Time for our heroes to bravely go where some of
them have never been before: to a dance club! XD And one of Mel's relatives
shows up...
Authors: Mel and Christy (blithely
kidnapping Dan, Asuka and Jay’s characters)
Pairings: 1x5x2, 3x4,
AxD
Warnings: Yaoi, language, AU. Bitch alert!
Feedback: Hand it over or
we’ll send Asuka after you!
---------------
Warped
Mirrors
Chapter 25
“Is that a
collar?!”
---------------
“Homework? --Dear gods, those
glasses make you look hot.”
Wufei looked up from the maps lying
next to his breakfast and glared over the narrow rectangular frames of his
reading glasses. Totally unfazed, Mel grinned and joined him at the table,
dropping her own stack of closely-typed pages next to her loaded
plate.
“Just so you know, that’s the wrong expression to use if you’re
trying to look less hot,” she told him in a stage whisper as she picked up her
cutlery.
“...I’m familiarising myself with the maps the Regent gave us,”
he told her after a significant pause. “I see you have ‘homework’ as
well?”
“What, no witty repartee?” She mock-pouted, waving her fork at him
with half a grilled mushroom impaled on it. “Oh well. I need to get up to speed
on what my double’s been saying to whom before we go clubbing, just in case one
of her previous dance partners shows up.”
“Given the sort of personality
you pretend to have, wouldn’t it be perfectly in character for you to forget
someone?” he asked, interested despite himself.
“Eh, yes and no,” Mel
shrugged. “I try to walk a fine line between ‘delinquent’ and ‘nice but
completely frivolous’. Making a point of remembering people helps with the
‘nice’ side of things, as well as helping the masquerade.”
“Anubis only
knows how you keep track of all the masks you wear,” Christy snorted, strolling
in.
“Like you’re any different,” Mel muttered, looking pointedly at the
similar stack of pages in Christy’s hand.
“At least I don’t have to worry
about which lover is which, where, when, and how!”
“Neither do I! I leave
it to the tabloids to keep up with all the shit they make up about
me.”
“Why bother to keep up with any of it?” Asuka growled, stalking in
wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. “Let your doubles do all the public
bullshit; it’s not like any of it’s important.”
“A, yes it is important,”
Christy said in bored tones, flopping into her chair and reaching for a pitcher
of juice. “B, there are some things they can’t do for us. C, put some clothes
on.”
“I did put some clothes on,” he said blankly. (At this point, Dan
wandered in with a smug smile on his face, humming happily, and was carefully
ignored by everyone.) “And what do you mean, things they can’t do?”
“One
item does not count as clothes, plural,” Wufei pointed out.
“It’s better
than the alternative!” Mel told him hastily. “Naked Asuka at breakfast may make
excellent scenery to start the day in barracks, but it’s a bit much to have him
wandering the halls here.”
“This is true,” Christy snorted. “Though it
would give the conservatives something to worry about other than you, at
least... anyway, the point was, our doubles can’t take over any of our official
or ceremonial functions; they just look after our social lives.”
“And my
point was, why not?” Asuka asked in a slightly distracted voice, picking up the
lids of the hot chafing dishes lined up on the side table and inspecting their
contents suspiciously. “Teach them to fake your signatures or
whatever.”
“Whatever they signed wouldn’t be legally binding,” Mel
pointed out.
“If nobody ever finds out, who cares?”
“Us,” Christy
told him. “Not just because of the mundane legal side of things, but the
spiritual as well. Much as I swear about it, I am the representative of
the Gods to a lot of my subjects. Letting an imposter pose as me during any
important ceremonies... eh. It’s not on.”
“They don’t share our mana,”
Mel agreed. “My double isn’t even rangatira.”
“You really believe that
shit?”
“Oi, we don’t make fun of your religion... whatever it
is.”
Asuka looked at both girls for a moment, then shrugged and sat down,
plate piled high with small whole fish. “Fair enough. So, what would happen if
you did use your doubles for the ceremonial stuff? According to your religions,
that is.”
“The usual,” Christy said casually, going back to studying her
papers. “The Yor wouldn't flood, bad harvests, plagues of
locusts...”
“Earthquakes,” Mel put in, dissecting a sausage. “Fish dying
off, drought, floods...”
“...scorpions, zombie jackals,
sandstorms...”
“...taniwha blocking harbours, volcanoes--”
“Wait,
wait, zombie what?!”
Christy rubbed the back of her neck,
grimacing. “Well, Anubis is the god of Death and jackals are his
representatives, and if he gets mad... it’s happened a couple of times, all
right? It’s not pretty.”
The Glacin pilot eyed them dubiously, then
snorted and turned back to his food. “If I say anything more, you’re going to
find out what I believe just so you can retaliate, right?”
“Got it in
one,” Mel grinned.
“I knew better than to even start,” Wufei muttered
into his mug of tea.
“Coward,” Asuka muttered back, just as
quietly.
“Prudent,” Wufei corrected him. “They’re dragging us clubbing
tonight and I want to be wearing more than twenty percent coverage.”
* *
* * *
Heero eyed the outfit Jay was holding out to him with a jaundiced
expression. “...Do I have to?”
“Yes and no,” she chirped brightly.
“Yes, you have to come clubbing, but no, you don’t have to wear this particular
outfit if you don’t want to. I have spares!”
He had his mouth half open
to respond when Trowa cut him off. “Before you answer, I suggest you look in the
closet. The others are worse.”
“That depends entirely on your definition
of ‘worse’, wot.”
“Harder to conceal weapons in, for one thing. Skimpier,
for another.”
“Given that Mister Glare-y there regularly wears spandex
shorts, and hides a gun in them, I find that hard to believe,” Jay
protested. “Besides, as official bodyguards you don’t have to hide your weapons,
and -- referring back to the aforementioned spandex shorts -- I really don’t
think you have any room to object to our choice of clubbing gear on the grounds
of skimpiness!”
“My shorts are not the issue here!”
“No, but
they’re an absolutely spiffy counter-argument.”
Heero reluctantly
returned his gaze to the proffered outfit. “Trowa, are you sure the
others are worse?”
“Yes.”
It wasn’t that it was skimpy, really.
Judged purely by the criteria of how much skin would be covered when it was
worn, the outfit was fairly modest. Judged by how it covered that skin,
though... There was paper-thin black leather, and mesh, and shiny silver buckles
and studs, and strategic cutouts, and--
“Is that a
collar?!”
“Oh, yes.” Jay’s normal happy beam turned into
something like Dan’s best lascivious smirk for a second.
“I’m checking
the closet.”
Trowa had been right. It was the least-- hm. ‘Offensive’
wasn’t quite the right word, Heero decided, glaring at the rest of the outfits;
none of them were exactly offensive, really. The ones that incorporated
lace into their designs came close... Ah. That’s the word I want. It’s the
least infuriating choice available.
“Bear in mind that she
wants us to match, so whatever you end up wearing, I have to wear too,” Trowa
put in from behind him.
“Is that a hint?” Heero growled.
“Yes.
Please don’t pick anything with lace cuffs; they make it almost impossible to
draw a weapon quickly.”
At that, Heero finally managed to drag his gaze
away from the clothes, blinking back at the taller pilot over his shoulder.
“...Do I want to know how you found that out?”
“Catherine was thinking of
redesigning our circus act at one point, and I think she got most of her
inspiration out of a Regency romance she was reading. She got as far as making
my costume and taking a lot of pictures.” Trowa shrugged. “I’d show you, but
there was a freak accident involving half a dozen throwing knives, two litres of
medicinal alcohol, and a bonfire. I have no idea how it happened.”
“Of
course you don’t.” After a few more seconds eyeing the contents of the closet,
Heero sighed. “We’re stuck with the first one, aren’t
we?”
“Yup.”
“Remind me to bring a couple of towels to loan Mort
and the Han Hero,” Jay said, handing him the hanger and passing another to
Trowa. “They’ll need them to mop up all the drool.”
* * * *
*
“...Do you seriously think we’re going to agree to wear
that?”
“No,” Mel said, lounging comfortably on Wufei’s bed, dangling the
item in question from one finger. Asuka was glaring daggers at her from his
perch on the windowsill, one hand twitching towards a hidden knife.
“Then
why--”
“I figured if I showed you this, you’d be more inclined to agree
to the outfits I actually want you to wear tonight,” she said calmly. “Also, I
want to get your objections to it out of the way now, since I do intend
you to wear it to the Alliance anniversary ceremonies, and we’re going to have
enough to do on the day without arguing about getting you dressed.”
“Fuck
that!” Asuka snarled, jerking upright. “Like I’m going to wear something like
that in public!”
“Says the person who walks around naked!”
“That’s
different, it’s not a freaking weird costume and it’s in private!”
“You
walk out into the common room and flash us all the time!”
“You lot don’t
count as public!”
“...I’m not sure whether that’s a compliment or an
insult,” Mel sighed, eyeing him dubiously. “Anyway. Everyone dresses
traditionally for the anniversary shindig, and this--” she brandished the thing
in her hand, stiff fibres rustling “--is traditional. You are my guards, you are
part of the Aotearoan delegation, therefore you need to dress as part of
the Aotearoan delegation.”
Wufei could feel a headache coming on. “There
has to be some sort of less... skimpy option.”
“Not for a formal
occasion, unless you’re rangatira.” She shrugged. “If it makes you feel any
better, I’ll be dressed traditionally too.”
Dead
silence.
“You’re-- *cough*” Wufei cleared his throat, feeling his
face burn. “You’re rangatira, though, so you get to wear more, right? You
said--”
“I get a feather cloak.” Mel’s voice was perfectly calm and
casual, but her mouth kept twitching towards a smirk.
“That’s
it?!”
“Yup.”
Dead silence again.
“So!” Mel said
cheerfully, hopping up from the bed and waving at a couple of garment bags lying
next to where she’d been sitting. “There’s your outfits for tonight, we’re
leaving at seven, don’t be late. See ya!” And she was gone, door swinging shut
behind her, leaving the garment bags and... thing... lying
there.
“Damn,” Asuka said eventually, paler than usual. “And we have to
stare at her the whole time.”
“Like she said on the plane, it’s ‘guard’,
not ‘stare at’,” Wufei growled, still blushing. Picking up one of the garment
bags, he started to unzip it, pointedly ignoring whatever else might be on his
bed. “Let’s see what she intends us to wear tonight--”
The bag rustled as
he pulled it away from the hanger.
Yet another silence.
“I’m gonna
kill her,” Asuka announced, drawing a knife and stalking towards the
door.
“I’ll help-- no, wait!” Wufei grabbed at his shoulder, then yelped
and dodged a slash. “Asuka, stop! The servants don’t know we aren’t just
bodyguards, you can’t go storming out there and yell at her--”
“Kill, not
yell.”
“--or whatever!” Braced in front of the door, Wufei held up his
hands and prayed inwardly that Asuka would listen to reason. He’s faster than
me and nearly as strong as Heero, damn it! “Look, normally you’d be right,
we wouldn’t let her get away with this. Right now, though, we’re playing roles
and if we break character we could ruin everything.”
“So we have to put
up with wearing that?!”
“I didn’t say we had to put up with it
without protest,” Wufei told him, smiling thinly. “We’re going to have to wear
it, yes... but I’m sure we can think of something appropriate to do in
revenge.”
Asuka scowled, but lowered his knife. “Did you see the
collar?”
“Yes. It just means that we’re going to need to be
creative.”
* * * * *
“Allah,” Quatre gulped.
“Nice,”
Duo said appreciatively, one eyebrow shooting up. Dan was similarly
impressed.
“Christy, ma cherie, that is not an outfit; that is a Goth
teenager’s wet dream.”
“Isn’t it just?” she grinned. “This oughtta get a
few extra column inches in the gossip papers.”
“Forget the gossip
papers,” he said dryly, reaching out to hook one finger through the silver ring
hanging from the outfit’s collar and tugging experimentally. “It’s going to
inspire amateur porn.”
Duo leered. “Remind me to start running Internet
searches in about a week.”
“A week? You underestimate the power of porn,
my friend; I fully expect the first chapters to be online tomorrow.” Dan sighed
happily. “Please tell me that Mel intends to dress Asuka in something
similarly... tasty.”
“Something exactly this tasty,” Christy told him
happily. “You’re all going to match.”
About to object, Quatre suddenly
realised exactly what that meant. Trowa. Wearing... oh dear Allah, he’ll be
magnificent. He closed his mouth and swallowed, blinking
rapidly.
Duo seemed to be having similar thoughts. “Oh, yum,” he
murmured, leer softening into a gentler smile. “You realise the others aren’t
going to appreciate this the way we do, right?”
“They won’t appreciate us
making them wear this, no,” Christy shrugged, tossing the hangar at him
and passing two more identical outfits to Dan and Quatre. “On the other hand,
they’re definitely going to appreciate you three wearing it, and I need
you to do me a favour.”
“On top of the enormous favour we’re already
doing you by playing dress-up bodyguards instead of running away,
hmm?”
“It’s a favour to you too, Dan. While I’m sure you and Duo can pull
off the attitude that goes with the clothes, and Quatre and Trowa can probably
fake it,” she pointed out, “Wufei, Heero and Asuka are going to... how should I
phrase this...”
“Bristle like junkyard dogs?” Dan suggested brightly. “Be
stiffer than frozen corpses? Not, in other words, radiate the proper ‘I am damn
sexy and proud of it’ ambience?”
“They’ll get the ‘damn sexy’ part
whether they want to or not,” Duo mused. “Problem is, they’ll also be radiating
‘make an issue of it and I’ll feed you your fingers’, which doesn’t really
work in most dance clubs.”
“Exactly,” Christy said dryly. “Which
is why I want you two -- and Quatre as well, if you want -- to get into your
spiffy dance gear, go visit your assorted homicidal-and-dangerous boyfriends,
and get their minds off ‘oh dear gods they’re making me wear sexy
clothes’ and on ‘oh dear gods the man I lust after is wearing sexy
clothes and thinks I look hot’.”
“So, essentially,” Quatre said slowly,
recovering his voice at last, “you want us to seduce our significant others into
relaxing?”
“Yup!”
“Sounds like a plan!” Duo cheered, unbuckling
his belt. “Buzz off, Christy, we’ve got sexy to get into.”
* * * *
*
When the pilots all reconvened in the palace’s entrance hall before
heading out that evening, Duo and Dan-- and, surprisingly, Wufei-- had definite
satisfied smirks on their faces. Quatre was smiling sunnily, Trowa was calmly
unreadable as usual, and while Heero and Asuka couldn’t be described as
relaxed, exactly, they didn’t seem uncomfortable in the previously-hated
‘Goth teenager’s wet dream’ outfits.
“Hooray for hormones,” Mel muttered
out of the corner of her mouth, eyeing the assembled masculine beauty from the
doorway. “I think Asuka just smiled for a millisecond.”
“Are you sure?”
Jay asked, standing on tiptoe to see over her shoulder. “He could have been
baring his teeth-- oh, nommy! Christy, I don’t know how much you paid that
designer, but they deserve more.”
“I paid them a lot!”
“They still
deserve more,” Jay chuckled, following Mel into the room.
“Ooh. Abs,”
Christy murmured, getting a better look as the male pilots turned towards them.
“You’re right, Jay; I’ll send them another cheque tomorrow.”
“Cheque,
hell, put them on permanent retainer,” Mel grinned. Stopping a few feet away
from the male pilots, she put two fingers over her lips and pointedly scanned
them down to the floor and back up again, making appreciative noises in the back
of her throat.
“Pervert,” Asuka muttered, glaring. “What are you, a
lecherous mapping radar?”
“Art exists to be appreciated,” she told him
loftily, “and believe me, you are all works of art. Don’t you agree,
Jay?”
“Mmm-mm!” the Vaterean girl agreed, nodding. “Gentlemen, I
probably don’t need to tell you this, but just in case you haven’t worked it out
yet; you’re going to need to guard your bodies as well as
ours.”
Quatre glanced sideways at Trowa and blushed, eyes lingering on
the taller boy’s bared stomach. “True.”
The ragged edges of Christy’s
long coat swirled around her boots as she walked around to eye Dan from behind.
Dropping her voice so that the uniformed servants standing by the main entryway
wouldn’t be able to hear, she murmured “Damn, Martel, given how much time you
spend admiring other people’s asses, I’m amazed you aren’t still ogling your own
rear in the mirror. Since when has it looked like that?”
“I’ve
been exercising,” he murmured back in innocent tones, glancing sideways towards
Asuka. Raising his voice over Mel’s sudden choking fit, he went on, “Are we
ready to go, my Pharaoh?”
“I think so,” she nodded, raising one eyebrow
at Mel and Jay questioningly. “Ladies?”
Jay shot a quick look down at
herself, patting at her ruffled collar. She was wearing black velvet, sleek
pants and an almost Edwardian frock coat, with white lace at her throat and
spilling over her hands. “I don’t know,” she said doubtfully. “Should I have
gone with the blue?”
“Not for the Fire and Brimstone club,” Christy said
decisively, reaching across to pat the jewelled comb holding Jay’s hair in
place. “You look great.”
“Mmh. Well then, yes.”
Mel shrugged. “I’d
say I was good to go, but that would require me to be good,” she drawled, all
the way back in her public persona. Her top was black and silky, revealing her
cleavage, and had detached sleeves that covered her forearms and hands while
leaving her tattooed upper arms bare. Her pants were a miracle of engineering
that probably required glue to stay up, baring a wide strip of tanned skin from
her hips down to her knees.
“Then we’re bad to go, I guess,” Christy
smirked. She was wearing yet more black, knee-high leather boots and tight
leather pants under a long coat that didn’t quite close over her white blouse,
held together with criss-crossed black straps, echoing the white straps binding
her wrists. The only spot of colour in the ensemble was the red lining of her
coat, briefly visible as she turned -- the only spot of colour in the entire
group, Duo realised, looking around.
Damn, we’re Goth all right,
he thought, suppressing a snicker as he fell into place beside her. Trowa was a
couple of steps ahead as they moved towards the door, but it opened before they
were halfway there.
A middle-aged Polynesian woman stalked in ahead of
her own entourage, coming to an abrupt halt as she saw them. “Ah. Lady
Tutankanep,” she said, drawing herself up and nodding to Christy. “A pleasure to
see you again. I-- oh. You.”
“Me,” Mel said sweetly, stiffening in
place for a moment before relaxing again, lashes dropping to shade her eyes. Her
posture shifted subtly, hand on jutting hip, and she inhaled, emphasising her
cleavage. “Hello, Aunt Ngaire. Long time no see.”
“Not long enough,” the
older woman snapped. “You’re still up to no good, I gather.” Her eyes flicked
down for a moment, glancing at Mel’s arm tattoos, and her scowl deepened; the
blue lines on her own chin, similar to her niece’s, wrinkled as she pursed her
mouth. “Have you no shame?”
“None whatsoever,” Mel agreed, false smile
widening. “Do you know, Aunt Ngaire, I don’t think I’ve ever done anything I
wanted to feel ashamed of?”
“Infamous,” Ngaire hissed. “Foul Pakeha
brat! Dragging the Tangaroa name into disrepute--”
Wufei shifted
his weight, ready to step in front of Mel or pull her out of the way if there
were any hostile moves from the older woman’s entourage -- unlikely, but the
sheer venom in her voice was unsettling, and some of her larger and
bulkier attendants were echoing her scowl -- and the movement drew her
attention. She glanced at him, then back at Mel, then snapped back to him, eyes
round in one of the most classic double-takes he’d ever seen. She’d been working
herself up into a tirade, voice rising with every word, and she just
stopped, staring at him open-mouthed.
One by one, Ngaire’s
followers followed her gaze. Some looked puzzled, clearly not understanding what
was wrong; others were obviously shocked, faces going pale. One or two raised a
hand as if warding him off.
...Now what? His chin lifted slightly,
expression determinedly blank.
“Is something wrong, Aunt?” Mel inquired
in silky tones.
Ngaire’s mouth snapped shut as she looked back and forth
between Mel and Wufei, startled expression fading into thought... then a cold,
cruel smile.
“I see you’ve found yourself a replacement,” she
purred, voice heavy with unpleasant implications. “How nice for you.
Really! --Do his sisters know?” she lashed out suddenly, baring teeth. “His
mother? Have you walked your little pet past them?”
Mel blinked,
slowly. “It hadn’t occurred to me to do so.”
“Why ever not? Surely they’d
be delighted--”
Mel’s smile was beginning to show teeth now. “Because I
may be a bitch, but I’m not a complete bitch. Unlike some.”
Ngaire
drew herself up, inhaling. “How dare you!”
“How dare you?” Christy
snarled.
There was utter silence as Ngaire choked, colour draining out of
her face as she realised that she’d completely forgotten Christy’s presence in
her eagerness to snipe at her niece.
“How dare you?” Christy
repeated, voice icily cold, Persephone to the bone. “You are in My country, in
My presence, speaking to My friend, in My home. I am Pharaoh! I
rule here!”
Not Persephone, Wufei realised. Tutankanep.
And what Ngaire was implying-- He swallowed as his memory finally caught up
to the conversation. Oh. That was foul!
Christy --
Tutankanep -- lifted a hand, cutting Ngaire off before she could start any sort
of apology. “I suppose you intended to stay here during the Alliance celebration
ceremonies. Unfortunately, the palace is full. I suggest you find a
hotel.”
“I-- b-but--”
Without another word, Christy stalked
forwards, staring through Princess Ngaire and her entourage as if they didn’t
exist. Mel and Jay followed, and the male pilots, recognising Christy’s intent
even if they didn’t understand it, closed in around the three girls. Men and
women scattered in front of them, scrambling to get out of the way, and one of
Ngaire’s own bodyguards had to yank her out of Mel’s path.
Christy
would have gone straight over them otherwise, and the rest of us would have
followed, Wufei smirked inwardly, head turned to keep watch behind as the
servants beside the door bowed profoundly and pulled it open even further.
Mel and Christy are wearing high heels, Jay has steel-tipped dance boots, and
I for one would have been stamping.
Nobody said another word
until they were all in the dark stretch limousine that had been waiting for
them. The cars that had brought Ngaire and the rest of the Aotearoan delegation
were parked a little way behind it, and as they pulled into traffic the Princess
and her entourage were coming into view at the top of the steps, being escorted
out of the palace politely but firmly.
Duo looked forwards, making sure
the privacy screen was up between them and the driver, and then turned to Mel.
“What. The hell?”
“Seconded,” Heero snapped. “I know you said you
didn’t get along with your aunt, but that was ridiculous!”
Mel took a
deep breath through her nose, flexing her hands. “My aunt,” she said quietly,
“is a bitch--”
“No duh!”
“We noticed,” Asuka
growled.
“--and she’s been getting worse lately,” she finished,
grimacing. “That was a new low even for her.”
“She’s not entirely sane,”
Jay said solemnly.
Mel rubbed at the back of her neck, looking sideways
at her. “Um. I wondered about that. How bad?”
“Bad enough.” Jay looked at
Quatre, who was rubbing his chest and leaning into Trowa’s shoulder, and he
nodded. “I haven’t met her before to get a baseline, but if you say she’s been
deteriorating... well, it won’t be long before it’s obvious. She’s really
not rational about you, and she’s planning something; I don’t know what. Do you
want me to go back and try to get more details?”
“No. Going by past
history, she’ll spend the next hour or two ranting to her flatterers about me,
youth these days, and the perfidy of fate that prevented her from having the
Perfect Daughter to show me up.” Mel sighed, then brightened slightly. “Besides,
this is Ngaire we’re talking about; whatever she’s up to, it won’t be either
subtle or elegant, and it’s really unlikely to work.”
“We’ll keep
an eye out,” Trowa said quietly. “What was she talking about with Wufei,
though?”
Christy was still staring out the window, expression cold; Mel
winced, and Jay shrugged. “Don’t ask me, I don’t know. Nobody tells me
anything,” she pouted.
“We don’t normally need to,” Dan pointed
out dryly. “However, I don’t know either, which I find annoying. Mel, ma cherie,
does your unspeakable aunt have something against handsome Hanese
men?”
Mel winced again, and Wufei growled under his breath. “I look
almost identical to her fiancé,” he said shortly, looking away. “Mel’s
deceased fiancé. That-- woman-- was essentially accusing Mel of
picking me as her bodyguard because of that resemblance, using me as a toy boy,
and being insensitive enough to parade me in front of his family.”
“And
sort-of threatening to tell them if I hadn’t,” Mel sighed. “I need to do
something to head that particular bit of bile off, if she hasn’t forgotten after
Christy’s lovely little speech.”
Christy finally stirred, grim expression
thawing slightly. “Still want to go dancing, or would you rather circle around
and head back to the palace? They’ll be gone by now.”
“Damned if I’m
going to miss out because of Ngaire,” Mel snorted, managing a faint
smile. “I might find out if your cellars have any Han plum wine in them after we
get back, though.”
Christy grinned back. “Hell, I’m sure there’s a few
bottles somewhere in Waset. We’ll find them.”
* * * *
*
“General Petrenkovich, sir?”
Madame Garnier’s voice was
uncharacteristically soft and uncertain, and the General raised one eyebrow as
he looked up from his paperwork. “Vhat is it?”
“We’ve received some new
information,” she told him, holding out a sheaf of photos in one hand. The other
hand was clasping a personnel file folder to her chest, knuckles almost white.
“Satellite imagery. When put together with a few recent intelligence reports, it
leads to some rather... unpleasant conclusions.”
“Oh?” Trei bit on the
end of his cheroot, puffing absent-mindedly as he used both hands to shuffle
through the photographs, stopping on one of the enlargements. It was centred on
a face, grainy and blurred but not impossible to make out. “I don’t recognise...
vait.” Flicking back to a different photograph, less grainy, showing tiny
figures standing between square buildings, he squinted at it. “Zhis looks
like...” Trailing off, he shot a sharp look up at her.
“Yes, sir,” she
said quietly, laying the file on his desk and opening it to a marked
page.
“Chyort,” he said softly.
“Yes, sir.”
“Zhis is
confirmed?”
“Not yet.”
“Zhen ve can’t tell her.”
“No, sir.
Not yet.”
-----------------------
End of Warped Mirrors
Chapter
25
-----------------------