Page 57 of Scion

It’s less than two minutes of very damp waiting later that I spot it coming out. Missing hand evident even at this distance. I resist the urge to wave again.

The Dupe sees me and sprints without hesitation.

Damn, but it’s fast.

I sigh, and hurry through the torrent after the lion.

The forest is thunderous with wind ripping through branches and rain crashing on leaves as I slip through it all. I head in the same direction as the lion disappeared, but can’t see any sign of it. I’ll leave some evidence of my passing, inevitably, thanks to the muddy ground, but the Dupe will have to slow down to make sure it’s not a false trail, or I’m not planning an ambush. By the time it catches up, I should be deep enough into the EMP ring that it will have a hard time retreating from what I hope will be a somewhat coordinated attack.

There’s no reason it will know about the advanced bios out here—not the number, strength, or intelligence of them. Or that they’ll be able to distinguish between the two of us.

Although to be fair, I’m still not entirely convinced I know that last part, either.

For the first couple of minutes, I’m a little worried Jasa’s pets have decided to just abandon me: I’m moving with careful purpose, and with all my revs active, even through the storm, I should be able to pick up anything nearby. But then, a little disconcertingly, there’s a flash of dissonant movement through the trees parallel to me. Shadow on shadow. Comfortably keeping pace without ever fully showing itself.

Then there’s another, on the opposite side. Then something big in the trees above, managing to flit along from branch to branch despite the way the gale lashes them around. And finally, barely audible in the rare lulls of the wind, a really unsettling slithering in the wet grass nearby.

Five minutes in and, through the pelting rain, I’m accompanied by a near-invisible cloud of half-imagined movement and whispered sound.

“Well this… isn’t… creepy,” I pant to myself, straining to determine both how many bios are with me, and what types. The damned snakes, obviously. Maybe one or two of those panthers. I can’t tell if any of the massive owl-things, the Heds, are above; the high winds tonight might well have grounded them, but I hope not. Those claws were no joke. And revs or no revs, my Dupe’s not going to have a lot of answers to being dropped from three hundred metres up.

After ten more very unpleasantly soggy minutes of slogging through the dark and the pounding rain, I make it to the top of a particularly deep ravine. Carefully position myself so that I’ll be reasonably obvious, but also far enough from any cover that the Dupe won’t be able to circle around and take me by surprise, if it spots me first. Around me, the non-storm-related movement of the forest vanishes, the bios apparently guessing what I’m doing and taking up positions of their own. Or they’ve just failed to realise I’ve stopped, and kept on going without me. Again, no way to tell.

I expect a few minutes of waiting, once I’m in position. I have less than one.

Alert as I am, the Dupe is loping into sight almost before I realise it’s coming. No audible warning above the storm; suddenly it’s just there, darting along below, moving lithely around bushes and over dead foliage in smooth, silent motion. Ceramic clutched in its only hand. Its blue eyes scan constantly from side to side. They slide up to me, standing motionless on the ridge thirty metres away.

“Hi,” I call down, holding up a hand.

Its Ceramic grazes my shoulder, only my active revs allowing me to dodge even that much.

I glare down, throwing my hands up in exasperation. “Really? Can we at least try talking?”

Below, the Dupe hesitates. “What would I talk with you about, abomination?” it yells up over the howling wind. I shiver a little at how familiar the voice is. How familiar all of it is, actually. This must be what it feels like to have a psychotic break.

“I mean, I’d like to think we could find some common ground,” I yell back.

It bares its teeth, apparently not appreciating the joke, and starts walking closer.

“I’m just a little confused,” I continue with the awkward shout-conversation. “Why do you think I’m the abomination?”

“You know why!”

“Okay, sure. I think I know why you think it. I also just think you’ve got it the wrong way around.”

Its expression, if possible, darkens further. “I think I’ll just kill you!”

“You can try.” I smile cheerfully down. “Need a hand up?”

The Dupe bends its legs, and jumps.

It happens in a moment and even with my revs active, I’m so startled, so disbelieving, that I don’t react for a full second. It’s a ten metre cliff and the Dupe takes it in a single smooth leap. Lands no more than a few metres away on the ridge before turning to face me.

“Oh,” I say.

It runs at me.

I backpedal. Revs screaming as it flies in for a strike that I barely knock aside, and when I do, sends a shivering ricochet down my arm. Less like deflecting a punch and more like deflecting a train, only my pain dampening allowing me to not overreact to the impact.