“You cheated me,” I muttered.
“What?!” Isbrand nearly shouted, shifting to face me.
“You knew. Somehow, you planned this,” I explained. “I don’t know how, but this is your doing!”
“There are winners and losers in every wager. We don’t get to choose which we are. We can only respond to the results. Don’t be sore in losing. It’s very unbecoming.” Isbrand said.
“This is not about your stupid game!” I exclaimed. “This is my life!”
“Not much of a life if you ask me,” Isbrand remarked flippantly.
“I didn’t ask you! I don’t even want you here!” I spat venomous malice with every word. “You are a blight, inflicted on me as punishment for some grave misdeed!”
“I am not here to punish you,” Isbrand said. He sounded solemn. “I am here to see you justified.”
His words gave me pause. All the time I had harbored Isbrand, he had never said anything like this. Who was this now? Not Isbrand. Not the one I knew.
“Then why are you tormenting me?!” I demanded.
“Tempering is torment to those who resist it,” Isbrand said.
“Spare me your sanctimony. I know what you are!” I hissed.
“Just like you knew I would lose the wager, I take it?” He asked.
I bristled with indignation at that. “Don’t be sore in winning. It’s very unbecoming.”
Isbrand chuckled in his throat. “Now you’re starting to catch on.”
Pritch’s voice interrupted my mental space, ending my exchange with Isbrand. Caldburn, I’ve made it inside. The base section is clean. I’m picking up lots of activity below. Get out of your bag and get down here! It’s swarming with stringers, so be ready to put on a show.
Stringers. They were the neat little bow that tied this hellish situation into one odious package. Press-heads were in a never-ending race to satisfy the appetites of the info-junkies they peddled to. To that end, they posted standing bounties for live footage streams of anything entertaining. Stringers swarmed all over the city using micro-drones the size of a fingertip. They recorded anything salacious, violent, or scandalous. Dice operations were blood on the air to these predators.
“I’m laying down a ground rule here,” I told Isbrand. “No gamboling.”
“Now you’re just being a bore,” Isbrand complained.
“I mean it! We are not here to produce a highlight reel. We’re here to work!” I insisted.
“We’ll get the job done…” Isbrand said, trialing off.
“Good,” I said. There was no way he was giving in this easily.
“…There’s no harm if we look good while we go about it,” Isbrand added quietly.
“Isbrand! I’m serious!” I warned.
“I heard you,” He dismissed.
I felt like tearing my hair out. Truthfully, I had no clue what I would do if Isbrand decided to put on a show for the stringers. I tried not to think about it anymore. At least one of us needed a clear head for what we were getting ourselves into.
“Come on, we shouldn’t keep Pritch waiting long,” I said.
“My thoughts exactly,” Isbrand said, climbing over the side of the platform. He couldn’t match the speed and flair of Pritch. That didn’t mean he was graceless. Isbrand slid down massive drainpipes, ran across narrow outcrops, and made several heart-stopping leaps through the air. He made all of this look innate and practiced. For Isbrand, this was a freeing romp across the city. The only thing keeping me from vomiting was this Incarnum’s lack of the required organs. I dampened my sense of motion in response. Anything for some respite. When I turned off the visual feed, I could almost imagine sitting calmly in a comfortable chair.
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Mere minutes later, we arrived at the front entrance of the hab unit. The Enforcers had maintained a perimeter bolstered by Dice support. Massive transport carriers arrived in droves, bearing more Dice personnel to the scene. Their reputation alone was enough to keep the crowd at bay. The menacing sluggers and advanced body armor seemed like overkill to me. As we approached ground level, I broadcast the necessary access credentials. There was no need to agitate people carrying weapons.
Much to my chagrin, we had picked up a small swarm of stringers on our way down. They buzzed around Isbrand like flies as we approached several Dice agents near the front doors. One of them raised a hand to me in what seemed like a greeting and stepped closer. He was plain-looking with blocky features, dusty brown hair, and seafoam green eyes.
“Elias Caldburn? You’re our second Dealer, I presume?” The man asked, lowering his hand to rest it casually under the barrel of his slugger.
“Correct. My partner should already be inside,” I said, trying to recover quickly from our trip down to the platform.
“Yeah, we saw her. And the tangle of stringers following her,” the man said, clearly holding back a chuckle.
“Yes. Livia’s quite… photogenic.” I said. Leave it to Pritch to draw every lurid eye she could manage.
“That’s one way to put it,” He suggested. “Anyway, I’m Sergeant Hayward. We’ve granted you access to our network, so you’re ready on all fronts.”
“Thank you, Sergeant,” I said earnestly. “I’m heading in to meet my partner. In the meantime, I need you and your men to do everything possible to clear these civilians out.”
“Of course. We will start hauling the junkies in if nobody wants to disperse.” Hayward said.
“Good. Stay safe, Sergeant,” I said before turning and walking to the front door.
Hayward called out to me as I entered. “Hey Caldburn, when this is all over, you’ve got to introduce me to your partner,”
“No promises, Sergeant.” I said over my shoulder. I had no intention of serving him up to Pritch. Even if it might make my life easier.
Isbrand and I headed into the lobby of the habitation block. In some ways, it reminded me of my own building. The size and layout were familiar, but the similarities quickly ran dry. The decor was a gaudy mixture of dark slate, gold, and deep navy blue. Seeing the place with my own eyes cemented a thought in my mind. This Impulsate infection was not an accident. A building like this had too many systems monitoring for Imp activity. It shouldn’t have been possible for them to fail simultaneously. Trevelli was going to be facing some hard questions very soon.
We turned a corner and headed to the elevators. Pritch leaned on a wall, waiting for us to arrive.
“You took your sweet time getting here,” She teased.
“Absence makes the heart grow fonder,” Isbrand retorted.
“Hah… cute.” Pritch crossed her arms over her chest and rolled her eyes. “Are you ready to do this or not?”
“Ladies first,” Isbrand said, mentally commanding the elevator. We had been granted building control through the Dice network graft.
Pritch waved a hand at us dismissively and stepped into the elevator when the door opened. The elevator compartment was massive, designed for freight instead of passengers. A mass of stringer micro-drones quickly chased after her, jockeying for the best angles. Isbrand ducked down into the elevator to join her. Thankfully, these machines could move tremendous amounts of weight.
“Those don’t bother you?” I asked Pritch, finally managing to speak to her myself.
Pritch gave me a look that said she knew exactly who she was speaking to now.
“Of course not. Some Press-heads even offered me a sponsorship before I got put on leave. Thanks for that; by the way, Elias.” She spat my name as if it left a bad taste in her mouth.
She was still angry with me.
“Pritch… I didn’t know they would put you on leave.” I admitted. “I thought they would pair you with someone else, someone who was a better fit!”
“Oh, please. Don’t give me that shitty excuse!” She said. “You wanted to get rid of me, but you were too much of a coward to do it yourself! You went crying to the Major instead. You fucking pussy!”
She was trying to provoke me.
“I’m not doing this in front of an audience, Pritch,” I said
“You’ve always got another lame excuse on standby, right?” She prodded.
“Can I open the doors now or not?” I asked. “We are here for a reason!”
She waved another dismissive hand toward me and scoffed.
We’d fallen right back into old habits. It was like I never got rid of her. I pressed the frustration from my mind and opened the elevator doors mentally.
The doors slid open, revealing a wall of mottled, writhing flesh. It looked slick with moisture and ruddy fluids, the color of spoiled blood. The flesh pulsed and shifted on its own, rippling like exposed muscle. Haphazard rows of yellow-white teeth were scattered among the myriad of tissues.
Silence fell between us. We watched as flesh, sinew, and bone tendrils clawed along the compartment’s frame. This wasn’t a cyst. This was a Bacchanal. An entire Orgiastic hive. I reached out mentally to the compartment doors and closed them slowly. It took several long and agonizing seconds, but finally, the doors closed with a hushed hiss of air.
I projected my thoughts onto Pritch instead of using my voice. Trevelli has been lying from the start.
This is more than a cyst. Pritch agreed.
This is not an infestation of Imps. Isbrand interjected.
What?! Then what is it? Pritch demanded.
My thoughts whirled around in my mind. I could only come up with one answer for Pritch.
It’s a garden.
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