His cardkey gave him access to the private stairs which thankfully were soundproofed from the din of the main floor. Pitcher ascended and looked for room 1-F. The halls were bright but smelled of a struggling and underpowered HVAC system. He noted cameras above the entry to each room, he knew well the feeling of being watched.

Once inside 1-F, he relaxed, but still felt eyes on him, habit, or permanent reality on Juno? Probably both. He arrayed his belongings on the small table next to the cot. A medium calibre semi-automatic pistol, 23 rounds of ammo, an Atomworks jumpsuit, toiletries, VacMeals for a week and that HoloTablet.

Pitcher leaned back on the flimsy cot as a loose round entered the window, passed within inches of his face and pocked the wall behind him. Instincts took over as he dove under the table and tipped it to face the window.

A second round and a quick third hit the table and pierced it easily. Cheap wood confetti filled the air. He rolled and grabbed the pistol in a single slick move.