Bugs in the software, cont.

[hajimenoippolit.livejournal.com]

The narrow strip of skin visible through The Pain's mask was uneven, covered in welts long since solidified, like lava flows turned to basalt. Earlier curiosity had prompted Rakitin to take a closer look, but better sense had assured him staring would have been unforgiveably rude. However, now that consideration had been rendered moot. He noted with interest the thin zone of clarity encircling the Cobra's eyes, keeping visibility unobstructed. The damage must have been inflicted by his own companions. The Pain's place at the center of the hive had not come easily.

"I see," Rakitin said grimly.

He thought of the Ocelot boy who had taken Gurlukovich's death so badly. Had he been his lover? Either way, it was obvious he would lash out at anyone who became a convenient target, an outward direction for his pain. No doubt he wasn't alone.

Rakitin let the warning about The Fury pass him by. Warnings about the cosmonaut's madness were thick as flies on the ground. It was none of Rakitin's concern.

They called me mad, I called them mad, and damn them, they outvoted me.

He took the file, and frowned down at it. Dubious legibility was not enhanced by the dim light.

"Would you prefer, er, privacy?" Rakitin said, with a surreptitious glance at Krauss.

Comments

[hajimenoippolit.livejournal.com]

"What happened?" Ippolit asked, before he could restrain himself. One thing he had learned from experience was, while people often said that all questions were welcome, in practice, they very rarely meant it. "Did the hornets attack you?"

A stupid question, he knew, even as he asked it. Hornets stung. It was part of what made them hornets. It was how you lived, when you were a small thing in a world full of belligerent large things, with no camouflage to speak of.

"Them?" Rakitin glanced back at the guards.

The decision was made before he was aware there was a choice.

"They can be trusted."

[the-cobra-unit.livejournal.com]

“You say it as though it were some horrible thing. Attack. That implies malicious intent. I prefer to say they enlightened me.” He took the file back from Rakitin, leafing through the pages as he paced.

“If you trust them, I trust the Fear.”

There was no reason for the spider soldier to remain, and likewise, there was no reason for him to leave.

“I don’t trust them, but you probably don’t trust him either.”

“So this way,” the Fear hissed, “we’re all even.”

“Your victim went willingly, according to Viktor.” He sat down on the edge of the table, because it was more comfortable there. “No struggling, no fighting. The mechanic was alive when he entered the cave.” He glanced down at the hornet, cleaning its antennae on the front of his striped vest. “When I asked how the men behaved, if there was war or peace, noise or quiet, he flashed a pattern that I’ve only seen rarely… what equates more or less to a mating dance, if you speak hornet.”

He looked up from his notes, accusatively at Ippolit. “This victim… was there evidence that certain things were done to this one, certain things that are rumored to have happened to Mikhail Molokov before his death?”

[nikanor-liadov.livejournal.com]

"If you mean, was there evidence of sodomic activity, then yes," remarked Liadov, obscurely, twirling his pen slowly in his fingers. "He was anally penetrated prior to death."

[the-cobra-unit.livejournal.com]

“Prior to death.” The Pain repeated, as though making note of it. He paused for a long moment, staring off into the nothingness beyond Rakitin, as though there was something there the others couldn’t see. “There was something else, too. He kept flashing the signs for water and death, water and death, over and over again. Your victim was drowned, no doubt lingers about what Viktor was trying to tell me about the method of death. I can only hope I’m wrong about what signals he gave me next. The mating dance I mentioned, once again.”

“It’s a peculiar scenario, and it bothers me. Your victim went along willingly, maybe with someone he knew. Someone he trusted. A comrade, even.” His eyes drifted back to Liadov, where he lingered for a moment. “Then they fucked. In post-coital bliss, your murderer drowned your victim in the clear stream that twists through that cave. After that, they fucked again, except by then, Konstantin Yudenich was already dead.”

Calmly, he set the file aside. “Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me I’ve misinterpreted what Viktor told me, or that he is wrong. Tell me anything contrary to Viktor’s statement, because I would really love to believe it right now.”

[nikanor-liadov.livejournal.com]

Nikanor met the hornet soldier's eyes squarely for the first time.

"I wish I could, comrade. Unfortunately...neither the insect's observation nor your transliteration is flawed in any way, near as I can tell. Viktor's information appears to be spot on."

He looked at the hornet, curiously.

"Makes me wonder what else he tells you," he said, with a laugh and a raise of his eyebrows. "I'm sure he sees quite a lot on his little rounds. What a perfect spy."

There was certainly enough titillation at Groznyj Grad to warrant blackmail- or at the least, amusement.

He shook his head briefly, lips smoothing into a smile.

"I apologize for my rather black humor. It's an artifact of the job. Sometimes laughter is the only recourse," he said.

[capt-kasya.livejournal.com]

Kassian remained stoic as he listened to the details that the Pain relayed, gaze slightly averted, eyes forward, mouth set and expressionless.

It was expected of a mere bodyguard to behave this way, present only in case of trouble, indifferent to his charges' business. He was not a bodyguard by trade, but he knew how to hide, whether it be on a rooftop or ledge, or even in the open.

He did not react to the gruesome details, though he did not actually find them that gruesome.

Molokov's corpse dismembered corpse had been gruesome.

In comparison, this paled.

In that way, he understood Liadov's black humor. It fit with what he knew of the man, who had experienced personal horrors so great something like this distant retelling of events was more akin to a story to frighten children.

A MENT had to have the detachment of a sniper, Kassian thought, grimly amused.

At his side, Kolyin shifted and squared his shoulders, seeming uncomfortable.

Kassian wondered if he had known the mechanic, or if he just had a particular distaste for corpse fucking.

On the other hand, even Kassian felt discomforted to find learn that the pool where the mechanic had been fucked, drowned, then fucked again was the same one that he and Isaev had jumped into.

In retrospect, he was glad they hadn't done anything else in there.

[hajimenoippolit.livejournal.com]

Rakitin nodded. "Yes, that's in agreement with what we've found."

The body and all that had been done to it had been set to rest. It was only information, now, to be treated with respect in honor of the spirit that had, for a while, called it home. Some lacked that respect, or inverted it. He'd seen them before.

There were those who, instead of following the grain or melding into the background, harmonious and neccessary, cut across from sheer perversity, considering any path they terminated to be further testimony to their own existence.

Everyone who came into contact with one of those had his way of dealing with it. It left marks. Ippolit knew that much personally.

The hornet had paused, expectant, a miniature violinist poised between movements of a symphony.

Nika had a point. They must have seen and experienced many unusal things. Eminently natural creatures, but of unnatural size, and no doubt of enhanced intelligence. Ippolit would have to learn their language, in a time with less urgency. He wondered if they had words for what it felt like to be part of a hive, or the texture of each kind of pollen.

If the bird would not sing, Ippolit would listen to the silence.

"Please," Rakitin said, "go on."

[the-cobra-unit.livejournal.com]

“There is no accounting for the horrible things humans do to one another. Laugh, or do whatever it takes so you can sleep at night.” He stroked Viktor’s lacey wings, quiet for a long moment as he watched the hornet, thinking still of the dead mechanic. A pretty little sacrifice that went along so willingly to slaughter. Betrayal of that magnitude was beyond the hornet charmer’s comprehension.

Hornets, those were fiercely loyal creatures, willing to fight to the death for their brethren. Not unlike Cobra soldiers, in that respect.

“They tell me plenty of things, some of which I would rather not know. Most of their secrets would have ninety five percent of the soldiers on this base put before a firing squad before sundown.” He laughed, picking Viktor up, allowing the insect to wander over his gloved fingers. “But my morals are not necessarily the morals of the state. Most things, I simply can’t be bothered to have an opinion about. I only intervene in special cases.”

Carefully, he handed Viktor off to Rakitin.

“There isn’t much more to tell that you don’t already know. Your murderer arranged Konstantin like a broken puppet, where he would be found. It was someone in common stripe, that is, he wore the same uniform as the guard units that patrol this base and surrounding area. That means nothing, even hornets have been known to change their stripe now and then, and any cunning killer would take on camouflage of the sentries assigned to the area.”

The Fear nodded affirmative in agreement, though his attention could not be swayed from gently replacing poisoned arrows into their quiver.

“It’s just good battle tactics.”

[hajimenoippolit.livejournal.com]

Before he could wonder if the hornet would willingly step away from its liason, Ippolit felt steps like blunt pinpricks settle demurely on his palm. He lifted his hand and its passenger to his face, observing with wonderment the chitinous shine of its carapace, like lacquer. He studied the shining black eyes and noticed, with delighted amusement, that he was being studied as well.

"Can you give a description?" Ippolit asked, watching Viktor's antennae wave and feeling an urge to wave back.

[the-cobra-unit.livejournal.com]

“Nothing terribly useful. He doesn’t see you as I see you. To Viktor, you’re a blur of shadows.”

Lights and darks with ghostly shimmers, a drab pattern broken by the occasional red or yellow. That was how they went in their world, blissfully unaware of the full spectrum the world’s beauty just beyond their eyes.

“To him, you’re mostly a mixture of smell and vibration that corresponds to the idea of a certain human. That’s the reason he does that with his antennas, to find out what you are and read whatever emotions are evident in your pheromones. There is no transliteration for that.”

Thoughtfully, the Pain traced a smudge of ink on the manila folder with a finger, frowning at it. The footprints of a hornet; someone walked through the ink before it dried.

“You’re looking for someone of average height and average build. Someone, he said, much shorter than I. Less than six feet. I’ll guess somewhere in the area of five-seven, maybe more… that is… what is that metric?” Leaning back, he nudged the Fear hard enough to shake him from his work.

“Five and twelve and seven,” the spider soldier mumbled to himself, “must be around a hundred and seventy centimeters or so..”

“Yes.” the hornet charmer agreed with a nod. “Something like that. Maybe just a bit taller.” He flipped through the file again, looking for anything useful. “Light. Viktor kept signaling that. Someone with lighter hair, except in this instance, light only means the opposite of black.”

“…only describes ninety percent of the men on this base…” The Fear smirked, drawing himself up in his chair.

“And exonerates you, the Fury, and the other ten percent of the lunatics who were previously in the suspect pool.”

“I can’t complain then, Lódarázs.”

The Pain looked back to Rakitin, almost apologetic when he spoke again. “I don’t have much else for you. Viktor could tell you exactly what the killer was feeling as he carried out the act, but very little about how he looks.”

[hajimenoippolit.livejournal.com]

"I see," Ippolit said, watching Viktor's antennae twitch. He wondered what he looked like as a grey blob. Probably, he not wryly, not much different.

"Opposite of black," he murmured optimistically, half to himself. "Well. That's something. Never look a gift informant in the mandible."

Gently, Rakitin lowered his hands. The hornet disembarked from his palm to the table's surface with insectoid grace, a small, black-and-yellow gentleman. It picked a few curious steps toward Nika, who appeared to be barely a wing's width from dozing.

"Thank you for your help, Viktor," Rakitin said.

It never hurt to be polite.

[the-cobra-unit.livejournal.com]

The Pain smirked behind his balaclava. There was something inherently likeable about Ippolit Rakitin. Many things, from the way he regarded everything with a socially inept scientific curiosity, to his kindness for vicious stinging insects, and especially the open minded optimism he approached the whole situation with. Circumstances that would have most men scoffing, laughing, rolling their eyes.

“I only wish I had more to tell you.” He passed the file to Rakitin, “if anything else should come up, you’ll be the first to know, since you’re not put off by the idea. Until then, we’ll keep our eyes open. All two hundred thousand of them.”

[hajimenoippolit.livejournal.com]

"Thank you, er, Pain," Ippolit said, wishing, not for the first time, that the Cobras had slightly more traditional nomenclature. The bare noun sounded so coarse and direct.

Rakitin reached out to take the folder, using the motion to conceal a surreptitious kick under the table in Nika's direction. The MVD had fallen victim to the soporific hum of insects, and as amusing as it might be to leave him to wake up in the hangar hours later, inhaling a giant hornet in one's sleep would probably be fatal to at least one of the parties involved. Not to mention definitely fatal for Polya.

He stood.

"Please let us know if you...that is, any of you, find out anything else."

[nikanor-liadov.livejournal.com]

Nika opened his eyes slowly.

"All done?" he asked, with a drowsy smile. "Fabulous."

He pushed his chair back lazily and rose to his feet, lingering on his way to the door.

"We appreciate your conscientiousness in bringing this matter to our attention," he said, giving the Pain a brief tip of his visor cap with his index finger.

"Coming, Polya? Or are you going to fondle more exoskeletypes before you retire?"

[hajimenoippolit.livejournal.com]

"I wasn't fondling it," Ippolit muttered, reddening slightly, and followed Liadov out of the hangar.

He blinked away the sudden, sharp brightness. He hadn't noticed how pervasive the industrious hum of hornets was until the closing of the door cut it off.

The part of Rakitin that constantly weighed observations against one another wondered if it was unusual to be more intimidated by an aloof, fine-featured, perfectly normal man than one who commanded a swarm of semisentient war-trained insects, or whose joints didn't seem to bend the right way and who kept pointing crossbow bolts in one's face. Probably not. There was no way of knowing.