Erik Torreon crouched to warm his hands before the fire he had made in a garbage can lid. Before the daylight faded he had separated the fire's fuel into three piles: dry, wet, and not sure. He hoped the dry pile would hold out until he fell asleep but reasoned that he'd been conservative in his sorting and thought that the larger chunks of wood were only damp in a few places. They shouldn't smoke too much if burned. He had learned to keep his fires small as a precaution; built atop the lid, he could flip it over and douse the flames in an instant.

Smoke, though, caused problems. It was impossible to contain, leaking through cracks in walls and ceilings, and people roamed this city who spied such things. The smell of smoke lingered too, and experienced scavengers could sniff you out even if they didn't have any dogs.

Erik stroked his sides for warmth and tried not to think about Emilee and how nice it had been to have her around. She had been years younger than him but infinitely more naive. Perhaps because she had been born in Rivertown she felt safer than she should have wandering these streets. Erik supposed she had lied when she told him that she'd been surviving on her own for years. They'd been together night and day for nearly a month, yet he could still never tell when she was telling stories or the truth. He never held that against her. Friends were hard to come by, and besides, everyone has some secrets in their past.

His hand strayed to his backpack and gave it a shake. The hundreds of miniature glass phials inside gave reassuring clinks. She had loved the Whitefish as much as Erik did, and not for the first time he wondered if that's why she'd decided to hang around. The jack might have been part of it but he knew she had liked him; he had definitely liked her. She could be moody, especially when coming down from the amphetemines and impatient for the rundown to smooth her rough edges, but he wasn't perfect either. Together they made a pretty good team. It sure as hell beat sleeping alone.

Satisfied with the fire, he leaned back and took out his reader. He cupped his hands to block the light as the display flared into life, the words on the splash screen: THE TITAN READER: ALL THE BOOKS THAT MATTER IN HISTORY (and some that don't!) slowly dissolving to the main page. He keyed in "classic love stories" and with a barely audible hum, the device listed a series of titles, some of which Erik thought he recognized, but mostly not. Wuthering Heights. Pride and Prejudice. Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare. He selected the last one and told himself he would look forward to reading it. The novelty wore off within minutes and, struggling with archaic language and lines of footer notes, he switched off the reader and glanced around his dreary surroundings. His gaze settled on his backpack.

You shouldn't jack alone, he told himself. What if someone found him? They could kick his head in and make off with his stash before he knew what was happening. He had promised that he would only jack when he was 100% safe. Remember Emilee? he asked himself, then snorted. He'd been doing a terrible job forgetting. Jacking now would be dangerous. He was far from secure, huddling in the back corner of a building with two caved in walls. He should spend his time reading. After a couple hours he could take two rundowns to help sleep come and he'd call it a day.

He powered up the reader and resolved to find something he would want to read, maybe another Gamble novel. He scrolled through the list and selected a title, then backed out when he realized he'd read it before. His mind wandering, he chose a different title and finished the first paragraph before realizing he'd read that one too. He turned off the device.

His feet were chilled and so were his fingers. Cold concrete bit where his back touched the wall and the cardboard he sat on did nothing for his freezing ass. His stomach cramped in hunger. One phial of jack and all that goes away, he thought. He could drift off to sleep rather than be clubbed by rundown. He might even get some reading done. Outside the wind gusted and he felt the mist of rain on his face.

Remember Emilee? Ridiculous question. Could he ever forget what had happened from his mind? They had been careless, he told himself, but not reckless; certainly nothing worse than what he was contemplating doing now. The rain will keep scavengers indoors, he told himself, and what was he proving by abstaining anyway? They had suffered luck of the very worst kind and he refused to feel anymore guilt about it. If he jacked up it might even bring back better memories.

He deliberated for another half-minute before, with a resigned curse, he drew open his backpack and fumbled for a dispenser. He ejected the spent phial into the fire and loaded a fresh one by the dim firelight. He wet the tip of his thumb with his tongue and slipped on the dispenser. Without hesitation clicked the trigger. The slightest pinprick of pain, then he quickly returned the dispenser and zipped up his bag.

Erik leaned against the cold concrete wall, took a deep breath, and dreamed.

FROM: Pele's Tears <noreply-transcript@pelestears.net>
SENT: Monday, April 11, 01:42 AM
TO: Trent Hergenrader
SUBJECT: Your Pele's Tears Transcript

Hello Trent Hergenrader,

PELE'S TEARS TRANSCRIPT WITH USER ETORREON

*** (01:03) RIVERTOWN RIOT CHAT ROOM
USER ET HAS LOGGED ON

<ET 01:30> Hey, your still up?
<GM 01:31> Not for long. Just finished with a different group.
<ET 01:33> Nice. Exciting?
<GM 01:34> Always. No one died tho!
<ET 01:36> Yeah. I can't stop thinking about that.
<GM 01:36> Yeah?
<ET 01:37> Yes. I feel bad for Emilee. What a way to go.
<GM 01:39> I warned you. It's a dangerso world.
<GM 01:39> Dangerous.
<ET 01:43> Can't get that image out of my mind. Goota go bo tbed tho.
<GM 01:43> With typing like that, yes you do! Email me when you want to do your next session.
<ET 01:49> Will do. Nite.

USER ET HAS LEFT THE CHAT