Prologue: six months after the events in New Cadiz

The diner was small and obscure; one of those backlot places you passed on the street but never entered. Brushed steel, dim lighting and worn leather booths; cracked and faded from age. The air itself seemed to be filmed with grease; as hot lamps burned down on the racks of braised meat and sizzling fat. Swarthy chefs sweated under the down-glare as they flipped and pushed the meat; pans crackling and spitting and hissing.

The place had a name, but neither man cared. They weren't here for the food.

It was here where they met in person for the first time. In the hyper-quick timelines of the Net they were long since known to one another, having spent months corresponding in secretive tones over encrypted channels. Seb knew his companion only by his handle. He knew that the opposite was also true. To his own knowledge he was Sebastien Grummins, forty four years of age, retired tech-com of the UNSC and amateur Net Trawler. Outer Colonist by heart, borderline Insurrectionist by politics and discredited Conspiracy Theorist to those who didn't like him. Many didn't like him: Seb Grummins was not an impressive specimen. Physically or digitally, he knew he was a lucky participant in something larger than him. His handle was Zulu Voodoo, and - to those that mattered - he was strictly part-time.

Sure, Seb had done some things in his time. Flashes of promise, here and there. Infiltrated the odd system, broken an encrypted channel or two. Local trade secrets and mid-level security systems mostly. Nothing like this. Nothing at all like this.

Watchful_Eyes was something else entirely. He was the real deal. A seasoned pro, even by the comparatively high standards of the Granican local scene. And yet so new to it too. In six short months he'd not only arrived; he'd blazed a trail across the New Granican Networks. Insurrectionist com feeds, UEG Interstellar Com-Relays. Government-Level Incryptions, real sensitive stuff. He broke the news that the UEG Taskforce was coming to Granica V weeks before anyone else did. Word on the street was that even Anansi himself was alarmed at his skill; wanted to know who this guy was. Well today, Seb got to meet him.

As his companion slid into the booth, Seb couldn't contain his excitement; could scarcely believe he was meeting the man in person. His pulse was racing.

Watchful_Eyes was a compact man. He was unremarkable, physically; you'd pass him on the street a thousand times and never notice. Yet his every movement was precise, exacting. So much like his online work. He folded his hands neatly across the table and calmly blinked at Seb. Once. True to his name, his gaze missed nothing.

"You're Watchful_Eyes." Seb began, licking his lips so he didn't stammer. Keep it cool, Seb.

A curt nod answered him. Seb felt a giddy thrill race up his spine. He was sitting on a nerve, his left knee bounced up and down on the ball of his foot in a manic half-jig. He stole a glance over his shoulder, conscious of how suspicious it made him look. Regretted it instantly.

Paranoia gripped him momentarily.

"How can I be sure?"

"You need proof?" Watchful_Eyes leaned forward in his chair, the leather creaking. He spread his hands. "I'm here, aren't I?"

Seb seized up immediately. With a barely suppressed sigh, Watchful_Eyes produced a ChatterPad and slid it onto the table; a Havandi Nine-Sixty; flat-backed with a round edged holo-display. A classic burner. Watchful_Eyes waved a hand over it, and some correspondence - their correspondence - flitted into the air between them.

It was encrypted. Of course it was. Seb knew the cypher, had written it himself. The code was still in place; the letters meaningless without the translating counter-code. DNA linked and haptically translated (a piece of work Seb was particulary proud of).

With another wave of Watchful's finger the gibberish resolved itself. Words slid from meaningless clumps, aligned themselves into tight, comprehensive sentences. Soon, they formed paragraphs.

Line by line, their conversations over the preceding six months resolved themselves for all to see.

"Okay, okay!" Seb hissed, swatting at the words and causing the display to pin-wheel madly, the letters re-jumbling back into free-floating noise. He stole another glance around the room. None of the other patrons; shift workers and down and outs, seemed to care. Heads bowed over their own nutritionally questionable meals, the two men remained unnoticed; all but ignored.

"So we've reached an understanding. Good. Now tell me why I'm here."

Seb slid something across the table, passing it so quickly he might as well have been swiping dust off the table. Watchful_Eyes pocketed it smoothly, entirely unruffled by the exchange. He'd done this before.

"It's the format that makes it awkward. Micro-disc. Ancient junk stuff, but you oughta have a copy. I mean who even uses this kind of trash anymore? I'd have sent it via WayPoint but I couldn't risk it falling into the wrong hands. Hard-copies only for now."

That got his companion's attention.

"A copy." The man's voice was sharp, "You mean there are others?"

"Yeah. I'm not the first to come across it. Came out of one the clean-up crews rotating back out of the Clearance Zone. Some scrap worker looking to offload what he thought was junk. Until somebody actually got some matching hardware; took a look at what was on the feed. At what it proved."

"I've heard the stories. The Nets are all a chatter but it's unverified. Go on."

"Well let me tell you know: this shit? It's the real deal. I've been putting feelers out through the markets near the Refugee District, trying to get a sense of what could be behind it. Usual outlets; friendly trawlers, scrap junkies and Slush merchants; that kind of thing. Strictly back channels for now. Can't risk using taking it online or it'll trigger a government snoop alarm. Gotta keep it offline, at least for now."

"Have you sent these copies to anybody else?" Watchful asked. His forceful tone put Seb on edge.

"N-not yet. I sent a general SOS out over the Nets. UEG blanket intercepts are still up. Can't do shit since that A.I. fried the system. We can't get anything out over he network, not unless you've got top level clearance. Only Anansi says he has the means to get it off-world. But that's not all he's promised."

Seb leaned forward, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. Even Watchful needed to lean closer just to hear him. Seb grinned manically, his face an excited whisper.

"Says he can get it to FERO."

"Anansi." Watchful nodded quietly, "Nobody's ever met him personally. And I've met just about anyone there is to know on this rock."

Seb kept his voice low, but there was no disguising the thrill in his voice. This was everything he'd ever dreamed about. Taking part in his very own spy drama.

"Gotta take this slow, man. There's stuff going on. Real cloak and dagger, black ops ninja shit. Handles are going dark left and right. Whatever's on that disk, they don't want it getting out."

"ONI?"

"No question, man. Got their thumbprints all over it."

Watchful sat back in the booth, drummed his fingers once on the table, then slapped it again. As if deciding something. With that he stood up. He paused halfway out of the booth, looking down at Seb. There was a determined fierceness in his expression that unsettled Seb.

"One last question, Sebastien Grummins." The use of Seb's full name caused him to sit back with a start, "Anansi. Do you know where to find him?"

Seb shook his head, breathless. He was too shocked to do anything but respond, hands held up in half surrender. He knew my name. How did he know my name?

"He's a ghost man. Nobody knows where to find Anansi, 'cept Anansi."

"A pity." Watchful put a hand up to a concealed earpiece. "Take him."

Suddenly the patrons in the diner weren't patrons at all. Neither were the staff. They were all men, large men; with strong hands and cold, unfeeling eyes. An iron grip clamped over Seb's mouth. A nip of an injector bit into his neck; hissed as it depressurized. The diminutive hacker's body fell limp.

Watchful's parting instructions were brief.

"Make it look like an accident."

Watchful_Eyes was already walking up the street before they could reply. His index finger remained pressed to his ear.

"Sir. We have a problem."

"Our hacker friend?"

"Just another proxy, like the others. There's copies of the Cadiz Tape. Somewhere in the Refugee Zone. The full tape. Our only lead is a local hacker, handle by the name of Anansi. Not without talent. Looking to offload to a known Insurrectionist sympathiser off-world."

"We can't risk Arrowhead going public. If Carter gets wind of what we're planning, the entire mission is compromised."

"Understood, Sir. We'll take care of it."

"See to it that you do, Pershing."

Robert Pershing ended the channel immediately, stepping neatly into a waiting car at the end of the street. He nodded at his number two, McBride, who clipped on the indicators and smoothly pulled out into late morning traffic. Just like that, they were gone.

It would be two full days later before the authorities found Sebastien Grummins in his apartment; the victim of a violent burglary turned homicide. The apartment's auto-sensor had failed to trigger. It was the smell of the body that alerted the neighbors. The investigation was brief, but ultimately inconclusive. Just another tragic statistic in a city increasingly beset by a rising crime rate.

As the sun rose over the city of Argjend, touching its domed rooftops and gleaming skyscrapers, its silver-shod buildings glinted like sharpened swords, promising violence. At the city's edge, the bulging refugee zone simmered under the oppressive heat; its ghettos trembling in anticipation.

A building, bubbling storm. One that would soon break.