by T. M. Hunter
“So, Jeanie, where are we?”
My ship’s computer responded. “I am trying to pinpoint our location. Our navigation modules are knocked out.”
“So we’re lost.”
As was often the case, I’d gotten myself in this mess through my own pig-headedness. We should have altered course around that last ion storm. Instead, I’d end up paying far more than I’d ever save by taking the shortcut.
by T. M. Hunter
Life is all about choices. Sadly, I end up making a lot of poor ones. My decisions to trust attractive female smugglers, for example, were usually legendary in caliber.
I looked around the tiny cell, squatting down with my back against the dark gray, stone wall. Splotches of mold and mildew covered the ceiling and floor. By the overpowering stench, I figured past residents had used the opposite corner as a makeshift restroom.
by T. M. Hunter
“So, Saul, what is it?”
His gravelly voice made my neck hairs stand on end. “The contents are none of your concern.”
I reached out to the blue cargo container, placed my hand on a horizontal stiffening beam, then yanked it away from the ice cold metal. A chill raced through me and I rubbed my palms for warmth.
