Once, with another woman Cara has gone on a delivery run. It was back when she was sixteen and still trying to figure out how to exist with the corps and still keep some sense of freedom. Wage-slave was a more accurate term then than any other time in history, even if people didn’t seem to give it much attention anymore. That was never going to be something anyone could call her. Never.
The office was dim, not dark as Cara had expected. Monitors — some the old fashioned screens, and some the more common projections — lined the walls. The shelves underneath them were covered with equipment and circuit boards from every era she could think of.
At least it was easy to tell she was in the right place.
“You don’t want to go back?” Adam asked. The coffee shop lights reflected off the silver point jutting out of his left eyebrows. His fingers skittered across the Mylar countertop, the word FATE on their backs dancing. Xue couldn’t tell it the letters were prison tats. How did people tell the difference anyway?
The rain pounded on the dirt, soaking everything and forcing anyone with any sense inside.
“Randall, what are you doing?” Shel shouted to be heard over the rain on the metal awning behind him. He’d shouted from underneath it as well, but there had been no response.
