Chapter 5: Chapter Four – Questions Over Coffee

As expected, Cobra was insistent that Mick sit near him. As such, Mick found himself between the affable tom and Marcus, the tabby from the National Nuclear Company (if he remembered correctly). Sunny sat across the table, and didn't look particularly interested in making small talk. None of the eight other cats were recognizable to Mick. 

To cure this, Cobra introduced each of them. Mick knew he wouldn't be able to remember any of their names, but the majority of them came from either Lyncala's nuclear program or the military. Alaric wasn't at the table, of course, nor was the mysterious calico. That struck him as odd. The she-cat seemed important, definitely the type to be invited to a dinner such as this. So why wasn't she? Mick mulled over that in his mind as he quietly ate the small bowl of rice beside his plate. 

Dinner was relatively uneventful. The food was good, though it didn't compete with that which Mick remembered from his childhood. Several conversations started up that he wasn't particularly keen on listening in to. He instead was off in his own world.

Questions burned below his skin. Now that he thought about it, Cobra's advice about keeping the shades drawn at night was strange. How on Earth could someone get a projectile from the street to the third floor with enough force to break it using nothing but their paws? Not to mention there was a considerable distance between the palace and the streets surrounding it. Also, where was Alaric? Actually, that wasn't the question he should have been asking. Who was Alaric? Sure, Cobra had introduced the two, but Mick still knew practically nothing about the stone-faced tabby. Because of this he raised a question.

"Uh, Cobra?" he asked with a flick of his ear. The spotted tom looked towards him. "Can I ask you something a bit weird?"

"Can't be weirder than any other questions I've gotten," Cobra snickered.

"About Alaric. What exactly does he do?" Mick asked. Cobra suddenly seemed uncomfortable. 

"I think it's best that I don't tell you. Most of his work is top secret." His face had become completely serious. No trace of a smile, only the set of his jaw and burning bright eyes. Deciding that it was wise to quit talking about it, Mick went quiet once more. He had to remember he was walking on eggshells. He was only here to talk about the meltdown, not to make friends or go searching for mysteries. But something about this place just felt the slightest bit off, and he couldn't put his paw on what. 

Not long after the sun set outside, dinner wrapped up, and the attendees began leaving the room. Thinking now was as good a time as any to turn in for the night, Mick bid Cobra, Marcus and Sunny adieu and made his way back towards his room. 

The palace's halls felt completely different in the dark. Shafts of moonlight, as well as faint light from the streetlights outside, filtered through the windows and illuminated the halls in an otherworldly blue glow. An eerie silence hung low over the corridors, like a thick fog that Mick had to physically press through. He knew it was just his mind, but to Mick the passageways suddenly felt longer than they had in daylight.

As he ascended the stairs, the sound of someone talking hit his ears. It was a voice he couldn't recognize- definitely not one of his guards. Whoever it was, she sounded annoyed, but he couldn't yet pick out the words. For whatever reason he felt compelled to stay quiet and listen in, so he did just that as he carefully approached the sound. He stopped just before the corner that rounded into the hallway his room was in, since he could now hear that the voices were clear and indeed in that hall.

"-that's a terrible idea," the she-cat hissed. Another voice, a tom this time, responded with an equal amount of irritation.

"I'm not asking for your opinion, Rida, I'm asking if you can do it." His voice was vaguely familiar. 

Rida waited a moment before replying. "I can. But that's batshit insane and you know it. Cobra has eyes on everyone." 

"He makes exceptions. As long as you don't break character you're in the clear," the tom growled. From his tone of voice Mick knew the conversation was over, and the footsteps afterwards confirmed that.

Mick did not, however, take into account which direction those footsteps were going, which led him to walk directly into Alaric.

He jumped backwards a considerable distance, his ears flattened against his head. For a brief moment Mick feared that the tabby was going to strike at him, or worse, but after recognizing him Alaric appeared to calm down. He narrowed his eyes.

"Watch where you're going," he snarled, pushing his glasses back up on his face. Mick shifted awkwardly.

"I didn't know you were coming," he lied. Alaric flicked his tail, folding his arms across his chest.

"Hm. Well in that case, I apologize. I'd be lying if I said this was the first time this happened to me," he muttered, though the apology seemed more obligatory than genuine. Mick stepped to the side, hoping to not agitate Alaric further. 

"I should be off to my room," he squeaked, trying to break the uncomfortable tension. The tom's glare was unwavering.

"Alright," he finally said after the silence had drawn on a little too long. Mick bowed his head respectfully and scurried back to his room, feeling the pumping of his heart in his throat. Only when the door was closed behind him did he feel safe from the yellow stare. 

He sat down on the edge of the bed, biting back the urge to start scratching the mattress up out of stress. The entire night had been one discomfort after the next, the source of which he never could pinpoint. Having some time to relax by himself surely would do wonders for him. Maybe a hot bath and a fresh set of clothes was the solution.

He turned on the faucet, and while digging through his pockets to make sure he didn't have anything before tossing the garments aside in favor of a clean set, his paw happened across a crumpled piece of paper. Unfolding it, he recognized it as the paper the exclusion zone grunt- he believed his name was Chip- had given to him in the hallway. On top of the paper, the words "call for questions" were scrawled hastily, with the number beneath it. A third line of ink Mick hadn't previously noticed seemed crammed into the space beneath the number. "Be mindful of what you say. Cobra wiretapped all of the Palace phones."

Intrigued, Mick looked at the note. He turned off the faucet- water was limited in this part of the world- and leaned against the tub, feeling his curiosity building once more. Finally he decided he needed to know more and dialed the number. It took a few seconds for Chip to pick up.

"Who is this?" he said in a scratchy, sleepy voice. Mick cleared his throat.

"Mick. The ambassador," he answered. Chip's demeanor seemed to change, sounding more awake when he replied.

"Ah. I knew you'd bite. Cats like you aren't satisfied with the bare minimum," he mewed lightheartedly. "What do you wanna know?" 

Mick thought for a second before answering. "How long have you worked with the company?" Chip chuckled.

"What is this, an interrogation? Heh. Nah. About five years. My wife refused to let me go in any earlier than that," he responded with a slight exasperation. "She wanted to have kids at some point, and in her mind if I was exposed to the initial levels of radiation then our kits would all be born with three heads or something. She's a bit hysterical about that sort of thing." Mick laughed quietly.

"Were they?" He couldn't help himself. Chip nearly choked on a laugh.

"No, but our son does like to eat bugs. Maybe it messed with him after all," he joked. Another question sprang back to Mick's mind, and due to his dissatisfaction with earlier answers he decided to press the matter.

"Your military's uniforms are grey, right?" he asked. Chip paused to recall.

"Yeah. The fatigues are green though. Why do you ask?" He seemed to know that this wasn't just a general trivia question.

"None of them wear blue?" 

"No," Chip replied with a clear, disturbed confusion. "There is a government division that does, but it doesn't really exist on paper. Not public papers, anyways." 

"I think I've seen them around. Seems like they avoid talking," Mick recounted. Chip made an odd snorting sound.

"Yeah. My theory is that they all sold their tongues in exchange for their paychecks. Whatever the case, they sure think they're better than the rest of us," he spat, detest evident in his voice. Then, with an out-of-the-blue frenzied fervor, "I'm just kidding. I'm sure they're fine people." Apparently he'd forgotten that the phones were wiretapped, and something about trash talking the shadowy group made him panicky. He didn't have to tell Mick that part.

"I think I'm talking too much. You should get some rest. Mr. O'Connor is probably going to talk your ears off tomorrow. I wouldn't want to be ill-prepared for that," Chip said with an audible quiver. "By the way, if you're up for it in the morning, I know a nice cafe in town. I should take you there." Mick got the feeling that Chip was trying to find a way to tell him something without a third party eavesdropping. 

"Sure. I'll be in the foyer at about seven-thirty," Mick said while thinking. 

"Alright. Well, good night. See you then." The line filled with static after Chip hung up the phone. 

Mick placed the phone back on the hook and stared at it for a long moment. Even though it was only his first day here, he could tell that Cobra hadn't told him everything about this place, and about his government. Truthfully this didn't surprise Mick. Lyncala's reputation, at least from his limited experience, seemed to be well-earned. Granted, he hadn't had much civilian interaction, but word on the street in Elim was that they weren't particularly pleasant. He sighed. Tomorrow that theory would be put to the test. Hopefully he'd get a better idea of what exactly lay beneath the fragile surface created by Cobra. 

For now, though, he wanted to take a bath. It would be beneficial to wash the day's worries away for now.

♠♠♠

The sun hadn't yet risen when Mick awoke the following morning. He groaned when he looked at the clock next to his bed; the hands indicated that it was 6:18. Knowing he wouldn't be able to fall asleep again, he rubbed his eyes and sat up. The streets outside were quiet, and an odd serenity hovered in the room. Peeking past the curtains, he could see the pale orange glow of dawn just beginning to crest the horizon.

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All night his sleep had been plagued by strange nightmares. Dreams where he fell from an unknown height into an endless black sea, dreams where he desperately hid from giant floating eyes, dreams where he coughed up dozens of writhing, ash-colored snakes. Suffice it to say, sleep had not come easily, nor peacefully, to him. He shuddered, trying to shove those images out of his mind. Throughout the night he could have sworn he heard shouting- Cobra had said Caral's nightlife got a bit out of paw. Partygoers were not out of the realm of possibility as the source of the infernal noise. 

Deciding that now was as good a time as any to get started for the day, he forced himself across the room to rifle through his bags for an outfit for the day. Once settling on one he quickly changed and sat by the window, watching the sun rise over the city. Even for this early, the city was oddly deserted. Only about five cats passed the palace during the fifteen or so minutes that he sat in the windowsill. 

The rest of the morning, at least before 7:20, was just as unremarkable as all the time that has passed since he'd woken up. He called one of his bodyguards to wake up, just to accompany him and his tea buddy as a safety measure. The she-cat reluctantly agreed and met him outside his room at 7:15.

Once the time came, he picked himself up and made his way down the halls and stairways, eventually coming to a stop in the foyer. After thinking about it he came to the conclusion that Cobra should probably know where he went, and as such he scribbled down a quick note on a pad of paper, tore out the sheet and left it on a small table in the foyer. His guard, a Siamese named Tara, stood silently behind him.

Chip soon came stumbling into the foyer (shortly after 7:30, Mick noticed) while pulling on a flannel jacket. Despite appearing as though he might tip over at any given second he managed to regain his balance and retain it. 

"Morning," he gasped. Running was not his strong suit. 

"Hey," Mick responded politely. It was not lost on Mick, nor Tara, that Chip had a considerably large object stuffed in the lining of his coat, but he figured that was a question for later. Tara gazed suspiciously at the tabby but said nothing.

"Let's get going," Chip spoke to Mick like an old friend. The two toms walked side by side, partially out of respect, and partially out of a mutual, unspoken concern for the potential resistance they might face when attempting to leave the palace grounds. Behind them followed Tara, whose holstered pistol gave Mick some form of comfort in this strange city.

The sunrise threw long shadows across the courtyard, and from some of these shadows appeared the forms of the expected gate guards. They watched, silently, with blue uniforms and glittering black eyes as the trio of cats approached the gate. Unsurprisingly their path was intercepted by one of the gatekeepers, a black and white she-cat. Only now did Mick's eyes register the glint of gun metal from what looked to him to be a machine gun hanging from her thin form. 

"What are you doing?" she croaked. Evidently she was used to shouting orders or raising her voice in some form or fashion. Mick did his best to not let the anxious thoughts take a hold of his brain.

"My friend here is taking me to a cafe." Without much thinking he spat out the sentence. The guard narrowed her eyes, tensing her paws around the gun she held. 

"That's all, huh?" she growled with an air of skepticism. Around them the other gate guards had gathered- not in an obvious close circle, but just enough that their presence would be noticed. Even if it was only subconsciously these mystery cats wanted Mick, Chip and Tara to know that they were outnumbered.

"Yes ma'am," Mick said, barely able to keep a whimper out of his voice. Why did he always do this? He could take the worst verbal beating from his superiors back in Elim, he could weather the harshest tirade from the colonel, but as soon as he was confronted by who he assumed was simply a government dogsbody, he could feel himself crumpling. Just one more reason the colonel should have picked someone else.

"I'm going with them," Tara piped up, alluding to her own concealed weapon with a flick of a paw. The black-and-white cat folded her ears back, leaning towards the Siamese. 

"And that's supposed to be consolation?" she spat mockingly. Both of the she-cats were now only a few feet apart, hair standing up, teeth bared. Chip and Mick exchanged a fleeting look of "oh-no-this-could-be-really-bad" before the latter waved a paw between the aggressors. Sensing that the confrontation was over, the agitated mollies exchanged one last glare before stepping back towards their respective parties. 

After some more redundant or purposefully infuriating questioning, the she-cat adorned in blue finally allowed the trio to pass through the gates, scowling at them the entire time. Mick didn't allow himself to talk until they were a few blocks away, and he released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. 

"What was that all about?" Chip spouted before Mick had a chance to stop him. Tara's tail gave a telling twitch.

"She was shifty. Her guys were shifty. I didn't like being boxed in like that. Also, she was being an ass," she noted smartly. 

"Guess I can't argue with that." Chip continued leading the way, until he stopped at the Thrush's Nest Cafe. It was a quaint little shop on the corner of two streets, with large windows crossed with rich brown wood beams. A simple sign hung from an iron pole fastened so that it jutted out over the street, depicting the cafe's namesake bird with a small bundle of tea leaves in its beak. Chip opened the door for Mick, who thanked him as he passed through. Tara didn't utter a word towards the tabby, still wholly distrustful of him. After ordering their tea, Chip found a seat in the back corner and made room for Mick. Tara sat at a different table, to appear less conspicuous, but still within earshot of the toms. 

"Alright, so I know you have questions. First off, what's that in your jacket?" Mick asked once he and the tabby had their tea. 

"I was hoping you'd ask that," Chip said giddily. He reached into the lining of the coat (while Tara watched like a hawk from the next table over with her paw on her holster) and pulled out a thick black binder, setting it on the table with a thud. Papers spilled out the sides of it, and it was all Mick could do to keep from cringing at the sight of it. 

"What's that?" he pressed. Chip tapped a paw on the cover enthusiastically. 

"Important stuff! Really, they're scraps I've picked up over time. Inside information. Things I've been trying to piece together. A lot of things don't make sense in this place and I've been trying to figure it out for years," he explained, flipping the cover open. Mick held up a paw to cut him off.

"Hey, I get that this is important to you, but wouldn't it be better to do this somewhere with fewer people? Not to mention that we hardly know each other," he felt it necessary to point out. Chip's ears drooped. 

"Listen, the Palace isn't a safe place for me to discuss things like that. And I trust you, Mick," he said with a barely audible pitch of desperation. Mick paused to consider. How would he feel if Chip ended up getting punished because he told Mick something he shouldn't have, or allowed something sensitive to get out into the public? At the same time, though, it was clear that something below the surface was troubling the tom. It was clear in the way his eyes darted when the topic of the government came up, or in how his voice had trembled over the phone the previous night. Sighing, Mick decided against his better judgement to let Chip proceed.

"Most of these are just newspaper clippings and radio transcriptions. Usually nothing of value comes over those things, we don't get a lot of international news," Chip began, taking Mick's silence as an invitation to keep talking. 

"Well, we don't get a lot of news from you guys either," Mick commented. "The only reason we knew about the meltdown was because a few farm towns in the east all started getting super sick. They said they got attacked, but our doctors said that they must have been hallucinating." At that Chip's ears perked up as if in alarm, but he made no comment about it. 

"That's to be expected. Lyncala isn't known for being particularly outgoing with our neighbors," he continued as if the effects on Elim were never mentioned. "Anyways. Some of these are Cobra's speeches, one or two are from Mr. O'Connor. But these are the ones I think you have questions about." He slid a small stack of papers across the table towards Mick. The ink was faded, the papers having come off the press long ago, but the information within still applied.

In bold, dark ink across the top were three words: The Viper Project. Mick felt his face scrunch up as he looked over it. "What is this?" 

"It's a pamphlet the government gave out when I was still a kid. Even now nobody knows what exactly it means," Chip mewed, sipping his tea. "The last page is about recruiting."

Curiously, Mick flipped to the page in question to read the laughably short, vague blurb. 

Now is our time to call upon you. We seek the smartest, the strongest, the bravest of Lyncalans for our ranks. Our mission is to protect Lyncala's most sacred, to be its lifeblood, its sword and shield, its model cats. If you feel compelled, we will find you. Duty calls upon you, as it always has our ancient heroes. 

Vi'ti a'kila!

Beside the last phrase was a translation from the antiquated language- "forever we burn." 

"Sheesh," Mick sighed after reading through that and the rest of the pamphlet. Despite being several pages long, he got hardly any information out of it aside from the supposed place in the ranks of history promised to "those compelled." But at least he had a name to put with the idea - the Vipers. "'Lyncala's most sacred?' What the hell does that mean?" 

"The government, probably. I don't know. But that little pamphlet right there is all the public knows. Or at least is supposed to know," Chip added, lowering his voice and leaning across the table. 

"How many ended up getting recruited?" Mick questioned further. 

"It's hard to say. There were no official documents like this released after they got what they wanted. Most of the people who we think got picked up were extremists. At least, they were the ones who started to disappear from their hometowns in the dead of night, only to show up again in Lyncala's most important government centers. I was never sure. I grew up in a little logging town down south, so nothing ever really happened there." Chip took a contemplative bite of a shortbread cookie that had come with his tea. "My parents always told my older siblings to stay away from the government, which is pretty ironic considering how I ended up." 

"Don't you work for the Nuclear Company?" Mick asked with a raised eyebrow. Chip snickered.

"I guess you're tired. It's the Lyncala National Nuclear Company. O'Connor manages it, but he doesn't own it. Most of the money goes into some pretty shady stuff. Cobra just shoves it in O'Connor's pockets to keep him quiet," he elaborated. Mick wanted to hit himself for forgetting, even though he had no reason to remember in the first place. He'd only heard the name a few times. 

Soon Mick and Chip finished their tea. With the sun rose other cats, and Tara had grown visibly uncomfortable. Finally she got to her feet and urged the toms to get up and head back to the palace, despite being shin-deep in a discussion about who they thought was responsible for the cover-up. Chip carefully slid the binder back into his coat lining and followed Tara and Mick. Before they rounded the corner that led to the Palace, Chip stopped in front of Mick.

"Thanks for listening. It means a lot to me. I've wanted to get some of this off my chest for a while," he said with a smile. Mick nodded respectfully. 

"No problem. If you want to talk later, we can," he said with a twinge of a grin. Chip seemed satisfied by that, and together they turned towards the palace.

Whether he knew it or not, Mick would be talking to the tabby more than he realized in the following days.