Getting more pieces fitted in. Also: we broke 70,000 words. Go me!
“You think this was related?” I asked Greg, once he was back from the bathroom. I discreetly didn’t comment on that. The man had a weak stomach when it came to watching clinical footage of atrocities, and that was that. I wish I did, sometimes.
Vomiting also always seemed to settle more than his guts, too, because he considered the question on the merits. “It’s tempting to say yes, but it’s not the Bureau’s style. They’re big believers in making sure all their targets are in one place. Besides, why would they want you dead?”
“Damned if I know, Greg. Why did they want 457-R-02 dead?”
“They told us. A mass outbreak of the space-happy.” Greg shrugged. “Mix that with a transient population capable of independent interstellar travel and the Bureau starts throwing rocks.”
“And then the EDO gets a little more evidence for the next time they push to ban private starships outright,” I said sourly. “Including XHum’s. Maybe Nur’s right, and the Bureau Désavoué does have Great Power backing.”