Sunshine and the Souped Up Under Eight (formerly known as Story Time)

**typhonblue** · June 14th, 2002, 06:24 AM

Hey, Bran. I decided to post here. Please don't kill me. Anyway... this is a story I'm working on.

###

Case # 8903: Sunshine and the Souped Up Under Eight

Victoria would be mine. She had to be. ?Please Master, you must understand.?
Master Tao Ol?s eyes stayed closed. A smile tugged at his long white mustache as he sat, cross-legged beneath the musk ox blanket. A brazier beside him puffed curls of sandalwood incense.
My fists clenched. ?I have to convince administration to reassign her to me. If you could put a word in for me? I know they would listen.? I searched his weathered face for some sign, any sign that he was considering my request. ?Please Master.? I was being rude. I knew it. But I couldn?t stop myself. ?If we just have a few more weeks together, we?d be bonded. It?s time for me, isn?t it Master? I?m not a Celibate.? I looked down at my hands, forcing them to relax.
I glanced up. No change. In all this time not a single muscle had moved. I knew he heard. Deep meditation was not a withdrawal from the world, it was an opening up to all sensations. ?I?m sorry Master. I?ll talk to administration myself.? I bowed and turned away from him, reaching for the tent flap.
?You would not be content, Sun Mar.?
His voice, soft and musical-- a Draco-OL accent -- dropped through me like a stone. I forced myself to turn. ?What??
His eyes were open?black and glinting like cave pools opened to the light. His hands had resettled from his lap onto his knees. ?I love all the children of OZ. Even if they are lost to us.?
?Master??
?Go in peace, Sun Mar. And keep your heart open.?
I turned, trying to keep my motions graceful as I left and managing only to curb their sharpness. As the flap swished shut, I stalked off the projection grid and into the generator floor. The hum of quantum engines reasserted itself in my ears. I ground my teeth and fisted my hands, safe to vent my frustration in the blanket of white noise. Dammit. He?d gone cryptic. Not a good sign.
I hesitated on the edge of the projection grid platform, looking down at the maze of equipment pods below. Techs in goggles and brown clipboards threaded their way over the floor, pausing in an esoteric sequence to jot down figures. I descended to the lower floor, winding my way around hurried workers, feeling my psi pulled this way and that by the generators? fields.
The lift light blinked red. I palmed the up pad. A squeal of hydraulics announced its arrival and the gate shuddered open. Damn. I hit the main level button and leaned against the steel side. Damn. Damn. Damn.
I shoved the gate open, stalking off down to my office. I had to meet my new partner in less than five minutes. Not near enough time to go beg the administration to reconsider Victoria?s new placement.
Admin?s lounge was quiet. No one around. I dropped into a couch and rooted around in my trench coat?s inner pocket. I pulled out a dog eared photo and a slip of paper. Victoria laughed timelessly in the photo, lips cherry red and her pink sweater well filled. She was pulling off a red stiletto as she sat on my couch, her skirt hiked up to expose acres of leg and a black garter. More than anything she was happy and sexy and powerful. Well, the strongest partner I?d had yet at any rate. An eight two Over Zero telepath. I was getting closer to 25 and most of my generation of Over Zero Couplers had bonded and earned new placements in OZ-3, the continuum of telepaths. As an uncoupled Coupler, I was still stuck in the generator with the under zero Celibates. Doing a job a 5 year old could handle.
An eight two. An eight two. Bonded to her I could get on the waiting list to the Detective Academy. I?d have a chance. And getting into the Academy was everything I ever wanted.
I looked at the slip of paper. My new partner?s name: Ira. I grimaced. Probably a seven five at best. Damn.
I shoved the paper back in my pocket. And looked back at the photo. My Victoria. I imagined myself a full fledged Detective. Able to pick thoughts out of a crowd, follow psi trails years dead, spend my life fighting neo-CEP, the reformed Council of Energy Producers, and their black market dealings in human misery.
?Hey!?
Someone hit my shoulder. I blinked and looked up.
?Are you Sun? I?m Ira.?
Ira stared at me. I stared at Ira.
?There?s been a mistake.? I stammered.
Ira glared at me. Attitude hit me like a wave.
?I-I don?t work with??
He?Ira?walked past, slunk past more like, and draped himself over the other side of the couch. There he sat and watched the floor and began to twitch like he was crashing off a high.
I managed a smile. ?There?s been a mistake.? I repeated. ?You can?t be Ira.?
?I can?t?? I could hear the sneer in his voice.
?I don?t work with men.? Boys, really. He looked like he was in his late teens. I eyed him. I could feel the strength of his psi. But it was erratic. Flicking all over the place like a manic-depressive horse fly. And I could feel, just under the surface, a swell of anguish? I felt bad for the kid. ?No offense.?
He shrugged.
?Why don?t we talk to admin? I?m sure we can clear this up quickly.? I stood and looked over to the head office. Even across the room I could see the ?out to lunch? sign hanging on the knob. Not trusting it in the least, I stalked over and knocked. Ira trailed me. No answer.
I glanced at the clock. ?It?s only eleven.? I knocked again. Still no answer. ?What day is it. Oh right, Tuesday.? I rolled my eyes. ?They?ll be gone at least until 1:00. All day burrito specials at Garbanzo down the street.? I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose. It was going to be one of those days. Oh well. Might as well make the best of it. I turned to Ira. ?Want to go to go get a bite to eat??
He shrugged.

###

We walked over to my hang out: Sirune Diner. Nice place. Very retro, lots of steel and candy red velour. Maybe mid twentieth century. The waitress sat us in a booth by a window. Ira seemed to perk up as soon as he had a cigarette between his lips. Then he knocked back a cup of java and began to act human.
I watched him. He was a good-looking sort, really. Big gray eyes, straight nose, full lips and freckles. He had red hair, like mine, but it was brassier. A smear of copper against the crowd of dusky browns and blacks, the Drack-Ol coloring. Obviously he was a Anglo-Sirian like me. A transplant brought to the best mystic colony in the galaxy to hone his skills.
Yeah, he was good looking. But twitchy, you know? He twitched and spilled his coffee, he twitched and dropped ash on his pancakes, he twitched and lost his fork. Serious need of some training. Maybe some encouragement too.
?Most people call me Sunshine, by the way.?
?Sunshine?? He almost chuckled, his lips jerking up at the corners.
Did he even know how to smile? I tried to encourage him with a grin. ?Nothing gets me down.?
Anxiety pulled at the corners of his eyes. ?So you think admin made a mistake?? He didn?t seem pleased at the thought.
I put my fork down. He was a single-pole Coupler. Double positive. It made me slightly uncomfortable, but I also sort of felt for him. It was tough to be rejected. ?I?m a dual-pole. Positive-negative. So I think so. Sorry.?
He nodded and shrugged. ?Oh well, I guess.? He gave another lip twitch.
I took a bite of sandwich. ?I haven?t seen you around before. Are you a new transfer??
He pushed away his food. He?d eaten maybe half of a pancake. ?Yeah. I came up from Taurus U. This is my practicum.?
?Taurus, eh? Pretty sweet. You must be top percentile.?
He watched the street, taking another long drag on his cig. ?I?m a nine-nine over zero.?
?Wow.? I swallowed my bite of ham on rye. ?That?s stratospheric. I?m a nine-one.?
?Yeah, but you?re not chopped up inside.? He muttered.
I paused, sandwich at my lips. Had I heard that right? ?Sorry??
He waved his hand, ?nothing.? His other hand flinched against the mocha arborite. Someone coughed behind me. I scrambled to find more small talk, ?how do you like Drac-Ol??
?Everyone here?s a goddamn Celibate.? He crammed his cig butt into a corner of the ashtray. ?I?m used to more action.?
I winced. His energy was spiking out all over. ?Must be difficult for a single pole.?
He fished out another cancer stick. ?I?m bi-pole.?
?Oh.? Another wave of chaotic energy flushed over me. Nausea crept across my jaw; I dropped my sandwich back onto the plate. ?Kid, you?ve got to get a handle on your psi.? I swallowed hard. Hadn?t they taught him anything at Taurus U?
?I need something to drink. Hey, waitress!? He flicked his hand. The waitress looked over from three tables down. ?Double scotch, straight up.?
?It?s eleven thirty!? I protested.
He gave me a ?and your point??? look.
IHis energy roiled around him, flashing in and out of the visible spectrum. The man in the booth behind him dropped flatware and began to choke, his civilian psi reacting badly. My eyes narrowed. Something was off. No way a Taurus boy would be this undisciplined. But? I couldn?t get? a handle on what it was. Something shifted in that hurricane energy of his and I could just make out an edge--
The waitress brought his drink. He knocked it back in two swallows. His psi settled, thank God. And it--what ever it was--disappeared. But still...
?I think I?d better be getting back.? I got up, throwing my napkin on the table.
He stood up, all of a sudden focused on me. ?I gotta go back too.?
I paused and looked out the window. OZ-3 hq was just two blocks away. What could happen in two blocks?
As we left the diner I kept a bit of distance between us. He was more drawn into himself, eyes down, head bent. Didn?t even seem to notice my narrowed looks his way. Half way back, just at the mouth of a side street, Ira stopped and started to huff. I looked back. He was gasping hard?spitting a bit.
?I? I feel sick.? He lurched into the alleyway.
I glanced at OZ-3, then followed him in. ?Are you okay??
I never saw the uppercut. Blood exploded in my mouth. Something twisted inside my head.
?Goodnight, Sunshine.? Ira sneered.
And then black.

[ June 14, 2002 08:59 PM: Message edited by: typhonblue ]

[ June 27, 2002 02:21 AM: Message edited by: typhonblue ]

**Branflakes** · June 14th, 2002, 04:06 PM

No need to apologize to me, I'm not a moderator here. [img]biggrin.gif[/img] VERY glad you posted, I've always liked your writing. I'll read it in better detail later. Too cool.

**typhonblue** · June 15th, 2002, 06:22 PM

Yes. You're absolutely right. I should be begging eris for clemency.

Anyway... when you finish reading it, tell me what you think. :smile:

**JaceSan** · June 15th, 2002, 10:36 PM

I like how you left us with a cliff-hanger. What happens to the mentor?

**typhonblue** · June 16th, 2002, 02:31 AM

Notice the name neo-CEP. It's an anagram. [img]biggrin.gif[/img]

**JaceSan** · June 16th, 2002, 06:18 PM

OPEC for a New Era?

**typhonblue** · June 27th, 2002, 05:20 AM

Sorry about the roughness of it all, but yeah... first draft. Here is the next part.

Whatever happened to She Thinks She Remembers? I never got to read the end of that. [img]smile.gif[/img]

###

I woke moving. My brain spasmed, sending my awareness all fluttery around the edges. Sickness tickled my throat. I forced myself silent and still, opening my eyes a crack. The light shot through my head. My sinuses stung. I choked down a cough.
Slowly things emerged from the haze of white. I was moving, my inner ears hadn?t lied. Moving flat on my back. A stretcher. Through hallways institution plain. The bright light was from a bank of windows.
I pulled my hand up and brushed them against a sill as we passed. Dust caked my fingertips before my hand was slapped back down and a masked face loomed over me.
I slipped into black. For a moment I panicked, thinking I was unconscious again. Then I realized we?d entered into an unlit corridor. We turned left. I felt a sharp incline. We were moving deeper in. Into what?
I tried to make out any symbols on the walls, anything I could call back to OZ-3 so they could find me. Nothing. Just shadowed square after shadowed square of pre-fab industrial steel walls.
We stopped. A door slid open at my feet. And the stretcher was shoved through.
I was manhandled onto a thin mattress and then the stretcher and the masked man disappeared. The door slid shut and I was shunted into darkness. Psi Wards hummed into life and the darkness became crushing.

###

Screaming. Someone was screaming. I clenched, thrusting myself up. My head pulsated. I leaned over my knees and panted, trying not to vomit.
The screams came closer. I heard thumping. Swearing. And, finally, silence. The door opened and a figure was thrust through. It hit the floor with a crunch. I winced. Ow.
?Bastard freak.? Snarled masked man. In the half light I recognized the dull carbon stink. Black market body armor. The slow EMP they gave off meant embedded psi wards. The man was loaded to the gills with anti-OZ barricades.
Neo-CEP. He had to be. I tried to get up. To make a run for the square of light. My knees buckled half way across the floor. By the time I was able to move again, masked man had gone.
?Dammit!? I pounded my fists on the steel door. It felt feet thick.
Motion. The figure on the floor was up on its knees and scurrying away to a corner. ?Who??? It asked.
Twitchy low tenor. Yep. How ironic. ?Your plan backfired, eh, buddy??
?Suh? Sunshine??
The light was getting stronger or my eyes were adjusting. I started to see details. His nose was bleeding, his gray eyes swollen and bruised. He?d been worked over pretty bad. I snorted. ?Why?d you do this??
He curled up against the wall. Forming a tight black ball and turning his face from me.
?Doesn?t look like it did you any good.?
?Fuck you.? He gasped. The cough that followed was wet and helpless.
I shook my head. What a situation. Caught by Neo-CEP and stuck in a warding pen with twitchy and bitchy. And a massive, skull splitting migraine. I considered lying down on the bed and dying. But another sick choke from beside me changed my mind.
I got up and limped over to him. ?You don?t sound too good.? With my luck he?d croak and I?d be left in the cell with a decomposing carcass.
?Naw. You don?t think?? He tried to muster his usual acerbic tone, but only managed a whisper.
I laid a hand against ?Ira?s? chest and watched my internal field. It reacted at several points. The damage was not extensive. Some minor internal bleeding. Bruised ribs. All livable.
My field puckered and twisted. I jumped a bit, then looked deeper into ?Ira?. Beyond the mist of organs lay his combining spirit. I expected the usual soft pool of crystal white, mark of a high level over zero. I found corrosion. Infected with pain, pussy and oozing, he was all shades of rot inside.
I recoiled and crawled back a few steps. ?Fuck!?
He curled tighter. ?Go to Hell.?
I couldn?t speak. I got up, walked back to the bed and sat down.
I was penned with a monster. A psychic zombie.

###

?What happened to you?? I asked after my headache had died down and I felt like thinking again.
He didn?t turn.
?Hey! You awake?? I threw a shoe at him.
He flinched.
Yep. ?Then talk to me!? I didn?t particularly ask to be caught in a twenty by sixteen foot room with a man who?d attacked and kidnapped me and him acting like I?d done something wrong was beginning to tick me off.
?Leave me alone.?
?Hey, there?s more where that came from, buddy.? I started pulling off my socks and shoes, getting ready to make good on my threat.
?What do you care??
I paused. I did care. Part of it was my need to know what the Hell was going on, but the other part? Just my natural compassion. I was OZ-3; I was trained for compassion. ?I need to figure out an escape.?
?There isn?t any way out.?
?If there?s a way in, there?s a way out.?
He pulled his arms and legs under his chest and pushed himself to his knees with a visible effort. Once there he paused, resting his head against the side of the wall.
I waited.
A faint tremor shook him. ?I?m a jacked up under eight.?
?What??
?They? used nanites and drugs to up my psi.?
?How??
He bowed his head. ?It started when I was ten. I don?t remember.?
?And the result??? He didn?t need to answer. What I saw in him was answer enough. I swallowed. Fucking council. They?d do anything to get their power back. ?Why did you kidnap me??
?They said they?d let me go.? His head dipped down even further. He pressed his hand against his eyes. His entire body was strung tight as a garrote. ?Then they decided two over zeros were better then one.?
?Jeeze, kid.? I wasn?t one for grudges, but even if I had wanted to nurse one against him, the urge died a quick death. ?Well, that settles it. I?m taking you with me.?
He shrugged. ?Where??
?Out of here.? I stood up and walked over.
He didn?t reply.
?So what?s your real name?? I hoped pleasantries would help ease his mood.
?Canin.? He mumbled.
?Hi Canin. Pleased to meet you.? I offered my hand.
He slapped it away. ?What the hell kind of psycho angle are you playing?? He crawled up the wall, glaring violence at me. But he made no other move.
I toned down my smile. ?I?m not sure I understand.?
?You?re still two tones of purple from yesterday and you?re acting like were best pals.?
?I like everyone, Canin.? I redoubled my grin. ?That includes you.?
He snorted and looked away. I felt him constrict inside, forcing the silence between us to lay heavy.

###

The room was large enough to pace. So I did that at first. Paced and thought. Canin told me he'd been given to neo-CEP by his parents. Both had been under zeros. Under eights even. Both had been neo-CEP patriots. When I asked him why his parents would just give him away, he got confused, then pissed off and quiet. I didn't ask again. Instead I asked about the complex. He knew that most of it was underground. Almost all pre-fab steel. Modular. He hadn?t been here more then a year. Neo-CEP had kept him moving, never staying long in one place. He didn't know where it was located. Then I asked him what had been done to him. Trying to get anything I could use.
I watched him consider my question.
He took a breath and held it.
The silence stretched on. I figured he wasn?t going to answer me and started to inspect the walls.
?I remember peace. Then everything started to bleed.? He lapsed back into quiet. His eyes were glossed; I couldn?t tell if he?d told me or himself. I decided not to ask further.
I shoved my confusion deep and private and returned to running my hands along the wall.
They?d used a set of generators embedded in concrete behind ceiling panels to power the wards. They were set at the ends of horizontal pole. Like all EMM fields the ward had flaw arcs-- interference points-- near the generators.
Easy enough. I hopped on the bed.
?Time to pop this tin can.? I cracked my knuckles.
Canin didn?t bother to look up. I narrowed my eyes at his back then flicked my hand against the ceiling. The steel indented in like a pie plate hit with a rock. I slammed a spike of EM into the generator and it cut out with a whine.
?Uh-huh, whoz da man!? I chuckled, feeling my psi resettle into its usual groove. Wide and flat, just at the edge of OZ-3? I felt a few people blink and pause what they were doing, sensing my need. Before I?d been muffled. Now I was shouting.
A second set of generators, dormant and undetected, slammed into action. EMP punched me in the gut. I flopped against the wall and slid to my knees. All my sense drained out my ears. I think I gibbered. Then my vision went gray.
When I could see contrast again, I was choking on a mouthful of blood, my head shoved into the floor. My arm ached. My arm ached because it was twisted behind me. Masked man straddled me, my wrist twisted in his grip.
He had a needle.
I struggled. The ache in my arm turned white hot. I panted and blood spit from my lips.
He fisted his hand around the needle and thrust it into my ass.
It felt like a mule had kicked me. I think I cried. I know I gibbered.
He let me go. I tried to process the pain. And force myself to my knees. Masked man moved at the speed of thought. Before I could even think of making another play for the door, he was gone.
I collapsed.
I noticed the hum as I waited for my muscles to get functional. It seemed warm, almost pleasant at first. Then my brain hit a wall.
I must have lay there drooling for a bit. I didn?t notice when Canin knelt beside me. He grabbed my chest, pulling me to my knees. I sputtered and coughed, feeling nine tenths removed from my body.
"Whad..." I muttered.
?Lay down for a bit." He helped me to my feet. Carried me more like. I could barely drag myself. I wondered how a skinny kid like him could manage me.
He dumped me on the bed. "It?ll hurt less if you relax."
I twisted. It felt like the maze of neurons in my brain had been traced out in ice.
At some point it all went dull. I was soaked with sweat. My tongue felt staticy, glued to the top of my mouth.
"Whad...? What was in the needle? What did they do to me?
"They're making you useful." Canin bowed his head, his whole face seemed to twitch. I knew it was guilt. The gesture didn?t make me feel better. ?They do it to me every few months too. Before they move me or use me topside."
?How ?ong?" How long before they?d move him? I needed to know. I focused on him, on his answer.
"A couple weeks. Sometimes a month. It varies."
My mouth was stuck tight. I couldn?t move my tongue. I could barely swallow. So I thought instead. I thought hard. Trying to remember the neo-CEP literature I?d studied as a neophyte. What had they said? That OZ-3 was a collective, a mind-raping monstrosity of group-think. Dulling free will and personal ambition.
Over and over again, they went back to that point. A collective of mindless cogs. No individuality.
No separations. No individual units. Only a continuum. The Continuum.
Our unity. Our greatest strength.
Unity.
I blinked.
I stared up at Canin. I realized how he'd been able to kidnap me. I knew how neo-CEP managed to have Over Zeros who didn?t turn into OZ-3 as soon as they were topside. Neo-CEP had found a way to tear us away from each other from the inside out.
?They?re killing me." I started to breath fast. The walls were bowing in. I could see them, closing in to choke me. I was suffocating. All of my cut off senses screamed. I couldn?t feel anyone. No one at all in OZ-3. The comforting hum of their many ambitions, personalities, faults and strengths all gone. I?d been dismembered, cut out like an length of gut and left to bleed.
Canin didn?t speak. His mouth was a tight strip.
?Canin?" I said. I was too shocked to be angry.
He looked up at me like a frightened animal. "I didn't realize."
He stood up, walked to the other side of the room and sat down with his back to me. I curled up and tried to hide from the walls.

###

I kept track of time. I could far see to the window my fingers had brushed. I knew the days and nights were bleeding away. I knew the world still kept going. And I moved, I breathed. But life only existed on the surface; one inch in I was a corpse.
4 days of nothing passed. That?s what it felt like. Nothing. Canin took a blanket and crumpled it in the corner, leaving me the bed. I felt him move around but I didn?t care. He?d apologize if he got too close. I didn?t respond.
I pissed. I ate. I slept. And all of it was nothing.
I couldn?t stop the craziness that ran through my mind. I convinced myself OZ-3 had abandoned me because I was unwanted. I knew what happened. But it didn?t matter. My heart was making up stories and they made more sense. I hated Canin. I wanted to kill him. I could catch him asleep, easy, and strangle him with my shoe laces. I could pound the shit out of him. I could kick him till blood gushed from his ears and eyes and nose and mouth?
He coughed.
I sissored up and glared at him.
He was watching me. All bruised eyes and tight lips. Clenched against the wall like he wanted to slip into it.
How heavy was he? 65 kilos? 60? I eyed him. He clenched tighter.
I could take him.
He had nowhere to run.
I swung my legs out of bed. He flinched. Instead of standing I pulled on my shoes and laced them up, one by one.
?You?ve destroyed my home.? If I got out, would I ever be able to go back?
Canin started to get up. He knew how to fight, if my sore jaw was any clue. But so did I.
?I?m not off-guard now.? My lips peeled back.
He was standing. His body moving into a defensive crouch. Then he stopped himself and, muscle by muscle, went limp. His shoulders slumped, his hands loose at his sides. He looked at me for a long moment then looked down.
I didn?t care. When his head snapped against the wall, I felt a thrill. And when he slid to his knees, trailing blood from his nose and lips, I struck again. A solid kick to his chest. I think something crunched and I couldn?t have been happier.
He leaning over his knees. His breath coming quick and hard and wet. I let him sit like that. I let him wait for me.
He wrapped his hands over his neck. Blood was splattering off his lips, hitting the floor like rain.
?I don?t even want to know why.? I squatted next to him and got a grip on his hair, wrenching his face up so I could look at him. ?I don?t want to know.?
He pawed at my hand, his eyes screwed tight.
I let up.
He opened his eyes. Tears were pooling at the corners. He looked ugly. I brought my fist back.
Canin didn?t flinch, instead he looked away from me, over my shoulder. I followed his gaze.
A lens. Embedded in the wall. It flexed.
I glanced back at him. He hadn?t struggled. I shook his head. ?Why aren?t you fighting??
He took a breath. ?They?re? they?re laughing.?
?What?? I let him go.
He shook his head and pushed his cheek against the wall. Blood dribbled from his nose.
I got up.
Canin curled over himself and started to heave. Not sick. Just seizing.
I sat back down on the bed and stared at the lens.
I?d known they were watching. I could feel their gaze crawl down my back. But now, along the ineffable link between observed and observer, I realized Canin was right. They were laughing.
I was putting on a good show. The best show, in fact. Because they already knew how it ended.

###

[ June 28, 2002 11:43 AM: Message edited by: typhonblue ]

**JaceSan** · June 29th, 2002, 03:58 PM

Okay. Now that I know what happened to the mentor, I want to know more about the conflict between neo-CEP and the psi-tribe. Your stories always have the coolest settings typhon. [img]graemlins/thumbs_up.gif[/img]

**typhonblue** · July 1st, 2002, 01:56 AM

Just a warning: This is homoerotic political sci-fi. Sunshine has a secret he's keeping from everyone and himself. Particularly himself.

The whole story gets about as explicit as SIP.

Anyway... just wanted to make sure no one got offended.

(Hear's Bran in the background "Sunshine's a GUY?" j/k!)

[ July 01, 2002 06:59 PM: Message edited by: typhonblue ]