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slipping a tiny electronic device out of his pocket—a microface integrator he had designed himself. The touch screen lit up, showing him a series of controls that he had used to jack into the agents’ communications. It also had the capability to send out an augmented hyperband pulse, which Cray adjusted to maximum output. Its range was extremely limited—but Cray was more than close enough.
    Without hesitation, he mashed down on the TRANSMIT button.
    The effect was instantaneous. Small clumps of blood and bone erupted from the left side of each agent’s head as their implants overloaded and popped with the force of small-caliber bullets.
    Both of them collapsed.
    The three proctors who manned the gate watched Cray with surprise as he stepped over the two heaps of armor spread out across the floor. They bled out from the holes in their heads, camochrome fading to a dull maroon as their bodies ceased to function. At least they hadn’t felt any pain—which was more than he could say for all those people back in the terminal.
    It was all the pity he could muster for them.
    “Seal up the gate,” he ordered the proctors. “Nobody in or out but the emergency crews.”
    One of them lit up a cigarette. “What about these two?” he asked, motioning his head toward the prone agents.
    “Let the Zone Authority sort it out,” Cray told him, and was on his way.

     

    Following Zoe was impossible in the crowd. Panic had begun its deliberate swell through the airport, and everybody was headed for the nearest exits.
    Cray had left himself deaf as well as blind. The hyperband pulse had fried the components in his MFI, cutting him off from all airport and agent communications. Without the portable jack, he couldn’t use the airport security cameras to track Zoe’s movements. It also meant he had no way of knowing where the last agent was, or if the man had signaled for help—a situation even more dangerous than a runner pumped up on speedtecs.
    Cray knew she didn’t have long. Zoe had already stretched herself beyond the limits of human endurance, and as long as she was running she wasn’t cooling off. If he didn’t get to her soon, she was headed for a total meltdown. It was something Cray had only seen once, and it had haunted him ever since. He didn’t want to see it again.
    But even if you find her before that agent does, what makes you think she’ll surrender? She’s using those tecs because she knows getting captured means a death sentence. What do you think you’re saving her for?
    Cray didn’t know. He had sent runners back to the Collective before, knowing full well what would happen to them after the flash they were carrying was extracted. He was as guilty as the two men he killed back in the terminal.
    But this was
his
intercept.
    And after how hard she fought, Zoe didn’t deserve to die at the hands of agents.
    He headed down the long corridor that led to the hub, reasoning—like the agents had—that Zoe would be looking for a less obvious exit. There were plenty of service entrances and exits there, easy access to transportation and plenty of places to hide. As she had discovered, the crowd offered her no protection. Staying out of sight was her only chance.
    The last agent knew that, too. And he would be waiting.
    Getting there was like swimming against the tide. A steady stream of people forced Cray to move against the wall, panic filling his ears in twenty different languages. Five minutes stretched into ten, during which it was impossible for him to tell if he was making any progress at all. Finally, the emergency crews opened up a hole so they could move equipment into the damaged terminal, giving Cray a straight line toward the hub. He flashed his Collective creds, and after making a few threats he was allowed through.
    The relatively open space of the hub was a deliverance. The center of commerce at the airport, it rose five levels from the ground floor and was capped off by a huge, transparent