This Town’s Death

Another Monday, another bottle of milk by the door. Semi-skimmed as always. Padding out of the front door in her dressing gown, she wandered down the garden path marked by small paving slabs surrounded by grass to check her post box.

No letters. Death breathed a sigh of relief and headed back in to make some toast. The house she was in came with the job. A little two bedroom end of terrace property with a nice long front and rear garden, a shed for her bicycle and gardening tools, plus a freestanding bathtub that was always perfect to sink into after a day’s work.

Some days were busier than others. Other times she could go weeks without having to pull the scythe down from the fireplace and cycle out to the location given to her in the Final Letter. They always arrived in the morning, a black envelope sealed with white wax. The contents of the letter were just there for the sake of tradition. As soon as she opened it the knowledge of who, where, and when popped into her mind.

With nothing to do that day and no reason to walk into the town center, she padded upstairs with her toast and tea to settle in front of the typewriter. On days a letter arrived, she was this town’s Death, reaping souls and sending them along to wherever they were destined.

On every other day, she wrote love stories under the name Patricia Lively.

A Quick Look

“Go on, let me take a look.” He whined as his friend kept his back to him, clutching the black zip-up art folder tight to his chest.

“No, you wouldn’t like it. It’s not very good.”

“Aw, come on, the teacher likes your art work, and you’ve shown me other stuff before.” He wheedled. “Just a quick look at your new project. Please? I’ll get you a can of coke?”

“I don’t, look, no, I don’t want a can of cola, and I don’t want to show this stuff off. It’s just… no.” His friend shook his head and started off down the corridor towards the steps.

He had to hurry to catch up to him. “I’ll let you borrow my new Call of Duty when it gets here. Just for a quick glimpse. Ten seconds for a weekend of the best FPS action out there?” Whatever Dean had been working on, it had taken up nearly all of his free time for the past month. Matty was at the point where he was considering chaining the folder up so his mate could get a weekend of gaming, a kick-about in the park, or some biking done.

“For the last time, no. Look, I’ll see you later.” Dean said, putting his foot firmly down on the step below before vanishing into the crowds pushing their way down the steps to escape school for the weekend.

Matty sighed. How much harm could a quick look at his friend’s charcoal and chalk drawings do?


He finally got his chance that weekend. He’d popped over to Dean’s house and saw him heading down to the shops with a shopping list in one hand and a wad of re-usable bags in the other. Grinning, Matty headed to the front door and knocked.

“Oh, hello Matthew!” Mrs Turner smiled as she came to the front door. “How are you doing?”

“I’m well thanks, Mrs T. Is Dean in?”

“He’s just popped down the shops for me, my back’s playing up a bit again.” She stacked shelves in one of the local retail stores, working alongside Matty’s older brother.

“Can I wait for him here?” Dean asked.

“Of course, Matthew.” She smiled, before looking apologetic. “Could you give me a little hand with the ironing?”

“Always.” He smiled at her.


The ironing had all been done, and Matty carried the dark green basket for Mrs Turner up to the landing. There were two piles separated in it. One for her, and one for Dean. With her permission he put the pile on top of her bed, then carried his friend’s into his room for him. Art supplies crowded several of the surfaces, and it took him a moment to find the folder his mate had been carrying at school the other day.

Slightly nervous, he put it on the bed and quickly unzipped it to look at the sheets of A3 inside. His fingertips carefully flicked through the pages as he took each in, struggling to process just what he was seeing.

Downstairs he could hear the front door opening and shutting. Matty made no hurried effort to close the folder as Dean thundered up the stairs and flung his bedroom door open. Looking up from the art, he could see it all written on his mate’s face. A quick look was all he took, yet it let him see deep into his best friend’s soul.

Dean’s fists clenched as he surged forwards, right hand pulled back to take a swing. His face was mottled with red as rage, fear, and hurt struggled to dominate his expression.

Matty easily blocked the punch and used the opening to step forwards, pulling his friend into a bear hug. “It’s okay.” He said, though he knew it never would be.


Mittens was not a dignified name for a guard cat, but the humans insisted on calling him that. Named for the light fur towards each paw, it always irked him when one of the humans took a paw in each hand and waxed lyrical about ‘My kitten Mittens’.

He was hardly a kitten any more, for one thing!

But food usually followed, so he resisted the urge to unsheathe his claws and lash out.

It was the night shift now though, and the humans were tucked up in bed. Mittens nudged his head past each door, checking in on them before padding his way downstairs. As a guard cat, sentry duty was important. All sorts of creatures could get in during the night. Spiders up the pipes, moths flying through the barely opened for ventilation windows on pure chance, and more nefarious intruders.

Most of his guard duty would be spent near his door. The humans called it a flap, but it was a door to Mittens. Or a gate. As he slunk through the night to the kitchen, he saw the door out to the back garden swinging lightly. His posture changed, ears starting to swivel about as he shifted into an alert prowl.

Approaching the flap Mittens could smell dampness. It took a moment to get the trail, then he was heading for just under the washing basket. Nudging a nose under, he breathed deep and could smell the frog, along with something else.

“I know you’re under there.” Mittens hissed, swiping a paw in as far as he could. Movement to the right caught his eye, and the frog was hopping towards the cat flap. The little brown-green amphibian was saddled, a small human about a thumb high riding on its back. Empty sacks were slung on the saddle, no doubt to be filled with stolen food and other things.

Mittens bolted for the pair, claws out and already mid-leap.

The frog-rider turned and struck their tiny hands together. A white stone was held in each palm, as they struck a mighty spark and fizzle of smoke flashed towards Mittens. He brought his paws up to cover his face. When the after-image of the intense spark faded from his vision, the flap was swinging back and forth.

Mittens paced and prowled tirelessly through the house that night. The Min were getting bold.

The Garden Dragon

Every time she went outside she had to pick the wooden statue up. Nestled under a shrub, on top of some slate chippings, stood the carved Chinese-style dragon, its beady gold eyes peering out at the patio. Parts of the wood had turned green in places, giving its scales and beard a verdant tint. She wasn’t sure what caused it to fall, she always made sure to place it firmly on flat ground. Perhaps a cat would brush against it while prowling for birds, or a wing would knock it over as the birds pecked under the bush for bugs and seed.

Setting the washing basket down, she quickly smoothed out the slate, righted the statue, and returned into the house to get started on the ironing.


As soon as the back door and utility room door shut the garden dragon roused itself to undulate through the air, chasing the glistening dragonflies that visited from the neighboring pond.


“Oh what in the-” She sighed, looking at the dragon sprawled out on the slate once more. Going through into the garage to get dinner from the freezer would have to wait for a moment. Crouching, she carefully set the dragon statue vertical once more and bopped its nose with her finger. “You stay where you are.”

She didn’t expect it to listen to her. Her kids barely did.

Apple Time

“Hey, it’s apple time! Did you know it’s that time? Everyone needs an apple time, so it’s apple time for me!”

Every day at 10.33 on the dot, that song would issue from the breakroom. For three years, he had to put up with Marc singing about apple time as he cobbled together a quick brunch. The most ridiculous thing about it for Adam was that in those three years, he had never seen Marc eat a single apple. It was always oranges.

It was 10.30. In three minutes, that song would begin again. With his jaw clenched he hit the Windows Key and L to lock his computer and left his cubicle to get a cup of coffee.

The sight that greeted him had him seething. Someone had drained the last of the coffee and not sorted another pot out. With hands trembling from barely restrained fury he started to prep the other pot, staring with hard eyes at the rounded clock in the break room.

“Hey, it’s apple time!” Marc sung to himself as he strolled into the room just off the main thoroughfare.

“NO!” Adam whirled about to confront his colleague, knuckles white as his fists tried to fold in on themselves. “It is not apple time. It has never been apple time! Every day I have had to listen to you sing about apple time, and I have never seen you eat a damn apple! It’s always oranges and I know it’s oranges because you leave the peel in your bin and I can smell oranges every time I go past your desk!” He was breathing hard at the end of his rant, the beet red flush of fury draining with the rest of his colour as he realised what he’d just done.

Marc just smiled that boyish smile of his. “I get it.” He said, tapping a finger against Adam’s shirt. “Tomorrow.” What that actually meant was vague, but Marc retrieved his brunch from his lunch box, orange and all, and whistled a merry tune to himself as he left the break room.

The rest of the office workers stared at Adam as stepped back into the room. His voice had carried more than Marc’s singing ever did. “Sorry.” He mumbled in apology, thumbing behind him. “Someone left the coffee pot empty.”


It was 10.30. Adam had been watching the clock closely while typing up his figures. Locking his computer with a press of two keys, he made a cautious approach to the break room. There was coffee in the pot. HR had sent an e-mail out about being ‘Coffee Considerate’ the previous afternoon. As he prepped his favourite mug, he could hear footsteps approaching. Turning as casually as he could, an apple appeared in the doorway, followed by that boyish smile, brown hair and blue eyes. Marc wet his lips with a quick flick of his tongue before opening his mouth. Adam prepared for Apple Time.

“Orange you glad to see me? Orange you glad I care? For today I’ve an apple, and maybe with you I’ll share!”

Keeping Count

The brush ran smoothly through her hair, stroke after stroke from top to tip. Her maid was diligent in her duty. One hundred brushes, every morning. Sunlight streamed in through the bay windows into the royal bedroom, not yet reaching the full length mirror in front of where the Queen sat. Once possessing an unmarred beauty, her face was now careworn and her wealth of raven black hair streaked through with grey.

“Eighty-one, eighty-two-” She heard her maid counting just under her breath as the paddle slid down, drawing the bristles through her locks.

Waiting for the Queen once she left the room would be stacks of paperwork, reports from the front lines, and the list of casualties. The last one was never a surprise, though.

“How many today?” The Queen inquired as her maid finished brushing. She could see the the young woman’s lips moving as she picked her way through the bristles with delicate fingers.

“Thirteen, your Majesty.” Came the delayed reply in a timid little voice, carefully presenting thirteen strands of grey hair, draped over her palm.

She took them carefully, running her fingertips along the length. “You may go for now.”  She only let her jaw tremble for a moment once the maid was out of the room before steeling her expression into one of regal calm.

Thirteen grey hairs for thirteen fallen knights.

A New Hat

Their glasses were all empty. Edna noticed that as the nice young orderly from the nursing home wheeled her past the pub. Her hearing wasn’t so good any more, so she couldn’t make out what they were saying. They were obviously wrapped up in their conversation and talking animatedly about something. From the scarf one of them was wearing, it was probably about football.

The city was bustling. The school holidays were in full swing, workers were let out from their offices for the weekend and it was her turn for a shopping trip into the city. It was nice to get away from the home once in a while. There were only so many times you could sit in the garden or read in the quiet room before you yearned for something a bit fresh. She had a little money with her, enough to treat herself and the orderly to a cake and a cup of tea at the little cafe near the river. Maybe if she found something cheap, she’d treat herself.

As she was wheeled down the high street, something very expensive caught her eye in a charity shop window. “Peter?” She called. “Peter!”

“Yes, Mrs Burrows?” Peter said, bringing the wheelchair to a stop.

“Could we go in there? I’ve seen a nice hat.” She gestured over to the window.

“Of course we can. We can go wherever you want today.” He smiled down at her. It was a bit of a job to navigate the chair into the store, but he did so without knocking it against the door frame and flagged down a shop assistant to get the hat.

It was marvellous! Bright and blue with all sorts of feathers and fascinators forming an elaborate crown. The brim was wide and it would be perfect for sitting in the sun. It must have been worn to a race day at some point, or a fancy wedding. With slightly shaky, wrinkled hands she placed it on head to cover the thinning white hair. “How do I look, Peter?”

“Like royalty at Ascot.” He said with a brilliant white smile, drawing a rich laugh from her.

The marvellous item was only two pounds fifty! Edna Burrows carefully removed the exact change from her little coin purse.

She couldn’t wait to get back to the home and show off her new hat.


It was always a good day if she found a penny on the street. She walked with her head down most of the time; lost in her own little world only to snap out of it if there was an insect to avoid treading on, something icky to step over, or a penny to pick up. She had a ledge in her house just in from the front door. Wide enough for ten one penny pieces, she’d stack them up in tens. When the ledge was full she put them all in a little coin bag from the bank to change for a pound.

She never did it for the pennies she got as change. The ledge was only for those small copper coins found on pavements or on seats. She was almost up to seven hundred found pennies. Seven pounds just laying on the street over the course of her adult life!

A shiny new penny glinted at her in the morning sun. With a sound of glee she bent and picked it up. The excited little noise she made went up a notch as she spotted another just in front of her. Two pence in one day? No, three pence! Four! More! Her pockets were bulging with coins by the time she got to the train station for her morning commute. She wondered on the occurrence as she stood near the ticket office. Maybe someone was taking a charity collection to the bank and the bag had a hole? It was when she lifted her head to look around that she noticed something was off.

No people, only pennies.

Another Round

Sergeant Jena Foster was stood just outside her pick-up point with Ensign Zircon Herne to her side, the pair laden down with bags. There were other soldiers and staff members of the ISV Herne nearby, ready to rejoin the flagship for another decade of service. Jena didn’t pay much attention to the others though.

Natasha was teary-eyed, the small pocket pack of tissues she carried with her almost depleted already.  Simone was dealing with the chef, thankfully, an arm wrapped around her shoulder as she tried to cheer her up with the prospect of teaching the agent how to cook. Fixer was there to see them off too. Though that was mainly as he’d be getting the next shuttle up to his vessel, the IXV Shuck, to oversee some checks as that ship underwent maintenance.

Then there was Handler. Her lover would be joining Fixer for those checks, but she was definitely here for Jena’s departure. Her hair had been tied back, and for a change she was in her formal GFIA uniform consisting of a short grey jacket, white leggings and black knee-high boots. Jena was in her own uniform, and the pair exchanged a look. They knew how this was going to go down.

“You’ve come a long way since I first met you, Sergeant. I wonder what rank you’ll be at next time we meet.”

“And what utterly stupid thing I did to get such a rank?” Jena added with a smile.

“I doubt your promotions will be through diligence to filing systems or friendly interactions with the autocrew.” Handler gave a wry look to the soldier. She then glanced up, and Jena knew that her transport ship was coming in. Natasha must have seen it too, the dark-skinned chef flinging herself at Zircon for a goodbye kiss. The rapid expression of feeling didn’t startle the android, he simply followed programming to reciprocate and comfort.

“Take care of yourself, Handler. Until we meet again.” Jena gave a lazy salute, then winked to Simone. “You too, Agent.” There would be no kisses goodbye. That was decided that morning before breakfast. Simone only broke that rule a little. She blew a kiss in the blonde cyborg’s direction. Chuckling, Jena blew a peck back, then one for Handler.

The transport ship had comfortably settled behind them by the time Simone had pried Natasha away from Ensign Herne. He made no motion to wipe the deep red lipstick kisses from his own lips just yet.

“This is Transport ISVH-017 for the ISV Herne. Only returning crew may board this vessel. Any attempt by civilians to board will be firmly denied.” The transport’s control AI announced.

“Natasha, it’s been a pleasure.” Jena gave the sobbing woman a hug. “We’ll send word when we can.”

The response she gave was in a thick voice, garbled by tears and emotion.

“She said to look after Zircon.” Simone translated.

“We’ll have each other’s backs.” Jena promised, breaking away as she ship prompted her and Zircon to board. She paused at the airlock to glance out at the spacedock and the backdrop of Asrat City beyond. With a nod to those gathered there to send her off, she boarded the ship before the AI could reprimand her for holding up proceedings.

Directly behind their seats were luggage droids to ferry their belongings back to their rooms. Procuring a gift bag from one of her suitcases, Jena dumped the rest into the cargo bay before taking her seat. There was no window view, which she was a little glad of. She’d gotten most of the tears out the night before. She didn’t want to risk more.

“Any regrets on leaving, Sergeant?” Zircon asked as he settled besides her.

“Always. I know where my place is though, at least for the moment.” She held out a small box for the android. “A present.”

Looking curious, he took it in his hands. “You already gave me a gift.” The soft jumper was stowed away in his bag.

“This is for a different reason. Open it.” Jena prompted.

Slipping the ribbon off the rectangular box, Zircon opened the lid to reveal two items. The first were a slender pair of tinted glasses. The second was a small pip for his jacket, steel in the shape of the numeral II.

“I made the arrangements after talking to you about it, and both the Commander and the Admiral were happy with you being my second.” Jena clasped the android’s shoulder.

“And the glasses?”

She grinned. “I just thought they’d look good on you.”

“Do they?” He asked as he slipped the arms over his ears.

Jena stared for a moment before sighing.

“They do not look good?”

“Quite the opposite, Zircon. I think I’m going to have to beat the girls off you with a stick.”


Jena lingered on the transport, waiting for the others to exit before grabbing the heavy gift bag and stepping off the vehicle with Zircon in tow. Admiral Roland and Commander Romanov were stood between the ramp down and the hangar doors.

“Sergeant Foster, Ensign Herne.” Zaha said with a smile. “I thought we’d have to send out a search party for you.” She raised an eyebrow as the soldier lifted her gift bag.

“I wanted to get you both something, as thanks for all your assistance.” Jena stated with a little embarrassment. She pulled out the stone tankard and offered it to Treshka.

“Hah! I’ve got one already, but thanks. One for each hand now.” The muscular warrior grinned, hefting the mug in her hand. “Just to check though, you didn’t bring any alcohol on board I’d need to confiscate on board, did you?”

“No, Commander. I split the last six bottles with some friends last night.”

“Damn. I’ll have to dip into my own stash then.” She grinned.

Jena offered the bag to her admiral. Zaha looked inside and smiled. “Good coffee, a jar for them, and… a place mat?”

“For your cafetiere to rest on. I know it’s a little cliche, but… I know how much you like your coffee, Admiral.”

“You didn’t have to get either of us gifts, Sergeant. But thank you. I’ll put it them to good use.” Behind them, Transport ISVH-017 sunk down into the recessed bay to be returned to the rotation of ships for ferrying the crew back up. “The next ship will be here soon, so we need to get the formalities out of the way.”

Drawing herself straight, Jena saluted. “Sergeant Jena Foster, Third Class, reporting for duty. Permission to come aboard, Admiral?”

“Permission granted.” Zaha saluted. “Welcome back.”

“Ensign Zircon Herne, Third Class and Sergeant Foster’s appointed Second, reporting for duty. Permission to come aboard, Admiral?” Zircon saluted as well. The glasses gave the android a serious look from some angles, and softened his features from others. The two ranking officers looked a little amused.

“”Permission granted.” The Admiral saluted. “You’re breaking new ground, Ensign. Serve us well, as you always have.”

Zircon nodded, dropping his hand and moving to stand at ease just behind and to the side of Jena.

“Nice to have you back for another round.” Treshka added, thumbing behind her. “Get to your quarters, settle in and be ready to report for the staff briefing at fifteen hundred hours, ship standard time.”

At Treshka’s command, a set of directions popped up in-vision for the pair. They didn’t lead back to her old room, but to a new duplex room on the deck above. With joint salute to her, the pair started for their new home for the next decade.


“Transport ISVH-018 docking in five minutes.” The ship’s computer announced.

“Join me for coffee this evening, old friend?” Zaha asked, looking over the pack Jena had given her.

“Sounds good.” Treshka nodded, before a rumbling chuckle came from her. “I can’t believe she brought us gifts.”

“There’s a first time for everything. Maybe it’s a rural thing? Most of our crew come from closer to the center of the Galactic Federation.”

She mused on that. “Might be it.”

“You saw the orders that came in from the Central Military Command, yes?” Zaha asked.

“It’ll be nice to see Ural Two again, if only briefly. Simeon and the kids are on their way back now in our shuttle. Visiting the Ladoshan systems? Not so much.”

Zaha nodded. “Command commands,”

“And we obey.” The Trogadek finished with a wry smile.


The staff briefing room was a massive amphitheater located in the central tower of the Herne. The lower your rank, the further back you sat. On the stage at the front of the room stood the Admiral, the Commander, and Medenia, the Operations Officer. Behind them was a massive monitor ready to display star charts and tactical data.

“Welcome to some of our new crew members, and welcome back to the rest of you.” Zaha spoke, the ship’s computer working to carry her voice through the rows of seating. “We have been assigned our first orders for this new tour of duty. It is my responsibility to inform you of those orders.”

“Our first mission consists of two parts. We will be making a brief stop at Ural Two, to pick up a compliment of new Servitors. They are the newest models, and we will be using the training rooms on the ship to seek candidates to fly them. We will send some recommendations out, but if you wish to apply, drop by and book a session.”

“Ural Two is my home.” Commander Romanov spoke, her arms folded and her expression challenging. “There will be a short period of recreation time on the planet when we arrive. I expect all of you to be on your best behavior. You serve under me, and I will deal with any transgressions personally.”

“Thank you, Commander.” Admiral Roland nodded. “After that, we are being dispatched to the Ladoshan systems. The Ladoshan League of Planets wishes to apply for entry to the Galactic Federation. They are currently dealing with aggression from the Royal Denorian Military. This will hopefully be a diplomatic mission to ease strained relations and get both on our side, but we will be in a state of combat readiness from entering the system to leaving it.”

The Admiral glanced around the room. “Make the most of your downtime while you have it. Your duty rosters have been updated, report to your line chiefs if you have any issues. Meeting adjourned.”

A recommendation notification popped up in Jena’s field of view just as she was about to rise from her chair. Zircon touched her elbow, and she gave her Second a look.

“I have been recommended to be a candidate.” He stated. He actually managed to look a little perplexed.

“Likewise. How long will it take us to reach Ural Two?”

“One moment.” A vague look crossed his face as he sent the request to the Herne’s computer. “At maximum warp encapsulation, five weeks.”

“So we’re looking at eight or nine weeks, realistically?”

Zircon nodded.

“Well… I guess we better book some time in the training machines then.” Jena replied, clasping his shoulder with one hand. Amidst the throng of staff moving this way and that as they sought to exit the room, Jena felt eyes on her. Glancing about, she noticed the Commander was watching the pair with curiosity. Their eyes met for a moment, then Treshka turned away to talk with some of the senior crew.

As the crowds dispersed, Jena wondered just what she would be getting into during her first full tour of duty.


Author’s note: And that’s the end of Jena’s story for now. It’s been a pretty wild ride and went on longer than I thought it would! This has been almost 60k words, and I think once it’s been redrafted, edited, and with additional content and stories not suited for the blog added it’ll push far beyond that number. Thanks for reading!

Loose Ends

The apartment was nearly empty. Piles of bags were placed in the front room, the kitchen cupboards only had enough food in for a snack at night and breakfast the next day. Handler sat on the sofa, wondering just where Jena Foster was.

Their official final date had been the night before. The pair had gotten dressed up and went to the Asrat Academy Restaurant for dinner from a menu prepared by Natasha, then drinks and dancing before returning to the apartment to continue the… celebrations? That word didn’t seem right. A last hurrah.

The dark haired officer of the IXV Shuck had given Jena a lift to Fixer’s holiday home so she could give him his present. As for Handler’s own gift? Jena said to come to her apartment and wait at 20:00. It was 20:15 now, with no sign of her lover.

She was starting to get nervous when the door slid open and the blonde stepped through with a protesting brunette draped over her shoulder. Stepping over to the sofa, Jena carefully dropped Simone Durand onto it.

“We’re going to talk.” The soldier said, looking at the pair awkwardly sitting in front of her.


It was a faux pas. A mistake. An error in judgement. Following up a night of drinking with more drinks at home was one thing. Then Simone had started to get flirty with Jena. Handler decided to joke a little and vie for the soldier’s attention, competing against her agent. Simone had escalated by nestling up to one side of Jena. Handler did the same. Jena had been watching in bemusement, head fuzzy with good beer when Simone pecked her on the lips.

Then Handler kissed Jena, staking her claim. The conflict escalated between the two crew members, causing Jena to laugh even as they alternated. Then she leaned back out of reach and shook her head with a chuckle. “Just kiss each other already.”

What followed was a delightful breach in crew protocol for the Galactic Federation Intelligence Agency. What followed that was even more delightful. When the morning light came streaming through the window, bringing wakefulness and realization to the pair?

Simone quickly left, and the two had been avoiding each other as much as possible. Until now.

“What do you mean, talk?” Simone asked.

“About this.” Jena gestured between the pair. “I’m partially to blame for this, and I’m not going to leave the planet with you two acting like colossal loose ends. You’re crew mates. You’re friends.” Looking between the pair, she let out a sigh as her hand ruffled her own hair. “Handler. Did you enjoy yourself?”

“From what I remember?” She glanced left to where Simone was sitting on the sofa and nodded. “Yes.”

“Good.” Jena looked left. “Simone?”

“… Yeah. I mean, how could I not?” She looked at the pair and gave a slightly timid grin, mopping her hair back into some order after being carried into the apartment.

“Great. I enjoyed myself too. It happened, it’s done. I’ll be able to rest easy knowing that you two aren’t going to be avoiding each other.” Letting out a little breath, the cyborg stretched her arms up. “Are you two ready for presents now?”

Simone perked up immediately at the mention of presents.

Retrieving a bag hidden away in a counter from prying eyes, Jena returned to the sofa. “So, firstly I’ve got something here for Handler.” She smiled, reaching into the ornate paper gift bag. She pulled out a sleeved blanket. “I was going to get you a new one, but I figured you’ve stolen this one enough from me… I know how cold the bridge of the Shuck can get on night duty, so… yeah.”

Handler carefully collected the folded wool and held it close to her, a soft smile on her lips and a grateful look in her eye.

“Now, Simone. I lost count of how many times you complained about your clutch purse, so…” She drew the slender leather shoulder bag out and presented it to her.

The agent traced her fingers over the polished stone clasp, then slipped the strap over her shoulder. “How do I look?”

“Like someone who has a hands-free place to keep her belongings.” Handler commented.

“Handler. I also lost count of how many times you braved the sandstorms to get back here.” Taking the sand globe out, she passed it across. “For when you’re back on duty, a dusty reminder of Asrat City.”

She was laughing as she shook the globe, watching particles of sand swirl about in the water around the model city before settling.

Clothing came next, a silky black top for Simone with a low cut that could be described as ‘perilous’, and a pale cream dress for Handler with fading swirls of sand at the hem. Finally, Jena drew out a small gift envelope and held it between them. “This is for both of you.”

Handler was the one who took it, peeking inside to reveal printed and ident-tagged gift certificates for the Academy Restaurant.

“I’ve instructed Natasha to track you down and hit you with a rolling pin if you don’t use these. I know you look out for each other being teammates, but I want you to look out for each other for me, too. And check on Natasha. We’re not the only ones who’ll be parting, after all.” Folding the gift bag up, Jena sat in front of the sofa and leaned back against the coffee table.

“Well… I’ve not made much in the way of plans yet, what with Handler dropping shore leave on us with such little notice. I can fit a few lunches and dinners with the boss in.” Simone said. “Plus it gives me time to work on subverting Natasha to come and work for us in the Shuck’s mess room.” She added with a grin.

“All right, Jena.” Handler nodded, then glanced to her left. “This weekend sound good? It’ll give a little time between Zircon leaving until we see Chef Henderson. I doubt we want to drop in on her right away.”

“I think I can make a little room in my sparse schedule.”

“Fantastic.” Jena said, then thumbed to the fridge. “I’ve got six bottles left of Romanov’s finest beer. I can’t take them on duty with me, and it’s no where near enough to lead to a repeat of last time we were together like this.” That line was necessary, given the nervous look the pair exchanged. “Why don’t we drink to good times, old stories, and new gossip?”

With fluid grace Handler rose, went for the fridge and pulled out the cool bottles. Fetching the bottle opener from a drawer, she returned to the sofa and set them on the coffee table. “I’ll certainly drink to good times.” She said, claiming a bottle.

“I’ll take new gossip.” Simone snatched a beer from the table.

“I guess that leaves me with old stories.” Jena’s artificial thumb easily pried the cap off the bottle without need for the opener. “So… Ensign Foster versus the Pandor Pirates?” She offered her bottle out to the others. The pair clinked their bottles against hers.

“I’m always up for a story with pirates in.” Simone settled back against the sofa, ready to give Jena her full attention.


Their bottles were empty, as were their cups of coffee. The small stash of biscuits had been quickly depleted, and the last of the fruit bowl had been consumed. Handler had one end of the sofa, Simone the other, and Jena sat on the floor with her arms and chin resting on a cushion.

“It’s late.” Simone yawned.

“Yep.” Jena nodded.

“Mmmh.” Handler mumbled.

“I should get going.”

“You should, but you won’t.” Jena replied. “It’s too late.”


“See, your officer agrees with me.” Jena noted, pushing herself up off the floor. “I’ll get the blankets and make the sofa up for you.”

“Are you sure?” Simone asked.

“Mmmh.” Came from both the officer and the soldier that time.

“Hey, where are you going to stay after tomorrow, Handler?” Simone suddenly asked. “You’ve been living here, but where’s your stuff?”

“Admiral Roland’s extended the lease on her villa for a month. She’s letting me use it as thanks.” Handler roused herself up from where she’d almost slipped off into a doze. “Then I’ll need to find somewhere else.”

“Lucky you.” Simone huffed. “I’ll just get freshened up.” She excused herself for the bathroom, leaving Jena to make the bed up in the living area. Then it was Handler’s turn to get ready for bed, and finally Jena’s.

“Night, you two.” Simone called from the sofa, snuggled down under the covers.

“Sleep well.” Jena called back, shutting the door to the bedroom.

The lighting in the living area switched to downcycle mode, strips only just illuminating trip hazards. Simone sprawled out a little in the silent room and stared up at the dark ceiling, her hands clasped behind the back of her head. Light suddenly streamed into the room, causing her to squint over at the figure in the doorway.

“Get in here, Agent.”