The 6th of Six (The Legend of Kimraig Llu) (40 page)

“Well, that explains everything. So how about it Alice Toklas, would you all like to stay with us?”

“Do you have coffee?”

When Missy nodded yes, Alice turned to look at her companions. They did not move, not one muscle twitched—even Tig.

“They said yes.”

The seven would not get in the elevator with anyone but Missy. Even then, Tig was like a little father making sure everyone was in place, including Missy. Finally, comfortable in their new home, she asked the children to watch over Loyal as the doctors worked on him.

They watched every move until Loyal was sleeping soundly by himself. The little girls came next, with Tig watching from a distance until they were all nestled in with cups of hot coffee. They tried something new—lots of sugar.

When it was Tig’s turn, he balked. “No” he said.

“Why Tig, they did not hurt anyone?”

He just looked wistfully to the cups of coffee gulped down by everyone in the room. Then he whispered into Missy’s ear. “They are all, like, girls.”

Unable to stand any longer, Missy took a seat on the couch next to stacks of medical supplies. She reached to a mound of small multi-colored towels, selected one in sparkling white, which she handed to Tig.

“Take this with you and hold it up in your middle and I will find you a male doctor.”

Only then would she allow herself to wonder what had brought that on.

Tig took the towel and then touched her hand when she attempted to stand.

“I will be okay. With this, I can cover my girl things.” He walked to the small examination table removed his clothes and clutched the small towel as if his life depended on that single square of white.

She allowed herself a small sigh of relief. All those computer disks she had just received. Years of other people’s research passed on to her—where it would do the most good. Now, the final part presented to her as a gift. Seven gifts intended for a medical investigation that Princely and Nora knew would not be invasive.

* * *

Not caring what went on “
Across the Street
,” Mistress Ann, The 1st of One, paced her private chambers. A set path from one wall past the front of her couch to the opposite wall, fifteen, twenty, and thirty steps all one-way trips. Her indigo blue robe billowed in her wake. Then back to the other wall never losing count of those thirty...

“Now I lost count. Where is that Tech,” she screamed toward the open door to her rooms, twisting and untwisting the battery charger cord to her C-link repeatedly around her wrist.

“It had better be that fancy little twerp...no name...what’s-her-name, the one that gave me this piece of junk.” It did not occur to her the guards might block her out since she had been screaming these same words repeatedly for the last three minutes. It also did not occur to her that they would abandon their post.

She hated this: no contact with anyone. First, she lost contact with Mistress Breen and Leader Sala in Number 6 Building. Not unheard of, communication at almost a mile was spotty at best; no codes by blinking light either. That was two days ago. Then to top it off, this morning she could not raise the Council in Number 5 Building. That had never happened.

Now she could not walk at all but had to use this awful cane just to get to the doorway. Those two guards were another story. They were supposed to jump when she ordered them to get her Tech. Instead, they had played that silly child’s game with their fisted hand, or open palm facing down, or even two open fingers extended.

Not only that, the short dumpy one had the gall to look putout when he lost and had to go fetch by himself. They were history. As soon as she contacted the Wicca she would make sure those two guards spent the remainder of their days tending the compost heap.

One foot in front of the other foot, pacing her set path from one wall past the front of her coach to the opposite wall: fifteen, twenty, thirty steps all of them one-way. Then back to the other wall, never losing count of those thirty...no way could I lose count, not a second time, must be this cane.

Finally, the Tech bolted to the doorway, running this time for a change. Mistress Ann snorted, must have taken note of the dressing down she had given her supervisor. Her heavy bag remained clutched protectively to her breast and she was just quivering outside the doorway when she managed to choke out her plea.

“Access, please Mistress.”

Eyes sampling the taste of her, Mistress Ann did not answer.

“Permission to enter Mistress,” she said without much convection.

“This did not work, no one answers,” Annie screamed.

She had slipped rapidly back to that Annie who had learned to kill, loaded on alcohol at twenty one years old. She let the charger fly, trailing its cord, toward the little twit’s head.

“You gave your word this would work. Your own design, you said. Not any better than what I flush down the chute. Now give me another which will continue to work whenever I want.”

I hate that sound in my voice. Me as a little child, one that had better get her way or else.
These thoughts forced a giggle, then a second and third until she lost control. Psycho loony giggles now, so many she could not count.

“Please Mistress, let me help. I have a C-link Wave Enhancer in my bag. We have been having trouble with all communications for two days now. It is the only thing that seems to help.”

Well, well, with her hands busy, that woman finally calmed down and decided she needed to get me exactly what I want. Her whole bag must hold that Enhancer thing. Ann gave it a little tug—heavy.

“Sorry Mistress Ann. Sorry but I also need your phone.”

“Are you blind as well as slow? There on the table, next to the bag you just put down.”
Now you are starting to feel better Annie. Just needed someone to yell at, dear; more chances will come, I promise.

Annie watched the little twit retrieve the phone from the table, take a cord out of the bag and attach it in the end where that little port thing was. She marveled, so that is how it works. Then she fiddled with the phone a few heartbeats and held it to her ear.

“This is a private Command channel test. It works fine Bobby. I think we have it now. Yeah I will. Thanks for asking.”

“I do not summon you to talk to your lovers. Just make it work.”

“It works now. Leave it attached to the Enhancer for an hour or two. Here give it a try,” the Tech said extending her phone at arm’s length.

“You cannot be serious. I do not intend to conduct private business with you in this room. Get out!”

For once she moved as she was supposed to, scuttling like any scared little Bell Girl at the old Ritz, or was it Bell Boy?

“Wait this bag smells like the sea.”

“It will pass Mistress,” the Tech said as she closed the door. She slipped the sim card from the phone she had pretended to fix into her tunic pocket. All of Mistress Ann’s dirty little secrets locked inside, waiting for someone to get them out.

Good, the guards were gone.

Quickly retrieving her own phone, the Tech dialed in the number of the unit she had left with Mistress Ann, and then bent her ear to the door. When she heard the awful woman talking, she backed away, pressing the send button.

C-link Wave Enhancer, is there such a thing?
the tech thought.

The Enhancer bag, one full bottle of BJ with one charger cord, fumes and sparks, neat.

There was a soft whummph from inside the room as the door in front of her blistered and heat washed over her body. She had to go before the building emergency fire teams answered the alarm.

“Oh by the way,” she said, speaking toward the now burning room. “My name is Char, not what’s-her-name.”

Chapter 17. Enough Mourning

As Mistress Ann blazed, David made sure Commander Brody knew what an amazing success she had accomplished taking Number 1 Building. He apologized again for the elimination of Mistress Ann before she could order it done herself. Of course, that was his plan all along. That part he could never share with her; he needed to spare her this last indignity.

He took more time to explain again how her bloodless coup would look in front of the Wicca and their General Assembly. Sala made him cautious about sharing information since they were so close to their goal. He had shared with this woman because he had roamed around inside her unconscious and found someone he wanted for himself.

“Are we clear about the time of your arrival at the Assembly?”

“Yes David, you are. You were also clear the second, third and fourth time,” Brody-1 gave him her best giant imp smile. “I will be there on time. Someone has to save you from yourself.”

That smile, which came out of nowhere...so out of character...was not the first snare that captured him. This was only a small part of what he discovered in their first meeting inside that infernal machine. Except now, he feared he would be her prisoner instead of the other way around. He hoped he was the first to see that smile.

“And you know what you must do when the uniforms arrive?” He could not let it go. This was how he worked, always make sure; take nothing for granted.

“Yes David.”

“Alright,” he paused unwilling to break away. “Let’s go over this once more...”

He was off his feet then, one of her arms around his middle the other under his arm and supporting his neck leaving him just short of passing out with her crunching hug. His lips were buried somewhere inside her mouth—nothing to do but go with it.

“Now, isn’t that better than delaying me with useless preparation,” she said squeezing gently as she set him back to the floor.

“Well...”

“Well, indeed. This is new; Crossers can also be speechless inside their personal space. Nice touch.” She walked a circle around him then, swatted his butt and spoke. “I will have business with you when this is over, make sure you are available.”

David could only watch her walk back to her troops. All his training clicked into gear as he managed to slide this new experience away: not too far away.

Attempting to cover and block his emotions, he replayed the series of events that brought their army, The Blue, to this final showdown with the Wicca. It started without careful planning, more of a knee jerk reaction from a population who had taken, none too silently, much abuse before this day.

Lower Level, Number 4 Building was the beginning, just days past. One Wicca clean up squad initiated the attack, moving directly upwards from the street. Top Side would be their first arrest—Little People. Orders written in precise language; find and liquidate the persons Tucker and Winnie, leaders of this rebellion.

They found them working over the side removing Choker weed spores from the cracks in the building face. Taking over the winches themselves, they called for the two Little People to surrender. When weight came on the working line, their two winches somehow became unfastened from the Top Side’s deck. They laughed as all went over the side. The supervisor replacing Kimraig expressed her displeasure.

“Oops,” the Queen said.

However, it was not over. Midge, the construction supervisor for Top Side of Number 4 Building came under attack. Her guards were not enough to save her from the quick kidnap by six highly trained assassins from her own Middle Level. She screamed as they bound her then stripped her from the waist up. As they stood by the parapet where moments before two winches had disappeared, they cut the letter “V” between her breasts. She was stunned, unable to scream all the way to the pavement.

Number 3 building erupted hours later as the same Queen made her move.

“Get them moving back to the elevators,” the Queen said. She, along with her Battle Group wore full-face helmets hiding their identity: so they thought.

Macy, chocking as the chain around her neck jerked tight, lost her footing. She fell heavily on arms tied behind her back, which snapped her head against the floor. Hunching her shoulders, expecting the worst had worked: it lessened the stunning blow. It was not much, just enough to keep some semblance of order in her half-conscious world. She had a faint vision of Jake, in front of her, who had been sitting when the order came. They dragged him headfirst toward the express elevator that took laborers to Top Side. Silent as always, she did not hear his last strangled breath.

The hallways here in Lower Level narrowed as soon as they left the landing from the basement elevator. Space was critical, an extra foot or so taken from a wide hallway made handy storage for tools and the meager supplies for this floor. Doorways to each squalid cubical were propped open, unseen until the first Trooper attempted to pass.

That Trooper simply disappeared behind the slamming door.

Her Battle Group quickly depleted by one, their Queen ordered them into groups of two with a caution to approach each doorway as a potential trap. They made slow progress, as all manner of debris rained out each opening before the doors slammed.

This was an experienced Queen. She halted at the two closed and bolted doors. These animals had made a mistake. They should have waited until the rear guard had cleared the doors, and then attacked when their whole line became exposed.