“Gimme a few minutes and remind me again,” she told him. “Thank you for the warning.”

“Yep.”

He hadn’t engaged with her for the entire drive, and he was still tense. It was a bit disappointing. She wondered if she’d gotten her hopes up from watching movies with the wise old stoners and talkative stoners. She wasn’t sure she’d ever spent time around anyone who did a lot of drugs. Burnscar had, but she’d always gone on walks or went off on her own to do it.

She closed up the site of her leg, wiped the skin with the cloth, and then began closing up the wound with a protein knit. The knit caught on the edges of the sliced skin, and then drew it together. The skin was a little red from being pushed back by the dilators, but that was covered up easily by a straightening of her skirt.

Riley cleaned her hands, and felt a need to gather things. She was so used to having her automated workshop assistants with her, creatures to tend to, clones, and catastrophic dead man’s switches that needed pass-phrases, tummy rubs, and pats on the head.

The complex dilators telescoped, other tools folded up, and all fit into a small leather carrying case, that fit into her coat pocket.

She had no idea what to do with her hands, in the minutes that followed. High Concept wasn’t a good conversation partner. She leaned over, looking out the window.

The city was being patched together. In a way, without the civilians there, it was easier to do the necessary work. The cracks were being paved over, and where they weren’t in a position to do the paving, they had quick-deploy bridges criss-crossing over the gaps like sutures. Buildings were actively being knocked down if they were hazardous, and the ones that were stable were being supported and added to.

Here and there, there were the scavenger camps. Organized, with the option for people to buy in, quickly sell, and then walk away with cash or whatever treasure they managed to dig up. There were similar projects with tree planting, farming, and setting up houses in the corner worlds… which weren’t corners anymore.

“Pulling up.”

She had money in her coat pocket. She began counting the amount. One hundred, two hundred, three hundred…

“I have to ask… is this blood money?”

“I’m a biotinker. All my money is blood money by definition.”

“Uh huh.”

“That’s a joke,” she said, without a smile, still counting. Three thousand five hundred, six hundred… “Nobody got hurt while I earned this.”

“Okay. Good, thank you.”

“Would it matter? You’re a villain, High Concept.” Four thousand one hundred, two hundred, three hundred…

The car rolled to a stop. “I wouldn’t turn it down. But if the story was different, I maybe wouldn’t buy stupid stuff with it.”