Mickey7 (Mickey7, #1)

by Edward Ashton

Cat raises both hands in surrender. “Oh, no worries,” she says. “His tomato-stealing ass is all yours. I was just leaving, actually.”

According to this piece, though, the stated casus belli was the question of whether a native corvid-like avian species was sentient, and therefore deserving of protection and respect, or delicious, and therefore deserving of a spicy dry rub and an hour on the grill.

I’m not the most sensitive person, but I’ve been alive long enough to figure out that telling a miserable person about how much worse things could be is usually a bad idea.

The next two hours are weird. I don’t think I want to talk about them. Just to be clear, though: I regret nothing.

“You know,” she says, “if you’d asked me before we left Midgard how I thought I was going to die, shoved down the corpse hole for sex crimes wouldn’t have been at the top of my list.”