“Our lives are only the last thing we give in the line of duty.”
- A Prian police motto
Xyn’s shop was further from the landing crescent than Tiberius remembered. Orphia clutched tightly to his forearm, watching the passing of Gharib with remote disinterest. Grumbling, the old police officer turned down a familiar-looking side street and pushed his way through the corner crowd to take a better look.
“Ah, there it is,” Tiberius told Orphia, pointing to the shop. She blinked her black eyes at him and turned away to preen her wing.
The name Unbreakers floated over the door in soothing oceanic blue and green holographics that contrasted sharply with the wan, dusty yellow of the Gharib. The crowd thinned in front of Unbreakers and the doors hissed open when Tiberius neared.
Cases of machinery lined the walls, full of NI generator parts, FMS relays and more pieces of metal and flashing lights that Tiberius could not even guess that names of, much less their purposes. The store’s ceiling was nearly invisible, obscured by blocky engines and generators, too large for display cases, suspended on cloudy null-inertia fields. A bored-looking Lyran boy sat behind the counter. Gutted in front of him was a small computer, parts arranged in untidy piles. The Lyran was frowning in consternation at a rectangle of black ceramic no larger than a fingernail. He looked up Tiberius’ approach.
“Afternoon, sir. Welcome to Unbreakers. What can I do for you?” he asked. The wolfin boy’s tone indicated that, despite his greeting, this intrusion on an otherwise quiet afternoon was anything but welcome.
“Is Xyn around?” Tiberius asked.
“Yeah, I think Xyn’s in today. If he’s anywhere, he’s in the tank room. Go on back,” he said, pointing a furry thumb towards a closed door in the back of the shop.
Tiberius stroked Orphia’s feathers as he squeezed between racks and cases towards the indicated door. She tightened her talons uncomfortably around his arm. The unfamiliar sounds and lights agitated the old bird, and an upset hawk was the first step on a short road to losing an eye or finger.
“Come now, old girl. We won’t be here long,” he assured her as he shouldered the door open and stepped through.
The rear rooms of Unbreakers were dedicated to Xyn’s laboratory. The walls and floor were sterile white, filled with long steel tables covered in glass beakers and tube racks. A pair of huge drum tanks dominated the back wall, each aglow with flickering instrument panels. Those tanks held the phennomethylln, Tiberius knew, worth more than its weight in redmarks.
A fat Ixthian man in a pale green lab coat leaned down to scan the readouts. Like all males of his race, he was considerably shorter than an Ixthian woman.
“Get out of here!” Xyn yelled without looking up. “Chainith can help you with whatever you need. This batch is at a very delicate stage and requires special attention. Out!”
“Delicate was getting you the gene sample to make this sludge in the first place,” Tiberius growled.
