The assignment was pretty straightforward when they explained it to her: Set up a safe house in case she needed to go to ground and assemble an emergency kit for the place. Everything had to fit into the cardboard shoebox they provided to her, and she had the resources of Division and a small budget to acquire what she thought she might need. Twenty-four hours, Cobb told her, and that was generous. Get it set up, and report back to the Tower. Lu Strand would hook her up with her funds, and if she wanted documents, she should see Jarvins or Dean. And what was she doing standing there staring at him? Get going.
She got going.
The location took her the longest. She bought time to think by signing out her cash and picking Strand?s brain. It was Saturday night ? did S.P.I. have an armory? Would they assign her a spare sidearm? She laid the charm on a little thick, and played the ?I?ve only worked here an hour and a half? card, but it got her a small semi-automatic and two clips. If she was on the run, she reasoned once that was settled, she might need to port out of the city. So she spent a little time with Dean, as well.
~ ~ ~
The last time she?d been down that street, she?d walked there from the inn with Simon the night he arrived. It was a homey little neighborhood just inside the borders of WestEnd, an unlikely mishmash of brownstones, bodegas, laundries, restaurants and bars. Many of the businesses had apartments in the upper floors of the buildings. There were always a few storefronts that operated around the clock, so she wouldn?t look out of place there if she showed up at an odd hour.
They?d had coffee that night at a diner called The Pearl, a little mom and pop place that looked like it dated back to the beginnings of the seaport. It was tiny and worn, but clean and warm. And the food was good. The owner was a fellow nicknamed Rocko by the locals. It was fitting, as there was something of granite in his looks. But he ran an honest place, and didn't stand for "nonsense" as he called it.
It was someplace familiar and a little comforting. She and John used to eat there a lot back when there was a she-and-John. It was a haven for anyone wanting coffee, or pancakes, or a good sandwich and a bowl of hot soup.
And Rocko had been trying to let a small apartment over the restaurant off and on since they?d been coming there.
The door chimed as she stepped into the caf?.
?Hi, honey!? Dot, the red-headed waitress swarmed over from the counter, throwing a warning point of her finger to a pair of dockworkers hunched over bowls of stew as she did. ?Bill Day and Harvey, don?t you think I don?t see you messing with that salt shaker!?
?All by yourself? You want to sit at the counter or a table?? She turned back to Harper, all smiles.
?No, really, I was just wondering if Rocko was around tonight? I wanted to ask him about that apartment upstairs.? She glanced past her toward the kitchen pass-through, to see if she could spot him at the grill.
?Really?? Dot seemed about as dumbfounded as it was possible for her to be. ?No one ever wants it because he asks so much for it, this part of town. Says he does it to keep the riffraff out, but I think he really doesn?t want anyone up there.?
?Is he here?? Harper persisted.
?Sure. He?s in the storeroom. Hang on.? And Dot left her standing there with another shout of ?Billy Day!? at the counter.
Thirty minutes later, it was done. She didn?t have a lot of storage at her place, she had explained, and wanted someplace she knew was safe to keep some clothes and a few other things she didn?t have room for. The fact that she was a regular helped. The fact that she paid the asking price in cash settled it. As she left The Pearl, she pocketed the key to her new flat.
~ ~ ~
By the next afternoon, she?d moved in a second-hand daybed and a little fridge she?d bought at the flea market, and had carted over a half-dozen big boxes of odds and ends from her parent?s storage locker that they were unlikely to miss ? mainly old coats, extra blankets and Christmas decorations. Nestled inside one of them was a nondescript cardboard shoebox. It had been duct taped shut, with the roll of tape left hanging on the side. On the inside bottom of the box, she?d scrawled a three-word question in black permanent marker.
The box contained:
- A t-shirt and pair of cargo pants, rolled tight and rubber banded (3 bands)
- A small handgun and two extra clips
- Five port orbs to various locations on Terra designate ER1.
- A number of passports from representative countries of ER1 under a variety of aliases, with her photo
- Local currency in coin, and three cred chits
- A copy of a key to the storage locker where she kept her camping gear and motorbike.
- A book of matches
- A razor blade
- A multi-tool pocket knife
- An unopened packet of disposable contact lenses
- A small bottle of aspirin
- An epi pen
- A pocket first aid kit
- An energy bar
- A solar-powered radio
- A data key disguised as a school eraser
On the bottom of the box was scrawled, ?Did I pass?? The dot under the question mark was a little heart.
She got going.
The location took her the longest. She bought time to think by signing out her cash and picking Strand?s brain. It was Saturday night ? did S.P.I. have an armory? Would they assign her a spare sidearm? She laid the charm on a little thick, and played the ?I?ve only worked here an hour and a half? card, but it got her a small semi-automatic and two clips. If she was on the run, she reasoned once that was settled, she might need to port out of the city. So she spent a little time with Dean, as well.
~ ~ ~
The last time she?d been down that street, she?d walked there from the inn with Simon the night he arrived. It was a homey little neighborhood just inside the borders of WestEnd, an unlikely mishmash of brownstones, bodegas, laundries, restaurants and bars. Many of the businesses had apartments in the upper floors of the buildings. There were always a few storefronts that operated around the clock, so she wouldn?t look out of place there if she showed up at an odd hour.
They?d had coffee that night at a diner called The Pearl, a little mom and pop place that looked like it dated back to the beginnings of the seaport. It was tiny and worn, but clean and warm. And the food was good. The owner was a fellow nicknamed Rocko by the locals. It was fitting, as there was something of granite in his looks. But he ran an honest place, and didn't stand for "nonsense" as he called it.
It was someplace familiar and a little comforting. She and John used to eat there a lot back when there was a she-and-John. It was a haven for anyone wanting coffee, or pancakes, or a good sandwich and a bowl of hot soup.
And Rocko had been trying to let a small apartment over the restaurant off and on since they?d been coming there.
The door chimed as she stepped into the caf?.
?Hi, honey!? Dot, the red-headed waitress swarmed over from the counter, throwing a warning point of her finger to a pair of dockworkers hunched over bowls of stew as she did. ?Bill Day and Harvey, don?t you think I don?t see you messing with that salt shaker!?
?All by yourself? You want to sit at the counter or a table?? She turned back to Harper, all smiles.
?No, really, I was just wondering if Rocko was around tonight? I wanted to ask him about that apartment upstairs.? She glanced past her toward the kitchen pass-through, to see if she could spot him at the grill.
?Really?? Dot seemed about as dumbfounded as it was possible for her to be. ?No one ever wants it because he asks so much for it, this part of town. Says he does it to keep the riffraff out, but I think he really doesn?t want anyone up there.?
?Is he here?? Harper persisted.
?Sure. He?s in the storeroom. Hang on.? And Dot left her standing there with another shout of ?Billy Day!? at the counter.
Thirty minutes later, it was done. She didn?t have a lot of storage at her place, she had explained, and wanted someplace she knew was safe to keep some clothes and a few other things she didn?t have room for. The fact that she was a regular helped. The fact that she paid the asking price in cash settled it. As she left The Pearl, she pocketed the key to her new flat.
~ ~ ~
By the next afternoon, she?d moved in a second-hand daybed and a little fridge she?d bought at the flea market, and had carted over a half-dozen big boxes of odds and ends from her parent?s storage locker that they were unlikely to miss ? mainly old coats, extra blankets and Christmas decorations. Nestled inside one of them was a nondescript cardboard shoebox. It had been duct taped shut, with the roll of tape left hanging on the side. On the inside bottom of the box, she?d scrawled a three-word question in black permanent marker.
The box contained:
- A t-shirt and pair of cargo pants, rolled tight and rubber banded (3 bands)
- A small handgun and two extra clips
- Five port orbs to various locations on Terra designate ER1.
- A number of passports from representative countries of ER1 under a variety of aliases, with her photo
- Local currency in coin, and three cred chits
- A copy of a key to the storage locker where she kept her camping gear and motorbike.
- A book of matches
- A razor blade
- A multi-tool pocket knife
- An unopened packet of disposable contact lenses
- A small bottle of aspirin
- An epi pen
- A pocket first aid kit
- An energy bar
- A solar-powered radio
- A data key disguised as a school eraser
On the bottom of the box was scrawled, ?Did I pass?? The dot under the question mark was a little heart.