They crossed the La Salle Street bridge, glancing over the railing into the river as they walked. Enormous chunks of ice bobbed slowly, flowing like giant blood cells through a vein.
When they reached the other side, they saw that on this side of the river the tall buildings of the Noose blocked most of the city light that bounced off the clouds. But there was still enough spill through the deep concrete canyons to see by.
Peter saw brief flashes of warmth dart from car to ruined car. Many people were watching him and Kathryn.
She kept closer to Peter now, and he liked knowing she came to him for protection.
“Maybe some of them can help us,” Kathryn said.
“No. They won’t know anything. Not these people. The Noose is crawling with squatters—on the streets, in the buildings. They live here, but they aren’t part of the hardware.”
“I’d heard the Noose was empty.”
Peter gave her a look full of condescension and surprise that was, fortunately, hidden by the dark. “That’s what the Hall says. They don’t want to acknowledge the inhabitants of the Noose because then they’d have to provide services. But from what I hear, they send census guestimates into DeeCee for Fed aid.”
“I didn’t know that,” she said quietly. Peter felt even more smug, and wallowed in it. They were now much closer to his world than hers, but even he was nervous. He’d never been in the Noose. It was a place with its own rules, rules he could translate but weren’t his native tongue.
Ahead was an intersection with fires built from refuse burning on each corner. The brilliance of the heat nearly blinded Peter, who had to raise his hand to block the images. If anyone was near the fires, he couldn’t make them out against the white flames.
Kathryn picked up on this, and started to ask what was up. “Shhh,” he said, and fingered his gun.
Just then they heard a squeaky, high-pitched voice: “Hoi, chummers! Whatcha doing?”
Looking to their right, Peter and Kathryn saw a little human, a kid, form out of the fire and walk out into the intersection. It was hard to make out her form against the bright flames, but Peter thought she wore a green leather jacket and had long, purple-dyed hair.
“She’s just a child,” Kathryn said with quiet horror.
“Don’t you watch the news?”
“Just the financial reports.”
“Exactly.”
“I’d say you two are in a real rough part of town,” the girl said loudly.
“I think I can handle it,” Peter told her.
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.” Peter pointed his pistol high, and Kathryn placed her hand on his arm. “Don’t cramp my style,” he whispered.
Behind him and Kathryn came a raking sound of metal on metal.
Lowering his gun, Peter mustered his most nonchalant voice. “Ah, sounds like a light machine gun. Mounted probably.”
He was impressed that Kathryn didn’t show any fear.
“We’re looking for Zero-One-Zero,” she said.
Peter sucked in a deep, frustrated breath. “We shouldn’t play all our cards,” he said softly.
“They might know where he is,” she answered. “If they do, we can cut a deal.”
“I can get you to Zoze.”
“Zoze?”
Peter figured it out. “Zero-One-Zero.”
“Thank you, Mr. Crime, Inc.” Kathryn turned to the girl. “How much?”
“Nothing,” the girl said. “Zoze pays us for bringing in clients.”
Kathryn smiled, impressed and pleased that the rules were so practical. “See?”
The girl had no patience. “Hey, do you chummers want to go or not? I could be breaking stuff!”
“Yes,” Peter called. “Lead on.”
The girl in green led them through the streets of the old Loop. Though Peter realized someone was following them, he decided not to look around for their tail; it wouldn’t be polite.
The girl brought them to the remains of the Carson, Pirie, Scott and Company building. Snowflakes floated among the shattered display windows. Inside the building were no lights; it looked deserted.
“This it?”
“Yup, Just go inside, they’ll take care of you.”
“What about you?”
The girl pointed to a camera mounted amid the intricate grill work on the second floor, and Peter saw the warmth of its electronics and a dim red light blink on and off. “I’ve been logged. Zoze won’t know how much he owes me until he sets up the job. It’s all on a commission basis. Prevents me from trying to roll the rich folks on my own.” She glanced at Kathryn and checked out her clothes, envy shining in her eyes.
“What do you do here?” Kathryn said, her voice revealing both embarrassment and concern.
“Survive. What do you do outside?”
“The same, I guess.”
“But it’s easier than here.”
“I bet it is, too.”
“Nice clothes.”
Peter looked down at the girl. She was small, but wiry, probably as fast as a processor and able to wriggle out of the tightest spots. Nonetheless, he found her severely lacking in what it would take to survive. He’d been a year older than she when he first hit the streets, but he’d had the advantage of a huge body with natural dermal armor. What chance did this gutterpunk have? He’d give her no more than four more years. Tops.
Then he noticed a glint of silver on her temple. Was she a decker? That would certainly give her an edge. Decking was a valuable skill.
Kathryn looked up at him. In the dim light he saw her face plead with him to do something.
What? Adopt the child? As if she’d let him protect her anyway.
“Come on. Let’s get to your fixer.”
“By the way,” said the girl as they stepped toward the deserted store, “you guys looking for a decker?”
“Decker?” asked Kathryn. “One of those computer pirates?”
“Dog, what plane of existence you from, lady?”
“Maybe we will need one,” said Peter. “We don’t know yet, but we’ll keep you in mind.”
“Hey, chummer, you don’t act like most trolls I know.”
“How do you mean?”
“I don’t know… How you speak. It’s better.”
“Thanks. I’ve read a lot.”
“Really? That’s wiz. I just read titles of files and stuff. Breena, my squeeze. She’s a mage. She reads all the time. I like pictures. You ever seen a Soorat?”
“Georges Seurat?” asked Kathryn.
“Yeah, George Soorat. I love his stuff. All dots. Like primitive comp graphics.”
“Did you say you’re a decker? One of those computer pirates?” repeated Kathryn.
The girl placed her hands on her hips, feisty and endearing. “Yeah, me. You got a problem with that?”
“No, she doesn’t have a problem with that.” Peter touched Kathryn lightly on the shoulder and turned her toward the store. “We’ll be in touch. All right?”
The girl smiled. “Wiz, chummer.”
They stepped into the abandoned store. The doors had been torn out years ago, and the snow floated in as Peter and Kathryn entered. When the light from outside died after their first few steps, they stopped walking.
“Now what?” Kathryn asked.
“Don’t know…”
A tight spot of light crashed into his eyes, and Peter held up his hands before his face.
“Yeah?” called a gruff voice. “What you want?”
“I’ve got a client of Zoze’s here,” Peter said, blinded because of the bright light. He was so nervous he wanted to break for cover, to take his gun in his hand and simply face off against an enemy.
“My name is Kathryn Amij. I already have a contract with Mr. Zero-One-Zero, and an emergency has come up. I’d like to have Mr. Zero-One-Zero help me in some other matters.”
“It’s getting late.” The speaker was quite cranky.
“It’s an emergency. I’ve got to speak to him now. People are trying to kill my companion and myself.”
“Well, lemme call up.”
There was a brief pause. Peter heard low whispers coming from somewhere to the right and up. Maybe someone looking down on them from a balcony.
“All right. He’ll see you. Hang on.”
The light remained on and pointed at them. From the right came the sound of someone leaping down steps. Or maybe an escalator. It had a metal sound to it.
A few moments later a voice spoke from no more than three meters away. Peter saw a red blob about a meter and a half tall. “Drop your weapons. All of them.”
Peter reached under his jacket, pulled out his pistol and dropped it to the floor.
“And you.”
“I’m a CEO. Not an assassin.”
Laughter. “All right.” Into the spill of the light walked a dwarf. He picked up Peter’s gun.
“Kill the light!” the dwarf shouted.
The spot went out, and the dwarf turned on a flashlight.
“Hi,” said the dwarf, and he turned the beam under his chin so they could see him. He had a thick white beard, and the low light accentuated his deeply lined face. “The name is Changes, Miss Amij. A pleasure. And you, sir?”
“Profezzur,” said Peter, deciding to keep his identity a secret.
“Very well. If you’ll follow me.” As the dwarf lowered the beam of light, Peter saw it glint off the barrel of a submachine gun, which hung on a strap over the dwarf’s shoulder. The dwarf turned and kept the beam on the ground, allowing Peter and Kathryn to follow him to the base of an escalator. Drops and streaks of dried blood spotted the floor.
Peter thought it odd the dwarf would turn his back on them.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” Changes said. “My men are watching you with low-light scopes. Needless to say… Well, it’s so needless I won’t even say it.”
They walked up the escalator, then went about ten meters forward. The dwarf stopped and said, “Might want to close your eyes.” He stepped behind them and shut thick double doors. Then he pulled out a fist-sized box covered with buttons, pressed one of them, and fluorescent lights flickered on overhead. The three of them stood beside a bank of elevators.
“Better,” said Changes. He turned to Peter and Kathryn, and in a tone that revealed how much he loved to explain things, he told them, “We have the most trouble with the neighbors at night. We’ve found that as long as we don’t leave a trail of light showing them where we hang out, they usually leave us alone.”
He pressed another button on the box and glanced toward the elevator. The doors of one of the elevators slid open. “After you.”