This time when Netahiln fled, she made the conscious decision not to flee to her automatic "safe place", and Kalaia. Instead, as soon as her paws hit Star City flooring and her teleporter-for-hire had let go of her fur, she slipped away to her apartment. Once there, she started stalking around-- not pacing, not following any set path, but moving purposefully from room to room. Only though her steps were sure and direct, she picked the room at random, and the only purpose she actually had in mind was, distantly and absently, to walk out her sudden panic and fury.

How had the little wretch known? How did the little wretch know? No, check that, Habithi knew, so now Netahiln knew exactly how the little wretch knew. Or as exactly as anyone could know. Besides the little wretch, herself, and her omniscient siblings, who apparently knew everything, including the whys of their omniscience.

Their omniscience! It wasn't possible, it shouldn't be possible, and yet it was! Who had ever heard of true omniscients? People, or dragons, who were really know-it-alls, and didn't just think they were? The only thing she could think of were gods, and she didn't even think truly omniscient deities existed-- after the Balespawn's hatching she wasn't about to say deities in general didn't exist, but no matter how powerful something was, she'd never believed in something or someone knowing everything. But somehow, Habithi had found the one creature who did, and procured one of his offspring! No wonder he'd disappeared without warning!

It wasn't fair! Three months of hard work and anger and hatred, building up her psionic and her networks and her dream, wasted because now, whatever she did, he would know! That little brat-- who obviously admired him, who obviously submitted to him, the wretch-- would tell him! It wasn't fucking fair!

But Netahiln was the first to tell people life wasn't fair-- her life wouldn't be the way it was if life were fair; gods, she wouldn't even exist if life were fair-- so she ought to be the last to complain about it. Yet the minute she felt like she was starting to get a a clawhold into what she wanted, the minute she felt on solid ground, everything was thrown on its head again! Just like three months ago, when she'd come home bonded a second time and her life had been utterly changed, utterly turned on its head, utterly destroyed. It was happening again. How many times would her life reorder itself before things finally made sense again? Before things started to go her way for more than a few days?

As if that would ever happen. Trust Habithi to disappear from her radar for two days-- TWO DAYS!-- and immediately be drawn to the most dangerous, most useful, little creature he possibly could find.

Maybe all wasn't lost. Maybe that whelp-- Terebinth, hadn't that been her name?-- wouldn't blab every secret, every plan, Netahinl had to Habithi. But maybe she would. How much would she, could she, tell her new sponsor? Just how much danger was Netahiln's new goal of ruining Habithi's life in, now? Habithi seemed to think, based on what he'd been told and what he'd discerned for himself, that she would be telling him everything she knew, albeit in riddles. He was, of course, utterly confident that anything he needed to know, he would figure out easily. Because he was confident about everything.

Damn him. Damn him to fucking hell.

And damn her, too. Damn all of them....

The phone rang just as she was stalking past the bedroom receiver, making her jump. Their phone had the default, annoying ring, because no one really used it. Netahiln's various contacts and employers usually sent things via one of her various email accounts-- encrypted, of course-- or via personal messenger, so they would be less likely to be overheard and understood. None of her "friends" were the type of friend to call and chat, or even call to set up a meeting. They were "we'll hang out when we happen to run into each other" friends, with a couple "we'll meet at a specific time every week, no confirmation necessary" thrown in for good measure. And she hadn't missed any meetings, so they wouldn't be calling to find out where she was.

So who the hell was calling? Salesperson? Someone for Habithi, strange as that sounded? Bah, Netahiln didn't want to talk to anyone, anyway.

The voice mail picked up after two more rings, but since that was the one thing Netahiln had changed from default-- just in case someone did call for Habithi when he wasn't there, so she could find out who it was without him noticing-- it filtered through the apartment's speakers rather than silently going straight to the computerized mailbox.

"Neta'?"

Netahiln froze mid-step.

"Neta', it's me."

She hadn't gone running to her bond. She hadn't. But she was calling. She'd found her, anyway.

"Netahiln, I know you're there, and I know you can hear me: your feelings got all spikey. Pick up the phone."

Feelings? She was leaking? Oh, god, she was leaking, and Kalaia was hearing it, and she'd called. She couldn't even stay isolated when she made an effort to.

"Neta', come on. Pick up the phone!"

Netahiln picked up the phone, all right. She picked it up and threw it across the room with a roar, cutting off the call and smashing the receiver-- and its holster that kept it working and powered up-- against the bedroom wall. She'd effectively picked up on, then hung up on, Kalaia. The unassuming machine fell in hundreds of little, electronic and plastic pieces onto the carpet, and Netahiln stared at it there, growling and panting a little through her bared teeth as she ruthless tracked down the source of the emotional leakage and clamped down on it viciously until she was sure nothing would get out again. Surely, with no more feed and with that powerful rebuffal, the girl wouldn't contact her again.

Disgusted with herself, Netahiln fled the room, and slammed the door shut with a hind foot so she wouldn't wander in there again.

That still wasn't the end of it, though. As Netahiln continued to move around the apartment, mind restlessly coming up with and then quickly discarding various plans for dealing with a creature who knew everything, right down to which way you groomed your fur in the morning and all the way up to how you would eventually die, she had no less than three more phone calls. Since destroying every phone in the apartment really wasn't logical-- and pointless, anyway, she discovered, since the apartment's intercom system could also take phone calls and merely projected the message through the whole apartment even when there were no telephone receivers left-- she finally just disconnected the line and shut down the intercom.

After that, she got repeated dings coming from her computer, signaling that she had mail. She wound up shutting that down, too, when her first check proved that this, too, was Kalaia trying to get in touch with her. How the girl had found each of four different email addresses, she had no idea. But she had other things to worry about than reassuring a bond she didn't really want to talk to, anyway. She pointedly ignored the mixed guilt and pleasure-- guilt for brushing the girl's concern off out of her own stubborn pride, and pleasure that there was even concern to begin with-- because neither feeling was worthy of her. They were pointless, stupid, and wasted time.

Not that her time was being particularly well-spent, as it was. Netahiln never claimed to be supernaturally intelligent-- she never claimed to even be particularly smart-- and her meager intellect was coming up with nothing that could help against Terebinth. The only even halfway viable plan she could come up with was to somehow turn the hydra against her guardian, but she doubted that would be possible. Psionics wouldn't work against her, no matter how subtle, if she couldn't even be sensed-- that had been disconcerting, seeing the little wretch but not sensing her, even as a shielded presence, even as a mindless living presence-- and less sure methods of persuasion weren't likely to be of much use. Habithi would protect his little treasure with tooth, claw, and corruption, so she couldn't threaten, and it looked like Terebinth was already fairly attached, or she would have been more open to Netahiln instead of immediately threatening her.

And killing her would be about as likely as being able to effectively threaten her.

There was nothing she could think of to do. She was, in a word, fucked.

The doorbell rang.

Growling to herself, Netahiln automatically went to it. As the door slid open, she found herself staring down at a particularly small messenger-bot, which was staring back up at her with its metal mouth hanging open.

::What?:: she demanded, annoyed. Most messenger bots weren't equipped to handle telepathy-- they had teleparts, sure, but only the best and most powerful psionics ever managed to get through to hardware-telepaths-- so it was no surprise that it didn't answer.

It did finally rattle itself back to its duty. "Message for Netahiln Tenat!" it beeped at her.

Netahiln Tenat. Gods, it was from Kalaia, wasn't it? And she had no way of turning the bot away unless she shut it off, or destroyed it-- either option liable to cost her money she didn't have when the company that operated the bot came after it. Damn the girl, how had she found her address??

Mutely, she held out her paw for whatever message it had for her, intending to not bother reading it, opening it, or anything at all except maybe chuck it in the recycler. The bot took the gesture for what it was, at least, but rather than handing her something, beeped again, then started speaking.

It used Kalaia's voice, too.

"Neta', I just wanted to tell you, I don't know what the problem is, and I don't know why you won't talk to me about it, but I do know this: everything will be all right. I know it will be. I don't know how, but it will. So don't worry, all right? --Oh, and don't forget to come see me next week, again-- same time and place!"

The bot clicked and went silent. Netahiln closed the door in its face without bothering with a thank you, and curled up against the cool metal. Not to call Kalaia a liar, but... she really didn't know how things would be "all right", at all.

The Nidus Avengaea

Chapter Eight

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