...

Breakfast was hectic.

"Man, I'm not sure I like this grin. It's getting on my nerves already."

Out of the blue, his lawyer called. They had been in contact more or less regularly, but First Daimando had so far been able to stall and put off any progress.

"A turn of events that you will find interesting. For some reason, a human judge looked into our case without my being aware of the fact, and probably First Daimando as well. Apparently, he was annoyed at them immediately. He produced a writ expressing his opinion that First Daimando couldn't, on the one hand, deny who you were and indeed ever having heard of you, and on the other acknowledge your guardianship by claiming you are over $10000 in credit.

"I have the full text available, but the bottom line is he requires them to hand over any and all matters of identification, or he will declare you a Phantom Persona. That is a non-existing person or a person who is beyond all practicable means of contacting, which would crush your guardianship by default and force them to release your friend. It doesn't have much legal merit, but the fact that human judges are swayed by their emotion is to our advantage."

"You mean Xolorrr will get out?"

"No. They'll hand over your ID and acknowledge you formally. This particular judgment has no bearing on the contract between you and First Daimando. Just on their unwillingness to give you your IDs."

"Won't they appeal? If it has no legal merit."

"Yes. But this is a smart judge. He gave them a day, and if they appeal, it's going to take way longer than that to get a verdict. So whether they would win or lose, by then, he'd have crushed your guardianship, and in the end, the only way to appeal against you being a Phantom Persona is, of course, to produce your ID. They could drag you before court afterward, but no judge would ever force you to hand over your IDs again.

"By reputation, this judge won't budge. He won't interfere with any other matter, but he won't let go before you have your ID, and they won't want to annoy him, apparently."

"When?"

"Like I said, within a day."

He picked up Dawn and twirled her around the room, of pure joy, hitting a reversed painting off the wall and stumbling over the bed.

"She called, did she. No. Man, those grins of you are getting out of hand. What?"

He told her, and they made arrangements to have lunch together, to celebrate, when Dawn finished her batch of lids of the day.

...

Understanding her financial situation proved to be more difficult than he had anticipated. He was used to working with an AI or even a computer, and as often as not, he'd revert to printed overviews, but Esmee had nothing of the sort. All she had was in her head. In her implant, that is. According to her, the entire record was there, and any document she'd ever received was there. If she ever got a paper copy, she scanned it and destroyed the paper. She had a -- stupendously expensive -- opto-intercept, which allowed her node to read, to a certain extent, the 'data" from her left eye. She said every single image was just a no-res blotted blur. Still, interpolation of the stream resulted in usable and even scannable images.

"I use it to keep all sorts of images, not only documents. I keep records of most people I meet, and I keep a picture when possible. I have more than two thousand Brodin Medical employees on file. I have a photo of you when you first saw me. An interesting expression. Not really flattering, but it's too low res for anything anyway."

She refused to send any financial information to his 'partout, so they just sat and talked about it. They weren't getting anywhere, but he didn't mind, of course. He relished in the glow, enjoying her every movement, her constant half-smiles, the way she inclined her head when she was thinking, the way she frowned to express reserve, the way she made fun of him in the most pleasant, friendly way.

"Will you stay for dinner? It's not much, but I haven't found my rhythm yet. I don't want to eat alone. I've called Dawn if it's ok."

"You've called Dawn?"

"Yes, of course. You live with her, don't you? I imagine you eat with her as well."

"Yes, but how do you know?"

"She's my friend, remember? She told me. We tell each other, ..., stuff. It's ok, really. She likes to make sure I'm ok, and I wouldn't be sitting here with you if she had any reservations. Like I wouldn't invite you if she had plans or anything."

"Hm."

"I guess that's what friendship is about. Caring for each other. Like you and your alien friend. You are his guardian. Traditionally it means you take care of all his affairs while he is unable to do so. If he had children on Daimando, you would be their legal guardian as well. If Urrr have children, that is. Dawn and I, and Richard, take care of each other. It's how we manage to stay ahead in this depraved world. Do you see what I mean?"

"Yeah. I guess. It just feels sort of ..., private."

"Now you're overreacting. I know you are staying with her, sleeping with her. I knew that before I'd even met you. She is my friend. It seemed prudent to ask her if it was ok if I asked you for dinner. And she said it was ok. Perhaps I shouldn't have mentioned it to you, but I wouldn't want to keep it from you either. So now I'm stuck."

They fell silent for a while. Then Luke had an idea.

"Can I ask you out to have dinner? I mean, like a date. And it's ok if you want to call Dawn. Of course. She's your friend. You can call her whenever you like, of course."

"Ok. Lucas Goodholland. We have a date. And I am truly sorry if I hurt your feelings."

...

Their date was perfect. Exhilarating. Fireworks. Esmee didn't want to do anything expensive, so they went for a salad, pasta, and a simple red.

They didn't once talk about finance or Stasis, but rather about Luke's childhood on Bethnell, his friendship with Xolorrr, and Esmee's childhood and culture, although, apparently, she had never practiced her culture. Her name and a few belongings were all that remained. And the memories of her mother's stories.

In the weeks to follow, they occasionally met to discuss Esmee's financial situation and twice just for fun. Esmee wasn't at all like Luke had expected before he met her. Having seen her room and having heard about her quirks, he'd expected, ..., well, not this. She was sharp, bright, happy, vibrant, interested, interesting, ..., perfect.

Luke had expected things to be awkward with Dawn, but they weren't. They stopped having sex. They had sex once more after he had met Esmee, when they were both feeling down and were just more than slightly drunk, but the following day they both admitted feeling awkward about it and left it there. They continued their lives as before, except that Luke would be with Esmee whenever he could.

He noticed he was postponing sending a message home. He wasn't sure what to do. Of course, he could ask his parents for the money, but it was rather a lot. More than what his father made in a year. And then he'd have to take Xolorrr off-planet. He didn't trust the Daimando hospitals anymore. It would be the end of his Khar, of course, although that was hardly relevant. It would also mean to stop seeing Esmee for quite a while, and in reality, perhaps forever. But he had fallen totally and utterly in love. He didn't want to go anywhere.

He thought of contacting Xolorrr's clan, but he wasn't sure if that was an intelligent thing to do. He knew that the prelation had far-reaching consequences for Xolorrr's life, so he simply didn't want to meddle with that.

But he couldn't dawdle. At the daily rate, he couldn't afford to. So, in the end, he did the only thing he could do. He sent a message to his father, explaining their situation and asking for interplanetary credit.

Sending the message with a guarantee of delivery set him back all his savings and his expected pay of the following few weeks, but Richard had been willing and able to lend him what he lacked. The guy at the post office explained that the message and any possible reply would be routed through many ships and that it might well be several weeks before he'd hear anything.

...

One night when he'd been working with Esmee in her room, they had forgotten the time, and Michael arrived. Esmee had told Luke that Michael and some others would come to prepare 'something'. Luke surmised it concerned one of their projects, possibly including borderline legal activities. He proposed to leave them to it, but Esmee was adamant: "Nonsense. Stay. Just don't talk about it to anyone."

Michael fidgeted, but just then, Jean and a guy named Justian arrived together, and a bit later, Fiona came as well. They looked at Luke with considerable skepticism, but nobody was a match for Esmee, and the matter was decided. Lucas stayed.

Apparently, Justian was a network hacker and had been able to break into the automated window cleaning computer at Brodin Medical's main offices, a gigantic cube made of glass panes. He had happened to mention the fact to Jean, who told Michael, who had immediately seen an opportunity. They would load the window cleaning robot with paint, and they would program the computer to have the robot paint a suitable message all over the building.

They estimated each robot -- there was one on each side of the building, -- could just do one short, gigantic message during the night. They had to do it at night, of course, and they had to make sure the press would be there at daybreak because Brodin Medical would remove the paint as soon as they saw it. They decided on water-soluble paint. According to Michael, it would then be a misdemeanor rather than a crime since they didn't cause any lasting damage.

The one-liner they used in the press was 'Time for Life'. Michael explained: "Stasis is meant to gain time. Time to come up with new medical treatments. Time to deal with overwhelming numbers of ill or injured people. But in exchange for that time, one's life leaks away. Not the life of the future, which may be better due to treatment and recovery, but the life of today, which slips away one day at a time. It destroys the quality of the lives of all people involved. And often for no better reason than profit."

The raid was planned six nights hence. It was a new moon then, and they would only postpone if it rained, which was unlikely.

...

Two days later, Esmee called him. She sounded anxious. "We have to meet. Immediately, if that's ok. Take the train over here, and I'll meet you at the entrance. Oh no. Do you remember where we had our first date? Let's meet there. They'll be closed now, but we can meet in front. When can you be there?"

He had been doing some paperwork that could wait, so he sat on the train almost immediately, becoming more worried by the minute. She hadn't sounded really anxious at all but plain scared.

It was a five-minute walk from the station, and when he got there, she was already waiting for him. She took him by the arm and led him to stroll down the street.

"You've met Jean the other day. How did she strike you?"

"Nervous. Not much else. I didn't really notice her. Why?"

"Well. She's been getting worse. Her nervousness used to be less pronounced. I notice things like that. It started about a year ago, and when it registered, I started observing her in detail. I told you about my opto-intercept. It allows me to analyze my peripheral vision, so I can watch things I'm not looking at. Not real-time, but afterward. And I've seen looks on her face that are weird and sometimes downright scary.

"Anyway, at some point, I decide to keep tabs on her. There's this service I use called Snappy Ferrets. They listen to the net and decode whatever they can. You pay them a massive amount of money, and they will look at all communication they can get their hands on. Most of it's encoded, of course, but they can crack stuff, sometimes. So the last couple of months, they've been looking at Jean for me. It's terribly expensive, and I was planning to stop it because I can't really afford it, but now I'm glad I didn't, yet.

"Snappy Ferrets sends me everything they can decode, and yesterday's dump contained a message Jean sent. It was encoded but easy to break, they say. I don't know why. The message merely says 'ok,' but what she replied to was included. It reads 'T41 ok, bugbots bo, Thu'. Didn't make any sense to me. When I checked why my node flagged it, it turned out that 'T41' is on its long list. Apparently, it's an explosive.

"So then I called a friend of mine. Someone who knows something about explosives. I mean, I've scanned the net, and there's stuff, but it doesn't mean anything to me. I can let you hear the conversation with him. You won't be hearing his voice because he uses a synthesizer.

> "All it says is 'T41 ok, nanotics bo, Thu,' and apparently T41 is an explosive. I can't make heads or tails of this."

>

> "And you're wondering what this is about."

>

> "Yeah."

>

> "Could this be a rock sculptor?"

>

> "A what?"

>

> "A rock sculptor. There was an article about a year back about this. T41 and nanorobots. There's a sculptor that uses it. He decorates mountains. Etches them. He says he tried fixed lasers, which give a distorted picture, apparently, and floating lasers, which were too much of a pain to control.

>

> "So now he uses this paint, T41. It is an explosive, but it's really crap. He says he likes it because he can apply it in varying thicknesses. And he puts nanorobots in it for detonation. He can paint for a couple of days, and when he's happy, he sends the key, which sets off the bots, which in turn detonate the T41.

>

> "I know about T41, but as I said, it's total crap. As an explosive. That's why you can get it just like that. If you want to blow up something, you're not going to use T41. And using nanorobots is really expensive. Even when you are going to use cheap robots. I mean, if one in a million works, that's still ok, I guess. But they have to decode for a key. And besides, detonators are expensive anyway, 'cause they're illegal.

>

> "For this sculptor, it's ideal. I mean, he just wants to etch, and using different thicknesses or patches or patterns would give him nice effects, I imagine, and the robots would be ok. He can't run the risk of the stuff going off when he's busy, and his customer will pay for it anyway. But other than that, I can't imagine anyone using this. This Jean a sculptor?"

>

> "No."

>

> "Thought not. I would say she's read that article."

>

> "And 'bo'? Does that mean anything to you?"

>

> "Yup. But I can't tell you, it's so secret .... Incredible nitwit. It's probably back-ordered. They say they have back-ordered the bots and will get them Thursday, the day after tomorrow if this is now. She says Thursday's fine."

>

> "Oh my god."

>

> "What?"

>

> "We were planning something coming Saturday. We were planning to decorate the BM building. Well. To have a robot do it. What would happen if you put this T41 on a window?"

>

> "Break the window. But it won't do any damage. Big mess, but that's it."

>

> "And on a lot of windows?"

>

> "A bigger mess. They'd certainly be annoyed, the bastards, haha."

>

> "I still don't see, ...."

>

> "Maybe a stupid question, but why were you going to paint their windows?"

>

> "Well, we were just going to put a message there. Just to rile them and get to the news, of course."

>

> "Hm. Well. This should do that. If you wait till there's people there before you detonate, you will definitely get to the news. Lots of blood, perhaps no casualties. Well, no. Chances are people will be very seriously hurt. And it will just be the poor bastards that happen to be in front of a window. You shouldn't want to do this."

>

> "But won't they just wash the paint off immediately when they see it in the morning?"

>

> "How? Once it's dried, you don't just wash it off. You can scrape it off, though you have to be careful. It's an explosive, after all. I think the sculptor just didn't do that, but I can't remember if it's unstable. Wouldn't think so. Certainly not soluble, though."

>

> "But this is not at all what we planned to do. This is monstrous."

>

> "I'll say. I can't imagine anyone even thinking of this as an action. You get zero sympathies for this, and they'd find you. I mean, you found this email without trying too much. If they're going to use T41, stay very clear of them. It's only going to get messy, and it's all for nothing."

>

> "But we weren't going to do this."

>

> "Well. She is. I'll check to see if I can find anything out about her. I'd say it's weird that she's doing this and not telling you. Let me just check up on her, and under no circumstance, go along with this. Get a headache or something, .... Oh. Gotta go. Bye, lover."

Esmee gave Luke some time to process it. They strolled on, taking random turns.

"Lover?"

"Oh Luke, do be serious. My mother and his were very close friends. They grew up together. They had their first child about the same time, and both being single, they spent a lot of the time together. So Mark and I slept in one bed when we were very, very young. I can still remember. His mother died when we were fifteen, and he was taken in by his grandparents. We're still in contact, every now and then, though I can't see him anymore. I shouldn't tell you this, but he used to be one of the revolutionaries Richard talked about the other day. He's hiding somewhere, and I don't even know where. We can call through a dropbox, but there's a small risk for him whenever I call. And we're not lovers. It's just something he says. Not that it's any of your concern."

"No. Sorry. You're right. So. You have to stop the plan you guys had, and you have to stop meeting that group."

"But what can I say? I am a terrible liar. I couldn't. They'd know something was going on immediately. Jean would know for sure. That's why I called you. I don't know what to do."

"Well, you have to do something. You can't do anything like this, and you can't let it happen to the others. But I agree. Jean might guess. How about if you don't have to say a thing. Just go about as planned, and I'll think of something to stop you guys. Probably even better if you don't know. You won't have to lie."

"But what will you do? What can you do?"

"Oh. I'll think of something. And if I won't, we can still come up with a lie at the last minute."

"But that still leaves Jean. It gives me the creeps. What in heaven is she doing?"

She looked at him, no longer scared, having shared, but anxious and even vengeful.

"I don't know, I have to think about it. Let's drop it for a while and focus on preventing the raid first."

They walked on. Obviously, they couldn't drop it. Esmee continued to come up with thoughts and worries, and Luke tried to calm her down. In the end, they went to Esmee's apartment to have coffee. When Luke had to leave -- he and Dawn had tickets for a performance, -- they said goodbye.

"And don't worry about the raid. Just go about as planned, and I'll prevent it.

...

The following day Lucas met Richard about a job. "You have to distinguish the person from the organization, Luke. She's a technician working at the Vault, so her paycheck comes from the medicorps, but she isn't one of them if you understand what I'm saying. She's got to eat too. She has three children, and as a single parent, she can't be too picky about her job. I'm telling you upfront so that you know. If it's a problem for you, that's ok. I'd think of something else. What do you think?"

"I wouldn't hold it against anyone, Richard. My father is the Mayor of a very big city. When I was in high school, some of the students would truly hate me just because their parent's politics didn't coincide with that of my father, or indeed that of the city council. It is primitive and stupid. I've been brought up to look at what people do or condone rather than anything else."

"Well, good for you. This woman, her name is Linda, is in trouble with the Bureau of Revenue. She's made some bad investments with her savings, and now it's gone, and she is in arrears with her taxes. She's had some help from a guy who's made matters much worse, trying to pull a fast one on the BR. Fortunately, they know this guy, so they won't hold it against her. But if she doesn't come up with a plausible plan to pay what she owes, they are going to come down on her for sure. Do you have time, or are you busy?"

There was a slight smirk. Richard was well aware that Luke had been spending as much time with Esmee as she would let him. "Sure. Is there any specific hurry?"

"No. Not really. She has an interview in two weeks, so by then, there has to be something on paper. Well. It's going to need more than just paper. Here's the address and stuff."

Luke called her that night, assuming she'd be back from work by then, but according to the majordomo, she was out and couldn't be reached. Only then did he remember Richard mentioning shifts, so she might as well be at work. The majordomo noted how to reach Luke and promised to inform Linda as soon as possible.

Luke went to bed early and tried to think about Esmee's troubles but fell asleep before coming up with any ideas. When Dawn came home, he was already fast asleep.

...

The next day, after breakfast, Linda called. She had just returned after her night shift and had packed the children off to school. She needed to sleep first and asked if Luke could meet somewhere in the afternoon, which was ok.

In the morning, Luke went to the Brodin offices to think about how to prevent Esmee's 'paint-job'. The building stood fairly close to the street. Across were several small shops, a burger place, and a Chinese take-away. Between the two restaurants was a small alley leading to the kitchens and emergency exits. Ideal. Luke had seen a movie once, which gave him all ideas he needed.

He bought a cheeseburger in the shop and walked back to the station, munching it and thinking about that Jean person. What on earth was she planning to do. And why?

As he wanted to cross the road to get to the station's entrance, a fire engine sped by. Luke smiled inwardly.

...

Linda McCauley was about forty. She might once have been pretty, but now she just looked tired. Luke couldn't imagine having three children as a single parent, but if this was the result, he wasn't envious.

And that was only the beginning of her trouble. After talking to her and working for an hour with her financial AI, he was surprised she could smile at all. She was more than two years' taxes in arrears, and her savings had been poorly invested without security. They had turned into another very substantial debt. Her previous financial advisor had tried to write off a large part of the BR debt with a bogus claim but had been seen through immediately, which had resulted in a substantial fine for her as well. All in all, she was short, just more than $20000, which she wouldn't be able to put aside from her pay in ten years, given the way they lived and the money needed for her children, two of which were in college.

Luke admonished her to think about relatives and really good friends that might lend her money. He made her go through the list of all their spendings and separate the truly essential from the rest. He could see she didn't yet grasp her situation, so he promised to be back the next day. By now, he knew very well that people in trouble needed to understand and accept their problems before they were willing to do anything whatsoever about it. Telling people to change for their own good when they didn't see it themselves was a frustrating and utter waste of time and effort.

...

When he announced himself the next day, the majordomo let him in. He found Linda in the living room, crying her heart out. It had hit home, apparently. He didn't know what to do, so he just stood there. After a while, the sobbing subsided, and she wiped her face on her sleeve. She looked at Luke, and his presence registered again. It made her start all over once more. Feeling awkward, Luke went to her and put his arms around her. Whether she noticed, he didn't know. She cried for a long time, and then she fell silent.

"I'm in trouble, aren't I," she stammered. What could he say? They wouldn't put her in jail, but they would confiscate all her possessions. They'd have to move to the cheapest flat they could find. The children would have to quit college. Find jobs to make ends meet. With Linda's job, they wouldn't starve, but they would never have any extra's again. The BR would grab everything they could for the next several years.

Luke wanted to start working, but obviously, he couldn't like this. They made an attempt, and he could see she was honestly trying to cut costs wherever possible, but it just wasn't going to be enough to convince the BR of anything.

"Have you thought of anyone who might be able to help you? Anyone at all?"

"No. All our friends have gone. I mean, when my husband left, he took our friends with him. It was, ..., not even his fault, maybe. It was ugly, and afterward, I had to focus on finding a place, keeping my job, and getting the children to school. I didn't notice, and when I did, he'd talked to our friends. I don't even know what he told them. Haven't spoken to any. And I haven't made any friends since. It's just too much with the kids, you know. I'm happy if I can sit and read a book once a week. My relatives are all gone. They went off-world, and I haven't had contact since. I don't even know where they are."

She started crying again, then stopped again. "I'll make you something to drink. Luke looked at the computer forlornly. He wanted to help but knew it wasn't possible. All he could think of was that if the judge was incredibly lenient and the BR in an uncharacteristically magnanimous mood, they might leave her just enough to keep the children in school. But it wasn't likely. He couldn't imagine the BR being magnanimous.

When she came back from the kitchen with two cups of coffee, they talked for a while. She didn't cry anymore. Her expression was hollow. Every now and then, her eyes would rest on one of the few things she imagined had any value, apparently. Each time her eyes would quickly shy away again.

When he left, he took a copy of her status. He promised to make the best possible proposal for her, and then they would have to hope for a miracle. From her expression, it was clear she didn't have any hope left.

...

At nine-thirty, a man of Luke's general dimensions emerged from Wantata park. He walked towards the BM building, across and further down the road.

He wore an outrageous mustache and a wild beard, and shades all but hid the rest of his face, or rather, the latex mask he was wearing. On his head was a wide-brimmed hat, and he wore an oversized trench coat with padded shoulders and cheap running pants. On one foot, he wore a boot, and on the other, a slipper.

Occasionally he glanced over his shoulder. Just as he arrived directly opposite the building, he stepped into the small alley between two diners there, disappearing from view.

He put on a pair of thin household gloves. Then he shoved a garbage container between the two opposing doors, presumably leading to the kitchens or storage. It wouldn't stop anyone for long, but he wouldn't be surprised by anyone stepping out of either door.

From the pocket of his coat, he brought forth a sling. It consisted of a two-pound steel ball-bearing with a length of nylon cord glued to one end.

Luke had taken the steel balls two days earlier when he visited one of his customers. A small garage he'd helped out with their financials. The owner needed to scrape by to pay for his child, still in Stasis. In that garage stood three large crates with all sorts of discarded parts and sundry. By the state of it, some had been lying there for years, and Luke was entirely sure the ball-bearings didn't have any significant value, nor would they ever be missed.

The hatted man looked around the corner of his hide-out to make sure no pedestrians were close by or in the hall of the BM building. With a gigantic heave, he threw the sling across the street at the glass building. It fell short by about three yards, doing no damage whatsoever. It needed more inclination. He took another sling from his pocket.

He gave the second sling all he could, making sure it had a slightly better inclination. He looked at it worryingly, perhaps afraid that it might go too steep and glance off the window. Unnecessarily. It hit one of the huge panes immediately above the front door. Even though he had been expecting it, he appeared astounded by the spectacular result. The glass was thick, of course, in order to withstand heavy weather, but it was no match for a hardened two-pound steel ball. It exploded into a million tiny shards. The hallway and the street were covered in them.

He retreated all the way to the back of the alley, pulling the garbage container away from the doors and hiding behind it. Then, he brought forth a hand-held node and proceeded to send a message to the fire department, telling them that a gas leak had exploded in the Brodin Medical head offices and that there was now a fire raging on the first three floors. He sent a second message to a police station twenty blocks away, telling them that a sniper was shooting people at random. He added the address of the building next to that of BM. Then he turned off the node, ensuring it was completely dead.

Another sling went way to the left, avoiding the people that were now moving towards the building to look at what on earth had happened. It hit the gigantic window of what appeared to be a conference hall, empty at that time of day. The effect was even more spectacular than that of the previous sling. It looked like a bomb did actually explode in the building.

The third message went to another police station, ten blocks away, telling them that a meteor had crashed into the BM building and that there were many dead and wounded. Then he contacted three taxi dispatches, informing them that the power exchange in the BM building had exploded and that they needed all the capacity they could find to bring the wounded to hospitals nearby and further away.

He took a fourth sling from his pocket. But then he looked at the street, which was by now lined with onlookers, and put the sling away again. He moved back the garbage container to where it was earlier and strolled out of the alley just as a group of people emerged from the burger place to gawp.

He stood and gawped with the people, making some non-committal, unintelligible comments to the guy standing next to him, looking about as he did so.

By now, traffic was at a total stand-still. Police, firefighters, and taxis were everywhere. Some to gawp, most to look for the tens if not hundreds of wounded people that needed transportation. Only twenty-five minutes had passed since the man came out of the park. Decisively he turned and walked down the street, back towards Wantata Park.

He walked deep into the park, where trees obscured any possible view. From an inside pocket, he took a pair of sandals and a package which turned out to be a folded rucksack. There, he put the hat, trench coat, slacks, shoes, beard, mustache, latex mask, and the remaining sling.

Luke sat down to wait for almost an hour. Then he walked further towards the back of the park. There was a small entrance there, giving way to a residential area where he didn't expect nor had seen any security cameras. He walked a long way between residential blocks, with here and there a small shop on the ground floor. He arrived at the train station and took the first train.