Chapter Text
Nikita placed her organizer firmly down on her desk, meeting the eyes of the young man in front of her with a steady gaze.
“And what do I gain from allying with you, Mr. Kyriakus? You may helm the NightStar Clan, and I respected your mother’s intelligence and financial sense, but you are young and untried. It seems I would be the one providing all the advantages.”
That wasn’t entirely true, if one were honest, but such statements were part and parcel of Nikita’s tools for negotiation, and as a Psy with flawless conditioning, she wasn’t about to cut herself off from any leverage she could use to her benefit.
Her only warning was a bright ping off her shields before her office door slammed open, the solid oak rebounding against the wall with an unpleasantly loud crack that probably nicked the paint.
“Mama! I found this kitty! She’s hurt, can we keep her? I want to name her Chocolate, it’s sweet like her!”
A thick sheet of ice-cold calm slid over Nikita, distancing her from everything, and deadening her sense of the world around her. She stood fluidly as Sascha stopped cheerfully babbling, sensing the tension in the room.
“Sascha. Give me the kitten.” Her daughter obediently handed over the little orange cat—which, unsurprisingly, had something stuck in its paw. It mewled pitifully.
“Mama?” Sascha asked, her voice wavering, and a brief spark of pride made it past the sheet of ice before it was smothered out by the sharp terror that was the only emotion making it past Nikita’s dissociative barrier.
“Go to your room, Sascha. Tell your minder I wish to speak with her if she asks. I suspect you need a nap.”
Sascha looked pleadingly at the kitten before doing as Nikita ordered with not a word of protest. She was dutiful and obedient even at only five, one of the few easy things in raising her.
Nikita closed the door, locking it for good measure this time, before turning to look at Anthony Kyriakus. He hadn’t moved an inch, but she had no doubt he had observed everything.
It was a pity killing him would make everything much more complicated. If it had been possible, Nikita would have felt fury that she had, in one single moment, lost nearly every advantage she had against the other Psy.
“My daughter is three years old.” Nikita blinked at him, the ice melting slightly in the wake of such an unexpected response. “She is a Cardinal Foreseer,” he added, standing.
The ice shattered when he sent her a polite request to initiate mental contact. Nikita, completely thrown, accepted.
Faith—and her brother Tanique—are beyond priceless to me, he said. An image of a toddler with hair the striking red of a ruby, and an infant with cat-like, tawny eyes accompanied his words. But what struck Nikita speechless were the emotions those images were laden with. Fear. Adoration. Grief. Longing. Fury. Protectiveness. She could practically taste their emotional impact.
Kyriakus leaned against the tall windows, nothing showing on his face.
You are reckless, Nikita said finally, harshly. The young man sent back a casual dismissal that was almost believable, if she hadn’t felt the spark of fear he immediately clamped down on.
She considered him carefully for a long moment as the majority of her fear—and the ice—finally melted away. He was young, impetuous, and concerningly emotional behind his shields—not that Nikita herself had much ground to stand on in the last matter.
But he was also highly intelligent, powerful—mentally, politically, and economically—and normally discreet.
Anthony Kyriakus was unpredictable, and had given Nikita the same rope to hang himself that she had inadvertently provided to him. He could have used it to conduct his own fight to become a Councilor.
Nikita was more than intrigued.
Mr. Kyriakus, I propose a trade in addition to our business deal.
He leaned forward, interest—and dare she say, excitement—slipping past his shields.
Please, continue, Councilor Duncan.
You deal with this cat and my daughter’s minder, and I will sign at least one fertilization contract with you that gives you the deciding vote in custodial arrangements for the child that results. I would also be willing to open the door to negotiations for a longer-term alliance between the two of us.
If the young man had been any less well-trained in Silence, Nikita suspected his jaw would have been gaping open in shock.
Councilor Duncan, may I ask the terms of your requested disappearances?
Nikita nodded, finally relaxing.
I do not care what you do with the cat, as long as Sascha never has a chance to set eyes on it again. When it comes to her minder, do not make it obvious, but I would prefer it to be subtle and unable to be tied to either of us.
Kyriakus nodded, and from the subtle darkening of his expression, Nikita presumed that, like her, it would not be the first time he killed to protect a child.
“Understood, Councilor Duncan,” he said aloud, bowing very properly in the style that had become popular as a form of acknowledgement, greeting, or gratitude following the pandemic that had occurred when Nikita was a small child, but was now starting to be considered old-fashioned.
She sent him the name of Sascha’s minder, then hesitated.
As Kyriakus prepared to leave, with only a brief mental acknowledgement of her message, she stepped forward. As he reached the door after taking the kitten with him, she said,
“Nikita, Mr. Kyriakus. I would conduct business with you again.”
His hand stuttered over the door knob he had just unlocked.
“Anthony, Coun-Nikita. I would as well, especially if our negotiations continue to be so educational and productive.”
~
The door of her daughter’s room slid open noiselessly with a touch of Nikita’s hand. She made a mental note to remove the biometrics of Sascha’s minder from the list of those accepted to enter.
The door clicked back shut as she kneeled down beside her daughter’s bed. Sascha slept peacefully, easily, despite being spread out like a starfish diagonally across her bed. Nikita tucked an escaping curl back into Sascha’s bonnet with a gentle hand. Her daughter mumbled something unintelligible, shifting to curl in a loose fetal position facing Nikita, but didn’t wake up.
Nikita would never have admitted she was glad Sascha didn’t wake up. She reached out through the PsyNet, her daughter’s impressive shields allowing her to slip right through them into Sascha’s mind.
For the last time, Nikita released a particularly targeted virus into her daughter’s mind. It would last for only a few hours before burning itself out.
~
The next morning, Sascha would only remember visiting her mother’s office, as Nikita had planned. She would not remember Anthony Kyriakus being in the room, and she would not remember interrupting with the kitten.
But Nikita didn’t know then that this last virus would have lasting consequences on her daughter. Consequences she hadn’t anticipated or intended.
~
In the years that followed, Nikita watched Anthony’s trajectory with a close eye, and increasing intrigue. He continued to show the business acumen that he had started with, and his daughter began to earn a name of her own, though unlike Nikita and Sascha Duncan, the faces of Anthony Kyriakus and Faith NightStar weren’t plastered across the PsyNet and Internet.
Anthony fulfilled his end of the bargain almost immediately. Nikita promptly had her lawyers send his lawyers a fertilization contract. He neither accepted nor rejected it.
He also didn’t take her more obvious overtures of sponsorship or alliance, instead growing his own personal reputation as a political powerhouse.
However, any request Nikita made for NightStar forecasters was always granted, and whenever he rejected her business deals, he did her the courtesy of not publicizing his rejection, and often offered her something in return.
Anthony Kyriakus continued rising politically and financially, and Nikita was unsurprised. But she was surprised that he managed to do it without assassinations—character or literal—and was rarely seen as weak.