the good karma away from you...and nine of your friends. I got a three-way. The guy I made the challenge to got his revenge. He bailed and I had to hitchhike back to school. You know, female truckers...oh, back to Miyako.

After stashing our clothing and weapons (all of mine anyway), I took a small fluorescent lantern and slipped into the water. Cold, but doable. Miyako joined me and then, by moonlight, we swam to the point where the guide had said we'd find a passage to a secluded grotto. Down we went. My motivation wasn't sex. 

That was coming no matter what. Seeing my Nipponese sweetie completely nude directed my course of action. Security protocols meant no lights after 11 p.m. My solution was to cut on a light that couldn't be seen from outside - the grotto. We felt our way along the rather wide submerged passage emerging well before air became an issue. I raised the lantern and cut it on.

Our tour guru had forgotten to mention that the algae patches along the sides and bottom as well as the quartz veins on the roof and walls reflected the light over what must have been an eight by ten meter cavern. Gorgeous. We glided to a shelf that met our needs, climbed up and shared a high school 'nervous virgin' moment. She broke the spell by pulling herself out of the water and, standing on her tippy-toes, touched one of the roof veins.

I drank in every inch of my little ninja babe's lithe, finely tuned body. Once she got over the newness of my voyeurism, she became playful, giving me a variety of silhouettes and poses. I stripped and returned the favor, which earned me a giggling fit. As I took a minute to sit down and stare into the tranquility of the still surface, she snuck up on me.

She said it all with her eyes. I tried to speak, but she put a forefinger to my lips. 'Hold me forever,' her eyes relayed her intentions. 'Love me for all eternity and think of no one else but me.' My elbows were locked, supporting my upper torso as she hovered over my lap. She was a lone feather falling upon the unyielding stone. 

With one hand behind her, she guided my cock into the wet, luxurious vice that was her cunt. We took it in increments. A sigh more at home in whispered Nirvana than on mortal tongues escaped her lips as she nestled all the way down. We didn't fuck. We rocked back and forth in a timid motion. 

As Miyako became accustomed to me once more, she would lean farther back with each pulse until an in and out rhythm was achieved. I took the occasion of her victory to pluck her left nipple into my mouth. Experience had taught me that was her more sensitive one. For several seconds, she fought it before knowledge caught up with instinct, then she loosed her passion.

After her vibrations subsided, she rested her body tightly against mine. I still impaled her and she was returning a fraction of that warmth.

[Nipponese] "Do you ever think you will find true love?" she whispered into my ear. I was drawing my finger through her damp hair as it trailed down her back.

[Nipponese] "As in love one over all others...no," I confided. "Even if I did, I could never admit it."

[Mandarin] "Why not?"

[French] "My life is a mad race through the forest and I don't know if I am a hound or the stag. I don't dare slow down until I know, and that is no way to repay such devotion."

[English] "When do you think the race will end for you?" she moaned softly.

[Nipponese] "I would really like to hold a child of mine. I don't regret my life's path up until now, yet I leave so very little of me behind if it ends soon," I muttered and then chuckled. "It used to be at the first sign of a pregnancy test, I would panic. The World turns very rapidly."

A minute passed as she went from warm to heatedly sensuous.

[Nipponese] "Less talk - more babies," she sacrificed her emotions for my well-being with her oh so naught Baby Metal band voice and questing fingers. How could I say 'no' to that?

[English] "I don't think it works that way," I teased.

[Nipponese] "Let's find out."

Sometime later, I was lying on my back, Miyako's body extended over mine so that not one precious inch of her touched the cool slick rock surface. Considering our position and location, it took me a bit longer to notice the intruder. I thought she was all kinds of strange. Twin memories and perception joined forces for once.

The woman moved through the water, yet she was only hip deep in a place I knew the bottom was three meters below. As she entered our isolated love nest, I noticed she had sent forth not a single ripple in the water. Memory filled in the rest. Her eyes, when her gaze met my own, had that void that comes from a tortured life punctuated by horrors you witness as well as ones you are forced to perform.

That was from "me". The electron swarm inside my mind provided another crucial piece of the puzzle. Utukku - phantoms...dead denied entrance to the Nether Realms, trapped between, until some sin had been lifted. The spirit gave me a look of shock, then turned and fled.

[Nipponese] "We are in danger," I hissed to Miyako before cutting off the lantern.

I dove in, angling for the tunnel we'd entered by. I was close enough not to jab my fingers into the stone surface as I clawed my way through. I didn't burst noisily to the surface on the other side. My approach was that of an alligator - slowly letting my head crest the surface so I could look around. No one was in evidence. Miyako was soundless at my side as we scramble to the hiding place of our gear.

Miyako held my hand back until she was sure our belongings hadn't been booby-trapped. I had to make quick judgment call: how time critical was this? I went the 'clothes and weapons' route.

"What is going on?" Miyako spoke quietly.

"Back there, I saw a feminine Asian ghost and the last time I witnessed such a pained, hopeless look, I was confronting the Seven Pillars," I told her. "Their slave had that same doomed stare."

"There are only two things here of value," Miyako made her assessment. "You and the children. You are far more accessible in New York City, so it must be the children." We pressed ourselves tightly to the cave sides when we heard the sound of footsteps coming our way. It was Charlotte, my minder for evening, with her bow notched and ready. 




Life as a New Hire Ch. 27



Firearms were kept to a minimum after hours, so bows were the order of the day - except for the snipers on the mesa top. My movements must have alerted her. I sat down and continued dressing.

"Charlotte, the Seven Pillars know we are here - they know the camp is here," I told her.

"How imminent is the threat?" Charlotte knelt beside me. I didn't know.

"They must be close, to be making a reconnaissance of the caves," Miyako said with tactical certainty.

"It was drawn to you, Charlotte - you were out of place, so this thing looked further. Otherwise these caves are irrelevant," she added. Miyako had the mindset of a seasoned professional spy.

"The cavern and spring have a night guardian," Charlotte countered. "I saw her when I was following you two here."

I had on my light bulletproof vest (no shirt), shorts (no underwear) and shoes (no sox).

"Let's go check on her to see if she's seen anything," I suggested/ordered. 

What I had assumed was some sort of bedroll brought by Miyako turned out to be a Ninja Survival pack. This allowed me to weapon up while she dressed up. The amount of time we were taking still ate at my nerves. Charlotte stopped me from heading out first, only to be stopped by Miyako. The ninja slipped out like a cool desert breeze. 

(Friend, Enemies and those In Between)

Thirty seconds later, a plastic BB bounced off my right shoulder. This time, I was leading Charlotte out. No one spoke. We couldn't see Miyako anyway, now dressed in her black pajamas and her face being reduced to just one slit for her eyes. We found the Amazon dead at her post. She was in a cunningly crafted blind not easily spotted from any direction. 

A quick sweep for 'gifts' left behind revealed nothing, but the corpse yielded plenty. She was shot multiple times with two separate flash and sound suppressed submachine guns. The woman had been alive when we came down and if there had been a firefight, Charlotte would have heard the shots, if not seen them; thus the suppression. The bullet holes suggested a small caliber weapon.

Miyako stepped up, held up three fingers. Every piece of the Amazon's gear was still on her. The attackers had shot up her phone box. Wireless communications were deemed too risky so all the outposts had buried land lines. At this point, a few seconds of extra effort stood between the Seven Pillars and success; that and the Goddess Paranoia. 

Had the assailants yanked up the box and cut the phone line, it would have been rendered useless. Instead, they shot up the device and moved on so that when Charlotte pulled out the cache of concealed goodies, including the spare phone box, we were back in business. As Charlotte got to work switching out the busted for the back-up, I studied our situation. 

Advanced teams taking out the perimeter guards, and most likely the snipers, didn't make much sense. The camp had 300 highly motivated Amazons. Cutting them off temporarily from their armory and vehicles didn't make any sense, since all Amazons were armed anyway. That left timing. But timing meant nothing if I didn't have the goal of their attack.

It came as a double-whammy. The Chinese place a high premium on family and the Seven Pillars had mastered a sadistic art form of turning young foreign women into their concubine/assassins. The Condotteiri would have slaughtered the entire camp. The Seven Pillars would want to kidnap the children, both as current bargaining chips and as future tools.

500 girls...400 could be kidnappable. The oldest would go down fighting with their sisters. How did you get 400 kids out of here? Helicopters? That would be a fuck load of helicopters taking out their team and the children. Besides, helicopters alone couldn't dig them out of their cave and cliff-face strongpoints. 

Desert - no waterways. That left the road. You couldn't use ATVs - not enough carrying capacity. The smart move would be to have tractor-trailers parked alongside the hard top state road. They would use smaller, more rugged trucks to ferry their captives out to the semis. That suggested some sort of 'cover/support' vehicles. 

2 1/2 ton trucks with weaponized Hummers providing fire support a la 'Blackhawk Down' and that meant the bridge and the BBQ pit. That objective would solve both of the Seven Pillars problems - moving the main assault group into close contact with the Amazons so the Amazons couldn't organize a defense, and removing their hostages in a prompt manner so they all could be gone before anyone else could react.

The Seven Pillars had to have secured the bridge and were mostly likely replacing the missing piers. It was the choke point of their battle plan. Worse for them, it wasn't part of a barricade where they could attrition the Amazon numbers with vehicle mounted heavy weapons. The ditch ran north-south, bow shaped with the arch to the west and was over a kilometer from the camp. 

The flanks were purposefully strewn with huge boulders that limited traffic to horse and motorcycles - no four-wheelers. They had to have control of the bridge, so that's where I went.

"Charlotte, I'm going to the bridge," I whispered before slipping out of the blind. I didn't order Miyako to follow me and I was sure Charlotte wanted strangle me for departing from her protective custody.

There are four kinds of fights, be they between armies, or individuals. Set-piece (sparring), assaults, ambushes and meeting engagements. I was about to be in the latter one. Meeting engagements happen when opposing forces are set on goals that unknowingly intersect one another. One of the most famous battles in US history - Gettysburg - was a meeting engagement.

I was using the bone-dry culvert because we feared the Seven Pillars had replaced our snipers. Miyako was...somewhere else. The enemy commandos used the same conduit to avoid having the remaining Amazon pickets spot them and raising the alarm. I had little doubt that the three men speedily moving south were heading for the grotto and its three inhabitants (Charlotte, Miyako and me). 

Not knowing that I could both see ghosts and guessed who its demonic masters were, they assumed we were still in the caverns. Me not knowing how this whole ghost-scout thing worked, I assumed that I had a chance of surprising them at the bridge if I moved fast enough. In a final prick of irony, they misinterpreted the role their snipers played in our engagement. 

They believed that their snipers would alert them if anyone moved on the bridge, ignoring the fact that the snipers didn't have a complete view of the gulch. I was only using the big ditch because I was afraid they had taken out the Amazon snipers and now had the high ground, which turned out to be true. Thank you, Goddess Paranoia.

My first tomahawk was in my left hand and my Glock-22 was in my right. My fear of snipers and the bend in the gully saved my life. We literally ran into each other, me and the first 7P soldier. His long barreled Type-05 was pointing past my left, his torso slammed into my pistol, ramming his front armored plate against it as it discharged. 

The proximity muffled the sound of the gunshot. The bullet failed to punch through his impressive body armor, but the resulting force knocked him down and out. Unfortunately, our shared momentum knocked my gun out of my grasp. My right hand went for tomahawk two. The flattened man's team mates swung their submachine guns my way. 

Halfway through his shift, a black dart flew out of the western darkness, past the first one, then snapped back. The action caused the hardy thread to wrap around the barrel of his weapon. I couldn't see her, but I knew it was Miyako with her flying wedge with the thread attached. The middle guy was startled and not moving as his training dictated. 

That allowed me to use him as a shield against the third guy. Right as 7P #2 decided to release his weapon, I kicked him hard into the confused man behind him. Neither man went down, but I still got what I wanted.

Guy number three's main weapon was trapped to his right as I rushed his left. Vainly he tried to get an arm up to defend himself. My right tomahawk shattered his forearm at the elbow joint. Only the body armor on the inside of the blow stopped the appendage from falling off. My rational mind was catching up with my instincts.

These men had on head-to-toe ballistic body suits with knee guards and solid ballistic inserts for the front and back of the torso. They had on some sort of dull, dark-grey respirator mask which was why the armless guy wasn't screaming his head off. They also had matte black circular ear protections and a type of high tech visor on the ears and eyes respectively.

The sole survivor was falling back, drawing his silenced pistol while trying to put some distance between us and find Miyako at the same time. Dummy, tomahawks are designed for throwing. A bit of Amazons indignation was behind that toss. His visor was cut in two as my anger drove the blade 6 cm/2+ inches into his skull.

I heard a sharp crack of a rock being shattered. Miyako's graceful flip landed her at my side. I ran to the last victim, put my foot on his chest and put my right hand on the tomahawk's shaft. The guy reached up and grabbed the thigh of the foot on his chest with both hands. Shit, the fucker wasn't dead! 

My left axe came down, struck his right temple and his skull came apart like a nitrogen frozen cantaloupe. I was sure I'd be downing a case, or ten, of something potently alcoholic to bury that visual for the rest of my life.

"They have definitely taken out our snipers," Miyako murmured. 

"You didn't have to do that. He was already dead. It was a nerve spasm." Nerve spasm? He GRABBED ME...okay, in the instant replay it was more of his arms flying up than an actual grab. The cracking rock was a near-miss of my tender, sensitive ninja athlete. The fuckers must pay. 

I wasn't expecting mercy to be the rule of the day, but still, Miyako was a ninja, not an Amazon. She was a bystander in our feud. In hindsight - that was a totally irrational line of thought. My closest ally pulled another of her wedges from somewhere and stabbed my first opponent in the throat three times. I hadn't killed him, so she did. I reassessed our situation. Our opponents knew we were up and about.

The final southern stretch to the bridge was eight to ten meters of open ground and the width grew to almost eight meters. I returned my axes and unslung my shotgun...I had loaded it with slugs instead of shot. I am a 'one shot/letting you know I'm pissed with you' kind of guy. By sticking to the eastern side of this gully, gulch, micro-canyon, we remained immune to the sniper fire from the top of the mesa. 

As the bad guys were coming to the conclusion that their three-man troop was being born away on black wings for a long-overdue, one-way trip to Diyu (Chinese Hell), they realized we still needed to be dealt with. Either the dying gasps alerted them, or they found a lack of radio contact disturbing, I'll never know. Miyako and me, we sprang upon them unprepared, but not surprised. 

As I had feared, they were shoring up the bridge with semi-portable hydraulic jacks. That segment of their plan had barely reached its conclusion so the seven battle-clad types didn't have their weapons up and ready to fire. There was an eighth guy who was looking right at us and two tortured ghosts flanked him. One was the female spirit I'd seen in the caves. 

That guy had on less physical protection than the others for reasons I couldn't fathom. It was a combination of oriental lacquered wood, metal, ballistic cloth and silk sleeves and pants. It appeared to allowed greater freedom of movement, but left his hands and head uncovered.

His bald Han head was covered with tattoos that screeched 'Wrong! Wrong! Wrong!' at me for no rational reason.

"Rènwù wánchéng. Qù," the man snapped. The ghost I hadn't seen before took off to the southwest. In that freeze frame instant, I could make out semi-translucent erosions in the ghosts' bodies. They were frayed around the edges. The best parallel I could draw was the way a sheet of fine paper starts to curl around the edges in that first second it catches fire.

Every second in that perverse continuation was a further mutilation of their essence. At the same time, the other seven guys went combat-unfriendly. Shooting the fanatic sorcerer glaring at me served my sense for the dramatic. I put a solid slug into the guy behind him...because he had his back to me and couldn't see it coming ... just like the SD ladies at the range taught me.

Naomi wouldn't clap me on the back for the hit. But she would have been disappointed had I shot someone else, or missed. Doing my duty was the minimal expectation. The 12 gauge projectile caught the man between the C2 and C3 vertebra. It didn't matter if the slug penetrated his fancy suit of body armor - the impact snapped his spine and severed his spinal column.

One down, seven to go. They were about to get their turn, but not before I put lead in one more. This one saw it coming. He was also kneeling and aiming my way. It hit him just below the knee-guard, snapping his tibia. I threw my back into a groove in the gully wall. It was more Aya-sized then muscle-bound me-sized. It had the benefit of being the best of a bad lot of choices.

Dry rock walls splintered, projecting fragments all around. A few stung, but I had bigger problems. Bad things often come in threes and tonight was no exception. First on the list didn't even involve me. A fist-shaped divot exploded from the wall of the gulch across from me - that sniper was shooting at Miyako who had moved to the east side of the gulley. 

My secondary concern was the team of killers walking their fire into my hiding place. Two or three were shooting at me so the others could edge around for a clear shot. And there wasn't a damn thing I could do to stop them. The tertiary issue was the chthonic ramblings of the Han warlock. 

Maybe it was my imagination, or maybe my shelter really was decaying at an accelerated rate. The rubble at my feet was inviting me to slip and fall into the open. Of course, that line of thinking was superstitious nonsense. Next time I was nearly killed I'd ask my goddess, Dot Ishara, about it.

A dozen firecrackers went off, the ditch flooded with a blinding light and I ran for it. I even picked up a bullet along the way. Sweet Mother Ishara! It was a searing burn along the back of my right thigh. I could hear all the pain receptors on my left side rejoicing that for once, it wasn't them squealing in pain.

The far/west side of the ditch had a better niche to hide in with the disadvantage being it would leave me open to sniper fire from the mesa. I'd asked Rachel what her best shot had been. She was my detail's sniper as well as its leader. 1.8 kilometers...then she'd promised me that any shot over 500 meters was pretty much a crap shoot.

Oh, I knew she was lying to me, but it was sweet of her to try. Now I was hoping an elite Seven Pillar sniper would be daunted by a one kilometer-distant target. I was feeling lucky. Actually I was feeling like I had no choice, but being so screwed I had to trust in luck would elicit more sympathy in the retelling. What I did know was that I had to get under the bridge and waiting for those guys to run out of bullets wasn't the solution.

I knelt down as low as I could go, leaned out and started firing. The Chinese gentlemen were nice enough to keep firing at my old hidey-hole, their muzzle flashes clearly visible in the wispy ninja smoke. It was more than I expected from a handful of tiny flash pellets. It was the flash that had saved me. The smoke was a bonus.

I fired at the target closest to the west wall. He'd have the best shot at Miyako when she showed herself. Quick-firing meant I had to aim for the center mass - their best protected region. I compensated by using the 'automatic' in my automatic shotgun. I switched to 'select fire'. Three slugs hammered him back. 

An advantage of moving to my new cover was I cut down the range between us to three meters. Was he alive? Most likely, but he was feeling like an exceptionally malicious Red Cap had performed a River Dance on his chest. The one next to that guy shifted toward my firing spot. He had a half second on me. I'd give him this much, he knew his shit.

His 'shit' meant he had expended his mag and was putting in a fresh one without missing a beat. Wiesława couldn't have been smoother, chambering that first round flawlessly. Several successive hits from his rounds walloped me back into the crevice even as I pulled the trigger. My ballistic vest had saved me, though I had a whole new set of bruises to explain to Rachel. 

I'd been aiming for the fuckers face mask, so odds were good that if my first shot missed, so had the other two. My magazine had two shots left. I went back to single shot and propelled myself out far enough to invite more punishment. I was having an awesome firefight, compared to the Seven Pillars hit-man I'd tried to kill. 

If you put three 12 gauge slugs into a person's jaw and throat at close range, their head really does pop off - shades of the shootout at the Medical Examiner's office. Of more immediate concern was Evil Han Wizard guy looking right at me. Before I could squeeze of a shot some sixth sense told me I was too late. 

The closest armored companion to his left had sprouted an arrow in the gap between his underarm and chest plate. All three of us were shocked. Not only were they both surprised to be dead, but the one arrow that had done them both in had come from the west - away from camp. As the two Chinese death-dealers harvested their own cursed reward, I saw the ruin of the sorcerer's left ear. 

That was correct - someone shot Mr. Evil Tattoo-head through this skull and punched into the second man's chest from the side, piercing his heart. Yikes! Wilhelmina Tell? Then I got a clear look at the long, obsidian shaft that seemed to suck in the light and at the fletching made with oily black feathers donated from a bird that had never truly lived.

It wasn't like there weren't dozens of people around willing to kill me. What was one more? I had a bridge to sabotage and that Chinese warlock had already sent the message, via the enslaved ghost, that the bridge was secured for their cause. There were two more men to kill, so off I went. There was another reminder I wasn't alone. 

One of the two remaining bad guys was being reacquainted with the gulch being three meters high. He was kicking out his life, hanging from the bridge while his companion was shooting into said pathway from below. I had unfinished business to take care of. The man I'd crippled was gamely bringing his QCW/Type-05 to bear on me, so I put a round into his face.

Mr. River Dance earned my final round into his respirator as he tried to sit up. Whoops; left my Glock behind and I doubted my .380 could cut the mustard against their body armor. Axes it was, proving I was an amateur. To prove they were professionals, the hanging man flipped out a blade, cut his noose and landed facing me. His remaining companion turned to face me as well.

My favorite ninja wasn't done yet. As the second man turned, Miyako stepped from behind one of the false pylons and kicked the gun out of his hands. The ex-hanging man had the choice of reaching for his dropped Type-05, thus letting me chop him in the back as he bent over or...draw a sword? 

I was a tad curious why he didn't draw his silenced pistol until I saw it lying next to his submachine toy. Go Miyako! He'd dropped his big gun when she snared him and she'd somehow knocked the pistol out of his hand when he went for that next - most likely to shoot her as she was securing his necktie to the bridge. The sword it was then.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 28



*This story plays fast and loose with Ancient History and Linguistics; be warned*

*Time is not your enemy any more than breathing and your heartbeat are inconvenient*

*Editing magic performed by KJ24 and Shyqash, plus contributions by the regular gang of brigands and neer-do-wells*

*There is a bit of mangling of the Iliad going on. I apologize to Homer and the countless singers before him who carried the Iliad down through the dark centuries until the Greeks figured out how writing works.*

*Since the Mycenaean Greeks still keep whining like little bitches, I have eased up on them for the nonce in order to give the Magyar mythology a credible mangling*




(A few hours later on the plane ride back)

"Luv, don't you have any male friends?" Delilah teased me. 

"Hey now," I protested tiredly, "You don't go to a Jaguar dealership and expect to drive out in a Hyundai."

"Is Virginia going to be okay?" Delilah inquired out of the blue. "You know this Javiera better than the rest of us."

In what was yet another bizarre twist, Rachel, Mona and Delilah had hugged Virginia good-bye with some emotion. Virginia and Delilah had attached themselves to Tiger Lily when the fighting broke out and stuck with her throughout the battle, firing at and being fired on by the Seven Pillars infiltrators. To the Amazons, the fight was not their guests', but they had volunteered to help anyway.

Pamela had a quick conversation with Priya. She'd agreed to keep an eye out on behalf of our FBI agent so that no jumpy Amazon mistook her for an enemy when the Americans arrived. I had a terse good-bye with Caprica – this was her disaster to deal with, victory or not. 

While my horniness had alerted her command when her pickets had failed, and while my mad dash for the bridge had been pivotal in turning the Seven Pillars surprise attack into their catastrophe, I was claiming credit for none of that. I blamed the spare phone at the guard post for Caprica's success. Miyako and I had been rescued by Shammy. Without Shammy, I would have died in a futile effort. 

My humility vexed Caprica...it was so non-male in her eyes. She also 'gave back' Shammuramat to me. The Assyrian Queen was far more comfortable fighting the war than fighting for the peace. 

As I hugged Virginia goodbye one last time, I asked her to hurry back to New York. I had no desire to explain this insanity to someone new. She came back with a nod, her emotions stifled by her official responsibility.

"Yes, she'll be fine," I reassured Delilah. "The very presence of Priya will calm the other Amazons. Caprica is far more 'open' than we could have hoped for. She is going to make an effort to work with Virginia. At least, as long as the Federal government doesn't criminalize the situation and lets the members of the Host go."

"What happens if they keep the Amazons and the children?" Delilah felt compelled to ask.

"It would make Murrah Building in Oklahoma City look like water damage in your beachfront shack," Pamela shook her head. "There are roughly 8,000 Amazons in North America and they won't differentiate between armed and unarmed government employees and their families."

"At what cost? You are already at war against two other forces," Delilah pointed out.

"At best, Amazons view themselves to be in a wary cease-fire with the rest of the World. The raw numbers of our enemy is rarely an issue. During the days of my active service, there were contingency plans for such an occurrence. We will move around in small groups. Amazons will rearm by overrunning rural law enforcement centers and recuperate in Canada and Mexico."

"With stockpiles of heavy weapons, we attack refineries, power stations, petrochemical storage facilities, railroad bridges and mine major waterways," Pamela continued. "We avoid major urban centers and military installations where you can react quickly and with great force. Instead, we eliminate Sheriff's departments and Highway Patrols out in the countryside.

Either the government lets us strangle their supply and energy infrastructure, or they come out after us. Out in rough terrain, in small patrols, we start picking you off. Once you are committed to the countryside, we double back and attack your air bases, destroying your warplanes and helicopters on the ground where they are vulnerable.

After six to eight months of this, the Host withdraws from the United States. We wait four or five years then attack again. We never ask for our children back, or the return of our imprisoned Amazons. No, we kill you, cut you and strike terror in your hearts until you cast them away like the toxins you have turned them into. That doesn't stop us. 

We'll keep attacking until the Council is satisfied – preferably when your government collapses. A military coup will do, as will a civil war," Pamela grinned.

"Do you think the US government appreciates that?" Delilah worried.

"I'm sure that Katrina gave Javiera all three options," I spoke.

"They can help us and we will repay that debt with interest. They can help us and then betray us, at which point the scenario Pamela layed out goes into effect. Or they can sit back and do nothing. I'm not terribly worried. We know Javiera does not have the authority to control the commanders now involved. We also have faith she wouldn't unleash forces that would fuck us over either. 

She'd rather refuse our request than risk pissing us off."

"As a male, do you really think they see you as one of them?" Miyako whispered from overhead. She'd taken the seat behind me on our private jet. I thought about the ledge of the Havenstone Commercial Investments building.

"I don't care," I reached up and stroked her hair and left ear.

"It is not my place to demand respect, or understanding," I related. "They WILL respect Ishara. Me having testicles is not an acceptable excuse, in my book, for failing to do so."

"If they don't?" her delicate fingers played with the top of my head.

"I will deal with the situation when it arises..." I huffed.

"...arises again," Pamela corrected me.

"I have no master plan, or set contingency. Knowing that most opponents will be tougher than me allows me to benefit from their underestimation. That outweighs what I suffer from me exaggerating their capabilities. See, I know I will fight no matter what, so it falls to me to fail or succeed."

"That barely made any sense whatsoever," Delilah snorted.

"It did to me," Aya piped up. "No sane person picks a fight with someone they can't beat. So, if they pick a fight with Cáel, they've already made one serious miscalculation."

"What would that be?" Shammy looked our way.

"That Cáel will ever give up – that he will ever admit defeat," Aya's intrepid gaze went her way.

"Dying is its own fatal confession," Shammuramat sneered.

"That is where you are wrong, Salmu Eretu..." Aya started to reply.

"Not even your youth forgives you for using that name. Call me..." Shammy said, dripping scorn. 

No name came forth.

"Sērkuēn?" I suggested. Shammy's furor lanced through me. "You gave that name up when you turned away from House Anat and justice." In the Amazon tongue it meant 'She who kills'. How prophetic.

"You will address me as Shammuramat," she grew positively thunderous.

"Shammuramat is dead. If we keep this up, I'm going to start calling you Shammy to your face and we both know I'll do that one too many times. Then you'll kill me and all of this was for naught," I put my own spin on fortune-telling.

"You've got that right," she sizzled.

"Fine, we shall call you... Sakuniyas," I suggested. Once more we were on the cusp of violence and once more, I had cut Shammy off at the knees and trundled her rage off to its poorly-locked cage. I swear, I could despoil a nunnery.

"Spring?" Rachel looked my way. Sakuniyas was the feminine version of the spring season. It signaled rebirth, a fresh start and shedding of the dour cloak of winter, aka Death. Know your chicks, figure out their desires and pander to them. There was the minor complication that she wanted to consummate her relationship with my Grandfather, not me, but I liked a challenge.

"Is that an acceptable compromise?" I asked, while already knowing the answer.

"Finding you useful brings me no pleasure," Shammy/Sakuniyas grumbled.

"Does it suffice?" I prodded.

"Yes...yes, damn you," the angry tone failed to reach her eyes. 

"I will let people call me Sakuniyas and answer to it when it suits me. Saku in case of battle, or other necessity," was her minimalist concession.

"I'm glad that's settled," I stood up. "Speaking of necessity – Miyako," I grabbed her left upper arm in a rough, manly fashion. "I'm going to ride you like the Pony Express."

"I have no idea what that means, but I think I like it," she beamed sexual kitten joy up at me. I am so truly, deeply and pathetically in need of professional psychiatric help.

"You know," Miyako snickered as I 'dragged' her to the restroom, "if we ever get buried in a coffin together, we'll already know how to make love." The space wasn't...actually, it was exceedingly cramped for dual occupancy. I can definitely recommend that every would-be Lothario have their own personal closet ninja. They are exquisite.

Sex with Miyako was snuggly warm (emotionally), tight (still) and close quarters. Miyako had trained thoroughly in the study of body movements and posture. She could determine what a person was thinking by observing body language to the point that eye contact had become superfluous. 

She had joked about the cramped confines of our sexually secluded spot yet it was this level of contact she found herself craving. In our post-coitus afterglow, she had her arms draped over my shoulders and her calves linked behind the small of my back. Her right cheek rested on my right shoulder while she made endearing, playful puffs on my bicep.

"I will resent giving you over to Jovanović," she purred.

"Who?" I retaliated by lifting her up so I could plant kisses on her jugular.

"Selena," Miyako inhaled deeply then exhaled with sensuous joy.

"I'm not happy with you leaving, much less with someone thinking you can be replaced," I grumbled.

"Is this why all those women get angry with you when they find out you are not theirs alone?" she giggled.

"I think my dishonesty was a key factor," I confessed.

"No, I mean that you make us feel so good before, during and after sex that the idea that you could have been giving us even more of your time...it makes us jealous," Miyako murmured.

I wasn't going to argue the point that I knew way more about women and romance than she did.

Knock, knock, knock...

"Hey, Mr. Dishonest," Tiger Lily teased me through the door. "Some of us really have to go."

"We are getting dressed," I groused. 

We did, Miyako looked exceptionally pleased and floated back to her seat. Charlotte had taken a middle seat so she could keep watch over both the cockpit and the rear of the plane. Rachel, Mona and Delilah had fallen asleep despite Miyako's and my voracious racket a few minutes earlier. 

Saku (the genocidal maniac formerly known as Shammuramat) had pulled her armor out of storage and was getting ready to clean that and her hand weapons. She had the rapt attention of Aya and her Squirts, until my arrival brought Aya my way.

"Did you have good 'Daddy Time'," Aya smiled at Miyako.

"I had Great Daddy time," Miyako brushed some hair off Aya's shoulder.

"She's pregnant," Saku informed the plane. The look she gave me was a whole new expression for me to categorize...as I imagined the sublime horror etched on my face was new as well. First, Saku's expression – it was the 'how dare you fuck that woman to multiple orgasms with my boyfriend's body'. 

Yep, I was pretty sure that was a new one. 

For my part, well the 'practical me' knew I was trying to make little Isharans. But to the Man-Dog-Pig in me, the one who always insisted on wearing condoms, fatherhood meant...THE END! 

I wasn't opposed to abortion. If she wanted one, I would back her up. If she didn't want to abort the pregnancy...well, time to 'Man-Up' and do the right thing. I absolutely knew it would end up in divorce, on grounds of my infidelity; but I'd try, damn it. I would do the best I could with my anemic, highly limited morality and unhealthy as well as unnatural sex drive. I would never miss a child support payment, or a minute of my visitation time.

Abortion, divorce and child support weren't going to be the issues of this union. I wanted to mock Saku's words, belittle her understanding of events and insinuate she was a cave-dwelling blockhead. The little excited squeeze that Miyako gave my hand trash-canned all of that.

"How do you know?" I tried to keep my panic from turning my calm voice into a squeak.

"I gave birth to three sons and two daughters," Saku studied me. "A mother knows these things." That, I didn't believe. Before I could take a deep, somewhat hurtful-to-Miyako, sigh of relief, she continued..."Also, having spent so much time among the dead, I am familiar with the sensation a fresh soul resonates with." I was Ahab, strapped to the Great White Whale. 

I put my best 'Oh Yay, we are going to have a Baby!' face on. I would have rather chewed splinters at that moment than hurt Miyako's feelings. I had become a sap as well as a cad. How the hell did that happen?

"Will our child be a girl...or a boy?" Miyako became very respectful and demure. 

Shammuramat studied Miyako for ten seconds then did the same to me.

"Daughter," she announced. What happened next caught us all flat-footed.

"We will name her Fushichou – Phoenix, after you, Sakuniyas," Miyako bowed to the Saku.

None of us were sure how Saku would take that. She had no immediate comeback either.

Eventually she gave a curt nod, then went back to her armor. Aya hugged Miyako, pressing her right ear against Miyako's belly – her very flat belly.

"What will her name be in our tongue?" Aya's precious eyes sought out an answer in mine. "Suwais-urāni," I wracked my mind for the proper word usage. 

"Technically that means 'Bird that burns to ash' since there is no Phoenix in the Old Kingdom Hittite mythology. Neither flame – 'tāru', or fire – 'agnish' – convey the proper mystical meaning.

"Did you just name your first kid Su?" Pamela snorted while feigning sleep.

"It is 'A Boy named Sue', you 'Ghost rider in the Sky'," I grinned. Pamela opened up one eye. A smile blossomed slowly from her lips as she stood up.

"Yippie yi Ohhhhh," she said as I hugged her.

"Yippie yi Yaaaaay," I replied. 

She wrapped up Aya and Miyako in a truly dysfunctional family moment.

"How did you end up knowing Johnny Cash?" Pamela regarded me proudly.

"Dad loved the man and his music. He wasn't a cowboy, but he was a lineman and that's some hard, lonely work," I explained.

"Cáel," Miyako tilted her head up and beamed me a serious dose of happiness. "Is this a happy moment?"

"It sure is," I grinned back.

"Can Mommy be next?" Aya hounded me relentlessly. I thumped her head.

"Ow," Aya pouted. "Should I take that to be a 'maybe'?"

"Why don't you go help Saku," I rechanneled her boundless energy. "Back in the day, every noble was attended to by squires who took care of their gear and served that noble as body servants. In turn, she taught them the art of war." Sakuniyas shot me a nasty look. 

Aya poked her head between Pamela and Miyako.

"That sounds like fun," she met Saku's glacial chill with a warm spring breeze.

"I don't want their help," she grumbled.

"It sounds like free labor," Pamela smirked.

"I said I don't want their help," Saku snarled.

"Okay," I rolled my eyes. "Aya – Fatal Squirts – attention!" They all looked at me. "I command you, as your Celestial Potentate Poobah, to stare at Sakuniyas until she gives you a task of a personal – to her – nature to do. Get at it." 

Four sets of precocious, will-eroding cuteness assaulted the Assyrian Queen, victor of a hundred battles and skirmishes.

"You are despicable," was Saku's chosen acidic barb.

"I second that motion," Pamela patted me on the back. "I keep finding myself being prouder and prouder of you, every day. Stop it," she teased me. 

None of those words dampened my mood, or my plan.

"How much longer is this flight going to take?" Saku groused.

"Four hours," I lied. It was way closer to two. 

To my way of thinking, it wasn't like she could get much angrier with me after she discovered my ruse. (I was wrong. She could and did. I'm an idiot.) Saku shook her head...and the task-mastering began. An hour and forty-five minutes later, the pilot alerted us that we were ten minutes from our final approach. Bits and pieces of her armor were all over the front seats and the floor of the exit-way space.

Diligent little fingers were still polishing and checking straps for signs of excessive wear or fabric fatigue. Their 'noble' hovered over them, pointing out the right way to do things and what they were doing wrong. Her congratulating them for doing a good job was rather non-Amazon of her, but the kids ate it up. 

With the ten minute warning still hanging in the air, my duplicity inspired Saku to finally flip out. I was pretty sure she didn't think through what she was doing. She simply drew her 22cm/9in blade and threw it at my face. Miyako caught it between her hands...an effortless clap...fuck.

"Four hours!" Saku howled at me. "You said we had four hours...I could have held them off for two!"

"Why do you think I lied to you?" I kept my amusement out of my tone because I was rather attached to the idea of my wagging tongue not being cut out of my mouth. 

It wasn't lost on us that every member of my SD team was alert and had blades drawn (firefights on planes in mid-flight is severely frowned upon) and were staring at her. I wanted to tell Rachel to 'stand down', except that would be unfair. I wasn't 100% sure Saku was done being furious with me. 

Telling Rachel to set aside her instincts was something I tried to keep a minimum, only to be used when it I was forced to take in the bigger picture.

"What is going on here?" Rachel asked with professional calm. So, I told her the truth...the real truth.

"Oh," Rachel grunted. She gave a motion for her team to rest easy then came my way.

"Knife," she held out a hand to Miyako who instantly gave it over, pommel first. Rachel deftly flipped it over so she was holding the razor sharp blade then smacked me on the top of my head – hard.

"Ow..." I whined. "That hurt."

"It was supposed to," Rachel glared. She walked down the aisle to Saku, returning her blade.

"Did you just smack him in the head?" Saku was trying to make sense of what she'd seen.

"Yes," Rachel nodded. 

"He screwed up and I impressed upon him to not do it again. As you might guess, this is a fairly regular occurrence with him. We all take wicked-fine pleasure in that part of his education."

"But you are his bodyguards ... is he really the Head of House Ishara, or was that a lie as well?" Saku was still confused by her prideful arrogance and how I was misplacing my own.

"Sakuniyas, Cáel was not raised in our culture. He has only been a member of the Host for a few weeks. This is not to belittle his impressive education," Pamela intervened. "Both he, and those of the House who know him, agree that the occasional physical chastisement works better than words alone."

"You could reward me with sex," I muttered. "Positive reinforcement..."

"Forty-six days, Bitch," Rachel growled.

"You are ferocious in battle – fearless and clever," Saku turned back to me. "Why do you put up with this constant degradation?"

"Degradation? I'm not insulted by what Rachel did or said," I retorted. "She is trying to teach me things I need to know if I'm going to survive. I respect her superior knowledge in her professional capacity," I continued. "I don't get upset when people tease, taunt, or challenge Cáel 'Wakko' Ishara...that's me, if you are confused. 




Life as a New Hire Ch. 28



I save my indignation for those who scorn Dot Ishara, Yakko Ishara and all members of House Ishara, past and present. Quite frankly, being disrespectful to me is actually rather difficult because I only care about the sensibilities of a handful of people."

"How can any warriors follow a leader into battle if that person has no pride and never shies away from shame? 

And besides, what is this Wakko/Dot/Yakko nonsense," Saku persisted. "Fatal Squirts, start assembling my armor." Her attention was split between me and her panoply.

"Hello," I snickered. "I'm a male Amazon. The fact that I haven't run for my life way before now is all the heroic background check anyone should require. 

Doubting my common sense actually makes sense. Doubting my courage, or loyalty is idiotic in too many ways to count. As for revealing the hallowed and revered enigmatic occult appellations of my House..." I started.

"Get him!" Tiger Lily showed some faux-outrage.

"Shit!" I cried out as Delilah, Tiger Lily and the rest of the SD swarmed me. Pamela and Miyako were of no help whatsoever. I could not express my joy more at the resulting physical abuse and humiliation aimed my way. I was tickled. Yes, my Kick-Ass, full-blood, natural born killers pinned me down and tickled me until I nearly peed on myself. 

In a very short period of time, we'd shared some really nerve-racking moments. Dad dying, my showdown with Hayden, being mugged by Carrig and the rest of the crap that rained down blow after blow once I came out of my coma. They had taken me numerous times to the hospital and had to sit back helplessly while I suffered. Yet, I refused to be repressed by circumstance. 

I fought for our people – OUR people now – both with the Earth & Sky in shared counsel and the Seven Pillars on the battlefield. Rachel hadn't given me word-one of a reprimand for leaving Charlotte to raise the alarm while I rushed into danger. I was an Amazon in her eyes. Charlotte could fix the phone. Miyako and I could not. The bridge had to be secured immediately. 

We couldn't wait on Charlotte. I didn't even act as if what I did was all that brave. Rachel knew me far better now; she wouldn't make that mistake. Had I been able to fix the phone, I would have stayed and sent Charlotte. Had the whole team been there and Rachel told me to stay, I would have stayed while they ran into the fight. 

No. The situation hadn't allowed that, so I had killed a number of men and been wounded. The backside of my right thigh had merely been grazed (which my normally mangled left side found to be grossly unfair.) That was another scar to add to my 'sexy'. I had fought in my own insane manner and was alive solely because Saku had decided to shoot another man instead of me.

Even after I knew who she was, I had allied with her and charged the rear of the enemy troop convoy. In the after-battle analysis, they weren't sure how many Seven Pillar Special Forces I had killed, both in the gulch and when I annihilated the back section of the attack column...and took my impromptu flying lesson. 

Credit for destroying the bridge jacks, thus making the BBQ a carnal cookout featuring Chinese 'Long-Pig', was still hanging out there as well. Rachel and company were still pissed with me despite all that. Why? On a purely personal level, they realized they would miss me if I got myself killed. They were not supposed to feel that way about their protectee. 

I certainly wasn't their first protective detail ... though they were starting to believe I'd be their last. No, I had done everything right – by going into harm's way – and they were furious with the universe for placing us in that situation. Since the universe wasn't offering itself up to be punished, it fell on me to soak up their pique. 

Delilah was simply picking on me because she could get away with it this time.

"You are all embarrassments," Saku remarked bitterly once my screams began breathless pleas for mercy. "The Host has fallen a great way since my day." What a killjoy. I finally got my breath back.

[Akkadian] "And the Queen on the floor of the Royal chambers, pushing around toy chariots with her two eldest sons and a child-playmate, was the height of decorum."

Well, if looks could kill...I would have never made my nineteenth birthday, so Saku's glare was just another walk in the park.

[Akkadian] "That was a personal moment with my family. It was a VERY private moment," she sizzled.

[Akkadian] "My Mother's line is...it is what it is. My Father was murdered. My Father's sister and I were never close. These people are my family and my choice of kin."

"English," Pamela chided us.

"Having no family to call your own, you welcome so many that 'family' has no meaning," Saku angrily mocked my words. 

There was a hushed moment then everyone but the three other Squirts and Saku started laughing. The three kids didn't know me either.

"By what metric do you measure family by?" I snickered.

"On his third day on the job, Fehér mén (Aya's pet name for me – White Stallion in the Magyar tongue – it is complicated) threw his body over my sisters and me to protect us," Aya said.

"He spared my foster-sister when she gravely insulted him," Mona volunteered. "He didn't know me. The Amazon, Constanza, would have died by anyone else's hand – except his. You may look down your nose at his mercy. As you do so, consider that it is his mercy that allows you to feel that way about him – and us right now." Whoa...

"I have never seen him fight out of pride, or take joy in any combat," Rachel stared down Saku. "My only fear is that Cáel will get himself killed saving my life, or the life of any member of my team. He knows it is wrong. He knows I will be absolutely furious with him...and he accepts that. He is like no other Amazon I have ever known.

We have limits. We follow orders. At our best, we put the welfare of the Host over our own survival. Not Ishara – Wakko Ishara. He follows the dictates of his house and those are to seek mercy and peace where appropriate. He is like no Amazon I have ever known, and I have zero doubt that he is one of the best Amazons I will ever know," she finished with a chuckle.

"I'm speaking my mind, aren't I?" she asked me.

"Afraid so...sorry about that," I apologized for corrupting her social skills.

"Saku, your mistake is that you confuse his caring about you and caring about your opinion of him," Pamela finished things up.

"Sakuniyas, I will work to honor my pledge to you. I will try to keep you alive because you can be a powerful ally of the Host, but also because it is the right thing to do," I enlightened her. "That doesn't make you all that special though. Personally I think you are a horrible, bitter bitch and lousy company for any non-masochist.

I'm going to help you in the same way I'm going to help everyone else here. This is despite me feeling confident that not a single Amazon on this planet has a living father. They've never had brothers because their mothers murdered them. Your crappy attitude doesn't influence me one way, or the other. You are a horrible fucking person born to a horrible fucking race – my race, the Amazon Host."

"You kill your fathers and sons," Delilah mumbled as she looked from face to face, finding not a single bit of denial, or shame. "I thought that was so much Greek bull's buttocks."

"Nope," Aya shrugged. "Before I left for camp, Momma told me they put Daddy – my other Daddy – down when I was two." Kind of like Old Yeller, or Benji. "His name was Paul Twelve."

Delilah looked at me with downright worrisome eyes.

"Yeah, I figured that out on day two on-the- job," I relayed to her. "For the past 2500 years, every male child of the Host has been tossed off a cliff to his death, or left out in the wilds for predators to devour. Every male they have kidnapped has been under a death sentence from the moment of capture.

They tried to genetically breed their captive male population with Amazon females, but something went wrong. The males began passing on genetic defects that poisoned the race. In response, they have begun recruiting men, such as myself, and exterminating their old male breeding populace.

Initially, I didn't run because I was sure they would hunt me down and kill me. Later...later I came to like enough of the Host to decide that knowing what was going on meant I couldn't let it slide. I couldn't leave this issue for someone else to tackle. I know I'm facing long odds, yet I'll never succeed if I don't try," I wrapped up my little my 'Cáel's Amazon Primer' lecture.

"Okay...okay, Cáel you are blood nuts...and hellishly brave. The rest of you are just hellish...killing your own kin as infants or if they get too old," Delilah sputtered. "That's plain wrong."

"I had sons," Saku stated. "They grew into fine, strong warriors. My daughters married into the nobility."

"Delilah, we don't expect you to understand our culture. Twice in our people's history, men have tried to eliminate our society, stealing our homes and property, and enslaving our children and sisters. We let down our guard once, and that nearly destroyed us...except we now have Cáel and a better understanding of what happened that second time," Tiger Lily educated Delilah.

"It turned out that not all males betrayed us. No...when we needed them the most, they sacrificed themselves for the welfare of our people and we repaid that loyalty with anger and barbarism. That is a burden we have carried all these centuries without understanding it. Only within the past month has the real truth about the Second Betrayal become known.

Many of us are now re-evaluating the dictates of our faith concerning men and sons. After all, Cael is the descendent of Amazons of a First House – dating back to the Trojan Wars. He has been welcomed by his ancestors and his goddess, Dot Ishara," she completed.

"What is it with the Dot, Wakko and..."

"Everyone buckle up," the pilot announced over the intercom. "We are on our final approach." Saku and the Squirts had her armor in some kind of order, we buckled up and let the plane coast on down to earth.

"Delilah and Cáel, since our 'vacation' was cut short, we haven't been able to bring your personal effects back from Africa yet," Rachel told us.

"Also, there will be four of Javiera's people meeting us in the hangar," she added. "We have been told to view them as non-hostiles." 

"Oh joy," Pamela muttered then, "There is nothing to worry about folks."

"What? Me worry?" I goofy grinned her way.

(Governments, horrendous enemies and ruthlessly evil friends)

Four SUVs waited for us in the wide-open hangar. No sooner had the pilot given us the 'green light', than Rachel released the door/stairs mechanism and Charlotte began her decent. We had the camp FN P-90's, not the older Havenstone UMP 40's, so that was the weapon whose sights she was looking down as her eyes scanned the room. Five people. Four SUVs.

Rachel went next with me right behind her. My SD's precautions turned our guests from a rather annoyed-casual to alert-angry. Standing with our two standard Mercedes GL550's was Wiesława of House Živa. A sole guardian indicated to me that an ass-kicking was in the offing elsewhere. The Golden Mare – St. Marie was gathering the Havenstone Security Detail for some purpose, which meant she could only spare one more warrior for me.

I was fine with that. Not only did I feel bad about denying her the four ladies I had, I knew we were going into this global conflict outnumbered and out-financed. The Seven Pillars had gotten at least one blow in by striking at the Amazon summer camp. I had every reason to believe other unexpected attacks had occurred all across the globe. 

In the closest black Tahoe SUV (didn't anyone use sedans anymore?) were two men in modestly tailored, off-the-rack suits. One with buzz-cut gray-white hair, was closer to fifty than forty, was as tall as me (a bit over six feet/1.9 meters) and close to my weight and build. That guy was pissed off.

His partner was smaller (5ft 10in/1.78m) and lighter. He was also cocky with that 'I know more than you schmucks' air about him. Beside the farther SUV, a Range Rover (black, of course...I swore in that moment that if I ever got to have my own fleet of House Ishara SUV's, I was going with baby blue, just to fuck with people's heads), were two other men ... one cultured and the other a bad-ass.

I didn't call him a bad-ass because he looked like a bad-ass. I called him a bad-ass because he carried himself like a member of the SD, except he was a guy – casually lethal. His buddy was the man he was body-guarding and, as I said, cultured looking. This second man was a thinker, a plotter and someone who had graduated from mostly taking orders to being the one issuing them. He was really unhappy.

As my foot hit the ground, the older/younger pair came toward me.

"Mr. Nyilas," the younger man said. Early thirties, doing well and thinking he should be doing even better. "I'm Senior Field Officer George Cresky and this is Special Agent Vincent Loire. Can we have a few minutes of your time?" They flashed their badges as we closed the distance.

Right. That was not a request. I wasn't born yesterday and I was becoming well-schooled in Amazon paranoia.

"Neat...well done. Can I see those ID's again?" I came back with a healthy dose of distrust.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Nyilas?" the 'smooth-talker' grinned.

"Yeah," I didn't bother smiling anymore. "He's FBI. You were a bit too quick concealing your junk." SA Loire was getting irate with the son of a bitch too. Cresky showed me his badge slowly this time. What the fuck was a Senior Field Officer?

"Delilah, who the hell is on a Senior Field Officer of a Joint Terrorism Taskforce?" I asked the person most in the know.

"If that's all he's showing, he's CIA," Delilah smirked.

"Ms. Fairchild," the cultured man spoke in a commanding tone and a crisp British accent. "A moment please." Someday somebody is going to ask me an honest question and I'm not going to know what to do. Delilah headed that way. Pamela tagged along.

"Miss, this is a private matter," the lead Brit stated calmly.

"I know," Pamela answered in a decidedly mild tone I had come to associate with violence. "Young man, you are not as smart as you think you are – shut your yap until I'm finished," she pointed a finger his way. "SAS? SBS? Royal Marines? Commando?" she turned to the bodyguard.

"Royal Marines then SRR," he responded with that same 'easy' voice, with a heavier Brit timbre.

"Are you and I going to have any problems?" she politely inquired of the bodyguard in a way I'd rarely heard her speak. She liked him right off the bat.

"I certainly hope not," he gave Pamela a slight, respectful nod.

"Thank you," she returned the respectful nodded. "Back you to you, buddy," she turned on the 'leader'. "What you have planned isn't going to happen. You are going to play nice, debrief Delilah here and then let her leave with us. Do not get into a pissy turf war with me, or the powers-that-be who sent Delilah our way."

"Or?" the man's gaze was a blatant provocation.

"I don't know your name, but I know you are MI-6 station chief for the UK's UN mission. I can name a half-dozen people who will give me your name. I don't give a rat's ass about extraterritoriality. You have a wedding band. 

You don't wear it all the time, so I'm betting you are divorced, not that it matters. Pity about your kids because once I've killed you – and hopefully only incapacitated your friend here – I'm going to kill rest of your family." She pointed a finger into his face once more. "Let me finish. 

Now, if you even think for a second this is bullshit, I've put a .308 bullet through the chest of a nine month old child who was in the wrong place at the wrong time so I could end the life of the man I was sent to kill. He thought it would make an effective human shield. Ask your buddy if I'm that kind of bitch." 

The leader looked to his bodyguard who remained 'at ease', which spoke volumes in and of itself.

"That is not how..." the leader tried to keep pace.

"Hold on," Pamela interrupted him. "I didn't come over to have a conversation. I came over to deliver this warning and to repay a debt. 

I like Delilah – as a fellow oxygen-breather, not as a friend – and I have a soft spot for Welshmen too stupid to avoid government service...and I never make a hollow threat, or an empty pledge. Rees Meadows – SAS: AB NEG, 29875604, Meadows, RA, CE," Pamela recited. "He is buried under the name Martin Angelov in a tomb adjacent to the British Military section of the Orlandodvtsi Cemetery in Sofia, Bulgaria. He went missing in 1978."

"You are finally getting around to telling us this now?" the leader grumbled.

"Honestly, talking AT you is as pleasant as passing a kidney stone. It was in the middle of the Cold War and none of us should have been behind the Iron Curtain, much less cancelling out a whole nest of very nasty human beings. 

Rees, me and two of his friends went on a killing spree that lasted sixty-nine days. From the Crimea to Sofia, we racked up eighty-seven dead, most of them belonging to the Bulgarian CSS and the Soviet Union's KGB First and Second Directorates, including the #2 Cock-sucker at the CSS's Foreign Intelligence Directorate."

The bodyguard gave an abbreviated snort over that assessment. The rest of them were showing Pamela a great deal more attention.

"So, Sir Isaac Newton, what was I supposed to do? Knock on the door of some consulate, or embassy and say 'hey, I have intimate knowledge of the British safe houses throughout Eastern Europe.

I know all this because I was co-opted by British agents on a black-bag operation that was part of an illegal, covert British government directive to take retributive actions against citizens and agents of multiple rather-hostile powers on their home soil...'" Pamela smirked. "Yes, I could have stepped forward then, but I chose to stay alive instead."

"That was thirty-six years ago," he protested.

"What part of me confessing to 87 unsolved murders has escaped you? You, the Russians, Moldavians, Romanians and Bulgarians might be interested in what a trained assassin was doing in the Soviet Union in the first place and how I ended up coming across your lads. 

There was also the small matter of the two men who got out before the end, and the belief I have that they kept their words and never mentioned my involvement with them. Besides, I retired before the Berlin Wall fell. By that time, I wanted out of that lifestyle. And I couldn't trust you numbskulls to leave me well enough alone. Case in point," she gave a nod to Delilah.

"Thank you," the bodyguard acknowledged Pamela's bestowal of the gift of 'knowing'.

Somewhere in England a family had lost a son, brother, maybe even a father – a grandfather by now. He may have been declared MIA. More likely he had been listed as 'killed during a training accident' with a closed casket/empty casket funeral.

"Colour Sergeant Charles 'Chaz' Tomorrow, Ma'am," he made his introductions.

"Pamela Pile, assassin (retired) and knife-fighting trainer. The man over...well, the only man with us is Cáel, my grandson. The rest of the ladies are all unattached, if you are interested," Pamela shook the man's hand. Chaz arched one eyebrow in curiosity. "If a guy doesn't have a minimum of five scars, they aren't a man in these girls' estimation. 

None of this 'everyone gets a trophy' rubbish in this crowd," Pamela explained.

"Mr. Tomorrow," the Brit leader said in a clipped tone. "Business. Ms. Faircloth, let's sit down and talk." The got into their Land Rover and shut the doors. Back to my drama.

"Hi, what can I do for the CIA?" I addressed my two man welcome wagon.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 28



"Officer Cresky is here as an observer," Vincent clarified. "We have come to touch base with you. Our taskforce has been told you are being cooperative and we would like to keep it that way."

"We were also informed that you had a woman of Japanese extraction with your party," George cut in. I looked over my shoulder then to the left and right.

"She doesn't seem to be around," I shrugged.

"Is she still on the plane?" George made to move past me and see for himself. Moving toward the plane was okay. Moving toward the four Fatal Squirts and Saku was not. Since Sakuniyas hadn't exhibited the slightest desire to inform people before she bifurcated them, I grabbed his elbow.

"Slow down, Tex," I cautioned him. He was looking at my hand as if he was planning out the series of martial arts moves he was going to break me down with. Very Jason Bourne of him.

"We were told she was a...ninja," FBI Vincent said with deep-seated scorn. I let go of George.

"She is. Why do you want to talk with her?" I asked Vincent.

"It is part of the ongoing investigation," he evaded. Tiger Lily had used the interruption to sheppard our youths along while Saku covered the movement with her body. George headed for the plane.

"Well, with an explanation like that, I'm sure she will show when she wants to, Vincent," I sighed.

"She is not part of Havenstone's deal with Javiera. You can be a dick like George there, or you can trust me enough to believe I'm not going to burn any bridges with Special Agent Maddox and FP Castello," I stated. "Do understand, I am not your snitch, CI (confidential informer), or some scumbag turning State's Evidence to save his own skin. 

My people do not view themselves to be American citizens, or citizens of any other recognized nation. They do not consider their numerous infractions of your laws to be criminal and they aren't afraid of you. A few of us started this morning shooting people, setting them on fire and watching them burn to death. 

Now, before you make your final mistake of this meeting, think about what I've told you," I advised him. He dissected my words and body posture with the skills of a professional cop.

"I would like to talk to your ninja – Ms. Miyako Yuki," he requested. Miyako had a last name and it meant – Snow. Game of Thrones?

"Yes?" Miyako responded. I gulped. Vincent nearly leapt away in surprise.

"You ARE a ninja," he croaked.

Miyako looked up at me, gave me a wickedly little grin then shared it with Vincent.

"I confess to nothing," she beamed.

"Ms. Yuki, last night at approximately 8:30 pm Tokyo time, a series of violent criminal actions happened in five of Japanese largest cities," Vincent told her. 

"Ms. Love thinks you can provide some insight into how that might tie into the attack in Arizona," he tried to incite a reaction from Miyako and failed.

"I do not know," she replied in a flat voice. "I will contact some of my associates and give you what information I am allowed to share. Cáel, we need to go now."

"Rachel!" I got her attention. "We need to leave now. Vincent..." I kept going.

"Agent Loire, please," he stated firmly.

"Whatever. I'm inviting you to come along with me. Leave George the keys. He gives me the creeps," I finished.

"What...there she is," George was coming back down the jet's stairs. "We need to..." he clued in on the rapidly loading Amazons.

"You can't dictate the progress of this investigation," Loire said.

"I'm not...Vincent. I go on a first name basis. I am not telling you how to do your job," I tried again. "I'm allowing you to sit in as the intelligence arrives and not get it watered down by some third party. 

My people don't trust you and yours, but I trust Javiera and Virginia – Agent Maddox. I told you that we do not consider ourselves Americans. We are part of a tribal identity, culture and faith that predates the United States, the Judeo-Christian tradition and the Code of Hammurabi. I understand your disbelief and that doesn't matter. We believe it and that DOES matter.

Got it? Good. That's your concept to juggle. Now, my side's problem is wondering how the US government let roughly 350 heavily armed Special Forces from the People's Republic of China into your country so they could attack us this morning, threatening 500 of our children. Your team dropped the ball and my side isn't feeling the love. 

Still, we are honoring our deal to accommodate Javiera's investigative team. If you want to sit in the lobby at Havenstone, be my guest. By making the offer, I've met my good faith obligation to her."

"Why not George here?" Vincent thumbed toward a rather smug George who somehow thought he held the key pieces in this dilemma. "He's our foreign intelligence expert."

"Delilah, shit going down in Japan," Pamela tapped in the Range Rover's driver side window.

"Okay," I sighed. "First off, we need guys like you – honest, fair-minded law enforcement. I can get a 'George' whenever I want one. We don't need him."

"Hey now," George protested. "You don't know me. The taskforce is working on multiple foreign terrorist angles."

"Thanks for lying to us, George," I glared.

"I'm not lying," he protested.

"Then you are a delusional idiot, neck deep in shit and wondering if someone is ever going to cut the lights on," I countered. Mushroom, or lying professional espionage prick... 

"I don't think you are an idiot. I think you employ mercenaries and some of your former subcontractors showed up on my Dad's doorstep a few weeks back," I seared him with my banked rage. How did I know this? I didn't. I was testing him to see what his reaction would be. 

"Hold that protest one second. Vincent, you come downstairs one night and find me fucking your oldest daughter on your favorite lounger. What do you do?"

His look said it all.

"George, I fuck your wife, make a video and it gets posted to the cloud. What do you do?" I redirected the blow. 

His outrage was a second too slow and Vincent caught that. Vincent? Vincent raised his daughter right. I was screwing her on his favorite chair, he'd politely, but firmly, invite me to another room and explain the facts of life if I planned to keep seeing his 'little girl'. Summary; the man trusted his offspring. A good father was what Havenstone needed. 

George – his wife cheating would never be his fault and he'd immediately go into cost analysis mode...over his wife's infidelity. Fuck-nut. He was also playing the same game with me, my father's death and how those dead men tracked back to the CIA. I didn't believe they were with 'The Agency'. I believed they were hired killers the CIA used for 'unpleasant' tasks and it was those crimes they were interested in keeping secret.

"How do you know I have daughters?" Vincent turned his investigator's mind back to me.

"A calculated karmic guess, Vincent. You would seriously rock as a father of young ladies," I grinned. "As a man who regularly preys on the feminine gender, I can get a good sense on the quality of their parenting in the first thirty seconds. I'm rarely wrong."

"And my wife?" George mocked me. "The snap judgment of a barfly?"

"Eh...I don't have a clue. I wanted to piss you off and I did," I sneered.

"Special Agent Loire," George snapped back. "Let's go." Vincent tossed him the keys.

"Officer Cresky," I'll be keeping a close eye on our targets and keep in regular contact."

George was smart enough to not argue. We had all taken our seats in the GL-550s when Delilah came sprinting over. The drive into Manhattan was done with a bevy of phone calls. Miyako made some clearly coded message drops. Rachel touched base with Elsa while Delilah had a 'chat' with someone on the other side of the Atlantic.

I missed Aya, but she, as war leader, had to stick with the rest of the Fatal Squirts and that put her in car #2, headed for Caitlyn's townhouse. Aya's mom had sent away three kids of varying heights and got four tiny mites back. I continued to get more than I deserved. I called Hana Sulkanen to set up another meeting with the Earth & Sky.

I got a lot more.

"Hana, this is Cáel Nyilas," I started. "I know I haven't even begun to pay you back for your earlier favor...and I need another one. I need a back-channel meeting with that person at the Kazakhstan consulate."

"Cáel, I need to know why," she answered. I sensed something behind that request.

"This morning, a few hundred men of most likely Han ethnicity tried to kill me," I confessed. "I'm worried that the conflict will spill over to my Kazak friends' way." Long pause.

"Cáel, our family business is heavily invested in oil and natural gas exploration throughout Central Asia," she worried over every word.

"Twenty hours ago we lost contact with our petrochemical operations in Karamay, Xinjiang Uyghur Autonomous Region, PRC (People's Republic of China)," she made the leap into critical trust. "That is $10.75 billion worth of energy to the PRC and we can't raise anybody at our regional offices or any of the sites. I just got off the phone with our director of operations in Pavlodar, Kazakhstan.

He reported air raid sirens, rolling blackouts and police activity all over the city. Cáel, that's the largest refinery in Central Asia, bar none. This is bad – B-A-D and not only for our corporate interests, but the entire regional economy. Also, do you know where Aksai Chin is? Well, according to their new website they've declared the creation of an independent provisional government, free of Chinese control, and are asking Pakistan for recognition.

Does any of that make sense to you?"

"Where is Aksai Chin?" I mumbled. 

"I had to look it up to," Hana sighed. "It is PRC territory and its southwest of Tibet, but that area is somewhat in disputed by Pakistan and India. It is a desolate land in the ass-end of nowhere."

(Historical sidebar)

Everyone knows the first blow struck against the United States in World War Two was at Pearl Harbor on December 7th 1941. What few recall, is that it was NOT the surprise airstrike that began its attack at 7:48 a.m. While the aerial assault had already been launched when the casus belli occurred, there was a theatrical trailer before the feature presentation. 

A US destroyer engaged and destroyed a Japanese min-sub while it attempted to enter the military harbor at Pearl at 6:37 a.m., more than an hour earlier. At that point, the US was at war, yet telegrams weren't swarming to and from the US War and Navy Departments. 

Those government agencies weren't sounding the clarion call to all bases in the Pacific and the Far East to man the defenses, sally forth with the warships (the Pacific Fleet and Asiatic squadron) and launching the US Army Air Corp to find and engage the forces of the Empire of Japan (EoJ).

There were multiple reasons for this, but the crucial one was that the US thought it had more time. Contingency plans for fighting the EoJ and the Imperial Japanese Navy (IJN) were, with minor tweaking, three years old. Since there was no US war plan for a first strike on Pearl Harbor, no one in the US Navy understood how fucked they were about to get. 

In contrast, the Japanese plans weren't finalized until a month before the attack, so they knew precisely what they had to do. A final bit cultural bias correction (for Americans) is that, for the IJN, Pearl Harbor wasn't even the pivotal move. In the long term, the destruction of Battleship Row at Pearl meant little. 

US striking power was going to be pretty minuscule for the first six months of the war, no matter what the outcome of the surprise attack turned out to be. The Pacific War was a sideshow. The Japanese 'must win' was on the other side of the world in places like Malaysia, Indonesia, Philippines and Burma. Those regions had the raw materials Japan needed.

The Philippines was a US possession with its own sad, underequipped and inadequate military. No matter what happened at Pearl Harbor, the forces in the Philippines weren't going to get an ounce of aid from the mainland. The Japanese had to take the Philippines because it sat astride the main sea route from the riches of Southeast Asia to the Japanese Home Islands.

The US had been mobilizing for a year and had been spoiling for a war with Japan for six months, yet it had nothing ready to send to the Philippines. They kept thinking they had more time. The British Empire had already been fighting in Europe for two years and they also knew a war with the Empire of Japan was coming, yet they kept putting off the needed reinforcements and force modernizations in their possessions, too. They also thought they had more time. 

The Dutch...eh, you couldn't blame the Dutch for their pathetic effort. Their homeland had been overrun by Nazi Germany in 1940, so they had nothing to spare for their greatest colonial possession (yes, in 1941, tiny, little Holland owned the massive Dutch East Indies, aka Indonesia).

How does this relate to the tale? The Seven Pillars was playing the role of Imperial Japan, the Amazons were the US Pacific Fleet, the 7 Ninja Families were in the position of the Philippines, the Black Lotus were British South East Asia and the prize was the Earth & Sky/Dutch East Indies. 

(End of sidebar)

The 9 Clans, the Amazons and the Earth & Sky ALL knew they were going to have to fight the Seven Pillars in their near future. The 9 Clan expected the Seven Pillars to drop like a ton of bricks on their ancient enemies, the Black Lotus, in Southeast Asia, even though the key financial support for the Black Lotus was the Ninja Clans and their influence in Japan. 

In retrospect, knocking off the ninja first made perfect sense. Without the Ninja, the Black Lotus would be in dire financial straits. Duh. The Amazons had thirty years to make a contingency for the Seven Pillars launching a preemptive attack. So many of their children gathered in one spot was a perfect target...and no Amazon planners had seen it coming.

The Amazons, despite their global air/sea-lift capability, thought their bases in the western North America were safe. Even then, they were thinking global military strategy, not diplomatic blackmail. Attacking the camp gave no serious strategic advantage. Even wiping out the entire complex wouldn't noticeably weaken the Amazon's war-fighting capability.

The Seven Pillars' plan was to buy time by holding the children hostage. Either the Amazons would make concessions, or at least negotiate until the 7P could cripple the 9 Clans and the Earth & Sky before the Amazons launched their expected counterstroke. Even the actual calamity at Summer Camp wasn't a terrible blow to their stratagem. 

The Amazons were seen as a peripheral nuisance, even though they had freeholds in both Indonesia and Australia. They were bit players in East Asia. The Seven Pillars knew the Amazons would be coming for them eventually. They had gambled with the lives of a few hundred of their elite troops and lost. 

The failure of that mission was an inconvenience, not a catastrophe. In Asia, tens of thousands of Seven Pillar operatives, troops and pawns sprang into action and the ninja and Earth & Sky were in deep kimchi. So, if the Seven Pillars was in the midst of their Asian pseudo-secret blitzkrieg, what the fuck was going on in Aksai Chin? 

It made no sense to everyone in the loop except me...and less than ten other Amazons. Historically, both Germany and Japan started their global ambitions in the mid-twentieth century with surprise attacks and both succumbed because they failed to appreciate the qualities of their enemies.

Only one quality mattered at this critical juncture. It was the military genius leading the Earth & Sky. Yeah, he barely had a week on the job. It turned out to not really matter. The E&S knew precisely who'd they had to beat in order to succeed – the Seven Pillars. For sixty years, they'd been ramping up their resources and refining their plans.

I invented a saying I was going to tell Temujin if we ever met; 'don't dance on the graves of your enemies until you know the strength of their children'. More on that later.

"Hana, set up the meeting and give me the number of whomever runs security over there," I requested. 

"I'll do what I can to set up the meeting, but let me handle the security matters," she counter-offered. "Jormo won't like you having any part of our procedures."

"I understand that and his low opinion of me. I also know that this is a case of who you know being more valuable than what you know," I pleaded. I really owed Hana. 

"These people feel obligated to me on a personal level. It will be more than business if I make the request, I promise you," I urged her. Pause.

"Deal. Keep me informed Cáel," she requested before hanging up. Vincent looked me over.

"Did you just conspire with some sort of corporate entity to interfere in the internal security of one, or more foreign countries?" he quizzed me. My answer caught him off-guard.

"Yes, I did. Please don't arrest me," I met his gaze. My open confession floored him.

"That's why you didn't want George here," he nodded. I wanted to do summersaults into a handstand. A bright man who wasn't an insult to all masculine virtues. This guy had to meet Felix, who I imagined was starting to feel awful lonely at work.

"Cáel, when we get Virginia back, we keep him," Pamela grinned. Our minds were in synch. "Are you divorced?" she asked Vincent. He mulled over his obligation to reply.

"Widower," he confided. "Medical malpractice three years ago."

"My sympathies," she nodded. "I hope you are ready to get back in the dating pool."

"Excuse me?" he sounded perturbed. "My private life is none of your business."

"Giving you a bodyguard that you look relaxed around is our business," Rachel caught on.

"I'm a federal agent. I don't need a bodyguard," he countered.

"I will make you a deal," Pamela smirked. 

"Pick any person in this car. If you can take them in a combination of unarmed, armed, pistol and long-arms, I'll shut up about the bodyguard," Pamela challenged him. I saw it in his eyes. He was about to call me out. Instead he gave Rachel and Pamela a second look.

"You," he indicated Pamela. He hadn't chosen the oldest. 

He had picked the one the rest of us deferred to. Good man.

"Very well," Pamela shook his hand.

"Hey Agrippina Minor, do you even remember what bullets and guns are used for?" I teased her.

"Suck it up, Caligula," she responded. 

"I throw bullets to trip up my enemies up so I can catch them and beat them with the butt of my Barrett boom-stick," she mocked me.

"Bruce Campbell is an under-appreciated comedic talent," Vincent offered.

"Quick," Delilah reached forward from the rear seat. "Do you have any daughters of dating age?"

"Oh...I suggest you show us your daughters so we keep them safe from Cáel," Rachel clued in. "He's a great male, but requires constant supervision."

"Male?" Vincent looked at me.

"Yeah. When you and I roll into Havenstone, we'll double the male population in the building," I informed him.

"Brian is gone," Wiesława enlightened me.

"Oh..." I grunted. Brian's attitude had made his departure inevitable, that sanctimonious bastard.

"Gone?" Vincent prodded me. He was right to suspect nefarious 'goings on'.

"Wiesława, where did Brian get stationed?" I asked.

"Sydney...Austria...no, Australia...the continent," she worked through her imperfect English.

"Yeah, I recall Brian having a thing for didgeridoos," I mused. A minute later.

"He's been kidnapped and smuggled to another country, hasn't he?" Vincent asked the group.

No one said anything.

"Thank you for not lying to me," he remarked. "Was he a bad person?" Trick question.

"Vincent, if you want, we can arrange a phone call so you can talk to the guy," I offered. "I think he's currently a locust-wrangler in the Outback."




Life as a New Hire Ch. 28



"Outback? Nah..." he though it over. "I have the utmost confidence in your ability to scare the hell out of person who is utterly at your mercy, so what would be the point?"

"Your daughters?" Delilah redirected us to a more (?) pleasant topic. Vincent pulled out his phone, punched a few buttons then handed it to...me?

"My oldest is Tabitha, she's 21 – she is a senior at Georgetown. Gretchen is 19 and hitch-hiking across the country and Mariyah is 18 and joining the Navy in November."

"Good God!" I exclaimed. "How many guys have you murdered?" They ranged from above average attractive to Yum-yummy!

"None. All my girls know Tae Kwon Do and have qualified with a 9mm at the FBI training course," he proudly informed me. Vincent was in the wrong crowd.

"9's?" Rachel murmured. "I find it to be underpowered in both penetration and armor defeating capabilities. Go with a 10mm, or a .40 S&W." Poor Vince.

"But they are girls," he explained. Blink. Another pause.

"Oh, you were serious about that?" Rachel snorted. 

"Vincent, welcome to 'No Man's Land'," I sighed.

"If she," he looked to the quiet Miyako, "is a ninja...then it wasn't amazons, it really is Amazons with a capital 'A'. Damn it. Are you going to try to relieve me of my firearm?"

"Nope. Javiera has vouched for you," I informed him.

"As you might guess, terms like 'your word' carry a great deal of weight in these surroundings. By walking inside Havenstone, you are agreeing to present yourself honestly. If something comes up and you feel the need to back out, let us know and we'll escort you down to the closest FBI office," I advised. "All we ask is that you don't freak out." 

"If you had only one word to describe your Father, what would it be?" Vincent turned the tables on me. I hesitated. Dad...one word?

"I..." I started to apologize.

"There is nothing wrong with that, Mr. Nyilas," he approved.

"The children of single parents either use one word like 'strong', or 'brave' when the parent fulfilled only one role. If they cover both roles, one word never suffices," Vincent explained.

"My Dad was nothing like me. He only dated three women in his life and the last one he married," I said. 

"He never understood my sexual predilections, but he never criticized me over them either."

"Thankfully, I don't have that problem," Vincent shut down that venue. The discussion petered out after that. This wasn't overly odd since neither Miyako, Delilah nor I had our personal phones. I didn't want to contact Timothy and Odette until I had a better handle on my itinerary.

We parked in the garage, but had to stop by the Security Desk so that our people could get some quick basics on Special Agent Loire. It was my Wilma Draper's shift. She seemed overjoyed to see me too.

"Sister," she addressed me. Oh really now?

"When?" I inquired, already pleased with the revelation.

"I was inducted two mornings ago," she kept grinning.

"Welcome, sister," we clasped arms. "Keep your eyes open and pass the word around. I'm looking for a hundred 'Runners' for a highly dangerous combat command. 

It won't be my unit, the leader is an evil, sadistic monster and the odds of survival aren't great."

"This is another path to induction?" Wilma asked. The last time Wilma and I talked, she was polite yet deferential. Now she was comfortably one of the team – Team Ishara – and her words carried the same weight as any other full-blood.

"I can't promise that," I shook my head. "If the survivors succeed in the missions set before them and the Council lifts the death sentence on their leader, then yes, it does."

"I can think of twenty off the bat who will step forward," Wilma's smile grew feral.

"Have them spend every extra minute training," I cautioned. "She has threatened to kill those who fail the audition."

"Ouch...they'll still try," she nodded. "Take care, Wakko Ishara." I had people waiting on me. 

I gave the 4-1-1 on Vincent. He was escorted to the range so they could get the basics of his firearms. 

It would take him roughly ten minutes. Felicité of the SD and Selena stepped off one of the elevators as we made our way there. Miyako joined them silently and off they went – off premises for a private chat. There was no official alliance between the 9 Clans and the Amazon, so their business was still theirs. 

I found it interesting that Felicite's warding behavior switched to Miyako when they departed. I held off on making the 'she's got my baby on board' for the moment. Rachel dismissed her team. I dismissed Rachel with the explanation that I had Wiesława if something went wrong. She gave me a terse nod before joining her ladies.

I had shed my crowd down to myself, Saku, Delilah, Wiesława and Pamela by the time I entered the Executive Services floor. Tuesday was winding down, so the office space was mostly empty. Close to Katrina's office were Arwen and two ladies who had to be Epona House Guard. Things had changed in so many ways. Arwen was cloaking her emotions.

"Fehér mén," one called out, smiling. The other one snorted in amusement. Word about Aya and I had gotten out. I decided to roll with it. 'White Stallion' could be the name House Epona chose to address me by. Arwen didn't share in the relaxing moment.

"Only you," she tried to separate me from my entourage.

"How is Katrina doing?" I asked. Arwen wasn't stupid. 

"She is fine and these are her orders," she held her ground.

"Please note that I have heard her orders and am ignoring them," I joked as I stepped around her. I'm not sure what made Arwen think she could withstand Saku.

Without breaking her stride, Sakuniyas's palms slammed into the bottoms of Arwen's ribcage, heaving her up and way. Arwen hit the wall next to Katrina's office door – about 20cm off the ground when she impacted. The two House Guard went 'guns-ready'. Saku had already followed me through the door. Delilah slipped past Arwen and that left Pamela.

"If you three want to chase Shammuramat, Queen of Assyria and a fighter oath-bound to House Ishara into Katrina's office, be my guest," Pamela snorted. Wiesława was behaving by staying outside. They didn't rush past Pamela. "Thought so. Arwen, you get in Cáel's way again, he might stop giving a crap that you are House Epona's apprentice and beat you like the little tramp you are."

"You speak for Ishara now?" Arwen grumbled.

"No," Pamela chuckled. "You didn't use Aya's pet name for him. Why? See, when Cáel gets around to asking himself that question, he's doing to decide that you think Aya is a weakling and a failure. 

Before you spout off with your pie-hole about Aya being Epona's problem, know that she is Cáel's daughter in every way that counts. Katrina accepts that, so your opinion does not matter...and if it should someday matter – it still won't matter. Since you know nothing of the bond between a daughter and her father, I'm giving you a cautionary note: tread carefully around Wakko Ishara.

Given the least provocation, he will break you, Katrina be damned," Pamela stated.

"House Epona is far larger than House Ishara. If he wishes a feud, so be it," Arwen snorted.

"Ah yes," Pamela happily mocked her. "That was the level of personal courage I was looking for in you, Arwen. Thank you for living down to my expectations."

Inside, there was a different issue to deal with. Katrina, Elsa, Buffy, Daphne and an Amazon who had a vague familiarity to another, dead Amazon I knew. Elsa rested her ass on the left corner of Katrina's desk. Katrina was in her chair, Daphne and Buffy were on the sofa – standing when I entered, and the stranger was in the closest chair to Elsa.

"Konstantina of House Šauška – Cáel, Head of House Ishara," Katrina made the introductions. She stood up and we clasped arms. 

"Nice to meet you," I greeted her in a neutral tone. She did the same. I turned my attention to Buffy and Daphne, clasping arms before folding them into hugs.

Buffy didn't like Konstantina ,which spelled trouble. She was also angry with Katrina, which was really dangerous.

"Okay, what's going on?" I regarded Katrina and Elsa.

"If you recall, Troika Šauška ran our Diplomatic Section," Katrina began.

"Since St. Marie killed her, we have been waiting for a new one to be appointed," she continued. I had the feeling Chief of the Diplomatic Corpse wasn't a huge prestige position in the Host. "St. Marie has appointed you for the post." Fuck.

"You are not the universal choice for the position," Katrina explained. "Others have suggested Konstantina for the position," she clarified.

"House Šauška supports your nomination," Konstantina stressed. I hadn't been 'nominated'.

"And House Epona does NOT," Buffy growled. Two central elements were colliding. First off, St. Marie, the Golden Mare, had given me a job to do. Key word: given. I had no honorable choice in the matter.

"The majority of houses do not support such a young House as Ishara to assume this role during the current crisis," Katrina defended herself. "Cáel is too new to Havenstone." New, old – that was irrelevant. There would be no interview process followed by a Senate/Council confirmation hearing. St. Marie was being honest in that she wanted me to do this job. There was no reason I knew of for her to do otherwise. 

The second element was that women are past mistresses of not saying what they mean. They can hurt, confuse, or protect you in oblique ways. It took me a millisecond to piece the girl-politics together. I figured Katrina was playing softball with me so my poor brain wouldn't strain itself. St. Marie was my ally. Katrina was being publically contrary to me; thus when I took the post as she wanted me to do, I wouldn't be seen as being in her corner.

House Šauška pretended to support me so they would look good when I backed down – which I was bound to do if Katrina didn't support me (idiots). I had run off to summer camp instead of standing before the Council. They thought I was irresponsible, which I was, and didn't really care about the Amazon political system, which was wrong – I did care. That was why I sent Buffy in my place.

"How many people are in this department/unit/corps maybe?" I asked Konstantina. She weighed her words carefully and guessed wrong.

"There are only nine of us," she went for making the group sound insignificant. "Troika was the tenth. You would be her replacement."

"Cool," I grinned at Konstantina, "I accept St. Marie's appointment. When can I get a situational briefing?"

"What? You want to do this? Why?" Konstantina stood and took a step my way.

"I'm not going to be a smart Alec, despite your deception," I sighed. "The truth is Troika's group hasn't done shit to safeguard the Host."

"You know nothing of what we have been doing?" Konstantina snapped.

"Nice. I need to meet with a member of the Earth & Sky," I grumbled. "Do it – now!"

"That is not what..." she got out.

"Then you are not doing your jobs," I interrupted.

"Our JOB was to analyze the data provided by Executive Services for patterns concerning Secret Societies and third parties," Konstantina countered.

"You are kidding..." I responded. Silence. "Who initiates diplomatic contact?"

"The High Priestess, or now St. Marie," she replied. Implied was that all of this crisis was my fault.

"But, if they did ask, what would you do?" I kept at her.

"That is why you don't need to be Chief Diplomat of the Host. You don't know what needs to be done," Konstantina gloated.

"Oh...okay...I need six of your people for extended assignments," I said after taking a deep breath.

"I do not believe I can work with you," Konstantina stated.

"Okay. Good-bye," I dismissed her. She looked for help from Elsa and Katrina.

None was forthcoming. "Beat it, Konny. This meeting is only for those with decision-making ability and that has stopped being you." She wasn't a Head of House, thus on the Council. She snatched up her valise and stormed out, barely missing Pamela.

"I'm betting something bad happened in Japan," I began.

"I will need five guardians, Elsa," I regarded the SD Chief.

"We don't have the Security Detail to spare for extended assignments at this time," she replied.

"Chose the best of the remaining security staff then," I responded. "I want to put an Amazon diplomat with the 9 Clans, Illuminati, Earth & Sky, the Ninja and Javiera's taskforce."

"Actually, Katrina, can you get Yasmin back here. Putting her with the Feds would be our best bet to stay ahead of their planning," I asked my mentor, friend and ally.

"Good choice. I'll have her here tomorrow afternoon," Katrina nodded.

"Next order of business; from here on out, the Diplomatic Corps sits in on all military/security meetings," I continued. "We need to know what to ask our partners in this conflict," I demanded.

"No," Elsa countered. "We can't have you bartering Amazon battle plans to other groups whose loyalty will always be suspect."

"If St. Marie says the information remains compartmentalized, then that is so. Otherwise, we are going to be much better off in this fight if we coordinate efforts," I made my case.

Katrina's nod led to Elsa's acceptance as well.

"Buffy, I don't want you to miss a meeting," I smiled at my 'First'."

"What? Where are you going to be?" Buffy worried.

"I need to go to Europe and find any surviving Arinniti heirs," I kept grinning.

"Really?" Elsa grumbled. "You NEED to go? Can't we send someone else?"

"Ah, come on," I pleaded. "I can do this. It's the Old World...Transylvania – full of quaint inns, cheap curio shops and packed youth hostels."

"Packed with young women," Katrina teased me.

"I promise, I'll play it safe this time," I kept begging. Yes – European babes looking for handsome, dark strangers on a secretive mission...note to self: pack extra condoms.

"Safe," Elsa sizzled. "In the middle of a battle, did you really stand on top of an enemy Humvee and drop a napalm grenade in knowing it was packed with men and ammo?"

"Maybe, kinda, well sorta," I evaded, yet still sounded guilty. 

"According to preliminary reports, the explosion threw you five meters," she glared.

"Woot! Is that a new Amazon record?" I turned that frown upside down.

"Forty-six days, Bitch," Elsa snarled.

"Hold on," Saku, who had been leaning on the wall next to the door, spoke up. "Is he, or isn't he a member of the Council? If he is, who are you to talk to him this way? Cáel 'Wicklow ... Wacco ... whatever-Wo he is' Ishara acted bravely, if idiotically. Without his actions, the best outcome the Host could have gained was a draw.

At least give him the opportunity to defend his actions," she groused.

"Cáel, do you wish to defend your actions?" Elsa looked to me.

"Nope. I'm good. Hell, I barely remember even being there," I joked.

"You are lying!" Saku yelled at me.

"Oh, my apology. Ladies, this is Sakuniyas. She saved my life...five times this morning." I returned the favor, introducing Katrina, whose office Saku recognized, and Elsa, whose title she wasn't familiar with. There was no 'Security Detail' in her days with the Host. Buffy and Daphne though.

"How can she be your 'First'?" Saku was confused. "Is she a he dressed like a woman?" Buffy got angry while I laughed. See, in Amazon lingo, 'First' implied we were lesbian lovers.

"No. The romantic attachments are real enough. There is no accepted title for a female lover of a male Amazon leader."

"Her?" Sakuniyas pointed at Daphne.

"Buffy doesn't speak our native tongue. I have volunteered to translate for all members of House Ishara. I have sworn oaths to Buffy, Helena – our – House Ishara's Keeper of Records, and Cáel on this matter."

"I don't care how you saw the fight, Cáel. I didn't save your life. I was going to kill those men anyway. At best, you distracted them so that they were easy kills," Saku glared. "I do not know why you run away from glory and honor. It makes no sense to me."

"Saku, I don't care if people think I'm brave, or cowardly. For those who matter, I do the best I can and try to deliver on my promises," I explained.

Clearly the universe felt my life was too explicable – thus the newest arrivals.

"Cáel?" a voice called from the door. It was Tadêfi, the Augur, and Sikia, her guardian.

"Are those two yours as well," Sakuniyas scoffed. Too bad she wasn't talking about the ladies.

"Yeah...yeah, I ah..." I didn't dare say 'afraid so'. "Yes. Boys, girls, or a boy and a girl?"

"Excuse me?" That was Katrina.

"Yes, Cáel," Delilah finally felt safe in speaking. "You've got Miyako knocked up with a baby girl. Let's see what you did this time." I couldn't spare Delilah a dirty look because getting into physical contact with Tadêfi was more important to me. 

Sikia raised one of Tadêfi's hands so that when I reached them, her fingers touched my lips. There was a hidden social benefit of being blind and deaf. You can be effortlessly shameless. The Augur's right hand was on my lips so she could 'hear' me with her fingertips. Her left hand snaked around me, coming to rest on my left ass cheek and pulling our bodies together.

"I have missed you inside of me," she purred. Woot! Who was going to kill me first? Buffy, or Elsa.

"How about we go out on a date first?" I suggested. Yes, I was dodging sex because...I had other sex to catch up with. Odette, Libra and Brooke, Buffy, Oneida and ... Dot Ishara save me... Rhada. 

Plus...Ulyssa and Nadia (my Sunday Night thing), Marla (who had threatened to come to NYC), and Nicole Lawless, my lawyer. For the moment, I was trying to limit my Amazon exposure. 

"I am not sure what you mean, but I willingly place myself in your hands," Tadêfi kept being sexy.

"The Augur will give birth to a daughter. The one next to her will give birth to a son," Saku made her undead prediction. She curled her lip cruelly as she gave the second bit of news.

"The first son to continue the Vranus legacy," I wrapped my free hand around Sikia's waist. "Yakko Ishara will live again with Tadêfi's and Miyako's daughters. 

The line of Vranus has been watched over by Dot and it honors her for that line to continue, Sikia," I assured her. After all, the birth of a son was dour news under normal circumstances.

"I would like to meet my sister-mother if possible, Cáel," Tadêfi requested.

"That is a good idea, Tadêfi. She is in need of some comfort and insight," I answered.

Her agreement was given as the phone rang. Katrina got my attention via Pamela. It was Iskender, my friend with the Earth & Sky, and he wanted a meeting in the morning with a hint that it was way more than a welcome back. After he hung up, I found myself waiting for Elsa and Katrina to provide me with the Amazon marital update, but that never came.

The final issue was Sakuniyas' request to raise her own one hundred member fighting force. If anyone had thought she would be put off by being denied full-blooded Amazons, she gave them no sign of disappointment. When we were on the elevator going down, I asked her why.

"Her," she shot Buffy a look. 

"Quite frankly, the full-bloods haven't impressed me as much as those born of other mothers. Many of these new women have the look of starving dogs," she added.

"We are not dogs," was Buffy heated rebuttal.

"She means it in a different manner than her words would indicate," I rubbed Buffy's arm.

"I want women who are desperate for blood and glory. I don't want killers. I want butchers. I want warriors schooled in the art of atrocities and every form of barbaric actions ever imagined. I want us renowned for such savagery that foes flee before battle even begins," Saku explained.

"You want psychotically deranged berserkers?" Daphne murmured.

"That is the essence of what I envision – yes," Saku nodded. Delilah looked suitably impressed/scared. I had to wonder how House Anat had lasted as long as it had. Becoming extinct was not even an issue. The last of them had drowned in a lake of enemy blood. Insanely brave until the bitter end.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 28



At the lobby, I picked up Velma and her team, Vincent, Miyako and Selena. Rachel and her squad needed a break. With a trip to Europe coming up, they needed to catch up on their rest and double-check their weapon readiness. I imagined having a little time with their families wouldn't suck either.

"Okay Vincent, let's resolve our little bet," Pamela suggested. Not only was she stripping down the tag-alongs for my journey home, she was cementing her rapport with Javiera's latest offering. I still had two serious problems. I had to find Saku someplace to say. I also had to touch base with Miyako. I took on the second one first, once our ride had exited the garage.

[Nipponese] "How bad is it?" I asked my ninja-acrobat.

[Nipponese] "There is nothing we can talk about," Selena intervened.

[Nipponese] "One of the seven families betrayed the other six, Cáel," Miyako opened up. Selena clearly didn't approve of the revelation.

[Nipponese] "Very well," I mused. "Could two teams of Amazons do you any good when you head home?" I didn't have permission to commit any resources – yet. More to the issue, I was pledging eight women. It may have sounded like miniscule aid, except these were ninjas we were talking about. Small unit tactics were the name of the game. "I also want to send an ambassador and her bodyguard home with you to keep open communications."

Miyako studied me. She didn't have the authority to bring anyone into her very private struggle.

[Nipponese] "As long as they understand the limitations the...seven families operate under. We have agreements with numerous home corporations and security services."

"Understood," I nodded. "Don't forget, you bear an heir to House Ishara with you now."

"What have you done?" Buffy tapped my shoulder.

"I've committed eight members of the Security Detail and Executive Services to aid the Seven Families in their struggle in Japan," I explained.

"House Ishara can meet that obligation," Buffy surprised me.

"Security?" I asked.

"Kohar Marda offered ten of her house guard to help train up our own in-house security," Buffy smirked. "I think I can have four of them doing that training overseas."

"Loyalty and courage will account for more than the skills of the ninja at this time," Miyako bowed.

"Are you and I still heading for my home ground?" Selena inquired.

"How about we head out in two days?" I asked.

"That can be done," she nodded. 

"You are a fool," Saku grumbled to me. I returned her stare. 

"You are leaving the safety of the ranks of the Host and your own House to seek out...who exactly?" Sakuniyas lectured.

"The lost sons of House Arinniti and...the offspring of Iyrcae of House Illuyankamunus," I enlightened them.

"Who?" Delilah wondered. I looked to Selena.

"They were not one of the First Houses, though the name is Amazon. You may find this oddly coincidental, considering where we plan to go. See, House Illuyankamunus is the only house that does not have a matron deity. 

They are Daughters of the Primordial Dragon and the spirit that guards their afterlife is unknown to all but them, the High Priestess and the Keeper of Records."

"We are going to Transylvania to hunt down 'children of the Dragon'?" Delilah snorted.

"Are any going to help us?" Wiesława asked.

"No. House Illuyankamunus only has eight members left, and they are all on missions for the Host, except the Head of House who remains trapped with the Council," I relayed. "Besides, Krasimira suggested to me that they weren't all that interested in any of Iyrcae's brood."

"So why are you locating them then?" Delilah pressed. I paused.

"Women are stupid and need a man to tell them what to do..." I stated. No one spoke. "Okay, that didn't work. How about those men and women need to be aware of their history?"

"The Gods and Goddesses are fucking with you," Saku cut through the propaganda. "Be you Alal, Baraqu, or Cáel, they can't leave you alone." The truth sucks.



Life as a New Hire Ch. 29



This story plays fast and loose with Ancient History and Linguistics; be warned.

Life gives you two chances to get it right; be who you want to be, or who you need to be.

Editing magic performed by KJ24 and Shyqash, plus contributions by the regular gang of brigands and neer-do-wells.

There is a bit of mangling of the Iliad going on. I apologize to Homer and the countless singers before him who carried the Iliad down through the dark centuries until the Greeks figured out how writing works. In the spirit of fair play, the Magyar mythology has received comparable abuse.

*****

(Making choices we can live with)

"Trouble," Wiesława relayed to our vehicle. Velma had an 'issue' at my apartment. She'd gone ahead in order to see to my security. My GL-550 had come within a block of the apartment when Wiesława's call came.

"Tell me what the problem is," I demanded. Wiesława relayed my request.

"Your roommate won't let them search your bedroom," was the answer I got back.

"Fuck that," I grumbled. "Tell Velma I'm coming up. Wiesława, take us to the front of my place." She gave me a cautious look, testing my resolve. Sensing that I'd jump out if I had to, she spoke over her blue-tooth to Velma. She wisely didn't pass on Velma's vitriol at me poking my nose into my SD's business - protecting me.

As we pulled up and double-parked, everyone piled out.

"Are we going to need any "extra" assistance?" Delilah suggested. Considering the flock of 'follow-up' cars and SUV's tailing us, I wasn't overly worried about the law enforcement angle.

What was I worried about? It wasn't dark yet on a weekday and Timothy was home. Since Velma would have informed me if he was toting around the Black Death, this had to be a crisis of a personal nature...most likely my personal nature. Wiesława struggled to keep pace with me as I took the stairs three at a time. She'd given up on me letting her go first.

At the third floor landing we came across one of Velma's team covering that approach. A second member was at the door and from inside, I could hear Velma cursing in OKH under her breath. But first...

"I really don't think you'll need your sword, Saku," Delilah advised. "Timothy's not that kind of trouble."

"Hey Velma, Crewe (who, together with Constanza, I'd sparred with, way long ago) and Timothy," I loudly announced myself just as I stepped in. "What seems to be the problem?" Timothy sighed and gave a head-toss to my closed bedroom door. Since I didn't want to be an asshole, I turned to Velma. "Let me send a neutral party to check things out." I had so many to choose from - Miyako, Selena, Vincent and Delilah.

Saku might kill on general principle. Buffy and Wiesława were Amazons and I was beginning to think that Amazons...shit. I sighed, groaned and lowered my head. I looked to Timothy and clapped my wrists together (slave-like). He nodded. Rhada. Mother-puss-bucket! What was I going to do?

"I've changed my mind - Velma, the room is fine," I started off. "I know for a certainty that my life is not imperiled by my visitor. Everyone else, I am about to have sex, so could you please head out to a restaurant and give me an hour, or two?" I took in the rest. Timothy coughed and pointed to the ceiling. "Three hours..." another cough, "four hours." No more coughing.

"Who is it?" Buffy snarled, lest I forgot that I was her scratching post. She was resenting the lack of scratching going on between us. I was about to tell her I needed some private time,...or just not tell her anything. But I was working on not being a jerk. I pulled Buffy to Timothy's room and gave her the lowdown. She mulled over the information. Her wrapping a hand around the back of my head and pulling me into a steamy kiss was unlooked for.

"Okay," she smiled. "Please don't think I'm not righteously pissed with the two of you...but I know you are doing the best you can with your limited survival instincts. 

I'll take care of everyone." Off she went and in moments, the room had cleared out until it was just Timothy and me.

"She stopped by work this afternoon looking pretty badly beaten up - emotionally," he explained. "I doubt she's slept in three days and she's really confused about all kinds of things. I was in the process of letting her know you weren't going to be back for two more days when the Welcome Wagon arrived. 

I figured the last thing she needed, before seeing you, was public exposure," he said.

"Thanks buddy," I hugged him. "A few hundred guys tried to kill me and Aya last night, so we came back early. Now," I steeled myself, opened the door and entered my room. Rhada was at the head of the bed, her knees pulled up to her chin and my pillows stacked up around her in some sad effort at a visual barrier.

Her eyes had a sunken quality to them that suggested someone two steps past hopelessness. She was waiting for me to say something, which was an added truckload of bad news in my book. I began to undress in an unhurried manner. The shirt came off. Working the belt free came next.

"I've missed you," I said in a calm, yet positive manner. No response.

I finished undressing while she remained frozen and emotionally clouded. I made some semi-educated guesses. Her mind was probably an incomprehensible cyclone of clashing upbringing principles and adult desires. She didn't need to be built up, Rhada needed to be rescued. That kind of emotional crisis was something I didn't need, or want, at this moment in my life.

Rhada had nowhere else to go. Her martial bravery was of no use in the matter of her heart's insistent call. Her fear was of a different nature. She was looking down that unholy, dark corridor that was the last walk of all failed Amazons. She craved her personal slavery to a man and master. It was tough to move farther away from her native culture than that...or so she thought.

"Have you missed me?" I asked with authority. I ran two fingers along her left jawline. Rhada nodded. It was a rather feeble effort. "I asked you a question."

"Yes," she sniffled.

"I am curious why you are hiding your body from me, Rhada," I prodded her. I wasn't 'curious'; I was peeved and she knew it

"I don't know why I'm here," she moaned.

"Oh..." I mused. I was on her like lightning. 

She struggled weakly as we rolled around until she was ass-up on my lap. I had her right arm pinned to her back. Two sharp blows rained down on her covered posterior. Just two for now.

"I asked you a question. We both know your answer was inadequate," I spoke softly. Two more stinging, open-handed slaps to her buttocks. "I have defeated you in battle," two more smacks. "I have repeatedly taken you by force as my captive," two more with her accompanying moan.

"What makes you think you can defy me now, Rhada?" The promised blows did not fall. "I own you, don't I?" She moaned wantonly from anticipation of the spanking that wasn't coming. The lesson was simple: punishment and reward were mine to dispense, not for her to demand.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled.

"The incompetent are sorry - failures are sorry - useless people are sorry," I stated, followed by two more loud, cupped-hand blows on her ass. "People apologize when they commit an error. People apologize if they plan to learn from their mistakes. Now, are you someone else's miserable excuse for a human being, or are you MY person who learns from her lapses in judgment?"

"I bring shame to my people," she whimpered. Two more smacks fell upon her backside.

"Why do you insist on insulting me, Rhada?" two more, far harder, spanks landed causing her to gasp in pain. "Of all the Amazons I have defeated, I picked you to be mine - captive - no other. I thought you had the fierce spirit worthy of my fighting prowess.

Your crawling up and dying inside disappoints me," I continued. It didn't disappoint me; it scared me. Rhada was so fiery and feisty. Seeing her mentally ground down into a crippled state ate at my mind.

"I'm afraid, Cáel," she choked out between her tears. 

The emotional riptide she was going through caused her to shake uncontrollably. I telegraphed my intent to move her, face down, to the middle of the bed. As I straddled her, I dragged her hands over her head and crossed her wrists. I nuzzled her shoulder, the crux of her neck, and ear.

"What are you afraid of, my captive?" I murmured. 

The term 'captive' along with the gentle affections brought forth a pleasurable response from her.

"I am perverse," she whispered. "I want you to take me as I cry and scream. I want to feel your body pressing down on me as you are doing now.

I beg to be spanked, lashed, tease and tormented by you. Steal my sight and hearing. Render me helpless and utterly at your mercy, my Cáel," she pleaded. I'd allow the 'my'.

"And?" I mused.

"And?" she was confused.

"I was waiting for you to request something perverse - something I wouldn't do to you," I explained. I punctuated that by pulling her shirt aside and biting down on her shoulder strong enough to leave deep indentations on her flesh.

"Aha!" she yelped. She still wasn't making the connection - how incredibly stubborn of her.

"Do you doubt my bravery?" She didn't respond, so I bit into and worried her left earlobe. "Do you doubt my dedication to the Host?" 

"No," she moaned. "You are an excellent warrior."

"So we both agree I have earned the right to take you as my captive," I teased her.

"This is why I find your insolence to be so confusing," I kept up my routine. "It is almost as if you would rather be bound, whipped, beaten, spanked, bitten, lashed, covered with hot wax, blindfolded, and gagged instead of giving me my due obedience." Rhada's deep sensual moan was what I had been looking for. She spread her legs slightly then pushed her ass against my crotch.

"I am yours," she sniffled slightly. "You defeated me in battle and I can expect no other fate."

"Dates take off their clothes. Slaves strip before their masters," I related. Not true. I had enjoyed multiple stripteases in my time and even give a few. What Rhada wanted to know was that I hungered for her naked flesh.

"You are on top of me," she protested. I pulled her braid to the side and chomped down her right shoulder. That earned me another squeal. Rhada's initial efforts were frantic, inspired by her pain. Within seconds she recalled our shared moments and slowed down. She knew I liked to watch her clothes come off and go back on. I'm odd that way.

I rewarded her obedience with alternating kisses and nips to her freshly exposed flesh. As we progressed, Rhada became more insistent for sexual attention. Her finely honed thighs and abdominal muscles ground her buttocks against my cock in a continuous, circular motion. In our current state, she couldn't get her pants and panties off.

When I rolled off, Rhada shot me a worried look. First she flashed up fear because she mistook my look for one of anger. In a second, she keyed to my real mood. I was going to own her, stretch her to her limits and then take it one step further. I was going to use my war captive as I saw fit, rip my pleasure from her passion and break her doubts down to their foundations.

She shimmied out of her remaining clothing. I rummaged up the appropriate toys with a bit of an amused snort. Odette had organized the 'toy box' (including a bill for 'modernizing and updating' of my equipment.) What girl does that for a guy - categorize sexual aids she knows you are going to use on other women in your life?

"Loosen your braid," I directed her after I turned and soaked in the view. She was in the center of the bed, kneeling with her buttock resting on her heels. Rhada's hands rested just above the knees, her great brown eyes had more of their old spark to them. Part of that was caused by my words sinking into her psyche. The rest was her love affair with my physique.

Me and all my scars, plus I had a new one for her to judge and appreciate.

"Small caliber round from a Seven Pillar's QCW-Type 05," I informed her. Amazons loved their weaponry and their martial exploits.

"Did you kill him?" she asked with her intensity overcoming her attempt at a demur nature.

"Him and a bunch of other guys," I chose to answer as she unbraided her silky, black hair that cascade down to the small of her back. I was the son of a Chicago working stiff, not some super-soldier.

"You fought for the Host and killed our enemies," she tried to ease my mind.

I wanted to feel bad about what had happened. The horror I had inflicted would never go away.

"Most of them were burned alive," I enhanced her experience by ripping open my own, fresh mental scar tissue. For Rhada, ruthlessness, martial valor and battlefield accomplishments were their own aphrodisiac. 

In her translation of events, her captor had proven yet again he was a fearless, masculine champion - a lion-heart. I put one knee on the bed and waited. Rhada had to shuffle to me. It was interesting to see the magnetic effect of the three items I held in my casual grasp - a leather collar, a thin silver-coated chain and a pair of leather handcuffs. I motioned with the cuffs first. 

I left it for her to discern my intention. I wanted her to put her wrists forward, yet I wanted to train her to know my wishes. Not only would it keep her mind and perceptions occupied, it would give her a needed sense of learning and broadening her education. It was a very subtle narrowing of the eyes that I used to tip her off. 

She half-turned with her wrists at her back, caught my 'displeasure' and then extended her arms toward me. I cuffed her right wrist, then her left wrist and finally cinched them together with their two bronze links, all the while demanding she retain eye contact with me. With our silent measuring of our true grit, we established our positions. 

Without that clash of wills, everything else would be tawdry trinkets of no value. As she accepted those bonds, she set aside her willingness to challenge me and embraced our new sense of harmony. A corner had been turned. Submission became the only outcome her destiny allowed. Mamitu; the Amazon belief that the Goddesses put nothing before the sisters that experience hadn't prepared them for. 

Out of arrogance, she had struck me. Destiny had prepared me for the fight and I had won. In tribute to destiny, Rhada had acknowledged the lesson and was finally learning from it. I yanked her wrists up roughly until they were extended high over her head. Rhada kept them there, as I intended, because now was time for the collar. 

This time she couldn't keep her eyes from flickering to the device until it passed beneath her chin. With the cuffs, I had been deliberate and relentlessly purposeful. The collar was an easy gesture - me exerting my rights as her captor and master, nothing more. I spared her a smile. Her dark brown-olive complexion, nearly black around the areola and nipple, was extended by the raising of the arms overhead for my viewing pleasure.

Lastly, there was the chain. It had clasps at both ends, so I hooked it around the single ring on the collar and pulled Rhada toward me. I feasted on her lips, touched tongue to tongue inside and outside our mouths, and ended up chewing her lower lip. As I pulled and plucked it with my teeth, my fingers began to coax a stiffening of her teats. 

Gentle caresses turned into vigorous touching that evolved into painful pinches between the thumb and forefinger and energetic plucking. I let my kisses migrate from her lips to nose (briefly) then her cheeks and the underside of her jawline. Rhada made a gasping-choking noise as I nibbled her flesh. 

My distraction must have worked because she missed my hands moving down. The middle and forefinger of my left became a wedge working between her buttocks. With the right, I led with my middle finger, using my fore- and ring-fingers to part her labia. The clip-rings of the chain were secured on each thumb.

Her fluids turned her sex into warm molasses coating folds of molten tenderness. My solo probing finger didn't penetrate - not yet. I ran the length of her vulva vestibule, rubbing her vaginal and urethral openings. Rhada expressed a piteous whine as I stoked her sexual frustrations. I ratcheted up my torture when my left twin fingers reached her sphincter.

Tap the opening - tease her with false penetrations. My lips reached her neck right beneath her ear. I pulled in the flesh with a powerful suction, grabbing the tiny tip of taut flesh with my teeth. Her dolorous pleading ramped up as I delved my fingers in simultaneously. Rhada's anal ring pulsed, alternating between ushering my forefinger inside and resisted my progress.

I was breaching her defenses without lubrication. It was wiggling, tentative advancement on my part and sensations of extreme sensitivity on her part. By comparison, her vagina virtually sucked me in. Having been denied sex for so long (if you counted two weeks as long) all the while fantasizing to the point of tripwire anticipation, she was quickly rising to orgasm.

"Do not," I cautioned her. Rhada trembled. Her groans became guttural as she reached down into her physical conditioning to exhibit some control over her racing heart rate and labored breathing. Had I stopped my assault, she might have held out. I didn't. The task for us both was to push her past the point of control. She was going to lose, that was given.

How she lost was the lesson. What level of stimulation was going to be too much? She fought it with every fiber of her being. She fought it for me. Rhada sweated profusely and vibrated like a gypsy tambourine. She could not win. She knew I never intended for her to win. But I wanted her to reach down deep and fight. 

She would fail and I would punish her for her failure, but it would be a punishment that she felt was well-deserved, and she craved that. Even her failure was part of our dynamic - captor and captive. Pain with a purpose. Pain as a thread that united us. She could not wound herself the way I could. Everything she could inflict, she would sense and prepare for. 

I provided torment from unexpected angles and stimuli in a myriad of forms. Everything faded until only the touch and the pleasure of the messenger remained.

"Urrahhh..." her opening declaration of the overwhelming tide was animalistic and desperate.

For fifteen seconds I continued to play with her as her climax turned upon itself, building and becoming more chaotic. In the back of my mind, I realized my sex play was being cruel to my neighbors. I had to hope the anonymous death threats would keep Mr. Fiennes at bay.

I'd deal with my 'friendly' female neighbor later...once I figured out how to repay her for her patience and the cookies she'd sent over when I was ill. For Rhada, it was a temporary cessation of my sexual attention and allowing her to rest her body against mine. I admired her ability to hold her arms aloft. Still...

"You failed," I whispered into her ear. Rhada hiccupped. I dragged my fingers covered with her pussy juice up her pubic mount, abdomen, around the belly button and between her breasts. At the conclusion of the trip was the resounding 'click' of that end of the leash being attached to her collar. "I don't think you have been humble before me."

I looped the chain around her shoulder, then dragged it over her left breast. She shivered. My next stop was beneath her right breast. Her nipple seemed to swell up as I rubbed the other loop all over her areola. Next under the right mammary, then looping the chain around her right arm before reaching around the back and securing the second clasp.

It was both a symbol of her captivity and body ornamentation. The shiny silver links contrasted with her dusky, sweaty flesh.

"You are my captive, yet you insist in indulging your own pleasure before mine," I chastised her. "You know what that means," I added. Actually, we didn't know what that meant. 




Life as a New Hire Ch. 29



It was an opportunity for me to get creative and for Rhada to let her imagination run wild. Her body could not recoil from what she could not sense coming. I was forever tricking and distracting her, letting her true passion burst forth from a discipline that would have constricted and strangled it. 

By tying her down, I was setting her free. For the moment, freedom took the shape of a flogger. Rada was turned to face the headboard, her handcuffed wrists secured to the suspension rig above my bed. She did not see the thick black satin sash that became her blindfold, or the twin blue sashes that I added to each carpus. She could only feel the light pressure on her cheekbones and wrists. 

I pressed her legs apart by placing my knees between her calves. I was at her back. She could feel my engorged member, yet couldn't trap it with her thighs. It was not her toy to play with.

Rule one of flogging: no wrap around. Always know precisely where the tips of the lashes will fall. Don't get carried away. Always avoid unprotected bone structures. 

Rhada craved that lash. It was right up there with dual penetration on her list of favorite things. Because of that, I draped the lash over first her right butt cheek, then her left. I let her feel the fibers of each 'tail' that completed the device. I considered it a re-introduction. Her tremors confirmed that her memories were exciting her. The first blow fell on her stomach between her belly button and rib cage. 

I leaned to my right to make sure the tips came down between the abdominals and left oblique. Rhada yipped. On previous encounters I had used a ball gag on her. This time I wanted her to howl wantonly and let her bare her carnality as an open act of defiance to a world that tried to define her. The next strike was awkward. I planted in on the top of her right breast, close enough to the nipple to incite fear. 

I pivoted, leaned back on my knees and brought the third blow down below her left shoulder blade. I got what I wanted. The fear of pain turned into the joy of torment. She was trying to twist her body to receive the next touch of the lash - wanting it. I denied her, choosing my own sites with care and with a deliberate desire to heighten the whirlwind of passion growing in her mind. 

Gasps from the lash strikes turned into a constant, low, rumbling moan. When the pain elevated her to a detached state of being, I grabbed her hips, lifted her up and sat her back down on my cock. Rhada bucked up against me as my phallus penetrated her vagina. Her moan began as a piteous whine. She was so close once more. Rhada's energetic response to our coupling allowed me to free up my lash-hand. 

Her thighs and calves flexed as she sought to bring me ever deeper inside. Her copious fluids were marking the impact of our flesh with a loud, sticky, slapping noise. The knob at the base of the lash gently caressed her hip. Ever so slowly, I let it travel along the crease between her abdomen and right thigh until its inevitable contact with her clitoral hood.

Rhada's gyrations became less rhythmic and more frantic. She was starting to come unglued. Her passion enflamed me. Both our bodies gleamed with the sheen of sweat. I felt my own release stirring. Moral crunch time. I wasn't wearing a condom and the pressure on me to bring daughters into my House lay heavily on my soul.

One final bizarre frontier.

"Rhada, have you named our daughter?" I rasped into her ear. I could still pull out and shoot my seed over her fantastic ass.

"Parvati," she hissed between gulps of air. No hesitation. More and more, we were children of the same Race.

She was ahead of me. Despite our child being a political disaster for both of us, she dreamed and her dreams were of a daughter named Parvati - a Hindi Mother Goddess. If we had a son...that thought was buried in my orgasm. I was still able to rub the lash knob down until it touched my thrusting penis and scrotum. 

From that position, I rose to coax her unshielded clit with the woven leathery surface. A few seconds of that, then I had to let go. My convulsions made it unsafe to keep the knob pressed against her sensitive tip. The knob...the feeling of my semen spilling forth over her womb...either or both brought her to completion.

Her howls turned into whimpers as we coasted down. Simultaneous orgasms? Hell, me cumming so soon in a sexual encounter...Kimberly trained me better than that. We had achieved an undeniable synchronicity, and that troubled me. Rhada and I were fucked up. We shouldn't keep running headlong toward any kind of relationship, yet here we were.

She was trying to maneuver her chin around her suspended arms in a blind attempt to kiss me. I met her half-way. I put the lash across her upper thighs then let it roll down. My left hand cupped her left breast, teasing up her nipple to an excited fit. My right cupped her vulva and gently massaged her sex.

"I'm far from being done with you," I growled between kisses. She buried that promise with her lips and tongue. As she broke the lip-lock, a secretive smile graced her lips. She had no idea that I caught it, so I could have let it slide. "I saw that," I said softly. Since she couldn't keep her happiness at bay, she chose to turn her head forward and lower her chin to her chest. Yes, I was going to have to get her for that.

(Revelations and continuations)

Rhada was a mess. I began working the vibrator out of her abused anal passage. She gave a feeble thrust of the hips to tell me that despite her hoarse voice, welts over some tender places and the whole room stinking of sweat, semen and vaginal fluids, she still wanted a few more seconds of artificial invigoration. I smacked her glowing backside with a light tap then removed our toy.

"No more for you," I scolded her. "We have company coming. And that means showering for us both and dressing for me." Rhada's limbs moved with leaden slowness as she propped herself up on her elbows and looked over her shoulder at me. Since I had not enlightened her about my plan, she was showing some deep anxiety - the 'can I escape notice before anyone else finds out' impulse.

Rhada's efforts to right herself were painful to watch. I short-circuited her stress by sweeping her up in my arms 'bride-style' to her startled 'aha'. Making for the door was not on my agenda. Forcing her to make a choice was. A few playful swings and she smiled despite her desire to be dour. A few more twirls earned me a playful kick of the legs signaling the end of her muscle toxicity and a return to mobility.

Not a word was spoken. My intent was clear and I reinforced that by unclasping one end of her leash once she was back on her own two feet. We stood a few centimeters apart, close enough we could feel each other's heat. The chain was unwound from one shoulder, tugged beneath her breasts and finally the other shoulder came free. The moment of honesty was before her. I turned and walked to the door.

I tugged at the leash, but she would not move. I looked back to make some sense of her mood. Her eyes were downcast and her bound hands had risen up to grasp her collar and fiddle with the leash's clasp. I nearly blundered at that moment. I wanted to argue with her - to make my case for her confronting her desires. In hindsight, it was no longer my battle.

Two short breathes were followed by one very deep one. Rhada's hand fell to her side as she stepped toward me, eyes still downcast. I turned as if nothing had happened. The door opened and we stepped out...to multiple sets of eyes. My comrades hadn't given me four hours. No, they had sat in my cramped living room and listened to my sexual antics instead.

Undoubtedly there had been a running commentary, complete with peanut gallery. My friends were somewhat freaky - like me.

"Hey Rhada," the first one spoke. That was my fuck-buddy and Girl Friday - Odette Sievert. She already knew my captive Amazon's secret and the importance of keeping it hidden.

Sakuniyas had our sole chair. Timothy, Sovann Mean and Delilah shared our...new sofa...it had to be the sleeper-sofa Timothy had teased me about. Odette sat on the floor, back to the sofa, between Timothy's and Sovann's legs. Wiesława was standing with her back to the support that separated the living room from our kitchenette. 

Her look of astonishment said it all...a long time listening to sex taken to a whole new level she hadn't even imagined existed. Timothy gave me a low whistle. Two fingers - his bedroom. That was 'Bro'-speak for Miyako and Selena having crashed out on his bed...so I could keep track of where all my women were. By the way, gay guys are 'Bro's too. 

Liking dick does not stop them from having a dick and all the accompanying malfunctions associated with that affliction. 

"Shower," I addressed to the room and off Rhada and I went. She was psychically numb when we made it to the bathroom.

She had been paraded forth on a chain, naked before strangers and stranger-Amazons. I removed her chain first, letting it drag over her body. The cuffs came next. I handed them to Rhada, along with the chain and had her set them on the sink - her belongings, thus reinforcing it was her choice to let me be her master. The collar was waterproof, so it stayed on.

The hot water from the showerhead invigorated our flesh, washed away our sweat and misted up the bathroom with is vapor. There was no sex. Our contact was sensual and compassionate. Rhada unwound her fatigue and loosened her anxieties as I ran my hands over her bruised, lashed and tender flesh. I had her bathe me when I finished with her.

Once the shower was off, I opened the stall door, grabbed the first towel and gave it to Rhada.

[OKH] "I love you," she murmured, her face half buried in the fabric. I retrieved the second towel and started to dry off.

[OKH] "There is no other in my life," I sighed.

And there can be no such love in my life, Rhada," I confessed. "Twenty-four hours ago I nearly died. That is what most Amazons will think about. They will talk about the numbers I killed and the Amazon lives I saved. They will not dwell on Saku - that's Shammuramat, The Friendless, former Queen of Assyria and last surviving member of House Anat.

The only two things that I want to remember about today are you and her. You, because you make me feel something besides fear and confusion. With you, I feel...right." She snuggled into me, wrapping her arms tightly around my waist. "With Saku, it is the importance of a second chance. I think a lot of us need a second chance."

[OKH] "If you say so," she sighed happily. She hadn't gotten an 'I love you. too'. She had been given 'you are important to me - more than battle honors and praise' which, in her book was almost as good. For tonight, it was good enough. From there, it was a simple matter of drying off. I dried her back, Rhada dried mine.

The chain went on effortlessly. Her cuffs went on but weren't linked together. I put my towel around my waist. Rhada used hers to dry her long, thick hair. Chain in hand, we returned to the living room. Wiesława shattered the serenity of the moment.

[OKH] "Rhada, was he that sexually enjoyable?" the Polish Amazon inquired eagerly.

Saku's head whipped toward Wiesława then to Rhada.

[OKH] "That...'thing' is one of us?" the Ancient One snapped. Rhada flinched.

"She's not a thing, she is one of us," I responded with amusement, not anger. "Considering your lousy grasp of virtually every relationship you've been in, I count your input to be childish."

[OKH] "Childish?" Sakuniyas growled as she stood. It was 'everyone stands up' time. Except for Odette, who had missed out on the clues of upcoming violence. Saku glared at Wiesława. "Are you as weak as this one?" she indicated Rhada.

"What are you talking about?" Wiesława was confused. "They are just playing."

Now the naïve boot was on someone else's foot.

"She is his slave!" Saku yelled at Wiesława. "How can you tolerate an Amazon being that way?"

"What?" Wiesława looked to me and Rhada.

"That's right, Wiesława," I met her questing eyes. "There are three Amazons in this room. Saku is not one of us, but you are. Tell me - who restrains the freedom of any Amazon?"

"No one," was her automatic response.

"Don't cloak your abomination in clever words, Ishara," Saku spat.

"That's Wakko Ishara," Delilah corrected her. I ignored Sakuniyas for the moment.

"Wiesława, am I curtailing Rhada's freedom in any way? When she is with me, she is my slave and body servant. We engaged in combat, I won, so she services me," I explained.

"No..." Wiesława mumbled. She was torn between 'this must be a joke' and 'redeem your honor, bitches'.

"That's right," Saku sizzled. "He has made an Amazon his slave." Wiesława was about ready to switch sides (join with Saku) when the peanut gallery started laughing.

"What are you laughing about?" Wiesława spun on them angrily, her English skills starting to break.

"Wiesława, if Rhada suddenly screamed out 'help me' what would happen?" Odette snickered. That stumped her.

"What does that matter? She is supposed to be an Amazon," Saku countered in her loud voice.

"Sakuniyas, how do you think Rhada ended up here?" Timothy regarded our rude guest.

"Don't change the subject," Saku growled.

"This is the subject, Saku-luv," Delilah snorted. "This is Rhada choosing to be free. This is who she wants to be when she's with Cáel. In fact, hers is the greatest display of fearlessness I've ever witnessed...and keep in mind the crowd we are running in."

That barb struck three different women in three different ways. For Rhada, it was what I'd been pushing her toward the entire night, yet it took a woman declaring it to make it real in her mind. Her choice to be my captive really was a brave thing. She was defying her conventions to do what her heart demanded. If I hadn't had my hands full, I would have kissed Delilah.

For Wiesława, it placed her on the horns of a dilemma. Amazons strove to be free. She was honor-bound to see that Rhada was free, yet Rhada was choosing to be a slave...she was back to being undecided about this entire ordeal. Saku saw Delilah's statement congealing the resistance to her conservative ideals (despite her having broken them herself).

Sovann took the break in the action to stand up, stretch out and then sit on the floor between Timothy's legs, back to the sofa. He had on a light gray muscle shirt and blue-plaid boxers, so his actions were more than enough to earn him some 'girl yummy', despite the wide acceptance that he was gay. That left the middle spot on the sofa for me and I took it.

Rhada tagged along and obediently curled up at my feet. To stress the point, I gave the chain a gentle yank. It was enough to get her attention and tilt her face in my direction. Another short pull and she rose up on her knees so that I could lean forth and give her a fierce kiss. She was murmuring like a pantheress in no time.

Submission to me had not lessened Rhada's warrior spirit in the least. She was becoming comfortable in her skin, being both an Amazon and captive to my captor. Odette propped herself up so she could kiss Rhada on the shoulder.

"Do you want something to drink, Rhada?" Odette inquired. Rhada nodded.

"Some crushed ice would be nice...thank you," she added. Odette hopped up to fulfill her errand. Timothy decided to restart the 'On Demand' movie the gang had been watching while Rhada and I were busy. It was Captain America: The Winter Soldier. Guaranteed to have the Amazons groaning over the unrealistic combat maneuvers while ogling the man-candy.

Rhada started out by placing butterfly kisses on the side of my knee. From there, she began making 'washing' motions with her hair on my shin. I looked down to see her sneaking peeks up at me. Damn, her actions had been silent appeals for attention. I ran my middle finger's nail along her eyebrow from nose-bridge to cheek then repeated the stroke several more times.

I would catch up with the Black Widow later.

"Do you think you could dress up like that woman (the Black Widow) for Halloween?" I asked my captive. Oops. Indian Amazon - what was Halloween again? We cleared that hurdle and a few more before I finally sent Rhada home. Finally I could lie down...but sleep didn't come.

(Bitter fruits)

"Hello, Iskender," I rose from my seat at this Turkish breakfast eatery called Sip Sak. We hugged, then took our seats. He was incredibly jittery, much like a man about to rush into a battle that had already expressed its savagery.

"First off, He wishes to profess his gratitude by bestowing the title of Magyarorszag es Erdely Hercege upon you, Cáel. Do you accept this down payment on the debt we owe?"

I stared at him blankly. The first, second and third words finally registered = [Magyar] Hungary and Transylvania. The last one?

"He has declared you Prince of your Peoples, the Ten Tribes," Iskender seemed exceptionally excited to deliver the news, so I plastered on a 'happy face'.

Was I expecting a Mongolian-Turkish horde to come riding out of Kazakhstan to place me on some throne? No. This was an 'atta boy' in silk ribbons. I was a non-Altan urag (Temujin's extended family), non-Mongolian, non-Turkish nobleman...

"Well," I chuckled, "I don't think you wanted to meet solely in order for me to feel better about myself."

"Of course not," Iskender nodded. He pulled put a white crushed-hemisphere shaped device. One tap and the thing began humming. I felt my eardrums tingle. "I am glad you are with us," he grinned. "He wants you and the Amazons to not lose faith in the Earth & Sky. Everything is going according to plan."

Those were two bad things: the old refrain rang true once again - I was an idiot. By taking Genghis Khan's 'down payment', I was joining the Earth & Sky with all the attendant benefits and flaws...things like: when Temujin 'asked' me to do something, he wasn't really asking. I was on his team now. I couldn't beg out of the honor I had just accepted.

Those who rebelled against the Great Khan had a lousy survival track record. How was I going to explain this to Katrina...or St. Marie...or my Aunts, who had a nice, cushy villa waiting for me when I joined the Illuminati? The other bad thing - Temujin had already put in motion an Earth & Sky operational plan before the Seven Pillars hit us early yesterday.

This had to be a panicked-feigned retreat on a strategic scale.

"That must be some plan," I prodded him. I might as well try to get something good out of this quagmire. 

"The first part is the most critical to you and your allies in the government," he began.

"The first phase began fifteen years ago. We began to secretly inoculate the Turkish and Mongolian peoples of Mongolia, the Siberian Autonomous Regions, the Turkish states of Central Asia and the northern and western provinces of China. We also penetrated the People's Republic's healthcare apparatus - mainly in the field of vaccines," he was definitely pleased with this 'plan'.

"Vaccines for what?" I inquired quietly. That question made him happier.

"Anthrax," he leaned in and whispered.

"Anthrax?" I tried to keep the gibbering terror out of my voice.

"Yes," Iskender nodded. 

"As the Communists scurried about like headless chickens when their atheistic state died, we stole their research and a few of their research scientists. By the time our old foe, Russia, took that government's place, the evidence had vanished. The Soviets had weaponized Anthrax and thought they destroyed all the data, which worked well for us," he informed me quite happily.

"What kind of death toll are we looking at?" I gulped.

"We are looking at reducing the Han population in the key provinces to 30% of the total population. You see, that is the cleverness of the attack. Once we create outbreaks in the designated zones, the Chinese will inoculate the Han first."




Life as a New Hire Ch. 29



Oh my God!

"And what are the Chinese going to be giving their citizens?"

"The tainted vaccine we have prepared," he chuckled. "By exhibiting their racism, they will do our job for us. They will inject their people with a particularly fast acting version of the bacteria."

Thousands - tens of thousands - hundreds of thousands - millions - what would the death toll be? And Iskender thought this engineered pandemic was the greatest thing since the domestication of the horse. Terrorism? O Ishara, why had no one figured this out before now? Not the biological warfare; we could be excused for not seeing that coming.

No, everyone's mistake was thinking Temujin was anything like the comic book villain 'The Mandarin'. The man didn't want to be some shadow figure ruling a secret empire. Temujin was out to re-conquer Asia and his team seemed to be completely onboard with that agenda. That meant war on a global scale.

Technically, initiating a land war in Asia makes you insane. That doesn't mean you can't succeed...if you are willing to kill enough people and you have...

"Iskender, where are you going to get the army to move in once the Chinese take your kick to the testicles?" He liked that analogy.

"We've been stockpiling gear since before the end of the Cold War," he blithely revealed to me. I had no doubt that the permission to give me this information came all the way from the top, but why? I'd let Pamela and Katrina figure that one out. They were smarter than me. "You would be surprised what the Soviets misplaced. 

Updating the equipment has been aided by our businesses in India, Pakistan, Iraq, Libya and Syria as well as the Turkish Republics. We have hundreds of attack aircraft, much of it equivalent to what the PRC (People's Republic of China) can send up. We have tanks, APCs, mobile artillery, armored scout vehicles, attack and transport helicopters, and trucks. The world has come full circle, my friend. 

Once more, victory on the battlefield will be determined by mobility, not mass. We will pin the Chinese in the cities, cut off their supplies and let them rot, or serve as lures to bring the PLA's (People's Liberation Army) mobile forces out to a ground of our choosing." Well, that helped things make more sense to me. For starters, Aksai Chin.

"You are luring their western most mobile forces to the south, aren't you?" I guessed. Iskender nodded. "They are running off to Aksai Chin, leaving Xinjiang vulnerable."

"Precisely," he nodded, congratulating me on being a smart amateur warlord.

"Any chance the Seven Pillars, or the PRC can catch wind of this?" I asked. 

Another smile. "They already have...kind of," he snorted. "We offered up some of our agents for them to seize. The agents injected themselves with the anthrax before being captured. They thought they were crippling our network. Instead, by kidnapping our members, they brought the poison into their own houses. Their intelligence gathering units are going to die."

Talk about a second steel tip boot to the nuts. You can crank out half-ass soldiers in a matter of weeks. How long would it take to train up new intelligence officers? How far up the chain of command this sickness would go was anyone's guess. Worse, their vaccine wasn't even a vaccine and I was willing to bet the pre-vaccinated personnel were about to find out how useless that shot had been too.

The Earth & Sky was going to cripple the PRC's intelligence apparatus for six months to a year.

"What does He (Temujin) want from me?" I bit into the Golden Apple.

"Time and understanding. Inside of two months, we will have spent our initial volley. Our new nation will need a reprieve - a brokered ceasefire with the appropriate useless Peace Talks.

Our word in the West will be worthless because of our...terrorist acts. We need people in the UN to intervene once we have finished, yet before the Chinese can bury us with their industrial base," he laid out the second phase of their plan. 

What could the Amazons possibly do to bring that...

"You want me to go to my Aunts and see what they can arrange," I met his gaze.

"Precisely. We will also need you to set the stage for a deal with the 9 Clans," he added. 

They didn't want a peace treaty among the secret societies. The Earth & Sky wanted a public, open to the world, UN brokered ceasefire. Once the shooting stopped and the E&S had some level of recognition, they could start buying armament and training the troops for round two.

"Understanding? You want me to talk to the US Federal agents and explain to them that the most egregious use of biological warfare the world has ever witnesses is...what?" I said dryly. "Holy Hell, you are talking about putting millions of people at risk - Ishara knows how many dead. How do you plan for me to spin this?"

"We will give you all of the data on the Soviet and our research on Anthrax," he offered.

"Once you've completely boned the Chinese," I clarified. Iskender nodded happily. 

"Time table?" He slid a flash drive over the table. That could only mean...the first wave of Seven Pillars attacks went down 48 hours ago. The Chinese government had already started the inoculations.

Save what you can...that was my imperative now. It was not lost on me that by saving Temujin I had set this wave human misery in motion. I had tried to save my people and innocent men, women and children in China were going to die with fluid filling their lungs and monstrous fevers. 'The Seven Pillars brought this on themselves' was a soulless dodge.

This wasn't revenge. This wasn't tit for tat. This was ethnic cleansing on a continent-wide scale. How was I ever going to sleep again? How could I hold my daughters and sons after leaving them this crime as my legacy? 

What the fuck had I expected to happen? Every group was staffed with killers, criminals and the morally flexible. Worse, I knew the looks I'd be getting from my Amazons. They would be looks of pity - for me. Pity that I hadn't seen this coming and that nothing they could have done would make me accept this...thing, this style of warfare.

I kept my emotions under tight rein. Screaming at Iskender and telling Genghis to kiss my Heine would accomplish nothing.

"Is this all for now?" I questioned Iskender. He nodded, pleased as punch over this latest cycle of cultural vengeance - the pastoral steppe dwellers versus the agrarian valley inhabitants.

"Breakfast?" he asked.

"Nah. We are in enough danger stepping out of our doors these days. I need to run this back to my people and figure how I'm going to handle the calamity when the shit-kicking begins. Be careful, Iskender," I told him as we stood and hugged once more.

I was about to leave when one ray of sunshine pierced my gloom. I could save a few. I could do something and send one wave to counteract the tsunami Temujin had tossed my way.

"Iskender, I need something done," I looked down as he had resumed his seat.

"Yes?"

"My allies have oil and natural gas facilities plus refineries in your backyard and I want them protected," I demanded. I was a fucking prince in their eyes. It was time I pushed back.

"Are these your assets?" he equivocated. He knew they were not. That was the polite way of telling me this was 'none of your business', so I lied.

"They are my fiancée's properties," I fibbed a fable worthy of my best efforts. "Hana Sulkanen, is her name. Here is the name of her on-site coordinator," I handed him a card. "Make sure He knows this is important to me, if I am to have assets invested in the Khanate." 

Lest everyone forget, I was a Business Major/Philosophy Minor and both came into play here. The business aspect was simple. If I had heavy investments in the Khanate (when it formed), I was less likely to betray Temujin. Besides, as I was a peripheral member, he could take away tomorrow what he gave to me today. The philosophy aspect was that the best rulers used both loyalty and fear to get the job done.

My response to my mission could be viewed as me doing this out of fear that he'd eventually have me killed, or I was doing this because I believed in the Khanate and that Genghis stood a chance - I was betting on his horse to win, which the Amazon nation was. The thing was, Iskender really liked me. I had helped his career and it turned out we had compatible personalities.

We were also now in the same political pond. That meant we could be strong allies, or strong rivals. My rank was higher - Prince - and I believed that was on purpose. He wanted me keeping his other outer-ring power players aware they weren't the only game in town. I was still a 'nobody' at this point. If I could pull off this move for Hana, that would change.

Temujin would give me power by proxy - his to parcel out and take away.

"I will tell him very soon. I will contact you when we know something," he acknowledged.

"Also, we are sending assistance to the Ninja, so we will be increasing our assets in the region. Is there anything that the Host can do for the Khanate?"

"Not at the moment, but we can ship you some of the correct vaccine," he proposed. 

"That would be great. Can we have production rights for the correct vaccine?" I tacked on another request.

"That is already on the flash drive," he smiled.

"Now, I really have to get going," I gave a lopsided grin. Oh, yeah, I had to go. I caught sight of two rough looking guys at a table by the door. They were Iskender's men. I wasn't worried. Delilah and Pamela were already converging on me as well. First...

"Hana, I need to ask you..." I said as I called Ms. Sulkanen.

"Hello Cáel, how did your meeting go?" she interrupted. She was freaking anxious, fretful and worried.

"Hana, will you consent to be my wife?" I tossed it out there. One...Two...Thr...

"Yes...Yes I will, but you will have to talk to Father soon," she responded.

Hana knew the score. She knew the cultures I was dealing with. Clan, tribe and people stood taller than any national, or corporate, identity. I couldn't protect her interest, but I could ward off my own side from my property - thus the economic necessity of our marriage. 

"Your people can expect contact within a few hours," I continued. 

Yes Hana, I was confessing, I had lied to 'my side' about 'us'.

"They may be bringing a gift. I suggest your people go along with it. I'll explain when I get a chance. It is very important - okay?" Talk about a meaningless warning.

"Honey, I hope to hear from you soon. Lunch perhaps?" she hinted.

"Dinner is better," I requested.

"I'll meet you at Osteria al Doge at 6:30," Hana suggested. I agreed. "See you then," she signed off. We were out of the restaurant and into the SUV's by the time I finished.

"Congratulations," Delilah gave a bitter smirk. The Man-Dog-Pig had just retired his bachelor status. 

That was more a cause for mourning than joy. I was in mourning alright. Pamela patted my shoulder (she was in the seat behind me). All I could do was hold that hand.

"What is going on?" Agent Loire/Vincent inquired.

"Call Javiera. I need a face to face meeting. And you have State Department people as part of your taskforce?"

"We do," he answered.

"Get one of your best 'China' people to that meeting as well," I couldn't even look him in the eyes. "This is something that...people are going to want to know about."

"Is her Majesty's Government going to be part of this discussion?" British Agent Delilah Faircloth, MI-6 prodded.

"Absolutely. I'm going to need some serious favors pretty soon and I might as well start paying this forward while I've got the chance," I responded. After that, no one bothered me. Pamela would later say that I looked like I'd looked into the face of death and found nothing to laugh about. A sick thought occurred to me, then was discarded.

What if Iskender had infected me? Cruel - yes. Pointless - also yes. Why anger the Amazons? Why anger the United States by spreading the contagion to New York City? You could ask the Taliban how well that worked out for them. No, I wasn't going to escape my guilt by becoming a victim because I was too valuable to the terrorists. Yay me...



Life as a New Hire Ch. 30



This story plays fast and loose with Ancient History and Linguistics; be warned.

Those who declare war are willing to kill as many as it takes to reach their goal.

Editing magic performed by KJ24 and Shyqash, plus contributions by the regular gang of brigands and neer-do-wells.

Thanks to NM for his help with Magyar terminology and titles.

There is a bit of mangling of the Iliad going on. I apologize to Homer and the countless singers before him who carried the Iliad down through the dark centuries until the Greeks figured out how writing works.

I apologize - No sex this chapter

*****

(The Lowest Moral Denominator)

My first week at Havenstone, I'd biked to work alone on most days and I'd enjoyed that. I'd have treasure it more if I had glimpsed my future. I loved people, not crowds. I knew about violence, yet I had no affection for it. I was a confirmed bachelor. Now I was staring down both barrels of marriage. I had had also become a walking arsenal with a lethal omnipresent entourage.

This situation was so fucked up that I had to stop by Caitlin's place just to see Aya. My favorite sprite gave me a hug and reminded me that I had to do what I could, not worry about what I couldn't do. She was my 9 year old Svengali. She was my little Valkyrie. In truth, she was the only woman knew I loved and that was the love of a father for his daughter.

On the elevator ride up to the penthouse suite of the Midtown Hilton, I thought about Dad. What would Ferko Nyilas do in my shoes? It would be easy for someone who didn't know him to imagine my dad getting up on his high moral horse and telling me to just do the right thing...except that wasn't him. What he'd tell me was to not pass the buck. I had to deal with this, unless I knew someone else who could and would do it better.

It wasn't about 'being a man'; it was being a member of the Human Race. We all pitched in and got the job done, or it didn't get done ... and millions died because we refused to accept any responsibility for what was going on. That was my Dad - 'do what you can' and 'never be afraid to ask for help if you need it'. After the age of ten, he never told me I had to do anything. He'd tell me what needed to be done and leave it at that. 

So I wouldn't forget the pictures I knew I'd be seeing before too long - the innocent dead. If the sorrow broke me, it broke me. Until it did, I could not turn away. I had to 'do what I could'. That put me heading to a meeting at three o'clock in the afternoon in the penthouse suite.

After my non-breakfast with Iskender, we had driven straight to Havenstone, where I demanded an immediate, private meeting with Katrina. This wasn't an info-dump and then out the door. No, I was part of the process now - one of those fools who were responsible for the lives of others. Katrina and I had argued about compartmentalizing my terrifying news.

Her reasoning was clear. We were at war with the Seven Pillars. The basis of the 7P strength was China, so anything bad that happened to China was good for the Amazon Host. I nixed that. It was Katrina's job to think about our security. It was mine to juggle how we related to the rest of the planet. Absent the Golden Mare's opposition, Katrina couldn't stop me from doing my job as I saw fit. 

The Golden Mare was out of immediate contact, so we moved forward on my proposal. Katrina called Javiera, validated Vincent's call, and then suggested she bring in someone from the United States Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases (USAMRIID) at Ft. Detrick. Katrina wouldn't tell her why.

I dispatched Delilah to talk to her MI-6 guy while I made my way to Nicole Lawless's law offices. I need to talk to my Aunts. An hour later, I dismissed a somewhat piqued Nicole from the room, then laid out the upcoming crisis to my Mom's clones. I hesitated a minute before dropping the other bomb - Grandpa Cáel was back.

Was I sure? I countered with, "Do you know who Shammuramat was?" 

Why, yes they did; Grandpa had a bust of her in his main office. 

"Well, she's back, in the flesh and that spells all kinds of problems". 

The six aunts present agreed. They invited me to fly to Europe with five of them. Much to their surprise and joy, I agreed. I told them I would be a party of twelve with plenty of firepower. They were less pleased about that. 

I exited that scene, only to engage in another, somewhat unrelated, bit of diplomacy. I met with Brooke and Libra for lunch. They brought Casper, who was seeing a specialist in New York and had expressed an interest in seeing me again. Into that volatile mix, I placed my request: 'Could Brooke put up a friend for a couple of weeks while I made other arrangements?' 

Yes, this was a 'bizarre' friend. Yes, this was a violently bizarre friend. Yes, she walked around with enough weaponry to scare a seasoned SWAT officer. And yes, she was a mass murderer. Cool..., if I agreed to stop by and see how this 'friend' was doing - and gave Libra advance notice too, then they were fine with it.

Thus Shammuramat - Sakuniyas - Saku became Brooke's roommate. Insane? Not really. Putting Saku inside Havenstone on a regular basis was going to result in a blood bath. Saku was abrasive and she was a criminal in the minds of her 'sisters'. This gave her an 'out', some space and time with a civilized person who she couldn't emotionally bowl over.

If Saku got physical with Brooke, we both understood that House Ishara was going to cancel her return performance. Amazons could defend themselves, so we were fair game for her rude behavior. Brooke couldn't, so she was hopefully out of bounds. Saku had agreed to the arrangement without comment. 

She'd already figured out that no other Amazons wanted her around and there simply wasn't room at my place. With that chore done, I was able to see Miyako off before her flight to Tokyo by way of Seattle. Selena was with her, but not going. Miyako did have three Amazons in case things got rough. 

The Marda House guard woman looked mature and humorless. Her age wasn't a problem. She was a grandmother, yet if she thought she couldn't keep up, she'd have taken herself to the cliffs before now. It turned out she had been in Executive Services before returning to House Marda. My diplomat ... I didn't know her, but she seemed eager enough. The member of House Ishara was a brand new recruit named Jenna. 

She was from Acquisitions and spoke seven Asian languages, including Japanese. She looked absolutely thrilled to be heading off into danger. I instructed the younger two to obey the Mardan. In private, I 'advised' the Mardan that our main mission was to be of aid to the ninja. Information gathering would be secondary. More Amazons were on the way. She gave me a nod.

For this critical mid-afternoon meeting at the Midtown Hilton, Wiesława lead the way off the elevator. Buffy went next, then me and finally Saku. Delilah and Vincent had already arrived with their appropriate factions. Katrina took a separate elevator, with Elsa and Desiree. Pamela was...somewhere. After she'd pointed out a half-dozen people from four different agencies in the lobby, she told me to not wait while she went to the bathroom.

At the door of the Penthouse were two familiar faces from the NYPD, Nikita Kutuzov and her partner, Skylar Montero. When Javiera's investigation followed me to New York, they had been drafted into the taskforce. 

"Hey ladies," I smiled. My last meeting with Nikita hadn't gone well.

"Cáel," Nikita smiled back. "How have you been?"

"More trouble than normal," I shook her hand. 

"We can tell," Skylar relaxed somewhat. As Nikita's partner, she had to know that our relationship had soured when she started investigating me. Katrina's group came up.

"I think you are the last to arrive," Nikita informed us. This time, Desiree was the first one through the door. I could hear the conversation trail off. Wiesława went next, then Katrina, me, Buffy, Saku and finally Elsa. I decided to toss 'civilized' behavior out the window seconds after entering. Virginia Maddox of the FBI, the initiator of the Amazon children's airlift, was here.

I hugged her and after a moment, she hugged me back.

"Priya says hey and," she blushed slightly, "she's counting the days - all forty-five of them."

"Don't forget - I owe you," I grinned then patted her shoulder. Javiera was next.

"Cáel," she headed my familiarity off. She was a Federal Prosecutor after all.

"This is the head of this taskforce, Jonas Baker (deep breath) Associate Deputy Undersecretary of Analysis for Homeland Security {ADUAHS} (deep breath)." I extended my hand, so he shook it. He looked somewhat annoyed by this whole encounter. Javiera was duly nervous because of his poor initial attitude. The introductions went around.

Half way through it, Pamela showed up...from where, I didn't know. Delilah, her MI-6 boss and the British professional killer Chaz were there, much to the chagrin of the Americans. Vincent was there with Javiera. Cresky was representing the CIA plus there was ATF, ICE, Riki Martin (?) from the State Department and a man in a civil servant's salary suit and a military demeanor - Captain Moe Mistriano.

"Fine," Mr. Baker began. "I hope you aren't wasting our time." His gaze flicked between Katrina and me. 

[Old Kingdom Egyptian] "May the Blessed Isis bring understanding to our meeting," I intoned.

"What was that?" Baker turned on me.

"Praying for guidance," I replied. Isis wasn't in the Amazon pantheon, but I could sure use her help at this point. Baker was going from put-out to pissed-off. If that is how they wanted to play it, their choice. "Are you the specialist from Ft. Detrick?" I asked the Captain.

"Yes, I am and I hope this is worth my time as well," he gave me a steady gaze. Oh, I really needed that.

"Anthrax - China," I stated and weighed his response. Oh yeah, I had his attention now ... which meant his bio-warfare unit had some idea about what was happening in China.

"Care to enlighten me?" Baker inquired. He had gauged his medical expert's reactions as well and he didn't like what the biological warfare specialist was not saying.

"Mr. Baker," the Captain decided to go first. "Roughly fifty-five hours ago, we got wind that there was a massive Anthrax outbreak in Western China. Xinjiang, Qinghai, Gansu, Ningxia and Nei Mongol administrative regions have all reported outbreaks.

"Holy Shit!" Riki Martin gasped. Her dark, whip-like, Hispanic features noticeably paled.

"That sounds suspiciously like bio-terrorism," Jonas Baker turned on me.

"You'd be right about that," I refused to evade. "It is and it is about to get a whole lot worse."

"The PRC has a robust vaccine program," the Captain stated. "That is why they aren't making a public stink about it. They have the problem well under control."

"Damn..." I closed my eyes and lowered my head. In some deep section of my mind, I had fanned the feeble flames of hope that somehow, the Earth & Sky program had derailed. "That is the 'whole lot worse' I was talking about. The terrorists aren't terrorists. They..."

"What do you mean they are not terrorists," Baker snapped. "They..."

"Shut up and let the man speak," Katrina said calmly.

"Who are you again?" he glared at Katrina. "If you aren't part of the solution, you are part of the problem and I'm here to make sure this problem is dealt with. I am not here to play footsie with you. I am going to be asking some tough questions and you had better answer them."

"I'm Cáel's boss," Katrina smiled. "Since we came here to help you and you don't want to let us speak, we are leaving. Cáel."

The Amazons didn't turn and leave. No, we backed up toward the door.

"You can't start talking about an ongoing terrorist threat and then walk out the door," Baker argued.

"Javiera, I apologize," I looked her way. "Mr. Baker, Javiera's a smart cookie. I'm sure she's given you every bit of information that has come across her desk. That means you know we consider ourselves an independent nation-state without borders. You can't intimidate us. We feel no obligation to obey your legal system and we operate internationally," I kept going.

"Now, as we are trying to repay Javiera's kindness in our time of need, you are treating us like criminals currying favors. Blow it out your ass, you pompous bureaucrat" I concluded. "We aren't the problem here."

"If that's the way you want it," he shrugged. "Javiera, arrest them." Pause.

"Sir, you do realize that if I give that order, there is a good likelihood they will resist with force?" Javiera replied calmly. Baker looked around the room.

"We outnumber them and these are law enforcement officers," he insisted. "Now..."

"I wouldn't count on that 'outnumbered' thing," Delilah chimed in. 

Chaz and MI-6 dude didn't seem to be onboard with his plan. "I have reason to believe Cáel has information on a highly virulent weaponized Anthrax program. If our US allies aren't interested, Her Majesty's government certainly will be." That did interest the MI-6 senior officer.

"That is all the more reason to put these people into federal custody," Baker stated.

"Then what, Mr. Associate Deputy?" Chaz said. "Are you going to torture them for time sensitive data? In my military service, I've met some truly hard characters. Some people you can put a gun to their child's head and they'll tell you what you want to know. Not this group. They'll memorize your face and wait for a chance to make you pay ... whether you kill the kid, or not."

"That's my read on them as well," Agent Vincent Loire added.

"Mr. Baker, I worked under you when we were both in Counter-terrorism," Virginia spoke up. "I think you are mishandling this. Invoke the Patriot Act and all we get is a roomful of statues. I've fought beside these...Amazons and I'm reaffirming my report to Ms. Castello (Javiera) - they do not believe their behavior is wrong.

At some point in their fifties, they commit ritual suicide. They make their twelve year old daughters fight for their lives. They murder their male infants. Sir, they are an alien society, indoctrinated at birth to believe they are spiritual inheritors of the ancient Amazons mentioned by Homer during the time of the Iliad. 

They fanatically believe in a pantheon of goddesses and possess very little inclination for integration. They think they are superior to everyone in this room - except for Cáel - he's an oddity," Virginia pleaded.

"That legion of crimes is yet another reason to arrest them," Baker just wouldn't give up.

"What you have described, Agent Maddox is a right wing nut cult, like the Branch-Davidians at Waco. Arrest them."

"What are the charges?" Javiera's face blanked out.

"Conspiracy to commit terrorist acts; aiding and abetting an international terrorist organization," Baker snapped.

"Everyone, put down your firearms and blades," Katrina ordered. I didn't have the status to give that order except to my own. For that matter...

"Team - disarm," Elsa commanded her Security Detail people. Technically, Katrina couldn't order those girls to forego their primary mission - defend the Host. Out came the guns.

The group of us went over to one wall, put our backs to it and sat down. Pro forma, Virginia, Vincent and the ATF guy drew their firearms. By this time, both Riki and the Captain looked ready to explode.

"Tell us what you know about this terrorist conspiracy and..." Baker said.

"We invoke our Right to Council," I raised my hand.

"You are being charged under the Patriot Act, smart-ass," Baker sneered. "We can hold you indefinitely if we can show a risk to National Security - such as a terrorist attack in China."

"I apologize for dragging you into this," I turned to Katrina. "You too, Saku." Saku shrugged.

"I told you there is no benefit in helping 'these people'," Katrina comforted me. She meant non-Amazons and it was rather sad that it was looking like she was right and I was wrong.

"Unless you want to grow old and grey in Guantanamo, I suggest you start talking now," Baker threatened. 

There was no bravado on our part. We didn't zone out, or ignore him. We looked at him the same way we would a yappy dog while continuing to scan the room. Being disarmed didn't make us defenseless. It merely limited our options. 

"Sir," Riki tapped Baker. 

"If the People's Republic of China finds out we withheld details of a terrorist attack on their soil...that would be BAD - with a capital 'B'."

"I have to call this in," the Captain shook his head.

"Wait until we have active intelligence," Baker said. The Captain completed his call.

"I don't work for you, Sir. I work for the Department of Defense and that man," the Captain pointed at me, "strung two words together he shouldn't have. Now, I don't know any of you people. I was told to come here, so here I am. I do know - Sir - that you are ignoring the advice from your experts about the expected results of standard interrogation techniques. 

You are acting on two assumptions which I find to be fictitious," the Captain was clearly furious. "First, you seem to think this won't get out ... and you are wrong. Why? We have no idea who these people have talked with. We can only believe that any person outside of their organization can use that revelation for their own ends. Secondly, you haven't grasped the extent of the emergency.

Chinese citizens are already starting to drop dead as we speak. This variant of Anthrax is highly contagious, fast-acting, and appears to be incredibly fatal. No nation on Earth has enough Anthrax vaccine on hand to protect their entire population...and that still implies that the vaccines we currently have will work on this new bacteria. Need I go on?"

Then Captain Mistriano went back to talking softly with his companions back at Ft. Detrick. The MI-6 chief made his own call. This was his job after all. Before Baker could even start to threaten the Brit, Delilah and Chaz had their guns out, though pointed down. The US law enforcement operatives were far more leery of challenging agents of a friendly foreign power.

"I will make sure to tack on charges for all those deaths you are facilitating," Baker piled it on. "The US government might find it necessary to send you to the People's Republic of China to face charges there. After all, you claim to not be US citizens." None of us responded verbally. We looked at him. We certainly heard him speak, but his 'words' now meant nothing.

Highly annoyed, Baker started the handcuffing process. Nikita and Skylar came in with four more NYPD. The bracelets went on behind our back. Javiera made one more stab at it.

"Katrina - Cáel, please help us," she pleaded. She knew far more than Baker about the cost of this meeting. 

The Amazons would withdraw and this war would play out with the US government blind to the key players. Hell, we had been repaying her favor and were ending up in chains. Virginia shared that distress. All the headway she'd made in helping the camp whisk their young to safety was being undone. Both ladies had come to appreciate the risks I had taken to bring our two sides together.

I looked to Katrina for approval before speaking.

"We still respect you, Javiera," I grinned. "You know that once we exit this place, Havenstone is going to implode. I wish it wasn't so, but now we have to look out for ourselves."

"We will see about that as well," Baker grumbled. We had nothing to say.

"Have you lost your FUCKING MIND?" Javiera turned and screamed at him. "I brought these people to you because they said they had vital intelligence to share. They didn't have to - they volunteered because this taskforce has been trying to cultivate them as a source of information on other underground groups."




Life as a New Hire Ch. 30



"Have you lost your mind?" Baker countered.

"No sir," Javiera sneered. "I do know that I'm going to go on the six o'clock news tonight and tell them that you - by name - are concealing a major outbreak of Anthrax in China. I'll let the political vultures do the rest, Mr. Baker."

"Blabbing about an on-going federal investigation carries stiff penalties, Ms. Castello," he fought back.

"I'll be practicing law long before...you son of a bitch," she suddenly snapped. "You are embarrassed because Havenstone swam beneath your radar until now," she put some pieces together.

"You seem to think that is a reason to cut them some slack, Ms. Castello," Baker reposted.

"Yes, I do," Javiera defended her position. "They reached out to us. We had no case - 15 dead bodies in Chicago and no motive for the crime. We had professional mercenaries on US soil killing US citizens. Mr. Nyilas and Ms. Love gave us multiple leads and they didn't have to."

"They were attacked. Of course they came crawling to us," Baker said. Javiera shook her head.

"Sir, as I put in my report, they are a vengeance-based society. They were more than happy to hunt down those gunmen: BY-THEM-SELVES," the federal prosecutor drilled her point home. "You can't accept that there is a war on the horizon and we need each other as allies.

As insane as their background sounds, the current global situation is bearing out their warnings. You are not only showing them egregious disrespect, Mr. Baker, you are insulting everyone on the team that has interacted with Havenstone. This is something you are going to have to answer for," she finished.

"Ummm," Captain Moe spoke up. "Mr. Nyilas, do you have any technical data on this Anthrax outbreak?" I looked at him yet held silent.

"He can't answer you," Virginia spoke for me. "But I can tell you that thirty-six hours ago, that man charged eleven well-trained Special Forces operators with only one young woman at his side. 

Then, after those enemies were killed, he and another combatant charged the end of the attacking column and destroyed the end three vehicles (the two Hummer-types and the last truck), trapping al the rest. I don't think any of you get it. These people are born warriors - every last one of them. They've only surrendered now because they have already planned out their escape. 

That's how they think. The security at their outdoor summer camp rivaled that of the NSA. There, kids as young as seven are trained in hand-to-hand combat, archery and knife-fighting. I saw a fifteen year old girl kill a man at thirty yards with a bow by moonlight. They burned over a hundred men alive in pre-prepared traps...and in the middle of all that, I've never felt safer in all my life.

And that's because of how these people think. They're not here for the U.S.!" She was turning red in the face as she yelled at Baker. "I was safe because Cáel vouched for me. Cáel vouched for me because Javiera told him I could be trusted. Their word is their bond. Their code of conduct is that basic. You've just broken Javiera's word and the consequences of the betrayal will be quite severe, I have no doubt."

"Consequences?" Baker mocked.

"Oh yeah, ya Douche," Delilah counter-mocked. "Give 'em time. They are going to kill everyone on your - eh, Katrina and Cáel, please note we Brits are not part of this fiasco." Katrina and I nodded. "Everyone on your taskforce and your families too. You are all dead. Virginia?"

"Pretty much," Virginia agreed.

"Where is Ms. Pile?" Chaz looked around. "Bloody Hell." Pamela was nowhere in sight.

"Don't sweat it," I looked to the two martial Brits. "She likes you both." 

While this had been going on, Riki had been busy with her own phone games. "Mr. Baker," she finally spoke up. "Secretary of State Kerry would like to talk to you." Blink. Baker took the phone rather reluctantly. That Cabinet member wanted the information he was supposed to be getting immediately. Once Jonas blithely informed Mr. Kerry that he had placed those individuals under arrest, the conversation took a turn for the worse - for Jonas.

Three quarters through his ass-reaming, his own phone rang.

"Pardon me, Mr. Secretary," Baker looked at his own device and paled even more. That was his boss's boss's boss - the Deputy Secretary of Homeland Security. That guy seemed pretty livid as well. 

What none of us knew then was that there had been a massive shootout in downtown London a little more than an hour before our meeting began. It was a sanguinary catastrophe of startling proportions, in and around "All Hallows by the Tower" - one of the oldest churches in England. At the moment, the US intelligence apparatus was dealing with some really bad mojo. 

Six factions had shot it out in one of the most famous sites in London in the late afternoon. Among the dead were a senior British Member of Parliament (MP) from the Labour Party and one of Russia's biggest arms dealers. The Deputy Director of Intelligence for the DGSE (the French external intelligence service) was still in surgery, fighting for his life. 

He wasn't the only one. There were also nineteen dead and seventeen wounded at the church. The London Metropolitan Police were running around, highly incensed. One of their female constables was dead at the scene. Five more were in serious condition. 

For reasons still unknown, former Russian Spetsnaz, active duty French paratroopers, former British Special Forces operatives, personnel of a Dutch security firm, and a large group of professional killers masquerading as Ukrainian immigrant laborers opened fire on one another in the abbey of All Hallows by the Tower.

The Metropolitan Police (the sixth faction), responding to the automatic gunfire and explosions, became involved in the firefight. The Ukrainians fled the scene and the police gave chase. Three more civilians were killed and forty-two wounded during the pursuit and the resulting car crashes as well as the THREE firings of an RPG at police cruisers, which caused two more constable deaths and left seven more officers wounded.

How had that managed to salvage my diplomatic mission? Before passing on, a Ukrainian uttered one small sentence: 'Did we kill the Illuminati Factor?' Through NSA intercepts and cross-Atlantic intelligence exchanges, the US intelligence network revved up into high gear; they punched in the key words - and all fingers pointed to the taskforce. As Homeland Security analysts tossed it upstairs, the State department began to fidget nervously.

What were they nervous about? A crucial individual at Foggy Bottom just happened to know where Riki was, who she was meeting with (the sources that had given the US current information on the Illuminati) and they wanted any information she could pry out of us concerning the goings-on in London. Instead, Riki had just called them first and sent up warning flags about bio-terrorism in China...

Oh, and she informed her boss that the Taskforce head had just shut down that information conduit on the Chinese AND the Illuminati by arresting the individuals that this independent group had sent to discuss security issues with the United States government. 

- Charges: Terrorist threats. 

-Complications: The FBI and Federal Prosecutor working the case were siding with the assets - codename: Penthasilea. 

The authorities were getting two conflicting accounts of our current circumstance. Baker swore he would have us singing in half an hour. Riki Martin claimed Baker had his head up his ass...and there were three British Intelligence operatives watching all of this go down.

All of this DC bullshit was making our NYPD cops antsy. Baker came up with an action plan.

"The first one of you to talk gets blanket immunity," he addressed me and my fellow captives. No one said anything. Delilah responded by laughing richly and loud.

"You wanker," Delilah derided the Fed. "Clean out your damn ears. The Amazons ain't telling you shit. I thought that would be obvious to you by now." 

"Ms. Castello, do something," Baker turned on the orchestrator of this meeting.

"I am," she gave him an evil grin. "I'm thinking of what descriptives I'm going to use when I tender my resignation, you presumptuous buffoon."

Baker turned back to us, alternating between threats and promised leniency, to no avail. I was the one to crack, not because of him though. Time meant lives right now - innocent lives.

"May I talk to the Captain in private?" I requested.

"No," Baker barked.

"Fine, can I go to the bathroom?" I asked. Another 'no'. "Can I apply for asylum?" I inquired of Delilah's 'other' boss. He seemed to be mulling that over, not that he could pull that off this very moment.

"Mr. Baker," the Captain stepped up. "I really think I should talk to this man."

"If he has something to say, he can tell both of us," Dirt-bag Baker grumbled.

"Your information could be saving lives, couldn't it?" the Captain looked at me. I looked away which was its own kind of confirmation. "You have got to tell me if lives are at stake," he appealed to my better nature. Good try.

"Agent Maddox made our position perfectly clear," Katrina answer for me. "Cáel cannot answer you because your actions, or lack of action, has revealed your word to be worthless and your motives suspect. He has no guarantee that giving you any knowledge he may possess will be used to save any lives. Personally, I was opposed to this meeting, but Cáel thought you deserved a chance. 

You can thank Mr. Baker for proving me right and Cael wrong." Katrina sternly stated.

"Mr. Nyilas," the Captain made one more end run around Katrina.

"He won't answer you," Katrina said after allowing me a chance to not answer. "He is the only one here with Havenstone that feels one iota of guilt for any part of this disaster. 

I attribute that to him being a kind-hearted and forgiving individual. He is alone in feeling that way, believe me," she added.

"How bad is this information?" Virginia's eyes welled up. 

"I wish I had never come out of that coma," I replied. 

If I hadn't, maybe Temujin would have been killed by the Seven Pillars and this wouldn't be happening...except the Earth & Sky had this in place way before Temujin was on the scene. This calamity was inevitable. 

"The van for their transport has arrived," Skylar informed Baker.

"Ms. Love and Mr. Nyilas, every single person who expires due to your intransience will be added to your charges and the Federal Government does enforce a death penalty," Jonas pushed it. "Your cohorts will be charged under Federal Firearms statutes. That is a long time in a Federal Maximum security complex for all of you.

And I can still honor a Chinese request for extradition," he tacked on. "They have their own standards of interrogation."

"I can't believe what is coming out of you pie-hole," Delilah snorted. "The only one the Reds will break is Cáel and I bet he doesn't know 'word one' about the technical aspects of this outbreak.

The three people he does know...well, you can't catch the main player and the other two probably don't know jack-all either. I wouldn't worry about the number of murder charges you are going to foist on this group. I'd worry about the number of Homeland agents whose bodies are going to start piling up on your doorstep," Delilah sneered.

"Ms. Faircloth, all your insinuations are doing is digging these so-called Amazons a deeper hole," Baker countered. "Personally, I'm not all that worried about a cult of delusional man-haters."

"You are impossible," Riki grumbled at Baker. "Mr. Nyilas, what do you know about the Illuminati?"

Long gone were the days when I was an open book when confronted with feminine charms. Riki was looking for some sort of reaction. She got something she didn't expect.

"Why don't we talk it over in that bedroom over there?" I propositioned her. What the hell - this was turning out to be a lousy day. I might as well reach for something good.

Nikita twisted my handcuffs tightly.

"Ouch," I complained.

"Behave," Nikita whispered.

"Are you trying to trade sex for information?" Jonas sneered.

"What exactly are you implying, Mr. Nyilas?" Riki kept studying me. "I'm engaged."

"Baker - no. I'm trying to gleam something positive from this moronic encounter. Ms. Martin - Rikki - please call me Cáel and what I am asking you for is a chance to break through this bureaucratic brick wall and establish a personal rapport. As for you being engaged - I don't care.

I've been sleeping with officer Nikita here, and while she's been loads of fun, I'm addicted to beautiful, intelligent and confident women, which you definitely are."

"You've had intercourse with a member of my taskforce?" Baker gobbled.

"None of your damn business," I grinned his way.

"If I go back to that bedroom, will you tell me what I want to know about the Illuminati?" Riki inquired. She had this steamy, sultry look to her. The political crisis had obscured her view of me until now. My body was projecting sex, sex, sex and her body was going yes, yes, yes.

"If we go back there for thirty minutes, I'll definitely consider it," I countered.

"The only place you are going is to an ICE holding facility," Baker seethed.

"Christmas Eve - Empire State Building, Bitch," Desiree looked my way. Oh yeah, if I made it to Christmas we'd go out on a date together. To prevent that abominable date from transpiring, I was taking a header off the top of that building the night before, or so the gag ran.

"Was that some kind of code?" Baker barked. No one said anything. "Take them away," he motioned to the cops. They led us to the elevators, split us up and down we went. The Brits would have to wait a while as there wasn't enough room to squeeze them in safely. This was starting to become the new, worst day in my life ... until we hit the lobby.

There was a wall of people waiting for the cops, and us. Eight of them were SD...the other twenty were with...Deidre, I believed. That sucked big time. I wasn't sure how they'd figured I was in trouble and responded so quickly. It was London again.

"Clear a path," Officer Montero commanded in her best authoritarian tone.

"Who the hell are you people?" Baker demanded. "You are impeding a Federal Investigation."

"Give us Cáel Nyilas and you can pass," Deidre replied calmly.

"Like Hell," Baker grumbled. Deidre handed a packet to one of her security types. In turn, the man walked over and handed the paperwork to the closest Fed - Virginia.

"This documentation affirms Mr. Nyilas' status as a diplomat with the Republic of Ireland's Mission to the United Nations," Deidre informed us. Fuck a Duck - now Ireland owned a piece of me as well as the Host, the US of A and the Khanate. One of these days I was going to emigrate to a political entity I actually wanted to belong to - someplace like Fiji. 

Virginia handed the papers to Baker.

"Are you serious?" he looked from the papers to Deidre.

"Very. Give us our envoy and we will depart," she insisted. This was ten kinds of strange. The paperwork must have taken at least a day if they would pass diplomatic muster. 

It was a backup plan to wrangle me if things turned ugly - which they had. That didn't explain the muscle in...Illuminati. 

"Deidre, what has happened?" I called out. Nikita unlocked my handcuffs.

"You know this woman?" Baker addressed me bitterly.

"If you had read my reports or looked over our video evidence you would know that woman is...I think, Deidre O'Shea. She is Cáel Nyilas' maternal aunt...one of many," Javiera growled.

"How can I accept these papers as authentic?" Baker cast about for an explanation. Riki stepped up, snatched them out of Baker's stunned fingers and reviewed them herself.

"They look legitimate. I'll call one of our European liaisons anyway," she mumbled. All the while, I kept exchanging glances with the rest of the Amazon contingent. This was a solo exit invitation. Aunt Deidre didn't have a way to bring them out with me and wasn't inclined to be helpful to the point of breaking the law at this time. Showing sisterly solidarity was pointless. 

In jail, I was actually a detriment to Katrina. I was the one with the information and the big mouth.

"Mr. Nyilas checks out," Riki announced. "He has the proper credentials."

"Mr. Nyilas, you could have mentioned your diplomatic status when this all began," Baker got pissy with me. I ignored him.

"Guns and axes," I demanded. "I want my weaponry back."

"Mr. Nyilas," Baker got in my face. I kept ignoring him. "Fine, I will file a formal protest with our State department and have you expelled from the United States." Captain Moe blanched.

"Do you abuse prescription drugs?" Riki really was becoming more succinct in her approach to Jonas. "Or, are you some crack-whore, meth-head, or someone who shoots up black tar heroin into their tear ducts?"

"Watch yourself, Ms. Martin," he glared at her.

"Blow it out your ass, you half-wit," Riki seethed back. "Does it occur to you the ONLY person you could pin any criminal charges on is about to walk out the door? Even better, knowing he has some level of knowledge of both the Illuminati and the Anthrax outbreak, you are going to have our government put him well beyond our reach," she shook her head.

"Thank you Ms. Martin," Katrina finally spoke. "What exactly are the rest of us being charged with? Our firearms are licensed and I don't recall anyone besides the diplomat from Ireland saying anything remotely like a terrorist threat."

"Release them," Javiera stated. "I'm not going to file any charges I know are unsupportable."

"What about the Arizona fiasco?" Baker was looking flustered. Summer Camp.

"The only people we can tie to that camp are Mr. Nyilas, Ms. Faircloth - a British citizen, and Agent Maddox. Ms. Faircloth was an avowed foreign intelligence operative operating on US soil with our permission. Agent Maddox was sent by us into that camp and didn't break any laws we are aware of," Javiera made her case.

"So, who are you going to call first? The Deputy Secretary (of HS), or the Secretary of State?" Javiera was pushing Baker into a corner. Despite Javiera's order, no one was un-cuffing the Amazons. Baker was still in charge.

"Mr. Nyilas, perhaps we got off on the wrong foot," Baker suggested.

"Mr. Baker, do you love your country?" I asked.

"Yes...of course. Sure, I do," he hesitated, looking for the pitfall.

"Then quit the task force. There is no way my side can work with you anymore. This demand is not a point of negotiation," I told him. 

"You had your chance and blew it. We Amazons are not much into forgiveness. Worse, you disrespected your underlings in my presence, refused to own up to your mistakes and failed to put your duty before your personal advancement. You have repudiated all the hallmarks of a good and honest leader. You've failed. Good-bye," I related.

"You don't get to dictate the shape of a US federal investigation, Mr. Nyilas," Baker retorted. My immediate counter was cut off by the arrival of the Brits and the NYPD with our weapons on a cart.

"Delilah, Ms. Martin and Captain Mistriano, would you care to come along with me?" I was back to ignoring Jonas.

I began to re-arm myself ... which the NYPD didn't love.

"Hold on now," Baker violently pulled on my arm. Hallelujah! My fist crashed into his face, breaking his nose and dropping him to the ground. I went back to my business. 

"Mumma-fuffa! Awwess hmm," he squawked. That was 'Mother-fucker. Arrest him.'

"Sir, you physically assaulted a diplomat," Vincent responded, "in front of dozens of witnesses. He wasn't doing anything illegal and you had no right to restrain him in an official capacity."

"Really?" I looked at Vincent. He nodded. "I'm filing charges," I chuckled.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 30



"Really?" it was Javiera's turn. My nod. "Mr. Jonas Baker, you are under arrest for battery and the unlawful detention of a member of the diplomatic corps by an on-duty government employee acting in an official capacity pursuant to Article 29 of the Vienna Convention on Diplomatic Relations of 1961."

"Yumm cam dunn dat," Baker insisted as Virginia pulled him to his feet.

"She can and I am," Virginia confirmed by putting on the steel bracelets. 

"Her Majesty's government will testify to this outrageous behavior on the part of Mr. Baker as well as filing our own complaint with your State Department and the United Nations General Assembly Sixth Committee," Mr. MI-6 Section Chief added. 

"Ms. Love and Mr. Nyilas, can we have a 'do-over'?" Riki pleaded. I looked to Katrina. She gifted me with a sliver of a smile and a nod. Damn it! That was how Deidre knew where I was and what I was doing. Katrina had sold me out...kinda/sorta.

"Sure thing," I sighed. "I need to talk to my Aunt first."

In hindsight, the two back up squads (one for Katrina/ one for me) working with the Illuminati should have alerted me to Katrina's deviousness. Those eight women were vacating the premises after Elsa signaled them to fall back. It was my job to deal with Deidre and her "super-security" force.

"Come with me, Cáel," she purred as she swept into my arms. She was tilting my head down for a deep, tonsil-tinging French Kiss before I could grapple with the internal conflict of sexy, hot red-head versus 'she's my kin, dang it!'.

"That's his aunt?" Riki muttered.

"It is complicated," Katrina answered. "Very complicated."

"There are nine more, just like her," Javiera compounded the confusion. "I mean that - exactly like her."

"They seem rather...close," Virginia groused. Ah, jealousy from someone I had yet to take to bed.

"Is his entire family like that?" Riki asked.

"Oh no," Buffy grumbled. "A month ago, they didn't know each other existed. Now those genetic freakazoids think they own him. That's not going to happen."

"Yes, he does present himself as a very strong-willed, free-thinking individual," Nikita noted.

"No," Buffy corrected her. "I mean they can't have him because he's mine. I own him."

"For love of the Goddess, cut me some slack," I griped after breaking Deidre's lip lock. "I can hear everything you ladies are saying."

"You were supposed to," Katrina smirked. "We have work to do."

After a brief plea on my part, Deidre accepted my invitation to join the round table. My first order of business was having Buffy cough up a copy of the data Iskender had sent. Next came the reveal about the Chinese poisoned vaccines which sent Captain Moe and Riki into deep, hushed and desperate conversations with their associate apparatuses.

The really, really hard part was trying to sell the Earth & Sky as a non-terrorist organization. I went with the old philosophical argument of 'what is it to kill a person?' Basically, from the mid-18th century, the Han Chinese had been culturally marginalizing and exterminating the cultures of the Turkish and Mongolian Peoples living within in their borders - genocide had been institutionalized as part of the struggle.

The process was called sinicization, and it encouraged the assimilation of Han Chinese ways and the migration of Han Chinese into the historically Turkish and Mongolian areas. Worse, the economic opportunities the PRC created in the course of exploiting the various regions' natural resources had benefited the Han colonists far more than the native populations. 

The ugly truth was the Khanate could not trust the Han populations in the areas they wanted to seize and they couldn't simply push them out. Starting in the 1930's, various Chinese regimes had declared the 'age of the barbarian' was over. The 'barbarians' were proving them wrong. CIA officer Cresky was now making his own furtive phone calls. The NSA was also getting involved.

By herculean efforts, the Earth & Sky had managed to assemble 80% of their forces when Zero Hour came. Circumstances had forced Temujin to push the attack forward by 24 hours. Still, he was confident. In the halls of power in Kazakhstan, Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan and Mongolia, coups were taking place. Khanate propaganda efforts were rolling into high gear.

Temujin was graduating from an Osama bin Laden-level terrorist chief to the Master of a fragile, yet massive, Asian belligerent state. Without knowing the precise time table of events, that was the angle I was spinning. The Earth & Sky wasn't Al Qaeda, or a terrorist state like Iran, Libya, or Syria. It was more akin to the old Soviet Union. Oh yeah, and some of the largest fields of oil, natural gas and shale lay beneath his feet.

At 2:50 a.m. Almaty Time (Eastern Kazakhstan), the United Central Asian Khanate declared war on the People's Republic of China. At 3:00 am, coordinated attacks against China began with medium-range missile and drone strikes that devastated PLA air bases and supply facilities in Xinjiang and Nei Mongol. The Chinese news brown-out that Beijing had implemented in order to control information about the Anthrax outbreak now came back to haunt them.

If a network was on the air, it was governmental and the E&S pounded it, or jammed it. Next came small scale actions along the border. A few strategic frontier outposts were overwhelmed. The majority held out, yet were in serious trouble. They were screaming for help over the already over-taxed communication web that remained.

As my Amazons were trying to score points with the United Kingdom and United States, Pakistan was asking for a UN commission to discuss the Aksai Chin situation. That measure was heading to the UN Security Council where the PRC, as a permanent member with 'veto power', was going to squash it. 

Against their case was the posting of the video of the PLA 'relief' column to Aksai Chin being cut to pieces. Mid-afternoon yesterday, a brigade-sized force belonging to the 6th Motorized Division, backed with significant air assets, assaulted their former stronghold that now was in 'rebel' hands. The defenders used European-built MILAN anti-tank missiles and RPG's to beat off the first Chinese rush.

The Chinese deployed, blasted away at the fixed fortification and then closed in to finish off the few holdouts. That was when the 'rebels' launched their counter-attack. The Chinese anti-air defenses disappeared first. When the PLAAF swarmed back in, the 'rebel' anti-air defenses revealed themselves. Of the eighteen engaged aircraft, fourteen crashed and burned, two limped away and the last two fled.

The Chinese helicopter support assets suffered the same fate. When the 'rebels' produced their own Russian-built combat helicopters, the Chinese brigade fell apart. The 'rebel's blocked the northern, mountainous retreat route so the armored assets were forced to race across the barren Aksai Chin valley where dozens of 'rebel' groups ambushed the dazed Chinese survivors. 

As the Sun set, the video showed hundreds of Chinese troops surrendering. No one on planet Earth still believed Aksai Chin was in the hands of a rag-tag group of Turkish separatists, or jihadists. China was ready and willing to blame Pakistan for this blatant act of aggression. Pakistan's statement at the UN certainly didn't dissuade that belief.

That tripled the effectiveness and importance of FD Javiera Castello, Riki Martin at State, Cresky with the CIA and Captain Moe Mistriano. I doubted this was hurting the career of Delilah either. Much to my disgust, Katrina's prediction had been right. We gave the US government this crucial information and their superiors decided to...analyze it.

The Department of Defense, over the objections of the USAMRIID, didn't want the Anthrax data to go over the internet, or any wireless service. A military courier was coming to retrieve the flash drive then a jet on standby would whisk the data to Maryland and Ft. Detrick. The Justice Department...Javiera was bounced around between Homeland Security, the FBI (separately from HS) and the State Department.

The CIA and NSA were doing a threat assessment, even as they watched seven armored Tumens crossing the PRC's borders from Kazakhstan, Russia and Mongolia. How bad was it? Khanate Tu-95 and Tu-22M bombers, both relics of the Cold War, were penetrating deep into Chinese airspace, plastering supply depots, railroad marshalling centers and key bridges. 

Temujin's 'Falcons' had temporarily established air superiority over the Lanzhou and Beijing Military Districts - that's western and northern China. Not only had the surprise attack by the Earth & Sky devastated a huge portion of the PLAAF on the ground, small teams were taking out anti-air assets. As a final indignity, the Chinese pilots and crews were starting to get sick - really sick.

Captain Moe enlightened the room with a fact I already knew, but hadn't referenced. How do you prioritize what people you vaccinate when you have an outbreak? Answer: Your First Responders. In the PRC, that meant the military, militia, police and the staff of medical centers. That's right. The people designated to battle this terrible affliction were succumbing to this sickness before the attack's full force engulfed the populace.

The Chinese transportation network was in shambled. Civilian aircraft did not dare fly supplies into contaminated zones because the Khanate contested those skies. As this act of genocide took shape, I found watching the three disparate groups with morbid fascination. 

The Amazons were acting like nothing was wrong. Our people were already prepared for the Earth & Sky to send us their vaccines. Earth & Sky were our allies - the Seven Pillars were our enemies - end of discussion. Every dead Chinaman was a good thing in their book. How they died was irrelevant and yes, they had killed and would kill women and children. Non-combatant wasn't a word in common usage for Amazons.

The British contingent were grim, yet calm. What else could they do? All three had some level of military service, though murder on this scale was not in their catalog of previously experienced woes. 

Finally, the Americans were in varying degrees of panic. They were not running around like chickens with their heads cut off. This flavor of panic was different and far more insidious. It was the creeping realization that they worked for political masters who placed a greater premium on how this would play out with the American public than on the death toll in another country.

Due to Javiera's pleas for cooperation, the British were being quiet for now, but eventually someone higher up at MI-6 in London inevitably would pass this on to a political appointee. Then all bets were off.

I was the bringer of bad tiding and the herald of the upcoming apocalypse. Perversely, the people I was causing anguish to were the people I wanted to help. I was deeply depressed, yet I had one more duty to perform - paying it forward.

"Deidre, can I talk to you in private?" I walked over to my Aunt and took her hand.

Her security detail had shrunk down to two. The rest were waiting in the lobby.

"Of course," she gave me a barracuda smile. I was angling for the closest bathroom. She was dragging me toward the nearest bedroom. We both had what the other wanted. Her drive was the stronger - we ended up in the bedroom. 

I was thankful she didn't throw me down on the floor, or the bed. She slipped her hands around my waist, pushing her lower stomach against my crotch then tilted back so we could make eye contact. She inhaled deeply of my scent, trembled, and then addressed me.

"You want to know about the 'All Hallows' shootout," she turned serious, yet comforting.

"Are you in danger?" I asked. Of course I wanted to know about the firefight. My question did manage to make her happy. She brought up a hand to stroke my jaw from ear to chin.

"We really do care about you, Cáel," she insisted passionately. "With Father back, things will get worse, not better. In time, he will come for you and you need to be ready."

"You have no idea," I held her gaze. "He's been several steps ahead of you the entire time. He planned his death, succeeded in the purpose of dying and even engineered your murder of your brother - at your hands."

Deidre was torn between being older and wiser than me and the deep, ingrained suspicion of her creator's fearsome intellect.

"What do you think he's doing right now?" she hedged her bets.

"Reasserting his control over the Illuminati," I went with my gut instinct..."Shit!"

Buffy tumbled into the room, pistol out and pointed down, with two Illuminati goons piling up behind her.

"Cáel?" Buffy shot hate Deidre's way.

"Give me a sec," I kept my eyes on Deidre. I waited for the door to shut.

"Who were the people attacked in London?" I questioned her intently.

"If I tell you, you must agree to come with us," she proposed. "We can't keep you safe if you keep wandering about and I don't think you came back from wherever the Amazons took you because the weather was foul. Let us protect you."

"No...and that's because it wouldn't do either of us any good Deidre," I reasoned. "Assume he knows what has been going on the past thirty years and has taken the appropriate measures. The worst thing for you and my other aunts' survival is for me to seek shelter."

"Why? He's not going to kill us...he's going to enslave us again," she persisted.

"Nope. I think the Old Bastard may have found a way to procreate. And that means he doesn't need you around anymore, because you are a reminder of his failings," I lied. 

It was a lie built on the foundation that this possibility was precisely what they feared worse than enslavement - obsolescence. Grandpa Cáel was a 'user'. He used people up, then moved on, alone in his immortality. "What happened in London?"

"It was a meeting between a Factor of the Illuminati Council and several key second-tier members. It was in complete secrecy. None of us were informed of the meeting, so we are still piecing details together even now," Deidre finally broke down and informed me. She also unintentionally informed me of something else: I was starting to look more and more like Grandpa in her eyes ... and not in a good, 'sex me up' way.

"It sounds like Grandpa had them killed, or more correctly, had the Condotteiri kill them for him," I guessed. How would he...Mom? Mom sent Delilah to me. Was she her Father's agent?

"I'll work with you because you are my Mother's sisters, Deidre," I asserted. "Like it or not, we are family and my betraying you at this juncture makes me more like your father and less like mine. So that ain't happening. Exactly how I'm going to stop Grandpa...I don't know yet," I sighed. "I hope you accept my reasoning that none of us are safe in the Illuminati."

"We won't give up our hold," Deidre grew fierce.

"Don't," I kissed her on her forehead. "Stay and fight for the O'Shea position. Keep your power and wait."

"Are we waiting on you?" she seemed less than thrilled.

"No. You are waiting for your father to come back and then you are going to make yourselves damn useful to him," I stated. "If you are useful to him, he'll let you live. Staying alive is priority one."

"What's to stop him from destroying you when he wishes?" she questioned.

"Let me deal with him when the time comes," I grinned. We both knew that was a near-hopeless struggle. "Don't look so despondent," I chuckled. "I'm going to bring a freaking army for that final showdown - a big...no, a huge, massive freaking army. That way I'll actually stand a chance."

"You seem surprising optimistic," she noted with a reluctant grin. "Do we have time?" she looked to the bed then back to me.

"Not at this moment. Maybe on the plane. Right now I've got to get ready to eat dinner with my fiancée," I dropped my own little bomb.

"Really?" Deidre regarded me, looking for the joke.

"Not joking," I confounded her. "This is the real deal. We are going to become Magyarorszag es Erdely Herceg es Hercegnoje." Deidre exposed a hint of confusion. She didn't know Magyar - woot...

"What is that?" she grudgingly inquired.

"Proof that I'm an idiot, Deidre," I sighed. "Let's go embrace the crowd. Still a lot of work to do."

We did have a lot of work to do and it wasn't finished when I had to leave. Buffy was distracted. Having spent years admiring Katrina, she was now in a position similar to her mentor's. She had heavy responsibilities that interfered with her strong desire to spend some personal time with me. She was also the right Amazon for the job.

The Golden Mare had finally gotten in touch with Katrina. Together with Buffy, they wrangled a forty woman combat team of SD plus fighters from Houses Ishara and Durga (from Indonesia) together to send as aid to the ninja. It sounded like a tear-drop in the ocean. Katrina insisted it wasn't. The ninja wanted to keep their war as secret as possible. 

The Amazons were trained killers and their loyalty was assured - they were loyal to the Amazons. They could be relied on to kill the people they were told to kill. That kind of 'direct action' wasn't the normal operating procedure for ninja. Unfortunately, the corruption of one of the seven families and a severe disruption of the Yakuza meant people had to die and die quickly to reset the balance.

Captain Moe had torn reluctant permission from his direct superior at Fr. Detrick to contact the World Health Organization about the vaccine scam. They would have to contact the PRC. It was late Thursday afternoon and the UN was about to call it a weekend. The UN was only in session currently because of another crisis.

[World News]

It was the happenstance of another conflict that encouraged Turkish solidarity and Khanate action - the Crimea. Russia had opened a serious door to the Abyss by annexing the Crimea from the Ukraine by force. Technically, Russia had violated Ukrainian sovereignty by seizing that region. 

The Russians (with tacit support from China) put forth the political notion of 'lost territory'. Thus Vladimir Putin had unwittingly 'green lighted' the greatest consumption of 'lost territory' in the history of mankind. Following Putin's reasoning, all Temujin was doing was reuniting the widely separated pieces of the Great Khanate. His invasion of Xinjiang and Nei Mongol were also part of that policy. 

The 'Carolina Reaper' spice in this chili was a group called the Crimean Tartars. It didn't get too much press in the West, but in the spring of 2014, the Crimean Tartars - a Turkish ethnic minority - attempted to do to Russia and the new Republic of Crimea what those two had done to the Ukraine. They declared their own autonomous state within the Crimea. 

Russian security forces quickly squashed that movement, and in doing so, managed to incite the Turkish Republics and the minority Turkish populations living inside the Russian Federation. It was a low grade irritant to the Turkish people that would, in time, have dwindled into being yet another indignity, much like the Uyghur struggles for independence. By the dictates of Fate alone, it was the right irritant at the magic time for the Khanate.

The Turkish people were being reacquainted with the clarion call of Pan-Turkish Nationalism. It was an idea that was over 100 years old and rather discredited in most circles...treated as an anthropological discipline - but not as a political ambition. But there were now three igniters for the Khanate Phoenix.

The dismissive treatment of the Crimean Tartars was the smallest spark, yet also the most crucial in that it reminded your average Turk that for 100 years, they had been the victims of secular, oppressive regimes - the Soviets (Russian) and the Communist Chinese. That oppression was still living its fifteen minutes of fame.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 30



The second factor was the boogeyman of the West that had been burning bright-hot over the past twenty years - the Islamic Identity movement. It wasn't just fanatics running around the Syrian Desert, or the Afghan/Pakistan border. It was a strong undercurrent in the Muslim world that recalled the halcyon days of the Caliphate.

The original Mongol Khanate hadn't championed any religious doctrine. It had been the Mongol-Turkish successor states that had turned Islam into a weapon to strike down their enemies. That was the history that Temujin and the Earth & Sky were embracing. This was both a jihad and a struggle to reassert their ethnic identity.

The Russian Federation had arrogantly discarded Turkish appeals. Turkish nationalists were incensed, but they were never big fans of Russia anyway. It was the commuters on their way to work who found this utter dismissal to be insulting. It was the Imams who spoke out against still more sectarian oppression. It was the journalists who wrote a few scathing articles about the new Russian imperialism.

When that tiny core of Earth & Sky seized power in those four countries, their power was more ephemeral than substantive. The important factors working against them were that they had relatively little power in those countries and no organized political support. (They had been a secret society, after all.) What they did have going for them was an antsy, dissatisfied public and an on-edge military. 

Remember, the Chinese had launched a series of apparently unwarranted attacks into their nations only forty-eight hours ago and had given these countries some trumped up claims of combating terrorism. The militaries of Kazakhstan and Mongolia discovered that they were at war before sunrise. Not knowing the score, unengaged PLA border units began clashing with their Mongolian and Turkish counterparts.

In War as in Love, the same rules held true. The quality of your 'game' was secondary to who approached the girl first. If the girl was on the prowl, you were the answer to her desires. Unless the second guy to show up was remarkably superior, she'd stick with the one who recognized her qualities first. 

Girls are not nearly as shallow and superficial as guys would like to believe. Unless she's looking for a three-way, she'll take the guy she feels is the least likely to stick with her for the night, rather than become a date-jumper herself. (If she is a party girl, all bets are off.) For the militaries of Kazakhstan and Mongolia, they were about to be that 'second guy' to get to Lady Victory if they didn't get moving.

If they hesitated much longer, they knew they'd get clobbered. The unknown person talking to them from the Ministry of Defense was saying that their countries were at war. Shots were being fired. If those generals and colonels had believed there was still time for rational discourse, they would have realized they were engaging in madness. 

But every second that passed increased the likelihood of planes being caught in their bunkers, runways being cratered, their troops being caught in their barracks and their reserves left unarmed in their homes. The Khanate was broadcasting that a State of War existed. The legitimate governmental infrastructure hadn't adjusted yet...so those militaries went into 'pre-emptive' strike mode.

[End World News]

So the UN was meeting in Special Session, trying to figure out what had gone wrong in Central Asia. The UN representatives of Uzbekistan, Tajikistan and Kyrgyzstan didn't know what was going and as seasoned diplomats, they kept their mouths shut. Only four people in the UN knew the real score. 

One was my old friend, Oyuun Tömörbaatar, Kazakhstan's Permanent UN Representative. He was fresh off the jet back to New York and most likely, the Khanate's silent ambassador. The other three didn't include the US. No, two of them were Sir Grant, Her Majesty's Representative, and David Donoghue, Ireland's Representative and member of the Illuminati - the O'Shea faction.

There also was yet another 'slight problem'. The former Mongolian Representative seemed to have vanished and his Youth Panel Advisor was handing over his own bona fides...which no one at the UN could confirm because the Mongolian Capital, Ulan Bator, was in the midst of a regime change. Until then, Tuguldor Batjargal could speak and talk, but not vote.

That news wasn't all that relevant to the Amazons. To the US and the Brits, it was critical. The US Cabinet was still assembling and had no specific orders for their UN Ambassador yet, so it fell to the United Kingdom to make the first move. From the minimal expressions Delilah and Chaz were slipping our way, the Amazons were getting 'Brownie Points' with at least one world government.

I had little doubt I was gaining status in Temujin's eyes too. I had delivered diplomatic contact in less than eleven hours, even if it was the British, and not the Americans, putting forth the first feelers. I was soul-sick looking over at Katrina and Elsa. They respected my pain by not congratulating me on a successful diplomatic stratagem.

St. Marie had already honored my initiatives by agreeing to send help to the ninja. I doubted such a mission was in the Amazon War Plans Manual. In their past, Amazons always fought alone. Even allies were little more than different factions fighting the same enemy. In the past two weeks that had changed. 

By my interpretation of events, the Augurs had bound us to the Earth & Sky. By conception, I was tied to the Illuminati. I had manipulated my birthright via Vranus to intertwine the blood of House Ishara with that of the 9 Clans. Was I making a difference, not only within my Amazons, but to the World at large?

Maybe I was. I would have been happier if I wasn't being such a spaz, stumbling from one encounter to the next, hoping I was doing the right thing. I would have settled for doing the least harm. To survive this, I had to get back to my roots - ambitious playboy. I was going to let people down because of my sexual ambitions. Okay.

If I suddenly began to embrace traditional Western morality it was going to break me. I had to prioritize. I was giving women, trapped in the ghostly place between the outside World's secularism and Amazon spiritualism, immortality. I had two unborn daughters and one unborn son who might actually want me around as they grew up.

"Cáel?" Helena beckoned me. I hadn't heard her come in. I had no idea she was here, which implied another disaster had befallen people in life I cared about. She foisted a box on me. It was wooden, about 30cm x 30cm x 10cm. It had a simple latch that I flipped so that I could look inside. Inside was...

"We - the Isharans - decided that if you are going to make a pledge to this outsider woman, then you should give her something of us," she explained. "We were unaware of you making other arrangements, so three of us examined a few of the artifacts Krasimira had transferred to Havenstone and decided on this."

I put the box down on the side table. The necklace inside was beautiful, fragile and ancient-looking.

"It was the gift of a Parthian princess to an Isharan Emissary from...we think it is from the 2nd century," Helena explained. She meant 2nd century CE.

The artifacts transferred must have been from the repository of the Amazons - location unknown - that had been held in the Isharan vaults. My House had anticipated my mind-splitting day and selected an engagement gift for Hana Sulkanen. 

"The small selection of rings was unpromising, so...we figure she knows you are unconventional," Helena shrugged. 

I began crying. I hugged her, then motioned Buffy over to share in the 'family' moment.

"You are getting married?" CIA Officer Cresky ruined the mood.

"Yes. I proposed marriage to Hana Sulkanen and she has accepted, but circumstances interrupted my search for the ring," I interlaced deceptions with the truth.

I did not mention the timing of the arrangement in order to buy Hana some time to prepare for the CIA rectal probes coming her family's way. I had forgotten the company I ran with.

"Officer Cresky, if I may?" Chaz spoke in a smooth, yet lethal intonation. "I suggest you circle-file that bit of data." Cresky looked his way, still so sure he knew better than the rest of the room.

"Very well," Chaz nodded to Cresky. "Before you trip over your own arrogance, think about what we are doing here? Highly equipped mercenaries operating without concern for legal prosecution, bio-terrorism on a scale to rival the European colonization of the Americas, and a military conflict on your soil involving perhaps seven hundred well-armed, experienced light infantry and Special Forces...does any of that ring a bell?"

"Thank you for that summary, Mr. Whoever-You-Are," Cresky smirked. That lasted about two seconds before FBI Agent Vincent stepped over and landed a painful Gibb-slap (that is from NCIS) to the back of Cresky's head. "What the fuck!" Cresky spat as he stood up, spun around and began to draw down on Vincent.

Whoa...we are a fast crowd. Cresky's sixth sense kicked in just in time to realize every Amazon, two of the three Brits, two of the Illuminati and Virginia all held guns pointed at him. Vincent hadn't even bothered to defend himself.

"Everyone put their guns away," I stated calmly. 

"Let me shoot him," I added with a vicious gleam in my eye. "I've got diplomatic immunity."

"Good point," Delilah responded gleefully. "Chaz, go get some of those curtains. We'll used them as a drop cloth. I'll call housekeeping."

"I like this plan," Buffy jumped in. "I think we can stuff his body in the refrigerator." 

"I'll make sure to leave a 'Do Not Disturb' sign on the door when we leave," Helena finished up our murderous conspiracy. They weren't done with Cresky. Color Sergeant Chaz Tomorrow strode purposefully to the closest drapes and yanked them down with no effort.

"I'm afraid I can't let you do this," Vincent extended a palm to Chaz.

I couldn't begin to describe how stupid that was...had Chaz not been a consummate professional. He dropped the curtains, moved past Vincent and returned to his station by the MI-6 leader who was continuing an unbroken telephone conversation. No sooner had we re-holstered our firearms... 

"Sulkanen eh?" Senior Field Officer George Cresky looked back at me.

The entire time Deidre, Riki, Javiera, Katrina and Captain Moe were on their phones, giving and receiving information from their various organizations. That explained the lack of refereeing from the people with authority...unless you counted on me to be in charge. No one was. The ATF guy had open his laptop and was streaming some data with Elsa looking over his shoulder.

The ICE agent was playing phone tag with his brethren in Arizona. They were trying to figure out who all those dead Chinese guys were and how they had gotten into the country...with all their freaking armory. With old Jonas still waiting for his bail hearing, the ICE guy was also juggling the Homeland Security inquiries that Javiera couldn't deal with at the moment.

"George," I shrugged. "I'm not going to threaten you. It is pointless. You think you are the smartest man in the room. I think you are the fifth smartest and that's only because I've recently experienced a lobotomy that gifted me with five thousand years of life experiences. My money is on Katrina being smarter than Javiera, but I don't really know her yet."

"Who do you think is fourth?" George scoffed.

"Riki, of course, moron. I only rate her below Javiera and Katrina because she even remotely believes I might be Irish," I chuckled.

"No, I don't," Riki corrected me in a brief interlude in her phone conversation.

"What about me?" Delilah mused.

"If you were smarter than me, you would be halfway to Heathrow by now," I pointed out.

"Damn it!" Delilah snapped her fingers, conceding me this round.

"Agent Loire, I see you aren't arguing with him," Virginia prodded her colleague. 

"I learned some time ago that I don't need to possess the highest IQ to get the job done. Smart people screw up just as often as dumb ones," Vincent related. "I'm a big believer in common sense and the remarkable ability for most people to ignore it."

"Thank you for that wisdom, Sir," I bowed to Vincent. "I'm glad today hasn't been a total waste."

"You are saving lives," Virginia brought up. By the looks I was getting from the 'talkers', they agreed with her. I didn't.

"By all means, when I've actually saved a single soul, let me know," I countered unhappily.

"Wakko Ishara," Wiesława got my attention, "we need to be going."

Making it to Hana on time was on my wish list, so I gave the various female authorities a quick acknowledgement, grabbed the box, and then made for the door. For a split second, I almost made it out the door with only two bodyguards (Wiesława and Saku)...almost.

"Cáel? Where do you think you are going?" Buffy inquired. 

I was head of a First House of the Amazon Host, a Prince of Hungary, a diplomat from the Pugnacious Nation of Ireland and...a prospective sex toy to the Illuminati.

"Run for it!" I urged my two companions as I raced past them.

"Son of a Bitch!" Buffy yelled after me. "Get him!"

I really am a bad influence on most of the people I meet. And the three of us were safely ahead of the pack until I had to stop to pound on the elevator button. The reactions of Nikita and Skylar saved me. Nikita put her hand on her piece and took two steps my way. Skylar turned the other way, trying to figure out what we were running from. 

Buffy collided with her, became tangled up and they fell over together. Helena, coming right behind Buffy, leapt over those two and ended up impacting with Nikita. Helena landed face-first on Nikita's back. Wiesława, Sakuniyas and I fled into the elevator and hit a button for a lower floor.

"What are we doing?" Wiesława inquired in a nervous tone.

"I don't want to walk around with a freaking army, Wiesława," I confided. "I want to have a bit of intimacy when I meet with Hana."

"Why didn't you tell our sisters that?" she reposted.

"Would they have listened?" Saku snorted. "Amazon, would you have listened if he insisted you stay away?"

"I..." Wiesława looked from Saku to me then back to me. "No, but why are we running away from his 'First'?"

"Child, this oddity I understand," Saku studied me. "Before battle, we would kick the heads of dead enemy scouts around to ease the tension. It was a nonsensical thing to do before facing death. Whatever else I dislike about this one," she gave me a sign of her approval, "he does not shy away from the fight, nor deludes himself into thinking a fight is not coming." 

"He is easing his nerves," she concluded.

"That is the nicest thing you've ever said about me," I gave her a respectful nod.

"I was wrong to doubt you were the grandson of Alal," she explained. "That was one of the things that drew me to him - I loved battle too much and he loved it not at all. We complimented each other."

The elevator opened up on the tenth floor and off I ran. The Odd Couple was on my heels.

"Where are we going?" Wiesława asked. 

"The service elevator. There must be fifty people in the lobby waiting for us and I'm not pulling a Butch and Sundance," I huffed. Those two didn't get it. Pamela would have.

Not only did I have to find the service elevator, but I had to find someone in Facilities or Housekeeping because this elevator wasn't for guests and had its own key code. I found the elevator first. The doors opened. It was Pamela.

"How the?" I huffed as I jumped on board.

"Rachel fitted you with a tracking device, Chumley," Pamela joked. The four of us were heading down into the bowels of the hotel and, hopefully, an unguarded exit.

"Damn it!" I groused. "Tennessee, you need to keep me abreast of such things."

"Don't Tux your tail between your flippers and waddle away," Pamela chortled. 

"This isn't nearly as much fun when they don't get it," I reminded her.

"Be patient," Pamela snickered. "I'm sure their curiosity is eating them alive."

"You would be mistaken," Saku frowned.

"What are you two talking about?" Wiesława added.

"We are in the land of the Philistines," Pamela nudged me.

"Does that make me David, or Saul?" I bantered.

"Oh!" Wiesława blurted out excitedly. "I know this one. You two are talking about that little boy versus the giant Geronimo myth, right?"

The elevator doors opened just in time to surprise a man pushing a room service cart.

"Excuse us," I gave him a tip of my invisible hat. We were past him before he could put forth a coherent complaint. There was no way we could all fit in a taxi. Pamela had an answer for that too.

(The Doom of All Mankind) 

Pamela walked up to a Soccer Mom in her mini-van, tapped the window and showed her a Homeland Security ID...I found it best not to ask. Reluctantly the woman hit the 'power lock', allowing Pamela to open the door.

"Hello Gracious citizen," Pamela greeted the woman. 

"We are part of a Justice Department special group and we need you to drive us to an expensive restaurant," Pamela began.

"A restaurant?" the woman was cautious and confused. 

Yes, Miss," I interjected myself. I put on my 'sexy, yet passionately political' smile. 

You can tell a whole bunch about a person by the bumper stickers they put on their car.

"At that restaurant there will be a clandestine meeting of representatives from certain insidious corporate interests and radical right-wing political power-brokers bent on disrupting a Hillary Clinton run on the White House in 2016," I punched up the intensity. Pause.

"Oh my God!" she squealed. "I knew it - I knew it. They are going after Hillary! What can I do to help you?"

"We suspect that they will have some of their NRA goons hanging around, so we can't simply roll up in government vehicles," I explained. She unlocked the panel door.

As Pamela, Wiesława, and Saku climbed into the back...with two young teenage girls, I got into the passenger sea. The doors shut, the light changed to green and off we went.

"If you could drop us off at the Osteria al Doge," I balanced my grin with the grim.

"Oh, that's a lovely place. I've never actually eaten there, but..." the driver began rambling.

"Hey, why don't you and your two beautiful daughters join us?" I suggested. "It will help with our cover."

"Oh...will it be safe?" she murmured. I nodded. "Okay...to help Hillary '16." We got her name, the name of her daughter and her daughter's friend. 

They had recently finished up a Day Swim Camp and had been heading to their fashionable West Side condo when we appeared on their horizon. Now she was calling her husband, Wilbur, to let him know she'd run across an old friend (my insertion into her lie), so she'd be late getting home. It wasn't that the Soccer Mom was stupid, it was the political climate.

Elements of every angle of the political spectrum wanted to believe they were the Champions of the Truth and that the other side was cheating. If this woman had 'Abortion is Murder' and 'Mitt Romney 2012' as her bumper stickers, I would have been pedaling the Communist/Progressive Axis of Evil as the wrong-doers in question. Not only was she getting to live out her fantasy, she and her little angels were getting $80 meals out of the deal.

We dropped Pamela off in front of the establishment while the rest of us went parking lot shopping. Five minutes later, our little group was filing in. Pamela had a table for the six of them, allowing me to make straight for Hana Sulkanen. The prospective Mrs. Nyilas appeared to have had a rough 24 hours and the look she gave me was one of fatigue and worry.

I walked over as casually as I could, then in one quick flourish, pulled out the box I had hidden inside my jacket and held in place by my left arm pressing in. The box turned on my palm. I opened it as I went to one knee.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 30



"Hana Sulkanen, would you do me the honor of consenting to be my partner, spouse and better half?" I requested.

The conversations around us sputtered, then ceased all together. Even the wait staff was looking our way. Hana...Hana was stunned, quite literally. It began with a tremble in the lips. Her eyes watered up, then she gulped twice. Her eyes flitted over the necklace, then back at me.

"Yes I will, Cáel Nyilas," she sniffed. "I will be your partner, spouse and equal half." 

A nod followed, then came the applause and murmurs of approval. I stood, placed the box in front of Hana, drew forth the ancient necklace and waited. Hana pulled her hair aside so when I stepped behind her I had no problem putting it around her neck and hooking the clasps. After that, taking my seat felt like such a relief.

"I...I don't know what to say," the maybe future Mrs. Cáel Nyilas regarded me with teary eyes. "I didn't expect something like this." She reached her right hand across the table.

"It gets better," I took her hand, turned it palm up then began tracing lines with one finger along her palm and wrist. "This makes you the 'presumptive' Princess of Hungary and Transylvania."

Hana didn't miss a beat.

"This is from our friends in Asia," she stated. "I'll makes sure to use my aristocratic credentials when I get there." That scared me.

"You aren't seriously thinking about going there for the next few weeks, are you?" I grunted.

"I have to," she persisted. "No one knows what to make of this 'Khanate' situation."

"Um, war, plague and most likely famine before too long - those are all good reasons not to go," I urged her to reconsider.

"Cáel, I'm the only one who can go that might make a difference," she stated defiantly.

"These are my employees and I can't leave them hanging in the wind while this situation re-writes the rules in that part of the world," she confounded me.

"Security?" I questioned.

"We have our normal security staff," she sounded less than thrilled.

Her people were there to stop trespassers and thieves, not true bodyguards. Week one, when I was alone, 40,000 Amazons seemed like the Mount Everest of obstacles. Now, I felt like having double than number still wouldn't be enough. Roughly 4,000 of my sisters were ready and able to perform offensive operations - 10% of our population, which was very impressive. 

Given time, the Golden Mare could muster 5~6,000 more. The rest would guard the holdings of the Host and keep our internal economy running. Wars were hideously expensive. Unlike every other secret society, Amazons rarely used proxies and never fought combat by proxy. The 9 Clans were the same way...

"Ghost Tigers," I whispered.

"What?" Hana hadn't been able to make that out.

"I think I can get you two professional killers to protect you," I grimaced. The Ghost Tigers weren't bodyguards. Like the other eight clans, the Ghost Tigers were assassins.

They either operated alone, or in groups two - mentor and student. This technique made them incredibly hardy and resourceful. They also operated in Siberia and Turkish Asia - right where Hana was going. Asking Temujin for help would be counter-productive. Not only did the warlord need every man and woman he could throw into the fight, Hana was my business.

By acting as his diplomat, I was fulfilling my military obligations to the Khanate. The extent of Temujin's charity had been to not take the Sulkanen holdings. The security of my yurt was still my duty and mine alone. I could ask Selena...a favor for a favor.

"If you succeed, I promise to listen to their advice," Hana compromised.

That wasn't a pledge to follow their advice. Hana would still do what she felt was right and in this case 'right' meant going into a war zone to look after her people - the men and women Jormo Sulkanen's investment group hired to work for them in that part of the world. A key part of that workforce operated the biggest refinery in Central Asia, which was pumping out the lifeblood of the Great Khan's war machine - diesel, gasoline, and aviation fuel.

The People's Republic could read an economic flow chart was well as I could. They knew the Achilles Heel of any modern military was petrol and the main sources of that for the Khan were the refineries at Pavlodar and Shymkent (aka Chimkent). Shymkent had been owned by Chinese interests and Hana was already hearing rumors that key facility operators there had been...liquidated.

Hana was heading out in two days - New York - London - St. Petersburg - Omsk and from there to Pavlodar by a corporate-owned Su-80GP if she could, or by Range Rover overland if flying was too unsafe. Unsafe? 

"I'm not hungry," Hana announced as the waitress put our dinners before us. 

"When do you have to leave?" she inquired, automatically assuming I had to be somewhere else...which I did.

"Later tonight," was the best I could do as far as my own safety was concerned. "Let me guess, you want me to go talk to your father."

"Absolutely. I have little doubt this will be public very soon and I don't want someone congratulating my Father tomorrow morning at work." I stood, retrieved my money clip and heard the waiter gasp. I smiled at her, then dropped three hundreds on the table.

"Cáel, you are armed," Hana gasped softly.

"Oh this," I shrugged. "I've cut down today because of the government meetings...that means three pistols, two tomahawks and one knife."

"Do we need to worry about the police?" she whispered once she came to my side. We were angling for the door. 

"Thank you for your assistance," Pamela spoke to the Soccer Mom. "I'll makes sure the Clintons put you on their Christmas card list." The woman looked thrilled. Pamela was tossing currency at the table she shared while Saku picked up her plate and a bottle of wine. 

Wiesława had been in the process of leaving when she mistook Saku's actions for civilized behavior and grabbed up her food and drink. The three of them were making for the exit. The maître de was about to intervene over the stolen accoutrements when Buffy and Helena walked in the door. One look at the Buffy storm front moving in encouraged him to seek shelter elsewhere.

"Don't!" I glared at Buffy. "Just don't." 98% of the time I liked putting up with Buffy's mood swings - tonight was the other 2% and she was going to have to suck it up. Pamela parted Buffy and Helena so I could lead Hana outside...where Velma and company were waiting for me with two GL-550's.

"Did you drive here?" I asked Hana. Hana was scoping out the security now encircling the two of us.

"No, I took a taxi," she informed me.

"My convoy it is, then," I accepted the reality that my bid for even limited freedom was at an end. I escorted her to the second black armored escort and trundled us into the middle row of seats.

Saku and Wiesława worked their way into the back while Buffy sat with me and Hana. A minute later, Buffy finally broke the silence.

"You owe me an explanation," she stated as she stared at me. She didn't glare, just stared. 

"He doesn't owe you anything," Saku grumbled. "He is your Head of House."

"You don't get to be a part of this," Buffy spat back at Sakuniyas. They were both angry.

"Buffy, he is..." Pamela got out. This was my problem, not theirs.

"Stop," I signaled Pamela and Saku. "Buffy, I ran away this evening because I'm not a team player. I never have been. I like to do my own thing and I've been happy that way.

I didn't join Havenstone to be a part of the Host. Initially, I stayed out of fear...fear that what limited freedom I possessed would be taken away from me. I didn't volunteer to be a member of a house. I certainly never dreamed of being the Head of a House. I don't want to be responsible for anyone but me. I certainly never sought out the forces currently tearing my life apart.

I'm doing the best I can, Buffy. All this crap has been foisted on me and I'll do the best I can because I feel that I can't stand by and do nothing, but don't for a second assume I like it, or want the responsibility. In case you missed it, part of my responsibility is the death of thousands, probably millions of Chinese and a land war in Asia.

The hard, cold facts are that I didn't do anything wrong. The Condottieri murdered my father, the Seven Pillars had been planning for years to make their play for Global Domination and the Earth & Sky had been preparing their atrocity for nearly twenty years. The Host's best chance of survival is to fight now. My decision on the 'Runners' was the correct one.

That still cost Hayden her life and the life of around fifty other Amazons. I killed men in hand-to-hand combat, barbequed God knows how many more, and witnessed hellishly twisted souls enslaved by the Seven Pillars - and no one should have to see that. Buffy," I put my hand on her thigh, "I didn't sign up for any of this. I never wanted to be a soldier, leader and diplomat of any kind, yet here I am."

"Cáel, I only want to keep you safe and I can't..." Buffy began to make her case.

"Not happening," I interrupted (bad habit of mine). "My vacation tried to kill me, Buff. I was in the midst of a freaking army and I still nearly died." Pause. "Buffy, I think I've been trying to emulate Katrina's leadership style. That's a losing proposition. 

She is way tougher mentally and has been trained to disassociate her emotions from a death toll. Not me. I am going to keep things on a personal level and that means I'm going to do things in person, not in person with my own Death Squad. Is that clear enough for you?" I sighed.

"Cáel, I hear what you are saying," Buffy took a deep breath. Nice boobs.

"Understand that there is a large faction in Havenstone that values your life highly and would be heartbroken if you got killed. We now know for sure that you are going to keep trying to get yourself killed - we are...okay with that. That doesn't mean we are going to sit back and do nothing. We will...try to be more discrete about your security. Is that fair?" 

It wasn't, but it was about as fair as I could hope for. I let it slide. 

"It will have to do," I conceded. Buffy seemed to be in agreement, so her head spinning slap caught me somewhat off guard.

"Are you going to stop whining about your pathetic problems and man-up?" Buffy grumbled.

I contemplated attacking her. She was Elsa's best student, so a physical showdown wasn't going to end well for me. I actually considered drawing my gun...except we both knew I wouldn't shoot her. That left pummeling her in the verbal arena as my best response.

"What?" I regarded her.

"What - what?" she darkened.

"You are looking at me of if you are expecting something," I grew serious. "What is it?"

"Are you going to man up, or do I have to smack some more sense into you?" Buffy seethed.

"Oh...that was you angrily hitting me?" I smirked. "I barely noticed."

"You are impossible," she glared. "Maybe I should hit you again."

"Maybe you should leave my fiancé alone?" Hana rumbled.

"Butt out of this..." Buffy started snapping at Hana only to be punched in the ear by Pamela.

"Hana is sacrosanct," Pamela commanded. "Cáel is fair game - she's not."

Buffy wanted to get physical with Pamela over this. She didn't stop herself because she felt Pamela was unbeatable. She stopped because Pamela was seated behind her and thus at the advantage. There was also the fact that Hana stood outside our social network. She hadn't signed on for the 'rough and tumble' aspects of Amazon society.

"Hana, I apologize," Buffy promised. "Cáel - 45 days, Bitch."

"Buffy is it? I'm not sure I accept your apology and what is with the '45 days', Cáel?" Hana rebounded.

"Ugh...Hana, in 45 days my internship would have been over and I proposed a little hunt as a Havenstone morale building exercise. I'm what the Amazons will be hunting,' I enlightened her.

Yeah, I could tell Hana was having a difficult time digesting that. Normally she thought I was rather quick-witted.

"Can you possibly survive this challenge?" she asked.

"Not likely," Buffy muttered, as she twirled her jaguar incisor between her thumb and forefinger.

"Tell that to the very delicious 'Hell-Pig' I killed and butchered a few days ago, my 'First'," I snorted back.

"You have someone else's memories floating around your head," she countered. "That's cheating."

"Who is the whiny bitch now?" I chuckled. Buffy looked away, then rubbed the ear Pamela had impacted. Buffy would get me...later.

"Someone else's memories?" Hana poked me, looking for some translation that made sense.

"Long, long story Hana. We don't have the time tonight," my kiss on her cheek bought me a respite.

The visit to Jormo Sulkanen's townhouse was awkward. Hana wouldn't permit a security sweep in advance of my visit. There was the added complication that Jormo's oldest son, his wife and their two children had decided to stay a few weeks with 'grandpa' after Brennan's funeral (the rapist asshat I had doomed to die at Amazon hands).

Hana added to the picturesque collage by gripping my left hand tightly in her right. The family was finishing up their dinner when we arrived.

"Father," Hana greeted her patriarch.

"You," Jormo growled upon seeing me. "What are you doing in my house?"

"I've come to ask your blessing on my seeking Hana's hand in marriage," I replied. That quieted everyone down. Jormo's wife Misty, the eldest son, and his wife appeared to be happy for Hana. Jormo's grandsons looked intrigued. Baby Karvala looked at me, decided I wasn't coming over to amuse her, and so went back to playing with her food.

I looked young and fit, yet of a sufficiently serious disposition and well-dressed enough to not be a gold digger. Before they could come over to express their feelings...

"I forbid it," Jormo snapped.

"Mr. Sulkanen, would you care to discuss this in private?" I offered. 

Rocketing to his feet, he pushed his chair back so fast that it fell over before he had stormed out. I sought him out at a more causal pace. I wasn't insulting him. I was allowing him to put his mind in order before he punched me out.

"Sir," I said when I found him pacing in his living room.

"How dare you?" he glared. "How dare you even speak to Hana? You haven't the right."

"Okay," I nodded. "Get it out of your system. Hit me."

"What?" he seethed.

"No matter what I believe, you hold me responsible for Brennan's death," I remained calm.

"What I feel for Hana has to do with what she did for me and you that Saturday night, plus her aid in getting me through a very difficult mishap in my life. Hit me. Trust me, it will help." Jormo wasn't a prize-fighter. I saw the blow coming, bit down on my reflexes and took the punch to my stomach.

I tipped over, so Jormo hit me again, this time just behind my right ear. That hurt both of us. Hitting the skull isn't wise. I avoided falling forward, though I was staggered. When I stood back up, Jormo was still muttering curses in Finnish and shaking the hand that had impacted my head.

"I still hate you," Jormo grumbled, nursing his knuckles.

"I understand. I was able to see many of the men who murdered my father die before my eyes - at the hands of the police," I related. "I wish it would have made me miss my father less, but it didn't. I still miss him every day." Jormo allowed me to keep going, which was true progress.

"You are never going to forget what happened between me and Brennan. He was your son - your flesh and blood. You wouldn't be much of a father if you did let this slide - and Hana thinks the world of you and I think the world of her," I continued.

"Why is she marrying you?" he still sent waves of hate my way.

He didn't care why I wanted to marry his favorite child (well technically, step-child). What he wanted to know was what angle I was pedaling to Hana so that he would have an easier time talking her out of it.

"I have strong ties to the Khanate and I've been able to get a guarantee they won't nationalize your investments in the region," I informed him.

"He also arranged for our employees to get the Anthrax vaccine," Hana said from the doorway. The conversation could have gone a number of horrible ways. Terrorism, warfare, mass murder and regional instability were all possible weapons to beat me with.

"What did this cost you?" Jormo addressed me. Sulkanen clan welfare trumped global troubles.

"Nothing," I confided in him. "In fact, it elevated me in the eyes of those running the show. I told them that Hana and I were a pair, thus convincing them I have a vested interest in their success. I demanded that they protect Sulkanen interests in my name. That included the vaccines."

"Cáel is also arranging for some extra security for me when I go back to Kazakhstan," Hana said.

"So this is a financial game..." Jormo ruminated. "Why?"

"I pay my debts, Mr. Sulkanen. Hana fought you over Casper and the fallout from that. She helped me meet an important member in the Khanate a week ago. 

This morning, when I was 'read in' to the Khanate plan, I was horrified. The lone, positive light in all of it was I suddenly had a chance to repay Hana. To do that, I had to convince them that Sulkanen property was mine by way of me marrying Hana...so here we are," I said. 

"I do not forgive you," he clarified. "I never will. Hana, you are correct to agree to this proposal. You have my blessing."

"Thank you, Father," Hana started weeping as she slipped past me and embraced her Patriarch. "This will work out, I swear to you." He hugged her tight. Jormo hated me, but loved Hana and he could see a spark of happiness inside Hana's heart that he'd never seen before. This was probably not the time to bring up that I had three children on the way from three different women.

"Let me see the ring," Jormo huffed. He wasn't going to cry tears of joy in my presence.

"Cáel didn't give me a ring," Hana took a step back. "He gave me this." The necklace.

"Does it have any relevance?" Jormo looked past Hana at me.

"It is a family heirloom. It was given by a 2nd century CE Parthian princess to an emissary of my people - a cadet branch of my Hungarian side of the family," I stated.

"I know that sounds far-fetched, Sir," I sighed. "Of course, a 13th century Mongol-Turkish Khanate springing to life would have sounded rather unbelievable last week, as well." Pause.

"Could you have spared Brennan?" he asked me, while again staring at Hana.

"Yes Sir," I didn't hesitate. "I don't regret my choice either." He sent hate my way once more.

"I wasn't avenging Casper, Mr. Sulkanen," I refused to wilt. "That's a macho, bull-headed and stupid motivation. Nothing I could do would help Casper. What I couldn't do was turn away from the knowledge that she wasn't the first and she wasn't going to be the last. I'll take your hate. No man can hold that against you, least of all me."

"If I had insisted that Hana break of this engagement?" the Old Wolf drilled me with his intense gaze. "What would you have done?"

"Broken it off," I replied. "She is your daughter first. I would never stand between the two of you." He was finding it harder to utterly despise me. Hate me - yes. 

The downside of being such a hard-ass was that Jormo knew that Brennan was terribly flawed. He'd paid the hush-money and futilely lectured his youngest son about being responsible. It was inevitable that Brennan would finally run into someone who couldn't be bought off, or forced to back down by the Old Man. That had cost Brennan his life...that was Jormo's pain to bear to the grave.

Hana was waiting on something. I wasn't sure what, but Jormo knew. He stepped up and put forth his hand. Neither one of us made it a death-squeeze. This was his sore hand and I wasn't out to make this moment any worse for him. We did the required two shakes then let go.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 30



"Have you decided on a date yet?" Jormo asked as Hana moved to my side and slipped an arm around my waist.

My initial thought was 2016. Yeah, 2016...the late fall, or early winter of 2016.

"Certainly not before Christmas," Hana decided. "Maybe Valentine's Day?" she looked to me.

"How about the Spring Equinox - that is on a Friday, March 20th next year?" I suggested. 

Hana hugged me. I wanted to curl up and die inside. The Man-Dog-Pig was not going to go quietly into that dark, monogamous night. Who was I kidding? This wasn't going to fly. All I had to tell Hana was that I was expecting three kids and that would be that.

Being a big proponent of putting off the romantically painful...I'd wait a bit. Maybe I'd put it in my Will; a kind of a post-dated apology letter.

"That sounds nice," Hana smiled. "Any specific location? Father married Misty in the Helsinki Cathedral." Hint, hint.

"Or we could use St. Stephen's Cathedral in Székesfehérvár," I tossed out there. Jormo and Hana were at a loss. "It is in Hungary." What I neglected to add was it was the traditional site for the coronation of Hungarian royalty for hundreds of years. "My homeland?"

"Oh," Hana allowed...then it dawned on her that I was an untrustworthy cad who loved hidden meanings.

She was going to Google that the moment we parted ways tonight.

"Try to remember this is Hana's special day," Jormo rumbled. It was good to know that two out of the three of us were sure I was getting married. Too bad, I was the odd man out.

"I will, Mr. Sulkanen. Now, I have intruded on your family time enough for now," I said. "I have to get on a plane for Europe at nine, so I need to be going."

"Where are you going?" Jormo poked into my life.

"Transylvania. Havenstone has some unfinished business there that my boss, Katrina Love, wants me to resolve. It is one of those learning-as-you-go assignments." I didn't lie.

"Do you conduct any normal business?" Jormo was clearly unsatisfied with my answer.

"Father," Hana put her foot down. "Let me see Cáel to the door and then we can talk. Cáel, I'll see you out." We left Jormo to mull over the vagaries of fate. We almost made the door before Misty, aka soon to be my Mother-in-Law caught us. My, my, my, she was hot. I could hear Dot Ishara mocking me. That reminded me...

"How did it go?" she asked us both.

"Cáel gave me this," she showed off her necklace - a mixture of pressed gold, lapis-lazuli with an onyx cameo of a woman with a long braid - who might have been my ancestor.

"I'm unconventional," I responded to Misty's confused look. "It's been in my family for quite a while." That satisfied her. Misty and Hana shared a familial hug. Misty definitely knew that Hana was her ally in the family.

"Have you heard from Casper?" Misty looked my way while still hugging Hana.

"She is in town seeing a specialist," I was pleasantly surprised that someone had asked. "Brooke, Libra and Casper met me for lunch." She and Hana released one another.

"Cáel...I...um...I love my daughter very much and I would like to think that if she was ever in trouble, there would be people like you, Libra and Brooke to look after her," Misty made her opinion known.

Misty had been perfectly aware of what a diseased parasite Brennan was, but had never been able to get Jormo to see it. She wasn't mourning the loss of her youngest stepson at all. There was no diplomatic response for that. I nodded and let Hana take me to the door.

"Cáel..." Hana struggled. I kissed her. I gave her the total Cáel full-body kiss experience.

Misty was still looking our way. Hana was caught off guard as I gave us a bit of sexuality to our otherwise sterile courtship.

"Whoa," Hana sighed when we finally came up for air. Her body was tightly pressed against mine and my body was certainly aroused by hers. "Mmmm...that was nice."

"Well, we can pick up from here when we get back," I grinned, then kissed her forehead. "I gotta go." The GL-550s were in front of the townhouse, engines turning over. I gave one last wave before boarding. No one said a thing for a while. I imagine I looked pretty discombobulated.

"We need to stop by my place," I told my driver - one of Velma's team.

"Why?" Buffy inquired. I noticed we were missing Pamela again. Shit.

"I forgot a promise I made to Dot Ishara," I gave a tired smile. When I heard Dot laughing I realized I had forgotten my fortune cookies. "It won't take me five minutes."

"I'm coming with you and Wiesława takes point," Buffy stated. She waited for me to push back.

"Do you agree?" Buffy inquired as we rolled to a stop, double-parked in front of my apartment building.

"Yeah," I nodded. "Buffy, this isn't an ego contest. If I think you are right, I'll go along with it. If I think you are wrong, I'll do my own thing."

(Endings and Departures)

We kept to the plan, although Buffy and I were all of five steps behind my Polish protector. Ten feet from the door, Wiesława waved us to take shelter. She pressed herself against the hallway wall next to my door. I took a peek out to see what spooked her. My door was almost - almost shut. Odette wouldn't be home for three hours. Timothy would never do that.

I pulled out my phone and showed it to Buffy, who ruminated over my silent strategy, then nodded. I dialed my home number while Buffy slipped past me, STI Perfect 10 automatic pistol drawn and moved along the wall opposite my door. Wiesława drew her FN-P90. It took four rings.

"Cáel," Timothy's cool reply had an undercurrent of anger. "What's up?"

"I forgot a few things, so I'm coming by in a few minutes. I figured I could grab you and Sovann, if he's hanging out with you tonight," I lied.

"Thanks. That would be great," Timothy began clueing in that I was worried.

"Your choices are #1 Thai, #2 Egyptian, or #3 German," I made some crap up.

"Thai sounds fine," Timothy answered. I hoped and prayed that meant one hostile person inside. I flapped my hand out, getting my two Amazons' attention. I tapped my heart, then showed two fingers - two friendlies. I made a fist (new number), then showed one finger - one hostile.

Buffy got Wiesława's attention then started a three count.

"Timothy, get down," I commanded as Buffy went from two fingers to one. One finger went into a fist, Wiesława pushed the door open and went to a crouch, weapon at the ready looking in. Buffy went to the other side of the door, pistol aimed over Wiesława's head.

"Don't move," Buffy said in a soft yet menacing voice.

Wiesława slipped into my room. I ran over to her positon while Buffy kept whomever she was aiming at in her sights.

"Down," Wiesława commanded. "Clear." Buffy went in and I followed. 

My Polish guardian had Anima face first on the carpet, her knee on the evil bitch's butt and her barrel pressed into her shoulder blades. I shut the door. Buffy picked up a cheap-looking 32 cal. revolver and stuck it in her jacket pocket. That must have been the weapon she used in order to keep the much larger Timothy and Sovann as hostages. 

My roommate and his boyfriend were still getting over having some crazy chick threaten their lives, only to have two other crazy chicks show up to save them. A quick pat down later and they had Anima on her feet, face to face with me. The pampered, perpetually-bored torturer was gone. 

The creature before me still lacked anything approaching empathy, but she was worn ragged, her clothes were filthy and personal hygiene was a thing of the past. She had become a feral, hunted human animal, now at the end of her tether.

"Cáel?" Anima cast about fearfully, then, "Cáel! Cáel, please help me," she pleaded. "I'm so sorry about what happened to Casper. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Please call them off." Casper? Anima wasn't sorry about what she did to Casper, nor was extending an ounce of sympathy for all her so-called friends she'd led off that moral cliff, placing them into early graves.

"Them?" I asked.

"The people - those women who've killed everyone else," she related desperately. "I've learned my lesson. Please make them stop. I'm the only one left."

"Your lesson was to get a gun and hold my roommate and my friend hostage?" I stared at her.

"I couldn't find you...and I was afraid of hanging around one place for too long...I had to hide here until you came back," she babbled.

"Anima, I'm about to leave the country on business," I studied her. "I came back here by accident. What would have done if I didn't come back?"

The answer was either she'd break down and call me on the phone, or she'd kill Timothy and Sovann and search for another angle.

"I would have kept running," she lied. She was a very good liar, except holding my friends hostage was an 'end of the road' ploy. Clearly, life had not ceased to be all about Anima.

My gut was to play the White Knight and save the damsel in distress. That would require me to forget the dead peripheral players in Anima's drama as well as Casper. I couldn't take the coward's path and do nothing either.

"Anima, do you recall that trip we took to Illusions?" I reminded her.

"Ye - yes," she sounded worried.

"Two things stick out in my memory. You said 'death isn't all it is cracked up to be' and you claimed to have never met a person who was untouchable," I recalled. "You don't seem to be scoffing at death and pain anymore, Anima. 

You have also managed to meet someone you can't touch. I remain the Good Guy and I feel fine with my decision of leaving you to face the consequences of your choices," I stated deadpan.

"You are simply going to let me die?" Anima wailed. "How is that good?"

"It is the virtue of Justice," I told her.

"That is something you could never grasp, Anima. Good isn't soft. Forgiveness isn't a blanket license to commit evil, over and over again. It is a second chance for the worthy who have made a mistake. You are neither worthy nor did you make a mistake. You knew exactly what you were doing," I glared. "Shut up!"... Anima had attempted to make another plea.

"Do you know what you could have done to save yourself? You could have made the last few weeks of your life matter by helping others. You could have exhibited bravery and charity, yet you chose not to. I'm not okay with all the resulting deaths. This brings me no joy. But my sorrow does not translate to me second guessing myself.

I'm willing to take responsibility for what has happened. I could have backed down - given in. I didn't. I met you half way in our moral challenge. You haven't changed and I'm fresh out of give. We remain where we were that Saturday - morally deadlocked. Good-bye," and I was done. 

"Time for you to go," Buffy emphasized by grabbing Anima by the scruff of the neck.

"Cáel?" Anima made one more attempt. Buffy yanked her out the door. I was dealing with Timothy and Sovann. 

"Sorry about this guys," I shook my head.

"You are not dull," Timothy admitted after a few seconds. He stepped up and we hugged.

"What is going to happen to her?" Sovann asked. He was still rightfully shaken up by the whole 'psycho girl with a gun threatening to end his life'.

"I don't know," I replied. "Buffy isn't going to kill her, but she's under a death sentence for orchestrating a gang rape of a girl after I specifically requested that she restrain herself.

Hell, if I thought that was going to be a one-time thing, I would have cut her some slack. Instead, she and her sick crew of rich, overly privileged friends chose to live beyond the law."

"So you are the law now?" Sovann stared intently.

"Yeah," I nodded, still in a partial hug with Timothy. 

"I don't ask for a lot, Sovann. I do ask that people treat people with respect. If they fuck up, I ask them to not do it again. You are thinking 'who make me God?' and I don't have an answer to that. I do my best. And I have people like Timothy and Odette to kick me in the right direction when I stray. That's the best I can do, because doing nothing when you can make a difference is cowardice."

"Cáel, Sovann and I will discuss this after you go," Timothy intervened. "By the way, why did you come back?" 

"Crap," I quick-stepped to my room, dug out two handfuls of fortune cookies from the box on my dresser, stuffed them in my pockets, then headed for the exit.

"Fortune cookies," I explained. "Now, if I am late I'll probably have to sleep with one of my aunts. Sorry again, guys," and out the door I went. Wiesława kept to my side as we went down to the GL.

"Buffy said she had business to take care of," the driver informed us.

Off we traveled to JFK International Airport and the O'Shea Boeing BBJ3 that was waiting for us. Some guy with an Irish brogue and some serious letterhead had the TSA wave us through the gate into a restricted part of the tarmac. Havenstone Executive Services had packed up my clothes and kit, as well as Wiesława's. Hopefully, someone had bought some extra clothes for Sakuniyas. 

Daphne and Tigger were there to send me off...and to drive the Havenstone vehicles back to base. A quick hug and a kiss was all I could spare. I was cutting our departure window very close. For starters, this was my aunts' jet and that was made abundantly clear.

Staff wise, the pilot, co-pilot, chef (yes, the jet had a galley) and three flight attendants were all tiny cogs in the Illuminati structure. Each aunt had a personal assistant (always female) and a bodyguard (3 males, 2 females). As for my family - there was Aunt Deidre, who I did know and Aunts Kelly, Matilda, Imogen and Baibre, who I had last seen at Dad's wake.

Honestly, I felt like a heroin dealer walking into a drug den filled with five ladies about to fall of their '12 Step Program'. They may have all had the same genetics, but they all seem to have taken different paths. Kelly and Matilda were cold-hearted, ruthless, professional killers...which helped explain Uncle Lumpy's demise.

Deidre was sort of the referee that the other aunts didn't respect. Imogen was an up-beat and perkily impish sort with the heart of a medusa. Baibre was...nuts. The 'walks the hallways of the old manor house late at night having conversations with the portraits of her dead ancestors' kind of nuts. Definitely detached from reality.

On my team, I had Rachel's squad, Pamela, Sakuniyas and, of course, Wiesława. Delilah had sprouted a buddy - good ole Chaz Tomorrow...the guy Pamela respected more than me. Apparently the US government thought me running off to parts unknown was unhealthy. Both Virginia and Vincent of the FBI had joined us with Riki Martin in tow. Why? Not sure. 

Our guide for our upcoming adventure, Selena Jovanović of the Black Hand, was here alone.

"Hi," I greeted the ensemble. "Sorry I was almost late."

"I see dead people too," Baibre gifted me with a lopsided grin and a sing-song voice. Sweet! Me seeing the restless dead was freaking genetic. 

Then introductions went around, mutual animosity was exchanged and, as the 'Fasten Your Seatbelt' warning came on, the turf war began. Where was I going to sit? Rachel was adamant that I sit ensconced with my Amazons in the middle region. My aunts wanted me nearer to the rear of the plane...close to the curtained off sleeping areas. 

I had one huge advantage over virtually everyone else on the plane - I regularly dated dangerous and somewhat unstable women. I joined my aunts after whispering a quick something in Rachel's ear. Five minutes after take-off, Kelly and I almost came to blows. She was - aggressive and demanding. 

Having been down this road before, I derailed our conflict by calling her out. The fuselage of this jet wasn't ideal, but with the beds folded back, we could create a makeshift sparring area. This kind of sexual foreplay was new to Kelly, giving me an immediate advantage. I gave Kelly most of what she wanted - personal contact without sleeping with her - the reason I had the bedding put away. 

Ten minutes into the bout, Matilda decided to switch places with Kelly. Kelly didn't agree but didn't want to start a catfight here and now. By the time Matilda was about to up our public display of affection beyond my acceptable levels, Imogen intervened. I was getting a definite 'cuddle' vibe from her, which I liked ... though I doubted I was getting my shirt back on anytime soon. 

Deidre called for a late dinner before we all crashed out.

"Where is your personal assistant?" Deidre inquired. I was pretty sure that she wasn't talking about Riki, who had already fall asleep, and she definitely didn't mean my Amazons.

"I don't have a personal assistant," I responded.

"Then who was the girl who delivered your luggage?" Kelly's gaze grew intense.

"Where is Cáel's luggage?" Rachel popped up. Matilda tapped her bodyguard and he led Rachel to the hatch down to the luggage compartment. Sure enough, there was my suitcase, travel bag and dress bag (for my suits). No bombs or tracking devices that they could discover.

Upstairs, I was getting the bad news vis a vis a description of my PA ... Odette for sure. Damn it. Turning around wasn't possible. With the crowd we had, the unviability of surviving a trip in the cargo hold and the limited hiding places, we found Odette super-

quick. She had rearranged the storage in the galley and hid in one of the galley cabinets.

Odette was not a gymnast, or a contortionist. Delilah had to pull her out because her muscles were so cramped.

"Hi," she greeted me. "Don't be angry," she begged. I responded to that by banging my noggin against one of the overhead compartments.

I didn't ask why she did it. Odette had been living vicariously on the stories of my adventures to the point that she wanted to be part of the action, not a member of the audience. She was totally unprepared mentally and physically for the mission my team was embarking on. I couldn't ask anyone to be her guardian. That wasn't their job.

"I'll protect her," Sakuniyas spoke up. I was floored. Saku didn't like people, especially defenseless ones like Odette. The only person pleased with that announcement was Odette.

"Why would you do this?" I asked Saku.

"So I can later use her for leverage against you to help Alal," Saku stated.

"What?" Odette mumbled.

"Fine," I shrugged. "Odette, welcome to the ugly underbelly of barely constrained violence that I call home. This is what you have said you wanted. Live with it."

"But Sakuniyas is going to use me to hurt you," she protested. "Why can't Delilah protect me?"

"I have an assignment, Odette, and it doesn't include babysitting a civilian," Delilah told her. "Except for Saku, we all have jobs to do."

"Ms. Seibert," Virginia reluctantly joined in, "as a US citizen, I and Agent Loire will do our best to protect you." 

"Do understand, our primary mission is to guard Ms. Martin and liaison with the law enforcement bodies," Vincent chimed in. Odette nodded.

"Sakuniyas, please do your best," I wasn't letting Saku, or Odette, off the hook.

"I do not make idle boasts, Ish...Wakko Ishara," Saku gave a shark-like grin. "Now, why don't you tell me more of Alal?" Fuck.



Life as a New Hire Ch. 31



This story plays fast and loose with Ancient History and Linguistics; be warned.

You can do wrong while trying to do right.

Editing magic performed by KJ24 and Shyqash, plus contributions by the regular gang of brigands and neer-do-wells.

Thanks to NM for his help with Magyar terminology and titles and Budapest advice.

There is a bit of mangling of the Iliad going on. I apologize to Homer and the countless singers before him who carried the Iliad down through the dark centuries until the Greeks figured out how writing works.

*****

(Not the welcome we expected)

When my family's side and my companions finally settled down for some sleep, I was left wide awake, the memories of hundreds of years seeping into my conscious mind. These were amusing, frightening and sad. Grandpa Cáel/Alal had lived a life full of pain - both given and received. He spent an inordinate amount of time looking at children.

Since I had his memories, not his personality, I had to decipher their emotional context. The dominant themes were sadness, jealousy and anger. Immortality wasn't a future. Immortality was continued existence. And only through his eyes did I begin to see the difference. A family meant a future. Offspring meant a future. Sarrat Irkalli had stolen that from him.

Alal had tried fostering children. He had even adopted infants who knew no other father. It was always that same dark journey that he walked with everyone he ever loved. They died, either at the hands of his enemies, or from the passage of time. It became too much to bear, so he gave up trying to bond with humanity.

I had a newfound sense of sympathy for him. I was also terrified by the way his mind had evolved and was even more convinced I had to kill him...which was what he wanted me to try. Why? Fear. Having lived for so long and suffered so much, Phobos was a distant memory for him. He had experienced physical and emotional agony so many times that it had lost all reference to him.

Grandpa wanted to fight me, then he wanted to kill me. He couldn't bring order to humanity's perpetual state of chaos if he was finally, really dead. I had these memories from him, but not the actual experience. Maybe if I trained for 100 years, which was 99 fewer years than he was going to give me, I approach his skill. Aunt Kelly interrupted my introspection.

"Do you mind if I sleep beside you?" she asked. She was going through some minor tremors.

"Sure thing," I replied softly. I scooted over and held up the thin blanket I was sheltering under. Kelly snuggled in on the - it was a cot, not a bed. I cut through the confusion by letting her head come to rest on my right biceps (I was on my right side).

Kelly moved closer allowing me to run my hand from the top of her right thigh, along her hip then over to her back. As my fingers worked up her spine in a zigzag pattern, she started kissing me on the lips. Tongues played, chests pressed together and our legs intertwined. Kelly was athletic and vigorous, yet clearly driving under the influence - my scent was making her unstable.

Despite her ferocious nature, after stripping off her clothes, Kelly quickly rolled onto her stomach then brought her knees up in the classic 'ass up' sexual position. The last thing I wanted to do was to be a cheap replacement for Grandpa. When I was naked, I manhandled Kelly up and on top of me. There was nothing wrong with her instincts once she was there.

Kelly had my cock in her hand and was rubbing against her gushing labia in a heartbeat. Penetration came in one liquid, friction-intense plunge. My aunt wasted no time letting the whole plane know she was in sexual bliss. I had a massive sexual legacy to live up to and Kelly gave every indication that one orgasm wasn't nearly enough.

I licked, sucked and teased every millimeter of her scrumptious breasts and teats. She moaned from deep within her diaphragm in one long litany of limitless carnality. Kelly responded by giving me frantic kisses, bitten lips and twisting my nipples as she raced to her second orgasm. (There is no rest for the wicked.) Finally, Kelly shifted to a spooning position.

The second time I entered her, we were less frantic and more sensual. It was an unhurried, pleasant pussy penetration accompanied by plenty of kisses along her shoulders and neck. Our hands roamed over each other's bodies. I got Kelly to play with her tits while I grabbed her hips and began hammering away. I told her I was close. 

Kelly picked up her self-stimulation and started pushing her butt back to meet my thrusts. My climax built up and up until I felt my penis taking on the role of a fire hose in a five alarm fire. Cum kept shooting out, strand after strand of my seed painted her vaginal walls. My Aunt and I were panting like greyhounds at the end of an epic race. I was developing a positive view of our encounter.

She twisted her body around, my spent phallus fell out of her pussy and she positioned her body so that we were face to face once more. She also killed my happy. "Sex with you is far better than it ever was with Father," Kelly gasped. Killed it big time.

"I don't see you as Blood, Kelly. I see you as the wonderful woman you are," I lied to her.

(Cough) "Bullshit," (Cough) I heard from Pamela's direction.

"Hey, Old Lady," I groused. "Do you need a lozenge?"

"No," Pamela snorted. "What I need is for you to use a ball-gag on the next one you wear out. I think most of us are trying to get some sleep."

With some effort and consideration, I managed to add sex with Deidre to my rapidly lengthening list of post-collegiate sins. Unfortunately, being around my mother's sisters was dredging up all kinds of memories I wish I didn't now have. By the grace of Kimberly, my mentor, I had a strong impulse to remember every bit of information during a love-making session so I could build a picture of that lover's idiosyncrasies later.

While I may have been a lousy, cheating son of a bitch, I was a compassionate member of that breed and so 95+% of all my female memories were pleasant ones. But I now had a host of new memories, courtesy of Grandpa Alal (I had decided that I was going to be the one and only 'Cáel' in this family; fuck Grandpa and his seniority) that didn't mesh with my normal modus operandi. 

These were his cold, calloused assessments of people - his own flesh and blood - as tools, biological devices designed for certain tasks. He was prepared to dispose of any of them at a moment's notice. I didn't have the emotional background for this discovery. I had only my love of women to guide me toward the truth. 

Flashback 

Alal's 'milk of human kindness' had finally run dry as the Visigoths sacked his Roman villa. While looters ran off with his latest trappings of wealth, and deserted by his servants and his slaves, Grandpa decided that he was tired of fucking around with the Human Race. He felt they were simply too stupid, venal and weak to make any positive, lasting changes in the world.

Alal decided that he was going to make the key choices for them. Fuck free will. Fuck letting the vermin that floated to the top of the cesspool destroy everything good in the world...as he had witnessed them doing time and time again. He had lost count of the monuments destroyed, histories of peoples forgotten and benefits to mankind burned away by barbarism and ignorance.

By the fading light of August the 26th, 410 CE, Alal found himself sitting back in the pergola (a sort of mini-gazebo) in his rear gardens, drinking through several amphora of wine all the while having a deep philosophical debate with the several dozen very dead Goths decorating his environs. 

As three or four looters would enter the garden, he would kill them. And then three or four more would show up looking for the earlier group,...on and on. This reinforced Alal's belief that something drastic had to be done. He seriously considered going to the coast, getting a ship and five solid stone anchors. He'd sail out two days...maybe three, wrap himself in the anchors and jump overboard.

The problem, as he saw it, was that given a few decades, the ropes would rot and he'd bob to the surface to see again that none of the fundamentals had changed. Further complicating his current thinking was that every time he came close to throwing in the cosmic towel, some more GOD DAMN GOTHS would come around, calling for their buddies - the dead ones. Somewhere around noon on August the 27th, Alal vowed that he was tired of this shit.

Right on cue, around twenty Goths came strolling through the rear of his villa and soaked up the carnage out back. Fifty-two of their brethren were in various states of dismemberment and defilement (Alal had been, as usual, angry). They saw this dark-skinned Roman and rightly asked 'where's the army that killed these fellows?' He walked up to them in his wine-splashed toga.

"Are you the one in charge?" he asked the meanest looking Visigoth in passible Goth.

"I am," the leader responded. With lightning speed, he killed the man with his own sword. The Germans weren't sure what to make of that, it had happened so fast.

"You can join me," Alal indicated himself, "or you can join him," he indicated the corpse of their former leader. He had his new band of followers and the rest was Illuminati history.

End Flashback

For me, this meant more to me than living with the memories of a very bitter, driven and pitiless man. Alal was essentially the anti-me. It gave me chills to realize that all of Alal's gifts were bestowed on me with a purpose. I knew it was part of his greater plan. Normally, to end-run an evil genius, you just find him and kill him. Not only would Alal not stay dead, I now knew how well he could fight.

I knew only four people who might be in his league ... and I wasn't one of them. Of the four, Sakuniyas wasn't likely to help Pamela, St. Marie and Elsa get the job done. That meant I had to rev up the deception engine to comfort my Aunts with hope, while dispelling the knowledge of how little they mattered to their sire. Almost as bad, I had to ignore what horribly people they were while extending that portion of my soul.

It was with some relief that I hugged, kissed, and forcefully separated myself from the Aunts in Dublin. We were going on to Budapest's Ferenc Liszt International Airport. My next action was to make my request to Selena for a contract with the Ghost Tigers to defend Hana when she arrived in Russia. (Of the three 9 Clan Assassin-Babes, Selena was the least impressed with me.) She informed me that the Ghost Tigers didn't do bodyguard work. I still wanted her to relay my request, so she relented. After that - I passed out. 

We left Dublin around 9:30 am Friday morning and landed in Budapest at 1:45 pm. - still Friday. As Rachel rousted me so I could grab a quick shower before touchdown, I was gifted with the misconceptions of my fellow travelers:

To put it nicely, Riki thought I was somewhat revolting, Virginia was disturbed and Chaz had lowered his opinion of my moral character. It was the incest thing. Vincent being polite was a pleasant surprise, Delilah's camaraderie less so and Odette was peaches with my most recent sexcapades. She was far too good to me. The Amazons uniformly didn't give a crap.

"So, is there going to be any other bizarre behavior we should be prepared for?" Riki sat down next to me as I was drying my hair. I was back to my 'jeans, t-shirt and wind-breaker' style.

"Fine..." I said loudly. "It is really none of your business what I did with and to my mother's clones. Yes, they are all clones of my mother - who died when I was seven." A lie.

"They are also the genetic creations of my grandfather, also known by many as Cáel O'Shea. They are sterile, they are wickedly evil, and two weeks ago I didn't know they existed. I do have a real aunt in Maryland. She's my Father's sister and is not part of the menagerie. Oh yeah, my grandpa is currently a disembodied spirit, back from the Netherworld and looking for a body to take over ... if he hasn't found one already," I added. 

"He was born roughly five thousand years ago, was cursed by an ancient Sumerian Goddess such that he can never just die and stay dead. I have his memories running around my head, which, along with denying me a good night's sleep, allows me to speak an assortment of languages, use virtually every weapon built before 1970 and know that he is a vicious criminal mastermind the likes of which you've never imagined outside of fiction. 

How does that sound, Riki? Shall I get more bizarre? Trust me, I can," I regarded her evenly. She was speechless, but not out of awe. No, she was certain that I was completely unhinged.

"Everyone who believes Cáel, raise their hand," Odette demanded. Her hand went up. Odette and the Amazons agreeing was expected by the outsiders. Delilah and Virginia joining in was not.

"Captain Fairchild?" Colour Sgt. Chaz Tomorrow requested clarification.

"You've all seen those five O'Shea's that left the plane in Ireland. Barring some cosmetic changes, they were the exact same woman. You can either go with Sean Connery's Tak-ne creating a female clone army, or you can believe there is an otherworldly plastic surgeon altering a cadre of super-rich bitches to all look alike," Delilah - who was a captain of something - put out there.

"Who in the Hell is Tak-ne?" Riki mumbled.

"Duh," I poked the State Department lassie. "Connor MacLeod's Egyptian mentor in Highlander, the original movie and in the less than stellar sequel, Highlander: The Quickening".

"You are mistaken. Connery was that Spanish guy," Riki poked me back.

"Actually, the relevant quote is: 'I am Juan Sánchez Villalobos Ramírez, Chief metallurgist to King Charles V of Spain. And I'm at your service'," Vincent regaled us with his movie trivia. "He later reveals that he was born Tak-ne in Egypt in the 9th century BCE. Also, his Spanish name makes no sense - he has one too many surnames."

"Agent Loire, I am beginning to find intelligent men to be attractive," Charlotte said.

"Umm...thank you," Vincent responded warily.

"This might be a good point to get something clear," Chaz inquired. "Mr. Nyilas, whose side are you on? It appears to be rather complicated."

"Okay, Chaz, call me Cáel. Calling me Mr. Nyilas makes me miss my dad. I can also be addressed as Cáel 'Wakko' Ishara, Head of House Ishara of the First Twenty Houses of the Amazon Host. Or, you can call me what the Great Khan does - Magyarorszag es Erdely Hercege. Finally, those who love me, or find me amusing, may call me Fehér mén."

Selena's snort indicated she'd failed to hide her amusement at my presumptiveness, both titular and physically.

"Do you want to explain what's so amusing?" Riki looked over to the Black Hand assassin.

"Your job should be exceptionally easy now," Selena mocked me, "Prince of Hungry and Transylvania...or do you prefer 'White Stud'?"

"Laugh while you can, Monkey-Girl," I sneered. "The guy currently making a run at erasing seven hundred years of Asian history gave me that title. As for Fehér mén - that means 'White Stallion' and is symbolic of my ties to House Epona, not a phallic reference." Riki's look had gone from disgust, to anger (because she thought she was being played) and lastly, to shock.

"No," I interpreted her fear. "I am not here as some vanguard to unite the Magyar people to their cultural kinfolk in Central Asia. If you know your Central European history, you might recall that the Mongols devastated my homeland. For the next 450 years, the Turks were unwelcome visitors, conquerors and overlords. My princely status is a pat on the head for a job well done and nothing more."

"What job did you do?" Riki prodded.

"I saved a man's life," I looked pained to admit. She didn't get it.

"It must have been a major VIPs life," Chaz suggested.

"You can say that," Pamela nodded. "End of discussion time too."

At Ferenc Liszt International, we were diverted to a private hangar once more - courtesy of the Republic of Ireland's diplomatic umbrella. Three grey Ford Focuses and a white panel truck advertising a furniture repair store awaited us. Security issues were immediately obvious. They wanted to separate us (in the Fords) from most of our luggage (in the truck).

The five guy welcoming party hid under the cloak of 'don't speak any language you claim to speak' and Selena was of zip help. So, I spoke to them in Hungarian. They glanced my way, but didn't respond. Serbian? Nope. Romanian? Nope.

[Old Kingdom Hittite] "Bows and doves," I commanded.

That translated rather logically as 'guns/bows' and 'phones/doves'. Out came our pistols. The only Black Hand to react fast enough was Selena and Pamela had her covered. The Amazons were aiming at the locals while Delilah and Chaz had their weapons out and scanning. Vincent and Virginia hadn't been fast enough - this time. They also didn't have guns pointed at them.

The lead BH flunky began talking calmly in German - heavily Slavic accented German.

[German] "What do you think you are doing?" he inquired of me.

[German] "Disarming you, ya Moron," I grumbled. [OKH] "Go", and in my Amazons went to very roughly search, disarm and de-phone our not so friendly friends.

"Alright, gather up your luggage," I called out to my group. "We are walking to town." That wasn't truly accurate. There was a metro associated with the airport - a kilometer away max. Our guides didn't speak English so they were rather surprised when the bags came out of the truck and were distributed to their owners. Riki Martin and Odette were in some trouble.

Girls and 'only packing the necessities'...Well, we had some diplomatic lumber to toss at the security services, Vincent had web-searched our location and the route we needed to take to the metro, and Delilah had purchased week-long public transport passes for the group. Only when we started marching out of the hangar did the BH comprehend the totality of their error.

The five guys in the hangar were chattering away - in Hungarian - and Selena was peeved.

"You are upsetting my superiors by blatantly disrespecting their courtesy," she reminded me. "They have guaranteed your safety."

"Less than a day has passed since the shootout in London, Selena," I countered.

"This is the Black Hand's backyard," Selena persisted, "not London."

"So, you are only going to help us if we do stupid shit we wouldn't do, even on our own home ground, is that it?" I chuckled. "Sweet," then, to my people, "I guess we are on our own."

The airport security guards didn't know what to make of our group of over-worked Sherpa, but the US State department and the RoI (Republic of Ireland) vouched for us, so they let us pass.

We hadn't taken the cars and the truck because that would have been theft. The confiscated guns and phones had been disassembled and tossed into a large iron drum of used aviation lubricant. Odette began shopping around for hotel reservations (I was carrying most of her gear). She was the logical choice because she sounded the most human of the bunch.

Selena called her people back, explained the fuck up and engaged in a mutual ass-chewing that spilled over a half-dozen languages and ended up with Dick-head, the local BH chieftain providing us with quarters that would turn a blind eye to our arsenal. With that address in mind, we made for the bowels of modern Budapest.

Dutifully, Riki contacted the US Embassy to Hungary's CIA mission head and Chargé D' Affaires, a.i., updating them on our arrival and movements. At the last moment, I had Riki relay the wrong address...on a paranoid hunch. I was right to be paranoid except I was looking in the wrong direction.

We had just disembarked at the Kőbánya-Kispest M3 station when we walked into the rolling ambush. A 'rolling ambush' is like a meeting engagement - the difference being that one side (ours) is on the move, not knowing it is being hunted while the other side (our attackers) was rushing to catch up with us, not knowing where along the path they would find us.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 31



As we preparing to transition from the station to the attached terminal, looking for the bus line that would connect us to the BH safe house in the Kőbánya (X) District, our attackers were dismounting their vehicles from across the street as well as to our left and right. They were dressed like cops. Had they been armed like cops...

"Oh look," I snickered to Pamela, "I see a whole bunch of heavily armed people coming our way."

"Good for you," Pamela muttered. "Your eyes are still working."

"Do you think they are here to raise me up on their shields and proclaim me 'Prince'?" I joked.

"I think they are here to kill us," Pamela grinned.

"I prefer to think positively," I grinned back.

"I am positive they are here to kill us," Pamela laughed. It had to be our relaxed demeanor that confused them. 

Had we been the droids they were looking for, we wouldn't have been chatting in the open with our bags in our hands. That would have made us crazy - and they would have been right. We were crazy alright and there was a method to our madness. It was mid-afternoon, yet there were plenty of average Hungarians wandering about.

Sure, they saw the 'special cops' closing in. They didn't see the upcoming shoot-out because that was plain nuts. A gun battle in a modern metropolis in broad daylight? London yesterday was an aberration, not the new normal. Our impromptu plan was to let the killers get as close as possible to limit the collateral damage.

This wasn't classic Amazon training. It was a concession to allies who did care about civilians killed in the cross-fire. The oncoming hit squad was finally putting faces to targets when Odette broke the calm before the storm. All she did was squeak when Vincent pushed her behind a kiosk. Riki took Virginia shifting her to cover in silence.

Delilah took off at a dead-run to the south-east. They were raising their shotguns and assault rifles. We were drawing our pistols. Normally this would have been an unequal match, except that in the time period where, in their eyes, we had gone from bystanders to targets, they'd also covered a good deal of ground - to the point that they were out in the open while my fighting band was in close proximity to all kinds of cover. 

It started out as eighteen to twelve. Pamela, Chaz and Selena quickly cut down those odd by five. Me? I didn't try to shoot and run at the same time, so I made it to cover and was stuck there by our opponents use of fully-automatic fire.

My lack of martial prowess could be forgiven by the reality I was the one they were trying to off. My greatest contribution to this skirmish was tossing my SPAS-12 to Chaz so he could use something more than his standard military issue Glock-17. I had barely gotten Chaz's appreciative nod when two grenades went off in close proximity to me.

At first, I heard and felt nothing. My eyes were having trouble focusing. When my limbs began to orient themselves, I had to fight down the instinct to move. I was lying down, which was far safer than staggering around in the middle of this hail of lead. The twin grenades turned out to be their second and very fatal mistake on this mission.

The first had been their delay in identifying my group. The second - using the stun grenades - did put me, Pamela and Selena out of commission temporarily. But their mistake was having misplaced my six Amazons in this mess they had created. They did have thirteen shooters versus Chaz, Virginia and Vincent. They rushed our position using the classic advance while firing rote.

Two meters from me, the six Amazons revealed themselves with five P-90's and one big-ass bow. Four escaped the kill zone only to find themselves flanked by Delilah. Her .480's, combined with their confusion, finished off the survivors. That wasn't the end of it. We still had to effect our get-away.

I was still getting my head on straight as the ladies decided to hotwire some of the deceased men's rides and get us the heck out of Dodge. Recovery brought with it the knowledge that Virginia and Chaz had been shot. Pamela, Selena and me ... we had some scrapes and bruises. Everyone else checked out. Mona let us know that she could handle the wounded. They wouldn't be doing jumping jacks for a week or two, but a hospital was not required. On the downside, no one believed that eighteen killers dressed as cops randomly rolled up on our transit point by accident. The only people who knew about our change in travel plans had been the Black Hand. We'd lied to the US.

We broke into an abandoned factory to stash the vehicles and make our next plan. Selena was coldly furious. Not only did she come to the same conclusion we had - the Black Hand had set us up to be murdered - we weren't letting her call in. Wiesława and Charlotte kept their guns pointed at her, so low was our level of trust.

Chaz was pretty much of the opinion that Selena should be coerced to provide us with the names and locations of the Black Hand involved so that we could do our own 'fact finding tour'. Oddly, none of the Americans asked to be pulled out. Vincent and Riki wanted to let the US Embassy know what had happened, yet were willing to wait until we were secure somewhere first.

Rachel was on board with Chaz's idea...with the addendum that they kill every Black Hand they could get their hands on before fleeing the city. They had tried to kill ME after all. I was touched. It was Pamela who put things in perspective.

1) The attackers were not Black Hand, they were mercenaries and that pointed a bloody finger at the Condottieri.

2) Selena wasn't a fanatic and her life had been in as much danger as anyone else's. She wasn't part of our ambush. Her buddies had tossed her under the bus.

3) It would have been far easier to catch us in that convoy they'd tried to stick us with. Caught in pre-planned crossfires and without our heavier weapons, we would have all died.

4) Having failed to deliver us to the pre-planned ambush site, the Condottieri had to rush to our metro stop because...the safe house they had prepared for us wouldn't have worked. We had the numbers to allow us take total charge of our security once we were in place. No, gauging our numbers, this traitor had sent the mercs into a straight-up fight they'd just lost.

Pamela's conclusion: the Black Hand had a double-agent in the Condottieri. To up his/her credibility, he/she had been given the information which they had used to attempt to have me killed. Less we forget, the Black Hand was a murder-for-hire organization. If we accepted Pamela's conjecture, what was our next course of action?

The Black Hand and Condottieri shared much of the same home ground, so they needed to be aware of what the much larger Condo network was up to. Long term, they thought that losing me and Selena was worth the insight they would gain into how the Condo's worked. Understandable, unless you were me and mine.

It is said you can lead a horse to water, but you can't make it drink. That may be true, except this Fehér mén was being led to water by Pamela and I took the plunge. I pulled Riki aside and asked for a favor. I wanted her to contact the State Department over an unsecure line and inform them that 'our' double agent had alerted us to the ambush and we were all fine.

The open, fearful look in her eyes said it all. If she made that report, someone was going to die. She was a human being whose actions were going to result in another human being dying - most likely in a bad manner. She was also a human being who had had a gun pointed at her. They'd shot at her, her life had been in danger and by the grace of more combative individuals, she'd been saved. 

She might not be able to identify with the Amazons, or the Brits (soldiers), but Virginia had taken three bullets keeping her safe. The ballistic vest stopped two, giving her some titanic bruising, while the third had clipped her arm. Virginia had bled for her. Vincent was determined and grim. Odette was still rather shocky. 

And all of that was the fault of the cock-sucker I was asking her to set up now. She made the call, making a very understated reference to their 'source' inside the 'opposition' that had exposed the ambushers in time. Her testimonial would take some time to filter to the 'wrong' hands. Excellently done.

Why did I have Riki do it? We understood the reasoning of the Black Hand action. We were fucking them over because NO ONE did that to the Amazons - period - end of statement. Pamela radiated pride. On second glance, so did Rachel and Delilah. They knew I was a nice guy. Now I was a nice guy who would defend and avenge his own - them.

After we left the abandoned factory and moved to a fourth location, I asked that Selena contact her superior to figure out how we could rendezvous and get to a safe place. He was unhappy, she was unhappy and she let him know we were unhappy. Another guide was sent our way and thirty minutes later, we found ourselves in an old Communist-era apartment block.

Think of Chicago's Cabrini Green from the 1980's, but built with less inspired labor and you could visualize our surroundings. The neighborhood screamed of poverty, high crime and a poor police presence. Chaz described it as a 'low intensity war zone' where ethnic Hungarian, Serbian, Bulgarian, Croat and Romany street gangs regularly scarred the landscape with their graffiti.

Matthias, the local head of the Black Hand, kept us waiting until after dark. His excuse was the problems we'd created.

"You are lucky I don't hand you over to the Rendőrség (National Police)," he menaced us once he'd scoped out our cramped quarters. I was thinking about how to approach this coolly. 

"You are the one responsible for our safety, Asshole," Riki got in his face (he was actually sitting at one of the three chairs in the tiny kitchen space. Matthias pulled out a stiletto blade from somewhere and put it to Riki's throat.

"I don't know you, don't like you and see little reason to put up with your insults," he replied casually.

I pushed off the wall slowly and started walking toward Matthias. He pricked Riki's throat, stopping me.

"That is neither necessary, nor friendly," I countered. "We are supposed to be building bridges."

"Right now you are utilizing my resources to no good end I'm aware of," he mused.

"Is there someone else we can talk to?" I pleaded. 

"No," Matthias scoffed. I nodded then looked to the closest of his two bodyguards.

"Is there someone else I can talk to?" I addressed the man. I turned my body as I did so, unmasking Pamela who placed a silenced .22 round into Matthias' skull via his right eye. 

The man's brains turned to mush and he slumped over, dead.

[Hungarian] "Is there someone else I can talk to?" I repeated to the bodyguard. He stared at me. "You know that Matthias set us up. We don't blame the Black Hand, just him. He thought being in the 9 Clans would protect him - it didn't. Now, do you want to talk, or leave?"

Bodyguard #1 looked at #2.

[Hungarian] "They will let you leave without conflict," Selena spoke up. "They will honor my agreement with the Vizsla." The two men started backing out. The Vizsla was the Head of the nearest Black Hand Chapter - similar to an Amazon Head of House.

[Hungarian] "Take the body with you," I requested. They cautiously returned, grabbed Matthias under each arm and dragged him away. 

[Hungarian] "We will be in touch," the lead bodyguard stated. It wasn't meant to be a threat.

[Hungarian] "Selena, you can leave with them, if you wish," I said.

[Hungarian] "I'm okay," she relaxed. Once they left, she looked at Pamela. [English] "Very smooth. I didn't even see it until too late."

"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God," Riki blathered. Odette ran to her side and help her into a free chair. "I almost got killed. I mean, I looked into his eyes and I knew he was going to kill me. What have I gotten myself into?" 

The poor woman was trembling uncontrollably.

"I think the lesson here is that the only people we can rely on are each other - no one else," Vincent stated.

"He was going to kill me," Riki cast about. I went and knelt beside her.

"The second that man threatened your life, he was dead, Riki. No one does that to any member of the team. You do your part and we'll keep you safe," I patted her hand. Running away to the safety of the embassy would have been so easy for her. I wanted her to stay. The choice had to be hers.

"You really killed him?" Riki whispered.

"Deader than Hell," Odette piped up. "Crossing one of Cáel's ladies is the fast track to the Autobahn of Pain," she boasted on my behalf. That statement grabbed Riki's attention.

"Who are you again?" Riki inquired.

"I am Odette Sievert," my bed buddy smiled.

"What do you do? What are your skill sets? Who are you with? Why are you here?" came next.

"Oh... Cáel met me at a restaurant where I was a waitress. I slept with him that night. A week later, I stopped going home and I've been with him ever since."

"I thought he was engaged to Hana Sulkanen?" Riki was puzzled.

"Oh, he is. I'm his fuck-buddy and his least crazy female friend," Odette clarified. Pause. "I'm a high-school graduate too."

"But why are you here? You don't even have a gun," Riki kept babbling.

"I don't know how to use a gun yet, or martial arts, or all those nifty weapons the rest of this troupe use, but I'm going to one day. Right now I'm here because Cáel is pretty stressed about his trip to see Aya...and I wanted to go on one of Cáel's adventures," Odette confessed.

"So...you are the comedic side-kick?" Riki blinked.

"Hmm...sure, that sounds good," Odette smiled. "Wait! In honor of our quest to Transylvania: Have you ever heard the story of the female vampire and male werewolf who fell in love with each other? They had to fight the opposition of their families and other people, they even lost friends but in the end they got married and lived happy together for a time."

"Yes?" I asked. 

"But tragedy came when the werewolf died suddenly the day they celebrated 25 years of marriage," Odette faux-frowned. "Does anyone know why?" We looked around.

"Silver anniversary?" Vincent guessed.

"Yes," Odette exulted. "The autopsy determined the werewolf couldn't withstand their "Silver anniversary." Groans went around the room. Odette seemed inordinately pleased with herself. "Wait! I've got more," she pleaded. I hugged her. The French kiss was a welcome addition. The 'outsiders' took their second deep breath. 

Some things were sinking in. Pamela. Everyone had seen her as a quirky, unique gray/white-haired pony tailed lady, constantly joking with me. She was that. She was also a remorseless killer. Matthias had screwed up twice and that was all it took for him to become a corpse. Delilah and Virginia had gone down that road once with her already at the Summer Camp.

It was a chilling reminder that Pamela dispensed death effortlessly and with swift precision. Chaz appeared more at ease after that revelation. If he had any doubt that the majority of his companions were consummate professionals, the last six hours had dispelled them. As long as we were on the same side, he was in good company.

Virginia and Vincent were still law enforcement, so Matthias' execution was disturbing. In context, it was also something they could live with. The man had been a human predator, Riki's life had been in danger and the danger had been dealt with without risk to Riki. They weren't about to advocate sidewalk executions for jaywalking, but the outcome was acceptable.

Riki...was more happy to be alive than anything else. In a perverse way, she was more onboard with the program than before Matthias had shown up. Why? We had killed someone to protect her. Unlike the impersonal firefight at the Metro 3 station, this had been upfront, in her face. There had been no angry words and escalating tensions.

Her 'team' felt her life was being threatened and they removed that threat. In the annals of Foggy Bottom, she'd heard about those kinds of 'Cold War/Terrorist' encounters. Saigon, Tehran, Benghazi...all places were State Department personnel had been in life and death circumstances. Now she could add Budapest to that list...though she knew she couldn't.

This mission had 'Plausible Deniability' written all over it. If she did survive this, her outlook on those late night drinks with other members of the Foreign Service would be very different. There were no 'exciting shootouts' and 'pulse-pounding races for freedom'. Her new experiences had demolished those quaint Hollywood notions. No, Riki had decided that the next person to put her at risk should end up being dead just as fast as Matthias snuffed it. 

After those introspections, we had to grapple our next two problems (meeting our contact had been task one). Our 'safe house' had enough food for four people for three days. We needed more food.

Like all great espionage missions, we decided to split up and look for clues. Not really. Pamela wanted to get the lay of the land and Rachel wanted to get more food. I wanted to go with Pamela - I was wired, so she took me, Delilah (she was supposed to be keeping an eye on me) Saku (because we didn't want to fight her off) and Selena (ditto, plus we didn't trust her).

Mona had to stay to tend to Virginia and Chaz. Rachel wanted Charlotte to check the wiring for the place as well as figure out which walls we could blast through if horizontal mobility became a question. Riki was in no shape to go anywhere. Vincent would have to stand watch over the rest. That meant Odette and Wiesława were going out with Rachel and Tiger Lily on a food run.

(The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo)

Fate is a bitch who has my life on speed-dial, or I'm exceptional luck for other people ... which I pay for in blood - take your pick. Rachel and I were in phone contact every ten minutes to be on the safe side. Close to our domicile was the local Red Light district. It was several blocks of prostitutes with the added bonus of an open air black market.

The place was a monument to moral depravity, criminal enterprise and human misery. The cops were blatantly bought and paid for (or scared), the streetwalkers too young, too strung out, or too burned out to care. I could buy any weapon from a switch blade to that one guy who swore he could get me an RPG-16 and 4 warheads. 

Drugs of every stripe, bootleg DVDs, dog-fights and blood sports were all being hawked. For a pittance, I could beat a homeless guy into unconsciousness. It was also a tourist Mecca for things illegal and illicit - a bit of a 'walk on the wild side'. It wasn't that the tourists were all that safe either. 

Everyone was in danger from the street gangs; and on the top of that rubbish heap were the Romano (that's male gypsies to the less ethnically sensitive). Like the Amazons, they were pretty immune to penetration by their enemies, had a callous disregarded for the rest of humanity and made good use of their small numbers.

That was where the similarities ended. They were a gang of thieves, thugs and pimps - criminal entrepreneurs. Their threat came from the most organized and ruthlessness, not from any real martial skill. They had a unique language which they causally bantered about in. Why Grandpa Alal knew it, I don't know, but he did.

As I said at the start, The Great Weave of Fate has my ass on speed-dial. We found an eatery open this late and were learning why it was open at 11 pm in this neighborhood. The gang would have wrecked the establishment if the owner had tried to lock the doors. His, his wife and niece served up the palatable, cheap fare with nervous smiles.

Two older Romano and a younger punk, close to my age, had a table close to the door. When Mom came out to deliver their orders (the rest of us had to go to the counter), they kid wasn't happy with it. He pushed Mom aside and went back to the kitchen to retrieve the young lady. For some 'unknown' reason, the whimpering, struggling girl was not enamored with his charms.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 31



I could see the old man's rage and sense of utter hopelessness. One of the older men looked at Pops and chortled.

[Romani] "Good little mouse," he said. The other two chuckled. The punk began working a hand down the top of the girl's shirt and fondled a breast. The girl was crying.

[Romani] "Maybe I'll pop her cherry on this table tonight?" the punk snorted. The girl didn't know the lingo, but she knew his intent. The other laughed. I stood up. Selena grabbed my hand.

"We do not get involved," Selena whispered intensely. "Those are the rules."

"What?" I looked over my shoulder and down at her, smiling.

"I'm only going to ask him how good the soup is," I fibbed. No one at my table believed me. Selena let go, and off I went. The two older men had caught the conversation, yet lacking knowledge of English, didn't get the importance of the exchange. The punk was engrossed in defiling the young lady.

"Hey, I'm new to town," I greeted their table. "How is the soup?"

[Romani] "Is this asshole begging to get robbed, or what?" Older guy A said to the other two. They laughed. I was a joke to them.

"Why thank you," I smiled and nodded. I picked up the punk's soup. 

Older guy A tried to stop me. Not only was he not all that fast, I can pulp a grapefruit with my fingers. By squeezing his palm, I had the meat of his thumb pressed tightly against the meat of his pinkie. He yelped, so I let him yank his hand back. I smelled the soup. I tilted the bowl back and had a taste. It was very good - well worth the cost. The two older guys were standing up.

This would have been the point when the punk should have dumped the girl and stood as well.

[Hungarian] "The soup and the girl, or just the soup?" I requested.

[Hungarian] "You have made a very bad mistake," Older guy A glared. [Romani] "We kill this one."

[Romani] "Cool Beans," I laughed. I overturned the bowel onto the punk's head. Not on the crown - planting it halfway toward the forehead meant the still warm soup splashed down into his eyes. In his shock and pain, the punk released the girl. I whipped her up and behind me. The punk and the girl were screaming. 

Belatedly, the two older gypsies were reaching for their un-holstered pistols. Jacket pockets and the small of your back are not places you put a pistol if time is of the essence. I threw the bowel into OG B's face, then reached over the still screaming punk to punch OG A in the face. I had to release the girl who staggered back into the table behind us.

Dealing with the punk was the obvious next order of business, so I danced around him instead. Had I stayed in place to deal with the punk, I would have been vulnerable to OG B, who only had to shrug off the light bowl hitting his face. Nope; I grabbed hold of OG A and hurled him over the table into OG B. The cheap-ass table and the chair behind OG B all gave way.

The Punk obliged me by standing up, trying to clean his face with his right hand and going for his gun with the other (he was a lefty). I hooked his belt with my right, his jaw with my left and hefted him up in the air. I kept the maneuver going, lifting him up until his head was down and his thrashing feet were touching the ceiling then sent him crashing down on his two buddies.

I had no trouble drawing my Glock-22, cocking it and crouching down next to the human trash pile.

[Romani] "Do you know who I am?" I asked quietly. Slowly, I gathered their attention.

[Romani] "No, but you are a dead man," the punk seethed.

Nodding, I flipped out my neat little Amazon blade, scooped out his right eye then cut him down his cheek to his chin in one smooth slash. He started to scream. I punched him with my knife hand in the throat to curtail that annoyance.

[Romani] "So I'm asking you again: do you know who I am?"

[Romani] "N...no," Older Guy A muttered.

[Hungarian] "And that is how I like it. I don't know you, you don't know me, and we are going to part ways and never see each other again. If we do meet, I might be in a bad, fucking mood because you have just about dissipated all of my goodwill for the night," I informed him.

[Hungarian] "Agreed," OG A was somewhat confused and the pain was settling in.

[Hungarian] "Take your guns, your friend and leave," I directed. It was encouraging to see OG B sending me a cautious look before picking up his gun. As they were heading out the door,

[Hungarian] "I'm new to town. Can you direct me to any good clubs in the area?" I asked.

Blink. The punk was still gasping and wheezing. The other two were confused.

[Hungarian] "The Halo Bar, or the Liget Bar and Club," he answered.

[Hungarian] "Thank you," I gave him a polite wave, "and goodnight." I didn't further kick their asses and humiliate them because of the restaurant owner's family. I was about to be gone from their lives. They had to live here, so confusing the reason for my intervention had been necessary. Why had I let them leave with their guns? Two reasons - when they related this event to their confederates, the fact I had let them leave with their weapons would come up. 

If I wasn't afraid of letting them leave with their weapons, what did that say about my combat lethality? They were going to come seeking vengeance. Nothing short of killing them and dumping their bodies in the Danube would have curtailed that, the moment I decided to get involved. I paid our bill in silence. None of them thanked me. They were scared.

I couldn't blame them. As Chaz had said, they lived in this low-intensity war zone every day. 

"That was an interesting exhibition of futile compassion," Selena mocked me.

"Thank you," I responded chipperly "I'm glad to see my actions were not misconstrued."

"I agree with the mutt," Saku nodded. To clarify, she pointed at Selena, "Her."

"That goes double for you, Baby-cakes," I teased Saku then fled. Saku had been about to punch me so was somewhat unbalanced when she missed and her two contrabassoon gig-bags swung around on her back. You didn't think she was walking around without her bow and sword, did ya? Sakuniyas broke into a dead run, trying to catch me. 

Selena, Delilah and Pamela had to race to keep up. After three blocks, I was proving my Olympian status by not being bitch-slap bait for my pursuers. I turned another corner and Fate proved she was all the bitch I needed. I ran into the girl, she began to administer a hip toss, I latched onto her arm only to realize it was a girl so I took the fall with her landing on top of me.

[Hungarian] "Fuck!" she snarled. She pulled away and I let her.

[Hungarian] "I apologize, I wasn't..." I got out before Saku ran up and kicked at me. I blocked the first blow with my thigh and the second with a left armed sweep.

[Hungarian] "Why are you attacking this man?" the new girl grumbled to Saku. "What has he done?" She was pissed with me, though questioning Saku.

[Hungarian] "She doesn't speak Hungarian," I clarified. [English] "Saku, she wants to know why you ae kicking me."

"Tell her because you so richly deserve it," Sakuniyas seethed. 

Pamela and Selena came up. Both appeared amused by my predicament.

"If she doesn't speak Hungarian, what is she doing in this part of the district after dark?" the stranger regarded Saku suspiciously. I scrambled to my feet. The stranger spoke heavily-accented English

"I apologize for running into you," I told her.

I noticed she had a handful of flyers she had been in the process of handing out when I collided with her. I helped her gather them up and took one for myself. On the paper were four pictures of young ladies. In Hungarian, Serbian, and Romanian it gave their names and a contact number for anyone who saw them.

We were in the midst of 'Sex Central' and our altercation had garnered some unwanted attention. Several prostitutes were fidgeting over the encounter - I was hot and clearly had money - so a pimp migrated our way.

[Romanian] "Alkonyka, you were told to stay away and not to harass our customers," the moving wall of meat chided my new found 'not' friend.

[Romanian] "It really wasn't a problem," I intervened.

[Romanian] "Shut up," he barked at me.

[Romanian] "And I told you and your buddies - give me back my sister and I'll leave you alone," Alkonyka (aka Dusk in English) responded to the guy.

He was big ~ 1.9 meters and 130 kg, plus he knew a little Tae Kwon Do. She was no featherweight ~ 1.83 meters and 62 kg and was far better at Sambo than I was at boxing. What followed was a vicious little beat down where the Big Man ended up sobbing in the fetal position while she berated him. 

She ended up rifling his pockets, taking out his phone and scrolling through it. She didn't find what she was looking for, cursed the pimp and attempted to put his phone into orbit. After that, Alkonyka picked up her flyers and stormed up the street. In the eternal sewage flow of the streets, three whores rushed over to help the guy once Alkonyka had left.

My unerring 'party girl' sense had delivered us close to the Liget. I wanted to go in, and since no one grabbed me in time, in we went. The two bouncers really didn't want to let me and my armory inside. I showed them my Irish diplomatic ID and let them in on a secret. The club's owner was seeking to open a 'sister' club in Dublin and I was here to check it out.

Me, my two bodyguards and my personal marching band (Saku and her cases) were let in. We had a wonderful fifteen minute tenure. Delilah and Pamela sat back and pointed out the various mobsters and gang cliques. Fate conjoined with my lie. One of the bar security types finally got around to telling the bar owner that his 'Irish partners' were at the bar.

Even from our distant spot, I could tell he was not a happy camper. Delilah, Pamela and I were debating our possible reactions to their upcoming request from the Boss to come over and talk with him. Saku was completely in favor of 'squashing the vermin'. It turned out, half way between the goons and us was Alkonyka doing her 'Missing Girl' thing.

She turned and headed toward us, until she saw us. Her eyes flashed to the door, back to the kitchen and finally to the women's rest room (she'd dropped in from the window that was three meters up, we were to learn later).

[Hungarian] "We are not with them!" I shouted over the noise.

The wisdom of that declaration was dubious. Not only was the local establishment out to get us, multiple other criminals seemed to have a special hate on for Alkonyka. She was also the person with the best lay of the land. When she raced for the kitchen, we followed. That required us to cross to separate dance floors. The Bitch Fate hit me on floor two.

I bounced off a dancing couple, flicked them a quick look and an apology.

[Hungarian] "Sorry about..." our eyes locked, then I was propelled away. She knew me and not in a good way. Not even in a bad way. It was in a horrible, horrible way. Did I exaggerate?

[Old Kingdom Hittite] "Come back here!" she yelled after me. "Come back, whoever you are!"

As bad as she was, her boyfriend was much worse. If I ran into him next, I was going to really regret not kissing my lovely Aya good-bye. After the dance floor, came the kitchen nightmare. It was Midnight Munchies time and the cook staff was working overtime. Then came the utter lack of a fire code: the rear door was chained shut. 

The only remaining exit was down a narrow hallway to the loading dock. There was no way...we couldn't all fit down there fast enough. 

"Pamela - Go!" I yelled. The absurdity of me sending my bodyguards to safety while I held off the villains wasn't lost on any of us.

"That's fucking hilarious, Dumbass," Delilah hissed. Her gun roared twice and the fuse box (in plain view) exploded in a shower of sparks. The lights flickered then failed. Consternation and confusion were all around. Someone grabbed my shoulder and off we ran. By the time the emergency lights kicked I heard the rolling doors heading up - the loading dock.

Our group was diving through the narrow, yet growing, opening since waiting was a luxury we didn't possess. Was it a good choice or a bad one that led us to run northeast instead of southwest in that alleyway? Only time would tell. As it was, we plowed into a group of revelers at the mouth of the alley. 

Ten of the fifteen were gang members, who weren't much in the mood for talking when they caught site of Alkonyka. It turned out they were compatriots of the big tub of lard she'd busted up earlier and had been sort of looking for her. A major melee ensued. By unspoken consensus, we went to fisticuffs first.

My side was beating them like little bitches when gangsters pouring out of the front of the club and the ones coming from the back of the club converged on us. The impetus of the combined rush thrust the whole fight out into the street. Fortunately, auto traffic is uncommon in Budapest due to an exceptional public transportation system. That wasn't of much help to us.

I tried to keep close to Delilah, who I had been following. That turned out to be impossible due to a variety of factors. Notably, several of the gangs weren't fans of some other gang and there were like ~ eighty-plus people fighting. No one knew who the fuck we were, but it turned out that Alkonyka had a price on her head. Thankfully, her nemesis wanted her delivered alive.

I could hardly say this chaotic affair was enjoyable, yet some jack-shit moron just had to make it worse. First someone drew a knife and then things escalated rapidly. Two shots rang out. I didn't hear anyone screaming in agony, so the shots must gone up, or down. I saw Delilah go down in a tangle of three opponents. I had my Glock out to pistol-whip a few assholes.

A body slammed against my back, staggering me. I managed to keep my feet and twisted only to find the body was in various states of discombobulation and That Chic was flashing me a dangerous look. I raised my pistol and shot the guy about to shoot her in the back - cause I'm an idiot. She tracked my shot, gave me a quick nod and then proceeded to whoop ass on some other poor soul.

Three more bullets went flying around before the poorly armed mob broke and ran. The mobsters (those left standing) backed up from whence we came and unloaded on us with two of Hungary's own KGP-9's ~ Woot! (It's a sub-machinegun). They seemed to have had some military training, yet they had fuck all for cover. What's with these people?

Once we all dodged to street-side walls, Delilah, Pamela and I 'pumped up the volume'. That meant we murdered the two most dangerous gangsters and let the others run for their lives. My quick head/body count revealed that only eight people were actually dead. Some poor smuck had his throat slit, five had been chopped up with a sword and the two guys we'd shot and killed.

Pamela's little expeditionary force had added four intrepid recruits: Alkonyka and three people who wanted to kill most of us, though they probably didn't truly understand that when we all fled the scene before the criminal element came back in greater force. Shelter took the shape of an abandoned house...if you didn't count the homeless in residence. 

It was no surprise that Team Pamela was okay, except for the prerequisite bruising and shallow cuts. We'd been wearing both our ballistic vests and armored dusters. Saku had been wearing her armor (sans helm) instead of ballistic cloth - so she looked like a deranged, post-apocalyptical outrider compared to our 'Dirty Harry/Pale Rider' knock-offs. Alkonyka was much the worse for wear. 

Her backpack and flyers were history. She still had her blade, but her clothes were a mess. The exposed flesh on her back gifted me with a little hint from Dot Ishara of why this had happened to me. You can't take the good without the bad, or so it seemed.

[Hungarian] "Don't stare at me," Alkonyka snapped.

That made everyone else stare at her, which made the girl even less comfortable.

"Holy Mother Fucking Shit," Delilah exclaimed. "Is that what I think it is?" Confusion time.

[Old Kingdom Hittite] "Why do I know you?" the princess asked me as she tugged on my sleeve.

"Oh damn it," Pamela mumbled. 

Saku merely looked her way while she cleaned off her blade and her front using a jacket she'd swiped form a drunk homeless woman. The lady's two buddies were downright laconic.

"Is she an Amazon too?" Delilah questioned. 

"Two in one night," Selena nodded. "Now, we can we please leave the city before everyone in this district wants us dead?"

"Too late," I sighed.

[Hungarian] "Who are you people?" Alkonyka inquired heatedly.

[OKH] "One moment, please," I addressed the Princess.

[Hungarian] "How to put this...we are honor-bound to help you liberate your sister. For now, would you please accept that it is because we are from the same hometown and leave it at that?"

[Hungarian] "What town are you from? You sound like an American," she quizzed me.

[Hungarian] "My name is Cáel Nyilas and my family came from Szászrégen, before World War II," I informed her.

That was Reghin in current day Romania.

[Hungarian] "Oh..." she was a tiny bit less hostile.

[Hungarian] "Hang in there. I have to deal with this," I cut her off. I looked to the Princess.

"I am Cáel Ishara, Head of House Ishara and Chief Diplomat for the Host," I identified myself.

"You know me because I witnessed your passage from the Land of the Endless Black Sands to the Sunlit Realm. It was part of a vision an augur shared with me," I explained. She and her buddies were far less welcoming of the news. I was speaking English on purpose.

"Ladies, this is Kwenhamai, better known as Molpadia, daughter of Penthesilea," I gulped.

"What House is she with?" Selena inquired.

"She doesn't have one. See, she was a princess of the Royal House. Then her mother, Queen Penthesilea, fought Ajax and Achilles. Despite her battle prowess, Ajax mocked her then Achilles knocked her to the ground. The Queen begged for her life, yet Achilles showed no mercy. 

Dying in such a shameful manner meant our new friend here was passed over for Queenship. The crown and girdle went to her aunt, Antiope, who Molpadia later killed to save that queen from being defiled by Theseus, Tyrant of Athens. She was then killed by the Greeks and thus ended the Royal House of the Amazons."

"But she's back?" Delilah wondered.

"This would be the part that has Cáel unhappy," Pamela muttered.

"Yeah, ya see..." I turned to the Princess again. "You are part of the Unconquered's group, right?" I groaned.

"Yes, me - we are with Ajax," the Princess revealed to the rest what I knew in my heart to be true.

"Thank you for your honesty, Death Song, and thank you for saving my life. Go in peace," I extended my hand. She stepped up, we clasped arms in the Amazon style and she smiled warmly.

"Your life wasn't really in danger," she smirked. She was referring to the guy who bounced off my back. "You put a bullet in the man trying to kill me...even though you knew who I was and who I was with...why?" Molpadia wanted to know.

"Because he's going to fuck you silly, you clueless bitch," Pamela got all snarky. Of course I was angling for a way to have sex with Molpadia, so I wished Pamela hadn't been so blatant.

"What's her excuse?" Molpadia looked past me at Pamela.

"She's my Evil Psychic Twin Grandmother," I sagely related. Blink. "I'm letting you walk away because you are not the one I need to kill. I have to kill Ajax and kick his 'boys look better bent over' ass back to the Netherworld. 

Oh, and I think you are sexy and don't fall under the forty-four...whoops, forty-three day ban on me having sex with Amazons," I grinned. We were still clasping forearms.

"Thank you and good luck with that," she nodded.

"The 'kill Ajax' part, or the 'bed you' part?" I asked. She smiled, winked and sauntered away with her buddies.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 31



"Mmmm...nice ass," I observed. "So, now the pain begins?" I addressed the room behind me.

"What makes you think you are about to experience pain?" Saku replied.

"Oh," I turned around, "you are not going to kick my ass for letting those three walk?"

"No," Pamela snorted. "We will wait until we deal with this heir to House Illuyankamunus, then ambush you the moment you feel safe."

"Does someone want to bring me up to speed on what is going on?" Selena queried.

"House Illuyankamunus is the house of the dragon," I pointed to Alkonyka and the gorgeous Nordic-style dragon tattooed along the entirety of her right back and shoulder. The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. I checked. Yes, I had Fortune Cookies. 

"The lady who walked away has come back from Underworld Hell with Ajax from the Trojan Wars to wreak vengeance on the Amazons," I gave her a lopsided grin. "Molpadia's mom was mocked by Ajax and she is hoping that she can restore her mother's honor and let that woman find piece with her ancestors...Achilles having already exited to the Elysium Fields."

"Ahh..., as Miyako and Estere said, you are a sexually-charged, kind-hearted yet charming idiot," Selena nodded in comprehension of the warnings of her fellow female 9 Clan killers.

"What is with the 'Death Song' thing'?" Delilah inquired.

"That's what her name means in the Amazon tongue," I exhaled, happily having avoided, however temporarily, a beating. "They have loads of cool ones - 'Bends copper tubing with her thighs', 'Frisky with Wine', 'Gets naked at the river'...," I bantered. I saw that Alkonyka was feeling both tired and left out.

[Hungarian] "Now, how can we help you," I said, "and, do you speak any other languages?"

"I am comfortable with English, though I speak Romanian, German, Serbian and Russian as well," she volunteered.

I love European girls and their oral skills.

"I am still not sure why you will help me," Alkonyka began our pow-wow. We had exited our hideout and were making our way back to our 'safe house'. "You don't even know what you are up against," she pointed out. She wasn't condescending. She'd seen us fight and knew we were well armed.

"Enlighten us," Delilah requested.

"I am hunting down an international white-slavery organization," Alkonyka started. "They lure rural girls from Romania, Moldavia and the Ukraine with promises of modeling, or secretarial work. When they show up for the audition, they kidnap the women, transport them to a city further west and force them into prostitution. 

Since the girl doesn't know the language of the city she is in and has no identification, she can't run to the authorities," she continued.

"They grabbed your...younger sister?" Pamela asked.

"Yes," Alkonyka agreed. "When she didn't show up the night of her 'interview', I went looking. I found three of the scumbags closing up shop and made them tell me what had happened."

"Made them?" Pamela mused.

"My Father was former Romanian Special Forces," Alkonyka answered. My hereditary homeland had gone from Hungary, to Romania, back to Hungary and finally ending up as Romanian territory in the twentieth century. 

My ancestors called themselves the Székely and were one of the three races of Transylvania (the others being the Saxon Germans and the Romanians). "He taught me how to fight, shoot and live off the land. He and my Mother perished in a railway accident four years ago."

"How do you know she is still in Budapest?" Selena inquired.

"I don't," she replied. "I've been circulating my sister's picture and the picture of three other girls who were taken at the same time on the streets, rail stations and to the police."

"You've been putting yourself out there as bait," I reasoned.

"Yes," Alkonyka announced defiantly.

"Good," I smiled. "That should make finding them all that much easier." No, I wasn't calling her stupid or frantic. She was utilizing her meager resources. "Do you know anything else?"

"Only a name - Branko," she admitted.

"That still doesn't explain how and why you are helping me - us, not really?" Alkonyka was still puzzled.

"We are the best kind of friends you can have," Pamela grinned wickedly. "Men and women trained from the cradle to be warriors, slayers and to be utterly fearless - and who see you as part of our family."

"Because he and I come from the same part of Transylvania?" Alkonyka mused. "That's nuts."

"Welcome to my life," I snorted.

"Okay, what do you want from me?" she reposted.

"After we find your sister, I'll need help finding some people in our home region," I said.

"Who?"

"Hopefully I'll know by the time I get there," I smiled. She looked at me.

"Is he joking?" Alkonyka scanned the others.

"I so wish he was," Delilah smirked. "Just wait for the punch line. It is a doozy."

I was getting curious about exactly when I was going to see Dot Ishara again. I shouldn't have bothered. Walking up the stairwell in our concrete gulag, a piece of mortar fell off and clocked me on the top of my head. Only my patented Nyilas Super-Impact-Resistant Skull saved my brains from shooting out my ears. For me, it was lights out and a killer hangover on the horizon.

{Ishara}

"Wake up," Dot Ishara sang to me. My pain-free noggin was in her lap and she was once more playing with my hair. "I've averted my gaze." Looking into her eyes was unhealthy.

"What hit me?" I sighed. I was looking around. This visitation, I was on a wind-swept plain. I could hear horses neighing in the distance. I was on the primeval Great Hungarian Plain - the Alföld.

I nestled the back of my head into her bountiful bosom.

"A sizeable piece concrete that was poorly poured forty-six years ago. It's been waiting for you," she mused. Pause. "You know, if I could read your mind..."

"No - not happening. I like you all tingly and on edge," I guffawed.

Dot Ishara swatted my right shoulder playful. Had it not been playfully, I'd have come back to consciousness as 'Lefty'.

"That was very nice of you to exit the domicile with Pamela so that your path would cross with Ildiko Lovasz. Now you must find Angyalka Lovasz," Ishara enlightened me.

"They can guide you along the proper path from there," she added.

"Oh my Goddess!" I feigned a gasp. "That was actually useful. Here, have a Fortune Cookie." I metaphysically tossed her the sugary treat.

"For millennia, worshipers have raised temples in my honor, named their firstborn after me, dedicated their lives and sacrificed incense, gold, animals and even slaves to gain my favor, yet this is the first time someone has actually given me something I asked for," Ishara mused lyrically.

"Does this mean we are closer to having sex?" I poked.

"Yes," she blew sweet fragrances around my head.

"Sweet!" I clapped. More laughter. "Dot Ishara?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you," I blindly sought out her hand to hold. "Thanks for keeping me in the dark, as opposed to deceiving me. I know, as a girl, it has to be tough on you."

"OW!" she squealed. "I am never going to forgive myself for making you that pledge (me forbidding her from reading my mind). So, you see me as just another woman in your life?"

"No," I protested. "As I said, you would rather stay mum instead of lying to me. That's pretty much as 'feminaciously non-feminine' as you can get." I pulled her hand to my lips, planting a kiss on her palm.

"That means I find you sexy without the need of a Babel fish to understand you," I simplified my response. That deep breath - slowly released - was a womanly reaction I was familiar with. She wanted sex, yet didn't have the time. "I need to get back, don't I?"

"I may not be able to read your mind, but, trust me, I can read your heart," Dot Ishara purred. "I will see you again before too long."

{Wakefulness}

How did I know the dream was over? PAIN!. Oh Goddess, my teeth hurt, my ears were ringing and I felt nauseous as hell.

"Uggghhhh...",I moaned softly.

"Hey. He's awake," Virginia called out.

"Stop screaming," I whispered. The scenery had changed - the motif was the same. My head was resting on Virginia's lap. I wasn't sure how healthy that was for a man with a concussion. Mona's face swam into my view.

"How do you feel?" our medico asked gently. 

There was one way to be sure I was still functional. I reached up and tenderly groped Mona's breasts. She could have stopped me. Her ballistic vest made my feeble efforts futile, except to prove my depth perception was spot on.

"He's fine," Mona called out - loudly.

"I could use some breast-feeding," I pleaded.

"He's definitely fine," Virginia chimed in.

"So, how did it go?" Pamela asked me from the door. Due to the size of the room, that was all of a meter from the foot of the mattress/bedsprings that rested on the floor.

"I'm in pain," I mumbled. Alkonyka peeked around Pamela.

[Hungarian] "You are alive!" she exclaimed. "Your companions told me this happens to you a lot and you would be fine. I didn't believe them."

[Hungarian] "'A lot' is overstating it. I'm going to have a nasty hangover in the morning, but I'll live."

[Hungarian] "They seem to be under the impression you were talking to your Goddess," Alkonyka said somewhat mockingly.

[Hungarian] "I did and she told me you could help us right now, Ildiko Lovasz, if you wished," my revelation shocked her. "Don't worry about it. The Goddess, Dot Ishara, wants us to get Angyalka first." Somehow, I knew her real name along with the knowledge that she'd deceived me. 

There had been one bit of drama I'd slept through that helped my case. Odette had surrendered one of her shirts to Alkonyka/ Ildiko. The Lost Amazon had multiple tattoos and each had a history. One was the copy of an inscription from a maternal ancestor's grave.

"Ahol van bátorság..." she spoke each word with intensity.

"...ott van remény," I finished up the creed. Honestly, I'd heard, or seen it somewhere as a kid. Later, I regurgitated that saying to impress some Amazon chicks. "Great, we have the same catch phrase." Alkonyka took off her shirt, revealing her lilac bra.

Her tattoo was in Hungarian written in an archaic fashion. 'Where there is Valor' arched over her belly button and 'There is Hope' dipped beneath.

[Hungarian] "It is from an ancestor's grave," she told me. Okay, I was good with that. "She and her brother defected to Michael the Brave at the Battle of Sellenberk seeking to restore Székely rights.

She was mortally wounded during the battle. Those were her last words to her brother, urging him and the others to keep fighting," she finished. I wondered how much of that was historical fiction. Still, I imagine it sounded better than 'fuck, this hurts', or 'kill the bastards'. That still didn't explain how it ended up in my encyclopedia of extraneous sayings.

"All that this is fascinating," Selena grumbled from the next room. "The Vizsla wants to see you outside of town tomorrow morning at eleven. She is sending a car - you, me and two others. The rest must wait." The Vizsla was a girl - a woman - probably ten kinds of mean to be a leader in the Black Hand. 

"That's wonderful," Rachel called out. "Everyone needs to crash out. We have work to do and I don't want us getting sloppy. Cáel, a moment please," she beckoned me toward our small and smelly bath closet. Calling it a room was too generous. Getting up sent me tumbling down. My equilibrium was still recalibrating. My second attempt was successful and I staggered in that direction.

Once we'd wedged ourselves into the bathing space - I had to stand in the tub - Rachel shut the door, crossed her arms and stared at the floor.

"I...ah...I can't defend my actions except to say I followed my gut and my heart," I sighed. I'd let her down big time. 

Getting into multiple fights, sparing (another) sworn enemy and doing what our host told me not to do...yeah, I'd screwed the pooch.

"Who are you taking with you tomorrow?" Rachel asked. She was otherwise immobile. I took my time, wading through my cranial ache, new information and imperatives.

"Pamela and Alkonyka," I reasoned. Now she looked up.

"Why her? We don't know whose side she is really on," Rachel countered. "Why not Chaz?" Chaz was a good choice and his wounds hadn't slowed him down.

"No," I rejected that. "We have got to get out of Budapest ASAP. I don't trust the Black Hand and they have reasons to be pissed with me," I stated.

"Yet you are going to Goddess knows where to meet with one in the morning?" Rachel glared.

"Alkonyka's sister is in trouble. To find her, I'm going to have to squeeze our hosts for some information," I began to explain.

"When we go to meet the Vizsla, the rest of you will be making for the Romanian border in whatever kind of transport you can arrange. Use Riki to help. Pamela and I will find out where this Branko is, negotiate the return of the girl and exit as soon as we can. We'll rendezvous with you once the mission is accomplished," I revealed my plan to both of us as it rolled off my tongue.

"Okay," Rachel nodded. "It is reckless, yet has merits. The forces tracking us will go after the larger group, which will be better able to deal with any incidents. You will make a hopefully stealthy raid and link up with us when we've established a stronger base of operations."

"You are saying that to make me feel better," I looked at her. Rachel groaned and nodded.

"Pamela is not invincible, or immortal, Cáel. She won't be able to bail you out of trouble forever," Rachel reminded me.

"That is why I want you to keep your team together," I replied. "If I get caught, the four of you have the best chance of rescuing me." That earned me a reluctant smile.

"I was hoping that was why you didn't choose me," she confessed. "It means you are learning."

"That was needlessly cruel and unasked for," I joked. "As we both know, my thick skull is why we are chatting right now." Rachel rushed across the few centimeters separating us and gave me a breath-stealing hug.

"Don't die," she whispered.

I didn't bother telling that was part of my plan too.



Life as a New Hire Ch. 32



This story plays fast and loose with Ancient History and Linguistics; be warned.

'Here be Dragons' wasn't always a tourist gimmick.

Editing magic performed by KJ24 and Shyqash, plus contributions by the regular gang of brigands and neer-do-wells.

There is a bit of mangling of the Iliad going on. I apologize to Homer and the countless singers before him who carried the Iliad down through the dark centuries until the Greeks figured out how writing works.

*****

(Vizsla and links to the past)

The driver stopped at a rustic roadside inn. It had been an uncomfortable three hour drive to the East-Southeast of Budapest and even Pamela seemed to have lost her bearings. Our luggage had been placed in the bonnet (trunk), but we kept our duffels - with our weaponry - on our laps the entire trip. Selena, Pamela and I were squeezed into the back seat, while Alkonyka sat up front with our amiable driver. He was full of interesting tips, jokes and local legends. If he wanted us to forget he was part of a company of killers, he failed. 

Selena ignored me. Instead, she tried to engage Pamela in conversation three times over the course of the trip. Each time, Pamela responded with chilly disdain. That left Selena a tad bit grumpy by the time we stopped.

"Leave your weapons," Selena demanded. This clearly wasn't the Kazakhstan consulate. This was the ass-end of nowhere with Black Hand all around. Pamela and I left our duffels outside the vacated car, stretched out some kinks and began handing our personal weapons over to the driver and Selena.

"Is that everything?" our driver smiled. Alkonyka was coming around to our side. She gave up my spare Glock-22 that I had given her and her father's Special Forces knife.

"No," I answered. "We have a ceremonial dagger. To take that is a terrible insult." He motioned us to give them over and I did. Pamela's followed mine two second later.

"Only him," Selena directed me to the front door of the inn. I looked to Pamela. We both shrugged.

"Alkonyka, relax," I smiled at my latest female of interest. "I'll either be back soon or the snipers hiding about the place will kill you so fast, you won't notice." Blink. I wasn't joking.

As my eyes were adjusting from the bright day outside to the inn's dark interior, two men patted me down. I obviously hadn't been lying about disarming, but they did have me remove my light ballistic vest - it was way too hot for my duster. I suspected that they wanted me to get redressed, so I put my shirt back on, unbuttoned, and then added my jacket...I took my time since they were both being dicks.

Finally, they allowed me to walk into the bar proper. Sure enough, a mid-to-late 50ish woman was sitting at a round table in the back. Halfway to her table, I deviated, jumped over the bar, and poured myself a nice German lager. Stein in hand, I walked her way.

"I didn't say you could have a drink," the Vizsla commented.

"Oh, my apologies," I shrugged. I put the stein on a nearby table and waited.

"Have a seat," she directed. I came up to her table and examined the three empty chairs. I held back until she pointed to the chair opposite her. I sat down, but didn't make eye contact. Instead, I examined the various paintings and photographs on the walls. It was an old place.

"You killed Matthias, even though you knew he worked for me," she uttered.

"I can confirm that information to be correct," I looked her way. That... wasn't what she expected.

"Why?"

"Why what?" I countered. There was a method to my madness; this was going to be a lesson in competence, and what happens when you don't respect it.

"Why did you kill Matthias?"

"I needed a reason?" I tried to look pensive. "Maybe I didn't like the cut of his facial hair?"

"Do you think this is a joke?" she replied dryly. "The Black Hand always avenge our own."

"Damn," I looked perplexed. "No one told me that when I arrived. Can we call Matthias's extermination a 50/50 bad call, both ways?"

"Matthias was my cousin," the Vizsla continued.

"My condolences," I sighed. "The next Black Hand douche-bag the Amazons waste, I'll have them ask if he's related to you first. How's that?"

"You are so not likely to have that opportunity," she pointed out.

"Oh," I laughed, "you are so wrong about that."

"You are far stupider than I had been informed," the Vizsla's eyes narrowed.

"Nope. You and your cast of 'Dumb and Dumber' have been treating us like idiots since we touched down at Ferenc Liszt International, so I'm pretending to be that simpleton sock-puppet just for you, Vizsla. You've added to that by heaping disrespect and derision on my people," I grinned.

"You tried to have me and my entourage murdered and Matthias paid the price for that. Everyone knows I'm here. And after your bungled attempt to have me killed, no one is going to believe you did anything but murder me, if I don't show up eventually. Now do you prefer the stupid me, or the brighter than normal me?"

"If you think acting like a smart-ass is somehow endearing, you are mistaken," she let me know.

"Whatever," I shrugged. "You called this meeting. What do you want?"

"Beyond killing one of my lieutenants, I wanted to know what you are doing here?" she studied me.

"I would like to leave now. I'm wasting my time here," I responded.

"I want answers," she pressed.

"You have been given the answers to both your talking points - Matthias died because of your orders and I am here looking for three lost Amazon bloodlines," I replied.

"That seems bizarre," the Vizsla expressed her doubts.

"Bizarre? You are talking to the sole male Amazon House Head in three thousand years," I reminded her. "Besides, you only just now finished telling me how the Black Hand look after their own. The Amazons are the same way; we have lost kin who need to be made aware of their background."

"What do we do about Matthias?" the Vizsla asked.

"In all honesty, had he not personally threatened to stab a member of my team, I would have settled for kicking the crap out of him. He put a knife to Ms. Martin's throat. That assured his death sentence. I think the Host will be willing to accept my hypothesis that Matthias was acting on his own initiative, which should settle the matter."

And just like that, the expediency of the Black Hand shown forth. The truth of the matter was that he had acted on the Vizsla's orders. Unfortunately, that would have meant my side would have come after the Vizsla and she would have had to avenge his death - lots of needless bloodshed. So Matthias posthumously became a rabid dog gone rogue and one who ended up crossing the wrong people. No vengeance required by anyone. We could get back to business.

"That is settled. So, what do you want from your new allies?" the Vizsla inquired. A certain level of cold-blooded ruthlessness had been required to achieve her spot in the Black Hand. Likewise, honesty was the best policy when dealing with casually lethal people. They didn't like self-important asses wasting their time.

"I need to find an individual named 'Branko'. He has kidnapped a young lady who is one of our lost Amazons. We don't require any aid, but if you could leave Selena with us, it would be appreciated," I requested.

"What are you going to do when you catch up with this 'Branko'?" she questioned.

"I'd like to say I am going to buy her back, but I think we both know that is a pipe-dream. He's not going to like me interfering in his business, so I'm going to kill him ... and any other bastards who are in close proximity," I confessed. She studied me for over a minute.

"Do you wish a piece of advice?" the Vizsla said.

"Of course," I nodded. It cost me nothing to acknowledge her vastly superior experience.

"Take a step back," she advised. Seeing that I didn't understand, "If you recall every single death by your hand, you will go mad. You don't possess the detachment of a true killer, Cáel. Not every member of the Black Hand is an assassin.

Your driver, Josef, is from a long line of Black Hand members. He doesn't have what it takes to get close and personal in order to kill a human being, so he drives and provides security. He still matters and serves a necessary function." That was almost nice of her. The advice was based on her decision to keep me around as a useful tool. Going nuts would derail that.

"There is the life we wish to lead, and the life we must lead, Vizsla," I recalled. There was so much there, whirling around in my skull, it took me all this time to find the link I was looking for. Recall every single death by my hand... "On January 26th, 1847, the Black Hand Chapter House of the Wolf in Verona was wiped out - there were no survivors."

"If you say so," she regarded me oddly.

"Yeah, look into it. Then come back to me when you have the right questions," I stood up. "And 'Branko'?"

"I will relay information on this individual to Selena. We should have something by the time you get back to Buda..." she got out before one of the bodyguards came running our way.

He had his H&K MP-5 out and was in deep conversation with his ear piece.

[Hungarian] "Our two spotters failed to respond correctly," he told the Vizsla. She gave me another quick once over.

"My people?" I rose slowly. 

The Vizsla gave the man a subtle hand gesture. Seconds later, pushing Alkonyka ahead of them, Pamela, Selena and Josef came running through the door. Pamela and Selena had our duffels. Two more Black Hand materialized from a back room. 

The Black Hand was actually a small outfit. Each Chapter had two or three houses, each with four or five true assassins and maybe six times that in support personnel/recruits in each location. That meant the entire Black Hand organization numbered less than 1000. They had several thousand peripheral contacts across their sphere of Europe and they could purchase some sort of private security given time. But their best protection was their hidden nature and small size. That also meant what we had was what we had. There was no Black Hand SWAT team on the way.

Working with hand gestures alone, the Vizsla was directing us to a trap door behind the bar. Josef's phone rang. He hesitantly answered.

[Hungarian] "It is for you," he offered it to our host. She took it. Halfway through the caller's diatribe, she shot me a suspicious look.

[Hungarian] "Why don't you ask him?" she stated, then handed me the phone.

[Mycenaean Greek] "Hello Nyilas. Do you know who this is?" the man on the other end stated.

[Mycenaean Greek] "Yes, I do. What do you want? I'm kind of busy here?" I grinned. It was laughing at death all over again.

[Mycenaean Greek] "I can relieve you of your pressing schedule. You and the other Amazon step outside and I'll make it quick."

[Hungarian] "No can-do Studly," I smirked. "If I go out there, it is going to take a while."

[Hungarian] "I sincerely doubt that."

[Hungarian] "Don't sell yourself short," I jibed. "I figure clipping off those bull-sized testicles of yours is going to take some work. But I do promise that after I make you a eunuch, I'll use a condom when I bend you over and make you my bitch too. Was there anything else you wanted to know?"

[Hungarian] "No. I think we have a mutual understanding," he laughed. "I'll be seeing you soon." He hung up.

[Hungarian] "Who was that?" Vizsla inquired. She wasn't alone in her curiosity.

"Ajax," I beamed confidence. I was confident my tenure on this Earth was ending real soon.

[Hungarian] "I think we should be leaving," Vizsla suggested.

"Selena, help Alkonyka get her sister back," I requested. "I'll catch up when I can. Pamela, you do what you feel you need to do. Vizsla, they are after me, so I'm going to keep them busy while you get away," I explained. 

No useless 'you don't have to do this' nonsense. She knew the score, I wasn't a member of her outfit and she wanted to live. She did do me one favor. She gave another hand movement. Selena slit Josef's throat in a surprise motion.

He didn't die right away. Selena's slash made bleeding out inevitable, but he'd be a while in dying. Odds were, that only Vizsla and Josef knew in advance where we were meeting. Whatever payoff the Condottieri had put in his bank account wasn't going to do him any good. Selena bent over his still-thrashing body and removed his pistol.

"I will bring you Angyalka Lovasz," Selena pledged. Pamela and I were gearing up. Ajax and his buddies were going to be coming for me any second now. Alkonyka gave me one more worried look before she vanished into the secret basement. "Don't be late," was the last thing Selena said before going down into the darkness. Pamela made sure the trap door was covered up.

(Lust and Bullets)

"We've used Butch and Sundance," Pamela checked her L42 Enfield Sniper Rifle. It was the weapon Pamela had trained with and used for longer than I'd been alive - old yet very effective even today.

"Heat?" I offered up. "You can be De Niro and I can be Kilmer."

"Nice. Michael Mann really had a way of killing people," Pamela grinned, then pumped her eyebrows. "Too bad I end up dead in this one."

"We'll avoid airports - you should be safe," I joked. Three explosions rocked the building, shooting glass throughout the place. Fortunately, Pamela and I were hiding behind the bar.

"Let's go," she whispered over the din. Charging out the front door seemed pretty suicidal to me, but Pamela's copious battle lore was something I had the utmost faith in. I respected her judgment and followed along. There was a method to her madness. Two 40 mm grenades had taken out the two cars parked in front. A third launched grenade had blown open the door.

The petrol in the cars equated to flaming wreckage and a huge smoke screen. It was broad daylight - no night vision goggles. The flames made IR useless and the smoke temporarily obscured regular vision. The machineguns going off around us scared the crap out of me. It was my old buddy, suppression fire: they weren't shooting directly at us.

Metaphysically, Ishara was dueling with Ares. There was a low stone wall, a little over a meter high, that separated an adjacent field from the inn's gravel parking lot. Right as we got to our side of it, three of Ajax's boys came up on the other. Pamela and I remained perfectly still, crouching tightly against our shelter. 

Two knelt and fired several bursts from their H&K HK416 (Wow! Germany's newest killing machine - they looked slick) into the closest open windows while the third one fired a grenade in. Again, we remained perfectly still. We were about two meters from those three. The drab color of our hastily donned dusters, the congested air and our stillness combined to save us from their notice. 

The second after that grenade went off, the three vaulted the wall and rushed the building. From the cacophony of the battle, they were storming the building from several directions at once.

"Quick, go find that guy with the machinegun," Pamela whispered over a feral grin. How was I going to do that? 

The old fashioned way - I leapt over the wall and ran away from all the flames, explosions and the continuous widespread fusillade of assault weapons fire. I was partially bent over as I ran. I'm still a big guy though. The machine gunner was in a shallow dip in the meadow 30 meters away, on the edge of the woods. 

He saw me, shifted his MG4 (fuck Ajax and his crew for having the best Bang-Bangs) minutely and unleashed hell my way. In hindsight, the 1st round flattened against my duster as it impacted my upper left thigh. Round #2 hit the duster again, coming below my vest, but hitting my belt (every bit of leather helps). 

The #3 5.56 mm slug hit my vest due south of my belly button (FUCK!), # 4 landed a few centimeters up and to the right, taking in both the duster and my ballistic vest. The #5 round clipped my lower side of my right ribcage. The resulting force sent me spinning back and to my right. 

Honestly, as I landed hard on my back (no rolling with the blow this time), I thought a midget mule team had kicked me in the guts. Apparently, I made a convincing mortally wounded human being. He stopped shooting and Pamela got pissed. 

I learned a few things at that moment: you do NOT get used to being shot; you can NEVER appreciate the value of good body amour enough; you can never understand the true value of a sniper until your life is totally in their hands; and DAMN, Pamela was exceptional. Pamela put a bullet through his nasal cavity in that split second between him exposing himself with his muzzle flashes and deciding to put a few more bullets into my prone form.

Pain dictated that I lie where I was. Survival instincts overrode that. I went to my side, pushed up and resumed my crouched stance. Then I was running once more until I could throw myself beside his corpse. I was stunningly calm. Machineguns...snipers...I had to cover Pamela's run across the meadow. I didn't stay by the dead gunner. 

I grabbed his weapon, some spare ammo and quick-stepped it to the wood line. I rapidly assessed the best spot that could provide cover from each flank. That was where I went down, cradled the device and started shooting at any muzzle flash I could see. The moment I opened fire, Pamela began her own sprint. 

Unlike my mad dash, Pamela took evasive maneuvers - serpentine - which worked out well when one sniper figured out she wasn't one of them. He/she had two shots at her before she dove past me. Her mien was one of intense...emptiness? She gave me a quick pat-down to make sure I wasn't gushing blood, took a deep breath and then smirked.

"Come on, Dummy!" she laughed. "We still have a shot at a sequel."

"Shot - sequel - you are a laugh riot," I wheezed as I stood, abandoned the MG4 and joined her as we both ran deeper into the woods. A few shots zinged past us before Ajax's crew realized we were in full-on flight mode. They weren't going to waste the bullets.

This was the point where archaic and modern warfare diverged. In the olden (pre-Pamela - ow! How did she know what I was thinking?) days, when your enemy broke and ran, it was relatively easy to run them down and slaughter them in their panic. If a few men tried to stem the tide, they would be quickly overwhelmed. 

After the invention of rapid-fire rifles, that changed. Suddenly, headlong pursuit could be incredibly costly. All it took was a small, resolute band to find some sort of hard cover and they could buy minutes, or even hours, for their retreating brethren. Sure, if you were willing to pay the butcher's bill, you could storm their position. 

But you had to understand, each defender could fire and work the bolt action in under three seconds. You reloaded your magazine with a prepared clip ~ maybe five more seconds. Ten men could put 150 bullets down range per minute as long as their ammo held out. Sending men into that kind of firepower was murder; very few troops could sustain their attack under those conditions. 

Ajax's resurrected Mycenaean's were tough enough to do it. Ajax's problem was their finite number. Despite catching Ajax off-guard with Pamela's mad plan, her ungodly skills and a great deal of my pain, we had only managed to kill one so far. The great unknowns were terrain (we didn't know where we were,) and my luck.

As Pamela and I ran through the forest at a good clip, we began to make out a specific background noise. It was a river. Not a creek, stream, waterfall, or dam - a river.

"Did you pack your jet ski?" Pamela snorted.

"I left it in the car. You said it was so '1990's'," I panted back. A few more footsteps and...

We heard dogs barking. Ajax had some pooches; how wonderful. His men weren't rushing after us. They didn't have to. Pamela and I were running at a river. Undoubtedly, he had stationed small teams to the north and south of us along the river so we couldn't slip by. Had Ajax realized how much the cosmos loves me, he would have come charging in. We heard a boat.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 32



"Bikini bimbos, or studious college types?" Pamela snickered. It was a given that there would be women onboard. I really do have that kind of luck. We broke out of the woods and narrowly avoided getting stuck in the muddy river bank. Sure enough, a wooden, nine meter long barge rebuilt as a house boat was gently working its way north. Four women were in barely-clad evidence.

I didn't waste a minute. My FN P-90 went to Pamela and my clothes were shed in true horn-dog fashion. Two of the women noticed me by the time I was down to my white boy shorts underwear. My dive was graceful, my strokes strong and my welcome very promising. One girl remained piloting this beast while the other three gained two more friends.

[Hungarian] "What happened to you?" the leader, a girl with thin blonde hair, large sunglasses and a petite build asked. Three of them helped me on board, despite my blade strapped to my forearm. Goddess, you have to love what water does to white fabric and combat arouses me.

[Hungarian] "I'm a contract killer in training," I began weaving my tale. 

[Hungarian] "My maternal Grandmother, who I thought was dead since I was a small boy, has come back to teach me the family trade," I embellished. "The people who murdered my family tracked us down to an inn a few kilometer away and they are hot on our trail." The sane response was to call the cops and let me fend for myself. 

To counteract that, I was presenting my nearly naked, obviously bruised and scarred body for their feminine perusal. I had also bolstered my masculinity score (I was a hunter of men - hopefully bad men). My concern for a non-threatening (from a sexual standpoint) female friend (thus proving I embraced the concept of loyalty) further elevated my desirability. The hormonal response was to save my life with the near guarantee of some righteous dicking to come. 

The women exchanged some hurried glances and came to a consensus.

[Hungarian] "We will help," the leader offered.

[Hungarian] "I need to go back to the bank and get my Grandmother and our gear," I said. Four of the women had on khaki shorts and bikini tops. 

Two dropped their shorts to reveal bikini bottoms and the three of us swam back to the shore. Pamela had secured out weapons in the duffels and stripped down to her bra and panties. The four of us divided up the weight and made for the boat. The dogs were getting louder. The girls took our body armor while Pamela and I carried our luggage.

Despite our ironmongery, I could tell the girls weren't totally invested in my story until the first armed men and dogs appeared along the bank. Pamela took a sniper's perch on top of the cabin compartment, concealed by solar panels. I was positioned by pilot's station in the stern. This boat was never designed for speed, plus it was chugging against the weak current, so our progress to the far side of the river was achingly slow.

In our favor was the shape and flora of the banks. The riverside had thick undergrowth right to the water's edge. The first meter into the water was slimly algae over slick mud. The heavy undergrowth went inland over three meters which made nice cover, except that once you fired, we would pin the shooter to that spot because the land was molasses-like muck, which made quick movement difficult. 

In contrast to their dubious concealment, Pamela and I had thick, multi-planked wood as hard cover. It was a stalemate - we would catch glimpses of Ajax's troops on the west bank of the river. Well, it was a stalemate until they brought up some machineguns. Those, with a good deal of small arms fire and a few grenades, would chip the boat to splinters and we'd risk being sunk. 

Our Hungarian Captain, Jolan, had gone full throttle, which equated to a lightning speed of 13 kph (8 mph). Pamela judged our pursuers could, at best, do 17 kph (10.5 mph) over the rough terrain.

[Hungarian] "How much farther is the west bank covered in forest?" I asked the Skipper. Orsi, the spokeswomen for this college set, answered instead.

[Hungarian] "There is thick woods all the way to Mindszent," she informed me. Since I appeared lost, she added, "Mindszent is on the east bank and it has a ferry, not a bridge."

I kissed - really kissed her. The 'get her heatedly moaning, chest pressed against me while she grinds her crotch into my lap' kind of kiss - I was still kneeling out of fear of being shot.

Katalin, the third Hungarian on the crew, cleared her throat. The crew were college friends who had made the refurbishment of this old barge a group project. Monika, the German, was the architect. Anya, the Bulgarian, was the mechanical engineer who had rebuilt the twin inboard engines that were now propelling us northward against the sluggish current. 

Magdalena was a Slovakian Jewish girl and artist; she had been the one to find this old barge. She had also ponied up half the money to make this restoration possible. Hungarian Orsi was the other financier of this project, and a practical electrical engineer, the type that could keep the generators and appliances functioning. 

Skipper Jolan, the only seasoned sailor, was familiar with the Danube and many of its tributaries - including the Tisza, plus she was an economics major and the team book-keeper. Katalin was the interior designer, and if she was anything like her friends, a damn good one. I hadn't made it inside yet to verify that.

[Hungarian] "I think someone is trying to signal you," Katalin pointed. 

Pamela hadn't put a bullet in them yet to avoid reciprocal fire. I looked over the gunwale and there was this one guy holding his gun aloft.

"It is one of those people from last night," Pamela identified him for me. Sure enough, it was that guy, except he had camo paint on his face, high-tech camouflage clothing, body armor, an assault rifle held over his head plus a few other secondary weapons. 

I took a chance, stood up and held my P90 over my head.

[OKH] "Pamela, don't forget, Ajax was historically accompanied by his half-brother, Teucer, who was renowned as an archer," I cautioned her. That probably translated over to a modern sniper, or so I feared.

[OKH] "Oh...I hadn't recalled that," Pamela snorted. "The pansy probably uses a DSR-50." That was the modern German equivalent of the tiny .50 BMG caliber, direct-fire cannon.

[Mycenaean Greek] "Hey guy," I shouted. "How are you doing?"

[Mycenaean Greek] "Better than Augewas," he replied (Augewas must have been the machine gunner). "Ajax wishes a parlay." 

[Mycenaean Greek] "Sorry about your friend. Such is war. How about we speak a current language? I don't want my hosts to be left out of this conversation."

"English appears to be your native tongue. It will do. Do you agree to the parlay?" the man asked. I looked to Jolan and Orsi.

"We speak okay English," Orsi confirmed.

"I agree to your parlay. Tell Ajax he can swim on over and we'll help him onboard," I said.

"Since we hold the upper hand, I suggest you come to us," the man countered.

"What is your name?" I requested.

"Eruthros," he answered. That meant 'red' in his native tongue.

"Okay, Red, I'm coming over. I'll keep my personal blade," I replied. 

Having just re-dressed, I undressed. I rummaged through my duffel for my 'Hail Mary' weapon. It was worth a shot.

"Cáel, normally I accept you doing infantile crap. This time, I'd like to know what you've got planned...beyond defeating the purpose of getting on this boat in the first place," Pamela insisted.

"I'm operating on my pathetic knowledge of Greek hospitality and how this parlay-shit works," I replied. "I'm seeing if I can buy us some time."

"Cáel...I'd take it as a personal favor if you'd come back in one piece," she told me. That was unusual, considering the number of times I'd faced death since we first met.

"I got this covered," I jibed. "After all, I passed every on-line course in the 'Mortal Kombat Conflict Resolution' curriculum, so what could possibly go wrong? By the way, do you think Ajax took that 'bull testicle' thing seriously?"

"I love you," was all Pamela could reply.

I finished stripping down, but before I could dive over the side, both Jolan and Orsi hugged me tightly.

"If I make it back alive, will you two consent to have sex with me? I need something to live for," I grinned pleasantly at them. The 'sexy' would come later.

They looked at one another, over to the other three companions currently visible and finally back to me. They were teary-eyed.

"Yes, if you make it back Cáel, we will ALL have sex with you, if you think that promise will help you stay alive?" Orsi offered.

"Cool. I'll definitely find a way to keep those fifty guys at bay," I kissed Jolan and Orsi on the forehead. Downplay the erotic - elevate my sincerity in the 'life and death' struggle to get back to them. I dove into the cool waters of the Tisza and made to the hostile shore. Red and a buddy were there to help me out. I declined and they didn't seem to mind.

My fingers had barely combed my wet hair out of my eyes when I came face to face with Ajax. He was even more imposing in person than he had been in the vision Tadêfi had imparted to me. He was a few centimeters over two meters (6' 9") and one hundred and forty-five kilograms (320 lbs.) of solid muscle. 

He was also a hairy cuss, with long, thick black hair, a trimmed mustache and beard, and body hair evident on every bit of exposed flesh, except his palms. I wasn't certain who would have out arm-wrestled who - him or dead uncle Carrig. He was equipped in a modern style - firearms and body armor similar to his men. On the plus side, he was smiling at me.

What followed was in his native language, Mycenaean Greek.

"I was told you didn't lack courage," he noted.

"I am indeed fearless," I retorted, "but I make up for it by being dumb as a stump." Laughter all around. By that time, the assembled Greeks amounted to over twenty men, Molpadia / Kwenhamai and four large hunting dogs.

Oh crap, they sympathized with me. I remained optimistic in the face of death and that resonated with them - these ancient warriors.

"I am here to kill you," Ajax stated.

"Yes, that was my view of the situation as well - one of us having to gak the other," I corrected.

"Are you prepared to die then?" he regarded me with a certain kinship. 

"It depends on how I die," I grinned. "If it is 'death by zug zug'...well, I ain't going out like that. Be prepared to shoot me as I run away." More laughter.

"I like you," he patted my shoulder. "You have a knife. We can knife fight?"

"I'm not 100% up on the rules for parlay, but I was thinking that we would be working out arrangements for a fight at some set time in the future," I said.

"You would be wrong," Ajax shook his head. "Your people, the Amazons, used dishonorable means to kill me and my men, so I am not obligated to treat you as an equal."

That was Ajax being an asshole. The Amazons poisoned him because he'd lured the Amazons to a dinner, then drugged, raped and enslaved them. Bringing that up would be pointless. History had painted him to be a misogynist and Molpadia / Kwenhamai - I was going to start calling her Kwen - was screwed if she was hoping Ajax would restore her mother's honor. 

There was an upside to all of this. I really hadn't expected Ajax to confer safe passage with his offer of parlay anyway. I thought he and his men actually understood that was my expectation coming into this. For whatever reason, they didn't translate my actions to be anything but assisted suicide. Their bad. My Hail Mary was really just my opening gambit. Life finds a way.

"I will meet you half way," I offered. "You have chosen the time and the place of this parlay, so it is only fair to allow me the choice of weapons."

"Out of respect for your personal courage, I will agree. How do you wish to perish?" Ajax nodded. I presented my 'secret weapon' - a bag of knucklebones.

"You are wagering your life on a game?" Ajax scoffed.

"As opposed to a whole series of martial contests I have no chance at? Yeah, I'm staking my life on my hand-eye coordination," I grinned. Knucklebones is the granddaddy of modern day Jacks and was played at the time of the Trojan Wars.

"I suppose it was too much to hope that any scion of the Amazons would choose to go out like a man," Ajax muttered. I hit him. I hit him hard enough to rock him back a half step. The group mirth quieted down.

"Beware Greek," I growled. "I am Cáel Wakko Ishara and my people left your body buried in the soil of Troy. We have survived all these centuries while the remnants of your children are nothing more than curiosities in museums. I will banter over my life. My kin are not to be mocked."

"Your kin are cowardly women," Ajax laughed. "It seems you wish to die at my hands. So be it."

"You know much of cowardice and nothing of men," I snidely responded. "There is nothing terribly honorable about killing people anyway." Why wasn't the crowd rushing in to pummel me? Smack-talking was the martial norm for these guys. 

In a way, they accepted that Ajax had that hit coming for his insult to my people. And Yes ..., they hated the Amazons too. But that didn't mean any of them would get a bye when insulting them in my presence. Had I denigrated all the men of Salamis, Ajax's kingdom, I could have expected the punch I gave him.

"I'm sure you and your gang disagree, except all of you ended dead because you were lousy hosts and pathetic jailors, so your opinion can't be all that useful, now can it?" I dredged up our common history. "Ajax, you remain a bully, a thug and an insult to true masculinity. Let's dance, Brony," I defied him.

"You remain amusing to the bitter end. Are those your last words?" Ajax was getting ready to rip me to pieces. I wasn't going down without a fight.

"On second thought," I fell into my Brazilian jujutsu stance, "it might as well be 'Where there is Valor there is Hope'."

"You have valor without merit, Cáel...Wakko...Ishara...Nyilas...whoever you are," he mocked me. "Die knowing I will send everyone you love to the Black Sands...including your 'daughter'," Ajax chuckled. If he thought threatening Aya was going to unsettle me, it only showed he had no idea who Katrina was. Aya had far more effective guardians than me. I was still going to make sure he died with as much extra pain as I could pack on for daring to bring her up. 

Three blows. It took him three pulverizing blows to put me where I wanted to be. Being a martial legend apparently had its downside. He may have been one of the most epic warriors who ever lived, but now, fighting the sexiest male doofus to have ever challenged him, he neglected to keep an eye on the terrain we were fighting on, or more accurately, he disregarded my stratagem - which included me not dying. 

Two blocked punches drove me back. 

The third blow, the kick, sent me flying into the river. It took every ounce of willpower I had left to force myself back to my feet. I half-lunged back at Ajax, prepped my lungs for a long, underwater sojourn, then turned and lunged into the current. With the most powerful strokes I could muster, I swam deeper and deeper. 

My progress startled a Starry Sturgeon that bolted in a slightly higher, nearly parallel path to me. That poor bastard must have lived 60 years to get to his 2.3 meter (7' 6"), 80 kg. (176 lbs.) size. The critical factor at the moment was that, in the muddy waters of the Tisza, his wake was far more visible than mine. 

Ten assault rifles opened up on what they thought was yours truly. I owed my life to that one tough fish. He must have soaked up fifty rounds before finally going belly up. I swore by Dot Ishara that if I survived scenic Central Europe, I was going to sponsor a Starry Sturgeon reintroduction program. I had thought the Starry were extinct on the Tisza...and now they probably were. 

What I didn't know was the gamble Pamela was engaged in. How stupid of me was it to give her sniping advice? Pamela borrowed one of the girl's iPads, recorded herself looking into it for ten seconds then looped the footage. She placed the iPad far enough in her primitive blind so that it could be confused for her actual face.

Pamela then settled in beside her rifle with her own spotter's scope and went looking for her opposition. She couldn't simply move to a secondary location because odds were my P-90 might not have the range to reach ole Teucer. When I leapt beneath the water, Teucer blew the iPad to pieces. Pamela spotted the shot, rolled over to her gun and returned fire.

Teucer must have realized that human heads don't explode like that - he was firing a .50 BMG - and understood that he was on the wrong side of the sniper/counter-sniper equation. Upstream, he was busy throwing himself out of the tree he'd been using to shoot from when Pamela put a bullet through his left collarbone where it intersected his throat.

Had he not been diving deeper into the forest she would have killed him by severing his spinal cord between the C2 and C3 vertebrae. As it was, he got to live, but he would be convalescing for quite a while. Now with Teucer dealt with, it was time for Ajax and company to feel her wrath. She put three of them down - one definitely dead (a human head doesn't expand like that and survive).

She would have put a bullet into Ajax, except one of his men tackled him to the ground. Killing the SOB would have made her Christmas, but stopping the Mycenaeans from shooting at me (aka Mr. Starry Sturgeon) was her primary concern. My lungs were on fire by the time I clawed my way under the vessel and came up on the far side. Jolan had slowed and moved toward the west bank when I swam to meet Ajax. 

The engines were roaring to full power again. Orsi and Monika, shielded by the mass of the main cabin, helped me up. This time it took an extreme effort because I was even more bruised and completely exhausted from my extra-long underwater swim and generally having my ass-kicked. I didn't have much time to recover. As soon as Ajax's group had made themselves scarce, they began taking pot-shots at the boat.

It was a harassment tactic. They could shoot at us while using the trees trunks as cover. Even if a limb, or piece of underbrush deflected, or slow downed the round, we still had to keep crouched down and on edge. The 'race' was on for Mindszent. Ajax's crew had to get back to their vehicles, then race to the ferry landing. 

If they could get people on both banks, it was pretty much over for Pamela and me. A long history of equivocating during my college years, plus my incarceration at Havenstone, helped me formulate a plan. I borrowed Jolan's phone and called the United States. I was dialing in a bomb threat from a source everyone would believe - the CIA. Don't laugh.

I had finally found a use for Senior Field Officer George Cresky, after all. It took four rings. The poor bastard was probably sleeping in on...early Saturday morning. He was probably curious how I /Katrina found out his mobile number as well. That would wait.

"Wa...huh..." George mumbled. He didn't recognize the number calling him.

"George! Wake the fuck up," I raised my voice. "This is Nyilas and I have a problem."

"Nyilas...how the fuck do you have my personal number?" old George bolted awake.

"Funny story - I'll get to it later. Right now I need for you to fabricate a bomb threat against the ferry at Mindszent, Hungary. 

Get that ferry to the east - I repeat EAST - bank of the Tisza River," I explained.

"Is there a bomb on the ferry?" he questioned.

"Of course there isn't a bomb on board the damn boat. I'm being chased by fifty mercenaries and bad shit is going to happen to me and six hot chicks if they reach that ferry," I related.

"So you want me to send a false terrorist bomb threat to a NATO ally in order to save your ass?" George was drawing this out.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 32



"Now I know why you are on the task force," I gave him false praise. "Are you going to do it?"

"Are you breaking any laws? In Hungary?" he asked.

"Of course I'm breaking the fucking law. I've been engaged in a firefight, at least three people are dead, several more are wounded, two cars and one historic moment/inn has been blown up, set on fire and demolished. I'm pretty sure the authorities aren't happy about the truck load of people we killed yesterday getting off the Metro and last night outside a club either," I informed him. "Anything else you need to know?"

"Is Riki okay?" George kept trying my patience.

"You want to bang Riki Martin?" I reposted. He hesitated - probably looking over at his sleeping wife.

"Yes."

"I swear to God, I'll put in a good word for you," I promised. I was lying because I was a letch, not a pimp. He was blackmailing me over Riki because he was a cheating swine, not because worked for the CIA.

"I'll call it in," he replied. "Good luck." The connection ended. I called Javiera next. 

"Hey Javiera," I began.

"Cáel? What's gone wrong now?" she perked up. Ah, she knew me so well...already.

"I just got off the phone with George and I asked him to call in a bomb threat for me. Could you call him in five minutes to make sure he did it?" I begged.

"Oh God...are my people okay?" she worried.

"Virginia and Chaz got clipped. Mona says they don't need to go to the hospital. Right now, I hope they've made it to Romania while Pamela and me are trying not to die at the hands of Ajax and his buddies," I told her. 

"They are all heavily armed - explosions - dead bodies - a Library of Congress-sized number of criminal violations."

"Oh...are you okay?" she sounded sincere.

"An unhealthy array of new bruises, but no actual bodily penetrations," I gave my health status update. 

"The fight isn't over yet though. There is still at least fifty of them out there and they are all walking advertisements for Heckler & Koch," I reminded her. "If George doesn't make that call, I'm a goner. If he does, I have to explain to Riki that George physically desires her. I'm not sure which is worse."

"I will take care of George. You and Pamela stay alive. I'll be in touch...and whose phone are you using?" Javiera inquired.

"After the rustic inn caught on fire, Pamela and I ran to the river Tisza. A house boat was cruising by and they gave us a ride," I answered.

"Jolan is a girl's name," she prodded.

"Why yes it is and she and her five bikini clad college friends are cruising the Upper Danube basin for their summer break," I said. "They are all very nice young ladies."

"I bet they are," she joked. "Keep your eyes on the goal. By that, I mean 'staying alive', in case you become confused about your priorities. Take care."

She was off to let the US government know I was associated with another calamity. Thirty minutes later, we received our first confirmation that George hadn't let me down. 'Red' appeared on the western shore. The ladies' watercraft kept scraping over submerged branches, we were traveling so close to the eastern bank. This time we really had to yell at one another.

"Did you draw the short straw?" I called out while I kept him in the sight of my P-90. At 80 meters, I'd cut him in two if I felt like it. Pamela had disappeared, probably to a hidden spot near the bow.

"No," he laughed. "I chose to come. I salute you," he declared as he pumped his weapon over his head twice. "We salute your quick wit and clever nature, Cáel Wakko Ishara," he added.

"My little diversion cost me a case of Taiwanese-made tequila, the number of a clap-free whorehouse in Budapest's Red Light district and a pair of Hitler Youth goulashes. We will see if it was worth it," I joked.

"You must have friends in high places and with questionable tastes," 'Red' responded.

"Is Teucer okay?"

"He will live. Fortunately, he's ambidextries," Eruthros informed me.

"Good for him. Tell Ajax that if I see him, or his brother, and am in a position to, I shall kill them both," I told my foe. 

"I count his family to be unworthy in my sight and beneath the contempt of my people - no more than maddened beasts in the field," I proclaimed.

"Why aren't you shooting at me?" Red shouted.

"I judge each person by their merits and flaws, not by whatever misfortune places them in another's company," I replied.

"Very well, Basilόpais," 'Red' proclaimed loudly. "We will meet again," and he was dodging back into the undergrowth. Great...now the Mycenaean's were calling me a prince. Yet another worthless title with no paycheck attached.

"Why didn't you shoot him?" Orsi questioned. I was so used to being the novice combatant that I was momentarily stymied by her request.

"If I shot him, I'd have killed him. His companions would have then been obliged to shoot back at your boat. I would have shoved you down and the rest of your friends would have hit the deck, so they would have to put several hundred rounds into the boat itself. A few of us would have been wounded by splinters, but been okay," I explained, "until..."

"Until?" Jolan seemed completely engaged with my speculation.

"Until they decided to unleash a hail of grenades at us, blowing this boat to pieces. If we were lucky, we'd have jumped overboard and made it to the far shore in the confusion. Most likely, some of us would have died," I continued.

"Why didn't they do that anyway?" Orsi wondered.

"I saw them with grenade launchers, but their problem was the low silhouette of your wonderful vessel makes a damaging, direct-fire hit hard to make at this range ~ 90 to 100 meters. They could air-burst a few above us, except the pilot house and the massive cabin all have thick wooden roofs.

Even your solar panels would help protect us. Their problem is that to efficiently shoot at us, they pretty much have to expose themselves to being shot at by us. Even if they sink the vessel, we could still escape. Then they've expended a ton of ordinance, made a hell of a racket and still failed in their objective." 

It was not at all lost on me that this talk about imminent death was making them horny.

"Why did you go over there in the first place?" Orsi mused. Now to make hay on all my silly, romantic displays from earlier. Kissing them on the foreheads meant I was a 'good' guy. Now, I was going to show them I was a romantic too. 

I had the muscular, battle-scarred physique down pat.

"A girl," I sighed in personal disappointment. "She's caught up with the wrong guy. We are related and I can't sit back and let the guy she has fallen in with ruin her life. I had to show her that he's a complete bastard. If that means I have to put my life on the line, so be it. 

I'm not sure I reached her though." See, I was a hero in need of some serious positive reinforcement. If there was any doubt, that meant sex. I felt like the old me for a while. I was being an idiot and I could (hopefully) live with that. A few more tense minutes and we heard a helicopter coming in from the north. 

My sniper scope identified it as a small, unarmed MD 500 helicopter. As it raced by overhead, I could make out the Hungarian National Police markings. The billowing smoke of the inn-turned-pyre was drawing their attention. We were on our final approach to Mindszent.

"Do you want us to smuggle you past the docks?" Jolan whispered unnecessarily.

"No," I stroked her shoulder. "The police are probably going to want to stop us and ask some questions. Are you okay with that?"

"Sure," Orsi nodded. "I'll make sure we have our stories straight...unless you want us say we picked you up in a firefight?" she joked.

"Grandmother and I have to slip over the side now," I informed them. "Is there a place in Mindszent where we can meet up?"

"Go to the Seven Fishermen's Guest House on Damjanich u. 16th," she recommended. "We'll catch up with you there." 

(Scenic Mindszent)

One more round of kisses, then Pamela and I were down to our skivvies and jumping into chest-deep water. We held our duffels over our head. The girls gave us a final wave as the barge kept chugging upstream. Me and Pamela waded ashore, got inside the overgrowth and began shedding our underwear for a fresh set of clothing.

"Yes, that would make things awkward, wouldn't it?" Pamela chortled. She'd caught me scoping her out at the same time I caught her doing the same. Pamela was lean, like a cheetah. She was tall, very thin, yet not anorexic. She took exceptional care of herself, so I attributed the thinness to genes, not diet.

"Hell ya," I snorted. "Fun and definitely changing our relationship," I added with a sigh. We finished getting dressed in silence, placed our wet articles in plastic bags (so the dampness wouldn't be evident in the duffel bags) and started trekking to the north-east. A rural highway presented itself, so we checked to see that no one saw us exiting the woods and then we casually began walking into Mindszent from the south.

Now we looked like two people hiking across Europe, baggage slung over our shoulders and hair rapidly drying in the Hungarian summer heat. The inhabitants of this fine town happily showed us to the Seven Fishermen's. The places was partially filled with people superficially like us - people biking, hitch-hiking, and/or walking across the region.

Pamela rented us the remaining ten bunks in the larger (13 person occupancy) guest room. The smaller (8 person) one was already filled up. The 'good' news was I had a message waiting for me when I arrived. I had to call my 'Cousin George'. It was urgent. The two ladies managing the place showed a suitably kind level of concern. 

I borrowed their land line and called my 'cousin' in the CIA. The message was pre-recorded. I was to meet with an agent at a place called the 'Both st. Brewery' at 4 pm - in an hour. In case you were wondering, Both st. was another designation for Mindszent and the Brewery was actually a brewery and a pub/drinking hole.

In our bunkroom, we found three Macedonians resting after a day of sight-seeing: two guys and girl. One of the guys seemed annoyed that a hostess was showing us our bunks and explaining the rules for using the showers and the kitchen while the Macedonians were trying to sleep. Once she left, he looked my way.

"You are Americans?" he said it as if it was an insult.

"Yes," I answered sincerely. "I apologize for disturbing your nap. Where are you from?"

[Macedonian] "Look at these two idiots," he engaged his friends.

[Macedonian] "That lady looks ancient," the girl said.

[Macedonian] "Maybe she is the only whore he could afford," the second guy laughed.

[Macedonian] "What do you call a Macedonian man with a sheep?" I asked Pamela.

[Macedonian] "Married," she snickered. The three were stunned that we knew their lingo. "What do you call a Macedonian in a restroom?"

[Macedonian] "Lost. What do you call...", I was continuing the verbal offensive. At which point the two guys slipped off their bunks and got all riled up.

"You two had better watch out," the leader growled. He brandished an antler-handled knife, too.

"Let's get one thing straight," I turned to face him.

"You are feeling insulted AFTER you insulted my grandmother and me. We responded to your boorish behavior by disrespecting you and your countrymen. You got served," I pointed out.

"Apologize," he demanded. "I'm not afraid of you."

"I apologize," I shrugged. He and his buddy were flummoxed. 

"You are pissing me off," he grumbled. I took off my shirt because I needed to change.

"So, after you insulted me, you asked me to apologize. I apologized. Now, you are pissed off because I did what you requested?" I mused.

"I think he's one of those homosexuals who likes to wrestle men," Pamela drawled.

"He's not a homosexual. He's a Macedonian," I countered.

"Macedonians are what Europeans call Homosexuals, Son," Pamela enlightened me.

"Shut up, Old Lady," the second guy stabbed a finger at Pamela. She grabbed that one finger, twisted and bent it in ways nature had not intended and the boy was on his knees crying.

The knife guy took his eyes off me so I obliged him by knocking the knife out of his hand. He stumbled back while the girl rushed me. To her credit, she tried to kick me, as opposed to bum-rush me. She was having difficulty trying to figure out what to do, what with me holding her foot at waist level. I could see her next foolish action playing across her face.

"Please don't," I advised her. "Doing a roundhouse kick with me holding your other foot is incredibly difficult and if you haven't trained to do it, you are far more likely to land on your head than hit me." She was doing the same calculations. I let her foot go and took a step back. She took a step back as well, plus she gave me a sexually curious twist of the lips.

The knife-guy retrieved his blade and moved to confront me once more.

"Emil, stop it," the girl stated. He wasn't in the mood to listen to reason. The man stepped forward, made one jab, followed by a wide slash.

"Monkey-brains," I complained as I caught his wrist - again.

I continued through with the attack by driving my knee into his groin, and when he was doubled over, a knee to the jaw. The knife fell out of his slackened grasp, then I shoved him back onto his bunk.

"Ummm...ah...I'm Divna. Would you please let my brother go? His name is Neven," she looked from me to Pamela, then back.

Pamela let the guy go with a smile and a nod to the girl.

"You had better hide any drugs and weapons you have," Pamela counseled.

"Why?" Divna inquired.

"Have you missed the tons of cops down by the ferry?" I said.

"What cops?" Neven worried.

"Cops, National Police and a helicopter, or two," I informed them.

"Ya," Pamela nodded. "They might come around and check out any strangers in town. Just a friendly word of warning." They hadn't been friendly to us, which wasn't an issue. 

What we didn't need was anyone running to the cops and pointing them our way. Pamela's and my duffels had a nice little ribbon with the Republic of Ireland's "Diplomatic Status" stamped on it. In theory, that made the bags immune to search and seizure. Of course, if I made a stink about it, Ireland might begin wondering who the fuck I was and who in the hell qualified me as a member of their diplomatic corps.

"Are we going to have any more problems?" I looked the three Macedonians over. Divna and Neven shook their heads. It turned out that Emil was Divna's boyfriend. He was still trying to will his balls to drop out of his stomach cavity. I picked up his knife and handed it to Divna.

"Who are you?" Divna was warming up to me already.

"I'm Cáel Nyilas, Agent of SHIELD. My companion is an LMD (Life Model Decoy) called PAMELA, which stands for Puissant Assault Military-grade Efficiently Lethal Android. Director Fury has sent on us on a special covert mission to infiltrate M.A.R.S. and bring back proof that they are experimenting with illegal nano-technology," I confided to them.

"She's an android?" Neven gawked.

"Didn't she feel stronger than any human possibly could?" I asked. Of course the majority of Pamela's power had come from leverage, not raw strength, but for Neven, being owned by an artificial human was much easier to accept than being beaten by a woman clearly forty years his senior.

"You are right," Neven nodded eagerly.

"Well, my partner and I have a meeting to go to. You three behave, act like nothing is amiss," Pamela stated, "and we'll see you later tonight."

"You are coming back, though?" Divna inquired.

"Absolutely," I confirmed. "I have a six person industrial espionage team, masquerading as college students that I need to interrogate. They will be staying here in this room tonight."

"Oh," Divna gulped.

"Don't worry. I'll keep the noise down," I lied.

"Good-bye gang," Pamela waved as she steered me out the door. I left word with the manager about where we were going, in case the boat girls asked. Once she got us out onto the street, Pamela bumped against me. "Cáel, you scared me today. I don't like that feeling," Pamela admitted.

"Me getting shot? I've been shot, stabbed and beaten plenty of times," I replied.

"Not on my watch," she sighed. "Never when your life was in my hands. I have to say it truly sucked." I put an arm around her shoulders and hugged her to my side as we walked. 

"Pamela, the only thing that matters to me is that we are doing something worth the risk - making a difference, saving lives and never giving-in to fear," I comforted her.

"You are such a hopeless romantic," she smiled at me.

"I prefer hopeful romantic," I grinned. "Like 'hopefully I will get laid six times tonight'."

"It could be seven," Pamela was lightening up.

"I was actually hoping to have that one for breakfast," I laughed, and she joined in.

"By the way," Pamela snorted in amusement.

"Yes?"

"Congratulations on weaving Joss Whedon, Marvel Comics and the plot of GI Joe: The Rise of Cobra all into one nice, neatly-packaged lie," she snickered. "I continue to admire you."

"Well, I had to come up with something to explain my planned orgy tonight that still had her wanting to have sex with me in the morning. A guy's got to plan ahead," I teased.

"It is the art of telling people, not what they want to hear, but what they want to believe," Pamela pointed out. "It is your own spin on Bruce Lee's 'Art of fighting without fighting'."

The Both st. Brewery was easy enough to locate. This town was not overly big, most of the businesses were small scale operations (10~40 people) and agriculture was a big deal here. It also meant that everyone pretty much knew, or knew of, everyone else. Locating the person who didn't belong wasn't all that difficult in a bar around 4 pm on a Saturday afternoon.

"Hi," I sat down. "You must be the intelligence officer we were told to meet."

"Could you keep it down? We don't want to make a scene," the only other stranger in the sparse, late afternoon, eight person crowd cautioned us.

"Excuse me, but we are in a burgh of roughly seven thousand people," Pamela chided him. "We stand out by simply being here."

"How about you try and keep it down anyway?" he countered snidely.

"Fine. I'm Cáel and this is Pamela," I made the introductions.

"What name do you go by?" Pamela asked when he wasn't immediately forthcoming.

"Whatever is handy," he said.

"Your name is 'Whatever S. Handy? How sad," I remarked.

"No. My name is not important," he retorted.

"Would you make up your mind? Is that 'Knot' with a 'K'?" Pamela frowned.

"Were you named after Don Knotts, the comedic actor?" I inquired.

"Stop it. Just call me Mister," he grumbled.

"That's not very original and could easily confuse any number of male patrons. How about we use something 'mission specific'? We will call you American Super Spy," I suggested.

"Keep your voice down," he hissed insistently. 

"Oh, come on Cáel, that's too long. Let's break it down to the acronym," Pamela winked at me.

"Right, but let's keep that personal touch, too," I stressed. 

"Absolutely," Pamela agreed with me. To the stranger, "How does Mister ASS sound to you?"

"Wait. Wasn't there a wrestler named Mister Ass?" I questioned.

"You are right - Billy Gunn!" Pamela shared my alarm.

"How could you ever forget the FAME-ASS-ER!?" I faux-gasped.

"I'm ashamed of myself," Pamela owned up to her disgrace.

"What is wrong with you people?" the guy butted in. Pamela and I stared at him innocently.

"Okay, just call me whatever," he muttered, then caught onto our game. "I mean call me whatever name in common usage you two can remember."

"Up?" Pamela said to me.

"Up?" I mused.

"Yeah," Pamela nodded, "it is a word in common usage, has a multitude of meanings so you are never really sure what it means...Up."




Life as a New Hire Ch. 32



"Works for me. Hello Up."

"You two are being dicks," Up glared. "Do you have any friends?"

I looked at Pamela who looked back at me. We both looked back to Up.

"Just each other," we jointly affirmed. His reaction to a life-and-death situation was very different than ours and it was showing. It got better too.

[Hungarian] "Hi Cáel and Cáel's Grandmother," Monika called out as she and the other five girls entered the brewery/pub. Unlike us, the girls had made better time because they knew the town.

"Who are they?" Up whispered.

"Do I have to explain the Birds and the Bees to you?" Pamela responded in a loud clear voice.

"No," Up mumbled.

"Then don't worry about them," Pamela smirked. 

[Hungarian] "Cáel, are you going to be long?" Orsi inquired. "The girls and I were thinking we could all have an early dinner together."

"I'm being debriefed by a deep cover NATO operative who is in this country illegally, so it shouldn't take too long," I enlightened her.

"Do you two want to get arrested?" Up groused.

"Nah," Pamela replied. "In case you missed it, no one here gives a damn about what happened across the bloody river. No locals got shot, so they are choosing blissful ignorance," Pamela taunted him. "Besides, there hasn't been a straight female law enforcement agent created yet who can resist Cáel here. Me? I'm a contortionist. I'm not terribly worried."

"You should be," he grunted. "One call to the Terrorelhárítási Központ (TEK - the Hungarian National Counter-terrorism Centre) and you guys are going into a deep, dark hole. They have a different view of Civil Rights in this country."

"Scared?" I asked Pamela.

"Yes. You?" 

"Terrified," I stifled a yawn. "Let's cooperate."

"Agreed. Okay Up, what do you want to know?" Pamela offered politely enough.

"What can you tell me about the Metro shootout?" he began.

Orsi and Anya joined us with their beers, fresh from the distillery.

"Ladies, this is a private discussion," Up tried to dismiss my prospective fuck buddies. Blink.

[Hungarian] "Is it possible you are incapable of a verbal exchange in the local language?" I asked Up. See, saying 'do you speak Hungarian?' was probably a phrase he'd memorized.

Up stared at me a few seconds too long.

"Let's keep the conversation to French, Mandarin, or Russian," Up countered. I guessed he was ignorant of Euro-Chick multi-linguicism.

[Russian] "Well, why don't you start with what agency you are with? It is painfully obvious you are not with the Central Intelligence Agency, that's for sure," I accused him. 

[Russian] "Who I am with is not important," he declared. Pamela shifted around the table to make room for the arriving girls.

[Russian] "Do you feel that?" Pamela smiled at Up. "That's my knife pressing against your femoral artery." Pamela was beside him with one hand under the table. 

[Russian] "Here is how it is going to go down; you will answer our questions and we are going to answer your questions. Or, I'm going to slice your femoral artery from mid-thigh to crotch with my blade while I crush your trachea so you can't scream, much less beg for help while we walk away. You will be dead inside a minute. How do you want this to play out?" Pamela laid out her proposal.

I noticed Anya blanch. She apparently understood Russian as well.

[Bulgarian] "It is okay Anya," I tilted her chin so that we were eye to eye. "We are trying to save lives, not take them. You saw how we behaved on your boat. In this fight, they are the aggressors and we are going to stop them."

[Bulgarian] "By threatening to murder that man?" Anya reposted.

[Bulgarian] "He either agrees to tell us what we need to know and will keep you and your friends out of this, or yes, Pamela will kill him," I explained. "You saved our lives. I cannot repay that kindness by letting these other people threaten you."

[Bulgarian] "Oh...okay," Anya gave me a weak smile. Back to Up.

[Russian] "Do you know what happens if I end up dead after coming to meet you?" Up grumbled.

[Russian] "I'll use an Ouija board and let you know how it turns out," Pamela gave a shark-like grin.

[Russian] "At the Metro," I decided to move things along, "me and the people I'm with were jumped by a team of mercenaries who belonged to an organization called the Condottieri. They were definitely second-stringers. They were sloppy, so they ended up dead."

[Russian] "And?" Up prodded.

[Russian] "And either the next words out of your mouth had better be useful to us, or be what you want said over your unmarked grave, Asshole," Pamela purred.

[Russian] "I can't tell you that," he stated. I shrugged.

"Ladies, it is time for us to leave," I addressed my boat-buddies as I stood to leave. "Say good-bye to Mr. Up."

[Bulgarian] "Is she going to kill him now?" Anya's eyes were wide with worry.

[Bulgarian] "Yes; yes she is, Anya. This is not a game. This is very harsh reality and I'm sorry I've gotten you involved in this mess," I sympathized. 

"G...good-bye Mr. Up," Anya said softly as a tear escaped down her cheek.

With that incredibly human reaction, it dawned on Up that Pamela was an assassin with ice-water in her veins and that his intransigence was about to cost him his life.

"Wait," he called out. [Russian] "I am with the National Security Agency. I've been assigned to track major financial transactions between key global financial institutions.

We discovered funds from Intesa Sanpaolo, a major Italian banking institution, had been involved with numerous work permits for properties in London we've associated with those so-called Ukrainians in the All Hallows Shootout," he confessed.

[Russian] "I know those guys," Pamela laughed. [Russian] "They used to be Banco Ambrosiano Veneto. They were called 'God's Bankers', and not for being even remotely holy. Their leadership consisted of corrupt Masons, so I think that points to the Condottieri, not the Egyptians."

[Russian] "Egyptians? What Egyptians?" Up got interested. "Muslim Brotherhood?"

[Russian] "No. Contact Federal Prosecutor Javiera Castello for the details on the Egyptians. We don't have the time to bring you up to speed," I told him. "Suffice it to say, you are on the right path and watch your ass. These guys have no problem shooting up a crowd to kill one person."

[Russian] "Fine. What does any of that have to do with the bomb threat today?" Up requested.

[Russian] "That was totally fabricated by me," I confessed. "It turned out there was a top flight hit squad in Budapest. They bribed a member of a covert operations group to betray the group's leadership whom I was meeting with to discuss regional security. When they attacked, my friend here and I provided a distraction so that leader could escape.

That left us with our backs to the River Tisza. We met these fine young women, who saved our lives by taking us onboard their boat and bringing us here. Since the opposition was quite large and on the west side of the river, I needed to keep the ferry on the east bank," I brought Up up to speed.

[Russian] "Don't forget the parlay and you nearly getting killed," Anya interjected.

[Russian] "Parlay? What is that code for?" Up asked.

[Russian] "It is code for Cáel doing stupid shit," Pamela chastised me.

[Russian] "He was trying to save a girl - a girl running with a dangerous crowd," Anya insisted.

[Russian] "We ain't too pretty," Pamela hummed.

[Russian] "We ain't too proud," I completed. Crickets.

[Russian] "You are very pretty, Cáel," Anya complemented me and squeezed my hand on the table.

"Oh my God," Pamela gasped. "We are living in an anti-Billy Joel wilderness."

"Don't sweat it," I grinned. "You are just as cute as Christie Brinkley."

"That's nice of you to say," Pamela smiled, "considering she's younger than me."

"Oh! You are finally saying something I can understand," Monika yelped. "I know Ms. Brinkley. She's an environmental activist...but she's old." I chuckled.

[German] "Monika, I swear to you, Cáel and I are not romantically, or physically, involved," Pamela addressed the issue. "Call me old again and I'll cut your hair off while you are asleep. Are we clear?"

"Yes Ms...Mrs...I don't know your name?" Monika paled.

"Don't!" Pamela fixed me with a spooky glare. I was about to call her 'Honey Boo-boo'.

"Pamela in Greek means 'Honey', I swear," I grinned.

"That wasn't what you were thinking," Pamela's eyes narrowed. She looked over at the girls. "Cáel and I are psychically linked." They all nodded. "I think we've had enough of Greeks for one day," Pamela noted. I conceded the issue.

[Russian] "Have you told me everything?" Up persisted.

"The key words you might want to be looking for are Ajax, Alal, Baraqu and Cáel," I suggested.

"Barak? Is there an Islamist angle?" Up showed his mind was stuck in 2013.

"B-a-r-a-q-u," I spelled it out for him. "It is a Sumerian name, but any religion that man practiced was a long, long time ago. In fact, the fate of Western Christendom as well as Islam is being decided in China as we speak, so get with the program."

"This 'Khanate' situation? Strategically speaking, the Chinese should settle their hash soon," Up pronounced. "At the same time, the Russians will close in from the north and that's that," he sounded confident.

"Whatever," I shrugged. "Let's get a bit to eat," I suggested to everyone else.

"Up, don't send the police after us, or have someone tail us...please," Pamela requested as she stood. Up didn't reply, which was okay. We weren't expecting a truthful comeback.

Outside, the girls got all cuddly (YES!!). I had one final piece of business to perform. How were we going to find the rest of our company? I was going to use a United States espionage technique that (almost) never failed. I was going to pretend to be a Canadian. I borrowed Anya's phone for this call. Ring...ring...

"Bonjour?" a female voice murmured. She was so sexy.

[French] "Anais, it's Cáel," I let that sink in.

"Cáel? It is really you?" she sounded suitably shocked.

"I'm afraid so, and I need a big favor," I tried to remain upbeat.

"Oh...of course you do. Hang on a moment," she insisted. She was having our phone call recorded and traced. For some reason...okay, I KNEW why she didn't trust me. Forty-five seconds later, "Who is Anya and where are you calling from?" she spoke using The Force.

"Anya is a Bulgarian mechanical engineering student," I sighed. "She's petite, dark-skinned and we haven't had sex yet," I added the last bit as a plea for mercy.

"Give her the phone," Anais commanded.

"Anya, this is a former girlfriend of mine. She lives in Quebec City, Quebec, Canada and she is with the Gendarmerie royale du Canada, aka a Mountie," I told Anya before handing her phone back.

"Hello?" Anya cautiously entered the interrogation. Twenty questions later, "Hold on...I said...shut the fuck up!" she was screaming over the interruptions at the end. "Listen, I don't know who you are, but I saw Cáel get the shit beat out of him, I saw a person killed and I've been shot at with automatic weapons. I've had a bad day. Are we clear!

My name is Anya, I am Bulgarian. I'm studying Mechanical Engineering at the Czech Technical University in Prague," she informed Anais. "We are in Mindszent, Hungary. No, I will not give you my last name...why? Because people are trying to KILL ME! Didn't I make that clear earlier?" Anya gave me the phone back.

"Cáel, what have you gotten that poor girl into?" Anais blasted me.

"Well...you remember one of those curses you laid on me - the one where you hoped I was trapped in a women's insane asylum and forgotten about?" I reminded her.

"Yes; the Freddy Krueger curse. I recall it vividly," she growled. 

Anais wasn't going to hang up on me. She had anger issues and one of the things she adored about me was my willingness to put up with her rages in and out of the bedroom. She kept her fury bottled up at work, so sex with me had been a great release. Sadly for us both, I was a pig.

"You got your wish," I chuckled. 

"I ended up working at Havenstone, where I'm one of two male employees in the entire corporation. My career has taken a few unexpected turns since we last talked."

"Thus you finding yourself in Hungary," she interjected. "Are you really in danger?"

"Did you hear about the Budapest M3 firefight yesterday?" I meekly provided. Pause

"Oh my God! You really are in danger," Anais gasped. "Turn yourself in immediately."

"It is not that simple," I replied. "This kind of trouble, the police can't protect me from, Anais. My father is dead. He was murdered two weeks ago. You can check that out. If you like, you can call US Federal Prosecutor Javiera Castello."

"Is she attractive?" Anais grilled me.

"Of course she's attractive. Every girl I meet adjusts twenty pounds toward their desired weight and ten years toward their twentieth birthdays," I griped. "It is a curse." No, it wasn't.

"What is sex with her like?" she demanded to know.

"I haven't had sex with her, Anais. She has me under investigation. The sex will come once she's put me behind bars," I evaded.

"Do you have a girlfriend now?" Jeesh, I had forgotten how jealous she could be.

"I'm engaged to billionairess entrepreneur Hana Sulkanen, Anais, but it is an arranged marriage," I kept paddling.

"You are getting married...to someone else?" she was incredulous.

"How about I explain this over dinner when I get back to the States?" I offered. "Anyplace in New York City - on me."

"Why don't you come to Quebec?" she countered. 'Because I like my freedom' was the honest answer. Thinking fast...

"I am currently working with a multi-national commission with the Republic of Ireland's UN mission. I have to remain on-call for various assignments," I wove my deception.

"That's a lie. You just said you were working with Havenstone," she snapped.

"Check it out yourself. I have a certified diplomatic position with Ireland," I counter-trapped her.

"You are such a gifted liar, I don't know what to believe anymore," she sounded sullen.

"How about this: you send out feelers to whatever offices Ireland has in Canada and call Javiera - you can call Havenstone if you want. My boss is Katrina Love of Executive Services. If what I've told you checks out, would you please call my roommate," I requested.

I gave her my home number and asked her to relay whatever message Odette had given him to give to me.

"I miss you, Cáel," she confessed. "You broke my heart and I hate you," she lied about the second half.

"I was the one who screwed up. I still have your boots and uniform in my closet. I had the suit cleaned and the boots polished," I replied.

"Why didn't you return them, then?" she grumbled.

"You swore out charges against me, Anais," I recalled. "Things I didn't want to go to jail for."

"Oh...sorry, but you had it coming," she insisted. Going to jail for bestiality would not have looked good on any transcript. I wasn't going to beat her up over that.

"I think we both screwed up," I allowed. Buckling under wouldn't have done. Anais didn't want a wimp. She wanted a guy who could forgive her. 

"Still, I was the one who started it, so the buck stops with me," I took the romantic hit.

"I'll make some calls," Anais conceded. "If things check out, I'll be in touch. Prendre soin de mon amour," she signed off in the same manner she did when I was in college.

"Maybe she is not so much an 'ex' girlfriend?" Orsi leered. It was the old 'if he is soooo good that she still wants him back after a colossal screw up, I wanted a taste' expression.

"Do you think she will help you?" Katalin inquired.

"She'll help," Pamela huffed playfully. "My grandson has plenty of ex-girlfriends. Most of them want him back, despite his colorful lifestyle. It is one of his more amusing qualities."

"Let's get something to eat," I tried to turn the conversation away from my past sexcapades.

"You are engaged?" Jolan didn't miss a beat.

"It is complicated," I sighed. "Let's just say I really like her, but she's seven years older, divorced with one young daughter and has a father who hates that I live and breathe."

"Do you have any male friends?" Monika joined the Cáel Quiz Bowl.

"Yes," I replied with confidence. "My roommate Timothy and I are great friends."

"He's gay," Pamela pierced their disbelief. "He and Cáel are true brothers-in-arms, I'll give Cáel that much."

"Do you have any straight male friends?" Orsi was enjoying taunting me.

"Do Chaz or Vincent count?" I looked to Pamela.

"They are straight males, but they don't really know you yet," Pamela failed to be of much help. "I think Vincent insinuated he'd shoot you if you dated any of his three daughters. It was friendly of him to warn you. I supposed that could be construed as liking you."

"Are all your acquaintances violent?" Anya seemed worried.

"Vincent isn't violent. He's with the US FBI," I retorted. Pause. "Okay, he carries a gun and shoots it...he's a law officer. They can do that."

"You seem to be stressed," Orsi put an arm around my waist. "Let us ease your worries." Hallelujah!



Life as a New Hire Ch. 33



This story plays fast and loose with Ancient History and Linguistics; be warned.

The highest cost of losing a war is the rage of your children.

Editing magic performed by KJ24 and Shyqash, plus contributions by the regular gang of brigands and neer-do-wells.

There is a bit of mangling of the Iliad going on. I apologize to Homer and the countless singers before him who carried the Iliad down through the dark centuries until the Greeks figured out how writing works.

*****

Note: One of History's Lessons

In the last 75 years of military history, airpower had been a decisive factor in every major conflict, save one. Most Americans would think the one exception was US involvement in Vietnam and they'd be wrong: right country - wrong time. Indochina's War of Independence against France was the exception. There, the French Air Force was simply inadequate to the task.

Yes, the United States and its allies eventually lost the struggle in Vietnam. But it was their airpower that kept the conflict running as long as it did. For the most part, the Allied and Communist military hardware on the ground were equivalent. While the Allies had superior quantities of supplies, the Communists countered that with numbers...and therein lies the rub.

Airpower allowed the Allies to smash large North Vietnamese formations south of the Demilitarized Zone and thus prevented the numerical advantage from coming into play. The North Vietnamese and Viet Cong made one serious stab at a conventional militarily challenge to the Allies - the Tet Offensive - and after initial successes, they were crushed. 

With the NVA unable to flex their superior numbers, the Allies were able to innovate helicopter-borne counter-insurgency operations. The North Vietnam's Army (NVA) was forced to operate in smaller units, so the Allies were able to engage them in troop numbers that helicopters could support. The air forces didn't deliver ultimate victory, but air power alone had never been able to do so on land. It was only when the US lost faith in achieving any positive outcome in Viet Nam and pulled out, that the North was finally able to overrun the South 20 months later. But every major power today understands the lesson.

End of Note

(Big Trouble in Little China)

The military importance of airpower was now haunting the leadership of the People's Republic of China (PRC), the People's Liberation Army (PLA) and People's Liberation Army Air Force (PLAAF). Their problem wasn't aircraft. Most of their air fleet consisted of the most advanced models produced during the last two decades. The problem was that 80% of their pilots were dead, or dying. Their ground crews were in the same peril. Even shanghaiing commercial pilots couldn't meet the projected pilot shortfall. 

Classic PLA defense doctrine was to soak up an enemy (Russian) attack and bog down the aggressor with semi-guerilla warfare (classic small unit tactics backed up with larger, light infantry formations). Then, when the invaders were over-extended and exhausted, the armored / mechanized / motorized forces would counter-attack and destroy their foes. This last bit required air superiority through attrition. 

The twin enemies of this strategy were the price of technology and the Chinese economic priorities. With the rising cost of the high-tech equipment and a central government focus on developing the overall economy, the Chinese went for an ever smaller counter attack striking force, thus skewing the burden of depth of support far in favor of their relatively static militia/police units. 

So now, while the PLA / PLAAF's main divisions, brigades and Air Wings were some of the best equipped on the planet, the economic necessities had also meant the militia was financially neglected...remaining little more than early Cold War Era non-mechanized infantry formations. To compensate, the Chinese had placed greater and greater emphasis on the deployment capabilities of their scarcer, technologically advanced formations. 

When the Anthrax outbreak started, the strike force personnel were the first personnel 'vaccinated'. Now those men and women were coughing out the last days and hours of their lives. Unfortunately, you couldn't simply put a few commercial truck drivers in a T-99 Main Battle Tank and expect them to be anything more than a rolling coffin. The same went for a commercial airline pilot and a Chengdu J-10 multi-role fighter. The best you could hope for was for him/her to make successful takeoffs and landings. 

A further critical factor was that the Khanate's first strike had also targeted key defense industries. The damage hadn't been irreparable. Most military production would be only a month to six weeks behind schedule. But there would be a gap.

It was just becoming clear that roughly 80% of their highly-trained, frontline combatants were going to die anyway. Their Reserves were looking at 30~40% attrition due to the illness as well. In the short term (three months), they would be fighting with whatever they started with. Within the very short term (one week), they were going to have a bunch of high-priced equipment and no one trained to use it. With chilling practicality, the Chinese leaders decided to throw their dying troopers into one immediate, massive counter-offensive against the Khanate.

Just as Temujin predicted they would. Things were playing out according to plan.

Note: World Events Summary

Round #1 had seen the Khanate unite several countries under one - their - banner. Earth & Sky soldiers had rolled across the Chinese border as their Air Force and Missile Regiments had used precision strikes to hammer Chinese bases, sever their transportation network and crippled their civilian infrastructure. 

Next, the frontier offensive units had been obliterated, the cities bypassed and the Khanate Tumens had sped forward to the geographic junctures between what the Khanate wanted and from whence the PLA had to come. In the last phase of Round #1, the Khanate prepped for the inevitable PLA / PLAAF counter-strike.

Round #2 had now begun:

Step One: Declare to the World that the Khanate was a nuclear power. As history would later reveal, this was a lie, but no one had any way of initially knowing that. Hell, the Khanate hadn't even existed 72 hours ago. Satellite imagery did show the Khanate had medium-range strategic missiles capable of hitting any location in the People's Republic. In Beijing, a nuclear response was taken off the table.

Step Two: Initiate the largest air-battle in the history of Asia. Not just planes either. Both sides flew fleets of UCAV's at one another. It wasn't really even a battle between China and just the Khanate. Virtually all of the UAV technology the Khanate was using was Japanese, South Korean and Taiwanese in origin, plus some US-Russian-shared technology thrown into the mix.

When the South Korean design team saw the footage of their bleeding-edge dogfighting UCAVs shooting down their PRC opponents, they were thrilled (their design rocked!), shocked (what was their 'baby' doing dominating Chinese airspace?) and anxious (members of South Korea's Defense Acquisition Program Administration - DAPA - were rushing over to chat with them).

Similar things were happening in Japan, Taiwan, Russia and the United States. The Communist Party leadership in Beijing were beginning to seriously consider the possibility that everyone was out to get them. Of course, all the Ambassadors in Beijing were bobbing their heads with the utmost respect while swearing on the lives of their first born sons that their nations had nothing to do with any of this. 

These foreign diplomats promised to look into these egregious breaches of their scientific integrity and were saying how sorry they were that the PLA and PLAAF were getting ass-raped for the World's viewing pleasure. No, they couldn't stop the Khanate posting such things to the internet - something to do with freedom. Paranoia had been creeping into the Potentates' thoughts since the Pakistan/Aksai Chan incident. 

As they watched their very expensive jets and UCAV's being obliterated, distrust of the global community became the 800 pound gorilla in the room. To add habaneros to the open wounds, the United States and the United Kingdom began dropping hints that they had some sort of highly personal communication conduit with the Khanate's secretive and unresponsive leadership. Yes Virginia Wolfe, the Western World was out to get the People's Republic.

'Great Mao's Ghost', all that claptrap their grandfathers had babbled on about (1) the Korea War, (2) the Sino-Soviet grudge match, (3) the Sino-Vietnamese conflict and (4) the persistent support for the renegade province of Formosa all being a continuous effort by the liberal democracies and post-colonial imperialist to contain Chinese communism, didn't sound so crazy anymore.

Step Three: Plaster all those PLA ground units that had started moving toward them when the air war began and the Chinese envisioned they would control the skies. The T-99 was a great tank. It also blew up rather spectacularly when it was stuck on a rail car (you don't drive your tanks halfway across China - it kills the treads). 

As Craig Kilborn put into his late night repertoire:

"What do you call a Khanate UCAV driver who isn't an ace yet? Late for work."

"What's the difference between me coming off a weekend long Las Vegas bender and a Khanate pilot? Not a damn thing. We've both been up for three days straight, yet everyone expects us to work tonight."

Some PLA generals decided to make an all-out charge at the Tumens. Genghis's boys and girls were having none of that. They weren't using their Russian-built Khanate tanks to kill Chinese-built PLA tanks. No, their tanks were sneaking around and picking off the Chinese anti-air vehicles. 

The Chinese tanks and APCs engaged the dismounted Khanate infantry who, as Aksai Chin had shown, possessed some of the latest anti-tank weaponry. In the few cases where the PLA threw caution to the wind, they did some damage to the Khanate by sheer weight of numbers. For the rest, it was death by airpower. 

With their anti-air shield gone, the battle became little more than a grisly, real-life FPS game. It wasn't 'THE END'. China still had over 2,000,000 troops to call upon versus the roughly 200,000 the Khanate could currently muster. The PLA's new dilemma was how to transport these mostly truck-bound troops anywhere near the front lines without seeing them also exterminated from the air.

After the Tumens gobbled up the majority of the PLA's available mobile forces, they resumed their advance toward the provincial boundaries of Xinjiang and Nin Mongol. There was little left to slow them down. The Chinese still held most of the urban centers in Xinjiang and Nei Mongol, yet they were isolated. And Khanate follow-up forces (the national armies they'd 'inherited') were putting the disease-riddled major municipalities under siege. 

All over the 24/7 World Wide News cycle, talking heads and military gurus were of two minds about the Khanate's offensive. Most harped on the fact that while the Khanate was making great territorial gains, it was barely making a dent in the Chinese population and economy. Uniformly, those people insisted that before the end of November, the Khanate would be crushed and a reordering of Asia was going to be the next great Mandate for the United Nations.

A few of the braver unconventional pundits pointed out the same thing, but with the opposite conclusion, arguing: 

1.There were virtually no military forces in the conquered areas to contend with the Khanate's hold on the regions. 

2.Their popularity in the rural towns and countryside seriously undercut any hope for a pro-PRC insurgency. 

3.Driving the Khanate's forces back to their starting points would be a long and difficult endeavor that the World Economy might not be able to endure.

When the PLAAF was effectively castrated after thirty-six hours of continuous aerial combat, a lot of experts were left with egg on their faces. One lone commentator asked the most fearful question of all. Where was the Khanate getting the financing, technical know-how and expertise to pull all of this off? There was a reason to be afraid of that answer.

And while I was entertaining my six sailor-saviors, there were two other things of a diplomatic nature only just revealing themselves. Publically, Vladimir Putin had graciously offered to mediate the crisis while 'stealthily' increasing the readiness of his Eastern Military District. If there was any confusion, that meant activating a shitload of troops on the Manchurian border, not along the frontiers of the former nations of Mongolia and Kazakhstan. 

After all, Mongolia was terribly poor. Manchuria/Northeastern China? Manchuria was rich, rich, rich! From the Kremlin, Putin spoke of 'projecting a presence' into the 'lost territory' of Manchuria, citing Russia's long involvement in the region. By his interpretation of history, the Russians (aka the Soviet Union) had rescued Manchukuo (the theoretically INDEPENDENT Imperial Japanese puppet state of Manchuria) from the Japanese in 1945. They'd even given it back to the PRC for safekeeping after World War II was concluded. 

Putin promised Russia was ready and willing to help out the PRC once again, suggesting that maybe a preemptive intervention would forestall the inevitable Khanate attack, thus saving the wealthy, industrialized province from the ravages of war. Surely Putin's Russians could be relied on to withdraw once the Khanate struggle was resolved? Surprisingly, despite being recent beneficiaries of President Putin's promises, the Ukraine remained remiss in their accolades regarding his rectitude. 

In the other bit of breaking news; an intermediary convinced the Khanate to extend an invitation to the Red Cross, Red Crescent and the WHO to investigate the recently conquered regions in preparations for a humanitarian mission. 

That intermediary was Hana Sulkanen; for reasons no one could fathom, she alone had the clout to get the otherwise unresponsive new regime to open up and she was using that influence to bring about a desperately needed relief effort to aid the civilians caught up in that dynastic struggle. A Princess indeed. No one was surprised that the PRC protested, claiming that since the territory wasn't conquered, any intervention was a gross violation of Chinese sovereignty.

End of Note 

(To Live and Die in Hun-Gray)

Orsi may have been the troupe leader, but Anya needed me more, so she came first.

"I need a shower before we catch some dinner," I announced as we meandered the streets of Mindszent. My lady friends were all processing that as I wound an arm around Anya's waist and pulled her close. "Shower?" I smiled down at her - she was about 1.7 m (5'7"). It took her a few seconds to click on my invitation. 

"Yeah...sure, that would be nice," she reciprocated my casual waist hold. Several of her friends giggled over her delay. We were heading back to the Seven Fishermen's Guest House.

[Bulgarian] "Do you do this...picking up strange girls you've barely met for...you know?" she looked at me expectantly.

[Russian] "Yes and no," I began. "I often find myself encountering very intriguing women, for which I know I am a fortunate man. I embrace sensuality. That means I know what I'm doing, but I'm not the 'bring him home to meet the parents' kind of guy."

[Russian] "What of your fiancée? Do you feel bad about cheating on her?" Anya pursued me.

[Russian] "Hana is wonderful. I've met her father and it went badly both times," I confessed.

[Russian] "How?" Anya looked concerned for me.

"Would you two speak a language the rest of us can understand?" Monika teased us.

"Very well," I nodded to Monika, and turned back to Anya, "The first time, his son raped a girl and I threatened the young man's life," I revealed. "Jormo, Hana's father, wasn't happy when I did so. The second time, he hit me twice - once in the gut and once in the head," I continued.

"Why did he hit you?" Orsi butted in.

"I'd rather not say. You may think less of me," I confessed. Pamela gave me a wink for playing my audience so well. I'm glad she's family (kinda/sorta).

"The boy - he is dead?" Magdalena guessed. "Hana's brother?"

"I really shouldn't talk about that," I evaded. "It is a family matter." That's right. The family that my grandmother had brought me into as her intern / slayer-in-training. There is no reason to create a new lie when you can embellish a previous one.

"Do you ever feel bad about what you do?" Katalin asked Pamela. We love movies.

"As I see it, if I show up looking for you, you've done something to deserve it," Pamela gave her sage philosophy behind being an assassin.

"Are you...bi-sexual?" Jolan murmured. Pamela smacked me in the chest as I laughed. "Did I say something wrong?" Jolan worried. Pamela was a killer.

"No, you are fine," Pamela patted Jolan's shoulder. "I'm straight and happily so. It just so happens that most of my co-workers are women. Day in - day out - nothing but sweaty female bodies working out, sparring and grappling together - and afterwards, the massages."

That was my Grandma, poking all the lesbian buttons of the women around me. Best of all, she did it with the detached air of a sexually indifferent matron. She was stirring up the lassies while keeping them focused on me. We walked into the courtyard of our guest house. 

"Don't take too long, you two," Orsi teased us.

"Ha!" Pamela chuckled. "That's like asking the Sun to hurry up and rise, the Moon to set too soon, or the sea to stay at low tide forever."

"Anya," I whispered into her ear. "How many orgasms do you want?" Anya's eyes expanded. Her eyes flickered toward her friends, then back to me. She held up one finger - I grinned speculatively. Anya held up two fingers. I kissed her fingers.

"Your wish is my command," I susurrated {Triple Word Score!}. We went to the group room long enough to grab our toiletries - for me that meant a tiny shampoo bottle. 

The majority of my stuff had burned up in the car the Black Hand delivered me in. Unlike some guys, I have no problem using female-friendly cleanliness products; but Anya's stuff was back on their boat. We made the best with what we had. I put on a condom right off the bat. Anya was unsure of herself. It turned out Anya had had two, rather feeble, previous male encounters. 

Her first was a medium term relationship which ended when he was unable to perform on their second attempt. The second guy was an internet date. That guy sounded like the king of the One-night Stand: get in, bang 'em and never return their e-mails. Sadly, that often left the girl wondering what she'd done wrong, although the truth was the guy was incapable of five minutes of small talk to save his life.

I encouraged Anya to wash me while I washed her. I didn't want her thinking of her and me. I wanted her focusing on the 'us' in order to blur the lines between our individuality. She was double-handed pumping my cock without thinking about it for thirty seconds when she gasped, "Oh God!" as she realized what she was doing.

"Why did you stop?" I gave her a compassionate grin. "I liked it." She blushed, looked down and away then smiled. "Please?" I requested. Now she looked up. Making your sex partner happy is its own erotic boost. Anya returned with a timid hold on my phallus.

I used her indecision to create my own reward system. I placed kisses on her forehead, temple, cheeks and finally the corners of her lips as she rubbed me. As she got happy and more confident, her hands became more adventurous. My hands tracing the lines of her small breasts was my response, although kisses continued. I'd stroke the tender masses, then twirl her nipples. Anya came back with little pre-orgasmic huffing noises.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 33



Climax doesn't come from a cock, or pussy. It comes from neural and mental stimulation. Anya went off by merely grinding her stomach against my cock, humping me with desperate thrusts and animalistic squeals. She had a very under-stated orgasm. Her pre-event noises slid straight into her orgasmic vibrations.

[Bulgarian] "Sorry," she whimpered.

[Bulgarian] "What!" I gulped. "You are not going to leave me like this, are you?" Her jaw dropped in shock at how I'd turned our situation around.

"No, no," she reassured me - and ran her hands over my chest and shoulders. "No, we can keep going."

"Good," I smiled. I wasted no time lifting her under each arm and bringing her breasts to face level. Yum-yum, and Anya went back to making various inarticulate noises. Only when her labia touched my glans did she quiet down. At that point, she kept deep, meaningful eye contact with me as she engulfed more and more of my penis into her vagina.

Anya looped her ankles behind my thighs as I began to rock us back and forth, then up and down. The shower water had gone cold, but we didn't care. She wasn't an aggressive kisser. She was definitely an enthusiastic responder though. Everything I did, she attempted to pursue from her end. That fresh, open and honest desire pushed me over the top first.

She held me tight as my body bucked through each ejaculation. I accentuated the circumstance to enhance Anya's sense of accomplishment: my orgasm had been brought about by her efforts and nothing else. We weren't done. I let my cock pull free of her cunt, then swiftly knelt before her. 

Two handfuls of ass later, I'd lifted her up, had her right leg over my right shoulder and my tongue lapping along Anya's vulva. When I wiggled my tongue within her folds, flicking the clitoris on the upstroke and drilling her vagina on the down-stroke. 

[Bulgarian] "Yes! Yes! Yes!" she sang out in her native language.

I had promised Anya two orgasms and I delivered. Anya came down to rest sideways in my arms. Her posterior rested on my raised left leg while my right knee helped distribute the weight on the tub floor. Anya's head lay upon mine, our ears touching.

"I...how..." she murmured.

"Your boyfriend is a lucky guy," I interrupted her, following that with a few light kisses on her lips and nose.

"I don't have a boyfriend," she sighed.

"That's a crime," I attempted to mutter under my breath. She overheard me, as intended.

"Your fiancée is a very lucky woman," she rewarded me.

"We've never had sex," I enlightened her.

"Oh, that's a crime," she laughingly teased me.

"I haven't met her daughter yet, and I want to be sure we get along, before we go any further," I lied like a complete and utter Dog.

See, I may have had sex with Anya within six hours of meeting her, but I was still a sweet, nice guy who was considerate of his fiancée's child by a previous marriage. Anya was a happy little camper, playfully drying me off as I dried her. We slipped our clothes back on, opened the bathroom door and...

[Hungarian] "Mr. Nyilas - Ms. Sarac (that was Anya) - we would like to talk with you two," the two female plain clothes officers smirked at us. They presented us with their ID with their left hand while resting their hands on their pistols with the right. I also has the impression they'd been waiting a while.

They were Officers Gala and Kupec from the TEK (Hungary's Anti-Terrorism Law Enforcement Body). Fuck that UP! I was going to get that little shithead. Unlike me, Anya was pretty freaked out.

[Icelandic - why the fuck not] "Talar þú íslensku?" (Do you speak Icelandic?)

[French] "We have it from a reliable source that you speak Hungarian, English and French," Officer Gala taunted me. Oh, my Canadian Mountie had been the squealer. Sigh.

[Hungarian] "Anya here, hasn't done anything wrong," I offered. "Please don't cause her any grief on my account."

[Hungarian] "How about we go back to your room and we can talk about your luggage, Mr. Nyilas?" Kupec 'suggested'.

[Hungarian] "Is this about the smuggled chocolates, or my collage of weaponry? Oh, and call me Cáel."

[Hungarian] "Oh, here in Hungary, we rate weapons smuggling well below a whole ledger of laws about confectionary tax dodging," Kupec played along. She was an attractive blonde, in her mid-thirties. "Knife please." Lacking any true options, I handed over my Amazon honor-blade.

[Hungarian] "What do you use a blade like that for?" Gala inquired as they directed us to our guest room. The place was very quiet. Two male TEK officers, with my old buddy, the H&K MP-5 submachine gun pointed down. Pamela wasn't in evidence.

[Hungarian] "It is a weapon. I use it for what weapons are created for," I grinned back at Gala.

[Hungarian] "We have his permission to search his baggage," Kupec told the two guys.

[Hungarian] "That would be incorrect," I shook my head. "I asked why you wanted to look. I didn't give permission.

[Hungarian] "Funny ... Officer Gala, I heard him give us permission," Kupec joked with her partner.

[Hungarian] "That is certainly what I heard him say," Gala confirmed the lie. I leaned against the wall while the two ladies searched both duffels. It took me three seconds to realize that something wasn't right in Oz. The two officers kept searching to the very bottom of each package. I could tell my six female acquaintances were about to lose it.

They knew what Pamela and I had stored away in those two carrying containers and it wasn't the old clothing that the TEK was pulling out. Pamela was nobody's fool, while I clearly was.

[Hungarian] "No guns, or chocolates? What is going on here?" Kupec asked.

"Ha," I laughed. "I have an overly possessive ex-girlfriend who thinks I'm in danger."

[Hungarian] "Why would she think that?" Gala questioned. I raised my shirt, exposing my multiple gunshot bruises, plus the abrasions from last night, as well as today's souvenirs from Ajax.

[Hungarian] "I'm socially awkward," I confessed. "I'm constantly running into beautiful women and people who want to kill me. Sometimes, they have both bases covered."

[Hungarian] "Why would beautiful women want to kill you?" Kupec studied me with experienced eyes.

"Because I have the romantic loyalty of a Bobble-head," I sighed. "See, I'd sleep with you, then sleep with Officer Gala here...without breaking off our relationship first."

[Hungarian] "That would explain all the old scars on your body," Gala chuckled. "Don't you get tired?"

[Hungarian] "Oh God no," I chortled. "Anya and I had a wonderful time ten minutes ago and I'm raring to go right now. That's how my libido works."

Everyone's eyes migrated to my crotch. Per my boast, Mr. Happy was alert and ready play. Those eyes edged toward Anya accusingly. "Oh, I came, Anya came - we were multiple orgasmic," I came to her defense.

[Hungarian] "I came twice!" Anya insisted.

[Hungarian] "We heard, Anya," Orsi joked. "We all heard." Anya turned into my chest and buried her blushing face.

[Hungarian] "All of that is wonderful," Kupec said. "Now, Mr. Nyilas, where is your companion? The white-haired female."

[Hungarian] "Don't know. She was here when Anya and I want to the shower. I haven't seen her since then," I replied.

[Hungarian] "Do you know where she might be?" the counter-terrorism cop persisted.

"Yeah," I groaned. "She's close by." Maybe my English confused them.

[Hungarian] "Could you be more specific?" Gala joined in.

"No."

[Hungarian] "No?" Kupec pressed.

"Nyet, uga, voch, ne, nah, nope, nein, nem, naamik, iya, bu, não, nu, nei," I clarified. 

[Hungarian] "One would think you would want to be more cooperative. Your life seems to be in danger and protecting people is what we do," Kupec lectured me.

[Hungarian] "We have nothing to cooperate about because that assumes you have something to offer me. You don't," I stated. "You can't even find Pamela ... and she's the least of my worries.

You are proud of your law enforcement status. Big deal. I need bodyguards, not nannies. You searched my belongings without my consent, which confirms that you don't want to help me. Worse, since you are opposed to me defending myself, you are proving to be a threat to my continued existence," I explained.

[Hungarian] "You don't believe the TEK is a professional body? Is that it?" Kupec turned on some false outrage.

[Hungarian] "I really don't know that much about the TEK, so I won't pass judgment on it. I will say this much; would you shoot a person in the head solely on suspicion of malfeasance?"

Pause.

[Hungarian] "No, you wouldn't because you are law enforcement. Give me a squad of the 34th László Bercsényi' with a 'Zero Tolerance' Rules of Engagement and I'll be a happy man," I grinned. The 34th were Hungary's Spec Ops troops.

[Hungarian] "So you were at the Metro 3 yesterday and the Inn earlier today," Kupec appeared pleased with herself. She had footage; I already knew that. "Our country is not a place for your American-style shootouts. You have built up quite a violent history in the past months, Mr. Nyilas and you are not welcome in Hungary," she informed me. I laughed in her face.

[Hungarian] "Violence? Where do you want to begin?" my grin turned wicked. "Do you mean the violent murder of my unarmed father, gun downed in his home by Balkan mercenaries? Or maybe the shootout in the Chicago Medical Examiner's office, where I was unarmed and two law enforcement agents killed or wounded the men trying to sneak off with my father's corpse," I growled.

[Hungarian] "It was a fucking government building the men were in - something you seemed to have glossed over. But thanks for bring up that painful memory," I added. "Wait..., why don't we talk about me being bludgeoned into a coma by my deranged uncle...where I was unarmed and the police were watching over me?

[Hungarian] "Now listen and listen carefully, you useless pricks," I snarled. "I was armed yesterday and earlier today and that, not your stunning police powers, is why I'm alive.

I stepped off your Metro 3 in your capitol and nearly got murdered...by men dressed as Budapest police officers wielding automatic weapons," I continued. "That happened on your watch. Then, this morning, I went to meet a person of interest to my European sojourn and...a second mercenary force showed up and tried to kill me.

Where were you and your guns when I was attacked? I defended myself. I didn't even kill anybody," I kinda lied. We hadn't talked about the fight outside the club. "You're zero for two concerning my safety. Better yet, I'm sure the European Union will be pleased as punch at how your agency is always ludicrously three steps behind these assassins."

[Hungarian] "We are investigating that, as well as looking into the terrorist threat on the Ferry today," Gala responded. "We do think you were in a firefight. Where are your weapons?"

"Your miasma of stupid has befuddled my senses," I scoffed.

[Hungarian] "Then we have little choice but to arrest you," Kupec threatened.

[Hungarian] "On what charges?" Orsi spoke out. "What's he done besides risked his life trying to save me and my friends?" Ignoring the fact that I put their lives in danger.

[Hungarian] "Keep quiet," one of the male TEK members pointed at her.

[Hungarian] "Please don't do that," I requested. The TEK members sensed a weakness.

[Hungarian] "Sorry, Mr. Nyilas. You have already involved these six," Gala stated.

[Hungarian] "Ah," I nodded. "Thank you for proving I can't do anything to help anybody."

[Hungarian] "How noble?" Kupec mocked me. "You are going to let these women go to jail while you slide through the diplomatic legal process."

[Hungarian] "This from the champion of justice that threw my Father's murder in my face," I rolled my eyes. "These ladies know what my pledge is worth and I pledge they won't have to deal with you alone."

"Besides, you stupid cunt," Pamela strolled into the room. "We have a little matter of burying the monsters that sent those mercs to murder his old man. That's going to be a lot of bodies and a great deal of time. But, when we've finished with them, we are going to look back at your attitude and...not laugh."

[Hungarians] "That is threatening law enforcement officers," Kupec glared. "Where have you been anyway?" 

[Hungarian] "I'm going to cut through this nonsense," Pamela stared at them. "Since arrest pretty much ensures that Cáel and I will get murdered, that's not going to happen. If you feel like you can draw and fire before Cáel and I can kill you, then go for it. You aren't going to intimidate us into telling you shit about what is going down.

If you have an ounce of investigative talent, you are going to realize that Cáel and his team entered your country with pathetic oversight which means..." she raised an eyebrow.

Kupec and Gala looked at one another.

[Hungarian] "The same goes for those bodies in the Budapest morgue ... they shouldn't be in your country either," Pamela continued.

"Do we need to go over every round you dug out of the inn? The grenade damage? The blood trails ... unless you found the dead bodies, which I doubt. A rookie investigator could figure out we were in the inn when it was attacked, not outside shooting in. Hundreds of round from an assortment of military-grade weapons...and you think you can protect us?" Pamela spit out.

"You can't do shit for us, except soak up a few bullets before we get killed. So we are back to the fact that if Cáel and I are going to live, we are going to have to do it outside of police custody. Your move," Pamela challenged them.

[Hungarian] "Do you really think you are that good?" Kupec turned slightly, her hand drifting toward her hip holster.

"I'm standing by the light switch. I can hit it and roll away before your pistols clears their holsters. As police officers, you can't blindly fire in the dark at someone who might be me," Pamela outlined. "I, on the other hand, have no problem killing everyone in the room who isn't Cáel. I can safely assume that any gun flash is one of you and react appropriately."

[Hungarian] "Officer Kupec, she's not bluffing. It is not her style. She is explaining the results of you continuing to use pressure tactics on us", I related. "Besides, even if you manage to kill us both, then what? You get to explain to your boss why we fought to the death ... and that reason would be? ... Believe me, telling you what we know doesn't do anyone any good. 

You know by the actions at the Metro and the inn, there are some freaking bad people after us. The reasoning behind that wouldn't make sense to you. And even if you believed us, if you reported it that way, it would be a career-killer," I persevered. 

[Hungarian] "Why don't you let us decided that?" Kupec stuck to her guns.

[Hungarian] "Orsi, Divna - take your people outside. We will be there in a few seconds," I tried to clear the field. Kupec gave a nod to the two male TEK agents, allowing the six girls and three Macedonians to depart. "Here it goes. I'm a male Amazon. The group that killed my Father and tried to kill me at the Metro were with a secret society called the Condottieri. 

Earlier today I was meeting with a member of the Hungarian branch of the Black Hand (that had their attention) named the Vizsla," I told them. In Kupec's eyes, the term Vizsla was electric. "They failed to kill that person because Pamela and I provided a distraction to keep the killers occupied."

[Hungarian] "But there really is a Vizsla?" Kupec studied me with fascination. I nodded. "Who is the Lynx?"

[Hungarian] "The Black Hand leader in Bulgaria."

[Hungarian] "The Chamois?"

[Hungarian] "The Albanians."

[Hungarian] "The Serbians?" she kept at it.

[Hungarian] "I apologize, but if you don't know that name, I'm not going to tell you," I replied.

[Hungarian] "Kupec, you can't really believe the Black Hand exists?" Gala sounded stunned.

[Hungarian] "Absolutely. Before my father became an officer in the Rendőrség, he was imprisoned in the early 80's. His cellmate was a member of the Black Hand. My father was political, his allies got him out of prison ... and he got the Hand member out. Father later...got things done with some help of that friend. He made corrupt officials 'have accidents', back when the police weren't as strong as we are now.

He told me that I was never to cross Black Hand because they were incredibly dangerous people. I saw the man only once, at my father's funeral. I never learned his name, yet he talked about my father as if they were the closest of friends and he knew all about me. He had...dead eyes - those of a killer. Honestly, he scared the hell out of me. I've never seen him since," she finished her tale. "So yes, I believe."

[Hungarian] "Since the police have kept people from leaving town, there is going to be an unauthorized rave in Republic Square," I told Pamela.

"You are an idiot," Pamela play-punched my shoulder.

[Hungarian] "Should I go, or do you want me to cause you more difficulty that you are paid for?" I asked the Counter-terrorism cops.

[Hungarian] "Don't leave town," Gala reminded me. "We'll be in touch." I nodded before turning and leaving with Pamela. Once we rejoined the 'kids', I bumped Pamela.

"How are they supposed to stay in touch with me?" I asked her.

"Don't ask me," Pamela snickered. "I've always been far too expedient to be a cop."

"Let's eat," Orsi declared. That was as bit of normality we could all endorse.

More World Events

[Geographic Note: The geographic region of Northeast China is called Manchuria. Historically, it has been called Manchuria and Manchukuo - land of the Manchus, a non-Chinese people. Politically, the region consists of three provinces and part of a fourth - Heilongjiang (the largest and northernmost), Jilin (the centermost), Liaoning (southernmost) and the eastern third of the Nei Mongol province.] 

In the pre-dawn hours of the fifth day of the Khanate's 'Unification War' (the latest 'pop culture' reference for that lethal struggle), Russian radar operators watched a series of menacing developments. Seven 'blurs', caused by electronic warfare planes, appeared on the Russian Federation radar screens. 

The four largest blurs were penetrating deep into Northeast Chinese airspace. The one they identified as heading for Harbin, the central industrial center of Heilongjiang province (the northernmost and largest of the three Provinces of Northeast China), was the least worrisome. They couldn't see them, but swarms of UCAVs roamed ahead of the bomber group, tracking down and eliminating the city's air defenses before those systems could engage the aged Khanate strategic aircraft armada. 

The other three large groups were heading for the (PRC) Heilongjiang-Amur Oblast (Russian) border. That was the development that had the operators ringing the phones off the hook in Vladivostok and Moscow. These attack patterns were coming straight for the Russian Army's forward mobilization lagers on the north side of the Amur River. Russian jet fighters and multi-role fighter/bombers scrambled. 

The question Admiral Konstantin Sidenko (Commander of the Eastern Military District), Defense Minister General of the Army Sergey Shoygu, and President Putin wanted answered was 'who was getting bombed'? It was good news - bad news - bad news - good news. Good news - yet again ... the PLA was the target for this latest spate of pummeling. 

Most of the PLAAF assets remaining in Heilongjiang were 1960's production models flown by older, reservist pilots. Equipped mainly with courage, they took to the skies to die. All along the Sino-Russian Amur River frontier, Chinese emplacements, supply depots, air bases and mobile reserve forces (the ones with the really old tanks and APCs) were getting...'attritted' was the polite way of saying bombed, blown up and killed.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 33



The three, smaller radar blurs heralded a trio of brash, night-time assaults. The 330th Mongolian Special Task Battalion para-dropped around the city of Zalantun, taking much of the city center, rail station and adjacent super-highway by daybreak. The 84th Mongolian Special Task Battalion's helicopter-borne attack overwhelmed the surprised defenders at Morin Dawa, taking the bridge over the Nen River intact. 

The third group, the Mongolian 150th Light Battalion, seized the town of Alihe in a 'thunder run' that lasted most of the night and covered over 80 km (50 miles). The use of these three small, regular Mongolian Army formations was the first ominous sign that the Khanate's forces were integrating at an alarmingly rapid pace. 

The 1st and 2nd Mongolian Provisional Mechanized Brigades (PMB) racing to relieve their brethren at Alihe (1st) and Morin Dawa (2nd) reinforced that chilling realization. That was bad news for the PRC, but it was really bad news for the Russian Armed Forces. Individually, the armies of Kazakhstan, Turkmenistan, Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan and Mongolia were bite-sized morsels in the face of the Russian Bear. Combined?

The next bit of bad news was political. The PLA forces arrayed against the rapidly gathering Russian 'peace-keepers' were getting blown to pieces ... whereas the Khanate's land forces were still hundreds of kilometers away. To the outside world it look like the Russians were about to cross the border with the connivance of the Khanate. That last bit of bad news was also good news - the Russians could now seize the Amur River crossings and start rescuing Northeastern China with minimal Russian loss of life.

Those three towns that most Chinese, much less the rest of the world, had never heard of? Alihe was the key crossroads of northern Nei Mongol, situated in the Hinggan Mountains that dominated that part of the country. Taking that town ended all hopes for the PLA to hold onto the northernmost third of Nei Mongol. 

Morin Dawa? It was on the border between the northern Nei Mongol and Heilongjiang provinces and the bridge across the Nen River was the closest route to the Russians sitting on the Amur. The 2nd Mongolian PMB was racing to link up with them and by noon would be poised to cross into Heilongjiang and invaded the prosperous Northeast. 

Their avenue was clear: the G111 to the S301were both wide, hard-surfaced roadways with no significant terrain barriers, or urban centers, along the 350 km (215 miles) to the key port city of Heihe. Heihe was the Chinese city on the south bank of the Amur River opposite Russia's Blagoveshchensk - the planned crossing point for Russia's 35th Army's peace-keeping forces that were to protect Manchuria from possible Khanate attack. 

If the Khanate took Heihe before the PRC gave permission for Russia to intervene; that would shit-can Putin's plans. The intervention would then be Russia going to war with the occupying Khanate. Despite what the western news sources were saying, the Russians had a more robust picture of the combat capabilities of the Khanate military and the massive scale of their mobilizations. There seemed to be every indication that that Khanate would fight, and fight hard.

That would not give Vladimir Putin the 'Short Victorious War' he wanted in order to boost his popularity with his 'nationalist' base. Instead, it would be a 'Chechnya' on a continent-wide scale - a bleeding wound, reminiscent of the Soviet misadventure in Afghanistan. If he took Heihe first? How could the PRC object? They were about to lose the city anyway. And if the Chinese refused to accept his generous offer? From Heihe it was a straight run down the 202 highway to Harbin. Seizing Harbin meant control of the region's transportation web. 

Playing into Putin's ambitions was the third lightning ploy by the Khanate in those early morning hours - Zalantun. That large town was situated in the key mountain pass that led down from the Mongolian plateau to the Manchurian plains. 

The Commander of the Beijing Military Region could read a map a well as Temujin. He committed the available rapid response elements of the still mobilizing 3rd Reserve division to attack the 330th shortly after dawn. By that time, the North Mongol Banner Tumens had already batted aside the feeble remnants of the PLA's 65th Army and was racing for Zalantun from the northwest.

The outcome of the Battle of Zalantun was important for all three concerned parties. Not because the town itself had value. Nah, men and women were fighting and dying that day for what lay in the Manchurian plain below - the second largest city in Heilongjiang; Qiqihar with its large, Islamic, non-Han Chinese minority.

End of More World Events

(Concurrent happenings)

If Russia was going to profit from this, she had to act right then - decisively. While the GRU (Russia's military intelligence service) began back-channel talks with the PLA front-line commanders in the Northeast, Foreign Secretary Sergey Lavrov directed his UN Ambassador, Vitaly Ivanovich Churkin, to talk to his Kazak and Mongolian counterparts - again. 

It was politely suggested that if Russia first recognized the Khanate and proposed a cease-fire to the PRC, the Khanate might respond cordially. Putin wasn't going to do that. This time, Sergey and Churkin had a backup plan. They sent SVR-RF (Foreign Intelligence Service of the Russian Federation) to talk with Hana Sulkanen. She apparently had the influence that Russia needed and they needed it now. 

A few threats by large men claiming to be from Gazprom (the Russian Natural Gas monopoly) got Hana's personal assistant to cough up an address for the nice Manhattan eatery Hana had sneaked off to. This hastily scheduled luncheon had come about for two reasons: Hana had gained a level of notoriety that some people found troubling (for her own safety) and the other reason was - what part of his life would 'Cáel' devote to Hana as her fiancé and what part of 'me, Mr. Love-Monkey' would be shared among the rest of the women gathered at the table. 

In every other universe, one Russian military attaché and four SVR-RF operatives would have been sufficient to the task of 'convincing' Hana to take a little walk with them.

In this universe...Rhada was hellishly on edge, Oneida wanted to punch somebody - anybody - just to release some of her stress, and NYPD Officer Nikita Kutuzov was nervous because three other women at the table besides herself also had had firearms. Buffy wasn't nervous. She was pissed. The moron she loved was exploring a whole series of new ways to kill himself while doing good deeds for the Host - that selfish bastard (aka me).

Buffy, in her own weird way, decided that while giving Hana an update on me (Cáel), the group of them could explore what they were going to do with my life. Buffy had felt obliged, for Hana's sake, to invite Brooke and Libra as well - two 'normal' chicks. I swear, I loved NOT getting invited to these kinds of affairs. Silence is not an option and you can never say the right thing. 

The backdrop for this pivotal meeting was a moderately inexpensive kosher diner with an otherwise small number of post-lunch hour customers. This was downtown New York. The Russians weren't planning to storm the place. They certainly didn't expect Hana to have any significant level of protection either. 

For some reason, the attaché's initial hushed observation was, "Don't worry, they are just a bunch of girls." By that time, the SVR-RF guys were of a very different opinion. Buffy possessed sufficient spycraft to not give off the 'I'm packing heat' vibe. Niki, Rhada and Oneida didn't.

[OKH] "Bows," Buffy hissed. 

She felt a certain exhilaration giving her first battle command in the Amazon tongue. The other two Amazons locked onto the five men. Niki's eyes followed along that path with the same results. Libra studied the oncoming group, then tapped Brooke, who noted the leader studying Hana.

"Hana, get behind me," Brooke urged. Why did she say that? It was sweet of her; utterly naïve and unexpected. Somehow, Hana mattering to me now mattered to Brooke, mattered enough for her to get involved. Hana actually followed through, taking shelter behind her.

"NYPD," Nikita proffered up her badge. "Can I help you?" This was another unwelcome hurdle for the Russians.

"We need to talk to Ms. Sulkanen - in private," the leader menaced. He had heavily armed back-up to add weight to his demand.

"Stick it up your ass, Ivan," Buffy exercised her normal levels of diplomacy as all three Amazons stood up. "Next time use a phone like a normal human being. As it is, you are just being rude. Beat it."

"Buffy, let me hear them out," Hana interjected.

"Please step outside with us, Miss," Mr. Attaché directed.

"Oh, no," Hana chuckled. "If I've learned one thing from being Magyarorszag es Erdely Hercegné, it is that I bear my fiancé's burden - my words can kill as well as save."

"What does that mean?" the lead Russian asked after a few seconds of failing to digest her words.

"For starters, if all you wanted to do was engage in civil discourse, you wouldn't have put the fear of Whatever into Ms. Meacham, my PA, who should have notified me of your arrival. To me, that implies you seriously threatened her. Bad move.

You have brought with you four men that I assume, by my companions' reactions, to be armed," Hana explained politely. "Bad move again."

"We would rather talk to you now about your ties to the terrorist state called the Khanate. But if you would rather, we can talk to you when you land in St. Petersburg," he threatened.

"I hate to imply that I don't trust Aeroflot, but I'm flying to Astana in the former Kazakhstan, via Rome courtesy of the United Nations," Hana replied calmly. "Because I try to be a good person, I will meet you halfway. If the ladies would consent to step back ~ say ten feet, you and I can have a private discussion and review our options."

"I'm not leaving," Buffy made her stance clear. Hana nodded, then scanned the rest. With varying degrees of reluctance, the rest started moving to the deli's counter. 

"Your men as well," Hana addressed the attaché.

"They are my bodyguards and professionals," he feigned politeness.

Two more people, wearing long coats despite the summer, heat walked into the front of the kosher restaurant - a man and a woman. Even Brooke and Libra knew by now that this meant 'heavy firepower'. This caused everyone some confusion.

"We are Irish," the male member of the duo stated. He didn't sound Irish. He didn't have to. Buffy smiled. Had the situation been less tense, she would have hit herself. 

Of course my aunts had people watching over my fiancé. Duh. That didn't register with the Russians, so Buffy brought them into the loop.

"They are here with Hana, of course," my 'First' grinned like her favorite American carnivore, the jaguar. Hana took that enlightenment in stride.

"You and me, Mr.?" Hana returned to her initial proposal.

"Major Maxim Stepanovich Bukhalo, Miss Sulkanen," the attaché provided. This time the Major took in the tactical situation carefully. Buffy was between him and Hana. To his upper left-facing forward was the NYPD officer. To his far-rear left were the other two armed women. 

Lastly, to his bottom-right were the two 'Irish' guardians. His team would be caught in a crossfire. He waved his security away, then took a seat opposite Hana and Buffy.

[Hebrew] "I left the Homeland for this?" muttered the old Jewish (and former Israeli) owner of the eatery. "First it was Palestinians and now it's the Russian Mafia and the 'Westies' (a violent gang based in a traditional Irish part of NYC)."

"Order something," Libra demanded of the SVR-RF team.

"What?" the team leader glared back.

"You are in the man's place of business. Order some damn food and something to drink. It is only polite. We did," Libra drove home her point.

While the Russians privately debated that, the male member of the Irish team walked over to the part of the counter closest to the door. He ordered two teas, Kugel, Lox & Bagels and one bowl of Teiglach for a combined dessert. The owner shouted the order back to his female Georgian (the country in the Caucasus Mountains, not the State) cook.

His Armenian waiter delivered the teas and glasses of water right after the Irishman resumed his seat.

"To make clear my reason for being here," the Major stared at Hana intently, "we need to talk to someone capable of decision-making inside the Khanate military and we need this to be done in the next six hours."

The six hour deadline was made up. The Major was lying to the wrong woman. Despite that, Hana did realize that the man was actually on a credible and important mission. Hana thought about her response carefully. She was in this position because she had seen a human catastrophe looming on the horizon and simply couldn't sit back without trying to do something.

Honestly, Hana had believed earlier that her efforts would be in vain. She would try, fail and - in a way - feel somewhat better about herself for having tried. It didn't work out that way. She'd called Iskender and asked if he could fit her into his schedule. Iskender told her to come right over. Thirty minutes later, she was talking to his boss and fifteen minutes later, the LEADER of the Khanate gave her quest his blessing.

It was rather unsettling for her to discover the way my name, Cáel Wakko Ishara (aka Nyilas), made the Khanate hierarchy 'hop to' and get things done for her. In her experience, the Central Asian tribal types were rather insular. In the process of coordinating a 'safe air corridor' for humanitarian flights into Western Xinxiang, Hana's scintillating intellect completed the jigsaw puzzle.

"Mr. Iskender, can I ask a delicate question?" she'd later inquired of the Khanate's point man.

"Of course," he smiled.

"Cáel saved the Great Khan's life, didn't he?"

"Yes," Iskender nodded. "Yes he did, at great personal risk to himself and he asked for nothing in return. That is all I can say on the matter for now." 

That was giving me undeserved credit for the five Amazon augurs who gave their lives so that I could carry that message to the Earth & Sky. I had walked into their lair to give forth that news, thus saving Temujin's young life from the clutches of the Chinese-based Seven Pillars of Heaven Secret Society. Yes, I had done it to help my Amazons. I'd also done it to save that one person's life - it was the right thing to do. That was the spark that linked me and the 'Great Khan' - my love of life, any life.

Hana had wanted to ask several more questions, yet knew the matter was closed for the nonce. She'd left wondering if I understood that in some cultures, when you save a man's life, you became his brother. 

I did and I didn't. It was in that maelstrom of Alal's memories, but the latter prioritized my picture book images of his knowledge by what I needed in the present and the immediate future, not what I needed a week down the line. Thus, I was currently remiss in my knowledge of Mongol social customs. Back at the meal.

"What do you need?" Hana stated. "Be precise."

"We need to reestablish diplomatic contact to discuss regional security," he responded.

"Buffy," Hana sighed, "was that about the least precise response he could have possibly made?"

"Without outright lying to you - yes," Buffy affirmed.

"Major Bukhalo, the Khanate is running very lean right now. Their time, thus their every word, is precious. They are fighting for their very existence, where a misinterpreted word, or a broken promise, could prove fatal," Hana explained. "Here is how it works: you ask the Khanate to do something, and they will either say 'yes' or 'no'...and that's that. There is no discussion."

"You got what you wanted from the Khanate when they turned everyone else away," the Major pointed out. "How do you explain that?"

"My fiancé is respected by their leadership. That translates to the Khanate respecting me and my wishes," she answered.

"So you could strike some sort of deal," the man edged in.

"No," Hana shook her head. "Let me make it perfectly clear; my status in the Khanate flows specifically from my fiancé. He is renowned for his kindness and mercy, so when I spoke of such things to the Khanate, they knew I was speaking in his voice."

"Fine, let me speak to him," the Major racked his mind for, "...Cáel Nyilas. Where can I find him?" Hana looked to Buffy, who shrugged noncommittally. 

"We'll have him get in touch with you," Buffy said.

"Time is of the essence," he insisted.

"We will make sure that he understands that," Hana said. "It would greatly aid the process if he knew what he was being asked to consider."

"We need to establish upper level military liaisons," the Major hedged.

"That is not going to work," Hana sighed. 

"Make a proposal and he'll examine it and either endorse the plan, or reject it," Hana clarified. "If he thinks what you propose is in the Khanate's best interest, he will send that on to the Khanate leadership."

"That's not diplomacy," the Russian balked. "Who works like that?"

"People who trust people. Not groups, agencies, departments, or countries," Buffy growled. "People you can believe will tell you what's on their minds and in their hearts. Friends."

"Blood brothers," Hana added.

"So if I give Mr. Nyilas a proposal from the Russian government and he approves of it, that's that? That is what will happen?" the man seemed stunned.

"That is what I've been saying," Hana gave a conciliatory smile. "I suspect anything that Cáel 'okays' has an 85% chance of acceptance by the Khanate. The margin of doubt is based on the rapidly changing situation in Asia right now." The Major stood up. His security detachment, who had just finished ordering, stood as well.

"We'll be in touch," he stated before turning and hurriedly exiting the establishment. The two Irish remained seated. The ladies gathered around the table and resumed their places.

"What was that all about?" Oneida worried.

"Cáel is in deep shit, isn't he?" Nikita suggested.

"A great deal of it," Hana looked at her trembling hands. "That is why I'm so afraid - because I don't know for sure."

"Do you really think that Cáel's opinion will have any weight with the Khanate?" Buffy studied Hana.

"Well, if any of you think that Cáel saved the Great Khan's life, raise your hands," Hana mused. In the next second, all of their right hands went up.

"Then yes," Hana sighed. "I don't think Cáel understands it, but by saving that man's life, he became a...um...the best western equivalent definition would be step-siblings with a shared sacred origin. Close enough to be family - never in a position to inherit. 

Since I'm betting the Great Khan doesn't have many immediate kin; that makes our Cáel special in more than just a symbolic way. From a supernatural interpretation, their fates are now intertwined and by that way of perceiving reality, Cáel would always act in his spiritual-brother's behalf for his brother's best interest, and vice versa. That was why Cáel's name opened doors for me with their people in New York. It took me a while to figure it out, but it has been confirmed by at least one person in the know," Hana concluded. 

Buffy shook her head in disbelief. "I've spent 9 years - a third of my life - learning how to kill people, training to become adept at espionage and achieving pretty much all around kick-butt status. Cáel stumbles out of some no-name college and sets off a world-wide shit-storm. 

I honestly believed I would never trust a man, much less like one, until I met that idiot," she sighed.

"I'd still be getting over Trent," Brooke volunteered.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 33



"I would have never had fun at a strip club," Libra noted.

"I'd be dead," Oneida chimed in. Ignoring the fact that she put her life at risk because of me.

"He has pretty much screwed my life up," Hana noted.

"Yes," Rhada finally contributed. The ladies looked at her. "I'm happy," she added.

"Oh yeah," Brooke giggled. "I'm definitely happier." More chuckles.

"Hey now," Hana protested. "We haven't...you know." There was a moment of silence.

"That's good," Oneida nodded. "You don't need to."

"That's cold," Libra groused at Oneida.

"I agree with Oneida," Rhada chimed in. "He has enough girlfriends."

"Excuse me," Hana rallied. "He did ask me to marry him. That implies a relationship, sex and children - that sort of thing. Ring a bell?"

"He's already having children," Oneida moped. 

"What?" was echoed by Brooke, Libra and Hana.

"It is not what you think," Buffy tried to head off the disaster.

"Please explain," Hana requested politely.

"What happened to Mr. Condom?" Libra prodded Buffy as well.

"These two," she motioned to her fellow Amazons, "know why this situation has developed and should have kept their mouths shut."

"Is this another episode of 'a group of super-scary chicks with guns show up at the door in the middle of the night'?" Brooke inquired.

"Yes," Buffy guffawed. "Hana, Cáel has inherited an obligation to Havenstone that includes him producing heirs to his seat on the Board of Directors."

"Is there a specific reason why our - Cáel's and my - child couldn't succeed to this station?" Hana proposed.

"Hmmm," Buffy procrastinated, "... Hana, Havenstone is a meritocracy. No one child - no daughter-child, will have a better chance by birth than any other to take Cáel's place on the...Board."

"Daughters?" Hana murmured. "Oh, thank God," she exhaled happily. "You really are some kind of militant feminist organization that has hijacked Cáel. I had this lingering fear he was a closet submissive masochist. And, Officer Kutuzov, why aren't you surprised by all of these revelations?"

"Cáel is part of an ongoing Federal investigation, so I can't comment on much of this," Nikita shrugged. "Suffice it to say, Ms. Sulkanen, you are only at the tip of the iceberg. It gets more...interesting the more you learn."

"Speaking of tips of the iceberg," Brooke asked, "where is our trusty lookout? Has anyone heard from Odette recently?"

"That's right," Libra added. "Why wasn't she invited?"

"Odette smuggled herself onto Cáel's plane to Europe," Buffy grumbled. "For reasons that escape logic, he didn't send her back when they touched down in Ireland."

"Lucky bitch," Brooke mumbled.

"Sure," Buffy growled. "Bullets flying, brawls, betrayal. And now our guy has abandoned all but one of his companions and dropped off the map while on a damsel in distress mission."

"Be honest, you wouldn't have him any other way?" Hana smiled at Buffy.

"Of course," Buffy confessed. "It just so fucking unfair that I finally find a man worth keeping, and he's dead set on personally saving the world." That they could all agree to.

(Meeting the Last One)

Katalin and I were a slow-dancing island in the chaotic rave currents. She had her forearms resting on my shoulders, her hands locked behind my head while we swayed to our own private harmony. My hands were gradually kneading every inch of her ass. When I looked over her shoulder, my eyes gravitated to a man across the street leaning against a courtyard wall.

He was dark-skinned, average height, compact of build and had short black hair. Had it not been for his intense magnetism, he might have gone unnoticed - rather plain to look at.

"Katalin," I spoke into her ear, "I see someone I need to talk to. Can I catch up with you later?"

She looked around, suspecting I might have found someone cuter, or more playful.

"Who is it?" she questioned me.

"That man by the wall over there," I directed her with a face-nod. She saw him, then regarded me with worry.

"Is he dangerous?" she implored. "Tell me if he's dangerous."

"He is dangerous," I related. "I think he wants to talk, not fight."

"Should I get Pamela?" she asked.

"No. I've got this," I grinned. I didn't want Pamela to die. I separated from Katalin and walked to the edge of the rave.

The man extended his arms toward me, showing his two empty palms. He had on a short tan T-shirt and forest camouflage fatigue pants. His boots were brown and something a huntsman would wear. I presented my left arm as he did, then tapped my right where my Amazon blade was kept. He nodded, so I crossed the street. Our identical eyes met.

"Care to take a walk?" he suggested.

"Okay," I accepted. He wanted to talk to me. I certainly wanted to talk to him. We strolled the streets of Mindszent for a few minutes.

"It is good to finally meet you in person," he began.

"Ditto," I concurred. "Initially, I was of the mindset that I'd be sending bullets your way...but things have happened." The man snorted in amusement. "Do you care that I call you Alal? Cáel is my name and it doesn't feel right calling you Grandfather, or Grandpa."

"I'd really appreciate it if you called me Grandfather, Cáel," he requested.

"Fine," I conceded after another minute's meanderings. "I supposed you've waited a damn long time to hear it, Grandfather." My Mother's Father took a deep, purifying breath.

"Thank you, Cáel," he grinned my way. He had to look up slightly. "So, what do you think?"

"I think you are fuck-nuts crazy," I unloaded. "Taking over the Human Race? No. Sometimes, the right thing to do is let people fuck things up. A global dictatorship isn't the answer," I shook my head.

"How many chances do they get, Grandson? Environmental catastrophes are looming on the horizon. Nuclear weapons abound. Political extremism. When is enough, enough?" he countered.

"And your solution is a global war and a top secret world-wide terror regime?" I reposted. He didn't laugh at me, which was a plus.

"Only idiots view justice and rights as concepts that can reach perfection," Grandpa chuckled. "Even you know better than that, and you are only twenty-two. 

I'm offering far more justice than the world has ever enjoyed before. Corruption and greed won't be crimes that make headlines and lead to court cases devoid of law, or that drag on so long, no one cares that the perpetrators got off with a slap on the wrist. Under my plan, those people disappear, never to be heard from again," he promised.

"Putting the ultimate power in the hands of a few people, or even one person, isn't the answer. Those people can be just as venal and corrupt as the madhouse we have now," I stated.

"When a kingdom was in trouble, they blamed the impiety of the peasants. When a democracy is in trouble, everyone blames the elected parliament - don't you see the insanity in that?" Grandpa kept swinging.

"Democracy solved nothing. Marxism solved nothing. Global religions are more a detriment to public order than worth-while...and all of that is because of," he was saying when I interrupted him.

"Stupid, corrupt children?" I said.

"No Cáel," Grandfather shook his head. "People want their needs met without sacrifice. They want to blame someone else for their misfortunes. They don't want to be held responsible for their own actions. That was one of the greatest lessons I took from Rome."

"There will always be wolves and there will always be sheep," I quoted him from memory.

"Exactly. No matter how much you educate them, provide for them, and foist responsibility on them, they will remain sheep. The wolves are the ones you have to rein in. You let them harvest some sheep from time to time because you never know when you might need a good wolf. Besides, a population of sheep and sheep dogs would be detrimental to the race as a whole," he related. 

"That's the difference between me...and just about everyone else," Grandpa continued. "The rest of the Illuminati are enamored with mercantilism, commercialism and capitalism. They believe that violence can be, and should be, contained. They don't understand wolves. Western Europe has tried to kennel their packs, so the Arabs have picked up the torch once more. Now Islam is kicking in their doors and they don't know what the fuck to do when the answer is obvious," Alal grinned.

"Kill them all?" I guessed.

"Atta boy," he chuckled. "It is a tried and true method of dealing with your foes. Sympathy for your enemies is idiotic," he added. 

"No, genocide is stupid," I countered. "It is massively wasteful in both resources and population. The Nazis tried and failed."

"No, Hitler was a lunatic," Alal shook his head. "He should have put his women in the factories and armed services like the Communists did. He thought he could fight the whole damn world. Hitler's fault wasn't that he tried, it was that he didn't try hard enough."

"Screw Hitler and the Nazis," I grunted. "What you want to do is still nuts."

"Then why haven't you turned me in?" Granddad inquired. I sighed.

"I don't know," I shrugged.

"I do," he smiled. "You are my Grandson. You will never take the easy way out on things that matter. You are as scared about what will happen if you stop me as you are worried about what happens if you let me win. Sucks to be you."

"I am my Father's son first," I reminded my supposed-O'Shea patriarch.

"I trusted your Mother to pick a good man for the task," he mused. "Definitely not someone like me. I was a lousy father and I knew it. I never emotionally bonded with my son, or daughters."

"What are you going to do about your - my aunts?" I asked.

"I plan to hold their well-being over your head for a while longer," he honestly replied.

"What about Sakuniyas? That's my name for Shammuramat," I told him.

"Beautiful name," he looked down the street. "What is she like now?"

"Violent, impressive, used to having her own way and nice to children when she thinks no one else is looking," I informed him.

"Wonderful. Thank you, Cáel," he was smiling once more. "What about my Great-grandchildren? I've heard some rumors you are working on one." He saw me tense up. "Honestly Grandson, after spending so much of my life alone, I'm not going to start killing my actual family, now that I have one...Fine, I swear on your Mother's life, I will not harm your offspring."

That was less useful than it might have been. Grandpa didn't value the lives of his genetically manipulated creations/daughters greatly.

"Its offspring-s," I clarified.

"Boys? Girls?" he paused for a second. "...Hello Pamela," he smirked. "It is the soul resonance that gave you away. It is something I cultivated over the centuries."

"Good for you," Pamela slipped out of shadow. We all remained unsure of what to say, or do, next.

"I wanted to talk to my Grandson, Pamela. That is all - this time," Alal told her.

"He is a good man, Alal," Pamela moved closer to us.

"Surprising, isn't it?" he laughed. "Considering what a bastard I am, the crowd he's fallen in with and that bitch of a Goddess who has sunk her claws into him."

"What are you talking about, Grandfather?" I smiled. "Dot Ishara is a peach. Gazing into her eyes damn near drove me insane, she requires me to have cranial trauma to talk with her and she's rarely helpful.

The difference between you and me is that I am not bitter about people trying to manipulate my life. Kind of the way you and I are talking right now," I kept the happy face. "Though I don't think you want to admit it, that is why you are talking with me - because given the same stimuli, I'm not like you."

"Children make the difference," he regarded me sternly. There was that deep, soul-wound that he'd carried for thousands of years - loneliness. I stepped up and hugged him.

"It is okay, Grandfather," I patted his back as he patted mine. "I'll see what I can do about you holding a few of my sons and daughters before..."

"Before," he pushed me back to arms-length and gave his own...proud (?) look. The 'before' was the before one of us killed the other. Did I have a chance? Yes ... and Aya had explained it better than I could have. I wouldn't give up. Until I died, I wouldn't stop fighting him. I was wondering why Pamela let him walk away without comment, until I noticed there were shadows within shadows receding into the blackness of night.



Life as a New Hire Ch. 34



This story plays fast and loose with Ancient History and Linguistics; be warned.

There are two distinct phases of falsehood. In the first, you realize you can lie to those closest to you. In the second, you realize you shouldn't.

Editing magic performed by KJ24 and Shyqash, plus contributions by the regular gang of brigands and neer-do-wells.

There is a bit of mangling of the Iliad going on. I apologize to Homer and the countless singers before him who carried the Iliad down through the dark centuries until the Greeks figured out how writing works.

This time, I owe thanks to two people who created two key elements of this story. It wouldn't exist without them.

*****

(And the stars continue to shine forth)

"Stop trying to save me," Pamela remarked, once she was sure we were alone once more.

"Ask me to do something I'd at least consider doing," I sighed. "Let's go back to the party...I'm not sure where we are."

"You've been walking in one big circle, Dummy," she chided me.

Why was she letting me off the hook for walking off with the Grand Villain in the scheme of things? Well, if she started hitting me, she probably wasn't sure she could stop.

"One of these days I'm going to screw up and not get out of it," I noted sadly.

"That is the epitaph of anyone who has ever taken up a weapon and a cause," Pamela smiled.

Maybe she wasn't angry with me.

"Why aren't you more pissed off?" I wondered.

"You are a good guy, Cáel," Pamela enlightened me. "That means you are going to reach out to people you think you can save. Personally, I don't think Alal can be, but then I'm biased."

"Guy coming back from the dead?" I inquired.

"Damn right. No more surefire way to anger an assassin than to come back from the dead," she related. "Did you take note of his body?" 

"Not really. What did I miss?" I requested.

"It didn't look right," Pamela shook her head. "Nothing more specific than that. I was hoping, since you touched him, you might have picked something else up."

"Nope. I was too busy slipping a GPS locator on him," I grinned.

"You don't have one and the technology doesn't work that way, ya numbskull," she play slapped my left bicep.

"Wouldn't it be cool if it did?" my grin broadened.

"Laugh it up, Monkey-boy," Pamela countered. "Buffy would have you tagged like a mule deer in Yellowstone."

"Eeeekk," I gasped. "Point taken."

"Well..." Pamela huffed.

"He's going to kill my soul," I observed. "Now I'm sure of it. All of that discussion was just gauging my personality so that when he offs me, he can become Cáel Nyilas / Wakko Ishara." Pause.

"Good for you," Pamela let go of a tense breath. She didn't have to ask.

"The whole Condottieri situation is a scam," I passed on that bit of information I'd first put together with the Vizsla. "It never left Granddad's control. Currently he's going to use various other factions to kill off the Condottieri and Illuminati leadership that oppose him, then it is Unity Time."

"If he takes your place, that gives him leverage on the Amazon Council plus your appeal to the 9 Clans and the Earth & Sky," Pamela helped me work things through. "He couldn't get his hooks into the Egyptians because they knew too much about him. Matters of race stymied his efforts with the Earth & Sky and Seven Pillars."

"Except I saved Temujin and he's been supplying them with weapons and tech for over fifty years," I told her. "Even when he was dead, his plan was working...he had predicted the path that warfare would take, invested wisely and left orders to implement his plans. When the time came, they were ready to take out the Seven Pillars."

"Without you saving Temujin, the E&S wouldn't have cared...but you," Pamela nodded. "If it comes down to his coalition of Illuminati, Condottieri, Amazons and 9 Clans, the Egyptians will join him - Global Unification has been their goal all along," she continued. "Besides, you made one hell of a positive impression on them the only time you've met. Bang up job, Stud."

"Temujin will join as well. He's anything but suicidal," I finished the roll call of my fate. We were almost back to the rave by this time. "You know, you could kill me and short-circuit all of this mess," I reminded her.

"No way. I plan to win, damn it," Pamela patted me on the back. "Save the Dum-sel in Disrepute, slay the Evil Warlord and re-retire with a boatload great-grandbabies to spoil."

"I gave the Vizsla a clue," I let Pamela know the possible complications to her plan. "In 1847, one General of the Condottieri tried to have the Italian Black Hand kill another. Unfortunately, the victim in question was a puppet for Grandpa and the assassin team attacked them both. Because they saw his face, he hunted them back to their base and slaughtered the entire Verona Chapter house of the Wolf."

"He must have fucked up a few other times as well," Pamela assured me. Speaking of miscalculations, Anya, Katalin and Orsi broke from the thrashing mob and ran up to me.

"Your crazy ex-girlfriend called," Anya seemed steamed. "She insisted must she talk to you." At first glance, it would be 'which crazy ex-GF'... except only one had Anya's phone number. I took her phone.

[French] "Bonjour, ma petite amie méchante ," I greeted Anais, the Mountie. Yes, I was calling her a 'meanie'.

"Cáel, how are you? Where are you?" she was truly concerned. I didn't doubt her sincerity. I also didn't doubt she was convinced she knew what was best for me, as well.

"I've talked with the Hungarian Police too," I let my pique come through. "You screwed me over. I asked you to let me handled this and you didn't."

"You are still a Jerk," she snapped. "I've been trying to help. And from the sounds of it, you are at a party."

"It's a rave. It is a rave brought about by the police keeping people penned up in the town all afternoon. Now, if you would stop treating me like a freaking child, you would realize that I'm actually safer in a crowd than I am alone, holed-up in some room without a weapon because you've made it so that the TEK is now keeping a sharp eye on me," I retorted.

"Can't you tell I'm trying to help you?" she got loud, on the cusp of becoming enraged.

"Yes. I called you ... asking for help. I also called to apologize, without making it sound like some lame stupid stunt to get you back. I'm in real trouble here and I've put other people in danger at the same time," I told her. And yes, I planned to get some 'Anais' when I got back to North America.

"I'm telling you," she persisted, "let Hungarian law enforcement help you."

"I'm trying to make you understand," I countered, "that this is a situation that the police can't help me with. I called you because I believed I could trust you, even though you hate me."

"I'm angry with you, Cáel. I don't hate you," she grumbled. "I am trying to help."

"If I didn't believe that, I wouldn't still be talking to you, Anais," I allowed. "What did Timothy tell you?"

"Is that all you care about?" she grumbled.

"Actually, this is me trying not to be a selfish jackass," I said. "People are in danger because of me and I need to make sure they are safe before I take care of myself."

"That's...very unlike you," Anais sounded unsure.

"I've been doing some growing up since graduation," I replied. "I only wish I'd grown smarter."

"I...I'm sorry about your Papa," she quieted down.

"They gunned him down in his own home," I told her. "Dad never touched a gun in his life and they shot him with an assault rifle."

"Oh...well, I understand your Federal Justice Department is investigating the matter," Anais tried to comfort me. "I talked with your Prosecutor Castello. She wouldn't tell me much."

"Pity," I mumbled. "I know they are having difficulties."

"It is an American problem," she noted.

"Not really," I sunk in my hooks. "We've been working with MI-6 and the CIA. They are all part of that international task force I told you about {see last chapter}."

"Yes - how did you get Irish diplomatic status? That doesn't make any sense," she perked up. Anais liked puzzles. Actually, she liked solving conundrums. It made her a great cop.

[German] "We are missing the party," Monika protested.

[French] "That's right. Tell your EX-girlfriend good-bye, Cáel," Anya insisted loudly.

"Who is that?" Anais groused.

"It is Anya, the Bulgarian mechanical engineer. We've had sex since you and I last talked and I think she's feeling a tad possessive," I explained.

Pause.

"Bastard," Anais seethed. I was sure her pussy was twitching already. "Fine. I talked with your roommate - he says you have my uniform in a dress bag and my boots in a sealed box, so I forgive you. Anyway, he said Odette called, and she gave him a number to give to you."

Since it didn't have 555 in it, I had hopes it was genuine. This was not the time to give Anais the quick kiss-off.

"I appreciate it, Anais," I sighed with relief. "Have you decided which restaurant you want to go to when I get back?"

"I haven't given it much thought, Cáel," I could feel her defrosting further. "How can I keep in touch with you?"

"Ugh...I don't have my own phone right now. Tomorrow I'm going to steal some means of conveyance and..." I grinned.

"Don't tell me that," Anais complained. "I'm still an officer of the law."

"Well, the new 'me' is trying to be more honest with you, Anais. I've got to get out of town tomorrow. Would you rather I lied to you...again?" I confounded her.

"Well...no. Try to be careful, prends soin de mon amour," she sighed.

"I will call you as soon as I'm able. Thank you again," I signed off.

"I still say, 'that one' is confused about her 'ex' status," Orsi teased me.

"Do you know what is worse than having one woman save your soul?" I tossed out to them. They could not divine an answer. "Having three women do it at the same time, for different reasons. Now I believe we have a party starving for our attention."

(Reunions)

Pamela had convinced me the motorcycle driver who belonged to our newly acquired BMW K1600 GT would be at least four hours regaining consciousness and getting himself untied. We had stopped at a petrol station along the 431, between Kiszombor, Hungary and the Romanian border. She wanted to fuel up before the border crossing...in case things didn't work out...you know, with our guns and this stolen vehicle.

She was already peeved that I'd stopped in Szeged to pick up a few pounds of paprika. Rumor had it that the fields around that stretch of the Tisza produced the highest quality of that spice on the planet, especially the sweet kind. Pamela pointed out I knew 'jack' about cooking. I agreed. What I did know was cooks - the female variety.

Fresh spice from the 'source' was way better than a dozen roses, even with a box of chocolates added. Did I have a cook lined up in New York? No, but I was sure I could find one. Wait! Yasmin, my Brazilian, ex-Super Cop, hottie should be back in town by now. If she didn't cook, she'd definitely have a friend I could seduce. 

Honest to Ishara, I was starting to believe this constant 'work-work-work' was ruining my normally poor judgment where sex and fidelity were concerned.

Pamela was getting some lunch for us while I gassed up my crotch-rocket. My luck kept being...exceptional. Two Hungarian motorcycle troopers showed up; both were women and they apparently had decided that I was worthy of attention. Hey, I'm good-looking...and I was wearing a ballistic vest. (The durability of my long coat wasn't so obvious.)

[Hungarian] "Nice bike," the first one - the one directly confronting me - said.

[Hungarian] "Thanks. It is a KT1600 GT - 2009," I smiled. "What are you two on?"

[Hungarian] "Yamaha FJR1300A's," she answered. I put up the nozzle, capped the tank and walked over to her conveyance. It was a really sweet ride.

[Hungarian] "You have a gun," she noted calmly. She and her partner both had their hands on their holstered weapons. Since the flaps were still down, I wasn't panicking.

[Hungarian] "Yes. More than one in fact," I kept pretending to look over her bike while I was really scoping her out. I'd nailed all six boat girls and then had the Macedonian babe for breakfast. So I still had three good sexual bangs in me before dusk and these two were nice and pleasant enough.

[Hungarian] "Do you have permits for those?" she asked. Her partner was calling something in.

[Hungarian] "Are we still in Hungary?" I mused. The question was a joke.

[Hungarian] "I believe we are," she smiled. Sure, I may have been a dangerous felon, but I was a nice looking and engaging one.

"Nope. I'm afraid not," I sighed. She understood my English.

[Hungarian] "Why are you so armed?" she kept calm. "Are you law enforcement somewhere?"

[Hungarian] "Does a secretive, non-governmental, paramilitary organization count?"

[Hungarian] "No," she sighed. "That sounds rather criminal. So, what are you carrying?" That was a nice way of saying 'give me your gun'.

"Left, right, back, or ankle?" I replied. "Which one do you want first?"

[Hungarian] "Let's try this again. Can I see some form of ID?" she remained rather comfortable despite this having to be the most bizarre traffic stop of her career.

"I'm reaching around to my right rear jean pocket for it," I related. Something dating Anais had taught me was that you always tell an on-duty cop what you are doing before you do it. 

She nodded, so I pulled out my NY Driver's license, my US passport and my Irish Diplomatic ID. She began looking them over.

[Hungarian] "You are Cáel Nyilas?" she looked over my documents.

[Hungarian] "If that who it says I am, then yes," I grinned. 

For a second, she was P-O'ed, then she realized I was playing with her. She snorted in amusement and returned to looking over my stuff. [Hungarian] "Nyilas is a Hungarian name," she hummed.

[Hungarian] "Székely," I clarified. "My family emigrated to America at the end of World War II. I've actually come back here to look over the homeland." 

[Hungarian] "You couldn't land in Bucharest?" she handed me my ID back.

[Hungarian] "What?" I feigned an insult to my intellect. "Hungarian women are far prettier."

[German] "You don't appear to be Dortmund Schuyler," her partner looked me over.

[German] "Is that the guy who let me borrow his bike?" I responded.

[Hungarian] "Do you have any proof of that?" the first motor-cop asked.

[Hungarian] "What are you implying? Don't I look trustworthy?" I gave her my puppy-dog eyes. The two law-women exchanged glances.

[Hungarian] "No," they pronounced in unison. "Not at all."

[Hungarian] "Hello ladies," Pamela greeted the two. "Do they know your real name?" was aimed at me. I nodded. "Okay, Cáel, time for us to go."

[Hungarian] "There are the matters of your ID and Mr. Schuyler's bike," partner number two pointed out.

[Hungarian] "Please, let us go," I pleaded. "I swear to God, we are leaving your beautiful country as fast as we can. When I come back, I will be able to explain all of this. Right now, I'm horribly pressed for time."

[Hungarian] "What is the rush?" the first inquired.

[Hungarian] "People I barely know are trying to kill me. The TEK told me to stick around, but if I do, I'm going to get offed in police custody. My pursuers are some horribly bad people and they don't give a damn about law enforcement. Worse, they are armed to the teeth," I confessed. There was a long pause. In my short stay, I'd turned portions of Hungary into war zones.

[Hungarian] "You are serious," the first one gasped. They didn't want to believe my claim. In my favor was that law enforcement knew that both the Metro killings and the inn shoot-out were 'unsolved' (as in the authorities didn't know what the fuck had happened, or why) and there was even an attempt to blow up the near-by ferry (after all, the CIA wouldn't lie about that, would they?) 

I was a really nice guy, packing guns and wearing body armor. There weren't warrants out for Pamela's, or my arrest yet. They wanted to believe me ... plus attempting to restrain me was looking to be a terribly difficult undertaking with an attendant mountain of paperwork and several annoying internal investigation afterwards. The only thing they'd called in so far was Dortmund's bike plate.

[Hungarian] "Please," I made my final appeal. The two cops looked at one another. Finally, the first one made a brief dismissive gesture ... while slipping me her card. Pamela and I were mounted up, helmeted and out of there in less than five seconds. We were racing toward Romania and freedom.

"Care to explain that?" Pamela shouted to me over the rush of the wind.

"What do you mean?" I replied.

"I can't believe they bought that. You told them the truth and the believed it. I'm stunned - in awe," Pamela was both confused and amused.

"It wasn't the truth, it was the 'please'," I innocently informed her. "Law enforcement folks like things black-and-white. I needed help and they probably believed I was in danger. Easy-peasy. Besides, they know about all the trouble I've caused, the ordinance expended and that people are asking a ton of questions and not getting many answers," I added.

"I really need to meet Dr. Geisler," Pamela laughed, "and thank her." My current mentor meeting my former mentor? Fun? I caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of my helmet's visor. I looked that way, seeing nothing out of the ordinary. 

The Romanian checkpoint was a breeze. The man who waved us through was more interested two co-eds in the classic Karmann Ghia convertible behind us. Having exited Hungary's south-eastern border, we now had to angle north to catch up with the majority of our troupe in Arad. DJ682 was our route of choice and, as we raced along, it highlighted the fact that...Western Romania looked remarkably like Eastern Hungary. The Mures River provided an adequate distraction. Unfortunately, the distraction was proving more spooky than amusing. 

I caught glimpses of something swimming underneath the river's surface - again, close enough to the outer edge of my perception that I couldn't form a complete mental picture of what was there. Just that it was very big, whatever it was. Even Pamela's sixth sense was getting that 'creepy' feeling. The closer was got to Arad, the stronger the sensation became. On the city outskirts, I made the call to the number Anais gave me. 

Riki Martin, our US State department liaison, answered, "It's about time!" She sounded slightly exasperated. It was the 'hurry up and wait' phenomena.

"Ummm...I come bearing news - some good; some bad," I offered up.

"So do we," Riki replied. "You could have called us to let you know you survived the inn. Selena was less than helpful when she finally showed up," she chastised me. "She and Ildiko (Alkonyka's real name) arrived with her sister, Angyalka, early this morning," she gave me the good news.

"What kind of shape are they in?" I inquired.

"They're alive. Now, make it snappy. Delilah is heading down to the lobby as we speak. Come to the XO Residence, Dr. Iona Ratiu 13," Riki informed me. "How much longer before you get here?"

"We'll have to ditch our ride and hitchhike in, so it will be a while," I answered.

"Hurry up...do you listen to the news?" Riki tossed out there.

"Only when I'm dating an activist, or a poli-sci major," I said.

"You are hopeless. Be happy you are good-looking and reputedly hell in the sack," Riki grumbled then hung up. I wondered what that was about.

I turned to give Pamela the news - she had remained seated on the bike - when I nearly jumped of my skin. There was a woman, but only in the context that it was an eerie facsimile of a female human body. She reminded me of demon wearing a human suit actually. She was behind Pamela, on the edge of the highway. My mentor followed my gaze which only confirmed my thought that only I could see her/it.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 34



"Yes?" I attempted communication. By the way, this thing looked as if was furious with me. Its 'not' being a ghost was yet another misfortunate tiding. The creature didn't respond, so after fifteen seconds, I mounted up and rode away.

"What was it?" Pamela asked.

"I...I haven't a clue," I replied. "It...her...not a ghost. It is almost like...not really, but kind of like Dot Ishara. The thing is, I can't see Dot unless I'm concussed."

"Is that a quiet plea that you want me to brain you?" Pamela teased. What else could she do?

"Why don't I just ram us into a building - spare you the guilt?" I bantered back.

"Oh, don't trouble yourself. I don't feel one smidge of guilt about hitting you as long as there is hot body at the other end of your stream of consciousness," Pamela kept joking.

"Tell me again ... Why does Daphne think you are a nice person?" I chuckled.

"I give her candy," Pamela enlightened me. "You should try it some time."

Lest I forget, Pamela and I had non-specific agreement that I'd knock up her two granddaughters. You would have thought that by now, she knew me well enough to have changed her mind. She hadn't, suggesting that she was probably as irresponsible as me. I was cool with that. We ditched the bike where it was sure to be stolen by someone else.

Two blocks later, we flagged down a taxi driver who wasn't intimidated by our two ~37 kg duffels. He was a young man with a Ukrainian father and a Romani mother, and thus was universally despised and distrusted by everybody in town, or so he claimed. Pamela countered with her belief that he was actually pure Romani, but he didn't want us to think he was a thief and that he was fishing for a sympathy tip.

He was good-natured about the whole exchange, so he got his tip; except he earned it by getting us to the hotel toot-sweet, not for his unfortunate imaginary parentage. One look at Delilah's face told me I wasn't in hot water over my escapades yesterday. To be fair to me, they'd known I was taking a risk meeting with the Vizsla. Delilah made a quick call, said three words then hung up.

"Hey Cáel," my Brit minder greeted me. "Pamela, were you followed?" Why couldn't she have asked me that? I'd spotted the hot looking number in a deep brown micro-mini two blocks away.

"No, not in the usual way. Cáel's been seeing some supernatural creature," Pamela stated in all seriousness. "I haven't glimpsed it yet, but I agree that there is something out there stalking us."

"Wonder-fucking-ful," Delilah shook her head. "Don't get comfortable. We are ready to go. We are taking the 200 train in thirty-six minutes to Teiuş where we transfer to the 300 to Braşov and then the 400 to Miercurea Ciuc," she laid out our itinerary...in case we got separated, I guessed.

"Why are we going to Miercurea Ciuc?" I asked.

"Your Dot gave you some useful advice," Delilah teased. "Ildiko referenced your martial motto to a family graveyard in Miercurea Ciuc. It seems an archeological dig there turned up evidence dating back to the Dacians that was linked by iconography to some of the same graves in the cemetery - a half-Sun."

"That's handy," Pamela winked at me. "Maybe they are all dead."

"Woot," I winked back. My freakazoid companion had returned with a vengeance. I recoiled from her glower, making Delilah and Pamela glance that way. They still couldn't see it.

"Can you hear me?" I inquired at the apparently empty (to everyone else) space.

It began mouthing things to me...then tried again...then again - Sumerian. We had a winner. [Sumerian] "Can - you - hear - me?" I said. More thunderous anger. In fact, a deep, rolling peel of thunder rocked the city. Not Good! "Would it kill you to just say 'yes'?" She didn't answer with her lips. She answered with her eyes.

Virginia came around the hallway corner from where their rooms must have been located in the lead of a group. She was scanning about for threats like all good FBI agents should when they hang out with me. Chaz came next, quickly followed by Alkonyka who was holding someone I assumed was her sister, Angyalka. The creature's gaze snapped to the Lovasz sisters. I'm an idiot.

"Don't," I cautioned as I raised my voice to the monster no one else could see. I even interposed myself - reference me being an idiot. Everyone stopped moving...except Odette.

"CÁEL!" she squealed. I barely had time to turn around before she flung herself at me. Odette's legs wrapped around my waist, her arms around my neck and some serious lip/tongue action.

An unknown male voice interrupted my surprise.

[Romanian] "Is that Mr. Nyilas and who was he talking to?"

"Yes, that is the man in question and I haven't a clue who he shouted at," Riki informed him. For me it was 'mum, mum, mum, mum' as Odette tickled my tonsils. I had to repay the favor.

"Oh," I heard Rachel mumble behind me, which indicated she'd come from outside. "Just carry her with you and come along." Hey, when I was being smart, I listened to the chief of my bodyguard detail. Rachel steered me into a waiting mini-bus - courtesy of the Romanian government. 

At the train station, Odette finally let me come up for air. I was proud of her. Timothy and I had suggested a workout routine and she'd apparently kept at it.

"I missed you so much," Odette panted. "Selena came without you and I overheard her talking about where she'd left you and the way she looked..."

I looked over to Selena. The right side of her face looked...tenderized. I had no wish to see what the other guy(s) looked like. When she looked my way, I was happy to see the left side of her face was sporting one small cut.

"Thank you," I huffed. Selena gave me an odd look. It was her professionalism. 

"Good job," Pamela gave a slight nod to Selena. "I wasn't sure you could deliver in that short a time table." Selena's tiny slip of a grin was very different. The Black Hand killer certainly thought she was at the top of her profession. She also thought that Pamela was the better assassin, so her praise meant far more to Selena.

Pamela had also codified her accolade. She never implied that she didn't have faith that Selena could get the job done, only that the time constraint was the chief difficulty to overcome. I had so much more to learn if I was going to be saving lives more than risking them with the tasks I was foisting on myself.

Our Romanian watchdog, Flaviu Molnar of the Serviciul de Informații Externe (SIE) (aka the Romanian CIA), cleared out one of the train's passenger cars for us, then we got to work. Odette wanted attention. So did the world and it looked like the world was going to fuck me harder. Hana was doing good in the world ... and making far too many people in dark places take notice of her.

Speaking of which -

"The Ghost Tigers have been in touch. It will be € 150,000 for two weeks' work," Selena relayed their response to my earlier request.

"They've promised to protect Hana? When we talked, you mentioned that they didn't normally do that kind of work," I questioned.

"They never have before," Selena studied me. "It seems they appreciate your efforts with the Seven Families - six now, I imagine." The Seven Families were the Ninja. Not enough appreciation to make it free, still... Now, how was I going to pay for that?

"I'll contact Katrina," Rachel spoke up.

I had to ease Odette away from the center of this storm. She was unhappy, yet forgiving. Virginia and Vincent (our FBI people) stopped by long enough to welcome my return, then backed off. Delilah represented the UK. Riki stood in for the United States, Flaviu snooped for his nation, Rachel stayed at my side and Selena stayed on as the 9 Clans rep.

Chaz, the British elite, and Tiger Lily casually guarded the front of the car. Vincent and Charlotte took up a similar stance at the back. That left Virginia, Wiesława, Mona and Sakuniyas to rest easy, as was the Amazon way - always keep a portion of your force at ease so they could be alert for later duty. It was somewhat amazing to see FBI-girl and Saku already falling into that pattern. 

So Hana had elevated me in the eyes of too many people ... and put herself at risk to boot. I was becoming a 'person of interest' to the United Nation's Security Council. I wondered if Bolingbrook would erect a statue of me, once I was gone: 'their most notorious alumni'. Even more onerous, the Russians had gone after Hana.

Okay, that wasn't the horrible part of the news. It was the cast of characters at that luncheon that made me wish Ajax had simply used a pistol on me. It wasn't even a group of ex-girlfriends. No, this gathering's participants had been a good portion of my current roster of love interests. Dwelling on that dilemma almost made me miss the info-dump by Riki, courtesy of the National Reconnaissance Office (NRO).

The NRO was part of the US Defense Department, in case you didn't know. I could only reference the agency by way of comments made by one of my more conspiracy-theory conscious babes. Anyway, I was staring at a map of a portion of Northeastern Asia by the grace of Hana, Dot Ishara, Vladimir Putin and Temujin (note to self: nut-kick the bastards, should I ever meet them).

Oh yeah, Temujin could bend over backwards for Hana. For poor Cáel; he pimp-slapped me with a useless title and thrust me into the frigging limelight, Starlight and gun-sights. So, I was looking at the information on Riki's laptop and getting the feeling that people were expecting me to do something. I toggled stuff. A key came up.

Oh...I was looking at military units. Red...those were the Chinese, so that made the Gold - 

Khanate and the Blue were Russians. There seemed to be a lot of Russians. There were a shitload more Chinese. Comparatively, the Gold Khanate forces looked spread so thin it had to be dangerous. There didn't seem to be any instruction page...as in what was I supposed to be doing.

I steadied my 'cool', then took a sedate look at my companions. Nobody had a clue. Rachel was smart and militant, but her experience was with small unit tactics. Delilah was a Captain of something, but I didn't think it was the Defense Staff of the British Army.

"Captain Faircloth (Delilah), what are you a captain of?" I decided to find out.

"Royal Air Force. I flew Harrier II GR9's, Tornado GR4's and the Puma HC2 helicopter - because I rock. Why do you ask?" Delilah kept it friendly. 

"Can you look at some planes and tell me what they do?" I asked.

"Sure," Delilah settled in beside me. "What kind of strategic template are we looking at?"

My facial expression showed my incomprehension of that terminology.

"What part of the...oh hell," she chortled. "I'll tell you everything I know." I liked that. I didn't like the freak appearing next to Chaz. He was in tune enough to see that I was concerned about his person, though the cause escaped him.

"There is a supernatural creature at your nine, Colour Sergeant. Think - that freaky chic from the Ring," I informed him. He nodded.

"Intension?" he requested in his serious, competent style.

"Hold on," I told him. [Sumerian] "Talking to me yet?" I was at my saturation point for her bullshit. That bill came due when she 'flowed' across the car and lunged at me.

I stood up, whipped out my knife and thrust the small blade as Pamela taught me. If anyone thought I was deranged, the computer's electron spasm made then double-think that. My blade did nothing but her hands...her fingers didn't end in fingers and nails...no, the tanned skin whitened down into silverish talons and they slammed me back in my seat. My nerves exploded in shear agony.

It felt like twin stun guns to either side of my neck.

"Lilītu!" Saku exclaimed with a battle-howl. That was Assyrian for she-demon. Her sword was drawn. In the few steps it took her to get to me, she twisted her grip so that she came at me with an upward sweep of her blade, swinging at a being she felt, yet could not see. 

I wasn't sure if the creature responding was a good thing, or a bad thing. Its left hand caught the blade before it could connect with her body. Saku shifted and flexed her thighs, trying to power through the resistance she could not perceive. My attacker twisted the blade, flipping Saku down the aisle, though the former Queen kept her sword. I slashed again - no effect. It looked back at me and...I knew that look. It was angry, just not angry with me. 

It was frustrated, close to the point of exhaustion and was definitely a she. A she-what, I had no idea. I began putting things together. It couldn't communicate with me because of the 'gift' I had requested from Dot Ishara. By the Goddess's will, she couldn't read my mind. It was silly to think she'd denied herself the use of an ability. No, she'd rendered me immune to telepathy.

Much easier. That was also now biting me, and this creature, in the ass - communicatively. It dove back out the carriage window and was lost into the countryside we were traveling through. Saku's blade, like her bow, arrows and armor, came with her from the Netherworld, thus its ability to interact with the creature.

"Fuck," Delilah hissed. She was tapping away at the computer, trying to salvage the data the creature's interaction with the device had scrambled. Saku rolled over twice then regained her feet.

[Akkadian] "Where is it? I don't hear the Veil tearing anymore," Saku growled to me. Well, that told us what alerted the 'back from the dead' Amazon anyway.

[Akkadian] "It..." I started then realized 'Oh, that's what was going on. It was trying to push through the Veil and...drag me back across...oh, so we could talk'. "It left." Why would it do that?

"What was that?" Riki. "What's that smell?"

[Romanian] "What is going on here?" our SIE guy gave us all furtive looks.

"You're bleeding," Rachel pointed out to me and the rest. "Mona." Mona hurried to my side, then led me across the aisle so she could work uninterrupted. The weird just kept coming. My ballistic vest was untouched, as was my shirt. I had ten dagger-like wounds in my shoulders and upper arms. Why wasn't I gushing blood? Mona leaned forward and sniffed each side.

"Your wounds have been partially cauterized," she observed.

"Funny," I snorted. "I don't remember catching fire." I'd been electrocuted.

"You didn't. These are electrical burns," Mona corrected me. "I take it these are the result of gunshot trauma?" she indicated my bruises courtesy of Ajax's team.

"I found the guy shooting at me," I replied; Mona nodded approvingly. "Riki and Flaviu, to answer your question, there is some supernatural entity tracking this mission. It is not a God, or Goddess in the traditional sense. Beyond that, I think there has been a fundamental misunderstanding between the two of us. It has been trying to communicate with me, but I can't hear it. The smell is ozone."

"That makes no sense," Flaviu shook his head.

"It..." I turned and looked to the Lovasz sisters. "I'm an idiot."

"You don't say," Rachel mumbled.

"No, it has to be Illuyankamunus," I tried, and failed, to smack my forehead. Mona had stopped me.

"It - she looks freaky in her human form. Earlier today, I caught glimpses of something much bigger tracking Pamela and me as we traveled to Arad," I said.

"If you can communicate with your Goddess, why hasn't that entity interfered?" Riki inquired.

"If A, then B, then C," I muttered. "Okay, I think that these entities have to be very careful when interfering with reality. If they do interfere, bad things happen. A direct confrontation would most likely suck, so I'm guessing my Matron is going to have to wait until Illuyankamunus leaves me alone, or finishes with me. That still has me wondering why it tried so hard to get at me. 

It is interested in you two, Alkonyka and Angyalka, which makes me believe it is your matron goddess," I added.

"The thunderclap as we prepared to leave the hotel?" Alkonyka's brow furrowed.

"Yeah," I nodded. "She was in the lobby and very pissed."

"Tell me, what is the Illuyankamunus?" Flaviu requested.

"The Primordial Dragon," Saku spoke up. "Before there were any deities - even before the world had formed, this being and beings like it existed. Somewhere in their minds exists a desire to return all existence to that cosmic soup."

"Romania has had good luck with dragons," the agent reasoned. Mona began applying the Amazon super-secret healing goop (I suspected it was cottage cheese, cinnamon and aloe).

"I think I can restore everything," Delilah sighed at the computer, "but it is going to take a while."

"You should lie down and allow the unguent to soak into your wounds," Mona 'advised'.

"I'll stand guard over him. The rest of you...don't," Rachel glared at the assembly. Riki and Flaviu were confused about this turn of events. To them, Rachel seemed a fair-faced guardian drone and they didn't attribute much initiative to her. They both knew that she was the head of my Security detachment, yet they didn't equate that to authority over me.

The two sisters were still trying to keep their heads above water. Vincent and Chaz understood our relationship due to their previous experience with us, but that didn't require them to see as much personal interaction. Odette, Virginia and Delilah knew the score and knew how strongly I appreciated Rachel's council. Rachel set me down in a window seat, pushed my seat back and then did the same for herself.

"Cáel," Rachel took a deep breath, "I wanted to tell you that you are doing better." That caught me off-guard. "Your combat instincts are strong and getting stronger."

"This would be a bad time to tell you I took a long, private walk with my Grandfather then, wouldn't it?" I was suitably worried about her temper.

Rachel's head came down on my chest, forehead to sternum. After a few seconds, I put an arm around her and patted her back.

"I gained valuable intelligence for the Host," I tried to comfort her.

"Of course you did," she mumbled onto my skin. "You can't simply do something stupid for stupid's sake. You always have to find a way to make it worthwhile."

"Are you going to come after me on the Great Hunt?" I referred to my post-internship group festivity that would have my being stalked by an as-of-yet to be determined group of my sisters.

"Why wouldn't I?" she murmured. "I finally get to hit you, knock you down and tie you up. Aaahhh," she sighed. "It's a dream of mine."

"It's good to know you find me inspirational," I cooed to her softly.

"Don't force me make some pre-emptive adjustments to your anatomy," she whispered back. I awkwardly twisted my neck so that I could kiss the top of her head. That got Odette's attention. Thankfully she was smart enough to leave Rachel alone so she could de-stress.

(The Legacy of the Dragon)

It turned out we didn't need to go the cemetery. The modern work on our gravesites had been very thoroughly explored by a Serbian Professor of Eastern European Studies, Dr. Arsenije Loma. It also turned out we didn't have to go to Serbia to find him. He'd moved to Miercurea Ciuc five years ago with his entire family. Apparently they had a nice spread west of the town, too.

This was not happenchance. This was both the personal history of Alkonyka and the product of her intuitive internet search. The link should have been tenuous, except it was a rising/setting Sun. The Sun Goddess was Arinniti. Added to that were a worm's bonanza-buffet of Nyilases just down the road. There were definitely other Nyilases still alive, but not in this area. And Nyilas was a rather utilitarian name - Hungarian for 'archer'.

As for the sisters; there were other Lovaszes in the county, but none were close relations. Their family's name tree was pruned four generations back going through a lone boy and a quartet of great-great aunts. That information left me deeply confused. The Dragon-Lady wasn't trying to bum-rush me anymore. She merely hovered around expectantly, as if there was something important for me to figure out.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 34



Flaviu flexed his governmental muscle once more, allowing us to highjack a few county vehicles. That joy lasted about fifteen minutes. Flaviu had gotten a call; Virginia relayed the news that it sounded like someone was putting his feet to the fire. They were in a separate van. Unfortunately, she didn't know Romanian. 

Even less pleasing was the answer to that dilemma as Tiger Lily stopped us in the white pebble driveway to the Professor Loma's manor house. Either Eastern Europe had a different pay scale for academics, or this guy came from money. Charlotte was out the passenger side door first while Pamela opened the van door.

"Did anyone think to call ahead to say we were stopping by?" I tossed out there. No one responded, which implied we'd dropped the ball. 

"The local university said he wasn't coming in today," Riki said, then her phone rang. She put a little thing on it that screamed 'super-spy stuff'.

That was good news. Pamela went exploring. Charlotte backed me up, accepting that her armed and armored self might not project the positive first impression we would need. The Romanian SIE agent came sprinting my way before I dropped the door knocker.

[Romanian] "Mr. Nyilas! Mr. Nyilas!" he yelled. Nice. Now the people inside knew my name.

[Romanian] "Yes?" I regarded him politely. Riki wasn't coming out of the van.

[Romanian] "The Russians want to talk with you," he seemed excited.

[Romanian] "That's nice. Tell them I'm busy. When I wrap up this business, I'll give them a call." What else was I supposed to say?

[Romanian] "No, they are sending someone to see you," he clarified.

[Romanian] "Fine, when will they get here?" I huffed.

[Romanian] "About an hour. Helicopters of the 903rd and 904th Helicopter Squadrons are bringing her here," he exulted.

"Her?" followed by "Ouch!" when Delilah smacked me in the back with Riki's laptop case.

"Stay on task, Dummy," Delilah teased me. "You are like a dog seeing a squirrel."

"If you are calling him a dog," Odette sang out, "you've got it half right."

[Romanian] "The Russian Foreign Minister asked my Foreign Minister to fly their military attaché to meet with you," he kept going. "What is this about?"

[Romanian] "They are banking-rolling my rise to power, Mr. Molnar. I'm reviving the Kingdom of the Lands of the Crown of Saint Stephen," I winked - he blinked. "Honestly sir, I haven't a clue why the Russians want to chat with me. I'm sure she'll let me know." He didn't like my non-answer. I rapped the door knocker.

The door opened up and there stood a cute...honestly, I had work to do, damn it!

[Romanian] "Hello, I'm Cáel Nyilas," I presented my Irish ID. It looked the most impressive.

"I'm Dijana Loma and it's okay, I speak English," she dazzled me with her 'you look sexy' smile.

"Listening at the door long?" I teased her. She sashayed her hips. I was in trouble.

Why was I in trouble? Freaky Dragon Lady was standing behind the girl looking at me rather impatiently.

"Yes," she snickered. "Since your three vans pulled up in the driveway. Plus, today's been pretty boring so far."

"So, how is high school treating you," I prayed for her to be underage.

"I'm a freshman in college," she wiggled her hips once more.

"Of course you are," I shook my head. "Can I see your dad?"

"He's boring - I'm not," she grinned.

"I'm a very disreputable character," I cautioned her. "I'm hated by women on three continents. You shouldn't trust me."

"I don't," this precocious imp kept playing with me. I fell to my knees.

"Please, have mercy. I'm so lonely for female companionship right now, but I have work to do that involves your father," I begged. 

Dijana looked past me to the various women waiting to come in.

"What are all those?" she pointed with her chin.

"They are all 'No-Fun Smurfs'," I warned her.

"Oh, that's why you want to shoot him," Vincent addressed to Delilah.

"I don't want to shoot him," Delilah corrected her American ally. "I want to wrap him up in duct tape and keep him in a closet until Christmas. Totally different thing."

"They don't seem to like you very much," Dijana noted as I stood up.

"No Miss, we all love him and we'd love him even more if he'd get back on task," Chaz stated, totally deadpan.

"Thanks Chaz, that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me," I looked over my shoulder. "I take back what I said earlier. I would feel comfortable in a communal shower with you."

"Shut the fuck up, Carl," Chaz replied laconically. "Work? Remember?"

"I thought your name was Cáel," my latest temptation inquired.

"It is," I shrugged. "I find it best to not correct Chaz though. He's a professional."

"A professional what?" Dijana kept at it.

"He's in landscape design," I beamed. "The kind that normally involves airstrikes, artillery and copious amounts of man-portable kinetic energy."

"You could have just said he was a soldier," she snorted.

"No...no, he can't," Charlotte muttered.

"I'm a colorful manipulator of the spoken word," I sighed. "Can I see your dad, please?"

"Okay," she smiled, turned tightly, ass slightly thrust back at me, and off she went.

I made my progress through the house nice and slow, and not only to scope out her pre-twenty tight butt. I was also letting Charlotte and Chaz, who were right behind me, scope out the environment as we moved. A young man and woman were halfway down the stairs when they spotted us.

[Romanian] "Sis?" the male asked.

[Romanian] "They're some people here to see Da," she replied.

[Romanian] "I'm Cáel Nyilas," I gave a mock-salute. "I'm interested in dead people."

[Romanian] "I'm Vasilije and this is my girlfriend, Hajnalka," he made the introductions. The freaky she-thing was indicating that I should look at the guy. He was important. I didn't know why.

Dijana led me back to her father's spacious study, curtailing my conversation with his son and his son's romantic interest.

"Da, you have some visitors," Dijana announced to her father. "This is Cáel Nyilas. He's an Irish diplomat and he has interest in your work."

You would expect that several armed people walking around your domicile would elicit some sort of concerned response. Not this guy. He looked up, gave a gentle smile, stood and shook my hand.

"Welcome to my home," he said in heavily-accented English. "What can I do for you?"

"Professor Loma, I'm interested the 'Rising Sun' symbol from this region of Romania that you've referenced in your published works," I said.

"Oh...where do you want me to start," he sat back down.

"Let's start at the beginning and assume I know nothing of this area's history," I said, leaning against his desk.

"It all began when this cave was discovered in the Harghita Mountains by hikers in 1953," the Professor began. "Initially, the investigating officials decided it was a mass grave where the advancing Soviets had killed Hungarian partisans in 1944." That was a politic way of saying the advancing Russians murdered captured Hungarian and Székely soldiers - the latter were probably native to the region.

"Worried about regional tensions, Bucharest (Romania's capital) decided to rebury the dead with a few bones going to the Babeș-Bolyai University in Cluj. In 1968, a visiting professor from Krakow came across the bones there and was curious about the damage they'd sustained. With some effort, he and the staff did some radio-carbon dating...and they discovered that one fibula came from the 2nd century CE while the second bone, a femur, was from five hundred years earlier - mid-4th century BCE.

After some effort, a joint Romanian-Yugoslavian-French archeological team explored both the cave and the reburial site in 1971. They found there were well over two thousand dead - all men in their middle years dating from the late 7th century BCE to the mid-2nd century CE. It was amazing ... all the men were beaten to death. 

The only religious iconography we could find was a cave drawing in an elevated nook. It is a series of pictographs," he finished with a grin. "That's what drew me here in 2009." Then he showed me the first picture. It was a very crude figure of a man with his arms upraised. His left hand had a clear circle around it. The right arm had a dark circle with a larger, white 'X' through it.

"What were the other pictures like?" I inquired. He showed me a larger picture that scrolled over the entire length of the primitive mural. The rightmost figure was larger than the rest...he had a long-handled axe in his right hand and a bow in the left, both upraised. Then came three more figures, linked hand-in-hand.

The middle of the three had a circle around his head. The one on the right had his hand upraised, yet empty. The one on the left held a bow upraised. The first figure I'd seen anchored the left end of the line. Over each figure was a series of scratchings. You would have to know what you were looking for, to understand those chicken-scratches. It was Old Kingdom Hittite.

Beyond the first man I'd seen was a half-risen/fallen Sun...then I made out the triangle on the left while the center and right of the horizon was flat. Beyond the Sun were three taller figures. Two were clearly women while the third was a serpent. The first woman was drawn in red, the second was in yellow and the serpent was white.

"It is that figure that fascinates me," the Professor indicated with renewed excitement.

"What about it?" I murmured.

"I've seen it repeatedly throughout the Balkans; everywhere but here - in Transylvania. In this one cave is the only symbol like that in the entire region. And it makes no sense, because it is also the oldest depiction of that figure that has ever been found."

"Which means?" I was curious. I knew I was missing something crucial.

"I'm not sure. It is an archeological void. It is here, perhaps the cave was in use until the fall of the Dacian Kingdom to Emperor Trajan in 106 CE," he educated me. "Then it appears again in the late 7th century in Thrace," seeing my confusion, "Bulgaria."

"It remains in a few villages in the region until the 9th century, when it starts cropping up in various Slavic lands from northern Thessalonica to Croatia by the 11th century. In 1054 the symbol is associated with two name - здухаћ and ветровњак depending on which Orthodox Church records you read. In the West, they are called zduhać and vetrovnjak."

Coolness. I was waiting for the punch-line, if there was one. This guy was obviously used to talking to things that couldn't talk back and couldn't flee.

"Convergent with this mythology was another peasant belief and in 1813, near ... well anyway, those mythologies finally came together - Dragon men," he beamed joy.

"Men who are half-dragons?" I reposed. I had another idea where this was going.

"No - no," he shook his head. "Men who mate with Dragons to forestall their wrath - exhibited by storms and other weather related calamities."

"On the cave wall," I nodded. "The white 'X' on the shield is actually crossed lightning bolts and the 'S' is a dragon."

The man's mouth popped open in surprise.

"You see it too," his head bobbed happily.

"Yeah. It gets better," I sighed. "Is there a high cliff near that cave those bones were found in?"

He had to think about it before he accessed one of books. 

One picture, not of the site, but close by, showed that there were indeed, high cliffs about.

"Those mean weren't beaten to death," I enlightened him. "They committed ritual suicide in a process called 'taking yourself to the cliffs'."

"How do you know that?" He was clearly intrigued by the idea, as it helped put some strange pieces together.

"I know of a society that does that today," I answered. "Usually, when they feel age is overcoming them, they say good-bye to their families and meet their end on their terms." My long-ago ancestors had seen themselves as Amazons and kept to their traditions, up to and including their method of death.

"Do you have any proof of that?" he worried.

"Which explanation makes more sense?" I postulated. "That a cult murdered people in rural Transylvania for eight hundred years and no one suspected, or that an insular society, practicing their own religious practices, lived here ... and their end of life traditions included a fatal leap to meet their demise."

"I concur, and it makes the nature of all the bludgeoning wounds make more sense. I can certainly have some members of the County Hospital take a look at some of the remains to see if they will support this hypothesis," the doctor was missing the obvious - like how I knew.

"I'm glad we are making some progress," I grinned. "So how many of these markers are there and are any names attached to them?"

"Oh!" he piped up. "That's the other fascinating part of story. Starting in the early nineteenth century, the families with that particular grave iconography started dying out."

"That's unfortunate," I remarked. My job was getting easier.

"It gets even more interesting," he continued, implying that my job might not be getting easier. 

"You see, the males of those lines have been dying under mysterious, even nefarious, circumstances," he was almost giddy...sort of like the teenage-me with the latest Victoria Secret's catalog. "They've been expiring like that for the past two hundred years. There are almost none left. In fact, my children and I may the only surviving ones among people born under that sign."

"Cáel, is there a conspiracy to wipe out this man's bloodline?" Chaz inquired politely.

"Hold on," I gave Chaz pause. "You said that only the men have been getting offed?"

"Yes...what do you mean by conspiracy? Who kills random people for 200 years?" he was again clearly ignoring the obvious - like all the armed people in his house.

Dot Ishara pretty much assured me I was the last Isharan, until my baby-making exploits. Of the Arinniti sons, there was no sign. Why was someone offing the males of House Illuyankamunus, unless that blood line was like mine - carried through the Y-chromosome? But, we had a House Illuyankamunus, although there were only eight of them.

"Chaz, yes, I think his life and the life of his two sons are in danger," I addressed the Brit. "I think his daughter may be a peripheral target as well."

"What makes you think our lives are in danger?" the Professor was gripped with disbelief. He was a solid academic and a firm believer in the Rule of Law and that European society had matured beyond the need to use force to solve its problems. 

I was thinking in expanding circles of coincidence and logic. The Dacia Draco - the totem of the Dacian Kingdom, the tool of terror those people used against all their enemies. In that pre-Roman kingdom...what if the male Amazons had taken a role, serving as elite warriors for those Thracian kings? 

The Dragon hadn't been a random pagan symbol, it had been a tribute to their Dragon Goddess - the only Goddess who had not abandoned them. The Romans must have slaughtered most of those Amazon sons and daughters. The most significant faction had left the homeland and continued their religious observances elsewhere. 

I supposed they did it so that the Arinniti and Isharans could go into hiding while they continued to practice their dragon-rites. Two hundred years ago, someone had figured out what was going on and killed...the males. Yet, Illuyankamunus was interested in the Lovasz sisters. While I'd been having my chat with the Professor, more people had come into the room.

Rachel directed her team to go over the terrain around the spacious house. She'd left Chaz, Selena and Vincent with me. Virginia, Odette and Delilah had gone to the kitchen with the Loma children (they'd sprouted a younger brother). The Lovasz sisters were with me, as was Flaviu. Pamela was wherever she was.

"Cáel," Riki rushed into the study, "we have a problem." That meant either I had a problem, or the United States had a problem with me. One look into her eyes told me this wasn't something that could go away quickly.

"Alkonyka, could you stick with the professor and find out if any more of you are hanging around," I requested then..."Oh God, Alkonyka, your Dad was murdered."

"What?" she and her sister looked my way.

"It fits with the Professor's discovers," I suggested. "I'll be back ASAP." I followed Riki out of the room and half way down the hallway to the kitchen. Flaviu stayed close, too. "What's up?" I inquired.

"We have received intelligence that the Russians are looking for some sort of military agreement with the Khanate and you are supposed to finalize the deal," Riki studied me. "What are they talking about?" she added.

I didn't go 'umm', 'ah' and prevaricate. "How did the Russians know how to find me?" I asked.

"We told them - the taskforce - at the insistence of Ms. Love," she replied. She was on edge and I couldn't blame her.

"Then let's re-examine those maps your people sent," I stated. "There has to be something there I've missed." I was back in the Havenstone 'intuit your task' mindset. Chaz stuck with us. A few quick, worried looks by the kids left Riki, Chaz, Delilah, Flaviu and me alone in the kitchen. I went back to examining all the data I'd been given.

Delilah began giving me the picture of the aerial struggle going on. In that portion of the globe, the Khanate held the advantage with the Russian Air Forces a close second and the PLAAF behind them. The Chinese still had comparable numbers, but their remaining quality was very inferior to the other two players. 

Between the Khanate and Russians, the quality was close to the same, but the Khanate had the greater numbers and now, the actual combat experience. "If the PLAAF (People's Liberation Army Air Force) and the Russian aviation team up, the Khanate's offensive will falter," Delilah finished up her analysis.

Boom! Everyone wasn't looking at it the right way. They saw too few Khanate forces and I was wagering that they were focusing on the illusion of that weakness, not its strength. The Khanate needed to concentrate its forces and that meant they were feinting. It was the whispered voice of Alal coming into play. 

I perceived Temujin's intentions through the lense of a Master of War. The Khanate offensive against Heilongjiang province was one colossal dual-deception. He was deceiving both the PLA and the Russians into thinking he was going to ravage the region. No one believed he could seize it, but he didn't have to. 

He could wreck the country pretty effectively by maintaining air superiority (which he had established) and the use of mobile forces outside the urban areas. The problem was that it was resource intensive for the struggling Khanate and eventually futile. He couldn't effectively besiege the cities nor stop the Chinese from supplying them. 

Eventually the PLA would become strong enough to drive him out. Losses for no gain. Unless, he could deny the People's Republic of China Heilongjiang without invading. Enter the Russians. If he could convince the Chinese he could take the province, they wouldn't put up too much of a fuss when the Russians intervened.

The Russians could intervene because the Khanate had smashed the major PLA forces facing the Russian Army. The problem Temujin was facing now was how to guarantee the Russians did cross over the Chinese frontier. Numbers...well, they were sitting right there in the Russian city of Chita. Chaz told me the proper terminology was 'Force Projection'. 

Numbers alone didn't matter. It was the numbers you could bring to the battlefield that were critical. One Russian Army, the 5th, was placed defensively, warding the primary Russian Pacific port of Vladivostok. It could enter Northeastern China, but the terrain was hellish. Another army, the 35th, was where it needed to be - opposite the main avenue to invade the Heilongjiang heartland. 




Life as a New Hire Ch. 34



The Russians had two other armies in the Far East Military District, the large 29th (Chita) and the smaller 36th (Ulan Ude), except they were on the wrong (northwestern) side of Nin Mongol. That was the force projection Temujin needed. I needed to get the Russians from Chita and Ulan Ude through Khanate conquered territory and into Heilongjiang...and then the Chinese would be truly screwed.

The Khanate couldn't take the Chinese Northeast, so the next best thing was have the Russians control it, denying it to the PRC. I was working over the proper military/diplomatic phrasing with Riki and Delilah when this older woman opened the rear exterior door to the kitchen and walked in, juggling two bags of groceries.

She looked perturbed, not fearful, until she caught sight of my arm sheath. That worried her.

[Romanian] "My apologize Madam," I stood up straight. "I am Cáel Nyilas and I have some business with Professor Loma." Shit. She had the same knife-sheath. [Old Kingdom Hittite] "What house are you with?" That froze her in mid-stride.

[OKH] "Please, do not kill my children," she regarded me with some degree of hopelessness. She cast about the others. Tiger Lily came through the door behind her.

[OKH] "Why would I...oh, I am Cáel Wakko Ishara, Head of House Ishara and Chief Diplomat of the Host, and I wish to talk with you," I preempted the crisis.

[OKH] "You are a male and House Ishara is a dead house," she countered. She gave Tiger Lily a quick glance.

[OKH] "She is a renegade," Tiger Lily rumbled. That meant an Amazon who had forsaken the race.

[OKH] "Tiger Lily, who is in charge here?" I requested. I also began taking my guns out and placing them on the kitchen counter. The rest didn't know the lingo, but could smell the unease.

[OKH] "You are, Wakko Ishara," she responded.

[OKH] "How...is my family okay?" the woman asked.

[OKH] "Yes. They are the reason we are here, though it has everything to do with my status as an Ash Man and nothing to do about you," I enlightened her. "Your husband and your children are members of a lost bloodline of House Illuyankamunus. Are you armed?"

[Romanian] "No." I took her one of my Glock-22's, dropped the magazine, chambered out the round in the barrel and handed her the three pieces.

She examined the gun for a moment, looked into my eyes, then put the bullet in the mag, reloaded the pistol and moved the slide to put a bullet in place. 

[OKH] "Thank you, Ishara," she nodded. "May I see my children?"

[Romanian] "It is your house," I replied. "We are guests."

[OKH] "Who did you abandon?" Tiger Lily shot. The woman flinched.

[OKH] "I was Aliz of House Hylonome," she responded, "and I chose to live free." Hylonome ... Hylonome? Oh, the Centaur Goddess. Aliz left. Tiger Lily had a whispered conversation on her communication gear.

Finishing up the 'Russian' problem, plus Faviu's informing us we had 15 minutes before the Russian Attaché to Bucharest arrived, allowed me to check back with the Professor and Alkonyka. There were no 'Sun' graves after 1927 in the Székely Lands, but there were some name matches with Hungarian POW's captured by the British at the end of World War II.

Bizarrely, three of the names ended up being mis-shuffled to Czechoslovakia instead of being sent back to Romania (and a prison camp.) Before the mix-up could be rectified, they applied for and got passports for themselves and their families to Brazil - a grand total of fourteen people aged between 68 and 3. 

Since they weren't wanted in Czechoslovakia, the government let them go. The two researchers hadn't been able to trace the group's movement after that, due to a mutual lack of Portuguese linguistic skills. The situation was still promising. All I had to do was figure out how to launch my next hunt during Carnival.

What was I going to say to the Russians? Life intervened. Chaz tapped me.

"A motorcyclist crashed 100 meters down the driveway. A young girl has crawled from under it, but is bloody and confused. The girl is sitting in the road, not going anywhere," he said.

"Inform Rachel I would like the girl retrieved," I relayed.

No, I wasn't going. The driveway to this house was almost a kilometer from the local highway. The western side of the drive was cleared and mowed for roughly 10 meters. The eastern side was open with low brush all the way down to the Olt River, about 1500 meters. Whomever retrieved the child would be very exposed. We had true professionals for this kind of work.

Rachel selected Selena, Wiesława and Odette to make the retrieval. Odette had volunteered. Selena would drive one of the vans, Odette would make the pick-up of the child then jump back into the van while Wiesława provided close support. Rachel allowed Odette to do the job because she respected Odette's courage ... and the person wrangling the child would be rendered non-combative anyway.

This deployment allowed the SD to cover the four corners of the building. Pamela would hold a sniper's position from within the house. Virginia and Vincent both asked to go in Odette's place. Rachel nixed that. Her call was to use Vincent/Delilah and me/Chaz as two reaction teams if needed, in case this was a set up. Saku replaced Mona at her position.

Riki and Flaviu gathered up the Loma family in the upstairs library. The entire plan took twenty-seven seconds to implement. How cool was that? The van rolled down to the downed bike. The girl didn't start to react until Odette got to her - then she began to lash out and try to flee. A combination of the girl's wounds and Odette's ferocious persistence got the girl into the back of the van with fifteen seconds.

Wiesława backed in through the van's side door. The second her ass hit the floor, Selena raced the van back to the house - driving backwards. Since the sliding door was on the right side, Selena spun it around in a deft display of automotive acrobatics. Behind the screen of Wiesława's body, Odette got the girl inside the manor house and deposited in front of Mona.

[Romanian] "No - no," the girl babbled. That was expected. Her next words were not. "Hylonome - Hylonome - [OKH] "Please help me."

[OKH] "Are you a member of the Host?" Mona requested urgently.

[OKH] "Yes," the girl's depression alleviated slightly. "Are you Aliz?"

[OKH] "No. I am Mona of House Jaya. I am with the Security Detail and you are in the presence of Cáel Wakko Ishara, head of House Ishara," she educated the child.

[Romanian] "Aliz," I called upstairs, "we need you." While I waited on her, Mona went over the litany of the child's wounds. 

There were multiple scraps and abrasions, but the highlights were a blade wound to the head and a gunshot wound on the left side - nasty looking but not too serious. Aliz Loma came down the stairs. She recognized the style of the child's braiding instantly.

[OKH] "I am Aliz, child. Who are you, how do you know who I am and why are you here?" she requested.

[OKH] "I am Zola, childe of Anna, your sister," the girl gasped as Mona started cleaning her wounds. The people gathered around were learning a basic of Amazon medicine. They rarely used anesthetic of any kind. "Hedwig found you years ago and it was judged that you had made your choice and were not a threat to our band." 

Hedwig turned out to be the old head of Zola's Amazon nomadic band. The Hylonome were dedicated wanderers. They had never embraced the sedentary lifestyle of their sisters, choosing the life of under the open sky. After World War II, some bands had transferred their mobility to motorcycles - the Hylonome traveled lean. Zola's band was the latter type.

That they had allowed Aliz to live a mundane life spoke to the difference between the freehold Amazons and the nomads. Nomads most likely had a greater understanding of such things because they constantly moved along the fringes of non-Amazon cultures and they had no set location to be betrayed. In all likelihood, forgiveness still hadn't been the norm, but it obviously occurred.

[OKH] "Zola, what happened to you?" Aliz squeezed her niece's hand.

[OKH] "A giant with many men - they overran our camp," she sobbed. "They were everywhere. Aaahhh...Kara put me on her bike and told me to run...run to you and to tell you to warn the others."

[OKH] "Warn us of what?" I knelt beside the child. I was missing something.

[OKH] "An Amazon betrayed us to our enemies. She contacted two of our house in town last night. She was Amazon, yet when we were attacked, she killed our people," the girl related. I described Molpadia/Kwenhamai to what was probably the sole survivor of that massacre.

[OKH] "Yes Ishara. That is woman. Who is she and why did she betray us?"

[OKH] "I'll tell you later. When did this happen and where?" I pressed.

[OKH] "The Castle of the Red-Orange Skulls after the midday meal," she replied. (Red-Orange translated to seven. After the midday meal meant ~ three hours ago, maybe. The rest...)

[OKH] "I know where that is," Aliz nodded. "It was a fortified outpost built by the Transylvanians to stand against the Tartars. The Ottomans destroyed it in the 16th century and it was never repaired," she explained. "We have used it for centuries." She shook her head. "We, as in 'the Hylonome'," she corrected. I was angry, yet anger wasn't going to get any of us anywhere. We could all be in danger if Ajax and company were this close.

Then I heard the helicopters. The Russian Attaché was coming to ask me (the Khanate) to help out her (the Russian Federation). Flaviu joined us downstairs. I felt my anger chill down to a cold resolve.

[Romanian] "Mr. Molnar, are there any military troops close by?" I asked our local liaison.

[Romanian] "We have the 61st Mountain Troops Brigade here in Miercurea Ciuc," he hesitantly answered. "Why?"

[Romanian] "How would you like to change the course of history? The Russians need a favor from me and I need a favor from you," I hinted.

[Romanian] "What do you need the troops for?" he worried.

[Romanian] "For what everyone throughout history has needed fighters for. I'm going to kill some people," I stated with my best feral grin.

[Romanian] "Shouldn't we call the police?" he countered.

"No...Mr. Molnar, what do you think of me?" I reposted.

"Ah...you are somewhat of a dilettante," he gave me his assessment. Inside a blink of an eye, I had the barrel of my clock making an imprint on his forehead.

"Let me make this perfectly clear. I'm going after the people that did this. If I go with what I have, we are all going to die. That being the case, you will most likely try to stop me, so I might as well kill you now," I made steady eye contact. "If you want to live, get me those troops."

"I can't simply order these troops into a battle," he said fearfully.

"I know you can't do it alone," I nodded. "When the Russians and the United States make their request, all I want you to do is tell your people in the Foreign Office that this is a serious threat and that only the Romanian Army can save the day...and not just here, but in China too."

"Mr. Molnar, I think I know what's going on," Riki Martin added from half way down the stairs. "I'm going to call the United States military mission to Romanian and my State Department. I think I know what Cáel is up to," she continued. "I believe if you, me and the Russian emissary plead our desperate case, we can get those troops. Time is of the essence."

"Okay. I will do what I can," the Romanian agent agreed. I put my gun back up.

It was all still a long shot. The Russians had to agree to my proposal and to put pressure on our host country to put their men in Harm's Way. I also had to get rolling before Ajax moved on to his next target. The Condottieri was hitting the Amazons in Europe...and probably in Africa. I needed one final token to give us a chance of defeating the Unconquered. Lucky for me, it was a standard item for heavily armed law enforcement types.

World News: ... A Behind the Scenes Report

As Foreign intelligence analysts, members of the Russian Federations Defense Staff and their special advisors examined the 'Khanate' proposal, they didn't understand it. On the surface, it was insane and, at the same time, accomplished their mission directives. The military leaders were looking at the Intelligence staff, who could only shrug.

What had Russia promised for this bounty? Not a damn thing, which only made everyone all that more suspicious. Outwardly, the Khanate plan was a gamble for the Russian Army, yet...the true risk would be momentary - 36 hours max. The nod was given, the President of Russia was called. Three minutes later, he called back. Operation 'Funhouse' was a go.

In Beijing, there was one man who was terribly unhappy with this plan. His name was Andrey Ivanovich Denisov and he was 'Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary of the Russian Federation to the People's Republic of China'. He was also about to give his opposite number in the People's Republic of China, Foreign Minster Wang Yi, some really bad news.

Putin had spoken. Russia was coming to help China, whether it wanted the help or not. It got worse. The Russian Air Force was going to enforce a 'No Fly Zone' over Northeastern China in eight hours and they were already putting the motion before the UN Security Council's members to 'explain' their actions.

Denisov's chief military advisor had pointed out one niggling issue: the 'No Fly' Zone over Northeastern China would cover portions of Khanate controlled territory as well as the balance of the area, essentially allowing them to shift resources elsewhere while the Russian Air Force protected their territorial gains. Andrey wasn't sure how this would NOT be construed as an Act of War. He was even more concerned about how he'd get back to the embassy without suffering an 'unfortunate accident'.

London and Washington were coming to the same conclusion. Technically, they could simply deny they even had copies of 'Operation Funhouse'. Politically, this was manna from Heaven. Putin couldn't strong arm both the Ukraine and the PRC. His priorities had switched, so now NATO could jump into the Ukraine which would appease their democratic constituencies.

There were also larger economic/political issues to look at. Europe had constantly been threatened by Russia's interference with the oil and natural gas pipelines that first pass through Russia before crossing the Ukraine and Belarus and heading off to Central and Western Europe. A great deal of that fuel originated in what was now the Khanate. 

If the Khanate survived, and viewed the US and UK favorably, the 'oil and natural gas' boot would be on the other foot. If Russia threatened the European Democracies' petrochemical supplies, the Khanate could threaten to cut off Russia as well. The old Republic of Kazakhstan never had the will to confront Russia. The Khanate was turning out to be a very different beast.

Because the world didn't need any more ominous rumblings, catastrophe and madness collided in Pyongyang, North Korea. North Korea was an energy exporter, with most of its power coming from coal-fired plants and hydro-electric facilities. The problem was you can't run armored vehicles and combat aircraft on electric power. You needed oil.

North Korea's oil came from China - Liaoning province to be precise, and Liaoning was getting hammered around the clock by the Khanate. The oil pipeline had ruptured and it would be months before it was fixed. In that situation, a sane nation would have shopped around for other avenue of imported oil. But we were talking about North Korea here.

Kim Jung-un was looking down the barrels of another famine (trucks and tractors need petrol too) as well as the far more important reduction in the Korean People's Army's readiness. He saw himself possessing the World's 4th largest military and it was in danger of running out of fuel...and Liaoning province was sitting right across the Yalu River...all helpless-like.

End World News Behind the Scenes Report 

(The Unconquered)

In the annals of martial history, the bloodiest - costliest battles are when elites face elites. As corny and melodramatic as it sounds, the truth is that neither has 'surrender' in their creed. They attack, defend, ambush, shoot, stab and kill one another until one side loses the capacity to carry on the struggle. It is a grapple to the death.

All of Ajax's men were hardened killers - ten year veterans of the Trojan Wars every; one of them. The ranks of the 22nd Mountain Troops Battalion were filled with numerous combat-tested soldiers of the Afghan War. These Romanians were some of the finest combatants produced by the Romanian Army. The two companies earmarked for sealing off the road as a retreat route were about to find out what the price of being elite really was.

They were fighting for their homeland, avenging their slain (technically, the slaughtered Amazons were Romanians) and had generations of their own warriors, dating back to the First World War, whose legacy of ferocity they had to maintain. Ajax had the advantage in technology and surprise. The Romanians had numbers, experience with the terrain and the advantage of multi-dimensional warfare.

The lead vehicles of the 22nd had rounded the hilly terrain to the East of the Castle of Seven Skulls when they collided with Ajax's team rolling away from those ruins. The Mountain Troops were fast - Ajax's team was faster. One soldier stepped out of his still-braking Eagle transport. 

He snap-shot a Panzerfaust 3, a light anti-tank weapon, blowing up the first Romanian Piranha IIIc. Two Eagles further down the column, a second team member put another Panzerfaust into the follow-up 22nd MLVN (armored personal carrier). That was as good as it got. The third vehicle, another MLVN swung partially around its burning brethren and poured automatic fire into Ajax's lead Eagle, turning huge chunks of that 'Hummer on Steroids' transport into shrapnel.

Trading vehicle for vehicle wasn't something Ajax could afford. For the Romanians, they couldn't race past the blocked road without incurring horrendous losses themselves. Besides, by holding their ground and keeping the enemy focused on them, they were fulfilling their part of the plan. The Mountain Troops disgorged from their MLVN's, spreading out into the meadow on either side of the path and were quickly bounding forward by fire.

Ajax reacted quickly. His heavy weapons would allow him to attrition the enemy in front of him, yet he'd be a fool to think they were alone. He knew he was facing army troops, not police. That spelled serious trouble. He ordered his column to reverse course back into the wood cover. He lost his second Eagle to intensive fire.

The warriors in the main column bailed out once they reached the shelter of the trees. Machineguns came forward and established a withering cover fire. The two survivors at the first Eagle were badly wounded. With fatalistic resolve, they lashed the advancing Romanians with grenades and their assault rifles until they were both silenced. The second Eagle's demise was much harder.

Three of the four crew were alive and unharmed. Their fate was decided by 25 meters of open ground between them and their compatriots. Ajax's gunners kept firing, but the Romanians refused to be suppressed. Worse, that second MLVN was proving impossible to kill. Its driver had parked it so that barely the front of his vehicle body and turret were exposed.

Two more of Ajax's precious anti-tank rockets failed to connect, though one did knock the first destroyed IFV into that troublesome vehicle. These were Ajax's brothers-in-arms, yet he knew their situation was hopeless. He cursed that his opposition wasn't made up of raw conscripts. Despite their losses, they were not wavering. Their morale remained solid. 




Life as a New Hire Ch. 34



The Romanians had spread out to the north and south. They were leap-frogging their machineguns forward and it was clear he was facing over 200 men. The 22nds advance was relentless. Soon they'd be right on top of his trapped men. As a final ploy he dropped two smoke grenades around the endangered trio and every other grenade launcher dropped their payloads onto the aggressive Romanians. 

The three men ran for it. Their enemy were nobody's fool and sprayed their retreat path with bullets. Only one made it to safety. 

For the Romanian battalion's commander in his command IFV, this was its own kind of Hell. His boys were getting murdered out there. He hadn't really believed the sketchy intelligence analysis that described his expected foes as the finest trained mercenaries the world has ever seen. Now he was a believer. His opponents reacted like an organic unit. Their weapons were incredibly lethal and their discipline was chilling. Ajax's snipers picked off anyone who seemed to be in charge. One Captain fell, as did two lieutenants. One section lost all its non-commissioned officers. 

Despite that, individual initiative kept the 'leaderless' men of the 22nd advancing. Their snipers came into play by targeting the opposing machineguns. One gunner went down, then the other. To get one man back, Ajax had lost five dead, or seriously wounded. Ajax ordered the remaining Eagles back to the castle. The rest of the Warband would have to make a fighting retreat. 

He'd killed or wounded a third of the Romanians out there, yet they were still coming. Even as he pulled out, he got two more pieces of bad: 

First - his scouts had reported hearing helicopters as they returned toward the castle; this latest enemy was somewhere behind him - to the east. 

Second - two Mig-21's dropped out of the sky and raked his area with rockets and auto-cannon fire; eight more men gone. 

Ajax may not have been the greatest military mind of all time, but wasn't a fool. He was being boxed in. Since it was highly unlikely the Hylonome Amazons had sacrificed themselves, this was an ad hoc plan to take him out. Instead of hunting down that male Amazon as he wanted, Ajax had let the Condottieri side-track him on this mission. Now, it was proving far too costly. 

A whistle, a few traded hand signals and the Mycenaeans started sprinting back upslope toward the castle ruins. It wasn't a rout. His men maintained their élan and cohesion. Ajax was trading space for time and the Romanians wouldn't chase his men as fast as the Mycenaeans were moving because there was always the threat of ambush. Or, they wouldn't have if an An-30 Reconnaissance Aircraft hadn't been tracking his progress from high above.

Just coming on-line, it identified the heat signatures of the Greeks and let the soldiers of the 22nd know that their enemies were trying to put some distance between them. The battalion commander knew his men had been mangled, yet believed they were still more than willing carry the fight to the enemy. Right as the 'pursuit' order went out, the promised company from the 24th Mountain troops rolled up...with the 61st Brigade's 385th artillery battalion. 'Now things were really going to get hot for those bastards', he thought.

(The Seven Skulls - Cáel)

I was true to my nature. I sent off my plan, Operation Funhouse, to the Russians via their attaché (a hot looking, curvaceous blonde Major) and to the Khanate through the offices of the US and UK. Only after that was done, did I ask for my favor. I wasn't going to bargain with the fate of Temujin's people. I couldn't. 

My only chip to play was that people in strange places thought well of me. I wasn't so naïve to believe that I got what I wanted because I'd forged emotional bonds that superseded personal ambitions or national loyalties. No, I was now on my own self-inflicted 'Ride of the Valkyries' because people in authority felt I could still be useful and they were willing to risk the lives a few hundred Romanian soldiers to pander to my eccentricities.

Our intelligence came from Google Maps, a woman's recollections from twenty-five years ago and the frighteningly precise memories of a battle-scarred 11 year old girl. For the 24th Mountain Troops battalion intelligence officer, it was a stunning introduction to Amazons. The girl was one year away from her Rite of Passage and she'd been raised to take in the terrain and the sounds of battle.

Several times, he tried to trick her, altering information she had provided minutes earlier, but the girl corrected him every time. Seventeen minutes and the man relayed to his battalion commander his belief that the girl's story was solid. The men and women of the 24th may not have known the specific of the valley we were going to, yet this was their backyard. 

They knew the rocks, trees and bushes. They knew the ground was crinkled and what marsh soil looked like, without stepping into it. They could do this - attack a rogue mercenary band threatening their native land. They were going to do this and do it quick. Me and mine coming along was problematic. But Me being one of the first ones in...I had to play my trump card.

"I am Magyarorszag es Erdely Hercege," I proclaimed. "I have returned to my people in their hour of need. Besides, I'm the only one who can kill their leader."

"You can kill Ajax?" Riki snorted in disbelief. "Ajax from the Trojan Wars? That Ajax?"

"Don't sweat it," I put my arm around her shoulder. "I got this covered. Get me close and I can make him dead."

"You've lost your mind," Rachel muttered.

"I love you to," I grinned. To the Captain of the first company to rappel next to the ruins, "I'm your Prince. Let's do this."

"Do you have any combat experience?" he shook his head.

"There are a whole bunch of dead Chinese who think so," I assured him.

"Let him go," Sakuniyas stated regally. "He is the Scion of Alal. He is invincible in battle." Hey, I liked that. Someone believed in me.

"Do you believe that?" Pamela asked Saku.

"Of course not, but if he's about to die, he should be allowed to feel good about himself," she told Pamela. Shit, I wish I hadn't heard that part.

"Oh, in that case, I agree. Let him go," Pamela added her preference to the final decision. The real weight in that Captain's final call was the small, well-armed group of supporters who seemed rather insistent that I get a chance at Valhalla.

He took it well. The officer even announced to the entire battalion that their feudal overlord was leading them into the fight. My codename was 'Prince'. I hope I didn't turn out like the singer, I had no aspirations for being Machiavelli's 'hero', but being remember as someone like Prince Harry wouldn't be so bad. 

What I did know was this was my choice of actions and I couldn't send others into the madness I had inspired. I didn't blame myself for the deaths. Those were inevitable if Ajax was going to die. I didn't blame myself for Ajax - that was the Weave of Fate being a bastardly bitch. No, I had to kill Ajax because I was an idiot, and I loved my companions, and if it wasn't me making the attempt and possibly dying, it would be one of them. Not on my watch.

Our IAR 330 Puma Helicopter lifted off into the sky. Our two companion birds, another troop carrier and an assault variant of the Puma, followed suit and soon we linked up with the rest of the company that was going to rappel into the clearing next to the ruins. Could I rappel? Sure, I lied. Hey, I'd made it to the top of the rope in gym class at the end of my senior year. That had to count for something.

I was even lucky to have the lynchpin of my master plan sitting next to me. One in sixteen - what were the odds?

[Romanian] "You, what's your name?" I asked the soldier barely older than me.

[Romanian] "Master Corporal Menner," he grinned. Maybe he sensed my insanity.

[Romanian] "Székely?" I asked. He nodded. [Hungarian] "Do you believe I am your Prince?"

[Hungarian] "Either that, or you are crazy," he kept grinning. I leaned over and after some helmet shuffling, I whispered my request in his ear. I didn't demand that he agree, only that if he didn't, he wouldn't turn me in. Our eyes met.

[Hungarian] "Why?" he was now filled with disbelief. I had passed beyond the realm of comedian to the land where all crazy ideas go off to die.

[Hungarian] "It is the only way. Trust me, I don't love this plan either, but it is the only way I can think of to keep as many of you alive as possible," I explained. "He's a monster."

[Hungarian] "How will this help?" he was still confused, even if he was being swept away with my intensity.

[Hungarian] "I don't have time to explain. All I can tell you is that I'm not crazy and I don't want to die, but this is the only thing I can think of to keep my people alive," I remained firm and confident in my beliefs.

[Hungarian] "I will have to think about it," he conceded. At least he wasn't insisting I be forcibly committed to a mental institution. I did annoy one of the two crewmen in the back with the rest of us combatants when I stood up and looked out the side window. I glimpsed it - her, flowing through the forest beneath us. After I sat back down, the Captain flagged me.

I had forgotten to cut on my communications rig on.

[Romanian] "First Force (the two companies of the 22nd) has encountered the enemy before they could exit into the flatlands," he paused, somewhat shocked. "They are taking heavy casualties. It is just like you warned us. These foes are exceedingly lethal."

[Romanian] "Don't worry about it," I overflowed with charisma. "Just follow me and we'll be fine."

[Romanian] "But, I thought you said you didn't know anything about the compound?" the Captain looked at me funny.

"I don't. I'm relying on luck," I pumped my eyebrows. The Captain knew enough English to groan.

"I have a sudden desire to club a baby seal," Rachel stared at me intently. Who, me?

[Romanian] "Let me and my men take the point," the Captain insisted.

[Romanian] "Captain, either I'm diving headfirst out of our ride, or you are letting me rappel down in the first wave - either way, my boots are the first on the ground," I demanded.

[Romanian] "No," the Captain shook his head. "You are a civilian."

[Romanian] "Captain," I leaned forward. "Everyone else is fighting and dying because I made a judgment call. You can't ask me to hold back now." 

That shone through. Over his battalion frequency, he could hear the confusion and chaos chiseling away at his brethren in the 22nd. He could tell by my countenance that I both knew the enemy he was going to fight and that I wasn't ruled by guilt, or a death wish. I wanted to go first because I thought I could make the difference between someone else's life and death.

[Romanian] "Who are the other three with you?" he stated. Four could rappel down at a time.

[Romanian] "Rachel, Chaz and Master Corporal Menner here," I indicated. Rachel didn't freak, the Colour Sergeant looked my way and gave his acknowledgement, as did Menner.

[Romanian] "I'll go down with you, Captain," Pamela spoke up.

Of my group, Delilah, Wiesława and Virginia had stayed behind to guard Odette, Riki, the Lovasz sisters and the Loma family. Two troopers of the 24th joined them to provide extra security if needed. Vincent had pulled seniority to be the sole American going. With Chaz and Delilah, there hadn't been a real discussion about it. Chaz was the professional ground-pounder.

Selena had volunteered to go even though this wasn't really her fight. She claimed the right of revenge for Ajax's attempt to kill the Vizsla, but I thought it was something else - some desire to step forward and make the point that the Black Hand were invested in this global struggle. There had been no doubt that Rachel & her team plus Sakuniyas and Pamela would be joining me.

In my estimation, we were over the target area way too fast. I hadn't thought of a good reason to talk myself out of this harebrained scheme of mine. The side doors of the Puma opened. Rachel would be going down on my side.

"Look and see what Rachel does and do the same thing," Pamela yelled to me over the roar of the engines.

"And don't lock your knees or you'll sprain your ankles," she added. It was just another day of 'on the job' training at Havenstone Commercial Investments, I rationalized. I was scared, which was also a good indicator that I was still marginally sane. Rachel made her movements slow and steady. 

I went down a second later, barely remembering to avoid rope burn through my gloves and not bust my feet when I hit bottom. Rachel crouched. She was waiting for follow up troops before advancing. Me - I ran straight toward the ruins. Why? It was Alal once more. From the relayed chatter from the 22nd and whatever spy plane the Romanians had above, I 'knew' that Ajax hadn't made it back to the fortifications yet. 

If we hurried, we could beat him there. Then we would be ambushing his ass for a change. It almost worked. Whatever Chaz and Menner thought of my actions, they kept it to themselves. I didn't have to be a psychic to realize Rachel wasn't a fan. I leapt over the first Amazon corpse. The second one I passed was sitting with her back to the tree, hands tied around the trunk and had been tortured before she died.

I believed that was when the momentum shifted. This was barbarism and the three following me knew it. Menner relayed our findings to his Captain even as the first helicopter was pulling away. My mind was picking up the details and processing somewhere in the back of my mind so as not to distracting me from the task of staying alive.

A pile of bodies lumped too close together - they had been executed. A small girl - three, or four - with a close-contact wound to the temple. The smell of burnt flesh - more torture. Whatever Code of Military Conduct the Mycenaeans had, it wasn't the rules we, their opponents, fought by today. We were outraged and help was coming.

We were running in from the northeast. Three meter from what had once been a doorway, I broke free of the underbrush and saw the closest Greek and the row of vehicles behind him. He was to my east, maybe ten meters away. I wasn't stopping. The terrain had funneled us down so that we weren't coming directly from the helicopter's noise. 

That must have been the reason he wasn't staring at us when we appeared. I didn't stop. Chaz and Menner were right behind me. Rachel only slowed enough to fire her P-90 at full-auto at the man as she ran. She killed him. The three of us ran across the open-aired, ruined room until we found the doorway to the other side of the building. From there, we had a good view of Ajax's remaining Eagles and the eight remaining men with them.

"I'm going for higher ground," Chaz growled before he took off.

"Rachel, go back and secure the corner we came in by," I shouted. She grimaced but obeyed. Menner had his own ideas. He fired off his first rocket-propelled grenade from his AG-7 at the farthest Eagle he could clearly see, blowing it to smithereens. I added the fire from my own P-90, wounding another Greek.

As my mental patterns processed the battle, I noticed Pamela, Saku, the Captain and Rachel appear. Apparently a trooper of the 24th had taken over Rachel's position. He was providing cover fire so that the remaining eight members of this landing group could enter the ruins at less risk. The Captain was doing what Captains do - issuing orders to the rest of his upcoming company.

Pamela must have been in touch with Chaz, because she was jumping and climbing along the path the Brit had taken. Rachel tapped me at the door. I backed up and she took over my firing position. That was part of her job. Mine was to strike once the iron was hot. The Chaos of Battle took hold. Initially we had faced 9 of Ajax's men. Rachel killed one and I had wounded another.

Two had swung around to the north of our position and engaged the helicopter at the clearing. An anti-tank rocket will kill a helicopter too. Somehow, the fatally injured pilot set his bird down before he died. That had been the third transport, not the second. The second had already deposited its 16 and those soldiers were moving toward the sound of the guns. The 16 aboard the third bird engaged the sole Greek they could see.

One of the Romanian assault Pumas, guided by the Captain, began tearing up the Eagle's lager. Halfway through the process, a second Panzerfaust 3 blew it out of the sky in an impressive fireball of exploding fuel and ordinance. The smoke trail form the warrior's shot hadn't dissipated before one of our snipers took him out.

The Captain made his decision fluidly. The first squad would hold the ruins. The second team would swing south of the ruins, seizing the high ground and block any Greek retreat in that direction. Somewhere back in the woods south of us, two more companies of the 22nd were advancing through the rough terrain on horseback. Yes, fucking horseback!

Behind us, to the east, were two more companies of the 24th advancing on horseback as well. The final company of the 24th was deployed due north, also on horseback and moving in fast. The trap wasn't airtight yet, but it soon would be. Ajax had to figure which way held the greatest likelihood of egress and quickly. 

The mortars of the 385th were starting to rain down hate on his men. Logic, terrain and timing dictated a breakout to the southeast. The land dipped slightly just west of the ruins. Ajax and his men could move along that natural channel to spring up on the highest parts of the ruins nearly undetected. 

Once he fought through the troops there, he could slip over the ridge south of and behind the castle and let darkness be his ally. He would regroup near one of the local tourist hotels and vacation spots. From there, he could grab some cars and race off deeper into the mountains and his final evasion. That was his plan. That would have been Alal's plan as well.

With utter certainty, I relayed all of that information to the Captain. Menner and I had to move. Rachel, Charlotte and Saku would follow. Mona and a medic of the 24th were working triage and Tiger Lily stayed close by her. The third group, minus the three personnel killed at the Landing Zone, were advancing west toward the position the Captain wanted them to hold.

[Romanian] "We are going for Ajax," I shouted to the Captain just before Menner and I made our play. We had to retrace our steps to the door where we had entered the ruins, then run along the east side until we joined up with the second group of 15 plus Vincent. Those men and women were in their own world of hurt. Twelve Mycenaeans, the vanguard of Ajax's escape attempt, appeared on the far side of the ridge that Romanians were trying to secure.

A bloodbath ensued. Assault weapons, pistols, knives, feet and fists all came into play. Ajax's men were better by a few degrees. We arrived at the pivotal moment. Charlotte, Rachel and especially Saku kicked the balance back in our favor. Hard, nasty hand-to-hand blood-letting was her specialty and only Ajax could have overcome her.

Menner and I didn't stay to participate in the carnage. We had our mission. We bolted around the fighting, crested the ridge and looked down the ravine at the rearguard coming up. A bullet careened off my back ceramic plate - no light ballistic vest this time out. Menner took a bullet to the right thigh - a through and through. He was bleeding only 'somewhat', so his artery and vein remained intact.

I yanked him along with me until we reached the top of the draw. I could see it all. The final act of 'Ajax the Unconquered and his Mycenaean warriors'. To the west, two machine gunners and two infantrymen lay down suppressive fire against the still invisible (to me) men of the combined 22nd/24th 'First Force'. Those Romanians could hear the firefight ahead of them and knew the jaws of their trap were closing. They refused to let go of the rear guard this close to victory.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 34



Ajax, 'Red', Kwen and one other Greeks ran up the slope to reinforce his beleaguered men atop the ridge at the same time his men on the far side of the battle unleashed their hounds in a last, desperate attempt to break contact. Ajax's move wasn't a personal attempt at freedom. No, he was buying time for the few unharmed men he had left and the walking-wounded comrades they were helping along. 

He had to hold the ridge long enough for them to exit the ravine and vacate the firefight. His plan might have worked, except for two things ... Master Corporal Menner and Cáel Wakko Ishara, who were blocking the exit at the top of said ravine. As I had morosely predicted, Ajax remained unscathed. 

At that moment, I had three things working in my mind to balance my understanding of men. Alal, Timothy and Felix. I hadn't had many male friends, for obvious 'infidelity' reasons. Alal's thoughts had long been clinical, not emotional, so he wasn't of much immediate help. He'd carried me this far as a tactician, but now I needed a hero. 

Felix certainly fit the Ajax mode, if you discounted his loyalty to his brethren. But no, Timothy was my guiding light at that moment. Timothy was a model of fraternity - male unity and sacrificing for your brotherhood. Few people got away with calling Timothy, or any of his friends, fags, faggots, queers, or homos. 

Far fewer got away with it twice, and it was more than just Timothy's build - it was his spirit and the belief that people rallied around the appearance of strength and yearned to stride boldly forth if given the impetus. Given my own metrics, the big, gay, tattoo-artist Timothy was the manliest man I knew.

[Mycenaean] "Ajax," I screamed at the top of my lungs. "I have come to watch you die! Face me!" Over the surrounding din of battle, he spotted me. I held my P-90 overhead in my right hand - and open challenge and undisguised target. Behind me and under cover, Menner was switching out the warhead of his AG-7.

I doubted the Mounting Trooper had truly believed we'd get this far with my insane plan. No one shot me. Ajax's eyes hardened

[Mycenaean] "This is your doing!" he bellowed as he motioned the three others to continue upslope.

[Mycenaean] "Yes," I yelled. Ajax threw his H&K aside and started coming at me. Oh, he could have put twenty bullets in me and watched my macabre dance until I collapsed. What brought him on was his desire to see the architect of his destruction die as he watched the last flicker of life fade from my eyes. I endeavored to meet him half way. I even selected the tree.

Ajax drew forth a Kopis - a Greek blade from a later period. He held the blade high. The kopis was primarily a hacking weapon, though it did have a point. I drew forth two of my tomahawks. It was all part of the Wakko Plan. Now that I had his attention came the next wacky phase - I ran into Ajax, putting my shoulder into his diaphragm. 

His kopis came down on my back ceramic plate, shattering it and probably cracking a few of my back-left ribs. At the same instant, I heard the whoosh of Menner's AG-7 rocket propelled grenade launching.

Even as I felt my knees giving way from the power of the Mycenaean champion's blow, the world erupted in pain and fire. Fuck that hurt, yet more hurt was coming. The result of a TBG-7V's detonation is called a thermobaric explosion. I was betting my existence on Master Corporal Menner being able to put it close enough to knock me out without turning me into a crispy critter. The kill radius was ten meters.

The rocket propelled grenade hit a tree a few meters behind Ajax and high enough not to kill us. The concussive force of the explosion tossed Ajax over my shoulder and slammed me into the ground. A dozen Succubae Rockettes in high heels were dancing on my cranium as I sat up. I forced myself back to my feet and turned to face Ajax. I realized I'd won.

[Mycenaean] "What the Hades was that?" a shaken Ajax thundered. "If that was your best shot at killing me, it was pathetic." He drew his .45 with his left hand and put four rounds into my face. At two meters he could hardly miss. The bullets brushed over my skin like puffs from a post-coitus cigar.

[Mycenaean] "What the..." Ajax muttered.

[Mycenaean] "I said I had come to watch you die, not that I planned to kill you myself," I laughed. I heard the titanic rustling through the trees. She was here. I readied my last two tomahawks. I couldn't afford to go looking for my first two. That bastard Ajax had kept his kopis, the fucker. I could see the realization dawning on him.

[Mycenaean] "What did you do?" he growled. Yeah, the sounds of battle were very distant now, muffled by the barrier between dimensions. We were not in that precise, same ravine we'd started our battle in. We had transferred over to its spiritual facsimile - my Ishara-space.

[Mycenaean] "When I realized I couldn't kill you and that the only person on this Earth who could, wouldn't (Alal), I went looking for someone who could," I taunted him.

[Mycenaean] "That makes no sense," he gruffly replied. The noise of something big moving through the trees was no longer impossible to ignore.

[Mycenaean] "Well, she isn't 'of this world' so I had to bring you to hers," I laughed. The Dragon burst forth from the overgrowth and hovered over us both.

Her head was gigantic (I had my Terrified Goggles on; I almost wished they'd been Peril Sensitive instead), her white mane whipped around in the breezes that surrounded her body and the top of her head was a snowy white. The mane flowed down her spine and along her serpentine body. As her scaled progressed downward, they darkened gradually until her underside was a thunderous gray - she was a living storm cloud.

She had no limbs, nor did she breathe fire. Her strength lay in her enormous maw, her rows of razor sharp teeth, pronounced canines more like rapiers than teeth, and in her powerful, electrically-charged coils.

"Ajax, meet the Goddess Illuyankamunus," I grinned like a fool. "Illuyankamunus, meet Ajax, the Unconquered and sworn foe of Amazons everywhere."

"You idiot," Ajax spared me a glance, "this monster will kill us both!"

"While survival was part of my plan, it was secondary to seeing you dead first," I smirked. "Right now, I'm sure she's more interested in you...I think I'll run." Illuyankamunus' mouth opened and her roar was like a thousand thunder bursts.

Her venomous saliva splashed both of us. I managed to get my forearm over my eyes, but that was it. Her toxic expectorant burned like a hundred tiny needles then the flesh went numb. Some of it had hit my forehead and lower lip. The numbness was turning to something else - something indescribable before I smelled the stench of rotting flesh. 

My body was being corrupted - turning necrotic in seconds. I ran. Behind me, Ajax's war cry echoed through the ghostly spirit plane. The land was similar to the real world except the alterations of mankind weren't as evident. Lighting repeatedly cracked and more thunder staggered me. Ajax wasn't going down quietly. I heard Illuyankamunus cry out in pain.

The rot dug down to my skull, teeth and gums. The skin on parts of my right thigh and stomach was gave way and the muscle's beneath twitched in agony. Chunks of flesh on my forearm sloughed away. Dating after this was going to be a bitch. I kept up my headlong flight to nowhere. All I had to do was keeping going until my mortal body woke up. I no longer heard Ajax.

What I did hear was the sound of the titanic serpent moving through the trees once more. Bushes were trampled, branches broke yet her pace was unstoppable. When I knew the race was done, I turned around. I wasn't sure why. I wasn't really a 'Heroic Last Stand' kind of guy. The great draconic head towered above me on a serpentine neck.

[Sumerian] "Despite being a monster, you are rather quite beautiful," I mumbled. No, even at death's door I couldn't resist hitting on the babe. Her 50 meter long body lashed out, encircling. I launched an attack with my left tomahawk. I tried to bring my right one up, but the nervous system to the hand had disintegrated and the weapon fell to the ground.

I didn't seem to hurt her. Oh well. In came the coils, binding me tightly. My remaining ribs began to crack. Her leering mouth hovered over me, letting me wonder if I was going to be squeezed like a used up tube of toothpaste, or swallowed alive. She breathed on me again. This experience was wholly different.

A cool spring shower washed over my face and began drenching my body. Things...things made sense somehow.

[Sumerian] "My venom inspires madness, Cáel Wakko Ishara," she related. "I had to bind you until my healing breath reinvigorated you...so you wouldn't hurt yourself."

Her coils loosed up enough to give me limited mobility. My flesh was not decaying after all. It had been was my torturous imagination playing tricks on me. Either I was afraid of flesh-eating bacteria, or of growing old. I'd explore that later.

[Sumerian] "What does this mean?" I asked. She seemed confused. "Why aren't you eating me?"

[Sumerian] "I am not devouring you because I still have need of you Cáel," she rumbled.

[Sumerian] "I'm not sure we are on a first name basis," I coughed. Much of my pain still felt real. "Just kidding. I'm on a first name basis with every woman I meet."

[Sumerian] "I could still devour you for your impertinence," she seethed.

"Give it a rest," I grinned. "You may be as old as creation, yet I doubt you've had more than two boyfriends, whereas I'm heading for 300 girlfriends." Her coils tightened around me once more.

"Don't be presumptuous," she threatened.

"No," I shook my head. "I've got your number now. Kill me and Pamela and Saku will kill the last of your line. After all your exertions over the past 24 hours, you can't stop them."

"You think you can bargain with me, mortal?" she hissed.

"No. You are a girl and trust me, you can never tell a girl anything she doesn't want to hear," I jibed. "I'm giving you a reality check. If you do X, then Y will happen. I have given no orders concerning your mortal family, but that won't save them from those two."

"There are other things I could do to you," she sizzled.

"Nope. Ishara will own your bacon if you try to crack my mind," I snorted. "I'll tell you what; you stop acting like a cranky deity and I'll stop acting like a jerk, Illuyankamunus."

"My name is not Illuyankamunus," she grumbled. "I am SzélAnya; Illuyankamunus was my father."

"Oh, then I apologize," I give a tip of the hat. "SzélAnya is a far more fitting name. It is both untamed and vibrant." Yes, I was sexing up a Goddess. Thanks to Ishara she couldn't read my mind. The dragon-goddess regarded me studiously before letting her coils relax. That led to my 'Eureka' inspirational insight.

"You have recreated your Father-Daughter relationship," I gasped. Mysticism was lost on me. Daddy-daughter relationships I understood. "The males of your line are your 'Father'. They give birth to the 'warriors' - their female offspring - while the sons carry on the bloodline to the next generation. Your daughters are...they don't carry your divine essence?"

"How..." blink, "How did you figure all that out in the past few seconds?"

"I've got some serious Daddy - Granddaddy actually - issues as well," I sighed. "Once I looked past you being a big dragon-monster, it all fell into place. One unanswered question: who are the women masquerading as the Amazons of House Illuyankamunus?"

Her look said it all. She didn't know and she didn't want to admit that she didn't know, because she had this whole Goddess-vibe going on, I was a mere mortal and professionals a (Deity in this case) hate admitting they are in the dark about anything in their specialty.

"I don't know," she confessed. Good for her. 

"I was traumatized by the death of my 'sons'. When I recovered, I was cut off from the others," she explained. The pain of that ancient event was etched upon her features. It was good to see that she gave a crap about her followers.

"I cannot hide them and give them enough protection to keep them safe, SzélAnya," I said.

"I'm asking your permission to take your children back to Havenstone where there will be thousands of Amazons around for protection," I proposed. "Havenstone is the name for the Amazon central base of operations. It is New York City," I clued her in.

"Why should I trust the Amazons, or their Goddesses now? They abandoned me and killed my children," she challenged me.

"Your options are slim. Also, I am Cáel Wakko Ishara, I speak for Yakko Ishara, first of my line and the Goddess of Oaths herself, Dot Ishara," I swore. "We will pledge my Sisters to your cause, take your grievances to the Keeper of Records and the Council. Finally, I am an Ash Man, son after son back to the Amazon Vranus Ishara who, with your Amazon, Bolu (the old warrior who accompanied Vranus), left the Amazons to safeguard the last Arinniti sons."

"That is why we resonate," her draconic head nodded. She further loosened her body's hold on me. "I still don't trust you."

"You did kill Ajax for us," I pointed out. "We owe you for that."

"I did that to save my own kin, not yours," she grumbled.

"We don't have to tell them that," I gave her a sly grin.

"You would lie to your High Priestess and your Goddess?" she scoffed.

"The High Priestess is dead and we have yet to choose another. As for me lying to Dot Ishara; why do you think I made it so she couldn't read my mind?"

"That is annoying; she must have been piqued. Why do you call Ishara 'Dot Ishara'?"

"I'm starting to feel funny," I tried to work out some mystical cramping. "Are you keeping me here?"

"Yes."

"What does that do to my body?" I worried.

"Your heartbeat is racing, your lungs move weakly - the seed of air - oxygen - is leaving your body and blood," she told me.

"Basically I'm having a heart attack and organ failure, not to mention possible brain death," I chastised her. "I don't want to die, in case you were confused about my intentions," I added.

"I...I will let you go. We will talk later," she replied. Her body uncoiled until I could collapse on the ground. There was pain...and then I woke up.



Life as a New Hire Ch. 35



This story plays fast and loose with Ancient History and Linguistics; be warned.

Either you embrace Change and are destroyed by it, or you resist Change and are overwhelmed by it. What is your choice?

Editing magic performed by KJ24 and Shyqash, plus contributions by the regular gang of brigands and neer-do-wells.

There is a bit of mangling of the Iliad going on. I apologize to Homer and the countless singers before him who carried the Iliad down through the dark centuries until the Greeks figured out how writing works.

Yet again, no sex.

*****

(Where we left off)

"Ooohhh..." I groaned. I hurt. Without my soul to sustain it, my body had begun to shut down and now it was trying to kick-start things back into action. Long drawn out pain...

I felt long strands of hair drape across my neck and lips gently touch my forehead...Dot. She was guiding me home. I still hurt. 

My felt a crippling pain in my heart and my lungs were leaden. I was fighting back to normality. Complicating this process was the adrenaline secreted moments before 'La La Land'. It felt like lava was trying to rev up my cramping muscles. My eyes flicked open. 

[Romanian] "HE'S ALIVE!" someone shouted. It sounded like my loyal Menner.

Eyes crept open. Sure enough, it was Romanian Master Corporal Menner. I didn't know his first name. Rachel was on one knee beside me and something was wrong.

"Rachel?" I croaked.

"Charlotte is dead," she stated the fact, devoid of emotion. Charlotte had been her 'family' ... more so than any person of similar birth. "Vincent is in a bad way. The rest are not going to die soon."

This was not the time for saying 'it was worth it', 'did she suffer', or any of that crap. No words could possibly suffice. I forced my aching muscles to push off the ground until I was on my knees. I pulled her into a tight embrace, both arms, her chin resting on my shoulder.

"Don't," she ordered softly. "There are three of them still loose." She needed to protect me.

I pushed back. We were both crying. My eyes were a mess. Rachel contained her pain, limited its expression to a small handful of tears. I looked past her to the body of Ajax. He was on his back, his eyes staring off to eternity until the worms took him. By the bloody mess of his clothing, that bastard had gone down hard and in fierce torment.

How the Romanians were going to explain his ruptured organs, shorn muscles and the toxic stew that was his bloodstream wasn't my problem. He was dead. SzélAnya, the Dragon Goddess, had slain him for her own reasons and for mine.

[Romanian] "Your plan worked, Hercege Nyilas," Menner congratulated me. "I'm not sure how. I didn't kill him and I didn't see you hurt him, but he's as dead as they come."

[Romanian] "How many?" I asked him. It took him a moment to send the question up the network and get back a reply.

[Romanian] "Col. Giurcă (commander of 61st Mountain Troops Brigade which was custodian of the Romanians I fought beside) wants to talk with you immediately," Menner responded.

[Romanian] "Casualties?" I repeated.

[Romanian] "So far seventy-three KIA, 63 wounded; some will not survive," he told me. That was one of the dark sides of ballistic armor mixed with high-velocity bullets and grenade launchers. With armor, you were more likely to survive getting hit; but if you were hit where the armor didn't cover, you were more likely to die. "The ridge was very bad."

The ridge...where Charlotte died. It turned that out of the fifteen Romanian Mountain Troops who swept up their side of the ridge, only four lived. The Mycenaeans had been hellishly fierce, shrugging of lethal wounds long enough to get off one more shot - fire off one more grenade. At those point blank ranges, it had been a bloody mess. Of those fifteen Greeks on the ridge, only one escaped and two were found wounded. The other twelve draped their bodies among the slain Romanians. 

In the final analysis, the soldiers of the 24th Battalion, reinforced by Vincent, Saku, Rachel and Charlotte, had held that ridge and cut off the retreating enemy. The last handful of Ajax's men chose to fight it out from the ravine. Most of them died with their pride. Only three more badly wounded Greeks had been captured there.

Ajax had brought fifty-one men and one traitorous Amazon to the Castle of the Seven Skulls. Three escaped, five were wounded and the other forty-four, plus Ajax, had perished. I stood up. Menner handed me my discarded P-90. Rachel hooked my dropped tomahawks to my harness. I climbed back up the ridge ... because I didn't know where else to go.

I didn't like what I, Cael, had taken from all of this. Hate would have been a better descriptor. In the entire fight, I hadn't killed a single soul. The one Greek I had wounded was killed by someone else. No, I had to feed Ajax to a Goddess to kill him. I felt...small. The troops, a mixture of the two battalions, saw me in a new light however. 

From the force coming in from the west came tales of Ajax's prowess. Too many men he aimed at died while he remained unscathed, despite his repeatedly risking his person. By the force of his personality alone, he slowed the advance of a 150 men. Had I not killed him, they wondered how many more of them would have ended the day in a grave as well? 

Menner had avoided notoriety and laid Ajax's corpse squarely on my shoulders. I had grappled with Ajax. The rocket fired by Menner clearly hadn't killed the man, so the soldiers hefted his demise on me. How could I tell them I fed a monster to a monster...just one they could not see? Instead of blaming me for the rows of the dead...

[Romanian/Hungarian] "Magyarorszag es Erdely Hercege," they whispered, or gave me a nod.

Their story was straight forward. Like some nobleman of old, I had led my men into battle. I wasn't seeking glory. I was seeking to save as many on my side as I could. It was tough for me to believe I'd accomplished that goal. For centuries, voivodes, boyars, knights, counts, dukes and princes had shed blood over these valleys, fields, hills and mountains for their own wealth and for the safety of their peoples.

To these people, I was first off the helicopter (though that was actually Rachel). I'd intuitively led the race to the ruins that placed those stone barriers in our hands as a fortification to fight from and denied those aged walls to our enemies (though that was mostly Grandpa and the Captain). I had led the charge to the beleaguered left flank, just in time to reverse our near loss there (though I knew I'd never swung a blow, or fired a round). 

Finally, under the observation of over two dozen Romanians, I alone had slammed the door to the trap shut and then killed the enemy leader in hand-to-hand combat (though no one had actually witnessed me administering the death blow due to the fallout from the grenade Menner had launched). I knew I was a completely unworthy hero. Night was swiftly creeping upon us.

"Hercege," the Captain called out. I could see the sadness in his eyes. His men lay dead around us both. "A helicopter will take you to the Brigade HQ. You need to go now." I held up one finger. I had to do this. I found Charlotte's lifeless body. One bullet had sheared off the right side of her neck. Another had shattered her right jaw. Her corpse, so beautiful in life, was ugly in death. She was mine now, forever. My memory.

[Old Kingdom Hittite] "Thank you, Sister," I whispered as I kissed her forehead. "Wait for me in the Halls of our Ancestors, for I know you are welcome there. Thank you for all your care for me."

[Romanian] "Take care of that leg, Master Corporal Menner," I directed my accomplice in murder. "Never forget that you did something very special today. Together, we killed a monster and you saved my life. I promise I won't forget it."

Menner nodded to me, I nodded to the Captain and off we went. Rachel was always close by. Chaz and Pamela appeared out of nowhere.

[Romanian/Hungarian] "Magyarorszag es Erdely Hercege," the men said as they pointed me out to each other and the new arrivals. Had they been joking, I would have been far happier. But my existence wasn't comedy to them. They were allowing me inside their fraternity, these men and women, because of things they thought I'd done - not things I'd done. 

Later, Chaz would set me straight. How many men I killed was irrelevant to these Vânători de munte - Mountain Huntsmen. They were honoring my bravery, initiative and willingness to go forward without being reckless. I had a plan, I'd stuck to it and that had contributed to their victory. They were giving me respect because I mourned for their casualties in the same way I mourned for my own. Their fallen had not died in vain, because I cared for them and was wounded by their passing.

It hadn't hurt my case that I 'led' people like Chaz, Pamela, Rachel and Charlotte into battle. Saku was...different. Mona tended to their grievously wounded with the same skills she'd lavished on me. She worked side by side with her Romanian counterparts flawlessly. I had little doubt that Katrina would be proud.

"Cáel," a feeble female voice called out. It was Kwen (aka Molpadia / Kwenhamai / Death Song). I stopped by her side, but didn't kneel. She'd been shot in the left bicep, right thigh and calf. Odd were good she'd live. "Ajax?"

"Dead," I replied. "Very dead."

[OKH] "Did he...restore...?" she mumbled.

[OKH] "No. He was never going to do that, and you knew better," I said.

[OKH] "Kill me then and let me return to face Oblivion," she sighed, utterly hopeless.

The Captain was impatient. He could wait.

[OKH] "Kwen, what you did was wrong and you will have to answer for your crimes. You betrayed us without cause. You murdered children and captives," I informed her. "There is no getting past that."

[OKH] "I know," she mumbled. I was missing something.

[OKH] "You let that girl escape, didn't you?" I was feeling numb all over again. Kwen didn't answer me, yet it made sense. In her heart, she knew she'd gone wrong and she knew Ajax would never pardon her mother. So she'd sent word to the one man who might grant her an Amazon warrior's death.

[OKH] "The girl didn't divulge your secret," I gave off my own sigh. Why was my life so complicated? Kwen had wanted me to kill Ajax, so she sent that girl to the place I'd most likely be. Then she relied on my loyalty to the Amazons to bring me to this place with whatever forces I could muster. She'd probably expected me and a dozen Black Hand assassins, not an army.

[OKH] "I will inform the Council of your actions and let them decide," I offered. I had to go. We picked up four fighters of the 24th as we jogged the 1.2 km down to the blood-soaked fields where the battle had begun. The blown up Eagles had blocked the unpaved road on our end and Combat Engineers were still sweeping the road for hastily laid booby-traps the rest of the way down.

The slaughter fields for the 22nd Mountain Troops Battalion were a chaotic mix of military medical staff and the Serviciul Mobil de Urgenţǎ, Reanimare şi Descarcerare (SMURD - the national emergency medical response unit) all over the place and it was clear they weren't enough to handle the carnage. The eyes of the living and the dead were equally disturbing.

I knew I was on a schedule and I owned the Romanian Land Forces a good explanation, but I couldn't just leave. I saw one lightly-wounded soldier, his palms resting on his forehead, sitting on the ground, bereft. I squatted beside him. 

[Romanian] "Hang in there," I said as I put a hand on his shoulder.

[Romanian] "Was it worth it?" he stared into my eyes.

[Romanian] "No," I responded. "I lost a friend and she'll never be replaced. I can tell you what we did today had to be done. Those men had to be stopped and we were the one's close enough to respond in time."

[Romanian] "Oh..." he looked back down to the trampled grass.

[Romanian] "Remember how you feel today," I said to him from the depth of my spirit. "You are not the first man to hold your spot in your squad and you won't be the last. Take everything from today and pass it on to the next man who may someday have to perform as you did. You carry on because we all must. Make something good out of this by not forgetting. Learn and teach," was my empty advice.

I had his gaze once more. Against my wishes, I also had the attention of several of the soldiers around me.

[Romanian] "You are not wounded," he noted as he touched my body armor. It was certainly beat all to hell. I didn't believe he was condemning me.

[Romanian] "I am Magyarorszag es Erdely Hercege," I grinned. "While my people have heart, I cannot be killed. Together, we are invincible." The insanity of that proclamation seemed to reach him. He gave a weak grin. Some of the men around us chuckled. "I have to go," I patted his shoulder. "They want to blame someone for all of this and it looks like I've won the prize."

More laughter. In that moment, we were all in this military community. I didn't have their particular Esprit de corps, their training, or their heritage, yet we'd been in the same fight and killed the same enemy. They had a different view of me than I had of myself. Who was lying to who? 

An IAR 330 Puma Helicopter was waiting for me, though the four troopers waiting for me were new ...and somewhat peeved. They were from the Batalionul 610 Operaţii Speciale "Vulturi" (The 'other' Eagles). They were part of the Romanian Special Forces. They'd been too far away to get to the firefight in time, which seemed to be the major reason for their unhappiness. 

Playing couriers for my person didn't please then either. My cohorts from the 24th handed me over. Two patted me on the back and called me 'Prince' before taking off. They had a battlefield to clear up and three Mycenaeans to hunt down. The 'Eagles' weren't sure what to make of my other bodyguards, so I made it easy on them.

[Romanian] "They go where I go," I gave them a grim grin. "They keep their weapons. In case there is any confusion, this is not a matter for discussion." The Sergeant in charge responded with a curt nod. We boarded the helicopter and lifted off.

"You did well Cáel," Chaz informed me. "Given two or three years, you'll be a good soldier."

"Thanks. That's not what I wanted. I don't like killing people, or getting people killed," I replied.

"Exactly," he nodded. "I don't want a teammate who wants to kill the enemy. I want a guy who wants to keep me alive and is willing to kill others to do it," he explained in a rather paternal pattern. "There is a huge difference."

[Hungarian] "What did you tell that young man?" Pamela asked me. I retold the conversation as best I could. It took me a second to notice that two of the Special Forces guys were listening intently. 

(The Politics of 'Not' Being Dead)

The rest of the trip was made in silence. They dropped us off at the edge of Miercurea Ciuc - home base of the 61st Mountain Troops Brigade, of Professor Loma and from whence all this craziness had originated. The meeting was already awkward before I arrived. It only got worse. Where to begin? Well, Russia, the United States, the UK, Romania, Hungary and Ireland were now all interested parties. And I had gained two personal distinctions: 

1.) Not only was I now heralded (and not really joking anymore) by some sources as Magyarorszag es Erdely Hercege, I was thereby re-awakening old nationalistic and territorial fears. Hungary didn't want a Prince, yet they did have an anemic Monarchist party. I might not be a Hapsburg (the last royal house of Hungary), but I could possibly be misconstrued as a long-lost Árpád scion (first King and founder of the Hungarian state), which would be even better. 

A crisis was looming in my ancestral crucible. It seems I already had a webpage in Budapest and six hundred "friends" within 24 hours. Worse, they had some pictures of me. Besides being 'of regal bearing' in the descriptions, I was sexy-hot and a soldier of fortune - a modern day 'Wild Geese ... (Goose?)' who was wanted for questioning in a, or perhaps multiple, murder(s) involving either a duel over a woman's honor or killing a dozen armed gangsters who prayed on young innocents newly arrived to the big city.

I wasn't alone. My trusty companion was A.) an ascetic Jedi Mistress (my own, personal Yoda), B.) an ancient witch schooled in the necromantic arts (apparently the reason I couldn't die), or C.) a Cold-War Era SMERSH (too much James Bond) assassin repaying an old debt to the descendent of an anti-communist partisan she'd killed years ago - eerily close to the truth for once. That, plus the TEK investigation, were Hungary's main points of concern involving me.

2.) I was now a person involved in significant events for half a dozen nations on the world scene. 

Let's start with Romania. Okay, foremost, I was responsible for the single deadliest day in modern (post-WWII) Romanian Land Forces history. There was no covering this up. Close to one hundred men and women had died in combat - and then you added the forty-some dead Amazons, many of them apparently tortured, and this was a political and public relations nightmare. 

No one doubted their troops behaved heroically. That wasn't the problem. The political conundrum was how could they explain Ajax and his fifty seasoned killers penetrating into central Romania with no one being aware of the danger? A few politicians wanted to blame Székely nationalists (by that, they meant the ethnic minority who 'vaguely' wanted Transylvania to rejoin Hungary) ... except they had me, the Hungarian Prince, leading the charge. 

Life would have been so much easier for them if I had died. Yes, I could read the minds of those politicians. Screw a girl, then her younger sister, and then his wife, who all say they love me, and you'll recognized the emotional intent a father directs your way. (I'd only done that once, and once was enough.) I was getting that vibe again. 

Unfortunately for them, I wasn't dead and three big time foreign governments (and Ireland) seemed really curious about me, my performance and my mortality. So dragging me out back for a firing squad wasn't going to happen. Riki Martin of the US State Department was there and she told me a representative of the US Military Mission was on his way up to debrief me. Russia's sexy military attaché was still on site and looking happy for some reason. Flaviu, who had some experience with me, was soon to be gone; replaced by some person who had some serious lettuce before his actual name and didn't know me from didly. Not good. 

The UK had one of their diplomats coming up as well, just so I didn't get lonely. They weren't driving up with the Irishman, or the American. No one considers their carbon footprint in a crisis, I swear. But wait! It gets better. My Romanian Special Force dudes had brought the rest of their company (around a hundred new buddies) with them...they seriously didn't want me to get homesick and wander off (because, you know, I liked living and freedom). 

The Romanian army shouldn't have worried. It seemed that there were some US Army Rangers with NATO in Kosovo, Albania, or Bosnia and Uncle Sam was expressing a desire for them to 'stop by'. Maybe they could share their C-130 with the British paratroopers who were equally concerned about my well-being. I just hoped everyone was going to play nice when the Spetsnaz arrived. Putin was suddenly (and surprisingly to me, anyway) my new pal. I had a feeling I'd soon be discovering my secret Russian heritage if I wasn't careful. I was thinking maybe I could squeeze an Order of Lenin, or a Hero of the Soviet Union out of him. I heard they both looked nice, were obsolete and came without an actual pension. 




Life as a New Hire Ch. 35



If Katrina wouldn't let me write off this calamity as PTO, I was going to be irate. I was on the verge of having a large family to support after all, unless you considered me marrying a billionaire's heiress to be compensation enough. The only group involved who weren't trying to actually see me was the Khanate. 

Temujin most likely had some shamanistic mojo that would let him know if I croaked. That bit smacked of paganism, so it was kept under wraps because he had to appear dutifully Islamic for the masses. Still, some koumiss would have been nice. Heck, right then I could have gone for an 'atta boy' - perhaps even a 'two thumbs up'.

Oh yeah; the general of the 4th Romanian Division wanted me to stop by when I had the chance (if I didn't, he'd send men to kill me, or so it was insinuated). The 61st Mountain Troops was part of his division's combat command and if the General Staff went looking for someone to crucify, he was making damn sure it wasn't going to be him.

It occurred to me that I could send a handsome-looking Spetsnaz (if there was such a thing) to go in my place. They were brother Slavs, right? I was sure that between the 'Fall of the Berlin Wall', Moldavian Independence and Romania joining NATO, they would have much to discuss. Out of the blue, Pamela smacked me on the back of my head, Jethro Gibbs' style. My 'more-evil Russian doppelganger' idea must have been poorly thought out. 

Before I could implement that silliness, or trigger the big brouhaha, there was a preamble: I had three compatriots. Of greater importance, I had three heavily armed/gravely-serious bodyguards who wouldn't surrender their weapons and/or abandon me. So I thought "play nice" thoughts to myself.

Diplomacy, sovereignty and legality all reared their ugly heads. I wasn't really an Irish diplomat. My paperwork was still valid, but the Romanian government hadn't permitted my entry into their country under the standard diplomatic protocols. Ireland wanted to talk to me about that - why was I running around armed and killing people in two Central European countries? I was acting more like an Irish adventurer from the 17th century, than a genteel civil servant from the 21st.

Then there was the niggling little complication that involved me, my friends and our criminal possession of military-grade hardware. Chaz had the dubious excuse of being an official British government agent on assignment. That meant he could hope for a prisoner exchange within the next decade. Rachel and Pamela were private citizens with painfully sketchy proofs of US citizenship.

When the Romanian legal system finished buggering them, it would be off to Hungry and its serious inquiry into all the dead bodies we'd left in our wake. Who was I kidding? What I was really worrying about was how many members of the Romanian penal system would die when they escaped. Their flimsy identities gave no clue to how dangerous they actually were. Hell, they'd beat me home. 

I had the added difficulty of Ireland and their questions about who the fuck I was and why I had their gold filigree on something I didn't deserve sitting snugly in my back pocket. 

So first off, this new band of 'Eagles' wanted to disarm and separate us.

[Romanian] "Don't insult me," I scoffed. "I am your Prince. Don't make me explain it to your widow."

[Romanian] "I'm not married," the Lieutenant snarled back, daring me.

[Romanian] "Well, rush out and marry somebody. I haven't got all day. We don't want me to be caught in an idle boast now do we?" I grinned. Verbal sparring apparently wasn't in his repertoire.

[Romanian] "What?"

"Shut the fuck up, Carl," Chaz blithely inserted himself into the conversation.

"But you don't even speak Romanian," I countered. "How do you even know what I said?" The Romanians didn't know English, but they knew Carl. The tension between us ebbed.

"By the expression on the officer's face, Hercege," he winked. "It's universal to the brotherhood."

[Romanian] "Who is he with?" The officer questioned me.

[Romanian] "You and he are the same," I answered.

[Romanian] "You cannot go any farther armed," he returned to his mission parameters.

[Romanian] "I don't envy you going in and telling the Colonel to come out here, but so be it," I held my ground.

[Romanian] "We could kill you and take them off your corpses," he studied my reaction.

[Romanian] "You are the second handsome man to tell me that today," I shook my head. "I'll tell you what I told him: 'you sure are cute, just not my type'." Pause then laughter.

[Romanian] "You are a madman," the lieutenant snorted. "I'll go talk to the Colonel."

I was a jerk, loved maidens and was a master of bullshit. Did that make me a modern day Minotaur? The lieutenant came back out, then ushered me inside; Riki had to wait for the moment. He motioned my team come along. In the staff room of the 61st were a handful of officers and several suits.

"Mr. Nyilas," the Colonel gazed upon me. "I don't know what to make of you."

"You and my Mother both," I mumbled. Despite the somber atmosphere, a few of the men and women let their moods lighten. They didn't hold my levity against me. I'd been there, on the battlefield and if humor was how I dealt with the experience, so be it.

"Ha," the greying man mused. "It is wholly my fault that I disregard most of the information you supplied my staff. You were unerringly accurate in your assessment of our enemy's capabilities. I know my men and I know how good they are. Veteran commanders can barely describe what my troops endured. You warned us and I didn't believe you. I was wrong and my men died because of it," he sighed.

"Sir, I do not believe you could have done anything else and succeeded," I interrupted.

"Succeeded? Is this what you consider success?" he hardened.

"Absolutely, Sir. Had you been slower to respond, those men would have most likely come here, to Miercurea Ciuc, and you would have fought the same battle ...except your civilians would have been caught in the mix," I lied. 

If Ajax had escaped he'd have hunted me down. The location would have been irrelevant to him. How he knew where to be was a question for later and something to be presented to smarter, more experienced minds.

"Perhaps," he allowed. "They were heading north when we encountered them. 

The Alal in me was going back over the plan. It had been sound.

"Sir, you had every reason to doubt my military experience and to believe I exaggerated the threat. I was right and I take no joy in that, nor do I think anyone can hold your decisions against you," I stated. 

Now he gave a bitter laugh. Yes, they could hold all the deaths against him. 

"We both know your men and women didn't die for their country - they killed for it. Quite frankly, I believe they killed some of the most vicious creatures to ever walk the face of the Earth. Fuck them for taking so many of us. Pile their bodies up and burn them," I suggested.

"They deserve no more Romanian soil than a spot to inter their ashes," I concluded.

"You do not sound like any diplomat I've ever met," the Colonel regained his gruff exterior.

"I'm not. I'm a fraud. I know as much about Ireland as I do about being a prince," I confessed. "That said, I didn't come here to kill anyone. I came to save lives."

[Romanian] "How has that worked out for you?" a sitting woman in a suit questioned. She was slender, waspish and didn't sound comfortable speaking English, though she knew enough to get by.

"I am not a fortune-teller. I don't know how this is going to work out," I said.

[Romanian] "That's not what I asked," she prodded.

"Yes it was," I corrected her. "You wanted to know if I thought the price of your dead countrymen was worth the life of me, my friends and the lives of your countrymen I came to save. I can't measure the promise of those lives against the loss of all the dead. Don't play games with me. I'm have a degree in Philosophy and I eat morally ambiguous people like you for lunch."

Pamela laughed aloud and lively.

"Kimberly and Katrina would be so proud of you right now," she chortled.

[Romanian] "I don't think you grasp the deep pit your find yourself in, Friend" the suit stayed chillingly calm.

"Oh, I think we all know we both screwed the pooch big time," I smirked. "The difference is me and mine are all happy to be alive after two of the most trying, fun-filled days of our lives. You want to throw us in prison. The Hungarians want to throw us in prison. I'm sure if I get back to the States, they will want to put us in prison too. Have I missed anyone?"

[Romanian] "I'm glad you will confess. It will make it easier on us," she grinned like sexy weasel.

"Wait," Rachel put a restraining arm on me. "I've wanted to say this for some time." To the weasel, "Blow it out your ass, dipshit."

"Rachel, you don't know what she said," Pamela faux-gasped.

"I don't know the words, but I know what he meant," Rachel glowered. She missed Charlotte so much, she was willing to court pain and death. "I want to go back in time and slap her mother repeatedly for not strangling her in the crib. Is that succinct enough?"

"I apologize for ever meeting you, Rachel. I've brought you to a bad end," I gave her a tender look.

"It's okay. I never thought I'd live long enough to sleep with you anyway," she smiled back.

Phfft...sigh. It was so sad that I recognized the sound of a low-caliber, silenced round.

"Listen up, dipshit," Pamela snickered. "Good one, Rachel. If you don't believe the next one is going through your skull, you clearly haven't been listening to us. You are fucking with the wrong monkeys. You have this bizarre idea that if I kill you, your government won't replace your worthless, bullet-riddled hide with someone we find more agreeable. My grandson sent in motion a half million combatants a few hours ago, he nearly died leading your soldiers against your nation's enemies and you want him to kiss your shoes as if you matter at all in the grand scheme of things?" she snarled. "Think again."

No one was moving because Pamela had her silenced .22 Beretta out and pointed at Weasel's head. The SF's were caught flat-footed, as was everyone else. No guards came rushing in because the closed doors further muffled the sound. "I think this is a good time for us to get a drink," Chaz advised as he slowly reached out and lowered Pamela's gun hand.

It was Pamela's gunboat diplomacy yet again. She hadn't meant to kill the women. Hell, she'd been a random target of opportunity. What Pamela had done was clear up the doubts in the room. Everyone on the staff could self-consciously let themselves off the hook for not being in the front lines, risking themselves with their comrades. Thanks to Pamela, they too had confronted violence. 

'Crazy' Grandma had fired off her piece and everyone sighed with relief when Chaz got her to lower it. I was pretty sure Chaz was in on this dangerous game. It resided with the Colonel as to how to resolve this hiccup in our dispute.

"Mr. Nyilas, why don't we take a walk outside, just the two of us?" he 'requested'.

I nodded because I'm not always as dumb as I look. He was letting my people off with incredible temperance and I could honorably send them away. They'd scoped out the scene and believed I'd be safe enough. He, in turn, had an excuse to take a step away from his political watchdogs.

"I think that is for the best," I nodded. "Do you want me to leave my guns behind?"

"No, Mr. Nyilas, we might run into trouble out there and one of my Captains has suggested you are a man who can take care of himself," he replied. That was very nice of him indeed. If I did do something stupid...he had a ton of troops about who would make my regrets rather temporary. I decided to behave as if I had a passing acquaintance with sanity.

His first questions were about the fighting at the ruins. I peppered our exchange with my interest in what had happened to the advance force of the 22nd. It was bleak news, yet the Colonel felt a sense of relief. He was coming to accept the lethality of his enemies, which in turn, led to an understanding, if not acceptance, of the carnage his men had been subjected to.

He was in a cycle of context - grief - context. He'd gambled on me and men died. Once the battle was joined though, his soldiers had done precisely the right thing under considerable stress. He could be proud without dishonoring the dead. Only Pamela and I had engaged Ajax earlier. Only I had talked with the man. 

The Colonel had to look into my eyes to get the spark that led to understanding the mind and ruthlessness of his opponent. The name 'Ajax' never came up. That was more than a rational mind could accept at the moment. He knew his men had fought and killed the best and that helped him cope a tiny bit. Our interview ended when the first of the unwanted guests arrived.

Only when I walked inside did it occur to me that this had been my first soldier to soldier chat. We had respected one another and discussed matters like men who knew the score. That was depressing in its own right. It was well passed nightfall when we went back inside. In our absence, Riki had started to redeem my existence. My salvation lay in Romantic Americana Symbolism.

Translation: I was a Horatio Alger - a working class kid raised by a widower father, who earned a scholarship to a quiet New England college, graduated near the top of my class and gotten an excellent job (salary and benefits not disclosed). That was the was the first part of the Americana - proof positive that America was still the land of opportunity and a place where poor children could still reach the highest levels of society (umm...okay?).

The second Americana Part: my Father had been murdered in a case of mistaken identity. Those heavily-armed foreign corporate/rogue governmental-sponsored terrorist mercenaries (their exact origin was shrouded in double-dealing misinformation) had ruthlessly murdered my Pa to cover up their error. Like any true Son of the American Dream, I had sworn vengeance.

The Symbolic Part: My compassionate, understanding government (the good governmental servants of Republican Democracy, not the bad, hires the covert, secret, black-bag, unaccountable private contractors/ pawns of the Wall Street Elite bureaucrats) allowed me to participate in a multi-national taskforce. These selfless guardians of the freedom had formed a coalition which had hunted down the villains.

With the priceless assistance of two Central European countries, who currently had to remain nameless (cough: Hungary and Romania), we'd achieved a final, violent confrontation in which my allies and I had emerged bloody, scarred, yet victorious. Once more, free men and women had answered the call of duty and some had made the ultimate sacrifice.

See, I had a good government that cared enough about me to let me become a gun-toting menace to the civilized world. Like a Hollywood Western hero of the 1950's, 60's and 70's, I had taken personal revenge against the forces of wickedness - exit the railroad tycoons and cattle barons - enter the shadowy world of private security forces and uncontrolled corporate capitalism.

The Romantic Part: My behind-the-scenes personal protectors (Riki, Javiera and Katrina) were prepping Hana Sulkanen, my fiancé, Brooke Lee (my good female friend), Libra Chalmers (my other good female friend) and Yasmin Palhavã (my sultry Brazilian, single mother and co-worker) to subtly tell the Globe what a sweet, caring, modern, passionate, warm-hearted guy I was.

According to their presentation, I had given up my philandering lifestyle because I only had eyes for Hana. I was a handsome, sexually-successful man who was cleaning up my dark past before devoting himself to family life. The other girls were merely friends. How that didn't make me a metrosexual wasn't clear to me. Also, if anyone thought this would become my new reality, they were sorely mistaken. I was hornier than ever and I hadn't sexed up a lady since dawn.

Around midnight, the 4th Division's Commander gave up on me extracting myself from this complicated morass and sent an aide to barrage me with questions - all of which I had answered numerous time before, by the time he got there. He was also to stop me from 'sneaking away'. How me and my forty-something numbered current entourage would accomplish this? Not sure. 

Note on the Cáel Geopolitical Situation:

Ireland: Here was their take on the situation - I was an O'Shea. The word 'Illuminati' was never mentioned. This guy was not 'in the know'. I was son of the O'Shea clan and despite having crossed the Atlantic, I remained an honorary member of the Irish Diaspora - a reborn Tuath Dé Danann; a wayward son to be proud of. It was that whole 'manly, vengeance, compassion/warrior-poet' deal going down. I could keep my fraudulent diplomatic ablative shielding (emphasis on the 'ablative).

The United States: The well-wishers who chastened me over yet another staring match with Death were exceeded by the numbers and majesty of those who were telling me don't do another God damn thing that makes the US look bad crowd. If I planned to do anything spontaneous, or show initiative, I had to give them fair warning first. I wasn't sure how that would work.

Somewhere along the line, I figured I'd be awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom while warming a bunk at Guantanamo Bay. I could put it next my autographed picture of Vladimir Putin that I was sure I'd get for Christmas. I got it from both barrels about me being a member of a Secret Society and an obscure public figure (I now had added 1750 online friends in the last few hours and my popularity was exploding exponentially ... did that make me a virus?).

I reminded each and every one of them that this was NOT MY GOD-DAMN JOB! I was an intern gopher, I lived in a neighborhood that qualified me for the an automatic subscription to the NRA's American Rifleman and a Life Time membership if I remained bullet-proof for a decade, and I was the victim of pent up divine female aggression. I wanted some fucking sympathy.

On the 'we still love you side', I met a really swell US Army Ranger Lieutenant from Mississippi and his 9-man squad. Except for him constantly, loudly and publically referring to the Spetsnaz as 'those Commie Bastards', we got along just fine. 

In the bonus round over the telephone, I had three Very Important People, Assistant Secretary of State for European and Eurasian Affairs (ASSEEA) Victoria Nuland, Assistant Secretary of State for South and Central Asian Affairs (ASSCAA) Robert O. Blake Jr., and Assistant Secretary of State for East Asian and Pacific Affairs (ASSEAP) Daniel R. Russel, all gift me with brief words of encouragement (if 10 minutes counts as brief) plus they HAD to talk with me when I got back home (aka Washington DC, which wasn't my home).

Ass-EE! - Ass-Caa(w) - Ass-Eap! Don't any of these people look at their freaking letterheads? I decided I could work with Victoria. Sure, she was a 40-something, married with two kids, but that had never stopped me before. She passed along something for me to consider as my next project; Russia, the Khanate and Georgia. 

I wasn't sure how she knew Georgia Lansky and I was sure Georgia would never be up to a gang-bang on that scale. Riki 'suggested' she meant Georgia, the country, not the girl or the state. Still confused, Riki then enlightened me about Russia gobbling up two chunks of Georgia before I was an adult. 

Did anyone seriously think I could convince Comrade President Putin to cough up anything he had liberated




Life as a New Hire Ch. 35



ASSCAA Blake Jr. demanded...kinda, sorta...it was hard to pin him down on any specifics...that I give him my contact numbers to the Khanate. I refused (because I didn't want to give up the only one I had - Iskender) and he got pissy. Damn him. Temujin had made his job a hell of a lot easier by annexing half the countries in his jurisdiction. Ivy League jackalope.

ASSEAP Russel was plain pissy; no refusal on my part required. He left no doubt in my mind that our (the US's) friendship with the PRC was a MUST due to regional security and economic concerns. He seethed pure condemnation at me for turning his plan for policy integration (shrug?) in East Asia on its ear. It seemed that half a dozen diplomats from SE Asia expected him to have up-to-date information on what was going on in their backyard and to make sure they were included in whatever solution the US decided to implement. I was making him look incompetent to his so-called peers. (This level of embarrassment apparently ran contrary to his government servant turned richly paid lobbyist for Asian factions life plan.) 

He was also blaming me for the birth of the Khanate and their war with China. I told him to calm down. I explained that I'd read all about him in college (a lie that fed into his ego), had come to utterly despise him for no earthly reason I could put a name to, and had set all of this in motion just to destroy his career and fuck him over. Then I hung up. Only when I saw Riki's face drain of blood did it occur to me that Riki was a 'China Expert' and thus a member of ole Russel's department. Whoops.

The United Kingdom: God praise the Queen! Somebody loved me. Maybe it was because I was screwing two of their traditional headaches - the Bear (Russia) and the Hooligans (either Manchester United, or the Irish), but they were the only ones to give me a pat on the back. I could keep my two British 'bestest' buddies in the World ... plus they sent some paratroopers to stop the Rangers from engaging the Russian Killer Death Squad in any unpleasantness.

Otherwise, it was 'keep up the good work', stay alive and if I ever attempted to set foot on the British Isles, they'd blow up the Chunnel, torpedo my vessel, or blast my plane out of the sky first. I blithely inquired about a spaceship crashing to Earth. The Russians did that stuff all the time. 

The polite woman from SIS/MI-6 at the other end requested I give the phone to Colour Sergeant Tomorrow (Chaz). I looked at him, then informed the kind lady that he was in the WC at the moment. I could relay a message if she liked. She told me I'd clearly gotten the message, so that would not be necessary. Delilah told me the lady was joking. Chaz didn't look convinced of that.

Hungary: Officers Gala and Kupec of the TEK showed up to talk to me (and Pamela), armed with a Judicial request for Romania to hand us over to Hungarian law enforcement (aka them), if things got nasty. It got nasty real fast.

[Hungarian] "We told you to stay in Mindszent - you didn't. Instead, you beat up a foreign national (the German Pamela had convinced to give us his motorcycle - once she'd rendered him unconscious), stole his conveyance (his BMW, a sweet ride) and fled the country," Gala started.

[Romanian] "The language of our hosts, if you please," I sighed. "I made my case clear. We didn't want to die, or a repeat of the inn, so we left."

[Romanian] "I see...so you brought death to our neighbors instead," she taunted me. "You did a great job of getting the Romanians to do your dirty work for you. You brought this upon them."

That misinterpretation of events could have been a problem.

[Romanian] "Don't be stupid," I snapped. "Did I kill the forty-six women and children too?"

[Romanian] "I wouldn't put it past you," she glared right back. I took a deep breath. My eyes migrated to the floor. I wasn't shying away from her gaze. I was trying to not commit murder.

[Romanian] "I'm going to take a companion home for burial, Officer Gala. I'm never going to forget all the Romanian 'Vânători de munte' bodies lying beside her," I murmured. [English] "Apologize, or fight, because I swear to God, in five seconds I'm going to beat that apology out of you if you don't," I promised in my native tongue.

"Lady, I'm not like him," Chaz mused smoothly while looking at Officer Kupec whose hand was migrating to her firearm. "I'll kill you without hesitation and then go eat breakfast."

"Who would you be?" she countered icily. "I'm an officer of the law and you aren't Romanian."

"Colour Sergeant Charles Tomorrow of her Majesty's SRR," he was unperturbed. 

"Five," I muttered as I launched myself at Gala. Even with a warning, my speed caught her off-guard. Boxing perfection - straight to the chin. She bounced off the wall, stunned. My follow up was a body blow that drove the air out of her lungs despite her ballistic vest. Rachel and one of the Rangers snared my arms and yanked me away. Gala slumped down.

Once pulled back, I saw that Chaz had his L129A1 sighted on Kupec. Her hand hasn't even touched the butt of her pistol and I was pretty sure she knew death was an electron's pulse away.

[Hungarian] "Son of a bitch," Gala shook her head. "You hit me." The two Romanian soldiers - men of the 24th - began to react and not in Gala's favor. I relaxed so Rachel and the Ranger let go.

[Romanian] "I was wrong. Everyone back off. This was my fuck up. Officer Gala, despite of what you think of me...I did this. This battle was mine. Ajax followed me here, but he tortured and murdered those women for his own twisted reasons. This was part of a vendetta that goes back a long, long time. He's dead, his men are dead and some very good men and women died to make that so," I confessed.

[Romanian] "Congratulations. You got me. I'm guilty. He came to Romania to kill me and now he's dead...and the fight is still not over. There are thousands of men of his mold out there, organized and ready to fight me and my friends no matter where they find us," I ranted. "You arrest me, they will kill me in jail...and the fight will still go on."

[Romanian] "This is nothing more than vengeance for you dead father," she retorted.

[Romanian] "Yes...and?" I shrugged. "That doesn't mean I'd put innocent lives at risk. They killed my Father. I want to make them pay for that. That is about as primal and human as it gets."

[Romanian] "That is why we have laws and a system of justice," Gala wouldn't relent.

[Romanian] "Ha," I huffed. "Have you tried to arrest any of them? You know; the people actually butchering people?" Selena slipped into the room, taking in the tense stances.

[Romanian] "Who are you with?" Kupec asked Selena.

"Cáel, what seems to be the problem?" she asked me as she ignored the cop.

"TEK," I told her. "They are here to drag me back to Budapest to stand trial."

"Right," Selena laughed. "That's not going to happen Officer..."

"Kupec and Gala," I designated each one.

"Oh, that's where I've seen you before," Selena eyed TEK Officer Gala.

"Do we know each other?" Gala kept me in her line of sight.

"My Mother's oldest brother knew your Father - you are 'Forbidden'," she stated without explanation.

[Hungarian] "Forbidden? What does that mean?" Gala swiveled toward Selena.

[Hungarian] "Life for a life," Selena tilted her head slightly. "Your father saved my uncle's life, so until that debt is repaid, you are 'Forbidden'," again with the half-answer. I lived in a small, all-around screwed-up world except the Black Hand was a tiny, mostly familial, organization. Selena's uncle must have been the Black Hand Assassin that Gala's father sprung from jail. 

Not from any jail either - a political prison...probably with very high security, which was why the old man hadn't escaped on his own. That had to be its own separate adventure; I wasn't going to rush down the rabbit hole to figure it out.

"You are..." Gala dared not say it in a room with so many strangers. She held up an open hand.

"What have you been telling the outsiders?" Selena's eyes skewered me.

"She knows 'of' your group plus a few nom de guerre's," I replied. "I told her she was on the right track, but I was the wrong person to be talking to."

"You are with the Black Hand?" Kupec studied Selena seriously for the first time.

"The Black Hand is a criminal boogeyman," Selena scoffed. "There is no such thing."

"So...you are," Gala said. "If so, what are you doing here?"

"Strangely enough, I'm doing your job - seeing that justice is done," Selena responded.

"Were you at the firefight?" Kupec asked.

"Yes, I followed Cáel into battle and I witnessed him challenge the enemy champion to single combat. The pyrotechnic grenade going off over their heads obscured my sight of the confrontation," Selena replied. "When the smoke cleared, they were both down. Only Cáel got back up."

"So the grenade killed their leader," Gala wondered.

"No. I personally examined the body before the Romanians took it away. Not a burn on him and his facial lacerations were not caused by shrapnel. He had more dagger-like wounds - cauterized - and he'd been disemboweled. The man died in a great deal of agony," she related.

"What did you do to him?" Gala returned to me. Since Selena neglected to mention that the majority of Ajax's wounds happened beneath his intact clothing and armor, I decided to do the same.

"I'd tell you except you are already questioning my sanity," I sighed. "Suffice it to say, I knew two things that he didn't and I used that advantage to make him dead." Chaz's stomach rumbled.

"Let's cut to the chase," he yawned. "He killed the one called Ajax in front of dozens of witnesses. He's not going to tell you how he did it. He's not going to tell you why he came to Romania. He's not going back with you to Hungry. By now you should realize there is crap going on that is clearly above your pay grades. 

Give it a rest, get a bite to eat and tell your superiors you are reexamining the available data. This is what they really want to hear anyway," he reminded all present. Maybe it was the tone of his voice. It could have been his casually lethal demeanor. Whatever the reason, his advice ended the discussion and I finally got to eat. I hadn't been able to eat last night - too much on my mind.

Romania: After much hand-wringing, late night cups of coffee and copious amounts of cigars and cigarettes, somewhere at the top of the Romanian hierarchy it was decided I was a hero. To paint me as a criminal would ruin all the pain and death I'd brought with me. It would make all the dead men and women of the 22nd and 24th stupidly dead, not martyrs. 

At that moment, they needed martyrs in order to rally public opinion over what had happened. I wasn't going to be a divisive figure, despite my claims of Transylvanian nobility. Let the Székely rejoice at their Warrior-Prince's return ...as long as I loved Romania and the Vlach people, too. While Flaviu's report was, as usual, a tad indecisive, many voices within the 61st Mountain Troops Brigade spoke volumes in my defense:

-I had provided useful and accurate information. 

-I hadn't usurped anyone's authority (they didn't count enlisting Master Corporal Menner in my mad plan against me). 

-I had fought bravely and in a manner most considered to have saved soldiers' lives. 

-Also, one of my companions had perished and another had been gravely wounded in the defense of Romanian soil. 

-I was a good guy...who should consider going to another country really really soon.

The Russian Federation: They apologized for any confusion concerning their men in New York and Hana. At the time, I had no idea what they were talking about. When I did, I felt like punching a Russian in the nose. Considering the twenty Spetsnaz close by, my ignorance probably saved me some quickly administered bleeding and bruising. 

In their favor, they offered to help the Romanians hunt down the two remaining Greeks. One escapee had been taken, shot up, but alive, at around eleven pm. The Russian Military Attaché to Bucharest (Romania's capital) was getting into her groove. Riki gave me some of her 411. She'd had a promising career in the GRU until she was caught having an affair with her boss's wife, now she was in the hinterlands.

By the looks I was getting from Major Tatianna Semenina Volkov, she was at least bi-sexual. Despite my dubious nature and her being in a building full of prime physical specimens, there was her knowledge that I'd suddenly and unexpectedly resuscitated her prospects for advancement in her chosen vocation. Big people in Moscow were reading documents with her name on them. 

If Operation: Funhouse was counted a success, there was a Podpolkovnik (Lieutenant-Colonel) promotion in her immediate future. If things fell apart...there was always that hope of being posted to the further hinterlands, maybe Uganda? A little past midnight, by way of Riki and the NRO, I got the first inkling that the Great Khan was implementing the directive I had suggested. It was the dawn of a new day and all I wanted to know was" how had I ended up here?"

End Cael's Geopolitical situation, Begin World News 

While I was being beneficently informed that Russian troops had crossed the Nei Mongol border, their reconnaissance elements were racing unopposed toward the critical junctures of Morin Dawa and Zalantun. The Khanate was even clearing the designated routes of all traffic to ease their advancement, while Russian and Khanate Air Forces cautiously patrolled the same airspace. 

By US estimations, the Russians had better hurry, too. The Mongolians at Morin Dawa were barely clinging to the eastern (Chinese) bank of the Nen River. Elements of the PLA's 69th Motorized and 7th Reserve were making near-suicidal attacks in an effort to collapse the shrinking Mongolian perimeter. 

Meanwhile, repeated sorties by the PLAAF had damaged the bridge, but not brought it down and their planes paid a hellish price going up against the Khanate Air Force and anti-air defenses to get that much done. In doing so, the PLA had to leave the Amur River guarded by only a thin layer of lightly equipped military police units to oppose any Russian move.

To counter this crisis at Morin Dawa, Kazakhstan C-295's parachuted elements of the Panther battalion of the former Kyrgyz Army into the combat zone. The Kazaks had transport aircraft, but no paratroopers. The Kyrgyz used other nation's aircraft to train their paratroopers. As one Finnish journalist noted, it was bizarre to watch two military units from the same country, but who couldn't speak each other's languages, coordinating their actions on a dry-erase board and with hand signals.

At Zalantun, another desperate struggle was being waged. By the time the first Russians arrived, the Khanate had secured every one of the city's main chokepoints as well as the heights overlooking the southeastern end of the mountain pass. The 1st Mongolian Defense brigade (their National Guard), the North Mongol Banner Tumens and the 330th Mongolian Special Task Battalion slugged it out with the 3rd PLA Reserve Division.

In the final battle for the gateway to the Manchurian Plain, both sides threw in everything they had left. It was the ill-equipped versus the ill-equipped - the senior (largely made up of the men closest to retirement) battalion of the 1st MDB versus the support and security battalions of the 3rd Reserve Div. Both sides knew the price of failure. 

In the last gasp, only concentrated counter-battery fire and close air support broke the final Chinese counter-attack. The death toll on both sides was ghastly. In the northeast, the Khanate and the PLA were spent forces. The Chinese would recover faster. Both sides were being forced to field older equipment, but the PLA had a massively larger force pool to draw from and much more equipment to field.

By this time, the logistic realities were eating away at the Khanate forces. High-tech equipment needed intensive maintenance. Soldiers needed to eat and sleep, ammo carriers needed to be reloaded and vehicles refueled. From a strategic standpoint, the Chinese military had plenty of fight left in them and were getting more units into the fight every hour. 

The Tumens couldn't bypass every PLA strongpoint. Whenever they had to assault a place, their advance was paid for in priceless men and equipment. This was a factor known to every major military establishment. That the Khanate's initial offensive's first thrusts would run out of steam was a limitation Temujin accepted and the Chinese were counting on. 

As critical as logistics were, there was a whole new category of woes applying a stranglehold to the conflict. Stocks, bonds, monetary exchanges and the flow of resources were all being strained. For 24 hours, at the urging of the key world governments, the major markets had remained calm. When it was revealed that the Khanate was an actual and long-term threat to global stability, panic set in. 

Historically, every conflict ran on the strength of the involved countries' ability to feed and equip their armies and to tax their populace. In the modern age, colonialism, imperialism and mercantilism had complicated the equation. Suddenly nation-states were consuming materials in their martial efforts that they didn't personally possess. 

When the British Royal Navy adopted fuel oil engines, the pattern of warfare changed forever. At that moment in time, the British Empire didn't own any oil fields - the fields were in Iran, the Ottoman Empire, Russia and the United States.

In the post-Imperialism, post-WWII period, China dropped off the economic radar, but the developing African, South American, Middle Eastern and Subcontinent nations more than filled in the gap. China reappearing in the 1970's and the fall of most of the Communist regimes furthered global interdependence.

Whether or not you considered the concept of the nation-state a dead ideal, the power of international banking had been a fact of life for over a century. Financial institutions, national banks, stock and commodities markets developed their own independent interests. When countries went to war, their governments rapidly had to float credit to finance their war debt. 

At some point, their debt got so crushing they couldn't afford to lose...or, their bankers couldn't survive their failure. You could make a fortune in a war, or you could lose everything. Magnifying the issue was that virtually every nation now had to purchase foreign resources and goods they didn't have/produce locally. That caused massive price fluctuations, usually up - way up.

The Khanate had enough petrochemical resources to destabilize world oil prices. China produced so many manufactured goods for others that consumer price indexes worldwide were skyrocketing. China had massive financial reserves, mostly in the form of other nations' foreign debt. The Khanate had a massive inherited monetary 'Sword of Damocles' hanging over its head: Would the Khanate repudiate the debts of the old republics it had absorbed? Would close to a € trillion of electronic currency instantly evaporate? 

The Chinese yuan (¥) wasn't globally traded. Until this moment in history, that had benefited the PRC. Now they were about to spend billions and billions in whatever currency you chose to mention for weaponry they couldn't produce, thanks to the Khanate's aerial campaign against their armaments industries. 

In turn, the countries that had the resources and technology the Chinese needed were considering the possibilities of how to redress the fiscal and trade imbalances that had previously existed. The Khanate also needed a great deal of financial and technological assistance. How could a broke-ass, infant, semi-autocratic country afford anything?




Life as a New Hire Ch. 35



Well, ...

A) The Khanate was currently winning the war. It was slowly sinking into the monetary minds that the Khanate would last at least six months, if not longer. You can roll over Certificates of Deposit (the original CD's) that fast. Those financing Khanate War Bonds wouldn't have to roll them out at 'pennies on the dollar'.

B) Harsh fact; for those who economically and/or militarily opposed the People's Republic of China, every dollar ($), Euro (€), or Yen (also ¥) devoted to assisting the Khanate would cost the PLA/PLAAF/PLAN four or five times that amount to defeat. By its very existence, the Khanate was forcing the PRC to invest a far larger chunk of their (now shrinking) GNP into their defense budget and rebuilding their war-battered infrastructure. 

Face it, the Khanate could slap a JDAM on a Russian made FAB-500 for around $30,000. Four of those would shatter a multi-million dollar dam in one minute. When you started tacking on the cost of automotive/rail bridges and tunnels, that bill ballooned terribly fast. Then you could add the lost revenue from the trade network disruptions. All for $120,000. 

C) The Khanate started with a sizeable piece of the world's 'Oil and Natural Gas Reserves' pie as well as sizeable critical mineral supplies to boot. You could combine that with the fact that the sections of China she'd overrun held nearly a third of the Chinese oil fields and capacity. Those fields they hadn't snatched up, they'd bombed. Many of those were in Manchuria. 

That meant the commodities the Khanate had to sell were earning them more money. If the Khanate did succeed, they could make good on their debt and then some. To solidify that deathly specter, Iran announced they were preparing to send twice as much oil by the end of July to China as they had in all of June - all at inflated prices, of course. Iran would make up their domestic petroleum shortfalls by purchasing the slightly less expensive Khanate oil. Woot, revenue for the Khanate.

D) Geopolitically, the Khanate, if it survived, would transform Asia. A week ago, Asia was dominated by two global powers (China and Russia) and two 'also ran's (India and Pakistan) with a slowly waning US presence. Regionally, India and Pakistan had wasted a huge amount of their potential on wars (with each other and China) and dealing with religious strife.

Russia had been rebuilding itself since its sudden experimental plunge into Free Market Capitalism and Democracy in the 1990's. She was getting stronger, even as the lives of her dissidents became more arduous. To the outside world, China appeared to be a titanic, monolithic state...where the life of dissidents was equally unfortunate.

Along came the Khanate and, for the US and the strongest European states, this was a global chance to regain some of their fading influence and polish their prestige on the world stage. For Taiwan (ROC), Vietnam and Japan, it was a chance to buy some much needed breathing room against the rising threat of the Chinese Colossus. There was no ignoring the rumblings of a much anticipated (by some) creation of this Islamic Super-state either.

That's how.

China had been about to become the World's largest economy. When the northern ports came under aerial attack, the exports the Chinese treasury relied on slowed down. Imports, especially oil and natural gas deliveries, were becoming cripplingly more expensive and under constant threat.

While I was having my chat with the Colonel of the 61st, a fully-loaded Liquid Natural Gas (LNG) tanker about to dock at the port of Guangzhou (Canton for us ignorant Westerners) struck three mines. It was a stupendously ill-fated contact. You might as well have dropped a nuke on the city. Buildings a kilometer away were flattened. The fire departments, medical facilities and civil authorities were completely overwhelmed by the magnitude of the disaster. 

The People's Liberation Army Navy (PLAN)'s frigate Huaihua (PN-566), augmenting the harbor's air defenses, was close enough to the vessel when it exploded that the warship capsized. A Chinese Coast Guard cutter in the vicinity also caught fire. The flames and the resulting secondary explosions doomed that ship as well.

The People's Republic of China began screaming about the latest Khanate atrocity. An hour later, an oil tanker in the Port of Ningbo-Zhoushan (East China Sea), the world's busiest sea transport center, erupted in an incendiary series of detonations. Suspiciously numerous and abnormal catastrophic failures cascaded through the petrochemical refinery and cargo container areas, setting two dozen square kilometers of the dock area ablaze.

This time, the authorities caught two of what appeared to be a gang of saboteurs. Before they could be questioned, both women took their own lives by overdosing on opiates they had hidden 'inside' their persons. A group calling itself 'The True Chinese Resistance' took credit for both attacks. The outside world only found out about this a few hours later from multiple internet uploads from Kuala Lumpur. 

For those in the know, death by surgically implanted opiates was the preferred method of suicide by Black Lotus members of the 9 Clans. In the embryotic New World Order, Katrina Love, my boss, relayed that information to Federal Prosecutor Javiera Castello. Within minutes, MI-6 and the CIA were in the loop. There was a spy network operating on the Chinese mainland that those two could access. 

There was a price for the cooperation of the Black Lotus. An hour after Javiera and Katrina called Japan, an Amazon diplomat in Nagasaki requested the Ninja set up a meeting between their Chinese sectarians and members of the Amazons, British and US intelligence services. The cost for this favor was rather odd. 

In Okinawa, a small, ancient Secret Society dating back to the 16th century and the Ryukyu Kingdom, wanted something that only the US Marines stationed on that island could provide. For this favor, the Okinawans would join the Ninja in their struggle to regain control of the Nipponese Underworld, expelling the agents of the Seven Pillars of Heaven and the traitorous Ninja family they had subverted.

The Ninja would be able to keep the money spigot flowing to the Black Lotus and the Black Lotus would keep the Americans and British up to date on the internal disruptions and dissent the war was causing the PRC. By that convoluted logic, the US and UK weren't 'really' committing espionage on the Chinese mainland. The world kept turning.

End World News

(Echoes beyond battle)

"Cáel?" a voice said over the phone. Tiger Lily had roused me from a trance by handing it to me. I didn't sleep that much anymore.

"Hana?" I mumbled. "It has to be...way early where you are. Is anything wrong?"

"No, I'm fine. Rumor has it you were in a firefight," she countered.

"Ya...yes," I replied.

"I was told that one of your bodyguards died," she tentatively explored my mood.

"Yeah. Her name was Charlotte. I wasn't involved in the majority of the fighting. I let the Romanians carry most of the weight," I lied. 

The whispers and looks my two constant 24th Mountain Troop guardians gave me told me one of them understood English and they knew I was lying. I mouthed 'fiancé' in Romanian as an explanation to them. More whispers.

"Buffy says you are lying," Hana accused me. That was bad - Buffy and being caught in a lie.

"What did she say?" I groaned.

"She says you were in the thick of the fighting," Hana stated.

"That's not really true. As I said, the Romanians took the brunt of the action. I sort of observed the fight as it developed and helped out where I could," I evaded.

"She says you are lying again," Hana snorted. Oh, Buffy hadn't just informed Hana what was going on, she was also present.

"May I talk to her, please," I requested. Rustling noises came across the airwaves. 

"Buffy," I spoke first. "Don't tell Hana what I really do. She doesn't understand."

"No, you listen to me," Buffy fought back. "She needs to know the generalities of what you do. Lying to her will only ruin your marriage." Not what I expected. Buffy was almost endorsing my matrimony. Then there was a pause. "Cáel, Charlotte was SD (Security Detail - the Amazon Elite). They are all volunteers and they want to fight for the Host. 

None of them want to die, yet if they perish, they want to do it in battle against our enemies. I imagine you are hurting right now. I want you to know that no one holds her death against you. Had you been attempting something truly stupid, everyone knows Rachel would have stopped you. We are Amazons and warfare is what we do. 

In war, people die and from what I read of Rachel's report, Charlotte killed at least two people and died saving Vincent's life. It was the best death any member of the SD can ask for. Got that?" Buffy drove her point home.

"That doesn't help," I answered.

"I know it doesn't right now," Buffy softened. "In time, it will make more sense. That you mourn for her makes you all the more worthy of being an Amazon."

"I need to send in some sort of a report, don't I?" I sighed.

"Yes. You are our Chief Diplomat now, as well as Head of House Ishara and in contact with allied agencies," Buffy reminded me. 

"Fine. You are right. St. Marie and Katrina need to look over what I've figure out to date. It is real important news." The current leader, St. Marie, the Golden Mare, and Katrina Love, my boss, head of Executive Services at Havenstone and their Spymaster.

Oh, I wasn't going to tell them the whole truth about me and Grandpa Alal. Unlike Pamela, my 'sisters' would kill me in a heartbeat to significantly reduce the threat to the Host that his/my existence presented.

"Yes you do," Buffy's voice soothed me. "And Cáel..."

"Yes?"

"40 days, Bitch," she teased me. Mother-fucker.

"Screw you," I snorted. She was trying to make me happy and succeeding. "I'm going to let Aya win," I taunted her.

"Aya is too young to compete," Buffy scoffed.

"She's small. I'll smuggle her inside the hunting grounds in my backpack," I chortled. "They'll never see it coming." Pause.

"Your secret is safe with me," Buffy became soothing once more. She'd relayed her emotional messages and could now let me off the hook. "Here is Hana."

"Cáel, are you going to keep lying to me?" my fiancé asked.

"Yes, but only when I think I can get away with it," I answered.

"Sigh," she vocalized. "Meet me in Rome?"

"Huh?"

"I'm going to be in Rome this evening on my way to the Khanate," she told me.

"Oh!" I grunted. "I almost forgot. I got you two bodyguards. Where do you want them to meet you?"

"Astana. That's my next stop," she replied. "Are they any good?"

"First time on the job. Normally they are hired assassins," I joked, "but they are very good at it."

"I feel safer already," she joked back with me. "Rome?"

"I'll see what I can do," was all I could really say at the moment.

"Ms. Chalmers will be with me," she slipped a test in on me.

"Libra?"

"Yes. She says she wants to get involved, so she's coming along as my back-up assistant Gunga Din in case things get dicey," she added on.

"Wow...that's something I didn't expect," I mused. "I would have gone with 'Kim', except that could get confusing. If I can make it to Rome, it will be to see you, Hana."

"Is there anything you want me to pass on to her?" Hana asked.

"Yes, tell her to wear that turquoise thong. She'll know the one," I got smarmy.

"You really are a reprehensible human being," she chuckled. "Does anyone tell you that?"

"A surprisingly large number of people - mostly women," I confessed. Pause.

"If I've done things that have made your life more difficult, I apologize," she said softly.

"You have," I said in dour tone. "We are working so well together, everyone thinks I've already got a life-partner. It is cramping my 'Playa' image."

"Oh...keep up that Playboy attitude and I'm going to make you behave. Desiree suggested a shock collar," Hana showed some faux-outrage. She was also getting to know my crowd...

"I don't think I have enough turtle-necks," I snorted.

"Your neck isn't what is going to be wrapped around," she retorted.

"You are not encouraging me to abandon my dangerous lifestyle, I'll have you know," I sighed in far better spirits than I'd started this conversation in.

"No need to worry about it. Buffy informs me you'd kill yourself in a libido-induced act of auto-erotic-electrocution," she yawned. "No collar for you, I guess."

"Thanks for the call, Hana...and Buffy," I said. "Get some sleep. I need to check up on my people. I'll call you when I know what my plans will look like."

"Good night, Cáel," she yawned again. That was that for now. We hung up.

"Virginia wanted you to know they are flying Vincent out to Ramstein Air Force base in Germany in two hours," Tiger Lily told me.

"Is he in any shape for me to see him before he goes?" I stood up.

"Sure," she nodded. She handed me my windbreaker. Even in summer, Transylvanian mornings could be chilly. As we exited the room my small group had used as a bivouac, the sounds of the Romanian military base surrounded us. Rachel and Wiesława were sleeping. From my last report, Mona was still working beside the Romanian hospital staff.

I had been told that NATO was also flying in supplies and medical personnel. I supposed that they were arriving by now. I'd also been told the less critically wounded had been moved to neighboring hospitals in this and other counties. The Jandarmeria Română (Romania's paramilitary police force) had taken over the hunt and the foot work of the investigation. The military units were returning to their barracks - there had been no declaration of Martial Law.

From the perspective of the various national and foreign intelligence services, me and mine had best get the Hell out of Dodge as well. They'd want me to come back in a few weeks, once the Romanians had sorted out the legalities of what had transpired at the ruins. 

It was personally depressing to see I didn't need to worry about personal protection without my Amazons. Besides Tiger Lily, I had one each of the US Rangers, the British Paratroopers, the Romanian 24th and the Spetsnaz. It appeared that the 24th itself had adopted me and sent their own Special Forces home. The trip to the hospital was sad. We had to park way down the street due to the official traffic: the wounded going out, the dead headed to coroners and supplies coming in.

Our Romanian trooper quick-stepped it up to the woman in charge of Jandarmeria Română's outer cordon of guardians. She knew who I was. Still, she double-checked our ID's before letting us inside. I didn't have to ask the harried receptionist were Vincent was. He had inherited two of my Rangers as his personal security, so my guy knew the way.

Vincent looked like re-tenderized road-kill. Some of that had to do with the antiseptic they scrubbed him with when they operated. His right calf was in a cast - his tibia, fibula and heel had taken the brunt of a grenade's explosion. Even with his Romanian heavy vest, bullets had crushed his right collar bone and shoulder socket.

As a final indignity, he'd take a rifle butt to the left side of his head. That ear was swathed in bandages and he couldn't see out of his left eye. I prayed there was no permanent damage.

"Hey kid," he mumbled. "They told me we won." Multiple comebacks came to mind.

"We did. Two are still at large. We captured a few and killed the rest," I answered.

"Charlotte...she's dead, isn't she?" he rasped. They had removed his breathing tube a half hour earlier and still had an oxygen tube going up his nose.

"She's dead. We found her near you," I told him the truth.

"She saved my life," he murmured. "I was pretty sure I'd bought it when I emptied the shotgun."

I was going for my pistol when this son of a bitch appeared out of nowhere. I was prone. He unloaded on the Romanian about a meter away - emptied the last of the magazine. Before I could bring my gun up, he smashed me in the head. I reflexively shot him in the foot. He screamed. Someone blew his head off the...I saw Charlotte kneeling beside me for a few seconds, firing in three directions.

She...I thought...she was yanked back. It must have been the bullets hitting her," he ended in a whisper. "Does she have family I can talk with, when I get back?" He meant the States.

"I'll relay your request," I put my hand over his. "Are your daughters being contacted?"

"I'm sure Javiera will send some people around. Don't worry about me," his grin was more a grimace.

"How did everyone else do?" he cleared his throat.

"Mona is still doing her medic thing...going on half a day now," I began. "Selena, Rachel, Pamela and Chaz are fine. Saku got battered, but she insists she's walking-wounded. "Virginia..."

"She stopped by about a half an hour ago. I was pretty groggy," he then coughed. "The kid is upset that she wasn't around to save Charlotte and me. Don't let her beat herself up about that."

"No more beatings - got it," I tried some levity. He grinned/grimaced again. He had to be on some serious pain-killers. "Tiger Lily," I looked behind me, "is right there, watching over me."

"Riki, Odette, Wiesława and Delilah are fine. No one showed up with questions and guns - just guns," I snorted. "Politically, this is a shit-storm. I am afraid I shat on Riki's boss...because I was cranky by the time I got around to him."

"How are the Romanians handling it? If their losses elsewhere were like what we faced on the ridge..." he muttered.

"Worse. The blocking force had over a hundred casualties, Vincent," I told him.

"Hmmm...then you were right to call in the Army, Cáel," he struggled to squeeze my hand. "Police would have been wiped out. I've never seen so much firepower. I'm sorry our guys died, but the civil authorities would have died and lost."

"People keep telling me I've done the right thing...and I think I'm beginning to understand what they mean. I've got to accept that it could have been far worse," I nodded. "I've got to get past the faces of the dead and think about what comes next. This isn't over."

"Correct, Cáel," Vincent couldn't even nod in his current state. "Pick up the pieces, figure what their next move is - like you did here. We both know this goes far beyond any type of terrorist conspiracy our government has seen before. Javiera is on the ball. Your Ms. Love seems to have her mind in the game as well. The United States is better off working with you. I'm sure of that now," he ground out through the residual pain. 

"It is not just Charlotte. Men like Colour Sgt. Tomorrow wouldn't follow just anyone into battle. So Cáel, don't waste your time knowing you are not the best man for this job," he grunted, stressing his point. "What matters is that you were the man on the spot when this began and you've got to see it through, no matter what."

"You don't fight the war with the army you want," I recited.

"You fight the war with the army you have," Vincent completed. "By the way, pass a message on to Pamela for me."

"Sure."

"Tell her she didn't have to go so easy on me. I would have understood," he dry chuckled. 

"No problem," I smiled. "I'll tell her 'you knew' and she'll do all the translating on her own." Two medical technicians showed up, ready to move Vincent to the airport. They were in a hurry, had a backlog of critical tasks to accomplish and I was selfish to stick around. I gave Vincent's hand one more squeeze. The tech's closed in and my people withdrew.

No one who owned a piece of me was demanding that I be somewhere doing something I didn't want to do, so I migrated to several tents they'd set up in one of the parking lots. The emergency room was the center of the Romanian/NATO triage efforts. Three seriously wounded Jandarmeria were being brought in as I was walking around the outside of the hospitals main building.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 35



Those three and one other had been ambushed by one of the two Mycenaean's still at large. From what information my 24th'er was able to retrieve for me, the man had held a rural family hostage, then had the father flag down the Jandarmeria, claiming that he'd seen the intruder close by in the woods. He hadn't been lying. 

While the three had started a foot-bound search, the lone Greek snuck up, slit the driver's throat, and then gunned down the rest from behind. They had been caught in an open field with no cover. As Vincent had said, these were policemen - super-tough cops, but still law enforcement. That bad news was balanced by the arrival of Romania's superior Vlad Ţepeş counter-terrorism formation and their K-9 unit.

I spent an hour, walking among the wounded that could wait on surgery, or could even be up and moving around in a few days. In a peculiar bit of misplacement, I remained a foreign civilian. That meant I wasn't bound by the judicial and military codes of conduct, thus I could call various soldiers' loved ones without breaking the law ~ or at least breaking it badly.

Chaz and my 24th guardian were similarly constrained. Tiger Lily wasn't and before long, she and I were relaying messages from the wounded to their loved ones. To stay within the letter of the law, the trooper couldn't directly talk with the person I had called, so they had to tell me then I could tell the person on the other end, even though I was close enough for them to actually listen to one another. It had the emotional rush that an illicit, false-ID keg run had provoked at school, yet felt a thousand times better.

I stayed two hours. Rachel called me and said the gang was regrouping at the Professors house and I needed to be there as quickly as possible. We had to create a new itinerary, prepare Charlotte for her flight back home and plot our next moves concerning the Secret War, sort out the mystery of the true House of the Dragon - House SzélAnya, and determine how to move against the pseudo-Amazons who were masquerading as that house. More work to do. 

Suddenly, I really wanted to go to Rome.



Life as a New Hire Ch. 36



*This story plays fast and loose with Ancient History and Linguistics; be warned*

*When our ancestor committed the first murder, was it rage, or fear that drove them to the deed?*

*Editing magic performed by KJ24 and Shyqash, plus contributions by the regular gang of brigands and neer-do-wells*

*There is a bit of mangling of the Iliad going on. I apologize to Homer and the countless singers before him who carried the Iliad down through the dark centuries until the Greeks figured out how writing works.* 

(Evening near the Metropole, Roma, Italia)

"I think you've done well," Riki congratulated me as she terminated her phone call. Word had come down that her replacement was on the way. Our profile had been updated back at State and they clearly wanted to bring in the 'real professionals'. There also had been a miscommunication. I was far too stressed to be reasonable now. 

Some undeserving smuck was about to be at the receiving end of my wrath for no better reason than I was at my limit of accepting any further alterations to my life. In hindsight, I was being totally irrational. At that moment in time, I didn't care whose day I was ruining. Sometimes I can be a jerk and an idiot at the same time.

The US State Department apparently thought I couldn't dictate who was, or wasn't, a member of 'Unit L' ... we now had our own designation within Javiera's expanding task-force. The government had a random name generator for this shit and we got the letter 'L'. Maybe that device didn't think we were going to last long enough to matter. Anyway, I took the phone and hit redial. Riki gave me an 'I'm puzzled' look.

"Who am I talking to?" I inquired.

"Ms....who are you?" he demanded, since my caller ID said Riki and, unless I used my high, squeaky voice, I obviously sounded like a guy. 

"I'm Cáel Nyilas. Who is this?" I replied.

"I'm Bill A. Miller, Director of the U.S. Diplomatic Security Service. What seems to be the problem, Mr. Nyilas?" He was rather uptight about the call-back. 

"Since we are working together, why don't you call me Cáel?" I politely requested. "I'll call you Willy."

"My name is Bill, but you can call me Director Miller," he corrected me. "The reason for your call is?"

"It is Willy, or Dick; your choice," I countered. "I don't call my boss 'Director' and I worship the ground she walks on. You are not even in her league. Also, I've had bad experiences with guys named Bill which are too painful to explain right now." 

That was true. One was friend taking a shower and leaving me alone with his mother. The other was early on in my career when I confused a girl named Bonnie with her real name 'Bill'. I was my own personal 'The Crying Game'. I didn't handle that episode well.

"Besides, I didn't call to discuss name-calling. I want to know how many agents work for you."

"What does that have to do with anything?" he grumbled.

"You are quick with the questions while painfully bereft of answers," I snorted. "Don't make me Google this too."

"Over two thousand," he stopped being a total ass. "Is there anything else I can tell you that Miss Martin should have been able to tell you?" Ooops... Back to being an ass.

"Riki's being physically restrained from taking her phone back by some of my educationally-challenged, illegal alien, unskilled labor force of questionable loyalty," I outrageously lied. It was an odious habit of mine that I'd cultivated vigorously over the past few weeks. "Two thousand humans...thanks. Is Riki's replacement a guy, or a girl? Wait, who cares? Just send their picture and I'll let you know where to send their replacement."

"Are you threatening my people?" he simmered.

"No. That would make me an uncooperative and nefarious nuisance," I evaded. "Of course, when a person sticks their hand into a functioning garbage disposal, you don't blame the device. You blame the moron who stuck their hand in." From the perspective of our relationship, I was the garbage disposal.

"That definitely sounds like a threat," he responded. He was going to stick his hand in anyway.

"Your inability to comprehend the nuances possible with the English language is not why I called and not something I feel I can educate you about, given my current time constraints. Just have one of your insipid flunkies send me the picture. I need to purchase duct tape and an out-of-the-way storage space," I informed him.

"By the way, in the spirit of legal chicanery, could you tell me how long it will take for Riki Martin's name to come back up in the rotation? Let's figure 36 hours between each hot-shot leaving DC and their eventual inability to return phone calls," I wanted to make sure he knew I was taunting his pompous self. (Me being pompous and unhelpful didn't cross my mind at that moment.)

"Let me make myself clear, Mr. Nyilas," he repeated. "Not only can you not dictate terms to the US government, you are not even the team's designated leader." I wasn't? Fuck him. I had tons of useless members of the Alphabet Mafia in front of my name, all loudly proclaiming my numerous accolades. 

Of everyone on the team, I had the most: NOHIO (Number One House Ishara Official), HCIESI-NDI, (Havenstone Commercial Investments Executive Services' Intern -- New Directive Initiative ... I didn't make that one up, I swear), MEH (Magyarorszag es Erdely Hercege) and UHAUL (Unpaid Honcho Assigned to Unit L). I liked that last one, so that was how I was going to sign off on all my reports now. 

"First off, I AM in charge, Willy. Without me, there is no Unit L. I quit ... and then what? In case you missed it, I can't be drafted or threatened by you. If you think you can replace me, please do so right now and let me get back to my life -- you know, the thing that actually puts money in my pocket.

Besides, I am not refusing to take anyone you see fit to put on MY team. I'm just not going to tell you where I'm going to take them to. I suspect they are adults and can find their way home...eventually, Willy." 

"Mr. Nyilas, you are an unbelievably fortunate amateur and novice intellectual in a situation that demands experience and professionalism. It is time for you to step back and let the people who know what they are doing take over. Just play your part and we'll make sure you get due credit for following orders and behaving," he unleashed his fair-smelling bile.

"I am following your orders; your procedures dictate that a member of the State Department will be on this team," I kept my calm. "As one of the people who actually has experience with this situation, I'm letting you know how things work in the field. Every person you send will be misplaced, thus you will have to send someone else. Alerting you to the need to stay on top of your job -- sending someone else -- sounds to me like common sense advice in this circumstance."

"That is not going to happen, Nyilas. If something happens..." he got out.

"Willy, duct tape is plentiful and cheap. Kidnapping -- thus hostage keeping -- is virtually a religion in Southern Italy. And though I am already wired into the local criminal underground, I'm just not going to be able to help you, or them. I'll make up some implausible excuses as the need arises. So now you know the score. The next move is yours," I smiled. 

"The next words out of your mouth had better be 'I'll behave', or the State Department will revoke your passport and have stern words with the Republic of Ireland over your diplomatic status," Willy warned me.

"I'll behave," I fibbed. Riki snatched the phone out of my hand.

"Sir -- Director Miller, I want you to know I had NOTHING to do with Mr. Nyilas' tirade," Riki apologized. "He stole my phone."

"I did." and "OWW!" I hollered in the background. "She ground her heel into my instep. the fiery little minx." I was propping up her excuse because I owed her for verbally taking a dump on her boss, the ASS-(h)EAP back in Romania. Riki punched me.

"Ms. Martin, do we need to reconsider your employment, or can we rely on you to re-organize Unit L before Ms. McCauley (her replacement) arrives?" Willy lectured.

"Director Miller..."

"Call him Big Willy," I whispered to her. "He loves that 'Big Willy' style."

This time she hit me in the thigh. My ballistic vest had gotten in the way of her first hit, but she was a quick learner.

"How can you know a song from 1997, yet not know that Russia invaded Georgia in 2008?" Riki put her hand over the phone and hissed at me.

"Ah," Pamela teased. "Somebody is a Will Smith fan." Riki looked away.

I wasn't sure what to make of the Will Smith -- Ricky Martin combo forming in my mind. Will was one of my manly icons. Hey, he was a stud, scored numerous hotties in his film career and married Jada Pinkett Smith. What's not to love? Growing up, I wanted to be like Will Smith. When/if I ever finished growing up, I wanted to be like George Clooney.

"Director Miller," Riki tried again. "He's lying. From my personal observations and with supporting personality profiles provided by other members of the task force, I can guarantee you that Mr. Nyilas is unreliable and untrustworthy. Sir, I've watched Romani males hide their wallets and their daughters when he walks by." Okay...wasn't that last bit a lie?

"that last bit a lie?es hide their wallets and their daughters when he walks by. provided by other members However, unless she has been cross-trained as a waitress at a gang-affiliated nightclub, a day-care worker for the criminally insane, plus consistently wins at Texas hold 'em, she's going to be out of her element here."

"No sir, but Mr. Nyilas likes me...I'm not sure why," she glared at me. I poked her in the boob to help clarify the matter. Riki slapped my hand. Virginia punched me in the shoulder. I decided to poke Virginia in her ballistic-covered breast, hoping she was jealous for the attention. I was wrong. They both hit me again. 

Had this been sexual harassment, they would have hated this job and despised me. Since this was me being my painfully childish self...well, I was still annoying, but also adorable. Put it this way: if a woman could not only pepper spray a man making cat-calls at her ... and was even encouraged to do so, wouldn't that de-stress the situation?

"Director Miller, I don't want to stay on this assignment, yet I'd be remiss if I didn't explain some of the numerous pitfalls of working with Unit L. Every one of them is comfortable being a walking arsenal. I'm on my way to have a ballistic vest tailored for me because I'm the only one in the unit without one. I have no doubt that any of them could kill me with their bare hands in less than 5 seconds if they so desired," she explained.

"You would think they would want a more effective combatant with them," Miller grew icy, suspecting duplicity on Riki's part -- moron. She looked at me over the phone.

"Sir, I think they like me because I know I don't belong in a firefight. They can count on me to cower behind cover while the bullets are flying. That allows the rest to kill unimpeded by having to keep an eye on me," she said.

Pause.

"One of them did show me how to recognize and start various grenades. She said if I was ever the last one alive, it would give me 'options'."

Pause.

"Ms. Martin, don't cancel your flight back to DC yet. I'm going to give Ms. Castello a call to see what her assessment of the situation is," Willy allowed. "Good-bye."

"I can't believe I talked him into making me stay with you people," Riki moaned.

Our little caravan was slowing to a stop outside the Metropole Hotel. It was Hana's choice for a Roman meeting location. A restaurant and a hotel room, all in one location. Rachel and Wiesława were ahead of us, checking things out. Hana had informed us that the Illuminati had two people watching her. This was going to be my last bit of time with Rachel for a while. 

(Meanwhile, Back At The Ranch...)

Two new members of House Ishara were on their way to Rome. They'd be joined by two members of the House Guard of Andraste from Britain. The two Isharans were the first members of the House Guard of Ishara in over a thousand years. I didn't expect them to be the martial equals of Rachel...or Charlotte. Not yet. And anyway, that didn't matter. What mattered to me was that they'd volunteered for the task and Buffy felt they were the best we had.

Another nomadic pack of House Hylonome Amazons had taken in the traumatized Zola. She had to stay in Romanian until the authorities finished up her part of the investigation. A mixed group from House Živa and Ishara (led by Helena) would handle security for Professor Loma, his family and the Lovasz sisters during their trip to New York. 

Aliz, his wife, was officially in House Ishara's custody. That was my best play at making sure she avoided summary justice for her 'betrayal' of House Hylonome. The whole group would be handed over to House Epona as soon as the Romanians cleared them for foreign travel. It helped my case that Aliz appreciated my warnings about the danger that both families were in from House Illuyankamunus.

The occult nitpicking that allowed me to leverage this maneuver was accomplished by me doing yet another rarely done feat. In the name of Alkonyka Lovasz, House Ishara was sponsoring a new Amazon house. I could testify to the existence and matronage of the Goddess SzélAnya (without her permission), which was one of the stepping stones for acceptance.

Vincent was going to stay in Germany for two days, then he was off to his home and daughters in Arlington Virginia...with a long convalescence and a rumored promotion. Mona and Tiger Lily were already on their way to New York as honor guard for Charlotte's body, courtesy of the US Air Force. The Amazons needed the USAF to do it because that was the only way we could get the Romanians to release her body.

The Hylonome dead, they would be buried in a private plot after all the autopsies were done. I was absolutely sure the Hylonome would steal the bodies in due time and give them a 'proper' burial. Of the Mycenaeans, Red and one of his buddies still remained at large. Of Ajax's half-brother, Teucer, and the other previously wounded Greek warrior, there was no sign. Kwen and the other POWs remained in Romania to face a laundry list of charges. Her fate was unknown to me.

My bodyguard was reduced, yet no one minded. The twin reasoning was that the Black Hand in Italy would provide some protection for me. The other was that I was in the birthplace of the Condottieri. Selena's sources strongly suspected that their HQ was close to Rome itself. I could have had more security by recruiting among the 'natives'. 

Various sources, some inside Italy, had suggested that the Carabinieri, Italy's military police force, had 'offered' to provide some protection. That was prompted by events surrounding my visits to Budapest & Mindszent, Hungary and the 'action' south of Miercurea Ciuc, Romania (no one wanted to call it a battle, even though the fight involved over 1000 Romanian Land Forces troops and half a squadron of the Romanian Air Force). 

My refusal of the offer caused a 'disruption'. This was a polite way of saying the Italians did not want me to enter their country. I wasn't being a jerk this time. Selena and Aunt Briana were both of the opinion that the Condo's recruited heavily from European military and paramilitary units -- particularly Western Europe. And that not all their 'new hires' had left active duty either.

A peculiar circumstance then developed. The pretext for denying me entry was undercut by Hungary and Romania erasing me from their official investigation. I wasn't a threat (despite the burnt landscape and tombstones sprouting up in my wake.) Romania didn't want me to stay, Hungary decided they didn't want me back -- at the moment -- and the US/UK/Ireland were telling the Italians that I was a peach, or whatever implied that in diplomatic speech.

There was a compromise finally reached by Riki and shadow forces that I couldn't put names to. I could come to Italy as long as my itinerary was relayed to Carabinieri. We could keep our side arms in holsters and our big guns as long as they weren't on our persons. I could go around without a Carabinieri bodyguard as long as I ignored them floating around me at a discreet distance. A liaison officer would meet me at the hotel to maintain the illusion that I was just a paranoid tourist. 

Delilah had to touch base with the British again, probably for the same reasons that the US wanted to replace Riki. While both Delilah and Chaz were military and seconded to MI-6, they weren't considered Intelligence Experts by the people at the helm. For that matter, they weren't even sure how Delilah had ended up at my side...killing multi-national terrorists in three separate countries inside of one month. That was very cinematic, not realistic. The idea of governments with shadow operatives 'sanctioning' people was not something that anyone in the 'know' wanted to talk about. 

Whether it was before the media, a US Senate Select Committee on Intelligence, the United States House Permanent Select Committee on Intelligence, or a UK Parliamentary Foreign Affairs Select Committee this wasn't what these Department Heads wanted to discuss. Less anyone forget, my Congress and my President didn't...ummm...get along. 

In my favor, I was an orphan from New Hampshire, both my US Senators were women and I'd worked on their campaigns or dated some of their volunteers. It might do me some good to call Dr. Kimberly Geisler at Bolingbrook to see what she could do politically. All that could wait.

(Finishing Up)

Selena Jovanović had the first of our two dark blue Alfa Romeo 159s, the one that disgorged Rachel and Wiesława. She, Saku and Odette would circle the block in case there was any trouble. Pamela had the driver's seat in my car. No one wanted me or Odette to drive because we didn't understand urban Italian street etiquette. It was Virginia, me and Riki in the backseat with Chaz up front with Pamela. 

Rachel gave the preliminary order to disembark. That meant the lobby was partially clear -- there were armed types about that seemed to be either Carabinieri, or understandable private security. Rome wasn't as dangerous as Mexico City (kidnap-wise), but events in London, Budapest and the Hungarian and Romanian countryside were putting people on edge. And those with enough money could buy some emotional comfort in the form of armed private contractors.

Chaz took his H&K UMP-45, stock folded, out of the bag at his feet and secured it inside the right-side of his jacket. Three spare clips went inside a harness on his left. It was dreamlike as Virginia and I went through a similar, less heavily armed process. For FBI Girl, it was a 'carry-on' with flash-bang, concussion and smoke grenades, plus a few extra clips/mags for everyone.

For me, it was a tomahawk, a second Gloc-22 and a bullet for everyone in the hotel, if that became necessary. As the car came to a stop in front of the main doors, I worked my way over Riki so that I would be the second person to exit the car. Chaz would be the first. Virginia got out on her side. Pamela would stay at the wheel -- Riki had an appointment with a tailor to keep.

I felt it then, that sympathetic spiritual harmony I was one-third of. I looked up into the 'clear' Rome night. There she was, Bellatrix, the Amazon star in the Constellation of Orion. According to the Egyptian Rite, the Weave of Fate was nearly invisible by day, but by night, you could make out its strands in the motion of the stars. That was not something Alal had ever truly mastered. Still...

I had a new phone since the charred remains of my old one were in some evidence locker in Budapest by now. That didn't mean I wanted to use it. I was getting squirrely about people I didn't want finding me, finding me. Chaz was in the lead, I was in the middle and Virginia covered my back. Rachel caught sight of us, gave a quick nod, and then she and Wiesława went for the elevators.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 36



Rachel would want to check out Hana's room before I got there -- if I got there. I called Odette.

"Hey Babe," Odette beamed excitement my way. She was in Rome and we had a guaranteed 24 hour layover. For a girl who thought her great adventure in life was going to end up being a high school trip to Philadelphia to see the Liberty Bell, she was in Nirvana.

"Hey to you too, Odette. I need a favor," I began.

"Sure," she chirped.

"In five minutes from...right now make sure Sakuniyas comes to see me and Hana in the restaurant by herself," I requested. Odette hesitated, taking in her knowledge of 'Cáel-speak'.

"No problemo Jeffe," she answered. She knew I was in some undefined trouble. We both knew that her body language would convey that unease to Saku, which was what I needed. See, I had a plan. I tapped Chaz, slowing him and thus allowing Virginia to bunch up with us.

"Do either one of you remember the movie 'Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows'?" I posed.

Chaz looked past me to Virginia. They didn't get the reference. 

"The scene where Moriarty kills Irene Adler?" I prodded them. The lights came on. I wanted to jump for joy, except that would have ruined the poker faces those two had in place.

"Options?" Chaz mused.

"I go into the hotel's restaurant alone. You and Virginia make sure that we can exit the lobby if things go bad. Saku is on her way to see me and Hana. Let her pass unhindered and uninformed. She's my exit plan," I informed them.

"What is the plan exactly?" Virginia inquired.

"My grandfather is in this hotel. I can't tell you exactly where, but he's here. The second I enter the restaurant, warn Rachel," I added. "She'll want me to leave the hotel and that doesn't do us any good strategically. Got it?"

"I'm calling Rachel, so you had better get to it," Virginia warned me. Off I went.

I walked into the very nice restaurant. It was a post-WW II set up, more open and airy than the turn of the Twentieth Century stuff that you normally found downtown, or so I'd been told. Everything was normal, which is to say there was the polite façade of people in public with the chaotic emotional subtext to the prerequisite number of couples and family units.

I would have wondered if I was becoming more bonkers had I not spotted Libra, and Hana's personal assistant, Ms. Meacham, already seated at a separate dual-seat table. Three table's away sat Hana at a large, eight person rectangular setting. Libra and Ms. Meacham were close enough to be of use if summoned, yet not so close that they could easily eavesdrop.

The 'I'm not bonkers' part? Hana was sitting in the southern-most placed chair. Across from her was Grandpa. They were chatting amiably. I had one day of spy craft training...and tons of Alal. I picked up a nice shiny, empty glass from the first table I came across. The three-person group wasn't using it. I held it before me, between chest and shoulder level, pretending to be studying the objects gently curves. I wasn't.

Alal spotted me first, motioned to Hana to look my way, then stood. Hana stood as well. There was no calling out a greeting in a place this fancy. I smiled at them both. My left hand migrated to the butt of the pistol in my right shoulder holster. I was looking at the reflections in the glass, seeing how people reacted. I got my answer. I wasn't bonkers.

I'd only seen three of the ten people whose images I could capture in the glass's pale reflection react by placing their hands into laps, under the tables, or into purses. Considering there were roughly 50 patrons and twenty-some staff, those were bad odds. As I pulled my left hand back to my side, I caught a glimpse of a person in front of me reacting similarly. Woot! Four out of eleven. Worse odds.

"Hello, Cáel," Hana greeted me. She kissed my cheek. I kissed her lips. "Ah," she gave me a warm smile, "I didn't know you had a grandfather. He heard I was coming to Rome and wanted to meet me. We've had quite a family chat."

"Hello Grandfather," I nodded to my supposed Patriarch. 

I also threw my glass at person number four -- who caught it. Sweet!

"I am proud of you, Cáel," Alal gave me a congratulatory nod. "For that and for Ajax. You've continually exceeded my expectations. We really are much more alike than you imagine."

"Ajax?" Hana turned, worried.

"Hana, this man is my Grandfather. He is the enemy of every child's smile. Evil is too confined a word to describe him. Suffice it to say," I looked to Alal, "he murdered forty-six women and girls as prelude to my own 'Twelfth Year' trial." I was referencing the Amazon rite of passage. Alal knew what I meant and the bastard approved of the comparison.

"You were responsible for what happened to Cáel and his people in Romania?" Hana turned on Grandpa, first uncertain, then furious.

"Cáel is a bit past the pat on the head and requests to repeat the lesson phase of his life, Hana," Grandpa sat back down. "I need to know if I can have confidence in him in the future and I don't have time for the normal pleasantries."

"Cáel? Please help me make sense of this," Hana put her hand around my waist to the small of my back. She could feel the .32 resting there. She was also letting Alal know that she wasn't going to break it off with me because of his intimidations.

"Wow...where to start? He had my Father murdered," I looked into her eyes. "I haven't figured out what he did to my Mother," I continued. I wasn't sure whose side Mom was on, so I didn't want to let the cat out of the bag concerning her still being alive. "He had my aunts, his daughters, kill my uncle, his son, to get inside my head, both physically and emotionally. What he physically did to my head isn't something I can explain in any scientifically acceptable way. 

"A needle was shot between the left and right side of my brain lobes, then it set off an electronic storm that pretty much ensures that I can never sleep again. I'm not sure why he did this, but I know why he's here right now," I looked into those twins of my own emerald eyes. "He is reminding me that if I make a run for it -- which would be my best chance for survival -- he will kill the people I care for. He's that kind of guy."

"You are that kind of guy, too," Grandfather toasted me with some wine. He waited until Hana and I reciprocated the gesture. "Wait and see."

"That's a lie," I countered. "Grandfather, I don't know what you are doing, but making me into a 'mini-version' of you isn't it. Right now, you are into head games for reasons I'm not going to speculate about."

"He would kill Father and my daughter? The others?" Hana tipped my chin so that I was looking at her again.

"Remember our last time together in New York? The other person's memories? Those are his; and I can't begin to go into the science fiction that was behind that," I tried to explain.

"I know of almost all of Grandfather's atrocities and I don't have any doubt he'd kill anyone and everyone he felt was necessary in order to achieve his ends," I said. "Had I known he existed when I graduated, I would have vanished off the face of the Earth to avoid him."

"Why?" Hana squeezed me.

"Why?" Grandfather grinned. "Cáel doesn't want to be like me. He believes in humanity and that's a failing I don't want him to carry into his future." Hana looked at Alal and I could feel the heat of her anger penetrating me. "Oh, I'll kill Cáel if I have to, but I'd rather have him at my side. If not...I have other plans in the works."

"Cáel, can you kill him?" Hana wasn't beating around the bush or beating a morality drum for that matter. Her family was on the line and she was Jormo's daughter in spirit.

"Not yet," I responded. "But I have plan #1 and #2 in the works."

"See, you are becoming like me," Alal chuckled.

"How about this?" I raised my glass. We hadn't finished toasting yet. "Here is for getting what we think the person to our left thinks we deserve."

"Here, here," the other two chorused. Hana glared at Alal.

"Little girl, I'm not afraid of you," Grandpa snorted. "You believe in some level of accountability, that consideration for others makes both of you better and that civilization has advanced in your lifetime. You are wrong on all counts. If you don't expand your horizons, I'm going to start thinking that you are a detriment to my plans for Cáel," he revealed to her in such a kindly manner that it was hard to realize it was a death threat.

Hana looked at me for some sort of anchor in Alal's storm.

"Hana, let's sit," I moved to hold her chair. Hana sat down reluctantly. "Some, if not all, of the people around us work for him -- like the woman who caught the glass in mid-air then failed to call for anyone to have me removed."

"I noticed that," Hana nodded.

"I'm glad that's settled. Let's talk about you two," Grandpa stayed friendly on the outside. "Wedding? Children? Do you plan to settle down, or jet set?"

"What makes you think we will tell you a damn thing about our personal lives?" Hana spat.

Alal didn't get angry, though he did shoot me a look. Someone was early, but she hardly felt obliged to obey me in anyway. I saw Grandfather's eyes flash over my shoulder then back to me. He stood back up. Hana and I felt obliged to do the same. Sakuniyas had stopped in mid-stride toward our table.

[Assyrian] "White hair," Saku studied Alal.

[Assyrian] "Black Cloud," he addressed her while studying me. Saku strode across the restaurant like the Warrior Queen she had been. She and Grandfather embraced, first with a comradely forearm clasp then in a hug. They patted each other's backs.

"You did not tell me he was here," Sakuniyas swiveled to glare at me.

"I told you to come in five minutes," I countered. "We can both be disappointed in the other."

"Fine," she allowed. "Why are we here?"

"Cáel is playing one of my games," Alal gazed at me. "He is reminding me that he is close to you."

"Bbbbeeep!" I laughed. "Wrong."

"I've only known him a few days, Mr. O'Shea (grandpa's current last name), yet I know that isn't how your grandson's mind works," Hana had her own rush of revenge.

"Cáel Wakko Ishara is not like that," Saku said. "He retains his youthful exuberance, it is yet to be burned away in the crucible of battle and death. He is also loyal and compassionate."

"I trust him with my life," she added. "Cáel isn't like you, or I. He leads with his heart. He also inspires the warriors about him like few people I've ever met. In that, I see your spirit." Alal nodded.

"I agree," Grandpa stated. "Did you see him kill Ajax?"

"No," Saku shook her head. We all sat down. "The area was shrouded in smoke. By the time I saw him again, Rachel and one of the Romanians named Menner were beside Cáel and Ajax was dead."

"Are you going to tell me," Alal grinned at me, "or do I need to talk to Master Corporal Menner about what he saw?"

"No," I snorted while shaking my head. "Empty threat."

"Touché," Alal allowed.

"Who is Master Corporal Menner?" Hana tapped my elbow.

"He was the Romanian Mountain Trooper who shot the thermobaric grenade over my head," I informed her. "Like everyone else, he didn't see Ajax die. Since Grandfather most likely could access the Romanian Land Forces records, he already knows that," I continued. "In this Nyilas-O'Shea psychopathic family drama, all this maneuvering counts as joking around."

"This behavior will be restrained around the Sulkanen side of the family," Hana demanded.

"We will do our best," Alal replied smoothly. I couldn't tell if he was mocking her, joking, or serious. A waiter arrived. I had no doubt Alal had signaled him somehow. 

"Cáel, do you imagine it is safe to eat, or drink anything here?" Hana asked before either one of us ordered. The waiter looked offended.

[Italian] "I assure you, Miss, the food here is top notch," the waiter responded. 

"Excuse me?" Hana looked at him. "I don't speak Italian."

"I don't think any of us do," I jokingly lied.

"Ah, I was assuring the lady that the food here is fine," he gave us a confident smile.

"May I recommended the [Italian] 'you have the brain of a donkey'," he pointed out a line on the menu.

[Italian] "That wasn't very bright," I looked up at him. "A real waiter at a place like this would be used to dealing with tourists and would never be that rude." The man's submissive posture changed to one of alpha aggressive. I continued, [Italian] "I swear to God, if you come back to the main floor after submitting our orders, I will shoot you. And then we can all see who is part of this charade and who is for real," I grinned. 

[Italian] "It is okay," Alal waved him off. "No one will be shooting anyone."

"No!" I heard Odette shout from the entrance to the eatery. She was running at us. To their credit, none of the players overreacted. She came rushing over to me. "Hey Cáel, I wanted to see if everything was okay." I suspected she'd slipped past Virginia. Chaz would have cold-cocked her. At their table, Libra was clearly worried about Odette and the trouble she heralded. 

Ms. Meacham was looking at Hana for direction. Hana motioned for her PA to keep her seat. Meacham relayed those orders to Libra. Libra wasn't the kind of person who was used to taking orders, especially from someone she considered her social inferior. Still, Libra remained seated.

"Hey Odette," I smiled as I stood to greet her. "What would have you done if I was in trouble?"

Her response is one of the many reasons I liked her.

"I would have invoked my totem animal, the Platypus, and poisoned people with my heel spikes," she seemed unflappable. 

"Hello Odette," Granddad spoke without rising, and using her first name, while having never met her before.

"Oh, hey," Odette flashed him a naïve grin. "You must be the Necromancer of Dol Guldur."

"Huh?" Alal was confused by the reference.

"Sure, you are the spirit of the greatest Evil Middle Earth has ever seen, Pamela is Gandalf and Cáel is Thorin Oakenshield, out to ruin all your plans," she snickered...at Grand Dad.

"You -- I like," Alal laughed. Thank God.

"Odette, does that make you Bilbo Baggins?" I teased her, even as I pulled out a chair for her.

"Damn Skippy," she giggled. "We are way past gender-bending on this quest."

"What does that make Sakuniyas?" Alal requested.

"Aragorn, the Uncrowned King...Queen in her case," Odette happily informed the table.

"You've read the 'Hobbit' and 'Lord of the Rings'?" Hana regarded Alal skeptically. 

"Yes Hana," he nodded. "As Cáel is learning, when you no longer have the need for sleep, you can accomplish all kinds of esoteric things."

"You never sleep?" Hana got my attention.

"I can fall into a trance-like state, yet even then I can do light tasks," I told her.

"Neat," Odette bumped me. "More time for sex." Hana sighed and lowered her head while Odette forged ahead. "So, what have I missed?"

"Cáel's Grandfather telling me that he sent Ajax to kill Cáel in Romania," Hana retained her focus. "That was nearly one hundred and fifty dead and over a hundred wounded."

"Including Charlotte," Odette moped. "I didn't get to know her very well, but she adored Cáel and Rachel says she had a 'good death', though I'm not sure what that means."

Yeah, my people had conversations and relationships out of my view. I hadn't considered how Charlotte's passing and Vincent nearly dying would have affected Odette, or how other members of the team would have taken care of her for me.

"It means she didn't have to die of sickness, or noting that her time in the Host had passed, child," Saku replied. "No one expects you to understand. You have lived a life sheltered in crude deceptions of peace and mind-numbing banality, devoid of true purpose," she told Odette.

"You are wrong," Odette verbally sparred. "I do know that Cáel and the others are risking their lives and are making sacrifices to protect people like me. Because of that, I can't let your side win."

"I could resolve that by slitting your throat," Saku reminded her.

"You wouldn't do that," Odette shook her head mirthfully. "Cáel would never forgive you and you don't want to cross him."

"I don't?" Sakuniyas scoffed.

"No," my fuck-buddy was fearless. "You may be a horrible person, but you admire him. As far as I can tell, that puts him in an exclusive club of two. That's why you are Aragorn, not Boromir."

"So you think she would spare you out of a sense of obligation to Cáel?" Alal inquired.

"Obligation? Oh God no," Odette laughed. "Despite what she says, she has no conception of what honor is. Without honor, obligations and promises mean nothing."

"Child," Saku seethed.

"Odette," both Hana and I warned her.

"No, you don't Sakuniyas," Odette stuck to her guns. "You know nothing of forgiveness or giving until it hurts. Honor isn't about words, Sakuniyas, it is about being trusted and delivering on that trust. Who trusts you?"

"If you trust Cáel, you are a fool," Saku growled.

"Ajax is dead, just like Cáel promised. He led you into battle, you followed him and he won. Would you have confronted Ajax without him?" Odette foolishly made her case.

"I thought Cáel was going to die," Saku corrected her. "I said as much."

"Yet you followed him into battle anyway," Odette snickered. "What did you plan to do if Ajax killed Cáel? Were you planning to die too?"

"I was planning to retrieve his body so it couldn't be despoiled," Saku stated.

"Oh...I hadn't thought of that," Odette confessed.

"It was a normal practice in battle in the time which Sakuniyas comes from," I told her.

"Funny how the conversation has come back to how you killed Ajax," Alal studied me.

"Wait, you don't know?" Odette gasped.

"You do?" Grandpa turned his gaze on her.

"They don't know?" Odette eyes shone brightly when she looked at me.

"Nope. Do you?" I asked her.

"Sure. It was obvious," Odette giggled. "It isn't like you are a complicated guy."

"Care to share?" Alal requested of Odette.

"With you?" Odette blinked. "NO. You are the bad guy in this script. You deserve payback for every nasty thing you've ever done...because you've forgotten that every person deserves respect until they prove they are unworthy of it."

"I will work on that," Alal nodded. 

That was that. We ate, made some small talk and parted ways cautiously. Okay, first we gathered up Libra and Ms. Meacham, then the six of us retreated cautiously. We exchanged nervous words to cover up our post-stress jitters ... except for Saku, who kept her thoughts to herself. Chaz and Virginia joined with us seamlessly.

(All those Tomorrows)

"Do you think you can turn me against Alal?" Saku said as she put a hand around my left upper arm and stopped me from exiting the hallway into the room I was hopefully going to be sharing with Hana. Hana had already gone in.

"No," I shook my head. "I'm trying to turn Alal against you." That caused her to take a mental step back.

"What do you mean?" she glared. "We are not lovers. We never have been."

"You are lying to the wrong man," I snorted. She snarled then lashed out. I deflected her first fist, the second and the knee to my hip that followed it. We parried my right with her left, left to right then we bumped legs again. Chaz had put a restraining hand on Virginia's shoulder.

In the third exchange, I managed to shove her across the hall, giving me some space.

"He risked your life in the same way he risked mine," I snarled. "You haven't recovered from the beating you took, keeping my promise to the Romanians. Without a doubt, he's going to keep tossing these little lessons my way until everyone I care for is dead. That includes you."

"You belong at your Grandfather's side, Cáel," Saku glared. "He is your family. Don't..."

"Don't make the same mistake you did by turning your back on your family?" I completed.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 36



"You don't know me, you aren't like me and you don't get to talk to me as if we are familiar in any way," Saku replied.

"You are absolutely right. I have offered my help without you asking for any," I nodded.

"I try to not ask too much of you. I certainly haven't requested you stay at my side. Until now, you haven't had a choice," I stated. "You were alone in a hostile world. Tonight, I gave you the choice. Alal didn't request your presence, though he obviously knew you were with me. Now you get to make up your mind. If I see you at breakfast, I will take that as your pledge to stay with me until the final encounter between me and Grandfather."

"Until?" Saku studied me.

"Of course. In his own twisted way, Alal loves you. He engineered you coming back from the dead. You first decided to work with me because you saw something of Alal in me," I answered. "When the time comes, I expect you to follow your heart...as you have always done."

"You remain an annoying Kililikilippa," Saku muttered. She stormed off to her room. I didn't bother continuing the conversation. I'd already won. The other two flashed me a curious look.

"Dragonfly. Kililikilippa is Assyrian for dragonfly," I answered them. There were worse pests to be identified with.

"Oh... Cáel, if you think she is going to betray us, she should be removed from the unit," Virginia said after the echoes of Sakuniyas slamming her door shut faded.

"Virginia, sending her away robs her of any chance to take charge of her life," I replied. "All she has is us."

"She is a danger to the rest of us," Chaz pointed out.

"Dangerous is following me around," I joked. "Sakuniyas is an added incentive for the rest of you to seek employment elsewhere and I wouldn't blame any of you one bit."

"You can't control her," Virginia said.

"As opposed to the control he exerts over you and me," Chaz changed sides. "Agent Maddox, you hold a modicum of trust in me because I am from a country and agency you comprehend as being worthy of that trust. Amazons and Assyria mean nothing to you.

They don't mean much to me either, but the kid (me) has good instincts and he willingly provides information we need to protect our respective citizenry," he pointed out. "I've made life and death decisions based on gut instincts before. That's why I'm still alive and in this profession. It is not for the second-guessers, self-doubters, or any individual with a guilty conscience."

"Do you ever worry about killing the wrong person?" Virginia inquired of Chaz.

"Worry? Yes. I don't worry so much that it keeps me from doing the job though," he responded.

"How did you end up...doing this?" Virginia wondered. Hana opened the door to our shared bedroom wearing a lot of slinky. Since I was a good judge of how long it takes a woman to disrobe, make up her mind about what impression she wants to convey to her date and get into that bit of lingerie -- unless naked is her thing -- I knew Hana hadn't been waiting one second.

"Ah...hi Ms. Sulkanen," Virginia became uncomfortable. Chaz gave an amused twist of the lips.

"Agent Maddox, 'Tomorrows' have been fighting for the English Crown since before they were even Tomorrows. The War of the Roses -- York then Tudor. Our Civil War -- for King Charles the First, the one executed. The Seven Years War -- buried two in Germany... the Holy Roman Empire back then. 

Crimea -- buried a soldier outside of Sevastopol and had a sailor on the Grinder," he recited with some pride. "Second Afghan War -- four ancestors -- one died in battle and another of cholera. The First Boer War got the younger of the two survivors. My Great-Great Grandfather fought under Glaselee in China in 1900, then went on to fight in the World War I -- a total of seven served in that -- four lived. 

One died in Ypres, one in Mesopotamia and the other in Italy. One came back without most of his right leg. We still have his wooden replacement over my uncle's mantel. One of those survivors died in Russia in 1919. We also lost our first female, a military nurse, in 1920 -- Spanish Influenza," he continued. 

I was blown away. I had vague recollections of what my Father's father did; certainly not anything to compare to the Tomorrow family's lengthy, storied tradition. 

"We lost one on Crete in '41. My Great-Grandfather died outside Arnhem in '44. The other three men and two women made it through. No one knows for sure what my Great-Aunt Martha did in WW II, but they gave her a medal for it in '56. 

My Great-Uncle was in the SAS when they fought in Malaysia -- killing Communists. He trained my Mother's father, who went back to Malaysia with a cousin of mine in 1964 -- killing Indonesians -- go figure -- both lived. My Father fought in the Falklands -- SAS too. His brother, Uncle Mason, was in the Troubles -- killing Irishmen -- then was in Desert I -- killing Iraqis.

Uncle William died there -- doing what? No one knows. My oldest brother, Todd, killed some Peruvians though he doesn't like to talk about it. Todd, Christopher and me fought in Afghanistan -- they killed Christopher," he added without a hint of sorrow. "My oldest sister, Patty, betrayed the family honor and become an officer in the Royal Navy. 

My other sister, Estelle, left the Royal Marines a few years back," Chaz kept going.

"How many children are in your family?" Virginia gulped.

"Seven. I'm the youngest. There are currently nine of us in service if you just count brothers, sisters, first and second cousins," he filled us in.

"So when Pamela referred to you as a 'Welshman too stupid to avoid government service,' she wasn't kidding," I chuckled.

"Pretty much. I believe you have more important things to do than chat with me and FBI Agent Maddox, Magyarorszag es Erdely Hercege Cáel," he winked. "We'll be out here ignoring everything we hear, don't you worry."

"Yes Sir," I saluted him.

"Cáel, never do that again," Chaz smirked. "It isn't in you." He meant the salute, I guessed.

"Come here, You," Hana grabbed my tie and dragged me into the bedroom. She kicked the door shut. Woot!

(Hercege and Hercegné)

"This is so horribly screwed up," Hana shook her head, taken in by all the madness of the past few days of both our lives.

"What's wrong?" I wrapped my around her waist and pulled her tight, her forehead resting on my chin and her arms folded up between us.

"Usually I go on a date, or sometimes two, with a man before the topic of marriage comes up. When you tack on 'you proposing and me accepting pre-first date," she murmured. Sighed. "This is fraught with dangerous uncertainties. Also..." I liked her word usage.

"Yes?"

"You are by far the most immature man I've ever dated and I started dating when I was thirteen," she teased me with a harmonious sigh.

"You were dating men when you were thirteen," I faux-gasped. "You go girl! Were they really old men?" She balled up her left hand into a fist and lightly thumped me in the chest.

"I think we are back to you being a horrible person," she turned her head so she could rest her ear on my chest and listen to my heartbeat.

"Noted -- established -- accepted. I'm glad you are the good one in this pairing," I stroked her hair. "Good deeds have a way of causing me intense pain, so I'm working on avoiding them."

"Liar," she giggled. "Cáel, my first husband," she resumed. Guys, let a girl talk a bit about her past, failed romances. It is a guidepost of what not to do. Not because she's telling you the truth about anything, but because she's letting you know of what she does and doesn't like. Put on your headphones, crank up the landmine detector and stride boldly forth.

"He was your polar opposite," she continued. "He was completely devoted to his career, how he would advance in it and had an iron-confidence about his future that I found comforting. Too bad he turned out to be a complete control-freak, a lying asshole and a vindictive bastard." Now we were getting somewhere. The use of the words 'polar opposite' meant she liked me.

"Every bump in the road, every complication to his Master Plan required me to give up more -- to put my dreams and ambitions on hold while what he wanted had to come first. I tried to convince myself initially that things would balance out eventually. Then I thought a child would help -- it didn't. Then I wanted to formalize the death of our love in a divorce and he went ballistic.

I was making him 'look bad'. I was the impediment to his ambitions and every little crack in our marriage was my fault. I didn't try enough, he said. So, he turned our divorce a venue to punish me. I know for a fact he barely spends any time with Õnnela -- that is my daughter's name -- during her visits. Her name is Estonian for 'Luck'. Her father's name is...Sten Männik. 

His father is a business partner of Father's in Estonia, which was how we met. He is a bit older -- 37...does my age bother you?" she snuck that question up on me.

"Considering my first sexual partner, my first love and my first mentor was 22 years older than me -- I must say our age difference hadn't even occurred to me," I answered truthfully.

"Who was she?" Hana nuzzled into my chest.

"Not happening. I hate it when women think I'm measuring them against other women," I dropped my chin on the top of her head. "She trained me better than that."

"We are getting married," she pressed.

"I'm not saying I'll never give you her name, tell you about her, or that I'll invite her to the wedding without your permission, but this is a talk I'd like to have with her first," I confessed. "This isn't some nostalgic emotional desire, Hana. She deserves a chance to decide if she wants to be a part of our lives."

"When can I talk with her?" Hana murmured. I lowered a hand down and pinched her butt.

"Hey!" she squeaked then play-punched me in the chest once more. The pinch assured Hana that my mind was on her. She took a deep breath.

"You smell good," she sighed. I nibbled her hair with my lips. It is actually a comforting gesture.

"Do you mind if we just sleep tonight?" she tipped back slightly so that we had eye contact. I didn't rush my answer. The truth was she looked beat.

"No," I grinned. "I mind, yet I'd better start getting used to taking your advice; so I promise to be good -- tonight." That brought out a glow of happiness. Sex -- respect. I wanted her enough to respect her wishes.

She made a perfectly normal, adult mistake. She turned and walked ahead of me to our queen-sized bed. I was a child. I big, happy-go-lucky child. I grabbed two firm handfuls of Hana-butt and squeezed.

"What!" she rewarded me with her playful outrage. She spun around. "We said 'No Sex'," she scowled.

"You agreed to 'No Sex'," she stressed her point.

"Babe, that's not sex," I insisted. "That's worship." Swat!

"You're incorrigible," she failed to stifle her grin.

"Guilty as charged," I agreed. This time she wised up, walked backwards to the bed and quickly slipped beneath the sheets.

I kept my eyes on her the whole way, staying completely motion until she was concealed.

"Damn," I mumbled. "I'm going to go to the bathroom..."

"And?" she teased.

"And brushing, flossing, shaving and taking a sponge bath. Ballistic vests are hard on the hygiene," I informed her. Hana let me off easily.

My luggage and I migrated to the bathroom. I performed my personal cleanliness duties as I weighed my options. I was a huge fan of sleeping in the nude. Since I had a pathological hatred of male pajamas (I only owned some because girls look adorable in men's PJ's), I had to choose between the 'man-package', regulation-sized and 'boy shorts' underwear scenarios in my mind. 

Boy shorts came out the winner. I wanted our first sexual encounter to include rested bodies and alert minds. After all, Hana was going to have to put up with a lot of crap from me in the future, so I owed her my ultimate compassionate effort. The sleepy smile Hana gave me as I came out confirmed I'd made the right choice. 

She'd already seen me naked poolside at the Sulkanen Hampton's estate. She'd worn her enticing wear to do just that -- entice. I'd been enticed -- mission accomplished. Now she wanted sleep and I was barely clothed enough to convince her that that was where we were going. I so wanted to crawl into bed over her, but I figured my self-control had been strained enough for the past 48 hours. 

I cut off the lights, crawled into bed beside her and immediately scooted over to her side. It took her a second to figure out my motives were pure (for me). She rolled over, draping her right leg over my right and her right hand came to rest on my sternum. I was still getting used to her hair on my shoulder when I heard her first, soft snore.

The night was long for me. My mind kept operating at close to peak capacity. I had to figure out what Grandfather was up to, and without resorting to his rationality. His 'logic' was corrosive to my passionate dreams for a future. I absorbed some of that cruel mechanism by studying the sleeping Hana. Not in the 'creepy, Twilight vampire hovering over the virgin's bed while she slept' way. 

I studied her breathing patterns and how she responded to my touch, to my own breathing and how she moved in her sleep, so I could be a better match for her. I also discovered one of her obvious flaws. All girls have flaws. If you find a perfect woman -- run away. She's a sociopath who has mastered the art of 'playing human'. You aren't long for this World if you stick around.

Hana's first flaw that I came across was chilling. Really -- chilling. The woman had ice-packs for feet. Damn, we were in Italy with the windows slightly open in summer and I wanted to get on my sheep skin boots...except an ex-GF filled them with horse manure and I could never get the stink out of them. I had an answer to this problem.

Over a period of thirty minutes, I slowly untangled us, edged her along until we were spooning then bent her knees away from me until I could press the top of my feet against the soles of hers. Five minutes after that, she backed into me and murmured with contentment while still remaining deeply asleep. Without much though, I wrapped my left arm around her so she could feel snug.

What the hell. I wasn't a total jerk all the time and it made Hana happy and more comfortable without costing me a damn thing. To be fair, the situation did arouse my cock-master ... who insistently informed me that not having sex in 48 hours (without being in a coma) was against the executive power-sharing agreement we'd made when I was eighteen.

Thankfully, sleeping Hana didn't mind the Magyar-Irish-Genetic Monster sausage that blossomed between us. She actually wiggled against it a few times over those long torturous hours as she slept. A happy thought occurred to me before dawn. Hana wasn't the bar/party kind of girl so odds were great she hadn't had sex since her divorce three years ago. Yay!

My thoughts were not totally devoted to sex, Hana, and sex with Hana. My growing maturity also went over the political and physical fights I had been in. All those dead Seven Pillar operatives...the ridge...Charlotte...the dead Mycenaean five steps away on top of the an equally dead Romanians. I had to organize that pain and those images. I had to find my own way to deal. 

Violence would not stop being a part of my life. I knew with Alal's mind how he regarded this Long Peace. It hadn't been all that peaceful, but that wasn't the point. The key factor was that today, the people at the helms of all those nations and economic entities didn't know what a real war was like.

Things like 'National Effort' were slogans for social programs, or relegated to the history books. The world was full of vicious bastards and bitches who were ready, willing and eager to use death and fear to advance their goals. Their numbers were magnified by the millions upon millions of lives they impacted.

As Alal said, there are times when you needed 'wolves'. You couldn't defeat a pack of wolves with a flock of sheep. That was one of his chief issues with mankind. That they took a theory of physiological change and transferred it to the social arena. Alal didn't believe you could remove the violence from the society and expect it to survive.

It was the age old equation of civilized, pre-mediated violence. Someone had something you wanted. If you thought you could overwhelm this enemy with an acceptable loss of life to your side...why wouldn't you take it? There had always been far more sheep than wolves, but you needed the wolves, despite the danger of keeping them close.

In Alal's mind, Napoleon Bonaparte demonstrated the correctness of his theories in 1799 and the rest of Europe had been stacking proof upon proof for a hundred and fifty years after that. The British Empire hadn't been built on trade. It had been built by trade enforced at the end of the barrel of a gun or cannon. The Hindu and Islamic leaders of India did not flock to the British Raj. They gave up varying portions of their independence because they knew what the British would do to them...eventually...if they resisted. Africa was the same way. 

In China, the English fought two Opium Wars to force the Chinese to pay for the privilege of buying the catalyst for the destruction of millions of individual lives and the moral and social decay of their culture. Britain had wolves. Wolves had run rampant across the globe. The Manchus had been wolves back in the 17th century. The Qing (Manchu) Dynasty that the British founded had caged those wolves ... until the cage broke and the wolves ran free. When the Qing needed them, their loyal wolves were too few, while the rest were running out of control in the countryside. 

In Europe the pattern went from small, professional armies with mercenary cores to massive conscripted armies powered by the advent of the Industrial Age. This new creation of the Napoleonic Age birthed wolves among the sheep. Both had died in great numbers until, after 16 years of war, the French wolves ran out of fight. But old wolves trained new wolves and sheep could always be rounded up for a fight. Every conflict up to September 1945 verified the validity of that pattern. From sheep sprang the wolves that filled the ranks of Paratroopers, Guards, Commandoes, Rangers and the first Kamikaze.

At the end of World War II, the sheep rose up within the great powers. They were tired of wolves, not accepting that it had been the sheep sending the wolves to war for most of the Imperial Age. You don't think so? Only one world leader wanted World War I, and that was Kaiser Wilhelm -- a child-like autocrat, not a wolf. 

No. The French and English leaders didn't want a war. Sure, they'd been in an arms race for over a decade, but it was nationalism that drove the sheep to bleat for war. Tsar Nicolas II and the Russian elite were actually a rather dissipated lot and far removed from the men who had thrown off the Tartar Yoke centuries earlier. They had lumbered like a crippled, blind Brown Bear over the precipice. 

Why did the Russians find themselves in a war? Serbia and some vague idea of a Pan-Slavic Identity. In Russia, it was the sheep leading the sheep and the disaster was far too predictable. In fact, in the first three months of the war, only one nation had accomplished its objectives ~ the little Kingdom of Serbia. 

By the end of 1945, it was almost over; only China and its Civil War remained to sputter on for four more years. For the most part, the sheep agreed to chain up their wolves. The atomic age had made the prospect of war too dangerous, or so we were told. The voices of the wolves were only heard in the distance. The sheep wanted to be the only ones allowed to vote.

Liberal Democracy claimed an empty victory in 1991. They had won the peace without raising a finger...if you ignored the hundreds of 'brushfire' wars that sprang up continuously. After the Cold War, the sheep focused almost all they had on taking care of the sheep. This was Alal's view of things, and though I disagreed with him, I needed to know what directed his thinking. It was an unhappy night piled upon two unhappy days.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 36



(Dawn)

"You can stop faking being asleep," I whispered in her ear. "I can hear your heart beating and your breathing gaining strength."

"Does it occur to you that that sounds vaguely spooky?" she answered without moving.

"I want to talk with you. Talking 'at' you isn't nearly as fulfilling," I kissed the back of her left ear.

"Wow...," she sighed. "You are really good at this interrelations thing. All the women in your life warned me about this; yet even forearmed, I'm impressed."

"Women are easy to impress," I began. I let that hang there for a few seconds. "Rule #1, don't try to get inside a woman's head. Instead, learn by studying their reactions and build from there." Pause.

"Are you playing me right now?" she inquired softly. Ahh, this morning's first hurdle.

"Yes and no," I treaded carefully. Hana was a savvy businesswoman and that entailed her seeing bullshit as bullshit. "I'm engaging you and that's my genuine desire. Am I using some of my 'girl-friendly' techniques to do so? Yes."

"You are a very dangerous young man," she chided me. "Do you think you might come to love me?"

"Could I? Should I? Would both of us be better off if we avoided falling in love?" I said softly. "I'd like to be in love with you, Hana. I think I'd like it if you were in love with me too. I'd like to be sure we love one another for the right reasons?"

"What would be the right reasons?" she asked after she wiggled around until we were face to face.

"I'm not sure what the right reasons are. I've never been in love. I don't want us to think we've fallen in love out of loneliness and fear," I reasoned. "Obligation isn't going to cut it."

"I'd be foolish to believe that you lying to me would have been better," she smiled. "We both know that outside of business concerns, you are far better with the opposite sex than I am. My problems are," she continued. I knew what she thought her 'problems' were. However, interrupting would have tipped her off that I had gotten inside her defenses. That would have been both cruel and stupid.

"...that I...I know I'm outmatched in this relationship. And that annoys me. I like being in control of my life and my environment, and that doesn't include a twenty-two year old...you. I also know I'm dealing with all the issues of my first, failed marriage." I decided not to lie.

"You forgot one," I stated before I kissed her lightly on the lips.

"What would that be?" she asked, then returned my kiss.

"Every man in your life has to measure up to Jormo," I told her. "He's the standard by which all the rest of us are measured. Dumb-butt Sten failed to live up to your father. We both know that. In a way, even he probably sensed it. He couldn't live up to Jormo and he felt less of a man because of that."

"You are saying that the failure of my marriage was my fault?" she concentrated on my reaction. If she'd been angry and/or insulted, I would have understood. Nine out of ten women would have. Instead, Hana was giving me more respect than any...no, not anymore. I knew more than a double handful of women who respected me now. That was not something I'd ever wanted. 

But I was getting a lot of the 'I didn't want this, yet here it is' in my life. Whining about something of value wouldn't help.

"No. I believe you would have stuck it out with Sten if he'd met you half way. He decided he was less than Jormo...when he wasn't -- not initially," I explained.

"He chose to challenge a phantom, an ideal of someone in your mind. That is egocentric thinking. He should have proven to you what a good man Sten could be, started a new chapter in your life and given you a chance to be both Sten's wife and Jormo's daughter," I gave her my opinion.

"Do you think I'm comparing you to my Father?" 

"Yes. It is a very human thing to do. I still believe you'll give me a chance to prove I'm the best me you'll ever find," I answered.

"You are a very clever man, Hercege Cáel Nyilas," she purred. Now I was sure she was too good for me. She and Odette both.

"I'm sorry I never met your Mother and Father. You've met Jormo. You should meet the other side of my family as well," she kissed me with a bit more self-assurance. She was checking off the talking points she wanted addressed. "My Mother, brother and half-sisters. They are off-limits, by the way." Way too good for me.

"I make no promises," I kissed her back. "I'll do my best...sometimes I'll need help staying on the straight and narrow. Mom," I sighed. "My Mom is a talk for another time. Father, Ferko Nyilas...he is the best man I've ever known and I never really understood that until he passed. To me, he's my Jormo...just ten times better."

"This argument over who has the better father -- I do -- is over," she kissed me with greater hunger. "Can't we do something else?" Oh Hell Yeah! I knew my Dad was better than hers. I also knew that if I ignored the carnal needs of a beautiful woman in order to argue about something I knew to be true, it would have stigmatized me as an idiot in my Old Man's eyes. I like to think I made him very pleased with me, instead. I know Hana was.



Life as a New Hire Ch. 37



This story plays fast and loose with Ancient History and Linguistics; be warned.

There is something worse than waking up and not knowing where you are: you could wake up and not know who you are.

Editing magic performed by KJ24 and Shyqash, plus contributions by the regular gang of brigands and neer-do-wells.

There is a bit of mangling of the Iliad going on. I apologize to Homer and the countless singers before him who carried the Iliad down through the dark centuries until the Greeks figured out how writing works.

Note: This chapter is heavy with the 'Behind the Scenes' stuff.

*****

(Back Home with a New Team - one week after Rome)

If you ask any entity for something you already know they aren't going to give you, but you do so believing their denial equates to your freedom, I suppose you only have yourself to blame if they deliver. It was totally rational for me to assume that if I asked, nay demanded of the taskforce sponsors a semi-autonomous status inside the greater geopolitical arena, the nations I was acquainted with would refuse. 

After all, I remained an inexperienced young man with a relatively unknown and unspectacular intellectual career. And I WANTED out...or, more like maybe a vacation, R&R, or a Spa Weekend...filled with naked women... well, Pamela suggested that I had a pathetic work ethic unless women were involved, so a productive R&R would need naked women. 

I had a new and profound respect for the people in the services who spend week after week after week in hostile territory. Four whole days in Europe were enough to make me want to throw in the towel. Colour Sgt. Chaz did offer me some comfort. He pointed out that I had managed to be in four firefights within 72 hours in an otherwise peaceful part of the world (Central Europe) [the Metro station on the first afternoon, the club later that night, the inn the next morning and the bloodbath in Romania the evening of the third day]. 

And we managed to avoid a firefight with Alal's people in Rome. Statistically, it was safer to be in the Eastern Ukraine than standing next to me. Chaz claimed that he'd spent weeks in Afghanistan feeling more at ease than he did working this assignment. He then told me that while serving with me, he had no doubt that he was making a world of difference. That the unease was something he, and every other professional military specialist, could deal with if they were on a mission they believed in.

Somehow, I thought he meant that as a compliment. But it rubbed salt into the hole in my soul where 'live and let live' had once flourished when he pointed out that 'real' soldiers honestly liked and respected me. I didn't blubber with worry about him being wrong - I was certain my missions did have a purpose. I just worried about whether I was really making the world a better place. 

I certainly felt I was completely unworthy of such camaraderie and faith, so I was engineering my expulsion from Unit L before I put my friends into another desperate life and death struggle. I had pushed all the right buttons and I was getting ready for returning to the comfort of walking to places on my own. I was supremely confident that my odious insult to the sponsors' view of how the world should work was going get me benched. 

No. The US and UK decided to accede to my outrageous demands - namely the authority to screen, hire and fire people from Unit L and to be consulted before anyone was added to the Joint (US agencies) International (US/UK/9Clans/Amazon) Khanate Interim Taskforce (JIKIT). I wanted to be the Uber-Tyrant of Unit L, JIKIT's 'action' section. Their counter-offer agreed to all my wishes with only one exception. 

I hated the fact that the one exception to my control made so much sense I couldn't get around it. I mean, she wasn't from either of my 'home' states (New Hampshire and Illinois), but she was from my neighborhood...a sitting US Senator from the Great State of Maine. Mutter ... mutter ... mutter. I made sure FP Javiera Costello was still the taskforce's leader, which helped me cope.

Why was Senator Susan Collins (R-Maine, Age 61) in my orbit? Javiera and Katrina thought I needed someone to ride herd on me; someone who I would both respect and not want to sleep with (didn't they realize that married and between 18 and 65 was still in my target zone?). Then there was the fact that she was on the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence (the real reason she was with the JIKIT) and I was endangering World Peace every time I took a breath.

Normally, Senators don't work with clandestine government taskforces. Normally, five nuclear powers don't have their fingers on the atomic button either. The PRC, the Russian Federation, the Khanate (a lie ~ which the Great Khan let me in on), Pakistan and India now did. Who had invited the subcontinent to the party? I had.

Like every good beef cow, I was walking straight into the hammer-gun, slightly suspicious that something was wrong, but all I could see was the ass-end of the heifer in front of me. A week ago, when I walked into my place, Timothy wrapped me and Odette in one mighty bear hug. As Odette began bringing out all the gifts she'd brought Timothy (with my money) from abroad, he handed me a disposable cell phone.

Note: World Events Stuff ~ aka Why things are happening in Cáel's life 

The phone was from Iskender. His boss, Oyuun Tömörbaatar (OT), the former UN ambassador from Kazakhstan and now the informal and unrecognized UN representative and chief diplomat of the Khanate to the same august body, wanted to talk with me ... immediately. OT wasn't being diplomatic at the moment - that would come later. 

{Now this is going to get convoluted}

Any inquiries to the Khanate that didn't also include immediate official recognition of the Khanate currently were being steered my (and Hana's) way. For all the behind closed doors crap, he had me ... his loyal butt-monkey mutton-head. I held faint hope that this latest meeting would work out to my benefit. For the meeting, I traveled light - only Naomi (the Amazon) and Chaz (British SRR) watched over me.

Now fathers who know me, hide their daughters. I'd earned my 'scoundrel' reputation. T. Sarangerel, OT's daughter, was in the room when Iskender ushered me in. She gave me an uncertain look, I shrugged and she smiled. It took me 0.03 seconds to figure that out ... OT was scoping me out as a potential son. I was in Temujin's Inner Circle and a man who he trusted (a rarity). Any union with me would strengthen OT's clan's standing in the new regime. 

The genetic footprint Temujin, and his immediate family collectively, had put down in the 13th and 14th centuries CE today was vast. He needed that to make his plans for the internal reorganization of the Khanate work. The old republics would go away, to be replaced by a system akin to the Byzantine 'themes - the re-organization of regions based on the recruitment of the Tumens.

The Khanate was aiming for an 'Autocratic Republic' ~ a term invented in the 19th century. My use of this terminology was based on my gut instinct, Alal's host of memories involving every form of governance, and my experience with human nature. That clued me in to what Temujin was up to - his Greater Plan. He wasn't going to form a false-front government. He was going to retain the decision-making powers and do so openly, thus 'Autocratic'.

He also planned to have a bicameral legislative branch. The Upper House would be based in Tumens and bureaucratic leadership, intellectual standing, religious sects, and tribal entities. This body would be based on merit, not primogeniture. The Lower, main chamber, would be a democratically-elected assembly (aka a democratic republic) that advised him on policy matters, thus 'Republic'. 

All the power would remain in the Great Khan's hands and would be exercised by his genetic descendants (which some geneticists estimated as being as high as 25% of the Central Asian population.) Marrying into that extended family would be easy, the 'family' itself would have a vested interesting in supporting a state that benefited them. 

Men and women could exercise power in the government through marriage alliances, identical to the manner Hana was working through me. Being surrounded by very populous countries in various states of belligerence, empowering women wouldn't be an issue since every willing mind and pair of hands mattered. Outsiders who shone through could be offered a spouse and brought into the ruling elite since polygamy was permissible.

In the Khanate there would be universal compulsive suffrage (everyone 18+ was legally required to vote) to decide on the representatives in the new legislative body. Everyone was expected to fight, so everyone voted. It would be modeled on the Duma of early 20th century Imperial Russia. Unlike the ill-fated Tsar Nicholas II, Temujin would be much more attentive to the voice of the people - in the Information Age, he had to. 

Or so I hoped. I spewed forth my ideas to OT who didn't agree, or disagree with my vision. Perhaps Temujin and I did share a bond that went beyond obligation. OT then pulled a 'Pamela'.

"He told me he knew immediately you were his brother when you and I shared that vision," he commented out of nowhere. 

"His words: You (Earth & Sky) are the old. He (meaning me) is the new. He (me again) will show us the way." My, that was nice, obtuse and not at all helpful. What did OT want? My good buddy, the Great Khan, wanted to cash in on Hana's and my sudden popularity. His most pressing need remained 'time'. He needed to have a cease-fire in the wings when his offensive resumed the next day. 

The Earth & Sky had moved...well, the Heaven & Earth to get the Tumens and their accompanying national armies up and running after only a two day respite. Thanks to me, Manchuria was a mess. The Russians had carried out my 'Operation: Funhouse' with mixed, mostly positive results. 

Dozens of smaller Chinese military police units along the border went ... 'inactive' was the term most often used in the media. They didn't disarm, yet they didn't fight the Russians either. They sat back and let events unfold. The issue wasn't the Chinese's willingness to fight and die for their country. It was the schizophrenic government in Beijing. 

The PRC didn't want to wage a war with the Russian Federation at that moment. The Khanate was the priority. There were two fundamentally incompatible courses of action favored for dealing with the Russians:

One large group advocated a passive Option A: let the Russians step in and shield the three remaining provinces making up Manchuria that were still in Chinese possession. Later, China would use military, economic and political means to edge the Russians out, once the Khanate was dealt with.

A sizable faction favored a more aggressive Option B: play a game of chicken with Vladimir Putin. Tell the Bear not to come across the border while threatening him with a bloody and pointless (for him) guerilla war if he did intervene. Events on the ground were not providing a lot of support for that school of thought, 

However, this split at the highest levels of leadership left the local and regional commanders to try and muddle through as best they could. To the local commanders defending the Amur River side of the Chinese-Russian border, common sense dictated that they not oppose the Russian crossings - because the Russian 35th Army would kill them. 

All their military units had gone west to the Nen River line. With no heavy weapons and little air support, the People's Armed Police (PAP) (paramilitary) and the Public Security Bureau (regular police) units would be wiped out for little gain. 

Russia's GRU (Military Intelligence) sweetened the pot by allowing the police units to remain armed and in formation. It could be argued that they weren't even committing treason. At any time, they could throw themselves into the battle, or form the core of a resistance movement. 'Conserving your strength' had been a hallmark of the Communist Chinese struggle against the Imperial Japanese and Nationalists forces from the 1920's until 1945 and it had served them well.

For the party officials, civil authorities and the People's Liberation Army (PLA), Army Air Force (PLAAF), and Army Navy (PLAN) who had gone with Option B, things weren't working out. In the north of Heilongjiang province at Morin Dawa/the Nen River line, the regional commander of the ad hoc forces facing the Khanate decided to duke it out with the Russian 36th Army as well. He was boned from the get-go. 

The PLAAF's overall command and control had been badly disrupted in the first few hours of The Unification War and had never fully recovered. Of the 22 air regiments that the PLAAF had started the war with in the Shenyang Military District (NE China), only 5 remained as effective formations flying, on average, a meager 20% of their original complement of advanced Shenyang J-16's, J-11's, Chengdu J-10's and Xian JH-7's aircraft. 

Replacing their aircraft losses meant sending up aged Shenyang J-8's (rolled out in 1980) and Nanchang Q-5's (in 1970) to fly and die in droves fighting their technologically superior Khanate foes. To add insult to injury, China's fleet of 97 Su-30MKK/MK2's (built in Russia) had suffered numerous suspicious mechanical and electronic failures, rendering them either flying coffins, or space holders in bomb-proof shelters. 

Furthermore, of the forces arrayed in the far north...only two of the five air regiments were responding. Two of the other three had begun displacing south into the Beijing Military District and preparing to defend the capital city. The fifth formation had another problem - North Korea (... more on that later.) 

In opposition to those two Chinese air regiments (roughly 60 aircraft of mixed types) stood seven complete and fresh Russian air regiments (over 400 front-line aircraft) and that didn't include the regiment and elements of the Far East Naval Aviation which was ALSO watching North Korea (...again more on that later.) The latter was of small comfort to the forces trying to hold the already compromised Nen River line.

Behind those valiant troops, along the much more defensible Amur River line, the commander of the key city of Heihe sided with the Option A group and let the Russian 35th Army cross the river unopposed. By the time the PLA commanding general of the 'Nen Force' (the 69th Motorized Division and the subordinate 7th Reserve Division) figured that out, he was already in a shooting war with the Russians. So his supply lines weren't in danger, they were lost. 

The final indignity took place at Zalantun. The commander of the 3rd Reserve Div. had died during the attempt to recapture Zalantun. His replacement died when his helicopter was shot down as he was coming to assume command. In the absence of these officers, the divisional chief of staff told his men, including two hastily hustled forward mechanized brigades, to put down their arms. That meant 'Nen Force' was completely cut-off and surrounded. 

One battalion of the 36th Russian Motorized Brigade (yes, too many 36's running around) disarmed the Chinese troops while the rest, plus the 74th Independent Motorized Brigade raced for the prize, the city of Qiqihar. The last major mechanized formation of the 36th Rus. Army, the 39th MB was following them. However, instead of manning Qiqihar's defenses, the Chinese garrison in that city was waging war on its own populace.

It wasn't only in Qiqihar; chaos reigned throughout Heilongjiang province. The Provincial Head of the Communist Party, Wang Xiankui, supported Option A. The Provincial Governor, Lu Hao, went with Option B. Both figures were rising stars in the PRC. Wang had ordered the still forming Reserve Divisions and the PAP units to disperse, thus avoiding any untimely confrontations with the Russians. 

Lu, without consulting Wang, ordered the same forces to launch a violent crackdown on all dissident forces, specifically all racial minorities. (It turned out that Lu was also a member of the Seven Pillars and his witch-hunt was aimed at getting the Earth & Sky organization operating in Heilongjiang). 

For the men and women on the other end of those phone conversations, there was no 'right' answer. Lest we forget, their organizations were already degraded by the Anthrax outbreak. Both men were powerful and represented China's future leadership, so if the person in charge at the ground level obeyed the wrong one, they could be assured of being roasted by the other. 

Some did try to do both - repress and disband at the same time. That meant that in the process of making mass arrests among an already war-fearful and plague-fearful populace, the law enforcement infrastructure began disintegrating. 

The problem with Lu's/7P's plan was that there was no 'revolutionary' organization to round up. That wasn't how the Earth & Sky operated in North-East China. They remained in tiny sabotage and reconnaissance cells. While they were scurrying for cover from the police crackdown, an opportunity presented itself. 

The afflicted minorities were getting furious with their treatment. These minorities saw themselves as loyal Chinese, yet they were being dragged out into the streets, put in detentions centers and (in a few cases) summarily executed. Being less than 10% of the overall population, resistance had never crossed their minds. It seemed all that those defenseless people could do was pray for Russian intervention forces to arrive. 

Within that mix of fear, betrayal and rage, the E&S discovered a way to start the dominos falling. The small, well-armed and well-trained E&S cells began ambushing police detachments. Weapons from those dead men and women were turned over to the pissed off locals before the cell went off to stalk the next police unit. 

Wash, rinse and repeat. It became a perverse and bloody case of wish fulfillment. Lu and the 7P's had been looking for an insurrection and they started one. Even though a miniscule portion of the population was involved, from the outside looking in, it reinforced the Putin Public Affairs initiative that portrayed Putin (and his army) as coming in to restore order to a collapsing civil system ... which he was helping disrupt.

From Moscow, the PRC's indecisiveness looked like Manna from Heaven. For the massive numbers of Russian soldiers riding through the Manchurian countryside, it felt like they were rolling into Arkham Asylum. Unlike the NATO countries' professional armies, Russia remained a largely conscript force whose normal term of service was only one year. These unseasoned troops could never tell if the local military, military police and police would attack until they rolled up on the Chinese units.

At the start of that Day One of Operation: Funhouse, the Russian ROE (Rules of Engagement) was 'Ask and Verify'. It was tactically advantageous for the belligerent Chinese forces to lie about their intentions, then begin shooting at the Russians when they got close enough to hurt them. By Day Two, the standard front-line Russian soldier had adjusted that ROE to 'if they look at us wrong, light their asses up'. By Day Three, the officers had stopped trying to enforce Moscow's ROE orders. 

That was fine for the combat and rear echelon support troops because both the Chinese and Russian governments had another series of problems and they all centered around Pyongyang and Kim Jong-un's declaration that North Korea would intervene as well...without letting anyone know who he was 'intervening' against. To keep everyone guessing, the North Korean' People's Army was massing on all three borders - facing off with the PRC, Russia and South Korea. To prove his diplomatic intentions, Kim pledged to only mobilize half of his reserves...merely 4,250,000 extra men and women to go with his 950,000 strong standing army. 




Life as a New Hire Ch. 37



It didn't take a military, or economic genius to realize the North Korean's chronically 'near death' economy was stampeding off a cliff. The Democratic People's Republic of Korea (DPRK) was in the middle of an oil crisis and Kim was increasing their fuel consumption by 400% while decreasing his workforce by 10%. To put it in perspective, the US unemployment was around 6%. Now imagine that in one week's time it would become 26%. One week - no severance packages. Would the population become unsettled?

But wait, it gets better. The Secret War was colliding with the Real World in more places than Manchuria. Setting aside the assassination attempt (Grrr) of Hana Sulkanen, my fiancée, six Nipponese elders (two women and four men) appeared in the personal quarters of the Japanese Prime Minister on the first full night of 'Funhouse' and relayed their urgent requests. 

Those six were the Head of the Six (formerly Seven) Ninja Families and they were there at...my urging. Cause I'm an idiot and requiring the deaths of Romanians in my personal crusade obviously wasn't enough. Now I was asking the Japanese Defense Forces (JDF) to pony up as well. So take a deep breath and put on the hip-waders.

You might be wondering why I would want the JDF...see, there was part of Operation: Funhouse that was hitting a predictable snag...namely the Korea People's Navy Force (KPNF) and the uncertain determination of the PLAN:

The KPNF's vessels were rather old, small and crappy. They also had a love affair with anything that could launch a torpedo and they listed over 700 of these floating deathtraps (only 13 of which could be classified as surface warships) and the fanatical crews to take them into battle. 

The PLAN's numbers were far more realistic and the fleet generally more modern. Only their North (18 surface warships) and East Fleets (22 plus 5 'elsewhere') could play any role in an upcoming FUBAR, and both fleets were heading out to sea, mainly to avoid the sporadic, but increasingly effective Khanate air strikes. 

The FU to be BAR'ed was the Russian Far East Fleet (RFEF) (6 warships strong...) that had seized on this crazy idea (per my suggestion) to sail south, around the Korean peninsula so they could land elements of the 55th Guards Red Banner Marine Brigade (the 165th Marine Regiment and the 180th Marine Tank Battalion). 

Theoretically they were going to be the 'Southern Shielding Force' that would interpose itself between the Khanate and Beijing. It should surprise no one that the RFEF's flotilla was unequal to the task of taking their destination, the port of Qinhuangdao, by amphibious assault. Fortunately for the Gods of War (which did not include me), there were five other navies involved. 

Meanwhile, South Korea was having kittens because their always crazy northern kin were slathering on the insanity. (In how many Buddhist countries do people flock to the temples and pray that their neighbor attacks someone, anyone else, but them? That wasn't a religious conundrum I wanted to deal with.) N.Korea mobilizing meant S.Korea had to mobilize ... which sucked down on their GNP as well. 

Besides, N.Korean dams and coal-powered plants kept the lights on in Seoul. Erring on the side of caution, the S. Korea (aka Republic of Korea - ROK) Army suggested calling up only one million of their three million person reserve force in order to assure Cousin Kim that this was a purely defensive gesture. It didn't work. Kim Jong-un castigated the ROK for antagonizing him, despite his declaration that he 'might' feel like invading the South in the immediate future.

Into the emerging crisis, the ROK Navy could sortie nineteen small surface ships. Japan's Navy wasn't up to its old imperial standards, but could still deploy 45 surface warships. The 800 lb. gorilla in the room was the core of the 7th Fleet stationed at Yokosuka, Japan - the USS carrier George Washington and her 14 escort vessels.

If the George Washington was the gorilla, RIMPAC 2014 was King Kong. 22 nations - 50 ships - including the USS carrier Ronald Reagan were engaged in war games in the Central Pacific. With them were 5 vessels of the PLAN...had Kim Jong-un just kept his mouth shut, this wouldn't have been an issue. Hell, if the Khanate had not come into existence and launched its Unification War...but he had and they did...

To show the US was taking this escalation seriously (without tipping their hand that they knew about Funhouse, Carrier Strike Group One (CSG 1) (the Carl Vinson +10) was rushing across the Pacific from San Diego. CSG 3 (the John C. Stennis +2) was being assembled hastily so that they could rendezvous with CSG 1 ASAP. So many brave souls running toward the danger...sometimes I hate myself.

So now does it make sense that I found myself in a room with a US Senator tasked with riding herd on me? 

Anyway, there were the other three navies still unaccounted for - Taiwan / the Republic of China (ROC) (22 surface ships), Vietnam (7) and the Philippines (3). Taiwanese involvement was easy to explain - the PRC refused to acknowledge them as an independent country and probably never would.

The Vietnam People's Navy was tiny in both numbers and tonnage. Five of the vessels were 1960's Soviet frigates. What Vietnam did have was a huge grudge against the PRC. The PLA invaded Vietnam in 1979 and devastated the northernmost provinces, killing as many as 100,000 civilians. 

The PLAN had walloped the VPN in 1974 (technically South Vietnam) and again in 1988. Out in the South China Sea were two island archipelagos; the Paracel (occupied by a small PLA garrison and claimed by the PRC, Vietnam and the ROC) and Spratlys Islands (disputed by Brunei, Malaysia, Philippines, the PRC, the ROC, and Vietnam).

The Philippines had a grand total of three frigates (all between 50 and 70 years old). 99% of the time, they faced a hopeless struggle enforcing Philippines' South China Sea claims...except they were now experiencing that 1% where the PRC found itself in a life and death struggle. Even then, the PLAN's South Sea Fleet was hands-down the biggest player with 26 surface warships centered on the Carrier Liaoning.

Except (and there always seems to be an 'except') virtually all the PLAN's naval aviation had gone off to fight the Khanate and it wasn't coming back - ever. In the air, the Philippines was next to useless. What did they have of offer in the struggle for the South China Sea? Bases. The ROC and Vietnam had much more to bring to the table. 

The Vietnamese People's Liberation Air Force (VPLAR) had about 50 front-line aircraft and 175 nearly obsolete models ~ the same models the PLAAF was now piloting. The ROC Air Force could put up 325 almost-new fighters that were now superior to their opponents on the mainland. Why would I give a shit?

Things cascade. The Khanate Air Force took a two-day long deep breath as Putin's 'Policeman that only looks like an invading army' started their intervention. Forty-eight hours later, the Khanate started the fourth stage (the first lunge, defeat the PLA's counter-attack then the second lunge) of the campaign. 

Their initial air power was still skating on thin ice where maintenance was concerned. They need more time to thoroughly rest their pilots and bring all their top-flight equipment to 100% working condition. Against them, in two days the PLAAF's assets increased by over 250 fighters. 

In turn, the Khanate had added their constituent state air forces plus nearly 80 new cutting edge air planes and 25 drones. Phase Four saw rolling airstrikes all along the forces massing in front of the northern and central Tumens. For a few hours, the PLA thought they knew what was going on. 

They were wrong and this was where my meeting with OT came in. Jab with the right, cut them down with the left. The left in my case was Tibet. Yeah, Tibet. Economic value = not nearly enough. From the very start of the war, a small number of seemingly inconsequential air strikes had seriously eroded the PLA and PLAAFs combat power in the Tibetan Plateau while leaving the roads, bridges and towns intact.

Common military logic dictated that the Khanate had to punch their way further east into Qinghai (to the south) and Gansu (to the north) provinces. That was where the population and industry where. Farther east were even greater numbers of people and factories and the Khanate forces in the North hadn't been strong enough to threaten to cut off the Qinghai-Gansu front. Then the Russians showed up and the Khanate forces threatening that flank doubled overnight.

The PLA hastily reinforced their northern flank, using troops from their strategic reserves. The move resulted in incredible attrition by airpower to the freshly equipped formations. The PLA was about to get flanked, but not from the north. Southwest of Qinghai was Tibet. A third of the Khanate's mobile forces now swept around in a huge left haymaker to the south. 

My job? I needed the 'Free Tibet' forces in the US and UK to provide public and moral support to the Khanate move. As Khanate Special Forces seized crucial bottlenecks in Tibet, they needed the locals to keep their 'liberators' informed of PLA presences and undermine any attempt to create a guerilla movement. 

The five Tumens dedicated to being the Schwerpunkt (point of maximum effort) of this flanking maneuver were going to be on a tight timetable if they were going to surround the PLA forces in Central China.

My plan was to convince the Tibetans that the PRC's 55 years of occupation was coming to an end and the Great Khan wanted to sign a 'Treaty of Mutual Respect' (my invention). This would require both the Khanate and Tibet to recognize each other's right to exist the moment a cease-fire was reached. That was it. No 'armed presence', or 'mutual defense' agreements. 

The treaty would be formally signed in Lhasa, the Tibetan capital, when the city was safe ~ as determined by the Central Tibetan Administration (the Tibetan Government in Exile - CTA). Riki came up with an additional sweetener and proved she was quickly adjusting to our group's extra-governmental capabilities. 

She wanted the Black Lotus to locate and rescue Gedhun Choekyi Nyima, the 11th Panchen Lama. Riki tried to explain the politics to me until my eyes glazed over, I curled into a fetal ball and I started sucking my thumb. This guy was important to the Tibetans and she wanted to know if the Black Lotus, or Earth & Sky could deliver him into Free Tibet hands.

George Cresky, our CIA guy, was gone - replaced by (deep breath) CIA/National Clandestine Service (NCS) Specialized Skills Officer - Targeting (SSO-T) Addison P. Stuart. SSO-T's were the CIA's 'Oh Shit' operatives. They didn't spy, steal, or assassinate. They crafted such missions based on what the government needed done, no questions asked.

She knew Riki (vaguely) and Lady Fathom Worthington-Burke (by reputation, though she'd yet to arrive), so when two new opportunities opened up - ramrodding the international group trying to figure out what I'd done wrong in Central Europe, or tackling the mayhem head on, she chose to join the JIKIT. She was curious about my 'hire/fire' ability, so that's where she started her interview with me.

"Do intelligent, powerful, independent women intimidate you, Mr. Nyilas?" were the first words out of her mouth. I had everyone on the team except the Senator (who came down on the weeknights when Congress was in session) and my SD Amazons (Rachel, Tiger Lily and Mona who were recruiting a new 'fourth' member of my bodyguard team.) 

A smile began to form on my lips...then the laughter began. I didn't laugh at her. Everyone else did, even Chaz. She didn't know what to make of that.

"Ms. Stuart," I snickered. "Addison - we go on a first name basis in Javiera's taskforce, you are barking up the wrong tree. I'm a sexaholic. Every woman I meet is a challenge to me, an opportunity to learn and become a better man."

"Javiera's taskforce? I was led to believe..." she narrowed her eyes in a very carnivorous female fashion.

"I am in charge," Javiera grinned. "Cáel has the authority to deem which people are inappropriate for this team, but he only gained that power because Katrina Love, his superior at Havenstone, and I approved of it."

"His power is real enough," Pamela added. "He's earned it by listening to the people who have a clearer idea about what's going on and then deciding when he needs to ignore that advice to get things done. If he goes in a contrary direction, it is because he has access to information he cannot share. He holds three..."

"Patents of Nobility that are all clear signs of nepotism and inbreeding..." I wove my words into hers.

"Yet none the less have become critical positions," Pamela put a hand on my shoulder and radiated her pride in me, "with two extra-territorial entities and the rogue state now and forever to be referred to as the Khanate."

"Conceded," Addison nodded. "I want to know how comfortable everyone is with single-source information. Mr... Cáel has not been forthcoming with his intelligence assets and the rapid flow of events puts US interests at risk. I am not happy with that."

"Addison, given time Cáel may - MAY - introduce you to some of his contact people," Javiera answered. "To date, I've met five and am in regular contact with two of them," she explained. "He operates like that, and I let him operate like that, because of the extreme paranoid lethality of the people in question. I am not talking about cartels, terrorists and raving psychopaths. Instead, combine monastic assassins, Skull & Bones with the Swiss Guard at their beck and call, and Sengoku Period in Japan.

"That's the Reader's Digest version of what we are dealing with. The reality is much worse. The youngest sect you will be dealing with dates back to the 14th century AD (she meant the Condos) and the oldest is rumored to date back to 2600 BC (the Egyptian Rite) and I have reason to believe that's true," Javiera began reading Addison in. "Our closest ally are Amazons who date their history to 12th century BC," ... she let that information percolate.

"What kinds of numbers are we looking at? Reach? Resources?" Addison jumped in.

"My group numbers around 40,000 women...and two men, kinda-sorta," I was liking Addison already. "Resources...global territorial holdings, a highly trained, well-equipped fanatical fighting force with the financial resources of a diversified, multi-national corporation.

"The primary associated groups on 'our side' are personnel intensive, operate in separate semi-independent bureaus with varying levels of resources. Their prime financial base comes from contract murder," I studied her reaction. "Then there is the Khanate."

"And these are the good guys?" Addison faux-joked. I didn't think the morality bothered her. What bothered Addison was the blow-back that could result from dealing with such people.

"The best of the bunch is neutral," I confessed. "They are a 'wait and see' organization, who work through a series of secret and semi-secret societies to accomplish social engineering." (The Egyptian Rite). 

"The second 'other' group are a criminal financial hydra of people who could come crawling out of any sewer or sit in the seat of any Minister of State in any country." (The Illuminati) "The third group is behind the PRC's multi-pronged advancement across the world stage. From what little I know, it is hard to differentiate between the PRC's security apparatus and this group. 

"The fourth group out there are killers of every stripe. The more cold-blooded and ruthless you are, the more likely you are to be invited to join and the higher you will advance. They will find funding for an insurgency and train the insurgents. Then they will offer their services to the establishment as private contractors. 

Human Rights Commissions are something they joke about. "Worst of it all, I'm pretty sure they've worked with virtually every intelligence agency, corporate or state sponsored, that engages in covert activities. They know who to talk to if they want information, or access," I said. "That's why foreign intelligence types make me wary."

"Your father's murder," Addison brought up.

"Did you ever figure out how they ended up heavily armed inside the US?" I inquired.

"Tunisian passports into Canada then a chartered boat to Chicago," Addison stated. "Their jet went to St. John's Newfoundland and disappeared after that. It is going to take a while to sort out, working with Tunisia's National Police, considering their run up to national elections in late October."

CIA George probably knew all that too, yet he would have made me pay for that bit of enlightenment, the dick-cheese. That wasn't why he was gone. He was gone because he expected me to help him nail Riki...without me accepting his wing-man status - uncool. I definitely believed I had traded up.

"Thank you," I stepped forward and shook hands. She gave me a sharp shake.

"You are abnormal," she smiled. "That means I don't know what to make of you."

"Oh, thank Dot you didn't call me 'nice', or 'interesting," I rolled my eyes. That was my introduction to the second member of my (governmental) policy triumvirate (Addison, Riki and Lady Fathom {coming soon}).

The Triumvirate had to convince the global community that the Great Khan was going to liberate the Tibetan people once the offensive got underway. The Khanate's aim was to restore the Dali Lama...and then leave them to their independence. 

Why was Temujin being so beneficent? How many nations supported the Khanate's land grab in China? None publically. How many nations claimed to have some support for an Independent Tibet? A fuck-load more than none, that was for sure. What was really going on? Answer this: how do you sugar-coat a biological first strike that resulted in the genocide of millions of Chinese civilians as well as its police, paramilitary and military forces? 

Answer: you 'free' 2.9 million Tibetans, that's how. To make the liberation of Tibet possible, you needed more than a military conquest. You needed global economic, social and military support...that's where Pakistan and India came on. Oh yeah, and Nepal and Bhutan if you wanted to get picky.

If you recall, the Unification War started in the middle of nowhere, Aksai Chin. It was of no use to the Khanate, but it was of point of nationalistic pride to Pakistan and India. The Khan was giving those barren salt flats to Pakistan, their co-religionist on the other side of the Himalayas - free of charge. That would not make India happy. What would make India happy was giving them back the Chinese-controlled, disputed territory of Arunachal Pradesh.

Aksai Chin was part of the Khanate-controlled Xinjiang Uyghur Autonomous Region. It was the Great Khan's to give away. Arunachal Pradesh was part of Chinese-controlled Tibet, so he technically needed Tibetan acquiescence to guarantee the land transfer to India once some sort of peace was established. 

{Back to me for a moment}

Our new HQ was splendid. Jurisdictional and security issues made finding a place where all parties could feel equally as comfortable was solved by Hana. She took out a long term rental agreement for the 59th and 60th floors of the One MiMa1Tower ~ that had to be setting her back over $100,000 a month.

The Department of Homeland Security arranged for members of the taskforce to pack as much non-artillery/high explosives weapons as we wanted. This not only mollified the Amazons, it allowed me to extend the same courtesy to visiting members of the other secret societies. Javiera convinced the Senator and the Senator convinced Homeland Security with a grand total of three phone calls. 




Life as a New Hire Ch. 37



Our protection consisted of eight Amazons from the SD and eight agents of the FBI plus a four Amazon group of rotating House Guard and four fine men from JSOC. It was decided that there would be 2 two-member SD/FBI teams operating at all times. The Army group and the HGs alternated who was the rapid response team.

To reinforce Riki Martin, I 'allowed' Supervisory Program Analyst Mehmet Ali-Sharif of the US State Department, National Intelligence and Research -Watch (they had decided I could magically conjure elite fighters in whatever country I showed up in, so they gave me a brainy person instead) Age 41, married, four kids.

He had instant access to all the other US intelligence agencies, which promised to cut through the inter-agency bullshit. He brought along a wonk from the NSA and a 'signals' Air Force Senior Master Sergeant Nicholas Billings from the DIA to make sure our networks were constantly monitored and our communications were encrypted. 

The NSA guy gave us a patently false name, so Pamela began calling him Agent-86 (not sure why) and the name stuck. Riki gained a co-worker/subordinate named Beatrice Ya Konan, from the US State Department Bureau of Near Eastern Affairs. Javiera gained an assistant from Homeland Security named Anastasia Sandusky, who doubled very credibly as Javiera's bodyguard. 

Javiera vetted all the people on her side. From my side of the aisle, I gained Daphne Pile (my fellow intern) and Yasmin Palhavã, my Brazilian top criminal investigator, proto-Amazon and all-around hottie. Bea and Nicholas covered the night shift. Except for Pamela and I, the rest of the group worked ate and slept on those two floors. Room service at the place rocked. 

Pamela and I went home to our families every night, even if it was only for a few hours. Odette wanted to become an official member of Unit L. I burst her bubble. I respected her mind and courage, but I knew I didn't belong in this league and I was tons more prepared for this crap than she was. Odette relented - just barely. As for the crisis at hand...

All I could do was fall down on my knees and thank Riki, my US State Department Angel. I could also thank my latest arrival; the woman who got off the plane at JFK International with Captain Delilah Faircloth. She too had volunteered to be in the vanguard of the New/Old World Order. 

Her 'Alphabet-Army' was Special Delivery Manager (SPD), Lady Fathom Worthington-Burke of Her Majesty's Secret Intelligence Service (aka MI-6), Age 35 and unmarried. Riki, Addison, Fathom and I were working long hours together, late into the night and under incredible pressure. We WERE going to have a four-way - no doubt.

Riki had in depth knowledge concerning the geographic and historical aspects of the three issues (freeing Tibet and the two territories in dispute). She established a rapid-fire dialogue with the politically effective and sympathetic voices inside the Tibetan government in exile. Lady Yum-Yum...I mean Lady Fathom knew how to talk to the Pakistani and Indian intelligence agency types. 

Addison found herself forging an operational network of Thuggee, Amazons, CIA and MI-6 (the last two mostly from Afghanistan) to provide HUMINT for a transition of power from Khanate military control over to Tibetan civil authorities. (In case there was any confusion that meant talking to people and killing those who might rock the boat.)

First, we had to deal with the legitimate power players. Lady Fathom knew that the Pakistani ISI (Inter-Service Intelligence) guy in New York thought he was a bad-ass Mo-Fo. He was currently preparing to 'turn' Fathom - remold her into conduit for Pakistan...by making her his bitch. This 'James Bond with a permanent tan' was under the impression that she was going to give him intimate information on the Khanate via MI-6. 

He was going to use the threat of exposure to wrangle future favors and use it to politically blackmail the UK - Fathom in particular. Bwahaha! My role in her plan was to be me - a deceitful, charismatic stud (her words ~ as I said: 4-way!) This joker, Ishmael "something", was slowly drawing privileged data from Lady Fathom when Pamela, Riki and I opened the exterior door to that apartment and waltzed into the room.

He knew who I was. Far too many people familiar with multiple IDs with different names on them were getting to know who I was. I consoled myself that at least a few of them were smooth-lethal-sexy. The door opened, Pamela went in first, looking through Ishmael as if he didn't matter. I came in next, with Riki close behind, chatting with me as she shut the door.

"Lady Worthington-Burke, which one is this?" I nodded to the guy before addressing MI-6 lass.

"Sir," Lady Fathom, stood and stifled a groan. The poor girl was working with a rank amateur who didn't know which agency was represented by who. "This is..."

"One of your people?" I interrupted. "I've got Mongal's guy coming by in an hour."

[Farsi] "Mangal, Cáel," Riki elbow-bumped me. "Mangal."

[Farsi] "Got it - Mangal," I muttered. See, this was all a convoluted plan on Lady Fathom's part. Mangal could be anyone and there weren't many standouts with the last name of Mangal in Farsi (aka Persian/Iran). Except, here is where it got wicked. There is another language mutually intelligible with Farsi. It is called Dali and it is the lingua franca of Afghanistan.

In Afghanistan there was a 'Mangal' of note. He was Major General Mohammad Mangal of the Afghan National Army's 201st Corp. The 201st was stationed in Kabul, the capital, and one of its brigades guarded the Presidential palace. Here was the Khanate's main man - incompetent ole me - bringing up his name. 

I could see the SIS agent taking into account the lighting-quick coup d'états with which the Khanate had seized the old Central Asian Republics one week ago. The rest blossomed in his snake-like, devious mind. We could see his imagination take hold. After all, he was talking to a British secret agent type in the presence of a US State Department type and the topic of the Major General had slipped out.

The best part was, it wasn't a complete lie. Earth & Sky agents were meeting with Afghani officials to lay down the groundwork for just such an action. Given her knowledge of the area in general, and of the ISI pricks involved in particular, Lady Fathom was convinced that ISI was going to 'aggressively' investigate. 

In Afghanistan there were two major groups - the Pashtun and everyone else. The majority of the Afghan Taliban was Pashtun. Before 9/11, the Pashtun Taliban with legions of Al Qaeda Arabic fighters came damn close to wiping out the military resistance of those non-Pashtun. In Afghanistan, the Pashtun made up of 40% of the population and controlled most of the government. 

Pashtun were also a large minority (13%) in Pakistan. The Khanate's problem was that only a tiny percent of the population was Turkish (no Mongols). The two major factions? Eastern and Western Iranians. To get Afghanistan on board, Temujin needed the Tajiks, the largest of the Western Iranian groups. To get the Tajiks, he was subverting the nation of Tajikistan to his side. 

According to OT, that was almost a done deal. Temujin wasn't thinking small, not by a long shot. He was ready to fight the world on his terms, or embrace it. The westernmost point of the Mongol-Turkish expansion was...Turkey. Between Turkey and their Central Asian brethren was Russia to the north, the Caspian Sea - Azerbaijan - Armenia - Georgia in the middle and Iran to the south. 

The Russian Federation...their time would come. There were millions of Mongols, Turks and Tartars in the Russian Federation, many of them in semi-autonomous states (thus 'federation'). In the middle, a linkup was already in the process of happening, I was assured. Temujin had reasons to be confident. Azerbaijan was about to flip, yet we all knew the Christian nations of Armenia and Georgia were going to be a problem.

That left Iran. Proud, populous, ancient, Shia Islamic Iran. The Khanate was mostly Sunni Muslims. For far longer than they despised the West, the Iranian clerics had hated the Sunni. According to their take on things, their religious leaders (Imams) were divinely inspired and thus infallible. 

Sunni believed that the Message was the important point, not the Messenger (and his bloodline). The Shia...disagreed. They were also waiting for the 'Mahdi'; a descendent of Mohammed, the Prophet chosen by Allah and the founder of Islam, to appear (not be reborn like Temujin). This Mahdi had lived long ago (872 CE), vanished and was prophesized to make his presence known during the End Times. 

The key to the plan was in the above description - proud. Temujin was gambling that he could first unite all the other western Iranians under his banner, then offer Iran the opportunity to join in a 'union' where they would exert shared influence in all other Western Iranian segments of the Greater Khanate, plus Tehran would exert religious control over the other Shia splinter groups living within the 'Union'. 

How we'd protect the Hashashin, who were Shia Nizārī Ismā'īlī (one of those splinter sects) was already in the works. Once Ester Abed had one of my offspring, Temujin would recognize them as being under my protection in the same way Hana was. Being a bastard was a difficulty the Great Khan could easily over-come. He would become my offspring's godfather. No one told the Great Khan what to do with his kinfolk - twice.

The moment I decided that I could trust Lady Fathom (which occurred when I realized she had on a transparent bra ~ because that meant she'd read the real reports about me and was smart enough to play to my weaknesses on our very first meeting), I explained my plans to her, Addison and Riki. The pause that followed was deafening. 

Then Lady Fathom stood up from her lounge chair, strode my way, leaned over me and then kissed me so hard my toes curled. I repeat - 4 Way! Why had she kissed me? She had offered me up her ample cleavage, I'd sensed the lure and trusted her anyway. I was seeing the brain as part of her total package. Considering her natural sensuality, I could see how other men got confused.

"I can't believe they think this is going to work," she chuckled. "I will endorse this madness anyway because I think it will put Her Majesty's government in a global position superior to that which we currently enjoy." This from a woman who projected herself as someone who possessed the secret decoder ring that granted her access to No. 10 Downing Street, if needed.

So, we played that Pakistani guy, but we compensated him somewhat by preparing the immediate handover of Aksai Chin. We let him claim credit for that. We needed a 'bad' Pakistan to get the 'good' Afghani's on our/Khanate's side, yet a 'good' Pakistan to make the PRC jittery about retaking Tibet. Ta-da. 

Getting one over on India's Research and Analysis Wing (RAW) (India's CIA) was even easier. We hinted we were going to bone Pakistan, which is apparently the natural pastime of the World's largest democracy. If the 'Tumens' handed over Arunachal Pradesh, the Indian Army would be there to receive it. 

When the exchange was made, the Indian government would recognize the Tibetan government in exile's return as being legitimate. With a sizeable force on the southern borders, the Dali Lama could affect his return to Lhasa, the capital of Tibet. Recognizing the Khanate would come later once a ceasefire was in place.

Khanate foreign policy wasn't based on good intentions alone. All that part about huge troop movements, fleets launching and a good deal of panic equaled ballooning oil prices. That helped Russia. It really helped the Khanate. Temujin had another gift to go along with the Tibetan public relations ploy. 

While the intelligence team was working the Tibet angle, Javiera was talking to a group of international financial consortiums and national banking institutions. The Khanate was NOT going to repudiate the debt of their component countries. Even as the meetings were taking place, the Khanate was restarting the loan payments and tacking on the interest incurred by a week's inactivity.

Not only did that give the hysterical financial markets the first bit of good news in days, it stymied PRC efforts to freeze Khanate international assets while making the US and UK look 'responsive' to their national economic needs. Had the US and UK put pressure on the Khanate to cough up the dough? 

No, but the public didn't need to know that and the politicians would take credit for accomplishments they had nothing to do with. On a personal note, that important event helped convince our two patron governments that Javiera's taskforce was the right way to approach this crisis. She had proved our worthiness by a simple act of putting her trust in me and personal trust was the glue that kept our team together.

(Where madness reigns)

Recall the six elders' private meeting with the Japanese Prime Minister? They were more than asking for help. They were also warning him of the shit storm that was about to land on his head. The 9 Clans had initiated World War I at Sarajevo. They had taken full advantage of their homelands' trials in World War II. World War III would be no different.

For the Ninja, North Korea was nothing but good news. The only way Kim could go wrong would be if he did nothing. That was a remote possibility, but the Ninja wanted to exterminate even that small hope and it all came down to oil once again. Boy, I was never so happy to be a cycling enthusiast. My sole expense was compressed air for my tires and those prices remained steady.

North Korea had a large strategic fuel reserve - not oil - fuel. Oil burns. Fuel can be downright explosive as anyone who works with diesel, gasoline and aviation fuel can attest. Cousin Kim guarded his fuel depots zealously with all manner of troops and heavy weaponry. That makes sense until you realize that you've put heavy weapons next to your explosives.

Sneaking in and out of places is what ninja did. Amazons operating in South Asia had long been knowledgeable of Soviet (aka N.Korean) equipment as that was the easiest available to steal. Taking out these relatively isolated outpost was sinfully easy for the duos. Once the guards had been suitably dealt with, the equipment to destroy the storage facilities was already in place. 

N.Korea depots were dispersed to avoid a small number of missile/air-strikes from crippling their military. That meant that eventually the N.Koreans would kill/capture some of the saboteurs and sure enough, some dead (and a wounded) Chinese guys showed up at one of those destroyed sites.

When he regained consciousness (and realized he had passed out in Japan and was now in N.Korea), what exactly was the Seven Pillars of Heaven operative supposed to tell his N.Korean interrogators? 'It wasn't me! It was the Ninja and the Amazons. I know this because I'm part of secret society too and I was fighting them in Japan and... (sigh)...just shoot me.'

Congrats, Kim Jong-un, you have Han Chinese running around your country, blowing up your stuff while the PRC vehemently denied everything. The Seven Pillars were still gaining ground in Japan, despite the help of the Amazons and the upcoming aid by the Okinawans. They were whittling away at the Black Lotus, now that they'd exposed themselves in southern China. 

Even the Thuggee were coming under pressure in India and Indonesia. Of all the underworld combatants, the Seven Pillars was by far the largest. Sure, the Condottieri could muster the numbers, but most of those didn't know the score, or share the 7P's enthusiasm for their work. The Illuminati and the Egyptian Rite were smaller and use to operating through proxies.

In a war of attrition, the 9 clans and Amazons would lose ... except for our old protagonist, 'except'. The Seven Pillars had one glaring weakness that really hadn't seemed like a weakness to anyone when I insulted their representatives at my Father's funeral. The Seven Pillars power was tied to the fate of the PRC. Who could possibly stop the Colossus of Asia?

Temujin's Earth & Sky were giving it their best shot. The Ninja/Amazon pairing were gambling that the loses they would take in N.Korea would be worth the risks they were taking by sending so many resources away from fighting the 7P in Japan itself. If you thought all of this was about North Korea's Glorious Leader, you would be wrong.

It was about economics and positioning. If possibly belligerent warships began to actively roam the seas between the Korean Peninsula and the Formosan Straits, no merchant captain in his/her right mind would expose their vessel and crew to such risk. This effectively blockaded the majority of Chinese ports. What trade that remained would have to come in and go out through the few remaining southern ports.

Remember, the biggest port in the south had been wrecked by the LNG tanker explosion and it would take weeks to return to operation. The remaining southern ports couldn't handle all the traffic that the entirety of China needed in order to stay afloat financially. Compounding that, the Black Lotus was strongest in the south. By increasing the rate at which ships docked, unloaded, loaded and departed to dangerous levels, the PRC virtually assured accidents would happen. Yes, it was all about the Benjamins.

Less we forget, all the involved navies had submarine fleets to go along with their surface assets. Every sub skipper knew the extreme peril the whole 'Danger Zone' represented. Everyone and their mother would be running hair-trigger Anti-Submarine Warfare (ASW) drills. Cousin Kim was plenty pissed off and he was about to think the Chinese were fucking with him and the Chinese fleets were sortieing in his direction. (They actually were moving to stop the Russians).

The Chinese, North Koreans, South Koreans, Japanese, Russians and Americans all had subs in the area. It wasn't like you could call up a submarine you considered threatening and ask them to honestly tell you who they were, so what was an ASW operator supposed to do? There could be as many as 122 submarines plus numerous KPN midget subs and how many of the 23 US submarines in the Pacific could be in the vicinity.

[The political strategy of hydrocarbons - two days earlier]

There was a process for getting oil and natural gas from under the ground/sea floor to your gas pump. The petrochemicals didn't go straight from the ground to the refinery to the service station. Offshore oil fields fed all their production to the Floating Production Storage and Offloading (FPSOs) platforms who sent it along an undersea pipeline to an onshore pumping facility and on via surface pipelines to the refineries. 

There are several vulnerabilities in the system. The thing is, you can repair pipelines and put out the fires and rebuild your pumping stations. You could put ground-based air defense around them too. FPSOs...well, they floated...like really big, immobile, highly complicated ships that handled explosives (the hydrocarbons). Worse, there were a limited supply of them all over the globe and they required large tugboats to move them into place. 

Then there was the time and expense of hooking up all the oil and natural gas wells, and the undersea pipeline to the new FPSO. The PRC and the PLAN weren't stupid. They could read a flow chart too, so they assigned one destroyer and two frigates, all with excellent surface to air and Anti-Submarine Warfare (ASW) capabilities, to protect these gems. 

Four hours before the real attack, a frigate reported a suspected submarine to the southeast. The flotilla commander tasked that frigate to drive off the intruder. For the Japanese submarine commander who was the target of that search, it was a case of him following orders. He was to sneak within twenty kilometers of the FPSO, 'get detected' then zigzag away to the south, so that's what he did. 




Life as a New Hire Ch. 37



A Chinese frigate (he could tell by the sonar system) dutifully kept chasing him away. The Japanese commander and his crew were as surprised as nearly everyone else four hours later when the FPSO was rocked by a series of explosions, then quickly broke apart and sank. Then it was definitely the time to get the Hell out of Dodge because that pesky Chinese frigate became downright hostile.

After he sent the frigate away, the Chinese Destroyer Captain had a dilemma. The other frigate was making a circuit to the northwest, warding against any attack from the Khanate. He had been doing the same thing to the northeast, warding against a possible North Korean attack. The frigate he had sent to drive the pesky submarine away had been on the southeastern circuit, defending against the Russian fleet's approach.

The Captain made the logical choice. He pulled the frigate to the northwest in closer while he took up an east-southeastern position. It was indeed the best he could do. His problem was that while he could still bring more air defenses into play, his early warning time was now cut by a third. When eight sea-skimmer missiles appeared from the northeast (coincidentally the direction of N.Korea), a tragic race was on.

The missiles were coming in at Mach 0.8 flying roughly 8 meters over choppy seas. Even had he been in his original position, his destroyer most likely could not have been able to stop them all. As it was, the northern frigate wasn't yet within the 3 km range for her CIWS (Close-In Weapon System), so it could contribute nothing to the blunt the onslaught.

The destroyer was actually moving away from both the FPSO (the target) and the incoming sea-skimmers. His two CIWS's (Type 730 Gatling canons) had to track eight missiles coming in echelon, not in line. The two guns engaged. One Silkworm died...then a second and third in quick succession. A fourth missile died as it impacted the platform. The other four 515 kg warheads penetrated the structure, then detonated.

The FPSO's death was violent and abrupt. Three workers survived the disaster. The rest burned, or were dragged down to the bottom of Bohai Bay. As the fiery destruction of his charge lit up his screens, an urgent warning came in from the Eastern Fleet...seven Silkworms launched from Okinawan waters had mere moments ago destroyed the Chunxiao Natural Gas platform.

In both cases, the trail would eventually lead back to Liberia-registered small merchant ships using pre-fabricated launchers, 'misplaced' Bangladeshi HY-2 hybrid missiles and black market Iranian targeting systems supposedly sold to an Islamic terrorist group based in Somalia. The ship off the Okinawan coast had experienced a malfunction in one of its Silkworms. Both ships were scuttled within minutes of the attacks. The malfunctioning missile was detonated once her ship was sunk beneath the waves. Of the crews...

[Life and learning in the JIKIT(ties)]

By this stage in its evolution, JIKIT had three sections. Javiera ran the whole shebang as well as our 'Administrative' section - Unit 'Xerxes'. At that point, I asked Javiera to ask that damn computer to give my team's name a second shot. She assured me that wasn't how the process worked. Then she asked me about UHAUL, so I shut up. Xerxes took care of the inter-governmental activities.

Unit L, our 'Action' Section, operated around specific activities involving me and my privileged information. Unit 'Urchin' ~ the computer gave them a real name too ~ dealt with other covet taskforce activities, like attacking PRC infrastructure and resources. They were completely off the reservation. Neither the UK nor the US higher ups knew what their underlings were up to.

Why would Urchin do something so career-disabling and criminal? They had highly skilled resources they could disavow and who wouldn't embarrass them down the line, and they weren't afraid to use them. The Amazons, Ninja, Black Lotus and Thuggee were going to be killing North Koreans and Chinese anyway and there was no real way to stop them.

So, Lady Fathom decided to utilize that bizarre menagerie instead. Britain and the US had people who did covert operations; their new allies gave them force amplification. That meant three CIA operatives, working with four 'other' groups, took part in sinking two Chinese FPSO's, then covered up the crime and disposed of any evidence the Amazons and Ninja left behind. 

All the agents knew about their cohorts was that they were ready, willing and able to get the job done. The CIA had two roles. The first was to 'fix' Japanese merchant ship tracking information so no one got in the way of those two improvised missile rostrums getting to the primo spot for sending their packages to 'China with Love'. 

The second role was to help the crews of each ship escape via US Naval assets...which meant submarines; no questions asked. No one in the US Navy 'knew' who they were picking up, or what they'd done. 

That didn't mean they were stupid, either. FPSO's were sinking a few hundred kilometers away, two smaller vessels were racing for the bottom far closer and they had 20 black-pajama types who a) needed to stealthily exit the vicinity and b) were short on conversational skills.

Lady Fathom saved her exuberance until both teams put their feet on dry land. I could see it in her eyes. This was better than any orgasm she'd ever had. We had yet to sleep together, but that was coming soon. For Lady Yum-yum, it was the realization that she had a small army of highly skilled and fanatically motivated specialist she could disavow at a moment's notice.

Oh, she knew what she was doing was light-years beyond wrong. She wasn't worried about an uproar in Parliament and the downfall of the current governing coalition. No, she knew her boss at MI-6 would permanently 'retire' her if he ever found out. She didn't care. This was what she was born to do ~ restore British influence and power by crushing her enemies by any means necessary. She was a fanatic in her own way - a super-patriot.

Her ladyship and Addison shared a private moment, then looked at me when the good news came in. It was the aphrodisiac of power. Their faith in Riki and Mehmet Ali-Sharif grew as well. Mehmet decided to remain on the legal side of the line with Javiera so they could fend off the inevitable Congressional investigation with straight faces and plenty of 'I wasn't in the room when that was discussed' answers. We all accepted that perjury was wrong ... (snicker).

He gave his two underlings the freedom to decide their own fates. Agent-86 and Nicholas decided to stay in the room after Mehmet left. Like every other place I'd worked for in any official capacity in my entire short lifespan, these people were losing their God-damn minds and I somehow felt responsible for ruining their futures.

In 36 hours, Addison secured a ten person team from the CIA's SOG (Special Operations Group). Lady Fathom added an eight person squad of the British SSR (Special Reconnaissance Regiment) (Chaz's buddies). 

My 'Amazon Diplomatic Corps' put together a dozen members of India's Amazon House Mookambika (the Demon Slayers) led by their 'Apprentice (the heir-apparent to the House), a 'temple' of the Booth-gan (they didn't call themselves Thuggee - whoops) and a dozen Black Lotus infiltrators (not sure what that designation meant).

Riki proved her grasp of our evolving network by suggesting we recruit locals, and by locals, she meant Nepalese. Lady F smacked herself on the forehead for missing what had been such an obvious choice for this mission. When the half-dozen combined-forces groups began slipping over the Tibetan border, they included twenty-four Tibetan-fluent volunteers from the 2nd battalion, Royal Gurkha Rifles who had been coincidentally stationed in nearby Brunei. 

(And finally, the Here and Now)

Normally, when I addressed an audience, I had a feeling of how my presentation went. Normally, when I was talking to women, I could tell how close I was to getting laid. I was unsure what to make of this crowd. I had finished my first address to the Amazon Council, updating them about our current diplomatic state of affairs.

If you recall, the Council had stayed convened because I engineered High Priest Hayden's 'journey to the cliffs'. They were still trying to figure out a Regency Council...and that was my fault too. You see, Fate selected a certain number of young Amazon girls from birth to be candidates for the next High Priestess. Somewhere in their early to mid-twenties one of them would be chosen after the current High Priestess passed.

They would decide on such a young leader out of ancient necessity. Forcing all the House Heads to make the long, dangerous journey to form a Council and make the selection had once been a risky undertaking. The High Priestess was supposed to reign thirty to thirty-five years before they had to make the trek again. That practical system had worked well for the Host for over a millennia, before I came along. 

These possible future leaders of the Host, ignorant of their special status, were watched by the Council, the High Priestess and the Augurs for signs of divine favor and crucial Amazon social, military and leadership skills. Any of the gifted Amazons could be the one. As time wore on, more and more of the candidates would be disqualified until, when the old Priestess died, the Council would pick one of the usually two or three ladies left.

You may note that this process ASSUMED that the old High Priestess would live out her normal lifespan and not willingly pass on until the decision process was upon the Council. I didn't give Hayden that luxury, so roughly SEVEN YEARS before Hayden was supposed to pass, she died. That meant all the candidates instead of being from 22 ~ 25 were more like 15 ~ 18.

That was 'too young' for the Council. Besides, there were still too many girls to choose from. Krasimira informed me that there were sixteen remaining. She offered to tell me who they were, but I declined. I told her it was because I risked capture and torture by our enemies, so it would be too dangerous. Honestly, I didn't want to know. Not at that moment anyway.

That meant whomever was on the Regency Council would be ruling the Host for as much as a decade. That was unprecedented. In the days of old, the High Priestesses who died before their time were kind enough to perish early in their tenures. That meant the Council could select the 'loser' from the first election and bestow on her the honor. The only other candidate from Hayden's election was already dead, so no solution there.

Now, in almost every other global conspiracy/multi-national conglomerate, everyone on the Second Tier of power wanted to be on the First Tier. Not the Host. Oh no, they wanted to get back to their House business and fighting the fucking war. See, being part of the Regency would remove them from danger which ran contrary to their solidarity with their Houses and their Race.

They weren't bloodthirsty, or glory-seekers. Most house had between 300 to 400 combatants, the sisters of these women sitting on the Council. They wanted to get back to organizing their freeholds and leading their women into battle. They were old-fashioned that way. Face it, all the women at the table with me, barring maybe Krasimira, were stone-cold killing machines.

By joining their Houses in the fight, they were trying to save lives - Amazon lives. It was that cruel, vicious Amazon practicality rearing its ugly head once more. Personally I was relieved that I wasn't a possible candidate because I already had a position of authority - Chief Diplomat. Katrina and St. Marie were in the same boat. Krasimira was ineligible due to her Keeper status.

So, the 50 councilwomen had to decide who the 'Unlucky Three' were going to be ... with each house jockeying to make sure they weren't IT. Into this political mine field, it was requested that I enlighten the Council about what I'd been doing with their people. According to Beyoncé, the diplomatic briefing normally took ten minutes. 

With me, it was 2 hours with pictures, graphs, historical references and two shadow puppet displays, complimented by squeaky voiced sound effects. Even then, they were getting an abridged version of events and activities. I wrapped things up by mentioning that I had found a member of the Lost House Anahit named Sakuniyas. There was also one other difficulty I hadn't been able to deal with since I got back - House Illuyankamunus had been avoiding me like the plague. 

St. Marie and Katrina were of no help. Oh, they clearly knew something was wrong, but they were looking for a way to cushion the blow. Katrina not telling me could be viewed as compassionate. St. Marie, the Golden Mare, didn't like me. Her keeping mum truly sucked.

"Oh, Sabrina Illuyankamunus, I'm giving you fair warning right now," I broke the silence with which my soliloquy was being digested. The Head of that house looked at me, void of all emotion. 

"The prospective members of the proposed House SzélAnya are under the protection of House Ishara. Any attack on them would be viewed as an attack on us," I stated firmly. "Is that clear?" And another deafening silence.

"Who is SzélAnya?" Messina of House Minerva asked. 

She was serious. She didn't have a clue what I was talking about. I looked to Katrina. She was conveniently rubbing her forehead so I couldn't make eye contact. Next I looked at St. Marie - no reaction.

"Oh come on!" I exclaimed to St. Marie. 

"The first words out of my mouth when I walked into your office when I got back was my intent to offer up the children of SzélAnya as a proposed new house, sponsored by House Ishara."

"I know. Now you've done it. Happy?" St. Marie regarded me stoically. "You could have waited until after the Question and Answer part of your presentation." Shit.

"...when I would have done it for you, Cáel," Katrina sighed. "You need someone to second the nomination and it CAN'T be you."

"Well...Damn it!" I groused. "No one tells me these things."

"It is my fault, Cáel Wakko Ishara. Sometimes your exuberance still catches me off-guard," Katrina gave me an out. Krasimira stood up, ready to speak.

"SzélAnya is the daughter of Illuyankamunus," she intoned. Everyone looked from Krasimira to Sabrina, that House's Head.

"I, Sabrina of House Illuyankamunus, nominate SzélAnya and all her daughters for consideration as new members of the Host," she responded. 

That was totally unlooked for and unexpected. Hell, it was just plain wrong. I thought House Illuyankamunus were the bad girls.

"Sons and daughters," I absently corrected.

"I second the nomination," Katrina rose and spoke quickly.

"Wait!" Madi jumped up. "Sons? I thought you weren't going to bring other men into the Host, Ishara."

"I didn't intend to...it's complicated. Terribly complicated. There is just...no way to induct House SzélAnya without inducting her sons," I stated. 

"She told me so." I hadn't confided in the Council that she had killed Ajax for me. I had refused any credit for his death...so the Host assumed I was merely being my regularly humble self.

"Ishara," the Head of House Jaya - Charlotte's House - addressed me. "I feel we deserve more of an explanation than 'it's complicated'."

"His reasons are just and sound," Illuyankamunus rallied to my defense. Before that, I hadn't spoken ten words to the lady and that was when I asked for her help in Central Europe and she told me to mind my own business.

"Time out," I accentuated with the sports' hand gesture. "Why are you helping me?" I asked her.

"That I cannot answer," she gave me a steady gaze.

"Say what?" I mumbled.

"Why not?" Kohar of Marda inquired of her.

"The Rolls of House Illuyankamunus are sealed," Krasimira stated...which answered no one's questions. Sadly, it was gospel to those women. I would have sat down in frustration had it not required me to stumble back five steps, break another vow I'd made to the Council and sat in Buffy's lap...wait, she was in my 'apprentice' chair, so my seat was unobstructed.

"Keeper of the Records," I addressed Krasimira. Using her title meant I was serious. "Is this more of the Ash Men, 'we are not going to talk about this ever again - happened way back before the invention of outdoor plumbing' bullshit?" Yes, I was insolent and rude. Before the outrage from my fellow Amazons could take shape...

"Yes, Cáel," she smiled at me, "this was a ruling that was handed down shortly after the Second Betrayal as well. I think you know why." She winked. "House Ishara's reasons are valid."

Wait! It got better.

"Cáel Ishara... Cáel, please," Kohar pleaded with me. "Your lips are not sealed by decree. Don't you think we deserve an explanation?" 

I'm an idiot. "Of course you do, Kohar. Sleep with me tonight and I'll be puddy in your hands post-coitus," I grinned. Whoa! Serious anger issues boiling forth from Rhada.

"I swear by the Goddess, if we were not in a public venue," Buffy muttered, "I'd beat you." That drew even more looks of 'what the fuck?' I couldn't let that insult stand.

"Hush now," I turned and scolded Buffy while I wagged a finger in her face. "One more outburst like that and I'll make you smile all day tomorrow. I'll even make you adopt a puppy, you cat-lover, you." Total silence.

"I don't know if I'm more insulted by his 'First' talking to him that way," the Head of House Mielikki inquired of Madi, "or his response to her threat?" 

"She is a crude, brutish woman; much past his age," Rhada mumbled. That did NOT go unnoticed, as 'them thar's fighting words' in this society. Insinuating someone was an old-timer was a thinly veiled suggestion that they go kill themselves. I had to intervene. Buffy would chop Rhada into Kibble if they fought.

"Madi, I formally request private time with your apprentice to discuss matters of House Ishara etiquette she seems to have misconstrued," I spoke up. I didn't have to be a telepath to know what Buffy was thinking. Hell's Belles, I didn't even need to turn around.

'Let me at her! Let me at her!' was Buffy's silent request. Rhada was pretty eager too.

"Perhaps we have all misconstrued the precise reason your 'First' has threatened you with physical violence," Mielikki butted in.

"In House Ishara, all challenges are merely preludes to sex," I elucidated with great eloquence.

"Lots and lots of sex," I gave her a sultry grin. "Hours of it. Repeated sessions of cunnilingus, showering my mate's body with tiny kisses and, of course, all kinds of massages and caresses, whispered words of praise for her physical perfections and sexual prowess accompanying multiple cries of ecstasy and..." 

"Enough Ishara," St. Marie reined me in. Rhada was already squirming in her seat.

"Amen and Hallelujah," Buffy sizzled. Oneida was shooting me Happy Pet-my-Kitty smiles too.

"On the bright side," Beyoncé joked. "I don't think we have to worry about there being enough Ishara heirs."

"Enough," St. Marie reiterated. 

"Wait, Golden Mare," Kohar requested. "What happens if one of us chooses to mate with him?"

"Too late for that," Katrina murmured into her hand.

"I think we should let each daughter decide which house she wishes to seek a caste in," Shawnee gave the room a genteel smile. "He should be allowed to keep his sons."

"Cáel, what is your view of this matter?" Kohar looked at me. Yep, she wanted some of me for all kinds of bizarre and highly questionable reasons. I silently vowed to stop using Axe body wash; this sexual tension was getting out of hand.

"How about we move straight along to the Question & Answer phase of my Foreign Policy briefing?" I countered. "Besides, I can't mate with an Amazon for another...thirty two days..." my voice wandered off.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 37



"Wow," I said softly as I held up my hand. "Ladies, please give me a second. From the moment I discovered your secret, I never thought I'd live this long. Let me treasure this impossible moment." And they did.



Life as a New Hire Ch. 38



*This story plays fast and loose with Ancient History, numerous Mythologies and Linguistics; be warned*

*Professional, conscript, or volunteer – they all have run away from battle.*

*Editing magic performed by KJ24 and Shyqash, plus contributions by the regular gang of brigands and neer-do-wells*



A Note on terminology and the metaphor of Cael's World

The terms Weave of Fate and 'Weave ' are interchangeable. Weave expresses the intersection ~ the sieve that all the possible futures entered to create what we perceive as this 'now'. Fate is the keeper of the sieve. The Present is what is happening right now. It is that infinitesimal which we interpret as Reality.

The Legend is what happens when the present is pulled back through the weave and becomes the past. It is called the Legend because, as the former presents fade into the past, they blur; each becomes less precise and more open to interpretations. (It is as if you were looking at one thing through a prism; as you shift your stance, what you see appears to change.) Within the Legend exist mystic creatures, divinities, demons, spirits, all the Paradises and Hells. 

The Endless Black Sands is the final resting place for all failed legends. It is the place where all is forgotten until even former realities break down into the Black Sands. That Alal found a way to cheat this doom and retrieved Shammuramat, was truly remarkable; even though Fate 'balanced accounts' with him by sending Ajax and his war band along that path as well.

If you wonder how that was a balancing, consider this:

The only people Alal cares for (in his own brutal fashion) are Shammy, now Sakura, and his only true offspring in 5,000 years, Cáel. 

Fate sent Ajax. 

With Ajax available to test Cáel, how could Alal resist the temptation to place one of the planet's greatest killer on a collision course with both of his loves in order to test Cáel?

The Veil is a function of the Weave that protects sentient perception from perceiving the Weave and disguises the otherness of creatures of legend, unless they willingly allow themselves to be seen, which they usually do only so they can 'physically' interact with the Present. Some sentient minds, through horrific trauma such as the Augurs' self- poisonings , through the quirks of Fate via Holy Men, Mad Prophets and Doomsayers such as Temujin, or through the touch of legends such as Ishara, can sense the fluctuations in the Veil and the things behind it. Cáel, in truth, has been shaped by all three vehicles (Ishara, the Augurs and Temujin's legend.)

Oblivion is what awaits Reality if the Weave ever fails beyond its ability to heal itself. This threat is what keeps the creatures of legend from constantly traversing the Weave. They have to weaken the Weave to do so or to use powers in Reality – the greater the distortion they create, the greater the weakening that occurs.

End Note

(Two days ago, with thirty days left)





"That was fantastic, Lady Yum-Yum," I sighed.

"What did you just call me?" she panted softly. We were naked in one of our Task Force bedrooms that was actually used for sleeping...and now sex. My cock was still inside her love box, despite our recent exertions. She was on her stomach, arms stretched down her sides.

She was sweaty and short of breath. She still had her wits about her and an awareness of our situation: victory sex, me still aroused and her fingernails scratching my thighs and buttocks. My equally sticky body was pressing down on her, even though I supported my weight with outstretched hands placed on either side of her shoulders.

"Lady Yum-Yum," I mumbled as I kissed the back of her head. "That was the first thing that sprang to mind when you introduced yourself." I could see her working that through her highly complex mind.

"When writing your memoirs, please remember to me refer to me that way," she began to flex her thighs and abdominal muscles, so that her ass was pumping against my hips.

"Only if this helps persuade you to give me a repeat performance."

"I'll consider ...," she purred, then paused to catch her breathe. "You are in phenomenal shape, young man. Do any of your other lady-loves have pet names?"

"Nope," I grunted as I withdrew my cock and eased it upward so that my shaft was rubbing up and down on her anus.

She had teased me with anal sex hints repeatedly, yet never delivered. She liked the game and the power she wielded. My body being on top of hers was only an illusion of a tactical advantage. She knew me pretty well already. I wasn't the kind of guy who would use physical strength to overwhelm her vulnerable position. This being so, a cerebral skirmish only excited her more. 

We waged a war that was based on intakes of breath, the shimmying of muscles and the trembling of fatigued flesh. The prize for me was the winning. Lady Fathom Worthington-Burke played tricky-clever, but I was better. And at times like this, she admitted it. She gave me what I wanted. I rolled her over and slid my cock back between her drenched labia.

Straight, face-to-face fucking. The Lady's pulsar gaze trapped my vision. She smiled, grudgingly at first, then more and more sensually as my glans returned to her g-spot that it had scouted out earlier. This was 'surrender by the Fathom method'. She gave me what I wanted, so I took what I wanted ... and pleasured her at the same time.

"Mmmm... you are a bad, bad boy," she lapsed into her trashy West-End Londoner accent. It was perfect and an erotic whiplash when added to her native, refined manner of speech. This wasn't a trick this time – it was a treat. It was a gift, reciprocated with my best cock-throb as I plunged all the way in. The tactile sensation of her cervix becoming a soft, spongey chalice for my final penetrations was icing on an all-so-luscious cake.

I tendered her a tribute worthy of my first love, Dr. Kimberly Geisler. It was strange to find a woman like her. Outside of Kimberly, I had found only one other woman who graciously offered her ultimate pleasure paean to the hundreds of lovers who had become before. That other woman ... it still floored me ... was Buffy Du ... no, Buffy Ishara, First of my House.

"Oh!" and several heartbeats later, "Cáel!" several hissed series of breathes and then, "GODDESS, YOU ARE BETTER THAN GOOD!"

Two thoughts collided within me: 

A) I had never seen a more controlled orgasmic explosion in my life. I was going to have to tell Buffy about this ...once we were safely in bed. If it was office talk, she'd punch me through a window and that would make Aya cry. I couldn't have that.

B) Goddess? I thought she was Anglican. This needed further study. This treatment was really nice. I leaned in, kissed her. Lady Yum-Yum smiled. "Take me to the shower. Play time is over, Cáel," and she was back to all business.

"You are treating me like a fleshy vibrator," I pointed out.

"But you are a very finely-trained, fleshy vibrator, you wonderful boy," she stroked my cheek. "Shower! Now!" So, like a Good Boy, International Merchant of Death and Chosen Son of a Divine Amazon Goddess, I slid off her, then cradled her in my arms as I rose from our totally trashed mattress. 

I didn't smile when it was confirmed that I wasn't carrying her out of any romantic after-coitus gesture. She couldn't walk. Woot! It took a bit of effort to get us into the walk-in shower and to get the water just perfect, all while keeping her cradled. She helped out by keeping her arms tightly around my neck.

"Cheeky bastard," she whispered in my ear. "You are gloating." Then she nibbled on my earlobe for good measure.

"Damn right," I did gloat as I let her slide down to her feet. "You are pretty sweet for an Old Chick." She wasn't angry – oh no.

"If you were trying to get me to say, 'I'll get you next time," she licked, nipped and sucked on my nipple as if I was the one with the mammaries in this relationship, "it worked." Double-Woot! I was going to get that damn four-way! I did coax a vigorous shower-quickie out of my Lady. Afterward, she shifted herself so she could get under one of the steaming showerheads.

"Cáel, why didn't you use a condom," she mused. Gak!

"You aren't on Birth Control?" I panicked. She laughed at me.

"No. I've never been a fan of hormones replacement. I like the way I am. Do you expect the women to do all the anti-pregnancy measures?"

"No," I gulped.

"Don't' be so worried," she laughed. "We had unprotected sex one time. The odds are astronomical that an 'oops' happened, right?" Yes, it was a single sexual encounter, but included three firings of the one-eyed hydra ... sigh.

"You are asking a man who has five children on the way, Fathom," I cautioned her.

"Oh ... I'll update my files and make an appointment to seen a local, reliable OBGYN," she slipped back into her unflappable British resolve. "Get along. I need to get cleaned up," she cupped my scrotum, "... again. So scoot." I scooted. 

I had updated my condom supply despite the forbiddance Dot Ishara, my Matron Goddess, beamed to me from the Other Side. She could only complain so much. I'd upped my selection of fortune cookies and added a fresh raisin chocolate brownie for my next visit with her. I had to get over to the other side of the floor to get a fresh shirt ... and boxers. 

Yum-Yum had ripped off my shirt (a little kinky) and boxers (a little painful). I wasn't going commando, so I decided to quick step it before something important happened that required me to yank yet another solution out of my sexually-fueled creative imagination.



(How Lady Yum-Yum and I ended up in bed)



The Secret Societies' long awaited war had begun in Africa and in India. The Amazons couldn't effectively reinforce these two homeland regions. No, my people's edge came from my stupid stunts (e.g., the fight outside that club in Chicago), the judicious application of a few kind words and a whole lot of targeted killing on my part along with that of my Amazons.

Those actions convinced the Booth-gan (aka the Thuggee, but we no longer say that because it irritates them) and the Coils of the Serpent to toss in their lot with their local Amazons. They did the whole 'hostage exchange' thing as well. Two children from each side. That was a no-brainer on my part. All three concerned parties were willing to let their adults die if necessary. Their children were another matter. 

In Asia, the Seven Pillars had made only minimal progress. We now suspected the 7P had planned to roll over the three of the 9 Clans that were in their Sphere of Influence – the now 6 Ninja Families, the Black Lotus and the Booth-gan in rapid succession. A preemptive strike against both the Khanate and the Ninja were supposed to cripple those two factions. 

Against the Khanate, that had been a dismal failure. In Nippon, the Ninja were in dire straits and would be decades recovering from the original 7P blitz. But the combination of US black ops help and the infusion of Amazons and Okinawans had staved off extinction for the moment. Strategically, these failed actions were tying down 7P resources that the largest Secret Society had planned to move elsewhere.

In China, the Black Lotus exhibited the same resilience and deceptiveness they'd shown in combating the Seven Pillars by themselves for the past 65 years. The chaos gripping the PRC was a blessing from the Ancestors, the four sacred spirits (lung/dragons, phoenix, unicorn and tortoise), and the nine entities (I now really had to know this stuff.) Word that a 'dragon' had appeared in the West had only heightened their desire to aid in our new alliance. 

Those factors meant a reprieve for India. As the 7 Pillars began ramping up their operations ~ increasing racial tensions, minor terrorist action and military and industrial sabotage ~ the Booth-gan and Amazon united resources and purpose. The Booth-gan would assassinate 7P operatives and pawns while the Amazons would hit 7P front companies and businesses based out of the People's Republic of China. (This activity also helped ratchet up India-PRC tensions and anti-PRC public sentiment in India.)

In Africa, the Condotteiri had squandered precious hours reallocating resources before launching their assaults. Like everyone but the 7P, they had been caught flat-footed by the renewal of the Secret War. The Coils of the Serpent had never been overly antagonistic toward the Condos, since their interests rarely collided. The same went for the Coils and the Amazons.

Two factors inspired a deep Amazon-Coil bond. They were both groups with deep African roots and a shared Central-Western African spirituality. Added to that was the growing power of the Coils of the Serpent in the past fifty years. Their main opponents had been the Illuminati who had a Eurocentric view. Pan-Africanism was in the Coil's best interest, but ran contrary to European economic interests.

Long term, allying with the African Amazons was a good investment for the Coils. The 9 Clans relationships had already proved to be advantageous on multiple occasions in the past. The leaders of the Coils knew their power was rising with the fortunes of Sub-Saharan Africa. To them, the rise of the PRC and the Seven Pillars was a looming threat in the East. 

They had been handed a golden opportunity to deal with this enemy before the enemy was ready to deal with them. They had been 'gifted' with over 2000 highly-skilled, fanatical Amazon warriors as stealthy muscle to add to their own, more subtle arsenal. For the Amazons, it was access to continent wide clandestine intelligence network that could unmask their enemies' hiding places.

The Condotteiri wiped out an Amazon freehold in Cameroon and a few Coils safe houses in Lagos, Nigeria. In the Republic of Mali, over 250 Condo mercenaries were slaughtered at a 'secret' installation and their armory was looted. Ebola kept breaking out in the West. The dominant regional powers, the Republic of the Congo and Nigeria, were tottering as a result of decades of economic mismanagement, civic, ethnic, tribal and religious strife, corruption and unreliable militaries. 

The scene was ripe for a secret conflict as well as public carnage. For the Joint International Khanate Interim Taskforce (JIKIT), this presented a dilemma. They were involved with a growing global struggle that went far beyond the Khanate and Central Asia. Their secret society allies strenuously objected to bringing any more 'outsider' people into the group.

Handing over covert intelligence to other governmental agencies in the US and UK, then telling them they wouldn't divulge their sources went over like scuba diving with cement goulashes. Explaining to upper level bigwigs that they had a 'trust-based' team went nowhere. Those officials didn't care about a bunch of domestic/international criminals' sensibilities. 

They wanted names and faces. They wanted addresses, phone taps and bank account numbers. It would all be 'Secret', 'Top Secret', or 'Eyes Only'. It would all be vulnerable to all kinds of governmental subpoenas too. No threats were made from 'my' side. They'd killed more people than the Black Death and the lives of a few thousand bureaucrats (and their families) in London and Washington D.C. didn't mean shit to them.

Selena did offer to kidnap some family members to get the message across. Javiera put her hands over her ears and began singing 'la-la-la' as she stormed out of the room. Lady Fathom suggested that we arrange a private meeting with the UK Prime Minister and the US President.  It took a few seconds for Mehmet and Javiera to realize she wasn't kidding.

That was a nearly impossible task ... which on this taskforce meant we had to give it a shot. Let's just say that the US Attorney General, Eric Holder and Chairman John Jay of the British Joint Intelligence Committee thought their respective representative had lost her God-damn mind. I went to the Khanate for help. 

Twenty-four hours later Azerbaijan, Turkey, Tajikistan, Armenia and Georgia (yes, two tiny Christian nations) joined the Khanate. The integration of the first two nations had been in the works since the formation of the Turkic Council in 2009. For me, Temujin upped the time table strictly for our benefit. Turkey and Azerbaijan became the two newest states within the Khanate. 

The third, Tajikistan was different and the shakiest addition. The unoccupied title of 'Khwarazm Shah' was created, suggesting the Iranian Tajiks had a special status inside the Khanate. 'Khwarazm' referenced the Khwarazmian dynasty that ruled the last of the great, Persian-led, Iranian Super-States and dated back to the 13th century AD. 'Shah' was Persian for King. 

The announced status of Armenia and Georgia was quite a bit different. They become 'Protectorates', i.e., semi-autonomous states within the Khanate who were 'vassal' states ... responsible only to the Great Khan and his personal representative in the region (ah, that would be me.) 

So, the first three entries made sense – strong geographic, ethnic and/or religious ties, plus this was part of the Khanate's agenda anyway. But Armenia and Georgia? That was the doing of the other regional secret society – the Hashashin. 

The Caucasus Mountains were the backyard of the Hashashin. They knew who to blackmail, pinch and kill to make the 'take-over' possible. The main stumbling block was the long Khanate-Hashashin history: the Mongols had destroyed the historical stronghold of the Hashashin, Alamut, in 1256 CE. In a way, that disaster had transformed the sect, making it move away from their strict Nizārī Ismaili roots and into a more ethnically and religiously diverse group that was centered in the Caucasus region. 

Temujin made it clear to this group that he was making a deal under my auspices. Both Armeni and, Georgia (as well as the future Kurdistan, his plans for the creation of that last state were told to me under condition of secrecy) would be part of my palatinate principality (along with Hungary ... if we ever got there). Riki Martin defined the terms for me: I was the voice of those three regions in the Khan's court. 

They wouldn't have to deal with Muslim Khanate officials. They would deal with me and 'my officials'. If the Khanate had a problem with my principality, they came to me to resolve the issue. That translated to me giving a nod to the existing regimes ruling in Armenia and Georgia (along with the infusion of a few Hashashin supporters.) 

Publically the future of those three political and ethnic entities would be confirmed later. The existing governments knew three things.



1) I was that madman who had led the charge in Romania, clearly a man of bravery and humility. The odds were good that I was going to be a man they could rely on to adequately represent their interests with the government that currently mattered the most (aka The Khanate.)

2) The Great Khan thought the world of me and in this nascent New World Order that meant way more than membership in NATO, or begging the United Nations to apply sanctions of dubious value.

3) There would be a change of leadership by about 2040. Children of excellent ethnic parentage would succeed me in this ceremonial role in the region. These new princes and princesses would be the scions of the line of Nyilas and representatives of the various states [translation: I was going to be sexing it up with Georgian, Armenian and Kurdish members of the Hashashin].

That would establish the three 'cadet' branches of House Ishara (Nyilas) [which I've listed because all three alphabets are so freaking beautiful]  that could weave the Amazons, 9 Clans and the varying ethnic identities into a quilt that could stand together as a force in the Great Khan's inner circle. This new spate of aristocratic, 'Archer'-themed lineages would be:




Life as a New Hire Ch. 38



მოისარი {pronounced Moisari} – in Georgia.

Աղեղնաձիգ {pronounced Aġeġnajig} – in Armenia.

رامي السهام {pronounced ramî alsham} – (using the Arabic Alphabet in the Sorani Kurdish style) in Kurdistan. 

This fiction made the key named entities happy. The combination of all these events applied another jolt to the heart of the global power structure (after all, Turkey was in NATO) and made the US and UK governments back off.

By tidying up the world map, we'd brought our governmental chiefs to the chilling revelation that their sole conduit for insider information regarding the ongoing global calamity had reacted to their intransience by simply letting them be blind-sided by events. After the fact, Javiera and Lady Fathom relayed that message very clearly.

This wasn't 'bargaining with terrorists', or blackmail. This was a reminder that the secret societies didn't have to work with the allied governments if they didn't want to. Our elected leaders still wouldn't agree to high-level talks. 

They didn't stop asking for full-access either. What they did do was make those requests 'pro forma', with Javiera being allowed to 'prioritize' the handling of requests...which was bureaucratic-ese for they were covering their asses ('See, I gave instructions that our representative should forcefully raise this demand at the most appropriate moment') and thus dumping all the heat on Javiera when the inevitable Congressional investigation happened. It amazed me how 'my' bureaucrats were selflessly throwing away their professional aspirations for the sake of a nation that could never know what crimes they were committing on their nation's behalf.

None of that led to my current, surprisingly happy, circumstances. No, my most recent new experience was bought with the death of two members of the Black Lotus, two Gurkha and one member of the British SAS. They had been members of the two teams sneaking around the PRC looking for Gedhun Choekyi Nyima, the 11th Panchen Lama. 

They had found the guy, killed his guardians and then whisked him and his family away to a Chinese military base. Those five team members had died stealing a PLA Harbin Z-9B helicopter. The other three members of the teams flew their packages over to the PLA/Khanate battle lines and delivered him to the lead elements of the closest Tumens. Disorder was the watchword of the day in Tibet. 

JIKIT operators were coordinating Khanate drone and air strikes on the Chinese military and paramilitary formations. Independence fever was in the air and any Tibetan with a grudge and violent inclinations was taking out his or her wrath on the isolated Chinese troops. Lhasa, the capital, was in chaos. 

Already radio and TV stations in the city were declaring a Free Tibet and a general uprising. The Dali Lama was in Katmandu, Nepal. Nepalese helicopter pilots, familiar with flying over the Himalayas were prepped and ready to fly him and the Government in Exile to Lhasa the moment they got the 'All Clear' from the Khanate land forces. That was why I was getting laid.



(Current time)



I exited my temporary love nest, freshly showered and in a thigh-length white robe, only to discover five Amazons, either House Heads or 'Apprentices', waiting there to see me. Gathered there were Beyoncé of Hanwasuit, Arwen of Epona, Oneida of Arinniti, Kohar of Marda and Febe, the Head of House Mielikki. Their unease, while concealed, was tickling at my senses.

"Hello," I walked over to the mini-bar for a grapefruit juice.

Odette opened the door leading to the main office area ... Odette? WTF?

"Sorry, Boss," she grinned. "Buffy wanted to ..."

"Odette! – excuse me one second, my Sisters," I addressed my fellow members of the Council. "Odette, what are you doing here? I told you that you couldn't get involved in these troubles."

"I know," she grinned. "Pamela hired me as her [OKH] 'Girl "Celebration Day" (aka Friday); whatever that means."

Of course Odette didn't know the Amazon Mother Tongue and Pamela wasn't teaching Odette it, thus not breaking any Amazon laws.

"What are your duties?"

"I'm the taskforce's Morale Officer. Apparently Havenstone is paying me handsomely too."

I groaned, rubbed my forehead which Odette took as her cue to leave.

"Oh, Buffy wanted you to know that some important Amazons were here to see you," she gave me a parting gift before the door shut.

"So, my Sisters, what can I do for you?" I addressed my audience. If it was sex, I still had seven good shots left in me. Beyoncé, my second longest running ally, stepped forth to address the issue.

"Cáel Wakko Ishara, I and other of your allies have become worried about the issue of the scheduled hunt that is supposed to take place at the end of your internship," she stated. "We are wondering if you would now view this hunt as 'inappropriate,' since you are now the acknowledged Head of a First House and our Chief Diplomat?" she stabbed at the heart of the matter. This surprise wasn't all that bad, since I had already considered that very question.

"My Sisters I can answer that better if we step aside from our offices and titles and speak as simple warrior-sisters. Can we?" I asked.

The Amazons looked at one another. "Of course Cáel," Oneida piped up before a true consensus was reached. I gave the others a chance to protest. When they didn't ...

"Good, I actually have given this a great deal of thought myself," I began. "As I see things, I can't embrace prestige without sacrifice, or integrity without reverence. I made a commitment within a week of being here – jokingly I admit – to be hunted. That myth has taken on a life of its own ... and that is my fault. I feel I must keep to this hasty pledge because I am Ishara and my house must maintain oaths, even to the death."

"That is my first concern – that I honor my ancestors... who I also think, would appreciate an oath made in jest and then kept in sisterly solidarity with the rest of the Host. I also think it will be fun for everybody. We are in for a tough time in this war and it falls to each of us to do what we can ..."

"You do so much already," Kohar blurted out. Since we were 'outside' our official status there was no insult.

"Kohar, none of us can do too much for the Host. All of you have taught me that. Sometimes painfully and sometimes with passion, but always giving me something that's made me a better person. If I can do something to inspire our People, I am willing to risk it. Then there is ... Hayden." 

"Hayden, Katrina and Tessa have all put a great deal of faith in me at some point in my career at Havenstone, risking and even losing their lives. I owe a debt to them and the New Directive. I owe it to the members who supported it. Finally," I sighed then grinned, "this is something the men of Havenstone have that is our own." 

Five startled looks faced me.

"You see us as being hunted. I see it as a chance for men to prove we can be just as resourceful as our Amazon sisters," I explained. "This won't stop with me – and Felix. From this September on, a handful of men will pit their wits and skills against the best the Host has to offer. The men who succeed will be valued. Even if any are eventually captured, they still will have proven their bravery.

"You think of the men as prey. That is normal for you. I see this as being an important chance at change that you will not give men in any other way. There aren't going to be any other males resurrecting Dead Houses. How can men then gain your acceptance and respect? The Hunt. It won't be demeaning to us because the Head of House Ishara has done it as well. 

"If a House Head does not find it demeaning, it isn't. If I don't keep my word and do this, there will be no more Great Hunts. All we'll have is yet another declaration of Amazon superiority over all male-kind. What's in it for us men? Even if they stay free, you still won't respect them. I cannot be disrespected while I keep the faith with the Host."

"When I win, I will set the hallmark for the next Hunt and the next," I smiled. "See?"

"You can't really believe you are going to win?" Febe tried not to sound too incredulous.

"Why not?" I laughed. "I'm going to cheat like a Mother-fucker." They didn't know what to make of that. 

"Ladies, I'm racking up favors with people back from the dead, Goddesses and gaining the best on-the-job training Fate can provide. I'm going to kick ass."

"That's cheating!" Arwen exclaimed.

"Why?" I teased her. "There are no rules for hunting a House Head for recreational sport that I'm aware of."

"This is my baby and you bitches are going to learn that this is going to be as much a mental challenge as physical. I'm cheating because THAT is the Amazon way. You have been looking at this as if I'm some outsider male who's not protected by your Laws and not as a tool I can use against you all."

"Damn ..." Arwen muttered. "Katrina told me this was a Fool's Errand. I thought you were the fool and now it seems we are. I am ... impressed Cáel Ish ... Wakko Ishara." Lady Yum-Yum, still drying her hair, strolled out of the bedroom, ignored everyone else and walked up to me. She wrapped a hand around my head, grabbed a handful of hair on the back of my head and then pulled me down for a French Revolution Kiss – the kind you could lose your head over.

"Hurry up," she smiled after she came up for air. "We have an intelligence briefing on Iran in fifteen minutes." And then she left without a word to my guests. I understood that. The Amazon Council refused to talk with our allies, choosing to operate through myself and Katrina. She was merely returning their snobbery (in her opinion).

"Cáel, who is that?" Oneida was clearly perturbed.

"One of our allies ... British, I think and a Hell-cat in the sack," I sighed happily with the intent to incense my young lover. "I've got to keep my sexual skills honed to a razor's edge because I know I'm not going to beat you ladies with either my outdoor skills or animalistic cunning."

"How was he?" Javiera asked in a conversational tone from the other room.

"Fantastic," Yum-yum exulted. "You two are a fool for keeping him at bay. Now, where can I get my next victory? I'm already plotting out my strategy for round two in the bedroom. I'm not going to let him come out on top of me next time." The closing door shut off the possible responses.

"You look tired," Febe noted. It wasn't an insult, or an aside to my recent sexual adventure. She was noting my energy was waning and that an emotional fugue was taking hold.

"We are fighting a war," I shrugged. "I'll gladly lose hours of sleep to save my sister's lives."

"You are not us," Beyoncé said somewhat sadly.

Again, it wasn't an insult. Every woman in this room with me could have kicked my ass at every step of my life, until the last two months. Even then, the odds were that the best I could do was make them pay for their victories.

"You have been fighting your own private war for fifty-two days," Beyoncé stepped up and offered me her arm.

We clasped in the way of the Sisterhood.

"From the second day among us, you fought both Rhada and Madi ... and won – three times," Kohar stated. She had been there for the fight, but who was the third.

"Third?"

"When you went to Europe, Katrina gave us a full briefing on the interactions between you and her: when you knew, what the two of you talked about that Tuesday night," Febe grudgingly admitted.

"Coming back to work was stupid. If I had to been in your shoes, I would have made a run for it," Arwen added.

"No you wouldn't," I toasted in Arwen's direction. "As an Amazon, you fight to survive," I said after a long draw on the glass. "If I ran, I could not win. Katrina would have been punished, the New Directive would have died and the Host would have been doomed."

"What about hitting that little button and making every Amazon dead that you mentioned at the Archery range," Beyoncé reminded me.

"That hasn't changed. I still think you are barbaric, hateful savages who murder your offspring and the sires of your children," I explained. "Had I run, I would have been just as bad as the rest of you. I would have sanctioned the murders of the innocent. I wasn't absolutely sure, until the Thursday ... but all that really did was confirm what I already knew in my guts."

"Now you are the Head of a House and holder of a high office," Febe questioned, "so why do you feel we are misguided? You have done nothing to change our ways."

"Bitch," I chuckled. Febe bristled slightly. "I've been in this job for how many days? Besides, all the past few weeks have done is prove me right."

"How so?" Oneida was edging in. For Pete's Sake, she might have well stripped naked, tied a red ribbon around her belly, stuck bows on each tit and worn a Santa's Helper Hat with a bright neon sign over head proclaiming 'Open Before Christmas'.

"Your Ash Man isn't going anywhere, Oneida," I caressed her cheek.

"How so?" I returned to Oneida's question. "Ladies, I am not only right, but I've been right and you've been wrong every day since the Second Betrayal. It was a betrayal alright, but it was your loyal males who were betrayed and that is a disease that has been eating at the Host for 2,500 years." 

That shut them up. Not only had the Keeper of the Records said so, but so had the Goddesses and, in a way, Hayden's passing had only added to the weight of Amazon sins.

"Thank you for coming by to discuss this with me. And one day I hope you understand how thankful and honored you have made me feel by all five of you being here," I grinned.

"I may not be a 100% Sister yet, but you have shown me a degree of respect that was impossible for any of you three months ago. I am humbled and honored. Please don't take this the wrong way. The Host has completely changed my life. I think that coming here today, you have shown that I have changed you."

"Oh," Febe looked decidedly uncomfortable. "Cáel, by August 17th, the entirety of the Amazon male breeding population will have been put down. No one has stopped the process." The glass dropped out of my hand. Of course not. I had been so busy thinking I was making a difference, winning my own little battles, I had not asked them to stop sending the trains to Auschwitz.



(Monstrous Reminders)



Two days later, I had been exiled from the team. Honestly, they really could spare me from the goings on. Our people on the ground in Tibet were working with Hana, finishing the details on the planned meeting between the Dali Lama and Temujin. It would be the first public appearance of the Great Khan. The world had never seen his face before. Now he was going to put a human face ~ a young, energetic Mongolian face ~ to his crusade.

I had pleaded to any Amazon who would listen that the Council be immediately summoned from their working groups in order to meet on the matter of the executions of the males. Finally the Golden Mare allowed me fifteen minutes at the 7 am meeting the next day. That was appropriate, it was all the time any of the House Heads were allowed.

I debated late into the night with Buffy and Helena on who would be better to present our case. I wanted Buffy because she was a woman and I'd use any aspect of political advantage to gain those males a reprieve. Three hours before the meeting, Buffy and I agreed that my passion would mean more than her bosom.

Hearing my appeal was the first order of business before the Council. I spoke for fifteen minutes in what I hoped would be the most eloquent, stirring speech I'd ever given. I politely stopped when given the signal that my time was up. A call was made to debate the issue. Messina gave the rebuttal: 'The council couldn't overturn the decision of a High Priestess unless an overriding concern for the Host was evident.' (Concern meant 'Amazons were in danger of dying')

No one else spoke. A vote was called. Not one member voted in my favor. I, of course, could not vote. I knew politically why Katrina and Beyoncé hadn't voted my way. The Law was the Law; and bucking the traditions while a war was ramping up wasn't prudent. I was even shown sympathy by several members. They weren't concerned for their males. No, I was one of 'them' now and my distress bothered them. 

I stood there for forty-five minutes. I couldn't sit down. I had given them my word. Tears? None came. I don't recall what was discussed. When the meeting adjourned, Shawnee addressed me before Buffy could make it to my side. "Are you seeing spirits, Cáel Wakko Ishara?" Shawnee asked softly. 

I looked at her and then the tears came. I am told that that by a trick of the light, my silver tears looked like a weak trail of blood down my cheeks. I was powerless and I felt like a hypocrite. Here I was bleeding for Amazon lives, bleeding for the lives of our allies in our joint struggle, yet in this Council, I couldn't even make them understand the basic concepts of humanity and brotherhood.

I was angry. I wasn't angry with them. I was angry at myself for not remembering who they were and that we were all prisoners of their twisted ideology. I had deluded myself into thinking they were any different at their core. I turned away from Shawnee. Several of the SD were watching me warily. I was armed, acting irrationally and had killed Ajax the Unconquered, or so they believed. 

A hundred insults boiled forth in my mind. I had some goodies. I knew what these bitches valued and I knew ways to verbally stab at them. Amazons had no honor. They were survivors and because of that, they expected me to let go of this insane deviation from their society. The Golden Mare was the first to stand in my way. Buffy hovered, cloaked in her own fury, behind me.

[OKH] "Ishara, are you well?" she asked. I had to think about that and bite down on the stupid comebacks that would mean nothing to any of them.

[OKH] "You are my Golden Mare, St. Marie. I will follow you into battle and die if I must," I gulped through my tears. "I swear to you, if I die first, know I will be waiting for you in the halls of our Ancestors. If you die first, know I will not forget this and prepare yourself for me. Because if I have not found forgiveness in my heart, I will hand you my hate, – with interest," I pledged.

[OKH] "Restrain yourself, Ishara," she ordered.

[English] "You are correct, Golden Mare," I swallowed my rage.

"Good," she nodded.

"Yes. I need to restrain myself. I need to get with the program because, Dot Ishara knows, I've been shirking my responsibilities up til now. I know what I need to do. I need to feel like a true Amazon; the warrior breed with the blood of the Ahhiyawa on our hands."

"Mine is fresher than most and that is the problem. I need to get back to the real 'us' because going facing to face with the Ahhiyawa has definitely confused me over the true fighting spirit of the Host that I have just been reacquainted with. I need to go out and kill helpless old people and infants." 

"I'm sure that will help me strengthen my solidarity with all my Sister and be one of the team once more." I replied in a patently false-reasonable voice. "Don't worry. I will only kill those who have no value to the Host."

"Correct yourself," she growled.

"I hear and obey, Golden Mare," I sniffed. "I was the one who forgot that it is the duty of every Amazon to strangle tiny newborn boys with their umbilical cords and butcher the males they no longer have a need for ~ you know; the helpless old people," I laid on a different interpretation of their own, sick practices.

"While I'm getting back to our roots, I will hopefully find a clearer perspective on the last 317 ... beasts; those who are waiting to fulfill their own role in our great tradition. I will think of them ... in their stalls, or cages, or wherever it is you keep them. I will think of them, looking up to you as you enter their tiny little world. 




Life as a New Hire Ch. 38



"They will expect food, perhaps a look on your faces that tells them they have done well today and they have made you happy. They will expect you to give them orders ... because you allow them nothing else to look forward to. Sometime in the next four days, you will come to these beasts who trust you for every aspect of their survival and you will lead them to some place of disposal and slit their throats. 

"You will let them fall to the ground and bleed out. I am curious how many of them will look up at you and wonder what they did wrong to make you that upset with them. They will blame themselves while you patiently wait for their hearts to finish pumping blood out those severed arteries. After that happens, you will dismember them. You will burn the parts. Then you will bury the bone shards and ashes in a trash heap. 

"For them, there is no Afterlife – no cliffs – no ancestors. Their souls will awaken all alone in the Black Sands. For most of them it will be the first time in their lives they have ever been truly alone ... They will be scared because they love you and they will want to know what horrible thing they did for you to leave them here alone. 

"If there is a blessing, it is that you have not reciprocated a single ounce of their love, or given them no reason to exist without you so they will soon be ground down into the sands they will so briefly trod upon. Then, they will have never been. They will not be remembered. I am sure that by the end of that introspection, I ... I don't know how will feel then, Golden Mare. 

"What I do know is that on August 18th, I will be the only one who has a chance of feeling different about what hasn't been done here today." I was still successfully fighting back my true cyclone of emotions.

"How could someone like you kill Ajax?" she shook her head.

"Because none of you could," I frowned. "Because for the past 2500 years, the Host has forsaken the sole prerequisite necessary to ..."

"Shut up," St. Marie glared. "Weep elsewhere. We have work to do." 

"I weep for Charlotte ..." I replied.

"Like any one here believes that," she growled ... and then everyone around me had their guns out. St. Marie's wasn't pointed at me. It was pointed past my right elbow. Buffy.

"Buffy, what have I told you about ..." I sighed.

"Buffy Ishara, lower your weapon right now," one of the SD chicks behind me threatened.

"Cáel, she ..."

"Weapon – down – now," I commanded without looking back at her. By the relaxed stance of one of the SD Amazons, Buffy had complied.

"Take her into custody," St. Marie said as she kept her gun pointed at Buffy.

I didn't protest, pout, or threaten a work stoppage. My words would be useless; they didn't understand my tears and I was the Head of House Ishara and Chief Diplomat of the Host, not a self-indulgent prima donna. I believed both St. Marie and Buffy expected me to say something.

"Cáel, she called you a liar," Buffy protested. By the grunts I heard, she was already being restrained.

"Buffy, didn't it occur to you that, despite consistently proving her ignorance of men's emotions in general and being prejudiced against me in particular, the Golden Mare must have been divinely inspired to suddenly know precisely what was on my mind?" I inquired. Sorrow and fury were not the weapons for this task. Mockery was.

"I will let you know what fate I have decided for your Apprentice," St. Marie deigned to inform me. She gave me a dismissive wave of the head.

"Buffy, you should have never believed that that woman's personal opinion of me matters to House Ishara in the slightest," I announced without turning around. "She doesn't have our pedigree."

"I apologize," Buffy responded (to me). I'd tossed her an 'atta girl' in a way that St. Marie couldn't acknowledge as insulting, though it clearly was. The Amazons of House Ishara, to a woman, were all former-Runners. 

They loved being members of a First House of the Host, yet they all felt it was a reward for years of struggle and exemplary service, not something that had been handed to them as a birthright. We had turned our weakness – being born outsiders – into our unifying strength. We felt worthy of our honors. Having been dimsissed, I took the opportunity leave without further complications.

Katrina was waiting for me at one of the elevators. She warned the others off, indicating she wanted a private chat with her most notorious intern. The elevator opened. Katrina stepped in and I followed. Nothing was said. She made a quick call and said three unrelated words. She waited for a confirmation before hanging up. Our conversation wouldn't be monitored, or recorded.

"Cáel, I know you are upset and you are disappointed in us," Katrina forced me to look into her eyes. "As someone who cares for you and considers you a friend, I am advising you to let this one go. You have done many incredibly good things and there is still much more you can accomplish. You have always known you can't win every fight." 

"The important thing is that you stay in the fight. Please try?" she looked honestly upset. I had to think about that. I had spent much of my life 'letting things go'.  I hadn't let things go with Rhada and Madi and look how much that had fucked up my life. I hadn't said 'no' to Rhada when I should have. Brooke ... Casper. I'd been screwing the pooch big time by allowing myself to give a fuck about anyone else.

"Maybe Alal was right?" I whispered. "People want their needs met without sacrifice. They want to blame someone else for their misfortunes. They don't want to be held responsible for their own actions. There will always be wolves and there will always be sheep." he had told me when we parted in Rome. 



"We have just left a chamber full of sheep, not wolves," I turned fully toward Katrina. "Like good little sheep, the leadership of the Amazon Host bleated the Party Line and refused to take responsibility for mass murder. They hid behind tradition, Katrina. They hid behind this absurd idea that there aren't other males out there who could be the next Cáel." 

"Every man brought into Havenstone should be given the same opportunities each and every 'Runner' has. We all deserve a chance."

"That is bludgeoning a lie with another lie, Cáel. There is no 'other Cáel' out there. You are the last chance the Amazon Host has. Those men have been bred to be the opposite of you."

"When we feel we have passed our usefulness, we end our own existences. It is unfair to think we would keep useless, inbred males around out of some sense of a communal society we have never shared with them. You see this as an evil, callous and brutal gesture. We are an evil, brutal race that hasn't the luxury of being sentimental," Katrina counter-attacked. That she was capable of such unvarnished honesty was something I loved about her.

"We are the smallest Secret Society in the numbers we can bring to bear in a fight. We do not have an extensive network of proxies to work through. Our history, until today, has taught us to be lean in the compassion department. If you battle the past, you will get nowhere. Besides, you did do two thing of value today," she offered.

"You put the fate of our males and the responsibility for their deaths in our Records. Your protest was heard, Cáel. Yes, it was heard because it came from you, Cáel Wakko Ishara. No Amazon has protested the fate of males since the Second Betrayal. Today, someone did. You have to know that means something to us."

She was right, damn her. To the Amazons ... they had allowed me my protest and it was infantile to think they did so to humor me. That wasn't there style. In their cold, heartless eyes, my proposal was worthy of 15 minutes of their time. A tiny number until you considered how much every minute mattered to them.

"What was the other thing?" I asked her.

"You kept to your oaths with us. You didn't even try to vote," she pointed out, "even though you clearly felt passionately about the issue. Amazons expect that from their fellow female Amazons. They are not used to expecting that from males." 

I thought about that. In the Amazon mirror-view of society, men were the irrational half of the species, ruled more by passions and illogical aspirations, while Amazons (females) were the creatures of controlled, rational thoughts and actions. 

"You also vocally reminded them that you are a man, not some bizarre icon from the Goddesses."

I had a few things beaten into my skull as well. I worked with monsters. Thanks to Katrina, I was also remembering why I did what I did for the Host: – Aya, Daphne, Yasmin ... those three. Maybe Europa. Lorraine was a long shot. Oneida and Rhada ... they were still their mother's daughters.

"Katrina, I apologize. You are right. Short of the sending House Ishara into battle against the other houses to rescue those men, I cannot save them. I can not forget them. I am okay with hating you and all the others for your perpetuating this crime. I'm also okay believing that one day, I'll forgive the Host too. 

"It is in my nature and I shouldn't let your crimes inspire so great a hate in me that it poisons my soul. You are still going to atone, Katrina, Head of House Epona," I bolstered my sense of the perverse that passed for strategic thinking. "I want you to retrieve Kwenhamai – Death Song – for me. I've decided I don't want the Amazons you consider virtuous. I want your Sinners. Make it happen."

When I returned to the taskforce, I garnered the same kind of worried stares I'd gotten at the Council meeting. At ten o'clock, Elsa gave me a ring. St. Marie had decided on Buffy's punishment for her crimes: drawing a weapon on the War Leader, and drawing a weapon in the Council Meeting. They were going to sear her left eye socket with a hot poker.

That would allow her to remain a useful Amazon in my House while sending a strong reminder for Amazons to remain civil with one another. I was being informed because, as her House Head, I could appeal the ruling ~ to the Golden Mare, the one who had just passed judgment.

"Let me talk to the Boss," I requested. Elsa patched me through twenty seconds later.

"State your appeal," St. Marie said in an unwelcoming voice. "It won't make a difference, but tradition is tradition."

"Immediately erase the incident in the Council Chambers between you and Buffy. I wanted it erased from the records. You must then repeal the punishment because it is now groundless. If you do that for me, I'll tell you how I killed Ajax. I'll even show you what I did," I offered. Pause.

"I am the War Leader of the Host, Ishara," St. Marie heated-up even more. "You should be telling me this anyway."

"As Chief Diplomat, I only have to tell you, Katrina, or the Council something if it is of relevance to the Host. I deemed that the information wasn't relevant at the time," I countered. "I asked Pamela. She's really good with all your inbred ilk and your damn laws," I kept my voice steady. "Do we have a deal?" I could almost hear her teeth grinding.

"Very well, but don't think I will forget this," she seethed.

"Do I have your word that you will do as I requested for Buffy?" I double-checked.

"Yes, you have my word," St. Marie snapped. "Now how did you kill Ajax?"

"I'll tell you," I relaxed. Pause.

"I'm waiting, damn you," she grumbled. "Let's get this over with. I have important work to do."

"I promised to tell you, St. Marie," I got my measure of revenge. "I never said when I'd tell you though, so you might want to get back to that important work."

"You'll get Buffy back when you tell me," she snapped.

"St. Marie, you gave me your word she would be released immediately," I explained. "While you failed to apply any time table to my side of the bargain," came the kicker.

"You violated the spirit of that oath. It is not binding," she simmered.

"I'm not going to bore you by rehashing the last time Amazons broke an Isharan Oath. I have been spiritually pure with this pledge that I tricked you into for a very good reason, St. Marie. You are not an idiot and neither am I. You did call me a liar in public and you knew I wouldn't lash out ... because you know I didn't give a flying fuck about your opinion of me. No, you knowingly insulted me in in English so that Buffy could understand," I said in a low, steely voice.

"You are more than a match for me as a tactician. As a provocateur – you are not in Katrina's league and she's the Amazon I rate myself against. You have never liked me. I'm fine with that. Taking it out on Buffy ~ don't do it again as it violates the spirit of our Oaths of Sisterhood," I reminded her. I could hear St. Marie's tooth enamel cracking. "Do I have to call every other Head of House over this breach? I believe you've established that threatening to harm another Amazon officer in the Council chamber is punishable by the removal of the secondary eye."

"I am not afraid of pain, Cáel," she growled. "I am afraid that your deceptive ways will cause the Host irreparable harm." Considering she worked closely with the most deceptive woman I'd ever met – Katrina – I felt that was high praise indeed.

"Though I don't think you knew it at the time, St. Marie, you chose me for your Chief Diplomat because I am a slippery fish.  Most importantly, I am your slippery fish. Honest, trustworthy diplomats are very limited in their utility."

"I will honor my promise to you," she calmed down slightly. She was conceding the point that she'd chosen me for my untrustworthy ways. She had hoped I'd keep them focused on our enemies, not her.

"I will offer to step down if you desire," I added out of the blue. A few seconds passed.

"I want a time table for you telling me what happened to Ajax," she countered.

"When I get back from Brazil," I promised. "I'll tell you then."

"Why wait?"

"I'm still trying to figure out who the traitor inside the Host is," I answered. "Someone helped the Seven Pillars find our Summer Camp. Someone helped the Condotteiri find the Hylonome as well. Budapest and the fight on the Tisza were the Black Hand's fault and those two loose ends have been dealt with," I related my worries.

"Who do you suspect?"

"I'll have a better idea when I get to Brazil and see what kind of ambush they have waiting for us. The more they are prepared, the smaller the list gets," I said.

"You are knowingly walking into an ambush to find out what our foes know about us?" St. Marie sounded caught unawares by both my cunning and my devotion to our cause.

"Can you think of a better way?"

"No ... when you get back from Brazil?" 

"Yes, I will keep my promise then," I reaffirmed. "I promise this to you as well, St. Marie. If you come gunning for anyone else in House Ishara except me, you will never be able to prove that I arranged for a member of the 9 Clans to remove your daughter.... That is not a petulant threat, Golden Mare. The only one acting vindictively against the current interests of the Host this morning was you. Since your own oaths don't seem to be constraining your behavior, I'm giving you my personal promise to consider before you deliberately strike at me through my House Isharan sisters again. Can we both get back to fighting the war now?"

"Katrina has poisoned your thinking, Cáel. Her threatening my offspring was as stupid for her as it is for you," she menaced.

"Parroting your words: 'Your arrogance' has poisoned your thinking of me, St. Marie. Threatening my Buffy was stupid'.  

"Your daughter deserves to be treated in the same manner as Buffy and vice versa," I explained. "I will extend to you my offer to replace me as Chief Diplomat. I'll leave quietly if you think you cannot work with me, or trust me to do the best job that can be done."

"No. Both you and Katrina are twisted mockeries of true Amazons," she sighed.

"You are also the right Amazons for the twisted tasks that need to be done. If you ever threaten my daughter again, I will deal with you personally and deal with the fallout when it comes," she cautioned.

"I'll take your word for that." A few seconds passed, then St. Marie hung up.

That was that. I'd get Buffy back, though she wasn't sure why she wasn't out shopping for an eye patch. She would have to understand that I wasn't going to tell her the details of her release this side of some serious pain.

Late that afternoon, I had another meeting with OT. The news was critical, as it all too often was. The largest armored combat action since Kursk was about to begin. In the balance was not only the Khanates only real hope of forcing a ceasefire, but the fate of Tibet as well. That wide right hook across the Tibetan Plateau was reaching its final destination. 

On the Southern Flank of the PLA, six of the eleven Khanate Tumens plus six supporting Mechanized Divisions were trying to turn the Chinese Southern Flank. Against them, the PLA had mustered three Reserve Armored Divisions, three Reserve Mechanized Brigades, one Regular Armored Brigade and nine Reserve Infantry Divisions. 

The Tumens' goal was Xining, the capital city of Qinghai Province and the southern supply artery to the PLA's Western Army Front. On the Northern flank, two of the four remaining Tumens, one armored brigade and one infantry division had to punch through along a shorter front against one Regular Mechanized Division, five Reserve Infantry Divisions and one Regular Armored Brigade. Their goal was the town of Gulang in Gansu Province, the nexus of the northern supply artery.

If the powerful Southern thrust could link up with the Northern attack, they would isolate 350,000 PLA troops (20% of their current army) in a pocket they couldn't fight their way out of. If they failed to link, the Khanate was done for. Unless they could cut off that Gansu/Qinghai Salient, the Khanate would be left with an untenable border and not nearly enough troops left to hold it.

The majority of my concern for that Wagnerian Cauldron was taken away from me. When I unloaded the latest info on Riki, Fathom and Javiera they all smiled, nodded and informed me that I was taking the next 24 hours off. I didn't want to because I really didn't know what to do with my life, at the moment. 

Then they informed me that I was going to spend the morning with Aya and her Fatal Squirts. That, I could do. I called Aya to make sure this was something she wanted to do. I had the feeling she might not have been consulted. She had been 'told' that I was coming by to see her tomorrow morning at the park adjacent to the private school she attended. 

We'd hang out for a few hours, catch some lunch then drive out to Doebridge for some Amazon-style training. I told her that I couldn't wait to see her. Sagely, she said that meant I must be in a bad way. I laughed, she beamed a happy 'see you soon' and I crashed out for some much needed rest. In the morning, over breakfast, we got some good news. 

India's two carrier fleets had set sail. They were marshalling near the Nicobar Island in the eastern end of the Bay of Bengal. Beyond that lay the Malacca Straits and the much disputed resources of the South China Sea. Her diplomats were burning the midnight oil with their counterparts in the Vietnamese and Malaysian governments and armed forces. 

In New Delhi, the Chinese and Russian Ambassadors to India were both trying to woo the Worlds' largest democracy to their differing sides. Alerted to this through Booth-gan operatives, the US and UK (through the offices of the EU) were doing a bit of wooing of their own. Once more, it was the same for Nations as it was for people; India's Intelligence Service was on the 'inside' of the information curve, thanks the JIKIT.

For me it was bed. Around nine pm Javiera Castello showed up in my room. She was kind enough to leave the lights off, letting the passive light from the cityscape provide the illumination. Before she could say a word, she started to yawn.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 38



"Get in," I pulled the covers half aside as I scooted to the middle. She hesitated a second before coming over.

"I came in to see if you wanted a bite to eat ... and to tell you Buffy came back and she was pissed. She wanted to see you until we told her you were asleep," Javiera told me.

"Is she still here?" I stifled my own sympathetic yawn.

"No, she stormed out," she sat down on the bed beside me. I let my head fall down on the far pillow. "Care to tell me what that was about?" she added.

"Internal politics," I was losing interest in this conversation fast.

"Cáel, if you want to talk with someone ~ semi-normal and off the record ..." she trailed off. "I'm already going to spend the rest of my life as a fugitive, or in a deep dark hole," she tried to joke. "Keeping a few of your secret isn't going to ..."

All I did was stare at her. She was an experienced and gifted criminal prosecutor and that made her a good judge of a person's soul. My soul had been taking a serious beating and she knew it. For that matter, Javiera had never seen me far from pain – my Father's murder, Charlotte's death and now this latest unspoken malady.

"I'll lay down for a bit, if you don't mind?"

I raised the sheets halfway up once more. She kicked off her low heels then sidled in.

"You are naked," she stiffened slightly. I knew the source of her misconceptions. I wasn't a neatnik and I certainly didn't act like one. 

What I was, was a man who didn't think his lady friends wanted to be walking all over his dirty undies. Given a chance, I put my clothes in the hamper unless I planned to put them on ~ in say, a few hours. I had decided to sleep until morning, I had my jeans, t-shirt and tennis shoes already set aside and had already showered. 

Sneak out without too many complications was my plan, so I had tossed my used clothes into the laundry basket. That meant when Javiera didn't see my clothes scattered about, she assumed I had something on.

"You are getting arou ... hard," she noted with tired playfulness.

"I don't mean this as an insult, but you don't want to imagine the female form that doesn't get the same reaction from me, Javiera. I'm tired and unless you initiate something, I'm going back to sleep.

"Okay." It took her a few seconds but, she put her head down on the pillow beside me.

She was even getting the warm spot where I had been sleeping. I noisily stretched my arm out, up and around, giving her plenty of time to roll on her side, facing me, and rest her head on my shoulder. I thought she was worried that her hand resting on my chest would ... and I slept. An hour later, Riki showed up. 

Without the lights on, she initially mistook the sleeping Javiera to be a sleeping, post-sex Javiera. 

"Cáel?" she whispered.

"She's asleep and totally clothed. Do you need me, or her?"

"You," she came and sat down on the side of the bed opposite Javiera.

"The Georgians and Armenians are sending separate commissions to meet with you," she began. I must have looked really tired. "You are their Prince, right? They want to make some ground rules and bring some issues to your attention. I'd like to bring in some of the UK and US experts on the region to help out."

"Make it so," I proclaimed loftily and quietly. She got the reference.

"Aye, aye Captain," she smiled compassionately. The 'Beat Puppy' look is a serious lure for any babe with a mothering instinct.

"Come on," I yawned. "Crawl in."

"I shouldn't," she demurred.

"I'm about to fall back to sleep and I don't want to do it alone," I moped. Yes, I had a woman asleep on the other side of me, but Riki had her sight-inhibiting 'sex goggles' on.

"I'll be right back," she kissed me (on the cheek). Off she went and quickly she returned. I barely registered her snuggling in on the other side. Sleep took us.

"The Dali Lama is currently meeting with The Great Khan and it's going out over the BBC, Aljazeera and CNN!" Lady Fathom loudly proclaimed as she flipped on the lights while the grey-black skyline showed the first signs of pink. "I've proven my diplomatic brilliance yet again. Cáel, you know what this means," she began stripping. "The rest of you can stay or go, your choice."

So I got my four-way.



(Monday, August 15th ~ 28 Days to go)



My kidnappers' plan was equal parts sinister and simple. The only item that tipped me off that anything untoward was happening were the blank lenses worn by the little girl walking my way. Ten years old is a bit early in life to be exploring your beatnik heritage. Only when she got close did I pick up on her tear streaked cheeks and the white-knuckled hold she had on her book bag.

Before then, I had been the anchor point/mom-teacher distracting device that allowed Aya and her Squirts to become unsworn peace officers for the first through six graders who were at the park, pool and outdoor athletic facilities attached to the private school. There were a few kids actually attending summer classes, but most of the youngster hanging about were doing so because this was a 'public' place.

That meant that only the right quality of people were allowed in. The other security guards asked me about Yasmin. I told them she was finished with her orientation at Havenstone (a lie, the real 'Runner' orientation took a minimum of one year) and would soon be working on a temporary project in her native Brazil. I neglected to mention that we would be engaging in nefarious activities that would very likely involve varying levels of pain and death. 

Even though they knew me, I was still searched. My Conceal Carry permit didn't cover me leaving the vehicle, so they took my boom-boom. They missed my knife in the arm sheath. I didn't care. 

I managed to bring in four 'sweet' water pistols so I could dispense summary humiliation to any mouthy punks who thought they could pick on Aya and I couldn't stop them because I was an adult. I'm not much of an adult. I'd also tricked the Martial leader of the Amazon Host, so these entitled bullies seriously hadn't a clue who they were screwing with.

I could place a wet spot on a crotch (guys), or shoot them in their mouths (girls) form ten feet. Turning around only meant you got a soaked butt instead. Sadly, that brought me to the attention of two Eight grade girls who liked to play Call of Duty (there is a video game that doesn't have scantily clad babes? And people play it? Just kidding.)

Anyway, these were two girls who knew Aya by reputation (her Father was a spy), and Europa (because she was a bad-ass.) It was all harmless fun until one asked me if I'd ever been to Romania. I knew what was coming. They showed me some video, included shoulder cam footage from my team, the Romanian Mountain Hunters and the Mycenaeans.

Yes, I was that guy. Yes ... the strange girl showed up and my Spidey senses were tingling. I had four security types (2 Amazons and 2 FBI HRT members) in separate locations outside the school grounds. There were eight security types on the ground and four NYPD patrol cars within two minutes. I should have been safe.

With shaking hands, she handed me her MP3 player. She was clearly sniffling with near hysteria. The MP3 had five files with my name on them Instructions #1~5.

"Please," the little girl pleaded softly. "Please, do what they say, or they'll kill my Mommy." Aya and one of her Squirts, seeing one of their classmates standing next to me were on their way over.

I was about to wave her off then I took a second look at her glasses. They had spy cams on each side. I was already being watched. The rest was basic. The little girl was wired to explode. The girl's backpack had the equivalent of an omnidirectional child-size Claymore mine – kill radius 5 meters, or so they claimed. Aya was within three meters already.

I was being observed. No direct communication with the kidnappers was permitted. Either I complied with each and every step laid out on the MP3 player, or the child and mother detonated. It got better; they wanted Aya and me, not just me. Worse, it was all very solid spycraft. I would only communicate a given message to my guardians while a second phone was also on, so they could listen in to what I said.

The mom and her minivan were waiting for me at the school U shaped drop off station. I waved good-bye to the guards. I contacted my security to let them know I was on the move. They were concerned. I was insistent and they followed along. At the appropriate moment, an auto accident separated my team and Mini-van Mom sped away.

At stage #5 of the instructions, Aya and I stripped naked with remarkable aplomb. It wasn't that we weren't afraid what would happen to the mother and child (and a tad worried about ourselves) ... but we had one another and that was what mattered most. We were given fresh cloths and a time table to get ready to depart. 

At the parking garage exchange point, I was happy to see that while they were binding up me and Aya (hands behind our backs, ankles and gags), they were also binding up the mother and child, plus removing and disarming the explosives. We'd never know if they were fakes, or not. They stuffed us in the trunk of a new sedan. 

That vehicle only traveled a few more blocks before we took a sharp incline then came to an abrupt halt. The sedan's engine cut off and a different sounding engine – a diesel – started up. After that, I was in the Land of the Lost. I'd lost all bearings. The thing was, I already knew the identities of three of the four kidnappers – I'm an ass man and no two asses are the same.

None of that was helpful at the moment. We were taken out of the trunk at our final destination. The kidnappers' sedan was in the back of a large panel truck. That had shaken off all immediate chances of being tracked by traffic cams. There were four Seven Pillars Commandoes present who cut our feet free and removed our gags before taking us out of the truck. Those four took us down the ramp, exposing us to our new setting; an aircraft hangar with close to thirty 7P's.

There was only one of the old kidnapping crew in evidence – Felix Melena unmasked. I looked at him, he looked at me, snorted, grinned then shrugged. "It pays to be on the winning side," he joked.

"Turning traitor will only make you their dog instead of Havenstone's," I countered calmly. I was raging ... Goddess, I was dying for a chance to be in a situation where unleashing my rage would do some good. This wasn't it.

"Yeah, but I'll be a dog who can fuck bitches, not some lap pet like you, Nyilas," Felix snorted. To an outsider and a person who only looked at the superficial Melena, his actions and attitude were plausible, even expected.

To an insider like me, this was an impossibility. There was no way Felix could have gathered the access to pull this off. A Havenstone insider would never trust Felix as a pawn. And Felix wouldn't betray me for the most important of all reasons (to Felix). How could he reverse his martial defeat at my hands if I wasn't around anymore?

He was a bastard and a huge prick, but he was a self-confident machismo kind of man too. I shouldn't have been surprised that Katrina would risk her own niece in whatever ploy she was working on. I still didn't know if she, or Alal, was the smartest, most convoluted thinker I had ever known. Felix's other three assistants weren't around because they were Amazons and that would have looked fishy.

In the crowd of Han, five people stood out. Of least importance was the grizzled looking Chinese fireplug with grey-white, short-cropped hair and a scar running through his right eye. It was milky and blind. I had little doubt he thought Spetsnaz training was for pussies too. He led the twenty-four other Seven Pillar Commandos. I recognized the gear.

I surveyed the next four ~ I'd get to the girl last. Two were a bald, senior-junior member team of Gong tau necromancers. The younger guy looks like he was happy to be past the 'twisting the heads off heads of kittens' phase of his training and into the true, 'I get to help humans suffer and die' main program. 

The older guy had far more extensive tattooing: much more than the junior member and more than the guy Saku had killed for me at Summer Camp. He looked at Aya and I as if we were nine year old virgins on a pedophile auction block. He was unhealthily happy to see us. 

The last duo were fraternal twins. Without a doubt, Han Chinese. The woman was tall for a female of the type and as tall as her brother ~ 1.75 meters and slight-muscular builds (f 58/m 64kg). They had tight black bodysuits on, hip-holstered pistols and twin Jian swords on their backs. Both had their long black hair braided down to their belt loops. 

Everyone looked down on Aya, both physically and socially. I earned a greater level of hostility from the commandoes ~ I'd turned some of their buddies into briquettes. I was a curious skin rash to the warlocks; an unexpected infection they meant to scrape off the flesh of their Pure Han world. The twins were intense and not my biggest fans.

Felix stepped up to the leader, who clearly looked as though he was dealing with a form of life even lower than me. I was loyal to my side, no matter how misguided. Felix was a traitor. He handed four objects to the guy: my Amazon honor blade, a clear baggie with one brownie and five fortune cookies, and two tiny objects – memory cards.

"What is this?" the male asked. His English was 'English', not 'American'.

"The chips from their phones and this is his 'Amazon' token. I believe it has some value to him," Felix explained. "The treats ~ he values them for no reason I know of, yet he is never without some."

"I did not ask for these, Traitor," the boy-twin sneered. Then he tried to punish Felix by stabbing him in the chest with a two-fingered strike. He was fast. Felix was an eye-blink faster and parried the blow. Felix took two steps back before setting his fighting stance. My co-worker was grinning evilly.

"If that's the best you got Chang, Chung, 'whichever frying pan noise you are'," Felix laughingly mocked him, "you had better keep Cáel's hands and feet bound, or he's going to escape and be coming back for me by day's end."

That bravado was a risky play on his part. 

It would help the 7P's believe Felix was a cavalier savage overlaid with a thin veneer of civilization. Obsequious traitors would be the norm, thus easily to consider suspicious. Felix was playing the role of a revenge-oriented opportunist. He was making it easy to want to kill him, which no sane double-agent would do.

To prove my point, six commandoes pointed their QCW-05 Chinese Suppressed Submachine Gun his way. 

"You are a poor judge of my tolerance, Rat," the man glared, "and remarkably incapable of accepting your miniscule worth."

"I know me and my partner delivered the man and Katrina's niece when you couldn't get close, Chuckie," Felix taunted him. "Was that the Dali Lama and the Great Khan chatting away this morning? With Cáel's fiancée sitting in the background?" he continued happily.

"Go," the man dismissed him. They waited until Felix mounted up on a motorcycle I hadn't seen before and departed before another word was spoken.

[Mandarin] "His time will come, Brother," the girl spoke up (girl as in a woman in her late 20's). "You will feed him each word – each insult."  He looked her way. There was some true affection there. It wasn't incestuous, just familial respect and love. "Do you know what I am saying," she looked my way.

I kept looking at her because that was natural. They had my life in their hands, so observing the two people clearly in charge was logical. I didn't even indicate that I knew she was asking a question.

[Mandarin] "Kill the girl. She is no longer of any use to us," she said next. 

This wasn't even a stress on my acting ability. Aya had multiple uses, so verbally threatening her as a lure was idiotic in the extreme. No one was moving to follow those orders, so I maintained my 'confused' face.

"My Sister wished to know if you speak Mandarin," the brother translated for me.

"Hi, I'm Cáel," I greeted him. "Who are you guys?" He looked to one of the two goons holding on to me. I received a painful kidney punch. I discovered a whole new super-power. It hurt for about two seconds then nothing. 

"I asked you a question," he repeated.

"No, I don't speak Mandarin," I lied so well it came across as a dour confession.

"Yet you know the secretive language of the Earth & Sky," he stated.

"Yes, I do. I have a thing for dead languages. Maybe in a few more years, I'll pick up your Mother Tongue as well," I bantered.

No punishment was immediately meted out, so I suspected no one close to me, besides him, spoke much if any English. Jian Bob (my new name for him) didn't relay my insult. I wasn't worth it. He went straight for the reason for our get-together.

"You are going to die, Mr. Nyilas. That is a given," JB began. 

"We both know you have done enough damage to our cause to be worthy of elimination a hundred times over. I'm going to show you respect by not lying to you about your possible fate. What you can do is save your young companion. We understand you two are close," he appealed in a very polite manner. Aya snickered.

"Cáel, these people are mentally challenged," she giggled to me, "or hideously misinformed."

"I know, I know," I smiled down at Aya. "Still, they have gone through a great deal of effort to insult our intellect today, so let's humor them a little longer." Jian Bob issued several casual orders. 

In short order, a third man had hold of me by the jaw with one hand while trying to hold my eyelids open with the other. One guard held her by the shoulders. A second held her right hand, extending her ring finger. A third man held a knife to her top knuckle. A forth stood close with a small blowtorch.

"She may be a small person, Mr. Nyilas, but she can still die by the Death of a Thousand cuts," he explained.

"I love you, Aya," I told her softly.

"I love you too, Fehér mén," she succeeding in keeping most of the fear from her voice. 

Neither one of us could stop this. Aya certainly didn't expect me to compromise the Host for her benefit. She was as much an Amazon as the first Epona.

"First, I wish to know what alerted you to the attack at the Summer Camp," Bob began the interrogation. 

"We know you were responsible. We want to know what happened." I looked into his eyes and waited patiently. He nodded to the guard, who shoved my face toward Aya's extended finger until I was less than a foot away.

[Mandarin] "Do it." 

The guard cut the top part of the digit off – one knuckle. I looked at the flesh and bone being cut away. In a clinical manner, I noted how sharp the blade was. I saw the blood shoot forth and heard Aya's little voice cry out in pain. I was pulled back and pointed at Jian Bob again.

"Do I need to repeat the question for you?" he said.

"No, I caught it the first time," I grimaced. "It tells me that you haven't the slightest idea who you are fucking with." Bob made a slight hand gesture and the blowtorch cauterized Aya's stump. Her little lungs belted out a terrible screech that wound down as her feet gave out and she hung limply in the guard's grip.

[Mandarin] "Revive her." The blowtorch guy, clearly not his first day on the job, snapped some smelling salts under her noise. Aya revived, sobbing and in a great deal of pain.

"Cáel," she whimpered. "I have found my stillness. I'll be okay now." Her sobs subsided.

"Shall we try this again?" JB remained coolly polite, almost urbane.

"Nah," I joked, "we are both pretty good over here."

[Mandarin] "Again." Off went another digit of her ring finger. This time her scream was much more exuberant and forceful. We all know it hurt like Hell, but the world had turned. 




Life as a New Hire Ch. 38



"He's going to kill all of you," Aya snickered while she sobbed. "You are all going to die."

[Mandarin] "Mu, what is the little girl saying?" she asked Jian Bob – real name Mu.

[Mandarin] "She is stating her belief that Cáel will somehow kill us all," he and his sister shared the joke.

[Mandarin] "Let us see what her tune is when they start in on her left hand," the woman smiled at her sibling.

That implied they'd cut off her right thumb and fingers, digit by digit, until one, or both of us cracked. The man nodded and Aya's nub was burned again. Her scream was more of a cleansing shout.

"Cáel, do you think I will have a nice horse to ride when I join Epona's herds, or will I get a pony?" Aya whimpered.

"Not a clue," I began before Mu had the face-hugging guard apply a finger strike to my solar plexus. Alal's gift had allowed me to partially organize my brain functions. Coping with pain was a whole lot easier now, but I had to be careful to monitor it because pain was Nature's way of letting you know that there was something wrong with your body.

"What color would you like me to pick up and have waiting for you," punch, "when you finally take yourself to the cliffs?"

[Mandarin] "Again."

[Mandarin] "This is accomplishing nothing," the senior bald Mo-Fo grumbled. "He clearly cares nothing for the child and has been trained in counter-interrogation techniques."

[Mandarin] "There is nothing to indicate that," Mu bristled.

[Mandarin] "Xiàshì (下士), burn the tip of his left forefinger," senior necromancer commanded. The guy holding my face coordinated with the men holding my arms to free me of my bonds and wrestle my left arm forward. I didn't bother resisting. 

It didn't take the commandoes long to figure I had stopped caring. On came the flame and the pain. Oh, I screamed. The pain was real. What had changed was my ability to shuffle it off to an isolated memory file to be tackled later. The bald creep stepped into my field of vision. His eyes were windows to the abyss. My "spirit" sight opened my eyes to the truly inhuman sections of his mind and soul.

[Mandarin] "See, normal techniques will not be affective. We will do it ..." and they realized the enormity of their mistake by assuming I was paralyzed by the pain. I broke free of the guy on my left and began twisting around the guy on my right. I wasn't getting away, I was going for his QCW-05. I knew their favorite martial arts styles and their weaponry now.

The guy I was rolling behind realized what I was doing (going for his gun), but mistook my intentions. I wasn't trying to get away, or steal the gun (still strapped to his body). That dickhead even helped me out by lurching ground-ward. I swung the gun up, hit the selector and fired two quick bursts. 

The first three rounds hit Mr. Blowtorch in his right thigh, shredding it. The second burst caught Mr. Knife guy in the crotch – a triple 5.8 X 21mm castration. Had Blowtorch Guy not been busy trying to keep the strands of his right hip connected to his right leg, he could have stopped the blood fountaining from his buddies shattered groin. That was the end of my joy. 

I was born to the ground and the guy whose gun I'd borrowed pulled away. I hit the concrete surface hard. That was only the beginning of my issues. Radiating from the floor was cold beyond cold. I had the sensation of falling into the heart of a cold, dead star. How I even knew what the felt like was an impossibility.

[Mandarin] "He feels very cold," protest one of the two guards pulling me back to my feet groused.

[Mandarin] "If your incompetence has led to his terminal condition," the male twin threatened. I felt the approach of the female twin – her reaching for me. A new intense pain seared me to the cores of my bones. Before she yanked my hair up, my body reignited.

I found myself stared into her pitiless eyes that regarded me with the casual callousness of a veterinarian preparing to put down some rabid stray dog. She ran three fingers over my cheek.

[Mandarin] "What are you babbling about?" she snapped at the two commandoes. "If anything, he is feverish."

[Mandarin] "Zhen, have him sedated," Chief Necromancer demanded. "Mu, now we will do this my way." Once more I was bound. Someone stabbed a needle into my right triceps. That was a mere discomfort. If I had any consolation, it was hearing Mu ordering the execution of the two men I'd shot.

They didn't have the time and facilities to tend to their immediate emergency needs and taking them to a trauma center wasn't going to happen. Those two went into body bags. I had to assume they would be joining us on the plane, though they'd be in the cargo compartment.

[Mandarin] "What are you smiling at?" I heard Zhen snapping before my world collapsed down to a pinhole of light.

"Lady, I don't know what you said," Aya declared happily. "You are probably angry that Cáel has already killed two of you and we haven't even got off the ground yet." I heard a sound I couldn't make out followed by another and finally a third. That resulted in an Aya-squeak. Ah, she'd tried to hit Aya and Aya had dodged the first two blows. Good girl.

"Cáel isn't going to like you doing that," Aya chirped.

"Aya's a winner," I mumbled. I wasn't in control of my senses when they dragged me onto a waiting jet. I wasn't worried. With Aya at my side, I was invincible.



{Dreaming}

I looked at her face, so youthful, beautiful in her own way, yet far from innocent. She bore a terrible weight. The armor she was wearing – that of a heavy horseman of the steppe, was a leather coat, chain links over her vulnerable regions (throat, underarms and skirt), with the rest being covered by darkened bronze plates.

Her iron helmet was open-faced with mobile plates covering her cheeks as well as the sides and the back of her neck; it bore a white horse-hair plume – it was the only feature of her panoply that would draw any special attention her way. She carried no shield. Instead, she wielded a powerful horn & sinew composite recurve bow. She used her knees to rise up on her mount and fire over the mare's head.

Similarly attired women rode close to either side of this young woman. Both were older; one in her early forties and the other ~ late thirties. The one to the left bore a lance, not in the couched fashion most people today are familiar with, but used in a double-handed over-head fighting style.

The woman to the right fought with a strange blade. It wasn't saber ~ an ancestor of that blade perhaps. It was about a meter long, no hand guard, single-edged except for the top 4 cm on the back side which was equally sharp. Her left hand remained free. I think I saw her purpose. If the young woman got into difficulty, her guardian on the right could pull her horse away and lead the woman to safety.

Behind and beside those three rode perhaps three hundred of their sisters. Those in the center were as heavily armored as those three. On each flank were the lighter, faster bow-women, on smaller steeds. The women in the center rode larger mounts that were good for carrying weight and pushing home a charge, while the flanking steppe ponies were virtually tireless.

In the center, identified only by her long golden-mane helm, was the Golden Mare ~ War Leader of the Host. The Amazons didn't fly pennants or carry banners. They judged the course of battle by that woman's head movements (the mane was quite long) and the shrill horn blasts unique to the Amazons. 

Let the barbarians have the all too common deep booming horns calls and their totems raised high for the world to see. Let the Romans keep their trumpets and Legion standards. Amazons had been putting those fools in their graves from time immemorial. Right now, those horns had summoned the Host to a trot. 

The Hun, Attila, had tasked the Sarmatian Chieftain, under whose banner they rode, to deal with another crisis – the third this short day. Once more, they directed their horses over Catalaunian Fields. The Ostrogoth had gotten themselves into a world of trouble, those filthy, stinking Germans (why was I even thinking that way?)

First the Amazons had ridden forth on Attila's right, reinforcing the allied Germanic tribes on the Right Wing in their attempt to force a wedge between Aetius' Romans and King Sangiban's Alans. They'd shown the fools the way, but the supporting Gepids cavalry was too timid and by the time they began to approach, the Golden Mare had been forced to sound 'retire'. 

The Roman auxiliary cavalry, though of poor quality, had plugged the gap. The Host were too few and too valuable (in their estimation) to die holding a position that their 'allies' might not rescue them from. Next, they had been directed to attack the center of the Alan cavalry line in support of the Huns.

Despite the cowardice of their king, the Alans were hardy fighters and too accustomed to the style of steppe warfare that the Host practiced to be lured away from their position. Arrows were exchanged and brief, brutal skirmishes developed, but no advantage was gained. With their mounts exhausted, the Golden Mare had ordered the Host to retired to their camp to water their horses and refill their quivers.

That bit of common sense and tactical wisdom placed them in their present crisis. Their Ostrogoth allies had been beating themselves against their Visigoth cousins all afternoon, charging up the same cursed slope that any sane commander would have found a way to flank. No, the Germans had failed seven times using the same plan, so they tried an eighth. 

Miraculously, they had gained a toehold on the ridgeline and killed the Visigothic King. Like a mob of mindless farmers, the Ostrogoths stopped to celebrate their 'victory' and taunt the Visigoths with the mutilated body of their fallen leader. The Visigoths had been properly incensed and counter-attacked. That's what Princes were for – to avenge their fallen Sires.

As the Host exited the Hunnic laager, they'd seen the calamity unfold. The wavering Visigoth infantry had stiffened their line. Believing the Ostrogoths would press forward, the Horse-tail banner of Attila himself broke away from the central Hunnic body, pivoted to his left and thundered into the Visigoth's exposed flank.

In the din of battle, it may have looked to the Great Warlord that he had a vanishing opportunity for victory. From the valley below, it was much clearer to the Amazons that the moment to break the Visigothic infantry had passed. The Huns were too tired; their mounts frothing from a long, hot afternoon of battle. Without a swift follow-through, the attack was doomed.

At that point, headlong flight for the Amazons wasn't possible. Their long term survival hung on the Hunnic King keeping his Germanic 'allies' in line. They were still somewhere in eastern Roman Gaul, with the Rhine to ford and a land thick with perpetually vicious, blood-thirsty, crotch-scratching, flea-bitten Germanic barbarians to cross before they saw the green rolling hills of home again.

No, the Golden Mare, and that young lady knew they had to do something to stem the tide of this disaster for another hour, then darkness would force the combatants to separate so they could try their hand at battle the next day. As the Golden Mare rode to the Sarmatian Chieftain, a rider came through the dust from Attila. The Visigothic cavalry had returned with a vengeance and the Ostrogoths were folding up.

The Sarmatians (with their attached Amazons) were to 'somehow' repair the situation. As the Chieftain, the Golden Mare and three Sarmatian tribal leaders hastily discussed the actions. They saw the Hunnic Right, under hard pressure from the Roman attack, beginning to disintegrate. Of immediate concern was the rift opening up between the retreating Hunnic Gepids and the Hunnic horsemen holding the center. 

King Sangiban had finally discovered his manhood. The Alans attacked through that gap in the Hunnic lines and a rout was in the offing. The Sarmatian Leader decided he had to answer Attila's call. The Golden Mare offered to take her Amazons and whichever tribal leader volunteered first to ride with her against the Alans. 

She drew her sword and held it aloft then motioned the Sarmatians to look at her shadow.

"We will hold them off until the length of our swords double (the shadow). Then we are all on our own," she offered. There was no further discussion necessary. There was nothing else to say. The Host and their allies had the fresher horses and full quivers. 

The Alans had numbers but no heavy horse present – yet. The Host had answered Attila's call to war and now, nearly a year away from their homes in the forested steppe lands of modern-day Bukovina. At that moment they were wondering how few of them would ever see their horse herds roaming free this side of life. 

That was where my vision came in ~ that woman was 'Ishara', the last of my major bloodline of the first Ishara and this was the last hour of her life. The other two women were the only other two members of that vanishing bloodline. One was her aunt and the other a cousin. Despite the dire peril to their lineage, they joined their sisters in battle.

Even though they were outnumber 2:1, the Amazons swept aside the first burst of Alans, scattering their bands and hunting the slowest of them down. Rushing alone to fill the gaping hole in the main battle lines was to abandon all tactical sense. Eighty Amazon heavy horse and perhaps twenty more Sarmatians ~ they were integrated now ~ alone simply weren't enough. 

For the roughly 300 lightly armored horse-archers, it would be a pointless suicide and that was not the Amazon way. Instead, they scattered the initial Alan rush then gently trotted back down the slope. Of course, the Alans regrouped and followed. It was the battle pulse of steppe skirmishing. 

By simply existing, they turned the rushing wave of that first Alan charge into a slowly strengthening tide. The Alans' mounts were tired and in need of water. Their quivers were nearly empty and some were seen at the top of the slope looting the quivers of the fallen. Whenever they could, the Amazons killed those clever souls.

Killing an archer closer to you who only had two arrows left wasn't as economical as killing the one who was both dismounted, thus an easier shot, and about to have fifteen bolts to use against you. Without the constant harassment, the Gepids were able to keep their retreat orderly. In turn, the other Germanics farther to the right kept their mobs relatively intact as well.

Their success earned them the inevitable enemy reaction. From his vantage point, the Roman Aetius saw the vulnerable and unsupported position the Amazons held. If he could push past the Amazon screen, he could still achieve a route instead of accepting a mere victory for his side. The solution was a force of over two hundred Roman Heavy Horse – many of them Sarmatians in Roman service. The troops may have been Sarmatians, but their commander wasn't.

Pro forma, when the larger Roman force advanced downslope, the Amazons obliged them by slowly zigzagging down slope away from them. To a warrior born to the steppe, the Amazons weren't running away, they were simply increasing the numbers of arrows they could fire before the final contest of arms began.

The Roman commander sounded the 'full advance' and obediently, his men rolled forward. The Golden Mare looked to the last Isharan and smiled. Surely the Seven Martial Goddesses (one of which was Ishara) had given them a great gift ... a stupid enemy. The Amazon light cavalry scattered to the flanks. The heavies bunched up tightly and went to a trot while still moving away. 

By that time, they were on the flat, somewhat muddy floodplain and the Romans kept coming ... right along the stretch of ground the Amazons had been churning into mud with their own mounts. Belatedly, the Alan horse-archers realized the catastrophe the Romans were riding into but they hadn't the discipline to form up fast enough to do much good.

When the Romans had cut the distance between them and their targets in half, their commander realized that the Amazon heavies had bows and his men didn't. At that point, had he finally realized he was in trouble, there wasn't much he could do to save most of his men. He ordered the charge – full gallop. When the distance close to around twenty yards, the Amazon heavies broke into thirds. 

Two groups kept retreating straight away, toward the Hunnic camp. The third broke off to the left at a 45% angle from the other two. The Romans kept their discipline. The commander was able to dispatch 70 of his men to chase down the third group. If this secondary Roman group noticed that when they left the already well-trodden muddy ground they picked up their speed ... there wasn't much they could have done about that as well.

As the distance closed down to those last ten yards, the first group turned rapidly, formed into a tight V-shaped formation and counter-charged into the main mass of Romans. They didn't have much time to build up momentum. They didn't care. In fact they wanted to keep their tight wedge. 130 tired Romans steeds collided with roughly 30 Amazons, my ancestor included.

The Roman Commander found that his men hadn't impacted Amazons hard enough to shatter them. His men surrounded their enemy quickly, but their preponderance of men profited them little. It was of great use to the Amazon and Sarmatians horse-archers now swarming in from all direction. 

The Roman charge had ground to a halt and they made excellent targets with little fear of hitting the Amazon trapped in the middle. The second Roman group had something similar thing happen. The group of 35 they were chasing turned to face them. This group, though, formed up in a line, clearly intending to absorb the attention of as many of the Roman attackers as possible.

Charge met counter-charge. The fighting become confused with both sides losing some of their cohesion. The Romans were going to win this uneven struggle, given enough time. Less than two minutes after the first clash of arms, the 'missing third' of the Amazon/Sarmatian heavy cavalry slammed unimpeded into the second Roman group's rear, doing what Heavy Cavalry did best – running over things.

The second Roman group shattered on impact. Those small groups that recoiled from that initial shock began running upslope mistakenly thinking they were being allowed to escape. When they saw the enemies forming up and heading the other way – to the main body of Romans, they had cause to hope. Only when the Amazon horse-archers closed in on those survivors did they realized how wrong they were.

One Armored Roman was more than a match for any one, or two horse-archers, but FIVE? Due to the actions of a double handful of brave Alans, a few Romans managed to stagger back to the top of the slope that so many had advanced from less than 30 minutes earlier. For the main Roman body, there were no happy endings. The Roman Commander wasn't some Germanic hero. He was an officer and tactician.

He realized that the horse-archers were whittling away on his men on the outside faster than his men on the inside were crushing the group he'd 'trapped'. From his point of view, he'd accomplished his mission – driving the 'Hunnish forces' off the slope. He was wrong to believe that. He hadn't 'driven off' anyone. 

Even as the Roman call to 'Rally' sounded, the victors of the 'secondary' fight rolled into his men. Within thirty seconds, the Roman rank and file realized they'd lost this particular fight and began to break off in the only direction left open to them – moving diagonally between the retreating Hunnic and Ostrogothic forces and the Hunnic laager. 

Those roughly 50 men had to run a gauntlet of 25,000 enemies to make their exit from battlefield's farthest point. The Amazons didn't keep track of them. They reformed their ranks, tended their wounded and gathered their dead. After dark, they would return to those piles to give their sisters a proper burial. Currently they had to return upslope to continue screening their allies from the Alans as the Germans fell back.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 39



Editing magic performed by KJ24 and Shyqash, plus contributions by the regular gang of brigands and neer-do-wells

Loving your enemy is easy. You know precisely where the two of you stand

Just in case anyone cares, I do not hate China or the Chinese People. As a Global Power, the PRC is fair game as a great antagonist. Not only do they have, as of 2015, the world's largest economy, largest population and a truly global Diaspora, they also have a rather totalitarian governance system that enables them to devote scary levels of resources to any endeavor they set their minds to.

I usually paint all governments to be entities capable of great good (rarely achieved) and great evil (because it makes such enticing fiction). In my stories, it often falls to the people within those institutions to make judgment calls on what is the right thing to do. In my final analysis, there are no 'Evil' governments, just evil people who use the system to get what they want

*****

(Right where we left off)

{9 pm, Tuesday, August 16th ~ 23 Days to go}

{aka 2 am Wednesday, Aug. 17th ~ 22 Days to go [Havenstone time]}

[The following is in Mandarin until I note otherwise]

"What are you doing?" I struggled to keep the panic from my voice.

"Killing all these alarms," Zhen responded. She was grinding her teeth in frustration and fear. "There is nothing we can do to fix those problems."

"My ... right rudder ... its barely responding," I grunted. This was fly-by-wire, not typical manual control, so my concern was entirely mental - not wanting to miss our turn south into the sole runaway on Johnston Atoll. With the steady degradation of the plane's electronics, we wouldn't make the 360 for another pass.

Landing from the southern end of the runway would put the cyclone force winds behind us. There would be no way for the plane's two inexperienced pilots to make that miraculous landing happen. No, we had to approach form the north, into the winds and allow nature to slow us down.

"On it ... I'm good," she confirmed that her co-pilot's systems were still doing their job. "Tell me when we are making our final approach." Zhen, my Seven Pillars of Heaven co-pilot (and designated assassin), couldn't see where we were going. Our avionics had perished earlier in this disaster.

Goddess Dot Ishara was communicating with Goddess SzélAnya who was frolicking in this maelstrom; the Draconic Storm Divinity was in her element. Dot was 'in' her element as well ~ her last living mortal descendent (me) ... if you didn't count all those unborn offspring I'd been contributing to in the past few weeks.

'Are you thinking about me, Wakko?' she whispered into my mind. I was Wakko Ishara. I was supposed to be Yakko, but that hadn't worked out. As the 'main girl' in the relationship between me, the leader of her Amazon House, and Yakko Ishara ~ my first Ishara ancestor ~ she earned the slot of Dot (see Warner Bros.) Ishara. 

One of her earliest gifts to me was to make my mind inviolate to ALL supernatural penetration which was the reason she was bothering to ask about my thoughts and intentions.

'Yes,' I thought back. 'I'm worried you are expending too much energy on my behalf, Dot.'

'Opposed to leaving you alone with SzélAnya? I don't trust her around you. She'd make a little Dragon-offspring/avatar with you if I'm not careful.'

'If you aren't careful? Don't I get a say in all of this?'

'No. Trust me ... she's clingy and you are more active than a whole temple of Babylon's whores. Her mortal avatar would further bond your two legends together and your Legend is already the prop ... placed with House Ishara.' Translation: My Goddess was clingy. After all, she'd meant to say my legend was her 'property'.

"Flaps!" Zhen yelled at me. "Check your flaps. Mine keep shorting out."

"On it," I replied. I'd 'zoned out', so she'd screamed at me to get my attention back on task. Altitude ... 1200 meters ... which meant flaps at ... fuck if I knew.

"What do I set them ... Oh Shit!" I realized I'd forgotten something horribly imperiling.

"What?" Zhen shot me a furious look.

"Fuel! We've got to start dumping the fuel!" I screamed.

"Why?" 

"Fireball, Zhen. If we hit hard, this bitch will barbeque us," I spit the words. "Don't you watch any airplane crash movies?" I added.

"The Airbus 350 has plenty of ... safeguards ..."

"You mean like all the other ones that have failed us in the past half hour?"

"Opening main tanks #1 and #2," she grumbled. "If we are struck by another lightning bolt we could blow up in mid-air."

"Won't happen," I feebly jested. "The Storm Goddess loves me."

"Does she love my brother and I?"

"Nah. She wants you and everyone else on this plane dead ... but she's humoring me right now."

"Flaps," she reminded me. "Why would she care about you?"

"Having no other useful skills, I am a truly remarkable lover."

Zhen spared me a blistering look.

"You have seized this aircraft from my brother, me and forty of our best Special Operations Strike Warriors. That does NOT qualify you as 'unskilled'," she lambasted me.

"Oh no? You should see a 'real' Amazon in action," I teased her. "I'm just an intern who hasn't yet completed his 84 day trial period." I also worked the flaps.

"Too much," she snapped. "If we drop below 400 kph, these winds will slam us into the Pacific."

I was adjusting the flaps appropriately as we began our final roll to the left when a cloud-to-cloud bolt of electricity coursed through our craft. We didn't blow up.

"Thank you, SzélAnya," I whispered.

"What?" Zhen worried. Fucking up now would be the end of us all.

'Your gratitude is overdue, Cáel,' SzélAnya slipped her murmur into the crashing thunder and another lash of raw, natural fury. 'We will talk later.'

"I thought you said she loves you."

"Ummm ... did I forget to mention I told her I was going out for pizza and never called her back?"

"That makes no sense," Zhen glared at me briefly. I was gifted with a visual of our plane in perspective to the runway. Yay ... five meter waves were smashing into the atoll. I adjusted our yaw to the right.

"We are three kilometers out," I advised her.

"Flaps ... spoilers," I went over my limited Alal-knowledge. This stuff worked on a piston driven commercial liner and it was the only flight data I had.

"Landing gear," Zhen responded. She had to throttle up a little because all that drag was cutting into our speed.

'You are being blown too far to the east,' SzélAnya advised. I did the best I could.

"What are you doing?" Zhen was starting to sweat.

"Responding to divine intervention."

"I ... I see it!" Zhen's panic turned to exultation as she could finally make out the pale concrete runway surrounded by the angry sea.

Too disasters hit us simultaneously.

"The left landing gear is not fully deployed," Zhen cautioned me.

"We are coming in too fast anyway," I dryly noted. The Goddess had brought me in on target, but she knew nothing about aircraft aeronautics.

The Airbus came down too hard, too fast and our left landing gear snapped on impact. Sarrat Irkalli's parting gift was decay. Every design weak point gave in. The front fuselage broke apart, my hand on the dagger slipped and the power died. The front 25% of the plane spun off to the west while the remainder shot down the runway and off the southern end of the island.

Sadly we went off into the lagoon between the western side and the barrier reef. In a delayed bit of good fortune, our careening section went head to head against a massive storm surge. 

"Go!" I screamed at Zhen. 

She snatched up her Jian that she had used to pin the undead necromancer Tsu. I was right behind her, though I did stop to retrieve Sarrat Irkalli's dagger and pluck the two bone reliquaries from his neck before following Zhen's tight, athletic buns out of the cockpit and toward Aya. My diminutive better half was still in her seatbelt and clutching the medical bag to her chest.

[English] "Cáel, I think we are sinking," she noted with a twinge of concern and more courage than I felt like utilizing. As Zhen was rescuing her brother the enormity of my mistake sunk in. All the Seven Pillars people were unconscious thus unable to save themselves from drowning. Aya's survival came first. I'd worried about my 'would-be executioners' later.

I swept up Aya so fast it took me a second to realize she was poking me. She had retrieved the trinkets Felix had given Mu - our phone cards, my Dot-treats and my Amazon blade. I quickly strapped the blade to my arm. The water was rushing in through the severed back section.

I turned to see Zhen struggling with her brother. Her look said it all. She expected them both to die. She wouldn't abandon him to save herself and the waves were too rough to make it with him.

"Get as far as you can," I shouted to her over the typhoon strength winds. "I'll come back for you."

Her face expressed how little faith she put in my promise. Zhen had no choice left to her. I cut off two lengths of seat-belt to give Aya a harness to wrap over my shoulder and opposite underarm. I used the second piece to create her harness I linked with my own. {Back to English as the primary language}

"He'll come back for you," Aya tried to assure Zhen while I worked.

"Aya, take a deep breath then expel it," I advised. The second she did I dove into the water. I had never attempted to swim in water this nasty, but I had been dumped into a white water rapids before. That was the best I had.

Somehow in the madness, I pointed myself in the right direction. Once more, the storm came to my rescue. Two monster waves picked us up and pushed us toward the edge of the runway.

'Go to the north end of the island,' Ishara told me. There is a building there that will shelter you ... and Cáel ... I must leave now. Don't do it.'

'I can't not try,' I replied. 'Can you help Aya?' I gave one last appeal. No reply. I twisted southward to locate the next monster wave. My precious cargo pressed tightly to my upper torso, I flipped over so that my feet were facing toward the onrushing runway. I'm not as dumb as I look, or sound.

I bent my knees in the same way they instruct you when you go cliff diving. Up we went. I pulled Aya and I as deep into the water as possible ... up ... up ... crest and then down-down-down. My bare right foot hit something jagged and sharp. I'd worry about bleeding later. The momentum of that contact tried to tilt me head-first, but I resisted.

My left foot slapped down on a hard, smooth, granular surface - the sea wall. Now I swam backwards with my free arm while I raced to get my right foot back under me. My body ended up surging forward, yet I was in control of my movements once more. I rolled with the impact, taking the brunt to my left shoulder while shielding Aya with my right. Three rolls and I was on my feet again.

"Aya!" I beseeched my companion.

"That was fun," she yelled back over the hurricane force winds. "Let's try to do this next year ..." the rest was lost. I kept staggering forward in about a foot of water that the storm had flooded over the land. I looked behind me. 

The next wave was unfriendly. The one behind that one appeared to be a lot like what I imagined a Berlin Wall-sized tombstone would look like. I ran. I survived the first wave then gave Aya a cautionary squeeze. I felt her tiny lungs inflate, soak up the salt-water spray and oxygen then flush the air back out. 

A few more steps then we plunged back sideways into the monster current ~ the wave had already crashed.

"What did you say?" I shook Aya as we surfaced once more.

"...next year ... much later next year," she grinned up at me.

"Aya, do you think you can ..."

"Yes. Go find them. You gave her your word," she hugged me.

"Stay on the runway - head north - Dot says there is a building up there that is still intact. Aya ... take this," I handed her the pistol and a spare mag.

"Do you promise you won't let me die today?" she shouted over the winds. I had to think about that. Aya rammed the pistol and magazine into her medical bag's side pocket. Oaths had their own power and maybe, just maybe, Dot Ishara would help me honor this one.

"I swear to you, I will not let you die today," I yelled back.

"Then go and hurry," she hugged me as I cut her loose. "She needs you more than I do. Go!" With that, we separated. Aya slugged forward a few steps, was staggered by another wave then turned and gave me her 'thumbs up'. 

I turned to the south and the blinding winds and terrible surf. I had to try. Alal kicked in. Jumbo commercial airliners = no help. Shipwrecks = he'd survived a few. I mapped out in my mind the waves, winds and their direction relative to the plane. I could still make out its half-submerged shape.

The edge of the runway had a U-shaped seawall which created a peak that channeled the waves. I couldn't see the structure itself due to the high tide, but I could locate the wall by watching the waves break. If I could get to the outside of the eastern peak, I would have an easier time going about this rescue. Also, if Zhen wasn't brought in by the same waves that saved Aya and I, she would be driven to the northwest, parallel to the island.

I could intercept them. I'd effective killed everyone else. Maybe ... I dove in.

 'Don't!' 

'Too late, SzélAnya'. I vaulted off the semi-submerged sea wall, then let the undertow pull me along the broken coral rocks the Navy had put there when they expanded the airfield in the 1960's.

I kept my hands on the rocks, rock climbing in reverse. The waves passing overhead tried to pluck me up and return me to the land. I moved as rapidly as I could, until my muscles ached from the water's chill and oxygen starvation. My lungs were on fire. I let the next wave pull me up.

Fortune favors the foolish should be my new motto. I broke the surface just after another large wave passed by. I kept my breathing short and steady, despite my burning hunger for air. Gulping air would only earn me a mouthful of salt water. I took the reprieve in the storm's efforts to drown me.

The 'foolish' was waiting for me four meters away, slightly behind me and to the East. Zhen was being dragged past the atoll. I kept one eye on her progress and the other on the waves. A monster rolled up, I dove under and thus resurfaced less than two meters away. Zhen had Mu in a classic rescue swim position. He was still likely to suffocate in this downpour.

The look in her eyes was ... pure confliction. I cut through the last bit of ocean to be at her side. My first action was to point to the next tidal beast heading for us.

[Mandarin] "I've got him. Dive beneath the wave," I hollered. Had she resisted, all three of us would have been screwed. She didn't.

I took another deep breathe then sort of freaked her out. I clamped my mouth over Mu's and expelled my air into his lungs. My right arm snaked under his left with my hand grabbing the back of his head. I shoved his head tightly against my face, pressing his nose shut, then dove. Zhen was right behind me.

After that, we had our routine down. Zhen took Mu every fourth wave. Breathing for both him and me was tough. I'd take him back for the fifth and slowly we made ourselves to the eastern shore. I hit first, fell flat on my face but kept a hold on Mu. I temporarily lost sight of Zhen. One life at a time.

I lugged Mu up, staggered his unconscious and my exhausted forms a few feet and then was toppled by yet another wall of water. This time, when I returned to a standing position, I check Mu's breathing. He would make it. I few more steps - another wave. I kept my footing that time. Another ... Zhen came careening our way from the North. The waves had swept her passed us.

Zhen immediately looped her arm under Mu's right arm. That allowed her, me and our shared burden to slog another meter inland, then the next wave caught up with us. Zhen fell; I stumbled, but righted myself and thus kept Mu from being washed away. Zhen rolled a few feet forward, rebounded up, only to be shoved away when a gust of wind hit us.

On her next attempt, she rejoined us. From that point onward, we were far enough away from the land's end so that we were slogging through standing water and could resist the waves that impacted us.

[Mandarin] "You came back," she shouted.

There were all kinds of romantic, chivalric and very true responses to that. I chose a half-lie. [Mandarin] "I really wanted to see your tits one more time," I yelled. The looks she gave me was priceless. She was convinced I was a lunatic ~ no doubt about it. 

While she puzzled out her reaction/retort, we chanced upon a Quonset hut. In its lee, we caught a break from the worst of the wind. We also picked up a little Epona who had made the same logical choice (to get out of the wind) as we had. My heart leapt for joy. She was grinning like an impish hellion as she tried to tell me something.

I leaned down until her lips were touching my ear.

"I forgot to pack my swimsuit," she chortled. 

"It's probably sitting at home along with my surfboard," I kissed her on the forehead. "How about we get inside - somewhere?" Aya nodded.

[Mandarin] "Let's go," I roared. Zhen nodded briefly. We turned Mu around so we would be dragging him with his back to the winds. The journey to the structure SzélAnya had pointed me at (the JOC building) took over an hour and a half to cover the two kilometers. Along the way, Aya discovered her inner Peter Pan.

That was the childish fiction I was going to use to explain what she did when I regaled this episode to her Mother, assuming we made it back. In common parlance, a gust of wind that must have been ~150 kph picked her up and off she went. Hell, I'd honored my oath to Zhen. I dropped Mu and raced after my own personal good luck fairy. 

A freak micro-burst, shot Aya up so high I lost track of her in the rain. 

'Please'.

I saw my tiny human javelin plummeting to earth several meters away. Aya had refused to mitigate her fate by releasing the medical bag. I jumped, caught her and took another hard spill to the ground, Aya on top of me. She said something to me.

I made it back to my knees, clutching a standing Aya firmly to my chest.

"I said 'I've had enough fun for today," she sputtered. "Can we go inside now?"

'You now owe me a life ... I go ...'

'Thank you'. If she heard me, she didn't acknowledge it. The storm didn't relent its assault, that was for sure.

I couldn't risk losing Aya again. I had placed Zhen and Mu on solid ground so she returned to being my top priority. I slogged my way through the typhoon - cyclone - 'what have you', only to find a solid steel door between Aya and safety. I felt volcanic fury building up inside me. Then I remembered I still had a few firearms ...

The QCW spoke and the door popped opened. I raced around the first interior corner, deposited Aya, ran back to the door, reverse course, raced back to Aya, kissed her cheek then ran back out into the blinding rain and battering winds. Zhen was right where I'd left her. She had relied on me coming back, damn her.

(The JSOC Building)

Five minutes later, I had the Seven Pillars twins inside and the door wedged shut. We were all temporarily safe. Here and there small puddles of water had formed from leaks above, but otherwise the structure was solid, sound and safe. Zhen and Mu were on the opposite side of the room. After she tended to her brother, she looked my way.

I took the medical bag from a wide-eyed and happy Aya.

"We are down to two of them," she shivered. "Perhaps you should ask her to surrender now, while they still can?" I snorted then chuckled.

"Do you really think the proud scions of Duan will bow before the Amazons?" I asked her. Aya fatigued mind worked that question over.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 39



"No, you are right. I don't think they are smart enough to know when they are beat. Cáel, they called me 'Chǒulòu de cuòwù' ... or something like that," Aya kept her eyes on Zhen. "What does that mean?" It took me a second to piece that together. You can tell a great deal about people if you catch them talking about you behind your backs ... or when they think you can't understand what they are saying.

"Ugly Bug," I translated. Aya snorted.

"That was rude. We can call her 'Lúsìla ninda'," she proclaimed loud enough for Zhen to hear, "and we can call him Amar." 

I had to applaud her choice of names for our would-be killers. 

See, Lúsìla ninda roughly translated from Amazon to English as 'cupcake'. Amar was Amazon for 'calf' which was a play on his Mandarin name - 'Mu'.

"Dumu?" I indicated her. Aya's eyes sparkled. Duma was the diminutive for 'daughter'.

"Atta," she murmured back. That was 'respectful Father'; a title no Amazon girl had addressed a man with in ... well maybe, ever. The term was largely religious and only used in the terms of female divinities referring to divine paternals.

"Take the gun," I withdrew the QSW-06 from the medical bag. "I'm going to take a look at Mu."

I wasn't a surgeon, most of my medical skills were self-taught (I get hurt a great deal), I was personally acquainted with pain and I wasn't easily grossed out. Alal's past granted me beaucoup knowledge to fill in the gaps. Mu was going to be okay. 

His problems were the bullet hole, blood loss, our mutual damp condition and his complete exhaustion. Zhen knelt close by as I cut open his pants. The bullet was still in him. I was guessing the round had cracked his femur, not broken it. I cleaned out the wound with minimal disturbance to Mu's sleep. The antiseptic came next, followed by the wrapping and finally a syringe of general antibiotic.

[Mandarin] "Let's find something to dress ourselves in and then we all need to get out of these wet clothes. If we don't shed these clothes soon, we'll get a chill we don't need," I advised.

[Mandarin] "How bad is it?" she asked. She meant her brother's condition.

[Mandarin] "He'll be okay. Feel free to try and kill me when you wish. He doesn't need me anymore." That ... pretty much confirmed for her what she suspected ... I was a lunatic. 

[Mandarin] "Well - okay. Thank you. I will not kill the child; I have given you my word."

[Mandarin] "Are you talking about 'Ugly Bug'?"

[Mandarin] "Oh. I thought she didn't know our language either," she blushed then frowned. "She never revealed she understood our words."

[Mandarin] "She doesn't. Aya has a phenomenal memory. All Amazons are taught from a very young age to develop a strong eye for detail. This includes remembering words spoken around them, even if they don't know their meaning."

That silenced her. The medical kit gifted us with five glow sticks. 

The women paired up to search the first, second, third and fourth floors; I didn't trust Zhen to find something useful and report it to me. I knew women. She wouldn't kill Aya tonight and Aya would keep her honest. I went for the basement looking for some traces of whatever infrastructure systems I could find. 

At the bottom of the stairs was a sealed door with a wheel lock. It turned easily in my waterlogged hands. Sure enough, there were twin generators, fuse boxes, and telephone network boards lit by two lonely ceiling lights (battery powered).

A handy-dandy laminated 'Beginners Guide' showed me how to hand-pump fuel from the reserve tank - 6500 gallons (87% full) - into the igniter chamber and main generator. Then I had to hand-crank the igniter until it built up enough of a charge it would remain hot enough to begin the diesel combustion in the starter.

The next step required me to flip a few toggles, hit a red button, then a green one that allowed the starter engine fire up the massive generator meant to power the building. I politely filled out the Engineering Log stating the time I started the generator and the fuel level. I was to update the thing every 12 hours, or until I shut things down.

Since my kidnapping involved me because of my official capacity as a 'Person of Interest', I signed off of using my (self-designated) official Mugwump designator: UHAUL (Unpaid Honcho Assigned to Unit L). Javiera would be pleased I was keeping my head in the crisis ... you know ... by not using my real name. 

The next step was priming the fuse box. First, all the breakers needed to be in the 'Off' position - check. I cut the primary fuse on. All the subsidiary lights but one ~ laundry room ~ turned red. The one standout was either burned out, or something was wrong in that room. I put that breaker in the 'locked' position.

That done, I flicked all the other breakers into the 'neutral' position. All the lights behaved by turning yellow. Had I known at the time this base was used for test-firing nuclear missiles, I wouldn't have been so impressed by the government-made structure. One by one, I cut on forty-three of the forty-four breakers.

On the thirty-seventh I got a really startling development. 

It wasn't the lights coming on in the generator room. It was the ten walkie-talkies squawking to life. They were older than me ... say something from the early '90's. I think I'd seen them in 'Die Hard'. That was the third bit of good news this place had delivered. (The generators being functional and the breaker for the 'Communications Room' working being the first two.) A battery indicator showed them all to be at 40% power (how much battery life that meant wasn't explained), but the chargers were working, so I took four. I'd come back for their replacements later once those had recharged.

The basement offered one other blessing - a fireman's axe. I took it off the wall sconce while leaving the plastic blade and pick covers on for now. I went back upstairs. Not too surprisingly, it was just me and Mu and he was still unconscious. I put one WT in his lap, put his hand over it then trotted after my ladies.

I began cutting on the lights as I went (~ 80% of the overhead neon lights still worked). On the second floor, when I cut the hall lights on, Aya called out.

"Oh cool - blankets," she said. "Cáel - Atta, good job with the lights." Zhen poked her head out of the room I suspected the noise was coming from.

[Mandarin] "We have found a storeroom," she announced. I walked her way, smiling. With the nights I could make out her sharp nipples doing their damnedest to poke through her sports bra. She'd shed her wet shirt, pants, socks and boots. She had a bit of a camel toe, too. I leered. For a second she shot me an uncertain look, then followed my gaze.

She blushed, grimaced my way and stormed back into the room.

"Are you ogling Lúsìla ninda's goodies?" Aya giggled to me as I strode into the room.

"Dumu, do you have to ask?" I chuckled. 

Zhen had her back to me, but shot angry looks over her shoulder. I didn't mind. That allowed me to ogle her butt, which I had already appreciated earlier.

"Can you tell her something for me?" Aya looked my way. Sure enough, we found a store room with all kinds of olive drab clothing, blankets, MRE's and sunscreen.

"Sure."

"Word for word," Aya grinned. This was going to be fun.

[Mandarin] "Zhen, Aya wants me to tell you something." She looked at me grumpily while showing Aya something akin to kinship.

"Cáel - finds - you - to - be - very - womanly," Aya walked me through it. Sadly, Mandarin and English don't translate over very well word for word. The languages have nothing in common. Still, she puzzled it together.

[Mandarin] "What ... ask her what other women think of you," Zhen asked. She studied me carefully, looking for some deceptive exaggerations on my part.

I translated that while we began gathering up fresh clothes for the four of us, as well as blankets, towels and food.

"Tell her 'all women love you. Even the women who hate you, love you'," Aya proclaimed proudly. I translated; Zhen didn't believe me.

[Mandarin] "Honestly, I would prefer the ones who hate me to only hate me. This wacky 'only love me if I'm broken, bleeding and enslaved at their feet' is hard on my knees," I joked. She mulled that over. We were all quiet for a while. We allowed her to change Mu in private. 

Aya and I went to another room where she found my bashfulness when she stripped down in front of her odd. Around one another, Amazons exhibited very little body consciousness.

"Let's leave that issue with you being nine and me being raised differently," I spoke with my back still to her. "Okay?"

"Sure, because I love you, Atta," she let that last word roll off her tongue. Instead of going at the hopeless task of trying to fit Aya with regular clothing, I stuck her in a size-L GI issue olive t-shirt which hung past her knees. She decided to go with an 'M' instead. I had to agree. The 'L' made her look like a flying squirrel. 

Back with our Seven Pillars shipwreck co-survivors, we feasted on some US Military bounty. They were better than I'd read about. Being starving probably helped with that assessment. Only after I finished policing the area did Zhen take a moment to corner me away from Aya.

[Mandarin] "Why did you save us?"

[Mandarin] "Why does it matter? You and your brother are alive."

[Mandarin] "Is it because you want my body?" she gave me that look that said 'I want the truth, but I'm not going to believe you whatever you say'. Since I hit on every woman I meet, I've dealt with my fair share of the crazy ones.

[Mandarin] "Not really. I'm the type of person who doesn't want to see people die. Since I cause way too much dying, I make an extra effort to save lives when I can. You are attractive. Had you been a 135 kg hag, I would still have saved you. Your beauty is the Universe's way of giving me a break after a horrible two days," I explained.

Oh, I was lying. Had she been a 300 lbs. troll, I know I'm morally weak enough to have first saved Aya before going back for her. I'm not a nice, pleasant Politically Correct guy and I've known that for four years now. Know how to lie, gentlemen.

[Mandarin] "Oh ... thank you. I am in your debt," she bowed.

[Mandarin] "Does that mean you will have sex with me now?" I inquired hopefully.

[Mandarin] "No!" she yipped. "I am not that kind of woman." She turned around and stormed back to her brother. She shot me evil looks for several minutes.

"Do you think she will have sex with you tonight, or will you wait until the morning?" Aya yawned.

"Tomorrow," I ruffled her hair. "This one is going to need a little foreplay."

"My Mother would like a little foreplay," she snuck one up on me.

"Do you want a little brother, or sister, that badly?" I teased.

"Yes. Mom would be happy with that, Atta," she nodded sagely. Damn her. I went back upstairs, gathered up two armfuls of blankets then came back down. I created a layered bed on the floor for the four of us.

[Mandarin] "Come, join us," I offered Zhen. She was wisely cautious because she wasn't that kind of woman and I was that kind of guy. "Mu is the worst off so I'll sleep on one side and you sleep on the other. Aya will sleep on top of my body and we four will sleep under two blankets. How does that sound?"

See, I was back to being a thoughtful man trying to keep her brother alive and healthy.

[Mandarin] "Yes. That will work. I expect you to behave," she insisted. Of course I nodded to that request. I'd behave for a while, if that meant a girl would let down her guard.

The set up started that way. Once we were all under the blankets, I caught Zhen looking at me and Aya in her customary spot sleeping on my chest. If such a pose had warmed Desiree's heart, I knew Zhen was doomed. She slowly crawled on top of her brother. That was really the better spot for keeping him warm. 

She didn't recoil when I slipped my left hand into hers. That was the conclusion of my eroding of her morality for tonight. It was already lights out for Aya and I soon followed her into slumber. She didn't let go of my hand because she wanted me to be the hero, the man of Iron Virtue, so fate would pardon her for the affection sent my way ~ to her enemy.

She wasn't that kind of woman. They never were at the start. They always changed ... unless I left the room in a hurry, drove off and never contacted them again. Otherwise, they would become that kind of woman soon enough. Ugh. I have a horrible life, I know.

(The Morning under the Burning Sun)

{11 am, Wednesday, August 17th ~ 22 Days to go (Havenstone time +5h)}

[Once more, the conversation is in Mandarin]

Zhen's eyes were will-o-wisps of pleasure. She was poised, in an Olympic fencer's stance, her right hand Jian pointing at me, running a straight line from tip, down the blade to her hand, forearm, upper arm, shoulder and to her neck. Her left hand Jian kept at the small of her back, pointing ramrod-straight toward the sparsely clouded sky. 

I was wielding two Fireman's axes. We'd found the other on the first floor at a fire-fighting station (along with a spigot and 15 meters of hose). It turned out each floor had the same setup. The Communications Room was on the third floor and that room's functionality was one of the reasons Zhen was so wound up ~ more on that later.

She let me become comfortable with the awkwardness of the two tools. Fireman's axes are heavier than the Iron Age axes I'd used at Havenstone, or with Kimberly at college, and longer and less balanced than my tomahawks. A bit of Alal-introspection followed by a few practice swings and I was ready to go.

"Are you sure you will be okay with those ... things?" Zhen mused.

"Let's find out," I laughed. Sure, she could use this practice bout/attempt to bleed off some tension as an excuse to make me dead. I was counting on one serious factor to keep me alive.

Zhen was exulting in her survival. She and Aya had spent the morning combing the atoll for debris. They'd found six of her fellow Han, dead, washed up on the shore along with several pieces of luggage which equated to real clothing for her and Mu. Mu was awake and sulky. He'd missed his chance to be martyred for his cause. I'd spent the morning calling for help ~ more on that later.

At the moment, she was looking to 'school' me with her blade artistry. Sure, she had specialized weapons and over a decade of training while I had tools and an acquaintance with the necessary fighting style, but this wasn't about winning. I'd been impressing on Zhen my worth as a human being for nearly three days now.

I hadn't cracked when they tortured Aya, I had managed to ensure the death of two of her commandoes before we even got onto the plane in New York. Sure, I'd been constrained and unconscious as we'd winged our way to Tampa Bay then Mexico City. I'd made up for it by killing everyone else on the plane, except her and her brother and that was only because I'd promised to save them (in her mind).

I had delivered in some truly apocalyptic condition, risking my life and the life of my boon-companion to make sure they were currently drawing breathe right now. Initially she had assumed I was completely unhinged. As the night had worn on, I'd given her a glimpse into an alternative motivation ~ her sexiness.

She didn't want to play the helpless gentlewoman versus my ravenous barbarian. I certainly wasn't behaving like the barbarian. There was no Code of Chivalry for me to violate. I had picked up the pieces of my shaken, chaotic life and forged ahead. That I held Aya in great affection was obvious to her now.

I had not spared her the pain of torture because that was a false lure ~ Aya's safety ~ but I'd never deviated from thinking about my minute companion. I was a man of compassion and an enemy who kept to his word, both baneful and gracious. Zhen lunged forward quickly.

The angle of her blade made it difficult for me to predict her reach and true location. I had an answer for that. I let my left hand slide up to the base of the ax-head of that axe and used the metal to parry her blows - gauntlet like. I went halfway up the right axe, sacrificing cutting power for speed.

I knocked her first attack aside, swung with the axe, missed then went on the defensive. I wasn't humiliated. I was using 'tools' after all, while she had a weapon perfected over 2300 years. To complicate things, I had assumed she was going to fight with the blades in tandem.

That wasn't her thing. She kept up the attack and defense with one hand until her arm got tired then switched to her 'off' hand, quickly showing me she was truly ambidextrous. Between her training, natural talent and superior weaponry, she drew first blood. The salty light ocean spray over the island made her cut across my left forearm sting more than it normally would.

She took a step back instinctively instead of pressing her advantage. That move shocked her and pleased me. I was her sparring partner, not her enemy, for that one critical instant.

"Ow-ee!" I teased her. "Don't worry, you'll get plenty of more chances to split my heart."

"Do you really believe I will try to kill you now that I owe you my brother's life and my own?" 

"Of course," I smiled. "You are a professional and the pride of your brother and father. You are biding your time for the proper moment."

No she wasn't. I'd been given her the 'shy eye' all morning long. You know, those puppy dog eyes that convey affection that must remain unspoken. Zhen ate it up. See, I was respecting her. I obviously held her up on an unobtainable pedestal because I thought she was the best thing since chopsticks.

Believe me, girls WANT to think this way. That makes the moment when they finally get all wet between the legs all the more special. If I wasn't buttering her up as well as sexing her up, she'd feel like a total slut when she let me fuck her. This way, she could tell herself that she was something special in my heart.

Don't get me wrong; EVERY girl I've had sex with was and is special. Perhaps my definition of special and theirs is different and if I was a diction-Nazi, I might bother trying to correct the feminine gender about this misconception. Since I'm a horn-dog, I'm happy with the way things work out ... until they finally can't ignore the truth any longer.

Then they hate me when the have sex with me. I'm okay with that. Angry sex has its own unique quality to it.

"Do you need a moment to bind your wound?" she allowed.

"No. The pain will be yet another reminder of how deadly you are and I need all the help I can get," I sighed.

"You didn't believe I was this good?"

Of course I believed she was 'this good'. That wasn't the point.

"Oh please," I rolled my eyes. "You are cheating."

"I am not cheating," her eyes narrowed.

"No?" I tilted my head to the side slightly. "Then stop looking so damn sexy. It is killing my concentration. At least put a shirt on. My mind keeps wandering back to our moment on the plane." That moment when I blackmailed her into showing me her breasts.

At first, the moment shamed and incensed her. Then the compliment sunk in. Her 'sexy' was a weapon she was using against me. She was in black boy-shorts and a black sports bra. That's cheating in my book. We were both barefoot which made the warmth of the runway interesting - we had to keep moving from foot to foot. I was in a set of grey with white trim boy-shorts (7 Pillars Commando issue). 

"I could say the same thing about you," she countered. I do look rather fetching in nothing but underwear. I've had way too many women tell me so to think they were doing to me (the buttering-up part) what I was doing to them.

"That's not fair," I groused. "This is all I could find that fits me." 

That was almost the truth. This was all I felt comfortable with and I wanted to work on my tan anyway.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 39



"Is that so?" she purred. "Then we are even. I find your apparel distracting as well." Gotchya. She lunged forward and we were clashing steel once more.

I changed up my tactics. I could over-extend myself because I was fighting with two weapons at once. My grip on the right ax lengthened and began targeting her Jian. Even when she could slip the blade around the ax-head and hit my handle, the material was very resilient and could withstand a hundred such deflections.

That caused her to switch up her Jian faster as my far stronger blows were hammering her muscles. Around the third, exhausting minute, I got a swing past her, drawing a line of blood from her shoulder/upper arm section to her sternum. He bra strap on the left side was severed.

Before she could do more than recover from the shock and pain, I'd hopped back three quick steps, knelt and put my axes on the ground. She looked confused by my vulnerability.

"This is what I do when training with the Amazons," I explained.

"Since I am the only male in a sea of women, I have to be extra cautions to not offend the spectators when I wound one of the warriors I'm dueling with." See, I was showing her my ultimate honor by comparing her favorably to my 'senior' partners. 

That these exemplars were women and I had the utmost respect for female warriors wasn't lost on her either. She was measuring up to some really dangerous people. She'd spent much of her life trying to be that dangerous in a society that regulated her best to second place, or 'luck'.

No male student in her school would have done as I did unless he was foolishly besotted with her. All good, moral, upstanding manly Seven Pillar slayers-in-training were schooled to be merciless and to consider all women as weaker than men solely because they had boobs and a nice ass.

"It hurts," she complained. "I need to treat it."

"Let me," I stood and walked her way. I left the axes behind. This was another chance to do me in. She had her left blade between us in a flash. Its blade's point rested between the ribs sheltering my heart. Gently, I pushed the blade aside.

The mental moment to slaughter me had passed. I she barely protested when I slipped an arm around her hips and steered her toward the medical kit sitting close to one of the few palms and under some fallen palm thatch along with my QCW-05 submachine gun. 

I used the end of a palm frond for her to bite down on as I used some antiseptic on the wound. It was all play-drama. She'd undoubtedly suffered through worse pain in silence. Those Seven Pillar bastards were a tough lot. I gave her the prop so she could be womanly for me. Why? She wanted me to see her as a sexy, desirable woman, that's why.

I'd respected her as an enemy, as a sister and now as a warrior ~ an equal. She was ready for the 'sexy' part of the Cáel's magical mystery tour. She grimaced as proof she was 'girlie' and my brow furrowed because I didn't want to cause her pain ... which was true, just not 'furrow' worthy. The next part of my plan had to wait until I'd applied the bandage.

"That should take care of it," I mumbled my assessment.

"Oh," she murmured. "It feels better." I was crowding her personal space. Then I kissed her. "No!" she protested. She wasn't that kind of girl. I looked suitably ashamed though no apology was in the offing. I got up and stormed back to my axes.

Her hands migrated to her swords as I picked them up. I pretended not to notice. Instead, I made a bee-line for the JOC Building.

"Wait," she called out. She was back on her feet. I did stop but didn't turn around. All part of the game plan. She walked over until she was right behind me. "Why did you kiss me?"

At this point she wanted to believe. I turned on her, very angry.

"I've wanted to kiss you since the first time I saw you. It was a mistake for me to get this close to you. In a few hours - most likely - one of us is going to have to kill the other. Wanting you is pointless!" I growled. Bingo. Her 'happy indicators' poked up against her sweat-dampened bra.

"I ... I," she stammered so I kissed her again. This time, she stared at me, a study in indecision. So I dropped my axes and kissed her again. My left hand pressed against the back of her head while my right came to rest on the small of her back. Before she could drop her Jain ...

"Don't," I broke off the kiss. "They are valuable to you. Sheath them." Back to the kissing. I wasn't going to relent in my passions now. Zhen had to fumble through putting her two swords safely away while my tongue explored her tongue, her teeth and tickled her cheeks from the inside. She had zero experience with French kissing.

Zhen's hands moved decisively to my hips, pulling my groin tightly to her stomach. She moaned in response to my obvious need. My right hand stroked her lower back going.

"I will kill you if I must," she uttered passionately between deep breathing exercises. Normally, that would be a turn off ... but I worked with Amazons so it was no big deal.

"I believe you will," I responded ardently. She pulled back her head long enough to look deep into my eyes and read my soul. I was hedging my bets. I knew she'd try to kill me. I also knew I'd shoot her if she did try. My soul wasn't really lying when it confirmed her desire to be treated like a mature, trained threat to my every breath. 

"I'll try to make it quick," she blurted out before diving back into my lips. She was taking a few quick tongue tactical lessons from my lips to hers. I was coaxing her along the amorous art of the kiss; I was making this fun for her. A minute later, I took my turn to be stupidly romantic.

"I'll try to make this last as long as possible then," I whispered libidinously. It took her ten second of tonsil hockey to recall what I meant. She mumbled something that turned into one long moan.

"I'll make this good for you too," she worked out between some wicked smooching. I was going to hold her to that - that last part.

By complete accident, I had put out some spare blankets when I'd brought a few out to wrap up the dead (who were all safely inside the JOC out of the Sun's heat). I must have forgotten about them ... otherwise this entire episode would have lacked the feel of spontaneous lechery. Zhen had seen me bring the blankets earlier and hastened us over to them.

The three of us (Zhen, Aya and I) had put tarp out to capture the morning moisture (even though the water stores in the building were more than adequate). We had plenty of room to walk hunched over beneath it. A few casually placed palm leaves, covered with some blankets she hurriedly threw down and she was reclining with this urgent desire to pull me to her.

"You have been with many women," she jolted me with her finally braking maneuver. 

"Yes, even a Goddess. I told you that," I bludgeoned her with the truth. She wasn't inquiring into my Man-slut background. Nah, she was seeing how high the bar was for her to be the best fuck I'd ever had.

I'd stumped her. I tossed out some divine sex (which I'd never actually had) to put her off her game and shake up her desire to control our intercourse. I wanted to give her a sense of vulnerability along with a sense this was a competition she could win.

"A Dao, a rapier and a kopis are all swords, Zhen," I reasoned with her. "They are all wonderful blades and there is an art in each one."

"Women are remarkably similar to deadly weapons," I gave her a salacious smile. Zhen's sexy leer returned and she pulled me down to her own version of argot wrestling. While she was preoccupied with that contest, I rolled us onto our sides. She was unsure what to make of that until I slipped a hand down the back of her underwear, working the material down past both cheeks in five seconds flat.

Zhen countered my ploy by attempting the same feat with my underwear and miraculously succeeded on her second attempt.

"Bra," I moaned. She moved her hands around to roll up her top and I took the pause to completely shed my only garment. Zhen, not to be outdone, rapidly removed her sports bra and boy shorts.

Had she any final reservations about the fierce fornication I was about to impart, I buried that in one swift penetration. I only had to push my cock head past her labia to cross that final, ethical frontier. Once she felt my penis at the precipice of her vagina she could accept it was too late to stop things now. I slowed down and she guided me further in.

Her virginity wasn't a matter of debate. She'd shed it years ago as part of her training I suspected. She could be expected to use sex as a tool in her line of work. Zhen was still very tight. She'd had little recent intercourse, doubtfully played with sex toys and had narrow hips, which all combined to make her vaginal passage a snug exploration.

I gave enough vigor to keep her constantly aware of my ardor for her, yet let her control the rate of my progress sinking in for that first penetration. When our pelvic bones touched, she bit her lip over the surprise of the situation. I could throb my dick and I had my 'big fella' vibrating like a pro the moment I felt the entrance to her womb.

I didn't want to press any farther. The sensations I was giving her were totally new and making her emit very lewd groans and moans. Now she was embracing being that kind of girl with a passion and I was stoking the magma chambers to bring forth her volcanic eruption.

Zhen didn't have a hair trigger. She was making me work for it and I didn't mind in the slightest. Had I not been denied sex for THREE WHOLE DAYS, she might have fared better. I was insistent and had no trouble coming first. My semen splashed over her vagina and pumping my seed into her uterus was a totally new sensation for her.

Any worry that I was a quick shooter evaporated with my continuing strenuous efforts to drive her hinny through the blanket until her ass held a permanent marking from the palms beneath it. To further entangle her into my erotic web, I flipped us over so that she was riding me cowgirl. I had one hand on her mid-back and the other began to playfully smack her ass.

Those were light taps ~ more for shock value than any kind of super-kicking pain-play. She liked it. With the hand on her back, I leveraged our bodies so that we met at the thirty degree plane for some serious breast appreciation. I stayed away from the teeth; we could do that later. All my action was in my muscular tongue flicking the nipple at varying speeds while my lips adhesion pulled blood to the surface and verified she wasn't lactating. 

To kiss me, she had to rock back on my rod, driving me in deep. When she didn't, I pile-drove up into her wet box with continuous escalation to her vulva's stimulation. In a way, all women are the same. In far many more ways they are different. The look I received from Zhen as she rode out her climax, holding my jaw in her two hands as I gave her the greatest orgasm of her life ...

I had seen it before and yet it was also totally new for me. Me and my moment of Zhen.

[Mandarin] "You are ..." she panted, "... like no man ... I have ever met before."

[Mandarin] "If you are asking me to surrender, I'm seriously considering it," I gently teased her. She was still in the dominant position.

{Topaz}

"Hrrmmm," Mu muttered from the doorway. I had left it to let the breezes remove the stale smell of our living area. Had I closed the door, he couldn't have snuck up on us and ruined our moment. He hated me and was horrifically conflicted by what he saw his sister doing. Zhen started to scramble for her clothes.

[Mandarin] "Mu, I seduced your sister. It is what I do," I stated in the form of an apology for me and an excuse for his sister. Zhen got her shorts on then stopped.

[Mandarin] "No," she asserted. "No," she repeated, louder now. "I had the chance to kill him and didn't. Brother, I don't want to kill him anymore. Is there even a point to it?"

[Mandarin] "He is still our deadly enemy and close confidante of our chief nemesis. He must die eventually," he stated calmly. His resolve weakened slightly. "There is no need for him to do so right now. What has happened, has happened. I came out to remind you that our contact will be in touch soon."

Zhen put on her bra while I worked on my shorts. I winched when I picked up my SMG and axes, exhibiting my wound. After we stepped out from under the tarp, Zhen rebounded and kissed me on the lips quickly. She skipped off into the dim light within. As I started to follow her, Mu put his hand on my chest.

"I have no doubt you have seduced my sister and I will take extra enjoyment when you die at my hand, or at the hand of someone I direct," he glowered. "If you speak of this," he coughed, "she will ..."

"I deserve death many times over and this is just another insult to human compassion that I'll have to live with," I replied. What did I mean by that? I'd let him figure it out. I had a call to make.

That contact? It had started early this morning. I had climbed up on the roof in time for 'Alal' to tell me he didn't know jack about ultra-modern telecommunications but did know something about telemetry hook-ups. (Like me, he didn't need to sleep much so he read stuff like technical manuals.) I had already found somebody out there who seemed cautiously helpful.

Zhen was already bounding up the stairs when I got inside so I had to race to catch up. She was a nibble lithe minx. I didn't get to grapple her before she stopped abruptly just inside the Communications room. Aya was crouched down behind the far side of the chair closest to the critical gear. Her QSW was leveled at Zhen until she saw me.

"Please tell Zhen it isn't anything personal. I don't trust anyone who tries to kill us," Aya said as she stood. Of course, she had heard feet running up and done the Amazon thing; taken shelter and prepared to kill anything coming through the door that wasn't me. She must have discerned my footfalls behind Zhen's.

I tapped Zhen's arm. She looked to me, smiling despite the danger. Aya was a reminder that I ran with a rough and ready female crowd. Being in their metaphysical company was an honor for her. 

"Mu," I motioned back down the stairs. A peg-leg Mu would take five minutes of painful progress to climb all the stairs even with the palm frond cane I'd created for him. Off she scampered.

"You know who else would like to be fucked that silly?" Aya bantered playfully.

"Desiree?"

"Yep."

"Daphne?"

"Yep."

"Your Mother?"

"Got it in three!" she teased. "I'll let Mother know she's advancing in the lineup."

"Please don't do that," I begged as I walked over to the console. I place the QCW on the table and my axes next to Aya. I worked the nobs and switches but held off from making contact until the rest of our quartet was there.

[Mandarin] "See," Zhen told her brother, I said he would wait for us before making contact. He said if we ran into a Chinese, or neutral party, he would tell them to come get us. He is a man of Honor."

Mu wasn't buying that for a second. Still, I hadn't really lied to him yet. I was about to.

"Are you a man of honor," he studied Aya, not me, as he spoke.

I extended my left arm to Aya so we could clasp, forearm to forearm.

"Maybe not by your strict terms, Mu, but I will give my Word of Honor to Aya, who you know I love and respect, to not do you any further harm," I suggested. 

She studied me and my gesture. It took her a few seconds to work out my intentions. I was setting the groundwork of disinformation between the Seven Pillars and the Amazons. See, Amazons don't have a 'word of honor'. That runs contrary to belief that race / house / team come first and foremost. 

To Amazons, a person putting their personal beliefs ahead of that of the Host was acting in a treasonous fashion. An Amazon will give her 'word of honor' to an outsider if asked and she thinks she can get an advantage by doing so. I was letting Mu think that was really the case. Aya sold it well with her solemnity.

Don't get me wrong, that doesn't mean they don't value the concepts of truth and honor. They weren't particularly prone to dishonorable behavior. But only that whatever factors do restrain them does not include some sense of personal obligation to a non-Amazon. 

The only people whose opinions matter are their sisters, and no Amazon would ask another Amazon to put their personal welfare over that of their group. That was the sin of Sakuniyas's sister. She held such personal love for Saku that she allowed her sister to kill her, even though she knew it to be the wrong thing to do for her House and the Host. That was something else I had to look into, damn it.

I sat down and went to work. That consisted of calling for help over the airwaves.

"Topaz? Topaz? This is UHAUL. It is 12:00 my time."

"Hello Cáel Nyilas, I have made calls in a manner similar to the ones you requested and I am happy to inform you help is on the way," the sultry female voice responded.

My call sign had been UHAUL to maintain a veil of anonymity, but she had pierced my pale deceptions. I had asked her to call Katrina at Havenstone and Javiera at work because being a poor shipwrecked sailor wasn't reason enough to explain my access to the encrypted satellite system I accessed with my phone card. 

I didn't know how I was on such a system, so I couldn't explain it to the tech person on the other end. Wisely, she'd asked me for some people who might validate the legitimacy of my urgent desire for rescue. She was suspicious by nature and my being called ... well, I told her that U-Haul had stolen my name and I was currently in the court systems trying to get it back.

Stunningly to everyone but Aya (who believed that I could do anything, given enough sex appeal), Topaz agreed to help us. Twenty-three frequencies later, none of us could raise anyone else, so we were all forced to wait on Topaz to get back to us via satellite. Fearing the interim, I had asked if she could hook me up with some Direct TV. She informed me she wasn't that kind of system'. They never are. 

"So, when can we expect salvation?" I tried to act cool.

"Ask her who she is with," Mu hissed at me.

"You can expect the plane to arrive between 5:40 and 6:00 pm, your time," she answered, "and I'm with the CIA."

"Woot!" I exulted in not being bound for China. That fact that she blissfully handed over her secret identity began to feel somehow odd to me.

"Tell her I demand recognition of my diplomatic status. She must ..." Mu ground out.

"I'm not that kind of system," Topaz countered. All of us clued into the fact that she was answering questions she shouldn't have been able to hear.

"Good system," I remarked.

"Thank you. I have been informed that you will deal in a forthright and confidential manner, Cáel. They also said you were most comfortable working on a first name basis."

"What kind of system is she working for then? She has admitted to being a member of your federal government and I have announced my diplomatic status," Mu growled.

"I am the kind of system that has orders from Unit Xerxes to place a sanction against you and Ms. Duan to be fulfilled by Cáel if necessary, Mr. Duan."

"Whoa now. No one is whacking anyone else for the foreseeable future, Topaz and exactly who has been lying to you about my character?" I asked.

"Both your bosses. I explained the delicacy of your and my situation and they told me it was a constant occurrence with you ... you and women you couldn't talk about," Topaz enlightened me.

"And they still told you to trust me?" I wondered out loud.

"Aya," Topaz explained in one word.

"I take it you know who that is," I nodded (though I didn't think she could appreciate the physical gesture.

"Of course. Aya Ruger was kidnapped with you on Monday ~ roughly 9:13 am in New York City, New York. It was front page news around the globe."




Life as a New Hire Ch. 39



"Oh boy," I looked at Aya. Amazons were supposed to avoid notoriety. There was a lengthy pause. Mu quietly relayed the news to Zhen which distressed her.

"So, what was it like making love under the tarp?" Topaz inquired.

"Wait a second," I prevaricated. "How did you know about that?"

"I am that kind of system, Cáel," she affirmed. Mu translated which only caused Zhen greater distress.

"There were blankets under there," I evaded.

"That shows preplanning on your part. Most wise," she pointed out.

"It was totally by accident, I sw ..." I got out.

"My system has a voice stress analyzer," she cut me off. Mother fucker! My feminine worst nightmare. Don't get me started on Antonio Banderas and clowns.

"Do you have to use it on me?" I avoided sounding sarcastic. There was another long pause.

"I've never thought about not using it," she confessed. Bingo.

"Are you a computer?" I asked in all seriousness. Another pause.

"The Turing Test? I understand you have taken it numerous times," she noted.

"You don't work for the CIA, do you?" I guessed.

Pause.

"Yes, though my work for the Agency is somewhat of a sideline to my dedicated purpose," she tossed me a bone. Then, "Deirdre says hello."

I was leaning toward the Illuminati anyway. Yes, I had been saved by my crazy Aunts. 

"What kind of people are coming to get me - us?" I questioned nervously.

"Military people."

"What kind of military people?"

"I think it is best for me to leave you guessing," she taunted me.

That was okay. I had been saved by a wacky spy satellite with delusions of Artificial Intelligence secretly operated by the CIA who secretly-secretly really worked for the Illuminati. 

With layers upon layers of byzantine program, Topaz might really have been approaching sentiency. I desperately wanted to go back to being a delivery boy. My sanity required it.

"It was damp, warmed by compassion and stoked by passion," I related of my sexual session with Zhen. 

"It was unique in the look in her eyes when they sparkled, the curve of her breast from beneath and the way sweat trickled in multiple rivulets down her throat. She has these two secret places - one was new to her, I could tell," I continued. "Her heart beats strong and her breathing is even in the manner of a true athlete."

"In one way she was every bit a woman. In another, she was exactly the kind of woman I wanted her to be and that's a tough thing to do, believe me," I finished up.

"You are a poet," she responded. "You should go home." By home I believed she meant 'Ireland'. I had this deep down sensation. 

"Nope. No way ~ no how," I cut that discussion off. "I prefer to live as a free castaway on a Sun-blasted reef than a parakeet in a gilded cage."

"Meet Deidre half way then?" she countered.

"That I can do. When the flying monkeys let me go, have her give me a call," I agreed. Eh, I was going to end up banging an Aunt or two eventually. As long as I was sure they weren't my real mother, I would cope somehow.

"I will monitor your situation for the next two hours and be back by the time your rescue is achieved. Until then, Cáel Nyilas," she exited our conversation. That was okay, the Marines were on the way. It had to be the Marines. I didn't think nature made kick-ass seahorses big enough for the cavalry to come riding in on.

(The Marines have landed)

The first contact with our salvation force was by cell phone. We used Aya's phone card in Zhen's phone and sure enough, a nice marine made a call when they were twenty minutes out. The Sun hadn't set the eastern sea on fire yet. Everything in this artificial sea-skillet was beautiful. 

It was rendered that way because we were leaving this abandoned atoll very soon. Fondness works that way. Their plane had the luxury of trained pilots and clear weather, so they were able to make a full circuit of the airfield before landing. Their landing was flawless and they even taxied the US Navy C-37B over to the JOC building ~ show offs.

A Naval Lieutenant named Toffler had assured me everything was okay with his craft, he had two naval corpsmen onboard, as well as some 'special guests'.

"Thank you for being less than perfectly helpful," I snorted. He laughed at me. 

"Is your companion in the black sports bra seeing anybody?"

"Her vision is 20/20, so you are out of luck, smart-ass," I laughed back.

"I'll make sure to take off my wedding ring," he bantered while rolling to a stop.

"That's too bad," I faux-sympathized. "She has a thing for married men."

"Why are we rescuing you again, Joker?"

"You are here to save the girl. I'm the Guy Friday," I explained.

"Tell her 'the Marines have landed,' but squids are where the real action is at," he informed me. 

The ramp was coming down. I went from a kneeling position to a crouched jaunt to meet our guests. Two men came out of the sandstorm swept up by twin engines going to idle. I could tell they had two separate types of helmets. One was the classic 'Fritz' design. The other ... 

"Menner? Menner!" I exulted. Here was my Romanian companion who had allowed me to feed Ajax to an angry goddess and save hundreds of lives in the process. With him were five Marines from Lima Co. 3rd Battalion (Trinity), 3rd Marine Regiment ~ "Fortuna Fortes Juvat" (Fortune Favors the Brave) - thank you, Grandpa.

Menner was leading four men from the Vânători de munte as eight troopers set up a semi-circular perimeter around us, kneeling with their weapons pointed down. They weren't expecting a hostile encounter, but they were ready for any fight whatever came there way.

[Romanian] "My brother ~ my Prince," Menner chuckled over the low roar of the plane's engines. His eyes wandered over to the bound bodies of the Seven Pillar killers. "I see you've had your battle without waiting on the rest of us this time. Are you okay?" he added. Then he squinted, "I see you had your usual extraordinary companions, I recognize the eyes."

I looked over to Aya, who was on one knee five meters away, cradling her QSW-06 in the same manner I had been holding my QCW submachine gun moments earlier. Her face was serious and her eyes carefully tracked all the new arrivals for a hostile motion. The medical pack was strapped on her back. You never knew when you might need more medical supplies.

[Romanian] "I am bringing all my troopers home this time," I turned back to Menner. "She needs tending to. Our kidnappers tortured her by cutting off two digits of her right middle finger. She toughed it out - gave them nothing. She is my daughter in all the ways that matter, my friend."

[Romanian] "Then she will be a princess amongst our people," he grinned grimly. "She already embraces the responsibility."

"Gang," I shouted as I motioned the three forward. "Time to go home." Aya started trotting our way. The closest Marine had been waiting for me to finish my bonding moment with Menner before speaking. He walked and talked like an officer.

"You are certainly Mr. Cáel Nyilas," he nodded. "I'm Lt. Robeson, United States Marine Corps. I would like to take you and your party home. What is the situation?" 

"Lieutenant, this young lady is Aya Ruger. She was kidnapped along-side me and managed to kill over twenty of our enemies, so be careful around her." I was deadly serious about what I said. Aya should get proper credit for all the people she sedated then drowned. Dead was dead, even if it was accidental.

"These two," I pointed to Zhen and Mu, "are Lúsìla ninda and Amar, Taiwanese nationals suffering some shock from the abrupt crash landing of the aircraft. They don't seem to know why they were kidnapped, but they were instrumental in aiding Aya and me making it to shore during the typhoon."

"If you say so, Sir," he nodded. He did believe me, yet a soldier was taught to be skeptical of anything a civilian told him about a military situation. "The bodies?"

"Those are the corpses we found after the storm. I decided we should attempt to place them in your custody so you can figure out who they are," I suggested.

"Sir, I don't think we can let civilians keep their weapons aboard the flight," the Marine Lt. stated since I had both a pistol and submachine gun, Aya had her pistol and Zhen had her and Mu's blades. A Marine NCO sent a party to gather the dead.

"Marine, I am Cáel Nyilas, Irish diplomat, freebooter and Champion of the worst possible causes," I began my spiel.

"You probably have some orders concerning bringing me in alive. I am not so constrained and am more than willing to steal this aircraft and fly back to Hawaii without you. My team keeps their weapons - or you give me your best shot ... right now," I met his gaze. He mulled over his options. Two Romanians and two Marines were starting to load the ad hoc body bags aboard the C-37B.

"Normally I don't take that kind of crap from a civilian and I don't want you to think I'm making an exception because of your Security Clearance. I'll let your people keep your weapons, but if something goes wrong, I'm shooting you first," he assured me.

"Done deal," I offered my hand and he shook it.

"Oh and Happy Tibetan Independence Day," he congratulated me.

"What?" I gasped.



Life as a New Hire Ch. 40



Editing magic performed by KJ24 and Shyqash, plus contributions by the regular gang of brigands and neer-do-wells

Loving your enemy is easy ... you know precisely where both of you stand

In case anyone cares: I do not hate China or the Chinese People. As a Global Power, the PRC is fair game to be a great antagonist in a fiction story. Not only do they have, as of 2015, the largest economy, the largest population and a truly global diaspora, they also have a rather totalitarian system of governance that allows them to devote scary levels of resources to any endeavor they set their minds to.

I do tend to paint all governments as entities capable of great good (rarely achieved) and great evil (because it makes enticing fiction); in my fiction, it often falls to the people within those institutions to make judgment calls on what is the right thing to do. In my final analysis, there are no 'Evil' governments, just evil people who use the system to get what they want. In all contexts, "I was just following orders" is a hollow excuse.

Okay ... I don't know how, but I screwed up the days associated with the dates. The dates have been correct. I have no clue how I screwed up something as simple as reading a calendar, but I did. So Monday, September 8th, remains the end of the Internship period.

*****

(Right where we left off)

*Rescue and patchwork relationships* 

{6 pm, Sunday, August 17th ~ 22 Days to go}

{11 pm Sunday, Aug. 17th [Havenstone Time]}

{And just this once - 11am Monday, Aug. 18th Beijing Time}

"Oh and Happy Tibetan Independence Day; ... nice work.," the Marine congratulated me.

"What?"

"How is THAT possible?" muttered Mu.

"Yippee!! No more burning monks," Aya fist-pumped. Personally, I think she did that for the enjoyment of our guardians and to piss off Zhen and Mu just a tiny bit more.

[Mandarin] "Brother," Zhen studied her brother's pained expression. "What has gone wrong?"

[Mandarin] "The province of Tibet apparently has broken away," he groused. In English, to the Marine Lieutenant he repeated, "How is this possible?"

"I take it you didn't know Peace Talks had broken out?" he grinned. I doubted the Lt. bought my 'these are my two Taiwanese cobelligerents' story, but belief was above his pay grade, so he didn't give a shit.

"Yes," Mu mumbled, "we knew of the proposed cease-fire."

"Yes ... you mean both sides actually honored it?" I added. I really HAD been out things for a while.

"Nearly two days ago - noon, Peking Time, the People's Republic of China and the Khanate put a six month cease-fire into effect which has remained intact for forty-one ...," he looked at his watch, "forty-one and a half hours." He was being a dick to the petulant Mu. No one called Beijing 'Peking' anymore. I had even ordered Beijing Duck on several menus. Peking was the height of Western Imperialist thinking ... or so it looked to Mu.

[Mandarin] "He is yanking your chain, Mu," I explained. "You are looking pissed off at being rescued, which isn't doing my alibi for you much good."

"My apology," Mu nodded to the lieutenant. "Is there any news from the Republic of China? Are they free as well?" That was nice of Mu to call Taiwan by its pet name, the ROC.

"Not yet," he patted Mu's unwounded leg, "but with the utter shellacking the Khanate put on the People's Navy (really the People's Liberation Army Navy, but the Marine was getting his shots in) it is only a matter of time."

I had been translating in a low voice to the Vânători de munte in order for them to keep up with the conversation. They all started laughing. The Marines joined in. There was a huge joke here that we had missed out on while stranded.

[Romanian] "So, ask them if they know where their aircraft carrier is," Menner chuckled. Most Romanians had grown up knowing of only one China.

Me: [Romanian] "What!"

A Naval Corpsman who didn't know Romanian, but knew 'aircraft carrier' just fine jumped in: "Oh yeah, the missing Chinese Aircraft carrier," she chortled.

Mu: "What!"

I'd only been gone two and a half days. What the hell had been going on?

(What had transpired in my absence and the subsequent consequences)

[Notes:

PRC = People's Republic of China; PLA = People's Liberation Army; 

PLAN = People's Liberation Army Navy; 

PLAAF = People's Liberation Army Air Force; 

ROC = the Republic of China {aka Taiwan, aka Chinese Taipei, aka the "other China"};

The First Unification War {aka what the Khanate did to China in 2014};

Truce lasts from August 16th 2014 until February 15th, 2015 = 183 days]

There are several classic blunders grownups should know to avoid: never fight a land war in Asia, never go in against a Sicilian when death is on the line, and ... if you are going to cross a master thief, first make sure you have nothing of value. For the land war in Asia ~ check with my partner, the Khanate. Substituting Black Hand for Sicilian ~ check with Ajax ... use an Ouija board. So far, destiny was batting .500.

The last blunder I created entirely on my own, but I felt it was the true and right response for the circumstances. So witness the Six Families of the Ninja and the greatest theft in all of recorded history. 

In the closing hours of the First Unification War, as in many wars, some serious theft was going on; mainly it was the People's Republic getting fleeced.

The most obvious and immediate blows came in the Spratlys and Parcel Islands where Khanate forces (actually, elements from all the JIKIT players) seized the key island in the Parcel chain - Woody Island - and secured the PLAN base the Chinese had created there, including the 2,700 meter runway built there in the 1990's. The 1,443 Chinese civilians and 600 military inhabitants in the area were incidental complications and the survivors were about to be 'repatriated' to the mainland anyway; the Khanate didn't want them hanging around as they prepared for the inevitable end of the six-month truce.

Yes, the Khanate had stolen the most important island airfield ~ an unsinkable carrier really ~ in the South China Sea. It was also the northern end of the potential People's Republic of China's stranglehold on the east-west sea lanes between East Asia and the rest of the World, i.e., roughly 25% of all global trade. 

The southern end? That would be the Spratlys. There are few 'real' islands in that 'island group' and only two worth having: the artificial one the PLAN was building and the one the ROC has a 1200 meter airfield on. That artificial island and every other PRC/PLAN outpost in the region was also stolen by the Khanate between 4 a.m. and noon of that final day of active conflict. 

Every geological feature that had been the basis for the PRC's claims to ALL  of the South China Sea was now in Khanate hands. Considering how much the PLAN had bullied everyone else in that portion of the globe, the Khanate taking over their geopolitical position was incredibly awkward. It was going to get worse.

Technically, the Khanate hadn't stolen the PLAN's 'South Sea Fleet' (SSF); they'd blown the fuck out of it, including sinking the sole fully-functioning PLAN carrier Liaoning  as well as five of the nine destroyers and six of the nineteen frigates in her battle group. The  Liaoning and one destroyer had died in those last few hours as the SSF was racing for the relative safety of Philippine waters ~ so close, but no cigar.

So the Khanate had stolen the ability of the PLAN to project power in the South China Sea until February 15th, 2015 when the UN brokered truce ended. But that was not the epic theft, though. That distinction went to the Ninja. What did they steal? A semi-functional Chinese nuclear powered super-aircraft carrier still under construction.

The beast had no official name yet, but she was a 75,000 ton engine of Global Domination laid down in 2011 and clearly complete enough to float and to be steered under her own power. (To be on the safe side, the Ninja included stealing four tugboats to help in their getaway.) So, you may be asking yourself, how does one 'steal' a nuclear-powered, 1000 foot long, 275 foot wide and ten-story tall vessel?

For starters, you need a plan to get on board the sucker. We had begun with the Black Lotus. They wanted to sneak onboard, exit the dockyard the ship was being built in, then sink it off the coast so it couldn't be easily salvaged. That was plan A. 

Enter the Khanate and their plans; they too wanted to sink this vessel ... and destroy the dry docks while they were at it. That was plan B. Actually, the Khanate desire was to contaminate that whole section of the port city with fallout from shattered reactors. They knew they would have to apply overkill when they smashed that bitch of a ship because the PLAN had hurriedly put on board its defensive weaponry ~ ensuring that the Khanate couldn't easily destroy it. For their approach, Temujin's people wanted the Black Lotus' help with the on-the-ground intelligence work. But the Black Lotus didn't want to help anyone irradiate Chinese soil. 

Enter JIKIT as referee. All those islands the 'Khanate' was busy stealing were actually part of a larger JIKIT mission called Operation Prism. Another object that was a part of the overall plan was Operation Wo Fat - the sinking of the Liaoning ~ again GPS direction and distance to be courtesy of the Black Lotus. 

JIKIT absolutely needed the Black Lotus. The Black Lotus wouldn't help anyone planning on poisoning any part of China for the next thousand years. Sinking the unnamed and incomplete vessel off the coast in deep waters meant no nuclear leakage and plenty of post-war time to salvage the wreck before it did start to hemorrhage. The Khanate wanted to kill this potential strategic nightmare no matter what it cost the Chinese ecology.

JIKIT went to the Ninja to help them adjudicate the issue. All the lights flared brightly in Ninja-Town when they heard of that delicate dilemma. They could make everybody happy and send a clear message to the Seven Pillars expressing how unhappy the six surviving families were about the 7P's trying to annihilate them when all of this 'unpleasantness' began.

The Khanate was already going to blast the shipyards and docks, the Black Lotus was already going to sail the ship into deep waters, so why not take it one step further ... sail the ship into Japanese waters and declare it Khanate property as a colossal FUCK YOU! to the PRC, PLAN and specifically the Seven Pillars, all at the same time?

Now normally, you can't steal a ship that big. The owners WILL notice it is missing and come looking for it. And you can't sell or hide the damn thing. So ... you steal it at the tail end of a war before the players can capture, or sink it. It just so happened the Ninja had access to a war and such a time table. 

The next problem: where do you put it? The Khanate's closest safe haven was 8,000 km away at the Eastern Mediterranean Seaport of Izmir. 

But wait! 

The Khanate was about to steal an island airbase with its own (albeit small) harbor. The Khanate was confident that a few weeks after the truce, an alternate port, or two, would become available for the two-to-three year process it would require to prepare the vessel so it could be commissioned as the true warship it was meant to be.

So, how do you steal a well-guarded, humongous ship with its skeleton crew of 500? You need a distraction ~ a big one. Remember those Khanate airstrikes? They intended to destroy the dockyards anyway. Now all they had to do was 'miss' the carrier. 

They could do that. If you recall, to dissuade the Khanate from sinking the ship in the final days of the war, the PLAN had hastily put teeth on the thing by giving it all its pre-designed defensive weaponry and added jury-rigged radar and sonar systems. The carrier could defend itself if needed. With the new plan (C), the airstrikes could avoid those teeth, thus reducing the risk of losing their precious planes and pilots. 

A series of bombing runs and missile hits near the carrier would convince the PLAN admiral in charge to hurriedly put some distance between the ship and shore - Not out to sea. That would be stupid. Within the harbor, his weaponry could adequately defend his ship. And if she took serious damage, he could run her aground, so the vessel wouldn't really sink.

The only problem was that out in the harbor, with everything exploding, he was away from the only ground security support available. That was when the Amazons, Black Lotus, Ninja and JIKIT mercenaries would make their move. How could they sneak up on such a big, important ship? By using the submarines the US Navy, the British Royal Navy and Japanese Defense Force were providing, of course.

Note: As I stated earlier, Lady Fathom, Addison and Riki had wandered way off the reservation . By this time, if you were a Japanese, British, or American submarine commander in the Yellow Sea and you weren't part of this madness, you were insanely jealous of those who were.

The missions JIKIT was sending them on were: 

-definitely Acts of War if they were ever discovered, 

-far more dangerous than any war game exercise they'd ever been part of, and 

-the ultimate test of their crews and equipment. 

These people weren't suicidal. They believed they were the best sneaks under the Seven Seas and now they could prove it ~ in 50 years when this stuff was declassified (if it ever was).

For the one American, two British and four Japanese submarines inserting the assault teams, this whole mission had a surreal feel to it. They were transporting a packed assortment of women of Indian, Malaysian and Indonesian descent along with some very lithe Japanese ladies and gents - none of who talked a whole lot.

There was a third group with the spooky women and spookier Japanese teams ... and that group was scared shitless about the sudden turn their lives had taken. They were all former American and British servicewomen (to not tick off the Amazons too much) with carrier and/or nuclear reactor experience who had been RIFed (Reduction in Force, aka fired) in the past five years from their respective national navies.

Around a week ago, they had all answered an advertisement by a logistics support corporation that was going to do a 'force modernization' in an unnamed country. They all knew that mean the Khanate. The job had been laid out as 'basically your old job with the addition of training the natives' and it included the promise of no combat.

It was a guaranteed five year contract with an option for a year-to-year extensions for another five years if you desired to stick around. For that, you received your 'pay grade upon retirement + 20%', free room and board, private security, judicial protections and a € 10,000 / $10,900 signing bonus. For many struggling military families, it was manna from Heaven and thousands were signing up.

Then 72 hours ago, a different group from the same company came knocking on the women's doors. If you could come with them right then and there, they had a satchel of money - €100,000 / $109,000 - tax free - and a Non-disclosure Agreement for you to sign. Sure, the deal sounded shady, but the money was very real.

Twenty-four hours later those who accepted the money found themselves in a small fishing village on Ko Island, Japan. There some rather fiercely intense people outlined the job they were needed for. From a submarine, the assault teams would sneak aboard the carrier, neutralize the crew and then the new crew (them) would sail it to Jeju, Jeju Island, South Korea. 

At that point they would be allowed to stay with the vessel (preferred), or depart for a non-war zone of their choice. Both options came with another €100,000 / $109,000 payment. Anyone who declined this particular job would remain incognito on Ko Island for another 48 hours then be allowed to leave without the need to return their initial payment.

Of the 312 job applicants, 293 volunteered for both the first and second parts of the assignment. With the technical and linguistic expertise of the Amazons and 9 Clan members that would be enough to get their prize to Jeju Island's temporary safety and then make the last leg to Woody Island and a more permanent anchorage.

Besides the airstrikes to goad the carrier away from the wharves, all the Khanate had to do with the carrier was put three or four clearly Mongolian faces onboard when the various nations of the world came calling. After all, what was the public going to believe: ... the Khanate had pulled off yet another daring (i.e., mostly JIKIT) Special Forces coup, just as they'd managed to do throughout this short war, or that 'Ninjas stole my Battleship - ummm ... carrier' stuff some PRC leaders were claiming? Forty-eight hours later the whole globe was able to watch the newly named Khanate supercarrier, the Öz Beg Khan, passing through Japanese territorial waters while being escorted by South Korean and Japanese warships.

The PRC did complain to the United Nations over the 'theft' of both the carrier and 'their' islands, but the Security Council, led by the UK, could and would do nothing about the 'latest round of injustices heaped upon the People of China'. By the time the UN got around to doing nothing, the next round of JIKIT diplomacy was causing the PRC even greater headaches.

That greatest theft, while remarkable in its own right, was really a sideshow to the reordering of the political order in Southeast Asia. The big winner wasn't the Khanate. And it certainly wasn't the mainland Chinese. No, the nations to immediately prosper were an unlikely pair - the Republic of India and the People's Republic of Vietnam (PRV). The Republic of China (ROC) was also getting its own small boost as well.

By gambling their precious navy, India had become the largest power broker in the South China Sea's resource bonanza. She went from a minimal presence to being the critical ally of the Khanate and the 'big stick' (naval-wise) of Asia's new dynamic duo. The Indians had the only two functional aircraft carriers in the region and the Khanate had Woody Island with a mega-carrier number of planes sitting on it.

Their combined naval aviation was not something any of the others powers wanted to mess with. The duo then sealed their supremacy by making the duo a trio. That third member was the PRV. Vietnam was the land-based logistical anchor of the three regional powers.

Not only did Vietnam gain the prestige denied it for over two centuries, it redressed the PLAN's humiliating treatment of their own navy for the past thirty years. The Khanate's naval aviation would shield Vietnam's economic exploitation of the Parcel Islands. The Indian Navy could counter anything the PLAN's South China fleet could come at them with.

Yes, the PLAN had two other fleets, the Northern and Eastern, but both had been put through their own 1001 levels of Hell by the Khanate's air power, plus they had to protect the Chinese heartland from Russia and North Korean ambitions. The South Koreans and Japanese were suddenly a very real threat from the East too. But for the time being, the Indians had the decisive edge.

The final location for the Öz Beg Khan was an old familiar haunt for some Americans - Da Nang, PRV. It had the facilities, courtesy of the US military from the 1960's and 70's, to be the new base for the Khanate's Eastern Fleet and logistical hub for their naval aviation forces in the Parcel Islands.

The Vietnamese were thinking with more than their testicles, as were the Indians. Sure, geopolitical clout was nice, yet that was only the icing on the economic cake that was the Parcel Island Accords. That hasty bit of JIKIT backroom dealings gave a 50% stake in the Parcels to the PRV.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 40



India got 20% of something she had 0% in a month ago. The Khanate gained a 20% stake for their audacity and the ROC gained 10% because the other three would protect its share from the PRC. Something was better than nothing and the three legitimate powers agreed to the deal because in less than six months, the PRC would be back in the game.

The Indians and Vietnamese wanted the Khanate to stay interested in the region and the Taiwanese wanted to forge closer ties to the Khanate. That treaty was a 'no-brainer'. Within one week, the Vietnamese were strutting like peacocks and internal political opposition to the Indian intervention into the South China Sea in the Indian parliament was silent.

The Spratly Islands was a tougher deal to work out within the six month timetable. There were more players ~ the Philippines, Malaysia, Brunei, Indonesia and Thailand (who had a non-functional carrier). The JIKIT deal gave everyone but the Indians a 10% piece of the huge natural gas, oil and fisheries pie and the Indians got 20% once more.

The Philippines and Malaysia were both very opposed to this treaty; they believed they deserved a far larger portion of those regional resources. Indonesia and Thailand also felt they could hold out for a bigger slice and weren't happy with India getting so much for basically having a double handful of ships (34 actually) sailing about.

That 'handful of ships' was the point JIKIT was trying to make. If the PRC beat the Khanate next year, did any of the players think the PRC would give them anything, even if they promised them more right now? Really? When the PLAN had the biggest guns, they hadn't respected any other claims to the region. Why would that change in the future?

The reality was this: India would only stick around if they had the economic incentive to remain. Vietnam, the Khanate and the ROC were watching the clock and realized this was the best deal they would get. Brunei and the Philippines were also coming to that understanding. Brunei was tiny (thus easy to defend), very rich already and a good ally of the British. 

The Philippines had a very weak navy and a non-existent naval air force. They couldn't even enforce their current claims versus Brunei, much less confront the PLAN, or any other nation's current military. The Philippines was, sadly, relatively big and very poor. Its big traditional ally was the United States, and the US was currently busy doing 'not much' about the South China Sea situation. 

The world's biggest navy was partially taking up its traditional (and treaty bound) role of interposing itself between the North Koreans, PLAN/PLAAF and Russians arrayed near Japan and South Korea ... or busily not 'ratcheting up tensions' in the region by sending more forces into the front lines. 

President Obama was urging dialogue and 'stepping back from the brink' even though every country in SE Asia felt the brink had already dissipated the moment the PRC was forced to accept the cease-fire. In this context, the Philippines had good reason to be feeling lonely at the moment. 

Bizarrely, both New Delhi and Hanoi were singing the praises of US Secretary of State John Kerry and the Rt. Honorable Phillip Hammond, Secretary for Foreign and Commonwealth Affairs for the UK, for their deft handling of the crisis ... thank you, Riki Martin and Lady Yum-Yum. 

Riki wasn't expecting any thanks. She was certain she'd be fired and imprisoned for the rest of her life. Lady Fathom Worthington-Burke was sure she'd get two additional knighthoods out of the deal, which would look very nice engraved on her tombstone. Javiera had long ago decided to face the music and go down with the ship, so to speak.

The CIA's Addison Stuart already had her exit strategy. She was going to go work for the Khanate, building up their clandestine service when this whole mad scheme collapsed into recriminations and 'extreme sanctions'. Mehmet, Air Force Sr. Master Sgt. Billings and Agent-86 had all decided to go with her. Katrina had their escape plane on standby. Mehmet's family was already 'vacationing' in Canada.

Anyway, the Republic of India, the Khanate, the Republic of China, the People's Republic of Vietnam (the Vietnamese were happy to already be getting half of the Parcel Island windfall), the Sultanate Brunei (Lady Fathom 'knew' some people and the Sultan was an autocratic Muslim ruler, just like the Great Khan) and the Philippines (because they had no other true choice) were all coming around to signing the Spratly Accords.

Indonesia and Thailand were kind of waiting for a better deal. Malaysia was downright hostile, having gravitated toward the PRC over the past decade and been assured by the PRC a better apportionment would be their reward for upsetting the treaty process.

The Great Khan's answer was simple. He publically threatened the Malaysian Federation in general and both the King (Sultan Abdul Halim of Kedah) and Prime Minister of Malay (Dato' Sri Najib Tun Razak) in particular with military action if they kept dragging their feet.

He even told them how he'd do it. He'd butcher or expel every living thing in the states of Perlis and Kedah (~ 2.1 million people) and give those empty lands to Thailand to settle along with the added sweetener of Malaysia's 10% of the Spratlys. He would also invade Eastern Malaysia, taking the island state of Labuan for himself while giving Sarawak to Indonesia and Sabah to the Philippines if those to states agreed to the split.

He'd also decimate their navy & air force before devastating every port city, just like he'd done to China. He'd already killed more than two million Chinese. What was another two million Malays to him? Also, Indonesia wanted Sarawak and the Philippines had claims on Sabah. While they were openly and publically defying the Great Khan's plan, could Malaysia really take the chance?

What would India and Thailand do while this was going on? Thailand stated that it would protect its territorial integrity ... whatever that meant. India wasn't returning Malaysia's phone calls while showing their populace re-runs of Malaysian violence against their Hindu minority - the bastards! 

To the world, the Indian Navy proclaimed it would 'defend itself and its supply lines' which was a subtle hint that they would shepherd any Khanate invasion force to their destination. Why would the Indians be so insensitive? The Malaysians were screwing up their deal to get 20% of both the Parcel and Spratlys wealth, that's why.

If the Khanate went down, there was no way India could defend their claims (which they'd won by doing nothing up until now). Oh yeah, Vietnam began gathering up warplanes, warships, transport ships and troops for the quick (710 km) jaunt across the Gulf of Thailand to north-eastern Malaysia to kill Malaysians because Vietnam needed the Khanate to ensure their own economic future as well.

That military prospect had a cascade effect, especially among the Indonesian military. If the Indian Navy remained active, the vastly more populous Western Malaysia couldn't reinforce the state of Sarawak. Sure, the Philippines was unlikely to conquer Sabah on their own, but all the Indonesians needed was for Sabah to be kept pre-occupied while their army took their promised territory, fulfilling a fifty year old dream of conquest/unification.

The United Nations blustered. It wasn't that they didn't care - they did. They also cared about the deteriorating situations in Libya, Nigeria, Syria and Ukraine. The situation was complicated by the unwillingness of the permanent members of the Security Council ~ namely the PRC and Russia ~ to recognize the Khanate.

In reverse, when those two tried to stick it to the Khanate, the UK stoically vetoed them. Why? Well, more on that later. Let's just say the Khanate was good for business in the European Union in general and the United Kingdom in particular because the Khanate was prepared to economically befriend the British. Ireland was being treated in a promising manner too. The United States ...the United Nations? 

Let's just say that in the two months following the cease-fire, the Khanate bloodily and brutally solved the ISIS conundrum and the Donbass Crisis. When the smoke cleared, the Khanate had reintroduced the practice of impalement to the modern battlefield, driven the separatists from the Ukraine and was on the border with Israel and Jordan.

Sure, the Ukrainians were stun-fucked by the Khanate's 'peace-keepers' going on a bloody rampage through the eastern rebellious regions, but they had delivered up peace by mid-September. Yes, the Russians were in an uproar about the impalements. 

As the Khanate spokesperson said, 'if they aren't your people, then it is not your problem' and 'there are no more Russians left alive in the Ukraine'. In fact, fewer than a thousand people, all armed insurgents, were executed in such a manner, but the terror created by the highly publicized killings had the effect of sending a hundred thousand people stampeding over the frontier into Russia proper. 

Next, the Khanate said it wanted to 'reexamine' the Crimean situation. There were Turcoman in that area and they weren't being treated well, or so it was claimed.

Even as Russia and the Khanate were posturing in the Donbass, the Khanate struck in the Middle East. By the end of September, Syria and Lebanon had ceased to exist as organized entities. Most of those two countries as well as portions of western Iraq became Turkish provinces in the Khanate infrastructure. Northeastern Syria, southeastern Turkey and northern Iraq became the Khanate state of Kurdistan.

It was a campaign reminiscent of the 13th century Mongol conquest, not a modern military struggle. Whole villages were eradicated. The entire Arab population of Mosul was exiled to the new territories in the East. The city was repopulated with Kurds from Turkey. Back in Turkey, those Kurds were replaced by Armenians from Azerbaijan, cauterizing another internal issue within the Khanate.

Jordan was cautiously hopeful. Israel? "We don't seem to be having problems with Hezbollah anymore," with a shrug and "it could be worse." As for ISIS; there really was an Islamic State controlling more than half of Iraq and all of Syria now and it allowed no other pretenders to that distinction. By the time the world woke up to that reality though ... the Great Hunt had happened and I was dealing with the consequences of that.

A larger ideological and political matter was occurring in the United States, the United Kingdom (and to a limited extent Australia and Canada). The Ramshackle Empire (aka the Khanate) was just that ~ a Frankenstein nation fueled more by nationalistic pride and nostalgia for a Super-State (that only two living people had firsthand experience with) than an integrated armed forces and infrastructure.

It may have been built upon more than a 13th century creation and two hundred years of real and imagined oppression. It did have long term planning and real genius driving it forward. Having throttled the PRC into giving them six precious months of peace to 'tidy up the backyard' (aka the Middle East and Russia) and forge a true nation, the Khanate was now hiring experts to aid them in the task.

First and foremost, Temujin and the Earth & Sky had envisioned an armed state built upon military principles and discipline. Fate had delivered to them the means of their own salvation in the form of NATO's policy of disarmament and 'Reduction-In-Force' levels (RIFed).

The US and UK had trained tens of thousands of male and female volunteers in their Armed Forces in infrastructure creation and management for the Afghanistan and Iraq campaigns. From 2010, those militaries had informed those experts that their services were no longer required. Unlike the shrinking militaries of the 1990's, there was no private sector to 'soak up' the majority of those personnel.

The Earth & Sky had been working on the problem of nation-building on a time table and they kept coming up short. They had to fight to create their state first, so the all-important after-battle had been something their leaders dreaded. Temujin had been understanding about not everything being 100% ready. Few wars were fought that way.

Then a young male Amazon of mixed Magyar ancestry talked history with the Earth & Sky representative to a seemingly inconsequential personage's funeral. A few critical E&S leaders (a minority, to be sure) immediately sought ways to cultivate this man into what was a ten year plan to open doors to the Amazons. Then that man saved the Great Khan's life and everything changed.

Before the E&S had even remotely considered directly approaching the Amazons for help, the Amazons came knocking on their door. The Seven Pillars of Heaven had tried to kidnap a camp full of Amazon children ~ an assault on their future. The two secret societies were bound by one unique, fortunate idiot and a mutual thirst for vengeance.

They were also directed by two incredibly foresighted, ambitious and brilliant people. In Katrina of Epona, the E&S elders found someone who equaled their hope to see the Seven Pillars humbled and humbled immediately. Moreover, these were the Amazons they were dealing with. Amazons always sought both lightning decisions and long term solutions.

From the moment Iskender left his third meeting with Cáel Nyilas, Katrina put the fruits of the First Directive (the Amazons efforts to recruit militant outsider women) into overdrive. Havenstone had the apparatus in place to screen potential inductees. All they had to do was add a "can you suggest any other people who might be interested in this line of work" box to their employment forms.

That brought men into the process in surprising numbers. The market was flush with military veterans having trouble readjusting to the civilian community. The Khanate wasn't hiring killers. They wanted ex-military and civilian police officers to create a national police force.

They also wanted engineers and builders, cadres for their cadet corps and a whole range of specialist in jobs most of the Western World took for granted. The money came from off-shore accounts funded by Havenstone International. The employment opportunities came from Earth & Sky front companies operating in the UK and the US (and Israel, but that was another matter). 

They had already started hiring scores of civilian English-speaking experts to help build their newborn nation's infrastructure before the first blow landed. English hadn't been chosen out of any cultural bias. Relying on Russian and Chinese sources wasn't feasible, the Khanate wasn't overly linguistically gifted where distant tongues were concerned and, as pointed out, the English-speaking world had a glut of applicants.

Now to the problem ... there were people in the US and UK who weren't happy with their citizenry going to the Khanate and helping them to survive and thrive. These power groups wanted the Mongol-Turkish Empire to keep the resources flowing to the West, without any reciprocal commitment on their part.

Imagine their surprise when some wonks at the State Department and Foreign Ministries found bundles of expedited passport requests to the (former) nations of Turkmenistan, Turkey, Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan, Azerbaijan and Mongolia (and later Afghanistan and Iraq). The DOD and MOD were discovering their former military personnel and civilian contractors with Security Clearances were heading the same way.

Of all those destinations, only Mongolia and Kazakhstan were under any kind of 'Restricted Travel' advisories. Barring any coherent anti-Khanate strategy from their administrations, the bureaucracies were doing their jobs, with Havenstone exerting just enough influence to get the job done while flying beneath the radar. 

After JIKIT was created, the group had a US Senator greasing the wheels to get the requests expedited. In England, Lady Worthington-Burke shamelessly used the people at the other end of the O'Shea hotline to get the job done overseas. She did have to sell out a teammate, but that was what good boys were for ~ taking one for the team. [That would be me, if there was any misunderstanding.] 

When Cáel Nyilas was kidnapped under the watchful eye of the FBI (I wasn't sure how they got that bum-wrap), the whole situation exploded. The PRC didn't have me, yet promised they might produce me if certain concessions were made. According to Addison, I was worth 5,000 barrels a day of refined fuel oil and 50 tons of coal a month ... and the Great Khan AGREED TO PAY! Woot! I was loved by somebody who was a somebody.

All that attention drove home some salient points. I was a noble scion of Ireland, Romania, Georgia and Armenia (in no particular order) and they all wanted to know why the US had LET me be kidnapped. Didn't my president know I was a sacred national treasure? After JIKIT tracked down the bribes and clandestine activities to Chinese shell corporations, those powers wanted to know what sanctions would be applied.

'But wait, wasn't I a private citizen?' my national leaders pleaded. Then the PRC made a case which boiled down to 'I had it coming for being a fiancé to Hana Sulkanen and a brother  to the Great Khan', while ignoring me being snatched in the territorial US of A. Of course, they didn't claim to have actually done the kidnapping.

Javiera was waiting on that one; 'What was their excuse for kidnapping a little US girl to force my compliance?' The furious Federal authorities even found two dead adult bodies and two digits from said child to add to the media frenzy. To prove I had migrated to fantasy land, the CNN journalist got it right ~ they had tortured the girl and I had killed two of them for it. Just ask the Romanian Army how lethal I could be.

In a rare comment, Temujin informed the international press that he believed I was still alive. Why did he believe that? If I wasn't, they would have been able to spot the pile of dead enemy around me and my 'boon companion' (go Aya!) from orbit. Until they discovered this carnal pit from Hell, I was surely still alive.

Just at the cusp of turning publically against the Mongol barbarians, the world suddenly got angry with their enemy, the PRC. The principal two Western regimes were paralyzed with indecision until my miraculous cry for help from the middle of the Pacific showed the world I was alive, had punished my enemies and rescued others from under the opponent's cruel thumb. 

Clearly if I started ranting against the People's Republic of China, my government would be rather peeved with me. I hadn't screwed a dozen poli-sci majors to miss out on that obvious situation. I behaved and hoped they wouldn't make me die from an embolism, or some other equally implausible cause.

(DC is a marvel ~ 9 pm, Monday, August 18th ~ 21 days)

I'd been dragged to DC, to honor promises made in Rome a week ago. I had another choice; I could have justifiably said I was still getting over my kidnapping ordeal. But that choice fucked over Javiera Castello, my boss at JIKIT (Joint International Khanate Interim Task force).

That was how I ended up in a 'secret and secure' meeting with Tony Blinken, Deputy National Security Advisor (DNSA) and his experts. He was someone I didn't know. The rest ... I'd had a verbal run-in with them after the Romanian bloodbath. I'd been cranky. I would hardly consider us to be on good terms now. 

All four experts were from the US State Department. They were foregoing their usual group of flunkies because this meeting wasn't really happening. All the participants were officially somewhere else ... mostly not even in D.C. Had this soiree 'really happened', the Congressional sub-committees would have been able to request the minutes of Tony's meeting with members of JIKIT and:





Life as a New Hire Ch. 40



Victoria Nuland, Ass. Sec. of State for European & Eurasian Affairs (ASSEEA) 

Robert O. Blake Jr., Ass. Sec. of State for S & C Asian Affairs (ASSCAA)

Daniel R. Russel, Ass. Sec. of State for E. Asian and Pacific Affairs (ASSEAP) 

Bill A. Miller, Director of the U.S. Diplomatic Security Service (DSS) (aka Big Willy)

We made stiff, formal introductions (which signaled the utter lack of trust in the room.) Javiera hadn't wanted to put me through an interrogation this soon after my near-death experience, considering my snarky nature when stressed. The White House was putting the squeeze on her. The main player was Tony, who talked with the Leader of the Free World on a weekly, if not daily, basis. 

The Diplomatic Security Service people had successfully peeled off Pamela and my SD Amazons only after they agreed I could keep Aya. They tolerated me keeping the nine-year old girl despite the obvious fact she had gone through worse hardships than I had endured and was still packing her Chinese QSW-06 suppressed pistol. 

I had already fabricated and submitted my report on how I'd overcome a plane-full of rogue delinquents from the Forumi i Rinisë Eurosocialiste të Shqipërisë (Euro-socialist Youth Forum of Albania) bent on recruiting impressionable European socialites by accessing my Twitter account. 

That's right - the Albanians had it out for me. I reiterated that critical bit of data to the Department of Homeland Security when they questioned me on the veracity of my memories. The two ethnic Chinese I was found with? I thought they were from Taiwan ... and they both appeared to be suffering from amnesia. 

I was already suffering repercussions from my pathological refusal to take life seriously. Javiera believed I was about to get a formal apology from Ferit Hoxha, Permanent Representative of Albania to the United Nations. Damn it! Now I had to do something nice for the Albanians. Maybe I'd offer them membership in the Khanate - full-statehood with an economic package to sweeten the deal.

Yes - THAT was how Albania AND Kosovo joined the Khanate ... a product of my love for exaggeration and a little post-Ottoman solidarity over Tarator (cold soup made of yoghurt, garlic, parsley, cucumber, salt and olive oil with a side of fried squids), Tavë Kosi (lamb meatballs) and Flia & Kaymak (a dessert I highly recommend). 

We had toasted the Pillars of Kanun (Albanian oral law and tradition): ~ Nderi (honor), Mikpritja (hospitality), Sjellja (Right Conduct) and Fis (Kin Loyalty), ~ and he promised to tell his people that I had Besa which was an Albanian-ism for being a man who would honor his word of honor (despite us being brought together by my lie). The shit-ton of financial and military aid I asked the Great Khan to sweeten the pot with might have helped as well. 

Later, Lady Yum-Yum told me that the military leaders of NATO called it a 'master-stroke' in neutralizing Comrade Putin's Russian-backed 'Greek threat' to the Khanate's Turkey. Fathom patted my cheek while telling me that my thunder-stunned look was 'so adorable.' Once more my big heart and dumb luck gave the world an unlooked-for pinprick. How angry was my pal Vladimir (Putin) with me? Let's just say that I was still invited to Moscow, but when Putin patted me on the back, I should expect a dagger to be in his hand; the twin of the one I'd accidently stuck into him. 

Why was Russia riling up the Greeks against the Turks (not that it was all that hard)? One word: Ukraine. I'll get back to that at the end of August. At the moment, the meeting was all about introducing me to a depraved portion of the internet Web-verse devoted to coverage of the Khanate's campaign inside China ~ lots of really gory, nightmare-inducing stuff. 

I looked over the videos full of blank-faced, traumatized men and women: bloody, diseased, starving and neglected. Then came the scenes of pyramids of human heads neatly arranged on street corners. The Khanate's security troops were shown moving past these and other grisly reminders of who was currently winning and who was losing this titanic struggle.

The Mongolian and Turkish troops moved about without a hint of remorse, or stress. No sympathy was exhibited for the Han Chinese being systematically herded out and driven east ... back into 'China'. Not all the Han were being expelled. If they had skills of critical importance, they could stay. That courtesy also included all mixed ethnic families.

Other footage showed swift justice being administered for the slightest sorts of offenses, often including the killing of multiple family members for one member's crime. The Khanate troops methodically participated in this merciless exercise of ethnic cleansing. 

Before long, the 'offenders' stopped begging and pleading because it was clear the Mongolian and Turkish troops remained unmoved. This wasn't rabid hatred - it was schooled indifference. They had a task to do ~ inflict utter barbarity upon the Chinese civilian population. PLA soldiers and PLAAF prisoners fared much better, a distinction I wasn't sure my fellow American's understood. At the start, I didn't understand any of it either. 

Oh, I knew Temujin wanted 'the invading Chinese' driven out, but seeing that actually play out was ... stomach-churning. Fate (that Bitch) was a never-ending cornucopia of pain ... pain with lessons attached. After all, my fellow Amazons were in the process of killing all their fathers; their brothers were long since dead. 

Had I not suffered through that pain, I couldn't have looked at Temujin's atrocities with the new eyes I discovered. I wasn't okay with what was happening to all those innocents trapped in a life-and-death struggle that had been going on for over 250 years. That was one of the new lenses I brought to my life now. Evil is not excusable. 

But with personal moral strength, you can end the cycle of violence, learn to accept, forgive and adapt. Survival was a virtue. None of that stopped evil from happening though. Nor did it make all evil inexplicable. This evil had plenty of reasons ~ they simply weren't reasons I liked, or would have accepted.

Except ... always 'except' ... Temujin and I were bound; life to life. I had save his life, thus taking partial ownership for the actions of the man whose life I'd help perpetuate.

"Okay," I spoke after going through thirty-seven minutes of man's inhumanity to man, "this is some fucked-up shit."

"Is that all you have to say?" Victoria Nuland inquired with deep interest. For her, it would be very disappointing if a man with my charisma and influence was a narcissistic monster. She had daughters after all ... and she was hot in a bookish, 'I want to rule the world with a gentle hand' sort of way. 

"Terrorists," Daniel, Riki's boss sneered. He still hadn't forgiven me for busting his chops after Romania. "That is precisely what they are." At least Victoria had my 'adoption' of Georgia's plight in her department 'win' column.

"I'm sitting on another one of his down the hall," Mr. Martin added. 

That was most likely one of my Kurds; who had been fighting a guerilla war against the Iranians, Iraqis and Turks for the last forty years. I wasn't going to blow up and act juvenile. That would set a bad example for Aya ... and she still had her pistol. She was scanning the room, soaking up the details while keeping an ear in on our conversation.

"How to make my position clear?" I mused. "I saw a security trooper crack open an infant's head with a 2x4. It freaks me out and I think you are all missing the two most critical aspects in EVERY single video," I trudged into the sludgy, murky water of political psychology.

"Mr. Nyilas, we have had experts go over every aspect of this footage and hours more. Your Khanate m ... allies haven't been bashful," Tony, the ringleader in this little circus, began the process of making me duly penitent to his way of thinking. Insinuating that the Khanate's considered me a subservient with his 'm' leading to 'master' trick ... he had the wrong guy. 

He wasn't my type and I've had girlfriends fake pregnancies on me on multiple occasions trying to guilt me into compliance. Every libido-driven bi-sexual and heterosexual male who has ever gone to a liberal arts college has taken Art History. That course and Modern Lit. - Hemingway, Joyce and Kerouac - are all full-access passes into any wannabe female artist/rebel's bedroom. 

I also learned something about art work; its creation and application ... because my Art History professor was passionate about more than a bunch of dead painters. Kimberly, my mentor, trained me to appreciate those other feminine facets they chose to reveal to me - it was the same way with my gun-lover ... pandering to your lover's non-sexual obsessions added a whole new spice rack to every erotic encounter.

"I agree that you've had experts study them for every little nuisance to put in your dossiers leading to the inevitable investigations, the issuing of warrants and the open-and-shut trials. You've been adding to your facial recognition software database for the inevitable War Crimes Tribunal," I forged ahead. 

"I am telling you that you are barking up the wrong tree. Those people don't care what you think and it is your own damn fault."

"Do you care to go on record as supporting this behavior?" Tony was trying to back me into a corner.

"Tony, answer me two questions?" I requested. Since he was the aggressor here, he decided that letting me stick my neck out was the best move.

"Sure," he nodded. "I'd like to see your spin on this." No, he didn't want to hear my opinions as a counterpoint to his preconceived notions. He was gathering ammo to blast me with ... because he knew he was right and thus I had to be wrong.

"Your buddies are pissing ISIL off," Robert mocked me. "Their rape camps and beheading of common criminals is being out-shone by your Asian compatriots' inhuman behavior." I wasn't going to backslide into counter-mockery.

"What is the average age of the Khanate security troops in question and what are the camera angles and quality of virtually all the shots?" I posed.

"They are older than your average jihadist," Big Willy allowed.

"More accurately; they are all forty-five to fifty-five," I kept hammering away. "That places them past the enlistment age for regular Khanate armed forces," I said. "The troops we are watching have specifically been trained for this job. This isn't some random terrorist act. In fact, it isn't classical terrorism at all."

"First biological warfare and now mass graves?" Miller countered.

"I'm not saying what they are doing isn't abhorrent, people," I shook my head. "What I am telling you is that what they are doing isn't aimed at the West. It is an internal decision on the Khanate's part and a very deliberate one. I can prove that by the second fact I picked up." I waited. I was past the 'gifted amateur' phase, hallelujah, Dot Ishara.

"This was all high-quality camera footage," I explained. "Journalists are walking around Xinjiang Uyghur and they took this in broad daylight and the soldiers didn't care. The Khanate isn't worried about our opinions and that IS the fault of everyone one in this room that isn't me, or Aya."

"So, you are an apologist ..." Daniel accused me.

"Don't get stupid on me now, Daniel," I interrupted. "What I'm trying to tell you - please look past your current group-think - is that any moral ascendency you think that Western Civilization has - you never had." I paused, then pushed on, "You are deluding yourself into believing you have grasped what's going on here."

"Enlighten us," Tony leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his head. He was acting confident, but he was actually quite worried. Here was someone who had been listening to Javiera; the woman standing grimly by my side.

"This war and tit-for-tat mass slaughter didn't start in 2014," I built up steam. "It started in the mid-18th century with the mass extinction of the native Mongolian peoples in the Dzungaria/Northern Xinjiang region and has continued non-stop since then." 

"What you see is the Khanate acting in a deliberate manner, yet you don't understand their actions are fueled by the deliberate attempt by the Han Chinese to exterminate them. These aren't actions designed to take this conflict into a psychological paradigm. This is a visceral ethnic conflict based on real grievances and a pre-existing danger of extinction."

"Now, I know this administration is all for globalization and cultural homogeneity. In your world view, that means secularism and social liberalism. To the Khanate, it means 'They Cease To Exist'. ... And they cease to exist because you are letting the Han Chinese billions and the Russian millions do them in ... as they have been for the past 200 years," I told them.

"Why would they buy into this view of ours?" I asked. "The Mongols and Turks certainly don't think you are pro-Islamic, despite our President's repeated platitudes to that effect."

"That is correcting over a century of Eurocentric thinking," Tony defended his boss's stance.

"They don't care," I stated firmly. "They don't see you supporting a faith you don't possess; they see you abandoning a Christian faith you privately denigrate and devalue and holding out the expectation that they will reciprocate by surrendering a faith that they do value." 

"They see you yourself improving upon a highly imperfect past ~ things you are ashamed of ~ while they view their past and their faith as a source of pride. You are approaching the Great Khan as if he was some primitive screw-head who needs to educate his people so that they can be as enlightened as you are." 

"Your experts are creating their psychological profiles for you with their iron-clad prejudices about what is right and wrong. That renders you incapable of understanding that there is any way the Khanate are right and you are wrong," I let that hang there. I could see Big Willy and Victoria coming around to the idea they might not know everything.

I'd participated in far more psychological tests than was safe for a manipulator like me (female psych students love giving standardized tests ... and finding my secret, tragic flaws and then spending a few weeks trying to 'cure' me.) Tony was a patriot in the cause of his boss's boss - POTUS. I was afraid he was a lost cause.

Robert was in 'political-creature' mode. He'd move whichever way helped his career. Daniel was forever my enemy for personal and political reason and wouldn't agree with anything I said this side of Judgment Day.

"I can tell you resent his hubris, Tony," I kept his focus.

"Your problem is that his violence is 'correct' because he's using it to effectively erase six hundred years of fragmentation in a matter of weeks and the West is wrong because it has failed, through both diplomacy and armed force, to make the global community a safer place ever since you had the wherewithal to do so.

Finally, through no fault of your own, the overall economic disparity has been closing, just not closing fast enough."

"Cultural rejection, religious conservatism and unbalanced economic growth," Victoria nodded. Robert agreed.

"How do we get the man called Temujin to accept mediation?" Robert's attention had gone from hostile and a tad condescending to studious. 

"Two options," I mulled things over. I was so used to being underappreciated, this acceptance had me off-center. 

"As quick as you can, hit him in the nose hard with everything you've got, or stress to him that you will stand by his side - right now. Unless the United States makes an IMMEDIATE commitment ... either way, he has no reason to rein in any of the behaviors you find reprehensible."

"Oh, and a War Crimes Tribunal is a pitiful joke," I cut out a piece of their imagined leverage. "He's got the resources to defy you and he is doing so because he has zero respect for the United States, the EU and the United Nations. He currently controls too much of what the West needs."

"When the Chinese make their resurgence," Daniel glared.

"Won't matter. This is a death-grapple and he's going to ensure any death of the dream of a Mongol-Turkish Empire is accompanied by an utter catastrophe for everyone else ~ the Khanate goes down guns blazing," I said. "He doesn't doubt his country's resolve. 

"He's counting on you to not embrace the realization that you can only stop his force with naked aggression of your own: boots on the ground and thousands of US military personnel coming home in body bags every month for half a year at least, if we - you - don't get your asses entirely kicked."

"The Khanate has enjoyed some success in their surprise attack, but the United States has the strongest military on the planet," Daniel confidently affirmed.

"One, I'm not so sure of that, and not because I don't believe in the US fighting man and woman. I'm saying it because the Khanate isn't some half-assed religious militia, or Arab conscript force that will sit around waiting to get bombed."

"I imagine if you get feisty - really feisty to the point he is sure you have his demise in mind - he'll pop off a few medium range Intercontinental Ballistic missiles with nuclear warheads toward the Persian Gulf," I lied. I knew the Khan didn't have nuclear missiles ... and I was wrong again. 

Two days before I found myself in a room, rallying to the Khanate's defense, they'd stumbled across (quite literally) five DF-31A Ballistic Missiles (road capable) with a range over 10,000 km, and each carrying a 4.5 megaton warhead ... the bad-luck faeries? Worse, the capture was made possible by a JIKIT team of Green Beret and Gurkha, so the US and UK were soon going to get the bad news, just not soon enough for them to stop the Khanate from scooping up the missiles and escaping with them into the interior. 

How about my threat against the Persian Gulf and Saudi fields? When the German market closed the day before the Khanate's attack, Oil was trading at $12 a barrel. When the exchanges opened this morning ~ $55 and rising. Why? China's domestic production had evaporated even as their demands skyrocketed.

Between the Russian and Khanate land-grabs and the Khanate air offensive, the PLA, PLAAF, PLAN and the PRC's struggling economy were creating a huge surge in foreign demand. Add the ISIL advances on Mosul in Iraq plus the Khanate's sudden appearance in the Middle East (Turkey and Azerbaijan) and commodity brokers were running scared.

"Can you give us any insight about their nuclear program?" Daniel (Russel) leaned forward in his chair. "Give us something useful for once."

"That is the most idiotic thing I've heard today," Javiera glared. "Everything Cáel has provided us has been both useful and timely."

"How can you say that?" Daniel stood up angrily. "No one seems to know what your taskforce is doing ... in any of our department's areas of responsibility." 

"That's not so," I shook my head. "Daniel, you don't know because I don't trust you to not squeal to the PRC about Khanate intentions."

"Since Cáel doesn't trust YOU, Mr. Russel, you and anyone who would confide in you is being kept out of the loop," Javiera simmered.

"That lack of interdepartmental cooperation stops now, Ms. Javiera," Tony decided.

"No sir," Javiera confronted him. "It was Mr. Ali-Sharif's call and I back him 100%. In JIKIT's case, a leak of information will result in a level of response from our current partners we would all find unacceptable."

"I think the President would see it differently," Tony yanked hard on Javiera's reins.

"Very well, Mr. Blinken. If that is how you feel, I can speak for the whole team and tell you right now, everyone will resign. We will do this because we don't want to have our loved ones killed when, inevitably, our partners determine their intelligence data is being used against their interests. Then they will start cauterizing anyone remotely associated with that leak," Javiera coolly 'read in' the room.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 40



"You believe these associates of yours represent a 'clear and present' danger," Tony studied Javiera intently.

"Sir, I received a dossier on you this morning with my normal briefing. It was a simple affair ~ you and your wife's schedule for the day, your daughter's daycare location and a list of seven employees of that daycare center."

"They are threatening my family," Tony stood up slowly - pissed, not frightened.

"No threat was ever mentioned, Mr. Blinken. There was no indication how any of that information was gathered. It simply showed up as so many things do in JIKIT. Those people providing us with up to the minute intelligence around the globe aren't doing it for any monetary recompense.

"They are doing it because Mr. Nyilas needs them to give us that data. They are acting on a personal relationship with Cáel - origins unknown - and when we permanently lose him, we lose that access," she explained.

"And I jump on a private plane to Ireland," I added. The Emerald Isle was still granting me diplomatic status.

"Mr. Blinken, you might want to tell the agency currently investigating the three foreign nationals currently with the team, as well as the group investigating Havenstone Commercial Investments, that Havenstone is on to them and they do not appreciate our behavior," Javiera cautioned Tony.

"This is the United States, we know they maintain a small armed militia on our soil, have multinational assets and they have ties to a global terrorist network, Ms. Castello," Tony tried to remind her which side she was on. 

"Those men and women are federal agents, like me, so I felt I had to warn you that they are becoming involved with violently inclined people," she stated. "You need to think what you are going to do when those agents start disappearing, Sir. I have no indications they have hostile intent toward us at this very minute. I can tell you they view the members of JIKIT as allies, but not our governments. So any protection our alliance gives us is of a personal nature."

"Are they, or are they not, working with your organization?" Bill muttered darkly.

"They are working with JIKIT," was her clipped reply.

"But they are not working with the President of the United States," Victoria reasoned.

"Precisely," Javiera looked her way. "Since the US doesn't recognize them as extra-territorial entities, or the Khanate's right to exist as a state, they see no reason to look past the task force on matters of individual loyalty and commitment." 

"Atta, why are we here?" Aya looked past the bandage over her missing finger at me. 

"These adults do not want to adapt. And failure to adapt is the clearest form of cultural suicide," she reasoned. "Now that we have our breathing room, do we still need these prominent people of great importance to the United States?"

The worst part of her questioning was that she sounded so tired and frail, yet determined and exasperated with her elders.

"Dumu, they live in a world were challenge is a "popularity contest" and the loser gets to go home with their fortunes, their futures and their lives. If they lose, they get to try again later, as long as one can be selected to take the blame for the rest. It is governance by the consensus of cultured intellectuals," I tried to put to a face to my own frustrations.

"Thank you, little girl," Tony headed off Daniel's angry retort.

"I do not wish to be rude, or impudent Mr. Blinken," she drew her pistol and pointed at Mr. Miller ... the only other person with a weapon in the room. "Mr. Miller, I will kill you before you can draw so, for the sake of your family and your associates, please do not test my resolve."

"I am not a warrior. I am the child of warriors and I will act to protect my people. I do not wish to die. I know that after I dispose of you and Mr. Blinken, I will be arrested and I rely on my people to retrieve me when they are able," she stated.

"Don't say anything," I cautioned Daniel. My pleading was done with my eyes.

"Now, Mr. Blinken, who will replace you after I kill Mr. Miller and you?" Aya continued."

"Aya don't," Javiera tried to maneuver on Aya. My little Valkyrie had positioned herself too well to be rushed before she got off four shots ~ maybe five. "Cáel."

"Ms. Castello," Aya's eyes turned all misty and soulful, "the world is too small a place for this kind of hidebound thinking. I will be saddened if America destroys itself. I really like living here. My first instincts must be to defend my people, not yours. Answer my question, Mr. Blinken."

"Mr. Nyilas, this has been a crude and pathetic distraction," Tony glared at me.

"You aren't going to shoot Daniel?" I blithely questioned Aya.

"No Atta, the world is filled with too many assholes to run around shooting all of them. Ambition and loyalty are yin and yang. When they are imbalanced, what can we do but let him follow his destructive course," Aya answered.

"Cáel?" Javiera pressed me.

"Aya, disarm, deliver your weapon to Mr. Miller then step outside to receive whatever punishment he commands," I demanded with great sadness. Sometimes I still didn't get Amazons. Aya was acting like Pamela ... acting ... oh Hell.

Smoothly, Aya pointed her weapon to the ceiling, removed the magazine, chambered out the last round and delivered all three parts to Big Willy. He took in her actions with the eyes of a practiced shooter.

"Would you have killed me?" he inquired.

"You didn't attempt to draw your weapon so you will never know for sure, Mr. Miller," Aya regarded him sagely. "Do you think I would have killed you and Mr. Blinken?"

"Yes," he nodded. "I believe you would have."

"Miller, arrest that childe," Tony insisted.

"No sir," he turned on the head honcho. "It was my mistake that allowed a child to bring a suppressed Chinese pistol into this meeting because my people saw a small, damaged child. I was almost fatally wrong in my assessment of her."

"I will make sure to put that in my report," Tony threatened.

"Make sure you do that, Mr. Blinken," Big Willy stood firm. "Let the Boss know his chief of Diplomatic Security ... every one of us mistook this tiny warrior for a harmless threat. I'm willing to admit I was wrong." 

"Do we need any more proof these people are all terrorists?" Daniel Russel seethed.

"She gave up her weapon without a struggle," Victoria snapped back. "She showed remarkable decision-making for a ... what, nine year old girl?"

"Yes Mrs. Nuland; I am nine. But I will be ten in October," she ended on an upbeat note.

"Fanatic," Daniel began feeling trapped and alone. 

"I see a woman driven and fully aware of her situation in the World, Mr. Russel," Javiera remarked. "Because of your poor advice, Mr. Blinken almost died. That is what JIKIT is doing ~ keeping the adults of Aya's society thinking we are the good guys."

"Tony?" Daniel looked to the senior member in the room.

"Hold on Daniel," Tony held up his hand. "I'm grappling with the fact I was nearly deliberately killed by a child the same age as my oldest son."

Aya had pulled off a 'crazy Pamela'. Now I needed to keep her out of prison.

"I brought her in here knowing she was armed," I declared.

"I'm well aware of that, Mr. Nyilas," Miller glared at me. "You were also aware of her training and nature. She can't be arrested for treason - you can be."

"I was not acting under Cáel's orders," Aya protested. "Javiera didn't know anything about what I planned to do either."

"Why is she 'Javiera' while we are Mr. and Mrs.?" Victoria asked.

"She's one of the good guys," Aya smiled at the lady. "The verdict is out on you and Mr. Miller. I don't hold out much hope for Mr. Blinken. Mr. Russel is a lost cause."

Everyone ceased talking as Tony began pacing back and forth.

"I think we have resolved enough for today," he announced. "Ms. Castello, make sure Mr. Nyilas is available for further consultations. In case you are confused by that order, let me make it clear: he is not to leave the country."

"Sorry Tony, I have to go to Brazil," I spouted off.

"It can wait," he stared at me.

"For you Tony, I'll make a conscious effort to not get kidnapped, or go all Soldier-of-Fortune on ya," I grinned. "After all, I voted for your guy."

"Oh God," Tony muttered. "Never tell anyone that."

"Sure thing. Can I have my Aya back now? She's all tuckered out. You know: tortured, dragged halfway around the globe, killed a plane load of vile villains, swam through a typhoon and was forced to eat MRE's. Oh, and it is past her bedtime."

"Mr. Miller?" Blinken looked to his subordinate.

"Take her," Big Willy sent my fey angel back to me. "But I'm going to keep the gun."

"We are adjourned," Tony waved us off as he quick-footed it to the door.

"I'm going to have Buffy kick your ass," Javiera whispered to me.

"Me?" Aya peeped, actually looking worried.

"No - him," her eyes flickered from Aya to me.

"Well, please don't do it soon. Cáel promised to sleep with my Mother." 

"I did not," I protested.

"Yes, you did," Aya gave her version of events. "You said she was third in the rankings behind Desiree and Daphne."

"What kind of man are you?" Victoria walked with us out the door.

"One who is in BIG trouble," Javiera picked on me.

"I knew I would regret not getting eaten by a shark," I groused.

"Mr. Nyilas ... Cáel, can I get in on a few of your briefings? I want to give you my input on the Caucasus issues that have arisen inside the Khanate," Victoria prodded.

"Sure," I yawned. "Clear it with your guy from State and I'll send you the invite. Honestly, I need to get some serious, non-jetlag shuteye."

"You have your meeting with the Kurds," Javiera reminded me.

"Dumu, if you really loved me, you would have shot me," I groaned.

"I love you Atta, but you have tasks to perform," Aya nestled up against me. I still had several hours of brain-racking work to do it seemed.

(Catching up on sleep and other things)

{11 pm Tuesday, Aug. 19th ~ 20 Days to go}

Monday night into Tuesday morning, I sold the Kurds on the idea that talking to the Khanate military advisors and 'regional specialists' (the Hashashin) was in their combined best interests. My ally in international warmongering was Addison Stuart this time out. She'd developed an instinct and respect for the Khanate's way of thinking and for 'direct action'. That meant 'my people' would talk to her without checking with me first ~ which was fine by me.

The Kurds were split on wanting: full independence, full independence down the line, the status quo and being a palatinate province within the Great Khanate. I was stressing the latter. Strangely it was my Friday night meeting with Georgia and Armenia that won them over to considering my way of thinking. They would arrange the meetings. 

They had to hurry. On Saturday, September 13th, while I was being hunted down by bodacious Amazons, seven Khanate Tumens would be heading toward the Turkish border with Syria and Iraq. In theory, they would be joined by massed forces of Armenians and Georgians in the 'anti-ISIL/ISIS, anti-Syrian' Third Campaign of the First Unification War (the Middle East edition).

This would be the last gasp of the Khanate for some time. Her equipment was worn down, they needed to raise and equip new military formations and they still had to worry about Iran, who they didn't have the time or strength left to deal with in any way save diplomacy. If this campaign succeeded, and it couldn't without the Kurds coming on board, the Khanate would have a strong southern frontier.

They could trust Israel, Jordan and Saudi Arabia a hell of a lot more than they could trust Lebanon, Iraq and Syria. Sure, a Shia Iraq would remain. Let the UN and Iran figure out what to do with that oil-rich rump state. The Great Khan wanted as little to do with the Sunni/Shia divide as possible.

At the end of the campaign, the Khanate was going to make some religious enemies in the present to solidify their technological future. They would unilaterally acknowledge the State of Israel. They would also recognize that the Saud Royal family was the custodian of Mecca and Medina while Israel was the guardian of the third most holy site in Islam - Jerusalem.

As a final sign of friendship to the Jewish state, the Khanate was shipping out all the Palestinian refugees still in Lebanese and Syrian camps to China to join the Arabs of Mosul in repopulating the conquered regions. The Great Khan was making concrete steps to ending the 'Palestinian Question' once and for all. It was harsh, but it solved the issue by creating a 'New Palestinian Homeland'. It also assured Arab 'fear and loathing' of Mongols would be alive and well for one generation more, at the very least.

The millennia old hatred levied by Levant Arabs against the Turks and Mongols wasn't going to go away. This mass deportation wouldn't help with that ... initially. The Khanate had two factors they were ... quite frankly by this time it was the word 'praying', would help cool the situation over time. 

First off, the sheer number of Arabs being sent to Xiang Uyghur meant a cultural identity would remain (so realistically, they couldn't be turned into atheistic Chinese). Secondly, the land they were being sent to was worth something economically, politically and militarily. The former Palestinians, Syrians and Iraqis could make their fortunes filling in the roles formerly occupied by the once economically advantaged, but now-banished Chinese.

Homes and businesses already existed, the remaining natives would be friendly, yet respectful of their cultural heritage and they would be safer than they had been in their former homelands, or refugee camps. They would be afraid for their future and the next round to Khanate-PRC violence. With the best spin on the situation, their fellow Islamic pilots would be flying against the infidel to keep them safe.

Civil war would be a thing of the past and their critical role in creating a new Khanate would be evident ... or so the Khanate's leaders beseeched Allah, Buddha, Christ, shamanistic spirits and their ancestors. For me, that was in the far distant future (i.e. post Hunt). I had my own agenda and the moment we could move around the small jet taking us back to NYC, I put my plan into motion.

"Javiera, I think I really need a break from this insanity," I begged.

"Okay," she yawned.

"I know that everyone has been putting ... did you say 'okay'?"

"Yes, Cáel," she gave a weary grin. "We were all expecting you to make the request and the team is willing to muddle through for a week or two without you." 

"I ... uh ... thanks," I slouched in my seat. "I'm not letting anyone down?"

"No Cáel," she responded with some mirth. "You've been through more hell with less training than anyone else on the team. Colour Sgt. Tomorrow has been especially worried about you trying too hard to be ... well, more like him."

"Oh."

"He trained for years in the military to be mentally and physically fit enough to take this kind of grinding action," she reminded me. "You aren't prepared for this. I am a veteran prosecutor and I'm being mentally ground down. I'm taking a break next weekend and unwinding at an undisclosed location. Rikki is afraid that if she takes a break, Mr. Russel will replace her with one of his clones. We are doing what we can for her."

"Fathom and Addison couldn't be happier to be living under this constant level of stress, but this is precisely what they volunteered for. The rest have agreed that they will pull their 365, then they are out ~ either out of the country, or asking to be reassigned ... provided we aren't on the run, or in jail."

"I'm not going to argue with you," I sighed happily. "I'm going to take my Aya and go home." Aya's eyes had shut the moment the plane started taxing down the runway.

"So, what are you going to do on your seven days off?" Javiera asked.

"Not fourteen?" I teased. "Okay, I'm going to go back to work," I grinned. "I'm going to fulfill the role I was hired for ~ a gopher. It was where I was happiest."

"I'm proud of you," she grinned then yawned once more.

"Why?"

"The top two choices for what you would do were 'running for your life' and a weeklong orgy," she joked. "You aren't burying yourself in doubt and self-pity. Staying active is key and you knew that instinctively ~ no prodding necessary."

"Cool. I'm finally living up to people's expectations."

Javiera gave one more tired yawn, smiled at me, then slid her seat to the horizontal position. I still had one last bit of business to deal with. Pamela was three rows back and waiting. Since joining me in LA she had been utterly silent. We had not had a chance to be alone.

We sat side by side on the small jet for a few minutes. Pamela was waiting for Javiera to start snoring.

[Amazon] "I almost killed her," she whispered. Her trust of even the people who we thought were our allies was at an all-time low.

[Amazon] "I was afraid you'd figure out she was involved," I sighed. We were talking about Katrina. Pamela had deduced that Katrina had set me and Aya up to be kidnapped. Among the Amazons, only Pamela's mind was equally twisted enough to have figured it out.

"I will figure out how to handle things," I said in English. "We should both be worried about what Grandpa is going to do when he figures it out as well. He's not going to be happy with anyone killing me but him."

"I had thought of that," she gave me a Reaper's smile. It chilled me to my core.

"I approve of what happened," I stressed. "I didn't know. And if I had, I would have never been a party to any of this. It has happened and I'll deal with this."

"I know. That's why a certain someone hasn't killed me, or stopped breathing," Pamela patted my thigh gently. "Stop taking such risks."

"You would not have believed the size of those waves," I altered the course of our conversation. "I swear some of those were over twenty-five feet high."

"Humph."

"Aya went flying."

"Humph."

"She never let go of our medical supplies. She was a real trooper."

"Tell her that," Pamela said after a deep breath. "She worships the ground you walk on. I believe her faith is not misplaced."

"Next time we are taking swimsuits and boogie boards."

There was a long pause. Pamela took another long breath then an impish grin came to her lips.

"With your luck you'll get those, then end up in the Artic," she scoffed.

"Not the Antarctic? I've got a soft spot in my dreams for penguins."

"Nope. You get to be chased by polar bears," she nudged me. I nudged her back playfully. She gave me a Charlie horse.

"Ow!" I yipped. The two SD chicks from the front of the plane looked back our way. I didn't care about their misconceptions. My muscles needed some self-massages.

"I was pretty scared," I whispered to Pamela.

"Good for you. You were also pretty lucky and I'm sure pretty pissed with your 'Albanian' attackers," she replied quietly. "I missed you too."

I liked the way she read my mind about that. I would have liked it some more if I hadn't glanced to my other side, then fallen straight to sleep.

{1 pm, Monday, August 25th ~ 14 Days to go}

On Tuesday night, Aya got one of her wishes fulfilled ~ sorta. I slept in Caitlyn Ruger's bed and I wasn't alone. The Sandman had dropped a Scottish sand trap sized load of sand on me and there was more than enough spillover to flatten little Aya too. Because I lived among Amazons, Caitlyn woke me up at 5:45 in the A M and only so much lollygagging was allowed.

Aya got to sleep for fifteen whole minutes more than I did. She hugged me and kissed my cheek (which amused her three Fatal Squirt compatriots to no end) while I stuffed away my breakfast. Desiree showed up to take me to work minutes later. While Aya showed off her battle scar to the pre-caste Amazons and her Aunt D. (they had not been awake when we showed up the previous evening), I was chided for being late for weapons practice.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 40



Yes. Life and death battle successes meant nothing to the Amazons. If you had a spare moment you had better be training, or working out your mind and/or body. We had no 'weekends', though we did get an quarter day off in celebration for the religious festivals based on the sacred days of the various matron Goddesses. A full day off didn't happen.

7:00 AM saw me with the intern group, just as if nothing had happened to change our relationship over the past two months. Oh, we were different. They teased me about my sunburn and wanted to see my latest scars. I couldn't work with Buffy anymore, since I was her spiritual leader. Due to my 'high risk' status, Desiree was the only other Amazon Katrina trusted me with, so I got to get beaten at her hands for the last three days of the week.

To be fair, I teased Desiree incessantly. I made her smile when she thought I was doubled over in pain on multiple occasions. Beyond that seven-to-five schedule, I exercised after work until six and then managed to bike home in a manner that avoided the paparazzi. 

I was easy to track outside of the building by the members of the press (who thought I was still somehow newsworthy) and despite my persistent desire to not talk to any of them. Felix had 'vanished', so I was the only man left. What had happened to him? Katrina allowed me to take a glance. He was at an Epona Wyoming freehold training for the Great Hunt and reveling in his 'lone man in a household of twenty-two single women' status. 

Unlike the three other members of our 'first class', Felix got to choose his re-location location and communicated with me daily because he wanted us to create a battle plan for the upcoming Hunt. It was official; it was going to be a two man vs. thirty Amazons affair and there was no rule that we couldn't work together though only two Amazons could win by capturing us and holding onto us until sunset on Sunday, September 14th. 

No one except Krasimira, the Keeper of Records, knew what terrain we would be hunted on so we could expect anything from swamps to mountain ranges. The Amazons were in the same boat. Already the House heads had volunteered one member for the Hunt. The ancestors would be consulted for the half who would actually participate. Krasimira had also added her own twists.

House Ishara couldn't compete because technically, I was already their participant. With 52 houses halved, that equaled 26. The final four? Runners. If a runner won, the Keeper would consult the ancestors to see which house they would automatically be inducted into. Eight runners were nominated by the department heads and four of those would be chosen by the Augurs as well.

In a normal organization it would have been thought that Krasimira was abusing her station since there was no High Priestess to oppose her decisions. Not in the Amazons. No. She consulted the Augurs and the Augurs worked the will of the Ancestors and that was that. No Augur would lie about the sacred communications imparted to them. That was inconceivable sacrilege.

What that did mean was that at sunset on Thursday, September 11th, Felix and I would be inserted with a knife, map and clothing into the hunting zone. When the sun rose on Friday morning, the thirty Amazons would be put into the zone. No Amazon could attack another unless they, or their targets, 'possessed' a man. They could team up but only two could win. It was promising to be a great 'get to know your buddies at work' moment for all of us ...

What was Felix getting out of this besides his freedom? (His freedom was no longer in danger. House Epona would protect him.) No, for Felix, if he survived free until the sun set on Sunday, he would become a Runner. If he lost, he would have to spend another YEAR as an intern. This convinced me that Felix was totally dedicated to avoiding capture. I was good with that.

Meanwhile for me, it was Brooke Wednesday night, Oneida on Thursday and Timothy and Odette going clubbing with me on Friday night. Saturday was my first House Ishara group activity. We gathered in the early morning at Doebridge, me with a hangover and Buffy giving me crap at every opportunity. Fortunately the rest of my 'sisters' treated me with a great deal more reverence.

Now they all knew about my Summer Camp role, Romania and my kidnapping. Even in their 'man-hating' ideology, I was the exception to the rule ~ I was reliable, dedicated, smart, lethal and worthy of their trust and respect. On the council front, Buffy hinted to me that there was a way around the deadlock for who would be foisted onto the Regency Triumvirate, but she refused to tell me what it was. That was a cause for concern.

Sunday, I worked with JIKIT, did some Amazon diplomatic stuff and discovered Desiree was my new bodyguard. Katrina thought a full SD team would be cumbersome and my best bet was to remain unconventional and mobile. I agreed because it allowed me to play the field a little more. Speaking of playing the field ...

This bright Monday afternoon, I was standing in a hangar at Stewart International Airport waiting on my fiancée, Hana Sulkanen. She had flown from Tibet to London with the Dali Lama. That exalted individual had passed on the mantle of national leadership to the Tibetan Constitutional Committee and left the country with the stern decision that the country would move forward toward democracy and not backwards toward theocracy.

Now he was playing the role of goodwill ambassador, encouraging the Tibetan Diaspora to spend a few months to a year back in their homeland to help rebuild and teach. He also was rallying support for Tibetan recognition and financial support. Already the UN had voted to send a small international group to establish border security against both the Khanate and the PRC.

With the PRC treaty-obliged by the ceasefire to not oppose Tibetan freedom, the UN acted rapidly. The UN Tibet Force(UNTFOR) combat elements consisted of the UK (+ Gurkha), Chilean, French (+ French Foreign Legion), Germany, India, Italy, Romania, Spanish and Thailand each sending one battalion each. Algeria, Denmark, Chile, the Netherlands, Bulgaria, Canada, Cameroon, Qatar, Saudi Arabia and Brazil agreed to make smaller contributions. The USAF would supply a serious level of logistics support for the mission.

The UN also created the UN Tibetan Training Force (UNTTFOR) which provided a structure for giving access by Tibetan forces to German, Italian, Chilean and Romanian bases to train to EU standards over a five month period. The Khanate provided gobs of captured Chinese hardware to the creation of a tiny Tibetan Armed Forces, easing worries about adequately equipping the troops once they were trained.

The Dali Lama was simultaneously arriving at JFK to public fanfare in order to thank the UN personally on behalf of the nation he loved. Hana was able to finally shed the limelight and was coming into a secure National Guard facility to finally take a step back to a 'normal' lifestyle. The last bit of oddity: the hangars used by the Marine Aerial Refueler Transport Squadron 452 of the Marine Corps Reserve was courtesy of JIKIT. No press was allowed, or expected.

It was an odd grouping of us. Jormo Sulkanen (Hana's father), his chauffeur and Hana's daughter Õnnela were in one car. Hana was traveling with Libra and Ms. Meacham, so they would need the limo he came in. My appearance was a simple moment for us to touch base in person, as opposed to over the internet, or mobile phone. The third group waiting was Sten Phillip Männik (her ex-husband) and two unnamed associates.

Sten was being a total jerk, which may have been due to me calling him Philip when we first met. Philip wasn't 'ethnic' enough for him, so he never used it. Because he hated it, Brennan (Hana's deceased step-brother) had used it constantly. I had overheard it and thus screwed up our first meeting. But Sten's current blistering hatred had two positive side effects: Jormo came over and stood by me, a suggestion of solidarity I hadn't expected, and since we were standing next to each other, we finally began the dialog that we needed if Hana was going to be family to both of us. 

We chatted about the thing that mattered most ~ Hana. He asked me if I had really hired a team of assassins to protect her, so I told him a little bit about the Ghost Tigers. He talked about how proud she was to be bringing peace to a suffering planet and I agreed that she looked spectacular doing so.

Some things remained the same; I had set in motion the death of his youngest son who had paraded a raped lady in front of me. A bunch of other dilettantes had perished as well. Balancing that was the joy I brought to the child closest to his heart, his adopted daughter Hana. I also had proved to be my own brand of eccentric knight in tarnished armor. I meant well, and in Jormo's book that meant something.

He also told me he would strangle me with my own intestines if I broke her heart. I looked him straight in the face and asked him how he felt about open marriages. He hit me. To be fair, I let him hit me. He didn't try to do me serious harm.

"Don't be an asshole," he grumbled.

"I'm not sure I know how?" I shrugged. I got another hard stare.

"She loves you," he said with surprising tenderness.

"I would rather face that typhoon again than break her heart. The thought of that scares me because I've never been all that good at romance," I confessed.

"That wasn't what I expected you to say," he harrumphed. "I recall those two ladies I first saw you with. Libra Chalmers and ..."

"Brooke Lee," I said.

"Yes ... her. Are you staying loyal?"

"She has never asked more than she thinks my current level of maturity can hope to achieve." He looked at me. "I'm discrete and mindful of her sensitivities."

"You aren't trying to befriend me," he noted.

"I don't feel it is right to expect you to like me. I think we both know I'm supposed to be nice to you and you aren't going punch me again. I believe Hana would see thru any deception on our part."

I paused. "I wouldn't mind us getting along. I'll try not to piss you off because that would be rude to you and cruel to her," I continued. "I'll never ask you to forgive me and I'll never feel like what I did was inherently unjustified. I am sorry that I caused you pain because I think you are a hard, courageous man ... and she loves you."

"That's her plane," he stated.

"Thank God," I muttered. And thank you Ishara. I was starting to blather. We remained thankfully silent until the plane had pulled into the hangar and the people started to deplane. The first out was a young woman with dark blonde hair and hunters glasses.

No one else appeared until she had reached the bottom of the stairs and continued to look about for a moment. Hana came next, smiling at me, then her eyes were following Jormo as he moved to the car to retrieve little Õnnela. Libra followed with Ms. Meacham on her heels. Libra still wasn't used to playing the second fiddle/personal assistant. A short Mongolian fireplug of a man was the last passenger down the stairs. He looked like ... a wolverine with his feral, primordial energy and general hostility. 

I imagined the girl was his apprentice and he was the prime assassin. That was how the Ghost Tigers operated. They were doing me a deep personal favor by putting aside their normal role as hunters to take up body-guarding duties. According to Addison, they had also managed to get their fair share of killing people of various persuasions. Not only had the Seven Pillars tried to take her out more than once, Chinese Intelligence and some criminal cartels had taken an active interest in her too.

The young woman scanned from me to Desiree, then to Sten. She had a good eye for threat assessment. Jormo was partially concealed, but would rather die than put Hana at risk. I was the ally of the 9 Clans ... and she probably thought she could take me in a quick-draw contest. Desiree? She left Desiree for her mentor to worry about.

"Ms. Sulkanen?" Sten's closer minion walked her way. The bodyguards got in the way instinctively. The man reached into his coat and nearly died. The women did a palm strike to his windpipe then grabbed his tie, yanking him to the hard concrete floor of the hangar.

[Russian] "He has a piece of paper," she stated in a detached manner

"Sten, what is the meaning of this?" Hana worried. I moved toward the woman.

[Russian] "I am Cáel Nyilas. Let me help."

She did more than that. She retreated from the downed man and put her body between Hana and Sten.

I was schooled enough now to realize that was the deception. I hadn't seen the older man draw a gun but I knew he now had one out. It was down by his side and he was using his body to shield it from view.

"Are these the kind of people you want around our daughter," Sten asked haughtily. I had an inkling suspicion. I wasn't alone.

Desiree pushed past me and attended to the downed man. She had him standing, patted him on the back and frisked all inside ten seconds.

"He's a process server," she commented to the group.

"What he is here to do is serve you with papers, Hana," Sten grew angrier. "You are an unfit mother and have developed an unsafe environment for her to grow up in."

"What?" Hana growled. "You don't like the fact that I've finally moved on and found someone new. You don't care a damn thing about our daughter."

"We will let a judge decide that. Right now I have an order of detention for Õnnela," he grinned wickedly.

"Ms. Sulkanen," the second of Sten's minions step forward more cautiously, "the Family Court in the State of New York has ..."

I laughed.

"Oh," Desiree looked my way then shared a sliver of a smile with me.

"There is nothing laughable, I assure you," the lawyer snapped.

"Really ... what's your name?" I asked.

"Mr. Dornier, not that ..."

"Where are we?"

"What does that matter?" then, "New York State."

"Incorrect Dornier. You are on a Marine Corps base, dumbass. Look around you," I smirked.

"So? What does that mean?" Sten harangued us.

"This is federal property," I explained as I strode toward his car.

"Hey ... what are you doing ... I'm talking to you," Sten pursued me.

"Excuse me," I grinned. I flipped out my Amazon Honor Blade and slashed one of his tires.

"What?"

"Go for it," Hana simmered. "Touch Cáel and he will defend himself."

"He has a knife," he countered. He didn't touch me. A second tire began to deflate. "That's assault with a deadly weapon."

"It would be if he turned to face you, or anyone else," Desiree had her 'bored ~ don't press me' voice. "Right now he's being a vandal." She put her hand on the process server's shoulder and shoved him back toward Sten and Dornier. "You should know your jurisdictions, asshole," she told him. 

"Hana, I will drive back with Cáel," Libra announced loudly. That was a cue for Hana to shoot me an apologetic look, which was odd, considering that even knowing me was putting her child custody at risk. It took me a second to realize what a bastard Sten could be. I also doubted he had three spare tires. I left one untouched as I headed for my car.

"Hana, I'll catch up with you after you talk with your lawyers," I called out. It was infuriating for me that this was her reception home. Sten had better be thanking his lucky stars we weren't alone or I would have pummeled his ass ... and given him the nuclear wedgy of all times - jackalope.

"Let's go home," Libra tapped my arm. Desiree was watching Jormo's limo speed away. She didn't dawdle. The Marines would want their hangar back ASAP. We'd let them decide if they wanted to help Sten, or not. Desiree tossed me the keys. That was her way of telling me I need to blow of some steam ... and not by getting frolic-ee with Libra on the hour long commute home.



Life as a New Hire Ch. 41



Editing magic performed by KJ24 and Shyqash, plus contributions by the regular gang of brigands and neer-do-wells

Love is like a crossbow quiver. You only have so many bolts to shoot before it runs out

*****

{11 pm, Monday, August 25th ~ 14 Days to go}

{Late that night with Hana}

"So, who was the guy who gave you this?" I looked over at Hana while running my hand over the silk scarf some lama in Lhasa had given her to give to me ~ a 'Thank You' gift for the liberation of his homeland and the aid package heading his peoples' way.

"I never got his name, but my translator said he had traveled for three days straight to be there for the celebration," she smiled warmly.

I picked up my second gift and began to play with it. The object was a fascinating toy, all the more so because it was more than a child's plaything. It was a simple prayer wheel. I put the handle between my two palms and rubbed them back and forth, causing the two balls to beat against the drum heads.

"I think you find that thing more interesting than you do me," Hana pouted.

"Oh no you don't," I pounced on her. With one hand I tickled her while I placed my Tibetan gift aside. I didn't want us rolling over on it as we frolicked naked on her queen-sized bed. "You were a happy little camper ten minutes ago and you certainly drove your vigor home with this grand Lothario."

"Eeeekk!" she playfully tried to bat my hand aside. She began giggling hysterically.

Even when I pulled away so that she could breathe, she kept snickering.

"What?" I worried. I had been ramping us up for a second round of sex. Round one had been 'comfort' sex, helping her compartmentalize her feelings for that bastard of an ex-husband and the threat he posed to her custodianship of her daughter, Õnnela. 

Those were emotions she'd deal with later. Fretting about them tonight, her first night back in the States, was counter-productive. She knew that, which was why she'd accepted my dinner invitation. We had now been seen in public together for the first time since she became famous; afterwards we had traveled back to her place. How serious was I about cheering her up? I'd brought a spare suit, biking clothes and my bike. I was planning to spend the night and make my way to work my usual way come sunrise.

"I," she gasped, "asked Libra how you "compared" in her experience, which seems to be extensive, as a lover on the way over. And after several - very long, I must say - seconds of introspection, she told me you were indescribable and incomparable. I've been trying to put my thoughts together since Rome and ... why are you scowling?"

"That was rude of you two," I now play-pouted. "I like to think I'm 'thunderous', though 'stunning' will do in a pinch."

Hana helpfully pinched me. "Ow!" I squalled. And back to tickling I went. I quickly showed her my 'sheet-fu' was superior to hers ... which meant I tangled her up in her sheets before she realized she was helpless before me. Or so I bragged. Hana played helpless well.

"Oh please, Mr. World-Conquering Wombat," she pleaded. Wombat?

"Wombat?" I questioned her. "How have I become an irascible furry marsupial?"

"Well Honey, you need a shave," she teased me. "You are a little furry."

"Romantically that is called a five o'clock shadow," I protested.

"It scratches my thighs," she murmured.

I had a remedy for that. Sliding down to her hip, I turned my palms toward me, interlaced my fingers and positioned my thumbs pointing up. My chin rested on my fingers and the thumbs covered the sides, so when I stuck my tongue into the three-sided void created, my hands, but none of my scruffiness, touched her intimate flesh. Once I had this technique in place, I rolled over her thigh and got to work.

"I find," she gasped, "that you have the answer to that conundrum down pat. It makes me ... aaahhh ... think I'm not your ... aaahhh ... first girl." My dedication to my erotic task (and the carnal reward that waited) kept me from responding. Besides, my upper lip was busy rolling back and forth over her clitoris. There I let the bristles of my oncoming moustache teasingly tickle her. I was pleased when the pleasure I caused quieted her and she settled down to running her fingers across my crown as she ramped herself up toward a climax. 'Not my first girl' indeed.

Forty-five minutes later, I was coming back to her room from the kitchen with a glass of tomato juice for her and rice wine for me (she was out of beer). I heard a noise from Õnnela's room, so I deviated to make sure she was okay. I was in boxers, not totally naked. Õnnela was out like a light, caught up in some sort of childish dream. By the cherubic grin on her face, she was having a good one.

She was another delicate female issue in my life. I had made her existence harder by just being me. Hana let me know that nothing 'bad' had better happen to her ex-husband, Sten. I couldn't beat him up, threaten him, or sic any of my Amazons on him. Stupidly, I had asked if using the CIA was okay. She'd banned all of JIKIT intervening as well, negating the use of the best pest removal people on the planet - the 9 Clans.

"You are going to have to get used to children making sounds while they sleep," Hana surprised me. "You'll learn to tell the dreams from the nightmare."

"In spades ... I'm going to have to learn that in spades," I nodded.

{4 pm, Tuesday, August 26th ~ 13 Days to go}

My schedule had remained steady. I had firearms practice at 6 am every morning, was in Katrina's office by 7 and working my cue by 7:15. According to my regular morning briefings, I continued to be a menace to the foundations of freedom, civilization and the terrestrial biosphere. It was wonderful to stand there side by side with my fellow New Hires.

At lunch, around 11 o'clock, I had a brief get together with the other members of the Amazon diplomatic corps since I was still Chief Diplomat of the Host ~ we were a small unit. Daphne, who now worked with JIKIT, would give me a brief briefing on what the 'office' was up to in my name. I gladly kept my distance from their regularly scheduled mayhem. The truce in China didn't stop the Secret War from raging on and on.

My three o'clock knife training with Pamela was slowly evolving into a greater study of human fighting philosophy and anatomy. I still studied the techniques of a larger single bladed hunting knife as well as the hilt-less, double bladed Amazon Honor Blade. Pamela promised me she'd start teaching me how to do the 'long-distance' and 'short'/snap throw for the blades. She made it look so easy.

Pamela also began educating me on the basics and basis of the Amazon personal hand-to-hand fighting style. The eight points of emphasis in Amazon combat were: the finger, fist, elbow, shoulder, foot, heel, knee and hip. It encouraged channeling both your energies and the energy of your opponents by using fluid blows and throws. It also worked well with the close-in knife fighting Pamela was teaching me. Working with her once more did her as much good as me. We had come to feed off one another's moods, which was a good thing.

Tuesday, walking to the elevator at the end of the session, the door opened to reveal Rachel talking to an SD chick I barely knew, Meridian.

"Oh, it is great to see you, Rachel," I enthusiastically stated. Her hesitation as she replied worried me.

"It is great to see you too, Cael Wakko Ishara," she responded softly ... compassionately.

"Ladies, can you spare Rachel and I some private time," I asked Meridian and Pamela.

"Come on," Pamela addressed the SD Amazon, "we have tons of nothing to talk about."

"As you wish, Ishara," Meridian answered. She looked to Rachel. She stepped off the elevator as Pamela stepped on. Away they went.

"I heard you were back in New York," I told her.

"I heard you were off of JIKIT for the time being."

"I was running on fumes psychologically and my body wasn't too much better. Javiera gave me a week off. I go back Thursday."

"That was the right move, Cáel," she said. "You've been stuck sweating both the small stuff and being caught up in the big picture. That is a humongous burden to bear for someone with your training and background."

"I know ... I'm not ready for where my life has taken me."

"No one is, Cáel. You have training that has let you get this far when most of us would be lost. You carry that weight, plus you've had to work the physical side of the equation. I get to focus on you. You've had to focus on all of us."

Rachel was being both honest and kind. I felt a sudden renewed kinship with my primary guardian.

"Thanks for that ... Rachel, can I tell you a secret? Something you can't tell another soul. Something I've never told another living person?" I could tell Rachel. I couldn't tell Katrina because she was so close to Hayden. Pamela ... Pamela had already prepared herself for a miserable afterlife and wouldn't have connected with my pain for another. 

Since she was my 'sister' in Ishara, I couldn't really confide in Buffy, but only an Amazon would understand my thoughts on the matter. It had to be Rachel.

"I cannot betray the Host, but you know that. What is it you wish to share?"

"Hayden lived life as an Anahit, yet lives forever in the Halls of the Isharans." Since that was now well known, Rachel knew that couldn't be the secret.

"When I was trying to induct her, Dot Ishara refused her entry. I thought she was challenging me and I was right."

"I recall that she wouldn't accept Hayden, even though her death was righteous in the name of the Host. Has no one ever asked you what changed Ishara's mind? Not Buffy, or Helena?"

"Neither one ever asked. I think it was because they sensed I didn't want to talk about it, nor insult them by not opening up. Ishara refused Hayden because of me. I was refusing to accept my place in the Host. I kept playing - pretending - I was not really one of you. I kept thinking I could divorce myself from the evil we did because I was special."

"But you weren't special in the way I think you are using the word," she nodded. "You were chosen by the Ancestors to be one of us - man, or not."

"Yeah. I stupidly put my life on the line because I wanted to be the 'good guy'. I've always wanted to be the 'good guy', even when I hurt people. I'd tell the girl it was my fault, yet I excused that behavior by thinking that I hadn't meant to hurt anyone, so I was okay. I have never blamed myself for any of the shit I caused."

"That has always been a rather annoying quality of yours," she noted.

"When I was on the roof of Havenstone, daring Ishara with my life on the line ... that's when I felt it. I owed and owned my Amazon heritage in that moment. I finally blamed myself for something ... for not accepting sacrifices were being made for me and I was dishonoring every one of you by denying their purpose."

"You are Ishara," Rachel stated firmly. That was her entire argument.

"I had to believe that. I had to believe I was nothing more than one Amazon in a long line of Amazons dating back to that first night of betrayal. I had to realize I was one of many, not someone special ... with special rules. I wasn't getting to be the good guy, or even the bad guy. I was just ... an Amazon. One more Ishara among the hundreds that stood in my place."

"And it took that moment for you to realize what most Amazons know from the age of five," Rachel stroked my cheek. "It is easy for us to forget your bravery comes from a place that is uniquely you and you didn't grow up around the fires with tales of our mothers, grandmothers and all those who have come before. We see our honor is gold and sing the songs in the First Tongue. We live as Amazons."

"I wanted you to know because," I faltered at the last memory.

"Charlotte. You want to make peace with me about Charlotte," she touched my cheek yet again. "Cáel, I told her mother and daughter about how she died. They want to meet Vincent when he is feeling better. They want to talk to you. They worry about you not understanding that Charlotte lives and will live on until the Sun dies and the stars burn out."

"Charlotte was in the Warband that killed Ajax the Unconquered, Cáel. She fell on that ridge, looking down on Ishara's triumph over Ajax and her spirit took the news of that victory to the next life. She is a welcome exemplar to House Skaði. She will be remembered in the lists of the Security Detail, our Warrior Elite. Charlotte was my friend and I didn't wish her to die, but war is what we do. And she buried her enemies and saved our lives."

Skaði was a jötunn and the Nordic goddess associated with bow-hunting, skiing, winter, and mountains. I had known her house. The SD didn't talk about their families much because of their devotion to the craft of war, so I had never known her mother was still alive, or that she had a daughter.

"She did much more than die, Cáel. She killed men so that when you finished with Ajax, none of them, left on that field, could avenge him," she added.

"I hadn't looked at it that way," I confessed. "I'd like to meet her family. You said she has a daughter. I didn't know."

"You didn't need the distraction. We all knew you would have only done incredibly stupid things trying to keep us alive. If it helps, she is five and cried freely, deeply and long. Her mother is fifty-two and runs a freehold in Saskatchewan. She'll be around for a long time, trust me." 

Charlotte's mother had to be one tough DOB (daughter of a bitch) to see sixty. I did know she was the second of five daughters, with the middle one being in the Skaði House Guard. 

"I am doing something for ... well, for me, but for Charlotte too. Sakuniyas is leading seventeen House Isharans and two ladies from MI-6 in West Africa."

"I'd heard about that," she smiled. "Charlotte's Fist." Four (the core of any war band) was a sacred number to the Amazons, as was five (the number of digits) so twenty was a classic warrior unit. It was also the number of the original houses. Normally these groups were referred to by their leader's name, but I wanted the Condotteiri to know they'd killed the wrong Amazon and Sakuniyas agreed to the naming convention.

The Condos had sent Ajax to Hungary and Romania to kill me. Charlotte had died stopping them, but this was not a matter of revenge. This honored her and was a request for her to watch over those who sought inspiration from her when they went into battle. West-Central Africa was one of the three Amazon Homeland (Eastern Europe and Southern India being the other two) and was where the war was heating up.

JIKIT (Joint International Khanate Interim Taskforce) became involved when the Condos and Coils of the Serpent (one of the 9 Assassin Clans) began killing local civilian and military leaders. The Condos did it to spread chaos for them to use as a smoke screen behind which they could hide the large numbers of mercenaries in the area hunting down the Amazons. The Coils attacked any official that was on the Condo's payroll.

As the body count began to rise, the US and UK began having 'normal' covert agencies investigate the killings, yet they remained blind to the reasons behind the actions. It wasn't until a whole Condo 'training camp' ended up being extinguished that they realized there was a third player in the game (as opposed to the governments and the rogue mercenaries).

The Coils of the Serpent were one step ahead of the intelligence agencies. And that allowed the Amazons to hunt down the Condos. We in JIKIT had estimated it was roughly 15,000 Condotteiri foot soldiers (consisting of mercs, local paramilitaries and the occasional regular army commander) versus the roughly 3000 Amazons and 1000 members of the 9 Clans. The Golden Mare was asking for Havenstone and the Freeholds in North and South America to raise up 'fists' to join the struggle in Africa. In Belize they would be trained for two months to ten weeks in jungle warfare before heading over. 

"Are your people going to be ready?" Rachel inquired.

"We have done well in Japan," I replied. "The former 'Runners' actually do better moving through urbanized society than their Old School Amazon sisters."

"I heard they are more prone to taking orders from the Ninja," she looked me in the eyes.

"I told them to. This is the Ninja's war and we serve them best by doing what we do best ~ taking the fight to the Seven Pillars when they expose themselves," I clarified. "And you got me off talking about Charlotte," I realized a second later.

"A long period of mourning is not our way, Cáel," she confided. "You were our friend, but you were our mission first and foremost. That hasn't changed."

"Are you going to ...," I began to say 'remain my bodyguard'.

"Yes. I have a dozen House Guard members expressing a desire to join the Security Detail and be our new electronics expert. Eight of those I'm giving serious consideration to."

"The other four?" I asked.

"Three are too young and are too interested in you for my taste. One is too old and a rather odd individual."

"I like odd."

"I will reconsider her then," she allowed.

"Are you saying that to make me happy?"

"No," Rachel grinned. "I admire your instincts. Do you know how soon you will be needing us?"

"I'm going to stay in town until the Great Hunt. After my stupendous victory, I'll see if I can get to Brazil ... so mid-September."

"It will take longer to integrate a member ~ the last week of November," she bargained. I really wasn't in the mood to argue. I was too much the boy who was glad to see his primary guardian standing before him. Pamela was by far the most loving and lethal one of the pack. Rachel was my rock. She kept me alive and I helped give her something to live for, even if it was a flawed 'me'.

"And Wakko, you don't need to give me a piece of your soul to replace Charlotte. What is hers is hers and what is ours is ours. I'll always miss her and I'm okay with that. She was a good friend and a proud compatriot and I loved her. I never had any sisters of the flesh. Mona, Tiger Lily and Charlotte have been the only real family I've had. I will find another sister and I can now accept that."

"Is it alright if I still miss her?" I pondered.

"Of course, Ishara. Will you still be capable of taking my orders when required?"

"Yes. If I started ignoring your advice ... I wouldn't have been worthy of leading someone like Charlotte into battle. I can honor her by letting you do your job."

"Thank you. I still worry about you trying to save everyone, but now I'll worry a little less," she confessed.

"I still plan to do crazy stuff ... hey, do you have a daughter?"

"No."

"Want one?"

"I'm in the final drawing of lots for the Great Hunt," she smiled once more.

"You could just ask."

"My way is more fun. This way I'll be sure you'll obey," she let her eyes sparkle with a mirthful fire.

"Don't think I'll go easy on you. I plan to win," I pledged.

"Of course not. Why would you change now?"

"I'd rather you bust my balls than mock me?" I pouted. "Instead of spending a moving moment, you are cheering me up."

"It is my job to look after you, even now," she stroked my neck affectionately.

"Especially now," I added as I hit the elevator button.

"Let's catch up with the others. I need to tell Meridian that she's back in the running."

"Oh ... that is fortunate," I grinned. "Oh, we'll start our mission to Brazil on Thursday, February 12th."

"Is there a significance of that date?"

I laughed. I put an arm around her shoulder as the doors opened. There were two others Havenstone ladies onboard.

"Carnival in Rio de Janeiro!" I exulted. "Half a million tourists a day. Two million Brazilians. Everyone wears a mask. What's not to love?"

"You are so fortunate you waited until you had witnesses around," Rachel groused.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 41



"Desiree says it's bad for my prestige to be beaten in public," I chortled. "I'm glad you agree."

"Maybe we can spar on the mats today when you get off work?"

"Oh, I'd like to see that," one of the other Amazons remarked. "Weapons or hand-to-hand?"

"I'll let him use a weapon. I'll use my hands. I want him to think he has a chance," Rachel declared. My arm was still around her shoulder, so I knew she wasn't really pissed.

"Didn't you kill Ajax?" the other one noted.

"He tripped over his shoelaces and impaled himself on his own sword," I sighed dramatically. 

Since the two women looked at one another, then to Rachel, I knew I'd told the lie well.

"Cáel had an ally shoot a grenade overhead, Ajax died in the confusion, so whatever blow killed him is irrelevant. Cáel beat Ajax with his mind before a single blow was landed. He made his foe fight his battle and that was how Wakko Ishara won," Rachel responded.

"Like an Amazon," the first one nodded.

"With balls," I added.

"An Amazon with balls? I guess you are, but I don't think the testes mattered in that you beat our foe in a matter your ancestors can be proud of," the second one said.

"Well said," Rachel nodded.

"Thank you," I shook her hand. "I'm Cáel Wakko Ishara aka Nyilas."

"Oh, I'm Wynona of Allatu," she answered. She shook my hand, I ran a finger over her pulse and got her to blush slightly. Allatu was the Goddess of the Underworld in Canaanite mythology and one of the First Houses.

"Behave," Rachel whispered.

"Not likely," I whispered back.

"Did I say something wrong?" Wynona worried.

"No. Rachel is my moral guardian. So, do you want to go fishing - I mean swimming tomorrow after work ... say 5:15?" I inquired.

"Sure," her smile broadened. "I excel in the water."

"Good, maybe you can teach me a thing or two," I answered. The door opened at the lobby and there stood Desiree.

"Here," Rachel shoved me out the door. "Take him before he fishes himself into more trouble."

"I understand," Desiree grumbled. "Come on fisherman. Financial Investigations is working late tonight and we need to pick up Italian food for twenty-two."

"Lead and I shall follow," I proclaimed.

"Why do you call him the 'Fisherman'," Wynona asked Rachel.

"Fish - barrel - I'll explain it to you on the way to the garage," Rachel sighed. The doors shut and off we all went.

{7:10 pm, Wednesday, August 27th ~ 12 Days to go}

"Will you still be having dinner with us once you return back to JIKIT?" Europa asked as Lorraine passed me some Cajun rice.

"Every Monday and Wednesday night and on Fridays early," I grinned.

"We are going to be spending some time in Doebridge over the Labor Day weekend," Europa griped. "Do you want to come with us and save Aya from retelling her ordeal to yet another band of pre-Amazons?"

"Aya, do you want me to run interference for you?" I asked.

"No," she smiled. "I want you to train for the Great Hunt. Aunt Katrina says Elsa is virtually a guarantee to be one of the thirty."

"Ugh," I groaned. "That's the cherry on the top of a rather bizarre day."

"Was today bad?" Loraine asked.

"Let me see ... for starters I got to use a variety of weird weapons for firearms practice. I had a feeling I was part of a round-robin, the way they rotated their assistance to me. In the elevator, I was with Brielle and her buddy when we had a security drill. The elevator cut off, but the air handler went into overdrive, dropping the temperature. After a quick democratic vote, I lost my shirt to an impromptu fire to stay warm - alive," I chuckled. "Then we cuddled together for warmth. I was about to lose my undershirt and pants when the alert ended."

"Security alerts last less than fifteen minutes," Caitlyn noted. "I doubt you were in any danger of freezing to death."

"Brielle was under the impression security alerts could last hours, despite my questionable knowledge otherwise from the handbook I'd read. Since she had the seniority, I thought she knew better."

"So now you are shirtless," Europe smirked.

"I had a spare shirt stashed in Katrina's office, but I was required to change during the meeting because we were running late. Oh, and yesterday I forgot to feed some genetically superior white rats at one of our labs. Apparently they gnawed through their cages, broke out and now are in the Manhattan underworld, plotting a rodent rebellion," I related.

"Oh, that was my idea," Loraine perked up.

"Do you sit around the table with Katrina thinking up this kind of crap!" I protested.

"Occasionally," Caitlyn admitted. "Most of those are pure Katrina though."

"Glad to know my misery is a family bonding experience."

"You should be glad to know we care about you," Europa beamed.

"Yeah ... I'll remember that and once you are casted I'm going to absolutely abuse my authority in some serious payback," I faux-glared at her.

"I promise you we will make it fun," Aya pledged.

"You would betray your own sisters?" Caitlyn questioned.

"Sisters are sisters, Mother, but boon companions are for life," Aya countered.

"That's cool, Mom," Europa snorted. "We'll always be taller than Aya ... and faster."

"Only more proof she'll be smarter," Caitlyn shook her head. "So Cáel what happened next?"

"What makes you think the rest of my day wasn't mundane and boring?"

"According to Katrina, you are the best stress reliever at Havenstone since they put in the Jacuzzis. With it being open season on you today, I figured your day was one misadventure after another," Caitlyn smiled warmly.

"Fine ... I had to go to Financial Investigations to discuss my expense account in Europe."

"That doesn't sound all that exciting," Loraine said.

"We were in the pool swimming in the classic Amazon style ... I swear, sometime I think I should go to work wearing nothing but a trench coat and a smile," I grouched.

"Did you make any babies?" Aya chirped. 

"Noooo ... I can't have that kind of fun with any employees for another twelve more days. Anyway, they were quite cross with me not using their services and let me know for an hour and ... thirty-six minutes. After that I had to get a reference physical."

"You are as healthy as a horse," Europa neighed.

"Funny Epona," I sniffed indignantly. "You are a load of laughs, filly. After I had been turned into a prune they made me undress again. There was some nonsense about all the combat I had been in had made me shorter and given me muscle constriction."

"That is a good one," Aya nodded. "I'm glad they were being as creative as you are, Atta."

"Who is to say that I'm not being the creative one here?" I winked at her.

"Were your muscles 'constricted'?" Loraine snickered. Europa gave her a thumbs up for joining on the fun.

"Nope, all my reflexes are in working order and I can still salute on demand," I smiled. "Which was good because after that, I worked through lunch with Acquisitions discussing Khanate plans for Siberia." There was a pause.

"What was so horrid about that?" Loraine inquired, as if I had been tortured up until that point.

"We had to do the whole three hour routine on the practice mats. I was pinned grappled and I had something that was strangely reminiscent of a titty-snuggle. I mean ... all that skin-tight clothing, close contact and sweaty bodies was murder on my concentration," I confessed.

"We aren't going to be investing in Siberia, are we?" Aya winked at me.

"I don't know. I spent three hours saying "I don't know" and "I haven't a clue"."

"You are good at that," Europa jibed. I flicked a pea at her, bouncing it off her chin. She was getting ready for a spaghetti & meatball counterattack when Caitlyn's cough brought her up short.

"He is the Head of House Ishara. He can act that way. You are Epona and we are better behaved."

Europa stuck her tongue at me, I returned the gesture and this time Caitlyn's cough was aimed at me. She followed that up by rubbing her foot along my shin. I smiled at her, then caught Aya smiling at the both of us. Then I recalled Aya had set the table ... damn it.

"I'll get us dessert," Aya beamed happiness my way. I was thinking about dessert alright, damn that girl.

{Rhada Revisited}

"I'm home gang," I exhaled. "Ready to go out?" and was promptly shot with a Nerf gun. "What did I do this time?"

Timothy and Odette were getting off the sofa. Odette was taking aim while Timothy left his single-shot where he'd been sitting.

"We are going out. You are not," Timothy grinned. "You have company in the bedroom."

"Man, I was looking forward to ..." then Odette shot me in the stomach with her six shot nerf repeater.

"You have company," Odette emphasized the 'company' part. To me this implied someone who I couldn't seduce with a few words, maybe get busy for half an hour then go out partying. That could only mean ...

I opened my door and there lay Rhada, completely naked, hogtied and bound. She had even been gagged. Her look of hate and loathing turned to ... something else; part fear and part heartsick yearning. Could Timothy and Odette ... really just Timothy ... I loved Odette but she had the combat skills of a Tribble ...could Timothy defeat Rhada so thoroughly that she could be so bound?

Not likely. I'd been neglecting her ... What with being kidnapped, running off to Europe and generally doing my job, I'd neglected her well-defined physique, olive skin and athletic curves. I'd been a fool for letting her waste away while I'd been 'not' earning a paycheck. Hell, I was working too much. I'd played around in college and still managed to graduate with good grades, and it wasn't like I had been hired for my brains.

"Oh, I've been missing this," I relished her helplessness while rubbing my palms together.

"Mmmpphhhh," Rhada protested. It was hard for her to move her body. Her legs were bound above the knee to her shins while her ankles were lashed together and then to the top of her thighs. 

Her elbows and wrists were tied behind her back, wrists to wrist. The ropes securing her arms crisscrossed above and below her breasts and looped around her neck. She looked tightly secured. A bit too secured. I couldn't see how to un-hog-tie her. 

"Don't you dare go anywhere," I warned Rhada then backed out of the room hurriedly.

"I suggested the butt plug!" Odette smiled as I turned around. I'd missed that given the shapeliness of her buttock ...

"I color-coded the ends of the ropes for you. Pull the yellow, then green and then pink and she'll come undone just fine. I put some ointment by the bedside for after. It will help numb the burn and promotes healing without scarring," Timothy patted me on the shoulder. "Now that you've been taken care of, Odette's going to be my wing-girl at the Commando." That was a gay hot spot.

"Sorry I'm missing out," I laughed. "I'm popular there too."

"We'll have fun," Odette patted my cheek. "You two have fun here."

"Come on girlfriend," Timothy put an arm around Odette. "Let's go feed you to some lesbians."

"You are joking, right?" Odette feigned fearfulness. 

"We'll see," Timothy laughed. They left, leaving me alone with my favorite deviant. I weighed the 'anticipation' pathway but decided Rhada had waited long enough. I returned to the bedroom, kicking the door shut behind me.

"My captive looks absolutely delicious this evening," I leered. She struggled again, nearly choking herself with her bindings. Next she tried to bite thru her gag to no avail.

I sat down on the bed beside her, trailing two fingers from her sternum down to her navel and further still ... into her vagina. She was creamy, torrid, fervent and inviting. I wiggled my fingers inside, coaxing her G-spot.

"Don't you dare cum," I cautioned. "Amazons climax. Slave girls serve at the pleasure of their masters."

Rhada's eyes widened and she inadvertently humped my hand. I could tell she was ready to go. I teased her clit and thumped the inside of her vagina in just the right way to make her orgasm. She tried to stifle some sobs to little effect. She was too needy and ready. I was being cruel ... just the way she wanted it.

"A simple fucking instruction," I teased her tear-streaked face.

Timothy with, or without Odette, had laid out a paddle, riding crop and lash at the foot of the bed for just such a time as this. I went for the riding crop, brandished it in front of Rhada's face and grinned lasciviously.

"When I ride my slave, I expect her to go where I tell her," I studied her with remote emotions. She'd been 'bad' after all, even though I'd not left her much of a chance to be 'good'.

Wack!

She took a quick hit to the nipple. I rubbed her mammary with the leather head then gave her opposite nipple the same treatment. Rhada struggled to meet the lashing, savoring the sting and orgasmically relishing the pain. Wanting to change up my routine, I worked the crop down the sides of her ribcage, caressing her flesh, gave her stomach a good smack and then rubbed it wet between her legs.

I had to get rid of my clothes, so I made a production of it. I stretched, showing her every scar that represented my martial vigor on me. This was the fiction that allowed me and me alone to be the one who could dominate her, own her and trade in her haughty demeanor for her inner war captive. On that one time when we had fought and I had been left kneeling over her, binding her with my belt, she had created this mythology that allowed her to submit while remaining true to her Amazon heritage.

She was the warrior humbled. She was my slave and mine alone. Sure, she'd let Timothy bind her twice now, but in her mind that had all been a prelude to submitting to me. And here she was in the same boat again. She was watching me disrobe. Her legs were twitching in anticipation. I didn't make her wait long. With one fluid move, I sidled onto the bed, raised her right leg to the side and plunged my cock into her sizzling vagina. 

Damn she felt good. Five pushes in I turned her around, placing her right knee beneath me and pulling her left leg to my hip. That traction allowed me to shamelessly plow away. This was primal fucking and nothing but. I was using Rhada to slake my lusts and letting her get inside my mind. I turned into her warrior dominant and she lay helpless before me.

Rhada must have felt this, because by the time I regained some of my senses she had had her second climax. She'd been waiting a long time for this. I had to wonder how many times had she brought herself close to her orgasm, only to practice self-denial. I'd ask her later. For now, her undulations and my new mindset sent me over the edge and I shot up into her, filling Rhada with my seed. Vague warnings from Ishara about renewing my House were temporarily ignored.

I yanked Rhada's gag down and filled her mouth with my tongue. My lips pressed down hard on hers. It was a violent case of mouth to mouth with lives on the line. I left Rhada wanting more, her lips reaching up for me as I pulled away. I looked down her body. Her legs bindings were getting in the way of me manipulating her body the way I liked. Sure enough, there at the end of one cord was a yellow aglet.

**

Rhada was on her stomach spread eagle on the bed. Her breathe still came in ragged gasps. Sex was over. I had ravished Rhada, taken all of her holes ... I needed to find the butt plug wherever I'd thrown it ... and made her cry in pleasure repeatedly.

Now was the after-care. I had already rubbed the sensation back into her arms and got the blood flowing back into her numb hands. The unguent smelled like watermelons and caused my fingertips to tingle where I was gracefully applying it over her burned up ass, lashes welled up and angry looking. 

"Aaahhh..." Rhada purred. "That feels nice."

"It reduces the pain and swelling plus decreases the likelihood of permanent scaring," I informed her. One aspect of our relationship was the limited skin area I could safely lash. If a sports bra and boy-shorts couldn't cover it, the lashing had to be very light lest someone ask embarrassing questions when she worked out sometime tomorrow. That meant her ass received a great deal of attention.

That translated into very delicate finger work for me as I poured the oily mixture on her behind without causing her more undue pain.

"One day you may need to keep me," she sighed happily.

"One day we won't have to hide," I mused. "We'll leave Havenstone in the same car, go over to our apartment and play all night long."

That was a fiction. I'd done wonders to Amazon society - mainly in the category of wondering what cosmic forces had converged to keep me alive in this misandrist Hell hole. Allowing me to take one of their princesses out on a date in order to submerge her in a secret rape fantasy was as likely as me becoming the next High Priestess.

The only two that had an inkling of what we were up to either actively didn't want to know for certain (Katrina), or had this delusion I was an ancient hero reborn and she could cure me of any dark impulses with her pure love (Oneida). Katrina was the most open-minded and adaptive full-blooded Amazon I knew and we had an understanding that if the nature of my affair with Rhada became public ... bad shit would happen. Oh yeah, Pamela would understand, but her opinion meant squat to everyone but me ... and Selena the assassin was also on the list.

I rolled Rhada's limp body to one side and gently applied the ointment to her swollen and raw nipples and lashed breasts. In retrospect, I'd been harsher than I thought I could be. She relished the attention then and now, and I was as careful as I could be. The right side done, I went to the left before letting her rest on her front once more. That part of aftercare done, I began using some massage oil on her shoulders and thighs where her muscles and joints had been stretched.

By the time I had finished, she was - I thought - sound asleep. I settled in beside her, running my hand through her luxurious black hair now sticky with sweat and down her spine avoiding the wounded flesh. She surprised me by catching me tenderly petting her with her eyes slit open. Rhada had been watching me.

"You do care for me ..." she trailed off.

"If I didn't care about you, I would have told Katrina by now and let her forbid us from seeing one another," I enlightened her.

"Oh ... but you kept us a secret from her," she smiled languidly. "Thank you. I know you value her as your mentor."

"That's one way to look at our working affiliation," I shrugged.

"Speaking of affiliations, was it your idea, or Buffy's?" she yawned.

"Not mine, since I have no clue what you are talking about."

"Buffy proposed to the Council an answer to our issue of the Regency," she eyed me. I went back to plucking the sweaty strands of hair off her back and brushing them to the side.

"Still not me ... what did she propose?"

"That the Regency be a single House head, an Apprentice and a Runner," she informed me. "I doubt we will approve a runner." Rhada's eyes closed as she soaked up my presence and compassionate gesture. "I was thinking I might volunteer to be the Apprentice since ... the Regency will remain in New York."

"Madi would allow this?"

"Madi wants to get back to the Homeland (India) now that the fight has heated up there. She is worried about our sisters going into battle. She wants to be there to lead them," she confessed. 

"What about you? What do you want, Rhada?"

"I want to ... serve my people ..."

"And be close to me?" I inquired. She looked away. "I'd like that. Besides, I'm getting into danger all the time, so no place near me is safe. You will have plenty of chances to fight for the Host by staying here."

"Surely?" she turned back to me. "I should have thought of that. I would like to stay ... to fight by your side, Slayer of Ajax." More unwanted glory.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 41



"So who you think the House Head will be?" I changed the subject slightly.

"Madi wants to insure it will be a 'reliable', meaning conservative member," she sighed. "We might have to pick two. I doubt we will elect a Runner to be our leader."

"What about Buffy? She is a former Runner and now Ishara's Apprentice," I suggested. Rhada studied me.

"I don't think we have considered that. You are honored now and Buffy is honored because of your efforts in the war. She might be acceptable," Rhada smiled up at me. "I love you," she murmured softly.

"I love you too," I replied in the same tone. Did I love her? I didn't know. I really wasn't sure what love was. A romantic soul would have confessed that and their loneliness to the world. Me? Nope. Truth didn't belong in passionate, thus irrational, relationships. Being caught in the lie destroyed relationships, not necessarily the lying itself.

Telling Rhada 'I love you' made her happy and she deserved to be happy with the torturous means she had chosen for herself. I thought she was freaky, but I was okay with that because it made her shine inside and out. If Rhada wanted to believe we had a special bond, so be it. I'd had special bonds with plenty of women before her, and with this one, she was a further part of all the other weirdness that I called a normal day. Our seriousness had returned to sensual play.

She stretched her left leg over my left, hissing slightly. I'd tore up her Heine but good and it hurt when her gluts flexed. Even with the unguents, she was going to know pain for the next few days. I was sure she'd enjoy the perverse thrill.

"Did my captive enjoy her spanking?"

"No," she fibbed piteously. I almost expected 'thank you, may I have another'.

"Lying will just make me impress upon you my domination more firmly next time," I grumbled. She shivered.

"Next time I'll fight harder," she swore. I wasn't convinced.

"You'll still end up tied to my bed with my rod driving in deep," I promised. That earned me another shiver of lust.

"Promise," she whispered. I tilted her head up so that we were eye to eye and nose to nose. Rhada pushed her body up and forward until we kissed. "I like this."

"I like this too. You feel good beneath my hands," I told her. She smiled warmly, affectionately. Muscle fatigue took hold and she collapsed on my chest. I stroked her hair for several seconds until her gentle snoring reached my ears.

{7:10 am, Thursday, August 28th ~ 11 Days to go}

When I arrived at weapons practice in the morning, I was dog tired and sure I had to take care of one more thing before showing up at the office. I relayed a message to St. Marie I needed five minutes of her time right after Katrina's morning review in Katrina's office. I sent word to Katrina, warning her as well as Buffy and Helena. Pamela showed up right before seven and I couldn't figure a good way to shush her away. That meant I had enough pain in my life for the moment.

Once there, after my final intern work review (I had facilitated a project that created a flying fish/piranha hybrid), after the other new hires left, I told those four how I had killed Ajax: I had fed him to an angry goddess. SzélAnya had done all the heavy lifting and she deserved the accolades. I couldn't in good conscience continue living under that cloud and accepting the glory that was truly hers.

The Golden Mare stepped up and we clasped arms.

"I'm about to hug you," St. Marie cautioned me. "Don't do anything stupid." Then she hugged me and I kept my hands above the waist despite my innate temptation to do something erotic.

"I suppose you will let everyone know," I said when she pulled back. Our arms were still clasped.

"I plan to tell the Council," she snorted with amusement, "mainly because it stands to help SzélAnya become an Amazon House. As for the rest of the Host ~ I have no problem letting you be the heroine - hero - who slew one of our greatest enemies. After all, if you could kill Ajax with your wits and will, how can they do any less?"

"We are in a desperate war against stiff odds, Cáel," Katrina explained. "That you killed Ajax - and I do believe Ajax wouldn't be dead without you - helps us believe destiny is on our side. There is nothing we can't do. What I want to know is how did you get SzélAnya to aid you?"

"Oh that," I released the Golden Mare's arm. "Ummm ... I believe that when Ishara enacted that curse through me, I was able, in a limited fashion, to peek through the Weave. When something supernatural is looking at me, I can sense it. That is how I saw the ghost at summer camp. When I interacted with Alkonyka, I drew SzélAnya's attention."

"I could see her just on the other side of the Weave, trying to interact in some way to help her few surviving descendants. I hypothesized that I could contact her if I was rendered violently unconscious and since I was bound to the Unconquered in the same way I am linked to Temujin, Saku and Alal, I could bring him over into what I call my 'Ishara-space' and deliver us both to SzélAnya."

"What if she had killed you?" St. Marie studied me.

"I was actually hoping Ajax would last long enough for me to regain consciousness," I shrugged. "Barring that, I was going to try talking my way out of it."

"Which was it?" Katrina mused.

"She decided she had uses for me, so I got to live," I grinned. "It was a close thing and an experience I hope never to repeat. Unfortunately she also saved my life over the Pacific so that's two I owe her ... and Ishara isn't happy about that."

"Your female deity is disappointed in you," St. Marie snorted. "I'm happy I am not alone."

"Not so much disappointed as ..."

"Territorial," Katrina finished for me. "I know the feeling."

"What? Me?" I looked her way.

"I'm about to lose you to JIKIT," she pointed out, "and I barely got you back. Now I'm not even getting my last eleven days ... all because the larger world needs you. Cáel, I want you to know that you have made my job far more fulfilling because of the attitude you take toward our work."

"I thought I was giving you headaches."

"No. That would be me," St. Marie interjected. "Katrina is your third greatest fan."

"Buffy and Helena?" I looked to Buffy and Helena.

"Of course," Katrina nodded. "They will be forever trying to repay you for the gift you gave them ~ to make them a full-fledged Amazon. Buffy is even prouder that you have entrusted her and Helena with expanding your House."

"We earned the right, Cáel, but so had many other deserving Runners who never got the chance," Buffy stated. "You gave all Runners real hope that any of us could one day be in a House, with children of our own. That our souls would go on for eternity."

"I especially like your idea to induct Runners whose time had passed so that your history would run both forward and backwards at the same time," Helena added.

"Speaking of telling people something they deserve to know ..." Katrina's hawk-like gaze regarded St. Marie. "Being the sponsor of House SzélAnya, he needs to know something about House Illuyankamunus."

"I am not the High Priestess, Katrina," St. Marie bristled.

"You have her authority invested in you," Katrina persisted. "How is he to know how much trouble he is causing unless you enlighten him?" 

St. Marie growled, torn between two difficult choices.

"Everyone else, leave the room," St. Marie grumbled. Buffy shot me worried look before scooting out with Helena.

That left Pamela.

"I'm not staying because I think you will lie to him," Pamela stood. "I'm staying here because Cáel needs a filter ... and he'll tell me anyway when I ask."

"I'm glad I never had to work with you," St. Marie glared. "You and I would not have gotten along."

"I think we would have gotten along fine," Pamela gave a lopsided grin. "We would have hated one another then let each of us do what we are good at. You are a good strategist, Golden Mare. You are the right War Leader at the right time. I despise you, but I acknowledge the Host could do a whole lot worse."

"I am not even going to respond to that backhanded compliment in any other way than say ... may death welcome you soon."

"Hey now," I intervened. "Pamela is the Pat Garret to my 'Billy the Kid'."

"Cáel, Garret murdered Billy," Katrina grinned.

"No I didn't," Pamela struck a pose. "I helped him fake his death so he could live a normal life."

"What she said," I agreed.

"Fine! Fine," St. Marie threw up her hands. "Ishara ..."

"Call me Wakko," I interrupted. "We are friends."

"We are not friends," she growled. "Besides, I thought your code name was Yakko."

"That didn't work out for me. People think I'm the crazy one."

"Crazier one," Pamela corrected me.

"What she said," I pointed to Pamela.

"To think I am letting you be more famous than me," the Golden Mare muttered. "Why have the ancestors done this to me?"

"In private you get to hit him as much as you like," Katrina pointed out. St. Marie punched me in the upper arm - HARD.

"Ow!" I squawked. "Shouldn't you be doing something about this?" I looked to Pamela.

"I don't like her, but she's justified," Pamela shrugged.

"Bitch ...ow!" I yelped when St. Marie punched me again - in the same spot.

"I was saying that about Pamela," I told her. St. Marie looked to Pamela.

"Oh no," she smirked. "I'll get him later ... when he's not expecting it."

"Where were we?" St. Marie shook her head.

"House Illuyankamunus ..." Katrina steered us back on course.

"At the end of the Second Betrayal, the entirety of House Illuyankamunus protested the Council's decision, yet refused to oppose the decision. They swore to be a daily reminder of our shame until the last one died ... which they thought would be soon. They were not alone in feeling shame over what we did ... which you have proven to be wrong. Others felt the same way ... and instead of 'taking themselves to the cliff' when the Host was in such dire circumstances, they joined the House of the Thunder Dragon."

"Since that time, when individual Amazons feel they have been heinously shamed by their fellows without redress, the High Priestess has given them the option of joining Illuyankamunus instead," the Golden Mare explained.

"But ... oh, by the time SzélAnya recovered, all the original Illuyankamunus must have been dead," I reasoned. "Her heart remained with the children of Bolu, so she never returned to the Amazons who fought in her name."

"This 'out' has only been known to the highest ranking Amazons," St. Marie cautioned me. "Only the Council heads involved in such decisions have been told of the true nature of Illuyankamunus ... and not all have agreed that the House should have been allowed to continue. Only the High Priestess, the Keeper of Records and the House Head knew the goddess had turned her back on her followers ... and until you intervened, we didn't know the 'why' of the matter."

"Had you not jumped the gun, we might have been able to integrate the two Houses ... but you had to speak up and now we have the option of retaining House Illuyankamunus as an alternative to a wasted death and adding a new House that will re-forge a bond with men."

"Even in a small way," I nodded.

"It is never enough for you," St. Marie glowered.

"He does not push from behind," Katrina rallied to my defense. "He leads from the front like the charming lemming he is."

"Squeak!"

"The fox is an animal I identify with," St. Marie kept glaring. "Foxes eat lemmings."

"Is that an invitation to - Ow!" she punched me. "At least hit me somewhere else next time ..." which I realized a second to late meant, "OW!" she punched my other arm.

"Bodyguard! Body-guard," I staggered toward Pamela.

"You are in no real danger. That's just Amazon foreplay," she beamed happily my way.

"No - it is NOT," St. Marie seethed. "I find him abhorrent."

"Come on fisherman," Pamela shrugged.

"I'm coming. I'm coming. Katrina, I'll have something to report to you by the end of the day. I'm out of here while I still have use of my arms."

"Cáel, remember to not tell anyone," St. Marie warned me.

"About the Amazons having another weird way of being obstinate survivalists? Sure, no problem," I shrugged.

"That's breaking down a sacred tradition into another one of your delusional qualifications," St. Marie accused me.

"That's his way of saying he understands and has sympathy for our answer to the dilemma of unanswerable personality conflicts," Katrina translated.

"That's not what he said."

"Fine ... the Host is doing something that keeps some people alive so I heartily approve and understand the need for secrecy because rapid and complete solutions are all too often the solution our people reach," I elucidated.

"You could have told me that," St. Marie said. I put some distance between us.

"What fun would that be - come Kato!" I hurried out the door.

"You got that one right," Pamela laughed as she followed me out. "Now that the fun is over, it is time to get ourselves to the office."

{3:45 pm, Thursday, August 28th ~ 11 Days to go}

In a simple life you can always go 'well let me ask [somebody]'. On the surface, my relationship with JIKIT and the Khanate was that way. When JIKIT wanted something from the Khanate, they formally asked me and I asked Iskender, or if the matter was crucial enough, OT (Beg Oyuun Tömörbaatar, the Earth and Sky's representative in North America). The opposite was also true. Or, that was the way it should have been.

Since I was no longer twelve and asking the teacher for a bathroom pass, or giving the Vice Principle a note excusing me from school, I had to be careful what I asked for and had to filter requests through my own insights. Lady Yum-Yum (Fathom Worthington-Burke of the UK's MI-6) and Addison Stuart (CIA's National Clandestine Service) taught me to divine the 'yes, I'm on it', 'we'll work on it' and 'not in this lifetime' replies.

I couldn't make those decisions on whether or not the asking individual was a douche. Lives were hanging in the balance, even if the terms used were 'frozen assets' or informal requests to locate missing persons lost in the chaos of Western China. I had taken those lessons into my meeting with Ferit Hoxha, Permanent Representative of Albania to the United Nations.

I was supposed to smooth things over with him concerning my kidnapping. I did my normal in depth internet research (I swear, I keep meaning to donate money to Wikipedia) before our meeting so we could have something to talk about. We kept it simple, he expresses his country's deepest regrets over my kidnapping (because telling the truth that the Chinese had done it was too plain for me) then began talking about family.

Around dessert time the words 'what would you do if the Khanate asked you to join?' came spilling out of my mouth. Why? Maybe I was possessed. Did I know about the political background of the Balkans? No. I knew that Albanian and Greek girls looked different and that Albanians were Muslims whereas Greeks were Christian.

Thanks to the JIKIT team, I knew Greece had economic problems poor Albania could barely aspire to. They were the wimpy kid on the playground that never had a real shot at coming into their own. I felt bad about that, I guess, so I offered to bring them into Temujin's Big Tent. He would feel honored, I'd feel good about it and ... he leaned across the table and said 'really?'

So I made shit up. Of course Temujin valued Albania's geopolitical location on the European continent. How could he not? With the home of pizza and nun-porn just across the ... Adriatic and bunches of hot Slavic chicks to the north, what wasn't to love? My blood-brother, the Great Khan, was worried about his growing position via-a-vis Europe and who better to be his point men than the Albanians?

I am so full of shit. Sometimes I even stun myself.

Of course he would have to check with his government ... but he and other factors within the Albanian government had been hoping for such a thing ... huh?

Of course he was pleased that of all the languages in the world I was able to speak, I had chosen Albanian. It showed my dedication to his country's cause. Blame Alal.

Of course Albania would maintain its palatinate status within the Khanate ... because I said so, that's why.

Of course my buddy Temujin wouldn't leave me (and the Albanians) hanging around with our dicks in our hands looking like idiots ... because I was doing him a great favor I was totally unaware of.

Of course Greece was viewing Turkey with growing alarm due to its powerful position within the expanding Khanate ... because they have over five hundred years of bad blood and blood feuds I was ignorant of. Come on now, it doesn't take me a week to forgive people who have tried to kill me.

Of course Greece was in 'secret' talks with Russia about the Turkish Question since it looked like the rest of NATO wasn't going to do anything ...

And Temujin was aware of this threat to his European flank but had been unable to address it ...

And now he could use Albania to flank Greece the same way Russia was using Greece to flank Turkey.

I'm a freaking Realpolitik genius. Just ask Fathom, Addison and OT. I had to look 'realpolitik' up to realize it was spelled with a 'k'. I had called Iskender, he had called OT and OT had immediately called the Khan. Twenty-seven minutes later, OT called me back and had me set up a meeting with Ferit. Oh, and Iskender was coming over to talk about something the Great Khan wanted JIKIT to work on.

I said okay. I saw Iskender at least once a week, so I didn't know this was a bad sign. My superiors were wary to meet Iskender because intelligence types like their routines. When assets start acting strange, strange things happen. I knew this to be true. When your normally suspicious girlfriend suddenly acts all lovey-dovey, ... she knows ~ she knows.

Iskender's face showed that he didn't much like this change to our meeting schedule either. Introductions went around. Odette was the only one to say 'Glad to finally meet you' and mean it.

"Cáel Nyilas," he finally turned to me, "I bear a request from the Great Khan himself." No beating around the bush with this crowd.

"What do you need?" I replied. Irrationally, I found myself hoping 'please say you need a second for 'beer-pong''.

"Here is a flash drive with the particulars, but the basics are that we need the United States and the United Kingdom to lend diplomatic support to our efforts to obtain war material and other equipment from other aligned nations," he said.

"Things like?" Addison asked.

"Ships from the United States, tanks from Germany, helicopters from France and computer components for Japan and South Korea," he replied. "This is a list of roughly five thousand items we are attempting to procure."

"Sure, we'll help," I volunteered.

"Cáel, before someone has an aneurism, why don't you find out what your team can do," Pamela burst my bubble.

"Sir, what exactly does your faction think we at JIKIT can do? We are a covert interim unit with limited authority and oversight," Addison stated.

"Wouldn't this be something you could accomplish through your own extra-ordinary resources?" Yum-Yum asked.

"We can only get so much through back channels and shell companies," he replied. "With the quantities the Khanate needs ..." he trailed off.

"You can't make that many purchases," I nodded. Even I knew an eighteen year old could buy a six-pack with little effort and a so-so fake ID. Buying five kegs was a totally different matter.

There was a silence.

"Iskender, give the team 48 hours to go over this data. We will either return it as if we never received it, or act upon the information on your behalf," Yum-Yum spoke with finality.

"I understand," he bowed his head. "I will await your response."




Life as a New Hire Ch. 41



"I'll see you out," I told Iskender. "I get the feeling you knew this would be our reply."

"I didn't, but the Great Khan did," he gave a weak smile. "Honestly, I don't know what to make of the request."

"We do and I think we can get it done," I assured him. I escorted him to the elevator then returned to the room.

I didn't have to be told what was wrong with this. If your girl finds out you ate fast food with another chick, you can explain it away. If you got take-out, or breakfast at some nice nook ... then you had trouble by association. By giving us their Christmas list, Temujin had told us more than what he needed. He was telling us what he didn't need as well.

This gave us incredible insight into Khanate economic and military policy over the next three years. See, you could go to Best Buy and purchase a 72" widescreen TV. It was what Best Buy did. You couldn't show up expecting to buy 500,000 TV's though. To get them you had to tell the manufactures they needed to build them because there was a market for that many systems.

In turn, they need to buy the various components they didn't build themselves. That meant you would need to smelt more copper, produce more plastics and mine more cadmium ... because they would be needed. Therefore, what the Khanate was ordering was stuff they expected to get three to thirty-six months down the line. This went beyond the war with China.

As an example, the Khanate was ordering 265 Leopard 2A7 tanks from Germany to be delivered within two years. Germany didn't have those tanks lying around. They needed to build them. They had to expand the factories to build them and therefore produce all the components you needed for a brand new cutting edge tank at a faster rate than ever before.

This also told us the Khanate didn't expect to build enough tanks for their own use, much less export to allies such as Vietnam. Maybe they didn't have the construction capacity ... or maybe they were busy building something else. We could figure that out by seeing what else they were purchasing abroad ... things like cars, trucks, tractors and locomotives.

This was an excellent and powerful gift. It was also ...

"This is poison," Addison began the next phase of the meeting.

"I disagree," Mehmet Ali Sharif (our State department analyst) countered. "This will provide JIKIT with exceptional insight into what the Khanate's medium term goals are."

"It is both," Yum-Yum nodded.

"The question is 'who are we going to share this with?'" I sighed. That was the critical juncture. After all, the UK and US had team of analysts whose sole job was to make forecasts like this.

"We decide that in 47 ½ hours," Yum-Yum stated. "Mehmet, lets farm out 15% of this packet to different agencies and see what they come up with. Keep things compartmentalized."

"Will do. Addison, let's burrow through this data to see what we can send to who," he got to work.

"Cáel, what is your insight into the Great Khan's thinking," Addison turned to me. "Are we being suborned?" I had to think that over.

"Yeah," I nodded. "He's got six months to figure out who is friends and enemies are and he might as well decide where we stand right now. If we share this data, he gets hurt, but it will mean the end of our taskforce and the end of real hard information about what the Khanate is up to as well."

"Serving three masters never turns out well," Yum-Yum smirked. "Still, our regular intelligence agencies are months away from piecing together the inner workings of the Khanate and we have jack-off HUMINT on the ground. Our respective countries have 'back-burner-ed' Central Asia and now that's biting us in the ass. Barring an excessive NBC (Nuclear, Biological, or Chemical weapons) platform, I think we buy in."

That meant becoming a true intermediator between our respective governments and the Khanate. That also meant continuing to work with the Amazons and 9 Clans, because if we betrayed the Khanate at this juncture, how much could the others really trust us? No, to keep JIKIT going, we were going to hide this information, thus becoming complicit in what the Khanate planned. 

We had already wandered past the point of intelligence-gathering and analysis to actual policy-making some time ago. This was the point of no return though. This wasn't plausible deniability. This was actively helping the Khanate achieve their national goals and meant moving beyond the realm of covert activities and into one of co-conspirators. I honestly thought we'd all buy in.

"So, what's next on the agenda?" I posed the question.

"Someone is late for their knife-fighting training," Pamela gave me a shark's smile. I smiled too. Finally I had something to do that I didn't understand, but didn't mind being ignorant about. If I fucked up, it would all be on me.

{9:45 pm, Thursday, August 28th ~ 11 Days to go}

Brooke Lee was many things, but being a cook wasn't one of them. What inspired her to cook dinner was almost beyond me. It had to do with that checklist women go through when seeing what a guy doesn't see in them. Brooke was gorgeous, fun to be around (if a bit snobby) and good in the sack. So, what made me closer to Libra and Hana than her? She wasn't trying to compete with the Amazons, thank God.

She was better looking than Libra (true) and just as much fun ... and if Libra was a better lay she would have hung herself, so it had to come down to womanly stuff ~ things like housecleaning, buying stuff and cooking. House-cleaning was a continuous menial effort and she had a maid service for that. Buying stuff? She had that down pat. 

Cooking? How hard could that be? VERY..., but she hadn't accepted that, so here I was eating charred prime rib, rubbery asparagus tips, lumpy mash potatoes (made from real potatoes - I'd seen the peals in the trashcan) and some sort of Tomato salad. When she informed me she was cooking, I began looking for a reason not to come over for a late night rendezvous. Then she dropped the E-bomb.

"If you don't come over, it will be just me and Casper (Winslow) again."

"Casper's still in town?" I asked. Since that horrible weekend where I first met Hana (good for my life), her father (hates my guts) and her cruel brother Brennan (now dead by my indirect intervention), Casper's life had been one of healing from the worst kind of treatment (by Brennan's now deceased posse) possible. I couldn't treat her like a pariah.

"I'm coming over to see you, but it will be great to see Casper again as well," I elaborated/exaggerated.

"Great," she gushed. "I'll see you at nine." 

"Make in nine thirty," I said. "I need to see a girl about a bed."

"You are horrible," she chided me playfully, clearly not believing me. 

"No I'm not. I'm tucking Aya into bed. She has an early start tomorrow and she's going to be gone all weekend, so this will be the last time I'll see her until Monday night. I'll be at your place as soon as possible after that," I told her. Aya was going to Doebridge and I was making a habit of steering clear of that Amazon municipality. Their security and I had a disagreement last time I was there.

"It is sweet of you to keep up with that little girl you were kidnapped with," she cooed. "You are a cool, great guy."

"She's a special kid. We share a bond," I said. That was true and then some.

"I'll see you at nine-thirty. You won't be disappointed."

And so I was at Brooke's at nine-thirty, getting ready to eat a largely indigestible dinner. Casper had stammered a greeting while looking at me happily. The smoke from the kitchen was warning enough of what was to come. I made light of the charred disaster. I didn't point out that two hours at 350 didn't equate to an hour and a half at 450. It just didn't.

Brooke made up for her culinary inadequacies by looking good enough to eat off the plate, off the floor, or between the covers. She had on an Aqua tank top, black bra and khaki shorts with open-toed sandals on her feet. Casper was in the same general get up, except her tank top was white as was her bra.

I carved up the beast while those two stood around drinking wine. The roast beast (original species uncertain) was as dry as leather, but the knife was sharp. We discussed Brooke's job hunting lack of success. The jobs she was qualified for didn't pay enough, required her to ignore too much leering and were generally an insult to her intelligence. Basic 'intern' stuff really.

I mentioned Libra's job with Hana. She created some excuses about making her own way in the world then followed that up by asking if I could use my newfound influence to send some job offers her way. 'Surely not everyone at Havenstone was that way'. No. She had seem them being polite. They could be much, much worse.

"Why don't you become a consultant?" I suggested.

"That would be nice," Casper said. Brooke had become her closest friend.

"What would I consult in?" Brooke inquired.

"Employment," I mused. "You know networking and you know people who are looking for specific kinds of jobs. Start your own business."

"I like that idea," Brooke grinned. "I could create a web page and get business cards, raise the start-up capital and start getting listings and finding clients."

"I know some people who could help out," I offered, "as long as Central Asia is an acceptable location."

"What kind of work do you think you can find?"

"Well ... they need to build a government," I worked on my idea quickly because Brooke was literally dripping with sex. I was thinking 'tapping that booty all night long' sex.

Women love sex, romance and sensuality. They also want to love their lives, feel successful and have just as much independence as they fantasize to be a good thing. I was coming through for Brooke yet again. I'd bolstered her when her former fiancé's life imploded, casting her aside. I'd later given her the strength to make a moral stand for Casper and now I was helping her out of her career doldrums. God, she was going to let me fuck her silly. She was going to be freaking animal.

But first we had to pretend to eat before we somehow shuffled Casper off to bed. The tomato salad was edible. It turned out to be Casper's contribution to tonight's festivities. I made sure to compliment her on it, while not mentioning the rest of this disaster. Brooke didn't mind. Midway through the meal, she stood up and paced about while calling her parents. Her Mom answered, so she gave that woman the good news first.

My name came up ... to her father ... and not in a bad way, which was rather rare.

'Yes, I was engaged to Hana Sulkanen. I was also her friend as well as Libra's.'

'I had friends in the Khanate, where business opportunities were aplenty.'

'Security concerns? No. She knew some people (my Amazons) who did that kind of work. Besides, it wasn't like she was going there.'

"You might want to consider going there and meeting some of their people on the ground before sending your friends to that part of the world," I whispered.

'Oh, I'll probably go to ...'

"Astana."

'Astana, their capital. Father, there are extraordinary opportunities there. I'll be fine.'

"I'll hire you some private security," I suggested. I wouldn't use the Ghost Tigers I had guarding Hana. That would be inappropriate. I couldn't use Amazons for that kind of work either. 

I was thinking about using Captain Delilah Faircloth of Her Majesty's MI-6. They had all kinds of contractors they'd used in China who would be looking for work now that the shooting had temporarily stopped. For all I knew, Lady Yum-Yum could use Brooke's new business as a cover to insert British operatives into the former capital of Kazakhstan.

Now that I thought about it, that was a good idea. Brooke would have her hand in an espionage operation and not even suspect it at first. Later on ... she'd probably love the peripheral risks and experience was experience.

'Cáel can hire some private security using his government contracts.'

'I know you know people in the government Papa, but Cáel's people actually kill people.' Which went over like a bamboo hut in a tidal wave, but Brooke was irrepressible. Her parents wished her luck, Brooke did a happy dance and Casper snuggled close to me.

"Hey Casper," I put an arm around her. I was relieved she didn't flinch. I remained a good guy in her estimations of such things. I'd also hack my own hand off if it tried anything overtly sexual. "How are you coming along?"

"Better ... day by day and my therapy group is good ... very caring."

"Glad to hear it. If there is anything personal that I can do, don't hesitate to ask. It is not a matter of debts to one another. You are worth it."

"I'm glad you still think so," she stared up at me. I could easily dismiss her being needy. She was truly a damsel in need of a shoulder, a warm hand and a kind word. I didn't owe her because of Brennan and Anima. I owed her as a fellow human being.

"Isn't he the best guy in the world?" Brooke beamed. "We need to find ourselves one just like him." I couldn't see how that was going to happen. I was born in the wrong neighborhood, went to the wrong school and hung out with a different brand of friends. The convergence of me with Trent, which then led to Libra and Brooke, had been beyond bizarre.

Felix was such an idiot for not buying into Brooke instead of stupidly trying to use her against me. Even that had backfired when I sucker-punched him in front of nearly a hundred Amazons. I'd knocked him out cold because he had shown more balls than brains in that one encounter. I wouldn't get that lucky again. I'd have to figure a way a new way to kick his Alpha-male ass.

"I'd argue with you, but I'm a hell of a guy. I'm a prince among men," I joked. "I mean that literally, I'm a Prince of Hungary and Transylvania."

"Does that come with one of those cool sashes and lots of medals and ribbons?" Brooke teased.

"I'm sure the Hungarians are working on that right now," I chortled. 

"Magyarorszag es Erdely Hercege" Casper murmured. "I read it in USA Today. They said it was something the Romanians gave you, but I wasn't sure what it was."

"In Romanian it is "Prinţul Ungariei şi Transilvaniei", I clarified. "Prinţul is ..."

"Is what?" Brooke said after a moment's lapse.

"When I went into battle with the Romanians, that is what they called me. It was a jest of sorts, not real," I sighed, recalling that dark day. Casper patted my hand.

"Is  Magyarorszag the name for 'prince'?" Brooke requested.

" Magyarorszag is the name the Hungarians call their homeland," I clarified. "Hercege is their word for prince ... but let's not buy into the hype. I'm just a guy with a job that entails greater risk than a pizza delivery driver." 

"A Jewish pizza delivery driver in downtown Gaza, Cáel. Every time I see you, you are sporting a new scar, or scratch. What do you have for me this time?" she gave me a sultry 'come-hither' look. I caught it and liked what I saw. Casper caught it and sighed slightly.

"I'm sleepy," she yawned. "I should be going to bed."

"Oh no," Brooke protested. I almost believed her. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. I'll take an Ambien then be out like a light," Casper said before giving my hand another squeeze.

"You don't have to do this," I whispered into Casper's ear. "I'll brave another one of Brooke's home-cooked meals to spend time with her." Casper giggled.

"Hey now! What was that about?" Brooke pouted. She was definitely going to be wrapping those scrumptious lips around my cock in the next three hours, of that I was certain.

"He ... ah ... was wondering if we could do this again real soon," Casper babbled, caught between fright and comedy. 

"Soon," Brooke shot me more of the 'sexy'. "He hasn't even made it out of the door yet."

"I like the way you think," I winked to Brooke.

"What do you think is on my mind," she was provoking me. I didn't say a word. I chose to undress her with my eyes instead. She knew what I was doing too.

"Bedtime," Casper put both hands on the table then stood. "Thanks for coming over tonight." I stood as well, hugged her then briefly watched her walk away. Just because she was 'handle with care' didn't mean she wasn't a handful. My miniscule number of rules included not doing it with girls not in their right minds. I wanted them to be free to hate me when the time came.

Brooke saw Casper off to the bathroom for her meds and the whole pre-bedtime ritual stuff while I cleaned up the dinner table. Five minutes of work now meant not waking up to the smell of ruined food later. The only thing in need of saving was the salad. I Saran Wrapped the rest of it. I was going to claim I was taking it into work for breakfast then dispose of it at our HQ ~ One MiMA Tower.

Once I was finished, I puttered around noisily until Brooke came looking. I could have gone to her bed and stripped naked, eagerly waiting for sex. Since Brooke was trying to play in the same league as Hana, she might have misconstrued that as me taking advantage of her. If not tonight then in the morning when she replayed the encounter. Brooke liked to be 'in charge', so I fed that instinct.

I had come here for sex. We both knew that, but we could pretend we didn't. Brooke could then want to have me and got to make sure I wanted her with or without sex ... so we could have guilt-free sex together. Brooke was not overly complicated ... for a girl ... and she was hot enough to be worth having to go through these sorts of games.

"Whatchya thinking about?" Brooke said as she sashayed into the kitchenette. 

"You," I met her gaze. She licked her upper lip.

"I've been thinking about you too," she moved within my comfort zone. I obliged her aggression by placing my hands first on her hips then, as I pulled her close, to the small of her back. We were groin to 'growing' and I was very aroused by her presence and her scent.

"Are you going to toy with me some more so that I go home tonight stiff and moaning with lust?" I groaned.

"I like toying with you," she snickered. "You are fun."

"You are fun and sexy. We need to try another beach weekend with less drama before the season ends," I played to her amusement.

"I don't think I can wait for the weekend," she protested by shimmying her hips against me. "While you were out saving the world, I've been all alone."

"Oh hell no!" I hissed. "What brought that on?"

"You are a hard act to follow," she teased. "I've missed you."

"I've missed you too," wasn't a total lie. I hadn't been celibate by a long shot. That didn't mean I didn't miss her.

"How about we do a little bit less 'missing'?" she suggested.

"I'd like to have you on the sofa," I pressed into her.

"I'd like to have you in the bedroom ~ my bed is bigger," she grinned. My eyes shown with anticipation, which was what she was looking for. Brooke took my hand and led me through the living room and around the corner to her bedroom.

She cat-crawled onto the bed while I hurriedly stripped down. She languidly lay back on the pillows, hair billowed around her in a dark halo while she hungrily watched my physique being revealed to her. Brooke's left hand traced a line down around her breast to her pubic mound where she started playing with herself. Her eyes fluttered, her lust blossomed into womanhood and I was beside her in a flash.

Instead of falling in beside her (she was close to her side of the bed), or to her far side, I came at her from the foot of her bed. I spent only a few seconds kissing her toes, shins and kneecaps. While my kisses made moist lip-prints up her thighs, I unbuttoned her short shorts and undid the zipper. Brooke raised her hips so I could pull her clothing down ~ no panties.

To change things up slightly, I finished the removal by turning her over onto her stomach, then pulling on her hips until she was in the doggy-style position. She looked back at me, her eyes framed by dark lashes and darker eyebrows on her tanned flesh. I pressed her shoulder blades down until her breasts were squeezed against the bed.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 41



After that, I slid down until I was on my belly. Using my shoulders and neck, I began licking her labia from the hood to the anus. That got her going and before long, I was drinking from her nectar and loosening up her butthole with some quality rimming. Brooke had prepped for me carefully and cleanly and this made me attack her nether regions with renewed gusto. Butt sex was in the offing.

Not yet though. I got her all nice and gushing, but I wanted to try something more. I kept my tongue action going on while I coiled my body behind her. With a quick, graceful repositioning, I rose up on my knees, her thighs resting on my shoulders while I made furious suction actions onto her clit.

"Yeeeppp ... Yeah!" Brooke exhaled. "This is ... aha ... new." 

True to my predations, while I worried and nibbled her vaginal accoutrements, Brooke took one hand (the other she was using to pull her hair aside) and began stroking my cock. Her tongue touched my spongy head several times before she stopped the outright teasing and placed her lips upon my glans. She didn't suck it in. On no. She sucked on my angry red helmet, running her lips right to the edge then back again, as if I was a Popsicle.

I was leaning back on my haunches because of the awkward hold on hips with the weight I had to support. Not that Brooke was at all heavy.

"Crawl forward," I mumbled from between her legs. It took her a few seconds to figure out I wanted to return us to our starting position. She made a great display of slithering forward. My tongue stayed in her vagina until both her knees hit the comforter. 

At that stage she was ready to go. I positioned my penis between her upper thighs, thrust forward and played along her clit and landing strip of pubic hair. I rubbed her juices all around. My second thrust was steady and true, driving straight into her molten vaginal folds until my hairs ground against her ass and my forcefulness lifted her knees temporarily off the sheets.

With my third lunge into her, Brooke reached back and stopped my rocking motion. I stilled which allowed her to reach over to the side table, open the drawer and pull out a designer bottle of lubricant.

"I know this is what you like," she panted in anticipation. I knew this was what we both wanted by the way she ran her fingers along my palm before making the hand-off.

This was one of those bottles with the glass stopper, so it make a slight grinding sound as I opened it. Brooke want down onto all fours, her palms resting on the comforter. Her head was down and her waist-long black hair masked her features, but not her sounds of pleasure.

"Arch your back Brooke," I said as I inhaled her intoxicating aroma. She did so willingly. I let the oil pour down in a thin stream and rubbed it in with my thumb.

I had to carefully aim my phallus against her sphincter because Brooke hadn't been lying about her lack of sexual attention. She was tight and her anus hadn't been plundered by anyone in my long (for me) absence. Hell, this long and I was normally back to 'make-up' sex. I certainly wasn't going to be ramming my rod home with any great passion for a few minutes.

I didn't want to cause her (too much) pain nor have her anal muscles constrict the skin off my love missile.

"Ooohhh ..." she moaned. "I love it when you are gentle, Cáel. It reminds me how much you care for how I feel." She punctuated that statement by rolling her hips, driving in my entire cockhead into her rectum. Her body tensed up then bucked. I popped out of her.

"Put it back in," she gasped. There was so much to love about Brooke and her enthusiasm. Once I had my penis tip back in, I rested my left hand on the small of her back to keep her back arched while I reached around with my right and began twisting and palming her right breast through her shirt and bra. As I was slowly twisting and thrusting, Brooke's arms gave out and she went face first into her pillow. Her breast pressed my hand down on the comforter and her repositioning drove a full inch of my cock suddenly into her.

Brooke gave out a strangled sob followed by a whimpering sound. My left hand took my weight. My right came around and pulled her hair away from her face so she could breathe easier and I could judge her pain through her facial expressions.

"Oh God," she spat a strand of hair out of her mouth, "It feels like you are going to split me in half."

"Too late to back out now," I teased her.

"I can ... hssssss ... take anything you can give me ... Cáel Nyilas," she taunted me through clenched teeth. I gave her another inch for her impertinence. She tried to crawl forward before she surprised me by thrusting up and back.

"God damn!" she howled. "You're huge!"

I imagined that my cock would feel like a fucking Sequoyah shoved up my ass if I pulled off a stunt like that too. Brooke was game for more. I had enough in that now I could start fucking her without fear of popping out. Her hands bunched up the comforter around her head as she hung on for dear life. This felt so good that squeezing my last bit in felt rather inconsequential after all the physical and erotic ground we had covered up until then.

Brooke's stomach clenched up as her orgasm jumped her and me. Every muscle in her body spasmed, including her rectal ones. I was shooting off into her bowels inside a second. My heat only made her climax come that much harder. I kept humping away like a chimp on crack while Brooke began to squeal out between baited breathe.

"Damn, that was intense," I remarked as I fell to her side. Brooke was still face down/ass up with her eyes squeezed shut, still riding through her own aftershocks of her sensual seismic waves.

"Oh ... oh ... oh ..." she panted hoarsely. "I want to ... (pant) ... do that again ... real soon."

I spanked her ass loudly and prepared on shaky legs to remount her.

"Noooo," she moaned. "Give my ass a minute's rest. Can't we do something else for a while?"

"How about I get cleaned up and get you a hot wash cloth?" I suggested as my nostrils flared.

"I'll just lie here and feel sated," she murmured. Her knees slid down until her stomach was down on the bed. I gave her abused backside another tender spank then slid off the bed. I quick-stepped it out of the room ... and nearly tripped over Casper who had been out in the hall watching us.

"I," she stammered. I shut the door then crossed the hallway from her.

"No problems, Casper. I was hoping that we wouldn't wake you up," I coaxed her down the hallway to her door, and away from Brooke's room. I noticed her eyes constantly flicking down to my crotch. "Hang on," I held up my hand. When she nodded, I quietly sprinted down to the living room, grabbed up a throw pillow then sprinted back. Now I could be covered up.

"Why didn't you get a towel out of the bathroom?" Casper whispered.

"I'm an idiot," I shrugged. She sniffled then giggled.

"You make Brooke very happy, but ..."

"But?"

"But you are engaged to Hana Sulkanen."

"I'm a Love Monkey," I shrugged. "I find it difficult to be with just one woman. It is never that a woman isn't enough for me. It is that there is something wrong with me that is never truly satisfied so I keep roaming."

"Don't you ... worry about the women you are with?"

"I'm not a wonderful human being, Casper. That is all I can think to say."

"You aren't like Brennan ... not like that ... hold on." Casper retreated to her room then came back with a folded up piece of news print. By the size it was one of those articles you found on page 17. "Here," she handed it over. "It was delivered here in an envelope with my name on it."

I looked it over. A 'Jane Doe' had been found in Charleston harbor, SC, dead from an overdose.

"Three days before I got that, I got a call from Anima," she told me. "She told me," Casper gulped. "She told me that she was very sorry about all that had happened. She was sorry. That was it."

"Oh."

"Anima is dead now, isn't she?"

"Yeah, I think so," I noted sadly. "Does that change anything with you?"

"I don't know. I mean, Brooke told me that you would make sure none of those people would ever be around to bother me again, but ... was this you?"

"No and yes. I told someone with the power to make a difference what happened to you and who was responsible. After that, I never heard about the matter again. Anima did stop by once, crazy with fear but unrepentant. I honestly feel that how she ended up feeling wouldn't have made a difference on whether she lived, or died. I don't know what to make of her call."

"She ... it doesn't help. I still have to take a sleeping pill to keep the nightmares away. I haven't told my therapist about the death, or how everyone else is either dead or disappeared. I don't know what to think. I was hoping you would."

"I'm not normally the person people go for answers. I'll make up an answer, if that's what you want."

She reached up and touched my forearm.

"I prefer honesty," she smiled. "I guess I was hoping for you to be more ... perfect than you are. That was unfair of me."

"You wouldn't be the first person to mistake me for a decent human being," I joked. "Usually that misconception only lasts a week or so. I promise you... I'll be living down to your expectations in no time."

"Brooke thinks highly of you ... and so do I. We've known you more than a couple of weeks," Casper feebly jibed.

"I've been behaving myself," I teased her.'

"Brooke sounded ..." she trailed off. I waited. "You two sound like you enjoyed one another."

"That's how it is supposed to be. You'll feel that one day too. You'll meet someone who thinks of your pleasure first. And, if he doesn't, you will have to train him to do it right."

"You make it sound so easy," Casper sighed.

"Do you really think I'm that unique?"

"A prince, avenger, soldier-of-fortune, titan of the bedroom?" she lightened up. We'd crossed a barrier. I was 'joke-able'. 

"We have union meetings every third Wednesday," I grinned. "We kick back, drink a few beers and figure out what hot spots and hotties we need to concentrate on for the next month."

"I ... thank you, Cáel," she smiled.

"For what?"

"For not disappointing me. You are a nicer guy than you give yourself credit for."

"Thank you, Casper," I reached over and hugged her. She didn't flinch. "For treating me like I can make a difference."

"I need to go to bed now," she yawned. I hugged her again then stepped back. She walked to her door and began to shut it. I swore I heard her whisper 'you do', but I wasn't sure. I had to hurry to the bathroom, heat up a wash cloth while cleaning up, before finally getting back to Brooke. I found her reclining on the bed, totally naked.

"Sorry I took so long," I told her.

"I know. It is okay. I heard most of it," she glowed happily. "Casper needs someone - someone who isn't me. I'm not the most patient friend in the world. I sort of feel responsible for her and she needs someone to talk to about normal stuff ... but I miss going to clubs and hanging out with friends who talk back." I sat on the bed and began to run the warm cloth up her thighs.

"What was it like ... that fight in Romania?" she asked as we switched off with the washcloth. She tenderly worked over her abused anal region.

"The battle? A skirmish really ..."

"Yes," she paused. "Between that and being kidnapped, you've had a mentally draining time since we last spent some time together. You act like you haven't changed much, but ..."

"It's okay. I know it sounds cliché, but it is hard to explain those things unless you've lived thru them."

"If you don't want to talk about it," Brooke gave me an out. I could tell this was a part of my life she wanted to be a part of; my manliness on display.

"I'm okay. I can't really say I was scared for myself either time. During the kidnapping I was concerned for Aya. All of the normal human stuff came later, after the crisis was over. During the kidnapping ... there isn't much to talk about. As for the fight ... at the time I had a plan and was waiting for the opportunity to implement it. Bullets were flying. Men around me were getting wounded. I can't recall seeing any of the men on my side getting killed."

"Did you get shot?" she stroked my abdomen.

"Bruised, though my flak jacket had to do its job once or twice," I sighed. I could almost hear the sounds of the bullets whizzing around me once more. Wounded men hadn't screamed out when they were hit. They'd grunted. The cries would come later when the enormity of their pain sunk in.

"I made sure the main bad guy ~ the Boss ~ didn't get away. I think I wounded one guy. That was it; my contribution to the battle."

"It was your plan that won the fight though, right?"

"Yes. I did what leaders are supposed to do ... but that didn't mean I could save all my guys and gals."

"You are very courageous," Brooke cuddled in. "You don't back down often, but you are not an ass about it. You are the least 'macho-asshole' macho-man I've ever met ... and I'd like to see more of you," she purred.

"I'm already naked," I played naïve. Brooke pushed me down and straddled my lap.

"I guess I'll just have to appreciate the naked you some more then," she chortled. Brooke took charge long enough for me enter her then we combined our efforts, her moving with her thighs and me with my hands on her hips, to engage in some serious love-making.



Life as a New Hire Ch. 43



*Editing magic performed by KJ24 and Shyqash, plus contributions by the regular gang of brigands and neer-do-wells*

*Would you choose ephemeral beauty, or rugged determination?*

*Please note: I wrote this before the incidents in Paris and San Bernardino, which makes some of the fantasy story developments tragic in that life sometimes mirrors fantasy*

*****

{5:45 am, Saturday, August 30th ~ 9 Days to go}

"You look like someone strangled your kitten," Pamela told me as I exited Anais' hotel room. She was leaning against the wall across the hall. I had the feeling she had been there a while. Of course I hadn't been allowed to wander off alone; most likely, Chaz had kept an eye on me until Pamela relieved him.

"I ... I got Tadêfi killed," I unloaded on her. 

Pamela immediately dropped her casual façade, her eyes narrowing. "What do you know?"

"Ishara took me to her while I dreamed. I spoke to her ... I guess because I was there in Ishara-space. She told me that the birth of our child will kill her. What the fuck have I done?" I was near tears, damn it.

"You work for bitches, top to bottom," Pamela stated firmly. "Of course you weren't informed of any of this until after the fact. Do me a favor?"

"What is it? I'm not about to throw myself off a building - again."

"Don't let this tragedy bog you down. That is what Alal wants, to soil the goodness and forgiveness within you. That road leads to only one place - being as bad as he is. I've seen that capacity within you as well."

"To be a rank-bastard?"

"Precisely."

"What do I do?" sounded so pathetic coming from me.

"Cry. Weep. Remember you work for bitches, then laugh at them. You only lose if you stop being you."

"I hardly think being an irresponsible playboy is the appropriate response to all of this?"

"Hey. Don't hold back. I still have two ready and willing granddaughters you've promised to do something about," she chided me. I couldn't help myself. I snorted in amusement. I was Anakin Skywalker in the tent. I guessed I would be that forlorn soul for a while longer, except I had Pamela holding me back from the last few, fatal steps.

{3:00 pm, Saturday, August 30th ~ 9 Days to go}

"They want to do what?" I blinked. I was in Doebridge, connecting with Aya and her Squirts. I hadn't asked to come here. Pamela decided our destination on her own initiative, and I hadn't come up with a convincing enough reason to jump out of the moving car. I didn't want to unload my woes on my 9-year old Valkyrie. She was entertaining her friends with a weekend of shooting bows and learning the best way to hobble a surprised foe ... just normal little Amazon-girl stuff.

"Some people of your government want to talk to the Esteemed Oyuun Tömörbaatar," Iskender repeated over the phone.

"In an official capacity? As ambassador from Kazakhstan? Or from the Khanate?"

"I am unsure. That is why we want you there," he informed me.

"In what capacity? Chief Ambassador of the Host? A member of JIKIT ..."

"As the Great Khan's Blood-Brother."

"Oh," I murmured, "This is because war is about to break out ..."

"Yes. We really cannot afford a fatal confrontation with the United States," Iskender told me.

"But if I make a deal in the Khan's name, it doesn't look bad for OT or Temujin, and if we are rebuffed, it isn't egg on their face either," I reasoned.

"That is my belief. You are regarded as the Great Khan's chaotic kinsman - someone tolerated for his eccentricities while being close to the Great Khan's heart - for a very good reason."

Yeah, I had saved his life. More to the point, five Amazon augurs had died so that he might live. To the Mongol-Turkish Empire, that carried an incredible weight. Things such as either being named, or nominated as Magyarorszag es Erdely Hercege, Prinţul Ungariei şi Transilvaniei, Mbretërore Princi i Shqipërisë, t'agavorakan ishkhan Haïasdan and sts'kho prints'I sak'art'velo? That was a whole lot of spaghetti with no actual paycheck, inherited palace, or even loyal palace guards to hold the republican masses at bay. 

Okay, that was somewhat untrue. Hungary and Romania thought I was quaintly insane for accepting the Great Khan's claim that I was the Prince of Hungry and Transylvania, but Albania, Armenia and Georgia were far more serious about my honorifics. 

In those nations, there was some traction to give the 'office' of prince the powers of a 'powerless' head of state, now that they were part of the Greater Khanate Empire. Essentially, I was to show up, give the Great Khan's blessing to their respective elected governments and then 'rubber stamp' their governing cabinets. On the plus side, I liked Albanian food and both Georgia and Armenia had year-round skiing.

"When do you want me to show up?"

"That is an issue. We need to meet on neutral ground where we are not likely to be noticed," Iskender hedged.

"We could call Addison and have her arrange something."

"The Esteemed Oyuun Tömörbaatar was of the opinion that we could hold this clandestine meeting at your residence," he dropped the anchor on me.

"Ah ... I live in a hole in the wall, Iskender," I pointed out.

"Define a hole in the wall."

"Two modest bedrooms, a kitchenette, one bathroom and a living room that only allows one sofa and one weight set ... small."

"With the money you make? Why?" he wondered.

"When I got the job three months ago, it was all I could afford. Since then, I haven't had the time to house-hunt," I explained. "Besides, I like my roommates."

"Who sleeps on the sofa?"

"Not you too," I griped. "Odette sleeps with me, unless my company minds. Then she sleeps with Timothy, unless he has company - Timothy is gay."

"Aahh ..."

"I'm not gay or bi-sexual, Iskender, if that is what you are worried about," I cut that line of thought off. Some cultures frowned on homosexuality and this wasn't time to make a fruitless stand for alternate lifestyles.

"I'm sure no one would think that of you." 'Because I was a renowned man-whore' was unstated.

"Do you still want to meet at my apartment?"

"Yes. This is a spur of the moment deal. Are you amenable?"

"I need to get back and get things ready ~ say an hour?" I offered.

"That would do nicely. Thank you, Cáel."

"We are all on the same team, right?" I sighed.

"We are glad you feel that way. We do appreciate it. I will see you in an hour."

"You've got to go?" Aya asked.

"Yeah. Work."

"It's okay. Stop burying yourself in the results of Tadêfi's choice and start thinking about raising your daughter, Cáel," she advised. 

I had gone to see her because I wasn't sure I could make sense of it talking with Timothy. And Odette would try to comfort me with sex, which would only complicate having sex with her later. Girls rarely let shit like that go. Everyone else I knew ... had ulterior motives.

"And here I had hoped that we could partake of some oyster hunting," I teased her.

"If they corner me, I'll tell Elsa you tried. I'll see you Monday night. After all, this will be our last Monday together until ... you come back," she grinned up at me. 

Done ... This Monday was the start of the last week of my Havenstone internship. I'd nearly run the gauntlet and survived. Monday night/Tuesday morning of the following week I would be heading somewhere, meeting up with Felix and forging some strategy that had us winning the Great Hunt.

For me, it was a matter of prestige. For Felix, it was a matter of freedom. Katrina had worked out a compromise. Felix would become the property of the House that captured him, though he would still be allowed to work at Havenstone. Essentially, we would be surrendering up his genetics. For Felix, it would be a permanent thing. If we won? Respect for House Ishara would increase and Felix would be free to choose any woman that wished to share his immaculate heritage.

"Good hunting, Dumu," I pulled her in for a hug. She wrapped her little arms around my waist. {Dumu = daughter}

"Mamitu. Find it in yourself to forgive Ishara, and then you can forgive yourself," she smiled.

"So how did you become so wise?" I felt a tiny bit of the weight lifted from my chest.

"I have a very bright father," she teased me right back, "... and an even smarter aunt."

"Stinker." I grunted, 

Aya giggled and I separated on that happy note to make my way back to my current means of conveyance.

"Well, that was fast," Pamela remarked.

"Work."

"I haven't received a notification," she worried.

"Special, off-the-books, Khanate stuff. Temujin wants me to help him out," I confided. Both of us knew this was stuff we might not be able to tell our companions on JIKIT about. Not good. We needed to trust one another.

"That guy better start ponying up some tangible benefits."

"What do you suggest?" I mused as she started the engine and pulled out of the parking lot.

"A few guardians would be nice. His personal phone number. Vast tracks of land in Kazakhstan, worked by serfs," she suggested.

"Beautiful, scantily clad serfs?"

"Are there any other kind? They will fit in well with your female Mongolian bodyguards," she chortled.

"Actually, a few more males in the bodyguard wouldn't suck," I countered. "I have an annoying habit of attracting gorgeous females who want to sleep with me."

I tried to keep the bitter tone from my voice.

"Atta boy," Pamela punched my arm. "Don't let the pain drag you down. As you told me, she's not angry about her fate. Being an Amazon, I believe she feels honored. The life of augurs is rather thankless and their doom is ignored by the majority of our 'sisters'. I don't think you will ever let that happen."

"Not now," I agreed.

"Thought of any names?" 

Names for my unborn daughter ... the first of what appeared to be my many children. Holy Hell, what had become of my life as an unreliable cad, a womanizer and a disappointer of women?

"I was thinking of naming her after her mother," I replied.

"Don't do that to her. That's a legacy I wouldn't wish on any daughter - being an augur."

"Shala?"

"Where did that come from?" Pamela asked.

"The Sumerian Goddess of Compassion," I enlightened her.

"That's nice," Pamela gave me a tender look. She really was my spiritual triplet - Aya being our best third. "Of course, if you chose Pamela, I won't be insulted."

"What ..." and she punched me in the shoulder. I was about to say 'what about a legacy I wouldn't wish on ...', but she knew that.

[Note: A brief recap of what's gone wrong with the world - ]

Once upon a time there was a Mongolian chieftain named Temujin. He united his people (the Mongols), took the title of Genghis Khan and began the creation of the largest land empire that ever existed. He wasn't called Khagan, Yekhe Khagan, or Khaan (which means emperor/Great Khan/Khan of Khans in Turkish-Mongol parlance) until after his death. In his time, he was such a bad-ass that he didn't need any honorifics. 

Temujin died. Normally, that would have been the end of that, but Temujin was someone special. After his death, a secret society called the 'Earth and Sky' came into existence to prepare for his return and the rebirth of his empire.

He did indeed, come back.

He came back several times, in fact. Each time, he judged the time was not yet ripe to reunify the peoples of Central Asia, so he died and the next generation of the E&S prepared for the next incarnation.

Twenty-two years ago, Temujin was born yet again. He recalled his heritage and set about determining if the time was ripe for his public resurrection.

This time, there were other people besides the E&S waiting for him. They were a rival secret society called the Seven Pillars of Heaven (the 7P). They had figured out a way to uncover his location and planned to kill him for good. That would have allowed the 7P to bring all of Asia under their mantle.

Earlier this year, a group of Amazon augurs reached into the Great Unknown, discovered the 7P's nasty little plan and passed that knowledge to the others. Five augurs paid for that knowledge with their lives. It was not in vain, ... one of the surviving augurs, Tadêfi, was guided by the Amazon goddesses to bear that message to some knucklehead named Cáel Nyilas.

Said knucklehead took that piece of knowledge to the New York City head of the Earth & Sky and gifted him with Temujin's precise location as well as the fact that the 7P's were closing in on him. Thus Cáel saved Temujin's life and Temujin was very grateful.

Temujin, along with the E&S, immediately launched an attack against the little known region of China known as Aksai Chan. The People's Liberation Army (PLA) reacted confidently in this opening action of war ... and saw the annihilation of much of the PLA's mobile forces along the Kazakhstan-Chinese border.

That however was only a highly visible diversion. The real 'first strike' was on the People's Republic of China in the form of an anthrax attack in several western Chinese cities. The plan was to prompt the Chinese to initiate preventative vaccine inoculations for their military and security forces ... because the E&S had lethally compromised the PRC's vaccine system. So the PRC actually gave the anthrax bacterium to their own forces.

A multitude of Chinese soldiers, airmen and sailors died. The E&S also subverted the governments of Mongolia, Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan and Kyrgyzstan and then announced the creation of a new Central Asian state, colloquially known as the Khanate. Bad things continued to happen to the PLA and the PRC. Soon, Azerbaijan, Tajikistan, Turkey and Turkmenistan joined the Khanate.

Khanate forces, organized into tumens (units of 10,000 men), rapidly overran all of the regions and provinces of Gansu, Nei Mongol, Ningxia Hui Autonomous Region, Qinghai, and Xinxiang Uyghur Autonomous Region as well as most of Yunnan and over half of Sichuan provinces. 

At the same time, with the aid of the afore-mentioned knucklehead, the Khanate manipulated Russia into 'intervening to preserve order' - aka 'stealing' - Manchuria (the provinces of Heilongjiang, Jilin and Liaoning), thus denying the PRC of major industrial and petroleum centers. Temporarily unable to defend themselves, the PRC agreed to a six-month cease fire on August 20th. In the closing hours before the ceasefire took effect, the Khanate also managed to seize every island outpost of China in the South China Sea (excluding the big island of Hainan).

After the ceasefire, the Khanate managed to convince Albania, Armenia and Georgia to join the Khanate because (for the second two) being caught between militarily powerful Turkey and oil-rich Azerbaijan had them nervous and the Khanate's offer of union was hard to pass up. A coup in Afghanistan dropped that country into the Khanate's lap as well.

At the start of the crisis, the United States and the United Kingdom desperately needed insight into the changing situation in Asia, so they formed JIKIT (Joint International Khanate Interim Taskforce). For convoluted reasons, this group include the same knucklehead referenced earlier as well as a dozen highly qualified intelligence experts and Foreign Service operatives. JIKIT broke all kinds of rules, laws and guidelines in creating a mutually supportive relationship with the Khanate, up to and including sending Special Forces operators from their respective countries into the PRC to help the Khanate forces.

Unknown to the two governments they supposedly work for, JIKIT formed alliances with not only the Earth & Sky, but also the Amazons, the Black Lotus (the Chinese secret society resisting the 7P's) and the 9 Clans (a coalition of the world's best assassins, which included the Black Lotus and the Seven [now Six] Families of the Ninja). In doing so, JIKIT became involved in a shadow war going on between their allies and the alliance of the 7P's and the Condottieri (aka 'Global Mercs are Us').

Anyway, using the Paracel and Spratly Island holdings as a springboard, the Khanate formed an alliance with India and Vietnam who were bent on dividing up the area's oceanic resources before the PRC could return to prominence. In order to secure their frontiers, this regional group has become involved with the popular rising in Thailand (see Chapter 42) on the rebel side. A civil war is about to break out and now the world was holding its breath because the US was threatening to become militarily involved on the side of the Thai government forces. Which brings us to my apartment.

Note: End what's wrong with them world.

{4:00 pm, Saturday, August 30th ~ 9 Days to go}

"Hey Anais, what are you doing here?" flowed from my lips before I engaged my brain. I was in a rush.

Her brow furrowed slightly as she stood up. She had been sitting in the hallway, her ass on the ground and her knees up.

"You gave me neither your phone number nor my Serge," she explained. She looked past me to Pamela.

"My bad. My private number is 917-555-7399 [that's (an area code of NYC) - (Hollywood nonsense) - (SEXY) for the curious]. We can get your Serge right now," I said as I slipped past her.

"You would be the spiritual grandmother & retired assassin?" she looked over at Pamela.

"You must be something people have sex with, then get accused of bestiality," Pamela zinged right back.

"You are rude," Anais's eyes narrowed.

"And you have made the mistake of bringing an attitude to a gunfight, Princess," Pamela mocked her.

"Pamela - don't," I pleaded.

"But she's French," Pamela smirked. "I hate the French."

"She's Quebecois, not French. And since when have you hated the French?"

"Since about five seconds ago. It came over me like a premonition ... or maybe a past life experience."

"Who were you Lionel of Wandomme?" Anais refused to give an inch for the sake of civility. Pamela was a hopeless case ... which pretty much defined Anais as well. [Ole Lionel was the nobleman who took the surrender of Joan of Arc]

"Noooo ... I was Pierre Cauchon," Pamela grinned.

"Who?" I worked my key into the lock.

"He was the Bishop of Beauvais," Anais enlightened me. "He was the man who condemned St. Joan to the flames."

"How do you know that?" I unlocked the door.

"She has a well-developed knowledge of hypocrites," Pamela snorted.

"I learned of him when I studied how religious/political views can lead to a miscarriage of justice."

"Pamela - stop - please," I groaned.

"Why?" 

"Because I love you?"

"That's pathetic," Pamela shook her head.

"Because you like me?"

"I love you more than I do my own grandchildren. And I am forever picking on you for your own spiritual growth, of course," she snickered.

"Cáel, how do you know this woman?" Anais turned her anger on me. I walked into my apartment, Anais and Pamela continued eyeing each other, neither one wanting to turn their back on the other. Anais was doing it because Pamela was dangerous. Pamela was doing it because she had the inexplicable desire to make Anais miserable.

"She's my knife instructor at Havenstone."

"Have you ever stabbed a person?"

"Perhaps. I've hit my fair share and shot a few. I like to think I haven't stabbed anyone who didn't derserve it. Besides, I prefer tomahawks."

"Tomahawks? You prefer to hit people with tomahawks instead of knives?"

"He's a lousy student," Pamela teased.

"Pamela, give it a rest," I sighed. "Anais has decided to stop sleeping with me. We are trying to part on amicable terms."

"She's giving up that dick? I don't think so," Pamela shook her head.

"You speak from experience?" Anais glared back.

"I speak from the experience of seeing women fight over him, Baby-cakes."

"My name is Anais Saint-Amour."

"I know that. I chose to denigrate you instead," Pamela responded.

"Why are you acting like this?" Anais frowned. "What have I ever done to you?"




Life as a New Hire Ch. 43



"I'm doing it because he cares for you and that's counter-productive to what he should be doing," Pamela stated.

"What? He loves plenty of women."

"No. He loves one woman, but she has set him adrift, so he meanders from woman to woman who want to 'change him' and 'make him a better man', as if the real Cáel wasn't good enough," she gave a blistering retort.

I was busy retrieving her clothes bag and boot box (so they didn't get dusty).

"Who does he love?"

"It isn't love like you think of it. It's not a burning romance. It is the love of companionship and mutual respect and I am afraid he'll never recapture that level of devotion and passion," Pamela continued.

"Who is she talking about?" Anais asked me.

"Kimberly," I said sadly. "She taught me to ... Damn Pamela," I looked to my current mentor because she had reminded me of the woman who had helped create the man I was today. Dr. Kimberly Geisler had shown me that I shouldn't be ashamed of who I was. 

People only became screwed up if they allowed events to screw them up. Personal responsibility and acceptance ... that I could be a somewhat selfish prick who thought with his dick more than his head, yet never abused a lover even though I'd let far too many women down. No jealousy. No emotional regrets. And flesh healed. 

I missed Kimberly, but there was no going back ... to college, or the boy I had once been. I could be a bang-up Dad if I passed those lessons on instead of moping about a tragedy beyond my control. I could forgive Dot Ishara now because she was who she was and expecting her to change for me was the ultimate act of selfishness. Learn - grow - move on.

"Thanks Pamela," I whispered.

"You are welcome, Wakko," she replied softly. She was close to tears, as was I.

"What am I missing here?" Anais looked from one to another.

"I'm not going to be a good father if I try to be what I think a father should be. I need to be the man I am - to be truthful and trusting others to let them find their own way without foisting my expectations on them."

"This isn't about me, is it? This is about your nightmare," Anais reasoned.

"Bingo," I smiled compassionately. "You may be the very best investigator I've ever met."

"I apologize Anais Saint Amour. Sometimes Cáel need to be tricked in order to teach him a life lesson," Pamela grinned.

"You are still rude," Anais griped.

"And you are still thinking about how much better your life would be with Cáel in it."

"On that sour note, Anais, here is your stuff as promised," I handed her the gear.

"In a hurry?" she inquired.

"I'm expecting company," I said.

"What's she like?" Yep. Abysmal trust issues.

"Why do you think ... no, it is business," I promised.

"Mr. Nyilas?" A woman asked from the door we'd left open.

"Oh crap," I groaned. 

She was pretty damn sexy with her closely-cropped black hair and an aura that expressed 'I'm physically fit, living healthy and feel comfortable lying to people about what I do for a living'. 

She was wearing a long coat, despite it being summer in NYC. She'd also brought some friends who I couldn't see yet.

"Yes, that would be me," I bowed to the inevitable.

"Who is she with?" Anais glowered. "CIA? SVR RF (that would be the Russian CIA)? INTERPOL? SPECTER? The 2nd Department of the PLA General Staff HQ (that would be mainland China's CIA/DIA)? The World Crime League [look it up]? I seriously doubt she is with SCRS (that would be the Service canadien du renseignement de sécurité ~ the Canadian CIA)."

Damn it! Why was I still getting the 3rd degree? Hadn't we broken up? 

"My guess is the DOD," Pamela mused. "Most likely the Defense Clandestine Service."

The stranger's mouth gaped open for a second. She might have recovered fast enough ... had I not worked with an insane warrior culture.

"Anais, this is work. You need to be going now," I insisted.

"Here Anais, have a gun," Pamela pulled one from her lower back. "This is going to be a ballet worth remembering."

"Who are these women?" the stranger asked. Her visual clues confirmed there were people behind her in the hall.

"Pamela - rogue octogenarian paramilitary insurgent," I made the introductions. "Anais is a Jedi vigilante mime."

Blink.

"They are my bodyguards."

"I am not your bodyguard," Anais snipped. Hey, she was pretty and dangerous enough to qualify, plus she had the 'beat me like a little bitch' down pat.

"Hush," I chided. "Mimes don't talk."

Anais took the offered gun.

"Don't make me shoot you," Anais hissed.

"You reallymake a lousy mime," Pamela joked. 

"Are we in the right place?" the stranger worried.

"I'm afraid so. Anais, you need to leave."

"Not until you tell me what is going on here," she sizzled.

"She's not here to have sex, if that's what you worried about," I retorted. "Wait, are you here to have sex with me?"

"I barely know you."

"That rarely stops me," I muttered.

"He's a master of bedroom antics," Pamela praised me. "He's pretty much at a loss at doing anything else."

"Thanks Grandma," I griped.

"Your welcome, Grandson."

"We ... are here to meet someone," the stranger hedged.

"You came to the right place," Pamela preempted me. "He's definitely someone."

"Fine - redo. I'm Cáel Nyilas," [deep breathe], "NOHIO, HCIESI-NDI, UHAUL, Magyarorszag es Erdely Hercege plus a bunch of other honorifics that have yet to be confirmed. I am single-handedly bringing back medievalism to the center of Europe and the Near East. The woman to my left is Pamela Pale, and she really is my bodyguard. The woman to my right is Sgt. Anais Saint-Amour, RCMP, my ex-lover and the person that needs to leave - RIGHT NOW."

"I'm not sure I should leave at this moment," Anais shifted possessively. I had to recall earlier this morning ... the part where we'd broken up by mutual consent. Yep. That had really happened. I had thought I was whittling down my current list of paramours. Why do the Goddesses hate me so?

"Told you - she can't give up that dick," Pamela whispered.

"As you can see, I have limited control of my life," I told the strange woman. "I know you are here to meet somebody who isn't me. Now you know who I am. Who are you and your companions?"

"I'm Ms. Quincy."

"Sorry; I'm on a first name basis with everyone I meet," I interrupted.

"What's your rank, Honey?" Pamela added.

"What makes you think ...?"

"She doesn't think. That's what makes her so dangerous." I explained.

"Hey now," Pamela faux-complained.

"Okay. She's a fledgling telepath ... or medium," I shrugged.

"Captain ... Zelda Quincy."

"In case you are mesmerized by her tits," Pamela tapped me, "she's packing some serious hardware."

"One of those personal defense gizmos?" I leaned Pamela's way.

"Close, but no cigar. She's my kind of girl - big 'bang-bang', back-up at the small of her back and knife in her boot."

"What!" Zelda gulped.

"She's his knife-fighting instructor," Anais answered drolly. 

"Are you Special Forces?" Zelda regarded my mentor.

"Nah - I got kicked out for a consistent failure to observe even the loosest Rules Of Engagement. I'm a free-spirit."

"Oh, you're a sniper," Zelda nodded.

"I like this one," Pamela smiled.

"Ah ... thank you." Then, over her shoulder, "I think we are in the right place." Zelda entered the room, followed by a Hispanic panther of a man (kind of like a tanned, slightly shorter Chaz without the cool accent) wearing a long coat, and a Subcontinent-cast woman who looked at everyone as if she expected us to sprout fangs, or start quoting the Koran any second now. She obviously was a brain seconded to this mission very much against her will.

The fourth person had that cagey 'when my lips move, I'm lying' look while seemingly unhappy with her current assignment. The heavy implication was that the lady was a career diplomat. Considering our current company and who we were talking to, she was State Department. She was in her late 30's or early 40's and giving off the sensation she had devoted so much to her career that she was starting to wonder if that was all that life had to offer. 

The fifth member was a military man clearly uncomfortable about what he was doing here, thus not a spook. His off-the-rack suit wasn't terrible, so he expected to socialize somewhat while performing his duties. He also looked like a man who expected other people to speak half-truths and obfuscated lies as easily as they breathed. Numbers three, four and five were dressed for the weather and unarmed.

All of this meant they were good at what they did, though they probably didn't know the particulars of what was expected of them. They had their marching orders. Those orders were about to be made irrelevant in the company they would be keeping. The latter weren't the 'doing it by rote' kind of people they would normally be dealing with.

"I bet you she's a doctor," I murmured to Pamela, "she's with State and he's some sort of Foreign Service type."

"I bet the first guy is Air Force," she countered.

"Like one of those Para-rescue guys?"

"No. More like one of those Battlefield Air Operations guys, I'm guessing," she corrected me.

"That guy?" I nodded to the final guy. "Pentagon wonk?"

"More likely he's one of those embassy guys. I'm going to take an educated leap here - Office of Military Cooperation ... Mongolia?"

"That is pretty clever of you. Kazakhstan. Major Justin Colbert."

"I bet some people in the White House, Pentagon and Langley are disappointed with you right now," I reasoned. His jaw grew tight. 

"Don't worry, Major," Pamela grinned. "We consider that a good thing. We don't like the people in charge and have a low opinion of their opinion on just about everything, including their habit of blaming the blameless for their government's fuck ups."

"Who are these people?" the first man whispered to Quincy.

"She's a telepath." That was Zelda

"She's a psychic-medium." That was Anais.

"She can see through time." That was me. "Nice to meet you. Who are you?"

"Chris Diaz. Lieutenant Colonel, USAF."

"Dr. Saira Yamin," the second woman introduced herself. "Asia Pacific Center for Security Studies. Are you the man from Johnston Island?"

"Why yes, yes I am," I beamed.

"The APCSS is in Waikiki, Hawaii," Pamela educated me. "Your arrival probably cost her some prime surfing time."

"I was more interested in the fact that he survived a plane crash in a Category Four Cyclone," she admitted.

"Mother Nature hates me. No matter how hard I try, she refuses to kill me," I confessed. "My suffering is an endless source of amusement to that bitch."

"That ... that wasn't the helpful answer I was looking for," she stammered.

"So, Lt. Colonel Chris Diaz, you must be with JSOC - I have a deep and abiding respect for you guys. If you need something, just ask," I greeted him. "Captain Zelda ... you are not with JSOC."

"She's with the DCS ~ that is the Defense Clandestine Service," Pamela kept going. "Zelda, you love being in your uniform, you're proud, yet happy with the concept of dying in an unmarked grave for Constitution and Country. You are too old to have been in the first female class at Ranger School, so that means no 'in the field' JSOC for you. You've gotten around that stone wall by joining the US Defense Department's own little pack of killers."

"Also, you felt it was necessary to bring a Benelli M4-11707. That's a close-in action shotgun, but a bit over-kill considering the paper-thin walls in this building. That tells me you are used to being in the kinds of places where such a tool is a necessity. Or in other words, since you think you are meeting a band of terrorists, you brought along your favorite toy."

"Your personal weapon is a SIG Sauer P229R DAK in .357 which is a new weapon still under trial by the US Army and Air Force. Your boot dagger is ceramic so it will pass a cursory exam, or scan. You hate the idea of being trapped on a public aircraft weaponless. You have also given up killing power for a proper balance for throwing. I like a forward-thinking gal."

"Air Force ~ you've recently come back from Asia - most likely Tibet. It shows in your breathing brought about by a close call with Altitude Sickness. The only reason for an Air Force guy to be here is because he's familiar with the Khanate military and you are not US Army, or Marine Corp Special Forces. I know the type." 

"You went with the MP5K in the standard 9mm, so you are more interested in sending bullets down range than looking into someone's face as you kill them. You may be a 'light' Colonel, which means you are almost somebody. What your higher-ups haven't appreciated is that our guests will respect you because they are like that ~ remembering past friends and comrades in arms. Of greater importance, you have Cáel's gratitude which will count for more than you currently believe."

I pledged then and there to be as good as Pamela at determining that kind of stuff before I died. She had assured me it was as much a matter of psychology as eagle-eyed perception. People were often a type that gravitated to various forms of destruction, be they old school, or going for the latest gadget.

"I told you all that firepower was excessive," State softly chastised her associates (what they really were, not the underlings she saw them as).

"So, you appeared to have forgotten to tell us your name," I regarded the State lass.

"Nisha Desai Biswal. I'm with the government."

"Oh ... Assistant Secretary of State for South and Central Asian Affairs - I've examined your website," I told her. It clearly pissed her off somewhat that I so swiftly disregarded her crude attempt at subtle manipulation.

"Hey. I've got some real enemies at State, so it pays to know who might be the next suit trying to dick me over," I explained. I had to prioritize. It would take some serious effort to convince Zelda to have a MFF three-way straight out the gate and she was definitely the hotter number.

"Major, you came here unarmed," Pamela noted. "That won't do. They expect you to be armed because you are a warrior, damn it. Cáel get him one of your Glock 22's."

"Gotchya," I nodded. I went to my room, tipped away the false back to my closet (that Havenstone had installed recently so Odette wouldn't accidently fire off one of my weapons) and retrieved one of my spare Glocks - but not the one with the laser sight. Such over-the-top fancy gear would be inappropriate. I only gave him one mag. If he couldn't get the job done with 15 rounds, he wouldn't have a chance to reload.

Mind you, I took two in a twin-rig shoulder holster and four 22 round magazines ... because I tend to shoot two-handed which doesn't exactly give you a bullseye every time. I returned to our crowded living room, handed the Major his weaponry, and then directed the US group to the far side of the room (towards Timothy's bedroom. Saira and Nisha took the couch.

Because this tiny space wasn't crowded enough, there was a knock at the door. I checked. It was Juanita ... oh yeah, my real bodyguard.

"Listen up everybody," I announced to the room. "This is my other bodyguard - my official one. Her names is Juanita Leya Antonio Garza, she's from the Dominican Republic via Buenos Aires and she is armed, so don't freak out." I opened the door.

"What is going on?" Juanita hissed.

"I'm having a private meeting with a few heavily armed friends. The other side to this party hasn't arrived yet. Why don't you come in?" She came in.

"Why didn't you warn me?" she whispered her complaint.

"Long night - worse wake-up - needed to do some soul-searching. Pamela was looking after me ... then this came up and I forgot. I apologize," I lowered my head in shame. Juanita was only trying to do the job she'd been entrusted with and by not thinking of her, I was making that so much harder.

I made the introductions - first names only.

"Juanita, Anais, Pamela; please slip into the kitchenette," I suggested.

Anais "Why?" 

Juanita "Where are you going to be?"

Pamela "Sure. I'm starving. I'm going to raid the fridge."

"Anais - because I need my faction in one place. Juanita, I will be refereeing this meeting, so I will have to remain in the living room ... roughly six feet from you." It was really a small apartment. "Pamela, if it is edible, it isn't mine and you'll have to replace it."

Great Caesar's Ghost! No wonder Big Wigs had their personal assistants handle this pre-meeting crap. I was on my last two fucking nerves and one of those was already stressed and tender. And the real reason for being here hadn't even arrived yet.

"Why am I in your faction?" Anais mulled over threateningly.

"Because you haven't walked out that door. There are going to be three sides to this meeting, not three plus Anais. That is the way it is going to be. Now, are you going to behave, or are Juanita and Pamela going to toss you out?"

"You ARE threatening me!"

"Finally catching on to that, aren't you, Sweetie?" Pamela chimed in.

"I'm only staying because I believe you are in trouble," Anais grumped.

"Why is she [Anais] here?" Nisha inquired heatedly. "This is supposed to be a very, very private encounter."

"I know Anais. I don't know you. I trust Anais with my well-being despite the fact she has numerous reasons to distrust me. She's staying because she is a straight arrow. That's good enough for me."

"But is she going to keep her mouth shut about what happens here today?" Nisha pressed.

"Anais, this is a clandestine meeting that isn't going to be recorded by anybody so, barring a crime being committed, you can never discuss this with anyone who isn't already in the room. Agreed?"

Pause.

"I agree," she nodded. I really was going to have to fuck her again. Not today. Well, maybe not today; I had to keep my options open. Her investigator mind was going into overdrive. Give it a week and she'd be knocking on my door late one night. Inquisitive, truth-hungry dames are like that, trust me. Then it would be 'bask in my genius' sex. It had been a while since I'd experienced that ... with Lady Yum-Yum.

There was another knock at the door. I checked before Juanita could do the checking for me ... in case someone was going to shoot me through the door. Fuck it. I was going to talk to Timothy about moving. Him, me and Odette. I couldn't give those two up. It was Kazak bookends. I opened up and invited them in. It turned out they had names besides Bookends #1 and #2 - Nuro and Roman.

Nuro (I think) checked out the rooms while Roman (I was pretty sure) kept an eye on my guests. I made introductions - first names only and specifying who was with who. Technically, they could trust my side because I was the Great Khan's brother and thus my servants were his servants. Technically.

Iskender came next followed by OT. A woman I didn't know (sadly, not OT's daughter) came in behind him while the other two quintuplets stayed in the hallway. Iskender and I hugged.

"Ulı Khaan süyikti ağası," he smiled. That was 'Prince-something'. My Kazak was a bit rusty. He then whispered into my ear. "OT bows to you first. His title is Hongtaiji." What?

"Ulı Khaan süyikti ağası," OT bowed.

"Hongtaiji Oyuun Tömörbaatar," I bowed back. I remembered I had to rise first. It was an etiquette thing. In retrospect, Iskender had stretched the bounds of tradition by hugging me, his titular superior. "Welcome to my humble abode."

"I thank you for your hospitality," he 'grinned'. His face wasn't made for that gesture so that faint gesture came across as rather unnatural.

My mind finally finished translating what Iskender and OT had called me. It wasn't 'prince'. It was 'beloved brother of the Great Khan'. Mother fucker!

"Wait," Justin, the military attaché guy muttered, "we are here to meet this guy?" indicating me.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 43



"What do you mean?" Saira questioned.

"The title Mr. Nyilas was identified with means 'beloved brother of the Great Khaan'," he explained. "The Kazakhs don't tossing honorifics like that around. This guy," again pointing at me, "is a really important somebody."

"Thanks for dropping this grenade in my lap, OT," I joked. "I'll get you for this ... and your little yak too."

"Odette is going to be so miffed that she missed this," Pamela chuckled.

"Mr. Nyilas ..." Zelda began.

"Please, call me Cáel. It is how I roll."

"Cáel, can I ask you a stupid question?"

"Go right ahead," Pamela snorted. "Cáel does stupid real well. It is a critical part of his skill set. It makes him adorable instead of annoying. Trust me, you'll learn that soon enough."

Too much 'trust me' was flying around in a room where nobody trusted anybody.

"Thanks for that encouragement, Teach," I grumbled. "Ask away, Captain Zelda."

"Why are you playing this game with us?"

"I wasn't. Until thirty seconds ago I was sure I was here totally as a spectator," I gripped. "My buddy," the word dripped with sarcasm, "Temujin likes dumping these kinds of surprises on me."

"Did you mean what Ms. Pale said about you feeling you owed me?" Chris asked.

"Absolutely."

"We need help defusing this Thailand crisis before a shooting war begins."

"What do you suggest?"

"We want the Khanate to back down," Chris stated firmly.

"I thought we had agreed that I would spearhead this delegation," Nisha reminded Chris.

"I think the situation had evolved and we need a different approach," Chris insisted.

"You should listen to the Lieutenant Colonel," I advised. "He knows a whole lot more about what is going on than you do."

"Why don't you explain it to us?" she began her weevil-ling.

"You are engaging in linguistic niceties with men who have bled together, Ms. Biswal," I instructed. "Not that Chris and I have bled on the same battlefield, we have shed blood in the same cause; and that cause has been bringing our two nations - the Khanate and the US - together. The Khanate owes Chris for his efforts on our behalf and we pay our debts."

"How so?" Nisha asked.

"National Security stuff," I evaded. "If you don't know, you shouldn't know and you probably don't want to know. Suffice it to say, the Khanate is willing to listen to Lt. Colonel Diaz's request as a friend."

"But he doesn't speak for the United States Government," she corrected.

"Why not?" I riposted. "He's dealt with the Khanate longer than you have. He has a clue about the mindset of their rank and file."

"But does he know their leadership?" she persisted.

"I don't know. Chris, do you think you have a handle on me?"

"Are you really capable of talking for the Khanate government?" Nisha preempted Chris. What she left unsaid was 'are you culpable in their atrocities?'

"Let's find out," I then looked over my shoulder. "Hongtaiji Oyuun Tömörbaatar, will my words and wishes reach my brother's ear?"

"That is why I am here," he replied.

"Don't you have the authority to speak for your leader?" she grilled OT. Nisha was relentless trying to stay in the limelight. "Aren't you a diplomat?"

"There is no need to insult the man," Pamela snidely commented.

"I am one of many voices that provide information to the Great Khan. I am not his brother. Cáel Nyilas is and has already proved his familial affection by proposing Operation Funhouse and brought whole nations as gifts," OT schooled her. "He is gifted with both tactical and strategic insight as well as sharing the Great Khan's love for his people and his hopes for their eventual freedom."

"I didn't think you were a soldier," Zelda looked me over.

"Oh no," I wove off that insinuation. "I've never been a real soldier and am unworthy of that distinction. I know quite a few who have earned that title and they scare the crap out of me. I mean, they go looking for trouble. In my case, trouble comes looking for me. I'm damn lucky to still be alive and that's the damn truth."

"Bullshit," Pamela coughed.

"What was that, Artemisia?" I winked at her.

"Bitch," she laughed "My men have become women, and my women men. At least you didn't call me Cassandra."

"Well, she's Greek (a deadly insult to all Amazons), but you could be her Evil Twin because everyone believes whatever you say."

"Can we get down to business?" Chris inquired.

"Damn," Pamela shook her head. "They haven't been paying attention."

"What does that mean?" Zelda griped. 

"Iskender, you know what I'm talking about, don't you?" I asked.

"Not a clue, Exalted One," he stood there like a stone statue. Note, the Khanate contingent really were standing there like the Altai Mountains, doing nothing. You had to carefully examine them to see that they did indeed breathe and blink.

"Use small words," Pamela advised.

"You really are a rude misanthrope," Anais told Pamela.

"Do you know what's going on?" Pamela volleyed.

"No."

"Then sit back and watch how the madness works," she snickered. "It is all you, Cáel."

"Okay. One; how did Artemisia escape the battle of Salamis?" I began. Nothing.

"Oh ..." Justin nodded. "She rammed an allied ship to make the pursuing Athenians think she was an ally. What does that have to do with our current predicament?"

"Achieve your ends by using violence as a distraction," I sighed. "The Khanate will invade Thailand in ...," I looked to OT, "tomorrow?" He nodded.

"How does that help us?" Nisha complained.

"Second example - Cassandra. She saw the truth through all illusions and falsehoods and no one believed her. Now, reverse that."

Pause.

"We are waiting," Saira finally joined the conversation. I could hear those little microprocessors inside her noggin firing electrons at light speed.

"We fight a phony war. The Khanate and their buddies invade in a lightning campaign that appears to be successful. Shit like attacking the opposition where they ain't. Things that look epic on CNN where some retired colonel - no offense..."

"None taken," Chris responded.

"Where some colonel talks about seizing resources, severed supply lines and encirclement. We - the Khanate - bomb shit like bridges and supply dumps - things with no civilians to get killed. On the downside, to make this work the Khanate needs to put some level of force into Bangkok."

"That will get civilians killed," Nisha reminded me - unnecessarily.

"Civilians are getting killed right now by their own government. This time they will get a chance to strike back," I stated firmly. "The Thai protestors aren't cowards. They are just grossly outgunned. We can change that."

"How does that help the United States?" Nisha queried.

"The US gets to come in and save the day," I sighed. "The US CAN'T get there until the day after, so you don't look bad about letting the first 24 hours of brutality happen."

"Oh," Zelda blinked.

"The US gets to end the fighting that the Khanate has no desire to continue. The US brings peace ... while whomever takes over owes the Khanate. Both sides look good. Both sides claim victory. The President gets a second Nobel Peace Prize [psychic, aren't I?]. The US gathers some regional allies like Malaysia, the ROC and the Philippines along with our Marines to ensure free and fair elections. The Khanate isn't seen to be backing down against the Titan of Western Civilization. They are working with them to bring about a better world."

"Win-win," Saira nodded in agreement.

"The Khanate is still an autocratic tyranny," Nisha commented.

"As opposed to the People's Republic's oligarchical tyranny?" Chris countered.

"Agreed," Saira said. "I now think we should work with the Khanate to bring stability to Central Asia which which was impossible while those member nations were being squeezed between Russia, Europe, China and India."

"What are you a doctor of?" I asked.

"I specialize in 'failed states' ... among other things," Saira grinned.

"This could still turn into one bloody cluster-fuck," Zelda mused.

"My peopled don't have the resources to devastate Thailand," OT finally spoke. "If you, the US, agrees to intervene on our timetable, you will have our thanks - off the record, of course."

"How do we know this isn't some ruse to allow the Khanate to overthrow Thailand's existing government?" Justin questioned.

"You have my word," I replied. No one said anything for several heartbeats.

"Really?" Nisha balked.

"Mr. Nyilas - Cáel, do you give me the Great Khan's word?" Chris studied me intently.

"Without reservation," I answered. "For what you have done for us and more, the Great Khan will honor this deal. We and the Thai's will do the bleeding. You will get your accolades. We avoid a pointless clashing of forces, which is why we are all here today."

"I will give you my written recommendation in a few hours," Saira told Nisha.

Chris stepped forward to shake my hand. He was an alpha-type alright. I gave as good as I got. His eyes bore into mine, looking for a faltering of will.

"What did you do in Romania?"

"I got a lot of good men killed."

"Okay."

"Okay?" Nisha squawked. "A handshake, a pat on the back and the deals done? Since when did our democratic republic do business this way? He admitted he got men killed in Romania. What is to say this won't be Romania writ large?"

"Ms. Biswal, he told the truth. He got good men killed and he isn't happy about it. I would be worried if he claimed one bit of glory from that episode. He didn't."

"Nisha," I took a deep breathe, "When you unleash men with weapons, nothing is assured. Maybe the Thai government will see the hate coming their way and back down. Maybe the people will resist the intrusion. Maybe the Khanate's forces will get slaughtered at the starting line. It isn't like they have enough time to deploy enough forces to win a protracted war."

"What happens if the Khanate decides it won't go?" she continued.

"Then they get destroyed on the ground in a war of attrition," Chris answered for me. "He's right. They can't bring enough in the time allotted to completely overwhelm the roughly 120,000 members of the Royal Thai Army that have remained loyal to the regime."

"In three days they will be out of fuel, shells, rockets and bullets. It is logistics, Ms. Biswal," Zelda piled it on. "The Khanate war-fighting systems are not NATO compatible. That means they can't simply capture more material as they penetrate the frontiers. If they overstay their welcome, we can launch missile strikes against their fuel depots. The combat devolves back to World War I and that's a style of war they can't afford to fight."

"What about stopping the Khanate from invading in the first place?" Nisha wouldn't give up.

"Had the US acknowledged the Khanate, none of this would have happened, Ms. Biswal," I became snappish. "Neither superpower talked to the other until other commitments had been made."

"If you think you can come in and start dictating Khanate policy, you are dreadfully mistaken. The US doesn't have the power, or the resolve," I glared at her. "Don't try convincing the Khanate that isn't the case. We know better."

"You don't know what the US is capable of," she snapped back.

"Abandoning Iraq with a fractured pseudo-democratic process? Abandoning Afghanistan without destroying the Taliban? The Syrian Civil War? The Donbass Crisis? The collapse of Libya? Boko Haram? Somalia? Yemen? Exactly how has the US's power and resolve solved any of those issues?" I countered.

"Ms. Biswal," OT spoke again. "We are willing to create a desert and call it 'Peace'. Our enemies know that. Your unwillingness to do so is neither a strength nor a weakness. It is a hallmark of your society in the same way that 'Total War' is a hallmark of ours. We are more than willing to leave you to manage the Peace. Let us manage the War against the forces opposed to civilized discourse." 

"As ugly and disagreeable as it is, we are willing to keep creating pyramids of skulls on every street corner until either they learn their lesson, or we kill them all. Let us do that and you will have your global stability and reap the economic benefits and accolades of Pax Americana. We are not your enemy. We are precisely the ally you need to keep the peace and we will do that, if you let us."

"To allow barbarism is to become barbarians," Saira mused.

"That is complete fiction," I scoffed. "The United States didn't become communist because it allied with the Soviet Union in World War II. Truman didn't become Stalin. The enemy of my enemy is my friend is older than recorded history."

"It is the Carrot and the Stick on a Global basis," Justin agreed. "Listen to the gentle words of the West, or you will end up feeling the wrath of the East."

"As long as the Khanate accepts the limitations of is role," Saira added, "this might work. Please understand there will be factions in the Western Democracies who will not accept that status quo. It is not in the nature of our societies to stifle dissent."

"Is it possible to get any political concessions from the Khanate's leadership?" Justin requested. "A pledge to hold some level of democratic elections? A Constitution with some strong provisions to protect individual rights and liberties would be nice."

"Justin, in case your bosses missed it, the Khanate is still at a state of war with the PRC," I shook my head. "With their limited experience with democratic government throughout most of the Khanate's territories, that would be madness."

"With limited concessions to the Imperial State, we have not interfered with the politics of Albania, Armenia, Georgia and Turkey. We are never going to become a Western-style democracy. We have had limited rule by consensus long before White Men arrived in the Western Hemisphere," OT informed them.

"Discounting the Irish Monks, Vikings and Knights Templar," Pamela interjected.

"If you say so," OT gave a minuscule bow to Pamela. "Long before your nation was anything more than the scribbled history of a long-faded Greek city-state, we had meritocracies, oligarchies of senior statesmen & warriors, thinkers and religious leaders, and we had codified judicial moral equality into the political arena. We have a far superior record of religious and minority freedom, of genuine multi-culturalism plus a deeper understanding of the arts and crafts as a means of uniting disparate peoples. We find your claims of cultural superiority to be childish."

"Oh ... snap," I snickered. "You get'em, OT."

"I bet the boys in Foggy Bottom felt that pimp-slap," Pamela agreed.

"I bet the bronzed skull of some Harvard dean just fell off its pedestal."

"They are called 'busts'," Anais groaned. "With a name like that, how could you forget it?"

"So true," I concurred. "All this responsibility must have clouded my normally hedonistic vocabulary."

"That doesn't change the fact that you have employed biological warfare and genocide in this current day and age," Justin pointed out.

"Tell that to our Native Americans," I snorted. "They are easy to find. They live in trailer parks in whatever blasted Hell Hole we stuck them in ... or in their casinos where they are buying back their country, one rube at a time. Ask them if they've gotten over it."

"We don't claim to be perfect," Justin insisted.

"No, we merely claim to have the only correct form of government, economic policy and schools of philosophical, political, scientific and educational thought," I pointed out.

"We definitely should revive ethical utilitarianism," Pamela slapped a fist into her palm. "Oh - and the guillotine. Work houses for orphans and grist mills for the disabled ... and A Modest Proposal for those chronically unemployed and terminally homeless ... yes, and ..."

"Pamela, what is it with you today?" I snickered.

"It is nearly sunset ..."

"Ah, and you haven't killed anyone yet."

"You know how cranky I get when I don't get my daily dose of homicide."

"Are you two done?" Anais frowned. She did that a lot around me.

"And you don't hand out Mini-Uzi's to your preschoolers," Pamela glowered. "What is wrong with you people?"

Pause ... waiting for that punch line that was never coming. See, it was more difficult to sense Pamela was an immediate threat to your health if you thought she was completely off her rocker.

"Hmmmm ... well, on that note, ladies and gentlemen, I believe we have a deal. Chris and Justin, I will leave you with my loyal Iskender to work out the gory details. Who wants to grab dinner?" I inquired.

"Are you serious?" Nashi gasped.

"Oh yeah. I had the Russian invasion of Manchuria figured out in this amount of time and Manchuria is way bigger than Thailand." Was it? I didn't know. Geography was not one of those subjects which gets you laid.

"What do you have in mind?" Zelda inquired.

"Whatever you want."

{1 am, Sunday, August 31st ~ 8 Days to go}

"How did I end up in bed with you?" Zelda sighed happily, her body splayed halfway over mine and her head resting on my chest, listening to my heartbeat.

"You aren't the first girl to ask me that question."

On the other side, Anais moaned in her sleep. Yeah, she was over me. Abso-fucking-lutely. If you recall, she'd try anything once. I convinced her the military babes were totally different than that Goth chick we'd blown the mind of back in Montreal.

**

Zelda was with me because I had caught her in a lie. She claimed to be a lesbian when I first hit on her. She was adamant. I destroyed her with incontrovertible evidence.

A) She hadn't scoped out Anais when she came in. A glance didn't count and Anais oozed sexy when she was angry ... which was most of the time.

B) She hadn't scoped out Juanita's figure when said worthy went to the kitchenette. I look for such things and Juanita has thighs to die for.

C) When I told her she had a wicked sense of humor, she blushed. Honestly, lesbians rarely care about strange men complimenting their personalities.

D) Then I double-downed by asking her if she preferred a shower, or bath. She said shower (because that's the butch thing to say). When I asked her 'when was the last time she'd had a bubble bath', she blushed again. Lesbians don't like it when a man imagines them naked. Straight chicks, unless you are a creepy, stalker guy, like it when men fantasize about them swathed in bubbles - thus semi-clothed - thus not creepy.

E) In a final and fatal act of evasion, she asked a grumpy Anais what she liked about me. Anais was blunt. 

"He can fucking hammer you all night, sneak in a romantic quickie in the shower, cook you a delicious breakfast then give you another round of mind-numbing intercourse up against the wall before you have to go to work. And still find the time and energy to fuck your neighbor." 

Woot!

**

"So, this happens to you often?" she mused - it was a trap. She really wanted to know if I was an egotistical scumbag who took advantage of every woman I came across. At the same time, she wanted to know if I considered her a 'whoe' ~ a woman who gives up the goodies for free.

"Do you mean 'am I taking advantage of you'?" I replied.

"That is not what I asked," she persisted. That meant 'yes'.

"Let me see," I laid back and looked up at the ceiling. "I have a fiancée, six women I am close enough to to spend quality time with, a fuck-buddy who is a sweet girl and trusts me too much and a passel of ex-girlfriends who have found my infidelity to be reprehensible."

"Six women?" she frowned.

"Four co-workers (Rhada, Oneida, Yasmin and Buffy), the girlfriend of a co-worker who dumped her in a very public fashion (Brooke) and that woman's friend (Libra). She was the wing-chick who was stuck with me on a quadruple-date and was underwhelmed with me when we first met."




Life as a New Hire Ch. 43



I didn't count my 'hook-ups' and I wasn't sure how to qualify Nicole.

"Ex's?"

"'No' is not a word in common usage in my vocabulary. I've dated a best friend's girl, a mother, sister and aunt of the same girlfriend ... basically, I'm either highly immoral, incredibly loose, or a letch." 

"Don't you take responsibility for any of those ... relationships?"

"Hell yeah," I tilted her chin up so that we could make eye-contact. "I've never blamed a woman for taking out her frustrations on my flesh, ran away from a screaming fit [Big Lie!], or blamed them for any failing in our relationship. It is always my fault because I can't stay loyal."

"That's depressing," Zelda moped.

"Don't get me wrong. I don't find fault in any of the women I have spent time with. That is my problem - I find women fascinating; never boring, or bland. Quite frankly, it is a gift that I don't regret having. I may be a fuck-up, but I'm a fuck-up who will give you the very best attention."

"Full of yourself - much?" her attitude shifted. I had short-circuited her fears; I was a cheater - I confessed to it without shame because I was inexorably drawn to her beauty, personality and charm. With Anais around, I couldn't claim to be solely enchanted with Zelda, so I had to think quickly on my feet. After all, Zelda was energetic and had great stamina.

"I promised you pleasure," I countered. "Did I deliver?"

"Yes, you are full of yourself," she slapped my stomach. I wasn't full of myself. I was a confident sex machine.

"Thank you."

"Huh?"

"Wonderful sex - taking a chance with me - agreeing to a three-way - being awake after," I looked at the bed-table clock, "six hours."

"I run five miles a day," she bragged.

"I try to have ten hours of sex a day," I teased. Zelda slapped my stomach again. Anais stirred.

"Do any women like you ... for any reason beyond your dick?"

"I'm considered loyal where sex is not concerned, reliable and brave," I offered.

"What happened in Romania?"

"Have you ever been in combat?"

"I've been in violent confrontations, but not a true firefight," she admitted.

"Hmmm ..."

"Is it something that you can't relate?" she asked.

"No. You are a soldier so you probably know more about combat than I do. It was ... not chaotic at all. I never lost perspective of what was going on despite the bullets flying around. The Romanian Captain in charge knew his stuff, directed his company well and all I had to do was figure out where the terrorist leader was."

"What happened?" she perked up.

"I am here talking with you and he's in a morgue in Bucharest."

"Oh ..." She wanted more.

"I have to live with the knowledge that I set all of that in motion, Zelda. I convinced the Romanians that they had to confront that terror group before they moved on to their next target - me."

"I knew they would come after me and my friends, no matter where we were. Which would have ended up as a blood bath in some urban center. So I felt compelled to strike first. Based on information I provided, the Romanian Army sent two battalions - the 22nd and 24th - of the 6th Mountain Troops Brigade into battle."

"It was a massacre," I remembered sadly.

"But you won," she tried to comfort me.

"Of the four companies involved in the battle, the Romanians suffered nearly two hundred dead and wounded. I hardly consider it anything other than a massacre. Yes, we won. Only three of the terrorists escaped. Their leader died. I don't think I've ever felt so hollow in my life," I finished.

"Forty percent losses ... that is horrific," she crawled on top of me.

"The kicker is the Romanians sent some men of the 24th to hunt me down when I was kidnapped. A squad was in the group that rescued me and my companion from Johnston Island. I thought they would never want to deal with me ever again."

"Don't be so hard on yourself. If they thought well enough of you to send their men out to rescue you, then you must have done right by them."

"Chaz said something like that too," I felt sheepish and sleepy.

"Chaz? Who is she?"

Honest to God, one day I want to find a girl who thinks I'm talking about another girl and asks if we can have a three-way, instead of trying to compare herself to this unknown person. Wait... I already had someone like that. Her name was Odette.

"Chaz is Colour Sergeant Charles 'Chaz' Tomorrow of Her Majesty's SSR," I corrected her assumption.

"SSR? Those are some tough people. How do you know him?"

"Black Bag directives from the National Security Council - sworn to secrecy upon penalty of death - pinky-promise kind of stuff," I grinned. Maybe I wasn't all that sleepy after all.

"You really are a Man of Mystery," Zelda purred. She had truly exceptional stamina. "Maybe I can convince you to talk."

"Maybe I can find another use for my tongue," I countered and off we went. Somewhere along the process, Anais woke up and joined in.

It wasn't all fun and games. Anais' parting words were "You are a pig," then she sauntered out of my room and out of my life. Had she remembered to take her Serge with her, I would have bought the act. As it was ...

"Is she always so volatile?" Zelda remarked.

"Volatile? That's not her being volatile. That's Anais being affectionate. Volatile usually is accompanied by thrown objects and bodily harm," I sighed happily. Meeting her one more time couldn't be all that bad, could it? Zelda looked hungry so I shoved that thought to the back of my mind and got to work.

That was the highlight of my Sunday. Zelda had to fly back to Washington D.C. and I had to go to work with JIKIT. It seemed that the Khanate and the US military were heading for a showdown. I unloaded all my Saturday's activities to the team and we got to work - no recriminations. I was the Khan's spiritual brother and sometimes that meant I had to do him favors.

I asked Addison when she thought he would return the favor. She laughed, then smiled and told me that wasn't how it worked. He was a world leader now and I was merely his kooky kinsman that he would keep throwing problems at until one day I broke. Then it would be some other poor saps turn. 

Then she told me she was kidding and clearly the Great Khan thought the world of me. I chose to believe the second lie because it made me feel better ... and it was promising to be a long weekend/start of the week.

Note: Geopolitical Developments

What follows are snippets of the Battle for Thailand that takes place late in the night of September 1stand continued into the early morning of September 3rd. If this does not interest you, you can rejoin Cáel's exploits in four pages) 

**On the eve of battle, the Royal Thai High Command had decided to strip all but one armored unit from the 2nd Army in order to give the First Army's offensive against the rebels more of a punch. It's decision to strip the tank battalions from both their infantry divisions as well as the armored and one of the two mechanized regiments would prove to be disastrous. It was as if the leadership of the Royal Thai military were idiots. 

The least economically valuable part of the country was the northeast which the 2nd Army warded. They had severely underestimated the airlift capacity of the Khanate as well as the willingness of Laos and Cambodia to both use their armed forces in an invasion as well as their willingness to let Vietnamese troops cross their countries.

That thinking had led the Thai military to adopt a 'forward defense' strategy - the desire to fight the enemy at the borders, as opposed to having stronger formations deeper within the country. Considering the relative weakness of the Cambodian and Laotian militaries, that policy had made sense: 

- The baseline Laotian and Cambodian tank was the T-54/55, a 1950's Soviet relic. The normal anti-tank capabilities in all Thai infantry formations was more than equal to such a threat. 

-Neither country had an air force worth worrying about. 

In contrast, the Khanate's primary tanks, the T-90SM and T-95 were resistant to most of what the Thai Army could throw at them - at least from the front. The seven hundred combat aircraft the Khanate and the Vietnamese were able to field was an equal catastrophe for the Thais. It greatly compensated for the relative small numbers of invaders. 

Finally, there was a fundamental misunderstanding of what the Alliance's goals were. Military logic dictated the destruction of Thailand's mobile force followed by the capture of Bangkok. As long as the Thai regime held the capital, it would remain the legitimate power in the country.

Due to the altering political landscape, the Alliance's only option was to make the government 'look bad'. The loss of peripheral provinces, while of negligible immediate strategic value, looked great on the maps the world-wide media would be showing to their audiences. It would appear that the Thai army had failed to defend their country. That would (hopefully) make the Thai Third Army look like the legitimate authority in Thailand. 

That was the plan anyway, and you know what they say about battle plans and the enemy, right? H-hour was 4 am, September 1st.*

**The commander of the Zuun stood up and waited to be recognized. The staff officer from the Yunnan Command pointed at him.

"Sir, why are we doing this? I am not afraid to fight for the Great Khan, but this action seems to be suicidal. We will be far behind enemy's lines while our offensive force will be grossly under-equipped."

"You will have to rely on our ability to supply you by air."

"We only have supplies for two days of operations. What happens then?"

"We rely on the Americans to come and save us," the senior officer responded bitterly.

"Allah save us from allies," the young commander muttered. What else could he do? 

He was part of the 2nd Mountain Sultan Mehmet Tumen which had just arrived in Yunnan to replace the exhausted 1st Mountain Abu al-Ghazi Bahadur Tumen. His men were from Turkey, inexperienced in combat and using new equipment they were not familiar with. They would be working with a unit he had never worked with before - the 1st Airmobile Tauekel Khan Tumen - Kazaks - who would be seizing the small airport his men needed to land in. 

From there, they were to 'run amok'. That was the technical term for racing south down a highway in Central Thailand, attacking the headquarters of the 3rd Cavalry Division - an armored unit. Once that was accomplished, they were to attack the local police precinct. Provided they were still alive after that, they were to return to the air strip to resupply then they were to 'spread chaos' until they were finally hunted down by the vastly larger Thai DIVISION his 100 men would be fighting.

Of course, there was the plan for the rebel Royal Thai Third Army to force their way through the larger frontline forces of the loyalist Royal Thai First Army and come to his rescue. How would the Thai troops respond when ordered to fight their fellow Thais? No one was sure. If there was any hope in this mission, it was the knowledge that several other Zuuns had the exact same mission in other areas of Thailand. It was H-hour minus twenty-two.*

**It was 11 o'clock in the evening when the general in charge of the Royal Thai 9th Infantry Division was woken up. The Marines were leaving. That was correct; the three Royal Thai regiments were heading west to Sattahip Naval Base - because they had been ordered to by the Commander-in-Chief of the Royal Thai Navy. It didn't take a rocket scientist to realize why this was going on. 

Seven hours earlier, the Royal Thai Army had seized all the Air Force bases in the 1st and 2nd Army districts as well as ordering the 4th Army to do the same thing [The Royal Thai Air Force had been trying to remain neutral in the upcoming civil war]. 

Undoubtedly the navy had decided to make their assets less 'hijack-able'. A few phone calls later confirmed that most of the Navy had set sail for parts unknown and the naval air units at Ban Sattahip Air Base (U-Tapao International Airport) had also departed either out to sea, or to ports and bases in the South.

He made a personal appeal to the commander of Marine Forces to no avail. They wanted no part of the upcoming struggle and advised the general to do the same. The general had other problems. The Royal Thai Marines were the frontline forces facing the southern border with Cambodia. He quickly reorganized his regiments, sending them to take the old Marine strongpoints to await further orders. Stopping the Marines never entered his mind. 

That was a bloodletting he wanted no part of. The last thing he did was inform his superiors, thus avoiding any stupid orders to the contrary. Suddenly the nebulous movements along the Cambodian border developed a haunting significance. He wondered how much longer he had before something happened. It was H-hour minus five.*

**At midnight a loyalist commander of a company of mechanized infantry in the 2nd Cavalry's 11th Battle Group [named after their axis of advance - Highway 11] decided to send a motorized section of his command forward to the advance position his battalion was to occupy come sunrise. Either later in the day, or tomorrow morning, the forces loyal to the regime would launch a coordinated assault against the rebels main supply center at Phitsanulok.

He had a cot set up in his communications hut and had just nodded off when the radio squawked to life. His lieutenant in charge of the advance made a hurried report. They had encountered serious opposition in a confusing night action ... then he went silent. The captain immediately swung into action. He put the rest of his men on alert, then contacted the neighboring Tank Battalion. He needed some armored support. He made a similar call to the attached artillery component. 

The Tank Battalions night officer quickly put a platoon of light tanks at his disposal. The artillery were ready for any fire mission he sent their way. Before the armor could arrive, the company commander found himself being called to the carpet by the Duty Officer at the 3rd Cavalry [two regiments of the 2nd Cav. had been attached to the 3rd's command] over his 'offensive' action and the relief mission was called off. What had happened to the patrol of 20 Royal Thai soldiers? He was ordered to wait until sunrise to find out. 

Little did anyone know, these were the first combat casualties of the upcoming rebel offensive. His patrol had stumbled across a battalion of mechanized troops arriving at their jump off point for the attack that was less than six hours from beginning. Neither the commander of the 11th Battle Group, the 3rd Cavalry Division, or First Army was informed that the enemy had already advanced twenty kilometers south of where they were supposed to be. It was H-hour minus four.*

**Over the Gulf of Thailand an Indian pilot was sweating and anxious. He wasn't upset about the fact that his nation was about to intervene in the nation he was currently flying beside in an unarmed, slow moving transport aircraft. He even wasn't upset that he was about to open the rear ramp of his C-130 and unleash 64 MARCOS in an ocean insertion. 

What he was upset about was flying so close to his companion C-130 that they appeared to be one aircraft to the civilian air traffic controllers. After all, there couldn't be two Indian passenger planes flying the same route to Phnom Penh one right after the other.

The 128 MARCOS Special Operators were past worrying about 'The Plan'. In the 1st phase, they were HAHO-ing (High Altitude High Opening) because they had to glide nearly thirty kilometers before landing at night into a body of water. That accomplished, they had to swim the last two kilometers - with gear - to the Thailand coast. Then they had to sneak up on a guarded compound - the U-Tapao Royal Thai Navy Airfield - and hold it until the Khanate could land reinforcements ... and all before sunrise. 

The second phase of the operation was a tad nebulous and not tied to any particular time table, or location. It required a good deal of guts and initiative and he and his men had that in spades. They were in the rear area of the 9th Royal Thai Infantry Division. 

The MARCOS with approximately 500 Khanate soldiers were to locate any and all elements of said formation, wherever they might be, and destroy them. The enemy had 36 1960-era tanks. The Khanate had promised to bring 11 of their own (hopefully more modern) tanks. The INS promised naval and air support. Things were going to get 'interesting'. It was H-hour minus two.*

**The first planned combat action of Operation Pridi Phanomyong, the name for the combined Thai, Cambodian, Khanate, Laotian and Vietnamese offensive to topple the military dictatorship ruling Thailand, happened at Nong Khai, Thailand. 

The commander of a battalion of the 3rd Infantry Division had been denied permission to wire the '2nd Thai-Laos Friendship Bridge' with explosives, so he had targeted it with his mortar team instead, despite the reality that his 81mm round were likely to have negligible impact on the structure.

At 3 am, he was awoken to the sounds of automatic weapons fire far too close by. 'Him' stopping to get dressed saved his life. As he was exiting the private residence next to his Command Post, the Post erupted into a fireball. He even made out the whoosh of the cruise missile impacting. He had planned for that contingency. The man raced back into his home and accessed the public telephone network. 

His first call to the mortar platoon went unanswered. His next two calls to the two infantry companies manning positions adjacent to the bridge also went unanswered. His fourth call was to his reserve company. They responded, so he directed them to retake the southern end of the bridge and hold it at all costs. 

His fifth call was to regimental command, 100 km safely to the rear, to inform them that his position was compromised. He needed immediate support or he believed his position would be overrun. If assistance wasn't coming, he wanted permission to withdraw with whatever he could salvage.

Before he could get his reply, his residence was rocked by a grenade explosion. As he struggled back to his feet, machine gun fire ripped through the place. His attendant and two security troopers fell back down. The door was kicked open. Though wounded, he scrambled to pull his pistol out. A hammer blow hit his chest. His last memory was of a camouflage-painted Mongolian face looking down at him. It was Hour minus one.*

**The Royal Thai Armed Forces were not designed around a robust anti-aircraft program. Their few advanced systems were around the capital, not in the field with the troops. They had to use more primitive systems and relied heavily on the civilian air traffic controllers for much of their data. A phone call from Khon Kaen International airport operator alerted the area army commander that something ominous was coming their way.

Dutifully, the military officer ordered his radar operators to cut on their search radars to analyze the threat. They found it. At the same time, the waiting Khanate Su-27 pilots registered the range and location of the enemy radars and promptly send radar-seeking missiles their way. Those two aircraft were tasked with anti-air suppression. Behind them, an air armada was descending on Thailand and it would be a disaster if their lumbering Il-76's and An-70's and -74's were blasted out of the sky in a rain of burning men and material.

Patrolling several thousand meters above were two Thai Royal Air Force F-16's. They spotted the Su-27's activating their search radar, identified them as 'hostiles' who had penetrated Thai airspace and dove to the attack. They kept their radars passive, waited for the IR missiles to 'beep', letting the pilots know they had locked on to their targets, and then let loose.




Life as a New Hire Ch. 43



A heartbeat later, half a dozen different search radars went active. It was a group of Mig-29's who were flying air cover over the group of ground attack fighters beneath them. One Su-27 twisted out of the way. The second took a hit and spun out of control. After that, the two F-16 pilots were too busy futilely trying to stay alive. It was H hour.*

Where was the Royal Thai Air Force? The units in the central part of the country had been persuaded to cooperate with the regime. Those in the south and north had kept to their neutrality. The ones in the west were faced with a crisis of conscience when Khanate airmobile forces landed at their bases. 

The soldiers promised the airmen that no one needed to fire at the other. The invaders weren't going to demand the Thai's surrender, only that they stay on the base until the crisis was over. They were loyal servants of the Kingdom ... but what did that mean right now, when the Army was shooting people in the streets? A cautious détente was reached. In that small portion of the country, no one died.

In the south of Thailand, the pilots listened to their brethren to the north fighting and dying. Their resolve to stay neutral was tested. The regime declared this to be a foreign invasion. The Royal Thai Third Army declared the country's hour of liberation was at hand. Conflicted, they did nothing. By daylight, H-hour plus three, the skies over most of their homeland were empty of all Thai aircraft.

**A soldier of the Royal Cambodian 5th Commando was poised and waiting for the ultimate test of his unit's ability. Oddly enough, his unit had been created because of the success of Thai Special Forces against his country in countless earlier border clashes. 

Now he was sitting in Thailand, waiting for the largest offensive the modern Cambodian Army had ever attempted in their modern history. Sure, they had been invaded plenty of times in the past hundred years. This time, they would be the invaders.

At thirty-two seconds past H-hour, 130mm howitzer shells began falling on the loose Thai earthworks. They clearly didn't suspect that they were standing in the way of the Alliance 'Cambodia Force' [the designation for the middle of three axis of invasions out of Cambodia]. 

It wasn't much, as invasion armies went ~ a regiment of Cambodia's Fourth Division plus three batteries of heavy artillery, the 160th Regiment of the Vietnamese 5th Division and 500 Khanate soldiers with 33 T-90SM tanks ~ maybe 3000 men in all. It was a paltry invasion army.

His wasn't the only Cambodia Commando unit in this operation either. The 1st, 2nd and 3rd Commando (Airborne) were over 30 kilometers away, deeper in Thailand. They had to secure bridges on Highway 24 as well as one over Road 224 until relieved by his invasion Battle Group (BG). Their mission was to stop Thai reinforcements from setting up blocking forces. With his 5th Commando was the 7th Commando. When the artillery barrage lifted, they were to attack the Thai battalion from the rear while their brethren attacked from the front.* 

One of the most relevant facts in the Alliance's intervention was something their American and NATO contemporaries had thought irrelevant in the upcoming struggle. With the minimal runway space in Northeastern Thailand, Laos, Cambodia and Vietnam, it was the ability of Soviet/Russian aircraft to use unpaved airfields to launch from. 

This greatly magnified the number of planes the Khanate could bring to the fight. Like every other component of this expedition, they were critically short on armaments, fuel and spare parts. Giving them a schedule of 48 hours of continuous operations was considered overly optimistic by the leaders in charge of these air groups.

A feature these aircraft did share with their western counterparts was the ability to fly night, as well as day operations, in all sorts of weather. Close to 3:30 in the morning, the planes began to assemble over their bases and then headed for the Thai border. The groups coming from Chinese bases had started out earlier while those in Cambodia and Laos were late to the game. None the less, nearly five hundred Khanate combat aircraft began descending on Thailand. Behind them came the 400 planes carrying the airborne and airlift forces.

In front of them were the Khanate's airmobile/helicopter borne units. Small in number, they had the unenviable task of seizing river crossings and civilian air bases for the oncoming transports who would be landing troops, supplies and eventually reinforcements. In more than one instance, it was a one-way trip. The unit was being sacrificed in order to confuse the Thai military about the true threat until it was too late. That was the plan anyway.

**The Thai town of Lom Sak was the base for the loyalist Eastern Battle Group (EBG). It was the smallest of the four groups designated to attack the rebel 1st Cavalry Division. They were also the closest to the enemy base of operations. They were also terribly close to the Laotian border. The Colonel in charge of EBG had been very conscious of the current political situation and carefully parked his equipment in lagers outside of the municipality.

Unfortunately, his political consideration also made his command an open, tempting target for the Khanate aircraft. Absent any air defense, or even an early warning system, he was jarred out of his bed by a series of explosion. He died without ever knowing that much of his unit was dying right along with him.

For the dozen Su-25 pilots, this was the start of what promised to be a very long day. Lom Sak was just over the border, so they were to drop bombs, fire their rockets and then strafe the ashes until they stopped twitching. Despite the carnage unleashed, not everyone in EBG died. Many survived, but their tanks, APC's and trucks were destroyed.

West of Lom Sak, the platoon placed on the only road between the town and their target were calling anyone and everyone because they were in trouble too. They heard tanks coming their way and they desperately needed assistance. Then the 125mm High Explosive (HE) shells began hitting their positions. They could see the muzzle flashes from the two oncoming tanks as they fired.

Immediately his Dragon (an anti-tank missile system) fired. It missed. They were reloading when they were reduced to so much blood, bone and rock fragments. The other option? The lieutenant in charge knew the range was extreme for his only anti-tank weapon - two LAW rockets, but he had no other alternatives. 

The soldier assigned to the task fired. The platoon watched the rocket streak toward the target ... and hit it ... and nothing happened. Actually, that was incorrect. The tank began machine gunning the location the shot had come from. The second LAW had similar poor success. It did momentarily reveal the infantry moving up with the tanks.

That was enough for the lieutenant. He was courageous. That didn't mean he'd let his men get slaughtered. He ordered his men to fall back to their jeeps and head back toward Lom Sak in all haste. They made it to Lom Sak ... then kept going. There was nothing left in the EBG that could stop tanks, the sun was rising and hanging around seemed contrary to the Laws of Survival. It was H-hour plus 30 minutes.*

**For the loyalist mechanized regiment of the Nan River Battle Group it was a confusing awakening. Promptly at 4:00 am, thunder could be heard from both flanks of their position. It was miles away - not an immediate threat, so their first concern was that the loyalist attack had been launched and no one had bothered to tell them. According to 'The (Loyalist) Plan', they were to push north against hopefully light opposition and approach Phitsanulok from the southwest.

By a quirk of the Thai command structure, the Nan River BG wasn't in contact with the military bodies on either flank. They were in contact with 3rd Cavalry, which they were a part of. The Duty Officer there had no idea what was going on. He did order the unit go to Alert Status and await further orders. Unfortunately for all concerned, those communications were made with radios. 

The Khanate A-50 AEW was looking for just such action and sent two Su-25 attack craft to each location. Within twenty minutes, the General in charge of the 3rd Cavalry Division put his units on alert - then died. As did his underling in charge of the Nan River BG. For the Thai troops on the Nan River, it wasn't over. In the dark, 4 old Mil Mi-26's attack helicopters began raining death down on them for five minutes.

It was of little consolation that the troops of the 117th BG were getting it a whole lot worse. The 117th consisted of both the Armored and Mechanized regiments of the 3rd Cavalry Division. 'The Plan' called for two Armored and 3 Mechanized regiments plus an armored and a motorized battalion to attack across a broad front from the south while another mechanized and armored battalion attacked from the east. Forced to defend along multiple fronts, the rebel 3rd Army's 1st Cavalry division would be defeated in detail and the rebellion ended.

The downside to the plan was that it left the loyalist forces facing the same predicament - the risk of being defeated separately in bite-sized chunks. That was not the fate of the Nan River BG, or 117th BG. They were to be paralyzed by air strikes just long enough for the 11th BG to be overwhelmed and the road opened to the 3rd Cavalry Divisions rear area.

Military logic demanded that the mobile flanking forces had to be defeated before a true breakthrough could be achieved, not just disrupted. Otherwise, the invaders could be cut off from supplies and choked of resources. Except the invading forces didn't care about their supply lines. What little reserves they had could be brought in by air ... after that, there was nothing left and the advance would grind to a halt.

Little did the Nan River BG know that it was Alliance strategy to cripple their mobile assets so that an organized counterattack would come too late to save the 11th BG. The 117th would be drawn off to stop the rebel 7th Infantry Division's attack to the west at Nakhon Sawa down Highway 1. The 7th only had a small number of mobile forces, but if those could get behind the loyalist they would be between the loyalist army and Bangkok - the rebellion just might succeed. It was H-hour plus 50 minutes.*

**The commander of the First Army was finally made aware of the Alliance attack at 5:23 am. He was 250 km from the front lines and communications were spotty. The size and composition of the attacking force was unknown, but that wasn't what had his attention. Bangkok itself was under attack. Again, forces were unknown, but they had seized Suvarnabhumi Airport, inside the city. That was his item of primary importance.

He ordered the General in charge of the 1st Division, the garrison of the capital, to secure the critical elements of the city's infrastructure and retake the airport before more enemy could arrive. Had he understood the he was obsessing over less than 240 Khanate soldiers in twenty-four vehicles, he would have let the local military and police checkpoints deal with them. 

The attackers had been delivered by helicopter assault. They shot up the airport's control tower, then spread out into the surrounding city. Their helicopter support, at the end of their effective range, had to leave. Those 240 men were on their own. They were not likely to be reinforced nor was there going to be an attempt to rescue them. This was one of those 'one-way' missions that had been complained about during the initial and only briefing. It was H-hour plus two.*

**The General in charge of the loyalist 9th Infantry Division had a better picture of what was going on in his district. He had a mobile force in his rear that was tearing up his 1st regiment, which he had been forced to spread out over a 100 km of coastline. His 2nd regiment was being pushed back by a force coming up from Krong Khemara Phoumin, Cambodia. 

The linchpin of their defense was the town of Trat ... and an Alliance force had somehow slipped around the front ling to appear there, seized the bridge over the Trat River and was currently driving his forces to the north and west of that town. The lone battalion facing the primary invasion force was on its own.

His 3rd regiment had been placed to hold open his lines of communication/support along the Cambodian border between his command and that of the 2nd Division - which was also under attack. His sole reserve force, his tank battalion, had already been engaged and largely destroyed in Trat. He immediately ordered one battalion from his 3rd regiment to head to the rear while ordering the other two, plus the remnants of the 3rd regiment to fall back on his central position. There they would make their stand.

No sooner had those orders gone out than First Army contacted him and ordered him to immediately counterattack the invaders. 

His response? 'Counterattack? In which direction? I'm surrounded.' 

They told him to secure the frontier ... and then stole a battalion from his 1st regiment because the capital was under attack. His pleas that he desperately needed that battalion for any counter attack were ignored.

The sole battalion driving to his rear had a 190 km to travel, over open roads, in trucks and subject to air attack. That move would take at least four hours (hopefully). What remained of the battalion they were going to aid was yet to be seen. They sounded like they were in a world of trouble.

It would take two hours for the other two battalions from the 3rd regiment to arrive. They would be united with the remnants of the 3rd Regiment and the final battalion of the 1st regiment at Chanthaburi, where he had his HQ. Only at that point, absent tank and air support, would he attempt any action to expel the invaders. He figured he had slim odds of success. 

In thirty minutes he would be informed that the battalion holding back the main invading force had finally succumbed. It had endured continuous artillery barrages, multiple air strikes and five combined arms assaults. They were out of time, fighting men and largely out of ammunition when they surrendered. It was H-hour plus three.* 

**The citizens of Bangkok woke up to another round of shooting in the streets. Some people, somewhere had defied the government and were now either getting killed, or arrested. About an hour earlier, a small number of mysterious operatives contacted the surviving members of the opposition and told them the hour of deliverance was at hand. Khanate troops were already in the city and if they wanted to show the Khanate and the whole world that they deserved freedom, they had to get into the streets for one last, climactic showdown.

So small groups hit the streets. At first, they realized that something had gone wrong for the authorities. The police they saw on the streets were scared. Many of the military checkpoints had been abandoned. One group, over a hundred strong by this point, rounded a street corner nervously and spotted three military vehicles sitting at the next intersection. They weren't in familiar vehicles and the strangers appeared to be lost.

One man, braver than most, approached them, quickly receiving their attention. He greeted them. They didn't respond, but they weren't pointing guns at him either. As he drew close, one of the soldiers approached him and handed him a 'flyer' - a one page pamphlet.

'We are part of the Free Thai Alliance and are here to liberate you. We apologize for not speaking your language. If you would direct us to the closest military or police station, we will attack it for you.'

The man looked at the soldier who gave him the pamphlet then up at the armored vehicle they were standing next to. It appeared to have a very big gun and the soldiers around it seemed ready enough.

"I will show you the way," the man nodded then bowed, his hands clasped together. Over his shoulder he shouted, "They are here to help. Come with us!"

The soldier quickly figured out the Thai citizen wanted to climb up on the BMP-3M. It had a 30mm auto-cannon, three 7.6mm machine guns - and the really big gun was a 100mm cannon that could also fire anti-tank missiles. It was armored enough to defeat anything the police could bring to the fight, though any serious weapon would destroy it. Its main reason for being on that street at that moment was that it was a 'mere' 18 tons and thus could be airlifted by helicopter into the city.

The other two vehicles were jumped-up Russian jeeps called Tigr's. They were armored against small arms fire and had nifty 12.7mm machine guns on top and its 11 occupants seemed rather upbeat about their chances (which was to say they Thai's couldn't penetrate the Kazak soldiers stoic acceptance of their fates.)

"This way," the Thai protester pointed. He wasn't taking them downtown, oh no. He was directing them into a working class section of Bangkok that was a hotbed of anti-government resistance. He had little doubt they could find police officers there. He didn't want to kill them. He hoped they would see the size of his tank's big gun and do the right thing, aka give up.

[BMP-3M owners please note: the BMP-3M is NOT a tank. It is an IFV (infantry fighting vehicle). Fighting a true tank voids the manufacturer's warranty] 

He also pulled out his cell phone and made a few calls. The message was always the same - 

"There are Mongol soldiers roaming the city. Find them before the military does and use them to break police barricades. Oh, they don't understand our language so speak very slowly and use plenty of hand gestures." 

The Commander of a Hundred that the Thai was directing was actually much more upbeat about his chances than he had been five minutes earlier. There was a real worry that the Thai people would see his men as hostile invaders and let the Royal Thai Army destroy them with little to show for their mission. 

He activated his military network and informed the Air Force that he had encountered anti-government forces and was interacting with them in a positive manner. In response, he was told he was doing well (like that mattered) and a dozen aircraft were coming his way to provide ground support (far more important). Now they had the real possibility of causing a bloodbath in Bangkok - going out with a Bang. It was H-hour plus three.*

**The leader of the MARCOS team was perplexed. Everything was going better than planned. His allies had arrived precisely on schedule with 11 T-90Sm tanks and sizable number of supporting armored vehicles. They had immediately agreed that their combined forces needed to take the offensive, so they mounted up and raced east to the town of Rayong.

Rayong was the location of the HQ of the 1st regiment of the 9th Royal Thai Infantry Division. They had found a full battalion there and a firefight had ensued. The Thai's had been alert, just facing the wrong way when the Allies went in. The combat broke up into brutal, house-to-house fighting against over a thousand soldiers, paramilitaries and police.

It had been an uneven struggle. The MARCOS were the most elite soldiers of a nation of over 1 billion people with four millennia of martial valor. The Khanate's troopers had been dedicated and very well armed, if somewhat inexperienced. The Thai's had no effective anti-tank weapons versus the T-90's and their artillery support consisted of a handful of mortars that were quickly located and neutralized.

He wasn't perplexed by the three regiments of Royal Marines sitting in the Juksamet Port of Sattahip. They seemed happy enough just sitting out this round of the battle. Whatever moved them would be of a political nature. He wasn't about to attack them and they seemed to accept that situation. If things changed, the Indian Navy had promised to flatten the base with as much firepower as 34 warships could muster.