Clu was so overclocked he could see himself with his eyes closed, circuits gone almost radium white with a sway. It wouldn't do for his knees to fold. He squeezed his eyes tight, took a hard, deep breath: old reflexes they didn't quite need, old, old core routines, hunting equilibrium.
His code-brother was helping just by being there. Just by letting Clu rest against him for a pico--finally a little of that charge had somewhere to run, energy seeking interface and trying valiantly to power up just where their torsos sat square. He could feel it.
Clu opened his eyes, made himself look: and seeing his code-brother burning a steady, if brightening gold, Clu was able to peel himself free with a wince. Took a step apart, not quite steady. They needed some room. If he fell now, he'd pull his code-brother with him, and--
Oh yeah. They'd get caught for sure.
It both helped and did not help that his code-brother was grinning right back at him. That his code-brother wanted permanent file, wanted to remember him exactly like this. Clu would never forget it, hot enough to melt solder, half-expecting his palm to leave an imprint of steam in the hacker's grip. Even parted a bit, they held hands; Clu couldn't bring himself to let go, and his code-brother made no move to pull away. This close, running this hot, Clu could almost feel him turning the idea over, the hacker's words gone quiet and intense with realization, sparked through with something else.
And there was mischief in him, even now, proposing it against the wall and knowing Clu would find that--expedient. Even efficient, to be routed against the nearest hard surface and thoroughly adjusted.
Absolute proof of which way their power differentials truly ran, in private.
"I, should," Clu growled, each word pushed out of him with every heavy step, "--let--you." He nearly groaned. "Let 'em see, let rumors fly."
Impossible. Clu could not leave witnesses. Only, some solutions were--unavailable, to him, now. Clu could not leave witnesses, and his code-brother would hate it if he fixed that problem. Chalk it up to turning over a new leaf, but Clu found he didn't want to do some things that had come easily to him before.
And his code-brother cared—about Clu’s own role, and reputation, and what they meant to him, even aside from what they meant to the Grid as a whole. Certainly he spared a thought for them.
So. They needed to get to the staging area, which was all the way down there, somehow both infinite sectors from their position and just down the hall. And for all his protests, Clu had zero intention of trying to walk it: he’d been built to use all the power that he stored.
And right now he was half-drowned in almost, oh--hazardously more than double his fair share. Almost his limit. Clu shuddered, fought that knowledge down and instead pictured exactly where they were going in his mind. Started building the model of the sleek, dark room behind that door. They could call its features when they got there. Right now he needed the precise dimensions and their full potential.
"Of course," softly, an acknowledged ping, calm and reliable, showing his code-brother he was okay. "You're right." With a sigh: "Let's go."
There it was, values gleaming and whole, the pointer integers and a steady, safe given range, awaiting only his instruction to make it real. Open, sesame. He gripped his code-brother's hand--had to reference him precisely--and simply pulled them both through. Clipped them right to the address. Flynn had called it blinking, described it as dreamlike, and tried to explain teleportation.
Clu remembered it as the first time that he'd thought Flynn had said something truly, properly stupid. Magic didn't exist. But the result was the same: Clu wasn't there, and then he was, his code-brother was right along with him, safe behind closed doors.
Closed doors that Clu locked tight with a vicious key 256 bits deep. Closed doors that he sagged against, with the forethought to cue the lights on his way down, so at least they could see.
The staging area was scalable, part wardrobe and part machine shop, with the blocks and racks needed to set either a small armada of batons or up to four rezzed lightcycles side-by-side. This bay let gearheads tune things, let fashion plates tweak their armor, and could be extended for an entire pit crew for larger events as needed.
Right now the area just held the two of them, and the bench he’d just managed to call for, just before falling on it.
He’d at least released his grip on his code-brother. Hadn’t let him fall with.
Clu’s knees were not letting him up again unassisted. Neither was the rest of him, sticking up bright and obstinate, with a refusal to flag that bordered on obscene.
Like a glowstick.
“I uh,” not looking, not looking, instead looking up at his code-brother, “I didn't, really, thank you properly? I'm glad you found me when you did."
no subject
His code-brother was helping just by being there. Just by letting Clu rest against him for a pico--finally a little of that charge had somewhere to run, energy seeking interface and trying valiantly to power up just where their torsos sat square. He could feel it.
Clu opened his eyes, made himself look: and seeing his code-brother burning a steady, if brightening gold, Clu was able to peel himself free with a wince. Took a step apart, not quite steady. They needed some room. If he fell now, he'd pull his code-brother with him, and--
Oh yeah. They'd get caught for sure.
It both helped and did not help that his code-brother was grinning right back at him. That his code-brother wanted permanent file, wanted to remember him exactly like this. Clu would never forget it, hot enough to melt solder, half-expecting his palm to leave an imprint of steam in the hacker's grip. Even parted a bit, they held hands; Clu couldn't bring himself to let go, and his code-brother made no move to pull away.
This close, running this hot, Clu could almost feel him turning the idea over, the hacker's words gone quiet and intense with realization, sparked through with something else.
And there was mischief in him, even now, proposing it against the wall and knowing Clu would find that--expedient. Even efficient, to be routed against the nearest hard surface and thoroughly adjusted.
Absolute proof of which way their power differentials truly ran, in private.
"I, should," Clu growled, each word pushed out of him with every heavy step, "--let--you." He nearly groaned. "Let 'em see, let rumors fly."
Impossible. Clu could not leave witnesses. Only, some solutions were--unavailable, to him, now. Clu could not leave witnesses, and his code-brother would hate it if he fixed that problem. Chalk it up to turning over a new leaf, but Clu found he didn't want to do some things that had come easily to him before.
And his code-brother cared—about Clu’s own role, and reputation, and what they meant to him, even aside from what they meant to the Grid as a whole. Certainly he spared a thought for them.
So. They needed to get to the staging area, which was all the way down there, somehow both infinite sectors from their position and just down the hall. And for all his protests, Clu had zero intention of trying to walk it: he’d been built to use all the power that he stored.
And right now he was half-drowned in almost, oh--hazardously more than double his fair share. Almost his limit. Clu shuddered, fought that knowledge down and instead pictured exactly where they were going in his mind. Started building the model of the sleek, dark room behind that door. They could call its features when they got there. Right now he needed the precise dimensions and their full potential.
"Of course," softly, an acknowledged ping, calm and reliable, showing his code-brother he was okay. "You're right." With a sigh: "Let's go."
There it was, values gleaming and whole, the pointer integers and a steady, safe given range, awaiting only his instruction to make it real. Open, sesame. He gripped his code-brother's hand--had to reference him precisely--and simply pulled them both through. Clipped them right to the address. Flynn had called it blinking, described it as dreamlike, and tried to explain teleportation.
Clu remembered it as the first time that he'd thought Flynn had said something truly, properly stupid. Magic didn't exist. But the result was the same: Clu wasn't there, and then he was, his code-brother was right along with him, safe behind closed doors.
Closed doors that Clu locked tight with a vicious key 256 bits deep. Closed doors that he sagged against, with the forethought to cue the lights on his way down, so at least they could see.
The staging area was scalable, part wardrobe and part machine shop, with the blocks and racks needed to set either a small armada of batons or up to four rezzed lightcycles side-by-side. This bay let gearheads tune things, let fashion plates tweak their armor, and could be extended for an entire pit crew for larger events as needed.
Right now the area just held the two of them, and the bench he’d just managed to call for, just before falling on it.
He’d at least released his grip on his code-brother. Hadn’t let him fall with.
Clu’s knees were not letting him up again unassisted. Neither was the rest of him, sticking up bright and obstinate, with a refusal to flag that bordered on obscene.
Like a glowstick.
“I uh,” not looking, not looking, instead looking up at his code-brother, “I didn't, really, thank you properly? I'm glad you found me when you did."