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Chapter 26

Silverfish glanced up as a light blinked on the wall above the console. "Back door. You'd better go check."

"Probably just somebody getting some air. I'll see." Odesta disappeared up the stairs.

Scratching his temple, Silver returned to the work he had laid out on the right-hand screen—a patchwork grid of shorthand coding, littered with icons and cross-references. On the next screen over was a similar layout, but this one was changing moment by moment, as a simulation ran its course. It was frustrating not to be able to coordinate with designers elsewhere; but until they'd redesigned the security of their communications, they had to work independently. In a way, Silver was grateful to Sage for provoking the intrusion; there was no telling how long the Company system had been tracking their activities without their knowledge. At least now they knew.

What he had on the screen was a fragment of the control device that they used to embed their signals in the ubiquitous Company-controlled channels. If they were to have any hope of continuing that practice, they would first have to find a new way to outwit the Company's AI. A little luck would be helpful. They were counting on the system's relative inattentiveness to a minor encroachment upon one of its smaller subsystems. The underground was certainly no threat to the Company. The question was whether the Company's system would see it that way.

Silver fiddled with one of the flags and watched the results on the simulation. He could use Elina's help; she was new, but she seemed to have a flair for this kind of thing. However, she was busy keeping Sage occupied, a job she had been willing—more than willing—to take on.

There was a beep on the left console. It warbled as the security filters ran, and then a message flashed on the screen:

 

READY TO PICK UP YOUR GUESTS TODAY BETWEEN

CRICK AND CRACK, AT POINT BAKER. CAN YOU DO

IT? // G.K.

 

"Ho, our friends are going to move up in the world. Thanks for giving me so much notice," Silver muttered to himself. Well, at least it would take the Sage problem out of his hands—though he still hadn't thought of any way to ensure Sage's silence. They might just have to trust him and hope for the best. He started to type an acknowledgment, then turned at a sound behind him. It was Odesta coming down the stairs. "Our friends are leaving," he told her. "The pickup's in an hour."

"They're going to be short one man," Odesta said. "It appears that young Mr. DeWeiler has flown the coop."

"Oh, Jesus. I thought Elina was keeping track of him!"

"She was. He went to the bathroom and never came back."

Silver spun in his chair and with one pass of his hand cleared all of the screens except for the last message. He quickly typed an answer: "THERE MAY BE A SNAG. PLEASE STAND BY—" and sent it. Then he picked up a communicator, fastened it to his collar, and ran up the stairs. "Keep someone on the console. I'll go out looking."

"We'll search the house," Odesta called.

The music and the vispy holos hit him in the face as he opened the sliding kitchen door. Elina was pacing anxiously among the dancers, searching. She passed Silver, saying, "He was just here." Silver said nothing; Elina was on the verge of tears already, and nothing he could say was likely to help—though what he thought was, Why the hell didn't you watch him? And immediately he thought, What am I blaming her for? I was the one who was supposed to watch him.

He pushed his way through to the hallway and opened the back door. "Bye, bye, goose," he muttered. A set of footprints was visible on the path—be grateful for the mud, he thought—and led around the house. He followed them. The prints took a shortcut out to the street and continued a short distance on the broken pavement before the mud wore off, just far enough to show the direction the person had taken.

Silver nudged his communicator. "Tracks leading toward Western Avenue. Following. Get a message to Katzen. I may need help." He didn't wait for a response, but set out at a trot to try to reconstruct the thinking of a stranger who wanted to find his way out of this neighborhood. Heading in this direction, there were only two ways he was likely to end up walking, and one of them would take him back toward the city. The other would take him into a part of the 'burbs where even Silver hated to go.

 

* * *

 

He really hadn't intended to come this far—and certainly he hadn't meant to enter such forbidding-looking territory. That just made it worse. Sage thought. It meant that he was stupid, as well as scared. What would Tony think of him, stumbling around like this, lost in the slumburbs? His brother had always told him: Develop a nose for the street and you won't get hurt. Well, now it was too late.

The hell with what Tony would think; he had enough problems.

The street looked as though it had been bombed. In fact, it probably had been, in the North-South Conflict a generation ago. A good fraction of the territory destroyed in that war had never been rebuilt; most of the economic regrowth had been focused in the inner cities and out in space. Under other circumstances, this might have made an interesting historical field trip. But just now he was more concerned about figuring out where the hell he was, and how he had so thoroughly lost track of the way back to Odesta's house—and who that man was he had caught sight of a couple of times, who appeared to be tailing him.

There was no sign of anyone behind him now; but there had been someone earlier, a lanky figure momentarily silhouetted against the sky, probably a local prowler, a thief stalking easy game in the ruins. And guess who the game was. The shattered remains of old buildings hulked around him like abandoned citadels. There was no way to know who or what might be waiting in the shadows. And the shadows were growing. The sun was low in the sky—how long had he been out here, anyway?—and soon it was going to drop out of sight altogether. And what was he going to do after dark? It had been bad enough trekking around with Silver, who knew where he was going.

Somewhere there was the roar of a vehicle. The sound died away. Sage peered around, shivering. It was amazing the tricks that light and sound could play with one's senses. Why couldn't he recognize any of this terrain? He had no idea where that sound had come from. His footsteps crunched in the grit, filling the silence, filling a void that was otherwise filled only with a growing trepidation. The air carried a lingering smell of wood smoke now. Someone must be nearby, with a fire. Terrific. What was he going to do, invite himself to dinner? Elina, he thought wretchedly, I should have stayed with you, what a jerk.

What was that? Footsteps, running . . .

He started to turn, and a hand clamped down on his shoulder, and he was snapped around, propelled by terror as much as the force of the grip. Breathless, he found himself face-to-face with a tall, grim-faced stranger—the man who had been following him. The man's nails dug painfully into his shoulder, and he felt a moment of icy-hot tension, and for an instant time slowed.

"What do you want?" he hissed, and as the man's other hand, holding something shiny, moved with dreamlike slowness toward his neck, something let go inside Sage, and his panic transformed itself to rage and he whipped his right arm up to block the man's left and wrenched his other shoulder down, twisting with strength he didn't know he had. The man's grip tightened. Sage yelled and went down, pulling the other on top of him.

His assailant's weight fell hard to one side, breaking the grip, and Sage twisted free like an enraged cat. He whirled and pummeled furiously at the man's face. He might have been punching at a bear, but it was enough to keep the man from grabbing him again. He never saw the foot that caught him in the chest and sent him crashing backward, his head striking pavement; but he rolled and scrambled to his knees, dazed, groping for a weapon. His hand closed on a brick. He looked up, saw the man lunging for him, and swung the brick in an arc. There was a thud, and he fell one way as his assailant fell the other. He pushed himself up and lifted the brick angrily for another blow.

"Don't!" he heard, and someone crashed into him, knocking the brick away and flattening him. He rolled, scrambling to defend himself from this new attacker. Before he could turn completely, he saw the first man rise again, swinging something toward him. There was a crack!, and Sage saw the man crumple to the ground. He smelled burned flesh.

A dark-clothed man trotted toward him, carrying a gun. He bent over the man he had just shot, then straightened up. "Who are you?" Sage gasped, struggling to his knees.

"Who the hell do you think?" he heard from behind. That was the man who had tackled him. Sage turned dazedly. It was Silverfish. Before Sage could react, Silver spoke again, breathlessly, to the dark-clothed man. "What the hell took you so long?" He gestured toward the man who'd been shot. "Is he dead? I was trying to keep this one from killing him." Silver jerked a thumb at Sage. Sage tried to speak, but Silver was already turning away, shaking his head. "Thanks for the trust, kid. Thanks a lot."

Sage flushed, trying to find words. He heard a roaring sound and whirled to see a van landing. Two men jumped out, and at a signal from the man with the gun, they grabbed his arms and began hauling him, none too gently, toward the van. "Silver!" he croaked as he was lifted by the armpits and dumped into the back of the vehicle.

He heard Silver saying, "Take good care of him—he's your problem now!" Then the door slammed, sealing him in darkness. He banged loudly and angrily on the door—and stopped because his head already felt as though it had been split with a hammer. There were several more jarring vibrations, and he fell to the floor as the van lurched, thundering, into the air.

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Framed