starlight, the mock-stone edifices of Block 22 took on a disturbingly Gothic air. Huddled pigeons, or illegal windowboxes decimated by acid rain, served as gargoyles, and the blue shimmer of unseen TV screens animated the interiors of the rooms, creating strobing patterns of movement and shadow.
There was movement on the other side of the street, and noise. She slowed; but, even through the grubby glass of the SideRide tunnel, she could see what the couple in the alley were up to, and they were having far too much fun to worry about a traffic violation.
Squeezed between child-curiosity and adult-prurience, Jude found herself blushing.
By the time she passed the imposing front doors of Block 22, the jeering Volunteers had fallen silent.
Sheâd broken the law by now, covered more than 125 yards, but there was no one around to bother her, and she wanted to leave no room for doubt or denial. If she walked to the next entrance, two stops from her starting place, sheâd have covered an indisputable 200 yards, and she could ride back home in triumph, past the chastened gang members.
She should issue a challenge of her own as she passed. Get something in before they had a chance to belittle her achievements, turn the tables â
Fingers closed around Judeâs upper arm. Her feet went out from under her as hands clawed her into a recessed doorway.
She fought upright, kicking out against shadows, consumed by panic. Adult-self thinking: face it, stray pre-pubescents got raped to death in alleys without the residents batting a eyelid even on ordinary nights, and out alone on Frost Night she was just asking for it, didnât have a chance â
As a hand tried to clamp an inhaler mask on her face, she pushed sideways in the suffocating grip. It loosened, very slightly. Not enough to get free, but this was only stage one. Panic overcoming all thoughts of dental hygiene, she leant forward and bit down hard on the thin, ulcerated wrist.
The skin broke. Someone screamed like a kicked cat and, gagging, Jude wormed free and ran for her life.
The mask clattered out onto the pavement in front of her, and she had the presence of mind to kick it away, into the decorative border of litter edging the SideRide track. Black market clinics would fill those with anything you asked for: sedatives, muscle relaxants, will suppressants, whatever fell off the back of a military truck this week.
She didnât stop to look back until she reached the steps of the next SideRide entrance.
The doorway was empty.
Breathing hard, Jude trudged up the steps to safety.
âLooks to me, young lady,â said the woman on the opposite track, âlike youâve had rather a fright.â
Jude looked up at her.
She was about thirty, but since regening had really started to take off, you couldnât rely on that. Smartly dressed, too; silk overcoat and real leather shoes, too smart for the Bankside. Which meant she was police. Or an educational investigator. Maybe a God-squad type, the sort her mother had trained her never to open the door to.
Any of which meant trouble. But she was on the southbound track, exactly where Jude needed to be. No way home without riding along behind her. And Jude didnât really feel like hanging around out here, not any more.
âIâm fine,â she said. Stepping onto the nearer track, the northbound one. Dawdling as she crossed it, so the relative motion of the tracks put some distance between them.
But the moment she stepped aboard, some fifteen feet behind her interrogator, the woman turned, weight poised on one foot like a model, and asked indulgently, âOf course, your mother knows youâre out?â
âBeen to see my dad.â Pulling a wry face, she added, âAccess visit.â
That usually shut adults up. Sheâd discovered early on that they all hated talking about absentee parents, usually with a vehemence in inverse proportion to how many they actually
There was movement on the other side of the street, and noise. She slowed; but, even through the grubby glass of the SideRide tunnel, she could see what the couple in the alley were up to, and they were having far too much fun to worry about a traffic violation.
Squeezed between child-curiosity and adult-prurience, Jude found herself blushing.
By the time she passed the imposing front doors of Block 22, the jeering Volunteers had fallen silent.
Sheâd broken the law by now, covered more than 125 yards, but there was no one around to bother her, and she wanted to leave no room for doubt or denial. If she walked to the next entrance, two stops from her starting place, sheâd have covered an indisputable 200 yards, and she could ride back home in triumph, past the chastened gang members.
She should issue a challenge of her own as she passed. Get something in before they had a chance to belittle her achievements, turn the tables â
Fingers closed around Judeâs upper arm. Her feet went out from under her as hands clawed her into a recessed doorway.
She fought upright, kicking out against shadows, consumed by panic. Adult-self thinking: face it, stray pre-pubescents got raped to death in alleys without the residents batting a eyelid even on ordinary nights, and out alone on Frost Night she was just asking for it, didnât have a chance â
As a hand tried to clamp an inhaler mask on her face, she pushed sideways in the suffocating grip. It loosened, very slightly. Not enough to get free, but this was only stage one. Panic overcoming all thoughts of dental hygiene, she leant forward and bit down hard on the thin, ulcerated wrist.
The skin broke. Someone screamed like a kicked cat and, gagging, Jude wormed free and ran for her life.
The mask clattered out onto the pavement in front of her, and she had the presence of mind to kick it away, into the decorative border of litter edging the SideRide track. Black market clinics would fill those with anything you asked for: sedatives, muscle relaxants, will suppressants, whatever fell off the back of a military truck this week.
She didnât stop to look back until she reached the steps of the next SideRide entrance.
The doorway was empty.
Breathing hard, Jude trudged up the steps to safety.
âLooks to me, young lady,â said the woman on the opposite track, âlike youâve had rather a fright.â
Jude looked up at her.
She was about thirty, but since regening had really started to take off, you couldnât rely on that. Smartly dressed, too; silk overcoat and real leather shoes, too smart for the Bankside. Which meant she was police. Or an educational investigator. Maybe a God-squad type, the sort her mother had trained her never to open the door to.
Any of which meant trouble. But she was on the southbound track, exactly where Jude needed to be. No way home without riding along behind her. And Jude didnât really feel like hanging around out here, not any more.
âIâm fine,â she said. Stepping onto the nearer track, the northbound one. Dawdling as she crossed it, so the relative motion of the tracks put some distance between them.
But the moment she stepped aboard, some fifteen feet behind her interrogator, the woman turned, weight poised on one foot like a model, and asked indulgently, âOf course, your mother knows youâre out?â
âBeen to see my dad.â Pulling a wry face, she added, âAccess visit.â
That usually shut adults up. Sheâd discovered early on that they all hated talking about absentee parents, usually with a vehemence in inverse proportion to how many they actually
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