

Planet Moloch:

The Guild of Unrelenting Truth: (Part II)

A novella by:

J. Ella

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SMASHWORDS EDITION

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Published by:

J. Ella on Smashwords

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Planet Moloch (Part II):

The Guild of Unrelenting Truth

Copyright 2012 J. Ella

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Planet Moloch: Guild of Unrelenting Truth - Part II.

Chapter 1

Every generation needs a new revolution. T. Jefferson.

Elder Derex stepped off the dirigible to the mooring tower. The tower was composed of light gage hyper-alloy arrayed in a serpentine lattice pattern. It appeared as if you were walking through the clouds. He found it disconcerting yet remarkable. He was told the gantry was super strong, which was contrary to its wraith like appearance. The fractal lattice was designed to withstand high winds and ever present sand-grit. The cleric could feel the fine aggregates collecting in his saliva.

The metal used to construct the tower was an exotic nano-amalgamate. Yet another of the Faction's technological advances.

Due to sand, rain and wind, engineers designed an open structure. It was curvaceous and elliptic with no 90 degree corners to collect sand. The blowing wind was deflected and diffused by the pattern. Thirty two dirigibles could be moored and serviced by it.

Today was gloriously sunny with humidity just bordering on uncomfortable. It smelled like rain-to-be. Elder Derex was relieved. The flight to Tzouhalen crossed the inhospitable Northern desert. Large sections of dark red-ochre baked clay were lapped by a shimmering sea of dirty yellow sand. Heat splashed off in waves and carried a spray of dirty yellow sand high into the air. Nothing green could take root there. He shuddered at the thought of having to cross the desert on foot.

A narrow ribbon of road cut through the rock and disappeared into the yellow haze. Rare earth clays and metals, light and heavy metals plus numerous other minerals were bountiful under the harsh deserts. There was no shortage of desert around Tzouhalen. The Scarn and Northern deserts surrounded the city in an ocean of roasting sand. A constant stream of haulers could be seen poking through the barrier haze of dust.

He pulled his eyes from the Northern desert to the verdant green of the valley of life that stretched before him. Only a third of Jaresse's land mass was capable of supporting mammalian life. At the far end of the valley lay the Terranae Sea. It was an inland sea. Around the Terranae circled a band of lush green. This valley and the habitable band around the seashore was the sum of all the fragile terrain capable of supporting civilization.

The Scarn Desert, the Northern Desert, the Great Wasavi or any other desert on the planet frightened Elder Derex. Deserts were inhospitable and unforgiving. ...and the Scarn was final resting place of the Ixtos. A visit to his tomb was to be the climax of the Elder's pilgrimage.

Tzouhalen was a huge city. It was one of Jaresse's major transportation hubs. The population was cresting 14 million. Tzouhalen was the logistics base for the Space Elevator since mining and other heavy industries were incorporated within it. He looked to the east and observed the giant silhouette of the Elevator base under construction. A haze of ochre-grey dust permeated the construction site. Sanitized tailings from countless mining operations were being put to use in its foundations.

The residential part of the city was imaginative and efficiently designed. There were no slums contrasted by grandiose villas. Yet imagination and color were unrestrained. Buildings taller than 10 stories were absent from the skyline -- the exceptions were airship mooring towers. Every home on a lot had a garden. Every rooftop balcony had the same...

He patiently shuffled along the gantry to the elevators with the other passengers. His forehead throbbed slightly and he brought his hand up to touch the brand spot. It felt like hardened scar tissue to the touch but could only be seen by him in a reflecting surface. He wondered if he would encounter the Jorn while on his pilgrimage and trembled at the possibility.

The elevator car filled to capacity, leaving a few people before him in the queue. While waiting for the next car Elder Derex thought back to his encounter with his superior concerning his desire for a sabbatical.

"So Derex, you wish time-off and travel assistance for a visit to His final resting place? What has prompted your sudden need for piety my good signor," the Prelate's voice dripped with sarcasm. Derex was renown for his upscale following in his well appointed temples.

Elder Derex replied with deceitful candor, "I have been having dreams of the Jorn sir. He admonishes me and tells me to do this pilgrimage. He says that I have grown fat with complacency."

The Prelate was surprised by the cleric's genuine piety. He quickly agreed to the pilgrimage and with a little haggling organized a thin wallet of Jaresse currency.

Derex spent weeks studying current Freedom Faction culture.

Jaresse was the largest of the Freedom Faction countries. Only recently was Jaresse allowing clergy in for pilgrimage. Hostels were built for pilgrims then handed over to the previously banished denominations. Elder Derex was traveling to a hospice which was located in the suburb of Coptiz.

The woman beside him started to move towards the elevator. She seemed anxious, in a hurry to get off the mooring tower. She bumped and pushed her way through the line of people. This elicited growls and terse commentary from those she jostled. No one attempted to physically halt her progress to the elevator. Back in Caremencia some indignant person would have attempted a physical intervention. The Jaresseans could see that she was not good with the walking-on-air environment of the mooring tower.

The elevator arrived and another load squeezed inside. Pilgrim Derex flowed into the car and ended up standing beside the apprehensive woman. She was strikingly attractive despite her constricted fear face. She smelled like a meadow full of wildflowers -- not a chemical mélange of combined synthetic fragrances. She was wearing Jaressee hot weather garments, a loose sari made of ochre red, light rose and bright fuchsia in swatches embellished with random colored striping. The sari cloth was woven from the spit of a genetically engineered bug of some sort. The material was dyed with organic compounds which were extracted from local plants and minerals.

Derex was in awe of what he saw of the Freedom Faction advancements. Their science and engineering were astounding yet everything here had such a low key appearance. They used helium filled airships powered by magnetic drives, created exotic metals, incorporated fractal based patterns into their engineering and were building a space elevator. They had the bulk of the planet's deposits of neodymium, copper, silver, iron and manufactured advanced magnetic devices with it.

Their economic infrastructure evolved with a limited supply of bitumen-chemical extracts. Being on the receiving end of sanctions and embargoes, Jaresse and other Freedom Faction nations evolved without bitumen based energy as the main driver of their economy. Distillations for chemical feed stocks, fertilizers, plastics, medicines and other chemicals were far more important than fuel.

Over the years they developed solar-electromagnetic power and transportation systems. They sold or traded desperately needed rare earths and exotic metals and minerals to finance solar power research and development. Petro-chemical embargoes which began as a deliberately crippling action became the Faction's strength. As the supplies of bitumen-resource dwindled around the planet, the Freedom Faction prospered from exports of non-bitumen based energy systems such as magnetic and solar.

A gentle bump indicated a stop to the elevator. The doors slid open to reveal a very bureaucratic looking hallway. Displays and signs in Jaresse, Carem, Drusian, Flecto, Naoni and several other languages announced that entrants had to pass through customs. The anxious woman was no longer upset, instead she looked very bored. This did not do her well by her Customs clearing official. He gave her the full scrutiny.

Once again Derex shuffled along, patiently waiting to reach an ever-familiar custom agent. No matter where one traveled to on Moloch, a customs agent inspected you at the border. Derex patiently suffered the indignities of a pat-down and a luggage search. One special feature of the disembarking process in Jaresse was the reunification with one's luggage at the customs desk. The whole clearing process was remarkably fast and unobtrusive. By the time the next elevator car was ready to spill another load of passengers, Elder Derex was strolling away with his luggage. The agitated woman was not to be seen.

Tourism to Faction nations was low due to the negative commentary directed against the bloc. Kidnapping and police corruption rumors were maliciously circulated in non Faction countries.

The bulk of the zeppelin's disembarked passengers were pilgrims. They did not come seeking sun, booze or groin.

Derex walked a couple hundred paces through the hall of duty-less shops to the exit gate. Automatic doors within the gate slid open and within a dozen paces he was outside the Mooring tower. The outside air smelled of acrid sand and spicy aromatic flowers underpinned by a hint of ozone. He was taken aback by the intense bustle of transportation activity. The air was missing the familiar pong of jet fuel and other hydrocarbon exhaust.

The Mooring tower complex was surrounded by transportation options. Heavy motor vehicle (HMV) lanes, rail, light motor vehicle (LMV) lanes, PED lanes and walking strips converged. A myriad of digital direction signs radiated their importance at him. He was confused for a moment and panic began to well in his chest.

The thousands of bits of travel information he had packed into his mind were fighting for attention. Culture shock was setting in despite many similarities between Caremencia and Jaresse. The magnitude of Tzouhalen was intimidating.

He spotted a beautiful landscaped garden nook perched against the mooring tower's entrance facade. There was a bench and some landscaped rock and shrubbery. Elder Derex wanted to sit, think and observe people. He wove his way through the wave of disembarked passengers to get to the bench. The cleric recognized a couple of faces from his dirigible flight and smiled at them. He managed his humble luggage across the concrete pedestrian flow to the narrow stone walkway which lead to the bench. His small suitcase brushed up against overgrown decorative shrubbery as he navigated the twisty path.

He breathed a big sigh of relief to be engulfed by fronds of totally foreign looking plants. He could see insects moving on some of the fronds. A cloud of midges floated lazily around his head. Derex wondered if they were the biting kind.

Within a few paces he was at the bench and sat down heavily. The cleric found international travel very draining. However the 'energy' he felt around him was upbeat and vibrantly kinetic--without the tinge of oppression or conformity. He felt safer in this strange place than he did walking down the street from his rectory back in Luxor.

He pulled out his pipe kit and engaged in the loading ritual. Today it was even more comforting since he did not have to bear Samanthise's reproachful stare. Pipe smoking had become a dirty habit over his lifetime. It used to be a respectable indulgence. Derex remained steadfast in his smoking ritual despite the health warnings.

Just enough wind blew to inhibit the lighter. He put his head down and turned the opposite direction than the path. The wind was blocked sufficiently to light the pipe. He puffed contentedly until a good ember glowed in the the bowl. When he turned back to a normal sitting position he noticed the attractive woman with the bright colored sari sitting beside him.

She smiled at him and spoke, "Wonderful smell. My grandfather used to smoke a pipe."

Derex continued to puff contentedly and nodded respectfully at her comment. He felt a bit insulted by her likening him to a grandfather but took it in stride as a good listener should. He turned and politely blew a cloud of smoke away from her. Her presence made him self conscious of his smoking and he resented her slightly for the perturbation.

"Please don't mind me. I like it so stop feeling awkward about it." She spoke Carem flawlessly but with a small exotic accent. The accent sent chills resonating within him. It was similar to Jorn's. The young woman stuck out her hand and said, "Satiya Margessa at your service Elder Derex."

The cleric paled and spluttered on his smoke. "What do you mean, my service?" He asked in a smoke thickened voice. Her name and her knowledge of his identity irked him.

"I'm your escort, tour guide, body guard and cultura-pedia while you're in Jaresse."

"Since when does the government of Jaresse issue bodyguards to pilgrims," he asked reproachfully.

"Who says I'm with the Jaresse government?" She sniffed his exhaled smoke thoroughly; drinking in the bouquet as a sommelier would sample a good vintage. She could see that the cleric was taken by surprise by her statement.

"I can identify Drusian blue puff, Naoni amber-weed but there is another in your blend I can't identify."

Derex blushed. "Um well yes it's Carem silver-wort," he mumbled.

"Silver-wort," she exclaimed, "Isn't that illegal in Caremencia," she needled.

"Yes it is," he confessed, " I grow a bit on the rectory grounds."

"May I," she asked pointing to his pipe.

Passing the pipe was not part of his vocabulary but surprisingly he surrendered to her request. She puffed, inhaled then grimaced, gagged and spluttered.

"So who do you represent Satiya," the cleric asked as his pipe was returned.

"God's Teeth! It smells far better than it tastes," she spluttered then after the coughing paroxysm subsided, "The Guild."

Derex' bowels froze with the last two words. "What do you want from me," he asked with temerity.

"Your safety," she replied serenely. The silver-wort was having its effect.

"Am I at risk," he asked incredulously.

Satiya looked at him with cold, hard blue eyes. Unyielding young eyes that had already witnessed many unpleasant things.

"Oh yes indeed, but not here and not now. Finish your smoke Elder. Let's watch some people."

She remained silent and Derex puffed contentedly. He watched her watch people. Her hard blue eyes gave nothing away as they flitted from person to person in the stream of passengers. Once he thought he saw narrowing of eyelids in response to a person in the crowd.

"Who would want to harm me," he asked after a dozen minutes of silence.

"Not necessarily you elder Derex. Its any Caremencian cleric, whose parishioners are influential, who's taking a pilgrimage to the big bad Freedom Faction nation. A few of the children of these influential people will be motivated to do likewise. Eventually more people travel here and realize that it is an advanced culture with remarkable feats of engineering, science, art, agriculture, commerce and whatever. Word spreads that religious oppression, corruption and police brutality simply don't exist. Exciting career potentials are available here. Many bright young minds desire to immigrate here. And you will influence another tiny rivulet of Caremencian talent to trickle towards Jaresse."

"It's 'The Guild' which has cast the pall over my country. We all chafe under it," Derex replied icily. He waived his smoldering pipe around the cloud of midges that had formed above his head. Hopefully the smoke would disperse them.

Satiya tilted back her head and laughed a rich contralto belly laugh. "Here you won't find any police blockades tossing your vehicle for the likes of Silver-wort," she replied equally as icily. "And didn't the recently deceased Prime of Caremencia, Roegge Mallecon, lose his head for crimes against his own people? As the head of state he was found to have organized acts of violence against his own people while the nation's security apparatus protected him before and after the fact?"

Derex said nothing. He didn't even puff his pipe. He sat blocking her words by imagining the juvenile act of sticking his fingers in his ears and screaming out, "Na-na-na I cant hear you."

Satiya noticed his withdrawal. She stood up and beckoned him to follow. "C'mon old man, places to go. Things to see."

He tapped out ash and wrapped his pipe lovingly in its cloth then placed it in his tote bag. He tucked his smoking kit away in his suitcase and followed her out into the new world.

~~~

Chapter 2

Sing me a song of all the fairness and truth - (Uncle Scamboozle and the PonziThug Band)

Karl looked down at the display collage. A dozen spy-cam scenes played out in real time. He touched one and flicked it onto the second display panel. Kaligula was interviewing an elderly gentleman in an office in the commons. The commons office was not a dungeon. It was a comfortable place to interview or hold meetings with other outsiders.

Kali was in her street clothes for this interview. The old gentleman could not help but stare at her. She had that effect on men, regardless of their age.

"Thank you for your consent to this meeting Doctor Beloor," Kali began. The Doctor nodded politely.

"As I understand, you were the Mallecon family physician. Was the recently deceased Prime ever your patient," she asked.

"Yes. He had fallen off a couch and broke an arm. After treating him the Mallecon's retained me to look after all the children," he answered.

Kali pulled out a photo of an artist's rendering from Zyrus's description. Zyrus saw the man at many celebrations and parties as seen through Roegge's memories. She slid the photo across the table.

"Do you remember seeing this person," she asked politely.

He took the photo then reached into his breast pocket for glasses. He put them on then scrutinized the picture. His eyebrows knit together in consternation then relaxed.

"Yes. Frequently. He attended almost every birthday celebrated by the family," Dr Beloor replied. "But, we were never formally introduced. The kids all called him uncle Stig."

Kali intently scrutinized the elder doctor's body language. Her gaze focused on his eyes. She saw no obvious sign of fear or deceit. "Ever hear the name Thanatos mentioned," she asked.

"No Mam, never heard that one. Wasn't privy to much beyond the ailments of the kids. The family was very good at keeping things compartmentalized."

"Why would you be at every birthday party Doctor?"

"A birthday party meant other child guests as well as their parents. I was on call as the attending physician to a crowd of the ruling class in case someone choked on a cocktail olive, had an allergic reaction to the food or one of the kids fell and scraped a knee," he replied sarcastically.

"You sound rueful. Did the relationship with the Mallecon's go sour doctor," Kali asked.

"As soon as the kids turned 17 they were transferred to another medical professional. When the last child turned 17, my services were terminated," he answered without a hint of malice or regret.

Karl entered Uncle Stig into a search program and started the run. He knew it was a long shot.

Kali continued her interview but to little avail. Doctor Beloor could add no other useful information about Thanatos. He was bound by a doctor's oath which limited the amount of medical information he could reveal without a court order.

Kali stood up and put her notepad and recording device into her small travel case. "Doctor, my questions are complete--for the time being. Thank you very much. You've been most cooperative. My colleague has a small set of questions for you and should not keep you much longer. Can I get you anything to eat or drink?"

"Yes please. Some iced water and a citronella slice would be most welcome."

Kali nodded pleasantly and headed out to get his water. Zyrus passed her on the way in. He was in his street clothes. She nodded politely and professionally at him. It always took her by surprise to see the Master Torturer in street cloths.

Out of all the chairs in the room, Zyrus headed to the one that Kali recently vacated. He pulled out a flash drive and inserted it into the data system. Next he pulled a display scroll from the storage silo hanging from the edge of the desk. He slid the display in front of Dr. Ram Beloor. The Doctor put on his glasses.

"This footage was found in the Mallecon family film archive a few weeks ago. My colleague was not aware of this before she began your interview," Zyrus spoke with quiet intensity.

The Doctor watched the archive footage. He swallowed heavily as a person who just asked for a glass of water would. Perspiration beaded upon his forehead. He pulled a linen handkerchief from his jacket pocket and dabbed his brow. His movements were precise and perfect. There was no hint of contradicting inner turmoil. Beloor was too well disciplined to reveal anything.

"How well did you know Uncle Stig? This movie of Roegge's seventh birthday would suggest that you knew him. Don't make me put you in a dungeon Doctor."

Distant memories from the Roegge-within were climbing out of cobweb shrouded containers. Uncle Stig always brought a great toy and wonderfully sweet Flectobars. He was always so stern and formal he frightened Roegge-as-a-child. When he smiled it was worse. When Uncle Stig smiled it felt like you were about to be swallowed by a large crocodator reptile. The Doctor was always too respectful of the man. He was on the verge of fawning, even a young boy noticed it. The much older Zyrus/Roegge hybrid recognized the oddness.

The doctor paled and collected himself to speak. Kali returned with a carafe and glass on a service stray. He received the water gracefully and used the interruption to mentally prepare his statement. He poured the water carefully and had a cool, refreshing and lingering mouthful. The family film was slightly incriminating but not really indicative of a relationship with uncle Stig. He decided to keep his original line.

"I met Uncle Stig, a few times annually, on the various birthday bashes the family held. Over 10 years we had a few hundred words. I was told that he was very powerful Flectan. Popular myth had it that he was descended from the bloodlines of the last Flect king. I ingratiated myself upon him to learn more but he was very guarded and close-lipped. Nothing but trivia and inanities passed between us," the Doctor finished.

Karl bought into the old Doctor's words. They answered the question of familiarity that the birthday film raised. Kali was sitting in the desk opposing Karl's. She was observing at the same spycam feed. She wanted to believe his words because otherwise she would have to put on the black and subjugate an old man to excruciation. Torturing old men bothered her for some reason, yet it was the old ones that held the most secrets.

"What you mean by 'popular myth'," Zyrus asked.

"The guests that attended the family's birthday parties were like courtiers of old. They were constantly vying for attention and favor. Gossip mills were common with them. Uncle Stig was an enigma. He was grandfather Mallecon's friend. That birthday year I attempted to find out more about Stig. My actions were prompted by a dare I had with one of the young ladies. If you pull the film back a few minutes, you will see her attempt to flatter her way into Stig's confidence. We both failed and were censured for our attempts," Dr. Beloor's delivery was perfect. He had become a consummate actor over his years as a physician.

"Do you recall her name," Zyrus asked.

"Adjenia Margessa."

Karl dutifully entered the name into the ID-locator subroutine.

"Was she something special to you Doctor?"

"Oh yes! I was smitten by her, putty in her hands so to speak," he confessed.

"Did you keep in touch? Would you allow us to contact her," Zyrus pressed.

"She was from Jaresse. Part of an exchange program with one of the guest courtiers. After that year, at a couple of birthday parties, I never saw her again -- the one that got away," he spoke wistfully.

"So did you get a chance to poke her that year," Zyrus asked rudely.

"No," the doctor replied testily.

Zyrus smiled at his reaction, "Good to see you have some emotional response left in you old timer."

Karl's search found a match for Adjenia Margessa. He sent the information to the terminal currently used by Zyrus. Zyrus tapped an acknowledgment hot key in response. Karl passed the information to Kali's terminal. Within moments she called Adjenia for confirmation.

"Are we finished," doctor Beloor asked imperiously.

The manner in which Dr. Ram Beloor addressed him evoked an anger wave from Roegge within. He wanted to slap down the peon doctor. Minions must know their place. The doctor had once been a family servant.

"The time it takes to finish the interview is the time that it takes. The original interviewer will return shortly with a few more questions. Thank you." Zyrus stood nodded respectfully then left the room. He purposefully left the file up on Adjenia but redacted any current contact numbers.

After a few empty moments and sips of water, curiosity overpowered the doctor's self control. He walked around to Zyrus' work station and peered at the file. Karl, Kali and Zyrus gave him just enough time to read it and return to his seat.

Kali walked into the room as soon as the doctor was reseated. She sat at the work station and with an impassive face scrutinized the monitor. She let the doctor wait for several minutes. She spoke in a very cold tone, "Adjenia has a much different story than yours."

Dr Beloor paled but said nothing. He folded his hands on his lap. He was becoming frightened.

"She says that it was because of you that she was sent back to Jaresse early and in shame."

"She's lying!" The indignation appeared genuine.

Karl bought the act even though he heard Adjenia's statement. Karl knew that Adjenia had been an informant to a Guild Gray operative for most of her adult life. Her information had always been accurate. Karl realized that he must shed the empathy he felt for the elderly doctor.

"She said you betrayed her when she was beginning to break the ice with uncle Stig. You did this out of spite because she didn't want an intimate relationship with you," Kali stated.

"Are my failed romantic endeavors necessary for your investigation," the doctor scoffed. The comfortable office began to feel like cell.

"I think that you know more about the man than you're willing to share," she prompted.

The Doctor remained silent. His facial expression and body language remained inscrutable.

"Uncle Stig is a person of interest to us! If we feel that you are withholding information doctor, we can detain you indefinitely! We always have a spare dungeon."

Fear poked through the Doctor's deadpan facade. "Even you need legal grounds. My legadros is well aware of my visit here! Should I not return for dinner he will obtain my release within hours," he countered.

The office door opened with gusto. It smacked into the wall. The Master Torturer strode into the office - his cape slicking around the door jamb like a turgid pool of bitumen. Zyrus had put the full kit on for the impact. The blood red cuirass glowed with office neon. His mask was truly and impassively terrible. The dark Nehalem of truth took a writ out of a belt pouch and smacked it on the table in front of Dr. Ram Beloor. The Doctor twitched at the impact.

"I have legal permission to detain you. Please read it."

The Master Torturer crossed his arms on his chest and stood waiting for the Client to read the warrant. His cloak seemed to roil menacingly about him.

The doctor was trembling as he put down the writ. He had been very well briefed by his legadros. He had been served a couple of times in the past in regards to other Mallecon clan infamies. The Dark Master was not bluffing.

Memories from Roegge's childhood spilled unbidden into Zyrus' awareness. Pieces of conversations played over fast running vignettes. His parents and siblings and all the other connected people whirled and danced a demented jig. Zyrus could not pull anything useful out of the riotous collage so he just let it reel through his mind. Suddenly the multiplicity of the other's memories stopped -- dissolved into one coherent scene.

"On Roegge's 14th birthday you were invited to join Mallecon senior's entourage. Roegge's father brought you the invite and took you and Roegge off to the other party, to the big boys party. Why?"

The doctor sighed and thought, How can he know of this? It wasn't recorded, then replied, "Many religious practices within the borders of Caremencia. The Mallecon's believed in an old and obscure worship observance practiced by the very first civilization. On the 14th birthday each of the male children went through a manhood ritual. I was required to verify the health of Roegge before his elders and to check the health of the ceremonial assistant."

"What ritual," the Master Torturer asked.

"The loss of virginity of course," Dr. Beloor snapped.

"Someone procures a courtesan so the kid can have his first lay?"

"Something like that. I just performed the physical and ran some blood tests to make sure of cleanliness. I did not procure the assistant," the doctor replied.

"Remember the courtesan's name by chance," Zyrus asked.

"Not a chance. I conducted the 'inspection' for Roegge's three brothers as they underwent the virginity ritual. There were a few 'receptacles' over the years."

"What happened to them? Chopped up for lynx food after the deed was done," Zyrus quipped sarcastically. Then quickly added, "Any get pregnant and attempt blackmail?"

"Given that the assistants were courtesans, it's entirely possible. But that would have been handled by family legadros. I never heard of any blow-backs."

Some of Roegge's memory jars started bursting open like over-ripe cervaysa fruit popping from the pressure of fermentation gas. The manhood initiation was an embarrassing and nearly forgotten incident.

Zyrus saw the memories and felt some compassion for young Roegge. He saw the ritual as a dehumanizing event designed to turn a nice young man into an unfeeling monster. One's first sexual experience should not occur under the baleful watch of old men. After all, what romantic lesson is to be learned through ritualized sex and stage managed ecstasy?

Stop feeling for it Zy! Monsters are manufactured. But they be monsters nonetheless.

"So you couldn't tell us the names of any of the courtesans and you probably did some kind of med-screening? And you certainly don't keep records unless they are ongoing patients. ...and I'll bet you don't know who procured the women for the Mallecon family rituals," Zyrus asked with menace.

Dr. Beloor trembled, "I'm sorry. I would tell you if I could! I don't recall their names. Not my compartment. But I do remember rumors that the Mallecon's had a go-to-guy that took care of irregular circumstances." The doctor tried to give the hungry dog a bone.

"Who," growled the hard voice behind the terrible mask.

~~~

Chapter 3

A managed perspective does not alter reality.

Cloister attendant Zennar Elfa ran his fingers through what was left of his hair. He used to have a full thick head of hair before he began his career in the rehabilitation industry. He thought of his cousin Nydar who chose a career in the incarceration industry. Nydar had no hair left and was working on a couple of ulcers.

Attendant Elfa quickly scanned the camera displays of his wards then ordered his computer interface to run a scan-bot of security cameras. The camera feeds disappeared. Any movement or noise would trigger a loud notification. Content he pulled out his boxed lunch and began to eat.

Lunatics are better to deal with than criminals. For one thing, the violent patients are heavily sedated. However the job was not without stress. Corridor 5, for which he was responsible, housed only 2 patients. Full capacity was 10. For some reason there were only 2 unstable types in his corridor and both were heavily sedated although he did not know why. None of his wards showed any signs of dangerous behavior.

The geezer with the tattooed melon and branded glyph-scars on his chest seldom spoke. He drooled slightly and shuffled his feet when he walked. That was to be expected with the dosage of dope he was given. There was power in the man despite the heavy bonds of his chemical prison.

The strange inked-and-burned man had been an inmate many years prior to Zennar's commencement. His heavily lined faced seemed ageless throughout Zenn's receding hairline. The bald one's expression lacked any sign of emotion and seemed devoid of outer awareness. Yet when he locked eyes, Zennar felt like his atma was being drained away.

As a result Zennar seldom made eye contact with the tattooed man. Occasionally Zenn thought that he heard the coot's words rattling around inside his head. When that happened he would begin his own litany. Only 2 years baby-oh! 2 years, 2 years, 2 years to go. The Retirement litany helped him feel better. Hearing the mumbles of the mute coot in his mind really creeped him out. He did not want to become another inmate of the Cloister so he said nothing of his hallucinations.

Those two years until retirement seemed an eternity.

Where 'Patient A' was a creepy enigma, 'Patient B' was merely mysterious. Both of his wards made him feel uneasy and he gave them plenty of space. In fact only something out-of-the-ordinary would force him to interact with them. No rehabilitation experts attempted to repair them.

The Church of Redemption deposited 'Patient A' nearly 50 years ago and paid in advance for 60 years. Once a year the Church sent in a doctor for a complete physical examination and every 5th year a legadro and psychologist would conduct an interview. The result was always the same. Another review to be held in 5 years.

Patient B was deposited into the sanitarium nearly 20 years ago. He could not remember his name. He recovered from a severe blow to the head which should have killed him. Although his skull, right eye and ear were fully repaired his mind was not. Bits of skull had to removed along with a small piece of brain tissue. As a result his brain's neural network was disrupted. As far as Zennar could tell, the drool-dope was definitely not helping with reconstruction of new dendritic pathways.

"Hello Zennar." His supervisor's voice startled him out of reminiscence and he gave a little yip. All the security screens popped into existence with the voice.

"Sorry for the unscheduled visit but my guest is insistent."

The security camera display showed his boss with a Guild agent at the entrance barrier to his Corridor. Zennar was instantly filled with trepidation. This visit was an event that traveled beneath official radar. Zen wrote a note in the shift-log marking the time and detail of the visit.

As if reading his mind the gray cloaked Guild agent spoke, "All the necessary approvals have been granted for this interview." He flourished a sheaf of Mylar forms. A scrutinizer probe unfolded from the barricade and examined the sheaf. It collapsed back into its niche but froze and twitched for an instant before collapsing back into its dormant position.

The security system was satisfied with its scan of the forms. Zennar ordered the security system to open access to his Corridor. He was never sure whether to spare any of the Guild of Unrelenting Truth from security procedures or to give them the full by-the-book treatment. His boss was liable for the irregularities and that made Attendant Elfa feel better. He did not want to lose his job and pension, the finish line was so close.

Yet his curiosity clung like poly-cloth underwear to a damp foot.

In the Cloister it was never a safe practice for the Attendants to know too much about the inmates. Attendants seldom spoke to each other about their wards and never spoke to outsiders about their jobs. It was a highly compartmentalized system. It was an ancient incarceration system that became the model for modern Guild Keeps.

Zennar's boss looked both stressed and tired. He was not used to late nights. His administrative duties were day oriented and then his precious spouse time afterwards left him on the short side of enough sleep.

Attendant Elfa had difficulty finding partners willing to live around his schedule for long. His own body long since adjusted to broken circadian rhythms due to shift changes. He felt perpetually tired and gritty and not the least bit sympathetic towards his superior.

"Where is Jorn Daeoos-ex," commanded the Guild of Unrelenting Truth's Agent.

"I will take you to his drum. This way please," Zennar replied courteously. He began the walk through the corridor towards the inked man's chamber. This part of the Cloister was very old. It was built using granite blocks that were hewn from a nearby quarry. Convict-slaves were used. Many died in the efforts. The Cloister's granite blocks were held fast by mortar made with their blood.

Jorn was placed in the oldest and most secure of drums. The original tube iron frame bunk bed had been replaced with a modern tube iron frame single. It was securely bolted to the granite block wall and floor. The room was ingeniously designed so suicidal wards could not inflict harm upon themselves. Jorn never showed any willingness to end his own life or the life of any other.

On the way to Jorn's drum a sense of foreboding passed through Zennar. The light seemed to grow dimmer as they got closer. It always felt colder in this place. He fumbled with his door release chits until the correct one warmed to the lock. He glanced at the containment drum's interior through a monitor screen mounted in place of a peep hole.

Attendant Zennar pressed the 'Presentation' call button. The wards were required to stand on the yellow line on the floor, on their side, exactly 0.5 meters from the door. Jorn obeyed as promptly as a just-awoken-chemical-zombie could. When he looked directly at the camera-peep, he began singing, "Only 2 years baby-oh, 2 years, 2 years, 2 years to go," and smiled a big creepy smile.

Zenn bumbled through opened the drum door and quickly passed control of his ward to the representative of the Guild of Unrelenting Truth. "I will open the Consultation drum for you once I'm back at station. Follow the green line," he spoke flatly and handed his boss the appropriate release chit.

On his way back to the control room Zennar wondered when the creepozoid had overheard his mantra. Zenn never sang his retirement song around his wards. There was far too much information and jocularity for the inmates to grab onto. These patients were to remain isolated and cut off from contact. Brutality was a form of contact and it too was forbidden.

Zennar wondered what his wretched wards did to earn their incarceration in this place. His wards were not publicly notorious figures. They had not been convicted of any crime. They were not discharged into Cloister care because of national security sensitivities as many were elsewhere in the facility. The Church dumped Jorn Daeoosex into Cloister care nearly 50 years ago and patient B was privately placed about a dozen years ago. He suffered from neurological damage and related pathology; an incurable brain damaged sociopath, a scion of a wealthy family perhaps. An embarrassment that must have committed something unspeakable as to be left isolated for so long.

2 years to go he sang-thought as he entered the control station. His partially eaten sandwich still sat in its pool of crumbs on his desk in the tech-alcove. He selected the camera view of the Consultation Drum and released its locks. The Guild Agent did not wish to be overheard and his privacy protocols overrode Zennar's. Neither the Drum's camera or listening devices could be accessed.

His boss was not privy to the conversation either and stood watch outside as the two men entered the Consultation drum.

Zennar selected random scan and watched as cameras flashed their contents. Something brought his attention to the corridor around patient B's drum. He peered at the empty corridor then zoomed in close to the drum door opening mechanism. He couldn't spot any signs-of-force in close so he pulled out a few meters.

With more contemplation he realized that the light within the corridor had a pale blue hue. It was fading as time progressed. It meant some kind of mist or light smoke. Zennar ordered the control system into emergency shutdown protocol and then raced to patient B's drum. The security computer took over and locked all the corridors down facility wide.

The Cloister's horrible klaxon sounded. It was the worst sound an Attendant could possibly hear. Other tones indicated riots, fires, murders or suicides. Today's painful cacophony sounded an escape-in-progress. Zennar wondered about his job security. At the moment all he could do was follow the procedures as he was trained. He cursed the Guild for the irregularity which lead to the current situation.

The Guild of Unrelenting Truth and Cloister are not the same organization. In the hierarchy of incarceration the Guild is top-of-the-food-chain -- except for two jurisdictions. The Caremencian Holy See (located on Drusius Island -- the Cloister) and Xixtoca Hold (in Jaresse) were beyond the Guild's grasp. They were ancient incarceration and information extraction facilities for the wealthy and powerful enemies of the Church of Redemption.

In modern times the Cloister was relabeled as a sanitarium for the dangerously insane. Its sister facility in Jaresse was usurped by the Jaresse government during its cultural revolution. Currently Xixtoca Hold is used by the Jaresse Peace Brigade.

The security computer system advised him that the blue haze was a dangerous combination of knock-out gas and fine oily-mist of highly corrosive materials. The Attendant station outside the secured drum corridor had opened for him and a re-breather head-set was waiting to be worn. The Cloister had a procedure for every known contingent...

Attendant Elfa considered his job status once again. He knew that he had followed procedure to the letter. His immediate supervisor was present to share responsibility and in the best case, an anti-Guild Tribunal, all blame could be placed at the Guild agent's feet.

Zennar took out the appropriate door release chit and slid it into the receptacle. Nothing happened to the door, it remained locked. He pulled out the chit and examined it to ensure he had chosen the correct one. He noticed a fine oily slime on the release chit. The oily stuff originated with the lock. The goo was rapidly dissolving the chit material. He hurriedly tossed the chit on the floor and commented to the aloud about the situation. The rebreather had a built in microphone and speaker system. The security computer instructed him to move to the other end of the drum corridor and retry its entrance mechanism.

He ran around the back-side of the drum corridor. The doors here required seldom used chits so Zenn lost moments to sorting. The corridors that ran behind the drums were required by fire regulation. There always had to be a second way out. He fumbled with the door release chit. The environmental mask slightly impeded his sight. This made simple tasks more challenging.

The drum corridor door opened and a waft of light blue haze spilled out. Involuntarily he stepped back to avoid the haze. Although he wore the re-breather head-set, all the rest of his body was vulnerable.

"A Hazmat suit would be nice," he spoke to the security system.

"Noted. The gas has been analyzed as a Carpon variation. According to the Material Handling Information List: Deadly. Store in a secure well ventilated area separate from any other flammables or explosive/corrosive materials. If a rupture of container occurs and gas escapes, leave the spill area and prevent others from entering. Call supervisor and initiate fire alarm."

The security computer advised him to hold his position at the door/control point until the gas had been ventilated. The minutes crawled by as the contaminated air was removed. Every moment was spent in deep anxiety as Zennar expected to be assaulted by a motivated escapee.

The all clear response was given and Attendant Elfa dutifully opened the drum corridor. All of the drum doors were shut. He tried to open the nearest one but it was impenetrable. He proceeded to test them until he reached Patient B. He peered at the drum display and felt a crushing wave of despair and amazement. The drum was empty. Patient B was missing, gone -- vamoosed.

He opened the door to physically verify and then commented on the situation. He was advised to report back to the Attendant's station. He locked down Patient B's now vacant drum then walked through the corridor to lock its door. He observed the melting door chit on the floor, gave it a wide berth then walked briskly back to the station.

Zennar was in shock. He removed his rebreather rig outside the station and placed it in the appropriate technician's nook. Forensic investigators would examine the various sampling devices on it and they would obtain the melted door chit. He had to release his boss, the Guild agent and Patient A from the system imposed lockdown.

He placed on a headset then pushed a hotkey on his digit-board while looking for the camera feed of the Consultation Drum. He could not believe the images he saw so he forced a manual override and began a pan of the Drum. His manual purview netted the same results. A totally empty drum!

In the time taken to scan the consultation drum (and before another reality shock) a voice answered his call.

"Cloister Control, what is your status Corridor 5?"

"They're gone! All gone! Patient A and Patient B, my boss and the Guild agent," Attendant Zennar Elfa gushed.

"Say again Corridor 5? We're having technical difficulties throughout the facilities."

"Both Patients are missing. My boss and the Guild agent that he signed in are missing as well."

"@$##!!)(%$!! We weren't sure the klaxon was for real or part of the technical problems," Control revealed.

"What time did your technical difficulties begin," Zennar asked.

"Started this morning with hiccups here and there. Suddenly Intensified around 22:17."

Zennar looked at his shift log and noticed that at 22:17 his boss and the Guild Agent had signed in.

"Did my boss start his shift before or after the technical hiccups began," Zennar asked.

"Give me a moment to search. Yes, his shift began before the glitches started."

Attendant Zennar realized that the patient break-out was an inside job and that his own boss was the insider. That made him feel much better knowing that a scapegoat needn't be sought. He kept the correlation to himself. At this point it would be unwise for him to reveal his insight. Such a revelation would be interpreted as an attempt to misdirect. Besides, his absent boss signed in but had not signed out. This fact would direct the suspicious finger to point elsewhere.

~~~

Chapter 4

"...laws were most numerous when the commonwealth was most corrupt." - Tacitus

The mirror was the only entity on Planet Moloch that was brutally honest with her. It showed exactly what was before it. Its perception could not be influenced by any craft of persuasion. In its reflection her ginger cat sat contentedly on a cushion on the elegantly sculpted wooden boot bench. Framing the cat and her frowning image was the imposing display of bedroom furniture.

Her chair, boudoir, boot bench, bureaus, desk, bed and large paneled dressing mirror were all made from a long extinct Flectan hard-wood. The set was priceless, irreplaceable and ancient. Her bedroom furniture was worth more than most of the residences they occupied.

The bedroom set was a wedding gift from her grandfather. To accommodate all of the pieces a bedroom had to be enormous. Her current location had a very large suite but with all pieces in one room it was congested. Her current cash flow did not allow for the acquisition of property with vast bedroom suites. An enormous drafty suite in an old stone castle in Flect was the original location for the bedroom suite.

Every room in Scylla's home had a cat cushion and although she only had one cat, it was allowed everywhere. Even in the Keep, her cat had been allowed to wander freely. In her freshest memories of the grim fortress of veritas, a rocket attack had driven them into a safety bunker. She and Bahphomet worried about the cat throughout the duration.

During the bombardment she and Bahph met the strange fellow with the ponytail and melancholy eyes. The stranger was aloof to the point of rude. He could not take his eyes of Bahphomet but barely acknowledged Scylla. His focus on her daughter was not perverse but almost paternal. His fascination reminded her of Roegge. He barely spoke and when he did he would not look her in the eye. Yet Scylla was attracted to the man and could not figure out why. Aloofness was not a quality she found endearing.

She glanced at herself in the mirror and felt worn. Her children were gone, her husband was dead and her surviving family lived on a different continent. She was a pariah to most of her peers. Her friends still loved her and communicated with her daily. Those that had survived the takedown of Magog...

The Guild of Unrelenting Truth cut through her husband's network of family, friends and associates as efficiently as a chainsaw ripped through a tree. Most were active members of a secretive network the Guild referred to as Magog. Scylla kept her nose out of the network's machinations but could not help but become friends with some.

As a result of her social path, the relationship with the Guild was tenuous and her freedom from the Keep was revocable in an instant. She was under random scrutiny and her children still had Guild coverage around the clock. The shy fellow with the melancholy eyes and ponytail was a regular feature of her daily walks. After their awkward first meeting, under the rocket's red glare, she thought he would never open up.

Her communications pinged for attention. She spoke to the ever-present ethereal listener. "Who?"

"Sieur Zy calls," replied the house's electrodomo.

"Connect me," she ordered.

"Hello Zy," she opened warmly. She enjoyed the conversations they had in the Keep. She missed them and looked forward to his calls. There was an interference noise then a frustrating pause before he replied.

"Ah yes er sorry but I just slipped in the snow. Hehe ouch stop it Phae. Gah, the mutt is going crazy. I thought you might like to have our promised lunch on the Rez?"

Scylla smiled at the laughter that ensued on the other end. Before she could answer Zy laughed heartily and exclaimed, "This dog is a comedian. She is acting in such a calculated way as to make me laugh."

"When were you thinking," she asked. It was good to hear him laugh. He seemed to carry the weight of the world at times.

"I'm on my way down tomorrow and I am staying in Luxor for a few days. Pick a nice day for us and I'll work to it," he asked hopefully.

"Oh Zy I'm so sorry! All my lunches this week are given to my charity work," she replied disappointedly. "But all my diner slots are free this week! How about that," she finished slyly.

Zy was silent for a few moments. "Ok fantastic! But I know nothing of the city so you will have to make the diner choices. We'll let the taxi service do the navigation."

"That sounds great Zy but I have a driver and a nice comfy vehicle. Tell me where you will be staying and I'll send her round to pick you up."

"No thanks Scylla. I feel better knowing your body guard is minding you. We can meet at the place we've chosen and I most certainly will accept a ride back to my lodgings."

"I was afraid you'd say something like that. I can't persuade you to stay in this big old empty house with me? I have a seldom used guest suite and I retain an extraordinary cook," she asked hopefully.

"And I was afraid you might ask me to stay over with you," Zy sighed heavily. "There are a so many things I'd like to speak to you about but I simply can't."

"Don't worry about work secrets. My ex had a million of them to keep. Occasionally he would sit through dinner with us and try to add something to our supper banter. He could not talk about so many issues because his government was responding to them. What was left for us was trivia. It was easy for him when the kids were small, he could bone up on the latest Tot-tunes and participate..."

"We were allowed to talk about anything except religion. My parents immigrated from a fundamentalist Redemption dominated country - one moment please," he stopped talking for a minute then resumed. "I'm sorry to cut off so abruptly but I must deal with work. I'll be in Luxor in 2 sleeps. If I may call you by midday on the day of my arrival, you will inform me of where to meet you for diner?"

"Of course. I'm looking forward to seeing you," Scylla finished warmly.

"Yes, it'll be wonderful. Bye now," he ended abruptly.

She wondered at the sudden change of personality. It reminded her of Roegge and she wasn't sure she liked that aspect.

Somewhere in her busy schedule time must be made for the date. She began the task of shuffling her daytime routine manager to make room. A myriad of calls and messaging were required to accommodate the new schedule. She smiled with the challenge and vowed to enjoy every nanosecond she had free.

She could have virtually any man she wanted. After her marriage to Roegge and its horrible end; the idea of forming a long term relationship/marriage with another was abhorrent. Many had tried to seduce her since Roegge's death but she wasn't even interested in a light carnal dalliance.

Not that she was out of the great game. Her family was working the list of eligible singles. They were hoping to find the next cohort of entitlement into which Scylla could be inserted. From there hopefully she could keep herself within the ruling class of Caremencia. This was how the ruling hegemony of Flect influenced foreign power.

The brand that she had become allowed her to remain within the cabal. However her children were ineligible as the public's perception of Mallecon entitlement carried over with them. She felt strangely relieved. For a time her children would be removed from the back stabbing, incestuous, trans-national association known as Dynasty. They would be free to make their own future and for this she was thankful.

The Guild of Unrelenting Truth was another matter. Her public brand did not influence them. She had to be extremely careful to mask her involvement with Dynasty. With Magog network torn asunder another had to be recruited. It would take a couple of generations to rebuild another effective global system. In a world of democracies, corporations and private interests it was very hard to polarize nations to act against the Faction.

Several individual nets would sprout up from the ashes of the old and these shoots must be found and nurtured. And during the rebuilding phase, the Faction would get closer to their Space Elevator completion. There was no way that event would be allowed to happen. It would mean the end of balance with Faction becoming the dominant power. Jaresse would grow and Flect influence would fade.

Scylla Mallecon ne Serace was born into a royal Flectan family. Hugo Serace was the last king of Flect before political reformation swept the monarchies away. Hugo was her great-great grandfather. He was coronated as King Iarmon III.

Iarmon3 was forced to relinquish all of the ruling families' political control and most of their wealth. It was that or a genocidal mob. Under Hugo's grandfather's watch, mismanagement and corruption ate away the pillars of the Flect monarchic structure. It was the Jaressean cultural revolution which was the final straw...

Hugo did a brilliant job keeping his family alive with the fraction of wealth they once possessed. The Serace family is worth hundreds of billions.

Her family were once landlords to vast estate lands in Jaresse. The Jaresse revolution stripped all major landowners of their titles, booted out all religions and nationalized every business that was held by foreign nationals. Vast wealth and landholdings were lost by Flectan and Naoni empires. Most of the Freedom Faction nations were colonies of the older nations. The Monarchic nations of Flect and Naoni suffered the heaviest losses. Grace Holdings Inc. (Serace family) were nearly wiped out with the losses. The Dynasty was formed in Hugo's time to extract vengeance and to recover some (if not all) of the financial and real estate losses.

Over the generations Dynasty's main goal remained the collapse of Jaresse. In order to accomplish its fall, decades of wheeling and dealing, manipulation, usurpation, blackmail, theft, murder and other acts of depredation were carried out. Eventually the preferred means of perfidy became the monetary system. dominated by a cabal of central banks controlled by Dynasty families.

Jaresse grew stronger despite the political interference. Its philosophical influence, science and sound financial/trading system prevented outside interference. Their banking system were immune to all the ploys available to destabilize a nation's finances.

Faction nations refused to accept non-Faction money or treasuries as payment. The only payment they would accept was physical bitumen, gold or other manufactured goods. Faction refused to participate in insurance, derivatives, securities, equities or currency exchanges and thus had become immune from most schemes to destabilize their financial system.

Where the Faction lagged was in the manufacture of computational hardware. However they had developed, through clever industrial espionage, reverse engineering and leap-frog ingenuity, their own unique hardware and software. They did not create a plethora of frivolous consumer gadgets with their limited resources.

Although the Faction nation were sophisticated in many scientific and engineering disciplines they lagged in the production of many consumer goods. Entertainment media storage-playback devices and personal communications devices were hard to obtain and mostly pointless. Faction nations did not bathe themselves in microwave or other EMF to have instantaneous 24/7 advertisements.

Scylla sighed and wished that she had a Jaresse national for a husband. She remembered the phase of teenager that had to be in communication with friends every waking moment. Ninety percent of the communications were pointless trivia. Scylla could not believe that so much resource was thrown into a vast wireless system just to pander to an exaggerated need to store and communicate trivia.

Perhaps the some of the limitations within the Faction are good, she thought in a moment of betrayal. If her father heard those words his eyebrows would become storm-clouds and the ancient rhetoric would flow from his mouth like hail stones. The intensity and passion that her parents generation felt was not passed down to the next generation. Scylla despised the Faction because she was conditioned to do so. Not a single modern Jaresse citizen had wronged her in any way.

Scylla realized that Faction had changed in the many generations since their revolution. The reality was that the great old families were never going to repossess their lost land. It was Heresy to speak of this reality aloud around the Serace family diner table. If this reality was spoken in a meeting of Dynasty conspirators, it meant a death sentence. The party whip, Thanatos, ensured that no deviation from the agenda was tolerated.

Scylla was a highly educated woman. She was not afraid of mathematics. She saw the financial impossibility of Dynasty's mandate. We have thrown too much resource and energy into the downfall of the Faction. Had we devoted our focus and energy to making a thing, a system or economic activity that they wanted to join, we would be wealthier and more secure as a civilization.

~~~

Chapter 5

Those who can make you believe in absurdities can make you commit atrocities. - Voltaire

Phaedra was insane with puppy exuberance. She bounced and skidded through the snow. She drove her muzzle into a snow covered mound and snuffled with delight. The frozen flakes melted inside her nostrils, and for the brief space of time it took the snowflake to melt, a most peculiar tickling/tingling sensation occurred. It made her sneeze -- which was such a rush that she just had to run zig-zag through the snow.

Zyrus grinned at her antics. It was good to see Phae in such high spirits. Her physical recovery from Roegge's gunshot was rapid but her mental recovery was not. She was uneasy outside the Keep and loud sharp sounds made her start or cower. The only other person she trusted was Karl. She tolerated Kali but was not as comfortable with her as she was with Karl.

Zy was wearing the full uniform in his official capacity as Master Torturer. In the flat light of an overcast winter's day his crimson cuirass reflected black. His cloak roiled sluggishly in the scant chilly breeze. Clutched in his black leather glove the carnopticate was dripping blood onto the snow.

Bellaphron marveled at his friend's duality--laughing at the antics of his dog while executing his official duties. The decision to take brain tissue did not come lightly. In this case the extraction could severely damage the Client's mental function. Normally this procedure was done minutes before a Client's termination.

Bellaphron sighed and spoke his concerns, "Did we really need to do that? It's not like he refused to answer. This may kill him."

"Yeah it's true. But he was as good as dead in that horrible place you retrieved him."

"But secure! This action may leave him a drooling idiot or dead..."

"Indeed. Or he could be back in his prison rotting, isolated and drugged senseless until his heart stops," the Master Torturer spoke sharply.

"Bloody awful! This ain't Charter. What're we going to do with him?"

"He is going to Jaresse to be kept safe and to be healed properly. His brain damage will never be repaired in that place. We have given him a chance..."

"If he lives," Bellaphron finished.

"Bell! This one is so off the books we could get capped for it," Zyrus spoke quietly. He drew his hand across his neck in the age old depiction.

The Client lay unconscious in the back seat of the escape vehicle. Bell found it easier to render him unconscious after the escape.

Bell flashed back a few hours and relived the escape. It took a few hours for the effects of Cloister meds to subside. His wards spoke little during the long slow shuffle out of the Cloister to the docks. Chemical shackles were just as effective as steel. Within a few moments of their arrival at the docks, the scheduled ferry arrived. However its crew had been alerted by Cloister authorities.

Their inside man at the Cloister, had organized with his wife, to be waiting at the docks with a vehicle. Normally the insider would embark upon the ferry as a foot passenger then take transit home. His wife had recently leased a micro carrier for her business. It had sufficient space to conceal them all.

The Guild of Unrelenting Truth was not absolute, it required people who believed in the organization's purpose. Around Drusius Island it was the Cloister and Holy See that commanded loyalty through the pulling of purse strings. If not for the desire of their insiders to participate in something reasonable, the escape of the inmates could never have been possible.

"Why are you really risking yourselves over these two patients," Bellaphron asked Muscati once they were safely on the mainland.

She replied, "Farlen has been describing the fate of these two men for a couple of years. Their incarceration is totally unjust. I cant tolerate the notion that a person can be locked away forever, without a trial or criminal charge of any kind, based on a verdict from a murky star-chamber..."

Farlen continued, "It took the creation of the Guild of Unrelenting Truth to give us some reason to act. A force that stands outside the control of state and resists the influence of the ruling class..."

Bellaphron handed them two hard plastic chits. "These are entrance tokens to Etruscan Keep. The gate will allow you entrance. Once inside however, you won't be able to get out. You will be sworn into our membership as we agreed. Then you will be taken into one of our various chapters. I would recommend that you become part of the Retrieval Chapter. You work very well under the pressures of a clandestine operation."

Farlen accepted the tokens. He looked to his wife and smiled with relief. "This organization delivers upon its promises. Are we ready to make a difference? This is the time to reconsider..."

Muscati interrupted, "I'm not comfortable with all of it but still willing to make it my new family."

Bellaphron smiled, "Before you decide on joining think on this please. What we did today must never be discussed with another living soul - ever. I mean any Guild personnel, including my wife. Nobody means nobody! Once you are inside the Keep, my wife and I will act as your sponsors until you become adepts in whatever Chapter you choose."

"Can you tell us anything of the older gentleman, the man who calls himself Jorn? My efforts to find him in any security database were washouts. What has this man done to become a zero-data individual," Farlen asked.

On planet Moloch all individuals had a file amassed by government. Zealous securocrats spent billions on stealthy, invasive data acquisition systems. Law enforcement at various levels did the same. The ordinary citizen had many levels of scrutiny placed upon them under the guise of making it safe. What the Guild had discovered was that the various national security organizations seldom scrutinized themselves. Ironically the security establishment's employees (or ex-employees) were responsible for many of the heinous acts of the last decade.

"According to our sources he is an embarrassment to the Church of Redemption. He claims to be Jorn D'Argaz; the last apostate of the Ixtos. Jorn was supposed to keep watch over the Church. So Jorn, how are you supposed to do your job if the Church keeps you in a dungeon?"

"But I am no longer in its dungeons! Thank you very much and god bless," the bald and burned Jorn spoke with a slight accent. He began rocking and mumbled a litany in an ancient language. "This is not the first time I've been a guest in its dungeons. Nor will it be the last. I am delivered from evil yet again."

Muscati spoke with a little incredulity in her voice, "The Jorn? From the time of the Ixtos? That makes you a couple thousand years old - give or take a century!"

Farlen asked, "Why has the Church done this to you? I would think they would present you to the world. Proof of the word!"

"The word as you say, the screed that are its holy writings, are far from the truth. Should I publicly denounce them as false, even blasphemous, the Church would fall. They have painted the Ixtos as a supernatural hero whose feet did not touch the ground and who's seed was never spilled. This current church keeps its flock in spiritual thralldom to a myth.

I can tell you from personal experience that the Ixtos was a man. As a man he walked upon the land and scattered his seed as men do. I knew his wives and met many of his children. The Church sought to exterminate his women and his offspring. We had to trick them into believing they had succeeded.

I was thrown into a dungeon for revealing this fact. Many of the people of Jaresse are his descendents. Because of this the Church has sided with Dynastic forces," he looked at and through Bellaphron when he spoke.

Bellaphron was stunned by the revelation. He knew enough of body language interpretation and psychology to know when someone spoke with conviction. Jorn believed his own words. Bellaphron was indoctrinated, as a child, by the Church of Redemption. Although Bellaphron was a practicing atheist, Jorn's revelation was unsettling.

The Guild did not speak publicly of its pursuit of Dynasty. How was it that this 30 year inmate of a Cloister dungeon knew of the Guild's true purpose?

Their Client was fumbling his way out of a chemical coma. Anger was the first emotion he displayed. He could not yet speak. Bellaphron could see that the Cloister's incarceration drugs were designed to impede his brain's speech center.

"Why was this man gagged Farlan," Bellaphron asked.

"I don't know why sir. I just administered the meds. The physician's notes described a massive brain injury and we assumed his meds were treatment for his injuries. One of my jobs was to verify that the multiple prescriptions did not harm the patients. Lots of experimental compounds were tried on them. Kept me busy running cross checks."

Patient B's name was Villier Defouse. It was on the file that Farlan had copied. Villier was regaining the use of his mouth and speech was soon to follow, "Garrumph, cough cough, shiiit lemme go you fuckers. Ya got nothin on me!"

Bellaphron knew from hundreds of encounters that this Client was going to be a problem. He deftly maneuvered a gas pellet under the client's nose and crushed it. Within seconds Villier was unconscious.

Bellaphron didn't worry that Jorn would reveal his liberators to the Caremencian authorities. He did not give a damn. In fact he wanted a confrontation, a chance to expose the Church of Redemption as an abomination.

"I understand your anger my son," Jorn spoke softly to Bell. I have suffered many times and watched helpless as thousands of good people were tortured, drowned, stoned, decapitated or burned alive. This Church lost god's blessing centuries ago. I'm going back to Jaresse. There is more spirit in that clergy-less land than in all the temples of Caremencia!

Jorn was not part of the Retrieval plan so Bell left him with several thousand credits and proper clothes imbedded with micro-trackers. Hopefully the old guy would make it back to Jaresse while leading his pursuers on a merry chase. And if Jorn were to become a person of interest to the Guild, his location would be known.

After Jorn's departure the helpful couple assisted Bellaphron in the transfer of Villier to a waiting small vehicle. They placed him carefully on the back seat. He slept comfortably for the ride to his next rendezvous.

"The old fellow Jorn said something which may be important," Bell addressed Zyrus.

"Do tell my friend," Zyrus replied.

"He said that the Church of Redemption has sided with Dynastic forces."

Zyrus was silent. The loud click had gone off in his mind as another piece of the puzzle fell into place.

"But that's such a strange alliance," Zyrus pondered aloud, "Where's the mutuality."

"According to the Jorn fellow, a mutual hatred of Jaresse."

"I still don't get the connection. Jaresse is now opening itself up to the old religion," the Master spoke still puzzled.

"The Church has kept a terrible secret for many years. The Ixtos died a husband to several wives and a father to many children. The church attempted to exterminate all of his living descendents. A branch of the Ixtos family escaped. They grew and prospered and intermarried and eventually became interwoven in the gene-pool of Jaresse," Bellaphron informed.

"Now that doesn't make a lick of sense to me. Why would a Religion, which professes to worship the Ixtos figure, want to kill off all of his descendents?"

"The Institution of the Church has become more important than the gospel it preaches." Bellaphron answered.

Zyrus pondered the new information.

"Well, this side trip has proved to be quite informative. We learned that Dynasty hates Jaresse and has an ally in the Redeemers. Let's see what the Mallecon's old goto guy has to add," Zyrus finished.

"You intend to do another transfer trial? Without supervision," Bell asked incredulously.

"Why do you think this job was off the books," Zyrus asked.

"Because our Charter don't allow us to detain or interrogate suspects without a warrant."

"I could have obtained one in seconds! Bellaphron come on, why would I do it this way?"

"To keep this man and his potential information out of the Guild data pool."

"Indeed. I'm not convinced that we are free of all counter-agents. I know we have been purged of all Magog contamination though," Zyrus spoke.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Bell replied dryly.

"And Bell, since you are the only other who knows of Mr Defouse and the carnopticate sampler, it will be easy to identify any breach of information."

Bellaphron was taken by surprise by the last comment. It meant that the Master Torturer suspected someone close to him.

"When did you begin to think someone of your inner circle was part of Dynasty? Before or after the damned memory transfer experiment? Sometimes I look at you Zyrus and it ain't you looking back. And you want to stuff another set of memories in there," Bell tapped his own head with forefinger for emphasis.

"I will keep this retrieval session off the books as I agreed. Your carnopticate sample must be done under supervision or I will reveal it to Janus. No discussion!!"

"So the circle of awareness expands to Kali, Karl and Demeter? You would jeopardize their careers," Zyrus asked incredulously.

"We tell them that the sample came from a decedent - someone in Cloister care. My insiders will verify the ruse. And should anyone data mine the Cloister they will get a lot of noise concerning Villier Defouse."

"You prick," Zyrus spoke with a grin, "Always got my back don't ya."

"Heh. I pity the Jaresseans," Bell pointed at the sleeping Client, "An ornery sack of low life. A real clever weasel. So the Cloister file tells me."

"Hmm. Since when does being a weasel earn a Cloister cell," the Master torturer mused.

"I'm sure I'll hear soon enough. Don't you think you should clean that off? Put it away," Bellaphron spoke and pointed to the Carnopticate clutched in Zyrus' leather clad hand.

Villier's blood was congealing upon the cold device. One last turgid drop slipped off.

~~~

Chapter 6

Brainwashed by the bloodstained.

Elder Derex leaned comfortably against a mud-brick pillar which supported the balcony, off his bedroom, inside the hospice. His pipe was smoldering and he blew a cloud of smoke out into the open court yard. The air was heavy and still. The smoke from his pipe rose lazily to coil and meander like an ancient river. His exhaled smoke did not dissipate quickly, it billowed out to hang in a hazy cloud center in the of the courtyard. Rain was imminent.

The cleric was enjoying Jaresse despite his initial apprehension. The culture was happy and dynamic. These people were enjoying their lives contrary to the message of non-Faction media. He was left to his own -- no ministry of propaganda to keep him away from the reality of life here. Life was good for everyone in Jaresse. The people here were not interested in bettering themselves the way Caremencians, Flects and Naonians had bettered themselves.

They had no desire for the trappings of success as defined by those outside cultures. They were not manipulated into conformity and obeisance through state-of-fear mechanics adopted by the last few Caremencian democratic regimes. Their system of governance did not need to be saved from itself by a jaded elite. Evidence of cronyism was hard to find.

The Guild of Unrelenting Truth had a Keep in Jaresse as it did in all nations on Moloch. His attractive escort drove him past its imposing facade. A Keep was a Keep no matter where you were on the planet. They were designed to be big, imposing and frightening places. He flashed back a few hours to the ride to his hostel.

Satiya smiled and pointed at the Keep as she drove past, "Home sweet home," then laughed.

"What size of cell they give you to live in," the cleric could not resist a snide poke.

"Clients get the cells, we get the suites. Mine is a split level -- about 100 meters square living space. I get the sun most of the day so my deck space is loaded with plants."

"Can you bring your dates back for a night," Derex asked. He never had the opportunity to talk with a Guild personage about their private life.

"Most of my dates are from within the Guild. And there are guest lodgings all over the city if one must slake one's passion's hurriedly." She grinned, "Why, you looking for some jelly roll old timer?"

He blustered and muttered then realized that he was being petulant. "I'll forgive your ignorance of our traditions. Clerics of the Redeemer are celibate. We try and emulate the Ixtos."

Satiya started laughing. She couldn't control herself. She had to pull off the road. Eventually she regained control. "Man, you guys kill me. Particularly you. You should know better! Your order tracked down then brutally murdered every known descendent of the Ixtos. He was far from celibate and you know it. Had your order succeeded, I would not be here today to laugh at your ridiculous myth."

Elder Derex was aghast at her blasphemy. His knee jerk reaction was exactly how he was conditioned to respond. Even though Jorn and this young woman knew the historic truth he could not break his conditioning. Only a small group within the magnitude of the Church knew the historic truth.

"Do all of your countrymen think and feel as you," Derex asked.

"Duh. Man I thought you educated types were smart. You're a scholar. You have promoted the lie of the century! Sorry, I mean the lie of the millennia. Why do you think we expelled your horrible Church? Today there are over 30 thousand descendants of the Ixtos prospering in this land. We know your terrible past. Jorn has kept us informed."

Suddenly Derex understood why the faction had withstood the continued assault of the non-faction nations. The spirit of its people was indefatigable because it was a living residual of the Ixtos that made it so.

Jorn shuddered at the thought of another purge. If the Church's leadership took Jorn seriously and that Faction nations were laced with a large number of the Ixtos' Descendants, then they would influence non-Faction countries to war. Under the cover of war the Church would be free to exterminate those remaining Descendants. With modern information systems being so thorough it would be easy to codify their numbers and locations. A few death squads can make short work of a targeted population...

Elder Derex puffed contentedly on his pipe. It was a comfort to him when his mind was in turmoil. The adobe style brick of the pillar, on which he was leaning, dated back to the time of the Ixtos. As a historian for the Church he knew of the past mistakes. The question that Jorn asked him the night of the branding still burned in his mind, "Would the Church do it all again?"

At first the cleric reacted the way his conditioning dictated. Beginning with denial of any wrongdoing, it is god's will! Followed by: the Church has evolved past its beginnings, the Church fulfills a crucial need, the Church's message is too important, the salvation of the atma trumps all.

Then came the doubt phase which lead him to Jaresse and the tomb of the Ixtos. Now that he was in the holy land, truth spoke to him loudly and undeniably.

The Church would do it all again.

Only this time, with the tools of modern information gathering and Genome fingerprinting, they would ensure the extermination of all the Descendents. There would be little need for brutal information extraction, just a bit of blood and skin.

I cannot stay within the Church of the Redeemer any longer.

The thought roared at him. Upon the thought, time seemed to stand still. The cloud of smoke he had just exhaled hung motionless and a few drops of rain scintillated.

The Church of the Redeemer would conspire to destroy a vibrant, positive nation to preserve a myth. A large voice resonated within, All souls who follow this church are doomed.

With the epiphany came elation and amazement. He took a few paces forward, from under the shelter of the balcony. He now stood in the open courtyard. Rain began to pelt him as the edge of the cold front passed. His pipe was clutched in his hand by his side. His gaze was upwards toward the sky.

"The Guild protects us from the likes of your predatory ruling class. One day you may realize that truth is a cause for itself. A cause that any real god would endorse," were Satiya's final words as she dropped him off at the hostel.

How many of the Descendents of Ixtos operate within the Guild he thought. Rain splashed upon his face. A water rivulet bent towards the corner of his mouth. He tasted exotic minerals and felt the grit of sand inside his mouth.

I must found a new Church, Derex realized. One based upon the truth of the Ixtos - not the superhero myth generated by the Redeemers.

The Book of Redemption, the holy screed, had been revised many times by church scholars. The old writings which did not support myth were gradually dropped out. The original essays, dissertations and gospel that were written by the Praxia are kept on public display under glass. No one is allowed to handle them and no copies have ever been made public.

In his capacity as historian Elder Derex had copies of the original writings. Before I resign I must get those documents. Purpose suddenly awoke within the elder. He saw the path he was to follow and felt the wondrous presence. His last effort at redemption: A new faith founded in Jaresse that was true to the word of Ixtos.

Derex trembled with fear. He breathed in a giant lungful of air then released it slowly. He felt the rain and realized he was wet. Time seemed to have stopped while his epiphany played out. Although it was the divine path he could see the route was going to be full of snakes. He retreated back to the adobe pillar and stood under the shelter of his bedroom balcony. He shivered then made his way up to his bedroom. He needed to dry off and change cloths.

Purpose coursed through his veins once again. It felt good. As he was toweling off he looked into the bathroom mirror and gasped. The outer ring of Jorn's mark had faded.

Time and soft upscale living had not been kind to the elder. His body looked like an inverted light bulb. Nothing resembling the nice v shape that he had once possessed. He vowed to change, to live leaner and to live longer. He wanted to complete the word of god and show his devotion. He wondered if Samanthise would consider moving to Jaresse.

He felt stoned, really stoned - too stoned. He felt weak and disoriented. Whatever epiphanous energy had occupied him was rapidly fading. It left him drained. He staggered drunkenly to the bed and flopped on it, with his towel in hand and still wearing damp clothes. He stared blankly at the ceiling for a few seconds before passing out.

The cold front pushed through the dusty city bringing fresh rain. The smells that were created by the co-joining of warm sand and cool water were primal yet reassuring. Renewal was in the air.

The storm intensified as Elder Derex slept. Wind raced through the streets and was amplified by the funnel effects of street and building lay-out. Torrents of rain washed the air and buildings clean of dust and fine sand. For several hours the rain fell hard. Thin dirty ochre mud drained off the streets towards the ocean. The city was well scrubbed by the time the Elder cleric opened his eyes.

~~~

Chapter 7

Corruption and totalitarianism are easier than real change.

The rainy season's early morning dimness moved night aside as the sun rose behind a thick layer of cloud. The air smelled clean and Derex felt refreshed despite having slept in his damp clothes.

After a warm, invigorating shower and morning ablutions he felt even more charged up. He looked forward to the day. He was also very hungry. He rummaged through his suitcase looking for suitable clothes to wear. He tossed his Elder Cleric of the Redeemer costume on the floor. He had planned to wear it for the tomb of the Ixtos visitation. Unfortunately his did not bring any cool weather rain resistant clothing. He had planned for a hot dry pilgrimage.

Derex was mildly annoyed that none of the tourist information about pilgrimage mentioned the rainy weeks. The rain happened quite frequently and randomly. There was no particular season of wetness either, the rain just happened. When it did, it fell for a week. Satiya would have to take him to store where he could buy some rain gear.

The elder wondered what Satiya would think of his resolve to found a modern religion based upon the true words of the Ixtos and Praxia. For some incomprehensible reason it was important that she approve.

His cynical inner voice sneered at the audacity of a person to claim ancestry to the Ixtos. How can one track one's lineage over two thousand years? Then he remembered the Jorn.

His stomach growled, reminding him that he missed his night-cap sandwich. He hastily clothed himself and ambled off to the kitchen. The hostel did not provide any kitchen staff or food but the kitchen itself was modern and well equipped.

Samanthise did most of the meal preparation but even she had a day off every week. The plump cleric learned how to boil water and prepare soft boiled eggs. Bread and an avocado-like fruit required slicing. Not to much culinary skill required for breakfast. Notably absent from his brief grocery shop was spread-able vegetable or dairy fats. Jaresse dietary culture avoided processed fats and offered flavored oils instead.

Flatbreads were traditional Jaresse cuisine and better suited to dipping in oil. Derex decided to avoid the oil on his bread altogether. He was determined to lose his fatty bulk. He realized he should have bought the flatbread but his Caremencian prejudices clung.

After he finished slicing all the components of his breakfast he arranged it decoratively upon a plate. He carried his plate full of non fatty, non sugary food to the simple wooden table on the balcony. He sat down on a humble but comfortable wooden chair and ate. The meal satisfied his hunger but did not leave him feeling stuffed. He wanted more. He wanted that overfed feeling. It meant surety.

Jaresseans were, for the most part, lean. Not the leanness of hunger but of a healthy diet combined with physical activity. There weren't many automobiles, rather there was good public transportation combined with walking and riding paths. Citizens were busy and active in their dally routines.

Jaresse was not perfect though. It lacked many consumer products that one took for granted in Caremencia. There was a conspicuous absence of personal communication devices and electro-slates.

He finished washing his dishes then moved downstairs to wait in the courtyard. Elder Derex loaded his pipe for the morning and smoked it contentedly while waiting for Satiya. The spirit of epiphany did not revisit him yet the decision to act still resonated with intensity.

The day's plan was shopping then the tourist walk-about at the elevator site. Satiya showed up just as he was tapping out the ash from his pipe.

She didn't leave her vehicle to greet him. As he approached her car the cleric could see that Satiya was troubled. He opened the passenger door and sat. The car sagged then took on a slight list with his side being the heaviest. He did not feel safe in her small car.

Jaresse vehicles were sparse on luxury and they were noisy, the road's surface condition was transferred through the frame. They were not very fast but accelerated quickly and were very nimble. The motor used some kind of efficient magnetic drive. The science went over Derex's head.

The car's controls were the same as any Caremencian vehicle's with the exception that the driver was on the other side. Jaresse adopted the same driving standard used by Flect and Naoni. Passengers on the right and driver on the left.

Derex was glad someone else was driving. All of the side streets accommodated bicycle, walker and vehicular lanes. The space accorded to vehicles seemed congested. Safety barriers between the vehicle and human powered lanes added to the cramped feeling.

He opened a window and was surprised by the sound of quietly thrumming mag-drives. The unique sounds bounced off the buildings and phased in direction and loudness. The air of the motorway was absent the familiar smell of hydrocarbon exhaust. A tinge of ozone was noticeable amidst the odors of Asmina and wet sand.

Asmina was the Jaresse national flower. It was a fragrant and colorful bush. He looked up at the rooftops and noticed that many, if not all, of the buildings had privacy barriers which were walls of Asmina bush. Satiya informed him that dyes for cloth were extracted from the plant's blossoms.

He sighed. He was not ready to tell Satiya of his epiphany nor of his resolve to start a new Order.

"Do the people of Jaresse have any informal religious practices," Derex asked Satiya.

"Formally we don't. But many believe in the Ixtos and the Praxia. Jorn is known to the decedents of Ixtos. He's been absent for a couple of generations and people forget him."

The cleric cringed at Jorn's name. Satiya caught the body language. "You meet him too?"

"Yes I did and he branded me. A minor moment of pain and degradation. A reminder of what my Order did to the descendents of the Ixtos," the Elder spoke quietly.

Satiya could tell that something was different about the cleric. Something had happened over the night that changed his demeanor. She did not laugh at his preposterous statement. Many of her Jaressean peers related their strange encounters with Jorn. She decided to respond with humor.

"Ya he turned me into an iguana but I'm feeling much better now," she quipped.

The cleric smiled warmly and a chuckle escaped. His resolve to delay informing Satiya of his momentous decision instantly melted.

"Yeah well I've decided to quit the Church of Redeemer and start a new faith based on truth rather than deception."

Satiya responded with silence. Her wisdom went beyond her years.

"An epiphany and decision came to me last night before the rain started. When I awoke this morning part of Jorn's brand scar had disappeared."

Satiya's resolve to withhold her morning's communication from Etruscan Keep also melted. "A message from Caremencia states that Jorn was rescued from the Cloister last night and that he is headed to Jaresse."

The cleric's face showed fear for a split second then recomposed itself back into a serene reflection. "Good. Now I will have some help."

Satiya sighed and spoke candidly, "Why do it Derex? Do you think Jaresse and other Faction will polarize around this new, really real truth? Won't the same bastardization of truth into myth, for the institution of church, not take hold in a couple of centuries? Jorn couldn't keep the old Church on track. How do you think he will make out with the new one?"

"One thing at a time. I don't want to actually build a physical church since the Creator's temple is all around us, in every tree and under every rock. Our new ministry will be ethereal, the word shall come from the information network. As god is in all things, so shall the word of god be in all places."

"Good on ya priest. Are you going to reveal the truth - uncover the big lie or merely reinterpret moldy tombs of yesterday's wisdom?"

Derex looked at Satiya with great respect. Her questions, despite their sarcastic intonations, went straight to the bone. He wondered about her life and who were her influences, her parents and others intimates.

"Can you tell me why God never speaks to today's people? Why communicate only with ancient prophet's? Why can't it give out a modern miracle on a scale that billions can witness?"

"Questions that Church if the Redeemer's upper management has debated for centuries. We had to be satisfied with the Archons' decrees of interpretation. We were allowed to debate alternatives amongst ourselves but at the pulpit the official position was delivered to the flock."

"The flock," Satiya spat out sarcastically. "That choice of word alone describes the disease of all religions. They don't know God's will any better than the rest, they seldom obey their own teachings and we certainly don't need personal salvation or a humanitarian war to free us of an oppressive government."

The cleric let Satiya vent. He understood the reaction to blatant hypocrisy. Unfortunately he understood the despair and need of guidance that many people required. The faith in god ritual was required by a great many.

"I want to create a faith that has no hypocrisy. Whose purpose is to ease people's physical and mental torments. As was the original intent of the Ixtos," Derex replied honestly.

"Revolutions never ease torment priest! Although they are born in the crucible of inequity," Satiya finished gruffly.

"Heaven forbid! I don't want violence in the streets. I want a change of heart and fulfillment of spirit," Derex exclaimed.

"I don't think that the predators-in-charge will go along with your reforms cleric. It might disturb the pecking order or dislocate someone from their position on the food chain. The world you came from is incapable of change."

"I intend to start my ministry here in Jaresse," Derex stated.

Satiya snorted with derision, "Kinda like preaching to the choir isn't it? Methinks you must go back to Caremencia, to the lions den. Save the souls of those who need saving."

"Bah! Metaphysical mumbo jumbo. We clerics can no more save a soul than we can find proof of one. The only thing we can do is offer some hope."

Satiya cut him off rudely but he was used to her brashness, "You mean you don't believe in the soul? Even the Ixtos believed in them."

"I didn't say that. I said I can no more save a soul than I can actually find proof of one. The only thing I can do is ease torment or self-doubt in the living. Discordant behavior is the handmaiden of a discordant mind. Eliminate discordant ideas and the world becomes better for it."

"That sounds ominous priest. Thought police next? Clerics in black body armor wielding energy whips - excoriating the un-pure mind," she lampooned.

Derex laughed at the image she conjured.

"Nothing so melodramatic. How about the simple truth and honest debate? Lets see where the pursuit of excellence combined with integrity and truth takes us."

"Then you really must seed this movement back in Caremencia! We run things here based on the consensus of an informed population. I have to log in for a few hours a day for mandatory information updates. We have monthly votes on various referenda. Our citizens are active participants in the decision making process. In return we give up our time basking in cosmetic self absorption and entertainments."

Derex laughed at her derision of Caremencian culture, "It would have greater psychological impact if this new faith were founded here in Jaresse. And due to your nation's perceived lack of faith your country is easily demonized through propaganda. Having this neo-religion will make that media tactic nearly impossible. By adopting a religion based upon the Ixtos, we will confuse most Caremencians. The government will find it hard to act militarily or through other means such as embargoes."

"Priest!" Satiya snapped, "You are still thinking that we have been oppressed by the lack of things available to purchase. Or that our culture has been backwardised by the sanctions. We were made free by them!"

"I realize this Satiya. It's always better to play the victim. One gets stronger media pull. Your smugness will not go far in changing the perception and the hearts of the people of the world."

"We have no animosity towards anyone."

"Indeed. But they have been conditioned into thinking that you are the enemy. You do not see this because you do not travel outside the Faction countries."

Satiya was quick to cut him off, "I have been to Etruscan Keep a few times in my service. If not for my Guild immunity I would have been arrested at customs. That place is oppressive."

"It easier to command compliance from a fearful populace," the priest stated.

"Why do you think the largest Keep in the world is built there and not here?"

"Because Caremencia has enemies everywhere. The world envies us for our way of life."

Satiya started laughing uncontrollably. She had to pull over. She could not concentrate on driving. The Keeps in Flect and Caremencia were the largest. They were big due to the volume of exported questionable activity from the two nations.

The massive foundations of the elevator were the dominant feature. Despite the previous night's rain dust distorted the view.

Elder Derex grew angry as her laughter continued. He could taste the dust. The Guild had shattered his comfortable world view. The facts it delivered were undeniable yet he still resented the messenger. He fumed, waiting impatiently for her to stop laughing.

Eventually she started driving and tactfully remained silent. Occasionally a giggle would escape. "Here," and handed him her Eslate, "read this info on the Elevator."

The base of the elevator grew into proper perspective as they approached it. The scale of the site was massive. Rebar and steel posts poked through the dusty haze like bones. Leviathan's bones.

Satiya turned right on a dirt road then drove uphill to a superb view of the site. Neither of them left the vehicle. It was uncomfortably dusty despite the previous night's rains.

Monstrous quarry dumpsters were beetle sized. There were hundreds of them. Each time they dropped a load a plume of yellow dust rose to mingle with the pervasive cloud. Dozers, scrapers, thumpers and rollers all did their part in the dusty dance of heavy machines.

The foundation was approximately 15 kilometers by 15 kilometers. At the current point of development the foundation structure was at ground level. It originally started at a depth of a kilometer. In the center of the square was a hole that looked about 500 meters in diameter. Protruding from the hole were 8 black cable strands. Each strand was suspended on thick pillars which stood about 45 degrees apart around the circle. Each strand was 15 meters in diameter. The cable strands were bolted into the bedrock 1/2 a kilometer below.

The idea was to build the foundation and all other permanent civil structures necessary. Then all the machineries required to operate the lift groundside were to be installed. Once the cable strands were connected to the geosynchronous orbital counter weight, a tensioned cloth shroud was to be built around the groundside cable system. The renderings had it appear as a large sliver grey cone sitting on top of an ancient pyramid base.

The groundside phase was projected to be finished in another 63 years while its foundation was to be finished in another five years.

The complicated part was organizing the geosynchronous counter weight and attaching the cables to it. The plan was to build a magnetic sling then hurl payloads into orbit. Construction bots would perform the tasks of module assembly and attachment.

Special dirigibles were being built to raise the cables from the ground to meet the cables from the counterweight/module. Once two cables were attached a machine would be clipped onto them that would raise the other 6 strands one at time. Strands from the counterweight/module were tipped with a powerful electromagnet that sought its polar opposite on the earth-side strand.

When the counterweight and assembled modules were attached to the cable strands the lift would be tested. Once lift reliability was verified the first Jaressean flesh and blood team would ascend.

Derex sighed and that's when the missiles will begin to fly.

~~~

Chapter 8

The true purpose of any de-mock-racy is to protect the financial interests of its ruling class.

Phaedra was wiggling her tail stub furiously. She wiggling it so hard her whole body was swaying in resonance. She had to stomp her front paws to cancel it. She recognized Scylla and Scylla recognized her. The woman's reaction was no where near as enthusiastic as Phae's. In fact she frowned at the dog's exuberance. Scylla didn't even reach out to pat her. Her coldness didn't phase the dog. Phae just leaned on her leg the way the breed is want.

"You've found her." Scylla commented emotionlessly, "She was his really. I had little to do with it. I'm a cat person. We had to kennel the dog outside due to the unruly puppy dog and nasty cat fracas. The cat nearly blinded the stupid dog on many occasions. When the dog grew it nearly killed the cat on many occasions. Roegge was never around to train it so it remained in the kennel. Our kids never bonded with her either. I certainly can't deal with her. You are more than welcome to her."

"Thank-you. We've bonded quite well. Phae come, please sit."

The dog responded instantly to Zy's request. He scratched her ears affectionately. Scylla could see the light of love pour out of the dog's eyes. She felt relieved that the dog found a loving master. She was a bit envious.

"It took us awhile to figure out who owned the dog. Thought it proper to return her to you," Zyrus finished.

"Thank you. The Guild has proven to be most courteous. But I hope this errand was not the only reason you came to visit me?"

Zyrus' eyes drank of her splendor. His nose was overwhelmed by her perfume. She was wearing a low cut jade colored silk blouse with a dark grey mid-length skirt. Her choice of clothing was tasteful and flattered her body while at the same time relaying a professional image. The matching jacket was draped over a rocking chair.

"No, not the only reason." Zyrus approached Scylla and opened his arms to embrace her. She folded into his strong embrace. They stood intoxicated by each other for several minutes. Phae squirmed her way between them after she waited long enough.

Scylla laughed and finally patted Phae. The dog was placated by her affection. After the last time the dog nearly ate her cat she vowed to kill Phae. "And if the cat had not savaged Phae as puppy, the adult dog would not perceive cats as a threat." Roegge's constant defense of the dog echoed from her memory.

A memory of Villier's popped into his awareness. She asked me for people who did sleazy shit...

Zyrus wondered if Roegge was ignorant of his wife's other side. The side that arranged to blackmail a couple of prominent Senators into taking her husband's side of the issue. As far as he could tell, Roegge was oblivious to all machinations that were not his.

The Master Torturer did not blame Scylla for her actions. It was gratifying to learn that she put her efforts behind her partner. Political goals are accomplished by many and sometimes any means. Scylla took advantage of serious character flaws in the Senators to apply pressure upon them. Zyrus saw little difference in her tactics as to outright bribery. Such as government jobs in the Senator's riding.

Realizing that Scylla was no lilywhite-Lilith only added to his desire for her. She was deliciously intoxicating forbidden fruit. Roegge's memories of their carnal pleasures added fuel to the fire.

Am I losing my professional detachment? Am I changing, becoming the sum of new memories? Why am I here?

Their embrace ended with Zyrus reluctantly pulling away.

Scylla had an expectant and unfulfilled look on her face. As he pulled away and she realized he was not going to continue, the look on her face became that of disappointment which then flashed to steely determination.

"Oh no you don't. You don't get to show me your feelings like that and then just walk away!" She stood in front of Zyrus and would not let him pass.

She then placed herself nose to nose to him and took his right hand. She placed his hand on her chest on top of her heart; open palmed so he could feel it beat. She pressed his hand into her flesh determined that he feel.

Zyrus tried to pull his hand away but she held it firmly in place.

"No. I like your touch. I want your hands to explore every centimeter of me." She pulled his hand down to her breast.

Zyrus could feel her nipple beginning to swell against his palm. He rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger with the exact pressure that he knew excited her. It was not his own experience guiding his hands.

"Uhn," was all she uttered as she melted. She pulled his hand down to the skirt's clasp on her waist. He obediently unclasped it and it fell to the floor with a soft sigh of expensive cloth. He reached around her waist and pulled her closer. With his free hand he began unbuttoning her silk blouse. The hand that circled her waist now slipped under her blouse to caress the small of her back. With the last button undone he ran his finger up her spine -- nail side.

Scylla shivered.

Zyrus' hand was now at the top of her spine under her blouse. He moved his hand to assist her in the removal of her right arm then slid his hand to her left shoulder to facilitate the left arm's removal from the blouse. Her jade silk shirt slid off and coiled on the floor with a whisper.

Scylla was wearing a one piece camisole. Long well suckled nipples stood enticingly erect beneath. Her forty-ish body was tight from proper diet and exercise. It was hard to imagine that she had given birth twice.

Her body was a perfect tool of erotic pleasure and she knew it. Sexual arts were part of her arsenal of weapons used to acquire the right mate. Not many times was she putty in the hands of the men she encountered. She married one of them.

The Master Torturer moved his right hand down between her breasts to her navel. He traced his path ever so lightly with his fingertip. He circled her navel cloyingly then drew the line with his finger down across her mons pubis.

Phae watched disinterested as the couple thrashed their way to the bedroom. The smells of human rutting were new to her but not particularly interesting. The familiar odor of the evil cat was everywhere. She began to pad around the residence sniffing out her adversary. She came to the closed bedroom door sniffed at the gap between the floor and the door. There was plenty of cat spoor in there but it was not fresh enough to indicate that the cat was there.

Phae walked through every room in Scylla's home that was open. She poked her nose into every nook and cranny. She peered under and behind every large piece of furniture. She found every cat cushion but her arch rival was nowhere to be found. There were only two rooms that she could not search. She padded back to the only other closed door besides the one her master closed. She poked her nose in the gap under the door and snuffled loudly. There was strong cat spoor in there as well as another female human.

She scratched the door and whined. She heard a muffled groan from within but the female inside made no attempt to open the door. She tried again. Bored she returned to the large living room. Cold outdoor smells were wafting along the ground from behind a wall of curtains. She tucked her nose under the lap and snuffled along till the opening of the glass wall was discovered. The sliding door had been left open enough for a small muzzle.

She pushed her muzzle through the opening and wedged it open enough to fit through. She padded out to the very large gravel covered balcony. Rugged yet elegant wrought iron furniture mingled with sculptures and statues. Shrubs and small trees in large clay fired pots were arranged tastefully on the surface. Raised soil beds in large wooden troughs lay in neat rows. Vegetables herbs and some flowering plants grew prolifically from the raised beds. The balcony was the roof of the 3 car garage and workshop. Each of the two bedrooms had access to the deck through glass sliding doors.

Phaedra approached each of the sliding doors and snuffled at each one. Rich drapes blocked her view of the interior. She located her master's scent but could not find fresh cat spoor. She explored each plant container and growing beds and found several piles of cat shit in the raised beds.

Phae wandered around scenting everything on the balcony. Eventually she found the spoor trail of the cat. Cats are creatures of habit. This cat used the same path repetitively. Fresh spoor covered the older. This excited her, she began loping.

The trail led to a shaded corner of the massive balcony. A pagoda styled gazebo structure stood in the corner draped by a very large cedar tree. The cedar tree was rooted in the ground below the balcony and it towered 20 meters above the balcony. Radiating from the gazebagoda was a pad of carefully raked sand. Intricate geometric patterns were drawn in the sand and accented with various sized and coloured rocks.

The cat's trail skirted the sand pad to the back of the gazebagoda where it ended. However the spoor was fresh and strong here. Her hackles rose. She looked up at the top of the pagoda.

"Oh no you don't you devil dog," the strange female spoke. "Today I'm to mind the cat. Good hands are in the boss," she gave off a bawdy chuckle then commanded, "Come here Phae."

Phae was torn between greeting a new person and the cat. She hesitated responding and looked up at her nemesis on the roof. The cat was out of reach so she reluctantly abandoned the pursuit. She knew where it hid. She bounded off; her tail stub vibrating - exuberant and mindless of her footprints upon the meticulously sculpted sand.

The bodyguard frowned as the dog pranced across Scylla's serenity. The minder clapped her hands and shouted, "Not across there you stupid mutt!" The dog cowered belly down. In an explosion of sand Phae bolted in high panic towards the opening she had pried in the sliding door.

The minder followed her through into the living room then closed and locked the sliding glass panel. The woman looked around for the dog. Phae was laying on the floor against Scylla's bedroom door. She was shaking. Her eyes wide with apprehension. She saw the minder and gave a tentative little stub wag.

Scylla's body guard sat down cross legged on the floor a couple of meters in front of Phae. "What happened to you sweetie. Why you run from me like that," she spoke in a calm friendly tone. The dog's stub wiggled with more enthusiasm but she refused to budge from her position.

"Come to Mhin beautiful dog. I won't hurt you." She rubbed her hands on her thighs gently then patted them lightly. "C'mon over here and let me touch you." she patted her thighs again for emphasis.

The dog reluctantly moved towards Mhin. Her head was down and her tail wagged weakly. Phae lay down at Mhin's feet, pressing firmly against her legs. She looked over her shoulder at the bodyguard then rolled over on her back. Her paws were tucked in tight to her chest and she stretched out her rear legs.

Mhin-Hee chuckled and began stroking the dog's belly. "All is forgiven for a belly rub," she gently asked the dog. Phae responded by letting her tongue loll out of the side of her mouth.

Before she became a bodyguard Mhin was a nursing student. A horrible civil war promoted by Flectan industrial interests altered her life path. She was conscripted into the national army to fight against foreign backed insurgents. Thousands of her people lost their lives in that foreign orchestrated rebellion. The land the insurgents sought would have cut Naoni into two pieces. The vast majority of Naonian's rejected the rebels' preposterous demands.

The ensuing bloodbath taught her that it didn't matter whether the war was right against left, rich versus poor, religion fighting religion, new culture clashing with old culture or bad ideology overturned by good ideology, there was no such thing as a humane war!

Mhin moved her hand from belly to chest. She marveled at the petite rotti's shape. She was not as stocky as the traditional version. Hers was an unusual phenotype. Phae had nearly perfect coloration and marking patterns, but a small blaze of copper hair altered what should have been perfect symmetry. The minder ran her fingers gently up Phae's chest to the coppery patch on between her shoulders. The dog jerked involuntarily at her contact with the bullet entry point.

"Oh my! I know what that scar means little one. Who would shoot such a sweet dog?" Mhin traced the swath of slightly off colored copper hair to the bullets exit point. "Wow you were lucky! That one could have been really bad," she cooed. She now understood the dog's reaction to the loud claps earlier. Although the revelation saddened Mhin she knew she could use that fear to stop the dog from mauling the cat.

Phae loved the attention. Her fear was lost in the pleasure of a belly rub. The pursuit of the cat temporarily abandoned but not forgotten. With the first opportunity that presented itself Phaedra would be out, making a beeline for the gazebagoda. Mhin had no idea how determined Phae could be.

The minder continued to rub Phae's chest and belly until duty got the better of her and she rose to return to her post. She rechecked the sliding door to make sure it was fully locked then returned to her room. She closed the door softly, confident that the dog could not get out to the balcony. Hopefully the dog and master would be gone when Scylla discovered her disrupted serenity.

Mhin returned to her study of the wall of monitors at her security station. The two randy minks had stopped fucking and were cuddling. Thank goodness, I can't watch much more of their activity. She panned the other 20 or so spy-cam feeds looking for signs of a perimeter breach. Mhin did not feel guilty about the pornographic aspect of the scrutiny but she felt awkward spying on the post coital intimacies. Those are the truly private moments in the cycle of love-making. She felt envious of the pleasure they gave each other.

Mhin dutifully logged her bosses time in the sack and the time spent saving the cat and friending Phae. In her line of work, the log book was everything. The client did not get to see much for their money so a written log of activities was the only tangible proof that a body guard actually did anything.

Phae skulked about looking for a way onto the balcony. In the process she discovered the nook in the kitchen where the cat food bowl and water bowl were placed. She ate all the food with gusto and lapped all the water happily.

She continued the search for a way out. Water dripped from her muzzle across the marble tiled floor to the wooden oak floor of the living room. Returning to the curtained glass wall she used her muzzle to raise the curtain enough to slip under. She pushed her nose against the glass wall trying to dislodge it open. Using her paws she attempted to insert her claws into the tiny gap between the sliding door frame and the frame of the window wall. Smeared wet nose prints remained as witness to her attempts. She knew that the only other ways onto the balcony were from within the two rooms that were denied to her.

Defeated she chose to relax on Scylla's elegant white couch. She chose a seat that gave her a view of the door to the master's room and to the living room's balcony access. She snuggled into the lush cushions and dozed lightly. Her ears twitched with every slight sound.

Mhin watched fascinated by Phae's determination to open the door. She also showed some ingenuity in her attempts. Although pleased by Phae's spunk she made a mental note to keep vigilant in her cat protection services. She kept up the spy-cam feed of Phae on the couch then quickly scanned Scylla's bedroom. The bed was empty so she called up the ensuite cam. Sure enough they were at it again in the shower.

The minder watched disinterestedly in the water sports. Their lathering was no where near as erotic as their first encounter. She focused on the monitor which displayed the file on Scylla's date.

He was a Guild of Relentless Truth employee. His status or job description was blank and his past work history was a jumble. He started out as a butcher in a small non-aligned country then emigrated to a Faction country (Zantia) to take up the position of state executioner. Small Zan, as the Naoni referred to their immediate neighbors to the southeast, was all that was left of an old larger empire known as Zan.

Zan was an old empire held together by force and fear. Its laws were harsh in the least to barbaric in the worst. Eye for an eye retribution was the legal maxim by which grievous settlements were derived. Beheadings, limb removal or fracturing, brandings, floggings, boiling, burning, flaying, drowning and many other assorted painful penalties to infractions.

Although Small Zan was a fragment of its former self, it still clung to some Byzantine concepts.

Mhin remembered reading about a case of drunken driving in Small Zan. A Naoni tourist drank to much and was responsible for a traffic accident that caused broken ribs in one victim and a broken leg in the other. He was found guilty in a very proper and fair trial. The sentence was broken ribs and a broken leg plus financial restitution to the victims. This event caused an outrage in Naoni but did nothing to stop the sentence.

Eventually the death penalty and most of the eye for an eye retributions were dropped in favor of hard labor. With Zantian legal reforms came the layoff of hundreds of state correktional personnel responsible for carrying out court ordered punishments. Not so many one armed, one eyed Zantians about these days.

He immigrated to Caremencia to enter medical school. He was a median student which was surprising since he had little formal preparation. He excelled at physiology since his exposure to the flesh had begun with butchery followed by his practices as a Zantian Correktional officer. He struggled through pharmacology and psychology but graduated in the middle of the pack. He joined the Guild shortly after his graduation and disappeared off the record.

The dots were an obvious connection for her. The guy went to med school to learn to about pharmacology and psychology for the purpose of information extraction. Enhanced interrogation! He wore the Black!

Mhin shuddered at the nebulous visions roiling about in her imagination. What horrors had he committed upon women. Her imagined fears aroused her, made her very wet. She was horrified by her imaginings and then by her involuntary reactions to them. She scanned various spy-cam feeds to break the dark spell. No fucking way I'm rolling over, pussy-up, waiting to get done-in...

The dog was snoozing and the boss was at it again in the bedroom. This time she was standing up leaning into the corner as Zyrus pounded her from behind.

Mhin groaned again. How the hell am I supposed to keep 6 on my clients when they do shit like this in front of me! She left her security post to hit the shower. She enjoyed the water stream and a quick unfulfilling wank with the shower head's detachable jet-pulse. She completed with an icy cold stream to jolt her out of arousal.

She put on her thick fuzzy yellow house coat and wrapped her head in the towel she used to dry herself. She walked to the security station for a quick scan. The couple were not to be found in the bedroom or its en-suite. The Phae cam showed them in the living room. Phae pranced around Zyrus while Scylla was about to open the sliding door.

Without thinking she ran out to the living room to warn Scylla not to open the sliding door. As she called to Scylla she slid on a small wet puddle left by Phae's watery drool. She lost control on the puddle and slammed into the privacy wall between the kitchen and living room. The instant before she planted her face into the wall she managed to rotate and absorb the impact on her left side.

The collision stunned her and she collapsed onto the floor with almost the same momentum. If not for the towel on her head her brains would be leaking out. She lost consciousness and went to a place that not even her worst imaginings could reach.

~~~

Chapter 9

"...the peoples grins are the fears of dictators." - Xiaobo

Zyrus and Scylla were frozen with shock. Phae was the first responder. Her actions energized Zyrus. He rushed over to examine the unconscious bodyguard. She was laying on her stomach with her legs splayed undignified. Her bathrobe had fluttered away from her body with the impacts.

Zyrus gently probed her spine from its base in the coccyx up to the cerebral cortex for signs of breakage. He marveled at her musculature. She looked like a female bodybuilder from the back. Powerful broad shoulders with slabs of sleepy lats to prop them up. She was a hard V shape with a nominal waist. There wasn't a hint of the voluptuous hourglass shape that even athletic women possess. Her butt was so narrow -- hard and jock-like. Aside from strands of blond hair poking out of her toweled head, she was totally devoid of any pubic hair or body hair of any kind. She was still a bit damp from her shower.

He frowned at the scrabble of scars on her back and around her ribs to her breasts. He noticed a few jagged strips of scar tissue on the top of her butt as well as several precise strips. He knew what the scars implied. Each had a different story.

Content that her spine was intact he gently rolled her onto her back. Scylla placed a couch cushion under her head and manipulated her housecoat to cover her back. She left it opened so Zyrus could continue his examination. She had seen Mhin's body before and was prepared.

Zyrus lost his professional detachment. The upper part of her breasts were laced with flaying scars. One of her aureoles had been damaged by a whip stroke. The plastic surgery had left it askew. Brand marks had been repaired with skin taken from her butt. Her thighs had been whipped and were scarred. There were shrapnel scars as well.

In order to compensate for the mutilations she chose bodybuilding as a good way to mask the imperfections. Her chest looked like a body builder's slab of pectoral and she had a six pack showing despite the flaccidity of her unconscious body.

He reached for her neck and felt the pulse. It was strong and steady. Satisfied she was in no immediate danger he began to close her house robe. He could not help but notice her weight lifting thighs. His eyes were drawn to her vulva. He was astounded by the size of her clitoris. He wondered if all body building women had giant clits of if she was a modified shemale.

Then he noticed the two vertical scars on her inner thighs about 5 centimeters from her vagina and a couple cm wide. They were brand scars.

Scylla noticed his observations and spoke, "They forced her thighs together on a brand. An ancient Zanian disciplinary action along with the flaying and floggings. The rebels recruited psycho's from Small Zan to instill fear in the loyalist population."

Zy said nothing and continued to close Mhin's robe about her. He gently tied the knot in her waist belt and dropped a tear onto the lapel. He stood up. His rage was radiating off in discernable waves. Scylla grew afraid at the change.

"Why do this to her," his voice had a familiar authoritarian peal. She couldn't quite place where she heard it before.

"Naoni rebels made an example of her loyalty to the state. She was a conscripted medic in the Naoni Nationalist army," she answered.

Zyrus said nothing. He let his rage boil through him.

"Your Guild people do despicable things too. My children... Why does her suffering move you so," Scylla asked innocently.

"We don't perform senseless excruciations. We don't mutilate to spread fear amongst a populace. We don't conduct violent destabilization for the sake of a bitumen transportation corridor. We work to apprehend the monsters who do!" His ire had risen.

That voice was eerily familiar. Scylla could feel his integrity but dare not meet his gaze. She scrutinized the marble floor instead and found another drool puddle. The work of cleaning it up excused her from making eye contact with him. Her father was guilty of organizing all of the vile activities Zyrus mentioned. Dynastic orchestrations were responsible for many more. She almost fell for the compulsion to tell Zyrus of her connection.

If it were not for her fear of Thanatos she would have spoken. Her children were hostages of fortune to the Dynasty and as such, her actions were limited. Scylla contemplated seeking Guild protection but after her last stay in Etruscan Keep she knew she and her kids could not live their entire lives behind its walls.

Thanatos. It all boiled down to him. If I can remove him from the loop I will have more room to maneuver. Her fine brain began to think in earnest of schemes to identify and terminate Dynasty's enforcer. Her manipulations of the network would have to be subtle with zero room for error. Failure would be terminal.

Control, power and wealth were no longer worthy goals in and of themselves. The abuse of people for the sake of them was no longer acceptable to her. I want to direct the power of Dynasty into a benevolent force of change.

The click went off in her mind. The decision to work against Dynasty's current hierarchy was made. She realized that the task of moving consciousness forward would not be accomplished by the plutocracies of the past.

She could not confess her associations, nor her intentions, to Zy. However it could not hurt being his partner for a short while. He was a remarkably adept lover. He knew exactly what she required. The fact that the learning curve was absent from his sexual explorations disturbed her a little.

Zyrus knew that Mhin-hee was the thorough type. It was only a matter of time until she put the pieces of his past together. As Scylla's employee it would be a short time until she informed her boss. He sighed inwardly and fought off the urge to gush the truth. How can I tell her that it was me that conducted her interrogation? Can I live with this terrible secret between us?

The cat approached the sliding door as quietly as cats can. It searched for the familiar opening in the glass wall but found none. The dog's spoor was everywhere. The stink of betrayal was thick.

~~~

End of Part II

