Simoom Rising

Chapter Twenty-eight

HARMONY

I was sitting in my cell, chewing on my nails and listening through Vestra, when I felt Mac lunge. I leapt to my feet—the bursitis in my hip twinging. Sharp intakes of breath—hers or mine I couldn't tell. Our hearts sped up. Mac's hands were on her body, searching through her clothing. He's trying to find the hidden recorder. I told her it was a bad idea. I wanted to take my chances with New Earth Sec. Vestra? Vestra? What's going on?

No answer, except for Mancy's gleeful cackle in my head. You're fucking insane, I flung his way, but he only laughed louder.

Vestra? Vestra!

I felt her breathing hard, struggling, squirming, kicking. It made me want to kick too—as if I could combine what little physical strength I had with hers. A large grunt now, followed by pain, radiating through her right hand and up her arm and...in her nose? Are you hurt, Vestra? Did that bastard hurt you?

Mac let her go. Now she was running. In between gasping breaths, she told me: "I punched him in the face and I think I broke my fucking hand doing it."

I smiled, the nose pain was Mac's echoing through Mancy. You might also have broken his nose. Did he get the recorder?

Nope.

Is he following you?

Yup.

What's your plan?

Umm...run.

DORIC

I rounded a corner and sped down another off-grid corridor, with Mac close behind me.

At the end of the corridor, I yanked open a door with my left hand—my right was still throbbing—and found myself in the shopping concourse. Trying to get my breathing under control, I tucked my right hand with its bloody knuckles into my sleeve and slowed my pace to a brisk walk. At this hour of night, most of the stores were closed, but there were still a few food stalls and bars open, with small crowds milling about. More importantly, we were back on grid, and someone being chased on foot across the concourse would be noticed up by WAVE-Sec cameras and their human monitors.

I made my way toward a group of partiers lined up at a taco stall, thinking to hide in their midst. I joined the line and looked back. Mac had entered the concourse behind me. He kept his head down, and moved through the aisles looking from side to side. Passing a food stall, he stole a few napkins off the counter and held them to his nose. I had bloodied him then.

Good, whispered Ann. What now?

Mac turned his head in my direction. I ducked. I was at the counter and tried to look busy gathering up some napkins of my own.

What now Vestra? What time were you going to meet that reporter?

Not for four hours. I planned to bump into Belcher, from the New Earth Times, during the breakfast rush on the concourse and slip him the recorder. I had thought of sending the recording through the digi-net, but it was too risky. WAVE Corp always tracked outgoing transmissions from the station. And I agreed with Mac about one thing—WAVE would bury the recording if they got their hands on it. I'm going to have to hide until the morning.

Where? You can't go to your quarters. Mac'll look there. Can you get to the reporter now?

Don't know. I looked around the concourse in hope that Belcher had joined the late-night party crowd, but he wasn't around. Then when I looked for Mac again, I couldn't find him. Shit, I've lost Mac. I've got to move.

I left the stand without ordering. Trying to keep behind people, I moved down the concourse and dipped into a dimly lit pub—where lone drinkers sat at the bar and couples cuddled close in high-backed booths. My eyes raked over the patrons searching for Belcher, but again no luck. I didn't stop, but made my way to the back toilets—each in its own separate closet with sink and mirror—and locked myself in one of them. There were no cameras in here, so I was safe for the moment.

The lights came on. I leaned one hand on the sink, took a long slow breath and examined the raw knuckles on my swollen right hand. The blood had clotted where the skin had split. I slowly closed and opened the fingers. It hurt like Hell, but I could move them.

Not broken then?

I jumped at the voice inside me. Still with me, Ann?

Of course, where would I go? Where are you?

I told her.

You can't stay in a toilet for four hours.

No, but I may not have to. Can you link to Caraq?

Good idea. He knows all sorts of people. Maybe he can find out where that reporter's quarters are. Oh my God, Mac probably knows people in the monitoring room. He's probably right now asking them to track your whereabouts. And, of course, there's all those Pats who were with him that day in the Pit—who helped him cover up everything. Is he in contact with them all? Will he recruit them to help look for you? Are they still loyal to him?

Most of those Pats work on the surface.

But still—

One problem at a time, Ann. One problem at a time.

***

I managed to hide in the pub, nursing a drink, for about an hour and a half, letting a customer buy me a drink at a booth. When the place closed, we parted company. By that time, the last of the late night food stalls were shuttered and the now dimly lit shopping concourse was deserted. Mac, thank God, was nowhere in sight. What to do next, though? Caraq had found out where the reporter was quartered on the station, but there were cameras in the corridor in front of his door. A solution was in the works, but until we heard from Caraq again, I had to find another place to hide. And I knew just the spot.

I walked with an exaggerated sway through the concourse, trying to fool the cameras into thinking I was just another drunken partier. I kept to the shadows, until I reached the entrance to the cafeteria, which was still open to serve the station's night-shift workers. I killed a few more minutes chatting with some maintenance staff on a break, and bought a chai out of a vending machine. The expression on my face when I took a sip made them laugh. The chai was lukewarm and tasted of nothing much, but no matter. I had only come in to the cafeteria, so I could exit through the side entrance, and make my way to that dead-end corridor I had met Caraq in previously. I figured I could hold up there for a few hours.

Are you sure the cameras there will still be out? Ann asked.

Absolutely. It was one of those unspoken agreements among the station dwellers—to keep the cameras broken and this particular corridor off-grid. And though occasionally illegal transactions occurred here, most of the time it was just people who wanted to meet up without the cameras tracking who was entering and exiting their quarters. Maintenance was never in any hurry to replace the cameras, because they knew something mysterious would happen to the replacements the next day.

As I entered the dark corridor, I could feel my breathing, my whole being relax. Ann and I both sighed in relief. I turned back to see if anyone was following me. There wasn't. This is going to work, Ann, I told her, taking another sip from my crappy chai. This is going to—

A current of electricity flooded my body. I dropped to the floor in convulsions. My chai splattered. I had been tasered.

Give Vestra a vote of confidence—she needs them!