Guardian Monsters Chapter 9

Chapter 9 - Alliances Most Foul

(What is he doing?)
     “Looking through the information he got from System for an ally. And hopefully contacting them.”
     (Oh. I thought he wanted us to be there? His aura was warm.)
     “He doesn’t,” Alison said flatly. “Is there a reason you’re just talking inside my head?)
     (?!) “Sorry. Just easier.” Olen yawned. “I kept dreaming someone wanted me dead. It wasn’t fun. Or they wanted themselves dead. I’m not sure which. Dreams are confusing.”
     “Of course they are.” Alison slowed her pace, hesitating. “How are you?”
     “I’m fine?” Olen said hesitantly.
     “Good. Stay that way.”
     “I’m sorry about slowing you down.”
     She nodded. “You should have said something.”
     “I was afraid.”
     “Of me?”
     He paused, then looked up and her and nodded, edging away.
     “Why?”
     Olen blinked. Colours shot through his eyes like falling stars and his jaw dropped.
     “Well” Alison demanded.
     “You -” (You hurt people. Kill them. Hurt yourself. Keep everything away. Make distance where there could be connection.) “Sorry. I forgot to talk it.”
     “I see.”
     Olen cringed. “I’m sorry.”
     “No. It’s all right. We best head back.” She turned back towards the rooming house.
     (I’m sorry,) Olen said quietly, not moving. (I -- I can’t.)
     “Can’t walk? It’s easy. You do it a lot.”
     (I mean I --) he looked away. (I can’t stop being afraid of you. All of you.)
     “There’s only one of me,” she snapped.
     (I meant women. Females. Sorry.)
     Alison stopped and looked back. “Why are you afraid?”
     He just shook his head.
     Alison sighed, then held out her hand. “At least walk back. All right?”
     Olen looked at the hand, then up at her. His eyes were blue, for a moment, and she wasn’t sure if he looked at her or through her but they shades to yellow and then green and red as he bit his lip[ and walked towards her, taking her hand. He removed his in a moment, as if expecting she’d have eaten it, then took it again and walked back.
     Neither of them said anything during the walk, and Alison let go pf his hand and stopped when Olen started trembling badly, then continued. Olen let go as they reached the boarding home and refused to look at her, so Alison just walked up the steps and waited for him to follow her inside and went to the rooms.

Stephen was looking at a holovid when they entered, frowning. It was a map, but not of the city. He poked it lightly, zooming, then shook his head slightly as the image exploded in a shower of lights.
     “What was that?”
     “Trying to get a look at a place I didn’t have clearance for.” He rubbed his eyes. “Okay. Good news is I found a place to take us - me in. The bad news is pretty much the same.”
     “Explain.”
     “Board of directors.”
     “Explain better.”
     “Oh, right.” Stephen sighed and ran his hands through his hair. “Briefly, they’re outside the Corporacry.”
     “Bullshit.”
     He grinned. “They are. Technically, at least. There’s about twenty of them and they exist to advise the CEO, to tell him the truths no one else will,” with a nod to Olen, “and things like that. Very little is known about them but I managed to snag a few names, send a few messages, and one interested party will be picking us up. I’m not sure what her goals are, nor what she’d do about all of this, or you.”
     “Sounds interesting. I’ve always wanted to see what how the really wealthy lived.” Alison looked at Olen. “Any warnings?”
     Olen shook his head. “Just a vague sense of doom.”
     “That’s all?”
     “Huh?”
     “Just a vague sense of doom shouldn’t worry anyone?”
     “Oh, no. It’s always there when Stephen’s around. Too many people want him.” He frowned. “Doom was likely too strong for it. Foreboding? Warming? Something like that.”
     “I feel so loved,” Stephen muttered.
     “Okay. So what do we do?”
     Stephen grinned. “Wait.” He paused. “Message sent. For three. I guess they’ll send a -.” He paused, then looked around.
     They had appeared in another room, a small room with wooden flooring, painting on the walls, and a peculiar smell to the air.
     Alison blinked, looking around slowly. “No listening devices. How odd.”
     “Please stand still,” a voice whispered in the air around them.
     There was a humming noise, then silence.
     Alison blinked then rubbed her right eye. “What the hell?”
     Stephen gasped and doubled over. “That really hurt,” he snarled.
     “A security precaution,” the voice said. “All modern technology is disabled on the island. Thank you for your cooperation in this matter. This has been a recording.”
     “I apologize for any harm done,” a woman said, opening the door at the end of the room. “But even we cannot be too cautious, as I’m sure you appreciate.”
     She was tal and slim, wearing a strange suit that billowed out uselessly around her legs and shoes under it that Alison decided must be useless unless the pointy heel piece was used to stab people through their ears and into their brains. It didn’t even cover most of her arms and seemed rather intent on showing off her breasts.
     “What’s that?”
     “This? It is a dress,” the woman said.
     “Huh. Doesn’t look that useful.”
     “It’s not. Fashion rarely is, and these styles have not been fashionable in centuries. It doesn’t even have a single smartweave. Quite comfortable in spite of all that, if one ignores the itching. I am Kelly Dupont, owner of this island and a member of the board of directors. You are welcome here until I decide what to do with you.” She clapped her hands.
     A tall, stiff man in a black suit entered, eyeing them all distastefully. “Yes, madam?”
     “Show these guests to their rooms, Jeeves.”
     The man nodded, his face acquiring a new definition of rigid. “As you wish. Please follow me,” he said exiting the room. “Dinner will be served in two hours in the main dining room. Clothing has been laid out for you on the beds. Your current clothing will be incinerated, to deal with any lingering parasites.”
     The hallway was wooden flooring as well and the walls were the same, peppered with paintings of famous people and places from the family history. None of them reacted or moved at all as they went by them and up a stairwell, the servant walking quickly and leading them to a suite of three rooms two floors up.
     Olen took hold of Stephen’s hand nervously and didn’t let go or say anything during the walk.
     “Each room is interconnected. You use a door. There are no AIs or interfaces with any equipment, and the lights have to be turned on manually.”
     Alison stared at him. “Manually?”
     “You use a light switch,” the servant said, his voice becoming frostier with each word.
     “What are you talking about?” she demanded.
     He opened one of the doors and demonstrated with a small panel with a lever on it. “Lights. You can use them. If you need anything else, just ring room service.”
     “How do we do that?”
     The servant smiled for the first time, an unamused twisting to his lips for a brief moment. “I will leave finding that out an exercise for your imaginations.”
     Stephen walked into the one room and shook his head. “I don’t believe this. They have televisions here.”
     “And that is?”
     “Really, really old technology. I saw one in a museum once.” He shuddered. “I hope they’re just for show. You couldn’t interface with them at all.” He looked around. “Okay. That’s the wardrobe, it has clothing,. Bed is obvious. Bathroom is there. It’s old. Like the one at your apartment, except the sink is ancient too. This must have cost a fortune.”
     “A fortune to live like a savage?”
     “The really rich have strange hobbies.” Stephen shrugged. “At least it wasn’t any earlier. That stuff is almost too primitive to eve understand.”
     “Lovely.” Alison checked the other two rooms, then nodded. “Olen’s the third, I’ve got the next one. This one is yours.”
     “We best clean up and change then,” Stephen said.
     Doors closed, and he changed quickly, shaking his head. A giant museum as a home, just because the family could. It was more than a little worrying and he felt horrible after that energy had shorted out the nanotechnology in him, but hoped he’d recover soon.
     “Stephen?” Alison’s voice came from the other room, hesitant.
     “Yes?”
     “How do I get this dress on?”
     “Oh! You decent?”
     “No. I’m pissed off. How do I get this on?”
     Stephen snickered then walked into the other bedroom and helped her into the dress, which proved to be a surprisingly good fit.
     Alison regarded herself in the mirror. “I look like I’m being put on display. At least you look all right.”
     Stephen grinned. “My parents were nothing if not anal retentive. “How’s the weapons?”
     “Not working. Nor the eye. You?”
     “Zilch. I’ll check on Olen.”
     She nodded. “If things get ugly, we’ll have to get inventive.”
     “Inventive?”
     Alison smiled. “Inventive.”
     “Great. One thing: there are likely people listening, using conventional methods: behind walls, looking out from paintings and the like.”
     “So we should have group sex loudly, then?”
     Stephen blushed. “I -- ah --”
     “That was a joke. Unless they start pissing me off. Make sure the kid’s okay.”
     Stephen nodded, opening the door and entering the third, and smallest, room.
     Olen was sitting on the bed, unchanged, staring at nothing.
     “Ah. Olen?”
     He looked up, surprised. “Oh. Sorry. I didn’t hear you. Can you help me with this - clothing thing?”
     “Oh. Right.” Stephen frowned, looking it over, then looked up. “What’s the grey like here?” he asked,. curious.
     “It’s all grey. They did something.”
     “Shit. I hadn’t thought about that. How bad it is?”
     “Everything is grey. Even you and Alison. It’s weird. I can’t hear anything besides my own thoughts.” Olen grinned. “It’s comforting.”
     Stephen returned it. “Okay, then. Let one of us know if you need help with anything later, okay?”
     He dressed Olen quickly and went back to his room, closing the door and listening. Then he checked the closet carefully, and searched under the bed and got back up and waited.

The dining room was opulent, in a subdued manner that spoke of discreet wealth. Stephen tried not to show his amazement, Alison just looked scornful and Olen just looked around curiously but said nothing. The table was old, probably older than than anyone in the room, and seated six, normally.
     “I guess no one else is joining us?” Stephen said politely.
     Kelly smiled. She had a particularly pretty, enchanting smile that said absolutely nothing. “Not tonight, Stephen. I trust these are your friends?”
     “Oh, no.” He returned her smile. “This is Alison. She’s going to sell me in when the reward on my head is high enough. Olen is with her.”
     Kelly was taken aback for all of a second. “I see. How positively modern of you, darkling.” She smiled at Alison. “Tell me, what do you think of my humble abode?”
     “It looks kind of grey,” Olen said blandly. Stephen fought back the urge to laugh.
     “Grey?”
     He nodded. “It could use some colour.”
     “I see. And you?” to Alison.
     “I think it’s a marvellous museum,” Alison said, her smile a baring of teeth.
     “Ah. Well, you’re entitled to your opinion, of course. Common folk always are, no matter how barbaric it is. Isn’t that right, Stephen?”
     “It would depend on who the barbarians at the gate are,” Stephen said quietly. “Those who live in the castle, or those who make the people who wait outside and wait to let in.”
     “Ah. Philosophy. I never bothered with it, myself. I leave such questions to them to tangle with and make confusing.”
     “I don’t,” Stephen said, his voice a mere whisper. Silence fell over the table as everyone strained to listen. “The problem with letting everyone in is that there won’t be a castle anymore, will there? Everyone becomes a common person. Everyone becomes a god. And the government falls apart under anarchy.”
     “Perhaps. As I said --”
     “Philosophy doesn’t belong to philosopher. It belongs to the hear now,” Stephen said, interrupting her and knowing he’d pay for it, and be made to pay again. “I’m not deferring moral judgement to anyone else, or having them make it for me.”
     “Well, you’re still young dear. You’ll understand when you’re older. If you live that long, of course.”
     “Of course,” Stephen said in the same cheerful tone. He drank some wine.
     The meal was small talk, warnings and questions interspersed with casual conversation in a code as old as dining and language. They lied, and told the truth, and it didn’t matter. Signals went back and forth, heard and understood.
     There was no desert.

“You want to change the world, then?”
     Stephen looked over at Kelly from their walk along the forest surrounding the mansion. “Doesn’t everyone?”
     “Broadly speaking, maybe. But of course we don’t want others to do a better job than we do, dear. It’s really quite that simple. IUf you are too good, you might rock the rock. We could all drown.”
     “Or grow gills.”
     She laughed lightly. “Or that, yes. But not everyone would want to grow gills. Some people don’t want to change, you know. Some people like the old ways.”
     “Like this island?”
     “Not that old. You wouldn’t believe what has to be done to produce a meal here. I meant that you can’t change the world for everyone, unless you somehow allow for those who don’t want to change to live as they always have. That’s the trick. And it’s always tricks.”
     “Why am I here?” Stephen asked, edging past a sleeping dog.
     “Because I wanted you here. Too many other people wanted you, and we didn’t know why. So my place seemed safest. For me, of course, not for you.”
     “You’re being unusually candid, for a member of the board.”
     “Oh, we’re all candid. We can afford to be.” She smiled, heading back the way them came via another trail. “You seem angry, though.”
     “I’ve learned things about the world. What’s done to it.”
     “And why?”
     “No. Not the why, yet.”
     “It’s simple, then. Money.”
     “I wondered about that. It was the only idea that made sense, even if I didn’t want it to. Make everyone rich and what’s left?”
     “Leisure, mostly. It’s not all it’s cracked up to be. You should know that.” She stopped at the top of a hill, waving her hand. “That is my factory.”
     “I’ve heard of them.”
     “Good for you. Now, listen: it produces all the things for this island, from wood to metals. Everything is done here, naturally, as close to the dark ages as possible. It’s a bizarre hobby, I admit, but it passes time. And for immortals there is nothing else to do eventually but to indulge perversions.”
     “And this is why the world shouldn’t be saved? Why people shouldn’t be helped?”
     “You can’t help people by giving them Utopia, dear. They have to help themselves.”
     “Fine. So you tried, or just couldn’t be bothered to?”
     “Oh, the latter. You are young, yet, for all the life you’ve lived. It’s lies that save the world,” Kelly said mildly. “We keep pretending everything is fine even when it all gets worse - and in our pretence likes the hope and chance for it to get can get better. The truth, such as the one about nanotechnology, won’t be of use to anyone. The truth never is. It’s lies that are important, that give meaning to our lives and give us a reason to get up in the morning.”
     “Why are you telling me this?”
     “To save you from yourself. There are people who won’t let the world be changed, because they have too much vested in it as it is now. There are those who would rather drown you than see the boat be rocked.”
     “They’re afraid of the truth, then,” Stephen said, following her off the hill.
     Kelly snorted. “Hardly. You haven’t been listening to me. The truth is just another kind of lie, dear. In ten years, twenty, a hundred, it will be gone, supplanted by a new truth that makes it into a lie. New truths, like new religions, turn the gods of the old into the demons of the new.
     “All governance is based on power, and the threat of power being shown. Fear is the bottom line for all governments. It is where the power of all rulers derives, no matter how they might phrase it. As well, all governance is founded on lies, on misdirection, on myths and the like. How long do you think we would survive if it all came tumbling down, even a small part of the wall, enough to let a crack of light thought?”
     Stephen ignored the question. “That’s your only goal, then? Survival?”
     “The only one that matters.” She walked up the stairs to the mansion proper. “There are others, of course, but they are all ephemeral things, ghosts and dreams and memories. Lies, in other words. But sometimes they matter more than the truth. If a cause is worth dying for, my boy, it is eminently worth killing for as well.”

“This is an interesting place,” Alison said to her guide. He was tall, buff, and definitely security. Probably for the whole island. Quick, efficient, and he didn’t miss a trick.
     “Of course.” The man, Winter, smiled. his hair was white, and his eyes held a col, appraising look that never quite left them. “Mi’lady believes in back to the basics, here. It makes for some novel security challenges.”
     Alison nodded, wondering if her tour of the grounds would bring her near Stephen, but suspected not. “I notice the sky is strange, for one thing.”
     “Pollution.”
     “What?”
     “Impurities in the air. Oh, it gets fits by the force field further up, but it’s kept here for verisimilitude.” Winter looked at her thoughtfully. “You haven’t asked any of the questions I thought you would.”
     “Would you answer them?”
     “No.”
     “Then I won’t bother to ask, except to wonder why you’re here.” Alison followed the path calmly, keeping an eye out for spycams of some kind and wondering how many of the animals were really animals. Most of them looked pathetic, really. Not even a single Harf in sight. They had to have modern tech here, somewhere, but she had no idea where it was, and the lack of depth perception in her one eye was annoying her.
     “Good pay,” Winter said. “I used to be a hunter, of course.” He smiled thinly. “Now I’m the barbarian in the court. A jester, to some. Death to others who don’t look beyond appearances. The reason? Luck only lasts so far. Eventually you use it up, and all you have is skill, which is never enough. I got out before I could be taken out.”
     “And you like it?”
     “Most of the time. Sometimes not, but humans are contradictory creatures at their best . I want the best of times but I yearn for the worst as well. I forget the bad things, even when sometimes it seemed to be all bad things. But would I go back? No. There are things more important than surviving, than killing, than proving I was one of the best. Eventually I ended up with nothing to prove to myself, so I left.”
     “That easy, huh?”
     “I was lucky a final time, in getting this job.”
     “Ever wonder about what happened to your predecessor that you got it?”’ Alison asked casually as she memorized the lay of the land as best she could. It wasn’t city streets, but it wasn’t too hard in any event.
     “Oh, I know. She was foolish. As I will be, eventually. You and your friends may be the cause of that. I told her it was not wise, but she ignored that.”
     “And said that she was paying you enough to handle it?”
     They shared a brief grin. Winter nodded. “Precisely. So this walk is more than figuring you out; it’s also a plea that you don’t do anything untoward. I like this job, and I’d rather not die.”
     “You know I can’t make any promises.”
     “I wouldn’t trust any you made.” Winter chuckled. “I am curious as to why you brought Stephen here instead of turning him in. The reward is considerable.”
     “Yeah, but taxed. Not enough yet to retire on.”
     “Ah!” Winter studied her appraisingly. “Pragmatic.”
     “Don’t say it like it’s a bad thing,” she said calmly. “I’m doing what makes sense.”
     “Hmm. The funny thing is that, sometimes, doing what doesn’t make sense makes the most sense.”
     “Like working here?”
     “Like falling in love.”
     Alison stared at him. “Excuse me?”
     He stared back. “I share a bed with the Lady, sometimes. The perks of the job, at it were.”
     “Lust isn’t love,” Alison said shortly, wondering if the one bird in a tree was looking at them a little too intently.
     “So many say that, but I wonder if they ever know the difference. What if true love comes and you confuse it with lust? Or, worse, it is not returned. My Lady will never love me. It is not in her nature. Were I braver than I have ever been, I would ask her if this -” he waved a hand, taking in the edge of the forest, the broad expanse of fields and homes in the distance decorating the island like moles “- was worth it. Whether being her was worth it. I never shall.
“Change is important, though. We all change. Sometimes we change and forget to tell each other. It’s why love dies, in my rather personal experience of it. But more dangerous is changing and forgetting to tell ourselves.”
“Your point?” Alison said coolly.
     “I’m not sure I have one, actually. I do love it here though. If I had to die, dying in a place I loved would be worth it.”
     “I don’t want to kill you.”
     “If I thought you did, you would be dead already,” he said equably.
     “Then why do you bring it up?”
     “Because we never know what the future may bring or take away. Perhaps you will have to flee the island. Perhaps we will be at odds. Then, maybe, you will recall this little chat and hesitate. So then I will shoot you and kill you before you kill me.”
     Alison blinked. “That was remarkably honest.”
     “And nothing you did not suspect, I imagine. There are many ways to disarm a foe.”
     “Of then, honest is the most dangerous,” Alison finished. “I heard that a few years ago.”
     “I said it fifteen years ago. I had another name, then. I was famous, and now I’m forgotten. This world has no place for heroes, and less for giants. It uses them up and discards them at a whim.” Winter looked her over carefully. “You understand?”
     “I’m not a hero. Not for anyone.”
     “Not even yourself?”
     “Especially not then. You know what a hero is, Winter? A real hero is never a hero. They are never named a hero. There are no parades for them, no honours, no glories or tombstones decorated with wreathes. Only the obscure heroes are real. The rest are just poseurs drunk on fame and their own reputations.”
     Winter shrugged. “Sometimes people surprise us. There are many ways to be a hero. Taking a stand is one. Sometimes, it all there really is.”
     “There’s sacrifice as well.”
     “Oh, of course.” Winter laughed, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Alison wondered if anything really did. “But often that involves dying, and it is hard to die in this world anymore. With enough money, one need never truly die. They can replicate, or get ghosts, or become cyborgs, or become a piece of System in truth. Life always tries to win..”
     “Then maybe the real heroes are the ones who allow themselves to die.”
     “There are worse things than dying, Alison.”
     “Like what?”
     “You could become a legend. A myth. A hero for the ages. Such things are terrible burdens. I could have, at one point. There was a woman.”
     “There always is,” she snorted.
     He ignored that. “Had I dealt with her as I was paid to, ordered to, this world would be a far different place. Perhaps better. Perhaps worse. But different.”
     “Instead you followed her to an island?”
     He nodded. “She offered life, and I was coward enough to take it over death. Tell me, would you prefer to live if it meant having your sacrifice robbed of all meaning? I would have been destroyed, both in reputation and by other means. I did not have the strength to be an obscure hero.”
     “So you sacrificed what, then?”
     “My ideals,” Winter said holllowly. “Everything I thought I was, everything I had dreamed I could be. All for the sake of a love I will never know. Amusing, isn’t it?”
     “I don’t know. A telepath told me something, once. The boy in the mansion, to be exact. It was after I had let some small-time grifter go, because I’d known him, or at any rate someone like him, when I’d grown up. He told me that compassion is another name for sacrifice.”
     Winter laughed softly, the sound almost real. “I like that. It doesn’t make it true.”
     Alison smiled slightly. “I told him the same thing.”
     “Naturally.”
     “He said I’d have to take it on faith. He said it even though he was terrified I’d hurt him, or sell him to people who’d want him, or throw him out. Sometimes, that’s a real hero, maybe. Standing up with nothing to stand on, just because you have a point to make.”
     “I have made several points of that nature. Mostly in shooting people from a distance.”
     “Cute.”
     “I don’t believe in faith.”
     “Neither do I. We aren’t made for faith. Do you get up early?”
     Winter didn’t hesitate at the change of topic and merely nodded.
“He told me that waking up before the dawn is the very essence of faith.”
     Winter nodded slowly. “Perhaps there is something to that, then.”
     “Perhaps.” Alison looked at him. “We’d best go back. I imagine your Lady is done saying whatever she planned to Stephen by now as well.”
     “Oh, I doubt it. He seems stubborn.”
     “And I?”
     “You are. But what I told you has nothing to do with her plans. I was told to keep you busy, to stop you from poking around. I have done so, and she will not question how.”
     “Fine.” Alison fell into step beside him. “How many get out?”
     “Few,” he said. “It is not an easy life that is chosen for us, Alison. Most just become police officers, and many fail at that. The rest die. Few are mourned. Few people ever are, in this world. They come back, or they could not afford to in any way and aren’t worth mourning because they were not important.”
     “I’m not tired of it. Merely thinking ahead.”
     “Do you get tired of it?” Winter held up a hand. “Meaning, do you sometimes wish you had been otherwise?”
     “No, of course I don’t wish that. If I was, I wouldn’t be me. But sometimes, yes, I am tired of the killing, of the lack of use for it. Of no longer thinking that I’m actually doing something at all good. The bodies pile up, and the world is the same as it always us, only minus a few bodies.”
     Winter smiled. “I was told, once, by a girl who loved me, that to fall in love is to change the world. She didn’t know I had been hired to kill her. I thought she had, and was trying to stop me. Sometimes, I think she was right. But I am older, and wiser now.”
     “Fear is stronger.”
     He nodded. “Fear, and it’s other face anger.”
     “Now what? You know you haven’t changed my mind. If we have to leave, I will go through you.”
     “I expected nothing less. Only --” he fell silent.
     “Only?” she prodded.
     “Only that you might shed a tear, perhaps. For who I could have been.” Winter picked up the pace. “We’d best go in,” he said briskly.
     “I wouldn’t expect any tears,” Alison said, very carefully, matching his pace. “I am who I could have been.”

Someone knocked on the door again. Olen ignored them again, burying his head in a pillow to block out the noise. He didn’t want to go for a walk in some strange place, not with everything grey. He could manage in here, but he knew he couldn’t out there, and he didn’t want the Kelly person to know that, not yet.
     He drew another breath, going inside and listening, his only company his own thoughts, scared and going in circles. He reached, only to find nothing, no way from his mind to any other. he drifted deeper, touching the edges of a dream, feeling it, worrying it. Enough of him had healed for dreams, if nothing else. Vision would return soon, he hoped.
     And with it, answers. B ut he couldn’t shake the feeling they didn’t have time to wait, so he reached inside further, pushing, prodding, seeking what he’d always been.
     Time passed, because it’s what time was for. The knocking on the outer door ended and he listened, and shouted.
     (Hello!) he said, and again. Over and over, until there was nothing but the word and the will and the voice. Sometimes it failed and the entire world went away. It was happening more often, now. Perhaps from being here, perhaps from his efforts. He felt fear, but it was a distant thing easily buried under loyalty and a hesitant touch of aura to aura - of hand to hand - that had tried to cross a bridge for no reason other than compassion.
     It wasn’t all, but it was enough to keep him trying, to do what he could because they needed him. He reached, harder. The world went away, for a longer time than it ever had, and he came to himself on the floor, drenched in sweat and trembling. He stumbled back into the bed, ignoring the throbbing in his head.
     (HELLO!) he shouting, turning his mind into a Möbius strip, making it bounce around, building the thought until it filled him and had nowhere to go but out, into the darkness between selves, seeking.
     Contact.
     <Hello,> a voice said, surprised and wary.
     (Hi,) he said weakly.
     <What are you?>
     (Someone who wouldn’t mind a friend,) he offered, and would have said more, needed to say more, but the rest vanished as the world went away and his body spasmed. He came to, briefly, only to collapse into sleep that was deep and dreamless.
     A knock on the door beside the room woke him, confused.
     “Olen?” Alison’s voice.
     “Yes?” he said sleeping, rubbing his aura - his face. The eyes part, he reminded himself.
     “You okay?”
     “No. Tired.”
     She opened the door and came in, all orange and red and blues. She stopped, shading to surprised purple. “Olen? You look horrible.”
     “Was trying to think outside myself,” he said. “I couldn’t. I can see you, now, but that’s all. I can’t -” his voice broke.
     “It’s okay,” she said, trying to be soothing. She gave it up, and snapped: “Pull yourself together, Olen. You don’t have to recover in a day. I’d be surprised if you can at all, here. What you need to do is bathe, and change. You must have sweated off a few pounds, and you can’t afford to lose any at it is. Now, get into the bathroom and have a bath. Now.”
     Olen got up, with help, and into the bathroom. It was only half way through the bath that he realized he’d accepted her help without even hesitating, and the realization froze him in place for a few minutes, until she hit the door and asked if he’d died.
     He said no, even though in some small way he had.

“Learn anything useful?” Alison said, entering Stephen’s room.
     “That you don’t knock,” he said from the bathroom.
     “I meant something useful.”
     “I think that’s useful,” he said, coming out and towelling his hair dry. “This takes forever. Scraping bodies down with cloth is annoying. So, what did you have in mind? We talked. She probably won’t let us leave the island.”
     “It’s possible, but difficult. And they’d rather we didn’t try.”
     “Oh?”
     Alison nodded. “The security chief would like to keep his job. And, I suspect, hire me on when I retire.”
     “Somehow I don’t see you retiring,” Stephen said dryly.
     “Neither do I,” Alison said quietly. She shook her head. “Never mind. The fact of the matter is that we’re stuck. I have nothing, Olen is just able to tell where people are again and you don’t have nanites. What does that leave us with, weapons wise?”
     “Your charming personality.”
     “And your complete lack of a sense of humour.”
     “How would that be a weapon?”
     “Someone might take offence to it and rip your head off,” she said sweetly.
     “I hope you’re not volunteering. I like my head.”
     “Then I’ll rip off your other head,” she said, glancing pointedly below his waist.
     “Sorry.”
     “Oh, you will be.”
     “I’ve forgotten the point of this conversation,” Stephen said quickly, trying to change the topic.
     “Weapons. We need them, or a way off this island if they won’t let us off. Short of killing everyone on it and turning their bodies into a raft, I’m out of ideas.”
     “Could we actually do that?”
     “I don’t know. Think of the fun we could have trying.” Alison sighed. “Honestly, no idea. We’re prisoners, even if this cage doesn’t have walls.”
     Stephen nodded slowly. “All right. Then we find a quiet place without being watched and make plans.”
     “I doubt they’ll allow it.”
     Stephen shrugged. “They will if we find a place and have rather loud sex.”
     Alison blinked. “That covers us, but not Olen.”
     “He could join in.”
     She stared at him.
     “Yes?”
     “He’s only fourteen. You do know that, right?”
     “I thought he was younger, and no I didn’t. What’s your point?”
     “That he’s only fourteen!”
     “That’s your point?”
     “Yes!” she yelled.
     “That’s all of it?”
     “Yes!”
     “Okay. Look, he doesn’t have to participate.”
     “So you want him to watch?” she asked, a dangerous gleam in her eye.
     “I didn’t mean it like that. He could take notes.” Stephen managed a grin that died in the face of her stare. “That was a joke. Look, we need a place to plot. It makes sense, and it’s not like it has to matter.”
     The temperature in the room lowered by several degrees. “I see.”
     “You know what I meant!”
     “I believe I do. Fine. Shall we set a date for tomorrow night?”
     “You’re being immature about this.”
     “Good.” Alison turned and walked back into her room, slamming the door.
     Stephen sighed, then lay back on the bed to wait for dinner.
     Dinner, when it came, was a formal, stiff affair. Kelly talked about nothing of importance, Olen was mostly quiet, and Alison was almost painfully polite.
     Afterwards, Stephen made an escape into the library, ostensibly to read, and browsed the shelves curiously. Footsteps behind him signalled the arrived of someone else, and the hesitant silence caused him to finally turn around.
     “What’s wrong?” he said with a sigh.
     “Her aura is black,” Olen said quietly. “Is something wrong?”
     “Why don’t you ask her yourself?”
     Olen blinked, eyes pale blue and getting paler.
     Stephen sighed. “That was a joke, Olen. I don’t seem to be good at them right now. We had a fight. She’s angry. I was probably stupid. Okay?”
     He backed up. “I didn’t mean to make you mad too!”
     “You didn’t. I’m not mad at you, just at me.”
     Olen nodded, not moving.
     “Anything else?”
     “Can we leave soon?”
     “I don’t know. How are you holding up?”
     “I’m okay.”
     “Olen,” he said warnings.
     “I am,” the boy lied.
     “I can see it in your face.”
     “Oh. That thing.” Olen slumped. “It’s hard , not seeing right. And being stuck in my head. I keep trying to get out. And I keep failing. I think I might be breaking things.”
     “What kind of things?”
     “In my head. I keep going away more often. But I can’t stop it.” Olen bit his lip. “I try, but I can’t!”
     “Shit.”
     “I’m sorry.” Olen sniffed. “Could - could we mesh auras?”
     “You mean hug?”
     He nodded.
     Stephen stepped forward and hugged him gently as the telepath started crying. “Shhh. It’s okay,” he said.
     (No, it’s not,) Olen sent very quietly as he cried. (Sorry. Only way I --) the sending faded, strengthened as he trembled: (-- thought I could do this. Not joking. Am breaking things. Hard. Hurting. I can’t be here long. I’m sorry. I can’t.)
     “It’ll be okay,” Stephen said again, pushing him away.
     ‘But I keep feeling like I’m being watched all the time and I can’t see anyone.”
     “It’s okay. You probably are. Let’s try for sleep, and a walk tomorrow or something.”