Page 76 of Backpacking through Bedlam

“No,” he said. “There’s miles of corridor down here, when you account for the whole system, and only so many electricians to go around. Normally, if I move fast and keep my head down, no one questions my presence.”

I absolutely believed that Dominic used this passage on a regular basis without trouble, just as I believed that having me along had made the wild coincidence of running into someone all but inevitable. We needed to get me out of here, or more people would come along. That was just the way things worked.

Istas had re-secured her clothing to her satisfaction, and we started moving again. Sally glanced back at her as we walked, but didn’t ask. After a few minutes of walking in silence, Istas took pity.

“When I change from human shape to my great-form, my clothing does not change with me. If I do not take the time to disrobe, I will destroy whatever I am wearing.”

“So why wear anything but sweatpants and tank tops? You could just ‘grr Hulk smash’ your way through life, without worrying about buttons.”

Istas made a small, horrified sound before replying, “Fashion is the greatest invention the humans have ever managed to pursue to perfection. It clearly demarcates the line between person and beast, it knows neither gender nor species, it is art and function and glory. Sweatpants? I would sooner return to the high tundra to feast on the bones of my ancestors than demean myself so.”

Sally lifted her eyebrows. “That’s . . . uh. That’s a pretty hard line.”

“Yes, well.” Istas sniffed. “Properly fitted lingerie is worth the conviction.”

“Istas really likes clothes,” said Ryan. “She moved here from Canada so she could wear more of them, even.”

“Simplistic but accurate,” Istas agreed.

I kept walking, pushing away the urge to say something and make the situation even more awkward than it already was. Sally would have to learn that when you’re dealing with nonhumans who can pass in human society, you can’t assume they think the way a human in a similar situation would think. Even the ones who’ve all but completely assimilated—and no waheela who hadn’t virtually assimilated into humanity would even have considered wearing those shoes.

The corridor ahead of us, which had seemed limitless up until this point, finally had a visible ending: a door, virtually identical to the one we’d come in through, marked OFFICIAL USE ONLY. Dominic picked up the pace slightly, and the rest of us matched him, as eager to get out of this subterranean warren as we were to get to the main part of our mission. We had to locate five hostile people we didn’t know, most of whom none of us had ever seen before, in an area as large as Manhattan’s East Village, with three people out of time, one human semi-local, and two therianthropes whose exact contributions to the goal—except for being absolutely terrifying—were as yet unclear.

So nothing too major.

Dominic motioned for the rest of us to wait as he reached the door and cautiously eased it open, peering out into the subway station on the other side. Apparently content with whatever it was he saw, he gestured for us to follow again as he pushed it all the way open and stepped out, into the station.

There was one transit officer standing a few feet away who gave us a curious look until Dominic walked over and slipped him a twenty-dollar bill. Istas was close behind, somehow managing to look as if she were looming over the officer even though she was considerably shorter than he was.

“You should refrain from staring,” she said. “It’s quite rude, and I do not appreciate it.”

“Excuse my wife, she’s just pissed about missing out on tickets for her favorite designer at Fashion Week,” said Ryan pleasantly, taking Istas by the shoulders and steering her toward the stairs. If there’d been any question about whether they were married, it was answered by the way she allowed herself to be led away. A waheela doesn’t do anything they don’t want to do. It’s sort of like trying to argue with a rhinoceros, only more likely to kill you.

“Sorry about that,” said Dominic. “Thank you for your service.” He took off after Ryan and Istas, and the rest of us followed, not saying anything until we reached street level.

Once we were there, Istas turned to Ryan and said, “He was staring at my chest. You should have permitted him to answer my challenge.”

“Eating the police attracts attention, and we don’t want to attract attention,” said Ryan, voice almost mild.

“Where to now?” asked Sally.

Dominic looked around, stepping to the side so as not to block the exit, and said, “Now we find someplace where Ryan can shift down to something more useful.”

“I find him perfectly useful in this form,” said Istas. “His thumbs are very desirable when I want him to rub my feet, and we are incapable of mating in our more basic forms. But I will agree that human noses make for poor trackers.”

“If he can pick up the scent of the missing kids, he’ll be more than useful,” I said, looking around. The street was unfamiliar—no real surprise there—and completely familiar at the same time. You’ve seen one city street, you’ve essentially seen them all.

That’s applicable across dimensions, too. Once people reach the point of building large communities with civic infrastructure, certain elements become consistent. Which is not to say that Tokyo and Chicago are the same place, just that the base landscape remains similar enough to make them functionally the same environment. It’s like forests. They come in flavors, and I’ll never mistake another biome for my beloved Galway, but they’re all forests, in the end.

“Alice?”

Thomas’s voice snapped me out of my brief rumination. I glanced at him, lifting an eyebrow. He looked at me gravely.

“What were you thinking about?”

“Cities, mostly. They’re all pretty much the same. If you can navigate one, you can navigate them all. Come on, if we don’t know where we’re going, we may as well walk until we find a place where Ryan can change.” I started down the street, trying not to look as restless as I felt. For all that everything was familiar, it also had a certain rawness to it that left me anxious to be moving toward a goal.

“Yes,” said Thomas, with near-surprising acceptance. “We may as well.”