Desa and her friends stood in the centre of New Hope Square, waiting for their guests to come through the SlipGates. The middle one gave off a warbling hum that cycled through several tones. Its grooves lit up with a rainbow of colours, creating vibrant patterns.
Desa’s instincts urged her to grumble about all this new technology — machines that could transport people across the galaxy in seconds; that would inevitably prove to be a security risk — but she chose not to indulge them. Tommy, however, had other ideas.
Standing next to her with a toothpick pinched between his thumb and forefinger, his gray eyes fixed upon the metal triangle, he expressed his misgivings with a grunt. “Gates and spaceships and mechanical servants,” he remarked. “Sometimes, I feel like the world has gone and le
