OBNOXIOUS AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hello, animal friends! It's been a while, hasn't it? That's why I've written up a summary of everything that's taken place in the story 'til now.

Since this site doesn't allow links, you'll have to substitute the words "Dot" with, er, real dots.

woekitten (dot) livejournal (dot) com/676716 (dot) html

Read it, be enlightened, and, uh, be excellent to each other I suppose.

Chapter 34: The Suburbs

Cass the badger caused a small earthquake with every step he took. Running alongside his friend, X turned an eye down to the spidery cracks that blossomed on the sidewalks under Cass' weight. Another bill for MHHQ, he thought.

"How do you feel?" X asked his partner.

"Great!" Cass bellowed over the roar of traffic and the rattle of the small Hunter squadron following them. "I think that stupid virus was finally flushed out of my system." Working with a triggered thought he asked X, "How do you feel?"

"Like I've been kicked by a thousand horses on a single command. But I'll manage."

Cass frowned. "I hear you. That sickness is nasty. Those kids that brought it with them-"

"The Inheritors of Eden?"

"Is that what they call themselves? Jesus. I don't like it. Are there really more of them out there? The Flu can't kill us, but it can knock us flat so someone else can do the job. It's bad news."

X said, "I interrogated one of the kids. If what he said is true, there are a number of Inheritors. A nest."

"What, like wasps? What do they want?"

"It's-" X slowed and held up a hand to gradually stop his unit's canter. Some quick signals dispersed certain Hunters to their pre-determined traffic-routing tasks. "-us," he continued. "Reploids in general. They want us gone."

Two nondescript Hunters looked up at Cass for their orders. Cass rubbed the back of his stout neck with one paw and vaguely directed the Hunters to their tasks with his other. "Want us gone? Why?"

X glanced at the badger and then took a sweeping look at the old downtown neighbourhood they occupied. A block of low-lying brick buildings that had once boasted nearly a century of good repair was now a smoking, jagged red row of dragon's teeth. Shaken humans, most dazed, some weaving, were being ushered onto city buses that had been pulled aside for the task of transporting the displaced residents to the refugee camps. One full bus was already slinking away, crunching and bobbing over chunks of debris. A large dog barked desperately and tried to lunge after the bus, but it was tied fast by its leash to an undamaged tree.

Cass understood. "We didn't do this," he growled. "We're not Mavericks, and we're sure as hell not any kind of creepy bunch of hybrids that attacks and vanishes into the night. We're here to help. Anyway, this wasn't too bad. There were no casualties."

"The Inheritors figure there'd be no need for Hunters if we were all deactivated," X said distractedly. A child had started to cry at the sight of the abandoned dog and her mother bent down and murmured some kind of false assurance into her hair.

Cass drew himself up to his full height and hit his basketball-sized fists together. "I'd like to see them try to get rid of us."

"Cass," X said warningly.

"It's not Maverick talk. I didn't ask to be created, but here I am. I won't apologise for my existence."

X sighed. "I don't have a solution. It's not like humans had a hard time thinking of ways to hurt themselves before we were developed. We have to protect our existence, but how do we do that against a pack of fanatical humans?"

Cass pounded his fists again. "First, we break some legs. Hard to coordinate when your limbs are a twisted wreck."

"Cass!"

"I'm joking, I'm joking. Jeez."

"Think we'll get to keep her?"

"What, keep a rusty old Reploid? Don't be retarded."

The two suburban brothers stood side-by-side and silently considered the female Reploid trembling under their dining room table. Only the peaked toe of one boot peeped out from under the hanging edge of beige tablecloth; they knew she was shaking because she was obviously propped against one of the legs, and the structure shook with her. The adults in the room spoke to one another in low but excited voices.

Mom threw a warning over to her sons from the living room: "Don't get too close, boys."

The younger brother flinched under a memory, and sucked on a slow-bleeding gash across his palm. His big brother poked him and sang, "That rusty thing made you bleed. You're gonna need a shot."

"I don't care. I had to touch her and see if she was hot or cold."

The older brother frowned at his sibling's lack of panic and crazy resolve. He was never any fun to tease. The older brother—Samuel—blushed and scowled when his brain replayed his initial screaming dash away from the Reploid who was now under the table, and the big bird-looking Reploid who'd deposited her there. Through some mean trick of his eyes and memory, he watched himself run into the house, his arms wheeling and his mouth open in a wail fit only for a girl. And every time he shyly re-checked the memory, he looked thinner, weaker, and more terrified.

Matthew had been the one to calmly fetch his parents. Matthew had been the first to approach the female reploid with curiosity instead of fear or revulsion. Matthew-

-Was still licking at his wound. Samuel glanced at his parents; they were still embroiled in a conversation and as useless as ever. He sighed and took his little brother by the hand. "Don't do that. It's dirty. Come on to the bathroom."

Matthew bathed and bandaged his hand with Samuel's help, then sat on the toilet lid and watched his older brother wash his face and apply a medicated cream. "Why do you keep washing your face, Sam?"

"Oil," Samuel sputtered after splashing a double-handful of water on his face. He slicked back his hair with his damp palms. "Oil, oil, oil. Zits. Girls. You'll understand soon enough."

"The Reploid in the living room is a girl, isn't she?"

"I guess."

"But why? Robots don't get babies like we do."

Sam rubbed his face in the bathroom's rough handtowel for a long time to hide his blush. "Man, where do you pick up these things? You're eight years old."

Matthew's face fell like a scolded puppy's. "But in science class-"

"Oh, right, you and your advanced science class," Sam sighed. "Never mind."

Matt slid off the toilet seat and rubbed his bandaged hand. "Sam, I want to go out and talk to that robot again."

"Why? You wanna lose your whole hand?"

"I want to ask her why she's here."

Sam thought back to the girl's haphazard delivery. "She was dropped here, remember? Fine, let's talk to her. But let me go up to her first this time."

Iris shook under her particle board canopy and picked over the jumbled memories of her past lives. There had been her induction to the Hunters, followed immediately by the Erasure Incident on Laguz island. Then there had been the Repliforce incident—oh yes, the significance of her life was always measured in "incidents"—and for a time, there loomed the promise of a peaceful life with Zero. He made some vague mention of a promise foisted upon him by the girl—Celeste—during the first Maverick War, but Iris had been able to smell his doubt over the proposed union. No, it had been more than doubt; there had been fear. Fear over the girl, fear about himself.

Then Colonel had died, she had lost her mind, and the peaceful, violet hum of death kept her company for an immeasurable time. An eternity later, she was pulled from the void to walk the world again, maybe to amuse whichever lesser deity watched out for godforsaken Reploids.

It was Zero who'd put her down after her inner works had been poisoned by her brother's raw power. Would Zero be called to deal with her again, to shoot pityingly her like a sick animal for kidnapping Paul? For wounding the little suburban boy who'd only tried to touch her? She could hardly argue against the idea. After all, she'd described herself long ago: A biting dog who'd bite again. When the description had first flashed into her brain, she'd thought for certain it'd been meant for the human female rasping for breath in front of her in MHHQ's darkened infirmary, bruised and broken, her eyes throwing blue sparks. But no. She had been describing herself.

Life, Iris thought, had never made sense. Why should it start now?

"Hey," someone said.

Iris jumped. Another boy, this one older than the one she'd hurt, had lifted the tablecloth and was peering at her. His brown face was round and soft, but puberty was starting to chisel at his jaw and cheekbones. His shiny skin was flecked with acne. Iris cringed and wished the boy would drop the veil and cut her off from the outside world again.

"I won't hurt you," the boy said, "even though you hurt my brother." Iris felt despair pull at her face, which seemed to surprise her company. "Hey, he's okay. It's all right."

"When are the Hunters coming?" Iris managed to whisper. The smell and dampness of Torrent Leviathan's sewers were still in her voice. "Are they sending Zero?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"How can you not know? How can you not know about the things I've done?"

"What, you're like a fugitive?" The boy's dark eyes lit up. "Cool!"

"Fugitive," Iris parroted in a mumble. "That's a good way to describe me. And now I've been caught. I just wanted—I just wanted—Paul."

"Paul?"

"He wasn't mine. I had no right to him. I want the Hunters to end this as quickly as possible."

The boy cocked his head. "'End this?' They'd kill you? The Hunters?"

"I think so," Iris choked. "I stole a human baby. But I never hurt him! I would never—!"

"So you took a kid? But you never hurt it?"

"No!"

"Swear to God?"

"I don't know how to respond to that."

The boy looked at her intently. "You might be okay," he said slowly. "My parents aren't good for much, but they believe in—well, I'll talk to them. Wait here."

Iris pictured herself standing up suddenly and tipping over the table with a spurt of ferocious energy. She saw herself break down the door, the window, anything that would let her throw herself into the night and far from the suburbs. Instead, she lowered her chin into her crossed arms and waited.

Celeste's gait was unsteady. Hawkmoon's numbing poison was taking its time flushing from her system, and with her sprained right hand still strung up in a sling, her arms weren't much good for balance. Nevertheless, she mustered up her confidence when she stepped into Eden's middle-level dorms and glanced at the double rows of iron beds as casually as her pattering heart would let her. She struck a plea bargain with her brain and promised it alcohol, nicotine, any impossibility, as long as it held her steady just long enough for her lounging dorm mates to lose interest in her and look away. Their interest didn't wane quickly.

"Well, I'll leave you to it," said the dark-haired woman who'd delivered Celeste from Dr Ison's domain to the dorm. "I'm Meria Danner, by the way," she said, stepping back from the door. She hesitated. "You're Caillou McTreggor's sister? I don't see a resemblance."

"I've been told we don't look alike," Celeste mumbled without energy.

"I didn't necessarily mean a physical resemblance," Danner countered, her voice suddenly cool. "Either way, consider yourself lucky." She left Celeste alone.

Celeste took a quick count of about two dozen low-slung beds in the dorm. Twelve were pushed up against each side of the narrow room, but only four women were present. Two girls who looked to be about her age stopped conversing with each other to stare. A smaller, younger girl looked at her brightly, like any little girl hoping to make a friend out of a new next-door neighbour. And a very short wide-hipped middle-aged woman situated near the back of the dorm stood between the two rows of beds and scooped and stabbed a bo with perfect control, retracting the weapon over and over just before it seemed like violent contact with a bedframe was inevitable. When some inner critic approved her routine and released her, she propped the bo on its end and silently gestured for Celeste to approach.

Celeste walked towards her without hesitating—where else could she go, and what use would it be to let the fear shuddering her core surface to her face?—and the woman said "Come on, girl, nobody will eat you."

The woman's hair was dark blonde and came down her small ears. Her eyes were brown. Celeste thought about her mother with a surprising stab of homesickness.

"You're tired, and I'm sure this is all new and strange. Take the bed beside mine. Its former owner is gone. She broke."

The woman didn't elaborate. She lay her bo down on the bed closest to the wall, and Celeste slowly sat down on her new mattress. She was separated the woman by a gap that was about two arm's widths across. The bed was dressed with hard white sheets, but no blankets or pillows.

"We'll get you a blanket later," the woman said. "I'm Adina. I was told you'd be coming to me today, Celeste. I'm glad to have you."

Her manner was crisp but warm, like a windy, sunny day in autumn. Celeste wanted to retaliate, fight, but she immediately knew Adina would be the wrong woman to rebel against. Still, she said, "I don't know how I feel about being kidnapped and brought here."

"I'm sure you'll form an opinion soon enough," Adina said. "Likely, you've already started on one. I'm sure you remember this place. This very dorm, in fact."

"I don't know," Celeste said slowly, jarred by Adina's analysis. She had no solid visual memory of Eden, but the memory of its scents began scalding her sinuses as soon as she'd woken up in Ison's care. The dorm was well-lit, but its smell was black, lonely. Something inside her knew it'd always been that way since the beginning of her own life-since the start of Eden's own inhuman history.

"Are you hungry, Celeste?"

"A little, maybe." She couldn't remember the last time she'd eaten anything substantial. Surges of adrenaline had washed back her appetite, but her hunger pangs were starting to rise above them.

"My son will be here soon. He's come back back from a long mission that he botched; he'll want to see me. I hope," Adina added dryly. "I'll have him fetch you something. In the meantime, rest. You'll be under my wing in two quarters."

"Two quarters?"

"A half-day, I suppose. You'll get a sense for our time soon enough." Adina sat down next to Celeste. "Asmodeus obviously expects some trouble out of you, or he wouldn't have saddled me with you. Whatever you start, Celeste, I will end. So it's better not to start."

Celeste looked at the dorm's open door. Adina took hold of her shoulder and squeezed it a little. "Be calm. You'll be fine. Now rest."

"For the last time, hold still," Dr Ison told Jody irritably. "If you pull out your IV feeds with all that fidgeting you're doing, I'm going to jam them in your ears and dump horse tranquilisers in there."

Dr Ison's voice collared Jody into automatic obedience, as it had since he was a boy squirming against his first shots. But as his cells re-hydrated drip by drip, and as the drugs he'd been given smudged the pain in his broken ribs until it no longer belonged to him, he felt his strength grow and with it, restlessness. Celeste had been in the ward recently; Ison had told him so, and besides, he was sure he could feel and smell the thin ribbon of scent her presence had left behind.

At least, he was almost sure the spoor was fresh. His old memories of Celeste were surging from storage and spilling over every crevice in his brain; he couldn't think of anything but the girl. He remembered comforting her when she first arrived in Eden, separated from her father and half-wasted by disease. The past mingled with Jody's expectations for the future, and pooled into a dark lust. He would go to the girl when he was done here, and he'd make sure that she'd be grateful for his company. He imagined her eyes, dark with submission against her flushed skin as she surrendered to him, body, mind, and soul.

"All right, I've had it with your fidgeting," Ison broke in. "If you want to get out of here, I won't keep you. Get dressed."

Ison pulled out Jody's IV feeds, not gently, and Jody pulled on the issue jumpsuit Ison had provided for him. Except for his black leather vest, he hadn't worn clothes from Eden in months, not since ascending to dupe Maverick Hunter Headquarters. But he didn't pause for ceremony before getting dressed, and in fact he moved quickly enough that his breaks and bruises muttered complaints around the medication in his veins.

Jody limped out of the ward-he couldn't help the limp-elated, despite the pain, the difficulty breathing, the fist-sized bandage on his head reminded him he'd been scalped by Zero in the wilds of the Grasslands. He was home. He was about to claim his prize, the girl he'd put a claim on since childhood. And he'd received high praise from Asmodeus for delivering the finest warrior in the Maverick Hunters' stables. He was a Mechanical Hound. He was amongst Eden's most beloved, most valuable fighters.

"That boy's a fool."

Asmodeus swayed his head. Zero watched him silently and supposed it was the ratty Mechadrake's way of expressing disapproval.

"Such a shame," Asmodeus continued in a low voice. "His father was a gentleman's warrior. Oh, the stories I could tell you, Zero. But I don't think you're interested."

"No," Zero almost said, but decided to remain silent. He emwas/em interested in learning whatever he could about Eden, its inhabitants, its customs. The Maverick Hunter had only seen the hidden tendrils of Eden that Jody had shown him, and after that, whatever glances he could snatch from his position beside Asmodeus. Jody and Atticus had delivered him to the Mechadrake, and they'd garnered a murmuring, awestruck chain of admirers on the trip. Jody had fed on the attention silently and heartily as he descended further underground, like a bizarre plant that gained strength and colour as it got further from the sun. And Zero's heart sank as he got closer and closer to Asmodeus. Not because the old dragon was senile and unpredictable; Zero knew all about unpredictability. But because he doubted Jody was going to step away from his pantheon of new fans.

And yet, Zero noted, Asmodeus didn't admire Jody's achievement. Not inwardly, anyway. That complicated things further; the plan hadn't involved Asmodeus playing Jody for an idiot.

"Are you hungry, Zero? Get used to it."

What had Zero expected when Jody first led him underground? Some sort of worm-strewn dugout, maybe. Not the glimmering cylinder of steel and chrome that he stood in, with a river below and the surface above. Not hundreds of humans ascending and descending the walls via the coiled catwalks, all of them ready to battle to the death at a command.

Was Celeste here? Was she one of these zombies?

"Welcome to Eden, Zero."

"Shove it up your ass."

Asmodeus threw back his head and laughed.