Dammit, the juice was running low. She looked at the ticket attached to the bottle. A little crude symbol of a palm tree in a Tropical Oasis. She would have to try to time-track the OM of that later. This was, “the good shit” and they were running out. It didn’t matter if they lived on Mars and were thereby the legally lowest-paid customer service agents in Known Common Time. They didn’t have to live like employfugees.
She spit out a small wad of blue… something, put the mouth-piece back on its stand and pressed her forehead into the viewer.
A ticket popped open with a tingle in her sensorium’s mid-range panel. She scanned it quickly, internalizing it.
Lexicom opened a chatT.
Lexicom. @channel who wrote that?
Omnibus. TimeWave refugee.
Lexicom. They’re still letting those people in?
Omnibus. It’s regulation.
Lexicom. For now.
Omnibus. Do you want me to run a trace on their non-publicly retained information?
Lexicom. No, just give me your best time-stamp coordinates.
/opened the hatch.
Lexicom disappeared down the chute.