only added to his nausea. Strangers banged into them repeatedly, only to stop, recognizing them, and try to draw attention to them.

“Unit 1 guys! This is them!”

“Detective Bryant! Way to go!”

“Attaboy Moore!!!”

After some time they made it through the crowd, and to the patio area in the rear of the venue. The whole time, despite the noise and chaos, he found himself acutely aware of her grip on his arm. Even through a network of tactile-to-synapse translation, her hand on his arm carried weight.

She never touches me. She’s touching me…

Outside, the air was chilly and the stars hidden. Reporters stalked in the dark with their night vision cameras , held at bay by a squadron of venue security and Ministry of Media muscle.

...

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