The Old Improbable Island Wiki

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SECURITY CLASSIFICATION: RELEASED TO PUBLIC | DATE OF REVIEW: 19.02.2098 |
AUTHORITY: WIPO | AUTHOR: I. KADARE |
DOCUMENT STATUS: FINAL VERSION | VERSION: 1.0 |
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He had heard that the Iliad took four days to tell. Would this be enough for his story too? Like every story, it would have three phases: the first purely imagined, the second clothed in words and the third finally told to others.

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SECURITY CLASSIFICATION: UNCLASSIFIED| DATE OF REVIEW: N/A |
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“This is for sexing,” Z says suspiciously, staring down at an index of illustrated yoga positions. She leans closer to examine the labels beneath each drawing. Forward bend: uttanasana. Sexing for people who prefer to look at their ankles. Bow pose: dhanurasana. Sexing for people who are helpful when their lover wants to use ropes. The roaring lion: simhasana. Sexing for.. really, Z thinks, that face's not going to get anyone into b -

“Sorta. Gimme that,” Dex says, pulling the book her way and flipping the page. “Need something for your tail.”

“Heyyy.”

Dex taps the image of downward facing dog pose: adho mukha shvanasana. She falls on her back laughing as Z cranes over the page for a moment before getting up. Z positions herself carefully, doing her best to imitate the angular arse-up triangle shape that the pose demands. Then she peers upside down at Dex, who just snorts louder.

“Sexing for people who like tails better'n everything else,” Z says.

Dex rolls up to sit and gestures an upward curve. “Com'on smartass now lift your tail like this.”

“No. You have already revealed yourself. Tailfancier.”

She's dying, oh god, she's dying.

An hour later, they've worked through the entire book. A few poses make them argue - - 'no, hands go here.' One leaves them sore calved; another almost derails them with actual sex. Most just make them laugh.

“Nine, ten, fifteen!” Dex says, tree-posed, as her foot falls to the ground again. “You've distracted us, twist. We're s'posed to be practicing teleporting invisible.”

Z looks scandalized. Two! Two lies in one. “Cheated,” she accuses, not so much a tree herself as she is a cactus, “and you wanted the book.”

“How's your mind-body-tail awareness now?”

Zolotisty lifts her voice to mimic Dex in someone else's wet bar. “It's shit.”

“I'll say. Until you learn to control your tail, Z, we'll just have to land in a crowd so the cameras can't see it.”

Joking affront flirts with serious affront. “Sound like Elias. Or Sessine.”

Dex just crosses her arms and flattens her lips before disappearing again. Well-trodden paths being the easiest, she bullies them into the Prancing Spiderkitty, bumping Z into the table at her favourite booth.

“Oyfuck!” two regulars complain, splashing their drinks from the shock of Z's sudden appearance. She's seething now, though she slants a stupid grin at the both of them and nicks a pint glass.

“S'fuck aye,” she nods at the two of them. “Ankyou..” And she's off at a wobbly sidle for the Bandit with a scotch slack tail. She'll not stay long - two minutes, maybe, before pretending to realize she's not got any cigarettes on her.

Dex airkisses her girl, tries to steal a bottle as she passes the bar, remembers she can't as her hand passes through it, and laughing silently, strides outside.

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SECURITY CLASSIFICATION: RESTRICTED| DATE OF REVIEW: 11 06 2011 |
AUTHORITY: NETWORK | AUTHOR: NETWORK COMPLIANCE COMMISSION |
DOCUMENT STATUS: FINAL VERSION | VERSION: 1.0 |
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Simpert knits his brow. “The fuck?” he asks his screen. He checks his watch, compares timezones. Zolotisty is drunk before noon? Without Spandex? He slows down the footage, replays it, loops it. Something's wrong. He can't put his finger on it, quite, but something's wrong.

He thins his lips when Dex shows up on camera twenty minutes later in DICE clan hall.

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DOCUMENT STATUS: FINAL VERSION | VERSION: 1.0 |
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Dex startles herself in the full-length mirror in a hall bathroom. It's not seeing her sudden appearance for the first time that does it, it's the lack of reflection that's really creepy, so she keeps herself visible for awhile, reaching out to tap the self tapping back. The reflection of the flashing red light of the camera tucked discreetly up in the tall ceiling catches her attention. “Be right back,” she whispers to herself before vanishing completely again, slowly this time so she can watch the process. It's a bit like falling asleep, she figures, and fades back in. She turns to one side, then the other, as if seeing how a dress fits, then snaps her fingers and disappears again. The finger-snap has nothing to do with it, but it's a nice effect. She watches herself while she reappears again suddenly, only to disappear, and reappear and ..so on until she's like a strobe-light of herself. It's less tiring the more she practices, like all of the things she does with Improbability. She figures it's like any relationship, the way interactions become habitually instinctive.

Fuck I'm good, she thinks, staring at herself in the mirror considering a good exit. Good exits are key. She tries a polite wave, a two-fingered salute, a two-fingered salute, a cocked-hip crossed-arm pose of nonchalance, and tries her fingers like six-shooters at her hips, “ka-pow, baby!”

“What-what-what are you doing, Dex,” asks Ebenezer, bewildered, from his place in the wide-open doorway.

“Th'fuck?!” Her hands fly behind her back as she snaps her head toward the door. “Eben! Christ. Eben. What are you doin'.. This is a bathroom! Can't a girl have some privacy?!” She flicks her scowl to the camera in the mirror at this.

Ebenezer lets out a sudden, short, high laugh, but follows it with an immediate frown and a stuffy ahrrm hrrm. “Well, the door-the door's open,” he retorts, straight-faced.

“Fine then, it's free,” and she vanishes. Having no interest in what he might get up to alone in the bathroom, she passes right through him to stand in the hall, stopping, of course, to pull unseen childish faces at his back.

Ebenezer is swinging a wide step through the doorway, when suddenly, Dex is gone. “BWAUGH!” He catches the doorway to keep his balance. Ebenezer tells the empty bathroom, “I did-didn't know-didn't know you could do that, Dex!”

“There are lots of things you don't know, Eben,” she says, now visible behind him.

Ebenezer yelps in alarm, flinching around to face Dex properly. His finger's pointed right at her nose, and she snamps just short of it. Ebenezer tugs his hand back, letting out a high gasp.

“You start-artled me. Don't do that. And there's plenty you d-don't know either. And - -” He throws a glance over his shoulder. Ebenezer looks sharply back to Dex, eyes narrowing. “How'd you g-get out here? I'm block-ocking the doorway.”

Her lips pull slowly into a wide grin as she digs into one of her front pockets with her good hand.“I erase,” she says, as if that explains it, and pulls out a marble-sized orange ball to offer it to him. “Here, you try.”

“E-erase?” He shakes his head and takes a step back, into the bathroom. “I'd-I'd rather not try it.”

She shrugs it off like a drug-dealer that knows he'll be back. “Yeh, I understand. Some people like being watched every bloody second.” She stands on her tiptoes and adds over his shoulder, louder for the benefit of the camera, “Even when they jus' tryin' to piss or sommat!”

Ebenezer's expression shifts into a scowl and his shoulders stiffen. “I don't like being-like being watched ev-every bloody second,” he argues, defensive, as if deflecting a personal insult. “I just don't-I can't-I won't try to erase.”

“Okayokay, jeez. Let's get out of this bloody hallway, for crissakes. I'm goin'a make coffee. Join me, if you like.. if you're done spyin' on people, that is.” Her eyes crease jovially and she wheels on her toes, heading for the kitchen. He jogs the first few steps to catch up with her.

“And I wasn't-wasn't spying,” he spits.

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SECURITY CLASSIFICATION: RESTRICTED| DATE OF REVIEW: 11 06 2011 |
AUTHORITY: NETWORK | AUTHOR: NETWORK COMPLIANCE COMMISSION |
DOCUMENT STATUS: FINAL VERSION | VERSION: 1.0 |
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Matthew Simpert has never been able to successfully grow a beard, but he's pawing at the scruff on his face now, all light-through-the-clouds with revelation. Of course. It only takes a week of sleepless nights and an entirely liquid diet. How did he ever keep from bumbling across the holy grail of facial hair generation in the -

The office phone rings. He unearths it from a mess of map sketches and medical reports, shrugging the handset between his ear and shoulder. “Simpert speaking, 4301.”

“Clan Hall,” Terry Babcock screeches into Simpert's ear. “Where's Cooper? Spandex is there with my lad. Does he even know?”

Simpert fumbles the phone, holding it out from his ear. God, he can hear the clipping; the phone's mic can't handle Terry Babcock. No mic can handle Terry 'The Shriek' Babcock. “Cooper's off-duty, so I doubt he knows, no. Which cams?” He relegates his search for Zolotisty to his secondary and tertiary screens, swiveling to his primary.

“DICH-17. She's done her vanishing act for my Ebenezer. They're already bickering and they'll be at it for a good long while, I bet you. How can Cooper be gone at a time like this? Are you covering for him? How fast can you be over here?” Before Simpert can get a word in, Terry screeches onward, “Nevermind! I'll come to you. Do you have the cam yet?”

“Going live now.”

She speeds through a reply, words smashed back-to-back. “Keep track of them, I'll be right over, goodbye!” Click.

Terry Babcock could make his beard grow too, Simpert reckons. He bumps the phone back into its cradle and rests his chin in his palm as Dex appears-disappears-appears on-screen. “You've been practicing, Stripes,” he remarks. “Where's your girl.”

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SECURITY CLASSIFICATION: UNCLASSIFIED| DATE OF REVIEW: N/A |
AUTHORITY: N/A | AUTHOR: UNKNOWN |
DOCUMENT STATUS: FINAL VERSION | VERSION: 1.0 |
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Coffee made and poured, Dex realises she's bastard-late for a check-in with Z, so she snatches the cream and opens the fridge as if to put it away. Hiding her face from Eben, she pings her girl. The answer is cranky in its intensity. Late.

Ebenezer takes up the mug in both hands. After a sip, he says, “R-really don't mind coffee. Have-ave it at home with Esc. She doesn't like tea, see. She- -” He stops mid-word, eyes widening. “That! What-what was that-what was that!”

She almost knocks as plate of leftovers off the shelf while she grabs for the door, reeling from being yelled at in stereo. Shit. Ebenezer flinches at the sudden clatter in the fridge, sloshing fresh, hot coffee on his hand. “Hngh!“

“What? What's wrong Eben? What is it,” she covers, a couple of beats delayed. She spins to see him shaking his hurt hand, flinging coffee droplets.

“What you-what you did! J-just now. What did you-did you-what-what was it?”

She tries her best to look puzzled. “Christ, Ebsy, maybe you should stick to tea. You're edgy! And stick that under cold water,” she adds, though he's already abandoned his coffee on the counter and jolted to the sink.

“I'm f-fine. And what-what was it- -” He hisses, pulling a grimace as he sticks his hand under running water. Expression evening, he tries again, “What'd you do?”

“You want some .. uhh.. a bandage or some sort of anti-bacterial cream? M'sorry about that, I almost knocked over a plate of food, yeh.”

Ebenezer waves dismissively with his non-injured hand. “J-just get some ice-get some ice.” He doesn't need ice. “And I know-I know it's something, you know. Be-because Z does it too and I know she does-does it.”

Obedient, she dumps an inordinate amount of ice on a tea towel, and pinches its corners up to carry it over. “How do you know what Z does? You spyin' on her too?” Several cubes spill onto the floor as she hands it to him. “Speaking of spying, heard you're a mod now. What the hell you wanna break up dumbass rookie fights 'n melodrama for? Don't you think people should learn to resolve their own shit?” Inflammatory accusations, she hopes, should work as the perfect distraction.

He leaves the sink in favour of the ice. ”She won't-won't tell me what it is either,” he sneers, causing guilt to sneaks up the sides of her neck to her ears.

“Maybe 'cuz it's nothing,” she says, not-quite-lying. She sips her coffee, happy to hide part of her face behind the mug.

Disbelieving, he snorts, pressing the towel full of ice to his hand. After a short silence, he answers Dex’s question, “I think-I think-I think people need-erm. I think people need help b-being civil sometimes, or else s-someone'll get hurt or s-some-something.”

Seeing him frowning down to the errant cubes melting on the floor, she sets her mug down to crouch and pick them up, tossing them into the sink. “Yeh? What if someone draws a weapon? People can get a bit uptight, you know how it is. S'fuckin' hard on rooks'n what if.. Mmn. Eben, d'you know how to fight or.. not fight if you have'ta?”

He shrugs, stepping back towards his coffee. “Bound-bound to happen, I-I suppose,” he mumbles. He removes the ice from his hand and flexes his fingers. “Hmn?” Squint-eyed, he looks Dex up and down. “D-don't be silly. Won't have to fight.”

“You won't? How do you know that? I mean, I don' have to worry about Z with th'rooks, cuz she's like badass or if it really came down to it, she could..” She snaps her fingers, “you know. But what if it gets out'a hand, Eben?”

Ebenezer snorts again and dumps his ice into the sink. “I'm-I'm sure I'll manage some-s-somehow. I'm sure,” he says, shaking his head. After a sip of coffee, he asks, “By-by the way, when were you g-going to come to my-my Warehouse?”

“Huh?” Her concerned frown doesn't leave her so easily. “What? What for?”

“Well, for-for, well, Zolotis-tisty said she'd come by and bring you. We did-did a trade, see, and I owe her a thing and-and a toffee. S-suppose she hasn't m-mentioned it yet?”

He's nervous, Dex thinks. “Oh! Yeh.. uh.. she mentioned it, but it's not anything to do with me, so I forgot.” There's a pause. She did forget but she's caught now, unable to think of a good excuse not to meet him there, and she'd never arrange a meeting just to stand him up. “You..have a schedule?” She busies her hands by pouring more coffee while her mind races to think of a plan that wouldn't give the Network time to arrange a trap. “I mean, are you there regularly?”

“S-sor-sort of hard g-getting up there every day, so I haven't really g-got a regular- -” He waves a hand in a revolving gesture. “You-you know? N-not enough business to be there all-all the time anyhow. U-usually do meetings.”

“Oh.” Then, “I don't wear a watch, so. Maybe Z can jus'tell you the thing and you can bring it here, you know.. whenever's convenient. S'between you two though, really.”

Hmph! “I'm n-not-not-not a deliv-ivery service! And there are clocks in all-all the-most all the Outposts, you know. I al-always went off them before I got my-my watch. Mn. I'll have to ask her, then, yes. When-when I can find her.” Ebenezer mumbles into his cup. “Really, I-I think it's a bit odd she's not brought it-it up herself yet. She-she seemed so-seemed so eager, I thought. Sh-short-short memory, maybe.”

The first blush of anger starts in the lower part of her throat. It's not Eben's fault that she feels the camera lenses in the room laughing at her reluctance to arrange a meeting with him, but she hears herself sound too accusatory: “Since when you keen to give away something, anyway?”

“I'm n-not giving it. It's been-been bought.” The distinction is important. “I'm an hon-an honest businessman.”

“Yeh okay, no problem, I'll remind her if I see her,” she says as she rinses her mug in the sink full of half-melted ice cubes. She hates sounding as if she's passing this problem off to Z, but it buys them time to come up with a plan.

Ebenezer drinks the last from his mug. He watches Spandex heading down the halls to the Dome, presumably to leave. “Mhmn. Well, m-my numbers won't match up right unless-less I make sure we finish the trade,” he calls after her. His numbers are of consequence.

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AUTHORITY: N/A | AUTHOR: UNKNOWN |
DOCUMENT STATUS: FINAL VERSION | VERSION: 1.0 |
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“You can't do that again.”

“Okay, sorry.”

“I mean it, Dex. Feel like I'm sounding like you saying this. You can't do that; I never, never - - I don't even know that part of the pub. I walk in from outside, s'bad to go into busy places cos sometimes you don't get it right and find an in-between spot, aye? Sometimes there's a person there.”

“Okay, what you mean sounding like me saying it?”

“If someone's watching, then they know that. They know I don't go there.”

“Okay, but what you mean by my sound?”

“Can't do that, Z, they'll see. Can't go there. Can't be on cambras.“

“What's that sound like to you?”

“Like you're in a fucking cage.”

“What you want now?”

“Go running with you.”

“Okay.”

“We can't.”

“Okay.”

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SECURITY CLASSIFICATION: RESTRICTED| DATE OF REVIEW: 11 06 2011 |
AUTHORITY: NETWORK | AUTHOR: NETWORK COMPLIANCE COMMISSION |
DOCUMENT STATUS: FINAL VERSION | VERSION: 1.0 |
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Simpert's feeling like the shed skin of a bush snake - - more a ghostly outline of himself than something vital and living. His hands rest idly on his keyboard, lit by the glow of the screen and he sits motionless, listening to the purring of the generator. Aware of his slow, steady breathing, he knows that he's on the verge of falling asleep. It's three AM and close to the end of his double-shift.

He shifts in his seat, smacking his lips and wetting the roof of his mouth. It's cottoned with his last coffee. “C'mon, Matt,” he says as he rubs at his eyes. “You're awake. Let's do this, c'mon.” He cracks his neck. Leaning forward, he fumbles at his phone. New text. It's old. Hoping it's Elise, he flips it open.

Final RT sweep of requested coords scheduled for 0200 HRS (GMT -11).

“Shit.” He closes the text and opens a call to the retraining switchboard. “Shit, shit, shit,” he says, sandwiching his phone between his shoulder and his ear as he rummages for his maps. “4-3-0-1,” he enunciates for the phone when he hits the automated prompts and passcode blocks. “Knocko piece of shit. FOUR. Three, oh, one.” He holds a map up, angling it to allow the screen to light it. “Simpert.” This is the one. “Eight nine nine two oh one three seven.”

The tinny voice of the automated switchboard cuts out abruptly. “This is Dispatch. Cpt. Srivastava speaking. How may I assist you, Mr. Simpert?”

“Evening, Captain. You sent some wheelos out for me about an hour ago. I was wondering if you could give me their updated coords, save me from searching for them.”

“Certainly. Hold one moment, please.”

Simpert scratches his itchy jaw and waits patiently for the coordinates, bringing the feeds up as Srivastava lists them off.

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SECURITY CLASSIFICATION: UNCLASSIFIED| DATE OF REVIEW: N/A |
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DOCUMENT STATUS: FINAL VERSION | VERSION: 1.0 |
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Zolotisty lifts her head drowsily. Dex is asleep next to her with one arm flung out over the edge of the bed and both legs tangled into hers. She eases herself carefully up onto her elbows, trying not to jostle her girl, and listens. Engine.

Scramblers pass by here all the time. They should. It's the jungle.

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SECURITY CLASSIFICATION: RESTRICTED| DATE OF REVIEW: 11 06 2011 |
AUTHORITY: NETWORK | AUTHOR: NETWORK COMPLIANCE COMMISSION |
DOCUMENT STATUS: FINAL VERSION | VERSION: 1.0 |
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“Alpha to squad. We should be finishing up in here. Update me on your status then regroup at the northeastern corner of this quadrant to move on as a group.”

The reports come crackling in, barking harsh through helmet-mounted radios and hip-holstered handsets. “Sector A, clear.”

“Sector E, clear.”

“Sector M, clear..”

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SECURITY CLASSIFICATION: RESTRICTED| DATE OF REVIEW: 11 06 2011 |
AUTHORITY: NETWORK | AUTHOR: NETWORK COMPLIANCE COMMISSION |
DOCUMENT STATUS: FINAL VERSION | VERSION: 1.0 |
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Simpert watches the retraining crews zigzag across his screens, all green and white in night vision. They seem bored, listless. He doesn't take it personally. It's boring work. Combing close-ups as carefully as they're weaving across each sector of each quadrant, he pays close attention to trees, to clusters of rocks, to any stretch of open grass and bush. Nothing grows old enough around here for them have built up, if this place is built, so it's got to be something big and hidden or it's got to be buried like Earsy's hole beneath the banyan tree.

Forty minutes goes by. He checks the clock, wonders how he's going to bike home feeling as tired as he is.

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DOCUMENT STATUS: FINAL VERSION | VERSION: 1.0 |
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Engines.

Zolotisty can pick out at least twelve, and they're getting closer. She doesn't know what they're doing. If they were contestants, they'd have fucking gone on their way by now. She forces her belly soft when Dex shifts and grunts, then leans over to kiss her temple and pet her forelock out of her face. She can't keep her hand from stilling against Dex's scalp as the Scramblers whine nearer, bit by bit.

Could leave, she thinks. Then, you don't know that you have to.

What the fuck are they doing.

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SECURITY CLASSIFICATION: RESTRICTED| DATE OF REVIEW: 11 06 2011 |
AUTHORITY: NETWORK | AUTHOR: NETWORK COMPLIANCE COMMISSION |
DOCUMENT STATUS: FINAL VERSION | VERSION: 1.0 |
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“Sector B, clear. Chief, how many more of these we got? Fuckin' cold out.”

“Couple. Then we're done. Belt your bitchin'.”

“Sector F, clear..”

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SECURITY CLASSIFICATION: RESTRICTED| DATE OF REVIEW: 11 06 2011 |
AUTHORITY: NETWORK | AUTHOR: NETWORK COMPLIANCE COMMISSION |
DOCUMENT STATUS: FINAL VERSION | VERSION: 1.0 |
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Simpert presses his knuckles into his mouth, using his free hand to toggle through screens. There's a gentle tap at the door and Shezrae pokes her head in. “Evening, mate,” she says. “Ready to go home?”

Despite himself, Simpert hesitates. “Uh.. I was actually going to finish up with this.” He indicates the screen. She looks puzzled, seeing nothing but nighttime underbrush and a few retraining officers, but doesn't protest.

“Right, I'll go make myself a tea then. D'you want anything?”

“No, I'm fine, thanks.”

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DOCUMENT STATUS: FINAL VERSION | VERSION: 1.0 |
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The radios snap and fuzz with static between messages and Zolotisty would swear they were right next to her, would swear she could wake Dex up with the pounding of her heart.

A Scrambler buzzes by overhead, engine purring. One of the ceiling lights sways gently.

Z forces herself to lie down again. Huge-eyed, she stares toward the ceiling. The Scrambler slows, turns, goes by again. “Spandex,” Z says softly. An apology. She doesn't wake up, so Z just pulls her close to pet her and let her drool against her breastbone.

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SECURITY CLASSIFICATION: RESTRICTED| DATE OF REVIEW: 11 06 2011 |
AUTHORITY: NETWORK | AUTHOR: NETWORK COMPLIANCE COMMISSION |
DOCUMENT STATUS: FINAL VERSION | VERSION: 1.0 |
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Rocks.. Scrub grass and tangled heath. No den.

Simpert sighs and changes the view. Tree, grass, heath. He reaches to change to a different camera, then blinks stupidly at the screen. “Huh?” he asks it, toggling back to the first view. Rocks, grass, heath, all focused on the center of the quadrant. He pans back and forth. Rocks, grass, heath. Switching to the second view, he checks that it's focused on the center of the quadrant. Tree, grass, heath.

“What.”

Duplicating the second camera's view on another screen, he compares the two. Where the fuck is that tree. Checking the focal point with common objects on each screen, he frowns and moves into the terminal to override their set angles. He matches each precisely.

“The fuck?” he asks as Shezrae steps into the booth again, holding a cup of chai. She takes a seat in Cooper's chair, letting her things down to the floor.

“Hmm?”

“Uh, nothing. Just weird.”

“It's four AM, Matthew. Lots of things are weird.”

“Mhm,” he says, but he's not listening. He zooms in slowly on the first camera, trying to get a better look at the rocks - and then suddenly, at about 200x zoom, there's a fucking tree there. He pulls out again. Rocks.

In. Tree.

Out. Rocks.

In. Tree.

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Another Scrambler rumbles by overhead. Zolotisty is stone-still and full of dread, waiting for them to all congregate here like flies. She's not sure where to go. Somewhere that Dex hasn't been. Somewhere that there won't be someone in a uniform waiting with a club.

The Scrambler slows. She locks up like steel again. Maybe the old subway station for the clan puzzle - the place that she modeled this tunnel after. There's no way in or out there, it's sealed tight. They wouldn't be able to stay long. No food. No water. But safe. No way that anyone would've thought to lay ambush there.

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SECURITY CLASSIFICATION: RESTRICTED| DATE OF REVIEW: 11 06 2011 |
AUTHORITY: NETWORK | AUTHOR: NETWORK COMPLIANCE COMMISSION |
DOCUMENT STATUS: FINAL VERSION | VERSION: 1.0 |
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Simpert checks the field from different angles. He's able to replicate the mysterious disappearing tree effect on one other camera. The others just show rocks. Tempted to turn to Shezrae to show her, he taps his fingers on his keyboard. Found you, he thinks. It's an illusion of some kind. It has to be. There's some hole or some doorway under that tree. It's clever. You can't walk into a tree.

Now what.

He could call.

Call right now, get the men to turn around. Have them bring in a drill or blasting equipment by morning, go in, install the cameras. It'd hamstring Ogilvy's plans, but it'd be the humane thing to do and the management would love him for getting the girls back on air. Keep the girls out of trouble for their own good. Secure his job, his paycheck, his mortgage.

Simpert looks at the tree. He wonders what's beneath it.

He could call.

He imagines Zolotisty tangled up with Spandex - - it's easy to imagine, he's seen them cuddled together a thousand times. He imagines them both with loose shoulders and easy smiles and memories that neither of them, so private in their own ways, would share with anyone but each other. He thinks of Elise. He thinks of alarm clocks in the dark.

What was it that he told Ogilvy the other day? Nothing so lofty, I just point the camera where you tell me to? Something like that.

Fuck.

“You don't shake the terrarium,” his first instructor told the class back when he was still in training. “You just watch what's going on inside it. Meddle, and you just make messes.”

He sneaks a look over his shoulder at Shezrae. She's not watching, of course she's not. She's drinking her tea and reading a book she's brought along for her shift. He swallows and looks back to his screens.

Zooming out on both cameras, he returns them to their default states. “Just about done,” he says quietly, reaching for a pad of paper and a pen. The Scramblers continue to crisscross the screen.

No luck on map theory. Keep looking. - S

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“Sector G, clear,” a man says over Z's head. She closes her eyes, pulling Dex's forelock gently into her fist. His radio clicks and warbles, then the engine picks up again.

“OK, that's it for this quadrant. Regroup and we'll check the next.”