The first time I heard of Steem, it was by accident.
A spikey blond, dark eyed, fit, late twenties, and my first freelance customer. "I understand you get things done for people who are in trouble."
My 'office' was the rear of a packing container, the front third being sectioned off for the 'reception.' This comprised of an old autobot that said, "Please take a seat, the detective knows you are here and will call you shortly," whenever it detected movement other than me - not that it could always tell the difference.
I motioned for Blondie to take one of the two chairs hovering in front of my battered desk. By the filtered light of the privacy blind covering the 'window' - a light panel mounted on the wall behind the blind, because I couldn't afford the price of a real window - I could see worry lines etching my visitor's young brow.
I hovered in front of the rear door, my emergency exit, while my potential client told her story. Her grandfather had disappeared, kidnapped - a familiar story. She, as his only living relative, had received a ransom note demanding payment for his release and duly paid over ten years of her Time - a common enough petty crime. However, when it came to collecting her Grandfather, no one showed. Her Grandfather was still missing and so was her Time. She wanted me to track down both.
I questioned her briefly, jotting down the relevant details. With my criminal contacts this should have been a straight forward 'search, find, and retrieve' job. I'd already decided to take the case, it paid Time, why wouldn't I take it, but also, I was impressed by this plucky blond, Ava, looking out for her Grandfather.
I requested a three week down-payment. When Ava showed me the Time Wallet on her wrist, the florescent green numbers, glowing through her skin, confirmed she had less than a year of Time remaining. I was shocked, no one let their Time run down that much, though, to be honest, mine was lower, but I'm used to taking risks.
I took my down-payment and shook Ava's hand to seal the deal. Her slender, lightly calloused hand, remained in mine longer than necessary, though I was in no hurry to relinquish my hold either. She searched my face with her pleading eyes, multiple shades of hazel. "Find Grandpa, he's all I have."
I felt oddly drawn to this petite woman. "What about your Time, it's nearly out."
She flashed me a crooked smile. "I can look after myself. I have skills."
I assumed she was a hooker. Finally, I ushered her out the office and through reception. I stared after her through the gray rain as she strode away across the muddy street - she didn't walk like a hooker. I closed the door - I had a missing person to find.
"Please take a seat, the detective..."
With the payment details Ava supplied and a little probing about, it didn't take me long to identify the kidnappers as a local gang. I paid a visit to an informant, roughed them up a little, and soon had both a name and location. I was on my way.
The gang were holed up in a disused warehouse. If I could have afforded one, I could have used a rain shield to repel the downpour, but in this poorer section of town such technology would have drawn attention to me. Instead I wore the ubiquitous uniform of the sodden poor: trench coat and fedora hat, and a good pair of boots - never underestimate the value of solid footwear.
As I trudged through the rain, I felt the eyes of the poor following me from their hovels, assessing if I was worth their while. They left me alone. But they weren't the only ones watching, I sensed rather than saw someone following me. I had a tail.
Ahead, a drunk staggered out of a side alley, soaked to the skin, still clutching an empty bottle. He turned, looked at me with horrified eyes, and collapsed in a muddy puddle as if shot. I had seen that sort of limp collapse before. Using the drunk's body as an excuse I crouched down on the far side looking back the way I had come. Nothing.
I felt for a pulse, but as expected there was none. Then I checked the man's wrist: fourteen zeros, he was out of Time. Poor sod had spent his last hours deep in a bottle, maybe the drink had eaten up all his Time anyway.
Peeking out from under the rim of my hat I scanned the surrounding area. There, slipping from one alley to the next: donkey jacket, flat cap, flash of blond hair. My tail was an amateur, moving before I moved.
Secreted down a side alley, I didn't have long to wait. Before long, my tail peaked cautiously round the end of the alley. I grabbed the upper torso and heaved. Their own momentum toppled them into a heap in the muddy of the alley. By the time the tail knew what was happening, they were at my feet staring into the muzzle of my gun. "Ava, what are you doing here? You'll get yourself killed creeping round these alleys."
That crooked smile, mud splattered blond hair, dark eyes like deep wells. "I'm keeping an eye on my investment. What are you doing here?"
"I've got a lead on who might have taken your grandfather. Now go home. Shouldn't you be working the streets or something?"
She laughed. "I am home, this is my backyard. And I'm as much a hooker as you are a detective, detective. Besides, I'm coming with you."
The last thing I needed was a tourist along for the ride, but she was my client and she would be less trouble under my wing than trailing behind me. I helped her to her feet. "This way."
The warehouse was deserted. In an upper room we found the old man, crucified, striped of his Time and any valuables. Why? Why send a ransom note if you intended to kill him anyway? The fact they asked for so little made me think this was a side job - an individual goon trying to profit privately from the situation. You don't crucify someone you intend to send back to their family, this was torture, someone want information from this old man
Ava wept over her grandfather as I cut him down. Poor kid. Then she noticed a tab of paper clasped in his right fist. We prized open his fingers and pulled out the paper.
It was a note, written in blood, probably his own. "They have taken the list, Ava. Protect the Whales, protect Steem, save the world. Love, Gramps."
Remember, if you are reading this, you are the resistance.
