Neon Dust [Progression Cyberpunk] 1. Opening Act

1 – Opening Act

Tony drifted, mostly oblivious, but a voice wound its way into his ear out of the darkness, “This plasma forge is bonded with the bones. We’re not getting it off in one piece.”

A more familiar voice, though too deep and too slow, replied, “Take the arm.”

The first voice ca again. It was like a recording played at half-speed, but Tony was pretty sure it was Chavez. “Who’s the lucky SOB getting this reactor and matrix? Tier-one Dust-tech, man.”

“Not your problem. Not your business.” Sowhere in the back of Tony’s mind, he wondered why Eric was talking about his gear with a stranger. Why were they talking like he wasn’t there?

“And the optics? We’re leaving him blind?”

“Leave him one. She’ll be satisfied with one eye. I’ll say the other was destroyed when we took him out.”

“We can get the auditory implants out, but his eardrums will be scarred.”

“Just do it! Take anything you can that won’t kill him.”

“The wirejob? It’s built into all his tendons, muscles, a synaptic sh—he’ll be a vegetable if I take—”

“Am I talking to myself? Leave the goddamn wirejob! He’s never gonna have the Dust to fire it off.”Sowhere in his muddled, half-conscious mind, Tony felt a flare of anger. Who was Eric so pissed at? Him? At…soone else? Why? What changed? Did he screw him over? As sothing hot lanced into his chest, the darkness pulled him down, and he lost track of the voices, his thoughts, and his feelings.

***

“…your ass up, scav. This is Helldog turf.” Tony felt a rough jostle, and his forehead scraped on sothing that felt like concrete. He coughed. God! The air was thick! He blinked, only finding darkness, and tried to activate his AUI. Nothing happened—nothing but black behind his eyelids. He felt another rough shove, and his forehead scraped further over the rough ground. This ti, so light ca into his eye. “Move, slug!”

Tony groaned and flopped onto his side so his face turned toward the voice. A man who seed more mountain than person lood over him. He wore stained jeans, half a dozen chains, a black synth-leather jacket with a dozen colorful patches sewn into the material, and boots—big black, steel-toed boots—one of which was poised to smash Tony in the face.

He flung out his arms—arm, he soon realized—and barely deflected the blow so it painfully ground into his forearm and shoulder instead of his mouth. “I’m moving,” he grunted, scrabbling to his knees. He tried to push himself up with both hands, but his right arm seed to have been truncated at the elbow.

“Hurry up, you disgusting rat!” The enormous man gave Tony’s rump a kick for good asure. Sniggers sounded nearby, and sothing hot ca to life in Tony’s chest. Nobody treated Anthony Michael Santoro like a bum-rat scav! With great pain and stiffness, he drove himself to his feet, furious to find them bare. They took his boots? His beautiful, perfectly broken-in, synthetic alligator-hide boots? He whirled on the three “Helldogs,” scowling.

“Keep your filthy, shit-scraping claws off !”

“Ooh, listen to this gutter rat, boys! He’s got a little spunk in him! Sobody ssed you up, pretty boy. Better take a look in the mirror. Hah, gonna be hard with those eyes!”

“Good one, Beef!” another voice chid in, sowhere off to Tony’s right. “He’s still got a pretty one, though! Maybe I could use an upgrade!”

“Nah, runt.” Beef licked his thick lips with an overly moist tongue. “I think maybe I’ll take it.” The hulking fellow—more fat than muscle, if Tony were any judge—produced a switch from inside his jacket and flicked open the blade with a satisfying snick. anwhile, Tony held his left hand up, blinking at it. Things weren’t right. He was missing an eye?

“Oh, shit,” he sighed, rembering the snatches of conversation he’d heard while drugged up—not a dream, after all. They took his eye. They took nearly everything. He looked down at himself. He still wore his blue silk shirt, but it was torn, bloody, and stained from filth in the alley he’d rolled through. His pants were in a similar condition.

“Oh shit, is right, my boy!” his antagonist crooned, waving the knife back and forth.

“Cut him up, Beef!” one of the others said, moving into Tony’s view out of his missing eye’s blind spot. This one was skinny and had a denim vest—fewer patches, too.

Looking past him, Tony caught his first real look at his surroundings—graffiti on every building, trash piled in the alleys, extruded concrete and plasteel buildings that had once been state-of-the-art but were now worn down and dirty from lack of maintenance, the salty, moist air, and the ever-present thick corrupted Dust mingling with the soot and smog. Tony coughed, loosening the top button at his collar—why had they bothered with the button before dumping him? He lifted his right arm, stared at the bloody staples on the stump where his elbow used to be, and laughed—more of a choked-off mad cackle than a laugh, but it felt good.

“This guy’s nuts, Beef!” the skinny guy hooted, though his voice was muted and echoed strangely. Tony glared at him, saw he was wearing a bulky breathing apparatus, and grinned.

“I’ll take that mask, runt.”

“Hah!” Beef laughed, lunging with his shiny, narrow blade. It was a clumsy attack, but Tony figured Beef was used to sticking that blade into less-than-agile opponents. If he was where he thought he was, he couldn’t imagine there were many folks around who might give Beef much trouble; the guy had to weigh three hundred pounds, and he was part of a gang. Tony figured the big fellow wasn’t used to “scavs” or “scabs” resisting his less-than-tender, boot-heel ministrations.

Tony had learned long ago that when you were the new guy in a rough area, you had to stand up for yourself. You had to let it be known that you were not the one to fuck with. When soone didn’t get the clue, he’d often found that a little display of violence was usually just what the doctor ordered. So, when Beef made that clumsy yet powerful lunge, Tony channeled so Dust into his muscles, enhancing his strength, speeding his movents, and making Beef’s bulk aningless—

Sothing ca at him out of his blind spot and knocked his legs out from under him. When the concrete impacted the back of his head, Tony blinked at the gray sky, watching tiny stars circle and flash. How long had it been since he’d seen stars like that? A boot ca into view, aiming for his face, and, once again, he threw his arms up, trying to protect his good looks.

“That guy thought he could fight you, Beef! Did you see that? He’s certifiable!”

“Smash him, Beef!” a new voice said, and Tony tilted his head to see the third antagonist—short, bald, with two chro eyeballs and a tattoo on his forehead that read, “REJECT.” It wasn’t lost on him that, while stars were still floating in his vision, Beef’s boot hadn’t co down yet.

“Maybe I ought to let him live.” Beef’s boot slowly ca down, and the bulky man squatted, staring at Tony’s face with a look of surprising intelligence in his deep-set, small, black eyes. “Take a look at this guy’s eye. That’s so high-end chro. Look at his skin and teeth. This rat used to be a corpo-rat.” The two minions giggled at the pun. “What you got for , rat?”

Tony’s mind was reeling, still coming to grips with the idea that nothing had happened when he’d tried to activate his wire-job and fight. His pride was mortally wounded, but did he still want to live? The question wasn’t entirely rhetorical; he wasn’t sure he did. Could he taunt this guy into killing him? It seed like the perfect mont if he wanted to. Still, the question tickled so mories in the back of his mind—green eyes, long hair, soft lips, and the scents of vanilla and jasmine. “Emily,” he whispered hoarsely.

“What’s that, rat? You got sothing for or not?” Beef flicked his switch open and closed just a few inches from Tony’s face.

Tony cleared his throat and licked his lips. He wasn’t ready to die yet. He had to figure out what happened. When had Eric turned on him? Who’d ordered it? Soone must have, right? The chro, the Dust, they took everything—it felt personal. The fact he was still alive said it was. Soone wanted him to suffer. God, what he’d done for all that chro. Could he get it back? “My plasma forge,” he groaned.

“I think he’s too nuts, Beef. Open him up!” Skinny giggled as he spoke, leaning close, peering over the top of his breather.

“Shut up, runt.” Beef leaned closer to Tony’s face. “I think he rang his bell on the concrete. Hey, corpo-rat! You wanna live or die?”

Again, Tony licked his lips, trying to clear the cotton from his mouth. “Live.”

“Hear that, boys? We got us a new rat. Okay, corpo, you’re on my street, you get ? This is Helldog turf, and I run this block. We’ll start easy. Earn a hundred bits by tomorrow. You manage that, and you can keep your eye for another day.”

“A hund—” Tony coughed and winced as his head throbbed. It felt like his skull was coming apart at the seams. “A hundred bits? They pulled my personal AI. I can’t even—” He choked off his words as Beef poked his knife into his ribs, grinding the tip through the skin and into the bone.

“Not my problem, rat. Use a bit-locker.”

“Yeah!” Reject said, coming around to stand behind Beef, his chro eyes bulging. “This is Beef’s corner.”

“Shut up!” Beef lurched to his feet and shoved the much smaller man back. “Bring them bits here tomorrow, rat. Then we can talk about your next job. We’ll be watching.”

Tony just coughed, wheezing from the thick air. He had to be in the Blast. Would Eric really dump him down there? Would he rip out his Dust reactor and dump him in the dirtiest district in the entire tro area? As he struggled to get up, his mind refusing to rember that he only had one arm, he grunted, “Is this—” He coughed. “Is this the Blast?”

“That’s right, corpo. You’re a long way from stretch limos and fine ladies. Go on, now. Get to work!”

Tony nodded and stumbled away from the alley toward the street, where he saw people walking, heads down. An occasional vehicle sped by, sotis honking at the many jaywalkers. He leaned against the rough brick and looked out, squinting his good eye. He saw tall apartnt buildings, but a bodega was on the corner, a pawn shop across the street, and a flower shop on the opposite corner. No one spared him a glance, but an old-tir sweeping outside the pawn shop t his eyes and, to his amazent, offered a quick nod.

Tony checked for cars, then shuffled barefoot on the hot asphalt across the street. When he’d stumbled up the sidewalk, he paused to catch his breath, leaning his good arm on his knee, looking down at his dirty, bloody toes. When had he split his big toenail? He heard the swish of the old guy’s broom and looked up, squinting his eye. Why wasn’t it compensating for the brightness? “No PAI,” he groaned. Of course.

“They really did it.” He lifted the stump of his right arm, noting the raw, red state of the seam where Chavez had stapled the flap of skin in place. It looked sloppy. “All the shit I did for that guy, and this is how he treats ? I practically paid for his yacht!” Grimacing, Tony straightened and pulled the top of his shirt open, loosening a button. Another big red scar t his gaze, stapled shut. As he’d feared, they’d taken his Dust reactor, the whole damn thing. He gingerly felt the back of his neck and, sure enough, found another raw sore—they’d pulled his data port.

After he buttoned his shirt back up, Tony prodded his teeth with his tongue. “At least they left my teeth, those rat bastards!”

“Double-crossed, huh?”

Tony jerked his head up and glared at the old guy with the broom. “You could say that.”

“Hah! Dumped you in the Blast with no shoes? I guess you could be glad they didn’t kill you, but they might as well have. You’re lucky it was the Helldogs’ corner you woke up on and not the Night Ravens.”

Tony sighed and pressed his palm against the throbbing scab where his right eye used to be. “Gangs?”

“Oh yeah. We’ve got quite a few ’round here, but so are worse than others. Helldogs run this street, and I pay my protection, so don’t get any ideas.” He moved a little closer, peering at Tony’s face. “They stripped you down, huh? Took an eye but left you another. Small favors, I s’pose.”

“Look, I should probably get the hell outta here. I gotta get back to New Manhatt—”

The old guy laughed, shaking his head. “You think they’re letting a guy like you through the checkpoint? No PAI—nothing? Never been to the Blast, I take it? Corps tend to discourage free travel. Boxer Manufacturing runs this part of the district, and the neighboring gas have the bridges locked down pretty tight. Takes scratch to get through.” He chuckled, rubbing his fingers together.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“Yeah, I was relieved of my bits.” Tony sighed. “And my Dust. Everything. I need to get a mask or sothing.”

“You don’t even have a matrix or reactor?”

Tony shook his head. “Stripped.”

“Yeah, kid. The Dust down here’s dirty.” He pointed down the street, and Tony looked to see an enormous gatower in the distance, the top half of which was simply gone—girders, broken concrete, and plasteel jutting out at crazy, bent angles. Even so, the bottom third of the thing was lit up. Tony had glimpsed the tower from New Manhattan, but he’d never been close enough to realize it wasn’t abandoned. “Piece of the Aurora Gate fell here, broke the NGT gatower in half, and blew up a fusion reactor—it’s why the Dust is corrupted down here.”

“Yeah, I know the story,” Tony sighed. Everyone knew the origin story of Dust, and the Blast was just a footnote. Persephone, a benevolent AI that destroyed Horizon Net, another AI, in a bid to save humanity from enslavent or extinction—it was never clear—had created a gateway to another dinsion in her space station, Aurora Gate. Nobody knew if she’d intentionally destroyed herself and left the Dust as a gift or if the Dust or sothing on the other side of the gateway had done her in. Whatever the case, she was gone, and the Dust remained.

He realized he’d zoned out, and the old guy had kept talking, “…grows faster here than in other places. ‘Course, it’s all corrupted, and there are so many other places for the gacorps to harvest it. It’s too expensive to purify it, you see? So…” He shrugged.

“So it just gets thick in the air and sses up people’s DNA.” Tony sighed.

“Nah, most everyone has a matrix and a reactor. If not, like you said, there’re breathers that’ll protect you for a while.” He pointed toward the pawn shop. “I’ve got a few. You can borrow one.”

Tony squinted, looking at the shop behind the old guy. The sign above the door read “Bert’s Parts and Pawn.” He nodded at the window. “You’re Bert?”

“Oh, yup. That’s .” Bert smiled and waved the broom toward the door. “Co on. I’ll see if I can find you a breather.” He walked inside, and Tony looked up and down the street. Straining his eye in the opposite direction of the broken gatower, he tried to catch a glimpse of New Manhattan, but the smog, haze, or whatever it was down there was too thick. He followed Bert inside.

When the door closed behind him, Tony paused, examining the store. It was a typical low-tech pawn shop—electronics, a few guns, clothes, and jewelry, but also racks of electronics components, motor parts, and other odds and ends. “So, you’d really let borrow a breather? I don’t think I can repay—"

Bert chuckled and waved his arm, cutting Tony off. “Sure I will, but you’ll owe .”

“Ah.” Tony smiled. “I was waiting for the catch. Look, uh, Bert, they took my data port, my PAI, everything. I don’t have a single bit to my na. I was, um, gonna try to get out of here and see if I could cash in an old favor or two from so of my contacts in the city.”

Bert ca around a rack of second-hand data terminals, holding a breathing apparatus that looked very well used. He had a kind face, with big, rosy cheeks, a short white beard, and long gray hair pulled back into a ponytail. His brown overalls were worn, but Tony could see they were clean. The evidence of many patches with neat stitching told him that Bert was a man who took pride in doing a job right. The shop echoed the sentint; it was crowded but neat. The floor was clean, and nothing was dusty. “You really think that’s an option?”

Tony thought about it for a few long, hard seconds, then shook his head, looking down. “Nah. The people that did this to ,” he gestured to his eye and held up his stump, “don’t leave loose ends. My friends are either dead or turned against .”

“So, what kind of options do you have?”

Tony laughed bitterly. “I dunno, but I better think of sothing ‘cause Beef and his boys expect a hundred bits tomorrow.”

“Oh?” Bert chuckled and tsked. “I wondered why they let you go with such a light beating.”

“Light?” Tony groaned, rubbing the lump on the back of his head. “I’m concussed, for sure.”

“Tell you what, youngster, I can use so help around the store for a while. Not sure I can afford to pay you many bits, but I’ve got a few things you could probably use.”

Again, Tony peered around the place, noting the neatness, the cleanliness, and, most importantly, the lack of custors. He shook his head. “I don’t think you need help, sir, but I appreciate the kindness.”

“Okay, maybe I’m getting by all right, but you know what? I didn’t always use to be such a success story.” He grinned and leaned against his counter, setting the breather aside. “You don’t think I didn’t have my own ‘Bert’ giving a break when I needed it? You just got stripped, dumped in the Blast, and nearly killed by bangers in less than what? Twenty-four hours?”

“When you put it like that…”

Bert shook his head, rubbing his hands together like he was trying to get so dirt or gri off his palms. “If you don’t take a helping hand from or soone else—maybe Preacher Kennedy on the next block—then you’ll be dead by morning. Mark my words.”

“So…?” Tony rubbed his right shoulder, the pain of his recent amputation finally starting to set in now that the adrenaline of his rude awakening was fleeing his system.

“So, I live upstairs, but I’ve got a cot in the storeroom. You work for for a while, and I’ll pay you with room and board, and I’ll throw a few things in along the way, like, instead of this old breather, how about I get you hooked up with my daughter’s old Dust reactor and matrix? They’re not worth much, but they’ll keep the Dust out of your system.”

Maybe it was Bert’s kindness, or maybe he was still crashing from whatever drugs those assholes had pumped him full of before they dumped him, but Tony felt the world start to spin, and he had to squat down and put his hand on the well-worn industrial tiles to hold himself steady and keep from toppling. “Th-thanks, Bert. I don’t know…” Tony blinked, furious to think there was moisture in his eye.

Suddenly, he felt a big, warm, steadying hand on his shoulder. “Easy, kiddo. You've been through the wringer. Let’s get so water in you, and I’ve got a tracksuit for sale here that you can change into. So sneakers, too.” Bert glanced toward the back storeroom door and added, “My daughter should be down soon. I bet I can get her to introduce you to Doc Peters.”

***

Adelaide Florence Jones stared at herself in the mirror and willed the stupid pimple that sat squarely in the center of her brow to lt into nothingness. No matter how she stared, how she scowled, or how she threatened the dumb thing, it refused to fade. The pimple wouldn’t be such an issue if her Gonzo’s vanilla-beige vanishing stick weren’t missing, but no matter how she’d tossed her room, she couldn’t find it.

Of course, it didn’t help that she’d been chased—again—on the way ho from the city council building the afternoon before and hadn’t realized her backpack was halfway open until she’d taken it off in her room. She could only imagine all the precious little items that had bounced out along the way. “Stupid bangers!”

Groaning in frustration, she pulled her thick tangle of wavy brown hair away from her face, tying it in a loose ponytail so she could better administer what few beauty products she could co up with—a tiny dab of foundation around the swollen red lump, a dusting of powder, a little blush, and finally, so simple lip balm. She nodded and reminded herself, “I’m an investigative journalist, not a model!”

Thus, prepared for her day, she left her room for the apartnt’s other living space—a kitchen and family room that doubled as her father’s bedroom. She always felt a twinge of guilt when she looked at the convertible sofa, but he insisted on his daughter having the only bedroom. What could she do? “He’s a good dad, isn’t he, JJ?”

“Albert Jones is the greatest man alive,” her PAI’s tinny voice replied, repeating the line she’d taught it nearly five years prior.

“That’s right.” As she poured herself so cereal, Addie could hear the muffled sounds of conversation from downstairs, and she wondered who was in the shop with her dad. Sotis, Mr. Nguyen ca over from the bodega on the corner to “shoot the breeze.” Depending on whether or not his wife was minding the store, his visits could last anywhere from five minutes to the entire afternoon. “JJ, what ti’s my interview?”

“Your interview with the Royal Breeze Apartnt manager is at twelve-thirty. His words were, ‘I might be available, I might not. Co after lunch.’ You told him—”

“That’s good, JJ.” Addie sighed and took a bite. It was hard work getting people to talk in the Blast, but soone needed to tell their story. The corporate news never reported on any of the cris down there, and there was plenty to go around. Didn’t she owe it to the people of District Seventeen to tell their story? “Sobody has to!”

Addie took a few bites, thinking about her latest scoop. One of the banger gangs, the “Red Thumbs,” was extorting the residents of the Royal Breeze Apartnts—nothing new in the Blast. Everyone paid soone for protection; even her poor dad had to give the Helldogs a weekly stipend, but the people living at the Royal Breeze were paying three different gangs now! Mr. Saito, a man she’d interviewed just two days ago, claid his protection paynts were more than his rent.

“Display my Dust status.” A grainy, flickering window appeared in her vision:

Dust Purity: Impure -

Dust Capacity: 22/30

“Enough for an interview. How’s my data storage?”

“You offloaded your data last night, so your drone should have the capacity for twelve hours of video and audio.”

Addie put her bowl in the sink and walked over to her backpack. Her only truly valuable belonging had survived her flight through the district unscathed. Still, she was nervous that it had been damaged in the scuffle, so she decided to do a diagnostic run. She lifted out the black, egg-shaped plasteel container—supposedly almost identical in size to an ostrich egg—and said, “JJ initiate Dust link.”

“Initiating.” As always, Addie felt her Dust reactor begin to hum at the center of her chest. She felt the weird, tingling, pulling sensation as it sent Dust down the matrix that traversed her major arteries, and then her awareness expanded as she connected to the little drone’s Dust engine.

Addie didn’t have to know any commands or push any buttons; she just wanted the drone to activate, and it did. She felt it drawing the Dust through their link, and suddenly, it was hovering in the air before her, and she could see what it could see—three-hundred-sixty degrees of high-res video feed. She moved it around the room, up to the window, zood, panned, and then returned it to her hands. “Sever the link and show a Dust report.”

Dust Purity: Impure -

Dust Capacity: 22/30

“Nice. Didn’t even use a unit.” Addie tucked her drone into the pack, slung it over her plain navy T, and then walked over to the door, where she slipped her feet into her sensible canvas and mory-gel sneakers. “Ten o’clock, JJ. Let’s go give Pops an early lunch break, then we can head over for the interview.”

JJ didn’t answer; he wasn’t a very good conversationalist, but Addie liked to talk to him anyway. She’d never had many friends, just a couple of kids from the block that she’d grown up with, but both were gone now—one fled the city for greener pastures when she finished her corpo-sponsored secondary school, and the other was dead, killed by bangers for, as far as anyone could discern, his shoes and his new data port. There were other young people in the neighborhood, but none she was too friendly with. Addie considered herself a loner, and she was okay with it.

At the bottom of the stairs, she burst into the shop’s storeroom, and the muffled voices clarified. Her father was saying, “…give Peters these bottles of anti-bac, and he’ll install that arm for you. We’ll call it a month’s advance for your services.”

“A month?” Addie didn’t recognize the voice—youngish, a little rough. Who the heck was her dad hiring for a month? Did he pick up another stray?

“Sure. I’d say that’s a deal. Don’t forget the matrix and reactor! They might be old, but they’ll save you a lot of trouble down here in the Blast.” Addie didn’t know what her father was getting into, but it sounded like trouble. Was he getting shaken down by a new enforcer? She pushed through the swinging stockroom door and saw her dad talking to a tall stranger wearing dark sunglasses—they still had the tag hanging off the side. He was sitting on a stool, leaning an elbow on the counter, and her dad stood across from him, chuckling, flexing an old cybernetic arm as though to demonstrate its functionality.

They both turned to her when the door swung shut and, as always when he saw her, her father’s face broke into a massive smile. “Adelaide!” He turned to the stranger, “Tony, I want you to et my daughter!”

The stranger nodded, staring at her through the dark glasses. He didn’t stand or wave or even say anything, but he turned slightly, and Addie saw his missing arm. She shifted uncomfortably. “Um, hi.” She looked at her father. “Are you hiring him for sothing?”

“Oh, you heard that? Yes, I am! Tony’s going to stay here a while. I’ll set up a cot for him in the storeroom. In return, he’ll clean, watch the store so I can take a few breaks, and, heck, we could use a little extra security.”

“Security? Is Beef changing your deal?” Adelaide hated using the enforcer’s street na; she rembered when he’d been a chubby street kid nad Randal.

“No, nothing like that. Still, this place is getting worse every day, and I don’t like you going out, stirring up trouble. Tony might be a little banged up, but it’s better than you walking around alone. How many tis have you been chased? One of these days…”

“Dad! We talked about this!” Addie folded her arms, scowling. “I’ll never get to the heart of a story if I’ve got so thug lurking around intimidating the witnesses!” The stranger cleared his throat and shifted slightly, turning to gaze out the front window. He had short black hair, kind of wavy or feathered on the sides; it looked like a professional style job, but he was all banged up—bruises around his eye, scrapes on his cheekbone, and even his ears had dried blood on them. “Not to ntion, he doesn’t exactly look tough.”

“Tony’s not a thug, honey, and he doesn’t have to look tough. Having soone walk with you is a lot different than being a woman alone on these streets. You know I’m right. Besides, he knows how to act with people. He was corpo in the city once upon a ti—”

“Corpo? Seriously? Gross!” Addie didn’t try to hide her hostility, but it didn’t matter. The stranger’s lip quirked up slightly in a half-smile, but other than that, he didn’t react.

“The point is, my dear, naïve, sweet, justice-seeking daughter, that this man knows how to behave. He’s not a banger, trying to work as muscle. Now, stop embarrassing ! If I want to hire him, I will. I can’t force you to bring him along when you go out, but I’d sure appreciate it. Heck, if you don’t want him, at least he’ll be here! He can watch the store, and I’ll keep you company.” Her father turned to the stranger, holding out the black tal and plastic arm. “Right, Tony?”

The stranger turned, regarded her through those dark lenses for another few seconds, then turned to her father and nodded, taking the arm. “Yep.”

Adelaide stared at him, then her dad, and shook her head. “This is so weird! How long have you known this guy, Dad? You’re just going to let him live in the shop? How’d that work out for you with Benny?” Before he could answer, she glared at the stranger and said, “JJ ping his PAI.”

“No PAI found,” JJ announced through her auditory implant.

Her dad sighed, stepping over and resting one of his big, warm hands on her shoulder. “He was robbed, sweetie. They took everything, even his PAI. Listen, I might just be a dumb old pawnshop owner to you, but I know people, okay? Benny only took enough food for a couple of als. He could have cleaned us out! He was desperate. You’ve never had to feel what that’s like, but I have. This man will work for the things I’m giving him. Now, honey, before you go around doing your thing this afternoon, I want you to take Tony over to see Doc Peters. Take the pushcart, ‘cause Tony’s going to give him so—”

“Anti-bac. I heard you telling him.” Addie scowled at the stranger. “You know, we aren’t exactly rolling in bits around here. Those glasses and that tracksuit could’ve bought us dinner if my dad sold them! That anti-bac is worth—”

“Adelaide, you’re being rude!” Her father’s hand slid off her shoulder, and he scowled. Everyone knew Bert Jones was a sweetheart, but he had a temper you didn’t want to ignite. Addie wasn’t afraid of him—not like that—but she didn’t want him to be angry, either.

“Fine. You get my point, right, Mister?” The stranger just nodded as though he agreed but didn’t have anything to say about it. “Ugh! Fine. Get the electric cart; it’s in the storeroom.”

“I’ll show you, Tony. We need to get Adelaide’s old Dust engine and matrix, too.”

Addie snorted. “Seriously? Those things are eight gens out of date—”

“They’re better than nothing. You want him to get his DNA warped?”

Addie frowned, slowly shaking her head. There were already plenty of dustheads, fades, and warps around the district. It was hardly ever pretty. “No, s’pose not.”

Her dad smiled and clapped his hands. “That’s the spirit. While I get the cart loaded with Tony, will you please go up and get the sandwich I left in the fridge last night?”

“I…” Addie frowned at the one-ard stranger again, looking at her clock and thinking. Finally, she sighed and shook her head, but her words were more positive. “All right. Be ready to leave in five minutes, Tony. I have an appointnt at lunchti.”