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A loud, angry chirrup made her slow.

Dinky slunk out from behind the couch. His large green eyes regarded her with what looked like reproach. He blinked them twice and scuttled over to her, his skin flaring red and orange, and his gray furry mane sticking out in messy tufts as if he’d been stress grooming.

“I’m so sorry I left you last night. You must have thought I’d abandoned you.” She scooped him into her arms.

He weaved his long sinewy tail around her wrist and held on tight, continuing to chirrup.

“I’m a terrible mom. You must have been scared.” She hoisted him onto her shoulder and dashed into the kitchen. She pulled open a pouch of his favorite lorax giblet food, warmed it for thirty seconds, and set it on the floor alongside a fresh bowl of water.

Dinky’s angry chirrups became joyful as he slid off her shoulder, down her arm, and dropped to the floor to eat. He wasn’t a delicate eater, and lorax giblets splattered across the kitchen.

Wren dashed into the bathroom. She took a minute to freshen up, glaring at herself as she saw the tiredness beneath her eyes. “So much for a full eight hours doing me any good. I look like the walking dead.”

She had to be ready for this mission. She couldn’t have another failure on her hands.

She swiped her hair off her face and tied it in a low ponytail at the back of her neck. She raced out of the bathroom and caught her jacket on the holo frame of her family. It toppled over, hit the edge of the table, and fell, hitting the tiles with a jarring shatter.

Her breath froze, and her eyes stung with tears. She grabbed the screen and turned it over. It was cracked and the images jumpy. Her heart felt like stone as she set it back on the table. She traced a finger over the wobbly image of her mom, dad, and three brothers. All dead. All gone because she messed up. She took a risk, broke the rules, and killed them.

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m not letting anyone else down. I can do this. I’ll get the specimen, and this mission will be a success.”

A horrible, throaty hacking sound came from the kitchen.

“Dinky, are you okay?” He often hurled if he ate his food too quickly.

She hurried into the kitchen. Dinky was hunched over, his tail curled around him.

“Take it slowly. Let your food go down. There’s no need to rush. I won’t forget you ever again.” She stroked a hand along his warm skin, watching the color fade from orange to brown.

He coiled his tail around her wrist and lifted his front legs, resting them against her knee.

“Just a quick cuddle. I have to get to the dock so I’m not late for the mission.” She held out her other hand.

Dinky scrambled up her arm, a contented chirrup rumbling through him.

She settled him over her shoulder and enjoyed his comforting warmth. When she’d found him, he’d been almost dead, just a pup, abandoned by his mom. No one thought he’d make it. But she’d been determined to save him. She’d made him a bed, and he’d slept right beside her. She’d fed him every three hours for the first two weeks they’d been together, slowly extending the time of the feeds as he’d gotten bigger and stronger. Now, he was a strapping critter with a fine tail and in prime condition for breeding.

Dinky tensed. His tail tightened on Wren’s wrist, and he puked his breakfast down the back of her jumpsuit.

“Urgh! Dinky, you can be so gross.” She eased him off her shoulder and set him on the floor. The smell of regurgitated lorax turned her stomach. There was no way she could go on a mission smelling like warm, chewed up lorax innards.

She ran into the bedroom, unzipped her jumpsuit, slung it in the shower unit, and rinsed off the worst of the sick. She yanked a clean jumpsuit out of the closet, turned, and tripped over Dinky.

Wren spun her arms to keep balance but pitched forward, cracking her forehead on the side of the table. She smacked to the floor, her head pounding and her vision blurry.

Dinky jumped on her back and chirped in her ear.

She lay there for a few seconds, panting. The world was tilting. It wouldn’t stay still. It was like she’d had too much to drink and had jumped on a rollercoaster.

“Do you require help, Wren?” ELVIS’s calm voice came out of the wall speaker.

She groaned. “Nope. I’m fine.”

“I was alerted by your elevated heart rate. You appear unable to get off the floor. That does not suggest you’re fine.”

She scrambled to her hands and knees but pitched sideways and hit the wall. “Is the ship changing course? Everything is unstable.”

“You’ve injured your head. I’ll put out an alert for help.”