THOUGH he was breathing harder than he had ever done before, the air refused to enter Jack’s burning lungs.
He flicked a glance over his shoulder. They were still being pursued.
Zarius was ahead, arms slapping against his sides and tailcoats fluttering. Despite his ungainly form, the larger man moved effortlessly along the concourse. Jack lurched after him as he glided between vending stations and pockets of toned, expensively-dressed shoppers.
Their elegant attire made his own shabby garments even more conspicuous. It also made him remember how much he hated Zarius, his blundering ways and inability to blend in. Most of all, he hated his childish curiosity.
It was why they were once again being pursued.
The younger man had not wanted to go into the store. Days had already been wasted walking the districts and concourses of the sprawling silver city, taking food and shelter wherever they could. And yet, his cousin’s uncontrollable curiosity had led them to finally seek shelter inside the one of the cool hangar-like buildings, one which boasted a multitude of shops and market stalls.
Jack watched uneasily as Zarius fingered the leather-bound diaries and platinum tipped fountain pens – relics of another time collected by only the most refined aficionados, men and women of quite extraordinary means. Even Jack, with his expensive tastes, gawked at the discretely-sized prize tags.
Who could have blamed the city wardens for approaching the two awkward foreigners – Jack unwashed, bedraggled and wearing the same clothes he had left Europe in almost a month ago. Zarius – who had begun to paw the most expensive of the luxurious velum notesheets – was in full morning dress, black tailcoat, complete with a brimmed cylindrical hat. A close-up examination revealed neither man had a bracelet between them.
One warden, who amply filled his yellow blazer, forced its way between the sorry pair and the display cabinet, fingering his sick spray.
Zarius opened and closed his mouth like an actor trying to remember his next line, drowned out by the guard’s thundering glare. Long seconds of uncertainty collapsed into themselves. Then without warning, Zarius’s round mouth let forth a scream, as he turned his back and ran. It occurred simultaneously to Jack and the warden – that his companion was still holding the exquisite notebook he had been examining. The teenager turned and ran.
Suddenly they were fugitives in Media, the biggest city in the Recovered World.
The entrance was up ahead. Tinted double doors bore the force of the midday sun. Zarius was first to trigger the mechanism. The furnace blast of air struck them like a physical force as they left the climate-controlled complex.
They were on a platform high above the streets, Jack guessed about the thirtieth level but couldn’t be sure. Bubble-lined moving walkways crossed above and below them crisscrossing through the gleaming towers – stretching out of the city into the far reaches of the desert.
Men in djelabes talked about the latest chess game, women with young children chatted as they were overtaken by a group of teenage girls in Western jeans and T-shirts. Conservatively-dressed businesswoman whose few concessions to Western tastes were handbags with glowing electric jewels or bracelets mounted on diadem-style crowns.
After a week of exploring the vast city, Jack was slowly getting used to the way the rollertubes worked.
The six walkways were side-by side – the first always at walking pace, the next somewhat faster, and the next even faster still. If one was in a hurry, they simply stepped onto the next platform. To exit, simply hop from the fastest belt to the slowest and then the stationary sidewalk.
Jack, who had been told at school of this unique system, built at the height of the city’s blackwater wealth. The pedestrian system had been built at the pinnacle of Media’s excess when credits were as abundant as the sand surrounding the desert capital. Anything could be, and was, built.
At first Jack liked the platforms little better than he enjoyed his first few days on The Peregrine. But Zarius was ecstatic and would have spent the entire day travelling up and down the city, leaping on and off the belts in an unnecessarily exaggerated manner, had Jack had not pointed out their more pressing needs.
The giant transparent tubes stretched as far they could see in all directions, linking the business district with the Media centre and with the coastal hotels and apartments.
Wasting no time, Jack leapt with his cousin over to the fastest platform – quick almost as a thoroughbred at full gallop - but sensed they were still not in the clear. The guards, their skins limned with sweat, had stopped at the doors panting for breath.
The famous towers of Media, the silver lines of carriages and freight below shimmered past in a blur. Soon they were fast approaching one of the main intersections at Eagle Tower, its glass panelled wings a prominent landmark. Lower floors were taken up with department stores and the upper section was air-conditioned office blocks use by an array of impressive-sounding tenures which Jack had never heard of.
If they dismounted now, they could seek refuge in the building or travel east or west on an inland-bound connection. With only moments before the reached the junction, Zarius spoke. He sounded still giddy from their chase but seemed to sense Jack’ thoughts.
“Towards the sea is best.”
Jack nodded dumbly. It was the best place to lie low for a while. Two days further they would have to wait before their new bracelets were ready. At least, that is what their friend Ibn Nahim had promised.
The tinted glass wings of the eagle tower spread across the sky, as they rolled ever-closer inside the plastic tubing. Jack peered through the window, making out the tiny figures of clerks and suits, moving listlessly inside.
What could they be doing inside? Media was a city that needed no industry in any case. It had more money than could ever be spent. Blackwater found underneath the desert in the final years before the energy crisis had made the city rich beyond the wildest dreams of its kings – bringing in more credit over those few crucial years than could ever be spent.
The annual interest on their vast accumulation far outstripped the outer limits of their most exorbitant spending sprees. Floating mansion ships with their own gardens, ice palaces in the desert kept intact by vast cooling units, vast chess stadiums which could seat a hundred thousand. No project was too extravagant. But the roller network had been the jewel in city’s crown. Its platform could transport a person one from outskirts to centre in a third of the time as a carriage.
Lost in his thoughts, Jack shook himself as the saw the men at the junction ahead. They wore the same blue blazers as the ones they had just escaped. It would be only a few seconds before the conveyor delivered them into their hands.
Without speaking the fugitives acted as one – leaping onto the middle platform, then to the slowest. Zarius was first onto the intersection, deftly avoiding the nearest guard as he lunged forward, before darting towards the building entrance with astonishing speed.
Jack made for the eastern-bound platforms. Again a guard tried but failed to lay hands on him, his fat fingers missing by just a hair’s breadth.
In the next rollertube, hundreds, perhaps thousands, of people stood patiently in line along one of the main routes through the city. Jack almost stopped short before jumping onto the first conveyor, stunned by the sheer width and length of the concourse. Columns of people sped at different speeds into an unseen vanishing point. There were eight belts on each side, those on the fastest lines moved at astonishing speeds – faster than a thoroughbred at full gallop. In such a crowd of people, it might be possible to lose himself. The thudding footsteps and bellowed orders reminded him he could not think too far ahead. He buried himself in the clump of bodies, leaping from one platform to the next, speeding ever faster as he moved up the climates.
Even in the microclimate of the tunnel, he could feel his hair, wilder and more unkempt than at any time of his life, bristling as he sped away from the Eagle
Tower. But his pursuers had anticipated his move. One guard had already reached the fastest platform. Jack looked around to see the burly blazer and a clean-shaven head supported on thick shoulders ahead of him. The guard jumped unsteadily onto Jack’ platform and aimed a silver canister, about the size and width of a tea can at him. Jack had barely time to move onto the next platform when the mist of fine particles wafted past him. He gagged as the mist filled his nostrils, stinging his sinus and causing him to heave his stomach dry. Sick spray. It was banned in most countries but clearly not here.
He lifted his eyes up in time to see the guard, a vicious delight flickering on his face, cross on the platform behind the boy who was coughing violently on his hands and knees. The silver aerosol was now just inches from his face. He heard the click and hiss, as the button was fully depressed. Then, a scream of frustration as the guard realised his elementary error. The speeding platform pulled his bulky figure through the cloud he had just released. He inhaled deeply; there was a violent heave as his body reacted to the gas. Jack was untouched.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN