despite the sector being just an hour away on foot. It was a breed of guilt she’d once associated with being white and relatively privileged, but now she felt it for being one of only a handful of humans used by the Astrals as puppets.
At each turn, Piper paused and peeked around, stopping to listen like an old school bus at a railroad crossing. She saw peacekeepers a few times and human police a few others. She avoided them on a hunch, still unsure whether they were looking for her or merely on their usual rounds. There were a few close calls. Once, Piper found herself in a Reptar’s direct line of sight. The thing crossed a street two blocks down, and she froze, trying to appear occupied by something on the street by her feet. It halted, slunk closer, then suddenly lost interest and turned, off to find other prey.
After the close call, Piper darted into a residential backyard (really just a stone courtyard) and snatched a black shawl from a clothesline. Feeling ridiculous, she wrapped the thing over her head like a babushka, allowing it to hang over most of her upper body. An absurd look: she was still wearing one the pretty dresses Meyer liked — something that didn’t complement the half burka even a little.
Piper finished her journey sneaking, sure her efforts to hide were making her more (rather than less) obvious.
Eventually, she found Dempsey Avenue, felt disgusted by its existence, and found that once on the street, the church’s spire was plainly visible. Piper was at the door ten minutes later.
The church was adjacent to the city’s outer wall, which in this quarter was nothing more than a fence with barbed wire at the top. Fences weren’t meant for security. Piper, as wife of the Heaven’s Veil viceroy, had more insight into city security than the average citizen — not all , of course, but enough to know the shuttles kept the place safe, not the fences. The fences were there to make a point: if you leave, it won’t be so easy to come back … so maybe you’d better stay put .
Few people ever wanted to leave anyway, and visitors would be stupid to try and climb in without going through the official checkpoint — but new arrivals were rare these days. There had been a time of great migration, influx, and exodus, but capitals and outposts had mostly stabilized, and citizens knew to play by the rules, lest they end up as a pile of blackened ash, or a peacekeeper’s dinner.
Before trying the door, Piper paused to peek through the fence at the first of the enormous effigies in the parched land beyond: one of many religious artists’ stabs at a portrait of Divinity, the rumored Astral class that never left the motherships.
The door opened. Piper’s hand had been resting on the wood while she looked through the fence at a twisted, angular black-marble monstrosity, so the door’s sudden retreat surprised her. But it was only a Rational Monk — a man wearing a brown cloak, his chest bearing the symbolic lever and fulcrum.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” the monk said, watching Piper jump. “I didn’t realize you were standing there.”
Piper’s hand had gone automatically to her chest. Her head shawl had come askew, and now her hair was mostly in her face. From the neck up, she probably seemed like a crazy vagrant. From the waist down, she probably looked like she was ready to go skipping in the park with her parents on the better side of town.
The monk didn’t seem to notice her odd attire or care. He appeared in his forties, with small, round glasses beneath his hood and short, graying hair. He lowered the hood then looked at Piper’s quasi-babushka, seeming to encourage her to do the same. She did not. She’d spent almost two hours on high alert, jumping at every sign of possible pursuit. Relaxing would take a while to come.
“Are you seeking elevation?”
It was a ritual greeting. Piper had seen the monks around and thought they were nut jobs, but the duality of their garb always made her
At each turn, Piper paused and peeked around, stopping to listen like an old school bus at a railroad crossing. She saw peacekeepers a few times and human police a few others. She avoided them on a hunch, still unsure whether they were looking for her or merely on their usual rounds. There were a few close calls. Once, Piper found herself in a Reptar’s direct line of sight. The thing crossed a street two blocks down, and she froze, trying to appear occupied by something on the street by her feet. It halted, slunk closer, then suddenly lost interest and turned, off to find other prey.
After the close call, Piper darted into a residential backyard (really just a stone courtyard) and snatched a black shawl from a clothesline. Feeling ridiculous, she wrapped the thing over her head like a babushka, allowing it to hang over most of her upper body. An absurd look: she was still wearing one the pretty dresses Meyer liked — something that didn’t complement the half burka even a little.
Piper finished her journey sneaking, sure her efforts to hide were making her more (rather than less) obvious.
Eventually, she found Dempsey Avenue, felt disgusted by its existence, and found that once on the street, the church’s spire was plainly visible. Piper was at the door ten minutes later.
The church was adjacent to the city’s outer wall, which in this quarter was nothing more than a fence with barbed wire at the top. Fences weren’t meant for security. Piper, as wife of the Heaven’s Veil viceroy, had more insight into city security than the average citizen — not all , of course, but enough to know the shuttles kept the place safe, not the fences. The fences were there to make a point: if you leave, it won’t be so easy to come back … so maybe you’d better stay put .
Few people ever wanted to leave anyway, and visitors would be stupid to try and climb in without going through the official checkpoint — but new arrivals were rare these days. There had been a time of great migration, influx, and exodus, but capitals and outposts had mostly stabilized, and citizens knew to play by the rules, lest they end up as a pile of blackened ash, or a peacekeeper’s dinner.
Before trying the door, Piper paused to peek through the fence at the first of the enormous effigies in the parched land beyond: one of many religious artists’ stabs at a portrait of Divinity, the rumored Astral class that never left the motherships.
The door opened. Piper’s hand had been resting on the wood while she looked through the fence at a twisted, angular black-marble monstrosity, so the door’s sudden retreat surprised her. But it was only a Rational Monk — a man wearing a brown cloak, his chest bearing the symbolic lever and fulcrum.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” the monk said, watching Piper jump. “I didn’t realize you were standing there.”
Piper’s hand had gone automatically to her chest. Her head shawl had come askew, and now her hair was mostly in her face. From the neck up, she probably seemed like a crazy vagrant. From the waist down, she probably looked like she was ready to go skipping in the park with her parents on the better side of town.
The monk didn’t seem to notice her odd attire or care. He appeared in his forties, with small, round glasses beneath his hood and short, graying hair. He lowered the hood then looked at Piper’s quasi-babushka, seeming to encourage her to do the same. She did not. She’d spent almost two hours on high alert, jumping at every sign of possible pursuit. Relaxing would take a while to come.
“Are you seeking elevation?”
It was a ritual greeting. Piper had seen the monks around and thought they were nut jobs, but the duality of their garb always made her
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