Ashes (based on the mission from Sprawl Wilds; updated 2016/12/02)
"Bishop! You really need to check this out!" I heard Jazz exclaim.
I sigh as I don't have to say a thing for him to continue on jabbering about whatever news tidbit he's just discovered.
"We've got a Johnson with a 'short fuse' job, Jazz, and you're checking news bites?" I asked him, not bothering to try looking at him as we walked. Considering the crowd of people it was pretty much mandatory, or else you'd walk into someone and if you're lucky you'll just be a little embarrassed about it.
It was morning, and too fragging early if you asked me, too. It was less than an hour ago when I got a call for work, and now at about a quarter past seven in the morning I was walking down the stairs from Lordstrung's to go into the Ork Underground.
Now the Ork Underground was not the Seattle Underground you might've heard about. What had been a tourist attraction for the longest time had been expanded upon a few decades ago into a community unto itself.
"C'mon! A major news editor just got greased yesterday in front of a dozen witnesses!" Jazz said aloud and excessively excitedly. "And I mean literally! Couple of dwarves paintballed him and two others and they all melted!"
I spun around on Jazz, grabbing him by the collar of his synthleather jacket with my left hand and yanked him out of the path of everyone behind us and shoved him up against the wall. At the moment I didn't care what anyone else might be thinking if they were paying attention to us.
And maybe I should explain a little bit about that. See, I'm an elf, and by no means am I the stereotypical prancing and dancing, tights wearing, dandelion eater some people think elves are. I'm a hundred and ninety-five centimeters tall and tip the scales at at least a hundred kilos soaking wet. In school I was rather active in sports, including wrestling and football, and since I left the real world for the shadows I've not only kept up but also learned some martial arts moves. I also like a good steak.
Now I'm not some street samurai, a hoop kicking pugilist whose only skill is killing someone faster than the next guy. No, my forte in the shadows is people, and I've got magic on my side to make my job easier. The term on the street is "Face" and it is pretty much accurate, though I gotta say I do know a lot of people as well as being a decent con man.
Which leads me back to why I grabbed Jazz, an ork who's a bit shorter and lighter than I am. More often this is just a threat, but he always takes it seriously. It also helps that I'm six years his senior.
Now if you know orks I'll bet you're surprised that I said he was shorter and lighter than me. Well, true the typical ork is still going to outweigh me by nearly thirty kilos, Jazz is by far not your typical ork.
Now the average Joe thinks of an ork as brutish, dumb, short tempered, but rather strong and tough. Well, maybe compared to your average human Jazz still is rather strong and tough, but compared to the average ork he's a wimp. No, Jazz's strengths are all in his head. Believe it or not he's actually a rather competent hacker (much better than me, not that I actually make a living by hacking). Aside from being an ork he could almost be a poster child for Alamos 20K with his blond hair, and that's assuming he isn't lying when he says he used to have blue eyes.
Now what a pair we are, huh?
"Frag it all, Jazz," I growl as I stare into his cybernetic eyes, "did you slap a patch or pop a tab of something?" My own eyes dart back and forth between his, and I'm trying to find any clues to some drug he might have taken. Of course it's a little harder against cybernetic eyes as they sometimes don't have the same reactions the Mark-I model does, especially when Jazz's eyes were obviously cybernetic.
"Naw man, null sheen!" Jazz said, holding his hands up in surrender, "Just really excited 'bout this is all. I mean, almost two months ago the guy cracks an Ares plot to turn bugs into weapons, then he gets greased by bugs? I mean, c'mon!"
So I decided not to push things more, glaring at him for a second before I turn to continue on again as it looked like he was going to shut up about whatever conspiracy theory bulldrek he might've started rambling about if given the chance. My best bet would be he's taken a shot of long haul, a completely legal stimulant that will keep even the most fatigued troll awake for four days straight. For a brief moment I contemplate letting him know that I know about the auto-injector he has implanted at his right wrist.
So how did I know about this implant? Magic. Well, more accurately it's from my ability to extend myself into the astral and read a person's aura. Implants of all kinds leave shadows and scars on a person's aura, though sometimes it can be a little hard to tell what's what at times. What I did know for certain was he had an auto-injector, cybernetic eyes, a pair of datajacks, and two somethings I took to be a commlink (which I knew he had one in his head) and I think a set of skillwires.
More on that later as I think a little history might be in order so you can understand about the Ork Underground, since that's where we were headed.
Almost two centuries ago Seattle suffered a devastating fire that wiped out some thirty-three city blocks of what is now Downtown. Rather than rebuild the burned portion of the city it was decided to raise the street level up, and in short that was the birth of the original Seattle Underground.
Then came the "Night Of Rage" on February 7, 2039 that resulted in the deaths of tens of thousands. On the order of Seattle's then Governor Victor "Vic The Quick" Allenson (a human who had no problem voicing his low opinions of non-humans), metahumans were rounded up and locked up in warehouses along the Tacoma waterfront. Those warehouses were subsequently burned, and theories abound about who actually started the fires. Afterwards Governor Allenson had vehemently denied any wrongdoing despite allegations that he was actually a member of the Hands Of Five (a humanist policlub), and was being pressured from the United Corporate Council to resign. He was found shot dead in his office on February 11. It was not long after the Night Of Rage that non-human communities like the Ork Underground and Tarislar (a nearly all-elf community) down in Puyallup were born. By the 2040's what had once been a tourist attraction had expanded, and over the next thirty years would become a thriving community deep beneath the streets of Seattle. Now when I say Seattle I mean pretty much all of what Seattle is today, which includes little places like Redmond, Tacoma, Renton, and such.
But that community was not recognized as a district by the Seattle Metroplex like Redmond or Tacoma were, and thus did not receive funding for all the little things the common wageslave aboveground took for granted. Things like regular police patrols from Knight Errant (who had taken over from Lone Star earlier this year), or maintenance for infrastructure such as power and water and WiFi. On top of that the Underground's mayor held little power in general. Still the Underground did have some kind of security of its own in the form of the Skraacha, Or'zet for "Scorchers," a gang comprised of mostly orks that now actually did a decent job of keeping the peace.
And with that peace came a lot of ARO spam for those who had the gear for it, which was just about everybody in the modern world. In the game of spam vs. ad-blocker it was a constant fight, and I just mentally clicked out all the crap that I had seen and read before. Digital signs like, "You are now entering the Ork Underground, please review the following rules or we'll kick your hoop back topside. – The Skraacha."
"But don't you find it odd…" Jazz started to say.
"Shut it, k?" I interrupted, "And none of this conspiracy theory bulldrek until after the job. This's Seattle, not… wherever this thing you're so interested in happened."
"Manhattan." Jazz corrected. I was just glad that was all he said. Sometimes he'd just ignore my advice to be quiet in general. Like most orks Jazz was a little light on the social skills. Now don't get me wrong, there are orks who are politicians and diplomats and skilled used car salesmen, but like Jazz is in the brains those are exceptions and not the rule.
I stopped myself before saying something rather stupid that would've meant to him that we could continue talking about this. At first this was because I was wondering just how bugs would've gotten onto the island of Manhattan in the first place. I had been there only once, and getting past security was quite the hassle. More so than anything involved with Denver (which was a really fragged up place, if you asked me). But then there was also the mega-hive discovered in Chicago about twenty years ago, and there were sometimes rumors in the shadows about a bug popping up here and there, so I guess it wasn't too impossible for one to have gotten into such a heavily secured place as the island of Manhattan.
The fixer that had called me, Joss, had said the meet was at a coffee shop called Beans Outta Bulldog. I was already familiar with the place, and knew right where to go when he said to take the Lordstrung's entrance into the Underground. Not that the place would've been too hard to find since it was right on the Tourist Highway.
Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that part of the Underground was still a tourist attraction, hence the spam like that AROs I was now closing. Beans Outta Bulldog was also said to be in the Goblin Market, but those that knew the truth knew that where Jazz and I were heading to was not the real Goblin Market. This one was just for the tourists, easy to find and full of market stands like any other tourist trap. From the end of the Lordstrung's entrance you had two choices in which way to go, and the wrong one took you to a series of residential caves and such. And you'd have to be really dumb to go the wrong way since the right way to the market and the Tourist Highway was clearly marked for all to see, as was that the other way went to residential caves.
The cave the tourist's Goblin Market was in was fairly good sized. The roof was about three to four meters up and the whole place was as wide as a four lane street. More permanent shops were built into the cavern wall while others were carts or kiosks (to be polite) spread out all over the place. Most of those stands and shops were closed because of the early hour (lucky slots who can sleep in some), but the ones that were open catered more to the early morning tide of blue-collar workers by hawking food and drink to the weary wageslaves. The air was thick with the smells of curry and the spicy-sweet smells of barbequed meats (you're better off not knowing where the meats come from), all accented with the aromas of strong soykaf with a hint of propane exhaust from cookers and heaters and lamps that helped light the cave.
Now Beans Outta Bulldog was a soykaf shop built into the cavern wall, and to the left of the troll sized double doors into the shop was the rear end of what must have been at least a ten year old GMC Bulldog Step-Van that had been cemented into the wall. The van's engine was used as a massive soybean roaster, an idea I think they got from some old flatvid proving you could cook a holiday dinner with your car while driving (something Jazz had told me about). The engine exhaust was funneled out through one of the many ventilation shafts that were built into many of the Underground's caverns. The rear double doors were wide open so a perky ork girl, flanked by the strips of red LEDs of the van's taillights, could sell bags of roasted soykaf beans and other baked goods from the shop to the crowd of people as they passed by. As far as orks went she was kinda cute.
Near the door to the soykaf shop was a large troll, and I mean large as in really tall as well as big. It was a peculiar thing about trolls in general. Just over fifty years ago an event called "Goblinization" hit the world where roughly ten percent of the global population spontaneously transformed into an ork or troll. At that time, after the drekstorm finally settled down and all and governments started recording stats (something they love to do), the typical troll was recorded at standing at about two-point-eight meters tall. This was about as tall as the troll at the soykaf shop door now, who I'd figure was a third generation troll. Reason I bring this up is that it seems that over the years the average height dropped about thirty centimeters. Of course it could also mean that most trolls weren't getting enough calcium in their diet.
The troll yawned as he pushed the door open for us, and a bunch of bells inside jingled to announce us. "Back by the Bulldawg." he told us.
I nodded my thanks to him as I walked by, noticing the gray jacket and brown armband of the Skraacha that he wore. Already I was wondering what kind of work someone in the gang was wanting outsiders to do. Being an elf automatically disqualified me from joining them, if I ever really wanted to in the first place. Now I did sympathize with them, but that was about it.
The shop was far from empty. Most of the patrons were orks, but there were a few dwarves and trolls in the mix. Certainly didn't make me feel too welcomed being the only elf in the place. Even having Jazz with me was of no comfort as he tended to follow my lead, nor did noticing a human couple at a table next to one of the windows. Still I tried to put on an air of confidence as I headed towards the back.
The Bulldog van was largely intact, its large side door open to show a counter where the ork girl could serve customers inside as well. Close to it in the back corner was a booth where four orks could sit comfortably. In that booth sat an ork woman who also wore a gray jacket with a brown armband, with a good sized mug of soykaf before her. Though there were no real markings for rank among the Skraacha I already knew we'd be working for someone in a position of authority when I saw her.
Her name was Vandana Rao Bat'djoto, one of the Skraacha leaders, and I had heard about her a few times as she made statements about autonomy for the Underground as opposed to incorporation into the Seattle Metroplex as most were in favor of. I wondered just how many of the shop's "patrons" were really bodyguards.
"Looks like we're the first ones here." I say as Jazz and I walk up to the booth. At the same time I open myself up to the astral to get another look at her. To be honest I was curious as this was the first time I had actually gotten to see her in person.
Perceiving the astral isn't anything like seeing in the astral. Oh, I'm sure you'll have heard of differing accounts of what magicians have seen and wondered which one had it right. Well, they're all right and all wrong at the same time. Barring a few exceptions from what I've learned about magic is that magic doesn't believe in rules. Even two different shamans may or may not agree on exact details. No, understanding what you sense is more important than what you actually perceive, and the tradition that suits you best will, for a lack of better word, color everything.
So, what I actually perceive in the astral when I look at someone I see the person as if they were made of snow, pure white in full textural detail. Well, they're all white if they have no implants, are not hard core habitual drug users, etc. Damage due to cybernetic implants were usually easy to spot, appearing to me as black voids where the implant was located, while bioware was harder to spot. Hard drug use, and the occasional genetic treatments that I could spot, were more of a haze throughout the whole body.
So take Jazz, for example. I had mentioned that I thought he had skill wires, and this was because there were black lines running in his body approximately along where nerves run. Now the implant could also be some kind of wired reflex system, but I've never seen Jazz move with any kind of supernatural speed that such a system would grant, so the only logical choice were skill wires. His eyes, besides being more obvious in the real world, were like two black pits in his head.
So you get the idea. And on to Ms. Johnson. She was also awakened, there was no question in that (the awakened can pretend to be sleepers to fool others, but sleepers can't try to look awakened), and about my equal in power. Her aura was also intact, so no augmentations of any kind. She was also coming off as a bundle of mixed emotions, with a touch of anxiety mixed in with some kind of resolute determination.
"We'll be waiting on a few more." Bat'djoto said as I slid first into the booth. Not like it was hard to not know where things were while focused on the astral, all physical objects cast shadows into the astral, appearing as neutral gray objects (something that was typically consistent among all who could perceive the astral). Even glass was opaque in the astral. That really didn't matter much as I closed myself off to the astral to see things in the real world as I scooted over for Jazz to sit down.
The door bells jingled again, and I turned to look. From the pair that I saw walk in I figured we didn't have long to wait.
First was a relatively short troll woman. She had wavy brown hair pulled back and brown eyes. She had a pair of smooth, ebony black horns much like what a mountain goat has. She wore a dark blue jacket with logos for the Seattle Seahawks and dark blue jeans. As trolls went she was actually fairly attractive, and could almost pass for a fomori at a glance. Pretty obvious that she had extensive biosculpting done to enhance her looks, which even among troll women was somewhat rare. Again I opened myself up to the astral to take another look at her.
I'll leave out some of the specifics and just stick to the more comprehensible material. There was some damage to her aura all over, but likely that was a result of whatever biosculpting she had done. She was doing a good job of hiding her nervousness, which if this was any kind of a first for her would be understandable. She was also awakened and about the same power as me or Bat'djoto.
With the troll woman was a dwarf whom I was familiar with, and if you really didn't look carefully you could've almost mistaken her to be the troll woman's child. And I mean really not carefully as it's pretty hard to miss the pair of horns trolls have.
Her name on the street was Crankshaft, and word was that she had earned it by using the crankshaft of a Tata Hotspur's engine as a club to beat a rather thick headed troll over the head with. She was proportioned more like a human, and if it were not for her breasts she could quite easily impersonate a child of about seven or eight years of age. She wore blue jeans and a simple white shirt underneath a black, soft leather jacket. Her dark brown hair was also pulled back, but tied into a simple ponytail.
Crankshaft was a jurryrigger and a grease monkey, having no problems getting her hands dirty when it came to what was generally considered male's work. She was a firm believer that a quirk of genetics shouldn't make anyone more or less qualified to do something. I almost had her on childbirth one time, until she brought up an article where a transgendered guy that had gone so far in his reconstruction into a woman that he had his DNA altered had recently given birth to twins that were genetically his/hers. Said twins were a boy and a girl, believe it or not.
I didn't need more than a quick look at Crankshaft's aura to see she had not gotten anything new in implants recently. Her more natural looking cybernetic eyes and other bits of headwear were all the same as what I had seen the last time we worked together.
Upon spotting Bat'djoto they headed straight towards us, and I closed off the astral again.
"Please, have a seat and we'll talk." Bat'djoto said, setting down her mug of soykaf.
Crankshaft suffered the indignity of having to climb up onto the bench Bat'djoto was sitting on. Rather than sit down completely she dropped to knees to sit on her heels. It pretty much was the only option since the troll woman was large enough to take a bench by herself. She at least seemed content enough to stand at the end of the booth.
"I'll get right to the point." Bat'djoto said, "I have a message I want delivered to Brian Reynolds in the Stonecutters Guild." She pulled out of an inside pocket a very old optical chip. It was cracked and strung on a thin chain of steel links, though looked like it would still work if you plugged into a modern day commlink.
"Doesn't sound too hard." Jazz commented.
"There are dangers, though." Bat'djoto said, "There are those who would love to see the light snuffed out in a deep cave."
"Of course it's dangerous, or you'd get a kid or courier service to do this instead of us." Crankshaft said.
"You can find Reynolds in the university district…" Bat'djoto started to say.
Next thing I knew I was doubled over the table, the smell of dust was filling my nose, and the fluorescent lighting above us flickered.
And everything was eerily quiet. For about five seconds. Then the ventilation system kicked up into overdrive.
"What was zat?" the troll woman asked as she stood back up, and I noticed her Russian accent.
"Not good." Crankshaft said as she hopped off the bench and rushed towards the front of the store. At the same time three other orks were coming over to our booth.
"Was there a cave in?" Jazz asked.
"Would you move it?" I forcefully asked Jazz as I tried to push him off the bench so I could get out. I know he's really smart for an ork, but a lot of the time he can seem really slow on the uptake.
"Are you alright?" I heard an ork ask Bat'djoto as I managed to get out of the booth. I ignored them, as Bat'djoto looked alright to me, and headed towards the front of the shop.
Everyone else inside also looked stunned and confused about what had just happened, and as I stepped up next to Crankshaft I noticed that the front windows had been blown in. The human couple that had been sitting next to one of the windows looked cut up pretty badly, but things might have looked worse than they really were for the two of them.
"That wasn't a cave-in. That was an explosion." Crankshaft said. As if to emphasize the point for her, the flickering lights simply went out. I was about to ask how she knew the difference when I heard screams echoing from down the tunnel and things were starting to feel unusually warm. There was still enough light to see by, but the flickering firelight that gave me enough to see by was far from comforting in the darkness.
"Awe man, fire undreground?" Jazz asked as he walked up beside me. "How the hell?"
"Ever notice how those food stands are all made of wood?" Crankshaft asked, sounding rather put out. "Wood burns you know."
"Nevermind that last job." Bat'djoto said as she walked up to us and the broken window. "I'll pay thirty-two hundred to each of you to help with the fire and to get people out."
"Make it easy math. Three thousand, on credstick, and you've got a deal." I tell her.
"What?" Jazz whined.
"What? You gonna price gouge before you get off your scrawny hoop to help these people?" I asked him, turning to face him and give my best disapproving glare at him.
"I'm in." Crankshaft said without hesitation.
"Da." the troll woman added, already heading into the main tunnel.
"It'll be good for the PR." I tell Jazz as I follow behind.
"But I can't spend it if I'm dead!" Jazz yelled from behind me.
"Then it won't matter how much you were gonna get paid!" I yell over my shoulder back at him as I pulled a respirator out of my pocket. Having a respirator wasn't such an odd thing these days, what all with the air and rain pollution or the fact that I lived in Tacoma. Those that have even visited that part of Seattle will know what I mean by the "Tacoma Aroma," but now it was to deal with the noxious smell of burning things that were already heading our way.
"We've got too many things to do and not enough time to do them." Crankshaft said as I surveyed what was happening in the tunnel.
One thing I noticed was that the people who had dug at least this part of the Underground had considered the real threat of fire as I spotted two groups of orks pulling out fire hoses. It wasn't long before I noticed something was wrong. "What's wrong?" I asked as I headed over to them, noticing the Scraacha colors they wore. Even standing underneath one of the blasting air vents was not enough to alleviate the heat from the encroaching fire.
"Brad, where's the water?" one of the orks yelled, more ignoring me as he tried to figure things out for himself.
Another ork panted as he rushed over, "Valve's wide open, but there's no pressure. I try to access the system, but I get a bunch of low pressure and service messages! I can't figure anything out!"
"Drek." I mutter. "Jazz!" I yell, waving the ork over to me when he looked my way. "Brad, show him the system and where he can jack in."
"Wait, what?" Jazz asked.
"We need water and the system's been hacked." I tell Jazz, though honestly I can only suspect the hack job. "Either you back-hack the system and take back control or you figure out how to bypass the software entirely to get us water."
Jazz nodded vigorously, and thankfully Brad didn't ask any questions as he led Jazz off to the side.
"Water alone won't do it." Crankshaft said, "We need to get these vents under control too, and create a firebreak so we won't get overrun."
"We shut vents off, no?" the troll woman asked.
"We do that, Rose, and we're guaranteed dead." Crankshaft countered, "Now it's a blast furnace, but if we don't have any air coming in we'll suffocate before we're burned alive."
"Can you break into the system to turn them down?" I asked Crankshaft.
"I could, but if I could get to that control box up there," she pointed towards the ceiling, "I can do better than just play digital warcraft with a hacker."
"I can help." Rose said.
There was a new explosion from the fire, and as futile as it might've been we all ducked or tried to shield ourselves somehow. It was more pointless, really, since all it did was really deafen us for a moment.
"We don't get a firebreak made we're gonna have a lot more. That was a propane bottle that just blew." Crankshaft told us.
I was about to ask her how she could be so certain, but then I recalled what the kiosks used for heat for cooking their foods and such. All of them had at least a ten kilo propane tank next to them.
"I call spirit." Rose said just before she began what sounded like a prayer in Russian.
Silently I called on a bound earth elemental of my own.
"Yes?" it asked me.
"Your task is labor. Help us create a barrier the fire cannot cross." I told it, more in the impression of what I wanted it to do as opposed using words.
The elemental materialized in front of me, looking like a conglomeration of concrete chunks and gravel in a vaguely humanoid form.
"We've got to move those carts, either away or into the fire, it doesn't matter." Crankshaft said from a rising vantage point. When I looked at her I saw an angelic form of a spirit lifting her towards the tunnel roof. It was gray and wispy like smoke yet solid enough to carry the dwarf upwards.
I waved Rose over to me, and a few other orks that apparently had nothing to do and a want to help followed. Together we started working on moving what kiosks we could to get them away from the flames. More than once we ended up cutting the hose to a propane tank so we could move just it.
Several minutes after we started Jazz apparently got the water running for us. I'm not sure if it made things better or worse for us as we occasionally got misted by the water. Not long after that the blasting air vents settled down and it became almost impossible to hear them over the crackling fire.
It felt like forever for us to get things done. Some of the merchant stands could not be saved as the fire advanced on us and were left to burn. More than one propane tank was also lost when we couldn't get to it in time, and sadly so was one ork's life when a tank we missed blew up close to him.
"Bishop!" I heard Jazz yell, and realized it was through the ear buds to my commlink. I left the others and hurried over to where Jazz was still jacked in. I also noticed the ork Brad was still there as well. I guessed that he had been playing watchdog for Jazz as the hacker worked full on in virtual reality.
"What is it?" I asked him, my voice more muffled now from the smoke clogged respirator.
"I ain't alone in this network." Jazz told me.
"Hacker?"
"White hat, I think. Icon's got a Knight mark on it."
"What's he doing?"
"Begging for access to some surveillance system. Says a Skraacha hacker's supposed to give him access, but he can't reach him."
"You know anything about this?" I asked, looking at Brad.
Sadly, Brad shook his head.
I felt a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. This was easily one of two things at the very least. Either this other hacker was truly part of Knight Errant and legitimately needing in, or this was a new tactic by whoever originally hacked the system to try and regain control. And one thing the vast majority of shadowrunners avoided as much as possible was law enforcement, though this time it wasn't exactly the usual lawbreaking Jazz had done just recently.
"Back trace him first. Make sure he's really with the Knight and not lying or spoofing an icon. If you think he's legit then get him everything he wants you can get him."
"Right." Jazz's said, nodding. His body went limp as he dove full on into virtual reality.
"You sure that's a good idea?" Brad asked me.
"Jazz's good." I told him reassuringly, "If that guy ain't with Knight then you can bet Jazz'll frag him over good. 'Sides, we're helping save lives here even if we're breaking a law or two." It was a nice thing about law enforcement at times, that they would overlook little things when it meant more lives were saved as a result.
And with that I headed back to the fire line to help the others. Some were now using crude digging implements to create a trench the fire hopefully would not be able to jump, and I modified the directions I had given my elemental to help them.
Rose's air angel was still around, too. I noticed it blowing small chunks of the ceiling insulation towards the fire. I was about to ask the troll woman why the spirit was doing this when I noticed one chunk break up into many pieces and the resulting dust flare up like gunpowder over an open flame. Looked like the insulation actually wasn't as fireproof as it should've been.
Everything seemed to be going well enough. We were making some serious progress in getting the fire contained at our end of the tunnel when I caught some words that were clearly spoken in anger. After a few more I recognized a few words of Or'zet. "Keep things going here." I told Rose before accessing my Babelfish Linguasoft program and Renraku Mindreader empathy program.
"«And you call yourself an ork?»" boomed a deep, loud voice that was loaded with anger.
"«Use what Allah gave you.»" replied a much calmer voice. "«If we follow your plan then we'll certainly be killed.»" Well, apparently he was coming off as calmer than he really was when the empathy program keyed up a fair level of fear. The sensor program, which normally worked by being connected through a drone or camera and microphone sensor package, got its data straight from what I saw and heard because of a simrig that was hidden in my hair.
Now most people went with a normal trode net of some kind, something as simple as a headband that could read thought commands and, with a sim module in a commlink, turn them into software input. A simrig was more complicated in that it could actually take your sensory input and record it in a digital format, something that a trode net and sim module in a commlink could not do. It was also instrumental in the simsense entertainment industry, making something like the old "Hardcore Henry" flatvid more than something to be just seen and heard like you're an impotent spectator but experienced like you're really Henry himself.
I headed over towards the argument. A crowd had gathered near the stairway to the surface and I found it odd that people were arguing and not heading out instead. It didn't take me long to figure out why.
A fair skinned troll with blond hair dressed in a lined coat and looking more like a ganger was looking down at a plainly dressed ork with olive tinted skin and short dark hair.
"«Look at how many of us there are!»" the troll bellowed, "«They can't kill us all!»"
"«I have seen how many there are.»" the ork calmly replied, "«It is why I will not bow down to you. Too many lives are at stake.»"
"«Frag the tusker, Vic!»" another similarly dressed troll yelled.
I could see several other trolls dressed like Vic, had even had to push my way around one just to get to see who was arguing at the middle of the crowd. From what I could gather from other mutterings I could hear it sounded like the entrance had not only been blockaded by the Metroplex Guard but people had been shot at when they tried to leave. Seemed pretty lucky that no one was actually shot, yet.
And now it was down to a split mob mentality, half lead by Vic and riled up and willing to try rushing the Metroplex Guard line in the hopes that some survivors would make it through, and the other lead by the ork Aziz who favored a peaceful walkout would force Knight Errant into standing down.
"Could you get out of my way?" I heard Crankshaft ask as she pushed her way up to me. "Hey, we got problems outside."
"And we got one here, too. Vic the troll wants to rush the exit hoping that some will make it through, and Aziz the ork wants a peaceful walkout." I told her.
"They rush then everyone's dead." Crankshaft said, "Knight's blockaded the entrance at the top of the escalators with a bunch of assault rifles and at least three machineguns. And there's no matrix coverage to the outside now since we're being blasted with ECM. On top of that we've more troubles down here. We stay we're as good as dead anyway."
"So we're completely cut off from the surface?" I asked, not bothering to ask how she had gotten the details on the blockade. Odds were she pieced it all together from anyone who was probably forced back down.
"Not to be an alarmist, but that's usually a tactic to give one side an edge in a fight. If Vic wins the crowd he'll send everyone to their deaths. And there's apparently a hit squad roaming the tunnels looking for survivors. A bunch of kids found their way here through a small tunnel, pulling a fiber optic. Jazz says it's Johnson on the line, and she wants to talk to you."
At least the crowd seemed pretty well split, but I knew it wouldn't last. Hopefully I could get back and help diffuse things before Vic led everyone to their deaths. "Try and keep everyone here for now." I told here before working my way back out of the crowd.
Jazz was no longer jacked into the water control box, but still close by. A few crates that were stacked against the wall had been shoved aside or knocked over to reveal a small tunnel too small for any adult, save a dwarf, to fit through.
"What'd you find on that white hat?" I asked Jazz.
"Legit, but he's gone now." Jazz told me, "I got something about a 'CBRN' before getting cut off, but I can't look it up to see what it means."
"How long ago was this? When the white hat got cut off?" I asked.
"Maybe ten minutes?" Jazz asked me back.
"Yeah, and then there's the ECM too. And I don't think this CBRN is anything good either." I say gravely as I took the jack Jazz was offering me. Unfortunately my respirator doesn't have a microphone built into it, and so that I could be heard clearly I pulled it down. Immediately I got hit with the chaotic blend of burnt wood, plastics, sweat, and more that I'd rather not describe. I even had to cough a few times before I was over the stench.
"Bishop here," I hoarsely said as soon as the chat program had connected us. My eyes drifted over to the ork children that had brought the fiber optic cable through to the market, none of them looked to be more than ten years old. Two of them had battered AK-97 carbines slung over their back, sitting next to the litter that had been used to carry two more of them to the market. On that litter was a girl (guessing by a few pink bows I noticed in the kid's hair) who had not survived the journey.
"Bishop, glad to hear you didn't get roasted." Bat'djoto commented. "Seriously, we've got trouble and I'm bent over a barrel. I've gathered the kids didn't make unscathed, crossing with some armed humans."
"Yeah, a little too rough of work for them." I comment as my eyes drift over them again.
"It's simple. These topsiders are heading your way and you're gonna have to deal with them regardless. Thirty-two hundred to each of you if you can take them outright away."
"That might be a little…" I start to say, stopping when I hear Vic's booming voice as he yelled at Aziz. "You know," I start again, a sly grin creeping up on my face, "for five grand and you're on. Just got an idea how we can do it."
"Deal."
"You serious?" Jazz asked me as I pulled the plug to my commlink, "You're gonna take on a bunch of armed humans?"
"Null sheen, omae, I got a plan." I tell him, winking.
"You're working for Volcano Woman?" one of the kids asked me.
I pause for a moment before asking, "You mean Bat'djoto?"
The same kid nodded vigorously.
"Chip-truth, we are. Now you stay here with Jazz and we'll take care of the bad guys."
"We… We managed to lose them in a tunnel." one of the kids with an AK-97 told me. "But they were headed for that one." he said, pointing to one of the side tunnels that once had a prominent sign saying "NO TOURISTS!"
"How long 'til they find their way back?"
"Mebby five… ten minutes?" the boy answered, shrugging.
"Thanks." I tell him, giving him a reassuring pat on the shoulder before heading back to the mob.
I don't think it was any easier to get back to the middle of things than it was before, trying to squeeze between people who were more interested in milling about and listening than anything else right now. I could tell that if the hit squad struck right now it'd be lambs to the slaughter, and I didn't have all that much time to work with.
"«You don't get it.»" Aziz said with forced calm, "«The media coverage is sure to be overwhelming out there…»"
"«To hell with the media! We don't need them!»" Vic roared.
Once I got to the inner circle I spotted Crankshaft. I stepped over to her, tapping her on the shoulder to get her attention, and when she looked up I asked, "Know anything about a 'CBRN'?"
Her eyes narrowed before she quickly looked away. "Drek." I barely hear her mutter. "This is not good. Vic's gonna get his way and everyone he takes with him is dead."
"Thought so." I add. After a second I tell her, "Follow my lead."
"«What the hell's wrong with you?»" I loudly ask as I step up to Vic and Aziz, looking more at the troll that towered a good half meter over me. "«You so willing to die for your cause that you'll kill everyone with you?»"
"«Shut it pansy, this ain't your fight.»" Vic snapped at me, glaring down over his large and bulbous nose at me. Well, at least I had his attention.
"«It's everyone's fight. Everyone who's down here right now.»" I counter, glaring right back at him.
"«Knight Errant and the Metroplex guard don't care about the race of their staff.»" Crankshaft added, "«There's trolls and orks up there just as much as humans, elves, and dwarves. And right now their orders are to contain everyone down here no matter what.»"
"«Which is why I say we go up there slowly, peacefully, and talk…»" Aziz started to say.
"«Talk, talk, talk! That's all the noise you'll make?»" Vic snapped back, "«You don't…»"
"«Shut up!»" I snap at Vic, adding a touch of magic to my words. The effect is often times something like 'The Voice' of the Bene Gesserit from the really old Dune books. Never read them myself, but I know someone who's a real fanatic about ancient science fiction stories that told me about it.
And it worked. By the looks of things I managed to stop Vic in mid thought, whatever tirade he was starting having been completely derailed. Good thing I hadn't activated my power focus, a steel ring that I wore on my right ring finger. I might've left him completely dumbfounded for a minute if I had.
"«Do you hate yourself so much that you don't care who dies with you?»" I ask him. Not waiting I continue, "«Are you going to prove the topsiders that they're right about what they believe in by charging their gun line, yelling your war cry, all to get cut down in a hail of bullets? Groups like Humanis claim orks and trolls are nothing but stupid, pig headed, brutish, violent bullies and murderers, and if you rush that blockade up there,» I gesture towards the stairs of the Lordstrung's entrance, "«then you're proving to them they're right, and the media will gladly do all the work to show the world for them.»"
"«Right now the guard up there believes the explosion was some chemical or biological weapon.»" Crankshaft added, "«Right now they believe they'll be saving millions of lives in the city if they have to kill a few dozen of us down here to do it. That explosion was no accident, it was terrorism.»"
"«And right now there's a hit squad that's heading this way, with guns and grenades, to frighten you right into those people who are up there to defend Seattle, to herd you into their machineguns, and prove that everyone who lives down here aren't worthy of being anyone's equals!»"
"«How do you know this?»" Aziz asked me.
"«Bat'djoto sent some kids with a fiber line to try and get some kind of communication line back here. Those kids ran into the hit squad, but managed to lose them to make it here. Not all of them survived.»" That last part I said rather softly, and it was no bulldrek about my saddened expression either.
That last line hit Aziz painfully hard. When I glanced back up at Vic I noticed that something had sparked in his big troll brain as well.
"«Kids?»" Vic asked, growling as a new passion grew within him.
I hid a smile as I planned to fan that spark into a new raging inferno. "«Yes, kids.»" I say softly, "«Five of them. Well, four now. I don't think any of them are past ten.»" If it wasn't for the smoke in the air I might've tried for some tears for a little extra effect. Right now my eyes were too dry for anything, and my contacts were starting to itch.
Vic scowled, and I could hear some of his supporters muttering about this new information. It almost always worked as almost all cultures had a thing about violence against kids. And at least Vic was the kind of person that could overlook metatype for age. Then again, most trolls around here were sympathetic to whatever plight orks suffered since trolls usually got it even worse.
"«Where are they?»" Vic asked, his voice a soft, menacing growl.
"«If one of the kids is right, then they should be coming through that tunnel.»" I tell him, pointing towards the same tunnel that the ork child had. I notice Vic's darkening expression, and it grew darker when he looked back at me.
"«You don't look mad.»" he said.
"«You think I'm not mad?»" I ask him back, cocking my head just a little to the right. "«You've got a lot to learn about people.»" I tell him, adding a darker edge to my voice. Didn't seem so hard to do that in Or'zet, either.
Now I'm more of a lover and not a fighter, but that doesn't mean I'm a tree hugging, dandelion eating, pacifist hippy either. I'm also not stupid. It's a violent world I live in, and I'm always packing a gun whenever I can since it's better to have it in case it's ever needed (concealed, because guns make the sheep, er, people nervous). I always make sure my silenced Morrissey Élan up my right sleeve as much as possible.
I reach into my jacket and draw my modified Predator IV. As soon as my fingers are around the grip its smartgun and safety systems are synchronizing with the safety chip in my hand and the smartlink system in my contacts. In my vision there's now a little red crosshair to show where the gun's pointing, its orientation, and range to whatever it's pointing at.
"«I'll be right there with you.»" I tell Vic.
"«We'll be right there.»" Crankshaft amends. Glancing down I see she's got her own Ares Crusader in hand.
"«No.»" Vic says, "«They'll go. I'm staying.»"
"«Fine.»" I tell him.
"«I know those tunnels well.»" a dark skinned ork said as he stepped up.
"«So let's get going.»" I said.
We started off towards the tunnel, but I stopped when we got to the fire break. "Rose!" I called out, drawing her attention.
"Iz Rosethorn." she corrected. Well, how was I supposed to know Crankshaft shortened it?
"Right, Rosethorn. See that ork over there?" I asked her, pointing at Aziz.
"Da." Rose said.
"Name's Aziz. Keep him alive and keep everyone down here. Troll's name is Vic, and you might have to beat the drek out of him. Crankshaft and I are going with some of them to deal with a hit squad that wants to run everyone into a gun line ready to shoot whatever comes up those stairs, stairs Vic wants everyone to rush."
"Iz stupid or somthink?" Rosethorn asks me.
I simply shrug.
"Da. I understand." she told me, nodding before heading towards Aziz and the crowd while I turned to catch up with Vic's troll buddies and our dark skinned ork guide. I also called my earth elemental to join us, and activated my power focus.
Following our guide was almost like trying to follow a shadow at times. At least my contacts could let me see heat, so everyone showed up as warm red bodies against the cool blue of the tunnel walls.
Now hopefully I would see what we were in for before it saw us.
As it turned out we didn't see them before they saw us. And as luck would have it they didn't see us first either. It was one of those dumbfounded moments when we stared at each other in total surprise, clueless as to what we were supposed to do.
I think it was Crankshaft who came to her senses first, a quick brrt from her Crusader snapped me out of my surprise. I snapped off a single shot before jumping to the side of the tunnel for some cover.
Then all hell broke loose. I think one of Vic's buddies dropped quick with the first burst of gunfire. Another pulled him back as everyone took cover against the hit squad's assault rifles.
"Give them hell." I silently told my earth elemental, poking around to try and shoot one of the hit squad members.
The earth itself seemed to come alive, tendrils of dirt lashing out to wrap around one of the hit squad. Rat-a-tat-tat his assault rifle went, missing everyone as he was sucked into the cave wall.
Now if I was a religious elf what I saw next might have made me tremble in fear. A blond haired angel appeared, pointing a finger at one of the trolls. A grayish-white beam struck the troll, but whatever it was supposed to do apparently had no effect.
Taking on a spirit can be a dangerous thing, especially if you have no idea how to deal with one in the first place. The foolish will try punching them or hitting them with swords, and some will even try shooting them. All of it, most often, is utterly useless.
The instant I start to draw the power for my attack the spirit noticed me, and our eyes lock. Right away my left hand is up, palm out like a police officer telling someone to stop. "Angel of the corrupt, I deny you!" I yelled, focusing my willpower against it to unbind its existence.
I honestly had no idea how powerful the angelic spirit was, and trying to banish it before knowing that was a crazy thing in deed. Of course, in the middle of a firefight people do crazy things.
And sometimes crazy pays off.
The angelic spirit reeled back as if hit by some inexorable force. It must've been weaker than I would've expected it to be as it exploded in a puff of smoke.
The man my spirit had enveloped was suddenly disgorged from the wall, his head blazing like a star as fire consumed it. The light was so intense it was blinding, and I pressed myself into what I hoped was a little hidden cubby of the cave wall while I tried to shield my eyes with my empty hand.
More gunfire rang out, and I really wished I could see clearly enough to pick a target. Nothing like being in pitch black and suddenly having a Hollywood spotlight turned on in your face.
More gunfire rang out, prompting me to try and "think thin" as I pressed myself against the cave wall, chips of stone tearing at my hand.
Now when I hear gunfire I can't tell much about it other than if there's a little or a lot. I hear the pop-pop of a small caliber handgun or the louder bangs of a high caliber sniper rifle and I can't rightly tell you which is which. So when I heard the rat-a-tat-tat change to a longer brrrrt I had thought the hit squad had switched over to machineguns or something.
Then I saw what looked like one of the hit squad guys run past me. After realizing he was too small to be a troll and wasn't our ork guide I turned my Predator on him and shot several times. I must've scored a hit or two since he dropped face first on the tunnel floor. A split second later and his head erupted in another miniature sun.
"«Alright people, that's it.»" I heard Crankshaft declare.
"«Everyone okay?»" I asked as I peeled myself from the wall.
"«No, frag it!»" one of the trolls yelled.
Looking over at the others I could see why. The troll that had answered looked like he was favoring his left leg as he stood, and two others helped another that looked like he'd soaked up a lot of bullets. Our ork guide also looked like he'd been through hell.
Figuring our guide needed help I walked over to him, holstering my Predator.
"«C'mon buddy, you can make it.»" one of the other trolls said.
"Guard his life until we can heal him." I told my spirit, thinking of the troll getting help from his two friends. Great, three services today. Two more and the spirit would be done and gone. Looked like if I managed to survive the morning I'd be hitting up some talislegger for reagents to perform another binding ceremony, and it'd take up most of my pay.
"Quite the lucky one today, aren't you Bishop?" I heard a dark, husky voice with some venomous sultry in it ask me. A voice I recognize almost immediately.
"Trouble finding you again, Cara?" I ask back, grunting as I help our ork guide to his feet and putting a shoulder under one arm to help hold him up. When I look up towards her I can see a shimmering of light and something, and with a touch of mental discipline I'm able to unravel whatever cloaking spell she was using against my senses.
Cara, shortened for Caracal, an African wildcat, was a black skinned and rather full figured elven woman, her hair long and worked in carefully patterned dreadlocks. She had dark chocolate brown eyes, and cybernetic lower arms and legs that were usually synthetic replacements to hide this fact. However it was easy to tell just how much was cybernetic right now with her arms and inhuman legs and twitching tail, all colored in basic gunmetal. See, she had the stumps of her cyberlimbs made modular, wearing her natural looking set of unagumented limbs for regular daily stuff and switching over to some obvious cybernetics when on the job.
In her hands were a pair of custom made blades she called "Cat's Claws" because that's what they looked like, especially if the cat they came off of was the size of an elephant. And knowing her from having worked with her in the past I knew she would be wearing more discrete armor in the form of a body suit and the slimline series of the SecureTech line of body armor.
What was odd was the long barrel rifle that she had slung at her back. Cara was a close-in and in-your-face kind of fighter, if she chose to not ambush you.
"Chasing it this time." Cara replied as someone else stepped up from behind her. Now if you thought Cara looked freaky with her double jointed cyberlegs and tail then this next girl would scare the drek out of you.
And yes, I do mean girl. She was lightly tanned and substantially shorter and smaller than Cara. She also had altered lower arms, cat-like legs, and a long tail, all of which covered in tawny hair or fur. Her face was also partly distended, like it was trying to morph into a cat's head and only got so far as her nose and mouth, and her ears were like the nekomimi girls were so fond of wearing. The only difference here was that it looked like the nekomimi were her real ears. If I were to really simplify her looks I'd describe her as a classic werewolf, but with some kind of tawny cat instead.
She also looked a bit more feral than Cara, hunkering down more but looking like a cat ready to pounce on a mouse. She wore a simple t-shirt and skirt, though I could see some bulging of SecureTech padding underneath. I'd also bet she had some kind of partial skintight suit on underneath.
"«Who you talkin' to?»" one of the trolls asked.
"«Some friends.»" I answered back over my shoulder. "I hope." I mutter softly.
"She's with me. New, though a bit green." Cara told me. Guess she heard me muttering.
"So, what'd'ya mean about being lucky?" I ask Cara.
"After the drekstorm topside we got hired by a dwarf to go after some armed Humanis thugs down here. He figured they were gonna go right into the crowd by Lordstrung's and run 'em into the barricade, and he wanted us to stop them." she answered.
"And that's what we did." Crankshaft told her rather curtly.
"Yeah." the ork at my side added.
"Honestly, you didn't." Cara returned.
"Bulldrek!" spat the ork.
"What he didn't realize," Cara said, ignoring the ork, "was that two squads were sent down here. You guys got the first squad."
"And you just happened to take out the other squad?" Crankshaft asked.
"That's where I got this." Cara replied, patting the rifle at her back.
"Bulldrek!" spat the ork again, "No way you took 'em out yourself."
"Careful, she may be cybered but she got the mojo too." I tell him. "Could've had a spirit or two with her to help."
"Two, but only one was mine." Cara said, smiling. Odds were good she and the cat girl had managed to sneak up behind this second group and truly ambushed them. A safer bet was that it wasn't just the two of them either.
"Can we go now?" asked the cat girl. Her words lacked any tweaks I had expected her facial deformity to impose, and she sounded even younger than she looked. Granted she lacked the hips and bust that Cara was rather well endowed with, or even Crankshaft's shapely figure, but she didn't look that young. I'd wager she was sixteen to eighteen, but that wasn't any guarantee she really was as old as she looked.
"Yes, we should get going back to the surface." Cara said.
"Wait, how'd you get down here?" the ork asked.
"Secret tunnel." Cara answered, "Don't expect to get out that way, I think Johnson wants to keep his little secret from the rest of the world."
"Don't want people freaking out either." I added, "Everyone starts showing up on the surface and the media's gonna be going crazy about how the Knight failed to contain a bioweapon and all sorts of drek. Knight's gotta think it's contained before they find out it's all fake."
"So some of the rumors were true." mused the cat girl.
"See ya 'round." I tell her as the ork and I turn to head back the way we came.
It took a lot longer for us to get back to the market, partly because we weren't so excited now, and partly because of the wounded we were helping.
"Bishop!" Jazz yelled not long after we were in the main cavern. Two other orks came up to help our guide, which was nice because he was getting heavy on my shoulder.
"What's going on?" I ask.
"I'll get Rose to help heal." Crankshaft said.
"Alright." I say to her, half listening.
"Man, it's starting to get ugly over there again." Jazz told me, sounding rather stressed out.
"Drek." I mutter as I trotted back towards the crowd.
Crankshaft had just gotten into the middle of everyone when I did, and we were both just in time to witness Rosethorn take a swing at Vic.
If Vic was anything he was at least a skilled fighter. All he had to do was lean back to avoid Rosethorn's flying fist.
But Rosethorn was not content to let one miss ruin her day. She tried again and again, and both times Vic simply bobbed away from her fists.
Then Vic came in with his first counter, and from the sidelines I could see it where Rosethorn missed it. Rather than bobbing back against her fourth flying punch he stepped to the side, and brought his own fist up into her gut. Looked like it was a pretty hard blow when she doubled over his fist.
"«Shoulda left it alone.»" I heard Vic say.
"Poshjol na huj!" Rosethorn said, which I'd guess was something the equivalent of "Frag you!" from how she snarled it, and I was wishing I had my Russian linguasoft running as well. She apparently wasn't as winded as she had let on, and in that moment's distraction she landed a similar blow to Vic's own gut. Didn't look to be too hard, but I noticed something that screamed to me 'Magic!'
And down went Vic, with Rosethorn still bent over but also still standing. At least Vic was still breathing. Hopefully that'd be a good thing with the rest of his goons.
"Rosethorn," I say, breaking the stunned silence, "some of the trolls that went with us got shot up."
"Da. I help heal." she grunted. She looked a little unsteady on her feet as she walked away from the unconscious Vic, and everyone parted for her as she went.
"«How did it go?»" Aziz asked me.
"«We got really lucky.»" I solemnly replied.
"«I see.»" he said with a slight nod. "«Alright, we're going to the surface. Anyone who can, help anyone who can't walk on their own.»"
I took a step back as Aziz took charge of the whole mob. Even Vic's boys were somewhat contented with this, especially when Aziz insisted that Vic be carried along with, that no one would be left behind.
Deep down I was hoping he was right about the response we'd get topside.
Going back up to the surface was painfully slower than getting down into the underground earlier this morning. Somehow we did make it.
"Hey, this way." Jazz said in an excited yet hushed tone as soon as we cleared the last steps upward. Not quite sure of what he was thinking I quickly followed, glancing back to Crankshaft and Rosethorn and motioning for them to follow us.
"What's going on?" I asked as Jazz somehow led us discretely away from the rest of the crowd.
"Got a message from that Knight rigger I helped out." Jazz said, "It's how to avoid them so we don't get caught."
I couldn't quite catch the grin that appeared on my face. It was nice to know that there were those in the law enforcement that recognized when it was a good thing to let us criminal types slip away, especially when helped them out big time.
But then the next concern was getting our pay from Bat'djoto for what we did manage to do.
I had just sat down for a late breakfast at a McHugh's in Parkland, a middle class neighborhood crammed mostly in the Fort Lewis area but right up in the corner where Tacoma and Puyallup also met.
My choice of seat gave me a good view of one of several physical trideo screens, and the only one that was subscribed to a news network. That network had preempted the seasonal/political bulldrek for a news bulletin about what had happened at the Lordstrung's entrance to the Underground. On my tray were three breakfast fajitas, a cup of soykaf, and an oddity that had come with the certified credstick from Bat'djoto. That oddity was a small wooden disk with a hole punched in the center. It wasn't much to look at, and not really decorated in any great detail, but the real value of it had been in an RFID chip I discovered was embedded in it. Bat'djoto had said I should keep it with me whenever I went to the Underground.
I was about to subscribe to the screen so I could listen when a young elf girl dropped a tray of food onto the small table I was sitting at and sat down in the sole chair opposite to me. I was about to say something rude to the uninvited teen when she spoke up first.
"Ya stink like a fire, Bishop." she said.
"You're the first to complain." I replied as I looked her over, taking a bite out of the end of one of my fajitas.
She had long wavy brown hair and brown eyes, and her choice of clothing was rather casual in the form of a gray woolen hoodie with a logo for the Tacoma Timber Wolves, Seattle's combat biker team. Well, she knew me but I didn't recognize the face.
"So, what've you been up to to make you all stinky?" she asked before chomping down on her McSoy Muffin.
I chewed slowly as I opened up to the astral to look at her again. The light aura damage and the shape of her implanted headware told me who she really was, and that she was using her talents to discretely change her looks. I swallowed as I brought myself back to the meat world. Rather than saying anything I gestured to the trideo screen with the news report from the Underground.
She glanced over her shoulder for a second or two before turning back to ask me in a rather hushed tone, "You were involved in that?"
I nodded before taking another bite.
"And what they're sayin's true?" she asked me, eyes wide.
I swallowed before saying, "Sorta."
"Sorta?"
"C'mon, it's the media. You think they're gonna give away Big D's secrets?" I told her. "They're about as honest as you are, Melody."
It's kinda cute how she scrunches up her nose when I use her real name. Especially when I'm about the only person that can get away with using it since the passing of the comet in '61. She was one of those who was "blessed" by the comet, though from her viewpoint it was a blessing and a curse at the same time. But that's a story for another day.
"So you're not gonna tell me?" Melody asked.
"Maybe later I will."
"Hope you're up for it." she said with a sly grin.
