The Paradox Initiative (4 page)

Laserfire cracked behind them.

Green beams flashed past their heads. Kestrel yelped and ducked.

Wolfe
steered Thrix out over the grass, straight toward the ship—

They
swept into its black shadow—and passed beneath the whole ship.

The pounding
thrusters shuddered against them. Kestrel gritted her teeth…

They
bumped down the curb and burst out on the other side.

Wolfe shifted gears—Thrix leaped forward, tearing down the street
, engine howling. Following gunfire ripped the air behind and in front of them.

Fighting the g-force, Kes
trel reached out, slid her hand across the buttons and clicked one switch.

B
zzt!

The protective shield
snapped up around them.

The bike twitched—Kestrel grabbed Wolfe’s wrists.

“What was that?” he barked.

A green bolt
pinged
off the shield.

Wolfe and Kestrel
jerked their heads around—the men kept firing at them.

“Y
ou’d rather get shot?” Kestrel panted.

“No, thank you,” he muttered.
He leaned hard to the left. The engine whined as he wheeled around a corner and sped off down a dark street. Tall lamps blurred together on either side.

The air throbbed again.
Kestrel couldn’t breathe.

And the blinding searchlight
of the ship cascaded over them.

Kestrel, gripping the bars right next to Wolfe’s hands, tried to
glance up over his shoulder—

“Keep your head down,” he ordered.
Then, he swerved to the right, into an unlit alley, and kicked up a fury of dust as he shifted into the
next
gear.

The throbbing lessened. The beam of light broadened. Kestrel felt the ship lift higher into the air.

The alley turned. Wolfe ignored it. He plowed through gravel, clipped between three tall trash bins, flattened an empty carton, hopped down a curb and screamed down a ramp and onto the highway.

The
wide road flooded with lamplight. Kestrel clenched her jaw hard as Wolfe recklessly wove back and forth through the noisy traffic, threading the bike like a needle between bulky, towering cargo transports and low, mean-looking sports fliers. Thrix shivered tightly with every turn and dip and swing. Kestrel glanced down at the glowing speedometer. Wolfe was breaking the speed limitation by thirty miles an hour. Kestrel had
never
driven Thrix this fast.

The distant spotlight still surrounded them in a jarring halo that cut through the other lights—and Kestrel could still sense that low
thud-thud-thud.

And then it grew louder.

The blaring light glinted against every metal surface of the bike. It turned their skin white.

The ship was coming down
on top
of
them.

Kestrel’s breath caught. She turned—her eyes instantly dazzled—

Wolfe braked.

Kestrel
lurched forward.

The spotlight darted ahead.

Wolfe jerked the bars. Thrix reeled to the right, flashed dangerously close to the front end of a low flier, and plunged down an exit ramp.

No sooner had they reached the bottom
than Wolfe wheeled to the
left
and darted underneath the overpass. He screeched to a halt and killed the engine. The shield snapped off. Panting, Wolfe leaned slowly to the side and put one foot on the ground.

Kestrel froze, her heart pounding, her fingers shaking on the handlebars. She blinked, trying to clear her eyes of the spot of white light. Wolfe’s labored breathing pressed rhythmically against her back,
disturbing her hair.

Kest
rel gulped. Out ahead of them, an empty, narrow, dimly-lit street waited. Trash blew across the cracked paving. An orange sign blinked, half burnt out, on a low rooftop.

Wolfe drew in a low breath, then eased
back off of her.

Kes
trel sat up, pulled her left knee up and turned around on the saddle, sitting on her leg and facing Wolfe directly. He leaned back and raised his eyebrows at her. She could see most of his hard features in the dingy light.

“
What
…” she hissed, her voice and fists quivering. “…is
going on?
”

“We don’t have a
whole lot of time—” he started.

“Talk fast, then,” Kestrel countered.
He sighed, glanced away and put his hands on his legs.

“
William Jakiv,” he muttered. “The scientist I was asking about.” Wolfe looked at her. “He’s after you.”

“What?” Kestrel cried. “Why?”

“Because the machine landed in your shop. And then it self-destructed.”

“But that
didn’t have anything to do with me!” Kestrel protested.

“He doesn’t know that,” Wolfe
shook his head. “He thinks he can use you.”

“For what?” she demanded. He gazed at her.

“To get to me.”

Kestrel hesitated.

“You?” she paused. “Why?”

Wolfe shrugged one shoulder.

“I know a couple things about him,” he answered, scooting back and glancing past her. “Things he’d rather nobody knew.”

“Like what?” Kestrel pressed, watching him.

Wolfe returned his attention to her.

“The less
you
know, the better,” he said. “Because right now, your folks
are the ones he’s got.”

Kestrel’s whole gut tightened.

“What will he do to them?”

“
No idea,” he confessed quietly. “But I wouldn’t trade places with them.”

Kestrel shuddered, her body going weak.
She pressed her hand to her lips—her fingertips shook. Wolfe’s voice softened.

“Do you have any idea where Jakiv
lives?”

“
Um…Most scientists live in the Triple Star System,” Kestrel answered.

“The Triple
Star
System…” Wolfe repeated, his tone suddenly distant. He stayed silent for a second, then shifted in his seat. “Where, specifically, in the…Triple Star System?”

“The Gain Station,
” Kestrel murmured, unfocused.

“H
ow long does it take to get there?”

“I don’t know,” Kestrel shook her head. “Maybe
two weeks, by public transport.” She swallowed. “At least, that’s how long it took when I went with my dad…”

Neither of them said anything for a minute. Then, Wolfe leaned toward her. The leather squeaked.

“Listen, Brown Eyes,” he said, lowering his head so he could see her face. “I’ve been hunting for this man for years. He has something that I want, and I
will
get it. But right at the moment, as I’m taking a look around…” he sighed, and shot a glance up the street again. “I think I’m going to need a navigator.”

Kestrel’s head came up. He regarded her plainly,
his grey eyes looking straight into hers.

“I don’t like women as traveling companions because I don’
t appreciate having to take care of them all the time,” he said. His voice firmed. “But if you’ll help me, I give you my word that I’ll help you get your family back.”

Kestrel’s heart leaped—then
tightened as she stared back at him. She lowered her hand from her mouth.

“And I’m…I’m just supposed to trust you.”

He shrugged.

“Don’t have much of a choice. Unless of course you want to try and find them all by yourself.”

“But—But this could be a setup!” Kestrel realized. “You could be kidnapping me to get…Or tricking me into—”

He raised his eyebrows at her.

“Why, Brown Eyes?” he asked. “Are you rich?”

“Um…No…”

“Related to someone important?”

“Not that I know of—”

“Work for the government? Know something top-secret?”

“
No—”

“Do you have some special ability? Like compu
ter hacking or code breaking or walking through walls?”

Kestrel hesitated. He
waited.

“No,” she murmured. He smirked.

“I
do
need you, but just to navigate. I don’t know this area very well. And I’ll return the favor—I don’t imagine you’ve had much experience breaking in and out of places.”

“No,” she whispered.

“Well then,” he said, and watched her.

And
all at once, she answered.

“All right.”

It sounded like someone else’s voice. Kestrel paused, weighed the words, and said them again.“All right.” She held out her hand.

He
studied it for a moment. Then, he grasped her fingers firmly, and shook her

hand.

“Okay, turn around,” he said, letting go of her and scooting forward again. His tone darkened. “And from now on, it’d probably be a good idea for you to keep your opinions to yourself.”

Kestrel faced the front again and straddled the bike
, her pulse jiggering. Wolfe leaned over her back and gripped the handlebars. He pressed the starter. The engine ignited, and with a jolt, they pulled out from under the overpass and into the middle of the dim, grungy street.

“Should I turn on the headlight?” Kestrel asked.

“No,” Wolfe
muttered, swerving around a fallen trash can. He didn’t say anything else. They passed one more block, then Wolfe steered sharply up a drive and right into an abandoned garage. Light filtered through a dirty window from a streetlamp outside. Wolfe cut the power, leaned the bike to the side and slid off. His boots hit smooth cement.

“Come on,” he urged. “We have to ditch it.”

“Ditch…” Kestrel straightened, her hands closing around the warm handlebars. Wolfe stood still. Kestrel stared down at the lightless control board, unable to move.

“
You mean leave her here?” she whispered.

“We don’t have time,” Wolfe warned.

Kestrel’s throat closed. She ran her fingers across the console.

“But…”

“He’s still trying to find us,” Wolfe interrupted. “We have
to keep moving.”

“I’m…I’m
so sorry, Thrix,” Kestrel managed. She slid off and stood on her feet, her gaze lingering across the bike’s smooth lines…

“Come on,” Wolfe said again, turned and walked toward the door.

Kestrel pulled back, turned and strode after him, closing her hands into fists. A deep ache started in her chest and throbbed all the way through her body, and she bit her lip. Her vision clouded. She didn’t say anything.

Wolfe waited for her, then strode on ahead across the street, and onto the cracked, deserted sidewalk.
Kestrel ironed out her steps, keeping up with him. His tall form stayed to her left, near the street, and a little in front of her. Shivers raced across her skin as their feet tapped on the paving. Trash rustled in the gutters. They passed beneath a drooping street lamp, through its sickly light, and turned to the right.

A
low, rectangular building waited at the end of the street. Completely dark, except for a single blue light inside that glared through the tall windows. Kestrel glanced up. At the top of the building perched a leaning, extinguished sign: “
The Half-Mask
.”

Wolfe headed right up to the entrance
. Kestrel got colder with every step. The front door looked like it was made of wood, but all the paint had peeled off. Wolfe hopped up the stoop and shoved the door open. The hinge creaked. He glanced back at her, then past her.

“Stick close,” he muttered
. He turned back and stepped through. She eased in after him.

Their boots immediately crunched on the broken black-and-white tile floor.
They entered a small, square room, shadowed and lit by that one bulb hanging in the far corner. A dingy bar with a long, broken mirror behind it stood in front of them, and up-ended metal tables and chairs lay scattered from one end of the room to the other. Wolfe stopped.

“Huh,” he
commented. “He’s let this place go to the dogs…”

“What is it
?” Kestrel whispered. Wolfe didn’t answer. He just maneuvered around the bar and toward a narrow back door. As he passed, he slid his palm absently over the bar top, his feet scraping against broken glass. Kestrel stayed. Wolfe lifted one hand and pushed on the flaking red paint of the door. The hinges squealed. It opened. He stepped over the threshold and disappeared. The door drifted shut.

Kestrel locked in place
. She looked behind her at the broad windows—the dark, empty street outside…

Silence fell.

Kestrel spun around—strained for any sound Wolfe made.

Heard nothing.

Kestrel charged around the bar, hopped over the broken glass and knocked through the door.

“Shh!” The voice snapped like a match in the dark,
right in front of her face. The door banged shut. She jerked to a stop. She smelled Wolfe again, directly in front of her.

“Quiet,” Wolfe ordered.

“Sorry,” she whispered, her heartbeat thundering.

He said nothing. Kestrel wrapped her arms around herself
. Then, as she listened, she heard what sounded like distant voices, deep down—like the ground itself was whispering. Then, Wolfe’s knuckles rapped on a thin, hollow metal surface.

Tap, tap-tap-tap-tap. Tap, tap.

The voices silenced. Now Kestrel heard Wolfe’s breathing—low, measured. Then, shuffling issued from the other side of the door.

“What’s the occasion?” a deep, gravelly voice
grunted through the metal.

“A
game of chance and a ha’penny in my pocket,” Wolfe answered, just as low.

A long pause stretched
between both sides of the door.

“Naw, it
isn’t…” the other voice mumbled. There was more shuffling, and an odd shout from further away. Grumbling, spitting. Fingers fumbled at a lock. Buttons beeped. Then—

The bolt flew. The door screeched
open. Thin light leaked out, silhouetting a short, fat man with fuzzy cropped hair, leather clothes—and holding a glinting gun.

Pointed right at them
.

Kestrel
’s heart collapsed. Wolfe didn’t move.

“Doesn’t seem polite to greet an old friend that way,” Wolfe canted his head.

“I never seen you before in my life. No idea who you are,” the fat man grunted, then pulled in a raspy breath—and the tip of a thin white stick of his own lit with a bright orange ember.

“Then why did you open the door?” Wolfe countered. The fat man took another pull, then took the stick from his mouth with his meaty right hand. Kestrel ducked behind Wolfe
’s shoulder and gulped painfully.

“Mr. Conrad wants me to ask you what you call yourself,”
the fat man answered. Wolfe remained quiet for a long while. Kestrel watched the back of his head. Finally, Wolfe drew himself up.

“Tell
Mr. Conrad the Lieutenant is here to call in his favor.”

The fat man went still. A curling column of smoke from his stick trailed upward, caught in the beam of foggy light behind. Then, he stepped back, and lowered his gun.

“Come in, Lieutenant,” he growled. “I’ll tell him you’re here.”

Wolfe
stepped down the last two stairs. Kestrel followed. For just a second, she glimpsed the fat man’s face: bearded with dark stubble, his right eye replaced by a robotic one, and a deep scar running across his right cheek.

Then h
is gun jerked up and aimed at her face.

Kestrel’s
hand clamped down on Wolfe’s arm.

Wolfe lashed out and grabbed the ba
rrel, knocking it away from her. The fat man’s attention darted to him, jaw tight. Kestrel reflexively pressed her forehead into Wolfe’s sleeve, trying not to strangle. Wolfe’s fingers tensed around the gun.

“Who’s she?” the fat man snapped.

“She’s with me,” Wolfe said—his deep tone deadly-calm. The fat man’s unnerving gaze flicked back and forth between Kestrel and Wolfe, his jaw working, then he nodded. Wolfe let go of the barrel.

Kestrel
sucked in a shaking breath, then eased her fingers off of Wolfe’s jacket.

The fat man jerked his head,
turned and waddled down the dim, dripping, tunnel-like hallway. Wolfe turned his head minutely back toward Kestrel, then followed the man. Kestrel, her insides trembling, tried to keep up with him.

Along the right hand wall every fifty meters, a weak
, flickering square light hung, casting heavy, stark shadows. Pipes and wires crisscrossed the ceiling like a network of blood vessels.

“You’re being watched from at leas
t five angles,” the fat man warned without turning back to them. His voice reverberated down the corridor. “So go ahead and try something if you want—it’d be funny.”

Kestrel
shivered. All of their booted feet slapped against the wet stone. They turned right, then left, then right again, then left twice, and after that, Kestrel lost track. Which made her sick to her stomach.

But she did notice on
e thing: the walls on either side started to look cleaner, whiter, and the floors seemed drier. Then, when they rounded a corner, semi-bright overhead lights illuminated a colorfully-painted hallway and a single tall door that didn’t have a handle. A little control panel hung beside it on the wall. The fat man stopped in front of that door, turned and faced them.

F
ootsteps echoed from behind. Kestrel spun. Three giant, narrow-eyed, broad-jawed men, all clothed in sharp black and each wearing six weapons, emerged from the shadows and halted.

The fat man raised his hand to his ear and tapped a communicator.

“Sir? Yeah, I brought ‘em.”

Kestrel crept closer to Wolfe
, glancing back and forth between the bouncers and the door. Wolfe stared straight at the fat man and waited. The fat man eyed the two of them, a low, crooked smile on his face.

“Yes, sir,” the fat man said again, r
unning his eyes from Wolfe’s head to his shoes. “He did, sir. He says he’s called the Lieutenant.”

Everyone held his breath.
Silence fell. Kestrel felt the guards lean in.

The smug smile faded from the fat man’s face. His eyebrows
lifted.

“Yes, sir,” he said hoarsely, now meeting Wolfe’s gaze. “I will bring them both in right away.”

The fat man dropped his hand, and leaned his head back, looking at Wolfe down his nose.

“Mr. Conrad says he will see you,” he said. “But if you try anything, you’ll be dead before you hit the ground.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Wolfe answered. The fat man’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t reply. He turned and put his hand to the control panel, and his flying fingers tapped in a ten-digit code. The door released, hissed open—

T
hudding, metallic music pumped out into the hall. Flashing beams of green, red and silver lasers blinded Kestrel, cutting through the dark room ahead. The fat man strode straight in. Wolfe followed him. Bracing herself, Kestrel kept on his heels—

The
seething crowd swallowed her. Kestrel halted. The men—handsome, young, and slick, with serious faces and piercing eyes. The women—gorgeous, hard, fierce, their elaborate hairstyles immovable, and their ears, necks, wrists and fingers dripping with jewels. Kestrel recognized the clothes the men wore: top-of-the-line, designer suits and shoes—all black or white, and slender-cut. The women’s necklines plunged, and the fabric of their dresses glimmered and sparkled in countless brilliant shades. Those nearest Kestrel turned and watched her over their glowing drinks. Their eyes, necklaces and earrings glittered in the erratic light. Some of the men and women swayed back and forth on a center dance floor, many gathered in little groups, talking—but the loud music drowned out their words. Kestrel caught the edge of a sweetly-rotten smell, and that poisonous smoke again.

And now, she could only see the
top of Wolfe’s head in the middle of this crowd of night crawlers. Her mouth opened—but there was no use yelling to him. She darted forward, weaving between two Amazonian women, then pressed as close behind Wolfe as she could, throwing backward glances at the sparkling mob.

Up ahead
, the crowd thinned, and Kestrel glimpsed a brighter area—a clear glass bar, lit from within by rotating yellow and orange lights. The fat man drew closer to it, turned and roughly motioned Wolfe up to the bar. Wolfe paused, then stepped forward and eased down onto a stool, turned and faced a man already seated. Kestrel shifted nearer, and stopped behind Wolfe’s shoulder.

“Mr. Conrad,” the fat man leaned in to the stranger
at the bar. “This is the man who calls himself The Lieutenant.”

The new stranger did not move. The noise of the club faded to the back of Kestrel’
s attention. Then, Mr. Conrad straightened, and turned his face toward them.

He was
good-looking. Perfectly so. He had brilliant, warm blue eyes, sandy-colored hair casually and neatly combed; cultured features; a wry and careful mouth, and quietly furrowed dark eyebrows. He wore all black—a spotless suit with a high collar. He half smiled at Wolfe, shifted his shoulders toward him, and slowly laid an uncalloused right hand down on the smooth bar. A simple silver ring glittered on his little finger. His other hand came to rest on his own knee, elbow turned out. For a long while, he just gazed at Wolfe’s face. Wolfe said nothing. Mr. Conrad took a breath.

“So,” he said, his voice soft and calm, his eyes unwavering. “You’re
supposed to be the one my grandfather told me so much about.”

Wolfe still didn’t answer. Kestrel cautiously glanced at the side of Wolfe’s face. His expression betrayed nothing.
Conrad’s smile broadened.

“I have to say…You look the part.”

“So do you,” Wolfe answered. “But I actually think you take after your grandmother.”

Conrad’s smile faltered. Wolfe raised his eyebrows—and half smiled.

“Interesting,” Conrad murmured. “Would you like a cigarette? Something to drink?”

Kestrel jolted, then bit it back.
Wolfe nodded.