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Mark had called in sick for two days to help me find Chris. Much of his searching had been done from the comfort of his tiny apartment, and he’d assured me that even if his boss checked, he’d see Mark never left home.
I’d always known there were ways to block the colony from monitoring searches and calls but had always thought they were in the realm of criminals and hackers, not my brother and his geeky friend. While Mark contacted others who might know of Chris’s whereabouts, it looked to anyone watching like I’d been on his computer looking for a job.
We’d stayed up late last night working on a lead and found evidence that Chris had spent much of his money on tech before disappearing. He’d also asked about trading with the Vokiren, on a secret message board. That exciting development, combined with my constant thoughts of Krxare and how much I missed him, had made it hard to sleep.
So, when the knocking started at six in the fucking morning, I was not impressed.
Mark swore from his room, the thin walls not helping to muffle his words. I crawled out from the sheets. I was still fully-dressed, not having taken my clothing off last night. I didn't have any sleeping clothes unless I raided my brother’s old stuff, and the soft Vokiren-made fabric was great to sleep in.
“I know you’re in there,” shouted a strangely-familiar voice from outside the door. “We know you got back from the rut.”
I was instantly alert. The only other people who knew I’d chosen the rut were the two officers who had taken me in. I opened the door to my room the tiniest crack and peeked outside to the hall. Mark stood behind the closed front door, looking at the spy screen. On it were the two officers.
Shit. What the hell did they want now?
I glanced down at my arm at my identity chip. Couldn't track anything, my ass. I bet this was how they knew I was here. And to think my old co-workers had called me paranoid for even suggesting it. I could still see their smug faces in my head.
We exchanged a look, then I shook my head. There was no way I was going out there. Not when we were so close to finding out where Chris had gone.
“They’re looking for me,” I whispered as quietly as I could.“I can sneak out the fire escape.”
“I'll come along,” he whispered back. “Chris is my best friend, and I'm too far into this now. Also, you need me to find him.”
The two officers were now threatening to break down the door.
Mark grabbed a duffel, and as he packed, I ran back into my room and returned with my pack. I had yet to use any of the emergency nutrition bars Krxare had packed for me and still had a full bottle of water.
Then, just as they were starting to ram down the door, we slipped out the window, climbed over to the fire escape, and were gone.
“I don't think we should take the public rail,” I said as we hurried through the side streets connecting the poorly-maintained low-rises in this area.
I’d seen pictures of this part of town from my grandparents’ time. It had looked clean and new then, promising a better life to all the colonists.
“I agree,” Mark said. “They’re clearly tracking one or both of us, and if they knew we were inside, they'd just stop the train, lock the doors, and we’d be sitting ducks.” He slowed. “Have you been on a bike?”
I hadn't even seen one on the street since I was a kid. Sometime, when I was still very little, they had banned electronic bike production after a few accidents. If you had one, you could still use it, but there hadn't been any new bikes produced since. Electronic bikes and scooters were practically antiques.
Now, the only way to get around was on foot or by public rail. That was, unless you were rich enough to have your own transport or a hover bike. That type of money was only available to those living at the center of the colony.
I had quite a bit of money available to me now, but not enough for a transport. And renting one was just as dangerous as public rail; they could stop and lock those at any time.
“A bike?”
“No, not a bicycle. I mean a hover bike.”
“No,” I said. “Where did you plan on getting one of those?”
“I know a guy, a trusted friend, who runs a second-hand shop. I've been helping him fix one up. It's an old beat-up one, but I got it working.”
“I didn't know you had a second job.”
“It's not really a job. It's more like a hobby.”
The rundown second-hand shop where this friend of his worked was nearby, and we caught the older, scruffy man just as he got into work. He was shocked to see us and equally shocked when we offered to buy the old hover bike.
When Mark had said it was old and rundown, he hadn’t been exaggerating.
“I wasn’t going to sell it, but you did work on it to get it working again, and I'm too old to ride one of those things. I guess I can part with it.” The shopkeeper looked us up and down. “I'm just not sure you two youngsters can afford it. You know, they no longer allow resale of old hover bikes in these parts—safety reasons and all. I had to travel to the inside for that one. But, since you come here so often to keep an old man like myself company, I'll give it to you for the price I bought it for.”
