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“I wanted to take her out for a spin.” Peter grinned. “Come on, Joe – where’s your sense of adventure? It’ll be fun.”

“Yeah, because going to pick up a bunch of escaped indies in one of the most conspicuous vehicles in the country is a really good idea. I’m going to call Elsie and tell her we’re going in the duck, as usual.” Josiah reached for his nanopad.

“It’s too late,” Peter interrupted. “She’s already told the indies to look for a red Pre-R car parked on Station Road in West Wickham at eight p.m.”

Josiah could have thumped him. “Peter, this is stupid. We can go out in the car any time. We’re collecting escaped indies – if someone sees them getting into this, they’ll remember it.”

“It also helps them identify which car to get into,” Peter retorted. “Last time, we told them to look for a grey duck, and that poor woman got into the wrong AV. That’s just as dangerous. The driver could have reported her.”

“No, this is far more dangerous,” Josiah argued. “Oh, what am I saying? That’s part of the thrill for you, isn’t it?”

“I’d never put you in more danger than necessary to get the job done,” Peter said, looking suddenly serious.

“Look, Joe – this is a quick job – just a pick-up and drop-off at Jan’s place.

There are no lost zones to cross – we can do the entire thing on roads, so there’s no need to be in a duck.

I’m not a complete idiot – I checked.” He gave an appeasing little smile.

“C’mon – we’ll be home by eleven, no harm done. ”

“Fine,” Josiah said grudgingly. “But next time, talk to me first before making this kind of decision. We agreed on that, remember?” Peter was much better at including him in his decisions these days, but sometimes he still forgot.

It wasn’t easy for him to curb his naturally spontaneous behaviour for long enough to run an idea past Josiah.

However, they’d found a way to mostly meet in the middle; Josiah had learned not to sweat the small stuff, while Peter had learned to share the big stuff.

But problems still sometimes arose over grey areas in between, like this.

“Sorry, but seriously, it’ll be fine. Changing vehicles every so often is a good idea, in case anyone is on to us,” Peter said.

This seemed like a flimsy justification to Josiah. “If you say so.” He stomped back up the garage steps.

“Where are you going?”

He glanced back down to where Peter was standing beside the Jaguar, his mop of dark hair still mussed up from their love-making, and gestured at his rumpled trousers. “To change.”

That was the last time they’d made love. Josiah could still remember how sexy Peter had looked as he lay, panting and happy, over the bonnet of his beloved car. If he’d known those were to be his last few hours alive, Josiah was sure that was how he’d have chosen to spend them.

Moving carefully away from Alex so as not to wake him, he slid out of the bed and headed to the en-suite bathroom, where he sloshed cold water on his face.

“Coward,” he told his reflection in the mirror. “You’re afraid of getting to the bad part.”

He dried his face and then paused in the doorway to gaze at Alex, lying in the bed.

It had been seven years since he’d shared that bed with Peter, and he’d felt nothing for anyone else in all that time…

until now. It was a bitter irony that this man was the ultimate in unobtainable.

Josiah didn’t have the millions required to buy him, and it was impossible to rescue him without exposing the Kathleen Line.

It would do him no good to fall for Alex – it was as hopeless as wanting Peter back, because he couldn’t have either of them .

Returning to the bed, he slipped in beside his IS.

Alex mumbled something sleepily, then turned over and rested his hand on his chest. Josiah wrapped his arms around him, and Alex nestled into him like a sleeping cat.

He buried his face in the crook of Alex’s neck and inhaled the scent of his hair. Then he closed his eyes again.

He returned to the garage to find Peter polishing a non-existent smear off the Jaguar’s door.

“Ready?” Peter asked excitedly, glancing up.

Josiah had changed into a pair of smart blue jeans, a soft purple sweater, and a navy-blue sports coat.

“Mmm, you look good in that,” Peter said, reaching out to give him a placatory kiss.

“You’re only saying that because I’m in a bad mood,” he snorted.

“Yeah – but you do look good.” Peter winked as they got into the car. He turned on the engine, and the Jaguar purred into life. “Doesn’t she sound great?” he enthused as Josiah luxuriated in the soft black leather seats. “They’re heated,” he said proudly, pressing a switch.

A few seconds later, Josiah felt a gentle warmth start to radiate through his back and bottom.

“They really knew how to design objects of beauty in the Pre-R,” Peter said, clicking the garage door open. “We seem to have lost that art these days.”

“Someone should design a duck that looks and sounds like this,” Josiah said as Peter edged the car slowly out of the garage.

“Maybe, now that more people can afford them, they will.” Peter shrugged. “I read somewhere that Tyler Tech has some new design in the works that might be a game-changer.”

“As long as they get me to where I want to go without drowning me in a lost zone, I don’t really care how they look,” Josiah said. “But I appreciate the comfort – this feels nice.”

Peter gave a chuckle of glee that Josiah was joining him in the car worship.

The car was smoother on the road than a duck, so Josiah sat back in his heated seat, enjoying the ride.

It was a blustery autumn evening, with wet brown leaves falling around them, squally winds, and occasional downpours of rain.

He noticed a few heads turning to look at the Jaguar.

“Only you could possibly think it was a good idea to go on a secret mission in a vehicle this distinctive,” he grumbled.

“Are we back to that again? I’m sorry,” Peter said, not sounding it. “You have to admit that she glides along smoothly, though.”

“Yeah, she does,” he agreed grudgingly.

They reached Station Road, but the street was lined with more ducks than usual.

Peter found a parking spot, but had to angle the Jag to cross the path of oncoming traffic.

This pick-up point had been chosen randomly, as they all were, never being decided upon until the day to avoid being predictable.

Josiah made a mental note not to use it again.

He glanced at his watch: 7.45p.m. They always tried to arrive a little early.

Escaped indies were understandably nervous, and if their rescuers were even only a few minutes late, it greatly increased their anxiety.

“So, who are we waiting for?” Peter asked, pulling on the handbrake.

Josiah fished his nanopad out of his pocket and glanced at the message from Elsie. “Three men: Matthew, Lars, and Ben.”

It still astonished Josiah how many indies reached out to the network on the strength of word of mouth.

He and Peter made regular pick-ups, usually two or three times a week.

Sometimes, they took their escapees all the way to the coast themselves, and sometimes they placed them in a safe house overnight and one of their volunteers took over.

It would be impossible for him and Peter to deal with them all.

Luckily, the police, investigation agencies, and freelance bounty hunters were all in competition with each other for the rewards many houders offered for the safe return of their indies, so they didn’t share information.

Enough escapees were still rounded up and returned to their houders that the relatively small amount that the Kathleen Line managed to rescue was hidden.

Sometimes, Josiah wondered how long they could get away with it. He knew they risked being sold into servitude themselves, if caught. Peter had a plan to make the most of the publicity if that happened, but it was small comfort. Josiah tried not to think about it.

“Matthew, Lars, and Ben. Any intel?” Peter asked.

“Not much,” Josiah replied, scanning Elsie’s notes for more information.

“Lars worked for a cleaning company – apparently they were crammed in, ten to a small room, lying on the floor – no mattresses and just one blanket and pillow each. They got sent out to clean sixteen hours a day, seven days a week, with no breaks, and were fed the absolute minimum.”

“Modern-day workhouse,” Peter murmured. “That’s all it is.”

“Lars escaped a few months ago and has been trying to get out of the country ever since. He nearly got caught at the port in Folkestone a few weeks ago, so he’s a bit jumpy.

He met some other escapees when he was down there, and one of them passed on Elsie’s number.

Elsie said he sounded agitated – he was sure a bounty hunter or IA was after him. ”

“Seems unlikely,” Peter said. “They usually only go after high-value escapees, and working in a cleaning company hardly makes Lars that. I suspect the reward for his return is minimal – the company can probably pick up another IS cheaper than getting him back.”

“Yeah, usual escapee paranoia probably,” Josiah said. They’d seen it plenty of times before – most of their indies were jumpy, forever looking over their shoulders. It was understandable.

“What about Matthew and Ben? Anything on them?” Peter asked.

“Ben – not much. Quiet and scared, according to Elsie. He escaped from a factory about a week ago. Matthew – cultured voice, had a long story about how he became an IS that Elsie suspects was bullshit. Escaped a month ago and has been on the run ever since.”

“So, one’s paranoid, one’s petrified, and one’s a phoney.” Peter grinned. “Sounds like a fairly typical batch.”

“Yeah. Poor bastards.” Josiah grunted. He glanced at his watch. “Eight p.m. They should be here soon. In fact, I think we have one coming our way.”