Why’d they give me such late notice? They’re not hoping I’ll miss the flight, are they?

Boots tied, Mitzi jumped out of bed and grabbed the coat she’d hung in her near-empty cupboard. She shoved her identification card and wallet into her pocket then left the room without even a look back. She didn’t waste time locking the door—she didn’t have anything worth stealing—and bolted down the flights of stairs, too impatient to wait for the elevator.

She lived on the eighth floor of the twenty-four-story accommodation block. For most of the occupants, it was little more than a cheap hotel; the rooms had only just enough space for a bed, and each floor shared a communal bathroom, kitchen, and living area. Mitzi passed groups of people on the stairs. A few called out greetings, which she returned absentmindedly. When she reached the foyer, she veered right into the cramped reception office.

The building’s owner sat behind the desk, his greasy hair slicked back on his distorted skull. Mitzi had heard rumours that he had once been in defence, too, until a mission had gone wrong and damaged his skull and spine. She had no idea if it was true or not, but it would explained his bitter attitude.

“Just wanted to let you know I’m leaving,” she said, breathless, as she swiped her card over the desk’s scanners to pay for her remaining rent.

His black eyebrows descended as he glared at her. “For how long?”

“No idea. Probably forever.”

Mitzi dashed from his office before he could stop her and ran into the outside city.

It wasn’t quite midday, and her sector’s biosphere cast a strange dull light. The city had been built for efficiency. The buildings were all between twenty and twenty-nine stories high, and the streets were stacked on top of each other, each new level held up by steel and concrete pillars. Mitzi had gone to the ground floor of the city, which was where the shuttles were located. Shuttles were the fastest form of transport available, and a shuttle was the only thing that would guarantee she would get to the station on time.

Mitzi ran, weaving through pedestrians, counting the seconds as she dashed the eight blocks to the nearest shuttle station. She hadn’t had time to read the attachment that would detail exactly what the job was, but she already guessed it would be dangerous. That didn’t matter. As a commander in the defence sector, her favourite missions had been the ones she hadn’t expected to come out of alive.

Mitzi reached the tunnel that led into the shuttle station and, murmuring apologies she didn’t mean, pressed through the tightly packed lunchtime crowd while bobbing to try to read the signs flashing across the roof.

“To Donokan… to Maybury… to Jovat Two…”

Then she caught sight of the sign she’d been looking for: to Port Four, Shuttle Twenty-nine. She pushed down the green-tiled side passageway, groaning at how congested it was, and squeezed through the crowd as vigorously as she could without being unforgivably rude. She heard a whistle at the end of the passageway and made a final desperate lunge, shoving between a couple who had been holding hands, just in time to see her shuttle disappear down the tunnel.