Page 109 of Jump or Fall
“Are you Silvers?”
Mara and Gordon stood with raised hands.
Gordon answered, “No.”
“Prove it!”
He extended a hand, rotating it to show his fingers were free of implants.
“That doesn’t mean shit and you know it.”
Gordon dropped his hands, tilting his head incredulously. He glanced at Mara, then pulled off his helmet and stepped forward.
“How many fucking Silvers walk around looking like this?”
The group relaxed, but the helmeted one kept his gun up. “What about the girl?”
Gordon drew his own gun, his voice low and deadly. “Only men can be Silvers, dipshit. And if you touch her again, you’ll have that gun down your fucking throat.”
Mara flipped her visor up and tapped her eyebrow, activating the synth-mind. A dull ache spread across the left half of her face as she studied each person for three seconds, gathering data from their movements.
A small image appeared in the corner of her vision—a projection of the unarmed man drawing a gun. She tapped again to shut it off. Pain lanced through her skull as the image disappeared.
“They got spies everywhere, Eight rat.” Helmet took a half-step forward. “Where’d you get such a nice bike?”
“Stay the fuck away,” Gordon spat without a hint of nerves. She’d never seen him like this. When he’d shot that Silver in the head, he’d been calm and collected. Now, he was absolutely feral.
The helmeted one spoke again. “We’re taking your bike. Run back to Eight where you belong.”
Mara edged closer to Gordon, her heart racing. She kept her voice low enough so that only he could hear. “My synth-mind says there’s an eighty percent chance the one on the left is pretending not to have a gun.”
“Reach under my coat,” he murmured, “and grab the other H-ekaton. I’ll take left. You take helmet.”
Her fingers found the grip. She tried to keep her hand steady as her head still pounded from using the synth-mind.
Before she could draw it, the one with the pipe shouted, “She’s grabbing something from him!”
Mara yanked the gun free just as the helmeted man turned his weapon on her.
She dropped low and fired.
Gordon dove sideways, his own shot cracking through the air.
Her target staggered back, clutching his chest. Dark blood spread quickly across his shirt, soaking it. Muffled gurgling noises leaked out from under the helmet.
Mara whipped around, gun raised toward the man with a pipe, but he had already thrown it aside and bolted into the alley, his footsteps pounding against the pavement.
Gordon approached his own target and patted him down.
He had no weapon.
When he pulled off the mask, it revealed a shockingly young face. He couldn’t have been more than sixteen.
It had been a gamble to trust such a low certainty, and now they had killed a kid. They probably could have scared him away.
Gordon noticed her troubled look. “We came out alive,” he said. “That’s what matters.”
“I know.” The disappointment and guilt still crushed her. What were these dumb kids doing ambushing people like that?
