This one might insist.
Glad he hadn’t taken advantage of the chairs, Chevy drew himself up straighter and gave a polite, respectful nod. “Ma’am—sir!”
Her smile changed her face from drone to total human. “Everybody slips, don’t sweat it.” Chevy could only describe her accent as assimilated by Montague, with only faint hints of Central America underneath. She strode forward, holding out her hand. “Aidan Redding, Security Third.” Her hand was tiny, but callused. The good ol’ boys would regret messing with this one.
“Chevrolet Gunfire, Maths Third.”
A single pump, and she dropped her hand.
“Redding?” Chevy said. “You’re the”—maniac—“one who went out on the hovercraft to pull our aliens in.”
“That’s me,” she said cheerily. “A great way to end my assignment.”
Chevy frowned at the coincid
