Secrets by UnpublishedWriter
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One thing about working directly under Lord Katse: you went places. In the last six months, Sergeant Geary had been to more Galactor facilities than she had in the previous four years. Most of the visits were routine inspection tours, which meant people were behaving themselves at least for a few weeks before and after the visit. There were also a few surprise inspections (literally chosen by tossing a dart at a map). On occasion, when time allowed, she even went sightseeing off duty.

Today, they were at a mecha construction facility in Spain. The primary mecha project was near completion.

Galactor mecha ranged from gigantic zoomorphic machines to reasonably-sized camouflaged vehicles (zoomorphic and otherwise). Geary had operated a few of the smaller vehicles, and ridden in others, but she had never even seen one of the giants until today.

The construction bay was huge, the floor area easily equaling that of an Ameris football field, and at least thirty stories high. Walkways and doorways climbed the walls; gantries, girders and beams laced the gigantic room, supporting cranes, lifts, and other necessary equipment, or else ready to be moved to divide the area for other mecha.

As she looked up (and up, and up) at the bipedal mecha encased in construction scaffolding, Geary again wondered what purpose the giant monsters served. They were intimidating, and could take a considerable beating, but people were ultimately needed to carry out the details. Given Galactor’s successes to date, they seemed excessive.

Armed conquest creates resistance groups. Few question the legitimacy of such groups’ grievances, and many support them. Economic and political conquest creates disgruntled losers who sound like extremists. When those people blow things up, only extremists applaud.

On the other hand, Galactor had not succeeded through luck. Leader X and Lord Katse had to plan ahead and anticipate the unexpected.

Lord Katse, Geary, the project manager, and two technicians boarded the closed cable car for the tour. It crawled up the cable slowly, to give the visitors a good view of the mecha.

It took all her discipline not to smile. Her lord just barely concealed his excitement over this mecha. The project manager and the two technicians didn’t notice. She recognized the posture, the quivering (more sensed than seen), the way he thrust his head forward. Under the mask, she knew his eyes were shining. Some things never changed.

Hell, it was impressive. She understood enough about physics to know that these giants should be impossible. Too much mass and weight for bodies that were scaled-up proportionally from the organic models. Either Leader X had brought the knowledge to Earth, or Galactor engineers had solved the problem of constructing Japanese anime mecha.

No ‘skin’ yet covered the mecha. Intricate arrays of cables, motors, actuators, servos and things she could not name wrapped the metal skeleton. As the cable-car slid past the head, someone evidently decided to test the eyes: they tracked the car’s vertical movement.

The car shifted, transferring to a horizontal path.

“We’re about to begin some small performance tests,” the project manager said. “Basic movements.”

Another shift, and the car descended.

The construction scaffolding opened up. The mecha raised its forearms, hands palm-out, then straightened its arms in front of it. Damn, I’d surrender just seeing that.

Just before they reached its ‘waist’, the mecha took a step.

The car lurched, metal screamed, and the wall rushed at them. As the car slammed into the wall, she landed on one of the technicians. It swung away, and she grabbed the rail. “Lord Katse?”

He was braced in the corner, apparently unhurt. Then something else gave way, and the car crashed into the wall, dropped, and caught on a walkway. The door was now overhead.

When she was sure the car would not move any more, Geary got to her feet. We can’t stay in here. She grabbed the keys from the dead technician and unlocked the car door. “My lord?”

A groan. The project manager, neck broken, pinned Katse. The other tech, pale, crawled over. After peering out for several seconds, he said, “All storage on this level. Green key. Lord Katse will be safe there.”

He helped roll the dead man off. Geary didn’t like Katse’s clumsy, slow movements. “H – What? What happened?” he mumbled, voice lost in the sounds of destruction.

She had to look, and her jaw dropped.

The mecha had fallen, and flailed like a human with a seizure. Every movement struck something, causing further damage.

“Shit! Help me get him out of here. Lord Katse, stand up, please!” She took him by the arm.

After too many pleas and urgings, he got to his feet. She hoisted him through the door, then climbed after him.

“Go on!” the technician urged, trying to climb with a broken leg. “Get him someplace safe.”

Berg Katse stood stupidly on the walkway, barely responding to the chaos around him. Both ‘ears’ of his mask were damaged, one so badly that she feared for him. “Come with me.” She took his arm.

He resisted, more like a petulant child than an adult, digging in his heels and snapping, “No.”

Metal crashed.

“Yes.” Forgive me. She yanked him along to the nearest door.

Green key, green key, where was the fucking green key? She riffled through the ring, then forced herself to stop, take a breath, and start over. There.

She opened the door and dragged Lord Katse inside.

Not two seconds later, with a deafening shriek and a crash, wreckage blocked the doorway. Everything went black.

“Oh. Ow.” Her ears hurt.

Using the limited night-vision provided by her mask’s visual systems, she found the light-switch. So far, so good: they had lights.

Unlike in fiction, the storeroom did not contain many usable items outside the eyewash station and first-aid kit. Boxes of actuators and associated parts made up the bulk. Coils of tubing.

“What happened?” Still dopey.

“I think the mecha collapsed.” She made him sit on a stack of boxes.

“Collapsed.”

“Yes.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t see that part.” She put her hands on his shoulders. “My lord, look at me.”

“What?”

“You’re hurt. I think you hit your head when the cable-car was knocked loose.”

“Cable-car. Damaged?”

“Destroyed, now. We got out in time.” Concussion. Must be.

“The mecha collapsed, and wrecked the cable-car. You think I hit my head. It hurts.”

Well, parts of his head still work. “Yes, sir. I want to make sure you aren’t hurt badly before I call this in.”

“Of course.”

He’ll probably fight me on the mask. She unfastened his cape and set it aside. He barely removes it in my presence. “I have to do this, sir.”

He grabbed her hands. “No.”

“Sir, please let go. Let go.” You’re breaking my hands.

When he released her, she removed her mask. “Think. It’s me. Sergeant Geary. Focus, sir. I know what you look like. It’s okay for me to see your face.”

Outside, the noise stopped. Thank you.

He didn’t stop her, this time.

Pupils were even, to her relief. He winced when she found the injury. No skull fracture, but a nasty bruised area. No bleeding that she could detect. “Do you hurt anywhere else?”

“Ribs.”

When the project manager fell on him, probably. She felt his ribs gently, willing herself to have the usual forbidden thoughts about him, anything to keep from imagining the worst. No signs of broken ribs, or of any abdominal bleeding.

I should radio for help. Nobody knew where they were, and Lord Katse needed proper medical care.

She examined the transceiver in her mask. No apparent damage. When she turned it on, the menu appeared in her visual field.

Lots of noise on the base frequencies. She switched to the red bands, permitted only when Lord Katse was injured or in danger. (After the attempt on his life, she had suggested this. She was still surprised anyone had listened.)

After that report, she checked the first aid kit for painkillers and a cold-pack.

She glanced at him, then away. Looked back at him.

His face, in profile, had changed. Softer lines of jaw, mouth, and nose, a perfect image of Maddox. No Adam’s apple.

She had felt lean, hard muscle on his chest. She saw unmistakable breasts. Even his arms and shoulders looked different.

No. Wait. What’s happening?

Then, as she watched, Maddox’s face hardened to Berg Katse’s, the Adam’s apple reappeared, and the breasts vanished.

Screw the painkillers. I’m in bad shape.

No, I’m not.


Lord Katse’s incredible talent with disguise. A man and a woman who could be twins, but were never actually seen together. Mutated humans.

Oh, hell, oh shit, I called for help. I’ll bet Leader X is the only other being who knows of this the damn bird-head knows everything and people will freak if they find out.

Does he have a physician? Surely, he must, but I’ll be he’s at CK.

He keeps his secrets more tightly than a bank keeps money, and he did
that in front of me. What if he does it again?

‘I heal quickly,’ he’d told her after the Aegean firefight. No wonder.

God, my lord, my cat, what happened?

Nobody else will know, my lord. Not from me. Not if I have to kill everyone here.


She found the pain-reliever. Pill form. No cups. She hated swallowing pills dry.

Still grimacing, she gave him a packet. “For your head, sir.”

“Thank you, Sergeant.” He still seemed dazed.

I’ll bet that lump is gone. Or almost gone. The concussion remained, it seemed. The body changes. Apparently, not the brain. Or not that much. Not in any way that she could observe.

She sat. Waited. Tried not to think. If she thought about what she’d seen, he would know she had seen the change. He was confused, so it would take time for him to put it together, but eventually he would understand.

He’d held a knife to her throat over their friendship as children. What mercy could she expect over this?

“No breath of air to break the wave
“That rolls below the Athenian’s grave,
“That tomb which, gleaming o’er the cliff,
“First greets the homeward-veering skiff,
“High o’er the land he saved in vain:
“When shall such hero live again?”


Alarmed, she rose and went to him.

He leaned against the stack behind him, not looking at anything in particular. As he continued, she recognized the rhythms of Nineteenth Century poetry, either English or Amerisian.

His mind still worked. She resumed her seat.
***** ***** *****

Two hours later, the leader of the rescue called. “Sergeant Geary? This is Hardison, on the rescue team. We can’t raise Lord Katse.”

“His radio was damaged. He’s alive.” And currently reciting the poems of Lewis Carroll.

“Thank God. We have a trace on your signal. Oh, that’s a lot of wreckage.” He shared the image. “I estimate another hour.”

“Thank you, Hardison.”

Another call, this time on the red band. Lord Katse’s personal physician was en route from Cross Karakoram, and would arrive in a little over an hour. Good. Just keep the others away until then. Just in case he forgets.

“What’s the word?” Katse asked.

“They should have us out in another hour, and your personal doctor is on his way.” She handed over his mask and cloak.
***** ***** *****

Hardison had overestimated, but not deliberately. The technicians actually clearing the doorway found the two chunks of gantry holding up the mass of twisted metal. Within minutes, their mechas had cut and removed the supports, and the pile fell apart.

Using possible injuries as justification, Geary prevented anyone else touching Lord Katse. She helped him into the hovering mecha and stayed beside him as the operator piloted them out of the construction bay. The giant mecha, now lifeless, still lay on the floor.

At the medical unit, she refused to leave his side, not even for herself. Katse refused medical help, and the doctors were obliged to stay away.

I should just tell him I saw him transform. I’m as good as saying that right now.

“Go,” he urged.

“I’m fine. A few bruises. I don’t want to leave you until your doctor gets here.”

He tensed. “You said it was an accident.”

“It was, near as I can tell. I’m worried about you, sir.”

He lightly took her hand. “Don’t be. I feel better.”

You took my hand. You don’t feel better: you feel giddy. Or something. Maybe no more than relief at being out of there. Or one of his lesser manipulations.

A pale, shaking nurse entered. “Um, Lord Katse, your physician is here.”

Behind her loomed one of the strange humanoid beings Geary saw gliding through Cross Karakoram. The nurse cringed to one side, and the physician entered the room.

“You can go,” Katse said. “I’m in safe hands.”

She nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“That means you go to our quarters afterwards and get some rest.”
***** ***** *****

Their quarters could almost have been designed for them. An anteroom which probably saw more use as an office than as a guard’s bedroom, the main sitting room/office, then a real bedroom and master bath. When the base captain heard the request for a bed for the anteroom, he had not been insulted. D’Arman’s treachery was still fresh in people’s minds.

She paced the tiny room.

Maybe he had not noticed. Bullshit. He saw everything.

Would he think the concussion had addled his mind, and dismiss it? Were I him, I would not take that chance.

She had already put her unloaded sidearm out of reach, and removed the other concealed weapons she carried. Whatever Lord Katse decided, she would not fight his decision.

On the other hand, he knew that she was loyal. He could easily do nothing, merely walk in and tell her to pack for the trip back home.

The day wore on. At least a dozen times, she thought about calling him. Had he been hurt worse than she knew? Head injuries could be tricky. Some could kill days later. What seemed minor could turn out to be crippling. They’ll call me if it’s worse.

Evening, and no word. Was she cut out of the loop? Had she been deemed a liability? Would she even survive the night?

Act like it’s just another night. Worry about tomorrow, tomorrow.
***** ***** *****

She awoke without giving any sign. There was someone beside her bed. Lord Katse? Wait a bit.

The intruder sat on the side of her bed and leaned over her, resting his weight on one arm to her right. Before she could move, a familiar hand clamped on her throat, and Lord Katse whispered in her ear: “You know my greatest secret.”

As before, she didn’t twitch a muscle.

His lips were so close to her ear she could almost feel them as he spoke: “Who am I?”

“Lord Berg Katse, right arm and voice of Leader X.” What game was he playing? “Lord of Galactor.” Fear, devotion, and desire shortened her breath and sent her heart hammering.

“Are you certain?” He ran his thumb over her lips as his hand slid around to the back of her neck. She felt the thumb press her larynx.

“I am.” I am yours to do with as you please. I serve Galactor, and you. I am nothing without Galactor.

She could barely make out his face in the darkness, not that she could have read his expression, mask or no.

“You are who you are,” she whispered. “My lord and leader, who I serve without reservation.”

He held her life in his hands. He could take it any time. He could take her.

“Berg Katse, Lord of Galactor.” It wasn’t what he was that was important: it was who he was.

His lips traced the line of her jaw and down her throat. “Good answer.” He pulled away and sat up, drawing her with him. “More truth.”

She wanted to embrace him, to tell him everything in her heart. Ridiculous.

He released her and stood, a shadow in the shadows. “Good night, Sergeant,” he said.

“Good night, my lord.” My cat, my love.

He was gone.

She lay back on the bed, conscious of the increased responsibility she bore for his safety.
Chapter End Notes:
The poem Katse begins reciting is 'The Giaour' by Lord Byron.
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