SCENE 7-II

“Claire, I’m sorry to bother you again—”

“Lawrence?” Claire says sleepily, sprawled on her couch, radio tucked under her ear. “Is that you?”

“Yeah, I know you’re exhausted from the other day still, but I was wondering if you could come over to my office, just for an hour or so.” Lawrence says.

“Of course, sir. Just give me a few minutes to get ready.”

“Take all the time you need.”

“Thanks, see you in a bit.”

The line bleeps out, and Claire lies there, boneless, for a couple seconds, before summoning up the will to turn off her radio and actually, god forbid, sit up.

She’s been sleeping here, on her couch, ever since she stumbled into her apartment after reading Callum, not even having the energy to drag herself all the way to her bed, which is about a thousand times more comfortable than the couch. Rubbing her eyes vigorously, Claire stumbles to her feet and into the bathroom. Her teeth are furry and gross, and she doesn’t even want to know what her hair looks like, and if she’s quick, she has time for a shower; which, considering she’d rather not give Lawrence a heart attack, is absolutely necessary, not to mention the truck load of make up she’s going to need before she even approaches presentable.

Claire groans, and turns to the shower to extremely hot before shedding her wrinkled uniform. She dives under the water flow, shrieking, and the warmth soaks away her grogginess in record time. She drags some shampoo through her hair, but no chance can she be bothered with conditioner, and no way in hell is she shaving.

Wrapping a fluffy towel around herself, Claire brushes her teeth quickly, too scared to look in the mirror just yet. She shuffles out of the bathroom and into her bedroom, hoping to god she has a clean and pressed uniform.

It appears that today is her lucky day, because not only is her uniform clean, but she even has clean underwear and socks.

It’s like the laundry fairy came and visited while she was passed out in the front room, because she definitely isn’t this organized. She shrugs, because why question a good thing, and gets dressed.

Putting her watch on, Claire thinks probably she has time for a cup of coffee, if she forgoes the hairdryer.

Scrubbing at her head with the discarded towel, she decides her hair will be fine, and makes a beeline for the kitchen. Unfortunately, she definitely doesn’t have time for real coffee, so instead starts the kettle, dumping two spoonfuls of instant coffee into a travel mug, and scuttles off to the bathroom to cake on the makeup.

Growing up as a small town girl on Andrachna, Claire learned young that no matter how bad a day you’re having, enough eyeliner and mascara and you’ll be ready for anything. A kick-ass pair of shoes also helped, but she thinks Lawrence might have something to say if she shows up in black leather stilettos, aside from the obvious problem actually getting there in this muck. Four swipes for each eye with the mascara wand, and her eyelashes are verging on lethal weapons. Fluffing her slowly drying hair as best she can, Claire scowls at her reflection, bags under her eyes hidden under the eyeliner, but nothing will make them not bloodshot, and she has the couch pattern imprinted on her cheek.

Back in the kitchen, she jams her feet into black combat boots, and, while not stilettos, they’re still uplifting in their own way, grabs her coffee, and books it out the door. From couch to stairwell, she’s taken maybe fifteen minutes, and she deserves a medal for daring to go out in public looking like a dead person.

Okay, maybe not quite a dead person, but definitely vampiric, as she gets a loud wolf whistle, fast walking the path from the apartment complexes to the offices.

At least it’s not raining.

She bypasses reception, while not recognized by the temp at the desk, she looks far too scary for some newbie to dare stop her, and knocks on Lawrence’s door.

“Come in.” He calls, and the doorknob spins easily in her hand, and she pushes the door open.

“Sorry I took so long, sir.” Claire says, coffee still gripped tightly, and Lawrence rolls his eyes.

“I only spoke to you twenty minutes ago.” He says, and gestures to a chair. Claire takes it gratefully, and gulps down some coffee, barely noticing how it scorches her throat. “Again, I apologize for waking you, but I need some more information on Callum. Not new,” He says quickly, seeing the look on her face. “Just need you to elaborate on what you already got from him.”

“Of course, sir.” Claire says, taking another massive sip from her mug, and sets it down on the coaster Lawrence places for her. “Anything in particular?”

“Yes; I’d like to know everything you got about what exactly they did to him in that surgery.”

“I’m not a doctor; I might not be able to explain some of it.” She warns.

“Neither am I.” Lawrence reminds her, and settles back in his chair.

“They… he had some broken bones, I think, and they were fixed obviously, but improved; all of them were. As far as he knows, they’re made of some sort of ceramic, and the muscles were toughened somehow. And his skin is far less fragile, more leathery, really, and it heals much faster than our own, and his blood vessels are also sturdier, so he doesn’t bruise easily, and not just a little scratch will make him bleed. His joints are more flexible as well, and he can dislocate his shoulders and elbows at will, to help him escape, I think.

“His nerves are slightly deadened, so he doesn’t feel a lot of pain. His hearing improved a hundred fold, and his eyes were… He doesn’t know exactly what they did there. He can control the expansion and contraction of his pupils, and can see as well as a hawk. They glow, he thinks, because they absorb light, reflecting some, storing the rest to improve night vision even further, although it’s already comparable to an owl’s. And he has a better range of motion with his neck, around two hundred and twenty degrees as opposed to I think the hundred and sixty we get.

“His sense of smell was also enhanced, and his teeth were replaced, or filed, whatever, so that they’re sharp and more durable. With the sense of smell, his taste is also stronger, and he can get more oxygen out of the air, and his lungs hold more than ours do. Really, they took the human biology, and replaced parts with superior animal biology. So he can be hurt, it’s just harder. Of course, I don’t think they had the kind of damage we can cause in mind when they designed him.”

Lawrence nods, and covers a yawn. “Sorry,” He says. “I was up late filing reports. There have been four different captures in the last three days, two of them by some of our boys, and higher-ups are panicking.”

“What else are they good for?” Claire asks, and gulps at her coffee again, throat dry. “How many have been captured, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Oh no, not at all. Uh, all together it’s eighteen, and all of them were caught off the southeastern coast. Apparently, Njord has two like this Callum fellow, and a woman with BLACKOUT as opposed to COMBAT, and pink instead of orange eyes; they’re taking them to Löchen’s main jail.” Lawrence says, and he rubs his forehead. “So of course the Fleet Commanders think Scalya and maybe Gussia are involved. And we still haven’t heard back from the Recon ships sent over there to check things out, but they’re still up on the boards.”

“No casualties?”

“For us or them? So far only one of theirs, whoever they are, has been killed, and the Fleet hasn’t racked up even an injury yet, unless you count Jase bloody Charter accidentally knocking his own Weapons Assist out because he got distracted.” Lawrence flexes his hands restlessly, stiff muscles and joints cracking and popping. “I swear to god those boys are more trouble than help.”

“I… don’t think I know whom you’re referring to.” Claire says, shifting in her seat. Lawrence looks up at her curiously.

“No, I don’t think you do… Your good luck, if you ask me.”

“Sir, if it’s alright, I think I should probably go back to bed.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize this took so much out of you; I wouldn’t have asked you to get Callum all at once.” Lawrence says apologetically.

“No, it’s not that; the day before I had to do a full conscious scan for the name Ocean and the name and name Seas. And two days before that there was an accident down south, they needed me to find the men who went overboard. And before that, someone infected with a Fairy Tale broke into the city limits, and I had to pick him out of the crowd.” Claire says, interspersing words with sips of coffee, until her travel mug runs dry and she gives it a sad look.

“There’s a coffee pot out in the reception,” Lawrence says. “Fill up on your way out. I’ll make sure no one calls for you for a couple days.”

“Thank you, sir. I appreciate that.”

“Thank you for your help, Claire.”

And Claire stands, rolling her shoulders, and she salutes. “My pleasure, sir.

Previous: Scene 7-I

Scene 7-II

Next: Scene 7-III