For the next shipment I’ll need three kilograms of loose tobacco, fifty packets of rolling papers, twenty lighters, and ten cans of lighter fluid.

I found us a new revenue stream: spray-foam insulation. Turns out it’s great for noise insulation, and believe me, noise is a real problem here. Especially in the shittier areas of town like where I live. The foam’s flammable once it dries, so it’s contraband. But if we can sell silence to folks in low-rent neighborhoods, they’ll pay anything to get it.

As for special orders, I landed us a whale. He wants La Aurora brand Dominican cigars. You’ll have to special order them. Pay whatever you need for rush shipment to Kenya. We’re going to make a mint off this guy. He’ll probably want a new batch every month, so stock up.

Last month’s profits were 21,628?. Your half is 10,814?. How do you want it?

How are your sisters? Did you get everything squared away with Halima’s asshole ex-husband?

Dear Jazz,

Okay, I’ll get all those items in the next supply probe. It launches in nine days. Great idea on the foam insulation. I’ll poke around and find the best noise-reduction-to-mass ratio and send you a case. We’ll see how it sells.

Please convert my share to euros and wire it to my German account.

Yes, Halima’s husband has been dealt with. He’s no longer trying to get custody of Edward. He never wanted it, anyway. He just wanted me to buy him off. So I did. Thank God for our operation, Jazz. I have no idea what my family would do without it.

Kuki just headed off to college in Australia. She’s training to become a civil engineer. We’re all very proud of her. Faith is getting good grades in high school, though she’s a little more interested in boys than we’d like. And Margot is turning out to be quite an athlete. She’s now a first-string forward for her football team.

How are things in your life? How’s Tyler?

Dear Kelvin,

Tyler is great. He’s the sweetest, kindest man I’ve ever been with. I’m not the mushy sort, and I never thought I’d say something like this: Seriously, he might be worth marrying. We’ve been together a year and I still love him. That’s unheard-of for me.

He’s the opposite of what Sean was in every way. Tyler is considerate, loyal, devoted to me, and a total sweetheart. Plus, he’s not a pedophile, which is a major bonus over Sean. God, I can’t believe I ever dated that asshole.

In other news, Dale’s been teaching me how to do EVAs. He’s a great teacher. It’s a lot of work and it’s a dangerous skill set to learn. And the EVA Guild is more clannish than a religious cult. But now that they know I’m training to become one of them, they’re starting to warm up to me.

Man, once I get my EVA cert, I’ll be rolling in cash. The money I can make from tours is massive!

And it won’t just be me raking it in. You’ll benefit too. I’ll ditch the porter gig and get a job as a probe wrangler. Then I won’t have to bribe Nakoshi anymore. Kelvin, my friend, the future’s bright.

Dear Jazz,

That’s great to hear.

There’s been a wrinkle over here at KSC. They just announced that they’ll be upping their launch schedule. As part of that push, they’re expanding the payload loader department. There’ll be another loader team working at the same time as mine. I can’t be in both places at once, so we’ll miss out on half the launches.

But I have an idea: How would you feel about adding another person to our group? I’d make sure it’s someone we can trust. I know a lot of loaders who could use the extra cash. We wouldn’t need to make them an equal partner but maybe cut them in for 10 percent?

Dear Kelvin,

To be honest, I’m not thrilled with the idea. I trust you with my life. But I don’t know these other loaders for shit. We’d have to talk about any candidates very thoroughly. The more people involved, the higher the chance that it all comes tumbling down.

Still, you make a good point about missing half the launches. That hits me right in my greed bone.

Dear Jazz,

How about after you join the EVA Guild? We won’t have Nakoshi’s share to deal with anymore. It’ll be a net-neutral effect and we’ll be able to expand. The increased launch schedule means more product for us. We’ll come out ahead.

Dear Kelvin,

I like your thinking. Okay, start looking around for someone. But for fuck’s sake be subtle.

Dear Jazz,

Subtle? I never thought of that. I guess I should take that flyer off the company billboard.

Dear Kelvin,

Smartass.

I jogged away from the Landvik estate. Without breaking stride, I whipped out my Gizmo and texted Rudy: “Trouble at Landvik estate. Blood on scene. Get there now.”

He texted back: “On my way. Stay put until I get there.”

“Nope,” I replied. The Gizmo rang as Rudy tried to call me. I ignored it and broke into a full run.

“Dammit,” I hissed. “It’s never easy.”

I only touched the ground every seven or eight meters. I kicked off the walls when rounding corners so I wouldn’t have to slow down.

Alan’s Pantry was an upscale place, considering it sold junk food and kitschy souvenirs. It was less of a convenience store and more of a hotel gift shop—with appropriately jacked-up prices. I didn’t have time to be picky.

“Can I help you, madam?” asked the clerk. He wore a three-piece suit. Who the hell wears formal clothes at a convenience store? I shook it off. No time to be judgmental.

I grabbed the largest bag I could find—a cloth sack with a picture of the moon on it. Really fucking original. I shoveled junk-food packets into it from every shelf, paying no attention to what I took. I had a vague impression of a bunch of chocolate bars and twenty flavors of dried Gunk. I’d take inventory later.

“Madam?” said the clerk.

I pulled a jug of water from the cooler, shot over to the counter, and upended the bag. “All this,” I said. “Fast.”

The clerk nodded. I had to hand it to him—he went as fast as he could. Didn’t ask questions, didn’t give me shit. Customer’s in a hurry? Okay, then he’s in a hurry too. I give Alan’s Pantry five stars.

Once the items were spread out on the counter so none of them were touching each other, he pressed a button on the register. The computer identified everything and came up with a total.

“One thousand four hundred fifty-one slugs, please.”

“Jesus,” I said. But no time to argue. Money would be useless to me soon. I waved my Gizmo across the payment pad and okayed the transaction.

I shoveled everything into the bag and ran out. I hustled down the corridor and dialed my Gizmo. A confirmation dialog popped up before it connected:

YOU ARE CALLING EARTH. THE COST IS 31? PER MINUTE. CONTINUE?

I confirmed it and listened for the ringing.

“Hello?” said the accented voice on the other end.

“Kelvin, it’s Jazz,” I said. I rounded a corner and bounced toward the Bean Connector tunnel.

After a four-second delay, Kelvin’s response came. “Jazz? You’re calling directly? What’s wrong?”

“I’m in deep shit, Kelvin. I’ll explain later, but I have to make an alias right fucking now. I need your help.” I stormed through the connector, cursing the god-awful communication latency.

“Okay. What can I do?”

“I don’t know who might be after me, so I can’t assume my banking info is private. I need you to set up a KSC account under an alias for me. I’ll pay you back later, of course.”

Four infuriating seconds later: “Okay, understood. How about a thousand US dollars? That’ll be around six thousand slugs. And what name do you want it under?”

“Six thousand slugs is great, thanks. Put it under…I don’t know…something Indian this time? How about Harpreet Singh?”

I shot through Bean Bubble. Bean was mostly a sleepy bedroom community. The corridors were long and straight. Perfect for a gal who’s running like hell. I picked up a huge head of steam.

“Okay, I’ll make it happen,” said Kelvin. “It’ll take about fifteen minutes. When you have a chance, drop me a line and explain what’s going on. At least let me know you’re safe.”