Page 66 of Spark Transform

Staying in tunnels he didn’t know anymore was lamb odds. Keeping half his attention on listening, he fished out the percomp and snapped it over his forearm, then pressed the tiny earwire under his ear. The percomp responded to his biometric when he powered it up and connected to the net.

He hadn’t lost as much time as he’d thought. Only fifteen local hours had passed since he’d killed the mech. But he only had a couple more hours of daylight. Deep in the Canals at night during a death storm was no place he wanted to be.

For once, the streets would be safer than the tunnels. Muggers avoided bad weather. Autocabs avoided the Canals, but he could walk to an adjacent district and find an autocab kiosk. Thanks to Arco’s gifts, he could survive long enough to get there. He sealed the bag, then pulled on the gloves, lacing his fingers to snug them tight.

Cautiously, he rocked forward to test his sore leg. When it didn’t collapse under him, he pushed up to his feet, softening his joints and centering his weight. If he’d learned little else from Soleil’s exercises meant for Jumpers with waster’s, he had at least learned balance.

The percomp vibrated so subtly he almost missed it. A single anonymous message, timestamped from early that morning, waited in his queue. It could only be from Arco. He took a deep breath to steel himself, then supplied the private security confirmation code and played the ping.

Sorry I couldn’t be there when you woke up. The chips are a well-deserved bonus from your previous boss, and I’m working on extracting another. Now you have plenty of other options besides your current gig. If you take one, stay safe and take care. I’m holed up at work, but going transit soon because of the fireworks. If you’d like to do the same and want a partner for the journey, please ping me.

Stunned, he hit replay. He still had a chance to stay with her. To protect her, like the universe seemed to want from him. Like he desperately wanted. A bright flare of hope tangled his tongue. The best he could do was subvocalize a short reply and trust better words would come when he saw her.

Another sound from the tunnels behind spurred him to action. Pulling his hood over his head and face, he crab-walked around the pile of snow and headed out into the maelstrom.

The sense of being late returned. An autocab to Novo G would be fastest, but not secure. Thigh-high snow immobilized ground transport altogether. The only viable option was public air transport, which meant a longer walk to the closest air traffic platform. He set his percomp to guide him and picked up the pace.

Twenty minutes later, his lungs and injured leg screaming, he turned a corner, expecting another urban canyon. Instead, it was a scene from hell — rubble and ruin instead of the two buildings that should be there. The neighboring buildings stood as silent witnesses, seemingly untouched. Gaping holes exposed torn conduit under the street’s melted glass. Remnants of a warped elevated train track hung by a sliver of metal.

He ducked away quickly and crouched next to a half-wall. The devastation was so recent that the deformed road only had a thin layer of snow and was still trying to flash warning signals. No telling who or what the target had been. Now he wondered if the explosion sounds from his earlier nightmares had been real after all.

Ridderth police reveled in splashy destruction, not tidy implosions. The raid could have been mercs, but more likely the CPS. They considered themselves exempt from sovereign-planet rules and had access to top-flight military explosives. If they were motivated enough, even a killer storm would merely be an inconvenience.

He reconsidered his options. If he’d had more sense than a brain-burned automaton, he’d have gone to Soleil’s studio, where he likely came from, instead of the opposite direction. In this part of the Canals, Kooga’s soup kitchen was closest.

He already knew where it was, so he powered down his new percomp. His talent might be nearly flatlined, but it could still destroy small tech if he wasn’t careful. The sense of being late returned and pushed him to hurry, but he told it to suck flux. He could only go so fast through heavy snow with a half-healed leg.

Relief washed through him minutes later when he saw Kooga’s buildings still standing, still open for business. He’d been half afraid they’d been a CPS target, too.

Once through the main entry, he stopped short. He’d never seen so many adults and children in the covered courtyard before. Despite the comparative warmth of the space, they all wore winter gear and clustered around portable envirobots for warmth. The conversational din had sharp edges.

Crowds didn’t thrill him, but he’d take them over going back in the storm. He pulled back his snow hood and threaded through the throng toward the mealpack distribution area.

Kooga strode forward and stopped, fists on her hips, grinning at him. “Hah! This for sure be old home week, now I see you here, too.” Her fur-trimmed coat and shining eyes made her look like the cyborg queen that the kids sometimes called her. “Job end?”

He shrugged one shoulder. “Changing, maybe.”

She nodded. “Eat, les’ they forget to feed you again.” Her glance flicked down to his left leg. “Sit, too. Nightfall coming.”

Apparently, he hadn’t hidden his limp as well as he’d hoped. He nodded his thanks as he grabbed a mealpack from the stack. The thought of food turned his stomach, but that always happened after an autodoc session.

He pulled a stool off the stack and placed it near the gravcart of empty mealpack crates, then perched on the edge and pushed his bag around to hang at his side. Even after months of physical therapy, he still didn’t like sitting, but his sore leg needed the rest.

He triggered the mealpack’s heater and rested it on his knees. A flicker from his cloak reminded him to turn off its camouflage feature. No sense advertising valuable gear to a room full of the destitute and desperate.

The fog that still twisted his brain was pissing him off. The sense of being watched made him twitchy. Twice already, he’d seen people he thought he knew but weren’t there when he looked again. He’d probably be seeing Neirra Varemba’s ghost next. Forcing himself to eat slowly so his stomach wouldn’t rebel, he glared at anyone who gave him more than a passing glance.

From his current location, his best bet to get to Novo G would be by public skytrain. No direct routes, but the skytrain’s semi-autonomous cars and elevated rails worked even when nothing else did.

He folded up the empty mealpack and took it to the overflowing recycling collector bin. Even if the crowd made proper cleaning impossible, at least he could take out the trash. On the way back from the janitor closet with two new bags, he ran into Kooga again.

“Mille mercis,” Kooga said with a grateful smile. “Between the cyclone bombe snow and the raids, no one want to leave, so they eat.” She pointed her chin toward the lump under his cloak. “Smart to bring your kit. None of us leaving tonight. Have to bring out crates from the back to make bunks.”

“I saw a raid burnout at the northeast district border,” Renner said. “Any idea what they want?”

“Non, but whatever it is, they want it bad enough to coordinate mil-ops with the police for timed assaults all over Ridderth.” She tapped her temple. “The net says targets are veteran groups, just like five years ago, but this time, more, and the media district targets, too. Whole hex blocks burning.” Her head shook in disgust. “Imbéciles. Like that stop the news.”

Air pressure rose in his suddenly paralyzed chest. Novo Granica’s building was in the heart of the media district. He blew out a breath forcefully. “Right. I’ll put this out.”