A Trap - Her Glowing Buttflap Is

“My mother was a mining drone,” Maura said. She walked straight up to Vesper, reached past the glowing panel, and grabbed her by the collar.

The station’s bounty hunter guild put out a bulletin. It read, in bold, flashing letters:

As they walked through the station, a crowd of former victims—still glassy-eyed, still smelling faintly of cinnamon—watched from the corridors. They looked at the dead, dark panel on Vesper’s pants, and a strange thing happened. They sighed. Not with relief. With longing. her glowing buttflap is a trap

He was standing in a meadow. A perfect, impossible meadow, right there on the grimy deck of Veridian Station. The sky was a soft lavender. A gentle stream burbled nearby. And Vesper Rhen was there, sitting on a blanket, patting the space beside her.

“I have no tactile nerves,” Maura said. “Your trap is useless. It’s just a pretty flashlight attached to your backside.” “My mother was a mining drone,” Maura said

“Told you it was a trap,” she said, but there was no malice in it. Just a friendly warning, like a cat bringing you a dead mouse as a gift.

What he should have said: No. I want you to face the wall with your hands behind your head. It read, in bold, flashing letters: As they

“Salvage,” Zane repeated, mesmerized. The light shifted to a deeper, honeyed orange. It smelled faintly of cinnamon and warm circuitry. “Right. That’s why you’re wanted. The salvage.”