Sitting down on the crate next to Var, Rel undid the braids in her hair and tightened her boots.

"So... We got a plan?"

"Plan? Of course there's a plan," Var said, hoping she sounded confident because she felt like warmed over rankweed. Intel, plan, action. Intel, plan, action. Her parents had taught her that before she learned the alphabet. She looked at Rel over her half eaten sandwich. "Where in dar'yaim were you, anyway? I told you to tell me where you are going before you leave the ship."

"SAGroup. And I did tell you."

Var grunted, unable to remember any such thing before the warning alarm went off and she smacked her head against the bulkhead. She thought about making a remark about Rel's club of trained spoggicks, spit polished for their exciting lives as Imperial bureaucrats, but the disappointment in her sister's voice cut through the hangover fog. Rel thought she'd borked up again. Var rubbed her temple and squinted across the spaceport, willing the unpleasant sensation of guilt to go away. Holy black stars, I'm no good at this. I didn't ask to be saddled with the larva. It's not my fault that Gor'vdon blew our parents to flaming bits.