The waiting room outside Josh Girdy’s office teemed with the kind of comforts and style missing from the rest of the station. A few large fronds arched over the sofa where Rosalyn waited, and the coffee table near her feet was a long, low modern affair that gleamed like a polished tooth. A holographic display beamed down from the ceiling, a smiling white woman repeating the company’s mission statement and policies with a hardwired smile.

Rosalyn tried not to sink down on the couch, but she was exhausted. She bounced her foot, impatient, feeling in her guts that these meetings were taking just a little too long. Griz had gone first, then Owen. Her fingernails would be bloody stubs by the time it was over. It wouldn’t have bothered her so much if it didn’t remind her of waiting outside her father’s office to tell him she was quitting. The meeting had never happened. Rosalyn lost her nerve and left, deciding her sudden absence would send a louder message.

Her VIT monitor dinged with another message from her mother. Rosalyn checked the display, choosing the text version. It was hard still to hear her mother’s voice, to detect the rising panic, and then the obvious despair.

I’ve gone back to Chennai with the relief team. Oh, Rosie, you wouldn’t believe the flooding. You could join me. I know you would be good at this and we would be together. Your father . . .

Rosalyn tore her eyes away from the display and told herself the tears gathering behind her eyes were from the harsh lighting. Ever since leaving her previous job and Earth, she had existed in the razor-thin margin between screaming constantly and weeping constantly. She blamed the need for a drink. The impending stress of this HR meeting. She had never seen her mother’s home, never gone back to India . . . Maybe it wasn’t too late.

“Ms. Devar?”

The door had opened, Owen scuttling out. He wouldn’t make eye contact with her. Rosalyn stared, willing him to look at her, but he refused. Owen never did anything very quickly, but now he all but sprinted for the door behind and to her left.

Standing, she mimicked the frozen smile on the holographic woman’s face and stepped into the cool, silver space of Josh Girdy’s office. It wasn’t nearly as lively as the lobby. A single fake succulent plant sat on his otherwise empty desk. Rosalyn sat and bounced her leg again, smoothing down a company uniform hopelessly rumpled from her long day of work.

“Sorry for the wait,” Josh Girdy said, rounding his desk and dropping into his chair, flinging out his tie to keep it from sticking into his trousers. “I know you’re probably tired, so I’ll try to keep this brief.”