“Twenty-five times increase in neuromuscular speed,” they said. “With a ten-minute onset and a one-hour half-life.”

“Holy shit,” said Connor and Welga at the same time.

Welga grabbed one.

“Troit, since you won’t have a chance to calibrate to these, you’re on bodyguard,” Hassan said. “Ramírez, take point. Ammanuel, you’re rear. Based on purchase patterns, intel says you’re likely to get hit by retrofitted service bots at the convention center. Simple weaponry. Last year Jackson was approached en route to private meetings. They left her alone for mealtimes and speaking appearances, so you should be clear outside of transit times.”

Not surprising. Crowded public spaces required far more care to avoid injuring bystanders. As Hassan continued the briefing, Welga pulled up the feeds from their ops center. Platinum Shield Services had people in rooms throughout this hotel and the convention center—operators who’d checked in several nights before to avoid correlation with Jackson’s arrival. Subterfuge in modern times was challenging, what with ubiquitous tiny flying cameras recording every move, but Platinum had plenty of security details working the Neurochemical Investors Conference. They used numbers and finances to their advantage. They didn’t need secrecy.

Privacy had gone the way of the dodo during Welga’s childhood. Some part of her always remembered the cameras. In Marrakech, the caliph’s network blackout had unsettled her more than the potential for violence—the lack of communication, the inability to see and hear what others were doing. It would take a million lifetimes to watch every minute of every public feed, but she had a sense of security knowing that she could look out for her people, and they’d do the same. Losing that had felt like walking around with one shoe: doable but not at all comfortable.

Hassan flicked Jackson’s schedule into their visuals. It showed a private meeting halfway across town in an hour, then a keynote address at the conference, a short break, and more events. Their client had rented a room in the hotel adjacent to the convention center for rest and virtual meetings. The exterior arrival areas in both locations had broad driveways and plazas—good places to attack if they weren’t crowded. Hallways to and from her events could be trouble spots, too. Jackson—and the current shield team—would be done for the day by five o’clock, at which point they could return to the hotel. A second pair of shields would take the night shift, a formality since protest groups rarely worked nights. Local viewers did most of the tipping, and people didn’t tip while asleep.

“You’ll need extra time to calibrate to these new zips,” Hassan said. “Good luck and have a good time.”