A pizza wrapped in a tortilla like a taco, the symbol of the great restaurant header Tacquizza, where the taco-wrapped pizza also served as the letter A. The shtick did not work as well for the Burger Queen across the street, for the B-shaped burger did not fill the seats.

Jessica entered Tacquizza from the back corridor, as a recycle bot tossed a hamburger in the Organic canister. Entered to white smoke, the sound of sizzling and rap battling then weaved through the kitchen line, where her boss, Eva, sang Italian while filling tacos. It may as well have been gibberish, rhyming gibberish. She could understand coworker Gus, who rapped his Spanish row and rolled pizza dough. Whether or not Gus and Eva understood each other was anyone's guess.

Eva hailed Jessica over heaps of sizzling meat. "Hey, Chetah! Primi ordini sono pronti!"

"Of course, they are!" Jessica replied. "Only thing faster than my delivery is your cooking!"

Italian laughter.

"Hey, Jess!" called Gus.

Jessica turned to meet the big grin on Gus's oily face.

"A priest, a rabbi, an imam, and a vegan enter a bar."

"You already told me that one, Gus!" She continued toward the counter.

"Ey, it's still funny!"

Per routine, Jess extracted two carriers at a time. Insulated packages and the occasional backpack cooler. Eva did not want to spend money on a stasis cooler, which meant no skate tricks when soda was involved

Navigating the suburbs was a fluid race. Jessica leaned on memory for GPS. Her goggles added x-ray vision, the lenses highlighting law enforcement and placing their red outlines against the blue of civilians. Red's proximity was all she needed to gauge whether or not she could skip roads or grind rails. The ability to see through walls definitely helped.

"Play 'Crash' by The Primitives."

The sight of an Azarean guard brought her to a screeching halt. A member of NSS: New Sumer Security had appeared around the corner block. He was idle on his bike, outside the McDonough's restaurant. No one seemed to pay him any mind as he sat there, drinking whatever Azareans drink from his plastic bottle.

A sense of irony simmered in Jessica's stomach as she stepped outside the McDonough's restaurant, but there were more deliveries to make. Apparently, one of those deliveries required an excursion into the inner city.

Break time.

"The thing about questions is they need answers," Jessica mused. "Unless you're like Adam, equations need solving and encryptions need breaking." The apple in her hand, she took a bite and savored the juice. Man is the retarded scrivener grasping at recollections of perfection. "You only need one off-note to bring down the symphony. So, imagine how the story would change if God was the Snake and the Devil made Eden."

Her black hair fluttered in the wind as she leaned on the edge of an inner-city roof, a delivery box at her feet. Her eyes swept unadulterated sky and fell on the skyscraper directly across, the word Goliath specular and bright. She thus descended the building, steadily, and checked both sides of the street before crossing.

Within the megastructure, she found an immaculate white lounge. A crescent counter controlled the rear wall, where staff sat glued to their terminals. Everywhere else, propaganda decorations: a loop of advertisements, AEF posters, and silent holograms broadcasted human-alien homogeny. And of course, the symbol of Goliath was emblazoned on the mysterious leviathan of a spaceship that nobody recognized. It lived within a great green banner; the first thing people saw upon entry.

Two Koi ponds paralleled the main walkway, while a third split the walkway into two lanes. Aside from questioning the decision behind three Koi ponds, Jessica ran through several scenarios in her head, enumerating the variables for what came next. "But Doc." The moment it folded, she kicked the gravity board into her arm, readied her carrier, and casually stepped to.

From the middle of the terminal nexus, a female Azarean noted the footsteps, perhaps because there was no line, and the lobby was near empty. Her perfectly combed blue hair accompanied a porcelain face with lips a mild violet, and her sunny irises reflected the room when Jessica landed a hand on the counter.

"Greetings," the Azarean started. "How may I assist you, this afternoon?"

"I've got a delivery for..." —checking the bright letters on the insulator— "Azeem?"

A suspicious grin crossed her pale face. "I see. You shall have to wait a moment while I confirm."

"This again?" Jessica snarled, and read the glowing nametag. "Megyn."

"It's Me-giine. Please, wait a moment."

Humming, Jessica checked her watch, while the Azarean clerk typed. 12:12.

"Hmm. The order was placed at 11:52," said the woman. "You're right on time."

"It's okay, I forgive you."

"Peculiar. I did not figure Azeem for a consumer of tacos."

"Well, Me-giine, he probably picked up the taste from Cheng after I delivered last Monday at 11:37... Same branch, no?"

The clerk breathed through thin nostrils. "Indeed. That would make sense. Gratitude for waiting. I suppose you know your way."

"To Computer Software, yeah?"

Curving stairs left and right led to the elevators. Jessica frivolously strolled up with the carrier in hand.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. "Sixty seconds." She watched as the highlighted numbers switched overhead: 5, 6, 7.

Early on in life, she realized that anxiety was a waste of a heart's beat. No matter the equation, being anxious was like discomfort sprinkled on a destiny sundae. It didn't help the inevitable.

Ding. The doors opened to white terminals, white outfits, and ample amounts of repressed creativity consigned to one room. One quick survey showcased silicon rows, the doors, the people, and the memo board. Everything. The secrets had to lurk elsewhere.

What is a corporate headquarter if not a Pandora's Box?

Then she saw him, David, in his distinct green coat and hat, the figure who cross-checked every employee's tablet and terminal. The room's lack of hustle was refreshing in a business setting. It could work in her favor. In search of a practical candidate, she selected the employee who reminded her of a young Mark Hamill.

"Hello," she said, holding her white smile. The young engineer peered up from his terminal, allowed rose-colored cheeks to pin him. "Sorry to bother. You happen to know where I can find David Morner?"

"Yes!" he said courteously, swiveling in his chair.

"Could you—" She gasped, having spilled a mug from the desk with her butt.

The employee jerked from the hot coffee.

"I'm so sorry!" Jessica reset the mug, the poor worker squealed, and the entire room cast its attention on both of them. In two seconds, she captured a mental snapshot as they turned their heads, before returning to the poor engineer. "I am so sorry. If only you had a spill-proof cup!"

"If only!" he whined.

"Here. Why don't you take these on the house?" She removed a box from its carrier, and the employee stared in disbelief.

"Really?"

"Of course! It's the least I can do for being such a klutz! I feel so stupid."

"Wow. Well, okay," he said, accepting the box and setting it down. "I think I have to get a spare. Excuse me!" The young engineer hastily left her alone at the terminal.

Instead of leaving, Jessica resorted to cleaning the spilled coffee, during which she snuck a brief glimpse of the screen. Without hesitation, she inconspicuously inserted a USB, and from there wiped down the desk with one hand and covertly scrolled with the other.

She needed two things: One: to find Procel and Helios; two: to get David's digital signature. So, she dallied. Head bent, eyes razor-thin beneath the brim, she focused her photographic gaze on an employee at the farthest terminal.

Back to her watch. At exactly 12:15:00, user Lynx sent two automated messages to Procel and Helios on Ghost Wire. At 12:15:00, only one employee ignored the coffee spill bitch fit, according to her memory. Looking up again, she saw David busy at someone else's terminal. The director and his lackey focused on one screen, and she could practically read his lips as he gave instructions.

Her watch contained a new message from Procel: 'Is there really no way around Salts?' Of course, there is a way around Salts, but I'm not gonna get into it. David and Procel were one and the same. If not, it was just an extreme coincidence that David had mouthed the same message. There could have been any number of reasons why David had contacted her under an alias, but the other username, Helios, remained a mystery.

"Oh, hello!" Hamill's impersonator had returned with a spare jumpsuit. "Thanks again," he said, "but you wanted to speak to the director."

Jessica's fingers snuck along her back and plucked the USB. "No, I wanted to speak to David Mourner!" she replied with a smile.

"Yes, that's our director."

"Well, gosh! Of course, that's what you meant!" Excitedly, she reached around for her backpack and pulled out her Vit. After inserting the USB, it displayed the Tacquizza webpage. "He showed up in our RNG database and is eligible to win a month's worth of free pizza and tacos."

"No way."

"Yes, buey."

"I'll go get him." The employee took off, but not before stealing a taco.

Ding!

Then someone stepped out of the elevator, rigid in long boots and a white-collared coat, eyes invisible behind glasses. It was an Azarean flanked by two humans in black, green Spearhead insignia stitched over their shoulders, the tip of a spear.

Something about the alien made Jessica's spine crawl. He nonchalantly walked past her, but his feet ground to a halt. After a few seconds, his head twisted like a rusty gear. Standing but a few feet away from Malvis, Jessica kept her cool.