SLAM (7 page)

The woman disappears down a side street with
it clutched in her thin hands, as though someone is going to take
it away from her.

The ire must have been rising in Serena’s
eyes, because Abial nudges her with a sharp elbow, harder than
necessary, and giggles, gesturing faux-surreptitiously at a young
soldier.

She swallows her anger and joins Abial in
watching the handsome, dark-haired man marching into the military
entrance. His hair is tied back in the unfashionable horsetail
style Kion prefers. Maybe it’s some sort of strange military thing?
It does nothing to detract from the symmetry of his face, though,
or the beauty of his flashing golden-brown eyes. He spares a
lopsided smile for them before disappearing through the large black
door, and Serena glances at Abial, grinning in turn at the light
blush visible on her tan skin.

“Ooh, you’re so handsome, mister. Will you
take me to the school dance?” she teases quietly.

Abial abruptly whirls toward her,
eyes full of rage. “You just ... you just
shut up
, Ser–” There is a hint of
Talent in her command, but nothing Serena can’t resist with her own
power, in time to stop her from getting the whole name out. That
could cause further trouble for them down the line; the Institute
might end up tagging them facially, and if they get her name as
well ... it might come back to bite them if the wrong person gets
read.

“No need to call me ‘sir,’
Laura,
I’m not that
butch!” The emphasis on the false name cuts through whatever caused
the flare of temper, and Abial nods, the colour in her cheeks
fading. A quick glance around convinces Serena that nobody has
noticed anything amiss; just two friends teasing each other as they
wait. Her own growing questions, though, are another matter.
What the nuke is going on with you, you crazy
bitch?

The rest of their queuing is done in tense,
awkward silence, which does absolutely nothing for Serena’s growing
nerves. Abial is acting totally out of character, and putting them
both in danger; an unpredictable outburst like that could cost them
their lives, or, if the Institute gets a hold of them, their
minds.

They shuffle through the wide doorway and hold
their IdentCards over the reader, while a scanner passes down their
bodies in a visible blue line. Her heart stutters as it turns
orange on her bag, but Abial seems totally unruffled, and Serena
follows her gratefully as she marches down the arrow that appears
on the floor to a bag check area. Her mind is racing, wondering
what could be in her bag. Surely the techs at ARC checked it before
they left? Had they missed something? Maybe she should have gone
through it herself, but they were in such a rush. Now she wishes
she’d taken the time. If whatever’s in that bag gets them caught
…

She stuffs her hand in her pocket and hopes no
one notices her clenched fist.

When they stop, a brusque soldier, who looks a
lot like a brown and pockmarked potato, pats the table in front of
him with a fleshy hand. “Bags here, IdentCards to me.” His tone is
professional, and he doesn’t seem alarmed.

“Yes, officer.” Abial sounds perfect:
disinterested and mildly irritated at the hold up. Not even
slightly nervous.

Forcing herself to remain calm as well, Serena
plops her bag down where he indicated and carefully hands over her
IC. Abial follows suit, and they wait as the cards are scanned. He
places them on an electronically marked grid to the side of the
table, then rummages through their possessions with alacrity.
Serena keeps her face an affected mask of boredom, like this
happens every day. Like she knows what will happen next. It’s a
good job they don’t have a bioscan on her; she’s sure her racing
pulse would be flagged as a suspicious reaction.

He hauls out a datapad and turns it around, so
that it’s facing them. It should be one of the special ones ARC
keeps for undercover work, but what if it’s not? What if someone
made a mistake, or something about it is questionable? Her stomach
turns, but she reaches for it anyway.

“Turn this on, please,” he says
sharply.

Her eyes slide sideways, subtly scoping out
the immediate area, just in case the mission is blown and they have
to fight their way out. To the right of them, a middle-aged couple
are having their own belongings investigated. They don’t look like
people to be suspicious of at first glance, but neither do Serena
and Abial. She hopes against hope that this is a random screening –
that they haven’t already messed up – manually switches on the
machine, and enters her password when she’s prompted. A completely
innocent display comes up, and she breathes a sigh of relief, but
as unobtrusively as possible, showing none of her reaction on her
face.

The soldier clicks into a few files, then
holds a hand scanning unit over the device and grunts when it
beeps.

“Thank you, have a pleasant trip.” He
dismisses them, sliding their cards back over the table, and that’s
the end of it. They’re free to go. Serena’s fingertips tingle as
she picks her card up, and she hastily shoves her things back into
her bag.

“Have a good day!” Her bright tone causes
potato face to give them a bemused look, and they quickly slip back
through the crowd to join the line of people heading to Second
City. The queue moves fast, now, and Serena notes eighteen cameras
and twelve scanning units that will definitely have clocked them.
If this mission goes south, their faces will be registered as
threats, and she’ll never come here again.

She looks around, trying to put the thought
from her mind. The station itself isn’t especially beautiful, but
the squeaky-clean nature and organized chaos are interesting. She
doesn’t think she’s ever seen this many people in one place, yet
everything is still fairly quiet. A low hum of conversation fills
the air, punctuated by beeping sounds from various pieces of
technology. And that’s it.

Soon they find themselves at the exit. They
climb a steep flight of stairs and head out onto the platform,
where grey concrete stretches several hundred metres in each
direction.

The tube, it seems, is aptly named. Serena
feels like she’s in some giant display unit. She’s seen the tube
from outside, but this is ridiculous. In front of her is the Wall.
A hundred metres above her head is the transparent aluminum shield
that protects the City’s open spaces from the sun. The tube punches
a hole in the Wall and then curves out toward the mountains, which
she can just make out, hazy in the distance. A glowing barrier sits
around the tracks on the way, divided into hexagons, and delineated
by what looks like flashing strips of lightning. Anything thrown or
shot at the tube will be instantly vaporized when it makes contact
with that barrier.

It keeps the tube safe, but she shudders,
remembering the blackened ruin of her friend Tian’s wrist. Chased
by Institute soldiers, she’d stumbled against the barrier and lost
her whole hand for her trouble. Somehow she’d managed to get away,
and make it to a safe house. Permanently crippled, but at least she
was still alive, and out of the Institute’s clutches. Psionic power
has no effect on the barrier itself – you have to take out the
source that projects it outwards, so Tian couldn’t catch herself.
Which means that Serena is in just as much danger as a normal
person from that barrier. It isn’t a feeling she’s used
to.

She shivers in a sudden wash of air, and
realizes that the train is coming. The platform doesn’t even shake
when the huge vehicle shoots out of the Wall like a bullet from a
gun and stops smoothly in front of them, the cone-shaped nose
disappearing into a dark hole past the steps they used. Serena
resists the urge to fidget impatiently as the passengers from
Second City alight on the other side of the platform, and then the
doors in front of them whoosh open in a gust of warmth.

People get on in an orderly fashion; they
obediently wait their turn and then step aboard. Serena stifles a
snort; it is so much ... neater than anything that happens outside.
The inside of the carriage, however, is nothing special: plastic
seats arranged in twos, and bag storage. Every table is a charge
surface for your datapad, she notes admiringly. Not cheap. Citizens
can’t be expected to travel without a fully charged computer,
though; that would be shocking! Google – the now defunct God of
technology that for some reason still forms a pervasive part of
modern vocabulary – forbid they have to detach from the net for as
much as a second! They might miss something important.

Grinning at her own joke, she swings her bag
up onto the storage rack and takes a seat, short legs fitting
easily under the table. Abial has a bit more trouble, and swears
under her breath as she bangs her knee. Serena cocks an eyebrow at
her warningly. Polite citizens don’t swear, and if they do, they
definitely don’t use the expletive Abial just did. Fortunately, she
said it quietly, and no one is paying any particular attention to
them. People are just settling in, getting out their datapads and
snacks. Some of them are already pressing their fingers and thumbs
against each other in precise combinations, using the manner of
typing – through press-on microchips attached to the pads of their
fingers – that’s so common these days. They’re obviously unwilling
to take even a moment away from whatever they’re doing.

Serena settles in as well. It’s important that
they look like they’re used to this, rather than drawing attention
to themselves. The mission briefing prepared them for getting
through security and onto the tube, but hadn’t told them what to do
after that. This part is up to them. As the train pulls out of the
station, the landscape zooming past at frightening speed, she
pastes a disinterested look on her face and gazes out the window,
instead of looking around eagerly like she wishes she could. Abial
sets up her datapad and starts typing something. Hopefully they
look like nothing more than bored students. Once they get to the
other station, it’s just one more set of security, and then they’ll
meet Kion’s contact.

If they’re lucky he’ll have something figured
out in the way of a place for them to hole up; some reconnaissance
is definitely needed before they jump in. Powerful as they both
are, there’s no way the two of them can take on a squad of
Institute soldiers on their own; they’d get beaten to paste. They
need to figure out what’s happening, and come up with a plan to
counter the Institute. There’s a lot of equipment that would make
their jobs easier as well, and if Kion’s guy can’t get it, they’re
going to have to rob a Watch station first.

She frowns a little. They’ve done mock
exercises for hitting up a Watch station. Watch soldiers aren’t
gifted – that’s reserved for the special forces of the Institute –
but they’re still well trained and armed. It won’t be easy, if they
have to do it. Still, there’s nothing to gain from going back over
the four methods she knows for a station hit until she checks out
the situation in Second City. For now, she just needs to blend in
and pass the time.

She glances around the cabin slowly, keeping
the bored expression on her face. Two tables down, a unit of
soldiers in tall boots and well-fitted uniforms decorated with
badges and ribbons are playing some sort of card game. There are
eight of them, and Serena makes a game of secretly observing them
in the reflection from the window. They’re all young, fit, and
strong – five men and three women, all sturdy and athletic looking.
She’s counting their zapguns when a pair of eyes catches hers. The
handsome soldier from the queue smirks at her with a dangerous
dimple, and blows her a kiss.

She frowns, and nearly turns away,
when suddenly his face clicks into place and she realises who it
is. Gav Belias himself! Her mouth slackens slightly in shock, as
his friends snerk and jostle him. Obviously they think she’s
checking them out in a girly way, not a soldiery way. Good. They
won’t see her as a threat if they think she’s interested in
him
that
way. How
arrogant, to assume she’s looking at him for any reason except to
assess a threat. He’s pretty, but not
that
pretty.

She arranges her face back into a
look of boredom without difficulty, raises an eyebrow at him, and
returns her attention to the fascinating view rushing past.
Jue is gonna wet herself when she finds out I was
on the same train as him, though.
She has
to force herself to focus on the outside world instead of glancing
back to his reflection in the glass. Unimpressed as she’d like to
be, he’s still a bona fide celebrity, and she wishes it wasn’t so
tempting to look again, just for a moment. Resolutely, she peers
through the transparent aluminum.

The tube is suspended over the townships, now.
Peasant children have clambered up the supports and are gawping at
the vehicle as it streams past, though they can’t get too close,
because of the vaporizing barrier. That barrier is an endless
source of entertainment for the kids, who love to throw things at
it and dare each other to get close, but its real purpose is beyond
their understanding. The tube is the artery of the government.
Sever it and cities would be alone, cut off. And with no imports
and exports going in and out, life would change dramatically.
Google knows how long it took to erect, but the entire country
would be lost without it. It was no wonder they protected it the
way they did.