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IT DOESN’T TAKE LONG to get my stuff together, what little there is. A quick visual sweep and disposal of what’s left is enough to sanitize my room. It’s best Kapka’s men think I’ve cleared out if they come looking again. Taking two steps at a time, I clomp down into the bar. Clief is on one of the stools. His face is stern, the stress eating away at him.

He extends his arms. I give him a brief embrace and slap the side of his shoulder. He nods.

“You don’t owe me anything, Clief. Just stay out of trouble and out of sight for a while. You have somewhere to go? Somewhere they won’t look for you?”

He nods. “My cousin. We’re not close and not many people know we’re related, but I’m sure he’ll let me stay with him. For a few days at least.”

“Good. That’s good.” I offer a smile. “When I get back, I may be able to help you out. Take care of yourself, you big dummy. Don’t get killed.”

Outside, the wind bites at my cheeks. The two goons we deposited outside the door are gone. A small dribble of blood on the ice at my feet is the only sign of their having lain here. If they were lucky, they escaped with their lives—at least until Kapka realizes they failed.

Bilgi’s place is only a short detour on the way to Logos’s outer wall. My knuckles rap on the rickety doorframe. Nothing. He’s probably visiting his son. I open the duffel and grab the loaded satchel inside. Pulling the drawstring closed again, I slide the bag into our secret drop box under the stoop. When he finds it, he’ll know it’s mine. A short note clings to the outside:

Bil: I’m taking a job that will send me out of Logos for a bit. If anyone comes looking, you don't know me. Take care of yourself.

— M.

A quick glance up and down the dark street, and I’m off for the wall on the northernmost edge of the enclave—the final meet with Gil before leaving the relative safety of Logos.

TO MY GENUINE SURPRISE, Gil is already at the meet point. He looks far too relaxed. But then he would; he’s an Easy user. One of the many stims available on the black market, Easy is a highly addictive concoction of synthetic dopamine, morphine, and various antidepressants. Life down here is hard. Becoming an addict is easy—literally.

“You’re stimmed again? The Vestals would punish me just for associating with an active user, but you—you they’d hang over the outside of the enclave wall, just to make a point.”

“Say what you want, Mila, but while I stay nice an’ relaxed, you gotta go on a dangerous little errand without so much as some krig to keep you warm.”

He’s right. I’m about to take a ton of risk to make this delivery on time. Then there’s surviving the meeting with the resistance and finishing the job unscathed. Neither a simple task. Gil, on the other hand, will take another hit of Easy, sit in some brothel in another enclave, and wait for the money to hit his account.

“Zopat. There’s an abandoned warehouse. I’m told you can’t miss it. It’s on the southeastern edge of the enclave. It says ‘Konistiva’ on the side of the building. Your contact is a member of Opor. You can call him Yuri. Use all the normal precautions. Trust no one.”

“As usual.” Gil produces a cylindrical device the length of a person’s hand.

Along the outside are finger grooves for maintaining a positive grip, and on one end is a depressible blue button covered by a flip-top cap. A short-blast-radius electromagnetic pulse device, or EMP—it’s not likely I’ll need it against a mob of tech-jacked Robusts, but what’s the harm in being prepared?

I nod and stow the EMP in a hidden compartment in my bag. Gil continues with the briefing.

“Yuri will give you the package. You’ll travel as quickly as possible to Fiori. There, you will meet a secondary contact in a sloop dive called the Forgotten Jewel. Ask for Lemmy. That’s where the final transaction will take place.”

“Gil, there are already catches. What do you mean there’s a catch?” Yeos, give me patience. Gil was born in Vel. Secrets are in his blood.

“What?” Is he screwing with me? “Gil, are you stupid or something? That doesn’t allow me enough time to circumvent Baqir and make it to Zopat, let alone trek over to Fiori.”

He glances at his watch. “You’ve got ‘til late tonight at a push. Obviously you can’t travel far when temps go negative, and Opor isn’t willing to wait any longer just so you can hole up somewhere cozy. Fifteen is all you’re getting.”

“Gil, I’m not going through Baqir, got it? You’ll have to find someone else.”

“I’ve already confirmed your acceptance, and you know too much already. You don’t have a choice anymore unless you want a bounty on your head.”

I slam Gil against the wall. “Gil, you son of a ... You’re setting me up!”

Maybe it’s the Easy chugging through his veins that keeps him calm. Maybe he understands why I’m pissed. Maybe he simply doesn’t care. “Mila, I didn’t do this to you. You wanted this job. You knew it was going to be dicey.”

Breathe, Mila. Work through this. Gil doesn’t want to hold my gaze, but he does it anyway. “This was wrong, Gil, how you did this. You and I are going to have a heart-to-heart about it when I get back.”

Jackbag. He knows how dangerous this job is, and that if I don’t make it back, he doesn’t have to pay me my cut. I give a final shove, then release him and tab the countdown timer on my PED to fifteen hours minus the three minutes he just wasted. 14:56:59. 14:56:58.

I hate crossing the Vapid. Leaving my enclave isn’t a problem. As a resident, I come and go as I choose, but almost nobody ever leaves since the Vapid is dangerous and the other enclaves generally only let in specific traders. They exclusively travel the simple ruined roads that run between the enclaves and usually take a significant security contingent with them to protect their wares from Rippers, the raiders who have made their home in the wastes. These outcasts, driven to barbarism and cannibalism, no longer belong to any enclave, their brands removed by way of a flaming spike driven through the center of the palm. The object of many a scary bedtime story among Robust children, Rippers are the stuff of nightmares.