Because of the illustrations and the pain in the ass it would be to put them in here, the link at the end of this preview will lead to the full 6,987 word story with images and animations.
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“I still can’t believe we paid money for that junker.”
“Come on, Sander,” Kellis said, shuffling in her barstool, “she’s a great ship.”
“Maybe two years ago she would’ve been,” Mercy shot back and folded his arms.
Kellis was about to reply when the barman leaned over the counter.
“What can I get you?”
“Whiskey,” Kellis responded. “No ice.”
“I’m good, thanks,” Sander said.
The barman nodded and moved away again.
“Look, Abbie, all I’m saying is we could have had any ship in that yard,” Sander continued. “We’re Fire Walkers for fucksake.”
The barman handed Kellis her drink. “We were Fire Walkers, Sander. War’s over.”
Mercy raised his hands in mock surrender. “Just saying, that’s all.”
Kellis ran her eyes over the bar. Grungy, dark, loud; like the rest of Tarek station. Her hand hovered briefly over the pistol in her shoulder holster. She shook herself. Stop thinking like a soldier, Abigaile. She gulped her whiskey and put the empty glass back on the counter. “So, who’s this pilot?”