Mason stepped to the center of the elevator and looked around. It was an old one in an old building, and it jerked and wheezed its way slowly up the shaft. He’d gone to a friend’s once that had an elevator like this — well, a friend until he’d said something and then the guy didn’t want to be around him anymore and he’d never figured out why exactly and —
He ran his hands through his hair to get his thoughts back under control.
The elevator — an old one like this, but in worse repair. The control panel was hanging loose and he’d looked inside at all the wires and the backs of the buttons, then he’d looked up the service manuals with his explant and —
“Give me your bra,” he said.
Fuentes’ sagging head came up and her lips quirked.
“You want a quickie before we get locked up again?”
“I need your bra — the blue one.”
Fuentes raised an eyebrow at that, but shrugged out of her jacket and unzipped the short, leather top to unhook the blue bra. She held it out to Mason dangling from one finger and without trying to cover herself. Mason grabbed it, trying to keep his mind on circuits and wires.
He stretched the elastic between his hands, thinking it might work.
“What are you doing?” Fuentes asked.
Mason ignored her and slipped the straps into the gaps between the corners of the control panel and its frame. He grasped the ends and worked the elastic back and forth until it worked its way in and around the panel, then he gripped it hard, set his foot against the wall and heaved.
The elevator’s control panel popped open with a sharp crack.
He handed the bra back to Fuentes and went to work behind the panel.
Rosa watched with amusement as the kid handed her bra back to her. She dropped it on the floor — it was hopelessly stretched out now anyway — and zipped up her leathers instead.
He was so focused on what he was doing, but she wasn’t sure what he hoped to accomplish — other than maybe getting the elevator stuck, which would buy them some time while the flashies tried to get the doors open.
Maybe she should have a quickie with him before they were taken away — he wasn’t bad looking and she’d be unlikely to find better back inside. After this, she’d probably spend the rest of her life in solitary.
The kid started ripping wires free and twisting the ends together, then ripped a circuit board out entirely and tossed it to the floor.
“The authorities have stopped following the elevator’s level, Miss Fuentes,” the plant said.
“What?”
“They are landing their cars and dispersing through the building.”
Rosa zoomed in on the map of the building the plant was projecting and watched.
They were. And there weren’t nearly enough of them to cover every floor — not if they went in groups like they always did in the lows.
“What did you do, kid?” she asked.
He shut the panel door and wedged it in place.
“You said they were going to swarm whatever floor we got off on, so I told them we got off on all the floors,” he said.
“That’s … not stupid.”
Her mind started up again, coming out of her despair. If they were trying to cover all the floors and couldn’t — then they might not even bother with the mall, since lowlies couldn’t go above it. Or not be able to if they didn’t have enough men yet and concentrated on the lower floors. They might have a chance, but not with her dripping blood all over the place.
She looked around for something to use as a bandage, but all she had was her bra — everything else she wore was leather. The kid, though —
Rosa grabbed his shirt and ripped the seam at the shoulder.
“Hey!”
“I need your sleeves,” she said. “Rip them off and get this hunk of glass out of my leg.”
She tried not to think about how much that was going to hurt.
Eighteen
It did hurt. A lot.
And she nearly bled through the folded sleeve the kid held to her thigh and the other tied in place.
But when the elevator finally stopped at the mall level, they nearly looked human — which was good enough to pass for a couple of street-level lowlies up for a day’s shopping and gawking at their betters.
The mall was crowded — two levels taking up what would have been four floors of the building, so the ceilings were high and spacious. Their timing was good, at least, as the building’s night-shift workers were out and about for their after-work entertainments and filling the place up.
Rosa led the kid into the crowd, keeping a careful eye on her map and the positions of the flashies — the ones Seymour could track, at least.
Most of them were on lower levels still.
First they needed a change of clothes — her leathers were too distinctive and the kid’s now-sleeveless shirt would only be appropriate if he had some muscles to show off.
Luckily there was a place that catered to lowlies right near the elevators — the lows and mids might mix here, but they still shopped in pretty different stores. This one carried cheap, functional clothes with a style that said you didn’t have a lot of free time after work — not the sort of thing the lowlies liked to project, except for the lesser ones who were trying to save a few credits in order to advance.
“Pick out a shirt,” she said, pushing the kid toward the men’s section.
She grabbed the first things that might fit — a pair of dark jeans, in case her leg bled through, and a hooded sweatshirt with the building’s sports team logo on its front.
When she found the kid, he was staring at a table of folded shirts like it was the most confusing thing in the world.
“Jesus, kid, come on!” she said. She grabbed one off a stack of mediums and shoved it into his hands. He’d do with just a shirt, the jeans he wore were common enough.
He looked from it to the others.
Rosa grabbed his arm and dragged him toward the checkout. “Come on! Damn, does your mom still pick out your clothes for you?”
She shoved the clothes through the automated scanner and had her plant pay the total, then dragged the kid toward the changing rooms.
“Yes,” he said.
Rosa stopped and looked at him for a moment, watching his face grow redder and redder. He blushed so easily — she could probably have some fun with that once they weren’t running for their lives.
“Jesus,” she muttered.
“It’s not — it’s … there’s just too many different colors and types,” he muttered.
Rosa shook her head in bewilderment — wasn’t that the entire point of clothes?
She shoved him at a dressing room.
“Well you’ve got one, so put it on.”
Mason entered the dressing room and stripped off his torn shirt, replacing it with the one Fuentes had shoved into his hands. He could have done it out in the store, but she’d told him to do it in here — and he did remember that people didn’t like you changing even a shirt out in the store. His mom insisted he change in the little room too, when they went shopping. It seemed like a waste of time, but it kept strangers from giving him weird looks.
The checkout had stripped the price tag and security fob, but this shirt had another tag in it that scratched at his skin.
Not sure of what to do with his old shirt, he bundled it up and stepped out of the changing room to wait for Fuentes.
He hadn’t seen which room she went into.
Maybe she’d left.
He was just a stupid kid, right? So maybe she’d shoved him into the changing room then left the store? Should he go too?
Mason checked his explant — the money she’d given him was still there in a Mars First account. He could run and live on that — the flashies didn’t have his new ID, once he was out of this building, he could make his own way.
He ran his hands through his hair to settle his mind, but the itching of the tag bothered him. His mom cut those off
when she got his clothes, so he didn’t have to worry about it.
Maybe it was just taking her longer — all he’d had to change was a shirt, after all.
Three of the dressing rooms were closed. He went over to the closest and rattled the knob.
“Fuentes?”
“No!”
He moved on to the next one, knocking softly this time. “Fuentes?”
“Just a goddamn minute, kid!”
Mason backed away and waited — at least she hadn’t abandoned him.
A few minutes later Fuentes opened the door. She looked different, softer somehow, wearing less leather and with more skin covered.
She limped as she walked and turned her back to him.
“Any blood yet?” she asked, voice quiet.
“No,” he answered after a quick look.
“Hurts like hell. We need to find a medkit and something to seal it. Come on.”
She led him back out into the mall, dumping her leathers and his old shirt in the first trash can they passed.
“I liked that jacket,” she muttered.
“What now?” Mason asked.
“Now we head up to the mids,” Fuentes said. “We’re not dressed for it, but if the lift scanners take our IDs, no one should care.”
“And then?”
Fuentes grinned at him. “VIP class, kid. Follow me.”
Nineteen
The lift scanners glowed green when they went through and the pair of flashies standing there barely glanced up.
Rosa’s stomach was clenched and the kid’s face was pasty white as they approached, but the flashies had their eyes scanning the crowd and passed right over them. Rosa figured they were looking for faces that matched whatever Schena’d dumped in their old IDs.
Still, she hid her limp as best she could until they were in the elevator car. A few other middies crowded on and some old lady gave Rosa a look with a wrinkled nose.
Rosa just smiled pleasantly back. She’d be the first to admit that Bright Hors overlaid with a long day of running and fear didn’t have her in her best odor. A bath was definitely in the near future.
She led the kid off the elevator at the first floor that had public landing pads and told Seymour to call them a car, sparing a last, mournful thought for the wrecked bike. It’d been a good one.
The car came quickly and they clambered in. It was driverless, as she’d ordered, and she sent it the destination.
Below them, the lower levels of the tower crawled with flashies and their cars, more arriving every second. It looked like they were doing a floor-by-floor, apartment-by-apartment sweep of the tower’s lower levels.
Rosa tried to ease her wounded leg, but that just put pressure on something else — now that they had a minute to breathe, she was starting to feel all the little aches and pains.
Her head throbbed and there was a nasty knot on the back, she thought from hitting the concrete, she had lots of little scrapes on her arms and legs that she hadn’t noticed in the run from the bike crash to the mall, and all her joints were starting to have that got-pulled-wrong-and-you’re-going-to-regret-that-shit-in-the-morning feeling.
The kid was stretching and squirming around on his seat, so he couldn’t be feeling much better — which brought to mind the bruise on her stomach, probably from the kid’s elbow when he landed on her.
Still, she’d walked away, so it was a good day.
“Where are we going?” the kid asked.
“The spaceport.”
There were three ways to get off-planet.
The cheapest was the beanstalks, but that meant travel on Earth to either Killimanjaro, Quito, or Jayawijaya, in Indonesia. It also meant nearly a week stuck in a cabin as the capsule made its way up the carbon fiber beanstalk to the station at the top. All of it while still under the authority of the flashies. The beanstalks, even the tops way up in orbit, were still considered part of Earth’s territories.
The regular shuttles were faster, if more expensive, but public ports had a heavy flashy presence to catch any possible terrorist.
Their car left the narrow canyons of the towers and increased speed in the open air. Ahead of them, the spaceport was visible, but they were headed to the side, away from the big public terminals.
Anyone with enough money had a third option. A nice, private shuttle, with the assumption that anyone with enough money to pay the fee wasn’t likely to blow the thing up. No visas or customs required, other than a quick transmittal from your plant of the appropriate forms.
With her new stash of Mars credits, Rosa felt like splurging.
Mason stirred himself from nursing his collection of aches once they were out of the towers. He’d never seen spaces this open except in pictures, and the spaceport was fascinating.
A big transport was taking off, rushing down one of the runways to waddle into the air, its wide wing-assists shifting side to side as it lifted, and right behind an empty wing-assist was landing after getting its own shuttle up to an altitude where the shuttle’s own stubby wings wouldn’t matter and it could just use its engines to achieve orbit.
Their car turned away from the terminals, though, and dropped nearly to street level, coming in to one side of the port and setting down less than twenty meters from a shuttle.
This one was much smaller than what he’d seen take off, only about thirty meters long and its wing-assist was about as wide.
Fuentes popped the car’s door and climbed out. Mason followed suit.
A rush of uniformed people came toward them — at first Mason thought they might be some sort of flashies, but they were all smiles and welcomes. One asked Fuentes if she had any luggage and seemed disappointed when there was none.
“We’re all ready for you, Ms. Fuentes,” a woman at the front said. “I’m Diana, your head cabin attendant for the flight.” She glanced at Mason. “Your reservation said you were flying solo with us today, is that still the case?”
“No,” Fuentes said. “My, uh, friend is coming with — is that a problem?”
“Of course not, Ms. Fuentes,” Diana assured her, smile widening even more. “If the two of you will board, we can slide right into the next take-off slot.”
Diana led them toward the shuttle along with two other crew members, while what seemed like a dozen more walked off to the building along with the guy who’d wanted there to be some luggage.
Mason’s neck was cracking from turning his head back and forth trying to take everything in. The building behind them had a hanger beside it with two other shuttles — and it looked like maintenance techs going over something. He really wished there was time to wander over and see how the shuttles were put together. He wanted to see how the stubby-winged shuttle attached to the wider wing-assists that would get them to a height where orbital insertion was feasible, but then they were at the foot of a set of steps and it was time to board.
The interior of the shuttle was like nothing he’d ever seen before.
The carpet was so thick it ate his feet. The walls curved inward to meet the ceiling, but there was still enough room for him to stand. Everything was light, white and cream, except for the dark wood grain of a table and a low row of paneling along the walls. There were a half dozen seats in rows, three each against each wall, as well as more farther back around a dark wood table.
“Welcome aboard, Ms. Fuentes and Mr. …?” Diana said.
“Guthrie,” Mason supplied, realizing she wanted his name.
“Welcome aboard, Mr. Guthrie.” She gestured to take in the entire cabin. “Please sit anywhere you’d like for takeoff — our flight time to orbital insertion is two hours today. I’ll be happy to start your meal service any time after takeoff and Jonathon —” She gestured to one of the men who’d followed them aboard and was now making his way to the front. “— will be very pleased to fix you a drink if you’d like. Lavatories are forward and aft, but the galley and staff seating is forward, so aft is more private.”
“Thank you,” Fue
ntes said. “Uh, do you have a medkit? Something with wound sealant?”
Diana’s smile fell. “Of course, Ms. Fuentes — are you injured?”
“I, ah, cut myself on the way here.”
“Do you require medical attention or emergency service personnel?”
“No,” Fuentes said quickly. “Just … I’d like to take care of it myself, if you don’t mind.”
“Absolutely,” Diana said. “I’ll have Jonathon deliver the medkit along with your drinks, if you like?”
“Thanks.”
Diana’s smile returned. She tapped a button to close the entry and went to the front with the other two stewards.
Fuentes was looking around with her eyes as wide as Mason’s felt.
“Holy crap,” she whispered.
Mason felt a little better at that — at least it wasn’t just him who was feeling a little overwhelmed. This was like something off a vidshow — the sort of thing that got shown to lowlies with the message that if they worked really hard and their kids did really well in school, then maybe their grandkids could become middies, and with some more hard work your great-grandkids could become uppies … and then, maybe, if one them won the lotto or became a vidshow star your great-great-grandkids could ride on something like this — once in their life, maybe.
The guy, Jonathon, returned and left a medkit with Fuentes as if it was the most natural thing in the world, then took their drink orders. Fuentes asked for a beer and Mason a soda, then Fuentes eased herself into a seat. He took the one opposite hers.
“I’ll use this once we’re in the air,” Fuentes said, tucking the medkit between her legs.
Jonathon was back in seconds with their drinks and the shuttle started moving. They ran around on the flat, open space of the port for a while, taking turns Mason couldn’t figure out, then Diana ducked her head out of the galley.
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