Claire was tired. Tired of opening portals, again and again. There were six beacons from the primary medical and refugee camp to the field camps and she was using them nearly continuously. Every mover they had here was working continuously, and it was getting worse, because more and more Wards were being removed.
Mental health reasons.
To their credit, most of the removals were involuntary, not by request.
None of the Bay's contingent. They had all stayed.
Nope, we're tough. We're—Oh God, We're tough. I just self-identified as a Brocktonite.
It had been less than a year since she'd left Arcadia, but in some ways, Claire could barely imaging going back to her little room. Getting up, going to school, being asked if she'd done her chores…
Now she had a house, one that she, Jim and Blinky lived in. They had chores, but they were by choice. They had friends, and the little carpets, rock group posters, and paintings Claire had found, and the way that they could sit on the porch and watch the sky turn from light to darkness, the artificial lights of the boardwalk and the Rig rising up.
And yeah, half the time there were gunshots mixed in with the sound of people on the bay, and they had a Blender-Wolf, and a Nazi gang, and a bunch of businessmen who also indulged in murder but…
But people still went to work. Kids still had birthday parties. Arcadia had been easy. Darcie, Claire and Mary had never feared turning the corner and running into some Neonazis, powered or other wise. They didn't worry about monsters coming in and destroying every world there was… Even Gunmar had been… fast. Over and done with in less than a year.
Not here. In about three months, the sirens would sound again. Nobody knew where.
And yet people kept going to work, going to school. Kept living.
"We have several injured at base camp #2, we need a portal, Shadowdancer."
"Got it," Claire said and opened the portal, holding it until the last of the stretchers came through. More injured. They were starting to run out of healthy people. Now it was the injured and elderly who couldn't leave, and the ones who didn't want to leave. She'd heard of some fighting already. Not much, Tagg was ordering that they clear those who wanted to leave first, then get to the rest.
But it'll come…
"Shadowdancer."
Claire started at the PRT officer's call. "Yes?"
"You're fifteen minutes past your mandatory break time. Take thirty."
"I can—"
"Take. Thirty."
"Yes Ma'am," Claire said. She walked to the big tent, shielding her eyes as another helicopter came in, then took her place in line at the buffet.
No MREs—they were being catered from the local diners, some of which had no power so they had to find something to do with their food before it went bad. She got a plate of potato salad, corn and chicken, grabbed a diet soda, and sat down by the edge of the tables.
"Hi." Claire looked up and noticed Vicky. "Mind if I sit here?"
"Sure," Clarie said.
Vicky settled down with her own plate of food. "Got shot at," she said.
"What?" Claire asked.
"Some guy protecting his…" Vicky stared down at the drumstick in her hand, put it back down. "Family. They'd died, and he didn't want to leave them."
"What happened?"
"A Ward from San Francisco knocked him out when I distracted him. Felt like shit."
"He needs treatment," Claire said.
"Yeah, but what good are these powers—I mean, I can't fix his problem."
Because you weren't intended to fix his problem. Claire shook her head and banished the memories. If she started freaking they might send her back to the Bay.
"How's Amelia?" Claire finally asked.
"Her?" Vicky snorted. "Have you seen her posse?"
"What?" Claire asked.
"She's not allowed to make organisms that can reproduce and her healing tech is still in review, but they did let her make some… dogs, that she let the PRT use for search and rescue."
"That's…" Claire paused. "Dog-dogs, or strange, otherworldly dogs."
"Oh, you've seen them!" Vicky shook her head. "I am going to murder Chris and Dennis. I mean, sure Warhammer was probably really popular and really neat, but the look… Eugh." Vicky sighed. "And now Amelia's talking about making something called a 'hive tyrant' to 'beat the shit out of Kaiser'." She stabbed the potato salad. "I guess it's okay, since it keeps her from thinking about well, home that much, but if I hear one more rant about not being able to figure out a way to mimic their 'psychic powers' I'm going to grab Chris and Dennis and put them on top of Medhall—in their underwear."
Claire took a bite out of her chicken, then stared at Vicky. "Do you want to see what PHO would do with you flying around carrying a teen in his underwear?"
"It might be worth it," Vicky said. "Also, since Merlin isn't around, you have to back me up."
"What?"
"Deputy Director Renick told me that It was my job to make certain Amy-Amelia disposed of her creations properly before we get back to the Bay."
"Review problems?" Claire asked.
"Dunno, but Piggot seems really sensitive about any kind of biotinker stuff that isn't in a lab."
Claire paused, thought about the… Look Amelia got sometimes when she was thinking of something or talking to Merlin.
"You know, I don't blame her."
The two ate in companionable silence for a few minutes.
"What are we going to do," Vicky finally said. "They say we're going to have twenty thousand refugees in the Bay, and the Empire is still strong, and the…" She sighed. "It's gonna be a mess."
"Nah, we just gotta find the right language to get the Empire to play nice," Claire said.
"What's that?"
"Grab the nazis and smother them in bugs, drop them through a portal, or in your and Jim's case…"
"Yeah?"
"Kick the shit out of them until they learn to respect boundaries."
"They're not real good at that," Vicky said.
Claire's expression was feral. "That's okay. My school counselor said I had an aptitude for teaching people what they needed to learn."
Vicky stared at Claire, then grinned. "I like that idea."
Claire giggled. "I thought you would."
But then the fun was over, and it was time to get back to the work of trying to clear the dead city of its last few inhabitants.