2
“Hurry up, you idiots, before the Galactic Guard finds us.”
Florian Macalestern shifted in the seat of his escape pod. His leather chair creaked, and his shoulders rubbed against Huxley’s and Tatiana’s.
Hux, broad-shouldered to a fault, pulled his arms closer to his chest. Tatiana, who smelled like strong perfume, and not in a good way, moved away and sighed. Her hair was frizzing and it rubbed against Florian’s cheek.
All around them, henchmen in white suits shifted uncomfortably. They were piled into the pod like clowns in a clown car.
The place smelled like a college dorm.
“How hard can it be to find a hunk of metal in the middle of space?” Florian asked, agitated.
He was getting very, very tired of sitting, stewing, brewing in his henchmens’ juices.
“Sort of like a needle in
