The two guards in the lobby didn’t appreciate his fashion sense. He hadn’t taken more than two steps past the door when they’d set themselves. The first stood behind the reception desk—and four centimeters of carballoy plating, if he remembered it right. The second had begun to walk casually toward one of the tables in the reception area, as though he were merely going to browse through some of the hardzines dropped there. The guards had given him two separated targets and eliminated their crossfire. Slick, he thought.