[Fiction] Cold Warhorse

[Lyn 'Indigo' Ross]

Some people are frighteningly sane...

Lynette Ross tapped in the last few keystrokes, pressed the submit button and stretched in her office chair, hands placed at the small of her back as she straightened her spine. Even novas got numb backsides when they spent hours in front of a computer, typing up numerous reports and personality profiles. The quick, illicit visits to that novas-only website made for a pleasant change to the sick and diseased minds produced by node and nodeless alike.

She laughed softly. The whole Terat vs. Utopian thing reminded her of old days in the Cold War. Which made her older than she cared to admit at the moment, though the quantum coursing through her node gave her new youth and vitality. Her spine was a flexible rope, her muscles long and fluid, her limbs and hands supple once again. Arthritis, the bane of her life, was banished for decades - maybe even centuries - to come. The glasses she wore were for show, not necessity, and on a personal level, having the lithe body and soft curves she had as a younger woman back was downright pleasant.

Lynette was honest enough with herself to admit that she did not regret the incident which led to her eruption one bit. The complete randomness of the rapist and murderer choosing her of all people was amusing in a sardonic way. She had survived spying in the Soviet Union, uncovering Chinese spies in Taiwan and the odd black ops mission only to be pinned down, raped and her throat cut by a two-bit punk. Fate truly had a sense of humour.

Blacking out at the pain in her head as the knife sliced across her larynx seemed to be a final mercy.

Until she woke up under the stinking corpse of her killer when someone was pounding on her door. The police, alerted by an old colleague, found her and took her to the Rashoud clinic. She ended up being pressed into active service again, though the Directive backed off when she pointed out that having another old Cold War veteran was a bad idea. Not that she disagreed with the old workhorses getting back into harness, but having so many in one place was just begging for trouble.

A few strands of hair got into her eyes, shining blue and purple in the cold light from her monitor. It was odd that the old name she had been tagged with during the Sixties ought to come back in her subconscious. Those were the days, my friend, we thought they'd never end...

But they did. Communism (apart from China) fell and the Cold War fizzled out. The Berlin Wall was pulled down and she found herself working as a profiler with the Federal Police on the slow decline to retirement. But being the stubborn old bitch she was, she refused to go quietly into the night, as per the Dylan Thomas poem.

Nearly twenty years later and positively decrepit, she was killed by a street-thug. The irony was not lost on her several months later.

You can take the warhorse out of the war, but you can't take the war out of the horse.

Ah, the irony, the irony.

[Lyn 'Indigo' Ross]

Three days later

The phone rang three times before going into her answering machine. "You have called Lynette's place. If I'm not answering, I'm out in the cold. Please leave a message."

It had been funny once.

The insistent offers coming from Project Utopia's Internal Affairs bunch, DeVries and even the Directive started to make it not-funny. Hell, despite her request for no recruitment drives on the OpNet, some guy from the Teragen managed to get her private number and leave a message offering membership in something called 'The Casablancas'. Someone had been watching too many bad movies, obviously.

She never did figure out why that film was considered a classic. It always bored her to tears.

She waited for the caller to leave their message on the answering machine as she twisted her hair into a knot atop her head and pinned it in place with a wooden skewer to serve as an emergency hairpin. It had tripled in length during her eruption, requiring the services of a hairdresser to shape into something reasonably presentable; the novelty of doing a nova client's tresses left the extremely exclusive Sydney salon doing the work for free in return for a promotion poster. Fair enough trade, she figured, and the result was well worth it: layered from shoulder to waist, modest locks fell about her face even when the excess was bound up somehow. A far cry from the old bun and hairnet routine.

What does a person do when they suddenly find that several centuries has been tacked onto their innings? she reflected as she slid in another skewer. The loss of her voice was a small price to pay for the node-sent opportunity presented to her now.

Finally, the caller spoke his piece: "Lynette, it is Nikolas Demyashkin. May I present my congratulations on your eruption? It has been a lonely few years being the only one with a node. OpMail me at... The message was brief, concise and delivered in that utterly precise English and measured baritone that she recalled well. He then hung up before she could scramble herself to pick up the damn phone just to let him know she was home.

Lynette sat down on her battered old lounge-chair, reflexively rubbing an old scar on her left ring finger. That had been Demyashkin's way of marking 'his' women in the bad old days when you could never quite trust an informer. He had played her with his poetry and flashing white smile in Berlin even as she played him with her ability to analyse and manipulate psychological traits. Those were dangerous times.

Somehow, she was not surprised to discover the ex-soldier had erupted. Even less of a surprise was the discovery that he knew she was now a nova; though news travelled rapidly through the Cold War community and she had been a nova for several months, he was supposed to be somewhere in the bowels of Siberia with family. Those had been the words he had used to tell her that he was on a mission.

Of all the men she had ever slept with, she supposed he was the only one she ever loved. Or came close to loving as her duties allowed.

The best conversation on morality I ever had was in bed with a Soviet spy... Ten years after the Cold War had ended officially, a trip to Moscow. Her arthritis was a bitch and he had developed a limp, but that didn't stop them in bed. She cried then, and he pretended not to see it.

Old scars remained on both their hearts, she supposed. Did that mean she could trust him?

Trust. Most people took it for granted, like sucking in air and electricity. In her line of work, it had been a commodity just like anything else.

Could she trust him?

Could she trust herself?

[Lyn 'Indigo' Ross]

The next day

From: indigo_blues@bigpond.op.au

To: pretty_boy21@eurotrash.op

Re: Why am I not surprised?

Hey Nick,

Got your message; couldn't answer it for obvious reasons. Tracked your current location down via some old friends - bet you must love those legalised prostitution laws in Holland. Trust you to combine the world's three oldest professions into one operation.

Would love to catch up sometime, outside of bed. I'm still dealing with the whole eruption thing - how'd you feel when centuries got added to your lifespan? When you're young, you don't think about that kind of shit, but when you're our age...

Well, yeah. You know what I mean.

Found this site for novas - http://nprime.op. There's some nice folks around there, but others are real kooks. Watch out for Signy - there's bats in her belfry and cobwebs in her...

I just hope her vibrator works, because it's the only way she'd ever get any.

Yes, dear, I am still as indelicate as ever. It's one of the pleasures of old age.

By the way, you're looking good. Eruption cleaned me up, but it not only cleaned you up, but put on a new lick of paint and did a few renovations. No wonder you're making so much in Amsterdam.

Hope you get in touch with me soon. We need to talk.

Love and kisses,

Lyn

[Lyn 'Indigo' Ross]

From: pretty_boy21@eurotrash.op

To: indigo_blues@bigpond.op.au

Re: You haven't changed a bit.

Lynette,

Eruption has been kind to you. I see that you have already acquired some fans at NovaBabes.op.au; I look forward to seeing the reality soon.

So you are still with the Australian Federal Police? I am not surprised they snapped you up once your eruption was complete, and I cannot say I am pleased with Phillip for taking three days to check on you. The thought of your voice being stilled distresses me, for you always sang so well.

Ah, I am maudlin today. Sergei died two weeks ago - his liver finally gave out. As you say, 'A bottle of vodka a day will do that.' Many of us were dropped like broken toys at the end of the war, and it is still something that makes me bitter. Why do you think I told Petr Ilyanovich where to go after my eruption?

I am pleased to hear you did the same. Too many of the old soldiers are getting back into the work after eruption, and only a few are exploring other options. Besides, the Directive makes me nervous, because they have no apparent counter - CIA kept KGB on its toes, and I am pretty sure your work with ASIO kept the Chinese behaving. God knew that it kept all of your informers in line; I envied that ability about you. Where I used charm, you used intelligence.

Yes, I concede you were smarter than me. Perhaps that is different now, perhaps it is not. Much has changed for myself since eruption.

Whatever Sevvie told you, I am not acting as a gigolo. I am running a brothel, I will concede, but I am not doing the act itself for money. I do not need to.

Da, I know you will not believe me. You do not trust me, and now with your powers, I am not certain whether I can trust you.

Heh. It is nothing new, da?

As for learning you now have many years... Well, it changes your perception on life. I find myself experiencing things as if they are new again, and from what I have heard, you are much the same.

I hope we may spend some of those years together. I have missed your company, but I did not wish to rub salt into any wound because of my eruption.

That we are equals is a good thing.

I will speak to you soon, I hope.

Dasvedanya,

Nikolas

[Lyn 'Indigo' Ross]

The next day

From: indigo_blues@bigpond.op.au

To: pretty_boy21@eurotrash.op

Re: Smooth operator

Nick,

You still playing the women, hmm? Business must be doing really good for you because I know that suit was Versace and the loafers are Gucci.

If this is a ... business opportunity, then hell no. I am not spreading my legs for money. Did enough of that in the bad old days.

At least these days we call it sexpionage.

Saw you registered at the forums. Have they made you laugh yet?

Lyn

[Lyn 'Indigo' Ross]

The next day

From: prettyboy21@eurotrash.op

To: indigo_blues@bigpond.op.au

Re: Business

Lynette,

Your taste and eye for fashion are as impeccable as always. The tie was Hermes and the cuff-links Geoffrey Thomas. Yes, I still prefer baseline novas. Eufiber makes me cringe when you think about where it came from.

I am somewhat troubled by your belief that I have contacted you for a business opportunity as one of my people. I would never insult you in such a manner, because I remember what it was like to be prostituted out for the sake of the state. Besides, while there are novas who sell themselves, I would never ask that of one I knew.

Especially since I do not share well. You have a special place in my heart.

The forum is... different. I see you have communicated often with them. When you have to say something, you say it. That was how I saw through your facade in Berlin.

I will do something about arranging transportation soon.

Dasvedanya,

Nikolas