Chapter Seventeen – Shit Bureaucracy

Chapter Seventeen – Shit Bureaucracy ​

“New Montréal is an interesting city for many reasons, one of which is its government. Originally a city in Quebec, after the Great Split, Montréal declared itself a city-state and was rechristened New Montréal.

Its fledgling government discovered an immediate issue when its mixed-language groups both started to wrestle for power within the city. The end result is a municipal government that’s nearly entirely French, serving a population that’s nearly entirely English, while in actuality being run by an upper-crust that is entirely non-Canadian.”

–Excerpt from the Guide Touristique du Nouveau Montréal, édition, 2049

***

“I figure we walk on in and just go straight to them,” I said with a gesture to the Oasis’ entrance. We’d wasted enough time asking questions and trying to get to the bottom of things, but the Sewer Dragons seemed about as organized as my kittens halfway into a pillow fight. There was some semblance of a hierarchy, maybe, but there wasn’t a boss, and no one quite knew what the others were thinking except that they were all thinking along the same chaotic lines.

Gomorrah nodded. “Might as well. Either we’ll find someone to help us or we’ll find the people we’re looking for. Do you think we need anything special to head in?”

“I guess we’ll need masks and things able to keep us alive in there. Does your armour cover you entirely?

“Did you think I was nude under my robes?” Gomorrah asked.

I raised my arms in surrender. “I wasn’t even thinking it. I thought you had some sort of underarmour on. But… now that I’m imagining it, it’s not a bad mental image.”

Gomorrah’s hand snapped back and she smacked my arm with the back of her hand. “Pervert,” she said.

“Are you always this horny?” Franny asked.

I grinned. “Your Delilah’s the one that started it… this time. But, before we start talking too much, we really do need a gear check. Myalis, we going to be okay in there?”

If by we you mean you and I, then yes. Your underarmour is intact, reading at 99% integrity. It should prevent most chemical or radiological contaminants from touching your skin. Your Lion’s Mane’s structural integrity is still replicator-perfect. Your helmet’s filtration system should allow you to breathe in nearly any environment, and with the stored air, you could survive in a vacuum for up to a quarter of an hour.

“So, no dying from fart air. Nice,” I said.

“A disgusting way to put it,” Gomorrah said. “But not entirely wrong. I’m ready as well, although… I think I might need to disrobe.”

I blinked. “Huh?”

Gomorrah tugged at the front of her black robes. “These won’t be great in what might be a wet environment.”

Made sense. Gomorrah and I looked for a place for her to change, and we ended up sneaking into an alley between two small maintenance buildings off to the side of the Oasis. I stood by the entrance, making sure no one was around, then I looked back in.

Gomorrah shifted her shoulders, then carefully reached up and tugged at the edge of her collar. It loosened and she tugged down the outer hood of her habit. She had a tighter, white hood beneath, one stuck to the sides of a helmet that looked about as high-tech as my own. Well, it has little glowy bits and was made of metal, so I was guessing.

She placed a leg forwards, then bent down and swept the robes off in a single, languid motion, the cloth riding up along her legs and back and revealing the Gomorrah underneath until she straightened, a bundle of cloth in her hands. She started to casually fold the robes while I stared.

I thought my armour was a bit… feminine, but Gomorrah’s was on another level. Tight, fitting to her calves and thighs and butt, with armoured plates and some sort of blacker-than-black weave over the parts that needed any flexibility. Her back-mounted flamethrowers rested below her shoulders like a pair of folded wings, and there was a cross-shaped cut out under her bust.

“Fuck me.”

I blinked. The whispered words weren’t my own. They were Franny’s. I doubt anyone else picked them up though.

“Right, so that’s— yeah. Ready to go?” I asked.

“I’m ready,” Gomorrah said. She placed her folded robes next to a box on the ground, then picked up her flamethrower. She slid a strap over her shoulder.

She looked a lot smaller without the volume of her robes making her bigger.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing,” I said. “We heading out?”

The Oasis loomed large above us as we moved towards it. Gomorrah didn’t have the advantage of being invisible, and I couldn’t help but notice a few of the people near the sewer entrance looking her way.

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Something told me they weren’t staring to check her out, exactly.

“Myalis, can we have a map of the sewers?” I asked. “And highlight any places big enough to house a bunch of civilians.”

Myalis was quick to create a small hovering map on the edge of my vision, and when I tried to peek at it, it grew larger before me. The three-dimensional wireframe was a confusing mess of tunnels, side passages, more tunnels, and a few boxy buildings. Some of those were flashing slowly.

The map expanded, and then expanded further. I frowned as it continued to grow, mostly getting wider and longer, but occasionally there were sections that rose or fell below. Fortunately, the map became smaller, zooming out as it covered more territory.