The wind whipped through my hair, which was held back by a pair of chrome, polarized dust goggles. I hoped this would be an easy job. Randomers were kinda lame, but I was out of practice with fighting and not super thrilled about the idea of getting blood on my gen-six re-cooled cargoes.

Bandersnatch clustered around me on their bikes. With my peeps by my side, I felt hopped up. We churned up the detritus, leaving a cloud of stale bits of history behind us. Betts led the charge, and ordered us to shift into a wedge formation. Beta Fornax was already above the horizon, reflecting off the shinier junk towers, making me toasty in my denim jacket, pale from sun and dust. The air stank of unwashed skin and cycle grease. My eyes stung from the acrid haze that suggested a large spacecraft had recently made landfall.

Our route was planned carefully: we rounded a corner that was claimed by Oldskool, or what was left of them; they were in even sorrier shape than us. Even with that wacko Frankie So-co gone, the rumble with Oldskool that led to my parents' death took its toll. I shivered, shaking off mom and pop's ghosts. Tilly hummed softly against my leg, and I settled down. We let loose with our vintage horns, klaxons, and bells to remind them how deck our toys were. A runner poked his head up from amidst the piles and, scowling, tossed a piece of rusted fender at us, which skimmed the dusty ground in our wake.

My heart was beating so hard it thumped louder than the whirring of wheels and the buffeting wind. I'd only been in a few raids―and hardly any rumbles―and each had ended in posturing and one side backing down; so far we'd never come to serious blows. I guess that's why I was still here and my besties weren't. As much as I hella liked being alive, I wondered if maybe I should have gone down with them. But this time, we were threatening Random's prime turf, and although they weren't as desperate as us, we knew this might be enough to spark some real combat. I'd been in my share of scuffles, of course, 'cuz it happens when you run into rivals at bars or even outside of speakeasies, but nothing that left with more than some bumps and bruises.

As we turned onto Saturnia Street, heading north, it opened up into a wide plaza; the junkscrapers were replaced on all sides by waist-high scrap yards. A vista of muted bits of corroded junk opened up before us in all directions, contrasting with the sparkling, modern spires of the starport fifty kilometers to the northwest, but starkly visible beyond the plaza. The junk heating up from the dawning sun made the air shimmer above it. Bandersnatch spread out, our fixies filling the widening street, riding in an unbroken line. Junkbunny cyclers and pedestrians veered out of our way; they did not want to deal with us. The street narrowed again, and we merged back into a tight wedge.

Rising up on our left, four stories of scaffolding filled with junk enclosed a courtyard, with only a narrow entranceway opening up onto the street. This was the Barrow: Random's spot, Bandersnatch’s target. The tight gap looked as if it might drop an avalanche of junk: dangling pipes, bicycle parts and gen-one space suits strained against steel cable tethers, barely held fast against the sides of the gap. Our recon team had assessed that the cables probably met on the roof at a kill switch―a lever that would cut them, dropping all the stuff, and shutting off any exit from the courtyard; this was a common safeguard for especially valued gang territories.

I made a sharp turn into the courtyard as I was buffeted by the ear-splitting clangs of huge metal parts being heaved onto each other―no doubt Randomers looking for loot.

As we crowded together through the cramped entranceway, we hopped off of our bikes to get through easier. I walked mine in and barely avoided being tangled by the cables or bludgeoned by the pipes jutting into the gap. I ducked, and there ahead of me was the Random watch crew―intentionally focused on digging through piles around the corners of the entrance to double as sentries. There was one on each side, and five more were visible among the low scrap heaps in the courtyard. I didn't see the runner I had met in the Banyan Sea, so I guessed that he must be working some other territory. One frado was just tossing chunks of scrap aside, as if he were looking for something. It sure was helpful that they were making so much friggin' noise.

Once we were all in, I jumped back onto my bike and pedaled hard toward the right flank sentry, ready to plow into him before he had a chance to react. He made to jump out of the way, so I readied my oil jet and aimed it toward the ground where he was going to land, and hit it right before he made his move. He stepped into it and slid twenty meters, slamming into the north junk wall; he stood up, took one look at me, and broke into a staggering run out through the gap, slipping and skidding from the oil on his Keds. By then, Betts and the rest of the center crew were jousting with the five Random diggers, while my DiscoStrobe had the left flank sentry squinting for dear life.

I circled the courtyard and found a couple Random runners skulking in gaps in the walls, and shouted them away, using slurs that would fray the skinny jeans off of the most chill, disaffected hipster. We already had 'em spooked, overrunning with our full rank. Easy. The two I found scampered away, and then my earbud chirped with an order from Betts to climb up to the roof and shoot paintballs at any Random runners that wanted to come back and bother us while we stole their loot. I high-fived Fred as I passed him and Rambo digging into the courtyard piles on my way to the north wall.

I leapt to the nearest accessible scaffolding beam on the wall and worked my way up, stepping on wobbly plastic and steel crates full of astro-bike induction coils. I found a massive crane arm hanging off the second storey, which gave me a shortcut up to the roof. I scrambled along the arm, adrift in midair, the thing so heavy and jammed under even bigger junk that it barely shook as I clutched at the head-sized servo joint, straining to pull myself up, and with one final heave, leaped up over the edge of the roof.

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My heart was pounding and I was dizzy from the head rush as I looked down into the courtyard. Bandersnatch had things well in hand. My buds must have gotten the remaining Random runners out, because it was just them, diggging around through scrap, except for Gallagher, who took over for the Random sentries and stood in the gap, keeping an eye on the street.

I was walking west among the roof piles when my skin started crawling with an odd sensation, and then I noticed the tinny whine. It was the scattering field; I'd gotten really close to the neighboring junkscraper, the one claimed by the Academics. It bordered the western wall of the this territory.

I was walking south on the bordering wall when I heard a high-pitched shriek. Amidst all the clattering of my comrades, I had to look around before I could find the source: on the roof just south of the entranceway, a Random thug was holding a chick in a lab coat. He had one arm around her waist, and the other held something shiny next to her neck.

She thrashed, elbowing and kicking at him, but he wasn't budging. I squinted, not able to make out their faces from that distance. I stepped carefully, making my way between the roof piles until I was close enough to get a good look. I found myself gaping at the chick―it was Dr. Fern Angstrom, the customer from Joe’s Post yesterday. And that was a knife at her throat.

Friggin' hell. It must’ve been her science team scavenging over there. I scanned the rest of the roof. I looked down into the courtyard. Gallagher was still standing guard in the gap below.

"Seems your crew missed me," sneered the runner, who I now recognized as Zim. His mouth stretched into a gap-toothed smile as his arm squeezed tighter around Fern.

"So, you lot taking hostages these days?" I said, adopting a casual posture. "It's a hefty term doing Relocation for assaulting one of them, ya know."

Zim shrugged. "Not like you're leavin' us much choice, huh? You know how tight competition's been, lately. We're barely hangin' on to twelfth place on the leaderboard. And these days, that's just not enough."

I ground my teeth. Twelfth was better than we were doing.

"But murder, Zim? Friggin' murder? That's not the way; it's never been the way. What about the True Culture?" Shiz, I was starting to sound like old Gallagher.

He threw back his head and laughed. "You're pretty touchy, 'Snatcher. Maybe 'cuz your pathetic little crew is what's left after lots of killin’? But way I hear it, 'Snatcher's earned it; did some of their own murderin' too, and lording your legacy over other gangs. Actin’ like you’re better than everyone else.”

I fumed. Lies. Sure, we'd been in our share of violent scuffles, but any killin' we did was in self-defense. At least, I was pretty sure of that. Frig, what was I doing here? Yet another reason I didn't want to be part of this anymore. Zim was making me doubt myself, doubt our mission, and he was the one holdin' a knife to the girl.

On one hand, I didn't grok this. On the other, I almost sympathized with him; Bandersnatch had the same troubles. But we needed this spot. We needed to gain some points on the leaderboard to afford fuel for the synther so we could eat. Hell, at least Random wasn't on the verge of starving. Zim's big, round tummy, poking out from behind Fern, made that clear. Greedy bastard.

As he glared at me, he stepped slowly backwards, away from me and toward the roof above the entranceway. I followed his occasional glances and then I saw it: the kill switch. If you didn't focus on the right spot, it blended in with the rest of the junk on the roof. But there it was, a dingy copper lever bolted onto a roof railing. I had a moment of appreciation for my skills at finding “needles in haystacks,” as my parents used to call it.

He could ruin the plan. Sure, there was only one of him, but he could've trapped us here long enough for Random reinforcements to show up. And only I could reach him quick enough to stop him from dropping junk in front of the only exit. The only thing between us and our place on the leaderboard was Fern.

I peered over the edge of the roof down to the courtyard below. My crew was still collecting the goods, stuffing their satchels full. Nobody seemed to notice what we were up to on the roof. I thought about trying to stall Zim long enough to quietly get the attention of one of my buds.

The sun glinted off of his metal teeth caps as he bared them at me. They could afford frigging implants? "Time's up, 'Snatcher―true to your name, I gotta say!―if yer so worried 'bout ethics or the law, best not let this poor girl fall, hm?" And he gave Fern a quick shove toward the edge of the roof.

Freakin' hell. She'd seemed like a nice tassel. This wasn't her fight. I dove at Fern, catching my feet on some ancient cookware. I managed to clamp her wrist before she fell all the way off the roof. The muscles in my forearms ached as I squeezed her wrist. She was a scrappy one; already she was using all her limbs to get a grip on the side of the junk tower, and since it was so packed with stuff, there was plenty to push her feet off of. But she wasn't there yet and it still burned.

I glanced at Zim. He was still working his way slowly through the roof piles. My heart pounded hard, and I felt a sudden surge of strength well up. I used it to whip Fern up and over the edge of the roof; I pulled her so hard she landed on top of me as I fell back into a tractor tire. I pulled myself out from under her and made sure she was securely on the roof.

"Wait here," I told her.

I ran toward Zim, bouncing from pile to pile. Zim was an idiot; I was definitely faster than him. Did he think I still couldn't stop him from trapping us in here?

As I went after him, I noticed Betts looking up from the courtyard, watching wide-eyed as Zim got closer to the kill switch.

"Hurry up, Juno!" she hollered. "We're sunk if we don't make this haul."

I glanced at Betts. I glanced back at Fern. She was rubbing her neck and grimacing, still sitting on the tractor tire.

My lip curled in a snarl. I was so freakin' sick of this scraping. Following orders from Her Contemptuous Majesty. Something snapped in me.

I stopped short, pretending to be out of breath. "Not gonna―make it. Get out now―Zim's here―gonna lock us in―he called his cronkites."

I turned back toward Fern as I heard my people scramble below. Betts was red-faced and cussing something unintelligible at me. It'd been my job to secure the roof. Betts could stuff it. Bandersnatch, led by Betts, rallied through the entranceway just barely making it out before Zim pulled the lever. Tons of junk clattered to the ground, completely filling the gap and spilling over into the courtyard.

Fern caught her breath and looked at me. "Thanks for that. Hey, you're the clerk who helped me at Joe's Post yesterday, aren't you?" She screwed her face up looking confused. She looked at my outfit. "Why are you wearing hipster clothes?"

I reached out to help her up and then looked away. I shot her a sideways glance. "You're a scientist, right? Aren't you supposed to be smart and shiz?"

She stood up, straightening out her lab coat. "Oh," she said. Her eyes went wide. "That's―that's your cycler gang."