That was the rule. You only worked there until you were eighteen; after that you found another job.
“You worked at a factory?” she asked. “For how long?”
“Nine years or so,” I said. “Weapons factory, actually. Made guns for Enforcement.” Some understreeters, particularly the older ones, grumbled about how the Factory exploited children for labor. That was a stupid complaint, made by old people who remembered a different world. A safer world.
In my world, people who gave you the chance to work in exchange for food were saints. Martha saw to it that her workers were fed, clothed, and protected, even from one another.
“Was it nice?”
“Kind of. It’s not slave labor, like people think. We got paid.” Kind of. Martha saved wages to give us when we were no longer owned by the Factory. Enough to establish ourselves, find a trade.
“It was a good place to grow up, all things considered,” I said wistfully as we walked. “Without the Factory, I doubt I’d have ever learned to fire a gun. The kids aren’t supposed to use the weapons, but if you’re good, Martha—she ran the place—turns a blind eye.” More than one of her kids had gone on to work for Enforcement.
“That’s interesting,” Megan said. “Tell me more.”
“Well, it’s …” I trailed off, looking at her. Only now did I realize she’d been walking along, eyes forward, barely paying attention. She was just asking things to keep me talking, maybe even to keep me from bothering her in more invasive ways.
“You’re not even listening,” I accused.
“You seemed like you wanted to talk,” she said curtly. “I gave you the chance.”
Sparks, I thought, feeling like a slontze. We fell silent as we walked, which seemed to suit Megan just fine.
“You don’t know how aggravating this is,” I finally said.
She gave me a glance, her emotions hidden. “Aggravating?”
“Yes, aggravating. I’ve spent the last ten years of my life studying the Reckoners and the Epics. Now that I’m with you, I’m told I’m not allowed to ask questions about important things. It’s aggravating.”
“Think about something else.”
“There is nothing else. Not to me.”
“Girls.”
“None.”
“Hobbies.”
“None. Just you guys, Steelheart, and my notes.”
“Wait,” she said. “Notes?”
“Sure,” I said. “I worked in the Factory during the days, always listening for rumors. I spent my free days spending what little money I had buying newspapers or stories off those who traveled abroad. I got to know a few information brokers. Each night I’d work on the notes, putting it all together. I knew I’d need to be an expert on Epics, so I became one.”
She frowned deeply.
“I know,” I said, grimacing. “It sounds like I don’t have a life. You’re not the first to tell me that. The others at the Factory—”
“Hush,” she said. “You wrote about Epics, but what about us? What about the Reckoners?”
“Of course I wrote it down,” I said. “What was I supposed to do? Keep it in my head? I filled a couple notebooks, and though most of it was guesswork, I’m pretty good at guessing.…” I trailed off, realizing why she looked so worried.
“Where is it all?” she asked softly.
“In my flat,” I said. “Should be safe. I mean, none of those goons got close enough to see me clearly.”
“And the woman you pulled out of her car?”
I hesitated. “Yeah, she saw my face. She might be able to describe me. But, I mean, that wouldn’t be enough for them to track me, right?”
Megan was silent.
Yes, I thought. Yes, it might be enough. Enforcement was very good at its job. And unfortunately, I had a few incidents in my past, such as the taxi wreck. I was on file, and Steelheart would give Enforcement a great deal of motivation to follow every lead regarding Fortuity’s death.
“We need to talk to Prof,” Megan said, towing me by the arm toward where the others were walking ahead.
9
PROF listened to my explanation with thoughtful eyes. “Yes,” he said as I finished. “I should have seen this. It makes sense.”
I relaxed. I’d been afraid he’d be furious.
“What’s the address, son?” Prof asked.
“Fifteen thirty-two Ditko Place,” I said. It was carved into the steel around a park in one of the nicer areas of the understreets. “It’s small, but I live alone. I keep it locked tight.”
“Enforcement won’t need a key,” Prof said. “Cody, Abraham, go to this place. Set a firebomb, make sure nobody is inside, and blow the entire room.”
I felt a sudden jolt of alarm, as if someone had hooked up my toes to a car battery. “What?”