Kalus rapped his knuckles on the solid metal door. He tidied the wrinkles out of his suit and wiped his clampy palms on his legs.

"Hang on just a second," Kalus heard from behind the door.

The door retracted into the wall and Kalus eased into the room. He tugged at the collar of his suit, trying to cover his blotchy shoulder.

"I read your network message this morning," Kalus started, gulping down saliva, "I came as soon as I could."

"Have a seat Captain Naisong," the man behind the desk suggested.

He waved his thick hand over the cushioned chair. Kalus noticed the hollow black quills marking his knuckles.

"How are you Lieutenant Varochi?," Kalus said, immediately regretting his mindless words.

"Varochi tapped the glass top of his desk with his black talons. They gave needed length to his stubby grey fingers. His deep-set eyes settled onto Kalus. His dotted pupils got lost in the murky purple streaks coloring his iris. Iridescent scales framed his cheek bones and beneath his eyes. Flashes of red and green zipped across his skin while the white office light flickered above them. A riff of quills streaked down the center of his otherwise bald head, giving him a tapered widow's peak.

"The real question is, how are you?," Varochi said.

"Fine, I guess sir," Kalus replied.

"Well," Varochi began, looking down his long muzzle, "I've heard many a tale in the halls, lots of rumors, and lots of campfire stories, so to speak," he said standing from his chair.

"Rumors, sir?"

"Drink Kalus?," Varochi's invite caught him off guard.

"Oh-uh, no thank you, sir," Kalus said.

Varochi sauntered back to his seat and hunkered down, crossing his three toed foot over his knee. His broad shoulder blocked out the edges of his high back chair. Kalus studied his conical-sharp teeth poking from his closed jaws. His gaping nostrils flared on the end of his scale-less snout. The tuft feathers on the end of his quills gave him a salt and pepper appearance.

"It's one thing Kalus," Varochi managed after a sip, "To diddle-daddle with the fodder- the cash outs, the bounties, I could care less but to corrupt a genomic asset is something else altogether. The bottom line is to make a profit. I smoothed it over this time with the client, but this will not be tolerated. You're off to planet Ban-ow at the beginning of next shift."

"Home?," Kalus sighed and pressed his palm into his forehead, "Is there any way I could have my last check today, then?"

"Oh, no, Naisong, you're not fired. You're going out on unpaid administrative leave."

"What?," Kalus' face lit up, "Thank You, sir, I won't make you regret it."

"Don't thank me just yet. I need you to settle this quarrel with your girlfriend or whatever she is and come back with good sense restored."

"Who told you," Kalus spoke up, "About Yolandi," he continued while minding his raised tone.

"How long have you ben ferrying assets for this rigg, Naisong- 8 or 9 years?," Varochi changed the subject.

"9, sir."

"You're one of our senior officers. Recruitment is at an all-time high, given the market and demand, but experience speaks. How many bodies have you dragged onto this ship- hundreds, thousands?," Varochi asked.

"I don't count anymore, sir," Kalus said.

"Anyway, the point is this: you've never damaged an asset in a way that would compromise business until now. Don't you believe in redemption, in second chances?"

"I guess, sir," Kalus responded.

"Good," Varochi pointed his clawed finger and pen at Kalus, "This pass will let you board the shuttle tomorrow. Go home and take care of your business."

"Thank you," Kalus said as he stood from his seat and turned toward the door, "By the way, sir, who told you that Yolandi and I are uh, having trouble? Ya know, just so I can say thank you."

"Ah, so her name's Yolandi," Varochi pondered, "Till recently, I didn't even realize you have someone off-rigg. Don't worry about it pup."

Pup?, Kalus thought, Cloak- he was the rat?

The word chilled Kalus' skin. His spine tingled as the muscles in his neck tightened. The metal door retracted before Kalus.

"Captain Naisong," Varochi sighed, "One more thing. I know you know the rules, but I want to remind you. Deserters' bodies are given to their partners or children. If you come back and damage product again, this client will make sure there isn't a widow to give your ashes too. Understand?," Varochi said.

"I do," Kalus said before forcing his way through the open door with a red face.

"Look, I don't care personally," Varochi hollered after him, "We've all got needs. Just make sure they use a rubber or something. Anything, just don't risk this getting back logged for an intended gestation!"

Kalus dragged his feet down the hall. Embarrassment nipped at his heels, spurring him to pick up his pace. He tucked his head down, eyeballing the grated floor. He focused on the long grooves, pointing like arrows away from the shuffling bodies working and going to and fro. He couldn't ignore them- their drilling eyes and whispers of shame.