Page 11 of The Fall

She must be terrified if she was acting like this. It’s okay, she mouthed. The juxtaposition wasn’t lost on her. Normally it was Pinga urging her to do something new and dangerous.

Cinder banged twice on the door and leaned against the wall. “Now we wait.”

Blood Will To Blood

They’re on their way.” Kerr angled her way through the hole, concrete dust clinging to her coveralls. Piston acknowledged her presence. Chalice did not.

“How many?” He held out his metal hand to pull Kerr the rest of the way through.

“Three. Like you said.” She grabbed it and he lifted her like she was nothing.

“I’m surprised you can count that high.” Chalice didn’t look up from the worn table. Printer parts lay strewn across the top.

A previous version of herself would have been riled up by the insult, been astounded at the gall of playing the victim when she’d been the antagonist. This version of Kerr had been worn down by Chalice’s shite for so long that she couldn’t find it in herself to mutter fuck you in response. Chalice was simply an arsehole now and couldn’t be expected to act any other way. Mourning the person she had been would be pointless.

“Do we have enough for the trade?” Kerr directed her question to Piston instead of Chalice, even though she was the one counting and organising the parts. Chalice snarled silently, likely adding the slight to her pile of grievances to bolster her own victim narrative.

Piston ignored her. He might have organised a motley crew of addicts, dragging their Chem-addled corpses out of the tunnels and into the streets. He might have saved innumerable lives the rest of Tyton had deemed too wretched to be worth the effort. But being a father had proved too much.

Kerr thought it might be the guilt over losing Lydia. Or it could simply be as common as with many other great men – their lives are given to causes. Their families wither, or worse, suffer sides of them the rest of the world doesn’t see. Thankfully, Piston was the former.

Whatever Chalice needed, Piston was unable to provide. Then again, Kerr couldn’t either, so she didn’t judge too harshly.

Or perhaps, it was that Kerr herself was a cause – Piston’s duty to care for after that disastrous mission, winning accolades for his generosity toward the orphan that Chalice believed should be bestowed on her. Anyone with a functioning Opti could see that’s when things between her and Chalice changed.

Piston gave a cursory glance at the pile of parts on the table. “That will depend on the negotiation, but I think so.”

Chalice snorted just loud enough that they could hear. “We don’t even know what printers they have,” she said when Piston didn’t acknowledge her. “I have parts for half a dozen different models.”

“They can print override chips. That narrows it down to two.” Piston said.

Chalice swept most of the parts off the table. She glared defiantly as they clattered noisily against the stained concrete. “That’s what we have then.” She pointed to the remainder on the table. “Enough?”

Piston refused to be baited. “Enough.”

A hollow metallic bang resonated from the stairwell. Piston eyed both of the girls. The time for petty shite was over. “Ready?”

Chalice stood, scraping the chair along the floor as she did. Kerr wrapped her small fingers around her oversized pistols.

“Calm down, cowboy. This is a trade negotiation. We’re not killing anyone.” Chalice shook her head, disdain dripping from her eyes.

Kerr attempted to save face. “Ideally.” She checked the magazine. “Can’t be too careful though.” When Chalice’s expression didn’t change, she turned to Piston. “Excited to finally get a proper arm?”

Piston held out his hand, flexing his titanium composite fingers. “I’ve kind of grown attached to her.”

“Your arm’s a girl?” Chalice mocked.

Piston snorted. “Ever give a rig a boy’s name?”

“Cao-Kerr’s guns are boys,” Chalice said flatly.

“Nah.” Kerr pulled her pistols. “Mercutio’s trans and Tybalt’s a butch lesbian, yeah?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Chalice pushed past her. Kerr shrugged and holstered her guns.

Leaving the musty stairwell, Kerr got her first real look at the Adlets she’d heard so much about. Spoken of as quasi-mythical beings who couldn’t be detected by any scanner, and they’d disappeared around the same time as NovAITech fell, plunging the rest of Tyton into chaos. Some of the more conspiracy minded folks thought that they were the ones who really controlled the city.

And here they were, gods among mortals. Except that their leader appeared to be a short sepia-skinned woman with a mop of greying chin-length hair, shaved on the sides and a long fuzzy coat. She looked like someone’s grandma, not a feared gang leader.