Ajla leans on the bar, leaving the free stool next to her for Daisy. She's looking for the humanoid-looking ones, the other expedition freaks who ask no questions and let anyone ride with them. If there's a way out, they'll know it.

'See anyone familiar?'

Thick plumes of sallybeet canes (alien cigars, Daisy worked out; they taste fruity, kind of sweet - she took one hit of one and gagged all night) clog the rafters, giving an added sheen of privacy and vice to the air. The place upstairs fronts as a bathhouse, so all the smoke comes as no surprise.

be hard for *you* but if you follow *my* lead, you'll be fine. Okay?'

'This isn't you,' Ajla said. 'Why are you panicking? That won't do anything. It just wastes energy. And anyway, you got lucky,' With a little smirk. 'You landed here with *me*.

'Don't call it space pool. That'll show you're an outsider. Keep your head down and don't make a noise. I know that'll

as soon as we can and don't look back. The bar' - Ajla called it that because she also didn't know its 'true' name, and locals rarely shout out the names of buildings they're inside of, least of all when drunk, the whole universe over - 'will have something. People who know how to get out of here.'

teleportation. The way I see it, we have two choices: The miracle won't come to us, so we'll have to find it. Or, we accept this, and we make it work. Either way, this shitty planet isn't the way forward. It's cold, drinking's illegal and it's *messing up my hair*. We should get off this planet

might not have been invented yet, no?' Ajla's tone is clear yet direct. She speaks the facts as she knows them, and little else. Her attempt to be friendly, to comfort Daisy.

'I remember the lights flickering, do you? When Joel . . . Zapped us. So *maybe* it needs a lot of power, too, like

she offers, taking the next chip right out of her hand and eating it with only the slightest grimace.

'Let's be practical. To get home, we'd need someone or some*thing* that has that similar weird *power* to Joel, right? *Or* some kind of . . . Time and space machine. As far as we know, those

Ajla scoffs, opening her mouth to say something unkind to Daisy, but halts herself. If Daisy's optimism is failing, it must be bad. Ajla, in fact, is less troubled; there's still just as much injustice and idiots for her to shake her head at here as there ever was back home. 'It's not a bad idea,'

'Any news?' she asks, looking expectantly at @agentdaisy.bsky.social for her status report.

Ajla takes off her snow mask and shakes her beautiful mess of curls out, her face reverting to its factory setting, what their co-worker, Orson, had once described as 'perpetually miffed'. Daisy's known Ajla long enough by now not to take it personally (not that she ever did.)

Earth's fairly different from here - for one, aliens are no more than an open secret at best there, one Daisy and Ajla were 'lucky' to be privileged to given their line of work in... Well, espionage, mostly, but anything to do with extraterrestrial life.

She's enjoying her fries when a hand touches her shoulder. She knows instinctively who it is. 'You made me drop a chip.' 'You'll live,' says her company, sitting across from her. Her name is Ajla Vatrashi, and not so long ago she was Daisy's coworker and friend on a far-off planet called Earth.

They're untouched, thank God. Slime-free. She almost loses her footing on the slime trail, but catches herself on another diner, a short red spiky.... man? She apologises, gets out of his way, takes her seat, and begins wolfing down like she hasn't eaten in just forever. Well, she hasn't.

Daisy doesn't speak their language; to her it sounds like what can only be described as 'if a xylophone could meow', whatever that means. They must be arguing, judging from the way one slithers off, grunting and huffing, and the other follows. Daisy takes the opportunity to lunge for the fries.

(she assumes - she doesn't actually know how they're made, just that they taste and look like french fries, and gets a gold star in *her* book). The slug couple wobble and jabber their arms, or at least limbs of *some variety*, gesticulating and waving like huge green Jell-O cups.