The Gallery was an inspiring choice for a high-valued auction. Something about hanging out under priceless artworks opened up your wallet and made you feel richer than you were. Expensive drinks didn’t seem so bad and you gained a perspective on capital gains taxation.

Remy knew probably a third of the room by name - though they didn’t know his - and most of the rest were their assorted hangers-on. The arm candy in the room was impressive. The rich, whether men, women, or neither, seemed to flaunt it with fine clothes and fine company. Franklin entertained a gaggle of devotees young enough to be his great-grandchildren underneath the painting of the big ship rolling in the waves. Remy was the rare single bidder and realized they never even considered if he should have someone with him to blend in. He hoped it wouldn’t be a problem.

In the middle of the swathes of beautiful people, Remy saw the prize. A glass case rested on a pedestal that rose from the floor, lit on all sides by bright spotlights. Inside the case, a single Vasc card was set on a stand with a card beneath it. A handful of bidders gathered around, examining their potential buy. Remy squeezed around to get a look.

The Vasc was remarkably unremarkable. A single Vascorp logo was stamped into the side with “PROTOTYPE” stenciled below. The serial number was blank and Remy thanked every God he knew that there were no chips or unexpected markings. It matched the dummy one in his pocket in every way. All good so far.

“What’s it even do?” he heard one of the other bidders ask.

“They don’t say. It’s the last model though and Vascorp got a little weird near the end there. Experimental projects and half-tested thoughts, you know.” A woman replied.

“Got to pay extra for the mystery I suppose.”

Now, that was certainly true. The buyer would be disappointed if their new Vasc didn’t do anything but it wasn’t unheard of for Prototype Vascs to malfunction. Having one that didn’t do anything was better than having one that killed you for trying to use it. He didn’t expect a buyer would try it out without investigating it. People with this kind of money to blow on an illicit, unregistered Vasc weren’t the grunts who had to use the Vascs. Let some other poor sap try it and see if it killed him. If not, great. If so, funeral flowers were cheap.

Remy stared at the stand and tried to transfix everything about the case in his mind. There wouldn’t be a second chance at this one and he’d probably find himself bleeding out in an alley if anything went wrong. Fuck, those lights were hot. Satisfied that he knew the glass case as well as he could, he backed away and leaned against the wall near the splatter painting and the sad clowns. Franklin was directly across from him and in the corner of his eye he saw Fernando and Claire examining a painting of stars.

They only had a moment to act when Josie cut the power. Franklin would Displace the Prototype into his suit’s slot, Remy would Displace the dummy from his pocket to the case. To everyone watching, it would look identical t the original. No one would be any wiser.

Remy chewed on the end of his cigar and puffed it slowly, trying to keep his heart under control. Josie would be doing the same. All three of them had a critical part of the job but Josie’s started it all. He knew she was listening to he and Franklin’s comm units, ready to move when she heard the right words. Remy cracked his fingers one at a time at his side. His anxiety only rose when the fattest man he’d ever seen entered the room.

The auctioneer had arrived and the real game was about to begin.

***

The bidding started at enough credits that Remy could live comfortably for over a year. It wouldn’t be a lavish lifestyle but he’d live. Within a few bids, it progressed into a lavish lifestyle and then into the uncomfortably lavish lifestyle levels.

Remy focused on breathing and being small along the side of the room. He couldn’t credibly bid anymore without drawing more attention than he’d like. His fingers twitched. Franklin would make the sign any moment now and he’d have to be ready.

“Come on, folks, this is fresh from the ruins of Vascorp North! Authentic prototype from the last generation of Vasculators, who knows what they were working on up there. Do I hear half a million? Half a million? Yes, from the man with the rose. Do I hear 600,000?” The auctioneer huffed and puffed like a furnace bellows, face reddening and he moved about the room generating business.

“Seven and a half!” Franklin’s tiny voice amplified through his suit’s modifiers. That was the sign. Sweat welled in his palms and his heart threatened to thump out of his chest. Just a little more, then he could go celebrate. He’d be out of this town, leaving behind Happy Jack, the Inspector, JD, and about a half-dozen other people he could happily leave behind.

Josie, though. What was he going to do about Josie? The familiar little ball of guilt, doubt, and acid-reflux formed in his chest. He’d have to worry about that later. Wouldn’t even be a question to worry about if the job didn’t go off without a hitch.

“Go.” Josie whispered into his ear. Within the Gallery, the lights flickered and then failed with an audible voomp. There was something about sudden and surprising darkness that causes grown adults to lose their fucking mind. Some screamed, some gasped, and Remy heard more than a few indignant “I say, what’s going on here?” as if there was an engineer next to them who could simply explain the matter. Humans in the dark were a stupid bunch.

Which was entirely the point. Remy breathed deep and focused on the Displacer lodged into his Vasc unit. Tingles shot down his arm like he was having a heart attack and he imagined the dummy Vasc in his pocket. He traced its contours in his mind, knew its every nook and cranny, and memorized its markings. Remy could feel it weighing in his pocket and in his mind. It was as real there as it was in his jacket.

Using an intensive Vasc had a funny effect on time. Sometimes, it felt like he could take naps between his heart beats and other times it was inexplicably the following morning and he was face-down in a pile of his own puke. Don’t fuck with circulatory systems was apparently the lesson that he’d never learned.

The Displacer had the former effect on Remy. He could feel blood crawling through his veins and outside noise was muffled and slow, like Remy had his head stuck underwater. Even so, he knew he had to go quickly.

He gripped the dummy Vasc in his mind and simultaneously rebuilt the case in the center of the room. It’s contours formed and he sculpted the setting, complete with the little note of information, the thin layer of purple silk, the slight bump where it bunched under the left edge of the prototype. Everything except the prototype itself an exact replica of the glass case in the center of the Gallery.

Remy exhaled and merged the two. He placed the dummy Vasc from his pocket onto the pedestal and willed it into existed. It made his blood hurt. Remy never knew how to describe how he felt after the Beltrider the first time he’d used a Displacer but Franklin knew the feeling. It was like your blood didn’t like you anymore and tried to get out of its veins by any means necessary. It burned and ached like a festering tooth.

But it was done. The Vasc was firmly enshrined in the case and he could feel its weight disappear from his pocket. Remy released his hold on the Displacer and was thankful he’d been leaning against the wall or he would’ve fallen flat on his face. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to drink, smoke, or puke. Later, he’d probably do all three.

A generator whirred to life beneath his feet and the lights flickered back on. Remy couldn’t help staring at the case. This could be pretty awkward if something went wrong. The Vasc was out of his pocket but he might’ve missed the case and left it somewhere else. He’d never tried it in the dark before. No one had screamed in pain so he hadn’t accidentally lodged it in someone’s chest which was a good sign.

He sighed in relief as he saw the Vasc resting in the case just as he’d imagined it. The other one was missing so Franklin must’ve done his part. Remy resisted the urge to look at him. In the days to come, they’d undoubtedly scour any recordings of the auction and he’d prefer to keep as much distance between co-conspirators as possible. Instead, he glanced at the lights and tried to look confused, which, fortunately, looked pretty similar to his nausea.

Auctioneer dabbed his forehead with a comically large handkerchief and stammered over the low conversation.

“Alright, alright, now, settle down. Just a little technical issue, but nothing to worry about. Where were we? Ah yes, 750,000 to the incomparable Franklin Mendez. Do I hear eight?” He was back in his element and walked through the crowd.

Low conversations continued and waiters came quickly with fresh drinks to keep the bourgeoisie drunk and happy so they couldn’t complain about the lapse in lighting. A girl approached Remy with a tray of gin pluses and he gladly took one off her hands. It was the best damn drink he’d ever had, even as it sat sickly in his stomach.

Mister auctioneer managed to get a few more bids and the price jumped to over a million credits, at which point Franklin was supposed to tsk and withdraw from bidding. He mouthed something Remy didn’t catch in his implant but none of his retinue responded. Remy sipped at his gin plus and tried to play off his exhaustion as disgust at the auction. He had no idea if it worked but he could barely stand let alone fake enthusiasm.

“Remy, look at Franklin. Something’s wrong.” Josie urged him. “I’m already out, see you on the outside.”

Remy glanced to Franklin and knew something was indeed very wrong. A mostly paralyzed man in a robotic suit doesn’t give away much but Remy knew in his eyes that their plan had gone awry. They had to get out. There was no way to talk while at the Freeworker. Get out, debrief, and figure out something else.

Remy coughed into his elbow and moved to the door. No one liked standing in the way of someone coughing through a crowd so he reached the lift easily. As the doors closed, he saw Franklin and his gaggle move through the crowd as well.

“Your place in thirty.” He murmured to himself, hoping Franklin would hear it in her own implant.

“What?” Josie asked.

“For FM, we’ll go there in thirty.”

“Okay, I’ll meet you the - hey, let go of me!” Josie screamed, the sound popping over his ear piece.

“Josie?” Remy mashed the buttons in the lift. Could it go any fucking slower? “What’s happening? Josie!”

She didn’t answer but he could hear another indistinct yell followed by a thump and a crackle as her comm unit broke. Someone must’ve hit her or she had fallen in a very precise way. The lift door opened and Remy sprinted past a tipsy couple hanging on each other and through the lobby. He didn’t stop for his coat and dashed out into the falling snow.

“Josie?” he called. No one answered. He ran down the block and skidded around the corner toward the side entrance Claire had showed him. His heart raced and he completely forgot his exhaustion. His body was fueled by a swirling cocktail of liquor, adrenaline, and horror. Josie had to be okay.

He reached the rear entrance with no sign of Josie. Snow was falling fast and multiple sets of footsteps were rapidly covered. A section of the sidewalk near the entrance was brushed away, betraying a scuffle. Remy’s heart chilled and his lip quivered when he saw it.

Remy knelt down and lifted the single red rose.

“Josie.” He whispered.