“I remember you, Dagon. We traded a couple of tokens of friendship last time we met.”
Dagon smiled. There was a strange kinship between them, though Three couldn’t place it. Few enough men in the world were left who could travel the way Three did, out in the open at night. Here stood another. Maybe that was all it was.
“Is she alright?”
“Hanging in there.”
“You taking good care of her?”
“I doubt she’d see it that way.”
Three understood now. Dagon loved her. And he guessed the feeling wasn’t mutual. That explained Dagon’s turmoil, his need to find her, to bring her back, and his wish to let her go, for her to be free.
“Let her go, Dagon.”
He seemed surprised at Three’s words, maybe slightly embarrassed, his secret revealed in the barest of exchanges. Dagon dropped his eyes, looked off over the side of the rail at the Vault below.
“Pathetic, isn’t it?”
A moment of silence. Then Dagon shook his head.
“But no. I can’t. Asher won’t do anything else until he has her back, and that’s not good for business.”
“Cracking Sec/Nets for Cutters really worth her happiness to you?”
Dagon’s reaction seemed even stronger: surprise, but also a hint of amusement.
“Sec/Net? Is that what she told you?”
Three didn’t answer. But he felt that cold wave wash over him that told him he’d been played for a fool. Worse. He’d let himself be played as one.
“Maybe things aren’t all I thought,” said Dagon. “You really don’t know who we are? Who Asher is?”
Three just stared him down. Dagon let out a low whistle.
“Brother, you just might want to sit down for this one then.”
“I’d rather not.”
“As you like… you ever heard of RushRuin?”
Before he knew why, Three felt it in the pit of his stomach. Utter dread. Some part of his brain kicked on automatic, rifled through backlogs of jobs he’d done, people he’d brought in. There was a glimmer of vague recognition. A passing familiarity. And recognition came. Older, maybe outdated, maybe a rumor. A dangerous crew, well outside his line of business.
“Brainhacking crew?”
Dagon snorted at that.
“Professionally speaking, we offer ‘thought acquisition and recovery’. But yeah, brainhacking gets it too.”
It was coming back to him now. A job two or three years old. Some nanokid in the heart of Fourover got his hands on a piece of tech he shouldn’t have. Ten grand alive, three dead. By the time Three had tracked him down, RushRuin had already gotten to him, which was saying something. Mostly just a bag of meat and bones left. They’d taken back the tech and ripped out whatever the kid had known about it, along with pretty much everything else he’d ever learned in his short life. Three had brought him in anyway, and managed to wrangle five thousand out of the agent in charge.
“Still working out of Fourover?”
“We go where we like these days.”
He didn’t want to admit it, but Three was rattled. Something hadn’t been sitting right with him since the wayhouse when it came to Cass. He’d known she was holding something back, but he’d assumed it had more to do with her chems than anything else. But this? This was way bigger, way deeper than anything he could’ve predicted.
“I wish you hadn’t killed Kostya. Asher might’ve let you off since you didn’t know. But Fedor…” Dagon shook his head, sincerely sorry for Three. “Well. That was his brother, you know?”
Three fought to maintain control. Stillness.
“So now what?”
Dagon shrugged.
“I guess I go back and tell Asher where I found you. And you keep running.”
“Not really my style.”
“Well. You might want to make it yours. You seem like a good man.”
Three thought it through. He could try again. Try to drop Dagon while he was relaxed. But the last time he’d thought he’d gotten the drop on him had almost cost Three his life. It didn’t seem like Dagon had any intention of fighting him. At least not here. Not now. And Dagon likely could’ve killed Three while he slept. Somehow attacking him now seemed dishonorable.
“There aren’t any good men left, Dagon.”
Dagon just nodded. Then stepped back, turned, and began walking away. After a couple of steps, he turned back, raised his voice just enough to be heard.
“Best of luck to you, Three. I’m sure we’ll see you again.”
“Yeah.”
And with that, Dagon walked back down the maglev line, more casual than cautious, and faded into nothingness, even to Three’s eyes. To the east, the barest hint of gray was beginning to show at the horizon.
Three had never so dreaded the breaking of dawn.
Thirteen
Wren lay curled in a ball, arms tucked together, legs drawn in, his hands used as a pillow. Shivering, half or less from the cold, the rest from fear. Exhausted as he was, he just couldn’t sleep. Not really. He’d dozed off for stretches of a few minutes here and there for the last hour, or two, or ten. But the concrete and an erratic but persistent dripping sound always woke him. He had no idea how long they’d been in “the safe place”, and he was too afraid to check GST ever since his mother’s pim. Almost immediately after she’d sent it, his captor-companion had shifted and grunted in the darkness, as though the pim had woken It. And even though it may have been pure coincidence, Wren couldn’t bring himself to risk streaming anything else. Not until he knew it was morning.
Wren picked up his hand, moved it slowly towards his face until his palm bumped the tip of his nose. Pitch-black. Why had he thrown his light? And his knife. The two things that Mister Three had given him, both gone. And the thing he wished most was gone was still there. He could feel it. Even in relative silence, the It had a wild edge; its soft breathing sounded more animal than man. Wren wondered when It would wake and what it would do when it did.
And Wren thought of his mama. Wondered where she was. Her pim hadn’t sounded scared, or hurt. Just worried. But that wasn’t unusual. Mister Three was with her, and that probably meant she was OK. Maybe he’d found a way in before it got dark. Or maybe a safe place to hide. He seemed like he knew how to stay safe even at nighttime. Mister Three seemed like he could pretty much do anything.
“Gev?”
The sudden sound of Its voice startled Wren, and he jumped badly. It wasn’t whispering, and Wren realized that the It was most likely a He. Wren couldn’t bring himself to answer in anything but a whisper.
“I don’t think he’s here.”
“Oh…” He said. There was a long pause, and finally He made rustling sounds that Wren took to mean he was sitting up. “Did you sleep, little one?”
Wren didn’t want to lie, but he didn’t want to offend anyone either.
“A little bit.”
“I’m sorry it’s not more comfortable. But it’s safe, yeah?”
“Is it morning?”
“Early still. I don’t think the sun’s up, but it should be very soon.”
The He sounded nicer, or at least less scary. Less confused. They sat in silence for a few moments longer. Then the He sounded like he was getting to his feet.
“I’m sorry if I scared you. Last night, I mean. Night is a bad time for me. A bad time.”
From the sound of His voice, Wren could tell the other had turned and was walking away from him. There was a click and suddenly a blue-white light flared. Dull and dim by usual standards, it momentarily dazzled Wren’s eyes. He squeezed them tightly shut against the glare. And then wondered whether or not he actually wanted to open them again. In the long darkness, he’d almost forgotten that the person-thing that had carried him downstairs was more than just a voice. He knew when he opened his eyes, He would be standing there.