be reversed without a lengthy process of appeal. Go ahead and try. It'll take only two weeks, and maybe you can change somebody's mind, though I doubt it. I wish you luck, young - "
An iron hand gripped Jas's shoulder. Involuntarily he cried out. The woman smiled. "Do you have him, officer? Very well then. Out."
The screen went blank.
The iron hand turned Jas around to face the man. Jas looked behind his eyes.
Amusement. That warm feeling of success. "You've been leading us a merry chase, boy," the man said.
Jas smiled weakly. "Tag I'm it?"
It worked. The man smiled back. "You're from Rockwit?"
"I'm from Capitol. But I know the game. I studied it."
"Then I'll feel a little worse turning you in. How did you guess I was from Rockwit?"
I saw it in your mind, of course, Jas thought. But he said, "Your accent."
"That bad, huh?"
"I study accents. It's a hobby."
"Accents and archaic games," the man said. "Come along now, boy. I don't know why, but somebody important wants you real bad."
Radamand, then. No one could call Hartman Tork important. But Jas went along peacefully enough. No sense struggling and increasing the man's vigilance. Just wait for an opportunity.
The opportunity was the commuter traffic in the tubes. The rush hour was starting, and as with commuters in all times and places, the signs saying enter and exit were regarded as mere decoration. Those getting off the tube rushed out, making rivulets around those struggling forward to get on. Of course there were dozens of people who stopped, greeted each other, blocked traffic - others, caught in the rush, desperately trying to reach a destination different from that of the crowd that swept them along. Three times a day the shifts changed, as the night boroughs, morning boroughs, and afternoon boroughs in each district lived their separate and rarely interconnecting days.
In the shoving and elbowing at the door, Jas lurched into the secret policeman who was holding him, then tripped and fell, ripping his shoulder painfully away from the man's hand. Someone tripped over him; someone else stepped on his leg; the crowd pulled Mother's Little Boy away from Jason. In a moment friendly hands helped Jas to his feet, and he began moving away in the crowd.
"He's cut!" shouted the security policeman. "Get him!"
He's cut? Jas realized as he threaded through the crowd that the security policeman wasn't alone. There had been more of Mother's Little Boys close enough to call to. Who?
For a moment Jas tried identifying people as they passed, before they came near him, but he couldn't - it was too dizzying, darting from mind to mind. And moving that quickly, impressions became vague, too fleeting to catch.
A hand grabbed at his hip. Jas lurched away. Again the hand was stronger than he expected, and pulling away took so much force that Jas fell to the ground. Someone stepped on his hand, hard, and Jas cried out in pain, but pulled his hand out from under the heavy boot. Blood leaped from torn - open veins, but Jas ignored it, scrambling to his feet. Hands reached for him. He swerved away, ducked, and then spotted a break in the crowd, ran through, and shoved his way into the mass of people piling up around the station doors.
Now the crowd that had helped him escape helped Mother's Little Boys to catch him. Where the people had been moving fast, his small size let him dodge through much faster than the police could. But with the crowd moving slowly, shoulder to shoulder, his small size was a disadvantage. He couldn't shove people out of the way, and Mother's Little Boys could. In a moment rough hands gripped him everywhere, and he was lifted off the ground and tossed into the air. When he came down there were six men around him.
He panted for breath. So did they. They looked angry. Wary, too, waiting for Jas to try something, to move. Jas didn't move. Blood dripped from his hand.
"What do you guys think I am?" he finally said. "Six of you to take a thirteen - year - old kid?"
The one who had first caught him smiled. "For a minute there, we were wishing for an even dozen."
"Well, you've got me," Jas said, still panting from the chase. "What now?"
But they just watched him, and the exhilaration of flight and pursuit gave way to the despairing knowledge that he was, indeed, caught, and there was no way