Gen sabotaging things in the American base is so much fun to write.
Our boy's having a bad time, crashing out in a way only a man as perfectly in control of his reactions and good at acting as this mentalist is can: channeling his rage into disruptive pranks to sabotage the submarine mission. I really thought I'd bang this out in three days as a one-shot, but it's been fighting me for a week and a half and is looking like 8 chapters. I've also got enough deleted material to write a second one-shot
Maya was down by the thing, camped out and very obviously not even trying to stay awake. Gen wasn’t certain what to expect, but he’d gotten enough hints to expect a submarine. It certainly looked like his guess was right. He weighed his options carefully. He could risk getting caught or he could accept that Maya was too dangerous to try and sneak past. He’d been marked with that strong scent, and if that woke her he’d be done for. After gaining so much of their trust, Stanley and Xeno wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet in his brain.
There were some supplies around, and the air vents ran in a horseshoe shape around what might have been a natural cavern. Perhaps Gen didn’t need to sneak in front of Maya at all. He had some vials that were absolutely vile inside, prepared in case he needed to try and break out. One whiff and it was instant vomit for most people. If he could hide it in the supplies and some careless motion broke it, the sub would have to surface and vent the stink. That shit-liquid was oily and hard to clean up, Gen really didn’t like thinking about how he knew that so well, so the sub would be unusable for at least a couple hours. The problem with that plan was that he only had two vials, couldn’t risk opening either with Maya right there, and he wasn’t sure what was going on the sub and what wasn’t. There was also the chance that it would get broken before they left. The closer to when they were in sight of the Perseus but before they were ready to attack the better, which meant getting down the river a ways. Gen took two deep breaths, just like he’d done before walking on set back in 2019.
Gen dropped out of the air vent as far from Maya as he could get, using everything he knew about dance and stage tricks to ensure a soft and noiseless landing. These shoes were priceless, he’d have to do something nice for Xeno after the scientist was locked up for gross megalomania and conspiracy to commit murder. Maybe a mural outside his cell wall.
He jumped up the sub’s ladder just as quietly and slipped down inside the vehicle. Now he was really surrounded by doohickeys he didn’t understand, but he guessed where the engine might be and got it in one. He looked for a place that would make an unstable shelf to hide the stink-vial. There would be more vibrations in this part of the sub, so he needed a place that was not quite secure. Then he noticed a little spot that would be not-quite eye level for most of the people that would likely be on this thing. Why rely on the calculated uncertainty of vibrations like he was Senku when he could rely on the certainty of human curiosity? Oh what’s this? Just a bit of instant regret!
For the other one, he thought of the periscope. They would use it more once they got close, he thought, so that wasn’t the worst idea. He examined it for a long time before giving up fitting the vial on or in it anywhere. He turned to look at the console behind him, hoping for inspiration. Everything was neatly labeled. He grabbed a screwdriver out of a box of tools that was still inside ready for whatever last minute things that needed doing to get into what looked like the engine speed controls. He set the vial among the mess of metal levers and thingys, keeping it in place with a little sliver he cut off the rope. Gen hoped that “ramming speed” painted in red meant what he thought it meant and that the vial would be crushed the moment they decided to punch the throttle up to maximum.
Now for the hard part, getting out of the basement. Luckily Xeno’s people seemed to have personal grievances with safety requirements, so he was able to throw his rope up to a catwalk. Gen took some cylindric thing from a toolbox labeled 10mm for weight and put it in one of the pouches he’d taken from his lavender coat, the tied a thick knot around it so that it probably couldn’t clack or clang against anything. The first attempt failed and he’d crouched in a terrified ball hoping Maya hadn’t noticed the soft sound of the supple rope hitting the floor until his heartbeat went back to normal. At least he’d caught the weighted knot, three cheers for knowing how to juggle.
He should have practiced throwing knives at distance more, and before coming here. Really, there was no excuse for him ignoring the possibility that he’d need to fight for his life after that whole thing with Ibara. Captain Stanley was right that Gen hadn’t been pushing himself enough, and that it felt good to improve his physical fitness. He’d even keep to what he’d told the Captain. After this conflict was over and settled, Gen would get some serious combat training. He might even ask Senku for a gun. Nothing too powerful, just some little spy-sized one for emergencies. Or a crossbow? A crossbow would be quieter, if it could be made small or to look like some innocent thing the way the earrings had been. Quiet really appealed to him just now.
Gen stood up slowly. Maya hadn’t moved. He wondered if that subtle bit of lavender and herbs he’d released into the vent had tipped her over the line into real sleep, or if it was just that late into the night. He still wasn’t walking in front of her for love or money. Gen threw the rope again and this time it sailed up perfectly, wrapping around the catwalk support. After a tug to test the hold Gen shimmied up. He didn’t bother worrying about the misplaced tool, he just pocketed it and flew up the ventilation like a bat out of hell.
Getting back up to his room was stressful. The hallways had been built with battle tactics in mind. It was much easier to sneak out than in because of the shape of the place. Intruders weren’t supposed to know where the blind corners and wedge-shaped alcoves were, but Gen had been here for long enough. He kept expecting to get caught, but before too long he was a floor above his room using the rope again to shimmy down to his window. A quick look around, confirmation the flow petals were still on the door hinges, and Gen stuffed all the contraband back into his bed frame. Then he stripped down, hung up his clothes, and cleaned up in the sink as fast as possible to sleep naked. If someone came in demanding answers to questions, he would appear vulnerable and could stall a moment while he assessed them.
The only way he could possibly get any sleep after all that was the old standby cure for insomnia caused by adrenaline overload. Close his eyes, think of a faceless naked body, and let his hormones mistake all that excitement for something else until his brain released the necessary neuro-chemicals to counter the stress. He did need sleep, he had to be fresh for tomorrow. He sank into the soft bed as the tension drained away, not bothering to clean up.
I think everyone out there can sympathize with my plight, at least a little bit: I had too many car projects, and not enough time to do them. Eating, sleeping, work, and inconveniently-timed air raid sirens were all more important than fixing the vacuum leak on my old Renault Alliance, and so it kept sitting and rotting. Every night, I wished that something would change in my life, that the balance would shift so that I could finally get that old piece of shit French car to run again.
One morning, I was on my way to work when I heard the air-raid sirens set off again. Not expecting it to be any different than the normal drills, I nonetheless headed into the basement garage and sat with the Renault. Usually, these drills were not long enough for me to get any substantial work done on the car, but for some reason, today the siren seemed to be taking a really long time to stop screaming. I popped the hood, and checked the oil. Everything looked pretty good, and getting to accomplish something at all filled me with a sense of excitement.
The siren abruptly stopped. Looking outside, I saw that the world outside had been obliterated, reduced to nuclear ash. My house must have been just barely outside of the radius of destruction. Terror gave way to mourning, and then I realized it: this was a gift. I finally had enough time to get this fucking Renault done.
With excitement, I bounded over to my socket set, and popped the lid open. My beloved 10mm socket rolled on the lip of the case, then plummeted into the drain underneath. Without the only metric socket that mattered, I realized with a shock that there was no way I could ever finish the Renault.
I slumped with my back against the wall, staring at the socket as it was swept away into the sewer system, crying. It’s not fair. There was time now.
A bit of a 60th birthday rant in true moany-old-bloke style.
The way that i write posts now is that i do them in draft and tinker around with them for a while and then schedule them to come out one at a time every couple of days rather than having writing binges and releasing loads at once. This one, although i am writing it in February is scheduled to come out on my 60th birhday….even writing…
