Juliet sat in the bar area of the Mirage’s restaurant in a small, comfortable chair with her back to a wall and a clear view of the maître d'hôtel’s station. She very delicately sipped at the drink she’d ordered, something off their menu called a “crater plunge.” It was pale blue, icy, and tasted a lot like vodka in sugary seltzer. Juliet noticed the traces of blue on its rim and hoped she hadn’t ruined her lipstick. She’d gone to great lengths to do herself up in a way that didn’t even slightly reflect her usual look.

Juliet glanced down at her hands—one metallic and glittering with shiny blue paint and the other with freshly painted blue nails. She’d really gone all out with the blue theme. Her dress, hair, and makeup added to it; her hope was that the color would be all anyone who was watching or meeting with her would be able to remember. “That and my freaky eyes, eh, Angel?”

“Hmm?”

“Never mind.” Juliet took another tiny sip of her drink, and then she saw him. Peter Voronov looked just like he had in the vid call—tall, dark hair, smooth skin, and a grim expression. She wondered if that severe face ever smiled. He looked around, even over his shoulder, which pleased Juliet; if he was nervous, that was a good sign in her book. He approached the host, spoke briefly, and was led off into the dining area. Angel had made the reservation in his name before she’d messaged him about the meeting place.

Juliet sat there for a little longer, watching the doorway, wondering if he had an escort that might wander in sufficiently removed from him to allay suspicions. A family came in, an older man with a youngish wife on his arm and a disaffected-looking young woman following behind, her eyes lost to the void of some digital entertainment or other. When no one else approached the restaurant’s entrance after a few minutes, Juliet stood and walked out of the bar.

When the host approached her, she gestured with her drink toward the dining room and said, “I have a table—my party’s already here.”

“Of course, ma’am.” He turned back to his station as though chastened.

“He’s watching you approach,” Angel said, and she was right. Juliet could see that Peter had zeroed in on her the moment she entered the dining area, his dark eyes tracking her movements. If Juliet were any judge of people and their emotions, and she liked to think she was, Peter looked extremely nervous. Juliet moved directly to the table, glancing left and right, taking in the other diners' locations.

The Mirage’s restaurant was decorated much like the rest of the hotel—dim lights from high chandeliers, darkly painted walls, booths, tables, and chairs resembling ancient Earth relics, and people dressed nicely, speaking in quiet voices. The carpet was thick, dark, and plush, and when Juliet pulled her chair out to sit down, it didn’t make any noise at all. Peter half stood up and said, “Hello.” He sat back down when Juliet smiled and sat.

“Nice to meet you face to face, Mr. Voronov,” Juliet said.

“You have me at a disadvantage, Miss.”

“I know that, and I’m sorry. I’m leery of divulging my identity right now. Let’s have a bit of a chat, and maybe we can see how things move forward.”

“I don’t care what you call yourself. I’m looking for information about my niece. If you’re involved in any way . . .”

“Easy,” Juliet held up her plasteel hand, palm out, as though to say, “Slow down.” She glanced to her right and saw that her instinct had been spot-on—a waiter was approaching. She pushed her drink away from her on the tablecloth and said, “Let’s order something, then we can talk business. I’m starved.”

Juliet wasn’t sure why she was trying to play things so cool; her predisposition was to ramble off everything she knew and get what she could out of Voronov so that she could hurry and try to find Honey. A deeper instinct, though, reminded her that she didn’t know this man, didn’t know how he might be involved in what happened to Honey, and that she needed to take things slowly so that she could “feel” him out more thoroughly.

“Have you had a chance to peruse the menu?” the waiter asked as he stepped up to the table. He wore a white blazer over a black shirt and black slacks and looked very well-groomed. Juliet liked the standards the Mirage had for its employees.

“I have,” she said, having looked over the options while sitting in the bar. Voronov just frowned, staring intensely at Juliet’s face. She felt uncomfortable but made herself go through the motions of ordering. “I’d like a new drink—something tart but not sweet. And can you tell me where you get your scallops?”

“They’re farmed locally in one of the agri-domes. We get a fresh supply in daily.”

“I’ll have the scallop risotto, then.”

“Excellent choice. I had that last night and couldn’t get enough. Regarding your drink, is there something you had in mind?

“Yes, something like this, but without the sugar.” Juliet gestured to her hardly-touched beverage.

“I think I can manage that. And for you, sir?”

“Vodka on ice.”

“Very good; any particular brand?”

“No.” Peter frowned, drumming his heavy fingers on the tabletop.

“Uh, right. I’ll ask the bartender to pick you one. For your entre, sir?”

“Nothing.”

Juliet frowned and said, “You’re going to make me eat alone? At least get an appetizer so I can try some . . .”

“You choose, then,” Peter said, waving his hand dismissively. The waiter turned back to Juliet with a raised eyebrow.

“Let’s try that beetroot tartare,” Juliet said, wondering how a chef might make beets delicious. To her surprise, Peter nodded his head.

“Anything else?” When Juliet shook her head, the waiter continued, “I’ll be back shortly with your beverages.”

“A little on the nose, isn’t it?” Juliet asked Voronov.

“Hmm?”

“Vodka on ice. I mean, I get that you’re Russian, but . . .”

“Enough games. Where is my niece?” Voronov’s voice rose with the question, and his accent thickened.

“Hey,” Juliet said. “Hold on a few seconds, all right?” She reached into her dress’s high neckline and pulled on the lanyard around her neck, tugging her deck out of her dress, relieved not to have it pressing against her sternum, squeezed there by the clinging fabric of her dress. “I’m going to create an anti-snooping field around this table. I’m not jamming any data, but I’m creating a static barrier that will confound listening devices . . .”

“I know what it is. Go ahead.” Voronov’s tone made Juliet wonder if he felt she was talking down to him. She shrugged, set the deck on her lap, and a green ear-shaped icon appeared in her AUI, Angel’s way of telling her she’d turned on the static field. Next to the icon was the deck’s battery status—ninety-nine percent.

“Listen, my friend is missing, too. People are dead, and I have reason to believe the authorities in this city cannot be trusted. I’m taking things slowly for a reason; I’m not looking to disappear.” That seemed to take some of the steam out of Voronov, and though his frown remained in place, he slumped back a bit in his chair and waved his hand dismissively.

“Of course, they cannot be trusted. My brother is dead at their hands.”

“Oh?” Juliet drew her eyebrows down, thinking, then nodded, connecting some dots, “The message I received told me that I couldn’t go to the Luna corpo-sec—the men who took my friend and your niece were wearing Luna Constabulary uniforms.”

“You have a witness?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“Damn it!” Voronov slapped his hand on the table, startling nearby diners. He glowered around and then lowered his voice, “Stop playing games!” he hissed, “I’m walking a razor’s edge here. I need to get my niece back!”

“Okay, Peter,” Juliet said, sighing and glancing to her right where, again, the waiter was approaching with their drinks. “Just a moment.”

“Here you are, miss,” the waiter said, setting her drink down. It looked just like the one she hadn’t finished, “I had the bartender mix you a new crater plunge without the syrup. Shall I take your unfinished one?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Very good, and sir, your vodka.” He set a tumbler down in front of Voronov, picked up Juliet’s old drink, and hurried away.

“Look,” Juliet said, “I have some information, and I want to help you so you can, hopefully, help me. I have to make sure I can trust you, though, and I also want to ensure you don’t take what I tell you and cut me out of things. I don’t want you to hire a team of operators and kick me to the curb.”

Voronov frowned, then grunted, lifting his glass of icy vodka for a sip. “Well?”

Juliet nodded, then said, “Give me a minute to clear my head, will you?” As Voronov nodded, Juliet lifted her drink to take a sip and subvocalized, “Angel, black out my vision for a minute. I want to concentrate but don’t want to close my eyes.”

“I’ll keep the feed active to monitor your surroundings,” Angel replied as Juliet’s vision went dark. She carefully set her glass on the table and then thought about Voronov and his dark eyes beneath his heavy, brooding brow. Almost immediately, she began to “hear” his voice.

I hope this bears fruit. She seems flighty, foolish. Is this a ploy? Dimitri wouldn’t let anyone surprise me outside. If Levkin is behind this . . . no, she’s too different. She was wise to choose this location—no wireless, no surveillance. What is she doing? Staring into space? Is she calling someone?

“Angel,” Juliet subvocalized, “that’s enough for now.” As her darkened vision slowly brightened, she cleared her throat and said, “Mr. Voronov, my friend, Lilia’s au pair, managed to contact me. I have a good idea about where her kidnappers are taking her, and she’s still with Lilia, or at least she was three days ago.”

“Tell me!”

“I will, but first, I want you to promise to keep working with me. She reached out to me when she couldn’t trust anyone else, and I want to come through for her. Can we make that agreement?”

“Yes!”

Juliet closed her eyes, sighed deeply, and said, “You wouldn’t be lying to me, would you?”

“No!”

Damn this woman! I don’t care if she wants to help! Can’t she see I’m desperate?

Juliet opened her eyes and smiled, “I received a message from Honey through a relay between here and Saturn. She’s the one who told me the Luna Constabulary was involved.”

“Saturn?” Voronov said, his face darkening. He smashed a fist into his palm and growled, “Levkin!”

“Who is Levkin?”

“Antonin Levkin, a politician. A businessman. His corporation is based on Titan, but he holds property and a political office here on Luna.” Voronov sighed and took another long drink of vodka, slamming the tumbler down on the table with a thunk and a rattle of ice. “We are lost, then.”

“Slow down, Peter.” Juliet reached her left, flesh and blood hand over the table toward him, stopping halfway, simply trying to show him that she was sincere. “Back up a little. Please. Tell me why this Levkin would kill your brother and why he’d take Lilia to Saturn. If you think things are hopeless, give me a chance; what have you got to lose?”

Voronov frowned, then lifted his hand, flicking his fingers to summon the waiter. “Another drink,” he barked before the waiter was within ten feet of the table. Turning to Juliet, he said, “My brother was elected to the CGB here. Levkin also serves on that board. They don’t agree on anything. Levkin is a corporate sycophant, a good dog for the LCC, rolling to his back so they can scratch his belly when he performs their tricks.”

“The LCC, that’s the corporate-run half of the governing body here on Luna?”

“Correct. My brother had evidence of Levkin’s corruption. He was going to make it public before the election later this year. Levkin must have gotten wind and taken him out.”

“So, what’s Lilia got to do with it?” Juliet pressed. “Leverage? Ransom? If your brother is dead, why does he need her? Why not just kill her?”

“My brother was a brilliant man. He won his elections for a reason, but more than that, he was a philanthropist—his wealth was invested in research, and one of his sponsored projects had borne fruit recently. It wasn’t good news for the status quo.”

Juliet frowned, not connecting the dots. “I still don’t see what Lilia or my friend have to do with anything.”

“The research facility was on Phobos. Did you hear about what happened on Phobos recently?”

“I’ve been kinda out of circulation . . .”

“Juliet, a research facility on Phobos suffered a catastrophic powerplant containment failure eleven days ago. Twelve-hundred scientists and employees were killed,” Angel helpfully supplied.

“My PAI just filled me in. So, the research facility that was destroyed was connected to your brother. Again, what’s that to do with Lilia?”

“Lilia was among the first to receive the treatment. Levkin destroys the facility, kills my brother, and now he has the technology—Lilia.”

“What is it?” Juliet was starting to see why Voronov felt defeated; these big, dirty players were doing things that made what was going on at Grave seem almost tame.

“I won’t say. It’s not relevant.” He sighed again, then paused as the waiter returned with his drink and a plate of red pâté surrounded by a fan of crostini.

“Here we have our beetroot tartare—diced beets, capers, and onions served with fresh-baked crostini. Enjoy.”

“Thank you,” Juliet said, but her mind was reeling from everything Voronov had said, wondering how she could possibly help Honey.

“Levkin will be watching me. He’ll be monitoring everything I do. If you thought I might ‘kick you to the curb,’ you needn’t have worried. I don’t know how I can help Lilia. I don’t know how I can get evidence that Levkin killed my brother. As powerful as he is here, he has even more wealth on Titan. I’m sure Lilia is en route to one of his facilities. He’ll study her, try to learn what they did on Phobos, and then she’ll be gone. My brother’s legacy is destroyed.”

“Hold on, Peter,” Juliet said, “It’s not that hopeless. All I need to do is find them, and Levkin doesn’t know anything about me. Now that I know what I’m looking for, I just need to get to Titan and . . . “

“And what? One woman against his army of mercs? His hardened research facility, assuming you can find the correct one? He has several. I cannot even give you money right now; I work for my brother, and his accounts are all tied up in probate, thanks to Lilia’s absence. Can you afford fast travel to Titan?”

“Maybe, but if not, I’ll get a job on a ship going that way. He’s not going to kill Lilia right away, right? He took Honey, I presume, so she could help take care of her—he must have long-term plans.”

“If you can help get Lilia back to me, just that alone, I will reward you well. If you can get proof of Levkin’s schemes and crimes, I’ll double your reward.” He frowned, sighed, and added, “You’re throwing your life away if you try. I can’t ask you to do this.”

“How much?” Juliet asked.

“How much? If you bring Lilia to me, I’ll pay you, or rather, she’ll pay you with my blessing, two-hundred thousand bits. Bring me proof of Levkin’s wrongdoings, at least enough to oust him from office, and I’ll double that.”

Juliet wanted to help Honey and knew she’d be going to Titan regardless, but she wasn’t too naive to turn down a fat payday in the process. “Angel,” she subvocalized, “send Voronov an encrypted SOA contract. Let’s get this in writing.”

Voronov jerked his head up as he saw something on his AUI, and then he shook it side to side, “I cannot contract you through SOA! I just told you, Levkin is watching me.”

“No, this is offline. Just between us. After I succeed, we’ll release it to the SOA net.”

His frown deepened, but he nodded. “Very well. It eases my conscience to offer you payment on this suicide mission. I will try, through personal contacts, to find out what facility Levkin might be taking Lilia to. If I succeed, I’ll send you an encrypted message.” He picked up his glass, tilted it to his lips, and drained the vodka in one big swallow. “Now, enough people have seen me sitting here—I will depart. I suggest you wait some time before leaving the hotel behind me.”

He slammed his empty glass down on the table, some ice bounced out of it, and then he stood, “I never told you my name,” Juliet said.

“It was on your contract. I hope you live up to it, Lucky.” He nodded curtly and then quickly strode out of the restaurant.

“I’m an idiot,” Juliet sighed, reaching for some crostini and scooping up some mashed beets.

“Why?”

“I forgot that an SOA contract, even offline, would have my ID and handle on it. Oh well, I think I can trust him not to sell me out to Levkin or whoever else might be behind Honey’s kidnapping. He needs us to succeed; he’s out of options.” Juliet took a bite and smiled, surprised by the tangy, meaty flavor of the beet mixture.

“Is your new drink to your liking?” the waiter asked from beside her, and Juliet almost dropped her crostini, startled.

“I haven’t tried it yet,” she said after swallowing.

“Will your companion be returning?” The waiter sounded a little pained.

“No, I don’t think so. He was in a hurry.”

“There’s the small matter of his drink tab. Do you object to the charges being applied to your bill?

“Seriously?” Juliet chuckled, “No, that’s fine.”

“Excellent. I’ll leave you to enjoy your food; the main course will be out in just a few minutes.”

“Good. I’m hungry.” Juliet took a sip of the sour, definitely not sweet, drink. “That’s better,” she sighed, setting it down. As the waiter silently padded away over the plush carpeting, she subvocalized, “I guess Voronov wasn’t lying about being low on funds.”