They’ll call me, Mitzi had told herself a hundred times during the following week. I may have been dishonourably discharged, but I didn’t receive a criminal conviction. They’re desperate. They’ll call me.

But two weeks after the first reports of the Cymic Parasites had started filtering through, she still hadn’t received a summons. Bolin worked in human resources, and he’d cautiously admitted that they were drafting increasingly inexperienced people to work in the defence. “Our ranks are seriously depleted, and we need help more than ever before. Central’s taking just about anyone with two legs and a brain.”

So why haven’t they called? I spent twenty years in defence. I led twelve highly successful missions. I’m not as young as I was, but I’m fit and healthy. They need me!

Mitzi groaned and rolled onto her other side, facing the bare brown-grey wall. Four years working any menial job she could get had been soul crushing, but it was nothing compared to knowing she could be useful… if only Central would swallow its pride and overlook what had led to her being discharged.

Someone banged on the door, and a feeble, cracking voice called in, “Mitz, you still alive?”

Mitzi sighed as she recognised the voice of her neighbour, Cali. Mitzi wanted to ignore her but knew that would only cause trouble. “Probably.”

“Come down and have dinner with us, honey. You’ve been locked in that room for days.”

“Hmm.”

“You can have some of my famous meatball soup.”

Mitzi shuddered. “Thanks. I’ll, uh, think about it.”

“See you soon,” Cali croaked, and Mitzi listened to the padded footsteps disappear down the hallway.

She means well, Mitzi coached herself as she bit down on the frustration. She doesn’t realise you want to be left alone. Or how disgusting her meatball soup is.

Mitzi relaxed, breathing deeply, trying to shake the built-up tension out of her chest. It was hard to keep track of time in the dimly lit room, and she was on the edge of drifting off when a quiet beep above her head sent her heart into her throat.

She twisted, kicking the blankets off the bed as she snatched up her communication block. There was one new message, marked as urgent and with an official seal.

Her hands were shaking almost too badly to press the buttons to confirm her identity and open the message. She scanned the contents quickly, a fever of excitement building in her stomach and making her want to scream as she saw the words summoned, mission, and immediate.

Finally.

Mitzi read the message again, this time more carefully, as she pulled her boots out from under her bed and strapped them on. Central was calling her back into service for an urgent mission scheduled to leave that afternoon from the fourth port. The craft was scheduled for takeoff at two. Mitzi glanced up at the clock on the ceiling and felt her heart falter when she saw it was nearly noon. She would be able to make it, but without much time to spare.