Embedded by Dan Abnett Read Free Book Online Page B

was off duty, hence the breakfast, and besides the SO had closed north-west routes in the city. There was an advisory.
      Falk went back into the empty street. It was dark grey and barren. The main window of the ProFood glowed like a giant box, an aquarium, an Edward Hopper. Falk contemplated stepping back out of the twilight into the warm, vivid world of the ProFood's interior and offering the cab driver a chunk of change, but the man was clearly committed to his sausage and egg. He watched him eat for a while through the chicken-in-a-spacesuit logo of ProFood's Booster Rooster ® etched on the glass.
      He went back up the street to his apartment, woke the night manager, who was chin-on-his-chest comatose at his back-office desk in front of looping situation operas on a portable box, and negotiated the temporary hire of the manager's transport.
     
    The manager's ride was a scuffed little Shifty two-seater, pearlescent blue with an interior that smelled of fish-sticks. A Madonna bobbled from the mirror.
      It had been a long time since Falk had driven anything anywhere, even a toy car like the Shifty with its autotouch controls, safety sensors and road-reader nav. Under his hands, the wheel felt like it was fighting him. The car slowed down when he wanted to speed up along a clearway, took junctions he hadn't intended to take. When he reached the edge of the advisory cone, just outside Letts on District Through, the ride parked and stopped dead. A dashboard window explained that the Shifty would not operate in an advisory area, and function could only be enabled if the vehicle was steered out of the cone.
      Falk give it a frank opinion of its performance. He couldn't set it to manual because he didn't know the duty manager's code.
      He walked up into Letts, through the industrial underpasses and vacant streets. His hip still hurt from the ride in the damn Fargo. His celf was collecting news hits, sorting and filing. Details were still scant, but meteor strike was the official story. As he walked, he left a message for Cleesh to call him.
      He became aware of others. A few vehicles went past, some of them city transports with hazard lights. There was a murmur of voices and activity, and a dry smell in the air. The darkness had enfolded and hidden the light of the fire, but the paling sky of the morning could not disguise the shabby trail of smoke.
      He long-stepped over a deep gutter choked with trash and turned a corner. The street ahead of him was suddenly full of people and vehicles, so many of them it was almost shocking. Letts was not a densely populated part of town, but crowds had gathered: locals, derelicts, watchmen site wardens, and shift workers. SOMD troopers and civil defence officers were keeping them back from the emergency vehicles, SO transports and rescue wagons packed in along the kerb. The press had gathered too. As he limped up to the edge of the mob, Falk saw several well-paid cabs loitering for return runs.
      Beyond the line and the clustered vehicles, beyond the red and blue lamps firing strobe blinks in the thin dawn light, a large acreage of warehousing was on fire. Significant sections had been levelled. It was burning fiercely in some places. In others, smouldering metal frames made a charcoal diagram of where buildings had previously stood. Falk could smell soot and cinders, chemical retardant, damp concrete, smoke. He could hear distant, shouted instructions cutting over the crowd's murmur.
      He nosed his way through the crowd towards the boundary of the incident zone. Three, maybe four blocks had gone. He could see the debris, some of it fused and flaked or blackened, scattered on the road, the pavement and flat roofs. A curl of burned roofing felt hung from a street sign. Pools of shattered glass lay under every road lamp. Ash residue had frosted every surface, and flecks of it tumbled in the air like grey snow. Oil-sheened run-off thick with curds of retardant foam