It was the same talking head news show she’d seen in the bar. They had a still image from the bar fight at the Nozzle – of her. She was standing, finger pointing, anger carved into her face.

It had to be from when she had been telling them she was from New Vitriol. She was far back, the Response Team – Kiseleva included – were rushing over to help Jaya.

She had a hard time looking away from herself, though. She had been so angry; her face, normally an unhealthy pale, was red and blotchy with her anger. Her mouth was squeezed into an ugly sneer, still yelling out whatever she had been saying. She could not even recall exactly what she’d said at that moment.

Trying to push past it, she turned on the feed.

The talking heads were appearing, floating around the screen, talking to each other, ostensibly different views, but all the same at the end of the day.

“. . . this crazy woman, Apollonia Nor is her name, she actually started a fight with a damn Dreadnought!”

“I don’t know if she’s crazy or just stupid,” another head said.

“Or high!” a third head said, popping up and floating across the screen. “She looks like one of the mindshot junkies I saw down on Red Light Row last week who was offering to do some really crazy stuff for just ten credits.”

The second head smirked. “Are we sure it’s not that lady? She might just think she’s from New Vitriol!”

They all shared a laugh, and Apollonia felt her face burning. Anger and shame – old feelings that she’d often felt in the past, bubbling back to the surface.

The comments weren’t new to her, she’d heard worse, said right to her face. But now they were being said on a show viewed by how many billions . . . ?

She didn’t want to hear more, but couldn’t make herself stop entirely. Instead she just skipped to a later timestamp.

It was no longer her on screen, but a view she had not seen personally but recognized immediately; Kiseleva on the boarding ramp. The pimp, Daze, was still alive, not yet stepping past the line.

“. . . another crazy woman from the Craton. The Union just pumps ’em out, don’t they?”

“Well, you know what they say about the sapeholes, they really let the wrong people run amok over there,” the second said. They laughed, as if it was some kind of in-joke.

“I tell ya though,” the third head said, popping up again. “She’s hella hotter than Nor! I’d let her violate my rights any day, if you know what I mean!”

“I don’t know,” the second said. “As much as I’d love to bed a gal that beautiful, I think I like my heart and spine intact. She’s a literal heart-breaker, just ask poor Daze!”

“I’ve heard,” the first said, “that getting girls dressed up like her is getting to be a popular fantasy down in Red Light. You know, after this, I might just head down there myself and see what-“

Apollonia stopped it, feeling sick.

She glanced at Kiseleva, who was still looking at the boarding Gohhians.

She didn’t look that upset, Apollonia thought. How did she brush it off so easily? As much as Apollonia felt used to a lot of vile things, this was too much even for her.

“Someone’s approaching,” Kiseleva said suddenly.

Apollonia felt her hackles rise again, and she snapped her head in Kiseleva’s direction of gaze.

The man was trying not to seem suspicious, but like the Response officer, Apollonia could immediately tell he was coming towards them. He was trying too hard to seem casual.

As he came close, he suddenly put up his hand – Kiseleva jumped, towards him, while Apollonia away.

But it was not a weapon. The man just had a simple camera.

“Officer Kiseleva,” he said loudly. “Can we hear your side of the story? For the people of Gohhi, howling for blood for the cold-blooded murder of Daze Allo – what do you have to say?”

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Oh god, Apollonia realized. He was paparazzi.

Kiseleva looked to her. “Say nothing,” she said sharply.

The man whirled to Apollonia. “And you, Ms. Nor, do you have any comment on the shooting of Daze Allo? Are you two cooperating to attack the men of Gohhi?”

Apollonia felt her jaw drop, but she managed to keep from saying anything, closing her mouth with a loud click and looking away.

She was starting to feel light-headed again.

“Response Team to location,” she heard Kiseleva say. “We have intruder aboard.”

“Are you going to have me shot the way you shot Daze Allo?” the man asked, seeming very unafraid for someone who thought that might happen. “Can you show me the handgun you shot him with? Is it standard Union issue or did you use a private weapon?”

He turned the camera on Apollonia again, she looked down and away, putting up a hand to shield herself awkwardly.

She heard boots approaching, the whir of drones, it had to be the Response Team coming-

A large shadow loomed, and she jumped slightly. But looking up, it was not the Response Team or another paparazzi – but Cenz.

“Oh, hello!” he said, pushing himself between the man and the table. The photographer tried to dart around him, but Cenz put one of his arms around the man’s shoulders, pulling him away.

“Let me go!” the man screamed, clearly ready for this. “I am not violating any laws of the Sapient Union!”

“I’m afraid that you are disturbing the peace, sir,” Cenz said, sounding eternally pleasant, his electronic face smiling. “But I will be happy to answer any questions you have! Pertaining to the public areas of the Craton, that is.”

The man tried to squirm away, but Cenz’s grip was apparently like iron. “Unhand me you fucking xeno!”

“I am afraid I do not have hands,” she heard Cenz say, his voice fading slightly as he dragged the man away. “But let me tell you about what sorts of appendages my people do have . . .”

Kiseleva snorted out a laugh. “I suppose I owe him another one,” she muttered.

Apollonia found it hard to laugh, or even really think.

Looking over, she saw that the Response Team had arrived, taking the man from Cenz’s grip. He was still yelling about rights, drawing a crowd. Some of the other Gohhians, looking as surprised as everyone else, snapped some images of the man as he was led away.

“Excuse me,” Apollonia said, rising from the table.

Kiseleva rose as well. “Are you all right?” she asked, concern in her voice.

“I think I just need some quiet,” Apollonia told her. Along with a nap. And a shower.

----------------------------------------

Tred almost knocked on the door to Ham Sulp’s office.

He hated knocking; the act of physically striking a door seemed alarmingly violent to him, but occasionally people still did it, especially when a request for entry was going unanswered.

Which, Ham Sulp had kept him waiting over two minutes now.

Making up his mind to actually reach his hand up and rap his knuckles on the door, he froze in mid-motion as it opened.

He hesitated, and then Sulp’s bellow came out to spur him into action. “Come in!”

Scurrying in, Tred looked around the cramped office. It should have been spacious, but there were containers stacked everywhere.

Maneuvering around them carefully, he approached the squat man at his desk, who did not even look up.

“I’m here on behalf of-oh!” He cried out as something touched his leg. Looking down, he saw that it was the small ship terrier that they’d taken on a while back.

It had its front paws on his shin, looking up at him expectantly.

“She wants you to pet her,” Sulp grumbled.

“Pet her? Does she bite, though?”

Ham Sulp put down his stylus to turn and give Tred a long glare, before pointedly turning back to his work. “No dog I train ever bites. Not unless I train them to bite.”

That did not reassure Tred much, but he obediently knelt, reaching down a hand for the dog to inspect.

She gave him a cursory sniff, then began to pant, her short tail waggling expectantly.

“Just watch out if she starts to lick you, she’ll never stop,” Sulp added. “Now, who sent you down here?”

“Er . . .”

Tred had carefully arranged his thoughts, just what he’d say. But he was distracted now, and all of his words escaped him.

He looked down at the dog. Her name was Angel, his system told him.

She was making a disturbing amount of eye contact with him. Keeping her eyes locked on his, she turned her head just slightly, and her tongue came out.

The appendage seemed to move in slow motion as it took a long, slow lick on his hand. She continued to stare at him.

“I haven’t got all day,” Sulp said.

“Jophiel!” Tred said. “Ambassador Jophiel, I’m helping her with . . . well, she wants to go see the Ussa and Usser play and . . .” The dog was now licking him more, making his hand moist. He pulled it away and she jumped onto his leg again, crying sadly.

Hastily, he put his hand back down, and she continued to lick him.

“And what does she need?” Sulp prodded.

“Oh, well . . . I’m making her a special drone. So I have a list of parts I need to make it work . . .” He threw the information to Sulp with a swipe of his hand, his system interpreting the motion and sending it to the quartermaster’s system.

“Drone? You’re not a drone tech,” Sulp noted.

“I got my certification last night,” Tred said quickly. “All my credentials are in order, and-“

“That’s rather impressive,” Sulp grunted. “That’s a six-day course.”

“I worked all day on it,” Tred said. And it was true; he’d gotten up at dawn and taken his test just before the chime of day’s end.

“Well, things do look in order.” Sulp seemed almost disappointed, Tred thought. “I’ll have these brought to your work station in fifteen minutes. That work?”

“Oh, yes,” Tred said, relief flooding him to the point that he almost felt giddy. But his face went back to bothered in a moment as he still felt Angel licking his hand. She’d gotten his entire palm at this point, and worked her way around to the back of his hand.

When he did not move, though, Sulp frowned. “Do you need something else?”

“Just . . . how do I get the dog to stop licking me?” Tred asked.