Patricia Wilson
Stories
10
Chapters
3,347
Words
163.4 K
Comments
0
Reading
13 h, 37 m
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Truth lay sprawled on the roof of the restaurant, trying to bring his heart rate under control. He knew that He needed someone to get out there and stir the pot. When things were traced back to her (which they rapidly would be), there wouldn’t be a soul in Starbrite or Jeon Security who didn’t believe there was a mastermind pulling the strings of the rebellion in southern Jeon. And they would be hunting her hard. Once she started digging into those numbers… Well, it’s not like her well-being…-
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Truth decided that he would combine his job with his hobby and hunt for pawns with his dinner. The concierge had been quite happy to arrange a reservation at Number 5 Laurel- debatably the best restaurant in Gwaju but indisputably the most expensive. The concierge couldn’t Truth was depressed to see how effective No more small-time pawns like De’Ponte. He needed elites- people with Levels and wealth enough to make them a substantial threat to local Starbrite Operations. Elite revolt was a hell of a…
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Truth returned to the Hanging Orchid Hotel. The Grand Deluxe Supreme Diamond Suite remained unused. Inexplicably, it seemed that luxury business travel had completely fallen off. The hotel’s guests, while all dressed neatly in business clothes, had a certain tightness of the eye and stiffness in the shoulders. The bar was doing a brisk trade. Very brisk. Truth had seen people drinking to get drunk often enough that he didn’t have to guess why. He took a shower, scrubbed thoroughly, and went to sleep.…
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Truth collected Thrush and walked out into the traffic jam of wagons outside the distribution center. He figured that his primary goal might be a failure, but his secondary goal- drawing Starbrite resources away from Harban, might yet work out. Unfortunately, a parking lot full of long-haul transport wagons, or at least this parking lot, does not provide a lot of comfortable seating options. No matter. He would just take the walk for now. “What happens to souls when the body dies?” “Pardon,…
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The involuntary revolutionaries smashed through the gate. The hinges had been cut; the heavy wagons rolled right over it. The metal shrieked and rumbled under the wheels of progress. The revolutionaries were coming up from an access road, bypassing the queue of wagons waiting to load and unload into the distribution center. This was a high-speed operation. Lines were for honest folk. Truth was perched on the top of the lead wagon, waiting as Thrush led the column across a wide parking lot and directly at…
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Truth was in an odd mood as he drove back to De’Ponte’s club. He had more or less ignored the club the first few times he went in, still in his “drifting ghost” mentality. Now, he could confidently say it was crap. Not as good as the Garden Club Etenesh had taken him to in Xandre, and It was mid-afternoon. There was a very, very bored woman pushing around a mop with almost criminal ineffectiveness. The mop was supposed to be enchanted, just activate it and let it go. It was also broken. The…
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Truth took a moment to enjoy the sun streaming in through the window of the stolen wagon. It was, to his mild surprise, spring. He had lost track of the seasons between the well and the eternal summer of Siphios. Spring in Jeon meant “Winter 2, Revenge of the Mud.” He hadn’t really noticed all that much. This far south in Jeon, it was comparatively mild. Give it another six weeks or so, and it would be blazing hot and unbearably humid. Maybe not at the level Siphios was, but he could remember the…
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“Some good news and bad news, from your perspective- Good news is that we are no longer in Siphios, and the scary exorcists are on the other side of an ocean from us.” “That is good news.” Thrush’s voice flowed like tar over velvet. He was once again in the form of a small bird with crimson eyes. There was a shimmer and a texture to his wings, black on black, making you want to look closer to see the curious patterns the vanes formed. An elegant look for an imp of no true shape. It gave no clue…
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Truth sat on a bench, watching the people pass. Nobody looked happy. Most looked indifferent. Truth was from Jeon, though. That wasn’t apathy. That was their mask. The thin lips, stiff shoulders, and quick steps. The way people shoved in front of each other over minuscule advantages, like the first to cross the street when the light changed. Then the mask slipped. People shoving each other, screaming to get at time-limited sales. Yelling at their kids, their families, or lovers. He saw a manager dress…
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Truth dreamed he was sitting in a small room, an office lined with books of mathematics and red-jacketed books of philosophy, heaps of papers on the desk, and heaps more in the rubbish bin on the floor. He was wearing a suit and tie. The Professor was too. The Professor’s hair would only feign obedience to the hairbrush, flying away when unattended. The hair was wiry, white with that unfortunate tinge of yellow to it that made one wonder if it was the final echo of natural color or if the Professor’s…
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