Truths

The scent of ionized ozone from the laser capacitors drifted through the vents and mixed with the crisp mint Camila had poured earlier, while the bridge of the Wanderer-7 buzzed with loud overlapping chatter and pure leftover adrenaline.

Harper was practically hanging over the back of the port gunnery seat, her dirty-blonde hair escaping its copper-wire knot in frayed strands as her freckled face split into a wide toothy grin.

"I still can't get over the backward drift!" she yelled, waving both calloused hands through the air to trace the flight path. "You cut the burn, spun the whole nose around while we were still screaming forward at six kilometers a second, and punched that lead bastard right through his tailpipes before he even figured out his targeting lock was looking at our windshield… You just threw the whole thing into the vacuum!"