And Babilar came alive.
Graffiti lit with vibrant, electric colors. A mosaic, unnoticed in the sunlight, burst outward at my feet: a depiction of the moon with someone’s name signed in big, fat white letters at the bottom. I had to admit there was something organically magnificent about it. There hadn’t been graffiti in Newcago, where it had been a sign of rebellion—and rebellion had been punishable by death. Of course in Newcago, picking your nose could have been construed as a sign of rebellion too.
I hurried off after Mizzy and Exel, feeling naked without my rifle—though I carried Megan’s handgun in my pocket and wore my Reckoner shield, which really just meant Prof had gifted me with some of his forcefield energy. I wasn’t sure why Mizzy and Exel had asked for me to join this reconnaissance mission. I didn’t mind—anything to get out into the open air—but wouldn’t Val have been better suited to meeting with informants and interpreting their intel?
We walked for a short while, crossing bridges and passing groups of people who carried baskets of glowing fruit. They nodded affably to us, which was creepy. Weren’t people supposed to walk with their eyes down, worried that anyone they passed might be an Epic?
I knew there was something profoundly wrong with those thoughts inside my head. I’d spent months in Newcago after Steelheart’s fall trying to help build a city where people wouldn’t be afraid all the time. Now I worried when these people acted open and friendly?
I couldn’t help how I felt, though, and my instinct was that something was wrong with people around here. We crossed a low rooftop, passing Babilarans who lounged with their feet in the water. Others idled, lying on their backs, eating glowing fruit as if they didn’t have a care in the world. Hadn’t these people heard what Obliteration had done uptown just the other day?
I glanced down as we crossed onto another rope bridge, unnerved as a group of youths swam beneath us, laughing. The people of this city didn’t need to display the beaten-down attitudes that had been common in Newcago, but a healthy dose of paranoia never hurt anyone. Right?
Mizzy noticed me looking at the splashing swimmers. “What?” she asked.
“They seem so …”
“Carefree?” she asked.
“Idiotic.”
Mizzy grinned. “Babilar does tend to inspire a relaxed attitude.”
“It’s the way of life,” Exel agreed from just ahead, where he led us toward the informants. “More specifically, it’s the religion—if you want to call it that—of Dawnslight.”
“Dawnslight,” I said. “That’s an Epic, right?”
“Maybe,” Exel said with a shrug. “Everyone attributes the food and the light to ‘Dawnslight.’ There’s considerable disagreement over who, or what, that is.”
“An Epic, obviously,” I said, glancing toward a nearby building lit with glowing fruit inside the broken windows. I had nothing in my notes about such an Epic, however. It was disconcerting to know that I’d somehow missed such a powerful one.
“Well, either way,” Exel continued, “a lot of people here have learned to just let go. What good does it do to stress all the time about the Epics? You can’t do anything about them. A lot of people figure it’s just better to enjoy their lives and accept that the Epics might kill them tomorrow.”
“That’s stupid,” I said.
Exel looked back, raising an eyebrow.
“If you accept the Epics,” I said, “they’ve won. That’s what went wrong; that’s why nobody fights back.”
“Sure, I guess. But there’s no harm in relaxing a little, you know?”
“There’s all kinds of harm in it. Relaxed people don’t get anything done.”
Exel shrugged. Sparks! He almost talked like he believed all that nonsense. I let the matter drop, though my unease didn’t lessen. It wasn’t just the people we passed, with their friendly smiles. It was about being so exposed, so in the open. With all these rooftops and broken windows around, a sniper could take me down with ease. I’d be glad when we reached the informants. Those types liked closed doors and hidden rooms.
“So,” I said to Mizzy as we turned at another roof and stepped onto another bridge. Children sat along one side, kicking in unison and giggling as they made the bridge swing slowly side to side. “Val mentioned something at our meeting the other day. The … spyril?”
“It was Sam’s,” Mizzy said softly. “Special equipment we bought from the Knighthawk Foundry.”
“It was a weapon, then?”
“Well, kind of,” Mizzy said. “It was Epic-derived, built to mimic their powers. The spyril manipulated water; Sam would shoot it out beneath him, boosting him into the air, letting him move around the city easily.”
“A water jet pack …?”
“Yeah, kind of like that.”