HMS Valediction

Chapter 9

Moyra and I hold our positions. The yellow monsters flit their bulbous gaze toward us and slurp their commands.

The pink bartender backs away. "You have put your hand on the weapon you carry. No one may touch a weapon they own. No one may touch a weapon that another owns. No one may touch weapons in this port."

Moyra raises her hands in the air. "No touching weapons. Got it. We're sorry. Tell them we are very sorry." She glares at me. With a curt nod of her head and lips drawn to a grim line, she demands I do the same.

I snap. "So you're going to boss me around in here too? Just like the night of the HEL-SR?" My words fly from my mouth, misfiring from my brain that has shut itself off.

Moyra's eyes go wide. "Get your hands in the air, Janika."

"No."

Moyra's hands reach higher. "As you can see, sir, my sister and I are here peacefully. We don't mean any harm." She turns to me one more time. "Your hands, Reaper."

"Who are you—" I scream, turning to her fully, "to tell me what to do, soldier?" I enunciate the word with gravel.

How dare she try and command me? Me? Her superior on this mission. In age, in rank, in not being a total shithead for everything that has happened in the last five years. How dare she. The rage bubbles. I'm a simmering stew on high heat. There's no other room for any emotion—it's all red. The walls bleed from the pressure.

The bartender taps a small tubal device attached to his jaw. It illuminates in magenta and returns to blue.

With a guttural belch, he grabs the attention of my hostile compatriots. They don't drop their own guns, but they at least turn their beady eyes to him instead of me.

I look from Moyra to the bartender who is in full conversation. With rapt attention, the yellow, three-eyed lizards listen. Only one of the yellow gang remains fixated on me, its weapon sticking to the flat of its wide, webbed hand.

It inches closer, maintaining sharp eye contact with me. We stare each other down. It steps closer, weapon drawn, closing the distance between us.

"Janika," Moyra whispers, "stop antagonizing it."

"Don't tell me what to fucking do."

"What is wrong with you?"

The creature leers.

"You're acting insane." Her lips part and her eyes bulge in fear.

The thing's yellow hands readjust. Its friends are spectators, gleaming at us with menacing black eyes.

My hand hovers over my holster.

"I'm calling this in." Moyra disappears from my channel as I know she's moved to a new frequency to squeal on me to whoever will listen.

My fingers itch. Blinded by every fucking irritating word that was said, adrenaline punches through my fingers. Do it, the thundering hormones say to my hands, just fucking do it because you are in control. Not Moyra. Moyra has been gone. She may not even be real.

I pull the HEL pistol from my hip and swivel it around my palm before taking a knee to point the barrel between the eyes of the shit that thinks it can intimidate me.

I duck just as a jet of red liquid streams past my ear. The rock bar top sizzles as the blast eats the material.

The crowd scrambles to exit as Moyra shouts over the chaos. "Janika!"