The police officer’s blank steel faceplate regarded June blandly. “Identification, please.”

She held up the tablet. The officer pointed their scanner at it. A moment’s pause, and she lifted the scanner. “Next.”

June hustled through, leading Sasha by the wrist. A firm, cold grip on her shoulder stopped her. “I need his identification.”

“Well? You heard the officer,” June said, turning on Sasha.

He flinched back. Anger flashed in his eyes. “You—”

June jumped in before he could finish. “You forgot it again? Are you kidding me? Sneaking off to the red light district past midnight, and you don’t even bring your identification? Fucking hell. I should let them arrest you.”

Confused, Sasha stared at her. His mouth hung half-open. Belatedly, he shut it.

She shook her head and turned back to the officer. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. This idiot snuck out to the strip clubs again. Luckily I caught him—I mean, hell, who would mistake this fool for eighteen?—but apparently, even though he’s crafty enough to sneak out without me noticing, he’s too goddamned stupid to remember to grab his identification.”

Sweat dripped down her back as that emotionless metal plate regarded her. She frowned firmly at the officer, channeling every ounce of indignation she’d ever felt. Come on, believe me. Even though she’d spoken so confidently to Sasha, it wasn’t a sure bet. If the officer continued to demand identification, she had nothing. No backup plan.

The officer snorted and shook her head. “Kids, am I right?” She gestured for June to pass.

June laughed, unable to hide a note of relief. “Honestly.”

She pushed Sasha ahead of her and hurried past the blockade. Sasha jerked away from her touch as if it burned. June rolled her eyes at his back.

Once they were out of earshot, Sasha whirled on her. “That was your plan?”

“And it worked, didn’t it? Told you to trust me.” She grinned and slapped him on the shoulder.

“It won’t work every time,” he warned her sternly.

Too cute. Brows furrowed, hair swept back, a deathly serious expression… she couldn’t resist the urge to scruff his hair. “We’ll get you identification by next time.”

He ducked out of her reach and readjusted his hair with a scowl.

June led the way down the road, into an alley, and up a half-dozen stories. This apartment was no less dilapidated than the rest. Paint flaked off the walls. The stairs and balcony creaked under their weight. Boards covered some windows, and others hung open, empty, dark. June led the way to worn metal door and fished out an old-fashioned physical key.

“Welcome to my palace.”

Shoes tumbled in the doorway. A threadbare rug stretched over peeling linoleum floors. White cabinets sagged from white walls. Dishes cluttered the sink. A half-disassembled gun sprawled over half the kitchen table, laid out on a clean sheet, a bottle of oil and a few brushes nearby. A hideous, worn couch faced a small television, and behind the television, a small mattress laid on the floor.

Sasha stopped dead in the doorway. “This…?”

“Home sweet home,” June sighed. She plopped on the couch and kicked her feet up. “Which do you want, kid, the couch or the mattress?”

“It’s… filthy,” Sasha muttered.

June rolled her eyes at him. “Sorry it’s not a penthouse suite, Your Majesty. Didn’t I say? I’m poor.”

He stared between the couch and the mattress, equally horrified. After a moment, he walked over to June. “Couch. Get off.”

“Magic word.”

Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

His eyes narrowed. She grinned.

Sasha turned away. A forlorn note in his gaze, he looked around the room and started for one of the corners.

“No, no, I was just joking, c’mon.” June got up and stretched. “You hungry? I could cook something.”

“Cook?” He gave her a puzzled look.

“Eh? Yeah. Never had a home-cooked meal? I mean… it’s not like I can afford real food, but I can whip up a mean protein slice. You like spicy?” She wandered over to the fridge and pulled out the wobbly white block, sliding it into the crook of her arm while she poked around for the jar of nutrient slurry.

“I can’t eat food.”

They stared at one another. June furrowed her brows. Sasha blinked.

June quick-dialed and raised her comms to her ear.

“What,” Tooly snapped, irritated.

“Sasha can’t eat?”

There was silence on the other end. “Fuck. Right.” She sighed, loudly. “A lotta people in full harness don’t have complete digestive systems. Or systems at all. Does he eat goo?”

“Do you eat goo?” June asked.

Sasha nodded.

“Yes.”

There was silence. Tooly shuffled around on the other end. “Swing by tomorrow, I’ll sell you some for cheap. Or put it on your tab, since, ‘Steri know, you never pay me.”

“Don’t swear by the Asteri.”

“Fuck off.”

June sighed. There was silence. “Thanks, Tooly. You know I appreciate it.”

Tooly grunted. “Just keep the kid alive. Make sure you plug him in. How much do you know about full harness?”

“Eh…”

“Dammit. Alright. I’ll run you by the basics tomorrow. Don’t do anything stupid until then.”

The line went dead. June lowered her phone. “Do you need to plug in?”

He glanced at her. “Sometimes.”

“Now?”

He hesitated, then nodded shyly.

“Shit, I can’t afford that kind of electricity. Give me a second.”

She put down the food and crossed to the window. Throwing it open, she leaned out to thump on the wall next door.

With a squeal of old rubber sealant, a tired middle-aged man with a worn face opened his window.

June nodded. “I need to jack some electric. Probably for the rest of the month, at least. You have a free coil?”

“Mmm. What’s in it for me?”

Not even the electric man, and here he is demanding payment? Crafty old man. June retreated, ruffled around in her bag, then leaned back out the window again and held out a gun, butt-first. “De-chipped, de-identified, and the serial’s been filed. It needs a new barrel but it’ll shoot mostly straight if you’re in a pinch.”

The man took the gun with a solemn nod and vanished into his apartment. He returned with a thick black cable and passed it to her. She tugged it in through her window and slammed the window all-but-shut after. “Alright, here.”

He looked at the cable, then at her. “I’m supposed to plug into this filthy—”

“Yep. Filthy, dirty electric. Take it or leave it, kiddo.”

Sasha glanced at the plug with an expression with utter disgust, then, hesitantly, reached to his abdomen. He lifted the sweatshirt and pressed on a smooth section of skin. Something deep in his gut whirred faintly. A rectangular box of skin, about the width and thickness of a finger, lifted out of his gut and revealed a stubby plug embedded in the short end of the slice. He drew a long, thin grayish cord from the slice and, with great reluctance, plugged it into the cord.

The second he plugged it in, a shiver ran up his spine. He closed his eyes and sighed out, as if he’d stepped into a hot bath. His shoulders relaxed, and his head drooped a hair.

“Does it really feel that good?” June asked. She didn’t need to plug in often. Her arms mostly ran off her bio-energy, and had a long-life peripheral battery. When she did plug in, her arm and leg mostly felt numb, maybe a little tingly.

His eyes snapped open and his shoulders tensed subtly. He grimaced. “Shut up.”

“Watch your mouth, young man.”

He pressed his lips together. Suddenly, his eyes lit up, and he ran at June. Startled, she stepped back and raised her arms defensively.

Sasha swerved past her and plopped down on the couch.

“Hey, c’mon,” she complained.

He closed his eyes and snored.

“Argh, I wanted to watch some TV,” June whined.

His chest rose and fell gently. The snoring continued.

“Brat.” She tousled his hair and walked away.

The slice of protein sizzled on the skillet. Bored, she slapped some more slurry on top. The combination hissed, and a grainy, bland smell filled the air. From the kitchen, she watched Sasha sleep.

I’ve made a mistake.

The kid was nuts. She couldn’t even imagine the kind of place he’d come from. He needed help, much more help than she could offer. Therapy. Stability. A loving family.

But he was strong. He hated the Asteri. Or… if not that, was brave or dumb enough to piss them off, which was more than many. She needed him. If she was going to succeed, if this was going to end up as more than a dirty apartment and a rusty garage, one woman against the world, she needed help.

No, not help. Power. Strength. A partner who could stand by her side.

Was that Sasha? Who else could she put it on? Not Tooly. Tooly had already been through too much, and wasn’t a fighter besides. She didn’t have the money for mercs. Didn’t trust them anyway. Gangs were even worse. Who? When?

She flipped the slice.

He’s a kid. Don’t be ridiculous. You’re expecting too much. He deserves a normal life.

June glanced over. His face was serene, hair splayed over his forehead, curled up in the fetal position. Even though he was an obnoxious brat, her heart melted just a little. So precious.

A fly buzzed lazily by his ear. He twitched, face contorting. Eyes shut, he snapped his hand out. The fly struggled, caught between his forefinger and thumb. He squeezed. Bits of fly tumbled to the ground.

Images flashed before her eyes. Dead bodies lining the halls. The absolute force of a high-grade harness packed into a small body. A flash of metal, and a man’s head snapped back, knife embedded in his forehead.

A normal life? Despite herself, she chuckled. How?