A sale was never just a sale. Every transaction built his network, expanded his intelligence sources. This nervous kid might someday mention something crucial he’d overheard while maintaining an upper-level environmental system.

  The customer forked over his credcard. Offante held it to the reader with a triumphant motion, watching the transaction complete while his mind cataloged the name that appeared: Horne Jost, Block D-12, Level 49. Worth remembering.

  “Smart choice,” Offante said, packaging the filter in a recyclable mesh. “This’ll keep you sharp when it matters most.”

  As the young Blend left, the shop door sliding shut with a pneumatic hiss, Offante’s attention shifted to the feed displayed on the small screen beneath his counter. Two Enforcement Q officers passed by outside, their crisp uniforms and rigid posture marking them as clearly as if they’d carried signs. The district had seen increased patrols since yesterday’s medical supply theft, although Offante doubted that was their primary concern.

  Losing five of their own for no apparent reason likely induced a greater sense of urgency. This sort of squeeze wasn’t new, but it lacked the subtlety of past endeavors.

  Offante watched them pass, oblivious of the machinations within their earshot. Unlike them, Offante knew most of the meds had been distributed through the network or were set to be moved. And no one connected with the theft had been so much as questioned.

  Yet.

  And there was that unfortunate loose thread.

  Ah, for a day free of worry.

  Offante returned to the main floor and assisted his next customer, an older woman – Gen 2 Blend – with integrated arm servos which needed specialized lubricant. As he discussed viscosity options with her, part of him remained fixed on the problem.

  Adjustments to the game plan were inevitable. Contacts must be warned of the dynamic before anyone acted in haste.

  But first, he had lubricant to sell.

  He glanced over the woman’s shoulder as she reviewed her options and noticed the two enforcers had not moved on as expected. They lingered at the nearest corner junction, pretending to scan the crowd but glancing toward his shop. Offante maintained his salesman’s smile as he completed the transaction; but beneath the counter, his fingers tapped a silent alert code. Three short pulses followed by two.

  “Come back next week,” he told the woman, handing over her specialized lubricant. “I’m expecting a shipment of premium grade. Easier to apply, longer-lasting, custom fragrances.”

  No such shipment existed, but the mention would spread through his customer network, bringing people in to check, allowing him to steer visitors toward his specialized stock, always conveniently on sale. Others would use it as an excuse to pass along intel.

  When the shop emptied, Offante locked eyes with Jaxson, his youngest employee who was stocking shelves, and nodded toward the back room. The young Patchie understood, slipping through the curtained doorway to activate their secondary defensive protocols.

  He watched through the front display as the enforcers finally abandoned subtlety and approached his entrance. Their hands rested too casually on their shock batons, their posture too rigid for a routine patrol. They’d obviously been waiting for the last customer to clear out.

  Do your best, friends.

  Offante leaned against his counter, projecting relaxed confidence. Let them come. His shop was clean, meticulously so. The secrets habituated elsewhere, through layers of cutouts and proxies. If Enforcement Q was focusing resources on watching his legitimate business which had been searched three times in the past year, it meant they had nothing concrete.

  Desperate and grasping. This should be a delight.

  The door slid open with a hiss, admitting the two officers. Their eyes swept the space, cataloging exits and potential weapons with professional precision.

  “Gentlemen!” Offante spread his arms wide, his merchant’s smile firmly in place. “Looking for environmental filters? Modification components for that special Blend in your life?” He chuckled. “Pardon the ribald humor. At any rate, I’m running a special on cooling systems, perfect for those stuffy enforcement uniforms.”

  The taller officer stepped forward.

  “Offante Ruhl?”

  “Unless I’ve been replaced by a clone. Indeed, sir. Purveyor of the finest parts in the Servo District.” He pointed to his business license above the counter. “Everything in order, I assure you.”

  Their faces remained impassive, but Offante caught the microexpressions: The slight squeezing around the eyes, the almost imperceptible thinning of lips. They had expected fear, not this breezy confidence.

  You poor null-jacks, he thought, maintaining his smile. If you’re wasting resources here, you’ve got nothing but wild speculation.

  Not nearly the tools worthy of the elaborate game Offante played.

  The taller officer reached into his uniform pocket and withdrew a thin display card. With a flick of his thumb, five faces materialized in the air between them: Holographic images hovering in the shop’s blue-tinted light.

  “We’re conducting an investigation into the disappearance of these men,” he said, voice flat and professional. “They were last seen on patrol near the Market Strip.”

  Offante maintained his easy smile, but his enhanced optical sensors captured and stored the images, cross-referencing them against his mental database. His neural implants registered a slight elevation in heart rate, which he suppressed through his autonomic control mods.

  “Disappeared, you say?” Offante leaned forward, examining the images with what he hoped appeared as casual curiosity rather than intense scrutiny. “That’s concerning. Enforcement presence keeps our little district safe, after all.”

  The second officer snorted, the sound conveying volumes about his opinion of Blend neighborhoods.

  Offante pointed to two of the faces he had seen hanging about.

  “They came through a couple days back.” He tapped his chin. Best to make this look good. “Browsing, not buying. Asked about environmental filters for upper-level work.”

  The taller officer’s posture shifted: More alert, more focused.

  “What time was it?”

  “Mid-afternoon? Later?” Offante shrugged. “So much foot traffic. Hard to be precise.”

  “Did they mention where they were headed? Who they planned to meet, if anyone?”

  Offante spread his hands.

  “They weren’t exactly exposition machines. Not to offer offense, you lot don’t traditionally enjoy shopping in our establishments.” He added a touch of resignation to his voice, playing to their prejudices. “They looked around, decided not to purchase, and left. We were socked at the time, so I gave no thought to which way they turned outside my door.”

  The officers exchanged glances, a silent communication passing between them.

  “If you remember anything else,” the taller one said, handing over a contact chip, “report it immediately.”

  “Of course, Officer. Always happy to assist Enforcement Q.”

  Offante accepted the chip with a slight bow of his head, the perfect image of a compliant citizen.

  As they turned to leave, the second officer paused, eyes narrowing as they swept over the shop once more. He was shorter but with slitted eyes that seemed honed to latching onto the details.

  “Interesting business you’ve built, Ruhl. Lot of specialized equipment for a simple parts shop.”

  “I cater to a specific clientele,” Offante replied smoothly. “In the Servo District, we all have our modifications.”

  “So, you’d know most of your kind by name. Yes?”

  “I have an eidetic memory, Officer, but I also have competition, so many of my kind never grace me with their chee.”

  The officer smirked as if he’d heard something witty.

  “You must be referring to the criminal element. They’d know better than to embroil you in their activities. Smuggling. Black market.”

  Oh, good. Time to play along.

  Offante placed a hand over his heart.

  “They know Offante Ruhl does not deal with the scurvier elements of our little community.”

  “We’re not customers, Ruhl. Save your slag for the old women and the easy marks.”

  The door hissed shut behind them, and Offante’s smile faded like a light being switched off.

  Offante waited seven minups after the enforcers departed before activating the shop’s scrambling field. A subtle shift in the lighting, imperceptible to anyone without enhanced vision, signaled the change.

  “Jaxson, run a full sweep,” he called toward the back room, his voice casual but his eyes scanning for the telltale shimmer of surveillance tech. “Those enforcers left behind visible prints.”

  The young Patchie emerged with a handheld scanner disguised as a stock counter. Offante’s fingers danced across a hidden console. Three rapid messages dispersed through his network: one to his lookouts near the Market Strip, one to the safe houses, and another to his most valued employee.

  EQ pressing hard. Five missing officers. Stay vigilant.

  He might need to recalibrate plans. Those two officers passed on him for now, but others would land at his door. Redundancy was a trademark of the EQ.

  “Floor’s clean,” Jaxson reported, slipping the scanner back into his pocket. “But they left tracker dust on the doorframe.”

  Offante nodded. Tracker dust. – microscopic location beacons that adhered to clothing and skin – was standard procedure when Enforcement Q suspected but couldn’t prove criminal intent. Anyone entering or leaving the shop would unknowingly carry the trackers, leading the enforcers to their associates.

  “Standard countermeasures,” he instructed, wiping the doorframe clean. “Alert the network. Level two protocols.”

  Jaxson disappeared into the back room again while Offante returned to his counter, resuming his merchant persona. Soon, three unassuming customers came and went: A repair technician looking for specialized tools, a young mother seeking cooling system parts for her child’s bedroom, and another older Blend requiring joint lubricant.

  With each transaction, Offante slipped in coded phrases that would spread through the district: Weather turning cold. Systems need checking. Pressure’s dropping.

  The next visitor changed today’s game. The familiar old friend’s appearance filled Offante with a rising hope that maybe that dreaded loose thread might be about to be disappear.

  Arliss Dubai’s body language carried a disciplined yet measured quality Offante rarely saw before imprisonment. A harder edge, heightened vigilance.

  The old friend swept the shop with a cautious gaze.

  I’d be careful in your position, too.

  “Arliss! Twice in three days. A true honor.” Offante slipped back into his salesman charisma. “What brings you to my humble establishment today?”

  Arliss approached the counter, reaching into his jacket to withdraw an elongated device: A crude but workable water pressure mitigator was Offante’s best guess.

  “Thought you might be interested in this. Meera built it from spare parts while I was away.”

  Ah, yes. A viable cover story.

  No one tried to sell homemade devices here, especially not old friends who knew his business model.

  “Interesting craftsmanship,” he said, taking the device and turning it over in his hands. “Meera’s an artist. Let’s discuss this in my office. The lighting’s better for examining fine work.”

  He led Arliss through the curtained doorway into the back room, past Jaxson and through a second door into a small office space. Once inside, Offante activated the security field, transforming the windows into opaque barriers and creating a sonic dampening field.

  “No worries, old friend. The security nodes I pointed out on your last visit? I only told you half the story.” His countermeasures hummed at a whisper. “The nodes see what we allow them to see. No one knows you’re back here. Every node in Ruhl’s thinks it’s watching an empty room.”

  He settled into his elevated work stool and got on with business straightaway.

  “I see the family reunion’s been eventful.”

  Arliss placed the device on the desk between them and popped open its side panel. Instead of circuitry, the casing contained several small packets of clear gel: Neural conditioners, each worth at least two hundred chee on the black market.

  “Found these in my son’s possession,” Arliss said, voice resigned.

  “Ah. The heist. Interesting hobby for a twelve-year-old.”

  Offante kept his expression neutral, though his pulse sped up. So, Kip did escape with a case, after all.

  The thread no longer dangled.

  “He won’t tell me who he’s working with. Just says friends.” Arliss’s eyes narrowed. “But I know someone who organizes things in this district. Someone who might have answers.”

  Careful now. Offante leaned back, measuring his next words.

  “I’m sure you don’t think I’m connected, old friend.”

  “I think you know more than you’re saying.” Arliss leaned in. “My son’s gotten pulled into something dangerous.”

  Offante studied his old friend’s face, calculating his response. A father’s protective fury burned bright.

  “The district’s changed, Arliss. Pure Breathers on the rise. Enforcement Q exceeding their authority. The price of life-saving Blend meds taking a sharp rise.” He tapped one of the gel packets. “Desperation for neural conditioners just like these.”

  Arliss’s jaw steeled.

  “And you have nothing to do with it?”

  “I’m simply explaining the reality we’re living in. Blend have always been expert at improvising. They bred it into us.”

  “Oneminup a twelve-year-old improvises. The next, he’s dead. Or joining his father on Rogue. You wouldn’t want that for Kip.”

  Offante heard the tone of a man fishing for answers without hard evidence. He didn’t enjoy playing this game with Arliss, but timing mattered, and this was no time for revelation.

  “Kip is a delight. My fellow Jaxson – you passed him on your way in – is roughly Kip’s age. He shares the burden of a Patchie’s life. He’s also fortunate, Arliss, to have a routine. A place to go where he is safe and earns chee. Many of his ilk do not feel the same. Poor things.”

  Like with the officers, he released just enough information without tripping over himself.

  “There are gangs of children. Some more intent on disruption than others. I’ve heard whispers, but I’m rarely interested. Pikers. Yes. That’s one. Unfortunately, the who, why, and where are a mystery. If Kip’s running with them … Put another way: Drop their name in his presence. Look for a reaction. He might be more receptive to your questions.”

  Doubtful.

  “They’re children,” Arliss countered, slamming his palm on the desk. “And someone’s using them.”

  Offante shrugged.

  “Or someone’s giving them purpose. Direction. A chance to fight back against a system which offers little hope. Do not judge, friend. Life is not binary.”

  He watched Arliss process this, saw the conflict play across his features; even the most protective parents had to face the hard curves of reality. Yet Arliss pressed.

  “These gangs need benefactors. That heist only succeeded because of intel handed down from a well-connected adult.”

  Offante shook his head.

  “That information wouldn’t help you or Kip. But I can tell you this: They’re not alone. There’s a larger network protecting Blend interests in this district. We look after each other more than ever. You missed more than you can imagine.” He held Arliss’s gaze. “Someone with your skills would fit snugly into this network.”

  “I didn’t come back for a fight,” Arliss mumbled. “I came back for my family.”

  “And what kind of future will they have if nothing changes?” Offante countered. “What happens when the Pure Breathers get what they want?”

  Arliss rolled his eyes.

  “The Pure Breathers aren’t my concern right now. These are.” He tapped the neural conditioners. “Can you move the rest quietly? Get them to people who need them?”

  Offante studied his friend, noting the subtle shifts in his posture. Prison hadn’t erased Arliss’s compassion, just buried it beneath layers of caution. That was something he could work with.

  “A perfunctory question.” Offante picked up one of the gel packets and examined it. “These will disappear into my channels within the urn. Those in need will see the benefits. I assume you have an entire case stashed somewhere far from obvious?”

  Arliss nodded, some of the tension leaving his shoulders.

  “Meera’s clever. An EQ raid would turn up nothing.”

  “Cleverest woman I know, and I rarely bestow such compliments upon our mild-skinned brothers and sisters.”

  “We need to be rid of it. How’s the best …?”

  Offante wagged a dismissive finger.

  “About that. You can’t keep dropping by with homemade devices. Enforcement Q left tracker dust on my doorframe today. They’re watching.”

  “Figured as much,” Arliss said. “That wasn’t my plan. We hid the rest at three V-junctions in a dry induction shaft behind the reclamation plant on L57. Meera has admin access through Silar Engines. It’s a low priority sector. No eyes on it. But if your contacts were willing to …”

  Offante raised a brow, impressed with the improvisation.

  “A smart location. High ambient interference in that zone, combined with our dampeners … easy, friend.”

  A ghost of a smile crossed Arliss’s face.

  “How soon, you think?”

  “I’ll get to the matter straightaway. Already have someone in mind.”

  “Good. Remember, Offante: I want these supplies to reach people who need them. Not end up confiscated or sold to the highest bidder.”

  Offante placed his hand over his heart in mock offense.

  “You wound me, old friend. When have I ever been less than honorable in my dealings?”