Spem Alere

     The scent of pine cleaner burned her nose hair and made her eyes water. Clara “Chondee” Darin blinked at the eggshell white, pock-tiled ceiling, then rolled her eyes around. A hideous pink and yellow flower print privacy curtain looped out of the wall to surround her. Though its proximity encroached on her space, she wasn’t ready to face the shadows that passed by. The left side of her head felt as if some asshole had taken a jackhammer to it. Between the throbbing bursts of deep nerve pain, her throat ached. She vaguely recalled someone choking her. That’s what you get, Chondee told herself. Should have kept walking. Should have… She groaned under the weight of her lips. No. No. No. Repeating in her mind as she sent command after command to her uncommunicative lips. Dear Mercury, please not paralyzed. Not paralyzed. To her great dismay and infinite joy, her ocular muscles functioned normally.

Ergo Fornicationis

     After putting the Tesla-C2 Dune Rider in park, Tech Sergeant Rydel climbed out of the vehicle and walked to the back where he dropped the tailgate. He removed his service revolver from its holster and pointed it at Major Derrick Peters, saying, “sir, please get out of the vehicle.”

     “Sergeant, you don’t have to do this,” Major Peters said.

     “Get out of the vehicle, sir.”

     The major scootched to the edge of the Tesla-C2, dropped his legs off the tailgate, and stumbled down. He said, “if you do this, there’s no going back.”

     “You got that wrong, sir. Soon as I get you set up, I’m going back,” Rydel replied.

     “Why do you think we’re out here?” Peters asked.

     “Orders, sir,” Rydel answered.