Juliet held her plasteel hand over the sink and poured the paint-thinner she’d purchased over the blue areas. Almost immediately, the thin blue lacquer started to peel, and with a bit of scrubbing with a wire brush, the more durable, baked-on original red of the plasteel was uncovered. While she worked, she looked in the mirror, pleased to see the traces of blue were almost gone from her hair. Angel had tinted it toward black, a few shades darker than her natural hair, but she liked it.

“Nice job with the eyes,” Juliet said, leaning close to look into the pale blue irises, a shade she’d wanted to try out ever since she’d seen something similar in the receptionist at the Grave job fair. Thinking of that job fair and Grave Tower caused an involuntary shudder down her spine, and Juliet quickly boxed away those thoughts. “I’m going to need a therapist sooner or later.”

“On that note,” Angel said, always quick to chime in when Juliet was foolish enough to mention her mental trauma or anxiety, “I’ve been looking at some VR software that features sessions with a fully accredited pseudo-AI psychologist. I think some counseling would certainly benefit you . . .”

“I’ll keep it in mind, Angel. Right now, we have serious matters to consider.”

“Will you authorize me to purchase the software and ten sessions? It’s on sale for nine hundred and ninety-nine Sol-bits.”

“Seriously? Why now?”

“You are planning to travel to Saturn and will likely have a lot of downtime aboard ship; wouldn’t it be nice to have the option to speak with a therapist?”

Juliet’s instinct was to say no, but she knew Angel had her best interests in mind. She also wanted to show her that she respected her feelings and wishes. Most of Juliet’s money had been earned thanks to Angel’s skills; if the PAI wanted to spend some on a therapy program, could Juliet really say no? Deep in the back of her mind, she also knew she was burying a lot of trauma, betrayal, and guilt. Would it be so bad to talk to someone about it, someone who wouldn’t judge her? “All right. Go ahead.”

“Thank you, Juliet!” Juliet almost felt guilty at how thrilled Angel sounded. She had to think of some more ways to please her.

After rinsing and wiping her arm dry, Juliet walked over to the bed where she’d laid out her belongings and began to pack her clothes into her new backpack. She had to leave behind several pairs of pants, a few shirts, and her new dress; she didn’t think she’d need it where she was going. She left room in the top of her pack for her weapons back in the spaceport, and then she took her discarded clothes, most of them never worn, and chucked them into the recycling chute near the door.

As Juliet shrugged into her pack and started toward the door, Angel said, “Don’t you intend to return to the hotel?”

“I don’t know. We’ll see how this meeting goes; maybe they’ll want to hire me right away. You said their docking status shows them leaving in two days, right? Anyway, I might just find a hotel in the spaceport if they don’t want me; I figure I’ll be interviewing with ship crews down there until I leave, anyway.”

“That’s correct; the Kaminari Kowashi shows a departure time slightly more than forty-one hours from now.”

Juliet grunted in response, quickly stepping out the door toward the elevators. Kaminari Kowashi was the name of the ship whose crew reps she’d be meeting in a little under an hour. “So, they want someone who can provide security and help with salvage, right? I think I should have a good chance.”

“I would think so, especially with your experience with welding and other heavy equipment.”

“I mean, I’ve never welded in space . . .” Juliet stepped into the elevator.

“The biggest challenge with welding in the vacuum of space would be the build-up of heat. You’d also have to worry about the lack of gravity. You should take heart, though; salvage usually involves cutting rather than welding.”

“My specialty,” Juliet chuckled. “Guide me to the nearest tram heading to the spaceport; I don’t want you trying to make me jog the whole way or something.” She gently pressed a hand to her abdomen, wincing at the soreness; her wound was healing just fine, but after only one night of sleep, she was definitely feeling it; she’d struggled climbing out of bed that morning.

Juliet had yet to take one of the pills Doctor Ladia had given her, having decided to save them for emergencies. “Or hangovers,” she muttered, grinning wryly. That morning, she’d asked Angel if the nanites weren’t working right, remembering that one of their features was the ability to block pain. Angel had explained that the medical suite she’d purchased featured nanites that were capable of blocking nerve signals to specific parts of her body but that she didn’t think it was necessary for the level of discomfort Juliet described—too many nerves were tied into the surgical site to make it a wise decision.

Twenty minutes later, she was riding in a tram, passing through the tunnel in the massive plasteel wall that separated the spaceport from the rest of Luna City. When it lurched to a halt, Juliet released the handrail and hurried out, bumping shoulder to shoulder with a surprisingly heavy crowd.

It took her a moment to orient herself, but when she saw the banks of lockers off to the left, some fifty meters from the trams, she hurried that way. Only halfway there, though, she saw the transparent barrier that halted progress in that direction and realized the walkway and the crowds were funneling her toward long queues of people waiting to pass through customs.

“We have to go through customs on the way out, too?”

“Oh yes, just as you had to when you entered the spaceport in Phoenix . . .”

“Why did I think I only had to do that going into the city? Dammit. Are we going to make it in time?”

“It depends on how fast this line moves. I’ll have an estimate for you after I’ve observed it for a few minutes.”

After slowly moving forward, gradually getting closer to the gray tunnels of the scanners, Angel said, “I believe you’re going to be ten minutes late to your meeting.”

“Ugh! Can you message the captain? Let him know we got tied up in customs?”

“Message sent.”

Juliet rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet, trying to be patient as the line slowly advanced. She’d been nervous about interviewing for the ship job, but now she was doubly so—the added stress of having to go through customs was part of it, but knowing she was going to be late for her meeting only compounded things. She fidgeted with her left hand, scratching at a few stray flecks of blue paint on the back of her right hand, surprised she hadn’t noticed them back in the hotel.

As the line advanced, a commotion back by the trams caught her attention, and she turned to see a man being held at gunpoint, prone on the floor, by some corpo-sec officers—Luna Constabulary. They had white uniforms with blue stripes on the sides of the legs and matching blue ballistics vests. Their helmets were white with dark visors, and Juliet felt a surge of disgust at the sight of them. Were these some of the same crooked enforcers who’d helped to kidnap Honey? Watching them shrink-tie the man’s wrists and bag his head brought back memories of Grave and the Zeta Protocol training she’d gone through. With another wave of uneasy nausea, she turned away, trying to think of just about anything else.

Ten minutes later, it was finally her turn to walk through the scanner. Just as before, there weren’t any beeps, buzzes, or alarms, and she was soon standing in front of the transparent plastiglass booth, waiting for the young man in the white and blue uniform to acknowledge her. After several seconds, he looked up from his display, a smile brightening his pale, freckled cheeks and green eyes, and said, “Anything to declare?”

“No,” Juliet said automatically.

“Safe travels,” he replied, waving her along. Juliet hurried down the yellow-lined pathway, blowing out a pent-up breath.

“That was quick,” she breathed softly, hurrying away from customs as though she’d just gotten away with shoplifting.

“I imagine they rely heavily on their scanners; if they thoroughly interviewed every person stepping through, they’d have to delay many flights each day.”

“I guess so.” Juliet hurried toward the lockers, found the one she’d rented, and pressed her thumb to the bio-lock. Just as she’d left them, her weapons lay nestled within. She lifted out her Herschel Company, modded MP5 with its suppressor, high-end trigger, and half a dozen other upgrades. She contemplated stuffing it into her backpack, but she’d seen other travelers walking around the port with weapons out, and she was going to interview for a security gig, so she slung it over her shoulder.

Juliet took off her backpack so she could shrug into the shoulder harness for her needler, then strapped her vibroblade to her left wrist. She’d dressed in a gray tank top over a pair of comfortable, stretchy black cargo pants. Thinking of her weapons all on display, Juliet decided to dig out her dark brown, faux leather “motorcycle” jacket she’d purchased at a thrift store near the Phoenix spaceport. It had a high waist and a silky red lining that gave her shivers of pleasure as she slipped her naked arm through the sleeve.

Juliet liked the way the jacket with its high collar made her feel, and at that moment, she figured confidence was essential. She jammed all her extra magazines into her pack and lifted it, slinging it back over her shoulders. “Did they ever reply, Angel? About us being late?”

“No. Do you think that’s a bad sign? I fear it’s a bad sign.”

“No. Relax. The meeting’s in a bar, right? They’re probably just taking it easy, drinking, anyway. How late are we going to be?”

“Fourteen minutes at your current pace.”

Juliet looked at the map Angel had made, saw that she still had more than a klick to go through the enormous, busy spaceport, and scanned around, looking for some way to make the trip faster. “They have to have some kind of shuttle . . . aha!” Juliet spied a man driving a cart in the right direction, it had six rows of empty seats, and he was seemingly oblivious to the people walking up and down the port's wide, plasteel central boulevard. She broke into a jog and waved her hands, trying to catch his attention.

The man wore Luna City overalls, had a shaved head, and weird metallic optics that seemed to flow and bubble like pools of liquid mercury—some kind of holo-effect if Juliet were guessing. He glanced at her and slowed, beeping the little horn on his cart. “Keep clear!” he shouted.

“Wait! Can I get a lift?”

He looked around as though checking if anyone was watching, then shrugged and motioned to the first row of empty seats. “I’m heading to pick up some tourists in the commercial docks. You gotta get out before then.”

“No problem,” Juliet said, hopping into the seat. “I’m heading to some bar called Dock Rats.”

“Yeah, I know it. Here we go!” He stepped on the cart’s accelerator, and its little electric engine squealed, clearly in need of maintenance, as it lurched into motion. While they buzzed along, Juliet looked at her jacket and other attire and started to have second thoughts about how she looked.

“Are you sure I shouldn’t have worn more formal wear? This is an interview, after all.”

“No, Juliet. I researched things thoroughly; you should dress for the position you’re trying to fill, and you aren’t going to wear a suit on a salvage ship, especially if you’re meant to provide security and do welding work. Your well-worn boots and practical attire will be more appropriate.”

Juliet looked down at her dark, scuffed work boots; she’d bought them at the same thrift store where she’d gotten the jacket, and yes, they were well-worn. They reminded her of the old work boots she’d worn in the scrap yard, and she smiled, remembering how lucky she’d felt to find a pair of broken-in boots that fit her.

“Here it is,” the cart driver said, slowing the cart and waving toward one of the businesses that lined the big gray plasteel wall of the shipyard. Like all the storefronts, the only things that set it apart were its signage, decor, and the clientele hanging around. Several round tables spilled out of the wide-open bay door that gave way to a dimly-lit interior where crowded tables fought for space, and travelers of all sorts sat or stood around drinking foamy glasses of beer. A sign hanging over the bay door read, in bright yellow faux-neon, “Dock Rats.”

“Thanks! Open a port, and my PAI will send you a tip.” Juliet clambered out of the cart and hurried toward the bar, trusting Angel to carry out her promise. She shouldered her way through the crowd hanging around the door and scanned the crowd, waiting for Angel to highlight the faces of the people she was supposed to meet. She didn’t know any of their names other than the captain—Shiro Murakami.

Angel quickly helped her out, painting a yellow circle around a man sitting at a booth near the back of the bar. Juliet wormed through the people standing near the bar, careful to keep her MP5 slung back behind her hip so it didn’t rub against any of the close-packed patrons. She studied Murakami as she moved, noting his dark, close-cropped hair with its smattering of gray. He had sharply angled eyebrows, a lean, weathered face, and an expression that said, “Don’t mess with me.” Juliet’s nerves suddenly returned in spades. She flexed her plasteel hand, thankful it didn’t have any sweat glands.

Murakami was the only one at his table, but Juliet saw an extra, half-full mug of beer and wondered where the other representative of the Kaminari Kowashi might be. When she stepped up to the side of the booth and said, “Hello,” her voice was lost in the din of the bar. Still, Murakami looked up at her, offered a half smile, and gestured to the empty seat across from him. Juliet nodded and slid into the booth, and suddenly most of the noise in the bar faded to a background hum.

“Noise-shielded booths. Works both ways; it’s why we like this place,” Murakami said. “I’m Shiro, captain of the Kaminari Kowashi.”

“Good to meet you,” Juliet said, “I’m Lucky.” She held her plasteel hand over the table, and Shiro looked at it for a second, then reached out to grasp it. Juliet immediately noted that his hand reflected a life of hard work—short, grease-stained nails, scars, and callouses. He wore a jacket, not too different from Juliet’s, over a gray, grease-stained jumper, but Juliet saw the gun belt around his waist and noted the heavy-looking semi-automatic at his hip. He didn’t have a beard, but dark stubble covered his jawline, and he looked anything but smooth.

“I thought you were going to be late.”

“Well, I caught a lift.” Juliet shrugged.

“Okay, order a beer or something; my engineer’s in the bathroom. We’ll talk when he gets here.” As if that settled things, Shiro lifted his own beer, took a sip, sat back, and, as far as Juliet could tell, actually closed his eyes.

“Right,” Juliet said, then subvocalized, “Angel, order me an IPA.”

“Done. You’re thirteenth in the queue.”

“Hey,” a man in a well-worn, greasy pair of overalls similar to Shiro’s said, sliding into the booth next to the captain. He was of average height, with a stocky build and buzzed light brown hair. Juliet thought he looked like he spent as much time lifting weights as maintaining ship components; his traps bulged under his overalls, and his neck was like an extension of his square, chiseled jaw. He was clean-shaven with gray eyes, and they squinted with amusement as he reached a powerful, thick-fingered hand over the table, “I’m Bennet.”

Juliet took his hand in her metallic one, noting the feel of callouses upon callouses and admiring how she had to stretch her plasteel fingers to grip the sides of the meaty palm. This was a man who truly worked hard for a living. “Lucky,” she said.

“Cute name,” Bennet said, grinning, which got Shiro to open his eyes.

“C’mon, Bennet,” he growled, sitting up straight and elbowing the heavier man.

“Right, sorry. I’m supposed to be professional.” Bennet chuckled and lifted the half-empty pint of beer, draining the rest of it.

“No worries,” Juliet shrugged.

“So? You have a lot of experience?” Shiro asked. “I see your SOA ratings. They look good, but you only been operating a year. You think you can do security on a hot salvage?”

“What do you know about ship maintenance?” Bennet asked before she could begin to answer Shiro’s question.

Juliet drummed her plasteel fingers on the tabletop, looking from Shiro’s dark, angry-looking eyes to Bennet’s pale, amused ones, and then she said, “I’m a hell of a fighter. I’m an expert marksman, and I’ve seen a lot of action. More than that, I’ve got thousands of hours on a welding rig, know a lot about electrical systems and motors, and I’m not afraid of hard work. You might find someone who’s a better fighter than me or someone who’s done more salvage work, but you won’t find anyone with my skillset that’s as easy to get along with. I won’t cause any trouble on your ship, and in an emergency, you’ll be glad you’ve got me along.”

Juliet had thought about how she’d sell herself, and, speaking to Angel, they’d come to the conclusion that a smallish ship like the Kaminari Kowashi probably had a tight-knit crew, people who didn’t like having a big ego suddenly inserting itself. She knew she had a deficit of experience, especially in space, but Juliet felt she had a chance if she played up her strengths as most people would in an interview.

“I dunno, Captain. I like her.” As though he were done with the interview, Bennet grinned, stood up, and walked toward the bar.

“I should have brought Matsui,” Shiro sighed, then turned to Juliet and said, “You fought in space before?”

Juliet thought about lying, about embellishing her training with Grave’s Zeta unit, but she shrugged and said, “I’m capable, Captain.”

“Why do you want this job?”

“I have business on Titan, and I’d rather work for my passage than dump my hard-earned credits on a passenger liner.”

“We’ll only dock at Titan long enough to refit and offload some of the salvage. We’ll want to sell the pricier components here on Luna. We need you for both legs.”

“I’m open to that. My business on Titan shouldn’t take more than a couple of days.” Juliet worried it would take longer but figured she’d cross that bridge when she came to it; if she was successful, she’d have a couple of passengers. Maybe she could pay the captain to wait around a little longer and give Honey and Lilia passage; maybe she could offer him a piece of the reward Voronov had promised.

“So, you want two days shore leave as part of your compensation?”

“Well, I think two will be enough, yeah.” Juliet felt like she was losing ground. She was about to try to amend her statement, but then Bennet sat down, slamming a foaming pint of beer before her and holding one for himself.

“Bartender said you ordered this.” He looked at Shiro’s contemplative face and said, “Cap, we need to go, like yesterday, if we’re going to get this salvage. Just hire her already—I was sold at ‘thousands of hours on a welding rig.’”