DPR – Strange Attractions

by
Dissident Love

commissioned by
DataPacRat

	Dee glanced around the table suspiciously, her face betraying nothing.  Five pairs of eyes stared back at her impatiently, probingly. Her mind whirled, dozens of possibilities presenting themselves, fighting to be selected.  She weighed the few advantages and numerous disadvantages to each potential choice, heart pounding, knowing that the assembled group was waiting for her decision.

	She took a deep breath.  The time was now. 

	"I'll have a Sweaty Pink Afterglow," she announced.

	There were smiles and whoops from around the table, and the slender feline waitress nodded with relief.  She tapped in the order on her pad and arced gracefully away towards the bar.  Other waitresses, similarly equipped with the nearly-silent propulsion belts, zoomed this way and that through the cavernous multi-platformed cabaret. 

	"I still don't see why it takes you so long to decide," Foo said.  "Every single time, it's like pulling teeth."

	"Or twisting her arm off," Fum laughed, the lion making a half-hearted grab for Dee.

	"Nah, that's totally easier," Foo grinned.  The pony raised his arm, made a popping noise with his muzzle and then mimed his arm falling limply to his side. "Seriously, Dee, just do what I do."

	"Order four drinks at a time?" the rat asked with a grin.

	"Exactly! I can't decide either, so I just ordered all the ones that start with S. Simple!"

	"I don't need four drinks to unwind."

	"Neither do I! But it's a good start," the pony chuckled, earning another round of laughter from the rest of the group.  Dee couldn't keep the smile off of her lips, either. The truth was, the average drink served at the Callisto was more than enough to wash away the stresses of the day, as well as completely numb her nose. She was short and slight, and due to her cybernetic nature had far less available flesh to absorb the booze.

	With all of the recent Earthside 'accidental launch' business, Dee had been working extended shifts, often back-to-back, down in the Data Analysis dungeons, and several of her friends had also been devoting more than the required number of hours to their respective fields.  It had been a very strained couple of weeks, and this was the first night they'd been able to get together for more than a quick sandwich in the commissaries. 

	They had decided that a drink was more than necessary when, after those long weeks of heads-down clenched-jaw dedication, the official report had indicated that there was insufficient evidence to make a decision one way or the other regarding the intent of the Earthside agencies that had launched the weapons in the first place. The payloads had fallen back to Earth and been quickly recovered, and all the appropriate apologies had been issued, but it had felt like a shot being fired across their bow.

	"... which is friggin' stupid," Fum was saying, "because we've got just as many asteroids aimed at them as they've got nukes and p-beams aimed at us. A shot across the bow is just begging us to slap them upside the head with a fifty million ton boulder."

	The round of resigned nods became a chorus of muted cheers when the waitress returned with the dozen or so drinks, the lion's share of which ended up on front of the grinning pony. A fizzing fuscia concoction in an enormous martini glass was placed in front of Dee, and she eyed it with trepidation. Several drinks were raised and clinked and she reached for hers to join in when a second beverage, a tall slender column of glass filled with swirling crimson, was placed next to her. 

	"Uhm, excuse me," Dee said, setting her arm to auto-pilot and clinking absently, "I didn't order this one."

	The waitress winked, obviously taking great pleasure from this. "It's from that gentleman over... yonder." The bubbly feline pointed towards the crowded bar, and it wasn't difficult for Dee to pick him out; he was the only one staring directly at her. 

	Zot and Quux made little 'OooOooo' noises, and Dee shushed them away with a self-conscious smile. "Oh, you two knock it off." She turned back to the waitress and said, "Could you tell him thank you, but no thanks? I only wanted one drink tonight."

	"Well, I could," the waitress said, "but he told me you'd probably say that, and then he told me to say BACK to you, 'don't worry, it's non-alcoholic'."

	Dee blinked. "Oh, really," she said flatly. She glanced back over to the bar and saw the tall husky grin, wiggling his fingers shyly at her. "Well... tell him thanks, then?"

	"Will do."  Belt humming like a bee, she zoomed off.

	Zot leaned over and thumped the rat's arm. "What was that all about, Dee? What, you're too good to say thank you? Blow him a kiss?"

	"Blow something else?" Fum asked, finishing off his first drink. 

	Zot punched the pony's shoulder hard, never taking her eyes off of Dee. "Ignore him. Come on, he's kind of cute."

	Dee sniffed the unforseen drink.  It wasn't fizzing, but the cloudy, ruby-red swirls continued to twist and frolick. "Strawberries and... something," she murmured, taking a little sip.  It actually did taste quite pleasant, and she wasn't sure if she was pleased about that or not.  "It doesn't mean he's getting lucky."

	The anteater just smiled and patted her hand. "There you go," she said, "stiff upper lip."

	"Stiff something els-OW! Come on, that was funny!" Fum rubbed his rapidly-bruising shoulder.

	Dee alternated between the towering strawberry drink, which she learned was called a Parisian Tickler, and her own drink, which was not nearly as pleasant as she'd hoped. Well, she thought, at least he's done one good thing for me. I know what to order next time! The conversation at the table slowly shifted from work mode to play mode, with the next game of Diplomacy being discussed as well as a possible trip to Dome 91 for a few rounds of laser tag. It would be good to blow off a little steam... and shoot Fum a few times.

	Every now and then she looked back to the stranger at the bar, and every now and then he was looking back at her. He was drinking the same beverage, the Parisian Tickler, and an idea struck her.  

	She glanced down and projected a station interface into the tabletop, quickly cycling through the standard paramilitary and information nodes and pulling up the Callisto's system.  It was work of but a few seconds to access the current files, which was publically available anyways, and check out the night's drink purchases.  Fortune smiled on her, for only three Tickler's had been ordered that night... and they were all from the same person.

	"Nome Juneau, aged thirty-three, Data Mining and Analysis," she said aloud, dismissing the projection. "Just coming off of a sanctioned extended leave for personal reasons, and this is his first time at the Callisto in over a year.  Huh. Well, two can play at this game."

	Quux cocked her head. "You're going to mess with him aren't you?" 

	"No," Dee said simply. Quux just stared, and Dee grinned. "Yes."

	Working silently, accessing the cabaret's systems through the projection onto her retina, she scanned through the list of drinks and made a purchase. With a blink reality was restored and she smiled brightly at her friends. "There, that should do it."

	Several pairs of eyes turned towards the bar, where the husky was being served a purple drink in a small tumbler.  Fum's eyes widened; even from this distance, he could recognize it. "Dee, do you-"

	The purple drink exploded, a tiny flashing mushroom cloud rising into the air. There were screams, laughter and even a smattering of applause from the nearby tables as the bright purple cloud dissipated, leaving the tumbler only half-full and the remaining liquid now quite clear. Nome picked himself up off the ground, brushed the droplets of cocktail from his shirt, and spun around.

	Dee had expected a frown, a glare, or maybe even a few profanities, but all she saw was an enormous teeth-baring grin. The husky flashed a double thumbs-up, picked up his chair, and sniffed hesitantly at the Ignition Indigo, which was now quite harmless and was supposed to taste like apples. 

	"I think that sums up how Dee flirts quite well," Zot said dryly.  "Did you really have to blow him up?"

	"Oh, he's fine," Dee giggled, sipping again at the drink he had ordered her. "The menu says it's completely harmless."

	"It says 'may cause hearing damage'," Fum said helpfully. 

	"See? Harmless.  Look, he can walk."  Sure enough, Nome had finished off the undetonated remains of the drink and was walking through the lower level of the Callisto.  

	"I think you scared him off," Zot noted sadly.

	"If he gets scared off by a miniature nuclear explosion, then it's probably good this doesn't go any further," she said arily, but she did feel a little twinge of regret.  Perhaps that had been going a little too far...

	... but instead of leaving, Nome arrived at one of the Newton tables and started to set up a game.  A moment later their shared waitress floated past, depositing two more Ticklers on the small pedestal next to the game table. 

	"Oh, really." 

	Everyone at their table stared expectantly at Dee, and she sighed dramatically, sagging in defeat. "Oh, fine, if it will make you all happy, I'll go," she said, finishing off her drink and standing up. "But I want it on the record that I'm doing this under protest."

	She dodged a few catcalls and paper umbrellas with a laugh and left her friends behind.  The Newton tables occupied an entire wall of the Callisto, and nearly all of them were occupied.  It was a popular game, but had never really gripped Dee; it seemed too obvious, like a circuit diagram.  There was no challenge, there was only a problem and a solution. Nome, though... there was a challenge, of sorts.

	"Howdy," he said softly, racking the balls with a little plastic diamond. "Do you want to break?"

	Dee looked at the table.  About one meter by two meters, green velvet, six pockets spaced around the edge and nine colored balls. Billiards had been popular enough on Earth, but with the highly variable pseudo-gravity in orbit some modifications had been made to keep the game interesting. "You can," she said, selecting a faux-wood cue from the rack.

	He smiled and nodded, curved tail wagging. Already Dee was far more enticed by the stranger than she was by the game. Not going to ask my name, eh? What do you know? She pulled up Nome's files again on her retina, scrolling through them while he set up his shot. 

	"South wall, deflection efficiency 200%," he said, declaring his first alteration to the game zone.  He took aim with his cue and fired the white ball, and sure enough when the others scattered there was an enormous number of collissions at the far end as each ball striking the far bumper doubled it's momentum. None of them actually sank itself into a pocket, though, and he grimaced. "Your shot."

	Dee knew most of the commands that could be given during play, and the fundamental rule that no action by one player could be undone by the other. She was distracted, though, by some inconsistencies in Nome's personnel information, and she only vaguely thought out her declaration. "North wall, deflection efficiency 200%," she said, lining up her shot. The 1-ball was out in the open, but any path it took would be bracketed by several other balls.  She wasn't interested in winning just yet; she just needed time to analyse.  She took her shot and was not surprised when the resulting rebounds completely rearranged the table, the 8-ball bouncing back and forth between the north and south bumpers several times before finally coming to a rest.

	Nome just nodded and leaned against his cue. "You're not really playing to win, are you," he said. It wasn't a question.

	"Give me time," she said, still scanning with one eye. "I'm still trying to figure out your strategy."

	"What makes you think I have a strategy?"

	"Everything."

	He nodded again. "Sensible." He paced slowly around the table, trying to figure out how to free the nearly-surrounded 1-ball.  Dee turned her attention back to his personnel files, trying to figure out why six years of steady and vacation-free service suddenly ended with a three-week leave of absence right when the whole 'accidental launch' fracas started. It wasn't a particularly enchanting trait to flee at the first sign of danger. 

	"5-ball, gravity well level one," he said, taking aim and cracking the cueball. It bounced off the south bumper, gaining tremendous velocity and rocketing across the table.  When it passed the 5-ball, though, it's trajectory curved, swinging the white ball around and slamming it into the 1-ball, scattering the spheres around it and managing to sink three of them.  Nome straightened and ran his fingers through his hair. "The one, the two, and the six... that's nine to me," he said. 

	She frowned. Forty-five available points, and he already had a fifth of them. Dee was not a poor loser, but this rankled her. "Don't get uppity," she said, smiling challengingly at him. "I told you I hadn't started yet."

	"You might want to think about starting soon," he chuckled. "The nine's sitting half in the corner pocket, I could make this very one-sided."

	"Big talk," she winked, scanning the table.  She had set some autonomous data probes into action, sifting through the station's immense data stores and digging up more dirt on the mysterious Nome, which freed her up to pay closer attention to the game.  The cue was sitting all by itself, but it was awfully close to the 5-ball, which would skew any shot she made. The 3-ball was next in line, and it seemed to be blocked by the 8-ball.  Already she was wishing she'd made more of an effort to master this game. "North field, resistance level one," she announced, leaning over the table, mechanical limbs steady as iron girders. 

	She was lining up her shot when the probes popped up their results on her retina.  Her eyes widened, and for a moment she forgot she was in the middle of her move, but she managed to collect her wits enough to shoot.  The cueball soared away, curving gently around the 5-ball, bouncing off the south bumper like a bullet, but as soon as it passed the middle of the table it started to slow down.  It deflected from a side bumper and was nearly stationary by the time it hit the north bumper.  It picked up a little speed, but not enough, and the cueball came to an almost complete stop less than a finger's width from the 3-ball.

	"Oooooh, scratch," Nome said, her score now entering the negatives. He looked curiously at her. "Are you letting me win?"

	She frowned.  "Misjudged the resistance," she said softly, re-reading the information on her retina three times. "This isn't over."

	Nome added gravity to the 8-ball and proceeded to sink it and the 3-ball without too much difficulty, giving him a total of twenty points, and herself negative three.  If she played absolutely perfectly and her opponent didn't manage to sink another ball, she would only just barely win.  She figured the odds of that were slightly better than being hit by an asteroid on the way back to her room. 

	Dee scoped out the table, letting her eyes roam while she pondered. This was not going precisely as she had planned, but it wasn't anything she couldn't handle. There was one gravity well, two super-bouncy bumpers and half the table acted like mud, and her opponent had just gotten out of prison. Oh-kay, no time to panic.

	She leaned over, trying to plot out a good route to try and suck the gravity-endowed balls together and sink them in a cluster. It was a moderate distraction, but not enough. She took a deep breath, and said "Cue ball, two hundred percent inertia." She took her shot and smiled a small smile as the cue ball smashed the others aside, sinking three and pulling her well back into the positive integers.

	The husky nodded approvingly. "Still not gonna be enough," he said. "You left the seven out in the open."

	The rat just shrugged.  "Maybe."

	He looked closer and frowned, realizing that any route between the seven and a pocket needed to pass through the bogged-down north field or near the high-gravity 5-ball. "Evil," he chuckled. "I get the feeling I'm being sharked."

	"And good luck hitting the five without scratching, too," she said, leaning back against the table and sipping her drink. 

	He took a few more paces around the table, shrugged and sauntered over to stand next to her, grabbing his own drink. "I think I better stall for time," he said, taking a long draught. "Might give me a chance to properly introduce myself."

	"Nome Juneau, aged thirty-three, Data Mining and Analysis."

	He smiled. "Or you could just do that. Sort of takes the gallantry out of my sails. Anything else about me you feel the need to tell me?"

	"Just got back from three weeks extended personal leave," she said, staring levelly at him, "which turned out to be due to clinical incarcation."

	Nome sipped his drink thoughtfully. "You're good. They assured me that was classified."

	"It was, and I'm just that good."

	"So I see."

	Dee looked at him more closely.  He was tall, thick-chested like most of his kind but remarkably slim elsewhere.  His ears were perky, his shock of white hair well-groomed, his voice was steady.  All in all, not the sort of person she would expect to have gotten out of solitary confinement. 

	"You're wondering what I did."

	"I am."

	"You're wondering why I came here as soon as I was released."

	"That, too."

	"And, if you're the sort of lady I think you are, you're probably wondering why I bought you a drink, especially if you think I think you're the sort of lady I think you are."

	Dee's lips moved silently for a moment, and then she nodded. 

	"All fair questions. First thing's first, though: when did you know?"

	"Scratched the 3-ball."

	"Thought so."

	They sipped their drinks in silence for a few moments, taking in the sights of the cabaret.  With a thin but diamond-hard dome stretched overtop of the ancient crater, there was enormous volume to play around with, and dozens of terraces  filled the space, each one packed with tables. Thousands of revelers could use the space at the same time, but right now it was a sparse crowd indeed.

	“It had something to do with the 'accidental launch', didn't it?” Dee asked, grabbing her cue and heading back to the table. Nome joined her, still eyeing up the tricky shot.

	“Sort of.  Three days after, technically.  I was still on-shift.”

	“Long shift?”

	“I just told you.”

	Her delicate jaw dropped. “You had a seventy-two hour shift?”

	“Seventy-six.  It was voluntary, mostly. I mean... well, at the beginning, it was encouraged that we stay extra hours, tackling the problem.  I was sifting through just ridiculous amounts of data, you can't imagine the telemetry we were pulling in from every piece of space junk larger than a breadbox. Back-scans, launch info, projected intersections... but once you get into a groove-”

	“-you don't skip,” she finished with a small smile.  “Been there.”

	“Ever spend seventy-five hours there? 5-ball gravity level two.” With impressive speed he hunched over and shot, loading the cueball with sidespin.  It twirled, hardly seeming to move forwards at all, but slowly it picked up the pull from the 5-ball and began a long, slow, impossible arc around the seven... but still struck the higher ball first, knocking his score down three more points. “Ahhhh, shucks.  THIS close, you saw it.”

	She nodded, genuinely impressed. “That was close, but you're doomed now.  And no, my record was sixty-eight hours, and that was with caffiene paks in my bra. Apparently they had to drag me away from my workstation, but I don't remember that part. Strange.”

	They circled the table. Dee's next shot was straightforward, but the follow-up was too obvious, he'd be able to sink the seven with no trouble at all, and nothing in the world could keep him from the win then. “So, how did that lead to... whatever it was you did.”

	“I destroyed my workstation, and assaulted my supervisor.”

	“Oh.”

	“Then when Security came to collect me, I attacked them, too.”

	“Ow.”

	“They're mostly volunteers, you know,” he continued casually, surveying the table. “Security details.  They take shifts when they want a break from something boring, like Radio Astronomy or Botany.  Mostly, Security just stands around looking important, and occasionally collect drunks from the cabaret. I don't think they ever thought they'd end up squaring off against someone like me. The video shows me biting one of their ears off, but I swear I didn't mean to do that.”

	“I'll bet.”

	He leaned his cue against the table and leaned forwards. “And now you're keeping yourself on the other side of the table.”

	“Safety first,” she said. “9-ball, repulsion level one.”  Her shot slammed into the five like a bullet, split the seven in the opposite direction and sank them both. The nine drifted a short distance, directly away from the cueball.  “Well, that sort of squares that up, I guess.  Whoever sinks it wins, and... it's your shot.”

	Nome sighed, sizing up the shot.  Repulsion was tricky; a straight shot would still have the desired effect, but it wouldn't line up with the pockets.  An oblique shot would be required, but the momentum of the cueball determined how much the repulsion would affect the trajectory, before and after impact.  “You don't like to lose.”

	“It's a serious medical problem,” she smiled.  “Professional help is being sought.”

	“You and me both,” he said, rolling his eyes. “When the thorazine wore off I was in my quarters, and the doors were welded shut.”

	Dee was silent while the husky planned out his next move. Nome was certainly being forthcoming with his situation, that was for sure, but a number of questions still remained worryingly unanswered. “Is this conversation going as you'd planned?” she asked with a faint hint of incredulity.

	“Actually, it's going better.  At some point by now I'd have figured you'd have brought down the Security guys by the door.”

	“They're on alert.”

	“Touche. Would you like another drink? I don't think this shot is going to come to me without more mental lubrication.” 

	Dee nibbled the little colorful stir stick protruding from the top of her glass, dodging an umbrella. “There's no alcohol in these.”

	“Did you break into the Callisto's systems, too?” Nome asked, grinning winsomely. 

	“'Break' is a little grandiose, don't you think?” She chewed the stir stick like a toothpick. “It would be like breaking into a... I dunno, a banana.  You wouldn't bother breaking in, you'd just open it up.” 

	“Do you always sound this smug?”

	“Oh, no, I'm usually much worse.” 

	He grinned, tongue lolling. “That's very reassuring.  You're holding yourself back for little old me?”

	She cocked her head. “Well, you haven't given me a reason to have you tossed out an airlock, so I say... play the game.”

	Nome leaned forward, propping himself up with his cue.  “I suppose that's about the best I could hope for, at this point. My clinicians told me to be completely and totally honest about my ordeals, so you're getting Brutally Upfront Nome tonight.”

	“Why?”

	“Because if I start to hold anything minor back about what happened, I might be tempted to hold back major things, and then there's nothing behaviourally objective holding me back from possibbly repeating undesirable actions-”

	“Why am I getting Brutally Upfront Nome, instead of some other lucky lady?”  Dee had, very slowly, moved around the table until she was an arm's length from the husky. “I'm pretty sure most psychologists wouldn't have said 'Hey, you know what you need to do the second you get your door unwelded? Go to the bar and try to pick up the first Data Analyst you see.'”

	He chewed on the tip of the cue. “Good question, good question.”  He took a deep breath, leaned over the table, and said “Cue ball, three hundred percent inertia. Might as well play big, right?”

	“You talking about the game or me?”

	“...yes?”
	
	Nome fired, and the table became the site of a very strange, protracted and meteoric flight. Twice it came very close to striking the nine ball, veering gently away each time, but on the third slide it actually managed to make contact, saving him from another scratch, but it only moved an inch towards the pocket. 

	Dee and Nome exhaled, shaking their heads. “That was actually kind of impressive,” she said, “except for the whole... not actually sinking it thing.”

	“It was, wasn't it?” He shook his head and laughed. “Anyways, it was... well, sort of on the advice of my clinician, actually.  They advised me to find someone smarter than me, and... and tell them my story.  All of it.  Without sounding too modest, that sort of narrowed down the possibilities somewhat, but you've got a bit of a reputation in Data Mining.”

	Dee kept her eyes carefully on the table. “A reputation? Really?” 

	“Yeah.  Something along the lines, 'If you have a few hours to kill, ask Dee a simple question.”

	She laughed. “I choose to take that as a compliment,” she said, eyeing up the table.  Missing would be downright impossible at this range, but with the sluggish portion of the table, enhanced rebound and repulsion, it was still a little dicey to bank it sufficiently into a pocket, especially with three hundred percent inertia on the cue ball.  That, and she had to declare an alteration of her own.  “So I'm just part of your rehab then.”

	Two more strawberry drinks arrived via rocket-cat, but Nome ignored them.  “I hope you don't think that's the only reason,” he said, brows knit with concern.

	“You haven't given me a lot of reason to think otherwise.”

	“You haven't given me enough time to work my magic.”

	She glanced at the table. “Your magic seems to have it's hands full.”

	“You hush.”  Nome inched a little closer, leaning his butt against the table and sighing. “I... no, that's no good.  Total honesty, right? That's the deal.  Ok, yes, I won't deny that a major factor in me coming here tonight and talking to you is that, yes, I need to get this out of the way and my clinicians are observing and recording this conversation in order to properly assess my faculties, and there'll be some sort of release for you to sign when they're all done.”

	Dee blinked and sent out a few probes, gathering information on the Callisto networks and all exterior connections. Recorded, eh? “Honesty doesn't make a girl feel very special, does it?”

	“That's why they invented poetry, my dear,” he chuckled. “Girl pretty.  Me want girl.  Girl want boy? That wasn't going to work forever.”

	She made a show of scanning the table. “So there's poetry coming.”

	“I haven't rehearsed, but if you need-”

	“No, that won't be necessary,” Dee said with a little smile.  “Or at least take your time and come up with something truly toe-curling.  You're going to need it after this.”

	They were silent for a few moments, taking in the din around them. Hundreds of people, alone and in pairs and in groups were drinking and snacking and enjoying their lives and each-other's company.

	“I have other ways to curl your-”

	“Not yet.”

	“That's fair.”  He took a deep breath and exhaled. “So I guess it's in your corner now. That's my story, such as it is.”

	Dee fixed her small eyes on the table, all too aware that Nome's hip was practically brushing up against her own. “Doesn't seem like too terrible of a tale.  You went a little whacky from sleep deprivation. That's happened more than a couple times, especially in our line of work... and if they're recording this conversation, it wouldn't do very well for you to hold back the last little details you left out.”

	He smiled, but it was a nervous smile; his eyes looked hunted. “You definitely don't play to lose, do you?”

	“You like rhetorical questions, don't you?”  She hunched over the table, having decided on her shot. “You wouldn't have been locked up just for a spaz-out like that, you'd have been medicated and detoxed and allowed to unwind. Like I said, it happens in our line of work, and I've seen a couple of them myself. No-one got incarcerated.”

	Nome sagged like a partially-deflated balloon. “You're good.”

	“You're evasive.”

	“I'm-” he started, raising his voice for the first time that night. He caught himself, though, and turned to stare back out at the cabaret. “Yes,” he continued hollowly, as though reading from some internal script. “I-”

	“Hold that thought.  West wall, deflection efficiency 200%.” Dee cracked the cueball, watched with satisfaction as the nine soared around the table, veered slightly on it's close transit past the still-hurtling cueball, bounced off of the newly-enhanced west wall, and dropped into the side pocket with a satisfying 'clop'. “I think I'm getting the hang of this game.”

	She took a moment to admire her score on the little display screen, then turned back to Nome, blinking innocently. “Now then, you were saying?”

	His jaw dropped, just for a moment. “I'm glad you're on our side,” he said at last, shaking his head ruefully. “How can you not let it get to you? How can you not FEEL it?”

	 “What?” she asked, although she had already pretty much guessed.

	Nome raised a fist and looked ready to pound the table.  He took a deep breath as though he were about to yell, but again he stalled.  In the end he settled on grabbing his fruity cocktail and downing it in one gulp. He wiped his whiskers with his sleeve, ears twitching, curled tail drooping. “Do you ever just... look down at them? Look at the cities by day, the lights by night, and try to count how many of them are looking back at us through a strategically weaponized rangefinder?”

	“Of course,” Dee said softly, leaning the cue against the table and carefully resting one paw against his. “We're not machines.  Not yet, at least. We look down at them, they look up at us.” She was starting to understand why Nome had required more than just a simple cool-down period.

	“Ah, yes, but it's not just idle curiosity, is it?” he asked, baring a hint of fang. “We're looking down on them, hacking their communication lines, mapping their movements, predicting their launches, preparing to counter their attacks even as they prepare to counter ours, and goodness knows we're both creating endless contingencies for countering the countering.”

	Dee has seen this before, and there were two typical pathologies: the very young who were unable to keep themselves from reacting to every stray thought at maximum emotional capacity, and the elders who had spent their entire lives being ground away at by the harsh realities of their exopolitical existence. Nome seemed neither especially young or especially old; he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time and was unable to shut down his train of thought before it reached the end of the tracks.

	“That's how it has to be, right now,” Dee said, preparing a quick alert for the Security detail, just in case.  “Freedom has always been a matter of opinion, and at the moment there's a... difference of opinion that happens to involve nuclear warheads.”

	“And you go on like that?” he said, turning to face her but leaving his hand against the table, beneath Dee's slender white fingers. “You wake up in the morning, grab your java and go to work thinking 'Today I'm going to perpetuate the illusion of freedom and safety, conduct illegal and possibly breach-of-peace activities against a larger and more powerful entity, then maybe go out for drinks'?”

	“Of course.”

	His eyes were enormous, almost pleading. “How?”

	“How can you not?” Dee said sharply, not prepared to coddle this man, not when his independence and skills were in such crucial demand. Either he could take the truth, or he couldn't.  “Look, this isn't Critical Thinking 113 anymore, there's not going to be any classroom discussion regarding the sanctity of life and the intrinsic worth of existence.  Billions of people through history have been in this position, they've been in the lookout tower between the two mighty nations and known for a fact that when the other shoe drops, they're going to be the first ones to die and knowing their life at that moment, in that time and in that place, will not make any difference one way or the other, but they keep going because they can't see the future.”

	Nome blinked. “There has to be more to life than just hoping that the next day isn't the last one you get.”

	“That's just the big picture,” she said, squeezing his paw once before releasing it and brushing her hands against her hips. “You need to see the big picture, sure, but not at the expense of the details. That guard, alone in his lookout tower doesn't see himself as a grain of sand waiting for the next gust of wind to roll him into oblivion.  He has hopes and dreams, he has books and poetry, and he has time off coming to spend with his kids, and-”

	“More cogs for the machine,” Nome said in clipped tones before slamming his muzzle shut, eyes brimming with chagrin. 

	“Is that really how you feel?” she said, rising to her full unimpressive height. 

	He stared at her for far longer than was comfortable, but she could see the turmoil tumbling within him.  Three alerts popped up at the corner of her vision, one from Security and two from her friends across the room. Dee was aware of how it must look, but she had committed to this. Figures the only time a tall dark stranger buys me a drink he's on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

	“I don't know,” he said with depressive finality. It obviously wasn't the answer he'd wanted to hear from his own lips. 

	The slender mouse smiled and squeezed his shoulder.  “Good,” she said.   Nome cocked his head, and Dee chuckled. “Not knowing means you have room to find out.” The husky started to respond, but Dee cut him off. “No, I know it's not the answer you want, and I'm not going to stand here and tell you that you're cured, or that your paranoia is wrong and everything will be fine or that your paranoia is RIGHT and you should just stuff yourself into an amino reclamation tank. I'm here to tell you thank you for the drink, and thank you for the game, and if you can pull yourself together long enough to act like a normal grain of sand I'm here to ask if you'd like to do it again next week.”

	Two more alerts popped up at the corner of her vision while the two furs held that pose for several long moments. Their concern was touching, and she wondered if any of them knew about Nome's recent past. 

	“I... I can do that,” he said, his lips finally curving back up into a wan smile.

	“Well, good,” she said, standing on her tiptoes and wrapping her arms around his neck, giving him a brief, friendly embrace. She stepped back, clapped him on the shoulders again, and tilted her head towards the bar. “And now, if you'd care to join me, I think I could finally stand something a little stronger than a Parisian Tickler.”

	“I'm not allowed to have alcohol for three more months,” he said regretfully, following close behind her.

	“Then you can afford to buy.”