Fire and Ice
<h1 id="title">Elliquiy Role Playing Forums</h1>
		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Bondage, D/s, S&amp;M =&gt; Bondage: Human Solos =&gt; Topic started by: Tylia on 19-12-2010, 06:11:49</h2>
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				Title: <strong>Fire and Ice</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Tylia</strong> on <strong>19-12-2010, 06:11:49</strong>
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				Eighty-six hours before it all started to unravel, Dr. Sonnet (pronounced <span style="font-family: georgia;" class="bbc_font"><em>Soe NAY</em></span>, with an accent on the second syllable) Dellachance, biotech expert, occasional NSA consultant, and daughter of hopelessly romantic professors of literature was surveying the crowd in a tango bar in Buenos Aires.<br><br>She was drinking a decent red wine and trying hard not to project an air of tension.&nbsp; If one was not trained in spycraft, she was doing a credible job.&nbsp; The beautiful woman was something of an enigma.&nbsp; When her eyes were not darkened to smolders with eyeliner and mascara, they would be intelligent and quite a lovely shade of green.&nbsp; Her French ancestry was betrayed by the kind of overbite that Emmanuelle Beart made famous and she had some of Beart's gamine charm, complete with freckles, except she was stronger and healthier.&nbsp; <br><br>For a woman who appeared so obviously fit, she was surprisingly pale, and the Russian enjoyed mysteries of women.&nbsp; Her muscles were well defined, but that definition had not been earned through martial arts.&nbsp; Those arms belonged to a swimmer ... or perhaps a climber.&nbsp; Her legs, clad in their short tight skirt were excellent.&nbsp; She walked, ran, swam a lot, graceful limbs, no muscle overdone and prominant.&nbsp; A pleasing layer of softness covered those toned muscles. <br><br>Underneath the paint and the seductive dress was the kind of wholesome woman that good men married if they were smart and bad men were absurdly attracted to, almost always with bad consequences.&nbsp; There was just something about all that sweetness that called for a bit of spice.&nbsp; Something in all that respectability that begged for a bit of the gutter.<br><br>She walked over to the Russian and smiled, blushing a bit.&nbsp; &nbsp;It was charming and quite real, as was her smile.&nbsp; No one had figured out yet how to fake a blush and she smiled with her eyes.&nbsp; "May I buy you a drink?" She asked in flawless Spanish.&nbsp; "I have just spent winter on the ice and you do not look like a scientist."&nbsp; She chuckled with a warm intimate contralto that made a man think of fur rugs and naked skin and a roaring fireplace on a cold winter night.<br><br>Her pickup line would be misunderstood in most places on Earth. But here in eclectic Buenos Aires, home to drug lords, biotech firms, oil companies, Nazi war criminals, ecoterrorists on both sides of the issue, her reference would be met with comprehension.&nbsp; Buenos Aires is also the home of the Antarctic Treaty Secretariat.&nbsp; The woman standing before the Russian had just spent six months in the coldest place on Earth. <br><br>The Russian was the type of man who heard things. <br><br>One of the things he heard about was an expedition a hundred klicks south of McMurdo where the entire team mysteriously vanished ... except for one woman.<br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Fire and Ice</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Davikk</strong> on <strong>19-12-2010, 06:40:15</strong>
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				(http://i45.photobucket.com/albums/f82/age_ofice/guy-pearce-2.jpg)<br><br>The wonderful thing about Buenos Aires was, there was always a job. <br><br>The place had been described, more than once, as a resort for spooks.&nbsp; There was always someone who needed killing, or someone who wanted someone else killed.&nbsp; Or someone to deliver across the border.&nbsp; Or ransom to deliver, or a hostage to take.&nbsp; Or someone who was wanted, or someone who wanted to get away.&nbsp; &nbsp;It was endless, the labyrinth of Buenos Aires, a man could lose himself in the tangle of spies, insurgents, terrorists, war criminals, and so on.&nbsp; <br><br>A man with his skills would never go hungry or want for money, here in Argentina.&nbsp; Especially when they, like Aleksandr Rudakov, no longer troubled themselves over questions of morality.&nbsp; <br><br>He’d fought for something once.&nbsp; But then the wall had fallen down. And with it, the war over ideology had ended.&nbsp; <br><br>There were still ideologies at war, but it was different now.&nbsp; &nbsp;In the old days (he often smirked when he thought of them as the “old days” he was not nearly as old as some thought), the war was over the future.&nbsp; Who would win? Which power would send people to the moon, or create new technologies?&nbsp; What would the future be like. <br><br>Now? One ideology wanted only to the look to the past, to create a world where men grew long beards and women showed only their eyes to the world.&nbsp; And the other side? The other side was interested only in money.&nbsp; Profit was their goal.&nbsp; And they would mortgage the future to achieve it.&nbsp; Capitalism had won, but had forgotten that the goal wasn’t just more money.&nbsp; <br><br>Of course, in the end, he’d become a capitalist too.&nbsp; Doing jobs for money.&nbsp; Living easily here in the Paris of South America.&nbsp; Living the dream, as some might say.&nbsp; It had only cost him his soul. <br><br>Tonight, like most nights when he wasn’t working, he was haunting the tango bar, thinking about all these things.&nbsp; About the death of the future, about the end of the old ways.&nbsp; And, truth be told, about what he would do tonight.&nbsp; It had been awhile since he’d last enjoyed a woman.&nbsp; Perhaps he would see if he could attract one.&nbsp; &nbsp;But first, he thought to himself, he’d order another Quilmes, Argentina’s national brand of pale lager.&nbsp; <br><br>Just as his thoughts drifted to women again, he looked up to find one at his table. <br><br>Aleksandr’s posture was relaxed, his leg stretched out, his body slumped.&nbsp; But it was all a show.&nbsp; He’d entered the room already aware of the exits, already cognizant of potential dangers.&nbsp; There was a gun in a concealed holster strapped to his leg, but he only shot people when absolutely necessary.<br><br>It didn’t seem like shooting her would be necessary. <br><br>“And what,” he asked in Spanish, though heavily marbled with a Russian accent, “am I lacking?&nbsp; I was, in fact, trying to look like a scientist tonight.”&nbsp; He had an easy smile, and there was nothing subtle about the way his eyes traveled over the woman.&nbsp; He had an appreciation for beauty, and nothing in the world marveled the beauty of a woman.&nbsp; She might take it as lechery, but she ought to consider it a compliment. <br><br>“I have been drinking Quilmes,” he says to her, “but I do not think lager would suit a woman of your sophistication.”<br><br>“Shall we switch to wine?”&nbsp; He spoke now in English, his voice still accented, but easily understandable. <br><br>Even slouching in his chair, Rudakov was obviously a large man.&nbsp; Six and a half feet, at least, with a lean&nbsp; but muscular frame.&nbsp; Intense eyes that could instantly survey a room and strip it down to its vital details. <br><br>Eyes that now looked at her.&nbsp; Not just to appreciate her looks, but to tell her, that yes, he had heard things.&nbsp; Things that involved her.&nbsp; But he never spoke of such knowledge.&nbsp; She was either perceptive enough to see it in his hawkish, aristocratic features, or she missed it.&nbsp; <br><br>“Choose me a drink,” he said with an inviting smile.&nbsp; Yes, his mind had thought of a rug in front of a fireplace.&nbsp; But he was also thinking about McMurdo.&nbsp; And, truth be told, about how this could make him more money. <br><br>“I’m sure you won’t disappoint.”&nbsp; <br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Fire and Ice</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Tylia</strong> on <strong>20-12-2010, 02:51:20</strong>
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				Seventy nine hours before all hell broke loose, Sonnet leaned the back of her head against the concrete wall of the safe house basement, clutching her medic's bag and breathing raggedly.&nbsp; Her eyes were closed tightly as if the weight of a photon from any stray beam of light would topple the house of cards she had built in her mind.<br><br>She felt a tremor and opened her eyes to stare at her hands.&nbsp; They were shaking.&nbsp; <br><br>The enormity of what she had done washed over her again.&nbsp; "He's going to kill me."&nbsp; She thought in dismay.&nbsp; A thought like that should be infused with more terror, but the truth was that other people were trying to kill her, too, and she could only die once.<br><br>Her gaze wandered over to the locked prison cell where Aleksandr Rudakov lay quietly snoring, his head on a clean down pillow and freshly laundered pillowcase, the great bear of a man covered by a dainty cotton quilt embroidered with lilacs.&nbsp; He was dressed in a pair of navy blue boxer briefs, the only color she could find in his size.&nbsp; The thought reasserted itself, "He's going to kill me."<br><br>Next to him on a stool that was bolted into the floor were new clothes, freshly laundered, ironed, and neatly folded.&nbsp; She had washed and ironed the khaki shirt and jeans last night as a kind of peace offering.&nbsp; She had bought them all the day before.&nbsp; Sonnet winced and hoped that Rudakov was a forgiving man.&nbsp; Or that he had a sense of humor.&nbsp; Neither his hard face nor his scarred body was indicative of either.<br><br>Well, the deed was done and she could not go back and change it.&nbsp; There was only forward.<br><br>They had flirted last night, the chemistry between them a real and growing thing.&nbsp; <br><br>“And what,” he had teased, his heavy Russian accent suiting him, “am I lacking?&nbsp; I was, in fact, trying to look like a scientist tonight.”<br><br>She had smiled, but not laughed, her eyes too serious for a tango bar affair.&nbsp; "You look dangerous," she said softly. "And I am in need of a dangerous man."<br><br>They drank Chilean wine and danced around the topic of what this woman needed a dangerous man for.&nbsp; <br><br><span style="font-family: georgia;" class="bbc_font"><em>"Wine stirs the spring, happiness bursts through the earth like a plant ... walls crumble, and rocky cliffs ... chasms close, as song is born."</em></span>&nbsp; She had quoted a South American poem.<br><br>"Pablo Neruda, Chilean poet and diplomat" the Russian answered,&nbsp; &nbsp;"He chose his pen name after the Czech poet Jan Neruda."&nbsp; His eyes were amused at her surprise.&nbsp; She had saluted him with her glass. "And he fomented a revolution after his death."<br><br>"You are ... not what I expected." She had murmured.<br><br>So they danced the tango. <br><br>For all his size, the Russian danced beautifully, powerful, sensual.&nbsp; The tango was made for him.&nbsp; He took command of the dance, his eyes boring into hers, ripping through layers of civilization to pounce on the female beneath.&nbsp; He did not move until he could feel her heat.&nbsp; He did not move until she could feel his and he could see it in her eyes.<br><br>Their dance was more intensely erotic than making love had been with any other man she had known. <br><br>She invited him home with her and he went.&nbsp; She offered him a glass of vodka and a toast.&nbsp; He was Russian.&nbsp; And the vodka was the best.&nbsp; That's how she slipped him a roofy.<br><br>Sonnet had heard that spies concealed weapons in their clothes, so she stripped him, her gaze roaming his body with regret for her deed, regret at what could have been.&nbsp; Then she wrestled him into the boxer briefs, out of a sense of "rightness."&nbsp; <br><br>With great difficulty, she half carried, half dragged his inert form down the stairs and onto the bed, settling his head on her pillow, covering him with her blanket.&nbsp; Then locking the 50 year old steel door behind her and leaning against the wall, eyes closed, hands shaking, sure that he would killer her.<br><br>She paced in the room for an hour, checking his breathing and color, making sure he was all right.&nbsp; Some people were allergic to Rohypnol.&nbsp; &nbsp;Then she changed into jeans and a tank top, bundled his clothes into a box, drove it to the nearest bus station, and sent them on the first bus, which was leaving for a little town in the Andes mountains, to foil any tracking devices he might have embedded in them.<br><br>She returned and checked his vitals via the wireless leads she had taped to his chest, ankles and wrists.&nbsp; &nbsp;Slowly she sank down the wall opposite him, her head resting on her knees.&nbsp; She had been awake for 36 hours.&nbsp; <br><br><span style="font-family: georgia;" class="bbc_font"><em>A woman was screaming!</em></span> It was a terrible, terrified wail.&nbsp; The keening of someone lost and alone in the dark and the cold for month after month after month with only the sound of the merciless Antarctic wind for company.&nbsp; It was the howl of a loneliness so profound that it had no words.<br><br>Frightened, Sonnet jerked her head up and found herself staring into the Russian's enigmatic gaze.&nbsp; She leaped to her feet and looked around fearfully.&nbsp; <br><br>"Where is she? What happened? I heard someone screaming." <br><br>Instinctively, she reached for her medic's pouch and that single gesture told the Russian more than she knew.
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				Title: <strong>Re: Fire and Ice</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Davikk</strong> on <strong>21-12-2010, 00:04:59</strong>
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				It was the screaming that woke him. <br><br>Aleksandr did not come awake all at once.&nbsp; He was slow, and he felt as if his head had been empty and then packed with cotton.&nbsp; His tongue felt dry and swollen in his mouth, and his eyes refused to focus.&nbsp; &nbsp;This was not, he knew almost immediately, a hangover. <br><br>First, he’d never, in his life, had enough vodka to leave him hungover the next day.&nbsp; Such a thing was unheard of for the proud Russian. <br><br>Second, if he’d willingly stripped down, he would remember it. <br><br>Cradling his forehead in his left hand, Rudakov closed his eyes and bowed down.&nbsp; He chanced opening an eye, and a thought came to him, a thought he could not easily expel. <br><br><em> Why am I wearing these ridiculous boxers?</em><br><br>More thoughts came to him.&nbsp; A beautiful woman, wine, Neruda, a tango.&nbsp; All of those were good things, usually, but they’d somehow joined together in a toxic mix that had left him naked except for this strange pair of boxer shorts.&nbsp; &nbsp;The Russian drew in a breath and chanced lifting his head, and found himself staring straight ahead at Sonnet.&nbsp; His eyes narrowed as he looked at her.&nbsp; And the message in his expression was clear. <br><br><em> I haven’t given you a reason to scream... yet.</em><br><br>He was incredulous.&nbsp; Did she really believe this would work?&nbsp; If she had any inkling of who he was (and she seemed to have hinted she did), she should have known that taking away his gun was like pulling the molar out of a tyrannosaurus rex.&nbsp; It removed a weapon, but hardly ended the threat. <br><br>His mind was clearer now.&nbsp; He studied the woman.&nbsp; Despite himself, he found her alluring in her tank top, the stretchy fabric hugging her curves.&nbsp; His awareness of her body showed in his face.&nbsp; <br><br>His nostrils flared as he continued to look at her.&nbsp; His face hard, weathered by years of brutal experience.&nbsp; If she knew him, she’d know he’d been in the <em>spetsnaz</em>, the Russian special forces.&nbsp; Deprivation had been the first method of training.&nbsp; She’d been kind enough to keep the room warm, and to give him boxer shorts.&nbsp; His trainers had never been so generous. <br><br>&nbsp;He stood, and moved to the doors of the cell, hands gripping the bars hard enough for his knuckles to turn white.&nbsp; She’d seen it when he danced – the masculine grace of his carriage.&nbsp; But now, that grace was poised for something deadlier than dance.&nbsp; He stared at her through the metal bars, and never once seemed afraid.&nbsp; &nbsp;He had the supreme confidence of a lion, certain that this was only a temporary setback.&nbsp; That sooner or later, she would regret all that she’d done to him. <br><br>She might have expected him to issue some death threat to her.&nbsp; But that was far too prosaic for the man called Aleksandr.&nbsp; He did not need to make threats to be menacing.&nbsp; The only thing necessary for him to appear as a threat was for him to be himself.&nbsp; So when he spoke, the nature of his words would probably catch her off guard. <br><br>“How did you manage to get my measurements?” He asked with a subtle grin, his eyes flicking to the stool where clothes sat, neatly folded.&nbsp; He made no move to dress.&nbsp; Whatever modesty he might have had in youth had long since left him. <br><br>“Incidentally, the screams you heard,” he said to her, as he paced the length of his cell, “were you own.”&nbsp; His tone of voice seemed to imply that this would not be the last time she heard her own screams.&nbsp; “I assume you had a nightmare of some sort.” <br><br>He came to a stop, and his eyes narrowed again.&nbsp; He looked over her body and shook his head, lamenting what might have been.&nbsp; She could have enjoyed him as a lover, and perhaps found in him an ally.&nbsp; But she’d made an enemy of him.&nbsp; And the enemies of Aleksandr Rudakov did not live long enough to speak of him. <br><br>“I will assume since you did not slit my throat as I lie unconscious, you have something to say to me.”<br><br>“In memory of how well you danced, and in deference to your knowledge of wine and Neruda, I will allow you five minutes to say it.”<br><br><br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Fire and Ice</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Tylia</strong> on <strong>24-12-2010, 15:13:46</strong>
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				She stared at him as he stood.&nbsp; He seemed to loom over her, even though he was in the cell and she was outside it.&nbsp; Instinctively, she shrank away from him.&nbsp; There was no mistaking the menace in his voice and in his manner when he spoke.&nbsp; <br><br>When he told her that she was the one screaming, a flicker of pain crossed her face.&nbsp; Sonnet closed her eyes briefly and nodded.&nbsp; When she opened them again, her blue-eyed gaze was direct and her voice was crisp, unemotional, professional.&nbsp; A report to her superior, ignoring the cage she had put him in.&nbsp; Ignoring how comfortable he was wearing only his boxers.&nbsp; More comfortable than she was looking at the hard scarred sculpture of his powerfully masculine body.&nbsp; Her tank top revealed interesting things.&nbsp; Among them, she wasn't wearing a brassiere.<br><br>"It was April 1.&nbsp; April Fool's Day.&nbsp; We were in the Antarctic Dry Valley, 60 klicks south of McMurdo at the beginning of the Antarctic winter.&nbsp; The temperature was 40 below and falling.&nbsp; There were ten of us conducting research at Craig Station. We were simulating a Mars mission and being cut off from help was part of the study.&nbsp; It was always night.&nbsp; One day while I was down in the storage area taking inventory, there was an explosion.&nbsp; A box fell on me and knocked me out.&nbsp; When I came to, it was cold, hideously cold.&nbsp; The power was out.&nbsp; The communication equipment was destroyed.&nbsp; And I was the only one there."&nbsp; Her voice shook on that last.&nbsp; "No one would be able to get to in for five months.&nbsp; Planes freeze.&nbsp; The oil in trucks freeze.&nbsp; Your breath freezes.&nbsp; They couldn't come to investigate until October 15."<br><br>Abruptly, she left the room, and when she returned, she carried a tray of breakfast.&nbsp; Coffee, tea, juice, bacon, sausage, eggs, Russian rye toast lightly buttered.&nbsp; A carafe of ice water.&nbsp; There was also an unopened bottle of Motrin on the tray.&nbsp; &nbsp;But more important, she had given him a fork, a knife for god sake, and a spoon.&nbsp; Even the cloth napkin was a deadly in his hands.&nbsp; She took his clothes and gun and now handed him the equivalent of a weapons locker. No, she wasn't a field operative, whatever she was. There was a small bud vase with a ceibo blossom in it, the national flower of Argentina.&nbsp; He had noticed a ceibo tree growing outside her house.&nbsp; An apology.&nbsp; There was also a small tape recorder on the tray.&nbsp; She set the tray down on the floor out of the reach of his arms and pushed it towards him with the end of a broom. Careful woman.<br><br>Sonnet had a thermos cup of coffee in her hands.&nbsp; Her makeup was gone, her hair pulled back, but it made her more feminine.&nbsp; Softer and less predatory than the vamp of the night before.&nbsp; But a surviver.&nbsp; <br><br>"I was respectful of your dignity when I undressed you." Sonnet assured him gravely.&nbsp; "I took your clothes and weapons because I did not know what you hid in your clothes.&nbsp; A transmitter perhaps.&nbsp; One that I would not recognize.&nbsp; I mailed them in a tightly sealed box to a colleague in a remote area of Patagonia with the instruction to mail them back here as soon as he receives them."&nbsp; She wasn't going to kill him.&nbsp; "And as for how I knew your measurements ... your height and weight and picture were in Dr. Jianguo Chen's file embedded in a microchip hidden in the leg of his bunk.&nbsp; He called you an enemy."&nbsp; She took a sip of her coffee and looked him directly in the eye.&nbsp; "That made you a possible ally of mine."<br><br>Her eyes flickered as they rested on the bars.&nbsp; "But I had to be sure."&nbsp; She started to say something, then bit her lip and winced.&nbsp; Finally she squared her shoulders and faced him.&nbsp; "Rohypnol was not the only drug I gave you.&nbsp; I also gave you SP-117 ... the truth serum developed in Russia during the Cold War.&nbsp; It is very effective, one of the only effective ones.&nbsp; I researched the interaction before administering it.&nbsp; That's why I stayed here.&nbsp; To make sure that you would be all right."&nbsp; She indicated the Motrin.&nbsp; "That's for the headache, if you have one."&nbsp; <br><br>Her face was eloquent in its apology ... and uneasy.&nbsp; "SP-117 is most effective when one is seeking information that is not a threat to the vic ... to the person being interrogated.&nbsp; I did not want to know your country's secrets or ... yours.&nbsp; I taped the interrogation, you can listen to it, it is on the tray.&nbsp; I did not ask you anything that did not pertain to this situation.&nbsp; I found out what I needed to know and then I did not invade your privacy further."&nbsp; But she had learned too much.&nbsp; "I am sorry that I had to do that.&nbsp; You will understand when I tell you the whole story."&nbsp; There are some things that no human being should know about another, and she had found some of Aleksandr's, inadvertently triggering his report of things ... he had buried deep inside him.&nbsp; She debated editing the tape.&nbsp; It probably would have been wiser if she had.&nbsp; But they would need to trust each other.&nbsp; And for the first time in her life, she was the one who had shown herself to be untrustworthy.&nbsp; Only a complete accounting could mend that breach.<br><br>He would learn as he listened to the tape, that she was as fluent in Russian as she was in Spanish.&nbsp; She was appropriately named.&nbsp; A woman of languages was this Sonnet Dellachance.<br><br>Sonnet knew he was the man she needed for this.&nbsp; She knew he could be trusted, and more.&nbsp; She knew he had a deep, a profound, sense of honor and an unbreakable code that he lived by.&nbsp; She knew that he battled with demons inside himself on a daily basis.&nbsp; And she knew, that once she had told him her story, he would help.&nbsp; For his own reasons, not for her.<br><br>But based on her interrogation of him, she also knew that she had best not let him out until after he had heard what she had to say.<br><br><br><br><br><br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Fire and Ice</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Davikk</strong> on <strong>24-12-2010, 19:24:00</strong>
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				Aleksandr did not hesitate in taking the food or the Motrin.&nbsp; She had drugged him once before, but she was intelligent enough not to be so blatant, were she to try the same gambit again.&nbsp; One thing he understood about this Sonnet was that she was an intelligent woman.&nbsp; She’d been thorough in his capture.&nbsp; It was a move of supreme foolishness, caging him like this.&nbsp; But since then, she’d been as smart as possible. <br><br>“Though I am Russian,” the way he said that was revealing.&nbsp; There was pride in his voice.&nbsp; Pride of country.&nbsp; And the precise way he described himself was also revealing.&nbsp; Not Georgian, not from Belarus, not from Ukraine.&nbsp; And, tellingly, not Soviet.&nbsp; There were no Soviets anymore, something that pained Aleksandr.&nbsp; Something he would not speak of.&nbsp; &nbsp;“I have no taste for the sort of cold to be found at McMurdo.”&nbsp; <br><br>He chuckled, and again, said more than what his words meant on the surface.&nbsp; Whatever had happened at her station, he hadn’t been there.&nbsp; He was not responsible.&nbsp; The way he spoke to Sonnet, there was an assumption that she would hear the music between the notes of his words.&nbsp; He expected intelligence of her, and would not slow down to explain himself. <br><br>She had to keep up, or give him an opening. <br><br>Holding the Motrin in his hand, he used his thumb to pop the lid off.&nbsp; Holding the open bottle over his mouth, he poured in three of the tablets and then swallowed them without the aid of liquid.&nbsp; &nbsp;A small incline of his head thanked her for the medicine.&nbsp; <br><br>He ate quickly and quietly, devouring the protein first, then the bread, washing it down with the juice.&nbsp; The coffee and tea were avoided.&nbsp; Caffeine could affect the body in ways he did not currently desire.&nbsp; Another nod of his head complimented her on the quality of the food. <br><br>While eating, he’d lifted the knife in his hand and held it before his face.&nbsp; He turned it over, eyes narrowing in scrutiny.&nbsp; Clearly, he was assessing the quality of its edge.&nbsp; But Aleksandr said nothing, and eventually laid the knife down.&nbsp; &nbsp;Tellingly, he did not use it to cut any of his food.&nbsp; He wanted to keep its edge sharp. <br><br>“My clothes were just that, clothes,” he says.&nbsp; “Though I might welcome back the return of my shirt.&nbsp; So hard to find something that is not knockoff down here in Argentina.&nbsp; But, sometimes when you are rowing a boat, there are underwater rocks.”&nbsp; <br><br>“As for my dignity?&nbsp; I can think of things much worse than you seeing me naked.&nbsp; For instance,” he grinned, “the favor never being returned.”&nbsp; &nbsp;<br><br>It seemed he could be charming, even in the worst of circumstances. <br><br>“You are thorough.&nbsp; I will give you that.”&nbsp; He said, after she described her regimen of drugs. <br><br>“Though if this is all your attempt to get of trouble, you may have find yourself hungover from another’s party.”&nbsp; Another way of saying she’s just inherited trouble that wasn’t hers.&nbsp; <br><br>He lifted the tape recorder, shaking it near his face.&nbsp; He did not listen to it.&nbsp; He had enough pride that he didn’t want to hear evidence of his mistakes.&nbsp; Not yet.&nbsp; In time, he would hear what he’d revealed, so that he could know how much damage was done.&nbsp; But not yet. <br><br><br>“There are those who would not be happy if they knew you’d heard some of my secrets.&nbsp; Prices have been paid in green and red,” money and blood, “to keep those secrets just that.” <br><br>He did not elaborate.&nbsp; Let her squirm.&nbsp; Let her see her miscalculation.&nbsp; He ate more, before finally speaking again. <br><br>“You are American, yes?”&nbsp; He finally asked. <br><br>“Do you know how I can tell?”&nbsp; &nbsp;His accent remained strong.&nbsp; But with her ear for language, she was likely able to discern each word. <br><br>“You Americans.&nbsp; You love to tell stories.&nbsp; You love to set the stage, and go on a long journey to get to where you are going.” <br><br>“I was soldier.&nbsp; In spetsnaz,&nbsp; they tell soldier – go here, do this, and soldier does it.&nbsp; No story, no explanation.&nbsp; There is order, and then there is carrying out of order.” <br><br>“If you wanted my help, you took long and perilous journey towards getting it.&nbsp; Much better, you come to me in tank top first, and ask for it.&nbsp; Then, there would not have been so much drama.” <br><br>“Nothing you have done, pretty girl, has made me much inclined to help you.&nbsp; And you still have not said exactly what it is you want.”&nbsp; <br><br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Fire and Ice</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Tylia</strong> on <strong>25-12-2010, 01:25:35</strong>
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				"Yes," she smiled briefly, "I am American.&nbsp; You are asking me to 'cut to the chase' as we say in America?&nbsp; Get to the point?"&nbsp; <br><br>He was dangerously charming.&nbsp; He was dangerously intelligent.&nbsp; It was more efficient just to say ... he was dangerous.<br><br>"Very well."<br><br>Sonnet watched as he tested the edge of the knife. It was bacon and eggs, he did not need a knife and she was not stupid.&nbsp; It wasn't a mistake, nor was it a test.&nbsp; It told him that she would let him out, that he would be free, and that she knew once he was out he could overcome her, unless she held a gun on him.&nbsp; It told him that she was not going to direct a gun at him.&nbsp; Sonnet was an efficient communicator.<br><br>She spoke to him in Russian, again using a professional's emotionless voice ... most of the time.&nbsp; <br><br>"We were simulating a Mars mission, so we had triple redundancy.&nbsp; I was Quartermaster for the expedition, the equipment and supplies were in my purview.&nbsp; We had a backup generator and I got it to work."&nbsp; She left out the part about building a bonfire inside the building to keep it warm enough to thaw out the generator, weighing the risks between the cautious approach that was likely to work, but badly,&nbsp; in favor of the high risk high payoff approach that if it worked, would work well.&nbsp; &nbsp;She left out the part about fighting day after day to reclaim another 20 feet of living space from the cold.&nbsp; She left out the part about contemplating suicide on a daily basis for awhile.&nbsp; <br><br>"We had provisions enough for ten people for six months.&nbsp; I had plenty of food."&nbsp; Sonnet faltered for a moment then.&nbsp; "It was ... the aloneness and the endless wind that ... " That makes puppies cry at night and people suicide.&nbsp; Loneliness.&nbsp; She had been alone in the dark and the cold for six months.&nbsp; "I needed something to keep me ... "&nbsp; Her blue eyes met Alexandr's and she did not stint.&nbsp; "sane.&nbsp; I was going mad.&nbsp; At times, I was mad."&nbsp; <br><br>"So I tried to figure out what had happened.&nbsp; The communication equipment was totally wrecked -- prime, backup, and spares.&nbsp; That wasn't an accident.&nbsp; Until the moment I discovered that all the communication equipment had been deliberately trashed, so help me, I entertained the possibility of alien abductions.&nbsp; No one goes inland during the Antarctic winter.&nbsp; No one goes out.&nbsp; But the wrecked comm and the missing people said otherwise.&nbsp; This wasn't about an explosion."&nbsp; She smiled wryly.&nbsp; "And aliens didn't need to wreck communication equipment.&nbsp; That wrecked equipment saved me.&nbsp; I started investigating."<br><br>"I read diaries, lab books, computers.&nbsp; And an interesting picture emerged.&nbsp; The Chinese microbiologist, Dr. Chen, was a bigot of global proportions.&nbsp; He hated everyone who was not Chinese, some more than others.&nbsp; &nbsp;In fact, he did not consider them to be human.&nbsp; Not in the way that the Chinese people were human.&nbsp; He was quite mad, and frighteningly brilliant.&nbsp; His work would have won him the Nobel Prize someday.&nbsp; &nbsp;But his was not a passive hate.&nbsp; He had decided to do something about it. "<br><br>She began to pace the room.&nbsp; "Some of this is still speculative.&nbsp; I am good at what I do, but I am not in his class.&nbsp; He might have talked to Da Vinci as a peer, as but few others.&nbsp; I had nothing better to do, so I dug into his work.&nbsp; It was fascinating."&nbsp; She would circle the room, unconsciously straying closer to his cell each time, seeking comfort from her terrible knowledge.&nbsp; <br><br>"Slowly it began to dawn on me that something was ... off.&nbsp; He started referring to the need for Cleansing.&nbsp; For more room, more resources for the Chinese people.&nbsp; He mentioned space travel.&nbsp; Then another idea occurred to him.&nbsp; Something far more near term and convenient than interplanetary colonization."<br><br>Sonnet leaned against the wall and looked at Aleksandr steadily.&nbsp; "I tore apart his room after he talked about his allies and the fools they were.&nbsp; They didn't know that they were helping to bring about their own end.&nbsp; I broke down desks, chairs, tore out pieces of the walls, looking for more information.&nbsp; He was an obsessive documenter, most good scientists are, but he was more committed than most.&nbsp; And there were holes in his notes, missing information.&nbsp; It didn't make sense.&nbsp; And if there was anything he did, he made a terrible kind of sense.&nbsp; Finally I found what I was looking for in the leg of his bunk."<br><br>She saw Aleksandr becoming impatient and held up her hands.&nbsp; "He had engineered a new micro-organism.&nbsp; One that would ensure that the Chinese people had plenty of room to expand.&nbsp; &nbsp;But he needed vectors to ensure that enough people consumed enough of it for the engineered bacteria to affect people.&nbsp; And he found it.&nbsp; He would introduce it into the food supply.&nbsp; No one would notice the effect for quite awhile.&nbsp; That's what makes this so hideously brilliant."<br><br>Her eyes were bleak.&nbsp; "This does not kill anyone.&nbsp; It is more insidious than that. The microorganism is engineered to target specific genetic characteristics.&nbsp; Like my blue eyes.&nbsp; Like your Slavic cheekbones.&nbsp; Like Irish freckles.&nbsp; Characteristics that the Chinese do not have.&nbsp; Instead of killing people, which would result in a worldwide collaboration to fight the epidemic,&nbsp; it sterilizes them. "&nbsp; She paused to let the implications sink in.<br><br>"No one would notice right away.&nbsp; &nbsp;It would take years before enough data was correlated to show that this wasn't just a statistical fluke.&nbsp; Not just a country deciding to pay more attention to birth control.&nbsp; By then, it would be too late.&nbsp; The microbe not only sterilizes the parent, it sterilizes the young."<br><br>"He chose a species on which to do a test run.&nbsp; It was against the people he hated most."&nbsp; She opened her satchel and pulled out a bottle of vodka.&nbsp; "He chose the potato."<br><br>Now her gaze bore into Aleksandr's.&nbsp; "I had to know if you loved your country or if you hated it.&nbsp; It was something I could not tell from your file.&nbsp; That's why I drugged you.&nbsp; Because Dr. Chen's exact words in his lab book were "It is time for the Dragon to feed the Bear and to drink together a toast to the future."<br><br>"You see, Americans are mongrels.&nbsp; But in our group, I was the only American.&nbsp; Dr. Chen was the only Chinese.&nbsp; Four were Japanese, Asians, but genetically distinct from Chinese.&nbsp; Four of our expedition were Russian.&nbsp; They joked about Antarctica being too cold even for the Russian bear.&nbsp; I think he is targeting Russia.&nbsp; Of all the people on Earth, Chen hated the Russians the most, according to his diary.&nbsp; I don't know why."<br><br>She took a set of keys out of her pocket.&nbsp; "I know how Chen got off the ice.&nbsp; But more importantly, I know why he took my colleagues."&nbsp; <br><br>Still businesslike, Sonnet walked over to his cell "He needs guinea pigs ..."<br><br>She inserted the key in the door and turned it. <br><br>"And ... carriers."
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Fire and Ice</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Davikk</strong> on <strong>28-12-2010, 20:33:25</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Her Russian seemed to impress him, as indicated by subtle shifts in his body language.&nbsp; He would never praise her overtly.&nbsp; But there were small nods of his head as she wrapped her tongue around certain hard to pronounce words, or perfectly captured subtle nuances of phrasing. <br><br>Aleksandr listened to her story intently.&nbsp; He did not express sympathy for her plight, though she could see from the look in her eyes that he was impressed at her survival instincts.&nbsp; Like any good operative, he absorbed the details of her tale, and filled in the gaps in her narrative with his own conclusions.&nbsp; <br><br>“Dr. Chen,” he said with the hint of a smirk.&nbsp; “I should like to say I know this name, but that would be akin to you telling me your father is named John Smith, and then pretending to know him.&nbsp; I would guess half of Chinese scientists are called Dr. Chen.” <br><br>The details that Sonnet gradually unfolded had the quality of a paperback thriller.&nbsp; Something dog eared, pulled from the back of a spinner rack in the top floor of a library, its pages yellowed, the book having long since gone out of print.&nbsp; It was lurid and outrageous.&nbsp; Some might say unbelievable. <br><br>But Aleksandr had been around the world enough times to know that few things were truly unbelievable. <br><br>“I have heard of such things.&nbsp; Seen plans.&nbsp; But never any actual organism.&nbsp; Only theories.&nbsp; This Dr. Chen, if he has done this, then he is as brilliant as you say.” <br><br>He bristled as she finally came around to the crux of the matter.&nbsp; Poisoned vodka was about the most offensive thing he could imagine.&nbsp; It struck, no doubt as Chen intended, right at the heart of the Russian soul.&nbsp; And it would be spectacularly effective.&nbsp; The old patriotic fervor was burning in his eyes now.&nbsp; <br><br>She had him, despite her transgressions. <br><br>“Relations between China and Russia have always been strained.&nbsp; Back to the days of the Tsars.&nbsp; And when Mao asked for Soviet help? Soviets treat China like little brother.&nbsp; China not too happy, it wounds their pride, you see?”<br><br>“Some never forget these things.&nbsp; Many resent Soviets.&nbsp; Especially now that China is growing, and needs Russian oil.&nbsp; And still?&nbsp; Russia treats China like annoying child.&nbsp; If you were developing superpower, and had to ask for help from Russians, who have lost much power, you would not want to be patronized to, would you?” <br><br>“So now, little brother is trying to get rid of big bear.&nbsp; I understand it.”&nbsp; &nbsp;Which was not to say he would take it lying down. <br><br>Aleksandr stepped out of the cell.<br><br>“So, I find Dr. Chen and colleagues, and what?&nbsp; Burn his samples?”&nbsp; By implication, that meant not just burning what had been produced in the lab, but those colleagues as well, all of them potential carriers. <br><br>“How do you know Chen has not already released microorganism?&nbsp; &nbsp;How do you know is not already too late?”&nbsp; &nbsp; The Russian soul, always thinking of the most pessimistic scenario first. <br><br>“You have first name of Chen?&nbsp; I think I could find him, if I had that.” <br><br><br><br><br><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Fire and Ice</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Tylia</strong> on <strong>30-12-2010, 18:19:00</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Sonnet listened to Aleksandr's analysis, her face thoughtful, listening quietly.&nbsp; <br><br>It was easy to think of Aleksandr as a man of violence.&nbsp; He was a big man with hard lithe muscles defined in the way of a martial artist, not a body builder.&nbsp; Speed with strength.&nbsp; There was a coiled menace about him even in repose.&nbsp; But to think of him as only a man of violence would be a mistake.&nbsp; His intelligence made him far more dangerous than that.&nbsp; A canny Russian wolf not a lumbering Russian bear.&nbsp; <br><br>Sonnet was a courteous woman whose manner was respectful of all, but, in truth, she respected few.&nbsp; As Aleksandr spoke, however, there was a flash of rare respect for him in her eyes and she nodded in agreement.&nbsp; <br><br>The prison door stood open between them and she had retreated to the table, perching on it, one leg on the floor, the other swinging a small foot that remained dainty even in Asolo Stynger Gtx hiking boots.&nbsp; The no-frills boot of a serious explorer.<br><br>"Chen Jianyu" she answered his question of the scientist's name.&nbsp; "is a polymath.&nbsp; He is brilliant in biochemistry, but also invents his own equipment, as Da Vinci did, and earns enough royalties from his patents to fund his own work.&nbsp; And like Da Vinci, he is a gifted artist, whose work hangs in art museums around the world.&nbsp; He rarely uses color, preferring pen and ink and charcoal, and he never draws people.&nbsp; All of his drawings are of animals and plants, occasionally landscapes, but there is intense power to them, with distinctive elements of complexity and clarity rising from a soft, almost dreamlike, background.&nbsp; They are beautiful, and I believe unconsciously representative of how he thinks.&nbsp; I tell you this because he does not think in a typical fashion for a scientist ... or an artist.&nbsp; He has more tools to draw on than most and uses them well."&nbsp; <br><br><div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote">Quote</div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote">“So, I find Dr. Chen and colleagues, and what?&nbsp; Burn his samples?”&nbsp; By implication, that meant not just burning what had been produced in the lab, but those colleagues as well, all of them potential carriers. <br></blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div><br>Sonnet chewed her bottom lip.&nbsp; "I'm not sure, yet.&nbsp; It depends on what we find."&nbsp; She slid off the table and unconsciously assumed the posture of a lecturer, articulating what was clearly an on-going inner debate.&nbsp; <br><br>"No matter how we might wish it, we can't put the genie back into the bottle.&nbsp; Often just knowing that something can be done in science is almost as good as having the instructions.&nbsp; In order to make enough quantities of his organisms, he will have to let other scientists become involved.&nbsp; Who knows where they have gone with their knowledge?&nbsp; They will then do their research and involve others, and so forth, each sharing - or infecting - the next with knowledge."&nbsp; <br><br>She paced back and forth in front of him, arguing with herself, "The only way to combat something like this ... is to do it better and figure out how to reverse the plague.&nbsp; For that, we need everything ... and everyone ... intact."<br><br>Her head tilted and her eyes narrowed as she regarded him with a professional's cool mixture of objectivity, respect, and grudging admiration when Aleksandr asked the critical question.<br><br><div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote">Quote</div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote">“How do you know Chen has not already released microorganism?&nbsp; &nbsp;How do you know is not already too late?”&nbsp; &nbsp; The Russian soul, always thinking of the most pessimistic scenario first. <br></blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div><br>Sonnet's blue eyes held the first bit of warmth he had seen since she locked him in the cell.&nbsp; "What has always saved your people, tovarisch.&nbsp; The Russian winter.&nbsp; Even Chen Jianyu cannot grow potatoes in the snow."<br><br>Her eyes grew worried.&nbsp; &nbsp;"But he might be able to spread the microbe, even in winter.&nbsp; It depends whether cold kills the organisms or just renders them dormant.&nbsp; If it is the latter, than it may be too late to stop him from spreading the bacteria, he may have already done it.&nbsp; But I don't think so."<br><br>Sonnet gave him a wintry smile.&nbsp; "It is January in Russia.&nbsp; He would have to spread them on a field and wait for a thaw.&nbsp; In that case, crop duster planes would be the most efficient.&nbsp; But he can't just go around crop dusting snow bound farms without being noticed.&nbsp; And then the microbes would be a dusty package on the tops of the snow.&nbsp; Investigations would occur and the critical secrecy he needs will be compromised."<br><br>She resumed her pacing, sleek as an ocelot, with fluid boneless strides that spoke of a feminine strength.&nbsp; She would endure.&nbsp; &nbsp;<br><br>"I'm thinking he will need to have a large impact as soon as he can - but to work, no one can know that it is happening, and he is a patient man.&nbsp; So my guess is that he will put the microbes into the kinds of fertilizer or mulch that commercial growers use for their farms.&nbsp; Again I'm guessing is that he will choose the biggest production company first, then the second biggest, etc.&nbsp; I think he will have to buy or somehow control the manufacturing process well enough to slip these new materials into the bags.&nbsp; Old timers working at the factory will know that something new has been added, but he can tell them - through Russian front men -- that this will assure the best crop.&nbsp; It is new science.&nbsp; Will make them rich.&nbsp; Everyone will want their product."<br><br>Sonnet shrugged.&nbsp; "Who knows ... given how good he is, that might also be true."<br><br>Her blue eyes were cool as she searched Aleksandr's, measuring the man.&nbsp; "Those were hypotheses, Aleksandrovich.&nbsp; And they may be wrong.&nbsp; You do not think like me and we will need that.&nbsp; At every step of the way, I may be wrong.&nbsp; I am praying that you will counterbalance my errors and that we will not both be wrong at the same time."<br><br>She favored him with a small wintry smile that barely touched her eyes.&nbsp; "I do not think I will need to coax you to speak your mind, eh tovarisch?"<br><br>Her voice and manner softened.&nbsp; "I humbly apologize for what I did to you, but I had only one chance at this, and I had to be sure.&nbsp; I cannot go to my own government, because someone there, maybe multiple someones, is in on this.<br><br>"Dr. Chen should never have been out on the ice in winter.&nbsp; It took considerable pull to make that happen.&nbsp; Also, I wasn't arrested.&nbsp; They just let me go, to harvest me at a later time, no doubt, when they need a scapegoat.&nbsp; Someone with a lot of bureaucratic juice made that happen too.&nbsp; I didn't know who I could trust.&nbsp; But as they say "The enemy of my enemy is my friend."&nbsp; And, comrade, they were most afraid of you."<br><br>Without meaning to, Sonnet's eyes wandered over Aleksandr's body regretfully.&nbsp; "I will leave you to get dressed," she said softly.&nbsp; "Please join me upstairs when you are ready."<br><br><br><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Fire and Ice</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Davikk</strong> on <strong>01-01-2011, 08:54:18</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				“I have to get dressed?” He asked with a casual smirk. <br><br>“I drink vodka last night.&nbsp; Maybe I am infertile now.&nbsp; You don’t want to test?”&nbsp; &nbsp;A master of keeping his options open, Aleksandr could pass the words off as a joke if she turned him down.&nbsp; But he had just enough seriousness in his voice that if she decided to take him up on the offer, she would not think he’d made the suggestion merely on a lark. <br><br>When Sonnet did not leap at his offer, he began to dress, pulling his clothes on quickly.&nbsp; But he lingered for a time, stepping out of the cell but then leaning against the bars.&nbsp; His hand was on his chin, and the Russian was clearly thinking.&nbsp; &nbsp;Sonnet was allowed to go upstairs. <br><br>He slid up behind her quietly.&nbsp; She’d not know he was behind her until he put both hands on her shoulders.&nbsp; He stepped forward, chest against her back.&nbsp; He did nothing to hurt her, but his grip was tight enough that she could not easily squirm away. <br><br>“I will help you.&nbsp; And help you fill in gaps.&nbsp; Help you see what you cannot see. We will do this together.&nbsp; Glasnost and all, yes?”&nbsp; That last part was said with an ironic chuckle. <br><br>“But when this is over,” he leaned forward, mouth just above her ear.&nbsp; “We talk about your tactics, yes?”&nbsp; Nothing in his tone or demeanor was overtly threatening.&nbsp; But if she did not feel a chill, then she was made of very stern stuff. <br><br>“I have been thinking,” as his talk shifted to the task at hand, he moved around to stand before her. <br><br>“What you describe requires money and secrecy.&nbsp; Sure, Antarctic good place to start.&nbsp; But for all that you describe? Man need access to lots of money.&nbsp; That means sponsor.&nbsp; I know of man just crazy enough to bankroll Chen.&nbsp; Man with, as you say ‘beareaucratic juice’ – a good term, I must say.” <br><br>“I try to kill him once.&nbsp; I am hoping second time is charm.&nbsp; And like you say, this man he is afraid of me.&nbsp; No one else get as close to killing him as me.”&nbsp; If she thought she heard pride in his voice, she’d not be mistaken.&nbsp; <br><br>“I need to make calls.&nbsp; Need you to get prepaid cell phone.&nbsp; Harder to trace.&nbsp; Also, need laptop.&nbsp; Need to create new identities.&nbsp; Hard to do without laptop.&nbsp; You can get these things?” <br><br>Suddenly, he reached forward, taking her by the arm, bringing her body closer to his. <br><br>“There are things you must know of Chinese mind,” he said.&nbsp; “Things that maybe you’ve heard, but now you need to <b>know</b> deep in veins.” <br><br>Russia, straddling as it did both the eastern and western world, had a foot in both.&nbsp; Aleksandr had a perspective on things that would be valuable in this mission. <br><br>“In West, individual is what matters most.&nbsp; Individual rights.&nbsp; One person drive car.&nbsp; Even marriage and family?&nbsp; Start when two individuals make decision.&nbsp; You see, in West, value is on individual.&nbsp; Look at religion.&nbsp; God give only son so that you can be saved.&nbsp; Great man die for you.” <br><br>“In Asia?&nbsp; Individual not so important.&nbsp; His name, as you say, is Chen Jianyu.&nbsp; Chen is family name, not given name.&nbsp; Family name come first because unit is important.&nbsp; Collective is number one, not person.&nbsp; You know what heaven is in Buddhism?&nbsp; It not endless paradise where individual live off milk and honey.&nbsp; In Buddhism, great heaven is complete obliteration of self.&nbsp; Very different, you see.” <br><br>“This mean something very important.&nbsp; Chen focus on collective.&nbsp; On Chinese as whole.&nbsp; This mean no one Chinese is important.&nbsp; He will sacrifice friends, family, maybe even himself, if it advances collective.&nbsp; &nbsp;This makes him dangerous.&nbsp; One death means nothing.&nbsp; One million deaths means nothing, if it preserve life of one million and one other Chinese.”<br><br>“Very dangerous.” <br><br>Aleksandr released her arm then, and nodded, indicating that she should go, procur him the prepaid “burner” cellphone and laptop he’d requested. <br><br><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Fire and Ice</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Tylia</strong> on <strong>02-01-2011, 00:46:09</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				She stood in the large modern kitchen of the deceptively old house and stared down at the table.&nbsp; There were neat piles of paper in precise order dotting its surface, each one a clue, with research notes and evidence behind it.&nbsp; Those that she was most sure about occupied the top row, left side.&nbsp; Those she was least sure of were usually in smaller piles, presented at the lower right.&nbsp; <br><br>Sonnet had spent months finding and organizing and reviewing this data.&nbsp; It represented everything she knew about Chen and about the explosion and disappearance in Antarctica.&nbsp; But the result was not just the work of an orderly mind.&nbsp; Their were intuitive leaps, backed up by ruthlessly rigorous and skeptical analysis.&nbsp; The documents on the table were either in Russian or English.&nbsp; She had prepared them for Aleksandr.&nbsp; The top page summarized what she knew, followed by what alternatives fit the data, and what she guessed.&nbsp; Conclusions were neatly numbered.&nbsp; Each statement was followed by a page number, referring to the pages below.&nbsp; He could examine the evidence and question it.&nbsp; It would be hard to find evidence of ego or wishful thinking in her analyses.&nbsp; It was austerely objective.<br><br>But while the woman's eyes focused on the table, she did not see it at all.&nbsp; She was looking inward to the dark windswept interior of the sovereign nation of Sonnet,&nbsp; population one. It was a cold and barren landscape of endless winter and endless dark.&nbsp; Part of her had never left the ice.&nbsp; The wind was always rushing through her, scouring her clean of human needs.&nbsp; <br><br>Suddenly red hot flares shot across the ice as Aleksandr's hands gripped her shoulders.&nbsp; She had not heard him coming, had not sensed his presence.&nbsp; She was not used to people being near her.&nbsp; He ambushed her with feeling, making adrenaline shoot through her veins like lava flowing through a glacier from an arctic volcano, newly born.&nbsp; <br><br><div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote">Quote</div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote">“I drink vodka last night.&nbsp; Maybe I am infertile now.&nbsp; You don’t want to test?”<br></blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div>He had stolen a smile from her before, a genuine one.&nbsp; Even minutes later, she could feel the stretch of muscles long unused in tingling lines on her cheeks.&nbsp; He had ambushed her again, and his breath threatened spring.&nbsp; She felt a crack in the ice.<br><br><div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote">Quote</div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote">“But when this is over,” he leaned forward, mouth just above her ear.&nbsp; “We talk about your tactics, yes?”&nbsp; <br></blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div>Sonnet tensed, feeling not a chill, but something more dangerous to her ... Warmth.&nbsp; Still safe in the winter fortress she had created, she only nodded, acknowledging his right.&nbsp; There would be a reckoning, if they both lived.&nbsp; Aleksandr was not a man to overlook her trespass.&nbsp; But that would come later.&nbsp; <br><br>He did not press the point, but let her go, focusing on the business at hand.&nbsp; She listened, grudgingly impressed again at what he knew and how he put pieces together, and the wheels he had set in motion years before they had ever met.&nbsp; <br><br>She crossed her arms in front of her breasts as she faced him, unconsciously erecting obstacles.&nbsp; His story made sense, and she nodded thoughtfully.&nbsp; "If you tried to kill a rich and powerful man, then he might be unreasonably afraid of you, even if you knew nothing about this."&nbsp; She considered the data dispassionately before venturing a hypothesis.&nbsp; "You must have scared him quite a bit.&nbsp; The file he had on you was large, the result of much work, much wealth expended for that purpose.&nbsp; It was ... obsessive."&nbsp; As obsessive as a woman going up against him alone except for an out of work former spy.<br><br>"I can get the things you request.&nbsp; I have sources I trust."&nbsp; When he looked a professional's question at her she answered cooly.&nbsp; "Randomness.&nbsp; I will use a computer to randomly select sources for the purchases.&nbsp; And I'll pay cash."&nbsp; <br><br>That was the nice thing about Buenos Aires.&nbsp; Credit cards were for tourists.&nbsp; Burn phones were a cottage industry.&nbsp; Many of Buenos Aires' inhabitants preferred not to leave paper trails, and the suppliers worked hard to provide untraceable electronic goods.&nbsp; The lives of their families often required it.<br><br>But before she could leave, Aleksandr pulled her to him, pulled her arms apart.&nbsp; His heat found cracks in her armor and the memory of his touch remained, weakening the ice below his fingers.&nbsp; Spring might be coming, but it was still a long ways away.&nbsp; <br><br>He warned her of danger.&nbsp; Her blue eyes met his.&nbsp; "I understand." she said.&nbsp; "I will be obvious and clumsy in my actions, because I do not know enough to be clever.&nbsp; I will be trying to rebuild my life, my reputation ... my ... sanity.&nbsp; All the things they stole from me."<br><br>He let her go and she walked to the door, opening it.&nbsp; "Perhaps I will visit a lawyer and talk about lawsuits.&nbsp; Who knows, perhaps this will make me rich."&nbsp; <br><br>As jokes go, it was not much of one, not much more than a candle in the snow.&nbsp; But it was a start.<br><br>Sonnet returned an unapologetic eight hours later with four different laptops, two of them Apples which were notoriously difficult to hack, and no less than a dozen phones, all picked up from different places.&nbsp; <br><br>She also had beef and other groceries.&nbsp; After getting everything inside, she went into the kitchen to prepare dinner.<br><br>A transference of power had occurred between the two.&nbsp; Aleksandr was now in charge, planning their next moves.&nbsp; Sonnet was subordinate, providing technical and logistics support.&nbsp; They fell into the roles easily, and despite their rocky beginning, meshed well.<br><br>Sonnet admitted that she did not know what to do and was a team player on many dangerous scientific expeditions.&nbsp; She was comfortable yielding control of their mission to Aleksandr, and in speaking her mind when she either disagreed or had information that he did not have.&nbsp; &nbsp;<br><br>Aleksandr, despite what he had said about following orders, was a lone wolf who either led missions or worked alone.&nbsp; <br><br>It was twenty-two hours since they had met.&nbsp; Sonnet had not slept at all.&nbsp; Aleksandr had slept drugged.&nbsp; <br><br>And though neither of them knew it, time was running out.<br><br>They had sixty-four hours left before it all began to fall apart.<br><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Fire and Ice</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Davikk</strong> on <strong>02-01-2011, 07:54:58</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				The Russian sat at the table, back straight, and held the papers in his hands.&nbsp; He read them slowly and thoughtfully as Sonnet prepared dinner.&nbsp; More than once, she would see him shuffle papers, going back to check on a footnote, or to cross-check something.&nbsp; There were a few technical terms whose definitions he requested, as he was not so proud as to let his ignorance get in the way of understanding. <br><br>Whatever conclusions he drew, he kept to himself.&nbsp; But in time, he did ask for a pencil, and he wrote notes along the margins, so that if she wished to see some of his conclusions, there would be a record. <br><br>He was finished by the time dinner was ready, and he sat down to eat with her.&nbsp; &nbsp;If she looked, she would catch him watching her.&nbsp; He seemed to be continuing his study of Sonnet Dellachance.&nbsp; &nbsp;And seemed to think that he could chip away her icy façade through the power of his stare. <br><br>“I try to kill many rich and powerful men,” he’d said to her, resuming their before meal conversation without preamble.&nbsp; The words were not boastful, but nor were they apologetic.&nbsp; He was a man capable of violence when it was necessary.&nbsp; That was who she’d come to for help.<br><br>“Usually, I succeed.&nbsp; This time? I did not.&nbsp; Is great regret in life, letting him live.&nbsp; I see now I should not have been so willing to walk away.” <br><br>“Someday, I shall have to see his files on me.&nbsp; Am very curious to know what others say of me.” <br><br>After dinner, he insisted on clearing the table and cleaning the dishes. <br><br>“Is only fair,” he said to her, “you cook, I clean.&nbsp; Besides, is good sometimes to do mindless tasks while dealing with large thoughts.&nbsp; Focus on work and subconscious draws conclusions more easily.&nbsp; You know Einstein?” He chuckled.&nbsp; That seemed to be his version of a joke.<br><br>“He work as clerk in patent office.&nbsp; Stupid, mindless drudgery help him think up all his theories.&nbsp; Is same idea.&nbsp; I clean dishes, figure out how to stop Chen.”&nbsp; &nbsp;Again, he chuckled.&nbsp; <br><br>Well, what sort of humor did you expect from a remorseless killer born in a frozen land? <br><br>Once done, he began to set up the laptops and began the task of falsifying identities.&nbsp; He’d create several for each of them, so that they could be discarded when no longer useful.&nbsp; A digital camera took pictures, which he could then transfer to a forger, who would be able to make things like passports and driver’s licenses, which were too difficult to create without high end equipment.&nbsp; Those they would have to pick up tomorrow. <br><br>“Come here,” he said, as the laptops worked silently in the background, collating and uploading data.&nbsp; These were automatic processes and did not require his supervision. <br><br>Aleksandr went to the sofa and sat down, one leg stretched out along the back of the sofa, the other leg on the floor.&nbsp; <br><br>“Come,” he said again, waving her over.&nbsp; “Sit with back to me.”&nbsp; She seemed wary of him, but he continued to wave her over until Sonnet sat down, her back against his chest. <br><br>“You’ve had trauma.&nbsp; Your nerves are shot.&nbsp; I hear you screaming, remember.&nbsp; You need to relax.&nbsp; I don’t mean that as cliché.&nbsp; I mean, you need to let body relax and release tension, or you will fail when things get heated.” <br><br>“So now, you relax.” <br><br>He placed his hands on her shoulders and began to rub, working his fingers into her muscles, soothing and easing the knots. Later, he would use the heel of his palm to work the muscles even better. <br><br>“I rub back and shoulders.&nbsp; You relax.&nbsp; Then you sleep.&nbsp; Have peaceful dreams.&nbsp; Tomorrow, adventure begins.” <br><br>The words sounded friendly enough.&nbsp; Yet, there could be no mistaking the fact that these were orders, not suggestions. <br><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Fire and Ice</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Tylia</strong> on <strong>02-01-2011, 18:30:07</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Sonnet watched Aleksandr work through the piles of information she had prepared for him.<br><br>He was such a big man that he dwarfed the table, looking like a grownup sitting at a child's desk at Back to School Night, going through his child's papers with a tolerant but critical eye.<br><br>Unbidden, the image came to her mind of thousands of schools across Russia bereft of children.&nbsp; Silent classrooms, empty desks, chairs neatly pushed under them, bereft of gaily colored papers proudly describing "Who I am" in their very best handwriting.&nbsp; Family trees cut off forever.<br><br>The need to do something, anything, burned in her despite her fatigue, so falling back on her mother's surefire ritual against all life's catastrophes big and small, she began to clean things.<br><br>She swept the kitchen floor, tidied the dishes she had used to cook, set the dining room table, dusted the living room, vacuumed.<br><br>Dinner was a thoughtful affair between the two of them.&nbsp; Sonnet was a good cook and had grilled thick, juicy steaks at the small gas grill on the porch.&nbsp; She made baked potatoes and offered sour cream and butter to go with them, corn on the cob, mushrooms and onions to accompany the steak, and salad from Argentina's bounty.&nbsp; She could not remember when she had enjoyed cooking ... or eating ... more.<br><br>Aleksandr had asked good questions, insightful questions, focusing on different things than she had.&nbsp; One of them was how many different species could Chen's bacteria infect.&nbsp; <br><br>"Probably no other," Sonnet said after thinking about it for a long time.&nbsp; "The vector has to work a certain way or his attempt will fail.&nbsp; First, it has to be able to be administered so that it affects a lot of people more or less simultaneously.&nbsp; Second, it has to infect the edible part of the plant, but only enough to settle the bacteria in the potato, not enough to cause a blight that would have people reject the potato and look for causes.&nbsp; And it can't make the rest of the potato plant look unhealthy for the same reason.&nbsp; Then it has to be something that can withstand the harvesting and storage and cooking and fermenting process.&nbsp; There's a lot of things that go on there, not just heat, but pressure and changes in pH as well.&nbsp; So, I suspect the bacteria is a spore former.&nbsp; Then it has to be tailored to target only people with one set of genetic markers, withstand stomach acids, the body's immune system, and get to the right parts of the sex organs and irreparably damage them without causing enough of an infection or distress to send thousands of people to their doctors simultaneously, thereby raising an alarm."<br><br>The room was silent enough to hear the clink of silverware on the plates.&nbsp; Sonnet looked at Aleksandr.&nbsp; "I don't think he can do that with multiple species.&nbsp; Yet."<br><br>She was aware of his eyes on her, measuring, studying. He was a surprisingly thoughtful man, for a killer.&nbsp; Sonnet looked up and met his gaze, then slowly lowered her fork, folding her hands in front of her, as her direct eyes searched his.&nbsp; "You must also seriously consider the hypothesis that I may not only be wrong, but ... mad ... as well.&nbsp; Isolation like that ... affects ... the mind."&nbsp; She spoke as dispassionately as if she were speaking of a character in a movie.<br><br>Then she lifted her fork again and resumed eating, the food bringing a bit of flush back to her unnaturally pale skin.&nbsp; <br><br>He won another wintry smile from her as he did dishes and her respect for him raised a notch.&nbsp; She had worked with all sorts of teams and was a student of group dynamics.&nbsp; In some, the team leader felt that his status was kept by leaving the menial chores to the underlings.&nbsp; The great leaders knew otherwise.&nbsp; Great team leaders showed by example that all tasks were important enough for him to care about, and to do personally.&nbsp; Taking their turn at the onerous chores elminated bellyaching and resentment.&nbsp; When the chips were down, those were the teams that survived.&nbsp; <br><br>After the chores were done, she was wired and tired, a deadly combination in a dangerous expedition.&nbsp; Affecting mostly newbies, it was caused by too little sleep and too much adrenaline.&nbsp; Aleksandr recognized the signs.&nbsp; Sonnet would not make this mistake on a remote mountaintop, but here in the city of Argentina, she did not appreciate the fact that their situation was every bit as dangerous ... more dangerous, in fact ... than it had been on the ice. <br><br>She approached him as warily as a curious cat might approach a sleeping wolf, but she obeyed.&nbsp; <br><br>When he put his hands on her neck, she stiffened and almost moved away, but he spoke gently but firmly to her, and his words made sense ... and his hands were already working their magic.<br><br>Sonnet moaned in pleasure as tense muscles began to loosen under his expert touch.&nbsp; He worked silently, his big hands firm and sensual, at the edge of erotic, but not enough to wake those frozen fires.&nbsp; His hands soothed, comforted, healed.&nbsp; No one had touched her in months and her body and mind were starving for the simple profound miracle of human touch.&nbsp; Touch.&nbsp; Without it, we wither inside, feeling shunned from the herd, exiled from humanity.&nbsp; One of the biggest reasons for family is hugs.&nbsp; Even a brief one can save a person.&nbsp; When we wish to punish someone ... or break them ... we leave them alone.<br><br>Sonnet began to melt and Aleksandr would feel her gratitude yield to trust, perhaps a foolish trust but an understandable one, her head drooping.&nbsp; Carefully, he laid her unresisting body down on the couch, continuing the massage until her eyes closed and her breathing became regular and dreams danced behind her eyelids.&nbsp; <br><br>A few minutes later, he returned with a quilt and covered her.&nbsp; She did not stir.<br><br>&nbsp; 
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Fire and Ice</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Davikk</strong> on <strong>03-01-2011, 06:24:16</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				For Aleksandr Rudakov, it was a long and dark night. <br><br>He drank vodka, straight from the bottle, and sat on the floor, Sonnet’s papers spread out before him.&nbsp; She slumbered peacefully on the sofa, and occasionally, he looked up to make sure she remained asleep.<br><br>But for the most part, his eyes were fixated on the papers. <br><br>He slept finally, stretched out on the floor, arms folded under his head.&nbsp; He’d slept peacefully under far less comfortable circumstances.&nbsp; Special forces training had taught him the Uberman sleep schedule, a way of maximizing REM sleep while minimizing non REM sleep.&nbsp; &nbsp; Doing this meant he needed only a few hours of sleep and he would wake up refreshed. <br><br>“I have been thinking about your madness,” he said, as Sonnet came awake. <br><br>“And about this,” he was still seated on the floor, her notes spread out in front of him.&nbsp; They’d been re-collated, this time in a way that helped organize his own thoughts. <br><br>“Dr. Jianguo Chen.&nbsp; He is, in your words, a polymath.&nbsp; He invents own equipment, operates at higher level than even world’s greatest minds.&nbsp; &nbsp;He creates museum worthy pieces of art.” <br><br>“This is what he does with his genius.&nbsp; Genocide.” <br><br>“Six billion people in world Sonnet,” he looked at the notes she made and shook his head.&nbsp; “Dr. Chen, great mind of twenty first century’s big plan is to shrink world to one billion Chinese.&nbsp; Greatest genius in world, and he does not think bigger than six billion.” <br><br>“His great mind conceives of world that is smaller.” <br><br>“I am bad person, I admit it.&nbsp; I am killer.&nbsp; I kill many men.&nbsp; I am no saint.&nbsp; Does not bother me. I am what I am.&nbsp; But if I think of future?&nbsp; I think of world with colonies on moon.&nbsp; Or world with farms in Sahara.&nbsp; If I have his genius? I made deserts arid, and build condos on Mars.” <br><br>“Why is greatest mind in world thinking so small? I tell you, Sonnet.” <br><br>“It is because he is madman.” <br><br>He came forward then, and reached out, gripping Sonnet’s chin.&nbsp; He brought her face to his, and their eyes locked.&nbsp; He scrutinized her.&nbsp; If the eyes were the windows to the soul, then he was seeing hers clearly now. <br><br>“I see no madness there.&nbsp; You are sane.” <br><br>“I kill many men in life, for many reasons.&nbsp; But I kill this Dr. Chen because he is madman.&nbsp; He is rabid dog, and needs to be put down.” <br><br>He released her then, and bent down, gathering papers. <br><br>“Come,” he says.&nbsp; “Take shower, change, do whatever you need to do.&nbsp; Today we get new passports and begin journey.”&nbsp; <br><br><br><br>
			</dd>
			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Fire and Ice</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Tylia</strong> on <strong>03-01-2011, 16:35:39</strong>
			</dt>
			<dd class="postbody">
				Sonnet woke instantly, as she always did, and found Aleksandr's eyes on her.&nbsp; <br><br>She met his gaze and smiled faintly at him, "Good morning".&nbsp; <br><br>It had been the first good night's sleep she had had in a long time.&nbsp; The subliminal awareness of the Russian's presence reassured her during her slumber, made her feel safe enough to abandon herself to a sleep deeper than any that she had felt since before the ice.&nbsp; His hands had rubbed away the knots of tension she didn't even know she had, had healed something she was not even aware had been wounded.&nbsp; <br><br>Her eyes wandered to those hands, watching them organize her data.&nbsp; Strong, deft fingers.&nbsp; Killer's hands that could be surprisingly delicate.&nbsp; Then she remembered the way he had gripped the bars until his knuckles turned white.&nbsp; Or not.<br><br>Sonnet stood up and stretched, a joint popping stretch as she reached to the ceiling, then bent to touch the floor.&nbsp; <br><br><div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote">Quote</div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote">“I have been thinking about your madness," </blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div><br>Her head was near her knees and she turned to look at Aleksandr, sitting on the floor.&nbsp; Slowly she rose and then folded her lithe body to kneel next to him, her eyes grave and intent on his face.&nbsp; She had shuttered down.<br><br>What happened next was so unexpected that it slipped past all her defenses.&nbsp; Aleksandr's exposition was eloquent in the clarity of his analysis, and she was taken aback at the well-organized brilliance he showed in cutting through the mounds of data and distilling it into information that carried the imprint of his own perceptions, his own experiences.&nbsp; He had come to the same conclusion she did but by a different route.&nbsp; She nodded as she sifted through his notes, nodding as he saw things she had overlooked, fitting the pieces more tightly into the puzzle.&nbsp; Her shoulder brushed his comfortably from time to time.&nbsp; Colleagues on the hunt.&nbsp; Comrades preparing for battle.&nbsp; <br><br>It was not so much that she had underestimated Aleksandr as that she had not estimated him correctly at all.&nbsp; The Russian showed glimpses of a visionary, not the wild-eyed kind, but someone who could see farther and clearer than others towards a possible future, to many possible futures.&nbsp; It was the last thing she had expected to find in the soul of a killer.<br><br>Aleksandr Rudakov had reviewed Chen's work and found it ... small.&nbsp; Suddenly the brilliant monster who had loomed so frighteningly over her life since she was left alone on the ice, a man she had respected and revered for his genius, shrunk.&nbsp; She had made Chen a Great Man, Aleksandr had shown him to be so much less.&nbsp; A madman to be confined or killed before he hurt himself and others.&nbsp; A criminal, not a dragon.&nbsp; A man who could lose.&nbsp; <br><br>Suddenly he gripped her chin and she gasped, staring at Aleksandr with wide startled eyes.&nbsp; &nbsp;He peered into them as if delving into her soul, locking her gaze to his, holding it there.&nbsp; Her hand came up instinctively to touch his wrist.&nbsp; Nerves skittered and fired.&nbsp; Warmth gripped her.&nbsp; <br><br><div class="quoteheader"><div class="topslice_quote">Quote</div></div><blockquote class="bbc_standard_quote">“I see no madness there.&nbsp; You are sane.” </blockquote><div class="quotefooter"><div class="botslice_quote"></div></div><br>Tears of gratitude sprang into her eyes before he even finished speaking.&nbsp; Her breath caught in her throat and her hand on his wrist trembled and tightened.&nbsp; The ice cracked.&nbsp; <br><br>When he released her, she neatly folded the quilt and carried it to the linen closet, dealing with enormity with small chores.&nbsp; Aleksandr and Sonnet both understood the utility of small important things.&nbsp; <br><br>Before leaving the room to shower, Sonnet paused as the edge of the doorway, watching Aleksandr, already absorbed in a new line of study.&nbsp; When he felt her gaze on him and looked up, she touched her fingers to her lips in the universal sign of thanks used by the deaf.&nbsp; <br><br>"Spasibo, Aleksandrovich," she said softly.<br><br>++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++<br><br>Hot water sluiced down Sonnet's body as she sobbed.&nbsp; Ever since she was a little girl, when she needed to cry without alerting anxious loving parents, she took a shower.&nbsp; <br><br>Red eyes could always be explained away by shampoo in them, and the water covered any sounds she might emit.<br><br>She sat on the floor of the shower and buried her head in her hands, crying out a thousand nameless fears, a thousand tensions, all loosed by Aleksandr's massage, ... but even more by his vote of confidence.&nbsp; <br><br>He could have kept her off-balance and tractable by endorsing her fears of madness.&nbsp; She would have believed them. But he didn't.&nbsp; People she had known for years had shunned her after she was rescued.&nbsp; Friends shied away, thinking not so much that she was someone who had killed nine people, but that she could be.&nbsp; No one would want her on another expedition.&nbsp; Her career was over.&nbsp; But this strange clear-eyed man from Russia declared her sane.<br><br>But if she was right about Chen, and she believed she was, then all of the opinions of her colleagues paled into insignificance.&nbsp; Chen was a rabid dog, as Aleksandr said.&nbsp; He had to be stopped.<br><br>Sonnet emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of fragrant moist air that smelled of coconut shampoo and delicate floral soap.&nbsp; Her towel-dried hair was a mass of ringlets and she had changed into loose cargo pants and another tank top, this one with a bra under it.&nbsp; <br><br>She wore the supple hiking boots that would let her walk, climb, and run as needed.&nbsp; <br><br>With comb and brush, she ruthlessly corralled her curly hair into a ponytail.&nbsp; <br><br>She was ready for action.<br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br><br>
			</dd>
		</dl>
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