Adrift

At the airlock. Burns says to knock some sense into Kaetlyn. I pause, then say I will. Burns hesitates. His eyes widen. Pausing was bad.

Burns motions for his people to leave. He looks at Deirdre, waiting. Long pause. I have to remind her she’s standing on one of his people.

I have zero doubt that, at some later point, Jon will refer to my artful dodging as ‘gracefully feminine’. I will retort by being not-dead.

My spasm was just a flinch, not a bullet impact. The shooter’s hand, still gripping the gun, is crushed to the deck beneath Deirdre’s boot.

I don’t hear the bang, i don’t think, but my body jerks all the same.

Guy raises his weapon, Burns is turning too late, and I don’t have a gun. My last thought: it’s okay – at least I’m dying on my own ship.

I should NEVER think thoughts like “this is going to work out.” The Universe can tell. So can the guy with the bleeding leg and the gun.

Burns shoots the loudest dissenter in the leg – an effective debate tactic, if a little inelegant. I think this is going to work out.

On one hand, dissent in the ranks is Burns’ problem (and, privately, kind of funny). On the other, this ‘dissent’ is pointing a gun at me.

The next hour goes sunburn-careful. Burns gives instructions. I act very agreeable. His people… don’t. Too many want a corpse of me. Hmm.