June 10 2361 AIA
Iberellia
Sarah Meier pushed her chair further back into the shade. The planet would tilt again, and this horrid heat and skin-blistering dryness would fade into something more reasonable. She knew that. She told herself that every single day.
She had often wished she’d been assigned somewhere else.
There was no shortage of planets, so people usually choose to live on the nicer ones. Why suffer when you didn’t have to? Unfortunately, sometimes people were willing to suffer because the less hospitable planets had something good enough to make up for the crappy weather. And the Uprising sent recruiters out to wherever there were people.
By day she did her job as a machine inspector. She was a harmless woman with a particular skill set that not many people wanted. At night she went out to drink, and who could blame her? There she was practically one of the guys—she still hadn’t figured out how that had happened—and she would listen to the rabble of political talk that rolled around her.
Every now and then, she would put in a careful word where it belonged. Every once in a while, she would cautiously admit she might know someone who knew someone.
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Then, a few days later, they would come find her.
She was good at both her jobs.
A man walked up to her. She was good with faces and certain that she had never seen his before. That made her nervous, but not unduly so. She’d had a few recruits come out of the blue when their friends had gotten her name. Or maybe one of her company’s competitors was out head-hunting.
“Sarah Meier?”
She finished putting the lid back onto her canteen. “That’s me, sir. What can I do for you?”
“Could I talk to you in private?” He was young. Probably no older than nineteen Earth years.
She motioned to the empty streets surrounded by the crowd of domed huts. “Do you see anyone else out here?” She scoffed. “My air conditioner is broken, and the evening winds are starting up. I thought I’d get out and enjoy the breeze.”
The young man looked uncomfortable, but she wasn’t about to go back inside because of his nerves. She kicked out her footstool. “Have a seat.”
He sat.
“What can I do for you?”
“I’m here to join the Uprising.”
She raised one of her eyebrows. “Well, that was blunt. Shall I put out my wrists and wail, ‘Oh, you caught me! I’m from the Rising!’ or should I laugh at you and tell you to try your fishing expedition somewhere else?”
“This is serious.”
“On the assumption that you’re not a Supremacy agent and you honestly do want to join the Rising, what makes you think I can help you?”
“Someone sent me to you. They said that you could get me in—quickly.”
“Are you running from something? Not that I’d know, but I hear the Rising doesn’t take most criminals.”
“I’m not a criminal.”
“Who sent you?”
“Colonel Harlan.”
Sarah put her drink down and drew a long, slow breath in through her nose. “Ah. That changes things.”