Chaos Space - Marianne de Pierres [58]
Rene turned back to him, her hair slipping around her shoulders, releasing wafts of her personal scent. ‘There are politic police on the street!’ She reached out for him, their argument suddenly dismissed.
But Thales avoided her embrace and brushed past her to locate the uniformed bodies and purposeful gait. ‘Something happened in a kafe klatsch in Kantz: a misunderstanding. Now they have found me but I will explain it—’
Rene clutched his wrist. ‘I fear they will not listen to anything you say. That is why I am here. Trouble has nested in you and laid its eggs. They will not let go.’
Thales felt the sharp edge of an object against his skin, pressing into his palm. A Gal identity clip.
‘Leave Scolar. This will assure that you have money wherever you are.’
‘You want me to leave!’ His heart folded in pain. ‘You want rid of me.’
She pulled his hand to her mouth and kissed it.
He felt the wetness of her spilling tears but shock prevented him from moving. Leave Scolar without her.
‘I wish many things, dearest Thales, but the most desperate of those is that you are alive . . . have a chance to live. I-I am not sure what I believe now but I know that the Sophos do not trust you and that I cannot protect you.’
Thales wanted to return her kiss then, finally. To take her shaking hands and clamp them tight against him. ‘Rene, I.. .’
‘Please, Thales.’ Her voice was hoarse beyond emotion—it was an order. ‘Leave now. Find your truths.’
He took the identity clip and jammed it in his pocket. ‘What good is the truth,’ he said harshly, ‘when you and I will not share it?’
Rene raised her head, her tears and emotion in check now. She reached down to a small pack resting against her legs. ‘There will be someone ... I have packed you some things. You must leave the rest and go.’ She handed it to him, then turned away and peered through the window. ‘They are at the entrance. You will need to leave by another route.’
Thales pushed open the window. The street was empty now. The Brown Robes were already in the building. He climbed out onto the slated roof and slid down to the guttering. He looked back at Rene one last time before he jumped—but already she had become indistinguishable from the shadows.
Thales ran to the closest conduit and entered a busy carriage on the up-station line, using Rene’s clip to pay. The press of bodies was comfortingly familiar. If he concentrated on them he could pretend for a few moments that he was on his way to the upashraya and that Rene was at home, working on her treatise. He clung to the self-deception, but as quickly as it had settled on him it evaporated.
He was running from the politic: running from Amaury Villon’s murderers. The prophet’s words were like a bleeding cut in his hindbrain. He used them to try and form a plan. He needed a destination.
But Thales was not used to making decisions. Rene had always been his guide. She had told him to leave. But to go where? To do what?
Fool! He chastised himself. Fool of fools for not knowing myself! What should I do?
As the conduit disgorged its passengers into the sprawling terminal, Thales let himself drift amid the throng. He searched the outbound displays for something that resonated but every destination was somewhere too far from Rene.
He wandered further, past the elevator walks and gleaming shopfronts that lined the exit gates, along the less salubrious rows of moneylender booths, finally settling at a drab kafe where he ordered a chocola drink and lard-chips.
The boost of sweet nutrition raised his spirits a little.
When he had finished he gave the attendant his clip to pay.
The despondent fellow shook his head. ‘Not here, Msr. Damn things cost more to process than it’s worth. You give me lucre.’
‘But I have none,’ admitted Thales. ‘Can I offer you some service to pay for my drink and food?’
The attendant shook his head. He reached for his