people in the world she’d want to come across Seven.
‘I won’t be long,’ said Pearson. ‘My driver is waiting round the front. But there is something we need to talk about, Alastair. Privately.’
Their two figures stopped just short of the elms.
‘You know my house is devoid of surveillance for this very purpose. What is it we need to discuss?’
‘TMK.’
The letters shivered in the air like spun silk. Alba bit her lip, her heart speeding up.
‘What happened?’ asked her father.
‘Two of our TMK Candidates died during Phase Nine training this week. Neuro-haemorrhages while surfing. That leaves us with just one Candidate in training.’
‘So the active TMK total is down to just three.’
‘Yes. And with a rate of fifteen surfs on average before neuro-haemorrhage, we need new Candidates within a month. Or else –’
‘I understand. Speak to Vallez – the current system is unsustainable. His Science team need to sort it out, and fast. In the meantime I will let Recruitment know we need a higher intake of Candidates.’
Pearson said, ‘It’s getting more and more difficult to keep this quiet, Alastair.’
‘Things will be even more difficult for us if we don’t.’
There was a long, tense pause. Then Pearson nodded, turning away, his footsteps muffled on the grass as he headed round towards the front of the house. Alba’s father followed him a few moments later.
When they’d been alone in the quiet grounds long enough to be sure both men were gone, Alba and Seven peeled away from the tree.
‘What the eff was
that
about?’ Seven whispered.
Alba shook her head. ‘I don’t know,’ she said, not adding what she was thinking –
But I don’t like the sound of it.
Not one bit.
23
SEVEN
‘What’re you looking so smug for?’
Seven scowled. ‘Always nice to see you too, Loe.’
He was slouched on the ground in a corner of the market, back resting against one of the wrought-iron pillars dotting the tall, arched hall. There had been a skid-thief crew leader’s arrest the day before: Murray, a tall, bony man with a shaven head Seven had never spoken to, who had been caught during a thieving job. Carpenter and the other remaining skid-thief crew leaders had decided to avoid Battersea Power Station in case its location had been compromised.
This week’s meeting was taking place instead in Borough Market, a domed glass and metal structure set on a busy South street near the river. It was open at both ends. Hawker stalls and market booths clustered amid rows of benches, everything painted an ugly shade of green.
By day, the market was one of the busiest in South, selling fresh meat, fish and vegetables, but it was also a hive of activity late into the night as a popular meeting place. By eleven this evening, the hall was packed. Over the chatter and raucous laughter, a Screen fixed high in the middle of the market blared its news, bathing the hall in a shifting sea of colours.
Seven had been watching the crowds for hours, lost in thoughts.
It had been six days since he’d taken Alba to his flat to skid-surf, though it felt more like six years
.
Time seemed to move even slower that week than it normally did, as though some laughing god above kept turning the world’s clock-hands back, just to watch Seven suffer. The worst part was, Carpenter hadn’t gotten in touch with any more thieving jobs, so there was nothing to distract Seven from thoughts of Alba (and there were a lot of those. An awful lot more than he’d like to admit).
He wondered whether she was also finding it hard to adjust to everyday life again after their secret meeting. Whether the magic of skid-surfing for the first time had changed
her
world too, the way it had for him.
And, of course, whether she was still wondering what the eff her father had been talking about with that man outside their house.
Nothing about Seven’s life had felt properly real since that night. Everything seemed a little faded, the
‘I won’t be long,’ said Pearson. ‘My driver is waiting round the front. But there is something we need to talk about, Alastair. Privately.’
Their two figures stopped just short of the elms.
‘You know my house is devoid of surveillance for this very purpose. What is it we need to discuss?’
‘TMK.’
The letters shivered in the air like spun silk. Alba bit her lip, her heart speeding up.
‘What happened?’ asked her father.
‘Two of our TMK Candidates died during Phase Nine training this week. Neuro-haemorrhages while surfing. That leaves us with just one Candidate in training.’
‘So the active TMK total is down to just three.’
‘Yes. And with a rate of fifteen surfs on average before neuro-haemorrhage, we need new Candidates within a month. Or else –’
‘I understand. Speak to Vallez – the current system is unsustainable. His Science team need to sort it out, and fast. In the meantime I will let Recruitment know we need a higher intake of Candidates.’
Pearson said, ‘It’s getting more and more difficult to keep this quiet, Alastair.’
‘Things will be even more difficult for us if we don’t.’
There was a long, tense pause. Then Pearson nodded, turning away, his footsteps muffled on the grass as he headed round towards the front of the house. Alba’s father followed him a few moments later.
When they’d been alone in the quiet grounds long enough to be sure both men were gone, Alba and Seven peeled away from the tree.
‘What the eff was
that
about?’ Seven whispered.
Alba shook her head. ‘I don’t know,’ she said, not adding what she was thinking –
But I don’t like the sound of it.
Not one bit.
23
SEVEN
‘What’re you looking so smug for?’
Seven scowled. ‘Always nice to see you too, Loe.’
He was slouched on the ground in a corner of the market, back resting against one of the wrought-iron pillars dotting the tall, arched hall. There had been a skid-thief crew leader’s arrest the day before: Murray, a tall, bony man with a shaven head Seven had never spoken to, who had been caught during a thieving job. Carpenter and the other remaining skid-thief crew leaders had decided to avoid Battersea Power Station in case its location had been compromised.
This week’s meeting was taking place instead in Borough Market, a domed glass and metal structure set on a busy South street near the river. It was open at both ends. Hawker stalls and market booths clustered amid rows of benches, everything painted an ugly shade of green.
By day, the market was one of the busiest in South, selling fresh meat, fish and vegetables, but it was also a hive of activity late into the night as a popular meeting place. By eleven this evening, the hall was packed. Over the chatter and raucous laughter, a Screen fixed high in the middle of the market blared its news, bathing the hall in a shifting sea of colours.
Seven had been watching the crowds for hours, lost in thoughts.
It had been six days since he’d taken Alba to his flat to skid-surf, though it felt more like six years
.
Time seemed to move even slower that week than it normally did, as though some laughing god above kept turning the world’s clock-hands back, just to watch Seven suffer. The worst part was, Carpenter hadn’t gotten in touch with any more thieving jobs, so there was nothing to distract Seven from thoughts of Alba (and there were a lot of those. An awful lot more than he’d like to admit).
He wondered whether she was also finding it hard to adjust to everyday life again after their secret meeting. Whether the magic of skid-surfing for the first time had changed
her
world too, the way it had for him.
And, of course, whether she was still wondering what the eff her father had been talking about with that man outside their house.
Nothing about Seven’s life had felt properly real since that night. Everything seemed a little faded, the
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