We’re a ragtag team, if ever I’ve seen one. Gathered around Major’s battered table in the dimly lit bunker, there’s no less than five kinds of crazy.
Jones, the intellectual, dissecting a cicada under a magnifying glass.
Flint, the muscle; he’s too big for his shirt, probably on purpose.
Qora, the gadgets girl.
You’d think that meeting a dog made of stars and an old friend of my parents would prepare me for anything. But I still gape when the glowing, nebulous portal appears. Auburn and purple swirl together in a maelstrom of color suspended in the air.
Major turns, hand at his wristwatch—which
Surrounded by the bustle of the Holuvian Interstellar market, I finally admit how bad of a pickle I’m in.
No, not just a pickle. This is worse. It’s a situation.
This situation has left me stranded on an unknown planet with nary a coin nor friend to my name. I grip my hat,
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