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this big hero for stealing a stupid beet. He’s so disappointed, even Spammers feels sorry for him. “Come on,” Spammers says.“We can drop that turd of yours outside before our next shift, and no one will know the difference. What do you say?” He gets up and pats Mersh on the shoulder. “Only seven hours to go, and the first drink’s on me!”
    Mersh cheers up a little at that. I’m glad. He’s really a good guy, but the things that come out of his mouth sometimes you wouldn’t believe. Take this sugar beet, for instance. It’s completely worthless unless you’ve got about a thousand more as well as a working sugar refinery, which Mersh ought to know because Spammers
works
at the stupid refinery. It’s the sugar you really want. And what no one saw was that when Spammers got up from the table, he passed me a paper bag with about a kilo of the stuff inside, by the feel of it.
    The others all have to go back for their second shift, but Hexi and me have been here since last night, and we’re done for a while. “You coming back to the dorms?” Hexi asks as we’re leaving the caf.
    â€œNo, I’ve got some things to do in town.”
    â€œOh well, say hi to Camareen for me.” The way Hexi says it, it’s like she’s caught me doing something sneaky. That sort of annoys me. Our friends all know about Camareen and me.
    â€œI’ll give her your warmest regards.” I’m just glad she doesn’t try to come with me. I really do have some things to do, and Hexi can be bad for business.

SEVEN

TORRO
    O n my way to the railbuses, I stop off at the factory store to get my new uniform. Factory workers are allowed one new uniform every sixty days. If you damage yours before then, you still get a new one, but you get demerits along with it. I always make sure mine rips on like day sixty-two or sixty-three. I know just where to tear it so it’s eligible for replacement, but I do it along a seam, so it’s easy to fix, too. The box waiting for me at the company store is a little heavier than it should be because there are about twenty slightly dented cans of herring inside.
    Mersh wasn’t really wrong when he said everybody steals. Really, everyone, from turds like me all the way up to the Prefect. People always put on this huge act of being like appalled and horrified whenever someone gets caught lifting from the factories or warehouses or whatever, but most people aren’t really mad about it. In the end, you’re only lifting from the Principate.
    The Principate is the outfit running that big war and protecting us from our enemies and whatnot. Settlements like old 225 are supposed to send them all the food and supplies and soldiers they need and do it with a smile because without the Prips, we’d all get like marauded and killed. The Prips set quotas to make sure we’re working hard and giving up everything we can spare, and we get to keep whatever’s left over, Granite Shore does. But the thing is, whenever we beat our quotas, the quotas just go up. So we find ways to get a little for ourselves. Spammers lifts sugar. I dent cans, and my floor foreman, who’s supposed to dispose of all the bad cans, he keeps them and gives me part of the haul. We’d all be in a lot of trouble if the wrong people found out, but Spammers and me only deal with the right people, meaning the ones who’d be just as screwed as us if we got caught.
    Cranely is one of the right sorts of people. He works as a tailor in theTown Center, but the basement of his shop is like a warehouse of everything from truck parts to canned peaches to shoe soles to dried pasta. Old Cranely is probably the biggest underground dealer in Granite Shore. Spammers and me have been working with him for years.
    As soon as Cranely sees me hanging around the entrance to his shop, he starts closing up. It doesn’t take long—the place is pretty