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The Obscurant glanced back at Amanda folded into the back of the car, still passed out from Assassin Bug's blow. A six-foot-four woman, however exquisite her proportions, had not been the easiest burden to bundle out of the warehouse and into a hotwired car before the capes regained consciousness. In the end he'd had to slide her along on a piece of cardboard which was also stowed in the back of the car - you never knew when you might need a piece of cardboard.
He was pretty sure they'd made the city limits without being trailed, and now, heading west on the main artery, Victor was thinking what to do next. He had a couple of bolt-holes out this way, but he was used to lying low singly (might want to rephrase that, he smiled to himself as he glanced in the rear-view mirror at the curves of Amanda's broad, smooth shoulder and watermelon breasts), and he wondered if he was ready to trust another person, even Amanda, with the existence of the Safe House. It occurred to him he'd never imagined a scenario that involved bringing another person there, and he realized that his worry was not just security - he wondered if she'd like the place, if she'd feel as safe there as he did. The off-ramp was coming up in a minute. He'd have to decide quickly. There was another option - a motel on the edge of town, some twenty minutes away, that was prided itself on its discretion. They would not blink twice at a man checking in with a gigantic woman in tights; he knew there were people in Gradient, respectable people even, with stranger tastes. Thirty more seconds. He couldn't take his eyes off the road to glance back at Amanda again, but he knew by her breathing she was still out. She needed to be taken to a real safe place.
Amanda woke to find herself looking up at a popcorn ceiling. The back of her head hurt, but she sat up uncertainly to get a look at the rest of her surroundings. She was in a large bed with blue sheets and a heavy blue and cream striped duvet. The room had plain white walls, and was empty save for the bed and a nightstand bearing a glass of water and a bottle of analgesic tablets, which she took gratefully. Thin beams of daylight were peering through the bamboo blind on the window. Getting to her feet a trifle unsteadily she found she was in her underthings; her costume was hung carefully over the end of the bed along with an assortment of clean men's XXXL T-shirts. She put one on that had a Club Molybedenum logo, decided it was a bit short, took it off and put on the swimsuit from her costume, glad now that she'd insisted on one with a little skirt, before putting the T-shirt back on over top. She could hear a radio and other signs of life from down the hall but went into the bathroom first; she looked behind the shower curtain in case there was anyone or anything there, a long-time habit that seemed a little less paranoid under her new circumstances. Like the bedroom, the bathroom was clean but spare, though the drawers and cupboard proved to be well-stocked with toiletries when she opened them. A single blue toothbrush stood in a cup by the sink; she took a swig of mouthwash instead. Feeling more human, Amanda ventured into the kitchen, where Victor was holding the freezer door open and contemplating a box of frozen waffles. He looked over at her with relief visible on his face, and perhaps a tincture of shyness as well.
“Feeling better?” She nodded.
“Thanks for the pain-killers. What exactly happened? It felt like I was run hit by a truck.”
“That was the Assassin Bug. He’s not that big a guy, luckily, but he builds a lot of momentum. Are you sure you still want to do this?”
“I said I’d stick, and no man in tights is going to change my mind… unless he actually removes my head. Is there anybody out there than can do that?”
“Not without tools. Anyway, we got away and I took us to my place; my real place, I mean. I hardly ever come here, but it’s safe for that reason; no one else knows about it. I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with evaporated milk as a result. I do have a pretty good assortment of frozen foods, though. What would you like for breakfast – well, lunch by this time.”
“How long was I out?”
“A few hours. It’s two o’clock. A bit late even to pretend it’s brunch.”
“Those waffles you’re holding will do.”
“There are sausage patties too.”
“This has to be the most domesticated lair ever.”
“Ah - you’ve figured out my terrible secret.”
There was coffee as well, and the evaporated milk proved perfectly adequate. Amanda looked around at Victor's house curiously, the sheer ordinaryness making her wonder if she was still unconscious and dreaming. After breakfast she showered, luxuriously, and took advantage of the washing machine in her basement to remove the dirt, sweat and bloodstains she'd noticed on her costume ("use the cold setting," Victor advised, "hot's not good for lycra"). Victor went away for an hour, asking if he could get her anything, and came back in a different car, bringing casual clothes and some cartons of milk and fruit juice. She spent the afternoon looking at technical manuals, of which the place had many, while he built some arcane device on the kitchen counter, humming along with the radio which was tuned to an oldies station. From time to time they stopped and had coffee or juice. Despite their dire circumstances Amanda thought she'd never seen him so happy, not realizing that for Victor this was all pretty much life as usual, except he'd never had a companion before, and that was the reason for his good mood.
Towards evening Victor said, "Let's be daring - pizza, Thai or Chinese?" and picked up the house phone.
"Is that really a good idea?"
"Well, this is supposed to be an ordinary suburban house, and I'm the owner - if anything it'll help our cover."
"Good point. Chinese, then." The rest of the conversation consisted of the usual discussion of whether to order rice or noodles or one of each, whether either of them really wanted soup and if so, whether they should get hot and sour or wonton.
After dinner they watched the local news on tv, but it didn’t tell them anything other than what they’d been hearing on radio ant the web all day. Vermin’s grisly death was one of the major stories. The Keypad FX incident didn’t get any attention.
“You’d think they’d at least want to mention you,“ mused Victor, a little disappointed, “after all, it’s not often –“ he stopped, his mouth hanging open.
“Victor?”
“Oh god. It was her. I can’t prove it yet, but it was her.”
He was pretty sure they'd made the city limits without being trailed, and now, heading west on the main artery, Victor was thinking what to do next. He had a couple of bolt-holes out this way, but he was used to lying low singly (might want to rephrase that, he smiled to himself as he glanced in the rear-view mirror at the curves of Amanda's broad, smooth shoulder and watermelon breasts), and he wondered if he was ready to trust another person, even Amanda, with the existence of the Safe House. It occurred to him he'd never imagined a scenario that involved bringing another person there, and he realized that his worry was not just security - he wondered if she'd like the place, if she'd feel as safe there as he did. The off-ramp was coming up in a minute. He'd have to decide quickly. There was another option - a motel on the edge of town, some twenty minutes away, that was prided itself on its discretion. They would not blink twice at a man checking in with a gigantic woman in tights; he knew there were people in Gradient, respectable people even, with stranger tastes. Thirty more seconds. He couldn't take his eyes off the road to glance back at Amanda again, but he knew by her breathing she was still out. She needed to be taken to a real safe place.
Amanda woke to find herself looking up at a popcorn ceiling. The back of her head hurt, but she sat up uncertainly to get a look at the rest of her surroundings. She was in a large bed with blue sheets and a heavy blue and cream striped duvet. The room had plain white walls, and was empty save for the bed and a nightstand bearing a glass of water and a bottle of analgesic tablets, which she took gratefully. Thin beams of daylight were peering through the bamboo blind on the window. Getting to her feet a trifle unsteadily she found she was in her underthings; her costume was hung carefully over the end of the bed along with an assortment of clean men's XXXL T-shirts. She put one on that had a Club Molybedenum logo, decided it was a bit short, took it off and put on the swimsuit from her costume, glad now that she'd insisted on one with a little skirt, before putting the T-shirt back on over top. She could hear a radio and other signs of life from down the hall but went into the bathroom first; she looked behind the shower curtain in case there was anyone or anything there, a long-time habit that seemed a little less paranoid under her new circumstances. Like the bedroom, the bathroom was clean but spare, though the drawers and cupboard proved to be well-stocked with toiletries when she opened them. A single blue toothbrush stood in a cup by the sink; she took a swig of mouthwash instead. Feeling more human, Amanda ventured into the kitchen, where Victor was holding the freezer door open and contemplating a box of frozen waffles. He looked over at her with relief visible on his face, and perhaps a tincture of shyness as well.
“Feeling better?” She nodded.
“Thanks for the pain-killers. What exactly happened? It felt like I was run hit by a truck.”
“That was the Assassin Bug. He’s not that big a guy, luckily, but he builds a lot of momentum. Are you sure you still want to do this?”
“I said I’d stick, and no man in tights is going to change my mind… unless he actually removes my head. Is there anybody out there than can do that?”
“Not without tools. Anyway, we got away and I took us to my place; my real place, I mean. I hardly ever come here, but it’s safe for that reason; no one else knows about it. I’m afraid you’ll have to make do with evaporated milk as a result. I do have a pretty good assortment of frozen foods, though. What would you like for breakfast – well, lunch by this time.”
“How long was I out?”
“A few hours. It’s two o’clock. A bit late even to pretend it’s brunch.”
“Those waffles you’re holding will do.”
“There are sausage patties too.”
“This has to be the most domesticated lair ever.”
“Ah - you’ve figured out my terrible secret.”
There was coffee as well, and the evaporated milk proved perfectly adequate. Amanda looked around at Victor's house curiously, the sheer ordinaryness making her wonder if she was still unconscious and dreaming. After breakfast she showered, luxuriously, and took advantage of the washing machine in her basement to remove the dirt, sweat and bloodstains she'd noticed on her costume ("use the cold setting," Victor advised, "hot's not good for lycra"). Victor went away for an hour, asking if he could get her anything, and came back in a different car, bringing casual clothes and some cartons of milk and fruit juice. She spent the afternoon looking at technical manuals, of which the place had many, while he built some arcane device on the kitchen counter, humming along with the radio which was tuned to an oldies station. From time to time they stopped and had coffee or juice. Despite their dire circumstances Amanda thought she'd never seen him so happy, not realizing that for Victor this was all pretty much life as usual, except he'd never had a companion before, and that was the reason for his good mood.
Towards evening Victor said, "Let's be daring - pizza, Thai or Chinese?" and picked up the house phone.
"Is that really a good idea?"
"Well, this is supposed to be an ordinary suburban house, and I'm the owner - if anything it'll help our cover."
"Good point. Chinese, then." The rest of the conversation consisted of the usual discussion of whether to order rice or noodles or one of each, whether either of them really wanted soup and if so, whether they should get hot and sour or wonton.
After dinner they watched the local news on tv, but it didn’t tell them anything other than what they’d been hearing on radio ant the web all day. Vermin’s grisly death was one of the major stories. The Keypad FX incident didn’t get any attention.
“You’d think they’d at least want to mention you,“ mused Victor, a little disappointed, “after all, it’s not often –“ he stopped, his mouth hanging open.
“Victor?”
“Oh god. It was her. I can’t prove it yet, but it was her.”
