“Hey, tragic endings can be beautiful. Here.” She poked her left forefinger against the shield, approximating above her cheekbone. “One,” she said. “Just one.”

“Just one,” he repeated gently, as if saying more might spook her. He leaned down and down, crossing the distance with what felt to her like reverence. Maybe she imagined it, but Rosalyn let herself.

The kiss fell light as a snowflake on her visor, the only evidence it had ever happened the slightest smudge and the roses in her cheeks.

“The perfect start,” Edison whispered, backing away into the darkness, “to a tragic ending.”

37

Misato stood in front of the cockpit display, inputting Rosalyn’s credentials to keep the thrusters burning. She increased their fueling rate, impatient to reach CDAS. The time they spent as a crew on the station had gone by in a flash. Leaving the confines of the ship was always a treat—better food, new people to talk to and more room to stretch the legs. But Piero had been in such a rush, convincing Edison that it was better to pick up their allotted samples and supplies and keep moving. He was security, he said with his usual bluster, and CDAS wasn’t officially a Merchantia property. It was a neutral station, technically in Canadian waters, but parceled out to different research, development and corporate entities. For the right price, anyone could rent space there to work in antigravity labs or to test orbital reactions, and Piero didn’t trust it.

“The Wild West,” he had said, antsy, fidgeting in the cockpit. “You know what the Wild West is? It’s like that. Not a good place, you don’t want to spend too much time hanging around here.”

That seemed like an exaggeration, but Misato caught the vibe in the station that nobody really cared who they were or why they were there. Everyone kept to themselves, their uniforms branded with whatever corporation they were associated with. She had at least gotten enough time to grab some half-decent grilled chicken and a glass of wine.

After they left, she hadn’t given the station much thought, but now the opportunity to return consumed her. It was unnatural, this preoccupation, manifesting not from her own psyche but an indirect feeling. Foxfire. Edison had described the sensation to her once, saying it was like passing by an advertising node and having a cheeseburger pop up in your AR display. Ten seconds ago you didn’t want that cheeseburger, but now you couldn’t help but crave it.

Hamburger, hamburger, hamburger. Relentless.