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“Aer to arrive?”

She references the manifest “Yes, Ms Bjorl has not yet arrived”

“Notify me when she does”

“Of course You ht checks have been performed, but elcome you to enjoy our worlds-famous services in the terminal until then” She pushes me a holoMap from her datapad Mine catches it “You’ll see that we have two spas, a saltwater pool, alt reality pods, aht and the sky…”

I follow a bellhop who takes s to the well-appointed bar A man plays a piano in the corner of the sunrise-washed room I sit on the crème leather, my back to the banks of clouds and eerie pink sky, a’s io Most

are Gold and Silver, and their conversations tinkle like spoons on rare china Sonize, and one or two fanats toThe cra Still I don’t take one

After a hasn’t arrived I retire to the ship, where I s in the sleeping quarters The flight stewardess a in the ship’s lounge An hour Then two more

ByA loneliness settles in , to which I’ that this is it This is the botto life for one The end of a friendship, set to the sound of the droning holoNews and the slam of a door My newest vodka litchi seeravity in the cabin eerily absent When booking, I had asked the captain to put on null grav for the preflight I did that for Volga It was soht from Earth to Luna No point to it now I’ve always hated the feeling of space I ask the stewardess to kill the null grav and tell her that I’

I head to the lavatory to relieve nition I take antinausea e when I rea isn’t cooes to the authorities Goodbye, Africa; hello, Echo City I cliht crew that had been preparing one I check their sood I creep past the kitchen toward the cockpit and peer inside The pilots are gone too Nothing see pad is deserted and it’s clear sky beyond that Still, so I pull my snub-nosed pistol from under my armpit

Have the Syndicate come back to finish me after all?

I un is slippery in ht of stairs, listening for , I creep down the stairs

In the lounge I hear soe withat ht chairs “Holiday…” The word sticks in my throat like a shattered chicken bone She sits with her elbows on her knees, in civi clothes Black pants, boots, and a hunter-green leather jacket that looks like it’s got soenerator sewn into the fabric of the left sleeve A heavy railgun pistol is strapped into the holster on her right thigh Woman is ready for urban warfare And at her side, in new clothes and freshly washed hair, sits the rabbit, with blinding hate in her rusty eyes Her ar “Ah Shit…”

“Sit down, Ephraim,” Holiday says

I keep the gun on theht with them They seem alone, but there’s likely a squad of lurcher coh bitterly and point a finger at Lyria “You’re supposed to be dead”

“That’d be easier for you, wouldn’t it?”