Free Sparks in Cosmic Dust by Robert Appleton Page A

cufflinks. He opened the security gate. As an emergency exit, it wasn’t locked from the inside.
    Varinia slowed him down behind the holo-show, snuggled up to him, arm in arm, then started to laugh. Fake. Smart girl. He copied her, shielded her from the reception desk, and even stole behind a gaggle of smogged-up sleaze-heavers along the wall. No sooner had they reached the sun-drenched pavement outside when Varinia tugged him not left, to the safety and anonymity of the central tier, but right, back toward El Oso Negro.
    “What are you doing? That asshole hit the alarm. We need to get lost.”
    “Give me five minutes.” Her radiant resolve and focused glare were impossible for him to deny. “In, out, I promise. All the clips I have left are in there.”
    He jogged alongside her. “How much did Delaney give you?”
    “Nothing,” she said. “Not a single clip.”
    Even through his pragmatic armor the blow struck and resounded. Without her fortune, this was going to be a dicey game spent in hiding. They wouldn’t be able to afford their shuttle fare, and he’d spent a big chunk of his wages already. The majority of their fugitive fund, then, would be what Varinia had stashed away in El Oso Negro.
    “How much have we got?”
    She shook her head emphatically. “Less than I promised.”
    “What does that—”
    She threw her arms in the air. “How should I know? I never counted my tips.”

Chapter Six
Grace Peters
    “You said you stayed here before? What were you…smogged?” Varinia pinched her nose as she approached what had to be the dingiest hotel she’d ever seen or smelled in her life. Formerly a multi-story freight hangar, it looked as though its top had been ripped off and the proprietor had simply thrown a tarpaulin roof over the thing and called it a hotel. Cody’s was everything Varinia had heard about it and much less besides.
    “Man, and I thought it was a dive back then ,” Solomon said. “Two years is a long time. At least the price hasn’t gotten worse. Half a clip a cot. Even we can ante up that much, can’t we?”
    Not funny. She’d absconded from El Oso Negro with several thousand clips’ worth of tips—far more than they’d expected. But he was right—this was the last place Archie Delaney would look for her. She punched his arm playfully then nudged him ahead of her, saying, “Whatever happens to me, I want to see it happen to you first.”
    “You’re welcome.” Deflecting ne’er-do-well glances from the indigenous foyer bums, Solomon dropped two half credits into the turnstile slot. Varinia glimpsed her reflection in the dirty kiosk window. Her tacky Mackintosh coat and hood and her baggy jeans made her look like a fat hiker, while the handfuls of soil Solomon had “borrowed” from the greenhouse now covered her face and jeans. She was every inch the grid-licker he’d wanted her to be. And it felt safe. Anonymous. Despite daubing his cheeks with soil, Solomon had only needed to wear his trusty orange mining jacket to fit right in. Oh, and she’d ruffled his hair a little as well.
    He wagged two fingers in front of the old man in the kiosk, who fetched two folded-up blankets and pear-shaped pillows. Disgusting, ill-stained things. Better than nothing…barely.
    “Come on,” Solomon whispered. “Keep your head down, stay right behind me. I’ll look out for you.”
    “Deal.”
    Moisture leaked though the tarp roof onto flaked-out guests who didn’t seem to care. Beds stood inches above the floor, which resembled a chalky subway station with acne. The disused monorail track running in a gulley through the center of the hotel had once carried freight to and from shuttles. Now the only thing it carried was a nauseating whiff of sick. Eight or nine metal sheets bridged the gap, though she reckoned half the regulars here wouldn’t be able to cross the Golden Gate Bridge with a compass. Umpteen hollow oil drums housed fires for the various garrulous cliques scattered