Page 1 of Katya and the Young God

1

It’s never good manners to answer a phone at a wedding reception, but in Katya’s defense, everyone else is dancing and she wants no part of that.

So when her phone buzzes with an Organization number, she slips out the back with her heart in her throat.

After almost the entire Organization exploded with the actions of her friend Miri only a few scant weeks ago, communications have been...tense. Strained. Both technologically and emotionally, as their major interface for interactions between all Organization officials and anyone under their care had been destroyed, and they were slowly building up the network and the trust to function again.

Not that Katya hadn’t had a part in that collapse, but she is in a suspicious lack of trouble for her actions and in the lead up to the wedding she just kept on waiting for the proverbial ax to fall.

But instead, after she gave her account of what happened, all she got was a few scowls and nothing else. It crawls under her skin, sits uncomfortably in her throat. She doesn’t like not knowing what’s going to happen next.

“Hello?” She hugs her flimsy shawl to her shoulders, against the early autumn chill in the Paris air.

There’s a brief, staticky pause, the sort that comes from international calls, before she hears the other line click on. “Katya,” the person on the other side of the phone says, voice crisp, and Katya feels her spine straighten. “Are you still in Paris?”

It’s well known that she’s in Paris, with the grand wedding going on behind her. Even that question seems weighty.

“Yes ma’am,” Katya says, squaring her shoulders, as if she is in a meeting and the person can see her.

“This is Beatriz,” the woman says, and Katya twitches up straighter. Beatriz runs most of the interpersonal charts of the Organization, and...and is rumored to be actively trying to undermine it, according to Katya’s friend Miri. “I take it the wedding is beautiful?”

Beatriz absolutely called to see if Katya is willing to answer the phone.

“It’s Paris, of course it’s lovely.” Katya scans across the small courtyard, easily spotting the security hidden among the building. It’s a wedding, it’s a celebration, but the people inside aren’t stupid. “What is this regarding?”

She’d claim to be professional, but, really, she just wants to be a hair rude.

“We have a new reclassification for you, a new assignment,” Beatriz says, her voice just as smooth and just as deadly across the Atlantic Ocean. “One where I believe you will truly shine.”

Her skin crawls, and she holds the shawl closer. “I didn’t request a reclassification,” she says, refusing to have her voice be tentative. Clear, concise, and authoritative, that’s how she has run her career, and that’s how she’s going to answer people on the phone.

“Nonetheless, we have needs of your skills, elsewhere.”

This sounds like a demotion call, a final consequence for shooting a fellow member of the Organization, and Katya closes her eyes against the twinkling lights of Paris in the evening.

“We have heard...rumors...of a new source of power,” Beatriz says, dipping her voice low like it’s a seduction. Like Katya could say no. “Something buried deep within the Rocky Mountains, something that can grant some sense of stability to the Organization. Bring some unity to those so upset.”

She says, as if she isn’t complicit.

“Colorado?” Katya asks, her mind running down a list of things to do. “Isn’t the Denver branch already equipped to deal with that area?”

“They’re equipped, but not for what we think might be there.” The line goes flat, static, for a few seconds, before she clips back in. “We are changing your flight home to Denver instead. A moving company will meet you there with your things, and we will arrange lodgings.” And the line goes dead, as if that is all that is needed, as if that’s enough information to justify turning Katya’s life upside down.

She clenches her hands into fists, sending a fission of pain up to her shoulder, and her phone’s email starts to ping. A new plane ticket. A new address to report to. An office, small.

A guided tour for a cave system, booked one week from now.

Katya hisses a breath out between her teeth. Such a demotion. Beyond a demotion. They’re sending her to a hole to fade away into irrelevance.

And yet, inside, the sound of wedding laughter echoes through the courtyard; a tinkling joyous sound.

All the years of work, of networking, of carefully crafting alliances and friendships, of dragging herself away from her apartment and to bars and restaurants and meetups and everything in between...gone. All of her carefully collected assortment of friends and favors owed in the Los Angeles area...useless.

The door opens, and a couple Katya doesn’t know all but tumble out, giggling, their arms entwined around each other. Katya takes a step back, blending into the brick work, as they stumble away together.

Figures.

So Katya takes a deep breath, pastes on a professional smile, and heads back inside, to pretend to be a happy friend.

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