“Spectacles, testicles, wallet and watch,” Andy said, making the sign of the cross against his dusty brown fatigues. He snapped his fingers at Sally before bending to lift the salesman display case at his feet.

 

Sally glared at him. “You know I hate when you do that.” Her own fatigues were dirty, thread-bare and patched with mismatched pieces of scavenged fabric. At least her gun was clean. It gleamed in the fading sunlight as she slung it over her shoulder.

 

“What?” Andy grinned at her. “I don’t want to forget anything.”

 

She’d punch his craggy face if she didn’t think it’d get her court-martialed. “You’re going to forget your testicles?”

 

“Well, no,” Andy said, chuckling as he slicked back his hair. “That part’s a given.”

 

“You’re such an idiot.” Sally sighed as she adjusted her ponytail. “I can’t believe we’re paired again.”

 

“Hey, if it ain’t broke…”

 

“I am broke, so we’d better have a good sales day.” Sally had mouths to feed. Including her own. Luckily, it was illegal not to buy spectacles from a licensed Omni vendor when approached, but they had to get to the customers first. “Come on, moron, let’s get going.”

 

“Who you calling moron? I’m the one who never forgets my stuff.” Andy adjusted his own top-of-the-line glasses with the limited-edition frames he’d received as a bonus last month. His new holo-eyes looked particularly piercing as he glanced at her. “You have your scanner?”

 

“Of course I have my—” Her scanner sat on the makeshift crate-turned-table in the corner of their tent. “Oh. Thanks.”

 

“Where would you be without me?”

 

“Anywhere but here, I’ll tell you that.”

 

“Like in prison? Or dead? Or worse?”

 

“I hate you.”

 

He was right, though she was loath to admit it. She hated the guy with every ounce of her being, but he had saved her life, such as it was, when he’d gotten her the job.

 

“Why’d you get me hired anyway? You think I’m cute or something?”

 

“They don’t make lenses strong enough for anyone to think that you’re cute, no. I saw promise in you.”

 

“Promise?” It was the nicest thing he’d ever said to her. There had to be a catch. “What kind of promise?”

 

“Promise that I wouldn’t be the shittiest salesman here, obviously.”

 

Oh.

 

They walked along the long, winding road. The evening was hot and dust in the air scratched at her throat when she breathed. Andy wore his respirator, but she couldn’t yet afford one. She just had to hope cancer wouldn’t get her before she’d saved up enough credits for her own.

 

As members of the Spectacles Tactical Team, Andy and Sally spent a lot of time together. Too much time, if you asked her, but they were alive, they usually had enough food to eat, and they had respectable spectacle occupations. Not everyone was so lucky.

 

Her father had sold monocles. That was half the money for twice the work, and he’d ended up starving to death when Omni introduced their newest line. She’d tried to feed him enough, but she could barely feed herself, even with overtime. And her mother… well, Sally didn’t like to think of her.

 

Now that the birds were all dead, the only sound was the gravel crunching under their feet, the occasional skittering of a bit of loose rock sent flying from one of their boots, and the rhythmic hissing from Andy’s respirator. Sally coughed as a bit of flying dust tickled at the back of her throat. If he was a gentleman, he’d offer her a puff of his clean air, but he wasn’t so she opened her skin of water and took the smallest drink she could to wash away the irritation.

 

“Don’t waste that,” Andy said, through the respirator.

 

“No shit, Sherlock.” Sally had barely uttered the words when the shots rang out. “Shit, shit, shit.” She dropped the skin, barely noticing as water splashed at her feet.

 

She lifted the barrel of the gun to her line of sight and began scanning the horizon. Thankfully, she’d had the credits for the night-vision specs last week. She saw a glint of green from the top floor of the abandoned factory building on the left. Sally squeezed the trigger as another series of shots rang out. “Got ‘em!”

 

There were no more shots. A solo ravager. Lucky.

 

“Hot damn, that was close,” she said, exhilarated. She turned around. “Andy?”

 

He had collapsed onto the ground, blood seeping from a wound in his upper thigh. Beside him, the display case lay splayed open. “Got me,” he said, voice muffled through his mask. His glasses were lopsided, revealing a smooth expanse of skin, eyeless and pale, beneath. She adjusted his spectacles and his holo-eyes reappeared, blinking slowly up at her.

 

“Shit.” Sally pressed a button on the transmitter at her chest. “Man down,” she said when it buzzed to life. She tried to keep her voice calm. “Third quadrant, old paint factory. Threat neutralized. Not looking good.”

 

She didn’t wait for a response before she dropped her gun at her feet as she crouched down next to Andy.

 

“You’re going to be fine,” she said, hoping she wasn’t lying.

 

He reached up and removed the respirator from his mouth, holding it out to her. She took a greedy gulp of clean air then handed it back. He shook his head.

 

“It’s yours now,” he said. Andy’s voice was weak, holo-eyes glassy and flickering. The blood soaked into the gravel around his still body. “And I lied earlier.”

 

She pressed the respirator against his mouth, forcing him to breathe through it. He pushed it away.

 

“I do think you’re cute,” he said. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” He took a shaking breath and red began to bubble through his lips. “It’s too late now.” He looked at her another moment before his lenses went black.

 

“No,” she said, but Sally knew he was right. It was much too late.