The City Outside

Chapter 2

Two

As Grace stepped out of the building and onto the brightly lit street, a surreal sensation of non-reality washed over her. This was like a dream. This wasn’t happening. Why in the world would someone believe she’d committed a crime?

“We have to keep moving,” Heron said. He was staying close to her side, his arm hooked with hers. It was his momentum, more than hers, that kept them moving forward. “They’re tracking AI, aren’t they? They’ll follow you wherever you go until I can erase your bio-signature.”

Her steps faltered. “Erase my bio-signature? Heron, we’re not criminals.”

“You’re not,” he said, taking her hand and pulling her into the flow of foot traffic. “I break at least five laws before breakfast every day.”

Her heart hammered in her chest, the oblivion of her mind stammering its disbelief over and over again. This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. I’m not being hunted like some lawless fugitive. I’ve done nothing wrong. I’ve done nothing—

And the world around her seemed so normal by comparison. Laughing children walked between their parents up the sunny sidewalks. White CityRides bustled past them, rushing off to unknown destinations, those beetle-like autos moving swiftly, a choregraphed dance. The rose-gold buildings shimmered with late-morning light. Greenery fluttered in a light breeze.

Everything is fine. Everything is fine. This is just a misunderstanding.

But she had her doubts. She’d dealt with this level of disbelief before. When she’d left the hospital, one of her arms replaced, half of her body scarred and her family dead—she’d been consumed by disbelief then as well.

It took her mind a long time to accept that she wouldn’t open Kaiden’s bedroom door and find him playing, his mess of curly hair swaying as he laughed. That she would come home and her husband wouldn’t be there to wrap his arms around her, to put a drink in her hand, ask her about her day.

As they approached the first CityRide stop, Grace slowed, but Heron tugged her forward. “We can’t take public transport.”

“We can’t walk all the way to my house, Heron. It’s kilometers away!”

“I know. I’ve ordered my auto. But have you forgotten who owns CityRide?”

Who owns CityRide?

Alabaster Khan.

Hell, if Grace was going to navigate the city without touching anything Alabaster Khan owned, it would be one hell of day.

“He could lock the auto or override its destination. They could bring you straight to the jail, or drive you into a building. So no, we’re not taking a CityRide,” Heron said, his eyes frantically searching the street for something.

“Then where are we walking to?”

“I just need somewhere private where I can redo our bio-signatures. But all these buildings are bio-sealed. Damned if I won’t do it in a back alley if I have to.”

She noticed that he hadn’t let go of her, and he was forcing her to keep pace with him.

“Ah, there! You see that bot shop? It’s anarchist. We can do the redesign there. Come on.”

Grace’s lenscape lit up with an emergency ping with the constable’s stamp on it.

“Ezra is pinging me,” she said.

“Don’t open—!” Heron began, but it was too late. Grace had already accepted the video message.

“Grace, where the hell are you?” Ezra began, their eyes sharp and mouth hard set.

“I better not tell you,” Grace said. “But do you care to explain why the hell there were jailers sent to the precinct this morning? You would’ve had to approve them.”

“I didn’t,” Ezra said. “Whoever sent those went over my head to the commissioner. I requested an audience with him immediately, but he’s dodging my calls.”

“What else can you tell me?”

“What the warrant says, so you can start working on your story now.”

“You need to hang up,” Heron said, tugging her across the street as the pedestrian walkway lit up. “Someone could be using this call to pinpoint your location. Your communications or Ezra’s could be compromised.”

Grace knew he was right. “Speak fast, Constable. I need to end this call as soon as possible.”

“The charge is terrorism. The warrant cache includes all Davion’s records and activities. It’s been made clear that he stole over thirty million dollars—”

“Thirty million!” Grace swore.

“—from several of our wealthiest corporations, and he forged visas for thousands of illegal immigrants. It also argues, circumstantially, that these immigrants are terrorists burrowing into our zone for the purpose of civil war. They’re arguing you were radicalized by your husband, and your recent investigations, such as the one against Viscosity, Inc., along with the sanctions against Khan’s holdings are serving as evidence that you want to destabilize the zone, that you work with this network.”

“This is insane,” Grace said.

It was true Davion had forged visas, but he’d done it to rescue starving, desperate families. And it was true relocating these families had required funds Davion didn’t have access to, so he’d stolen the money, a little here, a little there, hoping it would go unnoticed.

It was noticed.

“I know,” Ezra said. “But I told you when you took down Viscosity that there would be repercussions. And then you went after Khan.”

Grace couldn’t deny it.

Ezra had warned her the wealthy and powerful wouldn’t like being challenged. But what was Grace supposed to do? Look the other way while powerful companies destroyed lives?

No. No fiber of her being could’ve allowed that.

“Grace,” Ezra said. “If they catch you, I will fight for you, but it doesn’t look good. You know that, right? The chances of you getting shackled to the Midnight Train are—”

“Hang up now,” Heron said. They’d stopped under an awning outside the bot shop.

“Ezra, I have to go.”

“Okay. Please be safe, Grace. Please.”

No sooner did the call end than her lenscape lit again, notifying her of the incoming Informed Citizen bulletin report.

The foot traffic on the street slowed, people coming to a stop up and down the avenue before their lenscapes were overtaken by the incoming report.

Attention, citizens, this is a law enforcement bulletin. We are attempting to locate and apprehend a wanted person.

Grace’s face flashed on her lenscape.

“s**t,” Heron hissed. “I didn’t expect the bastard to use the bulletin report, though I shouldn’t be surprised.”

No, you shouldn’t be, Grace thought. Because Alabaster Khan owned that too.

“Cover your face,” he demanded. “Just for a minute.”

She did as she was told, her face in her hands as he dashed to the kiosk on the corner. But this didn’t block out the bulletin as it continued to play on her lenscape.

Commander Grace Buteo is wanted for terrorism. She is considered dangerous. Do not approach. Notify the authorities if you see Commander Grace Buteo within your vicinity. Again, do not approach. Notify the authorities.

“Commander Buteo,” someone said as they passed Grace where she leaned on the wall, her face covered. “No way. Didn’t she stop that IED explosion?”

“How can she be a terrorist? She saved our lives that night.”

A shadow fell over Grace. “Ma’am, are you all right?”

“She’s fine, she’s fine,” Heron called. “My sister just has a fever. Please back away.”

The shadow that had fallen over her did move away. Grace wasn’t surprised—since the C. auris epidemic that had ravaged their zone years ago, people remained skittish of anyone ill.

They never knew if the next outbreak was around the corner.

“Put this on,” Heron said.

Grace lifted her head slowly to see Heron was blocking most of her body with his. She became hyperaware of where their bodies touched.

He fitted the filtration mask over her face, covering her nose and mouth.

“It won’t hide the scars,” she said, her voice muffled. Anyone would recognize the burn scars along the right side of her face.

“That’s what these are for.” He slipped sunglasses over her eyes and tugged a hat down over her head. “They didn’t have gloves though. You’ll have to keep your hands in your pockets.”

She inverted her lenscape to have a look at herself. She looked…ridiculous.

Like someone deathly afraid of the sun. Better that than the alternative, she supposed.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he said, tugging her toward the front door of the robot repair shop. “But I just need to get us past the technician inside so we can use one of their blackout rooms. You only have to wear this for five minutes. Tops.”

“Just goes to show you never know,” a woman was saying to her friend as she passed. “I thought we finally had a good commander. Ugh. Politicians, every one of them.”

Grace’s heart clenched. How could they think that? How could they believe she was a terrorist after all she’d done—after all she’d lost?

Heron squeezed her arm. “Come on.”

Together, they went inside.