Fidi and I peered over the window’s rusting sill as the Fomorii finished pulling in. He’d handed me his field glasses, choosing to hang back and watch through the scope of his rifle. They’d only brought two cars that we could see: a hugely sleek FKS luxo-truck and a Vintner Twenty-Nine sedan that rather resembled a slick of crude oil: long, heavy, low, and iridescent black.

“Okay, get ready and sound off.” The tinny voice came over the radio earpieces Fidi had taken off the dead guards. Chirps of static came through one after another, and he keyed the dead mens’ mics without too much of a suspicious delay. Nothing else came over the radios, so it must have worked.

A couple guys in dark suits-much nicer than the Blues’ -hopped out of the Vintner and began to speak with the Blue guards that awaited them. I couldn’t hear a word over the growl of the light set’s engine.

“The fuck are they saying?” I whispered to Fidi. His eyes narrowed, then shot wide open behind his scope as he whispered a curse. “Mierda! Here.” He reached into a pouch on his gunbelt and handed me an earpiece of his own. I stuck it in and immediately heard the sounds of conversation. His optics must have had some kind of parabolic mic that hooked into the radios.

“-ou’re late,” said one of the Blues, a man with a navy blue mohawk and a boxy steel implant over one eye.

“Whenever we decide to show up is on time,” replied a Fomorii. He was a slick-looking bastard with a carefully faded-in crewcut. The teak-colored skin of his face had the waxy look of dermal armor, and his smile was the sort that made you want to punch it off his face.

Evidently some of the Blue Div soldiers agreed with me. “Fucking blindie thinks he’s a V-block samurai,” muttered a woman from somewhere behind the guy with the mohawk.

He half-turned, ordering “Snuff that!” before turning to face the cocky Fomorii again. “We agreed on eleven o’clock,” he said. “You’re late.”

“Pull your rags outta your crack, deek. It’s not a big deal.” The Blues shifted angrily, muttering, and the other Fomorii moved a hand to his waist.

“Maybe they’ll do our job for us,” I whispered to Fidi. We were to have no such luck, though, for then the passenger door on one of the Blue SUV’s opened.

“That’s him,” Fidi muttered. Barrikad Vivar was a big man, not tall but broad and fleshy. Just the sort of guy you’d expect to like throwing his weight around. His face was pale, round, heavy-featured, his nose probably broken in the past and reddish with burst capillaries. He had the chubby shape of a weightlifter who’d long been off his diet, the sort of guy who could probably still throw up three or four plates but would puke if he ran half a mile. He wore a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up and slacks with suspenders. Light glinted off his bald, pudgy head, and I saw it was inlaid with jagged shapes in blue-anodized metal. A machine pistol rode in a holster under one arm, but he hadn’t even undone the clasp. With a rolling gait he walked up to Mohawk and whispered something too quiet for our mics to pick up. Mohawk stepped back and let Barrikad take his place facing the Fomorii.

Barrikad just watched the guy for a few seconds. They were of a height but Vivar had to weigh twice as much. He reached casually into his breast pocket, and the Fomorii who hadn’t yet spoken tensed. The hand emerged holding nothing but a cigarette. It was the kind people called a zipper, the bac doped with just a bit of synthetic amphetamine. He stuck it in his mouth and let Mohawk light it for him. He puffed it to life and took a long drag. Insects buzzed, and a cool breeze stirred the surface of the Sump. All the while Smile just watched him. He kept that smug, indulgent smile on, but I thought I saw some apprehension in the cast of his face, the set of his body.

“Not a big deal,” Vivar said suddenly. His voice was hoarse, undercut by a metallic burr. Vocal implant, probably. “Not. A. Big. Deal. Is that what you said?”

“Yeah, man. Not a big deal.” Smile’s tone was suddenly defensive. Vivar had effortlessly taken control of the conversation- but he didn’t reply. Just stood there and watched Smile, the zipper hanging from his lips. The silence swelled, lengthened, turned slowly between them like a dead rat floating in a fresh can of water. Smile broke first. “It wasn’t even twenty minutes-“

“It’s a big deal, you uptown, dry-hand, blindie fuck, because we had a deal.” Vivar’s voice was loud but not angry. He sounded like a man just declaiming unfortunate facts, a manager telling employees some were being laid off and the decision had already been made. “This is the third time in a row you skinny shiner have showed up late- and you sure aren’t getting lost on the way, not in those kingsdamn R/C cars.” He waved a hand at the Vintner. “Recall that you aren’t doing us a favor, handing us charity. This is a fucking business relationship we have here. You know who I am, shiner?” He didn’t let Smile answer. “Listen to what I’m saying. Shape the fuck up or I’ll drop a line to your boss, let him know how disappointed I am. And the Cyclops ain’t gonna treat you any better than I will. But you’re not stupid. You know that. So can we get this thing done or am I gonna have to bitch at you for another five minutes?”

“We can get it done.” Smile was trying to sound hard, but he came off as a kid acting tough. He’d lost and he knew it. But Barrikad had to rub it in.

Smoke jetted from his nose. “We can get it done, Mr. Vivar,” he said to Smile. Nasty grins formed on the Blue guards’ faces.

Smile looked pissed as a corpo stevedore shorted his hazard pay, but he backed down. “We can get it done, Mr. Vivar,” he ground out.

“Good.” Vivar gave him an entirely humorless smile. “So let’s do it, then. Show me what you’ve got.”

“You first.” Vivar just watched him, that dead smile still hanging there on his face like a bug in a spiderweb. “Fine.” Smile touched his ear and muttered something. The FKS truck turned around and backed up until it was just behind him. The tailgate dropped and tonneau raised without Smile touching anything.

“Reyes,” Monta whispered. “Here we go.” I blipped the autofocus key on the optics and got a view into to back of the truck. There were a few tall stacks of chitcards, unbroken etched-plastic slabs wrapped in the same half-mirrored plastic that computer parts come in. Had to be tens of thousands of creds worth. Then Smile’s friend unzipped the heavy-duty duffel bags next to them and the true haul was revealed.

“Shee-hee-heeit,” I breathed, unconsciously imitating Walker. The bags were full of guns. Not only a bunch of the stubby Thayer carbines Blue Division seemed to like, but Yakkorp combat shotguns, suppressed SKH machine pistols, and heavy KT Bureau beltfeds still in their shipping cosmoline. Smile even opened a long case behind the duffels to reveal an Amsidyne anti-materiel rifle almost as long as I was tall. It sat on a stack of four or five more, next to some stout cases that looked to be full of ammo by their markings.

“How very ominous,” muttered Fidi as Mohawk waved forward a couple of his people to look over the merchandise.

“You don’t sound too surprised.”

“There is a war on, though I admit that seems like a big haul. Should blow up quite nicely when you shoot it. The real question is-“

“-what in the world are they trading for all that?”

Stolen novel; please report.

He nodded, eye still glued to his scope. Down below Mohawk leaned close and said something quiet to Vivar. “Alright, alright, good enough,” said the latter in the officious tone of a man who never tips more than ten percent. “Except it looks like you forgot the spare baffles for the cans.”

Smile watched him levelly. “Nobody’s got spares. Factory’s not doing another run for months. My employers told you this beforehand.”

Vivar stared right back for a few seconds before he flicked away the butt of his cigarette. “So they did. So they did.” He gave Smile a slow nod, like he was still doing him a favor by letting it go. “And now for our part.” He touched his ear, and we only heard what he said over the stolen radios. “Come on, let’s get rid of the fucking thing.”

The same guards that just went through the guns walked behind one of the SUVs. They emerged holding a heavily-built metal case between them. It clanked down onto the pavement between the two groups and Barrikad waved a hand at it. “Go on. Take a look.” Smile levered open the heavy clasps, spun the latch and flipped the lid. I upped the zoom on the field glasses. Within the trunk was a sort of jar, made of glass or acrylic or some other clear material- and with in the jar was a hand.

It was more like half a forearm, actually. Its skin looked like it was woven out of metal thread. Strands of steel and copper, bronze and tungsten and other stranger metals wove over and under each other in curving patterns like knotwork. The zoom was good enough on my optics to see the patterns repeating themselves at smaller and smaller scales within the weave. Its shape was perfectly human, without seams, hinges, or bellows at the joints. It ended a few inches up from the wrist, the stump a fuzzy tangle of hair-like filaments like steel wool. A translucent bluish fluid matted it together, glimmering weirdly beneath the arc-lamps. Some kind of cybernetic, I thought, but this looked like no prosthetic I’d ever seen. Even Tanje’s weird half-liquid arms paled in comparison to this workmanship. And the cost…maybe a bespoke Amsidyne or Yamamura bionic was worth this much, but not damaged- and I saw no manufacturer’s markings anyway.

Fidi must have been following a similar train of thought. “That can’t be everything…” But Smile snapped a pic of the thing with his slab, waited a few seconds for a response, then put it away and stuck out his hand. “Good to go. You’ll have the other relic by next week?” His tone was peremptory, trying to regain a tiny bit of authority. Vivar wasn’t having it.

“We’ll be in touch.” He gripped Smile’s hand and even from here I could tell he was squeezing as hard as he could. Smile’s buddy closed up the trunk while the Blues went to unload the guns.

“Get that launcher ready,” Fidi hissed. “Pop the ammo truck as soon as I give the word, then change position and hit the others. Keep an eye out for any backup that comes running.”

“Got it.” I passed him the binos and unslung the Assegai, making sure there was a round chambered. The sight was very fancy, with a built-in rangefinder and lead-compensating reticle, but aiming at something this close I just had to put the crosshairs over the truck. A worrying thought popped into my head.

“Fidi, what’s the lethal radius on these things?”

He’d crept a ways down the catwalk and spoke through the earpiece. “The exact number escapes me, but you ought to be fine.” I could hear the smile in his voice.

“Ah. Thanks.” Bastard. I clicked the safety off and waited. There was a tight feeling in my chest. Not fear. Anticipation. Below, Smile and his friend bent to pick up the chest. Then Smile dropped to the ground, his head trailing blood. So much for the dermal armor.

“Now,” crackled Fidi over the radio. I exhaled and squeezed the trigger before anyone below had a chance to react. The gun shoved hard into my shoulder as its hydraulic compensators tamed the massive kick of a twenty-three millimeter grenade. There was a weird pop-skreeee as the grenade’s rocket ignited- then a flash and a much louder BANG as it burst right in the middle of the ammo crates. Blues dropped where they stood or reeled away, bits of burning zirconium embedded in their flesh like stars.

I was already running down the catwalk, hunched over the gun like a kid with a stolen flatbread. “Holy shit, holy shit, holy kings-damn shit,” I babbled, hardly realizing I was doing it. I was about to pop up in a new spot when a much larger explosion had me dropping on my face. The whole building shook and rattled, and I could feel a wash of heat even through the wall.

Fidi came over the radio calm as could be, his rifle cycling in the background. “That was the fuel tank, Sawyer. Nice shooting! Now do it a few more times.” He sounded like he was talking about a video game. Did he do this kind of thing all the time? Man, and I thought my job was hairy.

I got up on one knee and peered through the sight. It was a real mess down there. Nothing was left of the FKS truck but a huge ball of greasy orange flame. Dead men were everywhere, killed by the explosion or Fidi’s silent slugs. The surviving Blues were trying to return fire, but it was sporadic and they had no idea where at the warehouse to aim. I saw no sign of Barrikad Vivar, but I had no time to look- the Fomorii’s Vintner was turning around, about to pull away. I aimed, squeezed the trigger three times as I rode the recoil backward. It was overkill: the first grenade shrieked right through the windshield and popped, filling the car with scything metal and molten zirconium. The other two didn’t blow up the car, but they certainly took care of anything left inside.

Now I turned to the Blue vehicles. “What’s the plan, Fidi?” I radioed. “Should I-Fuck!” I hadn’t moved after blowing up the Vintner, and it had let the Blues zero in on me. Bullets zipped and zinged around me, and something smashed the Assegai from my hands like a drunken giant. It fell and I dropped to the catwalk as slugs punched through the sheet-metal wall, sounding like rain on a tin roof.

“Sawyer! All good?”

“I’m fine, but the launcher is-“ I looked frantically about, bullets whickering past my head, finally spotting the Assegai on the pavement below. ”-down!” I began army-crawling down the catwalk, praying a random bullet wasn’t about to perforate me. Now I was getting kind of scared. All I could hear war rattling gunfire and the roar of burning vehicles.

“Fuck! Alright, I’m dropping to ground level. Join up.” In the gloom of the warehouse, I saw Fidi’s lithe shape slither off the catwalk, dangle from his hands, and drop to the sodden floor. I did my own much clumsier imitation, landing hard into a squat.

“Careful, Sharkie!” Fidi ran over to me and helped me up. “You have to roll when you hit! You’ll break bones doing it that way.”

I doubted tungsten was that easy to damage, but rather than explain that whole mess right now I just nodded. “Will do.”

“I’ll give you lessons once we’re done here. Now where’s the launcher? You said its jammed?”

I was taken aback. “No, I said it’s down.”

“Yeah! Down, not working! They can be fiddly creatures. Just give it to me and I’ll clear it.”

Oh. Shit. “No, I mean like down on the ground.” I waved at the wall. “Outside.” Where a bunch of veteran shooters were just itching to turn us into human colanders. “It got shot out of my hands.”

Fidi stared at me, then covered his eyes with his hand, shaking his head slowly. “Guns have slings for a reason, Sharkie…”

Anger flared. I wasn’t going to let him take that tone with me. “Hey! I don’t know what mercenary camp or corpo-sec ludus you learned all this shit at, but as far as I remember I wasn’t there!”

He got up in my face, eyes flashing, but almost immediately sunk back. “Shit. You’re right. It’s just…” He kicked savagely at a misshapen mushroom, sending the cap splashing away. “Fucking Clyde. Okay. We have maybe a minute before they bust here and clear the building. We can’t blow them up because they’ll shoot us before we can get to the Assegai. I can’t shoot them, because those trucks are armored and I’ll get my head blown off before I get a chance anyway. So what do we do?”

I thought about it for a few seconds. It was a real shit sandwich either way. But then I thought about how I’d ended up finishing all my other missions, and an idea came into my head. I explained it to Fidi and he gave me a look like I’d just told him I saw Martyred King Aurambard headed down the street to the local strip joint.

“You sure, Sharkie? I mean, really? You’re going to get smoked.” His tone had softened. This was my friend Fidi talking to me, not Monta the gang assassin. I really, really appreciated it.

“Hasn’t happened yet,” I said all bluff, pulling him into a brief embrace.

“That has literally no bearing on what you’re about to do.”

“I’ll be fine. You do your part and I’ll do mine. Besides, didn’t you say we’d be playing it by ear?”

He sighed. “Fine. I suppose I did get us into this. But don’t you dare get killed. Walker will have my ass.”

“I said I’ll be fine. Now let’s show them something they’ll remember for the rest of their lives.” I flashed him a feral grin and drew my saw.