The Grand Universal Singularity Resort

“Uh…my—my last job? I used to work at the, the Outer Spiral Roadhouse.” Rekha pulled her gaze away from the mural of the butterfly nebula that arced over the vaulted ceiling of the main concourse, and looked down at her shift partner.

“No kidding?” Lianne said. “How long did it take you come all the way here from there?”

“Oh, uh, not long. Not long. Took a wormhole.”

Lianne glanced over at her. “Well, look at you, Miss Moneybags.”

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The Nanocosmetologist

“Yes, I can answer that,” Kaira said.

She felt a thin layer of sweat forming along her temples.  She took a breath and forced herself to pause long enough to send a mental command through the processing patch just below her throat.  The four investors sitting before her probably thought she was composing her thoughts.  But she was actually commanding the nanoparticles on her face to shimmer and give her that classic “dewy glow” while other particles swept any excess sweat back through her hairline. 

Or so she hoped.  She was still in the process of calibrating and training the mental commands program.

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The Archivist of Farthest Star

Till the day of the accident, the worst part of this job was that I couldn’t tell my friends and family what I really did at the Institute. They think I’m an intern or secretary. I’ve been given a script of what I’m allowed to say and it purposely makes my job sound so mind-numbingly, eyelid-droopingly, attention-driftingly boring that no one will ask any follow up questions. And that’s the point.

And till the day of the accident, the best part of my job was …everything else.

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