Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Coming Home ❯ 59 ( Chapter 59 )

59

 

spürst du diese Macht?!

 

::What the fuck? Far, what's going on?:: I gritted my teeth against the swelling headache, but I had to know.

 

Farfarello picked a course like a demented elf, moving through the hills and woods as though he had lived there all his life. This was giving me a bad sense of déjà vu - my shoulder ached in nostalgia as I recalled my own mad flight through the urban woodlands of the Takatori Plaza.

 

::Patience, Pretty. All will be explained. Or, at least as much of it as I have for you.::

 

Bloody hell.

 

I was so disgruntled I nearly clotheslined myself on Far's outflung arm. Backpedaling to catch my balance, I looked up to see we'd arrived at a road. The asphalt gleamed like a black snake in the faint starlight; there were no streetlamps.

 

Clinging to the edge of cover, we followed the street; I risked a brief scan to check for nearby motorists. I found one, but I didn't enjoy the experience: a returning flash of telepathy nearly knocked me off my feet.

 

“Scheiße!” I snarled under my breath, clutching at Farfarello's hip as I stumbled.

 

Solid as Stonehenge, he only paused, waiting for me to regain control.

 

The biker surely had a trace on me now; I couldn't let him go. We could just hear the roar of the motor now. I held onto Far and reached out with my mind.

 

This wasn't easy. Either I was tired, which I was, or he was very strong, and well-trained. Which he probably was as well. I could taste blood at the back of my throat, and my eyes burned. But I refused to let go. Distantly I became aware of the sound of downshifting, and the muted grumble of an idling motor.

 

::Park the bike. Do not turn it off.::

 

He fought me, but I was stronger. I felt Farfarello slip out of my grasp, no doubt intending to finish my battle for me. Sudden pain and fear confirmed this. Through the mindlink of combat I could hear Farfarello whisper in the man's ear: “Los ihn lass.” I shivered - when the madman turned a language to singsong, murder was never far behind.

 

The mental struggle ended with a sigh as the biker withdrew, a last glimmer of hope trailing behind in my thoughts. I knew without watching what would happen next: he would turn his talent on Far, and Far would turn his knives on the biker.

 

A soft snap caught my flagging awareness. I glanced up. Farfarello lowered the limp body to the ground. The man's head hung at a disturbing angle, weighed down by his helmet and bobbing slightly from the movement.

 

Far quickly and efficiently searched the body, then removed the helmet and handed it to me. Not waiting, he straddled the bike and studied the controls. Apparently it was familiar to him; he looked over at me and said, “Get on.”

 

I started to toss the helmet aside, but Far growled, “And cover that damn hair! You're visible in the dark, worse than I am.”

 

I sighed but did as he told me, then climbed onto the bike behind him. I hadn't done this often, but I understood the concept: hold on, and lean with the curves. Grumbling, I wrapped my arms around Far's muscular middle. With the helmet on, anyone who saw us go past would presume I was his bitch.

 

Ah, well. Been there done that. I grinned to myself as Far turned onto the road and opened the throttle. The wind roared around us as we sped through the night.

 

::Um, Far?::

 

::What, Schu?::

 

I really didn't want the answer to this, but it was bothering me. ::How's your depth perception?::

 

I could feel his laughter through his chest. ::You're such an uke. Scared of a little thing like that.::

 

::That's not funny.:: Instead of pursuing the question, I huddled closer against his back. If we crashed, I wanted to be as close to Mr. Indestructible as possible.

 

“Hey, we're here.”

 

I blinked at Farfarello, dimly aware that I'd been dozing. Damn, those kids must have worn me out more than I knew! I never used to get this tired. Then again, I hadn't really had to do much with my telepathy since the tower, not like I'd done tonight, and telepathy is most definitely the sort of thing one needs to keep well toned. Apparently I'd gotten lazy.

 

The bike was parked in front of a shabby-looking hotel, the sort of place rented by the hour. The horizon showed the first light of dawn, and I realized we'd been driving all night. “Where are we, exactly?” I murmured, stretching and looking around.

 

“Someplace safe enough, I should think. Can you do your thing with the desk clerk?”

 

“Yeah, no sweat.” I scanned the office and found the clerk, hunched over an early breakfast. With soft mental touches I told him to get a room key out and lay it on the counter. “Let's go,” I told Far and headed inside.

 

The clerk did not see us as we hurried through the lobby, grabbed the key and made for the stairs. My first impression of the place seemed accurate enough; it even smelled like a bad alleyway. But I trusted Farfarello to have gotten us out of the search zone, so here we would stay, at least until one of us could drive.

 

The room was amazingly clean, all things considered. I hauled the covers off the bed - those were usually the nastiest, being harder to clean than mere sheets, and I didn't want to take any chances. Fatigue rolled over me, heavy and warm, and I flopped down on the bed.

 

Above me, Far chuckled. “Figures.”

 

“What?”

 

“You finally get at what you've been wanting, and you'd rather sleep.”

 

“You said you wouldn't trespass,” I grumbled, not liking the fact that he was pretty much right about the sleep thing.

 

“That's not what I'm talking about. I'm talking about Crawford.”

 

I sat bolt upright and stared at him. (“Crawford told me you would have an unpleasant surprise in Germany…”) “Shit. Okay, so talk.”

 

Far sat on the edge of the bed and leaned back, propping himself up on his elbows. “What did you think of the officer's school?”

 

“Then or now?”

 

“Now. Both, actually, but now's relevant.”

 

“They weren't told about us. Crawford's convinced we're being hunted, and I've felt it myself, not to mention actually being chased and shot at,” I growled. “But this place, these kids are” (you will make us so proud…) “the chosen elite,” I gagged out, pain lancing through my head again. “They're the future leaders of the organization, trained to be the” (shepherds of humanity) “men above the supermen.” Damn it, why couldn't I either remember or banish every last scrap of that shit? Why did it have to haunt me in pieces?

 

“What do you suppose that might mean?” Far asked, his tone very neutral, his eye staring at the ceiling.

 

The little hairs at the back of my neck stood on end. What did it mean? “They don't think we're much of a threat,” I whispered. “They think they'll catch us and that'll be the end of it.” I gripped Far's arm and hissed, “Why do I get the feeling that Brad knows better?”

 

Farfarello turned his head to regard me with that wild golden eye. “Because he does. Now I can talk to you. I had to get your opinion first, while it was fresh. He said it would be crucial to know what you saw tonight, without your head getting in the way of it.”

 

Played. I'd been played, again, by the puppetmaster. I felt myself wilt, hanging somewhere between exhaustion and despair. Did that man do nothing without an ulterior motive? “Tell me.”

 

“I can only give you so much,” Far cautioned. “Crawford knows you've got problems with your gift. He can't afford anything to leak out, or get stolen. That's why he's given it to me. It's a rare telepath who's willing to come into my head uninvited.”

 

“How long?”

 

“Since the start. Since Takatori. You know he can't tell you his visions, or you'll act on them and change the future,” Farfarello explained gently. “But me… Tell a madman, and if he acts on it or no, it's pretty much random anyway. His secrets are safest with me, and he's used that to good advantage for some time. That's how I knew to be ready, the night that Weiß came for Reiji. That's how I knew many things.”

 

I let out a heavy sigh. On some level, this didn't even surprise me. “So basically, you've been his second.”

 

“Never that,” Far corrected smoothly. “I've been the failsafe. Now, do you want to listen, or do you want to whine? I have my orders, I just need your cooperation.”

 

At my nod, Farfarello stretched out on the bed and began to talk, his voice low. Sometimes he spoke in Japanese, sometimes French, and some phrases came out in a unique creole of Gaelic and American slang. Never German. And what he said cut through me like a dull razor, shallow and bitter.

 

“Your guess about the hunt is wrong. They haven't dismissed a damn thing about us. In fact, Crawford believes that they have activated the Omega squads. You've heard of those, I take it?”

 

Omega squads. The elite hunters sent after the highest level of targets. This was bad.

 

“He figures we're rated at least a Hazard Five, if not higher. You do know that Nagi has always been a Three or a Four, depending on who you're asking?”

 

I knew a little about the Hazard levels, but that was mostly the province of Team Leaders and higher. My own security level hadn't graced me with such interesting details; I'd had to pick it up by osmosis. I did know that psi-talents were rated according to how great a threat they might become to Esset, and the rating system only officially went up to five.

 

“Whether they think we took power from the Elders or not, they think we're stronger than those three ever were, and they want us back. Not necessarily dead, but rendered harmless. That much we already knew.” Far paused to look at me, then said, “Now you tell me what we just learned.”

 

He wasn't being snotty or condescending. Far had learned long ago that feeding me information didn't often help. I had to be prompted to really figure it out. Flat data had a way of sliding out of my head along with all the useless crap a telepath accumulates throughout the average day. So I thought about what he'd told me. I thought about it hard.

 

What makes a team a Hazard Five? Having someone like Nagi, and being led by someone like Crawford, of course. But what could possibly rate us off the scale?

 

Why didn't the young officers at Berlin recognize us? Surely our mug shots were posted in all the Esset lunchrooms.

 

Or were they? Comprehension came with one word. “Revolution,” I whispered. “They're afraid that we're going to come back and lead their puppets in an uprising.” I stared at Farfarello, dumbfounded. “They think we could do it.”

 

“And Brad Crawford,” Far murmured back, “wants them to.”

 

“Will he? I mean, does he have plans to-?”

 

“That I don't know. If he does, he hasn't told me. Only that he wants it to look that way.”

 

Schwarz, leading an army of disgruntled Esset ops - what an image! “But, why? To what end, Far? What do they think we want to do to them, and what does he really want?”

 

“Surely they think we want to usurp them, take over Esset and by proxy the world. What Crawford wants…” His voice faded out. He lay there staring up at the grimy ceiling, then closed his eye. Far's next word came out no louder than breath: “Retribution.”