Ron frowned as he disassembled the firing mechanism of the rifle. He didn’t like guns and didn’t like working on them. But Al gave the orders, and if Ron wanted to eat, he fixed the guns.

Sylvia walked in and stopped a few paces from the door. Even though the room was air-conditioned, she left the door open. She was wearing a sleeveless jumper and microskirt that had once been white, but would never be white again.

Ron forced himself to stay in his chair behind the work table. “Hello,” he said, keeping his voice calm.

“Hi. You seen Davey?”

“He’s outside playing. I told him he shouldn’t spend all day cooped up in here.”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess that’s good . . . Howya doin’?”

“Fine,” Ron said.

“Ever’body says yer great at fixin’ things.”

He nodded.

She wouldn’t come any closer. “Uh . . . you been eatin’ okay?”

“Sure.” It was a lie. Ron had been hungry from his first day with the gang. But no hungrier than anyone else. The kids just didn’t have much food. They had piled up some canned and other packaged foods during the summer, when most of the gang members had either found jobs among the tourist centers or stolen food. Some of their raids on other gangs had been for the purpose of “liberating” food supplies. And there was some sort of a market uptown somewhere, Ron had heard, a black market that somehow brought in fresh food from outside the Dome and sold it for enormous prices. Al wouldn’t let any of the gang members deal with the black market, however. Too expensive, he insisted. And they all obeyed him, despite their constant grumbling hunger.

“Ever’body been treatin’ you okay?” Sylvia asked. “Dino or nobody givin’ you trouble, are they?”

Ron put the rifle mechanism down. There was no sense trying to work while she was in the room.

“No. No trouble from anybody.”

“Good,” Sylvia said.

She was so pretty! For a long moment neither of them said anything.

Then finally Sylvia asked, “You wanna come down t’ my place for dinner? Got some special frozen stuff Al took offa the East River guys yesterday.”

Ron’s stomach trembled with anticipation. But he said, “No thanks. You and Al enjoy it.”

“Al’s out,” she said. “He’s talkin’ t’ some other gang chiefs, tryin’ t’ set up a truce or somethin’. Too many raids, ever’body’s hurtin’.”

“When will he be back?” Ron heard himself ask.

Sylvia shrugged.

Shaking his head, Ron said, “Look, you’re his girl now, and I . . .”

“So what? I still like you.”

“Yes, but—well, where I come from, you stay with one guy. It could just cause trouble.”

Sylvia almost laughed at him. “Cheez, you must come from a real bughouse. Is everybody uptight on the Outside like you?”

“Look, Sylvia, I appreciate what you’ve done for me. You saved my life and, well . . . is Al treating you all right?”

“Sure. Why shouldn’t he?”