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Chapters (53)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise for
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraph
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. EPILOGUE
  51. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  52. About the Author
  53. What’s next onyour reading list?

“I want to keep this job,” she said quietly. There she was again, hovering between screaming and crying, knowing she had to strictly avoid both and look ahead, clearly, at Josh Girdy and his extremely unlikable face. “And you’re right, I could be doing better. It’s been . . . a very difficult year, you understand, but I’ll clean it up. You have my word, Mr. Girdy. I won’t disappoint you again.”

He pinched his lips together and nodded once, then dismissed the display on his desk and waved a hand through where it had been. “That’s fine, Ms. Devar, that’s just a fine promise. But your breath smells like a distillery and you’re on company time. This is sensitive work. Delicate work. We’re dealing with the remains of valued employees. People. They deserve your full and unaltered attention.”

That was some truly audacious shit, in her opinion, coming from the rep of a company that would gladly pay whatever it took to make the grieving families look the other way. They would sweep the murders under the rug, and quash any salacious reports before they could hit the mainstream outlets on Tokyo Bliss Station and then Earth.

Earth. She didn’t want to go back. If she lost the job at Merchantia, she would be untethered again, and a failure at something else. She couldn’t lose another thing, not one more thing. Leaving Earth had meant giving up everything, her family, her one friend, even her fish, Stanley. She genuinely missed that little guppy.

Rosalyn copied Girdy’s posture, sitting up, putting her hands primly on the edge of his desk. “It’s completely inappropriate to beg, I know, and I won’t, but I will ask—ask—for another chance. Please give me one more assignment, and I can assure you the report will be very different.” She saw his face soften, but not enough. A PhD from Berkeley and a nod from major alien biomedical publications and she was all but begging to keep a janitorial position. But she couldn’t lose this, too, couldn’t go back to Earth, to her father, to anywhere near him.

There was one last weapon in her arsenal, and she wasn’t above using it. She needed the job. She wasn’t losing something else.

“Please, Mr. Girdy,” Rosalyn said with a sad half smile. “It’s my birthday.”

3

You’ll be teaming up with Walters. Last chance, Devar. Happy birthday.