It’s well past the usual quitting time when Max Chemick puts a hand to the wall to find the old sensor pad that switches on the lights. Not very high-tech, but then a corp like Hurley-Cooper usually puts its money where it matters. Stock rooms don’t have much need for fancy automated lighting. Max glances around at the shelving, the bins, the stacks of macroplast crates, the refrigerated cabinets, and slips his hands into his sweater pockets.