Quoted By:
"ILL INTENTIONS ARE NOT REQUIRED FOR EVIL ACTS. WE HOPE SHE IS WELL, MS. FAWKINS, AND THAT YOU BRING HER BACK SOON. IN THE MEANTIME, YOU ARE CORRECT. THE PRESENT SITUATION PRESSES UPON US. SHALL WE GO?"
You exhale. It's dropping the topic. "Sure! But how? Unless we are hiking all the way down, but—"
"I can help!"
Anthea's voice: you semi-successfully suppress a flinch. When you turn, she's at a middle distance, waving. "Hi! Sorry, didn't mean to spy, but are you on your way down? That's the impression I got."
"Yeah," Gil says, and then, excitedly: "Wait! Are you suggesting—"
"You got it!" She hefts the dimension gun (or whatever it's called— maybe you would've learned if <span class="mu-i">Ellery</span> hadn't distracted you). "We put some ladders and things out, but this is faster, if that's what matters to you. Only problem is, it can make people a little queasy, Charlotte. Would that be a—?"
You? Queasy? It's been a long time since you vomited anything that wasn't blood and/or gunk. You can hold your drink rather well. Also, you're a heroine, and you'd never do anything undignified, so it's fine. "That's okay!"
"You know I'm fine," Gil concurs. (You lean in. "Are you sure?" He whispers back "Goo.")
"Alright! And I'm assuming Mr. A is fine, given... you know."
"WE ARE AMENABLE TO WHATEVER METHOD YOU HAD IN MIND."
"Great! Then hold still. And, uh, get closer together. Yeah. Like that. See you soon!" Anthea waves, points, and shoots. A square opens up under your feet, and you fall—
—a short distance, and land on a blank black floor in a blank black space, like the interim without any stairs. You have just enough time to play I-Spy— spot, scattered around you, the rubble, the shoe, the leg that held the shoe, the door, the wall that held the door, the live alligator— before you are tumbling out again. The fall is again short, but you land on your posterior.
"Ow," you say petulantly. Gil, already standing, says nothing. Damn goo and its damn lack of pain receptors. Where are you? You're on a bullseye. No, really. It's painted on the ground, which appears to be an island of sorts in Us's glossy ocean.
"Feeling okay, champ?" Also, Pat's here.
"I'm— yes! I'm fine!" You scramble up and force down a wave of nausea. "What are you doing here?! I thought you were up there!"
"I was. Then I came down here. Don't mind me, though." She raises both palms. You're entirely unable to tell if she's being sarcastic. "Do whatever you came to do, and I'll do whatever I came to do, unless those things happen to overlap."
"I can't imagine they don't overlap," Gil says. "Given..."
"Yeah. You created a real solid natural experiment, didn't you? First you dump all my goo in one place and see what happens. Then you dump a quarter-ton of people into <span class="mu-i">that</span> and see what happens. Hi, Gil, by the way. Body holding up, A?"
(2/3)
