“You'd really like to hold my hand,” Scryer said.
“Yes, I would,” Rika replied. She held her breath, froze. “Don't do that to me. Don't you dare use your talent on me. You carry secrets as much as anyone, and some you wouldn't want revealed.” Her voice did not change at all, but the power of her words swung the balance of control. Scryer's smile remained, but it went from natural to pained. Whatever secrets she harboured, she did not wish them shared.
“Her, then,” Scryer said, nodding at the Chopper, Kerri.
“Yes,” the Irregular woman said. She and Scryer held hands.
“Ask,” Rika said.
“Where is Camp H?” Scryer asked.
The Chopper woman shook her head. She was frowning, struggling against Puppeteer's unnatural hold, sweat speckling her face even though there was a cooling breeze. “I…I don't…”
“You know,” Rika growled.
Jack gasped. Her voice had dropped and become much louder, deeper, and beside him he saw Sparky glance at Reaper. But it had not been him. Reaper was smiling with delight, and then Kerri began a long, low whine.
“Don't hurt her,” Jenna whispered. But Jack knew that this was now in the hands of Rika and Scryer.
“Keep asking,” Rika said, “and I'll go deep.”
“Where is Camp H?” Scryer asked again, and again. The Chopper woman shook her head. Rika growled. Some of the observers shifted uncomfortably, and when one of the Choppers shouted in protest, Shade knocked him to the floor.
Kerri's whine did not change, but after a couple of minutes Rika released Scryer's hand and walked back to Breezer, head bowed, her thin form barely casting a shadow.
Puppeteer let Kerri drop. She hit the road and sprawled, and Jenna went to her, kneeling by her side and checking to see how she was. Jack grinned at his friend and her caring nature, and he was proud that she had shown the others how human she was. The woman might be a Chopper, but she was a person as well.
“Well?” Reaper asked, his voice deep. Shattered glass clinked across the pavement, and along the street the flames from the burning motorbikes wafted in the breeze.
Rika whispered to Breezer, and he nodded grimly.
“Breezer,” Jack said. “We're all in this together.” Breezer glanced from Jack to Reaper, then up at the drone silently circling high up.
“We know,” Breezer said. “Camp H isn't really a camp at all. It's located in the centre of a container park.”
“A what?” Jack asked.
“Transport containers,” Sparky said. “The big metal ones they use to ship stuff overseas. I've seen them stacked five high in yards the size of football fields.”
“Bigger,” Breezer said.
“They're hidden deep,” Rika said. “Confusing even for me to see.”
“And you know where it is?” Reaper asked.
“Yes,” Breezer said.
Reaper tilted his head and raised an eyebrow. Everyone in the ruined street—Jack and his friends, Irregulars, Superiors, even those Choppers fearing what the immediate future might bring—watched Breezer expectantly.
This is when all the victims of Doomsday form an alliance or go to war, Jack thought, and the others knew that too.
“It's in the Docklands,” Breezer said. “A big distribution centre.”
Reaper did not smile, but Jack saw a slight relaxing of his shoulders.
“We have to be quick,” Jack said. “Element of surprise.”
Silence fell over the street. It was a strange silence, one loaded with promise, and Jack felt himself circling the bright points of his talents, both those already known and those he had yet to touch. He felt one step removed from everything.
Reaper gestured across to where Shade was guarding the Choppers. “Get rid of them.”
“No!” Jack shouted. From the corner of his eye he saw Breezer and the other Irregulars tense, but none of them came forward. They had nothing with which to stand up to Reaper. “No!” Jack cried again, louder and more determined.
Reaper turned away, not even looking at him.