Daylight Runner Read Online Free Page A

wasn’t going to fall for it. “The workers went on strike, and as a result, the entire city nearly froze to death.”
    Most of the rest of the class was about all the systems that the Heart Engine supplied energy to, which was pretty much everything in the city. Any major works that didn’t get energy from the generator supplied power to it. Engineering stuff tended to put Cleo to sleep. She was surprised Ms. Kiroa had any enthusiasm for it, but the teacher seemed as entranced by the city’s works as some of the guys. But then, rumor had it she was going out with someone from Ventilation. Cleo feigned interest, and managed to make it to the end of the class without yawning too much.
    The other guys from the band were waiting for her when she came out after the bell. Flipping her hair overher shoulders, she leaned back against the corridor wall with her hands on her hips, heaved a sigh, and looked at each of them in turn. She could see no reason to break it to them gently.
    â€œWe’ve been dumped,” she said.
    â€œWhy?” Faisal, their bass horn player, asked.
    â€œInternal Climate says our lyrics are inflammatory.”
    â€œWhat do they mean, ‘inflammatory’?” their treble horn, Amanda, said, frowning. “They think we’re a fire hazard?”
    â€œThat’s inflammable, Am,” Cleo explained patiently.
    â€œInflammatory means like…we ignite passion. Get a rise out of people.”
    â€œIsn’t that what music’s supposed to do?”
    â€œNot according to Internal Climate.”
    â€œIdiots.” Ube Lamont, the drummer, shook his head.
    â€œThis is all just part of the corporate monopoly of everyday life. Every day it gets harder to draw a free breath into your lungs; this place is being taken over by the money-grabbers who want to stamp their ownership on the world.”
    The others stared silently at him.
    â€œYou’re sounding more and more like a Dark-Day Fatalist all the time,” Cleo told him. “You should lay off the smoke; it’s making you morbid.”
    â€œI’m not fatalistic. I just object to being a cog in the machine,” Ube replied, looking defensive.
    â€œWe live in a machine.” Cleo sighed. “Get used to it.”
    â€œYou should be careful how you talk, anyway,” Faisal told him. “You mess with the machine and the Clockworkers’ll come for you. I know somebody whose uncle disappeared after he said the wrong thing.”
    â€œThat’s bullshit,” Ubertino sneered. “The ‘Clockworkers’. A myth started by the men in power, a cynical ploy to keep the masses cowering—”
    â€œWhat the hell have you been reading lately?” Cleo asked, wincing. “‘Keep the masses cowering’? Jesus, Ube.”
    â€œI just know what I’ve heard,” Faisal added vehemently.
    â€œWe all need to chill out,” Cleo said as she glanced around. They were alone in the corridor.
    â€œAnybody got some stem on them?”

Section 3/24: POWER
    C OACH A SSAGIOLI —S AGGS , to his boys—pressed Sol’s nose gently between his palms, causing a spark of pain that made Sol flinch slightly. Around them, the sounds of a busy boxing club filled the air: grunts, thuds, panting breaths, skipping ropes tapping and whirring, feet gliding back and forth across the floor. But Sol could no longer get the smells: no liniment, or warm rubber, worn leather, or fresh sweat. It was difficult enough to draw breath through his nostrils. The gym was well lit, but the equipment was old and overused, like so many things in Ash Harbor. Sol loved it here, his second home, his temple.
    â€œYou’re lucky.” The coach grunted, nodding to himself. “They just broke the cartilage. Bridge is fine, nose is even straight—they haven’t spoiled your good looks.”
    Sol sniffed, then put his hand to his swollen nose and wiggled it gingerly.