The Paradox Initiative (6 page)

Kestrel almost ran into his back. She raced up the steps—and then the cabinet door shut behind her, plunging the whole stairwell into blackness. Her hand met the leather of his coat. She instantly halted, but he kept climbing, much slower. Gulping, and blinking in vain, Kestrel kept shuffling her feet up the steps, running her right hand up the rough, cold banister. Their breathing and their steps echoed in the little space.

“Okay,”
Wolfe grunted, and she felt him turn around. “Hold these.” His fumbling hands found hers, and slipped the handles of the luggage into her grip. She caught them up, trying not to trip backward.

A loud
click
snapped right in front of her face. Metallic and dangerous.

“What—”

“Sh.”

Bang.

He threw his shoulder against a sheet of metal. It flew open. Wolfe leaped out, pointing a gleaming handgun, his boots sliding on gravel. Kestrel stayed put.

Wolfe’s steps settled as he glanced around at the
uneven parking space. The neon lights on the side of the building cut his figure sideways. He lowered his gun, then stuffed it back inside his coat.

“
Well, look at that. A man of his word,” he said to himself. “For the time being, anyway.” He faced Kestrel and motioned. “C’mon. Let’s go find this Rail.”

Kestrel shakily emerged from the doorway, her jaw locked. He stepped quickly toward her
, his attention downward.

Kestrel flinched back
.

He stopped
, seeing her face.

“Woah, woah,”
he said, instantly holding up his hands. “It’s okay—I’m not gonna hurt you.” His eyebrows came together. “Did you think I was going to hurt you?”

Kestrel’s fingers clenched on the handles of the luggage
. Her brow knitted.

“Hey,”
Wolfe said carefully, watching her. “It’s gonna be okay, Brown Eyes. You just have to breathe, and stick with me. Stick right with me, and it’ll all be fine. Promise.”

Kestrel swallowed hard.
Wolfe slowly reached out with his left hand and took light hold of the handle of one bag. He rested it there, giving her an earnest look. Kestrel couldn’t breathe with him standing so close to her, towering over her, but she couldn’t find the strength to back up, either.

“I need to tell you something important, and you need to listen to me,”
Wolfe said, his tone low. “You listening?”

Kestrel managed a nod.

“I’ve never been to a spaceport before. Well, not counting the other day,” he amended. “Never gone through security, never boarded a ship.”

Kestrel blinked.

“You haven’t?”

“No,” he shook his head. “
So I need you to take over from here. You sound like you’ve done a fair bit of traveling, right?”

She nodded again.

“Okay,” he nodded too. “So I need you to get us to the Rail, and then to the spaceport, and to our ship. Think you can do that?”

Kestrel stared up at him for a long moment. Her throat spasmed, and her hand twitched on the bag he was touching.

“Yeah,” she said. “I’ll try.”

“Good,” he pulled the bag out of her hand, much more gently than he had with Epski, then waved
toward the shadowy sidewalk. “After you.”

Kestrel’s mind reeled. She squeezed her eyes shut for a second—then forced them open and gritted her teeth.

“Okay,” she took a deep breath. “Okay…Did he…Did he say there was a Rail station on the north corner?”

“Yep,” Wolfe answered.

“All right,” she said again, her head clearing. “I think I see the sign.”

The little station stood abandoned. One buzzing blue light hanging from the center of the ceiling was the only thing illuminating the tile floors, benches bolted to one wall, and the broken glass front of the other wall. Graffiti marred the once-white paint of
almost every surface, and trash huddled in the corners. It stank.

“Cheerful place,” Wolfe remarked, casting around. “How long are we stuck here?”

“What time is it?” Kestrel asked.

“Don’t know
.”

Kestrel hefted her bag up and set it on the bench, and clicked open the latches.

“Let’s see if he gave us a watch.” She opened the lid. A little lamp blinked to life underneath that lid, showing her the contents.

Neatly-folded men’s shirts and pants, a toiletry kit and a small, hard, round clear case filled with five flat pieces of metal
half the size of playing cards. Wolfe stepped close to her as she straightened, and he looked down over her shoulder.

“Looks like
you’ve got my bag,” he noted. “What’s this here?”

“This,” Kestrel picked up the clear case and pointing at the cards inside. “Is everything—your whole life, if you’re traveling. The blue card i
s your ID, the red one is your Travel Permission, the purple one is your Liquor Line Passport, the orange one is the meal plan and the gold one is your credit. All very important and easy to lose.” Kestrel carefully pushed it back into place in his bag. “It’ll be easier when the Implant legislation goes through.”

“Implant?” Wolfe repeated.

“Yeah, you know—where they put a microchip in the back of your skull or something and it carries all your information,” Kestrel told him as she felt around in the bag for a timepiece. “Either that or they’ll have DNA identification.”

“That sounds great,” Wolfe commented darkly. “Until the government turns around
and bites you.”

Kestrel paused, then turned and looked up at him, the
frost of that thought settling over her.

“I suppose so,” she murmured.
He set his bag down with a clunk and put his hands on his hips, glancing out through the shattered glass.

“Any watch?”

Kestrel turned back to the open bag, then shook her head.

“No. But trains are supposed to come every ten minutes
, so—”

“Shh,” Wolfe held up a hand and faced the south. Kestrel shut the bag and latched it, then peered that same direction.

A rattling noise rose out of the silence—and then a bright white light glared around a corner and made straight for them. The train, speeding along on one rail, blazed right up to the front of the station before lurching to a stop, hissing and groaning. Wolfe stayed where he was, eyeing the side of it.

“This is it
?” he said.

“Yeah,” Kestrel nodded, picking up the bag and holding it tight.

“Hm,” he growled. Kestrel couldn’t argue. The train’s sides were rusted and also covered in graffiti, and a few of the back-most windows were cracked. The whole vehicle had once been smooth and aerodynamic. A long time ago.

“The
trains in this part of town tend to look like this,” Kestrel said, stepping out the station door and approaching it. “That’s what people tell me, anyway.”

She heard Wolfe pick up the other bag and follow her. The door of the first car clattered open.

“Where do we pay?” Wolfe asked.

“We don’t,” Kestrel said, stepping aboard. “Public transport.”

“
Now
it makes sense,” Wolfe muttered, coming on after her. The door shut again. Kestrel faced the rest of the long, empty car. Narrow, dingy lights overhead. Three poles in the center, for the use of standing passengers, and more benches off to the sides. All of it dirty.

Kestrel
stepped around one of the poles and sat down onto a bench, bent down and stuffed the bag under her chair, then sat up and tucked her heels against the bag to keep it in place.

Wolfe eased
down in the seat on her left, and he did the exact same thing with the bag that she had. He sat back, coughed into his elbow, then folded his arms. His shoulder brushed hers.

“S
o, it’s 10:05,” Wolfe swallowed and nodded toward the red numbers hovering over the door. The car lurched again, then rolled forward. Kestrel watched the little station whizz off into the darkness.

“You need at least an hour to get through security for an
interstellar flight,” Kestrel said, worriedly checking the clock. “And we’ll have to change trains at the Hub.”

“How long will
this
trip take?” Wolfe pointed at the floor.

“Don’t know,” Kestrel murmured. “I have no idea where we are.”

Wolfe shifted, but didn’t answer.

They sat in silence, Kestrel counting the lamps that flicked past outside the opposite windows. Every breath she took smelled of must, and the smoke on Wolfe’s jacket.

“So,” Kestrel ventured. “How did you know that Conrad?”

Wolfe shifted again.

“I didn’t.”

“
Then…how did he know who
you
were?” Kestrel wondered, turning to watch his profile.

“I knew his grandfather,” Wolfe replied, resting his left ankle on his right knee.
“Saved his life.”

Kestrel’
s lips parted, but her questions blundered into each other instead of lining up so she could say them. So she closed her mouth, and stared resolutely out the window again.

In fifteen minutes, the train slowed, and the clock blinked to the words: STATION 6.

“Is this us?” Wolfe straightened.

“No,” Kestrel said. “It’ll say ‘The Hub’—it isn’t called anything else.”

“’Kay,” Wolfe said as the sign clicked back to the clock, which now read 10:20.

The train screeched, then drew to a halt. The door opened…

And four men filed in.

Kestrel
bit down on the inside of her cheek.

T
he men wore long black coats decked in jingling chains. Two of them had shaved heads. One wore a hoop earring in his right ear. All wore colorful motion tattoos that writhed across their foreheads and ears. They muttered to each other, and all of them glanced across Wolfe and Kestrel. Two of them smiled, showing all-metal teeth.

Wolfe set
both feet down on the floor, then leaned toward Kestrel and casually draped his arm across the back of the chair behind her shoulders. Kestrel didn’t move—and as soon as she could, the fixed her gaze on nothing but the red numbers of the clock.

Ten more minutes dragged by. Kestrel counted each minute, clasping her hands tightly in her lap, her heart fluttering. The men muttered to each other. Kestrel could feel them constantly
throwing looks at her. Wolfe’s fingers settled on her arm.

The train jiggled, and the clock blinked.

THE HUB

They
slowed down. Kestrel fought inertia, but still leaned a little into Wolfe. The train halted. Wolfe reached underneath and grabbed a bag, then waited for her to do the same. Then, he stood up alongside her and pressed his hand to the small of her back as they stepped toward the door. It opened, and they emerged into the curved, stone tunnel. Wolfe kept his hand where it was.

He urged her along
the walkway, past the windows of the train, toward a bright EXIT sign ahead to their left. They didn’t say anything. Kestrel didn’t dare look back.

And then four sets of quick, purposeful footsteps loomed up behind them.

“Nice piece of meat you’ve got here,” a stranger’s voice purred right between Kestrel and Wolfe’s shoulders. “Mind if we have a taste?”

Kestrel’s chest locked in horror. Wolfe’s arm tensed across her back.

The voice materialized into the man with the earring—and he cut right between them. He shoved Wolfe’s arm out of the way and grabbed Kestrel by the neck. She yelped. He whirled and threw her backward—she slammed into the stone wall. Her vision blurred. He clamped down on her throat. Her whole body screaming, she clawed at his grimy hand. He grinned. Metallic teeth gleamed.

Something flashed.

The man howled. His head jerked to the right. He doubled over and grabbed his ear. Blood leaked between his fingers.

Wolfe
stood there, the man’s hoop earring looped around his forefinger. His eyes burned. He stepped in and delivered a savage blow to the side of the man’s head. The man collapsed, writhing. Wolfe threw down the earring. It jangled on the stone.

The other three stared at him, their eyes wide, their fists closing. Wolfe waited.
Kestrel put a hand to her throat. Her heart stalled.

One charged.

Wolfe stepped aside and slapped the man’s face. The man’s hands flew up—

Wolfe spun and kicked him, knocking him sideways, then grabbed his arm and wrenched it.

Snap.

His wrist broke.

Kestrel jumped.

The man screamed and fell to the floor. Wolfe turned back around and advanced with long strides straight back toward the other two. They backpedaled. One of them reached inside his
coat.

Wolfe drew his
silver gun faster than Kestrel could track—aimed at the man’s feet and fired.

Kestrel jolted back and threw her hands up to cover her ears.
Thunder careened through the tunnel—but she hadn’t seen any bolt!

The man’s boot toe burst open. He shrieked and fell down, fumbling around his ankle. Wolfe
stopped, lifted his gun and pointed at the last man—

Who turned and pelted
the other way as fast as he could.

Kestrel gasped in a breath. Wolfe took hold of his gun in both hands, spun the center cylindrical part of it, then popped that open.

“Out of bullets,” he whispered. He gazed at his weapon for a moment, as if he couldn’t hear the muffled moans of the three men lying on the ground.

His attention remained on the gun for almost a minute. T
hen, he fondly rubbed the handle. With a short sigh, he turned around and let go of it, letting it fall into a brown garbage bin. Finally, he met Kestrel’s eyes.

“I’m guessing I wouldn’t be able to take that through security.”

Kestrel was only able to shake her head once. Wolfe nodded, picked up the bag he had dropped, hurried to her, took her by the arm and pulled her around the corner and up the stairs.

She heard
distant shouts behind her, and running—probably the police. Bracing herself for the thousandth time, Kestrel did nothing but try her best not to trip.