Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 61982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 310(@200wpm)___ 248(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
“You’d better be careful,” he says. “Even if you don’t end up sold into the trade.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re going to work for a Daktari boss, and that species of alien has a reputation for being ruthless about discipline.”
“And?”
“And you’re the biggest brat I know.”
I throw a stapler at him, just to prove I am not a brat. It goes sailing across the desks, catches the edge of a partition, and goes spinning into a monitor, which promptly cracks and dies.
He looks at me with an expression that holds so many things.
“They are going to straighten you out on that fiery planet,” he says. “You are absolutely fucked, Westport.”
At that moment, our supervisor walks into the room, just in time to hear Rustle tell me I am fucked, but just a little too late to see the stapler get thrown. Perfect timing.
“Is it professional to tell a younger colleague that she’s fucked, Westley?” I ask the question with as much innocence as I can muster.
“Rustle, please,” Edmund Westley says. “Try to have a little decorum. This is a big win for our office. We’re one of the smallest investigative outposts. It’s not often one of our number has a chance to represent us on the interstellar stage.”
I give Rustle the finger behind Edmund’s back.
“Thank you, Mr. Westley,” I say. “I’m very excited to represent the Alpha Core.”
“Good,” he says. “I need to give you an additional briefing. Come to my office, please.”
I turn to follow Westley to his office, but not before giving Rustle a very rude gesture behind Westley’s back. He’s stupid enough to give it back while he’s still in our boss’s peripheral vision. I hear Westley sigh, and I know Rustle is going to get called in for a disciplinary adjustment. So much for being a brat.
Once safely in Westley’s office, I pay full attention.
“You’ve done well to be assigned to this job,” he says. “I know you’ve been putting yourself forward for positions since you came here and I’m glad we finally have one that fits your very unique set of talents.”
“Thank you, sir,” I say.
“One more thing to add to your mission,” he says. “Over and above what Lord Thornhall will require of you, we also have some tasks for you.”
“Who is we?” I ask the question cautiously.
“The human race, but in particular, the Alpha Core,” he says. “You are going to be going deep into alien territory, and they will not be able to keep the evidence of their tech from you. Bring anything back you can. Photos are good. Actual tech is better; even a small sliver of a chip could change our place in the universe forever.”
My boss is asking me to spy on the aliens I’ll be working for. I hesitate only for a fraction of a second before nodding. Of course I’m going to do what I can to help advance human endeavors and positioning.
“I understand,” I say.
“And don’t let them catch you,” he adds. “They’re going to know what you’re doing, and they’re going to try to stop you from doing it. There’s a reason we chose you for the assignment.”
“Because I’m good at my job? No?” I add the no as he starts to shake his head.
He turns a tablet toward me and hits play.
I see security camera footage of myself. I cover my mouth with both hands because I instantly know what’s about to be shown.
“Okay, now, those samples were going to expire,” I say as I watch myself rifling through the refrigerators for some little vials of whatnot that usually cost hundreds of dollars, but we can get for free if we just sort of take them whenever we want.
Then I watch myself keep going. I’d forgotten. I’d broken my kitchen terminal interface and figured I could just grab one from work.
“And uh, I think that terminal was going to be replaced and…”
“You have a penchant for thieving,” he says. “It’s been documented for longer than you know, and a cost benefit analysis was done several months ago and we determined it was worth keeping you on for the work in spite of an average yearly expenditure of several thousand dollars to keep you in your habit of swiping whatever isn’t nailed down.”
I am blushing so hard. How embarrassing to have been caught like this. If Rustle knew about this, I’d never hear the end of it.
“I’m, uh, sorry,” I say. My mouth is dry. I am sure something terrible is about to happen, even though Westley is telling me that it’s fine.
“You’re going to go among alien civilizations, and you’re going to bring back what you can,” he says. “The transport ship will be arriving in one week’s time. I suggest you take that time to familiarize yourself with the material you’ll be working with. You’ll need to be convincing in the role.”