Mike Forester

"Hey, Danzer, I'm here for my fix," Mike said cheerfully, opening the small door into the dark, musty room. This place used to overpower her; she was sensitive to smells and tastes and sounds and this place had them in spades. But she was getting used to it.

"Mike!" Danzer bounded from behind a stack of--well, whatever it was he'd scrounged this week. He approached her, and she held out her hands as she did every time she came by. He swept them up in his clan's recognition of friend, and she answered it, although, as usual she did it just a second too soon and just a fraction wrong, nervous as always. This business of clan interaction among families in the lower levels fascinated and confused her; she found dodging people on the walkways of the upper levels daunting enough without having to know how to say hello properly.

Danzer laughed, corrected her hand position, kissed her hands, and then bounded back around his pile of prizes. A few short seconds later, items began to fly in different direction as he dug into the pile.

"Here, here!" he said. A crate, far nicer than the rest of the sad items in the unused warehouse office, was brought forward. Mike smiled. Danzer, she knew, had saved the crate and used it for her deliveries five times now. She paid well, his family ate, and she was nice to his kids. So she got her pick of his stuff and a relatively shiny box in which to see it.

Plunking down amongst the various items she reached into the box like a child with a holiday gift. Danzer chuckled, and then shouted "Kids, Mike's here!"

Two little girls, a blonde and a brunette squealed and Mike could hear them approach, followed by Danzer's wife, Lishia.

"I got a new supplier, Mike," Danzer said proudly. "Everyone knows I pay for the stuff you want now, so they bring anything back that you might like."

"Oh, Danzer," she said, looking up, "You don't have to pay for stuff I don't buy..."

"Oh, don't worry, he doesn't," said Lishia, somehow getting in front of Kay and Meg and offering a tray of warm drinks. Mike waved it away, suddenly bent on her treasure again having missed the normal cue that most people wait for in terms of meeting Lishia's eyes. Lishia looked at Danzer to explain. Danzer shrugged. Lishia went on, "He marks them and returns them if you don't buy them," slightly miffed and uncomfortable about the failure in common human curtesy.

Meg and Kay were familiar with the pattern and waited patiently. It didn't take long before Mike was pulling some of the damaged collections of papers together into a pile and then handing over a cred chip to Danzer, barely taking her eyes off. Danzer cleared his throat, grabbed the arm with the money and shook it, startling her from her information trance. Mike smiled feebly.

"Hello, ladies," she said, standing up and dusting off her gray slacks and a decortated v neck shirt. It had been a special service from Danzer to have it made by one of the clothiers down here, but it had a picture of a large round rock with pock marks in it. Mike had told him it was the moon, and he had smiled indulgently, much like he did when his girls introduced him to an imaginary friend. Danzer noted she was also wearing the thread and bead necklace Lishia had helped her to make when she first visited his little business.

Mike reached into her pockets and produced treats from the upper level, which she then handed to each girl in turn--small stacks of candies that slowly changed color. This time Kay could not contain herself and threw her arms around Mike's legs, nearly toppling them both. Mike looked pleased and confused, and then Kay and Meg were ushered out by Lishia.

"These are great, Danzer," Mike said, picking up her stack. Some were old food boxes, some were actual books printed on fabricated paper so artificial it would never truly degenerate down here.

Danzer could see he'd nearly lost her to the precious items she collected again. Tall and gawky, Mike folded in on herself in the presence of other people. Her sea green eyes were already in another place.

"Mike," Danzer said. She focused on him, back from wherever she'd gone, at least for a few minutes, her hands absently stroking her treasure. "Russel's gang hasn't forgotten about what happened..."

"Oh yes," Mike said. "On the way in I noticed that several of the passages out had been artificially blocked and that a lot of the people were perspiring and speaking too quickly. I suspect the idea is to drive me back out the only way in and then waylay me with any new weapons they've managed to acquire since a few weeks ago."

Danzer's eyes widened.

"Don't worry," Mike said, shaking her head. "I'm not going out that way. My statistical odds of winning are still in the 78.8% range, but I strongly suspect that if I sneak out as I intend to do, it will be assumed that either a) I was too cowardly to take on Russell which would improve his reputation ending his immediate need to harm me or b) that my reputation has grown for being able to sneak away from a near perfect trap." She punctuated "perfect" with her fingers and laughed.

"When will I see you again, Mike?" Danzer asked, and there was worry in his voice.

"Not sure," Mike said absently. "I try to keep my movements down here random in case people like Russell are paying attention."

She turned, and headed for the door, remembered something, and turned around.

"Thanks, Danzer. See you in a bit. Stay safe."

Danzer nodded. Only a month ago they'd gone over that it is generally considered appropriate to say something rather than abruptly departing. If nothing else, she certainly learned quickly and at least this time it wasn't something like "Goodbye, Danzer, hope you don't die before I see you next."

Mike stepped out of the safety of the shop and ran along in the darkness for a while. She lifted one of the items from her pile and began to scan it as her feet took her to the route she'd selected on her way in, her body conforming to tight spots and climbing through windows without paying much attention.

It was only the fact that the data pouring into her brain shouted that something was not quite right which caught her attention. A flash of the data put together showed her that Russell and four guys--a different four, as the first set would not be walking anywhere of their own accord for the rest of their lives unless they suddenly became rich and moved to the upper levels--were headed this way, wielding armament that would made things difficult if she was to keep her evening bounty safe. Backing up, she slipped into a crevice between buildings and drew back into the shadows.

The men she'd noticed coming never saw her, venting off their frustrations on the surrounding buildings. Their sounds took a long time to die out, time that Mike used to read her materials...when she looked up, she realized that she had been standing in this crevice for four hours using the fading light from the alley to read.

Shaking her head, she picked her way back to the lifts, where one, like a friendly puppy, was already waiting for her. She stepped inside, and took it to the top, the moving sidewalks guiding her, as if they were programmed just for her, back to her place.

Just thinking about it, her com activated her door and she walked in to her place. It was a multi room apartment, though she'd never thought of anything to do with the other rooms. The largest one had debris from the lower levels--concrete and crates--as crude shelves, stacked among them all the various items of interest she'd picked up over the years. One wall was free of these shelves, and projected onto it were various art displays...whatever she found interesting this week. Facing the wall was the most comfortable chair that she had ever found. Leather and cloth, it had a soft blanket folded beside it. She spent more than half her life in that chair. It was likely her favorite place on earth.

The other rooms in the apartment were empty, just as they had been when she'd taken the job with the agency. Well, except the kitchen. There she did her experiments with various food products. Oh, the recruiter had discussed having a decorator come in and add some--what had she said? Personality. That was it. Personality to the place. But Mike just didn't see the point. She hoped, some day, a boy might sleep over, but she was fairly certain, after trying that after one of the parties in the lower levels that she had observed, that it was far better not to take them to your own home.

She changed her display. She sat in her chair, she set the chrono in her com and then she read. Two hours before she needed to rise for work, the alarm went off, she put her things down, curled up with her blanket, and slept, exhaustion leading to dreamless sleep...just the way she liked it.