“A water jet pack. And nobody’s using it right now?” I was stunned. “So … you know … I could maybe …”
“It’s broken,” Mizzy said before I could finish. “When we recovered Sam—” She had to stop for a moment. “Anyway, when we got him back, the spyril was missing its motivator.”
“Which is …?”
She looked at me as we walked on the bridge; she seemed dumbfounded. “The motivator? You know? It makes technology based on Epic powers work.”
I shrugged. Technology based off Epics was new to me since I’d joined the Reckoners. Despite things like my shield and the harmsway—which were fake—we did have technology that didn’t come from Prof’s powers. Supposedly these had originally been crafted using genetic material taken from the corpses of Epics. When we killed them we would often harvest cells and use it as high-level currency for trading with arms dealers.
“So stick another motivator thingy in,” I said.
“It doesn’t work that way,” Mizzy said, laughing. “You really don’t know any of this?”
“Mizzy,” Exel said from the bridge ahead of us, “David is a point man. He spends his time shooting Epics, not fixing things in the shop. Which is why we have people like you.”
“Riiiight,” Mizzy said, rolling her eyes at him. “Thank you. Great lecture. Thumbs-up. David, motivators come from research into Epics, and each one is coded to the individual device.” She sounded excited as she talked—this was obviously something she’d read a lot about. “We’ve asked Knighthawk for a replacement, but it could take quite a bit of time.”
“Fine,” I said. “As long as when we do fix the thing, I get to try it first.”
Exel laughed. “Are you sure you want to do that, David? Using the spyril would involve lots of swimming.”
“I can swim.”
He looked back at me and raised an eyebrow. “Care to discuss the way you regarded the water on our trip into the city? You looked like you thought it would bite you.”
“I think guns are dangerous too,” I said, “but I’m carrying one right now.”
“If you say so,” he said, turning back around and leading the way onward.
I followed, sullen. How had he figured out about me and water? Was it that obvious to everyone? I hadn’t even known about it until I’d gotten to this flooded city.
I remembered that sinking feeling … the water closing around me … the darkness and the sheer panic of water flooding inside my nose and mouth. And …
I shivered. Besides, didn’t sharks live in water like this? Why weren’t those swimmers afraid?
They’re crazy people, I reminded myself. They aren’t afraid of Epics either. Well, I wasn’t about to get eaten by a shark, but I did need to learn to swim. I’d have to do something about the sharks. Spikes on my feet, maybe?
We eventually stopped at the lower end of a bridge that stretched high into the sky toward a glowing rooftop above. “We’re here,” Exel noted, then started the steep climb.
I followed, curious. Were we going to find the informants hiding inside the jungles of that building, perhaps? As we climbed upward, I picked out an odd sound coming from above. Was that music?
Indeed it was. It enveloped me as we drew closer—the sound of drums and fiddles. Neon forms moved this way and that wearing spraypainted clothing, and beneath the music came the sounds of people talking.
I stopped on the bridge, causing Mizzy to pause just ahead of me.
“What is that?” I asked.
“A party,” she said.
“And our informants are there?”
“Informants? What are you talking about?”
“The people Exel is coming to meet. To purchase information.”
“Purchase … David—Exel, you, and I are going to mingle and chat with people at the party to see what we can find out.”
Oh.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
“Yeah, sure, of course I am.” I continued forward, pushing past her up the bridge toward the roof.
A party. What was I going to do at a party?
I had a feeling I’d have been much better off in the water with the sharks.
19
I stood at the edge of the expansive rooftop, concentrating on breathing in and out, wrestling with a mild panic as Mizzy and Exel entered the party.
People wearing glowing, painted clothing moved about in a frenetic mix; some danced while others feasted on the variety of fruits that had been heaped upon tables along the perimeter. Music crashed across us all—overwhelming sounds of drums and fiddles.
It felt like a riot. A rhythmic, and well-catered, riot. And most of the people here were my age.