She'd never said, "I want to join the Secret Police when I grow up." Of course, Mina Cortez hadn't known there were secret police. She just knew she'd rather be a ballerina than a florist. But in 2154, though the world has mostly recovered from the supervolcano, vocational education is still programmed based on aptitude testing. An implanted skill chip can give the recipient many things, but not longer legs. So Mina fully expected to end up inheriting her family's flower shop and landscaping business someday. Like three generations before her, she had the nose for it. She didn't expect one of her best friends to be kidnapped. She didn't expect to be inducted into a covert organization by desperate authorities. She didn't expect to have to be grateful for her other best friend's 'undead' Chevy. She didn't expect programmed spy information to come with the taste of aluminum on her tongue—or a burning sensation when she fought its impulses. She didn't expect fights, car chases, family secrets, bureaucrats acting as espionage cheerleaders, electro-magnetic pulses, or the frequent scent of gun oil. She definitely didn't expect to still have to deliver flowers while figuring it all out.