Dayton swerved around the corner into the alley and ran past two trashcans, which he knocked over without slowing. Just as he had gained about twenty meters, two peacekeepers with buzzing light-sticks rounded the same corner, almost stumbling over each other. They were seriously messing up this thirteen-year-old’s plans. He got a running jump, clinging onto the wire fence, and swung himself over with some ease, but not before losing five whole meters of his gain on the men. His old converses slammed against the concrete on the other side. A flash smacked into the ground next to him and charred the ground with a crackling of electricity. He sped up. He heard a loud swooshing, fizzing noise behind him - one of the cans! But it was too late now.
He turned around to see one of the peacekeepers holding the charge button on his light-stick. The man cocked his arm back and swung the stick back around like a Frisbee, letting go of the button and releasing a streak of white light hurtling straight for Dayton. The boy ducked behind a dumpster, careful not to touch his bare skin on it. There was another sound of crackling, this time ringing with metal. The dumpster grated against the ground a full twenty centimeters. Behind him, the sound of the fence shaking and two men’s grunting echoed up to him. Dayton hurriedly stood back up and started running for the other end of the alley. The drop-off point was two streets away; he might have to circle around a few streets to lose the bruise before giving his contact the package, namely, the backpack full of soda.
One of them shouted at Dayton in Nicolian, the language of the New Order of the United Nations, and a course he had often skipped out on before dropping out of the Formal Education program altogether to make his living delivering illegal stuff, which, after a recent law, was largely made up of carbonated drinks. The reason carbonated, and also caffeinated, drinks were banned was because people became addicted to them and it damaged their intellect or something. His parents kicked him out a few months ago, but he was doing better on his own.
Albeit moments like these. But he was prepared for most stuff, best of all every peacekeeper’s standard weapon. As soon as Dayton turned the next curve, he whipped his bag around and pulled out a mirror. That’s right, a mirror. Physics - or what he knew of physics - told him the bolts were just flashes of light pressed into itself until it acted like electricity. Experience agreed.
Dayton heard another shout. As he glanced over his shoulder, one of the men had raised his arm over his shoulder again, and swung it back in front.
It was all about timing.
The streak of light flew down at an angle, than began to curve back up towards Dayton, like a freakishly fast curveball. He swung the mirror like a tennis racket and ricocheted the light back. It arched over and smacked the officer in the face. The man shouted in pain as he slid backward a full meter on the soles of his feet and fell back on his seat, bowling over the second officer in the process. Dayton resumed running, knocking over another trash can behind him.
The first peacekeeper was down and out, but the second one recovered easily and rolled right back onto his feet. The drop off was only another street corner, where a staircase would be hugging the side of the brick wall facing the street, going down to a door into a lazy café. His contact would be meeting him in the booth next to the bathroom, where he’d be paid one hundred Euros in exchange for the two twelve-packs. Well, he’d now be deducted 3.34 for the one that escaped his backpack. No problem, it was fine as long as he got the fifty he owed Biggs and some for food tonight.
It was time to decide: maze out a few more streets or break for the café now?
He chose now.
He came to the next corner, and slowed down from hesitation. Something pulled at his mind: go left, take a detour. But that would just waste time. He went right, and vaulted over the wrought-iron fence into the 3-meter drop. The landing sprawled him across the pavement, the shock running up and down his body in a neural mess. The scuffing of footsteps told him the officer had just rounded the corner. Every part of his body ached like hell, but he managed to slide over against the cold, and without screaming his lungs out. The police officer barely glanced over the side, apparently thinking that although some kid would never have dared a jump like that, he should at least check to say he did.
He didn’t notice Dayton, and continued running.
Dayton tried to stand up, but something in his back stopped him, so he bent over and tried again, slower. The dull ache contemptuously and patronizingly allowed this movement. He straightened himself and walked toward the café door.
The interior was dark. Smoke lingered in the air. Holographic candles mounted in threes on the walls hungrily flickered in purples, greens, and blues. Orchestrated, living shadows moved back and forth continually. In the back was a counter on which ten or so items were scrawled in glowing white chalk. Men, women, and teenagers in black gothic apparel walked around, smoked, talked, or remained silent – in fact, very few people were actually eating or drinking. Most of the few that glanced up at him from their business returned to it just as quickly. Most of them. One teenager, a burly nineteen-year-old boy in all black, gave him a business-as-usual look. He was sitting in the booth next to the restroom, as had been agreed. Dayton casually gripped the strap of the backpack and approached him with what he hoped was disinterest.
The meeting wasn’t quick and easy. Dayton dropped the backpack forward onto the table and, with both hands, unzipped it to show the goods: twenty-three cans of Power Cola. Burly dude, whose name Dayton was pretty sure was Tank, growled and got a good fistful of shirt from under Dayton’s neck, pulling his face down so they were eye-to-eye.
“I may have missed math class, but I can tell the difference between twenty-four and twenty-three.”
Dayton stayed calm and collected. Boy, this kid really was big… and angry…
“Yeah, eh, sorry about that. I got caught up with the police.”
“You led the bruise down here?!” He roared. At the mention of the infamous peacekeepers, the other patrons of the café slinked into the dark corners, leaving the out and open area for Tank to use as a boxing ring, if need be.
“No, no-no-no, he walked right past this place, I swear. They don’t suspect this place at all, at least on my account. Lemme go!” He was losing his cool, and being held at this angle wasn’t doing any good for the pain in his back from falling onto concrete. “I said, let me go!”
Tank obliged, and zipped the backpack up again. He then lifted up an envelope, pulled out a fiver, and handed the rest to the scrawny kid across the table. Five was overcompensating, but Dayton kept his mouth shut. He knew it when he had been blessed with life.
Dayton nodded.
Just as he turned around, the door of the café ripped open, casting penetrative light throughout the room. Everyone shrunk back as far into the darkness as the physical walls would let them. Dayton took a step back into the table, and Tank stood up next to him. Practically yanked his arm right out of his socket.
“You!” He roared, and cranked his large fist back. Just as he was swinging it forward, though, another hand grabbed him by the wrist band wrenched it back. Tank fell to the floor and groaned. The peacekeeper smacked him in the face with a light-stick that seriously burned his cheek.
“Imma get you, Dayton!” Tank screamed after Dayton as he sprinted for the door. “Imma get you good!” Dayton slammed past a startled peacekeeper and knocked him to the ground. The man cracked his head against the wall, splitting his black and white helmet, and lay unmoving. Dayton pulled the light-stick from the man’s hand and ran up the stairs. He slipped it into his pocket and felt the envelope next to it. casually clawed his hair straight. The pain in his back had subsided. That happened when your body got used to all the roughness of running and chasing.
Today’s action was enough for a while. He had enough to buy food for a week, and he had to lay low anyway. they were close enough in the café that they were probably going to continue looking for him. Besides, he was going to need all the energy he could muster the next time he made a run like this, because, he knew it from experience, the impulse would return with more vigor than ever before.
Dayton smiled to himself as he stepped into the street and became one with the crowd. He had the feeling the impulse would come very, very soon.
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