7 – Insurance PolicyStepping out of the cab, Hector turned to look back inside, locking eyes with first Orin, then Demon. Both men were wearing dark clothes, both were packing blades in shielded sheaths—wouldn’t want PK drones to know they were armed—and both looked very much like they were eager to find trouble. “Keep your distance,” he reminded them. “I don’t want to see your faces.”Orin threw him a thumbs-up. “Only if you don’t check in.”“Or we see trouble,” Demon added.“Even if you see trouble, don’t get involved—not unless I’m about to die.”“C’mon, Boss,” Orin groaned. “That’s a little hard to judge.”Hector tilted his head, then shifted his gaze to Demon. As always, he could see the sharp, calculating mind behind those dark eyes. “Let him decide, then.”Orin frowned, but didn’t respond as Hector straightened and touched the button to close the door. As the cab hummed away, moving to deposit his unwanted security somewhere else, Hector looked down the busy sidewalk, settling his eyes on his destination: Settler’s Cantina. It was a bar that prided itself on serving authentic old-Earth tacos. He was intrigued.Starting toward the place, he nudged his way past a group of Guard troopers on leave. They were crowding together, waving as a personal drone—a small, green-feathered mechanical hummingbird—recorded them. Their young, bright-eyed faces brought forward memories of his early days in the Guard. His first bunk-mate, Rodriguez—“Yo, watch where you’re stepping, kid! Trying to crowd into our vid?”A young trooper with red, spiky hair grabbed his shoulder, jostling him. Hector turned, glowering, and the kid froze, his mouth open, mid-insult.“Sorry,” one of the others said, grabbing the offending arm at the wrist and yanking the red-haired guy back to the group. “He’s had too much.” She mimed smoking a chem-stick.Hector shrugged and kept (...)