while, when I was a kid. Before I came down here to live with Grand-mère.” She shrugged. “I’ve never really missed it.”
They’d passed through the farms and olive groves, the vineyards and suburbs, and were swooping into the heart of Toulouse when she heard Wolf respond.
“I haven’t missed it either.”
* * *
The sublevel of the maglev station was obnoxiously bright as they descended on the escalator, the fluorescents overcompensating for the lack of sun. Two androids and a weapons detector were waiting at the bottom, and one beeped the second Scarlet’s feet touched the platform.
“Leo 1272 TCP 380 personal handgun detected. Please extend your ID chip and stand by for clearance.”
“I have a permit,” Scarlet said, holding out her wrist.
A flash of red. “Weapon cleared. Thank you for riding the European Federation Maglev Train,” said the android, rolling back to its post.
Scarlet brushed past the androids, and found an empty bench just off the rails. Despite half a dozen small, spherical cameras orbiting near the ceiling, the walls were scribbled with years of elaborate graffiti and the ghost images of torn concert posters.
Wolf claimed the seat beside her, and within moments his frenetic energy had started up again. Though he’d left space in between them, Scarlet found herself attuned to the fidgeting fingers, jogging knees, shoulders rolling out their kinks. His energy was almost tangible.
Scarlet was exhausted just from watching him.
Trying to ignore him, she dug her portscreen from her pocket and checked her comms, though nothing but junk and ads had come in.
Three trains came and went. Lisbon. Rome. West Munich.
Scarlet grew anxious, and didn’t realize that her own foot had started tapping to the same beat until Wolf placed the pad of a finger against her knee.
She froze, and Wolf instantly pulled away. “Sorry,” he whispered, gripping his hands together in his lap.
Scarlet had no response, unsure what he was apologizing for. Unable to tell if his ears had just gone pink or if it was the flickering lights from a nearby ad.
She saw him let out a measured breath before, without warning, Wolf stiffened and whipped his head toward the escalators.
Instantly on edge, Scarlet craned her neck to see what had startled him. A man in a business suit was passing through the detectors at the base of the escalator. He was followed by another man in torn jeans and a sweater. Then a mother guiding a hovering carriage with one hand while checking her port with the other.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, but the words were drowned out by the blaring speakers, announcing the train to Paris via Montpellier.
The strain in Wolf’s muscles fell away and he bounded to his feet. The track’s magnets started to hum and he went to join the other passengers rustling toward the platform’s edge. The unease had already vanished from his face.
Scarlet hefted her bag onto her shoulder and glanced back once more before joining him.
The train’s bullet-nose glided past, a blur at first before coming to an easy stop. In one fluid movement, the cars lowered themselves onto the track with a clang and the doors all down the train hissed open. Androids deboarded from each car, their monotone voices speaking in unison. “Welcome aboard the European Federation Maglev Train. Please extend your ID for ticket scanning. Welcome aboard the European…”
A weight released from Scarlet’s chest as the scanner passed over her wrist and she stepped onto the train. Finally, finally she was on her way. No more standing still. No more doing nothing.
She found an empty privacy room with bunk beds and a desk and a netscreen on the wall. The car had the musty smell of rooms sprayed with too much air freshener. “It’s going to be a long trip,” she said, depositing her bag on the desk. “We can watch the net for a while. Do you have a favorite feed?”
Standing just inside the room, Wolf looked from the floor to the screen to the walls, trying to find new places to land his eyes. Anywhere but on her. “Not really,” he said, crossing to the window.
Scarlet perched on the edge of the bed, able to make out the flicker of netscreens on the glass, highlighting a collection of fingerprint smudges. “Me either. Who has time to watch it, right?”
When he didn’t respond, she leaned back on her palms and pretended not to notice the sudden awkwardness. “Screen, on.”
A panel of gossip reporters were seated around a desk. Their empty, catty words flew in and out of