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adverse_camber Wen’s gentle, pointed face appeared in the doorway. “Hey, Lara. Travel ok? I don’t suppose you get travel sick, right?” She scrambled up into the vehicle. “We’re here.”
Celerity remained in her corner, uneasy and wide eyed. “Is it a bad thing that I don’t want to come out?” She could already hear the music, and not only because her hearing was sensitive; the great rolling thumps of the bass echoed out over the evening air. Excited chattering voices passed continually by her hideaway, perhaps even on their way to the same event Celerity was destined to end up.
“Not a bad thing at all. The first one of these I attended, I stayed in my wagon the whole time.” Wen crossed the floor and climbed into the big silver palm. “It didn’t get me let off the hook, because Pabishka was incensed, how dare a slave make its own decisions about whether it gets flaunted at a show! She ordered the absolute shards flogged out of me. I couldn’t lay down for days. I don’t want you punished over… over nothing.”
Celerity drew her closer to her chest and hugged her, gently; she was already shaky, and the little female’s story had just made it worse. “So I’m damned if I do, and damned if I don’t,” she whispered. “That’s about the strength of it, isn’t it?”
Wen rested her cheek against her friend’s chest and listened to the distressed stuttering of her fans, somewhere deep inside. “It won’t be as bad as you think. I promise. All you have to do is stand around and look nice. Answer a few questions, maybe. They’re not going to buy you, and run away into the night with you.”
Celerity actually managed a little chuckle. “That wasn’t so much what I was worried about.”
“I know.” Wen smiled. “Listen, I promise I’ll stay with you while you find your feet. All right?” She extracted herself carefully from the cage of silver fingers, and scrambled the rest of the way to the giant’s shoulder. “Our mighty lady and mistress might want me to look after some of the new animals, later on, but for now you’re my priority. All right?”
“All right,” Celerity agreed, softly, and pushed herself to her feet, being careful not to dislodge Wen from her precarious perch. “Where do I go?”
“At the moment, we’re parked in a lot a few hundred yards away from the display arena. It’s a big indoor convention centre where they hold big society meetings, motor shows…”
Celerity laughed privately at the irony of that one.
“…fairs and conventions and suchlike,” Wen carried on. “Pabishka owns the place, so she often uses it for displays like these, although they tend to be more like big parties than just shows.”
Celerity hesitated by the doorway. “Do they not have a loading dock at the centre? So exhibitors don’t have to walk so far with their stock? Why are we so far away?”
Wen patted her aerials, gently. “Because not everyone will get an invite to the show,” she murmured. “The area’s popular for its nightlife, so there’s a lot of foot traffic passes through, and Pabishka will want to show off her products to as many people as possible, without having to cater for them as well. Rich dignitaries aren’t her only customers, but the general public don’t get invited to her shows.”
“…so I have to walk through them to get there?” Celerity backed up a step.
“Trust me. It’ll be ok. All you have to do is get to the display arena. Ignore everyone else. They’ll bring the lorries around to the back once you’re inside. It’s a good, calm evening, even the new trices behaved themselves tonight; you don’t have anything to worry about.”
Celerity chewed awkwardly at her top lip. “Do the… the trices…” What was a trice, anyway? “…regularly not behave?”
“They can be awkward, yes.” Wen watched as the van in front finally boarded up in preparation for moving. “Moreso if the crowds are excited. Come on.” She patted her shoulder. “The longer we dither here, the grumpier Pabishka will get.”
“All right.” Celerity drew a long, calming pulse of cold air through her systems, struggling to cool overheated components. “Just-… just let me… all right.” She steeled her nerve, and took a step out onto the vehicle’s loading ramp.
Even had she not had such heavy, clanging footsteps, there’d have been no ‘unnoticed emergence’. A collective gasp rose up from the passers-by, and like sea-ice before the prow of a polar vessel the crowds all scurried backwards, forming a big, distant circle.
Celerity stood and surveyed them for a fraction of a second; all the little people had clustered together in frightened groups, gazing fearfully up at her. “I’m not here to hurt anyone,” she reassured, sadly. At least, she consoled herself, no one had run away from the ‘giant metal monstrosity’. And no-one had shot at her! Yet.
“They’re scared of me,” she murmured, as she set off down the short road to the display arena, trying to ignore the little train of curious individuals that had formed in her wake, “and yet they’re still following me.”
“They’re just curious,” Wen reassured. “You’re a fascinating new creature that no-one’s ever seen before. They just want a good look.”
Security guards stopped the curious public at the rear gates, apart from three young spurs; two of whom had invites, and got directed to the visitor entrance, and one who had a journalist’s badge, who held back to chatter with security. Celerity got directed to the cargo bay; she clambered awkwardly up over the step and beneath the awning, and through the concertinaed doors, down a short corridor that felt more like a bit of a warehouse, and ended up in a room barely big enough for her to stand upright in.
“Right. Here we are.” Wen patted her shoulder and coaxed her to a halt. “Now we need to wait.”
“Wait? For what?”
“To be called through. If we jump our place in the queue, we’ll be announced wrongly, and we’ll look silly.”
Celerity directed her gaze at her feet. “I already look silly.”
Wen laughed, kindly. “No you don’t. Whatever gave you that idea?”
“My face looks like a graffiti artist was given the go-ahead to use it as their latest canvas,” Celerity husked. “I look… ridiculous. And it’ll take hours to chip it all off again.”
Wen stroked her antennae. “You look fine, all right?” she lied, gently; reminding the big femme that yeah, she did look sort of ridiculous, would definitely not help her mood. “It’s only a temporary topcoat, it’ll wash off just fine.”
Celerity made a wary sound that suggested she wasn’t sure if she believed her, and fidgeted her feet.
“What you look like doesn’t really matter, anyway. All you have to remember,” Wen leaned closer, right by her audio, so the milling security staff couldn’t just listen in, “is that you’re beautiful. You’re regal. You’re graceful, you’re feminine, you’re everything that they could possibly want. All right?”
Celerity shook her head and backed away from the door. “I can’t do it,” she quailed. “I can’t. I can’t! I’m not all those things-…”
“You are if you believe you are,” Wen reassured, before she could convince herself of impending disaster. “And that’s all that matters. If you act like you know how beautiful you are, regardless how you feel on the inside, people will believe it. Trust me.”
Celerity just shook her head, backing up another step and bumping the wall.
“Lara, trust me.” Wen folded her small hands all the way around Celerity’s index finger. “Even if you don’t believe it, you have to at least act like you do. You need to make a good impression tonight, because the sooner you get into the habit the easier it’ll get.”
“I don’t want it to be a habit, I don’t want to be here!”
“You’re preaching to the choir, love. Hardly any of us want to be here. But Pabishka’s word goes, and you have to make an effort to do what she tells you.” Wen voiced a soft, understanding sigh. “She might not order you smelted down, but if you can’t make her any money by acting attractive, and desirable, Pabishka probably will sell you, and to a mine! And I don’t want to think about you hauling rocks for the rest of your life.”
Celerity struggled to keep it back, but couldn’t help the fracturing whimper that escaped her lips.
“You’ll do fine. All you have to do is stand there, look nice, let them take some pictures, just… be there. All right?”
“All right…”
“That’s the spirit! Now, head up, back straight, chest out… that’s it. You’re proud of your looks, you’re being generous just by gracing them with your presence. They should feel honoured that you’re even here in the first place. Right?”
“…Right.” There was still a little tremble in Celerity’s voice, but she was obviously trying to get a handle on the idea. Her shakes had almost diminished to nothing when the small figure peeked through the curtain and nodded to them.
Wen offered a reassuring smile to the alarmed expression she could see reflected in the mirrored door opposite. “That’s our cue, Lara. Remember, you’re beautiful. No-one can take that from you.”
A flurry of camera clicks met their entrance, accompanied by gasps of alarm and excitement. Towards the back, Otto wore a smugly satisfied smile that just got broader as the crowds surged around him and Pabishka, towards the stage to get a better view. He said something that was inaudible over the crowd at this distance – apparently something derogatory, as Pabishka’s pinched expression darkened, but she remained silent.
After all Celerity’s fears, the first part of the evening turned out to not be so bad, after all. As Wen had suggested, the people came and went, and discussed things in quiet voices, and occasionally asked questions, but mostly just came and looked.
“Analia’wen? Lia?”
The voice attracted the attention of both women; Wen’s ears pricked up. “Juris?”
The speaker was a laima photographer, standing just outside the rope that marked out the area the public were permitted; he smiled, and gave the smaller femme a wave.
Wen made a little squeak of happiness. “Lara, could you let me down? I’d like to talk to my friend?”
“Of course.” Celerity smiled and lifted her hand, so Wen could step into her palm. It didn’t take vast knowledge of biological psychology to recognise that the little female was excited to see the newcomer, and Celerity sensed he might be more than ‘just’ a friend.
‘Juris’ bowed very steeply to her in greeting when Wen’s feet met the ground; the female showed no such stiffness and launched into his arms. They hugged for a few long self-indulgent seconds before finally stepping apart with sheepish glances at the public around them (who conveniently looked utterly uninterested).
“Who is your friend, Wen?”
Wen glanced up at the big femme, and cleared her throat, humbly. “Lara! Forgive me. Where are my manners?” she scolded herself. “Um, this is Juris. He’s a photographer at the Stolica News. Juris, this is Celerity.” She leaned closer to Juris’ ear, and explained, quietly; “she’s not actually a Nuori product, she’s an alien. But keep that to yourself for now.”
Juris laughed… then noticed his friend’s serious expression and became more uneasy. “…really?”
Celerity smiled, in an effort to break the tension. “Please, go and enjoy yourselves,” she requested, gently. “If this is as bad as the evening will get, I think I can cope on my own from now on.” She stroked her huge hand gently across the little creature’s arm. “Thank you for all your kindness.”
Unfortunately, as always seemed to happen, Celerity’s assurance that she’d be fine turned into some impressive famous last words. People continued to come and go, milling politely around behind the rope keeping them out from under the giant’s feet, and she moved as asked, answered those questions she dared… until Otto approached, shooing the guests out of the way, with an older medusi following just behind him. She walked with a cane on one side, and had a tall, spindly-legged blue quadruped on her other side, and fairly oozed wealth.
“Here we are, ma’am.” Otto bowed, steeply.
The older lady gazed up at the silver giant with a wrinkle in her nose and a sneer on her face, as though there were an ugly smell under her nose. “Not the most attractive of specimens, isn’t it?”
Apparently anticipating praise, the scorn threw Otto off balance. “Well, see, ma’am, this is only the prototype,” he hurriedly explained. “To be sure everything works as it should. Once we’re satisfied of the build quality and that all the systems are functioning-”
The medusi cast a glare at the spur, silencing him. “I said, I find it unattractive,” she repeated, slowly, as if talking to an imbecile. “Great lumpen misshapen thing.” She curled her lip. “I don’t want your excuses. Prototype or not, this thing you’ve presented to us is all stark lines and unattractive colours. What is it even supposed to be? Can’t you make it smaller, prettier, more useful? What would I need such a giant monstrosity in my household for? To start with, it couldn’t even get through my front door! As it stands, that… that thing,” she gestured elaborately with an exquisitely-manicured hand, “is only good for hauling cargo around.”
Celerity offlined her vocaliser to keep from protesting. Not that she knew what she’d say, it seemed best to keep herself from saying anything.
“Like I say,” Otto struggled to keep the oily, obsequious tones to his voice. “This is just a prototype, we’re working on the look of the final product as I speak-”
“ Master Ottovan,” she interrupted, grimly, waving a sharp fingernail like a weapon. “Cease your whining. My interest wanes faster the more excuses you make me. Now tell me. Is it not true that Nuori Laboratories have made their name by manufacturing high-quality, bespoke pets and servants?”
“Well, yes.” He struggled not to cringe under her scornful glare.
“And that you take great care and effort to ensure that every product you produce is to the same exacting standards?”
“…that’s right, ma’am…”
“So explain this? A more shoddy bit of workmanship would have been harder to find!” She swung her cane and clipped him a sharp little blow on the ear. “You rushed this thing through to get people interested, and brought your own reputation down in the process. Now just… ugh. Get rid of it, man. If you have to bring it back, at least make sure it’s pretty.”
Otto watched her swan away, his lips pursed, bitterly. “Out,” he said, softly, waving a dismissive hand at Celerity without even bothering to look up at her.
“But I-”
“Out!”
The gentle giant backed up and bowed her head, unhappily, but did as told. Last she wanted was for another punishing pulse of disorienting static from that stupid EM device he carried. She made her way through the crowds, struggling to keep her head up and back straight, like Wen had taught her, ignoring the curious chirping voices that threw questions at her as she passed, and finally reached the comparative peace of the loading area. She settled between the retaining wall and one of the transporter vehicles, and tucked her knees up to her chest.
It… hurt. More than she’d thought it would. It was stupid to get upset over – even before they’d stripped her colours, she’d known she wasn’t exactly pretty. Frag it, her police paintjob was downright garish, and she knew her bulky lines were intimidating to some people. It was what she was designed for, right? To keep the peace, to calm dissent – even to use her sheer size to quell riots.
But to be so flatly labelled useless and unattractive? It wasn’t something she should be hurt by! Who cared what a machine’s aesthetic was, so long as it got the job done, right? Right? But she was hurt. Felt… tight, all the way down her insides.
No wonder it had taken Dack so many years to even notice her. Why had she been so stupid? Even now he was probably just humouring her. Big, fat, stupid, ugly Lara, who everyone laughed at behind her back.
She hugged her knees and rested her chin on them, feeling a big, staticky pulse of sorrow welling in her chest. Her eyes were already swimming with excess cleanser. Don’t cry, Celerity. Don’t. Don’t.
But trying to stop herself had the opposite effect, and the instant she felt that single first cold touch of a teardrop on her cheek… it was like the floodgates had opened. Every last feeling she’d tried to suppress rampaged out in an uncontrollable flush of soggy static; Seem’s trusted, respected guardian, turned into a misshapen lump of metal barely fit for scrap, reduced to a monstrosity lower than an unthinking animal. Fat, ugly, stupid. A slave to be poked around, picked to pieces, threatened with destruction for nothing more than daring to exist.
“If you’ll just wait there, ladies and gentlemen, I’ll check to see if it’s in an appropriate state for viewing. If it’s refuelling it may not be able to respond appropriately…”
The voice startled her from her distress; Otto. She lifted her head slightly off her knees and watched as he rounded the corner… and stopped dead.
Otto’s eyes went temporarily comical in size at the shock of seeing his newest product still sizzling with the last dregs of distressed static and he hastily gabbled out an apologetic lie and directed the viewers in a different direction, to look at some newly-designed exotic game, before turning back to berate her.
“Look at you,” he scolded, quietly. “You stupid creature.” He swiped a finger across her cheek, and waved the blackened fingertip at her. “You’ve made yourself even more untidy. I told you that was a temporary topcoat, and you’ve smeared it all beyond recognition.” He sighed, impatiently, wiped his hand on a tissue. “Just… Get in the transporter, I can’t have people seeing you like this. It’ll take you back to the Pit. I’ll have words with you tomorrow.”
“Yes sir. Sorry sir,” she replied, shakily, and scuttled to do as told.
0o0o0o0o0
Hi Dack! Um, got some bad news for you, I’m afraid. Slipstream rested his head in his hands and tried to reorganise his thoughts. …What do I even say to them? Yo, uncle, things have gone to the smelter, but no worries! We’re just pissing time away down here playing with the natives, it’ll all be fine.
At least he was even able to contact them, at last, because Rasa had kindly allowed him permission to use a radio. The Denizens didn’t use them a whole lot, because those times the police were looking the right way, transmissions were trackable, but just this once, she thought his needs were more important than trying to keep the police away. It wasn’t as if this particular area meant much to them – everything was designed to be portable, and they could up sticks and be long gone before anyone sneaked up on them.
His father answered the radio signal, unexpectedly. Dack had been trying to keep him away from it, just to keep him from having a breakdown, but they’d apparently grown less attentive in the last few days with no contact.
“-Heya, Seemy. How’s things? Caught that blot of purge, yet?-”
He sounded exhausted. Slipstream kicked himself for leaving it so long between transmissions. “Um, n-not yet,” he stuttered out, awkwardly, and very nearly heard the silent disappointment from the other end of the line. “Still looking. Making progress, though! We’ve, uh, we’ve found his trail. Shouldn’t be long now.”
Silence. He probably knows you’re cooking things to sound better than they are, Seem.
“How… how’s things at home?” the small mech managed, at last. “Everyone ok?”
“-Oh, we’re all fine.-” Strained attempt at a dismissive chuckle. “-Most of us. Ama and your uncles. Uh… Lucy misses you. At least, I think she does. She’s, ah…” Beat. “She’s getting hard to make out.-”
Come on, Seem. Strong. They have enough to worry about without you going wibbly on them. “She’s tough, Day. You know that. She’ll pull through, no problems. I-I’ll get back with the cylinder, and she’ll act like she can’t see what the problem was.”
At least that generated a shared chuckle; tired, but genuine.
“-Yeah, that’s your sister, all right.-” Another pause, but longer. “-Listen, Seemy, I’ve, ah… I’ve taken an extended break from work. So you can, you know, call me more often if you want. Keep me updated, yeah? You know? I-I mean… I’ll usually be here. Someone’s gotta look after Lou, right?-” Another of those exhausted laughs that bordered on a sob. “-…I guess it’s easier on all of us if we can pretend I’m on leave to look after Lou than on leave ’cus I’m falling to pieces. Ama’s looking after all three of us, nearly. Both showing our true colours at the moment, right?-” Sigh, shaky laugh. “-She’s… keeping it together, and I’m a nervous wreck. Serve me right, all those years playing the idiot.-”
“It’s not your fault, Day,” Slipstream hastily interjected, in the slightest little pause in the conversation. “It’s my fault for not making sure people knew what that… monster… was capable of.” He studied his fingers. “I wish I’d known what he was going to do, searched him a bit better… I’ll make it up to her, I promise. I’ll fix things.”
“-Seem?-”
“…Day?”
“-Please. Just come home. We’re not--” Break, static. Little cough, composure regained. “-She’s too far gone. Doctors say, uh-… uh, we have to face facts, and-… and uh-… just… if we put in a new command cylinder, she might survive.-” Break, muffled noises. “-Please come home.-”
Please don’t cry, Day. Please-… not when I’m too far away to offer anything except meaningless words.
“-We just, uh-… just… have to… well, you know. Have to take her right back to protoform, and start from the ground up. She-… she might-… recover some of her memories-…-” Break, static, more muffled noises. “-If, um. If we’re lucky. Later on. When she’s older.-”
Slipstream closed his eyes against the hurt. I’m not going to lose her!
“Seem? Seem, are-… are you there? Please talk to me-?”
“I-I’m here, Day. I’m here.” Don’t be stupid, Seem, grabbing the radio ain’t gonna help. “I-I was… just trying to think of something to say. I mean-… we’re getting close. Really close, I know it.”
Break. Silence.
“-Come home, Seem. Please? We’ve already--” Choke, pause. Long pause. Awkward silence. “-We’ve already lost our little girl, I don’t want to lose you too.-”
More of those background murmurs. One sharp, nasal voice, almost scolding in tone, followed rapidly by a deeper, more mellifluous one. Caught in the act, huh.
Hey, hey, who let you near the radio? Come on, away from that. What are you doing, you silly idiot? Trying to push yourself into another breakdown?
…I juh-just wanted to t-talk to Seem. Thought I’d feel b-better. Beat. I muh-miss my kids.
Well it’s hardly helping your state of mind, now, is it?
Scarlet? It’s okay. You go get him sorted out, I’ll talk to Slipstream.
…-I want him to come huh-home.
I know you do, Spark. But now isn’t a good time to discuss it with him. When you’re feeling a bit more stable, eh?
…all right. Muh-maybe later…
The voices briefly faded out into the soft scuffling of feet over floor, then a new voice spoke from the small comms set. Deeper, more reassuring, more stable. “-Hey, Slipstream.-”
“…uh-…” Pull yourself together, stupid. Do you want to prove you can’t handle it, out here, or something? “H-hey, Dack.”
“-You should have pinged us, warned you were going to call,-” his uncle scolded, gently.
“I-I know, I was… I’ve not been able to access a radio for a while, I just had to… to grab the chance when I got it. Lines haven’t been so good. Um…” …I want to come home, Dack. “…Day’s, ah… not doing so good, huh?”
“-…no. He isn’t. I’m, ah… I’m sorry, that you had to hear that.-” Sad, tired sigh. “-We’ve been trying to keep him away from the radio, just to keep him grounded in reality. If he doesn’t have to think about it so hard, he seems to do better overall. Still gets upset when he plays with Lou, but she’s… chipper, I suppose would be a good description. I guess it’s partly because she can’t write long-term memories and doesn’t really remember a whole lot of what’s happening to her, but she’s upbeat about life in general.-” Chuckle. “-Listen, can I speak to Celerity for a minute?-”
… frag..
“-…Seem? Damnit I KNOW this line isn’t as bad as you’re making out.-”
“Uh-… uh, yeah, I’m here. I’m sorry, I was just, uh, gathering my thoughts. What-… what did you want?”
“-Is Celerity around? I’d like to talk to her, privately.-” Now that was a leading tone of voice if Slipstream ever heard one.
“I’ll, um-… see if I can find-… you know what, I think she’s gone to, um… do… something.” Lame, Slipstream, just blow it wide open in one mouthful. “Said she wanted to scout ahead.”
Beat. “-You’ve got separated, haven’t you.-”
You’re too fragging astute some days, Dack. “…No! No, of course we-… we’re still… um, well…” His shoulders sagged. “Yeah.”
“-Is that why you don’t want to come home?-”
“Yeah. Partly.” I also don’t want to see my sister turning into a vegetable. “Still haven’t caught Firewire yet.”
“-Yeah, about that.-” Sigh. “-Doctors say our best bet is going to just be to install a new cylinder. We might be able to save most of her if we go in for intensive psychiatric rehab. If we sit here just waiting… No offence, Seem, but if we just sit here waiting for you to come home, we might go past the point of no return. You don’t even know when you’re going to get back.-”
Slipstream closed his eyes against the tears. “I can do it. I can do it,” he strangled the words out, feebly. “I’ll-… I’ll find him and get the cylinder and-and we’ll save her. Please, Dack. Just give me a little longer.”
“-I’d love to, Seem, I’m just… stuck in a very hard place, right now. I don’t want to rush into anything and have you get back to find out we’ve already done her repairs. Equally, I don’t want to do nothing, just in case, and leave it too late to save her. Think it won’t hurt to just wait one more day, and one more day, and one more, and before you know it we’ve frittered away all the time we did have and you’re still not back.-”
“Please, just give me a little longer,” Slipstream whispered, beaten. “Another eighth of a rotation. If I don’t signal you I’m coming back, then-… Please just wait for me. Please?”
“-And Celerity?-”
She’d want me to come home and rescue Lucy. If she was still alive. “I can find her. We’re just separated, that’s all! She’s alive, she’s fine.” Damnit, Seem, quit lying.
“-And yet you can’t locate each other, which suggests her locator beacon is offline.-”
“I-it’s this planet. Its magnetosphere does funny things to transmissions.”
…
“-Seem, if you’re going to lie to me, please cook up something more believable?-”
…
“I’ll find her. I promise, I can do it, I swear I can.”
“-…if you need me to come and help, just say the word.-”
“I can find her.”
“-…all right. I’ll expect a call from you sometime between now and an eighth’s time. Take care of yourself, all right?-”
“You too, Dack. Give-… give my love to Ama…”
He hadn’t expected to miss them all so badly. When the radio fell silent, it was like being cut back adrift on an empty ocean – or dropped in the middle of a city where no-one knew his name, and more importantly, no-one cared to know it. All he wanted to do was crawl into his mother’s arms and have her tell him it’d be okay, as she’d done so often in the long years of not knowing they’d endured between his father’s disappearance. Here, though… the only person who could have given him that comfort was gone, and his last words to her had been scornful; what hurt was that he still didn’t even know if she was alive.
“-Slipstream?-” the radio crackled, quietly. Not his uncle’s familiar deep voice, this time, but a lighter one.
He lifted his head, and wiped his eyes. “Yes, Rasa?” he managed to get the words out evenly.
“-We’re picking up a signal just to the east of your position.-”
“A signal? What do you mean?”
“-Like yours, but not you, if that makes sense. We’re sending you the co-ordinates now.-”
It made a lot of sense. Slipstream’s lips compressed into a thin, angry line. “Thank you, Rasa.”
He cross-referenced the co-ordinates against the map he’d been provided; the signal was moving in a leisurely westward direction, back towards the sea-drains. That in itself worried Slipstream; it was as if the slagger thought he’d given them the slip, and was going to make for his vessel, out in Lahar. Once he’d got his vessel, he’d be away, and they’d never find him…
It’s now or never, Seemy. Lose him now and you’ll never get your sister back. He made his way along the tunnel towards the signal, hugging the wall; his optics were dim, and his dark paintwork made him doubly hard to see on the grimy tunnel walls.
Light flickered up ahead, illuminating the mouth the pipe Slipstream was making his way down, where it fed into a larger one – a strange sort of bouncing, unsteady, dirty white light that Slipstream recognised as the beams from a pair of headlights. He shrank into the opposing wall, where he’d remain securely in the shadow. Come on, just a little closer…
The dirty light flashed up over his face as the other machine turned unexpectedly into the side corridor. He put up his hand, optics momentarily overloaded, filled with static.
Lilac eyes met gold ones. The briefest of seconds of startled recognition pulsed between them, heavy with alarm-
Firewire broke the stalemate. He bolted, straight back the way he’d come.
Frag! Slipstream gave chase, angry that he’d had the upper hand and still not made the arrest! Well, he was faster, too, his engine core contained regulators that could tolerate jet speeds, he’d still catch him!
Unfortunately, speed didn’t count for much. Firewire knew where he was going, and was making all the decisions where to lead him. A couple of quick turns down unseen junctions, and his pursuer was getting left behind. So this was going to take drastic action, Slipstream recognised, setting his jaw. Unless he could head the other machine off, he’d lose him.
…he triangulated his position, found a safe ‘drop point’, and teleported his way in front of him.
Firewire clearly hadn’t been expecting that! He skidded to a halt, drawing deep gouges in the silt in his haste to try and reverse his direction, scattering dirt as he did so. His feet flailed through the substrate in his efforts to regain his footing, kicking up a cloud of grit, but too late.
Slipstream launched himself at him in a flying rugby-tackle, and impacted with an almighty crunch with his midsection. They both went sprawling in the dirt, Slipstream on top.
Having his prey so close and so defenceless pushed the younger mech right into the red. All that pent-up anger – for his sister, for Celerity, for himself – it all boiled out in a pulse of pure, unadulterated violence. “You bastard, you give me back my sister!” he shrieked, optics blazing white-hot in fury, leaning his full weight down on the other’s throat. If he pushed hard enough, he could pinch off his main power regulator and his harmonic would just fizzle out in his chassis, like a dying butterfly.
“Please don’t hurt me!” Firewire squealed; he’d already folded, not putting up the slightest flicker of resistance apart from an effort to protect his spark. He clawed briefly at the blue forearms crushing his throat, tried to hook his feet up to push him off.
Slipstream gave him a swift punch in the face. “You thought you could escape me, did you? Leave my sister dying, a brain-dead little vegetable, while you did what? Wore her command cylinder like a trophy?”
“I only wanted her to love me-! I was looking for you, I wanted-”
“Love you? Love you?!” It came as no surprise to Slipstream to find that the moisture splashing down across his prey was his own tears – hot, bitter tears of anger and despair. “Why would she love you when all you did was mutilate her, tear her mind to pieces?” Keeping one hand pinned on Firewire’s throat, Slipstream clawed for the clasps holding his chassis closed; somewhere in the distance, he could hear a tiny voice calling his name, but now wasn’t the time to listen to the sprites. “You sick, deranged bastard, I’ll show you what you did to us. I’ll show you what you did to me!”
“I’ll give it back I’ll give it back just please, please don’t hurt me-!” Firewire sobbed, barely coherent. “I was looking for you, I wanted to give it back, I don’t-… I don’t know what I was thinking when I took it, I was just scared!”
“How dare you make fun of me!” Slipstream’s fingers grew more urgent, gouging harder, leaving blue score-marks across his prey’s chest. “You fucking dare make fun of me!” At last, the clips broke and Firewire’s chassis tore open; his spark pulsed out a vivid, terrified gold glow between the layers of power couplings and fusion regulators. “Do I have to dig it out of you? Where is my sister??”
“…Slipstream, please! Stop this!”
Mirii’s glass-etching scream finally cut through to the core of Slipstream’s consciousness, and the clouds of billowing anger that had blinded him began slowly to dissipate. He sat back a little, onto his heels, staring down into the pulsing gold within his victim’s chest, and finally felt the tears that had boiled out of him. I nearly murdered him. In my sister’s name, I nearly murdered him.
Firewire squirmed out from underneath him, but any desire to run had apparently been exhausted. He just sagged against the wall, shakily pushed his chassis closed, and hugged his arms up against himself.
Mirii caught Slipstream in her arms, and hugged him. “It is all right,” she crooned, as he sobbed into her shoulder; relief and hurt and despair all rolled into one big mess of tears and static. “Shh, shh-hhh. We have him. We have him. Your sister is safe. It will be all right now. I promise.”
49536 / 80000 words. 62% done!
In other news, I HAVE actually passed 50,000! ^_^ But 682 of those words are in chapter 11. So... go fig?
Celerity remained in her corner, uneasy and wide eyed. “Is it a bad thing that I don’t want to come out?” She could already hear the music, and not only because her hearing was sensitive; the great rolling thumps of the bass echoed out over the evening air. Excited chattering voices passed continually by her hideaway, perhaps even on their way to the same event Celerity was destined to end up.
“Not a bad thing at all. The first one of these I attended, I stayed in my wagon the whole time.” Wen crossed the floor and climbed into the big silver palm. “It didn’t get me let off the hook, because Pabishka was incensed, how dare a slave make its own decisions about whether it gets flaunted at a show! She ordered the absolute shards flogged out of me. I couldn’t lay down for days. I don’t want you punished over… over nothing.”
Celerity drew her closer to her chest and hugged her, gently; she was already shaky, and the little female’s story had just made it worse. “So I’m damned if I do, and damned if I don’t,” she whispered. “That’s about the strength of it, isn’t it?”
Wen rested her cheek against her friend’s chest and listened to the distressed stuttering of her fans, somewhere deep inside. “It won’t be as bad as you think. I promise. All you have to do is stand around and look nice. Answer a few questions, maybe. They’re not going to buy you, and run away into the night with you.”
Celerity actually managed a little chuckle. “That wasn’t so much what I was worried about.”
“I know.” Wen smiled. “Listen, I promise I’ll stay with you while you find your feet. All right?” She extracted herself carefully from the cage of silver fingers, and scrambled the rest of the way to the giant’s shoulder. “Our mighty lady and mistress might want me to look after some of the new animals, later on, but for now you’re my priority. All right?”
“All right,” Celerity agreed, softly, and pushed herself to her feet, being careful not to dislodge Wen from her precarious perch. “Where do I go?”
“At the moment, we’re parked in a lot a few hundred yards away from the display arena. It’s a big indoor convention centre where they hold big society meetings, motor shows…”
Celerity laughed privately at the irony of that one.
“…fairs and conventions and suchlike,” Wen carried on. “Pabishka owns the place, so she often uses it for displays like these, although they tend to be more like big parties than just shows.”
Celerity hesitated by the doorway. “Do they not have a loading dock at the centre? So exhibitors don’t have to walk so far with their stock? Why are we so far away?”
Wen patted her aerials, gently. “Because not everyone will get an invite to the show,” she murmured. “The area’s popular for its nightlife, so there’s a lot of foot traffic passes through, and Pabishka will want to show off her products to as many people as possible, without having to cater for them as well. Rich dignitaries aren’t her only customers, but the general public don’t get invited to her shows.”
“…so I have to walk through them to get there?” Celerity backed up a step.
“Trust me. It’ll be ok. All you have to do is get to the display arena. Ignore everyone else. They’ll bring the lorries around to the back once you’re inside. It’s a good, calm evening, even the new trices behaved themselves tonight; you don’t have anything to worry about.”
Celerity chewed awkwardly at her top lip. “Do the… the trices…” What was a trice, anyway? “…regularly not behave?”
“They can be awkward, yes.” Wen watched as the van in front finally boarded up in preparation for moving. “Moreso if the crowds are excited. Come on.” She patted her shoulder. “The longer we dither here, the grumpier Pabishka will get.”
“All right.” Celerity drew a long, calming pulse of cold air through her systems, struggling to cool overheated components. “Just-… just let me… all right.” She steeled her nerve, and took a step out onto the vehicle’s loading ramp.
Even had she not had such heavy, clanging footsteps, there’d have been no ‘unnoticed emergence’. A collective gasp rose up from the passers-by, and like sea-ice before the prow of a polar vessel the crowds all scurried backwards, forming a big, distant circle.
Celerity stood and surveyed them for a fraction of a second; all the little people had clustered together in frightened groups, gazing fearfully up at her. “I’m not here to hurt anyone,” she reassured, sadly. At least, she consoled herself, no one had run away from the ‘giant metal monstrosity’. And no-one had shot at her! Yet.
“They’re scared of me,” she murmured, as she set off down the short road to the display arena, trying to ignore the little train of curious individuals that had formed in her wake, “and yet they’re still following me.”
“They’re just curious,” Wen reassured. “You’re a fascinating new creature that no-one’s ever seen before. They just want a good look.”
Security guards stopped the curious public at the rear gates, apart from three young spurs; two of whom had invites, and got directed to the visitor entrance, and one who had a journalist’s badge, who held back to chatter with security. Celerity got directed to the cargo bay; she clambered awkwardly up over the step and beneath the awning, and through the concertinaed doors, down a short corridor that felt more like a bit of a warehouse, and ended up in a room barely big enough for her to stand upright in.
“Right. Here we are.” Wen patted her shoulder and coaxed her to a halt. “Now we need to wait.”
“Wait? For what?”
“To be called through. If we jump our place in the queue, we’ll be announced wrongly, and we’ll look silly.”
Celerity directed her gaze at her feet. “I already look silly.”
Wen laughed, kindly. “No you don’t. Whatever gave you that idea?”
“My face looks like a graffiti artist was given the go-ahead to use it as their latest canvas,” Celerity husked. “I look… ridiculous. And it’ll take hours to chip it all off again.”
Wen stroked her antennae. “You look fine, all right?” she lied, gently; reminding the big femme that yeah, she did look sort of ridiculous, would definitely not help her mood. “It’s only a temporary topcoat, it’ll wash off just fine.”
Celerity made a wary sound that suggested she wasn’t sure if she believed her, and fidgeted her feet.
“What you look like doesn’t really matter, anyway. All you have to remember,” Wen leaned closer, right by her audio, so the milling security staff couldn’t just listen in, “is that you’re beautiful. You’re regal. You’re graceful, you’re feminine, you’re everything that they could possibly want. All right?”
Celerity shook her head and backed away from the door. “I can’t do it,” she quailed. “I can’t. I can’t! I’m not all those things-…”
“You are if you believe you are,” Wen reassured, before she could convince herself of impending disaster. “And that’s all that matters. If you act like you know how beautiful you are, regardless how you feel on the inside, people will believe it. Trust me.”
Celerity just shook her head, backing up another step and bumping the wall.
“Lara, trust me.” Wen folded her small hands all the way around Celerity’s index finger. “Even if you don’t believe it, you have to at least act like you do. You need to make a good impression tonight, because the sooner you get into the habit the easier it’ll get.”
“I don’t want it to be a habit, I don’t want to be here!”
“You’re preaching to the choir, love. Hardly any of us want to be here. But Pabishka’s word goes, and you have to make an effort to do what she tells you.” Wen voiced a soft, understanding sigh. “She might not order you smelted down, but if you can’t make her any money by acting attractive, and desirable, Pabishka probably will sell you, and to a mine! And I don’t want to think about you hauling rocks for the rest of your life.”
Celerity struggled to keep it back, but couldn’t help the fracturing whimper that escaped her lips.
“You’ll do fine. All you have to do is stand there, look nice, let them take some pictures, just… be there. All right?”
“All right…”
“That’s the spirit! Now, head up, back straight, chest out… that’s it. You’re proud of your looks, you’re being generous just by gracing them with your presence. They should feel honoured that you’re even here in the first place. Right?”
“…Right.” There was still a little tremble in Celerity’s voice, but she was obviously trying to get a handle on the idea. Her shakes had almost diminished to nothing when the small figure peeked through the curtain and nodded to them.
Wen offered a reassuring smile to the alarmed expression she could see reflected in the mirrored door opposite. “That’s our cue, Lara. Remember, you’re beautiful. No-one can take that from you.”
A flurry of camera clicks met their entrance, accompanied by gasps of alarm and excitement. Towards the back, Otto wore a smugly satisfied smile that just got broader as the crowds surged around him and Pabishka, towards the stage to get a better view. He said something that was inaudible over the crowd at this distance – apparently something derogatory, as Pabishka’s pinched expression darkened, but she remained silent.
After all Celerity’s fears, the first part of the evening turned out to not be so bad, after all. As Wen had suggested, the people came and went, and discussed things in quiet voices, and occasionally asked questions, but mostly just came and looked.
“Analia’wen? Lia?”
The voice attracted the attention of both women; Wen’s ears pricked up. “Juris?”
The speaker was a laima photographer, standing just outside the rope that marked out the area the public were permitted; he smiled, and gave the smaller femme a wave.
Wen made a little squeak of happiness. “Lara, could you let me down? I’d like to talk to my friend?”
“Of course.” Celerity smiled and lifted her hand, so Wen could step into her palm. It didn’t take vast knowledge of biological psychology to recognise that the little female was excited to see the newcomer, and Celerity sensed he might be more than ‘just’ a friend.
‘Juris’ bowed very steeply to her in greeting when Wen’s feet met the ground; the female showed no such stiffness and launched into his arms. They hugged for a few long self-indulgent seconds before finally stepping apart with sheepish glances at the public around them (who conveniently looked utterly uninterested).
“Who is your friend, Wen?”
Wen glanced up at the big femme, and cleared her throat, humbly. “Lara! Forgive me. Where are my manners?” she scolded herself. “Um, this is Juris. He’s a photographer at the Stolica News. Juris, this is Celerity.” She leaned closer to Juris’ ear, and explained, quietly; “she’s not actually a Nuori product, she’s an alien. But keep that to yourself for now.”
Juris laughed… then noticed his friend’s serious expression and became more uneasy. “…really?”
Celerity smiled, in an effort to break the tension. “Please, go and enjoy yourselves,” she requested, gently. “If this is as bad as the evening will get, I think I can cope on my own from now on.” She stroked her huge hand gently across the little creature’s arm. “Thank you for all your kindness.”
Unfortunately, as always seemed to happen, Celerity’s assurance that she’d be fine turned into some impressive famous last words. People continued to come and go, milling politely around behind the rope keeping them out from under the giant’s feet, and she moved as asked, answered those questions she dared… until Otto approached, shooing the guests out of the way, with an older medusi following just behind him. She walked with a cane on one side, and had a tall, spindly-legged blue quadruped on her other side, and fairly oozed wealth.
“Here we are, ma’am.” Otto bowed, steeply.
The older lady gazed up at the silver giant with a wrinkle in her nose and a sneer on her face, as though there were an ugly smell under her nose. “Not the most attractive of specimens, isn’t it?”
Apparently anticipating praise, the scorn threw Otto off balance. “Well, see, ma’am, this is only the prototype,” he hurriedly explained. “To be sure everything works as it should. Once we’re satisfied of the build quality and that all the systems are functioning-”
The medusi cast a glare at the spur, silencing him. “I said, I find it unattractive,” she repeated, slowly, as if talking to an imbecile. “Great lumpen misshapen thing.” She curled her lip. “I don’t want your excuses. Prototype or not, this thing you’ve presented to us is all stark lines and unattractive colours. What is it even supposed to be? Can’t you make it smaller, prettier, more useful? What would I need such a giant monstrosity in my household for? To start with, it couldn’t even get through my front door! As it stands, that… that thing,” she gestured elaborately with an exquisitely-manicured hand, “is only good for hauling cargo around.”
Celerity offlined her vocaliser to keep from protesting. Not that she knew what she’d say, it seemed best to keep herself from saying anything.
“Like I say,” Otto struggled to keep the oily, obsequious tones to his voice. “This is just a prototype, we’re working on the look of the final product as I speak-”
“ Master Ottovan,” she interrupted, grimly, waving a sharp fingernail like a weapon. “Cease your whining. My interest wanes faster the more excuses you make me. Now tell me. Is it not true that Nuori Laboratories have made their name by manufacturing high-quality, bespoke pets and servants?”
“Well, yes.” He struggled not to cringe under her scornful glare.
“And that you take great care and effort to ensure that every product you produce is to the same exacting standards?”
“…that’s right, ma’am…”
“So explain this? A more shoddy bit of workmanship would have been harder to find!” She swung her cane and clipped him a sharp little blow on the ear. “You rushed this thing through to get people interested, and brought your own reputation down in the process. Now just… ugh. Get rid of it, man. If you have to bring it back, at least make sure it’s pretty.”
Otto watched her swan away, his lips pursed, bitterly. “Out,” he said, softly, waving a dismissive hand at Celerity without even bothering to look up at her.
“But I-”
“Out!”
The gentle giant backed up and bowed her head, unhappily, but did as told. Last she wanted was for another punishing pulse of disorienting static from that stupid EM device he carried. She made her way through the crowds, struggling to keep her head up and back straight, like Wen had taught her, ignoring the curious chirping voices that threw questions at her as she passed, and finally reached the comparative peace of the loading area. She settled between the retaining wall and one of the transporter vehicles, and tucked her knees up to her chest.
It… hurt. More than she’d thought it would. It was stupid to get upset over – even before they’d stripped her colours, she’d known she wasn’t exactly pretty. Frag it, her police paintjob was downright garish, and she knew her bulky lines were intimidating to some people. It was what she was designed for, right? To keep the peace, to calm dissent – even to use her sheer size to quell riots.
But to be so flatly labelled useless and unattractive? It wasn’t something she should be hurt by! Who cared what a machine’s aesthetic was, so long as it got the job done, right? Right? But she was hurt. Felt… tight, all the way down her insides.
No wonder it had taken Dack so many years to even notice her. Why had she been so stupid? Even now he was probably just humouring her. Big, fat, stupid, ugly Lara, who everyone laughed at behind her back.
She hugged her knees and rested her chin on them, feeling a big, staticky pulse of sorrow welling in her chest. Her eyes were already swimming with excess cleanser. Don’t cry, Celerity. Don’t. Don’t.
But trying to stop herself had the opposite effect, and the instant she felt that single first cold touch of a teardrop on her cheek… it was like the floodgates had opened. Every last feeling she’d tried to suppress rampaged out in an uncontrollable flush of soggy static; Seem’s trusted, respected guardian, turned into a misshapen lump of metal barely fit for scrap, reduced to a monstrosity lower than an unthinking animal. Fat, ugly, stupid. A slave to be poked around, picked to pieces, threatened with destruction for nothing more than daring to exist.
“If you’ll just wait there, ladies and gentlemen, I’ll check to see if it’s in an appropriate state for viewing. If it’s refuelling it may not be able to respond appropriately…”
The voice startled her from her distress; Otto. She lifted her head slightly off her knees and watched as he rounded the corner… and stopped dead.
Otto’s eyes went temporarily comical in size at the shock of seeing his newest product still sizzling with the last dregs of distressed static and he hastily gabbled out an apologetic lie and directed the viewers in a different direction, to look at some newly-designed exotic game, before turning back to berate her.
“Look at you,” he scolded, quietly. “You stupid creature.” He swiped a finger across her cheek, and waved the blackened fingertip at her. “You’ve made yourself even more untidy. I told you that was a temporary topcoat, and you’ve smeared it all beyond recognition.” He sighed, impatiently, wiped his hand on a tissue. “Just… Get in the transporter, I can’t have people seeing you like this. It’ll take you back to the Pit. I’ll have words with you tomorrow.”
“Yes sir. Sorry sir,” she replied, shakily, and scuttled to do as told.
Hi Dack! Um, got some bad news for you, I’m afraid. Slipstream rested his head in his hands and tried to reorganise his thoughts. …What do I even say to them? Yo, uncle, things have gone to the smelter, but no worries! We’re just pissing time away down here playing with the natives, it’ll all be fine.
At least he was even able to contact them, at last, because Rasa had kindly allowed him permission to use a radio. The Denizens didn’t use them a whole lot, because those times the police were looking the right way, transmissions were trackable, but just this once, she thought his needs were more important than trying to keep the police away. It wasn’t as if this particular area meant much to them – everything was designed to be portable, and they could up sticks and be long gone before anyone sneaked up on them.
His father answered the radio signal, unexpectedly. Dack had been trying to keep him away from it, just to keep him from having a breakdown, but they’d apparently grown less attentive in the last few days with no contact.
“-Heya, Seemy. How’s things? Caught that blot of purge, yet?-”
He sounded exhausted. Slipstream kicked himself for leaving it so long between transmissions. “Um, n-not yet,” he stuttered out, awkwardly, and very nearly heard the silent disappointment from the other end of the line. “Still looking. Making progress, though! We’ve, uh, we’ve found his trail. Shouldn’t be long now.”
Silence. He probably knows you’re cooking things to sound better than they are, Seem.
“How… how’s things at home?” the small mech managed, at last. “Everyone ok?”
“-Oh, we’re all fine.-” Strained attempt at a dismissive chuckle. “-Most of us. Ama and your uncles. Uh… Lucy misses you. At least, I think she does. She’s, ah…” Beat. “She’s getting hard to make out.-”
Come on, Seem. Strong. They have enough to worry about without you going wibbly on them. “She’s tough, Day. You know that. She’ll pull through, no problems. I-I’ll get back with the cylinder, and she’ll act like she can’t see what the problem was.”
At least that generated a shared chuckle; tired, but genuine.
“-Yeah, that’s your sister, all right.-” Another pause, but longer. “-Listen, Seemy, I’ve, ah… I’ve taken an extended break from work. So you can, you know, call me more often if you want. Keep me updated, yeah? You know? I-I mean… I’ll usually be here. Someone’s gotta look after Lou, right?-” Another of those exhausted laughs that bordered on a sob. “-…I guess it’s easier on all of us if we can pretend I’m on leave to look after Lou than on leave ’cus I’m falling to pieces. Ama’s looking after all three of us, nearly. Both showing our true colours at the moment, right?-” Sigh, shaky laugh. “-She’s… keeping it together, and I’m a nervous wreck. Serve me right, all those years playing the idiot.-”
“It’s not your fault, Day,” Slipstream hastily interjected, in the slightest little pause in the conversation. “It’s my fault for not making sure people knew what that… monster… was capable of.” He studied his fingers. “I wish I’d known what he was going to do, searched him a bit better… I’ll make it up to her, I promise. I’ll fix things.”
“-Seem?-”
“…Day?”
“-Please. Just come home. We’re not--” Break, static. Little cough, composure regained. “-She’s too far gone. Doctors say, uh-… uh, we have to face facts, and-… and uh-… just… if we put in a new command cylinder, she might survive.-” Break, muffled noises. “-Please come home.-”
Please don’t cry, Day. Please-… not when I’m too far away to offer anything except meaningless words.
“-We just, uh-… just… have to… well, you know. Have to take her right back to protoform, and start from the ground up. She-… she might-… recover some of her memories-…-” Break, static, more muffled noises. “-If, um. If we’re lucky. Later on. When she’s older.-”
Slipstream closed his eyes against the hurt. I’m not going to lose her!
“Seem? Seem, are-… are you there? Please talk to me-?”
“I-I’m here, Day. I’m here.” Don’t be stupid, Seem, grabbing the radio ain’t gonna help. “I-I was… just trying to think of something to say. I mean-… we’re getting close. Really close, I know it.”
Break. Silence.
“-Come home, Seem. Please? We’ve already--” Choke, pause. Long pause. Awkward silence. “-We’ve already lost our little girl, I don’t want to lose you too.-”
More of those background murmurs. One sharp, nasal voice, almost scolding in tone, followed rapidly by a deeper, more mellifluous one. Caught in the act, huh.
Hey, hey, who let you near the radio? Come on, away from that. What are you doing, you silly idiot? Trying to push yourself into another breakdown?
…I juh-just wanted to t-talk to Seem. Thought I’d feel b-better. Beat. I muh-miss my kids.
Well it’s hardly helping your state of mind, now, is it?
Scarlet? It’s okay. You go get him sorted out, I’ll talk to Slipstream.
…-I want him to come huh-home.
I know you do, Spark. But now isn’t a good time to discuss it with him. When you’re feeling a bit more stable, eh?
…all right. Muh-maybe later…
The voices briefly faded out into the soft scuffling of feet over floor, then a new voice spoke from the small comms set. Deeper, more reassuring, more stable. “-Hey, Slipstream.-”
“…uh-…” Pull yourself together, stupid. Do you want to prove you can’t handle it, out here, or something? “H-hey, Dack.”
“-You should have pinged us, warned you were going to call,-” his uncle scolded, gently.
“I-I know, I was… I’ve not been able to access a radio for a while, I just had to… to grab the chance when I got it. Lines haven’t been so good. Um…” …I want to come home, Dack. “…Day’s, ah… not doing so good, huh?”
“-…no. He isn’t. I’m, ah… I’m sorry, that you had to hear that.-” Sad, tired sigh. “-We’ve been trying to keep him away from the radio, just to keep him grounded in reality. If he doesn’t have to think about it so hard, he seems to do better overall. Still gets upset when he plays with Lou, but she’s… chipper, I suppose would be a good description. I guess it’s partly because she can’t write long-term memories and doesn’t really remember a whole lot of what’s happening to her, but she’s upbeat about life in general.-” Chuckle. “-Listen, can I speak to Celerity for a minute?-”
… frag..
“-…Seem? Damnit I KNOW this line isn’t as bad as you’re making out.-”
“Uh-… uh, yeah, I’m here. I’m sorry, I was just, uh, gathering my thoughts. What-… what did you want?”
“-Is Celerity around? I’d like to talk to her, privately.-” Now that was a leading tone of voice if Slipstream ever heard one.
“I’ll, um-… see if I can find-… you know what, I think she’s gone to, um… do… something.” Lame, Slipstream, just blow it wide open in one mouthful. “Said she wanted to scout ahead.”
Beat. “-You’ve got separated, haven’t you.-”
You’re too fragging astute some days, Dack. “…No! No, of course we-… we’re still… um, well…” His shoulders sagged. “Yeah.”
“-Is that why you don’t want to come home?-”
“Yeah. Partly.” I also don’t want to see my sister turning into a vegetable. “Still haven’t caught Firewire yet.”
“-Yeah, about that.-” Sigh. “-Doctors say our best bet is going to just be to install a new cylinder. We might be able to save most of her if we go in for intensive psychiatric rehab. If we sit here just waiting… No offence, Seem, but if we just sit here waiting for you to come home, we might go past the point of no return. You don’t even know when you’re going to get back.-”
Slipstream closed his eyes against the tears. “I can do it. I can do it,” he strangled the words out, feebly. “I’ll-… I’ll find him and get the cylinder and-and we’ll save her. Please, Dack. Just give me a little longer.”
“-I’d love to, Seem, I’m just… stuck in a very hard place, right now. I don’t want to rush into anything and have you get back to find out we’ve already done her repairs. Equally, I don’t want to do nothing, just in case, and leave it too late to save her. Think it won’t hurt to just wait one more day, and one more day, and one more, and before you know it we’ve frittered away all the time we did have and you’re still not back.-”
“Please, just give me a little longer,” Slipstream whispered, beaten. “Another eighth of a rotation. If I don’t signal you I’m coming back, then-… Please just wait for me. Please?”
“-And Celerity?-”
She’d want me to come home and rescue Lucy. If she was still alive. “I can find her. We’re just separated, that’s all! She’s alive, she’s fine.” Damnit, Seem, quit lying.
“-And yet you can’t locate each other, which suggests her locator beacon is offline.-”
“I-it’s this planet. Its magnetosphere does funny things to transmissions.”
…
“-Seem, if you’re going to lie to me, please cook up something more believable?-”
…
“I’ll find her. I promise, I can do it, I swear I can.”
“-…if you need me to come and help, just say the word.-”
“I can find her.”
“-…all right. I’ll expect a call from you sometime between now and an eighth’s time. Take care of yourself, all right?-”
“You too, Dack. Give-… give my love to Ama…”
He hadn’t expected to miss them all so badly. When the radio fell silent, it was like being cut back adrift on an empty ocean – or dropped in the middle of a city where no-one knew his name, and more importantly, no-one cared to know it. All he wanted to do was crawl into his mother’s arms and have her tell him it’d be okay, as she’d done so often in the long years of not knowing they’d endured between his father’s disappearance. Here, though… the only person who could have given him that comfort was gone, and his last words to her had been scornful; what hurt was that he still didn’t even know if she was alive.
“-Slipstream?-” the radio crackled, quietly. Not his uncle’s familiar deep voice, this time, but a lighter one.
He lifted his head, and wiped his eyes. “Yes, Rasa?” he managed to get the words out evenly.
“-We’re picking up a signal just to the east of your position.-”
“A signal? What do you mean?”
“-Like yours, but not you, if that makes sense. We’re sending you the co-ordinates now.-”
It made a lot of sense. Slipstream’s lips compressed into a thin, angry line. “Thank you, Rasa.”
He cross-referenced the co-ordinates against the map he’d been provided; the signal was moving in a leisurely westward direction, back towards the sea-drains. That in itself worried Slipstream; it was as if the slagger thought he’d given them the slip, and was going to make for his vessel, out in Lahar. Once he’d got his vessel, he’d be away, and they’d never find him…
It’s now or never, Seemy. Lose him now and you’ll never get your sister back. He made his way along the tunnel towards the signal, hugging the wall; his optics were dim, and his dark paintwork made him doubly hard to see on the grimy tunnel walls.
Light flickered up ahead, illuminating the mouth the pipe Slipstream was making his way down, where it fed into a larger one – a strange sort of bouncing, unsteady, dirty white light that Slipstream recognised as the beams from a pair of headlights. He shrank into the opposing wall, where he’d remain securely in the shadow. Come on, just a little closer…
The dirty light flashed up over his face as the other machine turned unexpectedly into the side corridor. He put up his hand, optics momentarily overloaded, filled with static.
Lilac eyes met gold ones. The briefest of seconds of startled recognition pulsed between them, heavy with alarm-
Firewire broke the stalemate. He bolted, straight back the way he’d come.
Frag! Slipstream gave chase, angry that he’d had the upper hand and still not made the arrest! Well, he was faster, too, his engine core contained regulators that could tolerate jet speeds, he’d still catch him!
Unfortunately, speed didn’t count for much. Firewire knew where he was going, and was making all the decisions where to lead him. A couple of quick turns down unseen junctions, and his pursuer was getting left behind. So this was going to take drastic action, Slipstream recognised, setting his jaw. Unless he could head the other machine off, he’d lose him.
…he triangulated his position, found a safe ‘drop point’, and teleported his way in front of him.
Firewire clearly hadn’t been expecting that! He skidded to a halt, drawing deep gouges in the silt in his haste to try and reverse his direction, scattering dirt as he did so. His feet flailed through the substrate in his efforts to regain his footing, kicking up a cloud of grit, but too late.
Slipstream launched himself at him in a flying rugby-tackle, and impacted with an almighty crunch with his midsection. They both went sprawling in the dirt, Slipstream on top.
Having his prey so close and so defenceless pushed the younger mech right into the red. All that pent-up anger – for his sister, for Celerity, for himself – it all boiled out in a pulse of pure, unadulterated violence. “You bastard, you give me back my sister!” he shrieked, optics blazing white-hot in fury, leaning his full weight down on the other’s throat. If he pushed hard enough, he could pinch off his main power regulator and his harmonic would just fizzle out in his chassis, like a dying butterfly.
“Please don’t hurt me!” Firewire squealed; he’d already folded, not putting up the slightest flicker of resistance apart from an effort to protect his spark. He clawed briefly at the blue forearms crushing his throat, tried to hook his feet up to push him off.
Slipstream gave him a swift punch in the face. “You thought you could escape me, did you? Leave my sister dying, a brain-dead little vegetable, while you did what? Wore her command cylinder like a trophy?”
“I only wanted her to love me-! I was looking for you, I wanted-”
“Love you? Love you?!” It came as no surprise to Slipstream to find that the moisture splashing down across his prey was his own tears – hot, bitter tears of anger and despair. “Why would she love you when all you did was mutilate her, tear her mind to pieces?” Keeping one hand pinned on Firewire’s throat, Slipstream clawed for the clasps holding his chassis closed; somewhere in the distance, he could hear a tiny voice calling his name, but now wasn’t the time to listen to the sprites. “You sick, deranged bastard, I’ll show you what you did to us. I’ll show you what you did to me!”
“I’ll give it back I’ll give it back just please, please don’t hurt me-!” Firewire sobbed, barely coherent. “I was looking for you, I wanted to give it back, I don’t-… I don’t know what I was thinking when I took it, I was just scared!”
“How dare you make fun of me!” Slipstream’s fingers grew more urgent, gouging harder, leaving blue score-marks across his prey’s chest. “You fucking dare make fun of me!” At last, the clips broke and Firewire’s chassis tore open; his spark pulsed out a vivid, terrified gold glow between the layers of power couplings and fusion regulators. “Do I have to dig it out of you? Where is my sister??”
“…Slipstream, please! Stop this!”
Mirii’s glass-etching scream finally cut through to the core of Slipstream’s consciousness, and the clouds of billowing anger that had blinded him began slowly to dissipate. He sat back a little, onto his heels, staring down into the pulsing gold within his victim’s chest, and finally felt the tears that had boiled out of him. I nearly murdered him. In my sister’s name, I nearly murdered him.
Firewire squirmed out from underneath him, but any desire to run had apparently been exhausted. He just sagged against the wall, shakily pushed his chassis closed, and hugged his arms up against himself.
Mirii caught Slipstream in her arms, and hugged him. “It is all right,” she crooned, as he sobbed into her shoulder; relief and hurt and despair all rolled into one big mess of tears and static. “Shh, shh-hhh. We have him. We have him. Your sister is safe. It will be all right now. I promise.”
In other news, I HAVE actually passed 50,000! ^_^ But 682 of those words are in chapter 11. So... go fig?
