The wailing shriek of the sector alarm shattered George Andreson's dreams and summoned him to face another day. He rejected the call and burrowed deeper into his pillow, struggling to reenact the erotic interlude with the vid vixen from the prior evening's Web of Pleasure presentation. The siren's wail slowly faded, and the ensuing silence was broken by a slight cough. George's eyes snapped open.

The security officer sitting in an armchair a few feet from his head made a note in her log. She spoke without looking up. "My mother always said if you don't like to get up in the morning, you need more sleep. Maybe you should get to bed earlier, George."

He stammered, "W-what?"

She ignored the interruption and continued, "Of course, I suppose it could be a signal of latent rebellion, manifesting itself in a subtle fashion."

George blinked as the ceiling panels switched from simulated dawn to daylight. The window portal displayed an exploding orange sunrise over rolling ocean waves, rather than the cold void of space he knew actually lurked beyond the station's hull. The security officer smiled, an empty gesture that nonetheless softened the angular planes of her coppery cheeks. Short black hair juxtaposed more sharp angles to her features. Her black uniform crisply retained every pressed crease and lacked any identification or insignia other than the three small red stripes over her left breast.

She held up an identification badge. The holographic image that appeared, suspended in a hazy glow between them, was her miniature reflection. She said, "Senior Investigator Ellen Harlin, assigned to station security and integrity."

George scratched the stubble on his chin. He tried to sound indignant as he said, "Security? Integrity?"

Her glance dropped to his exposed midriff. She sniffed her disapproval of the bulging layer of flab, and made another quick note on the computer pad. He winced and offered, "I try to comply with the exercise codes and the health regulations. Honest."

She said, "Medication?"

He nodded. The meds not only raised his metabolism to a level sufficient for his love of simulated dairy products and baked goods, they also made him sleepy and gave him gas. He hated tehm. He said, "I forget to take it."

"Have you thought about a cyber-neurological alarm? It might help you get up as well." She pursed her lips. "But perhaps you consider that too invasive."

The full import of her presence in his cube finally kicked in. His cube. His privacy being violated by some totalitarian station-wide sweep for closet radicals and anarchists. He said, "Um, Investigator? I don't mean to be rude, but do you have a warrant? I haven't done anything."