And where there were hidden Hunters, it wouldn’t take much for the Psimons to figure out there were probably hidden Psi-talents just waiting to be gathered up. If my people back home tried to resist having their protectors snatched away, they’d probably find themselves facing the army…and if they didn’t, there’d be nothing between them and the Othersiders but their physical weapons and the snow.
I’d been complacent. I hadn’t been thinking. That had to stop, right now.
Just as I came to that conclusion, I got an incoming call alert on my vid-screen and accepted it without looking to see who it was first.
“Hunter Joy,” said my uncle, with a hint of a sardonic smile. “You’ve likely heard from the PsiCorps by now.”
“Twice,” I said sourly. “I’ve been told in no uncertain terms that I am not to talk about what I found except with my superiors.”
Uncle nodded, as if that was exactly what he had expected. “Your conclusion?”
I blinked. “Uh…speculation, sir. This is not the first PsiCorps body that’s been found down there.” Which is why you sent me and not someone else.
“What PsiCorps forgets is that I am the prefect of police,” he said, with steel in his voice. “Evidence of a serial murderer beneath my city is more than enough justification for me to order an investigation, regardless of the wishes of PsiCorps, and I have done so. But meanwhile, since you are already assigned to patrol down there, I would like you to keep me informed if—when—you find any more bodies.”
“Vid, sir?” I said. I was reasonably sure this exchange was not being recorded and was probably encrypted.
“Definitely. Don’t compromise the crime scene, but get as much detail as you can. I want to know what’s killing these Psimons.” He nodded.
“It could have been those murderous midget tool wielders,” I said out loud. “There were too many of them for one Psimon to have had any hope of controlling.”
“If it’s a new Othersider, it’s vitally important for us to know that. If it’s a criminal, I’ll go to Premier Rayne myself to get the PsiCorps to cooperate with the police.” Uncle looked absolutely grim at that. I had no idea how often he called in the Rayne card, but I was willing to bet that when he did, he got listened to.
“What…what if it’s another Psimon?” I asked. Because the question had to be asked. Things that Josh had said…made me think that all was not peace, joy, and brotherhood in PsiCorps.
“If it’s another Psimon…then he’s a murderer, and having powers is not going to save him from the law.”
“Yes, sir,” I said, hoping that he was wrong and that this was the last time I was going to have to deal with a Psimon who wasn’t Josh. But really, in the back of my mind, I knew I was too far down the rabbit hole now to be that lucky.
I called Bya. I felt strongly in need of comfort; when he came through, he wrapped himself around me and crooned until I got somewhat more relaxed.
And I spent a long, long time staring into the dark before I finally slept.
I HAD AN UNEVENTFUL patrol of the sewers the next day. Dinner was odd. I went in early, after checking on the rest of the Elite team. Everyone except Hammer and Steel was out on what I had learned was called a “snipe hunt.” To make a very long story as short as possible, that meant they were chasing something that was probably long gone, but because it was really dangerous and there had not only been a sighting but a vid capture, they had to check it out, and it had to be with nearly the full roster. I didn’t know exactly what they were (supposedly) Hunting, but generally it had to be something as deadly as a Folk Mage.
Hammer and Steel hadn’t been along, partly because they’d already spent the morning in an exhausting fight with a Pit Beetle, and partly because their powers weren’t well suited to something human-size and extremely agile.
I was curious just what a Pit Beetle was like, because I had heard of them but had never seen one, so I called up the raw vid on my Perscom while I poked at food. Basically it is what it sounds like: a gigantic beetle about the size of a tank that digs a pit with slippery sides, hides in the bottom, and waits for prey to fall in. It wasn’t hard for them to target, and they certainly didn’t need to ambush it, but it was very tough. It took them a while to squash it, and when they were done, they both looked like they were ready to drop.
I looked up from my Perscom just in time to see both of them come in and get some dinner. They caught sight of me as they turned to look for a spot to sit down, and joined me. I was glad they had. I figured since their mother was a folklorist, she might know something about the murderous midget mechanics I’d seen. I really wanted to know what the heck those things were! The mess hall was about half full of regular Hunters, and everyone was jabbering away at once. The vid-screens in the corners of the room were showing an update about Old Yeller, a volcano off to the west and south.
“Looks like you’ve recovered from bug-squashing,” I said, making plenty of room on the tabletop for them.
Hammer made a face. “Better that than a snipe hunt. The team’s probably covered twenty square miles today and not one damn thing to show for it.” He lowered his voice so that it only carried to me and his brother. I leaned in to listen. “Our buddies got back to us. The ones I figured could put an eye on Ace for us.”
Steel nodded as I looked from one brother to the other and back again. “Something tells me you are not happy with what they told you,” I said.
“It’s crazy, is what it is,” Hammer told me while his brother ate. “According to them, he’s still on tight lockdown, so they can’t tell what kind of conditions he’s living in, but when he is let out to work, he acts like he’s a model prisoner. I can’t square that with the Ace we know.” His face was stormy, stubborn. He really did not believe what he’d been told. Well, neither did I.
“But it’s possible,” said Steel, giving his brother a chance to eat. “He might have gotten…I don’t know, maybe therapy.”
Hammer snorted, his brows furrowing, as though he would have liked to say something strong, and maybe profane.
“All right, then, maybe he got his head reprogrammed by a Psimon. Or they’re drugging him.”
“You know that you can’t mix drugs and magic,” Hammer corrected his brother. “And nobody with powers who’s ever gotten reprogrammed by a Psimon has been able to use those powers afterward.”
“Maybe he actually learned his lesson? Maybe he’s sorry about…” Steel trailed off. “It’s possible.”
“Gosh,” I said, definitely creeped out now. “I’m not buying it.” Hammer gave me a nod to say he agreed with me.
“I’ve been thinking about this.” It was Steel’s turn to eat and Hammer’s to talk, apparently. “We know he wasn’t working alone. And we know he wasn’t that crazy a few months ago. A camera whore, sure. But not crazy. So I have a theory.”
“Which is just a theory,” his brother said emphatically. “But…I guess it’s worth telling her.”
I waited. These guys were Elite, after all. Not inclined to make stuff up. Smart and experienced. If they had a theory, it was probably worth considering at least. Mind you, this conversation was just a bit surreal, taking place in the middle of a bunch of people chowing down and discussing fan service.
“What if, for some reason, he really had a personality change after his brother was killed?” Hammer all but whispered, making sure his voice was pitched so low that it was highly unlikely the mics in the room would pick it up in the ambient noise.
“But what would cause…” I bit my lip. “What if whoever he was working with had, or was, a Psimon?” That made too much sense, actually. “He was already pretty unbalanced after his brother was killed. How hard would it be for a Psimon to shove him over the cliff?”
“Exactly,” Hammer nodded; his brother winced, as if this was far more “conspiracy theory” than he liked. “Not hard to push him straight into psycho, if you ask me,” Hammer added. “I don’t trust PsiCorps. Never have. The Psimons hav
e always struck me as the kind of people who’d shove their own mothers under the tank treads if they thought it would advance them.”
If all I’d known about PsiCorps had been Josh, I might have had second thoughts and certainly voiced some doubts. But after meeting up with that senior Psimon and getting that letter, I was perfectly willing to think there might be Psimons out there willing to aid and abet a murder or two.
Never mind what Steel thought; in my estimation, Hammer was not at all the kind to make up wild conspiracy theories or the kind to believe in conspiracy theories others came up with.
But if his suspicions and mine were correct, then it was more than time to change the subject of conversation. Just in case. And besides, I wanted to ask them about something else anyway. “So,” I said in my normal tone of voice, “have either of you heard of an Othersider about the size of a Knocker but dressed in a hooded red jumpsuit and black boots and carrying tools?”
They both looked at me, baffled. “What?” Hammer said for both of them. I cued up the raw footage of my little encounter in the storm sewers. They watched, looking even more baffled at the freeze-frames.
“I have no idea,” Steel said. “Those little guys look more modern than mythic. Are modern myths even possible?”
I started to say something like “I don’t know,” when suddenly I realized something. “Of course they are,” I said. “My Hounds. They’re Alebrijes, something that never showed up in myth until around 1940, pre-Diseray time.”
They both stared at me while I described how Pedro Linares had seen the Alebrijes in a fever dream. “Until then, no one, not even the Zapotec shamans, had ever seen or heard of them. And back then, of course, nobody but Zapotec would have believed in them. But when I got my first seven Hounds, that was what they were. So I guess you can have modern myths.” I didn’t mention how my mentor, Master Patli, also had four Alebrijes Hounds. More secrets I had to keep, even from people I was starting to trust a lot. It felt bad, actually, but what else could I do? Because what would happen if I confided in someone and PsiCorps came rummaging around in the heads of my friends? The mere idea had me sick with fear.
Hammer rubbed his left hand over his close-cropped scalp. “Oh boy. That opens up an entirely new can of worms, and one I would rather not think about too hard.”
“Maybe. Probably? I dunno,” his brother replied. “I’m not sure even Ma could answer that one.”
“Well, it might give the folklorists someplace to look if they think these things are modern-ish,” Hammer replied, still rubbing his head. “I really don’t want to think about it too hard. I can really do without having a new sort of Othersider showing up every damn day.”
I nodded with sympathy. Here we’d been going on the assumption that there were rules of a sort determining what Othersiders were going to pop up, but now…maybe those rules didn’t apply after all.
Altogether, it had been a day that was leaving me feeling very shaky. Othersiders that no one recognized—again—and which could be modern. Psimons and PsiCorps taking an “interest” in me. Dead Psimons that could be murder victims. Ace on what seemed to be a pretty long leash, and acting even crazier. And maybe with a Psimon “helping” him along.
I went straight to bed with my head awash in conspiracy theories. And as soon as I got to the mess hall for breakfast, Mark pounced like he’d been waiting for me.
“Can you spare some time?” he asked, giving me this pleading look. He looked a lot like a giant puppy when he did that. And how could I say no? This was Mark Knight, my best friend here, and if it hadn’t been for him and Josh, I might be crippled or dead. Whatever he needed from me, I’d make sure he got.
“Sure, I’m just waiting to see if there’s a team callout before I go on patrol,” I said, truthfully. “Let me get breakfast. Find a table, and I’ll join you.”
I went and picked out some food kind of at random and scooted over to the table he’d picked. He was already looking impatient, and Mark never looks impatient, which meant whatever he wanted, it was probably something to do with his people back home. So far, the only time I’d ever seen him get emotional was over them. I plopped down in the seat and started eating without looking at what I was doing. “Okay,” I said between mouthfuls. “What’s got your feathers ruffled?”
I noticed then that he didn’t look upset so much as anxious and keyed up. “I want to try out for Elite,” he blurted. “I’m gonna need your help, or otherwise I’m never gonna pass and—”
I held up my fork, which made him stop babbling. “Whoa, wait, back it up,” I said, not sure whether to be amused or concerned. “Why do you want to go Elite?”
He took a deep breath, and then let it all out again. “Look, Joy, I’m not spectacular enough to rank. We both know that. The only time my numbers go up is when I’m paired with you. The only way I’m gonna get permission to bring Jessie here is if I rank—or if I’m Elite. I’ll never earn it any other way.”
Well, this was a drastic change from the last time I talked to him, so the obvious answer to “why do you suddenly need to bring your girl here?” was something in those letters he’d gotten. And that was none of my business. Bottom line, if it was important to him, then it mattered to both of us, because we were friends.
“Okay,” I said, nodding and pausing to eat. “You’re right. With Ace’s old friends on their own and not coasting on his notoriety, trying to fight your way into the top rankers would be like trying to push through a crowd of loggers at the free beer keg. Not gonna happen.” That wasn’t entirely true, actually, but he had already convinced himself that it was, and I wasn’t going to waste time trying to prove otherwise. I did think he had a very good chance of making Elite, now that I’d been in the group for a while. Among other things, those flying Hounds of his would be really useful. “You know what the Trials look like, since you helped me get ready for them, so mostly it’s going to be a matter of pushing yourself every time you patrol to get your strength and stamina up. You’ve got the marksmanship, and if you keep doing what Archer told you to do, you’ll fly through everything that requires shooting. You could probably stand to build up your strength and endurance, because the hand-to-hand part is a weakness for you. You already know all of that, so I reckon what you’re asking me to do is help you with the magic-combat part.”
As I was talking, his normally stoic expression was going through a bunch of changes: relief that I was not going to take any persuading, some surprise that I wasn’t trying to talk him out of this, maybe a little confusion too, since I wasn’t giving him a cross-examination about his motives, or a lecture about how dangerous being Elite was, or another lecture about how he shouldn’t be doing it for such a selfish motive.
What did his motives matter anyway, when the end result was going to be that we’d get another Elite? “That’s exactly what I want your help with,” Knight said, the expression on his face resolving itself into relief again. I ate. He was about to make as long a speech as he ever did—not long, by speech standards—and that would give me a chance to put my calories away before they got cold. “The things Archer said about you and magic, that made sense. I need your help to get my head shut of the idea that what I have is all I’m gonna get. Once I’m Elite, I can bring Jessie here, maybe get her set up in her own room until we have a chance to find a preacher and get properly married, and then I’ll be allowed to have bigger quarters and—” He actually started babbling about his girl and hopes and dreams and all that at that point, and I just tuned him out a little, until he wrapped up with “But I can’t figure out how to get something useful for combat-magic; I’ve tried, and nothing happens.”
I was pretty much finished then, so I ate my last bite of buttered toast and pointed my fork at him. “The first thing you do is, you go pull up the vids of other Trials,” I told him. “Hammer and Steel—Steel, anyway—have essentially the same thing you do, and they passed the Trials. Shields can be used in combat. I’m sure there are others who’ve gotten
just as creative. You go see what others have done, we’ll figure out how to amp up what you can already do, and that will give you the headspace to try new things.”
When I said that, he perked right up. “All right!” he exclaimed.
I grinned. “And I want to see you ruin some Hunting outfits, Mark Knight,” I said with mock severity. “You’re big and strong, but in the hand-to-hand, they’ll put you up against someone bigger and stronger. So push yourself. Don’t walk when you can trot, don’t trot when you can run, don’t go around stuff when you can jump it. If you think something’s gone to ground, dig it out. Climb those blasted tumbledown buildings to see what’s roosting, and don’t rely on your Hounds to flush things out for you. The more ground you cover during a patrol, the better.” I didn’t mention that if he did that and his head count started to soar, he probably wouldn’t need to try out for Elite after all.
He nodded, then graced me with a bashful smile. “Thanks for not trying to discourage me, Joy. You’re the best.”
He took off before I could say anything else. I guess he’d already eaten. I headed for the armory; I’d either need to get a load-out for another prowl through the storm sewers, or get grabbed for a team.
When I got there, the armorer was looking at a vid-screen up near the ceiling. I followed his gaze; it was the report about the volcanic eruption, in more detail. The ash plume was definitely coming our way, which meant most aircraft were going to be grounded for a while, except for the helichoppers specially fitted with ash filters. Those eruptions weren’t entirely disastrous; they were the reason we had snowpack up in my home mountains in the first place. If it wasn’t for the occasional eruptions darkening the sky and keeping things cooler, the warming caused by all those greenhouse gases pre-Diseray would be really bad, like desert or tropical bad. That was the good part. But sunlight-blocking meant solar arrays weren’t as efficient, and plants had a harder time growing, and of course breathing in ash isn’t good for anything—man, critter, or machine—so good news, bad news, and all that. “This will make the Othersiders bolder,” he said, without turning around. “It always does. They know the only close-in air support we’ll get during ashfall is the choppers.” He brooded a while. “The big storm will have made them hungrier too. We aren’t the only ones who have to hole up during a storm that size—they do too. The difference between us is, we get feast and they get famine.”
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