The Crystal Palace, ALI (not to be confused, the hologram said, with the ALI she'd encountered in Moretti Park) informed her in a polite, academic tone, consisted of five, two-kilometer-wide rings—toruses—rotating around an axle, solar arrays on either end supplying the station with power, generating 0.8gs of centrifugal force to simulate a close approximation of Earth's native gravity. Two-meter-thick lead windows, ALI continued, offer exceptional views, depending on the torus's rotational position, of the Earth and Moon. The toruses themselves were sheathed in lunar rock to protect from hard radiation….

"This is fuckin' boring," said V, stepping away from the hologram and rejoining the others on the lightrail platform, wobbling slightly, her feet unsteady. Centrifugal gravity took some getting used to; Buster had told V that the slight difference in the station's artificial gravity made your body feel lighter, reduced friction so it was harder to maintain your sense of balance ("Got to get your space-legs, kid," the borg had said. "Eventually, you'll stop noticing it altogether").

The city beyond the lightrail platform looked and felt like a microcosm of Night City. Holograms beamed out from a neon jungle, enticing tourists to visit, to buy the luxurious things and services, to gamble away their eddies in one of the torus's four dozen casinos. Tourists, mostly North Oak-looking types, crowded the platform, watching the Arrivals and Departures board with the glazed, dumb looks of lobotomized cattle. Bored-looking ESA security-boys and their robots made the rounds, occasionally stopping to chat with the lightrail workers, or to hassle some tourist for a SID data-scan in the hopes of rustling up some LEO action to break their workday tedium.

Lucy moved to stand beside her. "Wanted to thank you," she said, suddenly.

V looked at her, raising an eyebrow. "For what? Ain't done nothin' yet."

"You didn't take the jacket," said Lucy. "Means a lot to me."

V looked at her jacket, something in her head clicking into place. El Capitán. "Oh, shit, that's—"

"David's. Was," said Lucy, nodding. "He would've wanted you to have it, I think. But I'm selfish, I guess."

V shook her head. "Ain't selfish," she said, flashing a smile. "Belongs t'you, that jacket."

Lucy smiled. "Kind of pissed me off, Falco wanting to give it to you." She pulled the jacket tighter around her, lost in its baggy fluorescent folds. "But he was just worried about upsetting me, I think."

V squeezed Lucy's arm in a friendly gesture of support. "S'where it needs to be now. All that matters," she said, then pushed her hands into the pockets of her bomber jacket.

Ayako made her way over, clutching the biochip case. "You got the shard, Lucy? Meant to ask."

Lucy produced a thin shard of dark silicon from her jacket. "Right here," she said, and passed the shard to Ayako, watching it vanish inside the zippered pocket of her yellow pozer. She glanced at the polycarbonate case in Ayako's hand, then asked, "That the thing?"

Ayako nodded. "Yup."

"How're you holding up, Ayako?"

"Barely hangin' in, Lucy."

"Getting worse?"

"Yeah," said Ayako, grimacing slightly. "Just… tryin' not to think 'bout it. Wanna focus on the gig."

The train glided into the platform, silent on its induction track. They boarded, stepping into sleek, white Eurotheater leather and black hardwood floors. They were headed to a neighborhood called the Neon Palms, a district of the torus modeled after some idealized retrowave Miami fever-dream, to a hotel by the name of The CocoQuay. V sat beside Judy, her arm thrown across her shoulders, both of them watching the rainbow skyline blur past panoramic windows, Judy sipping real iced coffee she'd bought from the gourmet autocafe. "Can't fuckin' believe they managed t'fit all this into one goddamn torus," she said, shaking her head. "And this is just one goddamn torus outta five. Val, this place is nova."

A holographic circadian system had been installed in each torus to simulate the natural night-day cycle of Earth. Right now, the system was tuned to nighttime, the sky charcoal-black above the ring-city's cluttered skyline.

"This place is fuckin' incredible," agreed V, stealing a sip of Judy's iced coffee. It was, she decided, definitely the real deal; it didn't leave that sour, chemical aftertaste in her mouth that usually accompanied the synthetic shit. "How much did this scop cost ya, anyway?" she asked, passing the can back to Judy.

"Fifty eddies," said Judy, and sipped. "And it was fuckin' worth it, calabacita."

Panam whistled, shaking her head. "Fifty eddies for an iced coffee? Jesus Christ."

"And that's the cheap stuff," chimed Lucy, smiling in amusement. "If you want imported, fair-trade coffee, you're looking at several hundred eddies for the privilege. Authorities slap fat tariffs on anything ferried up the orbital well, so smuggling's big biz in space." She shrugged, adding, "But you can get hydroponic coffee cheaper, and it's almost as good."

"Freeze-dried hydroponic bean-turd," said Buster. "I would know. Used to give us packets of the shit when they sent us into orbit."

Their hotel looked like a Scandinavian architect's idea of a Miami night-club that had later decided to become a beachside resort, all done up in neon and surrounded by bright holographic palm trees. While Lucy confirmed their rooms with the front-desk, V got herself a vending machine noodle-cup. Real niku udon, or so Ayako claimed. "No, seriously," said Ayako, taking her cup of kitsune udon from the S.C.S.M, its name some Japanese brand V's auto-translator loosely translated as Hot Noodle Fun Time, "it's real meat, Val. They get nothin' but the good stuff up here."

V sat down in a flamingo-pink armchair, peeling the plastic from a pair of bamboo chopsticks and stirring the cup's steaming contents. "I don't think I've ever had real fuckin' beef before," she said, and ferried the noodles and meat into her mouth. It was fucking delicious, better than anything she'd eaten at the dozens of Japanese places she'd frequented in Night City. "Holy shit, what kinda beef s'this? S'fuckin' tender."

"Wagyu," said Ayako, and sat in the chair opposite V, setting the biochip case on the ground before peeling the film off her udon-cup. "Biotechnica's gotta branch in Hamamatsu clones up Japanese cows. Most of 'em got wiped out 'bout two decades ago. Some kinda suped-up mad-cow strain. The National Diet—that's the Japanese parliament, pretty much, if you're wonderin'—thinks it might've been a virus engineered by the NUSA, but there was never any proof." She slurped up her noodles, then said, "Man, shit's good. Just don't look at the price."

"Almost hadda heart-attack," agreed V, laughing.

Buster lumbered over to their table, squeezed his considerable bulk into an armchair that was too small for him. "Rooms are good to go," he informed them, settling his hands on his knees, the servos whirring like tiny buzzsaws. "Lucy told me to put on some RealSkinn. Apparently, my looks are upsetting the folks here." He snorted, then said, "Bunch of fucking pansies these days, I swear. Softer than hard-boiled eggs."

"Where's Pan and Jude?" asked V, and slurped her noodles.

"Headed up to the rooms with Lucy," said Buster, running his claw through his gray military wedge-cut. His oculars shuttered a blink. "Anyway," he said, and turned his hard, craggy face toward V, his age-spots like dark clusters of nebulae, "you ready for this, kid? The cure."

V fingered the SPK in the pocket of her bomber-jacket, chewing her lip. "Dunno," she said, finally. "Don't feel real, y'know? All this fuckin' shit I been through, never thought I'd actually see a cure." She looked at Buster, frowning, remembering his role in the whole thing. "What 'bout you, Buster? How're y'feelin'?"

"Ain't changed my mind, if that's what you're wondering," he told her, and flashed his steel toothbuds in a grin. "I'm old, kid. Real old. You're not taking anything away from me."

"You could die," said V.

Buster shrugged his huge shoulders. "Kid, I should've died years ago," he told her, reaching over and patting her hand, something grandfatherly in the touch. "I'm long overdue."

V wanted to smile, but it was weighed down by all the guilt she felt. "Buster, I—"

"Knock it off," he interrupted, shaking his head. "I want to do this, Valerie. Want my death to mean something, you know? Want it to do some good. And that's assuming I die at all." He paused, then said, "Don't know what's going to happen in that clinic, kid. Just try not to think about it, okay? Think about all the things you'll get to do after. Get to ride off into the sunset with Alvarez and your tarmac-licker friends, flipping the bird to 'Saka and Militech."

"Enough people have fuckin' died 'cause of me, Buster," said V, furrowing her brow.

"Val," said Ayako suddenly, setting her udon-cup down on the table, its blue holo-glass looping a recording of bright tropical fishes darting amongst a coral reef, "stop with the fuckin' woe-is-me shit, okay? We're doin' this 'cause we care 'bout you." Ayako peered at her. "This ain't just 'bout the job anymore," she told her, a slow, soft smile curling her lips. "You made me care 'bout you, you fuckin' gonk. I wanna see you get your happy ending." Reaching over, Ayako took V's hand and squeezed. "Don't worry 'bout me and Buster," she said. "Our minds are made up. So be fuckin' grateful you got friends willin' to put themselves in danger for your gonk ass."

V hesitated. Then, "You're right."

Ayako grinned. ""Course I am."

They finished their noodles, then headed up to their rooms. V found Judy squatting on the floor, sorting through their luggage, Lucy hovering over her shoulder. "Yo, babe," said Judy, extracting something from a suitcase and holding it up. She grinned. "Check it out."

V stared at the Samurai logo on the back of the bomber-jacket, smiling in disbelief. "Holy shit." She took her jacket—it had been a gift from Rogue, a custom replica of Johnny's—and held it up to the light, running her thumbs over the seams in the leather. "I left this in fuckin' Night City."

"I had some of my connections dig it up," said Lucy, leaning against the glass window overlooking the hotel's hologram seafront. "You returned my jacket, so I returned yours. El Capitán sends his regards."

"I dunno what to say," said V.

"Maybe thank you ?" suggested Judy.

"Jesus, yeah. Thank you," said V, looking at Lucy. "Means a lot t'me, this."

"It's a nice jacket," said Lucy. "Why'd you leave it behind?"

V considered her question. Then, "That chapter in my life—Night City—it was over. So I left it behind, just like the city, when I put on the Aldecaldos colors." She looked at the jacket, smiling fondly. Taking the SPK out of the pocket of her Aldecaldos bomber, V shrugged it off, then pulled on her old Samurai jacket, the worn leather feeling like an old, familiar friend. "But," she said, still smiling, "I'm real glad t'see this jacket again. Feels like I gotta piece of myself back that I thought was gone forever."