Jun turned back to the dash, running the fingers of his uninjured hand through his hair. He sat abruptly in the pilot’s chair, shoulders slumped. “Navigational error. Can’t make the jump without new coordinates.”
Theo put one foot on the floor to swivel his chair and leaned out to grab hold of Jun’s injured hand. Blood ran down around the letters spelling “Honor” in a way that might have seemed metaphorical had Theo been in the mood for such nonsense.
He examined the cuts, then retrieved his pristine monogrammed handkerchief and blotted away the blood, Jun’s regard heavy on his bent head all the while. “And the solution to this is for you to split your hand open by losing a round of fisticuffs with several tons of steel?”
Jun let out a low noise as Theo wrapped his knuckles tightly in the handkerchief. A picture of exhausted misery, Jun shook his head and pulled his hand back to examine the makeshift bandage. He ran a finger across the delicate lace edging and embroidered initials. “No. The solution is much worse than that.”
Theo scoffed with a gesture to his ruined handkerchief. “What could be so much worse than beating yourself bloody?”
Jun’s sigh contained an entire crateload of reluctance as he pulled up the flight screen and tapped in a new location. His voice dragged down with the force of his dread and revulsion.
“Contact with the locals.”
*
Jun halted Theo’s progress with a firm hand around his arm, jerking him to a stop on the red dirt road just outside a decrepit saloon.
Constructed of little more than discarded metal and a dash of misplaced hope, the squat building stood smack in the middle of the worn-down Verge settlement Jun had decided upon.
He released Theo, then pulled his hood down lower on his head as he considered the dilapidated entrance. “I’ll do the talking.”
Theo giggled, then failed at suppressing an exuberant and very undignified snort as Jun’s offended face glowered down at him from within the shadows of his hood. “Oh. You were serious? I honestly thought you were in jest, making reference to your taciturn nature. You know, something like saying I was going to do the heavy lifting when, clearly, I am unsuitable. Not that I wish to imply that you are unsuitable for speaking. More that I mean to emphasize your apparent distaste for the endeavor. Conversation and the like.”
Jun tightened his jaw and pointed his index finger rather rudely in Theo’s face. “Just. Be. Quiet.”
Theo turned his fingers in front of his lips in imitation of a key, applauding himself for his silent agreement. Jun watched the gesture stone-faced. He then turned back toward the entrance and stalked through the door with a put-upon sigh quickly overshadowed by the screech of rusted hinges.
Which was just as quickly overshadowed by the overwhelming stench of the place.
Theo mourned the loss of his handkerchief, desperate for the scent of lavender sachets even as he was aware there was no refreshing scent powerful enough to undo the horrors being wrought upon his olfactory senses.
Judging by Jun’s expression, he was in wholehearted agreement.
Every eye in the saloon, thirteen by Theo’s count, turned to stare at them as they paused just inside the doorway, the smell having affected them like a blow to the head.
Jun emitted a subvocal growl at the attention that reminded Theo of nothing so much as the buzzing of a charged ray gun.
Squaring his shoulders, Theo approached the metal bar, which was decorated with naught but a deeply embedded pattern of rust stains and grime.
In fact, Theo challenged himself to describe the establishment without using the word “grimy” and came up short.
After swinging up onto the nearest barstool, he lifted a finger to gain the attention of the elderly bartender.
Jun pressed up against his back, hissing in his ear, “What are you doing?”
Theo tossed a smile over his shoulder, nodding at a gentleman at a nearby table who seemed to consider him an exotic animal exhibit. “This is a bar; I am ordering drinks so that we may better blend in with the clientele.”
Jun’s answering snarl was cut off by the approach of the bartender, whose fluffy white eyebrows raised as far as they would go beneath an undulating sea of wrinkled skin.
“What can I get you fellas?”
Theo could hear Jun’s teeth grinding directly behind his head as he aimed a friendly smile at the man. “Hello! What a lovely little place you have here; I was just admiring the decor.”
The man’s wrinkles rearranged into a pattern that might have denoted confusion. He turned and spat behind him, almost hitting the large brass spittoon sitting between barrels of ale.
Theo’s smile slipped as he stared down at the dark puddle of spittle soaking into the concrete floor.
He folded his hands on the bar top, marveling at the variety of textures that could all best be described as sticky. “I’ll have a brandy spritz, if you don’t mind.”
“What,” the man replied, in such a way that the word was not a question so much as a statement of incredulity.
Jun tossed a handful of credit chips onto the bar, the clattering noise swiftly gaining every last ounce of attention in the building. “Two whiskeys. Straight.”
Theo turned to place a hand on Jun’s arm. “Oh, I don’t drink whiskey. I’m afraid I ca—”
“Shut. Up.”
The last remnants of Theo’s smile fell away entirely in the face of Jun’s fury. Every impressive muscle practically vibrated beneath his coat, his arm like steel under Theo’s hand.
The bartender dropped two cloudy glasses onto the bar top and slopped an indiscriminate amount of whiskey into each one, easily spilling half the amount onto the bar.
Jun’s head turned like a hawk, snapping to a table set into the back corner. “There. Go.”
Theo aimed a soft thank-you at the bartender, who’d already turned away to laugh uproariously with a man who gestured at Theo with a whisper.
After gathering the glasses, Theo led the way to the table, keeping his expression pleasantly neutral as every
