Fairbanks arrived the next day. This time Ms. Uxral ensured there was a lookout waiting, so she had ample time to herd all the children into the basement barracks underneath the warehouse. This included Tapper and Ricky, but Phanya refused to hide from the man. After she stared down an actual life-and-death situation in the mall, she felt an odd but persistent need to reassess her fear of the manager. Plus, this guy was a bully. So she stood in the middle of town square in her loudest mall gear, bright orange Safety Pads and all, just so Fairbanks would know she wasn't hiding from him.

The district manager knew, and he wasn't amused. He attempted to make his own grand entrance, since his first visit apparently hadn't done enough to quell the proles, by flying on his own outside and above his shuttle pod. They'd know to appreciate how he chose to expose himself to this nasty air twice, all to remind them who was on top. The twin jets of his flight pack spilled blue energy exhaust out and to the sides, and his personal shield formed a faint blue circle behind his head as it worked overtime to burn away the rancid air. The angelic imagery was a traditional and effective means of getting a point across for the Fair family.

And yet, there she stood. The interloper was still in his town, only now she wore the ugliest, most gaudy anti-fashion that Fairbanks had ever seen. And the way she stood bold as brass, hands on her hips, was more than mere defiance, she was challenging him. It caught Fairbanks off guard, but thankfully no one could see his face with his filter up and running. Some proles even cowered behind her!

Fine, if she wanted to speed up the game then he'd play along. Fairbanks dipped into the shuttle behind Phanya and didn't wait for them to reach his house, instead pouncing on the questions as soon as the shuttle launched. "What are you doing in my town, Ms. Phanya No-Family-Name?"

She just snorted an ugly bit of laughter in his face before she plopped down on the bench opposite to Fairbanks, as if she owned the place. "Was that supposed to be an insult, sir?"

"Quiet!" he snapped, sucking in a quick breath to control his emotions. She was goading him, she wanted him to punish her before he found out what her plans were. Or were the machinations already in place and she was just teasing him? He needed to stop underestimating the interloper, so Fairbanks steepled his fingers for a more dignified look and continued, "What I mean is, I registered additional weapons discharge within my town. Do you have an explanation?"

Phanya looked surprised, and for a second Caspian Fairbanks thought he had gained the upper hand until she started talking. "What, this again? It's just Struzick getting in some target practice, sir."

"And why would you have this person practicing with deadly weaponry?"

"Me? Struzick guards the town, that's his whole job. I'm pretty sure he's had that rifle for longer than I've been alive, too."

Fairbanks swallowed his annoyance before it could bubble into a growl. Management was not used to receiving such unhelpful answers. "My point still stands, why does he own the rifle in the first place? Why is he suddenly 'practicing' with it?"

"He's a guardsman, and he's a guardsman." Phanya leaned back and placed her padded elbows on the back of the bench, opening her hands to Fairbanks. "I'm sorry sir, I'm not trying to be difficult but I honestly don't know what else I could tell you. There's dangers out in the junk dunes and fighting all the time, but other guards use air plinkers or black powder. Far as I know Struzick is the only one with a coil rifle, so he needs to keep sharp for our safety. He's an asset to the company, sir."

Caspian Fairbanks studied the interloper for a long second before he pressed a spot on his wrist and turned to look into the middle distance. "Set us down here... I don't care, find a clearing and set us down now!" He turned back to Phanya, and she had the good sense to close her eyes in shame. Or maybe she just didn't want to watch the mounds of garbage rush up and past them through the transparent hull.

Either way, once the pod landed a door formed on one end and his shirt collar automatically flipped up to cover his mouth and nose in air filters. The built-in microphone wasn't necessary in these close quarters, but Fairbanks activated it anyway. "That is all for now, thank you for your assistance." Phanya looked back and forth between the manager and the door.

"You… don't need anything else? Can't even fly me back?"

"No, and no. Call your own driver or walk, I don't care. Goodbye, Phanya the TICO Kid." She didn't say another word, but after she turned to leave Fairbanks watched the body language of a subordinate rolling their eyes at him. It was subtle but distinct, any good manager could catch that from head movements alone.

The pod took off the second Phanya cleared the minimal safe distance, and Fairbanks rode the rest of the way home in fuming, barely contained silence. That meeting was a disaster, that Phanya is still a child and she didn't fear him at all! How could her attitude be so different from their first meeting? He expected her to at least leverage her random fainting spell against him, but she didn't mention it! This was all wrong, this wasn't how the game was meant to be played. But Caspian Fairbanks was no fool, he needed to adapt and keep negotiations on his terms.

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Caspian Fairbanks did not return to Fableton again. The next day his shuttle arrived in the same midmorning hour and the same floating platform lowered, but Phanya didn't step on. Instead she crossed her arms and stared down the egg-shaped eyesore until it landed on the tarmac and the driver hopped out. The gathering crowd parted as he approached Phanya, gave a stiff but courteous bow, and said, "Mr. Fairbanks requests your presence at his domicile, ma'am."

"That's cool. Does Mr. Fairbanks realize that it's a lot easier to tell him no if he can't even be bothered to come get me himself?"

She still couldn't tell if this was the same driver underneath the all-encompassing bodysuit, but she could easily read the matching slump in his voice and shoulders. "Ma'am, please. I cannot force you, but Mr. Fairbanks does not extend this courtesy lightly."

Ms. Uxral appeared and, as always, instantly calmed the situation. "Is there no way for me or someone else to meet with the manager in Phanya's place? She's still technically a minor."

"That would be... inadvisable. Especially with a hybrid." Ms. Uxral squeezed Phanya's arm before she could say anything, and the driver tilted his head slightly in apology. "No offense, ma'am."

"It's fine, thank you. Phanya, please play along with the good manager. At least until you find out what he wants from us to improve Fableton's services to the Fair family, alright dear?"

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

[New Quest: Spy Games

Learn what the Cyracorp manager's plans are before he learns yours.]

Phanya grumbled several things under her breath but threw up her hands and said, "Fine fine, if it's what management wants. But one question for you first, Mr. Driver Dude: Isn't it hot in that gimp suit?"

"Immensely, yes. This way, please."

That would form the basis of the game for Phanya, whatever game it was she had to play. Sometimes every day, sometimes every other day, the shuttle would land in the square and whisk Phanya away to the pearlescent dome, where she would then sit and twiddle her thumbs in the dullest waiting room imaginable.

Fairbanks was always "indisposed" when she arrived for at least an hour, which did little more than force Phanya to start timing her bathroom breaks before she left. And whenever the manager "made time" to see Phanya it was always in the middle of some important activity, and isn't it so courteous that he could fit her in? Even if it was an entire meeting for a single question, maybe with some clarification if he felt chatty.

One day, he stood and pretended not to notice while a silver blob roved over his body. It made the red lines on his body twitch and sway, but he said it was just measuring him for a new suit.

"Why do you have a bulk bodyguard? Are you expecting retaliation for your schemes?"

"Not a bodyguard, he's my friend and citizen of Fableton."

Another day, he was shirtless and casually standing in front of a medical apparatus in the wall. From a panel extended a dozen thin, delicate robotic arms that all worked in tandem to manipulate the flesh on his back. They were pulling his skin taut, lasering off any defects, and smelled distressingly like that ham snack from the mall.

"Why do you have a military vehicle?"

"Different friends acquired and repaired it, we all share."

"Your military vehicle approached my home, that is a threat!"

"You keep telling me to call a ride, so I did!"

A third day, Fairbanks was shopping for a new personal hovercar. An entire room dedicated to this task, with every wall a holographic interface that scrolled by an endless expanse of options to examine and test out. They were all sleek and expensive and any minute differences quickly faded to white noise for Phanya.

"Why do you keep wearing those awful garments? Is it a family trademark, perchance?"

"It's a trophy from the last people that tried to kill me."

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"Ugh, this is so annoying!!" Phanya threw herself onto the long counter of the cafeteria, pressing both hands to her face to stifle the groan. "These 'meetings' are going to do me in."

It was early afternoon, in the quiet period after lunch and before everyone returned from work, and the eatery was mostly abandoned. Even Aazran and Struzick were off doing something, so Ricky claimed the space to finally repair Tapper's hand. And also test the limits of his new knowledge; stress fractures and popped welds stuck out to Ricky in sharp contrast to the perceptual void of crystalline wiring and plastic casing.

This finger digit was beyond saving while that one could be salvaged, yet the wiring within those fingers might as well be bluish hair for all that Ricky could tell. Was it because they were still a novice in Blacksmithing, or did the system have a sharp drop-off in what it knows? Maybe if he found some archaic metal wiring —

"Ricky!"

"Huhwhat'sthat?" Ricky's brain lagged after his mouth, snapping up to see Phanya sprawled along the countertop with her head inches from his workstation.

She gave him an upside-down glare and said, "I'm complaining here! All I do is wait around for the stupid manager now!"

"I believe that he is employing stalling as a 'sales tactic' on you, Miss Phanya," Tapper said from beneath the counter. He emerged with a large ball of cloth clutched in his big miner's hand; with his difficulty in adjusting to the oversized limb, there was little more to do than dust and vacuum until Ricky finished. The ball of rags spread cleaner in wide arcs over the counter as he continued, "If someone is forced to wait before a sales pitch, then the inconvenience can unnerve them and tilt the bargaining power to the other person."

"Well Fairbanks is getting on my nerves, that's for damn sure. I know he's trying to scare me and I know he owns, like, all of this, but now that I've seen him up close all I see is a... a dweeb. He's a dweeb! And after Zero hits you like a train, dweeby bullies just aren't scary. Though, honestly that fight should've given me PTSD and I'm kinda worried why it didn't..." Phanya's voice trailed off and she craned her neck upwards to see someone's nose back in their work. "Ricky! Are you just playing with it now!?"

Ricky quickly assembled the hand unit, before realizing that was a tacit admission that he was, in fact, already finished and just studying the actuators now. Phanya noticed but didn't pursue, instead just drooping her arms with a defeated sigh. "C'mon man, you two are some of the only ones I can talk to about this. Can you just feel sorry for me for a bit?"

Tapper picked up his hand and turned it over, noting the lines and blocks of purple where components were replaced. "Thank you, Mister Ricky, I'll be sure to admire your handiwork later." A beat of silence before both teens groaned, and pride warmed Tapper's emotional center. Diffusing a moment before it could become a situation was part of his bartender programming, but now it felt good.

Ricky helped Tapper slot the unit into his wrist port and said, "I really am sorry the manager is so weird, but at least you aren't making him mad. How's the hand working, Tapper?"

"I know I'm supposed to play 'the game' or whatever, but why me?"

Every digit on the robotic hand responded instantly and without any error messages. "It works perfectly, though I am experiencing a surprising emotional response to the fact that the exosuit parts did not change this into a cyberlimb that requires attuning. I feel relief, since attuning to the drill arm was quite painful, but also disappointment?"

Tapper didn't leave room to answer the implied question before he followed up with an offhand, "But I believe that Mister Fairbanks is so interested in Miss Phanya because she is the only other pure numan in Fableton."

Silence followed for much longer than one beat this time. "I'm a what now, Tapper?"

"A numan, Mister Fairbanks is likely trying to find out which rival family you belong to. Since I cannot see any signature in your biofluorescent skin cells, I would estimate that the same applies to the manager."

Phanya sat up on the counter, Tapper too preoccupied with admiring his repaired limb to notice the face she was making. "My skin... you mean my blue marks?"

"Your markings do glow a blue-teal color, yes."

Ricky finally started to catch up to the conversation, his words still slow and hesitant as he held up a finger. "Hey uh, hold up. What blue marks?"

"What do you mean, what? You can't see these weird blue swirls all over my arms and face?" Phanya bent at odd angles to examine herself, as if she expected to find a bug crawling on her back, and Ricky started to match her energy.

"What? No! Phanya, I would've pointed it out if you had blue skin!"

"I thought it was a random mutation and you were all just being nice!"

"We definitely would've teased you for having blue skin!"

"Average human eyes cannot see biofluorescent reflections," Tapper idly mused. "Not without the correct genetic modifications, or a camera lens. Though some numen intentionally make their markings visible at all times with ultraviolet lights."

"I'm a numan..." Phanya's voice sounded far away, matched by the dreamlike floating of her movements as she slowly walked out of the room. "My family might be alive. And rich!"

"A freaking numan..." Ricky's words were short and curt as he stomped off in the other direction. "Her family might be rich. And alive."

"Oh excellent, my lighter digit is still functional." Tapper flipped open his thumb to show everyone the small flame, only to realize he was now alone. "...What did I miss?"