Lovers Dancing [ Installment 3 ]
#3 of Lovers Dancing Chapters
Lovers Dancing [Installment 3]
by Patch Ragswift
Character-Table: /* once again open a duplicate tab or paste this into Textedit or whatev to switch to for quick reference. */
Technical lead: Professor Sabbow (Sabb-oh) - lankey whitish-grey hare, older Lietenant: Beethoven Goyle, "Bobby", "Loot" (as in Lietenant), "Bait" - bobcat Scout1: N. Leo - white neko Scout2: Krevát Stacy-Steiglitz, "Stacy", "Steiglitz" - ram (Ovis canadensis) Scout3: Derick Stevenson, "Doug", "Dougless", "Stevens." (dogtag-abbreviation) - ? Intel2: Sauda - striped tapir Boxer2: Lombardy - hare Boxer3: Cassie, "Cassidy", "Butch" - neko Wetware1 intel3: Korra Kallay - neko Wetware2: Ralieur Gehrtz, "Rali", "Ghost", "Raily" - possum
Okay. I'm sure still some mistakes but I've proofed it a number of times and spellchecked. Still an editing mark or two but I wanted to get it put up. So complain/suggest away. Also I'm not really hamfisted as I could be about the paws in here, so maybe don't read it strictly for that, but you can if you want to.
Read, comment, etc -- the power of Christ compels you. Seriously, if you want me to actively devote thought to the next part rather than just writing whenever I next both have time and really feel like it, your positivity will greatly ease (and speed) the process. If not I'll probably someday finish the story regardless, but won't assume I've really captivated anyone with this one.
Extra points to whoever can find the Bush-quote I use.
"Oh, I never get to click all the way up. Boy, I'm like a mamma bear!" She mock-boxed and then did a one-handed pushup to illustrate. "I need you to run a lap first." Goyle. He took the two off the exam table and then set them on the ground, indicating for them to start running along the wall. "Then you can click. And when you do... don't fry any servos this time, okay, Cass?" Goyle requested as a hopeless stepparent before little league to an absent partner's profligately reckless young child. She batted her eyes.
They both started into a lope. Stevenson had it easier; his kit was pretty light, at least compared to the white Boxer who'd now just finished accelerating up alongside him. Neither of them had started really breathing yet. Cassie: "I kept my blood up. Are you still juiced a bit from the Prof's little circuit?" Stevenson was juiced. He kept his eyes forward, swallowed to dilute a bit of the acid that had welled up in his stomach since Naggi had lifted him. Stevenson hadn't needed to encourage his fight-or-flight-response any, though he also knew how. They'd learned things like that; the training had mostly been non-combat. - Maneuvers. Running. Climbing. Evasion. Comms and team-coordination. Deployment. Timed-technical such as field-repairs, masks-on, and demolitions. Shooting was part of the schedule, but it was rare; this was no strike but rescue. Most of the members went to the firing range off-duty to relieve stress. The shooting benchmarks had actually been among the easiest to meet(?). More important was Tactical, which they did atleast once per week; things were complicated; bullet-fire or energy-weapons (even electricals) were not efficient enough in miniature; handed them instead was nasty. - Nervegas. Acidic rounds. Air-fuels. Napalm.
A moment. "Yeah, do if you wanna shuffle." Growled: "Alright!" "Lead the way, sis." He could use the distraction. On top of his recent stress, (thank you, Leo.), the situation in Onr had remained baffling. Nothing detectable was being taken from the site. And where it had initially seemed the establishment of the Estival-Roe field was a pre-wartime information-gathering exercise, the impression of malicious intent seemed to shrink as the years had marched by; any alien species with sufficient technological advantage to basically puppeteer a large city worth of people should not have to wait so long before either invading or wiping the planet clean. A few more deployments of the devices could have easily forced a surrender. Instead, the aliens did nothing so easy to understand.
For six years, the city had in a way just gone about its business. Limited data indicated that there was some kind of piecewise stasis effect rendered on the citizens; a few different configurations of radiological equipment had allowed some information about conditions inside the field to be gained; atleast in the observable periphery, citizens moved very slowly, and spent large periods of time in certain spaces, often alone - though unclear why. Testing had been done, and there was no indication of temporal dilation to explain why those within the field kept such sloth. Nor could anyone say how nutritional needs were being met without continuous supplies. In the beginning some from outside had driven in foodstuffs, but once the field took hold, the vehicles were left by, and the pilots departed them to join whatever activities might be taking place deeper in past the edge, where sensors could not reach. Residents did eat, sparingly, but perhaps it was only those who were detectable at distance from the epicenter that needed to do this. There was a possibility that everyone farther in had starved to death or otherwise died, but this rather assumed a natural phenomenon, or atbest a crude experiment, as opposed to something preplanned and purposive. It didn't seem a fit, but perhaps it would've made just as much sense as anything else.
They were two-thirds the way around the perimeter of the exam-room. The others were watching the monitors in various states of intensity. Both continued at a driving pace. Goyle raised his voice. "Stevens! I need to see a sprint." He'd been expecting it; they needed to look at stats for all gaits. After a few more strides and a forceful breath out, his limbs stretched into a headlong run, focused on the task. The voice sounded again. "Cassie, you too." This meant something different for her. A Boxer could not naturally sprint unassisted; they weren't jointed to. Trying would result in quick exhaustion or injury. Instead what they could do - once ' clicked on ' - was gallop, which was the engineers' way of describing a shorter-stridden pattern of movement which used compound motion to better leverage the exertions of the Boxer. The suit's arrangement allowed them to take a number of shorter strides in a more compressed timespan, converting the exertion they would normally use to take higher, longer steps into rapid, explosive backthrust. The actuation was possible without additional power, however even given training, it was found too difficult for a Boxer to maintain balance, so the gyros were implemented for this with suit ' clicked on. '
On even ground, Boxers were faster than anyone else. Cassie chugged past him after she'd activated it. Goyle tapped his spats-clad foot for him to stop once he finished the loop. Stephenson kept his pace until he reached it and swam over it, a maneuver for taking cover from rearward enemy fire. Stevens did it successfully and had been happy with his assessment of the greenish-furred toes in their dimension; miscalculating usually resulted in a faceplant. He sat back against them. Goyle prodded his side with one. "Hey, I'm soft cover, bub. I won't last through much shrapnel." Stevenson looked up at him through one eye quizzically then ignored it. His running partner was still moving, now more than halfway across the room again. It was fair enough; she hadn't been given the order to stop. Loot cupped his hands after her unnecessarily. "We need a 'stop Cassidy.' If you punch a hole in that wall you'll let some manner of varmits in!" She actually had to round the next corner before should could come to a halt. Goyle knew as well as any - Boxers were very poor at stopping at gallop. Once there, she turned and motored on back to them, coming to a well-estimated but as-ever ungraceful stop right next to Stevenson. With a grin. "What's next boss?" Given all so faur, this was pretty civilized language for her. At this, Goyle had the hint of a smile. Over his shoulder a tech finished reviewing the video that Sabbow'd apparently taken of their little escapade on the wheeled cart. Doug squinted to look closer. Is that...? The screen got turned off. After a few moments, they handed over a chart and Goyle confirmed his suspicions. He eyed it. "It looks like your accels are pretty good." Aha. They had been tracking fine accelerometric data during the run. But... what were they comparing it to? ...Oh. It dawned on him: the tumble-cage. They're really never deleting a scrap of data around here, are they? The cage had some motors in it, they used at one phase to have them throw weight and resist the motion. So, he'd seen a moment ago comparing reactions to similar forces. He scoffed. Cheap bastards. They just didn't want to resize the cage for us. He thought. Then again - performance fight-or-flight in more intuitive conditions (such as holding on for dear life) would probably be better than trying to grip the dynamics of the hinges in various positions.
"Next our need's to shoot," Goyle announced. "Ohoooo no. No range." Cassie responded zelously. "That's twice as far as it is to the floor." By this she referred to the large cleared space where the Downsize was currently located. "I am not getting in another rally car." "Well, you're in luck. We brought some gel over. Bis* we just want to plain check ballistics; trenchancy's ar'dy been determined." * (authors note) - bis: bis means ' again ' "So long's we hit the broad side of a bus and don't loose nukes into the ground." Cassidy. Goyle unaffronted: "Yes." They all agreed the standards for firing accuracy were just usually low, even the ex-civilians coming into the program seemed to think so. The 2nd Boxer lumbered over and set down a case of gel and opened it toward them. Stevens looked over at Cassie and nodded at her statement. Affirming: "Giant bus."
At Goyle's signal, they both got hot, meaning priming up weapons and ammo. The basic way to do this was using a precision-machined internal key which each member had implanted in either arm, in case one were to become unusable. They were less likely to break than for the actual limb to be lost, or the activation-nerves to be damaged. An angled tumbler -system had been combined with a neurochemically reactive block, which could be set to expire at any period within 48 hours. In other words, it would take a specialized cyborg or bioroid to fake the key and trick the block - not technologically worthwhile. No fire could be achieved even if a keyed magazine were removed from a weapon and switched into another one; clips went cold when removed before empty. Keys could extend through hardsuits and e-suits. In case the environment was too harsh to interface an implant with a weapon, there was a digital version of the analog system, which transmitted an ' etched ' multihash along with biometric data, which could also key and unfreeze the block. There was not a contingency for activation under ECM and extreme external conditions. It had been determined that if First was to meet with that degree of strategic resistance, they were to withdraw. In the lab interferance-clear, Cassie opted for the digital version, issuing that highly savory hashphrase down into her mic, although made as if she said it to the gun itself: "Turn the fuck on!!" Showing teeth, ears perked as she saw it confirm. Stevenson armed his silently shook a grimace(?).
Goyle piped up. "It won't kill you, but you might sting for a bit if you get hit by a stray round, so let's all get up range, here." He hardly had to say. The doc motioned gently for the tech to move back a bit, an open paw coaxing at a shoulderblade... Making up for this last one staying so long - he would usually just firmly state the next order and expect it to get done... not a bark, but neither a request. Tonight he was being nicer. Goyle gave the command once bodies were clear, "Open up." Stevens picked a speck in the gel and shot at it. He didn't really bother tightening up his grouping; they weren't supposed to; arms had been calibrated to do more damage if fire was dispersed. The rounds sunk into the wall as they were supposed to. Their guns were hot but not live; the tips had only weights. Loot again: "Next clip, pick another spot." They both swapped. Different weights. A quiet Cassidy this time, now using her right brain. "Open up!" Again they fired. Again Stevens wondered what it'd be like if that were flesh, which his ordinance distorted and made broken. Were the twits in the soup still wired up to feel pain? To show it? Some of these weapons were designed to have that. Some weren't. "Cassidy, back up, do lobs." Her: "Right." "Dougless, same, your sidearm. Half clip." Said: "Sure." They backed up. Cassidy went crossarmed for a second. It looked odd, but this was how Boxers loaded a wrist-canon; the left hand (for starboards, it was opposite for southpaws or ' porters ') gripped and slid back a coupling on the other arm, and the various parts on its underside triggered a shell to be passed in from the suit's torso. This necessitated one of the larger alterations that any of the fielded members were required to endure; the shell actually loaded through the forearm. Those lucky enough needed only minimal changes to the local bone structure, though everyone needed tendons restrung as part of the surgery. Depending on its success, physical therapy would be minimal. The main tendon controlling the wrist could often be left fully intact, meaning skills like shooting accuracy and penmanship would be preserved, though digits' individual dexterity were often relearned. Though Goyle mildly disagreed and Lombardy would not comment atall, Cassidy said that feeling the shell feed through felt good. With its familiar/characteristic(?) hiss, she let fly. Researchers had determined that the shells' launch-mechanism be bionic, rather than pyrochemical; with the necessary safety precautions implemented, the weight, space, and above-all complexity of the devicing, made the tactical gains of chemical propellants rather moot. The shell dug itself in shallowly. Since they lacked the relentlessness of combustive propulsion, the shells were unimpressive without their payloads. After another one ' freehand ' she fired once again with the guidance beam* then got the sign from Goyle and stood down. After: "Stevenson, your remaining - those three." He raised back up his pistol. Six left: miss, hit. Hit miss. Hit, hit. Stark red paint around the hits that landed in the filled shells. * with guidance, the exit-velocity, and/or forearm's roll-angle at the elbow can be automatically controlled by an Eye to put the shot into its mark, with the guiding/painting Brush being a mounted diode on the other arm. Other team members also keep Eyes and Brushes to assist in blind fire, if their Boxer is pinned down. The suit has a simple indicator to show whether a painted shot is possible from a given place and angle, and a more elaborate estimation with an enabled HUD. The firing valve has a minimum setting such that a ' stillbirth ' is not possible even given interference over remote guidance. The actual firing mechanism is strictly manual against hacking. A hardsuit's elbow has a lock which physically limits/enables/disables automatic roll of the forearm, and a separate toggle for force-control. This provides a sliding scale of automation which a Boxer may avail, along with piecewise avoidance of signal-tampering, in case a control-channel is cracked.
Sabbow lifted the gel -case up onto the exam-table and pulled the hinge-pin, pushing one of the freed halves towards his remaining aide. He leaned in and adjusted his ' glasses .' There were markings on the block that indicated penetration-distance. He clicked and nodded in approval, pulled a scope down from overhead and took a picture, before having his aide do the same thing on the other block. He made the announcement to Goyle: "We'll make minor adjustments after finite measurement, but just sighting it I can be rather sure... they'll be minor." Goyle looked at them. "Well, s'we know you can run and scratch. The only thing we're worried is if you can suck... for which I would just love a volunteer..." the pauses had come because a signal from the doctor. When Goyle walked over, the hare pointed at the spot on the monitor briefly. After looking at it: "Hmmmm'maybenot." Doc said something quietly. He turned again. An undecidedly-cross look on Beeth's face. "Dougless, your shealth and Hookpoint." A thumbs up. That wince. He hoped it was too small to see, for anyone else; he'd turned away from Cassidy. He offered it up. Goyle took it gently, and passed it to prof Sabbow, who had just stepped back after retrieving a very fine needle. He apologized. "Well it's a little crude, but I think we can manage." His tech, watching, seized the moment and held it for him, clearly trying not to flinch at the prospect of being stuck if he missed. Stevenson squinted up. They all watched. He had incredibly steady hands for such an age. "Uhp." He inspected the syringe. "That did it." The tech carried him another invention. A smallish, grey, polymer funnel out at the top. Sabbow held the needle carefully over the inspout and depressed. Hardly a drop fell out but a beep and whir to life.
The Hookpoints had a somewhat similar block to the rifle ammo, but this was simpler. A few common blood markers caused it to open for only a second. The Hookpoints were a science-tool. Osmotic action from the feature behind the block pulled whatever fluid at the tip up into itself. When returned the the sheath, the feature would empty into a reservoir and be sealed away from other muck the knife might later encounter. Sabbow had just broken the seal and drawn the blood directly from it. This was neither elegant nor sterile, but got the job done. He plugged the box into the main screen over the exam-table. Another cheerful beep had indicated its finish. He stroked his chin. "Oh, dear." By now Goyle had figured out what happened. "Thanks for pre-volunteering, Leo. I guess you've saved us some time." She hummed an acknowledgement, eyes closed, standing with arms folded behind her head against the wall. She looked sleepy. "Well, doc?" "I should've expected this; the lattice which is supposed to pull the fluid is too small for all constituents. Not only are the anticoagulents lacking, but we're not seeing any nuclei. On second thought, the block might not be working at all. I bet it might react with any type of moisture." He thought. "I think we can fix this. We'll have to size some of the equipment down or..." Goyle had stopped listening; so - it was an engineering problem. Closed systems and radios downsized very well because comparative molecular size didn't matter; forces of repulsion were relatively same and no subjects could walk through walls or go through floors different from normal, however biochemical mechanisms were less forgiving; they would not let one shrink the glass slipper and still keep its function as a litany test for some same-sized princess. If effective atall, a downsized Hookpoint (and block) would only work on shrunken blood, which was perfectly useless given that potential specimens would be perfectly normal, just as with jif/upshot/scene/event(?) with/between Leo and Dougless.
"We'll get you on highspeed for reactions and we're calling it a day." When Goyle had said systems, he must've meant selected biosystems aswell. There was relief. And a room full of opinions, as there ever was. They were kept silent. As Goyle had said, "If you don't have anything nice to say, you oughtta think of a joke. Only failing that should you shut up." The doc had produced a small pocket-sized camera, and set it down as Goyle indicated he do. He was about to explain. Cassidy interjected. "And for the next trick, our heroes shall jump through an anti-matter hoop." "Ah, now you've spoiled the finale." Sauda. " Sauda." Flatly. It was Steiglitz, a rarity; everyone listened: "That isn't the finale for ' the doc saws you in half. ' " Cassidy scowled but didn't try him. Ralieur backed him up. Counting on some fingers: "Right, it goes: ' cut in half ', ' jump through hoops ', ' put back together'." He was nodding satisfiedly with himself. "Hrrrh now you've really spoiled the finale!" A tapir back in mock outrage. A few snirks. No-one could top it - Sauda's point. Goyle back to business, motioning. "C'mon guys." He'd hopped up onto the exam-table. The camera lay a bit before it. Der and Leo were stationed between the two. Goyle, tersley: "Move when I move. Stevens, no cheating." It was hardly needed for an empath; unless he was to really put a lot of emotion behind a given action, over others Stevenson would not have any greater cue. Kallay was coming by, probably to better view the action. Not breaking stride, she shoved Goyle in the lower back off the edge of the exam-bench toward the two ' heroes . ' They both dove. Cassidy with the suit might've been fine had she stayed put, likely putting Goyle in danger of a poor landing. Stevens likely would've been at risk if he'd taken the weight. Neither had to find out; they both cleared the Lieutenant's paws as they touched down squarely where the two had been standing. Neither had sprawled and both had come to their feet. Stevens snorted exasperation. About the only thing I haven't had almost happen to me is being sat on. "But it beats pencil-pushing, don't it?" Although he hadn't spoken, Kallay had almost filled in the blank of the next sentence for him. "Diwe get that, doc?" The hare had plucked up the camera, plugged it into the main screen and thumbed through the footage. It looked good. "Alright, then." Moments later, the two were back on the steel cart and being wheeled west. The crowd of others ambled behind the vehicle, with both passengers standing center front and giving the pilot a very evil eye, which did not show any signs of letting up. Sabbow was close to laughing... Really, just because the tests had gone so well; there were a number of inconvenient but feasible solutions to address the issue of the Hookpoints, and someone still needed to spend a few minutes' analysis on the video, it wasn't likely anything else would crop up. He would admit the design of the blocks had been a stupid oversight, but of all he could have forgotten, this was probably one of the mildest. Cassidy spoke again, apparently not too shaken by the near stomp - she'd seen it coming. "So here's whereyou tell us 'Sizeup's not ready until mission accomplished, yeah?" A short pause. "Uh-huh. I thought so." The crew ignored her. From the rear, "So the highspeed comes back," starting to speak hypothetically, "and kids are too slow." Leo, no sheen nor hint of lunacy now. "What do we do then?" Goyle shrugged with his lip out and held his palms up, walking. "I doe know. Drugs?" It was a good wordplay. He meant they'd administer stims, not ' wallow in a drug-addled(?) stupor once defeated. ' Then he addressed Cassie. "Tell you what, outlaw, I'll give you both a brevet* if it doesn't work in Sizeup." * author's note: a brevet is essentially a military promotion which comes in name only, resulting only in an upgrade in title, without pay or more authority Fire for fire: "Thanks boss." Rallieur checked his watch. "Whew. Time sure flies when we do science." Goyle: "You can go to bed right after this. I don't want to hear you complain about cheerleading; I do it all the time; it's my job!" "''Don't know what'd we'd do without those pompoms, boss." Korra, tired but smartly. "Yeah, yeah." Goyle conceding; he couldn't top it. "Let's go make some brownouts." He received an acute look from the doctor at this, before he put his mind back to other things. He wanted to think that superstition over hexes and such never factored in, but the comment had been rather close to the bone. Though Goyle would not leave him in a time of need, he also couldn't push back their deadlines if there was a power-failure.
The Sizeup was perhaps a half-dozen doors away from its counterpart. The room where it was housed was more modest but the chamber itself was much the same as the sister from what seemed like much further off than just that morning - unadorned, smallish, and nondescript. The gang kept well out of the way of preparations and it wasn't long before the two test-subjects were situated inside. The lights in the outer room were now dimming a bit; the buffer had been loading from the grid since late morning, however a greater period of flow was required to fully prime it. About five minutes to go. The municipal power system wasn't quite designed to handle the volume. Then again, scientists weren't really meant to be changing the size of matter at will. Sabbow let the tech handle the monitors. A watched pot... Another minute. Briefly, the lights flicked off then came back again. Sabbow gave a very tensioned sigh. It happened again. Then once again only now it stayed black. From before the Sizeup entry, Stacy's outline could be seen crossing its arms against the green background of the exit-lighting. Rallieur locked his fingers and rested his hands on his head, palms up. For a few moments, nothing seemed to happen there in the dark.
The two inside didn't have as many cues but they'd seen the diodes go out and remain out. One of them hummed a bit. They'd both been seated on the floor this time. Rotation occurred about their inertial moments and they were more likely growing to fall off their benches, so they were more secure on the ground to spring back. Cassidy sucked the straw in her suit's collar contemplatively. She flicked a rounlet on her suit and a blip came. Her light bloomed on. She looked at Stevenson. The mesh on her neck could direct the beam and it shined toward him. "You know we can't even drink water when we're like this? Not regular water, anyway." Again a sip. He rubbed an eye. "Water's actually one of the simplest things to downsize. There's a lot less to break and orientationally preserve. More or less any amount high or trivial can be done at once as needed." "But you don't have one in your back yard - the machine to do it." Stevenson sighed. She was being difficult. He wanted to roll his eyes but the light was on him and it was some wee hour and he'd had enough crazy felines for the day so he figured to play it straight. "No I don't." "Another ball and chain." He looked at her. "This again," not meanly. "Hey, not that I don't trust the Doc, but the other guys in charge? No faurther than I can throw 'em. And even clicked I don't think I can throw anybody as this height." "Well, they're workin' on that, I'm sure." "Even so, Doug! It used to be that I could go off into the hills and never speak to another soul again. Now I need wrenching once a month. And machine-grease doesn't just grow on frickin trees out there, that's for sure." "C'mon. T'save the world? You can't be that antisocial." A serious note on his brow. "The costs could be greater."
Outside, Sabbow was talking on a phone. He'd eventually produced a lamp and now a few people had them in hand, some really playing with them like children. Beside them, an adult world spun all on its own. They neither knew it nor were allowed to know, so they didn't care - how could they? For it, they'd get only worry and headache... Most of them were a bit slaphappy given the time of night anyway. Any other science-lead and Goyle would've had them stop as this would surely gall anyone else, but he knew all the cues from Sabbow to tell him to bark and he saw none of them. The lank hare still conversed hushly. With the amount of cybernetics in the room, probably anyone could have listened, but the Lieutenant had cocked an ear; it was all codes, protocols and numbered locations - contingencies. Perhaps slightly legible to the people in the room due to overlap with the coded phrasing they learned as agents under Five, but the major specifics were masked so it was mostly garble.
Back in Sizeup, Stevenson still wasn't getting her drift. "Okay, Dair. I'll explain how it is; ' save the world ' 's the easy part. After. That's when it gets bad. So your dealer has a merger. Whatever you bought from them, musical instrument, vehicle, gard'ning equipment, you name i - it's something that you use. What about the extended care -plan you paid all that money for? Will you be able to get the rest of your free checkups? Will they honor that lifetime discounted repair -voucher? Will the company continue to make the old parts you need? Will fragile tools be discontinued?" "Really, Cass. They didn't slap a synthi heart into ya, did they?" this was rhetorical. He knew they hadn't. "This isn't about death, loverboy, this is about the party's over and they botch you when trying to retrofit. No more cozy save-the-world gang. Been there, done that. While we were so busy spreading goodwill to the people of Onr everything else goes to shit. No more cashflow, and assuming they even release them, the nearest streetdoctor misreads your schematics. Hello lifelong debilitation, goodbye quality of life." "I don't think that's gonna happen." "No, it won't. What's gunna happen is I get to stay in the military all my life otherwise no-one provides the maintenance. Hello lifelong deliration, goodbye quality of life."
The door slid open. The installation-lights were off but a few handhelds bobbed in the unlit space. The doc was at the door. He'd opened it and done his glasses-routine again. He'd handed his lamp off to someone else so he could pull it aside. The two were easy enough to find without as the Boxer still had her light shining. It swiveled in her suit with the motion of her head that way. He cupped his paws and they hopped up into them. It was clear now that more than just their own machine needed reset. To Stevens' surprise, nothing derisive came here, just: "So what's the plan, doc?" His answer: "We're going for a ride." Cass and Doug were carried toward the fore, cradled low against the hare's mid-chest, his slow inward breath seeming to last endlessly. Sabbow's nod to Goyle. The translation: "Okay sweettarts, let's take a drive." Confusion came at this but the order itself was clear.
Rali jogged off down the corridor, illumination bobbing before him. He turned the corner. Kallay pulled her head back into the room fatuously, having just watched him trod off. To her disappointment, no-one had been watching either of them, but it had amused her nonetheless, though she kept the inane comment she'd prepared to herself. The somewhat joyful should-be-asleep phase was just hitting her but some of the others were now getting off it. In moments as a group, they fared the halls north for the lot. Still no light; they had some auxiliary power but no-one had any use for it, so it hadn't been activated. The doors up front were locked, check-in desk was empty. The major research was all finished, so they were up; that's why the pressure was on for them to dressrehearse; there were the only ones there in the building. Sauda was more-or-less bringing up the rear, so he was the one to see Ralieur climb the plated stairs at the corner just in time for them. The set lead up from the underpassage which came straight from the barracks*. He winked as he joined back up. Now he was wearing a black stretch jacket with white trim and two pockets in the front astride the zipper. He looked good. But the tapir had the distinct advantage of those hooded eyes; he never showed the slightest difference whether he was tired, or rewarded, or disabused and nonplussed. He just nodded to the smiling possum. * here ' barracks ' simply refers to the far end of the facility where lockers, quarters, ranges, and outdoor exercises are found.
Having part gotten it out of his system, he canned his exuberance as they walked out past Goyle into the idling truck, which stood alone there in the lot, this one much distinct than the others they'd seen there and about town; the smaller vans had a cover logo and a name on them, where this one was bare and greenish, giving off a typical grim military vibe. The sleek sport-jacket he'd just slid under didn't seem to match, but Rali didn't get any grief as he went by Lieutenant to climb in, just the quip: "Yeah, yeah, Gehrtz. I've felt the chill out here. Stay as warm as you want."
As they rumbled along in the truck, Cassidy broke the silence with some speculation. "This seems a bit much. Can't we just stay short until the op's ready? No fuss no muss then, right?" Goyle replied in a serious tone; "Our cover-company isn't called First Cybernetics for nothing. That's what they've told us. We're first. We have to be ready." "Isn't the sizeup just a formality, anyway? I mean, once we save the day who actually cares if we are allowed to resize after that? Why couldn't they just say 'mission accomplished' and let bygons?" "The materials alone for a single hardsuit are more than enough to justify the second resize." "To have researched and built the entirely separate machine required for it, though? And the juice? And the media-control when the grid goes black because of us? The government usually doesn't work like that. Why not defer research for second Resize to after they've have a successful op?" "Who would actually volunteer knowing there wasn't a way back 'yet'? " "That one's easy. Make 'em small when they sign up. Softsoap 'em into believing it's a fully tested technology and that power requirements are too great to bother with beforehand and move on. When the team gets back just break the bad news that there's no reverse." Most of them were shaking their heads at this. It continued: "No need to even candycoat it and say that it's out of commission for a broken part or something. What are they going to do? - Bite some toeclaws off? Just keep them in the fake Upsize 'er some room with that label until they cool off." She hesitated. "Ah... wait. I get it. They're short on suits. If we fail First's suits go to Second, then Third, Fourth, and Final."
At this point the doc had donned his unbeatable pokerface, the way the hare always did this, whenever they discussed theories about what was going on behind the scenes. Goyle had pointed it out to them early on, and though subtle, they quickly saw it enough to learn to recognize it; it meant he was turning a blind eye, and perhaps they weren't even too faur from the truth; ' need to know ' was a tricky business. The doc was too good though for them to play 'hotter' or 'colder' with him, even if Goyle would have allowed it. Only on one occasion had Sabbow ever actually partaken in one of these dialogs, when he once sprang in and offered an ostensibly probable scenario which was much briefer and sleeker than anything they had been coming up with. So he did listen. It was confounding. The pitch was impeachably bogus; he could not have just given them such a vital piece of the puzzle like that, but it was too perfect for otherwise. It had stopped the conversation dead. They were too shocked to crossexamine him. He had stonewalled them utterly. Over time, Goyle had taught them his own respect for the prof. Although each could imagine it, no one had ever made him say "Now, you know I can't tell you about that." The lagomorph's disposition contributed to this. Even at their most childish, no-one ever felt that he deserved to have things any harder.
"She has a point." Kallay. "Nanoy layers are much a fine liqueur; they take a long time to ferment, and there's a lot to spoil them. Once one's ready you really don't want to waste it." All her jokes about her own poor qualifications for Five were deceptive. As a telepath, though untrained, she could have taken any position whatsoever on the team. It was just hardest to find wetware -talent, so that's how she'd been assigned. Stevenson sat with her and listened. It was intimate at this size. Her warmth was a comfort. She had always been willing to act 'sisterly' to him. He'd said nothing more to her about his own motives than to anyone else. It was as if he had. He had been tempted. Either way she could just sense it - that hardship. Blast it was frore! He checked the temperature level... 8. That shouldn't be uncomfortable... he reasoned with himself, Well, hm. Less thermal mass than otherwise. More exposed surface area. Anybody's guess if 0^ is still zero for heat-production. Nah. 'Couldn't be. He left his climate off; for the moment he had Kallay. * The suit's temperature-measurement system, shows 0 at what's called neutral temperature , describing an average person's body at rest generating heat equal to its diffusion. 1000 describes average body-temperature itself. For the supergeeks among you, conversion's: * .. deciDegas = (celsiusDegs - 18)/0.019 The truck stopped. "Are we there already?" "No." - It was Leo - "My guess is probably changing drivers to one of theirs." Sure enough, the professor and the one labtech who was along up-front climbed in back with them. The vehicle lurched into motion once more. "I'm surprised you didn't make me take my suit off, Loot." Cassie again, still shockingly unphased by the whole situation. Goyle replied. "If we monkey with it we might loose a screw or something." Some of said screws were custom. She explained: "I could just use the signal-telemetry to figure out exactly where we're going. Ha. Or I could even just snap a photo of the sky and triangulate from there. But simplest would be to just leave a beacon back at HQ. It wouldn't matter where they took us, then, 'cuz those things are designed to work out there in the soup." Goyle looked cross. "You didn't." Obviously: "I didn't... you know if I were you, I would throw some sparktape over my cam right now just in case I get photojournalistic." "No. we don't want to go next door again for that cup of sugar because we tried to sizeup some adhesive residue." Here he was correct, but the tape-solution was nonsense from the beginning; with the right settings, the cams could see right through some taping, and would likely adjust themselves reasonably well given no visible spectrum. Even so, they recoded in raw digital data; playback spectra could be adjusted to gain picture.
The truck halted again. "It's going to get crowded in here if they send any more drivers to come sit with us." Leo, lamely. "This other Fifth* we've tapped for a favour is actually a massive cabal. With planning specifically for this event, they have designated a dozen increasingly trusted drivers to take us on along precarious route into their underbelly to mask their actual location." Sauda. * Each piece of the Onr-solution project (' Five ') was referred to as a Fifth for simplicity, given that outside of the team under the cover-firm First Cybernetics, the specific chain of precidence for attempts was unknown. It was also possible that some might get more than one attempt after their initial, if they had additional contingency-plans. Cassie oneupped him: "Yes. Indeed this Fifth is so insurpassibly evil, that despite their own fullproof solution, they think that it will be fun to see us go first and mill around in the soup all short like a gang of ants."
Kallay felt Stephenson shifting against her leg. It must be some girl he's out for. I bet he'd stay just like this just to know she's safe. But he might even get some piece of mind hearing she's nolonger; I'm sure it'd be better to know she's at peace rather than trapped in some waking coma. She suspected how tough it must be on an empath not knowing how someone else was doing; it was his job to know... Here was part of the reason he was given such a hard time; since he wasn't much for counselling, such an empath was mostly a bug for Goyle to make sure no-one went and got too rumpled over anything. Indeed cohesion was vital, but having it policed by Goyle was so kiddy. For this they pushed back against him if he got too nosey.
All this while they sat idly in the truck. The doc was up and left. They sat some more. It was some ungodly hour. The benches were cramped. The only ones who had space to sleep were Derick and Cassidy. The former wasn't wired enough to shun it. He lay back against an idle thigh, finally shaking off a bit of that feeling of cold thanks to her. The material was tempered but flexed. 'Scarskin'. An unromantic name. Stevens couldn't be bothered. He rubbed his head and eartips on the plasticy material. The leg behind it might have been superficially pappier, but barely, really. Its strength and solidity lay deep inside it. It held its own structure, the Skin was just a glove. Which fit, not altering much at all - not to his mind.
Most everyone started looking drowsy. Kallay slouched back and put her weight forward so she could angle her back up against the wall a little. When she slid forward, she'd cupped Stevenson against her for a second, as one would hold a lunch-tray or other light object momentarily while scooting somewhere at a sit. She barely realized she'd done it, not until she'd already completed the action. He'd been startled but couldn't do anything. Swiftly, he went back to relaxing. It didn't require a telepath to know he understood. In the tents, I'd do the same thing for a cup of beer, he told himself. He lazily opened one eye and peered over toward the edge of the bench, which was closer now. Without getting up, he couldn't measure the sheer drop, but he was sure it was a long way. In good hands, he got back to nodding off. Forgiveably, Kallay fidgeted to stay awake without the luxury of a willing body to lean against; she had Steiglitz to one side, one of the last other than Goyle still sitting upright. His eyes were weren't saucers but he was focused on something. Probably breathing exercises; there wasn't much else to do. Regardless he wouldn't appreciate her leaning on his shoulder and neither would Goyle to her left. The only people who would've definitely tolerated it were shrunken (Stevens and Cassie). Lombardy might've if the mood was right - thatis, were he feeling benevolent for her sake, though he never was just cuddly. Raily might also let, but he'd be quite likely to make passes then or be irritating about it later, which he'd arguably have every right to do if she asked to move just to use him like that... so for now it was a push to stay awake.
Korra ran a claw back and forth on her upper leg, just having the the rough material barely sounding, resisting slightly, and sending some sensation down it for a short distance. More carefully this time, she shifted so she wouldn't start tingling and go dull at a sit. The whole waiting period had been interspersed by Cassidy raising curses about the delay. Korra got back to the routine. A bunch of minutes went by in silence and Railieur started reciting a scene from a movie that he liked, and a few tried to guess its title and theme, and what was going on in the scene. She hadn't noticed her stropping over the Scarskin had sunk lower with the distraction. She eventually noticed when the resistance from the base of Steevens' ears became great enough. She'd been bushing his eartips for what had to've been atleast a minute or so. Did she bother him? Sod it. If he was even much awake for that he coulda piped up. Maybe he even... nah. Not worth sweating over. He had however picked up on the mental blush. Yeah, I enjoyed that, Kallay, Stevenson thought, What would it take to get a little more of that treatment? For once he'd been able to hang loose for a little while; there wasn't much he himself could do to remedy the situation.
Ages later they were allowed out into an unassuming brick garage over concrete. They had fully pulled in. The door was shut. It might've been starting to lighten outside. "So, here it is, huh?" Cassie started before Goyle shot her a look. Everyone else got it too; they were to say nothing. They thinned the ice they were on by asking for favours, though the potential scrapping or postponing First's attempt had probably already been considered and rejected. This gave some traction to the theory that each subsequent operation by each Fifth would be less and less surgically precise, which only left one to wonder what the final fix might look like. A tactical planetary strike did not seem out of the question. Having to stay silent at this point was harder than ever. Here were all these new clues to what was going on and they weren't even allowed to pool their smarts on it. How exactly was another Fifth supposed to help them? Their approaches were all supposed to be completely different, right? They were lead down a flight of stairs to a device. A chamber. It looked sharply out of place. There were wall-dividers up. The doc looked quite serene and motioned toward the door. This was too much; had there really been another truck following them with the tech from HQ to do this, or was there more technical overlap than they thought? Some of the crew looked mad. Cassie especially. She'd started grumbling since they'd reached the stairs and she chouldn't shut up. She got louder. "You know, I'm beginning to think this whole Onr thing is just some Biecseuki's mean little fieldtest," Goyle was regarding her fiercely, but was yet to step in. She continued. "...and we're the good-enough folks who get to go clean it up. All of this running around is just a sour loyalty-check. Once we're done here it's just going to be war war war! Exactly like it used to be! Forget the damn aliens. Fates! I can't believe I signed up for this. But I'm so faur damn cyborged now, they can just shake my guts apart if they want to; I'm a maintenance addict! I guess I'll have to go kill my neighbors to get what I need." Good, Goyle thought, 'just blowing off steam, whether 'e knows it or not. I've seen 'er less civilized.
Kallay was carrying the two subjects and ushered them into the space, backed out and slid the door shut at the doctor's word. Cassie to Stevens - "Let's hope John from up the road plays the rubics cube like we can." - A reference to the brief but strange visuals they'd seen in Sizedown, and a hope that no borrowed equipment would fail. As usual for her, an awfully mixed metaphor. "Well, I've heard he's great at a jigsaw."
Sabbow and the tech stepped behind one of the dividers, clear others were not to follow. The lights were dimming again, fighting to stay on. "Where have I seen this before?" Leo this time. "Oh, let's not make anyone jealous; big brother's watching." Sauda. He'd gotten a reasonable count of the number of other bodies under the garage when they came in, even though they were out of sight. Intels were good at things like that. They were also good at math; Sauda could've given fighting chances for the gamut of different friendly and enemy loadouts in that little bunker. If not for Lombardy's extensive field-experience, the tapir would've been the ranking officer missing Goyle. An outlyer in he never froze-up - most deciders who relied heavily on books (whether physically in front of them or not) had issues getting too wrapped up in charts to see them fall through, but Sauda knew the stats too well. Thanks to his summing tricks he'd done exceedingly well in combat exercises, though to his chagrin he was slightly below average when it came to timed assembly for beacons and other equipment - another reason why he'd been picked as Intel. As long as he wasn't alone he was an asset, and a very good coach; especially in munitions-diffusing he'd soaring stats whenever paired with either Steiglitz or Rallier.
A deep ruff voice from behind the wall: "Powered up." Kallay: "That went pretty painless." "Ayehh, so maybe they have better access to the grid, but our first week on the job didn't involve scrubbing the grease-stains outta concrete. And..." "That's enough, Rali.," Goyle said. "...yeah." Kally, absently. She really had her mind on other things; she suspected that this other Fifth used the same kind of power-buffering units that they had; she'd gleaned a few specs for the Resizing equipment while prospecting before she was First's Wetware. It didn't seem likely that they could unload and set one up in such a short pan, even figuring a hauler had been ready with a spare. Which wouldn't have helped unless they had some kind of massive elevator to lower it down here... which wouldn't make sense... she nodded to herself, unless we're at Final, who are going to have the big guns. So this left them with either a visit to Final, or a visit to anyone because Five shared grid-buffers. We really need to compile a flow*... she wondered what Goyle would do if it were seen - probably tear it up. Depending on who had studied it, this would be largely symbolic. * flowchart
A few moments, and a knock came at the inside of the chamber - Cassidy's voice, snarking but unintelligible. Sabbow had come back 'round the corner, pointing and spoke for his aide to grip the door. Cassidy had only just stepped back but both were in plain view and at normal size. They all expected her to take a bow but nothing. In a second she motioned back toward Stevens, nodding in agreement with herself. "We talked about one of us hiding but we decided better of it." Everyone was relieved visibly, for the two most obvious reasons. "I don't suppose they have any bunks here for us?" Ralieur, directed to Goyle but Sabbow shook his head. A wave from the doctor and Goyle herded them overtly toward the stairway. Starting effeminately, on their way up: "Auhh! And we couldn't just get a hotel because then we could call the room-service and then look up the bellboy in the directory, and get his mother, and then have her come back to visit, and then eventually put a tracking dot in her vehicle, and then learn that her husband is the owner of N-th-Order Skinbank, and on, and on, and on, and on." Goyle had winced when he'd come to the part of naming where he thought they were, figuring they might not be past earshot of the very one who was indeed more than likely to be that exact director of said Fifth. Rali had looked him in the eye, though, and he relaxed when he just heard the placeholder cover-firm mentioned.
With the rear door shut, the engine came belching to life. Sitting down, he looked at Goyle. "I didn't have you worried there, did I?" Sarcasm oceanic, "Ralieur, you are a master of subtlety." "Yeah, 'cuz we would hate to munge up all your politics." Kallay. Glancing, "Ssspeaking of which... we forgot about Sabbow?" Goyle responded. "'Turns out they only have a bed for Sabbow." "Aaaand the tech? Kallay again. "Bliery?" remembering the name. "Maybe the tech gets to sleep on the floor." Ralieur. "Aww, no fair." Cassidy. "Why do they get a good night when we still have to do a reverse goosechase?" Before they could start speculating about who the subservient tech could instead sleep with for the trouble, Leo interjected. "By counting we aren't any diff'rent than before, but notice how we're taking up more seats. They'll be right behind us." Cassie: "Yeah! 'Cuz what's some extra mileage like that when y'just put half the city outta commission?" For once Goyle partook. "Sabbow might be politicking. Then Bliery gets sent home alone." Ralieur, enthusiastically: "Oooh, straight home, though, that's a good one." Goyle shrugged truantly. "That's up to the brass." "Hey, you are the brass. Or, were the brass." Cassidy. Goyle had been involved in some decisionmaking early on, but had decided to command boots on the ground after the major Fifth structure had been determined. After that, Goyle had been kept in the dark about who did what. He knew the names though.
In short moments, they rolled to a stop; it was time to switch the drivers in the cab. Goyle got up. "Don't you need a co-pilot, buddy?" Guess-who. Expectantly, the Lieutenant: "Lombardy." The second Boxer silently rose and jumped out with him. Everyone rolled their eyes - if he was going to glean any clues about where they were they'd never hear about it; he hardly talked! By the time they reached the facility and Goyle pushed the door up, the light was blazing. Sauda: "Now I see - this was a double-experiment to see how many hours they could stretch into an evening! The power-failure wasn't our doing atall!" He jumped down and then toward that angled patch of shade part of the building had drawn. Cassie jogged after him. "Last one to the beds hears me snoring!" Some strides. "And for those in doubt, I can snore if it's daytime." Confidently, this was more complaining than explanation.
A nice lieutenant, Goyle would let them get their fill; they'd had plenty to stay up over.