bracing for a very challenging workout or some other sort of session with him.
When I arrived at the armory and opened the door, Kent was waiting for me, wearing his usual asymmetric scarlet-and-yellow Hunt gear. He was the brightest thing in the room, which was filled with every sort of instrument of mayhem I could imagine, and a lot I had no notion how to use. He quirked a finger at me, silently telling me to follow him. Now I was really puzzled, and did so. He led me to his little office, opened the door, and waved me inside, closing the door behind me, with himself outside.
Kent’s office was as Spartan as his signature gear was flamboyant: brown carpet, brownish-gray walls, with a couple of beautiful landscape pictures that were clearly taken before the Diseray. There was someone sitting in the high-backed leather chair behind Kent’s utilitarian gray metal desk, with the back of the chair facing me. That person spun the chair around as I entered, and—
—it was my uncle! He was in his prefect uniform, which meant he considered himself on duty, regardless of the storm; I’ve seen him in ordinary civilian clothing, but not often. As always, I was glad to see him. As always, I was very happy to see no hint of being worn down by the threat that I now knew hung over him. Still as erect, fit, and calm as ever. He might be going bald and getting gray, but that’s the only sign of age on him.
He chuckled at the dumbfounded look on my face. “How did you get here?” I blurted.
“Armored pod,” he replied, waving at a chair. I plopped down into it. “I was going to talk to you soon anyway, but with this storm”—he waved his hand at the ceiling—“nothing is going on; at least, nothing that the police and rescue services can’t handle without me, and Kent’s office is more secure than mine.”
I didn’t have to ask him what he meant by that. Uncle might be the prefect of police and, on top of that, in charge of all the Hunters that aren’t in the army, but he had political enemies, and one of them was probably behind the attempt to murder me. “What can I do for you, Uncle?” I asked immediately.
“I’ve discussed this with Kent,” he said, leaning forward, which made me lean forward too. “I want someone absolutely trustworthy to run the patrols in the storm sewers under the Hub…the City Center. It’s getting too dangerous for my police units.”
I nodded. This was something the Cits couldn’t ever know, or it would send them into a panic. Nasty, dangerous Othersiders are getting in past the Barriers, and it’s getting worse. If the Cits knew that what they thought were special effects to sex up the Hunts were in fact real, the city might shut down. People would be afraid to go to their jobs, afraid to walk on the streets. They’d know what we Hunters know and what some of the police and Psimons know: that they are not safe, and that only the Hunters’ vigilance keeps the horrors off their throats.
What Uncle had just told me confirmed what I had suspected. The police couldn’t handle what was penetrating into the very heart of the city anymore. That was also probably why he elected to come here to talk with me about it and not risk that his enemies would discover this and use it against him.
“Kent thinks you can do it solo because of the size of your pack,” Uncle continued. “The sewers aren’t big enough to send down more than a pair of Hunters at a time, at any event.”
I thought about that. “I’ve got a pack big enough for three,” I admitted. “If Armorer Kent thinks I can do this, then, yes, Uncle, I will.”
There was more than a touch of relief in Uncle’s expression. And then he leaned over the desk to speak very softly. “I can’t go into details, Joy, but there’s something very wrong down there. Something more than Othersiders getting into the sewers, and something I don’t want to trust to anyone else. I want you to be extra careful, but also keep your
When I arrived at the armory and opened the door, Kent was waiting for me, wearing his usual asymmetric scarlet-and-yellow Hunt gear. He was the brightest thing in the room, which was filled with every sort of instrument of mayhem I could imagine, and a lot I had no notion how to use. He quirked a finger at me, silently telling me to follow him. Now I was really puzzled, and did so. He led me to his little office, opened the door, and waved me inside, closing the door behind me, with himself outside.
Kent’s office was as Spartan as his signature gear was flamboyant: brown carpet, brownish-gray walls, with a couple of beautiful landscape pictures that were clearly taken before the Diseray. There was someone sitting in the high-backed leather chair behind Kent’s utilitarian gray metal desk, with the back of the chair facing me. That person spun the chair around as I entered, and—
—it was my uncle! He was in his prefect uniform, which meant he considered himself on duty, regardless of the storm; I’ve seen him in ordinary civilian clothing, but not often. As always, I was glad to see him. As always, I was very happy to see no hint of being worn down by the threat that I now knew hung over him. Still as erect, fit, and calm as ever. He might be going bald and getting gray, but that’s the only sign of age on him.
He chuckled at the dumbfounded look on my face. “How did you get here?” I blurted.
“Armored pod,” he replied, waving at a chair. I plopped down into it. “I was going to talk to you soon anyway, but with this storm”—he waved his hand at the ceiling—“nothing is going on; at least, nothing that the police and rescue services can’t handle without me, and Kent’s office is more secure than mine.”
I didn’t have to ask him what he meant by that. Uncle might be the prefect of police and, on top of that, in charge of all the Hunters that aren’t in the army, but he had political enemies, and one of them was probably behind the attempt to murder me. “What can I do for you, Uncle?” I asked immediately.
“I’ve discussed this with Kent,” he said, leaning forward, which made me lean forward too. “I want someone absolutely trustworthy to run the patrols in the storm sewers under the Hub…the City Center. It’s getting too dangerous for my police units.”
I nodded. This was something the Cits couldn’t ever know, or it would send them into a panic. Nasty, dangerous Othersiders are getting in past the Barriers, and it’s getting worse. If the Cits knew that what they thought were special effects to sex up the Hunts were in fact real, the city might shut down. People would be afraid to go to their jobs, afraid to walk on the streets. They’d know what we Hunters know and what some of the police and Psimons know: that they are not safe, and that only the Hunters’ vigilance keeps the horrors off their throats.
What Uncle had just told me confirmed what I had suspected. The police couldn’t handle what was penetrating into the very heart of the city anymore. That was also probably why he elected to come here to talk with me about it and not risk that his enemies would discover this and use it against him.
“Kent thinks you can do it solo because of the size of your pack,” Uncle continued. “The sewers aren’t big enough to send down more than a pair of Hunters at a time, at any event.”
I thought about that. “I’ve got a pack big enough for three,” I admitted. “If Armorer Kent thinks I can do this, then, yes, Uncle, I will.”
There was more than a touch of relief in Uncle’s expression. And then he leaned over the desk to speak very softly. “I can’t go into details, Joy, but there’s something very wrong down there. Something more than Othersiders getting into the sewers, and something I don’t want to trust to anyone else. I want you to be extra careful, but also keep your
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