Infinity Smashed: A Change in Regime
Oct. 31st, 2018 11:18 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lb_leeSorry, guys! This is posted so late because I was hoping I'd get Book 4 all ready for y'all in time and have the whole thing up for y'all this month, but it was not to be. Better luck in November! This is the last missing piece in the book; as of now, all the chapters have been posted, it's just now all editing, stitching it together, illustrating, and making a cover.
A Change in Regime
Universe: Infinity Smashed
Summary: Number One suffers a change in fortunes and taps M.D. for a favor.
Word Count: 2800
Notes: This takes place right between Time to Go and the Shitty-Shitty Bang-Bang Heist. It was sponsored by the Patreon crew! More notes at the bottom.
Sirens wailed above Number One Eldest Daughter’s head. Behind her, back at the interrogation cell, she heard cries of surprise and dismay, the tromping of feet. She had to rely on her ears; her arms were bound in wire behind her back at wrists and elbows, and with the metal conductors interfering with her own natural field, she could neither broadcast nor adequately receive. Everything was blurry and muddled, hard to locate and impossible to respond to.
She kept moving, as quickly and quietly as she could, but even with her sense of pain unwoven, she could feel things shifting in her body in unnatural ways, a floating in her head that no amount of psychological training could ameliorate. Blood was on her clothes, she was bound in body and mind, and she was exhausted. If someone tried to fight her, she’d have to kick-shock them to death, and she wasn’t at all sure she could do it in her current condition.
But she was still alive, so it wasn’t a worst case scenario yet.
As she curved around a corner, the hall opened up into the subterranean storage room, all walled with clay and tile. She staggered in gratefully, kicked the door shut and rammed the lock with her shoulder, only to get an error message. Well, the liberators would surely find her now.
The storage drawers in their cabinets were locked securely enough that they hadn’t been vandalized yet. Leaning against one of the cabinets, grateful for its support, she pressed her foot against her drawer, forced a charge through her toes, and it clicked cheerfully—and far too loudly for her liking. She fumbled it open with her foot, and there it was, a round little bit of metal roughly the size of her palm, suspended by a chain. She got her toes around it just as the next team of liberators came in.
She tossed the jaunt-watch up to her mouth and bit down on the button, letting the dimensional door swallow her up.
It was a simple door, of course. If the bio-natural fundamentalist savages wanted to find her, it was merely a matter of finding the right transit records. One didn’t think it likely they’d follow her, but she had not survived two and a half regimes by being careless. Enough had gone wrong today.
The door spat her out just outside the tree-line wall of Treehouse. The landing was rough, and she hit the ground hard on her knees, jaunt-watch clutched in her bloody teeth. She spat it out as the guards oriented on her—a feathered flier, a tentacled living zeppelin. She’d never bothered to force-feed herself the barbaric local dialect and her broadcast was muted, but no matter; she recognized the telepathic zeppelin who’d envenomated her the last time, and it surely recognized her, after what she’d done to it. Its broadcast presumably still worked fine.
“Asylum!” she shouted. “I request asylum!”
Then she collapsed. Unintentional, but it couldn’t hurt her performance, so that was fine.
At this point, there were only two ways it could end, both completely out of her control and thus not worth worrying over. In the first scenario, she’d never wake up. Treehouse derelicts were primitive and childish, but not stupid, and they surely remembered the casualties she’d left last time. Getting eaten or composted would be degrading, but still miles better than the public execution the bio-fundamentalists had in mind for her.
So when she found herself regaining consciousness, she already knew things were going better.
One took her first moments to feel her limbs. Unconsciousness had robbed her of her mental anaesthesia; her whole body ached, breathing caused a stabbing pain in her side, and a couple of her teeth were loose. Still, there were no new injuries, so she could pull the conditioning back up without worrying she’d permanently damage herself. After a moment to weave her mind in the proper configuration, she drifted up to the top of her body, leaving the sea of pain to roil underneath, distant and impotent.
No longer distracted by her own discomfort, she glanced around through slitted, swollen eyes to gauge her surroundings. She was propped up against a tree, a root digging into her rump and her bound arms at an awkward angle, but at least she no longer had to care about the sensations. Her ankles had been slicked with grease and then cuffed with metal, blindfolding her mind completely. Around her was unfamiliar forest: trees, rocks, soil, ferns. No sign of Treehouse, or its walls.
No sign of the locals either. There was only One’s little sister, sitting on a rock, balancing a plate of food on her crossed legs, and peeling some fruit with a knife. She looked as though she’d been there for a while, long enough to get hungry or bored.
The last time One had seen M.D., she’d been haggard, frayed, on the verge of destroying herself and everything around her. Now she looked well-rested, well-fed, made of well-braided whipcord. She was also dressed in heavy boots, an apron, and a thick leather belt, all smelling of medicinal greenery. So she had continued with that profession, and it was likely going well. Still, there was something else about her. What was it?
One opened her eyes. “You look very well, sister.”
M.D. didn’t seem surprised that she was awake. “You look like tenderized death. What happened? You stab the wrong back?”
“A change in regime. They didn’t recognize me as an asset. Are these the cuffs from the first time?”
M.D. tossed the last bit of peel off her knife blade and sunk her teeth into the fruit. “Yup.”
One smiled, felt the strain on her torn lips. “How sentimental. I’m touched.”
M.D. just grunted and kept eating. She seemed in no hurry, so One shifted to a more comfortable position and more thoroughly surveyed where she was. Not that it helped—the forest remained opaque and unfamiliar, devoid of sentient life. But One was positive someone was out there, watching her. One’s sister had gained weight, but One still outmassed her enough to be cumbersome to carry, and surely she hadn’t been unconscious for that long. Still, she saw no drag marks, no footprints, no signs of vehicles, no marks of passage of any kind. How had she gotten here? They hadn’t flown her here, had they?
“What is this?”
Chomp. “It’s a forest, One.”
One ignored the jibe. “No, you’ve done something. What did you do?”
“I handcuffed you.”
With her limbs and mind bound, One had to accept that as the only answer forthcoming. Still, it bothered her. Something odd was going on, and someone was watching her, she could feel it, but no matter how she looked, she saw no one. Eventually, she gave up looking and focused on the matter at hand.
“Where am I?”
M.D. wiped her mouth on a cloth. “Outside town. You didn’t really expect them to let you in, did you?”
“No. I expected them to get you. Congratulations on your… promotion? Is that why you look so well?”
M.D. spat out seeds and tossed the fruit core aside. “Why are you here?”
“Where’s my door?”
M.D. held it up, then pocketed it again. “Why are you here?” she repeated.
“I need a place to stay until the political climate improves, and I have it on unimpeachable authority that this barbarous place won’t deport me… and you’re proof positive one can succeed here.” She looked M.D.’s coveralls over skeptically. “In a matter of speaking.”
M.D. made a sound of disgust. “You’re joking, right? You’re lucky Jelly Legs didn’t call dibs and eat you on the spot.”
“So I can’t stay with you?”
“No.”
“Or in your town?”
“No! What is your problem?”
Ah good, she was annoyed and off-balance. Maybe now One would get a straight answer. “My problem, little sister, is that now I’m a symbol of the old technocratic regime, and therefore I must go. I chose somewhere slightly less distasteful than death, now tell me, what did you do? Don’t feign ignorance.” It came out more ragged than she intended.
M.D. stared her down, took a deep breath, and visibly calmed herself. “If you can’t tell, then I’m not going to tell you.”
So she had done something. At least One wasn’t losing her mind. “If I can’t stay with you, or in your miserably shantytown,” not that she actually expected either, “you’ll have to tell me somewhere else to go, or I’ll pester you endlessly, as sisters are wont to do.”
M.D. slapped her knife down. “See, this is why I was happy when Scorch almost tore your arm off and we kicked you out. It’s been years, One. For a moment there, I thought you might actually leave me alone.”
Number One shrugged as best she could with her arms bound. “We don’t always get what we want, sister.”
M.D. paused, looked her over, took in the blood, the bruises, the torn lips and swollen eyes. “Why are you here? As in, here, here. You hate this place.”
“I do.” Miserable cold, wet climate. Close quarters. Anarchy and animals. “But you were available.”
“You mean you didn’t have anywhere to go, and the Dellans all hated you and wanted you dead.”
One would’ve snorted through her nose, had she been capable of breathing through it. “A symbolic hate for a symbol of the old system. Pomp and politics; you would’ve hated it.” She rested her head back against the tree, fought another surge of dizziness. “They weren’t very good at it either.” She thought everyone knew to cripple prisoners first, lest one risk an embarrassing escape like hers.
“And I’m sure the moment they change their minds, you’ll join them.”
“You take everything so personally. Powers change. It’s what they do. Until then, I’m calling in that favor I did you years ago.”
“You haven’t done me jack—”
One had been tortured, incompetently, was bound physically and mentally, and she was tired. Enough that she no longer cared what she told her sister anymore. It wasn’t as though M.D. could tell anyone of importance, and nothing else had made her come back. “Do you truly think the Coalition let you be because of your actions? I persuaded them to write you off, and while I don’t expect you to be grateful, I expect you to recognize it. We could’ve taken this place by force. Fire-bombed your little trees, seeded your hilltop with so much lightning you’d only see the sun once a year, leave this miserable place so attrited they couldn’t wait to be rid of you.”
M.D. said nothing.
“You didn’t really think you won through your own efforts alone, did you?” Apparently so, and One leaned against the tree trunk. She wanted to laugh, but didn’t want to hurt her ribs or her lips. “I didn’t expect to be amused today. Thank you, sister.”
M.D. looked queasy. “What made you suddenly decide to… to write me off?”
“Your value had depreciated considerably, and I don’t throw good effort after bad. Assets are lost sometimes. Regimes change. I thought I might be lost too, one day, and you seemed more valuable in this capacity.” One smiled. “Was I wrong?”
M.D. just stared at her.
“Here, I’ll do you another favor for free. I want to get as far from here as possible, and you should too; this is the first place they’re likely to look for me.”
“And if the symbol of the old regime is gone, they might be willing to settle for the sibling.”
“You always were a clever child.”
M.D. stared hard at One, but that was fine. One wasn’t lying about anything, had nothing to hide, and she’d done the best she could; things were out of her hands now. If she ended up eaten by animals, well, such was life at times. But she doubted that would happen.
And sure enough, One’s little sister looked annoyed and distrustful, but she got up and came over to dig through her belt, still keeping her distance.
“If you want my advice, don’t even try to join a town. Go feral.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“Live like an animal.” Out came a bottle of liquid. “Eat whatever you can grow, gather, or gut; try not to get eaten yourself. Figure out who you are when you’re alone and free.”
“Freedom doesn’t exist.”
“Fine, then find out what you are when you’re owned by reality, instead of the Gween or the UDC or whoever it is they’ve got in charge now.” Now out came a large wad of cloth. “You can try the forests, the swamps to the northwest, or keep going until you hit the beach and try to hitch a ride off somewhere else. But don’t join a town. That grease on your ankles? Pheromone goop; you and me can’t smell it, but you reek of bad news to ninety percent of the Silver Fern population, and townsfolk will eat you on sight.”
“Does it wash off?”
M.D. just laughed.
“Ah well, you can’t fault me for asking.”
“Trust me, go feral; it’ll be good for you. Someone as calculating and dangerous as you will have no problem.” M.D. poured the liquid from the bottle onto the cloth. The fumes were noxious. “Now, I’d say I’m sorry except unlike the new regime, I know better than to have you conscious and untied…”
Despite the smell, One didn’t resist when the rag was held to her nose and mouth; fighting might mean a miscalculation, and she doubted that whatever passed for knock-out drugs in this savage society were forgiving. So she breathed deep and even, and let oblivion take her.
When she woke again, she was alone. The wire around her arms were gone, as were the cuffs from her ankles. When she sloughed her pain again, she discovered that her wounds had been cleaned, stitched, and bandaged, and a large, familiar backpack of provisions was on the ground next to her. A quick search showed it held food, medicine, a full canteen, fire sticks, some hideous blue plastic sheet that could have only come from America, cord, and a multi-tool, all carefully packed with One’s door.
There was also a note, reading: By the time you get this, I’ll have skipped town for a while. You won’t find me. Don’t try. –M.D.
One smiled. Not the best outcome, but certainly better than the start of the day had ever led her to hope for. Truly, it was good to have a sister, bound to a career that forbade all but the most necessary of violence. As an asset, she was a failure, but as an investment…!
The scenery around her had changed again, still completely unfamiliar. But this time, One was positive she hadn’t been moved. That was most certainly the same root that had been digging into her buttock earlier, and though the tree next to it looked unfamiliar, when she touched it, she recognized the texture. Yes, it was most certainly the same tree she’d been leaning against before, but with a whole new visual guise.
For a moment, she puzzled. How…? But then she knew.
She laughed, honestly delighted. “You brought the hallucination man with you! That was clever! I didn’t plan for that!”
No answer, and while One’s broadcast was picking up all sorts of living creatures around her, she didn’t feel her sister or the hallucination man—or whatever Treehouse barbarians they had likely brought with them as added insurance. Then again, it was quite possible that M.D. had learned to cloak her own signal in the ensuing years, or perhaps some Treehouse native had come along to do it for her; it wasn’t that difficult to learn. Regardless, despite the hallucinatory camouflage, One was no fool. Uphill was surely the way to Treehouse, since it held a high ground position. She could return, if she wanted.
But she didn’t. There was nothing for her there, and One had had enough fights for one day. Silver Fern was wilderness; One would need all her energy to get as far away as possible, find a safe place to sleep, recover from her injuries, and prepare for her new (hopefully temporary) life as wild animal.
She got up, stretched her limbs as safely as she could, and shouldered the pack. Her body was stiff, but it would last. It had to. She headed downhill.
“I’ll bring the pack back,” she called over her shoulder, even though she knew M.D. probably wasn’t there, and certainly wouldn’t answer if she was. “I know you’re attached to it. Good luck with your vocation and your grumpy hallucination man… and whoever or whatever else has made you so happy. I hope it’s deserving of you.”
There was no answer, and she walked off into the trees.
Notes: Treehouse DOES have drugs that would render humans unconscious... but they can't be used for general anaesthesia, because they can only be used for very short periods safely, unless an auxiliary method (like Ribbonblack's hypnotrance, which she uses for Biff's surgery) is available. By this point, M.D. hasn't seen One in a good few years, since the events of A Frayed Wasting Death.
A Change in Regime
Universe: Infinity Smashed
Summary: Number One suffers a change in fortunes and taps M.D. for a favor.
Word Count: 2800
Notes: This takes place right between Time to Go and the Shitty-Shitty Bang-Bang Heist. It was sponsored by the Patreon crew! More notes at the bottom.
Sirens wailed above Number One Eldest Daughter’s head. Behind her, back at the interrogation cell, she heard cries of surprise and dismay, the tromping of feet. She had to rely on her ears; her arms were bound in wire behind her back at wrists and elbows, and with the metal conductors interfering with her own natural field, she could neither broadcast nor adequately receive. Everything was blurry and muddled, hard to locate and impossible to respond to.
She kept moving, as quickly and quietly as she could, but even with her sense of pain unwoven, she could feel things shifting in her body in unnatural ways, a floating in her head that no amount of psychological training could ameliorate. Blood was on her clothes, she was bound in body and mind, and she was exhausted. If someone tried to fight her, she’d have to kick-shock them to death, and she wasn’t at all sure she could do it in her current condition.
But she was still alive, so it wasn’t a worst case scenario yet.
As she curved around a corner, the hall opened up into the subterranean storage room, all walled with clay and tile. She staggered in gratefully, kicked the door shut and rammed the lock with her shoulder, only to get an error message. Well, the liberators would surely find her now.
The storage drawers in their cabinets were locked securely enough that they hadn’t been vandalized yet. Leaning against one of the cabinets, grateful for its support, she pressed her foot against her drawer, forced a charge through her toes, and it clicked cheerfully—and far too loudly for her liking. She fumbled it open with her foot, and there it was, a round little bit of metal roughly the size of her palm, suspended by a chain. She got her toes around it just as the next team of liberators came in.
She tossed the jaunt-watch up to her mouth and bit down on the button, letting the dimensional door swallow her up.
It was a simple door, of course. If the bio-natural fundamentalist savages wanted to find her, it was merely a matter of finding the right transit records. One didn’t think it likely they’d follow her, but she had not survived two and a half regimes by being careless. Enough had gone wrong today.
The door spat her out just outside the tree-line wall of Treehouse. The landing was rough, and she hit the ground hard on her knees, jaunt-watch clutched in her bloody teeth. She spat it out as the guards oriented on her—a feathered flier, a tentacled living zeppelin. She’d never bothered to force-feed herself the barbaric local dialect and her broadcast was muted, but no matter; she recognized the telepathic zeppelin who’d envenomated her the last time, and it surely recognized her, after what she’d done to it. Its broadcast presumably still worked fine.
“Asylum!” she shouted. “I request asylum!”
Then she collapsed. Unintentional, but it couldn’t hurt her performance, so that was fine.
At this point, there were only two ways it could end, both completely out of her control and thus not worth worrying over. In the first scenario, she’d never wake up. Treehouse derelicts were primitive and childish, but not stupid, and they surely remembered the casualties she’d left last time. Getting eaten or composted would be degrading, but still miles better than the public execution the bio-fundamentalists had in mind for her.
So when she found herself regaining consciousness, she already knew things were going better.
One took her first moments to feel her limbs. Unconsciousness had robbed her of her mental anaesthesia; her whole body ached, breathing caused a stabbing pain in her side, and a couple of her teeth were loose. Still, there were no new injuries, so she could pull the conditioning back up without worrying she’d permanently damage herself. After a moment to weave her mind in the proper configuration, she drifted up to the top of her body, leaving the sea of pain to roil underneath, distant and impotent.
No longer distracted by her own discomfort, she glanced around through slitted, swollen eyes to gauge her surroundings. She was propped up against a tree, a root digging into her rump and her bound arms at an awkward angle, but at least she no longer had to care about the sensations. Her ankles had been slicked with grease and then cuffed with metal, blindfolding her mind completely. Around her was unfamiliar forest: trees, rocks, soil, ferns. No sign of Treehouse, or its walls.
No sign of the locals either. There was only One’s little sister, sitting on a rock, balancing a plate of food on her crossed legs, and peeling some fruit with a knife. She looked as though she’d been there for a while, long enough to get hungry or bored.
The last time One had seen M.D., she’d been haggard, frayed, on the verge of destroying herself and everything around her. Now she looked well-rested, well-fed, made of well-braided whipcord. She was also dressed in heavy boots, an apron, and a thick leather belt, all smelling of medicinal greenery. So she had continued with that profession, and it was likely going well. Still, there was something else about her. What was it?
One opened her eyes. “You look very well, sister.”
M.D. didn’t seem surprised that she was awake. “You look like tenderized death. What happened? You stab the wrong back?”
“A change in regime. They didn’t recognize me as an asset. Are these the cuffs from the first time?”
M.D. tossed the last bit of peel off her knife blade and sunk her teeth into the fruit. “Yup.”
One smiled, felt the strain on her torn lips. “How sentimental. I’m touched.”
M.D. just grunted and kept eating. She seemed in no hurry, so One shifted to a more comfortable position and more thoroughly surveyed where she was. Not that it helped—the forest remained opaque and unfamiliar, devoid of sentient life. But One was positive someone was out there, watching her. One’s sister had gained weight, but One still outmassed her enough to be cumbersome to carry, and surely she hadn’t been unconscious for that long. Still, she saw no drag marks, no footprints, no signs of vehicles, no marks of passage of any kind. How had she gotten here? They hadn’t flown her here, had they?
“What is this?”
Chomp. “It’s a forest, One.”
One ignored the jibe. “No, you’ve done something. What did you do?”
“I handcuffed you.”
With her limbs and mind bound, One had to accept that as the only answer forthcoming. Still, it bothered her. Something odd was going on, and someone was watching her, she could feel it, but no matter how she looked, she saw no one. Eventually, she gave up looking and focused on the matter at hand.
“Where am I?”
M.D. wiped her mouth on a cloth. “Outside town. You didn’t really expect them to let you in, did you?”
“No. I expected them to get you. Congratulations on your… promotion? Is that why you look so well?”
M.D. spat out seeds and tossed the fruit core aside. “Why are you here?”
“Where’s my door?”
M.D. held it up, then pocketed it again. “Why are you here?” she repeated.
“I need a place to stay until the political climate improves, and I have it on unimpeachable authority that this barbarous place won’t deport me… and you’re proof positive one can succeed here.” She looked M.D.’s coveralls over skeptically. “In a matter of speaking.”
M.D. made a sound of disgust. “You’re joking, right? You’re lucky Jelly Legs didn’t call dibs and eat you on the spot.”
“So I can’t stay with you?”
“No.”
“Or in your town?”
“No! What is your problem?”
Ah good, she was annoyed and off-balance. Maybe now One would get a straight answer. “My problem, little sister, is that now I’m a symbol of the old technocratic regime, and therefore I must go. I chose somewhere slightly less distasteful than death, now tell me, what did you do? Don’t feign ignorance.” It came out more ragged than she intended.
M.D. stared her down, took a deep breath, and visibly calmed herself. “If you can’t tell, then I’m not going to tell you.”
So she had done something. At least One wasn’t losing her mind. “If I can’t stay with you, or in your miserably shantytown,” not that she actually expected either, “you’ll have to tell me somewhere else to go, or I’ll pester you endlessly, as sisters are wont to do.”
M.D. slapped her knife down. “See, this is why I was happy when Scorch almost tore your arm off and we kicked you out. It’s been years, One. For a moment there, I thought you might actually leave me alone.”
Number One shrugged as best she could with her arms bound. “We don’t always get what we want, sister.”
M.D. paused, looked her over, took in the blood, the bruises, the torn lips and swollen eyes. “Why are you here? As in, here, here. You hate this place.”
“I do.” Miserable cold, wet climate. Close quarters. Anarchy and animals. “But you were available.”
“You mean you didn’t have anywhere to go, and the Dellans all hated you and wanted you dead.”
One would’ve snorted through her nose, had she been capable of breathing through it. “A symbolic hate for a symbol of the old system. Pomp and politics; you would’ve hated it.” She rested her head back against the tree, fought another surge of dizziness. “They weren’t very good at it either.” She thought everyone knew to cripple prisoners first, lest one risk an embarrassing escape like hers.
“And I’m sure the moment they change their minds, you’ll join them.”
“You take everything so personally. Powers change. It’s what they do. Until then, I’m calling in that favor I did you years ago.”
“You haven’t done me jack—”
One had been tortured, incompetently, was bound physically and mentally, and she was tired. Enough that she no longer cared what she told her sister anymore. It wasn’t as though M.D. could tell anyone of importance, and nothing else had made her come back. “Do you truly think the Coalition let you be because of your actions? I persuaded them to write you off, and while I don’t expect you to be grateful, I expect you to recognize it. We could’ve taken this place by force. Fire-bombed your little trees, seeded your hilltop with so much lightning you’d only see the sun once a year, leave this miserable place so attrited they couldn’t wait to be rid of you.”
M.D. said nothing.
“You didn’t really think you won through your own efforts alone, did you?” Apparently so, and One leaned against the tree trunk. She wanted to laugh, but didn’t want to hurt her ribs or her lips. “I didn’t expect to be amused today. Thank you, sister.”
M.D. looked queasy. “What made you suddenly decide to… to write me off?”
“Your value had depreciated considerably, and I don’t throw good effort after bad. Assets are lost sometimes. Regimes change. I thought I might be lost too, one day, and you seemed more valuable in this capacity.” One smiled. “Was I wrong?”
M.D. just stared at her.
“Here, I’ll do you another favor for free. I want to get as far from here as possible, and you should too; this is the first place they’re likely to look for me.”
“And if the symbol of the old regime is gone, they might be willing to settle for the sibling.”
“You always were a clever child.”
M.D. stared hard at One, but that was fine. One wasn’t lying about anything, had nothing to hide, and she’d done the best she could; things were out of her hands now. If she ended up eaten by animals, well, such was life at times. But she doubted that would happen.
And sure enough, One’s little sister looked annoyed and distrustful, but she got up and came over to dig through her belt, still keeping her distance.
“If you want my advice, don’t even try to join a town. Go feral.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“Live like an animal.” Out came a bottle of liquid. “Eat whatever you can grow, gather, or gut; try not to get eaten yourself. Figure out who you are when you’re alone and free.”
“Freedom doesn’t exist.”
“Fine, then find out what you are when you’re owned by reality, instead of the Gween or the UDC or whoever it is they’ve got in charge now.” Now out came a large wad of cloth. “You can try the forests, the swamps to the northwest, or keep going until you hit the beach and try to hitch a ride off somewhere else. But don’t join a town. That grease on your ankles? Pheromone goop; you and me can’t smell it, but you reek of bad news to ninety percent of the Silver Fern population, and townsfolk will eat you on sight.”
“Does it wash off?”
M.D. just laughed.
“Ah well, you can’t fault me for asking.”
“Trust me, go feral; it’ll be good for you. Someone as calculating and dangerous as you will have no problem.” M.D. poured the liquid from the bottle onto the cloth. The fumes were noxious. “Now, I’d say I’m sorry except unlike the new regime, I know better than to have you conscious and untied…”
Despite the smell, One didn’t resist when the rag was held to her nose and mouth; fighting might mean a miscalculation, and she doubted that whatever passed for knock-out drugs in this savage society were forgiving. So she breathed deep and even, and let oblivion take her.
When she woke again, she was alone. The wire around her arms were gone, as were the cuffs from her ankles. When she sloughed her pain again, she discovered that her wounds had been cleaned, stitched, and bandaged, and a large, familiar backpack of provisions was on the ground next to her. A quick search showed it held food, medicine, a full canteen, fire sticks, some hideous blue plastic sheet that could have only come from America, cord, and a multi-tool, all carefully packed with One’s door.
There was also a note, reading: By the time you get this, I’ll have skipped town for a while. You won’t find me. Don’t try. –M.D.
One smiled. Not the best outcome, but certainly better than the start of the day had ever led her to hope for. Truly, it was good to have a sister, bound to a career that forbade all but the most necessary of violence. As an asset, she was a failure, but as an investment…!
The scenery around her had changed again, still completely unfamiliar. But this time, One was positive she hadn’t been moved. That was most certainly the same root that had been digging into her buttock earlier, and though the tree next to it looked unfamiliar, when she touched it, she recognized the texture. Yes, it was most certainly the same tree she’d been leaning against before, but with a whole new visual guise.
For a moment, she puzzled. How…? But then she knew.
She laughed, honestly delighted. “You brought the hallucination man with you! That was clever! I didn’t plan for that!”
No answer, and while One’s broadcast was picking up all sorts of living creatures around her, she didn’t feel her sister or the hallucination man—or whatever Treehouse barbarians they had likely brought with them as added insurance. Then again, it was quite possible that M.D. had learned to cloak her own signal in the ensuing years, or perhaps some Treehouse native had come along to do it for her; it wasn’t that difficult to learn. Regardless, despite the hallucinatory camouflage, One was no fool. Uphill was surely the way to Treehouse, since it held a high ground position. She could return, if she wanted.
But she didn’t. There was nothing for her there, and One had had enough fights for one day. Silver Fern was wilderness; One would need all her energy to get as far away as possible, find a safe place to sleep, recover from her injuries, and prepare for her new (hopefully temporary) life as wild animal.
She got up, stretched her limbs as safely as she could, and shouldered the pack. Her body was stiff, but it would last. It had to. She headed downhill.
“I’ll bring the pack back,” she called over her shoulder, even though she knew M.D. probably wasn’t there, and certainly wouldn’t answer if she was. “I know you’re attached to it. Good luck with your vocation and your grumpy hallucination man… and whoever or whatever else has made you so happy. I hope it’s deserving of you.”
There was no answer, and she walked off into the trees.
Notes: Treehouse DOES have drugs that would render humans unconscious... but they can't be used for general anaesthesia, because they can only be used for very short periods safely, unless an auxiliary method (like Ribbonblack's hypnotrance, which she uses for Biff's surgery) is available. By this point, M.D. hasn't seen One in a good few years, since the events of A Frayed Wasting Death.
