I left the small bathing room, and Bahre entered behind me. Perhaps washing the same creep’s blood from his own skin. I was a bit shocked to discover I did not care that Bahre had killed that alien. In fact, I was relieved. If someone had taken out Jeff Randall about three years ago, I would have had a different life. But then I wouldn’t have been in Florida or met Bahre.
Not wanting to poke too much into the psychology of my past, I walked to stare, with wonder, at the view. There were windows, actual windows—maybe screens, I wasn’t sure—but there were stars outside. Planets. Swirling galaxies and ships moving to and from what I could see of the massive space station. I could see them all, like some kind of sci-fi movie.
I. Was. In. Outer. Space.
The jerk who would not be named had told me we were on a space station. However, being told while sitting in a tiny, shed-sized room with metal walls, and seeing stars and moving spaceships outside the window were two very different things.
“Where are we?” I asked, glancing around when I heard Bahre move behind me. The walls were coated in soft fabric, and I assumed the metal of the ship was underneath. There was lush carpet under my feet and a large, gorgeous bed made up with bedding that, when I leaned over to touch, was soft as the finest silk. The other furnishings, a small sofa and chair and several small tables scattered around the area, looked to be of high quality. I had an eye for details, and th