Embedded by Dan Abnett Page B

hiker girl could say anything or produce any papers of her own. "She's my researcher."
      He willed green hiker girl not to say anything, not to contradict him.
      The trooper looked at Falk's ID.
      "Your researcher?"
      "Yes."
      "Uh-huh."
      "I brought her in with me. This is on me. She seriously didn't want to cross the picket line."
      The trooper looked at her.
      "I didn't," she said, a little slowly, trying to follow what Falk was attempting. "I told him I didn't."
      "I should've listened to her," said Falk.
      The trooper's Mil-issue glares had scanned Falk's ID at the same time the trooper had. Falk saw a little ice-blue backlight behind the lenses as a secure processed response came back from SOMD Operations.
      "Okay, that checks," said the trooper. "You're going to have to leave the area. I'll escort you. There may not be a follow-up, but I have to advise you that you may get a fine, or even some suspension of your validation privileges."
      "Okay," said Falk.
      "That's just how it works."
      "I know," said Falk. "I was chancing my arm. I'm sorry."
      "Let's get you to the line," said the trooper. They started walking. "Do me a favour and go home. I don't want to hear about you trying to get back in here."
      "Sure, no problem," said Falk. "You stay wealthy. Thanks for being okay about it. It was a dumb stunt. But I had to try, right? How many meteor hit stories do you get?"
      The trooper waved them across the barrier line.
      "Almost none," he conceded.
     
    They left the high-vis vest, the armband and the medical kit on the open tailgate of a paramedic roller. Several entrepreneurial types from the North End had turned up with food carts and mobile kiosks, supplying refreshment to the early morning crowd of sightseers and the crews on restbreaks. Falk bought two teas from an electric barrow with a chrome urn.
      "Why'd you do that?" asked green hiker girl.
      "It was the best way out," Falk replied.
      She took the cup he offered her.
      "You didn't want him looking at my ID," she said.
      "I've got SO validation," said Falk. "And I'm Lex Falk. My accreditation can soak it up. If I get a fine, I can wash it through expenses. They'll probably waive a penalty if I keep my nose clean. You're only affiliated, so you're not half as flameproof."
      "So you took the fall for the two of us because you're such a great fucking person?"
      "I took the fall for the two of us because I was taking the fall anyway, and taking it for two wasn't going to hurt any worse."
      He took a long sip of tea.
      "And I took the fall for the two of us because of that fuck-ass brooch. Where is it?"
      She took it out of her pocket. He took it, and looked at it.
      "It's not a fake," he said.
      "No," she replied. "It was in the door pocket of the transport I lifted the first aid kit from."
      Falk stared at her.
      "Do you not get it?" he asked. "You get caught bluffing in a secured zone, you get kicked out, fined, full marks for trying. Slap on the wrist, naughty correspondent person. You get caught in a secured zone with a fake or stolen SOMD ident, that's impersonating the Office, and that comes under martial regs. That's a whole avalanche of crap right there. They'd yank your accreditation for starters, forever. In fact, they'd probably boot you upstairs to catch the next driver home."
      "I guess," she said.
      "No, no, it's not guesswork," he snapped. "It's fucking what happens. You have to know these things. You have to know them, so you don't do something so fucking stupid it ends your career."
      He bent his arm and threw the brooch over a fence into a marshalling yard.
      "Wow," she said. "It's almost like you care what happens to me. Or you want to jump me."
      "Neither," said Falk. "I was standing right beside you. If he'd found the brooch, the fan sprays that shit a long way."
     
     

SEVEN
     
 
    Cleesh had been calling him. When he finally got