~~~~
Sylenn walked along the streets of Suljem, hiding her glee under the brim of her old (and now clean) cap. It had taken three days to convince everyone, especially Mosin, but she'd done it. The thing had actually helped; whining about how It hated being around them all the time. She needed to get away for a while, breathe some air by herself, without being watched constantly. Maybe she'd been on her own too long; the forced companionship of the Temple burrowed under her skin and bit.
Mosin, when he realized that Satherlin was going to let her go, had proposed that he follow her at a distance, just in case something happened. That had taken another day to stave off. She did love her brother, but he was always around. She couldn't breathe without his eyes on her. Yet here she was.
She slunk carefully down the street, huddled in her familiar coat and trousers and now wearing shoes. She didn't mind that; her feet had gotten a bit soft, living on the Island. At least these floppy things fit well and looked scuffed enough for a vagrant to have. And it was a small concession to make in order to be free for an afternoon. The other small concession was hidden under her shirt: a small locating device the Ancients had left behind, snugly attached to a full bandoleer. The little machine would allow the others to find her, just in case.
What they didn't know (because she hadn't bothered to tell them) was how the beast and the Descendant in her played off of one another and enhanced each others' skills. The process had been gradual, but more and more she found her awareness expanding. Point in case, she could tell that half an hour after she'd waltzed through the portal underneath the Parliament and declined "assistance" for her "confidential mission", another Descendant had come through, as well. It felt like Konyetta, or rather Kiemelen Navvason, since she was suited. No way to tell if she was here on true business or if she was checking up on Sylenn. Not unless she got close.
If or when that happened, she'd deal with it. The past three days had given her a better feel for how far she could push, and she liked that. She also liked having a firm grip on the beast.
Who had just scented a Sukker.
Her step faltered for a second before she took control back. No need to rush; the Sukker couldn't tell they were coming. That was abundantly clear from the past missions; the Sukkers lost much of their sensing power when they took human hosts. The beast remembered times when they had known It was coming, but that didn't happen now. So she ambled along the street, turning into a large alley-way and following it to another street, which led to another. Before long, she had determined which moving body was her quarry. An older man this time, dressed like a clerical worker. As she drew up behind him, she could smell ink and paper; possibly a press-worker for a newspaper. Not that it mattered. She took a few moments to get a deeper feel for him and his parasite, and the beast, knowing that the meal would come, let her.
This one was middle-aged, for a Gontozenel. Probably had held the man for ... twelve to sixteen years. Most Gontozenels seemed to lose control of their hosts early on, which accounted for the high mortality rate of Drones. No telling how this one had managed to hang onto its host so long; the man had been fully grown when the Sukker latched onto him. The oldest Sukker Sylenn had come across (that she had tried to measure) was about twenty-three or so. That had been a nasty fight; one hundred seventy-nine people dead and most of Maottey's wood-hut capital destroyed. They had won, but the victory was bitter despite the beast being satisfied for two days after that meal. The human woman, of course, had been dead long before the battle was over.
This one wouldn't be so bad, but it would not be easy. How to get him off the street--
"Why are you following me?" His abrupt turn and growl startled her so much that her brain went to default.
"Spare some change, mister?" She held out a hand tentatively.
He snorted. "No such thing as a free handout, girly. You want money, you gotta work to earn it."
"Oh. Um, got any work I can do for you?" She shifted slightly, letting the front of her jacket open a little more. It was an old ploy, but sometimes it worked. On full humans, though; no telling what an older Sukker would allow its host to do.
His eyes flicked down, then back up. He stared at her face for a few minutes, then grunted. "Maybe there is something you could do for me, girly. Follow me." They entered an alley-way a half-block away. Guess it would work this time.
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