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Oh, and head over to the medical station and blame my wound on a work incident. I needed to get the wound disinfected, and right now, some pain meds to ease the throbbing burn I felt creeping through my wound and up my shoulder.

“Hey, Dean, wait up,” Stacy said, jogging beside me. “Why didn’t you tell him the truth? I was going to take the blame. You didn’t have to get docked any wages for me.”

“I didn’t do it for you,” I said, shaking my head as I headed over to my assigned workspace.

“Then why did you do it?” Stacy asked, confused.

“No more questions,” I said, stalking up one of the ramps. The interior echoed with the sounds of mechanics at work, welding and cutting. I headed for the level I was supposed to be working on. “Stop following me.”

“At least let me pay for your lunch,” Stacy said, and then a little more forcefully, she added, “Let me rephrase that. I’m going to pay for your lunch. It’s the very least I can do.”

I was going to argue with her, but other mechanics and a few Civil Authority Officers were starting to look at us sideways. Here she was again, drawing more attention to me than I wanted. What was with this chick?

“Sure, fine,” I said, trying to get her to just leave me in peace. “Lunch, great, and then we’re even.”

If Ricky saw her with me, there would be no shutting him up.

“Good, see?” Stacy said, still behind me. “Was that so hard? Why are you so reclusive anyway?”

I turned the last corner. A dozen or so mechanics were at work, laboring on what would eventually become the hydroponics bay.

I let out a deep sigh as I saw Ricky make eye contact with Stacy. Great. Well, my day just went from bad to worse, I thought.

Ricky was probably the closest thing I had to a friend, even though we were polar opposites. He was short and skinny with an overactive tongue and a gambling addiction to match. As soon as he saw Stacy and me, he dropped the torch in his hand and headed over. A Cheshire smile crossed his lips, and I knew there was no shutting him up the rest of the day.

“Well, hello there,” Ricky said, offering a hand to Stacy. “I’ve seen you around the yard but never had the pleasure. Miss?”

“Stacy Wilson,” she said, accepting the offered hand.

“You didn’t tell me you knew—well, that you knew anyone else besides me,” Ricky said, looking me in the eye then down at my arm. He glanced back at Stacy, noticing the bruise on her face for the first time. “What the hell happened to you two?”

“Nothing,” I said, moving to my tools. “She was just leaving.”

“Just leaving?” Stacy repeated, raising an eyebrow. “First, we were on a long date last night, then you agree to lunch today, and now the cold shoulder?”

I shot her a glare that suggested she’d better stop whatever she was doing and leave.

Ricky looked back and forth between us with his mouth hanging open. “You two went out on a date? Wait a minute, I need to hear everything in as much detail as possible.”

“Maybe next time, Ricky,” Stacy said with a smile. “It was nice meeting you. I need to get to my level and start working before I get into more trouble.” She turned to me with a little smirk and said, “See you at lunch, Dean.”

I knew she was just rubbing it in, so I waved her away with a shake of my right arm. It was hard enough focusing on work right now, thanks to the pain, but this wasn’t helping. The last thing I needed today was Ricky digging for answers.

Too bad for me.

“Okay, okay,” Ricky said rapidly. “What am I missing here? Mr. Quiet and Brooding is suddenly going out with the hottest mechanic in the yard? You some kind of kink freak? Come on, we’ve been working together for nearly five years now. You never even mentioned an interest in anything other than work, and I’m pretty sure that’s not even something you like. What’s going on?”

For a moment, we both paused as a Civil Authority Officer passed by. Their dark blue uniforms and black armor made them easy to pick out among what the mechanics wore.

It was not like we were afraid of them, and we didn’t care if they saw us working or slacking off. They weren’t here to give us a hard time. They were only here as an added precaution against vandalism and sabotage. The Disciples, a radicalized terrorist group of Transients responsible for multiple recent bombings in the city, had already hit a few yards in recent years. Not a month went by when we didn’t receive another threat that our little shop would be next.

Even though neither of us had anything to fear from the Civil Authority Officer—or suit, as most liked to call them—we both paused as he strolled by. He gave us a tight head nod before continuing down the line of pens.

“Come on, give me something,” Ricky begged. “Even if you have to tell me a lie. Just make it good. A little something my imagination can run with for a while. Come on, man, throw me a bone. It gets boring down here.”

“All right,” I said, realizing that Ricky wasn’t going to let this one go. “Walking to work, some thugs calling themselves the Warlords roughed her up. I scared them off, and she feels like she owes me.”

“Warlords, huh?” Ricky said the word as if he knew exactly who they were and then quickly snapped out of his own thoughts. “Wait a minute, you actually stopped to help someone, and you talked to them? When was the last time you did that?”

“Hey, I talk,” I said, reaching for my thick gloves and mask. “I have you to bother me every day and tell me all your stories over, and over, and over again.