"An Eyes Only informant gave you this stuff?" The question was expressed with only a mild interest, as opposed to the extreme urgency Mitchell felt as he asked it.
Sketchy paused his typing for a brief second to take a sip of his coffee. Easily the biggest sign of a failing system, he thought, was how bad the coffee was in a city that had been famous for its Java pre-Pulse. "Yeah," he replied, sucking air slightly to soothe a scalded tongue. At least it's hot, he said to himself. And you can still get good quality weed when caffeine isn't quite what the doc ordered. "Hey, what's another word for 'diabolical'? Seems like kind of a dumb word to me."
"Try 'fiendish'."
Sketchy went back to the ancient notebook computer – New World Weekly kept a pile of old pre-Pulse computers lying around in case anybody needed them. All they were really good for at this point was typing. He keyed in 'fiendish', re-read the sentence, and then went back to 'diabolical' instead.
Ben continued with his questions. "How is it you know an Eyes-Only source well enough for him to feed you a story like this?" He indicated the folder he was flipping through.
Obviously not wanting yet another reporter learning that his source actually was Eyes Only himself, he answered carefully. "I don't. Not really. You know all about my friend Max, right?"
"As much as anyone." And more, he didn't add. Despite all the freaks she skulked around Terminal City with, 452's was the most well known Transgenic face, shown in almost every news piece about the filthy little aberrations. She was also becoming something of an object of fear among Familiars. No, he revised privately. It wasn't fear. They feared nothing. But this girl was worthy of cautious attention, and maybe even a molecule of respect, despite what she was. Immune. "She worked with you at Jam Pony before the hostage crisis, right? Did you ever know? Before all that happened?"
"No," the skinny punk lied, blowing on his coffee this time before taking a sip. "Anyway, guy's a friend of hers. Leaves stuff for me to find so I can bring it to the magazine."
"Hmm." Mitchell still didn't seem all that interested in the story or his source, which baffled Sketchy somewhat. He seemed to just be trying to keep a little conversation going. Glancing quickly at the other man, he took in his dark, lifeless eyes, and almost thought that the other man was struggling just to stay awake. But his next question put Sketchy's guard up a little. "So you don't actually meet with him. Where does he leave stuff for you?"
Maybe he is pretty interested, Sketchy considered. Probably wants to pull the story out from under me and bring it somewhere else for the cash. Jerk! All he said, however, was "I probably shouldn't say. If word got around, he could get into some pretty serious trouble if the wrong people heard…"
Ben just shrugged dismissively. "Don't worry about it." Finishing the last of his coffee, Ben stood up. "I gotta hit the bathroom." Walking away from the table, he thought about what he knew so far. Eyes Only had felt the need to expose Familiars to the world. It was, of course, Eyes Only himself. Logan Cale, whose apartment White's people had raided following the tracing of one of his hacks, had reappeared on the airwaves recently, obscured, as always by his universally recognised logo. How much does he actually know? Mitchell wondered worriedly. Can he prove it? Maybe indicate individual Familiars? It was possible, he supposed. They'd captured Ray White. If the boy had lived, a sample of his blood would have shown how different he was from ordinary humans, and from Transgenics. If not, then he hadn't truly been one of them, and only a few minor anomalies would have shown. But still…
Taking advantage of the first moment of relative privacy he'd had since the meeting with his editor, Sketchy grabbed his cell phone from his pocket and dialled the number for the security station in Terminal City. The call was answered at the first ring.
"Hello?"
"Hey, uh," Sketchy scrambled for the name to go with a slightly high-pitched voice. "Dix, right?"
"Yeah," came the response. "Is this Sketchy?"
"That's right. Listen, can I talk to Max?"
"Did Logan tell you?" Dix enquired a little angrily.
"No, I haven't spoken to him, but I need to. I don't have a number for him. Something goin' on?"
"It's all over the news. Suicide bomber hit us a little while ago. Max and Alec got hurt. Max isn't too bad, bit of a concussion and a dislocated shoulder, but Alec's really messed up.
"I spoke to Logan just a couple of minutes ago," he continued. "He's gonna send some doctor friend of his to see if he can help out. Most of have med training, but this might be a little beyond us, and our equipment's for shit. All junk we salvaged around here when we moved in.
"Mole told the National Guard they were both killed. He wanted the news cameras to hear it. The word's out that from now on we kill anyone who jumps the fence, no questions asked. It might make things a little shaky with the politicians, but should keep the regular losers out. This way we know anyone who tries to get in doesn't care about livin' or dyin'."
"How bad is he?" Sketchy asked, concerned. Despite the frequent trouble Alec had gotten him into, from steelheads to hostage crises, he couldn't help but like the guy.
"The blast didn't really hit him. He shot the bomber, and the device went off early. He got rag-dolled by the force of the explosion. Broken collarbone; that'll heal pretty quickly with him, but he hasn't woken up yet. Most of us could walk off a knock to the head that'd leave an Ordinary comatose. There's no sign of him coming to, and we don't have any proper diagnostic equipment. 'Least none we can be sure won't blow up or cause him more harm than good," he groused. Dix, who had pieced together most of the equipment that kept Terminal City running from little more than scrap metal, probably considered it a personal failure that the medical equipment the Manticore refuges had salvaged had been beyond his expertise. "The doc might be able to sneak in a portable MRI and get it back before the hospital notices," he added hopefully.
"I hope he comes out of this," said Sketchy. "Is Max with you? I need to talk to her, get a message to Logan."
"Uh…" Dix hesitated uncomfortably. "I don't know if she can really talk right now. She's hovering over Alec, won't come away. She wouldn't even talk to Logan." After another brief pause, he continued. "Once she's calmed down a little, I'll let her know you called. She can have Logan call you. I don't have his number, either, and I think it might be best to give her a little while."
"Max isn't the kinda girl to crumble when something goes wrong," Sketchy mused aloud.
"I know. She's been a little off, lately. All this crap had to get to her eventually, right?"
As Ben was exiting the men's room, Sketchy had just place his phone back into his pocket and was folding up the laptop and putting it in his backpack He never noticed that the other man was just putting his own phone away. Sketchy drained the rest of his coffee in one gulp - despite cooling slightly it was still horrible, but caffeine was a necessity. He told Mitchell he had to get to Jam Pony, and Mitchell smiled and told him "You can give that up pretty soon. Once this story breaks you'll be a celebrity."
The tall stoner slash budding young newshound couldn't help but grin a little at that, even though he didn't picture a pot of gold at the end of this rainbow. It would, without doubt, be a popular story, and he might get some great recognition, and some of the benefits that came with such recognition, but reporters didn't get rich, not in this day and age, and definitely not tabloid reporters. "Maybe," was all he said, taking his CD-player from his backpack as he turned to leave. On the way towards the door, his eyes lingered on a gorgeous blonde in the corner by the window. A ponytail hung to her waste, and long bangs framed a slightly pale, slim face and brilliant blue eyes. Noticing him looking, she smiled, shaking her head ever-so-slightly. Sketchy smiled back a little sheepishly as he opened the door and stepped into the light haze outside. Mitchell didn't notice the girl, and Sketchy didn't notice that she rose the moment the door closed behind them, her tea untouched, the sweet smile gone.
Sketchy unchained his bike from the lamp-post as Mitchell set off in the other direction towards his car across the street. Before heading for Jam Pony, Sketchy decided to stop at Joshua's old house. The diversion plus sector checkpoints might make him a little late, but Normal was used to him being a lot more than a little late. Even though the woefully-named Reagan Ronald had mellowed out slightly given recent events, he still spent a large portion of his day looking for something to complain about, and who was Sketchy to deprive him of an opportunity?
He was only two blocks from the house when he felt the phone in his pocket vibrating. Hopping the curb and braking, he yanked his earphones out and flipped the phone open. "Don't go to the house. You're being followed." He recognised the voice instantly.
"Logan? Where are you? How could you know if I'm being…"
"Don't go looking over your shoulder, either," the voice cut across him as he started to do exactly that. "Just go to work for now. There's nothing new at the house anyway."
The stunned reporter took a moment to recover from this. "Okay, but I need – " A click and a beep told him he was talking to himself. What the hell? Who the hell…? But then he knew. The dead-eyed jerk was after his source! He was looking to steal his story! Furious at the other reporter's audacity, Sketchy began pedalling rapidly, almost flattening a guy before hopping back onto the road.