Vega massaged her temples in slow circles, staring at her wine. She told herself the upgrades to her auditory receptors must be malfunctioning.
“Fin has it on very good authority that the recently escaped consciousness of one Adolf Hitler is among your colony.” She let the fingers of her right hand graze the blaster she’d casually placed on the table. Once again, the bowl of krill across the table had nothing better to say than “Swim away!”
This was not going well.
Vega was tired. Tired of the hunt, of this stupid interrogation, tired of small rewards. More than anything, she was tired of sitting in this shitty 20th century themed hellhole trying to draw fucking Hitler out of a bowl of krill. Whatever. Maybe if she blasted the krill she could still claim the reward.
As she reached for her blaster, the staticky copy of some old-timey actor…Danny Devito?...appeared next to the table to clear her untouched plate.
Once again, the bowl of krill squeaked “Swim away!”
What We Found in the Divorce: Part V — Time
2 years ago