The lift opened onto the restaurant foyer at 19:57.
Caleb had washed and dressed at his locker, but his right hand still shook when he fastened the suit. The replacement chip had spoken as soon as he fitted it behind his ear.
*Don't eat before eight. Eat somewhere else and I cancel the table.*
He had kept walking past the mess. He could have taken a ration there, but losing the promised dinner meant losing the heavier food his body still needed. Now his hand trembled against the host's podium.
"Reservation for Treadwell."
The host checked the charcoal suit, then Caleb's taped knuckles. Grease remained in the cuticles despite the locker-room sink. His gaze moved to Suzu, standing one step behind Caleb in her gray academy uniform.
"This establishment operates on a private guest list, sir. Military escorts aren't included."
Suzu stepped forward. The carbon-fiber brace on her leg clicked against the marble.
"Recruit Suzu Shishido. First Division. Captain Barrett assigned me to monitor him. I go where he goes."
"Corporate credentials don't override the invitation."
Caleb pressed two fingers against his temple. "Let her stand in the corner, then."
Static popped in the new chip.
"I told you to come alone."
"I tried," Caleb whispered.
Suzu looked at him. "Who are you talking to?"
"Myself."
The host touched his earpiece. He listened, glanced at a manager across the foyer, and picked up a gold-stamped menu.
"Your benefactor has adjusted the guest list. This way, Mr. Treadwell."
Crystal chandeliers hung above the restaurant's widely spaced tables. Executives were finishing small plates while waiters folded napkins beside them. At the nearest table, a man checked his watch as the manager approached.
"The floor becomes exclusive at eight," the host said. "These are the last guests from the earlier service."
He led them to the glass wall. The city grid spread beneath it in neon lines. Caleb watched the host pull out a velvet chair at a mahogany table large enough for six.
"The tasting menu has been arranged."
Suzu reached for the opposite chair.
A waiter put a folding plastic chair three feet from the table.
"Your seat, miss."
She looked from the plastic seat to the empty velvet ones.
"Are you joking?"
"The escort remains at the designated distance. Those are the conditions of the amended invitation."
"Do you know who my father is?"
One of the remaining diners looked up. Suzu's hand tightened around the back of the velvet chair.
"The client has booked this floor," the waiter said. "If the arrangement isn't acceptable, security will escort you downstairs."
Caleb sat. His bruised forearm twitched when he put it on the table.
"She thinks her name opens every door," the voice said in his ear. "This is my table."
Suzu looked at him, still holding the chair.
"I need to eat," he said. "Please take the seat."
She dragged the plastic chair closer by an inch and sat down hard. Its legs creaked beneath the weight of her brace.
Across the room, the manager guided the last diners toward the lifts. The clock above the service door changed to 20:00. A waiter closed the doors behind them.
The next team carried silver platters to Caleb's table. Seared cloned beef, roasted root vegetables, and bread thick with butter. He could smell the meat before the first dish reached the cloth.
Rank F rations came as gray paste. He picked up the steak knife and cut a piece before the waiter finished placing the bowls.
The first mouthful went down almost whole. He cut another, then another. The trembling eased enough for him to keep the fork steady. Meat juice spread across the porcelain.
"Look how quickly you stopped arguing," the voice said. "All it took was a plate."
Caleb kept eating. The cramps along his back loosened, but lifting his right elbow still pulled at the damaged shoulder. Dinner was helping. It had not finished the work.
Suzu shifted in the plastic chair. Her stomach growled.
"I'm not hungry," she said. "The academy serves a superior nutrient profile."
He tore off bread and soaked it in the juice.
"Have the vegetables."
"I don't accept table scraps."
"Don't offer her anything," the chip said. "That food is for you. You need it to heal."
Caleb pushed the bowl of roasted potatoes to the table's edge, within her reach.
"It's a potato. Eat it or don't."
Suzu looked across the floor. Only staff remained, waiting near the service doors. She took a potato and bit into it.
She stopped chewing for a moment, then swallowed.
"Acceptable."
Caleb finished the first platter in three minutes. The waiters replaced it with grilled fish and spiced rice. He did not have to ask for more.
Suzu wiped her fingers on a white napkin and leaned toward the table.
"Where did you learn to eat like that?"
"Disposal gives you ten minutes." He scooped up rice. "Eat slowly, you miss the shift. Miss the shift, lose thirty credits."
"The Defense Force pays a base salary. Why are you still counting thirty credits?"
He put the fork down and drank enough water to clear his throat.
"My family has a fifty-thousand-credit monthly debt penalty. Miss a payment and they take my mother's housing sector. They repossess the life-support augments keeping my brother breathing."
Suzu's fingers stopped working the napkin.
"Fifty thousand?"
"Every thirty days."
"Why are you telling her?" the voice asked. "She doesn't understand."
Caleb picked up the fork again.
"That's why I took the hit for you in the urban zone. You're a serious investment. If you die, the grid docks the squad. I can't afford that penalty."
Suzu looked down at her hands.
"I thought you stepped in because..." She stopped, then looked back at him. "I thought you were playing hero. Trying to get attention."
"I'm thirty. I've got bills."
She held his gaze while he cut the fish.
"Heroes don't exist," he said. "We have quotas."
Suzu folded the napkin into a narrow strip. She did not reach for another potato or move the bowl away.
The waiters cleared the platters and brought chocolate cake with fresh fruit. One placed a silver tablet beside Caleb's water glass.
"Your host requests a private conversation."
An audio waveform moved across the screen.
Suzu straightened. "Put them on speaker. I have questions about this disregard for military protocol."
The tablet crackled.
"You talk too much, little girl."
Suzu's shoulders tightened. "Identify yourself."
"You're a fragile child wearing a broken toy. My runner kept you alive in the urban zone. You owe me his base salary."
She put a hand flat on the table.
"Your runner? He serves Seventh Division. The Defense Force drafted him."
"The military claims his body. I bought his broadcast. I paid his hospital bill. I feed him. And I'm tired of looking at your face. Leave."
Suzu stood and kicked the plastic chair backward. It clattered across the marble.
"Barrett ordered me to monitor him. I won't abandon my post because someone hiding behind a screen tells me to."
"Waiters."
Four men in black suits came away from the walls. Two stopped between Suzu and the table. The others left the route to the lifts open.
"Her invitation is withdrawn," the tablet said. "Remove her."
Suzu's hand went toward the pistol on her thigh.
Caleb stood and caught her wrist with his left hand. She looked at his grip, then at his face.
"Don't draw."
"Let go."
"A gun in a civilian restaurant brings military police. Barrett won't call that monitoring."
She looked at the men around her. None had stepped back.
"You're coming with me."
Caleb glanced at the unfinished dessert, then at the waiter holding the tablet. His shoulder still hurt. The new chip was warm behind his ear.
He released her wrist.
"Dinner helped. It hasn't fixed everything. I deploy at eight tomorrow, and I need fuel again after this. I can't fight them here and count on another meal appearing when I need one."
"So you let her do this?"
"I'm asking you not to draw on four men over a chair. Go home, Suzu."
Her mouth tightened. She looked at the table once more.
"You're insane."
She turned toward the lifts. The four men followed her without touching her. Caleb stayed standing until the lift doors closed.
He had kept her from drawing a weapon. He had also helped the client get her out of the room. Neither fact made it easier to sit down.
"Finally," the chip said. The distortion fell out of the voice. "Just us."
Caleb reached for his fork.
The head waiter lifted the cake platter away.
"Your host requests that you join her."
Caleb looked at the food leaving the table, then put the fork down.
***
He followed the waiter past the main lifts to a wood-paneled wall. A keycard touched a concealed scanner. The panel opened onto a narrow corridor, and Caleb stepped through.
The door closed behind him.
At the far end, he pushed open a steel door. Red light lay across the floor of a cold room. A frosted partition divided it in half. One leather chair waited on his side.
He sat. A silhouette held still behind the glass.
The chip went quiet. A ceiling speaker clicked on.
"You want to play producer," Caleb said. "Fine. You don't do that again."
"She put her hands on your collar at the tavern. I reminded her who pays the bills."
"She's a First Division recruit. Humiliate her in front of people and you bring military attention straight to me."
The silhouette moved closer to the partition.
"I'm thirty," he said. "I'm not your pet. Do it again and I take this chip out and go back to disposal. You can own a broadcast of me scrubbing gutters. See how much show you get from that."
"Are you threatening me, Caleb?"
"I'm negotiating. Let me do my job."