dead assassin after Kyntak, then there was a good chance Nai was in danger too. At least now Six had her attention. In sixty seconds sheâd have tracked the phone number to a set of GPS coordinates. In fifteen minutes, sheâd have garotting wire on her belt, plastic explosive in her ammunition pouch and a crossbow slung over her shoulder â quieter than a rifle. And sheâd be on her way to the abandoned factory where Sixâs spare phone was.
Six glanced at his watch. If he left now, he would arrive before her. That would make his decoy redundant â he could only trap her if he arrived just afterwards. Better move slowly, he thought. Just the same, his stride was brisk as he walked towards the train station.
The security was tighter than it had been four years ago. Coils of razor wire ran parallel to the tracks. Automated gun-turrets swivelled on either side of the turnstile, ready to pulverise anyone whose ChaoSonic Citizen Card was deemed invalid by the scanner.
Six held his breath as he approached. If his Triple C had been registered as a fake since his taxi ride, the first sign would be a bullet through his skull.
He dropped it into the slot. There was a split-second pause.
âWelcome to ChaoTravel,â a soothing voice said, and the turnstile locks clicked loose. Six took the Triple C and pushed through, trying to look as though he did this every day. The other passengers, who presumably did do this every day, looked tired, bored, distracted. They showed no fear of the guns, nor relief that they hadnât been shot. This was the populace, Six remembered, that had bought new cars after ChaoSonic crushed their old ones.
The best and the worst thing about humans, he thought, is that they can get used to anything.
More than Kyntakâs absence, more than Aceâs marriage, perhaps even more than the deaths of his friends, this sent a wash of sadness through Sixâs gut. The citizens of the City seemed to have completely given up hope. Before, Six had always told himself that he and the Deck represented the will of the people. But now, the people had stopped fighting. So where did that leave him?
A distant shrieking of brakes, a rush of stale air, and the train erupted from the tunnel. The doors slid open as it ground to a stop beside the platform, and Six walked in. There were a few free seats, but Six remained standing. Sitting down was good if you wanted to be inconspicuous, but left you at a disadvantage if you were suddenly attacked. Six wasnât sure why, but today he felt like protection was more important than invisibility.
It was twenty minutes before the train arrived at the station nearest the factory. Six got off, and though the exit was manned by the same scanners and guns as the entrance had been, again he made it through without getting shot.
The factory was a hulking brick structure, blackened by time, twin chimneys stabbing the sky like the tines of a carving fork. As Six watched, a ChaoCorde swept over the top of it, leaving murky ripples in the fog behind.
The ChaoCordes were the reason the factory had been closed. The gases that billowed from the chimneys were eroding the engines, and this air corridor was used every thirty seconds or so. ChaoSonic had weighed the expense of building a new factory elsewhere against the costs of changing the flight paths, and had decided to relocate the factory. But it would have been expensive to demolish this one, so it remained, still and empty, in an area where no-one could stand to live because of the roaring of jet engines twice per minute.
Six couldnât see any sign that anyone was here â which was practically proof that Nai was. When she broke into buildings, she didnât just remove the traces of forced entry, but also made the place look more secure to deter passers-by. Sheâd been known to close ajar windows, put new padlocks on gates and slap ChaoSonic Security stickers on doors.
There was a
Sara B. Elfgren & Mats Strandberg