“We’ve just learned there’s been a series of explosions near the South Zero exit of the Centrifuge,” the reporter said in an unsteady voice. “Medical and police units are on the way. At this time, we don’t know how extensive the damage is or how many people have been hurt. Officials are closing the Centrifuge immediately, leaving thousands of commuters stranded, in the city and in the tunnels themselves. We’ll be back with more news when we have it.”

The screen went blank, then returned to its scheduled picture. They were left staring at each other, drenched in horror. “The Centrifuge,” Varella said, but there was nothing any of them could add in elaboration. No one needed to point out that, without Pakt’s impromptu meeting, nearly all of them would have been in the Centrifuge at that exact moment, heading into the scene of the blast. If the explosion had been fatal, Pakt had just saved all of their lives.

CHAPTER NINE

At first, Kit was embarrassed that she had fallen unconscious. She had been trained in basic first aid; she could have been of some help as the medics fought through the smoke and rubble to find the broken bodies in the downed cars. Then she learned that, of the three hundred men and women caught in the explosions, only thirteen had survived. Then she felt lucky.

These were the emotions that came to visit her over the next twelve hours, when her mind was clear and she could actually think. The hour she had spent on the tunnel floor, semiconscious and bleeding in her crumpled car, was pretty much a blur, and the following hours of rescue and medical attention were hard to reconstruct coherently. They had taken her to the gulden hospital, that she remembered, because it was closest and because the two other survivors they had recovered at that time were both guldmen. The pain had made it hard to focus as they wheeled her through the neat, bright corridors, but she did notice that nearly all the faces peering down at her were gold. It confused her; she thought she was somehow back in Geldricht, that the explosion had catapulted her across the Katlin Divide and into the territory with which she was most familiar.

“Is Chay here?” she asked one of the attendants, causing him to look down at her strangely and check her temperature. “Is Jex?”

“Do we have an I.D. on this one?” the doctor asked someone striding along behind him. He spoke bluetongue, so he must have thought she was conscious enough to understand him. “We’re going to need to notify relatives.”

“I’m checking her handbag right now. Looks like—Candachi. Might not have relatives in the city, though. Sounds high-caste.”