9.30
am
Stepping carefully, back hard
against the cool, damp bricks of the alley wall, Eoghan Crawter edged closer to
the nearby sounds of people talking -- arguing -- the monotone of reports being
made over the chans to headquarters.
"She
was fine, up until you and Jalnara came by," Crawter muttered. "Next
thing I know -- 'Bye, Eoghan! See you soon! Don't worry!'" He stopped,
tilting his head upward to the vague sky above his head, framed by the walls on
either side of him. "Ye know -- that's what's got me worried. Th'
'Don't worry' part."
"You
know, you're not usually this neurotic, " Revelin commented. "What's
wrong? They stopped putting jaga in th' rum again?"
"Eww. I think a rat just
crawled over my foot," Porter said, from behind them.
Crawter
blinked, and looked sharply around Revelin to glare at the other man.
"You're still here? Why are you here?"
Porter
blinked at him. "Because it is possible that this incident is linked to the
rest of it all."
"Ye're
a detective now too, is that it?"
The
other simply shrugged. Crawter made a growling sound beneath his breath, then
swung away back to where he was about to peer around the corner, assess the risk
of going up to find stuff out while there was still three cruisers there, the
technology singing into the sweet morning. ..
"Gather
you're talking about your girlfriend, eh?" Porter then said. "Ever
considered she might be pregnant?"
"Oh, no," Revelin
groaned, hiding his eyes behind a hand, rubbing his temples.
Beside
him, the shorter man jerked, froze in place, then began to whisper dire
imprecations to the old gods of home.
Out
in the fitful sunlight, the smoke still trailing up from the ruins of the
warehouse creating dirty yellow shadows across the street, one of the Metro
Seccers raised his head, face hidden into inscrutability behind the black
barrier of his helmet plex. He moved away from where his comrades were still
engrossed in the task of clearing out what amounted to a charnel house, and
strode fluidly across the street toward the alley, weapons packs thumping
lightly against his hips.
As
the Seccer approached, he heard someone say, "No. No way. Tramore an' me
are -careful, y'know? No way ."
"Look,
Eoghan, what can I say --?"
"A
kid! How am I t' look after a kid, for the love of --?"
"You
never know. Crawter- it could be twins."
There
was a silence, then a muttered, Youre
not helping, Porter. Why dont you just go and
--?
Then,
the Seccers shadow crossed over the nearest figure. Who stopped talking.
Turned, and looked up at his own reflection in the helmet visor.
Crawter
felt a brief tingling from the sigil resting against the skin of his chest.
Smiling crookedly, he murmured, I heard yeve come back to us a tad
different, Securio. But I never expected ye t' cross over to th' dark side like that,
as it were -" and he gestured toward the uniform.
The
armoured figure tilted his head. Said simply, "A Sharmakore. Yes, I do
remember that."
"Thought
you weren't fond of lakhanaar form," Revelin said.
"I'm
not in lakhanaar," came the simple, curt reply. A mitted hand came
up and opened part of the padded uniform.
Within,
there swirled only darkness.
Revelin
looked over his shoulder to where Porter stood, face frozen. "Get the
feeling you're seeing things you shouldn't?"
"What
he sees, does not matter ," Securio said softly, resecuring the uniform.
"There are ways of reweaving -- memories. Later."
"Are
you the one committing the killings?" Porter asked outright, and Revelin
gaped at him.
"Are
you crazed? You step up to a demi-god, in Kerav, and ask if he's killed
anyone off lately?!"
"Think
about the last few moments, mortal," Securio replied. "Think on why
your heart still beats." After a pause, during which pulses seemed
extremely loud in the ears of two there, he continued. "I would like to
know who has just tried to shred me to the eternal voids. I would like to know
who it is that makes the Night Voice so angry that the music following his voice
bleeds fire and metallic pain. I would like to know who."
"Whatever got
to you in there," Crawter murmured, flicking a thumb back at the street,
"you're hurt, aren't you, Securio?"
"Pain is
life," came the simple response.
Crawter
and Revelin looked at each other. Both knew what the other was thinking: Holy
hells, Securio can change into anything and anyone. Just like
Torgen Velsicar.
"Er-
I realise you three seem to be old friends, but -- I've got a suggestion as to
where to look for a lead," Porter spoke into the charged silence.
Three heads turned
to him, and he cleared his throat.
."Let's take a
look at the base for Channel FS9." Porter shrugged. "Just a hunch.
They've been doing all the exclusive reports, right?"
Crawter stared at
him. "A hunch," he repeated. Porter nodded. After a blink, Crawter
said, "Right then. FS9 it is."
"So, you'll take the case?"
"Sure. It'll cost ya 500 creds per hour, with 600 retainer."
"Er- isn't that a little steep --?"
Crawter
smiled. "Hey, we're experts, right, fellas? Ye gotta pay for
experts. Besides, " and he gave Revelin an overly hearty thump with the
flat of his hand to the back, "I might very well be a father soon,
true? Gotta provide fer little ones, don't I?"
" ...and then, Pig-man Ridger comes across all legal-schtick,
tryin' to quote some regs made up outta his head! Star damn, but I hate
ignorant seccers ! "
He
who had dubbed himself Third Wave, way back in the long, boring days spent
listening to the cobwebby lecturers, paused for appropriate placement of
dramatic effect. His audience, instead of countless thousands unseen at the end
of a news chan session, was a vid opper called Georgius Krane. Georgius was well
used to this, to his companion's gesticulations, the inflated rise and
melodramatic lows of Third Wave in full furious monologue. He was used to it,
because he had been Third Wave's vid opper more than any other being in this
solar system, human or extraT .
It helped that
Krane never tried to interrupt, and never let anything Third Wave said disturb
the almost Buddha-Iike tranquillity across his features.
It
was said that Krane's ancestors only ever expressed something like extreme
sexual arousal with their partners by, maybe, a bit of rapid eye blinking.
Maybe.
Into
a silence, now, Krane commented, "Least you weren't Tombed, man. Gotta be
thankful for that."
"Frikker
ever tries to arrest me, he'll know about it," Third Wave muttered
darkly.
Krane
waited for another silence. "What would ya do, TW? Threaten t' reveal his
range of underwear colours?" He briefly turned his gaze from the road ahead
through the vibro's screen, then looked back again. Third Wave's eyes narrowed,
as he frowned.
There
was almost a Georgius Krane smile there.
Or,
it coulda just been gas.
The
Buddha Guy just made a funny. Har, har, har.
"Nah. I'd sue him."
Third Wave rested his chin on his fist, looking out at the passing scenery of
urban decay gradually giving way to the light industrial districts. "I'd
get that flaky boss of ours t' sue him."
Krane
didn't fill the silence this time. He could feel Third Wave's eyes scan the side
of his head, but all Krane's attention was on the driving, the movement of the
softly humming vehicle through the streets of Kerav City.
And
now, the deft parking close to a building dominated by live-plex letters along
the front, the letters half-a-storey high and changing colour constantly,
spelling out: "FS9 -Your View To The Future!"
Third
Wave looked up at the letters, pulled a face at the momentary beige-Iime green
combination, and then said, "Rich boy sets up his very own news chan.
Possibly a present from dear distant dad-figure. We get hired a week into its
existence, and two weeks after that, we start mainlining straight into the vein
of one of the biggest horror-vid stories in this burg since the last elections
for mayor." He shifted in his seat, and Krane looked at him in turn with
his usual calm, nothing face.
"Our
boss knows star crap 'bout th' business, yet we've been th' first there every
time?" Third Wave muttered.
"Last
one was a call," Krane stated.
"Yeah,"
Third Wave nodded. "The last one was a call." He shook his head, and
shifted back, opening the hatch and standing up outside the vehicle. "From
a concerned citizen, right?"
"That's
what you said on the loop, TW," Krane replied.
"Hmm
..."
Krane
shot Third Wave a quick glance. Then shrugged mentally.
The
kid was young. Thoughts absolutely chock full o' the mercurial, so they'd say
back in the journo dives on Mars. Hanging around someone like Third Wave,
thoughts blazing away inside his head like the Northern Lights, was a hazard to
retirement pay.
Another
mental shrug, Krane's face never erased of that trademark calm.
Methodically,
he gathered up his equipment, and trotted after the striding figure of his
partner.