Leaning up against the wall, I pulled Walker's little scrap of paper from my pocket and gave it a look: Vandermaas. 1314 Romanov st, across from park. Parkside, huh? Swanky. It was about as far north from here as here was west from home, so I had a bit of walking to do.

My route took me north, out of Alba and uphill through Vatburg. It was a grim part of town. It was dark enough I almost pulled out a light, though the lifelights around the vat buildings were of course pristine. The huge ration processing facilities stretched long and low like shield volcanoes, each of them a couple million square feet. The steam from their vent housings smelled like stale fry oil and parts cleaner. Tangles of huge pipes and chutes burst through the sloped ground in some places, carrying water and effluent and who knows what else to and from the processors.

I walked past institutional-looking apartment stacks with listless children slouching on their stoops, scruffy dive bars with dust-caked windows, loan and pawn places with bright signs and armored doors. I even saw an especially enterprising hawker trying to sell one of the local pirate broadsheets. 'BEHEADED FOR DISASTER?' screamed the headline over a blurry shot of decapitated corpses. Walker wasn't kidding about things getting nasty.

Vagrants haragued the few other passerby for money or drugs or just to listen, though they clammed up when I went by. I even saw a couple of streetwalkers, almost certainly not in the Guild. That was a dangerous game they were playing, though it was far more dangerous for their pimps. Near the north end of the neighborhood I found a tooling dealer with her store crammed into a stubby conex. I popped in briefly and got what I needed.

Past Vatburg I hit Parkside. It was probably the nicest part of D-block, which is like saying 'the cleanest part of a hush-bar bathroom.' Go much farther north, you hit the Chasm. Get past that somehow and you're in K, living the good life until you trip facerec and Admin falls on you like a sack of tungsten bricks.

The lifelights were closer together here, the buildings cleaner, the people better dressed and less...aromatic. The concrete stairs cutting up some of the steeper hills only smelled a little like urine. There were plenty of restaurants and bars and host clubs around, the kind of places where they played music not scored for drum machine and drop-E guitar. They even had car dealerships and knockoff outlet stores that very nearly mimicked the real thing. Our very own Little Vitroix, where even deeks like me could pretend D-block rich was real rich.

The downside to all this, though, was you were stuck next to the park. Sawada had told me about it after I saw it on TV. It had been an attempt by one of the corps, I forgot which, to make a natural space in D. An actual public park, complete with old-school vertical trees rather than the ground-hugging ones that packed the lumber farms. They'd whipped up a bunch of genemodded seeds, hit them with some real high-test nano-doped fertilizer, and created a mess that still hadn't been cleaned up decades on.

The plants grew way out of control, blotting out the carefully-planned footpaths and turning picnic fields into jungle. It was like something out of No Plant Survives (...contact with Jet Colter was the tagline for that one. Even I can't apologize for the later films). They tried just turning off the lifelights, but some real nasty genetic wires must have gotten crossed because the stuff didn't die, it just quit growing.

Nobody felt like taking on the risk, financial or otherwise, of razing the place. Now it was D-block's biggest dark zone, full of burnouts and psychos and who the hell knew what else. even looking at it gave me the creeps as I walked along its edge. I was used to buildings, asphalt, clean lines and sharp corners. All that leafy, matted, curly stuff, all the corkscrewing treetrunks and flowering vines and ferns tall as I was, it was weird and it was alive. No thank you.

I found 1314 Romanov easy enough. It really was right across the street from the park. As far as I could tell, it was a typical office building, three stories of concrete unmarked but for the street number and a small sign above the door reading 'Vandermaas & Associates.' The door was locked so I hit the button on the intercom next to it.

"Hello? I'm looking for Vandermaas. Walker sent me."

I let go and the crackly response was instant. "Your name, please?" asked a male voice.

"Sharkie."

"Mr. Walker just called me about you, Miss Sharkie. Please come in. My office is straight ahead."

Miss Sharkie? Swank indeed. There was a clunk of retracting magbolts, and the security door pulled right open. I was greeted by a blindingly bright hallway. White tile floor, white plastic walls, black ceiling with white lights every couple feet. I passed a couple of doors leading into empty conference rooms, then opened the door at the end. Within was a room decorated just like the corridor, divided in half by a storefront-like counter.

Behind it was a young man reading something on a palm slate. He had on a black vest over a white button-down, like a fancy waiter. He looked my age or a little older and must have had some mutant or genemod in his ancestry, because he looked just a little off from human. Milk-pale skin; long, slender fingers; irises so dark they looked like part of his pupil. His hair was just as black, pulled behind his head in a tight bun. His features were long and delicate, and they bent into a smile when I entered.

He set the slate down, and just before he clicked it off I noticed the screen. It was covered in text, topped by a chapter number in familiar script.

"Excuse me, Mr. Vandermaas," I asked, erring on the side of politeness, "but is that the new Princess Deya book?"

His smile became an embarassed look for a moment before coming back even bigger. His teeth were very white. "Yes, it is! And please call me Tanje. I had never thought to meet a customer who...May I assume you follow Princess Deya as well, Miss Sharkie?"

I rubbed the back of my neck, a little embarassed myself. "Uh, just Sharkie is fine, thanks. And yeah, I do. Though I haven't finished the new one yet."

"Nor I, nor I. But how wonderful it is to meet a fellow appreciator of literature!" He actually clapped his hands together once with excitement. I was pretty sure Deya was to literature as Hermy's dirty comics were to art, but maybe I just wasn't well read.

His face went serious all of a sudden. "But I must ask you a question, Sharkie."

"W-what?"

He leaned forward, palms on the counter. "Prince Odegaard or Sir Denevar?"

I grinned, nervousness gone. "Oh, Denevar easy! The prince is just a handsome Vanya-come-lately. He's in it for the inheritance. But Denevar's always stuck with her even when he didn't have to. Even when the cardinal had her attainted!"

"Yes!" Tanje crowed. "Finally, someone else sees it! I swear, go on the net and it's Prince this, Odegaard that. Anyone with two neurons to rub together can see the man's a snake!" This was impressive. I'd never known anyone to be so enthusiastic about trashy reverse-harem romance novels. Especially not an arms dealer.

"Ahem. Pardon me. I'm sure you didn't come here just to discuss Princess Deya." He rested his elbows on the counter, steepling his fingers. I noticed that his hands were stark white bionics, seamless and smooth as porcelain. No fingernails either, which really creeped me out for some reason. "Mr. Walker told me you are in need of a firearm."

"He told you right." I'd actually given this some thought on the way over. "I need something concealable. Quiet too, if it's possible."

"You know, I think I have just the thing. Just a moment, please." A heretofore-unseen door opened in the back wall. I caught a glimpse of more white hallway before it slid shut behind him. Maybe thirty seconds later he reappeared carrying a black composite case in one hand and a heavy-looking bucket in the other. He set the bucket on the floor with a thump, then put the case on the counter.

He flipped it open, revealing a small, odd-looking pistol and a box of ammunition. Tanje removed the gun and pressed a catch on the side, causing the four barrels to snap upward. He showed me that the chambers were empty then held it out.

"TU Design Bureau's KTs-4 Slukh," he said as I took it. It was surprisingly heavy-the whole thing must have been steel-but it fit in the palm of my hand. "It holds four rounds of seven-six-two by forty-three captive piston ammunition, is small enough to be concealed in a pocket, and is completely silent."

"Really?" I asked. "I don't want to tell you you business, but where's the silencer?"

He showed me that big smile again, oddly catlike. "Suppressor. But it doesn't need one. Come here, look."

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I put the gun down while he opened the box of ammo with a small pocketknife. He pulled out a cartridge and handed it to me. It was weird-looking. The case covered the bullet entirely, its mouth closed by a bright blue seal. "Each round has a little piston inside, between powder and projectile. Upon firing, the piston launches the bullet then seals the propellant gases within the case. So long as the bullet stays subsonic-which it does, of course-there's almost no noise resulting from discharge."

"That really works?" It almost sounded cartoonish.

"As strange as it seems, yes," he replied. "There are a few other benefits. The primers are electrically fired, so no noise from a falling hammer. No reciprocating slide either, of course. Plus, it retains the spent cases after firing, convenient for when you don't want to leave any evidence." He took a very deep breath. "Not that you're concerned about that, correct?" He leaned toward me and winked very deliberately. "Would you like a demonstration?"

I nodded slowly, feeling a bit overawed. I knew a little bit about guns from magazines and such-as mechanical devices, they interested me in much the same way cars and tools did-but this was over my head.

"I thought you might. Look over here." Tanje beckoned me to lean over the counter. He took the round from me, dropped it into one of the gun's barrels, then snapped it shut. He aimed into the bucket, which I saw was full of sand, and pressed the trigger.

There was a quiet paff and the sand hopped a little. That was it. "There's far more noise from the bullet hitting the sand than from it being fired, if you can believe it." Tanje broke the gun open- "No ejectors, you'll notice. Helps keep track of your brass" -and set the fired case on the countertop. "Watch out, they stay hot for a little while." Sure enough, the case's mouth was now blocked by a protruding metal piston. "Now, do keep in mind that you won't be taking down any Praetors with one of these. It's strictly a close-range, soft-target weapon. But it is so quiet, and also..." He put the gun down and turned to the pail.

"There's just one other thing, if I can find it..." He rooted around in the sand bucket for a few seconds. "Where've you gone, you little bastard...Ah! There's a piece." He pulled something out of the sand and set it on the counter, then wiped his hands with an honest-to-Kings handkerchief pulled from his vest pocket.

It was a gray little shred of bullet, but it didn't look normal. "That's not lead, is it?" I asked.

"An astute observation. The bullets themselves are frangibles, made out of tungsten-impregnated polymer. Dense as lead, but soluble in most liquids-blood included. Hit a soft target with one of these, and after penetration the slug breaks into small pieces that dissolve in a minute or so. They'll even degrade in air, though that takes a while longer. Makes things rather difficult for the ballistic forensics people." He smiled again. Very devilish.

At the risk of getting another lecture, I asked a question. "Wouldn't dissolving bullets just tell them I-hypothetically-shot the guy with a Slukh?"

"An intelligent question, and easily answered. I sell the same type of projectile in perhaps twenty other calibers. Any hypothetical" - another huge wink - "investigators would have nothing to go off of but the wounds themselves."

"And you can just...I don't know, just sell this stuff to people?"

"It's not legal, if that's what you're asking. None of it is! But it's not like that means much here. I sell to those who come recommended-and having good taste helps." His grin was a little less crazy, now. "So, have I sold you?"

"Let me see that thing again."

I took the gun and Tanje showed me the controls. "Barrel release here, safety here, though you can disable it and make the trigger pull heavier instead, press this stud to check the battery, this lever here is the piezoelectric backup striker..."

It was so small I had a hard time holding onto it. When I gripped it with thumbs forward like Tanje showed me, they almost stuck past the muzzles. But I could still pull the trigger, and something so small and quiet would be very useful.

"I'll take it," I said. Despite everything, this was exciting. I'd always wanted a gun-though if you asked me why I wouldn't have a good answer other than 'They're neat.'

I was about to set the chits Walker gave me on the counter when Tanje waved me off. "No, no. No need for that. What is it you gangsters say? 'The first one is always free?'"

"I'm not a-" Wait, I guess I was a gangster now. "Well, I don't sell drugs."

"My apologies." I couldn't tell if he was serious or not. "Now, would you like to try it out?"

"You have a range here?"

"Oh, a modest one. Perfect for testing something like that, though. Would you like another box of ammunition?"

"Sure. Does that come free, too?" I asked, half-kidding.

"Unfortunately, it does not."

I saw why when he told me what it cost for another twenty rounds. "Kingsblood! You sure there's no extra zeroes, Tanje?"

He gave me a prim little smirk, which suited his face remarkably well. "I only deal in the superlative, Sharkie. If 'cheap and inferior' is your goal, why, there's a shady back alley just next door."

"Alright, alright, I get it," I said as I slapped down the chits. "It's not my money anyway."

"That's the spirit." He made the cash disappear, pulled my ammo out from under the counter, then slid a section of it aside. "To the range, then!" he declared, then walked out of the room without looking back. I hurriedly grabbed the gun and case then followed.

He led the way back down the entrance corridor. I saw now that he wore a pair of narrow black slacks, completing the waiter look and making him look taller than his six feet. He was very thin.

Tanje took us through one of the previously-locked side doors and into a long room barely wider than the hallway we'd just left. There was already a target at the opposite end, maybe ten yards out. "I know it's not the biggest range, but to be honest I wouldn't want to shoot that at anything much farther away," Tanje explained. "You know, if you'd like something a little more versatile as well, I'm sure we could get you set up..."

"Not today. But I'm sure I'll be back once my...ah, cash flow situation has improved." I wasn't even lying. If he could pull out weird spy assassin guns at the drop of a hat, who knew what else he had stashed in here.

"Come whenever you'd like." He nodded graciously. "The range is yours. No need for ear protection, which is a bonus."

I'd shot a few times before, so I wasn't completely out of my depth. When I was younger, my friends and I would sometimes find guns in the junkheaps out on D's eastern edge (it took me until a few years later to realize they were probably dumped murder weapons). Being idiot kids, we of course tried them out. Once Sawada had caught me and it was one of the few times he actually got pissed. He'd spirited me home and drilled gun saftey into me for hours.

Anyway, the little Slukh was actually easy to shoot. I could only get two fingers on the grip, but the thing kicked so little it didn't really matter. The trigger pull was weird, lacking an actual break point, and the sights were nothing to write home about. But for its intended purpose, it would work fine.

I shot most of one box, cringing at the thought of denars flying down the barrel and into nothingness with each trigger pull. It truly was quiet, the only noise being the thwack of bullets hitting paper. Tanje mostly stayed quiet, offering a pointer once or twice.

When I was done, I lay the gun back in the case and began to latch it shut. "Aren't you going to carry it?" Tanje asked. Huh. I actually hadn't considered it. I guess it was like wearing your new shoes out of the store. I got the Slukh back out, loaded it, and dropped it into the front pocket of my jacket, which was baggy enough it made the gun disappear. I could probably even shoot from inside the pocket if I had to. Now that was some spy shit.

"There you are. It's not much use shut in the case, hmm?"

"Thanks, Tanje. For the whole visit too." He was a little weird, but who wasn't? And I liked listening to him talk. He sounded like someone out of a period drama. Count Vandermaas? That worked.

"Of course. It was good to meet you, Sharkie." For the first time since I mentioned his book he dropped his eyes, looking a bit nervous. "Would you like, perhaps, to...to discuss Princess Deya further? Over caff, perhaps?"

Was...was he asking me out? For a variety of reasons, this was not something I was used to, and I didn't even know how to feel about it.

It must have showed on my face, for he quickly added "J-just as friends, of course! No obligations. Though I'm not trying to say you aren't suitable for-" He cut himself off and screwed up his face for a moment, then huffed out a breath. "What I am trying to say," he continued more calmly, "is that while I am not currently seeking romantic attachments, I enjoyed our conversation earlier, and would welcome an opportunity to continue it in a less formal setting." He took a deep breath and nodded to himself, as if satisfied with his performance.

If I understood all that correctly, he was saying...that he wanted to be my friend? I was bemused, and flattered, and a little relieved as well. It was, I realized, the nicest interaction I'd had in the last two days. Even if it was with an illegal arms dealer.

"I'd like that too," I told him. And I actually would. Just his asking the question had reminded me that I didn't really hang out with anyone outside of work. Sawada was always asking about that shit. "You want my number?"

Tanje beamed at me. "It would be an honor!" That was taking things a little too far, I thought, but I accepted his phone anyway and punched it in. He sent me a message to confirm, and we were set.

"Well, I hope you have a pleasant evening, Sharkie. As I said, it was nice to meet you." He extended a bionic hand.

I shook it, even though the weird artificial smoothness made my skin crawl. "Same, Tanje. I'll give you a call sometime."

He showed me to the door, and I was off. Time for a quick trip home, then I was off to Grayson's. This shit was getting done tonight.