Made In Basalt

C Block

The Doberman was completely motionless as it stared at the boy standing a few feet in front of him, pointed ears quirked up and twitching slightly. The boy, arms loose by his sides, gazed calmly at the building behind the animal. The Doberman - already leaning on its front paws - pushed its head forward as far as it would go, intelligent black eyes unblinking and watchful as it regarded the newcomer.

Slowly squatting down, the boy tilted his head to one side and spoke, quiet and soothing. Ears twitching away, the Doberman took a step forward. The boy raised his hand, fingers loosely curled inwards, and spoke again, murmured words of confident reassurance. He turned his gaze from the building to the dog, for the first time, and the dog barked once, the sound bouncing harshly around the concrete courtyard. The boy didn't flinch, and the calm flow of soft words didn't let up, and his hand didn't go down, not even as the dog started to approach.

Anthony Young clutched his Charlton automatic rifle closer to his chest and blinked at the sight before him, guard post all but forgotten, as the same Doberman he'd seen strip the flesh from a man's arm dipped its head and sniffed at the strange boy's knuckles. When the dog actually licked the kid's hand, Anthony couldn't help himself.

"Holy shit," he breathed, adjusting his cap and squinting.

Instantaneously, both the dog and the kid looked up, the dog's head snapping round. Anthony's hand went up reflexively, a gesture that he told himself was in greeting.

"Hey, hey, there," he said, gaze darting between the boy and the dog. "I, uh, I've never seen him do that before. He's not usually good with strangers."

The kid blinked at him, and shrugged. He scratched the dog's ears. "I like dogs," he said, by way of an explanation.

Anthony nodded, disbelieving eyes still trained on the animal as it leaned into the kid's touch. "His name's Treader."

The kid looked down at the dog, a grin breaking out across his face. "Hiya, Treader," he said, bending down on one knee and petting the dog with both hands. Treader barked again, but this time it was more of a delighted yap, and Anthony shook his head in utter bemusement.

"Rub my nipples and call me Betty," Nikki exclaimed as he strode out of the door Anthony had been standing by. "Is that Treader?"

"Yup," Anthony affirmed. "You believe this? Who the hell is that kid?"

Nikki patted his shoulder, not looking away from the sight of the boy and the dog. "That's above your pay grade, Young."

Anthony glanced sideways at him. "C'mon, Sixx. He your new partner, or what?"

"I said, that's above your pay grade, asshole," Nikki snapped, and Young held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture, taking a step back and ducking his head a little to hide his smile.

"All right, all right. Shutting up."

At that moment, the boy looked up, noticing Nikki. He stopped petting Treader and stood, dusting off the knees of his pants. Nikki noticed he was dressed all in black, like him. The colour complemented the hard grey of the compound, and the softer, cushiony greys of the sky. Nikki inhaled through his nostrils, squared his shoulders, and inclined his head.

"Jeffrey Isbell," he said genially. "You got a minute?"

**********

Nikki had always thought of Basalt as the hate-child of Gothic and Bauhaus architecture. It had the grimness but not the intricacy of the former, and the militaristic simplicity of the latter. The result was an edifice that loomed flatly over the surrounding desert, resembling almost exactly the dry beige of its surroundings, tinged with a hint of slate grey. The few windows were perfectly square, the interior of whatever lay on the other side almost always hidden by closed blinds. Open space was plentiful, both between the buildings themselves and behind them, but it was not visible from the outside. Purpose, in this case, was quite obviously favoured over appearance.