Act 4.8 - Puppet

The building swarmed with Ydani military police and Citadel forces, the two groups keeping a respectful distance from each other. The only exception was Tor’laen’s squad. They lounged in the administrative room where the final firefight had taken place, awaiting the arrival of either Vessa or Soreth.

After escorting the hostages out of the lobby into the arms of the waiting MPs, Aril and Vaeth had returned to the building, hoping to assist the squad with the final extremist. Unfortunately for them, they arrived a couple marks after the man had been restrained.

The Ydani in question was currently squirming on the floor in the middle of the room, stripped of gear and plating. He still seemed eager to fight, lending more credibility to Tor’laen’s theory.

He hoped he was wrong. If this man had been Taken, it would lead to several very unpleasant conclusions.

The squad, on the other hand, sat around the room, on top of desks or trying to relax in the stiff office chairs. All of them had removed their helmets, now relying on the small tablets to communicate. It brought a small smile to Tor’laen’s face to see the two groups relaxing so easily together.

“Yo, Saevra,” Aril called from where she lay across the top of a desk, head propped up on her elbow. “How come you guys were so willing to work with us? Didn’t you see all the propaganda shit that was spreading around?”

The Ydani woman paused a moment, reading the translation, then shook her head.

“It’s ridiculous to think the Captain would have betrayed his world, his people,” she replied in Hylec. “Besides, when I saw the images of him wearing that ornate uniform, I figured that at least someone had given the Captain the rank he deserved. It’s a position of honor, right? This ‘Shield Consort’?”

“Oh, it definitely is,” Aril chuckled. “About the best an alien can get in the Monarchy. Lots of…benefits.”

“And a great deal of authority as well, Armswoman. Like being able to give double watch for insubordination,” Tor’laen added, looking over at her.

Aril merely chuckled again, giving him a lazy salute from where she lay. On the other side of the room, Theren nudged Vaeth with his elbow, both marines grinning at the exchange. Tor’laen gave a mock sigh, getting more chuckles from the Armswomen.

Tor’laen couldn’t hide his own smile, not the least bit bothered by the teasing. He was feeling significantly better, after the medical stim Mikka had hit him with, a cocktail of painkillers and clotting agents coursing through his veins. Still, he was trying to move as little as necessary. At least he had stopped coughing up blood, for now.

Half a squad of Armswomen entered the room, and Tor’laen sat up a little straighter. He recognized Tia and Villi from their gear and name tags, but the Armswomen between them was someone he didn’t know. More concerning than that was the fact that she was missing both name tag and rank insignia. His focus snapped back into place. Today was not the day to be lax on security.

Pushing himself to stand as they approached, he fell back into his Captain voice.

“Armswoman, identify yourself.”

He was vaguely aware of Mikka moving closer, likely having noticed exactly what he did.

Tor’laen was reaching out to seize the Armswoman by her shoulder when she looked up at him. His wife’s purple eyes sparkled mischievously at him from behind the helmet’s visor, as a pulse of amusement passed over their Bridge. Nalyra must have been keeping it suppressed to surprise him. Tia and Villi snickered at him from their places at her side. Tor’laen couldn’t stop a small huff of exasperation from escaping.

“Alright, squad,” he called, turning to face the room. “Time to clear the room. We’ll link up in the lobby soon.”

There was some grumbling from the Armswomen, but the marines hurried to obey, and before long, the room was empty save for Tor’laen, Mikka, and Nalyra. Well, and the prisoner, of course.

The Lieutenant Commander positioned Tia and Villi to guard the hallway, then turned to the Crown Daughter.

“Nalyra, what in the Maker’s name were you thinking?” Mikka seemed halfway between amusement and exasperation, something Tor’laen could understand completely.

“Your message said you needed someone with strong mental powers, did it not?” Nalyra replied, pulling off her helmet. Her hair was done up simply, and her face washed clean of makeup, as an actual Armswoman would have done. “I would think that I satisfy that condition.”

“Even so, it was risky for you to come,” Tor’laen said, frowning at her.

“The building is cleared, correct?” She smirked at him. “And swarming with Armswomen and Ydani forces. No one gave me more than a glance, and I doubt the Ydani would know who I was even without the helmet.”

Tor’laen could only roll his eye at his wife’s logic.

“Still, Consort, I must applaud your work today—” She cut off midsentence, staring up at his face. “Tor’laen, why is there dried blood on your face?”

“I believe my injuries reopened during the operation. I suspect mild internal bleeding.”

The Crown Daughter’s eyes narrowed dangerously at the word mild and she opened her mouth.

“Yes, Nalyra, I know.” He raised a hand, forestalling her reply. “The moment I am back on the Aegis, I will be heading for the infirmary.”

She glared up at him, and he could feel a piece of her slip into his mind. It recoiled immediately, quivering, undoubtedly sensing just how much pain he was currently in.

“Tor’laen—”

“Please, Nalyra.” He caught her gaze. “This is serious, I swear upon my honor.”

“Fine. I will give you ten marks before I order you back to our shuttle.” The Crown Daughter set her jaw, and Tor’laen knew he was going to pay for that later. “Now what is this matter you needed psychic strength for?”

“This man seems to have been commanding the hostage-takers.” Tor’laen gestured to the squirming Ydani. “I believe he may have been Taken in order to do so.”

Nalyra stepped closer, looking down at the man. Her eyes narrowed.

“Why do you think this, Tor’laen?” she asked softly.

“Back on Orphila, I witnessed an innocent woman who had been Taken and made into a terrorist attacker,” he explained. “Even after she got hit by a flashbang at almost point-blank range, she continued to struggle. Now this man has been shocked, subdued, disarmed, and restrained, and still he struggles as if victory is obtainable.”

“But his eyes, man,” Mikka cut in. “I’ve never seen someone Taken look so…present before.”

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Nalyra pursed her lips.

“While I agree, Mikka, we have also never seen a Ydani who was Taken before. There is a chance their race reacts differently to psychic control.” She knelt. “There is but one way to settle this.”

She closed her eyes for a few breaths before they snapped open once more.

“He has,” she said quietly. “He has been Taken, and quite strongly.”

“Shit,” Mikka swore, pinching the bridge of her nose. Tor’laen couldn’t disagree.

“Wait a moment, I will release it.” Nalyra closed her eyes once more.

The restrained Ydani went rigid for a moment, his gaze straight ahead, staring at nothing.

“It is done.”

The prisoner started squirming again, eyes screwed shut. He was moaning softly, as if with a mild hangover.

Tor’laen furrowed his brow.

“Did it not affect him?”

“What do you mean, man?” Mikka asked, looking at him curiously.

“When the Taking was removed from the mind of the woman on Orphila, she was almost beside herself with mental pain. Inconsolable,” he said slowly. “I assumed that was always the case.”

“Not so.” Nalyra shook her head. “It varies, but it generally depends on the subject’s trust in the Taker and, more importantly, how much the orders given run counter to the subject’s natural constitution. A mild reaction like this, however…”

“Simply put, it means this shithead was very close to doing something like this on his own. The Taking was just the final push over the edge, probably.” Mikka looked like she was seriously contemplating kicking the restrained Ydani in the side.

“I shall Delve him, and see what I can learn,” Nalyra said, looking back to the prisoner.

“Whoa there, you sure about that Nalyra?” Mikka asked, kneeling next to her. “This seems like a diplomatic nightmare from where I’m standing.”

“His mind has already been compromised.” The Crown Daughter shook her head. “And I already plan to Burn all of this out of his memories when I am finished. Unless you object, Consort?”

Tor’laen chewed at the inside of his cheek slightly. The term Burn sat heavily within the Shield Consort. A part of him still remembered it vividly — the Queen racing through his mind and changing what she pleased. But this was not that.

No, this man was not innocent. He had no clean hands; his reaction to being released from the Taking surely proved that. Sacrifices had to be made, and someone had to pay the price.

“Proceed,” he said finally. “This man is already facing a lifetime of penal work, or likely worse. Let us not allow him to drag his people’s chance at a peaceful future down with him.”

Nalyra nodded once, then closed her eyes, returning to her psychic work. Mikka paced back and forth next to the restrained Ydani while Tor’laen allowed himself to sink into a nearby chair, seeking any slight relief from the pain burning in his abdomen.

“He is a sergeant in the Ydani reserve corps,” Nalyra announced without opening her eyes, still clearly Delving him. “This man, Betharn, was the one who gathered the other extremists here today. They were a mix of…civilians, it seems, and low-ranked reservists. He legally entered one of the armories and then forced his way into its heavy weapons reserves. I do not believe any of the other extremists were Taken. There is no sign of it in his memories, at least.”

“Who Took this guy?” Mikka asked. “Can you tell?”

“A moment.” Nalyra furrowed her brow. “...no. He was Taken by someone in another room, likely. Up to the moment that he was Taken, all I can observe is him filling out some kind of form in a civic center near the capital complex. No sign of Zakkili that he saw.”

“Damnit,” Mikka swore. “Never any easy answers for us.”

“And this Betharn…he resents the Zakkili?” Tor’laen asked.

“He fears and resents us, yes. Hates us,” Nalyra replied. “He sees us as invaders, and your High Command as traitors. The propaganda also affected his judgement.” She said the last part lightly, brushing past how the man must obviously feel about Tor'laen. “Indeed, he had already been making tentative plans for this, contacting others — even before he was Taken. It would appear that our unseen Taker simply blew onto already smoldering embers.”

The Crown Daughter was silent for nearly half a mark, then abruptly stood.

“There.” She folded her arms, staring down at the prisoner. “I have Burned the memories of the Taking, and my own Delving from his mind. He will remember the kidnapping, but likely he’ll come to the conclusion that it was his own choice.”

“Will other Zakkili be able to detect what you’ve done?” Tor’laen asked, steepling his fingers.

“It is…possible,” Nalyra conceded. “Memories made when you are Taken always carry a certain texture to them, and being unable to find when they start would be a tell. However, it is much safer than simply Burning them all out, and leaving a large blank period in the man’s memory.”

“There’s no reason for any other Zakkili to Delve him in the first place though, right?” Mikka glanced at Tor’laen, who nodded.

“He will be brought before a Tribunal and sentenced. I can see no reason why my government would involve your people.”

“That fixes that, I guess,” Mikka muttered. “But we’ve still got a big issue here. He didn’t look like he was Taken, even when he was.”

“A fine point, Mikka,” Nalyra said slowly, peering thoughtfully down at the prisoner. “Is that the case for all Ydani…?”

“There’s only one way to be certain.” Tor’laen pushed himself to stand once more. “Nalyra, you have to Take me. See if I react the same way.”

“Tor’laen! I will not—”

“Look, I consent, I agree, whatever you wish for me to say.” He spread his arms. “There is no other Ydani to safely test this on, none that can know about this, at least, and we need to be sure on the matter, Nalyra.”

The Crown Daughter lightly bit her lip, her gaze searching his face. Tor’laen tried to make his expression as confident as possible.

“...understood,” she said finally, reluctantly. “I will do it. Mikka, bear witness.”

“Of course, Nalyra.”

The Crown Daughter locked eyes with Tor’laen, and he felt her mind reluctantly touch his. He offered no resistance as she slipped inside.

The world seemed to shimmer slightly, things gaining just the slightest fuzzy edges in his view. Like the faintest film of a dream had been plastered over his eye.

A sudden thought entered his head. He would embrace his wife. Of course he would! There was no reason not to. He stepped forward, aware of the smallest hint that someone was leading his body, but it didn’t concern him. Or rather, the part of his mind that might have been concerned conveniently felt awfully far away. Again, not something to worry about.

He approached Nalyra, and sank down to one knee, watching as her eyes widened slightly. Why would they do that? There was no problem, right? This was obviously the correct…no, the only thing to do. He gathered her up in a tender embrace, the pain in his abdomen feeling quite distant. She was squirming slightly in his grasp. Such a cute little wife. She didn’t need to do that.

“...-laen! Tor’laen! Enough!”

Nalyra’s mind touched his once more and the film snapped away from his vision. He fell backward onto his rear, releasing the Crown Daughter. His mind felt like it was in one piece again.

Tor’laen suddenly became aware of Mikka laughing uproariously to the side, clutching her sides, almost crying with laughter.

“Oh Maker, Nalyra! You should have seen your face when he got you!”

“Enough, Mikka,” the Crown Daughter ordered, her cheeks flushed red. “Yes. Well. Now we can reasonably assume that Ydani do not show the usual signs of being Taken. At least not under a command their mind does not instinctively reject.”

“I did not appear Taken?” Tor’laen asked, heaving himself back to his feet.

“Are you kidding?” Mikka gasped, fighting to stop laughing. “You had the most serious, Tor’laen-like look on your face the whole time when you grabbed her.”

“Mikka!” Nalyra scolded. “Control yourself!”

“You Took me and ordered me to…embrace you?” Tor’laen asked quietly.

“It had to be something you wouldn’t do by chance! And I thought you’d resist…or maybe it wouldn’t work…I just…” Nalyra stumbled over the words, not meeting his gaze. “I didn’t think you’d do it!”

“Well, putting the comedy of the situation aside…” Tor’laen shot Mikka a glare, the woman holding a hand over her mouth to keep from further laughter. “This does present a nasty surprise.”

“That is putting it mildly,” Nalyra muttered, cheeks still faintly red. She gathered herself up once more. “But those are concerns for later. For now, we will turn this Betharn over to the Ydani authorities. And you, Tor’laen, are going straight to the infirmary, as promised. No more investigations. No more heroics. Infirmary.”

“Yes, Crown Daughter.” He nodded, then clutched his side. A sharp spike of pain lanced through him, as if his body was agreeing with his wife.

Mikka, once more in control of herself, was already moving to signal her Armswomen, likely to come and get their semi-conscious prisoner. Nalyra moved to follow, but Tor’laen lingered a moment longer. His gaze wandered over the mostly-destroyed room, then returned to the bound Ydani on the floor.

Concerning, indeed.