Chapter Text
The Hex gathered in the food court with Drifter. Even though they fought together in techrot-riddled Höllvania, Drifter hadn't convinced them to join him for team lunch. He ate alone and so did they. Instead, the men and women from 1999 goggled at yet another of Drifter's seemingly endless supply of tricks from the far future: a golden eye that shot out scanning lasers at five minute intervals.
Their captain, Arthur, jabbed a suspicious finger at it. “So you’re telling me that it–”
Drifter added helpfully, “–the Orokin Eye–”
“–can not only scan for mineral deposits, it can also search for specific items?”
“Yes, within reason.” Unwilling to fly his Parallax landing craft within range of Scaldra's thermian RPGs, Drifter had stripped the Orokin Eye designed for the Zariman colonists to scan Tau. “Is there anything I should keep an eye out for? Pun intended.”
Their sniper, Quincy, said, “There’s these techrotted safes. They only open to the right bit of techrot. Sometimes I spot them through the scope.”
Eleanor did not speak so much as telepathically broadcast. “Underground, though…be handy to pick out the bio key without digging.”
Drifter sighed. Ordis would’ve laughed at the pun. “The scanner looks for particular shapes or organic/inorganic molecule compositions. I’ll have to show it a bunch of samples before it can reliably tell one bit of techrot from the other.”
Quincy pulled a face.
Aoi, the team mechanic, said, “I might have an idea.” She headed to her room in the abandoned music store.
Drifter watched her go. The Hex were ordinary men and women made extraordinary by one Dr. Albrecht Entrati’s intervention into humanity’s past. He injected them with a serum that turned Aoi into “Mag” - a swordsteel-armored warframe with powers over metal and magnetism. Aoi wore a padded vest over her turquoise swordsteel, but otherwise let her silver accents highlight her curves and muscular arms. Had she dyed her teal-and-white hair to match the warframe, or was Entrati's choice inspired by her style?
Arthur interrupted his wandering thoughts. “So you’ll have to find the bio keys the hard way before you can find them the easy way.”
“Yeah,” Drifter agreed. “You got it.”
Amir, the team's electronics wizard and resident hacker, looked up from playing his Gameboy, “You know, I actually feel a lot better knowing that future tech is ridiculously overspecialized sometimes. Hey, can it find a comic book?”
Quincy rolled his eyes.
Drifter said, “All my future books are on tablets. Do you have an example?”
Amir dashed off with lightning speed. Literally. The man was a proto-Volt with electric and speedster powers fueling his hyperactivity.
Aoi came back with a handful of cases covered with the On-lyne boy band. “CDs.”
Quincy muttered, “You serious?”
Arthur said, “Aoi, he didn't offer his future tech to find CDs.”
Drifter held out his hand for the cases. They felt like plastic. Better yet, they were all of a uniform size and shape, and held compositionally complex CDs inside. “Actually…”
Quincy asked “You really serious?”
“Actually, it's pretty much perfect for the Orokin Eye. Reasonably complex materials, but also uniform shapes that are easily distinguished from all the other plastics around? I can find CDs.”
Aoi beamed. She showed him how to open the case and lift out the CD by the center hole and outer edge. “If you touch the shiny parts, it might scratch and then it won't play right,” she warned. “Probably best to keep them in their case.”
“I'll be careful,” Drifter promised. “Now, I can't guarantee they'll be On-lyne CDs.”
“Oh, that's fine!”
Quincy said, “Fine? We can finally listen to something else!”
Aoi's smile never faltered. “Not me. I could listen them *all* day. On shuffle. On repeat. The same song, over and over…”
Amir slid into the food court with his comic books. Drifter looked past the colorful pages and even more colorful storytelling about Countess Contessa to the thin pages and glossy cover. “Yeah, these stand out. I'll scan the stack into the Orokin Eye and see what I can find.”
Quincy covered his eyes.
Arthur said, “We’re seriously using the Drifter's future tech to find CDs and comic books? What about actual supplies? Ammo? Medicines? Bandages?”
Drifter needed a moment to reboot his brain because ammo supplies and basic medicine was not a logistical problem that existed in the future. His Zariman suit - standard issue for the colonists and only somewhat less advanced than the zero-tech suits the Syndicates issued to their Operatives - could manufacture its own health restores on a cooldown. A capability that absolutely saved his life against the Archons more than once.
Then he remembered their medic Lettie’s deep frown as she wrapped his stabbed hand with a ripped piece of cloth, and her bitter, “Sorry. Ran out of bandages last week, even with strict rationing.”
Now, either three weeks later or 11 months 1 week earlier, depending on how one looked at the “now”, Lettie said to Arthur, “I don’t want to waste my time. Use the CDs and comic books as a trial run.”
To Drifter, she added, “Find those, babas, and I'll make time to scan first aid boxes and medical supplies.
They all looked at him, waiting to find out if his hyper-specialized future tech could fix real problems and not just entertain them on long, dark winter nights.
Drifter said, “A trial run sounds good. Is there anything more you'd like me to look for?”
Arthur shook his head. Then, he perked up. “Hey, can you find beer?”
Beer (or, more specifically, a cardboard carton plus glass bottles with specific amounts of liquid plus distinctly crimped bottle caps) was a perfect target for the Orokin Eye. One six pack later - still sealed against the techrot too - and even though the men of the Hex did not *like* Drifter yet, they just about feted him on their shoulders anyway.
The novelty wore off quickly. The strange became mundane. The Hex no longer questioned the wisdom of using hyper-specialized future tech to stash beer (and a rare bottle of wine for Eleanor or vodka for Lettie's clinic) in the same void un-place where Drifter parked his atomicycle. They just looked forward to what he brought home to Höllvania Mall.
Arthur was in the kitchen, pan frying something that wasn't the usual pizza.
Drifter put the beer in the fridge.
Arthur grunted acknowledgement. No “thanks,” but then, that would require him acknowledging that he was drinking it almost as fast as Drifter restocked.
Drifter didn't blame him; if Duviri had booze, he would've left that time loop as an alcoholic.
Next, he dropped off some 33mm film and various disposable cameras at Quincy's firing range.
The sniper shouldered his rifle. “Hey, mate. What do I owe you?”
“For captura? Q, I'm not a price-gouging Syndicate asking 100k standing for a scene. Just take it.”
“Nah, mate. Pay off those favors you owe me.”
Drifter briefly entertained himself with the thought of Quincy's reaction if he were to say, “Look, Q, your vague favors are small potatoes compared to the handshake deal with the Man in the Wall that granted my void powers. You'll have to try harder than that to phase me…”
It wasn't worth it. Drifter said, “Free to the best photographer that I know. Try to catch my good side.”
Quincy snorted. “You don’t have a bad side. Just gotta get you into better duds than that jumpsuit before we sign you up for a supermodel contract.”
“But I like my Zariman suit.”
“Makes you look like an extra from Space Trek.”
“Maybe I am an extra from Space Trek. Fooled everyone but you on account of my costume.”
Quincy belly-laughed loud enough that Arthur looked over. “Don’t repeat that in front of His Maj unless you want to piss him off proper.”
“Duly noted.” Instead, Drifter left Quincy to his shooting. He dropped a duplicate comic book at the Arcade.
Amir waved. “What’s up, Drifter?” He zoomed past to the next game without waiting for an answer.
“Your high score?” Drifter guessed.
“Ha, you betcha!” Amir crowed.
“Have fun with that.”
Drifter ducked into the food court kitchen and filled a disposable cup with coffee. A peace offering for Lettie.
Lettie lived on the upper floor away from everyone else; she also ran a small clinic out of a department store. Relatively few people left the safety of their homes to seek medical treatment unless they were desperate…and no one was as desperate as parents with sick children.
She took the coffee and the first aid kits. As for the Argon Burger meal toys… “You know where the stash is, babas.”
The stash was a basket of cheap, plastic toys offered as a bribe to kids who behaved well and took their medicine without complaint. Cars, characters he didn't recognize, and so on. The character he dug out of the Argon Burger meal box was a woman with a feather cap and bow and arrows. “Who's this?”
“Hmmm?” It must be a good day (or Lettie really appreciated the coffee) because she checked. “Young Loxley. There was a movie coming out, I think.”
“Loxley?” Wait a minute, didn't his Ivara have a Loxley helmet?
“Yeah, babas. What of it?”
“I think I have a warframe for that…”
“Better go talk to Eleanor before you use her,” she advised. “Don't want to give the Brits panic attacks.”
He'd ask, but a family turned down the street, parents and kids bundled up against the cold. The parents’ faces lit up when they saw Lettie’s makeshift hospital sign shining. He said, “Good luck.”
“Ay, I will need it,” she muttered. “But they will like the toys, so thank you.”
Last, but never least, he brought his haul to Aoi.
Crosslegged, she levitated a rusted bike in front of her. He lingered in the doorway rather than disturb her work as she disintegrated components into fluid metal, discarded the rust, and rebuilt the bike part by part. “Just need a coat of paint and you'll be good as new!” She slapped her thighs and smiled at him.
She had small, full lips done in purple lipstick. Electric blue eyes that crinkled with genuine delight.
Mesmerized, he offered her the On-lyne CD.
“Where do you find these?” She carried the CD back to her collection like another woman might carry a pet kitten.
“There's a surprising amount of CDs in abandoned cars. Those that we haven't blown up, anyway.”
She gasped in dismay. “Oh, no! Good thing you saved them.”
“I've been meaning to ask, what's the point of blowing up the cars, anyway?”
“Well…” She side-eyed him. “Remember that truck?”
Yeah, he remembered that truck falling on Aoi. She'd screamed for help, pushing fruitlessly, unable to lift the crushing weight. In hindsight, it was the five-alarm fire bell he'd witnessed and then ignored that the protoframes were neither as hardy or strong as his own warframes. “Ah. The cars are as dangerous to you as they are to Scaldra.”
“Pretty much. Also, they end up techrotted, sooner or later. We're doing the civvies a favor by clearing them. Not that Scaldra sees it that way.”
“...Scaldra destroys just as much of the city.”
She tapped the side of her nose and said, in a passable imitation of Lt. Viktor Vodyanoi, “Our glorious remodeling of Höllvania will proceed unphased by the Hex and their wanton destruction of private property.”
Drifter snorted.
She flipped through a stack of On-lyne CDs. “Anyways, enough about Scaldra. What’s your favorite song?”
“Of On-lyne's?”
“Sure! Inquiring minds want to know.”
He took the offered CD and read the names on the back. One sent a pang through his heart. “”The Great Despair” hits too close to home, on too many levels. So, naturally, it is hands down the most hummable tune I have gotten stuck in my head for a long time.”
She giggled at him. “I know, right? It's such an earworm.”
“An earworm…” He repeated. Perfection. Coming back to the past was completely worth it, just to have a name for the songs that haunted him long after he listened.
“I basically played it on repeat, after….” She trailed off, looking vaguely uncomfortable. She rallied. “Anyways, what’s your actual favorite song?”
To lighten the mood, he said, “As a Tenno, I'm contractually obligated to say it's “We All Lift Together.” A working song, sung by the Solaris on Venus, about surviving their harsh conditions by working together.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Contractually obligated?”
“Mmmhmm. Can't keep my Tenno cred unless I like that song and the shanty “Sleeping in the Cold Below.” Aoi deserved more than just names she didn't know, so he sang a few bars of the shanty chorus. “Sisters! Below, below–”
She clapped along to, “–til we're sleeping in the Cold Below.”
It'd been ages since he sang. He ducked his head.
She said, “We should bring back karaoke night.”
“Karaoke?”
“Singalong song night with an open mic and enough beer to loosen up the nerves and give a little confidence.”
“Good to know I wasn't terrible.”
“Oh, no! Not at all. Oh - silly me - you wouldn't know the songs!” She sprang off her table and rummaged behind the store counter.
She piled his arms high with a CD player, a pair of headphones, and a selection of CDs. Then she went back for more. “Okay, Drifter, think outside of your contractual obligations for me. What do you actually like?”
Luscinia's singing filled his days and nights. He'd loved it. Hated it. Missed it, and found himself whistling in the real world that had so much background noise and not much music. “Opera.”
“Really? They still have opera in the future?”
The Orokin did. He'd bet there wasn't much call for an opera house, post-Collapse. Were there any Sopranas left? The thought brought a lump to his throat. “I don't know. But there was a Soprana in Duviri. Luscinia. She sang every day. During the Sorrow Spiral, she could wring tears from a stone.”
Aoi observed, “No wonder you like “The Great Despair.””
He shrugged. “Like I said, it hit home on too many levels.”
She added a few more CDs to the stack. “No opera, I'm afraid. But I found a few classical piano CDs I think you'll like.”
What was a piano? Guess he'd find out. “Sweet. Karaoke homework first, then piano.”
She laughed. “It's not homework!”
“So I’m not going to be graded?” He teased.
“Well…” she teased back. “If they all grab their beer and start chugging, you know they want to forget the sound.”
“See, I better practice.”
“Just between you and me,” She said with a wink, “You better find plenty of beer with your Orokin Eye.”
“Your lack of confidence in my studying ability wounds me. I’ll have you know I got at least one Zarium accolade in school.”
She giggled. “The beer’s for you, silly.”
“Ah, I see.” Conspiratorially, he asked, “Just between you and me, who among our fine compatriots is a terrible enough singer to drive Aoi to drink?”
“I’d tell you, but you have to admit it’d be way more funny to watch you find out on Karaoke night.”
When her small, full lips turned up in a teasing smile, when her electric blue eyes danced, his stomach did a funny turn. “Yeah,” he managed. “It would be. Guess I’d better get to studying.”
“And the Great Beer Scavenger Hunt.” She walked him to the door of her store.
“And CDs to add to the collection.”
She waved. “Enjoy!”
“I sure will!”
In the Backroom, he set his haul on a shelf where Kalymos probably wouldn't send it flying. Probably. The kavat would do what she pleased.
He picked a CD at random. “The Fragile” by Nine Inch Nails. Which was actually two discs.
He shrugged. “Does it work on the Somachord?”
The Somachord's tiny specter of Octavia stomped her feet and shimmied her hips to a beat only she could hear. She took awhile to figure out what to do with it. Dance floor? No. Disco disk? No.
Eventually she squeezed herself into the middle of the disk and set it spinning around her waist. The waveforms danced, and music started up.
The first track, “Somewhat Damaged,” started with shawzin strings and built into a thudding percussive beat. Then the male singer started ranting.
“Huh.” He didn’t understand half of the lyrics - and the half he did pick up sounded an awful lot like something he might’ve screamed during a Duviri spiral.
Not really to his taste…
But with such titles as “The Day the World Went Away” and “We're In This Together” and “Into the Void,” maybe Aoi was on to something when she picked it for him.
He read a little farther. “Starfuckers, Inc.”
Nah, Aoi had definitely not picked this out for him, or if she had, she hadn't read that far.
Don't read into that, Drifter, he warned himself. Just because she's the only one of the Hex to spare more than a moment from her pressing maintenance tasks to thank him for the CDs didn't mean anything more that Aoi was nice. She's a constitutionally kind woman who saw a lost little space traveler and extended a lifeline of music. Who's steadily drawing him into their group with an invitation to swot up for Karaoke night so he won't make a complete fool of himself singing space shanties that no one else knows…
The Pom-2 chimed. Someone was online.
He shook off the sudden self-pity of the Sorrow Spiral.
xX GLIMMER Xx: I'm so curious! What CD did you pick?
Drifter: Nine Inch Nails.
xX GLIMMER Xx: Ooooh! What'd you think?!
Drifter: I think they'll grow on me.
xX GLIMMER Xx: LMAO =D
Drifter: Having something other than The Great Despair is great. Pun intended. Thx.
xX GLIMMER Xx: ur welcome!
xX GLIMMER Xx is offline.