Lawrence Watt-Evans - The Spartacus File

Not yet, anyway.

“He's right,” Mirim said.

“He's right about them locking us up, anyway,” Cecelia agreed. She looked up at Casper.

“All right,” she said, “so all three of us run, and we might as well do it together. Where do we run to? ”

Casper looked at both women. He dropped his arms to his sides and seemed to shrink.

“I wish I knew,” he said.

The first step was obvious-and for that matter, so was the second. If they were going to run, the first thing they needed was transportation, and the second was money.

Where to go after they had transportation and money wasn't so simple, but as Casper led the two women into the parking garage he'd chosen he made a suggestion. Neither of them had any comment on it, at least at first.

“Maybe we should take a train,” Mirim said nervously, as Casper looked over the silent rows of vehicles on the second level of the parking structure.

Casper shook his head. “Too easy to search,” he said. “And a train goes in a straight line, you can't turn off and get lost on the side roads. If they decide to search the trains for me, and I'm on one, I'm dead.” He looked over a brown Toyota, then moved on.

“They can stop cars and search those, too.”

“Some of them, yeah, but do you have any idea how many roads there are out of Philadelphia?” He zeroed in on an old blue Honda four-door and looked it over for any sign of a security system. There was no thumbprint scanner on the car's computer, no warning lights or labels beyond the usual required safety notices. He noticed the clutter of old maps and empty fast-food wrappers on the back seat-exactly what he was looking for, signs of a disorganized owner.

“I don't like this,” Mirim said, her arms folded across her chest. She looked about nervously as Casper ducked down, got on his back, and peered under the Honda.

Cecelia watched Casper with interest. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“I'm checking to see if there are any wires that don't look like they belong,” Casper said. “I figure that if there's an added security system, there'll be wires.”

“Some of them are subtler than that,” Cecelia said. “I had a few clients who tried this sort of thing when I did my year as a public defender.”

“It's a Honda, Celia, not a Ferrari or something,” Casper said as he got to his feet.

“You'd be surprised.”

“So be ready to run,” he said, as he made a sudden whirling movement and kicked out the driver's side window. The safety glass buckled, and dropped inside in a single large sheet-the glass was shattered into bits about the size of teeth, but the fragments were still held together by the layer of plastic.

“Jesus, Casper!” Mirim said. She looked about, waiting for an alarm to sound, for cops to jump out of nowhere with guns drawn.

No sirens wailed, no horns beeped; the only sound was the normal buzz of traffic outside. Casper ignored her as he reached in, tossed the ruined window away, and opened the door. He slid into the driver's seat, leaned across and fished through the glove compartment, checked the storage compartments and sun visors-and found the spare key in the ashtray. The clutter in the back seat had made him optimistic that such a stash existed.

A few seconds later the engine roared to life.

“Get in,” he said, as he used the power-lock button to unlock the other doors.

The two women hastened to obey; Cecelia took the front passenger seat while Mirim ducked into the back, shoving the trash aside.

Casper backed the car carefully out of the space, then asked, “Either of you have any idea where the nearest ATM is? And have you got your cards? They may have stopped mine already.”

Both women began digging through their purses as Casper headed down the ramp. Cecelia found her card first, Mirim a moment later.

“I didn't know you knew how to steal a car,” Cecelia remarked, as Casper pulled out of the parking structure onto the street.

“Neither did I,” said Casper, as he scanned the traffic. It wouldn't do to get into a fender-bender or get stopped by the cops. The broken window was going to be risky enough in that regard without doing anything else to attract attention, like speeding or any sort of hot driving. “I was guessing-it seemed like something this stupid imprinting ought to include, and sure enough, once I started looking, I knew what to look for.”

“I'm still not sure this is a good idea,” Mirim muttered from the back seat.

“What, stealing the car?” Casper shrugged, then ducked his head to get a better look at the traffic light. “Maybe it wasn't. I mean, taking it from the middle of a commuter garage, I figure no one will notice it's gone until 5:00 or later, and we'll have ditched it by then. And except for the window we aren't going to hurt it. If you want, we can leave a couple of hundred bucks for the gas and the repairs. I mean, once we've got some more money.”

“I didn't mean that,” Mirim said. “I meant going to Leonid's place.”

That had been Casper's suggestion; this was the first feedback he'd gotten on it.

“Oh, that.” Casper turned the corner. “Well, no one had a better idea. If you think of one while we're getting money, you know, while we're at the ATMs, let me know, okay? But I didn't know what else to suggest. They'll be watching all my friends and relatives, they're watching your apartment, and Cecelia's office, and probably Data Tracers-where else could we go?”

“But if they're being that thorough, they must know I'm with you,” Mirim protested.

Casper hesitated. “Well, yeah,” he admitted, “but if you were after a man and a woman who were running away together, would you expect them to hide out with her boyfriend?” Cecelia threw him a suspicious glance. Casper saw it from the corner of one eye, but ignored it. If he once started trying to allay Cecelia's suspicions about something going on between himself and Mirim, he'd never be able to stop. Best to just ignore the obvious, as if he were so innocent that he didn't even realize she had doubts.

A few days ago he wouldn't have thought that way; he'd have been telling Cecelia how there wasn't anything between himself and Mirim and saying it so badly that he'd be stuffing his foot further into his mouth with every word.

Now, even though he felt pretty much like himself at the moment, he knew better.

Had he figured it out for himself, or was the imprint telling him this? What the hell kind of imprint would include advice on keeping a girlfriend from being jealous, on top of everything else?

“Why not?” Mirim answered. “After all, we picked up your girlfriend-what's the difference?”

Casper didn't have a ready reply to that; he was sure there was a difference, but he couldn't put it into words. The imprint didn't offer any help on this one. “They probably think I took you hostage or something like that,” he said at last.

“Why would they?” Mirim asked.

“I don't know. I just think… I mean… Look, we'll get the money first, and when we get to Leonid's place I'll check for a stake-out-you know I can do that, right? You'll trust me on that? I managed okay back at Celia's office, didn't I?”

“Yeah, but back there you were…” She stopped in mid-sentence, not sure how to say what she meant-or at least, not sure how to say it without offending Casper.

Back then, he had been calm, controlled, efficient, in charge-the imprinting had been telling him what to do, she supposed. Now he was being, at least intermittently, timid and confused and whiny and unsure-his old self, in other words. He'd been the new Casper when he kicked out the window and started the car, but his voice now was back to his former personality.