The Final Showdown - The Moon Trilogy - Book 3

Chapter seventeen:

   Unlike the sleek, polished space-craft that Rachel had been expecting, she found a run-down, old thing that probably belonged in a junk heap. She could hardly believe that it was worthy of flight, much less space travel. There were wires practically oozing out of the walls, and pretty much every surface was badly dented. The floor was even slightly slanted. The occasional sparks flew from the overhead lights, and trash littered the edges of the floor, outlining clearly the paths that the ship's occupants most often took.

   They were led past what seemed to be the cockpit, then into a dank room that smelled like a port-o-potty. The door was locked, and they were left alone. After all of ten seconds, an argument broke out from wherever the aliens had gone. The sound drifted easily through the flimsy, damaged walls, but even so, Rachel couldn't understand a word of it for the life of her.

   When the arguing finally died down, which was some time after it had started, the door to the toilet-smell-room was opened, and the green, snake-like alien came in. He seemed to be the leader. Or she. They held a screen in the crook of their arm.

   "Do you know—" he paused—she could tell it was a he from its voice—and seemed to think for a moment. "Do you know this one?" even though the words sounded practiced, they were laced with some space-accent and barely recognizable. He shoved the screen forward, and on it there was a very blurry picture of—she didn't believe it at first—Johnathan.

   "I would tell you, but you suck." Rachel said, glancing down at her hand in an attempt to seem unbothered.

   Her remark seemed to anger the alien, and he drew his weapon, which started to glow at the end only a second after he'd drawn it. He seemed ready to shoot at the slightest provocation.

   "Where is he?" the alien's words were warped even further beyond recognition by the sudden burst of volume, but she got the gist. All the while, the gun continued to glow, reminding Rachel that she had to be careful, no matter how much she wanted to flip this guy off before ignoring everything he said.

   And why did this space-nut expect her to give him up so easily? They'd been through quite a bit together, all things considered. He was a part of the team, even if she wasn't the most partial to him.

   But with the gun pointed at her head, she wasn't too keen on keeping her silence. Maybe it would be better to spill. For all she knew, the aliens were space-police, and Johnathan was a mass-murderer.

   She kept the guarded scowl on her face as she slowly opened her mouth, the words forming in her thoughts just a moment before they should have been spoken—

   The glowing gun was suddenly jerked up and away, and the culprit was none other than the man of the hour himself.

   Johnathan spouted some random garbage she couldn't understand, clearly aimed at the alien. Now the gun was in his hand, pointed at their captor. The tables had turned.

   She'd made the right decision. Whether or not he had been some murder alien, he had proven himself well enough over the past years.

   The alien took a step back, rubbing the hand that must have been hurt when Johnathan had yanked the weapon away. He spoke in an annoyed tone, and in the same aggravatingly unknown language.

   Johnathan replied, still speaking gibberish that she would have thought impossible to recreate with a human tongue. She wished she could understand them.

   A split-second later, she changed her wish. She wished that she knew more about Johnathan. She'd thought about it thousands upon thousands of times, but she thought it again anyway. Other than his name, no one knew a thing about him, except maybe Clarity, since the two of them seemed so close...