Part One.

“Oh, you could talk to Brennan!” Saffy exclaimed, a little too loudly. Several faces turned towards her, which had the woman opt for evasive maneuvers. “If she were here. I mean…”

Sanjiv furrowed his brow and peered into his mojito, as if staring long enough might diminish his buzz and allow him to make sense of Saffiya’s outburst. Then he noticed her pointed look, and leaned in over the table.

Saffiya lowered her voice. “By the window. The one in the grey hoodie who thinks she’s hiding.”

Sanjiv scanned the far side of the room and found her easily, hunched over a table in a dimly lit corner. He couldn’t help but snicker. “Is she performing reconnaissance?”

“Probably–oh, you should join her! Maybe your social cachet and the garish audacity of your outfit rubs off on her!” Saffiya giggled and reached for the champagne flute. After all, he had basically offered it!

“‘Garish audacity’?? And after I just gave you my dessert.” Sanjiv pouted. “Well, I can’t just go strike up a conversation with her now. From everything you’ve told me, I imagine she’d murder me on the spot for blowing her cover.” Sanjiv gripped his mojito. “Or worse.”

“If you die, you die.” Saffiya shrugged nonchalantly. “And I get your ship.”

Sanjiv would have taken that remark as more banter, but this was not the first time he’d heard Saffiya express dissatisfaction with her new posting in the short time he’d known her. “You’re really not happy with this new assignment of yours, are you?”

“Nah… I don’t hate it, and I transferred voluntarily. Honestly, it’s a surprise they didn’t force me into a meeting with our counselor to see if I’ve gone insane.” She sighed. She missed the Valkyrie. “And it’s fun. I got a disgraced XO and a disgraced medical journal.”

“Ooo, you just need one more disgrace on your ship and you’ll have a hat-trick!” Sanjiv grinned. Then he turned in his seat so that he was facing Saffiya instead of the room at large. This might be the most interesting gossip of all. “Why is the medical journal disgraced? I think my CMO might have told me about it, but I certainly don’t remember.”

“Published a study.” Saffiya shrugged. She had no personal involvement in it, and with the ‘restructuring’ of the staff–read: everyone got fired–the people trying to drag the journal out of the mud had nothing to do with what had happened. “It claimed that PNM-4 is the actual cause for DCAD–delayed cortical attrition disorder. You know, that thing where your brain quietly eats itself over the years.”

“Right,” said Sanjiv, shifting uncomfortably. “There seem to be a lot of diseases in the ‘brain eating itself’ category.”

“The paper said repeated low-fidelity replication warped the molecule structure,” said Saffiya. “That it produced byproducts that can’t be metabolized, builds up in the arteries, slowly passes through the blood-brain barrier, and blocks neutral oxygenation.”

Sanjiv gave an exaggerated shudder. “I’m so glad you’re about to tell me that the entire study is bunk, because I hated that particular combination of words.”

“Oh I know,” Saffiya agreed. “It sounded reasonable if you didn’t look closely enough. The lead author was a well-respected specialist in his field, and the journal was desperate to publish something that would keep it from fading into oblivion. So it was published, cited, and broadcasted until anyone asked real questions, but by that time it was already too late. People got wary of the replicators that use PNM-4, especially in the colonies. There was an actual food shortage on Merona IV because people refused to eat replicated stuff.”

She rubbed her eyes. It was getting late. “The study was a con. The study cohort was twelve people, it wasn’t peer reviewed, and the author failed to disclose his connection to a biotech group developing new replicator models. Which, what a surprise, were about to hit the market.”

“Wow,” said Sanjiv, leaning into his hand. “I’m surprised the journal is still publishing at all.”

He noticed Saffiya rubbing her eyes again. “Did that story use up the last of your gossip reserves?”

Saffy looked around. Around them, the party had peaked and mellowed over the hours, as parties do. “I think so. Do you want to head upstairs?”

“Might as well,” said Sanjiv, as he failed to stifle a yawn. “It’s been a… well, it’s been a day.”

“Well, tomorrow is also a day. Apparently. New opportunities, and certainly a few additional stories to share.” Saffiya assured him, and extended her hand. Because he had to help her up.

“Alright.” Sanjiv stood and made an exaggerated show of pulling Saffiya to her feet, grunts and all.

Saffiya rolled her eyes at that, but was too tired for a witty remark. She just shot him a glare instead.

On their way out of the lounge, he made his apology by finding the waiter with the fancy crackers and snatching the last plate off his tray, waving the prize at Saffiya. “We’ll take this to go.”