The shuttle signal sounded and the door opened. Safe. Scott unhooked the security mesh from his torso and grabbed his bag. A few of the other passengers looked pale; probably their first trip to the moon, Scott reasoned. Most reporters stayed earthside their whole lives. He shook hands with the ones he knew and walked with them through the docking tunnels into the terminal. There were families waiting for some and the woman to Scott’s right was swarmed with children the instant she passed security. She had just started working in Scott’s department and showed a lot of promise, and she had been astounded when Scott told her that she could take the lead on the moon blackout.
He waved at her and wondered if she could even see the movement beneath the two kids. He couldn’t imagine how she had gotten two child licenses until he saw the man she kissed after the children. Extremely rich, with heavy gold rings and a gray suit that almost looked like velvet. A man like that would have no trouble getting a second license and Scott was surprised that the woman had never shown signs of being wealthy. She was always down-to-earth and comfortable, never dressing ostentatiously or commenting derisively about the lower class the way Scott imagined the really wealthy did.
No one was waiting at the aerostation for Scott, which didn’t surprise him. Raven undoubtedly knew that Scott was returning but would never go to such a public place. Instead, Scott pressed the elevator button and boarded with a few of the less wealthy reporters. They got off on the 15th floor, where the carport was, but he kept going to the 11th floor. According to most people, nothing good ever happened below 15, but Scott loved going to the lower levels of the city. It was shaded, for one thing, which he appreciated the minute he stepped onto the walkway and into the summer heat. It was also far less crowded and tended to be populated by a fascinating group of people. Most were intellectuals. They could afford to live on higher levels but didn’t. After the Last War, Scott’s mother had moved here as a child and she met Scott’s father just a few blocks from the aerostation, at the place Scott was heading now.
As Scott turned a corner and saw his destination, he wasn’t sure which pleased him more: the sight of the quiet bookstore, shelves brimming with antiquated paper books and smelling of musty wisdom, or the black-clad man sitting at a rusty café table outside standing up to greet him.
Scott and Raven embraced before sitting at the small table outside the bookstore. Patrons of the store stared, but the owner had known Scott since he was a child and had become accustomed to seeing Raven. One woman hurried out at the sight of Raven, glancing back almost guiltily. The only people qualified to wear black were elite military units—essentially spies and assassins. It was different in the Western World under Kaonism, but in the East, each state government had a small force of men and women who were sanctioned killers. In the Lower and Upper African states, they were called militias and there were very few laws governing them. One of the reasons Raven had started working for Medane was to try to impose limits on them and change the system from within, Scott knew. He had been partially successful, but even in NeoLondon black clothing was still associated with murder for most people.
The woman leaving didn't faze Raven; in fact, he seemed more relaxed than Scott had seen him in years. His eyes were bright and there was almost a smile on his lips.
“Are you angry?” Raven finally asked.
“Why would I be angry?” Scott replied. “I just got to spend a full week with the woman of my dreams. Although I do seem to recall that someone else was supposed to be there, yes, now that you mention it, I think I had a friend who was supposed to drop by.”
“Scott,” Raven began, but Scott waved his hand.
“Don’t worry about it. I don’t want to know the details. Yet,” he added. “Once this is out of the papers I want to hear everything. But not until then.”
Raven leaned back in his seat and smiled. Scott realized with a start that he couldn’t remember the last time Raven had smiled so openly.
“I quit Medane’s service.”
Ah, Scott thought. That explained his behavior. Medane had been helpful in getting Raven out of his depression and back on his feet, but Scott knew the job was wrong for him. Sure, Raven had the chance to help people and regulate armies and help distribute food in starving areas—now that Scott thought about it, the job actually sounded pretty good. But it also involved occasionally killing someone and even when the person clearly deserved death, Scott knew how much Raven struggled.
“Need a place to crash?” Scott offered. He was somewhat relieved when Raven shook his head. Raven was a clean, friendly, but intense roommate who kept odd hours and had a tendency to stir up trouble.
“I was hired by Nalia,” he said. “She’s the head of the resistance now.”
Scott couldn’t help his disapproving frown. “You can’t go back.”
“I’m not back. They hired me. It’s different.”
Scott considered. Going back to the slums was the last thing he wanted Raven to do. There were too many painful memories there and too many people who blamed Raven for the massacre, including Raven. Scott knew Raven wasn’t really to blame. He had been a kid at the time, barely eighteen years old. He had underestimated the government, no one in the movement corrected his mistake, and dozens of people had died. Scott supported the ideals of the resistance—how could he not, with Raven as a friend—but he didn’t like their militant and close-minded approach.
“I met someone,” Raven said quietly, as though he were aware of Scott’s disapproval. “Nalia, the one who hired me. She’s really nice.”
“Nice?” Scott repeated, raising his eyebrows. He had never heard Raven describe anyone as nice before.
“You know,” he said awkwardly. “She believes in the movement but she’s intelligent, and she really wants to help people.”
Scott stared at his friend. Coming from Raven, those were the highest compliments a person could get. Was he in love? A grin swept across Scott’s face and Raven blushed. Well, he figured, if Raven were in love, it was more than enough reason to return to the movement. Aside from Scott and Lydia—and possibly Medane, Scott had to admit—Raven had no friends. Scott had attempted to set him up a few times when they were younger, but Raven always held himself aloof. People who couldn’t see through Raven’s mask thought that he was arrogant, self-centered, and insensitive. Really it was just that Raven hated being vulnerable and pushed people away to prevent getting hurt. Raven had even tried to push Scott away after the massacre, but had seemed grateful that Scott ignored him and refused to let go of the friendship.
“Lydia’s mad at you,” Scott said in a mock-warning tone. He hoped Raven knew that the change of subject meant that Scott was willing to give Raven’s new lifestyle a try. He still had reservations about Raven being in the slums, but he trusted Raven to do what was best for him. Plus, Lydia had made Scott promise that he would yell at Raven for abandoning them. Scott wasn’t much for yelling, but he would keep his promise in his own way, just as Lydia would expect.
“How is she? I didn’t mean to—”
“No,” Scott interrupted. “Don’t want to know anything yet.”
He hated having to censor their conversation, but Scott believed in journalistic integrity and if Raven told him in black-and-white terms that he caused the blackout, Scott would be unable to lie about it later.