Processing Power by Richard Walsh
Lux Cordero stepped on to Guthrie Station, a high monorail platform overlooking the edge of the downtown Minneapolis Urban Zone. The station was deserted and nearly abandoned, derelict and dirty, a layer of leaves accumulated along the heavy fencing that surrounded the platform; what few intact trash bins remained overflowing with refuse.
His tail, the man who had been following him since boarding the train at the NeuroSys campus, would know better than to depart here as well, for doing so would force a confrontation both wanted to avoid.
Lux considered his options for completing the trip to Seven Corners. His destination, Serenity Clinic, would close to visitors within two hours. He could use the labyrinthine skyway system to continue the trip on foot, though he knew this might take more time than he had. Or he could descend to ground level and find a way across by car.
The street outside the station was dark and cold, shadowed by the rows of towering buildings. Even in the middle of summer little light made it here, and now, late in the day in the autumn, it was already twilight. A press of pedestrians pushed him forward when he stepped from the outlet on to the sidewalk.
Lux eased to the edge of the pack, to the brackish region between the crowded sidewalk and the slow movement of cars and trucks and bicycles that packed the street. He raised his hand. A nondescript car slowed and pulled toward him. Its driver probably weighing the risks of picking up a passenger who looked like Lux: stocky, short hair beneath an old knit cap, a military issue jacket over an oversized prosthetic right arm.