I couldn’t help how I felt, though, and my instinct was that something was wrong with people around here. We crossed a low rooftop, passing Babilarans who lounged with their feet in the water. Others idled, lying on their backs, eating glowing fruit as if they didn’t have a care in the world. Hadn’t these people heard what Obliteration had done uptown just the other day?
I glanced down as we crossed onto another rope bridge, unnerved as a group of youths swam beneath us, laughing. The people of this city didn’t need to display the beaten-down attitudes that had been common in Newcago, but a healthy dose of paranoia never hurt anyone. Right?
Mizzy noticed me looking at the splashing swimmers. “What?” she asked.
“They seem so …”
“Carefree?” she asked.
“Idiotic.”
Mizzy grinned. “Babilar does tend to inspire a relaxed attitude.”
“It’s the way of life,” Exel agreed from just ahead, where he led us toward the informants. “More specifically, it’s the religion-if you want to call it that-of Dawnslight.”
“Dawnslight,” I said. “That’s an Epic, right?”
“Maybe,” Exel said with a shrug. “Everyone attributes the food and the light to ‘Dawnslight.’ There’s considerable disagreement over who, or what, that is.”
“An Epic, obviously,” I said, glancing toward a nearby building lit with glowing fruit inside the broken windows. I had nothing in my notes about such an Epic, however. It was disconcerting to know that I’d somehow missed such a powerful one.
“Well, either way,” Exel continued, “a lot of people here have learned to just let go. What good does it do to stress all the time about the Epics? You can’t do anything about them. A lot of people figure it’s just better to enjoy their lives and accept that the Epics might kill them tomorrow.”
“That’s stupid,” I said.
Exel looked back, raising an eyebrow.
“If you accept the Epics,” I said, “they’ve won. That’s what went wrong; that’s why nobody fights back.”
“Sure, I guess. But there’s no harm in relaxing a little, you know?”
“There’s all kinds of harm in it. Relaxed people don’t get anything done.”
Exel shrugged. Sparks! He almost talked like he believed all that nonsense. I let the matter drop, though my unease didn’t lessen. It wasn’t just the people we passed, with their friendly smiles. It was about being so exposed, so in the open. With all these rooftops and broken windows around, a sniper could take me down with ease. I’d be glad when we reached the informants. Those types liked closed doors and hidden rooms.
“So,” I said to Mizzy as we turned at another roof and stepped onto another bridge. Children sat along one side, kicking in unison and giggling as they made the bridge swing slowly side to side. “Val mentioned something at our meeting the other day. The … spyril?”
“It was Sam’s,” Mizzy said softly. “Special equipment we bought from the Knighthawk Foundry.”
“It was a weapon, then?”
“Well, kind of,” Mizzy said. “It was Epic-derived, built to mimic their powers. The spyril manipulated water; Sam would shoot it out beneath him, boosting him into the air, letting him move around the city easily.”
“A water jet pack …?”
“Yeah, kind of like that.”
“A water jet pack. And nobody’s using it right now?” I was stunned. “So … you know … I could maybe …”
“It’s broken,” Mizzy said before I could finish. “When we recovered Sam-” She had to stop for a moment. “Anyway, when we got him back, the spyril was missing its motivator.”
“Which is …?”
She looked at me as we walked on the bridge; she seemed dumbfounded. “The motivator? You know? It makes technology based on Epic powers work.”
I shrugged. Technology based off Epics was new to me since I’d joined the Reckoners. Despite things like my shield and the harmsway-which were fake-we did have technology that didn’t come from Prof’s powers. Supposedly these had originally been crafted using genetic material taken from the corpses of Epics. When we killed them we would often harvest cells and use it as high-level currency for trading with arms dealers.
“So stick another motivator thingy in,” I said.
“It doesn’t work that way,” Mizzy said, laughing. “You really don’t know any of this?”
“Mizzy,” Exel said from the bridge ahead of us, “David is a point man. He spends his time shooting Epics, not fixing things in the shop. Which is why we have people like you.”
“Riiiight,” Mizzy said, rolling her eyes at him. “Thank you. Great lecture. Thumbs-up. David, motivators come from research into Epics, and each one is coded to the individual device.” She sounded excited as she talked-this was obviously something she’d read a lot about. “We’ve asked Knighthawk for a replacement, but it could take quite a bit of time.”
“Fine,” I said. “As long as when we do fix the thing, I get to try it first.”
Exel laughed. “Are you sure you want to do that, David? Using the spyril would involve lots of swimming.”
“I can swim.”
He looked back at me and raised an eyebrow. “Care to discuss the way you regarded the water on our trip into the city? You looked like you thought it would bite you.”
“I think guns are dangerous too,” I said, “but I’m carrying one right now.”
“If you say so,” he said, turning back around and leading the way onward.
I followed, sullen. How had he figured out about me and water? Was it that obvious to everyone? I hadn’t even known about it until I’d gotten to this flooded city.
I remembered that sinking feeling … the water closing around me … the darkness and the sheer panic of water flooding inside my nose and mouth. And …
I shivered. Besides, didn’t sharks live in water like this? Why weren’t those swimmers afraid?
They’re crazy people, I reminded myself. They aren’t afraid of Epics either. Well, I wasn’t about to get eaten by a shark, but I did need to learn to swim. I’d have to do something about the sharks. Spikes on my feet, maybe?
We eventually stopped at the lower end of a bridge that stretched high into the sky toward a glowing rooftop above. “We’re here,” Exel noted, then started the steep climb.
I followed, curious. Were we going to find the informants hiding inside the jungles of that building, perhaps? As we climbed upward, I picked out an odd sound coming from above. Was that music?
Indeed it was. It enveloped me as we drew closer-the sound of drums and fiddles. Neon forms moved this way and that wearing spraypainted clothing, and beneath the music came the sounds of people talking.
I stopped on the bridge, causing Mizzy to pause just ahead of me.
“What is that?” I asked.
“A party,” she said.
“And our informants are there?”
“Informants? What are you talking about?”
“The people Exel is coming to meet. To purchase information.”
“Purchase … David-Exel, you, and I are going to mingle and chat with people at the party to see what we can find out.”
Oh.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“Yeah, sure, of course I am.” I continued forward, pushing past her up the bridge toward the roof.
A party. What was I going to do at a party?
I had a feeling I’d have been much better off in the water with the sharks.
19
I stood at the edge of the expansive rooftop, concentrating on breathing in and out, wrestling with a mild panic as Mizzy and Exel entered the party.
People wearing glowing, painted clothing moved about in a frenetic mix; some danced while others feasted on the variety of fruits that had been heaped upon tables along the perimeter. Music crashed across us all-overwhelming sounds of drums and fiddles.