11
Starla
Starla falls hard onto ribs and joints already aching from the hellish gravity, the wind whooshes out of her lungs. She gasps for breath while footsteps march away, the vibrations getting fainter then stopping abruptly. Whatever Mahr shot her with makes her chest burn like hell.
Starla rolls onto her side, forcing her eyes open to see two uniforms walking away down what looks like an alley between two buildings. They’re not the guards who took her to the interrogation room the past few days. Different ones. Mahr’s bony hip casts a shadow across the asphalt from the mouth of the alley.
Mahr’s talking to someone else Starla doesn’t recognize, someone skinny, scruff-faced. Not in an Alliance uniform. The man is gesturing at Mahr as he speaks, but it’s just random, punctuative. U
