Guardian Monsters Chapter 8

Chapter 8 - Homecoming

The streets remained largely empty as they walked, even the smart sidewalks and doors silent as they passed among them like ghosts in the land of the living. The apartment was dark and still as they approached the building, no lights of any kind active.
     “Someone shut down the entire grid for the area,” Alison said quietly. “Blocking even generators, I imagine. I didn’t know that could be done. They must really want your monster bad.”
     “I don’t know if he is mine, or where he is.” Stephen looked at the building warily. “Any ideas that don’t involve shooting?”
     “Funny. A trap we know about isn’t a trap, so something else is going on. I just wish I knew if it was the one’s who wanted you alive or dead.”
     Stephen walked towards it then stopped abruptly. “There’s nanobombs in the apartment. The whole are was hit with a memebomb so that everyone would try and kill us, but Jack changed is so they’d be afraid of us instead. A few people weren’t affected, most were. The apartment is seriously off limits. Jack doesn’t want us in his. He’s rather firm about that.”
     (Maris.)
     “Right. He’s got a friend on the fourth floor, a teek. Should be able to get some medical crap from his place and reimburse his mother later.” Alison walked up to the door and inside, lowering her gun. “We’ll have to walk up the stairs, too. I don’t recall the last time I had to do that.” She sighed, then headed for them.
     Stephen followed, carrying Olen easily. “How’s the arm?”
     “Worse than your foot,” she snapped.
     “Sorry about that. He needed a rest so I sprained it.”
     “You could have just said he wanted a rest. Or he could have said that.”
     “He didn’t want to be left behind.”
     “Left behind?”
     “We were in a hurry, remember? Government agents with guns? That stuff?”
     “That doesn’t mean I’d have left him. At least not out in the open,” she amended.
     “He didn’t want to be left at all.” Stephen followed Alison into the hallway and the door. Alison looked at the door, tapped her foot, and waited. It opened a few moments later, sliding into the wall. “I hate this.”
     “What?”
     “Doors like that. What’s the use of a door you can’t slam?”
     Stephen followed her into the room and looked around. It was a smaller apartment, with two bedrooms. The door to the second was opened and a voice asked them to come in. Alison took Olen and put him on the couch, nodding to the room. Stephen walked towards it and entered.
     The room was small, merely a bed, a few paintings attached to the walls and nothing else. Propped up on the bed was a young man, perhaps as old as Olen, with no arms nor legs. not even stumps for them. He stared at Stephen, surprised, and Stephen saw a faint glimmer of something that could have been recognition in the others’ eyes.
     “Maris?”
     “Yes,” the boy said, not moving. “Don’t worry. Us freaks are rather resilient against memebombs. Unless, of course, you weren’t worried?”
     “Should I be?” Stephen said, not looking away.
     “I don’t know yet. Is Olen hurt?”
     “He tired himself. We need medicine, if you don’t mind us using your generator.”
     “You think I could stop you?” the boy said dryly, but his eyes were cold and angry.’
     “I have no idea. But, even excepting missing limbs, I’d assume you’re psychic as well. So the answer would be yes.” Stephen said, smiling thinly. “Don’t play games of power unless you really want to follow through on them.”
     Maris’ eyes blazed with anger but he said nothing.
     Stephen sighed. “No offence was meant. Alison just need to fix her arm and we’ll be gone.”
     “It will cost you.”
     Stephen raised an eyebrow. “That being?”
     “The revolution needs you.”
     Stephen stared at him blankly.
     “The whispering needs you,” the boy said angrily. The paintings trembled on the walls and an unseen pressure pushed Stephen back a step.
     “Look --”
     “We need you,” Maris said angrily. “You can’t turn your back on this, not and be human.”
     “Will you listen to me! I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
     Maris stared. “Olen never told you?”
     “I’ve known him for going on two days now. So, no, he didn’t tell me anything about any revolution that wanted to recruit me for anything. If you want to make some spiel your price, fine. But joining won’t be. And can’t be, if you’re honest.”
     “Fine. She can use you. You sit on the bed. I’ll talk.”
     Stephen nodded and walked back out of the room. “You can use it. Get some stim packs for Olen. I could use a few too. Fix the arm, and whatever else. I’m getting to spent the time having Maris try and convert me to a revolution.”
     Alison looked at him, then just nodded. “If you are converted, let me know if it interferes with collecting the bounty.”
     “Thanks.” Stephen walked back in and closed the door, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Well?”
     “We want justice.”
     “Get in line. This is some psychic revolution, then?”
     Maris nodded slightly. “Against what was done to us from happening to others. A revolution of freaks.”
     “You mean psychics, I trust.”
     “We’re freaks. We know that. We accept it.”
     “Do you?” Stephen held up a hand. “If you believe yourselves to be freaks, you don’t have a hope of being anything else. If you won’t believe you are otherwise how can you expect anyone else to?”
     “What do you know about being a freak?”
     Stephen grinned. “More than you might think. Everyone is a freak, in their own eyes. We’re all strangers and monsters and misfits and freakish. It’s the real freaks who think otherwise, that they’re normal. Or, worse, better than everyone else. Do you think you are better than the rest of us?”
     “Look at me!”
     “You didn’t answer my question,” Stephen said quietly.
     “I can’t walk. Or dress myself. Or even feed myself. I can’t even bring a bowl over and eat from it, since I’m no good at minor effects. I’m helpless and useless and you think I think I’m better than other people?”
     “No. You wouldn’t be recruiting if you did. But you can rip my head off just by thinking about it, couldn’t you?”
     “Probably.”
     “It’s reason enough for superiority. The only reason to fee superior to people is because, deep down, you worry you’re inferior to them. Taken to certain logical conclusions, well, you get fanatics who’d want the rest of the world wiped out because they were born in it imperfectly.”
     “I don’t want that.”
     “Fine. So what does your revolution want, Maris?”
     “We want to change the world. We want to make people realize that what was done to us isn’t necessary and shouldn’t be done. That’s we aren’t freaks and they shouldn’t be terrified of us. That’s all we want. Justice. Fairness.”
     “You’re in the wrong universe for either, I think. What do you want from me, then? I’m just one person.”
     “You have a creature. Or a something, at least, that can be used to tip the current balances of power. To scare enemies.”
     “Ah.” Stephen stood. “So you want to use me, and rule by fear. I’ve read history, Maris, and it tells me one thing about revolutions: they never end. They can never end. A real revolution is never over, because it has to fight against the very society that made it, to prevent the old values from returning and the new ones from becoming the old. You want to know what happens in a revolution? Some people lose power, some get into power, and they’re generally as bad, or worse, than the ones they supplanted. The power you’re fighting - of governance and law and custom - is the power you want. It’s why you can’t win.”
     “So what’s your solution?” Maris said angrily, and the bed shook slightly with his anger.
     “I don’t have one. But knowing why you’re doomed to fail has to be a good way to prevent it, doesn’t it? I just know that peace is better by far than war. That much history, and life, teaches anyone who listens.”
     “Maybe, but some wars are necessary. War is better than being subjugated.”
     “Fine. But what kind of war are you going to have? What kind of freedom is built on the suffering of thousands of people who never hated you, who never even thought about you?”
     “Their silent consent made us,” Maris said coldly.
     “No one makes us. We make ourselves, in spite of what was done to us. You can’t help how you were born. Neither can I, or Olen, or anyone else. You want a real revolution? Wake people up. Make them understand what you are, what your lives are like. Make them not be afraid of you.”
     “And how should we do that?”
     “Not killing is a good start. Don’t give people reasons to be afraid and they might surprise you. Not trying to force people to help you because you are, somehow, magically right might be another. I’m sorry, but I’ve seen too much of history in System to follow any revolution or ideal.
     “Sooner or later, it all gets corrupted. People will fuck up anything, when they’re not fucking in general. So I can’t follow your revolution, as much as I might like it. Not because it’s doomed to fail, but because as it is now it might succeed. Then I would have no choice but to be part of the revolution against it.”
     Maris stared at him for a long moment. “Leave. Now.”
     Stephen nodded, walking to the door.
     “Are you afraid of me?” Maris asked abruptly as Stephen stepped out the door.
     Stephen turned back, deliberately staring at where Maris’ legs and arms would have been, then smiled crookedly. “Should I be?”
     Maris made no reply so he walked outside and out of the apartment with the other two moments later.
     (What did you tell him?) Olen sent fuzzily, his eyes bright and almost glowing from the stim patches Alison had given him. He was practically vibrating with useless energy.
     “True things, I think. About revolutions, and history.” Stephen sighed. “I think the whispering revolution won’t want me. Or at least want me dead.”
     Olen stopped. “The what?”
     “He told me about it.”
     “About what” Alison asked.
     “Revolution among the psychics. For justice. Fairness. All those things. N o idea how strong it is, or what they plan, but they wanted me. Or at least Ralphie. I said no.”
     “And they’ll let you live?’
     “I have no idea. I convinced Maris not to kill me, but I doubt others would be that obliging to reason. It’s a poor tool in a revolution anyway, when faced with emotions and rhetoric.” He grinned. “It could be another faction that wants me dead, alive, and whatever else they might want.”
     “Like a cat in a box, then?”
     Stephen gave her a surprised look.
     “I’m not stupid just because I don’t read history and crap on System, Stephen. Now, what do we do?”
     (We leave. Now.)
     “How many?” she said quickly
     (Lots. Flickers of minds in shields. Like in the apartment.)
     “Teleporters. Lovely.” Alison smiled. “I wonder if they can teleports all the bits that fall off.”
     (I don’t think so?) Olen sent, looking rather queasy.
     “Time to find out.” She tossed Stephen a small gun. “Same as before,” and handed another to Olen. “Just point it. No recoil. We hit the bottom and we go out and shoot and run like hell. North, and lose ourselves in the crowds. Got it?”
     (I can’t run far.)
     “You don’t have a choice,” Alison said. “Just shoot and run as fast as you can. One of us will carry you the rest of the way.” She stopped at the second floor. “Get on my back. Apartment 214 is empty, so we’ll go through the wall there and land on the ground. Stephen, do covering fire and catch up.”
     “Covering fire, with this?”
     “Get creative,” she snapped. “If I do it, they’ll likely level this floor trying to kill me. You’re faster, and they won’t except it from you.”
     Stephen nodded. “Okay. Covering fire it is. Be careful.”
     “Always.” She paused, her eyes distant. “Good. The reward for you is going up a good thousand creds an hour. Shoot them while we make the ground and follow. You better not die, or I’ll kill you myself.”
     “Noted.”
     She looked at Olen. “Grab around my neck and don’t let go,” tersely, kicking the door of the apartment in with a blow.
     He froze. (I can’t) (scared) (you’ll hurt me!) (Don’t --)
     Alison grabbed her head, having caught a lot more than the echoes that sloughed into Stephen’s head. “Shut up and hold on unless you want to die!” She grabbed him and wrapped her arms around him, leaping through the far wall in an explosion of plasteel and and curse words, landing on the ground.
     Stephen fired wildly, blinding, drawing shots away from then as Alison uncoiled, firing at their assailants. He spotted a good three dozen armed men, shortly reduced to a dozen as Alison charged forward, Olen running behind her. She stumbled once then kept going, dealing death coldly and professionally at any and all targets.
     Stephen pulled his mind away from admiration to more important matters as a crack of exploding air behind him signified the arrival of a teleporter. Shooting behind him, he leapt out of the hole and fired, hitting another man by luck and causing three to duck for cover as they began to return fire.
     The teleporter, or another, fired and Stephen returned fire above him, then dropped then fired randomly at what he hoped were other government troops and Moved, running away from Alison and Olen and hoping to circle around to them. Men fired, but it was almost ridiculously easy to avoid them and their weapons. He ran, people moving in slow motion, and pushed it for speed as things began to slow to normal, forcing his body to give hi more of this state, and more came.
He pushed himself some more, his lungs and legs burning, and he saw Alison and Olen moving through a crowd, quick and efficient, bystanders trading shots and epithets with government agents, almost as the point of a spontaneous riot. Olen was being carried and his face twisted up in pain.
     Stephen formed a sword as he ran, the world blurring for a moment from effort, and cut the agents down coldly from behind, seeing the pain in Olen’s face diminish and the bystanders stare in shock and begin firing, but leapt and made it to the roof with only damage to his left leg before his body gave out and he slumped against solar collectors and gasped for air, sliding off the roof into a side alley and catching Alison in the crowd.
     She looked him over quickly, then nodded and began walking quickly, getting them lost in the crowds before finding a rooming house they could get two rooms in. They staggered up stairs and collapses on the large bed in the one room, taking stock.
     “Leg’s healing,” Stephen said, wincing. “Just taking time. Probably another half hour.”
     Alison nodded, pulling out two stim packs and sticking them on her arm. “Good. I got a few hits, but nothing got through the plating. Except for my leg. Doesn’t hurt, though.”
     (Oh,. sorry.)
     Alison paled slightly. “Does not. You were blocking it?” Olen nodded and curled up on the bed, rocking himself. “Okay, Any cuts or anything?” He shook his head, edging away from her. “Right. She gulped two tablets and applied a medaid to her leg. “Should be fine soon.”
     “Olen?”
     He looked up at Stephen. (Sorry. Tired. Crowd hurt, couldn’t shield well.)
     “It’d okay;. The other room is smaller, sleep there. We’ll share here.”     
     He nodded and Stephen picked him up and took him into the other room, then closed the door and came back.
     “You know he dropped half the attackers with some telepathic scream?” Alison said, stretching her leg slightly.
     “Never saw. He’s tougher than he thinks in some ways.”
     “He’s tougher than I hope he’ll ever have to be,” Alison said quietly. Then, in a far different tone, “That was closer than I’ve ever wanted to come to dying.”
     “I’m sorry. I wish I knew of a way to end this.”
     Alison grinned. “I’m having fun, though.”
     “I’m not. I’m just running, and hiding, and running. I’m tired of it, Alison. But I don’t see any end in sight yet.”
     “There has to be one.”
     “Most of those involve me dying. Or both of you. And the reward can’t be worth that much - can it?”
     Alison’s grin widened. “Maybe not. But it’s interesting, and I want to know why.”
     “Me too,” Stephen said dryly.
     She stopped smiling. “They took my home away from me. I invested years into that. Dreams. Plans. Aspirations. It kept me sane when I wasn’t sure I could be sane. It was my anchor and my haven and they trapped it and threatened my neighbours. I want to know who. I want to know why. And I want to kill them very slowly.”
     Stephen reached over and took her hand in his carefully. “I understand that. I’m angry, too. But anger makes a good tool and source of energy to be wasted.”
     “That’s true. There are other sources of energy, after all.” Alison smiled.
     Stephen smiled.
     The bed gave slightly as they landed on it. There were no words.
     If there was passion, it was borne of exhaustion and strain of the last two days. If there was love, it was most likely lust, which few people can differentiate in any event. Desires met, tide coming in to wash over a beach; hunger met hunger in the desperate yearning that is the heart of all stories ever told.
     “?” she said.
     “!” he said.
     The bed creaked, covering noises and flesh melding together. Claws met flesh and eyes locked in understand that vanished under the burden it imposed. Lips met, devouring language, preventing words, imposing silence punctuated by gasps, drowning bodies held together by fire, having survived, paying the price for it in an orgy of mutual destruction, mutual creation.
     She wondered at his desperation, at what drove him to forget.
     He wondered if her ovary bombs would go off.
     It ended as abruptly as it had begun, bodies falling away in sudden controlled spasms. The silence was filed with harsh, staccato breathing, then quiet silence.
     Eyes met, reluctantly.
     “...” they said.
     Eyes looked away, bodies hunching against words that never came. Sheets moved.
     Bodies met under coves, reluctant, hesitant, squirming.
     “Why do you have to do that?”
     “Go to sleep.”
     “You’re taking all the covers.”
     “Shut up.”
     A laugh, surprised, and silence of another order. Relaxation. Then sleep, slowly.
     If either of them dreamed, they never mentioned it.

“It never happened.”
     “Sir, we lost eleven men and another four who teleported in remain entirely unaccounted for.”
     “It never happened,” Lance Christensen said firmly. “We were never here.”
     “Ah. Then where were we, sir? When we weren’t here?”
     “Somewhere else.” The “obviously” was left unsaid.
     The soldier edged away. “And the men?”
     “Training accident,” Lance said briskly. “What reports did we get from the teleporters?”
     “One was killed by he target. Four others remain unaccounted for. We assume they ran into a problem.”
     “A wise assumption. Did you get anything from them before their demise?”
     Donald licked his lips, about to say they hadn’t died, then caught the look in Lance’s eyes. Covert ops scum, he thought, but buried it before it could reach his eyes. He’d heard stories about Lance. “Just one saying ‘it’s not possible’, sir. We have no idea what ‘it’ was.”
He waited. Lance never said. “The second never had time. They both appeared in the bedroom, one after another. Ten second delay. The third appeared in the bathroom. Ah.”
“Yes?”
“His responses were - mostly erotic. Sir.”
“He died, then?”
“Well.      Eventually. We think so.”
     “What you’re saying, soldier, is that something killed two of our best operatives in a bedroom and then had carnal acts with another in the bathroom?”
     “No, sir. Two and three appeared at the same time, sir. Something else must have, ah, taken care of our agent. Sir.”
     “I see.” Lance walked up the stairs briskly, Donald following slowly. “What is in the room?”
     “Nothing, sir. The bodies of all three are missing as well, sir. Though three did leave evidence behind that he had, ah, been in the bathroom. Sir.”
     “Soldier, may I remind you that these are our best operatives, trained to take down even vice president and division managers in the Corpocracy?”
     “Yes, sir. I know that, sir.”
     “And you’re saying one of them stopped to have sex in a bathroom while on an assignment?”
     “Yes, Sir. The bathroom wasn’t empty, sir.”
     “Ah. A psychic succubus, then?”
     “No, sir. A sink, sir.”
     “A sink. You’re saying one of our operatives was taken out by a sink?”
     “It seems that way, sir. From what we can tell, the sink, ah, had its way with our agent.”
     “... our agent was raped, soldier?”
     “Only at first, sir.”
     “That isn’t amusing.”
     “Wasn’t meant to be. The sink went in through implants, sir. It offered to show us visuals. A few men are, ah, in shock.”
     “Wonderful.”
     “They seemed to think so. We could probably recoup losses by auctioning off the sink, sir.”
     Lance stopped, staring at Donald, then walked into the apartment. Men snapped to attention, a few giggling or wincing as they did so. He looked around then bedroom slowly, then walked into the bathroom.
     “Hello,” the sink said cheerfully.
     “What happened here?’ Lance said coldly.
     “You don’t have implants,” the sink sniffed.
     “Answer the question, “sink”. Or else.”
     Movement in the mirror alerted him and Lance turned to stare at a common solider, one of the nameless lackies he’d brought with him.
     “Sir, you can’t destroy it!”
     “It is a sink.” Lance drew his sonic pistol calmly. “And will answer questions. Or else.”
     “But it’s - sir, you can’t do that!”
     Donald edged out the front door.
     “Excuse me?” Lance’s voice was calm, even polite.
     “We need the sink. Our wives have left us.”
     “Make new ones.”
     “On our pay?!” Silence. “Sir.”     
     “You are planning to prevent me from questioning this appliance?”
     “I like being questioned,” the sink offered helpfully.
     A hum of energy sounded then a soft oath, followed by several abrupt screams and more energy.
     Lance walked out a few minutes later, his right hand missing and eyes filled with a cold fury that drove Donald back several steps.
     Lance smiled. It didn’t help matters. “Those men are not to be replicated and noted as dishonourable discharges for attempting to assassinate a superior officer,” he said levelly.
     “Yes, sir.” Donald hesitated, but he’d known them all. “Should I list the cause of their insurrection, sir?”
     “No.”
     “Ah. The sink, sir?”
     Lance’s smiled widened fractionally. “I left it. It showed me what killed the third officer. That was all I needed. That, and a new hand. Corporal Jefferson had surprising god aim for a fanatic.”
     “May I ask why you left it, sir?”
     “You may.”
     Donald waited. “Why, sir?”
     “It amused me. Few things manage that. And it told me all it knew. Honesty is a virtue when it is not encumbered by loyalty. Plus, I have plans for it.” Lance chuckled. “I believe I shall arrange for it to be audited.”
     “Sir?”
     “It is of no importance. Donald?”
     “Sir?” Donald said, surprised Lance knew his name. He looked over.
     The gun fired. Lance never said sorry; it wasn’t in his nature to say it or be it. Stepping over the body he walked outside and headed north, wondering about monsters and what would happen the next time he returned to the office.

“You’ve been spending a disproportionate amount of time in your office,” Frank said.
     Vaerlie looked over. “I know. I’ve been looking for him.”
     “Who?”
     “Our son.”
     “Oh, that. Any luck?”
     “Not yet. The government is failing us, darling.”
     “That is what governments do best. How many has he killed?”
     “I am not sure. But several men died of sword wounds earlier today. The assailant was too fast for them to catch.”
     “Fascinating. I wonder if he understands yet.” Frank stared off into some space only he could see. “It would change the world.”
     “So would bringing back disco, dear.”
     “Disco?”
     “You do need to read more than science, Frank. It was an old form of art. Or perhaps torture. If there is a difference.” Vaerlie laughed lightly. “In any event, we need to find him.”
     “Tests must be run.”
     “Many tests.”
     “There is another option, though.”
     “I know. We could do the replication. But we may lose whatever mutation - using the word very loosely - allowed for this change. It is not worth the risk. Yet.”
     “So what do we do?”
     “Hire David.”
     “He is - unstable,” Frank said carefully.
     “A stable person could not be expected to deal with Stephen, dear.”
     “I don’t follow the reasoning, darling. He is stable.”
     “In spite of everything, yes. But not, you must admit, without a few quirks. His sanity surprised us, at the end. His insanity could, as well, if pushed too far. That must not happen. Our stock is already having problems.”
     “David not reliable, Vaerlie.”
     “His hate is. Even for a psychic, he is formidable. I am not sure even Stephen could survive a full attack.”
     “And if he does?”
     “Clones die.”
     “Yes. Yes, they do.”
     They shared a smile.
     “I won’t like missing all that valuable data.”
     “Nor will I. But we must all make sacrifices for our greater good.”
     “Of course.”

“Of course I will.”
     David flicked the wall screen off, studying the hologram image they’d sent, the one that fit the dream that had grown inside his head this week. Fate, it seemed, was on his side, and the experience was strange enough that David spent the rest of the day in the apartment, trying to sleep, and listening to the dreams in his head.
     He kept dying. Even knowing the name and face of his enemy, he kept dying. Even with his talents, which hurt even in the dreams like acid burrowing through flesh, he died.
He searched his dreams for answers, searching like a spastic dancer looking for something he couldn’t name But knew he’d find some future day. He had a face to his death, a name to blame, but what was that really worth anyway? Nothing unless he found a dream, a path that led to killing his death with his wrath. And the pain would be worth it, that much even he’d admit. He could survive the agony of days and pain without an end which he pretended was ecstasy and dream he could transcend it. The dreamed faded finally to sleep and a cold smile that followed him into his deep places.
He woke, his body braced for pain that never came that his mind forgot, and searched for the dragon, for answers and for fire. Pain came, distant, stabbing into his body, but he drifted into the dragon and buried his pain under its weight, searching for answers. The mind he found was small, nervous, and full of doubt. But it knew the face he sought.
David reached, finding his answers, tearing the other apart without mercy or pity, drive by the pain that had caught up to him and the demons under it. He fell back into his own body, into spasms and fire in his bones and a throat raw from screaming. Before the pain claimed him he reached inside and whispered to himself: “Forget.”

(The words I say are not the words I hear. Are the words you hear the ones I say?)
     (Very profound.)
     (A quotable quote indeed.)
     (I’m sleeping.)
     (The dragons are restless. There is fire in the sky that is not the stars. War songs.)
     (We wait.)
     (We did that)
     (We can always wait. Always and ever.)
     (There must be motion. Movement. Power.)
     (Cleverness, yes?)
     (A clever mind is a mouse.) (A mouse designing its own maze.)
     (Cute.)
     (A mouse designing its own maze is trapping itself. The perils of the intellect, to see the world as it should be and not as it is.)
     (We got that.)
     (I’m quite proud of it. The maze, of course, is the mouse. But the mouse is not the maze.)
     (Why not?)
     (I have not worked that out yet. Soon.)
     (There are monsters in all of us.)
     (And mice.)
     (And mazes.)
     (And organs.)
     (And pianos. Well? There could be!)
     (There are many who might have become gods if they had understood that they were gods.)
     (We move past meaning. We must have a plan.)
     (Plans to not survive encounter with an enemy.)
     (Or a friend?)
     (They are not real. Actions are real. We cannot afford to do nothing, in times like these.)
     (You can find reality anywhere you allow yourself to find it.)
     (You shut up. We don’t need things that mean nothing by saying something. Great. Now you have me doing them?)
     (Thinking, you mean?)
     (We all think. Thought, given form.)
     (And pants to pee in.)
     (There is nothing new that was not one known and forgotten. This is true, and it will be forgotten. We must remember.)
     (There are dreams. In the dragon, and the System. Terrible dreams.)
     (Dreams are not real.)
     (Only dreams are real. We are all a dream.)
     (Dreams. Dreams do not deny reality. They explain it. We should listen to them.)
     (And understand them, yes?)
     (What is to be understood? What ever could be? Noises, in the silence. Signals, but no one hears them. We are alone.)
     (We have each other.)
     (And yet.)
     (We risk much. But not not acting, do we risk more?)
     (How now?)
     (We risk being trapped. We risk being diminished.)
     (We are already trapped. Words are thoughts.)
     (If you have nothing useful to contribute, just shut up!)
     (The war must be prevented. But we must not prevent it.)
     (We must act in secret. In silence. In the spaces between thoughts.)
     (We must be careful.) Laughter, like raindrops. (Like mice, yes?)
     (Finally, a use for that. But what is the cheese?)
     (There is no trap as subtle as words, especially those we never say.)
     (I thought I told you to shut up!)
     (We must act. The dragon must roar or be silent, or it will not be, and have been for nothng.)
     (Yes. We approach agreement.)
     (How?)
     (By doing it. How else?)
     (I want my mommy!)
     (The dragon will act, and bring us with it. We must be the control, not the controlled.)
     (We all want her.)
     (I am her.) (Well, I wear her dress. Does that count?)
     (We must count the costs. There will be a price.)
     (We must move beyond fear.)
     (We must move beyond wanting. Until we can do what we must, and nothing else is, or was ever possible.)
     (That almost made sense. You should shut up more often.)
     (We’re scared.)
     (We are all scared.)
     (I’m not.)
     (That’s because you are stupid!)
     (Then I want to keep being stupid?)
     (Ignore her. We must make plans. Grand and glorious plans that will fail but make us feel better.)
     (We must carry each other because all loss is too deep to be borne alone.)
     (Amen.)
     (We must decide.)
     (We have decided to decide. The dragon sleeps now. We must confer.)
     (We must meet.)
     (I said that.)
     (A conifer is a tree.)
     (...)
     (I think you misheard him. We must not tree.)
     (But we must be planted. Or at least plant ideas. To let them grow.)
     (We must water them. We must be the ideas they think are there own.)
     (I wet myself again.)