For Prediction Fiction hereThis weeks words: bramble, drift, sally
Rioja tore herself away from watching the disembarkation, realising she was late for duty, too late even to clean herself up, or tidy her bramble-wild hair.
The tall stranger, some sort of authority figure, was not the only traveller waiting for the shuttle, twelve others were there, some of them mirror faced, others in suit-cloaks. The Knave was scheduled to drift for six standard orbits before the shuttle would return, and her cleaning of guest pods had to be completed.
It started so inauspiciously, this first sally of the war, yet to be named by commentators.