Season 1, Episode 6 - The Tree Plot XXXV - "The Lil Rab"

Clayton could use his wind powers to glide, to send blasts of air at his opponents, and even cushion his own fall - too bad he couldn’t use them to empty his head. Ever since he enrolled in the Academy, he tried to live a life of just taking things easy and going with the flow. Thoughts gradually drifted from your mind that way. All the worries and fears, all the anguish…it’s easier to be happy-go-lucky.

Unfortunately, Androscoggin had other plans for him. Having left Hanai, Coleridge, and…whatever her name was behind, Clayton continued onward, with nothing but his own powers, a desire to learn the truth behind Eos, and his indentured servant carrying him toward his destination. The former gunman made no efforts to run away; he soldiered on, leading Clayton through several empty street blocks until coming to a main avenue.

He pointed down the street. At the very end, where the outskirts of the city proper would’ve been, the Androscoggin Military Police guarded a giant wooden and metal gate, with the shantytown beyond it. Men and women in rags grasped the edges of the fence on either side of the gate, their breath condensing into the night sky. The MPs paid them no mind. Searchlights probed in the darkness.

The man led Clayton past that street and back into more empty blocks. “I heard that the woman you’re after controls those guards. When supply trucks come into the shantytown, she takes a cut for herself and distributes it to those loyal to her.”

“So she has a bit of a following,” Clayton surmised. “Is that how she got to you?”

Having been with the man long enough, Clayton had finally noticed the stubble on his chin, the dark rings around his eyes, and the tired wrinkles on his forehead. “I have a daughter to feed. The woman in charge used me as an enforcer within the shantytown - I put pressure on people who tried to get out of dealing with her. But it’s a good deal. If you follow her, you’re sure to get fed.” He shook his head. “But if you don’t follow her…well, people go missing from the shantytown all the time.”

A sharp breeze cut right through Clayton’s layers. Rddhi crackled across his body, directing the breeze elsewhere. They passed by empty streets and buildings with their lights off - perhaps the citizens here moved elsewhere as the shantytown settled in nearby.

“Did she send you to rob people of turkeys?” Clayton asked.

The man chuckled. “I told you - she’s a dreamer. She thought we deserved a good holiday, especially in this cold. But when she couldn’t secure enough turkey shipments for all her people in the shantytown, she sent us out to buy more. If we needed to, we were to take them by force. She said nobody would mess with us - we were her people.”

The man glanced back at Clayton; his gray eyes seemed to see beyond it. “I never expected I would run into a Rddhi user. A Rddhi user who seems to know her, no less.”

Clayton passed underneath a flickering orange streetlight.

“We have unfinished business.”

Some time later, far to the right of the MP gate, the man brought Clayton past the end of a cul-de-sac and to the shantytown fence. A dumpster was pressed up against it; when the man pushed it out of the way, a hole beneath the fence, dug into the dirt, revealed itself. The man slipped through with ease - presumably, he had done this countless times before. Clayton succeeded in the first try as well - just as an air can move through any space without much trouble, so could Clayton.

A minute of walking across dirt and the occasional patch of grass later, the edge of the shantytown appeared. Shacks made of rusty metal patches and pallet wood roofs dotted a grass field; well-worn strips of dirt provided the roads. Shrubbery and weeds grew around each of the shacks; empty bottles and cans were littered everywhere.

Barrel fires lighted the way through the shantytown. Foul smells of alcohol and waste followed Clayton wherever he went, making him scrunch his nose at times, and a relentless noise buzzed in the background. Yells, shouts, cheers, and songs from the shacks or from men and women standing around barrel fires cascaded throughout the shantytown; the noise was everywhere and unescapable. Between that, it was no surprise to find silent people laying around a barrel fire, their eyes closed, hugging ragged blankets and clothing close to their cold frames.

“Rab!” a high-pitched voice called out. A young girl tossed a football back to her friends across a field of dirt, then skipped to the man leading Clayton.

“Lil Rab!” the man answered. When she arrived, she giggled as the man - presumably, Rab - hoisted her into the air and spun. “You have a good day today?”

“An MP gave us a pigskin,” she answered with a smile.

Rab set her down and ruffled her hair. “Make sure you get home soon. It’s getting late.”

Lil Rab gave him a happy nod. She took a moment to look at Clayton, perhaps noticing how clean his face was, how properly nourished his body was beneath the longcoat, but then she dashed off back towards the game.

Rab and Clayton watched her tackle an opposing player. “That your daughter?”

Rab nodded.

“How old is she?” Clayton asked.

“Don’t know.”

Clayton glanced over at him.

“She’s not my daughter by blood," Rab clarified. "She’s my daughter by circumstance. Her parents left her here. So I look after her.”

Above the shantytown, twenty-six stars were visible. That was enough to create a field of light above them, enough to feel like you were part of something much vaster than you. Clayton tried to feel the roundness of the earth beneath him as he walked.

After passing by more shacks and fires, Rab pulled Clayton to a stop and brought him behind a makeshift lean-to pressed up against a tree. Previously, all the shacks had been built aimlessly and without direction from above, but this area was planned - shack construction suddenly stopped, creating a large square, entirely empty except for a warehouse in the middle. It was built with sturdy concrete and illuminated from the inside; a single spotlight on top scanned the surrounding area, which included a paved road leading back towards the MP gate. Something so well-built looked out of place in the shantytown.

“That’s an old army depot they made into a warehouse,” Rab explained, lowering his voice. “That’s where the woman rules from.”

A couple of guards - not MPs, but shantytown men - armed with pistols loitered outside the warehouse, huddling near a barrel fire. Each man smoked a cigarette - and based on everything Clayton had seen so far, that must’ve been a luxury in these parts.

“Why’d you lead me here?” Clayton finally asked. “You said the woman would kill you if she found out.”

Rab sighed. “I don’t know. I thought you guys would kill me. And if I’m dead, who’s going to take care of Lil Rab?”

Both men kept quiet, letting the silence answer the question for him. Clayton chuckled and reached into his jacket. “That’s funny. We never would’ve actually killed you in the first place.”

Rab’s eyes widened. They got even wider when Clayton stuffed some money into his hands.

“Use this for Lil Rab,” Clayton offered. “You’ve helped me tonight. In exchange, I’ll get rid of the woman running things here. She won’t be able to disappear, threaten, or rob people any longer. Once she’s gone, make sure to put someone who has somebody to care for in charge.”

Rab looked down at the money, then slowly placed it inside his raggedy jacket. “What are you going to do once you meet her?”

Clayton looked back at the warehouse. “I’ll know soon enough.”

With the help of a few drunken locals who had nothing better to do, Clayton gathered several pallets of wood and a metal barrel. Kids gathered branches and sticks to use as kindling while others dragged planks from abandoned shacks to the growing pile. Clayton tossed around the last of his money, and the drunkards and children slipped back into the anonymity of the wider shantytown.

With the pile complete, Clayton snuck around towards the other side of the square, keeping a close eye on the searchlight and the warehouse guards. None of them had noticed the building project since it took place just beyond the edge of the square and the guards had a tendency to stick around their own barrel fire.

When Clayton arrived on the other side, he counted four guards around the warehouse. Then, feeling like a composer about to begin a symphony, he swiped the air with his hands. Anyone around one of the many barrel fires dotting the area around the square felt an odd breeze go through them; embers drifted into the air. The vast majority snuffed themselves out quickly, but just enough embers traveled to the construction to project to spark and catch.

The makeshift bonfire erupted, with the kindling going up in smoke and planks soon succumbing to the sudden heat. Urged on by repeated breezes courtesy of Clayton’s hand, the fire began to rage, lighting up the shack wood. The blaze illuminated the nearby shantytown; flames flickered in the dark.

The four guards noticed the commotion and sprinted off towards it. Keeping out of the searchlight, Clayton glided up to the top of the shack he hid behind, then sprinted across the metal roof. It offered a very short runway, but Clayton jumped at just the right moment. He sailed upwards, new gusts of wind carrying him through the air. The guards, distracted by the fire, didn’t see a thing.

As Clayton landed on a narrow ledge below one of the warehouse's cracked upper windows, he felt a brief hint of nostalgia for his days as a home burglar. Things seemed so much simpler then - break in, take what you could (and then a little more), and escape. A desire to go back to those simpler times gnawed at him - perhaps today, finally, he could let them go by confronting his past.

Precise strikes of wind tore apart the broken window while preventing the glass from scattering inside the warehouse; Clayton glided the shards to the roof. With the opening wide enough, Clayton slipped inside and landed on a long catwalk.

He peered over the edge of the catwalk and saw a main square storage area filled with dozens upon dozens of crates stacked together. A few guards roamed the interior, poking their guns around the mazes formed by the crate stacks. As for the catwalk - it ran the length of the warehouse, forming an elevated ring overlooking the storage area.

An office room took up one corner of the ring, with the catwalk going around it; Clayton could feel the tiniest hint of Rddhi emanating from it. It wasn’t tiny in terms of strength - it was tiny due to efforts to conceal it. And had Clayton not been a Class 5, it might’ve escaped his notice.

One guard patrolled the catwalk, but he was on the far side. If Clayton moved fast, he would make it into the office in time. Before he moved though, he noticed two things - first, that if he squinted hard enough, he could see the labels on the boxes. Black letters covered some of the crates, the words MACHIGONNE IMPORT/EXPORT seeming to scream out at Clayton. But the second thing was by far more important - he noticed another trace of Rddhi down in the storage area.

There’s two users here. Good thing I’m concealing my own, otherwise they might’ve caught me by now.

Clayton decided to check out the office first - if Eos was truly running the show, then he suspected she’d be doing administrative work while a Rddhi lackey guarded down below. He snuck around the catwalk, concealing his Rddhi metaphysically while control of the air around him prevented any creaks or groans from the catwalk giving his position away. The guard on the catwalk was still peering down into the storage area. The Rddhi user down remained stationary, probably sitting on a crate.

His heart beating rapidly, Clayton slid next to the office’s doorway, further hiding himself in the shadows. He wanted to feel calm, but his heart threatened to beat out of his chest and his hands felt clammy.

All I want to know is…when we tried to escape Sebago, did you leave me behind on purpose?

He already suspected the answer. But he couldn’t move on until he knew for sure.

Air flowed around the door handle - it was unlocked. Clayton took a deep breath, gathered his courage, and used the air to subtly twist the door handle. He rose to his feet and stepped inside.

Clayton wasn’t sure what he expected. A fight? An argument? A hug and a heartfelt reunion? He should’ve prepared for all contingencies, but ever since Rab first told him about the blonde Rddhi user who used strings, Clayton could only push forward until he saw her.

The door closed behind him. A weak laugh arose in Clayton’s throat and wheezed out of his mouth.

Perhaps Hanai had a point about being hung up on the past. Clayton had assumed that only Eos fit Rab’s description. But an entirely different person matched up with it as well - the Second Restorationist infiltrator Shokahu encountered while exploring the underground Dorrite base in Fore River.

Alcyone, sitting behind a desk and in the middle of eating a bagel, glanced up at the newcomer in her office. The walls of the office were a tattered green turning into brown and beige; a lone ceiling light shone down on them. Stacks of papers filled her desk and the area surrounding it.

Neither Clayton nor Alcyone moved for a moment. The two simply stared at each other in surprise. Had it been an option, Clayton might’ve apologized for disturbing her and backed out of the warehouse entirely.

This close, there was no way Clayton could conceal he was a Rddhi user from her. Sneaking into her office also might’ve clued Alcyone in on the fact that Clayton wasn’t exactly on her side.

Alcyone giggled, then started laughing. With nothing else going for him, Clayton started laughing with her. In the middle of that shantytown, in that office within that warehouse, two strangers shared a rare moment of genuine laughter.

Then Alcyone fired the shotgun hidden beneath her desk.