They were quiet as they loaded into the taxi. Vicenorn glared out the window as the vehicle started off across the wasteland expanse between Traveling Point and city. It was a self-driven black bar with wheels, all six of the Amber Foundation squeezed together as the taxi rumbled across the cracked, broken highway. It had evidently not seen much repair in a long time, as the six of them winced with each jostle, the wheels running over holes in the asphalt and jumbling past the rusted, washed-out shells of other vehicles on the road.

The city loomed in the distance, all dark spires and artificial neon light, the rainbows of a thousand advertisements dancing through the sheet of rain.

“New Shan,” Ichabod muttered, “See it hasn't changed much.”

Other vehicles began to join the taxi as they got closer to New Shan. Most of them were uniform black boxes, the wheels lit up by dull lights so one could see them in the rain. One could also see the logo emblazoned on each vehicle's side.

Outer Zebediah Technologies, it read. OzTech. In stark white against the black sheen of the car, almost electric in the way it was written, in the way it aped nature's wrath. G-Wiz saw Ichabod's nose curl at the sight of it.

The taxi veered off the highway and into the choked undercurrent of New Shan. People began filling the roads, all of them in raincoats and holding umbrellas that dazzled in the myriad lights of the ads high above, each one twinkling like stars in the rain. The taxi parked.

“Let's go,” Ichabod said.

Each of them got out. They each only had a briefcase in hand, and all six of them had donned raincoats, pulling hoods over their heads. To blend in here, in New Shan, was to bundle up in dark nylon, the hood up. No one wanted to be caught standing out here.

Besides, it wasn't good to have rain pelt bare skin. There were enough toxins in it for the water here to be dangerous.

All of the water that people drank here was imported, and stalls were set up as Ichabod and the others walked down the sidewalks. Each one held the logo of OzTech, and G-Wiz noticed that the crowd became thicker around the stands, as lines turned into mobs, as people waited for their daily allotments, using credsticks to pay out for a day's supply, a meal's supply, a single mouthful.

Imported water, when the entire plane was drenched in a near-endless storm.

There were enough of them, as they plunged into the poorer quarters of New Shan, that they were not accosted by anyone. People glowered from between buildings, some of them wearing raincoats, others with old grocery bags or blankets, all of them with a desperate edge in the eye. Vicenorn's heart fell at the sight of children watching him, bellies bulging with the visible signs of malnourishment. One of them was missing an eye, her brother had a rudimentary cybernetic leg, worn from use, far too large for his body as he hobbled over to watch them pass.

“Heads up,” Becenti murmured, “We're being followed.”

“That will be Benjamin,” Becenti said, “One of my contacts.”

He turned around. A figure was stepping out of the rain and into the light of a dim streetlamp. He was an older man, with wispy gray hair and an artificial, metal nose. He tapped a cane against the ground as he strode forward.

“Ichabod,” he said, “Been a long time.”

“Benjamin,” Ichabod said, “It has.”

The two of them stood stark. Rain poured around them. Contort, grimacing, pulled out his umbrella. G-Wiz stepped underneath.

“Well, I got your place lined up,” Benjamin said, “How long will you be staying?”

“Not long, I hope,” Ichabod said, “A couple of weeks.”

“Alright, then,” Benjamin said, “Follow me.”

The old man guided them down a few alleyways. They dodged past, stepping over the fallen forms of junkies, a few of whom were unmoving and still despite the deluge of the rain. They arrived at an old, hollowed-out building, a stairway outside leading to a second floor.

“Used to be a smoke shop, from what I hear,” Benjamin said, “Owner moved out to Fireside some years back, we've kept it in relative repair since.”

“For jobs like these,” Becenti said.

The metahuman was aware he had, somehow, spoken out of turn, the way Benjamin turned to give him a dour look. Ichabod shot Becenti a warning glare.

“Perish the thought,” Ichabod said, “Sometimes you just need a good smoke.”

Stupid, Becenti thought, I've been stupid.

“Of course,” Becenti said, “Lead on, then.”

Benjamin and Ichabod exchanged a look, before they went inside, heading up the stairs and opening the door to the second floor. It was an old loft, parts of the wall stripped bare, though the roof was solid enough that one could hear the rain thud dully against it. A couple of bed mats were spread on the floor, and a small kitchen was tucked away in the back.

“Home, sweet home,” Ichabod said, “At least, for now it is.”

“This place is gross,” G-Wiz said, “Not bad.”

They piled in. Contort walked over to the kitchen and leaned against the counter. Vicenorn set himself on one of the bed mats and stretched. Rorshin merely stayed at the door. The wizard fixed a glare at the outside world.

“There's a shop on Fifth where you can get food, supplies,” Benjamin said, “They take Federation credits, but don't draw too much attention to it. You might want to get it converted.”

“Probably a good idea,” Ichabod said.

“The Cazadores own this block,” Benjamin said, “They come down once a week for their cut of... whatever you do here.”

“And they're aware we're here?” Ichabod asked.

“Of course,” Benjamin said, “Only way I could get you in. They want a hundred credits for each week you're here, coming in on Friday.”

“We've the money,” Ichabod said.

“Tri-Gun Police does a sweep through here every Thursday,” Benjamin said, “They look for illicit goods, drugs, anything they can use to get you. Make sure you have your guild IDs with you at all times. Make sure you hide the fact that you've got a metahuman. Make sure you don't look threatening.”

“And make sure to grease their palms,” Ichabod said.

“Usually a hundred is enough to get them off your backs,” Benjamin said.

“Very well,” Ichabod said. He turned to Becenti, “We have enough to fund that?”

The old metahuman nodded.

“Good,” he turned back to Benjamin, “Thank you.”

“Don't thank me,” Benjamin said, “I'm not doing this for free, even for an old shade like you.”

Ichabod smirked, pulled out a credstick and presented it to the old man. Benjamin took it in hand, revealing cybernetics that ran from his fingernails to his wrist, scanning the credstick and the money stored on it. He nodded in satisfaction.

“Good hunting, Ichabod,” Benjamin said.

With that, he swept out, the door closing behind him in a wet creak.

Becenti stepped inside, glancing around the dark room. He went to join Vicenorn on the bed mat, sitting down beside him.

“...Quaint,” he said.

“It's not the best,” Ichabod said, “But it's hidden away. Not as many cameras out here. Drones out here are usually shot down for parts.”

“But there's still the matter of the police element,” Becenti said.

“There were better places, for that,” Ichabod said, “But they weren't as efficient. We've got the money to keep Tri-Gun off of our backs, and the taxis around here will take us directly into downtown New Shan, where the Tower of Eden's located.”

Becenti nodded. Ichabod rolled his shoulders.

“We should get to work.”

“You sure?” Contort said, “We just got here.”

“Yeah, Ichabod,” G-Wiz said, “I'm exhausted.”

“Exhaustion is temporary,” Ichabod said, “We can sleep when we at least cover the baseline of why we're here.”

Everyone looked away at that. Becenti let out a cough.

“Look, we don't have much time,” Ichabod said, “The longer we're here, the better the chance that someone finds out what we're doing. Guildfolk don't just waltz onto Neos. They're either here to talk to OzTech, or are on a job.”

“I understand your concerns,” Becenti said, “But Ms. Wiz speaks the truth. We won't get any work done while we're gassed out.”

“But-”

“I know, Ichabod,” Becenti said, “But we can risk a day. A night. That's it. I can't tell because of the rain, but what time is it?”

“...Ten at night,” Ichabod said.

“Are the stores still open?”

“Should be,” Ichabod said.

“Contort,” Becenti said, “How much food do we have left?”

“From the journey?” Contort shrugged, “Not much.”

“Right, then,” Becenti said, “Ichabod, you and Vicenorn go shopping. Get us some supplies, food. The like. The rest of you, get comfortable.”

Ichabod opened his mouth as though he wanted to make one last denial, but whatever sharp thing he was going to say died as Vicenorn rose to his feet. The large man's shoulders sagged from the constant travel.

“Very well,” Ichabod said, “This way, Vice. Just down the street.”

“Careful out there,” G-Wiz said.

“We will be,” Ichabod said, “Shouldn't be any trouble.”

The two cybernetic men walked out the door. Contort leaned against the counter, pulling out a cigarette. He offered one to G-Wiz, who took it and lit it with a flick of her keytar. The guild let the wound-up energy of travel ooze out of their systems, each body sagging down and letting their minds feel their bones ache.

“He's wound up,” Contort said.

“He's back home,” Becenti said, “Doing something he only dreamed about. It's only natural that he'd want to get a move on with it. But I'm here because of that.”

“You mean you're here so he doesn't get too rash,” Contort said.

“Precisely,” Becenti said, “Ichabod is usually a patient man, but-”

“Something's in his eyes,” G-Wiz said, “Sorry, interrupted.”

Becenti, however, merely nodded.

“We've got to put the job first,” the metahuman said, “We can't let our own emotions cloud our vision.”

“You're one to talk,” G-Wiz said, “You've visited how many of those Darwin prisons, again?”

She realized she had said the wrong thing, as Becenti fixed her with a hard stare.

“I'm doing that for the good of the guild, either on my own time, or as part of a contract with the High Federation,” he said, “If Wakeling wanted, she could pull me out of going out there. If I go too far, she merely says a word, and I'm back at the guildhall.”

He began taking off his jacket, hanging it up on the door handle.

“We are allowed our personal goals,” he said, “But they shouldn't get in the way of the jobs we're on. Understood?”

G-Wiz nodded.

“Good,” Becenti said.

***

Ichabod took the lead as he and Vicenorn went down the streets towards the store. He guided Vicenorn down abandoned alleyways, crossed through small shortcuts here and there, noted where certain dangers were.

“See that street corner, there?” he said, “Cazadores thugs use that place for their shakedowns.”

“You sure?” Vicenorn said.

“Well, it's been a few years,” Ichabod said, “But my contacts assured me that the Cazadores were still around, and they've only expanded lately. I don't see why they wouldn't keep using their old turf.”

“Maybe because they've expanded so much, they don't need it anymore?” Vicenorn said.

Ichabod fixed the corner a look. Considered Vicenorn’s words. Then nodded.

“Perhaps,” he said, “All the same, best not to chance it.”

“Agreed,” Vicenorn said.

They crossed the road, avoiding the street corner entirely.

The store that Benjamin mentioned was a small outlet known as Homegrown, a subsidiary of OzTech, and as such didn't have much to offer in terms of variety. Food on Neos was primarily bean or corn-based, mushed together into meals that could be eaten quickly, without the need to be cooked.

“They're just squares of matter, really,” Ichabod said, “But if you sprinkle a bit of salt on them, it's easier to get down. Sometimes you can get a condiment, or something to that effect.”

Vicenorn was looking down at one of the packages, a bag of bean chips. Dried beans, mashed together into a semblance of a corn chip.

“Oh, those are no good,” Ichabod said, “No nutritional value to it. It fills the belly, though.”

He looked over Vicenorn’s shoulder to look at the price.

“Cheap, too.”

“I suppose,” Vicenorn put the bag back on its stand with a shrug, “Look, Ichabod, you alright?”

“Alright?” Ichabod asked, and there was a nervous tremor in his voice, “I-I suppose I'm...”

He looked out the window. Rain was falling outside in an iridescent sheet. Vicenorn walked over to him, placed a hand on his shoulder. He pretended not to notice the shiver that ran up Ichabod's spine, the way the pencil-thin man stood up straight at his touch.

“Look,” Vicenorn said, “This is a dangerous job, alright? Alright to not feel alright about it.”

“I-It's not that,” Ichabod said, “I suppose it's r-rather...”

He gave a sideways glance to Vicenorn, not daring to meet the large man's eyes.

“It's nothing,” Ichabod said, “I'm fine. You're fine. We'll be fine, or as fine as we can be. Now shut up and help me pick out dinner.”

He swept off. Vicenorn gave a dour smile, shaking his head and following his friend.

***

They returned with food. Dinner was a somber affair, as Becenti and Contort took over the kitchen, the smell of sizzling corn filling the room. There was a rank edge to it, as though it were from the bitter edge of a harvest. But still, they made do with what was provided, which ended up being meager bowls of off-color corn and noodles. G-Wiz wrinkled her nose at the sight of it as they dug in.

“Everything alright, Ms. Wiz?” Becenti asked.

“Not a noodle person,” she said.

“You eat spaghetti just fine,” Contort said.

“When I've got something with it, I can choke it down,” G-Wiz said, “And only the spaghetti that Elenry cooks when she's on kitchen duty.”

“Weird,” Contort said. He rolled his noodles 'round a fork and bit down.

“Just don't like chewing it, is all,” G-Wiz said. She moved her meal around, picking at a few kernels of corn that she popped into her mouth like a bird.

“Don't get used to this feast, folks,” Ichabod said, “This was the only bag of corn we could find in the place, and it was prohibitively expensive. It's soybars and instant ramen for the next few weeks.”

G-Wiz suppressed a shudder. She ate the corn gratefully, pretending each pop of false sweetness was real and genuine.

They ate in silence. They went to bed in silence.

Sirens roared in the distance, along with the sounds of the city.

***

G-Wiz was the second to wake in the morning, as she blearily opened up her eyes, feeling an uncomfortable humidity in the room. She rose up, her sleeping bag still cocooning her like a pupae, to see that Rorshin had opened the door. The druid was sitting in front of it, cross-legged and calm, his gnarled cane laying in front of him. He simply watched the rain and the city.

“Morning, Rorshin,” G-Wiz whispered. But the magician did not reply. He merely stared out. Thunder warned in the distance. Lightning spidered across the choking black clouds.

G-Wiz shuddered a bit, noting how sickly cold the air was with the door ajar. Still in her sleeping bag, she inchwormed her way over to Rorshin, slumping against the wall beside him. The druid's eyes, which had been closed, opened into slits to consider her. Then, they went back to staring out at the rain.

“I did research, you know,” he said, “On this plane.”

“For the job?” G-Wiz asked.

“Oh no, long before,” Rorshin replied, “Before I gave up on... many dreams, and joined the guild. The sun of Neos could be traveled to, did you know that? Some metahuman or other placed it high in the sky, long ago.”

G-Wiz shrugged.

“The people of this land used to worship it, before the corporations took over. Said it was a gift from God. Then, when the corporations made contact with the multiverse again, they pulled it down. With chains, I think it was said. Used it all up.”

He gestured towards the city.

“Now any light here is neon. Holographic. Artificial.”

“You could say the metahuman light was artificial, too,” G-Wiz said.

The druid fixed her with a dark look.

“Perhaps,” he said, “But it was made a part of nature, hung in the sky to give life to the plane. The lights you see out there are there to sell. To trick. To scam. It has lost the purpose of being light.”

He turned back towards the open door.

“I hate this plane,” he said.

“Hate to say it, but I gotta agree,” G-Wiz said, “It's making my stomach turn. I don't know how Ichabod grew up here.”

“And yet, I did,” the thin man's cold voice rang behind them. G-Wiz turned around to see Ichabod get up. He had taken off his longcoat in the night, revealed a black shirt underneath, his cybernetic limbs strange and uncanny in the light of New Shan bleeding from the door. Ichabod walked over and picked up his longcoat, pulling it on as he gave them a flat look.

“Morning, Ichabod,” G-Wiz said.

“Not a 'good' morning, then?”

“It's not a good morning,” G-Wiz said.

“Hmm,” Ichabod said, then sneered, “Already thinking like a true Neosite. Not bad, not bad at all.”

He walked over to the bag of groceries, pulling out a couple of soybars. He threw one to G-Wiz, ignoring Rorshin entirely.

“The others will be waking up soon,” the cybernetic man said, “We should get ready.”

***

Once they had all woken up, Ichabod started. He glanced around the room for a second as people shifted and sat down.

“We should have a table, I think,” he said, “G-Wiz...?”

G-Wiz rolled her eyes, keying a few notes on her keytar, and she painted a hardlight table in front of Ichabod. Ichabod smirked at her for a second, before approaching the table and slamming a hand onto its surface.

“Right,” he said, “Let's get started with the basics, shall we?”

He clicked a button on his wrist. A projection of the Tower of Eden bloomed onto the table. G-Wiz realized she had seen the building as they had been driving in, but it was nothing like the hyper-detailed schematics that Ichabod was presenting. Last night, it had been a solid block of black against the night, a dark silhouette against an even darker sky, the logo of OzTech blazing like starlight on the top.

Here, however, G-Wiz could see the individual details of the Tower. How it was built to not look like a brick, but rather a series of woven-together strands, as though it were composed of iron wicker. Gargoyles perched on specific branches of the Tower, glowering at the earth below. G-Wiz could imagine the rain pecking at them, slowly eroding away their solid forms. Eventually, the wicker designs disappeared, replaced with the semblance of great palm leaves that scaled the top of the Tower like a Dragon's hide. The logo of OzTech nestled among them, bright even on the hologram, as though Agrippa had set it up to be the new sun of Neos.

“The Tower of Eden,” Ichabod said, “Is among the tallest buildings in New Shan. On Neos, if we're being honest. It is a behemoth at three thousand feet tall, with a hundred and eighty floors, dedicated to the various industries that Oztech holds sway over, from technological research to food production to industrial engineering. Hundreds of people go in and out each day, from employees to salesmen to...”

He smirked.

“To guildfolk.”

There was awkward shifting. At the sight of Ichabod's sickly grin. At the sight of the Tower, rising tall, as though each leaf were an eye, staring down at them.

“Our mission, of course, is to infiltrate this building,” Ichabod said, “And that's why we're all here. Our target, is here.”

He flickered a wrist, and the Tower began levitating upwards, revealing its underbelly.

“While a hundred and seventy floors of the Tower are above ground,” Ichabod said, “Ten of them are below. The first five are storage spaces, places to keep various machinery and equipment. The other five are data nodes, most connected to New Shan’s network. Some of them aren’t, however. They’re set up as data storage.”

“And it's what's down there that we're after,” Becenti said.

“Precisely,” Ichabod said, “Since they were the middle man between Like Shadow and their employer, it will be there.”

“You really think they'd track that?” Rorshin asked, “One would think that they like to burn their secrets.”

“As above, so below,” Ichabod said, “The Tower of Eden is an inversion. Just as it rises towards the sky...”

“It burrows into the earth,” G-Wiz said.

“And the earth holds secrets,” Ichabod said, “Dark secrets. The nastier inner workings of OzTech. Blood money funneled to compromised guilds, weapons smuggled to terrorists in the Inner Reach. The less... moral, acts of Oztech are stored down there.”

“Why?” Rorshin asked.

“Because they can,” Ichabod said, “Because to them, violence is business. Because even the darker acts of a corporation need to be quantified and measured, compared and reported. The High Federation has given them leave to do as they will within the confines of the law, so long as it's recorded and reported. You can get away with a lot, so long as it's legal.”

He shrugged.

“I don't expect a wildman like you to understand.”

Rorshin's eyes narrowed. Becenti rose.

“Ichabod, enough of that,” the metahuman said, “Continue.”

“...Right,” Ichabod said, “Regardless, past the storage units, the security of the storage room runs on different systems than the rest of the building. I've got a good Cutter to get through it, of course, so that shouldn't be difficult.”

“Alright,” G-Wiz said, “So what's the initial plan?”

“Well, it's simple, really,” Ichabod said, “We need to do an initial casing of the place. Get a good idea of where we need to go.”

“Thought you had schematics for that,” Contort said, “They're floating right in front of me.”

“Schematics only take you so far,” Ichabod said, “Infiltration is an art form, Arne. You've got to get a feel for the place before you go breaking in. Each building has its own quirks, its own personality that a simple schematic doesn't possess.”

“There's more to it, I hope,” Becenti said, “I'm rather hesitant to risk going on a casing with the only justification being 'because we can.'”

“Please, there's more to it,” Ichabod said. Vicenorn, can you present your arm, please?”

The large man rose to his feet, lumbering over to the table. He laid his massive arm on the table, and like a puzzle it began to open up, revealing a network of cables and wires, along with a few spinning gears from his own modifications. A small, metal spider crawled out.

“Eww,” G-Wiz said, “Gross, Vice.”

Vicenorn rolled his eyes. Ichabod sneered.

“It's our ticket to getting inside when we do the actual infiltration,” he said, “The security cameras around the place all run on independent circuits. This spider's our link to connecting all of them. Well, spiders, actually.”

As he said that, two more of the bugs pulled themselves free of Vicenorn's arm.

“They'll link up each of the different circuits, and allow them to be operated from a single location,” Ichabod said, “Our master control here.”

He smiled at Vicenorn, who blushed a bit.

“Thanks,” the large man said, “Made 'em myself.”

“And you can't use these... spiders, for the door to the underground?” Rorshin asked.

“Only works on cameras,” Vicenorn said, “Anything more than that, and we risk drawing attention to them.”

“It's vital that we don't lose access to them, either,” Ichabod said, “If we don't have eyes and ears on the most important parts of the Tower, we're dead in the water. You don't go into a building blind, not even with the floorplan of the place.”

Rorshin nodded at that, accepting the answer.

“Once we get a look at the place, we'll go in the night of,” Ichabod said, “The sooner we can get in, the better.”

“Ah,” Vicenorn said, “We might want to wait a few days, let the spiders calibrate to their security systems.”

Ichabod stopped at that. A finger twitched.

“If they're found within that time, they'll be destroyed. We could be found out.”

“Right,” Vicenorn said, “But it's been a while since I've had to make these sorts of devices. I need time to calibrate the equipment to the Tower's network. That could take me a second.”

Ichabod opened his mouth to say something, then closed it, gritting his teeth.

“How long, Vicenorn?” Becenti asked.

“A day,” Vicenorn said, “A few days, depending.”

“Is that agreeable to you, Ichabod?” Becenti asked.

Ichabod gave a curt nod.

“I'll help,” he said, “Cut the time in half.”

“So we give it the time for the spiders to calibrate,” Contort said, “Then what?”

“From there, we split up,” Ichabod said, “G-Wiz, Rorshin, Contort, and I are all going inside via a teleportation spell. Can't use the front doors, now. Shouldn’t use any doors, if I’m being honest. Becenti and Vicenorn, you two are staying outside and acting as our mission control.”

Becenti nodded. Vicenorn looked uncomfortable.

“You sure...?” Vicenorn asked, “You've got a druid with you. You sure he's right for this?”

“You're asking now?” Ichabod said, “His magic is sufficient.”

“Right, but...” Vicenorn hesitated, “Rorshin, no offense to you intended, but...”

“You're concerned that I wouldn't have the technological know-how in case things go wrong,” the druid said.

“Yes,” Vicenorn said.

“I assure you, I don't,” Rorshin said, “I take what you said as a compliment.”

He glared at Ichabod.

“I know that if we lose the half-man here, we're done for anyways. I intend to topple this building, if it comes to that.”

There was a stark silence at Rorshin's assertion. G-Wiz let out an awkward cough.

“Nobody's doing any of that,” Becenti said, “At least, not yet. I respect your drive, Rorshin. But do remember, anything you do could easily be tied back to the guild. I highly doubt that OzTech will look favorably on us if you do destroy the Tower.”

Rorshin shrugged. He did not offer a rebuttal.

Nor did he offer acquiescence.

“But the druid's right,” Ichabod said, “We lose me, you're out of the game. At that point, leave me behind-”

“Ichabod,” G-Wiz said.

“Look, we're already taking a major risk, here,” Ichabod said, “There is a... a chance we aren't going to be able to pull this off. In that case, damage control will be needed.”

He looked directly at Becenti.

“You know what to do, in that case. Cut me loose. I quit the Amber Foundation three weeks ago to plan this whole charade, hiring local muscle to help me. That's it.”

More awkward shifting in the room. Rorshin was giving Ichabod a nasty smile.

“Very well,” Becenti said, “If it comes to it, we'll falsify the records.”

“But it won't come to it,” Vicenorn said, “We'll pull this off, Ichabod. You chose us for this job for a reason. We're guildfolk. Made of sterner stuff.”

G-Wiz noted that Ichabod went a bit red.

“I... I appreciate that,” the cybernetic man said, “Really, I do. I hope to God we can do this.”

His gaze swept over to the Tower of Eden. Ichabod took off his sunglasses, revealing his artificial eyes, all glass and clear and all-too-unnerving. He stared at the Tower for a few moments, his brow furrowing in thought.

“We've got a better plan than... than before,” he said, “And, I hate to say it, but we're a more versatile team this time.”

He stewed within himself for a few more moments. Contort cleared his throat.

“You still haven't mentioned something,” he said.

“And what's that?” Ichabod asked.

“How are we getting into the Tower for the casing?”

Ichabod sneered.

“Remember what I said before?” Ichabod said, “The Tower sees all sorts of people come in. Guildfolk included.”

“Ichabod...” Becenti said, as realization dawned on him, “What was the point of all that sneaking around, if you're just going to tell them that we're here?”

“Oh, we're not here,” Ichabod said, “You are, though, Myron.”

Becenti blinked.

“I don't follow.”

“It's simple, really,” Ichabod said, “Guildfolk come to OzTech all the time. Sometimes it's to take a job, sometimes it's to ask for funding. Other times it's to speak to OzTech's guild, Pantheon. Any business that guilds do with the company all get funneled to the Tower.”

“I see,” Becenti said.

“Our excuse for us getting into the Tower is that you, as the right hand of the Amber Foundation, are here on business.”

“I see,” Becenti said, “What sort of business?”

“The business that gets us into the Tower, but doesn't look too suspicious or has too many eyes on us,” Ichabod said, “You're putting out feelers for a potential partnering with Pantheon for a theoretical expedition into a previously uncontacted plane.”

“And we would partner with Pantheon because...?” Becenti said.

“You're a smart man, Myron. You'll figure it out,” Ichabod said, “Look, it's just to get you inside. Pantheon's busy as it is, so you'll naturally be stonewalled. But you're also a guild, a potential future partner, so they'll want to go through the motions of giving you an audience with some middle manager or other.”

“So I just... waltz in?” Becenti asked.

“Oh, God, no!” Ichabod laughed, “You sent in an offer a week ago.”

He clicked a button on his wrist, revealing a holonet letter with the details. Becenti's eyes narrowed as he read it. It even had his signature.

“In the future, Ichabod,” Becenti said, “I would appreciate it if you cleared this with me first.”

“Ask for forgiveness, not permission,” Ichabod said, “Would you have let me if I brought up the idea with you first?”

“That doesn't matter, Ichabod,” Becenti said, “It's the principle of the matter.”

Ichabod rolled his eyes.

“Yo, dipshit,” G-Wiz said, “You're not wearing your glasses. We saw that.”

“Right,” Ichabod said, ignoring her, “Very well, Becenti. The next time I come up with a plan to get us inside a building, I'll clear it with you.”

“Ichabod,” Vicenorn said.

He was giving Ichabod a stern look. Ichabod returned it for a few moments, before breaking. The thin man let out a sigh.

“I'll... I'll let you know if anything else questionable comes up,” he said, “I'm... s-sorry, Becenti. I'll...”

“Be more open,” Becenti said.

“Yes, that.”

There was a third awkward pause. Contort looked away from the rest of the team, humming to himself. G-Wiz pretended to play with her keytar.

“It will get us an in though, right?” Becenti said, “You're sure we won't look suspicious?”

“Reasonably,” Ichabod said, “It's the best chance we've got, I think. There are some risks we're going to need to take. This is the one with the lowest chance of us being found out.”

“Alright, then,” Becenti said, “But I'll want a buddy for this.”

“I can't go,” Ichabod said, “Remember, if we need a fall guy...”

“Of course,” Becenti said. He turned to Vicenorn, and Ichabod's stomach shriveled.

“Want to be my plus one?” Becenti asked.