Kor Part 13

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"Great crunch..." Kor sighed, took the gown. "Is there food?"

"There's a place a couple dozen floors below that does great noodles,” said Laren. “Kind of an Anglish-Urse fusion. Ordered already."

Kor made a face at the word "fusion."

"Come on, just try it. And, sorry, there's a Menelaun place but it's blocks and blocks away."

"No," Kor replied with a shake if his head. "No Menelaun food. It all tastes like rations." The old soldier paused. "I thought Urse didn't have pasta, mostly just soups."

Laren made their own face. "I said 'fusion,' didn't I? Besides, Urse's spicy. And delivery, so you can maybe rest a little."

"Good." Kor dropped the towel, slid into the robe, heedless that he wasn't alone. He caught Laren's curious look. "What?"

"Pretty comfortable with yourself, aren't you?

The Menelaun looked down, realized he'd been standing naked in front of Laren only moments ago. "Sorry. Menelauns serve for so long, we forget other races are prudish about nudity."

"Believe me," Laren replied, "I know something about prudes."

Kor ushered them out of the room, saying, "Tell me when the food has arrived." Door closed behind Laren, the old soldier went and sat on the edge of the bed. He had other messages to send, accommodations to locate, research to begin. First, he logged into a mail account he'd setup months before. It would sync over the coming days through the galactic net.

"Mission commenced. Station troops two weeks. Conservative estimate, all resources, ten casualties each."

He encrypted the message using software he'd gotten from a guy in sig int, saved it as a draft, logged out. The encryption could be cracked, that was true. Any AI pushing enough juice could eventually tear apart the coding, ever operative knew that. That was why they sometimes had to resort to other methods.

Old as espionage, a dead drop was a message placed in a hidden location, left for other agents to find and decode. Asymmetrically, they made sense. By removing the need to deliver a message, an agent removed a fallible part in the system. By not sending the mail, Kor wouldn't trigger the AI scoopers who might be watching a retired Menelaun soldier, checking lists of conspirators.

This was really happening. Kor's shoulders sagged as he thought back to the oath he'd made. Not to Laren. The one before. Eyes heavy, he laid back on the bed, brought up a hotel directory on his digital assistant as he waited for Max's call.

The mattress, for all intents and purposes, ate Kor. It sucked him down into its depths, the sheets smooth and cool against his cheek as the bone deep weariness finally got hold of him.

That was deployment, though. Duty shifts that never ended, pushing yourself harder than the enemy could imagine or keep up with, pressing the advantage, always driving yourself and your men harder than they could handle. Because the enemy didn't care about honor, didn't care about your rest and relaxation, didn't care that you hadn't slept in days. Their job was to kick you off their rock, to make your position untenable. And the less sleep and comfort you had, the better.

And so, when the shooting died down, the artillery slowed, and the fob finally secure against bio/rad/chem attacks, a soldier collapsed for the ten minutes, thirty minutes, hour they could manage. Exhausted blackness that pushed away even the good dreams.

Kor awoke to darkness, some kind of digital chime sounding. His hand slapped at where his Hector should have been, found silken sheets. Adrenaline thrumming, he jumped to his feet, grabbed more silk as he reached for his nonexistent sidearm.

"Kor? Is that you moving around?" Laren's voice piped in though the same chiming system, snapping him back to reality. "Crylax, it's just food. Your clothes are almost done, too, but you should really consider shopping for some more."

Heart slowing, adrenal rush subsiding, Kor felt his muscles relax. Unsure how long he'd been out, he picked up his digital assistant from where it was buried in the bedspread, discovered it had been long enough to miss Max's video conference request. Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes?

Kor ran a hand over his freshly dried hair, down his face. He considered grabbing the shotgun-pistol from where it sat on the desk, holstered. He decided it would be strange, even for him, to eat noodles with a weapon on the table. Bottom hem of the silk dressing gown brushing the top of his thighs at every step, but deciding to go with it, Kor stepped into the hall.

"Oh. Um. Hello." Laren's voice somewhere in the apartment, out of sight, a note of surprise to it. "Not exactly who I expected. And, uh, thanks, I guess."

"Apologies, but I took the liberty of paying for them myself, so as not to be rude." A woman's voice, one Kor didn't recognize.

He stopped in his tracks, palm of his hand itching. Only one exit he knew of, his clothing somewhere random in the apartment, a stranger at the door. Silk swished against the wall as Kor pressed himself against it, inched farther down the hall and towards the opening. No matter how far he went, though, he'd never see the entry, or who had Laren's attention.

The woman spoke again as Kor stopped. "Arriving on a stranger's doorstep without bringing a gift is bad luck, you know. " Her voice was low, hoarse. "Not going to invite me in?"

"Because you stole my noodles? Not exactly invitation worthy."

"Technically, they're mine now. After all, I did intercept and pay for them. And they're not just yours, are they? Looks like one, two entrees, Ms. Qivan. Even some sides in there."

"Mister, today," Laren said, cleared their throat. "Mr. Qivan."

The anonymous visitor made a dismissive sound. "Yes, well. Whatever helps you sleep at night, I suppose. Varis still never ceases to amaze me. But, tell me, what's a nice young woman like yourself doing spending time with Menelauns?"

If Laren betrayed him with an unspoken reaction, Kor couldn't tell. "I definitely think you need to go, lady. Whatever you're selling, we don't want any."

"There you are, just assuming you know who I am, and what I want. I'm not exactly sure what your connection is to this Kor fellow, whomever he is, but I can tell you from personal experience that Menelauns aren't ones to be trusted. They promise, promise, promise, but always end up hiding behind their bullshit honor, or their survival of the fittest philosophy. You'd be best served by cutting yourself loose from him as soon as you can, before he gets you killed, or worse."

Kor's teeth ground together. He didn't give a shit one way or another about Qivan, or their feelings. Not really. Sure, he'd made the oath back in the market, and he'd be damned and his family line severed if he didn't live up to his part of the bargain.

No, his reaction had more to do with how petty this shit was. That someone had shown up at Laren's door and started poking and prodding at them, trying to get a rise. That they were here to pressure and lean on the kid because of Kor, likely because they thought Laren was the weakest link.

And where was Kor, anyway? Hiding in the damn hallway.

Victory in war comes from control. Control of the battlefield, control of supplies, control of your enemy. The moment you've ceded control and begun to react, rather than act with purpose, is the moment you've begun to lose, even if you don't yet realize it.

Whoever this was, they hadn't kicked down the door and come in with guns blazing. No, they were being subtle, while still being direct. That meant neither Qivan nor Kor were in any immediate physical danger. But it also began to make Kor wonder who exactly this woman was. After all, he hadn't been planetside more than a day, and only in Forex for about an hour. That meant either someone had been looking for him, or they'd been looking for Menelauns in general. From her vague statements regarding him, Kor guessed it was the latter.

Control may precede victory, but information preceded both. Ever war is different, every battle unique. A soldier adapts to the enemy present, even if they are unknown quantity. One must know the enemy before one can control it.

Kor stepped out from the hall. "So, who do I thank for dinner?"

Continue with Part 14

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