Even at this early hour the city sang with a low, perpetual hum of life.

Having left Gatte's scrap-shop far behind, Jett took refuge in the main avenue of Palharr District: a broad street paved with hardmud and lined with buildings. A steam-guzzling tram-carrier several carriages long clattered past on thick rails that ran through the middle of the thoroughfare.

A shoddy, rough-edged suburb in Wildhearth's south-west spiral, Palharr was mostly home to foxkin, quick-footed and quicker-witted, chattering animatedly as they walked. She could see a growing number of other citykin scattered through the streets: a lumbering bearkin that jutted from the crowd, garishly-dressed felkin with long tails that coiled and swished; more than one bush-tailed quillkin courier scampering through the throng.

Her hackles rose, though, when she spotted a trio of vulkin watchguards striding in her direction, their bodies sheathed in dark blue body armour of the local guard packs, armbows fitted over their wrists and heavy truncheons hanging from belts. A canine breed, they were charged with policing Wildhearth's streets, and she'd had more than one unpleasant run in with them in the past.

Right now the last thing she needed was get caught with a bag of illegal tech.

Cursing under her breath, she glanced around, searching for a way to dodge them. Her eyes snagged on a nearby chapel. A cube-shaped structure, it stood out from most buildings in Wildhearth's outer spirals, made of polished stone instead of woods, clays and ceramics. Outside, a grey-robed deerkin cleric offered greetings and blessings of the Great Peace to passers-by.

Good enough.

She turned towards it, angling away from the watchguards and hunching her shoulders, trying to appear small. The cleric didn't pay her any mind other than a polite nod as she slipped into the chapel. While Jett didn't subscribe much to their religion, she bore them no animosity. The followers of the Great Peace were pretty amicable most of the time.

Inside, the main room was dominated by a raised, octagonal hearth. A wizened foxkin stood at a plain wooden lectern, preaching quietly but firmly, a blue-bound volume of the Peaceworks sitting open in front of him. At smaller hearths around the cleric, other kin sat among blankets and cushions, listening intently.

Jett didn't need to listen – she remembered getting the opening passages of the Peaceworks thumped into her as a child.

From the ashes of the Savage Fire we rose.

From the anarchy of those bloody ages we rose.

The Great Peace was forged so that all kin may live in harmony; that all kin may share in the bounty of the world.

Blessed be the Peace. Blessed be those who keep it.

Those brutal descriptions of the Savage Fire stuck with her, the time before the founding of Wildhearth and her sister cities on the continent. Kin lived as animals – kill or be killed, predator slaughtering prey; prey fighting back. The clerics revered how their ancestors had risen out of that barbarism.

It was as good a thing to worship as any, she supposed.

Then she was out through the back entrance of the little chapel and into the streets, leaving any existential quandaries far behind. She followed a tangle of alleys running parallel to the thoroughfare for a short time, before spearing off down a side street leading into a residential area.

Jett had never been so happy to see home.

Buildings snuggled together around her, their big bowl-like structures split by narrow alleyways and connected by criss-crossing rope ladders and walkways higher up. The structures had a slightly ad-hoc look to them, clamped together from combinations of metal sheeting and fire-hardened wood, some sections papered over with bark-shavings to insulate them in the winter months. Exposed power lines snaked from junction boxes scattered through the area, crackling and fizzing in a manner that told you not to get too close.

Although these buildings stood above ground, each had been designed to mimic the more natural burrowing sensibilities of the foxkin in the neighbourhood, with a main circular door above street level that led down into the den itself. Hitching her claws over the ladder that dangled down the steep wall of her home, Jett nimbly scampered up to the main landing.

She slid her scent key from her kilt pocket – a small flat rectangle configured to her own unique musk – and inserted it into the slot beside the door. The sensor blinked green and a clunk echoed through the air as the lock disengaged. Jett threw herself inside, sliding down the spiralling entrance burrow that deposited her out onto a hardwood entrance gantry overlooking the den itself.

There were no real rooms, just a big open space with beds, tables, chairs, cookers and worktops all built into open alcoves in the wall, facing in towards the family hearth. Alia and Markus were already be out running courier deliveries across the city but the rest of their small family group were still here.

She darted across the gangway and descended into the cosy heat. The scent of sizzling meat filled her nostrils from the kitchen area where her father worked over a broad heated slab. Her mother sat at a workbench, frowning over what looked like a broken loader arm. Where Jett dealt with tech, her mother dealt with the more physical arm of engineering, a dab paw with a wrench and petro-torch.

Her mate, Tyr, lounged at the central firepit that cocooned the whole den with warmth, and when saw her racing down the steps he shot upright his deep red fur lit up luridly by the fire. He was a brawny foxkin, a little taller than her, with brown headfur cut into a neat ridge between his ears. A concerned expression filled his face, and he opened his arms wide. Jett fell into the embrace, letting some of the tension unwind from his body as she inhaled his musk.

"Everything alright?" Tyr asked after a moment.

"I don't know."

His paws slid around the small of her back, squeezing reassuringly. "What happened?"

"I was at Gatte's – the usual run," she replied, easing her head up off his shoulder to look him in the eye. "Enforcers hit this shop this morning."

Tyr's eyes snapped wide. "What?!"

"We were just finishing up our deal when they bust into the place – tore his whole shop to bits!"

"Enforcers?" There was a clatter as her father dropped a knife on the counter-top and came bounding over. He tugged her out of Tyr's grasp and gripped her by the shoulders, examining her from tail to muzzle. "Are you hurt?!"

"No, Dad, I'm fine." Jett couldn't suppress a smile as she batted his paws gently away. "I got out before they could clap eyes on me."

"What did that stupid otterkin do this time?" her mother interjected acidly, looking up from the loading arm. Through the soot and grime her expression was unimpressed. "I've told you before, Gatte's not careful enough – never has been."

"He's the only round here who knows what I need," Jett shot back. "And he says he doesn't know why they came after him."

Tyr snorted. "Well, he would say that, wouldn't he?"

"Gatte's small time. I don't know what he could have done to get the wolves on his tail."

"The enforcers," her father said sternly. "Think back, girl. What were they doing?"

"Looking for something, that's all I can say for sure." Jett planted her paws on her hips, nose twitching with unease. "No idea what, but they were raking through the shelves and the offices. Didn't seem to care much for Gatte's people getting in their way."

"Maybe it wasn't Gatte then." He scratched at his greying headfur thoughtfully. "But stands to reason somebody took something, and they've been sent to get it back. Why else would you see the wolves in Palharr? The Silk's attack dogs don't do the dirty work out here."

"Jett," her mother said. "You haven't snatched anything you shouldn't have, have you?"

"What?! Peace, no! Think I want this kind of trouble?" She shook her head. "No chance. But I gotta get back to the shop. If they came after Gatte they'll be digging around for anybody he does business with. I need to stash my gear, just in case they come knocking."

Tyr nodded, his muzzle tight. "You need any help?"

"No, it's okay." Jett patted him on the chest. "Just... just go about your day, all of you. Let our friends know the wolves are around – we gotta watch each other's backs."

"We will." He reached forward, running his claws gently through her headfur and back behind her ear. "You be careful, you hear?"

"I hear." She took a grip of Tyr's body wrap, tugging him close and touching her nose to his. "I love you."

"I love you too." He ran a claw up her spine, sending a tremor through her body.

She shot him a coy smile. "Stay safe. I'll see you soon."

*

The market was an assault on the senses. Food stalls gushed with scents, some cooking meats and stews while others specialised in less carnivorous fare. Wild garlic soups, fresh salads and steaming vegetable medleys competed with the enticing smell of grilled flesh. Machine shops clanged with activity, reeking of oil and hydraulic fluid; steam hissed in the air from generators and all of it was glued together with the constant sea of voices, hawking wares and haggling prices.

Jett strode through middle of it, exchanging greetings with shop owners, politely turning down offers of sale, dodging and weaving until she reached her workshop. The squat, bunker-like building lurked on the edge of the market ring, not far from one of Wildhearth's many steep-sided canals, but that didn't harm her brand of business. She offered services no-one else here did. Outside its small front door, a sign Tyr had crafted for her read: J'S TECH SOLUTIONS: IF IT AIN'T BROKE, ONE DAY IT MIGHT BE!

It was a wincing joke, but it still made her smile every time she saw it. The bunker's scent-sensor identified her, but her little bastion came with an added code-lock that she'd custom built. Her claws rattled over the keypad built into the right-hand wall, and the machine bleeped its acceptance. She placed a shoulder to the door and shoved it open, stepping into her workshop.

Exhaling a heavy breath, she flicked the lights on.

And discovered she was not alone.

Jett stopped, her body going rigid as she stared at the stranger. He was a regal-looking felkin with jet black fur, his body encased in a robe of thick aquamarine fabric and the firm collar of his formal grey body wrap jutted out of it to surround his neck from the back and sides. A sight-glass set perched on his nose, and his short, sharp-tipped ears twitched uneasily. She could see his long tail writhing behind him.

"Good morning," the newcomer said.

Jett blinked. "Excuse me?"

"I said good morning."

"How in the Fire did you get in here?"

"Oh, I purchased this," the felkin replied, holding up a fat rectangle of exposed circuitry. It was a bypass shunt – she'd built enough of them herself to recognise an expert's paw. "I apologise for entering unannounced, but-,"

"You can leave the way you came in," she interrupted, moving to the side and pointing at the door.

"Please, wait, I mean no harm!" A shrillness cut through the felkin's word, his eyes beseeching. "I did not want to wait on the streets. As you can probably tell I..." He made a vague gesture to his clothes. "I don't exactly belong here."

She looked him up and down. That much was certainly true. The style of his clothing marked him out. He was from the Silk – Wildhearth's wealthy central district, which meant that whoever he was, he probably had barkstamps to shave.

"So what are you doing here?"

"I'm told you are a hacker."

Jett cocked a dubious eyebrow. "That depends on who's asking."

"Don't play games with me, foxkin," he pleaded. "I have an urgent job that requires the skills of someone who is experienced in hacking hardened systems. Those in the market directed me to you. They assured me you were the best. Were they mistaken?"

"No, no," she replied, unable to fight a spark of curiosity in the back of her mind. "I'm the only tech you'll find worth a copper in this district."

"Then I've come to the right place."

She inclined her head to him. "Out with it, then."

Reaching into his robes, the felkin withdrew an iron-grey cube about four inches across. Jett's eyes widened as she instantly recognised it. It was a block-drive, a secure storage module hardened against entry without the proper source codes for access. She didn't see them often. Normally this kind of security was reserved for government and watchguard contracts.

"I need to gain access to this," he said flatly.

She beckoned him forward. "Let's have a look."

He handed it over and she turned the block-drive over in her paws, examining it from every angle. She couldn't see any identifying manufacturer's mark, but she could see it had more jack-ports than normal. This box could be plugged into a dozen rigs at a time. Her snout twitched with interest.

Without a word she strode past him, around the front desk and through to the larger room in the back of the tech-den. Two desks filled the spaces to the left and right, littered with an array of tools and parts, and between them her main computer rig waited. The thing took up the entire back wall of the room – an eight foot sprawl of processing and cooling stacks, tower-drives, screens and keyboards, all linked up with an arrangement of wires that, to the untrained eye, looked like a deathtrap waiting to happen.

To Jett, however, everything was exactly where it should be. She dumped her backpack down on the floor and with a flash of claws on keys, began the rig's start up sequence. As it sizzled into life, she moved back over to the front desk and slid into her chair, grabbing a nearby trailing plug and slipping it into one of the flat rectangular sockets of the block drive. A diagnostic screen on the smaller front rig lit up and she ran her eyes over the initial assessment.

By the Peace and Fire, she thought. The thing was wrapped in a dozen layers of firewalls and sniffer programs, heavily encrypted from surface to core. It would certainly be a challenge, but every animal instinct told her to get this thing out of her shop. A Silk-dwelling felkin showing up the same day as the wolfkin enforcer raid was more of a coincidence than she was about to swallow.

"Who did you steal this from, friend?" she asked quietly, her eyes flickering up to meet his.

"That is not your concern."

"I think that's for me to decide."

"I can't tell you that," he persisted, shuffling awkwardly from footpaw to footpaw. "It is best you do not know."

"Oh, you think so?" Jett shook her head, unhooking the block drive and standing up. "I might just be a scummy little fox from the outer districts, but I'm not stupid." She shoved the drive back into his paws. "Take this and get out of here. I've got enough problems without getting in the middle of your mess."

"No, wait-,"

"No."

"Please, the safety of the city is at stake! You must believe me!"

"If you're appealing to my patriotic streak, I don't have one." She jabbed a claw at the door again. "Out."

"Two hundred thousand."

Jett's paw froze in mid-gesture. "What?"

"You don't care about the city, fine, but I can pay you two hundred thousand barkstamps."

Her mouth dropped open. She looked at the block-drive in his paws. Two hundred thousand barkstamps. For that money she could upsize, buy an entire rig of top of the line gear – a new one too, not the home made mess she had to scrape together from Gatte's shop. She could get out of this little hovel and set up somewhere with a touch of class. Maybe even rake in some regular high paying clients.

She and Tyr could buy the landspace for a den of their own – maybe she could save enough to haul her family out of this little slice of nowhere along with them. She didn't hate Palharr, but it was a tough place, a place where you grafted hard just to keep your head above water. What she wouldn't give to leave that behind.

Easy girl. Remember the wolves, said the voice in her head.

There was an even chance that taking this job would stick her right into the enforcer firing line. But the money forced her to consider it. Jett knew her skills – if she committed to this she could bust the drive open in a couple of days, collect the barkstamps and be done with the whole venture before the wolfkin could come knocking.

"How do I know you're good for it?" she asked, fighting to keep her voice calm.

"I can give you fifty thousand right now," he replied, patting a pouch on his hip that jingled truthfully. "You'll get the rest when you finish the job. Will that suffice?"

Peace'n'Fire.

She dug her claws through her thick locks of headfur, closing her eyes for a moment, weighing up the risks. So much money. A number she could barely wrap her brain around. Kin like her didn't get to bathe in that kind of wealth very often. No matter the danger, Jett just couldn't bring herself to say no. Opening her eyes, she exhaled long and slow, then beckoned.

"Give me the drive."

The felkin hesitated. "And you're not going to ask where it came from?"

"No," she replied flatly. "Whatever you're into, I don't want any part of it. I just want to perform a service and get paid. As long as your stamps are good, that service includes keeping my mouth shut."

"Alright." He shuffled forward to pass it over, his shoulders sinking with relief. "Thank you."

"I don't want your thanks," Jett snapped. "If whoever you lifted this from catches up to you, you keep my name out of this – nobody knows." She plugged the block drive back in, then looked at him pointedly. "You hearing me, silkie? Nobody knows I took this job."

He nodded. "I understand."

Jett stuck out a paw. "Then you've got a deal."

A nervous smile flickered across his face and he stepped forward, clasping her paw in his.

Only then did she realise he was trembling.

-