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listen to me.
    “Don’t take this lightly,” said Lex. “You know the risks. You’ve already been interacting with her.”
    He raised his eyebrows. “I assure you I’m taking this very seriously. I’ll check in with you later.”
    “There’s one more thing, Irish.”
    Murphy tipped his head, waiting.
    “Security wants you to stop by the transport terminal to sign some papers.”
    “What papers?”
    “Release papers.” I heard Lex swallow. “For the remains.”
    Remains?!
    “Oh Jesus,” Murphy groaned, rubbing his temples. “When?”
    “They said right away.”
    “Brilliant. Okay, I’ll take care of it.”
    Murphy turned to go, and I cobbled together a plan. I’d go to the terminal with him and talk to planet security. If anyone could help me straighten this out, they could.
    After that I’d beg, borrow, or steal my way onto the next transport to Earth.
    *   *   *
    We retraced our steps all the way to the transport terminal and I followed him in, my hair and clothes damp from the steady, misting rain. He’d practically jogged the whole way, and I couldn’t help wondering if he had been running from me, hoping to avoid another confrontation. Even in my agitated state, I felt a pang of regret for the lost opportunity. He was bright and charming. Friendly and likable. I’d been looking forward to working with him.
    Murphy stopped at the service desk, and I caught up in time to hear a terminal employee telling him, “The security team has set up on the tarmac.”
    Murphy thanked him and spun toward the sliding doors.
    Outside on the landing pad, the scene was a striking contrast to my first few minutes on the planet. A pair of hoverlifts swung into view, and we stopped to watch them alight like hummingbirds on the opposite end of the tarmac. At center stage was a crippled passenger transport, green-uniformed officials buzzing around its hulk. The cockpit had partially separated from the passenger compartment. I shuddered to see water trickling from the gap, collecting in an already substantial puddle below.
    Somebody’s transport had most certainly gone down.
    Murphy approached a cluster of people standing near the wreckage. I followed.
    “I can’t answer that yet, folks,” said a harassed-looking man with a clipboard. “We know there was a storm. That’s all. Our first priority is notifying family members and making arrangements to send the victims home.”
    “Is it true the ship’s emergency evac failed?”
    “I can’t answer that either. You’ll know more when we do. Now if you’ll excuse me…”
    As the man pushed his way through the knot of reporters, Murphy drew him aside. “I was asked to come here and sign release papers for one of the victims. Can you tell me who I should see?”
    “They shouldn’t have sent you out here,” muttered the official. “They’ve set up a desk inside for processing paperwork. We’ve got our hands full prepping these people for transport.” He glanced over his shoulder and my gaze followed.
    My breath stuck in my throat as I saw the neat row of dark zippered bags, inert amidst the hurricane of activity. A tunnel of silence connected me with those bags, and a pull in my chest drew me across the tarmac.
    I gazed down at the first of the oblong, lumpy forms. A strip of white tape stretched across one end of the zipper. Something had been written on the tape in black marker.
    A. Nakagomi.
    I walked slowly down the line, my eyes moving from tag to tag. Only three more to go … and suddenly I stopped.
    A voice broke through the silence. “Hey, move away from there!”
    Blood surging in my ears, I bent and gave the zipper a yank, ripping the white tape in half. I peeled back the edges of the bag.
    Vertigo knocked me backward onto the tarmac. I couldn’t breathe.
    I’d expected blanched, waterlogged skin. Purple lips. Sunken eyes. But she looked peaceful. Like she was sleeping. I crouched over her and grazed her cheek with my thumb, then recoiled