muse: Sex and Death.
Mar. 2nd, 2003 02:42 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
coronaviridaeNotes: This is just a Star*Drive short 'fic that's been flitting through my skull the past two nights; I'm gonna write it down now, with Shakira's lyrics bouncing (literally; they're quite energetic) in my ears; "Whenever, Wherever" is kinda-sorta fitting in a sick way.
Anyway. It kinda explained some things about Mindwalkers to me. I need my books back so I can get the Corpse-ness right, but otherwise, it should be good as a piece of rough 'fic.
Warnin': It's kinda squidgy. Rated PG-13, for being suggestive, and because my narrator is not clean-mouthed.
I had a hell of a day today, EA. Ever since this saucy BC wandered in before I got my morning coffee and tossed down the latest news on that screw-up on Grith. Yeah. Pissed all my plans for the day right away, I'll tell you that.
So here I am, sitting at my desk with a cold cup of coffee and this load of dreck on my desk. Half a dozen sesheys break into one of our compounds, spraypaint the place, kill a guard, and then burn the whole damn thing down. Right in my backyard. Great, I think. What in the name of ZZ am I supposed to do about it? I slam down my coffee and waste thirty minutes talking to a joy-girl on the vidphone working my mind out, then call up one of the local guards, bribe him appropriately, and whaddya know but they caught the sesheys responsible. Turns out, too, that sesheys don't react well to human truth-drugs; I didn't know that, did you?
Yeah, well. Neither did the local cops, after I got enough creds wired direct to their personal accounts.
Problem taken care of, right? I go back to messing around with the joy-girl, only to have that BC walk in on me again. She takes one look at what I'm doing, and her pretty face knots up in disgust like she's never seen a healthy het male before, you know? So I'm a little pissed. I ask her what she wants; she just tosses down another ream of paper and says, 'LZ wants these signed, sir.' and then wanders out, pretty as you please.
Nice piece of ass. Real bitch, though.
So I'm signing away, because it's for LZ, right? Gotta look good for my next performance review. Then here comes Princess Prude-Bitch a third time, and what's it but she needs me to take a vidphone call to LZ. Right about now, I'm wondering who swapped out my usual secretary. Also thinking about leaning on her just a little bit, but not with LZ on the line.
Right, I say. I'll just hook him right up. I do; and whaddya know but he starts bitching me out about the papers on my desk being late, and oh no, he's got a meeting with someone up in M in thirty minutes and can I hand-deliver the bloody things because you KNOW, EE, the bureaucracy will just hang these things up and I'll never have them in time, and you know what that means, EE? That means demotions and pay-cuts and termination, EE, and we can't have THAT now, can we?
Oh, man. Sorry. I'll buy you another drink; here, take my napkin. But, ZZ dammit, you can see I've got problems, right? Right.
Where was I? Oh, yeah. LZ's ranting at me 'bout the stick up his butt. I just nod and smile, 'too right, sir,' I say, with this big fake grin on my face, 'I'll bring the papers right over,' you bastard. So I finish signing; I don't even care anymore what it is, so much crap crosses my desk that it doesn't matter anymore. Toss the crap in my brief, and away we go.
I pass BC on the way out, and I give her just a little push. Right to the fear-center of the brain. She about crumples and pisses herself; guess she's one of those ten percent that just aren't meant to deal with talents, eh? So I ask her what's wrong, all concerned-like, and she's just flat-out crying, says her mom had these panic attacks, too, and she's been on drugs, she swears, but it's not enough...sob, sob, sob. So I pat her on the shoulder and tell her to take the day off; I mean, it's damn funny, but now I've got the girl wrapped around my finger, right? So off she goes, and I walk out, whistling.
Then I get caught in the ZZ-damned gravlift on the way down to the shuttlepad. Freakin' A but they don't maintain half the junk they keep around this place right, so I need to wait ten minutes for a tech to shinny down the shaft and put the damn thing back to rights, and he's tellin' me as he works, 'wow, EE, you're damn lucky this thing didn't just quit totally and dump you down to the bottom! We'd be picking your carcass out of the metal for weeks!', and damned if I don't want to hit his fear-centers too and see how he feels about it. But I don't, and off the snot-nosed brat goes to fix another lift. He's probably the one breaking the damn things, too; just so he can look like a half-competent techy and get a raise. I hate techs.
Yeah, so. Now my mood's all soggy, an' I step out of the lift only to run into these little CMs running around like chickens with their heads cut off--wha? No, I don't know what a chicken is. Some kind of fish, I think. Or maybe an amphibian or something; I don't care. It's just a phrase.
Okay. CMs. So they're having some kind of problem that means they need to take up the WHOLE FREAKIN' HALL, and I have to hit this kid in the kidneys to get through 'em to the shuttlepad. Shuttle's running late, whoop-dee-doo. Another five minutes blown. And it's damn windy outside; the whole building is sorta swaying back and forth the whole time I'm out there. It's enough to make a man sick, I tell you.
Shuttle finally shows up, I hop on, off we go. We land in front of LZ's building with two minutes to spare; I run up the damn stairs because I don't feel like getting stuck in another lift for another techy to screw with me. Get there all out of breath, walk right 'round LZ's sec, pound on the door--dammit, did he get up and go without me?--and finally he shows. 'EE? You got those papers?' 'Yeah, sir,' I say, and show him the case. 'Great. The meeting's been postponed until tomorrow. Just leave those with me, and I'll read over them.'
Right about here, I'm ready to say some really unforgiveable stuff, but no. Just bite my tongue and give him a great big smile, like a good smack-addict, and squeak out, 'Great, sir. Here you go.' Turn around and walk back to the elevator, and I just know he's laughing at me, without even reading him. Bastard.
So I call back in to my office--yeah, okay. I just sent BC home, but I was thinkin' about that, okay? No answer. I chuck my commlink at the wall; the thing EXPLODES. Crappy tech, I tell you. Biggest megacorp in the whole damn Stellar Ring, and you think we'd be able to get some freakin' commlinks that don't explode when they drop.
No, I'm not going to stop throwing the things at the walls. They need to get it right, okay? Oh, good. Here, I'll buy the next round, too. Really sorry about your pants.
Anyway. I got no commlink, and I just remember I sent my secretary home. But it's almost noon by now, right? And I'm still in LZ's building, and I'm thinking, 'great, this place is full of fat cats, right? They don't serve any of the reprocessed crap the cafeteria throws down back at home; we're eating real vat protein for lunch'. The Company owes me, anyway. So I guess a floor at random in the lift, and go looking for the mess. Basement? Don't make me laugh. Not with execs, EA. These are quality people we're talking about; they don't eat in between the generators like us schmucks. Even if I don't get the floor right first, I'll still find a directory somewhere, right?
And hey, whaddya know, I do. Go lookin' for the commissary, but all I get is 'staff lounge', same floor I'm on. Not even so much as a restaraunt. 'Screw that,' I say, but since I'm gonna pass this lounge on my way back to the lift, hey, it won't hurt. See if I can scam 'em out of a drink; I need it, by now.
So I'm walking on past, find the lounge, and I'm about to pop in, and who d'I spot but one of my old friends? Yeah, I think you've met him. Real skinny, pale kid. Pink eyes. Likes wearing black. A little queer, but who really cares what you like between the sheets, hey? Real young kid, too, and he's up above CM. He's a DY, but don't let that fool you. I think he's one of those guys who dicks around at a real low letter for a while, doin' crap-all for the Company--or it looks like it, anyway--an' then next thing you know he's a VI, and you're tryin' to call him up on old favors. I know a coupla guys who got really promoted, hanging out with a kid like that for long enough.
So I'm thinkin' about stepping in, saying hi, shooting the breeze for a bit. Yeah, he's not my level, but who cares? Like I said, I got a hunch he's gonna be going somewhere, and you never know what a little kindness can getcha a little later down the line. I'm not EE 'cuz I'm a dumbass, you know? So I've got my hand on the door, watchin' this kid through the window. Looks like he's got a couple of people in there with him, an' it just looks like they're chatting up, drinks, whatever.
So, yeah. The thing I forget, EA, is this kid is a Mindwalker. Not just a talent like me, doing a little leaning and prodding as a 'path, but a full-fledged Mindwalker. Like a freakin' fraal, almost. Shit, he's pale enough to be one.
But he's a Mindwalker. An' I forget this. But I'd asked him before about it all, just doing a little comparing since I've got the skills, right? Turns out he's got a little of everything--'port, 'path, TK, but the best part is he's a biokinetic. Yeah. One of the real freaks. Makes me wonder why he's still so damn pale, and with those eyes, too. I think he does it for shits and giggles, you know? People get a little weirded out by this white-skinned kid with pink eyes watching them, you know? Without even knowing he's a 'path and probably readin' out whoever they were last screwing and their passwords an' everything.
So I open the door and step in there after a second, thinkin' I'm gonna go do a little wheel-greasing and maybe get me something to drink. --Whaddya mean, what does his being a Mindwalker have to do with anything? I'm getting to it. Shut up and drink your beer.
I step in there, and I wave, and he looks up and gives me this cocky little smirk. Easy as you please. I dunno what the hell he's up to--at first, anyway--but he an' his friends are just talkin' about the weather, or whatever, and he's playing solitaire. Just the kind of way you do anythin' with your hands, if you're bored. So he's sitting here messing with these cards, and I'm getting pretty thirsty by now, so I ask after the drinks. One of his friends waves to the fridge, and wouldn't you know but she's got the same smirk on her face?
Now I'm beginning to get a little disturbed, because I know these people, an' none of them are above D. But they're acting all relaxed; not like I'm expecting them to pop up on their feet the instant I step in the door and be all salutin' and yes-sirring; crap, we're Corpses, not Concord. But, damn. It's like they don't think I'm worth crap, the way they're watching me walk through to get my beer. Me, an E, and all these D's are ogling me like I'm dinner or something. Or, like, a bug. My friend is the only one who's not--he's just messing with the cards, not even looking my way.
I think about doin' a bit of poking here, but then it dawns on me. They're not just all D's; I know these guys. They're talents, too, and there's at least one other Mindwalker in the room besides the DY. And they're all BKs.
I didn't even thinking about it, okay? I was having a helluva day, I just wanted a drink. I didn't even think about what I'd walked in.
...You don't know what I'm talking about? Damn, man. I forget you're not a talent, too, sometimes. Okay, this is why I was talkin' about the whole Mindwalker thing earlier. Y'see, psis, we're all a little freaky. I think it's 'cuz society never much liked us, or some dumbass reason like that, but we tend to keep to our own a lot of the time. Not just like 'all psis together', or even some kind of lovey-dovey kissy-faced thing with the fraal, but real bandin' together. TKs with other TKs, 'paths with 'paths, 'ports with 'ports, so forth. It's just like, oh, I dunno. If you like grav-ball, right, you stick with the guys who like it, right? You don't go watch Borealins play tennis, or whatver the hell it is they do when they're not talkin' out of their asses about philosophy.
Maybe it's deeper than grav-ball, but I dunno how to explain it. It's like you resonate for these people, because they just know, okay? So they're the ones you stick with. You find out someone else is a 'path? Hell, even if you know he's just gonna backstab you and climb over your corpse, and you know he knows you're gonna do the same, you still trust him just a little more. 'Cuz he KNOWS.
I'm getting a little dry. You wanna buy the next round?
Okay. Thanks, man. Anyway. So we psis stick together. Most Mindwalkers, you know they do a little of everything, but they stick with what they know best. But it's bigger than just that; we've got this whole little society thing. It's like a pecking order, kinda. It's all informal, all the rules are up in the air, but it's there, either way. We figure out who's strongest among us with all these games, stuff that happens when we meet up for business reasons. I had a girlfriend once, a TK, real piece of work. Had a lot of crazy ideas; I think she was a closet Inseer or something, because she just up and ran off one day. They still haven't terminated her.
Oh? Oh, right. She called 'em 'moots', these game-things we did. I mean, to me, it was just all this standing around, but she had a fancy name for it all. Whackjob, I tell you, but she was good in bed.
What'd we do? I dunno what the TKs or 'ports do, but us 'paths, we walk into a room with another set of 'paths, an' alluva sudden, the whole mental skyline lights up, just like that. Everyone's tossing messages everywhere, leaning and poking and seeing who's got shields and how deep, and who knows they're being probed and who doesn't. By the end of it, if you're smart, you know who's send, who's receive, who can do both, who's shielding, who isn't, who can't, who's strongest--he's the guy with the most points off your shields--and that's how things play out for the rest of the night.
Just like that, you've got this whole pecking order set up, an' it doesn't matter if the strongest guy in the room is some whackjob AA boytoy who just happened to get lucky when ol' Mother Nature played fast-and-loose with his neurons--if something's up on the psi side, you listen to him, because he's the one who can screw you over while you're still in the room. Not openly, no, but it'll start real subtle if you start acting feisty; just a little nervousness, and if y'don't cotton to what's up an' stop bein' an asshole, it'll get worse, and worse, until it's full-out terror and you're crapping your pants and climbing the walls to escape.
'Course, no AA boytoy's going to try that, because even if he's got all the balls when it comes to doing stuff on the psi side, he can't do shit when you decide to hunt him down a week later with a seshey he can't try his cute tricks on. So it's not like we're some secret society takin' over the Company, or anything, but things are different when you're a psi.
Anyway. I wasn't thinking about what I'd just walked in on when I'd stepped into this room, but it was a 'moot' thing. Except everyone there was a BK, and if there's one group of psis nobody gets, it's the freaks. I mean, I guess I knew they probably handled things the same way we 'paths do, but I'd never thought about what it'd mean when they actually sat down and started playin'. I mean, what're they gonna do, step into the washroom and whip it out to see who's got the better enhancements?
Yeah, well. Not what they were doing in there, I'll tell you that. I go get my beer, and come back, thinking I'll just sit down and talk for a bit--hey, it's my lunch break, right? And there's grav-ball sports and the damn weather and everything. So I ask one of 'em if they don't mind another, and the girl from before gives me this real funny look, but doesn't say anything. My friend looks up from his cards, shrugs, and waves me over to sit on the couch next to him. The guy across from him gives him this real dirty look, and he just shrugs it off with a grin and goes back to what he's doing.
By now, I'm feelin' a little weird about all of this, because there seems to be a lot going on. But I remember these guys are all psis, right? So I don't start doing any digging, because I feel like crap, and I don't want to deal with messing around in anyone else's brainpan. Hell, I just want to drink my beer. So I kick back to do just that, and start talking grav-ball with the guy across from me. He seems interested; bit of a optimist if he expects the Cards to win anything this year, but what do I care?
This whole time, the weird feeling just gets worse and worse, an' in the strangest way. I mean, first, it's just this little cold feeling right in my stomach. I just keep talking, running my mouth like a dumbass. Next thing I know, I get this really strong feeling I should be talking to my friend. But, hey, I went in there to talk to him anyway, right? So I just leave this other guy to think about how the Lighthawks have been beating the hell out of the Cards, and start trying to chat up my friend. He just gives a little look, grins, and goes back to messing with his game. Okay, I think. He's just playing hard to get.
So I wiggle over a little on the couch and lean over his shoulder. Next thing I know, I'm leaning on this kid. And it's perfectly natural, right? I'm not even thinking about the fact I'm freakin' snuggled up to another guy, comfy as you please. I'm not queer, okay? I swear. I mean, this is the first time I've even thought about doing something like this, and I wasn't in control of my body, okay? I mean, shit. I'm thinking just as dirty about him as I would a woman, and I'm not even wondering about that. And he's still not paying me any attention, so I'm trying to think up a way to get him to look at me. So next thing you know, I've got my head on his lap, and I'm thinking, 'see if you can ignore this, kid', and on top of the rest of that, all I want to do is screw him, even if it means tearing his clothes off right there.
Yeah, I was pretty freaked out, too. When I woke up from it. But that's not the freakiest part of the whole thing.
About this time I'm calculatin' how to get his clothes off as fast as I can, when he finally starts paying me a little attention. Puts his cards down, leans back, gives me that same cocky little smile, and here I am begging for it, and he's playin' with me the whole time, the little bastard. Closest he gets to doing anything interesting is running his hand through my hair, down around my face--I get this impression he'd be happy to do more, 'cept the girl from before--bitch--interrupts. 'DY,' she's whining, 'you're cheating. He's not a BK; you can't do that.' And I'm like, 'shut up, bitch; you're just jealous.' Except the little bastard actually listens to her, and he gives me this uncaring little smile and shrugs. Just breaks my heart, right there, because this stupid little bitch isn't letting me play the game, too. 'Cuz I'm not a BK.
And so what does he say about it? 'Sorry, EE,' just like he doesn't care, and leans in and kisses me on the forehead.
THEN I come to, and I damn near break his neck getting off that couch and out of there.
And, you know, the rest of the day didn't get a hell of a lot better. And all I've been thinking about since then is what could've happened if I stayed at that moot thing any longer. I mean, hell. I figure they're just doing the same thing us 'paths do, except they're screwing around with their bodies. Seducing each other. I figure, if I hadn't walked in, they would've kept at it until someone broke down and did just what I did. It's sick, you know? Sick. Us 'paths, we can screw you up, yeah, but not like that, y'know? A BK, a really good one, can just stop your heart by touching you. I mean, crap. If they'd be playing for keeps, I could've been dead on the floor, instead of snuggling up to another man.
I mean, they've got their hands on your balls or your heart or whever else, and a BK can make you do anything, anything you want. Make you queer just by looking at you wrong. You think your thoughts are supposed to be private, right, EA? But you're still used to the Company watchin' you, and talking to a 'path like me. It's like it doesn't bother the hell out of you anymore. But BKs...they play for keeps. Something's not right about that. A man's mind not be his own personal space, right, but at least his body's supposed to know what he is, right?
Well, screw you too.
...
...
ZZ dammit, yes. I'll take another. My day's sucked ass, and my drinking partner just walked off.
z_z; That took far too long, and I don't like how the denounment worked out. Oh well.
facelessmuse
Anyway. It kinda explained some things about Mindwalkers to me. I need my books back so I can get the Corpse-ness right, but otherwise, it should be good as a piece of rough 'fic.
Warnin': It's kinda squidgy. Rated PG-13, for being suggestive, and because my narrator is not clean-mouthed.
I had a hell of a day today, EA. Ever since this saucy BC wandered in before I got my morning coffee and tossed down the latest news on that screw-up on Grith. Yeah. Pissed all my plans for the day right away, I'll tell you that.
So here I am, sitting at my desk with a cold cup of coffee and this load of dreck on my desk. Half a dozen sesheys break into one of our compounds, spraypaint the place, kill a guard, and then burn the whole damn thing down. Right in my backyard. Great, I think. What in the name of ZZ am I supposed to do about it? I slam down my coffee and waste thirty minutes talking to a joy-girl on the vidphone working my mind out, then call up one of the local guards, bribe him appropriately, and whaddya know but they caught the sesheys responsible. Turns out, too, that sesheys don't react well to human truth-drugs; I didn't know that, did you?
Yeah, well. Neither did the local cops, after I got enough creds wired direct to their personal accounts.
Problem taken care of, right? I go back to messing around with the joy-girl, only to have that BC walk in on me again. She takes one look at what I'm doing, and her pretty face knots up in disgust like she's never seen a healthy het male before, you know? So I'm a little pissed. I ask her what she wants; she just tosses down another ream of paper and says, 'LZ wants these signed, sir.' and then wanders out, pretty as you please.
Nice piece of ass. Real bitch, though.
So I'm signing away, because it's for LZ, right? Gotta look good for my next performance review. Then here comes Princess Prude-Bitch a third time, and what's it but she needs me to take a vidphone call to LZ. Right about now, I'm wondering who swapped out my usual secretary. Also thinking about leaning on her just a little bit, but not with LZ on the line.
Right, I say. I'll just hook him right up. I do; and whaddya know but he starts bitching me out about the papers on my desk being late, and oh no, he's got a meeting with someone up in M in thirty minutes and can I hand-deliver the bloody things because you KNOW, EE, the bureaucracy will just hang these things up and I'll never have them in time, and you know what that means, EE? That means demotions and pay-cuts and termination, EE, and we can't have THAT now, can we?
Oh, man. Sorry. I'll buy you another drink; here, take my napkin. But, ZZ dammit, you can see I've got problems, right? Right.
Where was I? Oh, yeah. LZ's ranting at me 'bout the stick up his butt. I just nod and smile, 'too right, sir,' I say, with this big fake grin on my face, 'I'll bring the papers right over,' you bastard. So I finish signing; I don't even care anymore what it is, so much crap crosses my desk that it doesn't matter anymore. Toss the crap in my brief, and away we go.
I pass BC on the way out, and I give her just a little push. Right to the fear-center of the brain. She about crumples and pisses herself; guess she's one of those ten percent that just aren't meant to deal with talents, eh? So I ask her what's wrong, all concerned-like, and she's just flat-out crying, says her mom had these panic attacks, too, and she's been on drugs, she swears, but it's not enough...sob, sob, sob. So I pat her on the shoulder and tell her to take the day off; I mean, it's damn funny, but now I've got the girl wrapped around my finger, right? So off she goes, and I walk out, whistling.
Then I get caught in the ZZ-damned gravlift on the way down to the shuttlepad. Freakin' A but they don't maintain half the junk they keep around this place right, so I need to wait ten minutes for a tech to shinny down the shaft and put the damn thing back to rights, and he's tellin' me as he works, 'wow, EE, you're damn lucky this thing didn't just quit totally and dump you down to the bottom! We'd be picking your carcass out of the metal for weeks!', and damned if I don't want to hit his fear-centers too and see how he feels about it. But I don't, and off the snot-nosed brat goes to fix another lift. He's probably the one breaking the damn things, too; just so he can look like a half-competent techy and get a raise. I hate techs.
Yeah, so. Now my mood's all soggy, an' I step out of the lift only to run into these little CMs running around like chickens with their heads cut off--wha? No, I don't know what a chicken is. Some kind of fish, I think. Or maybe an amphibian or something; I don't care. It's just a phrase.
Okay. CMs. So they're having some kind of problem that means they need to take up the WHOLE FREAKIN' HALL, and I have to hit this kid in the kidneys to get through 'em to the shuttlepad. Shuttle's running late, whoop-dee-doo. Another five minutes blown. And it's damn windy outside; the whole building is sorta swaying back and forth the whole time I'm out there. It's enough to make a man sick, I tell you.
Shuttle finally shows up, I hop on, off we go. We land in front of LZ's building with two minutes to spare; I run up the damn stairs because I don't feel like getting stuck in another lift for another techy to screw with me. Get there all out of breath, walk right 'round LZ's sec, pound on the door--dammit, did he get up and go without me?--and finally he shows. 'EE? You got those papers?' 'Yeah, sir,' I say, and show him the case. 'Great. The meeting's been postponed until tomorrow. Just leave those with me, and I'll read over them.'
Right about here, I'm ready to say some really unforgiveable stuff, but no. Just bite my tongue and give him a great big smile, like a good smack-addict, and squeak out, 'Great, sir. Here you go.' Turn around and walk back to the elevator, and I just know he's laughing at me, without even reading him. Bastard.
So I call back in to my office--yeah, okay. I just sent BC home, but I was thinkin' about that, okay? No answer. I chuck my commlink at the wall; the thing EXPLODES. Crappy tech, I tell you. Biggest megacorp in the whole damn Stellar Ring, and you think we'd be able to get some freakin' commlinks that don't explode when they drop.
No, I'm not going to stop throwing the things at the walls. They need to get it right, okay? Oh, good. Here, I'll buy the next round, too. Really sorry about your pants.
Anyway. I got no commlink, and I just remember I sent my secretary home. But it's almost noon by now, right? And I'm still in LZ's building, and I'm thinking, 'great, this place is full of fat cats, right? They don't serve any of the reprocessed crap the cafeteria throws down back at home; we're eating real vat protein for lunch'. The Company owes me, anyway. So I guess a floor at random in the lift, and go looking for the mess. Basement? Don't make me laugh. Not with execs, EA. These are quality people we're talking about; they don't eat in between the generators like us schmucks. Even if I don't get the floor right first, I'll still find a directory somewhere, right?
And hey, whaddya know, I do. Go lookin' for the commissary, but all I get is 'staff lounge', same floor I'm on. Not even so much as a restaraunt. 'Screw that,' I say, but since I'm gonna pass this lounge on my way back to the lift, hey, it won't hurt. See if I can scam 'em out of a drink; I need it, by now.
So I'm walking on past, find the lounge, and I'm about to pop in, and who d'I spot but one of my old friends? Yeah, I think you've met him. Real skinny, pale kid. Pink eyes. Likes wearing black. A little queer, but who really cares what you like between the sheets, hey? Real young kid, too, and he's up above CM. He's a DY, but don't let that fool you. I think he's one of those guys who dicks around at a real low letter for a while, doin' crap-all for the Company--or it looks like it, anyway--an' then next thing you know he's a VI, and you're tryin' to call him up on old favors. I know a coupla guys who got really promoted, hanging out with a kid like that for long enough.
So I'm thinkin' about stepping in, saying hi, shooting the breeze for a bit. Yeah, he's not my level, but who cares? Like I said, I got a hunch he's gonna be going somewhere, and you never know what a little kindness can getcha a little later down the line. I'm not EE 'cuz I'm a dumbass, you know? So I've got my hand on the door, watchin' this kid through the window. Looks like he's got a couple of people in there with him, an' it just looks like they're chatting up, drinks, whatever.
So, yeah. The thing I forget, EA, is this kid is a Mindwalker. Not just a talent like me, doing a little leaning and prodding as a 'path, but a full-fledged Mindwalker. Like a freakin' fraal, almost. Shit, he's pale enough to be one.
But he's a Mindwalker. An' I forget this. But I'd asked him before about it all, just doing a little comparing since I've got the skills, right? Turns out he's got a little of everything--'port, 'path, TK, but the best part is he's a biokinetic. Yeah. One of the real freaks. Makes me wonder why he's still so damn pale, and with those eyes, too. I think he does it for shits and giggles, you know? People get a little weirded out by this white-skinned kid with pink eyes watching them, you know? Without even knowing he's a 'path and probably readin' out whoever they were last screwing and their passwords an' everything.
So I open the door and step in there after a second, thinkin' I'm gonna go do a little wheel-greasing and maybe get me something to drink. --Whaddya mean, what does his being a Mindwalker have to do with anything? I'm getting to it. Shut up and drink your beer.
I step in there, and I wave, and he looks up and gives me this cocky little smirk. Easy as you please. I dunno what the hell he's up to--at first, anyway--but he an' his friends are just talkin' about the weather, or whatever, and he's playing solitaire. Just the kind of way you do anythin' with your hands, if you're bored. So he's sitting here messing with these cards, and I'm getting pretty thirsty by now, so I ask after the drinks. One of his friends waves to the fridge, and wouldn't you know but she's got the same smirk on her face?
Now I'm beginning to get a little disturbed, because I know these people, an' none of them are above D. But they're acting all relaxed; not like I'm expecting them to pop up on their feet the instant I step in the door and be all salutin' and yes-sirring; crap, we're Corpses, not Concord. But, damn. It's like they don't think I'm worth crap, the way they're watching me walk through to get my beer. Me, an E, and all these D's are ogling me like I'm dinner or something. Or, like, a bug. My friend is the only one who's not--he's just messing with the cards, not even looking my way.
I think about doin' a bit of poking here, but then it dawns on me. They're not just all D's; I know these guys. They're talents, too, and there's at least one other Mindwalker in the room besides the DY. And they're all BKs.
I didn't even thinking about it, okay? I was having a helluva day, I just wanted a drink. I didn't even think about what I'd walked in.
...You don't know what I'm talking about? Damn, man. I forget you're not a talent, too, sometimes. Okay, this is why I was talkin' about the whole Mindwalker thing earlier. Y'see, psis, we're all a little freaky. I think it's 'cuz society never much liked us, or some dumbass reason like that, but we tend to keep to our own a lot of the time. Not just like 'all psis together', or even some kind of lovey-dovey kissy-faced thing with the fraal, but real bandin' together. TKs with other TKs, 'paths with 'paths, 'ports with 'ports, so forth. It's just like, oh, I dunno. If you like grav-ball, right, you stick with the guys who like it, right? You don't go watch Borealins play tennis, or whatver the hell it is they do when they're not talkin' out of their asses about philosophy.
Maybe it's deeper than grav-ball, but I dunno how to explain it. It's like you resonate for these people, because they just know, okay? So they're the ones you stick with. You find out someone else is a 'path? Hell, even if you know he's just gonna backstab you and climb over your corpse, and you know he knows you're gonna do the same, you still trust him just a little more. 'Cuz he KNOWS.
I'm getting a little dry. You wanna buy the next round?
Okay. Thanks, man. Anyway. So we psis stick together. Most Mindwalkers, you know they do a little of everything, but they stick with what they know best. But it's bigger than just that; we've got this whole little society thing. It's like a pecking order, kinda. It's all informal, all the rules are up in the air, but it's there, either way. We figure out who's strongest among us with all these games, stuff that happens when we meet up for business reasons. I had a girlfriend once, a TK, real piece of work. Had a lot of crazy ideas; I think she was a closet Inseer or something, because she just up and ran off one day. They still haven't terminated her.
Oh? Oh, right. She called 'em 'moots', these game-things we did. I mean, to me, it was just all this standing around, but she had a fancy name for it all. Whackjob, I tell you, but she was good in bed.
What'd we do? I dunno what the TKs or 'ports do, but us 'paths, we walk into a room with another set of 'paths, an' alluva sudden, the whole mental skyline lights up, just like that. Everyone's tossing messages everywhere, leaning and poking and seeing who's got shields and how deep, and who knows they're being probed and who doesn't. By the end of it, if you're smart, you know who's send, who's receive, who can do both, who's shielding, who isn't, who can't, who's strongest--he's the guy with the most points off your shields--and that's how things play out for the rest of the night.
Just like that, you've got this whole pecking order set up, an' it doesn't matter if the strongest guy in the room is some whackjob AA boytoy who just happened to get lucky when ol' Mother Nature played fast-and-loose with his neurons--if something's up on the psi side, you listen to him, because he's the one who can screw you over while you're still in the room. Not openly, no, but it'll start real subtle if you start acting feisty; just a little nervousness, and if y'don't cotton to what's up an' stop bein' an asshole, it'll get worse, and worse, until it's full-out terror and you're crapping your pants and climbing the walls to escape.
'Course, no AA boytoy's going to try that, because even if he's got all the balls when it comes to doing stuff on the psi side, he can't do shit when you decide to hunt him down a week later with a seshey he can't try his cute tricks on. So it's not like we're some secret society takin' over the Company, or anything, but things are different when you're a psi.
Anyway. I wasn't thinking about what I'd just walked in on when I'd stepped into this room, but it was a 'moot' thing. Except everyone there was a BK, and if there's one group of psis nobody gets, it's the freaks. I mean, I guess I knew they probably handled things the same way we 'paths do, but I'd never thought about what it'd mean when they actually sat down and started playin'. I mean, what're they gonna do, step into the washroom and whip it out to see who's got the better enhancements?
Yeah, well. Not what they were doing in there, I'll tell you that. I go get my beer, and come back, thinking I'll just sit down and talk for a bit--hey, it's my lunch break, right? And there's grav-ball sports and the damn weather and everything. So I ask one of 'em if they don't mind another, and the girl from before gives me this real funny look, but doesn't say anything. My friend looks up from his cards, shrugs, and waves me over to sit on the couch next to him. The guy across from him gives him this real dirty look, and he just shrugs it off with a grin and goes back to what he's doing.
By now, I'm feelin' a little weird about all of this, because there seems to be a lot going on. But I remember these guys are all psis, right? So I don't start doing any digging, because I feel like crap, and I don't want to deal with messing around in anyone else's brainpan. Hell, I just want to drink my beer. So I kick back to do just that, and start talking grav-ball with the guy across from me. He seems interested; bit of a optimist if he expects the Cards to win anything this year, but what do I care?
This whole time, the weird feeling just gets worse and worse, an' in the strangest way. I mean, first, it's just this little cold feeling right in my stomach. I just keep talking, running my mouth like a dumbass. Next thing I know, I get this really strong feeling I should be talking to my friend. But, hey, I went in there to talk to him anyway, right? So I just leave this other guy to think about how the Lighthawks have been beating the hell out of the Cards, and start trying to chat up my friend. He just gives a little look, grins, and goes back to messing with his game. Okay, I think. He's just playing hard to get.
So I wiggle over a little on the couch and lean over his shoulder. Next thing I know, I'm leaning on this kid. And it's perfectly natural, right? I'm not even thinking about the fact I'm freakin' snuggled up to another guy, comfy as you please. I'm not queer, okay? I swear. I mean, this is the first time I've even thought about doing something like this, and I wasn't in control of my body, okay? I mean, shit. I'm thinking just as dirty about him as I would a woman, and I'm not even wondering about that. And he's still not paying me any attention, so I'm trying to think up a way to get him to look at me. So next thing you know, I've got my head on his lap, and I'm thinking, 'see if you can ignore this, kid', and on top of the rest of that, all I want to do is screw him, even if it means tearing his clothes off right there.
Yeah, I was pretty freaked out, too. When I woke up from it. But that's not the freakiest part of the whole thing.
About this time I'm calculatin' how to get his clothes off as fast as I can, when he finally starts paying me a little attention. Puts his cards down, leans back, gives me that same cocky little smile, and here I am begging for it, and he's playin' with me the whole time, the little bastard. Closest he gets to doing anything interesting is running his hand through my hair, down around my face--I get this impression he'd be happy to do more, 'cept the girl from before--bitch--interrupts. 'DY,' she's whining, 'you're cheating. He's not a BK; you can't do that.' And I'm like, 'shut up, bitch; you're just jealous.' Except the little bastard actually listens to her, and he gives me this uncaring little smile and shrugs. Just breaks my heart, right there, because this stupid little bitch isn't letting me play the game, too. 'Cuz I'm not a BK.
And so what does he say about it? 'Sorry, EE,' just like he doesn't care, and leans in and kisses me on the forehead.
THEN I come to, and I damn near break his neck getting off that couch and out of there.
And, you know, the rest of the day didn't get a hell of a lot better. And all I've been thinking about since then is what could've happened if I stayed at that moot thing any longer. I mean, hell. I figure they're just doing the same thing us 'paths do, except they're screwing around with their bodies. Seducing each other. I figure, if I hadn't walked in, they would've kept at it until someone broke down and did just what I did. It's sick, you know? Sick. Us 'paths, we can screw you up, yeah, but not like that, y'know? A BK, a really good one, can just stop your heart by touching you. I mean, crap. If they'd be playing for keeps, I could've been dead on the floor, instead of snuggling up to another man.
I mean, they've got their hands on your balls or your heart or whever else, and a BK can make you do anything, anything you want. Make you queer just by looking at you wrong. You think your thoughts are supposed to be private, right, EA? But you're still used to the Company watchin' you, and talking to a 'path like me. It's like it doesn't bother the hell out of you anymore. But BKs...they play for keeps. Something's not right about that. A man's mind not be his own personal space, right, but at least his body's supposed to know what he is, right?
Well, screw you too.
...
...
ZZ dammit, yes. I'll take another. My day's sucked ass, and my drinking partner just walked off.
z_z; That took far too long, and I don't like how the denounment worked out. Oh well.
facelessmuse
