On top of the wall he could see a faint electromagnetic swirl that indicated a guardsman that he couldn’t quite make out otherwise. Though he wasn’t seeing it, exactly. It was another sense that detected the guard’s residual signal, processed it into something Painter could interpret, and though seeing wasn’t quite right, he always felt like it had more to do with his eyes than anything else.
This was the testing point. The moment that would decide whether he would succeed or fail. Playing hide and seek with the patrols had been one thing. Walking out into the open during the night would present a similar challenge. But infiltrating the compound was something else entirely. Something he’d never done before in either of his lives.
He sat back on his haunches and tried to think it through. Somehow back at Mister Sun’s they’d skimmed over this part. Once you’re inside… almost taken it for granted. Painter had never been much of one to call the shots. That’d always been more of Snow’s thing.
Snow. Little sister, always in charge, always in control. She’d been the clever one, and confident. He smiled with bitterness at the memories. At first it’d just been easier to go along with her because she was such a bully. He pictured her as the chubby four year-old, full of fire – fearless and fearsome. Remembered the bruises on his own thin arms and shins. But Snow had changed after Dad had died. Still fearless and in charge, but tempered. Wiser, maybe, or at least less concerned about just getting what she wanted, doing it her way. But then doing it her way had gone from the easy thing to the right thing. At least most of the time. What would she have told him now?
You can’t do it, her voice said in his head. And Snow would’ve been right. The old Painter could never have done it. But that wasn’t him anymore. He was stronger now, faster. Surely there was something he could do.
You can’t do it alone, her voice came again – correcting his initial thought as if he’d interrupted her before she’d finished. That’s what she would’ve told Painter. It was a fault, Snow said, how much he took upon himself, how little he trusted others. And the beginning of a plan formed in his mind.
“Wren,” he pimmed, whispering into the night air and speaking to his friend a half-mile away.
“Painter, are you OK?” came the reply a few moments later, Wren’s voice somewhere inside Painter’s own head.
“At the c-c-compound,” Painter answered. “Do you know a wuh, a way to get the guards to… to… to broadcast?”
“Hmm… no, I don’t think so. Sorry,” he said. And then, “Hold on, let me ask my mom.”
There was a long delay before the response came. Painter’s calves were starting to burn. A pair of guardsmen wandered into view, and he shifted back.
“She thinks she can try something. Do you want her to do it now?” Wren said.
“Wait one sss-second.”
The patrol moved counter-clockwise around the governor’s compound, and didn’t seem to be in a hurry about it. Judging from the looks of things, Painter guessed no one had found the bodies yet. The guards moved on out of sight.
“OK, go,” Painter said.
Seconds ticked by. Ten. Fifteen. Thirty. Painter was just about to pim again when all of a sudden there was a shimmering flare on the wall, like mirage roiling off hot concrete. And then another. And another. One after the other, the guardsmen were responding to whatever Cass had done, actively broadcasting information through the digital and lighting up in Painter’s vision with each burst.
“OK, is anything happening?” Wren asked.
“Yes,” Painter answered. “Thhh-thanks. I see them now. Gotta go.”
“OK. Be careful.”
There were eight that Painter could see – four along the top of the wall, two by the gate, and another two somewhere deeper in the courtyard. It surprised him to see guards actually posted at the north-eastern gate, but it looked like they weren’t taking any chances. There was a gap, though, along the wall. Two guards stood close together, apparently in conversation, and that left them spaced unevenly. His opening.
Painter surveyed the street once more, saw it was clear. He sidled his way along the edge, towards the darkest corridor he could find, where two lights overlapped incompletely. The first ten yards would be the greatest danger. But the closer he got to the wall, the less chance there was that someone would be able to see him from above. Assuming they didn’t see Painter start his run. There were no guarantees, and sitting around any longer wasn’t going to improve his chances at all. It was tough to judge, but as best as he could tell, none of the guardsmen were looking his way. Time to try. He inhaled sharply and launched himself out of his hiding place.