Her colleague twisted her dactyli with pride. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Tirikistik has read all my writings on the Fleet to date, and she is understanding of the problem creds have created. She said she initially considered opening a trade line here, but my piece on your economic imbalance made her reconsider.’

Isabel gave a slight frown. Was Ghuh’loloan’s work inadvertently discouraging outside trade? Were alien merchants reading her essays and becoming concerned that their business was doing more harm than good? The creds-or-barter issue required some serious ironing out, yes, but . . . but they did need that stuff. She wondered, with a sudden heaviness in her midsection, if this cultural exchange would hurt them in the end.

Ghuh’loloan continued her thread. ‘Instead, she’s interested in making a donation.’

‘What kind of donation?’

‘Well, she mentioned ambi storage facilities—’

‘That wouldn’t be of much use here.’

‘That’s what I said. I suggested that rather than her deciding what would be of help from an outside perspective, I could perhaps open a line of communication to the Fleet itself to see what would be of most use.’

‘I can tell you exactly what the labour guilds’ consensus would be,’ she replied. ‘Exodan problems require Exodan solutions. They’ll say we’ve already relied too much on alien charity.’

‘Charity from the GC parliament, and from Aeluons collectively. But this is a representative of a civilian business offering what amounts to a personal gift. A potentially enormous gift, but a gift nonetheless.’ Ghuh’loloan took another disquieting gulp from her mug. ‘The thing about gifts is, with correct, careful phrasing, they can always be turned down. Plus, you have me as an . . . an ambassador of sorts. I can easily deflect her if this offer would be poorly received. But I felt obligated to, if nothing else, pass the message along.’

Isabel tapped her fingertips together as she thought. A personal gift. Yes, that might open some doors. ‘I could set up a meeting with the resource oversight council,’ she said. There was no harm in a conversation, right? Like Ghuh’loloan said, they could always say no. But you couldn’t know what you were declining until the option was at least on the table.

‘Splendid,’ Ghuh’loloan said. ‘I’ll hold off on my reply to Tirikistik, then.’ She raised her mug in a mimicry of a Human cheer.

Isabel returned the gesture with a smile. As she drank, she thought of the artigrav nets beneath her feet, the solar harvesters orbiting outside, the limited-cognition AIs installed in public corridors for safety’s sake. All gifted in decades past by species who couldn’t imagine life without such things. Now, it was her own species who couldn’t imagine life without them. She wondered what else could – and would – be replaced. What essentials would disappear.

Kip

Kip (10:13): are you awake

Ras (10:16): yes

Kip (10:16): can we meet up

Kip (10:16): I need to talk

Ras (10:20): I can’t, I have chores

Kip (10:20): I really need to talk

Ras (10:21): there’s nothing to talk about Kip (10:21): uh yes there is

Ras (10:21): no

Kip (10:21): Ras come on

Kip (10:22): this is serious

Ras (10:23): I have to study

Ras (10:23): like actually study

Kip (10:23): okay fine I can come over Kip (10:23): we could study together

Kip (10:25): and I could help with chores Kip (10:30): Ras?

Kip (10:42): come on man

Kip (10:48): stop ignoring me

Kip (10:54): stop Kip (10:54): ignoring

Kip (10:54): me

Kip (10:75): Ras please I just want to talk

Bastard.

Kip had hoped Ras would change his tune after they’d both slept and sobered up – both of which had been a profound fucking relief. Or at least, it had been a relief, until Kip had awoken enough to realise that everything that had happened really happened, and that the conversation they’d overheard wasn’t a dream or a trip or anything so convenient.

Somebody had hid a body. It wasn’t exciting, like it was in vids. This was terrifying. This was real.

As soon as the garden had cleared out, Ras had made it clear that he got how fucked up this was, but that they weren’t going to say anything. They didn’t know who those people were, and if they told someone, those same people might come after them. They might end up down in cloth recycling, too. Ras had left no room for argument. End of discussion. They didn’t hear anything.

Except they had. They had heard it, and there was no forgetting it. There was no wishing it away, no matter how hard Kip tried.

He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. He was starving, and his mouth was so dry his tongue felt sticky. But he hadn’t left his room, even though he’d been awake for hours. The thought of facing family was too much. He couldn’t put on an easy face. There was no pretending with something like this.

He was really hungry, though. Like, really hungry. He had a weird headache, too, and he felt tired to his bones. He was never doing smash again, he decided. Not fucking worth it.

Maybe somebody’s already found him, he thought. Yeah. Yeah, that was comforting. If those people had stuck the – stars – the body down in cloth recycling . . . well, there were lots of people who worked there, right? Somebody would have to find him. Even the people who’d put him down there knew that. Yeah, somebody else would find him – had found him already, probably. Somebody had found him, and the patrols would take care of it, and Kip didn’t have to worry about it. Nobody would know that he knew.