“What do you mean?” Juliet asked Angel, her pulse quickening as she stepped into the elevator.
“SOA operatives receive many unsolicited messages; unconfirmed addresses are pushed into a spam file and left to be scanned by a competent mail daemon or PAI to see if they are relevant for the user.”
“How old is the message?” Juliet asked, connecting the dots. Her old operator ID received something, possibly from Honey, and the SOA system had taken a little while to forward it to her new ID.
“Just over three days. It’s a voice file, Juliet.”
Thoughts began to race through Juliet’s mind—why was Honey sending a message to her SOA account and not directly to her? Why had it gone into spam? A deep uneasiness accompanied the questions, and Juliet knew why; the only answer to those two questions was that Honey was in some kind of trouble. The only thing keeping her from listening immediately to the message was fear. Was she about to hear a days-old message from a friend who needed immediate help? Was Honey dead, her fruitless plea for aid lost in a spam database until it was too late?
The bell rang, the doors opened, and Juliet stepped into the plush, carpeted hallway of the fourth floor. Following the numbers on the doors, she found her room without any trouble, her mind too busy to admire the soft lighting or framed photos on the corridor walls. When she touched the door handle, it buzzed and clicked, and she knew her biometrics had been paired with the lock. Juliet was desperate to hear Honey’s message, but she wanted to be in her room, sitting down, so she could focus on it.
The room was adorned in a sleek, retro style that echoed the lobby's mid-twentieth-century elegance. The walls were painted in rich, warm tones of deep burgundy and gold, while the floors were covered in thick carpeting that felt soft and luxurious underfoot. A large, ornate four-poster bed dominated the center of the room, with crisp white linens and plump pillows; if she weren’t stressed by Honey’s message, Juliet might have been tempted to sink into that mattress and relax.
She walked over to the bed, left her suitcase at its foot, and pulled back one of the window’s heavy velvet drapes. She saw the street below and the face of the nearby buildings—the fourth floor didn’t afford much of a view. Juliet let the curtain fall, happy for the increased sense of privacy and seclusion. A small table and chair provided a cozy spot for conducting business in one corner of the room, so she pulled the chair out, sat down, and played Honey’s message.
The audio quality was rough, with a lot of static and background noise—she could hear the grinding warble of an electric motor with bad bearings, people talking in low voices, and the sounds of children whimpering and crying. Honey’s voice was hesitant and soft, and she spoke hurriedly, “J, they took my PAI. I hope this message reaches you. I’m sending it through the SOA net; it’s the only way I know how to get it to you. I’m using an old deck one of the others here got working; we’ll probably lose it next time they do a sweep. I don’t know where we are, but definitely off Luna. It feels like a big ship, and they’ve been accelerating for a couple of days now, but it’s less than a G; I float a little when I jump before coming down. Speaking of which, I don’t know how long this message will take to get to you. I hope a relay picks it up soon. God, J, I don’t even know the date. We were unconscious for a while.”
There was a significant pause as the background noise grew quiet, and Juliet pictured Honey holding her hand over the deck’s mic or hiding it under her shirt. “Listen, J; I have to hurry. If you can help or contact someone who can, please do! I’m with a girl. She’s very special. I don’t know why they took us. The others don’t either, but it can’t be good. They’re treating us like cattle. Contact her father! Please! His name’s Alexander Voronov. Tell him we were taken in Crater Park. Tell him I heard the men talking about someone named Levkin. Don’t contact corpo-sec, J. The men who took us were wearing Luna City constable uniforms.”
As the recorded message ended and the static hiss faded from her ears, Juliet sat there, frozen by the reality of the situation. She’d worried about Honey, even more so when she found out Temo was dead, but somewhere in the back of her mind, she’d thought maybe she was worried about nothing. Maybe Honey was just busy or incommunicado with her new job. Somehow she’d convinced a significant part of herself that all she’d need to do was poke around Luna for a little while and see that things were fine.
“Angel, what can you see about this message’s origin?”
“It was picked up by an outward relay satellite. Judging by the relative position of the planets three days ago, I’d say the ship was traveling toward Saturn.”
“So, this message was sent three days ago, and the ship was traveling toward Saturn. Could it have reached the moons around Saturn by now? Can you trace it back? I mean, can we reply?” Juliet drummed her fingers on the desk, her mind slowly coming to grips with the idea that Honey had been kidnapped.
“I’m sorry, but the deck they used was issued a temporary network address, and it seems to have gone offline. My attempts to reach it are halted at the relay sat. Based on the location of the satellite and considering the ship is accelerating at less than a G—in fact, it sounds like only around half a G—I doubt it has reached Saturn yet. Depending on the ship’s size, tolerances, navigation capabilities, and the output of its drive, it’s likely still a week or more out from Saturn. It didn’t sound like Honey and the others she’s being held with were in acceleration couches, so I find it likely they’ll be traveling a while longer.”
“What can you find about Alexander Voronov?”
“I was about to tell you: There’s a recent news article about him being assassinated. He was an elected official here on Luna, serving on the Citizen’s Governance Board which operates in conjunction with the Luna Corporate Consortium.”
“Are you kidding me? He’s dead?” Before Angel could answer, Juliet blurted a secondary thought, “They have elections here?”
“Yes, the CGB and LCC are supposed to serve in a system of checks and balances to maintain the standard of ethical treatment between citizens and corporations on Luna.”
“So, Honey is taken along with the girl she’s supposed to be training or mentoring or whatever, and then the girl’s father is killed. You can see this isn’t coincidental, right?”
“The odds of a coincidence seem very far-fetched.”
Juliet abruptly stood and began to pace. She wanted to bolt out the door, charge down to the spaceport and see about getting a ride to Saturn, but she knew things didn’t happen that fast, not with space travel. She’d completed two full circuits of her hotel room before Angel spoke again, “I’ve found that Alexander Voronov has a brother and that he’s posted a reward for information about his missing niece.”
“Really?” Hope bloomed in Juliet’s chest; maybe the uncle would have some information. “His name?”
“Peter. Peter Voronov. Shall I attempt to contact him?”
“Yes!” Juliet continued to pace, her mind jumping to one conclusion after another. Why had they taken Honey if they were kidnapping the girl? Maybe they wanted someone to look after her? Were they going to seek a ransom? If so, why would they take her all the way to Saturn?
“There is no response, but an automated response indicated that if we have information about Lilia, the missing girl, to leave a message. Would you like me to do so?”
“Yes, send the following: I may have information about where Lilia was taken. I’m interested in helping. Contact me ASAP.” Juliet paused a moment, then said, “Wait.” She wanted to think about things for a moment. Someone powerful had already been killed. Honey and the girl had been taken and were already halfway across the solar system. Should she advertise that she had information? Was she just putting a target on her back? What if the uncle was complicit?
She vacillated back and forth a few more times, trying to listen to her gut. Finally, she said, “Okay, change the message to this: My friend was taken with Lilia. I’d like to meet to share information. Please get in touch with me ASAP.”
“You’re certain?”
“Yes. Thanks for checking.”
“I routed the message through several public relays—they won’t be able to pin your location down.”
“Good thinking.” Juliet flexed her cybernetic fist, looked down at it, and frowned. She’d wanted to get an upgrade while on Luna, among many other things, but now it was starting to feel like she’d be moving on soon. She glanced at her suitcase, down at her clothes, and then said, “Angel, while we wait, narrow down my shipboard job prospects to those bound for the Saturn system, and let’s go shopping. First, a store where I can buy a good backpack, and then a high-end cybernetics clinic—someplace I won’t have to wait all day to be seen.” While Angel carried out her requests, Juliet shrugged out of her vest and pulled her somewhat stretchy long-sleeved shirt over her head.
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She dug around in her suitcase until she found an olive-green tank top and put it on. She looked in the mirror, ensuring her sports bra looked all right with the tank top, then put on her vest. She hated how her fleshy upper arm looked where it met the red plasteel of the cyber-job. She wished it had a cuff or something that would hide the strange synth-flesh scar tissue that met with the plasteel, melding the two.
“Not pretty, but hopefully, it’s only temporary.” She wanted her arms free so that, if she found a willing doc, it would be easy to inspect her current prosthetic. “Besides, it wasn’t cold out there.”
“It might be chilly if it rains.”
“I’ll be fine.” Juliet turned and hurriedly walked out of the room and to the elevator as if on a deadline. In her mind, she was.
On the way down, Angel said, “There’s an equipment store that caters to space-faring travelers not too far away. It’s called ShipBound, and they have excellent reviews in the Luna City travel guide.”
“Right, make me a map, please.” The bell rang, and Juliet hurried out through the lovely hotel lobby and had just put her hand up to hurry the rotating door along when her map changed.
“I’ve re-prioritized your itinerary,” Angel said. “A well-regarded clinic for cybernetic implants had a cancellation and is willing to see you based on your payment status.”
“Payment status?”
“Uninsured, Sol-bits.”
Juliet snorted, shaking her head as she stepped out onto the plasteel sidewalk. Foot traffic wasn’t very heavy, but she still had to step back to avoid the press of people while she spoke to Angel, “I mean, don’t set me up with the first chop-doc you could find . . .”
“I wouldn’t!” Angel’s voice rose with outrage. “You asked for a high-end clinic, and this one fits the bill. Your appointment is in nine minutes, and it will take you nearly fourteen if you walk.”
“Damn it, Angel! Lead with that!” Juliet looked at her map and started jogging along the sidewalk, following the dotted line. She had to weave between pedestrians and received more than one angry curse as she brushed shoulders with the occasional cluster of people.
“You’re doing well,” Angel said, displaying a countdown timer and estimated travel time in her AUI. At the moment, her pace seemed fast enough to give her a minute of spare time.
“Couldn’t you tell them I might be a few minutes late?” Juliet huffed, hurrying around a corner, pleased that Luna’s engineers had created a city grid that appeared to be perfectly level.
“I didn’t want to hurt your chances of getting the open appointment.” Angel only paused a moment before she said, “I found a promising shipboard gig for you. It’s a mid-sized salvage vessel heading to Saturn.”
“Yeah?” Juliet asked, carefully sidestepping a woman walking beside a fully plasteel synth pushing a stroller. The air seemed to grow less humid and stale as she ran, and she realized she was moving away from the big park and its engineered streams at the city's edge. Before Angel could continue to tell her about the job, she asked, “Do they treat the city’s runoff in that park? Is that why the air smelled a bit . . . dank back there?”
“Yes. As I was saying, the salvage vessel is called the Kaminari Kowashi and is run by a husband and wife. They have a small crew and are seeking a competent operator to help with ‘engineering odd jobs’ and security on a high-value salvage ‘in or around’ the Saturn system.”
“Seriously? It sounds perfect, assuming the salvage job isn’t going to take months or something like that.”
“That information is not in the listing. Shall I request a meeting?”
“Yes,” Juliet said, darting around another corner, marveling at how strange it was to run around a city with the only "traffic" being occasional trams that ran between the sidewalks. “Shit, Angel, couldn’t I have taken a tram?”
“You would have taken longer waiting for the correct one.” Angel sounded almost speculative, and Juliet wondered if her PAI had made her run out of spite or some obsessive desire to force her to exercise. Her map indicated that the building was straight ahead, two hundred meters away, and she still had four minutes to spare. She slowed her pace, settling into an easy jog and trying to slow her breathing.
When Juliet paused outside the building, she stared at the bright, projected images of elegant men and women with obviously high-end augments displayed along its plasteel exterior wall. Silvery block lettering over the automated door announced: Moonrise Augmentations. Juliet snorted and said, “A little on the nose, isn’t it?”
“I, too, found it interesting. I searched through the local business directory and found that nearly thirty percent of Luna City businesses have some variation of the words 'moon,' 'lunar,' 'celestial,' or 'dark side' in them.”
“Huh. Guess they don’t win points on creativity.” Juliet stepped up to the door and through it when it hissed open. The air felt five degrees cooler and less humid, the noise from the sidewalk and the trams instantly vanished, and the lighting shifted toward soft blues. She stood in a stylish, highly polished lobby with sleek glass counters, stainless, black memory-fiber chairs, and rectangular stands projecting holographic images of what Juliet guessed were the wares for sale.
As she stepped up to one of the projections, a cultured, soothing, feminine voice began to describe the white, egg-shaped device as it rotated in the air, “The Yang Corporation has been manufacturing high-end prosthetic organs for nearly half a century, and the 2108 model of their venerable pancreas line is no exception. Capable of safely cleansing your blood of lethal doses of sugar, the . . .”
Juliet stepped away, and the voice faded. She walked further into the clinic lobby and, after passing another row of holographic displays, approached the long, faintly tinted glass counter behind which the receptionist sat. “Hello,” Juliet said as she stepped forward.
The woman had carefully coifed blue hair, a high-collared, open-necked, gauzy pink blouse, and the prettiest eyes Juliet had ever seen—sparkling pink irises highlighted by stunning shades of blue eyeshadow and long, delicate lashes. She looked up from a tablet display, and those eyes crinkled in a warm smile, “Good afternoon. May I help you?”
“I’m here for an appointment. My PAI contacted you a few minutes ago . . .”
“Ah! Lucky?”
“That’s me.” Juliet smiled and nodded.
“Oh, dear! Did you hurry here? You look positively flushed. Take a seat, and I’ll get you some water.”
“Um, thank you,” Juliet said and glanced to where the woman pointed. She saw the indicated deep-seated, memory-fiber chair and stepped over to sit down. The material stretched and contracted, forming itself around her body like a glove, and as she sank into it, Juliet felt nearly weightless. “Oh gosh! I need to get one of these.”
“Isn’t it wonderful? I have the same material in my desk chair. Doctor Ladia doesn’t skimp when it comes to comfortable chairs. She lectured me for nearly an hour when she found out I had a futon at home.” As she approached, holding a glass filled with crackling ice cubes and fizzing water, Juliet admired the receptionist’s sheer white skirt and how it complemented her long legs. It wasn’t until she was standing right next to her that Juliet realized her left leg was cybernetic. It wasn’t that it was synth-flesh and natural looking; it was made of very pale pink plasteel and so elegantly shaped that Juliet, at first, had thought it was simply covered by a sheer stocking.
“Your leg is beautiful,” Juliet breathed before she could filter herself.
“Oh? Thank you! My name’s Tricia, by the way, and you just let me know if you need anything. I think Doctor Ladia will be with you very soon. She did this, by the way,” Tricia tapped her polished, pale pink nails against her leg. “You’re in good hands.” Juliet watched her walk back behind the counter, and her graceful steps reminded her of Honey, especially when she was working with her sword.
“I hope we can find Honey, Angel. She chose to send that message to me! I was her go-to when she was lost and desperate . . .”
“Well, to be fair, you don’t know whom she tried to contact before sending you that message. She also indicated that the Luna City constabulary wasn’t to be trusted. It’s not likely any Phoenix-based corpo-sec would be willing to help . . .”
“Angel! You’re muddying the waters!” Juliet frowned as she subvocalized. “I mean, I know, maybe I was her only option, her last resort. That doesn’t change the fact that she’s counting on me. Has that Voronov guy gotten back to you?”
“Juliet, you know I’d tell you if he had.”
“Yeah, I know.” Juliet sighed and leaned back in the absurdly comfortable chair, watching a hologram of a man bending an iron bar with two enormous, chrome-plated plasteel arms. She looked at her red arm again, imagining bigger, bulkier chromed arms jutting out of her shoulders, and shook her head. “I’m not looking to be the strongest cyber grunt in town.”
“Miss Lucky?” Tricia asked, leaning over her slightly opaque glass counter.
“Yes?”
“Doctor Ladia will see you now. Just walk through that door.” She gestured to another automated door on the right side of her reception counter. Juliet stood and smiled, walking toward it.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome! I hope the doctor has what you need.”
The door hissed, and Juliet entered an elegant, if spartan, office. More memory-fiber chairs sat before an opaque glass desk, and vid screens filled the three walls that Juliet could see, all of them displaying various cybernetic implants and procedures or close-captioned testimonials from patients. Before Juliet could watch any of them very closely, though, a dark-haired woman wearing a stylish, clearly custom-tailored, white coat cleared her throat and said, “Welcome! Have a seat, dear.”
“Thank you,” Juliet walked forward and sat in one of the chairs before the desk, sighing as it wrapped around her.
“I’m Doctor Ladia,” the woman said, and Juliet had to admire her perfectly smooth skin, beautiful green eyes, and neat, stylish clothing. She had a slight accent that Juliet couldn’t place, and her smile was effusive as she leaned forward and asked, “What can I help you with today? It seems you scored a lucky appointment slot—one of my customers seems to have been arrested this morning!”
“Oh really? Well,” Juliet glanced at her arm and lifted it. “I was hoping to trade this in for a better model. I kind of settled on this due to my circumstances. I mean, I’m in the market for a few other things as well, depending on prices, I suppose.”
“Oh dear,” Doctor Ladia said, turning a critical eye on Juliet’s red plasteel arm. “Doesn’t look like your old doctor took much time to consider the proper size for your torso.” She smiled and winked at Juliet, “I can fix you up, dear. You’re in luck because my canceled client had a four-hour procedure planned, and I can do almost anything in four hours. I’ll even give you a discount because you saved me from wasting an afternoon. How does that sound?”
Juliet blanched, suddenly remembering the last doctor to offer her a discount. She rallied, though, and played it off as gratitude, “Oh, um, that would be very nice of you, Doctor Ladia.”
“Good. Let’s look at some options, and then you can tell me about your other interests. Sound good?”
“Yes,” Juliet nodded.
“Perfect, now, one moment,” she stared into space for a moment and then spoke, “Tricia? Please bring us a bottle of the 2092 pinot Professor Traeger gave us. I hate talking about implants with a dry throat. Will that be all right with you, Lucky?”
Juliet grinned, starting to warm up to her rather fanciful operator handle. “That sounds very nice, Doctor.”