The admiral cleared her throat, bringing Weston back to the moment.

“Go on, Captain.”

“The Drasin,” he said after a moment, “are, in my opinion, bioweapons.”

Gracen’s eyebrow went up, prompting him to continue.

“The evidence is there, Admiral,” he said, leaning forward. “They were just too perfectly suited to attacking the Colonials. Laser resistant on the frequencies their enemy used, both in space and on the ground. They were tailor-made for a job, Admiral…And I don’t believe that any species would naturally select for suicide the way these things did. No, ma’am…The Drasin are just a weapon.”

“I fail to see, Captain,” the admiral said grimly, “why you would not be afraid of them for that reason.”

“Because…Admiral, I’ve never in my life been afraid of a gun,” Weston said firmly. “It’s the person with their finger on the trigger that worries me.”

He let that statement float for a moment and went on. “The Drasin don’t bother me much, Admiral. We can take them, with a minimal leadtime to start producing combat ships and defenses. But somewhere out there, there is someone who pointed them at the Colonials and pulled the trigger.”

Eric Weston looked the admiral in the eye. “And that person, Admiral, I’m terrified of.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Evan has been writing most of his life in one format or another. Though he studied computer science in his postsecondary education and has worked in the local lobster industry steadily over the last decade, writing has always been his true passion. In his own words, “It’s what I do for fun and to relax. There’s not much I can imagine better than being a storyteller.”