The shows she enjoyed were almost as fantastical as Godsson's belief in some ugly fractal reality-pattern which had formed when he had helped destroy Melisande d'Artelle, and which was now slowly replicating and growing, blindly seeking a path back to the key person in her death.
He chuckled, albeit a little uncomfortably. That would certainly be a challenge even for his Huntress Archetype!
Chapter 20
Dropped off by their cab driver just past Union Square on Market Street, Harmon began exploring the SoMa area, Sara holding his hand firmly.
Initially, after visiting one or two young-girls boutiques, Harmon had retreated in price shock to the street, where they meandered through the semi-permanent “transient shopping district.” In happy contrast to the air-conditioned and glittering commercial palaces, the street vendors had perfectly reasonable clothing at remarkably low prices.
But when Sara tugged on his arm and asked for some “scrip” to spend, and then complained about him being a mean “wagie” – which Harmon knew was street-speak for a wage-earner – the researcher realized Sara's sharp ears were picking up more than he wanted her to. They retreated inside once more, each already laden with several bags.
'This one is nice, but why can't I wear my new hunting outfit?'
Her uncle ground his teeth, and took a deep breath. 'I've already told you. You're not hunting now, for one thing, and you must try to blend in, so people don't realize you are a hunter.'
But she really wanted to wear her hunting outfit. It didn't mean she was going to hunt today. 'Can I just wear it till we catch the cab back home then?'
'NO!'
She blinked, swaying back on her heels at the force of his shout. Several of the sales ladies in the store turned around and looked at them. She noticed her uncle's hands were clenched, and he was breathing hard through his nose, his lips pressed tight together.
She saw his hands unclench, then he sighed and shook himself. Wriggled his fingers.
'No. Go outside. Go outside and wait for me quietly.'
She shivered, feeling kind of strange and fuzzy for a moment.
'Do you hear me, Sara?'
It wasn't fair! All the same, she thought she'd better do what he said. She turned and went outside. But real slow, taking her time to feel some of the clothes on her way out. She didn't know why he'd gotten so grumpy all of a sudden. It was like the longer they shopped, the grumpier he got.
Outside, she turned and looked back through the front of the store. He's not even watching me! She stamped her foot. Go outside and wait quietly, she fumed. Still, at least she had some nice new clothes. She slid her hands over the slippery sheen of the clinging svelteene, enjoying the velvety feel of its nano-engineered microfibers, and had to smile despite her anger.
A little distance away was a bench, with people sitting on it. A bus stop, she realized. A boy about her age sat between two women, one really old and one just ordinary-old. A man in a suit sat further along, and at the end closest to the bus sign sat two young people dressed just like dangerous-looking go-gangers from the trids. But if they were go-gangers, why were they catching a bus instead of zooming around on their electro-bikes and out-racing the metro police? The girl was sleek, her skin a smooth, healthy green. Her partner looked cool and sharp, and his skin was slightly silvered. They were the first painted people she'd seen in real life.
They weren't really painted, of course.
The first time she'd seen one on the trideo, she'd asked Keepie about it, thinking she'd look good with deep blue skin. But by the way he'd snapped that it was a “stupid and dangerous DNA modification,” she knew straightaway there was no point asking if she could do it.
There was one spot left on the bench, and suddenly she decided it'd be nice to have some company. Running up from behind, she leaped over the back of the seat, landing just right to fall gently back into the vacant space. Every head turned as she flashed into view, and the woman next to the boy literally jumped!
She looked around at them and smiled her sweetest smile.
Gradually they all looked away, except for the young boy, who continued to watch her, and who smiled back. Maybe they could be friends? She opened her mouth to talk to him, but at the very last moment decided against it. Instead, though, she smiled, except just for him this time. The woman, probably his mother, noticed. She looked Sara up and down, raised one eyebrow, sniffed, and moved protectively forward.
'Daniel, sit still.'
What a grump. A grumpy grup. She stifled a giggle. She hooded her eyes a little, looking up at Daniel's sniffy mother, her lips pulled back in what she hoped was a sort of evil-pixie smile, like Sleena in Sub-world. A pity her teeth weren't longer and sharper, though, like the dark pixie. But the woman looked away, anyway.
Sara craned round to see if her uncle was coming yet, but he wasn't. At least it was a nice warm day. Sunny.
An insect buzzed round her head, and she brushed it away.
I wonder how long till the bus comes? For some reason, though, she didn't feel like asking the question out loud. Cars, alternately sleek and whispering, or noisy and smelly, flowed past the bus stop.
The fly buzzed round her head again. There seemed to be quite a few around. All the people on the seat were waving them away. One landed on her leg. It tickled. For a moment, she watched it, bored and glum, but then its sheer ugliness got too much for her. She smiled with momentary anticipation.
Her hand flashed out and swatted it.
Eww, she thought, grimacing at the red and black result. Lucky I didn't squash it on my new clothes! She flicked it off and wiped the remains away as best she could.
The woman beside her had a small smile on her face, but looked away when Sara noticed.
Even as she rubbed her hand to clean it, another fly, maybe attracted by the smell, landed right where she'd just squashed the other one. She froze, waited a moment, then lashed out again, but this time with less force. The fly, stunned, bounced off her thigh and onto the ground. She squashed it underfoot so it couldn't stagger up and try again, and then waited.
Less than a minute passed before another fly landed. Seconds later, it too was dead. She saw the young boy lean forward to see what she was doing. Sara began to enjoy herself. This was like a tiny, miniature hunt. Her speed, against the flies'. She concentrated.
Another landed – another died. She grinned. So far, she hadn't missed! This was fun. She leaned forward slightly, waiting for the next contest.
For a while, no more landed. Had she scared them all off? Along the seat, at the end, she saw the fake “go-girl” seemed to be watching her with interest, too, even raised her eyebrows as if asking her to explain, maybe – but Sara really didn't feel like talking right now. The man in the suit was looking, too. Hey, she was getting an audience! Then a tickle on her thigh drew her back to her hunt.
Slap!
Five. The little corpses began to pile up around her.
-
Harmon looked at his watch as he left the store. Three o'clock already! Thankfully, that was now over with – and should suffice for some time. It had better. Even though he'd made them go over the bill item by item, he could still scarcely believe that such small amounts of material could cost so much. He winced. Though they weren't all minuscule outfits – he'd pointed out that sometimes she needed warm clothes, too, and heavier jeans: such as when she went picking blackberries. Or clothes that would allow her to blend in with the sheep, if necessary. For example, at dinner time in the cafeteria, he had thought, but very carefully not said aloud. She'd pouted, but let him choose several sensible outfits.
The whole experience, though, had been a tedious drain of his time. As much as he disliked the net, now he knew what measurements were necessary, at least he could shop electronically next time.
He looked around, wondering where the girl had gotten to? A flash of movement from the roadside attracted his eye. Ah. There.
Starting over toward the bench, though, he
soon slowed and then stopped. Why were all the people at the bus stop acting so strangely? They were practically sitting in each others' laps to avoid being too close to Sara. All were staring at her, too, he saw. They seemed mesmerized.
He frowned in annoyance. Now what was she up to?
Slap!
The sudden movement startled him, and he noticed the people at the bus stop collectively flinch, too. What the devil was she doing? He couldn't see from here, but something in the set of her shoulders indicated that whatever it was, she was totally concentrating. Completely focused.
With an economical series of gestures, he patterned the shape of distant sight in the Imaginal, fed that certainty into the quantum sea, and cast the spell of clairvoyance. A moment later, he saw the bus stop as though standing directly in front of it, facing the waiting people. He watched carefully, keeping one eye on himself, farther behind them.
Sara sat with her right hand raised and bottom lip clenched between her teeth. A movement in the air, then a fly landed on her tanned thigh.
Slap!
He jumped, eyes widening involuntarily. He hadn't seen her hand move, it was so fast! She smiled as she brushed the smeared corpse to the ground at her feet, and his eyes followed it. He stared. Small black insect bodies littered the ground around her. There were dozens of them! Surely he hadn't been gone that long?
He looked back at himself, then shifted his attention to the would-be bus passengers. Their expressions ranged from fascinated delight – on the face of the girl at the far end – to something like horror on the face of the woman closest to Sara. There was something comical about the look. In fact, there was something comical about the whole situation! He stared at the woman a moment longer before her expression – a combination of shock mixed with a determination not to lose her seat – tipped him past the point of wry amusement.
The spell broke as his concentration shattered in gales of laughter.
People turned toward him in surprise. A moment later, Sara heard him and also turned around. As one, the people on the seat flinched away, which only made him laugh the harder.
Sara, clearly puzzled, cocked her head to one side, watching him. Slowly she began to smile, too. He doubted she understood his amusement, but simply seeing him laugh seemed to make her happy. She jumped over the seat and ran to rejoin him, hugging him silently. He casually ran an Imaginal eye over her, noting his own Suggestion to wait quietly was still laced through her thoughts, binding her.
Back at the bus stop, the people on the seat slumped in relief.
Leading her away down the block, he looked back briefly as they rounded the corner, only to collide with a nightmarish figure as he turned back. One massive arm cushioned the impact before claws fastened on his clothes. The thing stood over two meters tall, its lupine muzzle only inches from his face.
The lower torso was goat-like, with hooves instead of feet. The head was like a wolf's, but the hands were black-furred and tipped with wicked-looking but clearly impractical recurved claws. Pointed ears, also furred, flipped up on his head, and yellow eyes squinted against the bright afternoon sun. Despite their extreme illegality, backyard “furry mods” had proven impossible to eradicate, all across the world. Didn't these fools realize they could pose as much a potential threat to the human race as d'Artelle's mind-raped cadre of genetic engineers?
'Spare some scrip, fren. Any corp scrip.'
The voice was low, a growling bass. Peripherally, he was conscious of Sara's gaze on them both, fascinated.
'No.' He took a step back, but the man-thing's hand did not release its hold on his coat.
'Chit, fren, ’m no half-comp. Wagie like you, poz ya got scrip. You c’n spare some.' The lips curled back from cruel yellow teeth, the canines fascinatingly long.
Instinctively, Harmon Percepted the thing's Imaginal state: vicious, and becoming more so as it started goading itself into anger. Some sort of drug in effect, too, one that blurred and blunted the normal beauty of the dance of the Imaginal form. He shifted his perception back to mundane reality, back to the foolishly mixed set of half-complete gene alterations the once-man had toyed with. New Humans indeed! 'You're like a metaphor for our own modern society,' he stated coldly. 'A pathetic, will-less wreck of something once human. A sad waste of millions of years of evolution. Your kind disgusts me.' He let his own anger sharpen the spell he flung. 'Go away.'
The Imaginal pattern snapped over the man's confused and weakened spirit form like a religious revelation. The hulking figure jerked back as if electrified, then fled.
Sara gazed up at him in admiration, mouth working as if about to speak, when her expression shifted to a mixture of confusion and then frustration. Puzzled at first, he remembered his Suggestion that she should remain silent, just as her face screwed up and words burst forth again. 'You spelled him, Keepie! You made him run away!'
He glowered at her, as annoyed by her incriminating words as the fact that she'd been able to snap the mild compulsion. 'Shh, girl. Yes, I did, but I could get into trouble for using magic like that. Even charged with assault!' He turned and watched the figure disappearing from sight, then looked to see if anyone had overheard her. 'Even for hopeless scum like that,' he mused. He caught the eyes of his young charge. 'Do you know what he was, Sara?'
'A troll?'
'Trolls and ogres are victims of the Melt virus. No, that was someone who thought his own shortcomings could be corrected by replacing highly-evolved human characteristics with more primitive animalistic patterns. Someone who thought the fears and weaknesses still remaining after those alterations, could be overcome through drugs.'
She frowned, clearly not understanding, but also clearly refusing to admit it. 'Where are we going, Keepie?'
'I've decided we'll take a cab back. You attracted too much attention back at the bus stop.'
'I did? How?'
He rolled his eyes, but knew that until he explained she'd pester him. 'Those people were sheep, Sara. Gray people, leading small, dull lives. Safety and security are all they desire. But you are not like them, are you?'
She shook her head.
'So they recognized you as something different: perhaps something threatening. But be aware: although such people don't matter individually, as a mass they can be dangerous. So it is best not to scare them too badly. Do you understand?'
'Uh huh, I do, Keepie,' she nodded.
A few minutes later, freshly distracted, she tugged at his arm, pointing at a youth dancing around a light pole and hitting it with a silvery stick, shouting.
'What's the matter with that one, Keepie?'
For a moment he wondered whether they'd happened upon some fool's random psychotic episode, when he spied the glowing red armband that signaled the active use of a consensual AR system. Another educational opportunity! Perhaps the trip would prove to be worth the expense after all.
So he explained to her about Altered Reality, how the boy's optic nerves and other sensory inputs were being fed input from some remote multi-player game simulation. That the boy probably saw his stick as a magical sword, the light pole as some kind of threatening monster; while the red armband warned people he was immersed in an active simulation.
'What if he hits ordinary people?'
'The computer system portrays them as things to be avoided. If he did hit one, he'd be charged with assault.'
In the cab back to the Institute, he took the opportunity to explain how life's challenges had to be met from within, not avoided through artificial means like drugs or AR or its worse forms, like the illegal and addictive “NuLife,” that activated dangerously many parts of the brain, especially the emotional pleasure centers, amplifying them until normal life seemed pale and dull in comparison.
Sara listened, rapt, occasionally giggling. He was pleased to read her thought that such people were crazy.
Chapter 21
Sara admired her new clothes as she made her way to the basement. It'd been fun going into the City – the
sights, the sounds, and especially, all the people! Buying the clothes and trying them on had been fun, too.
Sometimes her uncle had complained, since some of the clothes didn't have much cloth for the price. It was almost like the less cloth there was, the more it cost. But it was nice how the material fitted her snugly, instead of all sloppy and floppy.
Some of the saleswomen had acted kind of funny, though. Disapproving. And she was sure that Uncle had done magic on some of them, and they didn't even know! When he saw she'd noticed, it'd become like a secret game, just between the two of them. She'd been kind of sad when it was time to go back to the Institute. But Keepie had promised that as her figure continued to “develop” they'd go out again and buy more.
She hardly had to think about bypassing the security systems, she'd done it so often. It was a routine now: stick, Bork, toolkit – and the new bits, since they'd banned her. And today, she felt a new confidence in herself and her abilities. She felt good in the new clothes which Uncle had bought her, like she was at the center of things somehow.
She remembered his words with pride: 'You have a very fine figure, you know, Sara. Very fit; very healthy. Your new clothes really show the good care you take of your body.'
Now she was on her way to show Godsson her special new Hunting outfit. Made of soft brown imitation deerskin, the shorts clung snugly, plus they had fringes for decoration; and a halter top. It left her plenty of room for movement, and revealed much of her red-bronze tan. Some of the male workers had certainly seemed to admire her legs, she'd noticed. They were quite strong. She stood on one leg, and bent and flexed her other before her, watching the play of muscles.
On a whim, and just for fun, she put down all her visiting-equipment and kicked her left leg out and up, catching it in both hands as her knee kissed her nose. She savored the deep stretch in her "glutes", then wiggled, just to feel the tickle of the fringe of her new shorts. Dropping her leg, she did a little jump spin, enjoying the tickle one more time.
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