Feast
“In the first galactic year of the current regime...” Deckra! he thought. “The station as presently configured was inhabited...” Deckra! he cursed under his breath. “With the discovery of wormholes so close to the station, the importance of the station grew...”
Blinn shouted, “Deckra!” Frustrated with his inability to start a book, the male sitting at the table in the dispensary space slapped his wrist with his blue fingers, instantly shutting off his transcriber device. He leaned back and gave a deep sigh of defeat, his chair changing shape to greet his body. With his right hand, he reached for the glass of amber liquid and, with a spare napkin, wiped off the rim before taking a sip of the warming fluid. It was supposed to be an Earth delicacy, scotch, but he had no idea. It might
