Edith is a connoisseur of the flesh. She was trained for it, first voluntarily and then not, but it has always enraptured her—she would not be suitable for her work otherwise. Once it was her first love, when she had not yet learned self-control or how to make herself useful, though she was never any good at cleaning up after herself.
She was a girl of flawed and low character, suitable for little more than feedstock.
Miranda “Dove” Tuesday, Janitor First Class, really doesn’t deserve what’s about to happen to her.
Two vignettes about Callista Hayes, followed by descriptions of her and her superior officer.
Johanna sits in her accustomed chair, idly swirling the last drops of brandy around her glass. It’s a comfortable chair, well-positioned in one of the many nooks ringing the lounge’s floor; it gives her a good view of what’s going on, and a place to keep her papers. All of the other nooks are curtained booths with cushioned benches and high tables; hers is unique only because of her contributions to the social club. Rank brings its privileges, even when no one can quite say where one’s rank comes from—for despite it all, Johanna is merely a rat-catcher. ...