Life as a New Hire Ch. 39

"No, you are right. I don't think they are smart enough to know when they are beat. Cáel, they called me 'Chǒulòu de cuòwù' ... or something like that," Aya kept her eyes on Zhen. "What does that mean?" It took me a second to piece that together. You can tell a great deal about people if you catch them talking about you behind your backs ... or when they think you can't understand what they are saying.

"Ugly Bug," I translated. Aya snorted.

"That was rude. We can call her 'Lúsìla ninda'," she proclaimed loud enough for Zhen to hear, "and we can call him Amar."

I had to applaud her choice of names for our would-be killers.

See, Lúsìla ninda roughly translated from Amazon to English as 'cupcake'. Amar was Amazon for 'calf' which was a play on his Mandarin name - 'Mu'.

"Dumu?" I indicated her. Aya's eyes sparkled. Duma was the diminutive for 'daughter'.

"Atta," she murmured back. That was 'respectful Father'; a title no Amazon girl had addressed a man with in ... well maybe, ever. The term was largely religious and only used in the terms of female divinities referring to divine paternals.

"Take the gun," I withdrew the QSW-06 from the medical bag. "I'm going to take a look at Mu."

I wasn't a surgeon, most of my medical skills were self-taught (I get hurt a great deal), I was personally acquainted with pain and I wasn't easily grossed out. Alal's past granted me beaucoup knowledge to fill in the gaps. Mu was going to be okay.

His problems were the bullet hole, blood loss, our mutual damp condition and his complete exhaustion. Zhen knelt close by as I cut open his pants. The bullet was still in him. I was guessing the round had cracked his femur, not broken it. I cleaned out the wound with minimal disturbance to Mu's sleep. The antiseptic came next, followed by the wrapping and finally a syringe of general antibiotic.

[Mandarin] "Let's find something to dress ourselves in and then we all need to get out of these wet clothes. If we don't shed these clothes soon, we'll get a chill we don't need," I advised.

[Mandarin] "How bad is it?" she asked. She meant her brother's condition.

[Mandarin] "He'll be okay. Feel free to try and kill me when you wish. He doesn't need me anymore." That ... pretty much confirmed for her what she suspected ... I was a lunatic.

[Mandarin] "Well - okay. Thank you. I will not kill the child; I have given you my word."

[Mandarin] "Are you talking about 'Ugly Bug'?"

[Mandarin] "Oh. I thought she didn't know our language either," she blushed then frowned. "She never revealed she understood our words."

[Mandarin] "She doesn't. Aya has a phenomenal memory. All Amazons are taught from a very young age to develop a strong eye for detail. This includes remembering words spoken around them, even if they don't know their meaning."

That silenced her. The medical kit gifted us with five glow sticks.

The women paired up to search the first, second, third and fourth floors; I didn't trust Zhen to find something useful and report it to me. I knew women. She wouldn't kill Aya tonight and Aya would keep her honest. I went for the basement looking for some traces of whatever infrastructure systems I could find.

At the bottom of the stairs was a sealed door with a wheel lock. It turned easily in my waterlogged hands. Sure enough, there were twin generators, fuse boxes, and telephone network boards lit by two lonely ceiling lights (battery powered).

A handy-dandy laminated 'Beginners Guide' showed me how to hand-pump fuel from the reserve tank - 6500 gallons (87% full) - into the igniter chamber and main generator. Then I had to hand-crank the igniter until it built up enough of a charge it would remain hot enough to begin the diesel combustion in the starter.

The next step required me to flip a few toggles, hit a red button, then a green one that allowed the starter engine fire up the massive generator meant to power the building. I politely filled out the Engineering Log stating the time I started the generator and the fuel level. I was to update the thing every 12 hours, or until I shut things down.

Since my kidnapping involved me because of my official capacity as a 'Person of Interest', I signed off of using my (self-designated) official Mugwump designator: UHAUL (Unpaid Honcho Assigned to Unit L). Javiera would be pleased I was keeping my head in the crisis ... you know ... by not using my real name.

The next step was priming the fuse box. First, all the breakers needed to be in the 'Off' position - check. I cut the primary fuse on. All the subsidiary lights but one ~ laundry room ~ turned red. The one standout was either burned out, or something was wrong in that room. I put that breaker in the 'locked' position.

That done, I flicked all the other breakers into the 'neutral' position. All the lights behaved by turning yellow. Had I known at the time this base was used for test-firing nuclear missiles, I wouldn't have been so impressed by the government-made structure. One by one, I cut on forty-three of the forty-four breakers.

On the thirty-seventh I got a really startling development.

It wasn't the lights coming on in the generator room. It was the ten walkie-talkies squawking to life. They were older than me ... say something from the early '90's. I think I'd seen them in 'Die Hard'. That was the third bit of good news this place had delivered. (The generators being functional and the breaker for the 'Communications Room' working being the first two.) A battery indicator showed them all to be at 40% power (how much battery life that meant wasn't explained), but the chargers were working, so I took four. I'd come back for their replacements later once those had recharged.

The basement offered one other blessing - a fireman's axe. I took it off the wall sconce while leaving the plastic blade and pick covers on for now. I went back upstairs. Not too surprisingly, it was just me and Mu and he was still unconscious. I put one WT in his lap, put his hand over it then trotted after my ladies.

I began cutting on the lights as I went (~ 80% of the overhead neon lights still worked). On the second floor, when I cut the hall lights on, Aya called out.

"Oh cool - blankets," she said. "Cáel - Atta, good job with the lights." Zhen poked her head out of the room I suspected the noise was coming from.

[Mandarin] "We have found a storeroom," she announced. I walked her way, smiling. With the nights I could make out her sharp nipples doing their damnedest to poke through her sports bra. She'd shed her wet shirt, pants, socks and boots. She had a bit of a camel toe, too. I leered. For a second she shot me an uncertain look, then followed my gaze.

She blushed, grimaced my way and stormed back into the room.

"Are you ogling Lúsìla ninda's goodies?" Aya giggled to me as I strode into the room.

"Dumu, do you have to ask?" I chuckled.

Zhen had her back to me, but shot angry looks over her shoulder. I didn't mind. That allowed me to ogle her butt, which I had already appreciated earlier.

"Can you tell her something for me?" Aya looked my way. Sure enough, we found a store room with all kinds of olive drab clothing, blankets, MRE's and sunscreen.

"Sure."

"Word for word," Aya grinned. This was going to be fun.

[Mandarin] "Zhen, Aya wants me to tell you something." She looked at me grumpily while showing Aya something akin to kinship.

"Cáel - finds - you - to - be - very - womanly," Aya walked me through it. Sadly, Mandarin and English don't translate over very well word for word. The languages have nothing in common. Still, she puzzled it together.

[Mandarin] "What ... ask her what other women think of you," Zhen asked. She studied me carefully, looking for some deceptive exaggerations on my part.

I translated that while we began gathering up fresh clothes for the four of us, as well as blankets, towels and food.

"Tell her 'all women love you. Even the women who hate you, love you'," Aya proclaimed proudly. I translated; Zhen didn't believe me.

[Mandarin] "Honestly, I would prefer the ones who hate me to only hate me. This wacky 'only love me if I'm broken, bleeding and enslaved at their feet' is hard on my knees," I joked. She mulled that over. We were all quiet for a while. We allowed her to change Mu in private.

Aya and I went to another room where she found my bashfulness when she stripped down in front of her odd. Around one another, Amazons exhibited very little body consciousness.

"Let's leave that issue with you being nine and me being raised differently," I spoke with my back still to her. "Okay?"

"Sure, because I love you, Atta," she let that last word roll off her tongue. Instead of going at the hopeless task of trying to fit Aya with regular clothing, I stuck her in a size-L GI issue olive t-shirt which hung past her knees. She decided to go with an 'M' instead. I had to agree. The 'L' made her look like a flying squirrel.

Back with our Seven Pillars shipwreck co-survivors, we feasted on some US Military bounty. They were better than I'd read about. Being starving probably helped with that assessment. Only after I finished policing the area did Zhen take a moment to corner me away from Aya.

[Mandarin] "Why did you save us?"

[Mandarin] "Why does it matter? You and your brother are alive."

[Mandarin] "Is it because you want my body?" she gave me that look that said 'I want the truth, but I'm not going to believe you whatever you say'. Since I hit on every woman I meet, I've dealt with my fair share of the crazy ones.

[Mandarin] "Not really. I'm the type of person who doesn't want to see people die. Since I cause way too much dying, I make an extra effort to save lives when I can. You are attractive. Had you been a 135 kg hag, I would still have saved you. Your beauty is the Universe's way of giving me a break after a horrible two days," I explained.

Oh, I was lying. Had she been a 300 lbs. troll, I know I'm morally weak enough to have first saved Aya before going back for her. I'm not a nice, pleasant Politically Correct guy and I've known that for four years now. Know how to lie, gentlemen.

[Mandarin] "Oh ... thank you. I am in your debt," she bowed.

[Mandarin] "Does that mean you will have sex with me now?" I inquired hopefully.

[Mandarin] "No!" she yipped. "I am not that kind of woman." She turned around and stormed back to her brother. She shot me evil looks for several minutes.

"Do you think she will have sex with you tonight, or will you wait until the morning?" Aya yawned.

"Tomorrow," I ruffled her hair. "This one is going to need a little foreplay."

"My Mother would like a little foreplay," she snuck one up on me.

"Do you want a little brother, or sister, that badly?" I teased.

"Yes. Mom would be happy with that, Atta," she nodded sagely. Damn her. I went back upstairs, gathered up two armfuls of blankets then came back down. I created a layered bed on the floor for the four of us.

[Mandarin] "Come, join us," I offered Zhen. She was wisely cautious because she wasn't that kind of woman and I was that kind of guy. "Mu is the worst off so I'll sleep on one side and you sleep on the other. Aya will sleep on top of my body and we four will sleep under two blankets. How does that sound?"

See, I was back to being a thoughtful man trying to keep her brother alive and healthy.

[Mandarin] "Yes. That will work. I expect you to behave," she insisted. Of course I nodded to that request. I'd behave for a while, if that meant a girl would let down her guard.

The set up started that way. Once we were all under the blankets, I caught Zhen looking at me and Aya in her customary spot sleeping on my chest. If such a pose had warmed Desiree's heart, I knew Zhen was doomed. She slowly crawled on top of her brother. That was really the better spot for keeping him warm.

She didn't recoil when I slipped my left hand into hers. That was the conclusion of my eroding of her morality for tonight. It was already lights out for Aya and I soon followed her into slumber. She didn't let go of my hand because she wanted me to be the hero, the man of Iron Virtue, so fate would pardon her for the affection sent my way ~ to her enemy.

She wasn't that kind of woman. They never were at the start. They always changed ... unless I left the room in a hurry, drove off and never contacted them again. Otherwise, they would become that kind of woman soon enough. Ugh. I have a horrible life, I know.

(The Morning under the Burning Sun)

{11 am, Wednesday, August 17th ~ 22 Days to go (Havenstone time +5h)}

[Once more, the conversation is in Mandarin]

Zhen's eyes were will-o-wisps of pleasure. She was poised, in an Olympic fencer's stance, her right hand Jian pointing at me, running a straight line from tip, down the blade to her hand, forearm, upper arm, shoulder and to her neck. Her left hand Jian kept at the small of her back, pointing ramrod-straight toward the sparsely clouded sky.

I was wielding two Fireman's axes. We'd found the other on the first floor at a fire-fighting station (along with a spigot and 15 meters of hose). It turned out each floor had the same setup. The Communications Room was on the third floor and that room's functionality was one of the reasons Zhen was so wound up ~ more on that later.

She let me become comfortable with the awkwardness of the two tools. Fireman's axes are heavier than the Iron Age axes I'd used at Havenstone, or with Kimberly at college, and longer and less balanced than my tomahawks. A bit of Alal-introspection followed by a few practice swings and I was ready to go.

"Are you sure you will be okay with those ... things?" Zhen mused.

"Let's find out," I laughed. Sure, she could use this practice bout/attempt to bleed off some tension as an excuse to make me dead. I was counting on one serious factor to keep me alive.

Zhen was exulting in her survival. She and Aya had spent the morning combing the atoll for debris. They'd found six of her fellow Han, dead, washed up on the shore along with several pieces of luggage which equated to real clothing for her and Mu. Mu was awake and sulky. He'd missed his chance to be martyred for his cause. I'd spent the morning calling for help ~ more on that later.

At the moment, she was looking to 'school' me with her blade artistry. Sure, she had specialized weapons and over a decade of training while I had tools and an acquaintance with the necessary fighting style, but this wasn't about winning. I'd been impressing on Zhen my worth as a human being for nearly three days now.

I hadn't cracked when they tortured Aya, I had managed to ensure the death of two of her commandoes before we even got onto the plane in New York. Sure, I'd been constrained and unconscious as we'd winged our way to Tampa Bay then Mexico City. I'd made up for it by killing everyone else on the plane, except her and her brother and that was only because I'd promised to save them (in her mind).

I had delivered in some truly apocalyptic condition, risking my life and the life of my boon-companion to make sure they were currently drawing breathe right now. Initially she had assumed I was completely unhinged. As the night had worn on, I'd given her a glimpse into an alternative motivation ~ her sexiness.

She didn't want to play the helpless gentlewoman versus my ravenous barbarian. I certainly wasn't behaving like the barbarian. There was no Code of Chivalry for me to violate. I had picked up the pieces of my shaken, chaotic life and forged ahead. That I held Aya in great affection was obvious to her now.

I had not spared her the pain of torture because that was a false lure ~ Aya's safety ~ but I'd never deviated from thinking about my minute companion. I was a man of compassion and an enemy who kept to his word, both baneful and gracious. Zhen lunged forward quickly.

The angle of her blade made it difficult for me to predict her reach and true location. I had an answer for that. I let my left hand slide up to the base of the ax-head of that axe and used the metal to parry her blows - gauntlet like. I went halfway up the right axe, sacrificing cutting power for speed.

I knocked her first attack aside, swung with the axe, missed then went on the defensive. I wasn't humiliated. I was using 'tools' after all, while she had a weapon perfected over 2300 years. To complicate things, I had assumed she was going to fight with the blades in tandem.

That wasn't her thing. She kept up the attack and defense with one hand until her arm got tired then switched to her 'off' hand, quickly showing me she was truly ambidextrous. Between her training, natural talent and superior weaponry, she drew first blood. The salty light ocean spray over the island made her cut across my left forearm sting more than it normally would.

She took a step back instinctively instead of pressing her advantage. That move shocked her and pleased me. I was her sparring partner, not her enemy, for that one critical instant.

"Ow-ee!" I teased her. "Don't worry, you'll get plenty of more chances to split my heart."

"Do you really believe I will try to kill you now that I owe you my brother's life and my own?"

"Of course," I smiled. "You are a professional and the pride of your brother and father. You are biding your time for the proper moment."

No she wasn't. I'd been given her the 'shy eye' all morning long. You know, those puppy dog eyes that convey affection that must remain unspoken. Zhen ate it up. See, I was respecting her. I obviously held her up on an unobtainable pedestal because I thought she was the best thing since chopsticks.

Believe me, girls WANT to think this way. That makes the moment when they finally get all wet between the legs all the more special. If I wasn't buttering her up as well as sexing her up, she'd feel like a total slut when she let me fuck her. This way, she could tell herself that she was something special in my heart.

Don't get me wrong; EVERY girl I've had sex with was and is special. Perhaps my definition of special and theirs is different and if I was a diction-Nazi, I might bother trying to correct the feminine gender about this misconception. Since I'm a horn-dog, I'm happy with the way things work out ... until they finally can't ignore the truth any longer.

Then they hate me when the have sex with me. I'm okay with that. Angry sex has its own unique quality to it.

"Do you need a moment to bind your wound?" she allowed.

"No. The pain will be yet another reminder of how deadly you are and I need all the help I can get," I sighed.

"You didn't believe I was this good?"

Of course I believed she was 'this good'. That wasn't the point.

"Oh please," I rolled my eyes. "You are cheating."

"I am not cheating," her eyes narrowed.

"No?" I tilted my head to the side slightly. "Then stop looking so damn sexy. It is killing my concentration. At least put a shirt on. My mind keeps wandering back to our moment on the plane." That moment when I blackmailed her into showing me her breasts.

At first, the moment shamed and incensed her. Then the compliment sunk in. Her 'sexy' was a weapon she was using against me. She was in black boy-shorts and a black sports bra. That's cheating in my book. We were both barefoot which made the warmth of the runway interesting - we had to keep moving from foot to foot. I was in a set of grey with white trim boy-shorts (7 Pillars Commando issue).

"I could say the same thing about you," she countered. I do look rather fetching in nothing but underwear. I've had way too many women tell me so to think they were doing to me (the buttering-up part) what I was doing to them.

"That's not fair," I groused. "This is all I could find that fits me."

That was almost the truth. This was all I felt comfortable with and I wanted to work on my tan anyway.