"Hi again. Still not leaving yet, sorry." She puffs on her pipe.

"Hi again. Still not leaving yet, sorry." She puffs on her pipe.

"So when is the tram supposed to leave?"

"On a normal day? Every hour, on the hour. Today, the guy with the funny glasses is in charge of the timetable. He'll tell me when they're ready to head back down."

The Lich isn't the one giving the order to leave? That's odd.

Oh, god. Are you stalling?

Of course not. Just getting the lay of the land.

False. You're putting off completing the assignment in favour of chit-chat. You are procrastinating the most important hour of your life.

A classic and storied CASCADE tactic. See also: the time you had six months to get your parent or guardian to fill out a permission slip for a class trip to the Hothica Lighthouse.

And that's how I learned to forge signatures. Net win.

Don't try to spin this like it's good stagecraft.

I just thought lighthouses were lame.

It was lame. And a little bit lonely. And for some reason, made you think very seriously about death, for the first time in your young life.

Totally stalling.

Stop that right now, operant. Shut your mouth, stub out your cigarette, and zero out your target.

I am stalling, but just a ittle bit.

Excellent lore. Definitely useful. Now, let's stub out and go.

"You've got a great view from up here."

"A shame there's not much to see." With her pipe, she gestures to the valley below. "If there's a traffic jam, or a fire, or something big like that, sure."

"How do you keep from getting bored?"

"There's people up here to watch, too." She looks at you over the top of her sunglasses. "And I keep a book under my seat for the really slow days."

Whatever book she's working her way through at the moment, it will remain unfinished.

How is this useful, CASCADE? Are you gaining anything from her that you really need?

"This is the quietest route on the line. I'd say it's dull, but... beats the Quisach route."

"Makes you feel tiny."

"I suppose." She looks at you over the top of her sunglasses. "I can't say I think about it. Bit too abstract."

Existential dread is a foreign concept to her. Must be nice.

A feeling that should be crushing you right now. Why aren't you getting a move on?

"Do those jukeboxes on the tram get much play?"

"Not much. Installation wasn't cheap either." She shrugs. "It was a cool idea. Of course, most of them had the shit kicked out of them within a month."

The only reason the one on this tram is still functional is because it's the quietest route on the line.

"Did you have something you wanted to hear?"

"Music for Trams, Vol. 7."

"That's, uh, weirdly specific." She grins. "But I think you might be in luck."

You imagine her drooling, twitching, brain a fine gruel.

Good. If she goes non-verbal then she won't be able to distract you any more.

You imagine her screaming soundlessly, both legs blown off and hanging by shredded flesh somewhere above her.

Good. If she's blast-zone collateral then she won't be able to distract you any more.

You imagine her crumpled and dead from a stray bullet, blood running down the front of her mirrored sunglasses.

Good. If she's bullet fodder then she won't be able to distract you any more.

"Oh, you know, whatever's on."

"Not much, these days. I think the novelty has worn off, to be honest..."

"What do you usually listen to?"

"People either forget it's there, or just play whatever's already in the machine." She takes a puff of her pipe and leans in.

"But sometimes, when there's no one on, I play my own music the whole way down."

Solo-karaoke, no one around to hear her shout-singing along to the griefsludge disc she keeps in her bag for days like this.

They should have put it behind glass, so it could be treasured. Worshipped. Curated and handled only by the high priests of the conductor class.

Are you gambling the gäng's fate on a busted machine?

"What about the one on this tram?"

"Surprisingly, still functional. Which can probably be chalked up to it being the quietest route on the line. I think most of the discs have been robbed, though..."

"Do you ever visit the shrines?"

"What, like to pray?" She pauses, then shakes her head, a little embarrassed. "Never been up there, actually."

"For political reasons?"

"Yeah. Well. No."

IT IS TOO LATE FOR IDEOLOGY TO SAVE HER, ANYWAY.

"To be honest... the place just gives me a bad feeling. Eerie-like."

"Did you notice anything odd on your way up today?"

"You mean aside from the diplomatic delegation? 'Cos you don't see that every day." She looks up and thinks.

"There was a guy in a pink sweatshirt that kept asking me if we had any Ultra Violeta discs. I had to tell him they'd all been stolen about three times before it seems to have sunk in."

Even mid-assignment, the tyrant queen holds his heart in her talons.

Somewhere in a designer hotel, a bleach-clean prison where she waits for her one-way trip to the moon, a twenty-one year-old pop sensation feels a chill, followed by a sudden, uncontrollable bout of nausea.

"He didn't do anything pervy, did he?"

"Um... no."

YOU WILL CATCH THE REACTIONARY IN THE ACT YET.

"There was a schoolgirl who kicked off about not having a lighter. She kept screaming for one, I offered her mine but she would only take it from one of the Luzians."

You're all doomed.

"Oh. That's not very nice, is it?" (Through gritted teeth.)

"She calmed down after that but... how'd a kid get hold of Ouroboros Blacks?" She takes a drag on her pipe.

Hopefully a nicotine-addled teenager with expensive taste is what the Lich saw, too.

"Do you have a bad feeling right now?"

"Not bad. Eerie, a little bit." She shrugs. "I don't know. It's silly."

Gut churn vertigo.

"Think you'll ever go up?"

"Nah. I'll stick near the tram. Feels... safer, somehow." She puffs on her pipe for a long moment. "Silly, I know."

"Maybe you should transfer off this line."

"You know, I almost turned it down after the first week. But it's light work, I'd be silly to turn down easy money."

"Maybe some of the people you carry up here are bringing bad energies. That can be infectious."

"Bad energy is the Quisach mainline after a pelota final." She snorts. "I think it's just the whole imposing shrine thing."

"Do you think something bad is going to happen today?"

She puffs on her pipe for a long moment.

"No, I wouldn't think so."

Said more for herself than for you.

Say nothing, keep smoking.

Your mutual silence is comfortable, but doesn't do as much to dispel the words she's left hanging in the air.

"And you've been coming up here how long?"

"One year, three months, ten days. Four times a day, two days off."

"Job's a job. I get it."

"The job is the job is the job." She nods at you.

"See you around." [Leave.]

"Bye."

(Stub out your cigarette.) "Good chat." [Leave.]

"See you on the way down." She nods.

If she survives, she will be the first to be interrogated. They will make an example of her.

Finally.

She's savouring it.

"'Special schedule'?"

"Some government types riding the lines today. I don't really keep up. I just know we don't leave until someone important looking tells me to."

"What if I want to leave now?"

"Then you've got a long and dangerous walk ahead of you."

"Can I borrow a cigarette?" (Proceed.)

Alternative wording

"Got a light?" (Proceed.)

"Normally you'd have to buy one." She rifles in her bum bag and produces a fresh pack of Suprema 100s. "But who's counting?"

Alternative wording

"Sure."

You smoke in companionable silence. The blue smoke from her pipe and your cigarette mingle.

What is the plan here, operant?

Trying to see if I can learn something useful.

Make it brief, then. Your quarry's already on the move.

Enjoying a little pre-showdown smoke.

It's the post-showdown one you should be aiming for. There's no reason to waste time.

Pass some time with the stranger, why not. Your quarry is old, slow. The assignment can wait.

"We're not going to be leaving for a while, sorry. Special schedule today."

She takes short puffs on her pipe, like she's trying to make it last.

Behind her mirrored sunglasses, she's around your age.

Is she In On This? Paid off, threatened, fanatical?

This is a normal woman, doing her normal job. She has no clue that she's just ferried up a contingent of the Weeping Eye.

She's playing it too normal. File under 'Goon, potential'.