I grinned. She said it like the dirty words any decent citizen thought they were. "I don't understand. Why were you working a normal job, then? I didn't think you people―I mean―"

I almost laughed, but then remembered I didn't want to be here. Betts was on the rampage, Random reinforcements were probably on their way to run damage control, I didn't know where I belonged now, and our bloody red Beta Fornax was burning down on my making my face sweat.

"C'mon," I said grabbing her arm. "We need to get out of here. Let's go to your site over there," I said, nodding to the spot claimed by the Academics. "And then find somewhere safer."

She got the point and led me to the roof of the structure where her research team had been digging.

"I parked a rental skimmer on the other side," Fern said.

"No time," I said, prodding her along. "Don't want to be here when more Randoms arrive."

We went down a chute, and out a concealed hole in the wall on the far side away from Random's territory. As we ducked out, we began walking down the street. I began peeling off layers of my outfit, feeling cooler as each item dropped, and leaving behind any Bandersnatch markings. I looked like a half-naked junkbunny, but better that than a filthy runner, right? I was sweating, anyhow, so the air felt good on my skin.

I looked back behind us. Nobody. Well, nobody to worry about; a few junkbunnies here and there scrounging in the sides of junk walls, and the occasional important-looking cycler on business―probably a scientist errand boy or a mercher. They all ignored us. But no gangs.

"Shiz," I said, stopping cold.

Fern gaped at me. "What is it?"

I shook my head. "My bike. I left it back there."

Fern looked confused. She didn't understand―that was the last vestige of my involvement with Bandersnatch. My hand went to my side, and I felt Tilly's comforting coldness. Well, almost.

I ground my teeth and spelled it out. "I've done a lot of work on it. It's an astro-bike. It's tricked out to the nines."

She looked me in the eyes. "We could go back for it," she suggested. "I'll help you."

"Nah, you've been in enough danger already. That's not your life."

Fern sighed and looked at the ground. "I don't know what my life is."

I turned away from her abruptly and increased my pace. "Besides, maybe one of my buds grabbed it for me when they scattered. As long as Betts doesn't get her hands on it, I might be able to get it back."

I started walking again. Fern followed.

"Betts?"

My head was down while we walked. I glanced at Fern. "She is―I mean, was―my leader. Of the gang."

"Oh."

"Yeah. We were raiding the territory of another gang."

"So, by helping me, you screwed up the―"

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"Raid. Yeah. Sort of."

"About that, thanks again."

I stopped short. "Well, not really. I could have stopped Zim. I just―I figured if I was gonna bail, I should bail in style."

She raised an eyebrow at me, and I felt my face get hot.

We walked at a fast clip, breaking a sweat, turning corners when we could. For awhile, the roads got real quiet and empty; this was neutral territory. But then we walked quickly past a couple of runners posturing at a junkbunny, trying to scare him away. We even saw an actual rumble between gangs in an alley between junkscrapers. It was a tangle of knives and fists. I saw one improvised hand-made gun―commodity synthers couldn't make guns. But it was most def actual violence. Shiz. They didn't notice us, but we walked faster anyway. Didn't have time to get caught up in that craziness. As we walked, it got worse: bigger clusterfucks of runners rumbling. I even saw a few gang colors I recognized from my usual haunts, but we kept moving, so I couldn’t ID anyone.

Fern looked nervous. She turned to me as we came to a more populated and less junk-filled neighborhood; this was the burbs of the starport now, so it was more swank. No more runners here.

"I've walked this street a lot and never seen gangs fighting," she whispered as our pace accelerated.

I shook my head. "Yeah, it's whack. Competition's been fierce; rumbles have been increasing over the years."

Fern pursed her lips looking thoughtful. She glanced up at the intersection we were approaching. We were well away from Random's territory now.

"Hey, you know a safe place we can go?" I asked.

She grimaced. "Safe for me, how do I know if it'll be safe for you?"

"Because no runner would dream of looking for me where nerds hang out."

She gave me an odd look. "Follow me."

Fern led me down a street I wasn't familiar with. It was more lively than the places I frequented.

Colorful holo-signs hovered above bars and shops, making me squint. Shoppers cheerfully entered buildings, triggering polished metal doors to slide open with only the slightest hum, revealing spotless interiors with impossibly curving surfaces. I could feel the pavement responding to my strides, automatically adjusting to make my every step as comfortable as possible. And the street―it had hardly any trash on it. What little there was lay heaped up in narrow alleys between the seamless, smooth-walled buildings, held in place by mag fields.

I gaped, realizing how much of this neighborhood was completely synthed. Sure, in gang territory, we synthed food and clothes, and occasionally some gear for our bikes, but not entire buildings or streets. I couldn't help but wonder how many infobucks it must cost to synth all this. Was nerd society all this way?

The deeper into this neighborhood we walked, the more crowded it got. I flinched, feeling my shoulders hunch and noticing myself trying to look small and invisible any time someone walked too close. That was for shiz impossible here, though. But none of them seemed to notice; they were wrapped up in their smiling conversations. It was as if they were all a really big gang kickin' back in their own warren. I bristled at the crush of bodies around me; most gang territory was sparsely populated with lots of junk to hide in and lots of room to breathe. Oh yeah, breathing. I realized I should do that.

Since my instincts were screaming at me to make as little eye contact as possible, I was only able to steal glances, and notice that the folk here seemed to be either merchers or nerds of all ranks, not just junkbunnies. Mostly lower ranks: research assistants, administrators, that sort. Even the lower rank Academics were types I only ever saw pics or vids of on the StarNet, so it was jarring to have them in my personal space. We passed by the shingles for power plants, comm stations, mining offices, aeroponics farms, vehicle and starship plants—don’t think I’d ever realized how much mercher industry was right here on my own planet.

Fern led me into one of those shiny, synthed buildings. The building had a sign that read, "Macko's Public House." I didn't know what that meant. I knew people from any decent class lived in habs and “house” was an old-timey word for that, but wasn't sure what a public one was. Macko's had the biggest, loudest synther I'd ever seen growing out of its wall. It was even more crowded and noisy inside Macko's than on the street. I did my best to just look at my feet and keep Fern in front of me so I didn't flip out. Following her, I found myself in a much quieter room somewhere in the back. A handful of small clusters of people spoke softly to each other over foaming drinks. The sofas were spotless.

"I've got a room upstairs―a temp hab while I'm here," Fern explained.

We took a seat in a corner after ordering some drinks; she got a hot cup of tea, I got cider.

"So you work at the comm station," Fern said. "and when you're not working, you do—uh— gang stuff?"