Chapter Text
Nothing in their lives was ever simple.
Even now, still in the aftermath of the greatest gambit they would likely ever pull off, assigned what was supposed to be easy work while the more reckless half of their team recovered both physically and mentally from a near-death experience. Doctor Ratio mused over the situation, this “easy work” that had gradually become more and more complicated the more intel had trickled in.
Canuvis was a small, backwater system in a distant corner of the cosmos, in the opposite direction of nearly every other civilized world of note. Though it sported only a single habitable planet with a sparse population, facts such as these had never before dissuaded the IPC from seeking to claim whatever treasures such a small acquisition might yield.
And acquire it they had, a few decades back, much to the distaste of some of the inhabitants of Canuvis-III. The disgruntled disposition of the locals had festered and flourished until, a handful of months ago, an uprising had occurred, threatening the heretofore peaceful extraction of the planet’s sparse resources.
According to the initial reports, the resistance had been thus far largely civil, with very little in the way of large-scale damage or violence. However, attempts by local and middle management to quell the uprising had soundly failed, and so the IPC was forced to resort to more extreme tactics.
“More extreme” here being a subjective term of course, the assignment was still supposed to have been fairly simple. Quick, easy, low stakes. Exactly the sort of warm-up assignment suited to a young Stoneheart getting back into the field after a lengthy medical leave. Ratio himself had pushed for the assignment, favoring the simplicity of the initial intel.
And then things started getting complicated.
Somehow, right after they officially accepted the job, reports came in that members of the resistance faction were becoming increasingly violent and destructive in their operations. Some further digging eventually turned up a likely reason: the resistance was being led by a trained assassin.
So much for an easy, low stakes assignment.
The assassin in question was reported to be none other than the infamous Alicia Pativalo, a mercenary for hire of unknown origin. A woman of distinct reputation, mysterious and notoriously difficult to track, and with a documented vendetta against the IPC in particular. While her skills were unparalleled, few could boast having seen her in person, as she was notoriously selective about which contracts she even considered, let alone accepted.
And here, Ratio was now able to count himself among those fortunate few.
Though whatever preconceptions he may have had about the famed mercenary, he had never expected someone so incredibly striking.
He had arrived just barely a system hour ago at the primary holding facility for the Astral Peacekeeping Contingent on Canuvis-III, directed immediately to one of their on-site interrogation rooms. The room itself was a claustrophobic box, set on all sides with reflective dark glass panels, one wall of which was a set of mono-directional windows connected to a small observation deck. The room’s furnishings were sparse: a single table, two chairs, and a bright, florescent hanging lamp to illuminate the space.
An imposing pair of figures, they made, sitting still as marble statues and locked in a contest of observation. One with a mask of plaster to hide his expressions, and the other a stare as cold and unmoving as stone.
The woman seated across the table from him was much smaller in stature than he had expected, lithe and unassuming. She had hardly moved in the time he had spent in her presence, but when she did, it was with an unmatched grace and surety, confident intention in every shift and gesture. The delicate beauty in her features was offset by the cold hardness emanating from her clear, brilliant blue eyes.
Eyes that had not left him since he walked in the room.
Just how exactly the advance task force had managed to catch her — a woman of undeniable skill, who had evaded not only capture but their intel network for months on this particular job alone — was entirely beyond his ability to speculate. He had never seen a more obvious trap laid out in all his time collaborating on these assignments.
And for that reason, apart from some initial pleasantries on his part that were coldly ignored, he opted for silent observation for the time being while he awaited the very delayed arrival of his partner.
There wasn’t much to glean from simple observation, unfortunately, given the guarded nature of his subject. Long blonde hair was pulled back into a tight, professional knot at the back of her head, with a single loose strand hanging beside her face. She had made no move to touch it — to run her fingers over the taut strands, to check that they were in place, nor to tuck the loose hair behind her ear. Whether out of a calm confidence, or simply from a desire to remain still and unreadable, was yet to be determined, but the lack of nervous energy could not be denied.
Her garb and general appearance gave little in the way of insight either. Other than emphasizing the slightness of her frame, her clothes were dark, form-fitting, but seemed designed not to impede her movement in any way. A simple harness made of some kind of dark leather wrapped her torso, previously having held an array of weapons that had been dutifully confiscated upon her arrest.
None of her gear or tools had looked particularly new, and she seemed far too comfortable in the well-worn ensemble, so he dismissed the possibility that it had been acquired as part of some kind of deception. Beyond that, there was not even anything in her choice of clothing that might hint at her background or planet of origin. Everything she possessed was far too simple and nondescript to be traced.
She had also yet to speak since he had arrived, and had refused to acknowledge or respond to any of his attempts to communicate, so there were no clues to be garnered from her voice or speech patterns either. In essence, the negotiations were beginning on a blank slate.
They’d worked with less before, and from less favorable positions. He was not concerned. Not yet.
A firm tap on the darkened glass behind him pulled him from his musings. Finally, he thought to himself, the growl of his impatience rumbling faintly in his throat. Without so much as a word — pointless, the woman had made it clear she had no interest in responding to him — he rose smoothly to his feet and made for the door to the adjacent observation room.
“You are late,” he intoned as the door clicked shut behind him.
His insufferable partner only shrugged, mouth twisting into a halfhearted facsimile of remorse. There was a sparkle in the corners of his dual-toned eyes that the doctor had noted with increasing frequency over the recent weeks, and it somehow managed to smooth out the ruffles in his irritation.
The first thing he took note of was that the blonde looked mildly winded. Either he had rushed here because he had realized he was running late, or he was late because he had overestimated his condition and pushed himself. Ratio’s money was on the latter. After all, the man was still, for all intents and purposes, in recovery, and would take some time yet to rebuild his stamina.
He didn’t mention it, however, because he knew that Aventurine hated it when he fussed.
The next thing he noted was the man’s uncharacteristically dressed-down appearance. While still far more opulent than even the highest ranking managers they had met with at the facility, it was far less gaudy and conspicuous than he was used to seeing on the Stoneheart. A teal-green dress shirt in a silky, shimmery material, paired with an intricately embroidered waistcoat in a muted dark brown, all topped off with a simple pair of black slacks and matching blazer. His favorite gloves were still present, though his normal array of flashy accessories had been cut roughly in half.
It was a sharp look, one that still promised to charm and entice with the right amount of swagger added to the ensemble, but — in the doctor’s opinion, at least — far easier on the eyes than his usual flamboyance. It would seem, he thought to himself with a bit of smugness, that the little peacock had taken his advice about not drawing more attention than necessary on this first assignment back in the field.
“What have we got, Ratio?” the man asked briskly, turning his attention back to the observation window as he folded his arms loosely over his expensive waistcoat.
With a sigh of affected annoyance, Ratio crossed his arms as well and stepped next to him. “Humanoid female, estimated mid-thirties, apprehended by the Astral Peacekeeping Contingent on duty three days ago. Or surrendered herself, the reports aren’t clear for some reason.”
Aventurine raised a brow in subtle surprise, glancing over at him. “And why wouldn’t the reports be clear, do you think?”
The doctor inhaled deeply before replying. “I suspect that someone in the facility, possibly from a desire to impress visiting superiors, has embellished events in order to make it look less like the subject stumbled into their care so as to appear more competent than they are.”
The comments may have been more scathing had there been anyone else in the room with them, but due to the delicate nature of the work ahead of them, they had specifically restricted the personnel to just the security in the corridor outside. More’s the pity, Ratio couldn’t help but be disappointed. He would have liked to see an embarrassed look or two over the remarks.
“You think the capture was intentional?” Aventurine asked after a brief pause.
“That is the running theory,” Ratio confirmed. “It coincides rather succinctly with the rumors of Strategic Investments being assigned to the project. I rather doubt the local authorities became suddenly more competent upon receiving the news, therefore the remaining possibility is that she elected to be here.”
The Stoneheart hummed, one gloved hand brushing thoughtfully at his lip. “Any chance she’s a decoy?”
Ratio shook his head. “The thought occurred to me, but there does not seem to be any logical reason for that to be the case. That aside, her physical appearance, her presence and confidence seem to match what little information we have, as well as, more importantly, her reputation.” He drew in a breath before continuing. “In my personal opinion, I do believe that is her.”
“Alicia Pativalo, the famous mercenary.”
“Famous for having indecipherable motivations, perhaps,” the scholar murmured. “And for having a larger beef with the IPC than even you do, I’d wager. Don’t forget, the reason she’s even here is likely because she wants your head.”
At last, Aventurine turned his full attention to the doctor, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Thisaemian Trade Union maneuver?” he suggested quietly, pointedly ignoring the doctor’s carefully presented logic.
Ratio’s eyes rolled.
“Oh, come on!” The blonde nudged his elbow, a hint of delight bleeding into his tone. “It’s a perfectly viable strategy. And if I may say so, doctor, I think you perfected the technique on our last job.”
Negotiations with the Thisaemian Trade Union had been touchy, intensely demanding, and had required a unique sort of rapport to pull off. It was, in essence, the project that had solidified their partnership on a professional level, proving to not only each other but also to their respective superiors that they were an exceptional fit.
The Thisaemian delegation had boasted a number of members that had enhanced senses, able to detect the tiniest details about a person’s emotional state from their speech patterns and vocal intonations. It was an ability that some said bordered on telepathy in some cases, as superstitious a claim as that was to make. Regardless, this fact had made them dangerous opponents at the negotiating table, often manipulating any situation to their advantage simply by targeting the perceived weaknesses of the individuals present.
Unfortunately their reliance on verbal and emotional cues had rendered them subpar in the realm of interpreting body language. The entire thing had actually been Ratio’s idea: a set of intricate, subtle nonverbal signals that would allow the two to communicate with each other without allowing the delegation to glean any additional information.
Paired with an expertly performed improvisational display, wherein they took turns presenting alternating weak and strong fronts, passing the roles back and forth with the aid of their uniquely devised signal system, and they had the entire delegation turned on their heads within a matter of system minutes.
Some more archaic worlds may refer to similar tactics as a “good cop, bad cop” routine, but Ratio preferred the mental image of a “carrot and stick” — though in their employment, the two implements were constantly changing hands, with the intended effect being that the subject ran themselves dizzy trying to keep both in view at all times.
Their last job — the Penacony job — had been… even more delicate than the Thisaemia job, and with even less room to adapt on the fly. And yet they had somehow managed to pull it off with surprising effect, despite the limited opportunity for communication of any kind, nonverbal or otherwise.
Despite his own misgivings about utilizing a tactic that required such a precarious amount of subterfuge for what was supposed to have been an easy assignment, Ratio could understand the appeal of employing it.
After all, it was a strategy that required an immense amount of trust between the two actors.
And this was their first joint assignment since…
...since the job that they had yet to actually discuss or acknowledge beyond passing reference like this.
“You just want an excuse to convince me to remove the bust,” he grumbled, though there was no real bite to his tone.
The sparkle was back in those dual-color eyes, but Aventurine only shrugged in response. His smirk didn’t falter even a little. “Not my fault that your signal system works best with your face uncovered.”
Case in point, the plaster bust vanished promptly. “Damn gambler.”
He sighed, truly unable to deny the man any indulgence it seemed. One hand came up to stroke at his chin as if in thought before moving to adjust the drape of cloth at his left shoulder. Finally, he clasped his hands loosely behind him, stance easy and unbothered.
Keep identifying information to a minimum. I’ll play soft target. Do as you please.
The smirk pulled into a pleased grin as Aventurine took his shades out of his blazer’s inner pocket with a subtle flourish. “Anything else I should know before we go in?” he asked, placing the dark shades — darker than his usual pair, Ratio noted with some interest — over his brilliant, distinct eyes.
Ah, yes. How could he have forgotten? “The subject is not in possession of a Synesthesia Beacon.”
Hands froze in the process of shifting the collar of his teal shirt higher up his neck. “She what?”
Ratio shrugged, not out of disinterest but because there was simply nothing to be done about the strange circumstances. “As soon as the task force was made aware, they offered her one but she refused. Reports indicate she does understand and may even speak a fair amount of Interastral Common, but so far she has refused that as well.”
A shadow of bewilderment fell over the blonde’s features. A person less familiar with his personality might mistake it for sudden apprehension about his previously asserted strategy. Ratio knew better.
“Well, what does she speak, then?” he asked calmly, his fingers resuming their task of adjusting his clothes and accessories to cover any uniquely identifying features.
“Unknown. Either it is an undocumented dialect of some sort, or an officially classified dead language. Our beacons’ translators are unable to decipher it at present.”
The Synesthesia Beacon was truly a marvel in communications technology. Not only was it capable of converting the wearer’s spoken words into the universally accepted common language of the cosmos in real time, but it would also translate any detected audio to said common language for the wearer — or to any language the wearer may prefer.
The unfortunate drawback to such a widely used technological system was that the database of known languages was quite hefty and expensive to maintain. As a result, the IPC had a habit of culling dictionaries wholesale from the primary servers for any languages deemed obsolete. This occasionally resulted in a tiny fraction of individuals — rare speakers of such “dead languages” — being unable to utilize the technology without the use of personal and individually maintained language modules.
“Odd indeed,” Aventurine mused. Another shrug, and a disinterested sigh to dismiss the issue. “Well, it hardly matters, really. It certainly does make things more difficult, but if she can understand us, she can be negotiated with.” He handed the doctor a slim folder of documents — the initial draft of the ceasefire agreement they were here to bargain.
With that, and with a small nod of acknowledgment shared, they stepped back into the room, each taking their place for the performance about to unfold.
Aventurine immediately leaned his back against the darkened glass of the observation window, one hand slipped casually into the pocket of his black slacks while the other danced a gleaming chip between his fingers. Playing the hard target was a steeper difficulty for him, especially right off the bat. For one, his smaller stature and slighter frame made him instantly less intimidating than Ratio on first glance. This fact he would normally exploit to encourage targets to underestimate him, thus it worked against his favor in the other direction.
On top of that, he had been placed at a mild disadvantage by the doctor’s request to hide his eyes. Though the darker shades would also mute their expressiveness and convey a subtle coldness that he could use to his benefit, he would normally rely on the disconcerting affect they had on others in order to intimidate and unnerve.
But the show of dexterity would not be lost on an assassin of Alicia’s reported skill. Paired with a dismissive air toward her presence, a general disinterest in whatever danger she herself posed, it would hopefully have enough of the desired effect.
Ratio was not keen on hobbling his partner in such a way, to be honest. He was well aware of the Stoneheart’s preference toward using the unsettling sight of his two-toned eyes to his advantage. But the timing and circumstances of the assassin’s capture made his spine crawl with anticipation in the most unpleasant fashion. It was intensely obvious to him that she took great interest in the fact that one of the negotiators sent to treat with the resistance faction was from the Strategic Investment Department.
Her capture was undoubtedly a ploy to get closer — close enough to kill, perhaps, and Ratio would be damned if he allowed her even the slightest advantage in accomplishing that goal. Today or otherwise.
And the fact that she did so likely want him dead meant that charming her was immediately off the table, which left Aventurine with precious few other options for treating with her in any meaningful capacity.
With the stakes on the table, laid out clearly in his mind, he took a calming breath…
...and reclaimed his seat across from their opponent.
“Miss Pativalo,” he began, his voice clear and unwavering, “now that my partner has arrived, allow me to officially commence our meeting. My name is Doctor Veritas Ratio. I am an educator and scholar in the employ of the Intelligentsia Guild.”
The woman’s cold blue eyes were no longer fixed on him, but on Aventurine instead. Just as he’d suspected, she wasn’t interested in him in the slightest.
“Though in truth, my presence here is primarily as a mediator,” he continued. “As I am sure you are already well aware, my companion here is with the IPC’s Strategic Investment Department and will be handling the actual drafting of the final contract.”
The woman’s mouth curled into a distasteful snarl. He glanced up at the reflective wall behind her just in time to catch the Stoneheart’s amused smirk as one gloved thumb brushed the top of his lip as if to hide it.
Clarify communication lines.
“I have come to understand that you do in fact speak some Interastral Common, but all the same I am sure it would be of far more benefit to you to eliminate any language barriers. We would be more than happy to arrange for a Synesthesia Beacon to be provided—”
As soon as he mentioned the beacon, her cold gaze snapped back to him, and she let loose a string of angry-sounding words that he could only guess at the meaning of. Whatever it was she was saying exactly, it was clear she was firmly against the idea.
“Very well, we shall forgo the beacon for now,” he stated dryly, once her tirade came to an end. He moved to casually adjust the glove on his left hand as he spoke, signaling that it was Aventurine’s turn to carry some of the conversation.
After several seconds of silence, however, he turned to glance at his partner. The Stoneheart was frozen in place, hands stilled as he watched Alicia with a concentrated look on his face.
Before he could begin to salvage the stumble in their routine, the woman’s attention shifted back to Aventurine once more. “Him,” she said simply, pointing. “Who is he?”
The words were clipped, heavily accented but clear.
Ratio shook his head in feigned confusion. “As I said, he is—”
“His name,” she snapped, interrupting. “I want his name. Or we are done.”
“Miss Pativalo,” he replied calmly, folding his hands together atop the table between them. “I’m not sure if you quite grasp the situation you find yourself in at present. You are hardly in the position to be making demands, much less determining the end of our negotiations.”
The woman muttered something in her native tongue, clearly not meant for him to understand. “You think I could not just leave?” she spat.
“I think you believe you could,” he countered. “Your confidence and lack of concern over your confinement certainly indicate as much. However, I also think you are severely underestimating my partner’s ability to keep you here should you attempt it.”
More of the strange, indecipherable syllables, though this time the tone was unmistakably derisive. The language itself was quite melodic, the sounds flowing in a rhythmic cadence between sharp, throaty consonants and open, airy vowels.
He could honestly say he’d never heard anything like it before, and he found himself increasingly curious about its origin.
“Him? Keep me here?” Alicia scoffed loudly. “He is a corporate lapdog. I have killed plenty of men just like him. None of them presented any challenge to me.”
The cold threat in her tone made his nerves tingle with discomfort and dread. Unable to help himself, he turned once more to glance over at Aventurine. The Stoneheart was leaning forward now, nearly hanging off the wall with his head turned as if listening for something. His expression was impassive, all semblance of amusement or disinterest gone in the wake of whatever had caught his attention.
After an agonizing moment of silence, their eyes met, and Aventurine startled out of his perplexity. Almost as if in a daze, his right hand lifted to his collar, gloved fingers plucking absently at the buttons. Then his left hand slipped out of his pocket to adjust the clasp of his watch before… lifting up to rub at a spot behind his ear.
My bad. Go ahead.
And… the third signal was not one that Ratio was familiar with. Over the span of a second, his mind raced over their shared catalog of hand signals and came up blank. There were a few that might have been similar, but their meanings were nonsensical in the current context.
And besides that, he knew that Aventurine’s memory for their signal system was nearly as impeccable as his own. It had to be, if they had any chance of utilizing it effectively.
This, coupled with the incredibly vague cues and the fact that the man had yet to contribute at all despite Ratio’s signal to do so, brought him to a rather concerning conclusion — Aventurine was not paying attention. He was distracted by something, something that had occurred since they stepped into the room.
And anything that was enough to so completely draw the attention of the young Stoneheart was obviously cause for Ratio to be on full alert.
The scholar brought his hand up to his temple, brushing indigo locks away from his face — Pay attention, gambler — before turning back to their target. He held no delusions that the signal had been noted, let alone that it would be acknowledged, so he did not even wait for the return gesture.
The mercenary sat still as a statue, watching the quick exchange with cold calculation. Her icy cyan eyes lingered on Aventurine for another moment, before turning back to meet Ratio’s molten gaze when it was clear the blonde would not be forthcoming with the information himself.
“All right, Miss Pativalo,” Ratio began. “In the interest of moving the negotiations along, I will cooperate.” A deep steadying breath. Don’t make me regret this, he thought to no one in particular.
“As I said before, my partner here is with the Strategic Investment Department.” She muttered something in response, sounding like a confirmation, but the tone was charged with something venomous. “Specifically, he is a Non-Performing Asset Liquidation Specialist, one of their senior executives, though I gather you already knew all of this before he arrived.”
So much for his attempts to try to protect the man’s identity, as futile an endeavor as that was from the beginning.
“This is Director Aventurine of the Ten Stonehearts.”
Almost before he had finished getting the words out of his mouth, the woman’s posture snapped rigid, and she let loose with a vicious string of what he could only assume were curses of some kind. She wasn’t quite screaming, not yet anyway, but the spitting force behind her words was decidedly threatening as she directed her vitriol at the man standing behind him.
With a heavy sigh — and fearing for the safety of all involved, as the situation was very quickly leaving his control — Ratio stood and turned to make his way out of the room. As he stopped to collect the Stoneheart, he saw the man simply staring at the fuming woman, a hollow look in his eyes and a sickly thin smile spreading on his face. The doctor suppressed a shudder at the display, grasping at Aventurine’s elbow to pull him away from the rapidly deteriorating situation.
He practically dragged the smaller man out the door, then through the observation deck and into an adjoining hallway before he let go or even spoke. Once they were far enough removed from the crazed shouting that he felt a modicum of comfort again, he rounded on his companion with his own diatribe brimming on his tongue.
“What the hell was that, gambler?” he spat.
Whatever else he was planning on saying died instantly on his lips, however, as he saw Aventurine slump heavily against the wall. The blonde’s countenance was pale, blood draining rapidly from his face, and he looked like he might be violently ill at any moment. A gloved hand lifted to rub gingerly at his mouth, his shaded gaze fixed carefully on a spot on the floor in front of him.
Ratio had never seen the man so badly rattled. He had heard far worse things spouted at them both during negotiations that tilted south, foul denigration and vile inferences and all manner of disparagement both implied and elicit. Not a one had ever managed to break his unflinching facade before, let alone so completely.
Even on the streets of Golden Hour, with his own death looming darkly over him and a sickly pallor creeping over his features, Aventurine had always managed to maintain a certain air of defiance and bravado.
Now it was like the mask didn’t exist at all, and the sight unsettled Ratio in ways he wasn’t ready to confront.
“Aventurine?” he whispered, more gently now.
It wasn’t what he wanted to say, with his partner looking so vulnerable, walls actively crumbling before him, but they were still in public and he was sure it wouldn’t be appropriate, despite the fact that they were technically alone.
“Give me a minute,” came the mumbled response.
And Ratio couldn’t help feeling like there was something wrong with his voice, muffled as it was by the shaking hand that pressed to his mouth. An unfamiliar quality he couldn’t quite place.
He took a breath, forcibly calming himself before he went on. “The Thisaemian Trade Union maneuver was your idea,” he intoned patiently.
“I know,” Aventurine replied quickly, his tone oddly clipped as the hand finally fell away from his face. “I fucked it up.”
The doctor had to fight to keep his jaw from dropping as soon as he heard it, but he couldn’t stop his eyes from going wide in both shock and realization. The way the plosives clicked deep in his throat. The open, rounded tonality of the vowels. The melodic cadence dancing airily between each sound.
It was that same untraceable accent he had noted only moments ago, one that he had found himself contemplating the origin of.
Now he thought he might know.
The image of the puzzling hand signal came to mind, and he inhaled sharply as the comprehension hit him. “Your beacon. You turned it off.”
Aventurine nodded, the vacant, hollow look not leaving his features. “I have… difficulty with some words sometimes, so… I have a custom module installed. It kept trying to translate for her, but… the dataset is incomplete, so it was a garbled mess…”
His explanation was haphazard and rambling, and left a lot to be desired, but Ratio still felt he understood what he was getting at. And if so, it would certainly explain what it was that had rattled and so badly distracted him.
All the same, the blonde finally lifted his gaze to meet Ratio’s, a magnitude of anguish and something else unreadable glimmering in its shielded depths.
“She’s… She’s Avgin. Ratio, she’s Avgin.”