Spoiler
Bruno made a face as he took a sip from his by-now long-cold coffee.
It’d been six weeks since Andi disappeared. The first week had been a haze of jump after jump out into different metaverses, searching for any sign of her and the other three who’d disappeared at the same time. They’d found nothing, and then they’d been forced to return to D.C. to answer Congress; in what Bruno privately thought of as a stroke of irony, they’d been set up in the same building Jaxun had operated out of for the last year or two of his tenure and they’d forcibly given Bruno his office. Director Bruno Hamilton, Head of the Metaversal Task Force. That’s what his door said, anyway, on the days when Patric didn’t get bored and deface it, and while Bruno disliked the idea intensely none of the other pilots had objected or stepped up - and he wasn’t about to let some bureaucrat who’d barely heard of the metaverse take the reins.
For better or for worse, he’d taken the title up properly four weeks ago in front of the Congressional committee appointed to oversee the task force. He’d answered their questions - the same questions every other Congressional committee had asked him ever since he went to DC to testify the first time - as thoroughly as he’d deemed wise, and then gone to ensure that the building was safe for use. That had taken up most of the last three weeks, between hauling out debris caused by Nick and Patric’s last visit plus scanning for possible bugs plus repairs plus, oddly, replacing all the computer equipment that had been torn out at some point.
None of which allowed much time for sleep, especially not with the jumps out into the Metaverse that he insisted on fitting into every spare moment he could carve out of his schedule, but Bruno had pushed through doggedly. He knew every trick in the book for staying functional on the absolute minimum of sleep required, and the healing powers granted to him by the metaverse let him go even further than he had in his DOD years. Five hours of sleep a night had decreased to two, supplemented by power naps during the day, and he’d managed to get the headquarters something resembling functional in record time.
Yet even with the offices up an running there were a thousand and one things that needed his attention, and sleep was near the bottom of his priorities list. Bruno took another slurp from the stone-cold coffee in his cup and grimaced; coffee didn’t give quite the same kick that it used to before all this. This was his sixth cup of the night and the previous cups seemed to have gone right through him without making a dent in the massive weight of exhaustion that had tied itself around his neck. Still, the familiar taste was enough to remind his brain that now wasn’t the time for sleep and he looked back to the heavily annotated chunk of legalese Congress was attempting to force through the committee.
Most of it seemed to be pretty straightforward through all the lawyering double-talk. Restrictions for access to metapods, grounds for confiscating 00742 technology from private owners, standards for pursuing suspected illegal metapilots, how private property laws played into the whole mess, and a number of other small, but important things that would help clarify his team’s actions and scope in the future. It was a lot more useful than the previous four documents that had been mostly demands from the military and private corporate contractors that any and all pilots and technology be remanded to their custody for testing and study, all of which Bruno had rejected out of hand once he’d had Thomas explain them.
This one, though, had a clause near the end that pinged on his bullshit meter. Rubbing his exhausted eyes, he forced them to focus and read through the paragraph more clearly. Any objects determined to be not naturally occurring in this metaverse (see metaverse definition in title 1 chapter 1 article 3.06) will be remanded to the custody of the committee of the senate designated to oversee all metaversal affairs to fully determine the best and most accurate place to hold such objects against misuse by foreign powers.
Bruno scowled and scribbled a nearly-illegible note for Thomas to take a look and revise it before sending the document back. Clearly another attempt to pry Reese and the remnants of Robopal from the Task Force, it would also deprive Bruno himself of the armbands that even now rested against his skin. Without Lothar’s powers they were useless, of course, but he remembered clearly the feeling of his skin fissuring apart like dried mud in the sun and didn’t relish the thought of trying to use elemental magic again without the bands.
Settling back into his chair, he dug the heels of his hands into his eyes in a vain attempt to drive the gritty feeling away. God, he was tired. Six weeks, and no sign of Andi. Six weeks, and just more red tape piling up. Six weeks, and no end in sight.
“Well, you look like shit.” The lightly twanged voice rang from his door - opened without a knock - and Bruno dragged his hands down his face as he looked over at one of the most stalwart pilots on his team.
Rosie Harvin, recruited nearly three years ago against her will by the Program and one of the longest-running pilots on the team, was standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips. Bruno sighed and pushed the legal document into the stack destined for Thomas’ secondary review before picking up his mostly-empty mug and walking over to the coffee machine that was one of the few perks of the office. He grabbed the half-empty carafe and held it up.
“Coffee?” he offered, refilling his own mug as he did so, and she shook her head.
“You realize what time it is?” she asked, and Bruno glanced at the glowing numbers of the regulation digital clock on the wall. 0330 blinked back at him accusatorially and he sighed.
“I still have two more documents to review before - ”
“That is not what I asked. I asked if you knew what time it was, and I saw you look at that clock which means I know you do.” She walked over and leaned against the edge of the desk, and Bruno suppressed the reflex to order her back. None of the documents he had out were things she didn’t have access to if she wanted, and he refused to be anything less than transparent with his team.
“Bruno, how long has it been since you’ve slept? And I don’t mean five minutes between meetings, I mean a full night’s sleep, like eight hours of it.” Harvin’s voice was determined but not unkind and Bruno frowned at her.
“I can still fulfil mission objectives - ”
“Can you though?” Harvin frowned and stood to face him fully. “I can’t remember you sleeping more than a few hours at a time since…well, since y'know. You need to take a break.”
Bruno scowled back. “I can’t let anything get in the way of mission priorities, and priority number one is retrieving the MIA pilot team.” The MIA pilot team that includes my granddaughter, echoed loudly in the room and Harvin waved a hand.
“You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t spend every day missin’ Crash and them and thinkin’ ‘if only we had a little more time in the day to look, we could find them’?” She snorted. “Of course I do. Of course I believe we can find them if we only keep lookin’. But,” she pointed at him firmly, “we need you. We need you at your best if we’re going to find them. We need you clear-headed and ready to take on those sons of bitches in Congress without lettin' ‘em sneak somethin’ by you. We need you to be gettin’ more'n a couple hours of sleep a night.”
Bruno looked at his mug of lukewarm coffee and said nothing.
Harvin walked over and plucked the mug out of his hand before emptying it down the drain. Turning, she gave him a light shove on the shoulder. “Go to sleep, Director. This-all can wait until morning.”
Bruno glanced back at the last few papers on his desk - they really couldn’t wait, actually - before capitulating with a sigh. Turning in early for one night wouldn’t upset too many things, hopefully.
He followed Harvin out of the room quietly, and didn’t remember getting to bed when he woke up the next morning.
It’d been six weeks since Andi disappeared. The first week had been a haze of jump after jump out into different metaverses, searching for any sign of her and the other three who’d disappeared at the same time. They’d found nothing, and then they’d been forced to return to D.C. to answer Congress; in what Bruno privately thought of as a stroke of irony, they’d been set up in the same building Jaxun had operated out of for the last year or two of his tenure and they’d forcibly given Bruno his office. Director Bruno Hamilton, Head of the Metaversal Task Force. That’s what his door said, anyway, on the days when Patric didn’t get bored and deface it, and while Bruno disliked the idea intensely none of the other pilots had objected or stepped up - and he wasn’t about to let some bureaucrat who’d barely heard of the metaverse take the reins.
For better or for worse, he’d taken the title up properly four weeks ago in front of the Congressional committee appointed to oversee the task force. He’d answered their questions - the same questions every other Congressional committee had asked him ever since he went to DC to testify the first time - as thoroughly as he’d deemed wise, and then gone to ensure that the building was safe for use. That had taken up most of the last three weeks, between hauling out debris caused by Nick and Patric’s last visit plus scanning for possible bugs plus repairs plus, oddly, replacing all the computer equipment that had been torn out at some point.
None of which allowed much time for sleep, especially not with the jumps out into the Metaverse that he insisted on fitting into every spare moment he could carve out of his schedule, but Bruno had pushed through doggedly. He knew every trick in the book for staying functional on the absolute minimum of sleep required, and the healing powers granted to him by the metaverse let him go even further than he had in his DOD years. Five hours of sleep a night had decreased to two, supplemented by power naps during the day, and he’d managed to get the headquarters something resembling functional in record time.
Yet even with the offices up an running there were a thousand and one things that needed his attention, and sleep was near the bottom of his priorities list. Bruno took another slurp from the stone-cold coffee in his cup and grimaced; coffee didn’t give quite the same kick that it used to before all this. This was his sixth cup of the night and the previous cups seemed to have gone right through him without making a dent in the massive weight of exhaustion that had tied itself around his neck. Still, the familiar taste was enough to remind his brain that now wasn’t the time for sleep and he looked back to the heavily annotated chunk of legalese Congress was attempting to force through the committee.
Most of it seemed to be pretty straightforward through all the lawyering double-talk. Restrictions for access to metapods, grounds for confiscating 00742 technology from private owners, standards for pursuing suspected illegal metapilots, how private property laws played into the whole mess, and a number of other small, but important things that would help clarify his team’s actions and scope in the future. It was a lot more useful than the previous four documents that had been mostly demands from the military and private corporate contractors that any and all pilots and technology be remanded to their custody for testing and study, all of which Bruno had rejected out of hand once he’d had Thomas explain them.
This one, though, had a clause near the end that pinged on his bullshit meter. Rubbing his exhausted eyes, he forced them to focus and read through the paragraph more clearly. Any objects determined to be not naturally occurring in this metaverse (see metaverse definition in title 1 chapter 1 article 3.06) will be remanded to the custody of the committee of the senate designated to oversee all metaversal affairs to fully determine the best and most accurate place to hold such objects against misuse by foreign powers.
Bruno scowled and scribbled a nearly-illegible note for Thomas to take a look and revise it before sending the document back. Clearly another attempt to pry Reese and the remnants of Robopal from the Task Force, it would also deprive Bruno himself of the armbands that even now rested against his skin. Without Lothar’s powers they were useless, of course, but he remembered clearly the feeling of his skin fissuring apart like dried mud in the sun and didn’t relish the thought of trying to use elemental magic again without the bands.
Settling back into his chair, he dug the heels of his hands into his eyes in a vain attempt to drive the gritty feeling away. God, he was tired. Six weeks, and no sign of Andi. Six weeks, and just more red tape piling up. Six weeks, and no end in sight.
“Well, you look like shit.” The lightly twanged voice rang from his door - opened without a knock - and Bruno dragged his hands down his face as he looked over at one of the most stalwart pilots on his team.
Rosie Harvin, recruited nearly three years ago against her will by the Program and one of the longest-running pilots on the team, was standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips. Bruno sighed and pushed the legal document into the stack destined for Thomas’ secondary review before picking up his mostly-empty mug and walking over to the coffee machine that was one of the few perks of the office. He grabbed the half-empty carafe and held it up.
“Coffee?” he offered, refilling his own mug as he did so, and she shook her head.
“You realize what time it is?” she asked, and Bruno glanced at the glowing numbers of the regulation digital clock on the wall. 0330 blinked back at him accusatorially and he sighed.
“I still have two more documents to review before - ”
“That is not what I asked. I asked if you knew what time it was, and I saw you look at that clock which means I know you do.” She walked over and leaned against the edge of the desk, and Bruno suppressed the reflex to order her back. None of the documents he had out were things she didn’t have access to if she wanted, and he refused to be anything less than transparent with his team.
“Bruno, how long has it been since you’ve slept? And I don’t mean five minutes between meetings, I mean a full night’s sleep, like eight hours of it.” Harvin’s voice was determined but not unkind and Bruno frowned at her.
“I can still fulfil mission objectives - ”
“Can you though?” Harvin frowned and stood to face him fully. “I can’t remember you sleeping more than a few hours at a time since…well, since y'know. You need to take a break.”
Bruno scowled back. “I can’t let anything get in the way of mission priorities, and priority number one is retrieving the MIA pilot team.” The MIA pilot team that includes my granddaughter, echoed loudly in the room and Harvin waved a hand.
“You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t spend every day missin’ Crash and them and thinkin’ ‘if only we had a little more time in the day to look, we could find them’?” She snorted. “Of course I do. Of course I believe we can find them if we only keep lookin’. But,” she pointed at him firmly, “we need you. We need you at your best if we’re going to find them. We need you clear-headed and ready to take on those sons of bitches in Congress without lettin' ‘em sneak somethin’ by you. We need you to be gettin’ more'n a couple hours of sleep a night.”
Bruno looked at his mug of lukewarm coffee and said nothing.
Harvin walked over and plucked the mug out of his hand before emptying it down the drain. Turning, she gave him a light shove on the shoulder. “Go to sleep, Director. This-all can wait until morning.”
Bruno glanced back at the last few papers on his desk - they really couldn’t wait, actually - before capitulating with a sigh. Turning in early for one night wouldn’t upset too many things, hopefully.
He followed Harvin out of the room quietly, and didn’t remember getting to bed when he woke up the next morning.
This is Moe. Moe's a saurus