It was five years since Vic had been referred to the Court for Tinkering. Harsh. She'd found an anomaly in the data storage system of the head teacher's office one rainy lunch break. Midnight inspection was trickier, during which she'd  literally dropped a spanner in the works on the way out, setting off a trail of alarms. Rooky.

Her adjustments were left in place, the modification rolled out across the quadrant, while Vic's parents were called to the Catchers Office to explain how they'd failed to supervise their daughter.

It could have been worse. Pilfering Court would have sent her to secure school. This way she was paying her dues perfecting her skills, travelling the four quadrants to gather intel and manipulate the systems she was sent to 'streamline'.

The government needed people like Vic to find ways to weaken the enemy and undermine the endless war in the fifth quadrant. It was becoming increasingly toxic to all the outer stations now, almost impossible to contain.

After five dangerous, exciting years, she stood six inches taller, wore her hair like a mane, and  knew how to manage her expectations. With one click of the key, the report was on its way. She'd made it. Vic's micro-device beeped. She dropped it into a can of sand as it began to melt, fumes gag-worthy. Another scoop of sand on top and she replaced a soggy plant tidily over what was already no more than a blob. Job done.

She'd accepted a post with First Quadrant's underground to follow her release leave. She'd be working in the D-Zone with the best in the business. Her warder, Gus, soon-to-be-boss, was waiting for her at the pub, ready to celebrate her freedom as soon as she finished, transformed from prisoner to pioneer.

For the last time she patted a tiny pocket in her black worsted waistcoat, where the freedom key bumped soft and familiar against her ribs. The dream was starting to feel real.

Flicking her orange tousled hair back, scooped somehow into flying goggles, she exited like a shadow in her long black coat.

It all felt so right, strolling down to the parking bay, heading to the pub for that first cool drink of freedom. Then, four weeks holiday, no pressure, no danger, no supervision! She pulled a face, wiping her brow as a real split second of dread filled her. She was going to have to do a quick bit of shopping. If she wasn't buying black she didn't have a clue but she owed it to Leonora to make the effort: new jeans, swimwear, and  something to walk down the aisle in in two days time.

****

Down by the harbour Gus was slouching with half a pint of lovely warm beer. He'd already drunk the other half. He was looking forward to his micro-concept fish and chip supper when he received confirmation from HQ that the report had been successfully sent. Ah, the girl had done it. He felt the smug satisfaction of a chess player who'd lined up his pieces with wisdom and sneakiness, and sat back to watch and win. He'd declare Vic a free woman, and welcome her onto his team. 

The tinny sound of a cheap bike and a pitiful engine woke him from deep thought. The sight of Vic, twice the size of her moped, emerging from the car park shaking out her voluptuous hair like a gleaming leathered Amazon, made him smile. He had a mean streak. A casual stroll to the pub was what he'd instructed, knowing she had no clue how to be casual. This would always be her strength. 

"Gus," she breathed across the crowded room, trying to be unassuming. 

She fixed him with her flashing black eyes.

"Yep, you did it," he affirmed in a soft voice. "You tidied up, though?"

"All good," she answered, bumping into a seat at his table, tangling her coat round chair legs. Vic accepted his quiet congratulations looking like any nineteen year old celebrating exam results with an elderly relative. She drank the toast with a glass of bitter lemon. 

Gus began to ask Vic about her holiday plans when their meal arrived. "Oh, catching up with family and friends, you know," she indicated vaguely. He couldn't demand to know now, and couldn't stop her, but with a jolt she realised he was maybe just being polite. They fell to eating, listening to the rise and fall of voices around them, and their own thoughts.

"So," she asked after a while, "do I get what's promised?"

Gus reached into his pocket and brought out a small cedarwood box.

Vic leaned in, and slid the box nearer to her. Focused only on this, she took the key from her pocket, and tilted the box. They matched so well. As the key turned silkily, she heard the clicking of many tiny locks like a little choir, and tension in her body began to give way. She breathed deeply, and as the lid rose a fraction to show it was open, she felt a wide grin spread across her face involuntarily. Even Gus almost smiled.

"With one click of the key you are free," he said in legal language. "Your indenture is served. All slates wiped clean."

Vic felt an unfamiliar misting of the eyes, and put the box in her pocket. She got up from the table. He was not her warder anymore.

"Thank you, Boss."

She was gone.

****

Gus' phone buzzed again. He signalled the waitress to bring coffee to his table and slipped outside to read the message privately. He tilted the screen a bit, tapped it, and scowled. He was nearing his seventieth birthday, only two more years of this and he would be free. 

If his eyes could be believed, Gus was looking at a red alert symbol, the highest rating. His coded reply was immediately answered. So, the transmission of Vic's report had been diverted and the version that landed on the general's desk was completely corrupted. A clerk had assumed it was a new type of code, hence the delay that allowed them to enjoy their meal. Once the general was informed, he was incandescent. 

Five years' work, and the final piece of the jigsaw from across the four quadrants was degraded and the virus was spreading in their system. Only the enemy had a copy! It had to be an inside job. A double agent. An absolute disaster.

There was only Gus and Vic in this quadrant who were in the loop. Hexus, Gus' commander, would be looking to blame. He wasn't the sort to not find proof, and liked swift solutions and he had never liked Gus. Gus reckoned he'd have a couple of days at most before he was arrested and framed. 

"Vic?"

"Yeah?"

The waitress appeared at his shoulder with a cup of dark, tepid liquid smelling of root vegetables. Gods, let me have one more slug of 100% arabica before I die.

"You left your lipstick."

"No."

He shook his head at the worse-than-usual flavour and set off to their coded meeting with a sour taste strong in his mouth.

*****

Image Pinterest, possibly GothCouture