Hunting Midnight • Ep 6 • Part 3: Trickle 🦞
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Part 6-3: Trickle
We both relaxed more as the drinks flowed, and I spent the better part of the remaining time hearing about her tumultuous relationship with the villainous Trent. She’d spent the last ten hours alone and unable to vent about it, bottling it all up, so I supposed I understood. In a way, it was nice to commiserate about someone else’s bad fortune, even if it was only for a little while.
Eventually, Deluxe and Fergus emerged. The introductions were short and a little awkward, with a wine-enabled Mayflower unloading a ton of personality and verve on them. Without half a lifetime acclimating to her, they resorted to nods and half-smiles and were unsubtle about needing to leave.
As a welcome gift, Maive received a tablet chock full of Lobster-related care instructions and a spare charger for her dead phone. My sister was clearly more interested in the latter, and I had to usher Deluxe out amid rushed farewells lest an anxiety driven altercation could boil up between them.
“I’m having second thoughts about this arrangement,” she said, once we were in the hallway.
“We could try and take her with us!” I said, headrushy and giddy from two giant glasses of wine and next to no decent sleep for a week. “I think she and The Minder would get along like old sorority pals!”
“What’s the worst that happens, compared to if we ditched your pad entirely?” said Fergus. “At least there’s someone there to raise some sort of alarm if we never return.”
“That’s quite optimistically pessimistic,” she conceded. “You’re correct however. I need to focus on the most pressing problem at hand.”
“Speaking of, care to fill me in?” I said, as we headed for the stairwell. “Did Persi get in touch? What’s up?”
“She did. She will attempt to reach the Lotus, it is at her home in her garage, and that’s probably the place for it to stay unless she’s been tagged as well,” said Deluxe.
“We’re calling a cab to an address a few blocks over, then taking it to where Persi ditched my car, then getting as close to John B Zachary as we can,” said Fergus. “Assuming no one interrupts.”
“But before that, alleyway scouting. For allies. Smelly, unkempt ones,” added Deluxe. We started down the steps.
“Raccoons, or skunks?” I asked, catching their drift. If I could gain control of a few critters, I could guide them into the building as a ghost and hopefully have them do the book switching deed. The tomes weren’t that heavy. A dog or raccoon, with the right human-blob interface, should be able to manage.
“Yes. I debated recruiting a Lobster or three.” Said Deluxe. “But, if anything happened...”
“Not their fight, sure,” I said.
“No, it’s irrational. Dack’s life and all the other lives at stake equal more than any Lobster. Except to me. Selfishly.”
“And me,” I said. “Don’t expect me to mind control our Lobsters into peril.”
“Thanks, really,” she said, pausing to touch my shoulder before we left the building. The wine suggested that I cry, so instead I bit my lip, nodded, and pushed the door open.
There was no posse of men in black or women in curls waiting to whisk us away. As the sky purpled and the remnants of winter winds tainted the evening breeze, we caught our cab as planned and it dropped us off at a lively strip mall parking lot 15 minutes later.
The public space was meant to serve as camouflage. Harder for clandestine forces to snatch us up with a ton of witnesses... we hoped. But it also gave any of their spies cover too.
We took the risk, and drove away in Fergus’ car after finding it where Persi had parked it.
The first sign of trouble was a pair of headlights that seemed to keep a perfect distance from us. We picked it up about five minutes after departing.
It was the sort of thing that would make a normal Alena slightly paranoid. After having witnessed the execution of several people (one by supernatural means), it was enough to make me feel downright stalked.
“What should we do?” said Fergus, who rode shotgun, as Deluxe drove.
“Circuits,” said Deluxe. “Stay off side streets and take main roads in a circuitous route. They’ll know we know, assuming that’s a tail, and have to either admit it to us by keeping pace or try something else. Alena, you’ll have to, hm, hop out, so to speak.”
“Right,” I said. “How long do you think you two will have before they do... whatever?”
“Unknown. If the directive is to stop us, we’ll get pulled over by the police eventually—probably as soon as they realize the tactic. If they’re simply keeping tabs I trust we will confuse—or intrigue—them for some time.”
“How exactly are the books going to move about?” asked Fergus. He held up the green tome.
“Crap. Hum. We will have to make a pit stop and hope to deposit it inconspicuously? I’ll swing us close as I can to Bannerman Drive,” suggested Deluxe. “Getting the new one back—cross that bridge when we come to it.”
“Winging it, fabulous,” I said. “But I don’t have a better idea, so no judgment. Gonna scout now. Holler if you need me.”
I lacked a strong anchor, but I was getting better at naturally finding my way back to myself anyway, so I ghosted and warped over to Eden’s lair.
I discovered that our agent friends had indeed pegged the office door as special. Last time I was here, they’d painted an X on it, presumably because their soldiers were unable to open it. Or maybe they did and saw the weird bookcase and felt it better closed. Either way, the X was still there, in addition to a miniature lab. They’d brought in five tables, all lined up against the wall on the same side of the door. Sophisticated machines and computers covered the expanse, save an open area that was scattered with papers, pens, and a more traditional keyboard and monitor setup. It was more organized than the Mike Nijinsky technology showcase, but no less dense.
Three fat cables ran down the hall, connecting the setup to something else—probably power and top-secret communication… stuff.
The nerdy scientist fella sat before the main monitors, pecking away at the keyboard, absorbed by some intricate task. His monitors were crammed with intelligible and tiny lines. A single armed soldier-dude lounged in a surprisingly plush chair, directly across from the plain, evil door.
“Awesome,” I remarked, and wondered if I could mentally conjure enough pain memory to melt one of the blocky computer banks. I pressed my hand against it, trying to remember hurt. When nothing happened, I made a fist, pushed out my middle finger’s middle knuckle, and ground it in a twist. It wasn’t excruciating, but it was unpleasant enough for a trickle of power. A light blue wave pulsed over the machine, and buddy’s monitor’s flickered.
“Hey, what,” he said, and started clicking away. Program windows went flying around for a while, until one stopped on something that looked like a graph. There was a spike on the graph. He peered at, looked over at the guard (who offered no IT support, other than to widen his eyes the tiniest amount), then stood up and strode right at me.
I backed away, unable to curb the instinct to avoid being walked into. He pushed his glasses up his nose and started to inspect the machine I’d messed with.
“Whatsa matter?” he asked it, and pulled back a hinged panel. He pressed some buttons.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” I said. “Nothing yet.”
I spent about ten minutes in the building, inspecting the fifth floor and trying to get a sense of how well guarded it was. I found only two more armed people—both stationed near the bottom of each of the two stairwells. The fat wires ran from the nerd station down the stairs that we always used, right out to the alleyway.
Here there was a bigger base of operations, and I found myself longing for my usual punk crew. I wondered what they thought of the stark transformation—both ends of the thin corridor blocked by police cruisers and tape. Behind each cruiser, a fat black double wide van, obscuring views for any casual passerby. In the middle was a little village of operations that reminded me of backstage concert setups. There was a tent, two porta-potties, a length of tables and various reinforced crates on wheels, some unhinged and opened, some closed.
About a dozen military types tended to things. Four were stationary killers, standing near the backs of the vans. Some resembled scientists, doting over the other end of the wires, which terminated in a similar but smaller set of incomprehensible computer equipment. Others wore plain garb, and seemed to be examining a map of the town, which was spread over a table and covered in markers and lines.
This, I deduced, was not a good way to get the book in.
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Too much activity. Why not just post armed guards at certain locations?
Getting the book in might be easier via a good sized bird, if there's an open window. Can't wait for the next part :)
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