Allie's War Episodes 1-4(95)

He thought of Dehgoies as family.
He was certainly the closest Terian ever had.
Gods knew, his own biological roots hardly qualified. In fact, Terian had most of those early memories of dear mum and dad on back-file, inaccessible unless certain key words triggered their download. The system worked well enough, in that no one had ever stumbled upon those words inadvertently. Terian himself found those memories both useless and uninspiring.
A faint pulse sounded from the implant he had grafted to his spine at the base of his neck.
A voice eclipsed the construct. “Sir? Are you there?”
Terian adjusted his focus. “Yes, Varlan...I see you.”
“Has something changed, sir? Shall we continue to hold?”
Galaith had been unambiguous; he wanted Terian to hold back on a direct assault, to wait until the force could gather in Russia. Terian read additional motives in Galaith’s desire to wait, too—likely so that Dehgoies had time to grow more attached to his new charge—but Terian hadn’t told Galaith everything he knew about that yet, either.
He glanced at the little girl curled up on a stuffed chair, her face slackened in sleep. He knew what that part of him would say, if he asked.
It meant insubordination.
And yet, Terian had a good feeling.
Rarely had his good feelings steered him wrong.
“No,” Terian said to the seer on the line. “No more holding. It is time. Engage silent mode from the hierarchy proper. Report only to me, and wait for an opening. I strongly suspect we will see one, soon enough...”
The seer acquiesced silently, just before his presence faded.



Cold water. It was exactly what Revik needed.
Unfortunately, the pool water didn’t look at all cold.
Steam rose over shallows filled with splashing kids wearing cartoon-covered flotation devices. Revik stood at one side of the arch leading to the covered, lagoon-shaped pool with its glowing, underwater lights. So far he hadn’t done anything but walk.
He’d contemplated a drink, but couldn’t bring himself to act, not yet.
“Fuck,” he muttered.
Hearing him, a woman glanced up as she walked towards the pool, wearing only a bikini and a towel. He didn’t return her look directly, but his body responded to her stare, enough that he tensed.
Feeling his mood worsen, he made up his mind before he’d really thought about where. Somewhere in the background, he ticked through options. He automatically rejected the atrium or any of the casinos. There was a neon affair with a dance floor and padded leather bar crammed with drunk tourists, a poolside bar on the other side of the ship, a few scattered piano bars...and a smaller, faux-colonial British pub, replete with high-backed chairs, bamboo tables, potted palms and a real tiger skin on the wall over a fireplace.
Poor taste, touring the remnants of what had been some of the world’s most stunning glaciers, now a meager white only in the dead of winter, with the skin of an extinct animal nailed to the wall.
Snorting in a dark kind of humor, Revik decided it was perfect.
He walked in that direction, passing the entrance to the salon and gym. He located the pub the next floor down, and after a quick scan, found an empty barstool that placed him with his back to the wall on the far corner.
He hesitated only another breath before extracting a copper-colored clip from his pocket and hooking it to the collar of his shirt.
He hadn’t been careful. The bartender frowned.
Pretending not to notice, Revik waved for a drink, pointing at one of the taps. Reluctantly, the human took a glass off the back shelf, and filled it.
“You got a permit?” he grunted, setting down the pint in front of Revik.
Revik ignored the man’s hostility, nodding.
“The management wanted it discrete. Clips only...no wires.” He lifted the beer, and the thread of the man’s mind.
...we’ll just see about that, ice-blood. Can’t hurt for me to check with “the management,” after all...
The human’s thick fingers were already reaching for his earpiece when Revik brushed the thought from his mind.
Instantly, the large hand dropped.
The bartender stood by the computerized cash register, puzzled.
By the time he’d moved a few steps away, he forgot Revik entirely.
Sighing, Revik moved his stool further into shadow and settled himself in to wait. On a ship of this kind, most wouldn’t even recognize the clip. He might have a long wait before he got approached, if he relied on that alone.
Still, it felt cleaner this way. If he got no interest after a few more drinks, he’d reassess. He let his eyes go to the monitor over the bar, which displayed the day’s news. He got through a few beers watching brightly-colored avatars argue about terrorism and China’s inadequate response to the threat of renegade seers on their own soil.