‘Two tendays.’

‘How’s it treating you so far?’

‘Great,’ Sawyer said, a little too fast, a little too loud. ‘Yeah, it’s . . . it’s been great.’

Oates eyed him through the pipe smoke. ‘Bit different than home, huh?’

Sawyer took another sip of the sickeningly sweet tea. ‘Still finding my footing, I guess. But that’s normal, right?’

‘I’d say so,’ Oates said. He offered his pipe; Sawyer declined. ‘So what kind of work did they hook you up with?’

‘I put my name in for sanitation.’ Sawyer tried to look casual as he said it, but he was keen to see how that answer was received.

Oates did not disappoint. ‘Sanitation,’ he said with a favourable look. ‘A time-honoured gig.’ He took a long drag and let the smoke curl slowly from his nose. ‘That’s good of you. But tell me honestly, now that we’re tea buddies and all – that’s not really what you want to be doing, right?’

‘Well . . .’ Sawyer laughed. ‘Does anybody?’

Oates chuckled. ‘No. That’s why the good ol’ shit lottery exists in the first place. What kind of jobs did you do back on Mushtullo?’

‘Lots of stuff – uh, let’s see . . . I’ve worked at a cafe, a fuel depot, a stasie factory—’

‘So, you can lift stuff and follow directions and be nice to people. Good, good. What else?’

‘I can write code.’

‘No kidding.’ Oates looked interested. ‘What kind of code?’

‘I’m not a comp tech or anything. I didn’t go to school for it. But I can write Siksek and Tinker, and—’

‘Tinker, huh?’ Oates rolled his pipe between his metal fingers. ‘What level?’

‘Four.’

Oates studied Sawyer. ‘Listen, I know we’ve known each other for all of three minutes, but I can tell you’re a good dude. If you really want to start with the sewers, I won’t bother you further. But if you’re interested in something more . . . dynamic, I’m on a salvage crew, and we’re looking for some extra hands. Specifically, someone who knows Tinker. I’ve stopped a few others today, and you’re the first I’ve chatted with who’s got that skill.’

Sawyer had started to take another sip of tea, but the cup froze halfway there.

‘Now, lifting shit and following directions is the main part of the job,’ Oates went on. ‘But we use Tinker more often than not. You know how it is with busted tech – sometimes you can’t get a panel to work or a door to open, and it’s always faster when we’ve got people who can just get in there and force code the thing. That sound like something you could handle?’

‘Yeah, definitely,’ Sawyer said, loud and fast again. ‘I’ve never done it before, but—’

‘If you’re level four, it’ll be cake.’ Oates folded his lips together and nodded. ‘All right, well, if you’re interested, come meet me tonight at shuttledock twelve, after twenty-half. I’ll take you to meet my boss.’

Sawyer’s heart was in his throat. This was it. A friend. A crew. Holy shit, the compost woman had been right! Five minutes out of the job office, and just putting his name on that list had changed things. ‘I mean—’ Sawyer stammered, ‘that would be awesome. I can just go find the listing, if that’s easier, I don’t want to take up any more of your time—’

‘Not at all,’ Oates said. ‘Besides, my boss doesn’t use listings. Personal recommendations only. She’s a face-to-face kind of person.’ Smoke escaped from between his smiling teeth. ‘Great judge of character.’

Tessa

There had been a time, once, when Eloy hadn’t been a bad boss. Or maybe he always had been, but he just hadn’t yet been given the opportunity to let that quality shine. In any case, he’d been Tessa’s vote for Bay Eight supervisor last standard, when Faye stepped down and left for the independent colonies. Tessa missed Faye. She got shit done, but you could go have a drink with her at her hex in off-hours and forget that she was in charge. Tessa had never been buddies with Eloy, but he was a reliable worker, and absurdly organised. He had that no-nonsense edge you needed when you had to go speak for everybody else at cargo guild meetings. But as soon as he got his stripe, he turned into one of those people who equated being in charge with being outwardly stressed out. He hadn’t broken any rules or disrupted workflow enough to justify the workers voting him out yet, but it was coming. Tessa knew it was coming, and it was going to be ugly, but . . . well. That was the way stuff worked.

Eloy paced around the workroom, fingers tapping against his pockets. ‘And you guys have no idea who’s responsible for this yet,’ he said, tossing the words at the patroller without looking at her.

The patroller – Ruby Boothe, from the Santosos’ neighbourhood – was keeping it cool, but her patience was visibly running thin. ‘That’s why—’

‘Because this is the fourth,’ Eloy said. ‘The fourth theft since I took this job. The sixth in a standard. And you haven’t caught anyone. Not a one.’

‘That’s why we’re asking questions,’ Ruby said, her grip on her scrib tightening ever so slightly. ‘And why we’re out there inspecting the scene.’ She pointed with her stylus toward the storage racks, where her volunteer second was walking with the now-awake Sahil – no worse for wear – trying to figure out what had been taken.