Chapter Thirty-Four: Thicker Than Water
The squad commander scanned the terrain below him with hawk-like attention, calling on the necessary flows to reshape the lenses and corneas in his eyes so that he could gather as much light as possible, at the greatest distance.
From his vantage point, hovering, perhaps, several leave above the ground, he could see objects a day’s walk away from their current location. Oddly, calling on the flows made him nauseous, which was not something that had happened prior, though he suspected it could have also been vertigo from being up so high. Something in the back of his mind told him that that was the cost of manipulating the aether, though he had been given no rulebook on the subject and could only go by instinct. Regardless, he would do whatever it took to take out Mokul, even if it meant burning up in the process.
Zocks rotated in a slow circle as he surveyed the topography far below. The southeastern corner of Enes consisted mostly of muskeg and sodden brushland, interspersed with dense growths of evergreen swathes–forests which were home to many of the continents most foul creatures.
“No, that wouldn’t work. Too many bloody elves.”
Zocks turned his attention to the horizon. Beyond—perhaps several hundred leave—lay a mountain range as austere as it was majestic, known as Kjiermun Todda, Stone Sentinels, in the native tongue. The Todda was as unforgiving as it was majestic; snowy, mist-swirling peaks reaching heights and freezing temperatures that would kill most men who dared to attempt to pass through them. And if one was lucky (or unlucky) enough to make it to the summit passes, chances were an encounter with one of the many guardians who lived there would finish the trek, as the Todda were sacred grounds to the guardians and not to be passed without explicit exception. Why anyone would want to go beyond the Todda Zocks couldn’t surmise; the vast majority of the continent on the other side, known only as The Edge of the World, or simply The Deathlands was a vast lifeless tundra, which seemed to stretch on to infinity. Nothing grew there and it was thought that, perhaps, nothing ever did. Of course, the stories told of many variations of its past and some even included previous societies which flourished in their day. But, like most legends, proof was ever the burden and no evidence was ever found to such conclusions. There were no towns, no ruins from collapsed civilizations–nothing. Just relentless, immortal glaciers and endless fields of fractured obsidian, some with rifts as wide across as the largest rivers. It was said that evil things lived down in those rifts, deep in the bottom of the chasms. Things that had no name or scientific taxonomy to describe them. Grotesque, otherworldly sounds emanating from within at night, only climbing out of their eldritch homes far after dark to stalk for the scant prey that called the Deathlands home. Some of the survivors even claimed to have been pursued by such creatures but, strangely, when asked to recount their stories of survival, all drew blanks as if their memories had been wiped. Was it trauma that plagued their minds, or something else entirely?
Probably, just polar bears, thought Zocks.
Others went so far to claim that the chasms had no bottom, extending on and on until they reached Endabarron itself. And so few had ever survived return from the Deathlands that it was entirely conjecturable that anything at all existed there. Zocks had his doubts; mankind was nothing if not unreliable.
“That would be a great choice—-if I wanted to raise an army of the dead.”
He continued his scan on the leeward side of the range, within a nearer radius. His gaze came across a pack of goblins dancing around a heaping gut pile. The kill was fresh and they seemed to be excited to a frenzy.
“Mindless creatures.”
He sighed in frustration and was about to give up when something caught his eye, nestled snuggly within a boundary of dense forest. He smiled a triumphant grin.
“How…fitting.”
Zocks gathered the wind encircling him with his mind and relinquished it. He fell from the sky, his cape sailing above him. Though he could easily force himself back to the ground with an opposing rush of air, which would save time and be more efficient, he immensely enjoyed free-falling. It constituted one of the few endeavors that gave him any modicum of stimulation, other than taking the life of an enemy or listening to the ocean at night. The other two provided him with a sense of security, but free falling was the opposite. It completely obliterated any sense of safety and, at the same time, was superlatively liberating. Falling with no recourse forced a person to face death head on, and presented a tangible lifeline which they immediately became aware of. Not only must one become appreciative, but also humble. The forces of the world were heaviest then and the being infinitesimally small. It was only during free-fall that Zocks could momentarily understand his purpose in it all—that he even had a purpose in it all.
He came down into the fortress courtyard where his minions waited. He summoned a gust of wind below him with his hands and the force uplifted him, cushioning him at the last moment. He dispelled the air and landed in the grass with a soft thud. Thousands of creatures surrounded him, many gazing at him in awe.
“Well, the weather’s nice, anyhow.”
Blank stares abound. They didn’t seem to be capable of understanding humour. He sighed and made his way through the crowd, creatures parting around him to form a path.
“Before we begin with our first project, there are some issues that I would like to address.”
He made his was over to a tiered stone platform, the remnants of a throne lay in rubble. As he neared the throne the pieces lifted up and began to reform, rocks sifting dust and crackling with the first sounds made in ages.
“First, as we are all here to establish an army, we are going to need to sort out our rankings. I cannot lead all of you myself, so we are going to have to work together as a team.”
Zocks sat down on the throne as the last pieces shifted into place.
“As you are all aware by now, I am sure, I have been appointed the Commander. Any who wish to challenge me for this position, please be diplomatic. I would only want the fittest leader possible, and if you are here hiding among these faces, you need not be misplaced.”
The creatures looked at each other with varied expressions. No one stepped forward. Receiving no last-minute challenges, Zocks nodded.
“Then the Commander I remain. Now, I gather that many of you are wondering who I am and what all this is about. Up until this point it must have been very vague, like mud in the water.”
Zocks stuck his finger in a stone goblet attached to the arm rest of the throne. He circled it around the empty bowl and slowly a murky liquid began to fill the cup. He skimmed his finger along the surface once it reached the brim.
“So, let me clarify any doubts that you may have.”
He stood up.
“I was born and raised on this continent.” Zocks bent over and scooped up a handful of dry dirt from the ground.
“My blood is as much a part of this land as the soil itself and, as far as extant records can vouch for, my family has called this land home for generations immemorial. Like many of you, the traditions of this majestic land were imbued into my being from a young age, having come from a long line of Gifted. For better or worse, that meant that my path was chosen for me; as the firstborn I would study the Ways, like every other elder-child. But the hero-boy trope ended before it even began, I’m afraid. For any admiration I had for my father— a son pining to achieve even an inkling of the kind of power and stature that came with having a Veritas Indomino as their parent—was beaten out of me at an early age. It was not uncommon that I found myself waking up in random rooms of my house after having been knocked unconscious or bloodied to the brink of eternal sleep by a spell cast, perhaps, overzealously. And for what, you may ask? For progress, of course! How else was I to learn the Ways if not by walking the path of Truth? And so it stands to reason that ritual violence was as commonplace as ritual itself in my home.”
Zocks paused as the crowd stared at him in silence, broodily.
“But this is not a tale of tragedy, my friends; the point here is not to elicit pity on my past. This is a tale of unbecoming, told through the lens of the greatest Irony ever told. For you see, while it was magick that caused me such great harm in my youth, it was also magick that I turned to for refuge. As a matter of fact, it was the only way I was going to escape the hellish landscape that I had been ceremoniously cast into. Choice was not an option available to me, so I took the only other tool that I could find–the very one that had been taught to and used to brutalize me: the power of force. But forcing myself out the situation I was in was not sufficient, for some barriers refuse to yield. So I sought more…effective measures of force. And that is when I found the aether for the first time.”
Zocks stepped into the audience. slowly pacing through them as bodies stepped out of his path, forming a clearing around him.
“For any of the sorcerers out there, you will know what I mean when I say that it was a temptation like no other. The sheer betrayal of will is staggering, yet that is exactly what is required to master the dark art: a complete, voluntary subjugation of the self. It is easy to see why the fifth flow is treated as contraband by the law, why universities refuse to teach it, why the media spins grotesque narratives around it. But for those scant few of us who resist–and persist–and forego mental limitation, there is infinite reward in it.”
Zocks stopped in the crowd, looking around him, literal rose-colored glasses. “The reason why I am standing here today is not because I think I am better, stronger, or more apt to rule than any of you. I stand here because I took my dreams into my own hands and molded them into a reality where most would continue to lie idle. Most healthy men die in their dreams, yet so few actually live in them. I have dreamed, since the beginning, that I would get a chance, even if it be fleeting, to study with the greatest sorcerer of them all. Now, that chance has presented itself. But not just to me my friends; we can–and will–all learn from him, and imagine the force that we will conjure! To any and all of the misfits, rejected, neglected or otherwise, I say to thee: you will finally be heard. Just as the morning dove’s sweet song never falls short on an ear, your voice will carry on the winds of change, this day and forever forward. Now, the world will listen to us. Tell it now, who you really are!”
Zocks threw his hands into the air, gazing into the sky as the crowd roared triumphantly around him. He smiled as he basked in the glory of his professions.
“How can we be sure that you aren’t just insane?” A female voice cut through the fading end of the din.
Zocks went rigid in his pose. Slowly he lowered his arms and gaze to the crowd. His mouth tightened at the corners. Bodies parted around the speaker, revealing an elfess, standing hand on hip. The two stared at each other expressionless for a long moment, a showdown of deadly eyes as guns in holsters. A smirk turned up the corner of Zocks’s mouth.
“It is clear now that you certainly had something to tell us.”
Fiendish chuckles rippled around her. The elfess did not seem phased by the jest. “There are many wizards in these lands, commander. ” Her voice–a robust mezzo–was terse, brash, yet somehow refined.
“Where I come from, some could turn you to grindstone with a shake of their fist, or have you swimming as a frog before you knew you changed species. You stand there in what–armor that you picked off a dead body–and tell us a sob story about your past, about your dreams and how powerful you have become, yet nowhere in that cute little diatribe did you care to even attempt to qualify your position. I still don’t have any idea who you are, and I know I am not alone here.”
Confused looks in the audience panned back and forth between the speaker and Zocks, Zocks seeing gears turning in minds that he would rather remain dormant.
The elfess continued. “And despite all of your purported colorful credentials, I still question your stance on the structural integrity of this project. In fact, I question what this project is to begin with!”
Zocks crossed his arms and smiled at the woman. “First, I applaud your temerity, m’lady. In fact, I encourage it.” Zocks turned away from her and faced the rest of the crowd. “Let it be known from here on in that this women represents a paragon of what I hope to encourage among our new order: open communication and free criticism without penalty. We can never improve that which we do not acknowledge as being broken.“
Zocks turned back to the elf. “Second, I thought that I qualified my position when I defeated a three-blade troll in the throne room. Or was that not dramatic enough for you?”
Snickers in the audience. The elf furrowed her brow, Zocks’s jibes finally breaking through.
“I hardly call incinerating a backtalker free criticism, commander.”
Zocks held up his hands. “The man attacked me. I think it’s fair to say there is a difference between throwing a paragraph and an inferno, don’t you think?”
She ignored the bait. “It goes without say, commander, that a true leader be strong, I agree, but also experienced. Without any supporting structure, muscles become just objects occupying space.”
“And what structure is it that you think I cannot provide?”
“Purely political.” Now it was her turn to smile, her eyes glistening as the unspoken words screamed to be heard.
“Guiding so many soldiers is no easy task and, as you said, ranks need to be formed. But before that can happen, we need a platform.”
The woman turned to the rest of the creatures staring at her. “I don’t know about you all but blindly following fools in capes to an unknown death in the name of a god who may not be a god does not seem like much of a strategy to me. This wizard of ours comes from a past rife with mistakes, if the records are to be believed, and a soldier cannot afford to be negligent; a soldier must learn from the mistakes of others, not follow in their footsteps. I say, if there is something to be achieved, we know what that is and we scribe that path deep into this earth with our blades, so deep that men will break their ankles in the fissures of our wake!”
Zocks laughed. “And how is following a fool in cape any different than an cynic in a headdress? I like your tenacity my lady, I truly do, but now I must question your position in this matter. Who are you to boast such knowledge of structure and claims to grandiosity? And above all else, who are you to interpret the mandate of the great one himself?”
“I do not lay claim to anything but what I am, commander, and I am no interpreter.”
The woman took off her headdress and her long black hair spilled across her shoulders. Her braids were riddled with beads and decorative leaves made of glistening metals which hung in bundles about her locks. Her acuminate ears bore rings running from the lobes to the points, accompanying the many other articles of jewelry that she wore. She was both beautiful and deadly.
Zocks liked her already.
She bowed on one knee. “I am Arlyrra, daughter of Kothansys, Loq T’Ekkaryi, heir to the Veld T’K’sha Nn-gyen, king of the Ekkaryi, queen of the house of maidens.”
Zocks smile faded as he realized who the woman before him was. “And what brings you this far out of the woods…princess?”
Murmurs began to echo through the crowd. Some had already bowed down in respect.
Arlyrra stood up. “As I am sure you are aware, commander, mine are a very spiritual people, trained in the Ways from the time they learn their first words. We nurture many strong Bemand–wizards, as you call them–the more talented of them ranking among the top Gifted in the world. So you see, for a race with such a strong history in the arts, you can imagine the pain of suffering that our pride endured when a ml’do attempted to fulfill the Prophecy of the Ages.”
“Ah, so it’s a race thing then.”
Arlyrra scoffed. “Hardly.”
She walked nonchalantly past Zocks and over towards the stone chair which he had reassembled.
“Nonetheless, the man who calls himself Mokul is an anomaly to us. Since the dregs of Crimson Eve, his exploits have remained a mystery to our people and even our most elite Bemand have not been able to attain the kind of mastery of the dark art that he had. Allegedly.”
She stopped by the stone goblet at the end of the armrest. Zocks’s murky water sat tepid in the bowl. Arlyrra gazed at her gauzy reflection.
“There are some who say that the whole thing is a tale and nothing more. There are bands of exiled tribes who devote themselves to exposing the lies behind the legend of the fjette m’go–the false master. Others have spent their entire lives continuing the legacy of worship set before them by their ancestors’ ancestors. So you see, there are many factions of discretion among my people when it comes to faith in this man.”
“So then the clear question here becomes: which faction do you represent, princess?”
Arlyrra stirred the murky water with a long slender fingertip. As she did, the silt dissipated and clear, crystalline water glimmered up at her. She reached a hand into the bowl and scooped up the water in a solid mass, the liquid holding its convex shape from the bowl.
“Neither. I am here not as antagonist nor supporter. I am here as a decider–to witness firsthand the capabilities of this man and to remove any discrepancy to our records. We are a very vigilant people, which means that our libraries are something awe inspiring. We keep records of everything so that future generations will always learn from our mistakes and thus fortify their generation that much more. We call it Kapp’de Mara. In my tongue it means always growing. Alas, we concede to our ignorance on the matter of the wizard but I will no longer allow this occluded tale to divest our records of their accuracy.”
Zocks nodded as he rubbed his chin. “This would explain your meddling with politics, your innate desire for organization, but I still cannot see how your scheme of probation fits into the larger picture in any useful way whatsoever.”
Arlyrra grinned back at him; Zocks had begun to get the impression she was one of those types who had a response to everything. “It is simple, commander: behind every mask there is a face, and among the many abilities that I possess, seeing past these masks is one of them. I believe you call it soulsight, no? Though, of course, we have another name for it. It is a rare gift but one that can benefit many. I am sure I do not need to draw examples for you to reach conclusions therein. And so I hear your call to arms, commander, but without eyes you walk this path blind. Without a plan, you have no path. Therefore, you are blind and standing alone, and no better than a stray imp lost in the woods.”
Zocks’s mind drifted back to the pack of goblins fighting like primitives over the carcass of a long-dead beast as he hovered leagues above them. He grimaced as if a sour taste had suddenly danced upon his tongue.
“So, is this some kind of offer then? Are you requesting to be the army’s council? Or do I misunderstand you completely?”
“No, not a council, commander, but just what I am: a Dran’okayn. I do not know how it translates in your tongue, but the literally translation is… one who guides the lost. In my society, I am responsible for assessing chosen individuals and assigning them to the tasks that best suit their abilities. It is my job to organize and direct those who are lost. This is where I feel I could be useful to you.”
“I am lost?”
It was as much a statement as it was a question. Arlyrra gave the faintest nod of her head. Zocks stroked his chin in thought. Arlyrra’s will was strong, he could feel it, and she was powerful. He could see the flows that surrounded her as she held the bowl of water suspended above her hand. Her piercing gaze penetrated past his eyes and, if he had any soul left, he was sure she wasn’t lying when she said she could see into it. Yes, he could use someone like her, but she had as much to learn as to teach. It would be an effort. Hopefully, one worth the work.
“Alright, say I appoint you as my head priestess, or Dran…whatever you called it… how can I be sure that your own vendetta doesn’t get in the way?”
“You need not worry about me, commander. You see, faces have a way of exposing themselves.”
She waved a hand in front of the bowl of water and instantly it became a ball of entwined flames. She blew gently on the scorching ball and it vanished into a puff of smoke. The tendrils wafted upwards into the air, vanishing into the gentle breeze. Zocks stared at her, that familiar unreadable look on his face. Arlyrra didn’t like it. Seeing into the man was like trying to see into the murky bowl of water in the goblet. He turned and began to walk back towards the fortress gates, the crowd parting around him. Seeing Zocks turn tale suddenly without a word, Arlyrra cursed under her breath and hustled after him.
“Commander, my offer?” She shouted.
He waved his hand dismissively, continuing walking. “Getting into the wizard’s army is not just a matter of discourse my lady.”
“Where are you going?”
“Where it all begins.”
***
“What do you see there?”
Ezren had found them a quaint little spot on the rooftop of a looming building in the commercial district, overlooking a busy intersection. The throngs of people formed dense moving specks along the walks, the streets packed with vehicles gridlocked in the daily rat-race of downtown traffic. Kuu leaned over the corner of the building, swallowing as a gentle wind ruffled her matte black hair. The drop to the streets was precipitous; she wasn’t sure that even a CASARI would survive the fall.
“A big fall. And a lot of people.”
Ezren shook his head. If his mask could show emotion, she was sure it would look disappointed in that moment. “Be more specific. A Street Leet’s gotta pay attention to the details in this world. You know what waits in the gaps of understanding for people like us? Death, that’s what. Rule number one: you wanna survive in this business, ya get details.”
Kuu nodded humbly, the fall to the street now somehow seeming more deadly than before. She zoomed in with her ocular enhancements scripts, taking in the finer moments of peoples’ lives as they ate in outdoor patios of restaurants, plugged away at who-knew-what in Link Cafes, or went about plain, old, boring business in the many banks, exchanges and brokerages that littered the surrounding area. Kuu bit her lip.
“Well, I can’t be certain but it seems like everyone is very focused on what they are doing…”
“How about you humour me and we go beyond the obvious.” Ezren said edgily.
“I apologize. Of course. Well, if I were to make a preliminary assessment based on the data, I would say a good number of them are conducting business. Perhaps, financial transactions, book keeping, things of this nature…”
Ezren crossed his arms, looking all the more like an impatient instructor. “Look past that, Kuu. Don’t analyze; use your gut.”
“My…gut?”
“Yes, your gut. You know, your intuition. Don’t tell me about what you see, tell me about what you think you see.“
“Um…correct me if I’m wrong, sir, but are not those two statements…the same thing?”
Ezren groaned, rubbing the forehead of his mask with two fingers as if to massage out wrinkles that weren’t there. “This is gonna be a lot more work than I signed on for. Fa’el me.” He sighed and gesticulated out into the air with his hand. “Just tell me what you see, okay?”
Kuu stiffened up, the expectations of her new mentor bearing weight down on her. She took a deep breath and turned her attention back down to the street below.
“Okay. Use my gut. I will try.”
“You will do.”
Kuu nodded, zooming back in with her optics. At three hundred times magnification she could make out the texture of the suit on the man waiting in line for a donair at the street cart, or the beauty mark on the cheek of the lady across the street on a bench, cooling herself with a hand fan. Her eyes played over different folks, taking in their dress, mannerisms and actions. A bead of sweat formed on her temple as her concentration reached a maximum. After several minutes of protracted fixation, Ezren punctuated the silence with an off-putting groan, his impatience for his lackluster pupil reaching an end.
“This is completely useless. I don’t know why I ever agreed to this. There’s no way you’ll ever make…”
Kuu gasped as a thought donned on her. “They are all tense.”
Ezren stopped mid-sentence. “Say again?”
“They are all tense. Everyone in the district. This isn’t a normal behaviour exhibited by such a large population.”
Ezren stared at her for a long moment, his cyborg eyes wincing at her behind that unreadable mask. “And why should I think that’s special information? Tense? You might have well said they are all bigger than three hands tall, for all the good that would do.”
“No, it’s much more than that. In a sample population of this given size, stochastic coincidence wouldn’t account for…”
Ezren crossed his arms. By his body language, Kuu could tell he didn’t want to hear any of the analytical jibber jabber.
“…The gut. Right. Well…” Kuu put a finger to her lip in thought. “I’ve never seen so many people in one place acting like this. It’s as if…they are all on edge.”
“And why do you think that might be? Not because–in the least–they live in a crazy shit-storm of a city that runs you over if you turn your head away for even a second. Or the looming threat of having all of your hard-earned wealth siphoned off by some teenage knob hard-wired into a dirty link feed hosted from his parents’ dungeon of a basement. Or, if you’re oldschool, you get a knife in the back and they take it all in meatspace, close and personal. Couldn’t be any of that, right?”
Kuu could see his point.
“Well, I suppose that is valid, but…” Kuu looked back down to the street landscape. After a moment she pointed. “There, look! A street performer, the one with paint on his face. He’s handing out holograms of animals to children. See how he holds himself, the expression on his face; he is happy, yet he is truly not, underneath. What reason could he possibly have to be on guard?”
“You’ve never hated your job? Is that so unheard of?”
“True, but does one who lives a life of displeasure look over their shoulder every thirty seconds, as if they are–how did you put it–going to get a knife in the back?”
Ezren shrugged. “He’s a clown. And he works with kids. Some people might not like that. Think he’s a pedo or something. I’d be looking over my shoulder too if I’d gotten a few beatings from unkindly parent-folk.”
Kuu bit her lip, looking on. Her heart began to sank as she began to sense that, whatever test Ezren was putting her through, she was on the verge of flunking it. Her eyes drifted over a greasy spoon along a main boulevard, the patrons and service staff clearly visible from street-side through the floor to ceiling windows. Something caught her eye, a shining glint which–at first Kuu thought may be just light reflecting off tableware–turned out to be a sidearm at the waist of a server stepping out onto a patio to deliver meals to his charges. Kuu frowned, finding it odd that such a person would need that kind of protection. Following that line of reason she looked onward at the other service staff, finding that about eight in ten of them carried similar pieces. More, many of the patrons did as well. A radar pinged somewhere in Kuu’s mind and she began to run quantitative scans on the restauranteurs and their surroundings.
A smile came to her face.
“They are more than just tense.”
“Oh gods, what is it now–we’re playing word games? You know I have access to all of the same boring logisticums and lexicoriums that you do, right? If we’re gonna start throwing synonyms around, I might just throw myself off this building instead.”
Kuu continued, ignoring Ezren’s unbridled passive aggression. “They’re more than tense–they are ready to fight. Look: every third person on the streets is carrying a personal ballistic device on them. This suggests one of two things: either we are in some kind of war zone, or…”
She paused, looking up at Ezren.
“Or?”
“…or there is something else going on here entirely.”
Ezren nodded thoughtfully. “Hmm, those seem like farfetched scenarios, both. Wouldn’t you say? I mean, let’s play devil’s advocate for a moment here, just to entertain the idea. What if, say, these are all actors under cover, and there’s some kind of sting in the works. Would you say that’s a feasible idea?”
Kuu could see what Ezren was trying to do–discredit her theory by amping it up and flooding it back on her, to let her sit in the big mess of conspiracy that he had spun up.
He continued. “Of course, it would be hard–to say the least–to orchestrate such a hugely coordinated event. I mean, there has to be thousands of people down there, right? Who could they possibly want bad enough to hire so many people? I don’t know about you but even trying to get two people to agree on something can be a bitch at the best of times, am I right? I mean, to be fair, if it’s SecTech then they could fund that kind of operation for sure, but then we’d be talking about military types, wouldn’t we? I don’t know about you but, Suzie Cue down there with the bow in her hair and the platter in her hand, she don’t really look the type. Nah, you know what I’m thinking? All that heat they’re packing down there? Probably a local giveaway down the road–you know, one of those promotionals where they give you a piece just for checking into a hotel with the right smile. Maybe you should be looking for the ads for that, huh? Whaddya think, little Kuu?”
The nerve of the man. Even with his mask on he somehow managed to look as smug as he sounded. Kuu realized then that, whoever his employer was, they were probably the ones who put the mask on his face, just so they didn’t need to look at his heckling face any longer. And then, just as Kuu felt as if she would gracefully bow out and take the natural exit that Ezren had so insufferably provided for her, it came to her.
“Do they hand out Cobalt Mark Fives at hotels?”
For the first time that Kuu had ever experienced, Ezren had nothing to say. The silence between them was like an ocean of pleasure, a light of redemption that Kuu basked in, soaking up every last drop.
Gotcha.
Miraculously, the next thing that Ezren did was not derisive nor inflammatory. Ezren clapped. Slowly, for effect, but it was praise nonetheless.
“Well done, little Kuu. The piggy has found her truffle.”
“I will accept what I think is meant to be a compliment. So thank you.”
“I have to admit, I’ve never hazed a cybrid before. It was kinda fun. Though I learned something from you, ya know.”
“From me?”
“Yes: never underestimate a walking encyclopedia.”
Kuu blushed, despite knowing that deep down it was as much an insult on her character as it was acknowledging her vast intellectual resources.
“But I guess that one’s shame on me. What kind of CASARI am I to not recognize one of my own, right?”
Kuu perked up. “You…consider us…one and the same?”
“Whoa whoa whoa, I didn’t say that. Don’t jump to conclusions now.”
“Is that also one of the rules?”
“Haha, very funny. No. But it does segue naturally into the next rule. The real rule.”
Kuu listened astutely.
“Rule number two: names are powerful.”
“Names?”
Ezren nodded, putting a boot up on the ledge, signifying down into the street. “Street Leet’s gotta know all the names if they wanna make connections; the names of your contracts, your partners, your enemies, your enemies’ family members… All of them. Everyone is connected to everyone, don’t forget that. The more names you know, the more connected you’ll be and the less likely you’ll be taken off-guard. More than that, you gotta remember ’em, too.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem.”
Ezren looked over his shoulder at her, giving her the most perfunctory of a look-over. “No, I imagine it won’t be. So let’s start now. You’re gonna learn the names of everyone down there.”
Kuu stopped. “The names…of all of them? How can I possibly…”
“Families. Let’s start with families. In metro–that’s code for inner city–there are only four names that matter. First, you got Haichu-Shee, the ‘Bad Cooks’. They control about eighty five percent of the flow of all chems, stims and other junk that lowlifes put into their bodies. While they might sound like pharmacists turned rogue, don’t underestimate them: they’re all martial arts, ex-ninja kinda shit, cut your head off before you know it hits the floor kinda villains. If you’re gonna start a fight with one of them, better bring a big sword, cuz they’ll have one too. You can recognize ’em by their classy pairing of neck tats and bespoke suits. Oh, and the long piece of metal slung at their waists, that too.”
Ezren nodded in the direction of a group of blue clad figures hovering around a street corner outside of a pawn shop. They all looked nearly identical in their formal wear, sunglasses and visible markings along their neck which, Kuu’s readouts told her, were clan emblems. As Ezren had intimated, about half of them had a wakizashi sheathed at their sides, the ornamentation on the hilt and scabbard was striking.
“Next, there’s the Kelejerenes, the ‘Noisy Neighbours’. Paramilitary. Souls as dark as their skin, that lot. If you ever want a piece–a piece of action, that is–they’ll be the one to sell it to you. And I’m not talking pea shooters, no little Kuu; we’re talking the kinda punch-packing needed to take down a bird. Maybe even a tank. Hell, I wouldn’t put it past them. Essentially, any arms worth owning will be brokered by them, at some point. And if the gear weren’t scary enough for you, add to that the fact they’re a kite gang, and that should right put shite in your britches. Also makes them an easy mark on the streets–a mark to avoid.”
Ezren nodded down to the street and Kuu’s eyes followed to a crossing not far off from the tuxedo samurais. There she could see a group of dark-skinned moa cren leaning against a building, smoking cigarettes as they eyed passersby warily. They wore immaculately polished jackboots tucked over baggy camo cargos and bandoliers strapped around their muscular chests made of bullets which looked large enough to puncture the hull of a war frigate. Several appeared to have what initial scans indicated could be RPGs strapped to their back, so Ezren certainly wasn’t boasting in vain on their behalf. And off to the side, parked haphazardly half-on to the curb (an indiscretion which Kuu was sure most traffic patrols would overlook, given the situation) were three black chrome swoop bikes–kites–looking aptly like the feathered predator which bore their namesake. Kuu could see the interior panels alight, synced to the Link-ups of their designated masters, ready to mount at a beckon call.
“That is…terrifying.” Kuu said, sounding exasperated.
It was clear from her tone that she was starting to realize just how far in over her head she had gotten. Ezren didn’t seem to notice, or didn’t care.
“And then you have the Tercida Contadore family, the ‘Crooked Bookkeepers’, the lovely little mafiosos of this fair-weathered utopia. While they may look like a bunch of tech twats on the outside, don’t let your senses deceive you; of the lot here today, they are probably the most dangerous of them all. There’s no way to doll it up, so I’ll put it you straight: these guys are essentially cyberterrorists. So long as it’s got wires or chips in it–hell, anything not in meatspace–it’s not safe from their insidious little fingers. I once saw the Contadores choke a rival gang’s girlfriend with her own jewellery–one of those smart punk collar’s with the cutesy little spikes on it. I’ll tell you, she didn’t look too cute after that though. Suffice to say, don’t get on their bad side if you ever plan on using the Link again. And since everything’s In in metro these days, nerds got eyes practically everywhere. And you won’t see ’em down there, nope. If you are unlucky enough to meet one of the Contadores, that can only mean one of two things: either you got a friend in a place where most people don’t, and you’ve been invited to one of their many prestigious dining establishments around town for a steak you’ll never forget or, much more likely, you got the death mask.”
“The death mask?” Kuu asked, hesitance in her voice.
Ezren nodded. “You got too close, somewhere, somehow, but it doesn’t matter. It’s the last face you’ll ever see. Like the one the corpse wears, ya know?” Ezren chuckled.
Kuu nodded solemnly, not seeing the humour in it. She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly, everything seeming so much colder on the rooftop, despite her censors confirming it was a pleasant 11.3 meld out.
“So that brings us to the last–and most important–of all the families: ours, the Saurkraugers, ‘Angry Innkeepers’. Ours is a storied organization with a long line of dealings in, how we say in the industry, personal comfort.”
Kuu stared blankly at Ezren.
“You know: night work? Glitz and glam? On-and-offs?”
Ezren could clearly see Kuu was not getting it.
“Oh, come on! Thank-and-wanks? Skin spins? Holes for…”
Kuu’s eyes widened, her cheeks turning a bright red. “Oh, yes, yes, I see. Please, no need to continue.”
Ezren shrugged. “Hey, it’s a legitimate business. Everyone has urges and urges, it turns out, make for a multi-atla business opportunity, it turns out. However, recently the industry has…taken a bit of turn. The economy isn’t what it used to be and my employer has had to diversify. That’s where you come in, as fate would have it. You see, my employer–the Saurkraugers–has branched out into arms dealings. As I am sure you can piece together, this puts us directly in the crosshairs of the Kelejerene’s, both figuratively and literally. I’m sure you can imagine they don’t much like sharing the piece of the monopolistic pie they’ve baked for themselves. Normally, I would say my employer could handle their own but previous efforts to establish ourselves in this new market have failed. Horribly, in fact. We have our theories but we believe the Kelejerenes are getting help from the outside, someone with substantial influence in high places. You needn’t know the details…”
“Wait. I thought you said details matter. Rule number one, remember?”
“Details matter to those who matter.” Ezren rebuffed. “You have to earn your place at the table before you can order prime rib, little Kuu. For now, you gather details as you see them–as they’re fed to you. Understood? Good. So, as I was saying, we need someone on the inside, an operative who can sleuth out the inner workings of this percolating plot. And, like I said before, my employer took notice of your formidable skills, and that skillset happens to fit the bill of what we are looking for for this particular job.”
“Your employer–the same one that you said was one of your employer’s greatest competitors–turns out to be your employer. So, if I am to pursue this line of reasoning, am I to believe in a lie? An oxymoron, perhaps?”
Ezren waggled his finger admonishingly. “Not a lie, just an omission of the full truth. As it turns out, my employer is one of my employer’s greatest competitors. Sort of. The Saurkraugers are a big family, you see, and it turns out not all families get along. Imagine that. So, along with contending with a cutthroat gang of swoop-riding, trigger happy lunatics, the Saurkraugers also have to deal with in-fighting. Without giving away more than is necessary at this point, let’s just say there’s an empty crown and a lotta eager heads. See little Kuu, details.”
Kuu bit her lip. This person was insufferable. “So, how do I…fit in, as you put it?”
“Ah, right to the job. I like that. Keep up that attitude and you’ll get places, I’m sure of it. Yes, in due time, in due time. But first, let’s finish our little orientation, shall we.”
Ezren turned away from the street and flicked a small device out of his sleeve. A spinning-top-like contraption whirled in front of them, hovering several pinches off of the concrete of the rooftop. A holo flickered to life out of the top of it, showing a three-dimensional map of the surrounding area.
“This is our current location. If we zoom out,” the image on the holomap shifted to show a larger-scale view, “you go past the districts and the surrounding area, until you come to the regional view. Here, highlighted in green, that’s the Western Quarter. This–make that your life. Consider it an aquarium that you–the pet–never stray beyond. Any fish who wander too far out of the bowl inevitably drown.”
“Um, excuse me, Ezren sir. Physically speaking, that is imposs…”
“Fish drown, okay? Follow the metaphor and you’ll see where we’re going. So, within Quarter West we have six districts, right? Here’s us here, Manto Popula, and here, here and here…see these marks? Remember these, they may just save your life one day. In fact, forget I said remember, I’m uploading them to your feed now.”
Ezren flicked his hand and a copy of the holodata flew upwards to Kuu’s face and disappeared as it hit her face, her HUD registering the incoming transmission which she accepted.
“I’ve spoken at length about many of the things–and people–that will kill you in this city, so these are things that will help you. Rule number three: when possible, make friends. Luckily for you, my employer’s been at this game for longer than you’ve been chewing binary so they’ve made substantial connections in the community. Those loc-tags I just sent you, those are three of our most trusted Shapers. I can’t tell you how many times Manuel has patched me up after botched jobs. Guy’s a miracle worker for people with…custom parts like us, if you catch my meaning. I’ll underscore his location for you. I’d add that to your priorities sub, if I were you. And next, you’re gonna want a jockey. Not horses mind you–a gear jockey. These are the guys who will hook you up in the field with any of the fancy gizmos and gadgets that you might need. I use a guy down in the automotive sector in Cansoko, but any of them should do the trick. My advice with this lot is choose one and stick with them; they honour your business and will give you better deals–and gear–the more you commit to one. Last thing, before we talk business, let’s talk Eyes. Remember rule three? Well, Eyes are also your friends. These are the guys who do the down-and-dirty stuff that Leets like us can’t be bothered to do. Need recon in a bile-ridden slum? Or how about intel from sources that are…societally distasteful? Well then Eyes are you guys. The only catch is many of them deal in…unorthodox payments. For some of the asks, you’ll likely have to be creative. But I’ll leave that to you for the if-and-whens. You’ll notice I haven’t added them to your shortlist there. There’s a good reason for that: Eyes don’t habituate to one location. If you need them you’ll have to go looking for them. That part shouldn’t be too hard though; if you’re desperate enough then they’ll practically smell it on you. They’re kinda like wasps or cockroaches that way.”
Ezren flicked his wrist again and the whirring device stopped projecting the image and zipped back into Ezren’s sleeve. He crossed his arms and turned to Kuu.
“Which brings us to the matter at hand: your matter at hand. Your first job as Leet-in-Residence is this: infiltrate Kabade’s Used Wares and gain access to their data terminals. My employer needs the information stored on those systems.”
“What is in…Kabade’s Used Wares?” Kuu asked.
“It’s a front, like many of the so-called businesses owned and operated by the families. If we knew what really went on in there then we wouldn’t need you, would we now? What we do know is that it’s run by a group of Kelejerenes, no one particularly important mind you, but recent activities have caught my employer’s attention. That’s all you need to know. That, and the job should be fairly straightforward, if you come prepared.”
“What…what will I need to perform this…job?”
Ezren shrugged. “That’s up to you and you alone. I don’t know what you’re capable of, what resources you have on your own. That’s why I gave you all those links. Use what you have, bring only what you need. The more crap you have on you, the more prepared you are but also the slower and more awkward you’ll be. There’s truly no free lunch in the universe, remember that.”
Kuu raised an eyebrow. “Rule number four?”
“What’s up with you and all these rules? Not everything is a rule, you know.”
Kuu sighed and walked back to the edge of the building, looking back down at the hubbub below. Ezren silently joined at her side, looking down.
“It’s amazing that all of these people–they all belong to only a handful of organizations. How do outsiders know not to come to this district?”
“Remember what I said about names? Well, these are the biggest names in the business. Things like that get around. And if you’re one of the unlucky tourists who happens to be blind to all the tells around you well…let’s just say that those things usually sort themselves out.”
Ezren laughed. “I remember one time when I was on a…reconnaissance mission–not unlike the one you’ve be assigned to–and I was meeting with one of the higher ups at a fancy joint owned by one of the lesser antisocial Contadore cousins. We were balls deep into a plate of spaghetti that tasted like it had been made by the gods, and in walk these two fat off-worlders looking for the nearest fitness center. Judging by the look of them, they needed one. Anyway, one quick look around the room, all silence, unforgiving stares and the glint of sidepieces half-hidden under shirts and their eyes grew bigger than their waists. They were out of there faster than a vegan at a churrascaria. Got their steps in that day, I bet, haha.”
“Hmm. Still, it is an impressive social phenomenon, that this should exist.”
Ezren shrugged. “Family is everything to these folks. And if you are lucky enough to live long enough to become part of one, well…let’s just say blood is thicker than water.”
The two stared silently down at the street, watching the world move on around them. After a time, Ezren turned slightly toward Kuu. “But let me give you some advice, little Kuu: while there are plenty of perks to being one of the Saurkraugers, as thick as blood may be, you can still drown in it. Do you catch my meaning?”
Kuu thought about it for a moment then nodded her head. “I think you mean…watch my back, no matter who I am…associated with?”
Ezren nodded thoughtfully, the weight in the air growing heavy around them. He looked at her for a long, hard moment. Time seemed to stretch to infinity in those protracted seconds, the burnished metal of his mask almost taking on lifelike expression. Just when Kuu thought they were sharing something special, he turned away.
“You will do fine, Kuu Yatamuchi. You will do fine… So long as you remember what really matters.”
“What is that?”
“That blood can be as thick as it wants. All that really matters is how thick your wallet becomes.” Ezren patted his pocket, nodding at her.
Kuu clasped her hands in front her dress, the city breeze, carrying all the best and worst of its smells and sounds, blowing past. Her eyes drifted up to the geodesic plates that made up the meteordome high above them, in large part controlling/creating the weather around them, a fact that she still marvelled over every day. Staring up at their anisotropic wonder, she thought:
A thicker wallet would be nice. I would like to buy something special for Donut once this is all over…
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