Leaning against the brick wall outside our favorite café, Paul huddles close like we're doing a drug deal. His breath smells like ass, courtesy of those intense espressos he always orders. It takes all my strength not to grimace. Even his strong spearmint lozenges can't mask the stench this time.

Quite an achievement.

This dude seriously needs to stop thinking he can replace calories with caffeine. He's already turned into a string bean.

His gaze darts left then right. When he's sure the coast is clear, Paul pulls a small package from his pocket. It's an empty tin of his mints. He hands it over to me, wrapping my fingers around it like it's a precious jewel.

Inside lies the tiniest silicon device I've ever seen.

"Thank you, Paul." I stare at it in awe, the first time I've ever seen this little criminal up close. "This will really save my neck."

Not difficult to see how the tiny drone got its nickname: The Fly.

"Quick!" he hisses under his breath. "Hide it before someone sees."

"All right, James Bond." I snap the lid shut and dump it in the pocket of my faux-leather jacket. "Cool it."

"If someone catches you with that—"

"I know, you don't exist."

What is this? A bad spy movie?

"Damn right I don't."

"Look, relax."

I understand his apprehension somewhat. The Fly entered the free market innocently enough. MicroBook designed it to make lifelike 3D holographic recordings and live streams for important events and family get-togethers. Grandparents in nursing homes and college students on campus could join family and friends whenever they wanted.

Their slogan? Be a fly on the wall.

Once people began to use the devices for more nefarious purposes, MicroBook pulled them from active retail. Now they're illegal. Imagine that! Our government can still work once in a while. Like controlled substances, only a registered list of approved professionals can use them.

One of the perks of being in the associated digital press? You get access to this shit once you've proven your loyalty. Only Paul has signed a social contract to use this kind of power to benefit Big Money.

Not to shove a stick up its butt.

If this got traced back to Paul, it would destroy him.

"Any idea how many laws I'm breaking to help you?" His Adam's apple bobs in protest. "If anyone finds out--"

"They won't."

"--I lose my career, my marriage, and possibly my life."

"Hey!"

I swat him on the shoulder.

"Jeez, the flick was that for?"

"If you keep staring at every stranger like they're Steeltoes on a manhunt, the drones will arrest you on principle," I say in an angry whisper.

"That was uncalled for."

"You know what I mean."

"Still."

"Well, cut it out!"

Our little spat results in a staring contest, which I win. It pisses me off that he doesn't trust me after all this time.

For flick's sake, Paul. I'm not one of these callous interns you work with.

We're friends, damn it.

"We've worked together for years on lots of hair-raising cases," I say in a determined whisper. "I didn't betray you then, and I won't betray you now."

He straightens up like I've tugged at his strings. "I know. Sorry, it's just..."

I cross my arms.

"You saw what they did to my buddy Zephyr." Paul sighs. "I can't end up like them. I couldn't bear it. Not to mention, their gang would kill me."

I'm itching to ask him the question. The dreaded elephant keeps staring at me, defying me to ask: Did you know about all this? That your friend is a slave? That they don't even qualify as a human being?

"Besides, my kid relies on my status for tuition, and Martha would--"

"Listen to me." When I grasp his hand, it's clammy yet cold. Kinda gross to be honest, but I give it a reassuring squeeze. "It'll be all right. Trust me."

It's a strange moment. All these years Paul has stood by me and given me the courage and strength I needed to reach my goal. To get into serious investigative journalism at a time when no one wants to hear the truth.

Now here we are, and our roles are reversed. This time I'm encouraging him to fight against an organization he doesn't believe in. Like most of us, Paul's drinking their Kool-Aid because he doesn't have a choice.

He gives me a thin smile despite himself. "It feels good to fight against the bastards again."

We embrace with heavy back slaps like two long-lost friends.

"Thank you, Paul. Knew you still had some firebrand left in you."

"Make sure you bring it back to me unscathed." He pulls back with a furrowed brow. "If I don't return it on time..."

"What the hell is NYT doing with Flies anyway?"

"Officially? To enter danger zones so we don't have to."

"Makes sense. And unofficially?"

Paul scoffs. "Ya don't wanna know."

Yeah, I probably don't.

He places a friendly hand on my shoulder. "Go get 'em, Tiger."

As he turns toward the taxi stand, I reach out for his forearm. "Hey, Paul?"

"Yeah?"

My unasked question itches at me like a mosquito bite demanding to be scratched. No matter what I do, I can't ignore it anymore. Now's probably not the time, but I can't stop myself.

"I don't mean to be an asshole, but..."

Best preface ever. Well done.

Paul narrows his eyes. "But...what?"

"Did you know...Zephyr and the others are Zeros?" I swallow a lump in my throat. "I mean, you didn't, right? You don't know they're digital--"

For the first time in my life, Paul shushes me. No, it's worse. More like he tries to smother my mouth with his palm. Not super rough. Not enough to hurt me. More like he wants to shove the words back inside.

Shit! Paul's a lucky bastard.

If he were anyone else, I would have bitten him.

"Don't ever utter those two words in public," he whispers in a serious tone before removing his hand slowly from my lips. "Never."

"What the hell is your deal?"

"My deal...is: Those two words are on every intelligence blacklist out there. You get caught saying them in the wrong context, and it's game over."

"You said them."

"I am a respected veteran at NYT," he retorts. "You are a hot-headed investigative journalist. Night and day, Tara. Night and day."

My heart leaps into my throat, refusing to let me swallow. I've known Paul since I was old enough to have memories. Never has he raised a hand to me. And he never would unless he was desperate.

"All right."

Paul holds up a forefinger in warning. Somehow I get the distinct impression he might have considered holding up a different one.

"Never."

I swallow a lump in my throat.

His sapphire gaze bores into me in a way it never has. "Tell me you understand."

Furrowing my brow, I nod.

He beckons me. "No, you have to say the words."

"I understand."

"Good, now let's go."

What in the actual--?

With determined strides, Paul heads to the taxi stand and hails a hovercab. He's wearing his determined scowl he gets when he's planning a serious article. One that has gripped his mind and heart, refusing to let go.

My words must have shocked him.

Opening the driver's side back door, Paul gestures for me to get inside, and I scoot over to give him room beside me. But he slams it shut and waves good-bye.

When Paul doesn't follow, the hovercab zooms off without him.

___

Word count: 1,273
Total word count: 11,540/20,000

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