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some reason she hadn’t kept up her basic Renew treatments. Dirty brown hair pulled into a messy topknot, thin to the point of unhealthy, dark skin turned sickly green under the harsh florescent lights—she had a hardness to her face that came from years of anger, drugs, and general neglect. I’d seen that look before—I’m a Tarot card reader; I’ve witnessed plenty of desperation.
    “I’m not here for your entertainment.” I hovered in the center of the cell. I didn’t want to go back to my cot; it would put me too close to the woman. Then again, I didn’t want to spend any more time near the bowl. “You going to keep watching?”
    “No point. Show’s over.” She cackled with laughter. “First time in the pit? You was out so long, I thought the guards’d tag you DNR.”
    “DNR?”
    “ ‘Do Not Resuscitate.’ Then again, the dead don’t pee.” She laughed again before offering an appraising look. “They let you shim anyone yet? If not, better think long and hard, sweetie. Whoever you shim’s gonna need magic up his sleeve to get you outta the pit.”
    I looked at my wrist. No c-tex bracelet. Fear gripped me as the woman’s words sank in. I was in prison gods only knew where, in a situation I might never escape. My shady, tech-adverse family could do nothing. Hell, half of them would be arrested themselves if they so much as sent helpful thoughts in my direction. I took a breath. I’d have to shim Roy. He had MPLE contacts he could use. Yet even if he bailed me out, how could I explain the magnitude of what I’d done? I’d been caught in the presence of an Arbiter with a foreign substance. Damn that Mr. Pennyworth. How could I have known others had tried the same gambit before and that sensors existed to scan for it? Never mind that I hadn’t even had a chance to do anything—One Gov’s justice system would automatically consider me guilty.
    “Funny, you being in here,” the woman continued, oblivious to my dilemma. “You seem the type who could afford decent t-mods.”
    That made me pause. “I don’t understand.”
    She made a vague gesture with her thin arm. “Only regulars get the pit. One Gov doesn’t have to worry we’ll go all chain-breaker with some jumped up MH Factor for strength and smash our way out They got a special hate on for our particular kinda rat—spooks. Can’t read ’em. Can’t control ’em. And we all know One Gov loves control.”
    “Except for spooks,” I echoed.
    “Grifters outside the CN-net,” she clarified.
    “I know what they are,” I snapped, then crossed to the other side of the cell away from the woman. She was right; I was a spook. Hell, I came from a long line of spooks. The Romani were a rare breed who patently refused to enroll in the free technological modifications and genetic enhancement birthing programs One Gov sponsored. Private sector adjustments were frowned on as well. My family was determined to remain pure human, whatever the hell that meant anymore. Still, that’s what made my card reading abilities so unique. No gimmicks or cheats; the talent I had to predict future events was real. My family had always been proud they hadn’t gone tech. Now I wondered if we were all suspected criminals on a watch list somewhere.
    I looked up at her. “You’re a spook too?”
    “Only one in the group.”
    “What group is that?”
    “At the clinic. Who you think arranged that mess? Every group needs a mix of tech and spook, depending on the job. Funny you’re in here though, given who I seen you with. Always thought he had more finesse.”
    “Saw me with?”
    “When you walked into the clinic, I seen you at the first checkpoint. You and your friend.”
    That brought me up short. She knew Mr. Pennyworth? That seemed unlikely. Then again, what did I know about the world of organized crime? I knew enough to land my ass in jail and not much else. I wanted to curse my own stupidity. Yet my gut said something was going on and I needed to