“She’ll follow us,” he said absently.
Moa paused, the fork just leaving her lips. “What are you muttering about?” she said, accidentally spraying a mist of chewed-up shark across the table. She burst out laughing and nearly choked on the food she still had in her mouth. Heads turned to look at them, but she managed to swallow and gave Rail a sheepish grin, her eyes still watering.
“You OK?” he asked.
“Just about,” she said, pounding herself on the chest with the heel of her hand. “Sorry, go on.”
Rail looked at her a few moments, concern in his eyes.
“Rail, I’m all right!” she said. “Shouldn’t have tried to breathe my breakfast, that’s all.” She sobered a little. “You mean Anya-Jacana.”
“She won’t let us go,” Rail said, brushing stray dreadlocks over his shoulder. “She must know what it is that we’ve got. She’ll not rest until she has it back.”
“Then we should get rid of it,” Moa said, eating again, though a little more carefully this time. “Sell it quickly. Take the money and run.”
He knew she was going to say that, and had his defence prepared. “We can’t. Don’t you see what that thing is? We’re thieves, Moa. And that device . . . well, if it does what it seems to, then it can get us into any place on Orokos. Can you imagine what we could do with that?”
“We’re not thieves any more,” she protested.
“We are until we can afford to stop,” he said. “If we tried to sell it, now Anya-Jacana is on the lookout, then she’d hear about it.” He trailed off, sudden realization dawning on him. Of course. That was how she knew. The Mozgas, not knowing what it was, had been trying to sell it on the Dark Markets. The thief-mistress had heard that they were hawking Fade-Science, and realized how valuable it could be. She had found out where they kept it and she sent Rail and Moa to go and get it. Rail felt stupid for having not worked it out before, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. Not really. After all, they had the artefact now.
“Listen,” he went on. “That thing is so valuable that half the people in the city would kill us for it. If we tried to take it to the kind of folk who would have the money to pay for it, they’d cut our throats and take it from us. And don’t even think about suggesting that we throw it away –”
Moa shut her mouth. She had been about to do just that.
“We use it,” he said. “That’s what we do. We’d be unstoppable with that thing. We could walk into any vault in Orokos. We could make ourselves rich.”
Moa didn’t like that idea. It troubled her conscience. “Rail, I . . . it’s still stealing. I mean, stealing to survive is one thing, but –”
“It’s stealing from the Protectorate,” he interrupted angrily. “Them, and the people who support them, the good citizens of Orokos. You remember them? The people who make us live in ghettoes, who hate and despise us? The people who take our families and friends away to a place that they never come back from? The people who blame all their problems on us and punish us for it? The ones who spit at us for being lazy and useless but who make absolutely sure that we can’t work ourselves out of poverty by putting tattoos on our arms that mark us as outcasts?”
Moa subsided, staring at her food.
“They deserve it,” he said.
Moa nodded slightly. “Yeah,” she said.
Rail sat back and watched her for a moment. He hated to play that card. Her own mother had been taken away by the Protectorate.
“What do you think it was for?” she asked. “I mean, in the first place?”
“The artefact? Who knows? Maybe the Faded used it for mining or something, like tunnelling through rock. Maybe it was for spies to sneak in and out of places. Maybe they had a Secret Police like we do and they had all kinds of tricks like that to root out dissenters.”
Moa scoffed. “Why would they need Secret Police? They didn’t have any crime.”
Rail made a noise that indicated he didn’t really care either way. “So the legends say. You believe everything you hear? Anyway, it doesn’t matter what it was for, what matters is what it can do. Now, first things first. We need a place to stay, a place that’s safe. We go to Kilatas. Even Anya-Jacana won’t find us there. Your friend Kittiwake can help us, right?”
“If you think we’ll be followed, then we shouldn’t be going to see Kittiwake at all!” Moa said, alarmed. “We’ll lead them right to her!”
“I know, I know. We won’t do that. First we have to be sure that nobody can follow our trail.”
Moa gazed around the room, suddenly paranoid.
“Relax,” he said, reaching across the table and laying a hand on her thin, pale wrist. “They won’t catch us. Eat.”
Moa was nervous now, but she ate the rest of her food, and half of Rail’s as well, after he insisted that he wasn’t hungry.
*
They found a Coder and traded a few power cells for coins and platinum chits, then left the Dark Market, heading away into the winding tunnels. There were whole towns down here in the dark, subterranean communities beneath the city. People who lived their entire lives beneath the glow of the tracklights. They never once questioned where the energy that illuminated the tunnels came from, nor did they consider what might happen if it suddenly all went black. The false light in this dim world was as eternal as the sun to them.
Rail and Moa kept away from the settlements, not wanting to be seen or remembered. Rail knew most of the places they passed, shanties or tent clusters that sprawled across old, empty chambers, but most of them would not welcome strangers. Sewer dogs roamed about, and hobos shuffled past on neverending journeys, passing from community to community, leaning on their sticks. Down here lived other creatures like the Mozgas, subhuman monsters birthed of the probability storms. Most kept to themselves, hiding from the Protectorate, who would hunt them down if they found them.
Rail checked his compass often to make certain that they were still heading in the right direction. He knew where he was going, for Moa had told him long ago where Kilatas lay and how to find it. She never could keep a secret, not from him. But it paid to be sure, in case the route had changed since she had walked it last. Compasses always pointed to the centre of Orokos, to the Fulcrum, the ancient heart of the city. Within the Fulcrum, it was said, lay the Chaos Engine, the source of the probability storms that ravaged the city. The source of the Revenants.
Eventually, they came up to the surface, to the streets, and found that it was dusk and night was falling.
They emerged on a service walkway that ran alongside the West Artery. The sky overhead was clear and cool and spattered with stars. A dozen feet below them, water rushed by, glittering with the lights of the buildings on the canalside.
“Look at that,” said Moa, leaning against the railing of the walkway. She was heady with the joy of being outside again. “Isn’t it amazing?”
“Not really,” said Rail, who was more concerned than he showed about being followed, and was eager to get on.
She looked back at him, a frond of black hair hanging over her face and across her nose. “Don’t you ever wonder who made all this?” She gestured up the canal, towards the centre of the city. “Why they made it?”
Rail, seeing that she was in a speculative mood, gave up and joined her. “The Faded made it. Everyone knows that. And then they left us or died out or something, and then there was the Fade, and we’ve spent the rest of the time trying to remember the things we forgot.”
But this answer clearly didn’t satisfy Moa. “But why, though? Where did they come from? I mean . . . how did they get here, if there’s nothing else but Orokos?”
Rail shrugged. “Fact is, it doesn’t matter. People like you and me, we just have to worry about surviving.”
She was disappointed by this, and it showed on her face. “You really think that Orokos is all there is? That t
here’s nothing out there? What about the legends? How is it that you don’t believe in a past when everything was peaceful and in harmony? You only have to look at what the Faded left behind to imagine how beautiful it must have been.”
“They left us the Chaos Engine as well,” Rail replied. “Now if they did live in this perfect world that the legends say, why the freck did they build that thing? Why make something that creates probability storms? And why did they disappear and leave us to deal with it?”
“You know I don’t have an answer to that. Nobody does. We don’t know enough. It’s just about what you believe.”
“You and Kittiwake, you’re two of a kind. Dreamers. What evidence have you ever had that there’s anything out there?”
“I told you about the lights in the sky, Rail. They—”
“Exactly. That’s all they were. Lights in the sky. Could have been anything. And listen, even if – and I say if – there was anything out there, how would you ever find out? Nothing is allowed to leave Orokos. Nothing. The city itself won’t allow it. You know that better than most.”
She did know that. It was how she had lost her father. He had tried to escape Orokos, to sail out into the ocean in search of that promised land. He hadn’t got far.
“But that’s the point!” she snapped, a little angry at Rail for bringing up her father. He never could understand why she still believed in the cause that he had died for. Maybe it was only that she didn’t want his death to be in vain, that she wanted to prove him right. Or maybe it was just because she needed something to believe. “Why won’t it let anyone leave? Why does it keep us imprisoned here?”
“So we don’t all sail off in search of another land when there isn’t one?” Rail suggested, exasperated. It was an old, old argument. “I don’t know, Moa. Maybe it’s for our own good. Maybe there’s no reason at all. It’s just the way it is.”
Moa gave up. It was clear that Rail wouldn’t be persuaded. He dared to try and change his own life, but refused to accept the possibility of a different life away from Orokos. Moa thought that trying to struggle against the world they were born into was foolish, but she clung to the idea that there was some other place out there. A place where there was no oppression, no Protectorate, no probability storms, no Revenants. A place where they would not be forced to live in ghettoes.
She looked down into the water again. “Sometimes I just want to throw myself in,” she murmured. “To let it carry me out of the vents, into the sea, and over the horizon. Maybe I’d wash up on another shore.”
“You’d wash up dead,” Rail said impatiently. “Come on.”
They followed the Artery for some distance before the walkway ended and they were forced to go underground again, through a subway tunnel that ran beneath the canal. It was deserted and in a bad state of repair, filled with the echoing roar of the water overhead. Nobody used this way, which was why Rail had taken it. They clambered over bits of rubble, avoiding the steady drips from cracks in the concrete.
Moa almost stepped on Vago before she saw him. He was curled up in the shadow of a small heap of broken stone. Moa let out a little shriek and jumped back. Rail was at her side in an instant.
The golem cowered at the noise, flinching back against the wall of the tunnel. In the fitful glow of the malfunctioning tracklight overhead, he was partially hidden. But what they could see was bad enough. Rail muttered a curse under his breath at the sight.
“Scared the freck out of me,” Moa said, her heart fluttering, then let out a little laugh.
Rail tugged her arm. “Leave him. Let’s go.”
“Wait a minute,” she said. She looked closer at Vago, who cringed like a cur under her gaze. “What happened to you?” she asked him.
“It’s not our problem, Moa,” Rail said. He knew how dangerous it was to get involved in other people’s troubles. The city was a nasty place, and no good could come of it.
“Just wait,” she said, firmer this time. Rail’s heart sank. Moa was digging her heels in. She was in one of her stubborn moods. Usually she went along with anything he said, but her tempers were so changeable. He knew that trying to persuade her would just make her angry.
She crouched down in front of Vago. “You’re a mess, aren’t you?” she said. “Probability storm did this to you, right? Can you speak?”
There were a few moments of silence. Then: “Not a storm. Someone built me.”
“Built you?”
“I don’t know what for,” he added, as if she had asked him.
Moa thought about that for a moment. “What’s your name?”
“My master called me Vago,” he replied slowly.
“OK, Vago. I’m Moa and this is Rail.”
“We’re supposed to be keeping a low profile!” Rail cried. “You just gave him our names! You want to get caught?”
“He’s in trouble!” Moa snapped. “Can’t you see that?”
“The whole damn world is in trouble, Moa! We’re in trouble! We don’t have time for this!”
“Well, make time,” she replied.
Rail scowled and kicked a stone in annoyance. Moa’s soft side was going to get them killed one of these days. In the real world strangers didn’t thank you for helping them. In fact, more often they were liable to mug you and rob you. By the time they got to the stage when they needed help they were usually too far gone to want it. But Moa didn’t think that way. She believed in some sunny, shiny dream where good deeds actually meant something.
“Where’s your master now?” Moa was asking Vago, using a soothing tone, as if she was gentling an animal.
“I can’t go back to him,” Vago replied.
“He threw you out?”
Vago didn’t answer her, merely looked away. Moa took that as a yes, though it really wasn’t.
“What’s that you’ve got around your neck?” she asked. It was hard to see in the shadow. Vago reflexively clutched his pendant.
“I don’t want to take it from you, Vago,” Moa said. “I was just asking what it was.”
Vago eyed her suspiciously for an instant, then unfolded himself up and into the light. It had been hard to tell his size when he was curled up, but now he towered over them. Moa took a step back, suddenly wishing she had listened to Rail. The sight of the golem in the light was horrifying.
But Vago was showing her the pendant, still attached to his scrawny neck, and she couldn’t help but look. A black and white bird, smelling faintly of preservatives. Her first reaction was repulsion, and she drew away from it. It was dead. He had a dead thing around his neck. Rail was right, she should never have got involved.
Then: “Rail,” she murmured. “Look at this.”
“What?” he said, coming closer. He made a noise of disgust as he saw it. “Great. Really great,” he commented.
Vago looked eagerly at Moa, who had shown more enthusiasm for his prize.
“No, look at it,” Moa urged. “Can I touch it?” she asked Vago, who leaned down so she could reach it more easily.
Rail came closer. Moa turned it over in her hand, studying it in wonder.
“I see a bird,” he said flatly. He wasn’t comfortable being this close to Vago. “It doesn’t look in the best of health. What am I supposed to be looking at?”
“My father studied birds,” Moa said. “He had books and books of them. I used to look through the pictures all the time when I was young. He made me learn them all.” She shook her head. “I’ve never seen this kind before. Never.”
“So it’s a rare bird.”
“It’s not rare,” said Moa. “It doesn’t exist.”
Rail raised an eyebrow. “Not any more, it doesn’t.”
Moa let the bird go and Vago retreated a little, watching the two of them.
“No, I mean there is no bird even remotely like that on Orokos. Look at the plumage, look
at the bone structure, look at—”
“Where are you going with this?” Rail asked in exasperation.
“It came from somewhere else!” Moa said.
Rail pinched his nose between his eyes and sighed. Moa turned to the golem, who wore an expression of puzzlement on the half of his face that was mobile.
“Where did you get it?”
“It flew through my window,” Vago said.
Moa was excited. “We have to take it to Kittiwake!” she cried. “It’s another one! It’s another bird, like the first, like the one that she caught.”
Vago pulled away, shielding his pendant protectively. Moa held up a hand in apology. “I meant, we have to take you to Kittiwake. If you want to go.”
“Moa. . .” Rail said warningly. “It’s not like he doesn’t attract attention.”
“This is important!” Moa insisted. She turned back to Vago. “Well?”
He returned her gaze with his mottled yellow eye. Ever since he had dragged himself out of the Artery, he had been contemplating a miserable existence alone in this subway tunnel. He had been wishing that the fall had killed him, but he was built tougher than that, it seemed. His bones didn’t break like a normal person’s. He wasn’t sure if his bones were made out of bone at all.
“I will go with you,” the golem said. There seemed no better alternative.
“Moa, he’s baggage!” Rail said.
“Well, now he’s our baggage,” she replied firmly.
Rail threw his hands up in frustration and stalked away. He knew she would not be dissuaded now. What burned him up about Moa was that she was usually so passive, but she clung so tightly to her dreams that she sometimes lost her grip on reality. It was a bird, for freck’s sake. Who cared about a bird?
But it was what she wanted, and in the end he could never say no to her. He heard Moa coaxing Vago to follow them. Sometimes he wished he hadn’t ever got mixed up with this girl. But he never wished it for long.
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