The next morning, Keya announced that they were rounding one of the larger mountains and fast approaching Vir. As far as Laura could remember, that meant they were halfway to Rex.
Keya ushered her guests two carriages forward and into the dining car. This car was decorated lavishly with paneled walls and ceiling, expensive multipaneled windows, and some of the fanciest tables and chairs she’d ever seen. Laura sat in a padded chair before a table covered in immaculate white cloth. Okane observed the space with less appreciation and made a point to take up as little space as possible. Darcy and Felix sat across from them, and Keya pulled up another chair.
“We’ve got special permission to bring you here, since you’re guests,” she said, gesturing at their plush surroundings and the other people all dressed to the nines. “Usually ERA workers get slop back in our own car. Hope you don’t mind if we take advantage of you.”
“Doesn’t make a difference to me,” said Laura.
“Good! I’ve been craving something with actual flavor for a while.”
A waiter approached them, pausing by the table to give Keya’s position a disdainful look before facing them properly. “Good morning, esteemed guests. May I bring you a drink? Is there a particular dish you desire?”
“Get me an omelet,” said Keya.
“Would you like a drink to accompany that, ma’am?”
“Coffee.”
“May I have the same?” said Felix, raising his hand as if in a classroom.
Once everyone had ordered, the waiter left. Laura wasn’t concerned with the contents of her breakfast, but Keya talked of nothing else until the meal arrived. As they dug in, she moved on to a new subject.
“To reach Litus, we’ll have to go close to Rex. That’s one of the reasons they’re so adamant about stopping the trains.”
“Really?” Laura’s head jerked up. On maps the train route went close to Rex, but there was no way to tell how close it would be in reality. “How close to Rex is it?”
“You can see it from the tracks.” Keya grimaced. “We only set it up that way because the other option would be going through the mountains themselves. The railroads may end up having to go through with that anyway. I hope we don’t have to turn around.”
“You think they’ve ripped up the tracks already?” asked Felix.
“There’s no way to be sure right now, but we’ll know in sixteen hours. That’s when we’ll reach the next gatehouse.”
“Gatehouse?” Laura echoed. “What do you mean? They have gates on railroads?”
“Kind of.” Keya laughed. “There are mini stations set along rail lines. Satellite towns and Rangers send news or mail to them, and these span the rails. They’re little castles that the rail companies use as checkpoints. Crews at every gatehouse set up communications and boarding of supplies. Trains rarely stop at them, though. Any news we need to know gets tucked into a special bag that we pick up on the way through. Gatehouses link to telegraph lines, so they should know the situation with Rex and pass word along. If all goes well, we’ll pick up speed and steam past without trouble.”
“And if Rex has ripped up the rails?”
“We may have to retreat back to the gatehouse and sort ourselves.”
Laura had little concern for whether Rex had gone through with their attack on the rails. Either way the train would get close enough to Rex for her to see it, and then she and Okane could jump ship right on the enemy’s doorstep. It would probably be better if the train did stop. Then it would have to slow down, and they could climb off with the excuse that their mission was important enough that they’d have to continue to Litus on foot.
“Will ERA take action? I’ve heard rail companies don’t take well to vandalism,” said Okane, pushing a piece of pancake around his plate and refusing to look at anyone.
“Not with Rex. That’s their territory, after all. We’d have better luck taking down a felin with pebbles.”
“That kind of undermines the rail company’s authority, doesn’t it?” said Laura.
“Yes, until you offer complainers the opportunity to do better.”
“Pardon the intrusion.” Another waiter had arrived, this one older than the last, with a holier-than-thou air about him. “I’ve been asked to inform Miss Mallick that she needs to report to the forward ERA carriage.”
“Great,” Keya groaned, tossing her napkin down on the table. “They’re probably jealous that I got to eat here while they were stuck with slop. I’ll be right there.”
As she disappeared through the door, Laura leaned forward to ask, “Who’s in the forward ERA carriage? Regular troops?”
“Sweepers and bodyguards don’t get along too well,” said Felix. “For some reason we’re always in competition, sort of like police and military inside cities.”
Everyone at the table was more or less done with their food, so they stood and went back toward their own car, Laura asking questions the whole way. She asked about various jobs for ERA members on the trains, how often they came across infestations or animals they had to fight off, what was it like living on the road, what got Felix into Sweeping? Felix was happy enough to answer, while Darcy and Okane followed in silence. Darcy had a good-natured expression on her face, and Okane perked up now that they were out of the dining car. He paid still more attention at Laura’s next question.
Felix had just finished explaining a family history of railroad involvement when she asked, “Have you ever seen hobos?”
“Sure I have! My grandpa was a bull, after all.”
“A what?”
“Railroad policeman. He’d track down hobos and throw them out, maybe drag them off to jail. He was always mean about it, so I feel guilty whenever I see one myself. Most times I just let them be. Pretend I didn’t see them.” He twiddled his thumbs, embarrassed.
“I’ve always been curious,” said Laura. “How do hobos get on and off the trains? They make it look easy in films, but it can’t be.”
“They don’t all make it.” Felix shuddered. “That’s one of the reasons my grandpa said he was so angry about hobos in the first place. Most of the hobos you see doing it these days are pretty old, since inexperienced ones die young.”
Judging by that reaction, Felix had witnessed a few of these young deaths. Laura felt bad to keep pushing a sensitive subject, but it was vital information. She waited a moment, then, “So there’s a trick to it?”
“They tend to work the same ways. I’ve never seen one get on. They’re really secretive on the way in, but I think they look for open doors.”
Just like we did, Laura thought.
“Getting off is tricky too. Most hobos hop off just inside the walls of the city and run before they reach the rail yard and the bulls. By that time the train has slowed a little, but not by a lot. They’ve got to wait until it slows, then they get on the outside of one of the cars and hang on to the ladder.” He mimed clinging to the rungs. “Then they drop down and start running on the ground. When they get the hang of it, they let go, and they’re out safe. I’ve seen a few literally jump, though! Wait till the train slows, pick a soft-looking spot, and jump out and try to roll when they hit the ground. They rip themselves up most of the time, though. I saw one die that way before, too. Keya said he broke his neck. Jumpers usually break bones.”
Laura grimaced. “Remind me never to jump off a train.”
“Can’t see why you’d need to. Sweepers get special privileges, after all. You’re not going to get tossed in the slammer by a bull.”
Laura and Okane lingered in the Sweeper car for the rest of the day. Keya returned, complaining. Apparently they’d scolded her for invading the dining car (the invitation had only been for actual guests), and made the demand that the Sinclair Sweepers be kept out of the way. She and Felix were assigned extra rounds, so they slouched off; Darcy remained, smiling blithely and tapping out a tune with one foot as she knitted something lumpy and green. Laura spent her day bored and restless, trying to sleep; she hoped that maybe, if she napped enough, she’d store away enough energy to go a few days without it when they reached Rex. Okane stretched out on his own bed, but it was impossible to tell if he was sleeping.
Keya and Felix passed through the car occasionally, but it was only during the night that they gave more than a tired greeting. The lights had dimmed down by this time, Darcy snoring away, when the door swung open. Light flooded in from the lamps outside, silhouetting Felix’s small frame.
“Hey!” he whispered loudly. “You’ve got to come see!”
Laura squinted at him, leaning over the side of her bunk, and he looked up at her, the dim light illuminating his excitement as he hissed, “We’re coming up on the gatehouse! It’s hard to see at night, but it’s still amazing! Most passengers never pay enough attention to notice.”
Curiosity lured Laura out of bed. She and Okane followed him out to crowd the platform. The train was turning to avoid the foothills of the mountains. The peaks couldn’t be seen from here, but Laura remembered the map—why else would they be turning on the flatland? Few landmarks could be seen in the light of the train, but midnight darkness couldn’t disguise the building before them. The rails were built atop a ridge in the landscape, the flatlands rolling down and out to the sides, but in the gloom ahead was a structure of stacked rock, rising along the ridge and forming a wall beyond. More walls rose in the same fashion, staggered in different heights along the slope, the foundations of a monstrous building. Jutting up to span the tracks was a building not made of stone but seemingly wood, big and dark though light shone through intricate latticed designs on the upper floor. The roof was gabled, wide with four points curving down, out, and up at the tips. A hole ran through the middle, enough for a large train to pass through. While it was difficult to discern any detail, the shape itself was beautiful.
“That’s the gatehouse?” Laura breathed.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” said Okane, leaning to get a better look.
“It was built on the ruins of one of the big native castles,” Felix told them.
“Was it one of the castles they tore down in the wars?” Laura asked, and he nodded.
“I think it burned down, so only the foundation’s left. The rail company likes to use old fortresses as gatehouses if they can, but they rebuild on old sites too. You’d think they’d go with the regular mainland designs, but there are two or three they made like this. They’re all in Zyra, though. It’s nice to look at, isn’t it?”
They continued to watch in amazement as the train approached, and Felix tugged at their clothing, pulling them back into the train’s shelter as they arrived. The train slowed no further but sped through the opening, briefly flooded with light as stone walls flashed past, and then they were out, back into the dark and surrounded by the ruins of the old castle.
“How were we supposed to get any messages like that? That was too fast to hand something over,” said Laura.
“They set up a bag of mail on a wire. We’ve got a hook to grab it on the way through. Whatever messages they wanted us to get, we definitely got it.”
Laura woke the next morning to the sound of someone tripping over the little oven. Felix looked up sheepishly to apologize. Keya was already gone, talking with the other ERA workers about information they’d gotten from the gatehouse. Judging by the fact that the train didn’t slow, the attack on the rails must not have come to fruition. Felix went off to do his job, and Laura climbed down to the floor.
“Hey.” She tapped the side of Okane’s mattress. “You up? We should get breakfast.”
The blanket shifted and he peeked out from under his pillow, eyes clear. He’d been awake for a while.
“I don’t want to go there again,” he announced, before pulling the pillow down again.
“What? Why not? You didn’t like the food?”
“I didn’t like the atmosphere.”
Laura knelt down a little further and whispered, “Too Sullivan for you?”
The brief movement of bedding wasn’t exactly clear but she got the message. She turned to face the last of the other Sweepers; Darcy reorganized something in the closet.
“Excuse me, Miss Darcy? Keya said you usually have breakfast in here. Can we do the same?”
“- - - can go to the dining car without me,” Okane mumbled, but she didn’t dignify that with a response.
“The dining car is pretty high-class, and it was nice being there yesterday, but I’d feel more comfortable here.”
Darcy hummed. From a closet she procured two cans, which she opened and set on top of the little oven. She tapped its side and the flames roared with more vigor. She held up one hand with the fingers spread: five minutes. The little oven warmed the food, and Darcy handed them large spoons. Okane crawled out of his blanket cocoon and they sat on the edge of the mattress to eat out of the cans.
“Thanks,” said Laura, scooping some of the food into her mouth. The unidentifiable contents tasted bland and had a weird texture, but she wasn’t about to complain. “I don’t want to ask for too much, but could we leave this car, too? I’d like to walk around. Can we go a few cars down and back?”
Darcy smiled again and shrugged. Clearly she didn’t care.
Shortly after finishing, they slinked outside.
“Are - - - looking into something?” Okane asked, as they crossed over to the next carriage.
“We’ve got to get off soon, whether the train stops or not.”
“That’s why - - - asked about the hobos?”
“Exactly. We just need to find somewhere safe to get off.”
“Is there even a place where the train gets slow enough?”
“They’ve got to go slow around Rex, right? Even if they haven’t ripped up the tracks there yet, they still could before we get there. Nobody wants a train to go full-speed into damaged tracks, especially if that means putting passengers at risk of getting captured.”
“Captured?” Okane echoed as they stepped through the narrow aisle. “I thought they already had all the slaves they need from attacking satellite towns.”
“They work people hard enough to kill them. There’s never a safe time to interact with Rex.”
If they were captured, there would be no rescue. Rex’s forces could fight off any attempt. Satellite citizens sometimes committed suicide over facing Rex at all.
Okane lapsed into silence. Hopefully he wasn’t worrying himself sick over what they’d be running into. Laura herself refused to think about it. Instead she focused entirely on finding the optimal escape route for the next phase of their ramshackle plan. They had to double back all the way to the car they’d hid in earlier before spotting one of the side doors unblocked.
“I guess this will be our exit, too,” Laura sighed, rapping the door with her knuckles. “There was a ladder next to it. We can use that like the hobos do.”
“How will we know when to do it?”
“We can ask how long it’ll be until we pass Rex. They’ve got enough on their plates, so they shouldn’t be suspicious. Let’s ask them now.”
They trekked back the way they’d come, and ran into Keya on the way. She stood on the back of the Sweeper car, her expression severe. The door behind her was open and Felix peered around her, curious but reluctant to come all the way out. Laura paused in the other doorway. Why did she have a bad feeling?
“Something wrong?” she called over the sound of the train.
“Yeah. Yeah, there is.” Keya’s eyes were narrowed, angry. “How about you come back with us?”
“Come where, exactly?” Laura clenched her hands.
“Back up the train. The others would love to discuss a little … issue that came up in a message from the gatehouse.”
“What kind of message?” Laura snapped, but she had a good idea what it was.
“You know very well,” Keya snarled. “Two Sweepers collaborated with mobs and let them steal all the Gin? Attacking your head is some backstabbing bullshit, but Gin? You’ve abandoned an entire city!”
“That’s wrong!” Laura argued. “We didn’t steal any—”
“What did the mobs promise you for that?” Keya spat. “Money and a comfy place in Litus? Or maybe you’re just running out of shame?” She pulled out her gun and gestured sharply. “Get over here! I’ve got no intention of playing nice with traitors!”
Laura took a quick glance at Okane, who jerked his head back toward their presumed escape.
“Sorry, no,” she said quickly, slamming the door shut. She heard a muffled curse, but was already dashing away after Okane. They fled to their selected car. While Okane moved to open the side door, Laura yanked on the stacked cargo. She dislodged some of the larger crates, and sidestepped quickly as they came crashing down in front of the door. Hopefully that would buy them time. The side door opened with a pop, a rumbling, and a crash. Cold air whipped into the car, and the flatlands beyond became visible. There, silhouetted against the pale blue sky, was a five-tiered city with distinctive spiked towers: Rex.
“Ladies first!” Okane shouted.
Laura scowled but hurried over anyway. She stuck her head out and squinted. Despite the wind it seemed the train had slowed. She reached out for the ladder, caught hold with one hand before sliding one leg out to join it. After a moment she heard a muttered “Here,” and Okane took her by the other arm, trying to support her.
“Don’t fall,” he pleaded.
Steeling herself, Laura swung fully onto the ladder. She felt some resistance, but she made it and clung there a moment to collect herself. Inside the car, Keya hammered away at the door. Fast. She had to be fast. Laura slid farther down on the ladder and took her feet off. The ground flashed by fast enough that it took some time before she did more than skip over it, but she managed to start running, enough to somewhat match the speed. She looked up, elated, but felt the blood drain from her face. Keya might have been pounding on the door, but Felix had leaned out to look down the side of the train. He pointed his own gun at her, but he’d frozen. He winced, possibly at some command Laura couldn’t hear over the train, and pulled the trigger. The bullet hit the ground feet away from her, and with a squeak of surprise and fear, Laura lost her grip on the rungs. She stumbled and threw herself away from the train, afraid of getting caught under the wheels, and crashed to the ground. She remained there, dazed, before her mind caught up and she scrambled to her feet. While slower than usual, the train had still traveled far beyond her. She ran, ignoring the sting from her fall.
“Okane!” she yelled.
Had he been caught? She felt a brief stab of horror before someone leapt from the train. Okane hit the ground and rolled head over heels before coming to a flailing stop. No one came after them.
“Are you okay?” Laura panted, coming to a stop beside him.
Pops and snaps issued from his prone form, and that coupled with the fact that his clothes now looked little better than rags made her worry even more. To her relief, he stirred and pushed himself over, lying on his back instead to blink, stupefied, at the sky. After a moment he wheezed, “Ow.”
“Ow is right! Didn’t you hear Felix talking earlier? People die jumping! What were you thinking?”
“I was thinking I’d get shot otherwise.”
Laura made a strangled sound, but she wasn’t as much irritated as concerned. The popping lessened but continued nonetheless. What was his magic working so hard on?
“You sure you’re okay?”
“Passable,” he grunted, sitting up. He looked mournfully after the train as it shrank into the distance. “Now what do we do?”
“I suppose we go to Rex.” Laura gestured at the city, and he grimaced at the sight.
“- - - think they’ll just let us march right in?”
“If we can jump off a train, we can walk into a city,” said Laura.
Okane blinked at her, then groaned and flopped right back over.
“We stay out here and we’re prey for felin or Rexian troops. We try to go back to some friendly city and we’ll either die on the way or get arrested as soon as we get through the doors. Have you got any better ideas?”
He pursed his lips, looking tempted to say something nasty in retort, but he held it in and heaved himself up once more, faster this time. “Fine. But I hope - - - know I can’t be sneaky like this.” He tugged at loose scraps of his shirt.
“We’ll figure something out.”
He said nothing, but the look on his face conveyed more than enough doubt.
They hobbled in the direction of the city. Each had a collection of scrapes and bruises, though while Okane had far more, Laura knew hers would remain longer; he always healed abnormally fast. He leaned on her in the beginning, one of his ankles unable to bear his weight properly, but as time went on the crackling sounds dissipated and he switched to limping independently.
Truth be told, Laura had no idea how to get into an enemy city. She’d spoken with bravado, all the while thinking desperately how they could sneak in. The old film played in the back of her mind, ten identical women and the whole of Rex looking like a single brood. The more she looked at Okane the more he looked distressingly not-Zyran, even beyond the clothes, and she was hardly better. They’d stand out like sore thumbs. Perhaps they could pose as Rangers? No, Rex wouldn’t tolerate outsiders of any kind, and their Sweepers served every Ranger purpose for them. Slaves, then, from the fields outside? She racked her brain for stories or excuses and found nothing. She came to the unsurprising conclusion that she was a terrible schemer.
Every step brought them closer, and she grew more nervous. They reached the surrounding farmland around noon, and Laura chose to walk on the main road. If they at least acted as if they belonged, people would be less suspicious. It wasn’t as if everyone kept their clothes in good shape in the agricultural areas, even in cities that cared about their well-being; her mother being a prime example. Okane had misgivings, but it turned out to be a good idea. Forty minutes after they started on the gravelly road, a large truck trundled up beside them. The driver asked who they were and what they were up to. Laura made up a story about them being farmworkers who’d missed an earlier car and were desperate to get into the city (“No, really, my friend here just took a nasty spill off some equipment!”). For what? Well, the Carmen film had mentioned a weekly check-in with food vendors inside the walls. This was apparently a reality, because the driver fell for it hook, line, and sinker. They clambered in and settled themselves among bags of supplies, and the truck drove on. The driver chatted to them about one thing or another, mostly farm-related. Laura replied with what little she knew from her mother’s experiences tending fields, but to her relief the man was more inclined to talk their ears off than get meaningful input. As they approached the walls and the towers soared above their heads, Laura’s confidence faltered.
“Um,” she piped up, “sorry, sir, but I think we forgot our papers. They might not let us in.”
“No worries there!” The driver laughed. “Usually you’d be in trouble, but the past few days they haven’t cared. Not so many soldiers at checkpoints, not so strict. They’re all going south. They don’t care about a couple of farmers.”
“Do you know what they’re gathering south for?” Laura asked.
“Some kind of attack, I imagine. I’m looking forward to it! When our boys go out to battle, they bring back laborers. The more riffraff like you they catch, the better off we are. Just imagine, a whole new platoon of workers! We could use them for the uzel harvest. I’ve never liked those thorns, and I doubt you will either.”
True to the driver’s words, only one soldier stood at the entrance. The soldier checked the vehicle registration and cast a suspicious look at the two passengers, but after assurance that they were faithful Rexian servants, he let them through without complaint. The driver let them off in a market in the lowest Quarter, where stalls lined a street overflowing with produce and shoppers.
“Good luck finding your group,” he’d called after them, and Laura thanked him. Okane didn’t say a word until they’d passed a large display of rice bags.
“We really will be slaves if they figure out what we are,” he said.
“So we don’t get caught.”
Easier said than done. Besides, if they were caught trying to steal something as valuable as Gin, there might be something worse than farm labor in store.
The streets of Rex were familiar and yet not. Just as in the film, every road and building was in pristine condition or left to affectionate but well-tended weathering, as if it were the Second Quarter instead of the Fifth. People bustled along sidewalks, many headed for the market but others moving away and deeper into the city while automobiles—darker and boxier, leaning toward a military look—cruised by in the streets, as many as would be expected on the Tiber Circuit. Every building united in common architectural styles, and every road bore a clear marker. It was a sort of quaintly unified thing, the kind that screamed that no one had dared to make it their own; false like a film-set façade with nothing inside. A few buildings had paint scrawled on the sides and in alleys, which might’ve been graffiti, but all were strategically placed with slogans emblazoned across patriotic imagery.
HAIL, CITY OF KINGS! one declared, red lettering above a dramatically rendered kingshound. ONWARD TO THE FOUR CORNERS, RAISE PURE BLOOD! Others echoed it: praise to the city, support the destined advance, the chosen people meant to overcome the rest and become the pinnacle of human potential. One that caught Laura’s attention in particular was a splash of paint following the ramp up to the next Quarter: a horde of men in uniform and shaved heads, with identical features save for numbers on their faces. All seemed posed but lifeless, and Laura felt distinctly uncomfortable at the sight.
“At least we’ll know a Sweeper when we see them,” said Okane, eyes lingering on the propaganda. “Think we can just follow one back to their headquarters?”
“Maybe. I don’t think we should do anything for today, though. We’re not in the best shape.”
“Where should we go, then?” He looked miserably at the sky as if it might give him answers. “Do - - - have money for a hotel on hand? Money for food?”
“Didn’t really think of that,” she admitted.
“We didn’t think anything out,” he agreed.
“Let’s focus on the job for now. Find out where the Sweeper offices are and scope things out, then back off and find somewhere to crash. I have a little bit of money, so maybe we can beg help from a cheaper hotel?”
A haphazard plan was better than none at all, so Okane nodded.
They couldn’t find any Sweepers whatsoever.
Laura thought that with the breeding program they’d run into one at every turn, but the Sweepers must’ve gathered outside after all. Despite the clear street signs they found no maps, forcing them to ask for directions. While not identical, the people here had a very distinct look. Every single one was white, light-haired, high-cheek-boned, and without so much as a blemish. But despite the flush of life in their faces, they looked even less human than Grim. These people turned up their noses at the sight of them (Okane in particular), and gave little help. Some ignored them entirely, looking the opposite way and hurrying past as Laura called out, while others made snide comments on their state of dress and general position in life. Three persons in total spoke to them like actual people, and all three answered along the same lines.
“Sweepers? Oh, you don’t go to them. You call and they have an officer come by. It’s not proper to be in the company of a Sweeper. They’re violent and stupid. Bad bloodlines, you know. They’re only good for one thing and it’s not conversation. No one really knows where their offices are, but if you go to the police they’ll take care of you. Shall I point you to the nearest station?”
By the time they reached a bookshop in the Third Quarter, Laura frothed with rage.
“Forget their Sweepers, the civilians here are hell to deal with,” she growled, eyeing the few pedestrians on this street. “And the graffiti rattles me!”
“It’s not all going to be easy,” said Okane.
“But getting any information is like pulling teeth.”
“Maybe if - - - tried smiling a little more?” He pointed at his own face. “Maybe they’re getting scared at this point.”
“I’m that bad?”
“A little.”
She took a deep breath in, held it, and exhaled, trying to force her features back into calm. She held this attempted serenity for a minute before glancing at him for approval. Okane’s shoulders gave a little bounce and he shook his head in weary exasperation. Good enough. Laura turned to scope out the area, selecting a new target. A lone young woman ambled along the opposite side of the road, possibly a target for information. Better still, she wasn’t blond. No, if anything that darker skin and curled brown hair marked her as Kalu, not Zyran at all. Finally, a non-purist. Laura made a beeline for her.
“Excuse me?” she called, sweetly as she could manage.
The woman turned to look over her shoulder. Laura could only see half of her face, but that visible eye was strikingly brown. The intensity of the color made her stop short. Marvelous Magnum’s Deluxe Caramel, she thought dazedly, before realizing how ridiculous that sounded. The woman blinked, and her lips turned up in a very fake smile.
“Hello. Something wrong?”
Startled back to her senses, Laura shook her head quickly. “Oh, no! It’s just—would you happen to know where I can find the Rex Sweeper offices?”
“Sweepers? Why would a young lady be looking for the Sweepers?”
“Personal business.” Laura flashed a false smile of her own. “We just need some directions. Are you familiar with them?”
“Depends on who’s asking.”
“As I said, it’s personal.”
“Oh, that really explains things. I’m so inclined to help.”
Laura felt ready to snap. Okane tugged lightly at the sleeve of her coat and whispered, “We can just ask someone else.”
The woman sneered. “Sounds like a giver-upper.”
Of course, not even a non-purist here could be dependable. Laura sighed, yielding to Okane’s pleading. As they walked around her the woman pivoted to watch them, a mean smile on her face. “Two giver-uppers, then.”
“Yes, we are,” said Laura, already searching for someone who looked less offensive.
“Giver-upper. Coward. Yellowbelly. Chicken.” The woman followed them, calling out taunts. What a child.
Much to Laura’s displeasure, no one seemed at all interested in helping them. The passersby glanced over, but otherwise gave no indication that they’d noticed anything. Okane walked closer, almost brushing shoulders.
“Do - - - think we should ask at an official office after all?” he whispered.
“I was trying to avoid that. We’d have to make up a story, or—”
Before Laura could finish her sentence a hand descended on her, thumbnail digging into her spine while fingers curled about her neck. Judging by the squeak from Okane, the same thing happened to him. The Kalu woman steered them close together, her head between theirs. Laura twisted her head around to rebuke her, but froze immediately. Thin numbers stretched on the woman’s cheek: 1100100. Shit.
“You’re a Sweeper,” Laura whispered.
“Well. Not really.” The woman slid her way between them, pulling them flush against her and moving so her arms draped over their shoulders, in a less dangerous position but still enough to make Laura feel trapped.
“If you’re not a Sweeper, what are you?” asked Laura.
“Why don’t we talk this over with some drinks, hm? There’s a café just up the road. My treat.”
“Why don’t I trust you?”
“Honey, don’t trust anyone in this town. That goes especially for dream boy.” She tilted her head against Okane, peering up at him. He leaned away, but her arm kept him from getting too far.
“And yet you want us to have drinks.” Laura reclaimed the woman’s attention, and when those brown eyes turned on her again, they sparkled with something more like excitement than scorn.
“It’s easier to talk there than on the street.”
The café’s small room held a cast of thin chairs and tables, the metal of them twisted in plain but decorative shapes that dug uncomfortably into Laura’s back when she sat down. Laura couldn’t make out any of the individual conversations around them, but the loud babble filled the room and carried over the heads of the customers and the coffee bar. Laura, Okane, and the woman claimed the empty table by the large window. As soon as she released him, Okane took the chair next to Laura and scooted it as close as humanly possible. The woman occupied the third chair, back to the window. She was a small person, but sat in a way that took up the entirety of the chair and beyond, like a king sprawling on a throne. She observed them the way a king would inspect peasants, too.
“Why so interested in Rex Sweepers? Seems to me like this is the last place to go on holiday.”
“We’re not ‘on holiday,’ we’re here on business,” Laura replied.
“Ooh, business. Elaborate.” The woman’s eyebrows rose and her eyes sparked a mocking curiosity.
“Private business. If you aren’t a Sweeper, you’ve got no right to the information.”
“Oh. Oh, baby.” The woman leaned over the table and rested her elbows on it. In films this might have been a move for the actress to show off her breasts, but her coat hid what little bust she had, making the gesture useless. “Sweepers here don’t have much information at all. They’re like dogs. Their handlers direct them.”
Laura let this information sink in. Did that mean this woman was a handler? Did handlers get tattooed as well?
“Who exactly are you?” she asked.
“The name’s Zelda. No last name. Haven’t picked one yet.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Well, they didn’t give us names to begin with, and once somebody gets a name, it sticks throughout life, doesn’t it? Need to find one that fits right.”
She stood up, reaching to pluck the tray from a waiter. She set it down in the middle of their table while the man kept walking, arms propped up as if he were still carrying the tray.
Laura looked between her and the waiter, flabbergasted. “You can’t just take that! We’re trying to keep a low profile!”
“And - - -’re doing such a remarkable job of it,” Zelda said dryly. “Sit back down, he doesn’t notice and he doesn’t care.”
Sure enough, the man kept walking as if this were an everyday occurrence.
Zelda handed out the cups she’d stolen. Laura found herself with a tall soda glass of peach-colored substance with chocolate sprinkles on a whipped topping. Okane received a shorter ceramic mug with something dark like coffee under a cream pattern; he looked at it like he’d been offered poison. Zelda claimed a pale pink drink in a teacup. A lone tea remained between them.
“Okay, Zelda, I still don’t know who you are.”
“My face should make me obvious, right? These numbers mean I’m part of Rex’s Sweeper breeding program.”
“But you said you weren’t a Sweeper. And I thought the Sweepers didn’t have names, just numbers.”
“That’s why I had to find my own.” Zelda sipped loudly from her cup and smacked her lips. “I was in the breeding program until I was five, and then I gave them the slip. They haven’t found me since. Wonderful thing, this magic.”
“Magic?”
Zelda gestured at Okane. “Of course. What, did the info not get out? We’re bred from people like him.”
Laura’s mouth clicked shut again. Okane’s hands tightened on his mug, but while he avoided eye contact he didn’t look surprised.
“Rex rounded up a bunch of those magicky people during the witch hunts, turned them into breeding stock. With magic in our blood we repel monsters, so we make great Sweepers. Perfect little soldiers. Of course all the inbreeding results in some, shall we say, undesirable conditions. And then our little magic Sweepers need to be kept very close so they don’t go making their own decisions and getting out of control. Part of why we don’t have names. That’s why I got out as soon as I could.”
“How did - - - know about me? Was it the eyes? The speech?” Okane whispered.
“I feel it. The speech was the real tip-off, though. Don’t use that word if - - - can help it here.”
She did the “you” thing too. Laura leaned back against the metal of her chair and looked at Okane. “You knew about this?”
“I did,” he confessed. “It’s one of the reasons we’re never supposed to trust anyone from Rex. Honestly, it’s more dangerous for me here than it is for you.”
Zelda smiled. “Glad to see - - - understand. Don’t get caught. Rex always wants new stock.”