“What the hell were you thinking, agreeing to that?” I demanded. “I was thinking the bonus would be almost enough for my fare off-planet,” he answered instantly. “Almost enough,” I repeated. “Yeah, almost,” he said, and I could see he was getting angry—partly with me, but partly with himself. “I knew they were keeping it just a little short of what I’d need. IRC isn’t a charity; they want me to stay here until everything cooks. I figured it would help. I wasn’t going anywhere for awhile anyway, so I’d have time to find the rest somehow. I didn’t know my kid sister was going to show up with a magic carpet to whisk me off to Prometheus.” “It’s a ship, not a magic carpet, and getting you and Dad out of here with it is part of my fee.” “Your fee? What the hell, Carlie—who agreed to that? Whose ship is it? Since when do you take anything but credits?” “When I don’t want the job and the client needs to come up with a way to make me take it anyway,”
