Setanta [Worm Post-canon]

[ErrantVagrant]

Hi, I'm Errant Vagrant. My buddy, Ritic, is writing a post-canon fan sequel to Worm, so I'm kinda pimping it out wherever I can. At first I tried to encourage him to post it here himself, but he's... shy is a good term. Despite my better judgement, though, I decided to bite the bullet. I've been given permission to post it, but he's already a good ways into it.

Setanta's about Jordan and Sarah, two sibling mercenaries twenty years after Gold Morning, escorting shipments of gas to the Sons of Bitch for Tattletale to earn up money before they join the Wardens. It focuses heavily on worldbuilding, creating a weird Western take on the world crafted in Worm, and teasing the reader along with revelations and consequences.

I'll be posting twice a week, but always a week behind. If you don't want to wait, I encourage you to read it over on the Wordpress site for it. Feel free and leave a comment there. He loves comments, and if it isn't a spoiler, either he'll respond or he'll have me respond for him.

Fair warning: Violence happens in this story, and while so far I wouldn't count anything as graphic, I'll be checking with mods about it regularly as things come up. Sex happens in this world, but is done offscreen (or, presumably, fade to black). It is, however, discussed as much as you would expect for non-asexual teenagers in a post-apocalyptic setting. Ritic doesn't like writing smut. The pace is slower than Wildbow's writing, with more of a focus on the people than throwing the characters from dangerous situations one after the other. More breathing room.

Whenever I feel that there's something that folks might consider a violation of the rules, I will check with the mods first. If I don't post it, I'll explain why. If, after that, you're still curious, you can go read on the Wordpress site.

Table of contents (Updated when he posts or I mirror here)

Soil 1.1
Soil 1.2
Soil 1.3
Soil 1.4
Soil 1.5
Interlude 1.A (Quincy)
Soil 1.6
Soil 1.7
Interlude 1.B (Emsada)

Hermes 1.1
Hermes 2.2
Interlude 2.A (Emi)
Hermes 2.3
Hermes 2.4
Hermes 2.5
Hermes 2.6
Interlude 2.B (The Boss)
Hermes 2.7

Tuonetar 3.1
Tuonetar 3.2
Tuonetar 3.3
Interlude 3.A (Stan Simmons)
Tuonetar 3.4
Tuonetar 3.5
Tuonetar 3.6
Tuonetar 3.7
Interlude 3.B
Tuonetar 3.8
Tuonetar 3.9
Tuonetar 3.10
Interlude 3.C

Shu 4.1
Shu 4.2
Shu 4.3
Interlude 4.A
Shu 4.4
Shu 4.5
Interlude 4.B (William)
Shu 4.6
Shu 4.7
Shu 4.8
Interlude 4.C (Bloodhound)

Legba 5.1
Legba 5.2
Legba 5.3
Legba 5.4
Interlude 5.A (Bill Yost)
Legba 5.5
Interlude 5.B (Tony Welsh)
Legba 5.6
Legba 5.7
Legba 5.8
Interlude 5.C

Veles 6.1
Interlude 6.A
Veles 6.2
Veles 6.3
Veles 6.4
Veles 6.5
Interlude 6.B (Sumat)
Veles 6.6
Veles 6.7
Veles 6.8

Enki 7.1
Interlude 7.A (Thuy)
Enki 7.2
Enki 7.3
Interlude 7.B (Ernesto)
Enki 7.4
Enki 7.5
Enki 7.6
Enki 7.7
Enki 7.8
Enki 7.9
Interlude 7.C (Amaia)

Vala 8.1
Vala 8.2
Vala 8.3
Vala 8.4
Vala 8.5
Interlude 8.A (Kimberly)
Vala 8.6
Interlude 8.B (Sergei)
Vala 8.7

Popol Vuh 9.1
Interlude 9.A (Aurora)
Popol Vuh 9.2
Interlude 9.B (Chase Davies)
Popol Vuh 9.3
Interlude 9.C (Clarence)
Popol Vuh 9.4
Interlude 9.D (Red Hair)
Popol Vuh 9.5
Interlude 9.E (Tommy)
Popol Vuh 9.6
Interlude 9.F (Karen)
Popol Vuh 9.7

Pie 10.1
Interlude 10.A
Pie 10.2
Interlude 10.B (Emi)
Pie 10.3
Pie 10.4
Pie 10.5
Pie 10.6

Hephaestus 11.1
Aphrodite 11.2
Hephaestus 11.3
Aphrodite 11.4
Hephaestus 11.5
Aphrodite 11.6
Hephaestus 11.7

Qamaits 12.1
Qamaits 12.2
Qamaits 12.3
Qamatis 12.4
Qamaits 12.5
Qamaits 12.6
Interlude 12.A (Sagittarius)
Qamaits 12.7
Qamaits 12.8
Interlude 12.B (Various)

Ninsun 13.1
Ninsun 13.2
Ninsun 13.3
Ninsun 13.4
Ninsun 13.5
Interlude 13.A
Ninsun 13.7
Ninsun 13.8
Interlude 13.B (Kaitlin)
Interlude 13.C (Dr. Alcomb)

Manananggal 14.1
Manananggal 14.2
Manananggal 14.3
Interludel 14.A
Manananggal 14.4
Manananggal 14.5
Manananggal 14.6
Manananggal 14.7
Manananggal 14.8
Manananggal 14.9
Interlude 14.B
Manananggal 14.10
Manananggal 14.11
Interlude 14.C (I think Ritic chooses these arc names just to fuck with me.) (Also, Inga.)
Manananggal 14.12
Interlude 14.13
Interlude 14.D
Manananggal 14.14

Gehenna 15.1
Interlude 15.A
Gehenna 15.2
Interlude 15.B (Amy)
Gehenna 15.3
Interlude 15.C (David)
Gehenna 15.4
Gehenna 15.5
Gehenna 15.6
Gehenna 15.7
Gehenna 15.8
Interlude 15.D (Romeo)
Gehenna 15.9

Ragnarok 16.1
Ragnarok 16.2
Ragnarok 16.3
Ragnarok 16.4
Ragnarok 16.5
Ragnarok 16.6

 

[ErrantVagrant]

Soil 1.1

I looked around with a small smile on my face. The hustle and bustle of people rushing to and fro was oddly comforting; the fact that they were completely ignoring each other was less so. I looked over my shoulder, to where She was watching me with that damn catlike smile on her face.

“So where are we?” I asked, walking towards Her. I had to step quickly to keep from bumping into someone. I was so out of place, in my armor. Nobody was even wearing leathers nearby. Not that anybody was looking at me any more than to walk by.

“New York,” She said with an amused tone. “From before the wildlings.”

With new appreciation, I glanced about the people again. Suits, clothes, people talking on phones. The glass and mortar towers reaching up into the sky, the cars owning the streets, the buzz of people and electronics. I saw a food stand in the distance, a simple cart with an umbrella that had bouts of steam rising from it. I wish I could have gone over and gotten some. I wanted to know what it tasted like, or even smelled like.

“Incredible,” I whispered softly.

Her hand found its way to my shoulder, followed by a gentle touch of Her head as she leaned it against me. “Is it? Is it really?”

“There’s probably more people living here than I’ve ever seen,” I said quickly. I knew not to draw too much attention to myself, to just let them go about their business. “There were… Millions here, right? Before Gold Morning, I mean.”

She looked up from my shoulder, her long blonde hair half-covering one eye. “There were fifteen, actually. And that’s just in this one — in some of the other New Yorks, there were far more. This one, though, this was the one to be rebuilt. During the rebuilding, it hit its peak at ten million.”

I looked around again, and sure enough, if I looked at some of the skyscrapers, I could see signs of damage. Signs of Scion. “Can you show me it from before?”

Her laughter was bubbling as She stepped in front of me, cool hands reaching out to fuss with my hair. “We’ll see. But not right now. You’re going to have to go back soon.”

A soft frown framed my face. “Oh, come on, Mom. Can’t I stay just a little-“

A hand on my shoulder dragged me from my dream. It was funny in a way; all the shaking that our wagon was doing did nothing to discourage my nap in the slightest. But a gentle shake? It’s funny what the human body can learn to respond to. Or was it the brain? A question for philosophers, people who didn’t work for a living: Where did the brain end and the body begin?

Unfortunately, as much as I liked to study their works, I was firmly stuck in the realm of working for my bread and butter. My eyes opened easily, looking up at the person who disturbed me. Sarah. “Almost there,” she said in a businesslike tone.

“Yeah.”

I bit back a yawn as I worked from untangling myself. A leg wedged between barrels, the other pressed against another. Legs worked between planks. Unfortunately, I didn’t bite back my yawn well enough, and felt a tear escape, running down the side of my face. I wasn’t the kind that had the little yawns or the loud ones. I was quiet, at least at first, but my nose always ran and my eyes watered horribly each time. I’d be sniffling for the next five minutes.

If I ever got in a relationship, my partner would have to be damn forgiving of my appearance each morning.

As I worked myself to a more sane sitting position, I noticed Amy glancing back at me from where she was driving the horses. “You weren’t twitching this time, Jordan.”

Our first contract with this convoy, Amy had been the one to notice that I’d sometimes twitch a lot in my sleep, usually violently. I’d turned beet red, everybody had laughed, and had mercifully changed the subject. Since then, it’d become a gentle joke among the drivers and us regulars about my sleeping habits. They only ever brought it up when I had a bad episode, hence me wedging myself in as tightly as I could. She must have felt we’d passed a comfort level or something when she could tease me about it all the time. It was about time, really. It was a two week drive out, another two weeks back; we all needed something to take our minds off the monotony of the trip.

“Yeah,” I said, pausing to snort snot. I grabbed my halberd, handing it to Sarah. I left the rifle where I’d stashed it; chances were we wouldn’t need it. “I wasn’t dreaming about fighting.”

“Oh.” She looked away quickly, but I could see her ears turning red underneath her hat.

That earned a lazy chuckle out of me as I made my way to my feet. “It’s not like that.”

Sarah’s professionalism broke, thankfully. “Bro here fucking trains in his sleep.”

The six others stared at us in surprise as my boots hit the ground easily. Amy hadn’t even slowed down for me. She never did. Roger seemed to worry more about me getting back off than Amy. Had Sarah told him about my knee?

“No shit?” Karen asked. She looked like she was seeing me in a whole new light. Given that she was one of the two newbies who hadn’t been here for our last fight, it wasn’t surprising.

That brought an embarrassed flush to my cheeks. I hated being the center of attention. Too much pressure, too many chances to mess up. I pulled my pack out of the wagon and took my halberd back from my sister. “It’s not like that. Probably, half the stuff I do in my sleep won’t even come in handy in a fight. My mind, it goes through the motions, you know? But it doesn’t teach muscle memory or anything. I’m not that good in a fight.” I glanced to Sarah. “You already throw?”

She nodded, her professionalism already back in place. “John lost.”

I glanced to John, who was scowling. Paper-scissors-rock to see who had to help Amy and Roger unload and who got to guard the rear. Which meant that the two of us were in the clear. I couldn’t help but grin at him, despite feeling guilty. This was his second trip, after all. “I’ll let you in on a little secret. She always leads with scissors.”

Sarah punched my shoulder without looking, just hard enough for me to feel it through my armor. She didn’t look like what a lot of people imagined a typical para to look like. She wasn’t what you’d call lean, but she didn’t look like she’d have such a boost to her strength as she did. Not that it did a lot of good — we hadn’t figured out the upper limits to her strength yet, but we had discovered that her bones hadn’t gotten that nifty resistance to damage. The last time that she’d tried punching something with too much force behind it, she’d shattered her arm.

Our armor helped mitigate that somewhat, but it also lessened the strength of her blows considerably. The shirts, gloves, and pants were a first trial test by our other brother, Chris, a Tinker. She’d chosen a dark blue and gold for her armor that offset her short dark brown hair nicely. The cloth was a nice fit, but nothing like spandex; a thin inner layer of some tinker cloth, a high-shear non-Newtonian fluid layer, and then another layer of some other tinker material with a tight hexagon pattern that made it look like some sort of Tinker scale mail up close.

We’d discovered that her strength was only a side-effect of her actual powers — some sort of weird air pressure/sonic ranged power. We weren’t sure as to the max range, but if she snapped her fist shut while punching the air, it gave it enough oomph to seriously hurt someone.

By comparison, my armor was red and black, cut to highlight my chest more, and honest-to-goodness shoulder pads. Everybody said that it made me look heroic. A small blessing. I’d trained over the years mostly in leather armor, but this was a lot better. Better protection, more maneuverability, lighter, and more visually impressive. My belt and bandolier helped make up for however much my pack detracted from my visage.

The two of us might be young, but we looked like we were as ready to throw down as anybody. And we’d proven it more than a few times, too.

“Hey, Jordan?” Amy glanced back at me from her seat, looking nervous. “You can tell me to fuck off if you want, but… What did you dream about?”

I blinked at her, needing a moment to figure out why I might tell her to mind her own business. I didn’t need long, though. Parahumans, and folks with parahuman family members, they didn’t walk away the same that they were before they experienced a trigger event. Especially not with how triggers were going these days. Most folks knew at least one person with bad PTSD anymore, and a whole lot more had dreams they didn’t like to talk about. Especially folks who’d lived through the Gold Morning.

“It’s cool,” I said, flashing her a comforting smile. I focused for a moment, trying to think. “Shapes… I was somewhere… A city, maybe?” I shrugged. “I don’t remember, to be honest.” I looked to Sarah as I sniffed again, who was raising an eyebrow. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure Mom was in it.”

She nodded, then quickly nudged me with her elbow. “Let’s start trailing.”

I glanced ahead, realizing that we were at the last bend. Through the trees, I could see the other caravan in the distance. I would have preferred to push on to the village a half-hour further, spend the night in a real town, then head back, but the Sons of Bitch weren’t exactly the most accommodating folks on the planet. Reportedly, Roger hadn’t exactly done a brilliant job of making himself welcome there, either. Not enough for him to be taken off the trade route, but enough that meeting outside of the city was preferable. Nothing simple was ever easy.

I slowed down, flexing my leg a little, working out the stiffness. I’d been pushing my brain and body hard almost my entire life. If I wasn’t studying, I was training. If I wasn’t training, I was helping someone out, putting any nugget of knowledge or skill I’d picked up to as good of a use as I could. When the brain gave out, it usually just meant blushing and apologizing or grabbing a nap. When the body gave out, you tended to feel the effects a lot longer. I had a long list of things that bothered me to various degrees, but my knee was the worst.

Fortunately, it didn’t hold me up much. In a fight, I usually still had full mobility. I’d just be paying for it the next day if I kicked too much. I gave my leg one more experimental flex, frowning. Now my mind was spun up, and we had an opening to talk a little bit. “Are you getting a weird feeling from Amy and Roger?”

Sarah’s expression didn’t budge, but her voice was low and dark. “Yeah. They’re treating the two of us extra nice. Amy gave me some of her dessert last night.”

That was a surprise. Amy loved her sweets. I glanced to sis for a moment before taking up a leisurely pace, using my halberd as a walking stick. “We’ve been doing this run for two years now. They know us. Trust us. We’re friends for crying out loud. They’d only be only be going out of their way to butter us up like this-”

“If something was up.” Sarah’s nose twitched, the nostrils drawing together. “I’m going to go with either someone is going to headhunt us after this trip, they’re going to cut our pay for the next contract, or this is going to be the last run for a while.”

One good option, two bad ones. Headhunting meant better pay, which meant that we could meet our goals that much faster. That was a good thing. Cutting our pay just meant that we’d have to work for them for a while longer — no biggie. But cutting off supplies? That was a little frightening. Losing our job was the lesser of my worries — we’d built a rep of being reliable work, so picking up a new contract wouldn’t be hard. Hell, we’d turned down offers simply because this one gave us the downtime to help out Chris with his work.

What bothered me was that these trips brought supplies that the Sons couldn’t really get anywhere else any more. Especially not with how few exports their little community had. If they didn’t get these deliveries, those people would have to start going without. Which meant that their links to civilization would dwindle just a little bit more.

Despite their rather near-Luddite society, I’d heard that it wasn’t all that bad. It appealed to various groups, and their numbers continued to grow rapidly. It was a place for those who felt that they no longer fit in with the world. People who had a pain that went well beyond physical, who couldn’t find comfort anywhere else. A group of hurt, damaged people who found their own way to survive, even thrive, while helping each other while under the the leadership of one of the Undersiders.

Nobody messed with the Sons. Their justice was brutal, and they never stopped until they’d exacted it. I’d talked to one of their convoy guards once, and he’d described it as frontier plus. All the advantages of staking out a claim somewhere remote, but with more security and creature comforts. From his description, it sounded similar to a communist society, lead by a woman who was fanatical about the welfare of her dogs and her people, in that order.

He had also been quick to point out that she’d mellowed out a lot since her youth. I asked how much, and he’d said not to push it. I didn’t press the issue.

“I hope it’s headhunters,” I said quietly. The wagon was already turning, moving to pull alongside the Sons’ wagon. Close enough that we could get to them if there was trouble, far enough away that we had a good chance of intercepting any bandits or raiders and give our people time to get their rifles out.

“Fuck yeah,” Sarah said with a nod. She turned her attention towards the treeline, scanning for trouble. “It gives us a choice.”

“Yeah.”

“How much do you have left?”

I pushed the worries away and thought back to the numbers. It wasn’t hard — my worry was there, but it only skimmed the surface. Not a lot was strong enough to get deeper than the surface anymore. The numbers were easier to think about anyway. “Just shy of four grand for one. With how much I’ve been putting in each paycheck, by this time next year I should be able to ask.”

She looked back to me, frowning. “Jesus. We’d already have it if you’d just manage your fucking money.”

The worry about the future of our contract must have spooked her — she didn’t talk like this very much when we were on a job. Still, I felt a slight warmth to my cheeks as I looked away. I already knew how this conversation would go. “I know, but there’s people I’m taking care of, and I keep finding stuff that Chris might be able to use, and-”

“And Chris makes more each month than the both of us combined! And that’s his net versus our gross. You don’t need to be spending your money on him.”

It was an old argument, one that we’d had before we even became mercenaries. More than once, he’d even offered to pay for me to ask my questions himself, one that I still fought. Each time, within a month, I’d proven my prudence in denying him as some tinker project had eaten up more money than he’d anticipated. I’d been told that some twenty years ago or so, before Gold Morning, Tinkers had it arguably better than most people. The wealth of resources that were easily obtained, the nearly limitless electricity, the people willing to pay despite the issues with tinker tech…

Scion had destroyed all of that. Had he only decimated humanity, it would be one thing. Billions, perhaps even trillions dead across countless worlds. Entire Earths scoured of all life in his rampage. And even that hadn’t been his cruelest stroke against humanity. Even in defeat, he’d succeeded in striking even further blows against mankind.

The first major problem had come from the evacuation of Earth Bet, assisted by Doormaker. The logistics of moving food to refugees wasn’t the true travesty — it was viruses and bacteria. The sicknesses that plagued refugees, and for those who traveled to inhabited worlds, the survivors from there. But humanity pushed on, surviving, continuing.

That had been the true blow that Scion had struck.

After his defeat, it was assumed that humanity would rebuild easily. At first, it seemed like it would. Cities were slowly rebuilt. I was told that it was initially like Day of the Triffids; an easy survival of the apocalypse. At least, until reality stepped in. New York had been a shining example of how rebuilding could lead to new hazards so fast.

What people hadn’t initially realized was that all of the refineries in New Jersey had been destroyed. When the gasoline ran out there, the fledgling Wardens had stepped up to find more. Oil tankers were found, and groups of people were quickly trained on how to refine it. About the time that the newly built refineries came online, putting out a fraction of the gasoline that they could, the next difficulty struck — food. With the majority of the population dead or scattered between worlds, and so many banding together in population centers to rebuild it became difficult to keep people fed, let alone transport the food. As transport became less of a problem, the Niagara Falls power station broke down. Coal power had long since died out — the train lines to supply the coal had been too heavily damaged in Scion’s attacks. Nuclear power plants had automatically shut down, or sometimes manually shut down before workers evacuated. Hydroelectric dams had continued for some time, but people simply hadn’t thought about people to man them. A sad testament to the old saying ‘Out of sight, out of mind.’

As Tinkers worked to keep power going, the next great threat that had been quietly lurking, rarely surfacing, finally emerged with a vengeance. Triggers had changed, grown dark, and often lethally dangerous. If a person couldn’t handle their power, they’d often be consumed by it… and it would jump to someone else. It was devastating to major population centers. It seemed like the more people, and more parahumans, that got in one location, the higher the chances of someone triggering. And if that wasn’t enough, sometimes those caught in the fury of someone triggering would themselves have their own individual trigger.

The final straw in New York’s grand reconstruction had been the emergence of the wildlings. Nobody knew where the creatures had come from, though the popular theory was that some Tinker had released them into the wild during Scion’s attack, and the creatures were just now populous enough to attack. The open streets offered little deterrence to keep them out of the city. There was a photo that I’d seen in my youth of Legend blasting away at a virtual wall of creatures as people desperately climbed onto tinker tech flying machines. What wildlings lacked in strength and durability, they made up for in ferocity and breeding capability. Boston, Chicago, Paris, every old-world population center came to feel the brunt of these unusual creatures.

New York City Bet was all but a ghost town now. Almost completely abandoned and left to rot. Somewhere I’d heard the number that there were only twelve thousand non-parahumans left in the entire city and the boroughs. Legend hadn’t asked that the Wardens help create an oasis of civilization there, but many helped.

He didn’t leave NYC Bet often anymore. I couldn’t blame him. Everybody needs something to hold onto, no matter how hopeless it is.

These days, a village was considered a respectable city if it had ten thousand people in it. The largest city I’d seen had a population of about 67,000, and there was heavy talk about getting a good ten to twenty thousand to go out and start new cities. At the end of the day, it simply made sense for survival. Smaller population centers meant that self-sufficiency was easier, there were fewer logistical concerns, fewer occurrences of trigger events, cities could be walled off, and fewer Wardens had to be posted there to respond to threats.

Of course, it also meant plenty of communities thrown back into pioneer days. Power wasn’t available to many of them due to a lack of infrastructure, and many couldn’t afford the steep rates that tinker tech required; not only did it require costly purchases, but also maintenance. So many communities didn’t even have indoor plumbing.

Chris’ tinker specialty, though, meant that he had plenty of income. He focused not on nifty gadgets, but in making metamaterials. His lab, and half our town, was powered by a single wind turbine made from an old washer motor that had its magnets replaced. The rest of the town was powered by another, including the small factory. Our armor was that same tinker work, but in other applications. In theory, I could be struck by lightning and not even notice. Not that I wanted to test that theory any time soon.

“You know how he works,” I said quietly, dropping my head. “Leave him to his own devices, and he’ll just try and come up with a variation of something he’s already made. Find a way to streamline what he’s already made even more. Give him something new to analyze, something to force him to think, and he’ll come up with something like our armor.” I looked up to her, directly in the eye. “And since he’s such a homebody, he needs us to do that for him.”

“Then have him pay you back for Christ’s sakes!” She somehow managed to keep her voice low while still giving the impression of screaming at me.

I lowered my head and hunched my shoulders. I just didn’t have the words to explain it. It didn’t feel right asking him for money for showing him something new, something that made his mind work in such marvelous, mind-boggling ways. I didn’t feel like I deserved it somehow. I could sit there and help him build the machinery that churned out the strange stuff he made, get what he needed to be done, but in the end it was so far beyond my understanding that I felt like a five-year-old trying to understand trigonometry. It was beautiful in a strange, fascinating, and slightly scary way.

And she wanted him to pay me for getting to be a part of that. It… hurt for some strange reason. It hurt more than I could ever tell her.

“Okay,” I lied. “Next time, I’ll ask him to comp me for it, okay?”

She reached out, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and giving me a squeeze. She must have caught at least a bit of how bad even pretending that I was going to ask him affected me. “Sorry, bro.” Her voice was soft again, comforting. “It’s just… We’ve got the plan, right? Every dollar you don’t put towards it means that much longer before we get it done. Neither one of us wants to be a merc for the rest of our lives, right?”

“Right,” I whispered.

“Right. But you won’t let me put my share of the pay to it, even though I’m waiting on you. So it’s better if I ride your ass on occasion and make you do things you don’t like so we can leave this fighting for money all behind. No more having to negotiate contracts, no more having to worry if the job we’re taking is legit or just some scumbag playing us to help guard bad goods.”

My eyes were still stuck on a rock that had somehow become particularly interesting, but I forced the corner of my mouth upwards. “No more having to walk all the time.”

She chuckled softly. “That’s goddamn right. Now-”

A loud explosion made us whip around, our trained reflexes kicking in — I gripped my halberd, she got ready to punch even as we tried to figure out what was happening. The Sons were supposed to secure the area before we got there, and whomever pulled rear guard was just supposed to make sure that nobody had followed us in.

Unfortunately, it looked like we’d both failed.

In the large clearing, people had been thrown to the ground. It could have been that there’d been an accident, except for how John was still standing. There was a wall of some sort of crystal that exploded as he moved his hand, sending another two of the Sons onto their backs. Which meant that we’d brought someone after those supplies who was patient enough to wait until his second delivery to attack. Heck, I hadn’t even known he was triggered until I saw that little display.

Had that been the only problem, we could have handled it. Sure, like an idiot I’d left my rifle in the wagon, but I still had my revolver on my hip, and I had Sarah. Two ways to engage from range, even if I did prefer using Sarah’s ranged ability. Pulling a gun was an open invitation for a parahuman to take the kiddie gloves off. Most people believed the sociopaths and psychopaths to always have the gloves off, but that wasn’t entirely true. Time and time again, the experts had told me that no matter how dangerous an enemy was, they seemed to fight that much harder once someone pulled a gun, harder than they did even when there was a sword. I never argued the logic, no matter how little sense it made to me; they’d lived through more combat than I had, so I was willing to trust them.

Unfortunately, Sis and I weren’t the only ones who seemed to be working in pairs. Another para was flying in the air, a trail of flames behind her. Given the low noise that John’s crystal wall had made when it exploded, and the fact that it had sounded like breaking glass, I was willing to bet that she was the one that had floored most of our people.

“Air,” Sarah said a moment before she took off running.

“Ground.” My legs were longer, and I’d get to John pretty quick. We’d spent a good portion of our lives training, so words were pretty unnecessary. Declare our opponent, then get to work. As I ran, my hands gripped my halberd tighter.

Nothing simple was ever easy.

 

[Teal_Thanatos]

this is really good, I am going to go to that website to see if there's more.

 

[Teal_Thanatos]

So.
I went to wordpress. I archive binged and caught up.

This story is fantastic. You've got just the right amount of new and old to make it a continuation of worm. The sons of bitch, tattletale, references to the dragons teeth and wardens are sprinkled throughout to remind us of the past while the focus on the new characters and their lives is great.

The only real issues is the tinker, if he makes low maintenance cloths like he seemingly does, I would have thought teacher or tt or anyone would be constantly exerting pressure or trying to get him. It feels like he is sailing under the radar a lot.

 

[ErrantVagrant]

So.
I went to wordpress. I archive binged and caught up.

This story is fantastic. You've got just the right amount of new and old to make it a continuation of worm. The sons of bitch, tattletale, references to the dragons teeth and wardens are sprinkled throughout to remind us of the past while the focus on the new characters and their lives is great.

The only real issues is the tinker, if he makes low maintenance cloths like he seemingly does, I would have thought teacher or tt or anyone would be constantly exerting pressure or trying to get him. It feels like he is sailing under the radar a lot.

Click to shrink...

I'll check with Ritic when he wakes up. I seem to recall him mentioning that someone was shadow protecting Chris, and that it would be a future plot point, so I might not be able to answer it properly.

Edit: Correction. He says that Chris has two things protecting him. The first is that there is a continual manhunt for Students. A character that we haven't met yet is spearheading this manhunt due to how he triggered, and he has a scary amount of resources that he can leverage towards this hunt.

The other side of the coin are his family, especially Tim and Tabby. They weren't always broken nobodies in the middle of nowhere. They used to be up and rising stars in the Protectorate. Tabby had wanted to help in the Behemoth fight, but she was denied, claiming that they didn't want her first engagement to be against an Endbringer. Not quite the truth; her mother was highly ranked in the PRT, and knew how to leverage her power in ways that didn't scream of nepotism. Tabby's rise was, quite frankly, engineered.

Tim joined the Protectorate shortly after Behemoth, but gained a lot of popularity due to his creative use of his Shaker powers. He got a lot of respect for single-handedly capturing people a lot more powerful than him.

Regardless, Tim and Tabby still have respect from a lot of folks, and can still be a terror if they decided to go hardcore. When they publicly declared that anybody who put too much pressure on Chris would feel their wrath, there weren't a lot of people willing to test them on it. Also, Sarah handles a lot of negotiations for Chris, and if people delve into their backgrounds, they find out that Jordan can be violently protective off his siblings. (As we saw in 2.1)

Tattletale doesn't give a fuck about such things normally. However, due to problems that they've had in the past, she tends to hear "tinker" and immediately go "nope."

Lastly, Chris living where he does creates a bit of a lower profile for himself. Combined with his perfectionism in his work (see his refusal to sell very good armor because he knows he can make it better) he tends not to be a very big name. Now, if he lived in Twain, he'd be a household name, and he'd have a huge staff of people helping him. With that would also come a lot more pressure to sell his stuff. (Which would also aggravate the subtle way his shard fucks with him.)

For now, the Wardens and the D.T. are willing to just check in on him every month or so, see if he has anything he's willing to sell. They know better than to try and talk him into it, and are happy to buy whatever he's selling at that point. The blades he sometimes makes are very highly valued by the D.T. and in exchange for his fabricators, they got a full squad's set of armor that are treated the same way that he treats the blades. The sad part is that they would secure any materials he needed at the moment in exchange for him doing it to another suit, but he doesn't think about that. He's only 17 after all, and while he's hella social, he doesn't think about networking.

 

[SolipsistSerpen]

Hm... You'd think that if one of the major dangers was "hordes of monsters" it would actually makes sense to clump up more rather than less, so you had more defenders to deal with that kind of thing. I'd expect big cities with big walls, rather than towns and villages that could more easily be overrun with less wildlings.

The trigger issue does make sense for pushing the other way, though, as does the problem with supply lines feeding such a big clump.

 

[ErrantVagrant]

Hm... You'd think that if one of the major dangers was "hordes of monsters" it would actually makes sense to clump up more rather than less, so you had more defenders to deal with that kind of thing. I'd expect big cities with big walls, rather than towns and villages that could more easily be overrun with less wildlings.

The trigger issue does make sense for pushing the other way, though, as does the problem with supply lines feeding such a big clump.

Click to shrink...

One other thing that you gotta keep in mind is that wildlings didn't appear instantly. There was still an exodus period, where people were leaving painful memories behind and their only major concern was "Can I survive here?" Why live in a ruined Earth when you can get away from everybody else?

The way he explained it to me is that at first people tried making major metropolitan areas, but the failing logistical base and the heavy triggers (and bouncing heavy triggers) made it more viable to move outward from each other. It became hip to create your own community. Don't like the rules of where you live? Make your own! Which was about when the wildlings attacked New York Bet. At first, it was suspected to be a targeted attack, most people thinking it was made by the Teacher. But then other random communities were attacked, and people started to scramble. It marked the end of the exodus era and the start of the fortification era. I can't remember what era he said that humanity is in now, unfortunately.

There's still a great debate on the wildlings. Are they created by a master, a tinker, or something else? Teacher running tests on those not of his people by sending creatures after them? A Scion shard gone mad, spawning the without a host? A new Endbringer spawning them? Where did they come from, and how do they end up in so many Earths? There's a lot of theories being tossed around, but nobody really knows. What is known is that now it's harder to support a community without walls, cops to man them, and mercenaries to help escort caravans, and had the wildlings shown up a couple of years earlier, things would be a lot easier for everybody.

 

[ErrantVagrant]

Soil 1.2

Running as I was, I barely saw Sarah skid to a stop, but I did hear the distinctive whomp of her using her power. I didn’t see the tale-tale ripple ahead of me, which meant that she was going after the flame flyer. That was good tactics, and just the sort of thing that we’d trained ourselves for. If the flyer had a ranged ability, then I was at a distinctive disadvantage. Less maneuverability, less range, and I’d have to depend on my revolver. Bringing a pistol against a flying blaster didn’t exactly even the odds — they could fall back and make it a lot harder to score a hit with the gun. The downsides of pistols.

I dared a glance upwards, and saw the flying girl easily evade the attack. It didn’t surprise me in the slightest. Sarah had done it to draw attention, but now it gave me the chance to take in the woman’s appearance. Not that I could make much out. It looked like she was wearing a soft, brown leather outfit and a helmet. The flames seemed to trail off of her body, but I couldn’t tell where they were coming from precisely.

One thing at a time, though. John. The two of them had done a good job of flooring the opposition. My best guess was that the woman could make bursts of some sort, relying on concussive force to drop her enemies. Just before the burst had hit, John had made his crystal wall. Naturally, a few people had been protected by it… until he’d vaulted it and set it off, pelting them with shards. As I ran, he constructed another wall in the space of about a second and a half, then detonated it again.

I noted that people weren’t getting up. Crap. I liked these folks. Even the Sons.

There was another sound in the air as I continued to run. The flame girl returning fire. When the blast sounded, I was thankful that it wasn’t near me, and that I didn’t hear Sarah scream. Two small blessings. That was about it for the upsides, though. The horses for both wagons were taking off now that people weren’t making sure they stayed in place, taking the wagons with them. Even worse, John saw me on fast approach.

You can’t win them all.

With a gesture, a wall of crystal appeared between us, no more than five feet high and three across. Was there a limit to his power? I couldn’t be sure. A few moments later, it exploded, shards heading directly for me. Reflexively I covered my face, suddenly reminded again why so many parahumans and mercenaries wore masks. Fortunately, it seemed like he’d misjudged the distance — the large shards only pelted against my lower body, not powerful enough to even sting through my armor.

At least he wasn’t one of those types that could launch them at supersonic speeds. My armor wouldn’t do much against that. Chris said that it probably could stop a .50 caliber pistol round, but the same couldn’t be said for rifle.

Still, he was already working on another wall, much closer to himself. This one was forming more slowly, giving me time to advance closer, but it seemed to be growing wider and taller. I shifted my halberd so that I was gripping it with one hand, just over shoulder height, like a spear. I didn’t want to throw it; I wasn’t quite close enough to be guaranteed a hit, and if I missed then I’d only be left with my knife and pistol. Better to hold off.

My free hand reached up and hit the buckle on my pack. Both straps went at once and it dropped to the ground behind me. The lack of weight gave me a bit of an extra boost of speed, something that was quickly becoming necessary with how the wall was growing.

By the time I was close enough to be assured a hit, the wall was already six feet tall, nearly twelve in width and still growing. Yeah, good call on not chucking the halberd. At this point, I’d be lucky to hit his head. My legs were already starting to complain a little, but it was tolerable. My knee wouldn’t feel the greatest in an hour or so, but my main focus was on getting John down as quickly as possible. Better to hurt later than die today.

Instead, I ran a bit further, until the six and a half foot wall was in front of me and jumped. I was a good jumper, but I was better at distance, not straight height. I might have cleared it, if I wanted to land on my back. (I didn’t.) But that wasn’t what I was going for. John had built the wall as a defensive structure, not very far away from him. It wasn’t a bad idea, really. If I threw the halberd, he’d be able to duck easily, and it gave him plenty of maneuvering room if I tried to go around.

I didn’t. My upper body hit the top of the wall, and my left arm pressed down on the crystal to hold me up. The moment I saw him, staring at me in shock and surprise, I lashed out with my weapon. Not as good a jab as I would have liked, though — instead of catching him squarely in the leg to make it harder for him to move like I’d wanted, my aim had been off and it grazed his arm, doing more damage to his armor than to him. The only reason that I’d even hurt him with a poorly aimed thrust like that was because it was one of Chris’ weapons, making sure it had an edge that would put obsidian to shame.

I hauled back to try again when the wall quivered. I only had the briefest of moments to consider the fact that I had made a rather stupid newbie mistake, not taking everything I’d observed about his powers into account, before it exploded.

I would have liked to have analyzed what had happened, how I could recover and use this to my advantage. Unfortunately, the blast hit me like a mule. My armor could handle the force of a few shards at once. The high-sheer layer, though, apparently couldn’t dampen so much of it being hit at once. Or, if it was dampening it, the force was enough that it didn’t feel like it.

I slammed into the ground, curling into a ball almost instantly as I struggled for breath. Susan had made jokes more than once about my choice to wear a cup underneath my armor, but right now I was infinitely glad that I did. Forget how much it chafed at the times, but between my legs was blessedly free from agonizing pain. That was about the best part of me, too. My back, neck, and head all hurt from the force of the impact with the ground. Everything on my front from the nipple level down felt like I’d belly flopped into gravel from a good twenty foot drop. Just trying to draw in a breath was almost an impossibility.

I heard the crunch of a boot next to me. I found myself unable to open my eyes to look up. “Stay down,” John said quietly. “Jordan, just… just stay down. Please.”

I would have liked to have said something that made me seem badass. Instead, my body seemed more interested in coughing and convulsing. Given the circumstances, and how I had no idea where my halberd had gotten to, that seemed like a rather fitting idea. What control I did have over my body, I put into convulsing more, like I was losing the fight of clinging to consciousness.

There was a long pause, the kind that seems to stretch out for an eternity, before I felt the foot land next to my head. A moment later, though, I heard another one beyond me, followed by another. Was I really that lucky today? Or was this just a test to see if I was going to stay down?

I waited another moment before I dared to try and open my eyes to take in my surroundings. Others seemed to be hurt just as bad as me, if not worse. More importantly, my eyes locked on John. Or rather, his back. He was whispering something, too soft for me to hear it.

People accused me of being too nice for this line of work. To an extent, they were right. I hated the idea of killing someone, of hurting them any more than absolutely necessary. I’d kill in a heartbeat if I was put in a position where I had to, naturally, but those were fewer and further between than most people thought. But I also liked the idea of helping people, of protecting them from people who didn’t have reservations against hurting them. So I’d taught myself how to fight, how to take people down with the minimum amount of damage. I’d found anybody willing to teach me, to hone my skills. I was competent enough at it, good enough for someone who might still be in his teens. Or at least I liked to think so.

John, though, didn’t seem to have that edge. He’d fallen for a simple trick, one that he could have checked against with one kick to my head. And in the end, he was going to suffer for it.

My lungs weren’t burning for air quite so badly any more. My body might still be in agony, but that time laying there had given me the control that I needed back. There were two ways that I could do this. I could find my halberd and attack him properly, or I could do it the smart way.

I opted for the smart way.

As quietly as I could, I made my way to my feet, my hand slipping to my holster. The knife would have worked for a few possibilities, but it would have also caused a lot of problems in the long run. Instead, I drew my revolver, and moved as close to him as I dared. Once I was sure that I could, I dashed the two steps, swinging. The butt of my weapon struck him at the base of the skull.

The effect was pretty much what I’d expected. I’d seen DVDs of movies and shows were people were knocked out by such things, but that would just be too easy to work in real life. Instead, he let out a choked scream and fell to the ground, his hands moving to the back of his head. Which was pretty much exactly what I wanted. Now, at least, things were working to my favor.

Almost instantly I dropped on him, letting gravity drive my knees into the small of his back. That hurt my already sore body, but I bet that he felt more than a little smart out of it, given his gasp of pain. His hands hadn’t even moved by the time I’d gripped one, my revolver already back in its holster. I grabbed the handcuffs, wrenching his arm around to put it on. If he would have had the fight in him, he probably could have gotten free pretty easily — I was still weak, my body still wanting more oxygen. But his own throbbing skull was sapping him of his strength, and possibly even his ability to think straight.

I fought a little to get his other arm around. One of the first things that I’d learned was that almost every time you fought someone, there were three key things that could give you victory. Remove any one of the three, and your chances for winning increase dramatically. Their ability to move, their ability to breathe, and their ability to see. Being blinded by pain was one that I’d already hit, but just as he’d taken away my ability to breathe, it was only temporary. As it subsided, he’d want to be back in the fight unless I removed his ability to enter it. I’d make the pain last a bit longer in a minute if I had to. Before then, I wanted to take care of another of the necessities to fight.

I got out my second pair of cuffs, barely getting them latched to the chain between the pair he was already wearing when I heard a scream of rage. I quickly grabbed John’s leg before looking up to find the source. Fire girl was coming in for a dive bomb at me, one hand balled up into a fist. I blinked, a little surprised, before I remembered that John was underneath me. She couldn’t just fireball us to death. Well, point in my favor, at least.

I calmly cuffed his ankle, but didn’t bother to move. She seemed agile in the air, and really, my chances of evading were pretty slim. Might as well just accept my pounding and get it over with. With any luck…

Luck wasn’t necessary. She got close enough that I could see her eyes before she veered wildly off, passing me by. It genuinely took me a moment before I registered that I’d heard the tale-tell sound of Sarah’s power. I whipped around just in time to see the flyer hit the ground, tumbling end over end several times before stopping. Sure, she might have hurt my friends, but I still winced. That… had to hurt.

I nodded once before rising to my feet and looking around. One of the Sons, a blonde woman who looked like she’d seen more share of fights whose name I couldn’t place, was upright with a hand on her knee, apparently ready to jump into action if need be. Fortunately, Sarah was already running towards the fire girl. Which was good; I was out of handcuffs, and I wasn’t even sure if they’d work on a flyer.

Instead, I moved to the first prone body that I saw — Roger. I moved quickly, checking his breathing and pulse. Despite the blood that seemed to cover his face from a nasty gash on his forehead, a quick examination showed that he was okay. Small favors. Still, with cuts like that… Infection was still a big thing out here. On trips like this, you could pick up an infection fast, and then the next thing you knew, amputation was the only solution. Especially since we were over a week from the city Roger called home. And, to be honest, it wasn’t exactly viable to amputate one’s face.

I tried to stand, only to find that my body was protesting. I forced myself up, a hand going to my gut. I could breathe, but it hurt. Walking hurt. Moving hurt. I was pretty sure that everything but looking around would hurt. Pain that seemed to scratch the surface inside enough to make my body not want to respond. But that didn’t mean that there wasn’t work to be done.

I walked quickly to where I’d dropped my pack, redoing the clasps so that I could throw it over my shoulder. If standing had taken a moment of steeling myself before, with the weight of my pack it took sheer force of will. By the time I’d made it back to where the tradeoff had been occurring, folks were already starting to get up.

Now that I thought about it, it was a little odd that there wasn’t any scorch marks around, let alone anyone with burns that I could see. There wasn’t even any steam or smoke. I’d think about that later, though.

I dropped my pack next to Roger, only to pause when Karen touched my arm. She had a black eye, but otherwise she seemed to be doing fine. “The wagon,” she said. “I can… handle him.”

I frowned a little. Not what I wanted, but it was good that she had priorities in their proper order. A sign of a good merc. “Okay,” I said, pushing the feeling of dread to the side. I bent down just long enough to fish out the med kit, handing it to her. “Some stuff is special, thanks to my brother. Directions are inside.”

“Thanks Jordan.”

I gave her shoulder a supportive squeeze and flashed her a sympathetic smile before pushing myself back to my feet. Sarah seemed to have the woman under control. “Sis,” I yelled. “I’m gonna find the horses. Keep an eye on things, willya?”

She looked back to flash me the thumbs up before she bent over to pick up the woman carefully. Might be spinal damage, but given the circumstances…

I fought the urge to sigh as I moved to my polearm. I felt like a freaking newbie, playing merc instead of being one, and suffering for it. Meanwhile, Sarah was still in tip top condition. I kinda wanted tell her that it would be better for her to get the horses; I wasn’t the best with animals to start with, and she wouldn’t have to fight to keep from limping the entire time. Plus, she knew how to drive them. But if the two tried something, she’d be better equipped to take them on than me at the moment.

What a terrible day this was shaping up to be.

------------------------------------------------------------------​

It took me nearly three hours to return back with the wagon. Tracking the horses hadn’t been the hard part — panicked as they were, they’d left a heck of a trail. The first moment of difficulty had been catching up to them. The second bit of difficulty had been the supplies that had dropped off the cart during their flight. It wouldn’t do to have to come back and get everything. The propane tanks were easy. The boxes, a little less so. The barrels that composed the majority of the supplies? Yeah, that could easily be described as pure agony.

Everybody, though, was up and moving by the time that I made it back. Everybody but our two new prisoners. The both of them, actually, were looking a little bit worse than when I’d left. I wasn’t entirely sure how I felt about that.

Sarah met me before I made it to the clearing, though. “Rest,” she said in her listen-to-me-or-else tone. “You look like you need a forty hour nap.”

I nodded wordlessly, pausing just long enough to get my rifle out of the back of the wagon. As I slung it over my shoulder, I took the time to genuinely look around. Five of the Sons, which really was an annoying name considering their mixed genders, were up and moving. They’d already recovered their wagon and were waiting patiently. With how crazy Bitch was rumored to be, you wouldn’t think that they would be so patient. Truth be told, though, I liked them, liked my interactions with them. Just because Bitch was supposedly a brute didn’t mean they all were, after all.

Our own people looked beat up. Roger had bandages over half of his face, covering one eye. Amy was in a sling. That made me frown a bit. Broken, or just a cut that they didn’t want to aggravate? I’d ask her about it later. Karen and Roy weren’t looking any worse for the wear, but they were moving slowly. Hard to tell. Manuel was holding an arm to his gut, but was still moving about. Gauging by how low it was, he’d taken a shot to the stomach from the crystal. It probably had taken the wind out of him — unlike the rest of us, he wasn’t wearing armor. I bet he regretted it now.

I used my halberd to help lower myself to the ground. After a moment’s hesitation, I went ahead and took the rifle from my shoulder, checking to make sure the safety was on before depositing it next to me. It wasn’t a real concern, but I’d been trained to take gun safety seriously. My pack was the next thing that I relieved myself of. I did it right this time, not using the quick-release strap. It’s amazing how quickly you get used to the weight when you wear it all day, every day. It’s equally amazing just how much your body lets you know when you take it off.

Sarah was right. I wasn’t tired, but I was exhausted. I adjusted my pack before settling back on the grass, using it as a hard pillow. My body was in that quiet state of screaming, a dull roar that didn’t entirely penetrate completely. That state where another nap sounded like a good idea. Just enough pain to make sleep appealing, not enough to hamper the ability to get there in the slightest. I let my eyes close slowly, not really focusing on anything. Another fifteen minute nap, then my usual three hours of sleep while on the clock. The ability to stay awake all night looked good when it came to negotiations, but I usually spent a day or two getting a full six hours a night plus naps when we finished a job before settling back into my standard four hours plus naps.

I halfway heard someone approaching, but didn’t pay it any mind. I honestly didn’t care much about anything at the moment. Sadly, the hand on my shoulder that gently shook me didn’t give me much choice in the matter.

“Hey.”

An eye cracked open, and a moment later, a smile crossed my face. It was the older gal from the Sons. Middle-aged by my guess, dark hair. Her name… Meh, I’d heard it before, but my brain couldn’t fish it out at the moment. I felt a pang of self-loathing for being such a jerk, not remembering someone’s name.

“Hey.”

“Take your shirt off,” she said gently.

The insanity of what she said took a moment to kick in and force the corner of my mouth to twist up wider. “I dunno if I should be giving everyone a free show.”

She blinked at me before snorting and giving me a gentle cuff alongside my head. “Get over yourself.” At least she took the humor in good spirits. “I wanna make sure you’re okay. We’ve checked everyone else, so you’re up.”

“Mmm.” I let my eyes close again, my smile fading. “I’m fine. Nothing got through the armor.”

I felt fingers on my cheek and eyebrow a split second before my eye was pulled open. “And your sister said you took one of those crystal explosions at point blank range.” The woman looked into my eye with an even stare. “You’re also walking funny. So I’m going to check you over if you like it or not. Now, unless you want me stripping you naked…”

I felt a blush come to my cheeks, but I nodded slowly. “Alright, alright. Forced stripshows aren’t sexy anyway.” I let my eyes close, but still let my hands do their thing.

I worked on getting my shirt disconnected from my pants. It was a weird system that I couldn’t explain. Not like a zipper, but some seams were actually the openings. Put them together and they sealed up perfectly, until you went to undo them by hand. A moment later, I got the seam that ran all the way up to the collar and pulled it open for the woman.

I knew that my face wasn’t the best looking in the world, and I was at peace with that. Ears too big and not exactly even, nose a bit too large and a touch crooked, teeth that didn’t line up nicely, and hair that couldn’t decide if it was going to be insanely curly or painfully straight. And not in a way that made sense, either, with the curls at the ends. It was like for every hair that decided it had to curl up tight, there was another that wanted to be completely straight, and another that wasn’t sure which way that it wanted to go. But there were things that I did… tolerate about my body.

I was told that I had rich, dark eyes that were very pretty, with surprisingly long eyelashes for a guy. I wasn’t sure if I bought that, but I got compliments, so I couldn’t complain. And despite me not being able to bulk up into a powerhouse, I was still quite muscular. Not that sick muscular where you could count a thousand abs; I still had a thin layer of fat on me, which might help explain why I didn’t feel even worse from that hit I took. But I was rather quite visibly muscular, especially when I got my shirt off. This woman was a bit too old for me, but… Well, everybody likes to show off their good side on occasion, right?

“You’re much darker-skinned than your sister,” she muttered. Probably just making chit-chat while she did her thing. Her hands were cool as they pressed against my stomach.

“Different fathers.”

“That would explain a lot.” She paused a moment, touching somewhere else in my lower abdomen. That got a wince out of me. “How’s the Matron?”

I opened my eyes, looking at her. She had her eyes firmly on my chest. I didn’t dare look down. I didn’t want to know. “You know her?”

“I haven’t seen her since… Well, a long time. But Bitch had us take dogs to see her and the kids on occasion. She struck me as one of the good ones.”

Oh. Well. That was different. I let my eyes drift shut again. “She’s older than when I was little,” I said quietly. “I don’t like it. She’s still overworked; she insists on dealing with all the kids personally. Not even the Patron can keep up with her on that. But every year, she gets a few more hands to help out. By the time she gets old, I think there’ll be enough help.”

“It never gets easier, though, does it?”

I smiled sadly, looking at the dark patterns behind my eyelids. “Nope. Always someone new showing up.”

There was a long silence, and I welcomed it. She was content to think about the past, and I… Well, I was just sort of there. There wasn’t anything skimming the surface, and this was one of those occasions where I was content to be hollow for a little bit.

She was the one to break the silence. “These are probably going to be ugly in the morning, but I don’t think you’re in too bad of shape.”

“I don’t plan on looking until we get back to New Brockton anyway.” A simple enough solution.

“Well, the least that you can do is rest tonight. We talked it over, and we’re both going to stay the night here. There’s only a couple of hours of sunlight left, so there’s no point in you leaving tonight. You won’t make it to your first rest stop before it’s too late. We’re going to build a fire and cook soon.”

That wasn’t encouraging in the slightest. Some of our people were depending on getting back on time to collect their pay. “Okay,” I said softly. “Then just… let me catch three hours of sleep, and I’ll take guard duty.”

“Which part of rest didn’t you understand?”

“The part where I always take night shift.” I finally opened my eyes again, looking up at her. “If I don’t stay on that schedule, then I’m going to have a heck of a time while we’re going back, and I don’t think that I have too much to worry about tonight. Nobody sane or smart would come after the ruckus we stirred up, and even the wildlings will be keeping a distance.”

She frowned down at me for a moment before nodding. “Alright. I’ll make sure that there’s some food left for you.” She slapped her knees and rose to her feet.

“Much obliged,” I said with a smile before closing my eyes. It wasn’t the level of rest that I was used to, missing a nap and all, but I was willing to take what I could get. I reminded myself of that simple fact; when you have nothing, something is a blessing. It was a good line to remember.

But I didn’t dwell. I simply watched the black clouds behind my eyelids grow larger.

------------------------------------------------------------------​

A lavish room greeted me. A frequent room in a frequent house, with a field leading up to it and a cliffside behind it. There wasn’t really anything notable about it, somehow. The field was pretty but didn’t have anything that stood out. The furniture was rather nice in a generic way, and I had never actually focused on the pictures on the wall enough to see what they were of. It was all too familiar, things that I wouldn’t remember here in a few hours, but were so completely home to me.

Mom rose from the couch, a deep frown marring her face. “What’s wrong?”

The tears started before I got the first word out.

 

[ErrantVagrant]

Soil 1.3


She’d been right in the end. It was three days since the fight, and I felt like absolute hell. About the only one of us that was doing well was Sarah. With Roger riding in the back of the wagon along with our two prisoners, myself and Manuel were taking turns riding shotgun. Karen and Roy, bless their souls, had been knocked out by the blast the fire chick had set off. Apparently, it had sucked the air out of their lungs. But the good news was that except for some scrapes and bruises they were otherwise unhurt, meaning that they, along with Sis, were spending all of this trip walking.

The trip back was usually a good time for all of us. Nobody really had to walk. But with the two would-be bandits in the wagon, tied down nice and good, and Roger sprawled out the way he was, it meant more walking for everybody. Amy kept offering to walk and let someone else drive the horses, but we all politely declined. Karen looked the least happy about that, but she was giving way to the rest of us and following our professionalism on the subject. It was good for her. Let her learn a lesson about how real mercenaries acted on contract. Roy whined like the lazy sod he was, but there were reasons why we got paid better than him.

Not that I felt too professional at the moment. Each time that I got on the wagon, I felt that much more like an amateur.

Roger would be okay. He had a concussion, or so I was told, but it made sitting up difficult at best. Even the jostling of of the wagon was enough to make him queasy now. We still weren’t uncovering that eye, though — the way the crystal had cut him, even though the eye wasn’t hurt, it would be harder to bandage without covering his eye. Nobody was saying it, but we all knew that we didn’t want someone with a concussion and no depth perception driving the wagon, anyway.

We’d made a push to have the two prisoners come back with us to New Brockton. For the most part, the Sons had agreed; only two needed convincing, and they had good reason. Bitch would be furious about the attack and would demand blood. She wasn’t as young as she used to be, but if anything that had just served to make her that much more fearsome about protecting her own. If you knew what was good for you, you didn’t mess with her people. It was a pity that so many didn’t have that much basic common sense. I wasn’t sure how the dissenters were convinced to let us take them, but I was happy that we did.

Sarah and I had quietly mulled over what the most likely punishment would be. Bitch probably would have beat on them and then removed a hand if she was feeling generous. Some rumors stated that she even branded one person who barely escaped getting killed, but that was just rumor talk that I didn’t put much faith in. In New Brockton? Most likely, they’d do some forced labor for a year or two, then be shipped off to one of the parahuman detention centers. Which one depended on how dangerous the courts felt they were.

“So you two never did tell us why you did it,” Manuel said, looking back at them with anger in his eyes.

I stole a glance to Sarah, who shared my dark look. Poor move. You didn’t talk to prisoners whenever possible. You tried not to think of them as people. You treated them humanely, sure. Our people hadn’t been the ones to rough them up. But you still kept yourself from empathizing with them until after you turned them in. Talking to them… That increased the chances that you might feel guilty about capturing them.

“We needed the gasoline,” muttered John, his voice as low as his head hung.

“Shut up!” barked the fire girl. We’d been able to worm out of them that her name was Beth. Well, more accurately, apparently John had asked about her when his brains quit being quite so scrambled.

Her words got a reaction out of John, his head snapping up. Anger burned in his eyes, and I instinctively took a step closer so that I could snag him if he lunged for her. They might hurt Roger.

“Oh, no. You got me into this mess, and I-”

“We wouldn’t be in this mess if you’d just gone with him!”

“And why didn’t you?!”

Beth recoiled as if he’d just slapped her in the face. John took her momentary silence and ran with it, turning to Manuel. “Her power needs an accelerant. Something that will burn well. Solids don’t work unless they’re practically powdered, so we need liquid. For what she did? It took a gallon of kerosene. Gas works better; not only does it make her powers last longer, but she’s more powerful with them. And the more she puts into the fire, the more powerful she is.”

Manuel scoffed softly. “And why the hell would you need that much firepower?”

“Fyrtorn.”

That shut all of us up instantly. Sarah, Roy, and Roger all looked the most uncomfortable, but it was enough to give Manuel visible pause. This is why we didn’t talk to captives — nobody here could really blame them for doing something that crazy and stupid.

“Manuel,” Amy hissed, her voice low and dangerous. “Off the fucking wagon. It’s Jordan’s turn to ride.”

“What? Why?”

“Off!” Both Amy and Roger snapped in unison. Amy and Roger worked well together. When one was harsh, the other would be gentle. When they both got harsh… Well, people ran. Unlike Roger, Amy slipped her arm from her sling, making a fist. I still wasn’t completely sure what their relationship was. Sarah believed that Amy and Roger were siblings or lovers. I somehow doubted they were siblings, which left lovers. I wasn’t sure, though. It wasn’t uncommon for a man and a woman to just be close friends, forming tight enough bonds that they might as well be family. Still, with some of the affection that they showed each other, the way that they doted on the other…

Manuel hopped off before the wagon even came to a complete stop. I spared a glance at John and Beth, gauging them. Both heads were down, neither looking at anything. Yeah, if Fyrtorn was involved, no matter how, then they probably had a lot of inner demons to wrestle with at the moment. Even if I felt like talking with them, now wasn’t exactly the time. Besides, it wasn’t my problem. And I’d have to keep telling myself that until we got to town.

I climbed up next to Amy. After a moment’s hesitation, I scooted across the wood bench until I was next to her. She’d been on edge since the attack, and it wasn’t just the attack itself. Roger had been hurt, her reputation was on the line, and… Well, there was more, I could tell. What it might be was beyond me, but sometimes you don’t need the specifics. Her face was hard as she snapped the reins, getting the horses moving at a dull pace again. Poor woman.

I wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders and let the words flow. I wasn’t a good singer — I’d tried to learn when I was a kid, and while I could hit the notes at the right times, my teachers told me that my voice wasn’t right. I desperately had wanted to be the one who sang the solos, but they’d patiently explained time and time again that I wouldn’t be that person, that the I’d always be a member of the chorus.

Just one of life’s many, many disappointments.

But while I might not ever be a lead singer or a member of a quartet or anything, I did still love to sing. Most of my songs were wordless, just sounds that sounded like the might possibly be words strung together to form a melody. Something to occupy my mind. I’d started singing songs like this to help with my training, to control my breathing and pace, to keep track of how far I’d come and how far I still had to go. Some people thought it was strange, and sometimes I got asked to stop, but nobody told me that it was bad.

Amy relaxed a little bit, accepting the comfort as she got it. Everybody needed comfort on occasion. A moment of weakness, offer them some strength, and they’d usually be able to dive back into whatever they needed to do. For now, that’s all that I could offer anybody.

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I fought back a yawn, but to no avail. Tears ran out of my eyes, and my nose began running. Dang it. I blinked rapidly to clear my eyes, still wanting to finish this chapter before nightfall. It didn’t matter that this was the third time that I’d read the book on this trip. I could read by firelight, but I preferred to stay sharp. My ability to quietly guard a camp overnight was a highlight of my reputation. With how jacked this entire trip had been, I wanted to at least keep some of my dignity intact.

Unfortunately, my body just wasn’t waking up. My brain didn’t want to engage fully, my arms still felt heavy, and worse, I could feel another yawn slowly forming inside of me. I wasn’t going to get my chance.

With a frown, I slid my bookmark into place and put the book in my pack. Dinner was just getting started, but that didn’t mean much to me yet. Roy had announced when we put down stakes for the night that he’d do some hunting. He’d left before I’d fallen asleep, and I distinctly remembered Sis and Karen going in the opposite direction. I’d been asleep when they’d all returned, but it didn’t take a genius to determine who had caught tonight’s meal. Roy’s heart was in the right place, but he was loud, impatient, and… Well, pretty much exactly the wrong type of person to hunt. He was good in a fight, but I wouldn’t want to share a room with him. His snoring could wake the dead.

I shouldn’t be so hard on him, I chastised myself silently. He wasn’t a bad guy. Thoughtless at times, and self-centered, and only tended to do the bare minimum, but not bad. He was good in a fight, and he liked to share his passions. There were a lot worse things in life. I couldn’t afford to get on the case of someone I had depended to watch my back for some bad personal habits. People probably kept a running tally of my own, ready to slap me in the face with them if I pissed them off, and mine were probably worse. Heck, compared to me, he was probably a saint. And anyway, I shouldn’t think bad thoughts about someone else; I didn’t want people thinking bad thoughts about me, after all.

I pushed those thoughts out of my mind and fixed the smile to my face again. I took up my halberd and forced myself upright. Making my way away from the others, trying my best to ignore the protest of my legs. I didn’t want to give them a reason to dislike me.

There were all sorts of ways to wake up. Some people drank tea. While tea was fine, I considered it something to have with meals or on actual breaks, not something to kickstart my brain. No, I preferred my go juice to be something a little more natural.

I took up a stance and began a low chant. Opening with the main chorus of the chant, mostly to get myself on a pace. I shifted it to a bridge as I began to swing the halberd. One straight down, stopping at the waist, reset, then swing again at an angle. Four swings, then back to the chorus. Slash straight from the left, repeat all the way down, like spokes on a wheel. One swipe up, repeat. One slash from the right, repeat. With that, the pie of angles of attack was finished. Repeat clockwise this time. Repeat both cycles again, then switch the position of my hands on the halberd and repeat it all again from scratch.

After that came a circular parry-to-counterattack routine, both clockwise and counterclockwise, then switching between the various grips, then quick ducks-to-counterattacks. Normally, I would have practiced throwing it and retrieving it as quickly as I could, but my legs weren’t in it. Which also ruled out the feint-to-kicks. But that was okay; since I’d hurt my knee I wasn’t too fond of kicks to start with. That didn’t mean that I didn’t practice them whenever I felt up to it.

As I went through my daily routine, focusing on a fusion between speed and control, people mostly let me go do my own thing. Roy, despite his faults, would only nod appreciatively as he watched me like a hawk. That was another point in his favor; he understood that it was only through practice and use that a person improved their skills. Training every day, or as often as one could get away with, helped keep your skills sharp. Neither one of us got to shoot as often as we would have liked, but his bullets were more expensive than mine anyway. He was an assault rifle and short sword kind of guy. His rounds were overkill in my opinion.

Actually, the way that he watched me was kind of creepy, with his head tilted forward and a strange blank expression, but I tried not to think about that too much.

Twenty minutes after I started, my mind and body were finally working in concert. The hammering of my heart and the movement of my body was enough to flush the sleep from my system. I’d work on my book more tomorrow.

Amy and Roger were leaned up against each other, away from the fire and everyone else. They looked like they were having a heated discussion, but were keeping it as quiet as possible. Karen was tending to the meat, Roy was alternating between looking at me and eying the meat lustfully. John and Beth were in the cart, trying not to look like they were testing how we’d tied them up. Sure, they could move their hands enough to eat and drink, but neither could get at their own knots that bound them to the cart, nor the other’s.

Manuel was sitting by the fire, fighting to stay awake by how his head nodded, and Sarah was sitting with a few jugs from the carts and people’s canteens.

Oh.

I hurried to get my pack before settling down next to her. “Sorry, Sis.”

“S’okay, I don’t mind. Better than hearing you yawn every two minutes.”

I fished my own water filter and battery out, grabbing one of the canteens and a water jug. Another Chris special: connect the power supply for the low voltage it needed (we tested it and confirmed — potatoes provided enough current) and it would only allow water to pass through. He had a lot of materials like that around his lab. Usually, the only way that he could get enough chemicals to make his stuff was to extract it from other things.

Sarah said that us bringing stuff like that wasn’t enough to negotiate for more on a contract, but it was enough to endear us to the people working jobs like this. It made us valuable, which meant the better chance of us getting a bonus or getting rehired. I just thought it made us helpful, and kept us from having to drag as much water along with us. Being able to safely refill on potable water from any stream, no matter how bad it was, made our lives just that much easier.

The both of us were willing to work in silence, just pouring away. Often, by the time that a canteen was half full, we’d have to pause to clear away whatever film formed on it. After the canteens came the water jugs that we did bring — not every day brought us close to a stream, and a single canteen wouldn’t even last us a full day anyway. Sis and I made sure to refill whenever possible. It was better to be safe than sorry.

“Oh, come on,” Roy whined, causing both of us to look up from our work. He was staring down at his meal as if he’d just been insulted. “This is it?!”

“Everybody gets the same amount,” Karen said flatly. “If you’d done a better job at scrounging up some meat, then we’d all get more.”

“Maybe if you and Sarah weren’t such-”

A low growl escaped my throat as I leveled my gaze at him. He took the smart road and shut the hell up. There were a lot of things that I tolerated. Heck, I liked to think of myself as a fairly laid back guy when it came to other people. There were a lot of people who would be missing eyes and hands otherwise. But talking bad about my siblings when they didn’t deserve it? That was a quick road to getting a punch in the face or twenty. And he knew it; he remembered what I’d done to that guy who’d learned it the hard way last year. Expanding his belly even more than it already was probably wasn’t worth taking me on.

My eyes slid off of him and my face slid into an easy smile as Karen approached with two plates. A large collection of blackberries, a few greens, a small potato, and a few healthy slices of squirrel adorned them. “Which one of you got the berries?” I asked cheerfully, my growl already forgotten.

“I did,” Sarah said with a grin. “Karen got the kill.”

“Thank you for that,” I said, bowing my head to my sister. Then, as I took the plate from Karen, “And thank you for the meat tonight. I’m sure it’ll be delicious.”

A lopsided grin crossed Karen’s face as she cocked a hip out. “Why Jordan, are you flirting with me?”

My smile dropped from my face like a stone, and Sarah nearly fell over with laughter. “N-no, it’s not that! I just, I was just…”

“Relax,” she said, her eyes twinkling. “I’m just teasing you.” She looked to Sarah. “You were right! He is cute when he blushes!”

Was I blushing? Oh, crap, I was. I glared at my sister, who meeped and dug in quickly. “Yeah, that’s right, eat fast before I mash it in your face.”

“‘ove yoo too, bro,” she said around a mouthful of berries.

I looked around and everyone but Roy was grinning. Even our captives looked a little amused by it. I flashed them a slight grin to let everyone know I wasn’t actually angry before I drew my knife from my chest to cut my potato. It wasn’t real anger, anyway. Nothing that lasted, at least; any irritation that I’d felt was already disappearing inside me. Even the embarrassment was fading fast.

This was good, though. Since the fight, everybody had either been on edge or had just been down. Betrayal had been a part of it; though Roger owned the cart and had the contract on the deliveries, part of his contract dictated that his employer hire and pay for us mercs. With the internet not reaching most places that had power or computers, background checks were far from perfect. But they’d never lead us wrong before. Even Roy was useful in a fight, with his limited gravity control (or rather impressive telekinesis, I wasn’t sure), his ability to levitate opponents for as long as he concentrated on them. This time…

We ate in a more relaxed silence now. I wouldn’t have minded more conversation, but we’d learned a long time ago that private conversations were best. Some people, well, one person in particular turned it to the ugly kind of politics that ended in people being angry for the rest of the trip. Most of us had different tastes; nobody was quite the voracious reader that I was, Karen was the only one into crocheting, Roger usually had this strange expression on his face when we talked about stuff, Amy was too quiet for the most part, and Sarah… When she was in the right mood, we’d all sit around the campfire too late, listening to her tell stories. She didn’t do it often, but when she did it made the hours fly by. I didn’t know where she got those ideas, but I wished that I could tap into them.

Before dinner was done, though, Roger set his plate to the side and rose carefully to his feet. “Alright everyone.” That got our attention. I lowered my plate on my lap, already feeling a deep sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach. “We were originally going to say this earlier, after the handoff, but then didn’t seem like a good time. And then…” Roger sighed softly, running a hand over his beard. I’d never seen it look even slightly out of place, just enough to have a good shape to it, not long enough for food to get caught in it. I’d seen him trimming it some mornings. Not so much since he’d been hurt, though.

He looked us all over for a moment, steeling himself. “That was our last delivery.”

“What?” Roy almost shouted.

Roger held up his hand, closing the eye that we could see. It took a moment for Roy to settle down, and it was only after he did that Roger continued. “The oil well that they’ve been using has run dry. With no crude, the plant can’t make gasoline. Without gasoline, there isn’t the pressure to make deliveries to the Sons of Bitch.”

“Well, why the hell don’t they just find another oil rig?!” How Roy was able to push so many of my buttons today was a mystery that I hoped I’d never solve, but his question made me want to seethe.

“Because it’s been twenty years. The oil rigs that we were using took a lot of resources to keep going. The ones that we weren’t using suffered corrosion due to the salt water. Europe and Asia might still have oil, but right now getting people to share is a chore at best. Land-based oil wells were destroyed, especially when Scion moved through Texas. They’re still a possibility, but it’s going to take time to clear the rubble and rebuild. And as much as using the untapped wells in Gimmel or one of the other Earths, it’s still going to take years to move everything there and get wells running. We don’t have the roads or any other part of the infrastructure necessary to build new wells right on hand.”

That was the true damage that Scion had done to humanity. He’d struck our main production centers, our centers of government, and denied us the tools that would have been the most helpful in rebuilding. Most of society had been built up over centuries, with each step leading the way to the next. By stripping away many of those steps, we’d lost the ability to make the things that humanity had taken for granted.

“Trust me, I’ve asked all the questions, and all but begged them to find a way. They want to keep this route going, they really do, but until they can find a way to create a reliable supply line of gas, it just isn’t worth it.”

He looked over all of us, silent for a moment before drawing in a breath. “I plan on getting another contract ASAP. I’ve been running this route for a long time, since the shortage of ’29, and I don’t plan on retiring any time soon. As soon as I have a new route set up, I’ll still be in need of hands. All of you will be welcome. And should you need a recommendation, we’ll gladly offer any of you one.

“We didn’t want this to be impersonal, delivered by your agent. We didn’t want this to come as a surprise, you arriving for the next shipment and finding out that there wasn’t one. I’m sorry about this, I really am.”

My eyes were on my plate by this point, but I wasn’t really seeing it. I wished that I could have been thinking some great plan to keep the line running, but… I wasn’t really thinking of anything at all.

I heard Karen’s voice say “Thank you,” and brought my eyes back up. Karen was hugging Roger tight. She hadn’t been with us long, this was only her fourth trip, and I got the feeling this line was her first real contract. My eyes softened as I looked at them. Her fourth escort, she gets knocked out and almost loses the entire wagon, and then finds out that it’s her last one? That had to hurt. Sure, I had regrets over the contract ending, but at least I was ending on a high note.

Sarah and I made our way to our feet as Karen disengaged, but Manuel was already making his way over, gripping Roger’s hand. It took a moment, but Roger pulled him into a hug. I smiled a little at that. Manuel had lost his father to pneumonia right before he’d signed on, and Roger had filled a hole in his life. A parental figure. Yeah, no matter what happened, they’d find a way to bring him back in.

I noted that Roy wasn’t getting up, just staring at his long-empty plate, his lips moving silently. Probably complaining to himself that he’d have to find a new contract. It was good for him, though. He needed the practice in dealing with people.

Finally, the two parted their hug, Manuel had tears in his eyes that he was trying to blink back. We stayed back to give them an air of privacy. I caught the word fishing and ducked my head a little bit. Roger had taught Manuel how to do that. In some areas, so long as it wasn’t winter, all that you really needed to survive was a knife and a fishing pole. Valuable skills passed down, and when they had the chance, the two had always gone together. As Manuel took a step back, we moved a little closer. “I’d like that,” I overheard Manuel say. He was about our age, probably a little younger. Age was a funny thing these days; old enough to work and be expected to fully pull your weight, too young to be taken seriously. Folks expected kids to act like an adult in their teens, but didn’t expect them to be the slightest bit mature until they were halfway through their twenties. I couldn’t understand it. I doubted I ever would.

When he finally moved away, we stepped forward. Sarah was the one to put her hand forward first. “Mr. Hale, I’d just like to say that it’s been an honor and a pleasure to work for you. You and Amy have been good to us, and no matter what the future holds for either of us, I hope that we can meet again. The more often the-”

He cut her off by pulling her in for a hug. “Knock it off, dipshit.” His voice was as warm as his smile. He pulled back a little, beaming at the two of us. “You two… Two years ago, you were the ones I was the most worried about when I saw you. You were kids, already with experience under your belts. Acting like you’d done this so many times that it became routine.”

He reached out his hand, and I ducked under it, letting him get me around the shoulders to pull me in. “You’ve stuck around when everybody else would just take a trip or two and decide it was too much walking. For all the years I’ve been doing this one, you two were the reliable ones. You, the serious one who would let her walls down when I least expected it, and you,” he looked at me, “always wearing your heart on your sleeve, always going the extra mile.”

“I’m gonna miss you too,” I said, blushing a bit again.

“Don’t miss me too much,” he said, looking between us. “We won’t be apart that long. I want you two back, and I’ll do whatever negotiation it takes to get us there. Until you two get the cash you need, I’ll always have need of you, understand?”

“Thanks, Roger,” Sarah said, blushing a little.

Despite my easy smile, my eyes flicked to John and Beth. Judging by how they were looking, if guilt were a commodity, we’d have to keep the two of them in a vault.

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The fire had burned down to embers, leaving me with only the occasional pop, the loud sawing of Roy’s snoring, and the sounds of crickets. On the moments when Roy wasn’t keeping the wildlings away in his sleep, I could barely hear the bubbling of the stream where we’d gotten our water.

I didn’t mind the night shift. I’d hated sleep ever since I was a kid. I’d woken up one day with no memories of anything that had happened before, no idea where I was or the people around me, and no idea on how to interact with any of them. It had taken months before I’d gotten up the nerve to even talk to anyone. Sleep was something to be feared. A child’s logic dictated that if you went to sleep one day and woken up the next with no memories, then it could happen again, and I didn’t want to lose anything.

So I didn’t sleep much, even though I knew I’d come to love my dreams. Even if I could only remember them for a few moments after I’d woken up. As I grew up, I slept less and less, relying instead on cat naps throughout the day.

But that had left me with another problem. What to do at night? Nowadays, whenever I got the chance I’d read some heady book during the day, then spend those quiet nighttime hours processing it, trying to figure out the bits that I didn’t get. Sometimes, I’d have to spend days thinking about it while everybody else slept. Here, it was handy though. I could get paid for thinking, or for going through my katas, or just goofing off without having to worry about anybody else seeing me.

“Shirt off,” a voice whispered in my ear. Well, almost anybody.

I went through the process of separating my shirt from my pants and undoing it. I didn’t bother turning around from the log I was sitting on. I just waited for the hands on my shoulders, working on the knots.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before,” Amy whispered.

“S’allright. Sarah and I kind of figured something was up. That was one of the possibilities.” I took in a breath as she hit a spot that was a little tender.

“That doesn’t mean I have to like it.” She sighed a little, her breath on the back of my neck. “Do you think we’ll get to hire you again?”

I let out a sigh myself, my eyes still scanning the treeline that I could make out. “I dunno. That depends on Sis, I guess, and how soon she can get us another contract. I still need plenty of funds.”

“Well, I hope she takes her sweet ass time.” I chuckled a little, though my lips didn’t curl. “You know, I had a crush on you.”

I turned my head, blinking at her shape in the darkness. “Seriously?” Now it was her time to chuckle quietly.

“Yeah. Roger would poke me in the side every time he caught me staring at you.”

“I…” My brain took a moment to process that. “Wait, what? I… Roger?”

She seemed only that much more amused. “What? Did you think we were…? Ew!” She snickered again. “He’s my dad, silly. Back in the day, he bought his Thinker powers from Cauldron. Not that being able to know exactly where you are and how to get where you’re going was worth much back then. But ever since, he’s aged real slow. He should outlive me and my sister.”

My mind worked and made extra bounds of logic. “Does that affect his healing?”

She was silent for a moment. “Yeah,” she said softly. “He’ll probably be wearing bandages for at least a year, and it might be two before he’s fully healed up.”

I lowered my head a little. “I’m sorry.”

Her palm connected with the back of my head. “Quit apologizing for things that aren’t your fault.”

“Sorry.”

She smacked me again, but I knew she was grinning. I totally deserved that one.

“So, uh… If you don’t mind me asking… Uh…”

“Smooth, Jor.” Amy chuckled a little as she got back to work. “You were nice, friendly, downright charming at times. Smart. You treated me with as much respect as Roger. Never let anyone tell you that the damn smile of yours isn’t cute, either. Mopey dudes who only frown all the time don’t do a thing for me. And unlike most of the people who ride with us, you and your sister never once treated it like a cakewalk. Plus, you look kind of exotic.”

Mysteriously semi-dark skin means exotic. Good to know. Unlike Sis, I was just dark enough for me to pass as not being entirely Caucasian, but pale enough that I could just be naturally darker-skinned. I’d cursed it when I was younger, never really knowing where I belonged. Apparently, though, it was handy for something after all.

“Then there was that first night with the cramps.”

“I… don’t think I remember the first time.” I hated not remembering things that were important to other people. I always felt like a heel over it. If it was important enough for them to remember, then the least that I could do was remember myself. She chuckled a little.

“I think it was your second time with us? Back when we were doing runs way more often. Anyway, I woke up in the middle of the night whimpering. You asked what was wrong, I said ‘girl problems,’ and you just said ‘ah.’ So you got put your canteen in the coals for a little bit, wrapped it in a towel and gave it to me. You held my hand until I fell asleep, and didn’t say a thing.”

That sounded like me, actually. Funny, these days if she was having trouble sleeping due to cramps, she’d just ask me if I could help. A hot canteen, some physical comfort, and eventually she was able to relax enough to sleep. Or if she just couldn’t sleep, she’d give me a backrub to help wear herself out, I’d give her one to help her wind down enough to pass out. We’d waste a few hours talking, and then back to bed with her.

“At first, I didn’t want to say anything to you because… Well, crush and all. And then when I got more comfortable, I didn’t want to say anything because you’re technically an employee, you know?”

“Yeah.”

“Then… I dunno when it happened, but one day I realized that I just considered you a friend. I just… didn’t feel the crush anymore.” I couldn’t help but chuckle softly, despite that stinging a little.

“Nuts. My inherent likability ruins my chance for a date yet again.”

“Been a while?” she asked, a curious tone to her voice.

“I think my last date was, what? Six years ago? And we both agreed that we were better off as friends.” At the time, I’d accepted it, I’d agreed whole-heartedly, but it didn’t mean that I hadn’t cried that night. “I think every time there’s been someone attracted to me and I wanted so have someone in my life like that, they’d end up feeling too much like friends to be able to do that.”

She paused in her work on my back. “Jesus. Now I feel like I almost owe you something as an apology, or something.”

I reached down and grabbed my shirt. “And that’s where we switch.” I kept my tone light and friendly, despite the twinge that gave me inside.

“I didn’t mean-”

“Relax.” I stood and guided her onto the log. “I was gonna suggest a switch anyway. If you kept going, I was gonna start getting sleepy.”

“Oh.”

Once she was settled and comfortable, I got to work on her shoulders. “Besides, you’re still kinda-sorta my employer. Or at least, a supervisor or something. It wouldn’t feel right.” I paused a moment, feeling the muscle beneath her shirt. “That and Sarah might murderize me.”

She chuckled softly. “Actually, that’s the other reason why I didn’t.” She paused for a moment. “Roger actually kept telling me to go for it.”

Huh, weird. It was probably the wrong moment to mention it, but… “You call him by his name.”

That got a soft sigh out of her. “For a long time, he was a once-a-month father. Always someone that needed him, always another trip to be making. Things got better after this contract, but as soon as I was old enough, he dragged me along with. Molly was already off and living on her own by then. Things have gotten better, and I call him Dad at home, but… I don’t know, it just sounds weird in public, you know?” When I didn’t say anything, she glanced over her shoulder. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

“Nah, you’re cool. I know how it is. My… parents aren’t exactly close to me either. I’ll be honest with you; I’ve always been the sort to take care of my own stuff than rely on them. For everything else, Chris and Sarah were always stepping up to the plate. You know, siblings and all. My parents and I never really got the chance to bond.”

She was silent for a moment. “Do you think that I should call him Dad more?”

Now it was my turn to gently tap the back of her head with my palm. “Nah. I mean, it makes sense, you know? Let people think what they think, and keep presenting yourselves as professional, you know? Maybe explain to him that you call him Roger in public because of the business, and he should be okay with that.

“Also, remind me never to learn to ride.” I assaulted another knot. “If you just driving the horses does this much…” My lips twisted upwards as a line hit me. “…Then I really don’t want to know what a stallion between my legs would do.”

She snorted so hard I thought she was going to wake everyone, but if they weren’t immune from Roy’s snoring by now, they never would be.

 

[ErrantVagrant]

Soil 1.4

My smile grew a little wider as the sound of horseshoes on concrete resounded in my ears and the grand city walls covered most of my vision. At this point, the job was over. We all could relax now, and as soon as the wagon entered the city limits, most of the mercs would say our goodbyes and go our separate ways. We’d meet up tomorrow to get our pay from the city officials, then go to wherever we did next. Tonight, Amy and Roger would store their gear, give their reports, see their family, and probably start looking for their next job.

Funny, now that I thought about it, that even when Amy mentioned her sister, she didn’t mention her mother. I reminded myself to tuck that away for later.

If you asked anybody to describe New Brockton, they’d probably say it was the greatest city on this Earth. On a few Earths, actually; it had a few stable portals to the main occupied worlds, and spread out over them. Sure, some Earths had better materials or larger buildings. Some had more Tinker-built goodies all over the place. I knew for a fact that at least one had a better education system. Some had better jobs, others had better health care, that sort of thing. But New Brockton was effectively the gold standard.

The outer walls were reinforced concrete over a foot thick, with an outer layer to make them look like a castle wall, built with defense in mind. The entry gates themselves were impressively large and regal. Sometimes, it’s the little things that made an impression. There were two more sets of walls within, staged strategically, even able to cut off access from the port — a lesson they’d learned the hard way.

The standard of living here was high, and it was a major hub of commerce between the various Earths. Many people here were polylingual, and nobody could graduate high school unless they knew at least one other language. (I wasn’t sure how many graduated, though. Rumor had it that the graduate rate was less than 50% due to teens getting jobs.) Electricity was available for everyone, though there were currently strict limits on how much a single building was allowed.

The government wasn’t bad, mostly a democracy, though everybody knew who had the real power in the city. Despite that, her efforts were focused on making the city better, eliminating threats, and improving the interglobal quality of life.

Once before, the population had gotten big enough that they had to split off — I’d never been there, but I heard that New York Gimmel had set up a hydroelectric plant and was scavenging what it could from the Bet to build power lines to the various communities in the area. I also heard that it wasn’t anywhere near as powerful as the one in Bet had been. But the folks that had split from New Brockton had set up there, managing everything in exchange for help, supplies, and an influx of money from NY-G.

For a city with this population, it was absolutely massive. When the portal to Bet had first been made, they hadn’t built with the same compact spacing that Brockton Bay had. After Scion, the construction had continued in much the same manner, though it had other reasons to do so; the ‘bad’ or ‘heavy’ triggers that popped up on occasion were easier to manage if each building had plenty of space around it.

That all meant that the views were delightfully impressive.

Most shops put the mandatory space to good use, creating pleasing displays to attract customers. Almost every restaurant had an outdoor area for eating. Folks with the most money had beautiful sculptures, flowerbeds, and patios. A few even had pools. Even apartment complexes had nice sitting areas.

Yeah, I wouldn’t mind living here some day.

I forced my mind to the task at hand, realizing that I’d already missed out on a chunk of conversation with the gate guard.

“-to you?” the dumpy guard asked.

Roger let loose a deep sigh. “Another attack, this time from one of our so-called guards.” He jerked a thumb towards John and Beth, our two captives. “Pyroknetic woman and shaker male, but they’ve been passive this entire time. The woman shouldn’t be a problem, just keep her away from any fuel source. Can you take ’em off our hands?”

The guard sighed softly before waving over to another one. “We’ll have someone there to collect a statement when you report the completion of your contact,” he said in the bland, bored tone of someone who said it far too often. “The rest of you will meet with a member of the guard when you collect your pay.”

Roger looked back at us. “And don’t forget, by the rules of your contract if you are given a subpoena, you must be available for trial or be fined a third of your pay.”

“God damn it,” Roy whined. Had he honestly forgotten that? After the last two times he’d had to testify? I was… impressed wasn’t the right word, but I was having trouble assigning what I felt to an actual word.

“We’ll be there,” Manuel said firmly as he and Karen dragged our two prisoners out. Sarah and I were quick with our handcuff keys — handcuffs were common enough, but they weren’t that common to be cheap. We wanted them back, dang it. We’d learned that the cops tended to “forget” that they belonged to someone else here the hard way.

As we watched the cops dragged off our pet fugitives for a long moment, the silence heavy in the air.

“So that’s it, then?” Roy asked.

“That’s it. You’re free to go. We’ll report in, and your pay should be ready by noon.”

It didn’t come as a surprise to anyone that Roy turned and walked away without another word. Karen was more polite in her goodbyes, at least. I moved to grab the waste bin and scoop, but Manuel’s hand on my arm stopped me. “I’ve got this one,” he said quietly.

I wanted more time with my friends. Just… a little bit more. Escort them back to their stables, help put the horses away, then coincidentally head in the same direction as them. Just to squeeze a little more time before we had to say goodbye.

Amy had mentioned a sister, but no brother. Roger was in his forties, maybe fifties or sixties. And no son. I’d heard that folks could have issues with that. Some people just wanted a boy and never got one. There was always adoption, more than enough kids at the Orphanage, but… I’d never understood why more people who wanted kids, or a specific gender, didn’t just adopt. And Roger had hugged Manuel just as strongly as he’d been hugged.

It hurt to give Manuel that smile, to put a hand on his shoulder, and to speak warmly. “You take care, man, alright?”

“You too, Jordan.”

I turned, and Karen was right in my face. I raised a hand to shake, but she pushed it out of the way to give me a hug. “I never thought that the most hardcore motherfucker I’d meet would be the nicest.”

I lazily gave her a hug back, pulling away enough to look down at her. “Hey, someone’s gotta make up for the hardcore jerks out there.” I ruffled her hair a little. Hell, she was probably older than Sis and I, but emotionally… Well. “You keep at it, and hopefully there’ll be two of us to turn the tide.”

I moved around the wagon and hopped onto the side, pulling myself up. Warmly, I reached out a hand across Amy to Roger. “Bossman, it’s been a great run.”

He held my hand as his eyes bored into mine. “I was serious, kid. I want you back with us.”

I chuckled a little, pushing aside the hurt. We smile during goodbyes not for ourselves, but for the other person. I wondered if it ever really evened out. What would it be like if everybody was honest when they said goodbye? Depressing, most likely.

“It’ll depend on Sis and if she can get us another contract lined up. But, yeah. I like riding with the two of you, and I’d like to do it again. The agent has all of our contact information, so if we’re not here, feel free and get in touch.”

Almost the moment he let go, Amy was latched onto me. Well, crap. “You’re not an employee anymore, doof.”

Oh, right. My smile didn’t change as I hugged her back, just as fiercely as she was. “Gonna miss you.”

“Ditto.” She pulled away a little, tears in her eyes. “Come by before you go?”

I straightened a little. “I will do my best!”

“You’d better.” She paused. “If not… We’ll keep in touch, okay?”

“Of course,” I lied. Moments like these lead to people growing apart. Keeping in touch meant a message or two every month, then one every six months, then never again. It’s just how life went, and I’d been burned more than enough times to keep up hope. It was better to accept it, lie, and move on.

“Good.” She paused a moment, then gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. As she pulled away, I returned the favor, but went for the forehead instead.

I hopped down and moved off to the side. We were blocking the road, after all. I gave Sarah some privacy as she said her goodbyes to the two, just content to watch. Two quick hugs, pleasant goodbyes, promises that would go unfulfilled. And yet, I didn’t really feel much of anything over this. No bitterness, no sadness, just… nothing. Like all the emotion had just drained into a hole inside of me. I was used to that, though. Probably a survival mechanism to keep me from getting hurt or something.

But then Sarah was beside me, pulling me out of my contemplation of emptiness. Amy offered me a wave with watery eyes, and I lifted my hand in return, making sure that my smile was a sad one. I might drop by later, I wasn’t sure.

As Amy drove the wagon off, Sarah subtly poked me in the side. “That was new.”

My face twisted into a wicked expression. I kept my eyes on the wagon. “She had a crush on me.”

“What?! But… She and-”

“Father,” I interrupted, smirking a little. “Might be older than the three of us put together, but I didn’t ask. His powers make him age real slow.”

She mulled it over briefly. “That… actually makes a lot of sense, I guess. So, you gonna do her?”

My head snapped to look at her, but her grin was absolutely Cheshire. “N-no! I… It wouldn’t be right! I’m not a… one-time kind of guy.” I puffed out my chest defensively. “Besides, I said had, not has. We’re just friends.”

“Uh-huh.” She fixed a flat stare at me. “That didn’t seem like a ‘just friends’ goodbye to me.”

My eyes turned back to the wagon. Manuel was trailing behind it, the wastebin and scoop in his hands. The city had paved roads, which was great. Unfortunately, that came with a city-wide ordinance that your animals had to be cleaned up after — no horse apples on the street. If the cops caught you, it was a fine. Manuel was…

Manure? No, that wouldn’t solve any of my problems. My mind started flicking through ideas, thoughts, old science lessons as it desperately searched for something… and found it.

“Believe what you will.” I looked at Sis with a slight smile. “Why don’t you get a room? I’ll drop by the bookstore, then call Chris, and I’ll meet up with you for dinner.”

She rolled her eyes, giving me a playful shove. “Bah, off with you. Jade Pool?”

I was already in motion. “Yeah, works great for me! See you there!” Yeah, I had a lot to do, and not a lot of time to do it in.

------------------------------------------------------------------​

“Hey Jordie.”

I seethed inwardly for the briefest of moments. It was enough to make a ripple of anger run up my spine. I hated it when people called me that. But I kept my smile up, and quickly that anger fell into the void. “Hey, Gordon.” Without looking, I placed my book on the counter, walking further into the bookstore.

“I swear, you don’t buy these so much as rent them,” he said with a grin. I was already past him when he called out to me. “Hey, we got another book by, uh…” He paused to look at a note. “That James Burke guy you’re always asking about. The Day the Universe Changed.”

Dang it. That was going to cut into my talking time. “Right, thanks.” I didn’t have that one, and his other books were ones that I read for the sheer joy of discovery. This bookstore wasn’t the largest, and didn’t have the best selection, but it did have cheap prices and staff who almost learned my name.

It didn’t take me long, though. I’d found three books that I needed, and the one he’d mentioned. Two on chemistry and one on geology. The geology one was just a skimmer, but I didn’t have the time here to memorize the information that I needed. The other two would make for some quick heavy reading.

“Going back to school?” Gordon asked as I set them in front of him.

“Never stopped,” I said with a grin. “School of life, class in session, all that rot.”

“Uh-huh. And what are these going to teach you about life?”

“Dunno! I can’t wait to find out, though!”

I pulled out my coin ring and started counting. New Brockton had switched to a coin-based currency a long time ago, with a hole in the center so that you could carry your money more easily. Most towns accepted their currency, and quite a few were switching to it. It made banking… interesting to say the least, but quite a few were switching to it until we could get power and computers back into commonplace. As an added bonus, getting coins wet wasn’t as big of a concern as paper money.

I still found myself frowning as I did the math and estimations.

Gordon noticed. “Are you coming in or going out?”

I looked up at him. “In. I get paid tomorrow, but… I kinda need these today.”

Gordon frowned for a moment before pulling out a small book. “You’re regular enough, so just this once. I’ll charge you an extra coin a piece, but you’ve got to pay me back in two days or else you’re banned.”

Translation: He probably wasn’t going to sell these any time soon anyway, and he could squeeze a little more out of them that way. My eyes still lit up. “Thanks, man. I owe you one.”

I quickly signed my name next to his notation, forced the books into my pack, and was out the door, halberd in hand. I still had a lot to do.

------------------------------------------------------------------
​

I waited patiently as the receptionist spoke with some girl. New Brockton had a lot of mercenary work — technically, they were listed as “independently contracted police forces,” but at the end of the day, they were just mercenaries like me. All city-contracted transport routes required at least one member of the city guard on-hand, but since there simply wasn’t the numbers for that, they contracted that out a lot. Crews that scavenged from Bet were composed almost entirely of mercenaries, too. And for good reason; wildlings were heaviest in Bet.

Mercenary work was good, but not perfect. You got paid on par with the police, typically a little bit better, especially if you saw combat. But you also had to outfit yourself with your supplies, had to pay for your health care, and didn’t get any of the perks that came with their job. On the other hand, you got to decide for yourself what jobs you did, you frequently got to travel the worlds, you learned things that you wouldn’t with almost any other job, you had proven combat experience, and there was a sense of camaraderie that you got whenever you met up with another merc. Well, so long as the both of you had worked to keep your reputations up.

The girl took a clipboard and a pen to fill out her paperwork, letting me next in line. “I’d like to speak to Mr. Munteanu, please.”

“Name?” the redhead woman asked in a bored tone.

“Jordan.”

“Surname?”

“I don’t claim one until I make my own.” I paused for a moment, realizing how dorky that must sound to someone who hadn’t gotten to know me yet. “Uh… Just Jordan.”

She didn’t seem to respond to that at all, instead picking up her phone and hitting some buttons. “There’s a Jordan here to see you. No, just Jordan. Yeah. Alright.” She looked up to me. “He says you have five minutes.”

“Thank you.” With that, I virtually sprinted down the hall, mindful of my halberd. I was licensed to carry them almost anywhere, but most people didn’t bother with a license. The weird nature of New Brockton strikes again. I peeked my head into his office, smiling a little. “Mr. Munteanu?”

The man’s skin was darker than mine, far darker, and I’d never seen someone with that depth of skin color rock a dark suit quite that well before. “Jordan. I’m not supposed to see you until tomorrow. We haven’t received the report from your employers yet.”

I frowned a little, stepping inside. “No, sir. It isn’t about that.” Oh, God. This had been so much easier in my head. Now that I was here, though, panic was gripping my chest. I gripped my spear nervously, my heart hammering in my chest and my blood rushing in my ears. “I was hoping that I could, um, ask you for a favor?” Why did I make that sound like a question? Dang it, I was already messing this up.

His face settled into a frown. “You know I can’t pay-”

“No, no,” I said quickly, holding up one hand. “No, it’s not like that, sir. I, uh… I was wondering if you could help me meet someone in the department of city development? Someone with a direct line to Ms. Wilbourn?”

He raised a slow eyebrow.

“I’ve, uh… I’ve got an idea that I’d like to pitch, and, um… I know that it’ll take months for me to track down someone to talk to on my own. And I know that you go to all those meetings and dinners and everything, and are pretty dang awesome at networking, and so I was hoping that you could help me… Speed up the process? A little?” I felt five freaking years old.

Mr. Munteanu was silent for a long moment. Unlike me, he was very professionally dressed. Business suit, blazer unbuttoned, tasteful (if loud) tie… Professional. “You know that your contract is ending.”

“They let us know, yes. Sir.”

“And you have an idea?”

“One that might help me get further contracts in the future, yes.”

“Hm.” One of his fingers tapped on his desk as he mulled that one over. I never did understand why he kept a claw hammer on his desk all the time. “City development?”

I brightened a little. “Yes, sir. Public works, infrastructure, that sort of thing.” I took a breath. “I value our working relationship, and anything to further that relationship and offer a more long-term working environment between us and the city, especially one that would allow us to synergize our respective resources, will only benefit us both in the end.”

That got the corner of his lips to twitch up a little bit. “You’re getting verbose.”

I smiled a little. “I’m breathing again.”

“Nervous?”

“Getting this meeting is the hard part. When I get there, there’s only two outcomes: they accept, or they deny me.”

He nodded a little. Funny, people weren’t usually used to that sort of logic. “And if I say no?”

“Then I go through the arduous process of finding out what the proper channels are, going through those channels, fighting the system since I don’t have any established reputation in that area of expertise, and then finally getting my meeting. This would just be saving everybody a lot of paperwork and effort.”

Mr. Munteanu nodded again, apparently satisfied with my answer. “I might know someone who would probably see it your way as well. I’ll give her a call and let you know tomorrow.”

My face split into a wide grin. “Thank you, sir. I won’t forget this.”

He nodded once, then reached for his phone. That was enough of a dismissal for me. There was still so much to do…

------------------------------------------------------------------​

Renting an alcove at the radio hub was expensive. I’d stopped on my way there to pick up some paper and a new pen. One thing from pre-Scion life that hadn’t died out was the ballpoint pen. Funny how quickly we all had decided that we needed it.

For most communities, the radio hub was something that they were willing to splurge on. A couple of dedicated rooms for private communications. The term radio wasn’t quite accurate — it used a tower, but the gear itself was reverse engineered from tinker tech. The principle was the same as what had been used to communicate with Earth Aleph back in the day, but more manageable. It was to the point where most scientists didn’t know how exactly the gear worked, but we could mass produce and maintain the gear necessary.

The cheaper ones were solar powered and had no privacy, as there was only one unit. And they couldn’t run the encryption gear. I had the feeling that the Sons would be using that one soon, if it hadn’t been in the other gear we’d delivered.

Bigger towns, those with a surplus of power, they had hubs like these. Private rooms so you could communicate with business partners in other communities, or call home to loved ones. Each unit was equipped with point-to-point encryption that was established individually during the handshake, which was nice. The downside was that you needed to modify them to call to a community that wasn’t pre-installed. Small downside to something so reliable.

I’d already sent word to Burlington, and now I was just waiting for Chris to make the appointment. I’d still rented the room until then, taking the time to pore over my books, making frantic scribbles in my notebook. Figures, chemical strains, questions that I should ask. Everything necessary. Anybody who didn’t think that having a family member who was a Tinker was awesome needed a head check. Or a new family member.

The headphones I wore crackled to life, making a question mark jump and go through half the page. “Jordan?”

“Bro!” I was all smiles as I leaned back in my chair. “How’s it going?”

“It’s going alright.” He sounded tired, but excited. “I’m making progress on your new armor! I’ve gotten a new layer. It’s lightweight, more thin than silk but just as smooth. It’s got to have a current to it, but it’s a very, very low one, and I think I have a way to patch it into how we have your armor currently set up.

“This new layer just acts as almost a cloth when it doesn’t have juice, but when it does, it works to maintain a temperature of about seventy degrees Fahrenheit. If the temperature drops, its temperature increases. When the temperature raises, it decreases. If I put it on the bottom layer of your armor, it should help you regulate your body temperature a lot better than even clothing can.”

He was caught up in the project again. Typical Chris. Typical Tinker, from what I understood. “What about EMP?”

“Oh, that’ll mess with the temperature, sure, but not horribly. Just for a few seconds, tops, and how far depends on its strength. It has an automatic cutoff at forty for a low and ninety as a high, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

“Reactive?”

“Uh, well… Don’t go swimming in radiation, I guess. But that’s true for any metal. Fluorine, stay away from that especially. Beyond that, though, just the normal stuff. I’ll need you to test it, but it won’t be poisonous under most normal conditions.”

You had to ask questions like this of Tinkers. Their power gave them the knowledge on how to make and use things, but it was an innate knowledge. They knew all the advantages, disadvantages, and capabilities of their items, but they didn’t always think about those things. Or they might only know on a subconscious level, and not be fully aware of it. Chris’ first water filters would only let pure water through, sure. But they also had the issue of vaporizing contaminants, and we really didn’t want to breathe in possibly poisonous particles or protozoa every time we refilled our canteens. It was another trip to the drawing board for him, eventually leading to the current versions.

He hoped to be able to have enough made that he could start selling them en masse by the end of the year, but he kept getting distracted. We needed to get him some assistants.

“Um, speaking of the armor, we kinda-sorta got attacked.”

“Oh.” The excited stream-of-consciousness ended instantly, replaced by worry. “Are you okay?”

“It hurts to walk a little, but I’m fine. Sarah played it smart and didn’t take a single hit.” I paused for a moment. “Crystal wall that exploded. When the shards hit my legs from a distance, it was like he was throwing sand at me. But when I was against the wall when it blew-”

“You what?!”

I winced a little. “I was trying to disable him before he had the chance to make it blow. I… missed.” Even experts missed on occasion, right?

“Well… How bad was it?”

“It was like getting kicked by a mule that just so happened to be a Brute. Someone who took a blast without armor got messed up pretty good, enough that he’ll be in bandages for a while, but I’m still walking. Mostly. Hurts to go to the bathroom, but I’m glad I was wearing a cup, if you get what I mean.”

He chuckled a little. “Nope, and I’m sure I don’t want to.” He paused, his voice thoughtful. “The outer armor probably absorbed most of the blast. I’ll want to check it when you get home, see how well it survived. If I had to guess, I’d say that the non-Newtonian fluid’s shear couldn’t handle that cohesive of a blow. Normally, it disperses the impact over a wide radius by solidifying and then shattering at a high enough speed that you don’t really feel it, since the kinetic force is dispersed. But for, say, your revolver, it’d probably need a good six inches to absorb the impact. If you got hit over a wide enough area, it’s ability to disperse the energy would be greatly diminished.”

Which I already knew. Just like I knew that he’d adjusted the fluid dynamics over my shins, knees, elbows and knuckles so that I could still fight without a weapon. But I was letting him have his moment. “Can you adjust that?”

There was a long silence before he hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe. I’m not sure, but I can play around with it.”

“Well, it’s not a large priority.” I hesitated. “The city’s cutting the contract. Not enough gasoline.”

“Damn,” he whispered. I resisted the urge to chastise him — I was pretty sure he was younger than me. “What now? Need me to chip in?”

“No, no. I wouldn’t ask that, Bro. But, uh, the thing is, I might be able to still use your help.” I grabbed my notebook and flipped to the first page. “What do you know about hydrocarbons?”

------------------------------------------------------------------​

The Jade Pool Hotel was, naturally enough, named for the color of its indoor pool. The window looking into it so you could see underwater from the restaurant was a nice bonus for quite a few people as well. Despite the amenities, it wasn’t the greatest hotel in the city. The decor could have stood to be updated a decade ago, the wallpaper was fading fast, and the beds weren’t the most comfortable anymore. But the price was pretty good, the food decent, the closets were big enough for our gear, and the staff made it worth the stay for us.

I swung by the front desk to grab my key, and the clerk let me know that Sarah was in the restaurant. He did, however, agree to hold onto my halberd, rifle, and pack for me.

As I stepped in, I saw Sarah readily enough, sitting close enough to the pool window to get a good view. It was late, and to be honest, I was exhausted. I might very well sleep the whole night through. Even worse, after so long of keeping my weapons within arm’s reach, I felt downright naked as I crossed to her table. Two glasses of iced tea, I noticed.

“Oi.”

“So he finally returns.” She smirked a little. “Did you find some urchins to give all your coins to?”

“No.” I paused a moment. “Okay, so I played with a couple for a little bit, but that’s besides the point. Nah, all of my cash went to the call.”

She was silent for a moment, but her smile turned more curious. “How is he?”

I pointed to the more full glass, with only a couple of ice cubes in it. “Mine?” She nodded. “How long have you been waiting?”

“About an hour and a half.”

“Sorry,” I said with a wince. “As for Chris, he’s business as usual.” I smiled at the waiter as he set down a menu. “He’s busy producing new armor for us.” She raised an eyebrow. “I know, I know. Something about keeping us warm in the winter and cool in the summer. But beyond that, he’s got a new project he’s super excited about. And he’s disappointed that I couldn’t bring him some of that crystal John produced. He’d really like to study it.”

“When doesn’t he want to study something?” She snorted, rolling her eyes. “It’s either make something, study something to make something, or cook.”

“I’d rather have his cooking than here.”

“Damn straight.” She waved her hand. “You want the gyro.”

“Nah, steak.”

“No, I asked for mine well done and it wasn’t even medium.”

I winced. “Gyros and potatoes it is.” I waited a moment, studying Sarah. She had a strange combination of restlessness and lethargy to her. I understood what it was, but that was from experience. How could she look like she was about to pass out, and yet eagerly look at everything she possibly could? “You’re upset about the contract.”

“And you aren’t? Jesus fuck, Bro, I’d figured you’d be more upset than anybody.”

I sighed softly. “Nobody’s at fault. Nobody’s to blame. We knew it was coming, so why’s it hitting you so hard?”

She shot me a death glare. “Maybe I just wanted to see you get lucky again.”

My head tilted to the side as I gave her a flat look, trying not to blush. “Uh-huh.”

She sighed a bit. “Our rep’s probably going to take a hit for not realizing about John sooner. The government reps may claim not to care but-”

“We have a solid history, we’ve traveled with them for a long time, we…” I paused as the waiter returned, making my order: three gyros, a double helping of mashed potatoes with extra butter, and a garden salad. As he stepped away, I glanced back to her. “I’m low on coin. Can I pay you back tomorrow?”

“Yeah, yeah. I was planning on it anyway.” She leaned back in her chair. “Listen, our reputation is everything. Yes, we’re solid and dependable work. Yes, we can handle ourselves. And yes, every job that we’ve done for them, we’ve gotten nothing but praise in return. But if folks start to wonder if we let someone slip through because it was our last job and we were slacking-”

“They won’t. It happens. If we were the only survivors, yeah, they might think something. But they’ll be more impressed by how we handled it quickly and efficiently. Two paras within five minutes without any deaths? When one was a barrier user and the other a mover and a blaster? That’s gotta count for something.”

She said nothing for a long moment as she gazed into the pool window. “At least it gives us an excuse to look for a better paying job. I…” Her face lit up. “Look at the legs on that one.”

I looked. The guy bouncing in the water on the other side of the glass did admittedly have nice legs. But the shorts he wore were a little big, and such an ugly color combination. He was trying to draw attention to himself.

“He’s compensating for something.” I held my fingers an inch apart and mouthed the words little penis.

Sarah snorted. “Says the guy who uses a polearm.”

My eyebrows shot up, I plastered the biggest grin I could to my face and got a cheeky tone to my voice. “It’s big and I know how to use it!”

As soon as the words left my mouth, my expression dropped flat. Almost instantly, Sarah was laughing hysterically. “I can’t believe you said that to me!”

“Oh crap,” I whined. “I’m never gonna live this down, am I?”

That got her laughing even harder.

Distraction gained and cemented. Two points, Jordan.

 

[ErrantVagrant]

Soil 1.5


I sat, my feet curled up beneath my seat, my head leaned against Mom’s shoulder so that I could see out the window. I watched as the landscape tore by, an expression of wonder on my face. I’d never get used to these displays.

“I’ll never get tired of this,” I said lazily.

“Mmm. You’ve loved this line ever since you were five. You used to just watch out the window, as excited as you could be. Now, you look like you’re going to pass out.”

I flicked my eyes up at her, then back out. “Big day.”

“A very big day,” she agreed.

“Do you think she’ll be angry?” That’s the good thing about dreams. Your mind already knows the context of your words.

“Yes. She’ll be very upset. But I think she’ll get over it rather quickly.” Mom paused for a moment, reaching out to take my hand. I wished her skin was as dark as mine, but I must have gotten the lightness from somewhere. “But I’m very proud of you. You took excellent initiative, and are stepping out of your comfort zone like that.”

“Yeah, and I’m gonna look the idiot if I mess this up.” I sighed softly. “It was easier when I was all excited, running and scrambling. The wait is just making things worse.”

“Such is life,” she said, stroking my hair.

We rode in silence, me just staring out the window. I couldn’t just sit by, but here? Like this? I could at least relax in motion. It was strangely comfortable like this.

“Chicago sure was beautiful.”

Mom chuckled softly. “More than you’ll ever know.”

------------------------------------------------------------------​

I slept in as late as I dared. A good shower with real hot water, and then while Sarah was using it, I went ahead and gave myself a good shave. Some day, I’d have to invest in a proper razor. Until then, I kept my knife plenty sharp enough for the job. Today wasn’t an armor day. We’d hit the cheap storage locker we’d picked up years ago before bed, and before Sarah got up I’d done a load, using the coins she’d left me to run it through the dryer. Civilian clothes for the both of us. Denim jeans and button down shirts, combat boots and blades.

In recent years, the image of a professional mercenary had changed. I was told that once upon a time, mercenaries were expected to show up in a full business suit and be well-dressed. That showed professionalism and a military background, which made you more desirable. That made sense, in my mind. The closest that civilians came to a military dress uniform was a proper business suit. If a person could wear a suit well, they had to have some degree of discipline.

You still got a few who wore that, but these days there was a compromise. The suit itself went to the wayside. Good dress shirts were preferable, but the tie was out, the blazer wasn’t mandatory, and the dress slacks could go. Instead, you had to show that you were willing to work. Some people wore fatigues, but those weren’t exactly impressive to employers. Jeans that looked nice but were obviously broken in were best, and your boots should be the kind that you wore to work, only cleaned up nice.

For Sarah and I, we’d found that wearing our knives was also a bonus. Here in New Brockton, not everybody owned a good knife. In other communities, ones that didn’t necessarily have electricity, indoor plumbing, or even running water, knives were a way of life. A person could live or die on the road just on the virtue of if they had a knife or not.

Before we officially became mercenaries, we dropped by home and talked to some of the mercs stationed there. I’d thought that I’d made a good choice in my knife — it was solid, the pommel and blade were one piece, the inside had been machined out so that I could store basic survival gear inside. They’d quickly explained how even if the knife was properly made, survival knives carried a stigma of being poorly made, likely to break, and packed with useless supplies. One of them explained through a thick stutter that if I wanted to show equal levels of preparedness, I should carry a multitool in addition to a more standard blade.

I’d followed that advice ever since. And he’d been right on more counts than just that; the multitool had come in more handy than that other knife ever would have, and not just for making ourselves look presentable.

The focus on our appearance was purely a formality at this point, and we both knew it. Mr. Munteanu was our agent in the city, a government employee assigned to work with us, handle contract disputes, and do basic government-contracted job hunting for us. It didn’t mean he was on our side, he had the city’s best interests in mind, and we could seek out a professional negotiator if we needed, but they were expensive enough that it wasn’t really worth it in the end. However, three years of working with us, negotiating with us, had gotten us familiar with each other.

He appreciated our efforts as welcome but unnecessary, and we appreciated the fact that if he was jerking us around, he was doing a very exceptional job at hiding it.

“We’re here to see Mr. Munteanu,” Sarah said, her shoulders squared back.

“Names?” the receptionist droned in a near-monotone.

“Sarah Abrams and Jordan, no surname. We’re here to give our statements, reports, and collect our pay for the Sons’ deliveries under Mr. Roger Hale, city contract 2281-B.”

The receptionist paused to check her computer. It was a newer model, built more for longevity than processing power or size management. After a moment, she reached over to her phone and hit the button. “Abrams and Jordan here to see you.” Gosh, her voice had a harsh nasaly tone. “Okay.” She hung up and lazily turned her eyes towards us. “He’s waiting for you.”

Sarah and I shared a glance. We always showed up at 1 or a bit after, and we always had to wait on him to get everything in order and retrieve our pay. Was he speeding us through because we had to talk to the cops about John and Beth? Or was this about our contract ending?

As we walked down the hallway, Sarah whispered to me “Bad juju?”

“Maybe,” I whispered back. There was really only one way to find out.

As we entered Munteanu’s office, he glanced up at us. “You’re later than I’d hoped,” he said sternly. Bad juju. “Close the door and have a seat, please.”

I grabbed the door, then settled in next to Sarah. Funny, now that I knew that there was an issue, his desk seemed to look massive and imposing where before it had just seemed like a normal desk. A picture of himself, a woman, a man, and two kids whose genders I couldn’t tell offhand. A small placard with his name on it. A bulky computer off to the side. A calendar, some folders, and a bunch of pens and pencils. Save for the hammer resting in a corner, it was pretty normal, but somehow at this moment, the normalcy seemed to make it even more terrifying.

“I’m going to make this fast,” he said, not bothering to look at the folders. “We’ve already received your performance review from your supervisors. They praised everyone, but especially the two of you in regards to your quick resolution of the attack and the recollection of the goods being transferred, the detainment of the attackers, and the continued performance of duties. They also included a request that you be informed by any means necessary should they gain another contract with the city. We supplied them with your contact information per request, as per your contract.

“As for the attackers, they submitted full confessions to the authorities, so there is no current need to secure your statements. I’m told that it’s being considered an open and shut case.” Well, that was one good thing, at least. “I have been informed that I should show you my gratitude for bringing them in relatively unharmed for prosecution. Relative in this case meaning a couple of cracked ribs on the female.”

I dared a glance to Sarah. We hadn’t known about that. Did she do it when she blasted Beth, or had the Sons of Bitch done that while I was away? I’d have to ask later. Mr. Munteanu was continuing anyway.

“It’s come to my attention that you’re aware of the Hale contract with the city coming to an end. I’ll save you the platitudes of it not being your fault, as I’m sure he’s already given you the full story. As you have a repeat contract with this line, with full autorenewal unless otherwise dictated and a penchant for arriving for duty early, you are being offered a severance pay. Combine this with the advisory of a bonus by Mr. Hale himself and your combat pay, and your grand total comes out to one thousand, two hundred and twenty nine dollars. Each.”

My smile didn’t budge. My eyelids didn’t so much as twitch. I’d had a long, long time to practice keeping the expression that I’d wanted. I wanted to do the math. I desperately wanted to do the math on how everything equated out to that number. I wanted to do the math as to how much that meant that I could put into savings, how whatever amount would change the time period that I had to save up for, how much I could slush, and even how much I could spend on a thank you gift for Amy and Roger. I really wanted to do the math.

But my brain had just completely shut down. I couldn’t even wrap my mind around that. That was more than we could reasonably make in over a third of the year. The muscles in my calves were clenched so tight they felt like twitching rocks, and it was everything that I could do to keep from swallowing my tongue.

Sarah took only a couple of breaths before flashing Mr. Munteanu a smile that matched mine. “That is… quite unexpected. That’s… one hefty bonus.”

Mr. Munteanu smiled sadly. “Miss Wilbourn herself added much of the funds to that bonus for sentimental reasons.” That made disturbingly good sense. 3Bs never really forget each other. “However, I do assure you that both yourselves and the Hales received the largest bonuses. The Hales for their long service in this route, and their considerations as to the customs of… the Sons of Bitch.” He said their name in a way that one would try to politely inform someone that their mother was a prostitute. “And yourselves for ensuring that the final transaction was made, no matter what.”

“We’ll be sure to send her a card in thanks,” I said, bowing my head.

He glanced up at his clock, then back to me. “Quite. Now, I’m sure that you two will want to spend your good fortune and attend-”

“Actually,” Sarah interrupted. “While we have you, I was hoping that we could discuss the upcoming contract prospects.”

Suddenly, so very suddenly, he looked somewhat tired, like he’d been hiding it all this time to no avail. He pulled a piece of paper off of his desk, looking from it back to me. “Jordan. Your lack of a surname makes it damn inconvenient to address you.” I felt my cheeks warm, and my calves tried to tighten even more as a wave of dread washed over the surface. “As I said before, I wish you would have come earlier.”

Sarah was looking between the two of us, a confused expression on her face. “What’s going on?”

“Your brother asked me to arrange a business meeting.” He looked back to me, his dark eyes sympathetic. “Melissa Kallenburger, with public works.” He held the paper out. “Directions. If I could have, I would have scheduled it for tomorrow, but she was insistent that it be today. In… twenty minutes. Give or take.”

I snatched the paper out of his hand, looking it over. The cold dread had been replaced by dread, excitement, and anxiety. I spoke quickly without looking up. “Sarah, stay here and do your thing.” I forced my legs to unclench. “If this doesn’t pan out, I need a backup plan. Mr. Munteanu, thank you.” I looked back up. “I owe you one.” With that, I was on my feet and heading for the door.

I made it about one and a half steps before pain lanced its way up my leg and I fell to the ground with a yelp. I didn’t need this now. I didn’t need this at all, but especially not now. Just my luck. Just my fucking luck. I’d already messed all this up, and I hadn’t even started anything yet.

Almost immediately, I felt my sister’s hands on me, pulling me to my feet. “Jordan? I-”

“Stay,” I growled, pulling myself out of her grip. I’d been pushing myself too hard, not exercising my knee right, and tensing up like that had been the final straw. “Need a backup plan.” I got my leg under me and tested it. I’d be able to walk, but running would just put my knee out again.

We locked eyes for a moment. Concern filled hers. She knew how much this hurt. Heck, she’d been there when I’d gotten the injury. I tried to will her to believe, for one moment, just one, that I knew what I was doing. I wasn’t asking much. Just for her to do the negotiation thing while I did something incredibly stupid that wasn’t going to work anyway.

“Okay,” she said softly. “But we’re going to talk when this is over.”

“Course,” I managed. The moment her hands let go, I was in motion again. Not the fastest motion in the world, mind you. If I put too much pressure on my knee, chances are I was going to end up on the ground again.

I was nice enough to close the door behind me before hobbling down the hall and out the building. The stairs were tricky, but I made them well enough with the handrail. The paper told me it was only a few blocks away. The upside to cities being smaller than they had been before Scion was that government buildings were closer together. Unfortunately, with my knee, I still might not make it.

I held up my hands real quick, thumbs out, to orient myself. Left, right. I could remember my cardinal directions easily; I could just feel inside which way was North. But I’d never quite gotten the hang of left and right for some reason. I hoped I never had to serve on a ship — it might take me a while to learn which was port and which was starboard.

The day, at least, was lovely. Not that I could appreciate how pretty it was while trying to hobble at a breakneck speed without falling over, but I could at least appreciate the fact that it wasn’t swealteringly hot outside. Plenty of sun to see my way, but also plenty of glare off the windows. But it wasn’t raining, and that was good enough for me.

People moved out of my way as I hurried down the street. A small favor. I had no idea how much time was passing. Some people could tell minutes by the sun, but I was never any good at that. With a sexton, I could navigate at night, I could make a shelter in the woods without the slightest difficulty, but tell you that it was anything beyond morning, noon, and evening? No chance.

A cultist, a rare sight here in New Brockton, moved to help me. I politely waved him off and continued my fast hobble.

I was getting angry. Because I decided to take it slow, because I’d slept in, because I’d let Sarah sleep in, now I was screwed. Because of one stupid accident, one stupid moment when I’d been a kid where my body hadn’t done what I’d wanted it to all those years ago, now I was hobbling like an infirm idiot who couldn’t even…

I took a deep breath, or as deep as I could with how my heart was hammering. I needed to calm down. I needed to keep it cool, ice in my blood. I focused on smiling even as I hurried. I was guessing that the building that I was looking for was ahead — a large, three story building that looked prefab. It had to be an older building, then. One of the few that had survived mostly unscathed. Good. One thing at a time.

I stepped in through the doors, forcing myself to slow down so that I could walk mostly normally. Each step with my right leg still protested, but now I could at least fake it. I was good at that. I approached the desk, smiling politely. “Hi, I’m here to see… Melissa Kallenburger?”

The woman barely even glanced up at me. “Second floor, to your left.”

Stairs. Crap.

“Thank you,” I said, before turning and heading for them. One step at a time, mindful of my leg, using the handrail to help me up. Counting the seconds silently in my head to help keep the anger down. The last thing that I needed to do was start cursing to myself in here.

Another receptionist. Secretary, I reminded myself. But the name next to the door was right. I ran a hand through my hair before stepping in. “Hi, my name is Jordan and I’m here to see Melissa Kallenburger.”

The young man smiled a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “One moment, sir.”

I remained standing, folding my hands behind my back as he stood to enter the second door. The furniture here was made after Scion. You could tell — older furniture was made with particle board that was done up to look like it was solid wood. The newer stuff? Solid wood, good and sturdy. His desk looked like it could stand up to a shotgun once or twice, unless it was a solid slug.

“Miss Kallenburger will see you now,” he said, stepping back into the small waiting room.

“Thank you.” I kept a pleasant smile on my face as I walked through the door, forcing myself to ignore my leg. Force the pain down, forget it was even there. It didn’t work as well as I’d hoped — usually I could use pain as a way to drive more energy out of my body — but at least I was walking mostly right.

This room was far more lavish than Mr. Munteanu’s. The curtains on the window were a light blue, the paint on the walls wasn’t fading, and potted plants occupied every corner that they could. Only one plant sat on the desk, and that was off to one corner. The hardwood floor was quite nice; I was starting to wonder if the building was actually prefab, or if it had just been in the initial stages of being built when Scion attacked.

Melissa, however, was smiling at me. The younger side of middle-aged, gauging by the wrinkles in the corners of her eyes and between her brows, with some light freckling under the eyes and blonde hair. Her suit was well-fitted to her. I wouldn’t call her overly pretty, but she wore her age well, and knew how to apply her makeup. She crossed the smallish office to shake my hand. “Mr. Jordan, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“The pleasure’s all mine,” I said, giving it a firm shake. Really, I wasn’t scared. So long as I put my best foot forward, then I had nothing to fear. The answer would be a simple yes or no, depending on others. I just had to inform her. “And please, just Jordan. I don’t claim a family name.”

He eyebrows rose slightly as she gestured to the chair. “That’s unusual.”

“For this neck of the woods it is.” I smiled a little as I settled down. “Out west, it’s becoming increasingly common. People feel a disconnection to the old world and naming conventions. There’s a lot of youths who are choosing to rename themselves; you wouldn’t believe how many people I’ve met named Kilo, for example. I didn’t go that route myself.

“There’s also an ongoing trend in some areas to earn one’s surname, a right of passage if you will. And this whole mercenary business is more of a means to an end for me. Once I reach the goals I’ve set out for myself, I’ll choose my own surname.” Not that I let myself actively think about them; half the time, I didn’t even have passive thoughts in that regard. No sense letting yourself get worked up prematurely.

She nodded a little, impressed. “Well, Jordan, when Quincy called, I have to admit that you weren’t what I was expecting. We get a few mercenaries every year who come to us with some grand plan on how to improve our defenses, plans that are unfeasible for one reason or another, but they’re always older, more gruff, and don’t have as eager of a smile. I’ll admit that I only agreed to meet with you today because there was a meeting that I desperately wanted to get out of.”

“Well, if it serves both of us, then I’m glad I could be of some help.” I rested my palms down against the arms of the chair, sitting as straight as I could. It was surprisingly comfortable for a public servant’s office.

“To business, then.” She settled back in her chair, folding her hands on her desk. “What did you wish to see me about?”

I took a deep breath. All or nothing.

“My sister and I were serving as guards for the wagon that delivers gasoline to the Sons of Bitch. However, we have been informed that the contract for deliveries is ending because the offshore oil platform had run dry.”

She nodded, her smile fading. “I’m familiar. Our own reserves are running low, and if a new source isn’t found soon, it could start cause problems for us by next winter. I’m sorry to hear that your contract ended.”

A year and a half? I’d kind of hoped that they’d done better rationing than that, but… This was the government. Wait, or did she mean this upcoming winter? That made more sense, considering how long gas tended to remain good.

“It’s alright,” I said with a reassuring smile. “I’m more worried about the Sons and New Brockton itself. However, I’d like it if you’d hear me out for a moment.” She nodded, relaxing a little. Good. Good. This was going superb so far. I hoped I could keep it up.

“Alright, so. Crude oil, the stuff that gets made into gasoline, is basically hydrocarbons. These hydrocarbons were made in prehistory by organic material falling to the ocean beds, getting covered up, and then subjected to the holy trinity of time, heat, and pressure.”

“Stuff like dinosaurs,” she said with a nod.

That got me to wince a little. “A bit, yes, but let’s be perfectly honest here. Most of that organic material was either plankton or plants. The Earth was once covered in massive rain forests, and there was far more plankton and algae than there is even here in Gimmel. Which is precisely how the dinosaurs were able to get so big; there was a lot more oxygen in the atmosphere back then.

“Anyway, as more layers get put on this decomposing organic material, it starts to get warmer. That heat and pressure does the same thing that it does to graphite; it alters the structure. Sometimes it produces coal, sometimes it produces crude oil. But even crude oil isn’t the same; its can be different colors or quality just because of where it’s gained at.”

“Because it there was different material being turned into this stuff?”

I smiled, nodding. “Precisely. Different things produce different types of crude, but most of it can be refined into gasoline. Which is handy, since there was so much of the stuff.”

“Until it started to run dry.”

“Well, yes, but why does it have to stop there? I mean, we know how it was created, so why have we been going about it the hard way?”

Miss Kalenburger frowned a little. “If I get what you’re saying, you most likely want to find a Tinker to create crude oil for us out of plants.”

My smile grew larger. “Oh, no. No. Not at all. I have a Tinker who would be able to turn your waste and sewage into crude oil and pure water.”

She paused a moment before leaning forward, a sad smile on her face. “Jordan. I appreciate the effort that you’re going through with this, but we’re trying to move away from relying heavily on Tinker tech. As it stands, we’re paying a small fortune to supply ourselves with reliable energy due to Tinkers charging exorbitant fees to repair our generators. If, and when, the Tinkers who built them die, we’ll have to hope that Dragon can study the generators enough to understand them and write maintenance manuals for us before they shut down. It’s a lose-lose prospectus to have to turn to Tinkers every time we have a problem.”

“Oh, I agree completely.” I smiled eagerly, leaning forward. “Which is why you’d construct the devices and maintain them without requiring a Tinker.”

She looked at me like I’d grown a second head for a moment before shifting in her chair. “Alright, you have my interest.”

“Are you familiar with metamaterials?”

“No.”

“Metamaterials are basically materials whose behaviors are not dictated by their chemical composition but instead by their construction. Much like how some leaves will repel water and other leaves will get wet despite having basically the same chemical structures. The Tinker that my sister and I have access to specializes in the construction of these materials.”

“What sorts of things does he make?”

I blinked for a moment, trying to get my mind to shift gears. “Well, plenty of things. Um. Our armor is the best fabric armor that you can make, in my humble opinion. It’s comparable to scale mail at minimum, though I’d estimate it’s far better than that. He can also make materials that, when added to a turbine, can create enormous amounts of power.”

That got her to perk up again. “Really?”

Crap. I remembered hearing a rumor that a while back, they’d scavenged a wind turbine from Earth Bet and were working to restore it. I quickly held up my hand. “Don’t get so excited. While, yes, they’re incredibly useful, and two small turbines power the entire town that he lives in with some degree of surplus, there are downsides to it. It’s a room-temperature superconductor with a downside that the higher the mass, the more likely it is to behave as a Bose-Einstein condensate when temperatures drop below freezing.” She gave me a blank look. “Those tend to explode violently.”

“Ah.”

“Anyway.” I had to push on, to keep her on track. “Once the material is made, it can be worked in a variety of ways depending on its nature. He would love to get his hands on someone with metallurgy, smithing, engineering, and sewing experience to act as an assistant, but that’s a tall order.

“But this also works to your advantage. He would be producing a cloth that could produce hydrocarbons similar to crude oil in certain circumstances. Depending on the size of the facilities, it would probably only take an hour or less, too. It would be up to the city to create and maintain a facility to utilize these materials.”

I took a deep breath. “Now, I know that you have connections to Miss Wilbourn. If she were to build these facilities, or to push the city council to build them, then she would have a temporary monopoly on the crude oil trade. As well, the organic matter necessary could be most easily gained from taking over the sewage systems for the city. As well, with enough research and effort, he could make more, similar materials to draw even more from the waste. If you’re worried about his track record, he’s already proven himself able to create water filters that only allow pure water to pass through. Meanwhile, she could stand to make a tremendous profit from this.”

Melissa was silent in thought for a long moment. Now my gut started to twist and turn, anxiety making my chest tighten. When she spoke again, it was with a suspicious tone. “What about if this fabric tears or loses efficiency?”

I spread my hands. “Then you buy more. It wouldn’t be any different than importing anything else into the city. He would have a surplus made in advance, ready to sell to you if you so needed it.”

“And what’s to keep you from selling this material to every other city?”

“Size.” I tilted my head, grinning. “New Brockton has a population that far exceeds its ability to feed on its own. Even if it didn’t, its organic waste far outperforms what would even be feasible for fertilizers. Most communities rely heavily on farming these days, both for themselves and export, with much of their waste being put to that very effort as either manure or compost. There’s only a handful of places with the population base to make this cost effective without harming their overall economy.

“As the facilities would require electricity to operate, this further limits the locations necessary.” Chis was, like, 90% certain that the fabric would need electricity. He wouldn’t know for sure until he had all the plans done and was building it. The downside to a Tinker’s powers.

“Besides, there’s two other things that have to be considered. First, while this can produce great amounts of crude oil, it does have the downside that it wouldn’t be enough for global or even continental distribution. Humanity still needs to tap into more wells to continue to produce enough to meet the demands. Second, we are willing to agree to a contract over this that would forbid us from selling to potential competitors.”

She nodded slowly, her eyes flicking a little as she thought. “Alright. I can bring it up to her. But, before she invests heavily in this sort of thing, she’d need to see a demonstration.”

I made a show of wincing. “There’s the rub. There’s always a catch. The materials that he’d need to use to make this aren’t exactly common anymore. He’d either have to use what he has to try and make more, sacrificing other projects in the process and adding a significant wait time to deliver the product and running the risk of having wasted so much for a contract that never came, or he could make the demonstration, and then have to seek out more of these substances before he could fill the final order.”

That made her frown. “I… She’s not going to like that, but it makes sense. If I can ask, what do you personally hope to get out of this?”

I smiled a little. “I get to help two communities out. Oh, and, my sister and I will probably get a cut.”

“Okay.” She tapped her fingernail on the desk thoughtfully. “I can’t promise anything, but I’ll talk to her. May I ask where you’re staying?”

“The Jade Pool Hotel.”

She nodded, taking a moment to jot it down. “And your sister’s name, in case they have some confusion over me just asking for Jordan?”

“Sarah Abrams.”

“Do you have the materials that your Tinker would need?”

“No, Miss Kallenburger.” I felt myself blush a little. “Well, not immediately. Soon, perhaps. I… wasn’t expecting to meet with you so soon and didn’t have time to retrieve them.”

“That’s alright. I’ll talk to her in a few hours, after she gets done with what she’s doing, and then I’ll contact you for a meeting.” She pointed at me. “And bring that list next time.”

I nodded once. “Will do.”

That made her smile. She extended her hand, her voice rich and happy. “It’s a pleasure doing business with you, Jordan. I look forward to our next meeting.”

------------------------------------------------------------------​

“You fucking did what?!”

I winced, pressing my back harder against the wall. I was glad that it was still the afternoon and nobody would be sleeping in the rooms next to ours. “I… thought it wasn’t that big of a deal. It was just a pitch?” I smiled nervously at her. “I mean, I really didn’t expect anyone to even listen to me, let alone go to the top with it.”

Sarah ran her hands through her short hair. “Jordan, honey, I love you very much. But one of these days, you have to learn to prepare yourself both to fail and succeed.” She sighed and sat on the corner of her bed, elbows on her knees. “Alright, listen. Did you mention numbers. Any numbers at all?”

I shook my head quickly. “None. I just gave the pitch, that’s it. Honest, I swear.”

“Alright.” She frowned, staring off into the distance. “So long as you didn’t start making promises like giving it away for free, we can salvage this.” Her head bobbed a little. “Yeah. We can work with this. But I need you to tell me everything about what you and Chris are doing. Every little detail.”

 

[Olive Birdy]

My name is Olive Birdy, and I endorse this story.

...

 

[ErrantVagrant]

Interlude 1.A


Quincy watched the woman as the door closed, spending a moment just staring at it. Woman. When he’d been a child, a woman was someone who reached her 30s. Younger than that, and they were either still a child or a young adult. It was a sad state of affairs when a twenty-year-old had the maturity and responsibilities of someone in their forties.

Finally, Sarah turned around to look at him. “What was all that about?”

Quincy shrugged a little. “Yesterday he came into my office, begging for the chance to meet with someone who had access to Miss Wilbourn.”

“Tattletale?” She was a slightly stocky woman, but Quincy knew better than to let her get her too upset. He knew she was triggered. Some people wondered why he bordered on laconic when dealing with mercenaries. Honestly? It was harder to lash out at someone who could empathize without emotion, who maintained pitches and volumes that didn’t inspire an emotional response.

“I don’t know what about, but he was pleading with me. I know the education level the two of you have, so I decided that if the you had an idea, it might be best to go with it. Besides, I handle contracts for the city, I don’t handle them for her.” He paused a moment, tilting his head just a measured hair and adding a hint of question to his tone. “I had rather thought that he was operating for both of you.”

She took in a slow breath, smoothed out her blouse, then crossed back to her seat. “Well, thank you for helping him, though I do wish that you would have allowed him to pick up his pay before issuing him out.”

Quincy cursed inwardly. That… wasn’t very smart on his part, admittedly. He should have waited long enough for that, but he’d been too focused on the time. He leaped mentally, finding a solution that would allow him to save face in front of the young mercenary. “Mrs. Kallenburger is a busy woman who skipped a meeting in order to meet with your brother. I would rather him not ruin whatever he was trying to do by having him wait on me. However, the two of you signed the necessary paperwork to have yourselves classified as a team. This puts the both of you within the realm of a private military contractor group. As such, you may sign for, and collect, his pay for him.”

He pulled out the necessary papers, setting them on the desk in front of her along with a pen. She didn’t look completely satisfied by his answer, but she did nod and pick up the pen, going over everything. Most mercenaries just signed willy-nilly, but these two had always taken the time to read all the fine print and ask questions when they weren’t completely sure about something. He liked that about them. To be fair, however, it was simply the formalities of what he’d discussed earlier, going more in-depth into how their current escort contract was at an end, how their auto-renewal of said contract would be ended, and an itemized list of where each bonus was coming from.

While she was doing that, Quincy pushed his chair back and bent down to access his safe. He gave the key on top several winds before he began to work the lock. You never knew who would have enhanced hearing or any other number of powers that would make picking a lock easier. That’s why a music box had been installed inside the safes. Only the pay that an agent would give their mercenaries would be deposited into their safes on a given day, and any that wasn’t given out would be recorded and returned at the end of the day.

He only gave a casual glance before snagging the two rings of coins from the safe and closing it again. He made sure to familiarize himself with every client’s pay when he received it, memorizing where it was placed. Small habits made things that much easier and allowed him to finish his job just a little bit faster. It wasn’t that he was a stickler for efficiency, but if his clients were in a rush, then he’d be able to help them that much easier.

While she was still reading, he got out his own ledger, marking down the serial number on the tag each ring of coins had on it, noting who was receiving it. He’d fill out the time after she signed both her contracts and the ledger. After that was the wait.

It was Wednesday, which meant that Kevin would be working tonight. That was fine. It meant that he could take Ryo and the kids out to dinner without him. Some time alone with the three of them. It wasn’t that he didn’t love Kevin; he was pretty sure that he loved him as much as he loved Ryo. But Kevin wasn’t fond of Mongolian grill, and she loved every chance she got to go to the restaurant. Tomoe and Dave loved watching them cook, too.

If someone had told him that polyamorous relationships were going to be this tricky to manage, he wouldn’t…

No, that wasn’t true. He would have. He was pretty sure it was how he was hardwired, just like his sexuality. It wasn’t a lifestyle choice or a philosophy in his mind. He simply couldn’t imagine settling down with one person without feeling like something was missing, something only the other gender could provide. Though, he also knew that it wasn’t the same for everybody. He was the outlier in society, not them.

For Kevin, it was a choice. Which was where it got tricky at times.

Sarah finally signed the two papers, then signed both lines on the ledger before she finally took the coins, frowning. After a moment’s hesitation, he pulled her purse out of her pocket. It was a strange one, with a small padlock and chains. She worked the lock and pulled the pouch open, making the chains retract. Ah, chain drawstrings. That actually made a lot of sense. He watched as she worked the rings of coins into the pouch and carefully set the chains around her belt so that the pouch was tight against it before using the padlock to make sure that it didn’t go anywhere.

“What kind of person is she?”

Quincy hadn’t expected that to come out of the blue. He was about to ask who she was referring to when he realized that she was thinking about her brother. He offered her a small smile, one that barely moved his lips, the most that mercenaries usually got out of him.

“Missy is smart enough to know when to pursue something, and when to leave it behind. She knows what meetings she needs to attend, even if her presence isn’t requested, and which ones to skip out on. She’s resourceful, too. However, she’s also judgmental and a gossip hound, and completely self-centered. I’m of the opinion that she barely cares about her husband and children, except for the prestige they provide her. If your brother has something smart up his sleeve, then I think that she’ll pursue it. If what he’s bringing to the table can’t improve her job or her standing with Miss Wilbourn, he’ll be turned away politely, but you’ll have to work twice as hard to get anything out of her in the future. And your brother probably won’t even realize he’s offended her.”

The woman nodded slowly, her face unreadable. “Then he’s likely going to pull it off. Still, he did request backup plans.” She looked him in the eye. “What do we have for future prospects?”

Such confidence in her brother. The way that they traded the mantle of responsibility so easily. The two did make a good team. Quincy put the papers in their respective folders before turning to the stack, opening the one on top.

“First off, the two of you prefer long term work with breaks of at least three weeks, and where the two of you are allowed to work as a team. My first option is a guard on the other side of the portal to Bet. The pay is three hundred and fifty a month for each of you for patrolling the perimeter. Housing, meals, and medical would be provided. The contract is through the city proper, with the two of you reporting directly to members of the New Brockton Police Force. The work is one month on duty, seven days a week, one month off. Both of you meet the necessary qualifications for the job. The contract will open in two months, and you would be required to start in four. The contract has a minimum service of two years before-”

“Pass,” she interrupted. He looked up at her. “We’re hoping to be done with mercenary work within a year. We’ll pass on that one.”

“Hm.” He closed the folder and set it aside. It wasn’t the answer he was hoping for; the city wanted him to have people lined up in advance, and this was better than what the average mercenary would get. It seemed right up their alley — good work, good pay, time off to spend with their family. So much for him making his bonus early this year.

“I’ll go ahead and weed out the ones with a service requirement of more than a year, then.” That was over half of them. He made a show of sorting through them, setting the folders that were no good anymore to the side. It was partially annoyance, partially to let her see what she was giving up.

“Go ahead and weed out anything that pays less than three hundred a month, too.”

That would remove another seven. He paused for a moment before looking up at her. “We’re going to be here for some time, aren’t we?”

Susan smiled thinly. “Sorry.”

With an inward sigh, he reached for the next best upcoming offer.

------------------------------------------------------------------​

“Phil.”

“Quincy. Ledger?”

He hated Phil. He hated the brutish, annoying way that he looked down at him for working behind a desk. He hated the way that the asshole thought of himself as superior simply because he was triggered and Quincy wasn’t. He hated the way the man’s mouth moved as he read the ledger. He hated the way that Phil didn’t just check to make sure that everything was right, but had to doublecheck, as if Quincy was incompetent. But most of all, he hated that it was goddamn nepotism that got Phil his job.

While Phil was looking over the ledger, Quincy went ahead and opened the safe. All the rings were on their pegs, nice and neat, the wax seals still on them. A small piece of insurance to make sure that the Mercenary Affairs Agents weren’t nabbing a bit off the top. With great care, he arranged each ring by its placement on the ledger so that Phil could check them as quickly as possible.

Stealing was a stupid endeavor anyway. There were no quotas here — the shortages were more often in work that was desirable itself than people seeking it. In the end, stealing from the pay was more dangerous to himself than it was to his job. He had no desire to piss off people who lived by the sword, and who might decide to turn that sword on him if they suspected he was screwing him. Besides, he actually liked a majority of the people who came into his office. If they were legitimate mercenaries, they tended to work hard for their pay, knowing full and well that one mistake on their part could result in their deaths.

There was something pure about that. Ugly, terrible, despicable, but pure. He remembered the military from when he was a child, brave soldiers ready to put their lives on the line against capes if need be, without the fancy special training that the PRT got. He could understand the romance there.

Capes… It had been a long, long time since he’d even thought the word. Maybe a decade, perhaps more. The Wardens had quietly tried to put that word to rest, removing both the connotations of good guys and bad guys. The polite term was now “triggered.” He regretted that his kids would never know what a cape had been. Even when the Protectorate had been falling apart, the heroes back then had a certain quality about them that you didn’t see anymore. A larger than life nature. The excitement that a person felt just by seeing one.

The Wardens had more numbers than the Protectorate had, seemed to have less corruption, but it had lost something. Perhaps it was the number of people triggering, but the Wardens just seemed more normal somehow. Or maybe it was just the fact that he was an adult, and understood the responsibilities that they held.

Not that he looked at the past completely fondly. The hammer he had hidden away on his desk reminded him of that. Things were harder now, but they were also easier. The weight of a person’s word had meaning again, and nothing showed that better than his job. The Dragon’s Teeth and the local police force were vital to the community, and especially this new world. Even still, people lived and died by the skills of these mercenaries, by their ability to keep their word. Liars weren’t well received here, and Quincy had no qualms about teaching people just how badly they’d fucked up with a harsh word and a dismissal. Those who maintained their reputations, however, were worth their weight in gold.

The beeping of his phone broke him from his nostalgia. He plucked up the receiver. “Yes?”

“There’s a phone call for you on line four,” Janine droned. “Melissa Kallenburger. Use it as an excuse to get the putz out of your office.”

“Thank you,” Quincy said, a genuinely warm tone to his voice.

“Whatever.” The line went dead. Janine was a hard person to like, but he couldn’t imagine the office without her. If only she had more professionalism…

He turned his eyes up to Phil. “Please hurry. I need to take this call.”

Phil looked at him for a long moment, as if to drive the point that Quincy had no control over him. Fine. He wanted to play like that? Quincy could play hardball. “It’s an associate of Miss Wilbourn’s. I suggest that you hurry.”

There was a brief moment as Phil tried to decide if he was lying or not before he started putting the coin rings into the lockbox. “I didn’t know you were so well-connected.”

“I know most of the mercenaries Miss Wilbourn employs,” he said flatly. To underscore it, he quickly added “I direct some of them to her.”

It wasn’t exactly the truth, but it wasn’t technically a lie either. He didn’t have any real contact with Tattletale that he knew of. He didn’t even know what she looked like offhand. But he wrote detailed reports about the mercenaries that he dealt with, mostly as a way of being able to fit them with jobs more easily. On slow days, when he had the ability, he’d personally get in contact with their supervisors for more information than what their reports gave. His notes included far more than just skills; their behavior, professionalism, appearance, visible scars… Everything had some sort of metric that could be used.

Soon after he’d started storing this information on his computer, he’d gotten a raise. He’d simply thought that his efficiency here at work, and the way he accepted and dealt with the responsibility that his job forced upon him, had earned the notice of his superiors. It wasn’t until he found out that some of his mercenaries were being headhunted that he realized what was actually going on. The Christmas cards that started arriving from her didn’t hurt matters, either.

He didn’t mind, though. His coworkers thought he went a little overboard, but it was nice that someone at least recognized the effort he put into his job. He might not ever meet Miss Wilbourn, but she appreciated him on some level. Enough to send a card, too. He might not get paid as much as if he worked for her directly, but this was where she needed him. That came with more than an ounce of pride.

Phil, thankfully, took the hint and moved faster. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Quincy.” With one last glance, Phil made his way out.

“Good day.” Asshole.

Quincy closed the door before moving back to his desk, picking up the phone and hitting the button. “Munteanu.”

“Quincy.” Missy’s voice was cheerful as always. He was fairly sure she faked it all the time. “Where did you find that young man?”

That made his eyebrows raise, even as he moved to put folders away. “Jordan? He’s a good merc. Bright and capable. Young, but he wouldn’t have asked to meet with you if he didn’t have good reason. It went well, I take it?”

She laughed a little. “He’s offering us a way to make our own crude oil.” That was… surprising. He couldn’t help but notice that she said oil and not gas. Interesting. “But he’s also an idiot. He knows the talk, knows the walk, but I’m pretty sure that he’s only interested in getting his old contract back. If I understand what he said right, the same basic technology could be used for water purification and who knows what else. He walked in here without even realizing what he was offering me.”

That… did sound like the boy, sadly. “I wouldn’t be so happy. His sister will most likely be at your next meeting. She’s the negotiator of the two, and she’s no slouch. She probably already knows what she wants as far as terms and conditions are. It doesn’t matter if you offer her the moon, if she doesn’t like where you’re putting the moon, she’ll walk away without hesitation.”

“Hm.” He heard a faint tapping at the other end of the line. “Why didn’t she come with him, then?”

“Because he was making a pitch.” He had no problems lying to Missy. “Who do you send to make a pitch? The one who can crunch cold, hard numbers and make you sweat? Or do you send the one who’s passionate and can get your mouth watering? No, they planned this down to the last detail. With those two, you could have the final negotiations at a burlesque show and they wouldn’t bat an eye, rolling with the punches.”

“Is it true what they say about the armor?”

Ah, the brother was how they were going to make the oil. Good on them, putting their non-combat skills to use and involving their family. A noble cause. Still, he’d have to tread carefully. Missy was trying to mine him for information.

“There have been several offers for them to provide sets for interested parties, but so far they haven’t accepted. They’re still in the testing and refinement stages, trying to add new aspects to it while stripping out everything that isn’t necessary. Every six months or so, they show up in new iterations of it. If possible, I’d like to introduce them to someone who has contact with Dragon and Defiant or that Takada fellow so that their armor can be integrated into the Dragon’s Teeth suits. It would drastically close gap between the Teeth and parahumans.”

“Oh, wow.” Quincy hated to admit it, but he hoped that Missy used that same tone with Sarah. He could see the young woman walking away and telling her to send someone else the next time. He’d pay good money to see that. “So you really think they can provide it?”

He jiggled his computer’s mouse, waiting for it to exit sleep mode. So very slow. “They aren’t con men. If anything, they consistently downplay their abilities. So if they walked in here tomorrow and told me that they had a plan to assassinate the Teacher, I’d lead the way to Miss Wilbourn’s and fight to get them an audience. You’re damn lucky that I sent them to you instead of contacting her myself.”

“Right, right. Well, thank you for that, Quincy. Will I see you at the next meeting?”

“Of course.” Unless she skipped out again.

“Excellent. Then I’m going to have to let you go. I’m going to see Tattletale in a half an hour and I have to do some things before then. Cha!”

“Bye.”

As soon as he heard her phone click, he hung up perhaps a bit harder than he wanted to. Quickly, he opened the email program and entered in Wilbourn’s email. The computers weren’t as good as the ones he’d had when he was a kid; they were built more with 1980s specs, built for durability and longevity than processing power.

Miss Wilbourn,

It has come to my attention that Melissa Kallenburger will be coming to you with a proposal that was pitched to her by a mercenary. Jordan (ID# 101131, see the first attached document) has offered her a possible way to create crude oil. His sister (Sarah Abrams, ID# 101130, see the second attached document) will most likely be present during all following meetings.

I urge caution in allowing Mrs. Kallenburger to deal with these two. Ms. Abrams will most likely detect her false sincerity and will be highly offended. Ms. Abrams is the type that knows when someone is playing her, and is willing to burn bridges with those people. I warn you about this because I do not wish to see what they are bringing to the table be discarded due to personality conflicts.

The source of this is their brother, a tinker who seems to specialize in exotic materials of some sort. I know that we’re avoiding reliance on the technologies of tinkers, however his systems seem to be free from need of parahuman maintenance. Please see my notes in their files about this brother for more information.

He paused for a moment, flexing his fingers. He went back through and capitalized the use of Tinker, edited a few sentences, and added a couple to make it more professional. He could have left it at that, but there was a part of him that demanded… Fuck it, he only lived once.

I’d also like to state that she will most likely claim that she was the one to discover this pair in order to improve her standing with you. While I’m sure that your powers will tell you that this isn’t the truth, I know that thinkers can experience undue stress from using their powers too much and would prefer to avoid that if necessary. I directed them towards her.

I don’t want credit or any preferential treatment for this, but simply wish to provide you with the best information possible. Should anything be muddied due to her spinning the story to her favor, again, it could lead to possible dismissal of their offer. Should this be a waste of your time, I claim full responsibility. I was not made aware of the full details of their offer until Mrs. Kallenburger called me, however I stand by my decision. Any opportunity that I have to improve our city is a valuable excursion to me.

Sincerely,

Quincy Munteanu

He nodded once before hitting send, not waiting for cold feet to set in. Damnit, they were his mercenaries. His. He was not going to let some prissy bitch screw them over just for her own blind ambition.

------------------------------------------------------------------​

Quincy sighed softly as he set down the figure he’d been working on. The small room was full of them, some of them painted, some of them not. His father had gotten him into wargaming as a kid, before they’d evacuated to Earth Gimmel. There weren’t a lot of players anymore; there weren’t any companies that made wargaming figures these days, so there wasn’t a good entry point for people. Most folks just stuck to role playing. But there were still players out there, all of them either paying scavengers good money for any figures they found or making their own.

He preferred to make his own, carving them carefully from wood. Truth be told, these days he didn’t even mind if he didn’t get to game, he just enjoyed making the figures and coming up with the backgrounds behind them.

Ryo and Kevin understood, but the kids didn’t. Dave was getting old enough that he at least was understanding the patterns. Every day after work, after spending so much time forcing himself to look people in the eye, sometimes telling half-truths, sometimes just the act of negotiating putting strain on him, Quincy just needed time to decompress. To unwind, to be at peace. For an hour, he’d hide in here, his cave, and work on these. Nobody was allowed in here except himself. It was his own tiny little haven in the world. The window even had a partial view of one of the portals to the other worlds, but he wasn’t sure which one.

He glanced at the clock, mulling it over for a moment before standing. Sure, he wouldn’t mind another ten or fifteen minutes, but the kids deserved some time with their father before they all went out to eat. With a sigh, he stretched his arms, before unlocking the door and stepping out into the house proper.

There were advantages to their lifestyle. A three-person income meant that they could afford a larger house, for example. He found himself smiling broadly as he marched through the hall and down the stairs. Yes, he had a lot to be proud of.

He found his wife in the living room… but no kids. A small frown formed on his face. “Are the kids playing in the sandbox?”

Ryo smiled, nodding a little. “I thought it was a good idea to let them work a little energy out before we went to dinner.”

That made his face split into a grin. “I told them I married a smart one.”

His wife giggled a little, sticking her tongue out at him. Quickly, though, she regained her composure. “Actually, there was another reason.” She set down her book and offered him an envelope. “I didn’t want to bother you while you were in your cave, but this came by courier. Adult courier.”

One of the few times that he ever snapped at the kids was when he was in there, and he always felt so bad about it. He had, admittedly, gotten better than when he was their age, though. His room had been his, the mess came up to his waist, and if his parents dared enter and touched anything, he’d go absolutely ballistic. His privacy was sacred, just like how he respected everyone else’s. Though, to this day he couldn’t understand why everyone wasn’t like that.

“Thanks,” he muttered as he took the envelope. All that was written on it was ‘Quincy Munteanu’ in nice script. Much, much better than his own handwriting. Without hesitation, he ripped the envelope open and pulled out the note inside.

Mr. Munteanu,

Thank you very much for your concern. I agree that Mrs. Kallenburger can rub people the wrong way, and I’ll be taking steps to ensure that even should she cross a line with these two, we will be able to continue dealing with them.

I would also like to say that your humility is misplaced. You continue to make records which are unnecessary but help me greatly. Your attention to detail helps me use my powers to greater effect, and there’s some things to your reports that remind me of an old associate of mine. Kinder, more mentally stable, and without an obsessive-compulsive disorder, which I value greatly. Your thankless work means our city can prosper, and that my own efforts are easier. You should be proud of your work, and you should know just how much your reports make my life easier.

As such, I would like to invite you and your spouses to a small get-together that I’m having for various people on Tuesday as a way of showing my gratitude. It isn’t mandatory to attend, but if it sweetens the deal at all, I’m willing to provide you with a babysitter for this time. No formal attire is necessary; I’d just like a few moments to get to know you a bit better, and perhaps better understand your value to New Brockton.

Please let me know if you’ll attend.

Sincerely,

Lisa Wilbourn

Quincy stared at the note for a long moment before handing it to Ryo. With shaking legs, he collapsed on the couch trying to process this. On one hand, he was offended. He’d specifically said that he didn’t want anything for what he’d done. He had just been doing what should be done. On the other hand…

“Honey?”

He looked up at his wife, and felt his face splitting into a grin so wide all his teeth were showing. “She sees,” Quincy whispered. Ryo became blurry in his vision as he fought to find the words. “One of them finally gets it…”

As he swept Ryo up into his arms, he knew he’d attend that meeting. He’d have to talk to Kevin, but he knew they’d both say yes. Finally, after so many years… someone outside of his friends and family understood.

 

[ErrantVagrant]

Soil 1.6


The message was delivered to our room the same evening I met with Miss Kallenburger. Meet her the next day at Lomar Steakhouse for lunch and to discuss my offer. What she didn’t know was that it gave us time to become her worst nightmare. The thing about two people who have known each other all their lives, and who had trained to fight alongside each other, is that we recognized each other’s strengths and weaknesses. In combat, Sarah had a tendency to stand still and swing, whereas I would move, use my terrain and everything that I could to give myself the best advantage I could. In negotiations, I would be focused on what I personally saw as a desirable outcome, and she would seek out everything she could to get us what she viewed to be the best possible outcome.

Both aspects had a certain give and take to them. Her standing still meant that she was an easier target, but could better line up her shots and use her power to its maximum potential, like she had when she’d no longer had to worry about dodging the flier’s blasts. Sometimes, my tactics meant little when a simple punch would have sufficed, and I’d just wear myself out. Sometimes, I barely counted as a decoy for her, drawing attention from her.

In negotiations, sometimes Sarah could push too hard, and we’d walk away with nothing. We’d had a few jobs that had fallen through our hands because of it. I helped to keep her focused on the goal instead of squeezing every coin that she could out of it. We made a pretty good team, really.

We’d stayed up later than we probably should have hashing everything out. I’d spent forever explaining the science behind what was being done (even if the final mechanics of what Chris was doing was beyond me) and she, in turn, had explained rather patiently how short-sighted I’d been. With that, we doubled down and prepared ourselves.

Plans within plans within plans. Our backup plans had backup plans. We’d rehearsed plans, ways to respond, and how to do what we needed to do. All of this was still so alien to me, to be honest. I was of the opinion that a person states what they’re willing to give or charge, and that was that. Haggling just didn’t make sense, and ever since we’d started working with city contracts, we couldn’t haggle very much anyway, so I didn’t have much to really base it off of.

I just hoped that I didn’t completely mess this up.

We arrived plenty early, wearing the same clothes as yesterday after a quick wash. My knife and multitool were in plain sight, though. We’d checked the place out last night, scoping out the menu and the seats. I’d never been in a set of negotiations that didn’t happen in some sort of office, so all of this was new to me. Sarah hadn’t either, but I trusted her guidance on this. Honestly, we could have been mistaken for anybody else here; even my weapons weren’t out of place.

Sarah nudged me and I looked into the restaurant itself. It was a deep place, and we were here before the lunch rush. The lighting wasn’t the best, enough to see your food and be cozy without being creepy, but still far more than enough to see Melissa waving to us. Unlike our semi-professional dress, she was in jeans and a t-shirt, her blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail.

Sis had been right. To gain an advantage, one could put the party they were negotiating with outside of their comfort zone. We’d gained the reputation of being professional, of Sis taking the front seat while I played analyst for the negotiations. Melissa was pushing us by dressing and having us meet in a way that countered our professionalism. But now I understood, and I was able to roll along with it. I was nothing if not adaptable. Besides, Sarah had worn makeup and had her nails and hair done for just such an eventuality.

As we crossed the restaurant to the table, Melissa sat back down. “Thanks for meeting me here on such short notice. I’d almost expected to get a message this morning asking to reschedule.”

“That’s fine, Miss Kallenburger,” I said with a smile. “I was hungry anyway.”

“Please, just Missy.” She looked to Sarah. “And you must be his sister.”

“Yup,” she said with uncharacteristic perkiness and a slight slur to her words as she settled down. “I’m Sarah. Pleased ta meetcha, Missy!”

Her smile didn’t even flinch. Crap, were we wrong about her doing her homework on us? “Feel free and order whatever you want. My treat.”

“Do they have good salads?” Sis asked as she opened her menu.

“I think the chef’s salad is good myself, but that’s just me.”

The waiter arrived and took our orders: a half-rack of ribs for Melissa; a grilled chicken salad for Sarah; and a bison steak, medium rare, with mashed potatoes and garlic bread for me. I also made sure that they served hot tea before letting the waiter go. Given the temperature, nobody was jumping for the warmth of hot tea.

“So I take it you talked ta Tattletale?” Sarah asked, louder than she would have under other circumstances.

“Yes,” Melissa said with a nod. “You were right, Jordan, this is something that she’s interested in.”

“But she’s cautious,” I quickly ventured.

“Well, of course she is. No offense, but neither of you have offered anybody any Tinker-developed technology before.”

Sarah looked… sheepish? “Well, our brother has a long… What’s he call it?”

“Quality assurance policy,” I said helpfully.

“Right, a long quality assurance policy. He won’t sell anything unless it does exactly what he expects out of it, and can meet the orders that’ll be put out for it. So we have to do all the testing for him, instead of, you know, selling a few and then asking them for information about it.”

“Oh, I didn’t realize it was such a thorough process.”

“Oh, it is!” She snickered a little, adjusting herself in her seat. Really, it was so our boots could lightly touch. “Remember when he tried that kinetic enhancement armor? Oh, wow. It was supposed to absorb and connect any kinetic energy above a certain threshold and then allow you to release it by your own movements, but it worked a little too well, if you can believe it! Jordan took a sawed-off shotgun to the chest and jumped into the fucker hard enough that he caved the guy’s chest in! The blood-”

I closed my eyes and let a breath out through my nose. “Sarah. Before eating, remember?”

She blinked, then smiled bashfully at Melissa. “Sorry.”

“Anyway,” I added quickly, “Miss Kallenburger, I can appreciate Miss Wilbourn’s hesitation on this. After all, while the benefits are immense, it would be quite the undertaking.”

She had the smallest twitch when I still addressed her formally. Sarah was making good today. “Yes, there is that. But we do have questions as to what would be left over after extracting the oil.”

“Oh!” Sarah was extra perky now. “Well, after the initial extraction, you gotta process it again with another filter. See, a lot, and I mean a lot, of water has ta be added, ta make sure that the organic matter is all either diffused or particulated. That way, maximum extraction can be attained.” I looked at my sister, a dour expression on my face. “But that leaves a lot of water with gunk left over in it, so you gotta process it a second time. But that one is already ready. See, we have-”

“Sarah,” I said firmly. We all remained silent for a moment, a moment that increased as our food arrived.

Now it was my turn to act. “We have a secondary filtration system that would allow the water to be completely purified. It does have the advantage of being able to turn water directly from the sea into potable water, eliminating all pollutants, saline, bacteria, viruses, or anything else that may be in the water. Though, to be fair, it does leave you with a type of… sludge that would need to be disposed of.”

Melissa nodded slowly. “And that’s one thing which she’s worried about. I’m guessing that sludge would be toxic?”

“Most likely,” I said with a nod. “It would contain anything not directly related to the hydrocarbons used for the crude, and that would depend on the exact biomatter used in production. That said, we would be willing to dispose of this waste in a safe, eco-friendly manner for you. At a nominal fee, of course.”

“And how nominal is this fee exactly?”

“A hundred dollars per barrel, though the delivery of the barrels would be your expense, not ours.”

Sarah looked at me, her jaw open. “But we can neutralize it for just twenty-five per-”

“Sarah!” I snapped. She cowered in her seat. She actually cowered. Despite the twisting of my gut, I wished I could get a video of this, I really did. It would be hilarious to watch later. After a moment, I turned back to Melissa. “The price is higher due to volume and the extra manpower that we’d need.”

“Oh, right.” Sarah nodded eagerly. “We work for our brother for free, but we don’t wanna be lab techs for the rest of our lives.” She made a disgusted face. It was actually rather cute.

“That…” Melissa trailed off for a moment, looking oddly distant. It didn’t last long, however, before she shook her head and looked thoughtful again. “That seems a little high.”

I sighed softly, acting irritated. “Twenty-five dollars minimum for the materials to neutralize the toxins alone. Another twenty-eight dollars per day for the two able-bodied assistants it would require. As well, the materials have to be made, and that costs more than the filtration screens themselves, and the equipment built to handle the waste needs to be maintained. Factoring in the costs of that over a long-term does lower it down to seventy-five per barrel, however we need to adjust slightly for profit to fund the development of future materials. So, no, a hundred is not a little high.”

She was taken back by my tone. I felt a pang of guilt, but this was the kind of talk that Sarah would normally say for me. She paused a moment before nodding. “That’s something that we can discuss later, I suppose.”

Really, we had no idea what it would cost. Between my understanding of what the process could be and Sarah’s business skills, though, we’d hashed that out. We both knew and understood, however, that Chris didn’t see anything as waste. Everything could be turned into something useful with enough knowledge and effort. And materials. Most likely, he’d use the waste to produce something else in much the same way. Now that I had him thinking along these lines, he was already coming up with new ideas for materials.

“Later?” Sarah asked, tilting her head. Underneath the table, her foot stroked mine. A warning, get ready for the next act in the play.

Melissa nodded slowly. “Lisa, Miss Wilbourn, needs proof that this will work before she’s willing to commit to a full project. We’d need a demonstration.”

Sarah’s foot tapped mine twice. Negative. Right. I drew my eyebrows together. “I explained to you before the problems that it would cause, creating a sample.”

“It didn’t quite make perfect sense to me, but we do actually understand.” She smiled a little at me, but it looked odd. I couldn’t quite place how. “If you provide us with a demonstration of the capabilities of this material, and we decide to accept the offer, we will help you to locate whatever these materials are that you’d need to make more.”

I acted thoughtful, waiting for a signal from Sarah. It didn’t come, which meant that I had to either continue on with the role I was playing, or go with whatever I felt was the most appropriate. I decided to go with ahead like I already was. Which came down to money. “I hope that you’re not suggesting that we do this for free.”

“Oh, no,” she said with a forced smile. “We’re willing to pay a hundred and fifty dollars for you to show us how this works. We also get to keep the apparatus so that we can show it to the city council.”

Two taps against my foot, with the second tap pressing. That meant negative and to check for further guidance. I looked to Sarah with a flat expression, who was looking to me with a hopeful expression on her face, nodding encouragingly. That wasn’t what I was looking for, though. The ear that wasn’t pointing towards Melissa was wiggling. That meant horse or travel. The fork had a piece of chicken that had been cut in half. The napkin was twisted up between the ring and pinky fingers on her other hand. At least twice that much, and the napkin meant time. We’d practiced this last night.

Really, it wasn’t too different from our hand signals in a way.

I looked back to Melissa, speaking coldly. “I’m a mercenary, you know. I’m used to putting my life on the line. I really don’t mind if people screw me over, put me in harm’s way, so long as I can save a life or two, maybe save a business. The pay is just gravy. But a hundred and fifty? It costs us ten dollars a piece to take a coach home, one way, and I’m not leaving my sister home for that. At least a week of us working, and yes, I’m willing to factor in how much we’d get paid. I’m not sure how much of the material he has done, but the stuff we’d need to build this little demonstration would cost at least sixty dollars. And that’s before what my brother deserves for putting it all together, getting the machinery to make the fabric made, and his design work.

“I’m meat, and I know it, but I will not let anyone, not a single soul, screw over my siblings.”

I made my way to my feet, inserting venom into my voice. “Good day, Miss Kallenburger.”

With that, I turned around and began stalking off. I felt bad for the other patrons. Who knew how much of the conversation they’d caught, or what it looked like? I hated to make an awkward scene, especially in public. Even worse, I felt like my little outburst, no matter how planned it was, would only end up with us losing this opportunity.

I heard Sarah call out “Jordan!” in a worried tone behind me. Dang, she was good at this. Still, we’d discussed this. She stressed that if the situation demanded that I stand and start to walk away, that I don’t stop until I was at the hotel or she added “please” to it. I was almost to the door when I felt a hand grab my arm.

“Jordan,” Melissa said, a placating tone to her voice. “I’m sorry. You’re right, I wasn’t thinking about everything that goes into this. It’s an emergent technology, and it requires a lot of work by a lot of people. I understand that now. Please, let’s talk this over and see if we can’t come to an agreement.”

I turned slowly to look at her, doing my best to glare fire at her. After a moment, though, I nodded. “Yeah, okay. I hate to waste food, anyway.”

We made our way back slowly, and I noted that most everybody was making a point not to look in our direction. Trying to show what little bit of politeness and privacy they could, as dictated by sacred hospitality.

As I settled down, Sarah put her hand on my arm. “Deep breaths, Bro. Drink your tea. Relax.”

That meant everything but relax. It meant tone down. The tea reference was a reminder about water. Why? It took me a moment to realize that she was giving me a heads up. I tapped her foot with mine once to let her know that I understood.

“Alright,” Melissa said in a calming tone. “Now, I understand that even making such a device under short notice is a costly operation. So let me ask you this: how much will you have to transport?”

“I’m not sure,” I said with a shrug. “I’ll be frank with you — the larger we make it, the more accurate the demonstration will be. It could fit in a trunk, we might have to put it in a wagon. It depends on how much material our Tinker can make with what he has.”

“Good to know. And how far away is it again?”

“About fifty miles,” Sarah added, cheerful once again.

That made Melissa smile a little. “Burlington Gimmel?”

“Yup!”

“Alright, that’s a day by coach. I can probably arrange for private transport for the two of you, then. That way, you don’t have to worry about the coach making any stops along the way.” She was officially buttering us up. “I can arrange a wagon to be sent at the same time, if that’s alright? Then, if you’re done when they arrive, you can leave the next day. If not, they can stay at a hotel while you wait.”

A two day trip. I shook my head a little. “You’re better off waiting for a few days, then sending it. It’ll take at least three days for us to put it together, though probably a deal more.”

“Good,” she said with a nod. There was something about her tone that I didn’t like. “So, with getting you back home and it back here, how are we looking?”

In the back of my head I could hear Sarah, still in her bubbly persona, cheerfully exclaiming “Like a pretentious bitch!” I was never sure if I should love or hate that part of my brain, especially with how infrequently it spoke up, but I did know that it gave me a pang of guilt.

Instead, I waited, screwing up my face as if I was mulling it over. One tap, two, three, four, and five. I was a little surprised, but I knew to trust Sarah. “Five hundred,” I said with a nod.

She looked at me as if I was a country bumpkin who hadn’t bathed in a year and just asked her to the prom. It only lasted for a brief second, but it was nice to see her true colors. “I can’t realistically even begin to approach that. Especially if it might be a month before you come back.”

The taps on my foot were coming quickly. “I can actually respect that, since you’d be paying the hotel and food costs for the wagon driver. At the same time, though, my brother’s time is exceptionally valuable, and the chemical compounds expensive. It also means utilizing a glass blower and specialized equipment to ensure that you can see what’s happening. Four fifty?”

She shook her head slowly. “Three hundred.”

Sarah’s heel pressed down on my foot. Hardball. “Cut the crap. This is demeaning to both of us. I’ll go a little lower, you’ll go a little higher, until either we meet in the middle or one person seriously slows down on how far they offer. Look, I know your boss is generous to those who do right by her, and I know all too well and good that she’s ready to jump on this like a pair of drunken teens after a dance where their parents aren’t there. And she knows that this wouldn’t only help her friend, but this would also strengthen her position not only here, but with any city that came groveling for gas. She could virtually set the price with this and we both know it. For crying out loud, she probably didn’t even give you a price range, but because you see a couple of dumb brutish mercenaries, you thought that you could make yourself look good in her eyes by playing us for idiots.”

“Now-”

I didn’t let her get anything else out, not even with the churning my gut was doing. “Any city with the population base to handle this would be screaming over it. Dying to get their hands on it. But because this city has always treated us well, we’re willing to put up with your complete lack of respect towards us to keep up the offer. We aren’t the ones looking to get in good with her, we’re the ones who are trying to help, you stupid ninny. And if you want to play games with us instead of being upfront and honest, then you can go stuff yourself and we’ll get in contact with her the hard way.”

I waved towards the waiter. “Can I get a to-go box, please?”

Melissa looked around quickly, visibly nervous. I’d made a lot of noise with that rant, and I’d done it on purpose. Sarah and I had discussed exactly how loud I should get during that rant, and she’d made me do it four times before we got the right balance.

“Listen, Jordan. Three seventy-five. Plus travel expenses. And we’re still willing to find whatever materials you need. If this device of yours works, we’ll help you get whatever you need.”

“We keep it,” I said quickly. “I’m not handing it over, not for one minute. If she needs us to show it working twenty times, we’ll gladly do that, but we aren’t giving you something that can desalinize that much water for that pittance.” I hoped I pulled that off right, but Susan wasn’t giving me the warning sign. Her tea signal was to make sure that I demonstrated that we knew the value of massive water purification.

The waiter appeared with my box. I offered him an apologetic smile before setting about transferring my barely touched meal to it.

Melissa was silent for a moment before nodding. “I… can accept that.”

It took every ounce of effort that I had to keep looking angry. I wanted to jump up onto the table and cheer, shout out to the world that I’d just come out the victor in a negotiation war, to pay for everybody’s meal. Instead, I glared up at her.

“You know where we’re staying. I want all that in writing by 8 AM tomorrow. Assuming that we, and our legal council, don’t find anything in there that doesn’t piss us off, we’ll be in your office to get your signature on our copy by two, and then will be ready to leave by the next day.” I closed the lid and lifted the box by the handles as I rose from my seat. “And for the love of Mike, I do not want to see your face when we show it off.” I looked to Sarah, noting that she’d almost finished her salad. “Let’s go.”

As I stalked off, I thought I heard her say a quiet “I’m sorry” to Melissa before joining me. We walked in silence from the restaurant, all eight blocks back to the hotel, my body churning each step of the way. We barely made it through the doors when my angry façade gave out and I staggered, the to-go box nearly falling from my hand. Sarah was quick to wrap her arm around me for support.

“Ha! That was fuckin’ awesome! I wish someone would have gotten that on camera or recorded it! I know people who’d give their left nut to have seen that!”

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” I croaked, fighting back a violent shudder.

“Shit!” She lead me to a chair to settle myself into before hurrying off. When she returned, she forced me to hold out my palm, pouring salt into it. “Seriously, Bro, I’m so proud of you. You have no fucking idea how very, very proud I am. You pulled that off like a pro.”

I tossed the salt into the back of my mouth, and immediately felt the vomit bubble that had been forming back there break up. I didn’t even know it had been there. It didn’t cure my nausea, but it did help. “I never want to do that again.”

Her arm was immediately around me, her voice low and soothing. “Hey. Hey. All that we have to do is show them this demonstration thingie, convince them to buy the full deal, and then? We should never have to negotiate again. And I’ll actually take the lead next time, alright?” She rubbed my back gently, trying to soothe me. “We’re in, Bro. We’ve got this. And you’re going to get all the money you need. No more mercenary work for us.”

No more mercenary work? I couldn’t help but smile at that. Finally, things were going right for once.

 

[ErrantVagrant]

Soil 1.7


To call it a stagecoach would give people the wrong idea. With the limited gas reserves and occasional inability to get any at all, people came to once again turn on domesticated animals. With that had come a rediscovery of nearly forgotten physics and creature comforts.

The first of the new breed of stagecoaches were made out of salvaged vehicles. Initially, this wasn’t a bad idea. Once you stripped out the engine and unneeded mechanics, and added a way to get the reins inside without removing the windshield, you had a comfortable ride that was still somewhat familiar. For a while it was more economical to do this, less of a waste of time. But once it became apparent that tires weren’t going to be a resource for much longer, repurposing cars went out of style.

That’s when the physics of the old stagecoaches and wagons came into the limelight. People discovered that steering with wheels wasn’t necessarily the best option for beasts of burden. They learned about yokes and what horses or mules to put in which position. How the size of the wheels impacted everything. Slowly, to progress into the future, they descended into the past.

There were plenty of people, middle-aged or older, who seemed to particularly resent stagecoaches as a sign of how far humanity had fallen. I preferred to think of it as a sign as how strong humanity was. There were still plenty of modern innovations, design ideas and aesthetics that hadn’t been pulled from history. Decent suspension was one that I was particularly fond of.

This carriage was pretty good. One of the best I’d been in, if not the best. A very nice suspension, it was vented somehow so that the airflow was nice, keeping the interior cool without making it windy. The seats were extra comfortable, and the overall design kept it roomy without being all that horribly large. It also didn’t look too ostentatious from the outside, which was a bonus.

I’d spent the first few hours of the trip thinking about the design, how it worked, what could be better about it. I’d napped a few times, more than I should have. I guessed emotional exhaustion from everything that had been going on. Apparently one time, my twitching had gone beyond convulsions and I’d almost kicked Sarah in the face. Now? Now I was studying my hand. The single freckle on the back. I was tracing the bones, what veins I could make out, the thin scars, analyzing the shape of my fingernails, the ways that the skin wrinkled when it appeared smooth from a distance.

Riding like this was always hard for Sarah because she got motion sickness if she couldn’t see directly in front of us and the path we were taking. I had problems because I liked to keep my mind as active as I possibly could. If I wasn’t working or helping someone, I was thinking. If I wasn’t thinking, I was reading. If I wasn’t reading, I was training. On a long ride like this one, I’d quickly find myself trapped with sleeping or thinking after I finished my book, and there was only so much that I could come up with on my own. But I tried anyway. Struggling to come up with something to think about was infinitely better than not.

Besides, for something connected to our bodies that we saw every day, hands were pretty dang fascinating when you really looked at them.

“Do the marks on your palm form the shape of an M?” I asked curiously.

“Don’t care,” Sarah said softly. She’d looked a little green for the last half an hour and was probably ready for another stop. “Ten minutes ’till we hit town.”

I felt a grin cross my face as I switched seats so I could look out the window ahead of us. The sun was starting to set, but I could still see Burlington in the distance. Or, more accurately, the log walls of Burlington. I couldn’t help but let out a soft sigh as I set my head against the glass.

“I’m not sure if you’re happy to be there or not.”

I glanced at my sister. “Za?”

Her shoulder raised and then fell, but she never took her eyes away from the view out the window. “I dunno. I mean, you could just be wistful, but you always look like it isn’t where you want to be.”

“Nah,” I lied. “Just figuring out everything that I want to do.”

She was too danged perceptive at times. No, when I said that I was going home, this wasn’t the place that I thought of. This was where I lived for now, with our parents. Eventually, we’d move on to bigger and better, and far more important things. No, this wasn’t home. This was just where I put my boots up until our plans came to fruition.

Her lips twisted upwards. “What’s on your agenda, oh brother of mine?”

“I was thinking I’d butcher Shakespeare,” I said nonchalantly. “You know. ‘Alas, poor Ralph. I knew him, Bob. He did stuff.'”

She gave a dismissive snort, and for a time I thought that would be it. However, she spoke back up a few minutes later. “I miss Mike.”

I gave her a look. “Mike?”

Sarah gave a thin smile. “The guy who taught you to use a rifle?”

I couldn’t help but smile a little bit. “Yeah. Whenever I go back, I like to say hi to him.”

“Does he still have that stutter?”

“Yeah, but I’m patient. Besides, he’s pretty eloquent once you get past that.”

She smiled a little, letting her head rest against the window. “Yeah. He has some great stories.”

I turned to look at her quickly. “Wait, what?”

Her grin was absolutely Cheshire. “Oh, yes. He grew up in Boston, poor as dirt. But his mom worked two jobs to make sure that they always had nice clothes and food on their plate. His older brother ended up hooking up with the villain Accord as a grunt, and started to rise through the ranks. He ended up pulling Mike in. The other grunts liked Mike because he always pulled his weight and never complained when they gave him the shit jobs. Then they found out he was handy with a gun, and he really took off. He never shot anybody under Accord, mind you, but he got really good at shooting engine blocks in moving vehicles.

“Anyway, one day, Accord calls Mike in. Everybody knew that it pretty much had to be a death sentence with how bad his stutter was. Accord hated anything that was out of place, any bit of chaos, and was known for killing people for not holding themselves to his standard. But Mike went anyway, dressed in his nice suit, his head held high. Knowing that the moment he opened his mouth, either one of Accord’s lieutenants or the villain himself would kill him.”

I leaned a little towards her, my eyes wide. I knew Mike lived, of course, but maybe that was how he lost his finger?

“But Accord whips around a computer before he opens his mouth and tells him to type. There were some questions, which Accord probably already knew. Well, except for the lack of speech therapy. That blew Accord’s top, that the city didn’t help with that. But Accord, see, he believed that every piece had a place. Obviously, with that stutter, that place wasn’t with him. But he had a friend who could use another good shooter.”

“Who?”

She smirked a little. “A friend. Another villain named Coil, operating in Brockton Bay.”

How did Sarah know? How did she know that I’d know that name? My (admittedly brief) time hanging out with the cultists had taught me a lot. One of those was the history of the Undersiders — both the good and the bad. That was one thing that I liked about the cultists; they believed in warts and all. But how did Sarah know?

“Yes,” she said. “That Coil. The two had a trade of henchpeople, Mike for someone else. So, Mike ends up becoming effectively a mercenary. Coil’s men didn’t give two shits about the fact that he could barely string two words together. Most of them were from some war-torn country, many shooting a gun since they could hold it, so they didn’t care about a lot of shit. All that they cared about was if he could get the job done. If he preferred to work silently so he didn’t embarrass himself, that was his deal. They’d work around it.

“He met Skitter once. God, it took him a half an hour to tell that story. He got the call to help escort her and a bunch of supplies. He said that she wasn’t anything like what he’d expected; she’d been so small in his eyes. But she knew exactly what she wanted. It was right after the Leviathan attack, and she was delivering her first payload of supplies to the people in her territory.”

I was familiar. To this day, stories about Skitter, Weaver, Khepri, Taylor, whatever you wanted to call her, people still talked.

“He said it was surreal. This little girl, maybe fourteen or fifteen, sixteen if you pushed it, talking as if she owned the place. Somehow, though, as she spoke it hit him that this was a woman to respect. She was somehow more intimidating because she was just a young girl. At this age, she’d worked herself up to a position where he had to take orders from her. Even worse, she didn’t have a voice that demanded that respect, that demanded that you do what she said. But when someone tried to attack her, she proved what she was made of.”

“I can imagine,” I said softly.

“Mmm.” She dared a glance at me before looking back out the window. “Mike ended up doing things for all of the Undersiders. He came to respect them all as people. Which made Coil’s betrayal of them, and then his subsequent death, that much harder for him to deal with.

“Mike hadn’t known a lot. He’d seen Dinah Alcott, but he’d never dealt with her himself. He knew she was being held against her will, hopped up on drugs, but he couldn’t do anything about it. He’d hated Coil for that. But Coil was also where he belonged. He belonged with someone who could make good use of him, give him a purpose, and make sure that he was paid well. Not as well as the actual mercenaries, he found out later, but still better than the average person in Brockton. He hadn’t known about the rest that Coil had done.

“So on one hand, when Coil betrayed the Undersiders, tried to kill Skitter, Mike had bristled. He was angry over it. But with Coil’s death, he was directionless, rudderless. Reportedly, the mercenaries were now working for Tattletale, but as Eechnida got loose, she wasn’t giving very many orders. What was he supposed to do?”

Sarah smirked a little. “Like Tattletale didn’t know. Hah. The moment that things began to calm down, she pulled him into her office and started quizzing him on the other mercenaries. Because he didn’t talk much, people ignored him. Because the mercenaries ignored him, he could be her eyes and ears. She couldn’t keep an eye on every mercenary to use her power on them, so she needed someone she could trust to do it for her.

“That worked. He needed a purpose, and she gave it to him. And then, when Skitter joined the Wards, became Weaver, he got a new purpose. Protecting the kids in Skitter’s territory. He hadn’t even known that there were orphans there, but he learned quick. A lot of the kids, they’d lost everything, and some of them… Well, sometimes a person who can be sympathetic but doesn’t say anything can be an anchor, you know? Or when they heard his stutter, but still saw how he was respected, it meant something to them. Of course, when he lost his finger protecting them, refusing to let any of them get hurt even with broken ribs and a mangled hand, that showed them that they had a protector.

“And then Scion turned against humanity, destroying Brockton Bay, and forcing the evacuation. From there… Well.”

“The rest is history,” I finished for her, smiling a little. “How… do you know all of this?”

She smiled a little. “The moment I triggered, Bro. The moment I triggered, I was looking out for you as much as me. You were so naïve that you’d take the word of anybody at face value, so someone had to keep an eye out on who was teaching you, making sure they knew their stuff.” She paused a moment. “That and I had a teeny bit of a crush on him.”

I laughed. I had to. “Far too old for you, hon.”

“I was six and didn’t know better, shut the fuck up.”

I slapped her shoulder with a grin. It didn’t matter. None of it really did. Just the two of us wasting time however we could. But I treasured these moments.

I knew why she had told me that. It took her mind off her own misery and mine off of the trip itself. Sometimes, she’d spend the entire trip telling stories, some biographical like that one, some completely made up.

Already, though, the coach was slowing down, coming to a stop just outside the gates. A local formality, one that we’d already warned the drivers of; they weren’t familiar with this route. It only took a few moments before a face popped up in the window. “Sarah! Jordan!”

A bright smile crossed my face. “Heya Steve! How’s it hanging?”

“Little to the left,” the guard said with a grin. “I’d ask how you two are, but you’re ridin’ fancy! You must’ve gotten a real steal on that job of yours.”

“Something like that,” Sarah said, already looking better. Pity it wouldn’t last. “Anything we should know?”

Steve glanced at the head of the carriage, and then back at us. “Nothing major, but I’ve heard some scuttlebutt that might interest you. Talk before you head home?”

“Can do.”

Steve hopped off the side of the carriage and onto the ground. “Everything checks.”

With that, we lurched into motion again, and Sarah instantly frowned. As soon as the sun started to set, this became the norm. It wasn’t necessarily to keep the riff-raff out, but instead just to know how many people were coming in, and to have at least one witness to a carriage’s occupants. During the day, you could see more easily into them and get a better theoretical headcount. Since most of the shops closed when it started to get dark, it helped newcomers know when they could attend to business and when they should just go for the hotel.

Not that I could remember either of our hotels ever becoming full. If people were staying for more than a day or two, there were other places that they looked to.

“Trouble?” Sarah whispered.

I shook my head a little. “Maybe, but if so then it isn’t the entire reason. He’d talk about trouble openly if there was any. Best to let everyone know.” My smile fell. “Personal, most likely. Us. Maybe the folks. Maybe Chris. Dunno. We’ll have to wait and see.”

She made a displeased noise and focused herself out the window. Neither of us liked that kind of surprise kicked on us, and her being jostled again didn’t help matters. Instead, I focused out the window as the town passed us by.

It wasn’t a bad little city. Six thousand bodies in total, give or take. At least, last I knew. We provided food to New Brockton, with some of that being transferred out to other locations across the continent, a good portion going to Earth Bet. We also had a good canning system going, with the aluminum coming from other locations. Sometimes, scavengers would rend the aluminum from cars. Thanks to Chris, the cannery had a forge attached to it that used an induction furnace, and that brought the city a bit more revenue. That said, we did have our own paper mill, and a small glue plant that employed maybe ten people total. The school system was… passable. If I didn’t think too much about it. Unlike some predictions for a worldwide apocalypse, at least everybody was learning how to read and do math. Some trig and calculus, but mostly just the basics. I was glad I didn’t go to school here. I often wondered how Sarah and Chris kept from going insane their last few years of school.

But most importantly, it had a serious sense of community. When it came to be known that more people would trigger with powers on Earth Bet, there were a lot of folks who made the exodus to Earth Gimmel. Some triggerings were downright deadly, and some just wanted to avoid that now. Here, they looked at parahumans as souls to be cared for. But the whole community looked out for each other as a whole. It wasn’t like New Brockton where someone could get hurt and people would ignore them — here, there would be at least a brief moment of eye contact to see if they wanted help.

Unless, of course, they knew it was well-known that they’d refuse the help.

Folks from New Brockton thought cities like this were essentially full of hovels, looking like something out of a wild west story. But while we didn’t have aluminum siding on our buildings, we were still more civilized than some of those frontier cities. All that being a Gimmel city meant was that you didn’t have an immediate source of a place to scavenge for raw goods when the township first started. Besides, most Earth Bet cities had already been picked clean years ago.

As the coach pulled up to the station, Sarah moved a little closer to the door. Within moments, it was opened by one of the drivers and she was bailing out for something that didn’t rattle and shake, leaning over and putting her head between her legs. I was slower to make my way out, taking the driver’s hand for the assist. My knee screamed with each ounce of weight I put on it. I hobbled until I was clear to let them unload our stuff, then got to work on flexing my leg. I spent way too long without seriously moving it.

Sarah was upright once again before I got my halberd handed to me. I used it as a staff to help me with my leg as they got our packs out — both of them heavier than when we’d arrived at New Brockton. I was glad that I’d had them pack my halberd with all the extensions in place instead of breaking it down.

The entire thing had been a gift from Chris, something that he’d come up with. Technically, it came in three sections and easily came apart if you knew what you were doing. Fortunately, that didn’t mean that they came apart when I was fighting. I liked it, because it made a weapon that was immensely versatile to begin with have even more possible applications to it. All together, it made for a good walking stick while retaining all the advantages of a proper polearm. The bottom section came off, letting me have a halberd better suited for close quarters combat, with the added advantage of the weight on the end making it a good backup mace. The top section came off, which let me turn the blade into a hatchet. And with both the blade and the sharpened tip being made of one of Chris’ sharp as hell materials, it meant that cutting wood was a breeze. The lack of a backspike meant that I had one more less-than-lethal option when using it, too.

Soon, though, we had our packs and said our goodbyes to the two drivers, offering quick directions to the hotel. Nice enough folks, not overly friendly while being polite. I didn’t catch their names, and I got the impression that they wanted it like that. That was a shame, but they were just doing an odd job by delivering us, after all. Sarah and I nodded at each other before setting off for the gate again.

We walked in silence, wondering about what might be going on. It was easier than trying to vocalize the possible horrors that were fanning through our heads. Soon enough, though, Sarah called out. “Steve!”

He paused a moment to say something to the other guard before jogging our way. “Hey you two. Thanks for dropping by.”

“What’s up?” she asked.

“Well…” He sucked in a breath. “Get this out of the way. Nobody’s leaving the gate after dark without signing a waiver. Mayor’s orders. Last week, Eddy Foucault made a late night run to the mill to get something he forgot. Wildlings got him.” We both winced, and he raised a hand. “We think we’ve cleared out the pack with the help of the local Wardens and volunteers, your folks included, but we’re being careful for a little while still. Sending groups out to check. I just wanted to give you two the heads up.”

“Thanks,” I said quietly. “I’ll make something for his wife.” Widow. Somehow, I didn’t like the term.

Steve nodded a little. “Yeah, that’d be nice of you, man.” He paused again, but I couldn’t make out his exact expression in the dying light. “We weren’t expecting you back so soon. You usually walk back.”

Sarah smiled, positively beaming. “Jordan got some work for Chris. We needed to get back ASAP so we could help out with the equipment.”

“Ah.” He nodded slowly. “Well, it’s good you got back.”

Steve shifted his weight a little, and now I could see his frown. “Listen, there’s no easy way to tell you this, but your folks are probably at the West Side right now.”

I blinked. That was… not expected. Sarah responded more quickly than I did, her voice dangerously flat. “They hate that place.”

“Yeah, but after they got kicked out of Toecutter’s, they had to go somewhere to drink.” He sighed softly, shaking his head. “It wasn’t enough that they called us, but it was enough that almost everyone in town knows about it now. It’s not affecting their job at all, but…”

But he was saying that they were spending a lot of time drunk, and that it might start affecting their job here soon. Grand.

Sarah sucked in a breath. “Chris and I will talk with them about it. He’s probably been waiting for us to get home before saying anything.”

I knew why she said that, and really, the two of them talking to them made the most sense. I knew that I wasn’t the sort of guy to stage a talk like that with our folks, or even be involved with it. I knew that. But that didn’t make it sting any less.

Steve nodded a little. “I just thought that you all should know, in case you decided to hit the sack as soon as you got home and got wrapped up in something, you know?”

“I hear ya,” I said with a nod. “Thanks. It’s better to know now than find out later, you know?”

“Yeah.” He perked up his voice. “Topic change. This thing you’ve got going with Chris…”

I knew where he was going. The smile came quick to my face. “I’m not going into details, but if everything works out it could mean a few more jobs around here, yeah. If we can get him an educated assistant, we might even be able to ramp a few things up to a full factory.”

He gave a pleased bark of laughter. “Well, if you all need anything, just say the word. I’ll be more than happy to do some leg work for you guys when I’m off the clock or something. Now take off, get some rest. You’ve probably earned it.”

We gave him a wave before making our way off. Chris was a nice guy, and the city owed him a lot. He’d promised them a decade before he started to charge them for electricity in exchange for the buildings that he used for his labs, and there were still plenty of time left on that deal. He ensured that the water was clean and pure, and once he’d finalized our armor designs, he had an agreement that he’d sell the police force suits at cost. Sis and I knew that we could ask for pretty much anything, and even if we hadn’t curried favor with folks over the years, they’d still help us out of respect for Chris.

We were halfway home before Sarah said anything. “I’m going to fucking kill them.”

“Sis…” I frowned, looking at her. “We shouldn’t judge. They see the world differently than we do.”

“Bullshit.” She was really angry this time, it seemed. Her brows were so tight that it looked like she had a unibrow.

“Okay.” I took a deep breath. “They see the world, and they see how far they’ve fallen. They remember it the way it was before Scion almost destroyed humanity, and what they see now? It’s a shadow. You and me? Every year, we see amazing progress, see how much closer we’re getting to the golden age. And then, they were there during Gold Morning, and before, all the fighting against him. They-”

“Shut it,” she growled in a dangerously quiet tone, turning to glare at me. “You weren’t here. While you were at school, they crawled so far into the bottle they didn’t even count as fucking sediment. Chris and I worked hard to convince them to crawl back out. We thought, okay, so they aren’t completely stopping, but they aren’t spending most of their time so drunk they can’t even get to their bedroom. Just a bit of social drinking, whatever. You weren’t there when they’d wake up and have to start drinking just to be able to make it to work. Then they started to backslide, and we had to stamp that down fucking quick. And now they’re getting drunk enough to… Shit, I don’t know. Barely not get arrested? What the fuck?”

I hadn’t known. I knew they liked to go out every other night, and that a lot of the time that meant a bar. But I’d never seen them consistently be drunk. And somehow my siblings hadn’t seen fit to tell me about that. I tried not to think about why they wouldn’t have. I tried desperately not to think about that and what it meant.

Instead, I wrapped an arm around her shoulders. My knee was doing better, well enough that I didn’t have to rely on my halberd anymore. “It’s okay,” I said softly. “I get it. But right now, you’re tired. You need to recover from that ride. If you talk to them tonight, it’ll just go bad, okay?”

“I know that,” she growled. “But it’s gonna be hard to sleep tonight.”

“Nah.” I forced some cheer into my voice. “I’m putting five on you being asleep ten minutes after your head hits the pillow.”

“You think?”

I gave her a squeeze before letting her go. “I know.”

She gave me a playful shove. “Idjit.” A moment’s quiet before she spoke again. “Okay, the plan. We get home, grab a bite, hit the sack. Tomorrow, we take a day off.”

“What?” My head snapped to look at her. “What do you mean, day off? We’ve got tons of work-”

“I know,” Sarah said, lifting a hand to silence me. “But we’ve also spent a long time with our senses primed, ready for an attack, wildlings, bears, whatever. We’ve been working hard. And you took one hell of a hit. Even if you are feeling better, you need to rest. I know you’re excited and want to go balls to the wall on this, but we need this. To cleanse the palate, so to speak, so that we can go in with fresh minds, renewed bodies, and even more gusto than we have now.”

I frowned a little, still not liking her line of logic.

“I was thinking maybe I can run tomorrow night. Or, if there is one, we can hit up a social. During the day…” Her lips twisted upwards. “Maybe we can hit the old hole?”

That got my frown to drop, a hopeful look replacing it, a small tremor of excitement runninng through me. “So we can…?”

She laughed, nodding towards the street we’d have to take next. “You’ve got a one-track mind, bro. So predictable.”

“Bite me.”

“Nah, you’re a bleeder.”

This, at least, was nice. The banter. And it was far better than seeing her about ready to rip heads off. “Am not!”

------------------------------------------------------------------​

Sarah hit the door before me, swinging it open and bellowing. “Bro! We’re home!”

“Gah!” As it turned out, Chris was in the living room, hunched over a stack of paper. “Sar, seriously, I think the Wilkersons could hear you!”

She laughed as he stood up for a hug. As soon as they released, he moved over to give me one. He and I were about the same height, but he was a fair bit lighter-skinned than me. He also had more of a gut, but not a bad one. I rather thought he wore the added weight well, myself.

Most people didn’t touch a lot, and tended to look at us oddly for how much Chris and I hugged. Heck, I hugged him as much as I did Sarah. To the three of us, it was a non-issue. You hug, therefore you are. I pulled back and grinned at him. “Sup?”

“Nammuch. Just working on some designs. I might need your help, though. Speaking of which.” He looked between the two of us. “You drop the coin for a coach or something?”

“Nah,” Sarah said, dumping her pack on the floor. “Fuckin’ Tattletale did.”

He let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Nice.”

“I know, right?” I set down my own pack, fishing out some DVDs to hand to him. “I didn’t bring back anything interesting, but they had these at the market. It’s all that Sis would let me spend. Um, mostly just studies of powers, or so I’m told, but I figured that they might help.”

“And I’d like it if you were to pay him back,” Sis cut in. Her voice was easy, but had an edge to it.

Chris took them with a shrug. “Yeah, sure, no prob. I sold fifty filters while you guys were out, so I’ve got the dosh. How much?”

Just like that. So easy for them, but for me? “We’ll, uh, talk about it tomorrow, yeah?”

“Cool. You two hungry?”

“Ugh.” Sarah shook her head with a look of disgust. “I don’t think I ever want to eat again.”

“I’ve still got rations I wanna finish up.” I slung my pack back on one shoulder.

“Bro,” Sarah said, looking at Chris. “Wanna help me get my stuff to my room?” She turned to look at me. “And you… get some real sleep, willya? You’ve been running on naps way too much lately. You’ll stunt your growth, and I know you still have to be feeling a little bit from that blast.”

I responded with a friendly one-finger salute as I headed towards my room. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll catch you in the morning.” I didn’t need any more indication that I wasn’t wanted around for whatever she wanted to talk to Chris about. I told myself that it didn’t matter much. It was probably just about how much the folks were drinking.

The two of them went down the short hall to their rooms, while I cut through the kitchen towards the hallway to mine. Really, our house was a little odd. Chris and Sarah had rooms next to our parents’, but they’d built an entire addition for myself just off the laundry room.

I hit the light switch as I closed the door behind me. It was a rather impressive room, I had to admit. My own little kitchenette with a small refrigerator and running water; a large bed that even had box springs; my own table and chairs; a small restroom; a training dummy I’d bought; and enough bookshelves to count as a small library. Most of them were on science, parahuman studies, and mechanics. One bookshelf was devoted to everything else: combat styles, tactics, biographies on some of the pre-collapse big name parahumans, an encyclopedia set, atlases, that sort of thing. A few paintings and charcoal drawings that I’d picked up at school hung on the walls, along with all the portraits that I’d commissioned of family and friends over the years, and my old halberd hung like a trophy over the window.

Instead of going to bed, I stayed up for a few hours, fixing myself a small meal, putting everything from my pack away, hanging up my armor, cleaning my guns, and doing some light general cleaning. I wasn’t sure how long it was before I heard the folks come home. It was funny how when drunks tried to be quiet they still made an awful racket. I let out a small sigh as I shut off my light and laid down on the bed.

I knew that I’d slept plenty on the trip home, but with the windows open, somehow sleep was still able to come.

------------------------------------------------------------------​

I entered the door to the house, a smile on my face. “Mom, I’m home!”

Mom rose from the couch, crossing the room to hug me. “Welcome back,” she hummed melodically.

“So, what’s on the agenda for today? Los Angeles back before the Endbringers destroyed it? Cooking? First aid? Muay Thai?”

Her grin was absolutely impish. “You’ve had enough fighting for now. I was thinking, Swedish.”

“Swedish?” I blinked, a small chuckle of confusion escaping me. “Japanese, sure, I understood that one. Spanish? Yeah, no brainer. French? I’ll probably never go to Canada, but yeah, better safe than sorry. Next, you’ll have me learning Czech.”

She wordlessly grabbed my hand and dragged me through the house to the back door. We stepped outside, into a village. It looked to be mostly modern, but with some newer brick buildings here and there. The strange anachronism between pre-collapse buildings and the more crude newer ones meant that we were on Earth Bet.

I looked to Mom, raising an eyebrow. “Okay?”

“Welcome to the American Midwest. This town was founded by Czech immigrants, and until Scion turned against humanity, the population was almost completely either first generation immigrants from the country or their decedents. In fact, there was only one person in the town that wasn’t of Czech blood, and she was an Irish immigrant.

“Since Gold Morning, more Czech immigrants have moved here. These days, English is a secondary language here. Everybody speaks Czech for everything.” She put a hand on her hip, a coy smile crossing her face. “Shall I take you to Sweedsburg next to drive the point home?”

I let out a slow sigh, shaking my head. “No, you’ve proven your point, Mom. If I get posted at one of these places, I’d better be able to communicate with the locals on their own terms.” I rubbed at my face. “So, uh… How long do you think it’ll take?”

“You learn languages well.”

“Sometimes better than others,” I cut in quickly. I’d taken French in school and flunked it twice before it finally started to sink in.

“Besides the point. I think that you’ll get a basic understanding in a week, probably less. We’ll give you a week or two off, then work into the more advanced stuff.” Mom wrapped her arm around my waist, heading back for the doorway that hung in the middle of the street. “Now, then, we’ll start with the basic sounds…”

 

[Lost Demiurge]

Reading it on wordpress now. You've got my full attention...

 

[Olive Birdy]

Reading it on wordpress now. You've got my full attention...

Click to shrink...

Welcome aboard.

What snagged your attention?

 

[Lost Demiurge]

Difficult to say. More of a combination of factors, instead of one single thing. The characters feel real, the writing is good, the action's well-done and you've avoided the trap of dragging fights out. The setting has obviously had some thought put into it... The author's built on the framework that Wildbow left behind, and clearly put thought into it.

And the pace is fairly sedate, befitting the story so far. No artificial inflation of danger, no high stakes, just a group of kin and friends trying to get by on a new frontier.

So yeah, I'm digging it.

 

[Olive Birdy]

Difficult to say. More of a combination of factors, instead of one single thing. The characters feel real, the writing is good, the action's well-done and you've avoided the trap of dragging fights out. The setting has obviously had some thought put into it... The author's built on the framework that Wildbow left behind, and clearly put thought into it.

And the pace is fairly sedate, befitting the story so far. No artificial inflation of danger, no high stakes, just a group of kin and friends trying to get by on a new frontier.

So yeah, I'm digging it.

Click to shrink...

I personally like the new ground Ritic is breaking. No Taylor anywhere! It's astonishing! I also like the worldbuilding and main characters. Zenith was also a story set after Gold Morning, but it loses points for having Taylor as a MC and for being an Exalted cross.

Do you think Jordan is a parahuman, what with the dreams?

 

[SolipsistSerpen]

“He met Skitter once. God, it took him a half an hour to tell that story. He got the call to help escort her and a bunch of supplies. He said that she wasn’t anything like what he’d expected; she’d been so small in his eyes. But she knew exactly what she wanted. It was right after the Leviathan attack, and she was delivering her first payload of supplies to the people in her territory.”

Click to shrink...

It's worth remembering that Taylor was very nearly six feet tall by the end of canon. She probably hadn't hit her full height back then, but in costume it was probably easy to pass for a lot older than she was.

 

[ErrantVagrant]

Interlude 1.B


Emsada barely remembered being able to go with her family to another state, spend some time at the zoo and the aquarium, then going home the same day. If she focused, she remembered that the car rides were agony, taking forever. How her parents put up with her and her siblings was an absolute mystery.

These days, it was a much, much longer journey to the nearest zoo.

The orphanage liked to run various contests to go all sorts of places during the summer. Once kids became teens, it had become custom for them to enter at least one of the contests. Anybody who didn’t was either looked at oddly or was labeled a tryhard as they took extra classes. But Emsada honestly loved it. She loved the opportunity to take them out to see something or go somewhere that they otherwise wouldn’t.

This year, she’d volunteered to be one of the six chaperons for the first load of twelve students (plus one) to travel from the Orphanage in Earth Gimmel to New York Bet to see the zoo. Most of these kids had never seen an elephant in their lives, let alone penguins. It had been delightful to see the looks one their faces. Now, after nearly two weeks heading back, they were still abuzz with it, barely able to contain their anticipation over getting to tell the other kids all about it and show off their souvenirs. Even if the zoo had to be maintained by parahumans, it was nice to have something normal in the universe.

Mandy sat in the seat next to her, her head tipped back as she slept. She was one of the lucky ones — as soon as the carriage was in motion, she was passed out, yet could still sleep through the night. Emsada envied that skill. She’d give anything for these trips to move faster. Mandy had won her right to go on the trip by a combination of cleaning most of her floor every day for a month and successfully learning the names of all the former presidents. To most people Emsada’s age, that didn’t seem like much, but Mandy had put more effort into it than most kids put into learning anything.

The girl had just turned fifteen right before they’d set out, and it was the first time she’d seen captive animals that weren’t domesticated. That was… sad on so many levels. Emsada tried not to think about it, but there were times where what had been lost haunted her.

Across from Emsada, David was looking out the window lost in thought. He hadn’t actually entered a contest, but had earned his space on the trip due to the progress that he’d been making. He was one of the “special needs” kids; too much stress and his mind tended to collapse in the most horrible of ways. Anybody who knew even a portion of his history had a vested interest in finding his father and gutting the bastard as slowly as possible.

But David was doing better. He was better at hiding it, too. The entire trip, he’d seemed a little odd, but mostly normal. These days, odd was normal. He’d quietly slipped back to his hotel room a few times, no doubt to rest and recharge, but he’d done it easily enough without drawing attention to himself. She could almost forget about his problems. He’d probably wear long sleeves and keep his dark hair shaggy for the rest of his life, though. There were reasons they kept his fingernails as short as possible. How he managed that getup in this sweltering heat was beyond her.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked quietly.

He lifted a shoulder and let it fall. “I see green grass, you see green grass, but we probably don’t see the same thing. Color is an illusion created by the mind from neural impulses transmitted by the optic nerve. Everything we see is simply our brains imagining those signals. People who are color blind don’t see in black and white, they see altered color as their brains interpret signals that are warped and corrupted, or lacking in the necessary cones. Hyun-mi has an extra cone type in her eye, so she sees colors that we can’t. It’s all an illusion. But I also worry about her. If the genetics that allow her to see an extra color eventually creep up in a male and they have a kid, it could create more and more cones through generations of evolution. And I worry about that. The mantis shrimp has far more cone types than us and will kill anything put in the same area as it. Does that speak about the nature of the universe and what seeing more colors does to a species?”

Emsada opened her mouth, but Tony cut in before her. “Or it could be that the shrimp’re just massive jerks because they’re massive jerks.”

David grinned a little without looking from the window. “I like that one better, yeah.”

Tony’s face split in two. “When someone asks you that, just say ‘colors’ man. That’ll make you sound deep. Instead, you sound like you’ve been a student of Lovecraft or something when you do that.”

Surprisingly, David’s grin didn’t fade. “Sorry.”

“It’s cool.” Tony paused, then chuckled softly. “Gotta admit, those mantis shrimp were really awesome looking. Flamboyant little murder machines, man.”

Tony was the plus one of the group. He hadn’t entered a single contest, but everybody knew that wherever David went, Tony wasn’t far behind. He was a stabilizing factor for the other boy. It wasn’t uncommon for kids at the orphanage, sadly. A person comes to them at the lowest point in their lives, having lost their previous lives, and needed to find something to give them courage and strength. A buddy provided that. Some of the old pre-collapse soldiers explained that it was well-known in the military: you stayed alive to keep your buddy alive.

Not that being triggered did Tony many favors, either. With his particular powers, the only real options for him were either as a mercenary or as a Warden posted to a community. But he was also that blessed rarity — the losing his family the way that he had hurt him deeply, but he refused to let it destroy him. He still flung himself into life as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

It was a pity that he didn’t look like Warden material. He was tall, six and a half feet, and disturbingly thin to the point where he looked skeletal. Emsada knew he was self-conscious about his looks; David might wear long sleeves to hide the scars, but Tony wore them to hide his scrawny arms. If he weren’t nearly blind without his glasses, he could shave his head and make a passable grim reaper for Halloween.

She noted that their clothes were practically identical today. Were they going to do the brothers routine again when dealing with strangers? Maybe.

Despite his power, Emsada thought he’d do well. Tony was the kind who dealt with the world by assuming it was absurd and embraced it like that. When he hurt, he looked for the things that were silly about what was hurting him. Maybe that’s why he and David were such a good match. One knew the gravity of every slight action, the other knew the insanity of it all. There were days where she wondered which was which.

The carriage slowed enough that Mandy stirred, opening her eyes with a yawn. “We there?”

Emsada glanced out the window, seeing the open gates. “Yeah. One more day until we’re home.” Two days rest, and then she got to go with the next group out. More kids on that one. Not everybody who tried got to go on these trips, but those who didn’t still got to have plenty of fun at home. The staff made sure of it.

“Thank god,” Tony said in an exasperated tone. “I gotta piss like a Russian race horse.”

“Ew,” Mandy said, making a face. “Can you be any more crass?”

“That’s not the only thing about me that’s like a horse.” He flashed them a grin, and the younger girl rolled her eyes. He laughed in that weird soft, wheezing way of his, apparently getting the reaction he’d wanted. That was enough to set everyone else off with at least a small chuckle. It felt good to laugh, even over stupid things.

Finally, though, the caravan pulled up to the station. Letting the horses rest, the passengers bailed out like the bundles of energy that they were. Bundles of energy that had been stuck in a box without anything to entertain them for far too many hours.

As soon as David was out, gingerly closing the door behind him, she addressed her group of three. “Alright, here’s what’s going on. You’re going to stay here for a few minutes, no wandering off.” She shot a look at Tony, who mock sighed. “I’m going to doublecheck that we have rooms, then we’ll hit the public restrooms and will get something to eat. Alright?”

Mandy squared her shoulders back. “I’ll sit on the dork if I have to.”

“Promises, promises.” Tony was all smiles.

Emsada didn’t even bother rolling her eyes before heading off to Richard’s group. He nodded once before taking up position next to her. “How’s David?” he asked quietly.

“Bringing him was a bad idea. He’s spending too much time in his own head again, twisting his thoughts to think that humanity is going to turn into murderers.” Which was typical — his paranoia was a self-fueling beast. His flawed logic ‘knew’ that everyone was going to turn against him, to hurt him somehow. It was all too easy for him to fall into those traps. How Tony was able to get past them was beyond her. She’d rather hoped that the wonders David had never gotten to see before this trip would help, but sometimes…

“If you want, I’ll trade you. I kind of let myself miss that Chad had a knife. No idea where he got it, though. He kept fingering it, but he kept trying to force himself away. I think he’s actively resisting the urge.” Which was a good sign. For how many kids suffered from depression of some sort, they just didn’t have the resources to offer all of them antidepressants. And while self-mutilation was a high-priority, if he could keep on resisting the need to actually feel anything, even pain, it was a sign that they might not have to medicate him.

“Chad for David and Tony?” She thought about it for a moment. “I’ll talk to him about it in the morning. Abandonment issues that I’d rather avoid. I’d have to approach it carefully.”

“Play it off as my suggestion. We both know he’s smart, play on that. Say that tonight I approached the topic, wanting to talk about morphology with him. Let him know that he can say no if he wants to, but play up the fact that I’m excited to talk with him about it. I’ll break out all the complicated words I can think of and keep him distracted from whatever’s going on in that head of his.”

Richard did have a point. Emsada was an art teacher, not a science or math teacher. There wasn’t a lot that she could do to keep David’s mind engaged. Richard, though, could keep the scientific part of David’s mind at the forefront, preventing him from going into a bad headspace. “I like it. We’ll talk more after dinner, alright?”

“Can do.”

All the teachers converged, as they had so many other stops, while Calvin talked with the station operator. Almost immediately he returned to the gathering, a pleasant smile on his face. “Same rooms at the hotel as on our way out. Just stop by the front desk and let them know who you are so you can get your keys. We’ll be up and leaving at eight tomorrow and should be home by two, so feel free and let the kids enjoy themselves a little tonight… until curfew at least. If there’s any questions or concerns, feel free and grab me. Kathy and Nate could stand to see the process a bit more.”

He gave them all a brief nod before heading off to his pair of students. Emsada had to admit, it was nice for someone to take the lead on these little excursions without any headbutting or jockeying for position. One could hardly believe that Calvin was just a maintenance man at the college given how easily he took charge, delegated tasks, and handled whatever needed to be done.

She made her way back towards the kids; Tony was doing a little bit of a potty dance, shifting from foot to foot as subtly as he could, David and Mandy talking. As she approached, she could only make out a little of the conversation.

“…but it’s actually corrosion.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. It’s actually the third of five stages of corrosion, but I think it’s pretty.”

Mandy smiled a little. “I think it’s pretty, too.”

“What’s pretty, now?” Emsada asked with a grin.

“Bronze,” Mandy said, pointing to a sign on the station. “The way it discolors. I thought that it was because of gunk and crap growing on it, but he said no.”

Emsada blinked. “Well, it could partially be-”

David shook his head sharply, not quite looking directly at anybody. “Brass and bronze are antimicrobial. Simple organisms can’t grow on them. That’s why I keep on asking if we can get bronze door handles for the orphanage. It’d help cut down on people getting sick.”

Mandy grinned a little. “Plus it’ll end up looking pretty.”

He chuckled a little. “If something can look pretty while still being helpful, why not do it?” he asked in a sing-song voice.

Emsada grinned a little. If you ignored the fact that he always looked like he expected to be hit for something, David was actually fitting in pretty well. She turned her attention to the taller boy. “I’m pretty sure there’s a set of public restrooms that are a bit more secluded. Think you can hold out until we get there?” She could have chosen a closer one, but the less strain she put on David the better.

Tony paused before responding. “I got a half an hour before I need to change my pants. I can wait a few more minutes. But, uh… Can we get something to eat soon? I’m starting to get a bad headache.”

Of course he was — if he went more than a few hours without eating, he always started complaining about headaches. “We move just a little faster, then. This way.”

As they walked, Mandy quickly fell into step next to her. “Are you going to be my charcoal instructor again this year?”

She smiled down at the girl. “I could put in a request if you’d like.”

“I’d like that.”

Mandy didn’t have a lot of skill, but that wasn’t the point. If there was one thing besides orphans that they had an abundance of, it was teachers. These kids sometimes needed an outlet, so when the orphanage was founded, they’d done everything possible to get as many teachers as possible, including artists. These days, they were considered one of the top academic centers on the East Coast, and there were more applicants to the college than any other university. Where once almost all of their costs were covered by communities paying a tax to have a place for any orphans they might have, now almost two-thirds was paid by families wanting their children to have an excellent education or the industries that rich kids going to school there demanded.

Mandy might not have the talent that some of Emsada’s students had, but she had passion and a desire to improve. That counted for a lot. The ability to express her demons through art was another good point for the girl, a path to recovery and improvement as a person. A healthy outlet. That counted for even more. Plus, she liked the girl’s oddly elegant spunk.

Emsada grinned. “Then it’s done. I’ll put in the request tomorrow.”

“Charcoal, huh?” Tony looked curious. “I wouldn’t have guessed.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Mandy shot back, glaring.

He was quick to put up his hands defensively. “Nothin’! Nothin’ bad, I swear! Just… Y’know, I didn’t see you as the art type. I thought you’d be more, I dunno, social circle and stuff, not art stuff. You’ve got the looks and personality of one of the popular girls, but you manage to pull it off without being a total bitch, y’know?”

She blinked at him. “Um… Thanks?”

He grinned a little before shrugging. “Hey, just the truth. From the moment we shipped out, I thought that you were one of the cool kids who didn’t let it get to their heads. Kinda girl that I could hang out with, if she woulda had time for me.”

“Yeah?” She grinned a little. “Then how come I never see you around back at school?”

It was a loaded question that Mandy already knew the answer to. An especially dangerous one that could go badly, what with David trailing behind them.

“I’m earmarked for the Wardens. Most of my classes focus on that. Parahuman Theory, law, public speaking, martial arts, that sort of thing. Stuff so I can speed through my training when I sign on, so I miss out on a few of the normal classes. But I think we had one class together, um…”

“Geometry.”

Tony laughed, snapping his fingers. “That’s it! Yeah! Geometry. Been a couple of years. But yeah, see? Totally don’t move in the same circles, so how would we know? Kind of a pity, now that I’ve gotten to spend some time with you.”

“Careful,” Emsada said, teasingly. “It sounds like you’re flirting.”

Tony scoffed, but Mandy turned around, walking backwards to address David. “Who’s he got a crush on, hmm?”

The shorter boy’s grin was vulpine. “He thinks that Geeta Belsaree is the cutest girl in the orphanage-”

“Hey!”

“-but he’d rather date Kate Severson.”

“Oh, dude,” Tony groaned. “Uncool!”

“Revenge for telling Kari how I felt.”

Emsada couldn’t help but grin. She had no idea which Kari he was talking about, but it sounded like a story. If he was doing well tomorrow, she might try and con it out of him on the trip back. If he didn’t go with Richard, of course.

“So,” Mandy drew the word out as long as she could. “Geeta Belsaree?”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Come on. She’s got that whole Indian beauty thing going–oh hey look at the restrooms!” With that, he picked up his pace, going past them towards the small building by the city wall as fast as he could without running. Anything to preserve his dignity… and avoid the subject. He slipped inside the men’s side and, a moment later, stuck his head back out to wave. David hurried to join him.

Emsada waited a few moments before snickering. “So, who all are you going to tell?”

“Oh, nobody. She’s way out of his league.” Mandy flashed an impish grin. “But I’m going to give him hell in private.”

Emsada smirked a little before nodding towards the restrooms. “Do you need to go?”

She snorted softly. “Unlike some people, I went at the last rest stop. I’m not-”

Her words were cut short by three rapid-fire heavy impacts with the wall. The two turned to look at the source of the noise, their eyes wide. A moment later there was another impact followed immediately by the log wall splintering open.

“Wildlings!” Emsada screamed, drawing her pistol.

The beast that had made it through was large, impressively so, larger than most dogs. A dull flat head with recessed eyes looked around hungrily, reminding her of a buffalo somewhat. Its muscled green body seemed well-suited for both running and power. The most interesting feature, though, was the mouth. As it made a sound that could theoretically be called a howl, Emsada could see two sets of teeth. The outer set of teeth consisted of one wide, curved tooth on the top and bottom that seemed to encompass the entire mouth, and she would be willing to bet they were razor sharp. The set behind it seemed to be full of nothing but fangs. No, not fangs. Not with the way that they were… undulating.

She’d never seen a breed like it before. But that was nothing new with wildlings.

There wasn’t a moment’s pause before she raised her gun and pulled the trigger. The kick in her hand was heavy, but she remained focused on her target. The beast staggered, shook its head and looked directly at her. A small trickle of blood ran down its face.

Of course. Anything with a skull thick enough to let it plow through the wall wasn’t going to go down to a pistol round to the noggin. As the beast ducked its head, she still fired another shot. It went wide as stark terror made her hands tremble. Another that seemed to do jack all as it started to charge towards her. As it leaped, time seemed to slow to a crawl, but all that she could see was the wildling’s eyes.

Those eyes seemed to explode along with the rest of the creature’s head and body. The muscles were rent into long strands and the bones were pulverized into streams as she watched in slow motion. Veins were taken apart wholesale, strange webs hanging in the air for what must have been a fraction of a second. As those strands and streams and veins moved, she became aware of an outstretched hand. Everything flowed over the hand, arm, and body, coating it with living flesh.

Like that, as soon as she recognized that time was moving slowly, it resumed its normal flow. Standing before her was Tony, his posture aggressive. His power at work — turning living things into a form of armor. She’d heard that he could turn an entire tree into nigh-impenetrable armor at the sacrifice of not being able to move. Animals provided more mobility and strength, but with much more gruesome effects. Like she’d just seen.

Another one lunged for him, and this time she got to see its effects normally. His hand barely touched the wildling’s head and it exploded into a cloud of viscera that enveloped him in less than half a second, adding to the living armor he’d already created. Already, though, two more beasts were pushing through the gap, widening it. How many were there in this pack? At least five, but she was willing to bet there were more than that.

Always bank on pessimism. Then worship when you’re wrong.

Emsada glanced back. Mandy hadn’t moved more than a step back, her face pale. “Run,” she barked. No response. Damn. She moved quickly to try and urge the girl away. If Tony could at least be an active target for the wildlings, then she might be able to shoot them in the side, where she hoped there would be less protection. That might do the job. They just needed a few more minutes, and the guards would be here.

There was a scream, getting her to look back. A boy dropping to the ground, while the brutishly armored youth kicked viciously at the wildling, sending it flying. Damn. She’d moved to protect one kid, and another gets hurt.

But that seemed to knock Tony out of collection mode. He let out a primal scream, but he charged the next one silently, slamming his fists into it with enough strength that she could hear bones snapping. Hopefully, he’d get back into collecting their flesh quickly — there was less chance of him getting hurt that way.

Another lunged at the armored boy, and she fired three times into it. It didn’t kill the beast, but it was enough to drop it for a moment. Long enough for Tony to stomp on its neck with another satisfying crunch. But more were pouring through the hole in the wall already. She fired her pistol again.

Less than half a second later, there was a burst of gunfire from her right. Calvary at last. A Desert Eagle might have damn good stopping power for a pistol, but the guards had rifles. By the way the flesh exploded, she was guessing the rifle was a healthy caliber, making it even better for the task at hand. Maybe overpowered for human targets, but she wasn’t complaining in the slightest.

Two more wildlings pushed their way through the hole, only to instantly meet a quick hail of bullets. Another tried pushing past their corpses, only to fall over and begin twitching spastically. Most likely one of the Wardens using their power. She could hear the guards on the wall firing, presumably taking out the ones still outside.

Emsada waited, keeping her pistol trained on that hole. It wouldn’t do anybody any good if she took her eyes off the immediate threat only for one to slip through. It wasn’t until the guards on the wall stopped firing completely that she took stock.

Mandy was in shock, but unhurt. No fault of her own; if Emsada hadn’t been armed, she might have been in the same state. David down on the ground, curled into a tight ball. She couldn’t see his face, let alone where he was hurt. Tony standing above him, shaking in his strange reddish armor that covered him from head to toe. That was her priority now. The two boys. Simple priorities. Quick comfort for Tony, then address whatever David’s wounds were. How had he gotten hurt anyway?

No matter. She hurried over, reaching out to Tony’s shoulder. “It’s going to be okay. We’ll take-”

The moment her hand touched him, the armor seemed to lock up. The boy stood rigid, arms straight at his sides, as a scream escaped him. It wasn’t like any scream that she’d heard before — it seemed to pierce straight through to the soul, making her take a step back and her heart break.

Almost immediately, the boy on the ground forced himself to uncurl, lanky legs moving to get under him. Almost in slow motion, he rose to his feet, straightening up over six feet tall, and wrapped his arms around the armor.

Tony whispered something into the armored figure’s ear with lips that were turning quickly blue. One arm ended in a bleeding stump as he weakly held the armored boy.

Wait. Emsada let out a shuddering breath, trying to make sense of it all. Tony was standing? Then the person in the armor… Was that David? Could Tony transfer his armor to someone else? She locked eyes with the taller boy’s, but he wasn’t seeing her. Already, he was looking through her.

It hit her that Tony was just the sort of idiot who would assume that he could just make more armor for himself, and instead focus on trying to help his friend. And it had cost him his hand, just above the wrist. Seeing his friend hurt had thrown David into action, but had left him hanging on by the sheerest of threads. A thread that she’d inadvertently severed by touching him from behind, sending him into another seizure-like fit.

And it had been such a nice day.

 

[Alamo]

Okay, this one's a strange one. We all know that Worm is a violent universe, where bad things happen to... Well, everybody. In this chapter, bad things (if somewhat confusing things) happen to some people, and depending on how you look at it, I can see how it might be considered "graphic violence." I don't think it's graphic, but I can see how it might cause some trigger warnings to flare. And since I'm not sure what the bar is on what's considered graphic of not, especially with the power used, I'm opening myself up to all of you. I don't want banned for posting his stuff.

Please feel free and go to the Interlude, and tell me if it would violate the site rules or not. If so, I'll just leave it like this. If not, then I'll go ahead and copy/paste it for everyonne's reading pleasure. (If it does count as graphic violence and linking to said violence isn't allowed, please let me know and I'll fix that up right quick, yo.)

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No, that's perfectly acceptable under board rules. You shouldn't have any problems. In the future though, I'd suggest either using the Staff Communication sub-forum or PMing a mod.

 

[Olive Birdy]

No, that's perfectly acceptable under board rules. You shouldn't have any problems. In the future though, I'd suggest either using the Staff Communication sub-forum or PMing a mod.

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Thank you.

 

[ErrantVagrant]

No, that's perfectly acceptable under board rules. You shouldn't have any problems. In the future though, I'd suggest either using the Staff Communication sub-forum or PMing a mod.

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Thank you for the info! I'll make sure to do so in the future. Good to know that the mods are super cool here.

 

[ErrantVagrant]

It's worth remembering that Taylor was very nearly six feet tall by the end of canon. She probably hadn't hit her full height back then, but in costume it was probably easy to pass for a lot older than she was.

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Talked to Ritic, and he says that Michael was one of the nameless mercs who accompanied Skitter when she first met with Sierra. Tall, but still gangly. He also says that Michael went into it with certain beliefs already in place. He expected her to be more imposing when they first encountered her, but once she started doing her thing is when she got imposing. He was familiar with Accord and Coil, so he expected that instead of, well, Skitter. Tattletale he expected as a Thinker, Bitch would have met with his expectations as well. Skitter was something else entirely, and helped him to have a more open mind about capes in generall.

Ritic says that it would be easier to explain if he were to write out the scene from Michael's POV, but it would be pretty boring for the reader in the end and wouldn't contribute anything to the overall story.