But his father wasn’t having any of that. “We need both an heir and a spare,” Errol Bennet had said. “After all, what if something were to happen to Tara?”

Which was fine, except that Ark didn’t want to be a “spare.”

Such were the young man’s thoughts as Errol Bennet surrendered the platform to a guest speaker, who launched into what promised to be a very boring lecture on the need to raise colonial property taxes even higher so as to better recover the cost of military protection. Because on a per capita basis it was more expensive to defend a sparsely settled fringe world than a densely populated planet like Tarsonis. A perspective that was likely to find plenty of support from those in the chamber.

As the talk began, Ark got up from his seat and made his way downstairs. A quick check confirmed that his father’s bodyguards were nowhere to be seen. That made sense, given all of the security in place around the university, and the fact that Errol Bennet could summon them within a matter of seconds if necessary.

So it was easy to slip out for a breath of fresh air. Getting back in would be a lot more difficult, of course, but Ark had plenty of ID, so there was no reason to be concerned. Having departed the carefully manicured campus, Ark felt his heart begin to beat faster, as he slipped into the city he viewed from afar each morning.

There were risks associated with what he was doing, Ark knew that, but the danger of walking the streets alone was far outweighed by the pleasure of doing so. Besides, Ark intended to limit himself to no more than an hour of stolen freedom before returning to the university.

Gradually, as the young man put some distance between himself and the campus, the upscale housing that bordered the university gave way to tenand fifteen-story apartment buildings. They were part of a working-class neighborhood called Hacker’s Flat. The name that harkened back to an era when the area had been home to a number of farms.

Most of the street-level space was taken up by family-run bodegas that sold everything from deep-fried meat pies to high-end electronics. At least some of which were probably stolen. The sidewalks were cracked, the side passageways reeked of urine, and every accessible surface was covered with multiple layers of graffiti.

Lots of people were out and about, as was a small array of roving robots, each of which was equipped with a small holoprojector and enough artificial intelligence to match advertisements to the person it was pitching to. So it wasn’t unusual to see an Advertising Artificial Intelligence that looked like a sonic clothes cleaner morph into a scantily clad young woman as it dashed across the street to present a different message to a businessman.

So during the time it took Ark to walk a block he was approached by what appeared to be a five-foot-tall tube of underarm deodorant, a man who wanted him to “answer a few questions,” and a nonprofit AAI looking for a donation. The machines were annoying, but he easily avoided them by circling around them and continuing on his way.

Ground transportation consisted of everything from powered speed skates to much-abused cabs and delivery trucks. They were often double-parked and subject to fines levied by an armada of traffic sensor feeds.

Ark estimated that he was less than a mile from the university at that point, but realized he had never ventured that far into the city without an armed escort before. So, just to make sure he had his bearings, Ark paused to bring up a street map on his fone. He took comfort from the icon that marked his position within the Hacker’s Flat grid—and the knowledge that a couple of leftor right-hand turns would take him back to the university. After a quick look around to compare his surroundings to the image on his fone, Ark put the device back into his pocket.

It was a small thing. One that would have been completely unremarkable had it taken place within the context of a fashionable sky mall, but took on special meaning on the grimy streets of Tarsonis, where predators were eternally on the lookout for anything that might identify a possible victim. Such as a map.

Three locals took notice of the young man’s moment of uncertainty, plus the fancy jacket he was wearing, but only one of them chose to follow up. Her name was Camy. She had long black hair, doelike eyes that looked even larger thanks to a generous application of makeup, and a pouty mouth. Camy’s breasts were too large to be real, and were only barely contained by a leather vest that was cut in at her waist and decorated with silver ornaments. The girl’s matching pants were so tight, they looked as if they had been sprayed onto her long, tapered legs. Ankle-high boots completed the outfit, and made a sharp rapping sound as Camy passed her prospective mark, and provided him an excellent opportunity to appreciate her shapely behind.

Having arrived at the next corner a good fifteen seconds ahead of the unsuspecting teenager, Camy examined a scrap of paper and frowned before shoving it back into her purse. As the young man arrived she turned and smiled. “Excuse me … I think I’m lost. Could you tell me how to get to the nearest bus station?”

“Yes,” the mark said agreeably, “I think I can,” and brought out his fone.

That would have been enough for a snatch-and-sprint artist, who would have been half a block away in a matter of seconds, soon to disappear into a maze of passageways. But Camy couldn’t run in her high-heeled boots, and was after a bigger prize, although the mark’s top-of-the-line fone might wind up in her purse as well. So as he brought the map up and began to scroll, Camy allowed her arm to touch his, and knew that her perfume was sure to reach his nostrils.

“Thank you so much!” Camy said gratefully, as the fone went back into her mark’s pocket. “I was lucky to run into someone who knows the area so well.”

“Not that well,” the young man confessed modestly. “I’m a stranger here, too.”

“Really?” Camy inquired, as her big brown eyes flirted with his. “Then I guess you wouldn’t be able to recommend a restaurant. It’s almost noon and I’m hungry.”

Though no expert where young women were concerned, Ark knew an opening when he heard one, and was quick to respond. “I’m quite hungry myself… . There’s got to be a restaurant around here. Perhaps you might give me the honor of buying you lunch.”

The girl’s face lit up. “That would be fun! How ’bout that place over there? It’s close and wouldn’t take either one of us very far out of our way.”

That made sense to Ark, who felt a tremendous sense of accomplishment at having snagged such a pretty girl, and was careful to summon up his best manners as they crossed a busy arterial. He offered his elbow and she cheerfully latched on. The pub was called Jake’s, and as Ark followed the girl past the wooden bar to a booth in the back, he noticed that a number of patrons turned to look. Of course that made sense, given how pretty she was.

Ark was thrilled when the girl invited him to sit down next to her rather than on the other side of the table. “My name’s Laura,” she said, “Laura Posy. And you are?”

“Ark,” the teenager replied artlessly, unsure as to whether it would be dangerous to give his last name if she demanded it.

But if the lovely Laura was troubled by the breach of etiquette, there was no sign of it as she placed her left hand on his right thigh. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ark,” she said warmly. “Let’s see what’s on the menu.”

By that time Ark was pretty sure that he was sitting next to a very attractive prostitute, which meant that if he played his cards correctly, he might be able to score the sort of experience he had heard other, more worldly boys brag about! And, as if to reinforce that notion, Laura gave his leg a gentle squeeze.