Juliet cracked her neck and shifted under the shower’s nozzle, allowing the steaming water to run down her back, loosening her tight muscles. She slowly turned so the water pounded against her right shoulder, and as the tissue heated up, she reached over and kneaded the joint with her other hand. The shoulder was getting worse and worse, and she knew it was the bad matchup of the plasteel arm with the mods Murphy had done back in Phoenix. It wasn’t terrible, nothing that seemed to slow her down, but she was always at a certain base level of pain that felt like it was gradually getting worse.

“Is it unbearable?” Angel queried, “The pain? We could have the nanites deaden that nerve . . .”

“No.” Juliet’s voice was firm. “It’s not that bad. How many days until I have to send Ladia the money for the new arm?”

“If the manufacturer was accurate in their estimate, you have four more days.”

“Well, that’ll just about drain my account, so here’s hoping we get paid for those bounties and the Bumble pretty soon.”

“Didn’t you promise those bits for the gunship venture?”

“Not all of them! I said a couple of hundred k. We can reassess things after the money’s in hand.” Juliet killed the water flow and stepped out of the shower into the steamy dressing area of the bathroom. She was pretty sure she was the only person awake on the ship; the crew had gotten quite drunk the night before, but Juliet had held back. She’d had a hard time relaxing knowing that, somewhere on this moon, Honey was in trouble, possibly suffering. Even so, she dried off quickly and put on her underwear before stepping over to the sink to brush her teeth.

Her hair was already several shades lighter, sort of a dirty blonde on its way to something much paler. Her eyes, though, were sporting a new look—shiny metallic, a shade between yellow and orange, Angel’s take on amber. They were quite striking in Juliet’s rather biased opinion. She smiled and wrinkled her nose, trying different expressions while brushing her teeth. Her skin had never looked so good, smooth, well-moisturized, glowing, even. “Issat frm the nanits?” she tried, her mouth still full of toothbrush.

“I’m sorry?”

Juliet spat into the sink and said, “Are the nanites doing something to make my skin look so good?”

“I’ve fine-tuned them, yes. They’re helping your organs to draw nutrients from your food more efficiently and to expel toxins.”

“Damn. They didn’t put that on the brochure!” Juliet got dressed and armed—dark jeans, black tank top, needler, vibroblade, jacket, and, over her shoulder, the MP5. She’d had enough run-ins with trouble on this moon; she wanted to keep her options open. “Leave a message for the others—gone shopping and to a meeting. Message me if they need something.”

“Speaking of meetings, don’t forget your call with Lemur. It’s in ninety minutes.”

“Right. I won’t. Can you set me up a map to the Port Security station?”

“Done.”

Juliet followed Angel’s map from the Kowashi’s docking collar, out the access corridor, and then left, further into the port district of the main New Atlas dome. She kept her eyes peeled, her neck constantly swiveling, for trouble, especially in the form of men or women sporting a chrome-toothed hyena on their jackets. It was early still, and pedestrian traffic was light; she didn’t see anything or anyone particularly troubling on her way, and it only took about fifteen minutes of brisk walking before she saw her destination—a squat, single-story building built against the giant wall that separated the city and its dome from the docking passages and ship berths.

The station was constructed of blue-stained plasteel, with mirrored windows that didn’t allow any interior view and a big yellow sign that read, New Atlas Port Security. Several letters were cracked or broken, exposing the bright LEDs inside. “Doesn’t exactly inspire confidence, does it?”

“The sign is not indicative of competence, no.”

“So snarky, Angel!”

“I . . . you’re teasing me.”

Juliet giggled as she stepped up to the PUBLIC entrance. Another door, equipped with a biometric scanner, read SECURITY PERSONNEL. As she stepped inside, harsh fluorescent lighting made her squint as she took in the white plasteel floor, dingy poster-covered walls, and blue plastic seats bolted into neat rows before a plastiglass barrier. Behind the bullet-proof window, a long counter stood, and one young man wearing a blue and gray New Atlas Security uniform leaned against it, tapping at a transparent tablet display.

A digital readout above the barrier read 42, and Juliet stepped up to the kiosk below it. She let Angel check her in under her SOA ID and then sat down, a number 48 glowing in her AUI. She glanced around the room but only saw one other person waiting. He was a large man with dark skin, wearing a thick brown trench coat and a wide-brimmed black hat. He sat with his arms folded over his chest, his eyes closed, and his chin drooping down, apparently asleep.

Ten minutes passed before Juliet began to get irritated at the persistent number 42 on the display. The employee behind the barrier hadn’t moved, still tapping away at his screen, and Juliet frowned, narrowing her eyes and staring at his face. It was apparent he rarely shaved; he probably didn’t think he needed to. Most of his cheeks and chin were bare of whiskers, but he had patchy sideburns and some long straggly hairs above his lip. She figured he must be young, probably younger than she was. She continued to stare, looking into his pale brown eyes, wondering what was going on in that head.

Oh yes, baby, level six hundred! God, I love working the AM shift! Zach’s going to be crying when he sees my new gear!

“Hey!” Juliet said from her seat, startling a snort from the sleeping man.

The employee looked up from his display and frowned at her. “Keep it down. Your number will be called in the order you received it.”

“Hey,” Juliet said again, standing up and walking up to the barrier. “We’ve been on number forty-two for a long time. Nobody’s here, but I’m number forty-eight. Can you check it, please?”

“God, you people are so entitled! You know there are many crimes occurring all the time, don’t you? We’re working as fast as we can. The numbers reflect people in the virtual waiting room as well.”

“Seriously?” Juliet sighed and turned around, but when she sat down and looked up at the display, it read 45. She smirked, then subvocalized, “Is your program ready?”

“Oh yes. I finished it last night.”

“Awesome.” She and Angel had devised a plan the night before when Juliet was in bed, trying to sleep. Angel wrote a trojan of sorts, attaching it to a video of Juliet’s fight with Wart and his friends. Juliet just needed to get someone inside the security building to play it on a deck attached to their network. Failing that, she needed to plug herself into the network. The number changed again to 46, and Juliet stood up, walked over, and leaned over the sleeping man in the trench coat. “Excuse me,” she said.

He didn’t budge, his breathing slow and steady, so she tried again, tapping his outstretched foot with her boot, “Hey, excuse me.”

“What?” he asked, his voice thick with phlegm. He noisily cleared his throat as Juliet replied.

“What’s your number? We’re on 46.”

“I ain’t got one. Bug off.” He pulled the brim of his hat down, and Juliet shrugged, looking back at the display—it read 48. She approached the door and cleared her throat, getting the kid’s attention. He glanced at her, rapidly pulled his hand away from his terminal, and hit a button. The door buzzed, and Juliet stepped through.

She found herself in a short hallway that led to another reception window and a smaller waiting room. The window was, once again, shielded by a plastiglass barrier, but this time an older man sat behind it, and he met her eyes almost immediately. Juliet walked past the ten or so bolted-down chairs and said, “Hello.”

“Good morning.” He shifted, sliding his thick hairy forearms together, drumming his fingers on the counter. “How can I help you?”

“I’d like to speak to a detective or, I guess, the equivalent about some assaults I’ve experienced here in the port district in the last day or so.”

“Didn’t you file a report with corpo-sec or Port Security at the site of the incident?”

“Yes, but, well, I’ve received threats that these men might be watching my ship’s docking collar, and I really don’t feel safe. I’d like to see what’s being done.”

“Ah, right, right. I’ll send your name back. I don’t think you’ll have too much of a wait at this hour, so get yourself ready. Stow your weapons in one of those lockers—you need to pass through a scanner to get beyond this room. There’s an open port here for your PAI to fill in your information. Be sure it includes your case information.”

“Thank you, sir.” Juliet flashed a smile, and the white-haired old timer’s brow crease softened, and a corner of his mouth lifted. Juliet couldn’t help noticing how well-shaved he was. She took a small risk and said, “You must hate working with incompetent goofballs like that kid out front.”

“Don’t get me started about that little shit. He’s one of the lieutenant’s nephews, and he should be out back cleaning the puke out of patrol vehicles, not watching the front desk. My name’s Grant, by the way. Officer Grant, I guess.”

“Right. Well, I’m glad you’re all not like him, Officer Grant.” Juliet nodded, thumping the countertop in front of the plastiglass barrier with her knuckles, then turned toward the back wall, spotting a bank of lockers she’d overlooked on entering the room. She’d barely finished putting her weapons into the top-left locker when Officer Grant called out to her.

“Sergeant Gibbons will see you. Come to the door here, and I’ll buzz you through.”

Juliet shut the locker and hurried to the door. “Thank you!”

“You bet. Hope he can help with the threats.”

After walking through a scanner much like the ones lining the docking corridors, Juliet was shown to a tiny office with an even tinier window. The walls were bare except for a poster depicting a drone sprouting a dozen ridiculously long camera lenses captioned, “We’re Always Watching!” Sergeant Gibbons was a middle-aged man in a blue uniform, very similar to the other officers, though his name and shoulder patches were different, indicating his rank. He had short brown hair, soft blue eyes, and jowly cheeks that spoke of too many pastries and sweetened coffees.

When Juliet stepped into the office, he motioned for her to sit and, leaning back in his chair, perhaps to give his large, distended belly room to breathe, he said, “What can I help you with, miss?”

“I’ve had some troubling encounters with some gang members here in the port district, and I was hoping to see how things are going with the investigation.”

“Oh, right, right. Sec . . .” he tapped at an opaque display jutting up from a bulky data deck that seemed to be permanently affixed to his desk. “Right. Lucky. You’re an SOA operative, huh? Well, you put two bangers in the dirt, and we’ve got three in custody. What are you hoping for here?”

“I’d like to know you’re working to see how many more thugs intend to harass me, for starters. I also have some disturbing footage I’d like to share with you,” Juliet fished her data deck out from under her shirt collar and worked to eject the data drive. “If you could just load this up . . .”

“Huh? Hang on,” he waved his hand at her, dismissing the offered disk. “Let’s see. Looks like those guys are all part of the Jackals gang. That sound right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, you can rest assured, our gang task force is very busy working to crack down on that group along with, oh, about seventy other known gangs in the port district.”

“That’s precisely what I’m here to speak to you about! Can you please load this video?”

“Just send it over to me. My PAI’s open.”

“That will work, Juliet. Next time he connects to one of the local devices, my program will propagate.”

Juliet heard Angel and understood what she was saying, but she still pressed, wanting to ensure the program got onto the network. “Would you mind putting it on your deck here? I’d like to watch it with you and highlight a few things.”

“Lady, I’m not going to be able to solve whatever it is. Can’t you write it up and send it along? I’ll pass it to the gang unit.”

Juliet frowned and folded her arms. “Now I see what they all mean.”

“Huh? Who?”

“Oh, everyone I spoke to about this said to forget it. ‘Port Security don’t care,’ they said. ‘The gangs run things down here,’ they said. I didn’t believe it, but now I’m getting the idea.” Juliet sighed heavily and pushed her chair back, grinding the pressed-plastic, faux-wood chair legs noisily on the fabricated burnt-orange tiles.

“Hang on, hang on. Jesus. Just a minute, lady, let me close out of this program. Dammit, what is the file anyway? Is it just a vid or a holo or what?”

“It can play on a screen like that, or if you can project it, that will work too. Thank you, Sergeant! I’m sorry I doubted your concern!” Juliet leaned forward, the little disk in the palm of her hand, looking up from under her brows, trying to appear chastened.

“Yeah, yeah. Nothing else on here?” He took the drive and held it between his thumb and forefinger. “The department ICE is pretty nasty. It’ll delete anything suspicious.”

“No, it should be fine.”

“Yes, it should,” Angel said softly, as though she feared eavesdroppers. “I broke my daemon into bits and inserted them into the codec. Be sure to have him play the whole thing.” Juliet watched as the sergeant plugged the disk into his bulky deck, then he swiveled the display so she could see the screen. Nearly a full minute later, her video of the brawl outside the docking corridor started to play.

“You see? This is where those gang members jumped my friend and me.”

“What did you fuckin’ say?” Bennet’s voice blared through the little speaker, tinny and an octave too high. It almost made Juliet laugh.

The sergeant grunted and leaned forward, “Hell of a right hook!”

“So, yeah, keep watching. There! See how I look around the sidewalk? I’m trying to see if there’s any help to be had. See how those people completely avoid looking at me? Sergeant! Can you imagine just ignoring two people in trouble like that? They all did it! Dozens of them! Ladies, men, young and old, they all turned a blind eye to our trouble. Don’t you think that’s a problem?”

“Uh, yeah, sure. Is that it?”

“No, let it play, please; there’s something important near the end. Tell me, though, what sorts of community outreach do you have in place? What are you all doing to encourage the people of the Ports District to step up and help with the crime around here?”

The sergeant groaned and blew out a heavy breath, flapping his lips with the force of it. “Well, we have a few programs. The department just started this ‘We’re Always Watching’ thing.” He gestured to the poster of the drone.

“That’s your community outreach? Telling people they’re being watched?” Juliet glanced at the video and saw herself drop Handsome and drive a boot into his back.

“I mean, it’s not ideal, I guess. We also handed out magnets to the shops around here, you know, to put on the fridge or a toaster, with our hotline quick code.”

“That’s something, I suppose. What about victim support? Are you doing anything to help the many crime victims in your district? I’m telling you, the business folk I’ve run into seem positively shellshocked!”

“All right. All right, Lucky. I can’t do anything about this stuff. How about I set you up an appointment with one of our community outreach officers?”

“Oh, you do have . . .”

“Nah, I’m busting your balls. Listen, I can’t do shit about this, and no one else is going to. Maybe take it up with Hill Star—our biggest corporate sponsor. If you can get them to listen, they can make us listen. I’m not trying to be flippant here; it’s just how it is. We’re all busy up to our eyeballs, so yeah, we need more money, more officers, or someone to tell us to do things differently. Start with the money.”

“Oh, you had me going there for a second, Sergeant,” Juliet sighed, shaking her head and chuckling softly. “Is it done?” she subvocalized.

“Yes. My daemon will scour their network, looking for a device with a wireless access point. We know their kiosks out front, if nothing else, have open ports. Once that’s done, it will reach out to me, and I’ll have access.”

“Anything else?” the Sergeant asked.

“No. I’m going to take your advice and follow the money. Hill Star, you say? Are they a major corporation here in New Atlas?”

“Yeah. Check ‘em out. I’m sure they’ll have someone a lot nicer than me for you to speak with.” He held his thumb near the drive port on the deck and asked, “Can I take this thing out?”

“Yes. I wanted to show you more indifferent citizens, but it’s not worth troubling yourself over, not if you can’t effect any change. Thank you, officer. Sergeant! Sorry, I meant to say, Sergeant.”

“Eh, don’t worry about it,” he said, handing her the drive.