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36 John Jackson Miller
“You must be fun on holidays,” Kanan said, pushing the cart back
into the elevator.
“— right down to what they never consider: the core!” Skelly kept
talking as he pushed his way into the car with Kanan. “It’s sturdy up
here, but way down deep? This moon could snap like a protein cracker!”
“Ah.”
“Ah is right. I knew it! You agree with me!”
“No, food reminded me,” Kanan said, drawing a pouch from his
jacket. “I skipped breakfast.”
“I’m serious,” Skelly said, reaching into his own vest. He wore a
single glove over a right hand that Kanan had never once seen him use,
except as a pincer: There was something gripped in it now, not much
larger than a coin. “It’s all on this holodisk. I’ve got my work right here.
You know those groundquakes we get on Gorse when the moon passes
close by? The only reason it isn’t worse on Cynda is because the crystal
formations keep the tension in check. But we keep blowing them apart!
If I can get just one person to read this— ”
“Why does it have to be me? I’m nobody.”
“Everybody comes to Okadiah’s!” Skelly said. “You’re there all the
time. You can talk to people.”
“Why can’t you?” Kanan knew why. “Oh, yeah. He banned you, for
aggravating people.”
“Just have a look.” Skelly waved the disk before Kanan.
“Get it out of my face, Skelly. I’m serious.” Kanan threw his food
pouch to the deck of the pallet. Pushing back against workers for other
firms always caused a hassle; Okadiah had warned him against it. But
Skelly was friendless, and for good reason. Kanan was near his limit.
Skelly’s face twisted into a disdainful snarl. “Yeah, that’s right. I forgot.
You’re paid by the shipload, right? And now you’re all going to be
running like eskrats, because the Empire’s dropped by.” He got in the
taller man’s face. “Well, the Empire had better watch out, or it’s going
to have a real disaster on its hands!”
“Last warning!”