Black Marion

17

Late afternoon, Bennie drove by the clinic in her truck. She came to collect the boxes she had delivered weeks ago, the ones which had held disconnected network ports for Alex's hacking instructions. To the peering eye, nothing should appear out of the ordinary—nothing, except, perhaps, the doctor sliding into the truck with her, wearing a hooded coat.

For what felt like hours, Alex sat cramped in the pitch black, inhaling the scent of molding cardboard and ground dust. The plan was to drop Bennie off at her operative machine port first; from there she would give Haneul access to the Gates as she had during the supply heist. Each time the vehicle stopped, Alex held her breath, wondering if the resistance had discovered their smuggling. Each time, the pause was uneventful.

It was a monotony of blind tension, endless, torturous. Her heart jolted when her weight shifted with the force of vertical motion. The truck back opened, no commotion. Someone tore open the flaps of the port box. In disbelief, she winced from the light—ugly and yellow, the fluorescent, blinding, wonderful light of the Gate elevators. They had made it.

Haneul gazed down at her.

"You okay there?"

Alex nodded. "That was..."

"Easy as anything," said Haneul. He hopped out of the truck, into the enclosed elevator, which was traveling toward midground now. With a hand outstretched toward Alex and a satisfied smile, the doctor said, "You'll be home soon."

Alex took his hand. She stumbled on unused legs and tightened her grip, not letting go of his hand even after she had regained her balance. The doctor said nothing, nor pulled away. With his free hand, he took out the handheld device which connected him to Bennie's directions. There was no signal within these walls, but they would need her update as soon as the elevator docked.

And when the elevator docked—was that goodbye?

The last time they would see each other?

Alex gazed at the doctor's profile, the crooked nose and the roughly kempt stubble, the cast of his eyes and the mess of his hair. Though it was unbearably difficult to do so, Alex withdrew her hand from the his. Haneul looked at her.

"When we get to midground, you should head back," she said.

Haneul frowned. "I'm seeing you to the rails."

"That's dangerous. It's not dark yet, and the walk to the station—"

"Is a long one. That's plenty of time for the estrellas to figure out you've gone and to track you down. You're not safe until you're on commute to the upper."

"But—"

"I'm coming."

Alex fell quiet. Beside the doctor's unyielding tone, her resolve crumbled. She was, selfishly, not ready to say goodbye.

Minutes passed. At last the elevator came to a halt. The doors slid open, revealing what Alex had once disdained as the intestinal mess of midground: a walkway to dull steel buildings and the hovering twines of gray pipelines. Today, it looked painfully polished—truly, the distinction of a separate world.

The truck stayed in the elevator, too worn to drive without attracting notice. Seconds after they stepped onto the walkway, Haneul's handheld vibrated. They walked in a hurry to reach the safely shadowed alleys as he checked the messages. Not far across the path, the doctor froze.

Alex followed his gaze to the far end's shadows. There, a falcon was docked.

"Shit."

The vehicle was scraped. Old model, physically unmaintained. Even before the hooded man stepped out, Alex knew it was not of the Sky.