The following was written in response to a challenge to write a story based on either the theme 'Missing' or 'Joker'. The stipulation was that it be limited to 100 words maximum. When a challenge like this is leveled, I always add to it by challenging myself to use the entire 100 word allotment while still making the story as polished and complete as I can, without unnecessary words and phrases. Whether you agree with the results or not, I enjoyed the challenge and here is the result:

MISSING—© Steven G. O’Dell 2007

This morning I looked deep into my life and knew there was something important missing. So conspicuous was it by its absence that it left a gaping hole that ached to be filled. Why hadn’t I noticed it before? How could I have overlooked it?

I can’t possibly focus on anything else now. This has become more important to me than anything else in my life at the moment. I am doomed to be forever empty if this need is not met. So, it is with total sincerity and a hopeful heart that I ask you—will you marry me?

With the way the world slips a bit here and a bit there, almost imperceptibly at times, I thought this might be how we would be seeing things as 'normal' in the near future, were it not for modern prophets and revelation.

July Morning--Steven O'Dell (C)2007

This morning I was greeted by the gentle chirping of police dogs and the melodious hum of helicopters. On occasion I can hear the soft barking of a pistol in the near distance. I would never have guessed in a million years life could be like this—so magnificent and awe-inspiring. And the voices that I heard...they must be angels from on high...instructing one to sit on the curb and just chill and enjoy life with one's hands above one's head, praising God for all the blessings of life and awaiting the assistance that is sure to rapidly come. Only one thing more could have made it entirely perfect—the woodpecker rat-a-tat-tat of tiny machine guns in the tree branches. I count my blessings nevertheless.

Ronald Jameson is an ordinary man; unassuming and not noteworthy to those he passes on the street each day. He minds his own business and keeps to himself socially. The truth is that he has no social life. Events in his past have caused great pain and there seems little chance they will ever be rectified in his lifetime—that is, until he meets Denise Payton, a marvelous woman he rescues from a raving madman she wants to leave behind as quickly as possible.

Denise has a problem more serious than anything she has ever dealt with—a problem that could cost her very life. In fact, it could also cost her newfound love interest his life. The problem is Ted Randall; an ex-boyfriend, mentally and emotionally unstable, who thinks the world revolves around his needs and him alone. Ted is evil incarnate and never lets anyone forget it.

Fate has drawn these three together for a purpose both dizzyingly wonderful and infinitely frightening. Before their ordeal is over, Ron and Denise will face the trials of nature in a mountainous region, their own weaknesses and the worst that their unrelenting and formidable antagonist can throw at them. Facing these challenges may bring them closer together—or it may tear them apart forever. Before they can discover the answer, they must first survive.

Life is full of choices, but when Jenna must decide between two men who come into her life, she finds that decisions are not always easy and appearances are not always what they seem. The rest of her life—and ultimately, the life of the man she chooses—hangs in the balance. There is literally no room for mistakes. She must choose correctly.

The tale continues. This time Ron and Denise must help to protect and console some new young friends that are enfolded in trials as severe as they come. These trials are literally a matter of life and death to these two young lovers, a condition with which Ron and Denise Jameson can identify and which they understand fully. Dangers will come from sources unforeseen and unexpected. They can only hope that help will do the same.

Relative Size--(C) Steven G. O'Dell Nov. 2005

The warm sunshine felt wonderful on her arms and legs as she ran across the large open yard. The breeze was gentle, but more pronounced as she ran inhaling the fragrant air that wafted from the nearby lilac bushes and rose garden. The grass brushed her toes lightly with each bounding step and all was right with the world in this little girl's life. She felt so alive in this great big world that surrounded her.

With a sudden leap, she rolled to the ground and lay still for a moment, basking in the sunshine that bathed her naked skin and warmed her from head to foot. Catching her breath, she could hear the birds in the trees and in the sky overhead. 'Such a great big world,' she thought. Rubbing her arms back and forth across the blades of grass, as though making a summertime snow angel, the softness of the experience caused her to roll over onto her stomach, where she began to inspect the wonders before her.

Each blade, though seemingly at first glance the same as all its neighbors, was in its own way unique, even if only because the mower had shaved each in a different manner--some smoothly, some more torn, some angled and others straight as could be. She marveled that she had never noticed this before and as she stared closely at one particular blade she noticed the movement of some small creature that caught her eye. It was an ordinary ant, but she was in a state of heightened awareness today that led her to study this insect as she never had before. What a wondrous little creation this was and she marveled over it for several minutes as it went about its business in the grass before her. Until another movement caught her now sensitive eye.

It was incredibly tiny and she actually strained to come closer and focus upon it. What appeared to her fascinated gaze was an almost unbelievably minute creature, red and having all the appearance of a spider in its nature. She was now struck with a sense of wonder that she had indeed never felt. Here was something that she was discovering for the very first time in her young life--as if it were a new world, only now revealed to the eyes of mankind.

The detail she observed in this nearly microscopic creature was stunning. Every needful part was there to allow it to function in its own huge world and each worked to perfection. The young girl suddenly knew two things very clearly. First, large as her own world had seemed but a few short moments ago, there were things that must feel so much tinier than she. And secondly, she knew that she would never see her world in quite the same way ever again.

All In How You See It--(C) Steven G. O'Dell Nov. 2005

The old woman sat on the park bench pretending not to notice that her husband was doing it again. It happened every time they went to the park. It happened when they walked the street as they did each day at this time. It was happening again--now--and the old woman had finally lost her tolerance for it. She had never said anything as she saw him looking at these young women in the park or on the street, but had held her tongue as long as she could. She would say nothing again today, but her silence was no indication of concession on her part. No, far from it. Today she would hold her peace and do what she had imagined for so long. She would finally put an end to his wandering eye forever. She only had to wait for the right opportunity, but she was confident it would soon come. Perhaps something in his evening cocoa or a mix-up in his medications. No matter how, she thought, the time had come and she would act upon it. There were limits to what a woman ought to tolerate and she had indeed reached her limit.

The old man sat quietly on the park bench beside his wife. Occasionally he would watch the young women there with their boyfriends or their husbands. He hurt each time he thought of how badly he and his wife had wanted children of their own, but had not been able to do so. Reflecting now that his wife had especially wanted a daughter, the old man gazed silently at the young lady passing before him and wondered to himself--if they had been blessed with a daughter of their own, how old would she be by now? What would she look like? Would she already have children of her own, making him a grandfather? Dismissing these thoughts from his mind, he sighed in a barely audible manner and turned to his wife and smiled. He had at least been blessed with the most beautiful and wonderful woman in the world. He had enjoyed many years together with her, despite having no children, and he hoped to have many more in loving her. He was indeed a happy man and could complain very little about the hand that God had dealt him.

Anywhere I Want—© Steven G. O’Dell Nov. 2005

Thomas Feldon had reached the end of his workday. He slogged dejectedly through the front gate and climbed the worn steps to his front door. He had no one to return to each day, he hated his job and he had not so much as a pet to complain to for comfort. He was exhausted—not physically, but mentally and spiritually. Thomas unlocked and opened the door for the thousandth time, slipped in quietly and closed it behind himself. There was no noise at all in his house. It was silent as a tomb.

Sighing to himself, Thomas abruptly dropped his briefcase and thought to himself, That is the last of you for the weekend. Removing his suit jacket, he dropped it onto the sofa and felt yet another weight lifted from his shoulders—No more nasty bosses for the next few days. Sitting down, he removed his shoes and again delivered himself from a not-so-imaginary burden. No more deadlines to contend with for now. He removed his socks, smiled and dropped them where they would. No more nasty looks from the bosses’ secretary until Monday. Thomas stood up and unbuttoned his shirt, breathing a deep sigh of relief and exhaling it slowly. Removing his shirt, he tossed it onto the back of the sofa and stretched his arms upward. No whispering around the water cooler when I am approaching. He grinned widely and with renewed determination headed toward the back door, clad in T-shirt and trousers.

There was nothing in Thomas’s backyard except the grass and the sunshine, a few flowers that had voluntarily come up this year and the sound of the birds in the neighborhood trees. No matter. He was now in complete control of his world. Thomas closed his eyes and with face toward the sun, immediately detached himself from life as he knew it. Eyes still tightly shut, he smiled confidently and mysteriously and then stepped boldly forth into the dense forest that had just appeared before him. What a grand adventure must await me there, he thought. Perhaps this time I shall not return at all. And this time he didn’t.

The Guitar—© Steven G. O'Dell July 2005

The music was unlike any she had ever heard. It grabbed her by the heartstrings and pulled her physically to itself. The otherworldly strains came softly from the inner recesses of the undistinguished and quaint little shop that she had nearly missed in her private rush down the narrow cobblestone street, but she now stood transfixed as the sultry tones of the simple acoustic guitar beckoned to her from the darkness beyond the door.

One step at a time, slowly she marched forward, led by the intoxicating siren sound of an unseen master. Gradually, as her eyes became accustomed to the dim lighting of the room, the form took shape of a seated man bent over a guitar. His eyes were tightly closed, as though in deep meditation and his head subtly bobbed and weaved to the emotional melodies that so fluidly poured forth. His behavior suggested that he did not just play the music, but that he also experienced it, lived in it fully and passionately.

His fingers were now gentle and quivering, then again swift and light and she knew that the music that so deeply stirred her did not come alone from the fingers and mind of the musician, but from the depths of his very soul. His roughly handsome face changed with each phrase; soaring, now weeping and then flights of ecstasy and beyond. Tears flowed easily from her as the melodies played about her heart and feelings. She felt nearly captive and helpless in the grip of this master musician.

As she watched his two hands orchestrate their dance around the instrument he held, it occurred to her that the device he so masterfully expressed himself upon bore strong resemblance to her own feminine shape. She blushed as a warmth surprisingly surged through her and she instinctively knew that such hands as could express themselves in this spirit-touching manner must also know their way around the body of such a woman as she--nay, even her very soul.

Now nearly breathless, she lifted her gaze from the interplay of man and instrument, the dance between fret and soundboard, mesmerized by the now open, dark and penetrating eyes that seemed to search her inner depths. The soft smile on his lips assured her that any fears were in vain and she began to willingly open her heart and mind to this heavenly symphony that she had nearly lost in her desire to hurry to nowhere important.

Yours For A Wish - (c) Steven G. O'Dell Nov. 2005

The small boy stood eagerly on his porch, watching the deliveryman bring the large crate that he had wished for. Inside, he knew, would be all the wonderful things he had been told of and had come to desire so deeply. He opened the crate excitedly. It was so large. Out spilled all the wonderfully ornate, shiny baubles he expected. His eyes grew wide and he ooh-ed and ah-ed in complete amazement. These were all his and his alone, to do with as he pleased. Now they were all within his reach and his life could begin in earnest.

As he grew, the young man fondled and polished all the shiny accoutrements that he had wanted so early in his life. He noticed how some seemed to have lost their sheen with age. Others appeared to be cracked and nearly broken, but he was a prideful young man and nothing would take these things from him or demean them in any way while he still lived and breathed. They were still his and his alone.

The man grew older still. He was bitter now. None of what he had wished for in his life seemed of any consequence. Old habits die hard, however, and the tarnished baubles were still his and he still clung to them jealously, all the while hating them deeply.

The time came when the old man died and all of his worldly belongings were left behind to be sold cheaply to the next covetous young man who desired to accumulate all the world had to offer him. What the dead man took with him was a simple gravestone that marked his final resting place, soon to be forgotten by all but the groundskeeper.

Another small boy stood wide-eyed on his front porch. His box, too, had arrived. His mother and father handed it gently, almost reverently, to him. They took the time to explain the proper use of all the contents within his wonderful gift box and then bade him open it. With a sense of wonder and awe he carefully began to peel the ribbon from the small container that sat easily within one small hand. He could scarcely conceal his smile, so excited was he to be finally getting what he had been taught to so deeply desire above all else. The lid lifted away, the young man stepped into the full sunlight where he could more easily investigate the contents and to his great surprise, the light that was caught and reflected from the object within was nearly as bright as the sun itself. He shielded his eyes and squinted against the gleam of what appeared to be a beautiful cut diamond. His parents corrected him and explained that it was indeed a rare jewel, but no earthly diamond at all. It was far more valuable than anything so common as a diamond. The boy smiled, hugged his parents and promised to always cherish the gift throughout his life.

The young man had kept his promise and found that as he shared the beauty of his wonderful gift, an amazing thing happened-the shine seemed to get even more brilliant than before and would cast its light to greater and greater distances around him. All who came within the influence of his precious gift were touched and improved in some strange way. What tremendous delight this brought to the young man and all who knew him.

An old man had lived a long and fruitful life. He smiled as he thought back on all that had meant so much to him in this world. It seemed that everything he cherished most could not be bought with money or traded for insignificant worldly goods. What he most treasured were the moments of love and friendship with family and acquaintances. The memories of a lifetime graced the pages of his mind in the last few hours of his mortality, but before he went, he called to his side all of his children and grandchildren and with a shaking hand held aloft the same small box that his mother and father had delivered to him so many years ago. With wide eyes and awe-opened mouths, the family received from his lips the story that his parents had told him in his childhood. When he passed, they were sad to see him go, but knew that to a wonderful and very real extent he remained with them as much as ever. When he passed he took with him no more than the first man had taken. However, far more than the groundskeeper took notice of his passing. His name continued to be spoken within his town and in an ever-broadening circle, for generations thereafter.

The two men came into this life with the same opportunities. Neither had the advantage over the other, except in one thing. What made the difference? The teacher. The first young boy was turned loose without guidance to desire what the world would teach him were things to be prized above all else. He found later in his life that these were but empty and meaningless things that brought no comfort to him or to anyone else that he came in contact with. The second boy, so similar to the first, was taught that what he held was the power to make the world around him a better place, if he would but do so. He was taught that the power he wielded could be used for good or for evil and that it must be used wisely or it would destroy him and all who came into contact with it. He was shown that as he used wisdom, the gift would reach out to enlighten and guide the lives of others, who in turn would enlighten then more lives beyond theirs. So great was the love of this young boy for his first teachers that he carried that gift with reverence all his life, simply to honor their names with each use. And so great was the joy that it brought, he could not help but pass it on to those who had come to love him for his shining example of beauty and benevolence.

You see, we are all placed in this world with the self-same promise-that "nothing shall be withheld from them which they shall imagine to do". We hold within our hands the same gift, though to some it may appear large and to others small. Some trade it for baubles and beads that become mere trash and bring no lasting value to anyone, even their owners. Others learn the priorities of life and become a shining city on a hill, where none can hide the light from all who would draw near and truly see for the first time. You have that power to choose what you value most in life. You also have the power to become a revered teacher in your own right-to anyone you may touch in this life. The choice is yours. What do you wish?

Eleven years later...

The large brown bag Trisa carried in her arms was overflowing with groceries. It was a good two or three miles from town – a long ways to carry the necessary burden – but she enjoyed the walk. The clean, crisp air always calmed her nerves. But while outside buzzed with the anticipation of spring, her mind was focused elsewhere, contemplating the events that would transpire the rest of the day.
She turned and walked up small cobble-stone path that ended at the door of a beautiful, yet quaint little house. Dr. Niche had found this little house for Trisa, at her request one year ago. She unlocked the arched-shaped door and entered. The lingering chill from outside disappeared as the warmth of Trisa’s little home enveloped her. She set the bag next to the kitchen sink, then turned and flipped on the small V-cine that sat on the island counter. She began unpacking the bags contents as she listened.
“The Government is currently, still on the search for the 'Mischief',” said the voice from the screen. Trisa stopped what she was doing to listen. “The dispatch has classified this man as a Class A outlaw.” A skewed picture of a man’s silhouette appeared on the screen. Trisa chuckled softly. “Nice picture,” she whispered. “Looks just like you.”
The voice continued: “Class A is considered armed and dangerous, and enemy to the union. The Government asks that if anyone has any leads on this man, please report his location or the location of where he was last seen to your local enforcement agency. The Government needs your help to catch this vigilante.”
Trisa scoffed slightly as she turned the V-cine off. “Vigilante?” she scoffed, grinning and shaking her head, and finished putting away the groceries. When this was done, she gazed out the window above the sink. Two children were outside playing in the yard next door - a boy and a girl. Trisa sighed, stepped back, and leaned against the island. She lifted her right hand and traced a finger over the scar that decorated her palm. Memories rushed through her mind of that day. Sighing again, she walked over to the adjacent living room and collapsed onto the tiny fabric couch. She was growing impatient. There were still six hours to go, and she could barely stand it. The day he had left began replaying in her mind.
During the time before and after Toan and Trisa’s father had died, a new political power in the galaxy which called itself simply The Government, was quickly gaining sovereignty. It was declared as an equipoise union, only to mask the sagacious terrorism that underlined the federation. It was a dictatorship, and so many were blind to see it. There were those that did not concur with the new system of government. They were the individuals that could see through the deceit, and took action against The Government. In turn, they were alienated as rebels, and soon became known as the outlaws. People were convinced by The Government that theses outlaws were dangerous and “malicious”, and to stay away from anyone who was suspected of being an outlaw.
At 16, Toan began to feel the confusion, as though he didn’t think he belonged on Centrion - he didn’t know where his place was, and he wanted to find it. At the same time, he did not want to leave. After all, he’d made a promise not too long ago.
“You want to leave, don’t you?” Trisa asked as she confronted him one night. She could see through his facade better than anyone, even better than their father ever had. Toan said nothing and looked down. “Trisa… I can’t,” he choked out.
“Why not?” She knew it was a dumb question, but asked it anyway.
He looked down at his palm. “Trisa…I have a promise to keep.”
Trisa reached out and grabbed his hand. “A promise you made a long time ago when I was very scared, Toan. I’m not a little girl any more, and I’m certainly not scared.”
“But I pro…”
“Toan,” Trisa interrupted, “I can see right through you, you know. It’s in your eyes and it‘s in your actions: you want to leave, and I’m not going to be the reason to stop you. In fact, I am forcing you to go. You not going to be able to stay here and be completely happy at the same time.”
“But what about you? You…”
“I’ll be fine. Dr. Niche will take care of me until I am old enough to be on my own, which is only four years away. Toan, please – I can’t stand to see you torture yourself. You just aren‘t happy here anymore. You need to get out or it will drive you crazy, which will in turn drive me crazy, and then I will be unhappy too.” She could still see the struggle in his eyes, and came up with an idea. She lifted their hands to eye level. “Let’s make a new promise.” Taon looked up, hopeful. “A new promise? How is that supposed to work?”
“Oh, come on. Humor me.”
Toan chuckled. “Ok. You know I’ll promise you anything.”
“Don’t forget about me. I expect letters and pictures every week, not every once in a while when you get around to it. Okay?” Toan smiled at the request, squeezed her hand and pulled her close for a hug. “Of course,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

The next morning, he was gone. She didn’t know when she would see him again, or if she would see him at all. This terrified her, but she would never let Toan know that. For the next five years, she received detailed letters of everything he was doing. He’d joined the alliance, acquired his own star ship, found a close friend, and had become increasingly talented at driving The Government insane.
Trisa was brought out of her trance as the small clock on the wall chimed two o’clock. She sighed, and went back into the kitchen.

* * *

Toan sat at the bar, swirling what remained of his drink around in his cup. He glanced at his watch and grunted. “Where is that moron?” He set the cup down and rubbed his face with both hands. Today was the day – and he wondered if he would be able to stand going back. Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t notice the man that sat down on the stool next to him.
“Toan, you in there?” The friendly, though comical voice was accompanied by a hand waving in front of Toan’s face. He blinked and shook his head, then turned. The man smiled wide and laughed. “Welcome back!”
“Kayan! Where have you been? You were supposed to be here an hour and a half ago!” Toan yelled.
Kayan held his hands out in his own defense. “Hey, settle down. The galaxy isn’t going to be in ruin because I was a few minutes late.” He turned to the bar tender and ordered a drink.
“Well?” Toan demanded.
“Well what?” asked Kayan, trying to look innocent while thanking the tender for his drink.
“What do you mean well what? You know what!”
“I got caught up, is all – helping a friend.” He grinned and finished his drink.
“Do you have any other hobbies besides conning girls into thinking you’re the most amazing thing since anything?”
“Oh, whatever,” Kayan shot back. “I’m charming and you know it. Besides, like I said, she just needed some help with some stuff she was loading onto a carrier, okay? So I helped. Honest.”
“And that took forty-five minutes?”
“It could have.”
They both laughed, until their attention was turned to a large V-cine as the familiar informatory voice began to speak: “The outlaw known as the “Mischief” is still on the loose…”
“Hey, you’re on the screen again,” Kayan whispered to Toan, and Toan smiled.
“…He is considered extremely dangerous. Please contact your local enforcement agency if you have seen this man,” continued the voice. A picture flashed up on the screen. It was an awful picture - it was too dark and barely showed the side of his face.
“Nice pic,” Kayan teased.
Toan slugged him, then looked at his watch. “Wow, I gotta go,” he said. He stood up from his chair and Kayan followed.
“Who was it you were going to visit again?” Kayan inquired.
“My sister,” Toan answered plainly.
“Oh, right. What was her name again?”
“Trisa.”
“How old is she?”
“Forget it.”
“What? I can’t ask a harmless question?”
“Nope.”
“What does she look like,” Kayan pushed. Toan stopped and glared at him, then sighed. He reached inside his coat and pulled out a photograph, and handed it to Kayan.
“Hey, she’s pretty cute, for a kid,” said Kayan as he handed the photograph back, and continued walking along side Toan.
“This picture was taken about five years ago. I have no idea what she looks like now.”
“You haven’t seen a pic of her in five years?” asked Kayan.
“Nope.”
“Does she know what you look like?”
“Nope. Once I got into “the business”, I felt it was best not to send pictures.”
“What about those letters you write? I’d imagine if anyone got a hold of those, they could do some damage.”
“Nah. I never send them interstellar post.”
“Oh, well that’s good…I guess. So, how you two expect to recognize each other?”
“You are a moron, you know that?"
“Has she described herself to you at all?” asked Kayan. Toan groaned annoyingly and shook his head. “What?” Kayan defended. Toan shook his head. “I suspect she’s taller now.”
“That’s it?”
“Yep.”
“Oh come on.”
“She‘d never write much about herself. She’s not a narcissist like you.”
“Whatever. What’d you write about?”
“Oh, just about everything.”
“Everything?”
“Yep.”
“Even me?”
“I might have.”
They didn’t speak the rest of the way to the ship field. Kayan walked with Toan to his ship, but stopped when they reached the stairs of the massive frame that rested beside his star ship.
“Hey, when will you be back?” Kayan asked.
“In one month,” Toan replied. “I’ll meet you hear in exactly one month.”
“Got it.”
Toan began ascending the stairs toward the main door of the ship. “Be careful!” Kayan called after him. Toan chuckled and waved as Kayan turned to leave.
Up at his ship's entrance, Toan punched in the code on the dial pad next to the door.
“Welcome back, Toan,” said a mechanical voice as he entered the hull.
“Hey, Mag. How’s the ship doing?”
“Everything’s repaired and operating at 100%.” Mag answered lively. Toan laughed – it wasn’t very often you met something mechanical with such a human personality. It was rare, and Toan loved it. “Good. Let’s get ready to launch.”
“Right away.”
Toan made his way to the bridge and sat down in the pilot seat. “Primary thrusters on,” he said as he began the check list. “Request green,” replied Mag, his voice resounding through the overhead speakers. “Pre-launch systems set.”
“Fire engines. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two…” The ship’s engines roared to life as the ship began to thrust toward the sienna atmosphere. White smoke filled the air around the launch pad. Within moments, the red tint of Linoa dissolved into a black blanket dotted with stars.
“What if she’s not there?,” Toan asked himself, leaning back in his chair.
“Who?” Mag inquired.
Toan had been unaware he had said it aloud. “My sister. We are going to Centrion to visit her.”
“Oh. I didn’t know you had a sister.”
“You don’t know a lot of things about me, Mag.”
“That is true. What does your sister look like?”
Toan pulled out the picture as a small, cylindrical robot appeared next to the pilot seat. Toan handed it to the robot, who took it in his three-fingered, mechanical hand. Mag starred at it. “She’s very pretty?” he asked. Toan laughed, and answered. “Yes, she is. She looks like our mother.”
“May I ask you a question?” Mag inquired.
“When are you not asking questions, Mag? Sure, what is it?”
“If something were to happen to you, to whom would I be left?”
“Are you still stuck on that?”
“A lot of other so called ships ‘know’ who they will belong to when their pilots leave them - they are programmed to know. I just want to know who or what I will be inherited by.”
“Does it really matter right now?”
“What about her?” Mag held up the picture.
“Trisa?”
“Yes.”
Toan laughed again. “Sure, Mag. What the heck, you will belong to her.”
“Oh, good.”
Even though he was a computer, Toan picked up on the sound of relief. “Why is that so good, pre tell?”
“Now I know that at least I will not be left to that bum Kayan you call a friend.” Toan laughed aloud again. Mag was not very fond of Kayan, ever since Kayan had accidentally almost blown Mag to smithereens. “I think you’re too hard on Kayan, Mag. He‘s not all that bad - just stupid sometimes. And how do you know the word ‘bum’? Have you been watching the V-cine while I was gone again?”
“I might have,” Mag replied, then headed to the back of the bridge. Toan chuckled, then sighed. Hopefully, he thought, I will never have to leave you with anyone, Mag.