For years, I trained to become Earth’s new representative at gamra. I learned about their laws, their history and customs, the Coldi language, their all-pervasive loyalty networks. I knew it all.
(Yeah, I know I was a cocky little piece of you-know-what)
Then. On the first day of my job, it all went to hell in a handbasket.
The job. The relationship between Earth and gamra.
They killed our president. “They” being indisputably of alien origin.
I’m stuck on this strange world, where I have no help, less money, where my former allies shun me, and where you get killed for looking the head honcho in the eye.
And I’m going to accuse him of murder.