An enormous polygon of lasers surrounds a series of metal cells, stacked beside and atop one another like so many storage crates. The gaps between the lasers measure no more than a couple of centimeters. It stands on this lonely street, looking like a dungeon ringed with fire out of a fairy tale, one of the old, scary ones. Few vehicles go by, and those that do travel at top speed. Nobody wants to look at this thing for long.
“So get this,” Virginia says. She’s reading up on the Marshalsea, staring down at the dataread while Noemi and Ephraim gape at the prison itself. “Turns out this was a prison, like, five or six hundred years ago. Then they got rid of it, and for a long time this was a pretty fashionable neighborhood, but it started getting run-down about two hundred years back. So about a century ago, they wound up building a new prison on the exact same spot. But the old one was just, like, for debtors or something. They used to put you in jail for owing money—crazy, right? But this one is maximum security.”
“No kidding,” Noemi says, staring at the lasers.
“I know this won’t be easy.” Ephraim speaks slowly, with gravity. He turns and stares at Noemi as if he can will her to stay just by looking hard enough. “But remember what I said about debts of honor. You can’t pay them off easily. It has to cost you something.”
“I owe you that debt,” Noemi agrees. “I’m ready to pay it.”
Virginia holds up one hand. “I’d like to point out that I owe a debt of honor to exactly no one.”
Although Ephraim winces as though she’s given him a headache, he says, “Virginia, if you don’t like it, you don’t have to do this.”
“Actually, yeah, she does. Otherwise we don’t have a chance.” Noemi turns to Virginia, hands clasped together in front of her. “You can get us in there, right? Turn off some of the security?”
“Of course I can. I’m a Razer, aren’t I? No code out there I can’t raze.”
Temporarily distracted, Noemi smiles. “That’s where the name comes from?”
Virginia smacks her forehead. “I didn’t tell you? They’ll throw me out for this—”
“If we could concentrate,” Ephraim says quietly.
A vehicle speeds by and they all fall silent, as if the passengers would otherwise hear them. Noemi shrinks down, afraid of being observed—but what’s the point? Neither human nor mech guards surround the perimeter of the Marshalsea; the tech provides all the security Earth needs.
Or it did, until Virginia Redbird came along.
As the vehicle disappears around the curve, both Noemi and Ephraim turn back to Virginia, who sighs. “I’m mostly doing this because it’s going to be flash as hell, but for what it’s worth? You both owe me ‘debts of honor’ after this. Got it?”
“Got it,” Noemi promises. Ephraim nods, so solemnly that she’s reminded of the elders back home.
Although Noemi doesn’t feel good about breaking a terrorist out of prison, she’s not doing it for Riko herself. She’s doing it for Ephraim and the other members of Remedy who wouldn’t stoop to Riko’s tactics—the ones who might yet prove to be worthy allies to Genesis.
The sound of grinding metal makes them all jump. Noemi wheels around to see that the individual cells in the prison—the connected pods—are moving. It shifts configuration, shuffling the cells into an entirely new array. Of course, she thinks. That makes escape attempts harder.
“Is that going to keep happening?” Virginia ventures.
“My guess is yeah.” Ephraim runs his hands over his close-shorn hair, clearly torn between fear and exasperation. “That makes this harder, I guess.”
“No, it doesn’t.” A smile begins to spread across Noemi’s face. “Because there’s a pattern to how they move.”
Virginia’s stare would be funny under any other circumstances. “And you know this how?”
“Because this is just like the pods on Wayland Station.” She nearly memorized the pattern that long first night, when Noemi lay awake for hours, unable to relax with a mech by her side—
—her heart aches for a moment, remembering Abel. How useless all her fear and suspicion was. If she could go back to that night, she’d stay up until dawn, talking to him until she ran out of things to say, though she can’t imagine running out of things she’d want to talk about with Abel—
Her thoughts are derailed by Ephraim. “So we figure out the pattern. But that only does us so much good if we don’t know which cell our target’s in.”
Virginia holds up her hands, wiggling her fingers like a magician proving there’s nothing up his sleeve. “Leave that to me.”
The process turns out to have nothing in common with a magic show. From the bench where she’s slumped on one corner, Virginia spends at least an hour making contact with the prison’s security system, another hour muttering random things at the dataread she’s working with. “If it’s not that pathway, and not that one, then I have to knock over here—”
During those hours, Noemi and Ephraim do the long, tedious, and necessary work of remaining in the shadows. Half the time, they’re keeping an eye out for the human guards that do exist, but they’re lazy, complacent, expecting no trouble, and thinking nothing of the young people idling around on the sidewalk. It’s hard for Noemi to imagine anyone on Genesis being so careless; after decades of war, her people know to remain cautious at every moment. Earth’s wealth and peace have made it go slack.
Not that her thoughts don’t wander once or twice. She’s standing on planet Earth, and even the dull, joyless neighborhood around the Marshalsea contains oddities that fascinate her: architecture in different styles, from different centuries, all in the same jumble of buildings mashed together wall to wall. The various styles of clothing worn by the people who stroll by, so varied it’s hard to believe they’re all from the same planet, much less the same city. Artificial lights gleaming brilliantly in the dark, all along every street, because Earth residents seem to consider day and night mere states of mind.
The other half of the time, she and Ephraim watch the cell pods move. For a long time she thinks there’s no pattern at all; maybe there wouldn’t be, in a prison, where pure randomization might work best. But after a while, they see it: concentric rings, turning clockwise or counterclockwise in turn, with cells slowly being pushed to the outer rim and drawn back in again.
“We’re not going to have more than one or two chances to catch Riko’s cell near the ground,” Noemi says to Virginia. “Not tonight, anyway.”
Ephraim never turns away from the Marshalsea. “Doesn’t matter. We can come back here every night, for as long as it takes.”
Five days. The deadline could be a noose tightening around Noemi’s throat. That’s how long she has to stop the Masada Run. If it comes down to her debt to Ephraim versus her duty to protect Genesis, she has to choose her home. But how could she abandon Ephraim as a fugitive, on a world he doesn’t even know, without so much as a ship to call home?
But Virginia brightens. “We’re in luck, guys. I think I see our way in. She’s in cell number 122372, which is headed toward the perimeter in about three minutes.”