The Initiative [PM to join]

[Anonymous]

Code: [Select]

Time: 0450
   The heavy, cold early-morning light barely touched this part of the Lower City, which was lit instead by a string of flickering fluorescent streetlights.  Blue’s garbage rig rattled its way past concrete walls swirled with graffiti flames, between crooked girders, and creaked to a hissing halt.  It settled into a huddle, wheezing pressurized steam.  

   Blue hung for a moment with his hand on its back pipe, then let himself fall.  His boots squeaked in the slick of water the rig had left behind.  

   “Got this’un,” he called back to Tavi, pulling a pack of cigs from one pocket and lighting up.  “G’it here.”  His voice came heavily around his teeth’s clench on the cigarette.  The R-cart pulled free and he kicked it along ahead of him, one hand moving between mouth and pocket as he paused for a puff.  The R-cart’s vacuum did most of the work.  The machine grumbled over piles of soggy debris and sucked them up like some ruminant beast and Blue paced beside it, half an eye on the ember winking at the end of his cig, half an eye on the capacity gage.  He was still new enough to feel good about how casually he could treat his job.  So Tavi had given him pickup detail, so what.  It gave him a chance to stretch his legs.  That or sit and get fat like the driver, who didn’t like him.

   He didn’t like ‘kids.’  Well, whatever, Blue thought his mind was boring.

   He finished the job and wheeled the cart back, leaning one forearm on the handle.  It was lazy time, near the end of the shift, and he was tired.  Man.  Night jobs.  But he’d got what he’d got, so, anyway, he could spend all day at the skate park if he scored a hit of something cheap.  Loure usually had something.

   “Hey, Tav,” he said, swinging back into his seat.  He blew out the end of his cig and carefully damped it with a wet finger, so he’d be able to finish later; then tucked it behind his ear.  “Mind if I get off here?  I told my boy I’d meet ‘im for a drink.”  He was banking on Tavi’s annoyance and, well, yeah, little bit of power of suggestion couldn’t really hurt.  People did what Blue asked, most of the time, even if they didn’t like him.

   “Sure, kid.”  The driver looked blank for a second, confused, then shook his head.  

   You’ll punch out for me.

   “I’ll punch out for you.  Why they don’t just start doin’ the chip upload every day ‘stead of…”  and he was off grumbling.  Blue flashed him a grin, retrieved his cigarette, and hopped off the rig.  Free at last.

   “’Night, mate.”  

   Slide Street tilted its way crookedly downwards, lit from below by the reflections of streetlights in grimy puddles.  After a block or two, he stopped to snuff his first cigarette and wipe his mouth with the back of one hand.  He’d just reached into his pocket to get another when he heard the click of a drawn knife behind him.  

   “Hands up,” someone said, and Blue knew: that was exactly what he wanted.  

   Mother… fucker.

   The skin on his shoulders tightened and went cold, and he brought his arms apart, hands climbing to ear-level.  He should’ve felt it coming.  It was late, he was tired…Tonight of all nights.  They said be careful but you never listened, because you never thought the rules really applied…    

   “That’s right.”  Something cold and metal touched his left wrist and—click—flipped shut.  He felt a jerk, and spun around to face the grinning teeth of a knife, and its yellow echo hacked into a middle-aged face.  

   Don’t hurt me.

   Not working.  He could tell it wasn’t working, his mind was flipping all over like a half-trapped rat.

   He thought about calling out, but that was a bad idea.  Dad had told him that since he was about three.  You didn’t… what did you do, exactly?  He skimmed frantically over the possibilities but all he could think about was the heat and specific dead-meat smell of the robber’s breath.  The knife jarred at his throat and he tasted the ache of pain.  

   This guy was gonna kill him.  His vision went white around the edges, and he took a breath, and something

   snapped.

Code: [Select]

Time: 0410
   If anyone had noticed them, they’d notice that the two siblings, who appeared to be in their late twenties, looked ragged around the edges.  The man’s ratted hair hung in strings down his back, and the woman’s stood up in halfhearted spikes.  They both had deep circles under their eyes, faded to grayish blue; and while they had the clean look of the freshly soap-scrubbed, it seemed unaccustomed, a layer of polish over habitual grime.  Their clothing could’ve been fashionably ripped or just old.  Two big bowls sat on the table in front of them, emptied of noodles and drained of broth.  

But no one noticed the man or the woman.  They faded into the periphery, not invisible but tangibly unimportant.

“I don’t like it,” Ryon said, sliding down in the corner booth, wedged between the cheap plastic seat cover and his sister’s side, one arm draped over her shoulders.  He spoke directly into her mind.  “This whole bullshit ‘assignment.’  We don’t take orders from the Pilots.  That’s the point.”

   The wide, dusty brown space of the Warehouse echoed with the strains of some soft-pop ballad.  Ryon tuned it out, and tuned out too the crowds of lower-caste kids teeming around the bar.  It was the cheap beer, that was what reeled you in.  Everything else was location, location, location.  The Warehouse didn’t have surveillance.  And while it was mostly kids, it had cheap food for sale on barter if you brought something good (Rana had given over an old music disc).    

   “I trust L, you know that,” Rana said at last.  She kept her eyes shut, one palm beating time to the music against her thigh.  ”And Satro’s always been....”

   ”How can you say that?  She’s been improving.  Her shields weren’t—“”

   ”Obviously a good choice.  And she said she wanted to take an assignment.  Well.”

    Yeah, from us.  And we can trust Chimera because…”  

   “Because I say so, little brother.”

   “Girls’ club.”  He cracked a grin.  “And you don’t even know if it’s a girl.”

   “Seventh sense.  Everyone important’s a girl.”

   Pause. “Oh, Ry.”  Her intonation was regretful.  She laced their hands together.

   “Well, we’re doing it, anyway.  I guess we have to.”

   Ryon didn’t like to leave Zero alone with the terminal, but he and Rana needed a break, L couldn’t keep an eye all day, and Zero seemed to prefer hiding out anyway.  

If Rana let him out sometimes on his own, he’d have felt more comfortable… but she had the shields.  Subtlety to his telekinetic force, which was about as useful as a chocolate hammer against the new ‘trols.  Damn Pilots—he’d had to run for it yesterday, and then they’d had to scramble for a new spot.  The issue with shielding was they’d pick up on the stuff that kept you off the tapes, and they’d pick up on psychic stuff generally, and then you were screwed.  Rana was good enough to shield their minds if she didn’t do the invisibility thing, and Ryon opted for the ‘get the hell out of there’ strategy when he was out alone.  

   “We’re done on credit,” he said, finally, shifting on the bench.  It was so nice to be out in a place.  Any place.  A place.  With people.  “I wish ‘Lencia would loosen up now and then.”

   “Two more weeks.  The hospital’s starting to look too suspicious.”

   “Chocolate hammer… damn, that sounds good.”

   “Poor baby.”

   Ryon snorted and let her rub her knuckles over his hair, relaxing into his seat.  But, apart from being starved, he wasn’t happy.  They just didn’t get many who were really part of things.  Most people they’d sorted through the Initiative went under somewhere else and only came back when they needed protection, and he couldn’t blame them: it was safer.  It was hard enough keeping up the Initiative, hard enough without much manpower and hard enough without playing games.  Rana thought—well, he knew what she thought: the less they knew, the safer they’d stay.  The less he knew, anyway.  The unfortunate part was, it was true.

   “Right, you done?”  Rana prodded him in the side and stood, lacing her hands and stretching until her vertebrae sent off a series of shotgun pops.  “Time for our ‘trol.”  

   Satro had left him a goodbye note.  Ryon hadn’t shown it to Rana, but he knew she knew about it, anyway.  Missing: presumed dead.  Sure, ‘Lencia said she hadn’t seen her come through on any records, but.  Hang in there, kiddo, the note had said.  I’ve got to make myself useful somehow. xoxo  The sex had been really good. But he knew—they knew—what they were doing made no sense.  What was it the Poet had said?  'When the chips are down, it’s hard to believe in…’ anything, anyway, or something like that.  Ryon rubbed a thumb over the scar on his hand.  

   They slogged off through the fine early-morning mist, not talking much, bumping shoulders sometimes.  Down here they didn't need to do too much to stay out of the survees, just keep track of the right alleyways and blind spots, and whenever they were out Rana covered them.  His sis had it together, however he might worry about their Grand Plan.  What Grand Plan, anyway, she’d say.  Just working on one at a time.  Well, bullshit.  She had too much going on inside her head, always had, and now she wouldn’t even let him see it all.  Or she was just giving him space.  It wasn’t easy to disagree with her.  It’d taken him years to pull the strands of his personality away from hers, and they still had to work to keep apart.  

   They passed the wet trail of a garbage rig.  He could feel something rancid seeping through the thin soles of his shoes, but what could you do, Valencia was always right.  That’s what came of being a hundred-year-old bat-creature.  And with the dead people all the time.  See?  It could be worse, we could be dead.

   The buzzer in Rana’s pocket vibrated, and she pulled it out.  “Yeah?  Right-o.  We’re not too far off, I think… okay.”

   To Ryon:  “Security footage--close.  I thought I'd caught something.”

Their bonds snaked their way back into place so quickly he could practically hear the hiss of mental rope-burn.  Yes, they thought together.  The aftershock of uncontrolled telekinesis.  It felt like broken glass.  “You’re going back to camp, I can handle this one.”

   “You owe me a burger.”


   

Code: [Select]

Time: 0630
    “… the question remains,” said the Poet, voice crackling over the radio channel, “how is that freedom?  Love.  The reclamation of meaninglessness.  Even the Dragons' control means nothing without desire to animate it.  Love.  Today someone asked me why do you do what you do… he told me that my friends and I are weak.  We would prefer to be Pilots, but we know we’d be TRIMed, and we fear that more than we want to succeed.  And if that’s why you’ve chosen to join us, my fellows, I can only warn you… he said also that we are no better than the Gospels.  They have the best of both worlds, salve for the conscience and all the beautiful things of power.  And we feel pleasure, we seek pleasure, we suffer, we die, we, outside of the system, or so we think… I pass no judgment.”

   “Turn that shit off,” said Ryon, coming up behind Zero.  His breath blew out cold in the dark interior of their lean-to.  It wasn’t the classiest place they’d made camp, but it had worked for awhile, so there it was.  Rana had gone off to take care of that kid, and he, naturally, had to babysit Zero.  The man was two years older than he was and kept a grizzled mustache, but there you were.  He’d come to them when he’d been caught out, and hadn’t had anywhere else to go.  They didn’t trust him yet.  Ryon privately thought he had a bit of an unhealthy fascination with the VCN, but, to be fair, his encryption skills were excellent.  In the Layercake World (where he’d been Middle Caste) he had been a programmer.

   “’m triangulating,” Zero said, eyes darting from their makeshift terminal screen to the squeak of the radio.  He lowered the volume.  “Been working on security footage hacks all day, thank me later.  Anyway, he’s got a point, you’ve gotta…”

   “He’s on our side, that’s about all I can say for him, and sometimes I’m not even sure about that.  But he’s useful, so.”

   “Well, it’s true.  I wouldn’t be here if—”  Zero shook his head, a grimy lock of red hair falling into one eye.  He typed his way to a frenzied crescendo, then let his hands drop.  “Ah-ha.  Gotcha.  Our newbie’s in sector five-six-fourteen, by the by, and it seems Poet’s in sector eight-oh-twelve.”  He tapped at the map that had flopped open onscreen.  “’Fore you ask, yes, I’ve kept the scripts running.  Fuckin’ Gospels.”  Ryon thought his coarse mannerisms were affected, but if talking tough helped the guy cope, he couldn't knock it.

   “I know, right?”  He sat down with a groan and leaned back against one wall.  

   “Where’s Big Sis?”

   “Sector five-six-fourteen, I guess.”

   “Heh.  Can’t say I don’t like it better when they find us.”


   

Code: [Select]

Time: 0542
   Blue stared.  He knew somehow that he was breathing and alive, but that was just about all he knew.  The smell of blood saturated the air, mixed with washed garbage.  If he moved he’d have to look.  The man had come at him, had his knife…

   He put one hand to his neck.  His fingers tasted something stinging but that was it.  Okay.  Okay.  He’d never done that before.  That was him.  He’d never heard of a… a… what he was… doing that before.  He’d suddenly felt his mind contract and then expand, and then...  Right.  Okay.  So he could just walk home.  Or go to Loure’s.  And then take a shower.  And…

   “Lordy, boy, haven’t you ever heard of surveillance cameras?”

   He spun in place, wide-eyed, and was about to say something like WHO’S THERE and WHAT THE FUCK and then he couldn’t say it.  His lips wouldn’t open.  

   “Surveillance cameras.  Yes.  You’ve really made a mess.  Blowing people up?  The Pilots will probably notice something off there.  Right.  You’ll need to take the next right and turn into the alleyway.  Go to the end, take another right, and you’ll see a door.  Open it.”  The voice paused.  Blue took a stumbling step forward and then thought hey wait a minute.  “I’m not a Pilot, and this isn’t a trap.”

   Blue followed the voice.

Code: [Select]

Message from Chimera to L, 1910.06:

Remember, D’s houseguest has an expiration date.  Keep up guards on D’s place.  Don’t let your friends in—-you know we can’t explain this one.  Keep your scan running when you can, and keep an eye on your friends' transcripts.  I’ve attached the new specifications.

[attached file: TMC.din]

[Anonymous]

Code: [Select]

Time: 0558
Rana stood half in shadow, wrapping the currents of the boy's confused perception around herself in loose coils.  He'd see nothing but a ripple in the air.  He spun, matted blond ponytail flopping against his back, wild-eyed.  That was no way to look around--she sunk her mind briefly into his and caught mostly panic.  Kid was half-crazed with fear.  His breath came out wobbly, in bursts, obscuring the telltale little noises that might have warned him of her presence.  Tut, tut.  When his frantic, stumbling spin put his back to her, she stepped forward carefully, dispelled the psychic currents, and took him by the shoulders.

"Ah!"

"Sh."  She turned him, slowly, to face her, and felt that first flash of terror melt into cautious curiosity.    There would be time to deal, later, with his reaction to the way he'd killed his attacker; for now, she'd keep both of their minds on the matter at hand.  She'd kept her face shadowed by a brimmed cap, but, beneath it, let herself show a smile.  

Blue Jarvis.  An ordinary-enough name for a lower-caste.  He had a beaked nose he hadn't quite grown into, close-set eyes, and a smattering of acne.  His mind seemed average.  His latent psychic power impressed her.  Not bad, kid.  "I'm Rana.  Say nice to meet you.  Not out loud."

"Nice to meet you."

"Well done.  Now, Blue, you have a choice, okay?"  He was thinking of his mother and his bed at home.  How he'd like to wash off the blood.  And then they begin to understand...  "You can come with me.  We're not a large group, but we keep each other safe.  Or you can step out into the street there and you can try your luck with the Pilots.  You won't remember me."  L had taught her the tricks of basic amnesis.  It came in handy.  Not that what little they told the newbies could really endanger the project.  The Initiative stayed mobile, and, over the years, they'd learned... damage control.  

He paused, adam's apple bobbing like a caught creature.  "Fuck the Pilots."

Rana laughed, the noise sudden and muffled in the dark cellar.  It bounced off concrete and metal walls.  "Fair enough."  And not bad for someone who had only just, tremulously, conceded to call himself a psychic in his head.  

Code: [Select]

Time: 0656
From here he could see the whole city, glittering insect-blue.  The wide synth-wood floor, meticulously waxed, wafted the scent of jasmine and lemon through the room.  

The Poet sat back on a low, white pseudosuede couch, radio headset hooked up, broadcast apparatus set.  The minutes ticked down while he spoke.  In the next room, an interchangeable Katie had fallen asleep.  He could still feel the lingering powder and perfume of her.  Poet, article (definite or otherwise) optional, had no qualms about the way he used his charm, or his collection of appearances, names, surnames, and identity cards.  

"As to the public face," he said softly into the amplifier, eyes roaming the apartment.  "It's too often overlooked for something that is omnipresent.  The risks I take mean something, listeners.  There is no collective action without the spectacle.  Spectacle counts for so much.  Call it a recruitment policy or a slipshod trick.  Either way.  I enjoy being seen and heard, and it's not all about vanity... hello, Pilots.  We exist.  We exist, and we will, I am so sorry to say, prevail.  Some of you are friends.  Hello, friends.

"Now, I fear I'm running out of time.  Which, my dear fellow lovers of illusion, means that this one is at an end.  Keep an eye to the signs.  The Wrong Way Club meets in the usual venue this week.  The password is catachresis.  For those of you poor lower-caste souls who haven't been doing your illegal reading, that's: catachresis.  It means the purposeful misuse of a word.  Apt, no?  Now, as they say, welcome to a brand new day.  Only the brands are new, but we like it that way."  Three... two... one.  Twenty-eight-point-twelve minutes.  With a click and crackle, he disconnected and set the transmitter down.  Disassembling it took only moments, and he tucked the pieces into pockets, then stood, stretching.  

In one pocket, something buzzed.  Poet frowned and took it out with a quick economy of movement he hadn't bothered with during his earlier radio disassembly.  It was something like an ordinary phone, but almost no one could contact this network.  Initiative.

"Poet speaking," he said pleasantly, tucking the receiver between ear and shoulder.  He raked one hand through his hair and studied his profile in the mirror.  

"Guess what?  We've got your location to two miles.  You may want to take care of that."

"What... really."  He didn't let the honeyed note of urbane composure melt out of his voice, but Poet was annoyed.  He checked his watch.  

"Upper City.  Classy.  If I've got you, chances are they've got you.  You're lucky, though.  They can't have heard much.  But they'll know something's up."

"Right--look, is Ryon with you?  I need to speak with him, please."  Damn.  New tracking scripts.  Poet started rapidly for the door.  From the other room, he heard a muffled, plaintive "Lee, where are you?"

"Sorry, sweet," he called back, and the door shut silently behind him.  Once in the hall, he paused in front of the bank of elevators and shifted the phone to his other ear, speaking quietly.  "Ryon?  Thank goodness.  Listen, I'm in Plex Seventeen--"

"You have to stop playing around like this."

"--no, I won't be careful, my dear boy.  They'll only send the regulars after me, but I hope to get well clear anyway.  Do we have a tunnel here?  I thought we had a tunnel here.  I can't be too picky, you know I need... right.  No, my Gospel friend can't help me with this, they--"  

Ryon's sigh hissed static into his ear.  "Okay, Poe, here's what you're gonna do.  Take the elevator down to floor two and transfer to the service stairway."

"Sanitation is our friend once again," Poet said, stepping into the glass-cased elevator, glad once again for the speed and efficiency of the Upper City.  Less so its terrifying transparency.  He rocketed downward and, briefly, turned into one corner, hiding his face.

Ouch.  Gods damn.  It would never stop hurting.  His facial bones shifted and crunched, his nose elongating and cheekbones broadening.  Ocular pigment shifted from blue to brown.  His skin darkened a shade, and his hair grew a nearly imperceptible two inches.  Shaking off the sting, he turned to the door as a brief, genteel bell sounded.  He'd reached the second floor.  

"Poe--"  The connection cut off.  

A group of gray uniforms had converged on the elevator.  Poet shut the phone with a careful click and tucked it in his pocket.  Then he let his new face stretch around a brief, chilly smile.  "For me?"

Code: [Select]

Time: 0637
"Are we there yet?"  Blue caught up to Rana, panting.  They'd been making their way through the dark series of tunnels and weird little underground rooms for at least a half-hour.  He still smelled like dirt and rust and generally shit, though the spaces themselves seemed clean, just old.  Something in here muffled his thoughts weirdly.  

She turned to him and he glimpsed the flash of teeth and eyes through the gloom.  She thought it was funny?  He hadn't been joking.  "Almost."

Never again.  It was weird to think about that.  Right now Loure was probably asleep.  Blue sometimes came back late, or his parents caught him and wouldn't let him go over, and he gave up waiting for him.  If he hadn't, though, they might have gone out and gotten something to drink at Keye's or played Haven's Angle on the VCN.  He thought about these things in beer-colored light, and wanted, vaguely, to cry.  Whatever.  He'd be okay.  He'd always known he couldn't keep it up, sort of known, Mom and Dad had sort of known too.  

"Hey, kid."  When Rana's hand landed on his shoulder he thought for a second she was going to comfort him, which just annoyed him.  But she didn't.  "We're here."  A ladder stretched upward, and Blue followed her, not staring too overtly at her ass.  Not too.  

They came up in a kind of trash collection room and Blue blinked against the sudden bright light, then looked around.  He didn't do medical waste, so he hadn't worked here before, but he knew trash collection.  Bunch of bags in stacks, some precompacted, some not.  Cartons marked BIO took up one corner.  It smelled like something pickled.  Rana motioned him carefully through a door, and he followed.  They came out in another room, this one metal and cold and dim.  

Something moved in front of him and Blue had to keep himself from jumping back in fright.  

"It's just Valencia," Rana said, too terse to be really comforting.  She kind of failed at comforting all around.  

The thing--Valencia--looked like a giant... thing... bat.  She had little black eyes set in wrinkled furry skin, and that was what he noticed most, the little eyes, shining and winking and very, very black.  Then the ears, which swiveled every which way.  Something that looked like a slithery cape was probably wings, and she had delicate-looking claws.  At the moment, she stood in front of what Blue's incredulous brain took a second to register as a person, naked, very pale, on a rolling cart with... oh, shit, motha... a corpse.  

"Valencia, Blue," said Rana.  "Blue, Valencia.  Mortician.  Psychic.  Friend.  Probably an alien, but we don't know, do we, 'Lencia?"

Valencia's face creased into what might have been a smile, and she held out one claw to Blue, who took it with flinching caution, trying not to seem rude.

"Welcome."  Her voice sounded surprisingly ordinary, though high in register, reedy, and very careful, as though she had to concentrate to get the sound out.  She was wearing some kind of white smock, he noticed, with something written on it.  "You are lucky.  I haven't recorded this one quite yet."  

The bat-woman turned and ran a scanning device over the corpse's right hand, then held the readout up to Rana.  The woman gave a half-smile.  In this light, dim though it was, he could make her features out more clearly.  She had dark eyes and brown skin, and there was something a little angry about her eyebrows.  They tilted up in the middle while she examined the readout.

"Ah, a middie," she said, handing it back.  "Ry will be glad.  We've had to keep our belts tight."

Blue looked back and forth between Rana, Valencia, and the dead body.  He was starting to get an uncomfortable feeling in his throat again.  "What're you going to..."

"Valencia will take your chip out," Rana said, and the bat-lady had already wheeled over a little metal cart with some surgical instruments.  Blue swallowed.  "Don't worry.  She's got a pipeline to some real good anaesthetics and shit, not the usual--what, you think the upper castes make do with the crap they give us?  No, Valencia keeps some top-of-the-line tools."  In illustration, the mortician picked up an instrument, which flared blue and lit at one end, electrically.  "Anyway, it'll be easier than mine."  She held up one hand, and Blue made out the shiny pink scar puckered on her right palm.  "Had to cut that shit out myself.  So you could have it worse.  And then--hey, 'Lencia.  Can he have a shower and a change of clothes?"

Valencia looked Blue over, or he could only assume so: it was impossible to find the pupil in those black, bug-bright eyes.  "Yes, of course.  This will take only a moment."  She beckoned for his hand.  She had claws.  They looked sharp.

"W-wait."  Blue stopped his hand on its automatic journey out.  He glanced between the two females.  "What'm I going to do for a chip?  Get that guy's?"  

"No."  Rana took his hand gently and set it into Valencia's.  The bat-woman took some sort of wet cloth and scrubbed his palm carefully clean.  He found himself a little surprised that her clawed hands were so gentle and soft, though in a dense leather-upholstered way that felt different from human skin.  He'd seen aliens and things on the VCN and television, but not in person: his neighborhood didn't have anything weirder than a guy with blue skin.  

"You won't have a chip," Rana said.  "We'll all get access to that guy's chip while he's presumed missing, and the vending machines will be ours.  Spread out over a few places, of course.  Precautions."

 She half-laughed to herself.  "It's not a glamorous life, but it's ours."  She'd told him already, things about living in tents, but his apartment was pretty crappy anyway.  He shrugged.  "Then your chip goes in there," indicating the body, "and Valencia will work her magic, and you, little boy, will be dead."  

He'd figured something like that.  It was a lot to take at once.  They'd all think he was dead... Rana was looking at him sharply.  It was one of the things you knew, living in Haviah.  Things could be worse.  He'd heard bits of the radio channels you shouldn't hear, when he'd been curious... things could be worse.

"Ready?"  

He was.

It was surprisingly painless.  Blue took a quick chemical shower, got into some clothing the origins of which he didn't question, and tucked his hair under a black bandana.  Rana gave him some opaque sunglasses, which made him feel like a video game character, and, with the dead man's chip in hand, they set off again.  It was only when they'd gotten back to the dark passageway (which Rana called the 'tunnel') that he thought to ask:

"Hey, the guy with the chip... if he's a Middle Caste, why'd he wind up down here?"

"Smart, kid," Rana said.  She wasn't smiling.  

Code: [Select]

Time: 0719
"'Turn that shit off,' you said," said Zero, tapping busily at his keyboard, face underlit by the VCN terminal's glow.  "I like his shit, Ryon, I used to be educated.  But shortwave radio... in the upper city.  You have to admire his balls."

"I don't."

"I think your sister's admired his balls."

Ryon started to say something, then stopped and waved at a point over Zero's shoulder.  Zero shifted and caught a glimpse of Rana with some pimply kid, wrapped in clothing that was too big for him and a bandana.  

"I won't confirm or deny," Rana said.  "Blue, meet my brother Ryon."

"Hey."

"Our friend Zero.  Now, what's this about Poet?"  She shouldered in beside Zero, who made room for her, though he didn't peel his attention from the screen.  Almost there.  A little more and he'd be in on the security loop in Plex Seventeen.  She whistled through her teeth.  "Oh.  That again."

"Yeah."  Ryon appeared annoyed.  "Is he going to kill anyone this time?"  

Code: [Select]

Message from Valencia to Nessuno, 0907.12:

Reencrypt security records, please.  I did as much as I could, but I had to take care of moving some data this morning.


[Anonymous]

"Uh... linkup, this is Daanu again. I am in a small office in a weapons assembly facility off Maljevo Square. The factory assembles precision components into standard-issue police firearms for distribution at the Citadel and retains an emergency stockpile in case of additional need in the lower district."

Eamon fumbled for a pen, wondering why Girl Daanu talked so fast. His head hurt -- the faded beige headphones were crackling with loud static and he hadn't had the chance to sip his coffee yet. Disaster, and he hadn't even written anything down yet. He winced, adjusting the gain and speaking quietly into the microphone.

"Come again?"

She breathed a sigh of frustration. He scratched his chin and uncapped a ballpoint.

"Listen to me. I know you're new at this, but seriously ... get with the program. Know where your people are, and if you don't, write it down so you won't have to ask twice. Poet sent me to an arms factory, scouting some possible prospects for ... wait, hold on--"

Eamon raised an eyebrow, raising the coffee to his lips and glancing down at the computer screen in front of him. "His people" were doing fine on their own, and nobody had called in a linkup for hours. Rana was off doing psychic chores. That realm was off-limits to him; no matter how competent and loyal he proved, Eamon would always be an auxiliary in the legion.

"--okay, so I can send you a copy of the evacuation plans, but that's it. You're welcome to come in later and try to get detailed architectural blueprints, but the dude in the lobby looks kind of mean and seems to know the product inside and out, so I 'aint asking. Overstock and the Citadel armory are on the second floor, but we won't be able to storm it. They have metal detectors in the lobby. Chipscans and retinal in the elevators."

"How did you get in?"

"I'm not packing a gun, so the metal detector isn't an issue. I caught the elevator doors as they were closing, and then there was this executive-looking man headed for the fourth floor... asked me whether I was a second floor worker. I said yes, 'cause hey, otherwise I was gonna be waiting in that elevator, waving at the camera. Nice man, he scanned for me."

"Lucky."

"What, you think I'm in civvie clothes? I look like a Citadel cargo driver. Foreign enough to need someone else to scan me in, familiar enough to be commonplace. Also, an excellent reason to be visiting the Citadel armory."

Eamon took another delicate sip of his coffee. Girl Daanu could be arrogant, but that was because she had her act together and knew it. As far as the non-psychics went, she would probably last longer than everyone else.

"Okay, smart."

"Thanks. Daanu out."

That was the only name anyone had ever called her. Girl Daanu was actually from Teinar, and at first she'd simply been their contact with the desert city. Recon was something she'd done on the side - she was skilled, experienced, and liked it - it didn't really matter if she was assigned to it or not, she'd just... leave. Sometimes she'd come back with worthwhile intel, though, so Poet let her.

Eamon printed out a copy of the evacuation plans she'd sent him, circled the armory and elevators, and waited for something more than dead air. Growing more bored by the minute, he added door arcs, shading, tables and potted plants, machines, objects he imagined might be in the other rooms but probably weren't. At some point, the ballpoint pen ran out of ink and he thought about Girl Daanu. He liked it better when she wasn't smiling, when she was serious.

Daanu might have been attractive if she weren't so busy.

He drank the rest of his cold coffee, fed his floor plan into a mini-scanner, and entered the frequency for Ryon, a psychic who seemed to be constantly on edge. Eamon hadn't been with the team for long, but Ryon and his sister seemed more focused on recruiting new psychics than actually taking down the dictators.

Halfway through the scan, Eamon wondered whether masked revolutionaries might review his makeshift floor plan by the light of burning machinery, wondering if they would survive the escape.

He drew a little smiling face in the corner just as the last of the paper was pulled into the scanner.

[Anonymous]

Code: [Select]

Time: 1307
Kchkchkchkch.  The sound of the fan in the bedroom had begun to give her a headache.  Of course, lately everything gave her a headache.  Satro sat up, fingers folded between the pages of the old-fashioned book her host had given her.  She heard something sudden and her stomach tightened.  There was that familiar feeling of emptiness, like she was reaching for something that wasn't there.  

That sound, what was it?  Reaching past the crumpled press of sheets, she clicked off the fan.  Some sound.  Some, what--

The bedroom door opened.  Satro stayed where she was, eyes wide, heart pounding.  He'd said she was safe here.  She wasn't sure why she was hiding, but she knew she could trust D.  The door opened.  In stepped a tallish man with brown hair and a plain suit and features she could not describe as anything but ordinary.  She scrabbled for some feeling of familiarity but could find only the general familiarity of archetype.  

"Sorry, dear," he said, over the hard, labored sound of her breathing.  He was smiling.  "Not to worry, I'm not one of Them.  I am a friend of D.'s."  He paused, looking at her, brow creased in puzzlement, for far too long.  Time stretched out.  She wondered if he had come to kill her and then felt silly.  

"Well," he said at last, but she couldn't read his expression.  

The door shut and Satro was left blinking into space, wishing she had thought of a question to ask.  Then she stopped wishing.

Code: [Select]

Time: 1820
They'd had to move location after a 'trol sweep.  At last Ryon, Rana, Zero, and the befuddled Blue had settled into the broad entranceway of one of the tunnels.  It meant getting out into the streets was riskier--they could not take the chance of giving away an entrance--but it was what they had to do.

Ryon leaned over Zero's shoulder, chewing on a strip of beef jerky.  A stockpile of vending machine items sat in a corner in a tangled cascade of bright wrappers and cellophane.  Blue sat on a pile of old couriers' sacks next to the stack, an unopened drink can in one hand.  He was staring into space.  Rana had gone off with Poet, dealing security on one of his meetings.  Ryon himself hardly ever dared to take the tunnels all the way to the Upper Level, and apparently Poet was going to book Syn for this one.

Code: [Select]

Time: 1822
"Hey, Cho."  Poet laid a trio of credit chips on the desk.  "We'll need a room for next week.  Sorry about the blood, you know how that can be.  Sticks right in there."

What a jokester.  Rana rolled her eyes.  

"Er - hope that wasn't anyone from around here."

"Not to worry, local produce is for Edanis."  Laughter.  They settled the arrangement.  Next week, Wrong Way Club, one of Synesthesia's lead rooms.    

Code: [Select]

Time: 1825
Blue spoke up from his position in the corner.  His eyes were red.  "So the tunnels go all the way up?"

Kid had probably never seen more than some footage of the Upper Level.  "Yeah," Ryon said, glancing at him.  "But they don't go everywhere.  It's safer, much safer to stay down here and evade the survees, follow the dubya-dubyas, the wrong way signs, remind me to give you the color code until ya learn.  Poet's thing, but..."  He sighed.  "It works."

Zero was smirking from under his mustache.  "The tunnels are our major advantage.  Hallo, Ry, lookit this, it looks like Eamon isn't a total dickface idiot."  He reconsidered.  "Daanu, anyway."  

"... Thank you, Zee--hey, I told you to quit it with my personal mail--"  Sticking the jerky between his teeth, he shouldered Zero aside and glanced up at the terminal, fingers moving quickly over the keys, eyes tracking left-right-left.  He finished eating in two or three wolfing bites, then cleared his throat.  "Oh, Eamon."  He'd drawn a little smiley face.

Zero snickered.  "So cute and low-tech."

The plan didn't look like so much of a good idea without Rana here to make him feel better about it.  The sketched-in areas of the weapons factory, the doodles around the edges, one sepia drip where Eamon had spilled his ever-present coffee... it all lent an awfully haphazard feel to the project.  Amateur.  A little scary.  But Rana had promised him they wouldn't do anything, and they wouldn't let their people do anything, until they were ready.  The problem was the ones who weren't Their People.  Fucking Poet.  

"What are you..."  Blue tapered off, picking miserably at the bandage over his right hand.  

"Sorry, newb, the big boys are talkin.'"  

Ryon poked Zero with the point of one elbow.  "It's a long-term plan, Blue, don't worry about it.  We will keep you safe."  

Code: [Select]

Message to Eamon from Ryon, 1832.58:
Received and caching.  Please delete your records.  
-Ry

Code: [Select]

Message to Valencia from Ryon, 1837.21:
Can you ask your Gcontact to get us the gridcode for Sector 13174?  Thanks for the chips, btw.
-Ry

Code: [Select]

Time: 2056
The door to their new camp cracked open, and Blue fluttered to his feet before he saw it was just Rana and a man he didn't recognize.  The man looked cleaner than the rest of them.  He ducked inside and smiled, surveying the room.  He looked like people Blue had seen on the VCN or in TV shows.

"All set," Ryon said, not looking up from the terminal Zero usually occupied.  Zero had been taking a nap on a pile of old clothes, but snorted himself awake when he heard the noise.  "We--Poe."

"Ryon."  The strange man gave him a big smile, then turned to look at Blue.  "Oh, hello."  His eyes went up and down Blue curiously.  He took a step closer and squinted.  Blue guessed he was looking inside his head.  One hand came up to cup Blue's jaw, and he flinched back.  The strange man laughed.  "My apologies."  He didn't lower his hand for half a second.  "I am Poet.  Lovely to meet you."  

Rana went to her brother, hand going idly to his hair, then his shoulder.  He relaxed palpably.  Blue thought he could feel a little something psychic but wasn't sure.  They had shields.  They had been explaining that to him.  Rana would teach him more later tonight.

"Hey, Ryon," Poet said suddenly, turning on him.  Blue took a step back.  Zero scooted up against the wall, looking wary and shifty-eyed.  

"Yeah, Poe?"  Ryon sounded weary, but he turned to look at him.

"I ran into your old girlfriend today."

"What?"  He stumbled to his feet--Rana followed, grabbing him by the arm, hard, but he pulled free and stared at Poet, jaw jutting.  "Where?  What happened?  Where is she?"

"I don't think I should tell you," Poet said, voice slow and smooth.  "... but it looks like my friend Chimera has some explaining to do..."

"You motherfucker--"

Code: [Select]

Message from Poet to Chimera, 2314.48:

Hello, good buddy.  I had the most remarkable encounter today.  Our friend Satro Marival, remember her?  Strangest thing... she seems to have shed her ability.  Far be it from me to question you, but you had better have an explanation for this one.  Open invitation to the Wrong Way next week, your favorite venue.  Password this week is 503, we're going by primes, you figure out the next one.  

Oh, and if you don't come, this will be all over JPR.  Believe me.  We need an explanation.  

-Poet

[Anonymous]

Code: [Select]

1907
It was desperation that took Scandal down to the Lower Levels.  There was a rumor, fueled by a few lines in a few blogs that someone exploded down here.  Popped like an over full water balloon.  It wasn't on the early afternoon news though, which Scandal felt odd... then didn't think was so odd.  Maybe if someone on the Middle Level or the Upper Level exploded then that would be news.  People on the Lower Levels were always finding new ways to kill themselves.  Which was why Scandal decided to go down there.  She needed the danger.  Needed someone to try to mess with her.  Needed that to happen sometime now, before she head butted the closest person.

Maybe she should have made herself look more like a target.  It wasn't on her mind when she got dressed.  She wanted to move.  She wanted to have lots of places to bruise up and get cut so the fight would last longer than tonight.  It was a good plan back in her apartment.  Now... now it wouldn't be a good plan until she got into a scrape.  She fit in too well.  Her mini skirt was too frayed, the tank top could have had some sort of logo, her sneaker heels were easily three years out of style and the sweatshirt tied around her hips (a memento from a boyfriend long past) was old and could have had some sort of logo on it.

Scandal stamped her feet against the sidewalk as though she could put holes in it and pulled her phone from her bra to check the location of the popped body.  Somewhere around here.  She wondered if anyone even cleaned it up.  For a few seconds she wondered what it would be like to start a fight and pull her opponent into the mess of person.  That was a little too crazy.  There was no way she could get back to her place if she was covered in people insides.  She was getting closer to the spot.

It was time for her luck to turn around.  Let her get this one little kick in at least.

Code: [Select]

2100
There was going to be a murder tonight.  Sunny was going to twist Ash's head right off his shoulders and the only thing she was going to regret was that she didn't do it earlier.  Then he slid a cigarette across the table and everything was cool again.  

Ash lifted his coffee mug, dangling it from the center of his middle finger, the precious coffee nearly flying up over the sides and dribbling on the table.  "I.  I ain't never looked forward to any day off like I been lookin' forward to this one.  Damn."

Sunny scowled, struck a match and lit the cigarette.  "Gonna start on a bad note if you spill yer drink everywhere without even bein' drunk.  You'll be sleep before you can get out 'cher uniform."  Before she took a drag on the cigarette, Sunny top a gulp of her own coffee.

Coffee at night wasn't a thing that most people did, but it was nearly a ritual for the two security guards.  They'd pull a shift and stop by Sugar Hater's place for a cup.  The little dive had a proper name, but it was Ash that started calling the little, shifty eyed man that owned it Sugar Hater and the name grew until it swallowed the entire restaurant.  Sugar Hater thought 'that damn fake sugar' would poison a person if they ate enough of it.  So instead of giving his patrons sugar like any normal coffee place, he kept a lot of syrup and jelly and powdered milk and baked cake that somehow turned out good without using any sugar.  It was weird, but it was addictive.  A few cups of Sugar Hater's syrup coffee completely ruined coffee for Sunny.  Good thing Sugar Hater ran a cheap place.  The place was usually empty though, the tables were never full.  Sugar Hater's waitresses always looked bored.  There were too many other places close by that just weren't as weird as Sugar Hater's place.

Ash tossed back the rest of his coffee, and the scrape that followed could only have been his teeth digging into the lip so he could try to lick out the rest of the jelly.  "I ain't a lil kid Sunny.  I'ma be awake til you get up in the mornin'.  Less Sharada lets me come back to her place.  Whatcha say baby-ow!"

As Ash was talking, he snaked his hand out to grab the waitress walking by their table.  She was the sort of girl that always made Sunny uncomfortable, stunningly beautiful.  The lightest tint of brown to her skin, slanted eyes that were nearly gold in colour and long black curls.  She was every bit as rough and dirty as most Lower Level residents and wore a dark metal strand with strange silver bits dangling off it between a stud in her nose and ear.  When Ash reached out for her, she picked up the plate on her tray and used the tray to pop him across the wrist.  She looked over her shoulder as she glided on, one corner of her lips curled.

"Maekon is never gonna forgive you."  Sunny puffed, glanced around the restaurant.  The manikin with the red wig was gone.  There was a strange pattern to it.  Sugar Hater would put up a manikin and the wig would be long, then it would be shorter and it would get shorter until one day that manikin wasn't there.  Sugar Hater was behind his counter with a piece of paper and a stubby pencil muttering to himself.

Ash flung his hand around wildly and slid his chair back.  "Not like there ain't more where she came from."

"You're an ass." Sunny blew a cloud of smoke at him.

"You... ah... so... mean... tah... me," Ash blubbered, taking a big hammy sniff in between each word.

Sunny laughed, let him think he was funny.  He couldn't see what she could.  

Sharada swatted his head with the tray and slid onto an open stool around their table.  "Yer banned forever if you say anything in that kinda voice again."

Ash snorted.  "Ah, ah, sorry Shara-shara.  Sugar Hater loves me like I were his own son.  Don't you love me Sugar Hater!"

"Shut up boy!  You're ruining my concentration."  Sugar Hater tapped his pencil against the counter.  "Tarah get your brain over here and help me figure out these primes."

Like she always did, Tarah seemed to melt out of the walls.  A small woman who always wore long sleeves and skirts, but was otherwise unremarkable.  When she was there, she spent a lot of time sleeping in places a cat would have a hard time getting comfortable in.  She clopped her thick soled shoes against the floor as she walked over to the counter.  "Look," she flopped on top of the counter, dug around and came up with a marker, uncapped it and started writing and circling on the scrap of paper.  "It's five-zero-three."

"What kinda game you playin' Sugar Hater?" Ash nudged his empty cup toward Sharada, who ignored it to pay attention to the counter.

"You have no idea boy."

Code: [Select]

????
There was nothing like the sight of city stretching above of him and knowing there was death below.  Phantu pulled himself onto the roof of the building and rolled flat on his back.  The wonders never ceased in this domed city.  There was no Count, the air was - he took another sniff and tried to figure out if it was better or if it was a whole new sort of awful - the dome could change colours.  So many lights, so many signs (that he couldn't read), so many people.  

So many people that had no idea.

He was cruel for sending Phantu here, all alone.  There was nothing keeping him from gorging himself on these people.  If he fed shallow they would never know what was going on.  He didn't want that.  He wanted Phantu to become familiar with the city.  Lay low.  Learn.  Phantu rolled back on his belly and crawled to the edge of the roof, looking down at the streets where people too small to see went to and fro on their business.  

Phantu couldn't be faulted for one of them... or maybe even two...

[Anonymous]

Code: [Select]

0535
Rana hadn't been sure she ought to take Blue out already.  For one thing, he was homesick, and if they went near his old neighborhood he'd be tempted to visit his friends or parents.  And that was impossible.  Officially, he was dead.  She'd been over that with him.  But while it was easy, neat, and clean in theory to wipe an existence, to live safely... they were really their own worst enemies.  The only danger was that they still wanted to live human lives.  It was easier for her because she'd always had Ryon.

"It's not our fault that things are like this," she told Blue.  "Aedolis makes these rules.  This is the price you pay.  And once you've laid low for awhile and we finish checking up on your friend, we'll see if he wants to help us out aboveboard."  

A decent number of their nonpsychic associates were still chipped.  Old friends and relatives, anyone.  Usually they weren't given a lot of information, but the connection kept the Initiative sane.  

She took Blue out to learn the paths.  He already knew what the graffiti signs meant, but those weren't always there, and they didn't always show the tunnel entrances--more often they pointed safe areas around the survees.  They scaled buildings, scrambled over fences and low roofs, and took winding ironwork scaffolds through tunnels.  It was a good time of day to be out, early morning, everything asleep or groggy, the light dim and confused.  

Blue wasn't in bad shape.  Zero took him down into the Undercity when he could.  They'd all get too edgy if they didn't stretch their legs occasionally--and anyway, they had to stay fit.  Life and death.  He did proclaim his desire for his skateboard often, which amused her.

Poet had some Secret Magic Project going on, as he always did.  Blue asked about it:

"Are you going to blow up a building?"  (No, probably not, and certainly not yet)

"Is it a Pilot?  How many are really on our side?"  (Really?  Probably none, but some might help us out for a little while)

"Why can't Ryon come?"  (Because he might try to kill Poet)

They had to get to the Midlevel, and they were swinging by to catch up with Sharada.  Whenever she could she tried to escort the weaker psychics or the nonpsychics; she could telekinetically alter the surveillance cameras if need be, and telepathically shield them if they got too close to a Pilot--a rare skill.

She and Blue climbed a clanging tower of metal up to the subbasement of an old hydraulics plant.  Machinery hummed and vibrated overhead and Rana told Blue to wait while she pulled herself out into the subbasement, behind a huge old boiler.  The air was thick with dust.  Faintly scratched onto the metal was some old graffiti.  W.  One of the first batch.  Hell, Ryon could have sprayed that on ten years ago.

She flicked on the low beam of her flashlight and let it play over the ground, over the pale dustmotes hanging in the air.  Reaching out psychically, she caught the feel of a faintly familiar mind.  

"Hey."  She gave her a picture of where she was.

[Anonymous]

By now the Midlevel of Haviah wasn't as fascinating, she'd been up there countless times before.  Finding bodies, dropping things off or picking them up for uncle Anghel, or just traveling up there because she was bored and wanted to challenge herself to a good climb.  Meeting a new person though, and showing them around, now that was something interesting.  Finding out where the newbie came from, what sort of life they lived before becoming part of the psychic side of the Initiative.  What they thought of it.  How they reacted when they learned that the city was so subtly marked so you could get around unseen, when it always seemed like there were eyeballs everywhere watching.  Non psychic newbies were even more interesting.  She liked hearing why they were there.

Sharada left early in the morning once she knew about the escort job.  She liked to get up to the Midlevel early and wait for the psychic escort to send her an image of where they were.  Made things a lot faster.

She dressed simply.  A pair of loose jeans so she'd have pockets, worn in sneakers, a tight faded yellow shirt that once had something silk-screened on it and her leather gloves.  They weren't completely necessary, but she liked knowing that she could grab hold of anything and have a barrier before it cut or scratched her hands.  She had her hair pinned into two low buns to keep it out of the way and grudgingly took out the chain between the stud in her nose and her right earring.  It was her signature piece, a not too silly piece of advice she read online once when Tarah was asleep and not on the computer.  There was always that chance that it would get caught on something while she was climbing or running and leave her with a piece of her nose or ear missing.  It wasn't the sort of look she wanted, so she left it behind but kept the studs in.

This wasn't the time to try out any new routes up.  Sharada climbed up an old tested and true route that left her in an alleyway in the industrial quarter of the Midlevel.  Old safe and trusty.  She actually managed to get up most of the way one handed once when she was bored.  The only reason she started using the other then was because her arm was starting to get tired and she didn't want to risk falling.  The plant wasn't too far from where she was now.  She crept toward it and slipped into one the basement.  Actually climbing down a little to find a good place to crawl into.

Then she waited, stretched out on her back and watching the ceiling move above her.

Hey.
Somewhere in the factory, lower down, with a stream of light from a flashlight.

Again, she resisted the urge to think a reply back.  Just because a psychic sent you a message didn't mean they would always linger around for a reply.  Sharada rolled to her feet and looked down.  There.  She climbed down from her perch, down further into the subbasement and walked toward the pale line of light bouncing around.  Jogging, lightly on the balls of her feet so she didn't make much noise, once she saw Rana's outline beyond the flashlight's beam.

"Hey," she said once she was close enough.  When she stopped she glanced around, looking for the newbie.  Didn't see them.  "Where's the newb?"

[Anonymous]

When you didn't see many people day-to-day, you became very fond of those you did.  It was good to stay human that way.  Rana caught Sharada in a quick one-armed embrace before she stepped back.

"Oh, I lost him."  Deadpan.  She gestured for the other woman to follow her and pulled aside the panel in the wall that led down into the tunnels.  The metal moved with a shriek; a button on the other side would close it, but getting in was hard.  As it should be.  She could see Blue, his newly-shortened blond hair blowing in machinized wind, standing on the platform below.  He leaned back against a rail and waved.

"His name's Blue, sixteen, was a garbage collector... pretty strong anomalous telekinetic, he blew someone up--someone about to kill him, don't worry."  She motioned for Sharada to go first down the ladder; she stayed to shut the entrance, then followed her, hand-over-hand.  "Hey, Blue," she said, projecting her thoughts to both of them, "This is Sharada."

He was looking at her like she was made of chocolate.  Of course, the kid hadn't seen a woman who wasn't her since they'd picked him up, and Zero said he would not stop pestering him to put porn on the terminal.  

"Hi," he said, wondering if she were psychic, then wondering what her breasts looked like.  The things Rana overheard... She could've listened to Sharada, too, but it would have required effort; Blue was still projecting some of his thoughts, though he'd learned rudimentary shielding.

"No, she isn't psychic," she told him, and quashed the urge to add and probably about a B-cup.  No need to embarrass the kid.

[Anonymous]

Sharada slipped her hand around Rana's waist, moving her hand up to the middle of her shoulders when she was embraced.  Moving the hand back to join the other at her hips when Rana stepped back.

"What are we gon do with you Rana girl," she said, sighing a little over dramatically.  "You've gotta stop losin' the newbies.  Some of 'em just weren't made for climbin'."

She followed when Rana gestured, stayed back when she moved the panel, then crept forward and peeked down once it was open.  Aaaw, the newbie was a boy.  She leaned forward a little to get a better look and waved back at him.  He really was a boy too, not a young looking man.  A dangerous boy, from Rana's description, but Sharada didn't plan on trying to kill him anytime soon so there shouldn't be any problems.

She climbed halfway down the ladder before she kicked free of it and slid down, gloved hands on the sides.  When she landed, straightened back up and got out of the way, she was ready to introduce herself.  Rana took care of that though, good old head talking.  So she smiled at him, it was hard for her not to like someone who stared at her so... she supposed appreciatively wasn't a bad way to describe it.  Sure beat out hungrily.  She'd know soon enough what it really was.

"Hey Blue," she reached over and brushed a strand of his hair past the edge of his eyebrow.  "You can talk normal to me.  Kinda feels strange bein' the only one talkin' out loud."

Or can you read my thoughts too? she thought, as normal as she could.

[Anonymous]

"I'm sorry, Shara," Rana said, hopping off the ladder and landing with a clang.  "I just find it's best to keep the noise level down."  She ran a hand through the stiff spikes of her hair.

Blue, meanwhile, was all jumbled up inside his head trying to think how to respond.  He had heard Sharada's attempt at talking in thoughts, but the problem was most of the stuff he took out of people's minds wasn't thought, so when he'd heard that he'd sort-of-gotten other stuff too, like this vague sense of curiosity at how he was looking at her.

He was not a little kid.  He tossed his head back, getting all of his hair out of his eyes and shying away from her hand.

It was hard for Rana not to laugh, out of pleasure at participating in such a mundane social situation more than anything.  She wouldn't laugh at Blue; his alienation and loneliness were too real.

"It's hard for psychics to listen to non-psychics," she said instead, only to Blue, so he could explain it to Shara and look good.  He would appreciate that.  "There's a risk we'll pick up on what they don't intend and when it's a friend it's more polite not to."

"It's hard for psychics to listen to non-psychics," Blue said, glancing at Rana, then back to Shara.  "I might hear something you don't want me to, or not hear something you do."  He shrugged and popped the collar on his scruffy buttondown.  

Rana nodded, then set off ahead across the narrow metal bridge ahead of them.  It swayed a little, and the beam of her flashlight bobbed.  "Might as well talk out loud for now," she said; it echoed and then died in the air.  "You're loud enough for all of us, Shar-Shar, so I can't see what harm a little more noise'll do.  I'll tell you if we need to zip it."  

Behind her, Blue was giving Shara a shy, sideways look.

[Anonymous]

"Anyone that'd hear us down here is up to no good themselves," she said, trying to keep he voice down and not doing so well.  The times she needed to move around in complete silence she was alone and didn't have to worry about talking.  Or she split from a group to be alone so she wouldn't have any reason to talk.  Only Tarah got the quiet gene in their family - and it was because she didn't talk too much.  Get her talking and she'd be loud too.

She put her thumbs through her belt loops and kept up her smile after Blue moved away from her.  She tipped her head to the side and raised her eyebrows once he started explaining about how it was harder to read her mind.  Tried not to look in the direction he was glancing mid way through the explanation.  What did it matter if he knew this already and just needed to refresh his memory, or if Rana was passing along some psychic stuff for him to say-since she asked him about it anyway.  This was something she wanted to know too.

Then maybe she could get over her urge to keep up her side of a mental conversation.

"Oooh," she murmured, sliding her weight onto one foot and leaning into it.  "Tarah never told me about that... but she's not too strong."  Tarah also didn't like confrontation, outside of those rare occurrences when she would be worked up about something.  Then, for Blue's benefit.  "My sister, she's a psychic too."

Sharada crept silently after Rana once she started moving, letting Blue go behind Rana.  "Just lemme know Rana and keep down the head-talk if it's quiet time.  I might get tempted."

She waited until Rana and Blue were a good way down the bridge before she began walking across it and tried to match her steps to Blue's so the weight on the bridge would remain even enough to keep it from swaying much more.

[Anonymous]

Rana moved quickly the length of the bridge, balancing its sway with each new, rapid step.  It wasn't unduly dangerous, but it hadn't been an architectural feature of whatever structure this piece of undercity had once been.  They'd built it themselves.  And as such it was a little rickety.

Once she'd planted both feet firmly on the platform she turned to check on Blue.  She knew he didn't like heights, but he seemed to be all right so far, and she didn't dare try to calm him psychically.  If he clamped down with his shields it could distract him, fatally.  Okay so far... Shara was balancing him, good.

One of the generators overhead roared, and Blue's head jerked to one side.  A foot slipped--he jolted forward to grab for a new handhold.  The bridge swung back and forth.  

"No, no," he said.  He clung to the handrails, his shoulders shaking.  She could feel his fear.

"It's okay, Blue," she said.  "Just stay still for a minute."

He was looking down.  No, don't do that.  That was one of those things you always heard--don't look down--and you thought it was silly until you did look down and damn it was terrifying.  

He'd at least steadied himself a little, though his hold on the chains rattled the whole bridge as he shook.  With any luck Shara would steady him and he'd be able to proceed.  "Okay.  You're fine.  Keep going."  He looked frozen.  That could be unfortunate.

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The generator's roar only briefly registered in Sharada's head.  Then the bridge began to swing.

She grabbed a handrail on each side.  Put a foot on each edge of the bridge.  Leaned hard into the side that was tipping upward.  Leaned back the other way once the other side came up.

Centered herself.  Breathed.

They were all right.

Well, most of them were all right.  Blue looked pretty shook up.  Looked like he was a freezer.  Fun.

She braced herself between the handrails, pushed the balls of her feet down against the ledge.  Get a little tension in it so it would stop rattling and sounding like it was about to drop from under them.

"Blue," as much as she wanted to yell at him, to get his attention, she didn't want him to jump at a loud sound coming from behind him, so she tried to be soft, soothing.  It was a half decent attempt.  "Blue, you gon be fine.  You hear me?  We need you to keep goin'.  Just walk.  You gon be fine."

[Anonymous]

"Hey," said Jim Boxer, loudly enough that it echoed.  

He dropped heavily from the bottom rung of one of the rusted ladders ahead of them.  He huffed and carefully raised himself to one knee, then the other, then stood upright.  Then he froze the swaying bridge with a glance.  

His eyes looked entirely white in the gloom.  They were the only unearthly thing about him.  Weirdly opaque eyes aside, he looked like nothing so much as a woodchuck or marmot in human form.  Brown, scruffy, with a buttery subcutaneous layer of fat and a bit of a paunch; he walked in a stooped, ungainly shuffle.  

He was also an absorptive telekinetic.  His frame billowed visibly as he sucked energy from the bridge's movement; he turned to one wall and drove his fist into it.  Once, twice.  The metal bent and groaned, and then Jim turned back to Rana, Sharada, and the blond kid.

Sharada and the blond kid, while the bridge stood still, made it to Rana's platform.  The blond kid collapsed, white-faced, before Rana tugged him upright by the back of his shirt-collar and pulled him into an embrace.  

"You were making a lotta noise," Jim Boxer said, scuffing one foot along the rusted metal grating of the platform above them.  "Gotta work on the shields.  Um, hi.  You guys should get a move on, 'cause there are some Pilots up overhead and I'm pretty sure they heard something."