With some smooth talk name-dropping her mom at the ticket desk, Fern got me in as her research assistant under the name Jenkins Agven. Somehow, this made me the fictitious distant step-cousin of some high muckity-muck scientist from fifty years ago. We settled in at the research lounge at the starport―yeah, they actually had a lounge just for research travelers (which was like most of them, unless they were merchers on business)―and I sat there fidgeting. Fern was already buried in some work on her tablet console, and I didn't know what to do with myself.

I scanned the lounge. It was a swank place, even cleaner than Macko's. All white and silver couches and easy chairs; snack and drink dispensers in one corner; even some sharply dressed attendants dashing around delivering hot towels, hot food, and loaner data pads to travelers. Nobody was paying any attention to us. Good, hopefully we were way ahead of any goons Betts might have sent after me. I couldn't stop fidgeting.

I felt Tilly buzz and settled down some. But I wouldn't feel totally settled until I could talk to Gal. I needed some place private to call him.

I hopped up out of my seat. "Uh, Fern, where's the john?"

She looked up. "The what?"

I rolled my eyes and hissed in a whisper. "The shitter. The potty. The toilet. The W friggin' C."

She grinned and pointed at a sign with an arrow. "That way," she said.

I practically bolted in the direction the arrow pointed. It took me down a hallway with vendors of all sorts: snacks, science journals, data pad chargers. I didn't see anything that looked like a john, so I kept walking. And walking. This place was huge. On my right, I noticed an unlabeled door cracked open. I stopped short at it and glanced around. Everyone was busy trying to get somewhere or buy something. I opened the door enough to slip into the room and found myself in pitch blackness, and closed it behind me.

I was about to get on the horn with Gallagher when I heard a click and a hum. Lights faded on and I saw that I was at the end of an aisle of steel shelves that went on so far from the door I'd come through, that they disappeared into tiny specks at the other end. They were filled with...robot parts, I thought? I leaned against the wall behind the door, just in case anyone came in.

I shrugged and tapped in Gallagher's address on my wrist comm. The answering ding sounded and I heard static.

"Gal," I mumbled, still cautious enough to keep my voice down. "I saw a whole lot of gangs fighting each other not far from the starport. What the hell's going on?"

I heard a low rumble in his throat. "Juno the renegade. You know Betts is on your tail. I hope you're on a ship."

I shifted against the wall. "Yeah, yeah. Not yet, will be soon. Tell me what's going on, for serious."

Gallagher let out a long, deep sigh. "Kid, it's lucky for me that I'm at a speakeasy nowhere near the warren. If I'd taken your call while I was at Joe's Post, I'd have Betts on my ass as a confederate of yours."

I paced, squinting against the glare of chrome arms and heads. I didn't have time for this.

"Gallagher―" I hissed sharply.

"Don't 'Gallagher' me," he interrupted, "Shiz is getting real. I'm thinkin' of gettin' off-world myself. I knew this was comin'. I knew it, even though the others didn't see it. It's enough that even the legit citizens on our little planet are startin' to notice; the ones not part of the conspiracy, that is."

I pulled my wrist back and looked at my comm like it was nuts. "Gallagher, what in the name of suede are you going on about?"

He spoke so rapidly, he didn't even sound like Gallagher. "Ok, kid. The skinny is, someone, or something, is messing with Hipstamatic. My theory is, it's to screw the gangs over. See, there's a pattern to the stuff that's coming up for the gangs to find. The items are becoming more and more contentious. It's picking stuff that happens to already be in one gang's territory, and telling other gangs, even rival gangs, to get it. I'd bet my retro boots that the Committee found a way to tap into the system and is doing this to get us all to wipe each other out."

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I didn't know what to say. I'd heard stories of hipsters―some of the best of the bitheads, even―trying to game the system and failing. But somehow, the Committee managed to? If Fern was right, the nerds still didn't even know how to find Hipstamatic. And even if they could hack it, that seemed hella harsh: they may not like us, but would they want to make us kill each other? After centuries of relative peace between nerds and hipsters? I mean, Relocation was standard protocol if they wanted to discourage us from getting caught doing our thing, but it hadn't been since the Dark Times that violence was official policy.

"Kid, you still there?" Gallagher said, keeping his voice down. "Don't leave me hangin'."

"Yeah," my voice cracked. I decided I'd play along, even though I was starting to think he was a few spokes short of a wheel. "So what can we do?"

"Not much. Getting off world is a start. Avoid junkworlds. Consider a career change," he said in a half-joking tone.

"Funny you should mention it," I growled at him. "I was thinking about that anyway. Thanks for the lowdown, Gal. I'll be in touch.”

I opened the door a crack and peered out. Everyone still busy. I snuck back out, leaving the door like I'd found it and made my way back to the research lounge.

She was so deep in her work, Fern didn't even notice me bounding back into the plush easy chair next to her.

I waved my hands in front of her face. "Fern. Fern! How long is this flight, anyway?"

"Hm?" She looked up. "Oh, about two months."

I jumped out of my seat and shrieked. "What? Two months? I'm gonna be stuck on this tin can full of nerds for two friggin' months?"

The other travelers in the research lounge were shifting awkwardly in their seats, their eyes flickering briefly toward me: They were trying not to stare and failing. Shiz.

Fern nearly dropped her tablet then put it on the end table next to her and stood up, putting her hands on my shoulders.

"Ju―" she began, and catching herself, "Jenkins," she said and lowered her voice. "You wanted to be safe from Betts, right? Well, there's no way she can get to you if you're in deep space for two months."

Fern's look told me to sit back down and stop making a ruckus, while she put gentle pressure on my shoulders. I was still shaking.

"I―I've never been on a transworld flight longer than ten days," I stammered, lowering my voice. "I'll go crazy up there."

Fern sat back down, and I followed. "Relax, it's not too bad. Lots of vids to watch. If you want, I can put some causal channel bandwidth on my Academy card, and you can message with anyone you like. You still have some friends back there in the, uh―" She looked around and lowered her voice. "In the gang, right?"

I nodded, and took some deep breaths. "I'm just a little rattled, is all. I didn't go to the john before. I called Gallagher, one of my buds."

Fern shrugged. "Ok. What did he have to say?"

I shifted in the easy chair so I could look her in the eyes, and kept my voice real low. "He thinks the Committee is controlling Hipstamatic and that's causing more rumbles. Do you think there's anything to that?"

She shook her head. "Oh, that hipster computer. I've definitely never heard any official story on that. To be honest, in my dealings with Academy department chairs―"

I raised an eyebrow. "Academy what?"

"They are the scientists who lead the Academies and report directly to the Committee."

"Oh, ok."

"The sense I get is that cycler gangs aren't important enough to them to put that much thought or effort into eliminating them.”

My breathing slowed and I felt my shoulders relax. "For real? That's a relief."

Fern nodded. "As long as the archivists―heh, junkbunnies―are not obstructed too much in their work, the Committee ignores you guys."

I nodded vigorously. "Good, good."

"On the other hand," she continued, "for all of the pride the Academies have in their achievements through collaboration, there's still a lot of politics, and who knows what some factions might be up to. This might be a surprise to you, but not all scientists want the same things."

I shrugged. "I guess any group's going to have differences.”

The quiet of the lounge dissolved as an echoey, booming starport intercom system piped up. "We have a messenger at the gate desk for Juno Random. Juno Random, please come to the gate desk; you have a messenger looking for you."

"Frig," I squeaked. "Glad you used a fake name for my ticket."

Fern gave me a sympathetic look. "Betts's goon, you think?"

"Must be," I thought about it for a moment. Why would they alert me with the intercom?

I grimaced. "Typical. Betts wants me to know real clearly that she's got someone after me and knows where I am. Only reason to do that. So she's gotta know I can't change where I'm going at this point, either."

"Don't worry," Fern said. "Only approved Academy members and their assistants can get on the flight. Once we board, they can't touch you. And they're not going to let anyone through our gate who isn't on the flight."

I balled my fist and stretched it high. "And of all the friggin' nerve, she's callin' me a traitor: I'm no Randomer. 'Snatcher for life," I said.

I struggled with the irony: I wanted out, but they'd still always be my peeps, at least, like, philosophically. Fern would get that.

Fern shot me a confused look. "But, you are, kind of, aren't you? A—traitor I mean?”

I shook my head. "Not in my heart," I murmured. "But I do want out of the life."

Fern looked at a display screen on the lounge wall. "We can start pre-boarding. Let's go."