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hadn’t realized I’d tensed. Dammit, they all had me going. And now my hip really hurts because I slid into a fighting crouch out of reflex.

    Men.

    “I’m all right, Surge. Except we find ourselves a bit disadvantaged in your territory. Our ride went down a ways back, and I have no idea where we are.”

    “Let’s get you out of the cold, catch up a bit, and then see what we can do about a lift home. Where is home these days?”

    Maybe it’s the waning light, but March looks grim and weary. “Nowhere, now. I lost the Folly .”

    His pal shakes his head. “Rough luck, mate. Let me stand you one.”

    They lead us into a pub via the back door, ignoring the red-faced woman who shouts at them. When Surge peels off his winter wraps, I decide he got his name because his wild, springy hair looks like he conducts large amounts of electricity as a hobby. I limp through into the common room, which is grimy, dimly lit, and full of mismatched furniture.

    Ah, home. I might’ve been here with Sebastian, fifteen years ago.

    Once we settle at a sticky table, I find out they aren’t gangers at all but guys March knew in the old days. From what I can gather, they fought together on Nicu Tertius. Mercenaries go wherever they get paid best, and the Nicuan Empire is always in turmoil, so much that half the time they can’t even participate in galactic politics.

    By the time the server puts a mug of hot tea in my hand, I don’t care whether the cup is clean. I sip and listen while they catch up. Apparently Surge and his boys are working salvage at the moment; they got tired of fighting other people’swars. Someone named Buzzkill died in the last insurrection, and that’s when they called it a day.

    “Is there a bounce-relay anywhere in this dump?” March asks.

    His friend points to the far wall. The thing is positively ancient, dates back before the Axis Wars. It doesn’t even have a card reader; you key in your digits by hand.

    “Let me send a message to Keri. That was one of our goals today, wasn’t it?”

    I nod. “Make sure she got the data, as Tarn claims.”

    “And don’t flash your cred too wide around here,” Surge cautions.

    March’s gesture says Surge and I are both nervous old women. Well, he’s got that half-right. A few minutes later, he returns, looking satisfied. “She should have it in ten to twelve hours, so we’ll hear back by early morning.”

    That’ll have to do. Tarn will want my decision then, but I’m not making it unless I’m sure they don’t need me on Lachion.

    “So what’s the story with Tarn?” March takes a seat and picks at a plate of fried . . . something. You’d think I would be used to the way he follows my thoughts by now, but it always seems a little bit eerie. Just like the first time.

    Surge shrugs. I can’t remember the names of all his guys, which is fine, because they’re drinking at other tables now. One of them watches me out of narrowed icy blue eyes. He’s a pretty one, if a little grimy around the edges, and I’m not sure what has him so interested. Maybe he’s never seen a bald chick before.

    “He was a nobody before last week,” Surge says. “Now he’s pushing to make New Terra the Conglomerate capital, and the fact that Farwan fell apart here is lending him some momentum, but as far as I can tell, he has no more power than any other representative.”

    Our waitress sets a carafe down at my elbow. I sniff it. The fumes decree that it’s extremely alcoholic, so I tip some into my weak tea. There’s probably a still in the basement. In Wickville they make the homebrew out of whatever they have to hand. Hopefully, it will take the edge off the pain. Medicinal usage aside, if I drink enough of this brown lightning, I won’t care about my hip anymore.

    Some things never change. In poor districts, people do the jobs that bots perform in more affluent sectors. Here, the owners can’t afford maintenance, replacement parts, or chip upgrades.