donât inhale while the cigarette is lit.â
Six examined the cigarette doubtfully. âWhat would happen?â
âAssuming you donât choke on the beacon?â Jack said. âThe melting EVA, the heated Teflon and the burning end of the tube all release toxic gases. If you inhale them, youâll get tumours in your mouth, your throat and your lungs, and probably cardiomyopathy and hypoxemia or hypercapnoea as well.â He shrugged. âBasically your heart and respiratory systems will become purely decorative. Just like what happens with normal cigarettes, except instantly. Youâd be dead in maybe thirty minutes.â
âWonât this look weird?â Six asked. âHardly anyone smokes anymore.â
Jack raised an eyebrow. âIf youâve got a better way to disguise a blowpipe, Iâd like to hear it. Iâve also put a pin in your right trouser pocket for picking locks, and a flashbang in the left pocket. Thatâs a stun grenade, which ââ
âI know what a flashbang does,â Six interrupted. âAnd even if I didnât, the name would make it pretty obvious. Flash, bang. Stop wasting my time.â
âItâs only small,â Jack said, ignoring him, âbut it should disorient an enemy combatant for ten or twelve seconds. Just donât look at it after you throw. It has a two-second fuse.â
Six pocketed the cigarettes, the phone and the bag of beacons. There was a strap of black cloth in the jacket pocket. He stared at it.
âThatâs a bow tie,â Jack said, rolling his eyes. âLet me do it.â
Six lifted his head and stared at the ceiling while Jack fiddled with his collar.
âAll done,â Jack said. He held up a multicoloured bunch of handkerchiefs. âDo you know what colour dress Ace will be wearing?â
âWhy?â
Jack stared, like it was obvious. âSo you can pick a matching kerchief!â
Enough was enough. âJack, itâs a mission, not a high-school dance,â Six snapped. âJust give me the white one.â
âFine. But when youâre at the party and youâre looking great, just remember that you could have looked
spectacular
.â
Six sat down in the makeup chair. âGet on with it,â he said.
Since learning about the telomeres in his DNA that could keep him alive forever, Six had been thinking about luck.
He didnât normally think of himself as a lucky person. Heâd been created in a world with toxic air and no sun. His parents were a mad scientist and a murderous corporation. Every single day for as long as he could remember, people had been trying to hurt or kill him.
But he was aware of the fact that many times in his life, nothing more than random chance had stood between himself and oblivion. And every time so far, chance had been on his side. There had been thousands of opportunities for his life to be snuffed out, and heâd walked away from each and every one.
His problem was that once you start to believe in luck, you start to worry about it running out.
Kyntakâs office door was up ahead. Six pushed it open. âHi,â he said.
Kyntak was sitting in his chair in an old pair of jeans and a crinkled T-shirt. The slogan on the front read:
Who are you calling self-obsessed? (Itâs me, right?).
He appeared to be typing on his computer, but Six suspected he was playing videogames.
âMost people knock,â Kyntak said. He didnât seem surprised that Six looked ten years older and was wearing a tuxedo.
âYour doorâs never locked,â Six replied. âAnd whenever I knock, you tell me to go away because youâre busy, then I come in anyway. Iâm just saving time.â
Kyntak grinned. âYouâre taking efficiency to a whole new level.â
âRight.â
Kyntak tapped a couple more keys and switched off his monitor. âYou on your way somewhere?â He gestured
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