Paradox Read Online Free Page A

had given him a fright. Before he could think, he had slipped inside, into darkness.
    â€œCome on, Elva.” The voice was right outside the alcove. “She was pretty odd, don't you think?”
    â€œOf all the people we've seen today”—the woman officer, exasperated—“she must be the least dangerous.”
    Tom swallowed, trying not to breathe. They were standing outside, at a junction: a natural place to stop.
    â€œBesides,” the woman continued, “she showed all the symptoms. Dreamtrope addict, for sure.”
    â€œYeah, but…She's a babe, isn't she?”
    Something in here with him.
    â€œKeep it in your trews, Pyotr.”
    A sense of dark presence. A… drip. Wet, on his cheek. Tom thought he was going to be sick.
    â€œI'm calling it in, anyway.”
    â€œYou sure we're in range?”
    Idiot. Just old cleaning gear.
    â€œJust about. Who are we?”
    â€œWhat?” The woman sounded puzzled. “Oh, Tango-Aleph.”
    Tom shifted uncomfortably, and touched the old mop: it scraped, and he froze.
    â€œDid you—?”
    But the woman's voice was lost beneath her companion's officious words: identifying himself by their call-sign and requesting access. “Citizens' Details. Current district, deepest detail.”
    In the darkness, Tom moved by millimetres, fingertips questing, and found it. Ceramic carapace. An old scrub drone, standing on end.
    â€œWhat have you got?” The woman.
    â€œCorcorigan, Davraig.” Reading from a display. “Zero records. No criminal future.”
    â€œWhat about history?”
    â€œOr history. He's clean.”
    Lowering himself—slowly, slowly—into a crouch, body achingwith tension, Tom bit into his bottom lip, stifling his desire to call out and be done with it.
    â€œAnd as for the babe—” The man fell silent.
    â€œWhat is it, Pyotr?”
    â€œCorcorigan, Ranvera.” Quietly. “Silver star.”
    â€œYou're kidding. Show me.”
    After a moment, Tom could hear her chuckle. He was halfway down now, behind the disused drone.
    â€œWell…Bad luck, mate. Watch, don't touch. Trust you to fall for a silver star.”
    â€œVery funny.” Scorn in his voice. “Hey, young Elva. Wanna know what they call you in the men's chamber?”
    â€œNo.” Her tone grew hard. “Shut up!”
    Light cascaded into Tom's hiding place. The woman, dragging back the hanging.
    â€œWhat are you—?”
    â€œNothing.” She scanned the storage alcove's darkness. “Thought I heard something, that's all.”
    For a moment Tom could have sworn her grey eyes locked with his, but then she was turning away and the hanging fell back into place, and shadows hid him once more.
    â€œCome on, big-brain,” he heard her say. “We've got work to do.”
    It made a great lightball court.
    Zing!
    A hollowed-out spindle formed the round chamber's centre, its elliptical window-holes revealing the cracked triangular altar inside.
    Pow! Green streak flying through a hole, rebounding from the outer circle's wall.
    Once-red tiles were cracked, and many were missing, revealing blackened stone. Some said the old Zharkrastrian temple was haunted.
    â€œMy point.”
    Wham! The lightball sang as Padraig's palm slammed it across the chamber. It bounced, flew past Tom's face, and had already dropped to the floor with a dying whine by the time he made a grab for it.
    â€œPlay or stay away, Corcorigan.”
    â€œSorry.” He picked up the ball and threw it awkwardly, underhand.
    â€œFriggin' Chaos!” The voice was behind Tom, but his heart sank: only one person used language that bad. “What you doin' here?”
    â€œJust heading home.”
    Stavrel scowled. “You like lightball?” His wide face, splashed with a purple birthmark, was a frightening mask. “Anyone who don't, must be queer. Am I right?”
    â€œEr, yeah,” Tom