Chapter 28

To say Rob's expression was simply shocked would be an understatement.

He was that rather unique shade of purple as I tried not to look directly at him. The goal had been to give Sam or Rob a chance to do something. My original idea had been to...hmm. Well? I wasn't exactly sure. In hindsight, something I only gained once the stick had left my grasp, there were a million potential outcomes I probably hadn't fully recognized. A good example of this was the severity of missing foresight.

I’d taken a gamble.

A desperate, stupid, moronic chance that could’ve gone wrong in about a hundred different ways. It was while pondering one of these unfavorable outcomes I realized a crucial and very ironic mistake as I'd watched the stick soar.

I hadn't taken into account Tim's position before I'd let go.

Like the hats worn by McCreed's goons, the blue TxCorp logo emblazoned on the front stood out as he stepped forward. His face was obscured by a mask. This meant I couldn't see his expression when, powered by an unexpected surge of adrenaline and frustration, the stick had turned end over end as it soared up, up, and forward. The sound of a thwack was followed by a muted thud as the rain filled the silence. When the stick cleared the foliage line, it had arched high. The thickest part rotated perfectly. Perfectly enough, Tim barely had time to register our position as the stick thonked the side of his exposed temple.

Rob looked at me in incredulity. My action and the result had caught him entirely off guard. I wish I could've claimed it was all part of my plan, but honestly it would've been nigh impossible for me to purposefully try to do what I had. As we watched, Tim's eyes rolled back into his head. He pitched forward and fell headfirst like a sack of genome-modified potatoes into the gully on the opposite side of the bank.

Best check on him later.

Though I couldn't see the actual impact site, I had a strong suspicion Tim wasn't going to be able to get back up from where he'd disappeared—at least not any time soon. Unlike what the holo films might lead one to believe, solid objects and periods of lost consciousness were usually not good.

I shook off the thought of Tim's situation when another voice yelled from above.

"What the hell, Tim!" Paul's voice was directed toward the embankment. A cone of light shot out into the open air. The beam swept from left to right horizontally like a lighthouse in the dark. "Tim?" He asked again as the light continued to move jerkily around. Paul might have realized it happened but hadn't realized why.

Opportunity!

"Tim!" He yelled again. There was now a muted desperation intermixed with the yell. He directed the flashlight in random directions, looking for an unknown assailant. We continued to observe silently from below. Shadows danced and jumped like ghostly figures between the trees as his fruitless search made his panic all the more obvious.

The light pierced the darkness for Tim's last whereabouts as we heard a shift in Paul's tone.

"You!" Paul said, shrill and tight. A bad sign he was about to do something stupid. "Girl! What did you do to Tim?!"

The light turned as it pointed away from us.

Rob, ever the super-spy, recognized a moment when he saw one. He sprang to action.

I scrabbled behind him, too comically slow to ever keep up with his legs, which pounded piston-like up the slope like a superhero, but it felt like a sucker punch when my chest rebounded from the embankment's face. I'd slipped and knocked the wind out of myself.

Unaware of my plight, Rob continued to billy-goat his way up toward the top as I clung to the side jealously. I wasn't willing to just stand by like some useless bystander, but the dull ache of my bruised solar plexus was hard to ignore as I struggled to breathe.

I looked up.

A gurgling sound issued forth from above before a dark figure barreled toward me. Rob was at the top. He had stepped to the side almost casually, like a matador dodging a raging bull or a dancer bowing after a routine. Lethally graceful.

In contrast, I likely looked like a wallowing pig as I half rolled to get out of the way. I'd only just managed to avoid being clipped as Paul cleared the bushes and fell slash tumbled down the sides of the slope in an ungainly tangle of limbs. With a thick squelch, he hit the bottom of the embankment in a near-perfect and painful example of ANY of Newton's Three Laws. I winced as I involuntarily began to slide after him.

I had to scrabble for purchase with my arms and hands in order to stay upright. It felt cold as ice. My fingers ached. A gasp was forced out of me as a cold shock ran along my forearms and into the lining of the undersuit. The water and mud had managed to leak into the sleeves of my jacket as a mini-landslide of mud, wet leaves, and rocks bore me along the angled surface of the embankment, straight into a puddle.

With a splash, I plunked in. Though my pants remained resistant, my boots sank into the ankle-deep mud pool like the support pillars of a pier line at The Port.

Waterproof. Whew.

I turned as the mud settled on the slope. It was now deathly quiet.

Paul was only a few feet ahead of me, silent and unmoving. He was face-down as the rain persisted. I had an immediate and powerful instinct to render aid. It overrode any logic on who I might be helping and why I probably shouldn’t. At the very least, I knew how I felt about allowing anybody to drown in what would amount to an inch or two puddle of water. If there was something I could do about it, I would.

With one hand I reached out and turned most of his body partially over with a grunt. I struggled for a moment with the shift in weight as his head lolled to the side and back again. I lost my grip but angled and tried again with a better position. I was able to heave.

His body turned. His head finally flopped over with all the grace of a bag of wet oatmeal. It exposed an opening, long and deep like a canyon.

My optics failed to make sense of the confusing collection of muddled shapes in the darkness and rain. There were lines. Jagged lines that appeared to gape across his neck and throat on either side of the split.

My brain struggled, mental engine working in overdrive. Their imaginary wheels spun in open air helplessly.

The ground had shifted. Reality had changed.

Again.

“Price!” Rob exclaimed as loudly as he dared. There were notes of worry as his voice fell upon me from above. "Price! You alright?!”

I stood stunned, unable to answer or even move. My mental engine misfired as Rob clicked on a flashlight and directed it toward me. Night turned to day as the circular beam of light enveloped me, illuminating the scene in sharp contrast. Like a stage spotlight, I could see every line. Every pockmark, speck, and shape. My optics had gone into overdrive, whirring valiantly as they labored to resolve the new visible light signals into ones my brain could best interpret. I was force-fed every detail in absolute focus. In stunningly high resolution—far, far higher than I would have ever asked for. The analytical side of my brain snapped to as it tried to make me functional again.

The trachea was split apart from spine to front.

Pieces of the throat and larynx were raggedly cut. Torn. It left a gaping wound, almost like a smile or open maw. Without getting into too much detail, the direction of the cut looked like a knife had been stabbed into the man's neck before it sawed it outward.

With considerable force.

The man-made rift exposed parts of the inner throat and spine to the sky and rain. Blood became diluted and thinned. Here, there were no more spurts, pulses, or throbs. The blood, or at least what remained of it, oozed. Dribbled.

Transuded.

Out. Away. Down.

Onto the man’s poorly shaved jowls and neck. The reddish trails mixed into the mud below, right up to and within the pool surrounding my boots. I moved them fruitlessly. It emulsified the combined liquids as they coalesced. His brown eyes were glassy orbs, sightless and unfocused as they stared off into the starless morning. The clouds had covered. Obscured. Broken blood vessels wormed along his bulbous nose. I felt my eyes trace and follow, unable to tear my vision away despite my desperate want—NEED—to do so. I was locked in. A passenger.

The rain pooled within the crevices of his slack and lifeless face.

The pools took on the appearance of tears as they streamed through the corners of his eyes. His unblinking gaze remained fixed skyward as if directed into the great beyond.

Tiny waterfalls.

Gravity-assisted streams.

The rivulets slid along the sides of his cheeks and neck. They dribbled into the mire below; tears of a fallen sky mixed with a dilute of freshly spilled blood in the land of Corpo promise and fools. My hands felt icy and cold. The cuffs of my jacket were soaked and muddy, and I was ankle-deep in muck on my way to nowhere.

Paul wasn't going to "detain" anyone else ever again.

I couldn’t stand to look anymore. Couldn't bear it.

I turned my head, then vomited into the scarlet pool.

Chapter 27

“Who are you?” A hard but feminine voice demanded near my right ear, “You have four seconds to tell me before I pull this trigger."

“—uh." I said as my brain struggled to catch up. A gun was pointed at my head by some unknown person. Before, I'd gotten an adrenaline jolt, but now? I suddenly felt very...VERY tired. Almost drunk-like. Exhausted and barely able to keep up with the new developments, my brain did what it always did when I was caught flat-footed and unable to think. I blurted out the first question to come to mind.

“Why four, and not a more common number like five or ten?”

There was a long pause as if the world had to parse what to do with my abject stupidity. In regular "me" fashion, just like back at Rob's Pod when he'd accidentally activated his mods, I'd asked a question entirely oblivious to the dangers the words might pull forth.

In my defense? At least this time, I had a good excuse.

I am beyond tired.

"You—what?!" the woman with the gun sputtered.

"The count." I said, far more calmly than I had any right to rationally be with a loaded gun poking me. If she were a giant and was the idiot that I was, she had just gotten hit by a mere pebble and was simply in the process of deciding which method would be needed to turn me into a fine paste.

She made a movement, a tiny head shake. I felt the cold barrel of the gun poke me as her mental gears were switched unexpectedly. "The what?" She repeated again. Based on the perplexed tone of her voice, I'm pretty certain whatever she expected me to say, that wasn’t it.

"The count." I said it again, more clearly. "We, humans, that is, are base ten creatures. Ten fingers, ten toes—it's like we've got a natural affinity for choosing numbers like 'five' or 'ten' to count things down."

I paused as a stray thought hit me, "Maybe it's an evolutionary thing?"

The gun wavered for a moment as the figure tried to make sense of what I was saying.

"Wait. Are you asking me?!"

"Huh?" I asked distractedly.

The sleep deprivation was making me sluggish. Despite the sudden clarity of the adrenaline spike, I felt like I was stuck in a loop. Floating a little like I'd had a little too much to drink and not enough time to absorb it. Logically I knew I needed to worry about the gun, but analytically? "No. Sorry. I was just...well, I do that sometimes when I'm tired. I ramble." My words were coming out smoothly. Clearly. Barely a tremor to be heard. If I weren't being held at gunpoint, I might have even thought to smile at my own personal growth. I wasn't usually the kind of person who could talk under so much pressure.

Go me!

"Anyway," I continued, mentally detached like I wasn't even in my own body anymore. "You didn't answer my question. Why did you choose four seconds versus something more common like five or ten?"

The woman paused for a moment. Thinking. "Maybe I was just subitizing, genius. Ever think of that?"

"Subsidizing?" I asked, intrigued.

"—itizing. Sub—Eye—Tie—Zing." She said, correcting me by enunciating the proper sounds. "It's what people do when they've got numbers less than five and can instantly identi—" The gun dug into my temple. Harder this time. "Hey! Shut up!" she said irritably. She'd realized very quickly she'd been too focused on the wrong thing. A pity. I was almost out of time.

"The number isn't the point." She said, tapping the barrel into my temple again, "The POINT is you need to tell me what you're doing here and who you are, or I'm going to—"

The sound of a locking click came from further behind me, from behind her. It was a mechanism being locked back: the hammer of another pistol.

A revolver, to be exact.

Rob's revolver.

“Ah ah ahhhh,” Rob’s voice said, in a playful admonishment, “What’d I tell you about hyper-focusing on something obvious? You want me to explain to Frank just how easy it was to sneak up on you sneaking up on someone else?” '

The feminine voice grumbled in a way that reminded me of Rob when he was annoyed. Uncannily. "Dammit, Rob! Any way I can pay you not to tell him? His head’s already big enough as it is.”

I turned as she holstered her sidearm and sighed. It was the green-speckled-eyed girl from the plaza: Sam.

Sam's hands darted into the air in mock indignation. A smirking scowl spread across her face. “I should’ve known you’d use a decoy. Tisk, tisk, Rob. Getting old enough to need help?”

“DECOY?!” I exclaimed, louder than I meant to. Both Rob and Sam winced. Their body language was even uncannily similar as they hissed simultaneously to tell me to keep it down. If I didn't know any better, I would've assumed they were related despite the size differences. Rob practically dwarfed her with his larger height by a full head. It put her just about equal to my own height.

Sam pushed down her hood.

The left side of her head was buzzed smooth, a pronounced side-swept undercut accentuating a single streak of electric blue hair. The locks slid forward as they were freed, and she instinctively brushed away a stray lock before crossing her arms to glare.

Whew. She is not a fan of me.

“You wanna get us killed?!” The woman said in irritation.

“He’s new, Sam,” Rob said as he held out a hand to cut me off before I could murmur the halfhearted apology already on my lips, “New to just about everything. Don’t hold it against him, alright?” His voice was soft but stern. A father ending the squabble between siblings.

Despite the coat, a long jacket similar to the one Rob had given me, it was still fairly obvious she was a lean, athletic woman in her late twenties. She had a sharp and angular face with a very striking profile. Green speckled eyes above high cheekbones with what my mother would've called "good structure" if she'd seen her.

Sam eyed me suspiciously. “Fine,’ She eventually spat after an extended pause. “Who the hell is he and why’d you bring him?

“Owen?" Rob said, turning toward me before waving a hand in Sam's direction, "Samara Kajimura. We call her Sam, as you’ve likely figured out by now.”

Sam glared daggers at me.

“Uh, hi.” I said, nervously sticking a hand out, “Nice to meet you?”

She didn't move a muscle.

I faltered, not really sure how to take not being answered. “Okay then,” I said, lowering my hand in rejected awkwardness. Sam ignored me, turning to Rob, who was frowning at her.

“I’ve had a hell of a night, okay?" She said. "Pardon if all the pleasantries and la-de-da kumbaya moments aren't something I want to deal with right now, but I got chased tonight. I’m not even sure what I did wrong. I think we’re compromised.”

She kicked a stick, which skittered off under a bush. I had a funny feeling that built under my ribcage.

“Uh--about that...” I said. Rob was shaking his head slowly in a very clear NO signal, but I’d already stepped into it. Sam’s eyes swiveled toward me like a turret, her shoulders tensed as she fully focused on me.

“About. What?" Her left eyebrow twitched. A sure sign of her irritation.

“I—uh—might have been the reason you were--” I said, gulping, “That is to say...”

Rob rescued me as he spoke up to cut me off again, "Golrich was out tonight. Hunting.”

“Golrich?! The Rat Face guy?” Sam said.

I had to hide my grin as she continued. “The hell was he doing hunting me? And how’d they even know where to intercept me? It was a random selection tonight, wasn’t it?”

Rob held his chin in his hand for a moment in thought. “Well, let’s just start with your getting chased.” He shook his head. “It wasn’t a planned thing by Golrich; he was actually trying to track where our young Owen had gone.” He pointed to me with his chin. “Seems Mr. Price had a measure of success in evading the hounds. Your trail became the one being tracked, so I’m--”

Sam’s eyes narrowed as she whirled on me, making me practically jump out of my skin just from the pure intensity of the look. “This is YOUR fault!” She hissed, finger extended into my face as she advanced.

I attempted to back away, hands raised in an attempt to placate her. The pack, still where it was behind me, tangled up perfectly with my ankles as I fell. Not just to the ground. Down the side of an embankment on the other side of the line of bushes.

I landed with an audible “oof” sound as the air left my lungs as I stared up into the raining sky.

Somehow, miraculously, I was still generally unhurt. Just stunned. I struggled to catch my breath as I heard Sam's huff from above, “Why did you even BRING this guy?!”

Ouch. Not exactly one of my more dignified moments.

I continued to suck in air, still on the ground face up like an overturned turtle. I heard Rob's movements rustle next to me, untangling the straps from my feet as he turned to look back and upward, over his shoulder.

“Sam, wait—” he began. There was a shout from above. A bright pair of lights illuminated Sam’s form as she turned in shock, a harsh voice tore through the air.

“SECURITY! FREEZE!”

Rob cursed under his breath as he dragged me bodily by my feet the short distance onto the embankment. We were nestled into shadow as one of the lights swept from left to right above. The dull roar of the canal served to help cover any errant noise.

Rob pulled out his revolver, holding the barrel close to his chest as he silently stared upward into the foliage line. Our line of sight was blocked.

As quietly as I could, I managed to put my arms back through the straps of the pack in order to roll onto my side. Rob glanced down, a finger to his lips as he held another two aloft, indicating he didn’t know how many more there might be.

I nodded slowly.

A rough voice drifted down to us from above, “Well, what do we have here? Strange we’d find someone out here in the middle of the night, isn’t it, Paul?"

“Yep,” Paul, voice number two, said. “They’ve got us looking for suspicious characters snooping around the Stacks tonight.” He paused, spitting into the dirt, “You wouldn’t happen to know if there are any suspicious characters around, would you?”

“What would be suspicious?” Sam asked. The lights bobbled a little, as if the two figures were looking at each other for confirmation.

“Oh,” Voice One said, “you’re a girl?”

“Did they say we should be looking for a girl?” Paul asked.

“Nope. But they did say 'suspicious'.” Voice One said.

“Hmm,” Paul replied, tapping a finger on something.

“I’d say,” he said, “it’s mighty suspicious for a pretty little thing like you to be all by your lonesome. You live somewhere nearby?”

Whoa. That didn’t sound aboveboard.

“Hey, Paul, listen...” Voice One said, apparently also concerned.

“Shut it, Tim!” Paul said, “I’m cold. I’m tired. I didn’t get to go on leave when you guys did, so maybe, just maybe, it’s time you just take a little break while I process this suspicious character.”

The tone of “Paul’s” voice made my skin crawl. Judging by the white-knuckled grip Rob had on his revolver, he didn’t like it either.

There was a rustle and clatter of dirt as Sam took an involuntary half step back. Both flashlights focused on her immediately, casting strange and jagged shapes as the beams locked onto her freezing form. They were dispersed, a good ten or so feet between them, judging by the angles of the lights.

A single stick tumbled down the embankment toward me, bouncing end over end before it tested against my left boot, which stood half sunken into the growing pile of mud below us. It was about the length of my forearm and somewhat thicker at the end. I grabbed it, hefting its weight. It made for a decent club.

Better than nothing, I suppose.

“Ah, ah, green spaces like these? So near Canals in the rain?” Paul said the roaring of the water to the west was loud enough to enunciate his point. The rain noise swelled as he continued, “Wouldn’t want to have to report finding a drowned body. So sad when it happens too. Some poor soul trying to sneak around in the dead of night.” He made a tisking noise with his tongue.

Rob crept slowly up to the embankment. Though the rain, loose soil, and debris from above made the action difficult to manage in the dark, he made it about two-thirds of the way before needing to stop. He leaned his shoulder against the ground, just below the line of light cutting the darkness above.

Even to me, it was clear he'd need to fire on both guards if he were seen. The sound of the heavy gunshots would be guaranteed to alert anyone else in the immediate vicinity. It was the very last thing we'd want.

“Tim,” Paul said from above, “go keep an eye on the other side.”

“Paul—”

“Do what I say.” Paul said through clenched teeth, “Or else.”

There was a pause. Rob was still as a statue. Waiting.

“What if you need help?” Tim asked, a hopeful note in his voice.

“From who? Her?” The flashlight swept up and down slowly. “You’re not going to give me any trouble, are you?”

“I--uh...” Sam began as one of the lights clicked off, and there was a rustle as, I’d guess, Paul slung his weapon.

“Paul,” Tim said feebly, “we’re supposed to stick together, especially now since we’re not supposed to be--”

“Fine,” Paul’s voice said. It was icy and brittle. “You just stand there and watch then.”

There were steps: Paul moved toward Sam.

“You’re being detained,” Paul said, the sound of his voice dry and raspy. The click of a locking pocketknife was audible even through the rain. “I suggest you don’t resist—or do. Won’t matter either way.”

Multiple scenarios flashed through my mind: Paul and Tim managing to gain the upper hand because of their superior position and weaponry. The noise of gunshots in any number of different permutations and how it would give away our position. Sam and her proximity to a sudden and violent crossfire, there were simply too many unknowns to say with any real certainty where the next moment might lead. I felt helpless as I imagined what might be going through Sam's mind, and it enraged me.

My mind raced as I observed Rob. He pressed both of his feet into the mud slowly to secure his footing and was ready to jump. His eyes roamed as they searched for the right moment, but his vision was limited in order to remain unexposed.

From my vantage nothing seemed like the "right" thing to do. The brightness of a flashlight approached the crest of the berm. Time was almost up.

If Rob shoots, Sam might be good as dead. My brain tumbled with mental calculations, all involving what I promise were very serious considerations as, not thinking, just doing, I did the only thing I could with what I had.

I stood and hurled the stick over the foliage line.

Chapter 26

 

The sky filled with an inky blackness.

The storm clouds had rolled over our position as thunder tore through the air. I’d been so focused on training with the phrases and gestures I hadn’t noticed the change. Rain continued to fall.

I was forced to close one eye as a droplet landed directly into it, one of the many tiny, spherical diamonds in the wind.

Statistically, I'd read somewhere it was a proven fact, open spaces and greenery affected the work output of an employee. It became a practical necessity when you lived inside what amounted to big metal boxes stacked on top of each other, but the green spaces near Block D were tiny things.

Set within the mazelike plastcrete and metal canyons of the Stacks, most locations featured a bench, memorial plaque, or other small decorous detail to mark their purpose, which was usually singular or hyperfocused.

Block P had an ENTIRELY different design philosophy.

The expansive vegetation far outstripped the deficient shrubbery and grass-covered spaces I'd visited in recent history in Block D. Even by the standards of the Spire and the surrounding hillside, the entirety of the area's footprint was enormous; not large enough to swallow an entire Block, but close enough.

I was presented with a breathtaking view as we crested a berm. There was a dense fog covering the grounds. Islands of trees poked above it but only served to enhance the perception of a literal sea of green to me. Emerald waves danced along treetops as the rain continued to pelt their leaves and anything else exposed to the sky.

A thought floated. An echo of childish wonder.

So much space.

This particular green space was HUGE.

The location ahead of me was set within a plateau, the landscape laid out in planned, tight geometric patterns with differing elevations leading into a bowl-like center. What tree lines and vegetation I could see through the fog were laid in ordered clusters, with maintained grass lines cut in squared angles and ordered structure. The outer edges toward the Canal Zone to the west stood out in stark contrast with its chaotic smattering of curves and abstract shapes adjacent to the organized lines.

We were in a darkness preceding the approaching dawn. Even now the streams of moving water were roaring inward, like a man-made reservoir with slides and pathways solely designed to direct and focus the surge into inlets and outlets set between the sections of a central collection zone.

“It leads to the farms.” Rob said. Yet again, he'd taken notice of my expression.

“What farms?” I said. I carefully followed his footsteps along the outer edges of the bowl. I'd already slipped twice and didn't want to barrel down the side of the berm.

Rob paused. He stopped in his tracks to turn his eyes to mine. "The Spirelands underground. You’ve never actually been down there before. Have you?”

“If I’m going to be honest?” I admitted, “ No. Everything I know about the Spires came from marketing materials."

His head tilted in questioning curiosity, "Corporate University?”

"Yeah."

“So you’ve never even seen still images of em?”

"No."

Rob's face grew stony. A deep rumble came from within his chest. He seemed upset but didn't comment further as he continued on without another word.

I resumed following, our path picking out along the edges of the bowl as we worked our way around.

The rain always had a smell. I loved it, especially when I could take the time to savor it. Petrichor: Stone and “blood” of the gods—at least according to myth.

I breathed more deeply. Slowly. Allowing the redolence of the wind to mesmerize me. It was green and fresh, a slight hint of sweetness beneath a sourish tinge. The tinge was always unique to areas where there were people. Unique to the Stacks.

The scent triggered a memory, the first one strong enough to present itself since leaving Rob's pod. My hand tremulously gripped my mother's, tiny fingers wrapped around two slender ones as I was tugged gently along.

Sights scrolled around us, a promised land in a featured streamroll.

The Green Space. Inaccessible yet larger than life. A representation of an area I'd only been told of. A mere concept. A place I hadn't—couldn't—visit until I'd earned the right and apparently never had.

Scents enveloped me. Weeping moisture. Lightning and thunder. Loam and seed. The erstwhile beginning for my future Corpo-structured existence. I was left shivering as the memory faded.

How ironic. To smell it so strongly here and now, near its end.

I surveyed the location ahead. A wave of emotion washed over me, interrupted as Rob came to a sudden stop.

In a practiced motion he shifted his jacket to pull his revolver free of a hidden holster near his left side. A heavy cylinder dropped outward from the revolver's body via a large hinge. From my vantage I could see it was already filled with bullets, nestled within bored chambers like tiny golden dots. With his left hand he slowly rotated the cylinder, focusing his eyes on each to inspect them as if he were examining a servocasing for structural flaws on a microscopic level.

Rule 9: Don't assume. Confirm.

Satisfied, Rob swung the cylinder back into position with the snap of a wrist. He turned to face me. The revolver was held in a loose grasp by his side. Action star style. What he needed to confirm exactly, I wasn't sure. I wasn’t a gun guy, but I knew enough to realize he looked cool while doing it at least.

“Okay, Price, listen." Rob reholstered the gun with the same fluidity he'd used while drawing. If I hadn't known it was there, I wouldn't have spotted it. "No matter what, the “Barking Dogs” phrase will get you hidden, even if you forget everything else. Got it?”

I nodded. Even if I didn't understand, I knew how to follow directions without question. After everything Rob had done for me, I owed him at least that much.

Rob moved, and I followed.

We crouched and headed further into the Green Space as trees began to cover the skyline. Some were in clusters and clumps, others in entire sections to provide ample concealment from direct line of sight as we picked our way between them. The ground was treacherous. The rain made some areas almost too muddy and slippery to walk upon, exposing rocks or gravel in some sections where the topsoil had been washed away over the years. I marveled at all of it.

Most of my experience with outings to Green Spaces had been with Dora tied to events thrown near our Stack. The flora there was the equivalent of a patch of grass with a grand total of seven trees, one of which I assumed had been dead for years.

This space had trees. A LOT of trees. And bushes. Far more greenery than I'd ever seen outside of a holo-still.

Tally another mark in the “I feel cheated” column.

There was a white noise, one I found hard to identify within the sound of falling rain and thunder. It became more pronounced the deeper into the Green Space we traversed.

“You hear that?” I asked, tilting my head from side to side trying to identify the source of the noise. It sounded like it could've been wind but had an echoing quality, making it difficult to exactly pinpoint. The sound acted as dull ambient noise for the general area. In other circumstances I might have even labeled it as idyllic or peaceful, but without knowing the source, I wasn't sure if I needed to be concerned or not.

“Canals,” Rob said, pointing toward the treeline to the west, “run off for the storms like what you saw near the plaza. The Spire has an entire system designed to capture and redirect the excess water not being processed so it doesn’t flood everything. The trees and berms are acting as a sort of sound dampener. Makes it sound like that."

I looked at him quizzically.

"I grew up Canalside, remember? The noise always sounds like that after a certain distance. There's an explanation for it, but it's not necessary to know what it is. Just don’t fall in when we get to it, okay? I don’t want to have to run around trying to find you on the opposite side of the Glow.” He smirked, “That is, if you don't drown first. Those whitecaps can be dangerous." He stopped talking, not offering more as he looked off into the distance, likely reminiscing about a childhood I couldn’t even imagine.

A flash of lightning illuminated the area.

The thunder rumbled loudly above and caused the hairs on the back of my neck, arms, and face to stand on end. Shadows cast by the lightning illuminated the copse of trees nearby as they danced and played tricks with my optics. I had another trill of childish fear; my brain crawled at the thought of someone hidden arising out of the bushes like a horror vid monster.

Rob punched my arm, and I was snapped back to the present again.

“Hey. Game face.”

"Sorry!" I muttered. Embarrassed like I'd been the first time I'd gotten lost in thought. After the flashes it was always difficult not to fall into old habits. Rob moved us forward to the edge of the Green Space. The scent of wet leaves was strong in the air as he led me forward to a collection of trees surrounded by a dense cluster of bushes and foliage near the top of a berm. Ample coverage and line of sight.

"We've reached the—" He said a word. I wasn't sure I heard it right.

"Hang on." I said, holding up a finger in question.

Rob stopped to look back at me.

"The heck is a Ron Dey Vhoo?" I asked.

His eyebrow shot upward. I felt embarrassed again.

"It's a rendezvous." He said, repeating the word, "A prearranged meeting place."

Unable to help myself again, I blurted out, "Why not just call it a 'meeting place' then?!"

He was fighting a smile. I could see the damn thing in the way his face was straining to keep that side from moving.

"We—," he said, "—will have to come back to this subject later."

With his left hand he pointed toward my jacket. "Adjust your hood. Keep your face hidden. Might only give us a small chance, but if the Goons don’t know you’re still here and talking to me, they won’t be able to alert anyone else about it. Maybe it’ll give us a bit more breathing room later.”

I readjusted my hood, pulling up the half-mask hidden in the folds over my mouth and nose. I looked at his back as he walked away. "Where are you going?!"

"Clearance," he said plainly. He disappeared into the treeline. He was like a cat slinking away into the night as he pulled the ghost technique I still hadn't had time to ask about.

I settled in to wait. The jacket and hood did a decent job at keeping the rain, which was beginning to pick up, from soaking the inner part of my clothing. The uncovered parts of my face and hands were cold, but the outfit did a marvelous job of keeping me warm.

Rob reappeared.

He pressed a finger to his mouth to signal silence—one of the simpler Port Hand signs—then pointed to a line of bushes on the berm across from me with another rapid flash of Port Hand: Sit, Stay, Good, Dog.

Hey! I signaled back.

He smiled once, sending another signal. Two hands tossing upward with a hand in a downward circle toward a spot: Unpack. Here.

I gave him a returning series of hand signals to tell him where he could shove the foliage as his head shook in mirth. He disappeared again.

It didn't take long for me to pick my way over to where he wanted me. I nestled myself chest down, wiggling in for a long stay at the base of the foliage like a nesting duck. Despite clear lines of sight, there were no more signs of Rob or his passing in the clearing ahead. He suddenly reappeared along the treeline to the right of me, quite a distance off, as he flashed me another set of signals:

Take. Back. Off. I. See.

Shoot!

I rolled, eventually managing to remove the pack in a silent struggle before laying it down beside me. I glanced at the area Rob had been in.

Nothing. The man was good.

Thinking for a second, I began using my arms and the side of my hand to pull dead leaves and sticks into a small pile around the pack and my legs. While it wasn’t going to win any camouflage awards, it might help keep me from being so easily spotted. Maybe Rob also wouldn’t give me so much flak once he came back.

There. Done.

I saw a tiny amount of movement, barely visible through the rain. Rob’s head reappeared, this time far enough that I had to increase magnification on my optics to track him clearly. He stood still for a moment, scanning the embankment near where I was sitting before giving a quick thumbs-up.

Like a shark in murky water, he dove back down, and I yet again couldn’t tell where he’d gone. His positioning made it seem like he was circling the area of the meeting place methodically.

Nothing else moved as I tried to control my racing heart.

I swear to you for what must be the fifth time, you never can tell how loud you’re breathing until you’re trying not to be heard doing it. I tried to focus on exhaling and inhaling again.

In.

Out.

In.

Ouuuuut.

The rain continued to fall. My jacket, pants, and boots still shed the water with little issue as the torrent intensified to my left. It sounded like a veritable river as the runoff flowed onward and out of sight, down the side of the berm and into the green space's drain-like design to feed the farms I'd never known about.

More silent moments.

More ambient noise and scents.

I sensed my eyelids drooping and fought to stay awake.

The lull in action, the peaceful sound of falling rain, and the odd echoing quality of the canal sounds all combined with my lack of sleep. I felt quite drowsy.

Until the moment I wasn't.

Like a shock to my nervous system, all of my senses clocked into overdrive. I was alert now. I saw nothing. Heard nothing. Smelled nothing. Yet, for some indescribable reason, the hairs on the back of my neck were standing on end as if I were near a static field. A bad feeling began to grow in the pit of my stomach. I'd learned to follow it.

I tried not to make any unnecessary movement as my eyes darted from area to area. I wasn't sure what had triggered my sudden adrenaline spike, but—

The sound of a snapping twig caused me to freeze.

I turned my head ever so slowly around, fearing the worst. The spiraled barrel of a gun pointed directly at the side of my temple partially obscured my vision.

“Don’t move!” A voice said sternly.

Uh-oh.

Chapter 25

 

Rob set a sedate pace as we walked.

In place of the rust and bleak depression of Block D, the western sides of Block N projected an unexpected feeling of welcome and warmth. Unlike the plaza, which had become possessed by a party-like and energized atmosphere, the people here chattered in low voices, sheltered from the rain as they mingled within the opened entryways.

Instead of the compulsory barrier to control access and maintain efficiency, the locks I'd seen on our short stroll seemed more like extensions of each resident's home. From our low vantage point, I caught sight of framed artwork attached to one of the walls within a dwelling ahead, a paisley print of a red flower.

Warmth poured outward, pressing against my face like a velvety pillow as we approached.

Within, a man and woman waved at us cheerfully as they took notice, snuggled together on a small seating arrangement Dora would've—possibly quite literally—killed someone to own. It was the couple who'd glanced back at me when they'd returned their bowls. The half-mask of the jacket's hood was thankfully in place, stretching with my expression as my mouth dropped open in shock and we continued to walk smoothly by.

Rob's face filled with a rivaling cheerfulness as he waved and turned back forward. His head gave a little sideways sway to our left side, a signal to re-enter the maze of buildings as we meandered by, just a pair of travelers on our way to an indeterminate destination.

Almost all of the open locks, at least the ones with people gathered or lounging within, seemed to be fully furnished and decorated. The extra illumination given off by the thresholds gave the region a cozy, almost blissful atmosphere.

I glanced back. I quite honestly couldn't help myself.

I watched as the locks and their brightness faded into dim motes of light within the gloom, like ships parted on a stormy sea as the rain intensified. The falling deluge acted as a curtain to separate me from the idyllic scenes and details behind us. Extended balconies, warmth, cheer, friendship, camaraderie, and comfort.

All were functionally impossible within my old block. Whether by pure happenstance or design, I was uncertain, but less uncertain than I had been before this entire ordeal began.

The lanes were fairly empty once the rains had begun. From my observations as we strolled, almost anyone who had a home nearby had returned, waiting out the clock until the next shift rotation. I imagined what it must feel like to bask in the moment. To relax as the sounds of the canal and rain washed over me.

Could life really be like this?

It wasn't the first time I'd asked. Though the tone changed depending on the event, the question remained the same. I'd asked when my mother and I established our first new home in the Capsule Bays; I'd done it again when we'd first moved to the Stacks, and a third time when Dora and I became an item.

A stiff, katabatic wind chilled my face and forced me back into the present. A katabatic wind, where an air mass travels downslope by gravity to force higher-density air into the lower-density areas of the Stacks, was a consistent problem in City 17 where the hillsides bordered the line of the Exclusion Zones. We had to be well educated and aware of when and how sudden winds could cause issues with the equipment and storage at The Port. The moisture and excessive lateral forces played havoc with sensors and servos alike.

Rob navigated onward as he led us on a meandering path set to re-enter the maze of buildings to the east. A thought occurred to me then. A Greek term often used in mythos.

Huh. Katabasis, the descent.

My face became obscured by the jacket's hood. The chilled rain dribbled along my cheeks, leaking down along my neck like a sliver of fear. The Stacks slowly progressed beside us like the walls of a tunnel yet again. Perhaps that's what I was. A mere shade on a katabasis. A descent into the underworld, away from a past life I was no longer tied to like the old myths.

My eyes locked onto the shape of Rob's hood. He was ahead of me, steadily guiding me toward the noise of the canal. Chiron the ferryman, transporting souls across the rivers Styx and Acheron to the underworld. I fought the urge to comment, instead making a choice to follow on autopilot, noting we were crossing another zone boundary as we trod upon the lines and continued on.

We'd crossed the threshold from M to N what felt like yet another lifetime ago but was realistically less than an hour past. This new boundary led from N to P, northward. Truthfully? I had to admit, especially to myself, I didn't actually have much of a clear idea where the Blocks were in relation to each other.

"Rob," I said. "You mind answering a few questions for me?"

Rob slowed, allowing me to stand abreast with him. The front of his hood turned slightly in my direction, letting me know I had his ear. "Sure." He said, "Shoot."

"Who was the girl?"

I could only see the side of his mouth. A Cheshire Cat smile in the gloom, bright and animated as it slowly spread in a mischievously teasing manner. "The girl at the cart?"

"No," I said in reply. "The one with the green speckled eyes."

His chin lifted ever so slightly upward.

With his hood angled, it reminded me of a cobra, sniffing the air with its tongue. The grin had disappeared. "Let's get closer to the canal; it should be safer to talk once we're further past the markings and away from the stacks."

"Safer?" I wanted to ask, but he gave me a slight shake of his head as he led us onward. I was curious, but not enough to stop our progress as the gloomy sky remained the grey and overcast color above. Our new direction took us somewhat parallel to the canal line while the water fell from the sky in layers into the turbid water. Whitecaps roared past, challenging the thunder in sheer volume on their way southward as we slowed our pace.

"Okay." Rob said, "You get two questions. Go."

"Two?! Why only two?"

He stopped to stare at me. "Price. Do you not know how to count?!"

"What?"

"That was two questions."

"Was it?!"

"Four."

"How was that four?!" I demanded.

Rob sighed. The heavy sigh saved for the hopeless and incredibly dense. I grinned at him. "Owen," he said, "ask me what you're going to ask."

"But I thought you wer--"

He glared at me. I decided not to push the matter further as he began to walk again.

I followed, collecting my thoughts.

"Seriously, Rob. What are we doing out here? I'm blind. I've been following you around. I haven't asked many questions, but I'm blind and flailing here. So much of this doesn't make sense to me. What's with the markings between blocks? Why is life so different in N than in D? How could you just dump three months of wages on ONE meal for me?!"

I'd begun ranting without intending to. Rob's choice to bring us here was a good one, though never above the volume levels of the rushing water, my voice had risen. The expulsion had been brief but intense. I felt as if I panted for breath.

Rob sighed.

"I get it, Owen. It's a lot to take in, and seeing the differences has to have been hard on you. The entire reason you haven't been able to come here wasn't just because you didn't want to." He went quiet. He was keeping his breathing calm. His jaw was clenched.

"It's the protocols, isn't it?" I said, "I heard the term 'deviation.'"

"Yes," Rob said. "That's exactly why. The worst of it is the 'normal' people who judge it don't realize what's going on either. They live mostly oblivious, not even aware anything is different. It's all they've ever known."

We walked in silence beside the canal water's roar as I absorbed what he'd told me.

Like titans battling beyond the horizon, large booms lit the landscape with flashes of dazzling clarity. For once in conscious memory, the Spires weren't visible as I walked in their shadow. Water dribbled along the upper ridge of my nose, a sensation that made me want to wipe my face clean. I imagined we were lost within the fabric of the world; hidden by the torrential rain.

Rob made up his mind to speak to me again.

"We're on our way to meet Sam. That's who you saw in the plaza. For whatever reason, she messed up when the two of you locked eyes and broke a rule. Then your stomach made everything worse. I had to think fast."

"So you noogied me."

I wanted to be upset but had to admit even then: it did the job well of controlling the situation.

Instead I focused on something else, he said. "A rule? Sounds like there are more."

Rob nodded. "Craft rule number one: Never, and I mean never, let anyone get the drop on you."

"You've said that before: 'Craft.' What's that even mean?" Fat droplets pelted my brow from above as I looked over at him.

"Manipulation. Adaptation," he said, "it's making sure others don't know what you're doing while you're doing it. THE Craft."

Like many things Rob had told me recently, this was one of those big noun words. It meant something important.

I looked over at him, "THE?"

"Hush, Price. Or do you not want to learn these? You're going to need them if you're going to work with us—me."

My eyes widened as I realized what he was telling me: this was like a Rob-ism. "Sorry," I said, pulling an imaginary zipper across my lips with my fingers.

"Rule two: Don't let the marks know you're watching them..." And so he continued, listing rule after rule. I probably should've taken notes, but it was too wet, too cold, and we were walking too fast for me to do so. I just listened and absorbed; at least the list wasn't particularly long.

We spent a good twenty minutes of walking as he filled me in on the real instructions he wanted to convey: What to do and who to speak with if we were ever separated. His eyes roamed the shoreline casually as if taking in the sights, demonstrating Rule 12: Always keep a low profile wherever you can. He had me repeat several of the parts back to him to ensure I followed along and wouldn't forget.

"So what are you going to do if something happens to me?" he asked.

"Stay hidden; stay out of sight. Wait until you, Sam, or possibly Frank, signal that it’s time to go.”

“What happens if both of us split in opposite directions and I leave you?”

“Bug out immediately. Make my way toward The Glow by following the canal paths. Find The Midnight Brew, ask for someone named Idina, and say the code phrase you had me memorize.”

Though I believed the entire thing was a bit silly, I did understand how the entire process could act as an additional layer to an already onion-like process for communication. It was a bit of an archaic system overall, but, considering I hadn't had a clue Rob used any of this stuff the entire time I'd known him, I just internally shrugged and did as directed. Sometimes you just needed to go with the flow if the flow wasn't broken.

There were differing phrases, counterphrases, and small hand gestures included for confirmation and authentication. The idea was you'd be able to confirm you were really speaking to who you were meant to. I saw some obvious flaws with the system, but the hand gestures were not unlike the port hand signals we used while working and so were easy to replicate and repeat. Rob watched my hands as intently as he could and muttered, “Good enough," as we finally came upon what I assumed would be our destination: A green space. One of the largest ones bordering the canal.

Rob moved forward, looking back at me with an expectant face.

"Let's go introduce you to Sam."

Chapter 24

 

As if tethered by a leash, a squat, self-mobilized cart came to a rolling stop beside the apprentice. She gently snapped a loaded tray onto the cart's top. The tray was filled, almost overflowing with bowls of steaming noodles, which I swore warmed the air around us.

"Excuse me," a woman said from nearby, "Are those for sale?"

There was a hopeful note in her voice as she leaned toward the girl and cart. The apprentice smiled and nodded, waving a hand toward a miniature version of the payment terminal Rob had thumbed when he'd paid for our food.

"Just two?" she asked, holding up two fingers as the woman nodded and pressed her thumb against the screen. She busied herself beneath the counter and sanitized her hands.

Everyone at the tables around me raised their hands to shout orders. The air was alight with the noise of slurped noodles and talk as the girl continued to dole out bowls of food to the hungry customers who paid.

Rob hadn't returned, but I spotted him in the distance. I did a double take. I watched as he raised a cigarette to his lips, pulling hard before streams of smoke came out of his nostrils like an angry dragon. I tried to think back to any time I'd ever seen him smoke in front of me but was bringing up a blank.

Huh. I wouldn't have taken him as a smoker.

I watched amusedly as the woman beside him, dressed in a gray corporate pantsuit, turned her head to take a dainty puff as she rested her hand along his side, sliding downward in a way I would've labeled as "predatorily" in just about any context.

He's got game, I thought mischievously. "Good for him!"

"Good for whom?"

I jumped.

A feminine voice had spoken beside me. I hadn't realized I'd said that out loud. Oops.

My gaze flicked over. From behind the cart, the apprentice's lavender eyes remained locked onto mine; the tray stood empty. She'd sold out fast.

"Huh?" I said. All too smoothly.

I fought not to wince as a trill of nervousness shot through me and a soft chime sounded from within the cart. She smiled apologetically as she averted her gaze. She opened a hidden door and emptied the cart of the freshly sanitized bowls, stacking them within a shelf on the side furthest away from me as it hid her from view. I had a golden opportunity to decide what to do.

Okay. Don't waste any more time, Price. What are you going to say?! Think. Think. Think.

Thunder rumbled above us as the clouds began to swirl. A few heads turned up, and many people began eating at a much faster pace.

The rain was near.

There was a soft wump as she closed the door, toggling a control before she straightened and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. I gawped like an idiot as a soft sigh escaped her lips.

Well, crap. Where was this kind of blankness when I DIDN'T want to think about anything?! I'd drawn a blank and had no clue what to say.

She turned and leaned over the cart. Her chin pointed toward me as she nestled it within her palm, fingers curled to her cheek as her lavender eyes examined me once again.

I'd wasted what was likely my only chance to come up with something good.

DAMMIT, BRAIN!

She smiled at me. "You still haven't answered my question," she said.

The amusement was clear in her voice. It dawned on me then what I must've looked like, still hunched over my bowl like a cretin, a gornless look on my face as my mind struggled to catch up.

A woman and man approached with empty bowls in their hands.

The apprentice bit down on her lip, a small attempt to keep the laughter in her eyes in check as she accepted the empties. She gave the man and woman a graceful bow before she placed the bowls on top of the cart. As the pair walked away, the woman looked back at me with a mirthful smile on her lips. She turned to whisper to the man, intertwining her hand into his as they looked toward the approaching clouds ahead.

The sound of swishing jets was barely audible as the internal sanitation system finished working its magic. Another cheer broke out from the old man's cart as he did yet another feat, and his face did a double take toward us.

His gapped-tooth smile widened as he began to juggle at least four knives with an ease that looked remarkably resplendent. He winked once before he turned, causing the crowd to gasp as he threw one of the knives higher into the air.

My mind was still uselessly blank as I tried to remember what the apprentice had asked me.

"The noodles," she said as if reading my thoughts. My attention was drawn back to the apprentice as she extended a hand out, fingers slightly bent in an unusual way as she waited for permission to receive something. Her eyes dropped onto the table in front of me. "Has it been a while?"

"Um. Yeah." I said, handing back the empty bowl. “Sorry. I mean, YES! It helps that it’s so great.”

The old man beamed as if he heard me and said something in a language I didn’t understand. The girl smiled appreciatively before having a short, partially shouted conversation with him as I stared at the two incomprehensibly.

The girl translated, tilting her head a little as she took me in from head to toe. “He said, ‘Thank you very much for your patronage.”

I looked over at the old man, where two of the four knives were now nowhere to be seen.

I fought to tear my curiosity away as the girl turned back to me and spoke again. “Are you going for a Courier-esque look?” She asked with a raised eyebrow. She grabbed another set of abandoned bowls from a table I hadn't realized had already been vacated, tucking them into the sanitation drawer before she held her hand out again as someone passed another empty bowl to her.

The area around us had begun to clear. The thunder grew louder, and the wind became colder.

“I like your style,” she said, demurely.

I stared at her blankly for a moment.

The pause was long enough; she pointed downward with a pert nose as she continued collecting bowls from people handing them to her in their rush to leave.

“The pants? I dig the style. Jacket’s pretty tech too!”

“Huh?” I replied. Still not comprehending.

“Oh!” I said, blushing. Not having gotten what she was saying, like a dimwit.

“Uh—Y—Yeah,” I blurted out, “Thanks? I guess? Kinda a new me, you know? New me, new look.” I cringed inward, not knowing why I'd said that.

She smiled again, giving me a few nods of acceptance before being interrupted by someone asking about a dish; as she turned to answer, her eyes darted apologetically back to me before she broke off to give the customer her full attention.

“Here. Best keep up your strength, Young Sir.”

I jumped.

The smiling man was suddenly next to me. I looked around as I realized he'd somehow gotten beside me without my notice from all the way over by the other cart. The line had been mostly served. Many of the people had decided to begin the trek home before the rains reached us.

He's as bad as Rob, I thought as I looked down.

In the man's strong grip was held another bowl, different from the one we'd ordered. The smell of sesame oil and fresh greens tantalized my palate, triggering an old memory of food from long ago as he lifted the bowl higher in an invitation to grab it.

"You. Take." He said. His manner of speaking was broken but cheerful as he nodded with another smile. The bowl was pressed into my hand. He was NOT going to take "no" for an answer. Any complaints were neutralized before they could leave my lips as he waved away any utterance of not being able to pay.

I surrendered.

I lifted the bowl from his grasp as he turned to return to his mobile kitchen. He resumed his work, still assembling dishes expertly for the much shorter line of waiting customers. He kept a watchful eye on me as the thunder rumbled above.

The bowl was GORGEOUS.

The green kelp noodles were still present, but the entire dish was a much different variant from the one before it. The broth was reddish yellow, the color of a liquid sunset. Chunks of spongy white cubes, kernels of corn, and slices of grilled mushrooms were piled in small islands around the centerpiece of fried onions, piled high enough to look like a mountain in miniature. The entire chain was artfully speckled with small white and black seeds. The colors acted as a complement to the rich, golden oil, which coated everything in a half-moon ring as it melded with the fresh leaves of greenery floating on the surface. Fragrant steam swept past my face as my taste buds tightened in anticipation.

I took my first bite and chewed with the full intention of actually ENJOYING it this time.

I succeeded.

If I were to describe it in one word? "Fantastic" would just about cover it.

The oil went marvelously with the spicy sauce. The crispness of the greens and chewiness of noodles cut through the heat and melded into something so marvelous I couldn't and wouldn't fully describe it.

You'd have to try it for yourself.

The taste rebounded from pleasure center to pleasure center inside my head; I couldn’t help but smile. The warm feeling of happiness and contentment spread throughout my body like a blissful wave. It was a FAR cry from the caf-drowned protein puck on Rob's countertop. If the puck had kept me alive, this likely would keep me floating on Cloud Nine for some time to come. Even better, a magical sensation overcame me as I closed my eyes. One I hadn't felt in quite a long time.

I.

Was.

FULL.

I opened my eyes again. Though it was probably just within my mind, I could swear the world seemed a bit less dark. I looked over. The lavender-eyed girl was busy speaking to someone, her back to me as the green-capped man grinned toward me from ear to ear.

He issued a sagely nod, handing off another bowl to another customer as I gave him a small bow, which he returned slowly with closed eyes.

Thunder rumbled as a wet spot plunked into the center of my forehead, and I glanced up in surprise, wiping my hand across my brow to confirm what had happened. My fingers came away cold, wet, and clammy.

Rain.

Everyone looked up, almost in unison. The threat of an incoming rain, along with a joint realization that the next rotation was only a short few hours away, served as the official end of the rare and unscheduled social gathering. One everyone would likely talk about for weeks to come.

I looked around for any sign of Rob and spotted him as he began the arduous process of extricating himself from the strokey hands of the woman wearing the suit. She whispered something into his ear but frowned when he shook his head. He handed her a card after giving an apologetic look, and I lost sight of them as the crowd began to disperse.

The girl bowed her head to collect the bowl with a small smile in my direction as I thanked her. Groups around me broke apart rapidly, and the scent of falling moisture filled the plaza as the other vendors, the ones without lines as long, rolled off without a further word. Final orders for food were pushed through as the few remaining stragglers moved on, encouraged by the loud rumbling to go faster.

Rob was signaling to me, indicating I should follow as other diners speedily finished their food in a rush to catch up to friends who had already left. I could hear the sounds of Outer Lock doors cycling around us as inhabitants downed their refreshments, stubbed out their cigarettes, and began the return to the toasty confines of their homes; the party was officially over.

I smiled back at the apprentice in what I hoped was a dazzling way as I pushed myself out from the table. I was finally feeling a bit less pinched and more myself for the first time in what felt like a long...long time. She gave me a quick wink with one lavender-colored eye as we turned in our respective directions away from each other.

“You hear that?” Rob asked, once I joined him. We were finally out of immediate hearing range of others as they moved away. “Not good. They’re already changing the narrative for something new. It’s meant to keep you from being able to go anywhere people are going to be, and my guess? Security already has images of you being plastered as we speak.”

I nodded, feeling worried, but less so now with a full belly.

It was bad enough to have someone blame you for doing nothing, but to actively push someone into the path of death?

“Why?” I asked aloud, “McCreed told me what to do. I wasn’t sure if I would, but this all seems against what he was asking, doesn’t it?”

Rob frowned, “Still no direct leads, but it seems once you gave them the slip, they tailed the runner and swapped tubes to aim for a new station. No idea why they’re still following Sam, but the plan for us is the same. The only major change is we need to do it before the beginning of the next rotation.”

“So what's the plan then?” I asked as we continued walking.

“Get you to a safe house and figure out where we’ll go from there. The Brew is the best place for now, close to where we’ve got to go, and Sam can take you there without me needing to leave. I have to stay low for a few days before I can come see you and help you get settled.”

“Thanks for the food,” I said quietly to Rob, “I know you said you didn’t owe me any more favors, but it was much appreciated.”

“Didn’t know I’d have to pry you away from that cart,” he said, smiling. “If I’d known you’d go for a second bowl, I’d have just gotten you a protein bar or something.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, “We left as soon as you signaled me.”

“I saw you dawdling; thought it was going to take you forever,” Rob said with a salacious grin. “Did you want to ask her name at least?”

“Who?” I asked, seriously confused.

He stopped, looking at me dumbly for a moment to tell if I was joking.

“Unbelievable.” He said, mostly to himself.

He shook his head in disbelief as he started moving again, “Let’s go then. Rain’s going to chase us.” He was chuckling to himself as I watched him walk away.

“What?” I looked at his retreating back as he continued on without me.

“Let's go,” he simply said over his shoulder, his face returning to the bored readiness of someone strolling, only stopping to wave to another vendor who was busying herself with packing up her cart.

The vendor smiled and waved back, humming as she went back to her work. All the signs of just being a regular day in an irregular moment.

Above, the woman in the suit was looking down at us, a frustrated frown on her face as she threw a stubbed cigarette over the side of the rail in a dissatisfied way before turning to head inside.

I pulled on the straps of the pack to tighten it and pulled up my hood to snap it into place as I walked to catch up. Rob's slowly fading shape continued languidly onward.

Huh. I thought, sparing a quick glance upward. She didn't look back as I continued on.

Chalk that up to yet another thing I'll have to ask him later.

Together, we set off out into the darkness as the rain began to pour in earnest.