Kilroy Owns the Night: Day 15 (Rebellion)
Gallowglass Transfer Station, Sector 9 was the intergalactic equivalent of a truck stop, a bus terminal, and a pawnshop that occasionally launders money. It's the kind of place where a person can refuel a spacecraft, buy a counterfeit identity, start a galactic rebellion, have a questionable medical procedure, and get a surprisingly decent plate of pancakes.
And nobody asked why you were there.
I sat at the counter enjoying said pancakes because portal jumping makes me hungry. Mercury Quasar leaned next to me, facing the patrons, in all her Lloydian sexiness. Normally, I’d have considered ‘Lloyidan sexiness’ an oxymoron but this chick had it. I wanted her, sure, but I also wanted to be her. Seriously, how cool someone be?
“Lookit,” she said, as I shoveled pancakes into my mouth so I wouldn’t stare at her slackjawed. “I know this crowd, okay? Let me take the lead.”
“I can do stuff, too, you know. I have a reputation.”
“Yeah, yeah. You lease the moon or some shit.”
“Own the night.” Pancake syrup dripped from my chin. “I own the night.”
“Is this your first time eating? Holy gorlax balls, wipe your face.”
I wiped my face, which burned with embarrassment. Hard to impress a dirty deed doing doll when you’re a slob.
“These Herpezoids you’re looking for.” I washed the pancakes down with the last of the milk that wasn’t nearly as good as the pancakes. “What do they look like?”
“Like that.” She pointed at the end of the counter.
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