The Mephit's Tales

Flint remembered the fear.

He was adrift in a dark haze, a flurry of images flickering through his vision, all of them tainted by that sick fear. In time, he focused enough to remember more clearly. The invasion alert. The desperate battle. The lurch of his bomber as it took damage; the blare of alarms as systems failed. Sudden inspiration and one last, desperate plan, keyed into the autopilot. He’d committed the program, hit the eject button, and then…

Then the world had turned to fire.

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So much of Valan’s life had gone according to schedules – work shifts at the refinery, then as security; training; now, deployment. Even leave time had had its tasks that needed doing in a timely fashion. The skunk was so accustomed to waking up at a set time that even now, when he truly didn’t need to, he woke up six hours after he’d closed his eyes to sleep.

Still, the unfamiliar realization that he could lounge about in his comfortable shuttle seat was a rather nice one.

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Summer was in full swing, and the locals were happy for it. Children laughed and played in the fields, fresh fruits were in baskets all over town, and everyone was happy to see some sun.

It was past midday when Allan asked, “Have you seen Tabar lately?”

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