When they finally met in a maintenance corridor deep in Luna city, Julie’s face was pinched into a scowl and her eyes were red. It was clear to Beatrice that her friend couldn’t decide whether to be furious with her or hug her close and never let go.

 

“Beatrice you idiot!” Julie was cut short as Beatrice stumbled on her next step, nearly pitching into the wall. 

 

Instinctively, Julie lunged forward to catch her.

 

As she took some of her weight, she felt more of the damage done to trembling, overworked muscles.

 

“Oh… Bee.”

 

Beatrice only grunted softly.

 

Julie slid under Beatrice’s unresisting arm, supporting her friend carefully as they hobbled into the access way out of the city's “alleys,” and further into one of its countless maintenance spaces. The tight corridor was filled with the hum of life support systems, a sound that thrummed through one's bones.

 

In a short while, they were at the Owl’s home. A quick series of precise knocks and the door appeared from one of countless, identical metal panels lining the access path. The corridor was in short order empty, but for the eternal song of unsung systems working tirelessly to keep the city breathing.

 

The Owl Arthagia’s home was just as Beatrice remembered it. The doorway led into a long, rough-cut rock corridor which gleamed oddly in the artificial lighting, the telltale sign of plaswrap keeping the pressure inside. Old rubber mats lined the floor, the tool marks still clear in the lunar rock; carefully set titanium frames held the stone at bay, and at the far end a liberated miners' airlock still pocked with old scars and stickers stood awaiting.

 

As the pair haltingly made their way down the corridor, a bit of blood dripped from one of Beatrice's cuts and she resumed her silent internal cursing. Her legs barely managed to support her as she neared the other lock.

 

“Are you gonna make it?”

 

“I had better. Amareth deserves the best I can give.”

 

Julie chuckled. ”I meant, do you need me to carry you the last bit?”

 

Beatrice glowered, feeling twinges from injured pride, but the expression broke as she felt a series of other, more painful twinges elsewhere, she quietly nodded.

 

Julie without a word sunk down to one knee and unceremoniously hefted Beatrice’s body into a sloppy fireman’s carry. It hurt, but it didn’t even compare to how bad her legs had started to burn. The tears she had managed to keep at bay were finally jarred loose by the change in discomfort. Every step had felt like walking on daggers for the last half-kilometer of their journey. Beatrice’s body was spent.

 

What came beyond was always jarring. Everyone on the moon showed their wealth differently, some choosing to maintain earth-like homes with expensive, lunar-grown wood internals, while others built up their tools of trade by living in shrines of machinery; farmers often grew crops in their own homes, and the countless herds of the working class personalized their spaces however they could afford. 

 

And then there was this place. 

 

Whoever originally made it apparently chose everything all at once. Their home, once a massive stope carved out by miners chasing a mineral vein in the early days of Lunar exploitation, retained many of the scars of the massive mining operations from the early penal colonists who tore open the moon for her riches. 

 

Now it was someone's home, and glistened in a riot of prismatic color; a towering cavern that glittered with green leaves, set like gems in the branches of a birch tree. Several species of moss carpeted the ground, and countless vegetables terraced right up to the steep edges of the cavern, while a small creek burbled through the midst of it. 

 

Entering the space felt like cracking open a geode bristling with viriditas.

 

Amidst this all sat the Owl, who perched between the large roots of the birch tree staring at nothing, or at least what seemed to be nothing. They were doubtlessly deep in the net still. They wore simple, but comfortable clothes; well made silver gi pants and a large black hoodie with stylized text loudly proclaiming, “Chomp!”

 

Their face remained impassive as they softly spoke. “You made it back in one piece, that’s good.”

 

“I’m fucked,” Beatrice rasped as she collapsed onto a large bean bag.

 

“Well, it was always a possibility, but you made it.”

 

Julie’s eyes narrowed as she stared at them. “Yeah, well. How many 10th floor balconies did you jump off of today?”

 

“None,” they responded as their eyes flickered back and forth like a sleeper deep in REM.

 

Beatrice managed to huff shifting in her chair. Julie knelt beside her, pulling out gauze and bandages from her bag to start cleaning her up 

 

Beatrice’s eyes closed as she finally gave herself a chance to relax, the minor sting of Julie’s ministrations only a small distraction from her own irritation.

 

“Exactly my point.” Julie scowled. “It wasn’t just some chill cyber jockie’s run conducted from the comfort of your own fucking home.”

 

The Owl didn’t seem phased. “I know that, however I feel it’s only fair to point out that my stake in matters is higher than you seem to realize.”

 

Julie didn’t seem placated. “What, worried you're going to catch some real heat over helping us out with this?”

 

They nodded slightly. “It's always a possibility. I will also remind you that if this did come back to me, I would at the very least be out of house and home.”

 

“Look I get it, right?” Julie breathed heavily through her nose. “Like, yeah. You have some stake, but, Bee almost got fucking shot. The least you can do is act concerned.”

 

“I am concerned,” they said matter-of-factly. “But it's quite difficult to express it while I'm so split trying to send these rent-a-cops on a wild goose chase, deleting footage, and filing false reports.” Their head twitched imperceptibly to the side, some virtual stimulus or notification briefly distracting them. “Thankfully, I finished cobbling together something to keep them busy from a few of my other programs.” 

 

Then they reached a hand up to the base of their skull and pulled a thick datajack from their head, letting the cable that it hung from pull it back into a hidden receptacle at the base of the tree.

 

For a moment, as the thing came loose their eyes rolled up into their head and their eyelids clamped shut. They convulsed briefly, body twitching, and then moving into simple, tick-like repetitions that eventually turned into more intentional stretching.

 

When they looked up now, their eyes glistened as tears brimmed within them.

 

“I’m so sorry. I am glad you’re okay. Well.” Their eyes flitted down at Beatrice’s legs. “Mostly anyways.”

 

“Oh, hun.” Julie was clearly taken aback at the emotional switch, but that quickly melted into further concern.

 

“I’m sorry if it seemed like I didn’t care! I was just stretched really thin and i-it gets hard to emote. I-I just have to split so much attention in the first place and, and well. Especially the more I am doing…!” They paused and seemed to re-center themselves. “It just gets difficult. Priorities suck like that.”

 

Beatrice stared. “Oh. I didn’t know that.”

 

All remaining pretenses of implacability evaporated as Arthagia blurted. “No, no, it’s my fault. I should have explained earlier when you first got here, I just, well, I get a bit anxious and clam up around new people. When I’m plugged in like that, my AI and I mix. Well, at least a little usually, but the more I do at once, the worse we get at well, uh social skills.”

 

Bee shifted, getting comfortable on a mossy couch cut into the ascending slope.

 

“Do you still have that power connector around here?” she asked, fumbling around with one arm behind her.

 

Arthagia darted over to grab the hidden cable from its socket and placed it in Beatrice’s hand. “Here.”

 

Beatrice fished awkwardly through her pockets, pulling her flat, disk-like charger out, and plugged it into the cable. She hurriedly slipped the cable under the back of her shirt, seating the magnetic coupler against her spine, and then relaxed into the couch, some of her fatigue immediately beginning to fade away.

 

Arthagia, who had pointedly not looked, instead stared at Julie.

 

“One more thing. Um, I think you’re good people too, Julie, so we’d like to be properly introduced to you. Arthagia is just our work handle. Well, that is to say for Lychii and myself.”

 

Julie nodded. “I guessed as much, but Beatrice never referred to you another way so I didn’t think I should say anything.”

 

They nodded. “You can just call me Hazel.”

 

Julie smiled. “It's a pleasure to get to properly meet you, Hazel.”

 

“Yeah, same.”

 

Hazel returned her warmth bashfully, fidgeting in place with less nervousness and more wellbeing. “Thanks for being so understanding.” 

 

“I’m working on it,” Julie said, her smile turning self-effacing. “It’s not my usual forte. Also, if Lychii is listening, it's a pleasure to meet you as well.”

 

“Oh, she definitely is.”

 

A smooth soft voice emanated from the walls. ”I am always listening, Hazel.”

 

“I know you are, Chi, but they don’t.”

 

“Oh, of course.” The AI tittered.

 

“Hey, not to cut in on the introductions, but I’m beyond starved. Famished. Starvished, even,” Beatrice mumbled.

 

Hazel turned, blushing slightly. “Um, I don’t have much on hand at the moment.”

 

Lychii interjected. “What Hazel is saying is that she lives off pre-made meal drinks and works herself unconscious regularly. Against my better judgment.”

 

Hazel went from blushing to blazing red in an instant. “Lychii! You can’t just out me like that!” she cried as her hands flew up to cover her face.

 

Julie chuckled.

 

“So then I starve, right?” Beatrice complained, flopping back into the embrace of the couch.

 

“I’d hardly say so; as if I would let somebody starve in our home,” Chi said, indignant. “I have over a hundred restaurants on file that are definitively delicious by Hazel’s own account, with a variety of price ranges available if you are the sort to balk at others spending money on you. This is far from the first time I’ve had to bail out a ‘starvished’ human, so what’s your poison?”

 

Several minutes of an age old debate later and dinner was settled. A few staples from Haversham’s Hole for Julie and Hazel, while Beatrice ordered two bowls of ramen from Nikolai’s, as well as some additional sundries to top it all off.

 

As soon as the food was settled and ordered, Beatrice melted back into the couch, and allowed herself to process the events of the day, and the complaints of her body. Tears, suppressed for the last few hours, began trickling down her face as her dissociative walls broke down.

 

Her exhausted pose was all too familiar to them both from countless nights of Beatrice saying, “Just a few more dances. I’ll be fine.”

 

Julie placed a hand on her knee. “Do you think you’re going to need to see a medic?”

 

Beatrice glanced up, catching Julie’s concerned glance.

 

“No, I—“ Beatrice caught herself, her tone shifting. “I… l don’t think I will, but I’m gonna need to run a diagnostic on my nano fiber musculature. Might need a couple medical nanite doses, if I’m being honest.”

 

Julie nodded, quietly taken aback by Beatrice’s candidness. “Okay. We can do that, if you need it. Let me know if I can help, alright?”

Beatrice returned the nod.

Chi chimed in, “I have just taken the liberty of arranging for the delivery of a few doses of medical nanites for you.”

 

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that,” Beatrice protested.

 

“It’s fine, dear we can easily afford it.”

 

Soon, thereafter the food and nanites arrived via a small delivery robot, clearly bearing Hazel’s touch, as it resembled a strange wood sprite, pulling a wagon piled high with takeout food.

 

The food was exemplary, though the effort of the day had certainly made it taste all the better.

•𝄋• 

 

“Seriously.” Julie said flatly. “We couldn't get anything?”

 

“No, we got the amount, and, well, I'm still digging. There could be more,” Hazel said.

 

“Ugh. What I do know is that I’ve never seen you two take this long for anything,” Beatrice mumbled around a mouthful of salad. She still hadn’t moved much from the bean bag she’d collapsed into.

 

“You’re— you’re not wrong, but honestly even my lack of progress is telling me something, this isn’t just some big fish. They’d have to be one of the biggest damn things in the ocean.”

 

“Like what, a corporation?”

 

“Bigger.”

 

“Okay, so a megacorp?”

 

“Nope, even bigger than that!”

 

“A fucking country then?”

 

“N—“

 

“Just spit it out Hazel,” Julie interrupted, “Who?”

 

“It’s gotta be either one of the Metanationals or… or one of the big four crime families.”

 

“Abduction without any publicity over catching her doesn’t smell much like a Metanat to me, unless it's one of their debutants.”

 

“Yay…” Beatrice trailed off. It was all her fears come home to roost, one of Amareth’s countless ghosts coming after them, even now after her supposed public death and countless promises to the contrary.

 

“So that means it's…” Julie whispered.

 

Hazel nodded. “It's either the Martian Mob, the Euphrates Trading Company, the Solar Syndicate, or the Jovian Hegemony.”

 

The names carried an almost physical weight behind them, landing in their laps and leaving them all visibly shaken by their implications.

But one struck with far more force for Beatrice; her eyes welled up.

 

A memory of the day after Amareth had gone missing came loose, its weight crashing down on her like a boulder plummeting from the lip of a lunar crater.

 

As the recollection resurfaced she knew who took Amareth.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Leanne, knowing nothing of this, however, cheerfully carried on, “Girls, we have a bit of a one-of-a-kind opportunity coming up here in a week or so!” Leanne beamed.” A wealthy client is looking for a private performance for an event they’re hosting, and is willing to charter our transportation. They’re also covering all of our expenses for the duration!”

 

 

“When you say all expenses you mean, like, everything, right?”

 

Leanne nodded with a secret, beneficent smile, clearly enjoying the spreading of good news. “Yes, I do mean everything.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

‘Count me out,’ thought Beatrice as she shifted uncomfortably on the chair, the plate of her charger digging in as she moved back and forth. She’d tell Leanne she would be unable to attend afterwards. She would have to explain herself, and she didn’t want to do that in front of everyone. 

 

 

Leanne held up a palm, her smile still brilliant. “There is one other thing; best for last. The client is willing to pay you all the rate our highest single-night performers take, every single day throughout the entirety of the trip, even when you aren’t performing.”

 

 

 

 

Its source — Sara, one of the other dancers to show some skepticism so far — spoke up again. “Why us? Since when did we become the solar system’s premiere titty-girl show? Like, I know we’re high class, but this is a bit more attention than we usually pull. I think we’d remember if somebody that big had been in before, no?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Coincidences happen. The scion of the Jovian Hegemony offering your dance trope a gig days after your partner vanished could never be just coincidence.

 

The memory of the conversation that followed, one which she’d half paid attention to wanting nothing more than to simply go home at the time, faded from her mind. 

 

Beatrice believed in coincidences; she wasn’t paranoid by nature, and happily left that sort of thing to Amareth. Usually.

 

However, with the last week’s events weighing down on her, she felt in real time as the evidence metamorphosed into a creeping, sickening suspicion. 

 

One that demanded investigation…

 

“Hi Leanne, I’m sorry for flip-flopping,” she said later over the phone. “I talked it out with a friend, who gave me some good advice. I’d love to attend. In fact, I think I’d be a complete fool to miss it.”