Page 37 of Starrily

“She’s working on the software. These projects go slowly. There probably won’t be much progress until she gets data from her observation time on the telescope.” As soon as he finished, Simon felt bad for telling Everett that. It wasn’t a secret, but it felt like his meetings with Calliope were one world, and this was another. Which was absurd, considering Everett and Aries Tech were the reason he was even working with Calliope.

“Then be on it when progress is made.” Everett stood, then, as if he sensed Simon’s hesitation, turned back to him, his mouth a straight, firm line. “Youareon it, right?”

Simon could make an excuse—it was her fault, not his; she was the one who seemingly didn’t want to have a friend in this world—but again, it felt wrong.

“Time’s ticking,” Everett said. “You’d better get your head in the game.”

“But—”

“And I’ll remaincharitable,” Everett concluded, inclining his head toward the folder with the contracts. Then, his face suddenly cleared up, even hinting at a smile. “You’ve got this, Simon.” He clapped him on the back and left.

Did he have it, though?

Chapter 9

Callie stretched her arms above her head and yawned. Mid-afternoon was becoming late afternoon, and her computer models weren’t cooperating.

Well, they were just computer models; it wasn’t their fault the data didn’t fit. It only meant that Callie was either a genius on the brink of discovering something requiring a whole new model or she’d made a mistake in processing her data.

But she wanted that to be a problem for tomorrow, not today.

She turned off her computer and packed up her stuff. In the quietness of the office, she could even hear steps coming down the hallway—coming toward her.

Please, no overtime.Ava would say Mars was in retrograde or some similar nonsense, but it was just one of those low-energy days when Callie was particularly exhausted and in need of relaxation.

A knock sounded, and the door opened. “Good, you’re still here,” Simon said.

“What areyoudoing here?” It wasn’t—no, it was most definitely Wednesday. “It’s not one of our days.”

“Ourdays, huh?” He wiggled his eyebrows.

“You know what I mean.” She started to move past him, then paused. What did she intend to do, leave him in her office?

He’d probably booby-trap the whole place.

“Why are you here?” she tried again.

“I have an invitation.” He leaned on the door frame. “For something fun.”

She raised her eyebrows.

“How do you feel about body art?”

“You want us to get tattoos? No thanks.”

“No—but speaking of that, I knew you’d be against it. What I have in mind is slightly less permanent.”

She shooed him out and locked the door behind him. But since she was leaving, she had no choice but to walk with him.

“Have you heard of Althuro?” he asked.

“Another musician I should know?”

“An artist. Quite famous. He has a special project where people replicate well-known works, painting them on the floor, with their bodies.”

“I don’t get it.”

“I’ll show you.” He paused as they exited the QueLabs building. “Unless you have something better to do?”