Free Railhead by Philip Reeve

stayed on Santheraki, Bhose could have taught him. But Ma’s fears caught up with her, and then Myka’s factory went over to Motorik labor and she lost her job. The Starlings packed their lives into their plastic suitcases and took wing again, leaving Santheraki in the pink of a winter dawn, refinery flare-off shimmering in the mudflats, a long silver train taking them through the K-gates to Cleave.
    *
----
    Zen had not thought much about his old dreams since then, except to stop and wonder sometimes at what a fool he must have been to have had them, and to feel guilty about never saying goodbye to Ashwin Bhose. But there in Desdemor, as he got ready for this job of Raven’s, the memories of those acting lessons came back. He started to enjoy himself. Partly it was the space and the quiet and the clean air of the place, all treats for a kid from Thunder City. But mostly it was the old thrill of dressing up and turning into someone new.
    *
----
    He spent each day in Desdemor preparing for the role of Tallis Noon. At dinner time he usually ate with Raven, and Raven made him stay in character, asking him what sights he’d seen on his way to meet the Noon train, what route he’d taken. Sometimes Raven took off in the
Thought Fox
on his mysterious travels, and then the Motorik were Zen’s dinner companions—Nova, Carlota, and the hotel’s physician, a dignified old Moto called Dr. Vibhat. They weren’t much help with Zen’s rehearsals. Nova was the only one who noticed when he made mistakes, and she seldom bothered to correct him. When Raven was there it was tougher, and Zen rose to the challenge, enjoying the game.
    “And how are things at home, Tallis? How is your aunt Kalinda?”
    “Still breeding those pterodactyls of hers. She found the genetic template in the deep archives. Uncle Bhasri says he’s glad she has a hobby, but they’re ruining the hanging gardens.”
    “Not bad, Zen. But you should work on your accent.”
    Zen worked on his accent. He worked on his look, too. He had a haircut from the hotel barber, and got Dr. Vibhat to alter his earlobes, which had been slightly larger than Tallis Noon’s. He wore his new clothes every day, and even slept in them sometimes to crumple the newness out of them. He slung them on the floor, and crammed them into the battered traveling bags, which Nova fetched for him from the Terminal Hotel’s lost property room. He wore them while he lounged on the hotel sofas, reading the texts that Raven gave him, watching the vids and holos, filling his head with the history of Golden Junction and the life and times of Tallis Noon. He dropped the fancy headset off his balcony and ran down to check that it still worked. It did: when he fitted it back under his hair and pressed the receiver against his temple, Nova’s voice came whispering through the bones of his skull. When he double-blinked to activate the visual feed it transmitted images straight from his eyes to her clever mind.
    “How are the clothes?”
she asked.
    Zen looked down at himself. Smartfiber trousers and the toes of his cherry-red boots. It felt odd to know that she was seeing what he was seeing, as if she were a passenger in his mind.
    “Still too smart,” he said. “Let’s go to the beach.”
    *
----
    So they went together, through the maze of Desdemor’s canals, past dead shops and silent hotels. Each path they tried took them to another beach. Seaweed hung like bunting on the ornate railings of the promenades. Stairways led down into wave-slopping caverns, which, at low tide, became more promenades, automatic pop-up cafés unfolding from the ground like flowers. Zen liked the green-gold light, the clear air, the ocean. He even liked the Motorik girl padding along ahead of him, pointing out the sights.
    He’d grown used to Nova. He’d even caught himself thinking sometimes that she was sort of pretty. He had squashed those thoughts fast—Zen Starling wasn’t one of those sad, strange, lonely types