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   Chapter 8 No.8

Prodigal Sun By Christina Engela Characters: 5329

Updated: 2018-07-02 19:01

Humming contentedly to herself, Jenny went round the counter to the breakfast table, where she sat down to bhacon and hheggs. She missed Daniel – um, Danielle terribly sometimes. Now there was a b- um, girl who knew how to cook. It wasn't what was in the recipes, Danny always used to say, it was in how you read them. It was so quiet too. She remembered some of the recipes in that book and wondered what would be waiting for her come dinner time? Shredded Pork With Yellow Bean Paste, Hsing-Ren-Tou-Fu or *shiver* Szechuan Bang-Bang Chicken? For all she cared, it might as well be Peking Dish Of Vegetables Wearing A Bloody Hat!

It was right then there was a knock on the front door. It was the kind of knock people around here got at early hours of the morning from a nervous traveler who had hiked four kilometers from the highway where his car had broken down. Or the kind of knock you got at 3am when the entire Sheriff's Department was outside in Jeepo's and on foot with sniffer dogs, searching for an escaped convict from the nearby Lulu Penitentiary. The Warden was funny that way. Sometimes he would let one out just to give the dogs and his men some exercise. She looked up at Mark, who had, rather slowly, snatched up a cleaver and was looking at her pensively.

"Find a cranny." She said, rising. Mark disappeared in a way that suggested he had practice. Wiping her mouth on her sleeve, she picked up a blaster from the mantelpiece behind her and went over to the front door and opened it, holding the blaster behind her back with one hand.

A raggedy looking – but not unattrac

ong Drop' – or 'Craptacular Falls' as it appeared on most maps. If it weren't for the life-pod which the still traumatized Brandon Carver was technically wearing at the time, like a rather over-sized life preserver, he probably wouldn't have been alive to complain about it.

Carver, now waist-deep in foaming, splashing water inside the half-submerged and somewhat dented life-pod, spluttered and shivered as he clung half-frozen and waterlogged to a slightly bent handrail at the top of the hatch opening. He was extremely happy to be alive, such as he was – although still confused by the strange welcome he'd had earlier. He was technically lost. Yes, he knew this was Deanna – after all, that's where he wanted to be, but he had no idea where on Deanna he was… or where the river was taking him. He'd intended on landing at a spaceport or something – a place he could plan his trip from. A place where he would be met by his contact, perhaps be taken out for drinks and a chat about business matters. Warm drinks! This was not exactly what he had in mind!

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