Life as a New Hire Ch. 22

"Good morning, Cáel Ishara," the security team (not Security Detail) leader greeted me. That was part 'thanks for letting my sister 'Runners' into a house' and 'maybe pick me next time.'

"Good morning, Wilma Draper," I nodded back. I went to the counter and leaned in. I needed to fortify my supportive base and I knew how to do it.

"You do realize I don't choose who joins House Ishara, don't you?" I addressed her softly yet loud enough for the two closest security women to hear.

"You do not?" the woman appeared perplexed.

"No," I shook my head in the negative.

At that moment she wondered if this was a trick of the Council. Good girl.

"The senior Amazons of House Ishara chose the next candidates. I make the ritual appeal to Ishara, of course. Selection remains in the hands of former 'Runners' who nominate the 'Runners' who have proven themselves.

I was inspired to initiate Buffy and Helena because I had enough faith in them to believe they knew Havenstone and what House Ishara needed. The Amazons in the second ritual were all Buffy and Helena's choices. I think those two and the latest group Ishara has approved of, will make the perfect judges for picking future 'Runners' of accomplishment and worth - not only for House Ishara, but for the new Amazons who have risked everything for our People," I piled on the propaganda.

She nodded. The two closest security guards nodded as well. Off I went to the gun range. With less than a minute worth of words, I had reinforced my perfection. I wasn't a male. I was a male with a passel of hardcore, praiseworthy Amazons working around me, insulating me from committing any errors and making all the important decisions while I behaved like a bobble-headed doll.

The range was back to 'normal' except I could smell the chemicals this time out. Whatever concrete and surface coating substances they had used to repair my grenade-inspired damage left my nose with a terrible itch. I had a gun selection today. I had no instructor yet was hopeful. I packed up my .40, my back-up .380, the combat shotgun and my Personal Defense weapon then headed out.

I patiently waited behind one of the stations, soaking up the view of medium gray yoga pants worn by a woman who presented a meticulously crafted, awesome bubble-butt to the world. After she finished off one magazine, the Amazons looked over her shoulder at me. Horn-dog time. The woman smiled as she motioned me forward.

We put my weapons on the stand and prepared for school.

"I am Wiesława of House Živa," she smirked playfully. By the Almighty, she had a thick Polish accent, rich lips, russet hair and 'come hither' eyes. I was prepping for some early 'nookie' time.

"Hello, I am Ash Ketchum and I have an unhealthy relationship with free-roaming, anthropomorphic creatures," I replied as we clasped forearms Amazon-style. As Wiesława was trying to puzzle that out, an Amazon from an adjoining booth came over and punched me in the arm. I couldn't even recall this one's name though I knew that face and physique.

"Stop that, Cáel," the woman chastised me. "She's new here."

"I thought he was bringing me more weapons to use. Was this male being insolent?" Wiesława tried to put things in their proper place. "Should he be disciplined?" At least she wasn't taking me being beaten as her Goddess-given right.

"No, Wiesława. This is Cáel Ishara, Head of House Ishara, he brought those weapons for HIS use and most likely came to your station looking for instruction," the unnamed Amazon stated.

"Does this mean we are passed that whole 'grenade launcher' thing?" I inquired of the women.

"We are not sure. For now we have decided to not pre-judge you since you remain consistently combative no matter what. Constanza is recovering," she tacked on.

"Good," I grinned. "How soon can she return to duty? I imagine she makes a lousy patient."

Pause. The 'Constanza' bit had been a test. I had a feeling that my emotional tendency to spare lives and show mercy was getting around. It wasn't the Amazon way, though it did mean Constanza would remain alive for a while longer when it was generally accepted she should not.

"She will have to retrain her vision. Her doctors are hopeful," the woman responded.

"That is for the best. I do hope there are no ill intentions toward Pamela," I warned her. "Such a vengeance would be personal and I would feel no obligation to treat those criminals as I would my fellow Amazons - are we clear?"

"It has been made expressly clear that this issue is at an end," she bowed slightly.

"Let us commit this to the 'nothingness'," was my suggestion. The two Amazons twitched. That was a phrase straight out of their cultural playbook. Both nodded, the familiar Amazon left and I turned back to Wiesława.

"Do you still want a go at training me?" I asked the Pole.

"Yes...yes, I would like that," she gave me a bright, toothy white smile. "I find you interesting." Off I went again. Wiesława was diligent and definitely 'hands-on'. Twenty minutes into the training one of my familiar SD firing partners showed up.

"Don't let him take his clothes off," Felicité teased me. Her Congolese French contrasted erotically with Wiesława's Polish.

"His clothes come off?" Wiesława seemed puzzled. "How is that accomplished?"

"A deeply scientific, psychological process," Felicité teased my latest friend/fish in the barrel.

"Cáel, take off your clothes," she commanded me. I gave her a haughty, condescending glare. "Please." My biking shirt came off first then my biking slippers and finally the shorts.

"Your turn," I regarded Wiesława. She shot a look to Felicité. Her sports bra was millimeters from exposing her goodies when my Congolese tormentor stepped in.

"You don't have to take off your clothes for him," she intervened.

"But I like seeing you ladies naked," I protested. Felicité patted my package.

"We like seeing you naked too. Now put on your pants before a hot shell casing creates yet another incident," Felicité teased me again.

A great chasm of misunderstanding had been bridged since Friday. The grenade-launcher was part of it, yet I think Rachel and Velma were far more constructive than I could have been. Velma had seen me in crisis mode. I hadn't panicked. I had seen to my partner (though she was an inconsequential female) and been cool throughout the process in Katrina's office as Velma and her four team members had overheard.

Rachel, Charlotte, Mona and Tiger Lily had probably given a different story - less professional and more human. That must have worked in my favor. A stone-cold bad-ass would have been more worrisome - a challenge. No, I had been shaken, irrational, brave and grieving. I had fought an assassin of the Nine Clans and not lost (thus not an embarrassment to a culture I didn't really belong to - until that moment).

I had insulted the Condotteiri and the Seven Pillars, who were universally hated. I had been nice to the Earth & Sky and Illuminati, who they didn't like much, but could be handy if a war did break out. I had been 'friendly' to the Egyptians and Nine Clans, who the Amazon rank and file did approve of. The SD had no doubts - they were looking at a war.

Unlike their leadership, the Security Detail was anticipating this, even anxious for the test. Fighting is what they spent their whole lives training for. Thirty years had passed since the last major clash between Havenstone and the others. For the youngest, this was the ultimate chance to prove their training had been perfect.

For the oldest members of the SD, this was the culmination of a lifetime's devotion. 'Take themselves to the cliffs'? Not now. Now came the chance to make every burn, bullet hole, stab wound and piece of shrapnel worth it. Their Host lavished care and resources on the Security Detail - their Warrior Elite - and they were about to reward that glorification with a fervor only female's with 3000 years of martial tradition could match.

Like me? Allowable yet not required. Respect me? Constanza was their lesson on respect. Obedience? No. Rachel had most assuredly related my contact with the 'Runners' and Buffy, so they could hit me like they could no other Head of Household...as long as it was 'appropriate'. Since they were not forced to give me full equality, they could stomach my 'almost' equality.

Think of it as being able to punch your manager at work in the arm whenever you thought they were doing something stupid. Imagine how much worker morale would benefit. By stepping up and taking a punch, or two, I bought myself and House Ishara much more respect than a snippy insistence on etiquette would have ever done.

Bringing 'Runners' into a First House? The SD wasn't jumping for joy. Here, the SD's sense of superiority worked in Ishara's favor. What did it matter to them that a few 'Runners' had been exalted to Full-blooded status? SD was the best of the best. That they were the best of the 'best available until now' hadn't occurred to them yet.

All that circled back to Felicité playing with me, no one taking exception to me making a play for Wiesława and the return of the firing range to an educational platform for me. As I had told Oneida, 'defeat starts in the mind'. Along with that came 'Victory starts with a plan', and 'seize the moment'. I was aiming for seizing victory in the flesh.

I bent over to put my pants back on. Since Felicité was departing for jobs-unknown, I ran the pants, and my hand, along Wiesława's inner right thigh. By the look in her eyes when I was finished, she didn't mind in the slightest. At the end of my allotted time period, my marksmanship had improved and Wiesława was mine for the taking.

What bothered me was that it felt too easy somehow. Weird huh - that 'easy' would bother me.

"You don't hang around men much?" I questioned the Pole as the weapons were being put away.

"No," she sighed. "The last male in my hold died eight years ago. That is one reason I was re-assigned here," she informed me.

"What department are you with?" I asked as we waited on the elevator.

"Security Detail," she answered.

"Fantastic," I murmured. "Elsa is a great boss. The two of us get along great."

"Really? That is good news," Wiesława sounded upbeat. "How close are you?" Hint, hint.

"Like the Cobra and the Mongoose," I grinned. Into the elevator we went. "I'll let you figure out which is which."

"You are the Cobra," she patted my thinly covered cock. Yay! No personal boundaries.

Less I forget I was still on the list of approved prey animals the door opened on the first floor and Brielle, her buddy, and Oneida stepped onboard.

I had no clue where Wiesława was supposed to go. I guessed she was along for the ride.

"Good morning, Cáel," Brielle greeted me before licking my left nipple. Wiesława was confused - could she have been licking me, and getting licked by me, half an hour ago?

"What are you doing?" Oneida squawked.

"Yum; someone has been to the gun range this morning," Brielle smiled at me. "Oh, and...sorry about your paternal person," she hastily added.

"They are called Fathers," I sighed. To defuse Oneida, I slipped a hand to the small over her back then wiggled three fingers between the top of her skirt and panties.

It was 'dangerous' enough to give her pause before going after the other women.

"It is good to see your new, exalted status hasn't gone to your head, Cáel Ishara," Brielle looked very naughty.

"Sisters first, last and always," I responded. "I'm not going to take credit for my ancestors being kick ass."

"They must have been very courageous women," Wiesława stated. I snorted.

"Wiesława, my Ishara lineage goes down the male side of the family, so those lethal ancestors were all male," I chided her.

"When the Dacian-Thracians moved into the region, they joined with those tribes fighting the Celts. Later, they joined with the Dacian kings and fought against the Romans. Germans, Avars, Bulgars and finally the Magyars came their way - my ancestors impressed them all enough to be accepted.

I know this because my Father's name was Nyilas, which means Archer in the Magyar tongue. We were fighters under the Arpad dynasty the same way we had gone to war with our Amazon War leaders thousands of years earlier. I also know this because of my bloodline - if the female folk had been raped, the bloodline would have perished," I explained.

"Where exactly was your family from?" Wiesława inquired.

"My grandfather said we Nyilas' were from Székelys Lands in Northern Romania," I replied. "My great-grandfather grew up under the Romanian King, hated it and died fighting as a Hungarian soldier against the Soviets in World War II," I continued.

"That is why my great-grandmother took her children and came to America. They had lost their homeland in her opinion. Dad said she was bitter until the day she died," I sighed over my forerunners intransience. "She even wanted to be buried at her home town of Szászrégen," I let them know. "That never happened."

The elevator door opened, I waved good-bye to friends new and old then raced to Katrina's bathroom. Katrina was at her desk, working away.

"Cáel," Katrina acknowledged my passage with a wave of her hand. "Hayden and I have been examining a list of possible..."

"That boat has sailed, Katrina," I cut her off. "I'll take care of my business without Hayden's help, thank you very much. I know you tried to warn her. I should have known there was no use dealing with the Council in any way, shape, or form. There isn't." I paused. "Tell your allies that there will be many in House Ishara and Warrior-Fathers too."

"Aren't you worried in the least?" Katrina requested.

"We both know that some of these bitches want to face their end like the lead characters in a Wagnerian opera. All we can do is remind them they are traitors to their Race, not patriots to some modern day concoction of a cult of gender blood purity," I stated, "as we work to save our people."

"Those 'Old Guard' broads have forgotten what an Amazon is supposed to be," I explained.

"And a man is going to show us the way?" Katrina studied me with emotionless intent.

"Yes," I muttered. "A man who prefers love over hate and counts his worth by the lives he saves, not the one's he takes."

"Do you ever fear this 'softness' will weaken your masculinity?" Katrina mused. That hurt - not because of her words, which could be true for any man. It hurt because the bastion against such thinking had just died.

"My only fear is that I won't live up to my father's example," I responded.

"Not only as a man and a father in my time, but as a human being," I delved into the wounded portion of my soul. "He never went to college, served in the military, or even got into a fight until that last minute of his life. He covered for co-workers with family issues, never failed to answer a call out to work in inclement weather, and did all that normal boring shit few here even understand.

He let me be weak and let me be strong. His greatest lesson was that no matter where my life led, I had to take responsibility for it. The strong ask for help. The weak ask for someone to do the task for them. Love is not a word. Love is the star you chart your life by. The worst weakness is letting fear stop you from pursuing what you want.

That is what I have to measure up to," I finished. In the interim, several of the new hires showed up and were observing the spiel.

"I would think he would be happy if you measured up to what you wanted out of life," Katrina said.

"I aim to do both," I grinned. I went to the bathroom and quickly changed into my work attire. The meeting started on time with the additional of a gnat-bite - Dora was two minutes late. At the time, nothing seemed out of sorts to me. It was a day on the job with Rosette.

Around 3:30 pm, Pamela stopped our knife training (her with her wand and me with my weighted, wooden blade). She went to the corner of the room, ran her finger along the central point and drew back a finger with dust on it. She raised the finger so I could clearly see it.

"It's dust?" I shrugged.

"Normally they do a much better job," Pamela noted and back to training we went.

The nightmare became real with one phrase in common usage: 'I'll get to it when I can', one Runner told Desiree when Desiree gave her a task. One of the most fascinating things in my book about Havenstone was that it hummed along like a well-oiled, organic machine. Tasks were completed, back-ups were always on call, and promptness wasn't a virtue - I was the absolutely expected.

"What did you say?" Desiree asked for confirmation.

"I said I'll get right on it," the woman sighed. I caught the look in Desiree's eyes. Something was wrong, but she couldn't put a name to it. Oaths and obligations - the lubricant for patently lethal Amazon society.

Those words tossed out without too much consideration were now fraying around the edges. This wasn't the Plague, boils, lesions, leprosy, rickets, or the Home Loan bubble bursting. Those you could fight. How did you counter the devaluation of someone's word? Ishara's curse was crawling toward a very bad end unless I did something, but what?

Personal respect would remain. Hierarchy? Amazons would begin to question why they were prioritizing their lives around someone they didn't know, or knew and didn't like. We weren't at that final destination, yet it was coming, and best of all, every woman in the company had a weapon, or quick access to one.

A phone call grabbed me before I went in for the 'end of day' meeting. It was Brooke.

"Christopher Cáel-umbos," I murmured. "Economy Class Oriental tours. How may I help you?" Laughter ... and more than Brooke's.

"Libra and I were getting ready to head out to the Hamptons and wanted to give you one last chance to come along," Brooke pleaded. An impressive dicking indeed.

Thousands of reasons not to go - safety, responsibility, risk for other...

"Sure, I'd love to come along. Can you pick me up at Havenstone at 6:10 pm? We'll make a quick run to my place to pick up some stuff and then head out, unless that's too late?" I offered.

"See you then, Cáel," Brooke purred.

"See you," Libra called out as well. It was a loathsome indicator of how out of control my life was ... that me, a working class kid, was going on a romp with two rich, high society girls to some mansion for a weekend of hedonistic fun...because that was more 'normal' than my week had been. I entered the meeting, took my teasing and made for the gym.

This hour was devoted to a hardcore workout and nothing but. Rapid repetitions, quick shifts, rolling through the muscle groups. Even a few of the dedicated lifters gave me appreciative looks. I didn't have the time today. I hit the showers and made the doors before I hit a snag. Security held me up yet again. They seemed nervous, so I asked and got a bottled water and made some jokes.

These ladies were going to be my allies, damn it, before I was done. Troika caught up with me a minute later. She extended a handful of round, brownish-yellow balls in a necklace. Each ball had a symbol inscribed on it.

"We received this and a message this morning," she snapped. "We have decided to reject it."

"It is horse-hoof," Pamela whispered in my ear. The gears went spinning. There was one person I knew who would send me keratin scrimshaw jewelry. Those nasty bitches were piling on the stupid. I looked it over - it was old, maybe going as far back as Timur aka Tamerlane to the English-speaking world. The 'cord' was made of hair - probably horse tail hair.

I had no reciprocal gift to offer; absolutely nothing this valuable. But wait, I did! Somewhere there was a Havenstone bureau, department, or office that hung on to the artifacts ALL the Houses had accumulated over the passage of years. Some of that shit was mine - Ishara's. Our house had expired before the colonies became states.