“I cannot see it, therefore I do not understand it.
I do not understand it, therefore I fear it.
I fear it, therefore I hate it.”
-Brother Oscar of Kyoto
“No more ghosts?” asked Ottavio to Lucas.
“No,” Lucas muttered, and stayed with his eyes glued to his scope.
Ottavio shrugged. Lucas was in one of his moods again. He had not spoken for over an hour, and had moved only to allow blood to return to his knees.
Ottavio stayed quiet and kept watch in the other direction for ten minutes. They were well guarded from view, up high on a balcony covered with sheet metal.
“Seems pretty quiet out there,” he said, battling to be heard over the wind and rain, “Anything move at all?”
Lucas grunted a short, “No.”
“Not even a muttrat?”
There was no response. Ottavio had used up all of Lucas' powers of conversation.
Rain beat hard against the brick walls, the pattering of a thousand mice scampered across it in waves. The storm had hit quickly, bringing with it a howling wind that sang a duet with itself.
After another ten minutes of watching sheets of rain wave over the cracked bitumen below, Ottavio tried again.
“Kind of a crappy assignment, this one. Sit in a shelled out lump of concrete for hours watching other shelled out lumps of concrete on the chance that some local might poke his head out from a shelled out lump of...”
“Otto!” hushed Lucas. His head did not move from his scope.
Ottavio resigned and sat down on a broken pillar. It had been six hours since they had landed in McMinnville, Oregon.
They secured the area quickly, given that there was no resistance, which annoyed Simon.
The McMenamin's Hotel building was chosen to use as Command Central as it was by far the sturdiest and tallest structure left after the town had been heavily shelled years back.
Cassandra and Norbert were investigating the internals of the building, Simon was on lookout at the south, Emily was busy getting the communications working in the west wing, while Lucas and Ottavio were on lookout at the north east.
Ottavio stared out over the jagged structures about him.
Once upon a time, a time when people were carefree, the streets here would have been packed with people shopping and talking, having coffees and looking at each other out of the corners of their eyes or from underneath dark sunglasses.
He tried to imagine the scene before him. A lady there with a baby in one arm, holding a toddler with her free hand, waving down a taxi to take her across to the other side of town. A man in a suit taking his work home from the office, thinking about dinner that night and seeing his wife. A group of school children walking down the main street after school telling dirty jokes and laughing themselves silly.
It was all there in front of him: noisy, chaotic, human.
Emily's head popped up in front of him.
“Hullo Otto! Hullo Lucas!” she chirped.
Ottavio fell backward, his illusion ripped away and replaced with Emily's contagious smile. Instinctively he had drawn his pistol.
Embarrassed at being caught off guard, he holstered his weapon and frowned at Emily.
“Geez! You could get shot doing that, Em,” said Ottavio.
Emily grinned back, “And there's nobody I'd rather be shot by...”
Ottavio picked himself back up as Emily pulled herself out of the crawlspace.
He asked, “How did you go with the comms?”
“Ah, they're fried good. I've found a couple of knick-knacks and whatnots that I could probably rig together, but it wouldn't be encoded. Still, if the occupation team has the smarts to bring an encoder with them, it'll do the job just fine.”
Ottavio smiled, “Well that's a shame. I was hoping we could stay here for a day or two longer.”
“Who says we ain't? I ain't got it done just yet, and even once that's done we gotta wait for an occupying team to move in to relieve us. And even then...”
“Yeah, we'll probably get shunted onto another ghost hunt, eh Lucas?”
Lucas remained silent, rain dribbling over his helmet, soaking him to the bone but still he did not move. Lightning crackled off in the distance.
Ottavio pointed his thumb at the supine body.
“You know, sometimes I feel like poking him just to make sure he's still alive,” muttered Ottavio, “I hope I never have to go up against him. So what are you doing up here in the hive of activity. Deslink Comm Terminals not enough to keep you occupied?”
Emily stretched, “I needed a break.”
She winked mischievously at Ottavio, “Cass is all chatted out. And Norbert's being a cranky shitty-ass, as you can expect, Simon's asleep and...”
“Simon's asleep?” asked Lucas, turning around sharply.
Emily's grin nearly cracked her face, “Ha! See? He's still alive, Otto! Naw, he's wide awake and he's been trying to download maps of the area, but the storms are making it impossible for the wireless to get anything faster than a trickle. The stupid satellite protocol is great for high speed comms, but useless if there's a breath of EM interference.”
Lucas harrumphed and went back to his sight.
Emily shrugged and turned to Ottavio, “You wanna help me whip up some grub?”
“Sure... Uh, hey Lucas, will you be okay by yourself here for a bit?”
Lucas didn't stir.
“Ah, leave him be,” whispered Emily, waving her hand in his direction.
She and Ottavio made their way down the manhole into the dry, warm interior, down the various hallways and stairs into the bowels of the building.
Emily prattled on as they went, “There's some gear left over down in the scullery, some pots and an electric stove. Don't trust the water to drink, but we can use it for the heating. Always prefer warm rations to cold. It ain't cooking, I know, just warming up a can of road-kill, you know.”
Ottavio grinned to himself and nodded at the appropriate moments.
He liked Emily. Always in a cheerful mood, even when she was not, trying to put a positive spin on miserable circumstances with her unbridled country-girl humor.
“So what's up with laughing boy?” she asked, when they were out of earshot from Lucas.
Ottavio shrugged and said evasively, “Not entirely sure.”
Emily looked at him sideways as they walked on, “Not entirely sure? You two are like peas and carrots, boy, so don't go telling me he ain't told you nothin'.”
Her country charm was being poured on. She smelled gossip, and she wanted in.
“Well, I mean, he's got a bit on his mind...” Ottavio mumbled coyly, “He's under a bit of stress. It's the new enhancements.”
Emily stopped in her tracks. Ottavio bit his lip, kept walking for a few steps, but finally stopped. He turned around to see Emily standing with her hands on her hips, her eyes wide with the smell of answers.
“If he's got troubles with th'daptations, he shouldn't be on a mission,” she warned.
“No, no. It's not that, Em. I mean, I can't say much but... it's personal, okay?”
Emily's face became serious, “Otto. It's you. It's me. If there's something wrong, I wanna know about it.”
“It's nothing.”
“If it's nothing, then you can tell me. What is it, something happening downstairs? Something wrong with his tally-whacker?”
She wiggled her index finger.
Ottavio laughed and shrugged, “I don't know what to tell you, Em.”
“Oh...” She wiggled her little finger.
Ottavio rolled his eyes.
“Just leave it, Em,” he warned.
“Will Simon want to know?”
Ottavio cursed under his breath. Emily had him now, there was no way she was going to let up.
“You're good at the whole intelligence gathering stuff, eh. Alright, but not a word of it to anyone, right?”
“Not a word,” said Emily, smirking with satisfaction, patting Ottavio on the shoulder, “Come on, tell me on the way.”
Ottavio followed.
“He came to me after the mission in Wheaton. Said that he's been seeing things.”
“Things?”
“Strange things.”
“Strange thing?”
“Yup.”
“Like...”
Ottavio scratched his nose.
“Like...” she repeated, jabbing him in the ribs.
Ottavio drew a breath. There was no way Emily was going to take the hint.
“Ghosts,” he finally said.
Emily's eyebrows popped up like a toaster, “Ghosts?”
“Shh! Em, not a word, remember?”
“Right, sure, sorry honey, but you got to admit, that one's a little out from left field, yeah?” she said, quieter, “You said ghosts, right?”
“Yup. And knowing Lucas, if he said he saw something, he isn't lying.”
Ottavio turned into the kitchen. He hoped the change of room would mean a change in conversation, “Hey, you weren't kidding. This place looks pretty well kept up.”
Emily headed over to an old water heater and drew a pot-full of gray water.
“Yeah, it's a bit scruffy, but it'll do. So, are we talking headless horsemen? Kids in white sheets with holes cut out?”
“Em!”
“Ha! Sorry, boy. But really, how and what? You can't just leave it at that. Come on, we've got a couple of days to kill in this hole! You can either tell me now, or you can tell me tomorrow.”
She fiddled with the stove top, hooking it up to her power supply. Ottavio scrounged through the ration pack and handed a few cans to Emily.
“You know I'm gonna get it from you one way or another. And I've got a variety of ways that I'm dying to try out,” she added with a wink, “So, like, did he see them in his dorm?”
“No. During the mission.”
“And they looked like...”
He sighed, “Not entirely sure. He said he saw them on thermal, a couple of figures. Walking along, human, apparently. He said he couldn't make out features, as if they were in suits, so he changed over to visual. But when he switched optics, they weren't there anymore.”
“Could it have been a mistake? I mean, thermal's not one hundred. Nah, don't answer that. I know, I know, it's Lucas. He doesn't make mistakes.”
Ottavio nodded, “And I think that's what's got him buzzed up. And he's worried that if the tops find out, they'll suspect an implant rejection or corruption, and he'll be tainted goods.”
Emily whistled dryly and placed the cans into the water.
“That's strange,” she whispered, looking past Ottavio.
“Yeah, it's strange. I thought it might have just been a glitch...”
“Shh!” She punched him in the arm.
Ottavio looked up. Emily was pointing to the door on the far wall.
Her hand dropped down and unhooked her sidearm. Ottavio did the same, looking carefully to figure out what Emily had seen or heard.
The door led to the hallway connecting the kitchen with what used to be a grand dining area, complete with piano, fish tanks full of guppies and a staircase leading up to the rooms.
Now half of the ceiling had collapsed upon it, revealing the intimate, grimy details of bedrooms above. At the other end of the hallway were the stairs down which they had come.
Ottavio tightened his grip and looked. Nothing stirred.
His vision enhancement system kicked in and highlighted potential areas of concern.
Dust was dancing just outside the doorway, its barely perceptible shimmering digitally enhanced. Someone was there, breathing, hiding next to the door frame.
Another puff billowed through the dust.
Ottavio signed this to Emily with a hand gesture. She nodded and gestured back for him to take position behind a pile of moldy rice bags.
Step by step he made his way over, dodging pots and lids scattered on the floor. Whoever was there would know that he had been detected, and had only three options.
One would be to flee, either to the dining hall or up the stairs.
The second would be to do nothing and hope that no one would investigate.
The last option was to reveal their location and confront the two agents. Ottavio braced himself for the third option, but after a minute it did not eventuate.
He decided to prompt a response. Signaling to Emily his intentions, he called out, “Who's there?”
After a few seconds a young voice, male, called back, “Nobody.”
It tried to sound confident but was tremulous, shaking.
Ottavio smirked, “Nobody?”
“That's right, nobody!”
“Nobody, huh? Well, Mister Nobody, what are you doing here?” called Ottavio.
A shuffle of feet sounded in the hall.
“We live here,” came the reply.
“You live here?”
“That's right! This is here our burrow!”
“It's alright, I'm just visiting. I needed to use this kitchen...”
“It's our kitch-in! We found at it! It's ours,” interrupted the voice, trembling, “And if you're a-cooking stuff in at there, then that's ours too.”
Ottavio played it down, “Alright, hey, it's your kitchen. I should have spoken to you first, eh? But it's not like I could ask. I mean, you weren't around.”
The voice was silent for a few seconds, deciding what to say.
“Get out at it,” it said, eventually, “I got a gun, you know. I got a gun. We all do got guns.”
Ottavio rolled his eyes, signaling to Emily to call the situation in to Simon. She nodded and ducked down, whispering into her commlink.
Ottavio kept the voice busy, “OK. You've got guns. That's not a nice way to treat a guest, you know. I'm just cooking up my meal. A guy's got to eat, yeah? So let me cook and then I'll be heading off. Alright?”
There was a murmuring outside. A different voice piped up, it sounded older, grisly.
“You ain't going a-nowhere, dude. There's more of us at here than there is there of you. We got the guns, and this is of our patch.”
It sounded like a very real threat.
“So just you lower your piece, right, an' then we'll figure out what is where.”
Emily listened attentively at her ear-piece, then signaled Ottavio to keep talking. He did so.
“Look, I didn't come here to make enemies, but I'm not lowering my piece, especially if I don't know who I'm talking to.”
A different voice responded, sounding like a rag, “'Ere, no way, man. I'm hungry, yeah? I'm tired, yeah? I'm liable to pull yer eyes from out their sockets and roast 'em for dinner, yeah? Toast I will. I've eaten a human heart before, you know, yeah? It tastes like...”
“Chicken, yeah, I know big guy. Come on, talking tough isn't going to get us anywhere. It'll take a lot more than a few idle threats to get me running,” said Ottavio, unhooking a flash-bang grenade from his belt, “Look, if you really had the guns and the numbers you would have stormed in, guns blazing, but you clearly don't. Your best option is to show yourselves and we can talk like civilized humans. You know, without the threats. What do you say? No guns, just talk.”
Silence. Simon called in to Emily. She motioned Ottavio to hold on the grenade, and continue with the talking.
Ottavio pursued the silence, “I know what it's like out here, and, hey, you know what? I'm sure you would appreciate a feed. I've got enough for you, I reckon.”
The old man's voice returned, “You got no idea what it's like at, scoundrel! Every day it's the same darn thing. If we ain't a-dodging around in the 'stute looking fer rats to chew on, we're a-jumpin' outta the way of varmints. We can't remember of the last time we had a decent sit down with a full of belly.”
Ottavio took this as an opening.
“Alright then, let's make a deal. You've got my word that, so long as I'm here, you can share what I've got, and I'll keep an eye out for anything nasty so you can all relax for a bit.”
Silence.
“How about that?” he prodded.
“Mmm, I dunno, buddy. Sounds like you could of be givin' us a wind up,” came the timid reply, “And, like, how do I know you aren't about to drop us as soon as we nod off, eh?”
“Believe me, if I wanted you dead we wouldn't be having this conversation right now,” said Ottavio.
Strangely, he felt a squirt of adrenaline and his heart start to beat solidly. He steadied his breathing and concentrated on his negotiations.
“Whaddya say? Dinner's waiting,” pressed Ottavio, “That is, if it's not overcooking by now.”
It was the grisly voice again, “Alright, stranger, let's say you got of something good going. What's our promise that you won't be pulling a fast one an' triggering us down at the moment we're a-stepping in?”
Ottavio shrugged. “You've got my promise. That's about as good as I can give,” he said, adding, “And you've also got my promise that if you try anything funny I've... got funnier things.”
He blushed as he heard the words trickling from his mouth.
Emily clapped her hand around her mouth to suppress a giggle. In training he had been taught how to diffuse situations, not talk tough. His words appeared to have the desired effect on their target, though.
“A'right. Ah... A'right,” came the rag's voice, “If you've got anything of good, we'll talk it. Feelin' peckish, you know. We're coming in at it, yeah? So, I won't shoot at it, and you won't shoot at it, yeah?”
“You've got my word,” said Ottavio reassuringly.
Little by little a mat of brown hair crept around the corner.
It was followed by a pair of wide hazel eyes, fighting their way through a thick layer of muck.
After scanning the room for a good few seconds, and then looking intently at Ottavio, the rest of the body followed.
“Where's the rest of you?” asked Ottavio, watching carefully the figure before him.
A pile of cloth, dirt and old rope wrapped up the lanky body of a young man, not more than seventeen years of age. In his right hand he had an oversized slingshot, crudely fashioned out of the remnants of a spring leaf from the suspension of a utility.
It looked makeshift but effective.
“We're the rest of us! We're all here, at it! Got me any food at it?”
“Easy, buddy. You want to put that thing down?” said Ottavio, pointing to the slingshot and resting his hand close to his own pistol.
Pan shook his head, “It's my piece, yeah, a man's gotta have a piece to get by in these parts.”
Ottavio looked sideways at Emily, who let out a chuckle.
“Ere, who's this? And who are you?”
“Ah, Otto, put your gear away,” she laughed, walking over to the boy, “I'm Emily, and this is Otto.”
“Hey kid,” said Ottavio, grinning a little. He felt relieved that the situation did not deteriorate, and slightly proud that he managed to talk it down.
“Pleased to meet you,” he said, “Oh, hey Simon.”
Simon appeared like a mist out from behind the boy, his short blade drawn and held at the ready. The boy turned sharply and stared at Simon in terror.
“Aw, gawd! This is where you do me, ain't it? It’s just like the TV, this is the part where...”
“Shush up!” said Simon, pushing the boy out of the way and walking toward the stove, “You wouldn't be worth the trouble. Is that food ready yet?”
Ottavio said, “It's under control. This guy's just protecting his patch.”
Simon was seething, “So this is what you bring me in for? A runt with a slingshot? Hell, he's only four foot tall...”
“And yer goofy lookin',” said the old man's voice, “Don't know if I like of your sort, saying mean things about a man's height. I got my eye on you.”
He watched enviously as Simon fished out a can from the stove, listened intently to the sound of the can being opened, and sniffed the air hungrily as steam poured forth from the orifice.
The voice changed back to the original young male's voice, “You promised grub. Where's the grub at, then?”
Ottavio jumped in, “It's coming, it's coming. So what's your name, then?”
“Pan.”
“Pan? Like a … pan?”
“No. Not like Apan, like Pan.”
Ottavio shrugged, “Pan it is then. Alright, what's your fancy? We've got yellow, green and brown.”
Ottavio opened up a can and winced, “Make that, brown-gray.”
“We'll be having whatever you're having, on account of it might be a trick. If we choose at the yellow one, it'll be poisoned, right?”
“Pan, listen to me. I'm not here to hurt you. None of us are.”
“Everyone's out to hurt us. That's why we've got this!”
Pan held up his slingshot with pride.
Emily whistled in admiration, “That's a fine piece you've got, sonny.”
“And we've got a dead aim, too! Pyah!” he mock fired at invisible rats about the room. Simon looked over, grunted, then returned to his meal.
Ottavio laughed lightly, “I can see you're handy with that thing.”
“Damn right!”
“You ever hit anybody with it?”
“Naw. Just rats and cats and dogs and anything I can eat. Can't eat a person.”
“No, I suppose not.”
Ottavio looked at the little bundle of cloth and smiled. It was remarkable. He had been on peace keeping duties, drug and arms raids, and all sorts if reconnaissance missions. He had faced all sorts of scum, and had met many brilliant people.
But here, in the edges of a pokey, demolished town, he found a little bag of youth worth protecting. Here was validation for his time at Houston. In front of him stood a human, proudly doing his best to survive in a hostile world.
Innocence lay behind the mud and dust that coated his skin. He would never amount to anything, not in the current climate of Portland.
It was not his fault that he was born here. History would never record his actions, never lay tribute to his bravery, b