Palatine First (The Aurelian Archives) Read Online Free PDF Page B

a three-minute conversation with the man. Among his numerous quirks, Mordecai had an acute case of paranoia when it came to Parliament-run facilities. He had once faked leperhives just to get out of renewing his citizenship in The Guild House.
    Chewing on his fourth biscuit and deciding against a fifth even though Sophie was holding the tin practically under his nose, Reece had a thought. Smiling slyly at Hayden, he asked Hugh, “Did you see the…meteorite?”
    Hayden choked on his biscuit, and behind his father’s back, shook his head pleadingly. Sophie saw it all, but she was Reece’s through and through, no need to worry about her allegiance. She gave the tin a little shake so that the biscuits rattled.
    “I did, if that’s what it was,” Hugh sighed. “It’s a bad bit of timing. I truly am sorry, Reece. But they’ll test you again after the standard year is over. I’m sure you’ll have no trouble finding employment until then.”
    Reece opened his mouth very slowly, making Hayden first roll his eyes, then hesitantly nod his consent. He was in, so long as Reece didn’t mention his sleuthing to his father. Triumphant, Reece grinned.
    “No, no trouble,” he said, and indulged himself with another biscuit.
     
     
    There was one small town on Atlas, a half hour’s drive by bimobile from The Owl. It wasn’t much as far as towns went, not after you’d lived on Honora, but it had plenty of storefronts to peruse, huge glass windows with advertisements projected onto them, black and white moving pictures of ladies modeling dresses or gentlemen examining their shiny new pocket watches. And for those unfortunate students who were still riding the public locomotive to get to and from Praxis, there were even bimobiles (bims for short) for rent, though the models the shops carried were not nearly as nice as the ones Reece and Hayden rode.
    Technically, both bims were Reece’s, since Hayden had humbly refused to accept one for a birthday present (Gideon had had no such qualms accepting his). They were motorized pushbikes, really, chunky two-wheeled mobiles with low, flat handles. Huge funnels coughed steam from either side of the rear tires. The oily steam was a smell Reece had come to love.
    After rolling his bim up to the pedestrian walkway and propping its hulk against a lamppost, Reece tipped his goggles onto the back of his head and squinted into the sunlight. Praxis was as busy as an anthill. The brick-laid Main Street was split down the middle by tracks for The Iron Horse, the public locomotive, but people crossed it freely, lugging brown paper shopping bags or licking cones of frozen dairy. Main Street’s buildings were all double stacked and identical, with colorful fronts, bright, coordinating shutters, and spinning glass doors in constant rotation. Well, nearly identical. The one Reece and Hayden had come to find was the exception.
    It had a bland olive paintjob and a congested window display filled with springs, cables, shockgun shells, ammunition trays, macro-plasma candles, and little curving pieces that Reece knew by now to be triggers. It was dark beyond the window, but that didn’t mean anything. Someone looking to buy spare parts could get them at any old junker’s on the next lane over. No, if you came to this shop, you wanted the second floor.
    Reece and Hayden exchanged a look—Reece thought Hayden might be steeling himself—and went in through the dilapidated door, which groaned on its rotator. The shelves on the walls were nearly bare. Chances were, anything laid out didn’t work anyways and was just sitting there to keep up the appearance of this being a shop at all.
    There was a mechanical whine coming from the swinging door behind the counter where an old cash register sat gathering cobwebs. Reece hopped over the counter, making a path through the dust for Hayden, who was having a sneezing fit into his handkerchief, and hurried through the door and up the winding staircase it