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  “After you!” Dalla said brightly, pushing Anais forward.

  Anais harrumphed. She slowly pushed the door open, and stepped into the darkness beyond.

  *

  The interior of the shop was just as gloomy as it appeared from the outside. Anais had to squint to see while her eyes adjusted to the lack of light. The walls were lined with stacks of shelves which towered above them to the ceiling. Rusty bits of hardware for computers and other electronic goods, some of them centuries old, were piled high and stuffed unceremoniously onto the shelves. Balls of wire, switchboards, microchips and picochips lay in a jumble on top of the tables that were positioned all over the floor, creating a maze around the shop.

  Anais picked her way through the mess, her eyes flicking around as she was drawn to the next thing that caught her eye. There was an old glass tablet that had been in fashion when Anais had been very small, a microwave, a printer encrusted in dried up ink, RetCom casings, an old HV set. Anais drew in a sharp breath as she saw a long, flat screen in the corner. She gingerly made her way over to it, being careful not to disturb the piles of circuit boards that teetered perilously on the table to her left. She wiped away the dust on the surface of the screen, staring at it in wonder. It was old, very old – it was what people in the 21st Century called 'TV'; an earlier ancestor of HV, only the pictures were confined to inside the screen and couldn't jump out at you. She gently traced a finger over the edge of the TV, admiring it's sleek, if somewhat obsolete, beauty.

  “What the hell is this?”

  Dalla's hushed voice cut through the muffled stillness. Anais turned to see her picking up a small object from a shelf. Anais stood up and hurried over to her as best as she could, weaving in between tables covered in old computer casings. She stared down at the grey object in Dalla's palm. It was a slimline piece of metal, with a large screen which had a single button below it.

  “What d'you reckon this is?” Dalla asked in a whisper. Anais stared at it, excitement coursing through her.

  “It's a mobile phone,” she said in wonder, carefully picking it up from Dalla's palm and holding it up. “My dad told me about these – it was a way for people to communicate back in the 2000s.”

  Dalla's eyes widened as Anais handed her the phone back. She pressed the button experimentally, but the screen stayed blank. Dalla's shouldered slumped in disappointment.

  “I think you might have to charge it up,” Anais said. Dalla turned the phone over and Anais spotted the tiny slot at the bottom. “Look, that's probably where you're supposed to put the charger.”

  She pointed to it and Dalla peered at it uncertainly.

  “How odd. What a waste of time if you have to charge everything up before you use it. I -”

  “Can I help you?”

  The voice made them both jump. The phone slipped out of Dalla's hand, and Anais caused a load of microchips to cascade off the shelf and land with a loud clatter on the floor as she accidentally knocked them off their perch. Red faced, Anais gathered up fistfuls of microchips and stuffed them onto a table, while Dalla swooped down to pick up the phone. Anais noticed that the phone screen now had a large, ominous crack in it and Dalla replaced it hastily on the shelf, face down.

  They both turned to see who had spoken. A tall, well built man glowered at them from a doorway that led to the back of the shop. His skull was covered with a kind of peach fuzz where he'd shorn off most of his hair, and his cat-like eyes were as black as onyx.

  “Oh, um, hello,” Dalla said brightly, though her smile wavered as he continued to look at them stonily. “We're looking for Denzel.”

  His eyes narrowed suspiciously.

  “Who wants to know?”

  “Marcus told us to ask for him,” Anais said, staring coolly back at him. “He said he could hook us up with something we wanted.”

  “Oh yeah?” The man leant against the doorframe. “And what might that be?”

  He stared expectantly at Anais. She had no idea what to say next. She didn't make it a habit to buy black market goods, after all.

  “He said you were the best person to go to for this new product,” she said as casually as she could. “That you just knew what the customer wanted.”

  As she said it, she casually reached up and touched the spot behind her right ear when her ID chip was placed. The man stared at her for a moment longer, absently touching a small spot on his neck, where Anais thought she could see a tiny mark as though he'd nicked his skin while shaving. Her heart began to pound as she stared back, wondering if they'd made a horrible mistake.

  After what seemed like an age, the man nodded curtly and disappeared into the back. Anais let out a sigh of relief as Dalla squeezed her shoulder.

  “Well done, babe,” she whispered to her. “I had no idea what to say to him!”

  Anais smiled weakly. The man, presumably Denzel, reappeared with a small plastic box, whose contents rattled as he walked. Gingerly, he placed the box down on the counter as though it contained something immeasurably precious. Abruptly, he turned back to the pair who were ogling at the box.

  “1,000 CRD,” he said shortly. Anais could've sworn her heart stopped still.

  “For two?” she asked and Denzel snorted.

  “For one. If you take two though, I'll do them for 975 each,” he said, with a rather nasty smile. The bastard, Anais thought angrily, he knew there was no chance they had that kind of money.

  “500,” Anais said before she could stop herself. “We'll take one for 500.”

  Denzel gave a nasty laugh.

  “No way. Not worth my time n' effort for that amount. You realise that I'd have to take the credits wirelessly, then run it through the system so it can't be traced back to you? I'm protecting my back as well as yours. And for that price...” he shrugged. “Sorry ladies, no can do.” He began to pick up the box again.

  “Wait,” Dalla said, and Denzel looked at her. She flashed him a charming smile before turning to Anais, her eyes never leaving Denzel's. “Anais, I forgot to say, congrats on your dad's promotion, babe! What department is he in now? Fraud?”

  It took a second for Anais to cotton on. The blood drained from Denzel's face as he stared at them both furiously. Anais smiled at him sweetly.

  “No,” she said lightly. “Not fraud. He's in the Counterfeit Prevention Unit – it's different from fraud because in the CPU he actually has the power to track down and arrest individuals caught selling known counterfeit products.”

  “You're having me on,” Denzel said in a low, furious voice. But there was a fearful light in his eye as he spoke, and Anais knew they had him fooled.

  “Nope,” Anais said breezily. “No joke.”

  He gave them another nasty glare, and they stared back at him innocently. He swallowed hard, and threw an edgy look at the doorway he'd come through, as though he was expecting someone. Finally, he spat on the ground.

  “Fine,” he growled. “500 for one, if you take it right now with no more fuss.”

  “Okay,” Dalla said brightly and Anais smiled at Denzel, winning her another glower.

  Denzel opened the lid on the plastic box. Anais bent forward curiously; inside were rows of tiny picochips, each one in individual packaging, with a tiny label stating what subject the chip was for.

  “These here are from the standard subject list Civitas issued,” Denzel was saying, pointing to the first few rows. “And these are the...less orthodox ones.”

  “How so?” Anais asked, as she and Dalla carefully flicked through the tiny picochips. She carefully picked one up and had to squint to read the label on the plastic coating. It read, HISTORY OF AGRICULTURAL MACHINERY 1800 – 1950. Anais placed it back in the box.

  “They're the ones that Civitas will either release in the future, or that the programmer made up,” Denzel s
aid, glancing edgily behind him again. “Look, have you chosen yet?”

  “So you're not the one who designed these?” Anais asked, standing back up straight to look at him, somewhat surprised. She had just assumed that the person selling the counterfeit SLPs would be the same person who made them. Denzel shook his head.

  “Do I look like a grade A programmer to you? I just sell the damn things. You've got ten seconds to make up your mind, or the deal's off,” he said shortly.

  Anais continued to look through the picochips, none of the titles really appealing to her, until she flicked past one and stopped. Slowly, she drew it out of the box, looking at the label, which simply read ARCHITECTURE. She turned it slowly over in her palm, hesitating.

  This could be it. This could be her ticket out of the future already drawn out for her. She wondered briefly if she could ask Dalla to borrow the credits, or if she could try and haggle Denzel down some more, surely it was worth a try...

  Dalla plucked a picochip out of the box with relish.

  “This one I think,” she said happily, disturbing Anais' train of thought. Anais glanced at the writing on the label: FASHION DESIGN AND MANUFACTURE. Denzel pulled a small handheld machine out from under the counter.

  “Money first, then the goods,” he said, gesturing at Dalla's ID chip.

  Obediently, Dalla swept her hair up out of the way, and Denzel ran the device over Dalla's chip. A small blue laser scanned over the patch behind Dalla's ear. It was an old payment system – nowadays, everything was done wirelessly. There was a bleep from the machine and something flashed up on the tiny screen. Denzel pressed a few buttons and the bleeping stopped.

  Once he was satisfied that the money had gone through, Denzel put the payment machine away and picked up a newer, shinier device. At one end, there was something that looked suspiciously like a needle. He grabbed the picochip from Dalla and ripped off the packaging, inserting the chip into the small slot in the bottom of the machine. Anais was only half paying attention, her mind still occupied by the tiny picochip that was growing warm in her hand, as she clutched it tightly. She could half see Denzel bending Dalla's head slightly to the right, so he could access her ID chip better; but the other half of her mind was conjuring images of her working at the Institute of Architecture and finally bringing life to her stash of secret drawings, gazing out over the city from her top floor office, where she could draw and create buildings to her heart's content. She blinked, and the vision of fame and glory faded, leaving her with just the view of the small, gloomy shop, and Denzel's sly face scrunched up in concentration as he held the needle end of the device to Dalla's ID chip.

  “Hold still,” he was saying to Dalla. “This is going to feel...strange.”

  Dalla nodded, her face tense. Denzel flicked a switch on the side of the machine. A line of lights at the bottom of the machine started to glow amber, changing to green as the program was downloaded onto Dalla's ID chip. A small, violet spark that ran from the needle to the point where it made contact with her skin, just over her chip. Dalla gasped as the spark made contact with her skin.

  “What? What is it?” Anais asked urgently, dropping the picochip she was holding onto the counter and rushing to Dalla's side. “Dalla, are you okay?”

  Dalla shook her head, her eyes wide. A few more violet sparks were flying out from the needle, though Dalla didn't seem to feel them as they melted away onto her skin. Anais glanced desperately at Denzel.

  “Is she ok? Is it working?”

  Denzel grunted.

  “Almost done,” he said, looking at the small machine. The last few amber lights changed to green, and the machine stopped sparking.

  “Dalla,” Anais said, grabbing her arm and shaking her slightly. “Dal, are you okay?”

  Dalla blinked and sighed, seeming to come to.

  “That was...” she started to speak, but stopped, shaking her head.

  “What?” Anais asked. “It was what?”

  But Dalla simply shook her head again, a dreamy look coming over her face. Anais looked round for Denzel, who was ejecting the used picochip from the machine and throwing it into a bright yellow recycling bin.

  “Is this normal?” she demanded. Denzel gave Dalla an uninterested glance.

  “Yeah, she's fine. Just a bit of a shock to the system, is all.”

  Anais turned her back on him, placing a hand on Dalla's forehead. Her temperature seemed normal, and as her RetCom wasn't informing her of any life-threatening symptoms, she'd have to take Denzel's word for it.

  “Now,” Denzel said, advancing on them. “You can get out now, but remember our deal - not a word about this to anyone, you hear me?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Anais said distractedly, beginning to pull Dalla out of the shop.

  “And tell Marcus he owes me 600 by the end of the week,” Denzel called after them, as Anais pushed the door open, dragging Dalla outside with her. She waved back at Denzel to show she'd heard, before pulling the door shut behind them.

  The sun was still beating down hard. Anais had forgotten about the heat of the day while they'd been inside – Denzel's shop may have been gloomy and a bit depressing, but at least it had been cool. She turned back to Dalla, who was standing there, still with a dreamy look on her face.

  “Dalla, seriously, you're starting to creep me out,” Anais said worriedly. “What's wrong? How are you feeling?”

  Dalla turned to her, beaming.

  “Oh Anais, you have no idea!” she exclaimed. “To just instantly know everything about whatever you want, it's...it's incredible. I can't believe it – I had no idea about fashion design before and now....”

  Her voice drifted off as she stared into the distance with a smile on her face. There was an uncomfortable metallic taste on Anais' tongue, as she watched her friend smile happily, completely oblivious to the dark feeling taking shape in Anais' heart.

  “Yes well,” Anais said, rather sharply. “It's not like it's a new concept is it? We've done it before with the first aid training that came with our ID upgrades.”

  Dalla merely shook her head.

  “No, this is different somehow. I don't know how to describe it to you.”

  “Well then don't bother,” Anais said shortly. “Come on, let's get out of this heat.”

  Dalla didn't seem to notice Anais' tone. Anais turned on her heel and began to stalk away towards the nearest train station, Dalla walking along beside her, her expression still dreamy, lost in the revelations of her new-found knowledge.

  Anais stared moodily at the ground as she walked, well aware she was being unreasonable, and yet not caring enough to do anything about it. On the one hand, she felt bad for being so short with Dalla, but on the other...once again Dalla seemed to have everything Anais could only dream of, leaving Anais behind to struggle on as best she could. It was over-dramatic, and she knew she was being over-dramatic, and yet – she couldn't help in that moment but hate Dalla, just a tiny little bit. It was as though there were two sides in her mind – the first half was genuinely pleased for Dalla, and wanted to talk to her about what it was like to download about SLP, and chat for hours over how wonderful it was – but the other, darker half of her mind wanted to go home and shut out the world.

  “Anais?”

  Anais blinked, and came back to the present. She was completely unaware of where they were, until Dalla's voice pulled her out of her reverie. She looked up and saw they were standing outside the station, groups of people wandering up and down the steps in front of them, chatting and laughing merrily as they enjoyed their weekend in the sun. Dalla seemed to be back to normal now, or at least, she was hiding her excitement better. She was looking at Anais with a worried look in her eye.

  “Are you ok, babe? You've been a bit quiet,” Dalla said.

  Anais took one
look at her friend's concerned face and immediately all her bad thoughts gave way to guilt.

  “Yeah, fine, it's just the heat,” she said. But Dalla was giving her that look that made Anais know that she didn't believe her. Dalla opened her mouth to say something else, but Anais cut across her before she could speak.

  “Look, I think I'm just going to go home,” she said. “I'll talk to you later.”

  “Oh, but, I thought we were going to go shopping? There's this really stylish dress I want to try for work tomorrow. I think you'd love it too – we could get a matching pair!”

  Anais took one look at Dalla's open, enthusiastic expression and suddenly she couldn't stand to be in her company a moment longer. She shook her head.

  “No thanks, I've got some stuff to catch up on.”

  “Oh,” Dalla's face fell slightly. “Well, okay. If you change your mind...”

  “I'll message you,” Anais said, sensing the awkward air between them. She began to back away towards the steps. “Sorry Dal, I've got to go. See you later.”

  And with that, Anais turned and ran up the steps, fully aware of Dalla's eyes burning into her back as she left.

  Six

  The train was packed.

  Anais elbowed her way through the Saturday afternoon crowds, finally managing to find a corner in the carriage that she could slink into. She lent her head against the smooth metal behind her, trying not to let the feelings of guilt sweep over her. She shouldn't have left Dalla in the lurch like that, but equally, she couldn't stand to be there a moment longer. She turned away from the dark thoughts that were swirling on the edges of her mind, instead choosing to turn up the music stored on her RetCom as high as she could without her eardrums bursting. She called up Xander's name in her vision and began to message him; small, innocuous messages, anything to take her mind off the SLPs and Dalla's obvious delight.

  By the time the train rolled into her stop, the carriage was a lot quieter. She stepped off the train back into the warmth of the late afternoon. She kept her head down as she walked briskly home, unwilling to linger on the streets as the memory of yesterday reared its ugly head, despite the fact that it was still daylight.