Free Entromancy by M. S. Farzan Page B

Gloric’s screen.
    “Yes, under,” the technomancer said.
    “We’ve been looking for him since the Chinatown incident, eight months at least,” I complained.
    “Maybe that’s part of the problem,” he replied.  “He’s a she.”
    Vasshka “Doubleshot” Lestrage, the monitor had read.  Known only in my circles by her moniker, and wanted in four states for as many auric insurrections.  More likely to answer with pistols than with words.  And she was in Oakland.
    We made our way to the East Bay in the dying light of the afternoon, the western sun backlighting the city behind us and outlining the one hundred and forty-year-old Bay Bridge in auburn fire.  There had been no sign of company following us since we left Gloric’s neighborhood, but the technomancer set up a private gateway to the network for us just in case.
    The gnome’s directions took us off the freeway and through a warehouse district abutting the east side of the water.  Large, steel-girded buildings stood imposingly around us, glimmering warmly in the sunset.  We made our way through them slowly, following Gloric’s instructions to an abandoned train station.  Alina parked us in an empty lot nearby, engaging the SUV’s security systems.
    “Couple of things,” Gloric said as we walked the short block from the parking lot to the station.  His sandals flapped on the asphalt, and he had donned a ridiculously large Giants-themed backpack that bobbed with each step.  “One: address Doubleshot only by her nickname.  She won’t like hearing that you know more about her, or that you learned it from me.”
    We all nervously murmured our assent.
    “And two…” the gnome stopped and looked at me keenly.  “Try to look like you belong?”
    I looked around at the rest of the party, who nodded knowingly. “What’s all this?” I protested.
    “You look like a secret agent,” Tribe said as Gloric turned and resumed walking.
    I glanced down at my outfit, tight-fitting black trousers and shirt under my large overcoat, then at Alina, who snickered not unkindly.  I resolved to keep my mouth shut for the encounter.
    The gnome led us into the station, a deserted concrete building that was eerie and dark in the dying light.  Dusty route maps and departure schedules marked the red- and brown-bricked walls, graffitied almost to the point of being unrecognizable.  A broken set of turnstyles bisected the building, leading off to several sets of stairs and elevators that appeared to be out of operation.
    Gloric took us through the turnstyles and to a small utility door adjacent to the elevators.  The portal was locked by a simple digital code, but the gnome disabled it quickly with a passcode and ushered us into a dank stairwell, securing the door behind us.
    “We’ll take the back way,” he explained, his voice reverberating off of the claustrophobia-inducing walls. 
    We continued down into the bowels of the station, stopping after two flights of stairs at another, more heavily reinforced gate.  The technomancer took a digitab out of his backpack, attempting to unlock the door’s safety mechanism.  After a few taps, the device beeped morosely.
    “This stupid thing,” the gnome said irritably, punching the door with a little hand.  “Always sticks.”
    He put away the digitab and produced a tiny ceridium tablet, glowing blue in the near darkness.  Pinching it between his fingers, he spoke a series of binary numbers, waving his hand in front of the doorway.  The magic left his hands and sought out the locking mechanism, disabling it with a click.
    I felt my eyebrows raise in the gloom.  Technomancer, indeed.
    The gnome pushed open the heavy door with a grunt and led us into a more open space that appeared to be a disused train tunnel.  Two passenger platforms sandwiched several sets of electrified rails, looking ancient but surprisingly clear of debris.  Light and sounds wafted to us from an entryway recessed into one of the