It would have been simple, you know?

If not for one, tiny detail.

We answered two questions at the same time, when they figured it out.

Is reincarnation real? Yes, irrefutable.

Are we alone in this universe? No, we are not.

There's a lot of things out there. Lot of species. And apparently there's no real rules about what you come back as. You might be a human today but that doesn't mean you'll be a human after that ends. That's where the complication lies. Sometimes you come back as something else. More often than not, you come back as something else.

Well, you know the morality arguments and philosophical debates that come up once you have those two answers? We aren't alone and we keep coming back for round after round of life, just in a different suit.

"Farrell." My vid screen comes to life, a crystal clear picture of my boss. Or rather, my handler. I'm my own boss.

"Well howdy there, boss." I say, feet up on my console. I still call her boss, even though it's not real accurate. Just felt right.

"Yeah, right. Contract for you. Details incoming."

I lift my feet off and my boots thud against the heavy metal floor of my ship. It's small, it's cozy, and it's floating in space right now because I have nothing to do and no interest in changing that. The contract flashes across my screen and my eyes open wide.

"Nope." I say, shaking my head and leaning back. "No way. Not a chance. Never."

"No one else wants it." She says. "It's double your usual rate."

"Yeah, for five times the risk. Let the feds take this one, let them send a cruiser or something, or a special ops team." I say, shaking my head again. "This one ain't for me, boss."

"Five times your usual rate." She says, after a pause. "I'll break even, you'll make a year's worth for one contract."

I take a deep breath and close my eyes.

I lean over the screen again and look at the contract.

Mass murderer. Extremely violent. One hundred and thirty seven life sentences, forty two death sentences. Of which less than half have been carried out. Now the Federation wants to continue their streak and they've put out the call.

"And on Terminal Station, too. Of course." I mutter.

"That's why I'm offering so much. Farrell, you might well be the only guy on my payroll that can pull this off.

I look at the picture. I sigh.

This time the bastard came back as a Brox. Because sometimes you come back as a cicada and get stomped just through a freak accident, and sometimes you come back as a four armed member of one of the most violent races in existence. And here he is, running a gang of arm's dealers out of Terminal Station.

I sigh again.

"I get it, Farrell, you can quit with the sighing." She says. "Finish putting up your fake fight about taking the contract and say what I need you to say."

"I'll do it." I say, standing and walking to my locker. I plant my hand on the pad and it slides open to reveal my suit. And the badge.

"You were always going to take it." She says, from the screen. "You can't help yourself."

"Probably." I say, removing my tarnished badge from the locker and rubbing my thumb over it. Then I grin, looking at the arsenal there.

"Who doesn't like a challenge?"