The preteen girl with dirty red hair and bright green eyes entered the store, an earbud connected to her omni-tool counting down from fifty. At first, she scanned the aisles, as if trying to decide what she was there for, her right hand drumming a restless beat against her left arm. Then, the count hit fifteen, and she darted down toward the canned foods. She took three cans of beans off the shelf, slipped them into the pockets of her oversized jacket… five, four, three… then reached up… two, one… and the shopkeeper's hand clamped down on her wrist.

"Thief!" he hissed as the count in her ear reset to fifteen minutes. "Thought you were so clever, learning my patterns and all. But I saw you too, lurking, watching. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't call the police right now."

The girl burst into tears, tugging the cans back out of her pockets with her free hand, one at a time and replacing them on the shelf. "S-sorry," she cried. "I-I wouldn't normally, but w-w-we haven't had anything in…" She shrugged vaguely, still crying. "We're so…"

"We," the shopkeeper echoed, scowling. "How many are you?"

The girl stared up at him. "Thirteen."

His grip slackened a little. "You're the Shepherd." The Shepherd: the woman who looked after those who could not look after themselves. It was an old myth among the street kids, but occasionally, someone would actually take up the title. He'd never heard of one so young rising to the challenge before.

"Please, sir," she said earnestly. "I should have come to you directly. I-I'll work for it."

No would-be thief he'd ever caught before had offered that. It lent more credibility to her assertion that she was the Shepherd in his eyes. At last, he released her arm. "You're here early," he said. "Likely you expected I'd still be busy with restocking. And you're right."

"I can do that," she said. He led her into the storage space, showed her where everything was, and then handcuffed her to the cart she was to be using.

"Can't be too careful," he said when she stared at the cuffs.

She laughed. "I suppose I did just try to steal from you."

Ten minutes…

She got straight to work. To the shopkeeper's surprise and pleasure, she worked hard and fast, and she didn't try to pocket anything else. He'd have known; he was keeping an eye on her, but the longer he watched, the less he felt he needed to. Indeed, he was starting to consider offering her a proper job.

Five minutes…

There was a loud crash from behind his store, and he nearly fell off his barstool. With a worried glance, he found the Shepherd still hard at work, though she paused to stare back at him curiously. A second crash sent him running toward the back door and out of sight. The Shepherd smiled faintly…

… and headed toward the front of the store, the cart still chained to her wrist, and full of canned foods, bread, and a big bag of rice. Pausing by the register, she triggered a program on her omni-tool. It efficiently drained the credit chits stored within, with minimal input from her. With this done, she pushed the cart ahead of her out the door, and on down the street.

Two minutes…

Which gave her just enough time to get out of sight. Ducking down the nearest alley, she tugged the long, red wig from her head, revealing much shorter, dirty blonde hair, and tucked it into one of her pockets.

A perfect plan, and perfectly executed.

"Pfft, what a rank amateur," Finch sneered. He and his partner were watching as a young girl tried to steal a bit of food from a crowded store. "D'you see that, Curt?" he crowed as the shopkeeper bounded over and caught the girl's wrist. "Didn't pay attention to where the shopkeeper was. You'll never get away with tactics like that."

Curt Weisman laughed. "I think we might be watching different girls, Finch. What I just saw was brilliant."

Finch stared at him. "What?"

"Look," Curt said. "She's all but begging the shopkeeper now. And see, he's softening. Wait. I've a theory of what's happening. Wanna see if I'm right."

A moment later, the shopkeeper positioned led the girl into the shop's storage. They returned with a cartful of items, and the shopkeeper pointed where the items were meant to go. The girl smiled at him, and set to work.

Finch was not impressed. "So she works there now?"

"If I'm right," Curt answered, "she won't be there more than a few minutes. She's part of a crew. Leader, probably. She goes in, gets caught, offers to work for the things she and her group need. Scuffle breaks out in the back alley, shopkeeper goes to investigate, to break it up. Girl will take more than she could've swiped under his watchful eye, 'coz he's left her unattended."

"No one's that smart," Finch said with a scowl. "Especially not a little girl like that."

Curt smacked the back of his friend's head lightly. "Just 'coz you ain't," he laughed. "Just watch. Won't be long now."

And it wasn't. Finch's mouth dropped open a little more with each passing moment, until the girl jogged out of the store, pushing the cart ahead of her, full of food. They watched until she ducked down the alley and removed the wig. Then Curt nudged Finch.

"C'mon. Let's go introduce ourselves."

The Shepherd was starting to worry, checking the time repeatedly. Her partners in crime should have rejoined her by now, for sure. She had freed herself from the handcuffs, and was on the verge of shedding her coat, hiding it and the food, and going back to check on them when at last they appeared in the doorway of the abandoned apartment complex where she was waiting.

"Five minutes," she said with a scowl. "Hit the garbage bins, draw his attention. Keep him occupied for five minutes. Not seven."

The taller boy – known as the Beater for his heavyweight boxer's physique, not to mention his actual boxing ability – just shrugged. "You chose that store 'coz you knew the keeper was more likely to handle his own fights. He can handle 'em good."

"He kept us occupied," the shorter boy, the "Dancer" said with a grin.

The Shepherd regarded him seriously for a moment, noting the ugly bruise ringing his left eye. She nodded slowly. The shopkeeper had to be good if he'd scored that hit on the kid who could dodge just about anything.

"Should keep us going for another week if we're careful. Plus credits…" She tapped the ill-fitting omni-tool around her wrist. "Maybe two weeks. The chits in his till amounted to less than I was expecting of a store that size."

"How long you figure before we've pulled this stunt on every shopkeeper in the city?" the Beater laughed.

"Oh we won't," the girl answered with a shake of her head. "They'll start to catch on before too long. We'll have to change things up."

"I am so glad to hear you say that." The trio found their way blocked by a pair of young men. The one on the left, dark-haired, cruel eyes, was scowling. The other, the one who had spoken was a little shorter, lighter-haired, and his expression was… greed, perhaps? The Dancer and the Beater closed in around the Shepherd.

"Easy, boys," the dark-haired one said. "Not here to hurt you."

The other nodded. "Just want to talk." He looked at the Shepherd. "Was that your plan you all just pulled? Nice work. How old are you?"

She eyed him warily. "Twelve," she answered, hesitant.

Cruel-Eyes scoffed. "Can't have been her plan," he sneered.

She glared at him. "That's exactly the attitude that helps me get away with it. What do you want?"

"Curt, I'm telling you, this is pathetic," Cruel-Eyes said. "The rest of the Reds won't go for it."

The Reds? The Shepherd had heard of them, but they'd never crossed paths before. But she suddenly understood why these two had stopped her. She shook her head. "I've got mouths to feed. Not interested in you and yours."

"You said it yourself," Curt argued. "You can't keep up your current tactic forever. We can help you branch out."

"We've got Shepherd," Beater said. "We don't need you."

Cruel-Eyes laughed. "Shepherd? As in the Shepherd? Hah! And I'm King of Earth."

She frowned at him. "It's a good myth. Someone had to step up, since people like you, and people in charge don't."

"Come on, Curt," Cruel-Eyes all but whined. "We don't need this."

But Curt ignored him, dropping to one knee before the girl. "You're right," he said. "We haven't done right by you and yours. Maybe we can do something about it now."

The Shepherd took a small step back. "Friend of mine told me not to trust gangs," she said. "They offer more than they give in exchange for more than you have."

Curt chuckled. "To assets, maybe," he said. "People we use and discard. But you're better than that. You could be one of us. And gangs also take care of their own. Tell her about Hannity, Finch."

Finch scowled. "Fool got himself pinched by cops. I still say we should've left him in prison."

"But we didn't," Curt said. "He's one of us. And he is good at what he does."

With a small shake of her head, the Shepherd took another step back. "I have to think of more than just me. You may welcome me, but what of my kids?"

"Imagine how much better you'll be able to look after them if we look after you," Curt replied with a grin. "You're good with that omni-tool, I heard how much you took from the job back there. But you could be much better. How long have you been scamming shopkeepers? How many mouths do you have to feed? How long before you run out of scam tactics, and then out of luck?"

"She's smarter than that," the Beater snapped. "Come on, Shepherd, we don't need them."

But the Shepherd was afraid. She'd been wondering about many of those questions already. It wasn't in her nature to turn anyone away unless they proved themselves a threat to the group. So far, she'd only dropped two kids, and she'd been doing this for two years. She was looking after a group of thirteen now, and meals were already too small. She'd confided some of these fears with the boy they called Scholar. He'd scored her the omni-tool she used in this job, and he'd tried to teach her how to use it. How lucky had they been that she took to it so effortlessly? How long could she rely on luck alone?

"What kind of work do you do?" she asked slowly. "We all rip off someone. Who's your marks?"

"The super-rich," Curt answered with a grin that said he knew he had her. "People who can afford to replace anything we take without a second thought. Takes are evenly split among the crew that does the job."

The Shepherd released a weary sigh. "You're called the Tenth Street Reds. I thought that meant Red Sand."

"We started there," Curt admitted, "but we've branched out. You won't have to have anything to do with that side of the operation if you don't want to."

The Shepherd glanced at Finch, who'd gone silent the moment her omni-tool hack was mentioned. His expression was torn between disgust and admiration. Whatever his objections to her signing on were, they were significantly muted by the fact that she had some understanding of computers, coding, and codebreaking. Her companions also seemed a little more open to the idea, now that Red Sand was out of the picture. Both had Red Sand addicts for parents, and wanted nothing to do with the stuff.

"You sure this is what you want?" the Dancer asked her quietly. "I mean, it sounds good, but…"

"I won't agree to anything until I see what I'm signing on for," she said.

Curt smiled. "I wouldn't ask you to. Plus, Finch and I have to run you by our boss too. Meet me back here in an hour. Should give you time to drop off your score, and bring the rest of your kids up to speed."

The Shepherd nodded. "See you then."

"A hacker!" Finch exclaimed as soon as they were free of the kids. "Why didn't you say so before? We haven't had a decent hacker since Willie Riker. What's it been, four years since he disappeared? Damn! We can reopen the High-Rise Hit Squad."

"Grant should be pleased about that, don't you think?" Curt said, nodding. "This… Shepherd is young, untrained. But a quick study, no doubt. I think that was the first time she's used the omni-tool to grab for credits too. And you're right. She's young, so she can't have been at this long. She'll learn fast, be an excellent building block for HRHS. It's about time we got back into our most successful venture."

"What about her other kids?" Finch said. "You know Grant doesn't like loose ends that don't produce."

"The two who were with her," Curt answered, "they'll make decent muscle if they want to contribute to their little family. The rest… we'll see what comes of them."

Finch frowned. "That sounds ominous coming from you."

Curt chuckled. "Good to know I haven't lost my edge."