08-22-2013, 05:12 PM
It was the steady measure of relief which accompanied the Ascendancy’s return to the main level. Having left the corridor of cells with no clarity given to his doubts, the remainder of his inspection of the Facility was uneventful. Director Stephensen unfurled an abundance of information, meanwhile, which to Nikolai, read like the Dead Sea Scrolls. He was hardly familiar with the processes the good director relayed, but Nikolai’s interest was hardly feigned. If anything, he truly had enjoyed the experience, and it settled his mind of the morning's tension. He was comfortable in these narrow passageways. The power of this particular subterranean seclusion was akin to experiences in other offices beneath the Kremlin. His living quarters were below the surface, for instance, rather than in the lofty palace of the Czars as the public understood them to be. Perhaps it was an unease with heights, he assumed, which surely the lofty building of the Palace boasted; likewise, darting through the air aboard any aircraft no matter its mass certainly elicited the same sense of wrongness. Yet he slept soundly in such quarters not solely for the proximity to Terra firma nor solely for its protection, of which the earth provided in times tense with international conflict, but also because he simply preferred it that way. And when the Ascendancy requested such construction, hell itself rearranged to see his command granted.
As the group proceeded to the exit, the outstretched arm of his primary body guard forced Director Stephensen to fall behind. Nikolai cast a glance aside in recognition of the man’s forced retreat. The gesture was meant to bring the two additional agents closer, one of whom now flanked Nikolai. Together, the three men communicated with one another, confirming the presence of sanctioned unknowns ahead. The third agent called up the Facility’s system and in the span of moments loaded information bearing recent chip-granted access, identification software, facial recognition, and a log of keycode transactions. By the time Nikolai himself rounded the corner, a cool explanation came from his primary man concerning the two women in his path. ”Custody of State Chief Liaison Krasivolkya Constantine and Captain Victoria Weston of the Custody Medical Corps,” other than confirmation of their identities, the agent remained impassive, but ever watchful. All of them were as such: ever-watchful.
Nikolai himself strode without slowing, studying the pair of women as he approached. Krasivolkya seemed coiled, and what with the magnification of sight and sound rumbling his chest with power, the single line of sweat streaking from her brow glistened wide as a waterfall to him. If it had not been for that one detail, he might have released the Power to the back of his mind, but if she were nervous enough to break a sweat, he wanted to remain on his guard. These three agents were good, but after the unfortunate incident in Siberia, Nikolai was far more willing to entertain the idea that everyone wanted him dead, even those in his own government. Slaughter your savior? Fools.
He paused a comfortable distance from the pair of women, and the intensity of his gaze turned to the Captain. Her salute was rigid, perhaps in overcompensation for the demurity of her rank before her Ascendancy. As well she should; he was not often confronted with lower-tiered officers. Yet he deigned to nod in recognition of the gesture.
”Liaison Constantine, is it?”
He asked despite already knowing the answer. The cut of his voice was crisp and professional, sharp as the cut of his suit and the directness of his gaze. The hand he offered to shake in greeting he likewise extended to Victoria. ”Captain. I understand you are new to Facility leadership. I would wish you luck, but the matter is too urgent to leave to the whim of fate. She is a coy one after all.”
The expression tickled some corner of his mind as though the idiom was more literal than anyone truly anticipated, but despite the curious surfacing of his charm, the cloak of the Power did not lift its shadow from his presence: he was a god in the form of a man.
As the group proceeded to the exit, the outstretched arm of his primary body guard forced Director Stephensen to fall behind. Nikolai cast a glance aside in recognition of the man’s forced retreat. The gesture was meant to bring the two additional agents closer, one of whom now flanked Nikolai. Together, the three men communicated with one another, confirming the presence of sanctioned unknowns ahead. The third agent called up the Facility’s system and in the span of moments loaded information bearing recent chip-granted access, identification software, facial recognition, and a log of keycode transactions. By the time Nikolai himself rounded the corner, a cool explanation came from his primary man concerning the two women in his path. ”Custody of State Chief Liaison Krasivolkya Constantine and Captain Victoria Weston of the Custody Medical Corps,” other than confirmation of their identities, the agent remained impassive, but ever watchful. All of them were as such: ever-watchful.
Nikolai himself strode without slowing, studying the pair of women as he approached. Krasivolkya seemed coiled, and what with the magnification of sight and sound rumbling his chest with power, the single line of sweat streaking from her brow glistened wide as a waterfall to him. If it had not been for that one detail, he might have released the Power to the back of his mind, but if she were nervous enough to break a sweat, he wanted to remain on his guard. These three agents were good, but after the unfortunate incident in Siberia, Nikolai was far more willing to entertain the idea that everyone wanted him dead, even those in his own government. Slaughter your savior? Fools.
He paused a comfortable distance from the pair of women, and the intensity of his gaze turned to the Captain. Her salute was rigid, perhaps in overcompensation for the demurity of her rank before her Ascendancy. As well she should; he was not often confronted with lower-tiered officers. Yet he deigned to nod in recognition of the gesture.
”Liaison Constantine, is it?”
He asked despite already knowing the answer. The cut of his voice was crisp and professional, sharp as the cut of his suit and the directness of his gaze. The hand he offered to shake in greeting he likewise extended to Victoria. ”Captain. I understand you are new to Facility leadership. I would wish you luck, but the matter is too urgent to leave to the whim of fate. She is a coy one after all.”
The expression tickled some corner of his mind as though the idiom was more literal than anyone truly anticipated, but despite the curious surfacing of his charm, the cloak of the Power did not lift its shadow from his presence: he was a god in the form of a man.