Earthbound
Date: 2015-07-02 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Science Fiction
Description: The Earth is suffocating under toxic skies and there’s only one way for those left behind to escape – the space elevator that sits atop the massive structure known as the Reach. Knile Oberend is an outcast, a man exiled for the crimes of his past. Thrown an unlikely lifeline, he has less than forty-eight hours to cash in his ticket at the top of the Reach and escape off-world. Disgraced cop Alec Duran had a bright future until he made one fateful mistake. Now his last shot at redemption becomes entwined with the fate of the very man who ruined his life three years ago. Alton Wilt, an underworl

Mark R. Healy

Copyright © Mark R. Healy 2015

markrhealy.com

Cover Art Copyright © Mark R. Healy 2015

Editing by Clio Editing Services

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Terms and Conditions:

The purchaser of this book is subject to the condition that he/she shall in no way resell it, nor any part of it, nor make copies of it to distribute freely.

This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters and situations within its pages and places or persons, living or dead, is unintentional and coincidental.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

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Author’s Note

About the Author

Acknowledgements

Also by Mark R. Healy

1

Knile had waited years for this moment, but now that it was finally here he wasn’t sure he was ready for it.

He heard her voice in his head again for the hundredth time today, an echo of the past.  Saw her clear blue eyes and the way her eyelashes dipped as she offered him a smile, a smile that was meant just for him.  Chestnut hair spilling across her shoulders, the cerulean blue fabric of her dress against pale skin.

He saw smoke and flame, saw those same eyes filled with sadness and dread.  Saw her soft lips part as she tried to say one last word.

Knile gasped as if he’d been physically struck.  He clamped a hand over his eyes as if that might stop the images from playing in his head, stop the sound of her voice in his mind.

He pushed those thoughts away as he crouched in the gloom.  Evening had descended like a blanket across the city.  From his place in the shadows he could see the denizens of the slums filter past, shuffling hurriedly from one place to the other like cockroaches searching for a place to hide, unaware of his proximity in the fading light.  He was close enough to smell them, to touch them.  Close enough to taste their fear.

Knile tugged his sleeve and tilted his wrist, watching as the dim light played off the cracked face of his wristwatch.  The guy was late.  He should have been here by now.

An explosion shook the still evening air, a distant boom that resonated out across the slums from at least two blocks away.  In response, a pair of pigeons that had been roosting in the upper reaches of the tenements near Knile took flight amid a raucous flapping of wings, black against the deep blue sky above the rooftops.

The natives are getting restless.

Knile checked his watch again, needlessly, the hands remaining in the same position they had occupied a few seconds before.  He felt those thoughts of her returning, clawing incessantly at the edge of his consciousness, and he knew that he was running out of ways to stave them off.  He needed this to be over.

“Where are you, fat man?” he muttered to himself, tapping impatiently on his wrist.

You’ve been away for years, Knile, he thought.  Maybe things have changed more than you know.

He shifted uncomfortably, suddenly feeling the walls of the alley closing in around him.  Out in the lowlands there were wide open spaces in which he could roam.  He’d gotten used to that freedom in the years he’d been out there, and now confinement and claustrophobia were concepts with which he was largely unfamiliar.  They were conditions that he’d managed to forget, concerns that applied to others but not to him.

Or so he’d thought.  Now he wasn’t so sure.  Although he’d only just returned, the concrete and brick buildings that thrust up around him were already beginning to feel like the bars of a prison cell.  He needed to get out.

“Screw this.”

He got up to leave, but just then another figure appeared in the alley, lumbering toward him with a familiar gait.  Details were difficult to make out in the low light, but Knile could hear the ragged breathing, the wheezing, the way the boots scraped and slid across the asphalt rather than lifting clear with each step.  The rattle of keys on a belt.  They were all pieces of a puzzle that, when put together, gave him a fingerprint of the man moving toward him.

It was him.  The one he sought.

Knile leaned forward, allowing his weight to transfer to the balls of his feet.  He placed one hand down onto the asphalt like a sprinter waiting for the starting gun, then paused as the man neared.

Now that he was closer, more details were becoming apparent.  Knile noted a distended belly, dishevelled hair, sagging jowls that squeezed out past the respirator on his face – a face that contained an expression so disagreeable that it looked as though it had been moulded there and left to set like clay.

Definitely the guy.

There was another explosion, closer this time, and the newcomer flinched, grunting and lifting a hand protectively above his head.  The ground vibrated and dust filtered down from the buildings above like misting rain.  The man coughed under his respirator and waved a hand irritably in front of his face, cursing to himself.

He stopped at a door not far from Knile, rummaging through the keys at his belt.  They jangled and sent little shimmering sounds chasing along the alleyway as the sound of the explosion subsided.

Knile got to his feet, quiet as a shadow.

“Fallon,” Knile said.

The fat man cried out and staggered backward, bumping noisily against a downpipe with the back of his head.  Amid his contortions he managed to both dislodge his respirator and drop whatever it was he was carrying.  It landed on the asphalt beside him with a wet thud.  His eyes widened as he tried to locate the source of the voice, and from his jacket he produced a small pocketknife, which he held out in one trembling, meaty fist.

“Who is it?  Who’s there?” he demanded feebly.

Knile stepped forward and allowed himself to be seen.  He gave a little half smile and spread his hands as if to say here I am.

Fallon lowered the knife slightly and peered forward, shoving the respirator aside so that he could speak more freely.

“Knile?”

“The one and only.”

“For the love of…”  Fallon tucked the pocketknife back in his jacket angrily, rubbing the back of his head.  “What the hell do you think you’re doing, man?”

“What do you mean?  You’re the one who’s been asking around for me.”

“Yeah, so what?” Fallon said.  “That doesn’t mean you have to creep around in the friggin’ shadows.  You don’t have to stalk me.  Haven’t you ever learned to use a door?”

Knile walked toward him.  “Calm down.”

“Seriously.  Do you know how to knock, like normal people?” Fallon said.  He glanced down at his feet at the dropped package, then gestured helplessly at it.  “And look at this.  Do you know how far I had to walk to get this?  That trip half killed me.”

“Let me guess?  Half a block?”

Fallon scowled.  “Screw you.”  He scooped up the bundle and then lifted the keys to the door again.  “Come in off the street, will you?  It’s not safe out here.”

They proceeded inside and Fallon closed the door behind them, flicking at four separate locking mechanisms and then sliding a metal bolt across the entrance for good measure.

“Neighbours are as friendly as ever, by the looks of it,” Knile remarked.

“Neighbours are hungry,” Fallon spat.  “Neighbours are desperate.  Hard times, man.  Hard times.”

Fallon led Knile down the corridor, lighting a candle in a small room at the end and seating himself heavily at a worn wooden table.  He dropped the bundle unceremoniously before him and began to unravel it.

“Wasn’t sure if you’d come,” Fallon said, glancing briefly at Knile before returning his attention to the bundle.

“Well, it was a close thing,” Knile said.  “You know I’m not well liked around here.”  The room hadn’t changed much in the years since he had last seen it.  It was filthy and poorly maintained, with jars of bolts, rocks and other indeterminable materials lining the shelving along the wall.  One of the jars had smashed on the floor and had been left where it lay, the many pieces of it glinting in the candlelight.

“Not well liked?  Doubt it.  That’s ancient history, buddy,” Fallon said with a toothy smile.  “I’m sure it’s all been forgotten.”

“Yeah, right.”

Fallon finished unwrapping his prize, a glistening mound of greasy, pale meat, and he began to rip at it with his bare fingers, shredding it into smaller morsels that he could stuff inside his mouth.  An unappealing scent assaulted Knile, something akin to offal that had been left out in the sun for too long, and he screwed up his nose.

“Where did you get the, uh… chicken?” Knile said.

Fallon paused to lick some grease off his fingers, casting an uncertain look in Knile’s direction.

“Uh, this isn’t chicken,” he said.

Knile waved dismissively.  “Okay, forget I asked.”  He moved forward and leaned on the table.  “What do you want, Fallon?  You’ve heard from Mianda, right?”

Fallon continued to stuff his face, squeezing words out the side of his mouth as he did so.

“I’ve got some good news for you, Knile.  Great news.  Someone out there is looking out for you.”

“Huh?” Knile said irritably.  “You better start making sense.  I came a long way for this.”

“That can’t have been much fun, trekking across this poisoned ball of dirt–”

Knile reached forward and grabbed Fallon’s shirt and wrenched him forward.  Bits of meat splattered across the table as he choked in surprise.

“Quit it with the damn games, man,” Knile growled.  “Tell me why I’m here.”

“Okay, buddy.  Okay,” Fallon said, shrinking away from the other man’s wilting gaze.  He eased Knile’s wrist away with slimy fingers.  “Just trying to lighten the mood.  No problem, I’ll tell you everything.”

“Get on with it.”

Fallon pointed a stubby finger at him.  “They sent word to me a couple of days back.  There’s a passkey waiting for you.  Right now.”

Knile glared at him.  “What?”

“There’s a passkey for you,” Fallon repeated.  “It’s your lucky day.  You’re getting a ticket out of here.”

Knile suppressed the urge to reach out and slap the other man’s face.

“I told you when I left,” he grated, “that the only reason for you to contact me was if you had information about Mianda.  If you got word that she was alive.  Didn’t I?”

Fallon blinked uneasily.  “Yeah, but–”

“And now you’re telling me that there’s no news about her?”

“This is a passkey we’re talking about, buddy!  A ticket out of this hellhole–”

Knile abruptly turned on his heel.

“I’m leaving,” he said.  “I knew it was bad news when you saw me escaping the city a few years back.  I should never have given you my contact details.  Everyone else thinks I’m dead.”

“Hey, that hurts my feelings, man.  You know I can keep a secret.”

Knile jabbed a finger at him.  “If you ever call me again, I’ll personally come and kick the few remaining teeth out of your head–”

“No, I’m serious, man,” Fallon called after him.  “Just listen, will you?”

Knile stopped and turned back to him.  “A passkey,” he said doubtfully.  “That’s what this is about?”

“Yes, that’s what I said.”

“Yeah, and I need a hacked passkey like a hole in the head right now.”

“It’s not hacked,” Fallon said earnestly.  “It’s got your name on it.”

Knile raised his eyebrows, unable to contain his surprise.  He walked slowly back toward the table as Fallon nervously placed another wad of meat in his mouth.

“There’s a passkey with my name on it,” Knile repeated slowly.

“Yeah, buddy.  That’s what I said.  It’s legit.  Someone up there wants you out of here.  Someone likes you.”

Knile’s eyes narrowed.  “That’s impossible.”

“Hey, this information came from Jon Hanker himself over an encrypted channel,” Fallon said, holding up a worn holophone that was attached to his belt.  “It’s legit.”

Knile worked his jaw as he considered.  He shook his head.  “It’s bullshit.  It’s a trap.”

“I’ll tell you what it is,” Fallon said.  “It’s your only chance of ever getting out.”  He lifted another handful of food, shaking his head disdainfully at it.  “Look at what you did,” he said, hoisting it for Knile to see.  “Fell in the dirt.  Now it’s covered in shit.”

Knile recoiled from the foul-smelling meat and took a step back, turning away.  Fallon took another wistful look at the handful, then shrugged and stuffed it in his mouth, making no attempt to clean it.

“I don’t want the passkey,” Knile said decisively.  “You can tell Jon to do what he wants with it.  Tell him to give it to some other sucker.  Let them see if they can get off-world.”

“Makes no difference to me,” Fallon called as Knile walked away.  “I get my commission whether you take the ticket or not.”

Knile reached the door and began to fumble at the locks, and in moments the larger man appeared behind him, wiping his fingers messily on his shirt.

“Here,” Fallon said.  “Look out.”  He flipped the array of locks adroitly and removed the bar, pulling the door open with a creak.  “It’s a shame you’re walking away from this.  It really is.  Giving up a chance of a future.”

“Whatever.”

Fallon licked at his fingers.  “Well.  Nice seein’ you again.”

Knile stood in the threshold, looking out into the darkened street.  A few doors down he could hear the sound of an infant wailing, and further the white noise of the inner city of Link – unseen people and machines going about their work beyond the reach of the slums.  He hadn’t missed this place in all the time he’d been gone, but for some reason he now found it difficult to leave.

He thought of the last time he’d seen Mianda, surrounded by smoke and fire, staring at him with those piercing blue eyes through the haze.  After he’d lost her up there, he’d wondered if there was a reason to keep going at all.  She’d meant everything to him, more than all else in this world put together.

He’d waited years for her to send word, to give him a sign that she’d made it through.

Now after all this time he’d finally gotten the call from Fallon, returning at great risk from his exile to a place in which he wasn’t welcome.  Throughout the long journey he’d thought of nothing but Mianda – what she might look like now, the subtle ways in which she might have changed, the sound of her voice.  The things she would have to tell him.

But all of those thoughts had amounted to nothing.

Knile could only stand in the doorway, crestfallen.

We were meant to leave Earth together, Mianda.  You and me.

So what was he to do now?  Return to the lowlands to carry out a meagre existence moving from one place to the next?  Scrounging for food and seeking employment from the few folk who still lived out there?  He’d done it for years while he waited, but what was the point of going back without Mianda?

Maybe it wasn’t the brick and mortar of the city that he’d felt closing in around him, he thought, but the world itself, the very hands of this choked and suffocating earth that threatened to block his path at every turn.  There was no escape from it here in the city, and there was no escape from it in the lowlands either.

To live on Earth was to endure a slow and excruciating death sentence.  That fact was inescapable.

And Mianda wasn’t going to magically reappear.  She was gone.  He had to admit that to himself now.

We were meant to leave together.  Now it seems the only option is for me to leave alone.

“Well, don’t stand there forever, buddy,” Fallon said behind him.  “It’s not safe out there.  Not in the slums.  Not outside Link.  You forgotten that?”

Knile half turned.

The time for waiting is over.

“Show me the encryption code,” Knile said decisively.

Fallon stared at him blankly for a moment, then dug the holophone out of his pocket.

“Okay, sure.”

Knile snatched it from him and examined the transmission from Hanker, copying the accompanying code and running it against a verification algorithm.  It checked out.

He handed the holophone back to Fallon.  “All right,” he said.  “Tell Hanker I’m coming.”

“Oh.  Changed your mind, huh?” Fallon said, delighted.  “Thought you would.  Good choice.”  He bobbed his large head approvingly.  “You, uh, gonna need help getting there?”

Knile began to walk out into the street.  “No.  I’ll manage.”

“You sure?  Things have changed around here.  I can arrange something for a small fee–”

“I said no.”

“Sure, sure,” Fallon said.  “Whatever you like.  But there’s one other thing.”

Knile stopped and turned again, boots scuffing quietly on the road.  “What now?”

“Well, there’s a short fuse on this thing,” Fallon said, almost embarrassed.  “Took a while for them to get word to me, then a while for me to get word to you…”

“Spit it out.”

“You’ve gotta be at the Stormgates in forty-eight hours.”  He reached down and checked the holophone again.  “Uh, make that forty-six hours, twenty minutes.  If you’re not, your ride’s gone.  Those passkeys are non-refundable and you won’t get another chance–”

“I know how it works,” Knile said curtly.  “Anything else?”

Fallon shrugged.  “Maybe a tip?”

In answer, Knile swivelled and began to walk away.

“How about a thank you?” Fallon called after him.  “A nod of gratitude?”

Knile waited in the shadows as the door closed.  He heard Fallon engage the locks again, and as the man’s footsteps receded back inside the apartment Knile began to creep along the nearest wall.  With the clock running, he’d need to find a way of getting deeper within the city as soon as possible.

There was no time to rest.  He had a lot to do in a short amount of time.

Forgoing stealth for a moment, Knile stepped out from under the eaves and into the middle of the street, looking out across the expanse of the city ahead.  Soaring into the night sky and dwarfing everything around it, a great edifice of curved black steel rose up like a mountain in the distance, stretching kilometres upward into the heavens.  Dotted by a thousand pinpricks of light, it was so vast that it seemed to cast a shadow across the city even in the dark of evening.

A thing to evoke both awe and trepidation, it filled Knile with conflicting emotions.  Not only was it his hope and his salvation, but it was the refuge of his darkest memories as well.

It was the last place he had seen Mianda alive.

The last way off this dying world.

They called it the Reach.

2

The outer edges of the city, the area collectively known as the slums, were not unfamiliar to Knile.  Before escaping to the lowlands he’d spent many years living here, scratching out a lowly existence as he dreamed of something more.  Within these streets he’d made a lot of allies, as well as a lot of enemies, but he doubted there were many of those left on either side.  The slums churned through people fast – inhabitants either died of starvation or from exposure to toxins, were murdered for their possessions, or somehow got past the wall that led to the inner city of Link.  There were only the odd few, like Fallon, who carved out an existence here on a more permanent basis.

Knile stood for a moment in the street, staring up at the sky.  The Reach was like a giant magnet, he thought, thrusting out from the earth, cold and hard and uncaring.  Dragged toward it from all directions were the detritus of humanity, the few people that still inhabited the planet bunching up against its walls like flotsam from a far-distant tide.  The Reach stood like a beacon of hope, a seductive and mesmerising vision that made promises of freedom to all those who would look upon it.

For all but a few, those promises were left unfulfilled.

As Knile watched, a searchlight swept out from the Reach and waved back and forth, falling upon the luminous outline of a dirigible that hung in the sky like a pale, bloated tick.  It lingered there for a few moments before winking out again, and the dirigible was once more lost against the black sky.

“Idiots,” Knile muttered, shaking his head.

There was another explosion in the distance, and with that he decided to get moving.  There was no law out here, no sanctuary, and the gangs that had formed amid the chaos spent most of their time trying to destroy each other as they attempted to climb an imaginary hierarchy.  Their tussles with each other were frequent, their battles for supremacy a never-ending cycle.

The truth of it was, they were all equal out here.  They were all nothing.

Forty-six hours, twenty minutes.

That wasn’t much time.  Not to make it to the top of the Reach.

How much had changed, Knile wondered, since the last time he’d been there?  How much of his knowledge of the slums, of Link and its inner workings was still relevant?

It doesn’t matter.  First things first.  Get through the wall and into Link.  Get out of the slums.

Despite the excitement that this chance to escape had stirred in him, there was a horrible sense of disappointment gnawing at Knile’s insides.  He was still thinking about Mianda.  The chances of her still being alive had been so remote that it bordered on the impossible, and yet he couldn’t let himself believe that she was really gone.  There was a tiny voice in the back of his mind that told him she was still out there, that they could one day be together again.

The same voice told him that maybe he would find her somewhere up there.  Somewhere in the Reach.  That there still might be a chance for them.

Let it go.  She’s dead.

Footsteps approached from a side street, and Knile felt sudden panic surge within him.  He pressed against a hollow in the wall beside him.  It was not a great hiding place, but the best he could manage at short notice.  His nerves jangled in preparation for flight, aware that he would be left with no other option should his disguise prove too flimsy.

The footsteps grew louder, and then a group of about a dozen appeared and came walking toward him.  In the darkened confines of the hollow he seemed to have escaped their notice for now.  They refrained from making loud noises, showing some measure of discretion, but there was a confident air about them as they moved along.  They chatted and giggled amongst themselves, their voices muted further by their respirators.  Their posture held none of the stiffness Knile had seen from others earlier.

Strength in numbers, he thought.

If they saw him, he suspected they would probably bash him and search him for valuables.  That was the best scenario.

In reality they might do something much worse.

Knile edged further back into the hollow, tried to make himself invisible.  In the dim light he could see the vague outline of tattoos on the right arms of the passers-by, which he suspected might be the brandings of their gang.  As they neared, a woman with dreadlocks and a teardrop tattoo under one eye glanced in his direction, and for a moment his heart stopped.  Knile involuntarily held his breath and pressed his back harder against the wall, wishing he could melt into it.  The gaze of the woman was hard and cold above the piece of cloth wrapped about her face as a makeshift respirator.

Then she looked away and continued on with the others, never faltering or breaking stride.  He could only assume she hadn’t seen him.  People who wandered the slums at night weren’t in the habit of doling out lenience to lone travellers.

It  was good to know he could still find the shadows when he needed them.

The gang disappeared around a bend and Knile remembered to breathe again.  He let the air in his lungs trickle out silently between his lips before slowly drawing in another gasp.  He dug into his nostrils and pulled out the tiny cones that filtered the gunk out of the air.  Right at that moment they felt more like a hindrance to his breathing than a help.

Knile slowly eased forward, stepping cautiously out into the street.  He placed the respirators back inside his nostrils.  As he moved along, he used his knowledge of the backstreets to keep out of the better-travelled roads, and as a result his encounters with other people were few.  In a little over two hours he came upon the wall that surrounded Link.  It rose up several storeys high, an imposing mass of steel and concrete with a diameter of several kilometres that surrounded the Reach, drawing the line between Link and the slums.

The line between hope and despair, Knile thought.  Or between despair and even deeper despair.

He found concealment under the staircase of an old apartment block and observed the checkpoint, an archway cut into the wall, from a short distance away.  At this time of night there was not a lot of traffic moving through.  There were men dressed in black gathered around the arch, members of a group known as Enforcers, the equivalent to lawmen in these troubled times.  They stood idly against the ramparts with their rifles slung over their shoulders, talking and laughing as if they had not a care in the world.  As he watched, Knile saw a woman hobbling forward uncertainly toward the archway, her hand outstretched.  The Enforcers simply waved at her, dismissing her as if they were swatting away a fly, but when she kept moving forward, one of them roused himself and strode over to her, grabbing her roughly by the wrist.  He brought up a scanner and waved it across her fingertips in search of identification, but the procedure evidently came up empty, for he then gripped her shoulder and turned her away.  He gave her a second shove for good measure that made her stumble and almost fall.

“You come back again and we won’t be so gentle,” he called out.

No one got through the checkpoint without the proper ID chip embedded in their skin.  Knile knew that as well as anyone.  Trying to scale or break through the wall was also out of the question.  It was too well guarded for that.

There wasn’t time to arrange a fake chip.  That could take days, or even weeks, since the contacts Knile had once established here were most likely gone.

That left him with only one other option.

Knile got up and began to walk confidently toward the archway.  He let his boots ring out on the asphalt, no longer making any attempt to hide his presence.  He quickened his pace, walking faster now.  Then he began to run.

Knile pumped his arms and set his face in determination, striding out as he closed in rapidly on the checkpoint.  He counted six, seven Enforcers.  Maybe eight.  One by one their conversations came to a stilted halt and they turned in his direction.

He must have looked like a madman careening at them.

He did not relent, and even quickened his pace as he came closer.

He bore down on them now, close enough to see the expressions on their faces: surprise, confusion, disbelief.  They were not used to being approached like this.  Not by someone from the slums.  They demanded fear and respect from those outside the walls, and they almost always got it.

“Slow down!” one of them yelled through his respirator, finally reacting and bringing up his rifle in Knile’s direction.  Others followed his lead and did the same, training their sights onto Knile like a firing squad.  Knile took a few more steps before slowing his pace and coming to a stop a few paces before them, breathless.

“Did she come through here?” Knile shouted, doubling over.

The Enforcers looked at each other, confused.

“Huh?” one of them said.

“The whore!  Goes by the name of Sienna.”  Knile straightened.  “At least, that’s what she called herself last week.  Might be Candy.”

One of the Enforcers stepped forward, a tubby man with an old-fashioned and bulky respirator.

“You better start making sense, dipshit.”

“Listen,” Knile said urgently, still trying to regain his breath, “and pay attention to what I’m telling you.  One of my girls, goes by the name of Sienna, or might be Candy or Lizzy, is on her way into Link right now.  To your barracks.”

The Enforcer shrugged and gave a nervous laugh.  “Good for her.”

“Good for her?” Knile practically shouted, feigning hysteria.  “Good for her?”  He laughed.  “You know she’s a time bomb, right?”

“What are you talking about?” the tubby Enforcer said.

“She’s got Sailor’s Scratch, man.  Got a real bad case of it.  I told her to stay off the streets for a week till it goes away, but the bitch is crazy for the creds.  Said she needs the cash.  She got out.”  Knile shook his head.  “You turn your head for one second–”

“What the fuck is Sailor’s Scratch?” the Enforcer said.

Knile pursed his lips and tapped on his chin.  “Well, let me put it this way, man.  If she gives a couple of your buddies over in the barracks a special ‘lap dance’ tonight, they’re gonna wake up tomorrow with a rash so bad they won’t be able to sit down for a week.”

One of the other Enforcers cursed.

“Yeah,” Knile went on.  “Highly contagious, too.  You’ll all have it by the end of the week, most likely.”

“Dammit, why didn’t you say that?” the tubby Enforcer said, exasperated.  He stepped aside.  “Go and get her back!”

“Sure, sure,” Knile said, starting forward, but another of the Enforcers, tall and burly, stepped up and placed a hand on Knile’s chest.

“ID,” the Enforcer said.  “You’ve gotta have a work pass to get in here, just like your whores.”

Knile grimaced up at him.  “Don’t have one.”

“Why not?”

Knile laughed.  “Do I look like a whore?  That’s not my thing, man.  I make my living out here in the slums.  Never applied for a work pass.  Never needed it till now.”

The Enforcer’s eyes were steely.  “Then you don’t go through.”

“Fuck it, I’ll go,” the tubby Enforcer said, his voice bubbling with panic just under the surface.  “What does she look like?”

Knile considered.  “Uh, kinda dirty blonde with fair skin.  About an average rack.  Brown eyes.  Or might be hazel, not sure.”  Knile shrugged.  “I’m not big on details, as long as they’re bringing in the creds, if y’know what I mean.”  He winked lasciviously.

“Well, that’s like finding a needle in a haystack,” Tubby said.  “You said her name was Senner?”

“Sienna.  Or Candy, or might be Lizzy.  She has a few names.  Real creative, this one–”

“Shut up.”  The tubby Enforcer pressed his hand to his temple, his irritation growing by the second.  “All right, I’ll give you an escort and you can point her out.”  He waved at Knile.  “But this won’t happen again.”

Knile made no attempt to follow.

“Come on, move it,” Tubby said.

Knile looked wistfully over his shoulder.  “Shit, man, I’ve gotta get back to my girls–”

“I said move it!” Tubby bellowed.  He grabbed Knile by the arm and began to drag him through the archway as the other Enforcers looked on.  They began to cluster together, whispering to each other in concern.

“Hey, is that the one you hit last night?” one said.

“Shit, I hope not, man.  Although I haven’t felt quite right down there today…”

The rest of the conversation was lost as Knile was dragged past the checkpoint and into the inner precinct of Link.

“This is bullshit,” Tubby was saying angrily.  “Your girls could have their passes revoked because of this.  All of them.”

“Aw, c’mon, man.  It’s one slip-up.  I really need this.”

The buildings within Link were in better condition than out in the slums, but even here the poverty was evident.  People were still doing it tough.  Plants were becoming harder to grow due to the worsening pollution, and the maintenance of the city was starting to slip.

People hurried about the streets, the fear and desperation that permeated every inch of the slums greatly lessened.  But looking into the eyes of passers-by, seeing their posture and their demeanour, it was evident that, even here, things were not going well.

“The barracks are about a block away,” Tubby said, striding on ahead with such an effort that he’d adopted a kind of waddle.  “For your sake, I hope there’s been no damage done.”

“Hey, me too, man.  Me too.”  They bustled through a crowd of workers in overalls coming from the other direction, their faces streaked with dirt and grease after a long day.  “This kind of shit is bad for business.”

“Bad for business, hah!” Tubby scoffed.  “If I end up with a rash on my balls, I’m gonna personally come and find the rat hole you live in and kick your ass.”  He shimmied out the way of more people coming in the opposite direction, cursing at the delay.  “Hey, what’s your name, anyway?” he said, turning, but then he stopped dead.

Knile was nowhere to be seen.

3

Link was the remains of a once sprawling city whose name had long been discarded.  Oddly, there were more people living here now than in the city’s heyday.  They crowded in for one reason only – because at the centre of this cluster of low-rise apartments and factories stood the most important building on Earth – the Reach.

The streets of Link were familiar to Knile, just as those in the slums were, but there were more changes here inside the wall.  Blockades had been erected in several places, channelling the flow of human traffic through more checkpoints and away from places Knile could only assume had been deemed off-limits by the Enforcers.  He became mildly irritated after confronting the first one, exasperated after the second, and infuriated after the third.

“Seriously?” he muttered to himself, hunkering down at the edge of an alley as he observed the Enforcers ahead.  They stood around the blockade, listless and seemingly disinterested in their duty.

Knile checked his watch, then cast his gaze to the sky.  Dawn was coming.  That was bad news for a couple of reasons.  Firstly, he was behind schedule.  All of this backtracking, hiding and rerouting due to the blockades had sucked away more time than he’d realised.  Secondly, his greatest ally, the darkness, was ebbing away.  His ability to mask his movements was going to become that much more difficult once the sun rose.

Knile’s first destination was not much further past this blockade.  It would do no good to backtrack again, since he’d just end up having to come back this way in any case.  There had to be a way past it.

He immediately ruled out talking his way through.  After his stunt at the wall, he had no doubt there would be an alert out for someone fitting his description.  Most Enforcers were stupid and lazy, but not that stupid and lazy.  They’d be onto him if he tried it again.

There was something in his favour at this blockade, however, that had not been there at the wall – the nature of his surroundings.  Here he could climb and disguise his passage much more effectively by using the buildings that bordered the blockade.  They offered footholds and openings that were simply not present in a solid vertical monolith like the wall.

Without waiting to consider further, he turned and got moving.

The first step was perhaps the hardest.  In order to reach the old fire escape that hung along the wall of the alley, Knile had to first mount a dumpster and then edge his way precariously along, dangling from a thin metal pipe.  It had detached from the wall at some point in the past, and now it wobbled disconcertingly as he progressed along its length.  As he neared the fire escape, the pipe pivoted back toward the brickwork, and Knile’s fingers were jammed painfully between the two.  He stifled a scream of pain, biting his lip as he pulled his fingers free.

Knile took a moment to steady himself, taking a few deep breaths and focussing on his objective.  Then he lunged out across the gap, his fingers straining through thin air before latching onto metal.  He caught the fire escape, his grip true and firm, and he swung himself up to safety and lay staring up at the sky, distractedly wringing his throbbing fingers.

A couple of storeys above, he heard the noise of a window opening, then saw the head of an old woman poke out.  She sniffed noisily and looked out across the alley.  Her hair was dishevelled and unkempt, like she’d awoken suddenly, and Knile suddenly feared that he might have created more noise than he’d realised.  The woman coughed, hawking noisily in her throat, and then she launched a wad of phlegm into the air before disappearing back inside and slamming the window shut.

Knile breathed a sigh of relief.

The fire escape above was broken and falling apart, thwarting any attempt to climb higher, so Knile surreptitiously raised himself up and peered in the nearest window.  It was dark and still inside.  Carefully, he dug his fingers under the window frame and began to ease it upward.  Flecks of paint dropped from its edges, and it gave off a faint squeal of protest as it went, but soon he had lifted it high enough to allow room to squeeze through.  He closed the window again to prevent the foul air outside from mingling with the filtered air inside the building.

Knile found himself in a dark and narrow hallway and stood unmoving for a few seconds while his eyes adjusted to the gloom.  In time he made out open bedroom doors lining either side of the passage, and from one of those he could hear the breathy sounds of people sleeping.  He’d arrived inside someone’s apartment, it seemed.  He edged along cautiously, hoping to avoid a confrontation if possible.  He had no doubt that he could fight off or elude an average citizen, but right now he didn’t need the extra heat that would come down on him should the Enforcers be alerted to his presence.  Well practised at moving in silence, he made his way past the first couple of doors in quick time.

As he passed the next door he realised that some of those sounds he’d heard weren’t from people sleeping.  In this room there was a couple rutting, moaning and whispering quietly on the bed under the cover of a blanket.  Knile glanced at them briefly, seeing the covers rise and fall, and then a slender foot and ankle spilled out as the blanket slipped up.  He paused, watching for a moment longer, not through some kind of voyeuristic amusement of the spectacle, but because of the odd thought that, from time to time, life carried on just the way it always had, with the same routines and behaviours of the old days.

That thought chased him as he continued on down the hallway.  These people, considered the middle class, were more fortunate than those in the slums.  Even so, they were still no closer to escaping this planet than those who were trapped outside the walls of Link.  They were in a kind of holding pattern, waiting for an off-world Sponsor to nominate them for a passkey, a ticket that would grant them passage up the Reach and, eventually, to one of the colonies further adrift in the solar system.  But Sponsors were few and far between, and the acquisition of a passkey was, for the average man or woman, a forlorn hope.  The odds of receiving one was akin to winning the lottery in the days when such a thing had existed on Earth.

There was no formula, no blueprint for waiting out the end of the world.  Governments had fallen apart after the initial evacuations took place, and now there was no action plan for the removal of the last few million humans left on Earth.  As such, these people all approached their lives in their own way.  Some continued to work hard, farming or performing a trade, saving every cred they earned in the hopes they could somehow buy a Sponsor, one of those elusive off-world benefactors who would nominate them for evacuation in return for money.  Others simply accepted that they would never leave, eking out what happiness they could, raising a family or spending time with loved ones, knowing full well that their days would soon come to an end.

Knile had, at one time or another, tried each of those approaches, and many more.  None of them had ever brought him satisfaction, however, no matter how hard he tried.  He had come to the conclusion that he would not find happiness until he could leave this world far behind.  He’d tried to forget that fact out in the lowlands as he wandered from place to place, but after the news from Fallon, his true desires had come sharply back into focus.

He needed to get out, and finally he had a very real chance of pulling it off.

The hallway emptied out into a small kitchen, quiet and still at this hour, and more neatly contained than most Knile had seen out in the lowlands.  He realised that he was starving, having not eaten for over a day, but the watch on his wrist was like a lead weight, a constant reminder that time was short.  He kept on the move, heading to the front door of the apartment and twisting carefully at the locks, easing himself into the corridor outside.

Knile made haste through the building, climbing the inner stairwell until he came to the roof exit.  The door was barred with planks of wood, but since they’d begun to rot, Knile was able to tug and strain at them and eventually pull a couple away.  He winced at the noise as they cracked and broke free from the door jamb, but there was no response from within the building from what he could tell.  It seemed everyone was sleeping or otherwise occupied.

Knile produced a lock pick and a tension wrench from his pocket, the constant companions of his misspent youth, and got to work on the lock.  In seconds the mechanism disengaged, and the door to the roof swung open.  A cool breeze from outside rushed in, slipping through the gap in the wooden boards and ruffling Knile’s hair.

Outside, the sky was beginning to turn from violet to red as the sun approached.  Knile crept to the edge of the roof and looked down into the street, seeing the indolent Enforcers talking amongst themselves far below.  Scraps of their conversations floated up to him like dying sparks from a bonfire.  He glanced across to the next building and took a moment to judge the gap between.

It was further than he would have liked, but he was confident enough he could make it.

No point turning back now.

He backed up and steadied himself, eyes firmly on the gap.  He exhaled slowly, then surged forward, hitting full speed in a few strides and launching himself across to the other building.  He made it more easily than he’d anticipated, and ended up overbalancing and falling flat on his stomach.  A flock of pigeons took off from the ledge nearby in alarm, and as Knile got to his feet he let out a choked laugh.

“Perfect,” he muttered.

He repeated the procedure again three more times, finding the narrowest gap to the next building and flinging himself across it, and although it was a roundabout way of reaching his destination, it got the job done.  He left the blockade behind him and then searched for a way of getting back down to ground level.  Each of the entranceways leading back inside the buildings were barred from the interior and he could not break through, so he ended up winding his way down a drainpipe and then alighting at street level unseen.

He looked up and down the laneway, gathering his bearings.  He was only one street away from his destination, he realised.

Glancing up, he saw the upper half of the Reach already bathed in weak sunlight, obscured by the ever-present haze in the atmosphere.  The day was fast approaching.

4

Alton Wilt stood on the balcony of his fifth floor apartment staring out across Link as the sun rose far beyond the Reach.  The sky was a decidedly sickly hue, a washed-out shade of red hiding behind a ruddy pall of smog.  The pollution, if anything, was getting worse.

“Another day in paradise,” he muttered to himself, pushing his respirator aside and taking a sip of coffee that was so metallic in taste it was like licking a crowbar.  He glanced down at it dubiously and was about to empty  it over the railing before thinking better of it.  He left it to stand on the ledge instead, watching as lazy curls of steam drifted into the morning air.

If only we could all defy gravity so easily, he thought.  If only we could soar at our whim.

He’d developed a ritual of late, a morning routine that was akin to meditation, a process that placed him in a relaxed frame of mind that would in turn prepare him for the day ahead.  He would lift his gaze to the Reach, starting at where it met the rooftops of the city, then raise his eyes and follow its massive curves all the way up to where it disappeared into the haze high above.  Then he would reverse the process, lowering his eyes all the way back down again.  As he did so, he would visualise himself entering the Reach, striding through the gateway at ground level and ascending from one level to the next, passing through any barriers that might fall in his way without concern, without pause.  He was a free spirit, a thing outside the laws that applied to others.  He was destined to rise above the unfortunates who wallowed within Link, above those who could only dream of the future that was his alone.

He would climb to the peak of the Reach and take his place on the railcar that sat waiting for him.  He would be lifted up and out of this world forever.

He would see Elia again.

He thought of her, pressed inside the transparent capsule of the railcar, her eyes wild and fearful, and the vision fell apart.  Alton was brought crashing back to Earth, his calmness and serenity shredded to pieces in an instant.

The fantasy was shattered.  The vision of Elia was not part of his routine.  It was an interloper, a ruiner.

Today, he would need to find some other way to calm his nerves.

He turned and slid the door of the apartment open, stepping inside and closing it behind him.  He took a moment to survey the room, contemplating what he saw.  He was luckier than most.  His abode was luxuriously furnished with a sofa, a working refrigerator, clean carpets.  Plump black cushions with gold embroidery were haphazardly scattered across the bed, and therein lay the sleeping form of a woman, her long hair tangled as it fell across her bare shoulders and back.

Alton watched her impassively.  Last night the curve of her lips, her long eyelashes and her smile had made him content.  They’d been enough to keep the demons at bay.

But this morning, something had changed.  He only saw the worst in her.  He only saw defeat.  She was a representation of all the ways in which he’d failed, the embodiment of his inadequacies.

“Get out,” he said loudly, filling the previously silent room with noise and causing the woman to start suddenly awake.

“Uh,” she said blearily, looking around in confusion and wiping dark strands of hair from her face.  “Baby?  What’s going on?”

“Get out,” Alton repeated.

The woman straightened and the bedsheets fell away from her body.  Naked, she sat staring back at Alton, dazed, rubbing at one eye with her fist.

“What do you mean?” she said.

Alton strode over to where her clothes lay on the floor and scooped them up.  He tossed them at her and they slapped into her chest, knocking her backward.

“Hey!  Alton, what the hell!” she said, surprised.

Alton returned to the window and stood staring out, his arms folded across his chest.  He made no attempt to answer her.

The woman slipped on her panties and got to her feet, still trying to grasp what was going on.  She moved around the bed, her blouse and pants dangling from her fingers.

“Did I do something wrong?”  She reached out a hand toward him.

Alton turned his head sharply and she stopped short.  In his periphery he could see the swell of her breasts and the pleasing shape of her hips as she let the clothes drop to her side.  Nothing she did was accidental.  She was using her body to gain his favour, to get her way.   But this morning it was not going to work.  Not on Alton.

“I said get out.  Don’t make me say it again.”

The woman stood helplessly for a moment, then abruptly began to struggle into her pants, her movements jerky and pronounced to accentuate her rising anger.

“This is bullshit,” she hissed.  “This is wrong.  Do you know how long I’ve waited for this?  Do you know how many of your cronies I had to fuck just to get a chance with you?”  She thrust her arms into her sleeves and tugged the blouse down irritably.  “And this is what I get?”

Alton said nothing.  He turned away again.

“You piece of shit,” she said, her voice cracking through the tears.  “Don’t come looking for me if you change your mind.  I’m done.  I’m fucking done.”

Alton waited as she slipped on her shoes and stumbled toward the door, sobbing.  She slammed it behind her as she left, and then her footsteps disappeared down the corridor outside.

Alton turned and looked across the dishevelled room, taking in the view of  his extravagant earthly possessions.  The shine of gold and silver and chrome, of soft and expensive fabric.  They meant nothing.  For a long time he’d tried to convince himself otherwise, but now he knew.  Just as he’d found himself unable to derive pleasure from the woman, these possessions were now similarly worthless.

He stepped back out onto the balcony again, not bothering to close the door this time.

Alton looked up at the Reach and thought of Elia again.  How old would she be, now?  Twelve?  Thirteen?  Where was she, and what would she be doing?  Had she made it to one of the off-world colonies?

He still remembered saying farewell.  She had been a tiny thing, a wisp of a girl.  And she had been afraid, oh so afraid.  Who wouldn’t be, heading off on a journey like that by herself?  Being led to a capsule, strapped inside alone, and then drawn upward along a thin metal shaft into the blackness of space.  An elevator to nowhere.

It must have been terrifying.

She hadn’t known it at the time, but in reality it was a gift.  A privilege.  She and those others who had journeyed up with her on that railcar were escaping, being given a chance at a long and healthy life.  They were being given a future.

“You go,” he’d said to her, wiping a tear from her pale cheek.  “This is your turn.  I’ll be with you in a day, or maybe two.  That’s all.”

Her features were so delicate, her skin like porcelain.

“But I don’t want to go,” she’d wept.

“Elia, this is the only way.”  He’d clasped her shoulders.  “The only way.”

Although that elevator seemed to disappear into nothingness, there was a very real destination at its end.  A place where their Sponsor was waiting, someone to look after her until Alton could follow.  Once reunited, they would all travel to one of the colonies together.

His mouth twisted at the thought of it.  The Sponsor.  He’d paid good money to have Elia’s name called, and his own as well.  They’d taken his creds and made many promises in return, but since that day he’d never heard from them again.  They’d never sent a passkey with his name on it.  There was no way out without one.

And now Elia was gone to who knew where?  Taken away to some place that was a complete mystery to him.  Alton had been left here with all of his money and all of his possessions, these glittering trinkets that were useless.  They could never provide him the one thing he really wanted – someone to call his name, to put his name on a passkey and grant him passage off-world where he could be with Elia again.

He needed another Sponsor, and yet none were forthcoming.  Alton had a reputation, and that scared them off, he was sure of it.

Now all he had left were broken dreams.  His morning routine had kept him sane of late, but now even that was coming apart at the seams.  He could no longer sustain the fantasy now that he finally understood the truth.

He was never getting out of here.

The mug of coffee still sat on the ledge.  As he peered down at it he could see the reflection of the Reach on the surface of the black liquid.  With a cry of rage he lashed out at it, sending it spinning from the ledge, tepid coffee flinging outward into the air as it tumbled toward the street below.  It shattered on the asphalt with a loud pop, and white shards exploded through the air like shrapnel from a hand grenade.

The fall would kill me, he thought morbidly.  Yes, it probably would.

His hands gripped the ledge and he leaned out over it.

Why not?  It’s the only sure way to leave this world.

His stomach turned as he thought of never seeing Elia again, never hearing her voice.  He glanced over his shoulder and spied the holophone sitting on the coffee table.

Perhaps he should try one last time to send a message to her.  What if there was a chance she might hear it, even if she could not respond to it?

It might be worth a shot.

He stalked over to the table and snatched up the holophone.  It had been turned off for the night to prevent interruptions, and now he flicked the switch to reactivate it.  He picked up a signal right away and navigated to the messenger, clicking on the contact he’d last used for the Sponsor.  A warning popped up, indicating that he would be charged extra creds for off-world communication, and he swiped it away.

He paused, wishing the right words would come to him.  He felt tears begin to well up in his eyes and the holophone display went blurry.

Suddenly the phone began to ring.  The noise was so loud and so sudden that Alton started and almost dropped the phone.  He wiped at his eyes and saw the familiar name of the person on the other end of the call.

He sighed, perturbed, and almost dismissed the call.  Reluctantly, he decided to take it.

“What is it?” he said.

“Well, good morning to you, too, Mr. Wilt.”

“I’m not in the mood for chit-chat,” Alton said.  “If you have something to say, then say it.”

“What’s going on over there?  I’ve been trying to call you all damn night.  Where were you?”

“I was busy.”

“Oh yeah, I can imagine.  Ladies, am I right?”  Alton made no reply.  “Well, I’m glad I caught you, anyhow.  You almost missed out on this one.”

Alton pinched the bridge of his nose.  “Yes?”

“I’ve got one for you, finally.  I did it, just like I said I would.”

“I’m hanging up.”

“No, wait, buddy!  I’ve got you a ticket!”

Alton stiffened.  “You what?”

“I’ve got a passkey lined up for you.  For real, this time.”

“Fallon, this had better not be some misguided attempt at humour.”

“No, man!  It’s not!  It’s legit.”  There was a pause.  “Uh, well, the passkey doesn’t have your name on it or anything.  That’s not within my power.”  He chuckled.  “But the ticket is real and it’s up for grabs.”

“Very well, you have my interest.”

“Good, good.  First up, though, Mr. Wilt, I’m gonna need to make sure we’ve got an agreement here.  The deal–”

“Yes, yes,” Alton snapped.  “You’ll be sent the creds.  The deal stands.  Now give me the details.”

“Well, all right, let me see here.”  There was a scratching noise as Fallon fiddled with his holophone, and then a few moments later a face appeared on Alton’s screen, a dark-haired man with a narrow jaw and a hard edge to his gaze.  “That’s him.”

“And you’re sure this passkey isn’t a fake?” Alton demanded.

“For sure.  Verified official.  But he’s on his way right now.  You’re gonna have to get moving.”

“What’s the name?”

“Knile.  Knile Oberend.”

“And the time of departure?”

“Sending it through now.  But listen, Mr. Wilt, this guy is wanted by the Enforcers.  He’s not going to be headed up the main elevators.  He’s going to have to find another way up through the Atrium, so you might have your work cut out to find him.”

Alton waited until the transfer was complete.  “I can handle that.  Thank you.  We’re done here.”

“Hey, man, what about my creds–”

Alton disconnected the call and then immediately dialled another number.  It picked up almost immediately.

“I need you,” was all Alton said, and then he hung up.

He began cleaning up the room, replacing blankets and pillows on the bed, picking up a glass that had fallen on the floor.  He slipped into his shoes.  As he passed the bathroom mirror he gave himself a quick inspection, flattening his hair on one side.

The door of the apartment opened and a man entered.  He was bald and muscular and had a tattoo of a cog on the side of his head just above his ear.

“Boss,” he said.  “What is it?”

“Tucker, we have a journey ahead of us,” Alton said, picking up a fresh shirt and sliding it over his shoulders.  “There’s a passkey to be acquired.  Make the transfer to Fallon, and then get what you need and meet me downstairs in five minutes.”

“I like the sound of this.”  Tucker grinned, and then he turned to leave.

“Tucker,” Alton said, and the bald man paused.  “Are you sure you can hack one of these things?”

Tucker nodded.  “You can count on me, boss.  I’ll get it done.”

Out on the balcony, Alton made one last sweep to make sure he hadn’t left anything behind.  He knew that, one way or another, he would not be coming back here.  This life that he’d created was ending the minute he stepped outside the door.

That brought a smile to his face.

He turned his face to the Reach and began his ritual one last time, his mind creating that familiar fantasy, and this time he believed in it with all his heart.

5

Knile moved down the street, the asphalt glistening and wet in the first light of day.  Like much of Link, the architecture here was utilitarian, squat grey buildings bunched together in close proximity as they crowded against the thoroughfare.  Folk were beginning to emerge from their homes and move about now, hurrying away on their errands.  They paid Knile no mind as they went.

At the side of the road an old man was setting up a cart, spacing out a motley assortment of sickly looking vegetables for display.  As Knile approached he turned and lifted a specimen in each hand and stared at Knile expectantly.

Knile stopped, famished, but couldn’t picture himself eating what the man offered.  The vegetables might have been sweet potato, he guessed, but they were an unappetising shade of green, covered in black pockmarks.

“Fresh,” the man said feebly, hoisting the vegetables higher for Knile to see.  He was dressed in little more than rags, and his tangled grey beard was matted with muck.  He wasn’t wearing a respirator, and there were dark sooty lines under his nose.

Knile leaned forward.  “Did you even use filtrated water with these?” he said.

“Fresh,” the man said again, oblivious.

Knile just shook his head apologetically and kept moving.  The man watched him leave, his arms sagging, and then he turned and bent to his cart as he continued his preparations for the day.

Around the bend, Knile reached his destination.  It was a carbon copy of most of the other dwellings in the street, an ugly box with tiny black windows, but Knile knew that this was the place.  He remembered all the little things – the pattern of cracks in the driveway, the sag of the roof on one end, the old rusted chair on the porch.  Those hadn’t changed.

Knile trusted his memory.  It had never let him down before.

He moved quickly down the side of the house and out the back.  There was a small yard here with a cheap plastic outdoor setting situated amongst clumps of desiccated grass, as well as a jumble of solar receptors fixed to stakes in the dirt.  Knile crept to the back wall where a narrow window led to the basement.  He peered inside, but it was too dark to see what lay within.

Taking out his tools, he was able to pry at the edges of the window, and in moments he had disengaged the lock.  He eased it open and then slid through and into the basement.

Inside it was cool and dank.  The room was lit from above by a timid yellow lightbulb, and there were shelves cluttered with all kinds of trinkets – disassembled respirators, water purifier parts, lengths of copper pipe, scissors and rolls of fabric, among others.  There was a workbench in the middle of the room, on which was strewn more fabric and some heavy-duty needles and thread.

There was noise in the house above, and Knile edged behind a basket of discarded cloth, lowering himself close to the floor and tucking up his legs.  As he watched, the door at the top of the stairs opened and a young woman descended, tucking her dark blond hair behind her ears and taking a pencil from between her teeth as she went.  She glanced at one of the shelves, examining a piece of pipe, before turning her attention to the fabric on the table, her back to Knile.

Taking the pencil, she began to draw a line across the fabric, making smooth and well-practised strokes.  Knile observed her for several minutes as she went about her business, and then, confident that she was alone, eased the basket aside.

“Talia,” he said.

The woman stiffened and dropped the pencil, but she did not cry out or gasp.  She made no attempt to look at him.

“Knile Oberend,” she said, and he could hear a hint of breathlessness in her voice that she’d tried to suppress.  “You haven’t changed a bit.”

Knile got to his feet and moved into the light.  “Not surprised to see me?”

Talia turned to look at him.  “I don’t know if anything about you surprises me anymore.”  She dropped her face back to her work, picking up the pencil again.  “Although, I have to admit that I thought you were dead.  I should have known better.”

“Disappointed that I’m not?”

She smirked.  “Don’t flatter yourself.  I have a lot more interesting things to worry about.”

“Sure.”  Knile drew the respirators from his nostrils and took in a deep breath.  “Air in here isn’t too bad.”

“Yeah.  I still change the filters on the intake nice and regular.  Keeps the nasties out.”  She indicated to his respirators.  “What’s with those?  Why don’t you have something that covers your mouth?”

Knile turned them over in his hand.  “These are pretty common out in the lowlands.  They don’t get in the way as much.  You just have to remember not to breathe through your cake hole.”

“Not easy for the rednecks out there, I bet.”

Knile smirked and pointed a thumb over his shoulder.  “I see the solar grid I set up for you is still bringing in the juice.”

“Well, you had to do at least one thing useful in your life.”  She straightened and tapped the pencil thoughtfully on her fingers.  “It’s not working as well as it used to, though.  Smog’s getting worse, I guess.”

“Have you gone and cleaned them lately?  There’s a film that builds up if you–”

“Yes, I know that,” she snapped.  “I’m not a complete idiot.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

She picked up the scissors and began to cut along the pencil lines with fluid strokes.

“Yeah, okay.  So what are you doing here, Knile?”

“I got a call to come back.  Something important.”

“By who?”

“Fallon.”

Her eyes widened.  “Fallon?  You still trust that sack of shit?”

“His information is always good.  He hasn’t let me down in the past.  I know he’s not exactly ethical in all of his dealings–”

“Well, that’s a nice way to put it.”

“–but at least if he tells me something, I know there’s some truth in it.”

“So where the hell have you been all this time?”

“The lowlands.”

She gave him an incredulous look.  “That doesn’t sound like your kind of place.”

“Well, I couldn’t stay here.  Half the damn city was looking for me.  Where else was I supposed to go?”

“Surely there was somewhere you could lie low in Link.”

Knile shrugged.  “Maybe.”

“Or maybe there was some other reason you didn’t want to hang around.”

They stared at each other, and eventually Knile smiled thinly.

“It’s not exactly paradise here.”

“Better than the lowlands.”  When he offered no response she decided to let it go.  “So what were you doing out there?  You become a wind farmer or something?” she said with a grin.

“Nah.  I just went from place to place, picking up work wherever I could.  Getting by.”

Talia grew serious.  “What’s it like out there?”

Knile brushed his fingers along the pale fabric.  “Like here, but worse.  They’re doing it tough.  Even the larger communities have fractured.  There’s just little clusters of people now, maybe ten or twenty in one place.  No more than that.”

“Are they growing much food?”

“Nope.  In fact, they’re slowly starving themselves out of existence.  A lot of them have even given up on respirators, and they’re not bothering to purify the water anymore.”

“What?  Why on earth would they do that?”

“They just don’t have the gear.  It’s all worn out or fallen apart, and they can’t replace it.”  Knile’s eyes met hers.  “They’re poisoning themselves.”

“God,” Talia said soberly.  “That’s awful.”

Knile thought of the old man out on the street with his cart of putrid produce.

“It’s starting to happen here, too, isn’t it?”

Talia looked away.  “In places.”

“So it’s only a matter of time, now.”

Talia frowned.  “It’s been only a matter of time for about three generations now, Knile.  Don’t tell me you didn’t see this coming.”

“Maybe I did, but not this soon.”

“Sooner, later, who cares?” Talia said.  “We’re all stuck here, right?”  She glanced at him curiously.  “We’re all in the same predicament.”

“Maybe.”

She eyed him suspiciously and then moved around the edge of the table toward him.

“What’s got you looking so smug?”

“Huh?”

“What was it that made you come back here?”

Knile paused, unsure of how to phrase his response.  “I got a ticket out.”

Talia looked at him blankly.  “Out where?”

He gestured vaguely upward.  “Out.  Through the Reach.  There’s a passkey with my name on it.  I’m leaving.”

Talia laughed out loud, shaking her head at him derisively.  “You’re getting out.”  Her voice was filled with sarcasm.  “Really?  And Fallon told you that?”

“It’s real, Talia.”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s real.  I checked the message myself.”

She placed a hand on her hip.  “So let me get this straight.  There’s an actual legit passkey that’s been sent down from above.  For you.”

“Yes.”

“That makes no sense, Knile.  What are you thinking?”

“Why doesn’t it make sense?”

“Well, who the hell is your Sponsor, for a start?  Who is it that likes you enough to put your name on a passkey?”

“I don’t know that.  It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters.  You said yourself that half the city is looking for you.  The Enforcers are looking for you.  How do you know they didn’t set this up as some kind of trap?”

“The Enforcers don’t control the passkeys,” Knile said.  “They keep the law from the Atrium down.  The railcar, the passkeys, and access off-world… that’s controlled by the Consortium.  The Enforcers don’t have a say in it.”

Talia snorted.  “You believe what you want.  Personally, I think you’re deluded.”

“I’ll trust my own judgement.”

“Yeah, well…”  Talia rolled her eyes.  “This coming from the guy who thinks it’s a good idea to spend his time wandering around the lowlands.  You’ll forgive me if I’m a little sceptical about this.”

“Well, not all of us can spend our time making society a better place, can we?”

Talia glared at him.  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Look at you,” Knile said, sweeping his hand across the table.  “Still in the dirigible-building business, huh?”

“Yeah, so what?”

“So you’re effectively taking people’s life savings in exchange for the false promise of freedom.”

“That’s bullshit, Knile.  People buy dirigibles because that’s the quickest way out of this city.  The quickest way to someplace better.”

“Yeah?  Don’t you find it odd that no one ever leaves the city in a dirigible?  All they ever do is hurl themselves at the Reach in the vain hope that they’ll make a landing up there somehow.  They think that if they get past the security at ground level they’ll somehow make their way to the top.  But we both know that doesn’t happen.  We both know they all get shot down before they ever get close.”

“Listen, I just help make these things, okay?” Talia said, irate.  “I stitch and I sew and I cut, and then they take the parts away and attach all the other bits that make it work.  After that, it’s not my business what people do with the dirigible.  That’s up to them.  If they want to try their luck over at the Reach, that’s their decision.”

“Yeah.  And you line your pockets in the meantime.”

Talia’s mouth compressed into a firm line and she stepped aside, her arm indicating to the stairs.

“You can leave any time.  Nice seeing you again.”

Knile rubbed a hand across his mouth, silently berating himself.  He was out of line and he knew it.  Talia didn’t deserve that kind of grief from anyone, least of all him.

“Look, I’m sorry, Talia.”

“I don’t care.”

“I mean it.  You got under my skin and I said something I shouldn’t have.”  He drummed his fingers on the table.  “You’re right.  You’re not forcing anyone to buy the dirigibles.  It’s their choice.”

Her arm dropped and she looked at him dubiously.

“Let’s cut to the chase, Knile.  Why are you here?”

“I need your help.  But before that, I really need something else.”

“What?”

“Do you have anything to eat?  I’m starving.”

She relaxed a little.  “I can probably spare you something.  Follow me.”

In the kitchen Talia leaned on the counter, watching him tear into a hunk of bread and a strip of beef jerky – in reality a protein bar derived from crickets, commonly referred to as a bug bar – in between gulps of water from an aluminium flask he’d taken from his hip.  She wondered how long it had been since he had eaten.  He was certainly leaner and more gaunt than the last time she had seen him.  He’d evidently been doing it tough out in the lowlands.

“This is good,” he said, his mouth full.  “Real good.  Thank you.”

“It’s really nothing special, Knile.  I guess when you’re starving, anything tastes good.”

“I guess.”  He fumbled at a pouch on his belt and produced a cred chip.  “I can transfer you some cash for this–”

“Don’t be stupid,” she said.  “I don’t want your money.”  She smiled sourly.  “Besides, I’m living the highlife, don’t you know?  I’m loaded from fleecing all of these rich people with my dirigible racket.”

Knile smiled apologetically.  “Go on.  Rub it in.”

Her expression turned serious.  “You’re really going to go through with this, aren’t you?”

He nodded.  “Yeah.  And I don’t have a lot of time.  My ride is tomorrow night.”

“What?  That’s insane!  How on earth are you going to make it all the way up the Reach by tomorrow?”

“If anyone can do it, I can.  I’ve done it before.”

Talia grabbed another bug bar from a plastic container on the bench and walked over to Knile, holding it up for him.

“What happened up there, Knile?  Where’s Mianda?”

Knile took the bar gratefully, but he paled visibly at the mention of that name.

“I can’t talk about her.”

“Why not?”

“Bad memories.  I don’t want to even think about it.”

“Did she make it out?”

“No.”  Knile bit into the jerky, snapping half of its length off in one bite.  “There was no way she could have.”

“I’m sorry.  You two seemed destined for better things.”  Her voice softened.  “You were meant for each other.”

“Doesn’t matter now.  Things didn’t go as planned, and that’s all I can say.”

She reached out and put a hand on his shoulder.  “Well, if you decide you want to talk about it, I’m here,” she said with sincerity.

“Thanks, Talia.”

She straightened abruptly and forced a brighter tone of voice.

“So, what do you need me to do?”

Knile took another bite.  “I need a way into the Reach.  I need to get in there today.”  He nodded to himself.  “Yeah, has to be today if I’m going to make it up by tomorrow night.”

She gave him a crooked smile.  “Something tells me you’re not here to ask for a dirigible.”

“Not exactly.  I was hoping you’d be able to give me some advice.  Figured you’d be aware of any changes here in Link.”

“Glad to know I’m good for something.”  Talia considered.  “Maybe Grove is the best bet.”

“Grove?  Do we still have friends there?”

“Giroux is still in charge, last I checked.  If you’re lucky, he might take pity on you.  I’m not exactly sure how you’re going to play it out once you get into Grove, though.”

“I don’t know either.  I’m making this up as I go along.”  Knile paused.  “What about Roman?  Is he still there?  Is he doing okay?”

“I don’t know,” Talia said, flashing him a guilty look.  “I haven’t been back to see him.”

“Really?”

“What?  Have you?” Talia said vehemently.  “Don’t judge me like that.”

“I’m sorry,” Knile said.  “I didn’t mean it that way.”

Talia flicked her hair in annoyance.  “Anyway.  What happens when you get inside the Reach?  There’s security all over the place.  You don’t think they’d have forgotten you by now, do you?”

Knile laughed.  “No, I doubt they’ve forgotten me, but that doesn’t mean they’re going to catch me.  I spent years mapping out the Reach.  Years.  It can’t have changed that much.”

She leaned back on the counter.  “This all seems real sudden, Knile.  It doesn’t seem like you.”

“Passkeys aren’t handed out like candy, Talia.  This is an opportunity that’s too good to refuse.”  He moved over to the small, grimy window and looked out into the street.  “Besides, what am I going to do?  Head back out to the lowlands while I wait to die a slow and painful death?  No, I don’t think so.  I’m going to give it one last shot.  If I fail, so be it.  At least I’ll die knowing I tried.”

Talia moved over next to him.  “Now you sound just like someone in one of those dirigibles, floating on your way to the Reach on a wing and a prayer.  Not such a crazy idea after all, is it?”

He smiled back at her.  “I guess not.”

She moved away and began to gather some items from around the room – a hooded jacket that was slung over a chair, a respirator from a bench, a pair of sunglasses and a backpack.

“We’d best get moving,” she said, handing him the sunglasses.  “Unless you want to reconsider this crazy scheme?  You could probably lay low here if you wanted to.  Inspections aren’t as common as they used to be.”

“Thanks for the offer,” Knile said, “but I need to do this.”  He dipped the flask under the water filtration unit on the bench and gave himself a refill.  “I need to try.”

“Okay, then.”  She donned the jacket and fixed the respirator to her face.  Knile followed suit and eased his own respirators back in place.

“You got any other gear?” she said, her voice tinny through the respirator.

“Nope, this is it.  Travelling light.”

The corners of her eyes crinkled as she smiled.  “Good old Knile.  Let’s go.”

6

There were more people moving about the streets now, and Talia and Knile wove their way quickly between them.  Heads bowed and postures slouched and defeated, they blended in perfectly with the rest of them.  From the corner of his eye Knile watched the passers-by carefully, expecting to see someone he recognised and who recognised him in return, someone who might inadvertently raise the alarm with a loud or over-exuberant greeting, but it didn’t happen.  Those who passed seemed only intent on the street before them, their eyes dull white patches on otherwise grimy and blackened countenances.

“Doesn’t anyone take baths anymore?” Knile muttered to himself.

“Not much,” Talia said, surprising him with a reply to his flippant remark.  “Water filtration units are starting to run in short supply.  No more parts coming from off-world.”

“What about local manufacture?”

“Death traps,” Talia said disdainfully.  “QA just isn’t there.  They’re shoddy as hell.  Most of the toxins are still in the water after processing.  It’s not much different to just standing out in a storm and letting raindrops fall in your mouth.  Poison.”

“Maybe there’s a marketing opportunity there.  Surely there’s demand for clean water.”

“There’s a few locals still putting together decent units.  Not many, though.  You really have to know who to deal with.”  She shrugged.  “Anyway, bath time is a luxury that most people just can’t afford anymore.”

“It’s no wonder this place stinks.”

Talia laughed.  “And you had five-star spa treatments out in the lowlands, right?  Or do people out there not stink?”

“They stink,” Knile admitted.  “Maybe it’s just because there’s less of them and I didn’t notice it so much.”

He raised his face and looked toward the sky.  The pollution today seemed to be creating accentuated patches of colour in the atmosphere – deep reds toward the horizon, then violet and mustard, fading toward pale blue nearer the zenith.  Knile shuddered to think of the sort of chemical cocktail that must be floating around up there to cause such a thing.

“Down here,” Talia suggested, grabbing his elbow and directing him into a narrow alleyway, away from the main thoroughfare.

“Hey, I’m not completely lost,” Knile said, wriggling free of her grasp.  “I spent a lot of years here, too, remember?”

“Oh, really?  So where to from here to reach Grove?”

“Left, down Norman, turn at the old fire station–”

“Nope.  It’s gone.”

“The fire station?”

“Yeah, it got knocked down.  The Enforcers busted a smuggling racket that was running out of there.  Tore half the building apart in the fight.  It was condemned.”

“Damn,” Knile said.  “I thought that thing would stand there forever.”

“Me too.”  She raised her eyebrows.  “Remember that time we had to hide in there?”

“Of course I remember.  That was the most boring three hours of my life.”

“Well, it was either that, or head back outside into the waiting hands of the Enforcers who were looking for us.”

“Yeah, and that was your fault,” Knile said good-naturedly.

“Mine?” Talia said with mock indignation.  “Why?”

“Because you were the one who stole that hub processor.”

“Bullshit,” she said, laughing and giving him a punch on the arm.  “You stole it right out of the fingers of that dealer and threw it at me.  What was I supposed to do?  Say sorry?”

“Maybe.  But you ran instead.”

“I was just trying to keep up with you, Knile.”

“And whose idea was it to head into the fire station?” Knile said.  “Not mine.”

“I’ll take credit for that,” Talia said.  “And it was the only thing that saved our hides.”

The alleyway ended and they turned into the next street.  Three men were pulling a load of scrap metal in a trailer here, grunting and straining at the thick ropes slung over their shoulders.

“They were good times,” Talia said wistfully, glancing over at Knile.

“Those days were a lot less complicated, all right,” Knile admitted.

“And then you started to dream big,” she teased.  “I didn’t see much of you after that.”

Knile shrugged.  “I had a lot on my plate.  I guess I lost touch with a lot of folk.”

“And then Mianda came along,” Talia said, attempting to sustain the playful mood, but she couldn’t quite keep the derision out of her voice.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Talia waved at him.  “Don’t worry about it.”

“No, tell me.”

She moved out the way of a group of workers coming in the opposite direction, nudging Knile aside with her shoulder.

“Well, your priorities seemed to change once Mianda came on the scene.  You became obsessed with the Reach and with her–”

“How else was I going to get out?  I had to learn everything about the Reach if I was going to find my way through it.  I had to devote myself to understanding every part of it.”

“It’s fine, forget about it,” Talia said.

Knile scowled.  “If there’s something that’s–”

At that moment there was a tremendous noise, a booming klaxon that rang out from the Reach like a hundred fog horns in unison, loud enough to make the ground vibrate.  Knile looked, and high up the mountainous structure he could see tiny specks scattering, birds disturbed from their roosts and taking flight.  They wheeled past the dirigibles that slowly drifted toward the Reach far above.

“Another day begins,” Knile said when the clamour had died down.

“The gates are open,” Talia said.  “Are you sure you don’t want to just head straight there and march in?”

Knile grinned.  “Maybe I’ll try that if things don’t work out over at Grove.”

They entered a narrow section of road where the buildings and walls pressed in closer from the sides.  Merchants busied themselves around the entrances to their stores, arranging items for display and sweeping away muck that had accumulated around the doors and windows.  One of them paused as Knile and Talia passed, taking a long draw on a rollie and belching out a lungful of smoke before replacing his respirator and returning to his business.

“That old guy who used to sell whiskey in old jam jars, is he still around?” Knile said.  “That stuff was pretty potent–”

Talia stiffened at his side and clutched at his arm, and, curious, Knile followed her gaze.  Only a few paces ahead, a cluster of Enforcers were spilling out of a bakery, shoving pastries and chunks of bread under their respirators and laughing coarsely over some private joke.  Absorbed in their conversation, the Enforcers hadn’t yet spotted Talia and Knile.

Talia acted swiftly, shoving her weight against Knile and manhandling him to the side of the road, where a crumbling outcropping of brickwork afforded them meagre concealment from the Enforcers’ view.

“Shut up and stay still,” Talia hissed.

The Enforcers made their way past, and Talia abruptly affected a fake laugh, flicking her hair extravagantly before pressing her body firmly up against Knile.  A couple of the Enforcers looked their way, but their attention was firmly fixed upon the curves of Talia’s hips and buttocks as she giggled playfully and ran a hand through Knile’s hair.  They made a couple of lascivious comments to each other as they passed, laughing, but never once glanced at Knile’s face.

Knile watched them disappearing up the street from the corner of his eye, then allowed his body to relax.  Talia made no attempt to move away, and as he looked back at her she pressed even closer, her body warm and firm against his.

She unclipped her respirator and nudged it out of the way.  “Take me with you, Knile,” she said breathlessly.  “I don’t want to stay here any longer.”

Knile looked into her eyes, seeing a vulnerability there that was very foreign to Talia.

“Uh… what are you talking about, Talia?  What’s happened?”

“Nothing’s happened,” she said, placing a hand affectionately behind his neck.  “I just don’t want to be left here alone.”

Knile reached up and eased her away.  “Talia, I can’t do that.  You know it as well as I do.”

Disappointment flickered across her face, a brief look of despair that was concealed by her respirator being clipped back in place.  She glared at Knile as if he had done her a great injustice and shook her head.

“I should have known,” she muttered.  “Of course you can’t do it.  But you’d have done it for Mianda.”

She began to stalk away up the road and Knile chased after her.

“What are you talking about?  What’s gotten into you, Talia?”

“Oh, nothing, Knile.  I’m really just thrilled to be stranded here in this little slice of hell while the world slowly dies.  It’s fine.”

“I can’t take you with me.  There’s no possible way I can do that, and this has nothing to do with Mianda.”

“Oh really?  I seem to remember you going to great lengths to help her out.  Seems like you’re happy to help when it suits.”

He caught up to her but had to take long strides to keep pace.

“Those were completely different circumstances,” Knile said.  “I planned that for almost two years.  Two years.  Do you know how many people I had to pay, how many doors I had to open to make it all work?”

“Forget about it.”

“And this time, I’ve got less than forty-eight hours,” he went on.  He checked his watch.  “In fact, it’s barely thirty-six hours, now.  How am I supposed to sort everything out in that much time?”

“I said forget about it,” Talia said, raising her voice.  “I’m sorry I brought it up.”

“And besides, I didn’t end up getting Mianda out, did I?  Even after everything I did, after all that preparation and planning, I couldn’t get it done.  I couldn’t anticipate everything that was going to happen up there.”

“A tragic story,” Talia said unsympathetically.  “I feel for you.”

“Talia–”

“Look,” she said, stopping suddenly and slapping her palm into Knile’s chest to halt his progress.  “I had a moment back there, okay?  I wasn’t thinking.  I know you can’t get me out.  Shit, you’ll be lucky to get yourself out, from what you’ve told me.”

“Agreed.”

“After you’re safely at Grove, I’ll go back to what I was doing before, the same thing I’ve been doing for… for as long as I can remember.  I’ve never asked for help before now, and this is why.”  She held up her hands uselessly.  “It’s like we always used to say to each other, Knile.  We’re all in this alone.”

Knile nodded sadly.  “I guess we are.”

He pushed back the sense of sorrow he felt looking at her.  It was true.  He couldn’t help her.  If he was going to get off this Earth, he was going to have to stay focussed.  There would be more just like her, begging him for help or trying to take what was his.  He needed to be hard and uncompromising, resolute, or he wouldn’t make it.  There was no other way.

“In case you’ve forgotten,” Talia went on, “Grove is not far away.  We’ll be there in a few minutes if we don’t stop to bicker like a couple of old women.”

Knile gave her a grin.  “But I’ve had no one to bicker with for years.  I’ve missed it.”

She rolled her eyes at him.  “Get a move on, turkey.”

Knile began to pace again, and in the distance he could already see the domed roof of Grove shining in the morning light.

7

From the outside Grove was like a glistening seashell, its exterior pearlescent in the sunlight.  It stood apart from the buildings around it, occupying a broad tract of open land that had been carved out of an old neighbourhood many years ago.  Knile felt a moment of nostalgia as he looked upon it, remembering all of the time he had spent here.

This had always been one of the busiest places in the city, and today was no exception.  Workers hustled around the place carrying loads of soil in wheelbarrows, nets, hoses and other implements.  There was also a multitude of armed men and women, since Grove employed its own security personnel, and these patrolled the outer edge of the dome in dusty green uniforms, rifles at the ready.

Grove was in fact a series of interconnecting structures rather than one large dome.  It had grown over the years and been continuously expanded, with newer curved enclosures built around the exterior and then connected internally.  There was one large air intake at the top of the central dome, through which air was sucked and filtered and then distributed to other sections of the structure.

There was also only one entrance, and it was heavily guarded.  Fortunately for Knile there were no Enforcers about.  They were not welcome here.

“You got a plan for this?” Knile said as they approached the entrance.

“I figured you’d use your body odour to paralyse security, and then we’d walk straight through,” Talia said.

“Hey, I had a bath last June for your information.”

There were two clusters of guards, one stopping everyone who tried to enter Grove and the other searching those who exited the enclosure.  Some of the workers breezed through, obviously well known to the guards, but others were given a more rigorous interrogation.  The examinations slowed the procession of visitors considerably, and it was several minutes before Knile and Talia reached the head of the line.

“Permits,” one of the guards demanded gruffly, holding out a gloved hand.

Knile and Talia glanced at each other.  “We don’t have any,” Talia said.

“Then what’s your business here?” he said, eyeing them both suspiciously.

“We need to talk to Giroux,” Talia said.

“Don’t waste my time,” the guard responded.  “Shove off.”

“Wait a minute,” Knile said.  “We’re old friends.  You can ask him yourself.”

“I’ll make sure to do that,” the guard drawled, “the very next time I sit down to drink tea with him at our daily chit-chat.  Now unless you work here or you have official business inside, I suggest you take a hike.”

“Forget about it,” Talia said, shaking her head at Knile.  “We aren’t getting anywhere here.”

“So what do we do?  Where to from here?”

“Anywhere that’s out of my face,” the guard growled, leaning in at them.  “Move aside.”

“Back off!” Talia snapped.  “We’re going, okay?  Just–”

At that moment a pair of meaty hands clamped down on both of their shoulders, and Knile and Talia flinched.  Knile turned and saw the rotund face of a large woman behind them.

“Look who we have here!” she said cheerily.

“Hildi,” Knile said, recognising her instantly.  He was about to say more when the woman’s arms slipped around his and Talia’s necks and she drew them in for a rough hug.

“Like two lost little stray cats finally wandering home,” Hildi said, her voice sounding very nasal from the respirator that covered her nose, held in place by thick black straps around her ears.  Below, her red cheeks puffed out at the edges of her smile.  She pressed Knile and Talia closer and Knile was wedged uncomfortably between a thick arm and one of her pillowy bosoms.

“Hello, Hildi,” Talia managed to get out as the air was all but squeezed from her lungs.

“You know these two, Hildi?” the guard said uncertainly.

“Course I do,” Hildi said sharply.  “Do you think I just go around hugging random people for the hell of it?”

“Uh…” he began, but Hildi ignored him.

“What are you doing, my young ones?” Hildi said, releasing her death grip a little and allowing Knile and Talia to breathe again.

“We need to see Giroux,” Knile said.  “Is there any way you can get word to him?”

“I can do better than that,” Hildi said.  She looked over at the guard and waved a hand imperiously.  “Stand aside, please.”

“But Hildi, they don’t have any permits–”

“Oh, stand aside, James,” she said, shouldering past the startled guard with Knile and Talia in tow.  “Don’t make me call your mother.  She wouldn’t be pleased to know you’re giving poor old Hildi ulcers.”

“Uh, okay,” the guard said, and then, dazed, turned back to interrogate the next people in line.

Hildi led them under the outer folds of the taut white material that served as the skin of Grove, separating the foul outside air from the pristine environment inside.  They joined a group of around ten others waiting in the airlock, and as the doors were closed and sealed, a warning horn blared.  Hildi spread her arms wide.

“Mornin’, all!” she cried, a deafening sound in the enclosed space.

There were scattered greetings in return, and Hildi offered them all a smile.  Then the jets went into action, sucking out the bad air and replacing it with the good.  Knile’s shirt flapped against his skin, and Talia lifted a hand to keep her hair out of her eyes as it whipped around her head.  In a few seconds the turbulence died down and the door opened on the other side to the sound of another warning horn.

“So, you two,” Hildi said, dragging the respirator from her face and taking a deep breath, “did you finally decide to come back and work for me?”

Knile opened his mouth to answer, but then stopped abruptly and stared up at the interior of Grove.  It was like stepping into another world.  Gone were the drab grey and brown hues of the poisoned city outside – here there was colour as far as the eye could see.  Refulgent green apple trees bore shining red fruit and rows of cabbages and carrots ran away from them in perfect lines.  Stalks of corn stood tall and leafy.  In patches there was even the glimmer of carnations and roses and other bright flowers.  Above it all, the pale canopy of Grove’s outer skin encompassed everything before them.

“I forgot how damn beautiful this place was,” Talia said, removing her respirator.

“Well, you shouldn’t have stayed away so long, darlin’,” Hildi said.  “Why don’t you follow me and I’ll find something to keep those hands busy?”

“Hildi, I can’t,” Knile said with real regret.  “I’m very short on time.”

“Oh, Knile,” she said, her features clouding over.  She lifted a hand to his face.  “You in trouble again, boy?”

“Aren’t I always?”

Hildi smiled.  “You wouldn’t be Knile if you weren’t in some kind of mischief.”  She turned to Talia.  “What about you, Talia?  You messed up in this as well?”

“Not this time.  I’m just trying to help him on his way.”

“I don’t want to know anything more,” Hildi said, holding up her palms.  “Follow me and I’ll take you to Giroux.  Hopefully the old bastard is awake by now.”

She led them down a sandy pathway that wound through the oasis, and Knile was reminded of why there was so much security around Grove.  The place was a living, breathing treasure.  The crops that grew here were unparalleled in their richness and purity, a level of quality that rivalled the halcyon days of Earth.  Considering how many people outside were starving or living on toxic scraps, the value of the plants that jutted from the soil beneath this dome was not much less than their weight in gold.

“He’s probably in Section Three,” Hildi said as workers in light grey overalls edged past from the other direction.  “Been spending a lot of time there lately.  Had a leak that almost killed off the little lovelies a few weeks back.”

“Is everything okay?” Talia said.

“It should be.  He’s worked greater miracles in his time.”

They came to the wall of the first enclosure, and Hildi expertly tugged on a zipper that opened an aperture in the membrane.  She indicated for them to pass through.  Sealing the opening once again, she strode past them and continued to lead at a brisk pace.

“Not far, now,” Hildi said.  This enclosure was smaller and the ceiling lower than the first, and it lacked any tall plants whatsoever.  They made it across in only a few strides and then entered the next habitat.

“There he is,” Talia said, pointing down a row of strawberries.  Knile saw him then too, a tall man with thinning golden hair and a stubbly beard.  He was bent over the soil and hadn’t seen them yet.

“So he is,” Hildi said.  “Giroux himself.  This is where I leave you, then.”

She held out her arms and embraced each of them in turn.

“Thank you, Hildi,” Knile said.  “I really appreciate this.”

“You’ll visit the boy before you go, won’t you?” Hildi said firmly, glancing at each of them in turn.  Knile and Talia exchanged glances.

“Of course,” Talia said.

“I think that would be for the best,” Hildi said.

“We will, Hildi,” Knile said.  “Thank you again.”

Hildi nodded, then disappeared through the wall of the habitat and back the way she had come.

“Come on,” Talia urged.  “Let’s do this.”

They strode toward Giroux, their boots thumping purposefully on the firmly packed sand of the path.  Giroux heard their approach and straightened, wiping his hands on his grey overalls.  At first his face betrayed no emotion, but as they neared he couldn’t prevent a broad smile from spreading across his face.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” he said, reaching out one of his massive hands and shaking each of theirs in turn.

“Nice to see you too, Giroux,” Knile said.

“What’s it been?  Three?  Four years?”

“About that,” Talia said.

“I heard you were dead, Knile,” Giroux said, twitching his eyebrows humorously.

“That story seems to have gone around a lot,” Knile said.  “Luckily it’s untrue.”

“So I see.”  Giroux turned to Talia.  “And what about you, Talia?  Haven’t seen you in almost as long.  You risen from the dead as well?”

Talia shrugged, embarrassed.  “I’ve been around.  Just doing my own thing.”

“There’s still a place for you here, if you want it.  You know that.”

“Thank you, Giroux,” Talia said.  “I appreciate that, but I’m doing fine on my own.”

“Never one to accept help when it’s offered, that one,” Giroux said to Knile conspiratorially, as if Talia wasn’t there.  “I’ve tried, believe me.”

“Well, I could sure use some right now,” Knile said.

Giroux narrowed his eyes playfully.  “This doesn’t sound good.  What is it you need?”

“I’m going back to the Reach.”

Giroux considered that, rubbing at his large broad chin as he did so.  “That’s not a good idea, Knile.  Not a good idea at all.”

“A day ago, I would have agreed with you, but since then everything’s changed.  There’s a passkey waiting for me, Giroux.”

Giroux glanced at Talia doubtfully.  “For real?” he said.

Knile nodded.  “Yes.  Word came from Jon Hanker himself.”

Giroux turned and dug his hands into the soil, massaging it between his fingers.

“They’ll be looking for you, Knile.  The Enforcers, I mean.  You know that, don’t you?”

“I can handle them, once I’m inside.  I just need someone to get me in the front door.”

“And that’s where I come in.”

“Yes.  I figure you’re my best bet, Giroux.”

“You’re asking a lot, Knile.  Do you know what they could do to me if they knew I was helping you out?  They could march five hundred men over here and wipe me out.  Not even my security crew could stand up to that.”

“I know, but you don’t have to vouch for me in any way.  I’ll make it look as though I was acting alone.”

“So what’s your plan?” Giroux said, taking a scoop of soil and placing it carefully in a clay pot.

“Do you still make daily supply runs into the Reach?”

“Of course.”

“So what if I dressed as one of your gardeners and went along with the convoy?  If I was caught, I could say that I stole the uniform without your knowledge.  You’d be blameless.”

“Maybe,” Giroux said.  “It’s an awful risk, though.  There’s a lot of eyes watching over at the gate.”

“Like I said, I just need a foot in the door,” Knile said.  “Once I’m inside, they’ve no hope of finding me.”

“That’s what you said last time,” Giroux said, winking at Talia.

“They didn’t find me last time.”

“Oh?  So how did the plan unravel?”

Knile simply shook his head.  “There’s no time to go into that.  Your supply runs always leave in the morning, right?”

“There’s one headed out in less than an hour,” Giroux said.

“So can you help me?”

Giroux sighed.  “You did a lot for me in the past, Knile.  I can’t deny that.  Your ability to acquire useful items was… unparalleled.”  He chuckled.  “I still haven’t found someone who can do the things you did.”  He looked at Knile soberly.  “But this is huge.  This is a one-off.  I could jeopardise my whole operation if this went bad.  You know that.”

“It won’t,” Knile assured him.  “If I go down, it will be alone.  I wouldn’t put you and Hildi and the others in danger like that.”

Giroux nodded.  “Then all right.  I agree to it.”  He pushed away from the edge of the plot.  “Come with me and I’ll get your gear sorted out.”

“Thank you.”

Giroux began to lumber away and Talia and Knile followed.

“I still don’t know why you’re in such a damn hurry to leave this place,” Giroux said.  “It’s not so bad at times.”

“What about you, Giroux?” Talia said.  “Surely you must have made a fortune selling stuff to the Reach all these years.  This produce is incredible.  It always has been.  Surely you could buy yourself a Sponsor by now.”

Giroux stopped abruptly and turned to face them.

“Hah, creds.  I don’t see many of those for too long.”  He looked around him.  “Grove has gotten too big.  Too unwieldy.  It’s costing me more creds to keep it running than what I make from the sale of the produce.  Look at all these workers.  Their wages add up.  Then there’s security.  There’s maintenance.”  He pointed up at a worker on a cherry picker spraying something onto the interior of the domed roof.  “That polymer coating is driving me broke, but it’s absolutely necessary.  Prevents tears in the outer membrane.”

“Hildi said you had a mishap recently,” Knile said.  “A leak in the roof?”

“I’ve had more than one.  It’s a constant battle.”  He shrugged and then resumed walking.  “Then there’s supplies from off-world, fertiliser and equipment and the like.  It all adds up.  I should really scale Grove back, make it a more manageable size, but I can’t bring myself to rip anything out.  Not for the life of me.  But the day is coming when I won’t be able to sustain it anymore, and that’ll be the end of it.  It will all fall apart around me.”

There was a great sadness in his voice, and Knile knew that it must have been hard for Giroux to admit this to anyone, let alone himself.

“I built this place from the first brick,” Giroux went on.  “Did you know it started in something the size of a shed?  It fit in my backyard.  The whole damn thing.  It wasn’t even called Grove back then.  It was just a little box where I made a few plants grow.  Pretty soon after that I knocked down my house and started living inside the habitat, and sold enough to buy the house next door to me.  I knocked that place down too, levelled it and started expanding the garden.  Built the first dome with the money I made, just a small thing, but it was a start.  To see it now, what it’s become… it fills my heart with pride.  With joy.”  He looked at them each in turn.  “I could never leave here.  This place is everything I ever wanted.  While it thrives, I thrive.  And when it dies, so will I.”

Giroux led them through a couple of other habitats before reaching a long and narrow enclosure that was darker than the rest.  Judging by the clutter of tools on walls and on benches, this was a storage area of some kind.  Giroux waited for the only worker present to leave, then sealed the entrance behind them.

“One of my workers passed on last month,” Giroux said, rummaging under a bench and producing a neatly folded stack of clothes.  “Cancer, I think.  Took him too young.  He spent too many years breathing and eating toxins outside before he came to me.  He was a good man.”  Giroux sighed and patted the garments fondly, then shrugged.  “Anyway, I haven’t registered his passing yet.  His ID will still be in the system.  It won’t stand up to close scrutiny, since you don’t look much like him, but if you’re lucky they’ll let you through with the rest of my men.”

Giroux dug into one of the pockets and pulled out a clear slip of plastic with a tiny golden chip inside.

“You kept his chip?” Knile said, mildly surprised.

Giroux shrugged with a hint of embarrassment.  “Sometimes they come in handy.”  He gestured to Knile.  “For times like this.  But I don’t know how you’re going to embed it under your skin.  We don’t really have the equipment here for that.”

“No need.  I can transfer the data without physically implanting the chip.  All I need is a holophone and ten minutes to do it.”

“Simple as that?” Giroux said, smiling.

Knile nodded.  Changing identity was as simple as changing clothes for someone with skills such as Knile’s, now that he had the chip in his possession.

“Thanks, Giroux,” Knile said, taking the overalls and slipping them on over his regular clothes.

“I have to say that I don’t like it,” Giroux said, his smile fading.  “That ID is only good for a small zone inside the Reach.  They’ll figure it out pretty quickly.  You won’t be safe.”

“Don’t worry, Giroux.  This won’t come back on you.  I promise.”

Giroux rattled through another box and handed Knile a battered holophone.

“I take it you could use one of these, then?” Giroux said.

Knile took the holophone and turned it over in his hands.  “Sure.  I was going to see if I could get hold of one on the way, but this will save me the trouble.”  He ran his fingers over the cracked screen and it began to shine dully.  “Does it even work?”

“Hold on,” Talia said, grabbing her own holophone and holding it up.  “What’s the number?”

She fidgeted with the settings on Knile’s holophone and found the information she sought, then punched the details into her own phone.  The connection went through and Knile’s phone began to ring.

“Seems fine,” Knile said.  He pocketed the phone and finished shrugging into his new clothes.

“You’d better hurry if you want to leave with the shipment,” Giroux said.  “That’s assuming you don’t want to change your mind and stay?  Like I always said, there’s a place for you here.”  He turned to Talia.  “For both of you.”

They shook their heads sadly, and Giroux gave them a faint smile.  “I thought you’d say that.”

Knile began to walk away, but stopped at the sound of Talia’s voice.

“Knile,” she said.  “Don’t forget Roman.  We need to go see him before you leave.”

“The kid?” Giroux said.  “Of course, let me take you to him.”

Knile took a deep breath as Giroux led the way, struggling with the thought of what he was going to say to the boy after all these years.

8

Giroux led them to another enclosure, where smaller plants and saplings were being nurtured by a dozen or more workers.  He pointed at a skinny youth carrying a large potted basil plant not far away.

“There he is,” Giroux said.  “You have a few minutes before you need to be out front for that convoy, Knile.  Don’t be late.  Good luck to you both.”

He shook each of their hands in turn and then left the enclosure, pulling the zipper closed behind him.  Talia looked at Knile helplessly.

“I have no idea what to say to Roman,” she said.  “What do we tell him?”

“I’ve been thinking about that myself,” Knile said.  “I’ve got nothing.”

“Do we apologise, or just go straight past that and try to ignore it?”

Knile grimaced.  “I don’t think–”

“Hey.”  Knile turned, his mouth hanging open mid-sentence, to see Roman standing there, a basket of herbs clutched in his arms.  The boy regarded them calmly between strands of thick black hair that hung across his face.

“Uh… Roman,” Knile said.  “Hi.”

Talia stepped forward and linked her arms around Roman’s shoulders, attempting an awkward hug.

“So good to see you,” she said.  “You’ve grown so big.”

“What are you guys doing here?” Roman said, making no attempt to return Talia’s gesture.  His voice carried not an ounce of warmth.

“Just passing through,” Knile said.  “We thought we’d drop in to see how you’re doing.”

Roman looked Knile up and down.  “Why are you in that get-up?” he said in reference to Knile’s gardener garb.  “Are you working here now?”

“No,” Knile said.  “I guess it’s a long story.”

“Well, I don’t have time to hear it,” Roman said, pushing past them.  “I’m on the convoy this morning and I’m running late.”

“Oh, me too,” Knile said, moving in front of the boy and fumbling with the zipper on the wall.  “I’ll go with you.”

“Whatever,” Roman said, ducking through with his load.

Knile held the opening for Talia and she gave him a disconcerted look, obviously not liking where this was going.  Knile followed her through, and together they jogged to catch up to the boy, who was evidently not waiting around for them.

“So it looks like you’ve settled in here nicely,” Talia said.

“Yeah.  Not that I had much choice, Talia,” Roman said.  “Since you and the others dumped me and left.”

“Roman, I’m sorry about that,” Talia said.  “Believe me, I am.”

Roman kept his eyes intent on the path before him.

“So sorry that you never even once came to visit me,” he said.

“Well, about that,” Knile began, but Roman cut him off.

“Hey, Tee, I’m on convoy today,” he called out loudly to another worker, an older man with a beard who was pruning a lemon tree nearby.  “Do you need me to talk to that customs guy on Level Four?”

“I spoke to him last week,” the man called back.  “He keeps screwing up the ammonium nitrate order.  You can talk to him if you want, but…”  He shrugged.  “Probably won’t do any good.”

“I’ll have a word to him,” Roman called, and the man saluted him with his snips before returning to his work.  Roman got moving again.

“Roman,” Knile went on, close on the boy’s heels, “I’ve been in a lot of trouble.  I’m not welcome around here, and I haven’t shown my face for a long time.  I’m sorry I didn’t try to contact you before now.”

“Yeah.  I heard from someone that you were dead.  And then, someone else said you got off-world.”

“Neither is true, as it turns out.”

They proceeded into the next enclosure, but Roman did not reduce his rapid pace, making no effort to continue the conversation.

“And I kinda got busy,” Talia said, attempting to fill the silence.  “I know that sounds lame–”

“It is lame,” Roman said.  “Whichever way you dress it up, both of you are lame.”

“Can’t say I don’t deserve that,” Knile said.

“Listen,” Roman said, “I’m grateful to you guys for what you did for me.  You found me on the streets when I was a starving little kid with no one to look after me.  You let me run with your gang and you showed me how to survive in the city.  I’d probably be dead without you.”

“Roman–” Knile began, but the boy held up a hand to stall him.

“But you undid all of that when you dumped me here at Grove and left.”  The anger in his eyes was now tinged with hurt.  “I was scared and alone and I didn’t know anyone.  How could you do that to me?  I thought we were like family.”

“Roman, please,” Talia said, gripping his shoulder.  “Listen to me.  Our group was starting to fracture.  It was drifting apart.  Knile and Mianda were leaving and the others were gravitating toward different gangs.  We couldn’t ensure your safety out there.  Putting you inside Grove with Giroux and Hildi was the best way to protect you.  This is a far better life in here than we could give you out on the streets.”

They reached the outer airlock and joined a group of others who were waiting to be let outside.  Most of those assembled were busy fitting their respirators back onto their faces, and Roman, Talia and Knile did the same.

“That doesn’t explain why you never came to see me, Talia,” Roman said bitterly.

“I thought that if you saw me, you’d want to come home with me,” Talia said.  “Back to that life outside.  I didn’t want to drag you back there.”

“And did anyone ever ask what I wanted?”  Roman said.

“I’m sorry,” Talia said softly.

“And if this is such a great life, why didn’t you come and work here as well?”

Knile looked at Talia, seeing the truth in her eyes.  He knew that Talia could never work here, for the same reason that Knile himself couldn’t.  Giroux didn’t pay his workers very much.  Knile had always wondered about the reason why.  He’d thought that perhaps Giroux had been amassing his own personal fortune all this time, but after today’s conversation he knew better.  Giroux couldn’t afford to pay his workers well, not with all of his other expenses.  To work at Grove meant a life of security and clean food, but it also meant a life with no hope of ever leaving Earth. It was a trade-off that neither Talia nor Knile were willing to accept.  There was simply no way to make enough money to buy a Sponsor while working at Grove.

Knile had always believed that he and Talia were doing the right thing, the unselfish thing, by giving Roman a life of security within the walls of Grove.  Now, seeing the hurt in the boy’s eyes, he wondered if perhaps the opposite were true.

Talia struggled to put it all into words.  “I don’t know,” she said finally, but her voice was drowned out by the sound of the jets activating above as the airlock was purged.

When the procedure was complete, Roman wasted no time in stalking away, out into the sunlight with his basket clutched under his arm.

“Roman, wait,” Talia called.

She ran after him and caught up as he was searched by the guards.  She removed her respirator in an attempt to kiss the boy goodbye, but Roman moved out of her grasp before she could do so.  Talia stood watching numbly as he left, a look of desolation on her face.  She stood like a statue as the guards conducted their search of her body.  As they pushed her on her way she responded sluggishly, taking three stumbling steps before regaining her balance.

Knile followed, reaching her a few moments later as Roman disappeared in the crowd toward the convoy.  By the look of the activity around it, time was up.

“Fuck this,” Talia said.  There were tears in her eyes and a sob racked her body.  “And fuck you for making me come back here,” she said angrily.

“Talia, please,” Knile said, but she turned her back on him and began to walk away.

“Leave me alone!” she said.

“Talia!” Knile called loudly.  She faltered and then half turned back to look at him as if compelled to do so against her will.  Knile gathered himself up.  “After I’ve gotten off this rock, I’ll find a way to get you out.  I promise.”

Talia smirked weakly at that, disbelieving, and the expression quickly melted away.  Her eyes dropped to the ground and she drew the respirator back across her face, turning silently and walking away without another word.

9

Alec Duran looked out upon the city far below.  It was so far down, so insignificant, that it looked little more than a puddle, a misshapen blotch of oil on the landscape that seethed in the early morning light.  Buildings and streets and alleyways all formed together into a mesh, one feature as indistinguishable as the next.  Further afield, the lowlands extended out toward the horizon in dismal shades of murky grey.

Even though there was more of the Reach above him than below, he still felt as though he were standing atop a mountain, looking down on an inconsequential world below.  A long way away from its troubles and its complications.

Of course, that wasn’t strictly true.  The Reach was still a part of the Earth, tethered below where the base of the giant structure met the land, the place where the city and its denizens pressed in like hungry maggots, unrelenting and insatiable as they searched for sustenance.

He felt sorry for them more often than not, those poor unfortunates in Link.  They did not deserve their lot.  Most of them had never done anything to bring such a despicable fate upon themselves.  They were innocents.  But that didn’t change the fact that they didn’t belong here in the Reach.  There was a line that had been drawn, a place where the city ended and the towering heights of the Reach began, and that was a place that they simply could not cross.

“Inspector?”

Duran turned to see the constable standing a short distance away.  He was still new to the Enforcer ranks, uncertain, and he fidgeted nervously with his ill-fitting black uniform as he waited for Alec’s reply.

“What is it?” Duran said.  He ran his fingers down the lapel of his own neatly pressed charcoal suit to straighten it.  Not unlike the constable, he was still becoming used to feel of the new garment after wearing the uniform of the Enforcers for so long.

“It’s time, Inspector.  The targets are closing in.  I was sent to get you.”

“Of course.”  Duran took one last look out the window and down at the city, imagining the multitudes far below who were, right now, looking up at him.  Dreaming of the day they might escape the poison cesspool in which they wallowed.

There were so many, and they kept coming, a constant stream that never stopped.

How do I stop them all? he thought.

He grimaced and rubbed his chin.

“One at a time,” he said to no one in particular.

“Inspector?” the constable said.  He was so young that there were still pimples dotting his face, and he didn’t even look old enough to grow a beard.  In truth, he wasn’t much younger than Duran himself, but in terms of their experience, their worldliness, there seemed to be a great gulf between them.

Duran wondered from which corner of the Reach they’d plucked him.  Probably some tradesman’s son who had never ventured far from home until recently.

“Never mind,” Duran said.  “Let’s go.”

He followed the constable along the corridor, away from the daylight that streamed in through the glass and further into the depths of the Reach.  There were many different kinds of levels within this monumental structure – some were small and compartmentalised, claustrophobic.  Others were long and narrow and twisting.  This one was cavernous, filled with elongated apartment buildings half hidden in the gloom.  Competing for room with these were great steel support pillars that stretched up into the darkness and prevented the space from collapsing in on itself.  There were streets and streetlights, corner stores and nightclubs, and they were all wedged together in this confined space far above the Earth’s surface.

Not for the first time, Duran imagined it as a small city block that had been extracted from another time and place and inserted into a giant cave one hundred stories above the ground.  It was an odd way to think of it, but he couldn’t shake the notion nonetheless.

Back when energy sources had been more abundant, there had even been a day and night cycle here, complete with an artificial sky above the rooftops.  These days, however, this mini-city was shrouded in perpetual darkness.  The yellow lights that spilled from apartment windows were the closest thing to sunlight that most of these people saw on any given day.

“What do they, uh, call this level again?” the constable said, trying his best to appear calm and relaxed.

“Juncture Nine,” Duran said.  “Real romantic, huh?”

The constable laughed, a nervous, high-pitched sound that he quickly stifled.

“Uh, yeah.”

“You don’t get down this way much, obviously.”

“No sir.  My family isn’t from around these parts.”

Duran followed him into a narrow alleyway where an overhead lantern illuminated only a small patch of ground, leaving the rest in darkness.

“What’s your name, Constable?” Duran said.

“I’m Symes, Inspector Duran.”

“First time on a takedown, Constable Symes?”

“Yessir.  Sure is.”

“Just relax, okay?  You’re in safe hands.”

“Yessir.”

They entered a run-down workshop that the Enforcers had turned into a temporary command centre for their operation.  Tunks sat slouched in a chair, his impressive belly almost touching the display terminal, and several other personnel busied themselves with surveillance equipment that had been scattered around the room.

“Good of you to join us, Inspector,” Tunks drawled.  “Thought you were going to miss your own party for a minute there.”

“Just clearing my head, Sergeant Tunks.”

Tunks grinned, displaying gappy yellow teeth.  “That’s right.  This must be your first dance since that balls-up a few years back.”

“Balls-up?” Symes said warily.

“Oh, you didn’t hear about that one?” Tunks said, popping a candy in his mouth and wiping his fingers on the sleeve of his uniform.  He gave Duran a condescending look.

“It’s a wonder,” Duran said, turning his attention to the terminal.  “Tunks talks about it just about every day.”

“What can I say?” Tunks said.  “I’m a fan of the classics.”

“That’ll do, Sergeant,” Duran said.  In truth, he felt almost as nervous as Symes looked.  Today was a big deal for him.  If he messed up this operation, there wouldn’t be another opportunity sent his way.  His name would have a large red cross placed against it, and that would be the end of his career aspirations for the foreseeable future.

“Back to work, then, huh?” Tunks said.

“Yes, back to work.  Do we have Feng on the line?” Duran said.

Tunks held up a headset.  “Give it a shot.”

Duran took the headset and pressed his head to the earpiece, adjusting the microphone to the correct position as he stared at the feed on the terminal.  The flickering display showed a shop counter from a hidden camera mounted at a high angle, the image jaundiced and grainy.

“Feng?” Duran said.  “Where are you?  It’s showtime.”

There was a rustling sound and then a squat man with pronounced pockmarks on his face stepped into view of the camera.

“Keep your pants on, man.  I’m here,” Feng said, glancing up in annoyance at the camera.  He fidgeted with something in his hands and then popped it under the counter, and Duran saw the glint of metal before it disappeared.

“You’re not carrying, are you?” Duran said.  “I told you we’d handle this.”

“Have you heard the stories about this guy?” Feng said.  “This guys is yìnghàn, man.  He’s badass.  I’m not going to sit here without protection.”

“We’re your protection.”

“No offence, Inspector, but you’re about as much protection as a condom that’s been stuffed through a cheese grater.”

Duran lowered the headset.  “We need someone to get in there and extract that piece.  I don’t want him armed.”

“No time, Inspector,” one of the men manning the surveillance said.  “The targets are already entering the street.”

“Dammit.”  Duran lifted the headset again.  “Feng, they’re almost on you.”

“Fuck it,” Feng said hoarsely.  “I don’t wanna do this, man.”

“Too late.  You have to follow through now.”

Feng turned and glanced behind him, surveying the rear of the store, panicked.

“Goddammit, I can’t.”

“You take one step away from that counter and I’ll have you out of the Reach so fast you’ll think you’re in free fall.  We’ll see how long you last back in the slums.”

“No, don’t do that, man!”

“Just calm down, Feng,” Duran said.  “Set up the deal and let him walk back out the door again.  Once they’re out on the street, we’ll handle it.”  Duran glanced over his shoulder.  “Are the Breach Team set?”

“They’re ready, Inspector.”

The camera switched to the view outside on the street, and the shadowy form of five or six men wearing trenchcoats could be seen making their way toward Feng’s store.  They came to a halt not far away and seemed to confer about something.

“They’re backing out,” Tunks said, a frown creasing his brow.  “They know something’s not right.”

“Not yet,” Duran said, his eyes glued to the monitor.  “Deimona is cautious.  That’s how he’s avoided capture for so long.”

“So how’d you draw him out?” Tunks said.

Duran leaned in closer.  “I don’t operate on guesswork or luck, Sergeant.  I research my quarry.  I learn everything there is to know about the guys I’m after, every single aspect of their lives.  I learn what makes them tick, and then I use it against them.”

“Fuckin’ hogwash,” Tunks muttered.

“Take Deimona, here,” Duran went on.  “He’s got a habit, a very strong need for a certain stimulant.  He’s also got several reliable suppliers who keep him well stocked, but over the last week I’ve managed to take each of them out of the picture.  Two behind bars in the Cellar and another, who decided not to go quietly, in the Infirmary.  It was only a matter of time before Deimona went looking for a new source, and all it took was a word or two dropped on the street about Feng, and here you have it… the target about to walk up to a man that we own.”

“Lucky he turned up in person, I guess,” Tunks said.

“Research, Sergeant.  He always makes a personal appearance with a new dealer.  Likes to try out the stuff before he buys.”

Tunks made a slow handclap. “Bravo.”  He turned to Symes.  “The inspector here was in line to become commissioner, y’know?” he said with mock sadness.  “That was until the business up in the Atrium, right, Duran?”

Duran ignored him and watched as a man stepped forward from the group on the street and moved slowly and deliberately toward the entrance to the shop.

Come on, you bastard.

“Yeah,” Tunks went on. “Sad to say that our intrepid inspector had a run-in with some radicals and allowed a security breach.  There was what?  Twenty-seven died in the explosion?  Did I get that number right, Duran?”

“Breach Team, move to positions,” Duran said, oblivious to everything but the image of the man approaching the door.

The camera flipped back to the view above the counter, and in a few moments the man appeared before Feng at the counter.  He was tall and muscular and had red dragon tattoos twisting up either arm.

“Target confirmed,” Duran said.  “It’s Deimona.”

“How you doin’, man?” Feng said.

“Get me a cola,” Deimona said, his voice like gravel.

“Uh, sure.  You got a preference?  Got a few varieties here.  They’re all shit imitations of the stuff you get off-world, ’course, but–”

“Something wet.”

“Haha, yeah.  Sure.  Sure.  I like that.  Something wet.  That’s nice.”

Duran scowled.  “Shut up, Feng.  You’re talking too much,” he muttered to himself.

Feng took a bottle from the fridge behind him and placed it on the counter.  “That’s seven creds.”

Deimona uncapped the drink and took a swig, making no attempt to pay.

“Breach Team, wait for the target to clear the store before moving in,” Duran cautioned.

Deimona place the bottle back on the counter and wiped his forearm across his mouth.

“I’m also looking to catch a little Breeze,” he said.  “You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?”

“Yeah, man, I got Breeze.  Sure.  I don’t deal it out of the store, though.”  Feng laughed nervously.  “I can meet you later.  Say, in an hour?  Over on Seventh?”

“How much you sellin’ for?”

“Uh, whatever, man.  I’m sure we can work something out.”

Deimona’s eyes narrowed.  “A dealer who doesn’t give a shit about the creds, huh?  You in this for charity?”

Feng wiped sweat from his brow and his false smile faltered. “Nah, man–”

“You know what I think?  I think you’ve got an Enforcer dick up your ass.”

The two men stared at each other, their gazes locked, bodies still.  The bubbles that crept up the sides of the half-empty bottle of cola were the only things that moved in the entire store.

Duran opened his mouth to bark an order, but as he did so, Feng fumbled under the counter for the weapon he’d hidden earlier.  Deimona moved like lightning, gripping a 9mm from behind his back and firing off a round in one fluid motion, sending Feng’s brains splattering across the refrigerator that sat against the back wall.  Then he was gone, bashing through the door with such force that he almost knocked it off its hinges.  In moments he had reunited with his crew back out in the street.

“Breach Team, go go go!” Duran yelled.

Chaos ensued as Deimona and the others tried to flee.  They’d only made it a few paces before they were cut off by the Breach Team at either end of the street.  There was gunfire through the video feed, and it was also loud enough to be heard outside as it echoed through the streets of Juncture Nine.

Tunks sat forward so suddenly that his belly almost knocked the monitor over.

“Is that… pulse weapons they’re packing?” he said, disbelieving, cocking his ear as he attempted to make out the distinctive sound of the weapons.

“These guys aren’t amateurs, Tunks,” Duran said.  “They’ve got access to serious hardware.”

The leader of the Breach Team could now be heard through a loudspeaker.

“Deimona, you’re under arrest for illegal entry into the Reach.  You are trespassing.  You and those aiding and abetting you will–”

He was drowned out by more gunfire and shouts from Deimona’s crew as they tried to coordinate themselves.

“They’ll fall back, probably into Feng’s place,” Tunks said.  “They’ll be trapped.”

As if to contradict him, the crew suddenly sprang up as one and sped down the street in the opposite direction to which they had come.  They moved with such startling fluidity that, on the monitor, they appeared like shadows scattering under the streetlights.

“No,” Duran breathed.

There was a hail of bullets and three of the crew fell, but the others were upon the Enforcers with such speed that they caught them off guard, their pulse weapons punching through the Breach Team’s body armour, one after the other.

“They’re out,” Duran said, aghast.  For the first time he felt as though he weren’t in complete control of the situation, and that thought sat like a lump of ice in his abdomen.

The gunfire was louder now, and Duran’s hand went instinctively to the .40-calibre pistol at his hip.

“They’re headed this way,” he said.

“Huh?  So what?” Tunks said.  “Let the Breach Team give chase.”

Duran moved to the doorway.  “They’re already too far behind.”

“What?  Oh, hell no,” Tunks said.  “Fuck your personal crusade, Duran.  I don’t care if you get your ass handed to you over this–”

Duran heard no more, already out the door and hurtling along the alleyway.  He heard footsteps behind him and saw Constable Symes following on his heels, his sidearm clutched in his fist.  He looked as though he wasn’t exactly sure what to do with it.

“Stay in the command centre,” Duran said.  “I’ve got this.”

“No, I’m with you,” Symes said bravely.  “All the way.”

Duran nodded and waved for him to follow.

They don’t get past, Duran thought.  Whatever happens, they don’t get past.  I’m finished if they do.  I won’t survive another embarrassment like the Atrium.

He could hear the footsteps of Deimona and the others approaching and positioned himself on the corner of the alleyway.  Duran signalled silently for Symes to take the next one along, figuring they might split up.  Much to Duran’s chagrin, Symes trotted over to the alleyway and then turned into it, disappearing out of sight moments later.

“Find cover,” Duran hissed, but the constable was gone.

There was no time to go after him.  The fugitives were already in the alley.  Duran edged back, watching surreptitiously as the men approached.  There were two that he could see, running right at him at full tilt.

Duran waited for the right moment, that split second when their cover on either side was most sparse.  Another five steps.  Three.  Two.  Then he swivelled and brought up the .40-cal.

The first shot took one of the men in the shoulder, and the second shot punched through his chest.  The other man tried to find concealment, but another shot from Duran shattered his ankle.  He screamed in pain and began firing indiscriminately.  Part of the wall next to Duran was pulverised into dust by a pulse round, and the spray of grit splashed across Duran’s face and caught in his eyes.

Duran dropped to one knee, taking an instant to steady himself as more pulse rounds detonated all around him like cannonballs.  He squeezed the heel of his palm across one eye to clear his vision.

He pulled the trigger, and the shot collected the fugitive in the neck.  The man fell backward with a shout and then lay silent and still.

Duran started forward cautiously, aware that one or both of them might have been foxing, but he soon found that they weren’t.  Both were dead.

Deimona was not there.

There were shots fired in the next alley, and Duran cursed, sprinting back the way he had come.  After a brief exchange, everything went silent again, and as Duran reached the place where Symes had disappeared, he pressed against the wall.  He could see no movement in the alley at all.

With the .40-cal held in two hands at his side, Duran began to creep forward.

Above, frightened faces began to appear in the apartment windows.  Some lingered, eager to witness the action, while others disappeared almost as suddenly as they had come, switching off lights or drawing curtains to avoid bringing unwanted attention upon themselves.  Duran kept his attention on the alleyway, but there was still no sign of movement before him.

Then he heard something.  A scuffling sound, a grunt of exertion.  Something sliding.

A body being dragged? he wondered.

Duran continued to place one foot after the other, and now his .40-cal had risen to a forty-five degree angle from the ground.  He was ready to take the shot.  He just needed the target to appear.

He rounded a dumpster and saw the body slumped against the wall, unmoving.  Even in the dim light there was no doubt about the identity of the person who lay there.

Symes.

Duran edged forward and pressed his fingers to Symes’ neck.  There was no pulse.  Looking down he could see a ragged, wet tear in Symes’ chest where the pulse weapon had chewed through clothing and flesh and bone.

You’re in safe hands.

“I’m sorry, kid,” was all he could say.

Duran got back to his feet, reeling.  Where was the killer?  Where was Deimona?  Had he backtracked along the alley and headed back toward Feng’s?

Duran heard that scuffling sound again and then a muffled scream from above.  Looking up, he could see the terrified face of one of the citizens at their window, and not far away the form of a man scaling the wall.  As the light from the apartment fell across him, Duran saw the unmistakable dragon tattoos on the man’s arm.  Deimona.

Duran brought up his weapon, but Deimona reached the roof and swung out of sight before he could take the shot.

Damn!  What is this guy?  Part mountain goat?

Duran got moving again. He ran at full speed, one eye on the path before him and the other on the rooftops.  He saw Deimona leap between buildings, his powerful and muscular form bridging the distances with seeming effortlessness.  Duran knew that he would lose him if he stayed at ground level, so he burst through the door of the next building he came to, past a startled cleaning woman with a blue handkerchief tied around her hair, up the stairs to the first floor.  His strides only got longer, and on the second floor a wide-eyed old man hobbled so quickly back inside his apartment that he almost fell over.

The third floor went past, then the fourth.  Duran’s lungs were about to explode.

He reached the exit to the roof and plunged through the doorway, spotting Deimona two buildings over, striding out and about to make another jump.

He was too fast, too powerful, and Duran was breathing heavily from the climb.  He’d never catch him.

Duran dropped to one knee, brought up his .40-cal and steadied himself, one eye squeezed shut.

I’m finished if this guy gets away.

He couldn’t make this shot.  It was an impossible shot.  There was no way…

Deimona jumped and Duran’s gun snarled.  The fugitive cried out, spinning and twisting in the air, and then he dropped out of sight as the echoing sound of the gunshot disappeared into the distance.

Duran choked back his own sense of surprise and disbelief.  Had he actually just seen that?  Had he actually just knocked Deimona out of the air like a clay pigeon at a shooting competition?

He scampered back down through the building and over to the street where Deimona had fallen, wondering what he would find.  Surely it had been a ruse, a clever ploy by Deimona to throw Duran off his track.

Deimona had probably doubled back and already disappeared into the gloom, leaving Duran to chase after this red herring.

But sure enough, when Duran reached the spot he found the man with the tattooed arms lying there on the asphalt surrounded by a pool of blood.  Wary citizens of Juncture Nine were beginning to appear in their doorways, curious now that the furore seemed to have quietened down, their faces peeking out from yellow cracks and over the lips of windowsills as they craned their necks for a better view of the carnage.

Duran stood over Deimona’s body and checked for a pulse, but he was dead.  It was over.  In the half-light he could see a wet patch, a gunshot wound in Deimona’s chest.

“Right through the goddamn heart,” Duran said, dazed.  He glanced down at the pistol in his hand as if it were a magic wand, an enigma whose power he’d been blind to until now.

He’d been saved by a miracle.

Maybe this is the turning point for Alec Duran, he thought, allowing himself to feel a tiny bud of hope.  In moments it began to blossom, the self-confidence that he’d owned so long ago grudgingly reawakening inside of him.  The kind of confidence he’d found in such abundance before things had gone bad at the Atrium.

People began to crowd around and Duran holstered his weapon.

“You bastards are never going to give up, are you?” he said quietly to the dead man.  “So how do I stop you all?”  There was no response from Deimona, no movement of his sightless eyes.

Duran already knew the answer.

One at a time.

10

The dirigible skimmed across the sky so low that the ropes that hung from its underbelly almost touched the rooftops on the buildings below.  Knile glanced up as its bloated shadow drifted across the street.  It was close enough for him to make out the faces of one or two of the occupants as they leaned out of the gondola and looked down on the city beneath them.  With dread Knile realised that one of them was a child younger than Roman, an innocent floating toward the unforgiving defences around the Reach.  Toward destruction.

Turn back, he thought.  Turn back now while you still can.

But the dirigible continued on its path, an inexorable curve that would lead it toward the towering monument in the distance.

Down on the street, the convoy was making good progress.  Knile gripped tighter on the wooden handle as he helped pull a cart laden with produce, trying his best to concentrate on the task at hand.  It wasn’t easy.  There was a knot in his stomach as he thought about approaching the gate that lay at the bottom of the Reach, a feeling that he was rushing things, that he wasn’t prepared.  That was true, of course, but there had been no other choice.  This opportunity had come upon him so suddenly, offering salvation should he choose the right path and destruction should he not.  He had to rely on his ability to improvise if he was going to make it through to the end.

As such, he couldn’t decide if each plodding step along the asphalt was bringing him closer to freedom or closer to death.

To his left, Roman shuffled along with a handle tucked under his arm, doing his best to shoulder his end of the load.  It was not by chance that Knile had ended up beside him – he’d sought the boy out when assuming his place – but Roman had maintained a stoic silence for the duration of the journey, failing to acknowledge that Knile was even there.

Knile had considered a dozen ways of apologising during the journey, imagining ways he could smooth things over with Roman, but up to this point he had held his tongue.  All of the excuses he’d come up with sounded weak before they’d even left his mouth.  If he couldn’t even accept them himself, how could he expect the boy to do so?

Instead, he decided to talk.  Not to beg forgiveness or make up stories about why he hadn’t been around.  Just talk.

“Did you know it was once a military installation?” he began.  “The Reach.”  He looked over at Roman, but the boy kept his eyes on the road ahead.  “That’s how it started.  Probably why it’s so ugly, too.  It was built to be functional, not for the aesthetics.  Over the years there were parts taken off, and others added on, and that’s why it looks the way it does.  All lumpy and asymmetrical, like they didn’t have a clue what they were doing.”

Roman wiped sweat from his brow but gave no indication he was listening.  Knile went on.

“Don’t let looks fool you, though.  It’s quite the piece of engineering.  They had to develop a new kind of alloy just to make it strong enough to stand up under its own immense weight.  The tallest man-made structure ever built, back in the grand old days of progress.

“The military used the Reach not only as a way of getting personnel and equipment into space, but also as a kind of city.  Infantry, officers and support staff and their families lived inside.  There were residential levels, industrial levels where weapons and spacecraft were assembled, greenhouses for growing food, manufacturing plants, you name it.

“Of course, with the breakdown of society and the colonisation of other worlds, the military gradually left.  Did you know that, once, there were almost fifty space elevators in operation across the globe?  When fossil fuels dried up, so did the rocket fuel, and elevators became the preferred way of getting things into space.  When they eventually stopped building grav-buster spacecraft, the elevators became the only way to get into space.  Those elevators worked day and night ferrying people off the planet.  One by one over the years the elevators were all shut down or destroyed, and now there’s none left at all, apart from this big ugly joint, the place we call the Reach.  Figures that it would be the last, since it was built stronger than a brick shithouse.  It wasn’t built for commerce, like the others.  It was built to be defensible.

“That’s not its real name, by the way.  ‘The Reach’ is just a nickname.  The military called it–”

“I don’t care,” Roman said finally.  He glared at Knile.  “You can keep talking the whole way there, if you like.  I’m not listening.”

Knile grimaced.  “It’s a long way there.  I don’t know if I can talk that long.”

“You’re doing a good job so far.”

“C’mon.  Don’t leave me hangin’, Roman.”

“I’m trying to do a job here.”

Knile glanced back at the heavily laden cart behind them.  It had been covered in thin, stretchy fabric that protected it from the harsh conditions outside Grove.

“You can’t talk and pull at the same time?” Knile said.  Roman turned his attention back to the road.  Knile was about to say more, but then decided to give it a rest.  He wasn’t getting anywhere.

Knile looked at the faces around them on the street, and it was apparent that these people were very much aware of the cargo being hauled past them.  They watched the convoy with a kind of lust, a deep longing that was fueled by their hunger and their discontentment with eating sludge every day instead of real food.

Knile felt both pity for them and, at the same time, a vague sense of unease.  Desperate folk could be dangerous and unpredictable.  While it was unlikely the people of Link would risk being cast out into the slums for causing unrest, Knile was suddenly thankful for the security detail.

“I just hope we don’t get eaten before we get there,” Knile muttered, turning away from the gaze of one particularly wild-eyed woman.

“We don’t get trouble,” Roman said.  “Not with the guns along for the ride.”

“Good to know.”  Knile decided to see if he could squeeze a few more words out of the boy,  inclining his head in the direction of the Reach.  “So what happens once we get there, anyway?”

“We take the merch through to the transfer station and unload it.  Little Gus normally does the deal, makes sure the creds land in Giroux’s account, and then we load up the supplies being sent back to Grove and get out of there.”

“Little Gus?”

Roman pointed to the front of the convoy where a short man with a clipboard walked beside one of the carts.

“He’s one of Giroux’s inner circle.  Good guy.”

“I don’t think I remember him,” Knile said.

“A lot’s changed since you were away, Knile.  You can’t seem to grasp that.”

Knile sensed the bitterness in Roman’s tone.  “Guess I need to open my eyes, right?”

“Might help.”

“Well, now that you mention it, I can see a few things that are different about you, Roman.  You were only about nine or ten when I left, and now you’re this tall, gangly teenager.”  Knile reached across and tweaked Roman’s bicep playfully.  “You’ve even grown some good cart-pullin’ muscles there.”

“I’m not just a taller version of the kid you left behind.”

Knile flinched inwardly at the bluntness of Roman’s words.

“I know that.”

“How would you know that, Knile?”

“Roman, I–”

“Look, just save it,” Roman said evenly.  His anger seemed to have subsided, replaced by a pensiveness that belied his age.  “I don’t want apologies.  I don’t want to hear you say you’re sorry a hundred times.  That won’t change anything.  You taught me a lot of lessons out here in these streets.  You taught me how to put together a filtration unit, how to solder old expansion boards to make something work, and, when all that failed, how to steal and evade the Enforcers.  You and Talia and the others taught me how to survive.  And I guess the final lesson you taught me was that we really are in this alone, that I can’t rely on anyone else to get me through life.  I have to stand on my own two feet.”

Knile kicked a stone with his boot, all too aware of the desolation that hid behind those words.

“That’s really not a lesson I meant to teach you, Roman.  Not that way.”

“But it’s one that we all have to learn, just the same.”

“Not like that.  No one should have to learn it like that.”

Knile looked away.  He was beginning to regret his attempt to reconnect with Roman.  Perhaps he would have been better off leaving the past undisturbed instead of blundering in with his ham-fisted apologies, knocking away scabs and leaving the wounds raw once again.  And now here he was with the boy finally opening up, just as Knile had planned, but he wasn’t liking anything he was hearing.  Not one bit.

“Dumb shit,” he cursed to himself under his breath.

On the edge of the road the hungry people continued to watch the convoy go past, some glancing up from their tasks and their conversations, vaguely interested, others standing stock still and watching the food-laden carts trundle past as if they’d been hypnotised.  One man, wearing a dusty black coat and hat, glanced up at Knile and then quickly averted his eyes again, fiddling absently with what looked like a deck of cards in his hands.

“Anyway, I learned those lessons well,” Roman went on.  “So well that I’ve even found a way out of this life.”

“Oh?” Knile said.  “Where are you going?”

“I’m headed off-world.”

Knile waited for the punchline, but there was none forthcoming.  The expression on Roman’s face suggested he was deadly serious.

“Huh?” Knile said, flabbergasted.

“I’m getting out of here.  I’m going to one of the colonies.  Maybe one of the Jupiter ones.”

“What are you talking about, Roman?  Is Giroux helping you out?”

“No, Giroux can’t help,” Roman said.  “I found my own way.”

“Which is?”

“I’ve been on a bunch of these convoys now.  Maybe twenty or thirty in the last couple of years.  I’ve kept my eyes and my ears open whenever I’m in the Reach, just like you taught me.”

Knile was beginning to wonder if Roman was about to embark on some sort of suicide mission, and the very thought of it made him queasy.

“I don’t like where this is going,” Knile said.

“Keep it in your pants, Knile.  Relax.  I made it into the Candidate program.”

Knile shrugged, dumbfounded.  “What the hell is the Candidate program?”

“Well, I saw these kids about my age wandering around in blue uniforms near the transfer station one day.  They were doing little odd jobs – carrying stuff, escorting people to elevators, that kind of thing.  Saw them at least two or three times before I worked up the courage to ask one of them what they were doing.  The kid told me he was a Candidate.  Turns out these kids in blue are chosen to jump the queue and head off-world.  They’re the brightest and best of those that are left here on Earth.”

“So how did you end up in this program, then?”

“The only way to get into the program is by taking an aptitude test.  I got to know Mr. Honeybul on a few of my visits–”

“Mr. Honeybul?”

“He’s the administrator of the program.  So after he got to know me, he agreed to let me take an aptitude test.  Said it was not something he’d usually do, but… I guess I got lucky.”

“So you passed?”

“With flying colours.  Mr. Honeybul said it was one of the best results he’d ever seen.”

“Well, that’s great,” Knile said, feeling genuine relief.  He felt as though a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.  “Why aren’t you there now?”

Roman shrugged.  “Mr. Honeybul has to pull a few strings to get me certified for residence in the Reach.  It was going to happen last week, but there were delays.  It’ll happen soon enough.”

“It’s weird,” Knile said.  “I know the Reach inside out, but I’ve never heard of this program until now.”

“You said yourself that you’ve been away a few years.”

“Yeah, I guess.  Anyway, I’m really proud of you, man,” Knile said, reaching across and ruffling Roman’s hair.  The boy seemed genuinely pleased by the praise and blushed accordingly.

Knile laughed and, relaxing, his eyes drifted to the street beyond.  His gaze fell upon another man in a coat looking surreptitiously at the convoy, ostensibly focussed on filling a bucket with murky brown water from a well.  To the casual observer there was nothing much to see, but Knile sensed otherwise.  The subtleties in this man’s behaviour, coupled with the demeanour of the man with the deck of cards, practically shouted at Knile that something was wrong.

“Something’s about to go down,” he said quietly, and Roman was instantly alert.  The boy had learned to listen for that warning note in Knile’s voice, an understanding that had meant the difference between life and death on more than one occasion.  Their years apart had not dulled his sensitivity in the slightest.  For Roman, it was something so ingrained that it had become second nature.

“Where?” Roman whispered.

“Just get ready,” Knile said.  “When it happens, get under the cart.”

“The guards,” Roman said, nodding to the men carrying weapons in a close perimeter around the convoy.  “They’ll take care of it.”

“Don’t count on it.”

Knile saw another man weaving his way through the crowd up ahead, brow shiny with sweat, eyes flitting across the crowd nervously, then two more from another direction.

Here it comes.

Knile turned to the nearest guard a few paces away.

“We’ve got a problem here,” he said.

The guard took a moment to realise that Knile was addressing him.

“Huh?  No stopping.  No coffee breaks.  You know how it works.”

“No, not that.  Look around you.”

“Hey, who are you, anyway?” the guard said, stepping closer.  “I don’t think I’ve–”

There was a blur of movement behind the guard, and suddenly the side of his face came apart as an assailant raked an axe across his head.  There was a scream from the crowd and Knile spun instinctively, pressing his hand down on Roman’s shoulder and shoving him under the cart.

“Stay down!” he bellowed, then turned back to the street.  Knile almost tripped over the guard, who lay unmoving on the cracked asphalt with a crimson pool already spreading around his head.  People on the edges of the road suddenly scattered amid terrified cries.  Knile edged toward the body, hoping to find the guard’s rifle on the ground, but then he saw the assailant raising the gun toward him only a few paces away.  Knile lurched behind the cart as the weapon roared, and he only narrowly avoided the round.  He landed heavily on the road, banging his chin painfully and scraping his knuckles.

Then all hell broke loose.

The guards responded, opening fire on the assailant and peppering him with rounds in the chest and neck.  He was knocked off his feet before he could return fire and fell to the ground, dead.

From the corner of his eye Knile saw the other assailants moving in.  As the commoners fled, the cover of the attackers slipped away and they were left starkly exposed, but by now they had abandoned any pretence of subterfuge.  They zeroed in on the guards like vultures, their makeshift blades and clubs striking necks and arms and legs, anything that might be open to attack.  Three of the guards fell almost instantly and were hacked and bashed as they lay on the ground.  One of the guards began to shout orders and the others dropped back, closer to the carts as they attempted to rally.

Other commoners, emboldened by the confusion, began to scamper forward as they tried to pilfer the goods that lay under the protective covering on the carts.  There were warning shouts from the guards, but these seemed to fall on deaf ears.  Then one of the thieves was shot dead, bullets tearing at his head and neck, and the others scattered like startled rats.

Knile knew it wouldn’t be long until they’d be back.

One of the gardeners fell next to Knile, gaping wounds in his shoulder and chest.  He made a piteous moaning sound as he reached out to Knile for help.  Knile clasped his hand and began to pull him under the cart, but by the time he had drawn him closer the man’s eyes had become sightless, his life having already fled his body.

Knile checked on Roman, and, finding the boy still huddled under the cart, stuck his head up to see if he could find a way out of this mess.  Some of the guards had found cover by the carts, while others grappled hand to hand with the assailants.  As he watched he saw something small and shiny arc through the air and land near the cart at the rear of the convoy.

“Get down!” he screamed, but his words were lost in the pandemonium.

The explosive detonated and the cart bucked into the air before dropping back down again.  It sat there keeling to one side like a sinking boat.  Two of the guards who had been hunkered down beside it were tossed aside and lay rolling around on the ground in agony, blood spilling from wounds in their legs and torsos.

“We have to get out of here!” Knile yelled at the nearest guard, but the man ignored him as he took a shot at a man rushing toward him.

“We don’t abandon the convoy,” Roman said, glaring up at Knile.

“Listen to me, Roman.  If we stay here, we die.”

“You can run if you want,” the boy said.  “You’ll be the only one.”

Knile cursed and raised his head again.  The commoners were edging forward once more as they probed for an opportunity to reach the carts.  He knew that he couldn’t leave Roman stranded here, but by the same token, he knew that they would be sitting ducks out here in the street.  Sooner or later the sheer weight of numbers against them would overpower them.  These people had been overcome by a kind of bloodlust now that the convoy was in disarray and they wouldn’t stop until they got what they wanted.

Casting his eye across the line of carts, Knile suddenly had an idea.

He moved into a crouch and sprang out from behind the cart, keeping low and moving toward the back of the convoy.  He passed the first guard, squirming around both him and the Grove gardeners huddled there, then continued on past the second.  Suddenly he sensed movement behind him and swivelled instinctively, his hand snaking out and grasping the wrist of an assailant, the shiv blade caught just centimetres from his ribs.  Knile swung his fist in counter-attack but stopped short.

The boy couldn’t have been older than eight or nine.  He was emaciated and pale, his face covered in dirt, and as Knile locked gazes with him, he could see there was a terrible resignation in the boy’s eyes, like he knew that he was about to die but was beyond feeling any kind of fear or desperation.  It was almost as if he welcomed the thought of it.

Looking down at him, Knile felt a moment of hatred.  Not for the boy, but for the world itself, that it had become the kind of place where a boy such as this could exist.

Knile twisted sharply and shiv clattered to the asphalt.  He released the boy’s wrist and simply nodded, and the boy scurried off into a nearby alley without looking back.

Knile knew that the time for caution was over.

He ran full pelt, past the startled guards to the rear of the convoy, straight at the cart at the back of the line.  One of its wheels had been blown off in the explosion, and Knile drove in at the high side, slamming his shoulder into the frame while jamming one arm under the good wheel and lifting with all his might.  He roared with the exertion, his boots slipping on the asphalt as he braced himself, and then the cart edged upward.  The added leverage allowed him to get his shoulder underneath it and he drove upward with his legs.  The cart hung upright for the briefest moment, then toppled over with a loud crash.

Fruit, vegetables and herbs cascaded from the tray and tumbled across the asphalt, an avalanche of green and red and yellow.

Time seemed to stop.  Those who had been fighting turned their heads and stared, immobilised by the spectacle.  The screams of men and clatter of combat abated and an odd silence descended on the street.  Knile felt like the eye of the storm had just passed over him.

Then things began to move again in a hurry.  Commoners ran forward from all directions, and the assailants themselves broke off their fighting as they joined in the mad scramble for food.  Knile got out of there quickly, not wanting to be swallowed up in the rush.  There were already screams and cries of anger as people were trampled and pushed out of the way.  He made it back to his cart and hauled Roman unceremoniously out from under it.

“Pull!” he cried.  “Pull with everything you’ve got.”

The other gardeners reacted slowly, emerging from cover as if in a daze, but they quickly followed Knile’s example, gripping their carts and straining forward as the hungry masses flocked to the spillage behind them.  The convoy guards grouped together in a loose knot and jogged along at the rear, keeping watch behind, and several also put their shoulders to the carts to help quicken the pace.

Ahead, the Reach awaited them.

11

Knile’s mouth was dry and his throat felt like it was on fire, but he did not relent on his furious pace, even though he knew he was probably breathing in toxic air through his mouth.  It was the one time he regretted not having a full respirator that covered more of his face.  Roman doggedly kept up with him, sometimes helping with the cart, and other times allowing Knile to take the brunt of the load.  They had not exchanged a single word since the attack.

Now they were well and truly in the shadow of the Reach.  It soared above them, breathtakingly immense, and from this angle there was no way to see where it ended or where the space elevator began at its peak.  It simply seemed as though the Reach itself stretched up high enough to touch the edges of space and perhaps beyond.

Initially there had been no conversation between any of the guards or those pulling the carts, but now that they were close to reaching safety, one of the guards decided to speak his mind.

“What the hell were you doing back there?” he said angrily, jogging up beside Knile.

“Saving… your ass… that’s what,” Knile managed to get out.

“Do you know how much you just cost us?  That stuff is worth a fortune.”

“You can put it on my goddamn tab, all right?  If we stayed there, we were dead.  Simple.”

“And who the hell are you, anyway?  I don’t think I’ve even seen you before today.”

“He’s all right,” Roman said, gasping.  “I know him.”

The guard waved at them.  “We’re going to sort this shit out later, and Giroux is going to know about it.  For now, just keep pulling.”

Within a few minutes they turned a corner and came in sight of the entrance to the Reach, a large opening about the size and shape of an aircraft hangar.  It was a highly adaptable space, able to accommodate huge vehicles and loads if required.  Today it was shaped into a far narrower configuration, allowing the entry of people through three smaller separate gates.

Knile realised that he was totally unprepared for what was about to happen.  With the ambush and the unexpected flight to safety, he had found no time in which to gather his thoughts and decide the best way to approach the Enforcers at the gate.  When confronted by situations such as this in the past, he’d always chosen his words very carefully beforehand.  He’d always gone in with a plan.

Now he was too exhausted to even think straight.  For a moment he was almost overwhelmed by panic and considered making a run for it, taking flight in order to give himself enough time to come up with another strategy.

He glanced at his wristwatch from the corner of his eye.

Time.  It was slipping away too fast already.  There was no chance to turn back.  He knew he had to press on now or stay earthbound forever.

Keep going.  Stay on your toes.

There were many people waiting to gain entry to the Reach, some with legitimate credentials, legitimate business inside, and others like Knile who were just trying their luck.  The Enforcers were everywhere – manning the gates, occupying the snipers’ nests above, walking along lines and checking fingertip IDs, turning away those who were not meant to be there.  One of them peeled away from his post and came jogging over to the convoy.

“Finally, it’s the damn Grovers,” he said cheerily.  He frowned as Knile and Roman and many of the other gardeners doubled over, spent.  “What’s going on?  You guys look like you just ran a marathon.”

“You could say that,” one of the guards said, stepping forward.  “We got hijacked back there.  Bastards took a good bite out of us.”

The Enforcer surveyed the other carts that had stopped nearby, then looked down at tablet in his hand.

“Manifest says eight loads today,” the Enforcer said.  “I only see seven here.”

“You’re lucky you got anything,” the guard insisted.  “Just let us in before they come back and finish the job.”

The Enforcer rubbed his chin doubtfully.  “I need to get Skinny to take a look at this.  Can’t authorise it myself.”

Then he turned and disappeared into the throng of people, leaving the convoy stranded.

The guard spat and turned on his heel.  “If they make us haul this shit back again…”

Roman unhooked a waterskin from his hip and sucked ardently at the straw that jutted from its top.  He lowered it, sucking in more air through his respirator, then held the skin up for Knile.  Knile reached for his own flask, but realised that it was already empty.

“Thanks, man,” Knile said earnestly, drawing a couple of mouthfuls of cool liquid into his mouth eagerly, but ensuring there was some left for Roman’s journey home.  The water was good, the cleanest he had tasted in a long time.

“Damn Slummers,” Roman said.  “That’s who it was, right?  People from outside the wall.”

“Probably interlopers, yeah,” Knile said.  “People in Link are hungry, but generally not that desperate.  Those men looked like people with nothing to lose.”

“They should just close off the wall forever,” Roman said, disgusted.  “Let the Slummers stay where they belong.”

“Hey, don’t forget you were out there yourself, once.  That hole in the wall is the only reason you got into Link, the only reason you have a job and food on the table every night.”  Knile glanced upward at the sky.  “Don’t you think there’s people in the Reach saying exactly the same thing about us right now?  Telling each other that Link scum like us shouldn’t be allowed inside?”  He shook his head.  “I don’t resent those people for what they did.  They’re trying to survive, just like you and me.”

Roman replaced the waterskin at his hip and wiped dust from his eye.

“Yeah, I guess.”

Knile glanced down at his fingertips.  He’d transferred the dead man’s ID to the chip in his finger earlier in the journey, but it had been a rush job and he suddenly feared that he’d done some part of the procedure incorrectly in his haste.

He looked up to see the Enforcer returning again, and knew it was too late to double-check it now.  He also sensed that, one way or another, his time with Roman was running short.

“Listen, Roman.  I hope the future works out for you with the Candidate thing.  I really do.  Whether it does or it doesn’t, I want you to know that I’m still going to be looking out for you.  Even if your other plans fall through, I’ll find a way to get you out of here, okay?  No matter what happens.”

“Thanks, Knile, but I’ve got things under control here.  I can look after myself.  Once I’m in the Candidate program it will only be a matter of time before I leave this place behind.”  Roman nodded at the approaching Enforcers.  “Anyway, here we go.  Maybe you should hang back for a minute.”

Knile did as the boy suggested, dipping his head and turning away from the Enforcers, busying himself with securing the covers on the cart.  He’d almost forgotten the sunglasses Talia had given him before, and now he slipped them on to afford himself extra secrecy.

The Enforcers came to a halt a short distance away.

“This here is Skinny,” the first Enforcer said.  “I told him what happened to you.”

“Where is Gus, you idiots?” Skinny said truculently.  He was a pallid sort of man with a thick vein running up the middle of his forehead.

The gardeners looked at each other.

“He might have been taken back there,” one of them said.

“So you’re late, and you don’t have anyone here with the authority to make the transaction,” Skinny said.

“We can’t take this stuff back,” Roman said.  “Is there a way we can work something out?”

“Shut up, boy,” Skinny said acidly.

“Take us inside and we’ll get Giroux on the line,” another of the gardeners said.  He was an older man with ropey muscles in his arms and a tattoo of a hawk on his wrist.  “He can authorise the transaction himself.  We’ve done it that way in the past from time to time.”

“Shoddy,” Skinny said disdainfully.  “All of this time-wasting is going to result in a poor price for your goods, I can assure you of that.”  He gestured in frustration.  “And you’re short by a load, too.  This is not part of the agreement.”

“Hey, buddy,” one of the guards said, “we almost got hacked to pieces out there today.”  He was nursing one of his arms inside his shirt, which was soaked with blood.  “Getting a downgraded deal isn’t going to be the biggest of our problems, I can tell you.  Let’s get inside.”

Skinny obviously resented being addressed in such a way, and for a moment he just stood there glaring at the guard.

“Maybe I should just let you bleed to death out here,” he said.

“And what will your boss say when he finds out you didn’t take the shipment from Grove today?” the guard shot back.  “I don’t think he’d like that too much.”

Skinny’s mouth twisted and the vein on his forehead seemed to pulse in agitation.

“Bring the goods through and be quick about it.”

Skinny and the other Enforcer turned and signalled for them to follow.  Knile returned to Roman’s side, and together they lugged the cart past the throng of people waiting in line and over to a bare patch of wall.  An aperture opened in the steel mesh and four guards materialised, creating a formidable barrier for anyone foolish enough to rush the gate.

Knile tensed, knowing that this was it.  Everything boiled down to this moment.  If he could make it inside the Reach, he would be on his way.  He would be in his element, able to use the great expanse of the structure to avoid capture.

But all of that would mean nothing if he couldn’t make it past the Enforcers standing right in front of him.

Play it cool.

He slowed his pace and allowed two of the other carts to go on ahead of him.  He watched carefully as the gardeners were processed, noting the demeanour of the Enforcers and the nature of their inspection.  His spirits lifted.  The Enforcers seemed only mildly interested in the gardeners, lulled into a false sense of security by the routine of ushering them through day after day.  They chatted amongst themselves and paid little attention to what was in front of them.

The main concern was that there was probably an alert out for someone fitting his description, thanks to his little stunt out at the checkpoint the night before.  If they forced him to take his sunglasses off, there might be a problem.  The fact that he was disguised as a worker from Grove would only help if their inspection of him was casual.  The ruse would not withstand closer scrutiny.

Knile and Roman reached the Enforcers and they both held out their fingertips to be scanned.  Knile could feel a bead of sweat pooling against the inside of his shades.  Although he’d reprogrammed the chip embedded in his skin with the data from the dead man’s chip, that did not guarantee him safe passage through the gates.  He was all too aware that the face that belonged to the ID chip only bore a passing resemblance to his own.

“You can get a nice little villa on the moon for next to nothing,” the nearest Enforcer was saying to his colleague on the other side of the gate.  “You don’t need to go further, I’m telling you.”

“Screw that,” the other Enforcer said.  “That place is ancient.  I hear it’s springing leaks half the time.  Last month someone’s dog got sucked right out of their back yard and into space.”

“Bullshit.”

“No, seriously, it came down on my newsfeed.  When I leave here, I’m heading to one of those shiny new outer colonies.”

Knile lifted his fingers higher to attract the attention of the Enforcer.  The man lifted the scanner distractedly and completed the procedure, then glanced at Knile’s face as he stepped back.

“You can’t afford a place at one of those shiny outer colonies, dipshit,” he said, turning back to his conversation as if Knile didn’t exist.  “Not on Enforcer wages.”

Knile and Roman continued through the gate as the other Enforcers watched, and when they were clear, Knile lifted his sunglasses so that he could see in the relative gloom of the Reach’s interior.

“Hey, you!” Knile heard from behind him.  A ripple of ice went down his spine.  “You with the shades.”

Knile turned slowly, his muscles coiled as he prepared to run for his life.

“Yeah?”

The Enforcer was staring curiously at the tablet in his hand.  “You’re up for a one-ten.”

Knile frowned.  “Huh?”

The Enforcer looked up at him.  “Your ID is coming up for renewal.  System flagged it here.  You need to fill out a one-ten the next time you come back.”

“Oh.  Right.”

The Enforcer turned back to the next in line and Knile and Roman continued on their way.

“Damn,” Roman said.  “Living on the edge.”

Knile exhaled heavily.  “Yeah.  Thought things were going to get interesting there for a minute.”

They reached a large foyer area where people were rushing to and fro, and Knile’s progress with the cart slowed as he tried to negotiate a path through the crowd.

Roman pointed up ahead.  “We take the gear through that next gate and into the processing area.  Are you hanging around, or…?”

“No.  I have to cut loose from you here, Roman.”

Roman glanced back over to his left.  “The main elevators are over that way.”

“I’m not taking those either.”  Knile grinned wryly.  “Too many Enforcers watching those.  I tend to make my own path through the Reach.”

Roman nodded.  “Sure.”

Knile lowered the handle of the cart and stepped away.  “Are you going to be okay with this thing?”

“Yeah, I can take it the rest of the way.”  He stared at Knile as if suddenly at a loss for words.

“Look, uh…” Knile began.

Roman unclipped his respirator and gave him a genuine smile, albeit one tinged with sadness.

“Good luck, man,” Roman said with a note of finality.  “I hope that whatever it is you’re doing, it all works out for you.”

“Thanks, Roman.”

“I’ll see you on the other side.”

Knile nodded and returned the smile.  “Yeah.  See you on the other side.”

Roman hefted the handle onto his shoulder and struggled off without another word.  Knile watched him go for a moment, wishing he could have said more, but knowing there was no time.  There would be time later, he supposed, if they were reunited off-world.

Right now he knew that it was not a good idea for him to be out in the open.

Knile allowed himself to be carried along by the flow of people, blending in with the crowd and keeping his head down.  He proceeded on past several other processing areas, a maintenance centre and a parts store, and by then the crowd was starting to thin out.  Keeping up an energetic pace, he turned into a network of corridors which served as a link for a series of workshops and cluttered offices for repair crews.

He still remembered every twist and turn as if he’d never left.

The grimy workmen he passed paid him no mind, accustomed as they were to seeing all types passing through their little corner of the level.  Knile even nodded companionably to several of them and received grunts of hello in return.

He replaced the sunglasses to his pocket, knowing that wearing them inside would attract curious stares and unwanted attention.  His job now was to blend in, to be totally normal and forgettable.

In a few minutes Knile reached the maintenance elevators and stepped inside the first one in line.  These did not reach as high as the main elevators, but they were also not subject to the same level of security.  Knile keyed in the five-digit passcode on the access panel, the one he’d remembered from years before, but unsurprisingly it no longer worked.  Checking to see that no one was coming, he produced his small bag of tools and levered open the panel, then began to manipulate the wiring in order to bypass the security.  This was a procedure he had performed many times before, and in the early days he’d triggered more alarms than he cared to remember, resulting in hasty retreats as Enforcers came to investigate.  The practice had paid off in the end, and now his hands moved with a surety that had not been lost despite his lengthy exile in the lowlands.

The panel went dark as he made the final adjustment, then came back to life, and now the elevator was his to control.  He selected Level Thirty-Nine, the highest this one reached, and then stood back as the doors closed.

Knile knew that the lower forty levels of the Reach were largely dedicated to plant rooms, the reactor, and electrical substations that served the lower half of the structure.  They were in many ways the heart of the Reach, creating and distributing much of the energy that drove the hundreds of levels above.  There was no direct link between Level Thirty-Nine and the floor above, where the second tier of the Reach began, but Knile remembered–

The elevator lurched to a stop and Knile stumbled, caught off guard.

Damn, these things are quicker than they used to be.

Then he saw that the elevator had in fact only reached Level Seven.

“Oh, shit.”

The doors opened and an Enforcer stood waiting, his hand tightly wound through the hair of a woman gasping at his side.  He started upon seeing Knile and the woman cried out as he took an inadvertent step backward.

“Who the fuck are you?” the Enforcer said.

12

Knile stood still and calm, fighting to remain relaxed even though his instincts were screaming at him to do the opposite.

“Good morning, Constable,” he said evenly.  “Going up?”

The Enforcer glanced at the woman struggling by his side, aware of how awkward the two of them must have looked.

“Show me your ID,” the constable said.  He was a tall and muscular man with a square jaw, and he held the tearful woman with one hand easily.  The woman, for her part, seemed afraid to speak, but Knile could see by the look in her eyes that she was in desperate need of help.

“Right here,” Knile said, offering up his fingertips for inspection.  The constable made no effort to scan him.  “I’m just part of the maintenance crew around here.”

“Then why are you dressed like that?  That’s not maintenance gear.”

“It’s laundry day.”

The Enforcer sneered and then thrust the woman away angrily.  She cried out as she thumped heavily against the wall and then lay in a heap on the floor, dazed.

“Fuckin’ smartass,” the Enforcer growled.  He pointed at his feet.  “Get out here.”

Knile complied, taking slow and deliberate steps forward.  In those few precious seconds he weighed up his options.

He knew that once the Enforcer scanned his ID and took a closer look at him, he’d see that the faces didn’t match.  The game would be up.  Knile couldn’t let that happen.

The guy was bigger than Knile and in good shape, and Knile was unlikely to overpower him by brute force.  There was a pistol holstered on the Enforcer’s upper thigh, a standard issue .40-cal, and from his demeanour, Knile concluded that he was the type who wouldn’t hesitate to use it.

The constable was wearing a rugged version of Enforcer gear that was fitted out with layers of woven fibre and ceramic plates.  Knile could see faded slash and scrape marks around the ribs where the suit had taken a beating.  This guy had seen some action.

Knile also knew that movement inside a suit like that was somewhat restricted.  He’d found that out through personal experience a few years back, after trying to disguise himself as an Enforcer in a misguided attempt to infiltrate a data centre.  Now that knowledge might be the only advantage he had.

“You know what?” Knile said, pulling up short.  “Why don’t you just let Unger know I’m here?”

“What?” the constable said, baffled.

“Hey, dude.  You don’t have to play dumb.  Just lead me to Unger and I’ll make the transaction.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Yo, do I have to draw you a diagram, here?  Unger!  Take me to him and we’ll straighten this out,” Knile said.

“There’s no Unger here, asshole.  Now–”

“Inspector Unger?”

The Enforcer paused.  “Inspector Unger shipped out over a year ago.  He’s off-world.”

Knile gave the man the most shocked look he could manage.  “No!  The lucky bastard.  Can you believe that?”

The Enforcer glared at him.  “What do you want him for, anyway?”

“Dammit.  I had an arrangement with that guy,” Knile said, winking at the Enforcer companionably.  “If you know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t.”

“Okay, let me break it down for you.  I have a product that’s worth… well, a lot of creds.  I’m talking major bank here.  Whenever I needed to offload one of these babies, Unger would uh… assist with the transaction.”

“Sounds illegal,” the Enforcer said doubtfully.

Not the sharpest tool in the shed, this one, Knile thought.

“Hey, it’s all untraceable.  Nothing to worry about,” Knile said.  He made an exaggerated sigh.  “I guess I should have known Unger would get out of here.  Since he was making so much cash out of this little agreement and all.  He’s probably sipping piña coladas on Enceladus right now.”  The Enforcer stared at him blankly.  “It’s one of Saturn’s moons,” Knile added.

“I know that,” the Enforcer said, clearly lying.

“So, since my old friend Unger isn’t around anymore, maybe you’d like to see what I’ve got to offer?”

The Enforcer glanced over his shoulder, then back at the woman lying prone on the floor.

“I don’t think so.”

“You think you’re going to get off-world on constable pay?  C’mon, man, that’ll take forever.  The world will go under completely before that happens.”

The Enforcer’s seemed to consider.  “What is it you’ve got?”

Knile reached slowly for his belt, then looked over his shoulder.

“I can’t show it to you here.  Someone could come up one of these elevators any second.”

“Forget this.  I don’t want it.”  The Enforcer’s patience gave out, and he reached out angrily for Knile’s collar.

Knile moved like lightning, swaying under the outstretched hand of the Enforcer and lunging for the .40-cal on his thigh.  The constable responded by swinging his other arm downward protectively, knocking the weapon away as Knile plucked it from the holster.  The gun flew through the air and clattered to the floor.

Knile twisted his body and kicked out, trying to stay out of the Enforcer’s grasp.  The man gripped a handful of Knile’s shirt and swung his fist, delivering a glancing blow to the side of Knile’s face.  The impact of it was like being hit by a sledgehammer.  Knile reeled and somehow pulled free of his grasp.

He turned to see the Enforcer bearing down on him, a ball of angry muscle.  Knile danced out of reach in the nick of time.  The Enforcer tried unsuccessfully to snare him twice more before coming to a standstill, re-evaluating his plan as he stood panting and pushing back the hair from his brow.

Knile motioned with his hands.  “C’mon.  Come and get me.”

The Enforcer sneered again and reached for the radio at his belt instead to call for backup.  Knile saw his chance to claim the .40-cal and got moving, scampering across the floor to where it lay, and the Enforcer responded in kind, lumbering forward to intercept him.  The two collided and the gun was kicked away again by an errant boot.  The Enforcer swung a fist at him and Knile evaded it easily.  With the man overbalanced, Knile swung around behind the Enforcer and slipped his arm around his neck.  With the other hand he drew a shiv adroitly from his belt and pressed it firmly against the Enforcer’s exposed neck.

The Enforcer grunted in surprise, then went still and rigid, his hands held in the air to show his compliance.

“That’s right, don’t fucking move a muscle,” Knile warned coolly.  “You know why?  Because this here is one of my favourite things in this world.  It’s a shiv I made myself.  Just a piece of shaped bone, mind you, but it cuts.  Cuts real nice, right through whatever I need – wires and ropes, skin.  Muscle.”  He drew the edge of the shiv closer to the man’s neck, letting him feel the sharpness of it.  “Doesn’t set off metal detectors, either.”

“Yeah, okay,” the Enforcer gasped.  “You got me.”

“So here’s what we’re going to do.  You and me–”

Knile stopped at the booming sound of a door closing somewhere deeper inside the level.  It reverberated through the dimly lit corridors ominously.

“Company,” the Enforcer said, a note of satisfaction in his voice.

Knile glanced back at the elevator, but the doors had shut and it was currently descending to the lower levels again.  There was no time to wait for another.  He also noted that the woman had disappeared during the melee, and for a moment he wondered if it had been her who had closed the door deeper inside the level as she made her escape.

Then he heard footsteps.  Heavy boots.  They were coming this way.

Knile slipped his free hand down and twisted the Enforcer’s arm painfully behind his back, manoeuvring him across the corridor and into the toilet block across the other side.  He pulled the constable past the urinals and the three stalls along the wall, into the narrow space behind the last partition.  As the footsteps grew louder Knile pressed the shiv even tighter.

“You make even one sound and I’ll bury this thing in your neck so far it’ll disappear,” he hissed.

A moment later the toilet door opened and a group of men entered.  From the sound of the voices, Knile figured there was at least two of them, possibly three.  They stopped a short distance away, unseen behind the stalls.

Knile’s grip tightened and the Enforcer tensed under him.

“You need to get yourself on bumpkin patrol,” one of the men said.  There was the sound of a zipper and then he began to empty his bladder noisily into the urinal.

“Yeah?” a second man said.  “What the hell is that?”

“You just stand there and watch as the Grovers unload their goodies downstairs.  Make sure no one flogs anything.  If you’re smart about it, you can bag yourself some sweet nosh.”

“Really?”

“Oh, hell yeah.  I scored a few oranges a week or two back.  Tastes better than anything they grow up in the greenhouses, man.  I can guarantee you that.”

“I haven’t eaten an orange in years.”

“Tell me about it.  And you know what would be even better?  If you could actually get a job as one of the gardeners.  Fuckers must eat like kings.”

“Nah, forget about it.  I bet you have to be real smart to get a job like that.”

One of the men zipped up and waited for the other to finish.

“You kidding me?  Damn green thumbs are dumber than a sack of watermelons.”

“Hah, really?”

“Shit, yeah.  You just have to know someone who can get you in.”

“Count me out, then, man.  I’ve got no one.”  The splashing slowed to a dribble and then stopped, and the men began to walk away.

“Say, what’s a watermelon?”

The men raised their voices over the sound of the faucets as they washed their hands.

“You for real?”

The Enforcer under Knile’s grip struggled for an instant before Knile dug the blade in deeper at his throat, signalling his intentions loud and clear.  The Enforcer went still, breathing heavily.  Sweat from his neck was making Knile’s grip on the blade slippery.

“Yeah, I’m for real.  Is it some kind of container for carrying water?”

“It’s a vegetable, numbnuts, like an oversized potato.  Or at least it was, until they went extinct.  You can’t find ’em anymore.”

“So did they grow in the ocean or something?  Where’s the water part come into it…?”

They banged through the door and left, their voices receding to nothing a few moments later, but the sound of their boots continued for another thirty seconds or so.  Then the door boomed shut in the distance again and Knile breathed a sigh of relief.

“Let me go,” the Enforcer said hoarsely.  “I… I won’t tell anyone.”

“Get moving,” Knile said, pushing away from the wall.  He marched the man toward the door, trying to figure out how he was going to neutralise him.  He didn’t want to kill him, of that much he was certain.  If he could find some rope or some cable he would be able to tie him up, and then–

They pushed through the door and were greeted by a deafening roar, the muzzle of a gun flashing and snarling like a thunderclap.  The round took the Enforcer in his armoured chest and Knile fell away with a startled cry, landing on the tiled floor in front of the urinals.  There was another blast, then another and another.  Knile covered his face protectively with his arms, curling into a fetal position as the barrage continued, the noise so loud that he was certain the mirrors above the basins would shatter.  The Enforcer fell backward and landed heavily beside him, where he lay motionless with a bullet hole in his cheek.  Blood oozed from the wound and began to pool on the tiles.

Knile looked back toward the door to see the woman standing in the threshold, the .40-cal held at her side.  She stared at the Enforcer numbly.

“You won’t ever touch me again, you piece of shit,” she said, her voice quavering.

Knile held up his hand, palm outward.  “I’m not with him.”

She seemed to notice Knile for the first time, her eyes drifting over to him as if she were in some sort of fugue state.

“You should go,” she said distantly.  She brushed a strand of straggly brown hair away from her cheek, and Knile could see a fresh bruise there.

“They’re going to be here any second,” Knile warned, replacing the shiv into a secret sheath under his belt as he got up.  “You can’t stay here.”

“You should go,” she said again, and then she walked calmly outside and stood in the corridor, staring down as if waiting for someone.  “They won’t touch me again, either.  None of them.”

Knile edged past her, hearing a commotion in the distance already.  He was about to say something, but the look on the woman’s face told him not to waste his time.  He ran back to the elevators and furiously thumped on the call button, watching the numbers on the display slowly rising.

The booming sound of the door could be heard again, and there were footsteps in the corridor.  This time, there were a lot more than two.

“C’mon, c’mon!” Knile hissed.  He could hear the elevator shuddering upward from below, getting closer every second.

Voices called out, barking orders.  The sound of boots on concrete grew louder.

The elevator arrived and the doors crept open at a snail’s pace.  Knile squeezed inside and hit the button for Level Thirty-Nine, then hammered the door close button enough times to make his fingers hurt.

As the doors slid closed again, Knile saw the woman standing still and resolute, waiting, the .40-cal at her side.  He hadn’t noticed before how waif-like she was, how fragile.  She glanced over her shoulder at him and he could see from the desolation in her eyes that, just like him, she was ready to leave this world – just not in the way he intended.

The doors closed and the elevator squealed and ground its way upward.  Seconds later there was the sound of gunfire, a volley of shots that seemed to go on and on for the longest time, the clamour chasing him up the shaft and thudding into the carriage like angry beasts.  The sound of human voices could be heard as well, but the words dissolved amid the chaos, and Knile could make out none of what was said.

Then there was silence below, the echo of the last gunshot fading away in the recesses of the elevator shaft like a ghoul returning to the depths of hell.  Knile closed his eyes and slumped against the wall, nerve endings jangling, and the elevator continued upward into the darkness.

13

The pigeon bobbed its head and cooed inanely, strutting across the ledge as it surveyed the people huddled not far below.  It paused for a moment to pick at something at its feet, then continued on its way.

Alton Wilt glared up at it balefully.  “If you defecate on me I’ll rip your head off,” he stated.

The old man in front of Alton turned, a disconcerted look on his weathered face.

“Uh, yeah.  I’ll keep that in mind, pal.”

Alton gave him a flat stare.  “Turn around, if you don’t mind.  When I have something to say to you, you’ll know about it.”

The old man bristled.  “Hey, none of us like waiting in line.  No need to be an ass.”

Alton said nothing, and the man turned back toward the gate.  There were still around ten people ahead of them waiting to gain entry into the Reach.  Time was wasting away as this procession moved at a glacial pace, and although Alton was frustrated by the delay, he knew that there was nothing he could do about it.

“He’s not coming,” Tucker said beside him.  “The prick.  I knew it.”

“He’ll come,” Alton said.  “He has to.”

“Do you think the mark is already inside?” Tucker said.  “This Knile Oberend?”

“Maybe.  It doesn’t matter.”

“Sure, it matters.  He could be halfway up the Reach by now.”

“So?  He’s not going anywhere until his ride arrives.”  Alton checked his holophone.  “That’s still thirty-one hours away, give or take.”

“That’s still not much time for us to coordinate our resources, boss.”

“Have faith, Tucker,” Alton said, spying movement at the front of the line.  “Things are looking up.”

There was a commotion near the gate, and then a burly man came striding through the throng of bystanders, stopping before Alton, his cheeks red.  Dark sweat stains created unsightly ovals under his armpits, marring his grey suit, and his hair was matted to one side as if he’d just woken up.

“You,” the man said, pointing at Alton.  “Come with me.”

“Him too,” Alton said, indicating to Tucker beside him.

“What?  Oh, hell no.”  The man shook his head emphatically.

Alton stood unmoving, resolute.

The man opened his mouth to protest again, but then became aware of the strange glances that were being directed at him from those waiting in line.  He looked about awkwardly and sighed, making a furtive movement with his hand.

“Come on, then,” he said, clearing his throat as he tried to project an air of authority.  “Both of you will be coming with me.”

Tucker and Alton followed the man, pushing through the crowd and earning themselves a barrage of complaints and cusses for skipping ahead.  Alton simply smiled magnanimously as he moved along, while Tucker glared at those around him as if he were prepared to gut them on the spot.

They reached the gate and stood before the Enforcers on duty, who stared at the man, nonplussed.

“What’s going on, Cuskelly?” one of them said, completing his inspection of a woman’s ID and allowing her through.

“I’m taking these two in for questioning, Grayson,” Cuskelly said.  “Important business.”

Grayson looked across the gate at the other Enforcer on duty, who shrugged.

“Well, that’s highly irregular, Inspector,” Grayson said.  “Why aren’t they being taken downtown?”  He gestured back toward Link in the general direction of the local headquarters.

“Important business,” Cuskelly said crossly, enunciating each word carefully.  “The kind you wouldn’t know anything about, Constable.”

Grayson shrugged away the belittling tone of his superior.  “Maybe not, but I know a bit about how things works here on the gate, and we don’t let people through without the proper ID.”

“Well, maybe you want to explain to Commissioner Prazor why you’re disobeying the direct orders of a superior,” Cuskelly said, pointing to the radio on Grayson’s belt.  “And while you’re at it, tell him why you’re holding up an investigation that he himself has sanctioned.  I’m sure he’d have no problem sending you back out to patrol the slums as a reward for your ‘help’.”

Grayson glanced across the gate again, but once again the other man only shrugged.

“Didn’t think so,” Cuskelly said, gripping Alton and Tucker by the arms and guiding them through the gate.  Grayson stepped back as they brushed past, contempt written across his face, but he made no further protest, turning back to the next in line as Cuskelly and his charges disappeared inside the Reach.

“You’re late,” Tucker muttered, wrenching free of Cuskelly’s grasp.

“Late?” Cuskelly hissed.  “Do you know how much notice I had to put this together?  Huh?  How many strings I had to pull to make this work?  This ain’t no walk in the park, especially when I only have an hour’s lead time.”

“Stay cool, Inspector,” Alton said.  “People are watching.”

Cuskelly glanced around nervously.  “You think I don’t know that, Wilt?”

Alton narrowed his eyes.

“Uh… Mr. Wilt,” Cuskelly amended.

“Just do your job and we’ll be out of your way very soon,” Alton said.

They strode through the crowd and came to the bank of elevators set in the eastern wall of the Reach’s lower level.  There were more Enforcers here keeping a close watch on those coming and going through the area.  Cuskelly made a beeline for the nearest available elevator, collaring two men who were about to enter and shoving them in the direction of the next set of doors.  The men cried out and cursed at him angrily.

“Catch the next one,” Cuskelly said, waving at them as if batting away their protests.  “Enforcer business here.”

Two Enforcers began to make their way over to investigate, but Cuskelly made a curt gesture and they nodded obediently and backed away.

Cuskelly directed Alton and Tucker inside the elevator, looking over his shoulder anxiously to see if they’d been noticed by anyone else.  He moved in after them, pressing the button for Level 122, then swiped his fingertips on the access panel as the doors closed.

“Swipe here,” Cuskelly instructed the other two.  When they hesitated, he motioned impatiently.  “Come on!  This thing won’t move unless you do it.”

Alton and Tucker moved across and did as Cuskelly suggested.  There was a brief pause before a buzzer sounded.

“Caution,” came the sound of an automated voice through the elevator intercom.  It was delivered in soothing female tones but somehow carried a note of malevolence behind it.  “Unverified occupants detected.  Please standby.”

“Override,” Cuskelly barked.  “Cuskelly, J.  Badge number two-four-seven-six-one.”

There was a brief pause, then the automated voice filled the elevator again.

“Cuskelly, J.  Voice match.  Override granted.  This exception has been noted in the security access log.”

They began to ascend, and Cuskelly removed his respirator.  The other two followed his lead.

“I have no fucking idea how I’m going to explain this,” Cuskelly said, rubbing his brow.  “You put me in a real bind here, you know that?”

“Look on the bright side,” Alton said.  “After this your debt will be cleared.  You’ll be a free man.”

“Yeah, until they lock me up for what you’re making me do.”

“You’re a smart man, Inspector.  You’ll find a way to talk your way out of it.”

Cuskelly guffawed.  “Like you care.  You’d probably enjoy watching me fry.”

“Not at all.  I’ll be long gone and too far away to care about what’s happening down here.”

“I figured as much,” Cuskelly said.  “Finally getting off-world, huh?  You got yourself a Sponsor after all this time?”

“Not exactly.”

Cuskelly looked at him sharply.  “What are you talking about?”

“I don’t have a Sponsor,” Alton said.

“Then what the fuck are you doing here?” Cuskelly blustered.  “You know this is a one-time deal, right?  I can’t ever get you in here again.  You’re cashing in every last goddamn chip you own by making me do this.  It’ll be a miracle if I don’t end up in the Cellar after this.”

“Calm down,” Alton said.  “There are arrangements being made.  I have information.”

Cuskelly threw up his hands.  “If you say so.  Don’t come looking to me for help if it doesn’t work out.  After this, you and me are done.”

“Just concentrate on the task at hand, Inspector.”

“So what have you got?  A hacked passkey?”  Cuskelly shook his head.  “Fuck it, I don’t even want to know.”

“Don’t concern yourself, Inspector.  One way or another, this is the last time you’ll see me.”

The elevator slowed as it reached its destination, and then the doors opened to reveal the interior of Level 122.  Cuskelly stepped out and the others followed.

The ceilings here were low and there was a distinct lack of windows around the exterior.  The only illumination came from lengthy stripes of green-tinged lights that led away like monorail tracks in the ceilings and floors of the corridors that led into the interior of the building.  Cuskelly seemed to take a moment to count these off, as if remembering the steps in a maze, then set off toward the third one in line.

“Don’t say anything,” he told them.  “Don’t stop to look at anything.  Don’t touch anything.  Don’t fall behind.”

“Sure thing, Dad,” Tucker said facetiously.  “Are we there yet?”

Cuskelly ignored him, bustling on ahead, his thick girth taking up much of the corridor.  They came to a juncture and the inspector indicated for them to move over into a recess where a few steel-framed chairs sat against the wall.

“Sit and wait,” he said.

Cuskelly proceeded to the room at the end of the corridor, opening the door and heading inside.  After a brief exchange with someone inside, there were the sounds of footsteps again in the hallway.

“How long is this going to take?” a woman said.

“A half hour or so, that’s all,” Cuskelly said.

“You should be clearing this beforehand in future.  I have work to do.”

They passed the recess and Alton and Tucker went unnoticed as the woman continued along.

“Sure, sure, Jannie.  Sorry.  Will do,” Cuskelly said.  “See you soon.”

As the woman disappeared, Cuskelly poked his head into the recess.

“This way.  Move it.”

He led them down into the room, a claustrophobic little office with frosted windows and a terminal screen perched on a cluttered desk.  He turned a dimmer on the light switch and the room became painted in the fluorescent hues of the terminal screen and nothing else.

“Ooh, mood lighting,” Tucker said.

“Close the door,” Cuskelly said.  He produced a gadget, a black rectangle not much larger than a matchbox, and proceeded to connect it up the terminal with a thin grey ribbon-like wire.  Pulling the keyboard closer, he settled himself in the seat before the workstation and began to type.

“Come closer,” he instructed.  “I need to scan your chips.”

Alton and Tucker did as he asked, holding out their hands expectantly.  Cuskelly took Alton by the wrist and placed his fingers on the black rectangle.

“I can get you access up to the Atrium and most places in between for the next forty-eight hours, except for Enforcer-only levels and the Infirmary,” Cuskelly said.  “Put your thumb on there as well,” he said to Alton, moving the gadget closer.  Alton complied and waited until the scan had completed before removing it again.  “Once that forty-eight hours is up…” Cuskelly shrugged.  “If you try to use your ID at a checkpoint, you’ll set off every fuckin’ alarm between here and Fiji.”

Alton frowned.  “The Republic of Fiji dissolved over fifty years ago.  It no longer exists.”

Cuskelly rolled his eyes.  “Whatever, man.  Damn.  Grow a sense of humour.”  He took Tucker’s wrist and repeated the process.  “There.  I think we’re good.”

“Pretty lax security in this place,” Tucker noted.  “We practically just walked in here.”

“Lax security?” Cuskelly said, incredulous.  “First, keep in mind that you’re only on this level because of my clearance.  Second, this isn’t the ID processing facility.  That thing is like Fort Knox.  This is just a data entry station.  Housekeeping.  I installed a backdoor into the ID facility half an hour ago so that we didn’t have to go there in person.”

Tucker grinned.  “You’ve been a bad boy, Cuskelly.”

“Yeah, and now I’ve gotta go try to cover my tracks.  Chances are they’ll find it anyway, and I’ll end up in a world of hurt.”

“Your help is appreciated, Inspector,” Alton said.

“Yeah, and now what about your end of the bargain?” Cuskelly said.  “Where’s the footage?”

Tucker glanced at Alton, who nodded in return.  Tucker reached into his pocket and brought out a data chip.

“That’s the only copy?” Cuskelly said, reaching out and snatching the chip away.  “There’s no more?”

“There’s no more,” Alton said.

Cuskelly looked down cheerlessly at the chip in his palm.  “I didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt,” he said, his expression pained.  “Honestly.  Those people… that wasn’t meant to happen.”

“I’m not here to judge you, Inspector,” Alton said.  “You happened to be in one of my establishments when something terrible went down, and I had the footage.  My interest in you extends no further than that.”

“Yeah,” Cuskelly said glumly.  “Okay.”

“On the bright side, you now have the only evidence of the incident in your hand.  No one else has to know about this.”

Cuskelly stared at the chip for a moment longer, his face clouded by conflicting emotions, and then he gathered himself together.

“And now we’re even,” Cuskelly said, placing the chip in his pocket.

Alton nodded.  “Yes, I suppose so.  But we may need to call on you again before we’re done.”

“What?” Cuskelly said, furious.  “No fuckin’ way, man!  This is it!  I’ve more than paid you for–”

Alton reached out, his hand moving like a viper and crashing into Cuskelly’s pudgy neck, and the inspector was propelled backward, his head smacking loudly against the frosted glass behind him.  The wall shuddered and rattled with the impact.

“We may need to call on you again before we’re done,” Alton said calmly, but his eyes were like hot coals as he leaned in toward Cuskelly.  The inspector choked and clawed at Alton’s vice-like grip, trying his best to nod.

“Cck… yah… okay,” he croaked.

Alton let go and stepped back, and Cuskelly gasped and dropped down to one knee, left reeling from the struggle.

“Now we need to get out of here,” Alton said in a businesslike manner, not a hair out of place.

“What… whatever you say.” Cuskelly nodded.  He lumbered to his feet, hand pressed gingerly to his neck, and gathered up his gear.  “Where are you headed?”

Alton smiled at Tucker.  “We have some new friends to see.”

14

The elevator doors opened and Alec Duran stepped out into Tech Seven, his face buried in a tablet as he flicked through screens of mugshots and rap sheets.  He was so engrossed in his work that he collided with someone coming the other way, almost dropping the device.

“Whoa, sorry,” he said, reaching out a hand to steady the other person.  It was Sergeant Tunks.

“Watch where you’re going, Duran,” Tunks grunted.  “You could walk straight down an open elevator shaft doing that.”

“Tunks,” Duran said, surprised.  “What are you doing here?”

“Getting my weekly pedicure.”

“No, really.  What are you doing here?”

“What do you think?  Dotting the i’s, crossing the t’s.  Handing in paperwork.”

“About the Deimona case?”

“That, and some others.  I’ve worked up a bit of a backlog.  Had a lot of shit to wade through.”  He pointed to the tablet.  “What about you?”

“Following up some more leads on Deimona.  I’m going after his associates, anyone who helped him while he was hiding out in the Reach.”

“That’s a real slippery slope, Duran.  I doubt there’s a bottom to that particular rabbit hole.”

Duran shrugged.  “I have to start somewhere.”

Tunks eyed him warily.  “Riding the wave of euphoria from the Deimona takedown, huh?  It won’t last.”

Duran began to walk away.  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Be real, Duran,” Tunks called after him.  “A couple of weeks and you’ll agree with me.  I’ve seen it all before.  You put away one guy, and he just gets replaced by an even worse guy, and you end up going nowhere.  You end up going backward.”  Duran kept walking.  “You’ll wish you listened to me.”

Duran didn’t bother to respond.  Tunks had been lost in a quagmire of apathy for so long he’d forgotten what it meant to be an Enforcer, what it meant to uphold the law.  There was no point arguing with him or trying to drag him out of his cocoon of pessimism.  Duran had far more meaningful ways of spending his time, especially now that he was beginning to pick up some momentum.

He used his fingertip ID to progress through three separate security gates on his way to the surveillance room.  Tech Seven, located on the 195th floor of the Reach, was one of the most heavily guarded instalments in the entire building.  It housed many of the most important Enforcer security facilities, as well as a data centre.  The floor had been off-limits to Duran while he had been demoted to constable, but now that he was back at his rightful rank his full privileges had been restored.

Curiously, some of the rooms that had been active the last time he had been here were now dark and silent, the windows coated in dust.  The activity level in general seemed to have dropped as well – previously he had grown accustomed to staff hustling down corridors and in and out of offices, but now there were only a few solitary figures hunched before their workstations, eyeing him guardedly as he passed.

Duran made it to Room 217, an innocuous-looking place with a frosted glass door.  Through the translucent entrance he could see LEDs flickering blue and green, like colourful stars hiding behind a thin layer of fog.  He placed his fingers on the security panel and proceeded inside.

“Parnell, Riethmuller,” Duran said by way of greeting.  “Good to see you again.”

As the two men turned to him he was taken aback.  Parnell was there in his usual chair, but on the other end of the console was a man he had never seen before.

“Oh, my apologies,” Duran said.

“Duran,” Parnell said.  “How’s it going?  Long time no see.”  He was a short man with thick black spectacles that had been glued together at the bridge.  “Riethmuller isn’t here anymore.  This here is Singh.”

Duran nodded in greeting to Singh, but the man simply took a slow bite from a greasy burger in his hand and turned back to the console to continue his work.

“So where’s Riethmuller?” Duran said, taking a few steps over to Parnell’s side.

“Gone,” Parnell said simply.

“Right.”  Duran surveyed the console with dismay.  His recollections of it were far different from what he observed now.  In the past it had been tidy, neatly organised with data chips and portable storage arrays all maintained in their proper place.  Now it was a mess.  Gadgets were strewn around the place, and someone’s lunch was sitting half-eaten on one of the horizontal displays.  There were also the telltale brown rings of coffee mugs scattered around, making the console appear like a poorly rendered piece of abstract art.

“Did you come in just for sightseeing, Inspector?” Parnell said, sitting patiently while Duran gave the room the once-over.

“Sorry.  Things have changed a lot around here in the last few years.”

“Have they?” Parnell said.  “Couldn’t be sure, myself.”

“What about all the other rooms back there?” Duran said.  “Looks like a lot of people have moved out.  Is the place is shutting down or something?” he joked.

Parnell offered no hint of mirth in return.  “People get relocated, reassigned.  You know how it is.”

“Yeah, I guess.”  Duran placed his tablet down on the console in the area that had the fewest coffee rings.  “So I need to pick your brain about a couple of things, if that’s okay?”

Parnell shrugged.  “Shoot.”

“I’m looking to follow up on the known associates of a guy called Javier Deimona.”

“Deimona?” Parnell said thoughtfully, then clicked his fingers.  “Oh yeah, I heard just about that this morning.  You reeled that bastard in good and proper.  Nice work, Inspector.”

“Thanks, but this is still a work in progress.  I want the rest of his crew, the guys that were harbouring him while he was in the Reach.”

“So that was you who was making all of those requests for surveillance footage over the past few weeks?  You’ve been keeping me and Singh busy.”

“Yeah, but I need more.  A lot more.  I need to trace every movement Deimona made since he entered the Reach a couple of months back.”

Parnell snorted derisively.  “Okay Duran, just hold it a minute.  I think you’re going to have to adjust your expectations here a bit.”

“Huh?  Why?”

“Well, for a start, we only have about a quarter of the storage space we used to own.  The arrays are all packing it in, hardware’s going toes up.  We had to shut down more than half the cameras out there because there was nowhere left to write the data.”

“What?” Duran said, disbelieving.  “Why aren’t we replacing the arrays?”

“Funding, what else?  The creds aren’t coming through like they used to.  The techs have had to cannibalise the old gear and make do where they can.”

“Shit.  How are we supposed to do our job like this?”

“It ain’t easy,” Parnell admitted.  “And it’s getting a little bit worse every day.”

“Okay, at the very least, I’ll need footage of Deimona’s entry through the gate.  Who he was with and when it happened.  Maybe I can at least start drawing some timelines from that.”

“Well, that’s going to take time, Duran.  There’s a lot of garbage to sift through to find that.”

“Can’t you bring up an exception report?”

“Yeah, and it’s a mile long.  The number of illegals coming through is skyrocketing.”  Parnell looked at Duran doubtfully.  “Didn’t they tell you any of this stuff when they brought you back?”

“I was aware there was a problem, but…”

Parnell reached for a chipped coffee mug and took a sip.

“I can tell you this,” Parnell said.  “You can try plugging your fingers in the holes all you like, but whatever you do, you’re not going to get them all.  The boat’s still going to sink.”

Duran slumped against the console.  “How did it get this bad?”

“Well, there’s the whole funding thing making life more difficult, for a start.  We don’t have the resources.  But those people out there…”  He leaned back in his chair and shook his head, staring at the door.  “Bastards are getting more desperate.  More creative.  They’re coming at us in greater numbers and from angles we never thought about before.”

“And what are we doing to stop them?”

Parnell grimaced.  “We’re shutting down our systems because we can’t get anything replaced, let alone upgraded.  That’s what.”  He swung back to the console and tapped on his keyboard, bringing up a graph displaying red and yellow curves.  “This is the best guess we have at what we’re dealing with.”

Duran studied the graph for a moment.  “Is there some kind of error in the report?  It looks like the number of illegals has almost doubled in the last year.  That can’t be right.”

“Don’t know, Inspector.  Around here, we just pump through the numbers.  It’s people like you further up the food chain who make the call on why.”  He tapped the screen.  “Personally, I think part of it is due to the gear going down.  We’re not getting a complete picture of the facility anymore, and that’s leading to false positives and other anomalies.”

“Or maybe the guys who are stationed at the gate need a kick up the ass.”

“Hah, maybe.  But there’s just weird stuff, too.  Stuff that doesn’t make sense.  It’s time-consuming going through it all to try to verify it.”

“Like what?”

Parnell flicked the graph away and began scrolling through more menus.

“Well, take a look at this one from today, for example.  We got a shipment through down at the gate, and all the visitor credentials checked out.  No problem.  Then, when they leave, they’re one short.  So where the hell did the extra guy go?  He can’t have just disappeared.”

“Why not?  Maybe he cut loose.”

“Doesn’t seem likely.  This guy has been a regular for years, hasn’t ever given us a problem, and his ID hasn’t shown up at any of the other checkpoints.”  Parnell scratched his head.  “Although, the weird thing is, this guy hasn’t checked in for over a month.  For three years prior he made an appearance every week at least twice, and often as many as four times.”

“So why the change?”

“Who knows?  And then, stranger still, when we went to the facial recognition from the entry, the system is reporting a ninety-three percent match to a dead guy.”  Parnell laughed.  “How do you like that?  We’re getting zombies walking in now.”

“What?” Duran said, irate.  “Why wasn’t the facial recognition flagged when the visitor checked in?  Why weren’t we alerted in real time?”

“Geez, Duran, you’re really out of the loop, huh?  The facial recognition process needs seven dedicated cores in order for it to run in real time.  That’s one huge database it has to sift through, y’know?  A lot of algorithms running in parallel.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So these days we’re down to one core, and it’s not even dedicated.  All the others packed it in.  We requested replacements from off-world, but…”  He spread his hands.  “You already know how that story ends.”

“For fuck’s sake!” Duran spat.

“Yeah.  So now it takes almost an hour for the thing to crunch through the database, which is no good to anyone.  Too little, too late.  The only reason it’s still running is because no one has bothered to turn it off yet.”

“This is exactly why we’re seeing those numbers rise for the illegals.  Reasons just like this.”

Parnell shrugged.  “Hey, don’t complain to me, Inspector.  I just work here.”

Duran rubbed his hand across his face.  “So who was it, anyway?”

“Huh?”

“The dead guy?”

“Uh, let’s see here.”  Parnell tapped on the keyboard again, peering in at the readout.  “Some guy called Knile Oberend.  Rings a bell, actually, but I can’t place it.”

Duran paled visibly.  “What did you say?”

“Knile Oberend.”  Parnell pushed the spectacles up his nose and blinked.  “What’s the big deal?”

“Bring up the footage.  Now.”

“Ah, hell no, Duran.  I just finished storing that–”

“Bring up the goddamn feed!” Duran bellowed.  “Now!”

Across the console, Singh choked on the burger he was eating, hacking and wheezing and doubling over in response to the startling sound of Duran’s voice.  As he recovered he cast an accusatory glance at Duran, but, seeing the look on the inspector’s face, quickly looked away again.

“Okay, don’t blow a fuse, Duran,” Parnell said.  He turned back to the screen and began digging through repositories for the data.  Duran towered over him, stiff and intent as the seconds passed.  Parnell found the image bank, scrolling through a series of twenty or thirty still frames before he found the one he was after – a grainy shot of a man in sunglasses moving through the gate.

“That’s the guy,” Parnell said, tapping the screen again.  “The system is never one hundred percent when they’re wearing respirators or sunglasses or whatever, but–”

He turned over his shoulder at the sound of the door opening.  Duran was already gone.

15

Knile’s lungs were on fire again.  He sucked in a mouthful of air.

It didn’t help.  He still felt like he was drowning, that he was fighting a losing battle as the little remaining air within him slowly leaked away.  He pushed with sweaty palms at the galvanised steel that pressed in around him, a material that his imagination told him was more like the wood inside a coffin than the interior of an air duct.

Stop.  Breathe.  Relax.

With an effort, Knile forced his eyes shut and slowed his breathing.  Bracing himself with thighs and forearms, he pressed his back against the rear of the air duct and let his head dip.  He’d ditched his overalls before beginning the climb, but he was still sweating like crazy.  His neck muscles were aching and his arms and legs were beginning to feel like dead weights from the strain, but in the back of his mind he knew that this ordeal was almost over, that there was an end to this claustrophobic little prison not far away.

This was always the hardest part.  You made it through before and you can do it again.

The air duct was one in a series that linked the lowest tier in the Reach, the maintenance section, with the tier above.  Since the official modes of transport between these tiers – the elevators and stairwells on the other side of the building – were heavily patrolled, this was his best and perhaps only option for continuing his ascension through the building without being caught.

Right now he was wishing that there had been another choice.

Grunting, he began to push himself up the vertical enclosure again.

He’d discovered this route when he was young and reckless.  Hurling himself into an unknown network of air ducts was something he would be very reluctant to attempt these days, but back then he’d thought he was indestructible, that there was no situation from which he could not escape.  Sure, there were schematics he’d stolen that had given him a fairly good idea of how to make it through, but those plans hadn’t told him what it would really be like inside these ducts.  There was no light, for a start, and he had to rely on a tiny LED flashlight on his belt to illuminate the way.  Keeping a grip was also exceedingly difficult, especially in these vertical shafts when sweat began to work against him.  There were tiny joins between the sheet metal segments that helped him to find purchase here and there, but for the most part he felt like he was trying to push his way through a glass box.

The first time he’d wormed his way through, his intrepidness had eventually faltered.  After struggling for two hours, that veneer of invulnerability had been scuffed away, leaving him desperate and despairing.  In fact, before long, he’d thought he was going to die in here like a rat that had become lost in a maze, starved to death.  He pictured his body decomposing, swelling up like a balloon and bursting open, the foul stench from within wafting out through the network of air ducts like poison until it eventually seeped into the living spaces, aggravating the inhabitants who lived in this part of the Reach.

Hope you suffocate on it, he’d thought bitterly.  Every last one of you.

He’d only kept going because, well… what other choice was there?  There was no point heading back, since he was certain he’d get lost that way as well.  He’d become confused, believing that any direction he attempted to go would lead to death, that there was no way out of this labyrinth at all.  He’d prepared himself for the end, thinking of what a foolish and ignominious way this was to die.

He hadn’t stopped, though.  He’d kept going while there was still strength in his body, and, miraculously, he had eventually prevailed.  That day he had reached his destination.  Now as he retraced the steps in his mind, he believed that he could do it again.  He could make it through and continue on his way toward his destiny.

He pushed onward and upward, gritting his teeth and fighting against the slippery steel, bracing his legs to prevent a fall.  Time passed in slow motion – he couldn’t be sure if he’d been in this shaft for a matter of seconds or many long hours.  It was irrelevant, he decided.  Everything was irrelevant, but for the mechanics of pushing himself upward, sliding hands and feet and body, bracing, and repeating it over and over again.  Moving himself further along the network and onto the next section of ducting.

At the top of the shaft was a narrow right angle that he remembered well.  He’d been wedged there, the first time, stuck fast.  He’d recalled an alley cat in the slums that had, in his youth, attempted to run under a wooden fence and broken its back.  It had lain there, mewling pitifully, until one of the older boys had stepped forward and stomped it repeatedly to finally put an end to its misery.

That was how Knile had felt the first time he had been through here, like the cat under the fence, except that there was no one to come and end his suffering should he find he could go no further.

He knew how to approach it this time, however, how to angle his body and wriggle and use his legs to brace himself and apply the force necessary to squeeze through.  It only took a few moments before he’d progressed, squirting through the gap with relative ease, a feat that almost seemed too simple.  He looked under his armpit in surprise, wondering why.  Then he realised that he had probably lost some weight since his last attempt, and this fact, coupled with his new approach, had made a previously difficult task very easy.

“Starving to death in the lowlands finally has an upside,” he muttered.

He continued through several more shafts, breathing easier now, and then he saw light ahead.  Wriggling forward, he came to a grill that opened out into a corridor beyond.  Taking a few moments to make sure that no one was around, he began to wrestle with the frame.  The false screws that he’d added years ago popped out and skittered across the floor outside, and then he lowered the frame gently downward.

He silently thanked the maintenance crew for not discovering the false screws over the years.  If they’d been replaced, he’d have made a lot more noise bashing his way out, and that was the kind of attention he didn’t need.

Knile began to push his body outward, making sure to keep a good grip behind him.  First time around he had slipped while trying to exit the duct, exhausted and overeager to be free of his confinement, and fractured his collarbone.  He remembered at the time that he had almost welcomed the pain, revelling in the acuteness of it, the feeling of it throbbing in his neck, because it meant that he was still alive.  Death had not claimed him inside the air ducts.

Now he levered himself out of the cavity and dropped easily to the floor.  Returning the grill to its proper place, he collected up the screws and wedged them back in place, more an exercise in covering his tracks than an investment in the future.  After all, he was never coming this way again.

Taking a moment to brush himself off and collect his thoughts, Knile began to move along the corridor.

16

The second tier of the Reach encompassed roughly sixty floors, from Levels Forty to One Hundred, and was collectively known as ‘Gaslight’, a slang term that had become ubiquitous in its use.  The name was derived from the old-fashioned style of light fixtures that could be found across the many levels, ceiling-mounted lamps enclosed by iron frames and five glass panels in the shape of a trapezoid.  These gave off a nostalgic kind of watery yellow light, a stark change from the bright fluoros of the maintenance tier below, and the mood was, in turn, reminiscent of a more romantic epoch in history.

They weren’t real gas lights, of course.  Oil and gas supply had long since dried up on Earth, the last of the fossil fuels sucked from the ground in the heady days before the evacuations.  These lamps were powered by electricity, either from the reactor at the base of the building or through the solar panels that were built into the exterior of the Reach.  Perhaps it was a testament to the waning productivity of these energy sources that the lamps seemed even dimmer than the last time Knile had been here.

Knile wound his way through the corridors and up several flights of stairs, passing a few of the inhabitants without incident.  Not for the first time, he pictured how this place may have looked in its heyday, the curving steel walls burnished and gleaming, the floors clean and unbroken.  Back then it had probably seemed modern and, to an extent, even luxurious.

In contemporary times it was a far cry from that ideal.  The walls were turning a jaundiced shade of yellow and there were streaks of rust where moisture had permeated the joins in the metal.  Yellow line markings on the floor that had once provided pedestrians with routes and directions had all but worn away from the passage of many feet.  Interactive information kiosks on the sides of the thoroughfares stood dark and unused, their screens cracked and covered in graffiti in garish shades of pink and lime green.

The Enforcer presence was not particularly strong in Gaslight and Knile did not anticipate encountering them in any great numbers.  This tier belonged to the working class of the Reach – many of the cleaners, couriers and maintenance staff lived here, along with meat workers and those who toiled away in the greenhouses above.  These were folk that Knile identified with.  He had lived here for some time and had gotten to know many of them during that period.  He supposed there was a chance that he would be recognised, but he was not overly concerned by that either.  These weren’t the kind of people to rat each other out to the Enforcers.

Still, Knile kept a low profile, moving quickly and keeping his head down.  He wasn’t about to begin relying upon the goodwill of others to keep himself safe.

On Level Fifty-Three he came to a relatively spacious market, a roughly circular array of outlets that served as one of the commercial hubs within Gaslight.  The place was packed with people, just as Knile remembered, bartering and arguing over prices, hauling goods about or indulging in some light chit-chat.  Knile spotted a couple of Enforcers on the other side of the market, but they were relatively subdued.  They were still the peacekeepers inside the Reach, the lawmen, but they couldn’t manhandle or coerce the inhabitants of Gaslight with impunity like they did in Link or in the slums.  The people inside the Reach had rights and the Enforcers knew it.  Behind closed doors, Knile had no doubt that men in black would still do unspeakable things, but out in the open they could not afford to be so brazen.

Knile kept out of the Enforcers’ way and soon found the place he was looking for, a little shop poking out of the shadows in the corner of the market.  Ostensibly it was just another bland corner store where the people of Gaslight could buy meat and fresh produce, milk and eggs, alcohol of varying potency and basic pharmaceutical products as well.  A sign that read Ollie’s hung above the door, faded and peeling in the glow of the wan light outside, and below that Knile could see another sign – a softly glowing red symbol, a stylised version of the letter ‘C’.

It was an icon that belonged to the Consortium, denoting the location of one of their emissaries.

Knile glanced back at the Enforcers.  If they had their way, they’d have been camped outside Ollie’s on a permanent basis, keeping tabs on all those who entered and exited so that they could stick their nose into the business of the Consortium.  The Consortium, however, did not allow this.  They were an organisation based off-world that stood above the jurisdiction of the Enforcers, and they were not subject to any laws here in the Reach.  There were almost ten consulates of the Consortium spread across the Reach, and the Enforcers were not welcomed in any of them.

Knile stepped inside the store.  Three narrow aisles ran lengthways toward the back, and a glass refrigerated section shone its dismal light from the far wall, where a customer seemed to be examining the expiration date on a container of milk.  The clerk stood behind the counter waiting patiently.

“Morning to you,” he said politely.

“Morning.”

“Can I help you?”

Knile walked over to get a better look at the man.  He was not the same clerk who had worked here in the past, but Knile supposed that was not so surprising.  He had been gone a while and the population of the Reach was in constant flux.

“I’m here to see Jon Hanker.”

The man nodded as if this were all very routine and pressed a button for an intercom on his desk.

“Darkroom, we’ve got a customer here.  Please advise.”

He smiled reassuringly at Knile and twiddled his thumbs as he waited for a reply.  Knile glanced up to see the wall-mounted camera pointed right at him.  He suppressed the urge to wave.  The customer with the milk moved past, swiping a credchip for the clerk as payment, then grumbled a farewell on his way out the door.  Moments later the clerk pressed a finger to his tiny earpiece as he received a reply.

“Yes.  Good.”  He glanced up at Knile.  “Okay, you’re good to go.  All verified.”

He gestured to the far wall, where a door was beginning to slide open.

“Thank you,” Knile said, and he proceeded to enter the portal.

Behind the door, a short and narrow corridor covered in gleaming white linoleum led to two armed men dressed in red uniforms.  They stood motionless, offering no response to Knile’s arrival.  These were the Crimson Shield, colloquially known as Redmen, the personal escort of the consul.  Their suits were spotless, their faces clean-shaven and their hair neat, a sharp contrast to the often dishevelled Enforcers.  As he passed them, Knile noted their hardware with a degree of admiration – pulse rifles, high-tensile ceramic armour plating, augmented reality visors.  These guys were not to be messed with.  The technology and weaponry at their disposal dwarfed anything available to the Enforcers or any other faction in the Reach.

At the end of the corridor was a small but luxurious office, outfitted on one side with a sleek leather sofa, a coffee table and a silver water cooler.  Over by the other wall sat two neat black chairs and a broad grey laminate desk, behind which sat a middle-aged man in a black suit.

“Welcome back, Knile,” the man said with a smile.

“Mr. Hanker,” Knile said, moving across and shaking the man’s extended hand.

“Huh?  What’s this ‘Mr. Hanker’ business?” Hanker said playfully.  “What happened to ‘Hank’?”

Knile shrugged, taking a seat across from the other man.  “I wasn’t sure if you’d remember me after all this time.”

Hank smiled again.  He had a neatly manicured grey beard which he stroked idly.

“I remember,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.  “You’re the guy who can move things around the Reach like no one else.  You really came in handy when official channels weren’t available.”  He dropped his hands.  “I’ve missed you.”

“I’m almost surprised you’re still around,” Knile said.  “I didn’t expect that.  I figured you’d have shipped off to greener pastures by now.”

Hank leaned back in his chair and tapped a postcard that was stuck on the wall over by his desk phone.  It depicted a pristine collection of white domes connected via a network of conduits and steel support structures under a black sky.

“Six months,” Hank said smugly.  “Six months, and I’m out.  My time is almost done.”

“Nice,” Knile said appreciatively.  “Where is that?  Ganymede?”

“Europa.  Damn fine piece of real estate.”

“Or you could stay here…?”

Hank laughed.  “Like heck!  I can’t wait to get out of this monstrous relic.”  He tapped his chin.  “Maybe you and I can meet up for a drink out there when all this is done.  I’m pretty sure I owe you one.”

“Sure.  I’ll take some water, if that’s on offer.”

Hank nodded amiably.  “Could’ve offered you that any time you like, had you shown your face in the last few years.”

“You didn’t think I was dead?”  Knile got up and moved over to the water cooler.  After all that sweating in the air ducts he was incredibly parched.  “Everybody else seemed to think that.”

“The Enforcers thought you were, but we didn’t.”  Hank leaned forward.  “Once they find out you’re back, they’re going to be looking for you.”

“I thought the Consortium called the shots with those guys,” Knile said.  He began to fill up his flask.  The water from the cooler was so clear it seemed surreal.  Knile hadn’t seen anything like it in a long time.  “Can’t you do me a favour and tell them to back off?”

“Doesn’t work that way, my friend, and you know it.  The Consortium has a strict policy – we don’t meddle in the Enforcers’ jurisdiction.  They police the Reach from the Atrium down, and we control everything above that.  That’s how it works.”

“The Consortium is a big, powerful organisation.  Why don’t you guys just take control of everything?”

Hank leaned back and sighed.  “I’m sure I’ve had this conversation with you before, Knile.”

Knile shrugged and the water cooler gave off a belching sound as air bubbles rose to the top.  “Maybe.”

Hank eyed him good-naturedly.  “Okay, I’ll humour you.  We don’t really care to become involved in the affairs of the Enforcers.  Herding the huddled masses around Link and the slums, or even through the Reach, is not the best use of our resources.  Our Crimson Shield are elite soldiers, not pig farmers.  In contrast, the Enforcers are unskilled oafs.  They’re dullards, thugs in uniforms with barely a brain cell between them.  They’re well suited to what they do.”  He shrugged.  “The Consortium leaves the herding of the pigs to the pig farmers.  There are no exceptions to this policy, no matter how nicely you squeal.  Does that make it clear?”

“So I take it that you’re not going to give me a personal escort up through the Atrium, then?”

Hank laughed.  “Nice try, old buddy.  The Consortium just runs a space elevator.  That’s it.  We’re a service for Sponsors to move people and items up the Wire.  We’re not anyone’s private minders.  Heck, we get clients from within Link, the slums…”  He gestured at Knile.  “From the lowlands, even.  Do you think we’re going to send Redmen traipsing out all over the planet to haul passengers back here?”  He shook his head.  “Sorry.  We don’t have the men for that.  If you have an issue with the Enforcers, that’s something you have to sort out yourself.  The only dialogue we have with them is when they trespass in one of our consulates or try to go higher than the Atrium.  But they know not to do that.”

Knile raised his eyebrows.  “It’s not much of a service if your passenger can’t make it to the elevator because he’s been captured by Enforcers.  Do you give the Sponsor a refund if I don’t make it in time?”

“Your Sponsor signed a waiver when they paid us.  They all do.  The Consortium offers no guarantees of safety.  We just reserve a seat on the elevator.  It’s up to the passengers to do the rest.  If the Sponsor has doubts about the passenger’s ability to make it there in one piece, they shouldn’t be ponying up the creds in the first place.”  He tapped his fingers together.  “Why don’t you go see the people up in Administration, a few levels up?  They’re the ones who collect the taxes and run the Reach.  Maybe they can help you.”  Hank’s eyes twinkled with mischief.

Knile laughed to himself, giving up the game.  “They’d more likely put me in cuffs.”

“Why the concern, Knile?  If I remember right, you move around in this place like a ghost half the time anyway.  Why would you need an escort?”

“Maybe I’m just getting old.”

“I doubt that.”

Knile finished at the water cooler and returned to his chair.

“So who is it?” he said tensely.  “My Sponsor?”

Hank pursed his lips.  “Well, I can’t tell you that, Knile.  Heck, I don’t even know myself.  The Sponsor chose not to disclose that information, as a matter of discretion.  It’s not unheard of.  Quite common, in fact.”

“You can’t even give me a hint?”

“If I was a betting man, I’d say it’s someone who has a chequered past, much like yourself, who doesn’t want anyone to know what they’re up to.”

“Makes sense, but doesn’t get me any closer to their identity.”

“I’m sure you can figure it out, Knile,” Hank said, linking his fingers in front of him.  “How long can the list be?”

“What do you mean?”

“How many people do you know off-world?  Someone who would be willing to rescue Knile Oberend from this toxic prison?  Friends?  Relatives?”

“I can’t think of anyone,” Knile admitted.

“Well, there’s someone.”  Hank punched a code on a safe next to his desk, then reached in and plucked something out.  He held it up for Knile to see.  “Here’s the proof.”

Hank held in his hand an object with which Knile was only too familiar.  It was a dull golden colour, shaped in a rounded rectangle about the size of his index finger.  Hank swept his finger across a shallow indentation on one end of it, and a series of letters began to glow on its face.

It read: Knile Oberend.

“A legit passkey with your name on it,” Hank said, holding it steady.  “Did you ever think you’d see the day?”

“Not really,” Knile said.  It was the truth.  In fact, it felt curiously odd just to look at the passkey.  He was certain that any second he would blink and those letters would disappear, replaced by the letters that made up the name of the real owner of the key.  But that did not happen.

Hank lowered the passkey and inserted it into a device on the desk, a sleek silver mechanism with an aperture perfectly suited to admit the golden key.  The device came to life and began to flicker with red LEDs.

“Encode, please,” Hank said.

Knile knew enough about the passkeys to understand what he had to do.  Extending his hand, he placed his thumb on the indentation on the passkey and waited as the procedure was carried out.  The device vibrated slightly and then ejected itself into the palm of his hand.

“Encoding complete,” Hank said, making a note of it on the terminal on his desk.  “Congratulations, Knile.  The passkey is now encoded to your DNA.  It’s yours to take.”

Knile drew the passkey back slowly, full of reverence, and stared down at it – his ticket out of this world.  He swiped his thumb across the indentation as Hank had done before him.

Knile Oberend.

He checked his watch.  Twenty-eight hours left before his ride began its ascent.

“Plenty of time if you’re taking the main elevators,” Hank said, noticing the gesture.  “Not much time if you’re not.”

“If you loan me those two Redmen at the door, I promise I’ll have them back in an hour,” Knile joked.

“Then who’s going to protect me from all those scumbags outside who want to get in here and steal my passkeys?”

“Shit, Hank, I don’t know.  Learn karate or something.  Do I have to think of everything?”

Hank laughed again and reached across to shake Knile’s hand.  He gave it a firm pump, then seemed to think of something.

“Oh, wait!  I’ve got a job you might be interested in, Knile.”

Knile stared at him, nonplussed.  “A job?  Right now?”

Hank held up an index finger.  “One second.”  He pressed a button on the intercom.  “Can you find the girl and send her in please?”

The girl? Knile thought, alarmed.  What’s going on?  And then, unbidden, he saw the face of Mianda in his mind.  No, don’t even think about that.

“You okay, buddy?” Hank said.  “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Who’s the girl, Hank?”  Knile’s hands had become claws, digging into the armrests of his chair hard enough to crease the fabric.

“Uh, it’s easier for me to show you,” Hank said.  “She’ll be here in a moment.”

The Consortium was a powerful corporation.  They’d known about Knile surviving the incident up in the Atrium years before.  Did they also have information about Mianda?  Had she survived, and was she now mixed up in this somewhere?

A door opened from deeper in the complex, and Knile turned toward it with something akin to terror as his mind raced with the implications of that simple label – the girl.  Although he’d been telling everyone that Mianda was dead, even telling himself that, he now knew that, deep inside him, he desperately hoped that was not the case.

When the girl did finally appear, however, he felt utterly foolish about his reaction.

She was young, maybe thirteen years old, and she looked as though she’d been on the streets for most of that time.  A real street urchin.  She was dressed in a drab grey blouse and dark jeans, and her blond hair was knotted and filthy.  Her face was crusted with dirt, within which resided the only unblemished feature she possessed – a pair of startlingly clear blue eyes.

She carried what looked like a small, shiny metal briefcase, a possession that was at odds with her beggarly appearance.  She watched Knile warily as she clutched the briefcase protectively to her chest.

For his part, Knile sat there, perplexed at this new development.

“What’s going on?” Knile said, glancing between the child and Hank.

“This here is Ursie,” Hank said.  “She came to my attention a couple of days ago.”  He pointed to the sofa.  “Take a seat, Ursie.”

The girl turned and sat on the sofa without a word, glancing between the two men with those big, round eyes.

“Ursie has with her something that’s very valuable,” Hank went on.  “There’s a buyer off-world who’s willing to pay a mountain of creds for this particular item.  Not just willing.  They’re desperate for it.  They’re hitching a ride down the Wire, and they’ll be waiting right about the time you’re ready to board.”

“Yeah, so?”

“So there’s a problem.  Ursie here is wanted by the Enforcers.  She’s somewhat of a kindred spirit of yours.  She can’t just take a ride up the elevators and deliver it herself.”

“What’s she wanted for?”

Hank glanced at the girl.  “She likes to take things that don’t belong to her.  Once again, much like yourself.”

Knile raised his eyebrow.  “So let’s cut to the chase.  You want me to take the briefcase and deliver it to the buyer, right?”

Hank sighed.  “Not exactly.  The merch is inside the briefcase.”

“And?”

“And the briefcase lock has over eight-thousand-bit encryption keeping the contents secure.  Only Ursie knows the code.”

“Right.  So Ursie opens the case and gives me the contents–”

“No,” Hank said.  “That’s not going to happen.”

“Why not?”

Ursie suddenly opened her mouth.  “Because I don’t want some lowlife stealing my shit,” she said.  Knile turned his head to look at her, and she returned his gaze with a degree of hostility, showing no sign of being intimidated.

“Lowlife?  You should look in a mirror some time, kid,” Knile shot back.  “Assuming you can see through the dirt.”

“I didn’t mean you specifically,” she said.  Her voice was deeper than Knile had expected, and he wondered if she was older than she looked.  “I meant anyone who tries to steal what’s mine.”

“Okay, quick one-oh-one on commerce, kid,” Knile said.  “First rule is, if you want to actually sell something, you have to pass it on to the buyer at some point.”

“I know that,” she said, glowering at Knile over the briefcase.

“I mean, that is your aim here, right?  You want to make some creds out of this thing.”

“Knile,” Hank interjected, “she wants to be there when the deal is made.  The buyer is going to make the purchase in person, but he’s not coming further south than the roof.  Doesn’t want to risk entering the Reach.”

Knile scratched his head.  “Okay, so if Ursie gives me the merch right now and I take it with me, then I can do the deal and transfer her share of the creds to her chip–”

“I’m not doing that,” Ursie said hotly.  “I don’t trust you.  For all I know you could make the deal and take all the creds yourself.  I’d never see a cent of it.”

Knile shrugged.  “Screw it, then.”  He turned back to Hank.  “Sorry, man.  I don’t need this hassle.”

Hank swivelled his display so that Knile could see, pointing to a number at the bottom.

“This is the offer,” Hank said.

Knile peered at the screen, not quite believing what he was seeing.

“Is that for real?”

“Apparently so,” Hank said.

Knile rested his head on his hand and whistled appreciatively.  “That’s a lot of zeroes.”

“Uh-huh.”

Knile considered for a moment, then swivelled back toward Ursie.

“What the hell is in the case?  And how did you come by it?” Knile said.

“I’m a good thief.”

“Aren’t you worried that someone could just come and hack the case open with a crowbar?  Your fancy encryption won’t do you any good then.”

“It’s a boom box,” Hank said.  “If the case is tampered with or opened forcibly, the contents are destroyed instantly by chemicals in the lining.”

Knile grimaced.  “Clever.  And where did you get that?” he said to the girl.

Ursie gave him a sardonic smile.  “I’m a good thief,” she said again.

Knile snorted and shook his head.  “Hank, I’ll pass on this one.”

Hank nodded.  “It’s your decision.  I just hope you’re thinking about your future.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Hank reached out and pulled the display back toward him, hiding it from Knile’s view.

“What happens when you get to the top of the Wire?  When you’re free of Earth and safely in Habitat One, ready to launch out into the solar system?”

“I guess that depends on my Sponsor.”

“A person you admitted you know nothing about.”

Knile frowned.  “What are you getting at, Hank?”

“What happens if you get up there and something unexpected occurs?  What happens if your Sponsor isn’t the benefactor you were hoping for, but instead someone with an ulterior motive?  What happens if you find yourself all alone?”

Knile considered that.  “I’ll figure something out.”

“You can figure all you want, but without the creds you’re not going anywhere.  They don’t tolerate vagrants at Habitat One.”  Hank leaned forward intently.  “What happens if they send you back down the Wire?”

“That doesn’t happen.”

“I have records that say it does.”  Hank leaned back again.  “I’m not trying to scare you, Knile.  I’m just telling you that you need to be prepared for every eventuality.  If you have enough creds, you control your own destiny.”  He looked back at the display.  “With this much cash you could choose any place to live that you want.”

“Yeah, but… hauling the kid all the way up the Reach?  I’m no babysitter, Hank.”

“I don’t need a fucking babysitter,” Ursie said vehemently.  “I can look after myself just fine.  What I’m looking for is a business partner.”

“Oh, really?” Knile said.

“Yeah.  Fifty-fifty split.  You get me to the Atrium, we make the deal and split the creds, and then you go on your joyride.”

“And what if you slow me down up there?” Knile said.  “I move fast.”

“If you decide you need to cut and run, fine,” Ursie said.  “I’ll find my own way home.  But you don’t get a single cred unless you get me through the Atrium.  Any less than that and you get nothing.”

Hank spread his hands.  “Sounds like a deal you can’t lose, Knile.”

Knile tapped his lip, glaring at Ursie and then at Hank.  He didn’t like it.  He was at his best when he operated alone, and especially with this timeframe causing such a squeeze…

Still, Hank had a point.  This was a good insurance policy.  Those creds would give him the ability to call his own shots once he got off-world.  It would provide the perfect springboard for his new life, regardless of the intentions of this mysterious Sponsor.

Knile looked back at Ursie.  “You slow me down and I’ll ditch you.  That’s a promise.”

Ursie nodded, and for the first time her air of belligerence dissipated and she relaxed the stiffness of her arms around the case.

“Fine.”

“Then it’s settled,” Hank said, getting up.  “You’re in good hands, kid.  Knile is the best in the business.”

Ursie slipped her legs forward and placed her feet on the floor.  She got to her feet.

“He better be.”

17

They were led by one of the Crimson Shield down another corridor, a secret passage of sorts that allowed visitors of the consulate to leave unnoticed and which in turn protected their anonymity.  Ursie stowed the briefcase in a shabby satchel that was slung over her shoulder, then came to a halt behind Knile while they waited for the Redman to check that the path was clear.  The Redman entered a code on the door and stepped out.

“Good idea, putting the case away,” Knile said to her.  “That thing practically screams ‘rob me’ to anyone looking for a score.”

“Glad you approve,” Ursie said sarcastically.  “It’s great to be learning so much from you already.”

Knile looked at her disdainfully.  “Hey, don’t forget who’s doing who a favour here.”

The Redman reappeared and beckoned for them to follow him.  They came out into the rear of a store that was different from the one Knile had entered, this one stocking clothes and a few household goods.  The exit from the consulate was well disguised in one corner, masked by a stack of shelves that contained folded garments and piles of linen.

Knile glanced about the store to see if anyone had noticed them, but it seemed they had arrived unobserved.

“Thanks,” he said to their escort, but when he turned he found that the man had already stepped back into the passageway.  The Redman closed the door without another word, leaving the two of them alone.

“Friendly bunch,” Ursie said, hitching up the satchel on her shoulder.

“Yeah.”

Knile surreptitiously ran his finger down the inside of his pocket to a secret compartment where he’d stowed the passkey.  He could feel the smooth edges of it, the coolness of the metal through the thin fabric.  He’d weighed up a few options for hiding the precious gadget, including in his shoe and tucking it under his belt, but this was the most secure place he could think to put it for now.

“So where are we going?” Ursie said.

Knile began to move through the store, stepping around a woman who was inspecting a pair of fawn-coloured slacks.  She seemed ensconced in her shopping and paid the two newcomers no mind.

“Time to go shopping,” Knile replied.

“Huh?  What do you need?”

“What do I need?” Knile said.  “About fifteen hours sleep.”

The remark was meant to be flippant, an attempt at dry humour, but as soon as the words left his mouth he realised that he was tired.  Dead tired.  He hadn’t slept in the last forty-eight hours, and now he was beginning to feel it.  Adrenaline had pushed him along up until now, keeping his faculties buoyant through the slums, Link, and the lower levels of the Reach, but now even that was waning.  Fatigue was upon him in a rush, a punishing weight on his shoulders that would soon make his limbs weary and his thoughts sluggish.

This was not how he wanted to operate.  He needed to be one hundred percent clear, one hundred percent sharp, all the way to the top of the Reach.  Any less and he wouldn’t make it.

But right now, it was simply a luxury he didn’t have.  In a few hours he could rest.  Until then he would have to find a way to cope.

“You can sleep on your own time,” Ursie said as they left the store.  “Right now I’m paying you to–”

Knile whirled and grabbed her by the upper arm, startling the girl with the suddenness of his movement.

“Wait right there.  Let’s get one thing straight, okay?  This is my gig, and there’s only one person who makes decisions on how it runs – me.  If I say we sleep, we sleep.  If I say we walk, or run, or hide, then we do that.  Because if we don’t, we’ll most likely end up dead or rotting in the Cellar, and that means neither of us gets what we want.  Do you understand that?”

Ursie glared up at him, sullen.  “Yeah.”

“If you don’t like any of those terms, you can walk right now.  You’re a passenger on this ride, not the one behind the controls.”

“Okay, man.  I’ve got it.  Let me go.”

Knile released her and continued on his way, threading his way through the crowds while Ursie tagged along behind.

“We need some supplies,” Knile said.  “I don’t have many creds to my name these days, but enough to buy some food and some other essentials we’ll need for the trip.”

“Yeah, all right.”

“Just keep up and watch out for Enforcers, okay?  That’s all you have to do for now.”

Knile led her through a series of stores, picking up a backpack at his first stop, then a small amount of food to place inside it.  At a hardware outlet he bought rope and some tools, including needle-nose pliers and a screwdriver, taking particular time and care to inspect the implements as he gauged their quality.  He also picked up several tech parts, including a length of grey cable and a couple of circuit boards.

They were on their way to the next store, crossing through a throng of people when Knile felt someone grip his sleeve and jerk it sharply.  He whirled, fearing he was being robbed, but by the time he had reacted, the perpetrator had already drawn back several steps and stood watching him.

She was a young girl, younger even than Ursie, with chocolatey-coloured skin and a thick bunch of golden-brown curls sprouting from her head like coils of thick wire.  She regarded Knile calmly with eyes that were so dark they were almost black.

“It’s the only way out,” she said enigmatically.  She held something in her right hand that Knile couldn’t quite make out.

“What?” Knile said, irritated at the intrusion.  “What’re you–”

He glanced down at his wrist, and just above his watch was imprinted a single word in bold black ink: ‘Skybreach’.

“You little turd!” Knile growled, but when he looked up, the girl was already receding into the crowd.

“What happened?” Ursie said, poking her head around to see what Knile was looking at.

“I got tagged,” he said.  “Little shit caught me off guard.”

With paper becoming scarcer, tagging had become prevalent in recent years, a technique used by various causes and activist groups to spread awareness of their existence in lieu of flyers.  The intended recipient was stamped with a temporary tattoo, usually without their permission, to serve as a reminder.

Knile rubbed his thumb across the tag, but it had already dried.

“What does it mean?” Ursie said.

“Who cares?”  Knile yanked his sleeve back in place, covering the tattoo.  “It’s just someone trying to bilk me out of my creds.  No, thanks.”

“It’ll wear off in a couple of days,” Ursie said.  “Don’t worry about it.”

Brushing the incident aside, Knile led Ursie to another clothing store and approached the young woman behind the counter.

“Good day,” the clerk said.

“Hi,” Knile said in return.  “I was here a while back and really liked the look of some of your finer garments.  I wonder if you still have any of those?”

The woman looked at the two of them doubtfully, dressed as they were in their grubby, worn attire, and her cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

“Sir, we have many items that would be far better suited–”

“I can pay,” Knile assured her.  He flashed his credchip briefly.  “Birthday present for my special little girl here.”

The woman glanced at Ursie, who offered a weak smile in return.  She seemed to think about it for a few moments, then inclined her head politely.

“Of course.  Wait here a moment, please.”

The woman disappeared into a storeroom behind the counter and Ursie edged forward to gain Knile’s attention.

“Seriously?” she said.  “Do you really have the time and the creds to waste on this fancy shit?”

“Just picking up the essentials.”

The girl placed her palm on her forehead in exasperation.

“What have you gotten yourself into, Ursie?”

The clerk returned with a pale blue dress, a simple yet elegant number that Knile took gently in his hands with a little nod of gratitude.  He held it up against Ursie to gauge the fit.

“What do you think?” he said.

Ursie seemed nonplussed.  “Uh–”

“I love it too,” he said enthusiastically, laying it on the counter.  “And I think I’ll take something for myself while I’m here.”  He spread his hands in mock helplessness.  “I’m out of control!”

The clerk smiled and bobbed her head and then moved away again.  “Very well, sir.”

“What are you doing?” Ursie hissed.

“Just play your part and act natural, kid,” Knile said, the fake smile he had presented to the clerk fading away.

“That’s not easy when you’re being weird.”  Ursie glanced outside the shop nervously, linking an arm around the satchel and gripping it tightly to her body.

“And stop strangling that satchel,” he cautioned.  “If people see you holding it like there’s gold dust in there, they’re probably going to get the wrong idea.”

“I’m not a complete idiot, man.  I know what I’m doing.”

“Really?” Knile said, turning to face her.  “Like placing your trust in a man you just met, a man you know has a criminal past?  A man who is far stronger than you and could pry that thing” – his eyes flicked to the satchel – “out of your hands as easy as falling off a chair?  A man who could torture you until you gave up the access code, then steal your prize and leave you for dead?”  Knile shook his head.  “Don’t be so sure about how clever you are.  To me, you’re just a naive kid who tripped over a winning lottery ticket and now has no idea how to cash it in.”

Ursie shifted uneasily.  “Hanker vouched for you.  That counts for something.”

“Not much.”

“And I read people pretty well.”

Knile guffawed.  “You read people pretty well?  You’re staking your life and the fortune of the century on your ability to read me?  After you’ve known me for all of ten seconds?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I hope that kind of ability gets you far, kid.”  She made no response, just stared at him with big watery eyes, and his expression softened.  “Don’t worry, I’m not going to kill you and leave you in a ditch.”

Ursie seemed to exhale subtly with relief.  “I’m counting on it.”

The clerk came back with clothes for Knile, a surprisingly smart dinner suit, and after a quick appraisal Knile decided to take it.

“Anything else?” the clerk said, more pleasant and accommodating with the scent of a big sale in her nostrils.

“That will be all,” Knile said, swiping his credchip to complete the transaction.  There was a brief pause and then the sale went through.  The clerk folded the garments neatly and offered them to Knile, who placed them inside his now bulging backpack.

“Thank you.” The clerk beamed.  “Have a nice day.”

“And you.”

They left the store and Ursie jogged to keep up with Knile’s brisk pace.

“Where to now?” she said.

Knile scowled.  “Are you going to keep asking that question?”

“Probably.”

“Shit.  I should have picked up a gag somewhere.”  He jabbed his finger toward the ceiling.  “Up.  We’re going up.”

18

The woman behind the desk fumbled her cup of tea and almost dropped it, such was her surprise at the sudden arrival of the man before her.  The saucer clattered on the pristine marble reception desk and she uttered a little cry of dismay.

“My goodness, Inspector Duran!” she exclaimed, startled and a little angry.  “What on earth do you think you’re doing?”

Duran swept up to the desk and thrust his hands upon it, his fingers making little steeples as he leaned forward urgently.

“My apologies, Mrs. Appleby,” he said, breathless.  “I didn’t mean to startle you.”  He glanced over her shoulder at the doorway to the executive office, which was closed.  “I need to see Commissioner Prazor immediately.  This is a matter of the utmost importance.”

Mrs. Appleby glared at him haughtily over her half spectacles.

“Out of the question.  The commissioner is in a very high-level meeting–”

“That doesn’t matter!” Duran shouted.  “Tell him I need to see him!”

“Excuse me, Inspector,” the old woman said, outraged.  “You will show some respect when you address me, or you can–”

Duran grunted in disgust and pushed away from the desk, stalking over toward the door purposefully.  He’d only taken a few strides when an armed Enforcer appeared from an alcove to intercept him.

“Stop him!” Mrs. Appleby screamed shrilly.  She placed a hand melodramatically on her bosom as if she were about to faint.

The Enforcer moved calmly between Duran and the door, his rifle pointed at his feet.

“Get out the way, Sergeant,” Duran said.

The sergeant gave an arrogant little half grin and shook his head, looking Duran up and down contemptuously.

“You think you can boss me around because you’re wearing that suit?”

“No, not because of that.  Because I’ll sit you on your ass if you don’t do what I say.”

The sergeant’s smile grew bigger.  “Oh, good.  I don’t get to see much action up here, most of the time.  Let’s see what the little tough guy can do.”

The door behind the sergeant opened, and an old, grey-haired man wearing a black suit poked his head out, a holophone clutched in one hand.

“What the hell is going on out here?” he demanded.

“Commissioner Prazor,” Duran blurted before the others could get a word in, “I apologise for the interruption, but I need to see you immediately.”

Prazor’s gaunt face turned toward Duran and he scowled, his piercing eyes the colour of cobalt.

“Alec?  What on god’s green earth is this about?”

“There’s an emergency,” Duran said.  “I need to talk to you right away.”

Prazor seemed to sigh inwardly, glancing down at the holophone in his hand and then back up at Duran.

“Give me thirty seconds.”  He began to close the door but stopped.  “Mrs. Appleby, calm down and drink your tea,” he added.  His eyes locked onto Duran.  “And you get a hold of yourself,” he said, then disappeared back inside his office.

Duran looked down at his jacket and pants, only now aware of his dishevelled appearance.  He straightened the lapels on his suit, tucked the collar of his shirt back in place and smoothed back his hair.  Prazor had always been one for keeping up appearances and he expected no less of those below him.

The sergeant slunk back into his alcove, watching Duran all the while with a faint little smile on his face, and Mrs. Appleby lowered herself back into her chair, keeping a wary eye on the inspector.  Duran noticed her surreptitiously adding a small dose of white powder to the tea, a sedative of some kind, Duran decided, and her features visibly relaxed after she had taken a couple of sips.

Duran stood waiting for the thirty seconds to elapse, not sure if Mrs. Appleby would give him a sign that he was good to go, or whether he was expected to count the time off himself.  Seeing the old woman slump serenely in her chair with a vacant expression on her face, he decided to choose the latter, striding forward and opening the door before anyone could stop him.

He eased the door shut again and looked about the commissioner’s office.  It was spacious and generously furnished with some of the finest fittings money could buy.  White leather chairs were arranged around an ornate rosewood coffee table.  A bar in the corner was stocked with liquor of many shapes, sizes and colours, most of which were no longer produced here on Earth.  Under his feet Duran could feel the softness of the immaculate cut pile carpet, which ran all the way out to the curved edge of the room, where massive bay windows looked out across the landscape, extending almost five metres to the ceiling.

Prazor himself sat behind a solid oak desk in a high-backed executive chair, still in conversation with someone on the holophone.  He indicated for Duran to sit with a curt motion.

“…and that’s as far as my projection goes.  I’m sorry,” came a voice from the phone’s speaker.

Prazor stared at the image of the woman on his phone and shook his head.

“That’s not good enough, Veronica,” he said, and Duran picked up a note of pleading in his voice.  “Not by half.”

“I understand your predicament, Commissioner, but there’s really nothing I can do.”

“This is a two-way agreement.  You know that.  If you want to keep things open from this side, you have to give me some blasted help!”

There was a pause.

“Have your administrators raise taxes again.”

Prazor threw back his head, exasperated.  “They can’t keep doing that and you know it.”

“Why not?”

Prazor gave Duran a sidelong glance and then grimaced.

“Veronica, something’s come up.  I’ll need to call you back.”

The woman carried on as if she hadn’t heard him.

“You need to make this work, Commissioner.  For your own sake.”

Prazor swiped his finger across the holophone and tossed it on the desk, where it skidded and spun across the glossy oak so far that it almost fell from the other edge.  As he pushed out of his chair and walked over to the window, Prazor thrust his hands into his pockets and wiggled them around as if searching for answers amongst the lint.

Duran was acutely aware of his poor timing, but also knew that it couldn’t be helped.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you, Commissioner–”

“What is it, Alec?  What’s got you in such a tizz?”

Duran got up and joined the old man over at the window, where tainted yellow sunlight streamed in around them, painting the cream carpet a deep shade of orange.

“I need men.  We need to start a sweep of the Reach immediately.”

“What?  Again?  Didn’t we just have this conversation?”

“That was for Deimona–”

“Who’s been neutralised, from what I hear.”

“He was, yes, but there’s a more important target who just showed up on our radar.”

Prazor arched a bushy eyebrow.  “Who now?”

“Knile Oberend.”

Prazor looked puzzled.  “Oberend?”  He seemed to search Duran’s face as if evaluating his words, then looked out the window again, shaking his head.  “I should have known this would happen.”

“What do you mean?”

“Look, Alec, I know you have history with Oberend.  I know you must have spent the last three years cursing his name, but you have to let it go.”

“Commissioner, I just saw a video feed–”

“Oberend is dead,” Prazor said sharply.  “You need to let it go, Alec.”

“I saw him–”

“It doesn’t matter what you saw.  I can’t give you the men in any case.”  He rounded on the younger man.  “Do you know how many resources I had to shift just to satisfy your requirements for the Deimona takedown?  Do you know how much effort that took?”

“I appreciate that, but–”

“And did you also know that I’ve had to lay off almost fifty men in the last six months?”  His eyes bored into Duran.  “Fifty blasted Enforcers who aren’t out there in the streets anymore.  Fifty men I had to take off the gates and patrols and checkpoints that we have to protect.”  He stared down at the city of Link baking in the afternoon sun almost two kilometres below.  “It can’t be done.”

“What’s going on?” Duran said uneasily.  “I just came from surveillance and they told me that most of the gear is being shut down.  What’s happening to us, Commissioner?  It wasn’t like this a few years ago when I was sent away.”

Prazor gripped Duran’s shoulder affectionately, his anger dissipating.

“Do you know why the space elevator that sits on top of the Reach has been running all of these years?  It’s because the Consortium keep it open.  This is a business for them.  They extract the only things of worth left on this planet and lift them up into space on behalf of off-world buyers.  Sometimes, that’s people – relatives or loved ones who were left behind.  Other times it’s artefacts or old pieces of hardware that, for whatever reason, have some value to someone out there in the habitats.

“Over the past couple of years it has become increasingly obvious that this business model of theirs is beginning to fall apart.  The margins are getting smaller.  There’s almost nothing down here left to take.  And so, the creds aren’t flowing downward much anymore.  The economy here is starting to fall apart.”

He looked at Duran with watery eyes.  “They’re going to pull out of here soon, Alec.  I know it.  They’ll shut the Wire down.  When that happens, the Enforcers will become obsolete.  Everything will fall to pieces, descend into chaos, and what’s left of this planet of ours will collapse into anarchy.”

Duran felt numb.  “There has to be something we can do.”

“There is,” Prazor said.  “We keep things ticking along, stretch things out as far as we can.  Make everyone think that we still have control, even if that’s not quite the reality.”

Always one for keeping up appearances, Duran thought.

“Yes, I understand,” Duran said.

“I always liked you, Alec.  That’s why I brought you back and gave you another chance.  Don’t go and lose your head now when I need you.”

Duran was adamant.  “Commissioner, I need to follow through on this thing with Oberend.  The facial recognition came up with a very close match for someone entering the Reach today.  I believe Oberend may have survived after all.”

Prazor chewed his lip.  “Very well.  Look into it if you must, but I can’t give you more men.  Those I gave you for Deimona have already been reassigned, and I can’t have them chasing ghosts and spectres on a whim.”  He gathered up the holophone again and began heading for the door.  “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to head up to Administration.”

“You don’t think he’s really alive, do you?”

“No, Alec.  I don’t.”

“You remember what he did, right?” Duran said, and Prazor paused at the door to look back at him.  “You remember the explosion, what happened in the Atrium?”

Prazor seemed to blanch, although his expression did not change.

“I remember.”

“And what happens if it’s really him, and he makes it up there once more?” Duran said.  “What happens if he does it again?”

Prazor’s mouth compressed into a thin line.  “Then God help us, Alec.  God help us all.”

19

Knile led Ursie through the corridors of Gaslight at a brisk pace.  At times the place was nothing but pokey little corridors and avenues, inhabited by shady characters leaning against walls and staring out from under hoodies and caps as they scrutinised those passing by.  Other levels opened up considerably with much taller ceilings and open spaces, the preferred abodes of law-abiding men and women and their families.

Higher up in Gaslight, Knile knew that the largest of these spaces, the cavernous habitat of Juncture Nine, offered a tantalising network of dark streets and alleyways that were perfect for sneaking about undetected.  Today, however, that was not the route that Knile wished to take.  The pathway that he had created up through the Reach all those years ago deviated to another place entirely.

“Hey, buddy,” a skinny man with slicked-back hair said, stepping in front of Knile.  His eyes were twitchy and his feet restless, as if the world wasn’t moving quite as fast as he wanted and he was eager for it to catch up.  “You lookin’ to fly?”

“No, I’m good,” Knile said, barely breaking stride as he pushed past the man.

“What about you, little lady?” the man called after them.  “Looks like you could use some fresh air.”

“We don’t want what you’re selling, creep,” Ursie said.  “Get lost.”

The man stopped, already scanning the thoroughfare for his next target.

“You change your mind, you know where to find me,” he said over the din of the crowd.

“Yeah, lying dead in a ditch,” Knile muttered.

“I swear, every second guy on the street is pushing something lately,” Ursie said.

“Man’s gotta make a living,” Knile said, his voice filled with irony.  “What’s the flavour of the week these days?”

“You name it.  Crank, Tranq, Trash–”

“Trash?” Knile said.  “They’re selling something called Trash?”

“Yup.”

Knile pretended to weigh this up.  “Any good?”

Ursie rolled her eyes.  “Yeah.  Really hits the spot.”  She rubbed the tips of her fingers together.  “If you’ve got the cash, Breeze is what you really want.”

“Haven’t heard of it.  Must be a recent invention.”

“It’s kinda the shiny new toy for the wealthy.  Harder to get, though.  There’s only one cook, from what I hear.”  She shrugged.  “Doesn’t matter to me.  I don’t touch any of that shit.”

They came to a stairwell and Knile stopped abruptly, thrusting out a hand to bar Ursie’s progress.  She opened her mouth to complain, then saw the Enforcer standing at the top of the stairs, his face buried in a holophone.  He glanced up as a young woman in a tight black skirt sauntered past, then went back to the phone.

“Problem?” Ursie said.

“Maybe.  I don’t know if these guys are looking for me yet.  Better to assume they are, I guess.”  He surveyed the close confines of the stairwell uneasily.  “And that means I don’t want to get too close to any of them.”

“So where to?”

He nodded behind them.  “Back this way.”

They moved back along through the crowd in the direction from which they had come.  Knile watched the inhabitants with increasing bleariness, his fatigue becoming more pronounced with each step.  He blinked and rubbed at his eyes as those around him began to blur into one.  He distantly wondered how they put themselves through this routine every day, these insignificant cogs in the great mechanism of the Reach.  They all played their part, he supposed, feeding the economy and paying their taxes, but those working here were too poor to ever earn their way off-world.  They would live and die in these dim corridors without any hope of ever moving on to someplace better.

Maybe that was all many of them wanted, he supposed.  Maybe their aspirations reached no higher than this insipid existence.  And that was why, he figured, he had never felt as though he was one of them.  He knew he was destined for something more.

The crowd thinned as Knile led Ursie through the less frequented areas of the level.  They came to an alcove that housed a grey fire door that was covered in scratches and a single splattered stain, as if someone had hurled a rotten tomato against it, the guts of which had slid all the way to the floor after the initial impact.  Three youths lounged against the curved spaces of the alcove like grubs nestled in a hollow log, their conversation coming to an abrupt halt, laughter replaced by unwelcome glares.

“The fuck do you want?” one of them said to Knile.  He wore a baseball cap backward on his head and his faded blue jeans seemed to be several sizes too big.

Knile glanced over his shoulder.  “An Enforcer’s headed this way.  Doing inspections by the looks of it.  Saw him haul someone off.”  Knile shrugged.  “Thought you’d like to know.”

“Who cares?” the boy said, waving dismissively.

“Nah, man,” the girl next to him.  “I got pinched last month.  I don’t need this shit.”

She stepped past the boy and made a hasty exit down the adjoining corridor.  The two boys who were left looked at each other, then decided that they might as well follow her.  They pushed off the wall and ambled past Knile and Ursie, attempting to appear cool and casual.  Their nervous glances up the corridor betrayed them, however, and after a few steps they fell into a kind of shuffling jog as they pursued the girl.

“Stand watch,” Knile instructed urgently, stepping over to the door and pulling out the holophone Giroux had given him, as well as the grey cable he had purchased downstairs.

“What for?” Ursie said.  “I thought you made up that story about the Enforcer.”

“I did, but I don’t want anyone to see what I’m about to do.”

He attached one end of the cable to the holophone and the other to the access panel on the door, then proceeded to tap away busily on the phone’s display.

“What are we doing in this place?” Ursie said.

“Taking a detour through a maintenance shaft.  I’d prefer to use the main passageways usually.  This way is slower, and I don’t like jacking more systems than necessary in case of alarms.  But with that Enforcer hanging around, this will have to do.”

Ursie glanced up and down the corridor.  It was empty.

“How do you know so much about this place, man?” she said.

“Huh?”

“The Reach.  How do you know so much about how it works?”

“Because I devoted my life to figuring it all out,” he said, only half paying attention to her as his fingers danced on the phone.  “While everyone else was trying to earn an honest living I was squirming through undiscovered passageways, studying the systems, figuring out the most important people… whatever it took.”

“Where’d you learn the tech?”

“Hung out with some hackers.  Did favours for them, got favours in return.  Had them show me the basics and figured out the rest myself.”

There was a sound down the corridor and Ursie held up a hand to Knile, indicating that he should stop.  A man in a grey maintenance uniform appeared toting a toolkit.  He stopped a little way along and shoved a key into a door, hocking noisily as he went inside.  The door slammed shut behind him and the corridor was quiet again.

“Okay, go,” Ursie said.

“Already done,” Knile said, and the door clicked open as Knile pulled the handle.  “After you.”

Inside was a narrow passageway that led away into darkness.  Knile carefully closed the door and then activated the LED flashlight on his belt.  There was a steel ladder leading upward not far away.

“Going up,” he said cheerily.  He strode over to the ladder and swung himself onto it, climbing a few steps before looking back at Ursie.  “Are you okay with heights?”

“Kinda,” she said unconvincingly.

“Don’t worry about it,” Knile said.  “This ladder is nothing.”

They moved up the ladder and into a tight shaft.  The flashlight bounced as Knile moved around, sending shadows cavorting about the tight space.  He realised that this was probably making life difficult for Ursie following behind, and as he looked down he could see her fumbling one hand after the next as she white-knuckled the rungs.  The shaft opened up again into a wider space as they reached the next level, but to Ursie’s dismay he continued up the ladder.

“This will actually work out okay for us,” Knile said.  “This shaft comes out not far from the destination I had in mind.”

“How far up does it go?” Ursie said, but it was evident from her tone of voice that there was another more pressing question in her mind: How soon can we get off?

“A couple more levels.  Nothing too crazy.”

They passed into another shaft and then another after that, their boots echoing and scraping in the confined space.  As they were about to reach the next level there was suddenly another noise – a metallic scratching sound, and Knile came to an abrupt stop.

“Pshhh,” Knile hissed, and Ursie froze.  A moment later a light came on in the level below them, splashing them with white fluorescence like a spotlight on a couple of burglars making their escape.  There was the sound of footsteps and a heavy thump, like something large being dumped on a table, and then the visitor seemed to pause.

Knile looked beneath his legs and locked eyes with Ursie staring up at him.  They were concealed somewhat within the shaft, but the slightest noise would likely give them away.

They waited breathlessly for whoever it was to make their next move.  After several excruciating seconds there was more noise as tools were rummaged through and something was dragged across wood, and then the footsteps resumed.  The sound receded and then the light clicked off as the visitor left, plunging the shaft into gloom again.

“Damn,” Ursie breathed.  “Close.”

“Yeah, probably just a maintenance guy, but we don’t want to run across anyone who could raise the alarm right now.”

They continued to climb, and a few minutes later they had made it to the desired location.  Knile gripped Ursie’s arm and helped her up the last few rungs, and as she planted her feet she sighed shakily.

“Not so bad,” Knile grinned.

“Yeah.  Not so bad.”

They found themselves in a room with copper pipes coated in sweat running up the wall, and a dripping sound echoed dully from an adjoining area.  It was humid and uncomfortably warm and there was a decidedly musty odour in the air.

“Plant room,” Knile informed her.  “The place we’re looking for isn’t far from here.”

They exited cautiously, keeping an eye out for more maintenance staff as they followed another series of corridors.  Soon they could hear voices up ahead and slowed as Knile took stock of the situation.

The voices were gruff and raucous, a group of men sharing a few jokes by the sounds of it.  Knile checked his wristwatch before leaning around the corner to see what lay in the next corridor.

“What is it?” Ursie whispered.

“I’m not sure what time these guys clock off,” Knile said.  “And I don’t really have time to wait.  We’ll head in around the back.  They won’t notice us if we’re quiet.”

Knile followed the corridor with Ursie close behind, and they came to the rear of the room from which the workers’ voices emanated.  They were so close that Knile and Ursie could see their shadows through the open doorway.

“And so she goes down on me, right?” one of the men was saying in a brash tone of voice.  “And my wife is asleep in the next room” – he said amid more gouts of laughter – “and then she asks if I mind if she takes her false teeth out!”

The man continued with his delightful anecdote amid the cheers and guffaws of his captive audience.  The intruders crept about in silence only a few metres away.  Knile collected a pair of grey coveralls and measured them against himself briefly, then did the same with Ursie.  There was nothing that looked as though it would fit her particularly well, so he simply chose the smallest size available.  He then grasped two climbing harnesses and a handful of metal clips that were on one of the shelves, then pointed to the exit to indicate they should leave.

The two of them slunk back out the way they had come as another of the workmen launched into a new story.  Knile winced as his boots squeaked on the concrete, but he needn’t have worried – the men were oblivious to their presence, caught up in laughter and stories.

Knile and Ursie continued through homogenous, grey-walled corridors on a path that snaked and twisted back and forth.  Eventually he stopped at what looked like a dead end, but which in fact contained a barely visible security door recessed into the wall.

“What are we doing?” she said.

“Time for a wardrobe change,” he replied, slipping the coveralls on over his clothes and pulling at the zipper in one long fluid movement.

“Really?” Ursie said, looking disdainfully at her woefully oversized coveralls.  “Is that necessary?”

“Only if you want to look like a maintenance guy and not like some trespasser going places they shouldn’t.”

She rolled her eyes but acquiesced, pulling the garment over her shoulders with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.  She watched Knile step into one of the harnesses and pull the straps tight around his midsection.  Then he began to fiddle with one of the metal clips he’d taken from the storeroom.

“What’s that?” Ursie said.  The sleeves of her coveralls extended well past her hands, the ends of them drooping as if she were some prankster about to go around pretending to be a ghost and scaring little kids.

“This is a carabiner,” Knile said.  “A very necessary part of our swag of climbing gear.”

“Climbing?” Ursie said worriedly, tugging at her sleeve to free her hand.  “What are we climbing now?”

“It’s probably better if I just show you.”

Ursie groaned.  “This just sounds better and better every second.  I guess I should have told you I don’t like hanging off tall, precarious things.”

“Well, the good news is, we’re not going up straight away,” Knile said, placing his fingers on the handle of the door behind him.  “First we’re going out.”

20

Alton stood quietly before the five men, a polite little smile on his face as they watched him warily. They were dressed in black two-piece suits with single-breasted jackets and plain cotton shirts that were open at the collar.  Five more men stood behind Alton with the same air of respect and the same attire, forming a loose ring around both him and Tucker.

This must have been one of the more opulent apartments in Juncture Nine, Alton decided.  The carpet was really quite lovely, he thought, clean and plush and well maintained, qualities that were hard to come by out in Link.  The furniture was respectable, the easy chairs and matching sofa a rich, dark brown, and tasteful canvases hung on the wall, abstract depictions whose dark tones accentuated the rest of the decor.  A large glass frame in the far wall looked out upon the ever-gloomy confines of Juncture Nine.

Alton regarded each man before him in turn.  They were rough sorts, no doubt about it.  There was a certain glint in their eyes, a steel that could only come from many hard years working the streets.  He imagined that every single one of them had done bad things in their time – broken the bones of debtors who had been late on their payments, carried out hits at the whim of their bosses.  They were thieves, murderers, men without conscience.

Those jackets that hung from their shoulders did not sit well, Alton decided, not a single one.  At first he hadn’t been sure what irked him about their appearance so much, but then he realised that was it.  They did not belong in such clothes, he thought.  Wearing the suits went against their nature.  It amounted to a poor attempt at respectability, and in the end only cheapened their appearance instead of enhancing it.  They looked foolishly out of place, like chimpanzees in tuxedos.

He’d hoped for better, but he supposed he would have to settle for the tools that were at his disposal.

“Where is he?” Alton asked no one in particular.

The men in suits glanced at each other uncertainly.

“He’ll be along when he’s ready,” one of them said.

Alton sighed and inclined his head toward Tucker beside him.

“Is no one punctual anymore?” he said with resignation.

“Good help is hard to find, boss,” Tucker said.

Alton lifted his holophone and checked it impatiently.

“Time is wasting away,” he said.

“He’ll be along soon,” the man in the suit insisted.

“Well, he’ll just have to catch up when he arrives,” Alton said.  “I’ve waited long enough.”

The men in suits looked at each other again, alarmed at this break in protocol.

“We aren’t the decision-makers,” another man said.  “You have to wait.”

“So,” Alton began, ignoring the man’s protest.  Despite their rough demeanours, he could see the respect in these men’s eyes and knew that his reputation preceded him, that they wouldn’t dare to interrupt.  “There’s a very lucrative deal on offer for those of you who are looking to make a small fortune in creds.  It’s a one-time offer, twenty-four hours of work with a nice little bonus for anyone who successfully locates the target.”

“What about for the ones who don’t find him?” one of the men said.

“You still get paid, you just don’t get the bonus.”  Alton glanced around the circle to make sure they were all following, then went on.  “You all know me.  Even though this is the first time most of you have seen me in the flesh, you’re aware of my reputation.  You know that I’m a businessman and that my word is my bond.  If you agree to work for me, you can rest assured that you will be paid.  I will hold up my end of the bargain.”  He levelled his index finger at the men.  “You can also rest assured that I will not tolerate indolence or apathy.  If you agree to my terms, I expect you to give me one hundred percent.  There is no room for anything less in this operation.”

“What’s involved?” one of the men said.  “Are we going after one of the Enforcers?”

“No, nothing like that.  Listen carefully.”  He looked around at each of the men pointedly.  “I’m in search of a passkey that will take me off-world.  Now, normally the identity of those who have been issued such a thing is unknown.  The supply of passkeys is a highly secretive process where the identity of the bearers is known only by the Consortium and the bearers themselves.

“However, on this occasion I have received information from an intermediary.  A friend, if you will.  This friend has supplied me with the identity of one of these passkey recipients.  I know the man’s name and what he looks like, and I plan to intercept him before he can reach the Wire and take his place on the railcar.”

“What good will that do?” one of the men said.  “The passkey won’t have your name on it.  It won’t work.”

“Leave those finer points to myself and Mr. Tucker here,” Alton said, gesturing to the bald man beside him.  “Your job is really quite simple – search your assigned zone and apprehend the mark.  Kill him if you have to, just make sure you get the passkey.  Then you call it in and we do the rest.”

“Why don’t we keep an eye on the main elevators?” one of the men said.  “Just snag him on his way up?”

“No, we can’t do that.  The Enforcers are after him.  He’ll be trying to find an alternate route from what I’ve been told.”

One of the men scratched the three-day growth on his cheek.  “How the hell are we supposed to find him before the Enforcers?  They have like… hundreds of men.”

Alton shrugged.  “You know the Reach better than I.  You live here, don’t you?”  The man nodded.  “Would it be fair to say that the Enforcers aren’t well liked in these parts?  That they aren’t welcomed by the people who live here, and that they lack penetration because of it?”

The man considered.  “I guess so.  But they have snitches, people they can lean on.”

“But you have more,” Alton said.  “You all have contacts that the Enforcers don’t.  You can spread the details of the mark to whomever you like.  I’ll happily stretch the creds to others who help in tracking him down.  Between you, I expect you can assemble quite the search party.”

“So how much are you paying us?”

“Mr. Tucker will sort out the details with you.  I–”

The door to the room opened and a man appeared, dressed in a navy three-piece suit and lilac necktie and hefting a crystal tumbler in his right hand.  He was a large man with a sizeable girth, his thinning black hair smoothed against his scalp.  He caught sight of Alton and offered him a welcoming smile.

“Mr. Wilt,” he said.  “Nice to meet you in person, finally.”

“Mr. Geisler,” Alton replied.  “Likewise.”

Geisler took a few steps into the room and then seemed to pick up on the air of awkwardness from his men.

“I trust you’ve been treated well since your arrival,” Geisler went on.

“For the most part.  I’ve just been laying out my offer to your men.”

Geisler’s right eye twitched and he cocked his head.  “What was that?” he said, not quite believing what he was hearing.

“My offer,” Alton said.  “I’ve just given it to your men.  We’re about to sort out the specifics.”

Geisler seemed about to say something, then swallowed as if forcing the words back down his throat.  He turned and walked slowly to the cabinet by the wall, placing the tumbler down slowly and deliberately.  He stroked his fingers on the rim and began to turn it ever so slightly.

“You come in here,” Geisler fumed, still staring at the tumbler, “as a guest, and presume to start making offers to my men?  To my fucking men?”  He snatched his fingers away from the tumbler and turned back to Alton, raging, his face turning red.

Alton showed not the barest hint of emotion.  “You were late.  I don’t have much patience for–”

“I don’t care if you have to wait seventeen fucking years for me to arrive, Wilt!  You do not deal directly with my men!  Any and all negotiations are to go through one place.”  He jabbed a thumb into his chest.  “Me!”  He took a step closer.  “I don’t know how things work down in that fuckin’ pigsty you call home, but up here in the Reach, we do it civilised.  We do it with respect.  And if you’re going to walk out of this room with your nuts intact, that’s a word you better get a handle on real fuckin’ quick.”

“Don’t threaten me, Mr. Geisler,” Alton said calmly.

“And don’t you tell me what to do in front of my men, Wilt,” Geisler said, stepping even closer to impose his physicality on the visitor.  “Learn some respect.”

Alton arched an eyebrow.  “Respect.  A word you seem to enjoy throwing about, and yet we wouldn’t be having this conversation if you’d learned some of your own.  Or is it that you’ve never learned to read a clock?”

Geisler’s eyes bulged as he became apoplectic.  “You motherfucker–”

He reached inside his suit and pulled out a switchblade, the silver glinting as he came forward.

Alton saw the wicked curve of the blade, shaped like a scimitar, the inner edge serrated, and then the weapon was flashing toward his face.

He moved to one side, well clear of the strike, and thrust his right hand up in counter to the blow, clamping onto Geisler’s wrist mid-arc.

Geisler shuddered and made a little grunt at the unexpectedness of the move and at the vicelike pressure of Alton’s fingers.  In one fluid movement Alton redirected the attack, turning Geisler’s hand over and inward, driving forward and plunging the blade through the fabric of Geisler’s suit and into his belly.  Geisler cried out in pain and tried to remove his hand, but Alton’s grip was too strong.  Alton kept his unyielding hold steady as he stepped closer and locked gazes with his attacker.

Such was the speed of Alton’s counter that Geisler’s men were left unprepared.  They stood disbelieving for a split second, then began to fumble in their jackets for their pistols.  As the five men before Alton drew their weapons, the five behind him stepped forward and raised their guns.  Their aim was not directed at Alton and Tucker, however, but at the other men in suits.

Geisler mewled as blood began to gush from his belly and splatter on the floor.

“So here we stand,” Alton said to the men in suits, ignoring Geisler’s cries.  He widened his stance to prevent Geisler’s dribbling innards from falling on his shoes.  “If you haven’t worked it out by now, half of the men in this room are already on my payroll.”  He glanced over his shoulder at them.  “They have been for quite some time, in fact.  So there’s two options that I see here.  One, we all let rip and put as many holes in each other as we can.  The result is that no one walks out of here alive.  Two–”  Geisler let out another howl of pain and Alton made an exasperated expression.  “One moment, please.”

Alton jerked his hand up suddenly and Geisler screamed as the blade ripped through his belly all the way to the sternum.  Alton released him finally, adroitly plucking the switchblade from Geisler’s belly as he fell.  As the large man thumped to the floor, Alton dropped down on top of him and pushed his knee firmly upon Geisler’s shoulder to hold him in place on the floor.  Alton raked the blade across Geisler’s throat, sending another spray of crimson across the carpet.  Geisler struggled for a few more moments like a fish flopping on the deck of a trawler before going limp.  Alton dropped the blade and wiped the blood that had splattered onto his wrist and hand on the sleeve of Geisler’s suit before straightening.

“Two,” Alton went on over the final gurglings of the man on the floor, “we can come to amicable terms as has already been discussed.  Every single one of you will walk away with a hefty load of creds to your name for a single day’s work.”  Alton spread his hands.  “You tell me, which deal sounds better?”

The men watched their boss choke and splutter his last and then go silent.  Alton waited a few moments for them to recover from the shock of what had happened, stepping back from the pool of blood that was spreading around the dead man.

Finally the man with the three-day growth stepped forward.  “I’ll do it.”

Alton nodded and then looked at the others expectantly.

“Me too,” another said.

“Yeah.  Okay,” said a third.

One by one the men agreed, and when it was done Alton held up his hands as if welcoming home his lost children.

“Good.  Then put your pistols away and grab your phones.  We have work to do.”

The men did as they were told and Tucker produced his own holophone.  He swiped his finger repeatedly outward across the display as he turned slowly in a circle, flicking the data across to the other men’s devices as if he were dealing out cards in a game of poker.  One by one the slowly rotating image of a dark-haired man appeared on their phones.

“This is Knile Oberend,” Alton said.  “This is your mark.  The ride leaves tomorrow evening, so I want him captured within the next twenty-four hours.”  He gestured to Tucker.  “Mr. Tucker will assign you your zones.  Do whatever you need to do to find Oberend.  Hire more men, bribe Enforcers, or something in between.  Oberend could be anywhere, so between us we need to cover the whole of the Reach.  If there are any questions, Mr. Tucker will be happy to answer them.”

Alton stepped lightly over the fallen Geisler, clucking his tongue in admonishment.

“Such a nice carpet to ruin,” he said to himself.

He walked over to the door and then paused.  “Oh, and when this is over you’ll probably need to elect a new boss,” he added.  The men turned to look at him.  “May I suggest you choose someone who has learned how to read a clock?”

The men in suits exchanged glances, as if weighing up each other’s clock reading capabilities, before Tucker drew their attention to a schematic of the Reach on the table.  Alton continued on through the door and then waited in the foyer, taking a deep breath.  He lifted his face to the ceiling, imagining himself ascending through the levels of the Reach, into and through the Atrium.  He could picture himself with the passkey in his hand, stepping through the Stormgates and then moving upward to the railcar itself.

If he truly believed it, it would happen.

“I’m coming, Elia,” he said, his voice trembling.  “Your father is coming.”

21

Ursie watched as Knile detached the grey cable from the access panel on the door.  The panel turned green and there was a great thudding sound within the wall, much louder than any of the previous locks.  It sounded like a bolt the size of a tree trunk shuddering aside.

“What the hell is this door?” Ursie said, tightening the straps on her harness.  “And what do you mean when you say we’re going out?”

Knile inserted his respirator into his nostrils and wiggled them until they were snug.

“What do you think?”

“We’re leaving the Reach?  Are you insane?”

“In a way we are leaving the Reach, and in a way we aren’t,” he said enigmatically.  “Are you done there?”

“Uh… I think so.”

Knile stepped over to her and gave her straps a tightening, then nodded.

“Good.  Do you have a respirator?”

Ursie reached into her satchel and pulled out a cracked and beaten respirator.  She fixed it to her face as Knile returned to the door.

“Make sure you’ve got a good grip on that satchel.  If it slips off, you won’t get it back.”  He gripped the handle.  “And make sure you move through the door quickly.  We need to shut it within a few seconds.  If too many toxins seep inside it’ll set off the sensors.  We don’t want that.”

“Wait a minute, Knile–”

“Let’s go.”  Before she could finish, Knile pressed his shoulder against the door and it began to groan outward.  Late afternoon sunlight hit Ursie right in the face, and suddenly all she could see before her was a blinding orange hole.  She cried out and thrust her hands up to cover her eyes, and then a great gust of hot air pummeled her and made her stagger backward.  She could hear Knile’s voice vaguely through the maelstrom, his cries seemingly wordless, but she could sense the urgency and the insistence of them all too clearly.  She moved her feet forward and staggered toward the light.  Part of her wondered if she was going to step too far, somehow stumble past Knile and topple from the walkway and out into nothingness, but then there was a strong hand around her wrist, guiding her forward and holding her tight.

The door clanged shut and the wind and noise abated as suddenly as they had arrived.

“Talk about zoning out,” Knile said wryly.  “You looked like a junkie taking her first hit of Tranq in there.”

Ursie allowed her arm to drop down from her eyes as her vision adjusted to the light.

“Sorry.  You kinda caught me off guard.”

Now that Ursie could begin to see again, she started to survey their surroundings.  They were outside the Reach, there was no doubt about it.  She could see the afternoon sky clearly above them and the muddy orb of the sun dipping toward the horizon.  They were located in a deep and narrow cleft around five metres deep, with steep walls rising on either side.  At the end of the cleft, the walkway seemed to drop off into nothingness.

“Oh, fuck me,” she breathed.  “Tell me we’re not going out there.”

“We’re going out there,” Knile said, smiling down at her.

“How high are we?”

Knile seemed to weigh up her question.  “Probably about a kilometre.  That’s a sheer drop, straight down.”

“I can’t do it,” Ursie said, clutching for the reassuring solidity of the wall beside.  She faintly tasted bile in her mouth.  “Let me go back inside.”

“Can’t do that,” Knile said simply, pulling the rope from his backpack.  “Sorry.”

“Don’t give me that shit,” Ursie spat.  “You can do anything you want.  You’re the guy who knows every inch of this place.  Open it up and let’s find another way!”

Knile seemed to be enjoying her discomfort.  “I told you that ladder was nothing.”  She bared her teeth at him and he made a placating gesture.  “You’ll be fine.  I’ve done this before and it’s perfectly safe.”

He began to tie the rope to her harness with a figure-eight knot, and Ursie continued to hold fast to the wall, eyeing the void at the end of the walkway with dread.  When he had finished, Knile fixed the rope to his own harness with the same style of knot.

“The maintenance guys come out here to clean the solar panels,” Knile said.  “With all the crap in the air those panels tend to gunk up pretty often.  Stops the light from getting through to the sensors.  The workers normally abseil from the top and work downward, but we don’t have that luxury right now.  We’re going to have to climb.”

“This isn’t happening,” Ursie said remotely.

“There’s a ladder that runs up between the panels, so it should be an easy climb,” Knile went on.  “I’ll lead.”  He held up a carabiner.  “There are metal loops out there on the walls designed for the carabiners.  I’ll hook the carabiners into the loops and thread the rope through them on my way up so that I don’t fall too far, even if I slip.  Are you listening?”

Ursie started and seemed to come out of her stupor.  “Yes.”

“You follow up behind me and take the carabiners out as you go.  We’ll need to reuse them again later.  You got it?”

“Yeah,” Ursie said quietly.  Then, with more resolve, “Yeah, I got it.”

“Good.  You’ll need to hold the rope while I’m climbing.  I’ll do the same when it’s your turn.”  He clipped the last of the carabiners into his harness.  “Just don’t panic out there and you’ll be fine.”

“Okay.”

“You can do this, Ursie.”

She nodded, trying hard to regain her composure.  “I know.”

He led her along the walkway, and as they reached the precipitous drop she could see the hazy landscape spreading out to the horizon far below.  The sight of it made her stomach turn, but she bit her lip and told herself to keep going.

“There’s nowhere to clip in right here,” Knile said, raising his voice.  Out in the open the wind whipped against the side of the structure, ruffling their clothes and creating a great deal of noise as it swept between hollows and gaps in the exterior.  “Grab hold of my belt and follow along.  And whatever you do, don’t fall.”

He stepped out onto the ledge and Ursie linked sweaty fingers through his belt.  Her mouth was suddenly dry and her palms clammy.  She took a deep breath and moved in close behind him.

The ledge they were standing on was quite narrow, maybe half a metre wide, and she made the mistake of looking over it.  The sight was terrifying – a vertical drop straight down.  It was like looking down a sheer cliff face from the top of a mountain.  The vertigo was instant.  She wobbled and then reeled backward.  Knile cried out in alarm.

“Hey, cool it!” he yelled, grabbing her by the shoulders to straighten her.  “Keep it together, will you?  And don’t look down,” he added.

“Thanks for the heads up.  I’ll remember that.”

Ursie pressed in close against Knile’s back as they shuffled along the ledge.  She found that she felt dizzy no matter which way she looked, so in the end she simply buried her face in Knile’s backpack and slid one foot after the next, praying they would reach their destination quickly.

It happened sooner than she’d anticipated.  Before long, Knile stopped and turned gently, taking her hand and guiding it toward a steel handle that jutted out from the wall.  She gripped it ardently, wrapping both arms around it as if it were a life saver in a turbulent ocean, and turned her head to watch Knile ready himself for the climb.

“Now, listen,” he said over the noise of the wind, “with all of this air flapping around, it’s going to be difficult to communicate.  If there’s something you need to ask, do it now.”

“Let’s just get this over with.”

Knile nodded and gripped the rusted ladder, turning once more to check that she was all right before pulling himself up carefully one rung at a time.  The sun glinted dully off the solar panels on either side, and he judged from the amount of gunky build up present that the maintenance crew had not visited this patch of the exterior in some time.  Either that, or the pollution was getting so thick that the crew couldn’t keep up a fast enough schedule to clean it off again.

He came to the first hook and clipped the carabiner in place, then threaded the rope through in turn.  Glancing back down he saw Ursie huddled against the handle, looking up at him with something approaching abject terror as she imagined making the same climb herself.  He had to hand it to her – she was holding it together as well as could be expected.  Knile was certain that there were grown men who would have turned back by now, but Ursie stood there gritting her teeth and forcing herself to go through with it.

Perhaps that big payday at the end of this ordeal is giving her the courage to keep going, he thought.

He kept climbing and soon found a section of the ladder that had broken away.  It wasn’t a huge gap, maybe the height of an average man, but it was something he really didn’t need with Ursie in tow.  She was going to find it hard enough just to negotiate the ladder, let alone make it past an obstacle such as this.  He glanced around for ideas but realised that there was nothing he could do about it now.  They would lose too much time doubling back and trying to find another way up.  He tried to ignore his misgivings and concentrated on finding handholds to bridge the gap.  Luckily the edges of the solar panels afforded him a good grip and he was able to lever himself upward and reach the next section of ladder without too much difficulty.

He reached the top of the ladder and hauled himself up onto the next ledge, taking a moment to catch his breath.  Ursie was a long way down, way too far for her to hear him even without the wind.  He could see the pale dot of her face as she looked up, but that was it.  Clipping himself into the handle nearby, he leaned out over the edge and waved extravagantly, hoping to make his intentions clear.  Ursie didn’t budge, and for a moment he feared that she was going to chicken out.  If she didn’t follow, how on earth was he going to handle a predicament such as that?  Would he be able to climb down again over that gap without falling?  And what would he do once he made it to the bottom again?  Tuck her under his arm?

Then he felt the rope stiffen, and as he looked down he saw Ursie had begun to climb.

She was understandably tentative at first and progress was slow.  In the vast space below her, Knile could see pigeons wheeling through the sky, returning to their roosts as the day wound down.  Link was almost featureless from this high up, just another stain on the yellow-and-brown tapestry of the ruined Earth.

The wind had not abated and he felt somewhat precarious leaning out over the ledge as he peered down at the small figure of the girl below.  He gently took up the slack on the rope and coiled it neatly beside him, hoping that the turbulence would die down soon, for Ursie’s sake at least.

There was a delay at the first carabiner as Ursie fiddled and wrestled with the clip like it was glued in place, her frustration evident even from a distance.  She continually glanced up at Knile as if to say What am I doing wrong? but there was little instruction he could give her from this distance.  Knile sensed that it was possibly an exercise in procrastination – the girl had a major mental block about removing one of her anchor points, and he guessed that her confusion was more akin to reluctance to unfasten herself from the wall – but in the end she had no choice.  She could not progress further until the rope had been removed from the carabiner.

Eventually she got the job done, taking the carabiner and clipping it onto her harness for safekeeping.  Then she continued to climb the rungs, and Knile thought he could sense her confidence growing by the minute.

Then she came to the broken section of ladder and things fell apart.  She stopped dead and just stared at it for a good minute, then looked up at Knile and began gesticulating helplessly.  He could see her mouth moving but her words were ripped apart and scattered by the wind.  In any case, it was clear what she was trying to convey: What the hell do I do now?

Knile could only wave his arms, indicating that she should continue, but this garnered no response.  He then tried to pantomime a climb action, pointing to the solar panels to demonstrate she should try using them for purchase.  This suggestion, too, was met with no reaction.  Either Ursie didn’t understand what he was trying to say, or she simply didn’t want to.

In the end, the girl obviously realised that she was going to have to move well outside her comfort zone if she wanted to get out of her predicament.  She clasped the edges of the panels and began to draw herself upward.  It was a more difficult task for the girl, Knile had to admit, since she was shorter than he was and didn’t have his strength, so her ability to find handholds was more limited.

She made it about halfway up the gap before she slipped.

Knile had been taking up the slack with each of her movements, so her drop was minimal, but even so she fell almost the length of her body as the rope tensed under her full weight.  This time she made a noise loud enough for Knile to hear clearly – a hysterical high-pitched scream that cut through the wind like a distant ghostly wail.  Knile gritted his teeth as he held the rope firm, trying to keep it level, and then Ursie spun in the air, her legs kicking upward as she almost inverted.  The satchel slid from her shoulders and she groped at it madly, screaming again, and caught it in her fingertips.

Knile tried frantically to help swing her back toward the ladder by tugging at the rope.  She moved through the air in a long arc, a bundle of flailing limbs, and then she thumped solidly into the wall of solar panels and bounced off again.  Moving back across the ladder like a pendulum, she scraped and slid along the glass and righted herself, and Knile decided that the time had come for him to take matters into his own hands.  Pulling on the rope, he yanked her upward one arm’s length at a time, like drawing a bucket from a well.  Ursie managed to plant her feet on the panels and direct herself back toward the ladder, and in a few moments she had crossed the gap successfully.  She thrust herself gratefully at the relative safety of the first metal rung, her satchel still safely on her shoulder.

She clung there for a good two or three minutes, and Knile allowed her the time to steady herself and catch her breath.  Neither she nor the satchel were in any danger of falling, a great relief to both of them.  It would be a cruel twist to lose their cargo, Knile thought, after going through all of this trouble to haul it up the Reach.

Eventually Knile grew restless and he began to gently tug on the rope to gain Ursie’s attention.  She snapped her head up, and even from this distance he could feel the heat in her gaze.  He ignored that and waved his hand again, trying to convey a sense of urgency, and in a few moments she complied and began to continue her climb.

Her ascent was now far more rapid than before, and as she drew closer Knile could see the reason why – she was furious.  Her removal of the carabiners was now far more speedy, accentuated by jerky movements as she pulled the clips from the wall and thrust them onto her belt.  At one point she pulled so hard to free a carabiner that it slipped from her hand and went sailing out into the void.  She did not seem apologetic in the least.

When she reached Knile, he reached out a hand to assist her up onto the ledge.  She took it reluctantly and glared at him as he pulled her toward him.  She sprawled on the narrow walkway, exhausted, like a drowning man finding the golden sands of a beach.

“There,” Knile said soothingly.  “Wasn’t so bad after all.”

“Fuck you!” Ursie snarled over her shoulder.  “You almost fucking killed me.”

“Actually, I pulled you to safety.”

“I mean by bringing me out here, you shithead.  You didn’t have to come this way.”

“We did have to come this way,” Knile said calmly.

“Bullshit.  You’re trying to make things hard for me.  You’re trying to make me quit and give you the case so you can have it for yourself.”

“Climbing the Reach is hard,” Knile said sternly.  “What did you expect?  A goddamn chair lift to the top?  If it was easy, then everyone would be doing it.”

“Yeah, whatever.”  Ursie swatted at the grime that had been deposited on her coveralls when she’d slid along the panels.  “At least it’s over.”

“Over?” Knile said.  “I don’t think so.”  He pointed upward.  “We’re not done yet.  We’re about to do it again.”

Ursie’s mouth fell open.  “What?  No way?  Isn’t there a way back inside on the end of this walkway?”

“Yes, there is, but we’d waste a lot of time going that way.  If we go higher out here it will save us a lot of time.”

“Screw it, let’s go inside.”

“No.  We’re going up.”

She shook her head.  “I can’t do it yet.  I need time.”

“There’s no time,” Knile said.  “Dark is closing in and we need to climb this section and find our way back inside before then.  Unless you want to try climbing out here in the dark?  I can tell you that’s not going to end well.”

Ursie covered her eyes with her hand as she gathered her emotions.  She took a deep breath and then looked at Knile again, her countenance indicating that she was ready to continue the argument.

Then her face suddenly went white and she gasped beneath her respirator, her eyes locked onto something over Knile’s shoulder.

Knile spun and saw it immediately, but he couldn’t quite believe what he was witnessing.

Further along the walkway, alone on the ledge without gear or a harness, stood a young boy silently watching them.

22

Knile decided that the chemicals and the toxins in the air that he’d inadvertently consumed over the years were messing with his head.  Those ubiquitous poisons that got into the water, into the food, into everything, had finally gotten to him, and now he was hallucinating.  He had become too sick to distinguish fantasy from reality.  What other explanation could there be for this absurd vision before him?  How could he possibly be seeing what he was seeing?

He turned back to Ursie and it was clear that, if this was some kind of trick of the imagination,  she was sharing it.  Her eyes met his and she could only shake her head in response to the unasked question that hung between them.

Knile looked back to the boy, fully expecting him to be gone this time, dissolved into a cloud of dust and blown away by the wind, but this was not the case.  He was still there.  Knile got slowly to his feet.  The boy was grubby and emaciated, naked from the waist up and wearing only rags for pants.  His hair was dark brown and almost shoulder length, clotted with dirt, and he wore no respirator.  His feet were bare.

The boy’s face betrayed no emotion as he regarded Knile and Ursie a short distance away.

“Hello?” Knile called out.  The boy did not move or make any response.  “What are you doing there?”

The boy continued to stare at them, seeming neither threatened nor surprised by their presence out here on the ledge.  Knile turned to Ursie, who shrugged, dumbfounded.

“Are you okay?” Knile persisted.  “Did you get locked outside?”

Knile took a few steps along the ledge and the boy finally made a response of sorts.  He turned calmly and began walking the other way, around a bend in the wall and out of sight.

“Wait!” Knile called.  “I’m not going to hurt you!”  He quickened his pace as he moved along the ledge.

“Knile, what are you doing?” Ursie called after him.

“Just wait there,” Knile said.  He took hold of the rope trailing after him and slung it over his shoulder to prevent himself from inadvertently tripping over it, then slightly quickened his pace.  The edge of the precipice was disconcertingly close, but Knile had never had a problem with heights, and he did not allow it to slow him down.  He made it to the place where the boy had stood moments before, but, finding him gone, continued further around the bend.  Glancing over his shoulder, he discovered that he had lost sight of Ursie, and this caused him to slow his pace and show more caution, knowing that the rope wouldn’t stretch forever.

He came to a narrow cleft that led to a hatch much like the one that he and Ursie had emerged from below, and there he stopped.  His puzzlement grew as he surveyed the area.  There was still no sign of the boy, but something else inside the cleft captured his attention instead.

There was a garden here.

It wasn’t much of a garden, Knile had to admit.  At first glance it had seemed more like a strip of dirt that had accumulated within the cleft, blown in by the wind and neatly trapped as if snared by a net, but now that he was closer Knile could see small green tips of plant life and some purple-tinted objects protruding from the soil that might have been vegetables.

Is this kid living out here?

The boy was nowhere to be seen.  Since there was no place to hide inside the cleft, Knile could only assume that the boy had continued along the next bend and out of sight again.  That was a fair distance, though.  He would have had to move damn fast to make it that far in such a short amount of time.

Knile was suddenly assaulted by an almost irrational kind of apprehension, a panic that if he didn’t find out more about the boy, his entire quest to climb the Reach might be jeopardised.  That the boy was somehow more important than he seemed, his secrets vital.

Knile squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head to try to clear it.

Get a grip on yourself, he thought.  It doesn’t matter why he’s here or where he went.  Stay focussed.

That was the truth.  There simply wasn’t time to try to unravel the mystery further.  As tantalising as it was, there were more important things at stake.  He had to get back and continue the climb before the light faded completely.

Knile returned along the ledge carefully, gathering in the rope as he went.  As he rounded the bend he could see Ursie still sitting pressed against the wall, scrunched as far away from the edge of the drop as she could manage.

“What did you find?” she called out as he drew near.

“A garden,” Knile said.  “I think the kid might be living here.”

“A garden?  How is that possible?”

“I don’t know.  He was gone by the time I got there.”

“Should we keep looking for him?” Ursie said.  “Maybe he needs our help.”

“There’s no time,” Knile said, casting an eye out toward the horizon.  “We need to get climbing.”

“You’re going to leave him there?” Ursie said, almost pleading with him to change his mind.  “He looked like he was starving.”

“Yes, I’m leaving him there,” Knile said in a matter-of-fact way, reaching down to take the carabiners from her harness.  “He’s obviously survived this long by himself.  I figure if he needed our help he would have asked for it.”

“But–”

“You ready?”

Ursie looked up at him for a moment longer before conceding that she wasn’t going to win the argument.  She reluctantly got to her feet and took the rope.

“This one isn’t quite as high,” Knile said, clipping the last of the carabiners onto his harness.  “Shouldn’t take too long.”

“I’m sure it’ll be a breeze,” Ursie said dryly.

Knile smirked and then hoisted himself upward, scaling the ladder quickly and smoothly.  He’d become attuned to the process of placing the carabiners and linking the rope through with one hand, and his movements were now fluid and precise.  There were no breaks in this section of the ladder either, and this helped him to complete the climb in only a matter of minutes.

Once at the top he secured himself to the next handle and signalled for Ursie to follow.

To his great relief, she also moved more quickly than during her first attempt.  Whether she was gaining in confidence or simply eager to have the ordeal over and done with, he couldn’t be sure.  In the end it didn’t matter.  Either way, the result was that she made the climb without much delay, and as the sun dipped below the horizon she reached the ledge beside Knile.

“There we go,” he said cheerily.  “No problems at all.  What did I tell you?”

“Yeah,” Ursie said breathlessly.  “A real walk in the park.”

“You did good,” Knile said encouragingly.  “That’s all the climbing we need to do for now.”

“For now?”  Her eyes widened again.

“Relax,” Knile laughed.

Ursie began to unhook the carabiners from her harness and hand them over to him again.

“What now?” she said.

“Now we find a way back inside and get some rest.  I’m going to need some shut-eye for an hour or so at least.  I haven’t slept in about two days.”

“Do we have time for that?”

“We’re on schedule,” Knile said, checking his watch.  “We have less than twenty-four hours, now, but–”

A loud voice came suddenly from above, startling both of them and causing Ursie to cry out in fear.

“You are trespassing in a restricted zone,” it boomed.  “Turn around now or we will be forced to take action.”

Both Ursie and Knile reacted by ducking into a crouch and glancing fearfully above, as if expecting to see a cohort of Enforcers standing above them, ready to pounce, but there was no one there.

“They’ve seen us!” Ursie cried in dismay.  “The Enforcers are onto us!”

Knile continued to scan the walls above them, craning his neck as he peered along the sheer face of the steel and glass, trying to locate who it was that might have spotted them, but he could see no men on any of the other ledges, and no surveillance gear either.

How did they locate us? he thought desperately.

“What do we do?” Ursie yelled up at him.

Knile thought quickly.  Turn around now…

“It doesn’t make sense,” Knile said suddenly.  “Why would they want us to turn around?  Why wouldn’t they just come out and arrest us?”

“They’ve seen us!” Ursie said again.  “Who cares what they said?”

Knile turned his back to the wall, looking out across the city.  His eyes locked onto something and he thrust out his arm, pointing.

“Look!” he shouted.

Drifting through the faint orange of twilight not far away, suspended like a giant egg on an unseen thread, a dirigible came floating toward them.  It held steady against the buffeting wind, growing larger by the second as it closed in.

“You are trespassing in restricted airspace,” came the voice from the Enforcer loudspeaker again, more insistent now.  “Turn your craft around immediately or we will be forced to take action.”

“Can they hear it?” Ursie said, getting to her feet.  Her alarm was diminishing now that she realised the Enforcers’ target was someone else.  “Why aren’t they turning around?”

Because they don’t want to, Knile thought.

“I don’t know,” he said.  He could see faces now inside the gondola.

Then the dirigible spoke from a loudspeaker of its own.

“You on the ledge,” someone from inside the gondola said, “is there anywhere to land?  Is there anywhere to dock?”

Knile was about to shout a warning, but he knew his words would be lost in the wind.  Instead he began waving them away frantically, hoping those in the dirigible would understand their peril and turn the craft around before it was too late.

“They’re not slowing down,” Ursie said in dismay.  She began to wave her arms as well in an attempt to gain their attention.

There was a noise from above, a grinding and shuddering sound of a great machine unfurling, and Knile turned to Ursie, stricken.

“They’re bringing out the guns!” he yelled.  “Cover your ears!”

The dirigible came closer, and now the faces of those on board were clearly visible.  Knile tried not to look, not wanting to see these faces of the damned, but it was too late – they had already been indelibly imprinted on his memory.  A woman, two youthful men, an old woman with grey hair.

The dirigible’s pace was gradual and inexorable, its course unerring, as if it were being drawn ever closer to the Reach along invisible rails, as unable to divert its course as a locomotive bound to its track.  Knile clapped his hands over his ears and finally tore his eyes away, getting down on one knee and pulling Ursie in beside him.

When the guns spoke a moment later, they roared as if tearing the very air apart, shaking the walls of the Reach and the ledge under their feet.  They boomed like thunder a dozen times or more, pounding and shuddering the structure with such force that Knile feared they might be shaken off the ledge.  When they finally relented, the ringing in his ears began to fade away and he realised that Ursie was screaming uncontrollably beside him.

Knile clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle the noise, hissing at her to be quiet.  When he raised his eyes again he did not see the dirigible floating defiantly onward anymore.  He only saw a deflated and ruined hunk of fabric and machinery spiralling down in the darkness toward oblivion.

23

The access panel on the door turned green and Knile pulled the handle. As before, a strong gust of wind came whistling through and Knile almost lost his balance.  He held the door open while Ursie scampered inside, then followed and allowed the door to slam shut behind him.  The access panel remained green for a moment longer before reverting to its locked state of red.

“Why did they keep coming?” Ursie said from nearby in the gloom, her face ruddy in the glow of the access panel.  Knile could see streaks of tears down her cheek.  “Why didn’t they just turn around?”

“What choice did they have?”  Knile stalked past her and activated his flashlight, keeping it pointed discreetly at the floor.  “Do you think they’re out there on a pleasure cruise, touring the sights of the Reach?”

“How can you be so heartless?”

Knile just shook his head at her.  He removed his harness and threw it in the corner, keeping a couple of the carabiners looped through his belt, then roughly assisted Ursie in removing hers.  He opened the inner door and proceeded out into the corridor, holding it open for Ursie.  She remained rooted to the spot.

“Look, I didn’t like seeing those people die any more than you did.  And for the record, I think it’s insanity trying to assault the Reach in a fucking blimp, but I guess there are people out there who are desperate enough to think that’s their only choice, right?”

Ursie reached up with a sleeve and wiped the wetness from her cheeks.  She shrugged.

“I guess.”

Knile stepped back into the room, making a conscious effort to soften his voice.

“You and I can relate to those people because we’ve been there.  We know what it feels like to have a life so terrible that the only option left is to step into a floating death trap and drift off into the unknown.  That’s the kind of world we live in – one where people are driven to those lengths because they can’t see a better option.”

“I just don’t see why the Enforcers have to shoot them down like that.”

“Because it’s the easy way to deal with it.”

“It’s easy killing innocent people?”

“I guess they view the people in those dirigibles as their enemies.  If the Enforcers see it as a kind of war, it makes it easier for them to sleep at night.”  Knile gestured back at the wall.  “Playing devil’s advocate here, what if someone from Link sent up a dirigible filled with explosives?  What if it made it all the way to the outer wall?  It could bash a hole in the Reach the size of an apartment block.  What then?”

“That still doesn’t make it right.”

Knile placed a hand on her shoulder.  “I’m not arguing that with you, Ursie.  I know it’s not right.  It is what it is, and we can’t change it.”  He straightened.  “And now we need to keep moving.”

He returned to the inner door and held it open, and after a moment Ursie followed him.  As she passed, Knile gripped her arm and gave her a pointed look.

“Keep your head,” Knile said as she looked up at him.  “You can’t help those people now, but if you don’t keep your wits about you, you’ll suffer the same fate.  All it takes is one slip to end up dead.  Remember what you’re here for.”

Ursie nodded.  “All right.”  She shifted uncomfortably.  “Can I get out of this stupidly huge outfit now?”

“No.  Keep it on.”

He led her cautiously through darkened corridors, pausing now and again as if searching his memory for the right directions.  Outside, night had fallen, and the workers here had all gone home.  The place was deserted, but Knile still seemed reluctant to move too quickly.

“Where are we?” Ursie said.

“Lower levels of the Greenhouse.  We’ll find a place to rest here and then continue on in an hour or two.”

Knile eventually decided upon a storeroom as the place for them to lie low.  It was filled with gardening equipment and mounds of large hessian sacks.  As soon as he closed the door Ursie wrinkled her nose in disgust.

“Do we have to stay here?  It stinks.”

“It’s just fertiliser,” Knile said, slinging his backpack to the ground.

“It stinks.”

“You’ll live.”

Knile took a cable from his backpack and connected one end to his holophone and the other to a small green disc with a silver chip on its rear face.  He slid the disc under the door and left the phone lying on the speckled grey vinyl floor.

“What are you doing?” Ursie said.

“This is a rudimentary movement sensor.  It’ll tell us if someone’s in that corridor out there.  Give us a heads up if we have company.”  Knile eased himself down to a horizontal position and laid his head on the backpack, wriggling to find a comfortable spot.

“The workers won’t show up here for hours yet,” he said.  “You won’t get a better chance at some sleep.”  His eyelids were getting heavy already.  He did not fight against his fatigue, instead allowing himself an unhurried yawn.  “We’ve got a big day tomorrow and you’re going to need the rest.”

Ursie muttered a response, but Knile was so exhausted that he only partly heard what she said as he drifted into the welcoming arms of sleep.

The fire was everywhere.  It was like a living thing, dancing and cavorting and throwing itself in front of Knile no matter which way he turned.  The smoke was so thick he could barely see.  And the noise.  It was deafening.  People screamed all around him, running and jostling against him in their mad attempts to escape the unrelenting grasp of the flames.

Knile turned hopelessly.  All was lost.  Everything he had worked for, everything he had planned was all being turned to cinders before his very eyes.

How could he have let this happen?

The smoke seemed to part as if drawn away by unseen hands, and then his eyes fell upon Mianda.  She was frozen in place, rooted to the ground.  His heart leapt to see her alive, but through the joy he could tell that something was wrong.

Amid a world of chaos she was a picture of beauty, of stillness.  Perfection.  She wore a shimmering blue gown that seemed to glow through the murk like a beacon.  Her long chestnut hair fell across her bare shoulders, her skin pale, her eyes clear cerulean like the dress.

“Mianda!” Knile called, striding toward her.  “Come on!”

As he neared her he could see that there were tears streaming down her cheeks, and her beauty was suddenly mired in something even more profound – tragedy.  Something was not right with her that had nothing to do with the fire and the smoke and the mayhem.

What was going on?  Knile was confused, his thoughts sluggish, his normally fast wit unresponsive.  He couldn’t seem to piece together what was going on, not with Mianda, and not with the fire.  He was behind the game but he couldn’t figure out why.

“Mianda!” he yelled again desperately, reaching out his hand, but no matter how many steps he took, he could not get any closer.  It was as if she was being drawn backward and away from him by some unseen mechanism under the hem of that glowing dress.

“Stop!  Come back!” he called, but she was either unable or unwilling to comply.

Knile became aware of a low, rumbling voice in the distance.  It seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at the same time, like it was within his head.  It only addled his senses further and he struggled to push it away.

He called again over the top of the voice, and finally Mianda seemed to notice him.  Her gaze drifted over his body and found his face, but her eyes remained glassy and distant, as if she could not entirely pull herself from that strange soporific state.

“We deserve this,” she said, her voice thick and distant.

“Mianda, please!”

Tears dripped from her chin and still she stood like a statue, ignoring his appeal for her to stop.

Knile reached out to her, his fingers straining to push through the invisible wall between them, and then another explosion made the floor buck like a mad bull.  Knile fell, rolled, sprawled on the ground and he lost his sense of direction.  The voice in his head was back and it was even louder than before.  He felt as though it were going to make his head split apart.

He lost sight of Mianda.

Then he was running, running blindly through the fire–

Knile came to with a start.  The voice in his head was still present, an oddly lingering fragment of the dream that was far more diluted than it had been moments before, and yet still sonorous and somewhat unsettling.

Knile thrust himself upward onto his elbow, cocking his ear to determine the source of the sound, and then he realised it was coming from Ursie nearby.

She sat cross-legged on the floor, her back straight and her eyes closed as she pushed her palms inward across her chest as if squeezing an invisible ball.

“What the hell are you doing?” Knile demanded.

Ursie slowly opened her eyes, but otherwise her posture remained unchanged.

“Exercising.”

“Well, do it without the racket, will you?”

“I can’t.  I need the vibrations from the sound to–”

“Then quit it altogether,” Knile snapped.  “Unless you want to bring every gardener in the goddamn Greenhouse down on top of us.”

“I thought you said none of them were around.”

Knile ignored her and checked his watch.  Surprised, he realised that he’d slept for almost two hours.  It had gone by in a flash.

He pulled himself up into a sitting position and slid on his buttocks across the floor to where he had left his phone.  He reached into his backpack and pulled out some of the food he had acquired down in Gaslight and began to eat as he tapped away on the device.

“You bring any food?” he said.  Across the other side of the storeroom, Ursie finally dropped her hands and relaxed.

“No.”

He tossed something across at her without looking up and it landed in her lap.  She picked it up and inspected it in the dim light.

“What is this?” she said.  “A bug bar?”

“Yeah.  Eat it.  It’ll put hairs on your chest.”

“Thanks.”  She bit into the bar hungrily and devoured it with even more gusto than Knile.

“When was the last time you ate?” he said.

“A while.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“This morning.  Don’t worry about it, okay?  I look after myself.”

Knile nodded.  “So I see.  Where’d you learn the yoga?”

“It’s not yoga.”

Knile glanced up at her briefly before returning his attention to the phone.

“So what is it, then?”

“It’s exercise for my mind.  Keeps it in shape.”

“Some kind of meditation, then?”

“Not exactly.”

“Damn, kid,” Knile said.  “Why are you being so evasive?  Spit it out.”

“I’m a psycher.”

Knile showed no immediate reaction, keeping his attention firmly on the holophone in his lap.  He continued to tap and swipe at the display as he buried himself in some unknown endeavour.  He was silent for so long that Ursie began to wonder if he had heard her at all.  When he finally spoke his voice was even.

“Everyone in this place finds their own way to survive,” he said.  “Ways to frighten others away with scary masks.  Some do it with gang trims, and others with tattoos on their arms.  Some carry a big gun.  Then there’s those who make up stories about special powers.  A few years ago it was shapeshifters.  I had one guy tell me he could grow gills on his neck when he wanted to.  Another said he could spit poison.  The stories change but the origin is always the same – the toxins in the air caused the mutations that made people special.”  He looked up at her.  “I don’t really care which method you use to protect yourself in here.  I understand why you do it and I don’t begrudge you that.  Just don’t insult my intelligence by telling me fairy tales and expecting me to believe in them.  There’s no such thing as a goddamn psycher.”

Ursie’s mouth twisted and she averted her gaze, seemingly embarrassed.  She began to pull the coveralls back over her bare arms as if the fabric might offer her protection from Knile’s wilting gaze.

He relented, realising his rebuke had carried more venom than he’d intended.

“I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“It’s okay.”  Her face was flushed as she pulled idly at a loose thread on her sleeve.

Knile tried to think of something to say that would put her at ease again.

“Listen, you need to make your story a bit more bulletproof if you’re going to convince them you’re a psycher,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“It doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

Her embarrassment swiftly turned to irritation.  “Why not?”

“A psycher has special mind powers, right?  They’re supposed to be able to control things.  Control people.”

“In a way.”

“So if you were a psycher, you wouldn’t need me to guide you up the Reach.  You’d just trick the Enforcers who were guarding the elevators and make them take you straight up to the Atrium.”

“It doesn’t work that way.  Psychers can’t just mesmerise an entire crowd of people.  They can’t control a dozen guards all at once.  They’re not gods.  Their powers really work better one on one.”

“Wow, the psychers have really had a downgrade in recent years,” Knile muttered facetiously.  “They were the flavour of the month maybe five or six years ago.  Stories were going around about them, that they could do all sorts of things, that they shouldn’t be messed with, but then they went out of style.”  He waggled a finger at her playfully.  “You should have chosen something more contemporary.  Maybe a shapeshifter.”

“Fuck you.”

“Hey, come on,” Knile laughed.  “Take it easy.”

“You’re mocking me.”

“This is my way of telling you that you need to be careful what you say to people.  You think you’re giving yourself a buffer but you may be doing more harm than good.”

Ursie scowled, clearly not impressed with his schooling.

“Are we leaving yet?”

“Soon.  Make sure you’ve had plenty to drink.  I’m just trying to scan a few of the networks around here before we go, see what’s changed.  Did you get any sleep?”

“A bit.”

“You won’t get another chance.”

“I’m fine.”

Knile ceased his manipulations of the holophone and looked up at her.

“What’s in the case?” he said suddenly.

Ursie jutted out her chin and gave him a steely glare.

“I guess you’ll find out at the Wire, if the buyer decides to show you.”

Knile gave her a knowing smile.  “Playing your cards close to your chest.”

She smiled with mock sweetness.  “Uh-huh.”

“Tell me at least how you hooked up with this ‘buyer’, then.  I can’t imagine you’d have your pick of off-world connections to arrange the deal.”

“I didn’t just crawl out of the swamps yesterday, y’know?  I’ve been around for a while now.  I’ve met people.”

“So who was it?”

“One of my fences was big on art pieces.  Him and his crew would travel all over the place digging up old relics to sell to collectors out in the habitats.  Statues and coins, all that stuff.  I worked with him a few times.  We had a pretty good thing going on before he left.”

“Left?  Left where?”

Ursie pointed up.  “Where do you think?  He made a lot of money over the years selling that shit, enough to buy himself a Sponsor.”  She shrugged.  “He still kept in contact here and there when he wanted something.  He’s the one who arranged the deal.”

Knile studied her carefully.  “It’s lucky you had somewhere to offload it, I guess.”

“Not luck.  I worked hard for this for a long time.  I deserve everything that’s coming to me.”

She spoke with quiet vehemence, and Knile had to admit that he admired her spirit.  He sensed that much of her demeanour was false bravado, the mask she wore to project an air of confidence and independence.  He figured that underneath she was still a scared kid who was just trying to survive, a small player in a world that was owned by those who were older, wiser and stronger than she was.  Still, she was out there trying to do things on her own terms, and that was worthy of appreciation.

“I respect that,” he said, his previously flippant tone replaced by sincerity.  Ursie stiffened in response to the praise as if she were surprised to hear it.  “Now we–”

Knile stopped and looked down at the holophone in his hand, which beeped once softly and began to flash.  It was the proximity sensor.

Someone was out in the corridor.

24

Knile retracted the sensor from under the door and then snatched his backpack from the floor.

“Find some cover!” he said in a low, urgent voice.  “We’ve got company!”

Ursie responded with the instincts of one who had spent her life running and hiding at the shortest notice, dropping and pressing herself flat to the floor and then slipping neatly into a tiny gap under a bench.  A hand snaked out and yanked the satchel under cover as well.

She had already made herself invisible before Knile even found an appropriate place to conceal himself.

He wedged himself behind a low stack of fertiliser bags, not entirely happy with the amount of protection they afforded but unable to do anything about it in such a limited timeframe.  As he hunkered down he poked his head out to the side so that he could observe the door.

There was no sound of any movement outside, but he could see a faint light dance across the crack in the door and then move away again.  After that, there was nothing for a few seconds, and he began to wonder if perhaps the newcomer had gone away, but then the light appeared again, more intense this time.

Now he could hear footsteps.  Whoever was out there, they were moving around quietly, although Knile decided that they weren’t sneaking either.  Many years of hiding in dark places and listening to people passing by had honed his ability to distinguish between different kinds of traffic.  As they drew nearer, he thought it sounded distinctly like someone walking on soft-soled shoes in a normal manner.  The crack under the door became a glowing white-hot strip, making the interior of the room uncomfortably bright.

Knile began to shrink back behind the fertiliser, his fingers curling into fists as he prepared for what was about to happen.  He wondered about who would be out there at this hour.  If it was a harmless-looking gardener who came through that door, just a guy working late, Knile decided he would spring out and try to take him down before he could sound the alarm.  Tying him up and gagging him would prevent him from notifying anyone else about Knile and Ursie’s presence.  By the time he was found they would hopefully be long gone.

If it was someone who could handle themselves, however, that would require a somewhat different approach.

Suddenly the glow lessened and almost disappeared, the footsteps never slowing as whoever it was in the corridor made their way past.  Knile waited as the sounds of their passage slowly disappeared.  It must have been a good minute before Knile decided the time was right for him to get moving.  He struggled out from his hiding place and crouched on the vinyl.

“All right, we’re clear,” he said, turning his flashlight on again.  Ursie’s face poked out from under the bench.  “I think we’ve overstayed our welcome here.  We should get moving.”

“Okay.”

They gathered their things and left the storeroom, continuing on their way.  They kept a close eye out for any more late-night visitors who might come their way, and Ursie continually glanced behind as if she were expecting them to return at any second.

“Who do you think that was?” she said.

“I’m not sure.  Probably some hard worker putting in extra hours.”

“What about an Enforcer on patrol?”

“I doubt it.  They don’t generally go much further than the entrances.  I’ve never seen them move this deep inside the Greenhouse before.”

Knile stopped in front of a yellow platform staircase that led upwards to a broad glass door.  The paintwork on the steps was worn and chipped, and the handrails had been scratched so badly that they had been stripped back almost to bare metal.  Knile could imagine the workers carelessly lugging tools and equipment and up down the steps over the years and gradually whittling away the yellow coating as they went.

“This is an entrance to one of the Greenhouse compartments,” he said.

“Where they keep the plants?”

“Yeah.  The vegetation is located toward the outer walls so that it can catch some natural sunlight.  Further inward you’ll find the collection warehouses and the sorting and distribution facilities.  We’ll be sticking to the vegetation where possible.  There’s more cover there.”

“Okay.”

“Wait here while I go take a look around.”

He handed her the flashlight and made his way carefully up the staircase, stopping at the glass door to peer through.  His scrutiny was thorough, and he took almost a full minute to survey the gloomy room beyond before signalling for Ursie to follow.

When she reached him, Knile took the flashlight from her and clicked it off.  She brushed his shirt as she reached out unsteadily for the railing, obviously disoriented by the sudden and complete darkness.  Then she stumbled and banged her boots noisily on the walkway.

“Try a bit louder,” Knile muttered.  “I don’t think they heard that over in the slums.”

“Give me a break,” Ursie said, her arm now linked through the railing.  “You might want to give me some notice next time.”  She slid her hand along the railing.  “How are we supposed to find our way now?”

“Wait,” Knile said.

She did as he instructed.  At first there was nothing, just the unrelenting darkness pressing in from all sides.  She could not make out anything at all – not the steps under her feet or the railing in front of her nose.  Then after a while she saw the faint outline of Knile crouched in front of her, and beyond that the silhouette of leaves and branches out in the room beyond the glass door.

“Ready?” Knile said.

“As long as you’re leading the way.”

Knile reached out and gripped the edge of the door, easing it open.  It whined softly as it swung but Knile did not stop.  He gripped Ursie’s shoulder and guided her up and through the entrance.

Even before she’d ascended to the top step, Ursie was confronted by the smell wafting in from the greenhouse.  Fresh produce was something she did not see much of, let alone living trees and shrubs, and certainly not in this quantity.  There was a certain freshness in the air that was almost indescribable and alien to her, like the glass door had in fact been a portal to another world.

“Keep moving,” Knile whispered behind her.

She edged to the side and allowed him room to pass.  Knile guided the glass door shut again and then got moving, keeping low as he hustled forward.

More details came to Ursie as her eyes adjusted.  The ceilings were higher in here than in normal levels, and in places there hung dim yellow bulbs suspended from the roof.  There were rows upon rows of waist-high raised gardens, and in places she could also see the larger bulk of trees that stood several metres tall, their leaves glinting greeny-yellow in the dim light.

Further to the edge of the enclosure she could also see tall windows that looked out into the night, where the crescent moon hung like an amber sickle in the sky.

“Keep low at all times,” Knile said.  “The gardens will provide some protection for us.  Like I said, there never used to be much action here at night, but if there’s someone moving around in the storerooms, there might be someone out here too.”

They progressed across the first level without incident, moving between the garden rows and under trees as Knile unerringly found a stairwell on the other side.  They ascended several flights before the stairwell ended and they were forced to cross back into another level.

“This level looks just like the last one,” Ursie said.

“The layout is pretty similar across all levels in the Greenhouse.  It gets pretty monotonous.”

“How many levels are there?”

“A lot.  Do you know how many people they have to feed in this place?”

“I don’t get it,” Ursie said.  “How do all these plants get enough sunlight to stay alive?”

“That’s not how it works.  They use grow lights in here to provide most of the energy during the day.  At night they turn them off.  The windows merely help to raise the temperature to the desired level.”

“You really do know everything about this place,” she said, shaking her head.

“Not everything.  Just enough to help.”

They continued on this pattern for the next few hours, weaving through gardens and across levels and then making their way upward where they could.  Ursie had ticked off twelve levels before she stopped counting.  During this time they did not see a lot of human activity.  From time to time there were a couple of late-night workers hauling supplies around on trolleys, but these were noisy and easily avoided.

They came to another level that looked just like the ones that had preceded it, but on this one Knile stopped abruptly and held out his hand, ordering Ursie to do the same.  He turned to her and placed his finger to his lips to indicate silence.

She mouthed the word ‘What?’ but he ignored her, turning away and shuffling forward to the end of a garden row.  He peered around the edge and remained there for some time, still as a statue.  Eventually he turned back to her.

“We’ve got company,” he said.

“Who?”

He gestured for her to move forward and she followed his example, poking her head out only far enough to see who was out there.  Some distance down the aisle, two men stood quietly under one of the yellow bulbs.  One wore a suit, lounging against the garden bed with his hands in his pockets, and the other wore an earthy brown shirt the colour of ochre, black shorts and boots.

“What are they doing?” Ursie whispered.

“I’m not really sure, but whatever it is, I don’t like it.”

Ursie looked the man in the suit up and down.  He was unshaven and sported a tattoo of what looked like a star on his cheekbone.

“Is that an inspector?”

“No, he doesn’t look like he’s with the Enforcers to me.  More like a gutter rat who’s trying to look more upmarket than he really is.”

“This must be a sling, then.”

“If it’s a sling, why aren’t they making the trade?  Where are the drugs, and what are they waiting around for?”  Knile inclined his head.  “The guy in the brown shirt.  He’s a worker here.  There’s not much more I can figure out at this point.”

“Can we get past?”

Knile chewed his lip.  “Let’s give it a few minutes.  Hopefully they’ll just leave.”

They waited and watched as the men continued to talk quietly.  The man in the suit checked his holophone compulsively every few seconds, as if eager for an important message to come through.  There was a loud bang of a door being thrown open and both men looked up.  Two more men were heading their way from the opposite direction, laughing at some joke they were sharing.  One had a thick beard and wore a jacket; the other was thin and wiry and grinned with an almost feverish mix of excitement and trepidation.  They reached the first two men, and the one in brown introduced them to the man in the suit, who gave each of their hands a single firm pump.

“So what’s this about?” the man with the beard said loudly.

The man in the suit responded in a far more reserved manner, his voice not carrying to Knile and Ursie.  Knile strained forward and concentrated but he could only pick out fragments of the man’s speech.

“This is bad,” Knile said, shuffling back again.  “I don’t like it.”

“What do we do?” Ursie said, alarmed.

“We have to keep moving.  There’s not enough time to turn back now and retrace our steps.  Dawn is coming.”  He pointed across to the next row.  “We’ll have to head across and then try to sneak past them.”

“Won’t they–”

The door at the far end opened again, a little less noisily than before, and the men turned as one to observe the newcomer.  Knile saw his chance to move while their backs were turned.

“Go!” he said, diving across the aisle to the next row.  Ursie was caught off guard and hesitated for a moment, then dived after him, landing heavily on the concrete floor.  She gasped and clutched at her hip, which felt as though it were on fire.

“Ow!” she gasped.

Knile reached over and clamped a hand on her mouth, the intensity in his eyes telling her that she should not make a sound again, even if the pain was so bad that she thought her leg was going to fall off.  She bit her lip, fearing that she had made too much noise, that the men would turn and come to investigate.  She stared up at Knile, waiting to hear footsteps headed their way, but the men made no reaction.

“Here he is!” one of them called.  “Late as always, Binkowski.”

Knile took his hand from Ursie’s mouth and pointed to the row adjacent to the men.

“We have to go along here.  There’s too much light over by the windows.  They might see our shadows.  Do you understand?”

Ursie nodded.  “Yeah.”

“Can you walk?”

“I’m fine.”

Knile wasted no more time, moving into a crouch as he headed up the aisle he’d nominated.  Ursie followed close behind, her hip stinging but not greatly restricting her movement.  Over the top of the garden they could see Binkowski approaching, a short and rotund man with a pushed-in and deeply wrinkled face like a pug.  He was still trying to button up his brown shirt as he waddled toward the men.

“Screw you,” Binkowski responded to the men.  “Do you know what time it is?”

“Time you moved your fat ass,” the man in the uniform said.

“Hey, I’m doing my best.  You called in the middle of the friggin’ night, man.  I was in the middle of humping my wife.  What gives?”

“I’m sure she’ll manage without you,” the wiry man said.  “Isn’t she banging your neighbour anyway?”

The men laughed, all except for Binkowski.

“Fuck you.”

Knile and Ursie were now close to the men, close enough to hear the man in the suit clearly for the first time.

“Is this it?” he said.

“I guess so.  The others mustn’t be interested.”

“All right, then,” the man in the suit said.  “As I was saying, I’m coming to you with something huge to offer.  This is a one-time deal.  It won’t come around again.  It’s real simple and the payoff is friggin’ massive.”

“What’s the catch?” one of the men said.

“No catch.  All you have to do is keep your eyes open and give me a buzz if you find the mark.  If we find the guy because of your help, you get the gold.”

“Yeah, and where exactly is this gold coming from?”

“I work for Mr. Wilt,” the man in the suit said.  “You might have heard of him.”

“The drug lord?”

The man in the suit shrugged.  “I wouldn’t say that to his face.  Let’s put it this way – his organisation explores many different avenues of income.”  He enunciated each word carefully as if he’d learned the phrase by rote and was repeating it exactly.  “Mr. Wilt would look upon your help very favourably.”  He leaned forward and lowered his voice.  “The reward for finding this mark is insane, man.  Any one of you could change address tomorrow with this kind of cash.  I’m talkin’ a nice suite up in Lux, with enough left over to pay for hookers to suck your dick every morning before breakfast.”

“Who needs that when Bink’s wife is around?” the bearded man said, and the others brayed with laughter.

Knile and Ursie were only a matter of metres away from the men.  They’d reached the critical point and would not get any closer than this.

“So when is this happening?” Binkowski said, ignoring the insult from the bearded man.

“Right now.  You can get started immediately.”

“But we don’t clock on for another few hours yet,” Binkowski complained.

The man in the suit chuckled to himself.  “You can wait till your shift starts, if you like, but if someone else finds the mark before then, you get nothing.”

“Is this guy gonna try to kill us or something?” Binkowski said, a note of alarm in his nasally voice.

“You don’t have to put him in a fuckin’ headlock,” the man in the suit said.  “Just get the call in right away and tell me where he is.  That’s it.  I handle the rest.  No danger for you.”

“Okay, I’m in,” Binkowski said.

“Me too.”

“And me.”

“Good,” the man in the suit said, satisfied.  “You’ve made a wise choice.  Now,” he said, tapping on his holophone, “this is the guy you’re looking for.”

Knile took the chance to raise his eyes, just enough to see the men on the other side of the garden.  The man in the suit was holding his holophone between thumb and forefinger, turning it slowly in an arc before the men so that they could each see the display in turn.  As it rotated in his direction, Knile could clearly recognise the face on the screen.

It was his own.

His blood turned to ice in his veins and he inwardly shuddered, suddenly nauseous.

“Get a good look, boys,” the man in the suit said.  “Burn it into your memory.  Don’t forget it.”

Knile ducked his head back down and kept moving, his pace more urgent than before.  He felt sick to his stomach.  He had to get out of here.  He had to get away from these men before their conversation ended and they began their search.

Knile and Ursie made it to the end of the row and stuck to the shadows as they headed over to the stairwell, wasting no time before proceeding inside.  Once they were clear, Ursie struggled to catch up as Knile bounded up the steps.

“What’s going on?” she said.  “Was that you they were after?”

“Yes,” Knile replied grimly.

“And?  What does that mean?”

“It means that things are about to get even harder.”

25

Duran stalked out of the barracks on Level 190, all too aware of the baleful glares at his back.  As he reached the elevator he heard a muttered curse and then laughter, the pathetic bleating of those who mocked him.  He told himself that it didn’t matter, that those men were beneath him.  Still, he jabbed his finger at the call button impatiently.  He wanted to get out of there.

He’d never been liked by most other Enforcers, the ones he should have been able to call his own.

It had been no different at the barracks down in Link.  In the few years he had spent there, demoted and shamed after the incident in the Atrium, the Enforcers stationed with him had viewed him as an interloper, someone merely passing through on his way to somewhere else, somewhere even worse than Link.

He couldn’t blame them for thinking that.  In some ways they had been right.

Duran had never been content with taking the easy path that most of the other Enforcers had chosen to tread.  They seemed more than happy to use their power and status to make their own lives more comfortable.  After all, it was easier and more profitable to take bribes than to bring the real criminals to justice, wasn’t it?  And it was less likely to ruffle the feathers of one’s peers to boot.  The other Enforcers never trusted Duran because he wouldn’t drink from the same cup.  He was a do-gooder and they despised that.

Duran didn’t view himself as some kind of saint or a pillar of justice.  He wasn’t trying to appeal to a higher moral code than the other Enforcers.  For him, it was purely about the work ethic.  He believed in doing his job and doing it well, no matter what vocation that was.  It was something his father had taught him from an early age, an ideal that he still aspired to now.

“Alec,” his father had said, peering at him through his spectacles with sharp hazel eyes, “I don’t care what it is you become.  You could be an astronaut or a fighting man or a politician.  That part doesn’t matter.  Just make sure that, whatever you choose, you do it right.  You be the best at what you do.  If it’s a janitor you become, you swing that broom with pride.”

Now all these years later, here he was, still trying to be the best at what he was – an Enforcer, one of those who had been entrusted to maintain the peace and keep the law.  To bring criminals to justice.  Maybe the others in these barracks had forgotten what it really meant to do the job, or had never cared in the first place, but Duran hadn’t.  And he never would.

Of course, Duran had a knack for rubbing people up the wrong way as well, a habit of doing things that his colleagues disliked.  Like storming into the barracks in the dead of night and waking everyone up.  They hadn’t liked that at all.  But how else was he going to locate the men who had been on guard when Knile Oberend walked through the gates?

Then, once he had found them, the men had offered no help whatsoever.  That was no great surprise.  They had been more concerned with getting their eight hours’ sleep than trying to remember the details of one innocuous man among hundreds who had passed through the gates.  Duran had been given the same response by all of them – no, they hadn’t seen the guy, so fuck off.  The expletive changed from man to man but the tone had not.

The elevator finally arrived and Duran stepped in, his finger hovering over the button that would take him to his next destination.  The doors closed, shutting him off from the view of those at the barracks front desk, where those on night shift had glared at him with palpable dislike over the rims of their steaming cups of coffee.  Alone in the confined space, he told himself to be calm.  To think.

What am I doing?  Time is wasting and I’m no closer to Oberend.

He’d already spent hours interviewing Enforcers and trawling through surveillance footage to try to track his target’s movements, bouncing from one level to the next like an errant pinball with no sensible plan of attack.  No fixed destination.  He was wasting time and he knew it.

“Think,” he said to himself.  “Get inside this guy’s head.  What would he be doing right now?  Where would he go?”

He thought back to the hunt several years ago, the time he’d been entrusted to find Oberend when the man had first appeared on the Enforcers’ radar.  Duran’s ability to track Oberend had not been terribly good then, either.  Most of the information he’d gleaned about his target had been gathered in the aftermath of the explosion, in those few days he’d had to pick through the pieces of what had happened and try to put them back together again.

A few days.  That was all he had been given before the hierarchy had reviewed his handling of the case and summarily demoted him, casting him out of the Reach entirely.

“So let’s start there,” he said, and punched the button that would lead him back to his office.

A few minutes later he was back at his desk, tapping his finger on his bottom lip as he examined the footage from that day in the Atrium.  People were running and screaming, many on fire, emerging from the billowing haze of smoke and staggering about, begging for help, collapsing.  Lying unmoving as they succumbed to their injuries.  Duran tried to ignore the horror contained in those images as he manipulated the controls, reversing the feed and turning back time, diminishing the field of destruction until it disappeared in the bright flash of the initial explosion.

Now he was viewing the moments before the bomb had gone off.  People were milling about, curious and excited as they passed through the Stormgates into the inner sanctum of the Atrium, blissfully unaware of the carnage that awaited them in a few moments’ time.  They clustered around the elevator that led to the roof, to the Wire, astonished that they’d been admitted through the gates without passkeys, as two Redmen stood in their way, evidently confused by the sudden influx of people.

Duran wasn’t a lip-reader, but he could imagine the conversations of those people all too easily.

Are they letting everyone through?

Do you think we can leave?  Is the Consortium throwing open the gates?

Are we finally getting out of here?

They began to press in, the crowd getting thicker by the second, and for the first time one of the Redmen shoved the first in line backward.  Duran recognised people who would, moments later, be rolling around in flames.  People with limbs blown off.  People who were dying.

Duran froze the image before that happened, then sent the feed back even further, to when the first group of citizens were heading through the gate.  He edged along frame by frame until he found the ones he sought.

Knile Oberend and the woman in the blue dress.

He sat and stared at them for a moment.  Oberend stood there with his hand outstretched, but the woman wasn’t moving.  People streamed past them as the Atrium began to fill up, and a crowd of only a dozen or so quickly became thirty.  Forty.  Word spread fast.  They’d all materialised within a matter of minutes, hoping to try their luck at the Stormgates.

Duran flicked the image aside and went searching through his notes.  He hadn’t looked at them in a few years, and now, reading them back, they almost seemed like they’d been written by a different person.  Perhaps it had been the shock of what had happened that had clouded his thoughts, but the notes now appeared stilted and incoherent.  Not like him at all.

He found the details of the woman.  Mianda.  That was her.  How could he forget the name?  She should have been indelibly imprinted on his mind, just as her partner had been.

Unfortunately there had not been much in her background that had helped unravel the mystery of what had happened.  She’d engaged in some small-time theft and there was one charge of obstruction of justice at a protest outside the gates of the Reach a few years back, but that hadn’t offered any help.  During the initial investigation Duran had also found footage of her hanging out with Oberend in the days leading up to the incident, but there was nothing untoward in her interactions with him.  No clues that might help unravel the mystery.

He flicked back to the image in the Atrium – Oberend with his hand outstretched, Mianda standing a short distance away.  That one frame told him more than all of his other notes combined.

Mianda had meant a great deal to Knile Oberend.  Maybe she was the only thing that had meant anything to him.

That information was something that Duran could use.

Unfortunately, right now it didn’t help him get any closer to his target.

So how do I find him?

Duran studied the rest of the frame.  He glanced over the shimmering Stormgates, checking each of the citizens in turn, racking his brain for ideas.  Then his gaze fell upon the two Redmen standing before the elevator.

Duran snatched up his desk phone and punched in a sequence of digits, then leant back in his chair as it began to ring.  He glanced at the time display on his terminal.  It was an ungodly hour, and he knew that whoever picked up on the other end of the line wasn’t going to be impressed, just like those in the barracks hadn’t been earlier.

Still, he had to try.

There was a soft beep as the call was answered, then a slight pause.  The camera had been disabled at the other end, so Duran was left staring at a blank screen.

“Consulate Three,” a female voice said finally, thick with sleep.  “This is Verhoeven.”  Duran picked her age as being somewhere in her forties, although the huskiness in her voice could in part be attributed to her evident grogginess.

“Good morning, Consul Verhoeven.  My name is Inspector Alec Duran and I’m–”

“What’s the emergency, Inspector?” Verhoeven interjected impatiently.

“Uh, the emergency…” Duran said, trying to buy some time as he considered the best way to phrase his response.

“Yes, the emergency.  You’ve reached the consulate emergency number, and this better be good,” Verhoeven said irritably.  “This better be fucking amazing to be calling at this hour.”

“Of course,” Duran said.  “I’m calling to tell you that we’ve detected a high-level target making his way through the Reach.  We believe that he could pose a serious threat to the safety of Consortium assets.”

“And?”

Duran raised an eyebrow.  “Isn’t that enough?”

“Inspector, you may have noticed that the Consortium has taken a number of steps to protect itself from those who wish to do it harm, the first of which is the presence of a specially trained military force.  You may have seen them from time to time.  Big guys with guns, dressed in red.  Guys who turn anything that crosses their path into dust.”

“Yes, but–”

“Is there anything else?”

“This particular target caused considerable damage to the Atrium several years ago, and we believe it may happen again.  If we knew when he was likely to arrive there–”

There was a scoffing noise on the other end of the phone.  “I get it.  You want to see our passenger manifests.”

“Those would help, yes.”

“You fucking guys,” Verhoeven muttered disdainfully.  “Always trying to stick your noses into our business.”  She sounded very much awake now, and her voice became hard-edged.  “Let me tell you this in the simplest way I can, Inspector Duran.  Enforcers are not privy to any dealings between the Consortium and its clients.  We will not supply you with details of passengers or cargo, and we will not supply you with details of when said passengers and cargo are due to be shipped.  That information is strictly confidential, and no amount of fucking weaselling on your part will make me give it to you.  Is that understood?”

“So you’re not concerned about the safety–”

There was another soft beep to indicate that the call had ended.  Duran grimaced and then dropped the phone back on the desk, massaging his eyebrows as he tried to figure out where he was going to go from here.

Meanwhile, Oberend was out there, and Duran was still no closer to finding him.

26

Dawn was almost upon them.

The old man in brown gripped another length of thick black PVC pipe and hefted it up onto the pallet, which by now was getting close to full.  He stood back and surveyed his work, his bony arms planted on his hips, seemingly satisfied with the load.  Then he lifted his faded khaki sun hat and scratched his balding pate, weighing up his next course of action.  He disappeared back into the storage shed and moments later returned dragging another length of pipe noisily across the concrete, his mouth set in a lopsided grimace as he struggled with the weight of it.

“Shit,” Knile muttered from his position behind the thatch of tomato vine.  He brushed his fingers against the leaves to afford himself a better view of the old worker.

“He’s still there?” Ursie said, slumped on the floor behind him.  “How long is this going to drag on?  We’ve been waiting for ages.”

“I know,” Knile said.

“Why don’t we go back and find another path?”

“We can’t,” Knile said.  He glanced at the elevator located not far from the old man, not for the first time that morning.  “We need to go up here.”

“So what are we going to do?  This codger could stay here all day.”

“I’m working on it,” Knile said, lowering himself back down again and returning his attention to his holophone.  “The systems here are a mess.  The labels are all wrong.  It’s making it difficult for me to find the right device.”

Ursie shrugged.  “You’re running the show.  I’ll do whatever you say.”

She closed her eyes and allowed Knile to do his thing.  Outside, the sun was turning the sky a dark shade of pink, and the natural light was beginning to make the illumination from the hanging bulbs redundant.  It wouldn’t be long before the grow lights came on, Knile realised.  Hiding was going to be more difficult from now on.

That was why they had to get past this old man who, by mere virtue of the fact that he had come in early to do his work, was now an unwitting sentry, prowling around before the elevator like a withered, toothless watchdog.

Ursie sat with her eyes closed for such a long time that Knile decided she had drifted off to sleep.

“Why did everyone leave?” she said softly, her eyes still closed.

“Huh?” Knile said.  “Are you talking to me?”

Ursie opened her eyes.  “Why did everyone leave Earth?”

“In the evacuations?”

“Yeah.”

Knile stopped what he was doing for a moment to consider.

“I guess it had something to do with the polluted air, the contaminants in the water, the people getting sick from the toxins…”

“Yeah, but it’s not as if they can breathe the air on Mars, right?  It’s not as if they can walk around on the surface of Titan without breathing apparatuses and suits.  Those environments are even more inhospitable than here.  So why go there?”

“Because those are all planned habitats,” Knile said.  He poked his face into the tomato vine again, but the old man was still there.  “Those places you’re talking about are utopias.  They’re regulated.  The population and food supplies are controlled, the energy is renewable and the resources are properly managed.  But this place?”  He looked out the window at the twisted hues of the chemical sunrise.  “It went to hell in a handbasket.  There was overcrowding, disease, crime.  Greed, corruption.  It was everywhere.  We burned through our oil, cut through our forests.  The whole place was too far gone to salvage.  That was when economies went to shit and governments just fell apart.  In the end, people weren’t just running from the poisons in the air and in the water.  They were running from each other.”

“And now you’re running, too,” Ursie said with that fake smile.  “Livin’ the dream, right, Knile?”

“Going someplace better, that’s for sure.”

“Aren’t you sad about leaving people behind?”

Knile paused again and looked at her.  The question seemed sincere, and it made him think.  What was he leaving behind?  A lot of problems, and a lot of people who didn’t like him very much, that was for sure.

But he also thought of Talia sitting in her basement, going about her work day after day with little chance of escape.  He thought of Roman as well, the boy who had looked up to him for so long, and whom he had let down in return.

“In a way, I suppose I’m leaving some people behind,” Knile admitted.  “Everyone who goes up the Wire leaves someone behind, I guess.  What about you?”

Ursie stared at him, perplexed.  “I’m not leaving.”

“Yeah, but if you were, who would you be leaving behind?”

Ursie scratched at her neck self-consciously.  “No one.  I, uh… I never really had anyone to look after me.”

“There has to be someone.”

“Not really.  I’ve spent my life on the streets.  I’ve never really called anywhere home, or anyone family.  I had a few people come into my life that I might have called friends.  There was a kid called Jerry, same age as me.  We used to run together a lot, got into trouble, got out of trouble.  Set fire to the Enforcer barracks once, just for shits and giggles.  Most of the time we lived hand to mouth, like you have to on the streets.  But Jerry wasn’t careful about what he ate.  Ended up with too many toxins in his bloodstream, and that was it.”  She shrugged as if it were all inconsequential, but Knile could see the hurt in her eyes.  “Who gives a shit, right?  That’s just how life turns out for some of us.  I don’t care.”

“It shouldn’t be that way.  Not for anyone,” Knile said.

“Hey, don’t feel sorry for me,” Ursie said with a laugh tinged with bitterness.  “I’ve always been a loner anyway.  This is the way I like it.”

“If you say so.”

Ursie drew her satchel to her chest and snaked a hand inside, running her fingers along the edge of the case as if for comfort.

“Who is it that you’re leaving behind?” she said.

“Just some friends.  No one you’d know.”

“Mianda?”

Knile almost dropped the holophone, such was his surprise at hearing the girl utter that name.  He stared at her, not sure whether to feel rage or astonishment.

“How the fuck do you know about her?”

“Hey, calm down, Knile.”  Her hand drew back from the satchel and extended toward Knile in a placating gesture.  “I didn’t–”

“Tell me!”

“You were talking about her.  In your sleep, all right?  Last night.  You were saying her name.”

Knile thought back to a few hours previous in the storeroom.

The dream.

How much had he said?  How much had he revealed?

“What did I say?”

Ursie raised her hands helplessly.  “That’s about it.  You just kept saying that name over and over again.”

Knile grunted, not entirely sure she was telling the truth.

“Yeah.  Okay.”  He continued his work on the holophone and Ursie leaned forward intently.

“So who is she?”

“None of your goddamn business.”

Ursie shrank back, disappointed.  “Y’know, this is going to sound bad, but you’re the first person I’ve opened up to in years.  I haven’t told anyone else the shit that I just told you, not about Jerry, not about–”

“She’s dead, all right?” Knile snapped.  “Mianda is dead.  Are you happy now?”

Ursie placed the satchel aside and drew her legs up against her chest, placing her chin on her knees as she stared at Knile with those big, round eyes.

“What happened to her?”

Knile sighed and gave her a glare that was meant to silence any further questions, but his heart wasn’t in it.  In truth, he did feel awful for not sharing anything of himself after she had confided in him.  She wasn’t so much trying to dig up the dirt on Knile’s past, he realised, but more simply wanting to share an intimate moment with a friend, something she had evidently not done in a long time.

Knile relented.  “She was everything to me,” he said wistfully.  “She was my future, the only thing I ever really wanted.  We were leaving here together.”  He smiled sourly.  “Can you believe that?  I managed to get hacked passkeys not just for one person, but for two at the same time.  Most would believe that to be impossible.”

“So how did you do it?”

“I found a married couple who were heading up the Wire together.  They had capsules side by side, the whole works.  It took me months of searching to find the right circumstances.  This one was perfect.”

“You stole the passkeys from a married couple?” Ursie said, dismayed.

“Yeah.”  Knile gave her a quizzical look.  “What’s the problem?  If you’re going to hack a passkey, you have to steal it from someone first.”

“And you’re proud of that?”

Knile bristled.  “Of course I’m not proud of it.  Don’t you think I would have chosen another way if I’d had the choice?”  He tapped angrily on the phone.  “We do what we can to survive, to get ahead.  Sometimes you have to walk over someone else to do that.”  He looked up again and glared at her.  “As if you can talk, anyway.  Are you proud of stealing that prize of yours?”  She glanced down at the satchel.  “Wouldn’t you rather have earned it honestly?  I bet you would.  You’re walking over someone yourself, right now.  You’re about to take money, a lot of money, for something that isn’t yours.”

“All right, man, cool it,” Ursie said.  “I’m not judging you.  Why are you overreacting to this?”

“When you’re born into poverty, like you and me,” Knile went on, “you don’t get to make that choice.  If you want to escape you have to take what you can.”

“Yeah, I get it.  I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to set you off like that.”

Knile glowered at her for a few moments longer, then dropped his face back to the phone.  From the corner of his eye he watched her, and from the look on her face he guessed that she was somewhat surprised by his outburst.  He had to admit that it was incongruent with his normally calm and collected demeanour, but he couldn’t help that she’d inadvertently hit a raw nerve.

“In the end it didn’t work, right?” she said after a while.  “You didn’t make it out.”

“No, we didn’t,” Knile said quietly, his composure somewhat restored.  He lifted his face and stared off into the distance, his eyes unfocused as his thoughts returned to the past.  “Things went bad in the end, things I couldn’t anticipate.”

“So what happened?”

Knile sighed, rubbing the heel of his hand into his eye socket and then allowing his head to thump back into the wall of the garden behind him, like a man who had held out for a long time but was now ready to confess.

“Those Stormgates in the Atrium, they’re built to admit anyone holding a passkey.  Anyone else who tries to go through gets blocked.  Simple, right?  Except things get complicated when you’re talking about a hacked passkey.  The hack is never quite one hundred percent.  Sometimes it doesn’t work like the original, and I didn’t want to leave anything to chance.  So I added in an extra safeguard.

“There’s a field generator located in the level below the Stormgates.  I happened to come across some information about it when I hacked Hank’s terminal.”

“Hank the Consortium guy?  How did you do that?”

“He got a little too trusting and left me alone for a couple of minutes at his desk.  That’s all it took.”

“So what did you find?”

“It was a maintenance report, something really unremarkable, but it caught my eye.  One of the Consortium techs had sent around a routine bulletin, letting the staff know that they’d detected strange behaviour with the Stormgates during power fluctuations of the field generator.  More precisely, when there was a dip in power, followed by a sudden restoration of charge, the field generator would oscillate at a certain frequency that caused the Stormgates to reverse.  It was only for a millisecond, so it wasn’t viewed as a major problem, but I saw an opportunity there.

“By overriding the power regulator to the field generator, I was able to increase the juice and cause those oscillations again.  But the problem was, it was only meant to last for a few minutes.  Instead, it went on for almost half an hour.”

Knile was plagued by regret at the thought of it, but at the same time he experienced an odd sense of relief, as if finally telling someone the story was like a kind of catharsis.

“The Stormgates were open for half an hour?”

“Yeah, and talk about that kind of thing spreads like wildfire.  By the time Mianda and I reached the Atrium, there were people everywhere.  I think they all must have thought that the Consortium had finally thrown open the gates and were letting everyone out.”

“So what did you do?”

“We tried to get to the elevator that led up to the Wire.  There were people all over the place.  Lots of confusion, lots of excited and hysterical citizens.  Then I saw the insurgents.”

“Insurgents?”

“Yeah, one of the groups who want to see the Reach destroyed.  They’d tried to recruit me a few months before, and that was how I recognised them.  They called themselves ‘Children of the Planet’ or something.  They’d brought improvised explosives with them, and took their opportunity to do some damage inside the Stormgates.”

“Oh, god,” Ursie breathed.

“Yeah.  A lot of people got killed.  I was lucky to make it out of there myself.”

“Mianda?” Ursie said softly.

Knile shook his head.  “She couldn’t have made it.”

“Why not?”

“She just couldn’t.”  Knile waved the thought away.  “Anyway, the Enforcers had been trying to track me for a while, and I found out that they blamed me for the explosion.”  He looked at her as if imploring her to believe him.  “I’m responsible for reversing the Stormgates, but that’s it.  I didn’t try to kill anyone.”

“I know you wouldn’t, Knile.”

He grimaced.  “And now I have to do it all again.  I have to get you through the Stormgates, so I’m going to have to reverse the field one more time.”

“Is that going to be a problem?”

“Not this time.  I know what I did wrong.  This time I’ll only make them reverse for a much shorter amount of time.  No one will even notice.  We’ll just have a smaller window to get you through, is all.”  His mood lifted.  “Either way, I’ll be fine.”  He grinned roguishly, attempting to shrug away the last of his melancholy.  “I have a passkey with my name on it, so the Stormgates won’t pose any problems for me.”

Ursie returned his smile.  “And then away you go, right?  Up into the heavens?”

“That’s the plan.”

“Who’s waiting for you up there?  Who’s your Sponsor?”

Knile just shook his head.  “I don’t know that yet.”

“What?  How can you not know?”

“That part of the deal wasn’t revealed to me.”

“Do you think it could be–”

“I don’t know who it is,” Knile said, not wanting to hear what she had to say.  He had no intention of playing that particular game.  “I’ll find out when I get there.”

“What if it’s someone you don’t like?”

“Then I’ll do the same thing I’ve always done.  I’ll improvise and get myself out of trouble.”

Knile lifted his head and looked through the vines again, cursing softly.  “This old guy is really giving me the shits.”

“Why do Sponsors even exist?” Ursie said thoughtfully, not ready to relinquish the conversation just yet.  “If the Consortium is here to make money, why not just take payment from the people down here?  Why go through all the hassle of involving Sponsors?”

“It’s a way of regulating the traffic,” Knile said.  “The place that sits at the top of the Wire, Habitat One, is just a transit station.  It’s not a refuge for the masses.  What would happen if people down here spent their last cred on a passkey, and then had no way of booking passage to one of the habitats in the outer colonies?  They’d sit there milling around in Habitat One, steadily increasing in number until the whole habitat burst apart – or at least until it ran out of food and air.  The Sponsors are a way of ensuring that the passengers have somewhere to go once they step off the Wire.”

“It doesn’t seem fair,” Ursie said.

“Of course it’s not fair.  Who ever said it was?”  He shook his head at her.  “You know that most people are never leaving this world, right?  Most of them are going to rot here.”

“Yeah,” Ursie said.  “People like me.”

Knile felt a pang of guilt, realising he must have sounded like a self-satisfied prick right at that moment, wallowing in his own sense of superiority.

“Look, Ursie.  You’re a good kid.  I’ll, uh… once I’m off-world I’ll find a way to get you out of here.”

She gave him a wan smile.  “How many people have you told that lie to, Knile?”

He frowned, indignant.  “What?  It’s not a lie.”

“Oh, really?  How exactly are you going to get me off-world?  Do you have all the money and power it takes to become a Sponsor?  Do you have any idea about how things work up there?  Any contacts?  Or are you just going to improvise everything?”  Knile looked away from her, unable to come up with an answer.  “You don’t have an answer, do you.”  It was not a question.  “You just sprout that bullshit to deflect people who look like they might get in your way.”

“That’s enough,” Knile growled.

“Well, guess what?” Ursie went on.  “I don’t want to leave here.  Why would I?  This place” – she jabbed a finger to the floor – “is where I grew up.  It’s the place where I learned to survive.  Everything I know is right here.  Why would I want to go off-world, to a place where I don’t know anyone, where I have to figure out how to survive all over again?”

“If that’s what you want, good luck to you.”

“It is.  All I need is some creds so that I don’t have to spend the rest of my life eating bugs and running from Enforcers.  That’s all.  I don’t need any worthless promises.”

Just then there was a noise from the far side of the enclosure, a hissing noise that was getting progressively louder.  Ursie sat up in alarm.

“You done chewing me out now?” Knile said, unperturbed by her harsh words.  He held up the holophone.  “I finally found the right building control system to hack.”

They both poked their head above the garden edge, and some distance away Ursie could see a fine grey mist descending over the plants at the other end of the room.  She understood.

“You turned on the sprinklers,” she said in wonder.

“These aren’t irrigation,” Knile said.  “These are for putting out fires.  Let’s hope that gets our friend’s attention.”

They both turned to look at the old man, who initially seemed oblivious to what was transpiring at the other end of the room.  Then slowly he raised his head, cocking it this way and that as he tried to figure out what was going on.

“Come on, old fella,” Knile crooned.  “Take the bait.”

The old man pushed his threadbare sun hat up and scratched his forehead again as if trying to decipher some convoluted puzzle, squinting myopically down the garden rows in the direction of the noise.

“He’s not going to leave,” Ursie said.

But just then the old man bent and threw one last pipe onto the pallet, then began to shuffle off down the nearest aisle, his eyes transfixed on the gently hissing mist that drifted down from the sprinklers in the ceiling.  Knile wasted no time in getting to his feet, his backpack slung over his shoulder.

“Get your things and let’s go,” he said.

27

The old elevator squeaked and groaned in protest as it crept upward, like a mechanical counterpart to the arthritic old man who had stood outside its doors down below.  Ursie decided that it needed a good oil change, or whatever procedure it was that made an elevator run smoothly.  This particular one hadn’t seen a service in a very long time, she judged, and she began to wonder if it would even have the fortitude to take the two of them where they needed to go.

“Why this elevator?” she said as the carriage shuddered again.  She ducked and winced as if the roof might topple inward any second.

“It’s the shortest route to our next destination.  That means less chance of running across any more of these night owls.”

“So what if we see more of them?”

“We want to avoid them if possible.  We don’t know how many of these guys are working for this ‘Mr. Wilt’ character.  The fewer that get a look at my face the better.”

“And if we can’t avoid them?”

“Don’t panic.  Just act like you belong here.  We’re wearing maintenance gear, so if anyone asks, we’re here to repair a water leak.  We don’t need a story that’s any more elaborate than that.”

The elevator ground to a halt and made a sound that was like the forlorn caw of a dying crow, a twisted and ruined caricature of what had probably once been a pleasant musical note to indicate the destination had been reached.  Knile and Ursie waited as the doors moved jerkily apart, and then they stepped out into the hall.

Two young women wearing gardener uniforms were slipping into gloves and boots nearby, gossiping animatedly in hushed tones.  They looked up as Knile and Ursie appeared and their conversation faltered.

“Mornin’,” Knile said casually, giving them a wave as he continued on his way, his hand on Ursie’s shoulder.  She looked up at him curiously, noting the twang of an affected accent in his speech.

“Mornin’ to you,” one of the women called back.  “More early risers, I see.”  She wore a red bandana in her hair with the knot tied at the top.

“Well, you know what they say,” Knile said over his shoulder, still using the accent.  “Water leaks nev’r sleep.”

The women giggled flirtatiously but Knile did not look back again.  He kept a firm hand on the girl as he guided her away down the corridor.

“Easy as that, huh?” Ursie said.

“Like I told you, just play it cool.  If someone says hello, you say hello back, just like normal.  They’re less likely to remember you if you act like everyone else.”

Around the corner there was another young woman standing in front of a wheelbarrow packed with tiny green seedlings.  She was tall and athletic, her blond hair in a long ponytail that hung down her back, and her figure curved in all the right places against her tight-fitting brown shirt.  She stood with her arms folded across her chest as she listened, somewhat impatiently, Knile thought, to a shorter man standing with his back to them.

The blonde’s eyes flicked to Knile and Ursie as they neared, and then she nodded at something the man was saying, pressing her arms tighter to her chest and shifting her feet restlessly as she returned her eyes to his face.

As they reached them, the man glanced back at them and Knile’s heart lurched into his throat.  The man’s pushed-in pug-like face was easily recognisable.

It was Binkowski, one of the men they’d seen downstairs earlier.

Binkowski barely seemed to notice Knile, but his eyes lingered on Ursie for a few moments longer.  He never broke stride in his conversation with the woman, babbling on as she stared down her nose at him in thinly disguised contempt.

“And then I told him that he doesn’t know what he’s doing,” Binkowski said in his nasally voice, turning back to the blonde.  “And you should have seen his face!  Holy shit, did that go down like a slum hooker!  I thought he was going to cry, no crap.  So I just got up and started walking out of there…”

The conversation trailed off as they moved away, and when they had rounded the next bend Ursie glanced over her shoulder nervously.

“Don’t turn around,” Knile said sharply.

“But that guy was–”

“I know who he was.  Just keep going.”

“Do you think he recognised you?”

“I’m not sure.  I think he was too busy trying to get laid.  We might have caught a break.”  Knile pointed to an adjacent hallway.  “Down this way.”

This level contained none of the spacious greenhouse compartments that they’d seen earlier, and the ceilings and walls pressed in lower and tighter, much like they had done in Gaslight.  The floors had been stripped back to bare concrete, and they bore the scars of machinery and heavy implements that had been dragged about over the years.  There were also patches of sand and clumps of dark soil that had collected in the furrows in the concrete.  There was more of it scattered across the floor, and as the two of them walked it crunched underfoot.

“Y’know, I’ve heard that name ‘Wilt’ somewhere before,” Ursie said.  “I’m just not sure where.”

“If I get some time, I might see if I can find out some more specifics about him,” Knile said.  “For now, I know all I need to know.  If he has enough sway to organise search parties, he has money or power.  Probably both.”

“And what have you got?”

Knile considered.  “A passkey.  And one angry little psycher,” he added.

She smirked.  “What does he want with you?”

“That’s a crap shoot.  Could be anything.  Maybe he had a loved one died in the explosion in the Atrium, and he blames me for it and wants me dead for retribution.  Hell, for all I know, it’s you he’s after.  Maybe he wants whatever you have in your case.”

“No one knows about that,” Ursie insisted.

“Don’t be too sure about what people do and do not know about you, kid.  The walls have ears in the Reach.”

Ursie glanced over at him.  “You’re avoiding one of the reasons, aren’t you?”

“The passkey?”

“Yeah.”

“Sure.  There’s every chance he could be after that.  There was an intermediary involved in getting word to me about the passkey, a guy who might have sold the information to this Wilt guy.  In fact, I half expected he would.  But I wouldn’t have come back here if I didn’t think I could handle whatever was thrown my way.  I–”

They crossed an intersection with another hallway and heard a sharp noise to their left.

“There!” the man shouted shrilly.  Knile and Ursie turned as one to see Binkowski not far away, his stubby finger pointed in their direction.  Beside him was the man in the suit with the tattoo of a star on his cheekbone.

The man reached inside his jacket and pulled out a pistol.

“Run!” Knile roared, shoving Ursie forward and ducking his head as the man in the suit loosed a shot that blew a chunk of plaster from the wall.  They scampered down the hall and then turned into an open plan area filled with mouldy partitions and desks crammed with junk.  It looked like an office or administrative area from the distant past.  They kept running, staying low enough to be concealed below the cubicle walls, zigging and zagging to throw off their pursuers and making as little noise as possible.

Beyond the cubicles were a string of executive rooms with frosted glass walls, and these too had been converted to little more than junk collection boxes.  There were old plastic crates, broken hoses, cardboard boxes full of dead grow lights and countless lengths of black irrigation pipes.

Knile heard the pursuers arrive at the cubicles and begin to frantically search the area, making a racket as they knocked piles of trash aside and overturned desks and chairs.  He guided Ursie forward, setting an unrelenting pace and hoping that those behind them would spend a few more precious minutes searching the area in vain.

Alton stood in the centre of the market in Gaslight, one hand in his pocket and the other idly stroking his chin.  He watched the first of the early morning stragglers as they filtered past, heads bowed and eyes downcast as they went about their errands.  His eyes alighted on each  face and drank in every detail, like a bee flitting from flower to flower in search of nectar.

Knile Oberend was not here.  There had been no sign of him through the long, dark night.

And yet, Alton’s conviction did not waver.  He was still certain that Oberend would be found, that the passkey would be brought before him, just as it should.

And so my last day on Earth begins, Alton thought.

Tucker appeared at his shoulder, haggard and with dark circles under his eyes, but still focussed and resolute.

“Still no word,” he said.

Alton nodded.  “Has there been a report from Inspector Cuskelly yet?”

“From that fat fuck?  Not a thing.  I wouldn’t count on his input at all.  He’s probably hiding under his desk right now, hoping we’ll just go away.”

“He may need a reminder.”

“If he’s hiding in the Enforcer barracks, there’s not a lot we can do.”

“Like any whale, he has to come up for air at some point.”

Tucker grinned.  “I’ll ready the harpoons, boss.”

At that moment Alton’s holophone rang and he lifted it to his ear.

“This is Wilt.”

“Mr. Wilt, this is Jordan.  I have news for you.”

“Mr. Jordan,” Alton said.  “How is the Greenhouse this time of morning?”

“Pretty fuckin’ spectacular, sir.  I just saw your mark.”

Alton stiffened and then snapped his fingers to gain Tucker’s attention.  The bald man’s eyes widened and he stepped closer to listen in on the conversation.

“What do you mean by that, Mr. Jordan?” Wilt said.

“He’s here, in the Greenhouse.  Or at least, he was.  He’s a slippery fuck.  I got a shot off at him but I missed.”

“Where did he go?”

“I’m not sure. I have a man searching for him right now, but we could use some help.”

“Done.  Do you have any more information?”

“Yeah, he was dressed in maintenance gear from what I could tell.  Wearing grey coveralls.”

“Good.  Anything else?”

“Yeah,” Jordan said.  “You might be looking for two people.  He had someone with him, might have been a short woman or a kid.  I didn’t get a close look at her.”

“Outstanding, Mr. Jordan,” Wilt said.  “Where are you now?”

“Level One-Fifty.  Top level of the Greenhouse.  Section C, I think.”

“Good.  You’re going to have a few friends with you very soon.  Keep looking and report in with anything else you find.”

“Sure thing, Mr. Wilt.”

Alton swiped away the call and then replaced the holophone in his pocket.  Tucker was already headed toward the elevators, two steps ahead of him.

“Get a team to go help Jordan,” Alton instructed.  “Get another team in the tier above that to start looking around, just in case he’s already made it through.  What’s above the Greenhouse?”

“It’s Manufacturing.  I’m on it,” Tucker said.

“Update the search attributes and disseminate to the teams.  The mark could be with an accomplice, and they may be wearing maintenance uniforms.”

“Way ahead of you, Mr. Wilt.”

“And when you’re done with that, have someone bring me breakfast.  I’m starving.”

28

Duran watched the woman slide down the shiny metal pole.  Her tanned and slender legs wrapped around the glistening metal, comfortably supporting the weight of her naked upper body as she arched outward with languid grace.  Splaying her arms out as she inverted, she let her tangle of chocolatey-brown hair tumble downward like a waterfall so that it almost touched the floor.  She slid her fingers across her taut stomach, along the mounds of her breasts and then through her lustrous hair, dragging strands of it outward as her arms reached their full extension.

The throbbing music picked up tempo, and the woman’s body responded, thrusting and gyrating suggestively as she allowed herself to slide lower on the pole.  As her head touched against the platform at the bottom she arched her neck further so that she could look out into the crowd, her dreamy, half-lidded eyes drifting from one patron to the next as a sensual smile drew up the corners of her mouth.  She locked gazes with Duran, but he only stared back at her impassively, conveying without words that she should try her luck elsewhere.  Her own smile never skipped a beat as she looked away, scanning for a more accommodating target.

Duran drummed his fingers on his legs impatiently.  He didn’t like it here.  He hadn’t been to Love Rockets in years, but it hadn’t changed much since he’d been away.  It was still gloomy and stank of stale beer.  The walls above the bar were still decorated with the same cheap knock-off memorabilia: wagon wheels made of plastic; battered twentieth century license plates; a black Gibson Les Paul, minus strings, that also had the tacky sheen of a plastic replica; a faded red stop sign that was riddled with buckshot.

It was a shithole, no doubt about it.  Yet it was still one of the more popular nightspots in Gaslight.

Dawn had come and gone, yet the patrons inside Love Rockets were oblivious to the fact that the night had ended, dancing and drinking and ogling the strippers as if party time had just begun.  The sunlight never penetrated this far inside the Reach, close to the core of the structure.  As far as the people here were concerned, night and day were merely shifting, malleable concepts that were able to be bent to their whim.  The night would only end when they had squeezed every last drop of pleasure from its already desiccated remains.  It would only end when they found it convenient.

“You gonna drink something, sugar?”  A waitress carrying a tray of empty glasses appeared beside him.  She was naked except for a diamond-studded black thong and a gold bracelet on her wrist.  Her hair was raven and plaited neatly, tucked over one shoulder.  She stood with one hip thrust out as she chewed a piece of gum with exaggerated gnashing movements.

“Where’s your boss?” Duran said by way of answer.  “I need to speak to Eerkens.”

“I ain’t Mr. Eerkens’ secretary, baby,” the woman said testily.  Her tone indicated that she was used to dealing with drunks and imbeciles, and that she’d given up tolerating bullshit a long time ago.  “You want a drink or a lap dance, I can get that.  But I don’t make no men appear outta thin air.”

Duran waved her away and she turned on her silver platform heels and stalked over to the next table.  This was the third club run by Eerkens that Duran had tried, and so far there had been no sign of him.  Duran knew that Eerkens was a hands-on type, the kind who never strayed too far from his establishments, forever keeping a close watch on the creds as they flowed from the customers’ pockets into his own.  He would be around somewhere; Duran just wasn’t sure exactly where.

Duran got up, wondering if he should simply move on, but just then the door behind the bar opened and his target stepped out.  Eerkens was a greasy-looking man with a crooked nose, dressed in a black leather jacket and pink polo shirt.  A curl of metal that resembled a large fish hook was attached to the lobe of his right ear, and it was so unsightly that Duran couldn’t decide whether it was an ornament placed there for aesthetics or just a legacy of a nasty street fight, a fragment of a weapon that had broken off on his head that Eerkens hadn’t yet removed.

Eerkens moved along behind the bar, saying something to the barman as he headed toward the door, but Duran intercepted him before he could make it.

Eerkens jumped as if he’d seen a ghost.

“Inspector Duran!  Damn!  You’re still around.”

“Yeah, I am.  How are you doing, Eerkens?”

“I thought I’d seen the back of you.”  Eerkens turned to the barman and scowled.  “And I thought I told you never to tell anyone I’m fuckin’ here.”

“I didn’t!  Honest!” the barman said, his eyes darting between Eerkens and Duran.  “I told him you ain’t been around here for ages, but he went and sat down waitin’ for you anyhow.”

Eerkens turned back to Duran and beamed a fake smile at him.

“You always were the persistent type, Inspector.”

“You know it.”

“So what’re you here for?” Eerkens said.  “Juice?  Pussy?  What’s your poison?”

“Information.”

Eerkens shrugged.  “Well, I don’t got none of that.  You know me.  I just keep my head in the sand and mind my own business.”

“Cut the crap,” Duran said.

“No, serious.  I’m not really a player anymore, bwana.  Y’know what I’m sayin’?  Go see Planck over at the Rub n’ Tickle.  He’s got his thumb on the pulse–”

“Shut up,” Duran said with a quiet intensity that caused Eerkens to stop in his tracks.  Duran drew himself up.  “I’ve had a very bad night so far.  I haven’t slept, I’ve found no answers, and I’ve been running in circles.  I’m about ready to put someone’s head through a fuckin’ wall, and you’re the closest target.”

“That’s Enforcer brutality,” Eerkens sneered.  “You’re too much of a nice guy to do that, bwana.”

“Try me.”

“Look, Duran,” Eerkens said charitably, “why don’t you take five minutes with Savannah?  On the house.”  He jabbed his thumb at the brunette hanging from the pole in the centre of the club, who was whipping her hair around extravagantly in time with the throbbing trance beat.

Duran scowled at Eerkens.  “I’m looking for someone,” he said, ignoring the offer.  He held up his holophone for Eerkens to see.  “This guy, Knile Oberend.  Have you seen him or heard his name mentioned in the last twenty-four hours?”

Eerkens paled visibly and looked away from the image on the screen, blinking rapidly as if it hurt his eyes just to look at it.

“Nope,” he said quickly, sticking his hands in his jacket pockets, an innocent little pout on his face.

Duran reached out and grabbed him by the collar, pulling him closer.

“You’re the world’s worst poker player, Eerkens,” Duran growled.  “Tell me what the fuck you know, right now!”

“Fuck you, bwana.  I’m not helping no hong-eh,” Eerkens said adamantly.

“Yeah?  Well, if you don’t help me, this hong-eh is gonna put you in the Cellar so fast your teeth will rattle.  I’m sure there’s people there who would love to see you come through the door.”

“I’ll take my chances,” Eerkens said.

Duran’s teeth ground together as he pressed his face up against Eerkens’. He was close to something here; he could see it in Eerkens’ eyes.  This was the first break he’d had since he’d started looking for Oberend the day before.

It might be his only break.

Duran’s grip tightened further, and then he wrenched the man to the side, sending him hurtling into the conglomeration of dirty brown liquor bottles that were clustered on the shelves behind the bar.  They scattered and smashed on the floor, one of them breaking apart as it was pile driven by Eerkens’ oily head.

A few of the patrons at the tables turned their heads to see what was going on, but their interest was short-lived.  Fights and fracas were not foreign in a place such as Love Rockets.

“Fuck!” Eerkens wailed, clutching at his face where blood and whiskey had intermingled as they ran down his cheek.  “That was a bottle of imitation Johnnie, bwana!  They don’t even make that shit anymore!”

Duran stepped forward and gripped Eerkens’ shirt again, hauling him upright.

“Start talking, you piece of shit, or I’ll force-feed you the rest of the bottle, starting with the broken shards!”

“Okay, bwana,” Eerkens said, holding up his hands.  “No problem.”

“Talk!”

Eerkens nervously licked whiskey from his lips as blood began to stain his polo shirt at the collar.

“Some guys came around yesterday talking about him.  This Oberend guy.  I never heard of him before that, I swear.”

“What were they saying?”

“They want him.  They didn’t say why, but whatever it was, they were throwing around serious creds.  And I’m talkin’ serious, bwana.  These guys ain’t fuckin’ around.  They’re offering a reward for any kind of talk on him – anyone who’s seen him, anyone who might know where he is.”

Duran’s mind whirled.  It sounded like Oberend had pissed off the wrong people.

“Who’s driving it?  Which gang?”

“It looked like Geisler’s men to me, bwana, but that’s not the name they were throwing around.  They were talkin’ about some guy Wilt.”

“Wilt?”  Duran had heard the name somewhere, but he wasn’t sure where.

“Yeah, Wilt, bwana.  That’s all I know, I swear.”

Duran relented, letting go of Eerkens’ shirt and turning away.  The greasy man stumbled backward and knocked a few more bottles askew before steadying himself on the counter.

“Wilt,” Duran repeated to himself, turning the name over in his mind as he probed at his memory.  He glanced back at Eerkens and the man flinched as if it were a stone that Duran had thrown at him instead of a gaze.

Duran turned and headed for the door without another word.

Parnell yawned and rubbed his eye, glancing over his shoulder as Duran leaned in close to examine the terminal.

“This takes a minute to boot up,” he said, but Duran did not change his posture.  Parnell edged his chair away slightly, the coasters squeaking as they rolled.  He waved at the empty chair beside him.  “Why didn’t you call Singh?  He normally gets in earlier than me.”

“I don’t know Singh,” Duran said.  “I know you.”

“Obviously not well enough to know that I don’t like getting up two hours early to come in for my shift,” he joked, but Duran made no reaction.  Yeesh.  The guy has an even bigger stick up his ass than usual, Parnell thought.

“How long till it boots?” Duran said.

Parnell shrugged.  “Not too long.  I normally kick it off and go for a cup of grinds, and by then it’s usually humming away.”  He gestured to the empty chair again.  “Singh’s terminal is a bit quicker.  Next time if you–”

“It’s ready,” Duran interjected, pointing at the glowing blue login screen.

“So it is,” Parnell muttered.  He pulled himself in close to the keyboard and then entered his credentials.  In a few moments the console was ready.  “What was the name again?”

“Wilt.”

“That’s all you’ve got?”

“What else do you need?”

Parnell sighed and grimaced, making a disgruntled little movement of his head.

“Okay, we’ll start there and see what we get.”  He punched in the letters and waited for the system to access the database.  A few moments later a list of about twenty names came up on the display.  “Here we go.”

“So what have we got?” Duran said, edging closer.

“There’s a few Wilts around the place.”  Parnell began scrolling through the names, watching the accompanying images pop up on the display.  “Little old lady down in Gaslight.  A man and his wife out in West Link.  One kid with them.  What are we looking for here, Duran?”

“There!” Duran said suddenly, pointing.  Parnell, who had already cycled past the entry, now back-pedalled to the one Duran had spotted.

“Alton Wilt,” Parnell said thoughtfully, examining the face on the screen.  The man had short black hair and narrow eyes that were set into a face that could have been carved out of granite.  “Mean-looking cuss.”

“Alton Wilt,” Duran repeated.  “Yeah, I know the name.  The guys down in the Link barracks used to mention him.  Never ran across him myself.”

“Let’s check the rap sheet,” Parnell said, selecting the record and drilling further into the data.  A long list of entries came up and Parnell began to flick through them with an ever-widening look of astonishment on his face.  “Aggravated assault, murder, deprivation of liberty, drug trafficking…”  Parnell looked up at Duran.  “If you’re looking for a badass, I think you found him.”

“Do we have any data on his recent movements?  Anyone he’s associated with?”

“Doubt it.  The guy lives out in Link, and he doesn’t have a permit to access the Reach…”  He trailed off.  “What the fuck?”

“What is it?”

Parnell shook his head.  “According to transit records, this guy is in the Reach.  Right now.  He’s been accessing the main elevators for the last twenty-four hours and going up and down like a friggin’ yoyo.”

“How is that possible?  Why haven’t we been seeing alarms?”

“You tell me, Duran.  More problems with the monitoring systems, maybe?”

“Well, let’s shut off his access immediately.  I want him locked down.”

“That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Inspector.  This guy doesn’t have any access at all.  He shouldn’t be allowed anywhere, and yet somehow he’s jumping around like a bowling ball on a bungee cord.”

“How is he doing it?”

“I can only guess that the alarms are being overridden somewhere else in the system.”

“Then turn off the overrides.”

“Nuh-uh.  Not on my pay grade.  I don’t have the access.  You’ll need to bug someone higher up the food chain, Duran.”

“Then how do I find him?”

Parnell held up a finger.  “That, I can help you with.”  He tapped on the keyboard and accessed another database.  “Elevator access, here we go.”  Parnell leaned in close and peered at the recorded transactions.  “He just got off at Manufacturing, Level One-Five-Three, not even half an hour ago.  You could probably still smell his fart in elevator.”

“That’s good to know,” Duran said, and his mouth formed a grim smile as he turned away.

This wasn’t much to go on, but it was something.

He paused at the door.  “Parnell,” he said.  “Thanks.”

Parnell nodded.  “Can I go back to bed now?”

Duran gave him a weary grin and then got moving out toward the main elevators.

Find Alton Wilt, and I might just find Knile Oberend, he thought.  That’s assuming one of them doesn’t kill the other before I get there.

29

The tiny elevator trundled upward with Ursie and Knile stuffed inside like turkeys in an oven.  There was no light within, but the barrage of sounds that assaulted them was almost overwhelming: rollers squeaking as they crept up the guides; ragged breathing of the occupants still reeling from their flight; the elevator car rattling and shuddering as if it were battling its way through a series of obstacles as it ascended; and long, drawn out groans from the traction cables above.  Ursie imagined those cables, the only things keeping them suspended, struggling under the weight and ready to give out at any moment.

Inside, Ursie and Knile sat hunched with their arms and legs and belongings tangled together with uncomfortable tightness.  Ursie squirmed and wriggled her limbs as she tried to move about, but she had little success.  One of her arms was stuck firmly behind Knile’s knee.

“What the hell kind of elevator is this?” Ursie said awkwardly.  “One for midgets?”

“Definitely not one for people,” Knile said.  “I think it was used for conveying small items between two locations.”

“What do you mean, ‘you think’?  I thought you knew everything.”

“You’ve got to remember that the way the Reach is now configured is nothing like its original purpose.  It was a military installation with a completely different layout.  All of the levels were reconfigured in the years after they left.  So right now, this little conveyor links a room in the Greenhouse to another in Manufacturing.  In the old days it would have linked two rooms with different functions.”

“Do you think those guys will follow us up here?”

“Not likely.  This elevator was decommissioned a long time ago.  I know how to reroute the power to make it run again.  They don’t.  Once we’re done here I’ll shut it down again.”

“Is there one of these things that could take us all the way to the top?” Ursie said jokingly.

“Would you really want to be this close to me while this thing crawls up one hundred levels?”

“Good point.”

Knile shifted a little to ease the pressure on his neck.  That had been a close call, down in the Greenhouse.  They’d only just managed to shake the man in the suit as he’d pursued them through the network of offices.  Somehow they’d reached the innocuous little back room in which the elevator terminated, its doors well hidden behind an old filing cabinet.  Knile hoped their pursuers wouldn’t figure out that he and Ursie had taken the elevator.  With any luck the two of them could get a good head start before Wilt’s men figured out what was going on.

Either way, Knile felt uneasy.  The net was closing in.  They were onto him, this Wilt character and his men.  Knile would have to be on his guard for the rest of the ascent toward the Atrium.  He’d been pursued by Enforcers in the past, but they operated within rules and guidelines.  Procedures.  Knile had learned to anticipate their movements.  Wilt and his men, on the other hand, were not encumbered by the same bureaucracy.  They operated with a different methodology.  They would come at him from different vectors, with strategies that he might not have anticipated.

As they were drawn upward in darkness, Knile was already recalibrating his route from Manufacturing to the Atrium in a way that he hoped would compensate for these new variables.  Much of his plan was salvageable, but a few minor tweaks here and there would hopefully keep them out of Wilt’s clutches long enough for them to make it to the Atrium.

A vertical strip of vivid white suddenly rolled into view like a beam of light descending from the heavens, and the elevator ground to a sudden halt.  Knile fumbled for the catch on the inner door, sliding it aside, then jammed his fingers into the brilliant stripe and began to push.  The gap widened, and then the outer doors gave up their resistance in a rush, hitting home with a loud thunk.

Knile half crawled, half tumbled out of the elevator, shoving away the cardboard boxes that had been stacked in front of the door as he went.  He turned to retrieve his backpack, offering a hand to Ursie as she climbed out after him.

As they stood and looked around the room, they heard the distant sound of the Reach klaxon sounding out across the city like a forlorn wail far below.

“Another day begins at the Reach,” Knile said, taking his holophone and reversing the changes he’d made to the elevator, deactivating it again so that no one could follow them.  “We have to move.  The workers in Manufacturing will be rolling in any minute.”

They left the storeroom where the elevator came out, Knile setting a brisk pace as he led the way.  He remembered the first time he had been here.  It had seemed like an ants’ nest, a hive of interconnecting tunnels and criss-crossing apertures that were arranged haphazardly with no thought to purpose or function.  The architects must have been drunk when they’d dreamed it all up, he figured, their slack fingers unable to keep the pen in a straight line as it had been drawn across the page.

“Who made this place?” Ursie said, obviously perplexed.

“The same ones who made the rest of it.  The military.  They used to build and store munitions, weapons, and their machines of war up here.”  Knile pointed at a great hole in the ceiling that curved away into darkness.  “All of these tunnels were carved out of the steel, but no one really knows why.  I guess it was for some secret military purpose.  One theory I heard was that these were part of some sort of huge assembly line, and components were carried through the tunnels in gravity fields to the next stage of construction.  I don’t know if I believe that.”

As they passed underneath the hole, Ursie looked up into the inky blackness.

“Please tell me you’re not taking me in one of those,” she said, a shiver running down her spine at the thought of it.

“Hey, even I’m not stupid enough to try running around in there.  That’s a sure way to get lost.”  He glanced behind them apprehensively.  “We have to get out of these maintenance uniforms, fast.  Those guys who are looking for us know what we’re wearing now.  We have to change it up.”

The both stopped dead at that moment, hearing movement up ahead, and a white goat suddenly appeared from an adjoining tunnel.  It swung its head toward them and let out a short bleat.

“What in the fuck…?” Ursie said.

Knile did not share her surprise and got moving again right away.

“They keep the livestock in this tier,” he said.  “There are abattoirs and holding pens for these guys all over the place.   This fella must have escaped.”

They passed the goat, who showed no fear of them.  It even advanced with its mouth parted, lips drawn back, revealing stumpy teeth, as if it might be searching for a finger or an article of clothing to devour.

“Ew, get back, you ugly bastard,” Ursie said, moving away from it skittishly.  “Back!”

Knile snorted with laughter.  “How ironic would that be?  To come all this way only to be eaten by Cletus the goat?”

“Hilarious,” Ursie drawled, watching the beast carefully as it gave up the pursuit.

There was more noise further down the tunnel, the distinct sound of human voices and boots, and Knile directed her down an adjoining tunnel.

“Here come the morning shift,” he muttered.  “This way, quick.”

They moved past a series of smaller offices.  A man sat behind a desk in one of them, glancing up when he saw them.  Knile half expected him to get up or call after them, but instead he simply nodded politely and went back to his paperwork.

“Just a maintenance guy with an apprentice, come to check up on some faulty gear,” Knile whispered.  “That’s all we are to most of them.  Except Wilt and his men.”

Knile found the room he had been looking for and went inside.  It was cluttered with shelves full of saws and knives and other wickedly curved blades of all descriptions.  Knile proceeded past them to a cupboard at the rear.

“We’re not going to fight these guys, are we?” Ursie said, taken aback.

“No.”

“So what is this, the ninja supply room?” Ursie said.

Knile opened the cupboard and rifled through the garments that hung within.

“It’s a workshop for the meatworks,” Knile said.  He pulled out a long coat and gave it a once-over.  “It’s also where we make a quick change.”

He began to pull his maintenance coveralls off, and Ursie began to do the same.

“Grab one,” Knile said, inclining his head toward the cupboard.  He opened the long coat and began to slip it on.  It was lined with grubby and blackened wool.

Ursie hesitated as she perused the hanging garments, and Knile, obviously frustrated, reached past her and pulled out the first one in line.

“Here.”

“That’s going to be way too long for me,” Ursie said, making no attempt to take it from him.

Knile waved his hand in exasperation.  “Then just take one that fits.”

Ursie examined them for a moment, then pulled out a shorter coat and began to put it on.

“Not that one.  Get one with the wool liner.”

“Why?”

“Just do it,” he snapped, tossing the maintenance uniforms under a bench.  “And hurry up, unless you want to find your own way from here.”

Ursie did as he instructed, choosing a coat lined with the same putrid wool, and slipped it on.  It reached down to mid-calf, her dark jeans jutting out from where it ended.  She jogged to catch up to Knile as he reached the door.

“I can’t imagine how many old men have drenched this thing in sweat since it was last washed,” Ursie said sourly.

“There’ll be something nicer to wear later, I promise,” Knile said sarcastically.  He snatched a cap from a nearby bench and wedged it down on her head.  “Keep your face down.  The less people who think you’re a kid, the better.”

When they emerged from the room there were four workers dressed in sky-blue shirts and grey trousers heading down the corridor toward them.  Knile took Ursie by the elbow and guided her in the other direction.

“Hey, Frankie!” one of the workers called after them.  “Thought you had the week off.”

“Frankie?” Knile called casually over his shoulder.  “Nah, man.  I’m Pete, down from Section Fourteen.  Just droppin’ back some tools Lenny borrowed on Thursday.”

“Oh, sorry,” the man said.  “Thought you were someone else.”

Knile waved but did not stop to chat further.  “No probs, man.  Have a good one.”

“Yeah, you too.”

They hurried on to the end of the corridor and up a flight of stairs.  More workers were heading downward and one of them eyed Ursie suspiciously, a dowdy woman whose blue shirt strained at the seams to hold in her considerable girth.  The woman’s eyes flicked across to Knile, who smiled casually, and then back to the girl.

“Morning,” she said slowly, somewhat warily, Knile thought, but she continued on her way regardless.

At the top of the stairs, a group of men and women in the azure uniforms were shuffling through a doorway.  Inside there came the sounds of heavy machinery starting up.  These folk paid no attention to Knile and Ursie, chattering away at each other over the clamour of saws and orbital grinders.

They’d made it past the bulk of the crowd when Knile pointed furtively to the next staircase he wished to climb, and Ursie changed her course accordingly.

Then out of nowhere, the man with the star tattoo on his cheekbone appeared around the corner just in front of them.  His gaze passed over them without recognition, but then he did an almost comical double take, his eyes becoming wide with surprise.  He reached into his jacket for his gun, but Knile reacted first, leaping forward and slamming the man across the chin before he could draw the weapon. The man grunted and dropped heavily, and as he lay stunned, Knile slipped his hand to the holster and took the gun.  At a glance, he thought it might have been a 9mm semi, but at that moment he didn’t really care.

Then Knile was running, jamming the pistol into his belt, pushing Ursie onward and up the stairs.

Someone cried out in alarm and Knile looked back to see the man groggily swinging a smaller pistol in the air, one that he’d taken from an ankle holster.  The weapon discharged, the round slapping harmlessly into the roof, and now everyone was screaming.  Everyone was running.

This might work in our favour, Knile thought as they reached the top of the stairs.  No one’s going to take any notice of a man and a kid while the lunatic with the gun is holding court.

But his optimism was short-lived.  At the end of the next corridor there was another man in a similar get-up – the same jacket and shirt, and he was holding a gun at his side.

“Here!” Knile commanded, yanking Ursie aside as they changed course again.  “The place is crawling with these bastards.”

They ran past a series of doorways, and Knile scanned the labels on each as he tried to determine what lay beyond.  He stopped abruptly at one and produced the tiny silver implements he had used many times over the years to pick locks.  He fidgeted at the keyhole for a few seconds and then the door clicked open.  They went inside.

Behind them, Knile could hear the footsteps of their pursuers closing in.

30

Ursie was immediately struck by the stench.

Crowding in behind Knile, she was unable to see anything past the bulk of his shoulders and the folds of the black long coat he had donned.  Now, as she was accosted by this putrid miasma, she wasn’t sure she wanted to see what was in here.

The first image that her mind conjured was a room crowded with rotten corpses, and the thought made her want to puke.

“It’s poison!” she gasped, fumbling for her respirator.

“No,” Knile said, turning to close the door behind them.  “Look.”

Ursie lifted her head to see a long, broad room that stretched off into the distance for some way.  It was dimly lit by a smattering of spotlights that created thin shafts of illumination, like glowing yellow pine trees punctuating the darkness.  The roof was low and tight, and Ursie could vaguely see more of those gaping holes that Knile had told her about in the roof, making it look like a block of swiss cheese.

The place was cluttered with a latticework of thin beams, both vertical and horizontal, a whole network of them, and Ursie wondered if Knile had led her into some kind of maze.  Then her gaze dropped further and she saw a pair of large, glinting brown eyes staring right at her from the gloom.

She gasped and fell back, clutching for Knile.

“Take it easy,” Knile said, unconcerned.  He snatched up his flashlight and pointed it in at the wall nearby.  “Haven’t you ever seen a cow before?”

Ursie steadied herself and looked over again at the eyes peering through the wooden beams at her.  On closer inspection, she could now see the outline of the cow’s face and the bulk of its body beyond.  Glancing about, she saw that there were many, many more of them, standing quietly and regarding her with a kind of dull impassiveness.

“What are they doing here?” Ursie said.

“They live here,” Knile said, walking away urgently with his flashlight still trained on the wall.  “It’s one of the livestock pens.”

Ursie clamped two fingers on her nose to block the smell.

“I think one of them died,” she said, her voice nasally.  “Maybe more.”

“That’s just the natural fragrance of the pen,” Knile said.  “I guess when you combine all the cow dung, the gases that are released when their stomachs break down that shitty grain mix they’re forced to eat–”

“It’s probably better if I don’t know,” Ursie said.

“Right.”  Knile reached an orange box on the wall, a distribution board, and used a screwdriver from his bag of tools to pry it open.  Inside was a column of circuit breakers, most of which had been flicked to the off position.

“What are you doing?” Ursie said.

Knile seemed to scan the faded labels on the breakers, dragging his finger down as he muttered the names to himself.

“Trying to find the exit,” he said.  His finger ceased its descent, resting on a label that read Funnel2, and he flicked the breaker to the on position. Some distance away a white fluoro clicked on, revealing a broad, horizontally segmented door set in the far wall.

“That should lead to the meatworks,” Knile said.

Ursie raised an eyebrow.  “And?”

“There’s more places to hide that way,” Knile said, closing the distribution board.  “More chances to lose these guys.”

“As long as we don’t fall into the mincer.  What–”

Ursie stopped and turned back to the entrance.  There was the unmistakable sound of something scratching at the outside lock.

“Shit,” Knile said, flinging open the distribution board again.  He jammed the screwdriver into the first breaker and snapped it free of its screws with a sharp wrenching motion, then went on and did the same to the second, then the third.  Behind her, the overhead cones of yellow light began to wink out.

The scratching on the door ceased, and then a moment later there was a loud, resounding thud as whoever it was tried to force the door.

“We need to move!” Ursie hissed.  The livestock began to shift, agitated, their hooves stomping and scraping on the hard flooring as they shied away from the banging at the door.

“One second!” Knile said, moving down the line of breakers and snapping them off into his hand.  There was another thud at the door, and a woody cracking sound as the lock began to give.

“Hurry up!” Ursie said.

Knile reached the last breaker, tearing it off into his palm and then flinging the handful into the air, out above the pen, where they rained down on the unsuspecting cattle, causing several of them to jump and make disgruntled groans.  He grabbed Ursie by the hand and led her toward the nearest pen, ducking between a gap in the beams and sliding through to join the animals inside.  The beasts shied again, their dull eyes suddenly wild, and then Knile clicked the flashlight off and plunged the room into darkness.

A moment later the door gave way under the force of another thunderous blow, and it crashed open with a loud metallic clunk that resounded throughout the room.  A swath of white light from the hallway outside cut across the herd like the headlights of a car on a moonless night.

“Here,” Knile whispered, never letting go of Ursie’s hand as they kept low and headed toward the large door at the other end of the room.  “Don’t rush, and don’t make any sudden movements.  We don’t want to give away our position.”

Shadows danced in the doorway and then they heard the clear voice of a man ring out.

“Start looking,” someone said.

“I’ll find the lights,” added another.

“Shit, how many are there?” Ursie said.

Flashlights seared into the blackness overhead, cycling past like lighthouse beams and illuminating the backs and shoulders of the beasts around Knile and Ursie.  There were footsteps as one of the men came nearer, and then the sound of the distribution board creaking open.

“They’ve mashed the panel, Jordan.”

“Spread out,” the other man said.  “Find them.”

There were more shadows in the doorway, and the sound of others entering.  Hushed voices.

“Keep heading toward the entrance to the meatworks,” Knile whispered, and Ursie nodded.  As the flashlights swept across again, she noted in some remote part of her brain that these beasts did not seem particularly healthy.  Their hides were patchy and mottled with sores, and many of them seemed to be afflicted with some sort of scaly black skin condition that engulfed the entirety of their hind legs, making it appear as though they’d been standing with their rumps in a fire.

I better not catch some goddamn disease in here, she thought, even though at that point in time such a concern came a far-distant second to the problem of the men with guns.  One of the cows flicked its ears as she passed as if shooing away some unseen gnat, staring at her impassively.

“Knile?” a loud voice suddenly boomed from the doorway.  Ursie stifled a gasp and then went thumping into Knile’s back as the cow next to her knocked her askew in its fright.  There was the sound of many hooves stamping and shifting on the floor again, and then the voice returned.  “Knile, I know you’re in here.”

Knile looked back toward the doorway to see the silhouette of a man towering above the cattle, perched on one of the highest rungs of the cow pen like a stockman of old keeping watch over his herd.

“Stay low,” Knile cautioned.

“Knile,” the man went on.  “My name is Alton Wilt.  I’m a businessman who recently took an interest in your… activities.”  Wilt’s voice was deep and commanding as it rang out across the pens.  There was also an uncompromising quality about it that made Knile deeply uneasy.  “I have a proposal for you.  I’m here to tell you that you can still walk out of this room alive.”

Yeah, right, Knile thought.

“I’m here to tell you that if you’re willing to offer your co-operation, you don’t have to die in here.”  The silhouette dropped and there was a loud slap as Wilt’s boots hit the floor.  He began to pace along the edge of the pens, making no effort to mask his movements.  “Stand up, right now, and bring the passkey to me.  After you place it in my hand, my interest in you will cease.  You can go on your way and live to fight another day.  I’ll even give you a nice bag of creds for your trouble.”

So it is the passkey he’s after, Knile thought.  No real surprises there.

The pacing stopped, and Knile heard the boots slide and brush against the flooring, and he realised that Wilt was coming into the pens after him.

“You’re a resourceful man, Knile.  You wouldn’t have avoided me for this long if you weren’t.  You can organise yourself another passkey.  You can still get what you want.”  There was a pause, as if Wilt was giving him a chance to answer.  “If we do things the right way, we can both get what we want, and no one has to get hurt.”

Knile counted two other flashlights moving amongst the cattle, but he knew that there might be more pursuers than that, surreptitiously searching in the dark so as not to give themselves away.  He lifted his pace slightly.  The exit couldn’t be far way.

Behind him, Wilt sighed as if exasperated.

“You should know that this is not a small matter, Knile.”  Wilt’s previous conciliatory tone was now tinged with anger and impatience.  “This is not some frivolous diversion that I added to my schedule last week.  This is everything to me.  This is my life.

“I’ve done things I’m not proud of to get here today, Knile.  I’ve done terrible things to keep my wealth and power.  And why?  Because without those, what chance would I have of ever leaving this place?”

Knile had no intention of replying, and now Wilt’s veneer of civility was beginning to fray.

“Would you like to know what I’m capable of, Knile?  Let me tell you.  I’ve shot and killed innocent men in front of their wives.  In front of their children.  Blown their heads apart and left them seeping blood and shit all over their own living room floors.  I’ve snatched creds from the hands of hopelessly addicted wretches who were too stupid and weak to say no, even when they were naught but skin and bones.  I didn’t relent, Knile.  I didn’t let them out of my grasp until their very souls had fled their withered bodies.

“If there is a Hell, I’m going there.  I’m standing on the edge of a very deep and dark chasm.  I know that.  But, in turn, you should know that it’s too late for me to turn around now.  My course is set, and it can’t be changed.  Why?  Because I sent a child – the only thing on this planet that I ever loved – out into the unknown.  I abandoned her.  I failed her, and I will not relent until I’ve undone that wrong.”

His voice was so loud he was almost shouting now.

“I need to get off this fucking planet, Knile.  I need to find my daughter again.  And I will trample over the bones of a thousand more men, women and children if that’s what it takes to do it, because her forgiveness is the only thing that matters to me now.  It’s the only thing that will stop my soul from tearing itself apart.”

The echo of his voice faded away, and the silence that followed seemed utterly pervasive.  Even the cattle had stopped shuffling, as if held in thrall.

The moment was interrupted by the sudden screeching clamour of metal, and Knile looked with horror to see the door to the meatworks folding upward, and two more men in suits appeared, backlit by faint blue light.

“If you cross me,” Wilt grated, his voice sounding very close, “I’ll send you through the meat grinder like just one more of these fucking cattle.  And I can assure you, the process will not be quick.”

Knile glanced around frantically looking for an avenue of escape.  The meatworks were now out of the question – the two men who had appeared at the large door were still there guarding it.  Perhaps if he and Ursie could double back they would be able to sneak out through the first door again.  That was likely a risky move, however.  A low percentage move.

His hand touched the grip of the 9mm in his belt, but the thought quickly left him.  If he pulled that thing out and started firing there was no chance of him walking out of here alive.  Not against this many men.

He continued to look about, and then his eyes fell on one of the dark cavities in the roof just above them.

That’s it, he thought.  Even though he was terrified of being lost in the labyrinth of tunnels up there, it was still a better option than any of the others he had come up with.

Knile turned to Ursie and pointed his finger toward the wall beside them, where a large round pipe with a lip at the bottom, possibly a grain dispenser for the cattle, ran vertically from the ceiling.  Then he indicated to the roof.  Her eyes lifted, and as his intentions became clear, they widened in panic.

She mouthed the word No, but Knile only pointed more emphatically and nodded his head.

There was a sharp noise on the other side of the room and a man cried out, and the flashlights spun and zeroed in on the sound as one.  Knile reacted instantly, gripping Ursie by the hips and pulling himself up the grain feeder, hoisting her upward.  He struggled up the pipe and lifted her even higher, and, without any other choice, she struggled and groped for the lip of the aperture.  To Knile’s great relief she found purchase and began to wiggle upward and out of sight.

“Shit, sorry,” one of the men called, holding up his hand to fend off the flashlight beams that were pointed at him.  “This fucking buffalo thing kicked me.”

“Well, don’t try to put your dick in it next time,” one of the other men said gruffly.  This was greeted by coarse laughter, but then Wilt’s voice came over the top of them.

“Shut up!” he snarled, and there was instant quiet.

Knile climbed higher up the pipe, but then realised that there was a considerable gap between where it ended and where the roof began.  He wasn’t sure he could even jump that high.  Ursie’s face appeared dimly as she looked back down at him, but he knew that she would have neither the reach nor the strength to pull him up.

The flashlight beams were leaving the buffalo man, swinging out across the herd again.

Knile placed his foot on the nearest cow as he tried to gain more height.  It groaned in protest and shimmied to the side and Knile barely kept his balance.  He looked up, found the aperture again and weighed up the leap.

A flashlight fell upon him, blindingly bright.  There was a shout of alarm, and Knile imagined the man behind that glaring beam bringing up a gun in his direction.

Knile roared at the top of his lungs, stamping down on the hide of the cow under his foot with all of his might, and the herd responded as one, bleating in terror and lurching away.  Knile threw himself at the hole in the roof as the beast thundered away, and he somehow caught the edge of it with one hand.  The flashlight that had been trained on him wavered and fell away as the man took evasive action from the oncoming stampede, and Knile secured a grip with his other hand and began to pull himself up.

There was a gunshot, and then pandemonium.  Cattle cried out and thrashed as they tried to escape the darkened confines of the pen, a man screamed under the sound of hooves, and there were more shots as Knile pulled his feet clear.

One of the rounds thudded into the roof only centimetres from the aperture.  A second hit even closer.

Knile pulled himself further into the tunnel using grooves set into its floor, and then he and Ursie were up and running, fleeing into the darkness.

Duran sprinted down the hallway, brushing past the terrified workers who were running away from the sound of gunshots.  One old man stood pointing, waggling a finger so vigorously it looked like it was about to fall off.

“They’re killin’ the beasts!” he cried in a gummy drawl.  “Down in thar’ livestock pens!”

“Get back, please,” Duran said calmly, never breaking stride.  The old man disappeared behind him and he powered on.  The workers began to thin out, and the gunfire had now ceased.

Finally Duran reached the door of the livestock pen, sliding his shoulder against the wall until he could see inside.  He drew his .40-calibre pistol and held it upright.

“Enforcers!” he yelled.  “Put your weapons down and get down on the floor.”  There was no response.  “There’s a Breach Team incoming on this position right now,” he lied.  “I won’t warn you again.  Get down!”

He glanced further inside the room, seeing nothing but skittish cattle jostling about, then stepped inside the doorway, turning his .40 in an arc across the darkened space.  Flicking on his flashlight, he continued moving along the wall, making small and careful movements of his feet as he strafed the outer edge of the pen.  He reached the distribution board and looked inside, hoping to reactivate the lights, then cursed when he found it had been damaged.

More Enforcers began to appear in the doorway, a couple of flatfoots who must have been nearby when the fracas broke out.  They gripped their pistols and peered down at Duran uncertainly.

“It’s Duran.  Inspector Alec Duran.  Get some floodlights in here, right away.  Lighting system’s been fried.”

They nodded obediently and then disappeared again.  Duran continued along toward the other end of the room, but his pistol dropped and then he replaced it in his holster.

He knew that, whatever had happened here, he’d missed it.

31

Knile activated his flashlight, even though he knew it would act as a beacon for those following.  There was no other choice.  The tunnel they found themselves in branched off in many different directions – some led further upward, others in lateral directions.  Others dropped straight out of the floor like tenebrous holes, pitfalls that led to who knew where.  The last thing Knile wanted was to tumble down one such trap and end up falling straight into a meat grinder or even a hard, unyielding floor several levels below.  If the fall was great enough, his velocity might be enough to break his legs when he hit bottom.

“Stop!” Ursie gasped as they reached one such hole.  She stood on the edge of it, panting and looking down into the blackness.  “We’re stuck!  Go back!”

“I can see the other side, right there!” Knile said, pointing.  “We have to jump.”

“Are you fucking kidding me–”

“We keep going, or we die,” Knile said, and with that he took two short steps and bounded across the gap, landing safely on the other side.  He turned and held out his hand.  “I’ll catch you,” he promised.

Ursie gave him a wilting glare, but Knile brushed it aside.  They couldn’t turn around.  Not now.

She backed up a few paces and then set herself, taking a deep breath.  Then she strode forward, her satchel bouncing in ungainly arcs across her back, and she leapt out toward Knile.  She made the jump easily, surprising both of them, overshooting the mark and colliding with his chest and bowling him over.

“Shit,” Knile muttered, picking himself up.  He extended his hand down to the girl to help her to her feet.  “Take the rocket boosters off your shoes before you jump next time.”

“Sorry.  Didn’t know I had that in me.”

They kept moving, varying their course randomly as they went.  They also began to climb through tunnels that sprouted above them, an attempt to throw off their pursuers further.  They had been going for what must have been thirty minutes or more, still with no sign of an exit, when Knile finally called a halt to their flight.

“Stop here, Ursie,” he said.  “We need to try to figure out where we’re going.”

“What about those assholes?  Won’t they be coming?”

“No doubt, but hopefully we’re out of their reach for now.  We need to stop running blindly.”

Ursie slid down the curved wall of the tunnel, somewhat gratefully, Knile thought, and he clambered down beside her and brought out his holophone.  As he turned off the flashlight the tunnel was bathed in the eerie greenish-blue glow of the phone.

“What are you doing?” Ursie said.

“Trying to find some schematics for these tunnels.  I ran across the plans once before, but they were too convoluted for me to really consider using them for travel.”

“Because no one would actually be stupid enough to wander through these things, right?”

“Right.”

Ursie rubbed her face wearily.  “We’re going to die in here.”

“No.”

“Then we’ll make it out, only to have Wilt put a bullet through our faces.”

“Cut the defeatist bullshit,” Knile snapped.  “That’s not getting us anywhere.  We’ve both survived on the streets.  We’ve had to fight to make it through every single day in the past.  I know you’re stronger than that.”

“But how are we going to get around those guys?  They’re like a goddamn army.”  She looked over at him.  “Maybe we should call this whole thing off.”

“Like I said, kid, any time you want to walk, you can walk.  I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to.  But I’m not turning back.  Not now.”

There was silence between them for a very long time after that.  Knile continued to scroll through seemingly endless plans and diagrams, taking notes in another application as he went, whispering to himself as he thought out loud.  He glanced briefly over at her, noting how she was slumped in sullen silence, rubbing her fingers against the case inside her satchel again as if it were a magic lamp that might spawn a genie to rescue them from their plight.

Knile couldn’t blame her for being scared.  It was one thing to play cat and mouse on the streets with Enforcers, and another thing entirely to be the object of a manhunt by a gang of ruthless thugs.  She was just a kid, after all.  He would have been scared at her age.

Shit, I’m scared at my age, he thought.  I’m just better at hiding it.

He hadn’t once considered turning around and throwing himself at Wilt’s feet to beg for mercy.  There was no positive outcome from that.  For one thing, he highly doubted that Wilt was capable of such a thing.  Men like Wilt didn’t bargain or dole out compassion, no matter what they said.  That offer of leniency was merely a ruse, an empty promise designed to expedite their capture.  Once the passkey had been obtained, there would be no sense in allowing Knile or Ursie to live.

The guy had even admitted that he’d killed innocent people for less.

Aside from that, there was another very important reason Knile didn’t want to go back to Wilt.  Knile wanted this passkey to remain in his possession more than anything.  It was his ticket out of here, the gateway to his dreams.  The passkey was going to open up a pathway that would lead to a better life, a life where he had a future.  The last thing he wanted was to hand it over to some guy who wanted to steal that future.

He put those thoughts aside and concentrated on the schematics he had brought up on his phone.  He spent close to ten minutes scrolling through them before he began to see a pattern emerge.

Ursie suddenly made a curt hissing noise, and Knile instinctively thumbed the power button on the holophone, plunging them into darkness once again.  At the end of the corridor he could see a faint outline of light as someone moved about in an adjoining tunnel.

“They’re coming,” Ursie whispered in horror.

“I think I can get us out of here,” Knile said, climbing to his feet.

“You found a way out already?”

“Kinda.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that now we have a slightly better shot at getting out of here than we did ten minutes ago.”

He lifted the flashlight, but Ursie clutched at it before he could turn it on.

“Don’t use that,” she said.  “They’ll find us.”

“We don’t have any choice.”  His thumb dropped and the tunnel was filled with light again.  “It’s either that or we fall down one of these pits and break our necks.  Go!”

They made haste away from their pursuers, Knile directing Ursie on the turns they needed to make in order to escape the tunnels.  In truth, he knew that they were going to need a hefty slice of luck to make it out there in any sort of timely manner.  There was only so much he’d been able to glean from the schematics, just a few rough ideas.  Given enough time, maybe hours or a whole day, they’d have found their way out, but that was less than ideal.  They were still running against the clock.  They needed to get out in order to reach the Wire before his ride left, and also before they eventually ran across Wilt’s men in this labyrinth.

They came to a narrower tunnel that led upward like a ramp, and together they scrambled to the top.  Knile could hear rapid footsteps in the tunnel behind them.  Whoever was coming, they were moving fast.  And they were closing the gap.

“Keep going!” Knile said.

At the top of the ramp, the tunnel flattened out and there was another sizeable hole in the floor.   Ursie did not hesitate with this one, but it was larger than before and she almost didn’t make it, stumbling and crying out as she hit the other side.  Knile vaulted after her and almost landed on top of her, but somehow kept his feet.  He helped her up and they rounded a sharp bend, then he pointed to the ceiling.

“Up here,” he said.  “We need to get higher.”

He assisted her into the aperture, and as she struggled and kicked her way upward he heard their pursuers scuttling up the ramp like a host of angry beetles.

Then they were at the top, their boots slapping against the steel floor as they neared the gap.  Knile looked up at the aperture.

I’m not going to make it, he thought.

As Ursie disappeared above him, Knile turned and saw the flashlight beams scattering across the tunnel.  Instinctively he ran toward them, pumping his arms and hitting full tilt in a matter of strides as he rounded the bend.  As the tunnel straightened he saw a man leaping across the gap in the floor, and as he landed, Knile collided with his chest.  The two of them went sprawling backward, Knile onto the floor of the tunnel, and the pursuer back out over the gap.  As a second man vaulted into the air, hot on the heels of the first, the two men became entangled, and together they dropped down into the void.  A gun went off twice, creating white staccato flashes in the darkness.  The men shrieked in surprise and terror, but their voices were soon lost in the depths of the labyrinth as they hurtled downward at breakneck speed.

Knile lost track of time as they moved from one tunnel to the next, forever winding their way upward through the network of shafts.  He checked his watch at one point and realised that they had been at it for hours, and for the first time he began to despair that they wouldn’t reach the Atrium in time.

Then, abruptly, there was light ahead, and they could hear the sound of people and machines echoing through the tunnel from outside.

“Thank god,” Ursie said shakily.  “I was beginning to wonder if we’d ever make it out of here.”

“Never in doubt,” Knile said, even though he’d thought the same thing a few moments before.

They crept to the lip of the opening and peered down.  It appeared to be a factory floor of some kind, with rows of machinery atop trowelled concrete floors.  Yellow line-markers that surrounded the machines and ran along pathways to designate their edges were wearing thing, now barely visible at all.  A worker wearing a hairnet passed underneath, her eyes directed down at a tablet in her hand, and then she passed out of sight.

Knile dropped his face lower to scan the area around them, and then, without another word, slipped nimbly to the floor below.  Looking around to ensure that he hadn’t been seen, he then raised his eyes to Ursie and gestured for her to follow.

Ursie did not hesitate, plunging over the edge and into Knile’s arms.  Whether it was eagerness to be out of the tunnels or some newfound sense of adventure, he wasn’t sure, but either way he was glad of her decisiveness.

“You okay?” he said.

“Yeah.”

“Follow me.”

He led her along the factory floor.  Glancing around, Knile decided that this must be the aluminium recycling plant.  There was a conveyor belt full of scrap metal being fed into what looked like a centrifuge unit, and from there another conveyor led up to a brick combustion system.  A worker stood overseeing it all, and another was checking gauges on the centrifuge, but they paid Knile and Ursie no attention.  There were perhaps one or two curious glances at the two of them decked out in their fur-lined coats, but workers visiting other sections for one reason or another was not unheard of, and no one stopped them to ask what they were doing.

Outside there were still plenty of people moving about on this level of Manufacturing, but thankfully none of Wilt’s men.  Knile hoped they would still be wasting their energy searching the tunnels below.  In any case, sooner or later they would broaden their search area again as they realised their quarry had slipped away.  At most he and Ursie had bought themselves an hour or two of time.  That was all.

They passed through another series of avenues before Knile raised his finger and pointed at a vehicle, a white commercial van that stood stationary outside an establishment that was fronted by large stainless steel doors.

“There,” he said.  “That’s what we’re looking for.”

The van sat on six squat black wheels, and the sliding door on its side had been thrown open.  Inside, there was something hanging from the roof that was indistinct in the gloom.

“What is it?” Ursie said.

“It’s our ride out of here.”

A worker came through the stainless steel doors, dressed in a long coat much like the one Knile wore and carrying a haunch of beef on his shoulder.  He stepped half into the van, securing the beef onto a large meathook, then disappeared back through the doors.

“Go,” Knile said, walking briskly over to the van.

“What exactly are we doing here?” Ursie said, almost jogging as she attempted to tag along.

“Get in the van,” Knile said.  “Right to the back.”

She looked at him, shocked.

“We’re getting in the damn freezer?”

“Won’t be for long.”  He ducked his head into the driver’s compartment and checked the manifest.  “Yeah, this is it.  This one is headed where we want to go.”

“We’re gonna be ice cubes, man!” she hissed.

“You’ve got the coat, you’ll be fine.”  He pushed her toward the opening.  “Quick, now.  Before he comes back.”  She hesitated.  “Or you can wait here for Wilt to have his way with you.”

She glowered at him but did as he asked, and Knile bundled in behind her as the man emerged again with another side of beef bound for Lux.

32

Hunched in the back of the refrigerated compartment, Ursie shifted uncomfortably.  She was already cold by the time the workman slid the door shut and started the van’s electric motor.  Left in almost pitch black darkness again, Ursie couldn’t help but be creeped out by the vague silhouettes of meat slabs that hung from the ceiling in front of them.  In her imagination they were like people hanging from nooses, people who had been gagged, stripped of their skin, strung up and left to bleed to death.  An odd notion, no doubt, but one that she couldn’t shake.

Perhaps it was just a reaction to seeing meat and bone in this kind of quantity that made her uneasy, she decided.  Where she came from, meat was a rare commodity, a luxury that was meant only for people more fortunate than her.

She shivered, not entirely from the cold.

Knile sidled close to her and wrapped his long coat around her to afford her some extra warmth.

“Stay calm,” he instructed quietly.  “I’ve done this before.  The trip isn’t long and the coats will keep us warm until we get out.”

“Is this really necessary?  What if this guy decides to park somewhere and forgets about us?”

“He won’t.  And yes, it’s necessary.  The Enforcers have a stronger presence around the elevators the higher you go in the Reach.  This is our best and quickest option.”  He paused.  “Or we could have climbed up the exterior walls again, if you’d really wanted to.”

“Okay, good point.”

The momentum of the van shifted as it wound around several corners, and then it slowed.  There were a series of sharp thuds as the wheels crossed over a rut beneath them.

“That should be the elevator,” Knile said.

They could hear the driver talking animatedly to someone outside the van, sharing a joke or two, and then there was a harsh blaring noise and the sound of something large and heavy rolling across behind them.  The chatter stopped and for a moment everything was still.

Then Ursie heard the elevator groan and felt pressure from underneath as it began to ascend.

Her teeth were now chattering, the cold seeping in through folds of her clothing that she couldn’t protect.  Knile pushed her head down further until it was under the breast of his coat.

“Almost there, kid,” he said.

Soon after, the elevator came to a smooth halt, and the klaxon sounded again.  The rolling noise returned, reversing its direction this time, and Ursie decided that it must have been some sort of gate or protective barrier that enclosed the elevator during operation.  As the noise stopped, the van went into reverse and slowly backed out of the compartment with a series of high-pitched beeps.

“What’s that?” Ursie said, alarmed.

“It’s just a warning that the van is in reverse.”  A thought occurred to Knile.  “Have you ever taken a ride in a vehicle like this?”

“No.”

“Have you ever seen a vehicle like this?  Or any sort of car?”

“No.  Who uses these things anymore?  I’ve only seen them in an old video reel one night at the Arbor Bar down on Sixty-Nine.  There were a bunch of old bastards sitting around reminiscing about the old days and how much better they were.”

“They were better.”

“Yeah.  Well, anyhow, this is my first time in a car.”

“So now you can go and join those old bastards in the bar.  Throw in your own thoughts when the conversation turns from dementia and false teeth to cars.”

“Look forward to it.”

The van ceased its backward motion and then started off again the right way, running for only a couple of minutes before stopping again.

“Be ready,” Knile whispered.  “This is our stop.”

The driver’s door opened and then shut with a slam, rocking the van gently from side to side.  Heavy footsteps sounded as he strode around the front of the vehicle, and then the sliding door was flung open, sending a bright spear of light into the compartment.  The driver grunted as he struggled with the first side of meat, then lifted it away and disappeared from view.

“Wait,” Knile said, pushing forward through the hanging meat as he moved to the door.  The dismembered limbs moved like pendulums in his wake.  Knile plucked a haunch from a meathook and placed it on his shoulder as he exited the van.  He looked very much the part, Ursie thought, just another meat worker in his long coat who was going about his job.  When he’d made sure the coast was clear, he set the haunch back on the hook and beckoned to Ursie.

“Move it.”

Ursie clenched her jaw and forced her way through the frozen slabs of cow, or goat, or whatever they were, and took Knile’s hand as he helped her down.  He guided her away from the van just as the workman returned again from a nearby door.  He did not even bother to look their way.

As they moved, Ursie felt the numbness in her extremities begin to lessen.  She tried to get the circulation in her body going again, shaking her fingers and stamping her feet in an attempt to rid herself of the numbness entirely.

“You okay?”

“I can’t feel my hands or my feet.”  She pressed a wrist gingerly to her nose.  “Or my face.”

“You’ll be fine.  It will pass.”  He clapped her heartily on the shoulder.

“Yeah.  I’ll cope.”  Ursie raised her face for the first time since stepping out of the van, and what she saw almost made her stop in her tracks.

Knile noted her reaction with an amused smile.

“So, let me be the first to welcome you to Lux.”

For a moment, Ursie couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing.  This place seemed at such odds with everything else she’d experienced that she almost believed that van was some kind of interdimensional portal, that it had taken them to some magical place that wasn’t even Earth anymore.  At least, not the Earth that Ursie knew.

The first thing that caught her eye about this place was how it gleamed.  Every single part of it seemed freshly buffed.  There were polished marble floors and alabaster garden edges that ran along the centre of the thoroughfare; perfectly rounded pillars, inlaid with ornate patterns that ran up to the high ceilings; spotless glass windows on either side of the avenue that gave glimpses of boutiques and cafes nestled in behind.

Then there were the vehicles.

Ursie saw maybe half a dozen of them – small mechanical three-wheeled contraptions that were large enough to seat two people inside.  They were curved in a kind of teardrop shape with a large bubble-like window at the front through which the occupants could look out at their surroundings.  They whirred about in near silence at a slow pace, not much faster than a walk.

“Uh… are those cars?” Ursie stammered, overwhelmed by what she was seeing.

“Not really.  Not in the classic sense.  These are more like oversized sewing machines with wheels.  They run on electric motors and are really only good for lazy people who can’t be bothered walking short distances – which is pretty much everyone in Lux.  Around here they call them Autos.”

Even though Knile regarded them with disdain, Ursie couldn’t help but be awestruck by the machines.  Like everything else here, they glistened as if they’d been washed only half an hour ago.

“Stop gawking,” Knile said out of the corner of his mouth.  “You look like some kid who just arrived here out of the slums and has never seen an Auto before.”

Ursie blinked and dropped her eyes.  “Sorry.  But I kinda am.”

“Sure.  Just don’t let them know that.”

They reached a place with white tiled walls and floors and Knile led her just inside the entrance, out of sight of those on the avenue.  He reached into his backpack and pulled out the blue dress that he’d bought down in Gaslight and offered it to her.

“Head into the restrooms here and get changed.  Lose the coat, we won’t need it again.”

Ursie made no attempt to take the dress.  “You serious?” she said, incredulous.

Knile raised an eyebrow.  “Are you going to complain about everything I try to put you in?”

“Well it’s just that we’re running for our lives here, and that thing–”

“Have I made a bad call yet?”

She pursed her lips.  “No.”

“Then go do it.  Meet me back out here in five minutes.”  He glanced at his watch.  “It’s getting on to noon.  We’re down to less than eight hours left.  We have to keep moving.”

Ursie took the dress and looked at it doubtfully, but she did as he asked, moving inside the restrooms in search of some privacy, finding the facilities just as clean and shiny as everywhere else in Lux.

Even in here the place is spotless, she marvelled. It’s like no one has ever even used it before.

She opened the doors to one of the stalls and went inside, peeling off the coat and dumping it on the floor.  She shrugged out of her jeans and blouse and then stood there looking at the dress, not quite knowing what to do with it.  She’d never worn something like that before, never even dreamed of it, and now that she looked at it, she realised she didn’t want to wear it.  It wasn’t her.  She was going to look foolish in it, no question about it.  She understood that Knile wanted to use it as a disguise, to fit in with the others here, but there was no way that was ever going to work.  They’d see through her in the first second.  They’d see her for the grubby little street urchin she really was.

She reluctantly stepped into the dress, then struggled with the zipper at her back – once again something she was unaccustomed to – and then she gathered up her satchel and headed back to the entrance, avoiding looking at herself in the huge mirrors that took up the whole of one wall of the restrooms.

When she got there, Knile had transformed into someone else completely.  He was wearing the suit he had bought in Gaslight, but that was only part of it.  His posture had changed as well.  It was more erect, more proper, and even the expression on his face was one of haughty indifference.  Dangling from his left hand was a fancy-looking suitcase made of calf-skin leather.

“Where’d you get that?” Ursie demanded.

Knile jabbed a thumb over his shoulder.  “A boutique two doors down.”

“You got dressed in the suit and went luggage shopping, all in five minutes?”

“I’m a man.  We don’t waste a lot of time on things like that.”

“So I see.”

Knile hesitated.  “Uh…”  He made a circular motion with his hand over his face.  “You need to wash up a bit.  You look like your head has been used as a chimney sweep.”

Ursie touched her fingers to her cheek self-consciously, vaguely aware that feeling had returned to her extremities after her time in the freezer.

“Really?”

“Yeah.  Make it quick, please.”

Ursie turned and shambled back into the restroom like one of the condemned heading toward the gallows.  She was going to have to face it now, she knew.  She was going to have to look at herself in this awful get-up.

The mirrors loomed close before her, and she slowly raised her head.  It wasn’t as bad as she’d thought it would be, but it was still bad.  The dress wasn’t a great fit, too baggy around the chest and too tight at the hips, but it wasn’t a total train wreck.  The colour was good on her at least, she noted grimly, and there was something pleasing about the style.  Still, all things being equal, she’d rather be back in her jeans again.

She turned on the faucet and allowed the water to dribble onto her fingers, then looked up at her face.  Knile had been right.  She looked as though she’d just crawled through a garbage tip.  She dabbed at the grime on her cheek, rubbing out a patch of pink, then continued scrubbing around her mouth, her neck, and then the other parts of her face where the dirt was thickest.  At one point she heard Knile clearing his throat noisily outside, and she realised she must have been at it for longer than she’d thought.  She used a luxuriously soft hand towel that hung on a nearby hook to mop up the moisture on her face and then got moving again.

Knile regarded her sceptically when she returned.

“Better.  I can actually see some of your face now, but still not great.”  He shrugged.  “And the hair is a write-off, but it will have to do.  We’ll make it work.”  He opened the suitcase and held out his hand.  “Give me your luggage.”

Ursie placed a hand protectively on her satchel.  “Why?”

“Because if people see you lugging that flea-bitten piece of garbage around, they’re going to think you don’t belong here.  They’ll get suspicious.”  He sighed.  “Come on, Ursie.  Do you really think I’m going to rip you off after all we’ve been through?”

Ursie stood there for a moment as if weighing up that question, then stepped forward and offered him the satchel.

“Of course not.”

Knile took the satchel and dropped it into the suitcase, then closed the flap and hoisted it into a comfortable carrying position.

“All right,” he said, looking left and right along the avenue.  “Let’s go catch a ride.”

33

The man in the grey suit looked to Ursie like someone out of a story book she’d seen as a kid, one with princesses and castles and a happily-ever-after ending.  He wore a light grey morning tailcoat with matching grey trousers, a lavender silk necktie and a white vest and shirt.  There was a gold pin on his lapel in the shape of a stylised letter ‘L’.  His greying hair was cut short and neatly maintained, and upon his face rested a supercilious expression that matched the rest of his attire perfectly.

Ursie had never seen a butler before, but nevertheless she decided that this was one.

“Good morning, sir, madam,” he said, nodding to each of them in turn.  “Travelling, are we?”

“Good morning,” Knile said with an oddly posh curl in his accent.  “Yes, indeed.”

The butler stepped back and spread one hand out to indicate a row of almost ten Autos sitting on the edge of the thoroughfare behind him.

“Which would you prefer?”

To Ursie, they all looked identical, but Knile made a show of carefully evaluating his selection as if it were of utmost importance that he choose the most appropriate vehicle.

“The third,” Knile said with a little wave of his finger.

“Very good,” the butler said, nodding and hastening over to the vehicle.  He swung into the driver’s compartment and started it up, then slowly directed the Auto over to Knile and Ursie, a journey of at most four metres.

“Thank you,” Knile said as the butler disembarked and held out his hand for the suitcase.  Knile handed it to him, and Ursie saw the butler’s eyes drop to Knile’s grubby shoes, which were somewhat out of place against the rest of his clothing, but the man made no comment.

“There we are,” the butler said, securing the suitcase into a small container on the rear of the Auto.  “All set.”

Ursie was surprised to feel Knile’s hand clasping hers, and then she realised he was assisting her into the Auto.

“Uh… thank you… sir.”

Knile waited for her to take her seat before assuming his place behind the steering column.  The butler resumed his position and inclined his head again.

“Good day.”

Knile wiggled his fingers on the steering wheel, achieving a comfortable position with exaggerated care, then pressed his foot down on the accelerator pedal.  The Auto lurched forward abruptly, almost causing Ursie to bash her head on the domelike windscreen.  They came to a halt as suddenly as they had started, and Knile cursed.  He stepped on the pedal again with the same result.

The butler appeared at the window, a patient and accommodating expression on his face.

“Is everything all right, sir?”

“The accelerator seems to be a bit touchy on this one,” Knile said, embarrassed.

“Would you like a different vehicle?”

“No, no.  This is fine.”

The butler stepped back and Knile started off again, somewhat more smoothly than before.  They began to coast off down the thoroughfare, leaving the butler to stare after them curiously.

“What the hell are you doing?” Ursie said out of the corner of her mouth.

“Gimme a break.  I’ve never driven one of these things before.  It’s not as easy as it looks.”

The momentum of the Auto smoothed out and quickly reached top speed, and like the others they’d seen, that was not much faster than walking pace.  The two of them sat watching the glittering facade of Lux glide by as the wheels of the Auto squeaked against the polished floors.

Coming from the ruinous land on the planet’s surface, this whole scenario seemed utterly absurd to Ursie, but she attempted to push away the distraction of it and concentrate on the task at hand.

“So what are we doing?” Ursie said.  “What’s the plan?”

“There’s a house over by the core of Lux.  You could probably call it a mansion.  It’s the biggest residence in the whole place.  It’s also the only one that spans multiple levels of Lux.  That’s going to be our quickest way to move upward through this tier.”

“Are we breaking into the place?”

“No, there’ll be no need for that.  There’s always some social event going on there, lots of people coming and going.  We just need to blend in with the others and make our way upward.”

“Sounds easy.”

“Not so fast.  We can’t just be seen to be rushing through the place.  That will attract the wrong sort of attention.  We need to measure our pace and go with the flow.”

“Well, I have no idea how to do that.  As long as you know what has to happen, I’ll just tag along.”

They came to a cluster of Autos lined up along the avenue and were forced to stop.  Ursie craned her neck out of the side of the vehicle to see what was happening.

“What’s this?” she said.

“Traffic jam, I guess.  It’ll clear up.”

She slumped back in her chair.  “This is stupid.  It’s too slow.  We could walk faster than this.”

“I told you, no one walks in Lux.  If we’re going to blend in we have to do as they do, and that means travelling by Auto.”

Ursie looked around them, still trying to come to grips with the opulence of the place.

“Do you think these people know what’s beneath them?” she said.  “Do you think they know about places like the slums?”

“Probably,” Knile said.  “I don’t think the problems of people in the slums worry them too much, though.”

The traffic jam began to clear and they edged forward again.

Ursie turned to Knile.  “Wilt was right about something,” she said.  “You’re resourceful.  You could earn lots of creds if you wanted to.  Why wouldn’t you just do the easy thing – buy a place here in Lux and live the good life?  Why do you need to get off-world?

Knile smiled with thinly disguised contempt.

“You haven’t worked it out yet, have you, Ursie?  All this,” he said, spreading one hand and looking about, “is ending.  The Reach is dying, just like the world outside it.  In a place like Lux, it might not look that way yet, but underneath the skin… underneath this gold plating, there’s nothing but rust.  Nothing but cancer.  Something that can’t be cut out or fixed, something that can’t be healed.  This place is terminal.  In a year, five years, maybe ten, there won’t be anything left alive in here.”  He turned to her and looked her square in the eye.  “The toxins get into everything, no matter how hard you try to keep them out.  Everyone in here is dying.  Some of them just haven’t realised it yet.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I know the Reach.  I know it better than practically anyone else.  The air filters have become less and less effective over the years as the pollution outside gets worse.  They can’t keep it out of the water or the crops.  Not all of it.”

“I think you’re just looking for an excuse to leave.  I think you’re running away from something else.”

“Think what you want,” Knile said, shrugging.  “I’m telling you how it is.  Anyway, right now we have more important things to worry about.”

“Such as?”

“Such as our backstory.  People are going to be wanting to chat to you.  They love newcomers in Lux.  We’re going to be like shiny new toys to them.  You’re going to have to mingle, at least for a bit.  Can you do that?”

“Mingle?” Ursie said, baffled.  “What the fuck is mingle?”

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“Well, what is it?”

“Chat to people.  Engage in some smalltalk.  Y’know, be charming.”

“Charming?”

“Yeah.  What’s the matter?  How did English become your third language all of a sudden?”

“Well, what am I going to talk about?” Ursie spluttered.  “I have literally nothing in common with them.”

“Be creative.  Just say yes a lot and nod your head, and ask people about their clothes and their jewellery.  They’ll like that.”

“Whatever you say.”

“Now listen,” he said, his voice hardening.  “This is our story: we’re a father and daughter and we just received accommodation here at Lux today.  We’ve travelled a long way from the south and we’re weary from our journey.  That’s why our clothes are wrinkly, and why we’re a bit dishevelled.  That’s why your hair looks so messy.”

“Yeah, thanks.”  She crossed her arms.  “What else?”

“Obviously we have a lot of creds behind us.  We couldn’t have afforded accommodation in Lux without it, but you don’t need to talk to people about how we came by our money.  You can just refer to it as ‘your father’s fortune’.  Act like the naive little kid who doesn’t know how the world works, they’ll lap that shit up.”

“Okay.”

“Avoid specifics if you can.  Just talk about fluffy stuff.  These people are pretty superficial and they probably won’t be interested in anything else anyway.”

“Yeah, I got it.”

“That’s about all you need.”  He pointed through the windscreen to where a great deal of activity was happening on the side of the avenue.  “It’s just up here.  Get ready.”

Knile parked the Auto behind the last vehicle in line, and as he and Ursie disembarked, another of the butlers in grey suits hurried toward them to perform the valet service.

“Good morning,” the butler called.

“Morning,” Knile said, removing the suitcase from the luggage compartment.

“Would you like me to take that, sir?”

“No, that’s fine.  I’ll manage.”

“Very good.”

Knile and Ursie fell in with a number of other well-dressed citizens of Lux who were gravitating toward an arched marble entrance.  Not far away, two Enforcers stood with their thumbs hooked in their belts as they chatted companionably with a stately old couple with grey hair.  Ursie’s step wavered but Knile urged her onward, and together they passed through the entrance without being troubled by the men in black.

“The Enforcers don’t interfere with the nobility up here in Lux,” he whispered.  “Not unless they’re trying to use the elevators.”

Inside the arch, Ursie was struck by the lavishness of what she beheld, which seemed to have gone up several notches from what she’d seen outside.  Again the floors were marble, but here there seemed to be a swirling gold pattern laid into the material that gave it an even more lustrous finish.  Around the walls, intricate statues of cherubs in varying poses had been placed inside recessed arches and lit from above to accentuate their features.  Black steel banisters with golden handrails flanked a broad staircase that led up to the next level, and hanging from the ceiling was a broad, glittering chandelier.

“This is insane,” Ursie breathed.  Socialites in refulgent gowns and pristine three-piece suits drifted past.  They nattered aimlessly and sipped coloured drinks from cocktail glasses as waiters circulated with silver platters of hors d’oeuvres balanced on their fingertips.

“Remember,” Knile said, “don’t stare.  You’re a noble.  This is just a normal day.”

“Yeah, but it isn’t,” Ursie said, blinking.

“Just don’t let them know you’re thinking that.”

“Welcome,” a man said gaily, stepping out from the crowd to stand before them.  “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure.”  His dark blond hair was neatly combed, and he wore gold earrings with diamond studs that matched a ring on his left index finger. He flashed white and perfectly capped teeth as he smiled at them.

“Good morning,” Knile said politely.  “I am Remington, and this is my daughter Eve.”

“A pleasure,” the man said, extending his hand.  “I am Preston Glover.  Welcome to my home.”

“Thank you,” Knile said, shaking Preston’s hand.  He glanced around at the partygoers.  “What’s the occasion?”

“Pardon?” Preston said, not quite following.

“What are you celebrating?”

The man seemed to consider this, then flashed his sparkling white teeth again.  He spread his hands in a little shrug.

“Lunch.”

“So you do this every day?” Ursie said, not quite hiding her disbelief.

“Most days, yes.”  He glanced down at Knile’s suitcase.  “Let my man Davey take your luggage to the cloakroom.  You can retrieve it when you leave.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Knile assured him.  “My daughter and I have just arrived after a long journey, you see, and our accommodation was supposed to be ready for us, but there’s been a slight delay.”

“Oh?  Where will you be staying?” Preston said.

“Over on Gilt Avenue.”

“Oh, the western precinct?” Preston said enthusiastically.  “Gorgeous.  Those red sunsets are just to die for of an afternoon.  You’ll love it.”

“We hope so,” Knile said.  “They’re readying the place as we speak.  Eve and I would like to leave as soon as we get word so that we can go and rest.  I’ll keep our belongings handy, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Oh, don’t be so quick to dash out of here,” Preston said, placing an arm companionably around Knile’s shoulder and guiding him further into the room.  “There’s lots of fun to be had in the meantime.”

“Yes, so I’ve heard.”

“Really?” Preston said, his eyes lighting up.  “What are they saying about me?”

Knile hesitated for the briefest moment as he considered how to reply.

“That you throw the best parties.  They told us that if we had an hour or two to kill, this would be the place to do it.”

“Is that so, Eve?” Preston said, obviously giddy at the thought of such notoriety.  “Is that what they said?”

“Yes,” Ursie said with a weak smile.  “Uh… indeed.”  The phrase suited her about as well as the dress she was wearing, but Preston didn’t seem to notice.

“Well, then, I can hardly afford to disappoint you, can I?” Preston said.  “Come on upstairs and I’ll introduce you around.”

Preston led the two of them up the stone staircase and proceeded to present them to the guests there.  They were vapid socialites, every last one of them, people whose conversations revolved around only two topics: fashions in the north precinct and who was cheating on who in their circle of acquaintances.  Knile kept a plastic smile on his face as the discussion rolled on, nodding and making the right noises when required, and Ursie looked on with a kind of dumbstruck curiosity, as if she were observing an alien species for the first time.

One of the women gravitated over toward Knile and offered him an impish little grin as she ran her finger suggestively around the rim of her cocktail glass.

“Hey, stranger, what’s your name?” she said.  She wore far too much blush on her cheeks, and the glittering purple eye shadow and matching lipstick that she had applied seemed to Knile like desperate cries for attention more than anything else.

“I’m Remington,” he said.

“Glenda.”  Her smile broadened and she sidled closer, bending on an angle that offered the greatest view of her ample cleavage.  “So, is it just you and your daughter?”

Wow.  This one isn’t wasting any time, Knile thought, picking up immediately on the implications of the question – that he was available.

“Yes,” Knile said, injecting false sorrow into his voice.  “My wife passed some time ago.  The toxins,” he added in a whisper.

“Oh, a shame,” Glenda sympathised, but her smile never skipped a beat.

“Yes, we’ve come to Lux to seek refuge and to find our feet again.”

“And to party,” Glenda said mischievously.

Knile shrugged, not wanting to appear overeager.

“I’m sure there will be time to–”

“Oh come on,” Glenda said animatedly.  “What other point is there to be in Lux?  We come for the party, and when we’ve had our fill, we head up the Wire and onto our next adventure.”

“As easy as that, huh?” Knile said.  He knew that his facade of civility had slipped a little, but at that moment he couldn’t help it.  The loathing he felt toward these people was intense.  He hated their superficial and egocentric attitudes, their hedonism and their pettiness.  To think there was such suffering and loss, such struggle below their very feet was galling.

This was the real reason he couldn’t live in Lux.  These people, this lifestyle.  He hadn’t wanted to explain all of this to Ursie, but the reality was that he despised this place.  To live here would be even worse than living in Gaslight or Link as far as he was concerned.

Knile’s fists clenched at his side as he struggled to bring his emotions under control.

“Sure, baby, easy as that,” Glenda said.  “We can do whatever we want here.”  She lifted her fingers from the rim of the glass and licked the moisture from her fingertips.  “I’d love to show you around,” she said, staring up at him with sultry eyes.

Knile gave her a thin smile and surreptitiously checked his wristwatch.  It was past noon.

Less than seven hours left.

He desperately wanted to be out of this room, out of this mansion.  Out of Lux.  He wanted to leave these people behind, not only to get back on schedule, but also to be rid of the glitter of gold jewellery, the cloying stink of perfume and the plastic people who wore them.

But he didn’t want to make a scene.  If he barged his way through Lux it would attract attention, and that might be all Wilt needed to zero in on him again.

Glenda was still awaiting his response when they were interrupted.

“Glenda, I see you’ve met Remington,” Preston said, worming his way between them and linking his arm companionably through Knile’s.  “You’re not allowed to hog him all to yourself though, dear.”

Preston began to lead Knile away and Glenda glared at them, pouting and rubbing her finger on the rim of the glass again.

“That one’s a man-eater, dear.  Watch out for her,” Preston said.

“Yes, I noticed.  She’s already begun to sink her teeth in.”

Preston tittered girlishly and downed the last of his cocktail with a flick of his head.

“Oh, I like you already, Remington.”  He placed the glass down on a table and then gestured to an old man with white hair seated nearby on a sofa.  “Now let me allow you to introduce you to someone else.”

The old man looked up as they approached.  He wore a navy-blue suit with neat little bow tie, and there was a white silk handkerchief in his breast pocket.  He smiled up at the two of them, and Knile thought there was a certain kindliness about his visage that was not present in the other guests at the party.

“Remington,” Preston said, “allow me to introduce Hoyer Honeybul.”

Knile shook the old man’s hand.

“A pleasure,” Honeybul said.

Knile frowned, vaguely recalling hearing the name before.  Honeybul released his hand and eased back into the sofa again, and it was only then that Knile saw the young boy sitting next to Honeybul in a dark blue uniform.  Suddenly he twigged to where he had heard the name before.

“Mr. Honeybul,” Knile said in wonder.  “You’re the Candidate guy.  The guy who takes unfortunate children under his wing.”

Honeybul straightened his jacket and his smile widened, pleased at being recognised.

“Why, yes.  You’ve heard of me.”

“Your reputation precedes you, dear,” Preston said.  “Mr. Honeybul is a saint,” he gushed.  “He provides a simply wonderful service.”

“Where is it you heard of me, Mr. Remington?” Honeybul enquired politely.

“I heard your name mentioned around the place,” Knile said, purposefully vague.  “There’s lots of talk about it.  Excited chatter.  I must say that the things people were saying certainly got my attention.”

“Would you like to get involved in the program?” Honeybul said.  “I’m always on the lookout for new benefactors.  We can sign you up whenever you like.”

Knile looked at him uncertainly.  “Well, I–”

“Of course he wants to get involved,” Preston said.  “It’s truly amazing.”  He gripped Knile by the arm again and began to lead him away.  “Excuse us, dear Honeybul.  We shall return soon.”

Honeybul saluted them with a smile and a curt motion of his hand.  Ursie stared after Knile, uncertain, but he gave her a little nod to signify that everything was all right.  She turned back to the man and woman who had been talking to her and attempted to laugh at some joke they were sharing, still looking as uneasy as the moment she had first walked in the door.

“The donations for the Candidate program really are quite modest,” Preston was saying.  “Very affordable for someone such as yourself.  One swipe of your cred chip and you’ll be on your way.”

“As it happens, I’m still sorting out my finances after the move,” Knile said.  “Now might not be the best time for me to start making commitments–”

“Rubbish, dear,” Preston snorted.  “If you can afford an apartment over on Gilt, you can afford this.”

Goddammit.  Think your way out of this, Knile.  If he sees there’s practically no creds on your chip, the game is up.

Preston led him up another staircase and the crowd began to thin out.  They entered a carpeted area and proceeded down a long hallway, into a more secluded area of the mansion.

“My cred chip,” Knile exclaimed.  “Damn, I think I left it in my luggage.”

“Ha!” Preston exclaimed, pointing down at Knile’s hand.  “But you’re still carrying your luggage, dear.”  He paused at a carved oak door.  “You’re not going cold on me, are you, Remington?”

“I, uh–”

“You seem nervous.”  Preston’s air of conviviality faltered for the first time.

“I am,” Knile blurted.  “It’s so very important for me to make a good impression.  I’d hate to say or do the wrong thing this early in the game.”

Preston smiled again, satisfied.  “There’s really no need for nerves, Remington.  Here, let me show you,” he said, his eyes sparkling, “what your involvement in this program will mean.”

Preston opened the door and they proceeded through.  Inside was a large bedroom full of fine appointments.  A crystal decanter rested on an oak bureau and gold lamps shone on the matching bedside tables.  A huge and luxurious four-poster bed sat in the middle of the room.  There was no canopy above it.  Instead, four ornately carved posts rose up like spires in each of its corners, the dark wood glinting in the golden glow of the lamps.

Someone was lying on the bed.  Knile thought for a moment that they’d interrupted someone taking a nap, but as he stepped closer he saw that it was a young, dark-haired girl wearing the uniform of the Candidates.  She was lying face down, and the uniform had been hitched up, leaving her legs bare.  They were covered in red welts.

She jerked her head around, eyes wide with terror, and Knile saw that there was a silk handkerchief wrapped around her head as a gag.

“What–” Knile began, but then he saw that the girl’s arms and legs had been tied to the four corner posts of the bed with rope.

“So what do you think now, dear?” Preston crooned beside him.

34

“What the fuck is going on?” Knile demanded.

“Meet my latest Candidate,” Preston said casually.  “I call this one Cherry.  She took a little time to break in, actually.  Bit of a tough nut, if you know what I mean.  Since then I’ve found her to be very suitable to my needs.”  The girl’s wild eyes flicked between Knile and Preston, and she made several desperate moans as she struggled at her bonds.  “Quiet now, Cherry, or I’ll bring the whip out again,” Preston said.  The girl ceased her movements and squeezed her eyes shut.  Fresh tears began to roll down her cheeks.  Preston turned to Knile.  “See?  A little bit of training and they become very… pliable.”

“What are you doing to her?” Knile said, aghast.

Preston laughed.  “Anything I want.  That’s the power of the Candidate program, Remington.  Honeybul only selects children without families.  There’s no one to miss them when they’re gone, no one to lodge a complaint with the Enforcers.  No investigations when they never turn up again.”

Knile experienced a moment of overwhelming incredulity, that the man should be so brazen as to admit to these kinds of crimes in front of a total stranger.  Then he realised that it all made sense.  Of course Preston would think this way.  This show of power was just an extension of his insufferable ego, his belief that he was so far above the law that there was no one who could touch him, no one who could bring him to account for his actions.

These children, like the rest of the people who lived below Lux, were just another possession, another plaything to be used and sucked dry of their entertainment value and then discarded with the rest of the trash.

“So, are you in?” Preston said, moving close.  “You could go and choose one right now from Honeybul, if that’s what you wanted.”

“Is that so?” Knile grated.

“Indeed.”  Preston glanced lasciviously at the girl on the bed, who was still weeping silently, her body shuddering with silent sobs.  “Do you want a taste right now?  Do you want to put those hands of yours to good use?”

“Yeah,” Knile said.  His hand balled into a fist again, as they had done downstairs, his fingernails digging into his palms like razor blades, and this time he knew that he could not contain his fury.  He felt the pain and suffering of his own kind, those in Gaslight and Link and the slums, coalesce inside his hand like a burning hot lump of coal.  “I think my hands are ready.”

Preston gave him a self-satisfied grin, smug that he had brought another into the fold.  Then Knile’s fist lashed out and smacked him in the mouth.  Preston cried out and dropped to the floor, leaking crimson all over his pristine, steam-cleaned carpet.  Knile stood watching impassively as Preston looked up at him, stupefied.  Then the blond man drew himself up unsteadily, clutching at his mouth.  His eyes were filled with a mixture of rage and disbelief.

He opened his bloody mouth.  “What do you think you’re–”

Knile swung again, this time knocking him back so hard that he fell against one of the tall bed posts, snapping it in half.  Knile stepped over and plucked the lump of broken wood from the bed, and as Preston shrieked and lunged at him, Knile swung the post like a baseball bat, catching him under the chin and sending him sprawling on the floor.

This time he did not get up.

The girl on the bed was staring at Knile in horror, clearly unsure if this newcomer was her saviour or someone even worse than Preston.

“It’s okay,” Knile said, dropping the post on the floor.  He moved over and began to undo her bonds.  “I’m here to help you.  Just don’t make any sudden sounds or movements.  We don’t want anyone else to know what’s going on here.”

The girl just stared at him, watching as he freed each of her limbs in turn.  Then he untied the gag and she made a choking, coughing sound as she attempted to swallow.  She folded her arms and legs together and curled up into a fetal position in the centre of the bed.

“Are you okay?” Knile said, but the girl just continued to stare at him.  “Can you hear me?”

He tried to communicate with her for the best part of a minute, but making no headway, decided to try something else.  He opened a nearby wardrobe and searched through it for something that the girl could wear, finding a long black woolly winter coat.  He pulled it out and laid it on the bed, then eased the girl up into a sitting position.  He wrapped the coat around her shoulders and she clutched it protectively around her.

“You’re going to be all right when you get out of here,” Knile said.  “Do you understand that?”  Finally the girl nodded, although she was still rocking back and forth and staring at the floor.  “Listen to me very carefully.  There are Enforcers outside the front door of this mansion right now.  You need to go to them and tell them you were abducted.  Tell them about Honeybul.  Tell them about the Candidates.  Can you do that?”

She nodded again, but Knile couldn’t be sure she was hearing anything he said.

“I’d take you to the Enforcers myself, but… well, they don’t like me very much.  Just keep your head down and don’t talk to anyone.  Don’t let Honeybul see you.”

She made no response this time, but Knile knew there was no choice now but to get moving.  It was only a matter of time before someone came to check on the gracious host of the party, and one look at this blood-soaked floor would be enough to set alarm bells ringing, even if Knile managed to hide the body.

He led the girl out and down the hall, the coat effectively covering the welts on her legs.  Knile decided it probably didn’t matter in any case – most of these people were so self-absorbed that they wouldn’t even notice the girl moving quietly in their midst.  Knile led her away from Honeybul and down the stairs to the first level.

“Remember,” he whispered.  “Out through this arch and on your right.  That’s where you’ll find the Enforcers.”

The girl made another almost imperceptible nod, and her mouth moved slightly as if she were saying something, but no noise passed her lips.  Then she shambled off toward the door through the throng of guests.

Knile got moving.  If the Enforcers came to investigate, he didn’t want to be around when the questions were being asked.

He made a straight line for Hoyer Honeybul, who was still sitting on the sofa with the boy Candidate at his side.  Ursie was nearby, trapped by a ring of eager guests who wanted to know everything about her.

“Mr. Honeybul,” Knile said, biting off each syllable with disdain.

Honeybul looked up at him.  “Ah, Mr. Remington.  Where is Mr. Preston?”

“Mr. Preston is spending some quality time in his bedroom.”

Honeybul laughed boisterously.  “Ha!  The man is insatiable!”

Knile smiled through his teeth, wondering how he had ever been fooled into believing that this man’s face contained any kindness or compassion at all.  Now it seemed like the bloated, pallid face of a demon, a far more accurate depiction of what lay beneath.

“A quick question,” Knile said, glancing over his shoulder.  Seeing no Enforcers, he continued on.  “If I desired to become involved in your program, to help you and your Candidates, would there be any way I could see the selection–”

“But of course!” Honeybul said, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a tablet, almost falling over himself at the thought of gaining a new customer.  “You can look through the list of Candidates right here.”

Knile took the tablet with smile of gratitude, then began to flick through the profiles of the children contained therein.  With each motion of his hand, a feeling of dread began to creep into his bones.  Every single one of these children was condemned.  He was looking at boys and girls who would never reach life as an adult.  They would suffer and die horrible deaths, and their names would be forgotten, their passing unlamented.

Knile knew what was coming.  As each smiling, innocent face went by, he was steadily approaching the inevitable.

And then he found it.  The dark-haired boy with a certain sadness in his eyes and in his smile that Knile knew only too well.

Roman.  Goddammit, no.

“This one,” Knile said, keeping his voice even as he handed the tablet back to the old man.  “Can I have him?”

Honeybul scrutinised the screen, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

“I’m afraid not, Mr. Remington.  This one has already been selected by another benefactor.  One of my regular clients, in fact.”

“I’ll pay you,” Knile said.  “More than your other benefactor.”

Honeybul shook his head.  “It’s just not possible.  This client is very, very particular–”

“Has the boy been delivered to the benefactor yet?” Knile said sharply.  The 9mm was sitting in his inside jacket pocket, and now the weight of it was beginning to feel like a great ball of lead.  It needed to be removed.  It needed to be pointed at the face of this grinning fucking monster, this wolf in sheep’s clothing.  It needed to talk in its own savage, uncompromising language, unleashing its fury at the man on the sofa.

Knile needed to put a bullet through Hoyer Honeybul’s wrinkled head.  He needed to spray the old man’s brains all over that spotless fucking sofa.

In a moment of clarity, Knile realised he was prepared to do just that.

“He has not been delivered yet, no,” Honeybul went on, oblivious to the thoughts that were bouncing around in Knile’s skull.  “This one has had some trouble with the Enforcers in the past.  It’s taking a little longer than usual to have his records expunged, but I’m confident he’ll be delivered in the next few days.”  Honeybul winked up at him.  “What can’t be fixed with a few extra creds, I ask you?”

Knile’s fingers crept inside his jacket, touched the butt of the gun.

A bullet through the head, that’s what.  Creds won’t fix that, you fuck.

There was a scream over by the stairwell, and Knile spun, expecting to see Enforcers coming at him.  Instead he saw something worse.

One of Alton Wilt’s men was there, levelling a gun in his direction as the woman beside him bleated in fear and fell to the floor.

Knile dropped to one knee, the 9mm in his hand in an instant.  Wilt’s man fired first, but the shot smacked harmlessly into the wall above Knile’s shoulder.  Knile returned fire, squeezing off two shots and hitting the man in the chest and shoulder and sending him tumbling back down the staircase.

As the partygoers screamed and began to run in all directions, Knile turned back to the sofa, but Honeybul had already bounded off, his blue suit barely visible amid the throng of people.  Knile pointed the gun in the old man’s direction, but knew he could never make the shot.  Reluctantly he shoved the 9mm back in his jacket, then scooped up the suitcase in one hand and grasped Ursie’s wrist with the other.

“Up the stairs, go!” he shouted.

Behind them there were more gunshots, and Knile heard shouts from the Enforcers.  He wasn’t sure if they were after him, or if they were engaged in an altercation with more of Wilt’s men, and he didn’t stop to find out.  He and Ursie had a lead on the others, and he wasn’t about to give that up for the sake of curiosity.

They made it up another two flights of stairs, and people on this level were just as panicked as those below had been.  Knile collided with a man running the opposite way and almost fell over.  He somehow kept his balance, then looked back to see the man cowering on the floor.  He was young and handsome, his skin tanned, and he wore a powder blue suit and a grey necktie.  He held one arm protectively over his face, as if he were expecting Knile to put a bullet between his eyes.

Then Knile heard something that made the very world tilt under his feet.  A sound that made his heart pound in his chest and which stole the wind from his lungs, caused a chill that rippled down his spine.

No, he thought desperately.  That’s impossible.

Ursie stood waiting for him up ahead, her mouth moving as she tried to shout something, but Knile couldn’t hear her voice over the deafening hammer of his own manic heart.

Knile heard the sound again, and this time he turned toward it.

On the other side of the room, a woman was being dragged away by a man in a white suit.  She wore a dress as blue as the azure skies of old, and her chestnut hair fell about her shoulders as she struggled to free herself from the man’s grip.

She reached out for Knile.

He saw her mouth forming the words, and her voice sounded distant but utterly clear.

I love you!  Don’t leave me!

Knile’s world fell apart at the sight of her.

“Mianda,” he breathed, stricken.

It couldn’t be her.  He strained his eyes wide as if that might dispel the illusion he saw before him, but the vision of the woman remained unchanged.  She was just as perfect as the day he’d last seen her.

Then she was gone, the man in the white suit dragging her through a doorway and out of sight.

Gunshots permeated Knile’s stupor like cannons going off in his head.  He heard the sound of footsteps on the staircase.  Men coming.

“Knile!” Ursie was screaming.

Knile got moving again, taking two sluggish steps before his instincts kicked in.  He moved into full stride, catching up to Ursie and leading the girl upward and away from their pursuers.

He dared not look back again.

35

They didn’t stop to catch their breath until they had made it to the next tier.  Knile’s knowledge of the layout of Lux undoubtedly helped them to give their pursuers the slip.  The old maintenance shaft he’d located lay forgotten in the back of an Auto workshop, whose workers had spilled out onto the avenue as they attempted to determine the cause of the commotion over at the mansion.  Both he and Ursie had been able to slip inside the workshop while the workers’ attention was elsewhere, and from there they’d ascended through the shaft, where cobwebs and dust lay thick as soup.

Now they trudged through gloomy and dank industrial corridors, the mayhem of Lux safely behind them.  There were no Autos here, no avenues or marble statues.  No people.  There was only the relentless hum of giant pistons and fans, and other half-seen apparatus that whirred away under thin shafts of white light from the spotlights above.

“What is this place?” Ursie said, looking around uneasily.  There was a thick chemical miasma about the place that made her wrinkle her nose.

Knile, who hadn’t said anything since leaving Lux, didn’t answer for a long time.  When he spoke, his voice lacked its usual vigour.

“These are called the Plant Rooms.”

“So what does this stuff do?”

Knile looked around.  “These levels are like the nerve centre of the upper part of the Reach.  Those fans are the air intakes for Lux.”  Showing no modesty, he slipped out of his dress pants, which were stained with blood, and put his old trousers on again.  “There’s also water filtration units, air purifiers, and basically anything else that doesn’t fit the aesthetic of all of that gold and marble below.  Further up is the field generator for the Stormgates, among other things.”

“Where are all of the people?”

“This gear is automated.  You might see someone from maintenance in here now and again, but that’s about it.”

Knile suddenly stopped dead still and looked behind them.  Ursie froze, alarmed.

“What is it?  Are they coming?”

Knile did not turn back to her.

“I don’t think I can take you the rest of the way, kid,” he said in that voice that was bereft of conviction.  Bereft of hope.

“What?” Ursie said, walking in an arc so that she could face him.  “What are you talking about, Knile?”

“I’m not sure I want this anymore.”

“This what?”  She tried to move into a position that would catch his eye, but Knile kept his face down, avoiding the directness of her gaze.

“This whole fucking journey.”

Ursie shook her head, disbelieving.  “What happened down there, Knile?  Who was that?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“There was a woman.  A woman dressed in blue who was calling out for you.”

“No.  She was calling out for the man I ran into, the man on the floor.”

“Bullshit.”  She stepped closer to him.  “You know her.”

“No,” Knile said quietly.

“It was Mianda, wasn’t it?” she persisted, her voice raised.  “She’s alive.  She’s living in Lux.”

“No, she’s not.  That’s not possible.”  His voice was hoarse.

“She called out to you.  She said she loved you.  It was her!” Ursie said, practically shouting at him.

“It’s not possible,” Knile said again, raising his own voice and choking back a sob.

“Why not?”

“Because Mianda never loved me!” Knile roared, finally meeting her glare, his eyes glistening with tears.  Ursie stumbled back, reeling from his ferocity.  “Is that what you wanted to hear?” he yelled, taking a step toward her.  “That couldn’t be Mianda, because Mianda hated my fucking guts!”

Ursie shrank away from him.  “I… I don’t understand.”

Knile sank to the floor, shoving his backpack away from him and lifting a trembling hand to his face.  He brushed the tears angrily from his cheeks and then violently yanked the tie around his neck, loosening the knot and then slipping it over his head, tossing it away.

“Mianda never looked at me the way I looked at her,” he began, struggling to bring his voice under control.  “I tried to make her see that I was the one for her for so long.  For years.  I said and did all the right things, lavished attention on her.  I did everything I could, and yet she never came round to me.”  He smiled distantly.  “All my life I found a way to get things done, things that other people couldn’t do.  I found a way through every part of the Reach, but I never found a way to make the person I cared about most love me for who I was.”

“Why haven’t you told me this before?”

“You think it’s easy to talk about this?  To admit the only person you loved despised you in return?”

“No, of course not.”  Ursie shifted uncomfortably, not really knowing how to respond to this side of Knile that was so different to what she had seen before.  He didn’t say anything more, so she added, “If you want to talk about it, I’ll listen.”

He mulled over that offer for a few moments, then shrugged despondently.

“Yeah, sure.  Why not?  It’s about time someone knew the truth.”  He settled back against the railing and smiled bitterly.  “Clever Knile, the guy who can always find a way out of every situation.  The guy who always comes up with a new angle when all hope seems lost.  Guess what I did, Ursie?  I came up with the plan to win her over, a trick that couldn’t fail.  I would get us both off-world together at the same time, arrange for us to make a life on one of the outer colonies.  Perfect, right?”

“Sounds nice,” Ursie said.

“She agreed to it.  I mean, who wouldn’t?  The chance to escape this earthbound existence?  How could she say no?”  Knile’s mouth twisted bitterly again.  “Everything was going according to plan.  I opened all the right doors and made all the right moves, kept one step ahead of the Enforcers.  I knew they had their eye on me, but they couldn’t stop me.  They never even got close.

“After we made it through Lux, Mianda started asking questions.  She wanted to know how I got the passkeys.”  He shrugged.  “So I told her.  I told her that I’d taken them from a married couple who were leaving together.  She was horrified, aghast that I was capable of doing that to someone, that I would steal their dreams away from them like that.  The higher we went, the less she talked to me, and then by the time we reached the Atrium, she’d lost it.  She wouldn’t go any further.  She stopped inside the Stormgates and wouldn’t move.  She couldn’t go through with it.”  He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head.  “We were right there.  Right fucking there, so close to the end.”  When he opened his eyes they were once again glistening.  “I’ll remember her words forever.  She said, ‘I can’t keep going, Knile.  Not with you.  I can’t be with you.’  I told her that I loved her, that I’d done all of this for her, but she only replied, ‘No, you don’t love me.  You only love yourself.  Look at what you’ve done to other people.  You could never care about anyone but yourself.’”

Knile’s head dropped, and it seemed that he would say no more.  Ursie moved over and sat down beside him.

“I’m sorry, Knile.  I didn’t know.”

“We would have made it,” he said softly, his eyes focussed on some far-distant point.  “We would have left this world behind if only she’d kept walking.”

Ursie reached out a hand and patted him awkwardly on the shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” she said again.

“So you see,” Knile said caustically, “that wasn’t Mianda down in Lux.  She would never have said those words to me.  Or, if it was her…”  He tilted up one of his shoulders in a shrug.  “If it was her, she could only have been talking to someone else.”

He reached out and snagged his backpack and pulled it back to his side, then gathered up the holophone.  He paused for a moment as he considered what to do.

“I have to call someone,” he said, and Ursie nodded without question.  He scrolled through the call history and found the first number in the sequence, a call that had been made to the phone the morning before.

The number began to ring.

“Hello?”  Talia’s face appeared on the screen, and she peered at her own display as she struggled to make out the caller.  “Knile, is that you?”

“Hey, Talia,” Knile said, his voice still restrained as he struggled with his emotions.

“What’s going on?” Talia said warily.  “Did you make it off-world?”

“Not yet.”

Talia stared at him through the display, aware that he was teetering on some emotional precipice even through the image coming through was hazy and stuttering.  Her voice softened.

“Look, Knile, I’m sorry about what I said to you yesterday when I left–”

“It’s okay, Talia.  Everything you said was true, and I needed to hear it.”

“I was taking my frustrations out on you, and you didn’t deserve that.”  She paused.  “You didn’t really need my help to get back into Grove, did you?”

“No.”

“So why did you come to me?”

Knile exhaled shakily.  “I guess I just wanted to see a friendly face again after all these years.  It’s been a long time since I’ve seen that.”

Talia smiled, relieved, as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

“It was good to see you, too, Knile.”  Her smile weakened.  “How did things go with Roman?”

The heat in the Plant Rooms was making him sweat, he realised.  He shrugged out of his jacket and dumped it on the floor, then began to roll up the sleeves of his shirt.

“That’s what I’m calling you about,” Knile said, and his voice became firm once again as he brushed away his melancholy, embracing the task at hand.  “Roman’s gotten himself in some trouble, although he doesn’t know it yet.”

“What’s happened?”

“Roman told me that he’s been accepted into a scheme inside the Reach that he believes is a stepping stone to getting off-world.  It’s called the Candidate program and it’s run by this old guy called Honeybul.  I just met the guy in Lux, and the whole thing is a sham.  It’s a front for a child slavery racket.”

“Oh, god,” Talia moaned in dismay.

“The kids get sold off to the rich in Lux, to be raped or beaten or whatever.  I doubt any survive in the long run, and if they do, I’d hate to be one of them.”

Knile experienced a sharp pang of guilt at the thought of the girl he’d sent into the arms of the Enforcers.  Would they really help her, or simply return her to Honeybul?  He knew which option was more likely.

More collateral damage.  More wreckage left in your wake.  Well done, Knile, he thought bitterly.

“What are you going to do?” Talia said, and Knile pushed thoughts of the girl aside.

Knile glanced around helplessly.  “Talia, I’m in a bit of a bind.  I have Enforcers after me, I have some maniac with his own private army who’s trying to kill me and take my ticket, and I only have a few hours left before my ride leaves on the Wire.  There’s nothing I can do.”

“So what am I supposed to do, Knile?  I don’t have access to the Reach.  How do I stop this from happening?”

“You have to stop Roman from joining the Candidates.  Go and see him at Grove.  Talk to him.”

“Talk to him?” Talia exclaimed.  “Do you remember what happened yesterday morning?  Do you think he’s really going to listen to anything that comes out of my mouth?”

“You have to try, Talia.  You have to get through to him.”

Talia sighed and pressed her hand into her face.  “Okay.  I’ll go and see him.  I’ll try.”

“Thank you, Talia.  Just don’t waste any time about it.  He could be inducted into the program any day.”

There was a noise somewhere within the depths of the level, a metallic clang that sounded like a tool being dropped, and Knile quickly got to his feet.

“I have to go, Talia.”  He swung the backpack onto his shoulder.  “I’m sorry to do this to you.”

“Knile, you–”

Knile killed the call, and in the moment before Talia’s face disappeared he saw something shimmering on his forearm, a reflection from the light of the phone.  Curious, he waved the glowing display over the tag the kid had given him down in Gaslight, the tattoo of the word Skybreach, and now he could see dozens of tiny, glittering points responding to the light of the phone like fluorescent algae.

“We should go,” Ursie said, already moving away.

“The tattoo,” Knile said, the conversation with Ursie momentarily forgotten.  “There’s information embedded inside it.”

“What?  Knile, we have to get moving.”

“Hidden data.  Maybe coordinates, or–”

“Knile, come on!”

He finally lowered his arm and began to move after her.

“Sorry, got carried away.”

They began to run, but Knile couldn’t quite shake the words the child had spoken to him back in Gaslight after she had tagged him with the tattoo.

It’s the only way out.

36

Duran waited and stared at his desk phone, his patience running thin.  The inane hold music seeped into his office through the speaker like toxic fumes, driving steel pins into his frayed consciousness.  His finger hovered over the mute button, but he couldn’t bring himself to push it.  After all, this torturous melody was the only thing keeping his exhaustion at bay.  Without it he knew he was likely to slump onto his desk, unconscious.

Mercifully, the music abruptly stopped and Commissioner Prazor appeared on the screen.

“What is it, Alec?” he said sharply, wasting no time with niceties.  “You look like hell,” he added.

“I’m sorry.  I haven’t slept, sir.”

“Still on this Oberend thing, are you?”

“Yes.  That’s what I’m calling about.”

“We’ve been over this, Alec.  I’m not giving you more men.”

“Commissioner, this issue is escalating,” Duran insisted.  “Did you hear about the incident in Lux two hours ago?”

Prazor sighed, exasperated.  “You’re not going to try to pin that on Oberend as well, are you?”

“He was there,” Duran fumed, making a poor attempt at holding back his frustration.  “I interviewed three witnesses at the scene who saw Oberend on the premises just before the first shots were fired.”  Prazor opened his mouth to interrupt, but Duran kept going.  “I also have reason to believe that a drug lord named Alton Wilt is tied up in this somehow.  There’s going to be more bodies piling up before these two are done, Commissioner.”

“The proper investigations are being conducted on the incident in Lux, and if what you say is true–”

“That’s not good enough!” Duran yelled, thumping his fist on the desk so hard that the phone jumped.  “That’ll take days!”

Prazor bristled at Duran’s tone of voice and took a moment to compose himself.  When he spoke, his voice was even and emotionless.

“Inspector, I’m not authorising any more resources to this manhunt of yours until I have some facts.  Cold hard facts.  I’m also revoking your dispensation to investigate this issue.  Return to your allocated assignments immediately.”

Duran ground his teeth together.  “And if I don’t?”

“Then you’ll end up back in the slums, but this time you won’t be wearing an Enforcer uniform when you go.”

The image disappeared and the phone went dark.  Duran continued to stare at it as if he might bring the commissioner back by willpower alone, but nothing happened.

Infuriated, he gathered his things from the desk and got up, then looked back at the phone one more time.

This might be your last chance.

He turned his face to the door and considered walking out, but suddenly that fury inside him seemed to burn itself out, and nothing was left but the smouldering ruins of his anger.  He sat at the desk and punched in another number.

The phone rang twice, three times.  Four.  Then an old man appeared on the screen, adjusting his spectacles and attempting to smooth the tufts of errant grey hair on his balding pate.

“Hello?” the old man said.

“Dad?”

The old man ceased his fussing and peered closer.

“Alec?  Is that you?” he said, disbelieving.

“Yeah.  It’s me.”

“Well, I… I thought you were gone.  I thought you must be–”

“I’m still here.  I’m still around.”

“What happened to you, Alec?  Where have you been?”

Duran rubbed at his eyebrows, staring down at his desk so that he didn’t have to look the old man in the eyes.

“I made a lot of mistakes, Dad.  A lot of wrong moves.”

“It happens to us all.”

“No.  Not like this.”

“Where have you been, Alec?  I haven’t heard from you in years.”

Duran struggled to rein in his emotions.  “They sent me away, Dad.  They punished me for all the things I did wrong.”  He took a deep breath.  “I’m sorry, Dad.  I didn’t want you to know.”

“We all stumble, Alec.  Every one of us.  The mark of a man is not how many times he falls, but how many times he can pick himself up again and carry on.”  He lowered the spectacles.  “You picked yourself up again, didn’t you, Alec?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s why I’ve always been proud of you, son.  Your mother, too, before she passed.  You have spirit.  You don’t give up.”

“I just thought that–”

“You have nothing to be ashamed of,” his father said with a note of finality.  “No matter what happens, I’ll always be proud to call you my son.”

Those words melted away a great chunk of the protective barrier Duran had erected around his emotions, and he knew that he had to end the call before he lost it completely.

“I, uh… I have to go and do something, Dad.  I have to go up against some very bad men, and I’m not sure if I’m going to come out the other side of it.  Not this time.  I just wanted to…”

He trailed off, and his father smiled sadly.  “I suppose there’s no one else who can do this job in your stead?”

“No.  It’s up to me.”

The old man’s smile widened, the corners of his eyes crinkling.  “That’s why you’re the best at what you do, son.  You were always willing to do what the others weren’t.”  He pushed the spectacles back up onto the bridge of his nose.  “So you go and do it.  You hold your head high to the end.”

Duran blinked back tears, smiling at the conviction in his father’s voice, the unflinching belief.

“I will, Dad.”

“After it’s done, you come and visit me.  We’ll have a good long talk, just like old times.  Do you think you can do that?”

“Of course.  I’d love to.”

“Then it’s settled.”  The old man smiled again.  “So good to hear from you, Alec.”

“You too, Dad.  Bye.”

Duran disconnected the call and took a deep breath as he fought to bring his emotions under control.

Then he got moving.

37

Ursie saw Knile run his fingers across the 9mm that was jammed into the back of his belt again.  The climb up the scaffolding had not been easy, and more than once he had clutched at the weapon during his manoeuvres as if he were afraid that it might be dislodged at any second.

Now as they clambered onto the safety of the raised walkway, Ursie sat with her arms splayed out behind her, breathing hard.

“How much further, man?” she said, her chest moving up and down rapidly as she tried to regain her breath.

“Not far,” Knile said, taking a seat beside her.  He crossed his legs and pulled out the holophone again.  “Take a quick break while I get some doors prepped for access.”

“Yeah, I can do that.”  She stuck out her lower lip and blew a lock of hair on her forehead.  “Feels like we’ve been climbing through these contraptions for days.”  She peered over the edge of the walkway, where huge metal cogs rotated languidly as far as she could see, down into the shadowy depths of the Reach’s inner workings.

Knile checked his watch and frowned.  “You’re not far wrong.  It’s taken longer than I thought.  We’ve got less than an hour before my ride – and your cash – leaves.”

“Really?” Ursie said, startled.  “We’re not going to make it!”

“We’ll make it.  The field generator is in a room not far above us, and after that we’ll be at the Atrium itself.  Just be cool.”

Ursie settled back and stared upward as the great machine joints pivoted and spun around her.  For the most part they generated a kind of white noise that was devoid of any rhythm or cohesion, but every now and again there were a few thumps and scrapes that ran together and which almost seemed to have a purpose, a harmony, as if they were striving to coordinate their movements into an arrangement but were unable to do so.

Ursie had heard other noises as they’d ascended through the mechanisms, sounds that were at odds with the steady hum of machinery – things that sounded like half-heard voices, thumps and clatters, scrapes.  Whether it was just her imagination or something more, she couldn’t be sure.  In any case, Knile had not allowed her to slow her pace.  This was the first break they’d taken in several hours, and likely to be their only one for the rest of the journey.

“Got it,” Knile said finally.  “The doors should be ready for us now.”

“You don’t have another elevator handy, do you?” Ursie said, not bothering to raise her head.

“I could carry you,” Knile said, and as Ursie jerked her head up in surprise, he winked.  “Gotcha.”

She smiled.  “Screw you.”

“Up we get,” he said, holding out a hand and helping her up.  He was about to say something else but stopped.  Then he turned and looked down the walkway, where it disappeared into darkness a short distance away.

“What is it?” Ursie whispered, subconsciously moving in behind him for protection.

Knile pulled the 9mm from his belt and held it at his side.  He didn’t answer, instead remaining still and somehow relaxed at the same time, as if he were just standing on the curb waiting for his bus to arrive.  Ursie poked her head out further to see if she could discern anything moving down there, but there was nothing.  No movement, no sound.

“Let’s move,” Knile said finally.  He replaced the gun in his belt and began to stride away without another glance down the walkway.

“Bit jumpy there, huh?” Ursie said, forcing a nervous grin.  She was still spooked by his behaviour a moment ago.

“Yeah.”

Now that she thought about it, he’d been in an odd mood since the incident in Lux with the woman.  It was understandable, she reasoned, after the confession he had made, that his thoughts would be somewhere else.  He was dealing with a lot of shit as he ascended the Reach, revisiting many memories he had probably buried.  She only hoped that he could keep it together for the rest of the journey.

“This thing you have to do with the field generator,” she said.  “Is it difficult?”

“If you don’t know what you’re doing, yeah.  Luckily I’ve already had a practice run.”

“But you said something went wrong with it.”

“It did, and now I’ve learned from my mistake.  Just leave that to me.”

“Yeah, okay.  I just–”

Knile spun and suddenly the 9mm was in his hand again, the dull metal glinting as he pivoted on his heel.  In an instant he was facing the direction from which they’d just come, and then the 9mm roared and bucked in his hand.  Ursie cried out in surprise, and as the muzzle flash lit the walkway, she saw the figure of a man in a suit who had been creeping through the darkness behind them.  He disappeared in the darkness again, but as Knile fired a second time, Ursie could see in the flash that the man had already fallen, and the bullet snapped against a steel girder behind where he had been standing.

“Holy shit,” Ursie gasped.  “How did you–”

“This is where the shit hits the fan,” Knile said coolly, getting back to his feet and placing the 9mm back in his belt.  “They’ll be coming.  We have to run.”

His words proved true almost immediately.  There were the sounds of shouts and footsteps echoing from all directions as their pursuers abandoned stealth and began to home in on the location of the gunshots.

Ursie ran, just like Knile had suggested.  “Shit, Knile.  What have you done?”

He loped along beside her.  “I guess I just poked a stick in the hornets’ nest.  Down this way!”  He pointed and they ran along another platform.  Ursie looked over her shoulder to see if there was anyone behind them, and she stumbled roughly against Knile and almost tripped.

“Sorry,” she gasped.

“Watch where you’re going, kid!”

She slowed and dropped a hand into her satchel.  “Okay.”

Knile glanced at her.  “Did you lose something?”

“No,” she said, taking her hand out again.  “All good.”

The footsteps behind them were getting louder.  Ursie saw a figure flash underneath one of the spotlights on an adjacent platform not far away.

“We’ll need to take a shortcut.  Through here!” Knile barked.

They ran under an arched mechanism that was festooned with grimy hoses the colour of mustard and which stank of sulphur.  It belched a cloud of gas from a valve on its side as they passed through.

The walkway ended just beyond, and Knile began to clamber over the railing.  Ursie looked over the edge and felt that familiar surge of vertigo.

“What are you doing?” she said.

“Shortcut,” Knile said, and then he bounded across the gap and caught the railing of another walkway on the other side.  “Sorry, kid.  I didn’t intend to bring you this way, but we don’t have a choice now.”

Ursie shook her head.  “I can’t make that jump, Knile.”

“You have to,” Knile urged.  He leaned out across the gap and extended his hand.  “This is the only way to get to the field generator.”

Ursie edged forward and looked down into the void, seeing more of those massive cogs turning far below.

“No fucking way,” she said, shaking her head.

The footsteps were getting louder.

“Ursie,” Knile growled, “this is no time to–”

“Knile, I can’t make this damn jump!  I’m exhausted and I just can’t do it!”

He looked about desperately, then swung himself over the railing and onto the other walkway.  He began to tap on his holophone desperately.

“All right, we can still do this,” he said.  “Leave the field generator to me.  You head to the end of that ramp,” he said, pointing to a platform that ran perpendicular to the one upon which she stood.  “Take a left and then go up the ladder.  If you follow it all the way to the top you’ll find a room for the air intake, and inside that a door marked with a yellow ‘G’.  I’ll set it to unlock.  Take it and find your way up to the Atrium from there.”

“What about you?” she said, breathless.

“I’ll lead them off.  I know my way around here better than they do.  After I’ve buzzed the field generator, I’ll meet you at the Atrium.”

“But–”

“Just go, Ursie.  Go now!”

Without waiting for a response, he turned and began to run, and Ursie realised she had no choice but to do the same.

Alton’s shoes pounded on the walkway.  Ahead, Tucker was hunched over one of Geisler’s former men, a guy called Harris, who was lying prone on the chequer plate walkway.

“What happened?” Alton demanded.

“Harris spotted the mark and called it in,” Tucker said.  “He was told to hold position and wait, but it looks like he went ahead anyway.  Probably trying to get a bigger slice of the pie.”

“Dead?”

“Yeah.”

“Then let’s move.  Which way?”

Tucker got up.  “This way.”

They ran side by side along the walkway, and Alton scanned around for any signs of their quarry.

“Where are the others?”

“Two made it here before me.  They’ve gone on ahead in search of Oberend.  There are a few more in the lower levels.  They’re on their way.”

They came to the hose mechanism and proceeded beneath it.  Jordan stood on the next walkway, having just jumped the gap.

“We think he went down here, Mr. Wilt.”

Alton climbed over the rails and wasted no time in springing nimbly across.  As he climbed over the rail on the other side he noticed furtive movement some distance above, in the opposite direction to where Oberend was suspected of heading.

“Tucker,” he said, pointing.  “There’s something moving over there.  Check it out, just in case he’s managed to fool us again.”

“Will do, boss.”

You’re running out of places in which to hide, Knile, Alton thought with grim satisfaction as he began to stride out down the platform again.  What are you going to do when there’s nowhere left to run?

Duran was in the elevator when he got the call.  He lifted the holophone from his belt and answered.

“Duran here.”

“Inspector,” Parnell said, appearing on the other end of the video call.  “You still looking for that guy?  Knile Oberend?”

“You bet.  What have you got for me?”

“We just had reports of disturbances up on Level Two-Four-Five and Two-Four-Seven earlier this afternoon.  Up in the Plant Rooms.”

“What happened?”

“We’ve had maintenance staff lodge complaints about doors being smashed open up there.  One of the welding crew said he was accosted by three men with guns.  Does that sound like who you’re after?”

“No, but it sounds like someone else I’m looking for.  Do you have eyes in there?”

“In the Plant Rooms?  A few, but they aren’t actively monitored, surprise surprise.”

“What about the field generator?”

“Oh yeah, that’s one place that gets some serious security.  There’s guards, the doors are secured, and there’s cameras all over the place.”

“It won’t stop Oberend.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’s gotten around those things before.  He’ll do it again.”

Parnell shrugged.  “If you say so.  Anyhow, Duran, I’ve gotta go.  Hope that helps.”

“Parnell,” Duran said as the man was about to hang up.  Parnell stopped and looked at him.  “Thanks.  This means a lot.”

Parnell smiled.  “Yeah.  Any time, Duran.”

Duran put the holophone away and waited as the elevator floors ticked by.  His fingers hovered over the buttons for 245 and 247.

What if Oberend doesn’t head to the field generator this time?  What if I lie in wait there and he doesn’t show?  I might miss him altogether.

Duran realised he still had no clue as to Oberend’s objective.  Was he initiating another attack on the Atrium?  Was he trying to flee Earth?  Or something else.

He cursed, feeling blind.  Unprepared.  It was no wonder he was always one step behind, always late to the party.

His finger jabbed decisively on the button.

“Time to take a gamble and move ahead of the game,” he said to himself.

38

Knile did not concern himself with his pursuers.  He knew his surroundings intimately, and he knew his destination.  Those behind him most likely did not, and that should have been enough of an advantage.  All he needed to do was to keep up a rapid pace, keep on his toes, and they wouldn’t catch him.

Ursie, on the other hand, was another story.

Knile had unlocked the door as he’d promised, and he’d made sure the pursuers had seen him, winking his flashlight for a moment as he reached the first ladder.  He’d seen them on the walkway below, and moments later they had made their way across the gap in pursuit of him.

Still, if Ursie got lost and turned back, or if there were some other unforeseen circumstances, she might run into problems.

There’s nothing you can do about it.  Keep going.

Was that really true, though?  Was there no other option he could have chosen?  How would he feel if he made it to the Atrium and Ursie wasn’t there?  Could he take his place on the railcar with a clear conscience if her blood was on his hands?

She knew the risks.  She’s here of her own volition.

And then a heartbeat later he thought: But she’s just a kid.

Whatever the case, it was too late to turn back now.  The cards had been dealt, the game set in motion, and now he had to concentrate on the task at hand.  He had to get it right with the field generator this time, for a start.  He had to stay clear of Wilt’s men, and he had to do it all with the clock running out.

He checked his watch.  Not much more than thirty minutes left.

The railcar had probably descended the Wire by now.  Any passengers and cargo would be unloaded, and those fortunate enough to be heading up the Wire would now be lining up, preparing to enter their capsules.

I’ll join them, Knile told himself.  It’s my time.  Then another thought came to him.  And I’ll find out the identity of this mysterious Sponsor.

In these higher levels of the Plant Rooms there was more light, even though the spaces were more cramped.  These levels were configured to suck in the air from outside and direct it into massive purifiers, which in turn distributed the clean air to the inhabited levels below.  As such, there were a plethora of giant fans with massive steel blades that channelled the air into the appropriate conduits.  They made great whooshing sounds as they turned, and caused Knile’s hair and shirt to flap and jump haphazardly.

He leaned over the railing and peered down at the walkways below.  He thought he saw something moving down there, but couldn’t be sure if it was one of Wilt’s men or just another piece of machinery.  He kept moving.

Thoughts of the woman down in Lux came unbidden to him.  In truth, he hadn’t been able to think of anything else since it had happened.  The timing was terrible – right at the most critical point of his entire journey – and try as he might, he could not put it out of his mind.  Despite what he had told Ursie, he had to admit that the woman had looked a lot like Mianda.  The similarities were undeniable.

He’d had contradictory notions ever since that moment.  Firstly, that the woman could not possibly have been Mianda, because she had surely perished in the Atrium.  He’d seen the fire claim her, hadn’t he?  And even if she’d gotten out of there alive, how had she ended up in Lux?

But in contrast to this, he also decided that if she had escaped, there was no telling what could have happened to her in the years since.  Perhaps she had found her way out of her life in Gaslight and joined a benefactor in Lux, or had amassed enough creds through her own enterprise to start a new life there.

Forget about it, he told himself. You have a job to do, so forget about it.

But he simply couldn’t.

The fans were falling behind him now, and he increased his pace even further.  The entrance to the field generator room was just up ahead.

Ursie seemed to have conquered her fear of tall ladders for now.  It was amazing what being chased by a crew of homicidal maniacs could do for those little phobias.

When she alighted from the last rung, there were two things that immediately struck her – first, that this level was full of huge fans, and second, that the ladder was vibrating, shuddering a couple of times every second.

They were coming after her.

The door.  Get to the door.

She began to run, not really knowing which way to go.  This level was cramped and twisted, offering no long view through which Ursie could determine a path.  She reeled from one fan to the next, her hair tangled in her face, her silly, pompous and impractical dress flapping about like a tent on a windy beach.

Her footsteps on the steel walkways sounded deafening, even though she was doing her best to move silently.  She imagined her pursuers would find her by sound alone at this rate.

You’re a thief, goddammit.  Move quietly.

She came to a blank wall with pathways leading in both directions, both of which disappeared behind large aluminium conduits.  At the end of these were control panels filled with blinking lights, but there was no way to progress further.  They were both dead ends.

She doubled back and kept searching, soon finding a door labelled with a yellow ‘J’.  But Knile had told her to look for a ‘G’, hadn’t he?  She tried the handle on the door just in case, but it didn’t budge.

Don’t panic.  Keep looking.

She kept wandering, wishing desperately that Knile had provided more guidance before sending her on her way, but there simply hadn’t been time.

If you’d had the guts to jump that gap, you wouldn’t be here, she reminded herself.

She followed the walkway around, hoping to find the next door in sequence, but there was just another of those blank walls instead.

Who designed this fucking place?

She rounded another turn, and, to her horror, realised that she was back at the ladder again.  Worse, a bald man with a cog tattooed on the side of his head was emerging from the top.  He saw her and smiled.

“You lost, little princess?” he sneered.

Ursie turned and fled back the way she had come, and in moments she heard the man thumping loudly after her.

The door.  Find the goddamn door.

She ran, altering her path by changing course at almost every juncture, not only to throw off her pursuer, but also in the vain hope that she would somehow stumble upon the right door, the one imprinted with the letter ‘G’.

She lost her sense of direction entirely and expected the man to jump out every time she made a turn.  Her footsteps were even louder than before, but now she didn’t care.  She just had to get away.

The bald man was out there somewhere in this maze, and she knew that before too long he would find her.

39

Knile watched the guards in hazmat suits outside the field generator room with quiet anticipation.  They conferred amongst themselves for a few moments, then hastened away from the entrance, headed for the elevator.  He smiled.

These guys weren’t paid enough to show anything more than the barest commitment to the job.  Anything that seemed like hard work would have them dropping their bundle, turning tail.  There had been no doubt that they would run.

The alert Knile had triggered was, for a dumb security guard, a little intimidating.  Even he had to admit that.  As far as the guards knew, the flashing lights outside the field generator room signalled an imminent meltdown of the generator containment system, an event that would kill anything within a hundred-metre radius.

Of course, there was no imminent meltdown.  It was all a ruse to remove the guards from their stations, and, being none the wiser, they obeyed the warning.  These weren’t technicians, but simply hired guns who wouldn’t know the difference between a meltdown and a cheese sandwich, and they weren’t sticking around to try to figure it out.

Knile set a timer on his watch.  The response crew would be here in no sooner than seventeen minutes, no later than twenty-three.  They had to run tests on the environment to ensure that it was safe to enter, and that took time.  Knile wanted to be gone in thirteen minutes just to make sure he wouldn’t come across them.  It would be a travesty to come this far, only to be accosted by technicians as he tried to make his escape.

The security on the door of the field generator was not easy to bypass.  In fact, it was one of the toughest systems Knile had encountered.  Back when he’d first discovered the room, years ago, he’d tried working on it numerous times over the span of several months, but his opportunities to do so were limited.  Apart from the presence of the guards, there was also another very good reason not to hang around for long – the generator gave off an electromagnetic discharge in the immediate vicinity that was harmful to humans.  Exposure of more than twenty or thirty minutes could be deadly without the right protection.  There were radiation warnings plastered all over the walls, prominently positioned not only to warn of the danger, Knile figured, but also to deter any potential intruders from trying to gain access to the interior.

Beside all of that, the encryption on the door was enough to keep out practically anyone.  There might have been one or two other hackers in the Reach who might have had a chance of breaking it, but they either did not have the inclination to crack it, or they simply didn’t want to take on the task.  As far as he knew, Knile was the only one who had ever done it.

The encryption sequence had been changed since Knile had been here last, but that didn’t hold him up for long.  A few alterations to his attack vector and he was through.  Once the lock was bypassed, he also connected remotely into the camera system and disabled that for good measure.

I love you.  Don’t leave me.

“That wasn’t her,” he told himself again as he pushed through the door.  “It wasn’t her, and she wasn’t talking to you.”

You have to go back.

“I’m not going back.”  He gritted his teeth and said it again, more forcefully this time.  “I’m not going back.”

The door clicked shut behind him and the whooshing of the fan blades was stifled, replaced immediately by the eerie thrum of the field generator.  Through the darkness Knile could make out the shape of the baffles, a collection of elongated walls that surrounded the field generator and which slanted off at acute angles, forming a kind of tall and seemingly impenetrable hedge maze before him.  These acted as an energy dispersal system, reducing the reach of the generator’s electromagnetic discharge.  Above these, blue-violet waves of light swam across the ceiling like turbulent ripples, a by-product of the energy produced by the generator itself.  It was beautiful in a way, Knile had thought the last time he had been here.  With all that had happened in the Atrium shortly after, he had almost forgotten about the phenomenon.

Knile began to step through the baffles, winding his way through the angular corridors within as the energy flux on the ceiling lit his way.

He checked his wristwatch, aware that he had to work fast.  Mottled iridescent hues swam across his arm in the shifting light, causing the pinpricks on the Skybreach tattoo to twinkle like a sea of stars.

Then he was through, and the light of the field generator hit him with such force that he winced and covered his eyes.  When he opened them again he saw the huge orb in front of him, an obsidian sphere as tall as two men, spinning laterally on its axis as curls of that blue-and-violet energy wafted around it like strands of luminescent mist.  It was both beautiful and awe-inspiring, an artefact of technology that made him marvel at man’s potential to create.

They made things like this, but they couldn’t stop the Earth from dying.

Knile might have stayed just to look at the spectacle of the generator for longer had there not been other more pressing things on his mind.

He found the control terminal over by the wall and jacked into it with one of the cables he’d  brought in his backpack.  The terminal itself was air gapped so that it couldn’t be tampered with remotely.  There were no outside systems that connected with it whatsoever.  That was why he’d been forced to come here, into the room itself to access it locally.

Concentrate.  Don’t make the same mistake as last time.  The reverse has to happen for just a small window of time.

He knew where he’d gone wrong on that previous occasion.  He’d configured the field generator’s power input to increase too slowly.  Once it reached the required setting it had found an equilibrium, remaining at the critical state for far too long.  That was why the Stormgates had remained in a reversed position for almost half an hour.

This time he needed the power to spike instead of having it climb gradually.  If he calibrated the inputs correctly, he could make the fields reverse for a much shorter duration, only about five seconds.  That would be perfect.

Still, he and Ursie would need to be ready when it happened or they’d miss out.

He checked his watch again.

Damn, where is the time going?  Only thirty minutes left to get to the Wire.

He weighed up the timing.  He needed to balance the time it would take to get to the Stormgates, and then again to ascend the final elevator to the Wire.

Twenty minutes to get to the Stormgates.  Ten to get to the Wire.  That should do it.

He set his watch to count down to the mark, then began to calibrate the field generator settings, performing some on-the-fly math as he did so.  He punched in the digits that he thought would be correct, then, as he was about to leave, counted up the numbers in his head again.

No.  That’s only going to reverse the field for one, maybe two seconds.  If I lower–

There was a noise behind him, and a terrible thought came to him.

I didn’t lock the door behind me.  Too damn preoccupied with Mianda–

He turned and saw Alton Wilt coming at him like some nightmarish spectre, the light shifting across his face and causing his features to distort and churn grotesquely.  Knile reacted swiftly, turning his body and slipping his hand behind his back as he reached for the 9mm in his belt.

His fingers caught nothing but air.  The gun was gone.

Ursie fought against the exhaustion that was threatening to overwhelm her, pushing herself on even though her legs felt like rubber.  The soles of her feet and her ankles throbbed, and she felt as though they might give out any minute.  She wondered if she would even be able to get back up were she to fall.

Adrenaline had driven her through the Greenhouse, through Lux, even through some of the Plant Rooms.  Now even that had gone, packed its bags and headed to a more hospitable climate, somewhere far away from her.  She was running on empty now.  There was practically nothing left to give after this day and a half of mayhem that she had endured with Knile.

For the first time, she wondered if any of this was worth it.  Had she simply gotten herself in too deep?

No, she thought, gritting her teeth. I’m not ready to give up, not when I’m this close.  There’s a future waiting for me if I can just get out of here.

She turned again and saw another of those blank walls before her.  With dread, she knew that she was heading for a dead end, and worse – it was too late to turn around.  From the footsteps behind her it was clear that the bald man was almost upon her.

She kept going into the dead end, and as she rounded the corner her foot snagged on the edge of the platform and she went down in a heap.

Terrified, she struggled into a sitting position, reaching madly for her satchel.  She dug her hand inside it and touched the case.  Her future.

She was out of sight of the bald man, tucked away in a corner of the dead end.

Please go past.  Please.

She squeezed her eyes shut as she tried to tap into that last mote of strength stirring within her.  She concentrated her energy, tried to find focus.

Breathe.  In and out.  Come on, breathe.

The man was getting closer, just a few steps away now.  She had a terrible premonition that he’d seen where she’d gone.  She hadn’t fooled him at all.

She could picture his grinning face as he wove between the curves in the walkway, preparing to drag her back to Wilt or just slay her where she sat.

She readied herself for one last effort.

The kid wasn’t half as smart as she thought she was, Tucker figured.  She was tiring, that much was evident, but even at full strength she would not have outrun him.  Her many changes of direction hadn’t come close to shaking him off either.  This was easy meat, the kind of task that Tucker revelled in.

Tucker was enjoying this more than he should have.  He’d always been one to enjoy the pursuit more than the catch itself, the feeling of suspense before the final moment came, but something about this one was really stoking his fire.  Maybe it was the kid’s vulnerability, her seeming helplessness that made him feel so powerful, so vital.  The end result of this encounter was inevitable, and he knew that she must be feeling it as keenly as he was.

Tucker eased off his pace, savouring the final moments of the hunt.  There was time.  Plenty of time.  Once he’d finished with the kid he’d be able to return to his boss to complete the mission, his final task for Alton Wilt.  Then after today, Wilt would be gone.  Tucker would be elevated into his place.

After today, people would be calling Tucker the boss.  And Tucker liked the thought of that.

He had big plans, machinations that he had been dreaming up for years now.  As much as he respected Wilt, he knew there were ways he could make things better.  More efficient.  Many of Tucker’s plans had already been set in motion, surreptitiously carried out without the knowledge of Alton Wilt.  The angles that Wilt was using, the creds he was bringing in – that was child’s play compared to what Tucker was going to do.  He’d turn Link upside down, and eventually the Reach as well, and make every inch of this place his own.

Tucker would make Alton Wilt look like an amateur.

He had it all ahead of him.

But right now, he was going to enjoy dealing with this kid.  He was going to draw it out for as long as he liked, make her wait until he was ready.

Tucker pulled the .45 from its holster and racked the slide.  The sharp sound of it cut through the background noise like a knife.

He hoped the kid heard the sound and recognised what it was.  He hoped she knew what was coming.

The kid turned into a narrow ramp that led to a blank wall, and then Tucker saw her head to the right and stumble.  She disappeared from view.

Don’t worry, kid.  Not long now.

He stopped and waited, holding back to see if she emerged from the other side of the conduit.  She did not.

Tucker walked slowly, letting his boots thump against the steel beneath his feet.  He faced the blank wall and stopped, taking a deep breath.  He listened for movement, but there was nothing to hear.

Sounds like she’s given up.

He started to walk again, edging to the left so that he could see where she had disappeared.  It looked like a dead end.  No wonder she wasn’t going anywhere.

Okay, enough.  Time to end this.

With a sharp movement, Tucker rounded the corner and brought up the .45.

There was nothing there.  Just a control panel, the walkway, and empty space.

“Hey!” came the kid’s voice.

Tucker turned to see her slumped against another panel on the floor behind him, pointing a 9mm right at his chest.

She narrowed her eyes.  “Surprise, fucker.”

Tucker had time to wonder how on earth she’d managed to double back around without him seeing her, and then the gun boomed.

Ursie pulled on the trigger and the 9mm jumped in her hands with unexpected violence.  She tried her best to keep the muzzle down and kept squeezing the trigger, hoping that she was hitting something, and when the magazine emptied she clicked away with nothing in the chamber, just to make sure she’d fired everything she had.  When it became clear that it was spent, she finally dropped the gun and let it clatter on the walkway.  A helpless sob erupted from her mouth.  She was certain that she would see the man still standing there leering at her, untouched, with scorch marks from ill-aimed bullets all around him.

But Tucker wasn’t standing.  He was crumpled on the floor, staring at her but unseeing, a wound in his neck and one in his chest.  His gun had evidently flown from his hand and dropped over the edge of the walkway, for now Ursie could hear it clattering as it caromed off the fan blades and handrails far below.

Ursie let out another sob, this one tinged with relief and disbelief, and the two of them sat there slumped against their respective consoles as she tried to regain her breath.  Her legs still ached, and now that she was sitting, she did not feel like getting up again.

But she knew that she had to.

She gripped the edge of the console and lifted herself up, groaning, then gathered up her satchel and slung it over her shoulder again.

She gave the slumped man one last look, and then got moving out of the dead end.

The door.  Find that damn door before time runs out.

She limped back through the maze of machines, a remote part of her brain wondering if there were more goons coming after her, another part not really caring.  If the men in suits came for her, they could have her.  She did not have the energy to resist them anymore.

The notion of falling into the arms of death and finally finding rest was almost appealing to her at this point.

As if it were mocking her previous attempts to find it, door ‘G’ materialised before her in only a matter of seconds this time around.  Part of her scorned it for all the trouble it had caused, and the other part welcomed it as her saviour.  She stumbled toward it and pushed on the handle, shoving her weary body against the wedge of steel to force it open.

Ursie had expected to find another ladder or maintenance shaft when she opened the door, but instead she was greeted by the harsh glare of the afternoon sun and a whirling wind so strong that it almost wrenched the door handle from her grasp.

Before her was a three-kilometre drop straight down into nothingness.

Oh, god no.

There was a steel walkway outside the door, but it was so thin that it looked about as strong as chicken wire.  It ran along the edge of the Reach exterior, and at its conclusion were indentations in the wall leading upward, but these were nothing like a proper ladder.  They looked more like grooves in the wall than handholds.

Further up she could see a ledge that might have been the Atrium.

She looked out toward the murky horizon, feeling an odd sense of déjà vu from the day before.  This was just like the last climb below the Greenhouse, except that this time there were no ropes.  No carabiners.  No proper ladders.  No Knile to help her.  And this time she was three times higher.

Actually, this was nothing like the first climb.

Fuck you, Knile, she thought.  Why did you send me this way?  I can’t do this.

She realised with dread that she had never felt further from the top of the Reach than she did at that very moment.

40

Wilt moved with blinding speed, and, as quick as he was, Knile could not entirely get out of the way of his swinging fist.  The blow glanced off Knile’s neck, but even that was enough to knock him off his feet.

He rolled and got back to a standing position in one motion, but Wilt was already upon him again.  The tall man drove the palm of his hand into Knile’s solar plexus, sending him sprawling back against the nearest of the baffles, where he jarred his back and neck painfully.

Holy shit, this guy hits like a sledgehammer.

There was no time for further thought.  Wilt was zeroing in again, and as their eyes met, Knile saw an uncompromising coldness in his adversary’s eyes.  In that one instant Knile understood the extent of the man’s conviction, his will, and the very force of it seemed to push against Knile’s resolve, compelling him to submit.

Knile moved, and this time he avoided being struck, albeit by the narrowest of margins.  The blow to his midriff had winded him, and now he gasped for breath as he danced away from his larger opponent.

Wilt came again, and Knile countered with a blow to the jaw, but Wilt seemed to barely feel it, never breaking stride as he closed the gap and wrenching Knile by the shoulders, throwing him across the floor toward the giant sphere.

“Where are you going, Knile?” Wilt drawled.  The eerie light of the field generator whorled and rippled across his face as he strode forward.  “You’ve nowhere left to run.”

“I don’t know what you want, man,” Knile gasped, “but I think you’ve got the wrong guy.”

Wilt stopped with a shocked expression on his face, as if he’d been slapped.

“How dare you?” he breathed.  “How dare you treat me with such disrespect?  To think I’m so stupid.”  He waved his hand around.  “Did you think I’d fall for that?  Maybe just turn around and walk out of here, leave you to go on your way?”

“I don’t–”

“I deserve more than that from you, Knile,” Wilt grated.  “You’ve earned my respect during our time together.  The least you could do is show me the same.”

“I don’t know you, and I don’t know who you think I am,” Knile said, maintaining his pose of ignorance.  This infuriated Wilt even further, and he advanced again.

Wilt struck him again in the stomach, then in the ribs, and Knile coughed as he rolled away.  He dry retched, distantly glad that there was almost nothing in his stomach to bring up.  In desperation he looked over at the control terminal for the field generator.  The Stormgates were still set to reverse with his initial configuration settings, and that meant they would only do so for one or two seconds.  That was a very small window in which to get Ursie through, but maybe it was enough.

He wasn’t going to win this fight with Wilt.  No way.  There was no point trying.

Knile pushed himself up off the floor and ran for the baffles.  Maybe he could lose Wilt in the darkness and head up to the Atrium to meet up with Ursie.

He reached the baffles, but someone was coming through from the other direction.  The butt of a gun came arcing through the gloom and clipped him on the jaw, sending him crashing back to the floor, dazed.

He looked up and saw the man in the suit, the one with the star tattoo on his cheek.

“Good timing, Mr. Jordan,” Wilt said, standing over his fallen opponent.  “I think our friend here was just about to leave the party.”

“No problem, Mr. Wilt.”

Wilt dropped down on Knile, jamming his knee painfully into his back.  Knile cried out in pain, writhing helplessly like an insect that had been pinned to a corkboard.  Jordan laughed.  Two other men in suits appeared behind him.

“Screams like a bitch, huh?” Jordan said.

Wilt began to roughly search Knile’s body, his fingers darting into Knile’s pockets, and then the knee lifted from Knile’s back.  Wilt flipped him over unceremoniously and then the knee pushed down on his chest as Wilt searched his front.

“Check the pack,” he ordered, waving at Knile’s backpack, which lay on the floor over by the terminal.  Jordan obediently sauntered over to investigate.

Wilt’s hands moved through the remainder of Knile’s pockets, then he checked his boots and pulled roughly at his hair and wrenched open his mouth.

“It must be in there,” Wilt said, turning to Jordan.

“No sir, Mr. Wilt.  Nothing in here but a bunch of tools.  The guy isn’t even packing a weapon.”

“Is that so?  Hand me a gun,” Wilt ordered, holding his hand aloft expectantly.  Jordan obliged, and as soon as the gun was in his hand, Wilt levelled it at Knile’s face.  “You have five seconds, Mr. Oberend.  I want the passkey.”

“You blow my head off and you stay earthbound,” Knile said, unflinching.  He’d decided the time for playing the innocent was over.  “You’ll never find where I’ve stashed it.”

“Mr. Wilt?” Jordan said.  “Allow me.”

Wilt glared down the barrel at Knile for a moment longer, then pushed himself off, his mouth a thin line of displeasure.

“He’s all yours.”

Jordan hunkered over Knile and began to feel through his pockets, much like Wilt had done moments before.  However, where Wilt had failed, Jordan found the secret compartment in only a matter of moments.

“Ah, here we go,” Jordan said, his voice drenched with satisfaction as he drew out the passkey.  “That’s an old gutter rat trick if ever I saw one.  Wouldn’t expect any less from one like this.”

He handed the passkey to Wilt, who took it almost reverently, staring at its golden curves as his jaw dropped open and his face went slack.

“Finally,” he gasped.  “Finally, I have it.”

“It won’t do you much good,” Knile said acidly.  The comment disrupted Wilt from his reverie and the look of frustration returned to his face.

“I think we’re done with you, Knile,” Wilt said, stepping forward and raising the gun again.

“Do you have any idea how those things work?” Knile yelled up at him.  “You won’t get through the Stormgates with my name on that passkey.”

Wilt paused and seemed to think of something.

“I think we’ve got that covered,” he said, pulling out his holophone.  He tapped on the screen to initiate a call, then waited patiently for someone to answer, but as the seconds ticked by it seemed evident that this would not occur.  “No response from Tucker,” he said to Jordan, stowing the passkey in his breast pocket.

“Maybe this glowing ball thing is affecting the signal,” Jordan offered.

“Yes.  Maybe.  He’s probably already reached the Atrium.”

“What if he hasn’t?” Jordan said.

“Then I’ll have no one to hack this passkey.”  Wilt turned back to Knile.  “It seems you might have one bargaining chip left, Knile.  Can you hack this thing?”  Knile glared back at him balefully.  Wilt raised the gun.  “I said, can you hack this thing?”

“Yes,” Knile snapped bitterly.

“Then you’re coming with me.”  He hauled him to his feet and gripped him in a headlock.  “You’re my insurance policy.”

“I’ll need my tools,” Knile gasped, straining for air beneath the pressure of Wilt’s forearm.  Wilt gestured for Jordan to retrieve the backpack, and the man did so, handing it on to Knile.

“Good, now–”

“Knile!” came a loud voice from somewhere within the baffles.  “I know you’re in here.  Give yourself up!”

Wilt responded immediately, dragging Knile toward the darkness and hissing instructions at Jordan and the other two men.  They complied, splitting up and heading into the baffles as Wilt drew Knile in the other direction.

“Knile, don’t do anything stupid,” came the voice again.  “I know where Mianda is.  I can see that both you and she are kept safe if you’ll do what I say.”

Knile suddenly recognised the voice.  It was the Enforcer, Duran, the one who had been tracking him years ago.  Was he telling the truth about Mianda?  Could that really have been her down in Lux?

Knile raised a hand to Wilt’s arm to steady himself, and he vaguely saw the digits counting down on his wristwatch.

The Stormgates were waiting, and time was running out.

Duran crept through the baffles with his .40 clasped in both hands.  He’d heard more than one voice inside the field generator room, and one of them was definitely Oberend.  The man sounded desperate.  If Wilt’s men had found him, Duran wasn’t sure what was going to happen.  He still didn’t know what they wanted him for.  If it was a debt or some sort of grievance, they probably wouldn’t wait long before killing him, and Duran didn’t want that.  He wanted Oberend alive, if possible.  He wanted him to live long enough to see justice done, to get what he deserved.

Duran hoped that by calling out he had distracted them and delayed the execution for a few moments at least, long enough for Duran to intervene.  He had no idea whether Knile would believe what he’d said about Mianda, but at this point the girl was about the only thing Duran could use for leverage.

Of course, if they wanted something else from him, such as information, they might be in the process of moving him to another location.  Duran would have been better served waiting for them at the door in that case, but since he didn’t know for sure, he couldn’t take the chance of sitting idly by and hoping that Oberend came out alive.

Now, through that weird hum of the field generator, Duran could hear the furtive movements of the other men as they spread out through the room.  He hadn’t identified himself as an Enforcer yet, and he doubted that it would make any difference – these kind of men respected no one, least of all the men in black, so he knew he was probably going to have to incapacitate them or kill them outright if he was to get through to Oberend.

I’m probably not going to leave this room alive.  It was the same thought that had occurred to him when he’d spoken to his father not so long ago.  So be it.

The twisting light played tricks on the imagination in here.  Three or four times Duran thought that men were coming at him, their shadows appearing from around the sharp corners of the baffle walls, but there was nothing.  They were merely ghosts conjured by the light emanating from the field generator.

Duran looked behind him, back from where he had come.  The light was easier to cope with in that direction, coming from over his shoulder.  On a hunch, he began to move back toward the door, and a moment later he almost collided with one of the men in suits.  With the light in his eyes, the man reacted more slowly, and Duran was able to grasp his gun hand and force it up toward the ceiling.  The man grunted in surprise and the gun went off, and Duran pistol whipped the man in the temple.  As he crumpled, another man appeared around the next corner, gun raised, and Duran fired, hitting him with a neat double tap to the chest.  The man fell back against the wall and slid to the floor without a sound, a dark patch spreading across his shirt.

Duran kept moving, taking the impetus and hoping to take down more of them if they’d all followed each other down the same path, but his luck did not extend that far.  There were no more here.

He doubled back to the entrance again, but, upon finding no one there, continued around the perimeter of the baffles, strafing and checking each in turn.  He was not picking up the sound of movement anymore, and he wondered if there were any men left.  Had they bound and gagged Oberend somewhere?  Was he lying in the darkness, waiting to be found?

There was a subtle clicking sound, and Duran realised someone was at the door.

He responded swiftly, moving with small, rapid steps back the way he had come.

There was a muzzle flash in the gloom, and Duran spun like a top.  He barely heard the sound of the gun firing.  One minute he was on his feet, and the next he was face down, gasping for breath.

Now, even though his ears were ringing, he could hear the footsteps again, and then the shooter laughed, a cruel and hollow sound.  He was closing in.

Duran got up, gritting his teeth at the pain in his shoulder.  He half slid along the wall, half ran, and then he found his balance again.  Turning, he brought the gun up, waiting for his pursuer to appear, but there was no one there.

He melted into the baffles again, attempting to control his ragged breathing, trying to ignore the pain in his shoulder and neck.  That laughter came again, and it bounced around through the baffles like a dozen voices all at once.  It was everywhere and it was nowhere.

Duran closed his eyes and steeled himself.

Tunks was right about you.  So was Prazor.  You’re a misguided, self-important fool who’s going to die because he was too proud to admit to his own flaws.

“No,” he whispered desperately.

You’re a failure, and when you die in this place there will be no one to miss you.  No one to mourn you.

“No.”

Everything you’ve ever done has amounted to nothing.

“Fuck you!” he roared, his voice bouncing around the enclosed space, much as the man’s laughter had done.  Now he was moving quickly and with purpose.  The pain in his shoulder focussed his mind and brought it sharpness and clarity, blowing away the hazy fog that had been suffocating him a moment before.

He reached the open area of the field generator, and from the next baffle emerged another man in a suit, who was glancing around as he tried to identify the source of the voice.  They locked eyes, and both brought up their guns, but Duran was the quicker, firing twice and then a third time as he hit the man in the thigh, hip and chest.  The man cried out and fell to the floor, clutching at his side.  The gun went limp in his grasp, and he lay there squirming pitifully.

The man laughed again as Duran approached, more weakly this time.

“Taken down by a fucking Enforcer,” he choked, still laughing and wild-eyed.  “Hope no one hears about this.”

“Put the gun down,” Duran said to the man with the star tattoo on his cheekbone.  “You don’t have to die here.”

“Die here, die somewhere else, what’s the fuckin’ difference?”

Jordan tried to bring up his gun hand, one last-ditch attempt at glory, but Duran fired another shot and put him down for good.

41

Wilt pushed Knile toward the corridor that led to the main elevators, but Knile baulked and shied away, resisting his captor’s attempts to manoeuvre him.

“Are you stupid?” Knile managed to get out, even though Wilt’s forearm was pressing painfully into his neck.  “You might have an ID chip that works in that elevator, but as soon as I step in there it’s going to shut down.  You’ll have a dozen Enforcers up your ass in about thirty seconds.”

Wilt slowed.  “Then what do you suggest?”

“I have another way.”  He jerked his head at a long, narrow corridor leading off on a different tangent.  “Back there.”

Wilt seemed to weigh this up, then swung the two of them around.

“Get moving.”

Knile directed the taller man the only way he could – by gasping out instructions and nodding his head as far as Wilt would allow.  The man’s grip was like iron, and worse, it was relentless.  There was no respite.  Knile felt on the verge of passing out several times as he struggled for breath, but Wilt showed not the slightest hint of compassion.  He kept up the pressure, not allowing Knile more than an inch in which to move.

“Y’know, you’ve… really done things the hard way, Wilt,” Knile wheezed out at one point.  “Why didn’t you just… post a bunch of men in the Atrium and wait for me to show up?  I had to… come through there eventually, right?”

“I’m not quite as foolish as you seem to believe, Knile.  I know that a group of armed men standing around in the Atrium is exactly the kind of behaviour that would gather the interest of the Redmen.  They don’t take kindly to that kind of thing in their territory.  You know it, and I know it.”

“I don’t know anything,” Knile said.

“So you keep saying.  Now keep moving.”

They eventually came to a bulky, rounded door with a yellow ‘W’ stencilled across it in faded yellow paint.

“Through there,” Knile said.  “It’s open.  I unlocked it earlier.”

Wilt moved to it and slammed it open with his palm, then reeled back at the sight of the outside world just beyond, the open sky above.

“What is this?” Wilt demanded as air from outside howled around them.  “What’s the idea?”

“This is our way up,” Knile said simply.  “We climb.”

“What are you playing at?” Wilt said, tightening his grip further.

“It’s the… only way…” Knile spluttered.

“It can’t be.”

“It is,” Knile said.  “And the ride is leaving in a few very short minutes, so we can stand here arguing about alternatives, if you like–”

“All right, then,” Wilt said, releasing his grip and pushing Knile forward.  He raised the gun to Knile’s back.  “Don’t bother about messing with respirators.  We don’t have time.  Just go.”

The door slammed shut and the two men made their way along the narrow steel walkway.  Under their feet there was a drop of dizzying proportions.  Knile had done the calculations on a free fall from the top of the Reach, and he knew that anyone who tipped over the edge would have more than a minute to contemplate the impact before the unyielding earth rushed up to meet them far below.

It was not a place he wanted to slip.

“Where do we go?” Wilt said.

“Over there.”  Knile pointed to a set of thin cylinders that were mounted horizontally into the wall, spaced about a metre apart.

“What are those things?”

“Sensors that the military used back in the old days.  I’m not sure what they were for, but I do know that they go all the way up to the Atrium.”

Knile could see that Wilt didn’t like it, but also that he knew he’d been backed into a corner.  There was no other choice now.

“All right, but I’m going first,” Wilt said.  “That way I can be sure that you don’t reach the top before me and run off.”

“Heaven forbid,” Knile said drily, hitching his backpack up onto his shoulders.  He made an elaborate flourish with his hand.  “After you.”

The wind whipped around them and the walkway creaked unsteadily as they moved along it.  Knile was glad there weren’t more men than just the two of them – he doubted the steel would carry much more weight.  It was rusted and worn and probably hadn’t been used in a very long time.

Wilt moved cautiously, hiding his uncertainty behind a veil of hostility and coldness, but Knile could see it was there in his eyes, like a candle flickering at the bottom of a deep and empty well.

Knile himself couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t uneasy about the climb.  When he and Ursie had climbed down at the Greenhouse they had been secured by ropes, so there had always been a safety net to fall back upon.  Here, however, there was no such thing.  One slip would mean a very long plummet through the murky twilight, and then a bone-shattering crunch at the bottom.

Wilt began his climb somewhat awkwardly, the gun in one hand.  He divided his time equally between glancing upward in the hope of seeing the edge of the Atrium, and glaring back down at Knile through the sights of the weapon to ensure that his captive was following.  Knile didn’t flinch, returning Wilt’s gaze with silent stoicism as he racked his brain to come up with a solution, a way out of this predicament.

There has to be a way out of this, doesn’t there? he thought.  There has to be a way to overpower this guy.

But what did Knile have in his favour?  Wilt had the higher ground and he had the gun.  He had superior strength and speed.

The only thing Knile had was a counter on his wrist that was telling him his time was running out one second at a time.  Telling him that his dream was slipping away.

Finally he stopped and sighed, then leaned his head forward against the cool metal of the Reach wall.  Every part of his body ached.  He was drained both mentally and physically by the relentless pace of the last forty-eight hours, by this quest to stay ahead of the Enforcers, Wilt, and the ruthless schedule that had been handed to him.

And what had he gained from all of this?  Where did that leave him?  Stuck on a wall with a madman with no way out.

Knile pulled his body inward against the rungs and took a deep breath.  Then he closed his eyes.

At that moment Wilt’s holophone rang, and with some difficulty he managed to answer it while still keeping the gun on Knile.

“What is it?” he said.  Then a moment later, “Are you sure?”

Knile couldn’t hear what was being said on the other end of the line, but he could tell by Wilt’s voice that there was a problem.

“Where was he?  How did it happen?” Wilt said desperately.

Sounds like this Tucker guy isn’t going to show up after all, Knile thought.  What else would get Wilt so wound up?

“No, there’s no time,” Wilt said.  “I’ll figure something out.”

He closed the connection and then hung there for a few moments as he gathered his thoughts.  Knile could imagine what those thoughts might be.

“I can see where this is going,” Knile said quietly.

“What?” Wilt called down, pointing the gun at Knile again.

Knile raised his face.  “I said I can see where this is going.”

“Keep climbing.”

“No.”

Wilt’s face contorted with rage, and he descended one rung back toward Knile.

“I said keep climbing.”

“And I said no.”

“Time is running out, Knile.  You said so yourself.  What are you playing at?”

Knile considered.  “Well, Mr. Wilt, I’ve been running a few scenarios over in my head, and I don’t like where any of them are going.  The way I see it, if this Tucker guy of yours is up there, you’re going to put me down like a rabid dog without a second thought.  I become excess baggage to you, a third wheel.  There’s no point letting me go.  On the other hand, if Tucker isn’t there, which sounds the more likely option, you’re going to use me to get what you want, and then what?”

Wilt looked at him evenly.  “You’ll be free to go.”

Knile laughed.  “Really?  You’d just leave a loose end lying around like that, huh?  Because you’re a nice guy.”

“Once I’m done with you, it makes no difference to me whether you’re dead–”

“Or alive.”

Wilt grated his jaw and climbed down another rung.  “Stop this stupidity, Knile.”  He brandished the gun again, pointing it right at his captive’s face, but Knile could see the doubt in his eyes.  Something had happened to Tucker, and now Wilt’s last hope of escaping Earth was clinging to the wall of the Reach below him.  “If you do as I say, you have a chance of surviving, Knile.  If you don’t, you die right here.”

Knile shrugged, savouring the desperation that was creeping into Wilt’s voice.

“You put a bullet in my head after I do what you want, or I splatter on the streets of Link like a fucking water balloon.  What’s the difference?”

“Knile–”

“See you later, fucker,” Knile said, and he took his hands from the rung at his waist and spread them wide, like an Olympic diver about to drop backward from the edge of the ten-metre platform.  His face was calm, his eyes closed.  His head tilted backward and his body swayed, tipping past the point of no return as he began to fall out into the void.

“Stop!” Wilt roared, and he lurched desperately downward and clutched at Knile’s outstretched arm, striving for purchase before his captive fell to his death.

Suddenly Knile’s body stopped at a forty-five degree angle, as if he was a marionette whose strings had gone taut.

Something metallic glinted at Knile’s waist, hooked around one of the rungs, and then Knile was coming back at Wilt.  Knile moved like a viper, hauling himself upright and grasping Wilt’s shirt, then wrenching himself backward again, using his full weight to dislodge Wilt from his perch.  Wilt, already overbalanced, could not maintain his one-handed grip, and he was ripped away from the rungs and sent flailing out into thin air.  The gun flew from his grasp and spun away into the nothingness.

Knile braced himself, keeping his fist in Wilt’s shirt, and as the larger man dropped past him he swung him sideways like a ball on a string.  Wilt cried out and clawed at Knile’s face, but Knile kept his focus, snaking out his free hand to the pocket in which he’d seen Wilt place the passkey.  As Wilt swung back again he grasped the passkey and deposited it back in his own pocket in one fluid motion.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thought: All those years of pickpocketing just paid off.

He released his grip on Wilt’s shirt and was just about to voice a farewell quip when Wilt’s hand clamped onto the back of his neck, and those fingers of steel dug into his flesh so hard that he could barely breathe.

Knile felt his belt start to give, where the carabiner he’d taken from his backpack and looped around the rung strained at the leather.  It was the only thing keeping the two of them from falling to their deaths.

His elation at retrieving the passkey was short-lived, now replaced by a surge of utter panic.

“Clever,” Wilt snarled below him, lifting his other hand toward Knile’s neck in an attempt to secure his position.  Knile found the shiv at his belt and flashed it defensively, gashing Wilt’s forearm, but Wilt barely seemed to feel the strike, backhanding Knile across the cheek with staggering force, enough to make him almost pass out.  Fighting the blackness at the edge of his vision, Knile slammed the shiv into Wilt’s chest twice, then as the third blow struck home, Wilt’s free hand clasped around Knile’s wrist, immobilising it.  The shiv remained buried deep within his body.

“That’s enough of that,” Wilt said through clenched teeth, raising his face to Knile’s and smiling at him sinisterly.  “You almost got the best of me there.”

“I’m not done yet,” Knile choked, still struggling for breath with Wilt’s hand around his neck.  He tried to pull the hand away, tried to pry the fingers upward, but they weren’t budging.

Wilt swung his legs back toward the wall, but in his desperation he kicked too hard and snapped the rung in two.  The pieces dislodged from their mounts and spun away below.  Wilt was left without anything on which to place his feet, so he continued to hang there with Knile as his only tether.

Wilt coughed.  Knile saw that there was blood on his lips.

“I underestimated you,” Wilt said in a conversational tone, as if they were a couple of businessmen sitting down to discuss their latest transaction, rather than two men desperately trying to kill each other.  “You understand what it takes to succeed, don’t you, Knile?  You’ve done things that you’ve regretted, things that have made you hate yourself.  I can see it in your eyes.”  His grip tightened and Knile tried to pull the hand away from his neck again.  No chance.  “You’re like me, aren’t you?  You know the price you have to pay to outlast the others.  To overcome.  You know what it’s like to sell your soul in order to see your dream come true.”

Wilt’s words made Knile feel oddly sick.  He felt repulsed by them, disgusted that a monster such as this could possibly think the two of them were alike.  Knile knew that he had done some things he’d regretted, things he wasn’t proud of, but he was no Alton Wilt.  He was not some callous madman who trod over everything in his way to get what he wanted.

He had no idea why Wilt had chosen this moment to try to create an affinity between them, and he didn’t care.  He wanted nothing to do with him.

Knile tried to voice his feelings, to put Wilt in his place, but he found that he had lost the capacity to respond.  There was no air left in his lungs, and the blackness was closing in on him.  Wilt’s shirt was covered in streaks of blood.  It dripped from his boots and fell through the air like droplets of crimson rain.

“I respect that, Knile.  I respect a man who’s willing to…”  Wilt trailed off, his eyelids fluttering.  His grip finally began to weaken and he licked his lips, then came back to full alertness with a start.  “No.  I can’t leave her,” he said.

Knile choked and gasped, feeling unconsciousness descend upon him.  The last thing he saw before he blacked out was Wilt’s eyes fluttering again, and then a serene look came over the tall man’s face.

Knile remotely heard a voice, which he thought might have been Wilt saying something incomprehensible.

“I’m coming, Elia.”

Knile came to with a gasp.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been out.  It might have been seconds or minutes.  The only clue he had was that the light still seemed the same as before, so the odds were that not much time had passed.

Choking in great lungfuls of air, he tried to take stock of what had happened.

Wilt was gone.  Amazingly, the bloodied shiv was still clutched in Knile’s hand, stringy red globs seeping and dripping from the blade at the touch of the wind, spiralling through the air.

Then, far below, he saw the limp form of Alton Wilt plunging toward the ground.  The man made no sound – he did not scream or call for help, did not wail in terror.  He almost seemed tranquil, accepting of his fate, his arms spread loosely at his side as his sleeves flapped madly around him.

Even though he was receding further every second, becoming more difficult to see, Knile had the feeling that the man was looking at him, staring forlornly as he fell away to his death.  Knile glared back, defiant, revelling in the joy of having overcome his adversary, of having survived.

Whether Wilt had passed out due to blood loss, slipped, or simply let go, Knile would never know.  All he did know was that, one way or another, he wasn’t coming back.

Knile turned back to the wall and took a moment to gather himself, sucking in more air as the tremors in his hands subsided.  Then he shakily unhooked the carabiner.

He began to climb.

42

Knile’s hand clutched the wire rope of the balustrade that marked the edge of the Atrium, and he wearily pulled himself up over the edge.  Falling to safety on the other side of the railing, he lay there for the briefest moment to catch his breath before climbing back to his feet.

He was here, finally.  The Atrium rose up around him, the Stormgates within his reach.

The vision before him was enough to make his breath catch in his throat.  The Atrium was a large, open space a little more than one hundred metres across, surrounded on its outer edges by seven great arches that afforded a panoramic view of the horizon in all directions.  Set into the pillars of these arches were elevators from the lower levels, their ornate chrome doors glinting in the twilight.  It was through these that the more conventional passengers and visitors were able to access the Atrium, some of whom were here now, wandering about with their respirators equipped as they admired the view of the darkening sky.  There was little else they could do, since access through the Stormgates was not permitted without passkeys.  Unlike the Enforcers, the citizens were allowed to be here, albeit for short durations, and many came just to stroll around the perimeter and look out upon the vast stretches of land that led out to the horizon, dreaming of what might one day be.

The Stormgates themselves were tall arches of black steel, within which pulsed blue energy fields that formed the gateways to what lay beyond.  Together they constituted a ring around the central column of the Atrium, a thick pillar that contained the only elevator that led to the Wire.  Knile could see two of the Crimson Shield standing there attentively behind the Stormgates as they kept an eye on those moving about on the edges of the balcony.  He lifted his eyes and followed the curve of the column, and where it ended he could see a ring of red sky through the perspex windows that encircled the elevator.

It was perhaps the contrast of that deep red sky from outside and the glowing blue of the Stormgates that had first struck Knile and taken his breath away.  The Atrium was indescribably beautiful at this time of day, a fact he had failed to notice the last time he had been here.

Knile realised that people were staring at him, not just with curiosity, but with bug-eyed, outright shock.  He looked down at himself, then allowed himself a brief smile.  These people had just seen him scuttle over the lip of the Atrium, and it was probably natural for them to assume that he had somehow climbed all the way from the base of the Reach like a spider, appearing finally at the top, dishevelled and exhausted.  There was also blood on his shirt and trousers, which could only have added to the mystery of his sudden emergence.

Fair enough.  I probably look bad enough for them to believe I just climbed three kilometres, Knile thought.

He looked down at his watch.  Only a minute and a half until the Stormgates reversed.

Shit.  Where’s Ursie?

He began to move toward the Stormgates, looking about for any sign of the kid.  If she’d followed his instructions, she should have faced a similar climb to what he himself had just made, but from a different direction.  A vision flashed through his mind, one of Ursie plunging through the air much like Wilt had done, and he felt a wave of guilt wash over him.

Had he done the right thing?  Or had he knowingly sent her to her death?

No, he thought.  I did the right thing.

He knew that he’d given Ursie a tough assignment.  She was clearly not good with heights.  However, with everything that had happened in the last hour, there had been no other option available.  Knile couldn’t be there to hold her hand the whole way with everything against him.  This was her burden, something she had to do by herself.

But she was nowhere in sight.

Knile kept moving in the direction of the Stormgates.  With the passkey in his pocket he could move through any time he wanted.  With a shiver of excitement, he realised that he could walk through right now if he so desired.  He’d be on his way to the roof, where the railcar would be waiting at the bottom of the Wire.

One minute until the gates reverse.

He turned just a few short metres from the glowing blue arch of the nearest Stormgate, making one final sweep of the Atrium with his eyes.  Clashing emotions roiled inside him – excitement, anticipation, guilt and regret all churned together at once.  He’d grown to like the kid, he realised.  He hated to leave her in the lurch this close to the end.

Then he saw her.

She was huddled close behind a slow-moving old couple who were walking about the Atrium, their arms linked.  She’d been keeping out of sight, conscious that questions would be asked should she be seen by someone who knew she didn’t belong there.  She was still in her blue dress.  It had been badly torn and was covered in dirt from the climb and from whatever else she had been through.

Her eyes found Knile at the same time as his found hers, and a broad smile of relief and joy swept across her face a heartbeat later.  She left the shadow of the old couple and began to limp toward him.

It was the first and last time he ever saw something akin to true happiness on the girl’s face.

“Knilllle!” someone roared behind her.  “Stop or you die.”

Knile looked and saw the Enforcer, Duran, standing in front of one of the elevators as its doors closed behind him.  He was bleeding from a wound on his shoulder and looked about as bad as Knile felt, but there was steel in his gaze.  He hobbled purposefully in Knile’s direction with his right hand tucked inside his suit jacket.

Ursie froze in place, too terrified to even turn around.  Those wandering around the Atrium responded with a mixture of fear and confusion at the commotion, some immediately fleeing toward the elevators and others stopping to watch the spectacle.

“Inspector,” Knile called back as casually as he could.  “So good you could make it.”

“Step away from the gates, Knile,” Duran called, still moving forward.  The girl was directly between them so he dared not shoot.  “Step away now or I’ll blow your fucking head off.”

Now everyone was running, even those who initially thought the confrontation might be worth watching.  A woman screamed shrilly as she tried to put distance between herself and the two men, and the old couple tottered past, not really knowing where to go.

Ursie was still stuck in the same place, her eyes wide, silently begging Knile for guidance.  It was clear that she believed she would be shot if she tried to move toward the Stormgates.  Knile raised his hand and beckoned to her, but she seemed rooted in terror.  She did not move a muscle.

Knile was struck by a nauseating sense of déjà vu.  The people screaming and running.  The blind terror that permeated the Atrium.  The girl standing there before his outstretched arm.

My god.  She even looks like Mianda in that dress.

It was all happening again.  Everything was going to rack and ruin.

Knile saw the watch face on his outstretched arm.

Forty seconds left.

“I didn’t kill all those people, Duran,” Knile called in an attempt to placate the inspector.  He began to edge toward Ursie, still with his hand held out invitingly.  “I’m not guilty of what you think.  I didn’t set off the explosion.”

“Sure, Knile,” Duran called, moving closer.   “Step over here and we’ll talk about it.  We have a lot to catch up on, you and me.”

“I made a mistake, that’s all.  Some radicals took advantage of that.  They’re the ones who are guilty.”  He had almost reached Ursie now.

“Step away from the kid!” Duran ordered.  His hand slipped further inside his jacket.  “Don’t touch her.”

“You’re not going to shoot her, Duran,” Knile said, pulling the girl behind him in one swift motion.  “And you’re not going to shoot me.”

“I said stop!”

Twenty.

“Do you know why?  Because you can’t.”  The Redmen had now been stirred from their posts, and as Knile led Ursie back toward the gates he could see them making their way forward to investigate the ruckus.  “The Redmen don’t allow guns up here, Duran.  They don’t allow Enforcers either.  If you pull that thing out of its holster they’ll reduce you to fucking ash.”

“Not before I put you on the ground, Knile!” Duran roared.  His face was red, distorted by rage and desperation.  “You take one more step and you’ll never see Mianda again.”

Knile smiled sardonically.  “You’re a bad liar, Duran.  You don’t have her.  I know you don’t.”

Ten seconds.  Just ten seconds and Ursie is through the Stormgates.

They were so close to the glowing blue arch that Knile could feel the invisible force pushing against the girl, as if they were backing their way into a giant sponge.  The pressure against her firmed and then became as unyielding as a brick wall as they pressed flush against the gate.

“I’m not going to say it again, Knile.  Get down on the ground, right now.”

Duran was close enough now for Knile to see the conflict in the inspector’s eyes.  Duran understood what drawing his gun would mean.  It was a death sentence and he knew it.  He might kill Knile if his aim was true, but he’d pay for it almost instantly as the Redmen retaliated.

Duran’s eyes flicked involuntarily to the approaching Crimson Shield, and he wavered.

Five.

Knile pushed back against Ursie.  The girl squirmed and cried out as she was jammed by the forces pushing against her.

“Are you willing to die, Duran?” Knile said.  “Are you ready to trade your life for mine?”

At those words, Duran’s resolve hardened, and he was filled with conviction.  The two men locked gazes, and Knile saw the belief, the certainty in those eyes.

“Yes.  I’m ready.”

One.

Duran ripped the .40 from its holster and raised it to toward Knile, pointed it right at his face.  He screamed and pulled the trigger, bellowing with all the pent-up rage and frustration that he’d felt toward this man for so long, unleashing it all in one final act of violent fury.

Knile lunged backward as Duran fired.  The gun sounded twice, three times.  Ursie screamed.  Knile felt himself passing through the Stormgates, felt the hazy blue energy field envelop and surround him.  Time seemed to slow.  Ursie was falling through with him as the gates reversed.  The two of them tangled with each other, their arms interlocking.  The girl was still screaming in surprise and confusion.  Knile caught a glimpse of the dark shape of Duran not far away on the other side of the gate.

As if time had caught up with them again and then slingshotted them forward, they were suddenly both sprawled on the Atrium floor, having passed through the energy field.  Duran was in the same position as he had been a moment before, still pulling the trigger, but now Knile saw the bullets slowing as they entered the hazy blue of the Stormgate, their momentum arrested and then halted completely, and then the rounds wavered and vacillated, falling back gently in the direction they had come, as if the Stormgate had swallowed them whole and was now spitting them back out again.  The bullets hit the ground with gentle tapping sounds and then rolled back toward the disbelieving inspector.

Duran stared through the Stormgates in despair, not at the approaching pair of Redmen, but instead at the unblemished face of his adversary, the man who had once again escaped his grasp.  There was no hatred in Duran’s gaze, just disbelief.  After a moment this too waned, and now there was only anguish and a sense of utter loss.

Then Duran was running.  The Redmen thundered through the Stormgates, their rifles humming with latent power.  They began to fire, unleashing lethal bursts of pulse energy, but Knile didn’t stop to gloat over Duran’s demise.  He rolled over and turned to Ursie, aware that time was still slipping away.

The girl was lying very still.  She stared up at him with those clear blue eyes, her pale skin bathed in the light of the Stormgates above them.  Knile reached out and placed his fingers gently on her cheek.

“Kid?”

She didn’t respond.  Then, a few moments later, she blinked.  Her eyes came into focus.

“What the hell happened?” she said distantly.

“We made it through,” Knile said.  “That’s what happened.”  He helped her to get up.  “Come on, we’re not done yet.”

Together they limped toward the elevator.  Knile pressed the call button and the doors slid open immediately.  They hustled inside.

There was only one button inside.  Knile pushed it.

“Please tell me you still have the damn case,” he said, glancing at her satchel.

“I still have the damn case.”

As the doors closed, Knile vaguely saw Duran stumbling toward the balustrade at the edge of the Atrium, the pulse weapons of the Crimson Shield kicking up geysers of dust and concrete as the rounds exploded all around him, and then the elevator closed and Knile and Ursie began to ascend.

43

The doors opened on the only level of the Reach that Knile had never seen with his own eyes, and the soft fluorescence of the elevator car was suddenly awash with the ruddy glow of twilight.  The two of them stood for a moment as their eyes adjusted to the brightness coming out of the west, and slowly Knile began to make out the outline of what lay before them.

A narrow pathway led away from the door of the elevator, at the end of which lay a large open space that was cluttered with blocky machines that sprouted from the roof like angular stumps.  Knile saw two technicians in white coats hovering around the machines, checking gauges and setting parameters as the time of departure approached.

Knile’s eyes found the railcar itself, a machine he’d only seen before in photographs.  It was unmistakable.  Like much of the original components of the Reach, the railcar was utilitarian and visually unimpressive, a conglomeration of segmented rectangles that looked like a jumble of black and grey cargo boxes rather than the craft that took people up into the heavens.  Unsightly black cables ran between these boxes, and antennae of varying shapes and sizes jutted from their upper sections.  Many of the compartments contained transparent egg-shaped bubbles, the passenger capsules, while others were simply clad in scorched steel plating.  The latter were the cargo bays, Knile figured, the storage spaces through which goods and artefacts were transported between Habitat One and the Reach.

Extending above the railcar was the Wire itself, the unimaginably long conduit of steel and alloy that stretched from the peak of the Reach to the edges of space itself.  As Knile stepped out of the elevator, he lifted his eyes and followed the path of the Wire upward.  About the thickness of a pair of large oak tree boles, the metal shaft gave the illusion of tapering the further up it went, until it became nothing more than a strand of silver gossamer high above.  Further still, it disappeared into the blue-black zenith of the evening sky.

The Crimson Shield stood between Knile and the railcar.  There were five of them, clad in armour so thick that the men almost looked like machines.  Their segmented, glinting red carapaces extended upward to their chins, above which were fitted full-face breathing masks that, Knile assumed, allowed them to consume air in this low-oxygen environment for long periods at a time.  They stood unmoving, staring out impassively at the newcomers through the perspex of their masks, pulse rifles in a relaxed two-handed position before them.

Outside the edges of the roof, the world fell away into nothingness, as if they were standing on the very tip of a mountain peak.  As it had done along the walls of the Reach, the wind howled and buffeted them and flicked dust into their eyes.  Knile realised that he’d forgotten to put his respirator back on, but now decided to go on without it.  He wasn’t going to be standing around for long.

He turned to see Ursie panting beside him.  She looked as though she were almost on the verge of hyperventilating, such was her anticipation of what was about to happen.

“Don’t explode there, kid,” Knile said, placing a hand on her shoulder.  “Your lungs look like they’re about to leap out of your chest.”

“This is amazing,” Ursie said, full of wonder.  “I can’t believe we made it.”

Knile smiled down at her.  “You did good.”  He pointed toward the Redmen, noticing for the first time a man in a suit standing behind them.  “Is that your buyer?”

Ursie lifted a hand to keep her hair from whipping into her eyes.

“I sure as shit hope so, man.”

Knile laughed and began to move forward.  The Redmen stood at attention, still as statues, but the man in the suit responded to the arrival of the newcomers by coming forward to meet them.  He was tall and skinny, his hair neatly smoothed against his scalp, and on his gaunt face was balanced a pair of aviator sunglasses.  The man seemed even more nervous than Ursie, glancing between the Redmen and the two newcomers and fidgeting with the catch on the briefcase in his left hand.

“I think your friend is a little worried about the Redmen,” Knile said.  “Looks like he’s never done this before.”

Ursie said nothing, and now she too seemed nervous.  Her good mood had vanished in only a few strides, and now she stared at the man in the aviators with a sickly expression on her face.

She did not look like a kid about to score the fortune of a lifetime.

Something was wrong.

“Ursie, what’s going on here?” Knile said, but the girl ignored him.  She only had eyes for the man in the suit.  Knile reached out to pull her back, to demand she talk to him, but she was having none of it.  She shrugged him off and kept going, and now the Redmen and the man in the suit were right in front of them.

Ursie stopped and stood staring at the man, and the man stared back impassively.  Knile reached them and glanced between the two of them, his uneasiness growing by the second.  A terrible thought occurred to him.

I’ve been behind the game this whole time.  There’s something very important that I’ve missed.

He still had no idea what that was.

Knile opened his mouth to protest, but the man in the suit spoke first.

“A disappointment,” he said in a deep, authoritative tone of voice.  He enunciated the syllables in each word very carefully.  “A great disappointment.”

“I’m here,” Ursie said angrily.  “I made it, didn’t I?”

The man simply shook his head.  “That is simply not good enough.”

“What the hell is going on here?” Knile demanded.  “Ursie, make the deal and let’s get out of here.”

“There is no deal,” the man in the aviators said.  “Not now.”

“It doesn’t have to end this way.  You can do something,” Ursie said to the man.  “Can’t you?”

The man seemed to consider this, then sighed heavily.  He shook his head.  Then without warning he placed a hand inside his jacket and drew out a handgun, levelling it at Knile.  Knile flinched backward at the unexpectedness of it, expecting to feel bullets tearing through his chest, but suddenly one of the Crimson Shield materialised beside the man and wrenched the weapon from his grasp before he could fire it.

“What the hell are you doing?” the Redman said, his voice muffled behind his mask.  “Weapons are not permitted here.  You should know that.  Your organisation could have its license revoked for a stunt like this.”

“I’m sorry,” the man said, adjusting his sunglasses uncomfortably.  “I don’t know what came over me–”

“There’s going to be a report about this, you understand?  There will be repercussions.”

“Yes.  I apologise.”

“Conclude your business and get the fuck off my platform,” the Redman said.  The man in the aviators bobbed his head obediently.  The Redman scowled at him, then stowed the gun in his suit and turned his back, resuming his position nearby.

The railcar began to emit a whirring noise and several lights flared along its length.  Departure was imminent.

“Ursie, are you going to tell me what on earth is going on here?” Knile said.

Reluctantly, she turned her face toward him.  Tears were shimmering in the corners of her eyes.  Knile saw the shame, the guilt and the embarrassment written across her face.

And suddenly Knile knew.  He understood.

His eyes dropped to the satchel.

“What’s in the case?” he said quietly.

“Knile, please–”

“What’s in the fucking case, Ursie?” he roared at the top of his lungs, and his ferocity caused the girl to stumble backward onto one knee.  She sobbed and held up one hand defensively, but Knile brushed past it and stuck his hand inside the satchel.  He pulled out the small briefcase with the encrypted lock.  “Open it!  Open it right fucking now or I’ll throw you off this goddamn roof!”

Ursie fumbled for the keypad on the case, her hands shaking, tears rolling down her cheeks, and began to press the digits in sequence.

“Faster!” Knile bellowed.  “Hurry up!”

“I’m trying!” Ursie wailed.  “I’m trying, okay?”

She pressed the final digit and the case clicked as the locking mechanism disengaged.  Knile attempted to wrench the case from her hands, but only succeeded in knocking it violently aside.  It bounced once across the concrete roof and then skidded, its contents flinging out in all directions.

Bits of cloth flapped in the breeze.  Shiny pieces of metal caught the last of the day’s light.

Knile surveyed the guts of the case as they continued to spill out and scatter at the touch of the swirling wind.  He felt numb, foolish.

“You were the cargo,” Knile said without turning to look at the girl.  He moved over to the case and picked out a grubby doll with one eye missing, turned it over in his hands.  Ursie sobbed again but made no reply.  “There’s no priceless artefact here.  There’s no merch.  This is your luggage, isn’t it, Ursie?  It was you they wanted delivered to the Wire.  And they used me to get you here.”

“Knile–” Ursie began, but he wasn’t listening.

“These people needed to get you to the Wire, but they knew you couldn’t get past the Enforcers yourself.  No.  They needed someone who could sneak you through the Reach undetected.  Someone like me.”  He picked up a little brass box with a flimsy catch and a handle on the lid, another worthless keepsake Ursie had stuffed into her luggage.  “So they put my name on a passkey and then arranged for you to tag along for the ride.  But I’m guessing from your friend’s reaction,” he said, looking up at the man in the sunglasses, “that I wasn’t supposed to be here at this point.  That wasn’t part of the plan.”

“You said you could take care of this,” the man in sunglasses said to Ursie.

Her face darkened.  “Shut up.  Just shut up,” she replied acidly to the man.

“So why is it that they want you, Ursie?” Knile said, dropping the trinket back in the case and getting to his feet.  “Why did they go to all of this trouble to bring you here?”

“Does it matter?” she said, overwrought.  She had not bothered to pick herself up off the concrete yet.

“Yeah, I think it does.”

“Who cares now?  It’s over,” she said, defeated.  “Take your magic ticket and get out of here.  You won.”

Knile narrowed his eyes as he considered.  He thought about their journey through Gaslight, scaling the walls to the Greenhouse.  The party in Lux.  All of the strange little occurrences in between.  The events began to align in his mind and he recognised the patterns therein.

It all made sense now.

“You really are a psycher, aren’t you?” Knile said.  “That’s it.  That’s probably the only words out of your fucking mouth that weren’t a lie to me.  You’re a goddamn psycher.  You can influence people’s minds.  Make them see things.  Make them do things.”

Ursie just looked at him, and Knile turned to the man in the aviators.

“Let me guess.  One of the scouts from your organisation discovered her and told you to get her off-world, and since she was wanted by the Enforcers, this was the only way you could manage to do it.”

“Please, Knile, just go–”

“You’ve manipulated me this whole fucking time, haven’t you, Ursie?” he said, turning and stalking toward her menacingly.  “You’ve been pulling the strings every step of the way.  You manipulated Hank to get an introduction with me, then you convinced me to bring you along on this trip, even though it was a dumb idea to haul your ass across the Reach in the first place.  I should have known something was up right from the start.”

“No, Knile.”

“You made me see that kid out on the wall during our first climb, didn’t you?  The little boy with no shirt.  You wanted me to go investigate, waste my time so that darkness would come and I’d be forced to take you back inside.  That way you wouldn’t have to climb anymore.”

Her eyes were wide with fear.  “No.”

“You stole my gun down in the Mechanisms when you bumped into me on the walkway, didn’t you?”

“I needed it more than you.”

“You made me see Mianda.  Mianda!” he yelled, and she flinched away.  “That wasn’t her in Lux, was it?  You put pictures in my head.  Voices.  You made me think that Mianda was still alive.  You figured I wouldn’t leave the Reach without her, and that I’d hand the passkey over to you.  But you didn’t dig far enough inside my head to find out how she really felt about me.  You stole a few snatches of my dreams and figured that would be enough.  That was the plan, wasn’t it?”  He advanced further, and Ursie squirmed backward, vehemently shaking her head.  “That was the plan, wasn’t it Ursie?  You little fucking rat!”

Something inside her snapped, and she ceased her retreat.

“Fuck you, Knile!” she yelled, tears streaming down her cheeks.  “Don’t you dare judge me!  Not you!  Not after what you’ve done!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“These people,” she said, waving at the man in sunglasses, “are the only ones who ever saw anything good in me.  The only people who ever thought I was worth a damn.”  She glared up at him.  “Do you know what it’s like to live on the street and never have anyone to call your friend?  To never have anyone there to comfort you when things go bad?  No one to miss you when you’re gone?  That’s my life!  I live that every single day.  And these people were the first ones to ever look at me and think I was special.  That I had worth.”

Knile shook his head, incredulous.  “What do you think they see in you, Ursie?  Do you think they want to be your friends?  Maybe they just want to put you on an operating table and cut your head open to see how it works.”

“Yeah?  And what are my other options, Knile?  Maybe I should sit around here living hand to mouth, waiting to die from the toxins in the food?  In the air.  Maybe I’ll get thrown into the Cellar by the Enforcers and never come out again.  No.  Screw that.  I’ll take my chances up there.”  She jabbed a finger upward.  “Because that’s the only place I have a chance of finding happiness.  Of living my dream.”

“No, Ursie,” Knile said calmly.  He held up the passkey.  “That’s my dream, and you’re just an interloper.  You’re just a thief.”

She shook her head at him in disdain.  “Will you listen to yourself?  Do you hear what you’re saying?  You’re a hypocrite, don’t you realise that?  You tried to steal someone else’s dream too, remember?  Isn’t that why Mianda hated you?”

Knile stepped back as if she’d slapped him in the face.  “What?”

“You’re a walking contradiction, Knile.  You just can’t see it.”

He turned away from her, staring down at the golden passkey in his hand.  He ran his thumb along the indentation in the key.

Knile Oberend.

It was his name on the passkey, his DNA that was encoded.  The man in the aviators couldn’t stop him from boarding the railcar, and he knew it.  Knile could blow right by him and take his place on the Wire, ride the railcar up to Habitat One and never see this place again.  He could leave all these people behind.

All these bad memories.

Alton Wilt’s words reverberated in his mind.

You’re like me, aren’t you?  You know what it’s like to sell your soul in order to see your dream come true.

Knile pressed a hand to his forehead.  No, Wilt.  I’m not like you.

He thought of Talia, condemned to a life in Link, and Roman, who was, at this very moment, being drawn into the web of a monster.  He thought of Hoyer Honeybul’s grinning face.

He thought of Roman’s last words to him.

See you on the other side.

“I’ll find a way to help them,” he said out loud, but the words were hollow in his own ears.  There was no conviction in his voice.

Wilt had been right.  He had to admit that now.  Knile had left people in his wake, friends like Talia and Roman who had been cast aside like afterthoughts of his own all-consuming obsession with leaving the Earth.  Hell, even the girl he’d rescued in Lux, the Candidate, had been discarded and left in the arms of the Enforcers, those Knile knew to be corrupt.

No one was going to help Talia.  No one was going to help Roman.  Least of all Knile Oberend.

He suddenly felt that burning sensation in his fist again, just as he had felt in Lux at the sight of the girl on the bed.  In his mind he heard her voice and the voices of all those others who had been oppressed, those who were buried in the depths of the Reach and who would never be heard.  People who had sheltered him when he had been in need, people who had shared his moments of joy and commiserated with him through his failures.  People like Talia and Roman.

It was then that he realised that there was no point running from those bad memories.  No point running from his failures.  Those thoughts would chase him to Saturn, to Jupiter, to wherever he went.  To the ends of the universe.

Running wasn’t the solution.  He needed to stay and make things right.

He wanted to do something that wasn’t just about him.  He wanted to atone for the wrongdoings of the past.

In the same moment he realised something else.  Mianda was gone.  She was gone and she wasn’t coming back, and now there was nothing he could ever do to earn her love.  But all was not lost.

There was still something he could do that would have at least earned her respect.

He turned back to Ursie, the passkey limp in his hand.  He strode over to her, and then the passkey clattered on the concrete at her side.  She gasped and looked up in surprise, the tracks of tears still wet on her cheeks.

“I don’t care what you do with that, Ursie.  Take it if you want, or throw it away.  I don’t need it anymore.”

Ursie regarded the golden passkey with disbelief.  She extended one hand halfway toward it, then stopped, as if she thought it might disappear in a cloud of smoke if she were to touch it.  She glanced up again at Knile, but he made no reaction.

Finally she scooped up the key in her hand and got to her feet, and the man in the suit reacted immediately, opening his briefcase and taking out a black cube.

“Here, quickly,” he said in his deep voice.  Ursie stepped over to him and inserted the passkey into an aperture on the device.  “Encode,” he ordered.

Ursie placed her thumb on the passkey’s indentation and the device swam with red and blue LEDs.

“Of course,” Knile said with a rueful grin.  “You’re the Sponsor.  You own the key to the encryption.  You can put any name on there you want, any time you want.”

Ursie looked uncertainly over her shoulder at him, but there was no animosity in his voice.  The loss of the passkey seemed to have purged him of his angst and his inner turmoil.  A calmness had come over Knile that was quite unlike anything she had seen before.

The process finished with a beep, and Ursie removed the passkey again.  She ran her thumb across the indentation.

Ursie Meyer.

She smiled and let out another sob, but this time the tears running down her cheek were those of joy and relief.  She turned to Knile to offer her gratitude, but he had already turned and was walking away into the gloom.

The railcar completed its start-up cycle and a klaxon sounded.

“We must go,” the man in the aviators said.  “Now.”

Ursie scurried over to the briefcase and threw a few of the nearby items back inside, then got to her feet and hugged it to her chest.

“Knile!” she called.  Knile stopped and glanced over his shoulder at her, his face still calm and purposeful.  “What are you going to do?”

His eyes dropped as he considered what to say.  When he lifted them again his voice was filled with belief.  With boldness.

“I’m going to leave Earth.  But I’m not going to leave it alone.”

Ursie nodded and felt her cheeks flush.  “I’m sorry for what I did to you, Knile.  I know you hate me, and that you’ll never believe another word that comes out of my mouth, but that’s the truth.  I wish I’d done things differently.”

“I don’t hate you, kid.”  He smiled faintly.  “How could I?  You’re more like me than you could ever know.”  He made a little upward motion with his chin.  “Go.  Your ride’s waiting for you.”

The doors of the elevator opened and Knile stepped inside.  Ursie and the man in the suit had already made it to the railcar.  Knile watched her insert the key into a slot beside one of the technicians, and a nearby capsule opened like the petals of a tulip sliding apart to welcome the morning sun.

Knile raised his face and saw the darkening heavens sprinkled with stars high above, the Wire a taut and silver thread that bisected the sky.  As the elevator doors eased shut the vista slipped from view, and Knile found himself alone inside the four walls of the compartment.

He breathed deeply and waited for the elevator to take him downward into the Reach once more.

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Author’s Note

Thanks for reading EARTHBOUND.  I sincerely hope you enjoyed it!

I’ve wanted to write a novel about space elevators since reading Arthur C. Clarke’s FOUNTAINS OF PARADISE some fifteen years ago, a story that captivated my imagination like few have before or since.  There was no apocalypse in Clarke’s novel, but I was intrigued by an end of the world scenario where everyone was struggling to squeeze their way through one last checkpoint, the final route off the planet.  The problem was, I could never think up a plot worthy of such an idea.

When the basic plot finally came to me, things happened fast.EARTHBOUND was written in six weeks flat, which is not a bad rate for 110K words – at least by my standards.  There’s a reason why that happened the way it did.

I absolutely loved writing this story.

Rather than using a post-apocalyptic world to explore the meaning of humanity as I did in THE SILENT EARTH series, I decided that I wanted THE REACH to be a fast-paced rollercoaster ride that was full of action – and perhaps even a bit of fun.  I hope that’s what I achieved in EARTHBOUND.

THE REACH series will continue with book two, LANDFALL.  I hope you come along for the ride!

As a new author I'm endeavouring to bring in new readers.  If you enjoyed EARTHBOUND, please write a review on Amazon, as this will help others find out about me.

All the best,

Mark

About the Author

Mark R. Healy is an author and musician from Brisbane, Australia.  He lives with his wife Nic and children Elise and Hayden.

Mark’s Website: markrhealy.com

Facebook: http://facebook.com/hibernalband

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/author/markhealy

Mailing List: http://eepurl.com/O2dhT

You can find more of Mark’s stories through his project ‘Hibernal’.  This project features professional voice actors, original music and Mark’s own sci-fi stories to create a cross between audiobooks and movies.  The result is an atmospheric, immersive and unique theatrical experience for the listener.  This project is available to hear online at http://hibernal.bandcamp.com and can also be purchased through iTunes and Amazon.  Just search for ‘Hibernal’.

Contact Mark by email: contact@markrhealy.com

Acknowledgements

As I churn through this latest series of novels I’m writing faster than ever before and placing more strain on my small but very important support network.  My apologies to the following people in advance for more of the same in the near future:

My partner Nic for the dozens of roles she plays in my writing every day.  My alpha reader, my sounding board for frustrations and concerns, my artwork advisor, and just about everything else you can imagine.

Pete Turner for beta reading.  Pete, your feedback is always on the money and these books are greatly improved by your input.

Hayden Wright for not only proofreading but for providing great feedback into the story as well.

My editor Eliza Dee at Clio.

Also thanks to Saul Caldwell, Mike Kershaw, Rohan Healy, Gayle Martin, and Jo Keiler.

And the final ‘thank you’ is for those who read this book, and who managed to make it as far as the Acknowledgements page!  With all the books that are available out there, I appreciate you giving me a few hours of your time.  See you again soon, I hope.

Mark R. Healy, May 31, 2015

Also by Mark R. Healy

THE SILENT EARTH SERIES

After the Winter

The Seeds of New Earth

The Fires of Yesterday

SHORT STORIES

The Machine

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Author’s Note

About the Author

Acknowledgements

Also by Mark R. Healy